Early Modern Spaces in Motion: Design, Experience and Rhetoric 9789048544592

Citation preview

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Visual and Material Culture, 1300-1700 A forum for innovative research on the role of images and objects in the late medieval and early modern periods, Visual and Material Culture, 1300-1700 publishes monographs and essay collections that combine rigorous investigation with critical inquiry to present new narratives on a wide range of topics, from traditional arts to seemingly ordinary things. Recognizing the fluidity of images, objects, and ideas, this series fosters cross-cultural as well as multi-disciplinary exploration. We consider proposals from across the spectrum of analytic approaches and methodologies. Series Editor Dr. Allison Levy, an art historian, has written and/or edited three scholarly books, and she has been the recipient of numerous grants and awards, from the National Endowment for the Humanities, the American Association of University Women, the Getty Research Institute, the Dumbarton Oaks Research Library of Harvard University, the Whiting Foundation and the Bogliasco Foundation, among others. www.allisonlevy.com.

Early Modern Spaces in Motion Design, Experience, and Rhetoric

Edited by Kimberley Skelton

Amsterdam University Press

Cover illustration: Giovanni Paolo Panini, Interior of the Pantheon, Rome, c. 1734. Samuel H. Kress Collection. Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington. Cover design: Coördesign, Leiden Lay-out: Crius Group, Hulshout isbn 978 94 6372 581 1 e-isbn 978 90 4854 459 2 doi 10.5117/9789463725811 nur 685 © Kimberley Skelton / Amsterdam University Press B.V., Amsterdam 2021 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the author of the book. Every effort has been made to obtain permission to use all copyrighted illustrations reproduced in this book. Nonetheless, whosoever believes to have rights to this material is advised to contact the publisher.



Table of Contents

List of Illustrations

7

Acknowledgements 11 Kimberley Skelton

Introduction: Bodies and Buildings in Motion

13

1. Navigating the Palace Underworld: Recreational Space, Pleasure, and Release at the Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent

33

2. Passages to Fantasy: The Performance of Motion in Cellini’s Fontainebleau Portal and the Galerie François I

59

3. The Catholic Country House in Early Modern England: Motion, Piety and Hospitality, c. 1580–1640

81

4. Sensory Vibrations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome

111

5. The Rise of the Staircase: Motion in Eighteenth-Century Dutch Domestic Architecture

139

6. Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Baalbek with Jean de la Roque

163

Kimberley Skelton

Chriscinda Henry

Nicole Bensoussan

Gašper Jakovac

Kimberley Skelton

Freek Schmidt

Edmund Thomas

7. A Paper Tour of the Metropolis: The Architecture of Early Modern London in the Royal Magazine 189 Jocelyn Anderson

8. Libraries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Library (1450-1770) 211 James W. P. Campbell

Works Cited

237

Index 271



List of Illustrations

Figure 1. Sebastiano Serlio, Palace façades and plans, from Tutte l’opere d’architettura, et prospetiva, 1584. Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University. 14 Figure 2. Paul Decker, Garden wall of the central receiving room in a princely palace, from Fürstlicher Baumeister, oder Architectura civilis, 1711. Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University. 16 Figure 3. Giovanni Battista Falda, Piazza del Popolo, from Il nuovo teatro delle fabriche, et edificii, in prospettiva di Roma moderna, sotto il felice pontificato di N. S. Papa Alessandro VII, vol. 1, 1665. The Huntington Library, San Marino, California, RB 433833. 20 Figure 4. Loggia publicha with frescoes by Girolamo Romanino, 15311532, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. 41 Figure 5. Andito alla scala with frescoes by Girolamo Romanino, 15311532, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. 43 Figure 6. Girolamo Romanino, Buffoon Playing with a Monkey, 1531-1532, Scala del giardino, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. 45 Figure 7. Girolamo Romanino, Sleeping Nymph and Satyr, 1532, Scala del giardino, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. 46 Figure 8. View of the Revolto soto la loza facing the Scala del giardino with Girolamo Romanino’s Portrait of Paolo Alemanno above the Porta rusticha and The Hunt with Falcons, 1532, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. 48 Figure 9. Refettorio davanti alla cantina with frescoes by Marcello Fogolino, c. 1532, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. 54 Figure 10. Benvenuto Cellini, Nymph of Fontainebleau, 1543. Musée du Louvre, Paris, France. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY. 60 Figure 11. After Primaticcio (unknown artist), Francis I and the Nymph of Fontainebleau, c. 1540. Musée du Louvre, Paris, France. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY. 62

8

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Figure 12. Gilles Le Breton, Porte Dorée entrance wing, Château de Fontainebleau, France, 1528. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY. Figure 13. Rosso Fiorentino, Miniature fresco of the exterior of the Porte Dorée and Galerie François I, Château de Fontainebleau, France, 1530s. © Manuel Cohen/Art Resource, NY. Figure 14. Godefroy le Batave and Jean Clouet, Francis I on a Stag Hunt, from François Demoulins de Rochefort, Commentaires de la guerre gallique, 1519. Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris, France (Ms. fr. 13429, vol. 2). Figure 15. Rosso Fiorentino, Ignorance Defeated, Galerie François I, Château de Fontainebleau, France, 1530s. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY. Figure 16. Giovanni Battista Cavalieri, ‘Apprehensiones catholicorum’ (depiction of arrests of priests and lay Catholics), from Richard Verstegan, Descriptiones quaedam illius inhumanae et multiplicis persecutionis, 1584. Reproduced by kind permission of Palace Green Library, Durham University. Figure 17. Giovanni Battista Cavalieri, ‘Nocturnae per domos inquisitiones’ (depiction of night house raids), from Richard Verstegan, Descriptiones quaedam illius inhumanae et multiplicis persecutionis, 1584. Reproduced by kind permission of Palace Green Library, Durham University. Figure 18. Carlo Fontana, Design for Clement XI’s 1704 annual medal, c. 1704. Royal Collection Trust / © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2020. Figure 19. Tor di Nona, Rome, Italy, first-floor plan. © 2020 Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (Vat. Lat 11258, Parte A, f. 130r). By permission of Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, with all rights reserved.  Figure 20. Antonio del Grande, Carceri Nuove, Rome, Italy, c. 1652-1656, first-floor plan. Reproduced by kind permission of Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Rome. Figure 21. Disputa generale, from Agostino Cabrini, Ordini con li quali devono essere regolate le Scole della Santissima Dottrina Christiana, 1686. Courtesy Biblioteca Casanatense MIBAC Rome (VOL MISC.2169.1). Figure 22. Carlo Fontana, Casa di Correzione, Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa, Rome, Italy, 1701-1704. Photo: Author. Reproduced by kind permission of Istituto Superiore per la Conservazione ed il Restauro, Rome.

63 64

72 75

85

86 112 116 120

123

125

List of Illustr ations 

9

Figure 23. Carlo Fontana, Staircase door, Casa di Correzione, Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa, Rome, Italy, 1701-1704. Photo: Author. Reproduced by kind permission of Istituto Superiore per la Conservazione ed il Restauro, Rome. 128 Figure 24. Daniel Marot, ‘Escallier du comte d’Albemarle a Voorst’ (trompe l’oeil decoration for the staircase of the Duke of Albemarle at De Voorst), from Nouveaux livre de pintures de salles et d’escalliers, 1712. Rijksmuseum Amsterdam. 142 Figure 25. Daniel Marot, Designs for three Amsterdam houses, from Nouveaux livre de bâtiments de differentes pensées, before 1712. Delft University of Technology. 144 Figure 26. Tieleman van der Horst and Jan Schenk, Elevation of stairs (Plate 14), from Theatrum machinarum universale, of nieuwe algemeene bouwkunde, waar in op een naauwkeurige klaare, en wiskunstige wyze werd voorgestelt en geleerdt, het maaken van veelerley soorten van trappen, met derzelver gronden en opstallen, 1739. Rijksmuseum Amsterdam. 145 Figure 27. Section of Amsterdam canal house with a double back-aisle, mid-eighteenth century. Amsterdam City Archives. 149 Figure 28. Staircase, Herengracht 475, Amsterdam, Netherlands, 1736. Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed. 151 Figure 29. Section of a hallway that opens to a staircase, presumably for Keizersgracht 224 (House Saxenburg), Amsterdam, Netherlands, 1750s. Amsterdam City Archives. 153 Figure 30. ‘La coupe du Temple de Balbec avec le plan’ (The Section of the Temple of Baalbek with the Plan), from Bernard de Montfaucon, L’antiquité expliquée, 1719 (vol. 1, pt. 1, Plate 31). Heidelberg University Library, Digital Library. 180 Figure 31. ‘Elévation en perspective du côté du Temple de Balbec’ (Elevation in Perspective of the Side of the Temple of Baalbek), from Jean Marot, Le Grand Marot, 1686. Universiteitsbibliotheek Utrecht. 181 Figure 32. ‘Elévation en perspective d’un côté exterieur du Temple de Balbek’ (Elevation in Perspective of an Exterior Side of the Temple of Baalbek), from Jean de la Roque, Voyages de Syrie et du Mont-Liban, 1722. Niedersächsische Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen. 181 Figure 33. ‘A Perspective View of the New Church in the Strand’, from The Royal Magazine 7 (1762). The Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto. 196

10 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Figure 34. James Hulett, ‘Monument’, from The Royal Magazine 4 (1761). The Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto. 198 Figure 35. ‘Front of the Royal Exchange’, from The Royal Magazine 6 (1762). The Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto. 199 Figure 36. ‘A Perspective View of the Custom House’, from The Royal Magazine 4 (1761). The Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto. 201 Figure 37. ‘Gresham College’, from The Royal Magazine 5 (1761). © British Library Board (P.P.5441). 203 Figure 38. James Hulett, ‘St. Bartholomew’s Hospital’, from The Royal Magazine 5 (1761). © British Library Board (P.P.5441). 205 Figure 39. Biblioteca Malatestiana, Cesena, Italy, 1447-1452. Photograph by permission of Will Pryce (www.willpryce.com). 214 Figure 40. Leiden University Library, Leiden, Netherlands, 1607 (engraving by Jan Cornelisz Woudanus, 1610). World History Archive/ Alamy Stock Photo. 219 Figure 41. Bibliothèque de l’Abbaye Ste.-Geneviève, Paris, France, 1675-1732 (engraving by Franz Ertringer, 1689). Wellcome Collection. Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0). 223 Figure 42. Klosterbibliothek, Augustiner Chorherrenstift St. Florian, St. Florian, Austria, 1750. Photograph by permission of Will Pryce (www.willpryce.com). 230 Figure 43. Klosterbibliothek, Benediktinerstift Admont, Admont, Austria, 1776. Photograph by permission of Will Pryce (www. willpryce.com). 232 Figure 44. Biblioteca Joanina, Coimbra, Portugal, 1728. Photograph by permission of Will Pryce (www.willpryce.com). 233

Acknowledgements Kimberley Skelton By its very nature as an edited volume, this project has developed out of extended and highly enjoyable conversations and collaborations. I am grateful to all the scholars who have contributed so generously to this project and to the various institutions who have made possible opportunities for the interdisciplinary cooperation that lies at the heart of this book. First and foremost, I would like to thank the seven contributors not only for their time and effort in conceiving of their research in terms of motion but also for their continuous willingness to experiment. Because of its interdisciplinary scope, this volume required all of us often to reach beyond comfortable disciplinary boundaries, and I invariably encountered enthusiasm for each moment of entering unfamiliar territory. The ideas underpinning this volume had their earliest roots in a six-month fellowship sponsored jointly by the University of Southern California/Huntington Early Modern Studies Institute and by the Centre for Research in the Arts, Social Sciences and Humanities at the University of Cambridge. I am grateful to both institutions, especially for fostering interdisciplinary conversations that continued beyond my fellowship. In particular, at the University of Cambridge, Donal Cooper, Alex Marr, and Renaud Morieux have offered invaluable advice and thought-provoking responses to my ideas and methods, challenging me to think in new and broader ways about the ambiguities surrounding early modern bodies and buildings in motion. Also at the University of Cambridge, and as ever stretching back to my PhD, Frank Salmon has supported me with gentle kindness and insightful advice; I am grateful for his enthusiasm about this project and for his tactful helping hand across its various stages. The majority of the research and the process of assembling the essays here was accomplished during a Junior Research Fellowship at Durham University, where from my very first days, I encountered a warm and open friendliness that made working and living there such a pleasure. I would like to thank the Institute of Advanced Study, the Institute of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, and the School of Modern Languages and Cultures for offering me this opportunity. In particular, colleagues in the School of Modern Languages and Cultures (where I was based) supportively engaged me in conversations that encouraged and challenged me to think often across disciplinary boundaries; the interdisciplinary nature of this volume owes much to these conversations. I would especially like to thank Carlo Caruso, Annalisa Cipollone, Jonathan Long, John O’Brien, Janet Stewart, Luke Sunderland, and Tom Wynn. In addition, I am grateful to Stefano Cracolici for his

12

Kimberley Skelton

enthusiasm about and numerous, encouraging discussions of my research and ideas. Last, but definitely not least, Dario Tessicini has consistently supported me with a kind warmth – stretching back to my earliest consideration of applying for a Junior Research Fellowship and continuing to my current endeavours beyond Durham. His generosity in reaching out to find overlaps in our history of science and history of architecture research has much broadened my thinking, and I am always thankful for his constant readiness to offer a tactful, thoughtful helping hand. Outside of the School of Modern Languages and Cultures, Daniel Derrin, Andrew Millard, and Mark Sandy repeatedly offered insightful advice as well as thought-provoking responses to my research. While I was at Durham, I was also happy to continue longstanding dialogues with other colleagues; Danny Abramson, Alex Bremner, and Susan Klaiber have all provided invaluable support and helpful suggestions. Finally, St. Mary’s College was my home during my two years at Durham, and I would like to thank the people whom I met there for transforming it into so much of a home. Simon and Helen Hackett, Catherine Paine, Dave Robson and Melanie Hudson, and Mike Daley warmly welcomed me from my very first days and always reached out to involve me in myriad ways in the Mary’s community and the northeast of England; I have fond memories of numerous conversations and of the beautiful country trails that I took at their wise suggestion. Other institutions have also provided support for the research underlying this volume, and I am thankful for the opportunities offered by the American Academy in Rome, the American Philosophical Society, the Centre for Visual Arts and Culture at Durham University, and St. John’s College at the University of Cambridge. From the earliest moments of conceiving of this project through to the various stages of revision, Allison Levy and Erika Gaffney at Amsterdam University Press have both offered thoughtful advice about my ideas and a kind willingness to allow for interdisciplinary experimentation. I am grateful for their encouragement to assemble a volume devoted to early modern bodies and buildings in motion and for their continued enthusiasm about this project. As always, I would like to thank my family – my parents and younger brother – for their loving support of all that I do. I know that I can always count on them to be excited over any endeavor, however small, and to offer helping hands, no matter how late at night. I am especially grateful to them for their constant reminder that play is as important as research and for their mischievous humor that is continuously lifting my nose out of books and computer to enjoy a seaside trail, a football game, or simply a good conversation. This book is, of course, for them.



Introduction: Bodies and Buildings in Motion Kimberley Skelton

Abstract Since antiquity, motion had been a key means of designing and describing the physical environment. During the sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries, however, individuals across Europe increasingly designed, experienced, and discussed a new world of motion – one characterized by continuous, rather than segmented, movement. This chapter examines the shift from segmented to continuous motion in order to establish the architectural and cultural historical context for the following eight essays. It considers how architects and other authors stressed ever more putting individuals in motion through new types of built spaces and through new approaches to architectural treatises and guidebooks, while writers in other discourses encompassing science, medicine, and philosophy debated movements at all scales from the heliocentric universe to vibrating atoms. Keywords: choreography, motion, human body, building, Baroque

As early eighteenth-century readers perused the first volume of Paul Decker’s Fürstliche Baumeister, oder Architectura civilis, they encountered an unexpected invitation: they were encouraged to imagine moving through a hypothetical princely palace. From the title of ‘Fürstliche Baumeister’, or ‘Princely Master Builder’, they knew that Decker would be offering them advice on good design – advice useful for a ‘master builder’ – and so would have expected the usual outline of design principles followed by various sample designs. These sequences of sample designs assumed a motionless reader who surveyed an overall structure, for each design was placed on a single page or half-page. On a page from the Italian Sebastiano Serlio’s Tutte l’opere d’architettura, et prospettiva of 1584, for instance, it is easy to evaluate the overall designs of two palaces since their façades and plans are aligned; one can compare how windows are placed across the exterior and illuminate the

Skelton, K. (ed.), Early Modern Spaces in Motion: Design, Experience, and Rhetoric. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2021 doi 10.5117/9789463725811_intro

14

Kimberley Skelton

1. Sebastiano Serlio, Palace façades and plans, from Tutte l’opere d’architettura, et prospetiva, 1584. Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University.

Introduc tion: Bodies and Buildings in Motion 

15

interior (Figure 1). Only authors of guidebooks led readers on tours of buildings to point out notable features and objects, and these buildings were built structures, in contrast to Decker’s hypothetical palace. From the very first pages of his book, however, Decker suggests that his invitation to motion through a hypothetical palace is an effective, alternative approach to learning about good design. In his letter to the reader, he explains that his volume is the first of five examining building types from churches to hospitals and so implies a sweeping survey of ‘civil architecture’ that would be useful to a court architect.1 Across the following descriptive list of engravings and across the engravings themselves, readers learn that they both perform the overall analysis usually invited by an architectural volume and walk around like admiring tourists. Decker opens his sequence of engravings with plans, an elevation, and sections familiar from architectural volumes but also includes a perspectival bird’s-eye view of the palace with strolling visitors.2 For the interior, Decker then describes one room after another and offers sequences of engravings showing the walls and ceiling of each room – encouraging readers to imagine walking through the palace, turning around in each room, and bending backwards to look overhead.3 There are still some cues to analysing design principles since a plan of each room precedes the wall elevations and the wall elevations themselves often include a half-plan. Yet these cues seem pushed to the margins – only one engraving for the plan, in contrast to two to five for walls and ceiling, and only a half-plan squeezed into the bottom of the wall elevation (Figure 2). The content of both the text describing each engraving and of the engraving itself, moreover, encourages the attitude of an admiring tourist. In the text describing walls and ceiling, Decker includes information that one might expect from a guidebook, such as the iconography of a ceiling fresco. 4 In the engravings, wall surfaces are often crowded with details that can be playfully illusionistic and so resist precise analysis. At the centre of the garden wall of the central receiving room, for example, a canopy curves outwards and is twisted into knots at its ends so that it is difficult to understand how far the canopy projects forward relative to the column capitals. On the one hand, Decker’s volume could simply be a playful book to entertain the well-educated readers who would be likely to purchase it and thus a useful tool for advertising his own skill in building design and engraving. The ‘Princely Master Builder’ of the title could describe Decker himself since he had become court architect for Theodor von Sulzbach of Pfalzgraf in 1708 and, at the time of publishing 1 2 3 4

Decker, ‘Vorrede des Inventoris’ (n. p.). Ibid., p. 1 of list of engravings, Plates 1-8. Ibid., pp. 1-5 of list of engravings, Plates 9-59. For instance: Ibid., pp. 1-4 of list of engravings, Plates 10, 13, 18, 24, and 41.

16

Kimberley Skelton

2. Paul Decker, Garden wall of the central receiving room in a princely palace, from Fürstlicher Baumeister, oder Architectura civilis, 1711. Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University.

this book, was employed as building inspector by Margrave Georg Wilhelm.5 That is, Fürstliche Baumeister could imply the type of design that Decker might execute were he given a commission; readers could see a completed building, even including interpretations of ceiling frescoes. On the other hand, while motion was an unusual strategy for an architectural volume, it could also be an especially effective means of instruction. By putting readers in motion so that they see first one space and then another, Decker firmly controls what readers analyse. In the sequence of engravings for each room, readers confront isolated sets of questions – for instance, considering the symmetrical arrangement of windows and doors in each room plan before examining the articulation of a single wall surface in each elevation. Likewise, because Decker includes only entertaining rooms in his tour and shows household rooms simply in the overall palace plans, readers are forced to focus on the main entertaining rooms, the spaces especially significant for patrons seeking to showcase their wealth and 5 Reuther.

Introduc tion: Bodies and Buildings in Motion 

17

social status to their guests. For Decker’s approach to successfully encourage readers to reflect on good design, however, they needed to step back from his beguiling tour to recognize that his invitation to motion was also a carefully choreographed rhetorical technique for conveying design advice. As this volume will reveal, Decker was in fact addressing readers experiencing, and so conscious of, a world ever more characterized by continuous yet controlled motion.

Bounded Motion before the Sixteenth Century Stretching back to antiquity, there had been clear connections between buildings and motion; until the early sixteenth century, however, there was a guarded ambivalence about motion, which could be both beneficial and risky. The ancient Roman Vitruvius had advised that architects should design green spaces in cities to offer areas for healthy exercise but had also warned that cities should be oriented to block unhealthy winds from entering the pores of human bodies and then disrupting the healthy balance of the humours.6 Likewise, the fifteenth-century Italian Leon Battista Alberti recommended that human motion be carefully bounded to assure physical safety. A flight of stairs should be no more than seven or nine steps so that the weak and ill could rest periodically to avoid undue exertion and so that anyone falling could be stopped swiftly.7 Human perception and the natural world were likewise characterized by bounded motion. One perceived an object, philosophers argued, because it sent out a likeness, or species, suited to each human sense organ. After a species penetrated the appropriate organ, it traversed the human body and produced a tangible reaction when it reached a destination. For instance, if a species penetrated to the heart, the seat of the passions, it would produce an emotional response.8 In his Physics, Aristotle explained how the physical world was filled with three types of motion from one point to another: qualitative, quantitative, and spatial change.9 An object would move whether it changed colour from red to white or whether it was transported from one town to another along a road. Across daily experience, individuals could also observe tangibly how their lives were composed of segments of motion. Political and religious processions, occurring on various days throughout the year, moved between points in a city. Inhabitants of French cities could watch as the French monarch stopped outside a city gate to receive a welcome from municipal officials, while citizens of Padua would watch, or 6 Vitruvius, pp. 18-19, 155-157. 7 Alberti, p. 31. 8 Park, pp. 471-472; Panaccio, pp. 347-450. 9 Aristotle, Physics, pp. 39, 89-92; Jaynes, p. 219; Trifogli, pp. 268-272; Thijssen, p. 281.

18

Kimberley Skelton

even participate in, an Annunciation Day procession as it moved from the cathedral to the Palazzo della Ragione to the ancient Roman Arena amphitheatre.10 Audiences too would see participants appear and disappear around street or building corners. Inside houses, at a smaller scale, predictable social interactions relied on bounded motion; owners allowed guests to penetrate into their houses only so far depending on social status. Guests of English country houses, for instance, could range from wandering poor to gentle and noble families, but wandering poor turned left into the buttery immediately beyond the house entrance and penetrated no further, while elite guests often walked through a sequence of entertaining rooms.11 Despite the seeming safety of such contained motion, there were reiterated warnings that movement nevertheless needed to be choreographed in order to assure a comprehensible, harmonious world. Human perception itself required this synchrony. While each moment of perception had a clear beginning and end, from a species being sent out to its reaching a destination inside the human body, one might not later be able to recall that moment of perception without choreographed mental movements. When the human mind remembered, Aristotle explained, one memory would trigger another memory with which it was frequently associated, but the triggered memory might not be what one sought.12 Trying to recall the bark of a dog, one might instead remember where the dog stood to bark if one had called to mind more often one’s memory of the dog’s location. So that one could predictably find a memory such as the dog’s bark, rhetorical theorists recommended that one imagine moving through an image or a landscape and storing memories at various points; one could re-imagine these movements to reconstruct one’s memories in reliable sequences.13 At the larger scale of daily life, movements on city streets needed to be synchronized to ensure that pedestrians could walk in safety. When individuals inside houses dumped unwanted objects or liquids out of windows, they could injure pedestrians passing below – including burning pedestrians with scalding water. To avert such injuries, cities legislated that anyone inside a house had to warn anyone below before dumping so that pedestrians could stop walking; otherwise, the person dumping faced a potential court case and substantial compensation if the pedestrian sustained an injury.14 Until the sixteenth century, in both theory and lived experience, individuals designed and encountered segments of bounded motion and also choreographed that motion to assure the comprehensibility and even safety of their daily environments. 10 Murphy, pp. 24-61, 73-74, 223; Schwarz, pp. 39-44. For an overview of types of urban processions, see Jackson and Nevola. 11 Skelton, Paradox of Body, pp. 26-27. 12 Aristotle, De sensu and De memoria, pp. 111-113. 13 Yates; Draaisma, pp. 24-27, 39-41; Bolzoni, pp. 212-259; Carruthers, p. 179. 14 Jütte, pp. 132-138.

Introduc tion: Bodies and Buildings in Motion 

19

Continuous Choreographed Motion from the Sixteenth Century During the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries, the period under consideration in this volume, such segments of motion merged into more continuous and more physical processes of motion. Architectural authors newly advised their readers to adjust building design in order to assure comfortable and harmonious motion by users. The sixteenth-century French Philibert de l’Orme and the seventeenth-century Italian Vincenzo Scamozzi explained how to calibrate proportions of doors for easy movement through them. De l’Orme warned that doors should be tall enough so that one did not bang one’s head, while Scamozzi averred that the main door of a house should be wide enough for two people to pass through together without bumping into each other.15 Even movement along staircases, which Alberti had broken into flights of seven or nine steps, was to be more continuous and comfortable. The sixteenth-century Italian Andrea Palladio specified flights of eleven to thirteen steps, advised that stairs should be broad enough to avoid people colliding, and also recommended that stair risers be low enough to minimize fatigue of one’s legs.16 Half a century later, the seventeenth-century English Sir Henry Wotton reiterated Palladio’s advice.17 Sustained motion through built spaces was even so accepted that it became a sporadic rhetoric for describing house plans. The sixteenth-century Italian Sebastiano Serlio as well as Andrea Palladio and the seventeenth-century German Joseph Furttenbach scattered verbs of motion across their explanations of plans to evoke transitions between rooms; ‘one comes’ from one space into another, wrote Furttenbach frequently.18 Across the following two centuries, motion became an ever more pervasive rhetoric for presenting both built and hypothetical spaces. Beginning in the early seventeenth century, authors wrote books devoted to single buildings; readers were led on a tour of a building to point out notable features and objects. Imagined motion too became a means of conveying civic or national identity, as authors later in the century started to publish books offering views of cities and key national sites that suggested a curious tourist – from Giovanni Battista Falda’s street-level views of Rome to the bird’s-eye views of Britannia illustrata (Figure 3).19 In the wake 15 L’Orme, p. 248v; Scamozzi, vol. 1, p. 319. For a similar concern over people not colliding as they moved through a house interior, see Serlio, vol. 2, pp. 256, 374. 16 Palladio, p. 66. 17 Wotton, pp. 57-58. 18 ‘kompt man’; see, for instance, Furttenbach, Architectura civilis, pp. 4, 53, 55, 64, 66; Furttenbach, Architectura privata, pp. 16, 17, 19. Examples from Serlio and Palladio include: Serlio, vol. 2, pp. 170-228, 282-342, 352-384; Palladio, pp. 84-88, 100-106, 119, 142, 150. 19 Falda; Kip and Knyff; Arnold, pp. 31-33; Clayton; Skelton, Paradox of Body, pp. 103-108. As an early example of a guidebook, see Torrigio.

20

Kimberley Skelton

3. Giovanni Battista Falda, Piazza del Popolo, from Il nuovo teatro delle fabriche, et edificii, in prospettiva di Roma moderna, sotto il felice pontificato di N. S. Papa Alessandro VII, vol. 1, 1665. The Huntington Library, San Marino, California, RB 433833.

of these guidebooks, not only Paul Decker but also subsequent eighteenth-century architects transformed building advice into guided tours. Nicolas Le Camus de Mézières led readers through the main entertaining spaces of a French house, and Claude-Nicolas Ledoux explained his town of Chaux and its site by narrating his own sensory experiences and emotional responses on an imagined visit – for instance, noting his fear inspired by the salt mines.20 In daily life, individuals experienced how built spaces choreographed their movements and corresponding behaviour. Wealthy guests entering the entertaining rooms of elite houses increasingly encountered vistas through doors and windows that invited physical motion of one’s body across the interior and imagined motion of one’s eye to the horizon. Such seemingly limitless expanses could hold, and so focus, the attention of guests to keep them concentrated on interactions with each other instead of wandering physically or mentally into adjoining spaces. Pioneered in Giuliano da Sangallo’s fifteenth-century Poggio a Caiano, these long views became popular in sixteenth-century Italian villas and then in the houses of chillier northern Europe during the seventeenth century.21 Architects also designed new types of spaces to guide the movements of users. In the reading rooms of libraries, 20 Le Camus de Mézières, pp. 109-136; Ledoux, pp. 43-82. 21 Middleton; Skelton, Paradox of Body.

Introduc tion: Bodies and Buildings in Motion 

21

for instance, bookshelves had once projected perpendicularly from walls to create secluded niches for study, but, during the seventeenth century, these shelves began to line library walls to offer open spaces where movements of readers could be watched to assure correct behaviour.22 Architects, patrons, and users designed, discussed, and experienced these environments of choreographed motion in a world where continuous motion was increasingly pervasive from the largest scale of the entire universe to the smallest scale of daily objects. Following Nicolaus Copernicus’s De revolutionibus orbium coelestium libri sex of 1543, well-educated readers knew that the very ground on which they stood was perpetually moving; the Earth was not motionless, as philosophers since antiquity had asserted, but instead orbited around the sun according to specific laws of motion.23 These laws of motion, subsequent scientists from Galileo to Newton argued, governed even objects of daily life so that the entire world followed the same patterns of motion.24 There was even motion at invisibly small scales, for Robert Hooke and other late seventeenth-century scientists newly explained how atoms vibrated at regular rates inside objects to produce the dimensions with which humans were familiar.25 Alongside these expanded scientific discussions of motion, individuals had repeated evidence of intensified global circulation of information and goods. Books described colonial explorations to reveal formerly unknown plants, animals, and indigenous populations.26 In addition, new products appeared from these colonial territories as well as from Asia, including tobacco, cotton textiles, tea, and coffee. During the sixteenth century, these products were available primarily to elite consumers, but by the seventeenth century, cheaper prices assured accessibility to a wide group of purchasers.27 At the same time, human perception became itself described more in terms of continuous physical processes. From the sixteenth century, the well-established species theory of perception stood alongside growing familiarity with Aristotle’s argument that perception was grounded in sensory vibrations.28 De anima, where Aristotle set out his theory, became required reading for most university undergraduates during the sixteenth century, and at least seven new translations appeared – three times as many as in the previous century.29 According to Aristotle, 22 Skelton, ‘Malleable Early Modern Reader’; see also the essay by James Campbell in this volume. 23 Copernicus; Shapin, pp. 20-30. 24 Galilei; Newton; Shapin, pp. 15-19, 61-64; Westfall, pp. 3-24, 139-159. 25 Hooke, pp. 7-9; Kargon. 26 Fuller; Armstrong; Hamann, pp. 20-24. 27 Vries, pp. 712-715, 722. 28 On the continuing importance of species theory until the early seventeenth century, see Park, p. 481; Black, p. 345. On the rising sixteenth-century interest in Aristotle, see Vasoli, pp. 69-70. 29 Copenhaver, pp. 79-80; Park and Kessler, pp. 456, 458.

22

Kimberley Skelton

humans perceived objects and events because particles in air or another medium produced vibrations in the corresponding sense organ; one heard, for instance, when objects collided to agitate particles that then changed the movements of particles in one’s ears.30 Sixteenth-century commentators on De anima even intensified Aristotle’s emphasis on physical motion by adding details of anatomical processes to their commentaries.31 Across the seventeenth century, René Descartes and other mechanistic philosophers extended Aristotle’s theory throughout the entire human body; particle vibrations produced in a sense organ travelled via the nerves to the human brain, which was then pulled towards the object or event that had caused the vibrations.32 By the turn of the eighteenth century, philosophers were discussing how motion was innate to the human mind and so how synchronized motion was essential to comprehending the world. John Locke and then others averred that humans could perceive only events or objects that moved at the same speed as the sequence of thoughts perpetually coursing through their minds. If an event occurred too quickly, one would not notice it, and if it occurred too slowly, one might observe the first part of the event but have turned to new thoughts and observations by the time that the event had concluded.33 As the human body and the world became thus conceived so wholly in terms of motion, authors across discourses increasingly considered choreographed movements the most reliable means of assuring a predictable and even physically safe environment. Before mechanistic theories of perception, philosophers and authors of etiquette manuals had assumed that individuals would use reason to rein in their emotions. The senses might spark specific emotions, but humans could reflect on different possible actions and then decide how to respond to an event.34 Descartes and other mechanistic philosophers, however, transformed emotional response into biological processes that humans could not interrupt. The same sensory and neural vibrations that conveyed information to the brain also sparked one emotion or another, Descartes argued, by sending spirits in the brain through specific sequences of pores.35 Consequently, the only way to assure that social interactions did not dissolve into chaotic unpredictability as individuals reacted impulsively to their emotions was to choreograph the movements of these spirits in the brain.36 30 Aristotle, De anima, pp. 169-178. 31 Park, pp. 481-482. 32 Descartes, Treatise of Man, pp. 33-34, 59-65; Descartes, ‘Optics’, pp. 67-68, 87-91. For discussion by subsequent philosophers, see Locke, p. 47; Fournier, p. 114. 33 Locke, pp. 84-86; Thiel, p. 301. 34 Wright; Skelton, Paradox of Body, pp. 34-35. 35 Descartes, Passions, pp. 40, 44, 50; James, pp. 1358-1396. For a similar, slightly later account, see Tesauro, pp. 528-529, 535-536. 36 Tully, pp. 23, 55; James, pp. 1379-1380.

Introduc tion: Bodies and Buildings in Motion 

23

Descartes explained that one could accustom the spirits in one’s brain to moving through a particular sequence of pores in response to an object by associating that object repeatedly with other activities producing the desired emotion.37 For instance, repeatedly experiencing a dinner food in the context of happy gatherings would ensure that spirits in one’s brain would move through the pores prompting happiness; one would then feel happy whenever one saw that food. During the eighteenth century, choreographed motion became the primary means of avoiding disease. Since antiquity, physicians had ascribed disease to local environmental factors – especially miasmas that would arise from marshes or from cadavers and that would then enter one’s body via respiration or the winds passing through a city.38 As a result, there were sustained attempts to manipulate human motion in order to preserve health primarily in extreme cases such as outbreaks of plague. To prevent ongoing spread of a plague, cities legislated to restrict the movement of residents, including stipulating that inhabitants of a house where an individual had fallen ill could not open their house door and could receive necessary food only through the narrower opening of a window.39 Eighteenth-century doctors, however, argued that the cause of any disease – even the common influenza – was unrestrained motion rather than localized factors; they explained that the small particles of germs passed from an ill individual to a healthy individual so that the healthy individual too fell ill. Simply to maintain one’s health on a daily basis, then, regulation of motion was important; if one were to stay healthy, one needed to consider consistently movements of other people even beyond a specific city. 40 From the sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries, individuals across Europe were designing, experiencing, and learning about designed spaces via choreographed motion as controlled motion more broadly – from their own bodies to the universe itself – became the foundation of a predictable and even safe environment.

Early Modern Motion in Historiographical Perspective By exploring such sixteenth- through eighteenth-century intersections of architectural, scientific, philosophical, and social choreography of motion, Early Modern Spaces in Motion highlights and examines the often tacit yet widespread scholarly acknowledgement of intensifying early modern connections among buildings, bodies and motion. 37 Descartes, Passions, pp. 47-49. 38 DeLacy, pp. 81-83; Jouanna, pp. 126-128. 39 Slack, pp. 441-443. 40 DeLacy, p. 84.

24

Kimberley Skelton

A few studies have discussed, as does Early Modern Spaces in Motion, the cultural historical assumptions underpinning these connections. Robin Evans’s ‘Figures, Doors, Passages’ essay sets planning of circulation through the domestic interior in the context of notions of privacy and physical intimacy.41 My own Paradox of Body, Building and Motion in Seventeenth-Century England considers the long vista and its invitation to physical and imagined motion in English houses alongside contemporaneous social, philosophical, and scientific regrounding of human experience in motion.42 More frequently, however, the intensifying early modern emphasis on buildings and bodies in motion appears tacitly and separately in art, architectural, and cultural history. Across their studies, historians have evoked the two aspects of motion key to Early Modern Spaces in Motion: bodies in motion and movement of the environment itself. The art historian Michael Baxandall, for instance, has evoked the increasing emphasis on a viewer’s moving body by shifting his terms for describing the viewer. He used the notion of the ‘period eye’, which evoked a motionless viewer looking at an object, for fifteenth-century Italy and fifteenth- as well as early sixteenth-century Germany. 43 To describe the experience of Giambattista Tiepolo’s eighteenth-century frescoes, in contrast, Baxandall and Svetlana Alpers turned to the phrase ‘mobile viewer’.44 David Ganz and Stefan Neuner have made explicit the historical basis for Baxandall’s shift in terminology, noting a new emphasis on motion in sixteenth-century art and architectural writings as they surveyed mobile viewing from medieval to early modern Europe. 45 Architectural historians likewise have put viewers more in motion when they study buildings designed after, rather than before, the seventeenth century. The hypothetical viewer of Marvin Trachtenberg’s fourteenth-century Florentine piazza, for instance, walks through the city but stops to observe the piazza from its entrance, while the users of the seventeenth-century state apartments and Roman palaces explored by Hugh Murray Baillie and Patricia Waddy walk through sequences of interior rooms. 46 Sociologists and cultural historians, in their turn, have examined how choreographing human gestures was increasingly key to regulating early modern behaviour. Michel Foucault traced his theory of the ‘docile body’, the notion that humans can be trained to move in specific sequences of actions, to the seventeenth 41 Evans. 42 Skelton, Paradox of Body. 43 Baxandall, Painting and Experience, pp. 29-108; Baxandall, Limewood Sculptors, pp. 143-163. 44 Alpers and Baxandall. 45 Ganz and Neuner, pp. 14-15. 46 Trachtenberg, p. 20; Baillie; Waddy. For a similar pre-sixteenth-century study of staccato motion through built spaces, see Georges Didi-Huberman’s discussion of approaching Fra Angelico’s fifteenth-century Annunciation fresco at the Florentine S. Marco. Didi-Huberman, pp. 11-26. For similar seventeenth- and eighteenth-century studies, see Girouard, pp. 194-212; Upton, pp. 199-218.

Introduc tion: Bodies and Buildings in Motion 

25

century. 47 Subsequently, cultural historians have expanded the ‘docile body’ to encompass the sixteenth century and to explore a range of behaviour patterns, including theatrical performances. 48 Less frequently, though in a wide range of contexts from stylistic to economic analysis, scholars have put the environment itself in motion. The very term of the ‘Baroque’ has long presumed an environment in motion. The nineteenth-century Heinrich Wölfflin defined the ‘Baroque’ as characterized by imperfection evocative of change and incipient motion, in contrast to perfect Renaissance permanence. And the philosopher Gilles Deleuze has since defined the ‘Baroque’ as a perpetual process of folding and unfolding. 49 More recently, art and cultural historians have examined how the literal motion of objects circulating through international trading routes can be used to frame political and artistic identities – from the Spanish Philip IV to the American artist John Singleton Copley.50 Early Modern Spaces in Motion merges these various disciplinary approaches to considering mobile bodies and mobile environments by reconstructing a cultural historical portrait of the assumptions underlying the rising links among bodies, buildings, and motion. The volume begins in the early sixteenth century to reveal the roots of changes that became especially marked by the seventeenth century, and it extends throughout Europe (Britain, France, German-speaking lands, Italy, Portugal, Spain, and the Netherlands) to evoke shared international attitudes towards motion as well as regional variations. In addition, the essays gathered here consider motion in a range of contexts: across disciplines from art and architectural history to Classics and English, across building types encompassing houses, prisons, religious complexes, and libraries, and across printed sources including guidebooks and magazines. The first seven essays offer case studies that set the roles of motion in shaping behaviour, attitudes, or identities alongside contemporaneous assumptions about motion in other discourses. Chriscinda Henry considers first how palace decoration at the early sixteenth-century Castello del Buonconsiglio created a route to guide visitors through shifting types of behaviour across interior and exterior entertaining spaces. Nicole Bensoussan then examines how such choreographed courtly motion and behaviour became the means of fashioning political identity and diplomatic negotiation from the very threshold of Francis I’s sixteenth-century Fontainebleau. In the third essay, Gašper Jakovac argues that choreographed motion also provided social defence as late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century Catholic families 47 48 49 50

Foucault, pp. 135-169. Roodenburg; Ravelhofer. Wölfflin, pp. 38, 58; Deleuze; Hills, esp. pp. 11-38, 203-217. Roberts; Hamann.

26

Kimberley Skelton

in England manipulated motion to defend their homes and themselves against the violent movements of house searches. My essay then considers how choreographed motion became even a means of social reform from the mid-seventeenth century; I examine Roman prison design that manipulated physical and sensory motions of juvenile delinquents, culminating in Carlo Fontana’s early eighteenth-century Casa di Correzione. Freek Schmidt explores how this connection of choreographed motion and social behaviour was so accepted by the mid-eighteenth century that rooms devoted entirely to processional staircases were inserted into Amsterdam canal houses. The essays of Edmund Thomas and Jocelyn Anderson turn to larger-scale international motions across the eighteenth century as motion became ever more established and desirable. Edmund Thomas reveals that imagined motion – virtual tours offered by printed French guidebooks – offered a rhetorical technique for conveying information about a little known and far distant site, the ancient Roman complex at Baalbek. Discussing tours of London in the late eighteenth-century Royal Magazine, Jocelyn Anderson transfers the tour to a new medium – the magazine – and correspondingly showcases how this rhetorical technique of imagined motion could strategically craft, even recast, civic identity for a broad socioeconomic and global audience. As the concluding chapter of this volume, James Campbell’s study of libraries turns to broader chronological, geographical, and thematic frameworks that tie together the various strands of inquiry from the seven case studies. Campbell examines libraries across the fifteenth- to eighteenth-centuries, across Europe from Portugal to German-speaking lands, and across the themes of people moving through buildings and buildings themselves being in motion. Together, these eight essays thus chart the shifting attitudes and techniques by which motion became an increasingly established means for constructing, describing, experiencing, and regulating the social and physical environment from the early sixteenth to the late eighteenth centuries.

Works Cited Primary Printed Sources Alberti, Leon Battista. On the Art of Building in Ten Books. Translated by Joseph Rykwert, Neil Leach, and Robert Tavernor. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1988. Aristotle. De anima (On the Soul). Translated by Hugh Lawson-Tancred. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 1986. Aristotle. De sensu and De memoria. Translated and edited by G. R. T. Ross. New York: Arno Press, 1973.

Introduc tion: Bodies and Buildings in Motion 

27

Aristotle. Physics. Translated and edited by C. D. C. Reeve. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 2018. Copernicus, Nicolaus. On the Revolutions of Heavenly Spheres. Translated by Charles Glenn Wallis. New York: Prometheus Books, 1995. Decker, Paul. Fürstlicher Baumeister, oder Architectura civilis. Vol. 1 of 3 vols. Augsburg: Jeremias Woff, 1711. Descartes, René. ‘Optics’. In Discourse on Method, Optics, Geometry, and Meteorology. Translated by Paul J. Olscamp. New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1965. 65-73. Descartes, René. Treatise of Man. Translated and edited by Thomas Steele Hall. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972. Descartes, René. The Passions of the Soul. Translated by Stephen H. Voss. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1989. Falda, Giovanni Battista. Il nuovo teatro delle fabriche, et edificii, in prospettiva di Roma moderna, sotto il felice pontificato di N. S. Papa Alessandro VII. Rome, 1665. Furttenbach, Joseph. Architectura civilis. Das ist: Eigentlich Beschreibung wie man nach bester Form und gerechter Regul fürs erste: Pallast. Ulm: Jonas Saurn, 1628. Furttenbach, Joseph. Architectura privata. Das ist: Gründtliche Beschreibung neben conterfetischer Vorstellung inn was Form und Manier ein gar irregular, burgerliches Wohnhauβ. Augsburg: Johann Schultes, 1641. Galilei, Galileo. Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems. Translated and edited by Stillman Drake. New York: Random House, Inc., 2001. Hooke, Robert. Lectures De Potentia Restitutiva, or Of Spring Explaining the Power of Springing Bodies. London: John Martyn, 1678. Kip, Johannes, and Leonard Knyff. Britannia illustrata. Edited by John Harris and Gervase Jackson-Stops. Bungay: The Paradigm Press, 1984. L’Orme, Philibert de. Le premier tome de l’architecture. Paris: Federic Morel, 1567. Le Camus de Mézières, Nicolas. The Genius of Architecture; or, The Analogy of That Art with Our Sensations. Translated by David Britt. Santa Monica: The Getty Center for the History of Art and the Humanities, 1992. Ledoux, Claude-Nicolas. L’architecture considérée sous le rapport de l’art des moeurs et de la législation. Paris: H. L. Perroneau, 1804. Locke, John. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Edited by Roger Woolhouse. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 2004. Newton, Isaac. The Principia: Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy. Translated by I. Bernard Cohen and Anne Whitman. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. Palladio, Andrea. The Four Books on Architecture. Translated by Robert Tavernor and Richard Schofield. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1998. Scamozzi, Vincenzo. L’idea della architettura universale. 1615. Reprint: Vicenza: Centro Internazionale di Studi di Architettura Andrea Palladio, 1997.

28

Kimberley Skelton

Serlio, Sebastiano. Tutte l’opere d’architettura, et prospetiva. Venice: Francesco de’ Franceschi, 1584. Serlio, Sebastiano. Sebastiano Serlio on Architecture. Translated by Vaughan Hart and Peter Hicks. 2 vols. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996. Tesauro, Emanuele. La filosofia morale derivata dall’alto fonte del grande Aristotele Stagirita. Macerata: Giuseppe Piccini, 1681. Torrigio, Francesco Maria. Le sacre grotte vaticane nelle quali si tratta di corpi santi, sepolchri de’ pont. imperatori, rè, cardinali, vescovi, chiese, statue, imagini, inscrittioni. Rome: Vitale Mascardi, 1639. Vitruvius. The Ten Books on Architecture. Translated by Morris Hicky Morgan. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1960. Wotton, Henry. The Elements of Architecture. London: John Bull, 1624. Wright, Thomas. The Passions of the Mind in Generall. London: Valentine Simmes, 1604.

Secondary Sources Alpers, Svetlana, and Michael Baxandall. Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996. Armstrong, Catherine. Writing North America in the Seventeenth Century: English Representations in Print and Manuscript. Burlington: Ashgate, 2007. Arnold, Dana. ‘The Country House and Its Publics’. In The Georgian Country House: Architecture, Landscape and Society. Edited by Dana Arnold. Stroud: Sutton Publishing Limited, 1998. 20-42. Baillie, Hugh Murray. ‘Etiquette and the Planning of the State Apartments in Baroque Palaces’. Archaeologia 101 (1967): 169-199. Baxandall, Michael. Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. Baxandall, Michael. The Limewood Sculptors of Renaissance Germany. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1995. Black, Deborah L. ‘The Nature of Intellect’. In The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Edited by Robert Pasnau and Christina van Dyke. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 320-345. Bolzoni, Lina. The Gallery of Memory: Literary and Iconographic Models in the Age of the Printing Press. Translated by Jeremy Parzen. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2001. Carruthers, Mary. The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Clayton, Tim. ‘Publishing Houses: Prints of Country Seats’. In The Georgian Country House: Architecture, Landscape and Society. Edited by Dana Arnold. Stroud: Sutton Publishing Limited, 1998. 43-60.

Introduc tion: Bodies and Buildings in Motion 

29

Copenhaver, Brian P. ‘Translation, Terminology and Style in Philosophical Discourse’. In The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Edited by Charles B. Schmitt, Quentin Skinner, and Eckhard Kessler. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. 77-110. DeLacy, Margaret. ‘The Conceptualization of Influenza in Eighteenth-Century Britain: Specificity and Contagion’. Bulletin of the History of Medicine 67, no. 1 (Spring 1993): 74-118. Deleuze, Gilles. The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque. Translated by Tom Conley. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993. Didi-Huberman, Georges. Confronting Images: Questioning the Ends of a Certain History of Art. Translated by John Goodman. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2005. Draaisma, Douwe. Metaphors of Memory: A History of Ideas About the Mind. Translated by Paul Vincent. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Evans, Robin. ‘Figures, Doors, Passages’. In Translations from Drawing to Building and Other Essays. By Robin Evans. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1997. 54-91. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: Random House, Inc., 1977. Fournier, Marian. The Fabric of Life: Microscopy in the Seventeenth Century. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996. Fuller, Mary C. Voyages in Print: English Travel to America, 1576-1624. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Ganz, David, and Stefan Neuner. ‘Peripatetisches Sehen in den Bildkulturen der Vormoderne. Zur Einführung’. In Mobile Eyes. Peripatetisches Sehen in den Bildkulturen der Vormoderne. Edited by David Ganz and Stefan Neuner. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink, 2013. 8-58. Girouard, Mark. Life in the English Country House: A Social and Architectural History. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1978. Hamann, Byron Ellsworth. ‘The Mirrors of Las Meninas: Cochineal, Silver, and Clay’. The Art Bulletin 92 (March-June 2010): 6-36. Hills, Helen, ed. Rethinking the Baroque. Burlington: Ashgate, 2011. Jackson, Philippa, and Fabrizio Nevola, eds. ‘Beyond the Palio: Urbanism and Ritual in Renaissance Siena’. Renaissance Studies 20, no. 2 (April 2006): 137-200. James, Susan. ‘Reason, the Passions, and the Good Life’. In The Cambridge History of Seventeenth-Century Philosophy. Edited by Daniel Garber and Michael Ayers. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. 1358-1396. Jaynes, Julian. ‘The Problem of Animate Motion in the Seventeenth Century’. Journal of the History of Ideas 31, no. 2 (April-June 1970): 219-234. Jouanna, Jacques. Greek Medicine from Hippocrates to Galen. Translated by Neil Allies and edited by Philip van der Eijk. Leiden: Brill, 2012. Jütte, Daniel. ‘Smashed Panes and “Terrible Showers”: Windows, Violence, and Honor in the Early Modern City’. West 86th: A Journal of Decorative Arts, Design History, and Material Culture 22, no. 2 (Fall-Winter 2015): 131-156.

30

Kimberley Skelton

Kargon, Robert Hugh. Atomism in England from Hariot to Newton. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966. Middleton, Robin. ‘Enfilade – die Raumfolge in den französischen Hôtels des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts/Enfilade – The Spatial Sequence in French Hôtels of the 17 th and 18th Centuries’. Daidalos no. 42 (15 December 1991): 84-95. Murphy, Neil. Ceremonial Entries, Municipal Liberties and the Negotiation of Power in Valois France, 1328-1589. Leiden: Brill, 2016. Panaccio, Claude. ‘Mental Representation’. In The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Edited by Robert Pasnau and Christina van Dyke. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 346-356. Park, Katharine. ‘The Organic Soul’. In The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Edited by Charles B. Schmitt, Quentin Skinner, and Eckhard Kessler. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. 464-484. Park, Katharine, and Eckhard Kessler. ‘The Concept of Psychology’. In The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Edited by Charles B. Schmitt, Quentin Skinner, and Eckhard Kessler. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. 455-463. Ravelhofer, Barbara. The Early Stuart Masque: Dance, Costume, and Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Roberts, Jennifer L. ‘Copley’s Cargo: Boy with a Squirrel and the Dilemma of Transit’. American Art 21, no. 2 (Summer 2007): 20-41. Roodenburg, Herman. The Eloquence of the Body: Perspectives on Gesture in the Dutch Republic. Zwolle: Waanders Publishers, 2004. Schwarz, Michael Viktor. ‘Padua, Its Arena, and the Arena Chapel: A Liturgical Ensemble’. Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 73 (2010): 39-64. Shapin, Steven. The Scientific Revolution. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1996. Skelton, Kimberley. ‘The Malleable Early Modern Reader: Display and Discipline in the Open Reading Room’. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 73, no. 2 (June 2014): 183-204. Skelton, Kimberley. The Paradox of Body, Building and Motion in Seventeenth-Century England. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2015. Slack, Paul. ‘Responses to Plague in Early Modern Europe: The Implications of Public Health’. Social Research 55, no. 3 (Autumn 1988): 433-453. Thiel, Udo. ‘Self-Consciousness and Personal Identity’. In The Cambridge History of Eighteenth-Century Philosophy. Edited by Knud Haakonssen. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. 286-318. Thijssen, Johannes M. M. H. ‘The Nature of Change’. In The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Edited by Robert Pasnau and Christina van Dyke. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 279-290. Trachtenberg, Marvin. Dominion of the Eye: Urbanism, Art, and Power in Early Modern Florence. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008.

Introduc tion: Bodies and Buildings in Motion 

31

Trifogli, Cecilia. ‘Change, Time, and Place’. In The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Edited by Robert Pasnau and Christina van Dyke. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 267-278. Tully, James. ‘Governing Conduct’. In Conscience and Casuistry in Early Modern Europe. Edited by Edmund Leites. Cambridge and Paris: Cambridge University Press and Editions de la Maison des sciences de l’homme, 1988. 12-71. Upton, Dell. Holy Things and Profane: Anglican Parish Churches in Colonial Virginia. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997. Vasoli, Cesare. ‘The Renaissance Conception of Philosophy’. In The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Edited by Charles B. Schmitt, Quentin Skinner, and Eckhard Kessler. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. 57-74. Vries, Jan de. ‘The Limits of Globalization in the Early Modern World’. The Economic History Review: New Series 63, no. 3 (August 2010): 710-733. Waddy, Patricia. Seventeenth-Century Roman Palaces: Use and the Art of the Plan. New York and Cambridge, MA: Architectural History Foundation and The MIT Press, 1990. Westfall, Richard S. The Construction of Modern Science: Mechanisms and Mechanics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Wölfflin, Heinrich. Renaissance and Baroque. Translated by Kathrin Simon. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1964. Yates, Frances. The Art of Memory. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1974.

About the Author Kimberley Skelton is an independent scholar and has held research and teaching posts in the UK and the US. Her research explores intersections of architectural, intellectual, and cultural history, especially involving notions of sensory perception. She has recently published The Paradox of Body, Building and Motion in SeventeenthCentury England.

1.

Navigating the Palace Underworld: Recreational Space, Pleasure, and Release at the Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent Chriscinda Henry

Abstract This essay examines the material ornamentation and poetic description of garden-adjacent recreational spaces in the Magno Palazzo (main palace) of the Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent (1528-1536). Guided by instructions from PrinceBishop Bernardo Cles, a team of sculptors and painters including Dosso Dossi and Girolamo Romanino constructed a complex visual itinerary to orient mobile beholders and choreograph their movement through the newly built palace. Grounded in the precepts of decorum and commensurability, this itinerary was codified in an ekphrastic poem written by Cles’s physician, the naturalist Pietro Andrea Mattioli (published 1539). This essay traces the ways in which words and images prompt psychosensory response, revealing the moral ambivalence associated with marginal and unofficial interior spaces dedicated to refreshment, leisure, and entertainment. Keywords: Girolamo Romanino, Bernardo Cles, Pietro Andrea Mattioli, court culture, Renaissance leisure, artistic itineraries

This essay explores the perception and experience of interior recreational spaces in Renaissance palaces, including the cantina, or wine cellar, and other chambers dedicated to informal dining, refreshment, and entertainment. Through the uniquely well-documented example of the Magno Palazzo, or main palace, of the Castello del Buonconsiglio at Trent, which was constructed in a unified programme of building and ornamentation between 1528 and 1536 for Bernardo Cles, Prince-Bishop of Trent (1484-1539), I trace the cues by which buildings and their decorative ensembles choreograph the apprehension, movement, and activity of individuals. The architectural

Skelton, K. (ed.), Early Modern Spaces in Motion: Design, Experience, and Rhetoric. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2021 doi 10.5117/9789463725811_ch01

34 Chriscinda Henry

features, painted programme, inscriptions, and sculpted ornamentation of the Magno Palazzo work together to articulate an experiential journey through shifting registers of order and decorum, creating a mobilized aesthetic of descent that guides the reception of beholders as they move from the official and public spaces of the palace’s main floor to those more private and secluded spaces dedicated to otium (leisure and productive recreation), including the ground-floor rooms situated at the perimeter of the garden. While all these material elements orient beholders as to the function of given spaces within the hierarchical structure of the palace, the frescoes in particular heighten the beholder’s somatic experience of movement and transition by incorporating psychosensory cues that set and disrupt expectations and prompt response. While Thomas Frangenberg, Laura dal Prà, and Francesca de Gramatica have examined shifts of subject matter, style, and decorum in analyzing the decorative programme of the Magno Palazzo, this essay is the first to focus on how a series of key visual and material markers articulate spatial transitions in relation to mobile acts of witnessing and participation.1 Cles’s Magno Palazzo represents an unusually replete surviving decorative programme at the ‘lowest level’ of palace ornamentation, that associated with the sensual delitie (delights) and diporti (pastimes) connected to nature and gardens. This exploration of the connected spaces of the palace dedicated to leisure, retreat, and recreation compares the surviving decorative programme in fresco, executed by Girolamo Romanino (c. 1484/7-c. 1560) and Marcello Fogolino (c. 1483/8-after 1558) between 1531 and 1533, with elements of the sculpted architectural ornamentation as well as with a long, encomiastic poem in ottava rima written by the Prince-Bishop’s resident court physician, the Sienese doctor and naturalist Pietro Andrea Mattioli (1501-1578). This poem, Il Magno Palazzo del Cardinale di Trento (Venice, 1539), rehearses a guided tour through the medieval castle and recently constructed Renaissance palace and garden which selectively describes the contents and decoration of the various spaces in ekphrastic fashion.2 In his poem, Mattioli rehearses this trajectory of forward motion as an emphatically ocular experience in which his eyes lead the way, as if pulled inexorably forward through the spaces of the palace according to cues provided by the frescoes themselves.3 1 Frangenberg; Prà; Gramatica. 2 The poem was begun in conjunction with the completion of the painted programme for the palace (c. 1532), and a partial manuscript from this early period survives. Mattioli expanded and revised the poem to include the important 1536 visit of Ferdinand I and Anne of Hungary to the castle prior to its publication by Francesco Marcolino in Venice in July 1539. For a modern edition with commentary, see Mattioli; Lupo. 3 A typical example of a phrase Mattioli uses to indicate movement motivated by the fresco decoration of the palace — in this case, that of the Stua grande, or large reception chamber —is: ‘mentre con gli

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

35

Organization of the Decorative Programme The painted programme by Romanino and Fogolino examined here articulates the mobile beholder’s displacement from the official, representative, and residential spaces of the palace’s upper floors to the garden below and to several ground-floor rooms of the palace connected to it, which Cles in his correspondence on the building project refers to as ‘spaces of delight or pleasure’. 4 The visual itinerary articulated by these painters connects two of the primary spaces utilized for courtly entertainments, the Loggia publicha (public loggia) on the palace’s main floor and the garden below, which are connected via a narrow landing and enclosed staircase. At its base on the ground floor, the staircase opens onto the Revolto soto la loza, a large, vaulted chamber located directly beneath the Loggia publicha. Romanino painted the walls and ceilings of all these connected spaces between 1531 and 1532, and Fogolino painted the walls and ceiling of the nearby dining hall adjacent to the cantina and garden around the same time, c. 1532. On his poetic percorso (itinerary) of the palace, Mattioli saves the ground-floor spaces adjacent to the garden and the garden itself for last. After completing a tour of the palace’s upper floors, he and his invited companion, the Veronese humanist Francesco Alighieri, descend the garden staircase to the Revolto, briefly admiring its decoration before passing through the Porta rusticha (rustic portal), so-called for the architectural order it deploys, which provided primary access to the newly designed and cultivated palace garden.5 Following a visit through the ‘superb garden’ with its fountain, grotto, pergola, and various botanical, hydraulic, and mechanical marvels, the two men re-enter the palace via the ground-floor dining hall connected to the cantina, and here their experiential journey through the palace ends, likely with a glass of wine.6 Mattioli’s ekphrastic tour of the Magno Palazzo proves unprecedented in its combined attention to the function and ornamentation of the various palace rooms and paves the way for future published artistic itineraries, such as Giorgio Vasari’s well-known Ragionamenti, which rehearses a guided tour through the pictorial cycle he painted in the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence.7 occhi piu inanzi camino’ (‘meanwhile with my eyes further ahead I walk’, i.e., with my eyes leading the way). Mattioli, octave 331. 4 Dal Prà, using Cles’s own terminology, provides an excellent overview of the uses of ‘gli spazi del diletto’ in the Magno Palazzo according to a rule of decorum iterated by Cles to his soprastanti (works supervisors) in his correspondence. Prà, pp. 57-60. For transcriptions of the original documents see Semper; Ausserer and Gerola. 5 Semper, p. 51. 6 Mattioli the naturalist was particularly proud of the ‘superbo giardino’ he helped Cles to plan and lay out. Mattioli, octave 425. 7 On Vasari’s published itinerary through his painted programme in the Palazzo Vecchio, see Passignat.

36 Chriscinda Henry

However exceptional in its detail, Mattioli’s itinerary does leave out some key aspects of the painted programme in the Magno Palazzo. Perhaps unsurprisingly given its encomiastic and public function, it foregrounds the spaces of official significance, such as the Loggia publicha, chapel, and the Prince-Bishop’s Salla delle udienze (audience hall), while providing only a general account of the ground-floor spaces with limited attention to their more private recreational functions and painted programmes. Thus, while following the order of Mattioli’s tour through these spaces, this essay seeks to ‘correct’ his omissions by emphasizing the decorative programme and visual itinerary created by the architects, painters, and sculptors to guide the palace’s inhabitants and visitors. References to the poetic text occur where they can provide particular insight with regard to the interconnected themes of movement, transition, decorum, and the targeted reception of the architectural ornamentation. The painted decoration of the palace’s connected spaces of delight weaves together several juxtaposed registers of figuration that signal movement from the official, representative, and public spaces of the palace’s main floor to those of more restricted access catering to festivity and courtly pleasures. On one register, the paintings articulate a functional decorum of court hierarchy through the depiction of historical individuals and generic types representative of the social ranks among the palace staff. For example, courtiers play music in a series of lunettes on the walls of the Loggia publicha where actual musical performances took place, while supervisors pay labourers and a buffoon playfully feeds fruit to a pet monkey on the wall of the garden staircase, and a steward samples a glass of wine in a lunette of the cantina dining hall. The appearance of these figures performing their duties within their proper and ‘natural’ palace environments sets a tone of propriety and commensurability considered essential to a well-functioning Renaissance court. It also orients beholders as to the function of different spaces and levels within the palace. The appearance of several such orientation figures at pivotal, liminal junctures on the itinerary — above entranceways, near the top or bottom of staircases — also highlights the transition between distinct domains within the palace infrastructure. Such ‘signal’ figures trigger psychosomatic response, such as laughter at the playful, appropriate pairing of the buffoon (in this case, a ‘natural’, or born, fool) with his simian counterpart or the mouth-watering anticipation of refreshment in response to the steward’s virtual offer of a house vintage. Interspersed with such realistic scenes of people and life at court, a second register of imagery in the decorative programme articulates a trajectory of descent and release connected to nature, physical appetites and activities, and sensual pleasures. This iconographic shift occurs through a heterogeneous mixture of moralizing narratives drawn from the Bible and classical mythology and history, genre scenes, and individual figures of pagan gods and personified virtues and vices.

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

37

In certain places, the two registers of the quotidian and the archetypal intersect in readily apparent ways, such as the close proximity of Venus and Cupid to intimate, mixed-gender groupings of courtiers making music in the lunettes of the Loggia publicha. However, there is no clearly delineated, overarching order to the painted decoration in these parts of the palace that readily connects it, for example, to the iconographic tradition of the Planetenkinder, or children of the planets, in which humans behave according to astrological influence. With regard to the historical beholders who used and passed through the connected indoor and outdoor spaces of delight in the Magno Palazzo, Mattioli’s poem identifies two key groups: those, such as occasional visitors and esteemed guests of honour, who interacted with the palace primarily on official, ceremonial, and festive occasions; and those who utilized it on a more mundane basis. In the first category, the poem highlights the royal visit to the Castello del Buonconsiglio of Ferdinand I of Austria and his wife Anne of Hungary in September 1536. Mattioli dedicates long sections of the poem to describing the temporary lodgings arranged for them in the castle and the various festivities that were staged in their honour. These are woven seamlessly into the pre-established itinerary. The second group of residents and regular visitors was comprised of members of Cles’s court, including his six brothers who helped to rule Trent during his habitual absences, their personal households as well as various courtiers and the large palace staff. Some of these individual residents and habitual visitors — Cles’s personal secretary, the noblemen who supervised the palace works, an architect involved in the building project as well as servants, entertainers, and local peasants — are among those portrayed as ‘living’ images on the walls of the landing, garden staircase, and ground-floor dining hall.

Prince-Bishop Cles and the Articulation of Decorum Prior to addressing patterns of movement through the connected ground-floor spaces of the Revolto, garden, dining hall, and cantina according to the symbolic organization of their ornamentation, it is essential to situate the palace’s spaces of leisure, recreation, and release within the dynamics of Cles’s carefully orchestrated overall plan for the decorative programme of the palace. This was carried out in a unified campaign by the sculptors Alessio Longhi, Zaccaria Zacchi, and Vincenzo Grandi and the painters Dosso and Battista Dossi, in addition to Romanino and Fogolino. Cles built the Magno Palazzo as a large extension of the medieval Castello del Buonconsiglio in part of an ambitious programme of urban renewal in Trent between 1527 and 1536.8 Dosso Dossi, with his pedigree as official painter at the Este 8

On Cles and his building effort at the Castello del Buonconsiglio, see Castelnuovo; Gabrielli.

38 Chriscinda Henry

court in Ferrara, received the primary commission to paint most of the representative and official spaces of the palace — including the chapel, rooms of state, and the Prince-Bishop’s private apartments. Romanino and Fogolino were commissioned at a later date to paint the marginal and less representative spaces of the palace, including the passageways that led to the kitchens and baths, staircases, and courtyards, although Romanino also painted the Prince-Bishop’s audience chamber and the Loggia publicha that faces it across an open courtyard, the Cortile dei Leoni. He additionally frescoed the Andito alla scala, the narrow landing that leads from the Loggia publicha to the staircase that connects the main floor of the palace to both the Prince-Bishop’s private quarters upstairs and the garden and ground-floor rooms below. His decoration of these transitional areas — the Loggia, landing, and stairwell — articulates a concentrated and rapid shift from official to unofficial space within the palace and from duty and ceremonial festivity to more informal and familiar types of recreation. The conceptual framework instantiated in these areas continues throughout the groundfloor spaces, conditioning the historical beholder’s perception of descending to the garden in expectation of refreshment or entertainment as an experience suffused with potential sensory delights. However, it is also peppered with moralizing messages that warn against the human potential for tipping over the threshold into indulgence, excess, and vice, along with the visceral experience of their grave consequences. The overall decoration of the palace is divided according to a rule of functional decorum and convenientia (commensurability), which is clearly iterated by Cles in his copious correspondence with his project supervisors into distinct registers, as he was rarely in residence during the building and renovation programme.9 He identified: ‘the public spaces’, which led from the main gates of the medieval castle to the entrance of the new Renaissance palace and encompassed various courtyards and loggie, the chapel and Great Hall (a reception chamber); ‘the semi-private spaces’, which included the various rooms of state on the main floor; ‘the private spaces’ which were Cles’s personal apartments, including his dining room, study, library, and bath; and finally ‘the spaces of delight’, which encompassed the garden and Revolto, or garden cellar, the cantina, and its adjacent dining hall as well as various other rooms, towers, and outbuildings located at the perimeter or within the garden.10 9 For the transcription of Cles’s complete correspondence on the project, see Semper; Ausserer and Gerola. 10 Dal Prà’s essay is organized according to the spatial divisions articulated in Cles’s correspondence with the soprastanti, which are ‘gli spazi pubblici’ (‘Cortile del Castelvecchio’, ‘Cappella’, ‘Cortile dei Leoni’, ‘Loggia [publicha],’ ‘Sala Grande’); ‘gli spazi semiprivate’ (‘Camera delle Udienze’, ‘Loggia’, official dining hall, adjacent rooms of the main floor, ‘Sala Grande’, ‘Stua Grande’, ‘Camera degli Scarlatti’); ‘gli

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

39

Leon Battista Alberti, writing his architectural treatise, De re aedificatoria, in the 1440s and 1450s (published 1485), became the first architectural theorist of the Renaissance to articulate a detailed system of decorum for wall painting — its general subject categories and proper sites of display — based on classical sources, including Vitruvius and Pliny the Elder. In a chapter on ‘Ornament to Private Buildings’, Alberti articulates this hierarchical model: Since painting, like poetry, can deal with various matters — some depict the memorable deeds of great princes, others the manners of private citizens, and still others the life of the simple farmer — those first [of the three genres], which are the most majestic, will be appropriate for public works and for the buildings of the most eminent individuals; the second should adorn the walls of private houses; and the last will be particularly suitable for horti [gardens], being the most lighthearted of them all [the genres]. We are particularly delighted when we see paintings of pleasant landscapes or harbors, scenes of fishing, hunting, bathing, or country sports, and flowery and leafy views.11

Alberti elaborates his list based on the Vitruvian division of the dramatic theatre, stating that ‘three types of drama are performed in a theatre: tragedy, recounting the misfortunes of tyrants; comedy, unfolding the cares and anxieties of the head of a family; and satire, singing of countryside delights and pastoral romance’.12 As a large prince-bishop’s residence complete with garden, the Magno Palazzo included all three registers of ornamentation distributed according to the function of spaces, and the metaphor of the theatrical stage set proves relevant to the immersive illusionistic character and physical disposition of the paintings. Closely connected to architectural theories about the proper ornamentation of domestic spaces was the longstanding connection physicians and humanist scholars made between the preservation and recuperation of physical and mental health and the practice of various recreational pursuits: noble sports, such as hunting, jousting, and falconry; perambulation and the enjoyment of gardens, fresh air, and water; dancing, reading, making or listening to music, and playing games. Physicians like Mattioli included among these therapeutic activities looking at wall paintings that depicted pleasant things, such as outdoor scenes and diverting activities. Alberti and Filarete used therapeutic claims regarding art to justify the

spazi private’ (‘camera de letto’, ‘anticamera’, ‘camerine’, ‘retrocamera’, ‘grande cucina’, ‘stua da bagno’, ‘biblioteca’); and finally ‘gli spazi del diletto’ (‘cantina’, ‘Revolto soto la loza’, ‘giardino’). 11 Alberti, p. 299. 12 Ibid., p. 273.

40 Chriscinda Henry

decorative taxonomies they proposed in their treatises as proof of art’s utility and efficacy within the domestic sphere.13 Cles’s instructions to his building supervisors reveal his familiarity with these classically derived precepts, as his instructions for the decoration of the Magno Palazzo calibrate subject matter with location and function and fix the whole artistic programme of the palace into a hierarchical system of registers according to the classical notions of decorum, commensurability, and variety, which Mattioli’s poetic itinerary in turn narrates, elaborates, and activates with movement. While working within this Albertian paradigm of hierarchical descent from paintings with the ‘deeds of great princes’ situated in the central spaces of the main floor to ‘paintings of pleasant landscapes […] or country sports’ in the ground-floor rooms and garden outbuildings below, Romanino additionally infused the transition from the palace’s official spaces to those of delight with painted scenes of moral, spiritual, and physical transformation.14 This conceptual framework is recognizable not from Alberti or Vitruvius but from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, a source Cles stipulates in his letters regarding the decoration for parts of the palace dedicated to entertainment, recreation, and delight.15

Romanino’s Itinerary from the Loggia Publicha to the Garden The Prince-Bishop’s Loggia publicha occupied a pivotal position within the palace as a public space connected to both political ceremony and the various recreations and entertainments enjoyed at court (Figure 4). This was because the Loggia served an occasional function as one of the key sites where Cles honoured and entertained visiting dignitaries as part of their welcome to Trent. In his poem, Mattioli interjects a description of the music, dancing, acrobatics, and comic intermezzi (intervals or short comedies) staged there for the royal visit of Ferdinand I and Anne of Hungary on 12 September 1536, after first setting the stage by describing the painted decoration.16 Romanino’s frescoes for the Loggia publicha immerse beholders in a stunningly beautiful and sensual pastel world. In the central panel of the ceiling, 13 According to Alberti, pp. 299-300, and Filarete, book 12, f. 85r, bedroom walls, like those of villas and other architecture associated with gardens, were to be decorated with greenery, streams, and landscapes for reasons of health and well-being. On the linked therapeutic effects of domestic leisure, including looking at art, see Olson, pp. 55-64; Gage. 14 Alberti, p. 299. 15 For example, Cles mentions subjects from Ovid, landscapes, and hunting scenes as among those appropriate for the decoration of the Loggia del giardino (garden loggia) in a letter of 1 July 1533, Ausserer and Gerola, pp. 107-109. 16 On the performances staged for the royal couple and their entourage, see Mattioli, octaves 205-214.

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

4. Loggia publicha with frescoes by Girolamo Romanino, 1531-1532, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy.

41

42 Chriscinda Henry

Phaeton drives the chariot of the sun vertiginously across the sky. He is flanked by personifications of the seasons and the sun and moon in the panels to either side, and Mattioli christens the ensemble as ‘a celestial choir’.17 In the lunettes below, biblical and classical heroes, heroines, and anti-heroes and heroines, enact what Mattioli terms their ‘beautiful stories’, while courtiers in contemporary dress make music and perform other mundane actions related to the functions of the space and the moralizing themes depicted.18 With its juxtaposition of the divine and the terrestrial, and the conflicts of epic morality tales interspersed with scenarios of quotidian pleasures and vanities, the decoration of the Loggia publicha foreshadows the more extreme and violent juxtapositions of the imagery painted in the narrow landing that leads from it to the garden staircase. Romanino’s most dramatic painted cue for movement in this part of the palace is the larger-than-life figure of the scacciaimportuni, or banisher of intruders, the giant armed guard positioned at the base of the stairs that lead up to Cles’s private apartments. The giant’s highly animated, outsized figure is plainly visible to beholders from the Loggia publicha, and it pulls the eye forward across that open space toward the stairs. With his foot illusionistically poised on the bottom step for ballast, the giant swings a striped baton overhead to keep unwanted intruders from ascending the stairs. In this liminal position, the huge guard provides a momentary charge of surprise and threat, which menacingly, but also somewhat playfully, guides the beholder’s transit toward the landing and onward to the informal spaces of the palace below. Darker, more fraught imagery ornaments the narrow spaces of the Andito alla scala and staircase that punctuate the downward trajectory of the decorative programme away from the largely hortatory political and classical-historical subjects figured in the palace’s official spaces on the main floor toward a lower zone (Figure 5). This in-between realm is dominated by nature and her uncontrollable forces, especially the pleasures and pains of the body and the indulgence of the senses, whether in violence, sexuality, or intoxication.19 On the walls of the landing and ceiling and walls of the stairwell, alternately violent and bucolic narrative scenes figure the struggle between Virtus and Voluptas. These scenes intermingle with the illusionistic passages of court life that Cles decided to displace from the Loggia publicha. Notable among these are several portraits of Cles’s administrative staff, as well as the more generic-seeming images of the buffoon and monkey who 17 ‘celeste choro’, Mattioli, octaves 186, 202. 18 Mattioli begins his description of the Loggia publicha’s fresco decoration by referring to them as ‘belle historie’. Mattioli, octave 186. 19 Echoing Alberti and foreshadowing Mattioli, Filarete deems ‘belle storie antiche’ as honourable, aspirational subjects appropriate for the public rooms of palaces. Filarete, book 12, f. 85r.

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

5. Andito alla scala with frescoes by Girolamo Romanino, 1531-1532, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy.

43

44 Chriscinda Henry

provided entertainment, the masters of the hunt, and the labourers who were necessary to construct and maintain the palace. On the walls of the landing, spatially dynamic, life-size allegorical figures of the vices, virtues, and classical heroines appear in alternating fictive niches, confronting beholders in this tight space with their direct gazes and projective movements and gestures that include vivid displays of violence and injury. For example, the ‘greedy and idle’ Avarice, who appears in a pivotal position at the end of the landing near top of the stairs, greets beholders turning to descend to the garden (and those returning from the garden) with an anguished expression and the writhing, visceral spectacle of her pain as she is bitten in her side by the snake coiled around her arm.20 Confronting such demonstrative figures up close when en route to the garden or upon one’s refreshed return from its pleasures would have invoked a momentary check — potentially a chastening, discomfiting psychosomatic effect in beholders — positioned to produce tension, prompt moral reflection, and perhaps even hasten movement. Cles condemned the dramatic female figures Romanino painted in this ‘more public’ area on the landing at the head of the stairs that were ‘visible to everyone’, as lacking in beauty and proportion, although their partial nudity and subjection to realistic violence may have been more the issue.21 In addition to the potentially uncomfortable act of witnessing pain and violation as part of the physical rite of passage, a mix of anonymous and historically recognizable courtiers dressed in contemporary clothing, including Andrea Crivelli, Cles’s personal secretary and foreman of the castle works, survey mobile beholders on the landing and staircase from above. Displaced from their planned position in the Loggia publicha, they look down on passersby from the lunettes above the vices and virtues in an illusionistic gallery of the real, reinforcing the confined effect of the architecture and the sensation of being scrutinized. When turning to walk down the enclosed stairwell toward the garden, beholders pass by the more mundane images that typify court hierarchy. These are set in a series of landscape scenes between fictive columns that effectively open up the wall and prepare passersby for going outside. Near the top of the stairs, an elegant administrator in the dress of a nobleman, sometimes identified as Martino Malpaga, pays two stereotypically rendered, diminutive labourers with rough, quasi-grotesque ‘peasant’ features. Further down the same wall, a mentally disabled court buffoon playfully offers cherries and a pear to the pet monkey chained to a ledge, who is 20 ‘Avaritia ingorda e frale’, Mattioli, octave 217. 21 In a letter of July 1532 written from Regensburg, Cles complains about several of the female figures in front of the stairs that lead to the garden, noting the cowering Lucretia attacked by Tarquin in particular, and stating that Romanino should take more care because their location is public and in view of everyone: ‘al che tanto più cura se li doveria havere, quanto il loco è più publico et in prospetto di tutti’. Gabrielli, pp. 415-416 (emphasis mine).

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

45

6. Girolamo Romanino, Buffoon Playing with a Monkey, 1531-1532, Scala del giardino, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy.

his animal counterpart (Figure 6). Together, they symbolize the lower-order court creatures of folly, amusement, and, in particular, mimicry, mischief, and unregulated behaviour, including the potential for madness and violence. Meanwhile, the painting positioned directly before the beholder on the head wall of the staircase abruptly interrupts this representation of the natural and orderly conduct of various facets of palace life by showing a sleeping nymph at the edge of a pool of water and a lascivious satyr lifting her gown (Figure 7). The portent of sexual violation echoes the explicit violence of the grisaille painting positioned on the ceiling just before it, with its roiling scrum of naked male and female bodies that may depict the Rape of the Sabines, and from the biblical, mythological, and historical scenes of sexual violence featured on the walls of the Loggia publicha and landing, including the Rape of Lucretia.

46 Chriscinda Henry

7. Girolamo Romanino, Sleeping Nymph and Satyr, 1532, Scala del giardino, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy.

The sleeping nymph spied upon by a satyr was a popular subject of North Italian and German painting and prints of the period. It embodies the contrast between Virtus and Voluptas, and while Ovid’s Metamorphoses could have served as a source for the subject matter, for example the tale of Antiope seduced by Zeus in the guise of a satyr, the scene lacks the specific attributes that would secure such a reading.22 What the image clearly indicates, albeit with the sharp edge of the potential violation of Natura as personified by the nymph, is the proximity of the 22 Attempts to associate the many generic Renaissance images of nymphs and satyrs with specif ic characters from classical texts most often remain at the level of conjecture, as discussed by Humfrey, p. 84.

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

47

locus amoenus, the ‘pleasant outdoor place’ of antiquity, traditionally protected by a nymph of the spring as genius loci (spirit of place) in classical literature.23 In the context of the Magno Palazzo, the locus amoenus created according to Cles’s plan, with input from Mattioli (which is largely destroyed), was also a hortus conclusus that consisted of the walled garden with its ornate and diverse plantings, hydraulic works, and fountain as well as the several structures and outbuildings located within it (several towers, a grotta di tufo, and a casinò).24 In the stairwell painting, the violation of nature symbolized by the satyr’s lustful disturbance of the nymph’s peaceful sleep perpetuates the tone of menace set by the scenes of rape and violence in the Loggia publicha and landing. The satyr’s illicit spying also reiterates the beholder’s experience of observing and being watched, while the naïve play of the buffoon and monkey on the adjacent wall breaks such tension. Together, the scenes of the satyr and the buffoon announce the staircase as leading to the low, potentially unregulated realms of satire, comedy, and indulgence below. They continue the visual push and pull that charges the landing and staircase as liminal spaces of continuous movement and transition between quotidian and mythical experience and between a lighter, more naturalistic mode of representation and a darker, more chaotic one. Upon descending the staircase with its claustrophobic juxtaposition of visual warnings about irrational appetites overhead and functional orientation to palace hierarchy and activity on the walls, beholders of Romanino’s frescoes in the Revolto were confronted with nearly photographic, wall-size instances of typical activities of the court nobility, as can be seen in a lunette on the wall at the bottom of the stairs featuring The Hunt with Falcons (Figure 8). This fresco signals the beholder’s proximity to the outside world beyond the castle walls and announces the purview of the productive, noble otium that held sway there, thus discouraging the negative associations of idle otium in the Renaissance. The classically derived understanding of otium as a virtuous necessity of the nobility, rather than a slothful and lascivious vice, encompassed active recreational pursuits, including hunting and falconry, both of which feature prominently in Romanino’s fresco.25 Further, as mentioned, 23 For a recent, rich discussion of the nymph of the spring as presented in Renaissance literature and painting, including the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili and other sources of potential relevance for Romanino, see Baert. 24 Francesco Colonna provides an apt characterization of the tranquil locus amoenus in the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (Venice, 1499) as a sacred ground constituted of a paradisaical garden. He calls it a place ‘of pleasure and delight, not of pain nor of anything fearful, and so it has been throughout the ages, its site unaltered, its climate unchanged. Everything here is conducive to joy and graceful conviviality; it invites us to enjoy the perpetual leisure that it bestows’. Colonna, p. 78. 25 On leisure and recreation in Renaissance Italy, see Burke and Arcangeli, and on the ambivalent status of otium in Renaissance humanist thought and its classical sources, see Vickers, ‘Leisure and Idleness (Part 1)’; Vickers, ‘Leisure and Idleness (Part 2)’.

48 Chriscinda Henry

8. View of the Revolto soto la loza facing the Scala del giardino with Girolamo Romanino’s Portrait of Paolo Alemanno above the Porta rusticha and The Hunt with Falcons, 1532, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy.

landscape paintings, like gardens themselves, were perceived to have calming, therapeutic effects in the Renaissance, and the immersive, sunlit natural environment of The Hunt with Falcons must have provided a welcome change of tone for beholders following the restricted and intense experience of the staircase imagery. Mattioli’s long poem states only in generic terms that upon descending the garden stairs, one enters a vaulted room, ‘very well ornamented with honourable painting and perspective done from life and living form’.26 His brief encounter with the Revolto before he enters the large, quasi-paradisiacal garden with its copious 26 ‘Per questa in una stanza giù si cala / Tirata in volta, e molto be[n] ornate / D’honorevol pittura, e prospettiva / Tratta dal natural, e forma viva’, Mattioli, octave 410.

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

49

botanic diversity, ingenious automata, and elaborate waterworks may indicate the liminal status of the room, which had no official function. However, it may also register an omission based on decorum and the encomiastic nature of the poem. For in the Revolto soto la loza, beholders encountered not only the noble recreational pursuits of hunting and falconry, but also instances of low-life prodigality, ritualistic violence, and sexual misconduct and aberration. This was an abrupt departure from the norms of appropriate ornamentation for Renaissance palaces found both in architectural treatises and in the extant decorative programmes of castles and palaces, whether in northern Italy or in the Habsburg lands of the South Tyrol, Austria, and Germany.27 Romanino’s rupture with the norms of choosing pleasing subject matter for garden-adjacent rooms is most starkly evident in a lunette depicting a crowded, violent Cat Castration performed by a physician and his grotesque assistant, an act witnessed at close range by a group of shocked yet complicit courtiers.28 Unfortunately, the complex and cryptic ensemble of portraits, individual figures, and biblical, mythological, and genre scenes that comprise the decorative programme of the Revolto began to succumb to the humid subterranean conditions of its site almost immediately after their completion, and today vast sections of the painted programme are lost or in very poor and partial condition.29 Nevertheless, a brief synopsis of the room’s decoration can be attempted, which builds on previous readings, although it should be noted that to enter the room and view its decorative programme was a choice and not a necessary part of the garden itinerary, unlike passage on the staircase.30 The central field of the low vault seems to have been frescoed as a vast sky with nude figures and putti flying between clouds, possibly in a grand allegory symbolizing virtue triumphant over vice, the allegorical theme made fashionable by Isabella d’Este’s studiolo in the 27 There are several notable exceptions to this general statement, which could have impacted Romanino, notably Dosso Dossi’s ceiling paintings in the bedroom of Duke Alfonso I d’Este in his via Coperta apartment, which connected the Castello Estense and Palazzo Ducale in Mantua. Almost certainly completed by 1522, several of these panels depict volatile human emotional states, or passions, involving violence, madness, drunkenness, and despair. On the panels, now cut down and dispersed, see Menegatti. 28 On these norms in general, see Rosenberg, and for specif ic analysis of Cles’s renovations to the Castello del Buonconsiglio with regard to decorum, see Frangenberg. On Romanino’s Cat Castration, see Gramatica, p. 245; Hochmann. 29 Cles already called for the frescoes to be refreshed, or restored, for the first time in 1533 and again in 1534. Semper, p. 80; Ausserer and Gerola, p. 131. 30 Nova characterizes Romanino’s eclectic style as intentionally heterodox and anticlassical, comparing it to Teof ilo Folengo’s macaronic poetry. Nova, Girolamo Romanino, pp. 282-284. He expands on this argument in English in Nova, ‘Folengo and Romanino’. De Gramatica, the scholar who has discussed the frescoes of the Revolto in greatest depth, couches Nova’s characterization within a framework of humour and the grotesque in dialogue with profane visual culture north of the Alps. Gramatica, pp. 242-250. Frangenberg only briefly references the ‘odd assembly of subjects’ figured in the Revolto in his otherwise detailed, sensitive analysis of the decorative programme of the palace. Frangenberg, p. 368.

50 Chriscinda Henry

Palazzo Ducale at Mantua, which was executed from the late 1490s through the first decade of the sixteenth century. The subject remained popular in later palace decoration, for example Annibale Carracci’s famous early seventeenth-century ceiling fresco in the Farnese Gallery in Rome. The critic Giovanni Pietro Bellori interpreted this fresco as ‘demonstrating that victory over irrational appetites elevates men to heaven’.31 In the Revolto, the beholder is presented with the struggle over such appetites on the walls below the vault. Distributed between the lunettes of the main walls and curved splays of the window recesses are the heterogeneous scenes that have been explained in terms of Romanino’s mounting artistic eclecticism and eccentricity: a large Tavern Scene on the north wall lunette (now almost completely ruined) at the far end of the room opposite the Pause of the Hunt; in the southern window recess, Lot and his Daughters on the south wall facing the Cat Castration on the north; in the northern window recess, a Mercenary Soldier With his Lover on the south wall facing Venus and Amor on the north. Various classical deities populate painted niches above these scenes, which might indicate a loose connection to the iconographic tradition of the Planetenkinder. Cles placed no iconographic demands on Romanino for the decoration of the Revolto, and, left to his own inspiration, Romanino ‘ordered’ the imagery through a macaronic pastiche of Germanic and Italianate iconography that stands in perfect accord with a marginal space located in a castle that itself occupied a liminal geopolitical position and was presided over by a prince-bishop who freely mixed Italian and German in his correspondence.32

The Fool’s Symbolic Rule of the Underworld The figure of the Revolto’s painted programme that beholders must confront on their way from the staircase to the garden is Cles’s capo dei buffoni (principal buffoon and organizer of entertainments), a man known simply as Paolo Alemanno (German Paul) (Figure 8). His melancholic portrait hovers in an illusionistic oculus above the Porta rusticha, watching over those who pass below. From this privileged position — of course, the most common figure to appear in an oculus above portals is Christ — Alemanno presides over the passage from indoor to outdoor and between the civilized and natural worlds. In this liminal position, 31 ‘dimostrando che la vittoria contro gl’irragionevoli appetiti inalza gli uomini al Cielo’. This extract of Bellori’s life of Carracci is taken from Dempsey, 363. Dempsey frames Bellori’s Neoplatonic interpretation of Carracci’s ceiling fresco as a struggle between celestial and earthly love (Amor vulgare). 32 In a June 1532 letter, Cles expressed doubts to his secretary Crivelli about having the damp groundfloor space of the Revolto painted and did not subsequently give any instructions for the subject matter. Ausserer and Gerola, p. 78.

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

51

the buffoon’s presence signals a rite of passage from the palace’s higher, interior realm of negotium (work, off icial duties, political and religious ceremony) to the lower, outdoor realm of cultivated and ‘wild’ nature and otium.33 However, unlike the playful image of the ‘simple’ buffoon figured on the staircase above, the highly naturalistic medallion portrait of Alemanno characterizes his intelligence and melancholic, artistic temperament. Its position and form also signal his inverted role as the symbolic ruler and protector of the palace underworld. Dressed in full livery with a heavy gold chain that announces his honorary status as the representative of his master, he tenderly cradles his cornamusa, a rustic, double-chantered bagpipes, to his chest. In this key position, Alemmano also serves as a genius loci who orients beholders as to the function and proper tone of both the garden and the Revolto. He presides over his proprietary territory, just as the many sculpted and painted portraits of ancient Roman and Holy Roman emperors and Christian kings and bishops, including Prince-Bishop Cles himself, def ine the off icial, representative, and ceremonial rooms of the palace’s main floor. And just as Cles’s portrait, several coats of arms, and emblem of Unitas serially mark his patronage and possession of the palace through numerous portraits, plaques, and inscriptions distributed at regular intervals throughout the building, so does Alemanno the ‘fool’, who served in a symbolic capacity as the foil and antithesis to his master, mark this low, vaulted chamber with its unofficial, recreational function and its permissive character.34 According to a 1510 letter from Jacopo d’Atri to Isabella d’Este, an exceptionally lifelike and naturalistic portrait in terracotta of Nicolas Ferréal, known as Triboulet, the favourite fool of French King Louis XII, hung in a corridor that led from the royal castle at Blois to its garden, marking the liminal passageway between indoor and outdoor as the appropriate territory of the buffoon, just as Alemanno’s portrait does at Trent.35 At both Blois and Trent, the buffoon’s presence signalled the passage of the beholder into an ideologically lower and less ordered space of recreation, entertainment, and even temporary inversion, where the buffoon symbolically rules instead of his master. In Alemanno’s case, Prince-Bishop Cles remains omnipresent through his Unitas emblem of seven rods tied together by a ribbon, which repeats in a prominent gold pattern on the buffoon’s luxurious 33 ‘German Paul’ may be identifiable with Paul Unerdorbin, whose biographical details remain largely unknown. The entertainer was likely present at Buonconsiglio from the time of Cles’s possession of the city of Trent in 1515 until the buffoon’s death in 1535. Gramatica, pp. 242-243. 34 Cles’s emblem of church unity and opposition to Lutheranism appears in the form of a bundle of seven rods (fasces) tied with a band labelled ‘UNITAS’ (Unity). 35 Isabella d’Este collected and attempted to breed a number of ‘natural fools’ and dwarves and expressed fascination with them in general. For her correspondence with Jacopo d’Atri, from whom she requested a sketched portrait of Triboulet, see Luzio and Renier, pp. 51-52.

52 Chriscinda Henry

livery. As is well known, a unique and familiar relationship existed between rulers and their favourite court fools, one defined by affection and patronage in which the fool was understood in an ambivalent position as both family member and court creature, similar to a pet. As the closely bound opposite of the wise, just, and magnanimous sovereign, who enjoyed a privileged proximity and license in addressing his master, he could rule the palace underworld in a carnivalesque, ‘world-upside-down’ fashion. Romanino may also have used the portrait of Alemanno to signal the eclectic iconographic programme of the Revolto and prepare beholders for the discordant, even upsetting, experience of witnessing the room’s graphic painted programme. By showcasing the master trickster at the entrance to the open chamber as its symbolic sovereign, Romanino appropriates the poetic license, inspired madness, and topsy-turvy play or ‘mis-rule’ of buffoons for his eclectic configuration of paintings. The painter’s macaronic mastery of multiple, seemingly conflicting iconographies and registers of figural representation echoes the comic entertainer’s physical and linguistic virtuosity in masking and impersonating a vast range of local and foreign dialects and character types.36 This serio-ludic artistic experiment is not one Mattioli would have deemed appropriate to convey to the broad public audience he hoped to reach with his printed poem. Following his brief, generic praise of the painted programme of the Revolto, Mattioli and his companion exit through the Porta rusticha into the garden, where the author animates its protective spirits and divine influences in describing a sculpted figure of the god Neptune, who rules over the garden from a prominent position standing atop the centrally located fountain. In Mattioli’s telling, Neptune conducts the waters from nearby streams at will and irrigates the garden with his trident after Apollo has blessed it with sunshine and Zephyr has breathed in the new life of spring.37 Mattioli finishes his poem by recounting the spectacular morality play on the theme of Sodom and Gomorrah that was staged in the garden on the night of Ferdinand I’s and Anne of Hungary’s September 1536 entrance into Trent, complete with its elaborately constructed sets and pyrotechnical displays.38 While this theatrical echo of the painted subject matter in the Revolto was likely coincidental, the common subject matter speaks to the complementary nature of ephemeral entertainment and permanent architectural ornament at the palace and between the active use of space and its commensurate decoration. 36 In describing the festivities to honour Ferdinand I’s and Anne of Hungary’s visit to Trent, Mattioli celebrates the plurilingual virtuosity and masking of buffoons in typical Renaissance fashion, noting their mastery of numerous characters and dialects, which ‘made every person [in the audience] die of laughter’ (‘crepava del riso ogni persona’). Mattioli, octaves 213-214. 37 Ibid., octaves 412-416. 38 Ibid., octaves 431-440.

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

53

‘Un Bacco in capo della porta è posto…’ Following a detailed tour of the garden highlighting its many noble and exotic plants, automata, and hydraulic features, Mattioli re-enters the palace via the dining hall of the cantina. The ornamentation of the two entrances to the cantina, the most removed and secluded area of the palace, articulates an aesthetic of descent and release similar in function, if not in tone, to that realized in the garden staircase. The inscription that marked the back entrance to the cantina, which could be accessed via a spiral staircase from the Cortile dei Leoni above, orients the beholder through the invocation: ‘IMA COLAS QVAMVIS TV BACCHE SVMMA P[I]ETAS’ (‘although low, you Bacchus are invested with great devotion’). As Dal Prà has eloquently characterized it, the inscription serves to consecrate the cantina, where the impressive range of house vintages was stored and sampled, as the space sacred to the ancient Roman god of wine.39 According to Mattioli’s poem, this carved stone invocation was doubled by a painted image (now lost) of Bacchus, which appeared above the outer entrance to the cantina from the dining hall. Mattioli describes the image thus: ‘Atop a fat and enormous barrel, a Bacchus is placed above the door, with a large tankard; there he is, all jolly, inviting everybody to drink some wine’. 40 Through his animated image sitting astride a barrel and proffering a tankard of wine, Bacchus would have enacted a blessing and hospitality function, encouraging and overseeing the many acts of consumption that occurred in the space. This familiar image of an infant or adult Bacchus sitting astride a wine barrel and holding up a vessel filled with wine issued a convivial, virtual invitation to beholders to participate in his cult. And like the portrait of Paolo Alemanno over the Porta rusticha in the Revolto and the sculpture of Neptune in the centre of the garden, the inscription and paintings announce that Bacchus rules as a spirit and divinity of place over the connected rooms of the dining hall and cantina. The placement of the inscription and painted figure marking the entrances to the cantina also served to orient the beholder’s movement and perception, invoking the symbolic status of doors and portals as thresholds and liminal sites of initiation. 41 Further, the image of a jovial Bacchus not only signalled the room’s hospitality function and the wine god’s status as patron of the vintage, but also announced the proper aesthetic register of the room’s decoration as grotesque. Fogolino’s heavily damaged frescoes for the dining hall confirm this. Their ‘low’ iconography 39 Prà, p. 57. 40 ‘Sopra una grossa botte e smisurata / Un Bacco in capo della porta è posto, / Che con un gran boccale ogni brigata / par che ridendo inviti a ber del mosto’, Mattioli, octave 427. Mosto (‘must’) is the new wine. My thanks to Matteo Soranzo for his assistance with this loose translation. The painting was destroyed when a window was inserted above the door. 41 Rutherglen.

54 Chriscinda Henry

9. Refettorio davanti alla cantina with frescoes by Marcello Fogolino, c. 1532, Magno Palazzo, Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy. © Castello del Buonconsiglio, Trent, Italy.

consists of ornamental grotesque designs and all’antica motifs on the ceiling and wall scenes with rustic peasants dancing around a maypole at a village festival alongside individual figures crushing grapes, drinking wine, and holding sheaves of wheat (Figure 9). Beyond this, there are further scenes related to the room’s functions of dining, drinking, music, and entertainment, augmented by portraits of Cles’s courtiers, including the wine steward and an architect with his compass. The figures direct their attention and activities outward to engage the beholder in the demonstrative, interrogative, and inclusive fashion familiar from the landing and staircase.42 Finally, an illusionistic Silberbuffet (silver cabinet) of plates, glasses, pitchers, and other precious banquet items lines the wall facing the cantina, much like an ancient Roman xenia (hospitality) painting. Unlike the studiolo context, where art and other collectable objects were studied through a concentrated mode of looking, cogitation, and discourse that did not necessarily depend on physical activity, the frescoes that lead to and occupy the ground-floor rooms of Cles’s palace would have been viewed in tandem with participation in sensory-motor activities, such as perambulation, drinking wine, savouring fruits from the garden, making music, dancing, gaming, and watching performances, including those by Paolo Alemanno and the other court buffoons. As 42 On Fogolino’s frescoes in the Magno Palazzo, see Chini.

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

55

I have emphasized, some of these activities echo powerfully with the subject matter of the paintings on the walls. What this essay proposes regarding their reception is a corollary to established ideas about noble self-fashioning and somatic experience in which relief and refreshment could be achieved through a temporary, pleasurable release from order and decorum. Guided by the figures of courtiers, the nymph and satyr, buffoons, and Bacchus, among many others, in the palace underworld one could choose to enjoy sights, sounds, actions, and sensory experiences deemed inappropriate or indecorous elsewhere. This would not have occurred in ignorance of the didactic, moralizing messages contained in the complementary imagery addressing the regulation of irrational appetites, but in tandem and pleasurable tension with it.

Works Cited Primary Printed Sources Alberti, Leon Battista. On the Art of Building in Ten Books. Translated by Joseph Rykwert, Neil Leach, and Robert Tavernor. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1988. Ausserer, Carl, and Giuseppe Gerola. I documenti clesiani del Buonconsiglio. Venice: Istituto federale di credito per il risorgimento delle Venezie, 1924. Averlino, Antonio di Piero (Filarete). Trattato di architettura. Edited by A.M. Finoli and L. Grassi. Milan: Il Polifilo, 1972. Colonna, Francesco. Hypnerotomachia Poliphili: The Strife of Love in a Dream. Translated and edited by Joscelyn Godwin. New York: Thames & Hudson, 1999. Lupo, Michelangelo. ‘II Magno Palazzo annotato’. In Il Castello del Buonconsiglio. Edited by Enrico Castelnuovo. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Trent: Temi Editrice, 1995. 67-231. Mattioli, Pietro Andrea. Il Magno Palazzo del cardinale di Trento. Edited by Aldo Bertoluzza. 2 vols. Calliano and Trent: Manfrini, 1984. Semper, Hans. Il Castello del Buon Consiglio a Trento. Documenti concernente la fabbrica nel periodo clesiano 1527-1536. Trento: Scotoni e Viti, 1914.

Secondary Sources Arcangeli, Alessandro. Recreation in the Renaissance: Attitudes towards Leisure and Pastimes in European Culture, c. 1425-1675. London: Palgrave MacMillan, 2002. Baert, Barbara. ‘The Sleeping Nymph Revisited: Ekphrasis, Genius Loci, and Silence’. In The Figure of the Nymph in Early Modern Culture. Edited by Karl A. E. Enenkel and Anita Traninger. Leiden: Brill, 2018. 149-176. Burke, Peter. ‘The Invention of Leisure in Early Modern Europe’. Past and Present 146 (1995): 136-150.

56 Chriscinda Henry

Castelnuovo, Enrico, ed. Il Castello del Buonconsiglio. 2 vols. Trent: Temi Editrice, 1995-1996. Chini, Ezio. ‘Marcello Fogolino al Buonconsiglio fra erudizione archeologica, naturalismo nordico e capriccio anticlassico’. In Il Castello del Buonconsiglio. Edited by Enrico Castenuovo. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Trent: Temi Editrice, 1996. 193-221. Dempsey, Charles. ‘“Et Nos Cedamus Amori”: Observations on the Farnese Gallery’. The Art Bulletin 50, no. 4 (1968): 363-374. Frangenberg, Thomas. ‘Decorum in the Magno Palazzo in Trent’. Renaissance Studies 7, no. 4 (1993): 352-378. Gabrielli, Luca. Il Magno Palazzo del Cardinale Bernardo Cles. Architettura ed arti decorative nei documenti di un cantiere rinascimentale (1527-36). Trent: Società di Studi Trentini di Scienze Storiche, 2004. Gage, Frances. ‘Exercises for Mind and Body: Giulio Mancini, Collecting, and the Beholding of Landscape Painting in the Seventeenth Century’. Renaissance Quarterly 61, no. 44 (2008): 1167-1207. Gramatica, Francesca de. ‘Un “pazzo piacevole”, i “gran progenitori” e le giovani bagnanti. Note sulla pittura profana di Romanino al Buonconsiglio’. In Romanino. Un pittore in rivolta nel Rinascimento italiano. Edited by E. Caldara. Milan: Silvana, 2006. 242-257. Hochmann, Michel. ‘Des bizarreries de chat et d’autres fantaisies. Le chat dans les tableaux comiques de la Renaissance’. In Rire en images à la Renaissance. Edited by Francesca Alberti and Diane H. Bodart. Turnhout: Brepols, 2018. 143-156. Humfrey, Peter. ‘Nymph and Satyr’ (Catalogue no. 1). In Dosso Dossi: Court Painter at Renaissance Ferrara. Edited by Andrea Bayer, Peter Humfrey, and Mauro Lucco. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1998. 84-86. Luzio, Alessandro, and Rodolfo Renier. Buffoni, nani e schiavi dei Gonzaga ai tempi d’Isabella d’Este. Rome: Tipografia della Camera dei Deputati, 1891. Menegatti, Marialucia. ‘Dosso e Battista Dossi nell’appartamento di Alfonso I d’Este’. In Dosso Dossi. Rinascimenti eccentrici al Castello del Buonconsiglio. Milan: Silvana, 2014. 79-105. Nova, Alessandro. ‘Folengo and Romanino: The Questione della Lingua and Its Eccentric Trends’. The Art Bulletin 76 (1994): 664-679. Nova, Alessandro. Girolamo Romanino. Turin: Umberto Allemandi, 1994. Olson, Glending. Literature as Recreation in the Later Middle Ages. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1986. Passignat, Emilie. ‘The Order, the Itinerary, the Beholder: Considerations on Some Aspects of the Ragionamenti del Sig. Cavalier Giorgio Vasari’. In Giorgio Vasari and the Birth of the Museum. Edited by Maia Wellington Gahtan. London: Routledge, 2012. 151-162. Prà, Laura dal. ‘Johannes Hinderbach e Bernardo Cles. Funzionalità e decorazione nella sede dei principi vescovi di Trento. Spunti per una ricerca’. In Il Castello del Buonconsiglio. Edited by Enrico Castelnuovo. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Trent: Temi Editrice, 1996. 31-69.

Navigating the Pal ace Underworld 

57

Rosenberg, Charles M. ‘Courtly Decorations and the Decorum of Interior Space’. In La corte e lo spazio. Ferrara estense. Edited by Giuseppe Papagno and Amedeo Quondam. Vol. 2 of 3 vols. Rome: Bulzoni, 1982. 529-544. Rutherglen, Susannah. ‘Painting at the Threshold: Pictures for Doors in Renaissance Venice’. The Art Bulletin 98, no. 4 (2016): 438-465. Vickers, Brian J. ‘Leisure and Idleness in the Renaissance: The Ambivalence of Otium (Part 1)’. Renaissance Studies 4, no. 1 (1990): 1-37. Vickers, Brian. ‘Leisure and Idleness in the Renaissance: The Ambivalence of Otium (Part 2)’. Renaissance Studies 4, no. 2 (1990): 107-154.

About the Author Chriscinda Henry is Associate Professor of Art History at McGill University. She is the author of Playful Pictures: Art, Leisure, and Entertainment in the Venetian Renaissance Home (forthcoming) and has published several articles and essays, including in Renaissance Studies, Italian Studies, and Playthings in Early Modernity.

2.

Passages to Fantasy: The Performance of Motion in Cellini’s Fontainebleau Portal and the Galerie François I Nicole Bensoussan

Abstract In the early 1540s, King Francis I commissioned Benvenuto Cellini to design a bronze portal for the Porte Dorée at Fontainebleau. It consisted of a tympanum depicting the ‘Nymph of Fontainebleau’ in a forest setting. The imagery revived the foundation myth of Fontainebleau as a bountiful hunting ground and water source. Although it was never completed, Cellini’s design presented the forest beyond the doors as a recreational space for the varied motions of the hunting ritual and the palace behind the doors as a space for the more choreographed ambulatory motion of guided diplomatic tours. This essay explores the complementarity in the staging of interior and exterior as zones of visual and somatic pleasure. Keywords: Cellini, Francis I, Fontainebleau, nymph, hunt, Porte Dorée

In the early 1540s, Benvenuto Cellini designed a bronze ensemble to frame the Porte Dorée, the main entrance to the Fontainebleau palace (Figure 10). The sculptural project featured a tympanum depicting the ‘Nymph of Fontainebleau’ in a forest setting with hunting dogs, a prominent stag head, and wild creatures. Although several scholars have explored Cellini’s project in detail, further investigation of its site-specific meaning is warranted. Previous interpretations have addressed the biographical role of the tympanum in Cellini’s transition from goldsmith to sculptor, as well as its role in his rise as a court artist.1 Studies of the iconography have noted all’antica influences and identified allegorical subtexts that shed light

1

Grodecki; Cole; Jestaz.

Skelton, K. (ed.), Early Modern Spaces in Motion: Design, Experience, and Rhetoric. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2021 doi 10.5117/9789463725811_ch02

60 Nicole Bensoussan

10. Benvenuto Cellini, Nymph of Fontainebleau, 1543. Musée du Louvre, Paris, France. © RMN-Grand Palais/ Art Resource, NY.

on relationships among the king, Cellini, and Cellini’s mistress.2 In part because the project was never installed or completed, a fresh examination can help us reimagine the intended uses and associations of this work in situ.3 This essay will examine the portal’s planned location as a point of intersection for different modalities of circulation that occurred at Fontainebleau: interior and exterior, formal and informal, fast and slow, walking and riding horseback while engaged in the hunt. Seen together, these various forms of motion shaped the experiences of visitors and allowed Francis I to perform his royal persona.

Fontainebleau: The Renewal of the Palace and the Revival of the Foundation Myth Cellini’s portal was to occupy the lunette space beyond the archway and porch, the recessed area around the doors leading into the vestibule. 4 The intended 2 Pressouyre; Pope-Hennessy; Vickers. 3 See notes 17 and 18 below for the confusing afterlife of the tympanum following Cellini’s abrupt departure from France. 4 Because Cellini’s tympanum was not installed, there remain in the lunette space sixteenth-century reliefs depicting two muses surrounding a modern tondo with Francis’s salamander device. Francis I

Passages to Fantasy 

61

arrangement of the semi-circular tympanum included a pair of column statues in the form of standing, armed satyrs, an arched zone with an ornamental frieze, and spandrel reliefs with victories.5 According to Cellini’s autobiography, Francis I had requested in January 1542 that Cellini make something beautiful to adorn Fontainebleau: ‘a figural rendering of the belle eau fountain’.6 Early modern authors trace the etymology of Fontainebleau to ‘Fontaine belle eau’, which refers to the abundant local water source.7 The foundation myth always mentions the water source, but some variations also incorporate hunting as an aspect of the legend. One version identifies Fontainebleau with the fountain of Bliaud, Bliaud being the dog that discovered the water source while hunting with an unnamed king.8 A large wash drawing from the circle of Francesco Primaticcio attests to Francis’s interest in this version of the myth (Figure 11). The drawing, whose exact purpose is unknown, depicts a portrait likeness of Francis in the guise of the legendary king. In a scene filled with hunting companions, horses, and dogs, Francis pauses to marvel at a beautiful nymph resting near a water source, the sleeping dog by her side.9 For Cellini’s project, Francis evidently wanted a representation of the nymph of Fontainebleau, a personification of the spring that was tied to the palace’s putative origins. Because hunting was Francis’s favourite pastime, he most likely also favoured Cellini’s inclusion of hunting iconography as part of the Fontainebleau lore.

also commissioned fresco designs from Francesco Primaticcio for the spaces in the entryway. These are heavily compromised by damage and nineteenth-century interventions and are best understood through surviving drawings. Scholarly consensus suggests an absence of coordination in the iconographic schemes, which makes sense in light of the well-documented hostility between Cellini and Primaticcio. The porch had frescoes on the lateral walls depicting the stories of Hercules, Omphale, and Faunus from Ovid’s Fasti. The vestibule, the area beyond Cellini’s portal, featured six vault frescoes with scenes from the Iliad. Scailliérez, p. 138; Cordellier, pp. 155-157. 5 This arrangement can be seen in a reconstruction diagram by Bertrand Jestaz. Jestaz, p. 110. The diagram erroneously shows the two satyrs as identical mirror images because it predated the discovery of the model for the second satyr intended for the right side. For further discussion of the satyrs, see below. See also Cellini, La vita, p. 527; Grodecki, pp. 62-65. In his autobiography, Cellini documents the casting of the two Victories in bronze, but these now survive only in patinated plaster casts molded from the originals. These are in the Louvre, Inv. R. F. 2459. The bronze Victories are visible on either side of the tympanum in Jacques Androuet du Cerceau’s engraving of Anet from Les plus excellents bastiments de France (1579). Cerceau (n. p.). Anet is where Cellini’s portal was installed after he returned to Italy. Grodecki, p. 47; Pérouse de Montclos, Histoire de l’architecture, p. 108. 6 Cellini, ‘una figura che figurassi Fontana Beliò’, La vita, p. 527. According to Cellini, it was originally the suggestion of Francis’s mistress, the Duchesse d’Étampes. Ibid., p. 525. 7 Guilbert, p. 31. 8 This version appears in Pierre Dan’s 1642 chronicle of Fontainebleau, Le trésor des merveilles de la maison royale. Dan, p. 13. 9 The drawing is in the Louvre. Other bathing women populate the scene, which also has echoes of Diana iconography. Scailliérez, p. 63.

62 Nicole Bensoussan

11. After Primaticcio (unknown artist), Francis I and the Nymph of Fontainebleau, c. 1540. Musée du Louvre, Paris, France. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY.

The Porte Dorée was at the end of a long causeway lined with elm trees, creating an axial approach to the palace, as seen in a miniature fresco of the 1530s from the Galerie François I (Figures 12-13).10 Gilles Le Breton designed it in 1528 as a stately new frontispiece to the palace. The arched central bays contain a recessed porch with a doorway on the entrance level and Italian-inspired superimposed loggie on the two upper levels.11 The Porte Dorée was appended to the irregular structures comprising the medieval core of the palace, which enclosed an oval courtyard.12 In the years immediately following its 1531 completion, Francis I had his living quarters installed in the residential block behind and to the west. From 1535 on, his bedroom was situated in the space of the old tower directly adjacent to the newly constructed Galerie François I.13 The miniature fresco shows, at an approximately perpendicular angle, the Galerie François I to the left (west) of the new entrance wing, with large windows overlooking the pond and gardens. This wing contained a bathing suite and art collection on the ground floor, the Galerie itself on the second floor, and a library on the top floor. Francis installed an interior staircase, accessible from the oval courtyard after entering through the Porte Dorée, which connected these 10 The fresco presents a view from the south and is located on the first bay of the north wall beneath Rosso Fiorentino’s fresco of Venus Frustrated. Zerner, p. 79, Plate 70. The Porte Dorée is also depicted in a 1579 engraving by Jacques Androuet du Cerceau: ‘Veues du logis du coste de lestang’, but Androuet du Cerceau shows another structure right next to it that was built later, the Aile de la Belle Cheminée (still extant). Cerceau (n. p.). 11 Pérouse de Montclos, Fontainebleau, p. 146. 12 The oval courtyard is also called the courtyard of the dungeon (cour du donjon). Boudon and Blécon, p. 19. 13 The old tower is called the vieille grosse tour. The decoration of the Galerie François I reached completion in 1539. Ibid., pp. 29-31.

Passages to Fantasy 

63

12. Gilles Le Breton, Porte Dorée entrance wing, Château de Fontainebleau, France, 1528. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY.

three floors and facilitated the guided tours he offered to visiting dignitaries.14 The Porte Dorée was the main access point for these guided tours of the interior. As shall be discussed below, the interior tours consisted of a scripted, choreographed 14 This staircase is called the nouvel escalier du roi and was built between 1532 and 1535. Ibid., pp. 34, 163-165.

64 Nicole Bensoussan

13. Rosso Fiorentino, Miniature fresco of the exterior of the Porte Dorée and Galerie François I, Château de Fontainebleau, France, 1530s. © Manuel Cohen/Art Resource, NY.

kind of ambulatory motion. This motion differed from – yet complemented – the outdoor hunting experiences Francis accorded his guests. Both forms of hospitality strengthened diplomatic ties by giving the visitor a privileged glimpse of Francis’s recreational activities or intellectual pursuits. The location of the Porte Dorée was also crucially important in terms of a dialogue with the exterior. The words ‘Porte Dorée’ signify the door of the Orée, which means edge or boundary of a forest.15 Cellini’s portal would therefore have served as a liminal marker or passage between the outdoor sphere and the palace with its decorated interior. Cellini’s charge was to create an image that evoked the poetics of Fontainebleau in its totality, encompassing both the built environment and the natural setting. One text in particular, François de Belleforest’s 1574 Cosmographie universelle, describes the animation of the forest as part of Francis’s vision of Fontainebleau. Belleforest interleaves praise for the king’s efforts in renovating 15 Bliss, p. 75. However, the lower level porch is actually gilded (dorée).

Passages to Fantasy 

65

the palace of Fontainebleau – which he calls the most singular masterpiece in all of France – with descriptions of the surrounding forest that had plentiful game and copious healthy water emanating from the spring.16 Although Belleforest’s text postdates the death of Francis by several decades, it demonstrates that the revived myth of Fontainebleau and its association with the king continued to endure and seems to have crystallized into nostalgic remembrances in the time following his death. Because of its ruptured history, the portal never realized its place-specific function. In the summer of 1545, Cellini left for Italy without completing the portal ensemble, never to return.17 The purpose of Cellini’s portal was to present the Fontainebleau forest beyond the doors as a realm of delight mediated by the human imprint, a recreational space for the varied motions of the hunting ritual. Had it been installed, Cellini’s portal would have formed a symmetrical arrangement comprised of paired satyr columns framing the arch topped with the centrally placed head and antlers of the stag. This rigorous design of formal elements was intended to radiate a sense of grandeur that worked in tandem with the axial approach leading to the entrance wing of the palace. Cellini’s portal aimed to tie exterior to interior both spatially and thematically. While the portal gestured outwards to the forest, it also would have prepared the visitor for further artistic marvels to view inside.

The Forest in Motion: Cellini’s Ensemble Currently housed in the Louvre museum, Cellini’s tympanum comprises five bronze pieces and measures approximately four metres wide by two metres high (Figure 10).18 One of the most striking aspects of the tympanum is the thematization of motion and stasis, shown as contrasting passages of action and rest. A recumbent, immobile, nude woman appears as the personification of the water source. She embraces a trophy-like stag’s head, which Cellini identifies as an insignia of the king.19 The nymph is stylized and elongated; the length of her legs conforms to the shape of 16 Belleforest, p. 333. 17 Several years later, the abandoned tympanum was repurposed for the gatehouse at Anet, the residence of Henri II’s mistress, Diane de Poitiers. Grodecki, p. 47. Cellini’s departure resulted from conflicts with the king. Cellini, La vita, p. 595. For the Anet installation, see Pérouse de Montclos, Histoire de l’architecture, p. 108. 18 The tympanum is in the Louvre collection because it was dismounted from Anet and transferred to the Musée des Monuments Français in the 1790s after Revolutionary vandalism. In the early documentation, the tympanum is erroneously described as ‘Diana Resting’ (‘Le repos de Diane’) and is identified as the work of Jean Goujon. Courajod, p. 131. Ennio Quirino Visconti reestablished the statue’s iconographic identity as the ‘Nymph of Fontainebleau’ and its Cellini authorship. Pressouyre, p. 90. 19 ‘Un cervio, quale era una de l’inprese del Re’, Cellini, La vita, p. 528.

66 Nicole Bensoussan

the tympanum, as her toes reach the far edge.20 Like ancient Roman statues of river gods, she lies propped on one elbow, surrounded by animals that, according to Cellini, inhabit the woods of Fontainebleau.21 The hunting dogs with jewel-encrusted collars are grouped on the right side, whereas the left side features the wild animals including the hare, the boars, and the deer. The beasts are caught in lively poses, such as the boars that run fiercely with teeth bared as they flee their canine pursuers.22 The imagery resonates with Belleforest’s aforementioned description of the bounty of this forest with its ‘bustling woods’ and ‘gurgling waters’.23 Cellini presents a kind of encyclopedia of Fontainebleau fauna with two categories of animals, the wild and the domesticated, or the prey and the hunter. The animated depiction of the boars and the dogs captured mid-bark evokes the agitated turbulence of the hunt through a vignette of sound and motion. There are plays of contrast between the quiet gurgling of the water and the loud dogs and between the running boars and the still nymph and stag pair. It is worth noting that the elements most loaded with symbolism, the nymph and the stag, present an absence of motion, as if Cellini were directing us to view them from a contemplative lens. As the genius loci, the nymph conjures up the Fontainebleau foundation myth centred on the forest and the spring. Just as the king arrests his motion mid-hunt to gaze upon her in the wash drawing that depicts the foundation myth, the viewer will stop to behold her (Figure 11). The stag head, appearing very much like a hunting trophy, plays a key role because of its connection to royal emblematics and royal hunting, as will be discussed below. A major element of the portal that was never realized in full scale is the pair of satyrs. They were to be fashioned in three-quarter relief and to stand approximately three and a half metres tall, or almost twice life-size.24 As per Cellini’s description, the 20 John Pope-Hennessy observed a ‘pattern-making design concept’ in the pose, particularly the right arm and thigh that run parallel to the base of the tympanum. Pope-Hennessy, p. 139. 21 ‘Così produce quell bellissimo bosco, dove nasce la Fontana’, Cellini, La vita, p. 529. Pressouyre first noted the general affinities between the ‘Nymph of Fontainebleau’ and antique river gods. Pressouyre, p. 88. Cellini had resided in Rome and had probably seen the large marble statue of the Nile river god (and other similar works), which was displayed in the Belvedere statue court, and also included place-specific fauna. It is now in the Vatican Museum. 22 The boars are loosely derived from an ancient Roman marble statue of a boar in the Galleria degli Uffizi and thus advertise Cellini’s knowledge of ancient art. Scalini, p. 21. This statue would later enter the collection of Cellini’s patron, Cosimo I, in 1560. Gáldy, pp. 37, 441. However, Cellini’s boars differ from the ancient statue in their vigorous motion. Regarding the attention to verisimilitude, Cellini notes in his treatise on goldsmithery that all great masters portray from life: ‘Tutti e buoni maestri tutti ritraggono il vivo’, Cellini, I trattati, p. 204. 23 ‘Les boys y estans foisonnans […] les sources inf inies d’eaux vives qui y rejaillissent’, Belleforest, p. 333. 24 Cellini’s designs for them survive in two statuettes as well as in a drawing in the Woodner collection of the National Gallery of Art. The miniature trial casts are similar in size and manufacture. The intended height of the satyrs is found on Cellini’s inscription to the Woodner drawing, which reads ‘alla porta di

Passages to Fantasy 

67

satyrs have human legs, and only their faces and horns identify them as satyrs.25 The satyr on the left, whose face is, in Cellini’s words, ‘fiery and menacing’, would have held a club.26 The satyr on the right was to be armed with balls and mace.27 The satyrs’ weapons seem to allude to their fictional role as protectors of the sacred spring located above them in the tympanum and guardians of the palace behind them. From their perches at either end of the doorway and with protruding elbows turned outward, they swivel their heads inward as if to monitor the passage. Like the nymph, they evoke the mythical woodland setting of Fontainebleau. The satyrs offset the horizontal female nude with two vertical male nudes in dynamically twisted poses. The demeanour of the nymph differs from that of the satyrs; she is relaxed, while the satyrs are tense and alert. The active exertion of their bodies suggests impending motion. As in other sculpted works by Cellini, such as the salt cellar and Perseus, there is an interaction, in terms of either union or opposition, between male and female entities.28 The satyrs also function as artistic preludes to the visual décor found behind the doors: these figures of fantasy are interspersed in the painted and sculpted decoration of Fontainebleau, as we shall discuss in the context of diplomatic tours.

The Royal Stag Hunt as a Manifestation of Sovereignty Cellini’s stag, the final sylvan creature in his design, appears statuesque and frozen, as if to underline its emblematic status.29 The stag is a frontal, disembodied head with Fontana Bellio. Di bronzo p[er] piu di dua volte il vivo b[raccia] 7 erano dua variati’. In the sculpture treatise, Cellini lists the width of the tympanum as eight braccia. Cellini, I trattati, p. 161. Pope-Hennessey calculated the intended height of the satyrs based on Cellini’s braccio unit and the actual dimensions of the tympanum. Pope-Hennessey, p. 136. 25 Cellini, La vita, p. 528. 26 ‘con la sua testa ardito e f iero, qual mostrava spavento’, Ibid. The club is visible in the Woodner drawing. 27 The statuettes corroborate Cellini’s statement that the satyrs had similar postures but different faces, for the Getty (left-side) satyr appears older with larger horns and a meaner expression. The statuettes are in the J. Paul Getty Museum and the Royal Collection, London. The Getty statuette matches the Woodner drawing. Marsden and Basset, p. 555. Denise Allen convincingly suggests that the Woodner drawing was intended as a guide for chasing and post-casting finishing work, with the inscription on the drawing added by Cellini later when he had returned to Florence. Allen, p. 282. See also Kryza-Gersch, pp. 194-195. 28 In Cellini’s salt cellar, the earth is gendered feminine, and the sea is gendered masculine. Cole, pp. 21-24. In the writings of Vincenzo Cartari and other Renaissance thinkers, freshwater was gendered feminine (hence Cellini’s nymph), and ocean water was gendered masculine, in keeping with an Aristotelian idea of male as an active principle and female as a passive one. These constructs had an influence on Renaissance fountain and garden imagery. Lazzaro, p. 96. 29 Nancy Vickers reads the emblematic importance of the stag through the lens of its rapport with the nymph. She reads the tympanum as a veiled staging of Francis’s relationship with his mistress and

68 Nicole Bensoussan

majestic antlers that projects forth from the centre of the cluttered, non-illusionistic spatial setting.30 Cellini refers to it as the king’s inpresa because of the stag hunt’s centrality to Francis’s princely identity.31 As I will suggest, Francis transformed the stag hunt into an arena for open-air circulation that endeavoured to shape foreign visitors’ impressions of the French ruler. In this context, the emblematic beast came alive, animated by the drama of the encounter with man in the course of the hunt. From medieval times onward, the stag held a special status in French animal lore as the most noble of beasts, the bête royale.32 An animal known for its strength, speed, elegant bearing, virility, and spectacular antlers, it was juxtaposed with the ignoble beasts, or bêtes noires, such as the boar or the wolf, which were associated with malice and subterfuge.33 French kings beginning with Charles VI had used the stag image as a personal device; its long lifespan and the regenerative aspect of the antlers came to symbolize the longevity of the king.34 In Francis’s time, the Duke of Bourbon also used the winged white stag as an emblem. The device associated with it, cursum intendimus alis, ‘our wings give speed to our grace’, refers to the stag’s speed.35 Francis I practised several forms of hunting, but his preferred recreation was venerie, or the pursuit of large game, especially the stag. The stag was a worthy adversary, known for being light on its feet with its large, powerful body and slender legs. It was also a challenge to hunt because of the ruses, or tricks,

a gendered allegory of both artistic and sexual mastery by the artist. While this reading has merit, my interpretation lends more emphasis to the hunting over the erotic male associations of the stag. Vickers, p. 31. As noted above in note 6, the king’s mistress, the Duchesse d’Étampes, played a role in the origins of the commission. Sylvia Pressouyre’s essay first suggested the courtly love context. Pressouyre. 30 Adolfo Venturi first noted the stag’s resemblance to a hunting trophy. Venturi, p. 469. The antlers are nineteenth-century reconstructions that generally resemble the originals, as seen in de l’Orme’s woodcut of the Anet portal. The disappearance of the original antlers was probably, like other damage to the tympanum, occasioned by Revolutionary vandalism. Pressouyre, p. 87. 31 ‘Un cervio, quale era una de l’imprese del re’, Cellini, La vita, p. 528. 32 Bête royale was a term employed by Jules Michelet. Bourciez, p. 186. 33 Salvadori, La chasse, p. 85. The power and tenacity of the stag were evinced during mating season, when younger stags would fight older stags to death in a battle for the calf. Fouilloux, p. 46. 34 Salvadori, La chasse, p. 82. Du Fouilloux notes that ‘Les cerfs et biches peuvent vivre cent ans, selon le dire de Phebus’. Fouilloux, p. 46. 35 The Duke was Charles de Bourbon, Connétable de France. His device symbolized noble courage for the stag’s fearlessness and resourcefulness in traversing physical obstacles. It was thought to exemplify the traits of knightly warriors. In the royal entry into Lyon of 1515, there was a spectacle on the river Saône that featured Francis’s barge guided by a winged stag that referred to the Duke. The poem in the pamphlet described the stag as ‘Le cerf volant, avec l’espérance, devise dudict connestable, figuroyt la hardyesse et noble courage d’icelluy. Car comme le cerf a de soy jambes légières et ignelles [rapide] et le cueur volant et gay et volant, non creignant courir ou passer par plaines, montaignes ou valées, nonobstant encombriers de boys, boucages, ronces ou espines, car de sa nature, où le passage en iceux luy est estroyt, par ses branches et cornes, l’a soudain eslargy dont parvient à son désir et espoir’. Lecoq, p. 192.

Passages to Fantasy 

69

it would play to evade capture, such as crossing a body of water or turning back on its own tracks to confuse the dogs.36 Francis’s librarian, Guillaume Budé, penned a Latin treatise on hunting of large game in the king’s honour, and the 1561 hunting treatise by Guillaume du Fouilloux retrospectively designated Francis ‘père des veneurs’, or ‘father of big-game hunting’.37 Early modern commentators like Pierre Dan described hunting in general as the ideal exercise, for it engaged all of the senses, prevented idleness, and offered kings a therapeutic distraction from weighty affairs of state.38 Francis favoured the method of chasse à courre, or hunting with dogs, in which the dogs chase and track down the animal while the king and his small cohort follow on horseback.39 When it came to the noble stag, the French chivalric code of honour disavowed trickery and the erection of artificial barriers. According to this practice, the well-honed instincts of the dogs face off against the survival instincts of the prey in a prolonged excursion that can last for hours, sometimes even extending into the next day. 40 As numerous contemporary accounts of Francis’s athleticism attest, this kind of hunting required a high degree of physical fitness and stamina. Writing in 1542, the Venetian ambassador Matteo Dandolo describes Francis’s zeal for hunting. He notes that when a hunt was not completed in the same day, Francis would lodge in a modest cabin and resume the following morning, at which point the prey usually surrendered from sheer exhaustion. 41 For Francis, more than any other French monarch, the stag hunt became a deeply embedded aspect of his royal identity and canvas for self-representation. Descriptions of the king’s hunts often mention the coterie of women who followed Francis on his outings to provide pleasurable company and observe his show of masculine prowess. 42 In the legal realm, from 1516 onwards, Francis I issued royal 36 Chapter 40 of du Fouilloux’s treatise is titled ’Les ruzes et secretz que doivent sçavoir les piqueurs pour prendre le cerf a force’. Fouilloux, pp. 89-98. 37 Fouilloux, p. 11. Budé’s treatise De venatione was included in his 1552 publication De philologia. Salvadori, La chasse, p. 39. Charles IX was the patron of du Fouilloux’s treatise, and he also commissioned the translation into French of Budé’s hunting treatise in 1570. Du Fouilloux’s treatise draws on the earlier works of the Livre du roi Modus, composed between 1354 and 1376 by Henry de Ferrières, and of the 1387 Livre de la chasse by Gaston Phébus. Salvadori, La chasse, p. 38. 38 Dan, p. 6. 39 This differed from chasse aux toiles, which employed cloth enclosures that encircled the prey. D’Anthenaise, p. 83. 40 This is described in Robert de Salnove’s 1665 hunting treatise. Salnove, p. 234. 41 Chatenet, ‘Un portrait’, p. 20. Dandolo also observes Francis’s preference for stag hunting and states that Francis loved hunting so much he wished to be carried to the hunt in his coffin after death. Ibid. 42 This is the ‘petite bande’ described by Brantôme. Chatenet, La cour, p. 49. See the letter of Antony Browne to Henry VIII, from Compiègne in 1527. State Papers, vol. 7, p. 7. There is also a well-known anecdote about young Francis killing a fierce boar that had escaped an enclosure and entered the palace at Amboise before a rapt audience of women. Knecht, p. 112.

70 Nicole Bensoussan

edicts that restricted hunting of large game in some royal domains to himself and his entourage. 43 Beginning at Fontainebleau in 1534, then later extending to other residences, Francis implemented a new system of capitaineries, whereby guards were stationed at the perimeters of royal forests to prevent illegal hunting and had legal jurisdiction to impose penalties. 44 The stag’s position on the highest rung of the animal hierarchy corresponded to that of the king in the social hierarchy. Thus, through a combination of custom and law, the stag hunt was codified as a privilege reserved for the sovereign. Echoing the earlier sentiments of du Fouilloux, in 1655 Robert de Salnove characterized this as a divinely ordained state of affairs: ‘The same god who gave us kings rightfully reserved for them the stag as the most perfect and agreeable of creatures’. 45 The stag hunt and other forms of hunting played a role in diplomacy for Francis I, both as a way of sharing French customs with foreigners and as a backdrop for conducting off icial business. It is worth investigating the purpose of this less commonly discussed aspect of hosting and the modes of circulation that it engendered. 46 Interestingly, the well-known 1540 letter of Ambassador John Wallop to King Henry VIII of England provides detailed descriptions of both a stag hunt with Francis and a tour of the palace interior. The interaction begins at the assemblée and continues while Wallop accompanies the king horseback on a stag hunt in a forest near Paris. 47 The ambassador relays a meandering discussion he has with Francis concerning a recent confrontation at Calais. The ambassador requests and Francis agrees to appoint commissioners to maintain ‘amytie’ in the border zone: Francis invites Wallop ‘within three or fowre daies after to cumme to Fowntayne de Bleawe, where He wold not onely geve me the names of those He wold appoint, but also the tyme that He shuld thinke good’. 48 In the course of the conversation, Francis mentions with a jovial air that he had once strangled a white horse to death 43 The legislation restricting stag hunting to the king was generalized to all royal domains under Francis’s successor, Henri II, in 1552. Salvadori, François I, p.47. 44 Ibid., p. 53. 45 ‘Le mesme Dieu qui nous a donné des Roys, leur a justement reservé le Cerf, comme la plus parfaite et plus agréable de toutes les bestes’, Salnove, p. 3. Du Fouilloux expressed a similar thought in his earlier treatise: a poem entitled ‘La chasse du cerf’ speaks in the person of the stag. One line of the poem reads ‘Pour le plaisir des roys je suis donné’. Fouilloux, p. 42. 46 As early as 1517, even before the renovation and expansion of Fontainebleau began, the Mantuan ruler Federico Gonzaga accompanied Francis on several stag hunts near Paris in Boulogne-sur-Seine. Chatenet, La cour, p. 50. 47 The assemblée is a gathering held prior to beginning the hunt, in which a plein-air meal is taken and the huntsman presents to the king his recommendations on the strategies for pursuit. Chapter 35 of du Fouilloux’s treatise is titled ‘Du lieu ou se doyt faire l’assemblee, et comme elle se doyt faire’. Fouilloux, p. 76. 48 State Papers, vol. 9, p.480.

Passages to Fantasy 

71

for not preventing the massacre of one of his cherished hunting dogs by a boar. 49 During the hunt, the stag is sighted but not captured, and the king finally departs in the direction of Melun and eventually Fontainebleau. The ambassador’s visit resumes the following Sunday with a formal visit to Fontainebleau. At that point, the indoor circuit of the palace visit takes place. In a less detailed account by John Lisle and Cuthbert Tunstall of 1546, the two ambassadors note that they were lodged at Fontainebleau in ‘richelye appointed’ chambers with their noblemen and gentlemen.50 One evening they saw the dancing and pastimes of the court with the king present, and ‘the next day the king gave us pastyme at the hart of force, and dyned in a meane house in the forest’.51 Both of these descriptions relay intimate encounters with Francis that occurred during a stag hunt. Wallop’s letter conveys Francis’s style of conversing, in which the king alternates between light-hearted banter and serious discussion of foreign policy matters. The forest talk is akin to a summit between leaders (or their proxies) in which informal agreements are reached that will be later formalized. As the king promises, more concrete steps are to follow a few days hence, upon the ambassador’s visit to the Fontainebleau palace. An image that conveys the atmosphere of Francis’s stag hunts appears in the second volume of the circa 1519 illuminated manuscript entitled Commentaires de la guerre gallique.52 The text is an imaginary dialogue between Julius Caesar and Francis I in which Caesar presents the king historical lessons on statesmanship. It is a fascinating work of propaganda in which the author establishes a direct parallel between the two leaders, past and present, as esteemed rulers of Gaul. Each volume narrates a different ‘encounter’ that Francis hosts at a royal palace.53 One of the miniatures depicting a stag hunt at Fontainebleau appears at the opening of the second volume (Figure 14). Executed in a monochrome wash technique, it shows Francis in profile astride a galloping horse preceded by hunting hounds in rapid motion. Staggered behind him in the middle ground is his favourite huntsman, Perot de Ruthie, blowing his hunting horn. In the distance, partially hidden in the dense thicket of trees, appears the stag, also running in a lateral motion. Although 49 Ibid., p. 483. 50 State Papers, vol. 11, p. 261. 51 Ibid. 52 This manuscript was written by François Demoulins (with the assistance of Albert Pigghe) and illustrated by Godefroy le Batave and Jean Clouet. Scailliérez, p. 54. It commemorated his 1515 victory over the Swiss at Marignano in the first of his Italian campaigns. It also presented a rhetorical argument for Francis’s 1519 bid for the position of Holy Roman Emperor, which proved unsuccessful. The first volume is in the British Museum (Ms. Harley 6205), the second is in the Bibliothèque nationale de France (Ms. fr. 13429), and the third is at the Musée Condé (Ms. 1139). Lecoq, p. 229. See also McGowan, pp. 292-294. 53 The first meeting is at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, the second meeting is at Fontainebleau, and the third takes place at Cognac.

72 Nicole Bensoussan

14. Godefroy le Batave and Jean Clouet, Francis I on a Stag Hunt, from François Demoulins de Rochefort, Commentaires de la guerre gallique, 1519. Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris, France (Ms. fr. 13429, vol. 2).

Passages to Fantasy 

73

this work stages an imagined, not real, encounter between rulers, it echoes the connection seen in the ambassadors’ reports between stag hunting and statecraft. Stag hunting was an aristocratic mark of difference, a means of displaying warrior skills in a pacific context, and a setting conducive to one-on-one conversation. In the forest, we can imagine the mode of circulation as an open-ended one, determined only by the circuitous movements of the stag and the dogs. Part of the pleasure of hunting the stag was the animal’s ability to travel long distances on foot and intelligently hazard most obstacles while evading its pursuers.54 This afforded the hunter moments of relaxed leisure while riding horseback in a state of perpetual motion and heightened sensory awareness. As Wallop’s letter shows, the slower parts of the hunt are the intervals when, in an easy spirit of camaraderie, substantive diplomacy can take place, at a distance from the more choreographed ambience of the palace. When the hunt reaches intensity during the more heated segments of the chase like the scene in the Commentaires, conversation is suspended and the visitor retreats to a passive role of spectatorship. At times, this visitor may feel baffled or confused as he tries to make sense of the dogs’ actions and unexpected changes in direction. Just as the stag moves in and out of view, obscured by trees and brush, diplomacy can move in fits and starts. Nevertheless, in this dance of diplomacy, the king’s privileged status is never in doubt, even when the stag eludes his pursuer. The stag hunt imbues the physical motions of the king with an aura of majesty and sovereignty.

The Interior Circuit at Fontainebleau: Affective Perambulation In addition to participating in the hunt, important visitors also received tours of the palace interior. As the miniature fresco of the Porte Dorée reminds us, the entrance portal containing Cellini’s ensemble would have been the first point of access to the palace for visitors (Figure 13). The entrance wing with its axial approach imposed an appearance of order and symmetry on a messy architectural complex containing a conglomeration of older and newer structures. Within this context, it is evident that part of Cellini’s assignment was to curate visitors’ first impressions of the palace. Whether they had previously hunted with Francis or not, visitors viewing the portal would immediately have recognized the hunting iconography, relating it back to the king’s preferred form of recreation and his sentimental attachment to the Fontainebleau forest. Moreover, as we shall see, certain components, like the satyrs, reference the interior imagery, preparing the viewer for the artistic marvels waiting on the other side of the threshold. 54 Stags were lauded for their keen ability to traverse obstacles. Du Fouilloux describes their method of crossing wide rivers using a collaborative relay approach. Fouilloux, p. 44.

74 Nicole Bensoussan

The palace visits usually followed a set circuit, in marked contrast to the unpredictable routes and duration of the hunting excursion. As Monique Chatenet observes, the itinerary began in the king’s chambers, continued to the richly ornamented Galerie François I, and concluded on the lower level with the bathing chambers, which contained frescoes and a collection of easel paintings.55 John Wallop’s 1540 letter that contained the aforementioned account of the stag hunt also describes this indoor itinerary in detail. Several other accounts mention a similar itinerary, including a 1541 letter of the papal ambassador Monsignor Ardinghello to Alessandro Farnese. The Galerie was an extension of the king’s private chambers, directly connected to his bedroom, and was used as an area for quiet reflection while strolling. It was a main attraction of these tours. His bedroom, the chambre du roi, and the Galerie were both richly decorated with fresco cycles and stucco ornamentation by Rosso Fiorentino and Francesco Primaticcio.56 These spaces functioned in semi-public ways, but always in a context that suggested privileged intimacy with the king, who personally escorted his visitors through and explained the iconography of the decorative schemes. Wallop states that the king ‘brought me into his gallery, keeping the key therof Hym self’ and ‘me thought it the most magnifique that ever I sawe […] betwixt every windowe standes grete anticall personages entier, and in divers places of the said gallery many fayre tables of stories, sett in, very finely wrowgth’.57 The papal secretary Cardinal Cervini recorded in a 1540 letter to Alessandro Farnese that the king ‘called for me and showed me a beautiful loggia decorated with stucco, paintings, and sculpture, worthy of His Majesty, who discoursed about the fables and stories of these pictures’.58 In Monsignor Ardinghello’s letter, he interprets the king’s willingness to guide his guests through private spaces as an ‘extraordinary manifestation of affection and favour’.59 The experience of viewing the works of art in the Galerie through the prism of the king’s oral discourse was evidently a memorable one. Francis’s gallery exemplif ied a specif ically French architectural type. As a corridor-like space for private exercise and contemplation, it shared some features with its Italian antecedent, the loggia. Whereas Italian loggie were open to the elements, Francis’s gallery was enclosed. However, the regularly spaced windows (each separated by a fresco and its framing elements) afforded a pleasing view of the 55 Chatenet, La cour, pp. 252-253. 56 These works of art will not be examined in detail here. For a primer on the decorative cycles, see Zerner. 57 State Papers, vol. 8, p. 484. 58 ‘fece poi chiamar me e mi mostrò una bellissima loggia di stucchi, pitture e sculture degna certo di Sua Mtà, il ragionando di lettere, e di historie su quelle pitture’, Chatenet, La cour, p. 253. 59 ‘ci dimostrò favore et amorevolezza estraordinaria’, Ibid.

Passages to Fantasy 

75

15. Rosso Fiorentino, Ignorance Defeated, Galerie François I, Château de Fontainebleau, France, 1530s. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY.

gardens below. In Francis’s very intentional approach to circulation at Fontainebleau, the Galerie retained its sense of privacy, while also acting as an area for displays of princely magnificence that is more characteristic of the later European evolution of the gallery type.60 The space in the Galerie was axial, symmetrical and ordered by the rhythmic alternation of bays. In attempting to reconstruct the patterns of circulation that took place in the Galerie François I, we can imagine a slow, almost choreographed motion on foot, punctuated by regular pauses when the king stops to explain a fresco or highlight features of the stuccos and marquetry. Replete with stuccoed framing motifs, the space was itself a frame for the king’s performance of self and shows of erudition before an elite audience of foreign observers. One set of framing motifs within the Galerie reiterates the satyr imagery of Cellini’s portal. Satyrs make an appearance in the surround for Rosso Fiorentino’s fresco of Ignorance Defeated (Figure 15). These satyrs are atlantid types, with fanciful cushions to relieve the strain on their heads. As architectural supports, Cellini’s satyrs echo those of Rosso but have more torsion with the opposing motion of neck and lowered arm.61 Rosso’s satyrs are a male and female pair, and both have satyr children clustered sweetly around their ankles. The fresco between them 60 Guillaume, p. 38. 61 Cellini may have been aware of Primaticcio’s bronze satyrs copied after the paired della Valle satyrs, which were part of a larger sculptural commission for Francis I. They are so close in date to Cellini’s project that this question remains open. After Francis’s death, they were installed in the ballroom at Fontainebleau. Bensoussan, p. 185.

76 Nicole Bensoussan

depicts Francis I reaching the illuminated entrance to the palace of Jove. With his sword raised in triumph, he vanquishes the blindfolded allegorical figures of Ignorance and the Vices. The satyrs seem to offer a commentary on the fresco. Rather than emphasizing unbridled sexuality, the pairing of fresco and frame links these domesticated satyrs to a different notion of fecundity or fertility, one that relates to the flourishing of arts and letters during Francis’s reign. The stucco surrounds for Francesco Primaticcio’s frescoes of the early 1540s in the Chambre de la Duchesse d’Étampes (bedroom of Francis’s mistress, Anne de Pisseleu) also depict satyrs, this time as repeating satyr-herm figures overshadowed by alluring standing female nudes. This space was part of the king’s cluster of private chambers facing the oval courtyard, located between the Porte Dorée and the Galerie François I. It was therefore one of the first rooms on the tour circuit after entering through the Porte Dorée and going up to the main level.62 One fresco in particular that is framed by satyrs is the scene of Apelles painting Alexander and Campaspe. Here, the figure of Alexander stands in for Francis, and the fresco again thematizes Francis’s patronage of the arts. Thus, just as the satyrs in Cellini’s tympanum would have acted as guardians protecting the entrance to the palace as a symbol of cultural sophistication, the satyrs surrounding individual frescoes inside the palace reinforced these associations because of the frescoes’ autobiographical content.63 The sculpted satyrs in the Galerie and the duchess’s chamber were part of the interior circuit, and we can imagine Francis’s lively discussions about them with his visitors. In the Galerie, the duchess’s chamber, and Cellini’s portal, the satyrs point to the intersection of nature and culture, or wilderness and civilization. In Cellini’s portal, their physical placement would have literally marked this intersection, while their human legs seem to signal a courtly triumph of refinement over savagery. The repetition of satyr imagery inside the Galerie François I and other interior spaces highlighted the commensurability between forest and palace. When compared to the Galerie and other parts of the palace interior, circulation in the forest seems to have been more spontaneous and improvisational, for its pacing varied with the rhythms of the hunt. At the same time, from a visitor’s perspective, there were points of convergence between the two somatic experiences. Special visitors like John Wallop routinely experienced both as part of their official visit to Fontainebleau. These dual forms of motion in interior and exterior spaces both offered intimate access to the monarch in a context that showcased either his skill or his erudition. The palace tour followed a regular walking route with beginning 62 Boudon and Blécon, pp. 157-159: room 12 on Plan 2. 63 In the fresco of Apelles Painting Alexander and Campaspe, the figure of Alexander obviously refers to Francis, and Campaspe stands in for his own mistress, the Duchesse d’Étampes. The frescoes in this room are heavily damaged and were reworked in later eras, but surviving drawings by Primaticcio indicate that the iconography and general composition are preserved. Cordellier, pp 230-231.

Passages to Fantasy 

77

and endpoints and little variation in the sequence. The hunt seems to have allowed for more moments of informality and casual dialogue than the palace tour, which sometimes had a larger group of courtiers in attendance. Yet the endearing feeling of walking side by side with the king in his private chambers certainly mirrored the pleasurable experience of partaking in Francis’s stag hunt. In both environments, however, the king set the pace, either through his movements in conducting the hunt or his discourse and breaks in motion when conducting the tour. Although hunting seemed less strategically choreographed by the king than the palace tour, in some ways it too encompassed a scripted set of actions. Unpredictable motion while astride a horse, changes in direction, and improvised decisions were well-known aspects of the hunt. The visitor who accompanied the king on this excursion not only had opportunities to conduct diplomacy without intermediaries, but, equally importantly, became a spectator to the king’s performance. In this performance, the king engaged in an aristocratic pastime that revealed his aptitude in the art of the hunt. The recent restrictions on stag hunting reinforced the aura of exclusivity associated with this activity. Just like the Galerie François I, to which only the king could grant privileged access, the experience made the visitor feel esteemed and welcomed. For visiting dignitaries, the curated encounters with Francis in the palace and the forest constituted a charm offensive that furthered diplomatic discussions. Cellini’s monumental portal was intended to serve as an introduction to the king and to the pleasures of Fontainebleau as a building inseparable from its forest environs. The aim of Cellini’s ensemble was to narrate, revive, and elaborate upon the place-based mythology of Fontainebleau as a paradise to be admired for its natural and artificial marvels. Situated strategically at the palace entrance, the portal would have welcomed visitors into an enchanted realm of fantasy, where they could literally follow in the king’s footsteps.

Works Cited Primary Printed Sources Belleforest, François de. Cosmographie universelle de tout le monde. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Paris: Michel Sonnius, 1575. Cellini, Benvenuto. I trattati dell’oreficeria e della scultura novamente messi alle stampe secondo la originale dettatura del codice Marciano. Edited by Carlo Milanesi. Florence: Felice le Monnier, 1857. Cellini, Benvenuto. La vita. Parma: Fondazione Pietro Bembo: U. Guanda, 1996.

78 Nicole Bensoussan

Cerceau, Jacques Androuet du. Le premier [-second] volume des plus excellents bastiments de France, auquel sont designez les plans de […] bastiments, & de leur contenu. Paris, 1579. Dan, Pierre. Fontainebleau. Le trésor des merveilles de la maison royale contenant la description de son antiquité, de sa fondation, de ses bastimens, de ses rares peintures, tableaux, emblemes, & devises: de ses iardins, de ses fontaines, & autres singularitez qui s’y voyent. Paris: Sebastien Cramoisy, 1642. Fouilloux, Jacques du. La venerie de Iaques du Foüilloux avec plusieurs receptes & remedes pour guerir les chiens de diuerses maladies. Poitiers: Les de Marnefz et Bouchetz, 1562. Guilbert, Abbé. Château bourg et forest de Fontainebleau, contenant une explication historique des peintures, tableaux, reliefs, statuës, ornemens qui s’y voyent; & la vie des architectes, peintres & sculpteurs qui y ont travaillé. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Paris: André Cailleau, 1731. Salnove, Robert de. La vénerie royale. Paris: Emile Nourry, 1929. State Papers Published under the Authority of His Majesty’s Commission: King Henry VIII. 11  vols. London: Record Commission, 1830-1852.

Secondary Sources Allen, Denise. ‘Catalogue Entries 102 & 103: Cellini, Satyr’. In Leonardo, Michelangelo, and the Renaissance in Florence. Edited by David Franklin. Ottawa: National Gallery of Canada, 2005. 282-285. Bensoussan, Nicole. ‘From the French Galerie to the Italian Garden: Sixteenth-Century Displays of Primaticcio’s Bronzes at Fontainebleau’. Journal of the History of Collections 27, no. 2 (2015): 175-198. Bliss, Joseph R. ‘Benvenuto Cellini’s Satyrs for the Porte Dorée at Fontainebleau’. In Large Bronzes in the Renaissance. Edited by Peta Motture. Washington, D. C.: Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts, 2003. 73-94. Boudon, Françoise, and Jean Blécon. Le château de Fontainebleau de François Ier à Henri IV. Les bâtiments et leurs fonctions. Tours: Picard, 1998. Bourciez, Édouard Eugène Joseph. Les moeurs polies et la littérature de cour sous Henri II. Geneva: Slatkine Reprints, 1967. Chatenet, Monique. La cour de France au XVI siècle. Vie sociale et architecture. Paris: Picard, 2002. Chatenet, Monique. ‘Un portrait du “père des veneurs”’. In Chasses princières dans l’Europe de la Renaissance. Edited by Claude d’Anthenaise and Monique Chatenet. Paris: Actes Sud, 2007. 17-39. Cole, Michael. Cellini and the Principles of Sculpture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Cordellier, Dominique, ed. Primatice. Maître de Fontainebleau. Musée du Louvre, 22 septembre 2004-3 janvier 2005. Paris: Éditions des Musées Nationaux, 2004. Courajod, Louis. Alexandre Lenoir. Son journal et le Musée des Monuments Français. Vol. 1 of 3 vols. Paris: Honoré Champion, 1878.

Passages to Fantasy 

79

D’Anthenaise, Claude. ‘Chasses aux toiles, chasses en parc’. In Chasses princières dans l’Europe de la Renaissance. Edited by Claude d’Anthenaise and Monique Chatenet. Paris: Actes Sud, 2007. 73-96. Gáldy, Andrea M. Cosimo I de’ Medici as Collector: Antiquities and Archaeology in SixteenthCentury Florence. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009. Grodecki, Catherine. ‘Le séjour de Benvenuto Cellini à l’Hôtel de Nesle et la fonte de la Nymphe de Fontainebleau d’après les Actes des Notaires Parisiens’. Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de Paris et de l’Ile-de-France 98 (1971): 45-80. Guillaume, Jean. ‘La galerie dans le château français. Place et fonction’. Revue de l’Art 102 (1993-1994): 32-42. Jestaz, Bertrand. ‘Benvenuto Cellini et la cour de France’. Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes 161 (2003): 71-132. Knecht, Robert Jean. Renaissance Warrior and Patron: The Reign of Francis I. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Kryza-Gersch, Claudia. ‘Catalogue Entries 26 & 27: Cellini, Satyr’. In Donatello, Michelangelo, Cellini: Sculptors’ Drawings from Renaissance Italy. Edited by Michael W. Cole. Boston: Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, 2014. 194-197. Lazzaro, Claudia. ‘The Visual Language of Gender in Sixteenth-Century Garden Sculpture’. In Refiguring Woman: Perspectives on Gender and the Italian Renaissance. Edited by Marilyn Migiel and Juliana Schiesari. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991. 71-113. Lecoq, Anne-Marie. François Ier imaginaire. Symbolique et politique à l’aube de la Renaissance française. Paris: Macula, 1987. McGowan, Margaret M. The Vision of Rome in Late Renaissance France. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2000. Marsden, Jonathan, and Jane Bassett. ‘Cellini’s Other Satyr for the Porte Dorée at Fontainebleau’. Burlington Magazine 145, no. 1205 (2003): 552-563. Pérouse de Montclos, Jean-Marie. Fontainebleau. London: Scala, 1998. Pérouse de Montclos, Jean-Marie. Histoire de l’architecture française. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Paris: Mengès: Caisse Nationale des monuments historiques et des sites, 1989. Pope-Hennessy, John. Cellini. New York: Abbeville Press, 1985. Pressouyre, Sylvia. ‘Note additionnelle sur la Nymphe de Fontainebleau’. Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de Paris et de l’Île-de-France 98 (1971): 81-92. Salvadori, Philippe. La chasse sous l’Ancien Régime. Paris: Librairie Arthème Fayard, 1996. Salvadori, Philippe. ‘François I et le droit de la chasse’. In Chasses princières dans l’Europe de la Renaissance. Edited by Claude d’Anthenaise and Monique Chatenet. Paris: Actes Sud, 2007. 43-57. Scailliérez, Cécile. François Ier et ses artistes dans les collections du Louvre. Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 1992. Scalini, Mario. Benvenuto Cellini. Translated by Kate Singleton. Florence: Scala, 1995. Venturi, Adolfo. Storia dell’arte italiana. Milan: U. Hoepli, 1901.

80 Nicole Bensoussan

Vickers, Nancy. ‘The Mistress in the Masterpiece’. In The Poetics of Gender. Edited by Nancy Miller. New York: Columbia University Press, 1986. 19-41. Zerner, Henri. L’art de la Renaissance en France. L’invention du Classicisme. Paris: Flammarion, 1996.

About the Author Nicole Bensoussan is an independent scholar of Renaissance art. Her research areas include the history of sculpture, replicative visual media, Renaissance antiquarianism and archeology, and cultural exchange between northern and southern Europe. She has published essays on Primaticcio’s bronze statues for Fontainebleau, medals issued for Charles IX, and triumphal pageantry.

3.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern England: Motion, Piety and Hospitality, c. 1580–1640 Gašper Jakovac

Abstract The survival of a Roman Catholic minority in post-Reformation England did not depend merely upon social separation and isolation. By analysing missionary activities and patterns of hospitality at St Anthony’s Hall in Northumberland and Naworth Castle in Cumberland, I demonstrate how regulation of human motion in respective households shaped and displayed the social behaviour of their owners. I argue that religion was as much a driving force behind the seclusion of the Catholic home as an incentive for its accessibility. The permeability of Catholic houses and social integration of Catholics was encouraged through missionary mobility, indiscriminate charity, and Christmas hospitality. Examining human motion in Catholic houses further challenges the notion of the English Catholic community as an introverted social group. Keywords: St Anthony’s Hall, Naworth Castle, Catholic mission, Christmas hospitality, festive mobility

After the English Reformation, which violently expelled the old faith from its traditional places of worship and confined it primarily to the household, Catholic houses – in particular, those of the landed elites – not only became the principal places of Roman Catholic devotion, but also politically charged spaces, which the government perceived as seedbeds of ‘popery’ and sedition.1 State surveillance and violent raids of private homes by pursuivants, the official agents of the Privy Council, drastically increased after the first Jesuit mission in 1580 and subsequent 1

McClain; Dolan, pp. 655-658; Walsham, ‘Holy Families’, pp. 146-160.

Skelton, K. (ed.), Early Modern Spaces in Motion: Design, Experience, and Rhetoric. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2021 doi 10.5117/9789463725811_ch03

82 Gašper Jakovac

introduction of a more rigorous recusant legislation.2 After 1585, for example, harbouring or assisting a priest became a felony punishable by death. It is therefore hardly surprising that continuous public scrutiny forced Catholics to take precaution and conduct their private devotional life as covertly as possible. Purpose-built hides, secret garrets, chapels, and passages as well as convenient geography and landscaping, permitting quick and stealthy movements of priests to and from the property, uniquely altered the plans and experience of Catholic homes and became essential to the fully functioning recusant household.3 However, the new features were not planned to merely conceal objects, practices, and individuals, but also to regulate and even encourage their circulation, which was crucial for sustaining Catholic religious life. By designing secluded lanes and secret hides, Catholics hoped to simultaneously frustrate pursuivants’ violent intrusions as well as to facilitate secretive motions of priests, fellow coreligionists, illegal books, and devotional objects. In the past, scholars discussed motion in the Catholic community by focusing on the issues of missionary circuits, the conveying and harbouring of itinerant priests, recusant vagrancy, and the networks of safe houses which made such covert efforts possible.4 More recently, broader perspectives relying on the analysis of social and institutional networks, circulation of print, transnational cultural exchange, and international mobility have challenged the insular, peripheral, and introspective conceptions of English Catholicism and attempted to rethink the divisions between the exiled communities on the European mainland and Catholics at home.5 This essay continues to defy the notion of intellectual and social (self-)isolation of English Catholics. However, rather than stressing their international outlook and mobility, I demonstrate how localized motion of individuals centred around the country house provided opportunities for charitable behaviour and friendly sociability between the opposing confessional groups. Catholic country houses were not only the focal points of proscribed religious practice; they could also function as missionary centres and, more conventionally, as seats of hospitality and festive entertainment. Focusing on St Anthony’s Hall near Newcastle and Naworth Castle in Cumberland, I discuss how regulation of motion in 2 Sheils, ‘Catholics and Recusants’, p. 255. On penal legislation, see Havran, pp. 1-17. On f inancial penalties, see introduction in Bowler, pp. x-xlvii. 3 For hides and priest holes, see Hodgetts, Secret Hiding Places. 4 Bossy, English Catholic Community, pp. 84-90, 250-260; Hodgetts, Secret Hiding Places; McGrath and Rowe; Rowlands, ‘Hidden People’, pp. 15-17. For details of Yorkshire missions, for example, see Aveling, Northern Catholics, pp. 153-163; Aveling, ‘Catholic Households’, pp. 86-91. 5 See, for example, Sena; Questier, Catholicism and Community; Kelly and Bowden; Bela, Calma, and Rzegocka; Chambers and O’Connor; Kelly and Thomas; Corens. See also the ‘Monks in Motion’ project and the prosopographical database of the English and Welsh Benedictines in exile at https://www.dur. ac.uk/mim/.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

83

Catholic houses shaped and displayed their owners’ social behaviour. I suggest that religion was as much a driving force behind the seclusion of the Catholic home, which went hand in hand with strict control of individuals’ movements, as an incentive for its openness and accessibility. For the majority of upper-class Catholics, whose allegiances were suspected and who were mostly excluded from political life, getting along with their Protestant neighbours and demonstrating loyalty to the Crown was as significant as maintaining secret devotional life.6 Notwithstanding the perennial dangers of denunciation, violent raids, and imprisonment, the well-off Catholics still offered hospitality at their homes and socialized with Protestant friends, neighbours, and strangers in order to fulfil their Christian duty and maintain their social standing. Although such localized festive mobility was often accidental, some Catholic landowners consciously encouraged it. Traditional hospitality functioned as a survival strategy, enabling the Catholic elites to persevere in a politically hostile environment.

Seclusion, Devotion, and House Raids In the wake of the arrest and execution of Jesuit Edmund Campion in 1581, Robert Persons published a polemical pamphlet entitled An Epistle of the Persecution of Catholickes in Englande (1582). Persons challenged the reasons of the English government for its violence against Catholics, stressing that Queen Elizabeth I was punishing her subjects solely for their faith and not, as she claimed, because they were traitors. He discussed Campion’s martyrdom in a wider context of Catholic persecution, examining the consequences of penal laws in great detail, particularly those of the recent ‘Act to retain the Queen’s subjects in their due obedience’.7 Using the language of pursuit and displacement, he stressed how lay Catholics in England ‘are neither suffred to rest nor abyde any where: but are tossed and tormoyled to and fro, as it were with waves & wyndes in continuall vexations and troubles’.8 They are pressed into incessant motion; some are forced ‘to flye away’, while others are compelled ‘to abyde among bushes and woods’ and ‘haunt the fields’.9 Significantly, even their homes offer no refuge: For at midnight our adversaries oftentimes rushe in forcibly upon them, and sett a watch about the house, that none may escape: then they searche every chamber, 6 On Catholic loyalism, see Pritchard; Questier, ‘Catholic Loyalism’. Evidence of peaceful coexistence between Protestants and Catholics will be given in the course of this essay, but see also Rowlands, English Catholics of Parish and Town, which stresses integration rather than separation of the Catholic community; Walsham, Charitable Hatred, pp. 207-214, 269-299; Sheils, ‘“Getting On”’. 7 Persons, Epistle of the Persecution, pp. 53-71; Kilroy, p. 363. 8 Persons, Epistle of the Persecution, p. 127. 9 Ibid.

84 Gašper Jakovac

even the bedchambers of wives and maidens: aboute they goe throwgh all the house from place to place, veweing, tossing, & rifeling in every corner, chests, coffers, boxes, caskets and closets. […] And in the power of these felowes yt lyeth, whom so ever they do finde in the house eyther to commit to prison, or at theyr will and lyking to trouble with other vexations.10

Persons’s vivid description soon received its visual complement in Richard Verstegan’s influential images of Elizabethan persecution: first, in the broadsheet Praesentis Ecclesiae Anglicanae typus (1582), whose images were later appended to Persons’s Epistle; in the block book Descriptiones quaedam illius inhumanae et multiplicis persecutionis (1583–1584), with engravings by Giovanni Battista Cavalieri in its second edition; and finally, in the monumental Theatrum crudelitatum haereticorum nostri temporis (1587).11 Verstegan’s and Cavalieri’s images carefully follow the events recorded by Persons, depicting violent motions at the houses of the English Catholics. 12 In the f irst and the second plates from Descriptiones, searchers are depicted breaking down the doors of Catholic houses, bursting into dark bedchambers with burning torches, rifling through chests, plundering valuables, violently interrupting secret administration of sacraments, and, finally, arresting priests and their hosts, dragging them away in a public procession from one enclosed space to another, from doorsteps of their homes to jail (Figures 16-17). In both Descriptiones and Theatrum crudelitatum, depictions of assaulted households are immediately followed by scenes of torture and inhumane confinement. The similarities between Catholic domestic space and prison are visibly stressed: there is little difference between the often painful security of a priest hole and agony of the ‘little ease’.13 Early on, Catholic households adapted to persecution and violent intrusions (which could last for days) by relying on a variety of strategies, including vagrancy and construction of secret hiding places.14 Writing to Alfonso Agazzari in August 1581, Persons mentioned ‘secret places’ found in Catholic houses ‘to hide priests from the violence of the officials’, but these were not necessarily purpose-built 10 Ibid., pp. 127-129. For other similar descriptions of house searches in the period, see Richard Holtby on the persecution in the north, in Foley, vol. 3, pp. 138-139; Jesuit annual letter for 1614, in Foley, vol. 7, pt. 2, pp. 1034-1035; Gerard, pp. 51-52 (at Baddesley Clinton), pp. 71-77 (at Braddocks). 11 For analysis of Verstegan’s work relating to the persecution of English Catholics, see Dillon, pp. 114-276; Kilroy, pp. 359-366, 378. 12 Dillon, pp. 124-125. 13 The ‘little ease’ was a tiny prison cell in the Tower of London. It physically prevented the prisoner from assuming any comfortable resting position. 14 Aveling, ‘Catholic Households’, pp. 88-89; Hodgetts, Secret Hiding Places, pp. 17-20.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

85

16. Giovanni Battista Cavalieri, ‘Apprehensiones catholicorum’ (depiction of arrests of priests and lay Catholics), from Richard Verstegan, Descriptiones quaedam illius inhumanae et multiplicis persecutionis, 1584. Reproduced by kind permission of Palace Green Library, Durham University.

priest holes yet.15 A more common way to deal with sudden night-time raids at that time was to escape from the house entirely. Time was of the essence. When insistent ringing was heard at the front door, all inside the house would ‘like deer that have heard the voice of hunters and prick their ears […] become alert [and] stand to attention’ and, if danger were real, quickly ‘take to the woods and thickets, to ditches and holes’ via some premeditated escape route.16 The proliferation of purpose-built hides only took place in the 1590s, after Nicholas Owen, alias Little 15 Persons, Correspondence and Unpublished Papers, p. 183; Hodgetts, ‘Loca Secretiora’, pp. 387-388; Hodgetts, Secret Hiding Places, pp. 12-15. 16 Persons, Correspondence and Unpublished Papers, p. 183.

86 Gašper Jakovac

17. Giovanni Battista Cavalieri, ‘Nocturnae per domos inquisitiones’ (depiction of night house raids), from Richard Verstegan, Descriptiones quaedam illius inhumanae et multiplicis persecutionis, 1584. Reproduced by kind permission of Palace Green Library, Durham University.

John, the famous constructor of such conveniences, began his work in 1588 and when seminarians were more likely to abandon their perpetual itineracy and take up permanent residencies in aristocratic houses.17 Additional restrictive measures introduced in 1592, which compelled convicted recusants to remain within five miles of their respective primary residences on pain of forfeiting their property and goods, probably contributed to these developments.18 In the houses equipped with priest’s apartments and sufficient hiding places, the pre-choreographed movements during a raid made a more efficient use of the building’s floor plan. Whether medieval in origin or contemporary, private chapels 17 Hodgetts, ‘Loca Secretiora’, pp. 391-393. 18 Statutes of the Realm, pp. 843-846.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

87

in manor houses were normally located on the ground floor. But secret chapels were instead found on the top floor or in the garret. There were noticeable exceptions, of course, particularly in the seventeenth century. In the great houses of Catholic nobility, who enjoyed patronage of Stuart monarchs, the old decorated chapels remained in use. At Dilston in Northumberland, Francis Radcliffe built a completely new, freestanding chapel in 1616, which was allowed to endure in spite of being erected by a convicted recusant.19 Clandestine chapels were adjacent or as close as possible to the priests’ quarters that normally consisted of a single or a couple of rooms equipped with appropriate hides.20 The distance of these conveniences from the house’s main entrance and staircase was essential: it provided for the necessary time which the household needed to conceal the resident priest and any incriminating evidence before the intruding pursuivants could reach the top floor of the house.21 In the early seventeenth century, resident chaplaincies became more common.22 In some houses, where untrustworthy domestics were employed, priests led utterly solitary lives, sacrificing mobility and companionship for safety. Writing in 1616, the Jesuit Henry More explained that in such houses priests would secretly minister to the family but spend most of their time praying and studying alone ‘in the upper stories or attics of the house […] like sparrows upon the house top’, avoiding to rouse suspicion of servants or visitors.23 Their movements were confined to one or two adjacent rooms. During the day, they were to tread very lightly and cautiously ‘along some beam’ to avoid noises and could only leave the house at night.24 Preferably, Jesuit missionaries were based in a house of a more affluent and influential master or mistress, whose local standing allowed them to practise religion more freely, and where priests, still avoiding wearing clerical dress and pretending to be household tutors or stewards, ‘could live discreetly, but not fearfully’.25 Here, servants were almost exclusively Catholic and ‘everything within the house [was done] in a Catholic spirit’.26 ‘If any storm burst out’, the household was pre-warned by a friendly party, and the priest was removed from the house or promptly concealed himself in 19 Examination of Francis Radcliffe, f. 66v; Pevsner, Grundy, and Richmond, Northumberland, p. 252; Gooch, p. 3. 20 Hodgetts, Secret Hiding Places, pp. 16-17, 55-58, 82-99, 140-143. 21 This was not always the case; other considerations may have influenced the choice of a hiding place in a given moment. At Braddocks in 1594, John Gerard decided to use the hide near the dining room because ‘it was farther away from the chapel (the most suspected part of the house) and it had a supply of provisions’. Gerard, p. 71. 22 Bossy, English Catholic Community, pp. 251-252; Walsham, ‘Translating Trent’, p. 295. 23 Foley, vol. 2, pp. 3-6; McCoog, pp. 192-193. 24 Foley, vol. 2, p. 4. 25 McCoog, p. 193. 26 Foley, vol. 2, p. 6.

88 Gašper Jakovac

a hiding place.27 In addition, such houses enabled priests to use them as bases for catechizing and ministering the wider community of nearby villages and towns.28 St. Anthony’s near Newcastle, of which more later, was one such missionary centre. Local ministry of the chaplain compelled the gentry household to open up to strangers in the most unusual way. In order to attend mass in a top-floor clandestine chapel, the members of the congregation, which might include friends and tenants who were not part of the household, had to penetrate deep into the house, beyond the household of service, normally the only part of the house accessible to commoner strangers.29 In his report on the arrest of Campion, spy George Elyot, who was instrumental in the Jesuit’s apprehension at Lyford, vividly described such progress from buttery to the chapel on top floor: Then saide the Cooke to mee will you goe up, by which speech, I knewe hee woulde bring mee to a Masse […] And so wee left Jenckins in the Buttery, and I was brought by the Cooke through the hall, the dinening Parlour, and two or three other odde rooms, and then into a faire large chamber, where there was at ye same instant one Priest called Satwell saying Masse; two other Priestes kneeling by, whereof one was Campion, and the other called Peters alias Collington, three Nunnes, and xxxvii other people.30

On that night, mass seems to have been celebrated in the great chamber, just off the main staircase, not in the attic.31 In any case, the cook’s willingness to take his friend, who was a complete stranger to the Yate family, beyond the hall to what was probably the best room in the house, where a great number of people – including Oxford dons and Bridgettine nuns – were gathered to hear mass and Campion’s sermon, is striking. Of course, Cooper did not convey Elyot upstairs without the permission of Mrs. Yate, who sensed danger and only allowed Elyot to be admitted after the cook assured her that his friend was a good and trustworthy Catholic.32 Defying house raids was not only possible through a landlord’s influence, appropriate provision of interconnected rooms and hides, and screening of guests. The ability to survey the surroundings also helped. Christopher Newkirk, a spy infiltrating the Durham Catholic community in 1615, did not fail to report to Bishop James that the new house of Sir Thomas Blakiston in Norton, where secret Catholic meetings were taking place, ‘was built of redd brick & full of windowes, that one 27 Ibid. 28 Walsham, ‘Translating Trent’, pp. 300-302. 29 For social geography of the traditional English household, see Heal, pp. 28-29. 30 Elyot, pp. B2v-B3r. 31 Rowlands, ‘Godly Garret’, p. 38. 32 Kilroy, p. 226.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

89

might see a great waie rounde about’.33 Moreover, landscaping and topography might be crucial in keeping the house safe and secluded. At Martinmas 1597, Lady Catherine Gray, the eldest daughter of Charles Neville, the Catholic Earl of Westmorland who was attainted for leading the Northern Rebellion in 1569 and later escaped to Flanders, took up a lease of Greencroft Hall near Lanchester, County Durham. Writing to Lord Burghley, Bishop Tobie Matthew left no doubt as to why she chose to reside in that particular house. It stood within the manor of Lanchester, where the old servants and tenants of her father, loyal to the Nevilles and predominantly Catholic, still abounded. But other commodities of Greencroft played an equally important part in her decision: ‘the house […] (standing toward the felles, & nighe a pretie woodde) strongly built of newe, & with manie shifting conveighances, may yeld good opportunitie to interteyne & lodge not only other ill guests, but percase thearle himself, si et quatenus’.34 Both purpose-built hides (‘shifting conveighances’) and the topography of Greencroft – it was conveniently protected by hills and close by the wood – crucially facilitated secret motion of individuals to and from the manor house, making it an opportune location for a missionary base or a safe house for a known traitor. In order to facilitate safe and continuous motion of priests and comings and goings of neighbours, friends, and fugitives, the internal provision of hiding places had to be complemented by a convenient house plan and an appropriate external access.

St. Anthony’s: A House Fit for the Mission St. Anthony’s Hall is a good example of how a site could be chosen and a building designed to regulate motion in a Catholic house, balancing the need for seclusion and missionary openness. St. Anthony’s was erected on the north bank of the River Tyne near Newcastle in the late 1610s by a widow, Dame Dorothy Lawson (1580–1632) of Heaton. Within the next decade, the manor house, whose first stone was laid by Richard Holtby, a local Jesuit superior, became one of the most important missionary centres in the region. According to Dame Lawson’s Jesuit chaplain and biographer William Palmes, St. Anthony’s was well equipped for hosting a resident priest and the annual spiritual retreat of the Durham Jesuit mission.35 It is safe to assume that as well as a ‘good chamber and library’, hiding places were also at the chaplain’s disposal.36 However, the house’s location was even more important for the mission 33 34 35 36

Information of Christopher Newkirk. Matthew, f. 47v. Palmes, pp. 46-47. Ibid., p. 46.

90 Gašper Jakovac

than its ample interior. The site of St. Anthony’s, now part of Newcastle’s Walker Riverside Park, was chosen for two main reasons: first, it was a holy place, dedicated to St. Anthony of Padua in pre-Reformation times, and second, it was possible to frequent its chapel with greater privacy.37 St. Anthony’s was a seat most commodious for pleasure, and pleasant for all commoditys; the rich and renown’d river Tine ebbing and flowing in such a proportionable distance from the house, that neither the water is inconvenient to it nor does it want the convenience of water. The vast confluence of ships which it brings to Newcastle for coles […] pass under the full view of the house, and, notwithstanding, Catholicks may resort thither with such privacy, that they are not exposed to the aspect of any.38

The main commodity of the site was its access to the River Tyne – the part of local landscape so essential to Newcastle merchants and the then booming coal trade. Flowing as a thoroughfare just over a hundred yards from St. Anthony’s, the river conveniently facilitated the household’s illegal operations, in particular the conveying and harbouring of priests and importing of illegal books. In addition, the river connected the house to other Catholic communities beyond Tyneside, the entire east coast of Britain, and indeed the rest of Europe. Networks of merchants and sea routes linking the colleges, seminaries, and other exiled communities in the Low Countries, France, and Spain with England were essential for the survival of Catholicism at home, as was the circulation of religious literature and sacred objects destined for Catholic homes.39 The Lawson household’s determination to operate as an open secret, to welcome strangers and keep an open house was starkly reinforced by the ‘sacred name of Jesus, large in proportion’, painted on its south wall. 40 A device in the shape of a sacred monogram IHS (also found in the emblem of the Society of Jesus) was employed to solicit divine protection over the new building and to publicly demarcate the house as a Catholic establishment. Decorating the south gable, the IHS was best visible from the Tyne, by sailors approaching Newcastle, who were thus able to immediately identify the house as a Catholic home. Such courageous publication of the household’s confessional identity might have seemed reckless to some and potentially inflammatory, but it was certainly not unheard of in Catholic

37 Ibid., p. 30. The house was burnt in 1644 by Royalist forces and substantially rebuilt in the eighteenth century by the Ibbetson family. Pears, pp. 242-243. 38 Palmes, pp. 30-31. 39 Bossy, ‘Character of Elizabethan Catholicism’, p. 48. For some of the illegal books and objects confiscated on River Tyne, see List of books; Catalogue of popish books. 40 Palmes, p. 30.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

91

architecture of the period. 41 More importantly still, the decorated gable was seen to replace and symbolically continue the function of St. Anthony’s image which, once ‘decently plac’d in a tree near the river’, comforted the seamen approaching from the east.42 Unlike the lonely image of a saint, the sacred monogram functioned as an advertisement for Lawson’s semi-monastic institution so that the ‘sea-fairing men of other nations might know it to be a Catholick house, and fly thither, as truly they did in swarmes for their spirituall reflection’. 43 This external motion of the mission’s operations continued inside the house through devotional practices which were far from static. At St. Anthony’s, Jesuit Robert Southwell’s recommendations from A Shorte Rule of Good Lyfe (1596–1597), which encouraged English Catholics to dedicate individual rooms in the house to particular saints or the mysteries of Christ’s lives, were strictly observed.44 Unfortunately, Palmes’s narrative does not give details about which saints the individual rooms were dedicated to, but we can illuminate the practice by consulting Southwell. Dedicating interior spaces to saints was inherently connected with motion. When ‘I enter into’ a consecrated room, Southwell explained, ‘I enter as it wer into a chapel or a church that is devoted to such a Saint, and therefore in minde doe that reverence that is due to them’.45 The choice of saints should correspond to the principal purpose of individual rooms: ‘[A]s in the dining chamber or parlour, Saints of spare and regular diet, of sober and virtuous conversation: in the bed chamber, Saints given to short sleep, & watchfulnesse. In the Chappell, Saintes given to much prayer and devotion, and so in other roomes’.46 Moreover, this pious exercise was extended to the surrounding ‘walkes, gardens, and orchards about the house’. For Southwell, such movements in and around one’s home were like ‘short pilgrimages to visit such Saintes as are patrons of the place I goe unto’.47 This devotion, integrated into everyday motions about the house, culminated in conversion and spiritual elevation of the household. Dame Lawson’s spiritual exercises, ‘whereby all her vitall motions did continually journey from earth to heaven’, made her seem like ‘the angels uppon the steps of Jacob’s Ladder’.48 At a time when ‘Catholick houses were severely search’d’, such a bold and outward-facing Jesuit base could only escape the fangs of pursuivants with the 41 Davidson, pp. 33-39; Walsham, Reformation of the Landscape, pp. 183-184. Perhaps the most ostentatious example of a building whose fabric is riddled with Catholic symbolism is Sir Thomas Tresham’s Triangular Lodge at Rushton. See Cogan. For examples in Scotland and Ireland, see Bryce and Roberts; Donnelly. 42 Palmes, p. 30. 43 Ibid., p. 31. 44 Ibid., p. 30. 45 Southwell, p. 129. Cf. McClain, pp. 384–386. 46 Southwell, pp. 130-131. 47 Ibid., p. 131. 48 Palmes, pp. 39-40. For dependence of early modern conversion narratives on the rhetoric of motion, see Shinn.

92 Gašper Jakovac

help of influential friends. 49 Dorothy Lawson was daughter to Henry Constable of Burton Constable, East Yorkshire, and Margaret Dormer.50 Both Constables and Dormers were staunch Catholic families with substantial court influence, but Dorothy Lawson was equally successful at soliciting local sympathies. According to Palmes’s hagiographical account, she was not only renowned for her religious zeal, but also almsgiving and hospitality. By providing daily morning mass, evensong, litanies, and lavish celebration of Christmas and Holy Week and by catechizing neighbouring children, relieving the poor, and helping women in childbirth, she demonstrated both spiritual and corporal care for her household and the wider locality.51 Her charity and apostolic zeal bore substantial spiritual harvest. After her death in 1632, the areas of Heaton and St. Anthony’s were, allegedly, almost exclusively Catholic due to her evangelizing efforts.52 Lawson seems to have been convicted of recusancy, but she was never accused of harbouring priests or imprisoned.53 The members of the Newcastle coal-trade oligarchy, some of whom were Catholics themselves, were, it seems, reluctant to harass her. In November 1625, Bishop Richard Neile inquired with Newcastle Mayor Thomas Liddell about dangerous communications and activities conducted between the two Catholic houses situated on the opposite sides of the Tyne, Dame Lawson’s St. Anthony’s and Sir Robert Hodgson’s Hebburn Hall.54 Liddell and the aldermen investigated the matter, but alleged they could find no ‘matter thereofe but idle reports, other then their keeping of Boates for Crossing the River’.55 Neile’s suspicions may have been raised by recent disarming of recusants, which, following the Crown’s orders, took place across England in November 1625.56 Although St. Anthony’s may never have been searched by pursuivants, it was certainly visited at least once by the local justices of peace, who conducted the disarming.57 Bishop Neile’s concerns were well founded. The Newcastle Common Council was at the time well aware that priests commonly resided at St. Anthony’s, for 49 Palmes, p. 31. 50 Ibid., p. 6. See also Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, s.v. ‘Lawson [née Constable], Dorothy’. 51 Palmes, pp. 43-47. 52 Ibid., p. 26. 53 Her name regularly appears on the local recusants lists. Recusants in Northumberland, f. 38; Recusants in the Diocese of Durham, ff. 3v-4r. ‘Dorothy Lawson of Heaton, widow’ is mentioned monthly on the lists of recusants for whom the High Commission issued a warrant for apprehension. Causes heard by the High Commission, ff. 17r, 27v. Bishop Neile claims she is a convicted recusant. Neile, f. 62v. 54 Dame Lawson’s eldest son Henry was married to Sir Robert Hodgson’s sister Anne. Using county borders to avoid law enforcement was common recusant tactics; a good example is Jesuit College of St. Francis Xavier at Cwm, which stood on the Welsh-English border. Thomas, pp. 574-575. 55 Liddell. Cf. Welford, vol. 3, p. 265. 56 Quintrell, pp. 214-220. 57 Inventory of arms.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

93

they had only recently imprisoned two of Dame Lawson’s ghostly fathers: Henry Morse and John Robinson.58 Five months later, still during Liddell’s mayoralty, Newcastle customs officials searched three ships on the Tyne in a short period of time, arresting several passengers, who declined to take the oath of allegiance and were rightly suspected to be priests.59 Among them was a Catholic Dutchman, Anthony Vandenhaudt, servant to Sir Robert Hodgson, who was imprisoned for smuggling into England a fardel of Catholic books on Flying Hart, a ship bound from Calais to Newcastle for coal. The fardel was addressed to ‘Mr North’, which was one of the aliases used by Richard Holtby, who at the time resided at Hebburn Hall.60 Vandenhaudt claimed the fardel of books was not his but confessed to bringing over from France a trunk of personal items which belonged to his previous master, Thomas Fairfax, the son of Sir Thomas Fairfax of Gilling. The trunk was fetched over from John Dann’s (another servant of Hodgson) on the south side of the river ‘by Mrs Lawsons servants in a Boate of hers to her howse at St Antonyes’.61 Thomas Fairfax had in fact been living with his aunt at St. Anthony’s for almost a year because his father ‘takeing dislikeing to his said sonne for his popish recusancy would not sufer him to stay’.62 Less than a week later, on 5 April, another ship called Seahorse, destined for Calais, was searched on the river. The case gives ample information on the network of priests and lay helpers who sustained the Catholic mission in the north by conveying passengers across the river, from safe house to safe house as well as to and from the Continental ports. On board the Seahorse, a priest, Thomas Shepherd, and a boy, John Clopton, who was sent by his uncle to study at Douai, were taken dressed up as mariners.63 It was again John Dann who approached the master of the Seahorse and paid him for the transport of Shepherd and Clopton to France. He also arranged their pickup from ‘hawk’s bill’, a riverbank area to the east of St. Anthony’s.64 A few days before Shepherd’s arrest, a Newcastle barber recalled having seen Shepherd ‘twice or thrice the last sommer at his Masters shop in Newcastle to have his haire trymed’.65 One time, he was in the company of Henry Lawson, Dame Lawson’s son, and Thomas Fairfax, who stayed at St. Anthony’s.66 58 Palmes, pp. 32-33. 59 List of books; Mayor and aldermen of Newcastle, Letter to the Privy Council, 15 April 1626; Mayor and aldermen of Newcastle, Letter to the Privy Council, 2 May 1626; Catalogue of popish books. 60 List of books, f. 31v; Foley, vol. 3, p. 3. 61 Examination of Anthony Vandenhaudt, f. 119v. 62 Further examination of Anthony Vandenhaudt; Aveling, ‘Catholic Recusancy, Part I’, pp. 92-93; Aveling, ‘Catholic Recusancy, Part II’, p. 61. 63 Examination of John Clopton; Examination of Thomas Shepherd. 64 Examination of William Cornew; Examination of Thomas Browne. 65 Examination of Edward Grocer; Examination of Bainbrigg. 66 Examination of Bainbrigg.

94 Gašper Jakovac

The evidence that was lacking in November 1625 was now forthcoming. In June, Bishop Neile reported to the Privy Council that Sir Robert Hodgson and his servants on the south side of the Tyne and Dorothy Lawson on the north were reputed ‘in ill offices of convayeing, receivinge and harbouring of persons of all sortes ill affected to the state’, which he deemed ‘verie inconvenient and dangerous’.67 For the bishop, the solution to this ‘inconvenience’ was to remove the involved parties ‘from their habitacions, and commanding them to some other places of lesse oportuintie for their evill dipositions and indeavors’.68 In order to stop the Tyneside mission – the motion of seminarians across the river and from overseas, Catholics had to be routed out of their opportune landscape. It is unclear whether Newcastle aldermen and members of the Privy Council shared Neile’s concerns. According to Palmes, Dorothy Lawson died peacefully at St. Anthony’s in 1632 and was even allowed to be interred in All Saints’ Church at Newcastle according to the Catholic rite and in the presence of aldermen.69 But it is likely that Palmes exaggerated the goodwill of local magistrates, for soon after Dorothy’s death, the Lawsons abandoned their Tyneside residence.70 In order to attract visitors and expedite the work of the missionaries, St. Anthony’s needed to offer both seclusion and openness, privacy and opportunity for building local and international mobility networks. It vigorously defies a notion of a gloomy Catholic country house which must barricade itself from the outside world in order to survive. Instead, it publicly proclaimed its confessional allegiance and played an important part in the local community, engaging with the poor, the Newcastle elite, and gentry houses on the opposite side of the river, many of which remained def iantly Catholic.71 Committed to evangelization, Dame Lawson opened her house to the ceaseless motion of ships, goods, and people on the adjacent Tyne, not to participate in exchanges of the marginalized English sect but in the efforts of global Catholicism.

Openness, Entertainment, and Hospitality The semi-monastic households, so often established by wealthy pious widows who scrupulously implemented Tridentine reform, were exemplary exceptions rather 67 Neile, f. 62v. 68 Ibid. 69 Palmes, pp. 58-61. 70 Aveling, ‘Catholic Households’, p. 93. 71 The south bank of the Tyne was dominated by Catholic coal-owning families: Selbys of Winlaton, Tempests of Stella, Riddells of Gateshead, and Hodgsons of Hebburn. See Hilton, ‘Catholicism in Elizabethan Durham’; Hilton, ‘Catholicism in Jacobean Durham’; Clavering, p. 17.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

95

than the norm of the Catholic community.72 The great majority of Catholic nobility and gentry enjoyed a much broader range of sociability at their homes and were less preoccupied with solely addressing the needs of an introverted community. In what remains of this essay, I want to focus on how traditional Christmas hospitality encouraged indiscriminate motion of people, sustaining the permeability of Catholic houses and stimulating Catholic integration into Protestant society. Although hospitality remained an important practice among the elites across the confessional divide and was vigorously defended by early Stuart monarchs, Catholic landlords, having no ‘scruples about indiscriminate charity or about the traditional cycle of feast and fast’, remained the more generous and old-fashioned hosts.73 Discussing appropriate behaviour on feast days, Catholic casuists stressed the importance of the works of mercy and recreation (including gambling) alongside private devotion and receiving of the sacraments.74 If Catholic devotional practices demanded a discriminating, secretive, and enclosed household, maintaining liberality relied on open doors, indiscriminate charity, and unrestricted access to the household of service. This dangerous tension between secret worship and public entertainment was most acutely felt at Christmas. But for Catholic gentry and nobility, who were officially barred from holding public offices, the social benefits of holiday hospitality were worthy of its potential risks. For them, keeping an open house at Christmas was both a matter of religion and premeditated fashioning of their public image. It facilitated their peaceful integration and strengthened their influence in the local society. On the other hand, entertaining powerful Protestants, such as bishop or judges, was acceptable on the grounds that they might be mollified and persuaded to ease their persecution of Catholics.75 Although understanding of Christian charity and its social benefits was generally shared by Protestant and Catholic writers alike, polemicists, ‘who sought to identify the opposing creed as an enemy’, often inflated minute differences or deliberately distorted the views of their adversaries in order to create divergence.76 In Stuart England, keeping of Christmas charity and good neighbourhood, which mainly consisted of giving alms and offering hospitality, was used by some Catholic circles as 72 See, for example, Dame Vaux’s Harrowden and Lady Montague’s Battle, in Smith; Anstruther, pp. 236245; Questier, Catholicism and Community, pp. 207-232. Cf. Morris, pp. 331-433 for the urban household of Margaret Clitherow, who was, however, not a widow. 73 Heal, p. 169. See also Bossy, English Catholic Community, pp. 110-121; Jensen, ‘“Honest Mirth and Merriment”’. For the dismantling of traditional festivity and festive calendar by Edwardian reformers, see Hutton, pp. 69-110. For the Crown’s defence of hospitality, see King James VI and I, pp. 226-227; Heal, pp. 117-120; Hutton, pp. 177-180. 74 Holmes, pp. 59-60. 75 Ibid., pp. 99-100. 76 Wooding, pp. 153-154.

96 Gašper Jakovac

a mark of oppositional Catholic identity. In the commonplace book of Yorkshireman Richard Shanne of Methley, ‘A Songe Bewailinge the Tyme of Christmas, So Much Decayed in Englande’ engages in sharp criticism of the indifferent elites responsible for the decline of Christmas cheer.77 However, not all gentlemen ought to be deemed equally guilty. Catholics, whose theology of works ultimately sustains charity, are clearly the exception: Go to the Protestant, hele protest, hele protest, hele protest, he will protest and bouldlie boaste, And to the Puritine, he is so hote, he is so hote, heis so hote, heis so hote he will burne the Roast. The Catholike good deedes will not scorne, Nor will not see pore Christmas for lorne.78

Such songs and carols, as well as celebration of Christmas more generally, assumed an important role in ‘establishing an oppositional Catholic political, religious, and cultural identity’.79 Aside from proverbial Catholic prodigality in housekeeping, the fundamental difference between Christmas revels in Protestant and Catholic houses was the uneasy spatial coexistence of illegal worship and festive entertainment permeating the latter. At St. Anthony’s, Dame Lawson celebrated the holy day by ‘feasting her tenants and neighbours corporally and spiritually’.80 The rich liturgy of Christmas vigil concluded with breaking of ‘their fast with a Christmas pye’. 81 Subsequent days were filled with mirth and joy in the course of which even Dame Lawson ‘unbent the stiffness of her bow a little […] [f]or whereas at other times, shee never play’d att any game for money […] in Christmass shee allow’d herself every day two hours after each meal, and a shilling to spend among her friends to make them merry’.82 And yet, celebrating Catholic Christmas was in itself a dangerous affair. House searches were ‘more frequent in the winter time, especially about Christmas’, since pursuivants were ‘well aware that the Catholics are at that season most likely to have a Priest with them in order to keep the festival’.83 But keeping an open house and old-fashioned cheer could complicate matters even further if malicious neighbours 77 Commonplace book, f. 142r. Cf. Rollins, p. 372; Jensen, ‘Christmas and Catholicism’, pp. 225-226. 78 Commonplace book, f. 142v. Cf. Rollins, p. 373-374. See also ‘A Song of the Puritan’, Rollins, p. 134. 79 Jensen, ‘Christmas and Catholicism’, p. 234. 80 Palmes, p. 44. 81 Ibid. 82 Ibid., p. 45. 83 Foley, vol. 7, pt. 2, p. 1035. Cf. Foley, vol. 2, p. 572.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

97

were let in to spy on potentially incriminating activities of the household and its guests. When, during the 1609 Christmas season, Yorkshire recusant Sir John Yorke hosted the North Yorkshire Simpson players at Gowthwaite Hall, he was cautious enough to put a porter outside the great hall to ensure no unsympathetic visitors would enter.84 He had good reason to do so, for the players were about to perform a saint’s play on St. Christopher which included a seditious, pro-Catholic interlude. Yorke’s servant, Reginal Hobarth, claimed that he was appointed by the said Sir John york to be porter of the hall & to look that none but such as were the neer neighbors & servants of the said Sir John should come to see the said play & saith that according to his said directions he this deponent kept out some 80 persons that would have Come in & lett in only such as he was appointed to lett in which were to the nomber of 60 persons or therabouts being the […] neer neighbors to the said Sir John york.85

On this occasion, Yorke’s precautious screening of the visitors failed. The performance, containing a religious disputation between a Protestant minister and a Catholic priest, during which the minister was ridiculed and eventually dragged off stage by the devils, scandalized Marmaduke Darnebrook, who managed to sneak into the hall by some private means. The next day, he reported the details of the previous night to Patley Bridge’s minister, William Stubbes, which led to Yorke’s prosecution at the Star Chamber.86 In the examples of festivities at St. Anthony’s and Gowthwaite Hall, we see how Christmas hospitality was predominantly employed in order to self-consciously foster a sense of a separate and enclosed Catholic community. But although festivity was important for maintaining the household’s distinct religious identity, Catholic hospitality also extended beyond co-religionist neighbours and tenants in order to cultivate wider social cohesion. By participating in informal conviviality, servants and tenants reaffirmed their loyalties, while landlords, who provided food, gifts, and entertainment, fulfilled their expected social duties.87 Hosting local players, who entertained guests in the great hall with lords of misrule, dancing, and Robin Hood plays, was particularly suited for such purpose. Their performances acted both as gifts from the lord to the invited guests as well as gifts from tenants to the lord, 84 On the Simpson players, see Boddy; Jensen, ‘Recusancy, Festivity and Community’. 85 Deposition of Reginal Hobarth. I am grateful to Ted McGee, the co-editor of REED: Yorkshire West Ridding, who allowed me to consult John Wasson’s notes on the relevant Star Chamber case which led me to Hobarth’s deposition. 86 Jensen, ‘Recusancy, Festivity and Community’, p. 103. 87 For a more general discussion of paternalism and deference in early modern England, see Wrightson, pp. 65-69; Wood.

98 Gašper Jakovac

who again reciprocated their gift when rewarding the players.88 Such remunerations could be quite substantial: in 1634, when Sir Thomas Walmesley’s coffers were also burdened by recusancy fines, the players of Whalley visiting Dunkenhalgh Hall received 20s, an amount normally reserved for professional troupes.89 Theatrical entertainment and sanctioned misrule were of course a Christmas commonplace in English noble and gentry households, but Walmesley’s exceptional generosity towards neighbours certainly illustrates strong personal investment in maintaining good relations in the neighbourhood.

Naworth Castle: A Seat of Hospitality Lord William Howard (1563–1640) of Naworth Castle, Cumberland, had a reputation of being a splendid housekeeper.90 After finally securing his wife’s Dacre inheritance, which included the Barony of Gilsland, Lord William and Lady Elizabeth took up residency at Naworth around the time of James I’s accession in 1603.91 Upon his arrival, he set his mind to restoring the old medieval castle towering above the Irthing River and converting it into a Jacobean mansion. Aside from rebuilding and partitioning the spacious great hall in the north range, making alterations to the old chapel, and building a new gallery, he also remodelled the so-called ‘Lord William Howard’s tower’ in the northeast corner, which contains his private apartment with library and oratory on the top floor. The small chapel is decorated with an ornate medieval screen and a 1514 German altar painting representing the Flagellation, Crucifixion, and Resurrection of Christ, all brought to Naworth from the nearby Lanercost priory.92 It is likely that the oratory contained a priest hole.93 Chaplains were certainly kept at Naworth, although the extensive household accounts give little clue as to who they were. It is quite certain that a Benedictine monk, Augustine Hungate, was employed as a Naworth chaplain in 1633.94 But unlike St. Anthony’s, Naworth was no missionary centre. In spite of the ‘quasi-religious traditionalism’ of the region, Bossy has suggested that Lord Howard was ‘too much of an anti-clerical’ 88 Greenfield, p. 36. 89 REED: Lancashire, p. 207. 90 See Legg, pp. 38-40, for the entertainment that Lord William and Lady Elizabeth offered to three Norfolk military men in 1634 at Corby Castle. For details of Lord William’s life, see Ornsby, pp. i-lxxiii; Reinmuth, ‘Lord William Howard’; Bawcutt. 91 Ornsby, pp. xi-xxii. 92 Ferguson; Hyde and Pevsner, Cumbria, p. 545. 93 Hodgetts, Secret Hiding Places, p. 183; Ornsby, pp. lxxi-lxxii. 94 Ornsby, p. xlii; Lunn, p. 229; Reinmuth, ‘Lord William Howard’, p. 228. Unlike Jesuits, English Benedictines mostly approved of the Jacobean oath of allegiance (see Lunn, pp. 40-50), which was clearly to Lord William’s liking. He took the oath in 1611. Questier, Newsletters from the Archpresbyterate, p. 117.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

99

for facilitating a significant impact on the confessional make-up of the northwest, which by and large remained conformable to the established Church.95 Although Lord William was no proselyte and clearly remained discreet about his religion (in spite of royal protection), he utilized local festive traditionalism to fashion his public image. He was a charitable man who dutifully kept an open house during the twelve days of Christmas, entertaining his guests with music, dancing, gaming, and plays.96 But despite his liberality, Howard’s relations with his tenants were not always amicable and could hardly be compared to those cultivated by the Blundells of Little Crosby in southeast Lancashire, an area of a large Catholic community marked by exceptional social harmony.97 Unlike the Blundells who acted as pillars of continuity and stability in their local community, Lord William Howard was a disruptive newcomer from the south. Some saw his influence as threatening and his Catholicism a convenient excuse for slanderous accusations. One neighbour who resorted to such attacks was Thomas Salkeld of Corby. Lying to the east of River Eden, Corby manor was part of the Barony of Gilsland, where Lord William wanted to consolidate his landownership.98 In 1605, he bought half of the manor and castle of Corby from Henry Blenkinsopp of Helbeck.99 The other half was owned by Thomas Salkeld, who proved a more difficult customer. Soon after Howard’s purchase of the Blenkinsopp moiety, the animosities between Salkeld and Howard led to a number of protracted lawsuits. The antagonism reached its peak when Salkeld and John Dacre, another of Lord William’s spiteful neighbours, encouraged some of Howard’s Gilsland tenants to vigorously oppose the intended changes to their customary tenures.100 In 1611, embittered tenants assembled at Gelt Bridge, demanding that their border tenant right be respected. In 1616, the court ruled in Lord William’s favour: the ring leaders of the riot were fined and imprisoned and Gilsland tenants ordered to submit to their lord.101 Humiliated, Salkeld, himself punished for encouraging disorderly behaviour, soon resorted to personal attacks. Banding with Henry Sanderson and other members of the Newcastle Puritan faction, who equally disliked Lord William’s growing influence, Salkeld assembled 95 Bossy, English Catholic Community, p. 96. 96 REED: Cumberland, pp. 135, 137, 138, 141-143; Ornsby, pp. 213, 225, 235, 294. 97 Bossy, English Catholic Community, pp. 93-94; Wrightson, p. 65. 98 Nicholson and Burn, vol. 2, pp. 335-337. 99 Reinmuth, ‘Struggle over Corby’, pp. 190-191. 100 Customary tenures in the north depended on border military service. After James I’s succession and the union of the Crowns, the border service became obsolete, so tenants could be treated as tenants-at-will. By converting customary tenancies to leaseholds, Lord William was simply recognizing legal and political consequences of the Union. Reinmuth, ‘Struggle over Corby’, pp. 195-197; Watts, ‘Tenant-Right’. For the Crown’s challenge of tenant right in the barony of Kendal and Westmorland, see Nicholson and Burn, vol. 2, pp. 51-60. 101 Sentence of the Court of Star Chamber.

100 Gašper Jakovac

information for a number of documents presented to the Privy Council, which accused Howard of recusancy, of oppressing his tenants and neighbours, and even of involvement in the Gunpowder Plot almost thirteen years ago.102 The charges begin by asserting that Lord William is ‘a knowne Recusant dwelling in the remote partes of England northward unto whom the Recusantes of greatest note doe dailie resort’.103 Just days before the Gunpowder Plot attack in November 1605, a number of northern Catholics allegedly met in Lord William’s castle with Thomas Percy, only to ride out again into the wilderness where the company, joined by priests, plotted against the State.104 Furthermore, because Lord William was ‘thought to keap a preist in his howse’, the accusers shamelessly urged the Privy Council to send pursuivants to Naworth, search the castle, and convict its lord of recusancy, which could ultimately yield to the king two parts of his vast estate.105 The attacks were of no avail. Lord William was never convicted of recusancy and Naworth never searched. Yet despite its demonizing tactics, the list of charges also reveals how consolidation of Howard’s influence in the north was necessarily reliant on good lordship, paternalism, and cross-confessional sociability. In spite of being called the chief factotum of the northern ‘popish’ faction,106 Lord William’s political and cultural engagement could hardly be described as oppositional, let alone subversive. The quaintest of the charges refers to the abuse of St. Patrick’s church in Bampton, Westmorland, carried out by Howard’s servants and tenants, who during last Christmas erected a lord of misrule inside the church in time of divine service, disrupting prayers with feasting, drinking, and sporting.107 But the disorder caused by the Bampton players, who quite possibly presented the same entertainments at Lord William’s Thornthwaite Hall, was not unsanctioned. Contentious revelry took place with the permission of Barnabas Scott, the vicar of Bampton and nearby Thornthwaite and a 102 Anderson, ‘State of Northumberland’; Anderson, Letter to Ralph Winwood; Morton, Letter to George Abbott; Morton, Letter to Ralph Winwood; Morton [Anderson], Letter to Ralph Winwood; Reinmuth, ‘The Struggle over Corby’, pp. 197-198. Cf. Watts, From Border to Middle Shire, pp. 187-191. The last letter is in Sir Henry Anderson’s hand, not Morton’s. It was probably written in May 1616, rather than May 1617. Anderson’s letters to Secretary Winwood in April and May 1616 should be read in the context of his shrievalty of Northumberland, which concluded at Michaelmas. 103 Account of Lord William’s misconducts, undated, f. 11r. Although this account is undated, it seems to be a copy of an Account of Lord William’s misconducts, 1616. It presents the final version of the charges, which were originally composed by Henry Sanderson in 1616. See also Ornsby, pp. 423-425; REED: Cumberland, pp. 218, 241. 104 Account of Lord William’s misconducts, 1616, f. 68v. 105 Account of Lord William’s misconducts, undated. 106 Morton, Letter to George Abbot. 107 REED: Cumberland, p. 218. On the tradition of erecting Christmas lords of misrule in England, see Stubbs, ‘The Anatomy of Abuses’, pp. 141-143; Stow, Survey of London, p. 99; Hutton, Rise and Fall, pp. 9-12.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

101

regular recipient of Lord William’s alms. Although the revellers ‘did most grosselie disturbe the minister in time of divine seuice’, it was ‘the minister himselfe granting Toleration because he doth ordinarily dine and suppe at the lord Willyams table but never prayes with him’.108 The accusers were clearly interested in Lord William’s backing of traditional festivity because they perceived it as symptomatic of his wider populist agenda ‘to please the people and to become popular’, particularly in Westmorland, ‘where he hath not yet such powre as in Cumberland’.109 But Lord William’s support for festive traditions was not only limited to Westmorland and the recreations of his tenants. At Christmas, Naworth was admitting a range of visitors and entertainers, demonstrating the family’s close ties with their neighbourhood, including the city of Carlisle. The festive motions of entertainers, neighbours, and tenants at Naworth articulate the castle’s social and economic significance, which stretched beyond its importance as a recusant house. For example, John Trumpeter or Burton, a musician of Carlisle and for some time a servant to another Catholic, Sir Henry Curwen, was often employed at Naworth until 1620. An anonymous piper from nearby Brampton visited afterwards, and in 1629 and 1633, another local piper named John Mulcaster received considerable rewards for ‘playinge at Naward this Cristenmas time’.110 On 5 January 1625, players of Warwick received a substantial reward of 22s for their festive performance at Naworth.111 Although the village of Warwick lay outside Lord William’s estate, on the western borders of Gilsland, he was active in the Warwick manor as a lessee of the appropriated Wetheral and Warwick tithes owned by the dean and chapter of Carlisle Cathedral, who clearly considered Howard a trustworthy partner.112 Protestant friends and Church of England clergymen would also receive gifts and good cheer. Thomas Blennerhassett, who was elected mayor of Carlisle five times and represented the city in Parliament three times, was close enough to the Howards to be invited into the more private space of the household, where he spent time gaming with Lady Elizabeth at Christmas in 1625.113 Protestants Sir John Dalston and his son Sir George Dalston of Dalston Hall, members of a prominent Cumberland family, also frequently visited at Christmas.114 Thomas 108 Account of Lord William’s misconducts, undated, f. 11r; See also Ornsby, pp. 31, 89, 193. The parson of Thronthwaite named in the accounts is Vicar Scott. 109 Account of Lord William’s misconducts, undated, f. 12r. 110 REED: Cumberland, pp. 142-143. 111 Ibid., p. 141. 112 Nicholson and Burn, vol. 2, pp. 326-329; Ornsby, p. 99. Cf. REED: Cumberland, p. 163; Nightingale, vol. 1, pp. 207-209. 113 Ornsby, p. 225. For Blennerhassett’s biography, see Thrush and Ferris, vol. 3, s.v. ‘Thomas Blennerhassett of Carlisle’. 114 Nicholson and Burn, vol. 2, pp. 316-317; Ornsby, pp. 8, 176, 188, 271; Thrush and Ferris, vol. 4, s.v. ‘Sir George Dalston, of Dalston Hall’.

102 Gašper Jakovac

Warwick, minister at St. Martin’s in Brampton near Naworth, was a beneficiary of Lord William’s New Year’s gifts, financial assistance in time of need, and, like Blennerhassett and Dalstons, occasionally sat down with Lady Elizabeth for a game of backgammon.115 Naworth’s Christmas entertainment followed modern practices. Lord Howard would probably dine with his family and friends in a more private great chamber, the partitioned part of the hall. However, the younger members of the Howard family at least must have joined their servants and tenants in the hall, dancing to the sound of bagpipes. The expenses for music, which during Christmas almost exclusively refer to pipers, not waits or other consort musicians, support the conjecture that, rather than maintaining separate entertainment in the great chamber, Lord William’s family would join the revels in the hall.116 Although Howard certainly had the means to lead a more secluded existence in one of the ‘dark corners’ of the country, the evidence suggests he was instead very much engaged in northwestern society as an enterprising landlord and a generous patron, not at all concerned about the excessive familiarity with Protestants against which the Catholic casuists warned.117 The Catholic owners of country houses developed ways to maintain their secrecy and seclusion through strict regulation of motion. But isolation and stasis were not always in their best interest. Maintaining spiritual life in a household beset by violent motions of persecution demanded both stealth and determination to engage in the international networks of the Catholic Reformation. Even more so if the house owners were committed to evangelization. The permeability of St. Anthony’s and the ease of motion to and from its walls were crucial for its missionary success. But it was not only the mission that compelled Catholics to keep their homes open and permeable. For Catholic gentlemen, who were officially unable to hold public offices, charity and hospitality provided important means in their struggle for local reputation and influence. Festive mobility of entertainers, neighbours, and even Protestant clergy at Naworth Castle facilitated Lord William Howard’s integration into the local Protestant society. Even if we refuse to describe his paternalism, in agreement with his enemies, as an expression of premeditated craving for influence and applause, we have to recognize that his social behaviour was shrewd. The festive mobility of Lord Howard’s as well as Dame Lawson’s guests seem to have played a significant role in maintaining the integrity and safety of their households. 115 Ornsby, pp. 99, 145, 181, 213, 262, 338, 340. See also Nightingale, vol. 1, pp. 250-252. 116 According to the literalized account of Robert Armin, ‘a Noyse of Minsrells, and a Lincolnshire Bagpipe was prepared’ during Christmas in Sir William Hollis’s household: ‘the Minstrels for the great Chamber, the Bagpipe for the Hall’. Armin, p. B1r. 117 Holmes, pp. 122-123.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

103

Works Cited Manuscripts Naworth Castle

Account of Lord William Howard’s misconducts. 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/86, ff. 68r-69v. The National Archives, Kew. Account of Lord William Howard’s misconducts. Undated. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/40, ff. 11r-12v. The National Archives, Kew. Anderson, Henry. ‘The State of Northumberland’. 28 March 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/86, ff. 196r-197v. The National Archives, Kew. Anderson, Henry. Letter to Ralph Winwood. 1 April 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/86, ff. 221r-222v. The National Archives, Kew. Morton, William. Letter to George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury. 7 May 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/87, ff. 18r-19v. The National Archives, Kew. Morton, William. Letter to Ralph Winwood, Secretary of State. 7 May 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/87, ff. 16r-17v. The National Archives, Kew. Morton, William [vere Sir Henry Anderson]. Letter to Ralph Winwood, Secretary of State. 9 May 1616/17. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/92, ff. 86r-87v. The National Archives, Kew. Sentence of the Court of Star Chamber against Thomas Salkeld et al. 24 April 1616. J1/8, f. 16r. Castle Howard, North Yorkshire.

St. Anthony’s Hall

Catalogue of popish books and relics of popery. 2 May 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/26, ff. 33r-34v. The National Archives, Kew. Causes heard by the High Commission Court within the Diocese of Durham, 1614-1617. DCD/D/SJB/7. Dean and Chapter Library, Durham. Examination of Anthony Vandenhaudt. 4 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 119r-119v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of Edward Grocer, waterman. 13 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 132r-132v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of Francis Radcliffe. 18 November 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/89, ff. 66r-67v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of John Clopton. 13 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 137r-137v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of Thomas Browne. 14 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 131r-131v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of Thomas Shepherd. 13 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 134r-135v. The National Archives, Kew.

104 Gašper Jakovac

Examination of William Bainbrigg. 14 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 133r-134v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of William Cornew. 14 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 130r-130v. The National Archives, Kew. Further examination of Anthony Vandenhaudt. 20 May 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/27, ff. 47r-48v. The National Archives, Kew. Inventory of arms found in recusant houses in Northumberland. November 1625. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/10, ff. 118r-118v. The National Archives, Kew. Liddell, Thomas. Letter to William Smith. 19 November 1625. Mickleton and Spearman MSS, MSP2/3, ff. 368r-368v. Palace Green Library, Durham University. List of books taken from a Dutch ship. 1 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 31r-32v. The National Archives, Kew. Mayor and aldermen of Newcastle. Letter to the Privy Council. 15 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 117r-118v. The National Archives, Kew. Mayor and aldermen of Newcastle. Letter to the Privy Council. 2 May 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/26, ff. 27r-28v. The National Archives, Kew. Neile, Richard. Letter to the Privy Council. 20 June 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/30, ff. 62r-63v. The National Archives, Kew. Recusants in the Diocese of Durham. 4 November 1613. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/75, ff. 3v-4r. The National Archives, Kew. Recusants in Northumberland. 9 July 1610. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/56, ff. 36r-39v. The National Archives, Kew.

Miscellaneous Sources

Commonplace book of the Shann family of Methley. Early 15th-Mid 17th century. Add. MS 38599. The British Library, London. Deposition of Reginal Hobarth. The Court of Star Chamber, STAC 8/19/10, f. 124v. The National Archives, Kew. Information of Christopher Newkirk. 2 August 1615. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/81, ff. 85r-85v. The National Archives, Kew. Matthew, Tobie. Letter to Lord Burghley. 27 May 1598. Lansdowne MS 87/16, ff. 47r-48v. The British Library, London.

Primary Printed Sources Armin, Robert. A Nest of Ninnies. London: T. E. for Deane, 1608. Elyot, George. A Very True Report of the Apprehension and Taking of the Arche Papist Edmond Campion. London: Thomas Dawson, 1581. Foley, Henry. Records of the English Province of the Society of Jesus. 7 vols. London: Burns and Oates, 1875-1883.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

105

Gerard, John. The Autobiography of a Hunted Priest. Translated by Philip Caraman. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2012. Holmes, Peter J., ed. Elizabethan Casuistry. Catholic Record Society Publications 67 (1981). King James VI and I. Political Writings. Edited by J. P. Sommerville. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Legg, L. G. Wickham, ed. A Relation of a Short Survey of 26 Counties. London: Robinson, 1904. Morris, John, ed. The Troubles of Our Catholic Forefathers: Related by Themselves. Vol. 3 of 3 vols. London: Burns and Oates, 1877. Nicholson, Joseph, and Richard Burn. The History and Antiquities of the Counties of Westmorland and Cumberland. 2 vols. London: Strahan, 1777. Ornsby, George, ed. Selections from the Household Books of the Lord William Howard of Naworth Castle: With an Appendix Containing Some of His Papers and Letters, and Other Documents, Illustrative of His Life and Times. Durham: Andrews & Co., 1878. Palmes, William. The Life of Mrs. Dorothy Lawson, of St. Antony’s, near Newcastle-on-Tyne. Edited by George Bouchier Richardson. London: Charles Dolman, 1855. Persons, Robert. An Epistle of the Persecution of Catholickes in Englande. Douai, 1582. Persons, Robert. The Correspondence and Unpublished Papers of Robert Persons, S. J. Edited by Ginevra Crosignani and Thomas M. McCoog. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 2017. Questier, Michael C., ed. Newsletters from the Archpresbyterate of George Birkhead. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. REED: Cumberland, Westmorland, Gloucestershire. Edited by Audrey Douglas and Peter Greenfield. Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1986. REED: Lancashire. Edited by David George. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1991. Rollins, Hyder E., ed. Old English Ballads, 1553-1625: Chiefly from Manuscripts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1920. Smith, Richard. The Life of the Most Honourable and Virtuous Lady the Lady Magdalen Viscountesse Montague. St. Omer: English College Press, 1627. Southwell, Robert. A Short Rule of Good Life. London: English Secret Press, 1602-1605. The Statutes of the Realm. Vol. 4, pt. 2 of 11 vols. London: Dawson, 1963. Stow, John. A Survey of London: Written in the Year 1598. Stroud: Sutton Publishing, 2005. Stubbs, Philip. The Anatomy of Abuses. In Miscellaneous Tracts, Temp. Eliz. & Jac. I. Edited by John P. Collier. Vol. 11 of 15 vols. London, 1870.

Secondary Sources Anstruther, Godfrey. Vaux of Harrowden: A Recusant Family. Newport: Johns, 1953. Aveling, John C. H. ‘The Catholic Recusancy of the Yorkshire Fairfaxes, Part I’. Biographical Studies 3, no. 2 (1956): 68-114.

106 Gašper Jakovac

Aveling, John C. H. ‘The Catholic Recusancy of the Yorkshire Fairfaxes, Part II’. Recusant History 4, no. 2 (1957): 61-101. Aveling, John C. H. Northern Catholics: The Catholic Recusants of the North Riding of Yorkshire, 1558-1790. London: Chapman, 1966. Aveling, John C. H. ‘Catholic Households in Yorkshire, 1580-1603’. Northern History 16, no. 1 (1980): 85-101. Bawcutt, Priscilla. ‘Lord William Howard of Naworth (1563-1640): Antiquary, Book Collector, and Owner of the Scottish Devotional Manuscript British Library, Arundel 285’. Textual Cultures 7, no. 1 (2012): 158-175. Bela, Teresa, Clarinda Calma, and Jolanta Rzegocka, eds. Publishing Subversive Texts in Elizabethan England and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Leiden: Brill, 2016. Boddy, G. W. ‘Players of Interludes in North Yorkshire in the Early Seventeenth Century’. North Yorkshire County Record Office Journal 3 (1976): 95-130. Bossy, John. ‘The Character of Elizabethan Catholicism’. Past & Present 21 (1962): 39-59. Bossy, John. The English Catholic Community, 1570-1850. London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1975. Bowler, Hugh, ed. Recusant Roll No. 2 (1593-1594): An Abstract in English. Catholic Record Society Publications 57 (1965). Bryce, Ian, and Alasdair Roberts. ‘Post-Reformation Catholic Houses of North-East Scotland’. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 123 (1993): 363-372. Chambers, Liam, and Thomas O’Connor, eds. College Communities Abroad: Education, Migration and Catholicism in Early Modern Europe. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2017. Clavering, Eric. ‘Catholics and the Rise of the Durham Coal Trade’. Northern Catholic History 16 (1982): 16-32. Cogan, Susan M. ‘Building the Badge of God: Architectural Representations of Persecution and Coexistance in Post-Reformation England’. Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte – Archive for Reformation History 107 (2016): 165-192. Corens, Liesbeth. Confessional Mobility and English Catholics in Counter-Reformation Europe. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019. Davidson, Peter. ‘Recusant Catholic Spaces in Early Modern England’. In Catholic Culture in Early Modern England. Edited by Ronald Corthell, Frances E. Dolan, Chrisopher Highley, and Arthur F. Marotti. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007. Dillon, Anne. The Construction of Martyrdom in the English Catholic Community, 1535-1603. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002. Dolan, Frances E. ‘Gender and the “Lost” Spaces of Catholicism’. The Journal of Interdisciplinary History 32, no. 4 (2002): 641-665. Donnelly, Colm. ‘The I. H. S. Monogram as a Symbol of Catholic Resistance in SeventeenthCentury Ireland’. International Journal of Historical Archaeology 9, no. 1 (2005): 37-42. Ferguson, R. S. ‘Naworth Castle’. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, ser. 1, vol. 4 (1880): 486-495.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

107

Gooch, Leopold. ‘The Catholic and Jacobite Radcliffes of Dilston’. Northern Catholic History 56 (2015): 3-21. Greenfield, Peter H. ‘Festive Drama at Christmas in Aristocratic Houses’. In Festive Drama. Edited by Meg Twycross. Woodbridge: Boydell, 1996. Havran, Martin J. The Catholics in Caroline England. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1962. Heal, Felicity. Hospitality in Early Modern England. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990. Hilton, J. A. ‘Catholicism in Elizabethan Durham’. Recusant History 14, no. 1 (1977): 1-8. Hilton, J. A. ‘Catholicism in Jacobean Durham’. Recusant History 14, no. 2 (1977): 78-85. Hodgetts, Michael. ‘Loca Secretiora in 1581’. Recusant History 19, no. 4 (1989): 386-395. Hodgetts, Michael. Secret Hiding Places. Dublin: Veritas, 1989. Hutton, Ronald. The Rise and Fall of Merry England: The Ritual Year 1400-1700. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994. Hyde, Matthew, and Nikolaus Pevsner. Cumbria: Cumberland, Westmorland and Furness. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2010. Jensen, Phebe. ‘Recusancy, Festivity and Community: The Simpsons at Gowlthwaite Hall’. In Region, Religion and Patronage: Lancastrian Shakespeare. Edited by Richard Dutton, Alison Findlay, and Richard Wilson. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003. 101-120. Jensen, Phebe. ‘“Honest Mirth & Merriment”: Christmas and Catholicism in Early Modern England’. In Redrawing the Map of Early Modern English Catholicism. Edited by Lowell Gallagher. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012. 213-244. Kelly, James E., and Caroline Bowden, eds. The English Convents in Exile, 1600-1800: Communities, Culture and Identity. Burlington: Ashgate, 2013. Kelly, James E., and Hannah Thomas, eds. Jesuit Intellectual and Physical Exchange between England and Mainland Europe, c. 1580-1789. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Kilroy, Gerard. Edmund Campion: A Scholarly Life. Farnham: Ashgate, 2015. Lunn, David. The English Benedictines, 1540-1688: From Reformation to Revolution. London: Burns & Oates, 1980. McClain, Lisa. ‘Without Church, Cathedral, or Shrine: The Search for Religious Space among Catholics in England, 1559-1625’. The Sixteenth Century Journal 33, no. 2 (2002): 381-399. McCoog, Thomas M. ‘The Society of Jesus in England, 1623-1699: An Institutional Study’. PhD diss., University of Warwick, 1984. McGrath, Patrick, and Joy Rowe. ‘The Elizabethan Priests: Their Harbourers and Helpers’. Recusant History 19, no. 3 (1989): 209-233. Nightingale, Benjamin. The Ejected of 1662 in Cumberland & Westmorland, Their Predecessors and Successors. 2 vols. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1911. Pears, Richard. ‘St. Anthony’s House: A Lost Mansion near Newcastle upon Tyne’. Archaeologia Aeliana, 5th ser., no. 43 (2014): 241–248. Pevsner, Nikolaus, John Grundy, and Ian A. Richmond. Northumberland. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002.

108 Gašper Jakovac

Pritchard, Arnold. Catholic Loyalism in Elizabethan England. London: Scolar Press, 1979. Questier, Michael C. Catholicism and Community in Early Modern England: Politics, Aristocratic Patronage and Religion, c. 1550-1640. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Questier, Michael. ‘Catholic Loyalism in Early Stuart England’. The English Historical Review 123, no. 504 (2008): 1132-1165. Quintrell, B. W. ‘The Practice and Problems of Recusant Disarming, 1585-1641’. Recusant History 17, no. 2 (1984): 208-222. Reinmuth, H. S. ‘The Struggle over Corby, 1605-1626: Lord William Howard and Thomas Salkeld’. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society 66 (1966): 190-200. Reinmuth, H. S. ‘Lord William Howard (1563-1640) and His Catholic Associations’. Recusant History 12, no. 2 (1973): 226-234. Rowlands, Marie B., ed. English Catholics of Parish and Town. London: Catholic Record Society, 1999. Rowlands, Marie B. ‘The Godly Garret, 1560–1660’. In English Catholics of Parish and Town. Edited by Marie B. Rowlands. London: Catholic Record Society, 1999. 36-60. Rowlands, Marie B. ‘Hidden People: Catholic Commoners, 1558-1625’. In English Catholics of Parish and Town. Edited by Marie B. Rowlands. London: Catholic Record Society, 1999. 10-35. Sena, Margaret. ‘William Blundell and the Networks of Catholic Dissent in Post-Reformation England’. In Communities in Early Modern England: Networks, Place, Rhetoric. Edited by Alexandra Shepard and Phil Withington. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000. 54-75. Sheils, William. ‘Catholics and Recusants’. In A Companion to Tudor Britain. Edited by Robert Tittler and Norman Jones. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. 254-270. Sheils, William. ‘“Getting On” and “Getting Along” in Parish and Town: Catholics and Their Neighbours in England’. In Catholic Communities in Protestant States: Britain and the Netherlands c. 1570-1720. Edited by Benjamin Kaplan et al. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2009. 67-83. Shinn, Abigail. Conversion Narratives in Early Modern England: Tales of Turning. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018. Thomas, Hannah. ‘The Society of Jesus in Wales, c. 1600-1679: Rediscovering the Cwm Jesuit Library at Hereford Cathedral’. Journal of Jesuit Studies 1 (2014): 572-588. Thrush, Andrew, and John P. Ferris, eds. The House of Commons, 1604-1626. 6 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Walsham, Alexandra. ‘Translating Trent? English Catholicism and the Counter Reformation’. Historical Research 78, no. 201 (2005): 288-310. Walsham, Alexandra. Charitable Hatred: Tolerance and Intolerance in England, 1500-1700. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006. Walsham, Alexandra. The Reformation of the Landscape: Religion, Identity, and Memory in Early Modern Britain and Ireland. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011.

The Catholic Country House in Early Modern Engl and 

109

Walsham, Alexandra. ‘Holy Families: The Spiritualization of the Early Modern Household Revisited’. Studies in Church History 50 (2014): 122-160. Watts, Sheldon J. ‘Tenant-Right in Early Seventeenth-Century Northumberland’. Northern History 6, no. 1 (1971): 64-87. Watts, Sheldon J. From Border to Middle Shire: Northumberland, 1586-1625. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1975. Welford, Richard. History of Newcastle and Gateshead. 3 vols. London: Walter Scott, 1884-1887. Wood, Andy. ‘Deference, Paternalism and Popular Memory in Early Modern England’. In Remaking English Society: Social Relations and Social Change in Early Modern England. Edited by Steve Hindle, Alexandra Shepard, and John Walter. Woodbridge: Boydell, 2013. 233-253. Wooding, Lucy. ‘Charity, Community and Reformation Propaganda’. Reformation 11, no. 1 (2006): 131-169. Wrightson, Keith. English Society, 1580-1680. London: Routledge, 2003.

About the Author Gašper Jakovac is a Susan Manning Postdoctoral Fellow at the Institute for Advanced Studies in the Humanities, University of Edinburgh. He is a cultural historian, specializing in early modern drama, popular culture, and Catholicism in England. His recent work has been published in British Catholic History and Medieval English Theatre.

4. Sensory Vibrations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome Kimberley Skelton

Abstract From the mid-seventeenth century, philosophical arguments about human responses to the physical environment challenged a basic tenet of prison design and administration: that prisoners could use reason to apply religious instruction towards reconsidering their criminal ways. Mechanistic philosophers asserted that humans reacted physically and psychologically on impulse to neural vibrations that were produced by sensory stimuli in their environment and that traversed their bodies and brains. Correspondingly, prison designers and administrators recrafted prisons into reform environments that used sensory cues to choreograph human physical and psychological processes and, in turn, reshape social behavior. This essay examines the early stages of such new prison design by turning to Rome, especially Carlo Fontana’s Casa di Correzione for juvenile delinquents. Keywords: prison, juvenile delinquents, sensory perception, Rome, Foucault

In 1704, foreign dignitaries and members of Pope Clement XI’s papal court in Rome would have been surprised when they received and turned over his annual medal (Figure 18).1 Each year, the reigning pope commissioned a medal in gold, silver, and bronze with his profile on the front and a commemoration of a key event from the previous year on the reverse.2 The reverse of Clement XI’s 1704 medal showed the interior of the new Casa di Correzione, a prison for juvenile delinquents housed in the Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa, and the interior was filled with movement. 1 Clement XI’s 1704 medal survives in the Medagliere of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana; for an image of the medal, see Paglia, Plate 16. A preparatory drawing by Giovanni Hamerano, who executed the medal, is listed under ‘Hamerano’ in the Works Cited for this essay. 2 Bartolotti; Miselli. On Clement XI’s medals, see Altieri, Summorum romanorum pontificum historia, pp. 191-199; Altieri, Aurea Roma, pp. 279-289.

Skelton, K. (ed.), Early Modern Spaces in Motion: Design, Experience, and Rhetoric. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2021 doi 10.5117/9789463725811_ch04

112

Kimberley Skelton

18. Carlo Fontana, Design for Clement XI’s 1704 annual medal, showing the interior of the Casa di Correzione, c. 1704. Royal Collection Trust / © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2020.

Boys laboured at workbenches and desks, guards and master craftsmen strolled among the workbenches to supervise the boys, and other guards watched and conversed from the balconies in front of the cells.3 Carlo Fontana, the architect of the Casa di Correzione and the designer of the medal, had even amplified these movements by adding well-dressed figures who walked around the workbenches to observe the prison’s daily life. So important were these movements, moreover, 3 Cajani identifies the stoops outside the ground-floor cells as desks for work analogous to the workbenches. Cajani, p. 303.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

113

that the building itself was pushed to the margins of the medal. Only thin slivers of walls appear to left and right, just enough to note the three tiers of cells with their balustrades flanking the central space. Previous annual papal medals, in contrast, had commemorated new buildings by offering scenes emptied of people and so had showcased the architect’s design. 4 On the one hand, Carlo Fontana may have sidelined the structure of the Casa di Correzione because the prison as a building type was little celebrated. Only the fifteenth-century Italian Leon Battista Alberti and the seventeenth-century German Joseph Furttenbach had discussed prisons in their treatises.5 Yet the Casa di Correzione was clearly considered an important project. Merely a day after Clement XI had approved Fontana’s final design and a full month before the foundation stone was laid, Francesco Valesio recorded at length in his diary the circumstances surrounding the founding of the Casa di Correzione: the need for a new space to reform juvenile delinquents after Innocent X’s Carceri Nuove had proven ineffective.6 Frequently consulted for his erudition on a wide range of topics, Valesio would have known that that he was describing a complex without precedent across Europe.7 While most prisons contained adult and juvenile prisoners, the Casa di Correzione housed only young boys. Moreover, in contrast to the limited religious instruction offered by these prisons, the Casa di Correzione offered extensive training in manual trades and Christian doctrine. There were a few precedents for the Casa di Correzione, but none matched precisely its extensive re-education of juvenile delinquents. Northern European houses of correction, after which the Casa di Correzione was named, offered manual labour and spiritual instruction, but to adults as well as juveniles.8 The Ospedale di S. Filippo Neri in Florence imprisoned young boys, but accepted a smaller number as well as a narrower age range; while the Casa di Correzione contained sixty cells for any boy under twenty, the Ospedale had only eight cells and admitted solely boys older than sixteen. In addition, boys at the Ospedale received spiritual instruction without training in manual trades.9 4 See, for instance, Bartolotti, pp. 13-17, 34-37, 47-48, 67. 5 Furttenbach, pp. 71-76; Alberti, pp. 139-140. 6 Valesio, vol. 1, pp. 452-453; Luciani, p. 21. Valesio made his entry on 2 August 1701. The Congregazione approved Fontana’s design for the Casa di Correzione on 1 August, and the foundation stone was laid on 1 September. Fontana, ‘Relatione della Fabrica di Correttione’, f. 3r. 7 For Valesio’s biography, see Lami, pp. 296-299; Ridley, p. 79. 8 Ignatieff, pp. 11-12; Evans, pp. 48-59; Spierenburg, pp. 21-22. 9 Clement XI, f. 1; Bechi, pp. 57-60; Passerini, pp. 626-628; Sellin, ‘Filippo Franci’, pp. 108-111; Sellin, ‘House of Correction’, p. 551; Izzo, pp. 292-296; Cajani, p. 320; Parente, pp. 97-99. The Ospedale di S. Filippo Neri is also known as the ‘Quarconia’. Members of the papal court would have been well familiar with the prison at the Ospedale di S. Filippo Neri, as Filippo Franci (the Ospedale’s administrator when the prison was founded) visited Rome five times during his lifetime and was acquainted with various prominent secular and religious f igures in Rome, including Innocent XI. Bechi, pp. 106-111. A Casa di

114

Kimberley Skelton

The inscription accompanying the Casa di Correzione scene on Clement XI’s medal, moreover, suggested that Carlo Fontana had purposefully sidelined the building’s structure in order to foreground motion as the key element for which the Casa di Correzione was to be celebrated. Across the top of the medal, one reads ‘Ut eruantur a via mala’, or ‘In order that they be removed from the way of evil’. The various movements inside the Casa di Correzione were Clement XI’s new solution to reforming the criminal tendencies of boy prisoners. By working under the eyes of circulating guards and master craftsmen, the boys would be ‘removed from the way of evil’ and turned towards virtue. This assertion, as well-educated recipients of the medal would have recognized, rested on an increasingly widespread assumption: the malleability of human behaviour through motion. Across the late seventeenth century, both education and imprisonment – the strands brought together by Clement XI at the Casa di Correzione – had been rethought in terms of choreographed motion. Simultaneously, philosophers also newly argued that human emotional responses, and so behaviour, were governed by sensory and neural movements. This essay argues that the design and rules of the Casa di Correzione brought together these new debates about human behaviour, education, and imprisonment to create a reform environment of choreographed motion at all scales – from sensory vibrations to physical gestures. Historians of prisons and imprisonment have recognized this shift towards a reform that retrains the bodies and minds of prisoners; the Casa di Correzione has been considered a precursor to Enlightenment prison reform, and Michel Foucault has traced to the seventeenth century the notion of a ‘docile body’, an individual molded into predictable behaviour via repeated actions.10 I blend these strands of scholarship by considering the Casa di Correzione as a culmination of changing attitudes towards motion across earlier prison reform in the context of contemporaneous educational and philosophical debates.

Prisons as Containment: Reform before the Seventeenth Century Even before the seventeenth century, there was a well-established expectation that all prisoners would receive at least some education towards a more virtuous life. So expected was this education that female prisoners at Tor di Nona, then the primary prison in Rome, complained in 1610 that they could not hear mass on Sundays or holidays. They were owed access to the mass, they explained in a letter Correzione was also planned as a wing of a hospital in Milan during the 1670s, but it remained unbuilt until the mid-eighteenth century. Beltrani-Scalia, pp. 385-392; Melossi and Pavarini, p. 73; Cajani, p. 320. 10 Sellin, ‘House of Correction’, pp. 533-536, 551-553; Foucault, pp. 135-169; Melossi and Pavarini, pp. 79-80; Evans, pp. 59-60; Johnston, pp. 35-36.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

115

outlining their complaint, because the prison was a ‘sacred place’; it was analogous to a church where one expected to see and hear the mass.11 In contrast to the Casa di Correzione, however, potential re-education of prisoners relied on their ability to control their own behaviour. While prisoners attended mass at a prison chapel daily, they were left unsupervised in the rooms where they were housed for most of the day. Guards patrolled only once at night, simply to assure that all was quiet and that windows overlooking the street were locked.12 Otherwise, prisoners were merely required to receive visits from the doctor, clean their rooms, and eat their meals. Once a week, there would be the Visita, an inspection by confraternity, papal, and civic officials to check on the proper treatment of prisoners. Sorted into groups according to the fee that they paid and the severity of their crime, prisoners thus had ample time to engage in a wide range of activities, from playing permitted games with each other to writing letters to family or friends. In rooms where windows overlooked the street, prisoners could also converse with passersby and watch urban daily life.13 Interactions with passersby were even so accepted that during 1636, Tor di Nona prisoners supported their complaint about overcrowding by observing that forty people had to stand at a single opening onto the street.14 Alongside these myriad activities, there were some prompts to prayer, yet prisoners needed strong motivation in order to stay focused on prayer. Pinned to the walls of prisoners’ rooms were images of God, the Madonna, and the saints, and fee-paying prisoners in the Sala Regia of Tor di Nona could look at chapel and altar through an internal window (Figure 19).15 Playing a game could seem more entertaining, however, and writing a letter for assistance more useful than contemplating a religious image. Inside the Sala Regia at Tor di Nona, prisoners also had to crane their necks at an uncomfortable angle to catch a glimpse of the altar next to the internal window. Underpinning the prisoners’ freedom to choose among an array of activities was the expectation that prisoners would reflect on their behaviour and decide to comport themselves appropriately. It was sufficient to assume that prisoners would follow prison rules; guards did not need to watch prisoners consistently. Likewise, prisoners could be relied on to perform the spiritual reflection essential to turning 11 ‘locus sacer’, ‘Suppliche dai carcerati’, 1610 letter. 12 Bertolotti, p. 33. 13 Capitoli da osservarsi dalli Carcerati; Piazza, Trattato V, p. 309, Trattato X, p. 125; Franzoi, p. 80; Paglia, pp. 26-28; Fornili, pp. 85-87, 90-91, 108-110, 204-208; Geltner, p. 97. The two confraternities who assisted Roman prisoners and whose prelates attended the Visita were the Archiconfraternità della Carità de’ Cortegiani di San Girolamo and the Archiconfraternità della Pietà de’ Carcerati. Piazza, Trattato V, p. 309. 14 ‘Suppliche dai carcerati’, 1636 letter. 15 Paglia, pp. 184-185.

116

Kimberley Skelton

19. Tor di Nona, Rome, Italy, first-floor plan. © 2020 Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (Vat. Lat 11258, Parte A, f. 130r). By permission of Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, with all rights reserved. The Sala Regia is the central room with the two columns, and the chapel is the adjacent right-hand room; the altar is marked with a rectangle and cross at the front left corner of the chapel.

towards a virtuous Christian life. On some days, prisoners would receive visits from Jesuit priests urging them towards this reflection. A 1550 set of guidelines governing these meetings reiterated how priests should give prisoners the motivation for prayer by reasoning with them about the advantages of a virtuous life. A priest could liken the burden of sin to heavy loads that prisoners might have encountered in manual labour and consequently justify the claim that it was desirable to shed the burden of sin by confessing and repenting.16 When prisoners selected their activities each day, then, they could reflect on the priest’s arguments to decide whether prayer might be preferable to playing a game. Until the seventeenth century, it seemed obvious that prison officials could thus depend on the self-discipline of prisoners. Individuals could restrain their emotions and so their behaviour by using reason to judge circumstances, philosophers had averred for centuries. One perceived an object or event because it caused particles to vibrate in air or another medium that, in turn, agitated a sense organ. Before reacting to the object or event, however, one could use one’s reason to consider the most appropriate response.17 Confronted with a loud noise that agitated particles in one’s ears, one could evaluate the cause and decide whether to flee or to stand still. 16 Ibid., pp. 254-255. 17 Aristotle, De anima, pp. 169-178; James, pp. 1359-1360.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

117

Inside a prison, officials could assume that prisoners would deliberate about their various options for behaviour, especially since only prisoners who had executed more minor crimes were allowed a wide range of activities; those who had executed serious crimes, such as murder, were confined to their rooms and not permitted to interact with anyone outside the prison.18 A comment in a conversation might arouse anger in a prisoner, for instance, but he or she could reflect on prison rules before fighting the person who had made the remark. Seventeenth-century mechanistic philosophers, however, obliterated this ability to direct one’s actions; inescapable biological processes instead governed attention and behaviour, they asserted. When an object or event produced vibrations in a sense organ, according to René Descartes and subsequent philosophers, those vibrations travelled via the nerves to the brain that was then pulled towards the strongest stimuli.19 One’s emotions were likewise potentially uncontrollable; the same sensory and neural vibrations caused spirits in the brain to move through specific pores that prompted one emotion or another.20 Surrounded by the myriad activities inside their rooms and perceptible through windows, prisoners were besieged with such sensory stimuli. Contemplation of religious images would seem unlikely. Sunlit streets visible through prison windows would agitate more optical fibres than would shadowy prison walls, and street noises would agitate more particles in the prisoners’ ears than would the silent images. In addition, a prisoner might impulsively break a prison rule if he or she became angered by an object or event. Contemporaneous with these arguments was repeated evidence of such sensory distraction guiding prison behaviour. Occupants of the Collegio Inglese, adjacent to the Corte Savella prison in Rome, for instance, rarely experienced the orderly behaviour that one would expect from prisoners rationally following prison rules. When the Savelli family considered extending their prison closer to the Collegio Inglese in the mid-seventeenth century, Innocent X received a vehement protest from the Collegio Inglese. Already, the letter complained, prisoners insulted Collegio Inglese staff and students when they saw them and threw things out of windows to dirty nearby buildings and street.21 Readers of Giovanni Battista Scanaroli’s De visitatione, a description of prisons and criminal law, learned that imprisonment worsened habits of vice in boys. From his own visits to prisons, Scanaroli warned parents against sending sons who had committed crimes to prison; boys were likely 18 Paglia, pp. 26-28; Fornili, p. 91. 19 Descartes, Treatise of Man, pp. 33-34, 59-65; Descartes, ‘Optics’, pp. 67-68, 87-91. For discussion by subsequent philosophers, see Fournier, p. 114. 20 Descartes, Passions, pp. 40, 44, 50; James, pp. 1379-1380. 21 Collegio Inglese letter, f. 109r.

118

Kimberley Skelton

to execute worse crimes when they were released than before they had entered.22 Scanaroli’s readers could have easily connected these increased criminal tendencies to sensory distractions. Stretching back to Aristotle, philosophers had argued that each individual was born with the potential for vice and virtue and developed a habit of vice or virtue depending on his or her repeated actions – that is, depending on his or her physical experience.23 More recently, in his Tre libri dell’educatione christiana dei figliuoli of 1584, Cardinal Silvio Antoniano had expanded this argument to a more explicit warning against sensory distractions. It was so easy to succumb to the vices of sensory pleasures, he warned, that stringent training was essential from an early age in order to be assured of virtuous behaviour. Because virtuous ways require that ‘we do violence to ourselves’ and thus are ‘accompanied by weariness and by grief’, strict training is necessary to inculcate habits that guarantee an individual pursues a virtuous life ‘with ease and pleasure’.24 Boy prisoners would have experienced a barrage of sensory stimuli without the benefit of such stringent training. They would often have wandered Rome’s streets before they were imprisoned, and unsupervised in prison rooms, they were surrounded with myriad sensory cues for further disorderly activities. At the Corte Savella, boy prisoners could observe adult prisoners throwing things onto the street and then perform the same actions themselves. By the mid-seventeenth century, then, sensory stimuli and the corresponding movements of sensory and neural vibrations were becoming the key means of controlling prisoner behaviour.

Restricted Sensory Movements at the Carceri Nuove As these arguments about sensory perception and distraction thus intensified, Innocent X and his architect Antonio del Grande for the f irst time sought to choreograph sensory cues and the corresponding movements of prisoners as they designed the Carceri Nuove, the precursor of Clement XI’s Casa di Correzione. So important was it now to direct the attention of prisoners via sensory cues that Innocent X abandoned plans for extending the Corte Savella prison and instead constructed a new prison at a larger site on via Giulia. Despite the protests by the Collegio Inglese, Innocent X had continued with the Corte Savella extension; he purchased the necessary houses and requested a plan.25 After seeing the plan, 22 Scanaroli, pp. 42-44; Cajani, p. 320. On Scanaroli and De visitatione, see Fornili, pp. 112-133. On the wellestablished practice of families sending sons to prison, see Farinaccio, pp. 241-243, 266-267; Parente, p. 25. 23 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, pp. 31-38. 24 ‘facciamo violenza à noi medesimi’, ‘accompagnata da fatica, & da dolore’, ‘con facilità, & diletto’, Antoniano, p. 24r. 25 Corte Savella site purchase receipts and extension plans.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

119

however, he decided that the extension was not sufficiently secure in merely a sequence of houses and did not provide enough space.26 On the larger via Giulia site, Antonio del Grande could include two chapels, as at Tor di Nona, and also create a new room solely for boy prisoners (Figure 20).27 Such sensory guidance at the Carceri Nuove – the ready accessibility of the sights and sounds of the mass as well as the isolation of boy prisoners, moreover, became the environment for most prisoners in Rome since the Carceri Nuove replaced not only Corte Savella but also Tor di Nona and the smaller Ripa prison.28 Inside their room at the Carceri Nuove, boy prisoners experienced a narrowed range of stimuli that would assure their brains were pulled towards cues for virtuous behaviour. Without adult prisoners, they saw and heard merely their own activities and so had fewer opportunities to intensify their criminal tendencies. For instance, there would be no invitations to engage in disorderly activities alongside the adults. Antonio del Grande also insulated the boys from external sights and sounds. Inside Tor di Nona, fee-paying boy prisoners would have been housed in the first-floor Sala Regia, but boy prisoners who could not pay their fee would have been in ground-floor areas where windows allowed them to see, hear, and participate in urban daily life. At the Carceri Nuove, however, all boys were elevated above the street because their room was on the first floor. Sounds would be more distant and muffled, and boys would need to look down at an uncomfortable angle to see the narrow side street. Far more accessible, and thus more likely to create sensory vibrations that would attract their brains, were stimuli in their own room. Through their design of the room, Innocent X and Antonio del Grande particularly guided the boys’ attention to the adjacent chapel and its altar. Once the boys turned inwards to their room, chapel and altar would be almost inescapable; the window between the boys’ room and the chapel was centred in the wall, and the altar was precisely opposite this window. Because of the centred window, the view of at least the chapel would readily be in the sightline of boys. Moreover, if boys pursued activities anywhere near the centre of the room, they could easily look up to see the altar; only standing in a corner might a boy see a corner of the chapel rather than the altar. This visual emphasis on chapel and altar clearly offered stronger sensory cues for religious worship than at Tor di Nona. Inside Tor di Nona, poor boys would have seen the ground-floor chapel only when they were in the courtyard onto which it faced, and fee-paying boys in the Sala Regia would have needed to 26 Innocent X, f. 135r. The plan evaluating the sizes of the Corte Savella and via Giulia sites is: Grande, Site and early plans, f. 127r. Other via Giulia site plans are: Grande, Site and early plans, ff. 133r, 134r, 135r. 27 A ground-floor and a first-floor chapel are noted on: Grande, Site and early plans, ff. 137r, 140v; Grande, Final plans, f. 346r; plans in Gastaldi, pp. 203, 205. No chapel appears in the section and plans of the other floors, preserved as Grande, Final plans, ff. 337v, 340r, 342r, 344r. 28 Fornili, pp. 7-8, 108.

120

Kimberley Skelton

20. Antonio del Grande, Carceri Nuove, Rome, Italy, c. 1652-1656 , first-floor plan. Reproduced by kind permission of Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Rome. The room for boy prisoners is at the back right corner of the front block, and the chapel is the adjacent room to the left; the altar is marked by the rectangle with the two squares to either side.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

121

crane their necks uncomfortably to catch a glimpse of the adjacent chapel and altar (Figure 19).29 Carceri Nuove boys, in contrast, would have difficulty in avoiding chapel and altar. By filtering sensory stimuli to offer more emphatic cues towards prayer, Innocent X and Antonio del Grande were crafting an environment that made tangible a long-standing approach to prayer and that, consequently, would arguably guide boy prisoners towards a virtuous Christian life. Since St. Augustine, theologians had argued that individuals prayed most effectively when they eschewed sensory distractions to focus on sequences of thoughts.30 In his Spiritual Exercises, the Jesuit founder St. Ignatius of Loyola advised his readers to pray by ‘seeing through the gaze of the imagination’.31 To consider the Nativity, for instance, readers should imagine seeing the dimensions of the grotto as well as the gestures of participants and hearing the words of the participants.32 They could imagine this scene most effectively, moreover, if they turned away from sensory distractions: ‘I should deprive myself of all light, closing shutters and doors whilst I am in a room’.33 Closing shutters and doors, the worshipper avoids light that might attract his or her eyes to turn his or her attention away from prayer. Similarly isolated from adult criminals and urban daily life, the Carceri Nuove boy prisoners would be more likely to focus on religious worship. Despite this sensory isolation, the stimuli inside their room might still distract the boy prisoners. Following Descartes’s argument that the strongest sensory vibrations inevitably pulled the brain towards what caused those vibrations, the boys might more often look outside or around their room than through the chapel window. During the day, the sunlight streaming in the windows overlooking the street would be far brighter than the chapel that received its light only from these windows. Since the street windows would consequently agitate more optical fibres in the boys’ eyes than would the chapel window, the boys’ brains would be pulled towards the street. The boys’ own activities could also distract them; sounds of conversation, for instance, would cause particles to vibrate in the boys’ ears, while the silent chapel would create no aural vibrations. In the decades following the construction of the Carceri Nuove, it was increasingly evident that thus simply narrowing the range of available sensory stimuli would be insufficient to reform boy prisoners. Educational theorists and philosophers both averred ever more emphatically that to assure virtuous behaviour, one had to proactively direct motion at all scales. Since their founding in the sixteenth century, for instance, the Compagnie della Dottrina Christiana had paired elementary and 29 30 31 32 33

Tor di Nona ground- and first-floor plans. St. Augustine, p. 430. St. Ignatius of Loyola, p. 294. Ibid., pp. 306-307. Ibid., p. 300.

122

Kimberley Skelton

spiritual instruction with carefully controlled movements of students. Among other motions, students had to kneel before the altar or sacrament in the church where they were taught and then process out of the church in pairs.34 Until the seventeenth century, however, books of the rules governing these Schools of Christian Doctrine had included little description of the physical environment surrounding the students; they had merely outlined in detail the schedule and types of teaching activities.35 From the mid-seventeenth century, authors of these books added consideration of how the church interior could shape the movements of staff and students. Two rulebooks for Treviso schools, of 1634 and 1668, described the arrangement of benches and the movements of staff and students around the benches; plans too of the benches were supposed to have been included, although these plans no longer survive.36 When Agostino Cabrini newly sought to systematize instruction across cities in his mid-century Ordini con li quali devono essere regolate le Scole della Santissima Dottrina Christiana (extant only in its 1686 edition), motion through the church interior was so important that he incorporated illustrations showing Venetian staff and students inside churches (the best models of instruction, he claimed) at various points of the school afternoon and even diagrammed routes of students.37 By seeing the changing positions of staff and students across Cabrini’s illustrations, readers could deduce how they would move around the church classroom. They could observe a student receiving a blessing with holy water near the door in the first illustration before students stood in groups along the perimeter of the church in the second illustration.38 With the final illustration showing the disputa generale, the gathering of schools across the city twice per year for the best students to be examined on Christian doctrine, Cabrini used dotted lines to trace out the routes that students would walk (Figure 21).39 The dotted line marked N outlines the route 34 Pelliccia, p. 265. The Schools of Christian Doctrine usually admitted boys from between four to six and until fourteen years old and girls from four until twelve years old. Turrini, pp. 455-456, 459; Grendler, ‘Schools of Christian Doctrine’, p. 323. On the Schools of Christian Doctrine, see Pelliccia, pp. 253, 264-268; Turrini; Grendler, ‘Schools of Christian Doctrine’; Grendler, ‘Borromeo’; Grendler, Schooling in Renaissance Italy, pp. 335-350. 35 See, for instance: Constitutioni et regole, pp. 46r-48r; Constitutioni della ven. Archiconfraternità, pp. 55-59; Regole per le Scuole, pp. 18-24. On these rule books, see Turrini, pp. 468-472; Grendler, ‘Schools of Christian Doctrine’, p. 322. 36 Iesus Maria Regole […] scuole delle donne, pp. 134-137; Iesus Maria Regole […] scuole de gl huomini, pp. 84-86. 37 Cabrini, pp. A5r-A5v. 38 Ibid., pp. 14-24. 39 The disputa generale was usually held after Easter and on a day in November. On the disputa generale, see especially Constitutioni et regole, pp. 77v-78r; Regole per le Scuole, pp. 25-26; Iesus Maria Regole […] scuole de gl huomini, pp. 99-103; Turrini, pp. 433-434.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

123

21. Disputa generale, from Agostino Cabrini, Ordini con li quali devono essere regolate le Scole della Santissima Dottrina Christiana, 1686. Courtesy Biblioteca Casanatense MIBAC Rome (VOL MISC.2169.1).

124

Kimberley Skelton

by which students in pairs would walk from their spots in the upper perspectival view and then kneel before school officials in the lower aerial view, and the dotted line marked O delineates the return route of the students.40 Cabrini even explicitly alerted readers to the importance of such controlled motion for guaranteeing a Christian life through his subsequent advice on following Christian principles. 41 Including the human senses in a list of ways given by God for attaining a virtuous life, he explained how one should carefully direct each sense to avoid distracting perceptions. He warned, for instance, ‘Strive with great care […] to direct your eyes’ so that they do not ‘stop curiously to see […] things that in some way could excite [you] to sins or rather distract your mind from God’. 42 Unlike St. Ignatius of Loyola’s motionless individual who blocked sensory stimuli, Cabrini’s worshipper must consider how to move his or her body to lead a virtuous Christian life. Not only could repeated actions train individuals into virtuous, appropriate behaviour, but, as philosophers newly averred, repeated actions were the key means of correcting existing habits – precisely the goal of Innocent X at the Carceri Nuove. Previously, it had seemed highly difficult, if not impossible, to replace habits of vice with habits of virtue; in his Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle had reiterated this difficulty twice, even noting that such habits were like a second nature. 43 When Emanuele Tesauro summarized Aristotle’s argument in La filosofia morale (first published in 1670), however, he suggested that habits of vice could be reformed into habits of virtue via repeated actions. ‘[O]pposing acts to acts, habit to habit’, he averred, could transform vice into virtue.44 And these acts had to be repeated across time since a single intervention could not obliterate an established habit, unless its intensity had the force of several actions.45 In addition, reason itself – the means by which humans had previously been expected to guide their behaviour – was simply a habit, simply the result of repeated actions. Tesauro defined reason as the ‘intellect illuminated by the habit of natural principles […] that is, a conformity with Divine Rule’.46 An individual 40 Cabrini, p. 38. 41 This advice is unique among rulebooks for the Compagnie della Dottrina Christiana. Topics include: prayers for different times of day, suggestions on how to restrain one’s emotions to facilitate religious worship, and principles to know for those serving God. It is possible that Cabrini newly included this advice about how to lead a Christian life because of his unprecedented goal of systematizing instruction in schools across cities; the advice likewise offered an opportunity for systematizing Christian life. 42 ‘Essercitati con gran diligenza […] d’ordinar gli occhi tuoi’, ‘si fermino curiosamente a veder […] cose, ch’in qualche modo potessero eccitare a peccati: ò pure, che sturbassero la mente da Dio’, Cabrini, p. 178. 43 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, pp. 63, 190. 44 ‘contraponendo Atti ad Atti, Habito ad Habito’, Tesauro, p. 42. On the context of La filosofia morale, see Kraye, pp. 1281-1282. 45 Tesauro, p. 42. 46 ‘l’Intelletto illuminato dall’Habito de’ Principij naturali, […] dice una Conformità alla Regola Divina’, Tesauro, p. 557.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

125

22. Carlo Fontana, Casa di Correzione, Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa, Rome, Italy, 1701-1704. Photo: Author. Reproduced by kind permission of Istituto Superiore per la Conservazione ed il Restauro, Rome. This view looks towards the altar end of the Casa di Correzione; the altar has since been removed.

will behave rationally only if he or she has been trained through repeated virtuous actions into the habit of Christian behaviour, or ‘Divine Rule’. For boy prisoners, choreographed motion was thus doubly essential – key to reshaping habits of vice into habits of virtue and to assuring appropriate behaviour once their habits were reshaped. A few decades after the publication of Tesauro’s volume, it was even evident from the Carceri Nuove themselves that boy prisoners could be reformed into virtuous behaviour only if their actions were more intensively choreographed. In 1700, Cardinal Giovanni Battista Spinola and Rannuccio Pallavicino – as joint Governors of Rome – met with Pope Clement XI to discuss ongoing criminal habits of the Carceri Nuove boy prisoners. Despite the narrower range of sensory distractions at the Carceri Nuove, Spinola and Pallavicino reiterated the problem described by Scanaroli for earlier prisons: boy prisoners at the Carceri Nuove were executing similar or worse crimes after their release than before they were imprisoned. So convincing was the report of Spinola and Pallavicino that Clement XI appointed a committee, a Congregazione, to found a new prison – the Casa di Correzione at the Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa (Figure 22). 47

47 Fontana, ‘Relatione della Fabrica di Correttione’, f. 3r.

126

Kimberley Skelton

Sensory Choreography at the Casa di Correzione In both its design and its rules, the new Casa di Correzione was a clear response to the ineffectiveness of the Carceri Nuove, an attempt to intensify control over the boy prisoners by further choreographing physical and mental motions. While the Carceri Nuove boy prisoners had occupied one room of a prison also containing adult criminals and so might have seen the adults at mass, the Casa di Correzione contained only boy prisoners. In addition, while Carceri Nuove boy prisoners had been left to their own devices during the day, those at the Casa di Correzione followed a strictly regimented schedule – detailed by the hour.48 Key to this stricter control of the movements of boy prisoners were the recent educational and philosophical arguments about regulating motion and inculcating habit via repeated actions. The very siting of the Casa di Correzione inside the Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa made explicit this rethinking of imprisonment in terms of controlled motion and education. On the first floor of a new wing at the Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa, the Casa di Correzione was physically incorporated into an institution containing a school where poor boys learned manual trades, reading, writing, arithmetic, and Christian doctrine. 49 Storage spaces for the school were, in fact, above and below the Casa di Correzione.50 And this school was run by the Piarists, a teaching order that especially stressed supervised motion. Members of the order observed students during lessons, accompanied students to school areas for performing bodily necessities, and walked alongside students between home and school.51 Moreover, Tommaso Odescalchi (as the school’s patron) and the Piarists had located their school at the S. Michele a Ripa site especially to tighten control over student movements. On its previous Piazza Margana site, the school had been too small to offer instruction in manual trades, and students had travelled to apprenticeships across Rome. When the Piarists discovered that such travel generated undesirable behaviour from the boys, they and Odescalchi moved to the larger S. Michele a Ripa site where boys could be taught manual trades on site.52 At this site, the Piarists also organized the instruction of the boys so that they were kept in motion and had 48 ‘Regole per gli Carcerati’, ff. 1v-3v; Undated rules for the Casa di Correzione, ff. 4r-4v. 49 The Piarist school had existed on this site since 1689. In 1693, Tommaso Odescalchi (who had sponsored the school) ceded the site to Innocent XII, who then founded the Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa to collect Roman charitable institutions on one site. Construction of lodgings for prostitutes as well as elderly women and men was begun after the Casa di Correzione and completed only in 1719. Ssmi. Dni. Nri. Dni. Innocentii Papae XII erectio fundatio; Piazza, Trattato I, pp. 76-77; Balzani, pp. 25-29; Magnanimi, pp. 130-131; Cianfrocca, pp. 96-117; Luciani, pp. 12-13. 50 Fontana, ‘Relatione della Fabrica di Correttione’, ff. 3v-6v. 51 Liebreich, ‘Piarist Education (II)’, pp. 60-62, 72. 52 Piazza, Trattato I, pp. 75-76; Sellin, ‘House of Correction’, p. 537; Magnanimi, p. 130; Cianfrocca, p. 80. Odescalchi bought the Ripa site in 1686. Cianfrocca, p. 103; Luciani, p. 9.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

127

little opportunity for their minds to wander. Boys would be working continuously unless a Piarist padre was giving them instruction in reading, writing, arithmetic or Christian doctrine.53 During manual work, their hands would be moving as would the optical fibres of their eyes, while during instruction, optical fibres and particles in their ears would vibrate and hands might move to turn pages or write. As Fontana designed the Casa di Correzione, he transformed such intensive control of movement into the environment perpetually enveloping the boy prisoners. The Carceri Nuove guards had followed the usual practice of patrolling once at night to assure that all prisoners were present and quiet.54 Inside the Casa di Correzione, supervision of the boys’ actions was potentially continuous. Not only was the interior brilliantly lit day and night, but prison staff could also watch the boys at all times. Windows in the vaulting, in the alcove at the centre of each side wall, and over the altar at the far end would flood the interior with sunlight, and four large lanterns would illuminate it at nighttime (Figures 18, 22).55 In addition, Fontana designed the corridor in front of the cells as an open balustrade and did not place doors on the doorways of the corner spiral staircases connecting the cells to the central space (Figure 23).56 Consequently, anyone walking in front of the cells or passing between levels of cells could easily be seen, and it would be possible to hear as well as catch glimpses of the boys within their cells. Even when prison officials retired to their lodgings for the night, they could watch and listen for the boy prisoners. In his manuscript describing the Casa di Correzione, Fontana explained how to ‘oblige the boys to execute modest acts’, he had located the lodgings of prison officials in a mezzanine at one end of the central space; they could then hear or see anything occurring in the cells or elsewhere.57 Perpetually conscious of being watched, boy prisoners would be more likely to behave appropriately. Such surveillance, moreover, was a well-recognized means of controlling the behaviour of young boys. Already in his fifteenth-century De re aedificatoria, Leon Battista Alberti had recommended that porticoes or fora be placed at crossroads to shelter older citizens who could observe young boys. Interacting under the eyes of older citizens, Alberti asserted, the boys would be encouraged to conduct themselves responsibly.58 Fontana also filtered the prison environment so that primarily those stimuli evocative of spiritual instruction would cause sensory and neural vibrations in the boys’ bodies. For the first time, boy prisoners could not interact with each other because each boy was housed in his own cell at night and would be chained to a 53 54 55 56 57 58

Cianfrocca, p. 126. Fornili, p. 110. Fontana, ‘Relatione della Fabrica di Corettione’, f. 6r. Ibid., f. 4v. ‘per obligarli ad esercitare atti modesti’, Ibid., f. 5r. Alberti, p. 263.

128

Kimberley Skelton

23. Carlo Fontana, Staircase door, Casa di Correzione, Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa, Rome, Italy, 1701-1704. Photo: Author. Reproduced by kind permission of Istituto Superiore per la Conservazione ed il Restauro, Rome.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

129

workbench in the central open space where he could easily be watched during the day. Sights and sounds of urban daily life were likewise less accessible so that boys would assuredly turn inwards to the central space. Fontana explains how he placed all windows – the large windows illuminating the central space and the external window of each cell – above a man’s sightline to avoid the customary interactions with passersby.59 Since the boys could thus never see and could only hear the activities of urban daily life, there would be more stimuli in the central space to create sensory and neural vibrations. Each cell wall abutting the street was merely a solid, and potentially shadowy, white surface, but the central space was brilliantly lit day and night and thus would create stronger optical vibrations. Light rays could even bounce off of the various objects in the central space, workbenches, altar, and doors and windows of the cells opposite, to further agitate the boys’ optical fibres. Simultaneously, noises occurring in the central space would cause particles in the boys’ ears to vibrate more strongly than would outside street noises; the external window of each cell was filled with glass and the internal window only with an iron grille. By thus foregrounding the sights and sounds of the central space, Fontana firmly turned the boys’ attention to the religious instruction that could re-educate them towards a virtuous Christian life. In his manuscript, he describes how he positioned and designed the altar to assure that the mass would be ‘seen and heard by everyone in whatever place, and especially from the windows of the sixty cells’.60 Since Fontana located the altar at one end of the room, the sounds of the priest’s words would be ‘running from the altar to the aforesaid windows […] and other places around the perimeter’ of the central space.61 As the priest spoke, he would cause particles to vibrate in the air around him, and these particles would transmit their vibrations to further particles so that the sound would ‘run’ from altar to cell windows and other areas of the Casa di Correzione. Fontana also surrounded the altar with an open railing to allow ‘for the free passage generally of the sightlines’ of those inside the Casa di Correzione.62 The phrase ‘free passage’ suggests how light rays could move from the altar to the eyes of anyone watching the mass and, implicitly, agitate optical fibres in those eyes. So important was this visual and aural accessibility of the mass that, across the designing of the Casa di Correzione, Fontana revised the altar’s position to assure all boys could see and hear the mass. In Clement XI’s founding motu proprio and Fontana’s initial plans, the altar was in the middle of the central space. On his plans, Fontana drew a dotted line from 59 Fontana, ‘Relatione della Fabrica di Correttione’, f. 5v. 60 ‘sentita, et veduta da tutti in qualunque luogo, e specialmente dalle Finestre delle 60: Camerette’, Ibid., f. 6r. 61 ‘Correndovi dall’Altare alle predette Finestre […] et altri Luoghi nel circuito di detto ridotto’, Ibid. 62 ‘per il libero passaggio generalmente delle visualità’, Ibid.

130

Kimberley Skelton

the window of each cell to the altar to show how each boy could see the altar; the dotted line represented the boy’s sightline.63 Yet boys in the cells in front of the altar could have seen and heard the priest more readily than those in the cells behind the altar. When the priest faced outwards to deliver mass, his gestures would have been visible to those before him, and particles vibrating from his voice would have moved outward from him. His gestures would consequently have been partially obscured and his words partly muffled for boys in cells behind the altar; they could have seen the priest’s gestures and heard his words clearly only when he faced the altar. As a result, ‘after having evaluated the situation in a simulated way’, possibly with a model or temporary construction, Fontana decided to place the altar on the far wall of the room – where all boys and staff would be in front of the altar to see the priest’s gestures and hear his words.64 When the Congregazione composed rules governing daily life at the Casa di Correzione, they intensified yet further this control of the boys’ motions at all scales, from physical gestures to sensory and neural vibrations.65 Such intensified control, they well knew, was especially essential to the prison’s success. As the rules for the Priore, the head of the Casa di Correzione, explained, boy prisoners were expected to be ‘the worst youth of Rome and the most inclined to vice’.66 In practice, boy prisoners had created a wide range of disturbances – for instance, regurgitating part of the communion inside a church and dressing up as soldiers before stealing cakes from a baker and performing other disorderly acts.67 The Casa di Correzione was also to offer instruction primarily to poor boys who had little other means of reforming their lives; sons whose families had imprisoned them for various crimes, Clement XI stipulated, should be allowed to stay only for a month in order to allow more space for poor boys.68 Staff of the Casa di Correzione, then, were solely responsible for re-educating boys who had the most strongly ingrained habits of vice across Rome. By the time that boys were freed, the Congregazione had to be certain that they would follow virtuous Christian lives.69 Upon his release, a boy prisoner would receive a small sum of money with which to support himself 63 Clement XI, f. 1; Fontana, Drawings for Casa di Correzione, Braham and Hager 397, 405, 409. On Fontana’s plans, see Braham and Hager, pp. 143-149. On Fontana’s early designs for the Casa di Correzione, see also Coudenhove-Erthal, pp. 117-119. For a translation of Clement XI’s motu proprio into English, see Sellin, ‘House of Correction’, pp. 539-541. 64 ‘provisto artificiosamente la situazione’, Fontana, ‘Relatione della Fabrica di Correttione’, f. 6r. 65 At the 31 January 1707 meeting of the Congregazione these rules were noted as complete – one copy given to the Priore and one stored in the Archivio di S. Sisto. Minutes of Congregazione meetings, busta 237, f. 1. 66 ‘la peggior gioventù a Roma, e la più inviziata’, ‘Istruzioni per il Priore’, f. 2r. 67 Valesio, vol. 3, p. 539, vol. 4, p. 144. 68 Minutes of Congregazione meetings, busta 236, f. 49. 69 The boys would most likely have been released in their early twenties since boys educated in the main Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa were released at twenty-two. Ristretto della fondazione, p. A4r; Balzani, p. 28.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

131

until he could find a job – a fifth of his earnings from his time inside the Casa di Correzione – but the money might run out before the boy found a job, and so he would need to have well-established habits of virtue in order to resist turning back to crime.70 Correspondingly, the Congregazione sought to inculcate habit with strict choreography of the boys’ actions. To direct the physical motions of the boys, they strengthened the surveillance offered by Fontana’s design. The open balustrade and the corner spiral staircases without doors became the route along which boy prisoners moved one by one each morning and evening from cell to workbench and vice versa. A guard unchained a boy from his cell or workbench, and the boy would then walk to the guard standing at his destination, where he would be chained by the ring around his foot.71 Each boy would thus be doubly watched – by the guards and by those in the central space. Likewise, Fontana’s brilliantly lit interior facilitating daily as well as nightly surveillance was enforced via specific requirements of prison staff. During the day, the Priore was not to leave the boys unless another priest or the guards were present, and at night, guards were required to check that the wooden shutter for each internal cell window was left open.72 If prison staff found that boys broke prison rules, the boys were ‘to be severely punished’.73 The rules not only assured that prison staff watched rigorously but also increased the boys’ awareness of their behaviour with the threat of punishment. Through the daily schedule of activities, the Congregazione simultaneously guaranteed that the boys were even more continuously in motion than Ospizio students in order to guard against their habits of vice while instructing them in habits of virtue. Like students in the Piarist school, boy prisoners learned a manual trade – though receiving instruction only in cotton-working, as they were a smaller group.74 They performed their trade, however, with fewer breaks; they did not learn 70 Undated rules for the Casa di Correzione, f. 3r. The boys’ work would be bought by the household of the Palazzo Apostolico. Clement XI, f. 3r. 71 ‘Istruzioni per il Priore’, f. 9r; Undated rules for the Casa di Correzione, f. 3v; Ristretto della fondazione, ff. A6v, A7r; Labat, p. 98; Sellin, ‘House of Correction’, p. 544. It appears that each boy walked by himself between cell and workbench since both sets of prison rules noted above stipulate that the guards are to ‘send’ (‘mandarli’) the boys from cell to workbench or vice versa. The ‘Istruzioni per il Priore’ explains that the boys ‘will be taken’ (‘saranno condotti’) but describes one guard apiece at cell and workbench. 72 ‘Istruzioni per il Priore’, f. 3r. 73 ‘severamente esser Castigati’, ‘Regole per gli Carcerati’, ff. 3v-4r. 74 The Casa di Correzione could contain up to 60 boys. From 1705-1707, there were 45 to 53 prisoners, while the Piarist school taught between 161 and 196 students. Minutes of the Congregazione meetings, busta 236, ff. 71, 77, 92, 97, busta 237, ff. 37, 59. Clement XI stipulated in his motu proprio that the boys should work cotton, and the French Jean-Baptiste Labat noted that they were working cotton during his 1709 visit. By 1779, however, the boys were working wool. Clement XI, ff. 6-7; Labat, p. 97; Vai, p. 39; Sellin, ‘House of Correction’, pp. 543-545; Luciani, p. 45.

132

Kimberley Skelton

reading, writing, and arithmetic, and they stopped only for meals and a rest after lunch of up to an hour in summer or up to fifteen minutes in winter.75 In addition, the Congregazione extended the time devoted to religious instruction from a segment of the day to all waking hours; boys participated in prayer or listened to a reading except for their lunch rest, an hour of silence, and the dinner hour devoted to entertainment.76 Just as hands and eyes were occupied with cotton-working, so too were ears nearly perpetually vibrating with the sounds of instruction in Christian doctrine. Performing and experiencing these sequences of motions day after day, month after month, and year after year under strict supervision, boy prisoners at the Casa di Correzione would almost inevitably replace habits of vice with habits of virtue. Because the boys repeated these motions so many times, physical gestures and neural vibrations would become habitual, and the boys would instinctively display expected behaviour after their release. Half a century later, this emphasis on motion to reform prisoners had become accepted to the point where Cesare Beccaria and other legal theorists debated not whether movement was useful but rather what type of movement was most effective and considered adult as well as juvenile criminals.77 Placing the interior of the Casa di Correzione on the reverse of the 1704 annual papal medal and filling it with motion, then, Clement XI and Carlo Fontana were highlighting a new approach to prison design and imprisonment grounded in increasingly established and widespread assumptions about motion as the basis of human behaviour.

Works Cited Manuscript Sources Carceri Nuove

Grande, Antonio del. Site and early plans for Carceri Nuove. Vat. Lat. 11258, Parte A, ff. 127r, 133r, 134r, 135r, 137r, 138r, 140r. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City. Grande, Antonio del. Final plans for Carceri Nuove. Cod. 31 B 14, ff. 337v, 340r, 342r, 344r, 346r. Biblioteca Corsiniana, Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Rome. Innocent X. Chirografo for Carceri Nuove. 21 March 1652. Misc. Arm. IV, t. 48, ff. 135r-137v. Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Vatican City. 75 Undated rules for the Casa di Correzione, ff. 4r-4v; ‘Regole per gli Carcerati’, f. 2v; Cajani, pp. 315-316. The undated rules grant an hour of rest in summer and no rest in winter, while the ‘Regole per gli Carcerati’ allow forty-five minutes of rest in summer and up to fifteen minutes in winter. 76 ‘Regole per gli Carcerati’, ff. 3r-3v; Undated rules for the Casa di Correzione, ff. 4v-5r. 77 Beccaria, p. 63; Filangieri, p. 236.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

133

Casa di Correzione

Clement XI. ‘Motu proprio di Clemente XI del 14 Nov 1703’. 14 November 1703. Camerale II, Carceri, busta 2. Archivio di Stato, Rome. Fontana, Carlo. Drawings for Casa di Correzione. Braham and Hager 397, 405, 409, 430. Department of Prints and Drawings, Windsor Castle. Fontana, Carlo. ‘Relatione della Fabrica di Correttione fatta fare da Sua Santità in Roma’. Braham and Hager vol. 181. Department of Prints and Drawings, Windsor Castle. Hamerano, Giovanni. Drawing for Clement XI’s 1704 annual medal. Vat. Lat. 15232, f. 4. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City. ‘Istruzioni per il Priore della Casa di Correzione’. Ospizio di S. Michele, busta 147. Archivio di Stato, Rome. Minutes of Congregazione meetings. Ospizio di S. Michele, buste 236-237. Archivio di Stato, Rome. ‘Regole per gli Carcerati nelle Carceri della Casa di Correttione’. Ospizio di S. Michele, busta 147. Archivio di Stato, Rome. Undated rules for the Casa di Correzione. Camerale II, Carceri, busta 4. Archivio di Stato, Rome.

Corte Savella

Collegio Inglese letter about enlarging Corte Savella. Vat. Lat. 11258, Parte A, ff. 109r-110r. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City. Corte Savella site purchase receipts and extension plans. Vat. Lat. 11258, Parte A, ff. 119r, 121r, 123r, 127r, 131r, 132r. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City.

Tor di Nona

‘Suppliche dai carcerati e dall’Archiconfraternita di San Girolamo della Carità’. Camerale II, Carceri, busta 1. Archivio di Stato, Rome. Tor di Nona ground- and first-floor plans. Vat. Lat. 11258, Parte A, f. 130r. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City.

Primary Printed Sources Alberti, Leon Battista. On the Art of Building in Ten Books. Translated by Joseph Rykwert, Neil Leach, and Robert Tavernor. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1988. Antoniano, Silvio. Tre libri dell’educatione christiana dei figliuoli. Verona: Sebastiano dalle Donne and Girolamo Stringari, 1584. Aristotle. De anima (On the Soul). Translated by Hugh Lawson-Tancred. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 1986. Aristotle. The Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by Hugh Tredennick. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 2004.

134

Kimberley Skelton

Beccaria, Cesare. Dei delitti e delle pene. Edited by Franco Venturi. Turin: Giulio Einaudi editore, 1965. Bechi, Niccolò. Vita del venerabil servo di Dio Filippo Franci sacerdote fiorentino fondatore dello Spedale di San Filippo Neri detto La Casa Pia del Refugio de’ Poveri Fanciulli. Florence: Pietro Gaetano Viviani, 1741. Cabrini, Agostino. Ordini con li quali devono essere regolate le Scole della Santissima Dottrina Christiana, et Instituto de laici secolari con suoi oratorij per aggiuto di essa. Venice: Francesco Busetto, 1686. Capitoli da osservarsi dalli carcerati dalle publiche da basso di tutte le carceri di Roma. 1584. Misc. Arm. IV, t. 48, f. 116. Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Vatican City. Constitutioni et regole della Compagnia, e Scuole della Dottrina Christiana, fatte dal Cardinale Santa Prassede, Arcivescovo di Milano. Milan: Pacifico Pontio, 1585. Constitutioni della ven. Archiconfraternità della Dottrina Christiana di Roma. Rome: Stamperia della Camera Apostolica, 1611. Descartes, René. ‘Optics’. In Discourse on Method, Optics, Geometry, and Meteorology. Translated by Paul J. Olscamp. New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1965. 65-73. Descartes, René. Treatise of Man. Translated and edited by Thomas Steele Hall. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972. Descartes, René. The Passions of the Soul. Translated by Stephen H. Voss. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1989. Farinaccio, Prospero. Praxis et theoricae criminalis amplissimae. Pars tertia. Frankfurt: Collegium Palthenianum, 1605. Filangieri, Gaetano. Excerpt from Book 3 of Scienza della legislazione, Delle leggi criminali (1783). In Dei delitti e delle pene. By Cesare Beccaria and edited by Franco Venturi. Turin: Giulio Einaudi editore, 1965. 226-237. Furttenbach, Joseph. Architectura universalis. Das ist: Von Kriegs: Statt- und Wasser gebäwen. Ulm: Johann Sebastian Medern, 1635. Gastaldi, Girolamo. Tractatus de avertenda et profliganda peste politico=legalis. Eo lucubratus tempore, quo ipse loemocomiorum primò, mox Sanitatis Commissarius Generalis fuit, peste urbem invadente Anno MDCLVI & LVII. Bologna: Camerale Typographia Manolessiana, 1684. Iesus Maria Regole della Compagnia della Dottrina Christiana per le scuole delle donne. Fatte d’ordine di Monsign. Illustriss. & Reuerendiss. Sig. Cardinal Priuli Patriarca di Venetia. Treviso: Girolamo Righettini, 1634. Iesus Maria Regole della Compagnia della Dottrina Christiana per le scuole de gl huomini. Fatte di ordine di Monsign. Illustrissimo, & Reuerendissimo Sign. Bartolomeo Gradenico Vescovo di Trevigi. Treviso: Francesco Righettini, 1668. Labat, Jean Baptiste. Voyages du P. Labat de l’ordre des F. F. Prescheurs, en Espagne et en Italie. Vol. 3 of 8 vols. Paris: Jean-Baptiste Delespine and Charles J. B. Delespine, 1730. Lami, Giuseppe. Memorabilia Italorum eruditione praestantium. Vol. 1 of 3 vols. Florence: Societas ad Insigne Centauri, 1742.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

135

Piazza, Carlo Bartolomeo. Eusevologio romano, overo Delle opere pie di Roma. Rome: Domenico Antonio Ercole, 1698. Regole per le Scuole della Dottrina Christiana della citta et diocese di Venosa da osservarsi da i curati d’anime e da gli operarij di dette Scuole. Instituite & erette da Mons. Reverendiss. Andrea Perbenedetti della citta di Camerino, Vescovo di Venosa, nell’anno 1611. Naples: Lazzaro Scorrigio, 1615; Venice: Evangelista Deuchino, 1620. Ristretto della fondazione, e regolamento de’ poveri invalidi dell’Ospizio di S. Michele, e Conservatorio di S. Giovanni in Laterano nello stato, in cui presentemente si ritrova. Rome: S. Michele a Ripa, 1726. St. Augustine. City of God. Translated by Henry Bettenson. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 2003. St. Ignatius of Loyola. ‘Spiritual Exercises’. In Personal Writings. Translated and edited by Joseph A. Munitiz and Philip Endean. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 2004. 281-360. Ssmi. Dni. Nri. Dni. Innocentii Papae XII erectio fundatio, & dotatio hospitij apostolici pauperum invalidorum in urbe institui. Rome: Camera Apostolica, 1693. CAPITOLINA 23835 (3). Archivio Capitolino, Rome. Scanaroli, Giovanni Battista. De visitatione carceratorum. Rome: Reverenda Camera Apostolica, 1655. Tesauro, Emanuele. La filosofia morale derivata dall’alto fonte del grande Aristotele Stagirita. Macerata: Giuseppe Piccini, 1681. Vai, Giuseppe. Relazione de pio Istituto di S Michele a Ripa Grande eretto dalla santa memoria di PP. Innocenzo XII. Rome: Paolo Giunchi, 1779. Valesio, Francesco. Diario di Roma. Libro primo e libro secondo. Edited by Gaetana Scano and Giuseppe Graglia. 5 vols. Milan: Longanesi & C., 1977.

Secondary Sources Altieri, Giancarlo. Summorum romanorum pontificum historia nomismatibus recensitis illustrata ab saeculo XV ad saeculum XX. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 2004. Altieri, Giancarlo. Aurea Roma. La storia urbanistica di Roma attraverso le medaglie papali. Rome: Libreria dello Stato, 2014. Balzani, Alberto. L’ospizio apostolico dei poveri invalidi detto dal 1693 al 1718. Rome: Istituti di Studi Romani Editore, 1969. Bartolotti, Franco. La medaglia annuale dei romani pontefici. Da Paolo V a Paolo VI, 1605-1967. Rimini, 1967. Beltrani-Scalia, Martino. Sul governo e sulla riforma delle carceri in Italia. Turin: G. Favale e Comp., 1867. Bertolotti, A. Le prigioni di Roma nei secoli XVI, XVII e XVIII. Rome: Tipograpf ia delle Mantellate, 1890. Braham, Allan, and Hellmut Hager. Carlo Fontana: The Drawings at Windsor Castle. London: A. Zwemmer Ltd, 1977.

136

Kimberley Skelton

Cajani, Luigi. ‘Surveillance and Redemption: The Casa di Correzione of San Michele a Ripa in Rome’. In Institutions of Confinement: Hospitals, Asylums, and Prisons in Western Europe and North America, 1500-1950. Edited by Nobert Finzsch and Robert Jütte. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. 301-324. Cianfrocca, Goffredo. ‘La presenza delle Scuole Pie (1684-1798) nell’Ospizio Apostolico S. Michele a Ripa Grande di Roma’. Archivum Scholarum Piarum 28, no. 56 (2004): 71-154. Coudenhove-Erthal, Eduard. Carlo Fontana und die Architektur des römischen Spätbarocks. Vienna: Verlag von Anton Schroll & Co., 1930. Evans, Robin. The Fabrication of Virtue: English Prison Architecture, 1750-1840. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. Fornili, Carlo Cirillo. Delinquenti e carcerati a Roma alla metà del ‘600. Opera dei papi nella riforma carceraria. Rome: Editrice Pontificia Università Gregoriana, 1991. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: Random House, Inc., 1977. Fournier, Marian. The Fabric of Life: Microscopy in the Seventeenth Century. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996. Franzoi, Umberto. The Prisons of the Venetian Republic. Venice: Stamperia di Venezia editrice, 1966. Geltner, G. The Medieval Prison: A Social History. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008. Grendler, Paul F. ‘The Schools of Christian Doctrine in Sixteenth-Century Italy’. Church History 53, no. 3 (September 1984): 319-331. Grendler, Paul F. ‘Borromeo and the Schools of Christian Doctrine’. In San Carlo Borromeo: Catholic Reform and Ecclesiastical Politics in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century. Edited by John M. Headley and John B. Tornaro. Washington, D. C.: The Folger Shakespeare Library and London: Associated University Presses, 1988. 158-171. Grendler, Paul F. Schooling in Renaissance Italy: Literacy and Learning, 1300-1600. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1989. Ignatieff, Michael. A Just Measure of Pain: The Penitentiary in the Industrial Revolution, 1750-1850. London: The Macmillan Press Ltd, 1978. Izzo, Domenico. ‘Da Filippo Franci alla Riforma Doria (1667-1907)’. Rassegna di studi penitenziari (May-June 1956): 289-332. James, Susan. ‘Reason, the Passions, and the Good Life’. In The Cambridge History of Seventeenth-Century Philosophy. Edited by Daniel Garber and Michael Ayers. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. 1358-1396. Johnston, Norman. Forms of Constraint: A History of Prison Architecture. Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2000. Kraye, Jill. ‘Conceptions of Moral Philosophy’. In The Cambridge History of SeventeenthCentury Philosophy. Edited by Daniel Garber and Michael Ayers. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. 1279-1316.

Sensory Vibr ations and Social Reform at San Michele a Ripa in Rome 

137

Liebreich, A. K. ‘Piarist Education in the Seventeenth Century (II)’. Studi secenteschi 27 (1986): 57-88. Luciani, Roberto. La fabbrica del San Michele. Rome: Prospettive Edizioni, 2014. Magnanimi, Giuseppina. ‘Storia del San Michele’. In Il San Michele a Ripa Grande. Edited by Francesco Sisinni. Rome: Libreria dello Stato and Edizioni d’Italia, 1990. Melossi, Dario, and Massimo Pavarini. The Prison and the Factory: Origins of the Penitentiary System. Translated by Glynis Cousin. London: The Macmillan Press Ltd, 1981. Miselli, Walter. Il papato dal 1669 al 1700 attraverso le medaglie. Pavia: Numismatica Varesi, 2001. Paglia, Vincenzo. La Pietà dei carcerati. Confraternite e società nei secoli XVI-XVIII. Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1980. Parente, Antonio. La Chiesa in carcere. Rome: Ufficio Studi, Dipartimento Amministrazione Penitenziaria, Ministero della Giustizia, 2007. Passerini, Luigi. Storia degli stabilimenti di beneficenza e d’istruzione elementare gratuita della città di Firenze. Florence: Tipografia Le Monnier, 1853. Pelliccia, Guerrino. ‘Scuole di catechismo e scuole rionali per fanciulle nella Roma del Seicento’. Ricerche per la storia religiosa di Roma 4 (1980): 237-268. Ridley, Ronald T. ‘Francesco Valesio’s Diary and “Archaeology” in Rome in the First Half of the Eighteenth Century’. Bullettino della Commissione Archeologica Comunale di Roma 116 (2015): 79-88. Sellin, Thorsten. ‘Filippo Franci – A Precursor of Modern Penology – A Historical Note’. Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology 17, no. 1 (May 1926): 104-112. Sellin, Thorsten. ‘The House of Correction for Boys in the Hospice of Saint Michael in Rome’. Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology 20, no. 4 (Winter 1930): 533-553. Spierenburg, Pieter. ‘The Sociogenesis of Confinement and Its Development in Early Modern Europe’. In The Emergence of Carceral Institutions: Prisons, Galleys and Lunatic Asylums, 1550-1900. Edited by Pieter Spierenburg. Rotterdam: Erasmus Universiteit, 1984. 9-77. Turrini, Miriam. ‘“Riformare il mondo a vera vita christiana”. Le scuole di catechismo nell’Italia del Cinquecento’. Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento 8 (1982): 407-489.

About the Author Kimberley Skelton is an independent scholar and has held research and teaching posts in the UK and the US. Her research explores intersections of architectural, intellectual, and cultural history, especially involving notions of sensory perception. She has recently published The Paradox of Body, Building and Motion in SeventeenthCentury England.

5.

The Rise of the Staircase: Motion in Eighteenth-Century Dutch Domestic Architecture Freek Schmidt

Abstract In the eighteenth-century homes of the Dutch elite, the indispensable but inconspicuous device of the stairs developed into a monumental, designed centrepiece of the house. This contribution considers the new open-well staircase in the broader context of the growing demand for social space, a recurring interest in French (court) culture and fashion, and a specific interest among the Dutch elite in graceful movement of the civilized human body. A closer study of architectural model books, etiquette manuals, and reflections on cultured behavior, style, elegance, and physical movement helps to explain the rise of this space-consuming element in eighteenth-century houses in the Netherlands and Amsterdam in particular. Keywords: staircase, domestic architecture, print culture, Netherlands, Amsterdam

Today, people build entirely in the French style: they do not mind the façade, they prefer big windows to be able to place expensive curtains and blinds, and where in the previous century a small staircase was made, when they had big rooms, they now spoil the small rooms and the whole house to have a beautiful staircase.1

This appreciation of Amsterdam houses appeared in 1767 in the journal De Philosooph (The Philosopher) in an anonymous, polemic article that describes the general docility in matters of style and the lack of taste in the Netherlands, demonstrated 1 ‘Tegenwoordig bouwt men geheel op den Franschen trant: Men stoort zich weinig aan de Facade, men verkiest groote Raamen, om kostbaare Gordynen en Blinden te kunnen plaatsen, en daar men in de vorige Eeuw een kleine trap maakte, toen men groote Vertrekken hadt, bederft men nu de kleine vertrekken, en het geheele Huis om een fraaijen Trap te hebben’, Camper, p. 327.

Skelton, K. (ed.), Early Modern Spaces in Motion: Design, Experience, and Rhetoric. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2021 doi 10.5117/9789463725811_ch05

140 Freek Schmidt

in a critical evaluation of Amsterdam architecture. The author was not much later identified as the internationally renowned doctor Petrus Camper, professor in medicine, anatomist, natural scientist, amateur draughtsman, prolific publicist, and probably the first Dutch architecture critic.2 Camper, who was more of a virtuoso than an amateur, sketches a development in Amsterdam domestic architecture that is surprisingly accurate in his observation, not only of a strong preference for a French manner in domestic architecture, but especially of the rise of the monumental staircase, or stair hall with open-well stairs that replaced the small wooden newel(-post), or spiral, stair residing in the corner of the front room of the typical seventeenth-century Dutch house.3 From an indispensable but inconspicuous device, stairs were transformed into a monumental, designed centrepiece of the eighteenth-century house. The increasing presence of the staircase in the homes of the Dutch elite has been noted in scholarship, without however connecting it to the dynamics of fashionable culture of the time that demonstrates a special interest in motion. This contribution considers the new staircase in the broader context of the expansion of the eighteenth-century elite home in the Republic, in which a growing demand for social space coincides with a recurring interest in French (court) culture and fashion, and can be connected to a specific interest in graceful movement of the civilized human body. Ranging from architectural examples to model books and from critical reflections on French manners, cultured behaviour, and style to etiquette manuals and discussions on elegance and physical movement, these sources indicate how the new staircase was part of a larger cultural shift in the configuration and uses of the domestic interior of the elite.

The Open-Well Staircase Internationally, the monumental, open-well staircase had long been a prominent element in palace architecture, as the main ceremonial route for visitors to arrive at the piano nobile, the elevated main floor where the ruler resided in the state apartment. 4 These staircases began to appear in the stately town houses of the elite of courtiers in The Hague and regents in Amsterdam around 1700. In both newly built and renovated houses, large open-well staircases were installed, connecting the main floor to the one above. A void was created above the stairs, crowned by 2 Bedaux; Schmidt, ‘A Passion for Architecture’; Schmidt, Passion and Control, pp. 145-153. 3 Sluyterman; Slothouwer; Houten; Meischke; Zantkuijl, pp. 442-468; Janse; Fock, ‘Décor of Domestic Entertaining’; Fock, ‘1600-1650’, p. 22; Koldewij; Pijzel-Domisse, ‘1700-1750’; Vlaardingerbroek. 4 Huber and Rieth, 46. Staircase is normally used for steps as well as the staircase enclosure, while stairs signifies only the steps. Huber and Rieth, 9.

The Rise of the Staircase 

141

a skylight with a so-called lantern or fenestrated raised cupola in plasterwork.5 This change, aptly commented on by Camper, was nothing short of a small cultural revolution in Dutch domestic architecture in the eighteenth century. The increased interest in the new type of staircase coincides with a renewed international influence from England and France, following the Glorious Revolution of 1688, when Stadholder William III became king of England.6 William and his court circle seem to have stimulated the entrance of the large staircase in The Hague, the political centre of the Republic. France was an important source of inspiration.7 In the circle of confidants of William, impressive houses appear to be created around majestic staircases. Links with England are obvious, but these staircases also show inspiration from the French nobleman’s hôtel as it had developed in the seventeenth century and was recorded in Charles-Augustin d’Aviler’s Cours d’architecture (1691), expanded in every new edition.8 In the French hôtels of Paris and in the architecture of the French royal palaces, the staircase that leads to the main floor was fully developed as a large space within the house. It expressed the taste and elegance of the owner because it could be walked with poise and dignity, rather than be climbed, and function as a backdrop for ceremonial occasions.9 This aspect of the staircase appeared to many, also in the Republic. Those who wanted to create a similar setting in their homes could find plenty of inspiration in Daniel Marot’s work. Marot, the son of the French engraver Jean Marot, had left France as a Huguenot in the 1680s. In his new environment of the princely court and Dutch nobility, he would become an all-round designer of French-inspired architecture and design.10 His work for the court of William III and beyond was influential on both sides of the North Sea, and even broadened after 1702, when William III died. Marot survived his patron by fifty years, broadening his clientele to the nobility and the wealthy patriciate in The Hague, Amsterdam, and elsewhere. Of the more than 260 prints he published during his lifetime, a series is devoted to his designs for grand staircases with five plates representing grand open-well staircases for two monumental country seats and two unspecified locations.11 These resemble 5 Goes; Janse, p. 83. 6 Raay, Spies, and Zoest, Royal Progress. 7 Stenvert and Orsel, pp. 63-64. 8 Oechslin; Köhler, Die Stadt Paris, pp. 183-184; Köhler, ‘Architektur ist die Kunst’, pp. 60, 61. 9 Templer, p. 127. 10 Ozinga; Raay, Spies, and Zoest. 11 Nouveaux livre de pintures de salles et d’escalliers inventé et gravée par D. Marot Architecte de Guillaume III Roy d’Angleterre, fait avec Privillege des Etats Generaux des Provinces Unies et d’Hollande et West Frise, undated (c. 1712), Jessen, no. 115 with trompe l’oeil decorations for several staircases, including the house of the Duke of Albermarle at De Voorst (Jessen, pp. 117, 118), the Loo (the royal palace) near Apeldoorn (Jessen, p. 116), and two unspecified locations (Jessen, pp. 119, 120). For d’Aviler in the Dutch context, see Zoest and Van Eck, Huis Schuylenburch; Zoest and Van Eck, ‘“Zeer voorname woonhuizen”’.

142 Freek Schmidt

24. Daniel Marot, ‘Escallier du comte d’Albemarle a Voorst’ (trompe l’oeil decoration for the staircase of the Duke of Albemarle at De Voorst), from Nouveaux livre de pintures de salles et d’escalliers, 1712. Rijksmuseum Amsterdam.

The Rise of the Staircase 

143

the organization of the Escalier des Ambassadeurs in Louis XIV’s Versailles, created in 1679 and destroyed in 1752.12 The Escalier celebrated the arrival of important visitors, such as the official representatives of foreign heads of state, leading them to the main floor of the palace through a space with an integrated decorative programme. The figural and architectural elements emphasized the walls with their trompe l’oeil illusion of architectural space.13 In Marot’s version, on a more modest scale, the Versailles scheme is reduced to a single sequence of flights of stairs and landings (Figure 24). Almost the entire space is painted in trompe l’oeil, with large planes between the painted architectural elements on the level of the upper floor breaking the wall surface. The painted walls create the illusion of openness of the structure on all sides, with exotic figures against a landscape background observing the user of the staircase, thus creating a spectacle that stimulated motion and prepared the visitor to meet his host. Rather than a showpiece of architectural ingenuity, the staircase presents a stage in which the stair climber is the main actor and takes centre stage. Another engraving by Marot shows façades and plans of the main floors of three Amsterdam houses of single and double width, with stoops in front, presenting attempts to incorporate considerable staircases into the houses (Figure 25).14 In the two three-bay houses, the standard width of a canal house, the staircases are located next to the inner court or enclosed by rooms, requiring a skylight, with the right one showing a rhythmically segmented, symmetrically decorated hallway that leads past the large staircase before arriving at the great bedchamber overlooking the garden.

Theatrum Machinarum Universale In the 1730s, the inclusion of a monumental staircase had become almost obligatory for any large building. A unique publication of around this time highlights the staircase both as a work of craftsmanship and as a piece of architecture, a combination of art and ingenuity. Tieleman van der Horst’s Theatrum machinarum universale, of nieuwe algemeene Bouw-kunde (1739), published by Petrus Schenk with thirty magnificent and detailed plates by Jan Schenk, is completely devoted to the art of the staircase (Figure 26).15 This original Dutch publication holds a special place among eighteenth-century literature on engineering. The construction of stairs was traditionally entrusted to a variety of craftsmen in the timber trades, including 12 Réau, p. 52; Ozinga, p. 63. 13 Yerkes, pp. 81-82. 14 Nouveau livre de batiments de differentes penseez. Jessen, no. 12; Ozinga, p. 132; Zoest and Van Eck, ‘“Zeer voorname woonhuizen”’; Pijzel-Domisse, ‘1700-1750’, p. 184. 15 Scheele; Mielke; Vijver, pp. 62-63.

144 Freek Schmidt

25. Daniel Marot, Designs for three Amsterdam houses, from Nouveaux livre de bâtiments de differentes pensées, before 1712. Delft University of Technology.

The Rise of the Staircase 

145

26. Tieleman van der Horst and Jan Schenk, Elevation of stairs (Plate 14), from Theatrum machinarum universale, of nieuwe algemeene bouwkunde, waar in op een naauwkeurige klaare, en wiskunstige wyze werd voorgestelt en geleerdt, het maaken van veelerley soorten van trappen, met derzelver gronden en opstallen, 1739. Rijksmuseum Amsterdam.

146 Freek Schmidt

house carpenters, with specialized stair builders sometimes working together with sculptors and specialized craftsmen to create ornamental details.16 Van der Horst rightly claims that there is hardly any literature about the making of stairs. The engravings are very precise and show stairs of varying complexity, to which are added five prints of lanterns to crown staircases. Although it seems possible, as Van der Horst suggests in his foreword, that this publication was specifically aimed at carpenters, or at least written in a clear and concise way so that carpenters would understand, it should also, because of its special presentation, please the ‘lovers of architecture and drawing’.17 Indeed, a publication of this format with such highquality engravings was probably only affordable for successful craftsmen, architects, and building entrepreneurs. They could find there solutions to creating a beautiful stair in the most irregular spaces, but the high quality of the printwork also indicates a certain attraction for an audience of collectors and, possibly, homeowners with plans to renovate their homes with a tailor-made, built-in, fashionable staircase. In that sense, the publication functioned as a model book in a consumer-driven market. The thirty plates show various stairs with concave and convex steps and winders, ‘quartier-bomen’ (outer strings) and how to draw and calculate these, followed by spiral stairs with newels and with concave and convex steps in various ways. A small, separate, accompanying booklet without separate title and date provides van der Horst’s precise descriptions of all the parts and how to put them together, written in such a way ‘as if I am explaining it to someone verbally’.18 In the booklet, any reference to the use or the location of staircases is missing, as are any hints at the staircase’s application or the various gradations of ornamental detailing. No mention is made of how these stairs opened up new possibilities for decoration and design or made full use of the moving viewer. Yet, the different types of stairs and their many variations in curves, details of the woodwork, and decoration seem to indicate that all of these types would be part of the repertoire that was available and in demand around the time of publication. The accuracy that should be observed in all elements of the staircase in the interiors of Dutch buildings is reflected in the precision of word and image and draws our attention to the machine-like construction of the staircase that was suggested by the title of the book and the series it belonged to. Published under the series title of Theatrum machinarum universale, of nieuwe algemeene bouwkunde (Universal Theatre of Machines, or New General Architecture), this book of stairs was placed next to the volumes on windmills and waterworks (sluices and bridges), which were published by Petrus Schenk and available in German and French. The 16 Bollerey. 17 ‘liefhebbers der bouw- en teken-konst’, Horst, ‘Voor-reden’ (n. p.). 18 ‘ik moet byna op deſelve manier ſchryven, alsof ik het mondeling aan iemandt be duyde’, Ibid.

The Rise of the Staircase 

147

choice to publish the staircase in relation to machines that used wind energy and hydraulics crucial to the industry and economics of the Republic suggests that staircases were considered an important feat of Dutch engineering and design in the eyes of Schenk and van der Horst and not an occasional publication. In other words, as suggested also by Camper in 1767, the Dutch design of the staircase was something that may have been inspired by examples from England, France, and other nations, but it was definitely considered an original contribution to international architecture, worthy of being acknowledged and distributed widely by the makers of the book. This piece of machinery acquired a central role in the transformation of Dutch architecture and established itself in domestic architecture.

Social Space The entry of the staircase into the houses of the elite, more often by extensive renovations rather than newly built homes, adds to the representational part of the interior a large space devoted to motion. Created to facilitate a growing demand for diversification and extension of spaces for social gatherings and entertainment, the new staircase was a monumental and fashionable commodity that shifted the boundary between public and private areas, pushing it further back. Thus, it increased the part of the domestic sphere that was, to a certain extent and for a limited group of guests, put on display. That the staircase became such an important element in this gradual transformation of domestic space is intimately linked to the character of sociability among this elite and the way these regents structured their daily life during these decades. This ‘new interiority’, of which the staircase was the most prominent element, developed in a context in which aristocratization among the regent elite and the activities deployed to maintain their status and position were driven by their ‘social capital’. Imitations of aspects of a noble lifestyle by the regent families were generally not combined with a desire to actually achieve noble status, but rather to distinguish themselves from the burghers, the well-to-do bourgeoisie and the new rich.19 To maintain their position as wealthy families, friendship, or financial, political, and socio-cultural abilities were deployed strategically.20 The maintenance of a network of relations with family and friends was organized through upbringing, education, marriage politics, public relations, and the use of tradition, customs, and conventions that 19 Kooijmans, ‘Patriciaat en aristocratisering’, pp. 99-100. 20 Schmidt, Om de eer, pp. 193-194 prefers to use the Dutch ‘societal ability’, cultural ability or ‘civility’ (beschaving), instead of the English translation of Bourdieu’s ‘social capital’ and ‘cultural capital’, with their materialist assocations.

148 Freek Schmidt

cemented the group.21 In the daily life of the regents, visits to friends and kin were crucial to maintaining and reinforcing these social ties, especially in the larger cities.22 So-called jours and sociétés regulated daily life of the elite, where paying visits and counter-visits to each other was common practice, and men escorted women daily to operas, concerts, and parties.23 The interiors of these houses were the most frequented spaces and qualified as important elements in the socio-cultural strategy of entertainment, friendship, and, as a consequence, the specific culture of distinction with accompanying codes. The interior thus became an important instrument of self-fashioning of the regent elite: paying visits and inviting guests at home functioned as a means to enact identity and emphasize rank, status, and class through interior space.24 In the first half of the eighteenth century, the extended interior created more social space to act out and display an idealized self, providing a continuum for the shaping of identity, personal and in terms of pedigree and close allies. The new, large staircase provided an appropriate element for the culture of distinction and extended the interior needed for friendship, meetings with relatives, and the reception of special guests. After entering the house via the stoop outside, guests would move into the vestibule of the hall and would gain access to the antechamber, or the room en suite. From there, they could be invited further into the house, pass the staircase to the large salon overlooking the garden or climb the new stairs in their cage, lit by the lantern above the void. The stairs lead exclusively to the floor above and could give access to further cabinets or spaces accompanied by the host, to have intimate conversation or inspect the private collections of art, books, prints, et cetera.

Amsterdam Around the middle of the century, the monumental staircase was assimilated and had spread across the Republic, and, throughout the 1750s and 1760s, would be introduced to many new, existing, and renovated houses and residential and administration buildings.25 In the largest city of the Republic, Amsterdam, open-well staircases were integrated in large-scale extensions and renovations of the houses along the fashionable canals, the Herengracht and Keizersgracht. Originally built in the seventeenth 21 Ibid., p. 10. 22 Kloek and Mijnhardt, p. 100; Zandvliet, p. 275. 23 Wolzogen Kühr, pp. 45-47, 134-135, 137-138. 24 Baxter and Martin, p. 3. 25 For instance, in the work of the architect Pieter de Swart in The Hague, Den Bosch, Velsen, and Leeuwarden. See Schmidt, Pieter de Swart.

The Rise of the Staircase 

149

27. Section of Amsterdam canal house with a double back-aisle, mid-eighteenth century. Amsterdam City Archives.

century, many of these houses were transformed in building campaigns that took years to complete. As the Amsterdam examples of Marot already showed, these campaigns often included the creation of a new façade with a heightened cornice and new fenestration, the addition of a back-aisle or second volume with multiple floors, and a general rearrangement and distribution of representative rooms. A new configuration of renovated and added rooms and spaces with varying functions is put together, maximizing interconnections that stimulate motion. Interestingly, in the Amsterdam houses with their main floors, the so-called bel-étage, raised above street level to accommodate a low, semi-subterranean service level, the new staircase, instead of leading to the principal floor, begins there and moves to the upper floor, access to which was originally restricted and served by a spiral stair. A series of sections of extended canal houses dating from the mid-eighteenth century have been preserved in the Amsterdam City Archives (Figure 27). Probably produced for education purposes, they show four alternatives of the size and distribution of the extended homes with luxurious interiors that some of the most wealthy individuals and families based in Amsterdam were striving for. All four sections are taken through the main rooms and therefore do not show the vestibule

150 Freek Schmidt

and connecting hallway that runs through the typical mid-eighteenth-century canal house on the main floor and the one above.26 The garden level is reached via the stairs that lead to a garden room on one side and the kitchen on the other. On the right is the canal entrance with the high stoop that gives access to the main floor. The front room could be attached to a room en suite, with a set of wide sliding doors, originally called porte-brisée relating to its French inspiration, making it possible to create one extended, flexible space for special occasions.27 The large staircase finds its place beyond the room en suite and was thus constructed at the back of the original seventeenth-century house. Via an inner court, the hallway passes another room before reaching the monumental staircase in its cage, crowned by a sky-lit lantern and decorated with stucco. The hallway then ends in the high main salon overlooking the garden, used for social gatherings and parties. The open stairs with a curved newel connect the main floor with the one above, but also provide an extra flight to reach the floor above the salon. This example shows how Amsterdam canal houses often more than doubled in volume when renovated, to create connecting rooms for commodity, company, and sociability and thus stimulate movement in the house. The gradual increase of spaces that were transformed to be accessible and the disappearance of bedchambers to more private quarters in Amsterdam domestic architecture is also reflected in contemporary dollhouses with new interiors crafted around the staircase and the new order it made possible.28 From a narrow spiral, stairs had become a fashionable and luxurious commodity, blurring the boundaries between perceptions of public and private and increasing domesticity. The increase in rooms and social spaces made possible by large-scale renovation and the inclusion of a monumental staircase between the bel-étage and the upper floor suggests that guests were invited deeper into the home to appreciate the extended and spatially varied interiors. It appears that the strict division between social and private floors was changing with the rise of the staircase. The variety in open-well staircases increased, suggesting that these became important features to embellish the house, even though access could remain restricted. In 1733, the newlywed couple Petronella and Mattheus de Neufville started the great transformation of their house at Herengracht 475.29 The portal, hallways, and the great staircase are covered with stuccowork and sculptures by Jan van Logteren, dating from 1736, forming an impressive representational ensemble to 26 See, for instance, Herengracht 284, or Rutgers’s house, today known as Huis van Brienen. Meischke; Swigchem; Schmidt, Passion and Control, pp. 17-24. 27 Fock, ‘Décor of Domestic Entertaining’, pp. 109-114. 28 Pijzel-Domisse, Het Hollandse pronkpoppenhuis; Moseley-Christian, p. 349; Schmidt, Passion and Control, pp. 24-26; Varat. 29 Schmidt, Passion and Control, pp. 28-37.

The Rise of the Staircase 

151

28. Staircase, Herengracht 475, Amsterdam, Netherlands, 1736. Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed.

welcome the visitor. The open-well staircase, ranging from the bel-étage to the specially constructed lantern and decorated with a group of musicians above the second-floor level, forms the centrepiece of the whole composition (Figure 28). The walls above the console-supported entablature represent a musicians’ gallery with

152 Freek Schmidt

balconies on four sides of the domed lantern containing sixteen musicians playing different instruments underneath the domed space with its fenestrated lantern. The theatrical setting suggests an extraordinary passion for music of the owners of Herengracht 475. Indeed, there is evidence that in Amsterdam at the time, a rich musical climate existed, with plenty of opportunities for musical performances for the cosmopolitan elite.30 To what extent these musical performances involved motion and dance, or if these were more of the recital type, is not entirely clear. On the other hand, musical performances with the playing of instruments and singing were part of the social life in elite circles. This staircase refers to the programme of the court state staircase, reduced to the proportions of the Amsterdam canal house. The link with the painted staircases designed by Marot for Dutch palaces, with their observers leaning over to see who is moving up, is inescapable. The reference to music may allude to dance as a particular activity associated with cultural refinement, court culture, and aristocratic behaviour but was also understood at the time as part of French cultural influence related to elite leisure. The ‘minstrel gallery’ brings forward the idea of a theatre and stage, with mute musicians inviting the walker to dance, or at least to walk the stairs elegantly and with verve. A special series of drawings for the renovation of a specific house draws attention to the prominence that came to be attached to the staircase. Keizersgracht 224 (House Saxenburg), originally built shortly before 1625, came into the hands of the extremely wealthy couple Dirk Roest van Alkemade and Geertruid Maria Dutry in 1745.31 The dates of transformations of the house are not recorded, but the ornamental details of the drawings suggest that the large interior transformation and extension date from the 1750s. Some drawings seem related to a renovation of the main hall and staircase and show the main transitory spaces that were given form to connect the main rooms to each other and articulate motion by a subtle play with planes, profiles, levels, and turns. The drawing included here shows the length of the hallway that opens to the stairs (Figure 29). The hallway is divided into various bays with distinct profiles, meant to be executed in stuccowork, that invite and accompany the visitor’s movement and express architectural order and rhythm. The new Amsterdam staircases, some more directly inspired by French examples and others following earlier examples in town or from somewhere else that had come to the attention of the owner or newly designed, show a desire to rearrange the interior of the residence that points towards a different use of the home and a 30 Rasch, p. 189; Ibid., p. 37. 31 Eeghen; Tulleners, pp. 73-75; Meischke, et al., pp. 77, 79, 83; Zandvliet, pp. 270-271. The drawings, attributed to Nicolaas Bruijnestein, were discovered in 1956 and acquired by Amsterdam City Archives. Only one of the drawings bears Nicolaas Bruijnestein’s signature, and not all drawings can be linked to one building campaign. On Bruijnestein, see Quarles van Ufford, pp. 25-27; Baarsen, pp. 20, 91-93; Koldewij, p. 288.

The Rise of the Staircase 

153

29. Section of a hallway that opens to a staircase, presumably for Keizersgracht 224 (House Saxenburg), Amsterdam, Netherlands, 1750s. Amsterdam City Archives.

shifting of the boundaries between the strictly private rooms on the upper floors and those accessible for family, relatives, and other guests. In the daily life of the regent elite, the extended range of rooms increased the necessity to move around appropriately. How this should be achieved could be learned from instruction manuals describing aspects of court culture and ceremony.

Natural Grace and Posture of the Body The Dutch word zwier around this time is specifically used in the sense of graciousness and elegance in motion and connected to dance, and it was associated in particular in contemporary texts with the latest fashionable French manners, style, and courtly behaviour.32 In manuals on appropriate behaviour, such as De 32 Laar, pp. 18, 68-70, 96, 168, 171, 189. See also De Nederlandsche Spectator, no. 45 (1750), pp. 124, 150-151; no. 49 (1750), p. 179.

154 Freek Schmidt

Hollandsche zedemeester (The Dutch Moralist), teaching concentrated on how to behave as an honest man or woman, to move in the world with honour and lustre. There, elegance was particularly useful and recommended as appropriate in the duties of those of the court, ‘the princes and great of the world’.33 It requires a certain manner of behaviour, conduct, and movement geared to the surrounding décor and those present or having access to it. Dancing was considered an integral part of this behaviour in De hoofsche wellevendheid en loffelyke welgemaniertheid (1733), a book on appropriate courtly behaviour and mannerliness, as were horseback riding, singing, and making music. It is important that one should not only be aware of how to dance, but even more of ‘the rules of dancing, and of the decency (betamelijkheid), which should be observed in relation to the place, where one is’.34 To Carel van Laar, dance is the art of mannered and gracious movement associated with civility, promoted as an important part of elite education together with horseback riding and fencing. It is needed to arrive at a ‘natural graciousness in movement and posture of the body’ (natuurlyke zwier en houding des ligchaams) and is as important for propriety as are dress and the manner of speaking.35 Van Laar’s Het groot ceremonieboek der beschaafde zeden (1735) (The Grand Ceremony Book of Civilized Manners) translated French etiquette into a Dutch manual of good manners and civilized behaviour. It forms an interesting source to investigate movement further, in relation to gestural communication. Like other books on manners, translations of Castiglione’s Il cortegiano, Faret’s Honnête homme, and De Courtin’s Nouveau traité de la civilité, it fell on fertile ground in the elite circles in the Republic.36 Twelve conversations, among the experienced Johan, two young adults from the nobility, Carel and Maria, and Christina, a senior lady-in-waiting, address different aspects of politeness.37 Van Laar specifically identifies a Dutch gestural culture, an art of non-verbal communication, and addresses a number of specific situations for which appropriate comportment mattered. For instance, he provides rules on how, when, and where to move when being received in audience by a prince, but also deals with the ceremonial of hosts and guests of lesser rank, paying a visit to someone of high rank, as ‘it is always best to extend the ceremonial in such a way, as is in accordance with propriety’.38 This kind of behaviour, with a strong influence of French (court) culture, had become custom, although it was still criticized as well, for instance in Justus van Effen’s Hollandsche Spectator. From 1731 to 1735, van Effen published the Hollandsche 33 ‘de grooten’, De Hollandsche zedemeester, pp. 102, 184. 34 De hoofsche wellevendheid, p. 113. 35 Laar, p. 171; Roodenburg, Eloquence of the Body, pp. 83-92. 36 On van Laar, see Roodenburg, ‘“Hand of Friendship”’, p. 156; Hietbrink. 37 Hietbrink, p. 205. 38 ‘dog is het altoos best, het ceremonieel zo verre, uittestrekken, als zulks maar enigszints met de welvoegendheid bestaan kan’, Laar, p. 257.

The Rise of the Staircase 

155

Spectator in 240 issues, making this genre of publication popular in the Republic. His main inspiration were the English examples of The Tatler and The Spectator of Steele and Addison.39 Issue 197 presents a fictitious letter of a young lady, Apollonia. Her parents had raised her ‘in all the appropriate crafts, in the French language, singing and dancing’. 40 She complained, however, that her ability to dance ‘with the most pleasant elegance’, or zwier in Dutch, was often appreciated in company, but her skills also elicited critical remarks about her behaviour as being arrogant or even promiscuous. ‘The fear that this slander might be just, makes that I often suspect and accuse myself of weaknesses and defects that I am probably not suffering from, and suggests that everything I do or say in company turns into obstructed constraint and bereaves it of all natural grace’. 41 The fictitious correspondence, continued in another letter by the ‘Spectator’ himself, makes clear how this behaviour of female members of the elite, with song, dance, and a French twist, was greeted with hesitation and as a blurring of the Dutch character and language, but nonetheless manifested itself clearly in fashionable social culture of the time. 42 In another issue of van Effen’s Hollandsche Spectator, this fashion was also described as invading interior space, in the rooms of a société galante described in a letter to the Hollandsche Specator, again fictitious, of Gunomime, secretary of the society of ‘twelve young gentlemen of the utmost decency, or at least the utmost of wealth’ under the French motto La Mode est le grand art de plaire (Fashion is the great art of pleasing)’. 43 The whole interior is cramped ‘with exquisite English and French furniture of the latest invention’, and nothing in the interior is allowed to offend ‘the current orthodoxy of fashion’. 44 Two full-size mirrors and a walnut dressing table – with pomade, countless combs, and powder compacts with brushes and bellows ‘of a new design, still unknown to most ladies of the big world’ – serve to maintain the members’ clothing, stance, and graciousness or elegance that today’s ‘gallant man’ cannot do without. 45 These men modelled their appearance and 39 Groenenboom-Draai, introduction to De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 31-60, pp. 10, 13-14, 18. 40 Effen, De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 196-240, no. 197 (14 September 1733), p. 53. 41 ‘De vreeze dat deze agterklap wel eenigzins gegrond mogt wezen, maakt dat ik my dikmaals verdenk en zelfs beschuldige van zwakheden, en gebreeken waar aan ik mogelyk niet eens onderhevig ben, en zulks geeft aan al wat ik in gezelschap doe of zeg eene belemmerde gedwongenheid, die ‘t zelve van alle natuurlyke bevalligheid noodzaaklyk moet beroven’, Effen, De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 196-240, no. 197 (14 September 1733), p. 54. 42 Ibid, pp. 56-57. 43 ‘twaalf jonge Heeren van ‘t eerste fatsoen, of ten minste van de eerste rykdom’, Effen, De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 196-240, no. 224 (18 December 1733), pp. 258-264, esp. 260. 44 ‘met Fransche en Engelsche meubilen van de aldernieuwste inventien’, ‘de thans in zwang gaande rechtzinnigheid der mode’, Ibid., p. 261. 45 ‘van een nieuwe vinding, en aan de meeste Dames van de groote waereld zelfs nog onbekend’, Ibid., p. 261.

156 Freek Schmidt

conduct on foreign court culture: ‘Most of us have spent some time at the courts of France and Great Britain, and after having observed the manners of both peoples at length, have invented a middle way between the French Petits-maitres, and the English Beaux, as corresponding best to our national character (landaard), and have transferred it into our behaviour and manners’. 46 Here, we find a reference to the French galanterie, the apex of cultural refinement and taste, which can be linked to zwier. Galanterie in France stood for intentional ambiguity, for the dichotomy of display and retreat, of formal and informal, of static and moving, of noble and bourgeois. 47 Together with other aspects of French culture, galanterie found its place in the new sociability of the Dutch elite.

Motion and Intellectual Faculties In van Effen’s Hollandsche Spectator, ‘there is no doubt that dancing to the sound of lively music is on most occasions one of the healthiest exercises of the body’.48 He devoted an essay to an unspecified text by a recent French author about ‘the relationship between motion and intellectual faculties’ (eene comparatie tusschen de Gang der menschen en derzelver verstand en geest). 49 ‘Dancing is, in fact, nothing else than an elegant tread ruled by art. Someone who wants to dance seems obliged to give all possible grace to his movements, and to his whole posture, and he aims to follow the rules of that art, to excel and shine in force and speed’.50 There is a relationship with the intellectual faculties of the writer, who wants to show all his spirit, fire, and finesse of imaginative power, without wanting to hide the attempts to achieve it. Sharing a book or piece of writing with an audience is to commit openly, to apply all talents to a subject that one is capable of gathering from nature and art. ‘The more the artful attempts in the dance of the intellect and of the body appear 46 ‘Wy hebben meest allen eenigen tyd aan de hoven van Vrankryk en Groot Brittanje versleeten, en na de manieren der twee volken rypelyk te hebben overwogen, hebben wy een middelslag uitgevonden tusschen de Fransche Petits-maitres, en de Engelsche Beaux, en ‘t zelve hebben wy, als het meest met onzen landaard overeenkomstig, in ons gedrag en zeden overgebragt’, Ibid., p. 261. 47 On galanterie, see Viala; Meglin, p. 235. 48 ‘Men twyfele ook niet, of het danssen op het geluit van een levendig musyk is in veele gelegendheden een van de gezondste lighaamsoefeningen, die met een goed gevolg kunnen worden in het werk gesteld’, Effen, no. 321 (1734), quoted in Wolzogen Kühr, p. 135. 49 Effen, De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 106-150, no. 129 (19 January 1733), p. 198. 50 ‘Het danssen is eigentlyk niet anders als eene zwierige en door de kunst geregelde gang. Iemand die aan het dansen wil gaan, schynt zig als te verpligten om alle mogelyke bevalligheid aan zyne bewegingen, en aan zyne gansche gestalte te geven, en hy wil wel weten dat hy de regels van de kunst poogt te volgen, om zyn kragt en gezwintheid het meest te doen gelden en uitblinken’, Ibid., De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 106-150, no. 129 (19 January 1733), p. 201.

The Rise of the Staircase 

157

natural, the more they do credit to its user and enhance the appreciation for his innate gift and aptitude’.51 In a later essay, van Effen expanded his discussion of the relationship to conversation, comparing it to physical contradance (lighaamlyke contredans). Male and female dancers could balance their partnership, while women could find in dance another way to free their body and mind.52 These were activities in which women could express themselves as equals of men. Where the bodily contradance is cheerful, lively, somewhat wild and rude, and provides the dance with the most pleasant gracefulness (bevalligheid), the contradance of the mind does the same for conversation ‘and in every way of expressing oneself, which can be understood as the special movements and paces of these dances’.53 Conversation, writing, and dancing are thus parallel arts. One could compare lovers of dancing, who understand the basics and distinguish themselves through talent without being dancers by profession, to lovers of conversation and writing. When lovers of dance practice this art at times, their aim is practice and entertainment rather than profit or glory, not unlike a reasonable man who compiles and publishes his works to cultivate and embellish the natural force of his mind.54 These kinds of general rules seem to have resonated with the owners of houses who were looking for references to courtly ceremonial and rules of politeness and refinement to be applied at home and during visits to show and display, consolidate friendships, and reinforce social ties. It seems that in these houses, the positive and fashionable French galanterie, for which the internal space of the house is extended, in fact leads to a complete reconfiguration of the social spaces of the home. Galanterie, as intentional ambiguity, could be acted out through motion in the new, interconnected spaces as a social spectacle. 51 ‘Egter is het waar zo in de dans van de geestrykheid als in die van het lighaam, dat hoe meer de konstige pogingen om zig bevallig te maken naar de natuurlykheid zwemen, hoe meer ze den genen, die ‘er zo een gelukkig gebruik van maakt, vereeren, en hoe voordeliger gedagten ze doen hebben van zyne aangeboren gaven en geschiktheden’, Ibid., De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 106-150, no. 129 (19 January 1733), p. 201. 52 Matluck Brooks, p. 11. 53 ‘In eene lighaamlyke contredans is alles vroolyk, levendig, en eenigzins wild en woest, en die woestheid, die ten hoogste in een geregelde dans misstaan zou, geeft aan deze de aangenaamste bevalligheid. […] De Contredans van ‘t verstand, eene levendige en geestige conversatie, is van dezelve natuur, en aan dezelfde wetten onderworpen, eene ongedwonge vrolykheid is ‘er als de ziel van, ze vereischt geene vieze gepastheid in ieder gedachten, en in ieder wyze van zig uit te drukken, die als de byzondere beweegingen en passen van diergelyk danssen moeten aangemerkt worden’, Effen, De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 106-150, no. 138 (20 February 1733), p. 252. 54 ‘Daar zyn liefhebbers van het danssen, die de kunst in de grond verstaan, en die zig, door dat aangenaam talent, voordeelig van anderen onderscheiden, zonder danssers by professie te zyn. Wanneer zy zig nu en dan van die kunst bedienen, is hun oogmerk eer oefening en vermaak als winst en glory. In een diergelyk dansser kan men zonder moeite vinden ‘t afbeeldzel van een reedelyk man die eenige werken t’zamen steld en in ‘t ligt geeft, niet zo zeer uit een beweegreden van eer- en baatzugt, als wel om zig zelve te voldoen en om door de oeffening de natuurlyke kragt van zyn geest aan te kweeken, en te versieren’, Ibid., p. 253.

158 Freek Schmidt

Eloquence and appropriate posture were combined in coordinated movement through the spaces of the eighteenth-century Amsterdam house in the canal district. While the salon or the suite of rooms with a similar arrangement could be the backdrop for the meetings in which cultured behaviour, honnêteté, politesse or civility was crucial, the staircase could play an equally important and distinct part in illustrating the owner’s status. Wider stairs and landings offered more freedom of motion, the possibility of repose and looking around. A visit to relatives or friends could thus become a combination of conversation and perfectly performed motion to allude to one’s intellectual capacities. By moving through the spacious staircase, new vistas were offered from different angles and in different lights. Painted or sculpted decorations emphasize the dynamics of motion and tempt progressing along the steps while being accompanied and observed. Nothing obstructs the user from entering, moving up, and taking centre stage in this new open structure. A specific decorative programme could enhance the spectacle. In Amsterdam, the most convincing example is probably the ‘minstrel gallery’ above the grand stairs of Herengracht 475 (Figure 28). The stucco decoration provides essential performative qualities and makes the staircase function as the pièce de resistance of the eighteenth-century transformation of the fashionable Amsterdam canal house, giving plenty of opportunity to make daily routine into a social performance of almost aristocratic distinction.

Works Cited Primary Printed Sources Camper, Petrus. Untitled article. De Philosooph 2, no. 93 (1767): 321-328. De Hollandsche zedemeester leerende op eene bescheide wijze hoe zich een eerlijk man, en jonge juffrouw moet gedragen, om met eere en luister in de waereld te verkeeren. Amsterdam 1745. [Second printing of the original De Hollandsche Patriot. Of de bescheide zedemeester. Verdeeld in twee deelen. Amsterdam, 1736.] De hoofsche wellevendheid, en loffelyke welgemaniertheid, by alle vootreffelyke luiden in Nederland gebruykelyk, leerende hoe men in alle voorvallende gelegentheden en ontmoetingen, zig wysselyk en lieftalig zal aanstellen en bestieren […] Hier is agter bygevoegt een brief hoe men zig ten hove moet dragen, door Erasmus van Rotterdam. Amsterdam: Jacob Graal, 1733. De Nederlandsche Spectator, nos. 45, 49 (1750). Effen, Justus van. De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 106-150: 31 oktober 1732-3 april 1733. Edited by Susanne Gabriëls. Leiden: Astraea, 1998.

The Rise of the Staircase 

159

Effen, Justus van. De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 196-240: 11 september 1733-12  februari 1734. Edited by José de Kruif. Leiden: Astraea, 2001. Horst, Tieleman van der, and Jan Schenk. Theatrum machinarum universale, of nieuwe algemeene bouwkunde, waar in op een naauwkeurige klaare, en wiskunstige wyze werd voorgestelt en geleerdt, het maaken van veelerley soorten van trappen, met derzelver gronden en opstallen. Amsterdam: Petrus Schenk, 1739. Laar, Carel van. Het groot ceremonie-boek der beschaafde zeeden, welleevendheid, ceremonieel, en welvoegende hoffelijkheden: voorgesteld in […] redenwisselingen; tusschen Johan, een man van ervarendheid; Carel, een jong heer, en Maria, een jonge juffrouw. Amsterdam: Bernardus Mourik, 1735.

Secondary Sources Baarsen, Reinier, ed. Rococo in Nederland. Zwolle: Waanders, 2001. Baxter, Denise Amy, and Meredith Martin, eds. Architectural Space in Eighteenth-Century Europe: Constructing Identities and Interiors. Farnham: Ashgate, 2010. Bedaux, Jan B. ‘A Discussion on Rembrandt in Eighteenth-Century Amsterdam: Petrus Camper versus Cornelis Ploos van Amstel’. Hoogsteder-Naumann Mercury (1986): 38-56. Bollerey, F. ‘Früher aus Holz, noch heute steiler als anderswo – die Treppe in den Niederlanden Formerly of Wood, Still Steeper Than Anywhere Else: Stairs in the Netherlands’. Detail 2 (1998): 141-146. Eeghen, I. H. van. ‘De veertienvoudige restauratie voor het Howard Johnson hotel bij de Westermarkt’. Maandblad Amstelodamum 57 (1970): 97-106. Fock, C. Willemijn. ‘The Décor of Domestic Entertaining at the Time of the Dutch Republic’. Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Jaarboek/Netherlands Yearbook for History of Art 51 (2000): 102-135. Fock, C. Willemijn. ‘1600-1650’. In Het Nederlandse interieur in beeld 1600-1900. Edited by C. Willemijn Fock. Zwolle: Waanders, 2001. 16-79. Goes, B. ‘De lichtkoepel in het trappenhuis/Les coupoles éclairant les cages d’escalier’. De Woonstede door de eeuwen heen/Maisons d’hier et d’aujourd’hui 80 (1988): 60-69. Hietbrink, Alwin. ‘De deugden van een vrije Republiek. Opvattingen over beschaafdheid in de achttiende-eeuwse Republiek’. In Beschaving. Een geschiedenis van de begrippen hoofsheid, heusheid, beschaving en cultuur. Edited by Pim den Boer. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2001. 197-211. Houten, E. van. Geschied-bouwkundige beschrijvingen behorende bij het Grachtenboek van Caspar Philips Jacobszoon. Amsterdam: Stadsdrukkerij, 1962. Huber, R. E., and R. Rieth, eds. Treppen. Systematische Fachworterbuch/Escaliers. Dictionnaire spécialisé et systématique/Staircase. Specialized and Systematic Dictionary. Munich, New York, London, and Paris: K. G. Saur, 1985.

160 Freek Schmidt

Janse, H. Trap en trede. Houten trappen in Nederland. Een bouwhistorische beschouwing. Zeist: Rijksdienst voor de monumentenzorg, 1995. Jessen, Peter. Das Ornamentwerk des Daniel Marot in 264 Lichtdrucken nachgebildet. Berlin: E. Wasmuth, 1892. Kloek, Joost, and Wijnand Mijnhardt. 1800: Blueprints for a National Community. Translated by Beverley Jackson. Assen and Basingstoke: Royal Van Gorcum and Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. Köhler, Bettina Maria. Die Stadt Paris und das Wohnhaus. Zum ‘Bâtiment Particulier’ in der französischen Architekturtheorie von 1600-1750. Alfter: Verlag und Datenbank für Geisteswissenschaften, 1994. Köhler, Bettina Maria. ‘Architektur ist die Kunst, gut zu bauen’: Charles Augustin D’Avilers Cours d’Architecture qui comprend les ordres de Vignole. Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1997. Koldewij, E. F. ‘1750-1800’. In Het Nederlandse interieur in beeld 1600-1900. Edited by C. Willemijn Fock. Zwolle: Waanders, 2001. 261-341. Kooijmans, Luuc. ‘Patriciaat en aristocratisering in Holland tijdens de zeventiende en achttiende eeuw’. In De bloem der natie. Adel en patriciaat in de Noordelijke Nederlanden. Edited by Johan Aalbers and Maarten Prak. Meppel: Boom, 1987. 93-103. Matluck Brooks, Lynn. ‘Introduction: Women in Dance History, the Doubly Invisible’. In Women’s Work: Making Dance in Europe before 1800. Edited by Lynn Matluck Brooks. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2007. 3-16. Meglin, Joellen A. ‘Galanterie and Gloire: Women’s Will and the Eighteenth-Century Worldview in Les Indes Galantes’. In Women’s Work: Making Dance in Europe before 1800. Edited by Lynn Matluck Brooks. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2007. 228-256. Meischke, Ruud. Het Nederlandse woonhuis van 1300-1800. Vijftig jaar Vereniging ‘Hendrick de Keyser’, met reconstructietekeningen van H. J. Zantkuijl. Haarlem: Tjeenk Willink, 1969. Meischke, Ruud, et al. Huizen in Nederland. Architectuurhistorische verkenningen aan de hand van het bezit van de Vereniging Hendrick de Keyser: Amsterdam. Zwolle: Waanders, 1995. Mielke, Friedrich. ‘Einführung in das Werk’. In Tieleman van der Horst. Neue Bau-Kunst. Reprint nach dem Original von 1763. Hannover: Verlag Schäfer, 1997. Mielke, Friedrich. Treppen der Welt. Konstein: Offizin Der Scalalogie, 2011. Moseley-Christian, M. ‘Seventeenth-Century Pronkpoppenhuisen: Domestic Space and the Ritual Function of Dutch Dollhouses for Women’. Home Cultures 7 (2010): 341-363. Oechslin, Werner. ‘Von der Treppe zum Treppenhaus. Der Aufstieg eines architektonischen Typus/From Stairs to Stairwell: The Rise of an Architectonic Type’. Daidalos 9 (1983): 42-52. Ozinga, M. D. Daniel Marot. De schepper van den Hollandschen Lodewijk XIV-Stijl. Amsterdam: Paris, 1938. Pijzel-Dommisse, Jet. Het Hollandse pronkpoppenhuis. Interieur en huishouden in de 17de En 18de eeuw. Zwolle: Waanders, 2000. Pijzel-Dommisse, Jet. ‘1700-1750’. In Het Nederlandse interieur in beeld 1600-1900. Edited by C. Willemijn Fock. Zwolle: Waanders, 2001. 181-259.

The Rise of the Staircase 

161

Quarles van Ufford, C. C. G. ‘Catalogus van overwegend Amsterdamse architectuur- en decoratieontwerpen uit de achttiende eeuw. Aanwezig in de verzamelingen van het Koninklijk Oudheidkundig Genootschap te Amsterdam en het Kunsthistorisch Instituut der Rijksuniversiteit te Utrecht’. PhD diss., Utrecht University, 1972. Raay, S. B. Van, Paul Spies, and R. Van Zoest. The Royal Progress of William & Mary. Amsterdam: D’Arts, 1988. Rasch, Rudolf. ‘The Role of the City in the Musical Life of the Eighteenth-Century Dutch Republic’. De Achttiende Eeuw 37 (2005): 180-192. Réau, Louis. Histoire de l’expansion de l’art français. Belgique et Hollande, Suisse, Allemagne et Autriche, Bohème et Hongrie. Vol. 2 of 3 vols. Paris: H. Laurens, 1928. Roodenburg, Herman. ‘The “Hand of Friendship”: Shaking Hands and Other Gestures in the Dutch Republic’. In A Cultural History of Gesture. Edited by Jan Bremmer and Herman Roodenburg. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991. 152-189. Roodenburg, Herman. The Eloquence of the Body: Perspectives on Gesture in the Dutch Republic. Zwolle: Waanders, 2004. Scheele, J. ‘Een trappenboek uit de achttiende eeuw/Un livre du dix-huitième siècle sur les escaliers’. De Woonstede door de eeuwen heen/Maison d’hier et d’aujourd’hui 80 (1980): 38-49. Schmidt, Cees. Om de eer van de familie. Het geslacht Teding van Berkhout 1500-1950, een sociologische benadering. Amsterdam: De Bataafsche Leeuw, 1986. Schmidt, Freek. Pieter De Swart: Architect van de achttiende eeuw. Zwolle: Waanders, 1999. Schmidt, Freek. ‘A Passion for Architecture: Petrus Camper and the Groningen Town Hall’. In Petrus Camper in Context: Science, the Arts, and Society in the Eighteenth-Century Dutch Republic. Edited by Klaas Van Berkel and B. A. M. Ramakers. Hilversum: Verloren, 2015. 275-307. Schmidt, Freek. Passion and Control: Dutch Architectural Culture of the Eighteenth Century. Burlington: Ashgate, 2016. Slothouwer, D. F. Amsterdamsche Huizen, 1600-1800. Amsterdam: Van Kampen, 1928. Sluyterman, K. Huisraad en binnenhuis in Nederland in vroegere eeuwen. ’s-Gravenhage: Nijhoff, 1925. Stenvert, R., and E. Orsel. ‘Jacob Roman. Een innovatief ontwerper?’. Bulletin KNOB 117 (2018): 58-79. Swigchem, C. A. van, and Vereniging Hendrick de Keyser. Huize van Brienen. Beeld van een Amsterdams grachtenhuis uit de 18de eeuw. Zutphen: De Walburg Pers, 1984. Templer, John. The Staircase. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1992. Tulleners, Hans. Een pracht van een gracht. 23 Monumenten aan de Amsterdamse Keizersgracht. Amsterdam: Gemeentelijk Bureau Monumentenzorg, 1988. Varat, Deborah. ‘Family Life Writ Small: Eighteenth-Century English Dollhouses’. Journal of Family History 42, no. 2 (2017): 147-161. Viala, Alain. ‘Les Signes Galants: A Historical Reevaluation of Galanterie’. Translated by Daryl Lee. Yale French Studies 92 (1997): 11-29.

162 Freek Schmidt

Vijver, Dirk Van de, and Krista De Jonge. Ingenieurs en architecten op de drempel van een nieuwe tijd. 1750-1830. Leuven: Universitaire Pers Leuven, 2003. Vlaardingerbroek, P., ed. The Amsterdam Canal: World Heritage. Amsterdam: City of Amsterdam, 2016. Wit, A. de. ‘New Light on a Staircase of 1699-1700 in Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam’. Burlington Magazine 158, no. 1355 (2016): 103-109. Wijsenbeek-Olthuis, Thera. Achter de gevels van Delft. Bezit en bestaan van rijk en arm in een periode van achteruitgang (1700-1800). Hilversum: Verloren, 1987. Wolzogen Kühr, S. I. von. De Nederlandsche vrouw in de eerste helft der 18e eeuw. Leiden: Brill, 1914. Yerkes, Carolyn. ‘The Grand Staircase at the Château de Versailles: The Monumental Staircase and Its Edges’. Princeton University Library Chronicle 76, nos. 1 -2 (2014-2015): 51-83. Zandvliet, Kees. De 500 Rijksten van de Republiek. Rijkdom, geloof, macht & cultuur. Zwolle: Waanders, 2018. Zantkuijl, H. J. ‘Architect/architectuurgeschiedenis’. Bouwen in Amsterdam. Het woonhuis in de stad. Amsterdam: Architectura & Natura, 1993. Zoest, Rob van, and Xander van Eck. Huis Schuylenburch. ‘s-Gravenhage: SDU, 1988. Zoest, Rob van, and Xander van Eck. ‘“Zeer voorname woonhuizen, die voor paleizen niet behoeven te wijken”’. In Daniel Marot, Vormgever van een deftig bestaan. Architectuur en interieurs van Haagse stadspaleizen. Edited by Koen Ottenheym. Zutphen: De Walburg Pers, 1988. 19-41.

About the Author Freek Schmidt is associate professor of architectural history at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. His latest book, Passion and Control. Dutch Architectural Culture of the Eighteenth Century, was published by Ashgate in 2016. His research combines the history of art, culture and architecture, urban planning, and heritage studies.

6. Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Baalbek with Jean de la Roque Edmund Thomas

Abstract This paper considers the account of the ruins of Baalbek in Jean de la Roque’s Voyages de Syrie et du Mont-Liban. Published in 1722, thirty-three years after his visit to Lebanon, it represents the f irst detailed account of the ruins. The re-attribution of a manuscript letter in Aix-en-Provence confirms that La Roque never visited the site; instead, he seems to have based his account on the drawings of André de Monceaux executed around 1670. Yet, although not based on genuine autopsy, his detailed description presents the architecture from the perspective of a viewer moving among the ruins. This prominent imagination of the motion of the spectator, derived from Lucian’s architectural narratives, constitutes a revolution in the genre of architectural description. Keywords: Jean de la Roque, Baalbek, Lucian, André de Monceaux, travel narratives, ruins, ekphrasis

In the eighteenth century, the Voyages de Syrie et du Mont-Liban of Jean de la Roque (1661-1745) was a recognized authority on the history and culture of the Levant.1 It recounted a journey there between 1688 and 1690, but was published over thirty years later, in 1722.2 Dedicated to André-Hercule de Fleury (1653-1743), future cardinal and tutor to Louis XV, it belonged to a genre of travel narratives, or récits de voyage, which had become popular since the later seventeenth century; their marked ethnographical emphasis involved a conscious reflection on French

1 Cf. Felice, p. 158, s.v. ‘Liban’; Gibbon, pp. 509-511, nn. 138-139, 141. 2 For a recent edition, see La Roque (Raymond). Cf. also McCabe, p. 177. A second edition was published the following year (Amsterdam: Herman Uytwerf).

Skelton, K. (ed.), Early Modern Spaces in Motion: Design, Experience, and Rhetoric. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2021 doi 10.5117/9789463725811_ch06

164

Edmund Thomas

home culture.3 For the present volume, the significance of La Roque’s work is the impact of his account of the buildings of Baalbek on the genre of architectural description whose earlier narratives had been dry and inert. The main precursor in France, the antiquarian Jean Poldo d’Albenas’s Discours historial (1560) on the ancient remains of Nîmes, was enlivened by virtuoso architectural plates inspired by Italian drawings after the antique, which created a new ‘archaeological vision’ of the built environment, but its written descriptions present a static image of architecture and little direct encounter with the experience of place. 4 By contrast, La Roque’s description of Baalbek is supported by only two visual illustrations, which lack the precision of Poldo’s plates; but his written narrative shows greater attention to the experience of architecture and leads the reader through the remains, introducing a sense of motion to the genre.5 La Roque was not describing local antiquities that his readers could experience personally, but chronicling a New World of antiquity. The ruins of Baalbek had been known since 1160, when the Spanish Rabbi Benjamin of Tudela identified them from the enormous masonry as the biblical Baalath built by Solomon for Pharaoh’s daughter.6 They impinged more on western consciousness from the mid-sixteenth century with the travelogues of French scholars, including Pierre Belon and André Thevet. However, their accounts of the remains went little beyond earlier wonder literature, highlighting the phenomenal size of the columns while keeping the reader distanced from any direct experience of the buildings.7 In the seventeenth century, this began to change. Travellers’ narratives gave more details of that antique architecture which western visitors had barely appreciated before. La Roque’s description went further. He facilitated a ‘virtual’ journey through the ruins. He did not merely reiterate his own experience, but established a means for readers without personal experience of the remains to ‘encounter’ them themselves. The inspiration for this change was classical antiquity, notably the rhetorical set-pieces, or ‘ekphraseis’, of the imperial period. The parodic writings of Lucian of Samosata, especially his Vera historia, satirized a longstanding tradition of travellers’ tales. Familiar to educated readers since 1496 and translated into Latin in the 3 Thévenot, p. 1; Chapelain, pp. 340-341; Harrigan, pp. 11-15. For the reflections on French national culture implicated in the later journeys of François-René de Chateaubriand, see Todorov, pp. 315-340, esp. 329-332. 4 ‘vision archéologique’, Lemerle, pp. 166-168. Poldo’s text on the ‘Maison Carrée’: Poldo d’Albenas, pp. 73-80. 5 La Roque, pp. 136 (of the temple door) and 146 (of the temple exterior, Figure 32 below). 6 Benjamin of Tudela, p. 86. 7 Belon, p. 349 (columns thicker than those of the Hippodrome at Constantinople); Thevet, p. 193 (‘des pierres grandes & grosses à merveilles, l’une desquelles vingt hommes n’eussent peu lever’, or ‘large and amazingly thick blocks, one of which twenty men could barely lift’).

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

165

sixteenth century, they gained wider circulation from Philbert Bretin’s French translation of 1583 and Jean Baudoin’s of 1613, which ‘shamelessly pillages’ his predecessor’s.8 However, it was a third vernacular translation in 1654, by Nicolas Perrot d’Ablancourt (1606-1664), that made Lucian’s works most accessible. Perrot’s version owed its success to his free adaptation of Lucian’s original. As he wrote: ‘I do not always adhere closely to my author’s words or to his thoughts: and while remaining faithful to his intentions, I adjust his material to suit the style and manners of today’.9 Lucian’s works became more familiar in France through Perrot’s translation and were soon adopted as a model of literary style and an exemplar of urbanité.10 Particularly significant for architectural description were three shorter works which had previously attracted little attention. The Hippias sive balneum (‘Hippias or the Bath Building’) and De domo (‘On the Hall’), to give them their conventional Latin titles, were faux-naïf accounts of buildings that the author claimed to have experienced.11 An important feature of these self-consciously rhetorical texts for early modern architectural narratives was the author’s claim to autopsy and its necessary correlative, the reader’s ignorance of the buildings described. More distinctively, Lucian’s account of the Baths of Hippias provided a model for narrating a route through a building from room to room. In Perrot’s vernacular and modernized translation, it suggested possibilities of a genre of architectural writing in which the author recreates the experience of architecture for a reader who has not seen what he has seen. Characteristic of the genre was validating the narrative with personal observation and embellishing it with superlatives. Perrot’s translation shows how Lucian’s narrator leads the reader room by room through the building, each room exceeding the last in beauty: On entering, you first find a large vestibule, where you ascend almost imperceptibly by wide steps with a great slope. From there, you enter a large salon, where valets and officers can all wait comfortably. On the left are the rooms for pleasure, accompanied by secluded corners very clean and very well lit; which is of great convenience for a bath. Following that is the apartment for people of status, which at the sides has changing rooms in which to undress. In the centre is another, very high and well lit, where there are three baths of cold water; it is revetted on the inside with Laconian stone, and decorated with two 8 ‘pille sans vergogne’, Lauvergnat-Gagnière, p. 129. Cf. also Robinson, pp. 65-197; Mayer, pp. 30-33, 125-132. 9 ‘Ie ne m’attache donc pas toûjours aux paroles ni aux pensées de cet Auteur; & demeurant dans son but, j’agence les choses à nostre air & à nostre façon’, Perrot, vol. 1, ‘Epistre’, p. e iii. 10 Bury, pp. 158-166. In the next half-century, Perrot’s translation went into eight further editions. 11 Bretin, vol. 2, pp. 604-610, 648-655; Perrot, vol. 1, pp. 270-274, 322-333. For extensive discussion, see Thomas, pp. 221-235.

166

Edmund Thomas

ancient marble statues, of which one represents Health and the other Asclepius. From there, you enter into an oval apartment, where you first feel a gentle heat, which gradually increases; from where you pass on the right into another very light space, which has entrances on either side, revetted with Phrygian stone, to receive those who come from exercise. Further on is another apartment, the most beautiful of all […].12

The third work appealed particularly to travellers to the Levant. The De dea Syria, in Perrot’s translation, culminated in a parodic account of the Temple of the Syrian Goddess at Hierapolis, presented in exaggeratedly Herodotean style.13 Known in Latin since 1539, it spread more widely in the vernacular translations, although some doubted its authenticity.14 It became important for the understanding of Baalbek because of Lucian’s claim, in Perrot’s translation, that: ‘There is also in the country a great temple of another god, which is not Assyrian but Egyptian, of the city of Heliopolis: in any case, I have not seen it, but I know that it is also very old’.15 Modern scholars have noted the potential mischief-making behind this self-confessedly Assyrian writer’s apparently deliberate omission of the most ‘Roman’ sanctuary of the region.16 Early modern historians, such as Guillaume Postel (1510-1581) and Joannes Leunclavius (1541-1594), identified Heliopolis with Baalbek.17 Later travellers became curious to uncover what Lucian himself had not seen. The rhetorical approach in Lucian’s descriptions that allowed architecture to be experienced through text helped travellers in the generation before La Roque’s 12 ‘On trouve d’abord en entrant un grand vestibule, où l’on monte comme insensiblement par de larges degrez, lesquels ont beaucoup de pente. De lá on entre dans un grand salon, où tous les valets & les officiers peuvent tenir commodément. A main gauche sont les chambres pour le plaisir, accompagnées de lieux secrets fort propres & fort bien éclairez; ce qui est de grande commodité pour un bain. En suite est l’apartement pour les personnes de condition, qui a sur les ailes des garderobes pour se deshabiller. Au milieu est un autre, fort haut & fort bien percé, où il ya trois bains d’eau froide. Il est revétu pars dedans de pierre Laconique, & orné de deux Antiques de marbre, dont l’une représente la santé, & l’autre Esculape. De là on entre dans un apartement en ovale, où l’on sent d’abord une chaleur douce qui s’augmente peu à peu; d’où l’on passe à main droite dans un autre fort clair, qui a des entrées de part & d’autre, revétuës de pierre Phrygienne, pour recevoir ceux qui viennent des exercices. Plus loin, est un autre apartement, le plus beau de tous […]’, Perrot, vol. 2, p. 272; Lucian, Hippias 5-6 (Harmon, vol. 1, pp. 38-41). 13 For the text and its Herodotean manner, see Lightfoot, pp. 86-184. 14 Bretin, vol. 2, pp. 759-775; Perrot, vol. 2, pp. 492-514. Bourdelot, notes, p. 30; Lightfoot, pp. 184-208 defend Lucian’s authorship. 15 ‘Il y a encore dans le païs un grand Temple d’un autre dieu qui n’est pas Assyrien, mais Egyptien, de la ville d’Héliopolis; toutefois ie ne l’ay pas veu, quoy que ie sçache qu’il est aussi fort ancien’, Perrot, vol. 2, p. 493; Lucian, De dea Syria 5 (Harmon, vol. 4, pp. 342-343). 16 Kaizer, pp. 278-283. 17 Postel, Descriptio Syriae, p. B iii; Postel, De universitate liber, pp. 43, 53; Leunclavius, p. 848. See Wilson, p. 160.

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

167

journey to make these new monuments accessible. The first such traveller, and the only one whose report appeared in print before La Roque’s departure, was Balthasar de Monconys (1611-1665), whose journey to the Near East in 1647 was published posthumously in 1665-1666.18 Monconys’s description of Baalbek reveals an effort to orientate the reader and to make aesthetic judgements. This diplomat, magistrate, and ‘vagabond alchemist’ from Burgundy, a zealous Jesuit, was well versed in classical texts and familiar with Lucian in particular.19 He decisively rejected the association of the ruins with Solomon, first, because the region did not belong to him but was a dependency of the King of Tyre, and, second, because of the recognizably Roman look of the architecture.20 Latin inscriptions helped him to confirm the site as Lucian’s Heliopolis.21 His report includes elements from Lucian’s descriptions. The main entrance to the ruins ‘is from the East’, the same orientation as the temple at Hierapolis described by Lucian.22 This was no incidental detail, but a principle of ancient architecture; even Lucian’s hall was ‘turned towards the rising Sun, on the model of ancient temples’.23 Monconys’s description of the ‘Temple of Jupiter’, which he calls the ‘Castle’, is in the manner of Lucian’s Hippias: judging it to be ‘one of the most beautiful works of architecture I have ever seen’, he orientates readers inside.24 He directs visitors to features in the order and directions in which visitors might encounter them, hinting at motion: the hexagon ‘in the centre’; the large court ‘at the end’; the latter ‘surrounded on all sides by apartments’, like Lucian’s bathing rooms, translated as appartements by Perrot; and the residential core ‘at the back of the great court’, with ‘the temple [‘Temple of Bacchus’] on the left’.25 He does not measure the temple with the precise units of French architectural surveys, but estimates its interior more subjectively and impressionistically at ‘forty paces’.26 18 Marsy, pp. 9-13; Varille; Cordier. 19 ‘alchimiste vagabond’, Vingopoulou, p. 29. For his knowledge of the Lucianic Amores, see Monconys, Journal, pt. 2, p. 226. For his personality, see Amer, introduction to Monconys, Voyage, pp. v-xi. 20 Monconys, Journal, pt. 1, p. 347. 21 Ibid. 22 ‘son entrée est à l’Orient’, Ibid., p. 348. Cf. Perrot, vol. 2, p. 506: ‘est tourné vers l’Orient’. Bretin’s translation (vol. 2, p. 770) follows Lucian’s text (De dea Syria 30 (Harmon, vol. 4, pp. 382-383)) more literally (‘ce temple icy regarde au soleil levant’: ‘this temple faces the sunrise’). 23 ‘il est tourné au Soleil levant, à l’exemple des anciens Temples’, Perrot, vol. 2, p. 325; Lucian, De domo 6 (Harmon, vol. 1, p. 182, who deletes the final phrase as a gloss, followed by Macleod, vol. 1, p. 60). 24 ‘l’une des belles Architectures que j’aye veuë’, Monconys, Journal, pt. 1, p. 348. Cf. Lucian, De domo 1 (Harmon, vol. 1, pp. 176-177); Lucian, Hippias 4 (Harmon, vol. 1, pp. 38-39). ‘Chasteau’ or ‘Château’, Monconys, Journal, pt. 1, pp. 347, 348, 349, 350, and 351. 25 ‘au milieu […] au bout […] toute entourée d’appartements […] au fond de la grande cour vis à vis du milieu de la face […] à main gauche il y a un temple’, Monconys, Journal, pt. 1, p. 348. 26 ‘40 pas de long’, Ibid. The main royal units were the ‘pouce’ (c. 0.027 m), ‘pied’ (c. 0.3248 m), and the ‘toise’ (c. 1.95 m). Savot, p. 374. By contrast, Savot (p. 427) and Claude Perrault use pieds for architectural dimensions, but pas (‘pace’) for rough estimates such as a coachman’s impression of a distance (‘un cocher

168

Edmund Thomas

He makes an aesthetic judgement on the remains as ‘the finest architecture of the Romans which survives today, and perhaps the best that they ever built; the temple is the most complete that you can find’.27 Aiming like ancient orators for enargeia, which creates the illusion of seeing what the narrator describes, he declares that ‘you can see very distinctly the manner in which they built, inside and out’.28 Two other journeys reached Baalbek in the 1660s. Neither had been printed when La Roque visited the site, but both were known before he published his account. The first, undertaken in 1660 by the merchant and diplomat Laurent d’Arvieux (1635-1702), was considered sufficiently important by La Roque that he published it in 1717, as Voyage dans la Palestine, before he published his own report.29 Yet he covered only part of d’Arvieux’s expedition and included only ethnographical discussions, omitting the descriptions of antiquities. Even when a fuller edition of d’Arvieux’s Mémoires was published in 1735, by Jean-Baptiste Labat (1663-1738), including his account of Baalbek, it added little to Monconys’s report except errors and confusion.30 The other journey, an official expedition from 1668 to 1670 commissioned by Jean-Baptiste Colbert (1619-1683) and led by André de Monceaux (c. 1640-c. 1671-1674), Trésorier de France at Caen, and the naturalist Antoine Laisné, was more important.31 Although its mission had been to collect manuscripts, coins, and medals, it attained considerable architectural importance because of the ‘incredible quantity of drawings’ which Monceaux brought back from the Levant, raising the interest of Christopher Wren among others and prompting Monceaux’s election as Fellow of the Royal Society.32 His report was substantially complete by December 1670, but was never published as he died the following year.33 When a short ‘extract’ of Monceaux’s journey was ‘communicated by his nephew the Count of Bonneval’ and eventually printed in 1725 at the end of a new edition of Corneille Le Bruyn’s own travelogue published by Jean-Baptiste-Claude Bauche and Charles Ferrand at Rouen, it had been stripped of its architectural

juge de cinquante pas’, Perrault, p. 103). The interior length of the cella is 46.55 m long (Freyberger, p. 100), which makes Monconys’s average ‘pace’ around 86 cm. 27 ‘c’est la plus belle architecture qui reste auiourd’huy des Romains, & peut-estre la meilleure qu’ils ayent fait; le temple est le plus entier qu’on puisse trouver’, Monconys, Journal, pt. 1, p. 348. 28 ‘l’on voit bien distinctement de la façon qu’ils les faisoient dedans & dehors’, Ibid. Cf. Webb, p. 248. 29 As only La Roque’s name appeared on the title page, one contemporary suspected that it was hs own work despite his claim in his preface that d’Arvieux was the author. Landweber, ‘Laurent d’Arvieux’, p. 598. 30 D’Arvieux, pp. 438-439. 31 Omont, pp. 32-33. For Laisné, see Stoneman, p. 86; Salmon, p. 99. 32 Oldenburg, pp. 240-241. Cf. also the entries in the Royal Society Journal Book, 8 December 1670 and 15 December 1670, in Meynell, p. 11. On the goals of the mission, see the memo of 30 December 1667 from Pierre de Carcavy, Colbert’s librarian, to Charles Perrault in Omont, pp. 28-30; Meynell, pp. 11-12. 33 Huygens, p. 80, no. 1832; Meynell, p. 12.

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

169

content.34 The anonymous author of a letter to the editor that precedes this published summary explains that Bonneval had lent him Monceaux’s manuscript, which the editor had requested. The author adds, however, that the summary had been done in haste because Bonneval, who must then have been on a brief visit to Paris in 1717, had been ‘about to depart’ to rejoin the Austrian army.35 As a manuscript version makes plain, the text published in 1725 did not distinguish this hurried summary from marginal comments by two later hands, one of which states that it had been compiled for Abbé Jean Barrin (1640-1718); and in the published version Monceaux’s name is presented as ‘Mouceaux’ because of the obscure handwriting of the manuscript.36 Monceaux questioned the identification as Heliopolis, but his detailed architectural description of the ruins was excluded from the summary as ‘very tedious to follow’.37 Precise architectural descriptions were an acquired taste. By this time, however, several of Monceaux’s notebooks and most of his drawings were missing. Bernard de Montfaucon included two plates from Monceaux’s notes beside his description of the Temple at Baalbek in his L’antiquité expliquée (1719), which he had received from Monceaux’s sister (Figure 30).38 The full report must have whetted Colbert’s appetite, for plans were made for a new journey in 1671 by Johann Michael Wansleben (Jean Michel Vansleb, as he became known in France) (1635-1679) with the express instructions to ‘observe and describe as accurately as possible the main palaces and buildings, ancient and modern’; Baalbek was singled out for its ‘whole temples and beautiful statues buried under the ruins which could be extracted with the permission of the Pasha of Damascus to excavate there’.39 Wansleben, however, fell seriously ill the following year and never reached the site.40 34 ‘Extrait d’un voyage […] communiqué par Monsieur le Comte de Bonneval son neveu’, Le Bruyn p. 383. Cf. also Le Bruyn, pp. 383-498. 35 ‘sur son départ’, Ibid., p. 381. Cf. Perdrizet, p. 228. An anonymous ‘opinion’ (‘Avis’) at the start of the first volume of the new edition (Le Bruyn, vol. 1, n. p.) states that ‘M. Freret, of the Académie des Belles-Lettres’, had given Le Bruyn a manuscript with ‘l’abregé fidelle’ (‘the faithful summary’) of Monceaux’s report: this was the precocious scholar Nicolas Fréret, elected to the Academy in 1714 aged just 26 and in 1742 appointed as its Secretary, who had a particular interest in ancient geography. Simon, pp. 15-16, 139-150. Claude Alexandre Comte de Bonneval (1675-1747) was the son of Monceaux’s sister, Claude. Condemned to death for treason in 1704, he had left France, but was permitted to return in February 1717 to marry Judith-Charlotte Biron. Landweber, ‘Fashioning Nationality’, pp. 8-9. 36 Monceaux. The text was passed on to Henri de Boulainvilliers, who used it for his Histoire des Arabes (1731). 37 ‘fort ennuyeux de le suivre’, Monceaux, f. 20, printed in Le Bruyn, p. 417. 38 Montfaucon, pt. 1, Plates 30-31. 39 ‘Il observera et fera des descriptions autant justes qu’il pourra des palais et bastiments principaux, tant antiques que modernes […] à Balbek […] il y a des temples entiers et quantité de belles statues ensevelies sous les ruines, qu’on pourroit en tirer, ayant la permission du bacha de Damas d’y faire fouiller’, Carcavy, in Omont, p. 60. Cf. Hamilton, introduction to Wansleben, p. 21. 40 Vansleb, pp. 2-3; Hamilton, introduction to Wansleben, pp. 26-27.

170

Edmund Thomas

La Roque makes no acknowledgement of the existence of Monceaux’s work; his possible familiarity with it will be considered later. At any rate, when he embarked for the Levant in May 1688, the short description by Monconys was the only detailed report published. This too he ignored in the preface to his own report of 1722, measuring himself instead against two more superficial accounts of the region which said nothing about the architecture of Baalbek. 41 He could thus promote his own work as: leaving nothing to be desired about a famous region of which it seems there is not sufficient knowledge, the matter having been neglected up to now, or too confused in general reports, a country however so beautiful, so worthy of attention, and so complicit in divine promises that even a distant view gave a great Patriarch the transport of joy expressed in Scripture by the words I pray thee, let me go over, and see the good land that is beyond Jordan, that goodly mountain, and Lebanon (Deut. 3:25). 42

La Roque’s address to Cardinal Fleury in his dedicatory epistle as ‘one of the Forty [members] of the French Academy’ may hint at the intellectual ambitions La Roque had for his work. 43 Despite the proliferation of récits de voyage to the East, he suggests that there was still much unsaid about Lebanon, a place of surpassing beauty and importance for Christianity.44 Yet he gives no idea here of any interest in classical antiquities and quickly passes over the ruins of Tripoli and Sidon explored by others. 45 La Roque’s account of Baalbek, however, is extensive and highlighted in the title of his work. Although his sensationalism about its phenomenal materials had been characteristic of earlier accounts, he also markedly developed the tendency in 41 La Roque, ‘Avertissement’, (n. p.). The two works referred to are Girolamo Dandini, Missione apostolica (1656), translated as Voyage au Mont Liban (1675), and Sylvestre de Mont-Aignan, Description abregée (1671). 42 ‘ne laisse rien à desirer sur une Region celebre, d’on il semble qu’on n’a pas assez de connoissance, la matiere en ayant été negligée jusqu’à present, ou trop confonduë dans des Relations générales; Pays cependant si beau, si digne d’attention, & tellement compris dans les divine promesses, que la seule vûë éloignée donna autrefois à un grand Patriarche le transport de joye, qui est exprimée dans l’Ecriture par ces paroles: Transibo igitur, & videbo Terram hanc optimam trans Jordanem, & Montem istum egregium, & Libanum. Deut. 3.25.’, La Roque, ‘Avertissement’, (n. p.). Cf. Khater, p. 73. 43 ‘l’Un des Quarante de l’Académie Françoise’, La Roque, ‘Epistre’, (n. p.). They became known as ‘les Immortels’ (‘the Immortals’) after the Academy created by Cardinal Richelieu as’corps transcendant et immortel’ (‘transcendant and immortal body’) with the motto ‘A l’immortalité’ (‘To immortality’) incorporated in the official seal of its charter. Fumaroli, p. 73. 44 Ibid., ‘Avertissement’, (n. p.). 45 Ibid., pp. 5-7.

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

171

Monconys’s descriptions towards greater involvement. He not only orientates his readers, like his predecessor, but guides them around the ruins, making them aware of the physical efforts in experiencing this ancient city and the potential sensory engagement. From the start, he shows how the experience of these antiquities involves movement. Not content to signal the excellence of the stonework, he indicates the extent of the wall circuit by stressing that it takes ‘an hour to walk around’.46 He outdoes previous writers in embellishing the architectural experience of his virtual travellers, describing not only architectural features, but shifts in sensory perception. The visitor is said to move through the ruins from darkness to light because of the ‘extraordinary depth’ of the main complex of the ‘Temple of Jupiter’, which he identifies as ‘a great Palace, commonly called the Château de Balbec’: This depth renders the grand entrance to the central part extremely dark. It takes the form of a long passage, or rather a vestibule under very high vaults, which could be mistaken for an underground road. The walls of this vestibule are decorated with busts of kings, or emperors which cannot be easily recognized in the dim light: but one is somehow compensated for this darkness by the beautiful object which is presented after traversing this vestibule. 47

This object is the hexagonal court, ‘the first part of this Palace’. 48 Despite its ‘utterly sumptuous appearance’, he develops his description in Lucian’s manner of progressive excellence, taking readers to ‘a second, square court, even more spacious than the last, around which you find other buildings, much more magnificent than those before’. 49 Although ‘nothing can be added’ to its ‘beauty and nobility’, he still goes further: at the rear, ‘you see the ruins of a third building, which was without doubt 46 ‘d’une heure de chemin’, Ibid., p. 120. 47 ‘d’un grand Palais, communément appellé le Château de Balbec’, Ibid., pp. 120-121; ‘Tout ce premier corps de bâtiment est double, & d’une profondeur extraordinaire’, Ibid., pp. 123-124; ‘La profondeur qu’on vient de remarquer rend la grande entrée du milieu extrêmement obscure. C’est un long passage, ou plûtot un vestibule sous des voûtes fort elevées, que l’on prendrait pour un chemin soûterrain. Les murs de ce vestibule sont ornés de bustes de Roys, ou d’Empereurs qu’on ne sçauroit bien reconnoître faute de clarté: mais on est en quelque façon dédommagé de cette obscurité par le bel objet qui se presente après avoir traversé ce long vestibule’, Ibid., p. 124. La Roque also calls the complex by its familiar name of ‘Castle’ (Château) at pp. 121, 124, 130, 151 and 154, but uses the term ‘Palace’ (Palais) at pp. 122, 125, 126, 127, 129, 132, and 158; at p. 182, he refers to ‘the façade of the Palace or Castle of Balbec’ (‘la façade du Palais ou du Château de Balbec’). 48 ‘la premiere partie de ce Palais’, Ibid., p. 125. 49 ‘d’une apparence tout-à-fait somptueuse […] une seconde cour quarrée, encore plus spacieuse que la précedente, autour de laquelle on trouve d’autres édifices, beaucoup plus magnifiques que les precedens’, Ibid. Cf. Monconys, Journal, pt. 1, p. 348. For Lucian’s progressive ‘language of excellence’ in the Hippias, see Thomas, pp. 226-229.

172

Edmund Thomas

the most superb of all’, which Monconys had identified as the residential core.50 ‘A suite of chambers, rooms and whole apartments’, La Roque observes, ‘embellished with everything that art has most sought after, is still very distinctly visible’.51 La Roque achieves the enargeia of ancient ekphrasis hinted at in the last phrase by giving his description a pronounced sense of motion.52 He guides his readers step by step through the ruins: ‘At every step you see shattered or overturned columns, mutilated capitals, pedestals broken and half-buried’.53 Long underground stairways lead to further rooms, apartments, and marble tombs, culminating in the ‘effort of deciphering’ a worn inscription below a bust in one of the wall niches with the same Latin words read by Monconys.54 In encountering the perfect grandeur of massive blocks laid without mortar, the curious visitor’s admiration ‘does not tire’.55 Within the temple, the acme of La Roque’s description, ‘you ascend the choir’ by thirteen marble steps to arrive at an ideal ekphrasis: ‘a large niche, all marble, in which was apparently placed the figure of the main divinity’ with refined sculptural ornaments and surrounding architectural frame.56 Yet then ‘you go outside to redouble your admiration by traversing the superb gallery of columns or peristyle’.57 As with Lucian’s hall, the most outstanding and extraordinary feature of the temple is the ceiling.58 Yet it is not enough to gaze from below. Openings in the vault, caused by decay, allow closer inspection: ‘you climb onto the attic of the building by means of a small spiral stairway, cut into the thickness of the wall’, pausing even on the ascent to notice that twenty-nine steps are cut into one single stone and admiring at the summit priceless, perfectly finished objects.59 The goal of this exhilarating movement is aesthetic judgment: ‘each piece is in proportion to the nobility of such a great design’; and ‘the good taste of the time’

50 ‘On ne peut rien ajoûter à la beauté & à la noblesse de toute cette structure […] on voit les ruines d’un troisième bâtiment, qui étoit sans doute le plus superbe de tous’, La Roque, p. 126. 51 ‘On voit encore fort distinctement une suite de chambres, de salles & d’appartemens entiers, embélis de tout ce que l’art a de plus recherché’, Ibid., p. 128. 52 For enargeia, see above, n. 28. 53 ‘Vous voyés à chaque pas des colomnes brisées, ou renversées, des chapiteaux mutilez, des pied’estaux rompus, & à demi enterrez’, La Roque, p. 151. 54 ‘la peine d’en déchriffrer’, Ibid., pp. 131. 55 ‘un certain caractere de grandeur & de perfection qu’on ne peut se lasser d’admirer’, Ibid., p. 132. 56 ‘On monte à ce choeur par treize degrés de marbre […] une grande niche toute de marbre, dans laquelle étoit apparemment placée la figure de la principale divinité’, Ibid., pp. 142-143. 57 ‘on n’en sort que pour la redoubler en parcourant la superbe galerie de colomnes, ou le peristyle qui regne dans tout le pourtour extérieur de ses murailles’, Ibid., p. 145. 58 Ibid., pp. 147-148. Cf. Lucian, De domo 7-9 (Harmon, vol. 1, pp. 182-187); much adapted in Perrot, vol. 2, p. 326. 59 ‘on monte sur le comble de tout l’édifice par le moyen d’un petit escalier en limaçon, pratiqué dans l’épaisseur de la muraille’, La Roque, p. 148.

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

173

and ‘skill of the artists’ can be ‘sensed everywhere’.60 Although La Roque was no architect, his description abounds with architectural observation and artistic discrimination. He contrasts the Corinthian order and its ‘almost inimitable’ ornament with ‘the licence and confusion into which most modern architects have fallen’.61 The buildings of Baalbek, he appraises, combine ‘the good taste of Greece’ with ‘Roman magnificence’.62 He judges that the temple door that seems overshadowed by the vestibule’s vault, ‘looks advantageously placed, and without embarrassment’.63 The architecture of this solid marble portal, ‘though simple in appearance, is in exquisite taste and following the best rules’.64 ‘One may be so bold’, he concludes expertly, ‘as to say that this is one of the most excellent examples of the genre we have left’.65 The frieze at the base of the outer walls expresses pagan theology ‘with taste and genius’; the sculpted marble dado along the inner walls ‘is worthy of the attention of connoisseurs’.66 The viewer’s admiration is tireless: ‘You can see without confusion a melée of men and animals, and you cannot tire of admiring its excellent composition and pleasing variety. In short, you could not see anything more rich or more skilfully arranged than all the elements of this façade, which together form an architectural body of the most superb kind’.67 La Roque distinguishes such responses inspired by good taste from those of less informed viewers. He contrasts the expert viewer’s sophisticated understanding of a building’s underlying beauty with the less educated man’s simplistic praise of its more obvious qualities: ‘Those who have taste for beautiful objects and some intelligence will never tire of examining in detail the order and delicacy of the works which are in the interior of this building, and those less knowledgeable can only be struck by the air of magnificence and the beautiful symmetry which reigns in 60 ‘chaque piece est proportionée à la noblesse d’un si grand dessein, & le bon goût du temps secondé par l’habileté des ouvriers, se fait sentir également par-tout’, Ibid., p. 149. 61 ‘la licence & […] la confusion où sont tombés la plûpart des Architectes modernes […] leur execution presque inimitable’, Ibid., p. 128. 62 ‘on voit dans ce Palais tout ce que le bon goût de la Grece, & tout ce que la magnificence Romaine avoient inventé de magnifique dans l’art de bâtir’, Ibid., p. 129. 63 ‘elle y paroît avantageusement, & sans embarras’, Ibid., p. 135. 64 ‘quoique simple en apparence, est d’un goût exquis, & dans la précision des meilleures regles’, Ibid., p. 136. 65 ‘l’on peut dire hardiment que c’est-là un des plus excellens morceaux qui nous restent en ce genre’, Ibid., pp. 137-138. 66 ‘dans le goût & dans le genie qui a déjà été remarqué à l’égard du mur de face’, Ibid., p. 147; ‘digne de l’attention des connoisseurs’, Ibid., p. 138. 67 ‘On y voit sans confusion un mêlange d’hommes, & d’animaux, dont on ne peut se lasser d’admirer l’excellente composition, & l’agréable varieté. Enfin on ne sçauroit rien voir de plus riche, & de plus sagement distribué que toutes les parties de ce frontispice, lesquelles forment ensemble un corps d’architecture des plus superbes’, Ibid.

174

Edmund Thomas

the whole execution of such a great design’.68 This opposition between the wider impact of the overall grandeur of a work of art and the more refined appreciation of its inner details is a commonplace of ancient art criticism.69 It comes to the fore in Lucian’s De domo, which stresses the difference between naïve and more educated responses to architecture. Perrot’s translation of Lucian’s text highlights the role of taste in responding to architectural beauty: I feel besotted, on seeing such a beautiful and magnificent palace, and touched by a desire to know all its perfections and to celebrate its praises. […] [S]imply to praise it may be good for those who can say nothing more, like that young islander who contemplated the Palace of Menelaus and compared its gold and marble to the greater beauties in Heaven because he knew nothing so excellent on earth; but to make a speech in praise of it, in a company as illustrious as that, it seems to me is to contribute something to its glory.70

Perrot’s translation, however, omits Lucian’s excursus on the animated response of the uneducated man, for whom ‘the common practice is enough, of just seeing, looking around, casting the eyes about, craning the neck towards the ceiling, shaking the fists, and taking pleasure in silence for fear of not being able to say anything worthy of the things seen’.71 In La Roque’s account, it is the man of taste whose response involves energetic motion. While the layman remains assaulted by the spectacle, the connoisseur is tireless in investigating the architecture before him and ‘leaves the Temple only to redouble his (admiration) by traversing the splendid [outer] gallery of columns’.72 68 ‘Ceux qui ont du goût pour les belles choses, & quelque intelligence ne se lasseront jamais à éxaminer par le détail, l’ordre & la délicatesse des ouvrages qui sont dans l’intérieur de cet édif ice, & les moins entendus ne pourront qu’être frappés de l’air de magnificence, & de la belle simmétrie qui regne dans toute l’éxecution d’un si grand dessein’, Ibid., p. 145. 69 E.g., on Trajan’s Column, Angelis, p. 105. 70 ‘Ie me sens de mesme épris d’amour, à la veuë d’un Palais si beau & si magnif ique, & touché du desir d’en connoître toutes les perfections, & d’en célébrer les loüanges. Car ie ne croy pas qu’il y ait de plus grande marque de stupidité & de barbarie, que de s’estimer indigne de posséder ce qui est beau, & comme s’en bannir volontairement. […] Or de le louër simplement, cela peut estre bon pour ceux qui ne peuvent rien davantage, comme ce jeune Insulaire qui contemploit le Palais de Ménélaüs, & comparoit son marbre & son or à ce qu’il y avoit de plus beau dans le Ciel, parce qu’il ne connoissoit rien de si excellent sur la terre; Mais de faire une harangue à sa loüange, dans une compagnie aussi illustre que celle-cy, il me semble que c’est contribuër quelque chose à sa gloire’, Perrot, vol. 2, pp. 323-324. 71 τοῖς μὲν ἀπόχρη τὸ κοινὸν τοῦτο, ἰδεῖν μόνον καὶ περιβλέψαι καὶ τὼ ὀφθαλμὼ περιενεγκεῖν καὶ πρὸς τὴν ὀροφὴν ἀνακῦψαι καὶ τὴν χεῖρα ἐπισεῖσαι καὶ καθ᾿ ἡσυχίαν ἡσθῆναι δέει τοῦ μὴ ἂν δυνηθῆναι ἄξιόν τι τῶν βλεπομένων εἰπεῖν, Lucian, De domo 2 (Harmon, vol. 1, pp. 176-179). Author’s translation. 72 ‘on n’en sort que pour la redoubler en parcourant las superbe galerie de colomnes’, La Roque, p. 145.

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

175

To aid these judgments, La Roque familiarizes the temple as designed like a modern church with nave and aisles or vaulted corridors at the sides and a kind of choir.73 Large round niches in its side walls contain ‘altars or chapels’.74 Yet the view he offers his readers is not the present ruined state, but a reconstructed original; he speculates on the height of the statues of gods or heroes that he imagines ‘from the pedestals that you see there and from the examples that we have. In fact, the figures placed in the first row of niches must have been colossal or of whole groups, since the height of these niches is around fourteen feet and their width half that’.75 In the outer portal too, ‘you could once see two statues in front standing on pedestals’.76 He visualizes the original experience of ancient users, considering whether the building was lit by ‘some open dome’ or exposed to the sky.77 He conjectures how the vaults originally formed ‘another kind of underground temple, which probably had its uses in paganism’.78 He imagines how the temple was ‘once accompanied by related buildings of which you can still see fine remains roundabout’.79 Even the past is visualized in terms of motion. The temple’s marble steps are wide enough for ‘eight or ten persons to ascend together’.80 Despite the general acclaim with which La Roque’s work was received, this tendency to reconstruct the original experience of Baalbek was severely criticized some years later by the physician and botanist Nicolas Tourtechot (c. 1680-1736), alias Claude Granger, in a letter of 27 January 1736 to Jean-Frédéric Phélypeaux, Count of Maurepas (1701-1781), Secretary of State for the Navy.81 He accuses La Roque of not 73 Ibid., pp. 138-139. 74 ‘des Autels ou des Chapelles à la maniere de nos Eglises’, Ibid., p. 140. 75 ‘il est aisé de le conjecturer par les pied’estaux que l’on y voit, & par les exemples que nous en avons. Il falloit même que les figures placées dans les niches du premier rang fussent des colossales ou des groupes entiers, puisque la hauteur de ces niches est d’environ quatorze pieds, avec la moitié moins de largeur’, Ibid., p. 141. 76 ‘l’on voyoit autrefois deux statuës de front posées sur des plinthes’, Ibid., p. 133. 77 ‘quelque dôme à jour’, Ibid., p. 145. 78 ‘une autre espece de Temple soûterrain qui avoit sans doute ses usages dans le Paganisme’, Ibid., p. 150. 79 ‘autrefois accompagné de bâtimens particuliers, dont on voit encore de beaux restes aux environs’, Ibid. 80 ‘huit ou dix personnes ensemble y peuvent monter de front’, Ibid. Cf. Vitruvius, De Architectura 3.3.3 (Morgan, p. 80) on temple columns spaced to allow women to pass. 81 Granger visited the site in October 1735 during a journey commissioned by Louis XV to research the natural history of Syria and the Levant. The letter survives in a dossier of around 800 notebooks containing the correspondence and memoirs of Granger to Maurepas, Paris, National Archives, MAR/B/7/322, and is reprinted in Granger, pp. 168-177. A handwritten copy of the letter, with several changes to the original, was made by Pierre-Jean Mariette and survives among several documents preserved at the end of a copy of the French translation of Wood’s Ruins of Palmyra in the library of the Institut de France. Perdrizet, pp. 226-227. The text of Mariette’s version is reprinted by Perdrizet, pp. 238-246. Cf. Sliwa, p. 208.

176

Edmund Thomas

merely presenting the site as it might have been, rather than how it looked when he visited it, but of describing ‘many things which never existed’.82 Granger puts the record straight uncomplicatedly and presents a reality of decay. He insists that, of the round temple whose interior La Roque had particularly admired, ‘you can see nothing more elegant in this kind of work than a remnant of ceiling’, its vault and walls ‘entirely collapsed’, and most of the columns of its peristyle lying on the ground, almost all broken.83 While La Roque chose ‘to describe uniquely this purely ideal and partly imaginary temple interior’, Granger highlights the exterior as the temple’s most outstanding feature, ‘precious remains of antiquity which may be regarded as an artistic masterpiece’, by contrast with ‘the most simple and modern architecture’ of the interior décor.84 To reinforce his own aesthetic judgment, he transports his aristocratic reader, with a side swipe at La Roque’s dismissal of contemporary architecture, to the recently built colonnade of the Hôtel de Soubise in the Marais district of modern Paris. He focuses on the visitor’s entry into the vast colonnaded courtyard added in 1705-1709 by Pierre-Alexis Delamaire, which transformed the approach to the building: To get a general idea of the exterior shape of this superb building, […] imagine for a moment that the centre of this courtyard [of the Hôtel de Soubise] is occupied by a temple which is just eighteen feet from the columns, and have the ceiling of this colonnade resting against the walls of the imagined temple in such a way that they remain uncovered on the outside. […] [T]his temple is not entered from the back of the colonnade like the courtyard of the Hôtel de Soubise, but from the opposite side, i.e. from the west, and you should presume that the front of this temple was adorned with a portico and a forecourt which corresponded to the beauty and arrangement of the peristyle.85 82 ‘bien des choses qui n’ont jamais été’, Granger, p. 171; elaborated by Mariette in Perdrizet, p. 241. 83 ‘la voûte en est entièrement abbattue, de même que la plus grande partie des murailles […] La plus grande partie de ces colonnes est couchée par terre et presque toutes étant rompues: […] En effet on ne peut rien voir de plus élégant dans ce genre d’ouvrage qu’est un reste du plafond que soutiennent ces colonnes’, Granger, p. 171; Perdrizet, p. 241, with minor changes. Cf. La Roque, pp. 152-153. 84 ‘il abandonne ces précieux restes d’antiquité qu’on peut regarder comme un chef d’oeuvre de l’art, pour décrire uniquement l’intérieur du temple qui est purement idéal et en partie imaginaire […] [ces] colonnes […] ne sont nullement de l’architecture ancienne mais bien de la plus simple et de la plus moderne’, Granger, p. 173; with slight alterations in Perdrizet, pp. 242-243. 85 ‘Pour avoir à présent une notion générale de la figure extérieure de ce superbe édifice, […] supposer pour un moment que le milieu de cette cour soit occupé par un temple qui ne soit éloigné des colonnes que d’environ dix-huit pieds et faire appuyer le plafond de cette colonnade sur les murs du temple supposé, de sorte qu’elle reste à découvert par dehors. […] Il est à observer qu’on n’entrait pas dans ce temple par le fond de la colonnade, ainsi que l’on entre dans la cour de l’hôtel de Soubise, son entrée était à la partie opposée, c’est à dire du côté de l’O., et il est à présumer que le devant de ce Temple était orné d’un portique et d’un parvis qui répondaient à l’ordonnance et à la beauté du péristyle’, Granger, p. 172; Perdrizet, p. 242,

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

177

To compare this little ruin at Baalbek to one of the most prominent Parisian works of the day was a dramatic statement of aesthetics.86 Granger dismisses the four so-called towers, the long vestibule or underground road, and the double row of colonnades in La Roque’s description as fantasy: ‘in fact, all these things exist only in the head and the book of this traveller’.87 He saw no openings from the underground vaults where La Roque claimed to have seen tombs; and, despite rehearsing the movements of La Roque’s description, he had very different visual impressions when ‘coming out of the vaults’.88 He found the nine standing columns of La Roque’s ‘Palace’ to be not monolithic and ‘barely 45 feet high’, the temple columns smooth not fluted, and the temple’s stepped entrance ‘something purely idealized, which he did not see any more than I did’; even the villagers confirmed ‘that they have always seen it in the same state as it is today’.89 Most devastatingly, Granger demolished La Roque’s vision of the temple’s interior: Regarding the twelve columns that, according to Mr. Laroque, supported the centre of this vault, it may be that there were some formerly, but what is certain is that you cannot observe any fragment of these columns which allow one to conjecture what there was previously. As for the niches or enforcements which are like chapels set or hollowed into the thickness of the inner walls of this temple and of which the traveller gives such an extensive and precise description, they are purely imaginary […].90

with minor changes. For the Hôtel de Soubise: Hanser, p. 91; for details, Hellman, ‘Hôtel de Soubise’, and, for discussion in terms of motion, Hellman, ‘Tapestries’. 86 For the visitor’s journey from darkness to its sensationally light Rococo interior, then being executed to Germain Boffrand’s design, see Bailey, pp. 76-78. 87 ‘effectivement toutes ces choses ne sont que dans la tête et le livre de ce voyageur’, Granger, p. 173; Perdrizet, p. 243, with minor changes. 88 ‘En sortant des voûtes souterraines’, Granger, p. 174; Perdrizet, p. 244. 89 ‘leur longueur n’est guère plus de quarante-cinq pieds […] c’est encore une chose purement idéale et qu’il n’a pas plus vu que moi. […] qu’ils l’avoient toujours vu dans le même état qu’on le trouve aujourd’hui’, Granger, pp. 174-175; Perdrizet, p. 244, with slight changes. In 1751, Robert Wood recognized these nine standing columns as belonging to a temple (Wood, pp. 22, 24 and Plates 21 and 24); but Louis-François Cassas, who visited the site in 1785, shows only the six that stand today in his later view of the ruins (Cassas, Vue de Baalbek). This change was probably the result of the earthquake of 25 November 1759; for its impact on the Bekaa Valley, see Ambraseys, pp. 583-586. 90 ‘Pour ce qui est des douze colonnes qui soutenaient, selon mr. Laroque, le milieu de cette voûte il se peut qu’il y en eût anciennement mais ce qu’il y a de certain c’est qu’on ne remarque aucun morceau de ces colonnes qui puissent faire conjecturer qu’il y en avait autrefois. Quant aux niches ou enfoncements qui sont comme autant de chapelles prises ou cavées dans l’épaisseur des murs de l’intérieur de ce temple et dont le voyageur donne une si ample et si exacte description, elles sont purement imaginaires’, Granger, pp. 175-176; cf. Perdrizet, p. 245.

178

Edmund Thomas

Granger found nothing else significant among the ruins, although he planned to return before being prevented by his untimely death.91 As he admits, he was foremost a botanist, rather than an architect or archaeologist, and his own description of the buildings at Baalbek is uneven and not without errors.92 Although he corrects the distortions of La Roque’s description, his own interpretations are sometimes puzzling. His measurements and observations, sometimes agreeing with La Roque and sometimes contradicting him, leave it unclear how to interpret La Roque’s report, which appears more architecturally expert and detailed than any other early description of the site. However, a handwritten copy of a letter in the Bibliothèque Méjanes at Aix-en-Provence helps to resolve the problem in an unexpected way. Written on 15 November 1689 at Baruth (Beirut) to Father Dom Emmanuel Vanel, Prior of the Carthusian Monastery of Marseilles, it reports a journey to Mount Lebanon and is signed ‘J. R.’93 The signatory was previously identified as J. Renouard, perhaps the primate of St. Trophime in Arles, but is now believed to be Jean de la Roque.94 Interestingly, however, the letter presents several differences from the published account of his journey, especially concerning his visit to Baalbek. In the letter, La Roque shows familiarity with several ancient texts, including the account of the festival of the floating head at Byblos described in Lucian’s De dea Syria.95 This helps to explain La Roque’s interest in Baalbek arising from Lucian’s tantalizing mention of the sanctuary of Heliopolis. Indeed in the letter, he reports his intention to visit the ruins, writing as if Monconys’s account did not exist or was inadequate, just as he would later do in his book: ‘Our plan was […] to return the next day […] into the plain which leads to Damascus, in which you find the ruins of a great city known today as Balbek, and directly beside it the superb remains of those prodigious buildings which no curious traveller has yet troubled to describe well to us, but which are worthy of the ultimate admiration’.96 The letter, however, continues in a surprising vein: ‘We were diverted from our intention by a warning 91 Perdrizet, p. 245. Granger died at Basra on 29 July 1737. Riottot, introduction to Granger, pp. 304-305. 92 For example, he wrongly dismisses the Latin inscription divisio Mosci as ‘the work of some travellers who may have visited these ruins and wanted to preserve their memory by leaving traces of the initial letters of their names’. Granger, p. 174; Perdrizet, p. 244. 93 La Roque, Letter to Vanel. 94 Personal communication of Bruno Marty, Centre de Conservation du Livre, Arles. See Marty, ‘Recherches sur l’itinéraire’. The copyist appears to have used initials because the signatory was well known. 95 La Roque, Letter to Vanel, f. 141. Cf. Lucian, De dea Syria 7 (Harmon, vol. 4, pp. 344-345); Perrot, vol. 2, p. 494. 96 ‘Nostre dessein estoit […] de nous rendre le lendemain […] dans la plaine qui conduit à Damas dans laquelle on trouve les ruines d’une grande ville qu’on nomme a present Balbek et tout auprès les superbes restes de ces prodigieux bastimens qu’aucun curieux ne s’est encore donné la peine de nous bien décrire et qui sont cependant dignes de la dernière admiration’, La Roque, Letter to Vanel, f. 156.

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

179

we received that this region was not free, and that the Arabs had just committed several murders there; this setback made us return at the end of the day to the Hermitage of the Carmelites, where we were received with joy and left the next morning at the break of day’.97 Remarkably, then, La Roque never visited Baalbek at all.98 For his description, he must have relied on other sources. His letter already shows his awareness not just of the debate about its origins, but of specific features mentioned by Monconys indicating a Roman date.99 Curiously, that author’s only occurrence in La Roque’s published report is his alleged comparison of the round temple to the Temple of Janus at Rome, which actually appears nowhere in Monconys’s report.100 Yet La Roque’s account of the ruins at Baalbek can be seen as a Lucianic narrative founded on an elaboration of the description by Monconys. Numerous verbal correspondences between the two récits suggest how La Roque developed Monconys’s account of the ‘Castle’ into a dynamic description of his ‘Palace’. He embellishes Monconys’s description of its eastward orientation and façade, reinterprets his accounts of the lower vaults into a vestibule and underground road, moves the unrecognizable busts from the ceiling vault to the vestibule walls, and identifies them with certainty as kings or emperors.101 Even his visual, Lucianic language closely echoes Monconys’s account.102 This, however, does not explain everything in La Roque’s description. Montfaucon’s L’antiquité expliquée might have offered further material, textual and visual, particularly the reconstruction of the temple interior as a nave and two aisles. La Roque’s praise of the vault as ‘above a rich entablature which is supported by all the columns, both those of the choir and of the nave’, follows a section drawing in Montfaucon’s work which presents the temple with three aisles and with this continuous entablature visible; this image also appears in Jean Marot’s Grand 97 ‘Nous fusmes destournés de nostre dessein par l’asseurance que l’on nous donna que ce Païs n’estoit par libre et que les Arabes venoient de faire quelque meurtres; cet accident nous fit retourner sur la fin du jour à l’Hermitage des Carmes, ou l’on nous receut avec joye et nous en partimes le lendemain a la pointe du jour’, Ibid., f. 157. 98 In 1901, Paul Perdrizet (p. 231) already suspected, after studying Granger’s criticisms, that Roque had spent ‘fort peu de temps’ (‘very little time’) there. 99 La Roque, Letter to Vanel, f. 156. Cf. Monconys, Journal, pt. 1, p. 349. 100 La Roque, p. 154. Marshal Auguste de Marmont (p. 308), after visiting in 1834, explained that, like the Temple of Janus in Rome, ‘il est formé d’un double arc de triomphe avec quatre entrées’ (‘it is formed of a double triumphal arch with four entrances’); but he perhaps derived the comparison from La Roque. In 1849, the American John Ross Browne (p. 236) noted that the temple was compared ‘by some travelers’ to the Temple of Janus, but preferred a comparison to the Tower of the Winds in Athens. 101 La Roque, pp. 122-124. Cf. Monconys, Journal, pt. 1, pp. 348-349. 102 ‘On voit encore fort distinctement une suite de chambres, de salles & d’appartemens entiers, embellis de tout ce que l’art de plus recherché’, La Roque, p. 128 (n. 50 above). Cf. Monconys, Journal, pt. 1, p. 348 (‘toute entourée d’appartements ou chambres de diverses figures’) and p. 349 (‘l’on voit bien distinctement’).

180

Edmund Thomas

30. ‘La coupe du Temple de Balbec avec le plan’ (The Section of the Temple of Baalbek with the Plan), from Bernard de Montfaucon, L’antiquité expliquée, 1719 (vol. 1, pt. 1, Plate 31). Heidelberg University Library, Digital Library.

Marot, but Montfaucon states that he took it from Monceaux directly (Figure 30).103 La Roque seems to overlook Montfaucon’s further plate, not in Marot, of a temple without aisles and a disjunction between nave and choir which, although more true to the actual remains, Montfaucon had tentatively suggested as being ‘the same building drawn less accurately by one of those who have drawn it’.104 Yet La Roque also includes measurements, in the precise units employed by architectural surveyors, that were in neither Monconys nor Montfaucon.105 If La Roque did not visit the site, he must have acquired this information from elsewhere. Perdrizet believed that he had used Marot’s plates in his Grand Marot, probably also based on Monceaux, one of which appears to be the source for the architectural image 103 ‘au-dessus d’un riche entablement que supportent toutes les colomnes, tant du chœur que de la nef’, La Roque, p. 144. Cf. Montfaucon, pt. 1, p. 118 and Plate 31. 104 ‘le même dessiné moins fidelement par un de ceux qui l’ont tiré’, Montfaucon, pt. 1, p. 119, with Plate 32, labelled only as ‘Temple’. 105 La Roque, pp. 133-136, 139.

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

181

31. ‘Elévation en perspective du côté du Temple de Balbec’ (Elevation in Perspective of the Side of the Temple of Baalbek), from Jean Marot, Le Grand Marot, 1686. Universiteitsbibliotheek Utrecht.

32. ‘Elévation en perspective d’un côté exterieur du Temple de Balbek’ (Elevation in Perspective of an Exterior Side of the Temple of Baalbek), from Jean de la Roque, Voyages de Syrie et du Mont-Liban, 1722. Niedersächsische Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen.

in La Roque’s publication (Figures 31-32).106 Marot’s plates, however, also lack such 106 Perdrizet, p. 231, citing the plate after La Roque, p. 146, a reversal of Marot, Plate [157]. For the Grand Marot, see Deutsch, pp. 131-186, esp. pp. 174-175 on the Baalbek plates and pp. 176-181 for the date of publication as 1686. For Marot’s potential use of Monceaux, see Berger, p. 105. Ragette, p. 83 states that La Roque was ‘familiar with the texts and plates of de Monceaux, so much so in fact that he is later accused

182

Edmund Thomas

measurements, and the slight differences, particularly regarding the outer frieze which La Roque highlights at this point of his narrative for its ‘taste and genius’, suggest that his own plate was not taken directly from Marot.107 Perhaps, therefore, La Roque gained access to Monceaux’s report directly. The Count of Bonneval had made it available in 1717, but the published extract ignored the architectural details. Montfaucon unequivocally observes its value for architectural description, wondering ‘if there has ever been a more curious and more skilful traveller’ than Monceaux, who ‘marked on his drawings the dimensions and names of the things that they represented, and even the places where he had found them’; he notes, however, that sections on the temple, the highlight of La Roque’s account, had been removed or were among the missing notebooks.108 If, to compensate for the failure of his own expedition to reach Baalbek, La Roque had somehow obtained Monceaux’s report, studied his copious architectural notes and drawings, and removed this key part, this would explain the architectural emphasis of his own account and his imaginative glosses highlighted by Granger.109 This conclusion seems to finger La Roque as the villain of the piece, taking credit for the work of others and concealing it from further researchers. Yet it also means that Monceaux’s report should not be lamented as lost, but recognized as surviving under another name. It was a consequence of La Roque’s success that he suffered plagiarism himself. His book was among ‘the writings of other Travellers’ which the anonymous editor of The Travels of the Late Charles Thompson (1744) admitted to have ‘so interwoven’ with Thompson’s own manuscript notes ‘that I imagine they will not easily be distinguish’d’.110 La Roque, though, is recognizably the source for several close descriptions of the architecture of the temple, even if Thompson added comparisons with St. Paul’s Covent Garden and St. Paul’s Cathedral for his English readership.111 In the 1754 edition of Thompson’s travels, La Roque’s of having copied from them’. Yet this seems to refer to Perdrizet’s suspicion about his use of Marot, rather than to La Roque’s direct knowledge of Monceaux’s drawings. 107 ‘le goût & […] le genie’, La Roque, p. 147. Cf. n. 65 above. 108 ‘Je ne sais s’il y eut jamais de voiageur plus curieux & plus habile que lui: il faisoit dessiner tout. Nous avons tiré de ses memoires bien des choses qu’on trouvera dans le cours de cet ouvrage: il marquoit sur tous les desseins les dimensions, & les noms des choses qu’ils representoient, & de même les lieux où il les avoit trouvées’, Montfaucon, pt. 1, pp. 118-119, with Plate 32. Similarly, the anonymous contributor of the extract from Monceaux’s report to Le Bruyn’s publication had no doubt that it would be well received, but cautioned that it would be necessary to search exactly for the originals of Monceaux’s plans and views. 109 There is no strong evidence that La Roque knew Bonneval himself. The Bonneval family was linked by marriage to a branch of the La Roque family since the sixteenth century, and Bonneval recalls (p. 120) visiting the Countess de La Roque in the 1690s, but these are common names in France. 110 Thompson, The Travels of the Late Charles Thompson, vol. 1, preface. The additions were so extensive that one reviewer claimed that Thompson’s travels were wholly fictitious. Batten, p. 60 with n. 27. 111 Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 422-425, e.g. p. 424 on the relief along the temple wall with ‘a surprizing Mixture of Men and Beasts, in a most agreeable Variety, and without the least Confusion’. Cf. La Roque, p. 138 (n. 66

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

183

artistic judgments were replicated word for word.112 The Englishman Robert Wood condemned La Roque for including ‘so much ignorant admiration, and so little intelligible description’.113 Although La Roque continues to be used today as a source for the condition of the monuments at Baalbek, his real legacy lies not so much in the detailed facts derived from Monceaux’s notes as in the very form of his account.114 La Roque used Monceaux’s architectural report to create a new vision of the site oriented to the movement of the visitor. Thompson’s work also presented a dynamic description of the ruins in the manner of his Marseillais predecessor with an eye to the imagined movement of the visitor through the ruins.115 This mouvementé presentation of an architectural site takes the reader on a virtual journey to view the architecture closely in the manner of ancient descriptions. Encircling walls, descending to vaults, contemplating façades, penetrating interiors, and even climbing to a roof to view details more closely, La Roque changed forever the genre of architectural description.

Works Cited Manuscript Sources Cassas, Louis-François. Vue de Baalbek, au Liban, un groupe de chameliers au premier plan. Late 18th century. Website: https://www.christies.com/lotfinder/Lot/louis-francoiscassas-azay-le-ferron-1756-1827-versailles-vue-5773316-details.aspx,%20accessed%20 23%20March%202020. Accessed 23 March 2020. La Roque, Jean de. Letter to Father Dom Emmanuel Vanel, from Baruth (Beirut). 15 November 1689. Collection Peiresc de la Méjane, MS 2011 (1029). Bibliothèque Méjanes, Aix-en-Provence. Monceaux, André de. Extract from report. MSS 3058. Bibliothèque Municipale, Versailles.

above). 112 E.g. Thompson, Travels through Turkey, p. 134: ‘In a Word, the fine Taste of Greece and the Magnificence of Rome are here united’. Cf. La Roque, p. 129 (n. 61 above). 113 Wood, p. 19. 114 For La Roque’s use today, e.g. as evidence of the survival of statues at Baalbek, see Greenhalgh, pp. 321-322. 115 E.g. Thompson, Travels of the Late Charles Thompson, vol. 2, p. 422: ‘As we approach these venerable Ruins, the f irst thing we observe is a Rotunda, […] Leaving this, we come to a large and lofty Pile of Building, […]; and through this we advance into a noble arched Walk or Portico, a hundred and fifty Paces in length, which leads to the Temple I am about to describe.’

184

Edmund Thomas

Primary Printed Sources Editions and Translations of Classical Works

Lucian (Bourdelot). Luciani omnia opera cum latina interpretatione. Edited by Jean Bourdelot. Paris: Louis Febvrier, 1615. Lucian (Bretin). Les Œuvres de Lucian de Samosate. 2 vols. Translated by Philibert Bretin. Paris: Abel l’Angelier, 1583-1606. Lucian (Harmon). Lucian. Vols. 1 and 4 of 8 vols. Translated by A. M. Harmon. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1913, 1925. Lucian (Macleod). Luciani opera. Edited by M. D. Macleod. 4 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972. Lucian (Perrot). Lucien de la traduction N. Perrot, Sr. D’Ablancourt. Translated by Nicolas Perrot. 2 vols. Paris: Augustin Courbé, 1654. Website: Vol. 1: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/ bpt6k8706947p.r=lucien%20perrot?rk=42918;4, Vol. 2: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/ bpt6k87069483.r=lucien%20perrot?rk=21459;2. Accessed 16 September 2019. Vitruvius. The Ten Books on Architecture. Translated by Morris Hicky Morgan. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1960.

Travel Reports and Editions

Belon, Pierre. Travels in the Levant: The Observations of Pierre Belon of Le Mans on Many Singularities and Memorable Things Found in Greece, Turkey, Judaea, Egypt, Arabia and Other Foreign Countries (1553). Translated by James Hogarth. Edited by Alexandra Merle. Kilkerran: Hardinge Simpole, 2012. Benjamin of Tudela. The Itinerary of Rabbi Benjamin of Tudela. 2 vols. Translated and edited by Adolf Asher. New York: A. Asher & Co., 1840-1841. Browne, John Ross. Yusef: or, The Journey of the Frangi: A Crusade in the East. New York: Harper & Bros., 1853. D’Arvieux, Laurent. Mémoires du chevalier d’Arvieux, contenant ses voyages à Constantinople. Edited by Jean-Baptiste Labat. Vol. 2 of 6 vols. Paris: C. J. B. Delespine, 1735. Dandini, Girolamo. Missione apostolica al patriarca, e maroniti del Monte Libano. Cesena: Neri, 1656. Dandini, Girolamo. Voyage au Mont Liban. Translated by Richard Simon. Paris: Louis Billaine, 1675. Granger, Claude (Tourtechot, Nicholas). Voyage dans l’Empire Ottoman du naturaliste Claude Granger, 1733-1737. Edited by Alain Riottot. Paris: L’Harmattan, 2006. La Roque, Jean de. Voyage de Syrie et du Mont-Liban, contenant la description de tout le pays compris sous le nom de Liban et d’Anti-Liban, Kesroan, etc., ce qui concerne l’origine, la créance et les moeurs des peuples qui habitent ce pays. La description des ruines d’Héliopolis, aujourd’hui Balbeck, et une dissertation historique sur cette ville. 2 vols. Paris: André Cailleau, 1722. Website: Vol. 1: https://gdz.sub.uni-goettingen.de/id/PPN659089300, Vol. 2: https://gdz.sub.uni-goettingen.de/id/PPN659089327. Accessed 16 September 2019.

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

185

La Roque, Jean de. Voyage de Syrie et du Mont-Liban. Edited by Jean Raymond. Beirut: Dar Lahad Khater, 1981. Le Bruyn, Corneille. Voyages par la Moscovie, en Perse, et aux Indes Orientales. Vol. 5 of 5 vols. Rouen: Charles Ferrand, 1725. Marmont, Auguste Frédéric Louis Viesse de. Voyage du Maréchal Duc de Raguse en Hongrie, en Transylvanie […] à Constantinople […] et en Égypte. Vol. 2 of 4 vols. Paris: Ladvocat, 1837. Monconys, Balthasar de. Journal des voyages de Monsieur de Monconys, Conseiller du Roy en ses Conseils d’Estat et Privé, et Lieutennant Criminel au Siege Presidiel de Lyon. Vol. 1 of 3 vols. Lyon: Horace Boissat and George Remeus, 1665-1666. Website: https://gallica. bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b8608276v/f1.image. Accessed 16 September 2019. Monconys, Balthasar de. Voyage en Egypte de Balthasar de Monconys, 1646-1647. Edited by Henry Amer. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1973. Mont-Aignan, Sylvestre de. Description abregée de la sainte montagne des Maronites qui l’habitent. Paris: Jean-Baptiste Coignard, 1671. Postel, Guillaume. Descriptio Syriae. Paris: Hieronymus Gormontius, 1540. Website: https:// gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k54509f/f1.image. Accessed 28 August 2019. Postel, Guillaume. De universitate liber. Paris: Martinus Juvenis, 1563. Thévenot, Jean. Relation au voyage fait au Levant. Paris: Louis Bilaine, 1664. Thevet, André. Cosmographie universelle d’André Thevet cosmographe du Roy. 2 vols. Paris: Guillaume Chaudiere, 1575. Thompson, Charles. The Travels of the Late Charles Thompson, Esq. Containing His Observations on France, Italy, Turkey in Europe, the Holy Land, Arabia, Egypt, and Many Other Parts of the World. 3 vols. Reading: J. Newbery and C. Micklewright, 1744. Thompson, Charles. Travels through Turkey in Asia, the Holy Land, Arabia, Egypt, and Other Parts of the World. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. London: J. Newbery, 1754. Vansleb, Johann Michael. Nouvelle relation en forme de journal d’un voyage fait en Egypte en 1672 & 1673. Paris: Etienne Michelet, 1677. Wansleben, Johann Michael. Johann Michael Wansleben’s Travels in the Levant, 1671-74: An Annotated Edition of His Italian Report. Edited by Alastair Hamilton. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Wood, Robert. The Ruins of Balbec, Otherwise Heliopolis in Coelosyria. London, 1757.

Other Primary Printed Sources

Bonneval, Claude Alexandre [Ahmet Pasa Kumbarac basa]. Memoirs of the Famous Bashaw Bonneval. Westminster: Olive Payne, 1736. Boulainvilliers, Henri. Histoire des Arabes, avec la vie de Mahomed. Amsterdam: P. Humbert, 1731. Chapelain, Jean. Lettres. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1883. Felice, Fortunato Bartolomeo de. Encyclopédie ou dictionnaire universel raisonné des connoissances humaines. Vol. 26 of 48 vols. Yverdon-les-Bains, 1773. Gibbon, Edward. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Vol. 4 of 6 vols. Dublin: Luke White, 1788.

186

Edmund Thomas

Huygens, Christiaan. Oeuvres complètes. Vol. 7 of 22 vols. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1897. Leunclavius, Ioannes. Historiae Musulmanae Turcorum, de monumentis ipsorum exscriptae, libri XVIII. Frankfurt: Andreas Wechel, 1591. Marot, Jean. Le Grand Marot. 1686. Reprint: Paris: Damiron, 1968. Montfaucon, Bernard de. L’antiquité expliquée, et representée en figures. Vol. 2 of 5 vols. Le culte des Grecs & des Romains. Paris: Florentin Delaulne, 1719. Oldenburg, Henry. The Correspondence of Henry Oldenburg. Vol. 7 of 13 vols. Edited and translated by A. Rupert Hall and Marie Boas Hall. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1970. Perrault, Claude. Ordonnance des cinq espèces de colonnes selon la méthode des anciens. Paris: Jean Baptiste Coignard, 1683. Poldo d’Albenas, Jean. Discours historial de l’antique et allustre cite de Nismes. Lyon: G. Rouille, 1560. Savot, Louis. L’architecture françoise des bastimens particuliers. Paris: François Clouzier and Pierre Aubovïn, 1673.

Secondary Sources Ambraseys, Nicholas. Earthquakes in the Mediterranean and Middle East : A Multidisciplinary Study of Seismicity up to 1900. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Angelis, Francesco de. ‘Sublime Histories, Exceptional Viewers: Trajan’s Column and Its Visibility’. In Art and Rhetoric in Roman Culture. Edited by Jaś Elsner and Michel Meyer. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 89-114. Bailey, Gauvin. The Spiritual Rococo: Decor and Divinity from the Salons of Paris to the Missions of Patagonia. Farnham: Ashgate, 2014. Batten, Charles L., Jr. Pleasurable Instruction: Form and Convention in Eighteenth-Century Travel Literature. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1978. Berger, Robert W. Palace of the Sun: The Louvre of Louis XIV. University Park: Pennsylvania University Press, 1993. Bury, Emmanuel. ‘Un sophiste impérial à l’Académie. Lucien en France au XVIIe siècle’. In Lucian of Samosata Vivus et Redivivus. Edited by Christopher Ligota and Letizia Panizza. London: Warburg Institute; Turin: Nino Aragno Editore, 2007. 145-174. Cordier, Stéphane. Balthazar de Monconys. Brussels: André de Rache, 1967. Deutsch, Kristina. Jean Marot. Un graveur d’architecture à l‘époque de Louis XIV. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015. Freyberger, Klaus Stefan. ‘Im Licht des Sonnengottes. Deutung und Funktion des sogenannten “Bacchus-Tempels” im Heiligtum des Jupiter Heliopolitanus in Baalbek’. Damaszener Mitteilungen 12 (2000): 95-133. Fumaroli, Marc. ‘Les intentions du cardinal de Richelieu, fondateur de l’Académie française’. In Richelieu et la culture. Actes du colloque international en Sorbonne. Edited by Roland Mousnier. Paris: Éditions du Centre National de Recherche Scientifique, 1987. 69-78.

Movement through Ruins: Re-experiencing Ancient Ba albek with Jean de l a Roque 

187

Greenhalgh, Michael. Plundered Empire: Acquiring Antiquities from Ottoman Lands. Leiden: Brill, 2019. Hanser, David A. Architecture of France. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2006. Harrigan, Michael. Veiled Encounters: Representing the Orient in 17th-Century French Travel Literature. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2008. Hellman, Mimi. ‘The Hôtel de Soubise and the Rohan-Soubise family: Architecture, Interior Decoration, and the Art of Ambition in Eighteenth-Century France’. PhD diss., Princeton University, 2000. Hellman, Mimi. ‘Tapestries and Identities at the Hôtel de Soubise: Figuration, Embodied Vision, Intercorporeality’. In Body Narratives: Motion and Emotion in the French Enlightenment. Edited by Susanna Caviglia. Turnhout: Brepols, 2017. 81-117. Kaizer, Ted. ‘Lucian on the Temple at Heliopolis’. Classical Quarterly 66, no. 1 (2016): 273-285. Khater, Akram Fouad. Embracing the Divine: Passion and Politics in the Christian Middle East. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2011. Landweber, Julia. ‘Fashioning Nationality and Identity in the Eighteenth Century: The Comte de Bonneval in the Ottoman Empire’. International History Review 30, no. 1 (March 2008): 1-31. Landweber, Julia. ‘Laurent d’Arvieux’. In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Vol. 13, Western Europe (1700-1800), edited by David Thomas and John A. Chesworth. Leiden: Brill, 2019. 593-607. Lauvergnat-Gagnière, Christiane. Lucien de Samosate et le lucianisme en France au XVIe siècle. Athéisme et polémique. Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1988. Lemerle, Frédérique. ‘Jean Poldo d’Albenas (1512-1563), un antiquaire “studieux d’architecture”’. Bulletin Monumental 160, no. 2 (2002): 163-172. Lightfoot, Jane L., ed. Lucian, On the Syrian Goddess. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. McCabe, Ina Baghdiantz. Orientalism in Early Modern France: Eurasian Trade, Exoticism, and the Ancien Régime. Oxford: Berg, 2008. Marsy, Arthur de. Balthasar de Monconys. Analyse de ses voyages au point de vue artistique. Caen: F. Le Blanc-Hardel, 1880. Marty, Bruno. ‘Recherches sur l’itinéraire de Jean de La Roque au Liban en 1689’. In Centre de Recherche sur la Littérature des Voyages (CRLV), submitted online 3 March 2014. Website: http://www.crlv.org/content/recherches-sur-litin%C3%A9raire-de-jean-dela-roque-au-liban-en-1689. Accessed 28 August 2019. Mayer, Claude Albert. Lucien de Samosate et la Renaissance française. Geneva: Slatkine, 1984. Meynell, Guy. ‘André de Monceaux, F. R. S. 1670’. Notes and Records of the Royal Society of London 47, no. 1 (1993) : 11-15. Omont, Henri. Missions archéologiques françaises en Orient aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles. 2 vols. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1902. Perdrizet, Paul. ‘Les dossiers de P. J. Mariette sur Ba’albek et Palmyre’. Revue des Études Anciennes 3, no. 3 (1901): 225-264.

188

Edmund Thomas

Ragette, Friedrich. Baalbek. London: Chatto & Windus, 1980. Robinson, Christopher. Lucian and His Influence in Europe. London: Duckworth, 1979. Salmon, Olivier. Alep dans la littérature de voyage européenne pendant la période ottomane (1516-1918). Aleppo: Dar Al-Mudarris, 2011. Simon, Renée. Nicolas Fréret. Academicien. Geneva: Institut et Musée Voltaire, 1961. Sliwa, Joachim. ‘Nicolas Tourtechot zwany Granger (około 1680-1737) i odkrywanie Górnego Egiptu/Nicolas Tourtechot Known as Granger (ca. 1680-1737) and the Discovery of Upper Egypt’. Classica Cracoviensia 19 (2016): 203-218. Stoneman, Richard. Land of Lost Gods: The Search for Classical Greece. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1987. Thomas, Edmund. Monumentality and the Roman Empire: Architecture in the Antonine Age. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Todorov, Tzvetan. Nous et les autres. La réflexion française sur la diversité humaine. Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1989. Varille, Mathieu. ‘Balthazar de Monconys, astrologue, alchimiste et voyageur’. Bulletin de la Société littéraire, historique et archéologique de Lyon 13 (1934): 27-55. Vingopoulou, Ioli. ‘Un alchimiste vagabond en Europe et au Proche Orient’. In Multicultural Science in the Ottoman Empire. Edited by Ekmeleddin İhsanoğlu, Kostas Chatzis, and Efthymios Nicolaidis. Turnhout: Brepols, 2003. 29-52. Webb, Ruth. ‘Mémoire et imagination. Les limites de l’enargeia dans la théorie rhétorique grecque’. In Dire l’évidence (Philosophie et rhétorique antiques). Edited by C. Lévy and L. Pernot. Paris: L’Harmattan, 1997. 229-248. Wilson, John Francis. Caesarea Philippi: Banias, the Lost City of Pan. London: I. B. Tauris, 2004.

About the Author Edmund Thomas is Associate Professor in Ancient Visual and Material Culture at Durham University. His books include Monumentality and the Roman Empire: Architecture in the Antonine Age (Oxford, 2007). His research embraces ancient Greek and Roman architecture and the classical tradition in architecture through medieval and early modern periods.

7.

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis: The Architecture of Early Modern London in the Royal Magazine Jocelyn Anderson

Abstract In the middle of the eighteenth century, as the magazine trade in Britain became increasingly competitive, publications began offering their readers illustrations. Beginning in 1761, The Royal Magazine published several illustrations of buildings in London as part of ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster’. Many of these illustrations represented London buildings through perspective views, often with urban spectators shown looking at them, as if they were in the middle of their own tour of the city’s architecture. This essay explores how this series of illustrations formed a virtual tour of London’s most notable buildings, making the capital’s architecture available in a highly accessible form, as if people could move through the city while moving through the pages. Keywords: magazine illustrations, tourism, architectural illustrations, eighteenthcentury magazines

Mid-eighteenth-century London was a city of grand buildings. Several buildings, including St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Royal Exchange, and numerous city churches, had been rebuilt in the aftermath of the Great Fire of 1666; others, such as the Custom House (completed 1725), the Lord Mayor’s Mansion (completed 1753), and St. Bartholomew’s Hospital (completed 1769), were more recent projects. These buildings were transformative for London’s urban spaces, but they were also transformative for the idea of the city. Representations of individual London buildings were critical to representations of the city as a whole and, by extension, to civic identity. Although images of London buildings had been functioning in this way for decades, in the mid-eighteenth century a new form of image emerged: the

Skelton, K. (ed.), Early Modern Spaces in Motion: Design, Experience, and Rhetoric. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2021 doi 10.5117/9789463725811_ch07

190 

Jocelyn Anderson

magazine illustration. Many eighteenth-century magazines occasionally depicted notable buildings in London, both historic and contemporary, in elevations, plans, or fold-out views, but one of the richest examples of architectural magazine imagery is a series that appeared in the Royal Magazine in the early 1760s. The scale of this series was unusual, and the style of its images was distinctive. This essay will examine the Royal’s series of illustrations as critical imagery in a virtual tour of London’s notable buildings, a tour that made the city’s architecture available in a highly accessible form to people throughout Britain and in British colonies overseas. London was a tourist destination, and thus its most prominent buildings had long-established roles as sites of spectatorship, but the magazine offered a new form of virtual tourism. Through a combination of articles and illustrations, the Royal offered a virtual tour of London to a highly diverse audience. Tourism was increasing in mid-eighteenth-century Britain, and London was a popular destination, but travel remained prohibitively expensive and impractical for many people.1 Topographical prints and books tacitly invited consumers to become virtual tourists, imaginatively constructing tours through series of printed images and descriptions and embracing vicarious possession of the sights.2 Magazines – and the illustrations within them – were far more accessible than actual tourism or even the virtual tourism available through fine prints and illustrated travel books (a single issue of a magazine normally cost only 6d.). In electing to offer a virtual tour through the Royal, the magazine’s publisher, John Coote, was most likely attempting to ensure that his magazine remained competitive by offering a distinctive feature, and he may have felt a virtual tour would help him sell magazines.3 The Royal circulated widely and to a broad readership. The magazine had numerous subscribers outside of London, and although surviving data about these subscribers is limited, they most likely included members of the gentry, professionals, tradesmen, and even a few servants. 4 An early advertisement specified the target audience, declaring that the magazine proposed ‘to render our Magazine agreeable to every Class of Readers’.5 Advertisements reported that the magazine was ‘sold by all Booksellers and News-Carriers in Great-Britain and Ireland’; copies also circulated in America.6 For many readers living outside of London, travelling to the city was likely beyond their means, and it seems very likely that for these readers, 1 For the rise of domestic tourism, see Anderson, Touring and Publicizing, pp. 26-41. 2 Helsinger, p. 105. 3 For more on Coote’s career and ambitions, see Bracken and Silver, pp. 58-59, 61-62. 4 Fergus, pp. 197, 280. 5 London Evening Post 4945. 6 Public Advertiser 7745; ‘From the Royal Magazine’, New-Hampshire Gazette; ‘From the Royal Magazine’, Newport Mercury.

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis 

191

the prospect of a virtual tour via magazine illustrations would be particularly appealing. Through both pictorial and verbal strategies, the virtual tour invited readers to imagine themselves moving through the city.

The Architectural Tour The Royal began publishing ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Parts Adjacent to These Populous Cities’ in 1761. The ‘Tour’ was a series of features that combined lengthy articles about buildings and monuments with illustrations, and it was clearly intended to constitute a special attraction for readers. The magazine issued an announcement about the series in December 1760; a note at the end of that year’s volume declared: In our next Number, we shall begin a circumstantial Account of the Cities of London and Westminster, and of the public Buildings, and elegant Seats in the Neighbourhood of the Metropolis; embellished with a greater variety of perspective Views, Plans, &c. than has hitherto appeared, engraved by the best Hands; it being our Intention to give an accurate and entertaining Description of every thing that deserves Attention in and near the Capital; and flatter ourselves that the great Labour and Expence attending this Undertaking, will recommend it to the Favour of the Public.7

In early January, Coote published advertisements announcing the new series and its proposed illustrations in several different papers simultaneously, presumably hoping that an intense burst of publicity would help attract subscribers.8 After the ‘Tour’ had been launched, advertisements for subsequent issues routinely mentioned the special plates.9 Although the Royal was publishing other features every month, the ‘Tour’ was integral to its brand in the early 1760s. As a promotional strategy, the ‘Tour’ was not especially unusual: in the industry, a series of articles with accompanying illustrations was one way that publishers could distinguish their magazines in an increasingly competitive market.10 Although they have received little attention from scholars, magazine illustrations were critical to appeals to readers; magazines had begun publishing illustrations in the 1740s, and by 1761, they were a fundamental component of the genre and leading 7 Royal Magazine [hereafter RM] 3, p. 334. 8 Lloyd’s Evening Post 541; Public Ledger 305; Public Advertiser 8163; London Evening Post 5177; Whitehall Evening Post 2310. 9 Public Ledger 331; London Chronicle 641; Lloyd’s Evening Post 555; Public Advertiser 8189. 10 Pitcher, p. 8.

192 

Jocelyn Anderson

titles routinely published two or three plates every month.11 The ‘Tour’ was part of Coote’s commitment to publishing illustrated features; during the early 1760s, the Royal published a wide range of images, including portraits, depictions of animals, and topographical views (beyond those of the ‘Tour’).12 Each issue typically had multiple short articles and letters from readers, as well as brief reports on current events, but the few features with illustrations were the most high-profile features when it came to promoting the magazine. Newspaper advertisements for future issues often listed the illustrations that ‘embellished’ the issue in their opening lines of text; thus, readers would learn of the promised pictures even before they came to the description of the magazine’s articles.13 Illustrated features were also often prominently positioned within the issue, frequently appearing near the beginning.14 Coote’s determination to publish high-quality illustrations became one of the features which helped his magazines stand out from those of other publishers, and even if they were described as embellishments, there is no doubt that plates were crucial to a magazine’s success.15 In order to create the most distinctive presence in the market, however, an illustrated series required an appropriately rich and distinctive subject. The ‘Tour’ was ideal because there were numerous potential sites that might be incorporated. It became an unusually extensive series for the Royal, one which likely helped distinguish it from other magazines; although topographical imagery was common in magazines, an extensive series on London with continuity between articles was unusual.16 The series began in the January 1761 issue with an article on the Tower of London. As an introduction, the article explains the series’ purpose: [A]n attempt to direct the inquisitive observer to things that merit his attention, recite the historical facts to which they relate, and compare them with others of a similar kind, cannot fail of proving at once both useful and entertaining. And to those who have not an opportunity of surveying them, it will tend to satisfy their curiosity, and description supply in some measure the want of observation. 11 A notable exception is Alexander. There are no studies that examine eighteenth-century magazine illustrations and motion. For magazine illustration and travel, see Anderson, ‘Elegant Engravings of the Pacific’. For studies of portraits in magazines, see McCreery; Hudson. For scholars’ lack of attention to magazines in general, see Latham and Scholes, pp. 517-531. 12 See, for instance, RM 5, plates opposite pp. 148, 285; RM 8, plate opposite p. 144. 13 See, for instance, Public Advertiser 7745; Public Advertiser 7773. 14 See, for instance, ‘Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster’ [hereafter ‘Tour’], RM 6, pp. 16-19. 15 Raven, p. 174. 16 Not all types of illustrated series were unique to a given title; for example, the Royal also published an extensive series of coloured natural history illustrations, but this series was similar to a series offered by the Universal Magazine. See Anderson, ‘Eighteenth-Century Magazine Illustration’.

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis 

193

This is what we propose to execute in our Tour through the cities of London and Westminster, and parts adjacent.17

In this early announcement, the ‘Tour’ and its illustrations are immediately directed to two constituencies of readers: those in London who might be interested in learning more about their surroundings and those who could not actually visit the sites in question. The plates accompanying the series would be pictorial complements to the histories and architectural descriptions of the buildings and monuments visited by the ‘Tour’. The Royal never published more than one London illustration in an issue. This pattern was likely established because of the need to offer variety among a single issue’s images. During this period, it was highly unusual for any magazine article to have more than one illustration. Some issues skipped the feature altogether; the series ran from January 1761 to February 1764 and appeared in every issue except the issues for February, April, July, and October 1762, gaps for which there is no explanation. By the time the series concluded in 1764, the magazine had published illustrations of the Tower of London, the Custom House, the Monument, London Bridge, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Guildhall, Gresham College, East India House, Bow Steeple, St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, Christ’s Hospital, the Royal Exchange, the Mansion House, Temple Church, Windsor Castle, St. Mary le Strand, Northumberland House, St. Martin-in-the-Fields, Horse Guards, Westminster Abbey and a series of monuments inside it (specifically monuments to William Shakespeare, George Frideric Handel, Lieutenant Colonel Roger Townshend, Admiral Temple West, Joseph Gascoigne Nightingale, and Captain Philip de Sausmarez), the House of Lords, St. James’s Palace, and the British Museum. There is significant variety among these sites, but the vast majority are public buildings, sites a well-connected visitor might expect to visit if touring London, and, taken together, they suggest that London is a city with many grand buildings and monuments to view. Pictorially, the series constituted a sustained commitment to publishing views of London in the magazine, views which depicted the city in a distinctive style.

The Composition of the Pictorial ‘Tour’: Framing Architecture and Space in the City Illustrations of monumental public buildings were fundamental to the success of the virtual tour offered by the Royal, but relatively little evidence survives about the draughtsmen and printmakers who worked on the magazine’s plates. Only 17 ‘Tour’, RM 4, p. 24.

194 

Jocelyn Anderson

some of the illustrations are marked with the names of their engravers: the view of the Tower was engraved by John Couse, and the views of the Monument, Bow Steeple, and St. Bartholomew’s Hospital were by James Hulett; J. O’Neal and A. Smith collaborated on some of the plates depicting monuments in Westminster Abbey.18 What is absolutely clear, however, and what cannot be emphasized too much, is that all the magazine engravers typically adapted pre-existing compositions, a practice which was not unusual in magazines. Before examining the implications of the magazine’s illustrations, then, it is essential to examine the images that influenced the compositions. The sketchy quality and relative emptiness of the ‘Tour’ illustrations were characteristics deeply rooted in pictorial precedents, and thus the stylistic concerns that determined the precedents played powerful, albeit indirect, roles in determining the nature of the ‘Tour’. The sources the magazine artists chose to work with were effectively the building blocks for the virtual tour, and visual experiences within the magazine’s tour were heavily influenced by these sources. Ultimately, the virtual motion implicitly offered by the magazine had been enabled by a network of earlier images. Several of the magazine’s illustrations were based on views from Robert Dodsley’s London and its Environs Described (1761). Dodsley was a highly successful publisher and bookseller, and London was a project which he initiated.19 Coote may have chosen to adapt material from Dodsley’s book because it was not only highly current, but also because it was somewhat unusual in offering a combination of numerous illustrations with descriptions, a combination which was highly convenient for any magazine publisher planning a series that would be both pictorial and textual. In the mid-eighteenth century, it was unusual for a text about London to have so many illustrations; many guidebooks published at this time had only a few plates or woodcuts, or nothing at all.20 Dodsley’s book’s plates were also supposed to be high quality.21 In fact, they were based on compositions by a noted artist, one who was known to Coote. The illustrations in London were designed by Samuel Wale, a founding member of the Royal Academy. Wale’s images would ultimately have more influence over the magazine’s plates than any other artist’s work. His surviving drawings of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital and London Bridge demonstrate that he was highly conscious of the possibilities of suggestive depiction of buildings when working on a small scale: done in gray wash with pen and black ink and on the appropriate 18 ‘Tour’, RM 4, plates opposite pp. 24, 121; ‘Tour’, RM 5, plates opposite 221, 277; ‘Tour’, RM 9, plates opposite pp. 17, 57, 113. 19 Solomon, pp. 240, 318; McKellar, p. 70. 20 Adams, p. xiii. For the history of guidebooks to London in the eighteenth century, see McKellar, pp. 57-77. 21 Dodsley, vol. 1, ‘Preface’ (n. p.).

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis 

195

scale for engraving as octavo book plates, the drawings show the same delicate marks that dominate the engravings in the book (and in the magazine).22 Wale’s ability to draw buildings convincingly on the correct scale for book and magazine illustration is significant. Although the sources Wale likely consulted were pictures rich in detailed architectural ornament and urban incident, he clearly understood how to create a spare aesthetic that enabled easier reproduction, a consideration which would have been extremely important for both Dodsley and Coote. When magazine plates were prepared by compressing larger images, it was not unusual for details to be lost and for the effect of an image to change; Wale’s talent in drawing for small illustrative reproduction ensured that this did not happen with the tour images. His approach in the London illustrations was ‘overwhelmingly architectural’; the vast majority of the plates focus on buildings or monuments, often at the expense of urban life, as if to emphasize the spaces that a tourist could view in the city and its surroundings.23 When Wale’s illustrations were adapted for the magazine, their style helped underscore the visual pleasures of tourism. Dodsley’s text was also critical to the magazine’s tour. Significant sections of London were adapted for the text of the Royal’s tour, but whereas London is an alphabetical, encyclopaedic text, the magazine arranges descriptions of buildings into a tourist itinerary, adding in details of the layout of the city and emphasizing the sights available while moving through the streets. This rearrangement made Coote’s tour markedly different from what Dodsley was offering his readers: whereas Dodsley’s volumes function as an elaborate urban dictionary in which a reader can look up entries for information, the Royal invites the reader to envision himself or herself as a tourist encouraged to view the sights of London’s buildings for pleasure. Plates in the Royal’s ‘Tour’ were also based on compositions engraved by Thomas Bowles and sold by Thomas and John Bowles, Robert Sayer, and Henry Overton, and the composition of these plates reflects the requirements of a specific genre of topographical prints that these men sold.24 These men were known for selling ‘Perspective Views’, a type of print that was designed to be viewed using mirror devices.25 The mirror devices used the combination of a reflector and a concave mirror to create a three-dimensional effect.26 They had a critical impact on compositions: in order for the devices to work well, they required prints with strong perspectival lines and exaggerated depth, and in view of these criteria, compositions often displayed pronounced angles, large buildings in the foreground, and streets 22 The drawings respectively measure 8.3 x 14.3 cm and 7.8 x 14.1 cm. Samuel Wale, ‘St. Bartholomews Hospital’, ‘London Bridge’. 23 McKellar, p. 97. 24 Clayton, pp. 140-141. 25 A Catalogue […] Printed for John Bowles, p. 72. 26 Nurse, p. 5.

196 

Jocelyn Anderson

33. ‘A Perspective View of the New Church in the Strand’, from The Royal Magazine 7 (1762). The Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto.

which were ‘unusually wide at their start’.27 These criteria influenced the magazine artists’ works: for instance, the exaggerated depth and height in the magazine’s view of St. Mary le Strand, qualities that made the church an even more spectacular subject, are legacies of the perspective view print that the magazine artist relied on as a source (even the title of the illustration acknowledges this, though there is no evidence that the Royal specifically expected readers to try and look at its illustrations with a mirror device) (Figure 33). In addition to being adapted for specific images, perspective view prints had an indirect influence on the magazine’s plates via the illustrations from London: Wale had connections to the Bowles and he appears to have drawn on their prints while working on the London illustrations.28 The selection of specific illustrations and prints to adapt for the Royal suggests specific criteria were kept in mind. Many of the images adapted depicted buildings that could dominate the centre of a composition; sites defined by large open spaces, 27 Blake, pp. 120-121. 28 For example, in 1751, John Bowles published a view of The Lord Mayor’s Mansion House after a drawing by Samuel Wale: Fourdrinier, The Lord Mayor’s Mansion House.

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis 

197

such as squares, were avoided, even though those sites were also of interest to visitors to the city. Many of the buildings represented were praised for their architectural significance; for example, the magazine declared that St. Mary-le-Bow ‘is a handsome structure, chiefly admired for the elegance of its steeple […] It is thought to be the most beautiful object of its kind in England’.29 However, there were notable exceptions to this rule: the article on St. James’s Palace, for instance, states that ‘This palace claims a print, as it is the dwelling of a British monarch, having otherwise not the least beauty to recommend it’.30 Regardless of perceived architectural merit, each plate was typically designed to focus attention on a specific building, framing and subtly distorting the space to show it to the best advantage, just as Wale’s views and the perspective view prints had done. Although the Royal’s series does not offer an explanation as to why it illustrates some buildings and not others, it is likely that the illustration subjects were chosen because they were points of touristic interest in London that lent themselves to compositions with maximum scenic impact on the page, compositions that would thus be engaging for the virtual tourist. In adapting previously published images to create the magazine illustrations, the artists working on the plates prioritized effect over accuracy. There are some important discrepancies between the information about the buildings that was presented in the magazine’s articles and the plates that depicted the buildings. For instance, the article about St. Mary le Strand noted that ‘the situation of the west front is as happy as can be wished for being viewed at a distance’, but ‘a watch-house being erected in the middle of the street, directly before it, […] in a great measure spoils the prospect’; in the plate accompanying the article, however, the artist has excluded the offending watch-house (Figure 33).31 Similarly, in the article which describes the Mansion House, the text notes, ‘[I]n the front there is not a sufficient area to enlighten the building: nor can it ever be viewed to advantage, unless […] a broad street, as wide as the edifice itself, opened before it’; in the magazine plate, however, the view is ideal.32 The challenge of sufficient space to view buildings properly was not unique to the Mansion House, and, in general, tourists actually walking through the city could not have seen the buildings nearly as well as the magazine reader can. Not only were the scenes opened up through careful adjustments to the urban space, they often displayed the type of enhanced perspective that was common in perspective view prints, and this approach had important consequences for scale, depth, and space. In the view of St. Mary le Strand, the street draws the eye deep into the distant city, and the height of the church is exaggerated 29 ‘Tour’, RM 5, p. 222. 30 ‘Tour’, RM 10, p. 25. 31 ‘Tour’, RM 7, pp. 289-290. It is visible in other views of the site: Bowles, A View of Somerset House. 32 ‘Tour’, RM 6, p. 290.

198 

Jocelyn Anderson

34. James Hulett, ‘Monument’, from The Royal Magazine 4 (1761). The Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto.

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis 

199

35. ‘Front of the Royal Exchange’, from The Royal Magazine 6 (1762). The Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto.

such that ‘it appears to dominate the façade of old Somerset House to the right’.33 The magazine plates often enhanced height in particular: in the plates depicting the Monument and Bow Steeple, for instance, the magazine artists depicted significant space in the foregrounds, as if to better emphasize how these structures tower over their surroundings (Figure 34). This approach to the representation of space was a legacy of earlier images, but it was also critical to staging the buildings as spectacles a reader might imagine seeing while moving through the city. The style of the tour illustrations was comparatively spare, and each building or structure was somewhat simplified. The emphasis was on the lines, planes, and volumetric forms of each building, with limited attention to architectural ornaments. In the view of the Monument, for instance, the sculptural relief on the base has been depicted through faint scratches which allude to the relief’s presence without actually representing it; at the same time, the vertical lines on the column are highlighted with such forceful shadows that the Monument almost appears to be square rather than circular (Figure 34). Similarly, in the magazine’s view of the Royal Exchange, the building’s richly carved capitals are reduced to loosely sketched shapes which clearly indicate that the building was ornamented with classical columns, but the plate offers so little detail that, for many columns, the order is unclear (Figure 35). Both these views include depictions of the surrounding 33 O’Connell, p. 176.

200 

Jocelyn Anderson

buildings, and the treatment of these buildings is typical of how the plates depict background structures: they are represented through a simple formula of white walls, black rectangles to represent windows, and angular rooflines occasionally punctuated with a chimney. This style is almost cursory, as if the intention was to depict a single building and merely suggest the rest of the space so that the primary subject was suitably staged for the reader. The sketchiness of the surroundings adds an unreal note to the images, but it is effective in focusing attention on the primary building depicted. This distancing from reality is further enhanced by the relative emptiness of the plates: London was often described as highly crowded, but the plates are not. The magazine’s images show relatively little in the way of people moving through or working in the city, especially compared with the earlier precedents; for example, in Thomas Bowles’s view of the Monument from 1752, the surrounding street is filled with several coaches and carts, people on horseback, three cattle and a small herd of sheep, a man with a wheelbarrow, and a few dogs, and alongside the road, there are shopkeepers, shoppers, deliverymen, and pedestrians.34 In contrast, the street in the magazine plate is practically deserted, occupied by only a single dog, a horse and carriage, and a waggon (Figure 34). Several plates in the series are similarly occupied, but others, such as the views of St. Paul’s Cathedral and Westminster Abbey, have no figures at all. This emptiness was not at all representative of typical London streets: the route from the Royal Exchange and St. Paul’s towards Charing Cross was one which would normally have been dense with pedestrians and traffic; eighteenth-century city streets were often associated with noise, dirt, smells, and, in London especially, smog, and the crowded nature of mid-eighteenth-century London was an important subject in visual culture.35 The Royal’s ‘Tour’ presents a different view of the city: its illustrations are images of a clean-lined, spacious metropolis with expansive openness, as if London were a city of large courtyards, broad streets, and empty spaces occupied by grand buildings, a city that would be easy for a tourist to move through. The Royal’s images were part of a network of images of buildings in London. Several magazine illustrations reflect the combined influence of Wale’s work in London and perspective view prints more broadly. In the plate depicting the Custom House, for example, the angle of the building and some of the figures echo the illustration of the building in London, but the view has been expanded to show a longer stretch of the embankment and the river itself, as one might expect in a perspective view print (Figure 36). The characteristics of the book illustration and the perspective view print had helped shape the style of the magazine plates, and 34 Bowles, Monument of London. 35 Corfield, pp. 144-145; Cruickshank and Burton, pp. 3-22; Hallett, pp. 146-162; Hitchcock, p. 170.

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis 

201

36. ‘A Perspective View of the Custom House’, from The Royal Magazine 4 (1761). The Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto.

compositionally, all three types of images presented views that were ideal for the virtual tourist. The interconnections between these images cannot be emphasized enough: the Royal was copying and adapting material, very little of which was truly original. The magazine remixed and presented these images and narratives in an entwined sequential tour, giving consumers multiple cues that directed their virtual movements. The series thus offered a representation of London as a city of touristic spectacle, where visitors went from attraction to attraction. Virtual motion was foundational to the series: it brought coherence, continuity, and structure to the tour, and it facilitated readers’ engagement with accounts of the city’s architecture, ensuring that a wide array of buildings was smoothly brought together in a narrative of urban grandeur.

Moving through the City: The Pleasures of Touring The tourist’s viewpoint is a common recurring motif throughout the articles in the series. Movements are constantly used to position the reader and tie the series together: out of twenty-two articles that illustrate and describe buildings or outdoor monuments, nineteen begin with a reference to the movement of the tour; for example, the ‘Tour’ article published in January 1762 begins with the explanation ‘From St. Sepulchre’s church we passed down Snow-hill, into Holburn, and stopped

202 

Jocelyn Anderson

at the church of St. Andrew’s’.36 Movement is also critical to the treatment of selected structures. In some texts, readers are presented with detailed descriptions of ornaments that are not depicted in the plates, as if the magazine is inviting readers to imagine themselves moving closer to the building to examine it up close. The article discussing the Monument, for instance, includes descriptions of its sculptural reliefs and transcriptions of its inscriptions (Figure 34).37 The series also incorporates descriptions of visits to the interiors of the sites discussed; some of these interiors, such as those of the British Museum and Northumberland House, were places to which public access was partially restricted, and by including these sections, the reader is positioned as not only a tourist, but a highly privileged one. The emphasis on movement is pictorial as well as textual. In general, the use of a perspective view of a building implies a spectator: unlike a plan or an elevation (both of which occasionally appeared in magazines), a view represents a building in an illusionistic space, as if the image is a sight a person might encounter while visiting London. As mentioned previously, the magazine’s virtual tour is populated, albeit relatively sparsely: over half the architectural views included one or more staffage figures, and these figures played an important role in invoking motion within the series.38 The numbers and details of figures may have been a reflection of practical considerations in that the magazine engravers were somewhat constrained by the medium (and likely even more so by the need to produce plates quickly).39 Even though they were modest, however, staffage figures could be useful to the compositions because they could help suggest the sizes of the buildings depicted. 40 Although the figures’ small scale often precluded the inclusion of facial details and it is not always possible to determine exactly what a figure is doing, the majority of figures in the series are caught in motion (frozen mid-step, for instance) or pausing during a walk (this is the best explanation for figures who appear in the middle of a road, sidewalk, or courtyard). These figures are thus crucial to animating the series and imbuing the buildings and monuments with urban life, and they were complemented by texts with similar cues of movement and tourism. Several figures who appear in the magazine plates are clearly engaged in specific activities. The figures shown with tricorn hats and walking sticks are gentlemen, 36 ‘Tour’, RM 6, p. 16. 37 ‘Tour’, RM 4, pp. 122-124. 38 The views of St. Paul’s Cathedral, Mansion House, Temple Church, Northumberland House, St. Martin-in-the-Fields, Westminster Abbey, the House of Lords, St. James’s Palace, and the British Museum do not include figures. ‘Tour’, RM 4, plate opposite p. 265; ‘Tour’, RM 6, plate opposite p. 289.;‘Tour’, RM 7, plate opposite p. 81; ‘Tour’, RM 8, plates opposite pp. 19, 57, 169; ‘Tour’, RM 9, plate opposite p. 281; ‘Tour’, RM 10, plates opposite pp. 24, 88. 39 Adams, p. 107. 40 Ibid.

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis 

203

37. ‘Gresham College’, from The Royal Magazine 5 (1761). © British Library Board (P.P.5441).

and these figures are often stationary, as if they have paused during their own walks through the city to contemplate and discuss the spaces before them. Theoretically, of course, they could be discussing anything, but given that the articles construct a privileged tourist, these figures can be interpreted as pictorial equivalents, and they thus help define the space as a space of spectacle, as if London’s buildings are objects for visual consumption.41 The leisured tourist is most prominent in the plate accompanying the article about Gresham College (Figure 37). Based on one of Wale’s illustrations for London, this plate shows two gentlemen walking around the courtyard.42 One man uses his walking stick to gesture towards a column while his companion appears to be listening to him speak; at the centre of the image, a boy looks out across the courtyard, occupying the very position the reader is given by the text. In this view, Gresham College is presented primarily as an architectural attraction for tourists. The opportunity to view London through a virtual tour was not only implied by figures depicted, it was emphasized through magazine articles that stressed the reader’s movements around the city and through buildings. Texts and illustrations work in tandem here to suggest motion. The description of a visit to St.

41 For a discussion of this scenography in Wale’s work in London and its Environs, see McKellar, p. 71. 42 Dodsley, vol. 3, plate between pp. 76 and 77.

204 

Jocelyn Anderson

Bartholomew’s Hospital, for instance, highlights movement through the streets and entry into the space: We now returned from Aldersgate-street, and turned up Little Britain, to St. Bartholomew’s hospital, situated near the upper end of Little Britain, and on the south-east side of Smithfield. […] [T]his hospital altogether forms a very elegant building, or rather buildings, for the sides which compose the quadrangle do not join at the angles as usual, but by four walls, each having a large gate, through which you pass into the area, as may be seen in the print annexed. 43

In this passage, the hospital is presented as a potential attraction for the London tourist, a possibility confirmed by the two gentlemen represented in the view: they stand at rest, well-dressed and erect in posture, and they are clearly observing the hospital, in sharp contrast to the patient at the centre of the scene, who is using crutches to walk (Figure 38). The emphasis on the tourist’s movement is similarly apparent in the article on the Royal Exchange: the foreground of the image shows gentlemen who have stopped while walking, and the text makes multiple references to movements: ‘Leaving the Bank of England, we crossed Threadneedle-street to the Royal Exchange […] From the Royal Exchange we crossed Threadneedle-street, to the church of St. Bartholomew […] Leaving this church, we again passed through the Royal Exchange’ (Figure 35). 44 The article reads as if the reader is being taken along on a tour, and the presence of the gentlemen in the image reinforces the impression of leisurely movement: one gentleman has paused, leaning on his walking stick, while another gentleman appears to be approaching the front of the building. The overall emphasis on the reader’s position as a tourist viewing the city is heightened by the inclusion of signs of London’s commercial activities. Some of these signs are part of the plates themselves: in some images, the spectator figures are juxtaposed with other figures who are clearly in motion and working. In the view of the Royal Exchange, for instance, the man carrying a bundle on his shoulders is certainly a worker; the scene also includes a grand carriage and a working cart driving by (Figure 35). Similarly, the view of the Custom House shows figures at work on the wharves (pulling a horse and cart) and on the river itself (manning small boats) (Figure 36), and the view of the Tower of London includes tall ships on the river as well as a handful of small boats. 45 The articles accompanying these plates included brief comments about the trade that occurred at these sites; for 43 ‘Tour’, RM 5, pp. 278-279. 44 ‘Tour’, RM 6, pp. 217-220. 45 ‘Tour’, RM 4, plate opposite p. 24.

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis 

205

38. James Hulett, ‘St. Bartholomew’s Hospital’, from The Royal Magazine 5 (1761). © British Library Board (P.P.5441).

instance, the magazine reported that at the Custom House, ‘the whole business of the customs, which now amount to above two millions annually, is transacted with amazing order and regularity’. 46 Such details connected the grandeur of the architecture to the city’s economy and provided readers with subtle reminders of London’s role as a nexus of trade. In including these reminders in the ‘Tour’, the magazine underscored the touristic detachment of the reader, and it presented the reader with a view of the city in which architectural grandeur is a symbol of civic strength as well as a visual spectacle. Overall, the ‘Tour’ has multiple cues to remind the reader of the pleasures of looking while touring, and these cues strengthen the underlying idea of the city as a spectacle to move through. Miles Ogborn has argued that in A Brief Description of the Cities of London and Westminster (1776), another alphabetical guide to the city, London was ‘presented as a series of sites to be visited’ and that, as a result, it became ‘above all else, something to look at, and this looking reveals the city’s greatness’. 47 Thanks to the combination of plates and cues within the articles, the concept of the city as ‘something to look at’ is far more powerful in the Royal series (the Brief Description does not have illustrations). Yet while Ogborn’s connections among tourism, architectural spectacle, and civic prestige might also be applied to other topographical works (including London and its Environs 46 ‘Ibid., p. 59. For the Royal Exchange, see ‘Tour’, RM 6, p. 220. 47 Ogborn, p. 109.

206 

Jocelyn Anderson

Described and the perspective view prints), the magazine ‘Tour’ is ultimately a unique publication, and it brings these themes together in a narrative in which motion plays a critical role. From the beginning of its ‘Tour’, the Royal Magazine invited its readers to enjoy the pleasures of viewing and touring the city, even as they reflected on the city’s history and its political and economic power. Describing a view from the Tower of London, for instance, the magazine declared ‘you have a fine prospect of the shipping and boats […] [a] sight which cannot fail of pleasing the eye of every spectator; and at the same time of conveying a very advantageous idea of the commerce of London’. 48 Here, there is no question of the reader’s position: the reader is a tourist, a spectator in the city. As the ‘Tour’ progresses, the magazine celebrates the delights of viewing buildings and moving around them and between them, from the ‘stately column’ that is the Monument to the ‘noble, modern edifice’ that is the Horse Guards Palace; the articles repeatedly locate the reader in specific locations and outline how the reader is virtually moving through the streets.49 The illustrations solidify the reader’s position: London’s buildings and monuments are represented in a style that is defined by visual spectacle rather than accuracy, as if the sole purpose in representing the buildings was to offer ideal views. For the Royal’s readers, then, the ‘Tour’ of London was an opportunity to acquire illustrations of the nation’s capital, and it was also an opportunity to imagine themselves as privileged people visiting it. For Coote, the construct of a virtual tour and all its attendant verbal and pictorial references to motion offered a coherent structure for the texts and images that he had largely adapted and modified from other sources, sources he remixed to create his own cultural product. He would have known that actual travel was beyond many of his readers, and he was positioning his magazine as a product that offered them an alternative. Through the Royal’s ‘Tour’, consumers could view the city’s grandeur and share its pride – no matter what their real experience of the city was.

Works Cited Manuscript Sources Wale, Samuel. ‘London Bridge’. B1986.29.250. Yale Center for British Art, New Haven. Wale, Samuel. ‘St. Bartholomews Hospital’. B1986.29.248. Yale Center for British Art, New Haven. 48 ‘Tour’, RM 4, p. 59. 49 Ibid., p. 121; ‘Tour’, RM 8, p. 113.

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis 

207

Primary Printed Sources Bowles, Thomas. The Monument of London in Remembrance of the Dreadful Fire in 1666. 1752. B1977.14.17603. Yale Center for British Art, New Haven. Bowles, Thomas. A View of Somerset House with St. Mary’s Church in the Strand. 1753. B1977.14.18411. Yale Center for British Art, New Haven. A Catalogue […] Printed for John Bowles. London: John Bowles, 1768. Dodsley, Robert. London and Its Environs Described. 6 vols. London: R. and J. Dodsley, 1761. Fourdrinier, Paul (after Samuel Wale). The Lord Mayor’s Mansion House. 1751. 1880,1113.3619. British Museum, London. ‘From the Royal Magazine, for March 1760’. The New-Hampshire Gazette (29 August 1760). ‘From the Royal Magazine’. The Newport Mercury (26 February 1770). Lloyd’s Evening Post and British Chronicle 541 (31 December 1760-2 January 1761). Lloyd’s Evening Post and British Chronicle 555 (2-4 February 1761). London Chronicle 641 (31 January-3 February 1761). London Evening Post 4945 (14-17 July 1759). London Evening Post 5177 (3-6 January 1761). Public Advertiser 7745 (31 August 1759). Public Advertiser 7773 (5 October 1759). Public Advertiser 8163 (2 January 1761). Public Advertiser 8189 (2 February 1761). The Public Ledger, or, The Daily Register of Commerce and Intelligence 305 (1 January 1761). The Public Ledger, or, The Daily Register of Commerce and Intelligence 331 (31 January 1761). The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 3 (1760). The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 5 (1761). The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 8 (1763). ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and the Parts Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 4 (1761): 24-31, 57-59, 121-125, 265-273. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Parts Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 5 (1761): 221-225, 277-281. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Parts Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 6 (1762): 16-19, 217-221, 289-291. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Parts Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 7 (1762): 80-83, 288-291. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Places Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 8 (1763): 16-20, 57-59, 113-118, 169-173.

208 

Jocelyn Anderson

‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Places Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 9 (1763): 17-22, 57-62, 113-118, 281-287. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Places Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 10 (1764): 24-26, 88-94. Whitehall Evening Post, or, London Intelligencer 2310 (3-6 January 1761).

Secondary Sources Adams, Bernard. London Illustrated, 1604-1851. London: The Library Association, 1983. Alexander, David. ‘“Alone Worth Treble the Price”: Illustrations in 18th-Century English Magazines’. In A Millennium of the Book: Production, Design & Illustration in Manuscript & Print, 900-1900. Edited by Robin Myers and Michael Harris. Winchester: St. Paul’s Bibliographies, 1994. 107-133. Anderson, Jocelyn. ‘Elegant Engravings of the Pacific: Illustrations of James Cook’s Expeditions in British Eighteenth-Century Magazines’. British Art Studies 7 (November 2017). DOI: https://doi.org/10.17658/issn.2058-5462/issue-07/janderson. Anderson, Jocelyn. Touring and Publicizing England’s Country Houses in the Long Eighteenth Century. New York: Bloomsbury, 2018. Anderson, Jocelyn. ‘Eighteenth-Century Magazine Illustration and Copper Plates Coloured from Nature’. Lumen: Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for EighteenthCentury Studies 39 (2020): 79-111. Blake, Erin C. ‘Topographical Prints through the Zograscope’. Imago Mundi 54 (2002): 120-124. Bracken, James K., and Joel Silver. The British Literary Book Trade, 1700-1820. Detroit: Gale Research, 1995. Clayton, Timothy. The English Print, 1688-1802. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997. Corfield, Penelope J. ‘Walking the City Streets: The Urban Odyssey in Eighteenth-Century England’. Journal of Urban History 16, no. 2 (1990): 132-174. Cruickshank, Dan, and Neil Burton. Life in the Georgian City. London: Viking, 1990. Fergus, Jan. Provincial Readers in Eighteenth-Century England. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Hallett, Mark. ‘The View across the City: William Hogarth and the Visual Culture of Eighteenth-Century London’. In Hogarth: Representing Nature’s Machines. Edited by David Bindman, Frédéric Ogée, and Peter Wagner. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001. 146-162. Helsinger, Elizabeth. ‘Turner and the Representation of England’. In Landscape and Power. Edited by W. J. T. Mitchell. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2002. 103-125.

A Paper Tour of the Metropolis 

209

Hitchcock, Tim. ‘The Publicity of Poverty’. In Imagining Early Modern London: Perceptions and Portrayals of the City from Stow to Strype, 1598-1720. Edited by J. F. Merritt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. 166-184. Hudson, Hannah Doherty. ‘“This Lady is Descended from a Good Family”: Women and Biography in British Magazines, 1770-1798’. In Women’s Periodicals and Print Culture in Britain, 1690-1820s. Edited by Jennie Batchelor and Manushag N. Powell. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2018. 278-293. Latham, Sean, and Robert Scholes. ‘The Rise of Periodical Studies’. PMLA 121, no. 2 (2006): 517-531. McCreery, Cindy. ‘Keeping up with the Bon Ton: The Tête-à-Tête Series in the Town and Country Magazine’. In Gender in Eighteenth-Century England: Roles, Representations and Responsibilities. Edited by Hannah Barker and Elaine Chalus. London: Routledge, 1997. 207-229. McKellar, Elizabeth. Landscapes of London: The City, the Country and the Suburbs 1660-1840. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2013. Nurse, Bernard. London: Prints & Drawings before 1800. Oxford: Bodleian Library, 2017. O’Connell, Sheila. London 1753. London: The British Museum Press, 2003. Ogborn, Miles. Spaces of Modernity: London’s Geographies, 1680-1780. London: The Guildford Press, 1998. Pitcher, Edward W. R. Discoveries in Periodicals, 1720-1820: Facts and Fictions. Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 2000. Raven, James. The Business of Books. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2007. Solomon, Harry M. The Rise of Robert Dodsley: Creating the New Age of Print. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1996.

About the Author Jocelyn Anderson is an art historian whose recent research focuses on modern Canadian art and on art and the British Empire. She received her Ph.D. from the University of London (Courtauld Institute of Art) in 2013. Anderson is based in Toronto, where she works with the Art Canada Institute.

8. Libraries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Library (1450-1770) James W. P. Campbell

Abstract Libraries are usually thought of as quiet, still spaces and imagined empty. This chapter takes the opportunity to re-examine the library as a space by looking at how it physically altered in the early modern period with the advent of printing and the changes that this brought about. It looks at the types of movement encountered in the library setting: the movements of people (librarians, visitors, readers), books (including their chains and security), and library fittings (of shelves, ladders, and secret doors) in an attempt to show libraries in a new light, quite often empty but, when used, full of movement in unexpected and interesting ways. Keywords: library books, shelving, libraries, readers, librarians

This chapter looks at movement in a particular architectural space. The library brings up all sorts of questions when we consider it in terms of movement.1 The first and perhaps most important is: what do we mean when we talk about discussing movement in a space? There are many possibilities, and this chapter will attempt to explore some of them, although no doubt the reader will be able to think of even more. The question of the extent to which those moving through the spaces at the time considered themselves in motion and reflected upon it in those terms is not so easy to discern, and inevitably this paper is exploring what might have been the case from the limited evidence available.2 However, the project is not without any foundation: the library itself changed dramatically in layout in the early modern 1 A good introduction to this type of thinking applied to libraries is Skelton, ‘Malleable Early Modern Reader’, which looks particularly at the Bodleian Library in Oxford. 2 For an excellent account of the problems involved, see Skelton, Paradox of Body, which shows how motion provides an interesting way of looking afresh at architecture of the period but also shows how little those at the time wrote about architecture in these terms.

Skelton, K. (ed.), Early Modern Spaces in Motion: Design, Experience, and Rhetoric. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2021 doi 10.5117/9789463725811_ch08

212 

James W. P. Campbell

period, and this gives us an opportunity to discuss how those changes must have affected movement with some certainty.

Libraries Before looking at the specific issue of movement, it is perhaps worth briefly addressing what we mean by a library.3 In this period, the library was almost never a freestanding building, but rather a room in a larger institution. The extent to which this room was ‘designed’ will, as we shall see, vary greatly across the period. The library was almost never conceived by a single individual. 4 The room itself was usually built and set out by an architect or stonemason, while the fittings were pieces of furniture that were added or fitted in by joiners or cabinetmakers. Plaster, paintwork, and decoration were sometimes then added to ‘finish off’ the space. It is thus important to see the library as the creation of many individuals, not a single mind, much like the collection it contained. However, what is key to understand is that the library was not just a room, but also the fittings, loose furniture, decorative scheme, the books themselves, other objects, and the people who used the spaces. When you entered a library, all these had to be negotiated in your attempt to move through the space and engage with its contents. The movement of people was, however, only one type of movement in the library.

Movement This chapter will consider three types of movement. First, it will consider the movement of people.5 That is, not just the readers, but also the other inhabitants of libraries. Who were they, and how did they gain access to and move in the space of the library and how did this change during the period? This includes the physical movement of bodies and the movement of the eye across the space and the way the library was laid out to encourage or inhibit this. The second part will look at 3 For an extensive bibliography and history of the building type, see Campbell, pp. 313-314. The best introductions to libraries remain Harris; Battles; Lerner. For England, the best study is the magisterial Cambridge History of Libraries (3 vols.) which has superseded Wormald and Wright. French library history is covered in Jolly, Vernet, Varry, and Poulian. For German history, see Buzas. In terms of the buildings themselves, see Clark; Pevsner; Cosme; Campbell. 4 Garberson, pp. 100-104; Campbell, esp. pp. 20, 176. 5 This was also the focus of Skelton ‘Malleable Early Modern Reader’, who was less concerned with the other aspects being considered here. Skelton’s The Paradox of Body, Building and Motion in SeventeenthCentury England places the theme of motion in a wider architectural context.

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

213

the movement of the contents of the library, its books and papers: the items which the library stored and aimed to make available both for display and use.6 Then, lastly, there is the movement of the parts of the library to enable the other actions to happen. That is, the hinging of cupboards, the opening of cabinets, the folding out of stairs, and the wonderful ingenuity shown in creating moving bookcases and hidden doors to produce the secret worlds within worlds which were the back spaces of the early modern library.7 This approach, through the lens of movement, enables us to look afresh at those extraordinary and magical spaces that were some of the fascinating architectural creations of the early modern period.

Libraries and People The early modern period is defined by changes in the way people used libraries, the form of the furniture and fittings, and the shape of the spaces that contained them. The period is usually taken to begin with the birth of printing and the use of paper. These eventually led to greater numbers of books and the decrease in their value and altered the way people used libraries, accessed them, and moved around them. However the change was gradual, and, at the beginning of the period, the library was indistinguishable from its medieval counterpart. In the Middle Ages, book collections were much smaller than is generally imagined.8 Private collections were, in general, stored in book chests.9 Monastic or collegiate collections were sometimes larger but rarely exceeded a few hundred volumes.10 The library as a collection of books in a specific place often started out as a cupboard (in Latin, armaria). The earliest were freestanding pieces of furniture, but, by the ninth century, we have examples of large cupboards built physically into the fabric and even small storerooms.11 These ‘libraries’ were essentially dark, windowless vaults.12 In such a collection, the reader had no direct access to the store, which was invariably kept firmly locked.13 The librarian was the keyholder, 6 There are a great many excellent histories of books as objects. Perhaps the most accessible in library terms are Eisenstein; Petroski; Szirmai; Gameson, ‘Material Fabric of Early British Books’; and Brownrigg. 7 Again, Petroski provides the best history of shelving. 8 O’Gorman, p. 3.; Ward, pp. 171, 178. 9 Clark, pp. 292-293; Bell; Petroski, pp. 42-46; Campbell, pp. 79-80; Purcell, pp. 33-34. 10 O’Gorman, p. 3; Ward, p. 171; Campbell, p. 79. 11 On furniture, see Clark, pp. 40-43, 86-88; Gameson, ‘Medieval Library (to c. 1450)’, pp. 19-21; Campbell, pp. 79-82. On storerooms, see Clark, pp. 84-89; Pradié, p. 170; Gameson, ‘Medieval Library (to c. 1450)’, p. 21. 12 Clark, pp. 72-85; Gameson, ‘Medieval Library (to c. 1450)’, pp. 15-18. 13 Clark, pp. 55-66.

214 

James W. P. Campbell

39. Biblioteca Malatestiana, Cesena, Italy, 1447-1452. Photograph by permission of Will Pryce (www.willpryce. com). This shows the form of a typical southern European lectern library of the late Middle Ages and early modern period.

the guardian of the books, and he (and perhaps his assistant) was the only person to know where and how they were stored inside the rooms or cupboards.14 They controlled who could see what and when.15 In most monasteries, brothers borrowed books to study and returned them after a defined period.16 The creation of a space specifically devoted to reading seems initially to have happened in the cloisters, the cloisters themselves being adapted to create reading carrels.17 It is only in the late thirteenth century that the first dedicated library rooms appear.18 The setting out of the furniture in these rooms is a matter for debate. There are very few descriptions, and the earliest surviving examples are very late.19 However, these suggest that, from the beginning, a system that was to last for over 14 Sharpe, pp. 218-242. 15 Ibid. 16 Clark, pp. 56-70; for a longer discussion, see Lucas. 17 Clark, pp. 70-73, 88-92; Gameson, ‘Medieval Library (to c. 1450)’, pp. 18-21; Campbell, pp. 80-83. 18 O’Gorman, p. 16; Gameson, ‘Medieval Library (to c. 1450)’, pp. 28-37; Campbell, p. 85. 19 Ibid.

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

215

300 years prevailed of placing books on lecterns in neat rows, with benches fitted to them for readers to sit on (Figure 39). Despite what some writers have implied, the lecterns were normally not set out on a rigid grid, in line with the vaults above.20 Indeed, even in the Laurentian Library (1525-1571), which was purpose designed, the furniture feels separate from the room. It was not completed until forty-two years after it had been commissioned and seven years after Michelangelo’s death.21 Typically, the rooms were built first and the lecterns designed later, and there is no visual link between the furniture and the enclosing space.

Chained Lectern Libraries There is no clear break between medieval practice and the first early modern libraries created around the time of the invention of printing. Zutphen (1555) in the Netherlands and the Malatestiana in Cesena, which are usually cited as giving the best idea of what a medieval library might have been like, actually both belong to the early modern period. No original medieval examples of library furniture survive intact, but the evidence we have suggests that they followed the same basic form. The Malatestiana library was built between 1447 and 1452 and attached originally to a Franciscan monastery (Figure 39). The books, specifically copied out by hand for it on parchment, sit in their original positions on the same shelves. Any visitor in the past would have entered then, as now, through the great door. This is the only way in and the only way out. It is firmly locked. Then, as now, the unlocking of the door is an act of considerable drama with not one, but two, keys. The great doors swing open to reveal the room beyond. The room is large, but one should not imagine it was ever full. The nature of the chained library means that the number of desks fits the number of books, not the number of readers. Readers would be led by the librarian to the place where the books they wanted were chained and sat down there. It is doubtful that there was ever more than a handful of readers in this enormous space. Although the furniture is carefully designed, there is no space for the librarian, who appears to have been expected to stand. With all the readers facing in the same direction, the librarian could observe from behind and pace the rows, and this no doubt is exactly what happened. While chains prevented the stealing of volumes, they did not prevent the removal of pages or their defacement. The library is designed to make surveillance easy: all the lecterns face the same way. The librarian walking around the aisles can see over the shoulders of the readers. 20 Skelton, ‘Malleable Early Modern Reader’, p. 184. 21 Wittkower, pp. 123-218; Corti and Parronchi, pp. 9-31.

216 

James W. P. Campbell

In the Malatestiana, the main access is down the centre aisle, but once a reader is in his seat, he restricts movement down the length of the whole bench. Generous side aisles are thus provided to allow a new reader to slide in without disturbing a reader already engrossed in his work and to allow the librarians to pace the perimeter of the room. They also allow easy circulation for visitors, when books could be arranged open on the desks for display. How frequently such visits happened, if at all, no doubt varied according to the practice of the particular institution. As we will see, in later libraries, visitors became an important consideration in library design.

Differences in Lectern Libraries between North and South So few lectern libraries survive with their furniture intact that it is difficult to say what the typical arrangement was. However, there is a discernible difference between southern European examples, where documents suggest that, like the Malatestiana and Laurentian lecterns, all faced in the same direction, and the surviving northern ones, like Zutphen (1555) and Lincoln, which were double-sided, with a bench shared between two opposing desks.22 The shared bench further restricted movement in the library. Not only could readers not sit at the same place to look at two books which were shelved close together (the books not being able to move), but they could also not usually sit back to back on the same piece of bench (the benches normally being too narrow to allow more than one set of buttocks to rest). Readers must sometimes have found themselves awkwardly close together, side by side facing the same way or in opposite directions. In northern libraries, the lecterns also tended to be shoved against the walls to get maximum light from the windows.23 Getting past readers to get to a book near the window involved a shuffling procedure all too familiar to those who ride buses or trains on a regular basis. If the early modern library had been crowded with people, this arrangement of desks would have made movement difficult, with readers constantly pushing past each other, but, in practice, it is doubtful overcrowding was ever an issue. Just as most medieval college and monastic libraries were tiny, so their numbers of readers were also small.24 The post of librarian was given to one of the Fellows 22 Clark, pp. 145-164; Streeter, pp. 9-42; Petroski, pp. 63-73; Gameson, ‘Medieval Library (to c. 1450)’, pp. 33-37; Campbell, pp. 85-89, 108-110. Only one desk survives in Lincoln, and its date is uncertain. 23 Ibid. 24 The original statutes of Queens’ College, Cambridge, allowed for twelve Fellows and three scholars. By the middle of the sixteenth century, this had risen to nineteen Fellows. In 1547 in Cambridge, there were just 500-600 undergraduates in the whole university. Morgan, p. 114.

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

217

(academics), normally presumably the one most likely to use the library, and usually there were statutes laid down for their duties. Many Oxbridge colleges restricted the everyday use of the library to the Fellows, and there were rarely more than a few dozen of these in the whole college, of whom perhaps half were not normally even resident. Even those Fellows who were in residence did not necessarily need to use the library, as they were allowed to borrow books from a part of the collection assigned specifically for that purpose.25 Some provision was made for visitors to be allowed to read the chained collections under supervision, but only on written application, and this was presumably infrequent and no more than one or two at a time.26 It can be safely assumed that, on most days, college libraries remained firmly locked, and even on those days when they were open, they had no more than a handful of readers. The Cambridge University Library did not admit students until the late nineteenth century.27 In the early modern period, undergraduates typically arrived at university when they were fourteen years old, considerably younger than their modern counterparts. The ideas of students openly accessing collections we are so used to today are entirely anachronistic. Access to books was generally privileged and difficult to obtain, with notable exceptions to be discussed below.

Private Collections If movement in institutional medieval collections was peculiar and infrequent, private collections were even more restricted. In the period before printing, a private collection could be easily housed in one or more book chests, and because of the rarity and value of the books, they were likely to have spent most of their time under lock and key.28 The situation is vividly expressed by the descriptions of Henry VIII’s collections, which were stored in what amounted to storerooms, piled high with books and papers covered in dust without any order.29 Moving around such a room would have been difficult. The images we get in this period of scholars in their studies are almost certainly unreliable and idealized.30 They show tidy large rooms with neat shelving and improbably complicated desks. The reality was more likely to be books stacked on the floor and a simple reading lectern or table. 25 The risk of theft of such books was real, and few of these borrowable books have survived. Ibid., pp. 167-170. 26 Lovatt, p. 172. 27 Ibid., pp. 170-171. 28 Clark, pp. 292-293; Bell; Petroski, pp. 42-46; Campbell, pp. 79-80; Purcell, pp. 33-34. 29 Battles, p. 92. 30 For many of these images, see Petroski, pp. 100-120.

218 

James W. P. Campbell

From Sitting to Standing It is not possible using the sources available to trace the chronological development of early modern library furniture with any great accuracy.31 The sitting lectern is assumed to have been the norm in medieval libraries. Possibly at the same time but more probably later, we see the development of the standing lectern. The earliest images and surviving examples date from the late sixteenth century.32 The standing desk appears in two forms. In the famous engraving of Leiden University Library of 1607, we see rows of shelves with the books arranged above the slope of the desk and lowered onto the desk to be used (Figure 40).33 The books in Leiden were chained. In Trinity Hall (c. 1600), Cambridge and in St. John’s College (1628), Cambridge, the books sit below the lectern and are lifted up onto it.34 Trinity Hall combines a standing lectern with a sitting, pull-out desk, a hybrid form which is found in Queens’ College, Cambridge and may have been used elsewhere.35 The standing lectern changed the way readers and visitors moved around the library. The absence of benches (or, in the case of Trinity Hall, the retraction of the desks) freed up the aisles for movement. It was easier to push past a standing user than a sitting one or to stand back to back. There is also no doubt that the standing position had advantages in terms of back ache and stress. Furthermore, libraries in this period were almost invariably unheated.36 The ban on any type of naked flame was universal, and thus there were no stoves of any kind. As a result, in northern countries in winter, the libraries were only a few degrees warmer than outside, and, as we know from complaints of readers, sitting in them for long periods was virtually unbearable.37 Standing, as anyone who has worked at a standing desk will know, generates a surprising amount of heat and allows the reader to keep warmer, although it certainly does not solve the problem. The lack of heating must have severely restricted the number of people reading in libraries in winter and thus the movement within them. Furthermore, the ban extended to candles, so libraries remained empty and locked for much of the time in winter when it was too dark to read within. 31 For longer discussions, see Petroski, pp. 55-73; Campbell, pp. 106-117. 32 For discussions of standing lecterns, see Campbell, pp. 108-110. 33 For discussion, see Petroski, p. 88; Campbell, pp. 108-110; Skelton ‘Malleable Early Modern Reader’, p. 184 and n. 7. 34 For St. John’s, see Clark, p. 248. 35 For diagrams of these, see Streeter, pp. 28-29. Photographs, Campbell, pp. 109, 118, 119. 36 A rare exception is the Dean’s library at St. Paul’s from the late seventeenth century (for plan, see Clark, pp. 282-284). For fires, see Polastron. 37 For examples of complaints, see Clark, pp. 70-71.

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

219

40. Leiden University Library, Leiden, Netherlands, 1607, showing its standing lecterns which changed the way the readers moved through the space (engraving by Jan Cornelisz Woudanus, 1610). World History Archive/Alamy Stock Photo.

Stalls and Walls The printing revolution that had begun in the 1450s took a surprisingly long time (nearly 150 years) to have an effect on library design.38 Library design then split into two distinct schools.39 In England, a less dramatic adaptation of existing rooms took place, with lecterns being replaced by tall bookcases and integral desks set in their place, at right angles to the wall, forming alcoves or stalls (called the ‘stall system’). There is a temptation to suggest that the seventeenth century saw a distinct move from stall libraries to open hall libraries, but this is not the case. Stall libraries were themselves a seventeenth-century invention, and they were created in this period and in the early eighteenth century. There are no stall libraries from before 1589.40 38 Campbell, pp. 110, 123-125. 39 Ibid., p. 23; the terms are from Clark, pp. 147, 167, 267. 40 Campbell, pp. 110-111. Streeter thought the stall system was much older. Nicholas Ker disproved this, showing clearly that the stalls first appear in Oxford in the 1580s. See Ker, pp. 429-431; Sergeant, pp. 51-65. The mistake is still repeated, e.g. Cosme, p. 70; Lerner, p. 73.

220 

James W. P. Campbell

They were, however, geographically limited to Great Britain. In England, with notable exceptions, the building ranges were retained and the furniture simply remodelled. Elsewhere in Europe, lectern libraries were swept away to be replaced by open halls (an arrangement in library history called the ‘wall system’), often as part of the wholesale demolition of medieval monasteries and their rebuilding in Baroque and Rococo form. As the former is really a development of the existing arrangements, it will be considered f irst before we examine the more radical changes inherent in the wall system.

Stall System The stall system seems to have begun in Oxford in Merton College and the refitting of Duke Humfrey’s Library after the Reformation. 41 In both buildings, the taller cases of the stalls were inserted in existing libraries to replace lecterns. The first and most obvious result is that both libraries became rather dark, the light from the low windows now being blocked by the taller shelves. The central aisles were barely lit at all.42 In Merton, dormer windows were inserted in the roof to attempt to mitigate the effect. 43 During the seventeenth century, many other British libraries were converted from lecterns to stalls but always with the same effect, that the centre of the room became rather dark, making it difficult for the users to navigate around the space.44 It created problems with glare, forcing the users to stop and wait for their eyes to adjust. The stalls also had a dramatic effect on the sightlines of the reader, the stalls isolating readers from each other. These private niches are one of the most attractive features of these libraries. The eye can only see a small part of the room.

The Wall System Design While English collegiate libraries adopted stalls, on the continent of Europe from the sixteenth century, the books were placed in full height presses flat against the walls, leaving the main space open and unencumbered. One of the earliest and most dramatic examples of this type of library was created in 1585 by Juan de Herrera (1550-1597) for Philip II (1527-1598) in the Escorial in Spain. 45 The library 41 Newman, ’Oxford Libraries before 1800’, pp. 248-257; Newman, ‘Architectural Setting’, pp. 146-155; Campbell, p. 113. 42 Campbell, p. 114 and figure on p. 115. 43 Newman, ‘Architectural Setting’, pp. 146-148. 44 Ker, pp. 429-431. 45 Clark, pp. 265-269; Campbell, pp. 120-127.

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

221

is deliberately placed above the main entrance gate and is a vast, two-storey hall, taking up the whole front and lit internally by windows in the vault above. The books are contained in beautifully designed, freestanding, architectural bookcases placed along the walls on each side. The result is a space deliberately designed to impress the viewer and also designed from the outset to be a place for storage and display but not for particularly for reading. As it is part of a vast palace/monastery, there were plenty of other spaces in which books could be read. The intention here was to impress the visitor with the size and splendour of both the collection and the room in which it was housed. It is this new class of people in the library, the visitor, and their movement through the space that begins to affect library design. The need for visitors to be accommodated was driven by the need to prove the importance of the institution. The medieval dictum ‘A monastery without a library is like a military camp without an armoury’ took on a much more serious aspect in Catholic monasteries in the Counter-Reformation. 46 There was naturally more than one school of thought on whether books were necessary, with some claiming that only one book, the Bible, needed to be heeded, but in general the Catholic faith saw more value in being able to fight fire with fire and a library was seen as an essential part of any monastery. 47 The impression these libraries produced was as important as the contents. The basic form of wall system libraries followed a familiar pattern, although the invention, size, scale, and exuberance varied hugely. All these libraries are entered via a staircase or an adjoining corridor. They are usually placed on the first floor, taking up a complete wing or range so that they can have windows on both sides at regular intervals. 48 With rare exceptions, they are entered at one end so as to emphasize the length and maximize the visual impact. The main space is usually very tall. Often, one moves from a deliberately compressed antechamber into the main space so as to emphasize the size. And, of course, the transition is always marked by a locked door, so that the visitor must wait for the librarian to find the key and unlock the chamber before one can enter. The aim of all these libraries is two-fold. First, following the ideas laid down in various seventeenth-century library manuals, they aimed to provide a room where the visitor standing in the central space could see every volume, making the books notionally easy to find.49 Second, as far as possible, the library aimed to show off the scale of the collection in as luxurious a setting as possible, thereby 46 In Latin: ‘claustrum sine armario est quasi castrum sine armamentario’. Dating from about 1170, in Clark, p. 65, citing as the source Martene, Thesaurus anecdotorum, vol. 1, p. 511. 47 Garberson, pp. 18-27; Campbell, p. 204. 48 Campbell, pp. 188-192. For comparative plans, see Adriani; Lehmann. 49 This is particularly true of Clément’s Musei sine bibliothecae tam private quaàm publicae extructio, instructio, cura, usus (1635). For seventeenth-century writers on libraries, see Jolly, Vernet, Varry, and

222 

James W. P. Campbell

emphasizing the value given to knowledge in the institution or, in private collections, by the individual. This produced a completely different sensory experience. In an open library, the viewer is encouraged to look around, and the decoration became increasingly elaborate to encourage this. At its simplest, decoration might be small statues or plaster ceiling decoration or frescoes showing allegorical figures or famous authors in the appropriate region of the room.50 At its most elaborate, Rococo library ceilings featured complex allegorical paintings depicting the arts and sciences and their relative places and importance in theological and philosophical debate.51 As is typical of the Rococo, the viewer’s eyes are continually drawn to new images that become revealed as you move through the space, encouraging the viewer to both move and rotate, as the attention is drawn from image to image. Moreover, the images were deliberately designed to be seen along a certain path from the floor, and the false perspectives in the ceiling were constructed accordingly. The balconies, which were restricted to librarians, when accessed are frequently crudely finished, with balustrades roughly hewn on one side and beautifully painted on the other. The whole is thus an elaborate stage set. Stories of the panic that occurred when the crib sheets explaining the meaning of the various parts of these complicated iconographic programmes disappeared show clearly that, from the beginning, these ceilings were explained by guides. Without written aids, contemporaries were just as unable as modern viewers to interpret their symbolism.52 Similarly, stories of the frustrations of finding the libraries locked on visits because the librarian could not be found demonstrate how these libraries were not places for work but for show. Monks in these monasteries were allowed to read in the heated cells. This reinforces the point that these libraries were used to store the books and impress the visitors, not as places for study.

Types of Open Hall/Wall System Library Wall system, or open hall, libraries can be categorized in a number of ways. The simplest, such as the Escorial in Spain, the Theological Hall (1679) of the Strahov in Prague, Lincoln Cathedral Library (1674) in England, and the old library of Poulian, vol. 2, pp. 380-385; Rovelstad, ‘Claude Clement’s Pictorial Catalogue’, pp. 174-187; Walker; McKitterick, introduction to McKitterick, pp. 1-27; Rovelstad, ‘Two Seventeenth-Century Library Handbooks’, pp. 540-556. 50 For examples, see Garberson; Campbell, pp. 174-207. 51 Ibid. 52 Garberson, pp. 103-104.

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

223

41. Bibliothèque de l’Abbaye Ste.-Geneviève, Paris, France, 1675-1732, with its long galleries (engraving by Franz Ertringer, 1689). Wellcome Collection. Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0). It was a popular place to view.

Ste.-Geneviève (1675-1732) in Paris, are single-storey rooms (Figure 41).53 These were also the most common form in large libraries in private houses and palaces.54 Taller spaces were usually supplied with a gallery running round all or part of the room. The Biblioteca Ambrosiana (1609) in Milan and the Arts End (1612) of the Bodleian were constructed at almost exactly the same time and are the two earliest examples.55 Access to the galleries in these spaces was reserved for the librarians. In Arts End, the staircases to the galleries are dramatically enclosed in timber cages to prevent casual access.56 Elsewhere the stairs were locked or hidden (see below). In some cases the volume is a single long space, as at the Casanatense (1719) in Rome, but a more dramatic sense of space could be created by subdividing the length into separate, interconnected spaces linked together with archways.57 Thus, the Biblioteca Joanina (1728) in Portugal is formed of three roughly cubic volumes, one leading to the next, each dramatically grander than the previous, the last being 53 54 55 56 57

Illustrated in Campbell, pp. 121-126, 133-136, 137-139. Purcell, pp. 132-159. Clark, pp. 268-270; Hobson, pp. 186-201; Jones. For an account, see Philip and Morgan. Campbell, pp. 168-171.

224 

James W. P. Campbell

devoted to theology and decorated with the arms of the royal donor.58 Similarly, the enormous Prunksaal of the Hofbibliothek (1730) in Vienna consists of three spaces that interconnect: two long, barrel-vaulted spaces either side of a dome, an idea copied by other later Austrian libraries and in Mafra (1730-1771) in Portugal.59 The grandeur of all these spaces was created by scale, and the collections expanded to fill the huge numbers of shelves. The designers faced a greater challenge if the collection was relatively small. One solution was to conceal the whole collection in cupboards (as at Schussenried Abbey (1757), Upper Swabia and St. Pölten (1727-1739) in Lower Austria).60 In others, such as Altenburg (1742), the designers managed to create the illusion of a larger number of books by judicious distribution of the cases through visually interconnected, enormous volumes.61 In all these libraries, the visitors enter at one end to emphasize the length and scale of the space and the magnificence of the room, but the breaking up of the space also created an episodic experience for the viewer, who, passing from space to space, had new frescos revealed to him or her. The decorative layout was usually designed to exploit this by creating more and more elaborate images as the movement progressed from the door into the library and sometimes building these into a series that formed a narrative. The eye in the Rococo library was thus, in contrast to the stall library, encouraged to be continually in motion, as it was bombarded by distracting imagery from all sides and more was revealed as the viewer moved through the space.

Library Tours These dramatic libraries with open spaces were increasingly designed not for the reader but for the casual visitor. By the middle of the seventeenth century, the inclusion of libraries in tours for purely entertainment and tourism seems to have become commonplace. In England in the 1690s, the newly opened Trinity College Library (1675-1695) in Cambridge was widely praised and obviously frequently visited.62 Celia Fiennes recorded her visit: The Library farre exceeds that of Oxford, the Staires are wainscoated and very large and easy ascent all of Cedar wood, the room spacious and lofty paved with black and white marble, the sides are wainscoated and decked with all curious books off Learning their Catalogue and their Benefactors: there is two large Globes 58 59 60 61 62

Ibid., pp. 155-159. Ibid., pp. 161-168, 199-204. Garberson, pp. 12-15, 86-87. Groiss and Telesko. See McKitterick, introduction to McKitterick, pp. 16-21.

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

225

at each end with telescopes and microscopes and the finest Carving in wood in flowers birds leaves figures of all sorts I ever saw, there is a large Balcony opens at the end that answers to the Staires.63

What is noticeable about the description is the complete lack of comment on the books themselves. Fiennes appears to have spent enough time in the room to walk its length, but there is not the vaguest suggestion of browsing the books or the least interest in them. She also mentions the presence of globes and scientific instruments. This practice of the library acting as a museum of curiosity was aimed precisely at impressing and entertaining this type of casual visitor. Visits to libraries thus seem to have been entirely superficial, and this is a notion reinforced in the diaries of John Evelyn, who rarely missed an opportunity to visit important buildings, mentioning in his diary over sixty libraries, including the University Library and college libraries of Emmanuel, King’s, St. John’s, and Trinity in Cambridge; the Bodleian, Balliol, Christ Church, Magdalen, and St. John’s in Oxford; and libraries abroad, such as the Ambrosiana in Milan and the College of Navarre in Paris. However, his descriptions are brief: [May 1646.] Early next morning came the Learned Dr erarius to visit us, & tooke us up in his Coach to go and see the Ambrosian Librarie. In the greate roome, where is a goodly Librarie, on the right hand of the doore, is a small wainscot closset, furnished with rare Manuscripts: Two letters of the Grand Signor were shew’d us, sent to two Popes […].64 [12 July 1654, Oxford]. We went to St Johns, saw the Library […] Thence to Christchurch, in whose Library was shew’d us an Office of Hen: 8, the writing, Minature & gilding whereof is equal if not surpassing any curiousity I had ever seene of that kind: It was given by their founder the Cardinal Wolsy […] Next we walked to Magdalen Coll: were we saw the Library and Chapel […] [Evelyn makes no other comment on the library or its contents].65 [1 Sept. 1654]. Cambridg. & went first to see St John’s Colledge & Librarie, which I think is the fairest of that Universitie: […] Next we saw Trinity Coll […] the Chapell & Library faire [this was the old library, the one before Wren’s], there they shew’d us the prophetic MS of the famous Grebner […].66 63 64 65 66

Ibid., p. 19. Evelyn, vol. 2, pp. 497-500. Ibid., vol. 3, pp. 108-109. Ibid., pp. 136-139.

226 

James W. P. Campbell

From the sheer number of places viewed in a day, it is clear that Evelyn was not sitting down at a desk and browsing the collection. He was being ushered into these libraries by guides. Presumably, the librarians had been contacted in advance and agreed to open up the library at a certain time so the party could view it. As is often done today, certain preselected, choice items were picked off the shelves and shown to the visitors to highlight the importance of the collection. Although he showed a passing interest in the books, like Fiennes, Evelyn’s visits to libraries involved the group being escorted in, being given a short time to wander around, and then gathered together and moved on to the next choice location, rushing from one place to the next in order to cram as much as possible into a single day’s sightseeing. The library is seen as being equivalent to a college chapel: an essential place to visit on a tour. This act of dawdling or superficially viewing libraries, which acted merely as visual spaces, is also obvious in the engraving of Leiden (Figure 40), where most of the figures are clearly not engaged in reading, and perhaps more evidently so in surviving engravings of the old library of Ste.-Geneviève in Paris, built in phases between 1675 and 1732 (Figure 41). This library is recorded as having been a common place for the public to go in the cold and the wet, where they could wander the attic corridors and admire the leather bindings.67 Although it is not clear in the engraving, other images show that the books were behind grilles to discourage any idle hands removing them, and from the images we have, there is little sign of any of the figures, who are engaged in conversation with each other, having any great inclination to do so. The requirement for the library to act as a functioning place for both scholarly endeavour and display, designed to impress visitors, was thus an important factor in library design in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and, indeed, the increasing significance given to display over practicality could be seen as one of the key trends in European library design in the period.

Libraries and Books So far in this chapter, we have considered the movement of people, but in libraries the movement of books was at least as important in shaping the way the building developed. Medieval books were designed to be used and stored differently from later books.68 Extremely bulky, written by hand on parchment, they were expensive to produce and correspondingly precious. Their bindings, usually wooden covers 67 Barreau, pp. 73-76. 68 Rouse and Rouse; Szirmai; Gameson, ‘Material Fabric of Early English Books’.

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

227

and metal clasps, but sometimes richly ornamented and encrusted with precious or semi-precious stones, were designed to be wrapped in blankets and stored flat, either in a chest or on low shelves. The librarian was the custodian of these precious volumes, and they were passed to the readers with appropriate caution.69 It was the usual practice that only the librarian had the key to the storeroom, chest or cupboard where they were kept, and, as we have seen, libraries had strict rules about how books were to be stored, distributed, and returned.70 The opening up of monastic collections to wider use may have led directly to the next development: the chained library. The existence of chains has already been noted in the context of lectern libraries mentioned above. The earliest written references to chaining date to the fourteenth century.71 In the chained library, the books were now out on the desks, but permanently attached to them by chains fixed to their bindings and onto the desk by a rod.72 The rod had two functions: first, it allowed books to be moved along the desk so that two readers might sit side by side and look at books shelved next to each other; second, it allowed the books to be removed for repair or to be rearranged. The removal was facilitated by a lock that the librarian had the key to, which exposed the end of the rod and allowed all the chains on a shelf or set of shelves to be slid off in order and slid back on. Taking a book out from the middle of a desk required not only the key but also considerable time spent in rethreading all the chains in the correct order back onto the rod once the book had been removed. In early versions of the lectern library, the books were stored either on the sloping surface (as at Zutphen) or flat on a single shelf underneath it (as in the Laurentian and Malatestiana).73 These books were typically still manuscripts with bulky bindings, clasps, and studs. The next stage was to place the books upright in rows next to each other. To make this possible, the books needed to be bound with smooth leather or parchment covers so that they slid easily on and off the shelves without damaging their neighbours. They were stored with the spines inward, and the title could conveniently be written on the exposed paper edge.74 This orientation was essential to allow the chain to be attached to one of the leading edges so it did not get in the way when the book was resting on the desktop. Books were now lifted from deep shelves either below or above the desk surface, the chains being brushed to one side as they were opened. However, the fact that they were chained meant

69 Sharpe. 70 Ibid. 71 Gameson, ‘Medieval Library (to c. 1450)’, p. 37. 72 Streeter (noting that Streeter’s dates for English stall libraries are not reliable); Petroski, pp. 55-73. 73 Ibid. 74 Petroski, pp. 79-81; Campbell, pp. 110, 124.

228 

James W. P. Campbell

that the books in these libraries were fixed to one position and the reader still went to the book rather than the book being brought to them. As books were mass-produced, their cost fell and the necessity of chaining them became less important, while the need to accommodate more and more became increasingly pressing. Chains were seen increasingly as an impediment and began to be removed.75 Books were then placed with the spines outward in the arrangement used today, with titles being written on the spine. Theft was prevented by placing the books behind locked grilles or increasing levels of observation. For the first time, the placement of the librarian’s desk, where he could control entry and exit and look over the library, became more important.76 With the removal of chains, books could now be more easily moved around the library and rearranged. The larger number of volumes also led to problems of classification and arrangement. Libraries ceased to be workrooms where the librarian arranged the volumes to spread the readers around the room and became places where the volumes were on display, the logic of their arrangement visible for all and open to criticism. The arrangement of books around the walls of libraries has led to various theories which do not stand up to scrutiny. The most frequently cited is the idea that highly decorative libraries used that decoration as a pictorial catalogue.77 That is not to say that libraries did not often have an organisation reflected in the decoration, but no seventeenth-century library ever managed to have the contents of its bookcases matching the iconographic programme. It could hardly be otherwise, as collections grew up through purchase and donation and the numbers of books in each subject area varied hugely. While the decoration of a library did not allow the reader to find an individual book, it was instead generally designed to reflect the broad layout of the subjects on the shelves.78 The typical layout in monasteries placed Bibles in a central place at one end and close to them works by the church fathers and then works on theology, with more secular subjects being at the opposite end of the room.79 One factor which controlled the exact placement of particular volumes on the shelves was their size. Medieval books had been relatively uniform in size, their dimensions being determined by the size of the sheepskins used to make the parchment pages. The use of paper and printing meant that books could be any size, and the library had to accommodate a wide variety of heights of shelving. The most common strategy was to space the shelves so the larger and heavier volumes were 75 Newman, ‘Library Buildings and Their Fittings’, p. 191. 76 A good discussion can be found in Morrish, pp. 230-232. 77 Mason. This idea that the iconography could be used as a visual catalogue to find books is too often cited by art historians, but even Mason admits this was not the case. 78 Garberson, pp. 46-50. 79 Garberson, pp. 100-104; Campbell, pp. 196-207.

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

229

at the bottom and lighter and easier to steal ones were at the top. At Melk Abbey Library (1732), this was taken to an extreme with the topmost shelves being so small that they are filled with painted wooden trompe l’oeil books.80 Nevertheless, the need to arrange the books partially through size further prevented a rigid matching of decoration to book placement. Instead, shelves were marked with letters and numbers, and the finding of books increasingly relied on a catalogue.

Movement of Furniture and Fittings in Libraries In general, architecture is not noted for its mobility, and most buildings are largely static. Libraries, however, combine furniture and fittings with building design, and the seamless integration of the two provides a number of opportunities for ingenious invention so that — to intentionally misquote Le Corbusier — the library becomes a machine for reading in. Many of its features are created for ergonomic reasons rather than aesthetic ones. Parts of libraries were designed to hinge, roll, and slide to ease movement and operation. In Melk, with its diminishing shelf sizes mentioned above, the library shelves were fixed. This was normal in the seventeenth century, but in the eighteenth century, they became moveable, supported on brackets and wedges, so they could be altered to accommodate books of differing heights, allowing the collection to be more easily rearranged.81 Many parts of the library hinged. In the Abbey of St. Gall Library (1763), some of the columns open up in this way to reveal the shelf-lists behind. Similarly, in the Wren Library, Trinity College, Cambridge (1695), shelf-lists are concealed behind small doors in the ends of the bookcases. Sometimes, the books themselves were protected behind hinging doors for security. The wired doors of the Escorial and Ste.-Geneviève have already been noted. Glass was rarely used in this period.82 From the beginning of wall shelving, it was also common to have cupboards with hinging doors as well as open shelves so that loose documents or papers could be kept out of sight. Usually, the doors were panelled, but occasionally they were painted with trompe l’oeil books.83 80 Garberson, p. 86; Campbell, p. 183. 81 This still involved removing all the books from the shelves before the shelves could be moved, so adjustable shelves were moved infrequently. To my knowledge, there is no proper study of when adjustable shelves first appeared, but they become common in libraries in the eighteenth century. The shelves in Samuel Pepys’s bookcases dating from 1666 are adjustable, but most seventeenth-century libraries had fixed shelving. Petroski, pp. 126-127. 82 The bookcases in Pepys’s library from 1666 are glass fronted. Petroski, pp. 126-128. 83 As at Schussenried Abbey, Upper Swabia and St Pölten in Lower Austria (see note 61 above).

230 

James W. P. Campbell

42. Klosterbibliothek, Augustiner Chorherrenstift St. Florian, St. Florian, Austria, 1750, showing the moving bookcase door. Photograph by permission of Will Pryce (www.willpryce.com).

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

231

Secret doors with book spines glued to them were surprisingly common in Rococo libraries. These false bookcases are used to cover up cupboards or doorways to other rooms or staircases or sometimes to cover up pillars behind, providing visual continuity and, of course, conveniently exaggerating the number of books. In Melk (1732), doors of this kind conceal little studies behind so that monks could work in silence without being disturbed by parties of visitors.84 It is much more difficult to make secret doors where the bookcases themselves move, but this did not stop library designers trying.85 They typically involved putting the cases on wheels and tapering the shelves at the edges to allow them to swing in and out of position. Such secret doors allowed the librarian to access areas which were off limits to the public. Usually, they gave access to the stairs to the galleries. Good examples can be seen in the Hofbibliothek in Vienna (1730) and the Abbey of St Florian (1750) (Figure 42).86 The hiding of staircases is not just done behind bookcases: in Wiblingen Abbey (1744), the niches in the galleries (complete with the wooden statues they contain) hinge aside to allow access to the balcony from a secret staircase behind. Even where there were galleries, the bookcases on the lower floors could still be too tall for librarians to reach volumes on the upper shelves. For taller cases, it was necessary to have moving ladders.87 These might be conventional ladders propped against the shelves or step ladders on wheels. In the best examples, they were designed to match the décor, such as the Rococo ones in the library at Admont (1776) which perfectly match their surroundings (Figure 43).88 In the Biblioteca Joanina, the ladders slide out from between the presses and are then supported on sliding iron arms, the librarians putting them safely away again in the their secret hiding places after use (Figure 44).89 It is not just ladders that could be concealed. In the Abbey of St. Florian, the central desks conceal a plethora of ingenious hinging and sliding devices, including stools whose backs look like cupboard doors that slide out when required and can be slid away out of sight when no longer wanted.90 With its hidden doors, sliding panels, and concealed ladders, the early modern library was thus a testing ground for cabinetry and mechanical ingenuity, all 84 See Campbell, p. 183. 85 Bookcases that moved were invariably secret doors in this period. The first roller shelving to provide compact book storage was fitted in the British in the late nineteenth century. Petroski, p. 175. 86 Ibid., pp. 164-168, 188-200. 87 There is no proper study of library ladders, but some comments can be found in Petroski, pp. 142-144 and Purcell, pp. 155-159. 88 Campbell, p. 200. 89 Ibid., pp. 156-158. 90 Ibid., pp. 192-196.

232 

James W. P. Campbell

43. Klosterbibliothek, Benediktinerstift Admont, Admont, Austria, 1776, showing the moveable Rococo step ladders. Photograph by permission of Will Pryce (www.willpryce.com).

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

233

44. Biblioteca Joanina, Coimbra, Portugal, 1728, showing the retracting ladders between the bookcases. Photograph by permission of Will Pryce (www.willpryce.com).

designed with the sole purpose of preserving and creating the most perfect visual effect to impress the viewer and prefiguring the modern library with its intricate machinery of rolling shelving, security gates, and concealed book lifts.

Conclusion Motion provides a way of approaching a supposedly familiar subject from a fresh perspective. The library, far from being a quiet place assumed to be devoid of virtually all movement save the rustling of the turning of the occasional page, is on closer examination rich in its complexity of motion. It is populated by characters with a mixture of roles and motivations passing through and using it in different ways, with books moving from place to place in intricate dances, and with the fittings themselves hinging, turning, and twisting to conceal, reveal, and enable its multitudinous tasks and everyday operations. Yet, although they might be subdivided by archways, for the most part libraries in this period remained single rooms. The real changes happened in the nineteenth century, when they developed

234 

James W. P. Campbell

increasingly complex operations behind the scenes and the worlds the secret doors led to ultimately became larger than the rooms the public saw.

Works Cited Primary Printed Sources Evelyn, John. The Diary of John Evelyn. 6 vols. Edited by E. S. Beers. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1955.

Secondary Sources Adriani, Gert. Die Klosterbibliotheken des Spätbarock in Österreich und Süddeutschland. Graz: Verlag Styria, 1935. Barreau, J. ‘Ste Geneviève du Mont’. In Les bibliothèques parisiennes. Edited by Myriam Bacha and Christian Hottin. Paris: Action Artistique, 2002. 73-76. Battles, Matthew. Library: An Unquiet History. London: Vintage, 2003. Bell, H. ‘The Price of the Book in Medieval England’, Library, 4th ser., 17 (1936-1937): 312-332. Brownrigg, L., ed. Medieval Book Production. Los Altos: Anderson Lovelace, 1990. Buzas, Ladislaus. Elemente des Buch- und Bibliothekswesen. 4 vols. Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1975-1978. Campbell, James W. P. The Library: A World History. London: Thames and Hudson, 2013. Clark, John Willis. The Care of Books. 1902. Reprint: Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Corti, G., and Parronchi, A. ‘Michelangelo al tempo dei lavori di San Lorenzo in una “ricordanza” dei Figiovanni’. Paragone 175 (1965): 9-31. Cosme, Alfonso Munoz. Los espacios del saber. Historia de la arquitectura de las bibliotecas. Gijón: Ediciones Trea, 2004. Eisenstein, Elizabeth. The Printing Press as an Agent of Change: Communications and Cultural Transformations in Early Modern Europe. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979. Gameson, Richard. ‘The Medieval Library (to c. 1450)’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 1, To 1640, edited by Elizabeth Leadham-Green and Teresa Webber. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 13-50. Gameson, Richard. ‘The Material Fabric of Early British Books’. In The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain. Edited by John Barnard, D. F. McKenzie, David McKitterick, and I. R. Wilson. Vol. 1, C. 400-1100, edited by Richard Gameson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. 11-93. Garberson, Eric. Eighteenth-Century Monastic Libraries in Southern Germany and Austria: Architecture and Decorations. Baden-Baden: Verlag Valentin Koerner, 1998.

Libr aries in Motion: Forms of Movement in the Early Modern Libr ary (1450 -1770) 

235

Groiss, A., and W. Telesko, eds. Benediktinerstift Altenburg. Vienna: Brandstätter, 2008. Harris, Michael. History of Libraries in the Western World. Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 1999. Hobson, Anthony. Great Libraries. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1970. Jolly, C., A. Vernet, D. Varry, and M. Poulian, eds. Histoire des bibliothèques françaises. 4 vols. Paris: Promodis, 1989-1992. Jones, Pamela. Federico Borromeo and the Ambrosiana. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Ker, Nicholas. Books, Collectors and Libraries. London: Hambledon Continuum, 1985. Lehmann, E. Die Bibliotheksräume der deutschen Klöster in der Zeit des Barock. Berlin: Deutscher Verlag für Kunstwissenschaft, 1996. Lerner, Fred. The Story of Libraries. London: Continuum, 2009. Lovatt, Roger. ‘College and University Book Collections and Libraries’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 1, To 1640, edited by Elizabeth Leadham-Green and Teresa Webber. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 152-177. Lucas, Peter J. ‘Borrowing and Reference: Access to Libraries in the Late Middle Ages’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 1, To 1640, edited by Elizabeth Leadham-Green and Teresa Webber. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 242-262. McKitterick, David, ed. The Making of the Wren Library. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Mason, André. The Pictorial Catalogue: Mural Decoration in Libraries. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981. Morgan, Victor. A History of the University of Cambridge. Vol. 2, 1540-1750. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Morrish, P. S. ‘Baroque Librarianship’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 2, 1640-1840, edited by Giles Mandelbrote and K. A. Manley. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 212-237. Newman, John. ’Oxford Libraries before 1800’. Archaeological Journal 135 (1978): 248-257. Newman, John. The Architectural Setting’. In The History of the University of Oxford. Vol. 4, Seventeenth-Century Oxford, edited by Nicholas Tyacke. Clarendon: Oxford, 1997. 135-177. Newman, John. ‘Library Buildings and Their Fittings’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 2, 1640-1840, edited by Giles Mandelbrote and K. A. Manley. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 190-211. O’Gorman, James F. The Architecture of the Monastic Library in Italy 1300-1600. New York: New York University Press, 1972. Petroski, Henry. The Book on the Bookshelf. New York: Vintage, 1999. Pevsner, Nikolaus. A History of Building Types. London: Thames and Hudson, 1969. Philip, I. G., and Morgan, Paul. ‘Libraries, Books and Printing’. In The History of the University of Oxford. Vol. 4, Seventeenth-Century Oxford, edited by Nicholas Tyacke. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. 659-686.

236 

James W. P. Campbell

Polastron, Lucien. Books on Fire: The Tumultuous Story of the World’s Great Libraries. London: Thames and Hudson, 2007. Pradié, Pascal, ed. Chronique des abbés de Fontenelle (Saint-Wandrille). Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1999. Purcell, Mark. The Country House Library. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2017. Rouse, R., and Rouse, M. ‘The Commercial Production of Manuscripts in Late Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Century France’. In Medieval Book Production. Edited by L. Brownrigg. Los Altos: Anderson Lovelace, 1990. 105-115. Rovelstad, M. ‘Two Seventeenth-Century Library Handbooks, Two Different Library Theories’. Libraries and Culture 33, no. 4 (2000): 540-556. Rovelstad, M. ‘Claude Clement’s Pictorial Catalogue: A Seventeenth Century Proposal for Access and Literature’. Library Quarterly 61, no. 2 (April 1991): 174-187. Sergeant, Claire. ‘The Early Modern Library (to c.1640)’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. I, To 1640, edited by Elizabeth Leadham-Green and Teresa Webber. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 51-65. Sharpe, Richard. ‘The Medieval Librarian’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 1, To 1640, edited by Elizabeth Leadham-Green and Teresa Webber. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 218-241. Skelton, Kimberley. ‘The Malleable Early Modern Reader: Display and Discipline in the Open Reading Room’. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 73, no. 2 (June 2014): 183–203. Skelton, Kimberley. The Paradox of Body, Building and Motion in Seventeenth-Century England. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2015. Streeter, Burnett Hillman. The Chained Library. 1931. Reprint: Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Szirmai, J. A. The Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding. Aldershot: Routledge, 1999. Walker, T. ‘Justus Lipsius and the Historiography of Libraries’. Libraries and Culture 26, no. 1 (Winter 1991): 49-65. Ward, J. ‘Alexandria and Its Medieval Legacy: The Book, the Monk and the Rose’. In The Library of Alexandria. Edited by Roy MacLeod. London: I. B. Tauris, 2010. 163-180. Wittkower, Rudolf. ‘Michelangelo’s Biblioteca Laurenziana’. The Art Bulletin 16 (1954): 123-218. Wormald, Francis, and C. E. Wright. The English Library before 1700. London: Athlone Press, 1958.

About the Author James W. P. Campbell is the Seear Fellow in Architecture and History of Art at Queens’ College, Cambridge and Head of the Department of Architecture. He is an architect and architectural historian and has published widely, including The Library: A World History (Chicago, 2013), which is available in eleven languages.



Works Cited

Manuscript Sources Carceri Nuove

Grande, Antonio del. Site and early plans for Carceri Nuove. Vat. Lat. 11258, Parte A, ff. 127r, 133r, 134r, 135r, 137r, 138r, 140r. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City. Grande, Antonio del. Final plans for Carceri Nuove. Cod. 31 B 14, ff. 337v, 340r, 342r, 344r, 346r. Biblioteca Corsiniana, Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Rome. Innocent X. Chirografo for Carceri Nuove. 21 March 1652. Misc. Arm. IV, t. 48, ff. 135r-137v. Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Vatican City.

Casa di Correzione

Clement XI. ‘Motu proprio di Clemente XI del 14 Nov 1703’. 14 November 1703. Camerale II, Carceri, busta 2. Archivio di Stato, Rome. Fontana, Carlo. Drawings for Casa di Correzione. Braham and Hager 397, 405, 409, 430. Department of Prints and Drawings, Windsor Castle. Fontana, Carlo. ‘Relatione della Fabrica di Correttione fatta fare da Sua Santità in Roma’. Braham and Hager vol. 181. Department of Prints and Drawings, Windsor Castle. Hamerano, Giovanni. Drawing for Clement XI’s 1704 annual medal. Vat. Lat. 15232, f. 4. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City. ‘Istruzioni per il Priore della Casa di Correzione’. Ospizio di S. Michele, busta 147. Archivio di Stato, Rome. Minutes of Congregazione meetings. Ospizio di S. Michele, buste 236-237. Archivio di Stato, Rome. ‘Regole per gli Carcerati nelle Carceri della Casa di Correttione’. Ospizio di S. Michele, busta 147. Archivio di Stato, Rome. Undated rules for the Casa di Correzione. Camerale II, Carceri, busta 4. Archivio di Stato, Rome.

Corte Savella

Collegio Inglese letter about enlarging Corte Savella. Vat. Lat. 11258, Parte A, ff. 109r-110r. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City. Corte Savella site purchase receipts and extension plans. Vat. Lat. 11258, Parte A, ff. 119r, 121r, 123r, 127r, 131r, 132r. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City.

238 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Naworth Castle

Account of Lord William Howard’s misconducts. 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/86, ff. 68r-69v. The National Archives, Kew. Account of Lord William Howard’s misconducts. Undated. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/40, ff. 11r-12v. The National Archives, Kew. Anderson, Henry. ‘The State of Northumberland’. 28 March 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/86, ff. 196r-197v. The National Archives, Kew. Anderson, Henry. Letter to Ralph Winwood. 1 April 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/86, ff. 221r-222v. The National Archives, Kew. Morton, William. Letter to George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury. 7 May 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/87, ff. 18r-19v. The National Archives, Kew. Morton, William. Letter to Ralph Winwood, Secretary of State. 7 May 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/87, ff. 16r-17v. The National Archives, Kew. Morton, William [vere Sir Henry Anderson]. Letter to Ralph Winwood, Secretary of State. 9 May 1616/17. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/92, ff. 86r-87v. The National Archives, Kew. Sentence of the Court of Star Chamber against Thomas Salkeld et al. 24 April 1616. J1/8, f. 16r. Castle Howard, North Yorkshire.

St. Anthony’s Hall

Catalogue of popish books and relics of popery. 2 May 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/26, ff. 33r-34v. The National Archives, Kew. Causes heard by the High Commission Court within the Diocese of Durham, 1614-1617. DCD/D/SJB/7. Dean and Chapter Library, Durham. Examination of Anthony Vandenhaudt. 4 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 119r-119v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of Edward Grocer, waterman. 13 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 132r-132v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of Francis Radcliffe. 18 November 1616. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/89, ff. 66r-67v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of John Clopton. 13 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 137r-137v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of Thomas Browne. 14 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 131r-131v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of Thomas Shepherd. 13 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 134r-135v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of William Bainbrigg. 14 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 133r-134v. The National Archives, Kew. Examination of William Cornew. 14 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 130r-130v. The National Archives, Kew.

Works Cited 

239

Further examination of Anthony Vandenhaudt. 20 May 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/27, ff. 47r-48v. The National Archives, Kew. Inventory of arms found in recusant houses in Northumberland. November 1625. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/10, ff. 118r-118v. The National Archives, Kew. Liddell, Thomas. Letter to William Smith. 19 November 1625. Mickleton and Spearman MSS, MSP2/3, ff. 368r-368v. Palace Green Library, Durham University. List of books taken from a Dutch ship. 1 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 31r-32v. The National Archives, Kew. Mayor and aldermen of Newcastle. Letter to the Privy Council. 15 April 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/24, ff. 117r-118v. The National Archives, Kew. Mayor and aldermen of Newcastle. Letter to the Privy Council. 2 May 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/26, ff. 27r-28v. The National Archives, Kew. Neile, Richard. Letter to the Privy Council. 20 June 1626. State Papers Domestic, SP 16/30, ff. 62r-63v. The National Archives, Kew. Recusants in the Diocese of Durham. 4 November 1613. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/75, ff. 3v-4r. The National Archives, Kew. Recusants in Northumberland. 9 July 1610. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/56, ff. 36r-39v. The National Archives, Kew.

Tor di Nona

‘Suppliche dai carcerati e dall’Archiconfraternita di San Girolamo della Carità’. Camerale II, Carceri, busta 1. Archivio di Stato, Rome. Tor di Nona ground- and first-floor plans. Vat. Lat. 11258, Parte A, f. 130r. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City.

Miscellaneous Sources

Cassas, Louis-François. Vue de Baalbek, au Liban, un groupe de chameliers au premier plan. Late 18th century. Website: https://www.christies.com/lotfinder/Lot/louis-francoiscassas-azay-le-ferron-1756-1827-versailles-vue-5773316-details.aspx,%20accessed%20 23%20March%202020. Accessed 23 March 2020. Commonplace book of the Shann family of Methley. Early 15th-Mid 17th century. Add. MS 38599. The British Library, London. Deposition of Reginal Hobarth. The Court of Star Chamber, STAC 8/19/10, f. 124v. The National Archives, Kew. Information of Christopher Newkirk. 2 August 1615. State Papers Domestic, SP 14/81, ff. 85r-85v. The National Archives, Kew. La Roque, Jean de. Letter to Father Dom Emmanuel Vanel, from Baruth (Beirut). 15 November 1689. Collection Peiresc de la Méjane, MS 2011 (1029). Bibliothèque Méjanes, Aix-en-Provence.

240 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Matthew, Tobie. Letter to Lord Burghley. 27 May 1598. Lansdowne MS 87, ff. 47r-48v. The British Library, London. Monceaux, André de. Extract from report. MSS 3058. Bibliothèque Municipale, Versailles. Wale, Samuel. ‘London Bridge’. B1986.29.250. Yale Center for British Art, New Haven. Wale, Samuel. ‘St. Bartholomews Hospital’. B1986.29.248. Yale Center for British Art, New Haven.

Primary Printed Sources Alberti, Leon Battista. On the Art of Building in Ten Books. Translated by Joseph Rykwert, Neil Leach, and Robert Tavernor. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1988. Antoniano, Silvio. Tre libri dell’educatione christiana dei figliuoli. Verona: Sebastiano dalle Donne and Girolamo Stringari, 1584. Aristotle. De anima (On the Soul). Translated by Hugh Lawson-Tancred. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 1986. Aristotle. De sensu and De memoria. Translated and edited by G. R. T. Ross. New York: Arno Press, 1973. Aristotle. The Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by Hugh Tredennick. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 2004. Aristotle. Physics. Translated and edited by C. D. C. Reeve. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 2018. Armin, Robert. A Nest of Ninnies. London: T. E. for Deane, 1608. Ausserer, Carl, and Giuseppe Gerola. I documenti clesiani del Buonconsiglio. Venice: Istituto federale di credito per il risorgimento delle Venezie, 1924. Averlino, Antonio di Piero (Filarete). Trattato di architettura. Edited by A. M. Finoli and L. Grassi. Milan: Il Polifilo, 1972. Beccaria, Cesare. Dei delitti e delle pene. Edited by Franco Venturi. Turin: Giulio Einaudi editore, 1965. Bechi, Niccolò. Vita del venerabil servo di Dio Filippo Franci sacerdote fiorentino fondatore dello Spedale di San Filippo Neri detto La Casa Pia del Refugio de’ Poveri Fanciulli. Florence: Pietro Gaetano Viviani, 1741. Belleforest, François de. Cosmographie universelle de tout le monde. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Paris: Michel Sonnius, 1575. Belon, Pierre. Travels in the Levant: The Observations of Pierre Belon of Le Mans on Many Singularities and Memorable Things Found in Greece, Turkey, Judaea, Egypt, Arabia and Other Foreign Countries (1553). Translated by James Hogarth. Edited by Alexandra Merle. Kilkerran: Hardinge Simpole, 2012. Benjamin of Tudela. The Itinerary of Rabbi Benjamin of Tudela. 2 vols. Translated and edited by Adolf Asher. New York: A. Asher & Co., 1840-1841.

Works Cited 

241

Bonneval, Claude Alexandre [Ahmet Pasa Kumbarac basa]. Memoirs of the Famous Bashaw Bonneval. Westminster: Olive Payne, 1736. Boulainvilliers, Henri. Histoire des Arabes, avec la vie de Mahomed. Amsterdam: P. Humbert, 1731. Bowles, Thomas. The Monument of London in Remembrance of the Dreadful Fire in 1666. 1752. B1977.14.17603. Yale Center for British Art, New Haven. Bowles, Thomas. A View of Somerset House with St. Mary’s Church in the Strand. 1753. B1977.14.18411. Yale Center for British Art, New Haven. Browne, John Ross. Yusef: or, The Journey of the Frangi: A Crusade in the East. New York: Harper & Bros., 1853. Cabrini, Agostino. Ordini con li quali devono essere regolate le Scole della Santissima Dottrina Christiana, et Instituto de laici secolari con suoi oratorij per aggiuto di essa. Venice: Francesco Busetto, 1686. Camper, Petrus. Untitled article. De Philosooph 2, no. 93 (1767): 321-328. Capitoli da osservarsi dalli carcerati dalle publiche da basso di tutte le carceri di Roma. 1584. Misc. Arm. IV, t. 48, f. 116. Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Vatican City. A Catalogue […] Printed for John Bowles. London: John Bowles, 1768. Cellini, Benvenuto. I trattati dell’oreficeria e della scultura novamente messi alle stampe secondo la originale dettatura del codice Marciano. Edited by Carlo Milanesi. Florence: Felice le Monnier, 1857. Cellini, Benvenuto. La vita. Parma: Fondazione Pietro Bembo: U. Guanda, 1996. Cerceau, Jacques Androuet du. Le premier [-second] volume des plus excellents bastiments de France, auquel sont designez les plans de […] bastiments, & de leur contenu. Paris, 1579. Chapelain, Jean. Lettres. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1883. Colonna, Francesco. Hypnerotomachia Poliphili: The Strife of Love in a Dream. Translated and edited by Joscelyn Godwin. New York: Thames & Hudson, 1999. Constitutioni et regole della Compagnia, e Scuole della Dottrina Christiana, fatte dal Cardinale Santa Prassede, Arcivescovo di Milano. Milan: Pacifico Pontio, 1585. Constitutioni della ven. Archiconfraternità della Dottrina Christiana di Roma. Rome: Stamperia della Camera Apostolica, 1611. Copernicus, Nicolaus. On the Revolutions of Heavenly Spheres. Translated by Charles Glenn Wallis. New York: Prometheus Books, 1995. D’Arvieux, Laurent. Mémoires du chevalier d’Arvieux, contenant ses voyages à Constantinople. Edited by Jean-Baptiste Labat. Vol. 2 of 6 vols. Paris: C. J. B. Delespine, 1735. Dan, Pierre. Fontainebleau. Le trésor des merveilles de la maison royale contenant la description de son antiquité, de sa fondation, de ses bastimens, de ses rares peintures, tableaux, emblemes, & devises: de ses iardins, de ses fontaines, & autres singularitez qui s’y voyent. Paris: Sebastien Cramoisy, 1642. Dandini, Girolamo. Missione apostolica al patriarca, e maroniti del Monte Libano. Cesena: Neri, 1656.

242 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Dandini, Girolamo. Voyage au Mont Liban. Translated by Richard Simon. Paris: Louis Billaine, 1675. De Hollandsche zedemeester leerende op eene bescheide wijze hoe zich een eerlijk man, en jonge juffrouw moet gedragen, om met eere en luister in de waereld te verkeeren. Amsterdam 1745. [Second printing of the original De Hollandsche Patriot. Of de bescheide zedemeester. Verdeeld in twee deelen. Amsterdam, 1736.] De hoofsche wellevendheid, en loffelyke welgemaniertheid, by alle vootreffelyke luiden in Nederland gebruykelyk, leerende hoe men in alle voorvallende gelegentheden en ontmoetingen, zig wysselyk en lieftalig zal aanstellen en bestieren […] Hier is agter bygevoegt een brief hoe men zig ten hove moet dragen, door Erasmus van Rotterdam. Amsterdam: Jacob Graal, 1733. De Nederlandsche Spectator, nos. 45, 49 (1750). Decker, Paul. Fürstlicher Baumeister, oder Architectura civilis. Vol. 1 of 3 vols. Augsburg: Jeremias Woff, 1711. Descartes, René. ‘Optics’. In Discourse on Method, Optics, Geometry, and Meteorology. Translated by Paul J. Olscamp. New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1965. 65-73. Descartes, René. Treatise of Man. Translated and edited by Thomas Steele Hall. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972. Descartes, René. The Passions of the Soul. Translated by Stephen H. Voss. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1989. Dodsley, Robert. London and Its Environs Described. 6 vols. London: R. and J. Dodsley, 1761. Effen, Justus van. De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 106-150: 31 oktober 1732-3 april 1733. Edited by Susanne Gabriëls. Leiden: Astraea, 1998. Effen, Justus van. De Hollandsche Spectator. Aflevering 196-240: 11 september 1733-12 februari 1734. Edited by José de Kruif. Leiden: Astraea, 2001. Elyot, George. A Very True Report of the Apprehension and Taking of the Arche Papist Edmond Campion. London: Thomas Dawson, 1581. Evelyn, John. The Diary of John Evelyn. 6 vols. Edited by E. S. Beers. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1955. Falda, Giovanni Battista. Il nuovo teatro delle fabriche, et edificii, in prospettiva di Roma moderna, sotto il felice pontificato di N. S. Papa Alessandro VII. Rome, 1665. Farinaccio, Prospero. Praxis et theoricae criminalis amplissimae. Pars tertia. Frankfurt: Collegium Palthenianum, 1605. Felice, Fortunato Bartolomeo de. Encyclopédie ou dictionnaire universel raisonné des connoissances humaines. Vol. 26 of 48 vols. Yverdon-les-Bains, 1773. Filangieri, Gaetano. Excerpt from Book 3 of Scienza della legislazione, Delle leggi criminali (1783). In Dei delitti e delle pene. By Cesare Beccaria and edited by Franco Venturi. Turin: Giulio Einaudi editore, 1965. 226-237. Foley, Henry. Records of the English Province of the Society of Jesus. 7 vols. London: Burns and Oates, 1875-1883.

Works Cited 

243

Fouilloux, Jacques du. La venerie de Iaques du Foüilloux avec plusieurs receptes & remedes pour guerir les chiens de diverses maladies. Poitiers: Les de Marnefz et Bouchetz, 1562. Fourdrinier, Paul (after Samuel Wale). The Lord Mayor’s Mansion House. 1751. 1880,1113.3619. British Museum, London. ‘From the Royal Magazine, for March 1760’. The New-Hampshire Gazette (29 August 1760). ‘From the Royal Magazine’. The Newport Mercury (26 February 1770). Furttenbach, Joseph. Architectura civilis. Das ist: Eigentlich Beschreibung wie man nach bester Form und gerechter Regul fürs erste: Pallast. Ulm: Jonas Saurn, 1628. Furttenbach, Joseph. Architectura universalis. Das ist: Von Kriegs: Statt- und Wasser gebäwen. Ulm: Johann Sebastian Medern, 1635. Furttenbach, Joseph. Architectura privata. Das ist: Gründtliche Beschreibung neben conterfetischer Vorstellung inn was Form und Manier ein gar irregular, burgerliches Wohnhauβ. Augsburg: Johann Schultes, 1641. Galilei, Galileo. Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems. Translated and edited by Stillman Drake. New York: Random House, Inc., 2001. Gastaldi, Girolamo. Tractatus de avertenda et profliganda peste politico=legalis. Eo lucubratus tempore, quo ipse loemocomiorum primò, mox Sanitatis Commissarius Generalis fuit, peste urbem invadente Anno MDCLVI & LVII. Bologna: Camerale Typographia Manolessiana, 1684. Gerard, John. The Autobiography of a Hunted Priest. Translated by Philip Caraman. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2012. Gibbon, Edward. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Vol. 4 of 6 vols. Dublin: Luke White, 1788. Granger, Claude (Tourtechot, Nicholas). Voyage dans l’Empire Ottoman du naturaliste Claude Granger, 1733-1737. Edited by Alain Riottot. Paris: L’Harmattan, 2006. Guilbert, Abbé. Château bourg et forest de Fontainebleau, contenant une explication historique des peintures, tableaux, reliefs, statuës, ornemens qui s’y voyent; & la vie des architectes, peintres & sculpteurs qui y ont travaillé. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Paris: André Cailleau, 1731. Holmes, Peter J., ed. Elizabethan Casuistry. Catholic Record Society Publications 67 (1981). Hooke, Robert. Lectures De Potentia Restitutiva, or Of Spring Explaining the Power of Springing Bodies. London: John Martyn, 1678. Horst, Tieleman van der, and Jan Schenk. Theatrum machinarum universale, of nieuwe algemeene bouwkunde, waar in op een naauwkeurige klaare, en wiskunstige wyze werd voorgestelt en geleerdt, het maaken van veelerley soorten van trappen, met derzelver gronden en opstallen. Amsterdam: Petrus Schenk, 1739. Huygens, Christiaan. Oeuvres complètes. Vol. 7 of 22 vols. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1897. Iesus Maria Regole della Compagnia della Dottrina Christiana per le scuole delle donne. Fatte d’ordine di Monsign. Illustriss. & Reuerendiss. Sig. Cardinal Priuli Patriarca di Venetia. Treviso: Girolamo Righettini, 1634.

244 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Iesus Maria Regole della Compagnia della Dottrina Christiana per le scuole de gl huomini. Fatte di ordine di Monsign. Illustrissimo, & Reuerendissimo Sign. Bartolomeo Gradenico Vescovo di Trevigi. Treviso: Francesco Righettini, 1668. King James VI and I. Political Writings. Edited by J. P. Sommerville. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Kip, Johannes, and Leonard Knyff. Britannia illustrata. Edited by John Harris and Gervase Jackson-Stops. Bungay: The Paradigm Press, 1984. L’Orme, Philibert de. Le premier tome de l’architecture. Paris: Federic Morel, 1567. La Roque, Jean de. Voyage de Syrie et du Mont-Liban, contenant la description de tout le pays compris sous le nom de Liban et d’Anti-Liban, Kesroan, etc., ce qui concerne l’origine, la créance et les moeurs des peuples qui habitent ce pays. La description des ruines d’Héliopolis, aujourd’hui Balbeck, et une dissertation historique sur cette ville. 2 vols. Paris: André Cailleau, 1722. Website: Vol. 1: https://gdz.sub.uni-goettingen.de/id/ PPN659089300, Vol. 2: https://gdz.sub.uni-goettingen.de/id/PPN659089327. Accessed 16 September 2019. La Roque, Jean de. Voyage de Syrie et du Mont-Liban. Edited by Jean Raymond. Beirut: Dar Lahad Khater, 1981. Laar, Carel van. Het groot ceremonie-boek der beschaafde zeeden, welleevendheid, ceremonieel, en welvoegende hoffelijkheden: voorgesteld in […] redenwisselingen; tusschen Johan, een man van ervarendheid; Carel, een jong heer, en Maria, een jonge juffrouw. Amsterdam: Bernardus Mourik, 1735. Labat, J. B. Voyages du P. Labat de l’ordre des F. F. Prescheurs, en Espagne et en Italie. Vol. 3 of 8 vols. Paris: Jean-Baptiste Delespine and Charles J. B. Delespine, 1730. Lami, Giuseppe. Memorabilia Italorum eruditione praestantium. Vol. 1 of 3 vols. Florence: Societas ad Insigne Centauri, 1742. Le Bruyn, Corneille. Voyages par la Moscovie, en Perse, et aux Indes Orientales. Vol. 5 of 5 vols. Rouen: Charles Ferrand, 1725. Le Camus de Mézières, Nicolas. The Genius of Architecture; or, The Analogy of That Art with Our Sensations. Translated by David Britt. Santa Monica: The Getty Center for the History of Art and the Humanities, 1992. Ledoux, Claude-Nicolas. L’architecture considérée sous le rapport de l’art des moeurs et de la législation. Paris: H. L. Perroneau, 1804. Legg, L. G. Wickham, ed. A Relation of a Short Survey of 26 Counties. London: Robinson, 1904. Leunclavius, Ioannes. Historiae Musulmanae Turcorum, de monumentis ipsorum exscriptae, libri XVIII. Frankfurt: Andreas Wechel, 1591. Lloyd’s Evening Post and British Chronicle 541 (31 December 1760-2 January 1761). Lloyd’s Evening Post and British Chronicle 555 (2-4 February 1761). Locke, John. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Edited by Roger Woolhouse. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 2004. London Chronicle 641 (31 January-3 February 1761).

Works Cited 

245

London Evening Post 4945 (14-17 July 1759). London Evening Post 5177 (3-6 January 1761). Lucian (Bourdelot). Luciani omnia opera cum latina interpretatione. Edited by Jean Bourdelot. Paris: Louis Febvrier, 1615. Lucian (Bretin). Les Œuvres de Lucian de Samosate. 2 vols. Translated by Philibert Bretin. Paris: Abel l’Angelier, 1583-1606. Lucian (Harmon). Lucian. Vols. 1 and 4 of 8 vols. Translated by A. M. Harmon. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1913, 1925. Lucian (Macleod). Luciani opera. Edited by M. D. Macleod. 4 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972. Lucian (Perrot). Lucien de la traduction N. Perrot, Sr. D’Ablancourt. Translated by Nicolas Perrot. 2 vols. Paris: Augustin Courbé, 1654. Website: Vol. 1: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/ bpt6k8706947p.r=lucien%20perrot?rk=42918;4, Vol. 2: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/ bpt6k87069483.r=lucien%20perrot?rk=21459;2. Accessed 16 September 2019. Lupo, Michelangelo. ‘II Magno Palazzo annotato’. In Il Castello del Buonconsiglio. Edited by Enrico Castelnuovo. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Trent: Temi Editrice, 1995. 67-231. Marmont, Auguste Frédéric Louis Viesse de. Voyage du Maréchal Duc de Raguse en Hongrie, en Transylvanie […] à Constantinople […] et en Égypte. Vol. 2 of 4 vols. Paris: Ladvocat, 1837. Marot, Jean. Le Grand Marot. 1686. Reprint: Paris: Damiron, 1968. Mattioli, Pietro Andrea. Il Magno Palazzo del cardinale di Trento. Edited by Aldo Bertoluzza. 2 vols. Calliano and Trent: Manfrini, 1984. Monconys, Balthasar de. Journal des voyages de Monsieur de Monconys, Conseiller du Roy en ses Conseils d’Estat et Privé, et Lieutennant Criminel au Siege Presidiel de Lyon. Vol. 1 of 3 vols. Lyon: Horace Boissat and George Remeus, 1665-1666. Website: https://gallica. bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b8608276v/f1.image. Accessed 16 September 2019. Monconys, Balthasar de. Voyage en Egypte de Balthasar de Monconys, 1646-1647. Edited by Henry Amer. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1973. Mont-Aignan, Sylvestre de. Description abregée de la sainte montagne des Maronites qui l’habitent. Paris: Jean-Baptiste Coignard, 1671. Montfaucon, Bernard de. L’antiquité expliquée, et representée en figures. Vol. 2 of 5 vols. Le culte des Grecs & des Romains. Paris: Florentin Delaulne, 1719. Morris, John, ed. The Troubles of Our Catholic Forefathers: Related by Themselves. Vol. 3 of 3 vols. London: Burns and Oates, 1877. Newton, Isaac. The Principia: Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy. Translated by I. Bernard Cohen and Anne Whitman. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. Nicholson, Joseph, and Richard Burn. The History and Antiquities of the Counties of Westmorland and Cumberland. 2 vols. London: Strahan, 1777. Oldenburg, Henry. The Correspondence of Henry Oldenburg. Vol. 7 of 13 vols. Edited and translated by A. Rupert Hall and Marie Boas Hall. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1970.

246 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Ornsby, George, ed. Selections from the Household Books of the Lord William Howard of Naworth Castle: With an Appendix Containing Some of His Papers and Letters, and Other Documents, Illustrative of His Life and Times. Durham: Andrews & Co., 1878. Palladio, Andrea. The Four Books on Architecture. Translated by Robert Tavernor and Richard Schofield. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1998. Palmes, William. The Life of Mrs. Dorothy Lawson, of St. Antony’s, near Newcastle-on-Tyne. Edited by George Bouchier Richardson. London: Charles Dolman, 1855. Perrault, Claude. Ordonnance des cinq espèces de colonnes selon la méthode des anciens. Paris: Jean Baptiste Coignard, 1683. Persons, Robert. An Epistle of the Persecution of Catholickes in Englande. Douai, 1582. Persons, Robert. The Correspondence and Unpublished Papers of Robert Persons, S. J. Edited by Ginevra Crosignani and Thomas M. McCoog. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 2017. Piazza, Carlo Bartolomeo. Eusevologio romano, overo Delle opere pie di Roma. Rome: Domenico Antonio Ercole, 1698. Poldo d’Albenas, Jean. Discours historial de l’antique et allustre cite de Nismes. Lyon: G. Rouille, 1560. Postel, Guillaume. Descriptio Syriae. Paris: Hieronymus Gormontius, 1540. Website: https:// gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k54509f/f1.image. Accessed 28 August 2019. Postel, Guillaume. De universitate liber. Paris: Martinus Juvenis, 1563. Public Advertiser 7745 (31 August 1759). Public Advertiser 7773 (5 October 1759). Public Advertiser 8163 (2 January 1761). Public Advertiser 8189 (2 February 1761). Public Ledger, or, The Daily Register of Commerce and Intelligence 305 (1 January 1761). Public Ledger, or, The Daily Register of Commerce and Intelligence 331 (31 January 1761). Questier, Michael C., ed. Newsletters from the Archpresbyterate of George Birkhead. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. REED: Cumberland, Westmorland, Gloucestershire. Edited by Audrey Douglas and Peter Greenfield. Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1986. REED: Lancashire. Edited by David George. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1991. Regole per le Scuole della Dottrina Christiana della citta et diocese di Venosa da osservarsi da i curati d’anime e da gli operarij di dette Scuole. Instituite & erette da Mons. Reverendiss. Andrea Perbenedetti della citta di Camerino, Vescovo di Venosa, nell’anno 1611. Naples: Lazzaro Scorrigio, 1615; Venice: Evangelista Deuchino, 1620. Ristretto della fondazione, e regolamento de’ poveri invalidi dell’Ospizio di S. Michele, e Conservatorio di S. Giovanni in Laterano nello stato, in cui presentemente si ritrova. Rome: S. Michele a Ripa, 1726. Rollins, Hyder E., ed. Old English Ballads, 1553-1625: Chiefly from Manuscripts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1920.

Works Cited 

247

The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 3 (1760). The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 5 (1761). The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 8 (1763). St. Augustine. City of God. Translated by Henry Bettenson. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 2003. St. Ignatius of Loyola. ‘Spiritual Exercises’. In Personal Writings. Translated and edited by Joseph A. Munitiz and Philip Endean. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 2004. 281-360. Salnove, Robert de. La vénerie royale. Paris: Emile Nourry, 1929. Ssmi. Dni. Nri. Dni. Innocentii Papae XII erectio fundatio, & dotatio hospitij apostolici pauperum invalidorum in urbe institui. Rome: Camera Apostolica, 1693. CAPITOLINA 23835 (3). Archivio Capitolino, Rome. Savot, Louis. L’architecture françoise des bastimens particuliers. Paris: François Clouzier and Pierre Aubovïn, 1673. Scamozzi, Vincenzo. L’idea della architettura universale. 1615. Reprint: Vicenza: Centro Internazionale di Studi di Architettura Andrea Palladio, 1997. Scanaroli, Giovanni Battista. De visitatione carceratorum. Rome: Reverenda Camera Apostolica, 1655. Semper, Hans. Il Castello del Buon Consiglio a Trento. Documenti concernente la fabbrica nel periodo clesiano 1527-1536. Trent: Scotoni e Viti, 1914. Serlio, Sebastiano. Tutte l’opere d’architettura, et prospetiva. Venice: Francesco de’ Franceschi, 1584. Serlio, Sebastiano. Sebastiano Serlio on Architecture. Translated by Vaughan Hart and Peter Hicks. 2 vols. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996. Smith, Richard. The Life of the Most Honourable and Virtuous Lady the Lady Magdalen Viscountesse Montague. St. Omer: English College Press, 1627. Southwell, Robert. A Short Rule of Good Life. London: English Secret Press, 1602-1605. State Papers Published under the Authority of His Majesty’s Commission: King Henry VIII. London: Record Commission, 1830-1852. The Statutes of the Realm. Vol. 4, pt. 2 of 11 vols. London: Dawson, 1963. Stow, John. A Survey of London: Written in the Year 1598. Stroud: Sutton Publishing, 2005. Stubbs, Philip. The Anatomy of Abuses. In Miscellaneous Tracts, Temp. Eliz. & Jac. I. Edited by John P. Collier. Vol. 11 of 15 vols. London, 1870. Tesauro, Emanuele. La filosofia morale derivata dall’alto fonte del grande Aristotele Stagirita. Macerata: Giuseppe Piccini, 1681. Thévenot, Jean. Relation au voyage fait au Levant. Paris: Louis Bilaine, 1664. Thevet, André. Cosmographie universelle d’André Thevet cosmographe du Roy. 2 vols. Paris: Guillaume Chaudiere, 1575. Thompson, Charles. The Travels of the Late Charles Thompson, Esq. Containing His Observations on France, Italy, Turkey in Europe, the Holy Land, Arabia, Egypt, and Many Other Parts of the World. 3 vols. Reading: J. Newbery and C. Micklewright, 1744.

248 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Thompson, Charles. Travels through Turkey in Asia, the Holy Land, Arabia, Egypt, and Other Parts of the World. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. London: J. Newbery, 1754. Torrigio, Francesco Maria. Le sacre grotte vaticane nelle quali si tratta di corpi santi, sepolchri de’ pont. imperatori, rè, cardinali, vescovi, chiese, statue, imagini, inscrittioni. Rome: Vitale Mascardi, 1639. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and the Parts Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 4 (1761): 24-31, 57-59, 121-125. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Parts Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 5 (1761): 221-225, 277-281. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Parts Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 6 (1762): 16-19, 217-221, 288-291. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Parts Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 7 (1762): 80-83, 288-291. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Places Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 8 (1763): 113-118. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Places Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 9 (1763): 17-22, 57-62, 113-118, 281-287. ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster, and Places Adjacent to These Populous Cities’. The Royal Magazine, or, Gentleman’s Monthly Companion 10 (1764): 24-26. Vai, Giuseppe. Relazione de pio Istituto di S Michele a Ripa Grande eretto dalla santa memoria di PP. Innocenzo XII. Rome: Paolo Giunchi, 1779. Valesio, Francesco. Diario di Roma. Libro primo e libro secondo. Edited by Gaetana Scano and Giuseppe Graglia. 5 vols. Milan: Longanesi & C., 1977. Vansleb, Johann Michael. Nouvelle relation en forme de journal d’un voyage fait en Egypte en 1672 & 1673. Paris: Etienne Michelet, 1677. Vitruvius. The Ten Books on Architecture. Translated by Morris Hicky Morgan. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1960. Wansleben, Johann Michael. Johann Michael Wansleben’s Travels in the Levant, 1671-74: An Annotated Edition of His Italian Report. Edited by Alastair Hamilton. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Whitehall Evening Post, or, London Intelligencer 2310 (3-6 January 1761). Wood, Robert. The Ruins of Balbec, Otherwise Heliopolis in Coelosyria. London, 1757. Wotton, Henry. The Elements of Architecture. London: John Bull, 1624. Wright, Thomas. The Passions of the Mind in Generall. London: Valentine Simmes, 1604.

Works Cited 

249

Secondary Sources Adams, Bernard. London Illustrated, 1604-1851. London: The Library Association, 1983. Adriani, Gert. Die Klosterbibliotheken des Spätbarock in Österreich und Süddeutschland. Graz: Verlag Styria, 1935. Alexander, David. ‘“Alone Worth Treble the Price”: Illustrations in 18th-Century English Magazines’. In A Millennium of the Book: Production, Design & Illustration in Manuscript & Print, 900-1900. Edited by Robin Myers and Michael Harris. Winchester: St. Paul’s Bibliographies, 1994. 107-133. Allen, Denise. ‘Catalogue Entries 102 & 103: Cellini, Satyr’. In Leonardo, Michelangelo, and the Renaissance in Florence. Edited by David Franklin. Ottawa: National Gallery of Canada, 2005. 282-285. Alpers, Svetlana, and Michael Baxandall. Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996. Altieri, Giancarlo. Summorum romanorum pontificum historia nomismatibus recensitis illustrata ab saeculo XV ad saeculum XX. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 2004. Altieri, Giancarlo. Aurea Roma. La storia urbanistica di Roma attraverso le medaglie papali. Rome: Libreria dello Stato, 2014. Ambraseys, Nicholas. Earthquakes in the Mediterranean and Middle East: A Multidisciplinary Study of Seismicity up to 1900. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Anderson, Jocelyn. ‘Elegant Engravings of the Pacific: Illustrations of James Cook’s Expeditions in British Eighteenth-Century Magazines’. British Art Studies 7 (November 2017). DOI: https://doi.org/10.17658/issn.2058-5462/issue-07/janderson. Anderson, Jocelyn. Touring and Publicizing England’s Country Houses in the Long Eighteenth Century. New York: Bloomsbury, 2018. Anderson, Jocelyn. ‘Eighteenth-Century Magazine Illustration and Copper Plates Coloured from Nature’. Lumen: Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for EighteenthCentury Studies 39 (2020): 79-111. Angelis, Francesco de. ‘Sublime Histories, Exceptional Viewers: Trajan’s Column and Its Visibility’. In Art and Rhetoric in Roman Culture. Edited by Jaś Elsner and Michel Meyer. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 89-114. Arcangeli, Alessandro. Recreation in the Renaissance: Attitudes towards Leisure and Pastimes in European Culture, c. 1425-1675. London: Palgrave MacMillan, 2002. Anstruther, Godfrey. Vaux of Harrowden: A Recusant Family. Newport: Johns, 1953. Armstrong, Catherine. Writing North America in the Seventeenth Century: English Representations in Print and Manuscript. Burlington: Ashgate, 2007. Arnold, Dana. ‘The Country House and Its Publics’. In The Georgian Country House: Architecture, Landscape and Society. Edited by Dana Arnold. Stroud: Sutton Publishing Limited, 1998. 20-42.

250 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Aveling, John C. H. ‘The Catholic Recusancy of the Yorkshire Fairfaxes, Part I’. Biographical Studies 3, no. 2 (1956): 68-114. Aveling, John C. H. ‘The Catholic Recusancy of the Yorkshire Fairfaxes, Part II’. Recusant History 4, no. 2 (1957): 61-101. Aveling, John C. H. Northern Catholics: The Catholic Recusants of the North Riding of Yorkshire, 1558-1790. London: Chapman, 1966. Aveling, John C. H. ‘Catholic Households in Yorkshire, 1580–1603’. Northern History 16, no. 1 (1980): 85-101. Baarsen, Reinier, ed. Rococo in Nederland. Zwolle: Waanders, 2001. Baert, Barbara. ‘The Sleeping Nymph Revisited: Ekphrasis, Genius Loci, and Silence’. In The Figure of the Nymph in Early Modern Culture. Edited by Karl A. E. Enenkel and Anita Traninger. Leiden: Brill, 2018. 149-176. Bailey, Gauvin. The Spiritual Rococo: Decor and Divinity from the Salons of Paris to the Missions of Patagonia. Farnham: Ashgate, 2014. Baillie, Hugh Murray. ‘Etiquette and the Planning of the State Apartments in Baroque Palaces’. Archaeologia 101 (1967): 169-199. Balzani, Alberto. L’ospizio apostolico dei poveri invalidi detto dal 1693 al 1718. Rome: Istituti di Studi Romani Editore, 1969. Barreau, J., ‘Ste Geneviève du Mont’. In Les bibliothèques parisiennes. Edited by Myriam Bacha and Christian Hottin. Paris: Action Artistique, 2002. 73-76. Bartolotti, Franco. La medaglia annuale dei romani pontefici. Da Paolo V a Paolo VI, 1605-1967. Rimini, 1967. Batten, Charles L., Jr. Pleasurable Instruction: Form and Convention in Eighteenth-Century Travel Literature. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1978. Battles, Matthew. Library: An Unquiet History. London: Vintage, 2003. Bawcutt, Priscilla. ‘Lord William Howard of Naworth (1563-1640): Antiquary, Book Collector, and Owner of the Scottish Devotional Manuscript British Library, Arundel 285’. Textual Cultures 7, no. 1 (2012): 158-175. Baxandall, Michael. Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. Baxandall, Michael. The Limewood Sculptors of Renaissance Germany. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1995. Baxter, Denise Amy, and Meredith Martin, eds. Architectural Space in Eighteenth-Century Europe: Constructing Identities and Interiors. Farnham: Ashgate, 2010. Bedaux, Jan B. ‘A Discussion on Rembrandt in Eighteenth-Century Amsterdam: Petrus Camper versus Cornelis Ploos van Amstel’. Hoogsteder-Naumann Mercury (1986): 38-56. Bela, Teresa, Clarinda Calma, and Jolanta Rzegocka, eds. Publishing Subversive Texts in Elizabethan England and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Leiden: Brill, 2016. Bell, H. ‘The Price of the Book in Medieval England’, Library, 4th ser., 17 (1936-1937): 312-332.

Works Cited 

251

Beltrani-Scalia, Martino. Sul governo e sulla riforma delle carceri in Italia. Turin: G. Favale e Comp., 1867. Bensoussan, Nicole. ‘From the French Galerie to the Italian Garden: Sixteenth-Century Displays of Primaticcio’s Bronzes at Fontainebleau’. Journal of the History of Collections 27, no. 2 (2015): 175-198. Berger, Robert W. Palace of the Sun: The Louvre of Louis XIV. University Park: Pennsylvania University Press, 1993. Bertolotti, A. Le prigioni di Roma nei secoli XVI, XVII e XVIII. Rome: Tipograpf ia delle Mantellate, 1890. Black, Deborah L. ‘The Nature of Intellect’. In The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Edited by Robert Pasnau and Christina van Dyke. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 320-345. Blake, Erin C. ‘Topographical Prints through the Zograscope’. Imago Mundi 54 (2002): 120-124. Bliss, Joseph R. ‘Benvenuto Cellini’s Satyrs for the Porte Dorée at Fontainebleau’. In Large Bronzes in the Renaissance. Edited by Peta Motture. Washington, D. C.: Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts, 2003. 73-94. Boddy, G. W. ‘Players of Interludes in North Yorkshire in the Early Seventeenth Century’. North Yorkshire County Record Office Journal 3 (1976): 95-130. Bollerey, F. ‘Früher aus Holz, noch heute steiler als anderswo – die Treppe in den Niederlanden Formerly of Wood, Still Steeper Than Anywhere Else: Stairs in the Netherlands’. Detail 2 (1998): 141-146. Bolzoni, Lina. The Gallery of Memory: Literary and Iconographic Models in the Age of the Printing Press. Translated by Jeremy Parzen. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2001. Bossy, John. ‘The Character of Elizabethan Catholicism’. Past & Present 21 (1962): 39-59. Bossy, John. The English Catholic Community, 1570-1850. London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1975. Boudon, Françoise, and Jean Blécon. Le château de Fontainebleau de François Ier à Henri IV. Les bâtiments et leurs fonctions. Tours: Picard, 1998. Bourciez, Édouard Eugène Joseph. Les moeurs polies et la littérature de cour sous Henri II. Geneva: Slatkine Reprints, 1967. Bowler, Hugh, ed. Recusant Roll No. 2 (1593-1594): An Abstract in English. Catholic Record Society Publications 57 (1965). Bracken, James K., and Joel Silver. The British Literary Book Trade, 1700-1820. Detroit: Gale Research, 1995. Braham, Allan, and Hellmut Hager. Carlo Fontana: The Drawings at Windsor Castle. London: A. Zwemmer Ltd, 1977. Brownrigg, L., ed. Medieval Book Production. Los Altos: Anderson Lovelace, 1990. Bryce, Ian, and Alasdair Roberts. ‘Post-Reformation Catholic Houses of North-East Scotland’. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 123 (1993): 363-372.

252 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Burke, Peter. ‘The Invention of Leisure in Early Modern Europe’. Past and Present 146 (1995): 136-150. Bury, Emmanuel. ‘Un sophiste impérial à l’Académie. Lucien en France au XVIIe siècle’. In Lucian of Samosata Vivus et Redivivus. Edited by Christopher Ligota and Letizia Panizza. London: Warburg Institute; Turin: Nino Aragno Editore, 2007. 145-174. Buzas, Ladislaus. Elemente des Buch- und Bibliothekswesen. 4 vols. Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1975-1978. Cajani, Luigi. ‘Surveillance and Redemption: The Casa di Correzione of San Michele a Ripa in Rome’. In Institutions of Confinement: Hospitals, Asylums, and Prisons in Western Europe and North America, 1500-1950. Edited by Nobert Finzsch and Robert Jütte. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. 301-324. Campbell, James W. P. The Library: A World History. London: Thames and Hudson, 2013. Carruthers, Mary. The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Castelnuovo, Enrico, ed. Il Castello del Buonconsiglio. 2 vols. Trent: Temi Editrice, 1995-1996. Chambers, Liam, and Thomas O’Connor, eds. College Communities Abroad: Education, Migration and Catholicism in Early Modern Europe. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2017. Chatenet, Monique. La cour de France au XVI siècle. Vie sociale et architecture. Paris: Picard, 2002. Chatenet, Monique. ‘Un portrait du “père des veneurs”’. In Chasses princières dans l’Europe de la Renaissance. Edited by Claude d’Anthenaise and Monique Chatenet. Paris: Actes Sud, 2007. 17-39. Chini, Ezio. ‘Marcello Fogolino al Buonconsiglio fra erudizione archeologica, naturalismo nordico e capriccio anticlassico’. In Il Castello del Buonconsiglio. Edited by Enrico Castenuovo. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Trent: Temi Editrice, 1996. 193-221. Cianfrocca, Goffredo. ‘La presenza delle Scuole Pie (1684-1798) nell’Ospizio Apostolico S. Michele a Ripa Grande di Roma’. Archivum Scholarum Piarum 28, no. 56 (2004): 71-154. Clark, John Willis. The Care of Books. 1902. Reprint: Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Clavering, Eric. ‘Catholics and the Rise of the Durham Coal Trade’. Northern Catholic History 16 (1982): 16-32. Clayton, Timothy. The English Print, 1688-1802. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997. Clayton, Tim. ‘Publishing Houses: Prints of Country Seats’. In The Georgian Country House: Architecture, Landscape and Society. Edited by Dana Arnold. Stroud: Sutton Publishing Limited, 1998. 43-60. Cogan, Susan M. ‘Building the Badge of God: Architectural Representations of Persecution and Coexistance in Post-Reformation England’. Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte – Archive for Reformation History 107 (2016): 165-192.

Works Cited 

253

Cole, Michael. Cellini and the Principles of Sculpture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Copenhaver, Brian P. ‘Translation, Terminology and Style in Philosophical Discourse’. In The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Edited by Charles B. Schmitt, Quentin Skinner, and Eckhard Kessler. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. 77-110. Cordellier, Dominique, ed. Primatice. Maître de Fontainebleau. Musée du Louvre, 22 septembre 2004-3 janvier 2005. Paris: Éditions des Musées Nationaux, 2004. Cordier, Stéphane. Balthazar de Monconys. Brussels: André de Rache, 1967. Corens, Liesbeth. Confessional Mobility and English Catholics in Counter-Reformation Europe. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019. Corfield, Penelope J. ‘Walking the City Streets: The Urban Odyssey in Eighteenth-Century England’. Journal of Urban History 16, no. 2 (1990): 132-174. Corti, G., and Parronchi, A. ‘Michelangelo al tempo dei lavori di San Lorenzo in una “ricordanza” dei Figiovanni’. Paragone 175 (1965): 9-31. Cosme, Alfonso Munoz. Los espacios del saber. Historia de la arquitectura de las bibliotecas. Gijón: Ediciones Trea, 2004. Coudenhove-Erthal, Eduard. Carlo Fontana und die Architektur des römischen Spätbarocks. Vienna: Verlag von Anton Schroll & Co., 1930. Courajod, Louis. Alexandre Lenoir. Son journal et le Musée des Monuments Français. Vol. 1 of 3 vols. Paris: Honoré Champion, 1878. Cruickshank, Dan, and Neil Burton. Life in the Georgian City. London: Viking, 1990. D’Anthenaise, Claude. ‘Chasses aux toiles, chasses en parc’. In Chasses princières dans l’Europe de la Renaissance. Edited by Claude d’Anthenaise and Monique Chatenet. Paris: Actes Sud, 2007. 73-96. Davidson, Peter. ‘Recusant Catholic Spaces in Early Modern England’. In Catholic Culture in Early Modern England. Edited by Ronald Corthell, Frances E. Dolan, Chrisopher Highley, and Arthur F. Marotti. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007. DeLacy, Margaret. ‘The Conceptualization of Influenza in Eighteenth-Century Britain: Specificity and Contagion’. Bulletin of the History of Medicine 67, no. 1 (Spring 1993): 74-118. Deleuze, Gilles. The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque. Translated by Tom Conley. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993. Dempsey, Charles. ‘“Et Nos Cedamus Amori”: Observations on the Farnese Gallery’. The Art Bulletin 50, no. 4 (1968): 363-374. Deutsch, Kristina. Jean Marot. Un graveur d’architecture à l‘époque de Louis XIV. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015. Didi-Huberman, Georges. Confronting Images: Questioning the Ends of a Certain History of Art. Translated by John Goodman. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2005. Dillon, Anne. The Construction of Martyrdom in the English Catholic Community, 1535-1603. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002.

254 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Dolan, Frances E. ‘Gender and the “Lost” Spaces of Catholicism’. The Journal of Interdisciplinary History 32, no. 4 (2002): 641-665. Donnelly, Colm. ‘The I. H. S. Monogram as a Symbol of Catholic Resistance in SeventeenthCentury Ireland’. International Journal of Historical Archaeology 9, no. 1 (2005): 37-42. Draaisma, Douwe. Metaphors of Memory: A History of Ideas About the Mind. Translated by Paul Vincent. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Eeghen, I. H. van. ‘De veertienvoudige restauratie voor het Howard Johnson hotel bij de Westermarkt’. Maandblad Amstelodamum 57 (1970): 97-106. Eisenstein, Elizabeth. The Printing Press as an Agent of Change: Communications and Cultural Transformations in Early Modern Europe. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979. Evans, Robin. The Fabrication of Virtue: English Prison Architecture, 1750-1840. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. Evans, Robin. ‘Figures, Doors, Passages’. In Translations from Drawing to Building and Other Essays. By Robin Evans. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1997. 54-91. Fergus, Jan. Provincial Readers in Eighteenth-Century England. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Ferguson, R. S. ‘Naworth Castle’. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, ser. 1, vol. 4 (1880): 486-495. Fock, C. Willemijn. ‘The Décor of Domestic Entertaining at the Time of the Dutch Republic’. Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Jaarboek/Netherlands Yearbook for History of Art 51 (2000): 102-135. Fock, C. Willemijn. ‘1600-1650’. In Het Nederlandse interieur in beeld 1600-1900. Edited by C. Willemijn Fock. Zwolle: Waanders, 2001. 16-79. Fornili, Carlo Cirillo. Delinquenti e carcerati a Roma alla metà del ‘600. Opera dei papi nella riforma carceraria. Rome: Editrice Pontificia Università Gregoriana, 1991. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: Random House, Inc., 1977. Fournier, Marian. The Fabric of Life: Microscopy in the Seventeenth Century. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996. Frangenberg, Thomas. ‘Decorum in the Magno Palazzo in Trent’. Renaissance Studies 7, no. 4 (1993): 352-378. Franzoi, Umberto. The Prisons of the Venetian Republic. Venice: Stamperia di Venezia editrice, 1966. Freyberger, Klaus Stefan. ‘Im Licht des Sonnengottes. Deutung und Funktion des sogenannten “Bacchus-Tempels” im Heiligtum des Jupiter Heliopolitanus in Baalbek’. Damaszener Mitteilungen 12 (2000): 95-133. Fuller, Mary C. Voyages in Print: English Travel to America, 1576-1624. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995.

Works Cited 

255

Fumaroli, Marc. ‘Les intentions du cardinal de Richelieu, fondateur de l’Académie française’. In Richelieu et la culture. Actes du colloque international en Sorbonne. Edited by Roland Mousnier. Paris: Éditions du Centre National de Recherche Scientif ique, 1987. 69-78. Gabrielli, Luca. Il Magno Palazzo del Cardinale Bernardo Cles. Architettura ed arti decorative nei documenti di un cantiere rinascimentale (1527-36). Trent: Società di Studi Trentini di Scienze Storiche, 2004. Gage, Frances. ‘Exercises for Mind and Body: Giulio Mancini, Collecting, and the Beholding of Landscape Painting in the Seventeenth Century’. Renaissance Quarterly 61, no. 44 (2008): 1167-1207. Gáldy, Andrea M. Cosimo I de’ Medici as Collector: Antiquities and Archaeology in SixteenthCentury Florence. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009. Gameson, Richard. ‘The Medieval Library (to c. 1450)’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 1, To 1640, edited by Elizabeth Leadham-Green and Teresa Webber. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 13-50. Gameson, Richard. ‘The Material Fabric of Early British Books’. In The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain. Edited by John Barnard, D. F. McKenzie, David McKitterick, and I. R. Wilson. Vol. 1, C. 400-1100, edited by Richard Gameson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. 11-93. Ganz, David, and Stefan Neuner. ‘Peripatetisches Sehen in den Bildkulturen der Vormoderne. Zur Einführung’. In Mobile Eyes. Peripatetisches Sehen in den Bildkulturen der Vormoderne. Edited by David Ganz and Stefan Neuner. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink, 2013. 8-58. Garberson, Eric. Eighteenth-Century Monastic Libraries in Southern Germany and Austria: Architecture and Decorations. Baden-Baden: Verlag Valentin Koerner, 1998. Geltner, G. The Medieval Prison: A Social History. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008. Girouard, Mark. Life in the English Country House: A Social and Architectural History. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1978. Goes, B. ‘De lichtkoepel in het trappenhuis/Les coupoles éclairant les cages d’escalier’. De Woonstede door de eeuwen heen/Maisons d’hier et d’aujourd’hui 80 (1988): 60-69. Gooch, Leopold. ‘The Catholic and Jacobite Radcliffes of Dilston’. Northern Catholic History, 56 (2015): 3-21. Gramatica, Francesca de. ‘Un “pazzo piacevole”, i “gran progenitori” e le giovani bagnanti. Note sulla pittura profana di Romanino al Buonconsiglio’. In Romanino. Un pittore in rivolta nel Rinascimento italiano. Edited by E. Caldara. Milan: Silvana, 2006. 242-257. Greenfield, Peter H. ‘Festive Drama at Christmas in Aristocratic Houses’. In Festive Drama. Edited by Meg Twycross. Woodbridge: Boydell, 1996. Grendler, Paul F. ‘The Schools of Christian Doctrine in Sixteenth-Century Italy’. Church History 53, no. 3 (September 1984): 319-331.

256 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Grendler, Paul F. ‘Borromeo and the Schools of Christian Doctrine’. In San Carlo Borromeo: Catholic Reform and Ecclesiastical Politics in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century. Edited by John M. Headley and John B. Tornaro. Washington, D. C.: The Folger Shakespeare Library and London: Associated University Presses, 1988. 158-171. Grendler, Paul F. Schooling in Renaissance Italy: Literacy and Learning, 1300-1600. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1989. Grodecki, Catherine. ‘Le séjour de Benvenuto Cellini à l’Hôtel de Nesle et la fonte de la Nymphe de Fontainebleau d’après les Actes des Notaires Parisiens’. Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de Paris et de l’Ile-de-France 98 (1971): 45-80. Greenhalgh, Michael. Plundered Empire: Acquiring Antiquities from Ottoman Lands. Leiden: Brill, 2019. Groiss, A., and W. Telesko, eds. Benediktinerstift Altenburg. Vienna: Brandstätter, 2008. Guillaume, Jean. ‘La galerie dans le château français. Place et fonction’. Revue de l’Art 102 (1993-1994): 32-42. Hallett, Mark. ‘The View across the City: William Hogarth and the Visual Culture of Eighteenth-Century London’. In Hogarth: Representing Nature’s Machines. Edited by David Bindman, Frédéric Ogée, and Peter Wagner. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001. 146-162. Hamann, Byron Ellsworth. ‘The Mirrors of Las Meninas: Cochineal, Silver, and Clay’. The Art Bulletin 92 (March-June 2010): 6-36. Hanser, David A. Architecture of France. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2006. Harrigan, Michael. Veiled Encounters: Representing the Orient in 17th-Century French Travel Literature. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2008. Harris, Michael. History of Libraries in the Western World. Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 1999. Havran, Martin J. The Catholics in Caroline England. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1962. Heal, Felicity. Hospitality in Early Modern England. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990. Hellman, Mimi. ‘The Hôtel de Soubise and the Rohan-Soubise family: Architecture, Interior Decoration, and the Art of Ambition in Eighteenth-Century France’. PhD diss., Princeton University, 2000. Hellman, Mimi. ‘Tapestries and Identities at the Hôtel de Soubise: Figuration, Embodied Vision, Intercorporeality’. In Body Narratives: Motion and Emotion in the French Enlightenment. Edited by Susanna Caviglia. Turnhout: Brepols, 2017. 81-117. Helsinger, Elizabeth. ‘Turner and the Representation of England’. In Landscape and Power. Edited by W. J. T. Mitchell. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2002. 103-125. Hietbrink, Alwin. ‘De deugden van een vrije Republiek. Opvattingen over beschaafdheid in de achttiende-eeuwse Republiek’. In Beschaving. Een geschiedenis van de begrippen hoofsheid, heusheid, beschaving en cultuur. Edited by Pim den Boer. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2001. 197-211. Hills, Helen, ed. Rethinking the Baroque. Burlington: Ashgate, 2011.

Works Cited 

257

Hilton, J. A. ‘Catholicism in Elizabethan Durham’. Recusant History 14, no. 1 (1977): 1-8. Hilton, J. A. ‘Catholicism in Jacobean Durham’. Recusant History 14, no. 2 (1977): 78-85. Hitchcock, Tim. ‘The Publicity of Poverty’. In Imagining Early Modern London: Perceptions and Portrayals of the City from Stow to Strype, 1598-1720. Edited by J. F. Merritt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. 166-184. Hobson, Anthony. Great Libraries. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1970. Hochmann, Michel. ‘Des bizarreries de chat et d’autres fantaisies. Le chat dans les tableaux comiques de la Renaissance’. In Rire en images à la Renaissance. Edited by Francesca Alberti and Diane H. Bodart. Turnhout: Brepols, 2018. 143-156. Hodgetts, Michael. ‘Loca Secretiora in 1581’. Recusant History 19, no. 4 (1989): 386-395. Hodgetts, Michael. Secret Hiding Places. Dublin: Veritas, 1989. Houten, E. van. Geschied-bouwkundige beschrijvingen behorende bij het Grachtenboek van Caspar Philips Jacobszoon. Amsterdam: Stadsdrukkerij, 1962. Huber, R. E., and R. Rieth, eds. Treppen. Systematische Fachworterbuch/Escaliers. Dictionnaire spécialisé et systématique/Staircase. Specialized and Systematic Dictionary. Munich, New York, London, and Paris: K. G. Saur, 1985. Hudson, Hannah Doherty. ‘“This Lady is Descended from a Good Family”: Women and Biography in British Magazines, 1770-1798’. In Women’s Periodicals and Print Culture in Britain, 1690-1820s. Edited by Jennie Batchelor and Manushag N. Powell. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2018. 278-293. Humfrey, Peter. ‘Nymph and Satyr’ (Catalogue no. 1). In Dosso Dossi: Court Painter at Renaissance Ferrara. Edited by Andrea Bayer, Peter Humfrey, and Mauro Lucco. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1998. 84-86. Hutton, Ronald. The Rise and Fall of Merry England: The Ritual Year 1400-1700. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994. Hyde, Matthew, and Nikolaus Pevsner. Cumbria: Cumberland, Westmorland and Furness. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2010. Ignatieff, Michael. A Just Measure of Pain: The Penitentiary in the Industrial Revolution, 1750-1850. London: The Macmillan Press Ltd, 1978. Izzo, Domenico. ‘Da Filippo Franci alla Riforma Doria (1667-1907)’. Rassegna di studi penitenziari (May-June 1956): 289-332. Jackson, Philippa, and Fabrizio Nevola, eds. ‘Beyond the Palio: Urbanism and Ritual in Renaissance Siena’. Renaissance Studies 20, no. 2 (April 2006): 137-200. James, Susan. ‘Reason, the Passions, and the Good Life’. In The Cambridge History of Seventeenth-Century Philosophy. Edited by Daniel Garber and Michael Ayers. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. 1358-1396. Janse, H. Trap en trede. Houten trappen in Nederland. Een bouwhistorische beschouwing. Zeist: Rijksdienst voor de monumentenzorg, 1995. Jaynes, Julian. ‘The Problem of Animate Motion in the Seventeenth Century’. Journal of the History of Ideas 31, no. 2 (April-June 1970): 219-234.

258 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Jensen, Phebe. ‘Recusancy, Festivity and Community: The Simpsons at Gowlthwaite Hall’. In Region, Religion and Patronage: Lancastrian Shakespeare. Edited by Richard Dutton, Alison Findlay, and Richard Wilson. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003. 101-120. Jensen, Phebe. ‘“Honest Mirth & Merriment”: Christmas and Catholicism in Early Modern England’. In Redrawing the Map of Early Modern English Catholicism. Edited by Lowell Gallagher. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012. 213-244. Jessen, Peter. Das Ornamentwerk des Daniel Marot in 264 Lichtdrucken nachgebildet. Berlin: E. Wasmuth, 1892. Jestaz, Bertrand. ‘Benvenuto Cellini et la cour de France’. Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes 161 (2003): 71-132. Johnston, Norman. Forms of Constraint: A History of Prison Architecture. Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2000. Jolly, C., A. Vernet, D. Varry, and M. Poulian, eds. Histoire des bibliothèques françaises. 4 vols. Paris: Promodis, 1989-1992. Jones, Pamela. Federico Borromeo and the Ambrosiana. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Jouanna, Jacques. Greek Medicine from Hippocrates to Galen. Translated by Neil Allies and edited by Philip van der Eijk. Leiden: Brill, 2012. Jütte, Daniel. ‘Smashed Panes and “Terrible Showers”: Windows, Violence, and Honor in the Early Modern City’. West 86th: A Journal of Decorative Arts, Design History, and Material Culture 22, no. 2 (Fall-Winter 2015): 131-156. Kaizer, Ted. ‘Lucian on the Temple at Heliopolis’. Classical Quarterly 66, no. 1 (2016): 273-285. Kargon, Robert Hugh. Atomism in England from Hariot to Newton. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966. Kelly, James E., and Caroline Bowden, eds. The English Convents in Exile, 1600-1800: Communities, Culture and Identity. Burlington: Ashgate, 2013. Kelly, James E., and Hannah Thomas, eds. Jesuit Intellectual and Physical Exchange between England and Mainland Europe, c. 1580-1789. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Ker, Nicholas. Books, Collectors and Libraries. London: Hambledon Continuum, 1985. Khater, Akram Fouad. Embracing the Divine: Passion and Politics in the Christian Middle East. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2011. Kilroy, Gerard. Edmund Campion: A Scholarly Life. Farnham: Ashgate, 2015. Kloek, Joost, and Wijnand Mijnhardt. 1800: Blueprints for a National Community. Translated by Beverley Jackson. Assen and Basingstoke: Royal Van Gorcum and Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. Knecht, Robert Jean. Renaissance Warrior and Patron: The Reign of Francis I. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Köhler, Bettina Maria. Die Stadt Paris und das Wohnhaus. Zum ‘Bâtiment Particulier’ in der französischen Architekturtheorie von 1600-1750. Alfter: Verlag und Datenbank für Geisteswissenschaften, 1994.

Works Cited 

259

Köhler, Bettina Maria. ‘Architektur ist die Kunst, gut zu bauen’: Charles Augustin D’Avilers Cours d’Architecture qui comprend les ordres de Vignole. Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1997. Koldewij, E. F. ‘1750-1800’. In Het Nederlandse interieur in beeld 1600-1900. Edited by C. Willemijn Fock. Zwolle: Waanders, 2001. 261-341. Kooijmans, Luuc. ‘Patriciaat en aristocratisering in Holland tijdens de zeventiende en achttiende eeuw’. In De bloem der natie. Adel en patriciaat in de Noordelijke Nederlanden. Edited by Johan Aalbers and Maarten Prak. Meppel: Boom, 1987. 93-103. Kraye, Jill. ‘Conceptions of Moral Philosophy’. In The Cambridge History of SeventeenthCentury Philosophy. Edited by Daniel Garber and Michael Ayers. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. 1279-1316. Kryza-Gersch, Claudia. ‘Catalogue Entries 26 & 27: Cellini, Satyr’. In Donatello, Michelangelo, Cellini: Sculptors’ Drawings from Renaissance Italy. Edited by Michael W. Cole. Boston: Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, 2014. 194-197. Landweber, Julia. ‘Fashioning Nationality and Identity in the Eighteenth Century: The Comte de Bonneval in the Ottoman Empire’. International History Review 30, no. 1 (March 2008): 1-31. Landweber, Julia. ‘Laurent d’Arvieux’. In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Vol. 13, Western Europe (1700-1800), edited by David Thomas and John Chesworth. Leiden: Brill, 2019. 593-607. Latham, Sean, and Robert Scholes. ‘The Rise of Periodical Studies’. PMLA 121, no. 2 (2006): 517-531. Lauvergnat-Gagnière, Christiane. Lucien de Samosate et le lucianisme en France au XVIe siècle. Athéisme et polémique. Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1988. Lazzaro, Claudia. ‘The Visual Language of Gender in Sixteenth-Century Garden Sculpture’. In Refiguring Woman: Perspectives on Gender and the Italian Renaissance. Edited by Marilyn Migiel and Juliana Schiesari. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991. 71-113. Lecoq, Anne-Marie. François Ier imaginaire. Symbolique et politique à l’aube de la Renaissance française. Paris: Macula, 1987. Lehmann, E. Die Bibliotheksräume der deutschen Klöster in der Zeit des Barock. Berlin: Deutscher Verlag für Kunstwissenschaft, 1996. Lemerle, Frédérique. ‘Jean Poldo d’Albenas (1512-1563), un antiquaire “studieux d’architecture”’. Bulletin Monumental 160, no. 2 (2002): 163-172. Lerner, Fred. The Story of Libraries. London: Continuum, 2009. Liebreich, A. K. ‘Piarist Education in the Seventeenth Century (II)’. Studi secenteschi 27 (1986): 57-88. Lightfoot, Jane L., ed. Lucian, On the Syrian Goddess. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Lovatt, Roger. ‘College and University Book Collections and Libraries’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 1, To 1640, edited by Elizabeth Leadham-Green and Teresa Webber. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 152-177.

260 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Lucas, Peter J. ‘Borrowing and Reference: Access to Libraries in the Late Middle Ages’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 1, To 1640, edited by Elizabeth Leadham-Green and Teresa Webber. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 242-262. Luciani, Roberto. La fabbrica del San Michele. Rome: Prospettive Edizioni, 2014. Lunn, David. The English Benedictines, 1540-1688: From Reformation to Revolution. London: Burns & Oates, 1980. Luzio, Alessandro, and Rodolfo Renier. Buffoni, nani e schiavi dei Gonzaga ai tempi d’Isabella d’Este. Rome: Tipografia della Camera dei Deputati, 1891. McCabe, Ina Baghdiantz. Orientalism in Early Modern France: Eurasian Trade, Exoticism, and the Ancien Régime. Oxford: Berg, 2008. McClain, Lisa. ‘Without Church, Cathedral, or Shrine: The Search for Religious Space among Catholics in England, 1559-1625’. The Sixteenth Century Journal 33, no. 2 (2002): 381-399. McCoog, Thomas M. ‘The Society of Jesus in England, 1623-1699: An Institutional Study’. PhD diss., University of Warwick, 1984. McCreery, Cindy. ‘Keeping up with the Bon Ton: The Tête-à-Tête Series in the Town and Country Magazine’. In Gender in Eighteenth-Century England: Roles, Representations and Responsibilities. Edited by Hannah Barker and Elaine Chalus. London: Routledge, 1997. 207-229. McGowan, Margaret M. The Vision of Rome in Late Renaissance France. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2000. McGrath, Patrick, and Joy Rowe. ‘The Elizabethan Priests: Their Harbourers and Helpers’. Recusant History 19, no. 3 (1989): 209-233. McKellar, Elizabeth. Landscapes of London: The City, the Country and the Suburbs 1660-1840. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2013. McKitterick, David, ed. The Making of the Wren Library. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Magnanimi, Giuseppina. ‘Storia del San Michele’. In Il San Michele a Ripa Grande. Edited by Francesco Sisinni. Rome: Libreria dello Stato and Edizioni d’Italia, 1990. Marsden, Jonathan, and Jane Bassett. ‘Cellini’s Other Satyr for the Porte Dorée at Fontainebleau’. Burlington Magazine 145, no. 1205 (2003): 552-563. Marsy, Arthur de. Balthasar de Monconys. Analyse de ses voyages au point de vue artistique. Caen: F. Le Blanc-Hardel, 1880. Marty, Bruno. ‘Recherches sur l’itinéraire de Jean de La Roque au Liban en 1689’. In Centre de Recherche sur la Littérature des Voyages (CRLV), submitted online 3 March 2014. Website: http://www.crlv.org/content/recherches-sur-litin%C3%A9raire-de-jean-dela-roque-au-liban-en-1689. Accessed 28 August 2019. Mason, André. The Pictorial Catalogue: Mural Decoration in Libraries. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981.

Works Cited 

261

Matluck Brooks, Lynn. ‘Introduction: Women in Dance History, the Doubly Invisible’. In Women’s Work: Making Dance in Europe before 1800. Edited by Lynn Matluck Brooks. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2007. 3-16. Mayer, Claude Albert. Lucien de Samosate et la Renaissance française. Geneva: Slatkine, 1984. Meglin, Joellen A. ‘Galanterie and Gloire: Women’s Will and the Eighteenth-Century Worldview in Les Indes Galantes’. In Women’s Work: Making Dance in Europe before 1800. Edited by Lynn Matluck Brooks. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2007. 228-256. Meischke, Ruud. Het Nederlandse woonhuis van 1300-1800. Vijftig jaar Vereniging ‘Hendrick de Keyser’, met reconstructietekeningen van H. J. Zantkuijl. Haarlem: Tjeenk Willink, 1969. Meischke, Ruud, et al. Huizen in Nederland. Architectuurhistorische verkenningen aan de hand van het bezit van de Vereniging Hendrick de Keyser: Amsterdam. Zwolle: Waanders, 1995. Melossi, Dario, and Massimo Pavarini. The Prison and the Factory: Origins of the Penitentiary System. Translated by Glynis Cousin. London: The Macmillan Press Ltd, 1981. Menegatti, Marialucia. ‘Dosso e Battista Dossi nell’appartamento di Alfonso I d’Este’. In Dosso Dossi. Rinascimenti eccentrici al Castello del Buonconsiglio. Milan: Silvana, 2014. 79-105. Meynell, Guy. ‘André de Monceaux, F. R. S. 1670’. Notes and Records of the Royal Society of London 47, no. 1 (1993): 11-15. Middleton, Robin. ‘Enfilade – die Raumfolge in den französischen Hôtels des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts/Enfilade – The Spatial Sequence in French Hôtels of the 17 th and 18th Centuries’. Daidalos no. 42 (15 December 1991): 84-95. Mielke, Friedrich. ‘Einführung in das Werk’. In Tieleman van der Horst. Neue Bau-Kunst. Reprint nach dem Original von 1763. Hannover: Verlag Schäfer, 1997. Miselli, Walter. Il papato dal 1669 al 1700 attraverso le medaglie. Pavia: Numismatica Varesi, 2001. Morgan, Victor. A History of the University of Cambridge. Vol. 2, 1540-1750. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Morrish, P. S. ‘Baroque Librarianship’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 2, 1640-1840, edited by Giles Mandelbrote and K. A. Manley. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 212-237. Moseley-Christian, M. ‘Seventeenth-Century Pronkpoppenhuisen: Domestic Space and the Ritual Function of Dutch Dollhouses for Women’. Home Cultures 7 (2010): 341-363. Murphy, Neil. Ceremonial Entries, Municipal Liberties and the Negotiation of Power in Valois France, 1328-1589. Leiden: Brill, 2016. Newman, John. ’Oxford Libraries before 1800’. Archaeological Journal 135 (1978): 248-257. Newman, John. The Architectural Setting’. In The History of the University of Oxford. Vol. 4, Seventeenth-Century Oxford, edited by Nicholas Tyacke. Clarendon: Oxford, 1997. 135-177. Newman, John. ‘Library Buildings and Their Fittings’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 2, 1640-1840, edited by Giles Mandelbrote and K. A. Manley. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 190-211.

262 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Nightingale, Benjamin. The Ejected of 1662 in Cumberland & Westmorland, Their Predecessors and Successors. 2 vols. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1911. Nova, Alessandro. ‘Folengo and Romanino: The Questione della Lingua and Its Eccentric Trends’. The Art Bulletin 76 (1994): 664-679. Nova, Alessandro. Girolamo Romanino. Turin: Umberto Allemandi, 1994. Nurse, Bernard. London: Prints & Drawings before 1800. Oxford: Bodleian Library, 2017. O’Connell, Sheila. London 1753. London: The British Museum Press, 2003. O’Gorman, James F. The Architecture of the Monastic Library in Italy 1300-1600. New York: New York University Press, 1972. Oechslin, Werner. ‘Von der Treppe zum Treppenhaus. Der Aufstieg eines architektonischen Typus/From Stairs to Stairwell: The Rise of an Architectonic Type’. Daidalos 9 (1983): 42-52. Ogborn, Miles. Spaces of Modernity: London’s Geographies, 1680-1780. London: The Guildford Press, 1998. Olson, Glending. Literature as Recreation in the Later Middle Ages. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1986. Omont, Henri. Missions archéologiques françaises en Orient aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles. 2 vols. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1902. Ozinga, M. D. Daniel Marot. De schepper van den Hollandschen Lodewijk XIV-Stijl. Amsterdam: Paris, 1938. Paglia, Vincenzo. La Pietà dei carcerati. Confraternite e società nei secoli XVI-XVIII. Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1980. Panaccio, Claude. ‘Mental Representation’. In The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Edited by Robert Pasnau and Christina van Dyke. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 346-356. Parente, Antonio. La Chiesa in carcere. Rome: Ufficio Studi, Dipartimento Amministrazione Penitenziaria, Ministero della Giustizia, 2007. Park, Katharine. ‘The Organic Soul’. In The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Edited by Charles B. Schmitt, Quentin Skinner, and Eckhard Kessler. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. 464-484. Park, Katharine, and Eckhard Kessler. ‘The Concept of Psychology’. In The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Edited by Charles B. Schmitt, Quentin Skinner, and Eckhard Kessler. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. 455-463. Passerini, Luigi. Storia degli stabilimenti di beneficenza e d’istruzione elementare gratuita della città di Firenze. Florence: Tipografia Le Monnier, 1853. Passignat, Emilie. ‘The Order, the Itinerary, the Beholder: Considerations on Some Aspects of the Ragionamenti del Sig. Cavalier Giorgio Vasari’. In Giorgio Vasari and the Birth of the Museum. Edited by Maia Wellington Gahtan. London: Routledge, 2012. 151-162. Pears, Richard. ‘St. Anthony’s House: A Lost Mansion near Newcastle upon Tyne’. Archaeologia Aeliana, 5th ser., no. 43 (2014): 241-248.

Works Cited 

263

Pelliccia, Guerrino. ‘Scuole di catechismo e scuole rionali per fanciulle nella Roma del Seicento’. Ricerche per la storia religiosa di Roma 4 (1980): 237-268. Perdrizet, Paul. ‘Les dossiers de P. J. Mariette sur Ba’albek et Palmyre’. Revue des Études Anciennes 3, no. 3 (1901): 225-264. Pérouse de Montclos, Jean-Marie. Fontainebleau. London: Scala, 1998. Pérouse de Montclos, Jean-Marie. Histoire de l’architecture française. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Paris: Mengès: Caisse nationale des monuments historiques et des sites, 1989. Petroski, Henry. The Book on the Bookshelf. New York: Vintage, 1999. Pevsner, Nikolaus. A History of Building Types. London: Thames and Hudson, 1969. Pevsner, Nikolaus, John Grundy, and Ian A. Richmond. Northumberland. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002. Philip, I. G., and Morgan, Paul. ‘Libraries, Books and Printing’. In The History of the University of Oxford. Vol. 4, Seventeenth-Century Oxford, edited by Nicholas Tyacke. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. 659-686. Pijzel-Dommisse, Jet. Het Hollandse pronkpoppenhuis. Interieur en huishouden in de 17de en 18de Eeuw. Zwolle: Waanders, 2000. Pijzel-Dommisse, Jet. ‘1700-1750’. In Het Nederlandse interieur in beeld 1600-1900. Edited by C. Willemijn Fock. Zwolle: Waanders, 2001. 181-259. Pitcher, Edward W. R. Discoveries in Periodicals, 1720-1820: Facts and Fictions. Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 2000. Polastron, Lucien. Books on Fire: The Tumultuous Story of the World’s Great Libraries. London: Thames and Hudson, 2007. Pope-Hennessy, John. Cellini. New York: Abbeville Press, 1985. Prà, Laura dal. ‘Johannes Hinderbach e Bernardo Cles. Funzionalità e decorazione nella sede dei principi vescovi di Trento. Spunti per una ricerca’. In Il Castello del Buonconsiglio. Edited by Enrico Castelnuovo. Vol. 2 of 2 vols. Trent: Temi Editrice, 1996. 31-69. Pradié, Pascal, ed. Chronique des abbés de Fontenelle (Saint-Wandrille). Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1999. Pressouyre, Sylvia. ‘Note additionnelle sur la Nymphe de Fontainebleau’. Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de Paris et de l’Île-de-France 98 (1971): 81-92. Pritchard, Arnold. Catholic Loyalism in Elizabethan England. London: Scolar Press, 1979. Purcell, Mark. The Country House Library. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2017. Quarles van Ufford, C. C. G. ‘Catalogus van overwegend Amsterdamse architectuur- en decoratieontwerpen uit de achttiende eeuw. Aanwezig in de verzamelingen van het Koninklijk Oudheidkundig Genootschap te Amsterdam en het Kunsthistorisch Instituut der Rijksuniversiteit te Utrecht’. PhD diss., Utrecht University, 1972. Questier, Michael C. Catholicism and Community in Early Modern England: Politics, Aristocratic Patronage and Religion, c. 1550-1640. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Questier, Michael. ‘Catholic Loyalism in Early Stuart England’. The English Historical Review 123, no. 504 (2008): 1132-1165.

264 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Quintrell, B. W. ‘The Practice and Problems of Recusant Disarming, 1585-1641’. Recusant History 17, no. 2 (1984): 208-222. Raay, S. B. Van, Paul Spies, and R. Van Zoest. The Royal Progress of William & Mary. Amsterdam: D’Arts, 1988. Ragette, Friedrich. Baalbek. London: Chatto & Windus, 1980. Rasch, Rudolf. ‘The Role of the City in the Musical Life of the Eighteenth-Century Dutch Republic’. De Achttiende Eeuw 37 (2005): 180-192. Ravelhofer, Barbara. The Early Stuart Masque: Dance, Costume, and Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Raven, James. The Business of Books. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2007. Réau, Louis. Histoire de l’expansion de l’art français. Belgique et Hollande, Suisse, Allemagne et Autriche, Bohème et Hongrie. Vol. 2 of 3 vols. Paris: H. Laurens, 1928. Reinmuth, H. S. ‘The Struggle over Corby, 1605-1626: Lord William Howard and Thomas Salkeld’. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society 66 (1966): 190-200. Reinmuth, H. S. ‘Lord William Howard (1563-1640) and His Catholic Associations’. Recusant History 12, no. 2 (1973): 226-234. Ridley, Ronald T. ‘Francesco Valesio’s Diary and “Archaeology” in Rome in the First Half of the Eighteenth Century’. Bullettino della Commissione Archeologica Comunale di Roma 116 (2015): 79-88. Roberts, Jennifer L. ‘Copley’s Cargo: Boy with a Squirrel and the Dilemma of Transit’. American Art 21, no. 2 (Summer 2007): 20-41. Robinson, Christopher. Lucian and His Influence in Europe. London: Duckworth, 1979. Roodenburg, Herman. ‘The “Hand of Friendship”: Shaking Hands and Other Gestures in the Dutch Republic’. In A Cultural History of Gesture. Edited by Jan Bremmer and Herman Roodenburg. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991. 152-189. Roodenburg, Herman. The Eloquence of the Body: Perspectives on Gesture in the Dutch Republic. Zwolle: Waanders Publishers, 2004. Rosenberg, Charles M. ‘Courtly Decorations and the Decorum of Interior Space’. In La corte e lo spazio. Ferrara estense. Edited by Giuseppe Papagno and Amedeo Quondam. Vol. 2 of 3 vols. Rome: Bulzoni, 1982. 529-544. Rouse, R., and Rouse, M. ‘The Commercial Production of Manuscripts in Late Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Century France’. In Medieval Book Production. Edited by L. Brownrigg. Los Altos: Anderson Lovelace, 1990. 105-115. Rovelstad, M. ‘Two Seventeenth-Century Library Handbooks, Two Different Library Theories’. Libraries and Culture 33, no. 4 (2000): 540-556. Rovelstad, M. ‘Claude Clement’s Pictorial Catalogue: A Seventeenth Century Proposal for Access and Literature’. Library Quarterly 61, no. 2 (April 1991): 174-187. Rowlands, Marie B., ed. English Catholics of Parish and Town. London: Catholic Record Society, 1999.

Works Cited 

265

Rowlands, Marie B. ‘The Godly Garret, 1560–1660’. In English Catholics of Parish and Town. Edited by Marie B. Rowlands. London: Catholic Record Society, 1999. 36-60. Rowlands, Marie B. ‘Hidden People: Catholic Commoners, 1558-1625’. In English Catholics of Parish and Town. Edited by Marie B. Rowlands. London: Catholic Record Society, 1999. 10-35. Rutherglen, Susannah. ‘Painting at the Threshold: Pictures for Doors in Renaissance Venice’. The Art Bulletin 98, no. 4 (2016): 438-465. Salmon, Olivier. Alep dans la littérature de voyage européenne pendant la période ottomane (1516-1918). Aleppo: Dar Al-Mudarris, 2011. Salvadori, Philippe. La chasse sous l’Ancien Régime. Paris: Librairie Arthème Fayard, 1996. Salvadori, Philippe. ‘François I et le droit de la chasse’. In Chasses princières dans l’Europe de la Renaissance. Edited by Claude d’Anthenaise and Monique Chatenet. Paris: Actes Sud, 2007. 43-57. Scailliérez, Cécile. François Ier et ses artistes dans les collections du Louvre. Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 1992. Scalini, Mario. Benvenuto Cellini. Translated by Kate Singleton. Florence: Scala, 1995. Scheele, J. ‘Een trappenboek uit de achttiende eeuw/Un livre du dix-huitième siècle sur les escaliers’. De Woonstede door de eeuwen heen/Maison d’hier et d’aujourd’hui 80 (1980): 38-49. Schmidt, Cees. Om de eer van de familie. Het geslacht Teding van Berkhout 1500-1950, een sociologische benadering. Amsterdam: De Bataafsche Leeuw, 1986. Schmidt, Freek. Pieter De Swart: Architect van de achttiende eeuw. Zwolle: Waanders, 1999. Schmidt, Freek. ‘A Passion for Architecture: Petrus Camper and the Groningen Town Hall’. In Petrus Camper in Context: Science, the Arts, and Society in the Eighteenth-Century Dutch Republic. Edited by Klaas Van Berkel and B. A. M. Ramakers. Hilversum: Verloren, 2015. 275-307. Schmidt, Freek. Passion and Control: Dutch Architectural Culture of the Eighteenth Century. Burlington: Ashgate, 2016. Schwarz, Michael Viktor. ‘Padua, Its Arena, and the Arena Chapel: A Liturgical Ensemble’. Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 73 (2010): 39-64. Sellin, Thorsten. ‘Filippo Franci – A Precursor of Modern Penology – A Historical Note’. Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology 17, no. 1 (May 1926): 104-112. Sellin, Thorsten. ‘The House of Correction for Boys in the Hospice of Saint Michael in Rome’. Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology 20, no. 4 (Winter 1930): 533-553. Sena, Margaret. ‘William Blundell and the Networks of Catholic Dissent in Post-Reformation England’. In Communities in Early Modern England: Networks, Place, Rhetoric. Edited by Alexandra Shepard and Phil Withington. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000. 54-75. Sergeant, Claire. ‘The Early Modern Library (to c.1640)’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 1, To 1640, edited by Elizabeth Leadham-Green and Teresa Webber. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 51-65.

266 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Shapin, Steven. The Scientific Revolution. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1996. Sharpe, Richard. ‘The Medieval Librarian’. In The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland. Edited by Peter Hoare. Vol. 1, To 1640, edited by Elizabeth Leadham-Green and Teresa Webber. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 218-241. Sheils, William. ‘Catholics and Recusants’. In A Companion to Tudor Britain. Edited by Robert Tittler and Norman Jones. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. 254-270. Sheils, William. ‘“Getting On” and “Getting Along” in Parish and Town: Catholics and Their Neighbours in England’. In Catholic Communities in Protestant States: Britain and the Netherlands c. 1570-1720. Edited by Benjamin Kaplan et al. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2009. 67-83. Shinn, Abigail. Conversion Narratives in Early Modern England: Tales of Turning. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018. Simon, Renée. Nicolas Fréret. Academicien. Geneva: Institut et Musée Voltaire, 1961. Skelton, Kimberley. ‘The Malleable Early Modern Reader: Display and Discipline in the Open Reading Room’. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 73, no. 2 (June 2014): 183-204. Skelton, Kimberley. The Paradox of Body, Building and Motion in Seventeenth-Century England. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2015. Slack, Paul. ‘Responses to Plague in Early Modern Europe: The Implications of Public Health’. Social Research 55, no. 3 (Autumn 1988): 433-453. Sliwa, Joachim. ‘Nicolas Tourtechot zwany Granger (około 1680-1737) i odkrywanie Górnego Egiptu/Nicolas Tourtechot Known as Granger (ca. 1680-1737) and the Discovery of Upper Egypt’. Classica Cracoviensia 19 (2016): 203-218. Slothouwer, D. F. Amsterdamsche Huizen, 1600-1800. Amsterdam: Van Kampen, 1928. Sluyterman, K. Huisraad en binnenhuis in Nederland in vroegere eeuwen. ’s-Gravenhage: Nijhoff, 1925. Solomon, Harry M. The Rise of Robert Dodsley: Creating the New Age of Print. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1996. Spierenburg, Pieter. ‘The Sociogenesis of Confinement and Its Development in Early Modern Europe’. In The Emergence of Carceral Institutions: Prisons, Galleys and Lunatic Asylums, 1550-1900. Edited by Pieter Spierenburg. Rotterdam: Erasmus Universiteit, 1984. 9-77. Stenvert, R., and E. Orsel. ‘Jacob Roman. Een innovatief ontwerper?’. Bulletin KNOB 117 (2018): 58-79. Streeter, Burnett Hillman. The Chained Library. 1931. Reprint: Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Stoneman, Richard. Land of Lost Gods: The Search for Classical Greece. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1987. Swigchem, C. A. van, and Vereniging Hendrick de Keyser. Huize van Brienen. Beeld van een Amsterdams grachtenhuis uit de 18de eeuw. Zutphen: De Walburg Pers, 1984. Szirmai, J. A. The Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding. Aldershot: Routledge, 1999. Templer, John. The Staircase. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1992.

Works Cited 

267

Thiel, Udo. ‘Self-Consciousness and Personal Identity’. In The Cambridge History of Eighteenth-Century Philosophy. Edited by Knud Haakonssen. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. 286-318. Thijssen, Johannes M. M. H. ‘The Nature of Change’. In The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Edited by Robert Pasnau and Christina van Dyke. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 279-290. Thomas, Edmund. Monumentality and the Roman Empire: Architecture in the Antonine Age. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Thomas, Hannah. ‘The Society of Jesus in Wales, c. 1600-1679: Rediscovering the Cwm Jesuit Library at Hereford Cathedral’. Journal of Jesuit Studies 1 (2014): 572-588. Thrush, Andrew, and John P. Ferris, eds. The House of Commons, 1604-1626. 6 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Todorov, Tzvetan. Nous et les autres. La réflexion française sur la diversité humaine. Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1989. Trachtenberg, Marvin. Dominion of the Eye: Urbanism, Art, and Power in Early Modern Florence. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Trifogli, Cecilia. ‘Change, Time, and Place’. In The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Edited by Robert Pasnau and Christina van Dyke. Vol. 1 of 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 267-278. Tulleners, Hans. Een pracht van een gracht. 23 Monumenten aan de Amsterdamse Keizersgracht. Amsterdam: Gemeentelijk Bureau Monumentenzorg, 1988. Tully, James. ‘Governing Conduct’. In Conscience and Casuistry in Early Modern Europe. Edited by Edmund Leites. Cambridge and Paris: Cambridge University Press and Éditions de la Maison des sciences de l’homme, 1988. 12-71. Turrini, Miriam. ‘“Riformare il mondo a vera vita christiana”. Le scuole di catechismo nell’Italia del Cinquecento’. Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento 8 (1982): 407-489. Upton, Dell. Holy Things and Profane: Anglican Parish Churches in Colonial Virginia. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997. Varat, Deborah. ‘Family Life Writ Small: Eighteenth-Century English Dollhouses’. Journal of Family History 42, no. 2 (2017): 147-161. Varille, Mathieu. ‘Balthazar de Monconys, astrologue, alchimiste et voyageur’. Bulletin de la Société littéraire, historique et archéologique de Lyon 13 (1934): 27-55. Vasoli, Cesare. ‘The Renaissance Conception of Philosophy’. In The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Edited by Charles B. Schmitt, Quentin Skinner, and Eckhard Kessler. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. 57-74. Venturi, Adolfo. Storia dell’arte italiana. Milan: U. Hoepli, 1901. Viala, Alain. ‘Les Signes Galants: A Historical Reevaluation of Galanterie’. Translated by Daryl Lee. Yale French Studies 92 (1997): 11-29. Vickers, Brian J. ‘Leisure and Idleness in the Renaissance: The Ambivalence of Otium (Part 1)’. Renaissance Studies 4, no. 1 (1990): 1-37.

268 

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

Vickers, Brian. ‘Leisure and Idleness in the Renaissance: The Ambivalence of Otium (Part 2)’. Renaissance Studies 4, no. 2 (1990): 107-154. Vickers, Nancy. ‘The Mistress in the Masterpiece’. In The Poetics of Gender. Edited by Nancy Miller. New York: Columbia University Press, 1986. 19-41. Vijver, Dirk Van de, and Krista De Jonge. Ingenieurs en architecten op de drempel van een nieuwe tijd. 1750-1830. Leuven: Universitaire Pers Leuven, 2003. Vingopoulou, Ioli. ‘Un alchimiste vagabond en Europe et au Proche Orient’. In Multicultural Science in the Ottoman Empire. Edited by Ekmeleddin İhsanoğlu, Kostas Chatzis, and Efthymios Nicolaidis. Turnhout: Brepols, 2003. 29-52. Vlaardingerbroek, P., ed. The Amsterdam Canal: World Heritage. Amsterdam: City of Amsterdam, 2016. Vries, Jan de. ‘The Limits of Globalization in the Early Modern World’. The Economic History Review: New Series 63, no. 3 (August 2010): 710-733. Waddy, Patricia. Seventeenth-Century Roman Palaces: Use and the Art of the Plan. New York and Cambridge, MA: Architectural History Foundation and The MIT Press, 1990. Walker, T. ‘Justus Lipsius and the Historiography of Libraries’. Libraries and Culture 26, no. 1 (Winter 1991): 49-65. Walsham, Alexandra. ‘Translating Trent? English Catholicism and the Counter Reformation’. Historical Research 78, no. 201 (2005): 288-310. Walsham, Alexandra. Charitable Hatred: Tolerance and Intolerance in England, 1500-1700. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006. Walsham, Alexandra. The Reformation of the Landscape: Religion, Identity, and Memory in Early Modern Britain and Ireland. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Walsham, Alexandra. ‘Holy Families: The Spiritualization of the Early Modern Household Revisited’. Studies in Church History 50 (2014): 122-160. Watts, Sheldon J. ‘Tenant-Right in Early Seventeenth-Century Northumberland’. Northern History 6, no. 1 (1971): 64-87. Watts, Sheldon J. From Border to Middle Shire: Northumberland, 1586-1625. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1975. Webb, Ruth. ‘Mémoire et imagination. Les limites de l’enargeia dans la théorie rhétorique grecque’. In Dire l’évidence (Philosophie et rhétorique antiques). Edited by C. Lévy and L. Pernot. Paris: L’Harmattan, 1997. 229-248. Welford, Richard. History of Newcastle and Gateshead. 3 vols. London: Walter Scott, 1884-1887. Westfall, Richard S. The Construction of Modern Science: Mechanisms and Mechanics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Ward, J. ‘Alexandria and Its Medieval Legacy: The Book, the Monk and the Rose’. In The Library of Alexandria. Edited by Roy MacLeod. London: I. B. Tauris, 2010. 163-180. Wilson, John Francis. Caesarea Philippi: Banias, the Lost City of Pan. London: I. B. Tauris, 2004. Wit, A. de. ‘New Light on a Staircase of 1699-1700 in Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam’. Burlington Magazine 158, no. 1355 (2016): 103-109.

Works Cited 

269

Wijsenbeek-Olthuis, Thera. Achter de gevels van Delft. Bezit en bestaan van rijk en arm in een periode van achteruitgang (1700-1800). Hilversum: Verloren, 1987. Wittkower, Rudolf. ‘Michelangelo’s Biblioteca Laurenziana’. The Art Bulletin 16 (1954): 123-218. Wölfflin, Heinrich. Renaissance and Baroque. Translated by Kathrin Simon. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1964. Wolzogen Kühr, S. I. von. De Nederlandsche vrouw in de eerste helft der 18e eeuw. Leiden: Brill, 1914. Wood, Andy. ‘Deference, Paternalism and Popular Memory in Early Modern England’. In Remaking English Society: Social Relations and Social Change in Early Modern England. Edited by Steve Hindle, Alexandra Shepard, and John Walter. Woodbridge: Boydell, 2013. 233-253. Wooding, Lucy. ‘Charity, Community and Reformation Propaganda’. Reformation 11, no. 1 (2006): 131-169. Wormald, Francis, and C. E. Wright. The English Library before 1700. London: Athlone Press, 1958. Wrightson, Keith. English Society, 1580-1680. London: Routledge, 2003. Yates, Frances. The Art of Memory. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1974. Yerkes, Carolyn. ‘The Grand Staircase at the Château de Versailles: The Monumental Staircase and Its Edges’. Princeton University Library Chronicle 76, nos. 1 -2 (2014-2015): 51-83. Zandvliet, Kees. De 500 Rijksten van de Republiek. Rijkdom, geloof, macht & cultuur. Zwolle: Waanders, 2018. Zantkuijl, H. J. ‘Architect/architectuurgeschiedenis’. Bouwen in Amsterdam. Het woonhuis in de stad. Amsterdam: Architectura & Natura, 1993. Zerner, Henri. L’art de la Renaissance en France. L’invention du Classicisme. Paris: Flammarion, 1996. Zoest, Rob van, and Xander van Eck. Huis Schuylenburch. ‘s-Gravenhage: SDU, 1988. Zoest, Rob van, and Xander van Eck. ‘“Zeer voorname woonhuizen, die voor paleizen niet behoeven te wijken”’. In Daniel Marot, Vormgever van een deftig bestaan. Architectuur en interieurs van Haagse stadspaleizen. Edited by Koen Ottenheym. Zutphen: De Walburg Pers, 1988. 19-41.

Index Admont, abbey library 231, 232 Alberti, Leon Battista 17, 19, 39-40, 42 n. 19, 113 Alemanno, Paolo 48, 50-52 Amsterdam 26, 139, 140, 141, 144, 148-53, 149, 151, 158 Herengracht 148, 150-52, 151, 158 Keizersgracht 148, 152, 153 Antoniano, Silvio, cardinal 118 Ardinghello, Monsignor 74 Aristotle 17, 18, 21-22, 118, 124 Baalbek 26, 163, 164, 166, 167-83, 180, 181 ‘Temple of Jupiter’ 167-68, 169, 171-73, 175, 177, 179-82, 180, 181 Bacchus 53-54, 55, 167 Belleforest, François de 64-65, 66 Biblioteca Joanina 223, 231, 233 Biblioteca Malatestiana 214, 215, 216, 227 Blois, château 51 Bonneval, Comte de, Claude Alexandre 168-69, 182 Bowles, Thomas 195, 196, 197 n. 31, 200 Budé, Guillaume 69 buffoons see fools, at court Cabrini, Agostino 122-24, 123 Cambridge, libraries 216 n. 24, 217, 218, 224-25, 229 Camper, Petrus 139-40, 141, 147 Campion, Edmund 83, 88 Castello del Buonconsiglio 25, 33-55, 41, 43, 45, 46, 48, 54 Andito alla scala 38, 42-44, 43  cantina 33, 35, 36, 37, 38, 53-54 Loggia publicha 35, 36, 37, 38, 40-42, 41, 44, 45, 47 Revolto soto la loza 35, 37, 47-52, 48, 53 Scala del giardino (also: ‘garden staircase’) 35, 36, 37, 42, 44-47, 45, 46, 48, 50, 53 Cavalieri, Giovanni Battista 84, 85, 86 Cellini, Benvenuto 59-61, 60, 64, 65-68, 73, 75, 76, 77 Cervini, Marcello, cardinal 74 chapels in domestic architecture 82, 86-87, 88, 90, 91, 98 in prisons 115, 116, 119-21, 120 in travel narratives 175, 177 Charles VI, king of France 68 Clement XI, pope 111-14, 112, 118, 125, 129, 130, 131 nn. 70 and 74, 132 1704 papal medal 111-14, 112, 132 Cles, Bernardo, prince-bishop 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 40, 42, 44, 47, 49 n. 29, 50, 51, 54 Colbert, Jean-Baptiste 168, 169 colonization 21, 190 Commentaires de la guerre gallique 71-73, 72 Compagnie della Dottrina Christiana see Schools of Christian Doctrine

Coote, John 190, 191, 192, 194, 195, 206 Copernicus, Nicolaus 21 corridors 24, 38, 51, 74, 82, 143, 149-51, 152, 153 in domestic architecture in England 82 in France 51, 74 in Italy 38 in the Netherlands 143, 149-51, 152, 153 in libraries 221, 226 in prisons 127 in travel narratives 171, 175 Counter-Reformation 94, 102, 221 D’Arvieux, Laurent 168 D’Atri, Jacopo 51 D’Aviler, Charles-Augustin 141 dance 73, 99, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156-57 Dandolo, Matteo 69 Decker, Paul 13-17, 16, 20 decorum 33, 34, 36, 37, 38-40, 49, 55 Descartes, René 22-23, 117, 121 Dodsley, Robert 194-95, 203, 205-06 domestic architecture 13-17, 18, 20, 24, 25-26, 33-55, 59-77, 81-102, 139-58, 176-77 in England 18, 25-26, 81-102, 141, 147 in France 20, 25, 51, 59-77, 141-43, 147, 152, 176-77 in Germany 13-17 in Italy 20, 24, 25, 33-55 in the Netherlands 26, 139-58 doors in domestic architecture in England 84, 85, 95 in France 19, 59-77, 60 in Italy 19, 35, 36, 48, 50-52, 53 in the Netherlands 150-51 in libraries 211, 213, 215, 221, 224, 225, 229, 230, 231 n. 85, 234 in prisons 121, 122, 127, 128, 129, 131 in travel narratives 173, 175 Dossi, Dosso 33, 37, 49 n. 27 Durham 88, 89 Effen, Justus van 154-57 ekphrasis 33, 35, 172 Elyot, George 88 emotions 17, 20, 22-23, 49 n. 27, 114, 116, 117, 124 n. 41; see also psychosomatic experience enargeia 168, 172 Escorial, library 220, 222, 229 Este, family 37, 49, 51 Alfonso I, duke 49 n. 27 Isabella 49, 51 Evelyn, John 225-26

272  Falda, Giovanni Battista 19, 20 Farnese, family Alessandro, cardinal 74 Farnese Gallery 50 Ferréal, Nicolas 51 Fiennes, Celia 224-25, 226 Fiorentino, Rosso 62 n. 10, 64, 74, 75-76 Fleury, André-Hercule de, cardinal 163, 170 Florence 35, 67 n. 27, 113, 215, 216, 227 Laurentian Library 215, 216, 227 Ospedale di S. Filippo Neri 113 Palazzo Vecchio 35 Fogolino, Marcello 34, 35, 37, 38, 53, 54 Fontainebleau 25, 59-77, 60, 62, 63, 64, 75 Chambre de la Duchesse d’Étampes 76 Galerie François I 62, 64, 74-76, 75, 77 Porte Dorée 59-61, 62-63, 64, 65-68, 73, 76 Cellini portal 59-61, 60, 65-68, 73, 76 Fontana, Carlo 26, 111, 112-14, 125, 127-30, 128, 131, 132 fools, at court 36, 44-45, 48, 50-52 Fouilloux, Guillaume du 69, 70 Francis I, king of France 59, 60-61, 62, 64, 65, 67-68 n. 29, 68-77, 72 frescoes in domestic architecture in France 60-61 n. 4, 62, 64, 73, 74-76, 75 in Germany 15, 16 in Italy 24, 34, 38, 40-55, 41, 43, 45, 46, 48, 54 in libraries 222, 224 Furttenbach, Joseph 19, 113 galanterie 156, 157 Galilei, Galileo 21 galleries in domestic architecture in England 98 in France 62, 64, 74-76, 75, 77 in the Netherlands 151-52, 158 in libraries 223, 231 in travel narratives 172, 175 gardens see landscape design genius loci 47, 51, 66 Gowthwaite Hall 97 grace 47 n. 24, 68, 139, 140, 157; see also zwier Grand Marot 180, 181 Grande, Antonio del 118-21, 120 Granger, Claude 175-78, 182 Gray, Lady Catherine see Greencroft Hall Greencroft Hall 89 Hague, The 140, 141 health 17, 23, 39, 40 n. 13, 65, 156, 165-66 heating 166, 218, 222 Heliopolis 166, 167, 169, 178 hides 82, 85, 87, 88, 89 Hollandsche Spectator see Effen, Justus van Hooke, Robert 21 Horst, Tieleman van der 143-47, 145

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

hospitality 53, 54, 64, 81, 82, 83, 92, 94-98, 100-02 at Christmas in England 81, 94-98, 100-02 Howard, Lord William 98-102 Hulett, James 194, 198, 205 hunt 39, 40 n. 15, 44, 47-48, 49, 50, 59, 60, 61, 64, 65, 66, 67-73, 72, 74, 76-77 Innocent X, pope 113, 117, 118-21, 124 Jesuits 81, 83-84, 87, 88, 89, 91, 92 n. 54, 98 n. 94, 116, 121, 124, 167 L’Orme, Philibert de 19, 68 n. 30 La Roque, Jean 163-64, 166-67, 168, 170-83, 181 Laar, Carel van 154 landscape design 17, 34, 35, 37, 38, 39, 40, 44, 47, 48-49, 51, 52, 53, 54, 62, 67 n. 28, 74-75, 82, 89, 90, 91, 143, 148, 150 gardens in England 91 in France 62, 67 n. 28, 74-75 in Italy 34, 35, 37, 38, 39, 40, 44, 47, 48-49, 51, 52, 53, 54 in the Netherlands 143, 148, 150 siting 17, 89, 90 Laurentian Library see Florence Lawson, Dame Dorothy 89, 91, 92, 93, 94, 96, 102 Le Camus de Mézières, Nicolas 20 Ledoux, Claude-Nicolas 20 Leiden University Library 218, 219, 226 leisure 33, 34, 37, 47 n. 24, 73, 152; see also otium libraries 20-21, 26, 211-34, 214, 219, 223, 230, 232, 233 chained libraries 211, 214, 215-17, 227, 228 decoration 221-22, 224, 228 furnishings 213, 214, 215-17, 218, 219-24, 227, 228, 229-31, 233 bookcases 213, 219, 221, 223, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233 hinges 213, 229-31, 230 ladders 231, 232, 233 lecterns 214, 215-17, 218, 219, 220, 227 stall system 219-20 wall system 219-24, 223, 230, 232, 233 galleries 223, 231 in travel journals 224-26 librarians 223, 226, 227, 228, 231 readers 211, 212, 213, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 224, 227, 228 Lisle, John 71 Locke, John 22 loggia 35, 36, 37, 38, 40-42, 41, 44, 45, 47, 74 Logteren, Jan van 150-51 London 84 n. 13, 189-206, 196, 198, 199, 201, 203, 205 Custom House 189, 193, 200, 201, 204, 205 Gresham College 193, 203 Mansion House 193, 197, 202 n. 38 Monument 193, 194, 198, 199, 200, 202, 206 Royal Exchange 189, 193, 199, 200, 204

Index 

St. Bartholomew’s Hospital 189, 193, 194, 195 n. 22, 203-04, 205 St. James’s Palace 193, 197, 202 n. 38 St. Mary le Strand 193, 196, 197 St. Paul’s Cathedral 189, 193, 200, 202 n. 38 Westminster Abbey 193, 194, 200, 202 n. 38 Louis XII, king of France 51 Louis XV, king of France 163, 175-76 n. 81 Lucian 163, 164, 165-67, 171, 172, 174, 178 magazines, eighteenth-century 189-206, 196, 198, 199, 201, 203, 205 Marot, Daniel 141-43, 142, 144, 149, 152 Marot, Jean 141, 180, 181, 182 Mattioli, Pietro Andrea 33, 34, 35-36, 37, 39, 40, 42, 47, 48-49, 52, 53 Melk, abbey library 229, 231 memory 18 Milan 113-14 n. 9, 223, 225 Biblioteca Ambrosiana 223, 225 mirrors 155, 195-96 Monceaux, André de 163, 168-69, 170, 180, 181, 182, 183 Monconys, Balthasar de 167, 168, 170, 171, 172, 178, 179, 180 Montfaucon, Bernard de 169, 179, 180, 182 music 36, 37, 39, 40, 42, 54, 99, 101, 102, 151-52, 154, 156, 158; see also dance Naworth Castle 81, 82, 98-102 Newcastle 82, 88, 89, 90, 92-94, 99 newspapers, eighteenth-century 191, 192 Newton, Isaac 21 nymphs 45-47, 46, 55, 59-60, 61, 62, 65-66, 67-68 Odescalchi, Tommaso 126 otium 34, 47, 51; see also leisure Ovid 40, 46, 61 n. 4 Owen, Nicholas 85-86 Oxford, libraries 217, 219 n. 40, 220, 223, 224, 225 Padua 17-18, 90 Palladio, Andrea 19 Pallavicino, Rannuccio 125 Palmes, William 89, 91, 92, 94 Paris 70, 141, 169, 176-77, 222-23, 225, 226, 229 Bibliothèque de l’Abbaye Ste.-Geneviève 22223, 226, 229 Hôtel de Soubise 176-77 passions see emotions; psychosomatic experience Perrot d’Ablancourt, Nicolas 165, 166, 167, 174 Persons, Robert 83-85 perspective view prints 195-96, 197, 200-01, 206 Piarists 126-27, 131 pleasure 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 42, 44, 47 n. 24, 59, 65, 73, 77, 90, 118, 165, 174, 195, 205, 206 Poldo d’Albenas, Jean 164 priest holes 84-85, 98

273 Primaticcio, Francesco 61, 62, 74, 75 n. 61, 76 print culture 13-17, 16, 20, 25, 26, 82, 84, 85, 86, 141-47, 142, 144, 145, 148, 163-83, 180, 181, 189-206, 196, 198, 199, 201, 203, 205, 213, 215, 217, 219, 228 prisons 25, 26, 84, 111-32, 112, 116, 120, 125, 128 psychosomatic experience see sensory perception reason 22, 47, 50, 55, 111, 116, 117, 124-25, 157 récits de voyage see travel narratives Reformation, England 81 River Tyne 89, 90, 92, 93, 94 Romanino, Girolamo 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 52 Rome 19, 20, 50, 66 n. 21, 111-32, 112, 116, 120, 125, 128, 179, 223 Carceri Nuove 113, 118-25, 120 Collegio Inglese 117, 118 Corte Savella 117-19 Ospizio di S. Michele a Ripa, Casa di Correzione 26, 111-14, 112, 125-32, 128 Tor di Nona 114-15, 116, 119 Royal Magazine, ‘A Tour through the Cities of London and Westminster’ 26, 189-206, 196, 198, 199, 201, 203, 205 St. Anthony’s Hall 81, 82-83, 88, 89-94, 96, 97, 98, 102 St. Florian, abbey library 230, 231 St. Ignatius of Loyola 121, 124 Salkeld, Thomas 99-100 Salnove, Robert de 70 satyrs 45, 46-47, 55, 61, 65, 66-67, 73, 75-76 Scamozzi, Vincenzo 19 Scanaroli, Giovanni Battista 117-18, 125 Schenk, Jan 143, 145, 147 Schools of Christian Doctrine 121-24, 123 self-fashioning 55, 60, 64, 67-73, 76-77, 81, 95, 99, 102, 147-48, 153-58 sensory perception 16, 17, 18, 20, 21-22, 24, 26, 33, 34, 36, 38, 39, 42, 44, 53, 55, 59, 69, 71, 73, 76, 85, 88-89, 90-91, 111, 114-15, 116-21, 124, 125-30, 132, 152, 167, 168, 171-73, 174, 175, 176, 177, 197, 199, 204, 206, 212, 214, 215, 220, 221, 222, 224, 229, 231 hearing 55, 85, 114-15, 116, 117, 119, 121, 127, 129-30, 132 somatic experience 34, 55, 59, 76 psychosomatic experience 33, 36, 44 vision 16, 18, 20, 24, 34, 39, 42, 55, 71, 88-89, 90-91, 114-15, 119, 121, 124, 126, 127, 129-30, 132, 152, 167, 168, 171-72, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 197, 199, 204, 206, 212, 214, 215, 220, 221, 222, 224, 229, 231 Serlio, Sebastiano 13-14, 19 sociability 82, 95, 100, 147-48, 150, 156; see also galanterie somatic experience see sensory perception Southwell, Robert 91 Spinola, Giovanni Battista, cardinal 125

274  stairs 17, 19, 26, 35, 36, 37, 38, 42-48, 43, 45, 46, 49, 50, 51, 53, 54, 62-63, 87, 88, 127, 128, 131, 139-58, 142, 144, 145, 151, 153, 172, 213, 221, 223, 224-25, 231 in domestic architecture in England 19, 87, 88 in France 62-63, 143 in Italy 19, 35, 36, 37, 38, 42-48, 43, 45, 46, 49, 50, 51, 53, 54 in the Netherlands 26, 139-58, 142, 144, 145, 151, 153 in libraries 213, 221, 223, 224-25, 231 in prisons 127, 128, 131 in travel narratives 172 stucco in domestic architecture in France 74-76, 75 in the Netherlands 150-52, 151, 158 surveillance 81-82, 114, 127, 131, 215 Tesauro, Emanuele 22 n. 35, 124-25 theatre 17-18, 25, 36, 37, 39, 40, 52, 54, 60, 75, 77, 97-98, 100, 101, 143, 152, 158, 200, 222 performance 17-18, 25, 36, 37, 39, 40, 52, 54, 60, 75, 77, 97-98, 100, 101, 143, 152, 158; see also dance; music see also Horst, Tieleman van der Thompson, Charles 182-83 tourism 163-83, 180, 181, 189-206, 196, 198, 199, 201, 203, 205, 223, 224-26 Tourtechot, Nicolas see Granger, Claude travel narratives 19-20, 163-83, 180, 181, 189-206, 196, 198, 199, 201, 203, 205 Triboulet see Ferréal, Nicolas trompe l’oeil 142, 141 n. 11, 143, 229 Tunstall, Cuthbert 71 universities see Biblioteca Joanina; Cambridge, libraries; Leiden University Library; Oxford, libraries

Early Modern Spaces in Motion

urban design 17, 20; see also Amsterdam; Biblioteca Malatestiana; Florence; Hague, The; London; Milan; Padua; Paris; Rome; Vienna; Zutphen Vansleb, Jean Michel see Wansleben, Johann Michael Versailles, palace, Escalier des Ambassadeurs 143 Verstegan, Richard 84, 85, 86 vice/vices 36, 38, 44, 47, 49, 76, 117, 118, 124, 125, 130, 131, 132 Vienna, Hofbibliothek 224, 231 virtue/virtues 36, 42, 44, 49, 114, 118, 124, 125, 131, 132 Vitruvius 17, 39, 40 Wale, Samuel 194-95, 196, 197, 200, 203 Wallop, John 70-71, 73, 74, 76 Wansleben, Johann Michael 169 William III, stadholder of the Netherlands and king of England (William II) 141 windows 18, 20, 23, 50, 53 n. 40, 62, 74-75, 88-89, 115, 117, 119, 121, 127, 129-30, 131, 139, 143, 151-52, 200, 213, 216, 220-21 in domestic architecture 20, 23, 50, 53 n. 40, 62, 74-75, 88-89, 139, 143, 151-52 in England 88-89 in France 62, 74-75 in Italy 50, 53 n. 40 in the Netherlands 139, 143, 151-52 in libraries 213, 216, 220-21 in prisons 115, 117, 119, 121, 127, 129-30, 131 Wood, Robert 175-76 n. 81, 177 n. 89, 183 Wotton, Henry 19 Yorke, Sir John see Gowthwaite Hall Zutphen, library 215, 227 zwier 153-56