The Jacobean Grand Tour: Early Stuart Travellers in Europe 9780755694792, 9781780767833

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The Jacobean Grand Tour: Early Stuart Travellers in Europe
 9780755694792, 9781780767833

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

1. Adam Willaerts, The Embarkation at Margate of the Elector Palatine and Princess Elizabeth (1613), oil on canvas, 1623 (Royal Collection Trust / © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, 2013)

2

2. Unknown engraver (circle of De Passe) for G. Fairbeard, Francis Manners, 6th Earl of Rutland, engraving, 1621 (© Trustees of The British Museum)

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3. Anthony Van Dyck, Inigo Jones, drawing, late 1630s (© Devonshire Collection, Chatsworth / Reproduced by permission of Chatsworth Settlement Trustees)

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4. William Larkin, George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham, oil on canvas, c.1616 (© National Portrait Gallery, London)

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5. Unknown artist(s), The Somerset House Conference, oil on canvas, 1604 (© National Portrait Gallery, London)

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6. Daniel Mytens, Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham, oil on canvas, c.1618 (National Maritime Museum, Greenwich)

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7. Crispijn de Passe, James VI and I, King of Scotland and England, engraving, c.1620–5 (© Trustees of the British Museum)

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8. Michiel Jansz. van Mierevelt, Sir Edward Cecil, oil on canvas c.1610 (© National Museums Liverpool [Walker Art Gallery])

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9. James Gammon (after a lost portrait), Sir Tobie Matthew, engraving, 1660

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10. Giambologna, Samson Slaying the Philistine, carved marble, 1560–2 (© Victoria and Albert Museum, London)

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11. Unknown engraver, Celebrations in Heidelberg on the arrival of the Palatine couple, engraving from Beschreibung der Reiss, Heidelberg, 1613

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12. William Hole, title-page to Thomas Coryate, Coryats Crudities, London, 1611 13. Unknown artist, View of Rome: Piazza S. Pietro, looking towards St Peter’s, pen-and-ink drawing over graphite with brown wash, c.1600 (© Trustees of the British Museum)

27 28–29

14. William Cure I (attrib.), Tomb of Sir Philip and Sir Thomas Hoby, 1566, All Saints, Bisham (© E. Chaney)

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15. Title-page to John Finet’s translation of René de Lucinge, The Beginning, Continuance, and Decay of Estates, London, 1606

37

16. Giovanni Orlandi, Sir Anthony Sherley, engraving, 1601 (© National Portrait Gallery, London)

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17. Villa Molin, Mandria, designed by Vincenzo Scamozzi, 1597

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18. Isaac Oliver, Edward, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, miniature, c.1610 (Royal Collection Trust / © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, 2013)

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19. Crispijn de Passe, A courtier training a horse, observed by Louis XIII and Antoine de Pluvinel, engraving from Pluvinel’s ‘L’Instruction du Roy’, Paris, 1625

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20. Unknown engraver (after Paul van Somer), Sir Matthew Lister, engraving, published 1646 (© National Portrait Gallery, London)

48

21. George Geldorp, Katherine Howard, Countess of Salisbury, oil on canvas, c.1626, Hatfield House (© Derek Witty / Topham Partners LLP)

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22. A: Basilica of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, Venice, interior (© E. Chaney) B: Basilica of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, Venice, tomb of Edward, Lord Windsor, 1570s (© E. Chaney)

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23. Unknown artist, Edward Wotton, 1st Baron Wotton, oil on panel, c.1610 (© Courtauld Institute of Art, London)

56

24. Francesco Villamena, Inigo Jones, engraving, 1614

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25. C.R. Cockerell, Houghton House, watercolour, c.1825 (© Trustees of the British Museum)

64

26. Paul van Somer (attrib.), Theodore Turquet de Mayerne, oil on canvas, c.1620 (© National Portrait Gallery, London)

67

27. A: Château de Chambord, exterior (© E. Chaney) B: Château de Chambord, staircase (© E. Chaney)

77 77

55



List of Illustrations

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28. Château de Chambord, spiral staircase (Palladio, Quattro Libri, I, pp. 64–5, with Jones’s inscription on the left page and incorrectly engraved stairs on the right)

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29. A: Château de Blois, staircase (© E. Chaney) B: Jacques Androuet du Cerçeau, Blois, building and gardens, from Les plus excellents bastiments de France, II, Paris, 1579

79 80

30. A: Inigo Jones, view of formal gardens, stage design for Florimène, pen and ink, 1635 B: Inigo Jones, ‘Temple of Diana’, stage design for Florimène, pen and ink, 1635 (© Devonshire Collection, Chatsworth / Reproduced by permission of Chatsworth Settlement Trustees)

81

31. Jacques Androuet du Cerçeau, Amboise building and gardens, from Les plus excellents bastiments de France, II, Paris, 1579

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32. Vision of St Hubert, fifteenth century, chapel entrance, Château d’Amboise

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33. Limbourg brothers and Jean Colombe, Château de Saumur from Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry: Septembre, miniature, fifteenth century

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34. Unknown artist (French School), The Siege La Rochelle, 1627–28, oil on canvas (© National Trust Images / John Hammond)

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35. Amphitheatre, Saint-Eutrope, Saintes (© E. Chaney)

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36. Arch of Germanicus, Saintes (© E. Chaney)

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37. A: Château d’Usson, Pons (© E. Chaney) B: Hôpital des Pèlerins, Pons (© E. Chaney)

91 91

38. Amphitheatre, Bordeaux (© E. Chaney)

92

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39. Amphitheatre, Bordeaux, woodcut from Vinet’s L’antiquité 93 de Bourdeaus, Poitiers, 1565 40. Bordeaux, from G. Braun and F. Hogenberg, Civitates Orbis Terrarum, I, Cologne, 1572, engraving after a woodcut in Antoine du Pinet, Plantz, pourtraitz et descritions de plusieurs villes et forteresses, Lyon, 1564

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41. Jacques Androuet du Cerçeau, engraving of Les Piliers de Tutelle, 1560

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42. Les Tutelles, woodcut from Vinet’s L’antiquité de Bourdeaus, Poitiers, 1565

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43. Inigo Jones, ‘The Fallen House of Chivalry’ for Prince Henry’s Barriers, 1610, pen and ink on paper (© Devonshire Collection, Chatsworth / Reproduced by permission of Chatsworth Settlement Trustees / The Bridgeman Art Library)

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44. Hôtel d’Assézat, Toulouse, begun 1555 to a design by Nicolas Bachelier (© E. Chaney)

100

45. Magistrates (Capitouls) of Toulouse, oil on canvas, c.1620 (© E. Chaney)

100

46. Basilica of Saint Sernin, Toulouse, exterior (© E. Chaney)

101

47. Sebastiano del Piombo, The Raising of St Lazarus, oil on canvas transferred from panel, 1517–19 (National Gallery, London)

103

48. Les Alyscamps, Arles (© T. Wilks)

107

49. A: Inigo Jones, design for Sir Rowland Cotton’s funerary monument for his wife, c.1610 (RIBA Library Drawings & Archives Collections RIBA) B: Inigo Jones’s annotation in his copy of Palladio, Quattro Libri, IV, p. 35, the frieze in Arles (© E. Chaney, courtesy of the Provost and Fellows of Worcester College, Oxford)

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50. Amphitheatre, Arles (© T. Wilks)

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51. Obélisque d’Arles, Place de la République, Arles (© T. Wilks)

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52. Temple of Diana, Nîmes (© E. Chaney)

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53. Inigo Jones’s annotations in his copy of Palladio, Quattro 118–19 Libri, IV, pp. 118–19 (© E. Chaney, courtesy of the Provost and Fellows of Worcester College, Oxford) 54. Le Tour Magne, Nîmes (© T. Wilks)

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55. La Maison Carrée, Nîmes (© E. Chaney)

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56. A and B: Inigo Jones’s copy of Palladio’s Quattro Libri, IV, pp. 112–15 (© E. Chaney, courtesy of the Provost and Fellows of Worcester College, Oxford) C: La Maison Carrée, capital, plan and elevation, from Jean Poldo d’Albenas, Discours Historial de l’Antique […] Cité de Nismes, Lyon, 1560

122–5 126–7



List of Illustrations

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57. Le Pont du Gard (© E. Chaney)

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58. Inigo Jones, Le Pont du Gard, pen-and-ink drawing (RIBA Library Drawings & Archives Collections RIBA)

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59. Jean Poldo d’Albenas, Le Pont du Gard, woodcut from Discours Historial de l’Antique […] Cité de Nismes, Lyon, 1560

131

60. Etienne Martellange, View of Avignon and the Pont Saint-Bénézet, 29 August 1609, pen-and-ink drawing (Bibliothèque nationale, Paris)

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61. Arch and Mausoleum, Les Antiques, Saint-Rémy (© T. Wilks)

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62. A and B: Roman Theatre, Orange (© E. Chaney)

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63. Triumphal Arch, Orange (© T. Wilks)

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64. Jones’s annotation in his copy of Vitruvius, I dieci libri dell’architettura, ed. D. Barbaro, Venice, 1567 (Devonshire Collection, Chatsworth)

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65. Temple of Augustus and Livia, Vienne (© T. Wilks)

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66. Plan de l’Aiguille, Vienne (© T. Wilks)

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67. Hatfield House, south front, c.1610 146 68. Abraham Hogenberg, The Siege and Capture of Jülich by Maurits of Nassau, etching, 1610 (© Trustees of the British Museum)

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69. Nicholas Lanier, Self-portrait, oil on canvas, c.1643 (Faculty of Music Collection, University of Oxford / Bridgeman Art Library)

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70. Daniel Mytens, James, 2nd Marquess of Hamilton, oil on canvas, early 1620s (© Lennoxlove House Ltd, Licensor www.scran.ac.uk)

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71. Ca’ Granda, Milan, designed by Antonio Filarete, 1456–69

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72. Basilica di S. Vittore al Corpo, Milan

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73. Palazzo della Loggia, Brescia, 1492–1574, designed by Donato Bramante with interventions by Jacopo Sansovino and Palladio

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74. A: William Hole, The Amphitheatre [Theatre] of Verona 164–5 (1610), plate illustration for Coryats Crudities B: Roman Theatre, Verona (© E. Chaney) 166

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75. Palazzo Giusti gardens, Verona (© E. Chaney)

167

76. Santuario di Madonna di Campagna, Verona (© E. Chaney)

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77. Teatro Olimpico, Vicenza (interior), 1580–5, built by Andrea Palladio and Vincenzo Scamozzi (© Alinari / The Bridgeman Art Library)

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78. Magdalena or Willem de Passe, John, 2nd Baron Harington of Exton, engraving (© National Portrait Gallery, London)

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79. Isaac Oliver, Henry, Prince of Wales, miniature, c.1611 (Royal Collection Trust / © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, 2013)

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80. Willem Delff, after Michiel Jansz. van Miereveldt, Sir Dudley Carleton, engraving (© Trustees of the British Museum)

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81. Unknown artist, Sir Philip Sidney, oil on panel, c.1576 (© National Portrait Gallery, London)

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82. Isaac Oliver, Unknown Man (possibly Sir Edward Cecil), miniature, 1596 (© Victoria and Albert Museum, London)

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83. Giacomo Piccini, Domenico Tintoretto, engraving from Carlo Ridolfi, Maraviglie dell’arte, Venice, 1648

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84. Giacomo Piccini, Leandro Bassano, engraving from Carlo Ridolfi, Maraviglie dell’arte, Venice, 1648

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85. Odoardo Fialetti, studies of a torso, from Il vero modo et 188 ordine per dissegnar tutte le parti et membra del corpo humano, 1608 86. Palma Giovane, Prometheus, oil on canvas, late sixteenth century (Royal Collection Trust / © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, 2013)

189

87. Titian, Venus and Adonis, oil on canvas, 1554 (Prado, Madrid)

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88. Odoardo Fialetti, ‘Venus punishing Cupid’, dedicated to Lord Roos in Scherzi d’amore, Venice, 1617

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89. Peter Paul Rubens, Lady Arundel with a hound, dwarves and Sir Dudley Carleton, 1620 (Alte Pinakothek, Munich)

193

90. The Arsenale, Venice, engraving, c.1620 195 91. A: Palmanova, engraving from G. Braun and F. Hogenberg, 197 Civitates Orbis Terrarum, V, Cologne, 1598



List of Illustrations

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B: Bonaiuto Lorini (with Inigo Jones’s annotations), Le fortificationi, Venice, 1609 (courtesy of the Provost and Fellows of Worcester College, Oxford)

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92. Piazza Eremitani, Padua

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93. Palazzo Mocenigo, Venice

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94. Hofkirche, Innsbruck

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95. Lucas Kilian, Elias Holl, city architect of Augsburg, displaying an illustration of his new town hall, engraving, 1619 (© Trustees of the British Museum)

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96. Wenceslaus Hollar, The Approach to Nuremberg, etching, 1636 (© Trustees of the British Museum)

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97. Claes Jansz. Visscher, Schenkenschanz, etching, c.1630 216–17 98. Anthonie Waterloo, View of Utrecht, with the Mariakerk, black chalk with grey wash, mid-seventeenth century (© Trustees of the British Museum)

219

99. François van den Hoeye, View of Amsterdam from the river, etching, c.1620 (© Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

220–1

100. Michiel Jansz. van Miereveldt, Maurits of Nassau, oil on panel, 1625

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101. Wenceslaus Hollar, John Tradescant the Elder, etching for Musæum Tradescantianum, 1656

224

102. Adriaen van de Venne, Flushing, pen and ink with watercolour, c.1618; study for a print showing the arrival of the Elector Palatine and Princess Elizabeth (© Trustees of the British Museum)

226–7

103. Tomb of Charles the Bold, Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk, Bruges

228

104. Tintoretto’s House, Fondamenta dei Mori, Venice (© Peter Jarvis)

231

105. George Perfect Harding, Sir John Finet, watercolour, c.1820 (© National Portrait Gallery, London).

238

106. Upton Hall, Northampton, east front

241

107. Philip Mercier, Sir Thomas Samwell and his Four Children, oil on canvas, c.1721, Upton Hall (Courtesy of Northampton Museum and Art Gallery)

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Colour Plate Section A. Daniel Mytens, Charles Stuart, Prince of Wales, oil on canvas, 1624 (Weiss Gallery) B. Domenico Tintoretto, John Finet, oil on canvas, 1610–11 (E. Chaney) C. Daniel Mytens, Thomas Howard, 14th Earl of Arundel, oil on canvas, c.1618 (National Portrait Gallery, London) D. Daniel Mytens, Aletheia, Countess of Arundel, oil on canvas, c.1618 (National Portrait Gallery, London) E. Anthony Van Dyck, George Gage, oil on canvas, c.1622 (National Gallery, London) F. George Geldorp, William Cecil, 2nd Earl of Salisbury, oil on canvas, c.1626 (Hatfield House) G. Unknown artist, Sir Henry Wotton, oil on canvas, 1620s (Eton College) H. Anthony Van Dyck, Nicholas Lanier, oil on canvas, c.1628 (Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna) I. Unknown artist, Sir Richard Wenman, oil on canvas, c.1600 (E. Chaney) J. Odoardo Fialetti, View of Venice, oil on canvas, 1611 (Eton College) K. After John de Critz the Elder, Robert Cecil, 1st Earl of Salisbury, Venetian mosaic, 1608 (Hatfield House)

PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To come suddenly on a Saracen tower on a lonely hillside, amongst the rosemary and thyme of the Alpilles or amongst the great congeries of towers Roman and mediaeval of the great outer walls of Carcassonne is to feel a singular emotion of the enlargement of the horizons of my world. (Ford Madox Ford, Provence: From Minstrels to the Machine [Philadelphia, 1935], pp. 118–19)

So wrote the ageing Ford Madox Ford more than three centuries after the young Lord Cranborne referred to the same sweet-scented scenery and the antiquities in and around Carcassonne that he and his companions encountered while travelling through Provence. Ford’s response to the Mediterranean world owes more than is usually recognized to the cultural legacy of the Grand Tour which these and other Jacobean travellers established as an educational institution. These early Tourists did not, however, ‘feel a singular emotion’ quite as Ford did; nor indeed did they feel such non-specific ‘emotion’ as post-Romantics tend to. In reviewing the long history of European travel undertaken for self-improvement (in the wake of the discrediting of pilgrimage), changes in the nature of aesthetic response may be attributable not so much to different experiences as to a new subjectivity, partly the legacy of the Reformation and the humanism that gave rise to it. For how individuals feel at the moment of encounter and discovery is in part conditioned by their comprehension of the nature of feelings and thus, ultimately, of faith. It is during the first quarter of the seventeenth century – the period covered by this book – that shifts in the perception of the self, transiting from a Medieval to Modern mentality, became most evident. It was the Modern (post-Renaissance) self that sought, as Ford puts it, to enlarge the horizons of the personal world. Stimulus of the senses and exercise of the imagination were and still are the means to this and, where the British were concerned, continental travel played the crucial role in facilitating both.

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The Early Moderns adapted the word ‘emotion’ from its original migratory meaning to emerge as an expression of passion, thus subordinate to it, as it is becoming in Eikon Basilike, where Charles I says: ‘no disdain, or emotion of passion transported me […] to do or say any thing, unbeseeming my selfe’. Charles’s saintly self-control is explained by his following of the example of Christ. Such restraint accords with accounts of Charles’s personality and yet we know that he permitted himself at least one barely controlled passion, that for art, which led him to amass one of the greatest collections of the age. This love of art took hold of him, significantly, during his only venture into continental Europe: his incognito visit, via France, to Madrid, for reasons of both state and passion. Passion, as the counterpoint to reason, was recognized by the Ancients and again in the Renaissance, thence thoroughly examined by the Early Moderns, most magnificently by Shakespeare. It could bring down both men and states, as John Finet, who features prominently in this book, articulated in his translation of a Savoyard treatise: The Beginning, Continuance, and Decay of Estates, which no doubt provided a favourite theme while he acted as governor to Lord Cranborne on his continental tours. Finet writes of ‘mans inconstancy’; his propensity to depart from a settled and rational course and his capacity to subvert order and authority from within. Though Finet’s case study, safely enough, focuses upon the Ottoman Empire, its applicability to Western Europe would have seemed obvious to contemporaries, who were at least as anxious about the threat posed by Catholics and Protestants to each other as they were about the then merely external threat from Islam. Passion was regarded as generally unwelcome and dangerous, at least to men of propriety like Finet, albeit less so to other Jacobean travellers who appear in these pages, the likes of Lord Roos, Tobie Matthew and the Sherley brothers. How, then, given its capacity to arouse the passions, might we account for the encouraged engagement with art that became ever more dominant an ingredient of the Grand Tour? Both Inigo Jones and Henry Peacham articulated awareness of the power of the visual arts, and another protégé of that great patron and pioneering Grand Tourist eventually known as the Collector Earl of Arundel, Franciscus Junius, first published the term ‘lovers of art’ in 1638 in his Painting of the Ancients. This had perhaps come into parlance a little earlier, replacing the make-do Dutch term, liefhebber. The answer may lie in Platonic notions of art as a contemplative passion which was spiritually superior to the love of mere mortals. Certainly highminded men of self-control such as Charles I and the famously reserved Lord Arundel could be both uxorious and avid collectors without being



Preface and Acknowledgements

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led (like contemporary canvas-ripping, statue-decapitating, Protestant extremists) into ‘emotional’ or misplaced passion. Writing from Constantinople in 1850, Flaubert disagreed with his uncle’s contention that travel changed a man, echoing instead Horace’s dictum about the heavens changing rather than the person: ‘As I set out, so shall I return, except that there are a few less hairs on my head and considerably more landscapes within it.’ We find, however, plentiful instances of early seventeenth-century travellers and exiles on the Continent engaged in what has been called self-fashioning. In the context of touring and/or foreign residence, this play with identity remains under-studied as does that most radical act of self-fashioning: conversion. Religion looms large in this study and Catholics, crypto-Catholics, Church-Papists and apostates are present in significant numbers, for which we make no apology. They are here because they were there and profoundly affected the course of history. Whereas the artistic progressives of the mid-sixteenth century tended to be humanist advocates of the new religion, the artistically aware successors of William Thomas, Sir Philip and Thomas Hoby in the early seventeenth, tended, like the Rutlands and the Arundels, to maintain the old. Meanwhile, with the support of Anne of Denmark and her less discreetly Catholic, foreign-born successors as Queens of England, the old religion became ever more fashionable, to the point of provoking Civil Wars or so-called Glorious Revolutions. Only after the latter did Protestantism come to dominate the Grand Tour and give it the Whiggish flavour with which it is associated in its fullyfledged, art-focused, eighteenth-century form. From this perspective, the finickety Master Finet and the good Doctor Lister are as representative of the new Great Britain as of the Grand Tour that became one of the most remarkable cultural phenomena of all time. This book began life in 1988 as a review of an Italian monograph on Inigo Jones in the Burlington Magazine. This was developed, alongside work on the origins of the Grand Tour, in the form of two talks, the first given at the ‘Inigo Jones: Renaissance Man’ conference in 1990, and the second at the ‘Early Cecils and their Patronage’ conference of 1997, both co-organized by the author with Malcolm Airs at Rewley House (now Kellogg College), Oxford. Since then, almost all of the other papers read at these two conferences have been published except the author’s. It was largely at the suggestion of Tim Wilks that these have finally been turned into the present book. Edward Chaney received many useful suggestions at the time of the conferences and many more debts have since been incurred, too many to list here, but a significant selection follow: Gillian Bastow, Katy Budge, Jeremy Black, John Bold, Ned Cranborne, Kerry

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Downes, Michael Estorick, Jo Godfrey, Peter Jarvis, Robin Harcourt Williams, Karen Hearn, Gordon Higgott, Alex Higson, Clare Hornsby, Philip Mansel, Christine Martella, Elizabeth McGrath, Perry Mercer, John Newman, Maurice Owen, Joanna Parker, John Peacock, Kitty Stirling, James Stourton, John Stoye, Andrew Thrush, Paul Tompsett, the late Kevin Sharpe, Joe Trapp and Hugh Trevor-Roper, and Jonny Yarker. Institutions include: Archivio di Stato di Firenze; Archivio di Stato di Torino; The Bodleian Library, Oxford; The British Library; Hatfield House; The Leverhulme Trust; Lincoln College, Oxford; The National Archives, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; The Warburg Institute, London; The Wellcome Institute Library, London; and the Library of Worcester College, Oxford. Edward Chaney and Timothy Wilks Southampton, September 2013

Chapter 1

‘THE FACE OF AN ANGELL’ (AND THE ANGLO-SPANISH BUSINESS)

On opening their window shutters on the morning of 11 September 1623, inhabitants of the northern Spanish port of Santander discovered that an English warship, a great three-decker, its timbers ornately carved and gilded, its mastheads and stern draped with vast ensigns, had dropped anchor during the night.1 The Prince Royal – as much a spectacle of Stuart majesty as a man-of-war – had caught a rising wind and had entered the estuary around two o’clock in the morning (Figure 1). Its commander, Francis, 6th Earl of Rutland, had been to the Continent at least twice before as a private traveller in the last years of Elizabeth’s reign and at the beginning of James I’s reign, in the retinue of his elder brother, the 5th Earl’s embassy to Denmark (Figure 2).2 Now, Rutland had arrived with the English Navy’s greatest vessel and an escorting fleet to extract Charles, Prince of Wales, and George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham, at the conclusion of their own remarkable tour. Setting aside its particular significance for Anglo-Spanish relations, Charles and Buckingham’s visit to the Spanish court may be seen as the climax to a series of exploratory journeys that together amounted to a Jacobean reconnaissance of Catholic Europe. As these journeys subsequently became more exclusively focused upon antiquities, art and architecture, the phenomenon became known as the Grand Tour, having consisted, in the first quarter of the seventeenth century, of far more inclusive and comparative explorations of European culture and politics in general.3 Every Jacobean tour at some point in its conception was charged by an impulse to travel engendered by England’s long period of isolation from Catholic Europe. While late-Elizabethan England had drawn heavily upon its native inventiveness in the arts, it had largely escaped the new stimulus being provided by the Counter-Reformation, the colonization of the New World and the material evidence of the Ancient World, which, together with rediscovered classical texts, had been inspiring the Renaissance of the past two centuries. Travel made it clearer that the creative energy of the Renaissance

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The Jacobean Grand Tour

Figure 1: Adam Willaerts, The Embarkation at Margate of the Elector Palatine and Princess Elizabeth (1613), oil on canvas, 1623

was far from exhausted and that artists and their patrons aspired not merely to match the achievements of the Ancients but to surpass them. In the first years of the new century, the works of Caravaggio, Rubens, Palladio, Scamozzi, Monteverdi, Lope de Vega, Cervantes, Tasso and D’Urfé were all exerting far greater influence than their English contemporaries, however highly the likes of Hilliard, Byrd and Shakespeare might be esteemed today. One struggles to extend the latter list with the names of an English architect before Inigo Jones and where sculpture is concerned there is no one of similar standing (Figure 3). Although the likes of William Harvey knew it was vital to study medicine in Padua, while others, inclining to natural science, witnessed Galileo’s experiments and purchased telescopes, where the humanities were concerned it was initially not so much consciousness of an inferiority as of a shared cultural inheritance stemming from the ancients that provided the imperative to travel and, particularly, to voyage south to those parts of Europe that, thanks largely to the Reformation, had been effectively out of bounds for so long.

Figure 2: Unknown engraver (circle of De Passe) for G. Fairbeard, Francis Manners, 6th Earl of Rutland, engraving, 1621

Figure 3: Anthony Van Dyck, Inigo Jones, drawing, late 1630s



‘The Face of an Angell’

5

Charles and Buckingham had ridden across France and into Spain the previous February, arriving unheralded at the Earl of Bristol’s ambassadorial residence in Madrid on 24 March 1623 (Figure 4; Plate A).4 Their intention was to break the deadlock and push to a successful conclusion the longstanding proposal that Charles and the Infanta Maria Ana should wed and thereby consolidate the peace process initiated by James at the start of his reign.5 After six months of difficult negotiations in situ, punctuated by the provision of lavish entertainments and the exchange of hugely expensive gifts, it became apparent that Spain would not shift from requiring religious concessions which would always be unacceptable to Parliament, while playing for time in which England’s support for her Protestant enemies was neutralized. Meanwhile, the pious Infanta was herself reluctant to marry a heretic, however assiduous a suitor. Unbeknownst to almost everyone except James himself by this time, as negotiations faltered his son and heir was having to pretend still to be determined to go through with the marriage, making promises beyond mere freedom of worship for English Catholics, in order to prevent the Spanish from holding him and Buckingham effectively hostage. So complete was the dissembling on both sides that a host of aristocrats, including the Earl Marshal, Lord Arundel, and his clients, Inigo Jones and Edward Alleyn, had travelled to Southampton to prepare the port for Charles’s triumphal return with his Spanish bride. In ignorance, latterly, of the likelihood that the Infanta would never arrive, they continued to prepare for the reception through the summer.6 Under such pressure, the suitor’s ardour gave way to indignation, while Buckingham, to cover his humiliation as failed marriage broker, became bent on reviving war rather than confirming peace with Spain.7 Having managed to take their leave of the teenaged Philip IV and his court, Charles and Buckingham were now anxious to return to England as soon as possible. By this time, plans were afoot to speed the precious passengers, at this point clearly not escorting a Spanish princess, home to a now frantic James, desperate to clutch his son and no less dear ‘Steenie’ to his bosom.8 Either from the shore or from the St George or Antelope – the two escorts that had arrived earlier, laden with provisions and with jewels for a parting show of munificence – came information that the Prince was fast approaching by road. At this news, Sir John Finet, a vastly experienced, 50-year-old courtier, disembarked from the Prince Royal and with an accomplished horseman and veteran of the tiltyard, Sir Thomas Somerset, Catholic son of the Earl of Worcester, rode inland to meet the royal entourage (Plate B).9 For more than a decade Finet had been acting as deputy to the Master of Ceremonies at the court of James I and he was one of a select handful of courtiers who deftly managed its mood swings, which could lurch from formality to farce and from decorum to extreme disorder in the space of a

Figure 4: William Larkin, George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham, oil on canvas, c.1616



‘The Face of an Angell’

7

day. Abroad, he was resourceful and uncomplaining – a natural traveller. In vivid prose and with evident pride, Finet later recounted how he had found his Prince: Ryding that night over the mountaines in most darke, and Tempestuous weather, we met his Highnesse about six leagues up within Land early the next morning, when (besides) the Joy his Highnesse received at our incounter, and the Fleet’s Arrivall (a news that he said made him looke upon me, when I told it, as on one, that had the face of an Angell), the Duke of Buckingham, when I after met him, and told him the like, to express his content, kissed me, and drawing from his finger a Diamond of above an hundred pounds valew), gave it me for a present.10

Charles’s huge relief at encountering the familiar figure of Finet indicated that although not yet departed from Spanish shores, he believed his adventure-turned-ordeal was effectively at an end. It is delightfully apposite in the context of this study that the task of conducting the most important (and only royal) Jacobean tourist out of the Continent fell to John Finet.11 We shall follow Finet’s remarkable career more closely than that of any other traveller as we illuminate England’s engagement with continental culture, the nature of which, from the late-Elizabethan years to the late-Jacobean, would evolve from cautiousness to decisive self-assurance. Only two decades before the Santander rendezvous, England was still at war with Spain; a state of affairs that had rendered large parts of the Continent and most of Spanish-dominated Italy largely inaccessible to Englishmen, especially to those Protestants who could not conceal their faith. At James’s accession, in March 1603, the idea that the new heirapparent to the throne (not, then, Charles, but his elder brother, Henry) might at some future date be subjected to the blandishments of the court in Madrid would have seemed utterly fantastic to a nation conditioned to the Spanish threat. Encouraged, however, by both Cecil and Howard advisers, James made peace quickly and showed every determination thereafter to maintain it. This made it much easier and more worthwhile for young travellers of the new Great Britain to invest not only their time and their families’ money but also their intellectual and aesthetic energies in the classical civilization of Europe. Even though a century had passed since the so-called High Renaissance, this still had considerable momentum and was indeed being revived in the form of a more realistic and classicizing reaction to Mannerism en route to becoming what was later termed the Baroque. While books from the continental presses and artworks and other luxury items arrived on merchant vessels tying up daily at London’s docks, and though the most able practitioners of the visual arts in England

8

The Jacobean Grand Tour

were foreigners – it had long tended to be so and, largely thanks to the Reformation, would long continue to be – if Englishmen were ever to transform their own country into one that foreigners would perceive as no less civilized than their own, it would be necessary for them to travel. None of this, needless to say, concerned those negotiators who agreed terms with the Treaty of London in 1604 that concluded hostilities between England and Spain. Diplomacy was then (as now) primarily focused upon furthering the purposes of the state abroad and striving to prevent the policies of other states having subversive or deleterious effects at home. James was, moreover, ambitious to be Europe’s Rex Pacificus. Even though cultural exchange was not the principal purpose of Renaissance diplomacy, it had become an essential accompaniment to negotiation. In order for one state to be able to engage with another it needed to be capable of recognizing and displaying the subtle marks of civility: a word so newly entered into the English language that its meaning had yet to shift far from that of its Latin progenitor, civilitas.12 England’s negotiators, all of them privy councillors, would have considered themselves what we now call Renaissance men, and it augured well for British art that, with the participation of both sides, an ambitious group portrait commemorating the Somerset House conference was achieved (Figure 5).13 Following the peace conference, in the spring of 1605 a splendid 650strong embassy led by the venerable Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham, set sail for Spain to witness Philip III ratify the treaty (Figure 6). This very important visit, therefore, took place 17 years after Lord Howard of Effingham (as Nottingham then was) had led his fleet to scatter the Armada and only eight years after he had shipped over Essex’s army to raid Cadiz. A similar length of time would elapse before Charles and Buckingham appeared in Madrid. In the period between these two highly significant state visits, almost all the English activity on the Continent that contributed to the ‘Jacobean Reconnaissance’ took place. Though the visits of both 1605 and 1623 were to Spain, it was in other parts of Europe, particularly Italy – its whole peninsula made more accessible to the English as a consequence of the Spanish peace – that this early Grand Touring principally took place. During the years of war, national pride had engendered contempt for Spanish culture and all things Spanish; though many Italian books were published and translated, few books written in the Spanish language were published in England after 1586, the year in which Leicester took an English army to oppose the Spanish in the Netherlands.14 Only within the two universities and the most sophisticated great families (including the leading Protestant households of Cecil, Sidney and Devereux) was the worth of Spanish culture, especially its literature, consistently appreciated. Exceptionally for its time, Sidney’s Arcadia shows the influence of a Spanish



‘The Face of an Angell’

9

Figure 5: Unknown artist(s), The Somerset House Conference, oil on canvas, 1604

work, Montemayor’s Diana, and only by the end of the century had the works of Montemayor, Boscán and Garcilaso been read sufficiently for them to slightly influence English poetry more generally.15 Italy, by comparison, though half its territory was governed by Spanish viceroys, remained throughout the sixteenth century a distant but nonetheless alluring cultural beacon, despite the clear dangers it held for travelling Englishmen and the suspicion they incurred on their return.16 Many of the leading families of the united kingdoms of England and Scotland were represented in Nottingham’s embassy to Spain of 1605, their urge to travel to this hitherto forbidden country now enabled by what was in effect a court-sponsored Grand Tour. Dudley Carleton wrote to his friend, the absent diplomat Ralph Winwood:

Figure 6: Daniel Mytens, Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham, oil on canvas, c.1618



‘The Face of an Angell’

11

My Lord Admiral’s number is 500; and he swears 500 oaths he will not admit of one man more. But if he will stand to that rate, and take in one, as another will desire to be discharged, in my opinion all men’s turns will be served. There was great execution done lately upon Stone the fool, who was well whipped in Bridewell for a blasphemous speech, ‘that there went 60 fools into Spaine besides my Lord Admiral and his two sons’.17

The vicious punishment meted out to Stone, which may have hastened his death (which Ben Jonson has Peregrine announce not long afterwards in Volpone)18 indicates the sensitivity of the authorities to criticism of the new amity with Spain. Carleton, in privately repeating Stone’s jibe to Winwood, knew that his friend – who was on the militant Protestant wing of English politics – would have appreciated it as well as Carleton’s description of it as ‘blasphemous’. Carleton was, in fact, one of those who travelled out to Spain, though he seems to have associated mainly with Lords Norreys and Willoughby, neither succumbing to the general rapture nor returning with the Admiral’s fleet; instead, he made his way home overland with Norreys.19 Carleton would embark on a diplomatic career and do much more travelling; he would also learn that a Jacobean ambassador’s role extended to being an agent for the procuring of art and antiquities. Much the same may be said of Sir Thomas Roe, who also voyaged to Madrid on this occasion. Another on this embassy was Thomas Coke, a client and confidant of successive earls of Shrewsbury, who would later proceed to Italy and become the first of the roving art agents of the great ‘Collector Earl’, Thomas Howard, 14th Earl of Arundel (Plate C).20 It is difficult to assess how much contact there was between the Admiral’s entourage and the English exiles in Madrid, but at the highest level we know that Nottingham, on behalf of James’s crypto-Catholic Queen, Anne of Denmark, proposed that Jane Dormer, dowager Duchess of Feria, who had left her homeland in 1559, might return to become a lady-in-waiting. Over the years, the Duchess had supported various plots to remove Elizabeth I from the throne, and in 1578, in order to raise money to buy arms, she had sold two statues of the Virgin Mary that had been rescued from St Paul’s Cathedral by some of the old faith and taken by her to Spain.21 Those Jacobean courtiers who took part in the embassy of 1605 would retain for the rest of their lives vivid memories of the grave magnificence of the Spanish court, the sensuous ceremonies of the Catholic Church, the curious festivities and formalities, and the barren and impoverished countryside, which always surprised English visitors to the heart of this, the greatest European empire of the period.22 From Coruña, 800 mules transported the English to Valladolid, where the Spanish court was then in residence; a progress that took two weeks to complete. At Valladolid (where there was an English Jesuit college) there followed three weeks of lavish

12

The Jacobean Grand Tour

hospitality and unceasing courtly entertainment. It was an extraordinary embassy of the very grandest sort; only the absence of James himself would have made it appear any less than a visiting court.23 The splendour and invention with which it was received was, indeed, only exceeded on those rare occasions when Renaissance monarchs actually met, as Henry VIII and François I of France had done on the Field of Cloth of Gold (1520); Mary and Philip of Spain for their wedding at Winchester (1554); and the brothers-in-law James VI and I and Christian IV of Denmark, in Denmark (1589/90) and on two subsequent occasions in England (1606 and 1614). Philip III, King of Spain, and James VI of Scotland and I of England had made peace for their own good reasons (Figure 7). Philip sought time to replenish his country’s resources while isolating the United Provinces – those northern states that had broken away from the Spanish Netherlands and, with English assistance, had frustrated all Habsburg attempts at re-conquest for more than thirty years.24 James, meanwhile, fervently wished to withdraw from all foreign confrontation, whether military or naval, so that he might divert the attentions of his subjects to the matter of the newly united two crowns of Great Britain. Even before his accession, English Catholics had been encouraged to hope that James’s peacemaking abroad would lead to toleration at home. Yet, James I’s first Parliament, summoned in the same year as the Peace, had confirmed Elizabethan penal laws against Catholics and had even extended them, seeking in particular to prevent Catholics from travelling abroad. It was always feared, with good cause, that once on the Continent some Catholic travellers would be led into conspiracies against the state or would begin training for the priesthood and return as missionaries. Elizabeth had founded Trinity College, Dublin, partly to divert Catholic families from sending their children to Douai, St Omer or Valladolid for their education.25 Whereas Elizabeth’s old foe, Philip II, had sought to re-impose Catholicism on England by means of invasion, his son and successor, Philip III, was prepared to settle for toleration for English Catholics, realizing, however, that if such a demand were to be made in diplomatic negotiations, it would always invite a counter demand made on behalf of the Netherlandish Protestants. A pragmatic Spanish government, therefore, avoided such an impasse to achieve the Treaty of London, contenting itself that it could press for toleration later. Papal fury and the despair of English Catholics were to be suffered as part of the new Realpolitik that Spain embraced at the start of the new century. England’s negotiators also calculated the cost of peace, locating their loss largely around their 30-year investment in the difficult relationship with the Dutch. There would, however, be an unforeseen consequence of the Treaty of London and the disappointing lack of concessions to Catholics: the hatching of the Gunpowder Plot. Two of the plotters had travelled to Spain not long before the treaty was negotiated: Thomas Wintour (having

Figure 7: Crispijn de Passe, James VI and I, King of Scotland and England, engraving, c.1620–5

14

The Jacobean Grand Tour

earlier visited Rome) in 1602, and Guy Fawkes in 1603. Both still hoped that Spain would mount an invasion of England and they brought assurances that a landing would be supported by a powerful rising of English Catholics. They failed to recognize (though probably the Spanish government did) that they represented only a small group of malcontents within the generally quiescent body of the Catholic gentry. Only after the plotters realized that Spain would never jeopardize its greater political objectives for their cause did they decide to take independent action, believing the removal of the King, the Prince and Parliament in one enormous explosion would create the conditions for a Catholic regime. When the Plot unravelled, the confessions of Father Henry Garnet, a Jesuit, soon linked it to these earlier overtures to Spain, conceived by the authorities as a sub-plot and alluded to as the ‘Spanish Treason’. Though much of the blame for the Gunpowder Plot was readily put on the Jesuits (and unfairly so, as the principal conspirators were of the Catholic laity), very little was made of the alleged Spanishness of the treason. Quite simply, these contacts were no longer of import, as they pre-dated the Peace.26 Spain’s new policy of distancing itself from conspiracies against James’s rule, if not entirely from the cause of English Catholics, was credible both to those who hailed it and to those who deplored it. One consequence was a shift of attention from Madrid to Rome. Whereas Italy had become more accessible during the chastened, post-Armada papacy of Clement VIII (1592–1605), after its early overtures to James I, the new pontificate of Paul V (1605–21) appeared to contemporaries (depending on religious persuasion) as either the sole succourer of English Catholics or the chief fomenter of disaffection and treason in England.27 This perceived shift of responsibility for the prosecution of the Counter-Reformation as it addressed England would begin to affect greatly the experiences of English travellers, most of all those who travelled to Italy. While the new era of peace afforded greater freedom to travel on the Continent, the Plot prompted a renewed suspicion of Catholics by the English authorities. The few conspirators who had been involved in the Ridolfi, Throckmorton and Babington Plots of the 1570s and 1580s had brought the loyalty of all English Catholics into question but these did not shake the Elizabethan government to the extent that the Gunpowder Plot shook the Jacobean government. Many of the English, who were soon travelling in Europe in greater numbers than at any time in Elizabeth’s reign, would have gladly taken the new Oath of Allegiance, but as long as a disaffected minority among English Catholics went abroad mainly to be educated or to worship openly, voices would be raised against foreign travel for those other purposes of pleasure or trade. With faultless logic but with no sense of the attainable, it was argued that if all loyal young Englishmen were dissuaded from travelling, the motives of those who still went abroad would then be exposed. In fact, the lure of the Continent proved irresistible to many young Catholic and



‘The Face of an Angell’

15

Protestant gentlemen, who succeeded in creating such a tangle of itineraries and contacts that anxious diplomats and spies (no less than historians of a later age) were often confused. It is hoped that some indication will emerge in the following pages of how the attractions of the sensuous and the sacred could sometimes combine to near-irresistible effect, as, once across the Channel, amid the attentions of variously motivated emigrés, agents and tutors, the souls of many young travellers were (as far as any self-respecting Calvinist was concerned) doubly lost to Art and the Antichrist. In those years between the Treaty of London and the failure of the Spanish Match, many young English gentlemen of a curious disposition took advantage of their country’s pacific foreign policy to cross the Channel and tour. They would tour in the expectation of encountering a refinement in arts and manners that would assist them in becoming – to borrow the title of Henry Peacham’s book – the ‘compleat gentleman’. Often, the only surviving record of such a tour is the grant of a licence to travel, such as that issued to Edmund Mountford (or Moundeford) of Fettwell, Norfolk, whose father, also Edmund, was one of those whom James I knighted in 1603. It was in the following year that the younger Mountford was given a licence to travel for three years.28 In February 1605, Sir Walter Chute was granted a licence to travel for three years with John Donne, and at the same time Sir James Bourchier and Sir Charles Morrison were issued with their own licences. Chute was back in England by December 1608, seeking employment from Salisbury.29 He would therefore have been abroad when, in January 1608, Julius (or Jules) Caesar, son of Sir Julius Caesar, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, was killed in controversial circumstances in Italy.30 Protestants and Catholics alike toured; Robert Throckmorton, who obtained leave to depart on 25 March 1608, was a recusant, while Giles Overbury of Quinton, Gloucestershire, younger brother of the ill-fated Sir Thomas, who received his licence to travel for the customary three years in 1611, was not.31 It is with such inquiring and receptive travellers that we are concerned – not with the aimless wanderer or the variously contented exile – as they would be the principal agents, after their return home, by which a cultural shift was to be achieved. The second great peace of the new century: the ‘Twelve-Year Truce’, was concluded by the Dutch and the Spanish in 1609. Unlike the earlier AngloSpanish treaty, it gave the parties respite rather than resolution, and neither peace did much to relieve the post-Reformation and Counter-Reformation tension that had for so long threatened European stability. Having perhaps been bloodiest in France, this tension was now at its greatest inside the Holy Roman Empire; a multi-state structure that was proving ever less suited to the political and religious realities of the seventeenth century. It was within the Empire, in the small, north-German state of Jülich-Kleve, that a war of succession broke out in 1610, which, it was feared, would have a chain effect. But, to the wonder of all, the fighting was confined to a set-piece siege of

16

The Jacobean Grand Tour

one city (at which English regiments led by Sir Edward Cecil were prominent participants) (Figure 8).32 Thereafter, a shaky peace held throughout Europe until 1618, when the long-expected conflict that would be remembered as the Thirty Years’ War broke out in the heart of the Empire.33 The next five years would be disastrous for the Protestant cause and humiliating for the house of Stuart. James I’s daughter, Elizabeth, and her husband Frederick, the Elector Palatine, having provocatively accepted the kingdom of Bohemia, were ousted from it by Imperial forces; worse still, they were then also deprived of Frederick’s ancestral possessions, the Upper and Lower Palatinates. English volunteers holding out in the fortress of Frankenthal offered the last Protestant resistance on the Rhine but they were ordered to surrender to Habsburg forces by James, who sought to appease the Spanish.34 All these conflicts were only finally brought to an end in 1648, on the eve of Charles I’s execution, by the Peace of Westphalia. It was amid what many perceived as the last chance to prevent the wreckage of his father’s foreign policy, which had sought the restoration of the Palatinate by negotiation, that Charles, Prince of Wales, rode incognito across France and half of Spain, accompanied only by Buckingham, and two Hispanophile courtier-friends, Francis Cottington and Endymion Porter,35 to arrive in Madrid to general astonishment. Though Charles had travelled with the intention of winning the Infanta, his broader intention was to redefine the amity between the Stuarts and the Habsburgs and to secure the restitution of the Palatinate.36 It speaks much for the increasing diversity of attitudes among the gentry and nobility of Charles’s generation that while many saw the Habsburgs as England’s natural enemies (some were stirred to volunteer for service in the defence of the Palatinate), others, perhaps enthused by stories of the great junket of 1605, sought to increase the honour of their nation by joining the entourage of the Prince of Wales in Madrid. Some of Charles’s entourage had been pre-selected by him; others were added to the official list by James I, while more made the journey independently. It was not, however, to be the joyous revel that many surely anticipated. Once in Madrid, the visitors found their movements restricted. While the less resourceful passed the time playing cards, a few, with sufficient desire and the right contacts, contrived to see some of the best of Spain’s art and architecture. One by one, several of those now familiar to us as arbiters of taste at the Caroline court of the late-1620s and 1630s turned up in Madrid: the Spanish-educated Endymion Porter had arrived with Charles; Balthazar Gerbier, Buckingham’s art adviser and buyer, came with the court contingent, and the Catholic agents and secret priests, Tobie Matthew and George Gage, also appeared (Figure 9; Plate E).37 Among the Prince’s gentlemen of the chamber attending in Spain were Thomas Carey (later to be the bête noire of Abraham van der Doort, keeper

Figure 8: Michiel Jansz. van Mierevelt, Sir Edward Cecil, oil on canvas c.1610

Figure 9: James Gammon (after a lost portrait), Sir Tobie Matthew, engraving, 1660



‘The Face of an Angell’

19

of Charles’s art collections) and Sir Robert Ker, later 1st Earl of Ancram, who had already patronized Abraham Van Blyenberch, a Dutch painter of the new generation that would revolutionize English portraiture. He would also, thanks to his friendship with Constantijn Huygens, acquire two Rembrandts and a Jan Lievens, which he presented to Charles I.38 Ker’s son and heir, William, was sent to tour France and Italy in the following year and would keep a diary in which he articulated his observations on art remarkably well, and, as the 3rd Earl of Lothian, following the example of his father, would later become an avid collector of paintings, contriving even during the Civil War to add to his large collection at Newbattle.39 While waiting for instructions to embark on the mission to retrieve Charles and Buckingham, John Finet wrote to one of the younger nobility, ‘Every nation stands at gaze lyke deer upon the clash of a cross-bow, wondering what will be the end of the Spanish busyness.’40 His vivid and somewhat ominous simile was wholly justified by the potential consequences of the Madrid negotiations. Despite added concessions regarding toleration for Catholics, Charles and Buckingham were unable to whisk away Charles’s intended bride, the Infanta, prior to the final ratification of a treaty, not least because her brother, the young King, Philip IV, doubted whether they would ever be able to fulfil their promises. Meanwhile, it was when Charles recognized the impossibility of securing parliamentary approval for most of the concessions he had offered that the ‘Spanish business’ came to an end. Charles, however, did not leave Madrid entirely empty-handed, as his hosts had earlier presented him with some exquisite paintings and he had also made purchases, eventually departing with masterpieces that included Titian’s Pardo Venus and Charles V with a Hound, Veronese’s Mars and Venus, and Giambologna’s marble sculpture, Samson Slaying the Philistine (Figure 10). Buckingham, meanwhile, had Titian’s portrait of Charles V on horseback copied to hang in York House, for which he later had Rubens do a matching equestrian portrait of himself. This haul set the highest of standards for the great collection that Charles had already begun to assemble and it would direct his taste and that of the so-called Whitehall circle towards the colore of the Venetian School and on to the Titian-inspired work of Rubens and his protégé Van Dyck, who had already briefly painted in England (October 1620–February 1621), having responded to encouragement from the Earl of Arundel to visit.41 When Rubens himself arrived in 1629, though having seen the greatest galleries of Spain, France and Italy, he conceded: when it comes to fine pictures by the hands of first class masters, I have never seen such a large number in one place as in the royal palace and in the gallery of the late Duke of Buckingham. The Earl of Arundel possesses a countless number of ancient statues and Greek and Latin inscriptions.

Figure 10: Giambologna, Samson Slaying the Philistine, carved marble, 1560–2



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21

He eulogized to a friend in August, ‘the charm of the nation’ and ‘the splendour of the outward culture, which seems to be extreme, as of a people rich and happy in the lap of peace’.42 In Charles’s seemingly impulsive decision to go to Spain were echoes of both his father and his late brother’s modus operandi. At the time of his death, Henry, Prince of Wales, had been poised to cross the sea to announce himself to Europe, his intention being to escort his sister Elizabeth, newly married to Frederick, the Elector Palatine, to her new home, in Heidelberg, though she had been previously promised to the Prince of Savoy, just as Henry had been to a princess of the same house.43 Though their initial attitudes to Spain may have been different, it was Henry’s determination – disregarding his father’s fears – to appear in person on the Continent, where he would define English foreign policy through a chivalric quest for a bride, that may have provided Charles with his model for action a decade later. Charles’s consciousness of having assumed both his brother’s role and some of his impetuosity could only have been heightened by returning from Spain in what had been Henry’s ship, the Prince Royal, which was to have transported Henry as well as the Palatine couple to the Netherlands in April 1613. Only a few weeks before their wedding was due to take place Henry had succumbed to encephalitis in the latter stages of typhoid fever; his death was described by Sir Arthur Gorges, reflecting the sentiment of most of the country, as an ‘Olympian Catastrophe’. Sailing on its maiden voyage without the Prince it was built for, the Prince Royal continued to honour Henry by Maximilian Colt’s massive ‘HP’ monogram carved on its stern and the sheer grandeur of Phineas Pett’s design. In 1623, this spectacle would speak a compelling message of continuity to Charles and Buckingham throughout their return voyage from Spain. Though never enacted, Henry’s tour of 1613 might well have earned a cultural reward scarcely less valuable than Charles’s sole journey overseas, since the court culture exhibited and enacted at every Hof between The Hague and Heidelberg was, allowing for local variations in flavour, taste and lavishness, essentially common to all of late-Mannerist Europe and would, therefore, have been as comprehensible to a Livonian lord as to a Portuguese prelate. Even without Henry, Princess Elizabeth’s stately progress to the Palatinate, accompanied by an enormous entourage of English and Scottish courtiers, proved to be a visually inventive and influential episode culminating in a magnificent reception at Heidelberg (Figure 11).44 The celebrations, demanding considerable artistic invention, had, of course, begun in London, where several months earlier Protestant princes and counts led by Frederik Hendrik of Nassau had begun to gather, ostensibly to witness the wedding but also to talk strategy.45 Such state visits – beyond their political agendas, always culturally enriching – were nonetheless rare and short-lived, whereas Italy and all

22

The Jacobean Grand Tour

Figure 11: Unknown engraver, Celebrations in Heidelberg on the arrival of the Palatine couple, engraving from Beschreibung der Reiss, Heidelberg, 1613

it represented in the English imagination was a constant. Now, it had become relatively accessible thanks to peace with Spain and, increasingly throughout the Jacobean years, Englishmen became drawn to it. Amid the throng accompanying the Palatine couple in 1613 was a party intent on continuing beyond Heidelberg to Italy. It was that of Thomas Howard, 14th Earl of Arundel (Plate C), his countess, Aletheia (Plate D), and their small children, whose entourage of 20 included Inigo Jones, their adviser on all matters artistic and architectural, Thomas Coke, their art buyer, and Robert Cansfield, the Earl’s discreet and capable Catholic cousin. During the course of a year, they would imbibe the visual culture of Renaissance Italy more deeply than any English party had done before, and though modern scholarship has established the fundamental importance of this Grand Tour



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23

in educating its participants – the benefits of which became apparent in their later activities as collectors and patrons and, in Jones’s case, as a practitioner – the wider phenomenon, of which it was a part, remains by comparison obscure.46 Jones had been on tours before: probably to Italy, c.1598, with Francis Manners (who would command the Prince Royal in 1623); possibly to Italy with his brother, Roger Manners, 5th Earl of Rutland, in 1596; and certainly with them both to Denmark in 1603. It will be argued that Jones’s most recent participation in a tour had actually been in 1609: in the first of the two Grand Tours of William Cecil, Viscount Cranborne (later 2nd Earl of Salisbury) (Plate F). Although Cranborne’s tours have received far less scholarly attention than the Arundels’, they are also highly revealing of the nature of the Jacobean Reconnaissance and are sufficiently exceptional to warrant closer examination. Cranborne’s first tour (1609) reached Provence; his second tour (1610–11) crossed northern Italy but got no further south than Padua. Accompanying Cranborne on both these tours in the capacity of co-governor was John Finet, who succeeded in escorting safely home this young Englishman, who had become entirely sapped, a dozen years before sharing the task of conducting a disconsolate Prince Charles out of Spain.47 Cranborne, the only son and heir of England’s first minister, Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, was sent to tour when Englishmen could roam more freely than at any time since the Reformation – there being no longer any formally ‘enemy territory’ in all of Christian Europe – but those who did so still carried a sense of foreboding. In October 1609, when, James I and his Privy Council considered what should be the extent of England’s involvement in the Jülich-Kleve question, they approached the matter with extreme caution, aware that military action was ‘like to draw no less after it than a general War in Christendom’.48 For a young English or Scottish nobleman, expected by birth to participate in his country’s affairs, it was opportune to inspect the condition of Europe and to gain an appreciation of its antiquity, its civil and cultural attainments, its fortifications, and its political and religious fragility.

Chapter 2

THE FASHIONING OF SIR JOHN FINET

How John Finet came to be in Tintoretto’s Venetian palazzo sitting for his portrait in the early weeks of 1611 (Plate B); how also, a dozen years later, he came to be on the rain-swept road above Santander searching for his Prince, and the extent to which these two events were connected, may be answered differently depending on one’s preference for the short or long view of history. For present purposes, the longer the view the better, as the earlier we succeed in detecting Finet’s activities and the longer we manage to keep track of him at home and abroad the more may be learned of the still too poorly understood process whereby England re-encountered a classicized Europe. The duration of Elizabethan England’s cultural isolation had been such that Mannerism was all but played out and the first manifestations of the Baroque were already appearing on the Continent as Jacobean England came to terms with Renaissance ways of seeing. Finet’s slow rise, across three reigns, from obscurity to prominence, amounts to more than just a curious biography as, throughout his life, Finet swam with the powerful current of a cultural sea change. To illuminate his life, therefore, is also to illuminate England’s emergence from its own relatively isolated visual world. Alongside Finet, we shall also follow, albeit more briefly, other scholartravellers, who would sooner or later look to the court for patronage. Among those whose lives intersected, ran parallel with, and diverged from Finet’s were Matthew Lister, Thomas Wilson, Mark Belford and Nicholas Lanier. All, like Finet, could be counted gentlemen, were well educated, but were not born to great wealth. With ambition also in common, they sought to acquire professional skills, social graces and, crucially, foreign experience and languages that might make them useful to great patrons. To this list of hopeful travellers we might add the name of Inigo Jones, who though of humbler origins and largely self-educated became the most celebrated of all by dint of his sheer energy, ability and ambition.1 All these surely knew Tom Coryate who, patronized by the Phelips family and warmly appreciated by Prince Henry’s court, attempted to capitalize more directly by publishing accounts

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The Jacobean Grand Tour

of his travels, the first as Coryats Crudities (1611), but who, according to Jonson, ‘conditioned to have no office of charge or neerenesse cast upon him, as a Remora of [i.e. hindrance to] his future travaile’ (Figure 12).2 Finet’s name has a ring of familiarity to those who know of Finetti Philoxenis, a small book on the reception of foreign ambassadors and much else besides, which has always held its place in bibliographies of the early Stuart court.3 Indeed, though he was never a shaper of policy or wielder of power, Finet achieved prominence at court as the busy assistant to the Master of Ceremonies throughout the latter half of the reign of James I, and, having attained the Mastership, throughout all the peaceful years of Charles I’s reign also (he did not quite live to witness the removal of the court to Oxford and the catastrophe of the Civil War). During his later years of office it fell to him to institutionalize a new decorum in court proceedings. Coarseness of manners, parochialism, interior squalor and the absence of architecture (as distinct from mere building) had been recurrent themes in the letters home of foreign visitors (especially Italians) over the previous century. A new observance of the etiquette common throughout European courts, combined with control of access, observation of the rules of precedence and sensitive placing arrangements at ceremonies and entertainments, probably contributed as much to the perception of a cultured Caroline court as the newly imported works of art that filled the royal galleries and those of prominent courtiers. No longer, in the new Britain, did foreign envoys and ambassadors feel like latter-day Ovids, in exile among barbarians.4 Long before his years of dedicated and reforming court service even began, however, Finet led a very different existence, yet one that ultimately qualified him for his trusted role at the centre of affairs. The Finet of these years is not James I’s ever-inventive provider of mirth, still less Charles I’s punctilious court functionary, but the anonymously dressed, slightly vulpine figure we see in his Venetian portrait. Born around 1570, Finet’s life almost to the age of 40 was an unpredictable odyssey that led eventually to a haven of patronage. Following his satisfactory governorship of Lord Cranborne, he entered the household of the Lord Treasurer, Robert Cecil, 1st Earl of Salisbury, as one of Salisbury’s private secretaries. Finet attended Salisbury for barely a year until his great patron’s death in May 1612. Salisbury probably made provision for his senior household servants before his death, which might explain the ease with which Finet seems almost immediately to have become deputy to Sir Lewes Lewknor, the Master of Ceremonies. Finet would gain the reversion of this Crown office in 1619 and eventually succeed to it in 1627, though he was performing many of its duties well beforehand. Stepping from the household of the Lord Treasurer into one of the ancillary offices of the court was, in fact, unremarkable; the essential grafting had been done long before. How Finet, hitherto patronless, had been considered competent to conduct Salisbury’s delicate

Figure 12: William Hole, title-page to Thomas Coryate, Coryats Crudities, London, 1611

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The Jacobean Grand Tour

son across Europe – a two-year trial that determined his fitness to rise to greater things – may only be understood if we acquaint ourselves with his past, as Salisbury had surely done. For Finet, as for any of the minor gentry in the 1590s, there were few opportunities for advancement at Elizabeth’s court, and few obvious careers beyond it save those of lawyer, cleric, or perhaps scholar. Soldiering offered at best a tedious existence in Dutch or Irish garrisons with a slight chance of gaining honour in a skirmish, but every chance of contracting a disease of the camp, if not of injury or death. Yet, Finet’s generation was also that of the Elizabethan Renaissance, which in its literary and musical aspects (less so its artistic) was heavily dependent on continental influences. Elizabethans were intensely curious about the sources of their models of learning and cultural refinement. Even while at war with Spain, numerous Englishmen either



The Fashioning of Sir John Finet

29

Figure 13: Unknown artist, View of Rome: Piazza S. Pietro, looking towards St Peter’s, pen-and-ink drawing over graphite with brown wash, c.1600

roamed or quietly resided abroad, and among the desperate and the eccentric were those who were impelled to some extent by this curiosity. Those who were Catholic were open to suspicion and often watched and reported on by their Protestant countrymen. One agent, later to be Prince Henry’s governor, Thomas Chaloner, who contrived to earn the trust of both the Cecil and Essex factions, watched English Catholics in Rome, observing, ‘they are traitors to their country’ (Figure 13).5 Another spy, John Arden, sent a stream of damning observations to the Cecils: in 1593 he described one Captain Peter Win as ‘an enemy to her Majesty and England and an actor in whatever was working’; Griffin Markham’s younger brother, he divulged, was now in Rome with aspirations to become a priest and ‘raileth cowardly against all’; ‘Mr Thomas Sackville [fourth son of Lord Buckhurst] had a Tedesco to his tutor, waiting on him

30

The Jacobean Grand Tour

and Mr Neville, but in truth he was a Jesuit’; ‘Sir Charles Davis is none of the best’ – ‘Davis’ later corrected to ‘Danvers’ by the aged but ever-attentive Lord Treasurer, Burghley.6 This individual was, indeed, Sir Charles Danvers, and the reports of his conduct by Arden and others informants – he was said to have kissed the Pope’s toes when in Rome – were taken so seriously that on his return he was briefy imprisoned in the Marshalsea. Arden’s ambiguous assessment of Danvers was borne out by subsequent events; in 1594 he fled to France with his brother, Henry, via Lord Southampton’s Titchfield Abbey, after killing a rival in a local feud. In Paris, he served as secretary to Sir Henry Unton, the English ambassador, until Unton’s death in 1596, after which he became attached to the Earl of Essex.7 In Essex’s service, he returned to Italy acompanied by Edward Yates, who, in a fascinating career as a secret agent, served, in turn, Anthony Bacon, Sir Thomas Chaloner and Prince Henry, later turning pirate and eventually retiring to a property belonging to his late patron (but early friend) Francis, 6th Earl of Rutland, not far from the Earl’s seat, Belvoir Castle.8 Danvers did not enjoy such a long run; executed in 1601 for his involvement in the Drury House conspiracy that led to Essex’s attempted coup. Essex had attracted a number of Catholic adherents by promoting himself as the only political leader who could bridge the religious divide. Danvers, Sir Christopher Blount and Sir John Davies, admitted their Catholicism under interrogation, while Essex’s close friends, Roger, 5th Earl of Rutland (with two of his brothers), and Henry Wriothesley, 3rd Earl of Southampton, were known Catholics, though the latter, as reported in a secret aviso prepared for the Spanish government, made ‘a public profession of heresy’ in connection with his release in 1603.9 Travelling Scots also were of increasing interest to the English authorities, as James VI appeared ever more likely to succeed Queen Elizabeth. Arden reported that two Scottish lords, ‘Buccleuch and Camhard whom some call Crichton’, had left Rome for England ‘and so to Scotland if they have good news’ in company with one Mr Fowler, who had been in the custody of the Inquisition a great while and had turned Papist. Their plan was to send Fowler up to Scotland to see how matters were, but their plan was ultimately to return to Rome. Retreating into Latin for the sake of propriety, Arden warned, ‘Crichton is a wicked man in living, scilicet, femina’ (‘that is to say, a woman’). Burghley duly noted their names in the margin.10 ‘Buccleuch’ was undoubtedly Walter, Lord Scott of Buccleuch (1565/6–1611), who had long acted as a law unto himself on the Borders to the annoyance of the English authorities, but his banishment abroad for three years in September 1591 was as much to prevent him giving assistance to his renegade stepfather, the Earl of Bothwell, who, driven out of Scotland, would die an exile in Naples in 1612. Buccleuch’s companion seems to have been Robert, 8th Lord Crichton of Sanquhar (‘Camhard’ seems to be an attempt at ‘Sanquhar’ or



The Fashioning of Sir John Finet

31

a misreading), who would later seek favour at the Scottish court for having spread word on a tour of Italy, c.1599, that James would introduce a policy of toleration towards Catholics after his accession to the throne of England. After the accession, Sanquhar went to France with reassuring reports on the treatment of Catholics in England, but though he sought an ambassadorship to Venice on the strength of his previous good offices, he was passed over.11 Arden was capable of distinguishing the innocents from the assorted ne’er-do-wells, and, in doing so, illuminates the inexorable growth of travel for the purpose of education, ill advised though this sometimes proved to be. He reported that on 15 April 1593 [N.S.] ‘young Mr Slingsby’ arrived in Rome, ‘but to travel, and had been put into the Inquisition if my brother had not been [present]. Your honours had need now of the great care who they be that travel.’12 Anyone who intended to return home would have needed to obtain a licence to travel before leaving England. One such, Simon Willis, in applying, in April 1608, for a fresh licence to return to France, stated his reasons were: ‘to better my knowledge and avoid the shame of an idle life at home’.13 Whereas many of those who aspired to be secretaries or office holders went abroad first, Willis was exceptional in that he had already served as Robert Cecil’s secretary for several years but, in 1602 (as Cecil later informed Sir Henry Wotton), had been ‘discharged of my Service, partly for his pride, whom Provynder had pricked,14 but principally because I was loath he should have some Discovery of that Correspondency which I had with the King [i.e. with James VI concerning the succession]’.15 Willis, thereafter, pressed for the second reversion of the clerkship of the Privy Seal, which he eventually secured.16 In explaining his decision to take himself to the Continent, Willis mentioned Elizabeth I’s insistence on languages as a qualification for office.17 Apparently, whatever deficiency Willis had in languages up to that point, it had not affected his work for Cecil, which largely concerned intelligence, whereas Cecil’s other senior secretary, the Ghent-born Levinus Munck, who took over much of Willis’s work, dealt with foreign affairs.18 Willis seems to have resided for some time in France but later travelled to Italy. Though, prudently, he entered Italy in the company of some English gentlemen whose loyalty was beyond doubt, his subsequent appearance in Rome caused Salisbury concern when he learned of it. Clearly, there was a suspicion that Willis had Catholic sympathies, and no doubt he bore a grudge against Salisbury. Either boldly or innocently, Willis returned to England, whereupon he was arrested and questioned – had he exposed any of Salisbury’s agents? Desperate to clear himself and perhaps divert attention, Willis racked his brains to come up with a list of ‘The names of sondry knights and gent., that in their travaylls into Italy have ben at Rome’, which must have made interesting reading for Salisbury, as it does for us, given that Rome was formally excluded from travel licences.19

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Most agents and informers were freelancers, providing services or information in the hope of reward and recognition. It could hardly be called a career path and most never emerged from obscurity. Yet, it can be seen that a high proportion of those who succeeded in achieving eminence or a position of authority in late-Elizabethan and early-Stuart England, as young men, had chosen to ‘lie abroad’, to borrow Sir Henry Wotton’s notorious pun, for a few years, observing and learning. Among these were Wotton himself, a long-serving diplomat, recommended by a dying Salisbury to be the next Secretary of State, only to be passed over for the entirely unsuited royal favourite, Rochester; also Anthony Bacon, who became Essex’s secretary; his brother, Francis Bacon, later Lord Chancellor; Robert Naunton, later Secretary of State; and Thomas Chaloner, later governor and Chamberlain to Henry, Prince of Wales. All returned displaying that distinctive Renaissance combination of versatility and virtuosity. This path was not new; it had been trodden by a smaller number of the previous generation and, of course, many more when Christendom was more united and ecclesiastical patronage and preferment at the Court of Rome had been critical factors. So far as the immediate post-Reformation situation is concerned, the careers of both Sir Thomas Wyatts, Sirs Philip and Thomas Hoby and William Thomas (later Clerk to the Privy Council) epitomize this phenomenon (Figure 14).20 Many of the last generation of Tudor travellers were connected in some way to the Elizabethan spy networks and Finet may be included among them, though the early traces of him are fainter than those of his more prominent predecessors.21 John Finet had Italian ancestry; he declared that his great-grandfather (known in England by the same name but presumably baptized Giovanni Finetti) had been of a respectable Sienese family who had accompanied the papal legate Cardinal Campeggio to England in 1518 seeking Henry VIII’s support for a crusade against the Turks.22 When Campeggio departed in November 1519, Finet’s ancestor remained, betrothed or already married to one of Catherine of Aragon’s maids-in-waiting.23 Only a matter of days after Campeggio’s entourage had left, another party of Italians arrived – Florentine sculptors hired to work with Pietro Torrigiano on the Tudor tombs.24 Finetti would, therefore, have been one of a number of Italians at the court of the young Henry VIII imparting in various ways their Renaisance sophistication. Campeggio returned to England a decade later to adjudicate in the King’s divorce proceedings, at which time Finetti surely reconnected with his former patron, though we do not know what his role may have been or to whom he reported. Long before Henry VIII’s death, however, the court-centred, visual English Renaissance waned and the Italian artists and artisans, who had worked most recently on Henry’s stuccoed fantasy palace of Nonsuch, departed, while Italians of a different kind arrived: Peter Martyr Vermigli and Bernardino



The Fashioning of Sir John Finet

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Figure 14: William Cure I (attrib.), Tomb of Sir Philip and Sir Thomas Hoby, 1566, All Saints, Bisham

Ochino, among other leading continental reformers. A climate of evangelical Protestantism was not conducive to the patronage of further major artistic projects; rather, England experienced widespread iconoclasm for the first time since Lollardy, though this time government-sponsored and on a devastating scale.25 Not for another three generations would similarly accomplished continental artists work again in England and then only after English travellers had rediscovered in private collections, artists’ studios and dealers’ porticoes what was, by then, two centuries’ worth of classically informed art along with its antique sources of inspiration.26 Giovanni Finetti, it seems, was not wholly exposed to regime change at Whitehall, as, by virtue of his marriage, he was able to nestle himself among the county gentry of Kent. His court sweetheart was of that prominent Kentish family, the Mantells, whose chief possession was Horton Priory near Folkestone. It would have been normal practice for a nearby property to be settled on the newly married couple, and this may well have been

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The Jacobean Grand Tour

how the manor house of Solton, which lies just off the Dover to Deal road and barely a couple of miles from the sea cliffs of South Foreland, came to the Finets and remained the family’s somewhat modest seat throughout the reign of Elizabeth and into that of James I.27 By 1554, Giovanni’s son, Thomas, was serving as mayor of Dover, and from what may be gleaned from the charters of the port and town, he was careful to demonstrate loyalty to Mary and Philip.28 In this same year, however, his mother’s defiantly Protestant family suffered the loss of Walter Mantell and his nephew of the same name, who were both returned to the county for execution after the failure of Wyatt’s Rebellion against the Spanish marriage.29 In 1561, Giovanni’s grandson, Robert (father of our Jacobean traveller) was named as one of Dover’s chamberlains, apparently untainted by his blood tie to the Mantells.30 The Kent historian, Edward Hasted, affirmed that John Finet kept up the old house at Solton, but if he did, he may not have spent much time there.31 At about the age of 11 he was left fatherless; an age at which, in any event, a boy of his social position would typically have been fostered and educated in the household of a more prominent county family. As it was, his mother32 married again, becoming the wife of John Foche of Sutton, a neighbour, and this bond between the two families was later strengthened by the marriage of John Finet’s sister, Joanna, to Thomas Foche of Wotton, a nephew of the previously mentioned John Foche.33 It seems likely, therefore, that Finet spent some of his youth in the various houses of the Foches, who had recently risen out of the very wealthiest of Kent’s yeomen and into the gentry proper; possessing much farmland between Deal and Dover.34 There is also to be considered another possible home for Finet in the early 1580s. While still a young man, Finet acknowledged his indebtness to the Dacres of the South, whose family seat was Herstmontceaux Castle in Sussex.35 He was just old enough to have known the soldiering Gregory, 10th Lord Dacre (d. 1594), the last to bear the Fiennes name; and he certainly knew his sister, Margaret (d. 1611/12), her husband Samson Lennard of Knole (1544–1615), and their son, Henry, 12th Lord Dacre (1570–1616). Indeed, shortly before the latter’s death, in writing to William Trumbull, the English Resident in Brussels, to request his care of Lord Dacre’s son, who was then on the Continent, Finet mentioned that he was obliged to Dacre for many things.36 Moreover, the Dacres and the Finets, though not related by blood, had separately formed marriage alliances during the reign of Henry VIII with the Mantells, and both had consequently shared in or been touched by the successive disasters that so weakened that family.37 If, as the antiquary, Anthony Wood stated, ‘Sir John was always bred in the Court’, it is probable that his first experience of it was with the Dacres rather than the less prominent Foches.38 Wood, who was still a child at the time of Finet’s death, could only have received this information at second



The Fashioning of Sir John Finet

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hand, but support for his assertion exists in the so-called ‘John Finet’s Miscellany’, an important manuscript collection of poems compiled by Finet between 1584 and 1590.39 This includes some poems clearly contributed by his student friends at Cambridge, but also by others indicating at the very least a point of contact with court society; there are poems by Nicholas Breton, Edward Dyer, Sir Arthur Gorges, Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, Sir Walter Ralegh, Sir Philip Sidney, Edmund Spenser, Ferdinando, Lord Strange, and Queen Elizabeth herself, almost all then unpublished.40 The order in which the ‘Miscellany’ was compiled may indicate periods when Finet was alternately at university and at court. While Finet no doubt enjoyed copying poems (his choices reveal a preference for recent poetry and an eye for quality), the precious anthology that resulted would also have proved an intelligent investment in ‘cultural capital’. After completing his formal education at St John’s, Cambridge, a college with strong Cecilian connections, where he matriculated in 1588, Finet went abroad to serve as a gentleman volunteer in the English garrison at Flushing (Vlissingen), which was governed by Sir Robert Sidney.41 In this decision, there may be the hint of another Kentish connection, with the Sidneys of Penshurst. Finet was at Flushing in 1595, but how long he stuck at soldiering remains unclear, as he lingered abroad, becoming more worldly-wise and fluent in languages, eventually acquiring French, Spanish, Italian, German and Latin.42 His hopes for patronage were for a time concentrated upon John Whitgift, Archbishop of Canterbury, to whom he sent ‘unwoorthy letters […] in my travails’. As if he hoped to gain nothing by them, he later recalled, ‘The greatest trouble they [the letters] put him [Whitgift] to, was to peruse them; so were the proofs he gave of his vertue, and the signes of his love towards me, the onely end and use I had of them.’ This reflection occurs in the prefatory remarks to Finet’s translation of De la naissance, durée et cheute des estats, a respected treatise by the Savoyard diplomat and politique réaliste, René de Lucinge, that had been published in Paris in 1588 (Figure 15).43 Finet, no doubt, began the translation with the intention of presenting it to Whitgift, encouraged by his mild interest in Finet’s letters. To undertake the translation and publication of a work on statecraft or political theory was a recognized way of demonstrating one’s desire and ability to serve the Crown or enter the secretariat of a privy councillor.44 Indeed, Finet’s future superior, Lewes Lewknor, prior to being appointed Master of Ceremonies, established his credentials as an authority on foreign states with the publication in 1599 of his translation of Cardinal Contarini’s Della republica, et magistrati di Venetia.45 When Whitgift died in 1604, Finet transferred his attentions to his successor, Richard Bancroft, a great bibliophile, to whom he dedicated the finished translation, explaining:

36

The Jacobean Grand Tour I met with it in my wanderings, and brought it along with me, with an intent, for my private exercise of that tongue it first spake in, to translate it: that performed, my determination to recommend it to your Graces patronage, fell to be at this dangerous time, when the divell (arch-enemie of trueth) and all his execrable ministers held their generall counsaile how they might make but one firework of our whole estate: but the consideration of your Graces most just imployments in so weightie a businesse, withheld me with a reverend feare of their disturbance.46

It would seem by this account that the manuscript was all but ready for publication when the Gunpowder Plot was discovered. Though Finet claimed the crisis caused him to withhold his work for fear of unduly troubling his latest intended patron, it is to be suspected that he had found it impossible to secure a publisher, as London’s printers cleared their presses to produce all manner of Gunpowder Plot publications. The Beginning, Continuance, and Decay of Estates, as the English version was entitled, was published the following year, 1606, but by then Finet was exploring an even more promising prospect of patronage than that offered by the archbishops of Canterbury.47 When, in early 1605, James I decided to reduce his day-to-day involvement in state affairs, peace having been achieved, Robert Cecil’s already considerable workload became correspondingly greater. Rewarded with the new earldom of Salisbury on 4 May,48 Salisbury (as we shall now call him) (Plate K) became more than ever determined to live as a great man, which, according to a norm established during the reign of Elizabeth, required him to own, and ideally to build, magnificent houses for himself and his family, in both town and country, the latter, in part, for the purposes of entertaining his monarch. Though, in 1597, he had been given old Beaufort House by his father, Lord Burghley, which he quickly refurbished and sold,49 and though he inherited Theobalds, which, like Burghley House, his father had built,50 it was upon his own constructions that he began to lavish his attention and wealth. After acquiring and demolishing one of the old bishops’ town houses in Westminster, he aggregated neighbouring properties to create a new riverside complex that became known as Great Salisbury House and Little Salisbury House.51 Nearby, he also set about building the New Exchange – what would now be termed a shopping mall – which, aside from being a source of income, was intended to be as much a lasting monument to him as any of his great houses.52 In Dorset, Salisbury turned an old hunting lodge within Cranborne Chase into a new manor house, while in Hertfordshire he undertook his most ambitious building, Hatfield House, which would be set in formal gardens of great charm and ingenuity. It was a hugely expensive undertaking, though less than its rival, the sprawling Audley

Figure 15: Title-page to John Finet’s translation of René de Lucinge, The Beginning, Continuance, and Decay of Estates, London, 1606

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End, then under construction for Cranborne’s father-in-law, Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk.53 Of the two, Hatfield was the more architecturally informed, benefiting from the newly acquired expertise of Inigo Jones, whom Salisbury had already consulted over the New Exchange.54 Salisbury, indeed, considered himself ‘a good Architectour’55 but was still incapable of considering classical design in an exclusive and (thereby) successfully unifying way; he was content, instead, to apply, with Cecilian caution, various classical features.56 Unfinished houses were the normal domestic environments for Salisbury’s heir and Finet’s future charge, William, Lord Cranborne, throughout his youth (Plate F). At the time he went on tour, Cranborne must have been all too familiar with the smell of masonry dust and fresh-sawn beams and have absorbed the fact that great buildings were created not through undirected labour but through guidance and a plan. He would have known little of the principles of architecture but, almost intuitively, he would have understood the importance of building, furnishing and display in the affirmation of nobility. It had become increasingly obvious to Salisbury that he could no longer project-manage his various building sites, even with the assistance of Simon Basil, the Surveyor of the King’s Works, whose services he had been calling upon. Consequently, an already tried and trusted agent, Thomas Wilson, was brought into the household as an additional private secretary, largely to assume day-to-day oversight of the works.57 Wilson’s previous movements as one of Cecil’s agents abroad can be followed fairly well, as he had sent home a stream of reports from various foreign stations. He was in Italy throughout much of 1601–2, based mainly in Florence and later in Venice, though he also visited Pisa and Padua. His movements during these months are particularly interesting as it would appear that when he received his instructions for Italy, John Finet, who had known Wilson from the time they were students in Cambridge, decided to ‘bear half-stakes with him in the lottery of travel’ – to borrow Thomas Nashe’s phrase.58 The attraction of Italy, felt by many Elizabethans possessing not a drop of Italian blood, must have been well-nigh irresistible to Finet. We know the pair were indeed in Italy together from a single reference in a report of peace negotiations in the Spanish Netherlands that Finet later sent to Wilson in 1607: Such as came hither for religion and professed themselves Catholics look with that uncharitable eye upon us Protestants as I cannot but wonder at the difference between those and them in Italy, with whom you may remember we held at the least a friendly society usque ad aras.59 These distempers drove me sooner thence than I intended, and brought me about 24 of August to Paris.60



The Fashioning of Sir John Finet

39

There is also one record of Finet in Italy in 1601 at the conferring of a doctorate upon an English medical student at the University of Padua. Finet – temporarily detached from Wilson – is named as a witness with seven other Englishmen, among them William Harvey, who was to become eternally famous for his discovery of the circulation of the blood.61 Here, then, is firm evidence that when Finet led Cranborne over the Alps in 1610, it was to a country he already knew. Indeed, the cautious Salisbury would have considered previous experience of Italy a prerequisite for such a great responsibility. By following Wilson’s trail through Italy in these first years of the century, we are also likely to be generally following Finet. It was in Florence during 1601 that Thomas Wilson and probably Finet also met Henry Wotton (Plate G), who was unattached at this time, having formerly been a secretary and intelligencer in the service of the fallen favourite, Lord Essex. Presciently, he had gauged it a good time to be out of the country, leaving in December 1600, before Essex attempted his coup, confident that his interests at home would be maintained by his able and influential (albeit Catholic) half-brother Sir Edward Wotton.62 He took with him Sir Edward’s eldest son, Pickering, who had an appetite for travel (no doubt related to political ambition) to rival that of his uncle. Henry Wotton would reside in Italy between February and June 1601 and between May 1602 and May 1603, spending most of both periods in Florence but also some time in Venice, and he and his nephew would leave Italy together for Germany and France in May 1603.63 Wotton was more experienced than either Wilson or Finet, moved in more elevated circles and already knew Italy well from previous visits. As early as 1593, the Cecils’ astute agent, John Arden, had reported him as one of only two English gentlemen he had encountered to be profiting his country.64 Unbeknownst to Wilson and Finet, Henry Wotton, was, during his self-imposed exile, searching for a way to bring himself to the direct attention of England’s king-in-waiting, James VI of Scotland. Wilson and Finet were probably already in Florence by March 1601, in time to observe the spectacular arrival of Sir Anthony Sherley, one of the three notorious, peripatetic brothers, announcing himself as the Shah of Persia’s emissary on his way to see the Pope (Figure 16).65 If so, they would have been left standing, so to speak, by the swiftness with which Wotton attached himself to the exotically attired stranger. In fact, Wotton and Sherley knew each other of old; they were distantly related, which was sufficient for Sherley to call Wotton ‘cousin’, and both had served Essex.66 All the while, the astute Wotton, aware of Sherley’s endless capacity for deception and double-dealing, intended to stay with Sherley only as long as it was to his advantage. While in Florence, Sherley had recommended him to Ferdinando I, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and somewhat suprisingly this had given Wotton added credibility at the Florentine court. Not long after

Figure 16: Giovanni Orlandi, Sir Anthony Sherley, engraving, 1601



The Fashioning of Sir John Finet

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they reached Rome, Wotton parted from Sherley and returned to the Grand Duke, from whom he gained permission to travel secretly to Scotland to deliver to James VI intercepted dispatches concerning the succession to the English throne; where these documents came from remains unclear. Wotton may have devised his own mission with the connivance of Ferdinando’s principal secretary, Belisario Vinta, as a means whereby those involved would gain the trust and gratitude of Queen Elizabeth’s likely successor.67 Wilson had shifted to Venice from where he tried through the summer and autumn to find out for Robert Cecil where Henry Wotton had gone and for what reason. Pickering Wotton, who remained in Florence, could (or would) not say.68 Wotton may have vanished, but Sir Anthony Sherley was now conspicuously established in Venice, living grandly on a papal gratuity and borrowed money. For want of more attractive opportunities, he had set about building up his own credit with James VI by advertising in Italy the King’s desire for amity between England and Spain, propounding to all his English contacts that France was the greater threat to them. With English and Scottish gentlemen continually passing through, Venice was as good a place as any for Sherley to practise his powers of persuasion while waiting for the succession. He soon established a sizeable household, including several Englishmen and Scotsmen, some of whom may have been among those whom Finet recalled having ‘held a friendly society’.69 Apparently following the ancient dictum that one should keep one’s friends close but one’s enemies even closer, Sherley befriended Wilson, yet wrote privately of ‘a fellar of a vile occupation, one Wilson, an intelligencer’.70 By July 1602 Wilson had become quite unnerved, reporting that: I am forced at this present to change my lodging, and live very retired, and make it be given out that I am gone out of town, only to shun his [Sherley’s] impudent company, which intrudes himself every day by force, only to spy by me, whether I know of his practises.71

Two months earlier, Wotton had reappeared in Florence, having spent the winter in Scotland. He began to exchange newsletters with Wilson, then still in Venice, which were written in what appears to be a spirit of genuine cordiality, though he would have known of the Cecil connection. Wotton, of course, might have seen Wilson, also Finet and ‘cousin’ Sherley, if his journey back to Florence had been by way of Venice, but there is no evidence to confirm this.72 Towards the end of the year Wilson, and probably Finet, left Venice. Letters to Wilson from Italy, redirected by an Italian contact in Lyon, found him at Bayonne, a disputed border town held by the French but coveted by the Spanish even after the signing of the Treaty of Vervins in 1598. It was

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still necessary for any Englishman there to remain inconspicuous: in 1597 the English agent across the border in San Sebastián had been betrayed; in 1595 another agent named Henri Châteaumartin, a double agent reporting to the English and Spanish, had attempted to betray Bayonne to a Spanish fleet. When Wilson arrived, Châteaumartin’s head was still displayed in a cage at one of the town gates.73 Drawn home like many others, Finet probably among them, by news of the death of Queen Elizabeth and the peaceful accession of King James, Wilson was back in England by June 1603. The succession presaged many new employments, and Wilson, aware of a new inclination to establish diplomatic relationships with Venice and Tuscany, fancied himself as the person to take formal proposals to those states. Disinclined, curiously, to approach Robert Cecil directly, he sought and obtained the recommendation of Thomas Sackville, now Lord Buckhurst, another grandee of the Privy Council, who was ‘much beholden’ for favours Wilson had done him in the past.74 Despite this impressive support, Wilson was passed over, and so he tried next to obtain a place in Prince Henry’s chamber or as one of his cupbearers, but without success.75 Then, the Privy Council remembered him as someone familiar with Venetian affairs, and gave him the task of escorting Giovanni Carlo Scaramelli, a Venetian envoy, from Oxford to Southampton (where he was to have an audience with the King), and thence to Dover for the arrival of the new Venetian resident ambassador, Nicolò Molin, and an ambassadorextraordinary, Piero Duodo.76 Such was Venice’s importance in King James’s grand strategy that, according to Molin: our journey had been planned, so as to bring us through the most lovely parts of this kingdom, with a retinue of gentlemen, who were waiting for us in Dover, with an escort of three to four hundred horse, and hunting parties on the way in many royal demesnes, and lodging in the country houses of the nobility.77

Unfortunately, Duodo landed separately at Portsmouth, and Molin, with Scaramelli and Lewknor, the Master of Ceremonies, set off to join him along the same roads, made difficult by incessant rain, by which Scaramelli had just come.78 We may suspect that Finet was in attendance at some stage, if not escorting the Venetian diplomats, then at Dover, to which his house at Solton was conveniently close. Prior acquaintance with Molin, whose stay in England lasted almost 27 months (November 1603–January 1606), no doubt encouraged Arundel and Inigo Jones, while making their tour of 1613–14, to view (and possibly stay at) the Villa Molin, south of Padua, designed for Molin by Scamozzi and completed in 1597, which would influence Jones’s Queen’s



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Figure 17: Villa Molin, Mandria, designed by Vincenzo Scamozzi, 1597

House at Greenwich and his design for the Prince’s Lodging at Newmarket (Figure 17).79 It was not only stimulating conversation with Italian diplomats (one might add merchants and bankers) in London that primed those English intending to visit Italy, but also glimpses, as it were, of that country afforded by the interiors and exteriors of the town houses of resident Italians. Scaramelli, for example, reported that he was being accommodated within sight of the Tower ‘in a house in the borough [i.e. Southwark], quite new, with a great Italian garden, belonging to a merchant of Lucca’.80 On the opposite bank, in Tower Ward, prosperous Italians and other aliens had long been occupying properties alongside the town houses of English gentry and nobility.81 During the summer of 1605 Finet was certainly in Kent, completing his translation of De la naissance, durée et cheute des estats, while Wilson rested at the house of a Mr Calton at Greenwich before commencing the

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Sisyphean task of managing Salisbury’s various unfinished properties.82 The pair were still close, and Finet unexpectedly found himself reporting to ‘my very loving freend Mr Wylson’ on a curious clash of nations that was being enacted almost within view of his house. A Spanish squadron had been driven with heavy loss into Dover harbour by a Dutch fleet, which had proceeded to blockade it. For the better observation of events, Finet had joined the company of ‘Lady Dacre and that noble family to whose love I owe so much’ in Dover Castle (from which cannon had been fired to warn off the Dutch) and would stay with them for the next fortnight. On the quayside, he witnessed the strange spectacle of veteran Spanish soldiers buying fresh produce from eager Kentish countryfolk, commenting ‘neither spare they to express their natural haughtiness which even in this extremity is hardly suppressed’.83 Whatever distaste Finet may have felt for the Spaniards, he nevertheless engaged with them, writing of ‘my conference with Spaniards and others’, and passing on to Wilson such intelligence ‘as a Spanish commander confirmed to me’.84 Finet was not yet in Salisbury’s direct pay and would not be for another two-and-a-half years. Though he was clearly well connected, sending intelligence to Wilson to be passed on to Salisbury seems to have remained Finet’s principal method of promoting himself. Between 1605 and 1607 he went once more onto the Continent, travelling through the Spanish Netherlands to France. Finet reported any English Catholics that he came across; standard practice for any Elizabethan and Jacobean traveller wishing to confirm his own loyalty but which, in the first months after the discovery of the Gunpowder Plot, had assumed a new importance. It cannot be entirely discounted that Finet’s resumed travels took him back to Venice, where at his palazzo Wotton offered a welcome to young English gentlemen, especially if they were Kentishmen, occasionally employing them as agents and messengers.85 England’s diplomatic outposts at Paris, Brussels, The Hague, Venice and Florence received a steady flow of their countrymen, keen to exchange news and information. Only the ambassador in Madrid, where Francis Cottington took over from Sir Charles Cornwallis in 1609, felt isolated, as a melancholic Cottington complained to the English Resident in Brussels: I cannot choose but envy your imagining that you are often visited by gentlemen of our country. Here, my lord Roos excepted, I have never seen one honest man of them that come to see and learn the language as in other parts. It is more than six months […] since I conversed with an Englishman. Yet in this town are five or six, but by Cresswell [the English Jesuit] absolutely commanded not to come to my house […] I fear I shall leave my bones here. I can scarcely eat or sleep these two months.86



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However far Finet ventured, he was back in England by late 1607. What forewarning he received is unclear but it was then that we find him making preparations to take Salisbury’s son, Lord Cranborne, to Paris. It seems that Cranborne was only entrusted to Finet after Aurelian Townshend, whom Robert Cecil had groomed for the task of taking his son abroad, proved inadequate – not so much in languages as in judgement. Between 1600 and 1603, Townshend had been sent to France and then to Venice, but among his several mishaps, Sir Anthony Sherley fleeced him of Cecil’s money in Venice, where, almost certainly, he also encountered Finet and Wilson. Townshend, instead, accompanied Lord Herbert of Cherbury, who was older and more self-reliant than Cranborne, to France in 1608, where he proved useless when Herbert was attacked by a wild boar (Figure 18).87 Townshend eventually achieved moderate success as a writer of court masques, collaborating with Inigo Jones after Ben Jonson’s withdrawal, his first court production being Albion’s Triumph, performed on Twelfth Night, 1632. Cranborne seems to have left England around Christmas 1607, and it was in the following February, ensconced in Paris, that Finet reported to his old friend Wilson: My Lord is well and merry and joins in his French and exercises more than any man I have known that takes but half his liberty. I thank God my worthy brother Lyster and I join with that harmony in his service, as I hope my Lord’s ear shall never be offended with the least discord between us. Write to me as you may, I will requite you with such as this, which is not worthy my Lord’s ear, else he should have it.88 (Figure 19)

This is our first notice that Finet was to share responsibility for Cranborne with the physician, Matthew Lister, who had also lived and studied abroad (Figure 20). He had witnessed the conferring of a doctoral degree upon William Harvey at the University of Padua in April 1602,89 and had received his own doctorate at Basel in November 1604, having offered a thesis on the theory of fever.90 Whereas Salisbury had long known about Finet, Lister was more of an unknown quantity. Apparently, it was not enough that he was the brother of Edward Lister, the royal physician-in-ordinary, or that he had recently been elected a fellow of the College of Physicians, as referees’ letters were sent to Salisbury by the other fellows of Oriel (the Oxford college to which he belonged), describing him as ‘well worthy of his degrees and place, in religion very forward, zealous and sound’.91 On 22 March, Finet wrote again to his friend, mainly to relate an incident, disturbing in itself, but in which Cranborne, perhaps for the first time, gave an indication that he could take command of a situation and act with authority. There had been an altercation between one of the gentlemen attending him, a ‘Mr Finch’, and a ‘Mr Litton’. Finet had intervened to

Figure 18: Isaac Oliver, Edward, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, miniature, c.1610



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Figure 19: Crispijn de Passe, A courtier training a horse, observed by Louis XIII and Antoine de Pluvinel, engraving from Pluvinel’s ‘L’Instruction du Roy’, Paris, 1625

prevent a duel and Cranborne had then successfully played the peacemaker.92 Finch, who delivered the letter to Wilson, was recommended by Finet as ‘a gentleman of my old honest acquaintance’, which may indicate that he was one of the Finches of Kent. He warned Wilson that ‘Mr Rookes’ might also arrive with letters, ‘a man of good understanding, whom I have found faithful’ – almost certainly a reference to George Rooke, the Kentishman trusted by Wotton and known to Coryate, who was at that moment bringing news from Padua to London.93 Finet also mentioned an unnamed gentleman in Paris who was offering to take messages of condolence to Florence, where the Grand Duke had just died. From all this, we gain a positive impression of Finet’s position amid the tendrils of Jacobean patronage at this intermediate point in his career; moreover, that

Figure 20: Unknown engraver (after Paul van Somer), Sir Matthew Lister, engraving, published 1646



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he remained well connected with Italy through his contacts to itinerant Englishmen.94 In November 1608, the prolific letter writer and habitué of the English court, John Chamberlain commented on arrangements being made for Salisbury’s son to embark on an ambitious foreign tour, noticing Finet for the first time. In dismissive fashion he reported, ‘Dr. Lister and one Finiet a travayler of no note or account, (but only preferred by Wilson) are to be his [Lord Cranborne’s] best guides.’95 Though Finet’s only qualification in Chamberlain’s eyes was as a traveller (rather as Inigo Jones, on first coming to the attention of society, was understood to be ‘a great traveller’), he was not, in fact, the furthest-travelled Finet of the time. Thomas Finet, described as a gentleman of London and possibly a cousin, also seems to have had some attachment to Robert Cecil, as a bond, due for payment if he returned from a journey to Constantinople, was placed in the safe keeping of the Cecil secretariat. It was repaid in 1613 when Thomas came back with a tale of witnessing a vast Turkish army depart to fight the Persians, which was retold to John Finet’s friend, William Trumbull, the English Resident in Brussels, who apparently knew him.96 In 1616, Thomas Finet prepared for a voyage to ‘Bagdat in Chaldea’, presumably in order to buy silk and other fine fabrics as the partner of the draper-merchant Ralph Pindar, who had also been in Constantinople in 1613, where he and his brother Paul (later a knighted ambassador) had their portraits in miniature painted.97 Chamberlain’s sources were generally good and he had pinpointed Finet’s dependence on Wilson, but he may not yet have known him personally. Chamberlain would meet Finet in Venice in December 1610, where he seems to have formed a far more favourable opinion. Indeed, he would later find Finet to be a useful contact at court – not so much for his own advantage as for that of his friend, the ambitious but disadvantageously absent diplomat, Dudley Carleton.98 The responsibility laid upon Finet by Salisbury to act as governor to his cherished son and heir was a heavy one. Cranborne was a reluctant scholar, keener on hunting than studying, but Salisbury, whose physical infirmity may have reinforced a tendency to study during his own youth, insisted that one’s early years were the learning years that his son should not waste: I saw your hart so sett uppon all other things and so alienated from lerning, a riches which yow will sell for no gold when yow have it, thogh now you preferr dross before it; and if yow gett it not now, it will never come hereafter.99

Before embarking on the more substantial foreign tours that were to complete his education, Cranborne first returned to England to play a major role in sealing the dynastic alliance between the Cecils and the Howards by marrying, on 1 December 1608 [O.S.], Lady Katherine Howard, the

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20-year-old daughter of the Lord Chamberlain, Thomas, Earl of Suffolk (Figure 21). Just days later, he left England and his young wife ‘with three barges in very blustering weather accompanied with Sir Thomas and younge Harry Howard’; these being his new brothers-in-law, for what was intended to be a lengthy absence to be spent mainly in France and Italy.100 Finet would eventually fulfil his responsibilities by returning a travelled and thereby somewhat improved Cranborne to his father, for which achievement he was taken on as one of Salisbury’s private secretaries. This new responsibility, we may assume, was the reward for which Finet aspired from the outset, but it remained at the mercy of fortune for the duration of the tours; for if Cranborne had died abroad (and he fell dangerously ill on two occasions) or merely failed to meet even minimal criteria, Finet could have slipped back into obscurity. Interestingly, Sir Henry Wotton, who had been sent to Venice in September 1604 as England’s first post-Reformation ambassador in Italy, appears, by a letter he wrote to Salisbury in December 1608, as Cranborne’s tour began, to have been another of Finet’s promoters: It shall be fit for me to conclude with many humble thanks, as for the rest of your favours, so for the late honours which it pleased your Lordship to do unto mine honest countryman and frend, Mr. Jhon Finnet, and in him to me, and for the confidence which your Lordship hath, and may justly repose unto him, for the serving of my Lord your son in his travels.101

By referring to him as his ‘countryman’, Wotton recognized Finet as a fellow Kentishman and, unlike Chamberlain, he plainly knew him well. It is possible, however, that they had never actually met on Kentish or even on English soil prior to meeting in Italy. Wotton’s nephew, Pickering, who had already spent much time with him in Italy, was in no hurry to visit him in the newly established embassy in Venice. Instead, like so many aspiring courtiers, he had attached himself to Nottingham’s extraordinary embassy to Spain, and remained in Valladolid after its departure. There, in October 1605, he died of fever, reportedly having been converted to the Catholic faith on his deathbed.102 This profession of faith coupled with his status as the son of an English privy councillor well disposed to Spain brought the Constable of Castile, the Duke of Alva, the Conde de Lemos, the Conde de Puñonrostro and other Spanish dignitaries to his funeral.103 Pickering Wotton’s conversion was argued over for years afterwards. As Catholics envisaged the reconversion of England would require the example (not to say protection) of a large part of the nobility and gentry, every well-born conversion was greeted with greater rejoicing than that due to the mere saving of another soul. Important deathbed conversions

Figure 21: George Geldorp, Katherine Howard, Countess of Salisbury, oil on canvas, c.1626, Hatfield House

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were thought to be the most persuasive. These were written up and circulated in manuscript form or, less frequently, published so that they might be read across Europe by all those who hoped for toleration in England. Protestant disputants, meanwhile, were sceptical about every such reported conversion, and subjected accounts of them to rigorous scrutiny. In April 1607, four years after Pickering Wotton had last been in Venice in the company of his uncle, William Bedell arrived to become chaplain at the embassy which Sir Henry Wotton had earlier returned to establish.104 Bedell was soon given a copy of the account of Pickering’s conversion by the Jesuit controversialist Antonio Possevino, whereupon he set about deconstructing the text, which purported to be largely Wotton’s own account. He dismissed it thus: it is a very improbable thing that Mr Wotton dying of a Calenture, should have so good a memory, as to indite so exact and artificial a Narration […] but to be able to give account of all the Heads of the Catholick Religion (that is all the points of controversy at this day, between the Romanists and the reformed Churches) in a fit of an Ague, in the twinkling of an eye? Excuse me: This is beyond the blind beggar that recovered his sight at S.Albans, that could tell the names of all colours as soon as he saw them.105

Besides applying his own common sense to the evidence, Bedell was able to draw upon a conversation he had once had with someone who had attended Pickering Wotton in his last hours (possibly one of the Irish gentlemen with whom he had regularly attended the weekly service at the English embassy in Valladolid), who told him: the Father [Richard Walpole] brought under his Gown a Picture, and upon a sudden presented it before him: This might be the light in form of a cross (perhaps a very Image of Christ crucified) which together with the lightness of his [Pickering Wotton’s] fancy, occasioned that your motive …106

Bedell then enlarges on Pickering’s tendency to have vivid dreams, remarking on ‘his fancy / (which even in his best health was ever very strong in his sleep) as some that have conversed with him have told me’.107 It seems a fair guess that Sir Henry Wotton was among these conversants. Here, then, according to Bedell’s analysis, we have the case of an English gentleman possessed of an unusually active imagination and probably highly receptive to imagery even at times when his head was clear, who, in a febrile and delirious state, was deceived by a picture held before him. Pickering’s case serves as a reminder of how fine a line existed between the full exercise of the visual imagination for aesthetic pleasure and the kind of sensory



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overload that was devised for the very purpose of provoking religious ecstasy. The faith of a young gentleman of fine sensibilities was considered at risk whenever he sought art in Catholic surroundings. Few were as comfortable amid the adornments of the Catholic Church or, selectively, in the company of proselytizing Catholics, as Sir Henry Wotton, who enjoyed demonstrating his immunity, renewing, for example, an old acquaintance with Bedell’s anatagonist, Possevino, in the Basilica of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, where, he declared, he liked to go in order to study its pictures (Figures 22 A and B).108 This explanation was later offered to the Doge and Council, no doubt to forestall any notion that the faith of the English ambassador might be wavering; its credibility resting on Sir Henry Wotton’s genuine and well-known passion for art. Unfortunately, the variety of painting on display in SS. Giovanni e Paolo (not to mention the sculpture of the many tombs) by High Renaissance painters such as Cima da Conegliano, Giovanni Bellini and later masters, especially Titian (the now lost St Peter Martyr), Veronese, Tintoretto and Palma Giovane, was such that we learn little more than we already know about Wotton’s preferences. All indications suggest that Pickering Wotton was as much in expectation of attaining a prominent position in court and government as the similarly short-lived Sir John Harington of Exton. Yet his passing, unlike Harington’s, was not widely lamented in England. His announced conversion (or ‘perversion’ as Bedell had it) put paid to that. Pickering Wotton had spent the best part of five years abroad, during which time he must have been greatly influenced by his uncle, Sir Henry, who, despite their separation when Sir Henry made his Scottish journey, seemed not to tire of the young man’s company, accompanying him both into and out of Italy. Of even greater influence may have been the example of Pickering’s own father, Edward (created Lord Wotton of Marley in May 1603), who, more exceptionally for one of his generation than his son’s, had spent much of the early 1570s abroad, notably in Spanish-governed Naples, becoming fluent in French, Italian and Spanish and preparing himself for public service (Figure 23).109 After his return to England, he maintained contacts with foreign scholars and retained Cipriano de Cárdenas as his reader in Spanish, who may also have tutored Pickering.110 Edward Wotton is one of the under-regarded scholar-aesthetes of the late-Elizabethan and Jacobean court. He was no less cultivated than his better recorded half-brother and, like him, his interests and tastes were informed by travel. Though Boughton Place in Kent would always remain his favourite house, he acquired St Augustine’s Abbey in Canterbury from William Cecil, shortly after he became the 2nd Earl of Salisbury in 1612. Lord and Lady Wotton, no doubt, saw the advantage of having a great house; a palace, in fact, on the road between London and the Cinque Ports, where travellers bound for the Continent and those returning could be

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Figure 22A: Basilica of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, Venice, interior

entertained. It would appear that they were more interested in redesigning its garden than in rebuilding the fabric and within a couple of years Wotton had also acquired from the young Salisbury another valuable Cecil inheritance: John Tradescant the Elder, the gardener of Hatfield, Salisbury House and Cranborne Manor. Over the years 1615–23, Tradescant transformed the St Augustine’s site into a formal garden of three vast, geometric compartiments, a grove and an orchard, introducing many foreign plants, among them the mandrake, the pomegranate and, most famously, the melon.111 Some of the impulse of Jacobeans to travel abroad for education, at least among the most enthusiastic of the nobility and gentry, may be attributed to the recognition of their fathers that their own tours had been formative experiences. The numbers concerned are few but significant. We find that it was Sir Edward Wotton who persuaded another great linguist and tutor of foreign extraction, John Florio, to begin the work that would result in his complete translation and publication of Montaigne’s Essais in 1603 by translating one chapter, that on ‘nobility’, for the edification of his son,

Figure 22B: Basilica of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, Venice, tomb of Edward, Lord Windsor, 1570s

Figure 23: Unknown artist, Edward Wotton,1st Baron Wotton, oil on panel, c.1610



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Pickering.112 Florio continued his work, assisted by Theodor Diodati and Matthew Gwinne, in the household of Lucy, Countess of Bedford, sister of Sir John Harington of Exton, whom Florio mentions in his Preface. The Essais are insufficently recognized as contributing to the intellectual climate that proved so conducive to the origins of the Grand Tour, their author having written one of the most fascinatingly personal European travel narratives of the sixteenth century.113 Edward Wotton no doubt developed sympathies for both Spain and Catholicism during his extensive travels but they were not to emerge openly for many years; in fact, not until he had become one of James I’s privy councillors. Don Juan Fernández de Velasco, the Constable of Castile, would have recognized during his stay in London for the 1604 peace talks that Lord Wotton was among those high-ranking Englishmen who were most friendly towards Spain. Regard for his father’s future usefulness, possibly also a personal regard, would account for the Constable’s attendance at Pickering Wotton’s funeral the following year. As far as the Wottons were concerned, it is to be strongly suspected that Pickering’s presence at the Spanish court in 1605 had been conceived by father and son with the discreet furtherance of a foreign policy nuanced at Boughton Place. There is nothing to suggest that Sir Charles Cornwallis, the newly arrived resident English ambassador in Spain, was allied to the Wottons. Inasmuch as he was in favour of rapprochement with Spain, he was influenced separately by his close friend and patron, the crypto-Catholic Lord Privy Seal, Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton. Indeed, the Spanish must have been amused by the cliquishness of the British who had turned up en masse in 1605 but were internally divided. Cornwallis, again in tune with Northampton, was contemptuous of the Earl of Nottingham and his navy clique that included Sir Robert Mansell and Sir Thomas Button, while the soldiers, Lord Norreys and Lord Willoughby, accompanied by Dudley Carleton, preferred to make their own way to Spain overland. Cornwallis accepted with indifference the account of Pickering Wotton’s conversion and it is remarkable that it was in another English embassy, in Venice, that the circumstances of the conversion were seriously questioned. Lord Wotton, meanwhile, grieved quietly. After Lord Wotton’s death in 1633 and the dowager Lady Wotton’s provocative assertion of his true religion in his tomb inscription,114 Pickering’s conversion again proved useful to the cause, as it entered into the lore of English Catholicism that Lord Wotton was so struck by his son’s dying example that, almost at once, he embraced the faith.115

chapter 3

PARIS AND ‘THE GRAND TOUR OF FRANCE’

Another who had also recently enjoyed Salisbury’s patronage, and whose earlier years seem in some ways similar to Finet’s, was Inigo Jones. It is easy to forget that Jones, whom we tend to visualize as the sedentary, somewhat world-worn figure depicted by Van Dyck (Figure 3) and Dobson, was for the first 30 years of his life an Elizabethan (Figure 24). Yet, the only Elizabethan document known to carry his name is his father ‘Yñigo’s’ modest will.1 It is only in the early days of the Stuart era that he enters the historical record, and one reference to him, made in 1605, offers a clue as to why he seems not to have come to notice earlier. He is described then as already ‘a great traveller’.2 It is possible that the paths of Finet and Jones had already crossed. In the new reign, Jones quickly established himself as the most successful designer of court masques and other major entertainments. With the Masque of Blackness (1605) and Hymenaei (1606), in partnership with Ben Jonson, Jones developed the dominant masque form under the patronage of the Queen, Anne of Denmark. Between July 1606 and April 1609, however, the pair also devised four major entertainments specifically for Salisbury: a ‘Showe’ to welcome Anne of Denmark’s brother, Christian IV, and James I to Theobalds (a notoriously drunken four-day revel); an entertainment to mark the exchange of Theobalds for Hatfield (22 May 1607); an entertainment at Salisbury House to mark Salisbury’s appointment as Lord Treasurer (May 1608); lastly, the entertainment at the opening of the New Exchange.3 At all but the last of these, Lord Cranborne would have been present to witness Jones’s growing expertise. In the gallery at Theobalds he would have seen a white curtain ‘sodainely drawne’, to reveal a ‘gloomie obscure place’: hung all with blacke silke, and in it only one light, which the GENIUS of the house held, sadly attir’d. And withall, the black vanishing, was discovered a glorious place, figuring the Lararium seat of the household-gods […] erected with Columnes and Architrabe, Freeze, and Coronice, in which were placed divers Diaphanall glasses fill’d with severall waters that shew’d like so many

Figure 24: Francesco Villamena, Inigo Jones, engraving, 1614



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stones of orient and transparent hiewes. Within, as farder off, in Landschap, were seen clouds riding.4

A year later, the library in Salisbury House was transformed by a great arch, artificial rocks and coloured lights. Each time one of Jones’s entertainments was presented, their privileged spectators (the young Viscount, presumably, often among them) would have been better able to appreciate what they saw, though correspondingly more demanding of the spectacle. Amid this sequence of entertainments, around 1608, Salisbury had also begun consulting Jones about architectural matters, including the modernizing of St Paul’s Cathedral and the design for the New Exchange itself, even though Jones, already in his mid-thirties, seems not to have erected a single building in brick or stone of his own.5 When, immediately following the successful performance of these services, Salisbury gave Jones a special task that would require him to visit sites of classical architecture in France, he may well have had a thought to his own advantage and that of the state as well as to his son’s education. Though writing in the second half of the seventeenth century, John Aubrey was remarkably reliable on both general emphasis and often detail in his records of Inigo Jones’s career and it is interesting how he focuses upon Salisbury’s pioneering patronage of the architect in his unpublished Monumenta Britannica.6 He prefaces his account with an amusingly positivist piece of art historiography which cannot but strike a refreshing chord in the context of contemporary academic relativizing: In Queen Elizabeth’s time Architecture made no growth: but rather went backwards: great wide windowes, which were not only cold, but weakned the Fabriq. Burleigh-House and Audeley-end were the two best piles of her raigne. Earl of Salisbury’s [at] Hatfield was built tempore Jac. I. The next step of Roman Architecture was the New Exchange in the Strand, which was surveyed by Mr Inigo Jones, and after that, Ao Dni 16 […] was that magnificent building of the Banqueting-house at White-hall built by James I […] which was done by Inigo Jones his Majesties Surveyor and is so exquisite a piece, that if all the Books of Architecture were lost, the true art of Building might be retrieved thence. The Hall and staire-cases of Greenwich &c. there, were also of Mr Inigo Jones surveying.7

On 16 June 1609 [O.S.] Salisbury authorized a warrant for the payment of £13 6s 8d to ‘Inico Jones […] for carreinge of L-rres for his ma.ts servyce into ffraunce’.8 Jones’s first biographer, Peter Cunningham, who discovered and published this record, concluded that ‘the date of the Lord Treasurer’s warrant shows the period of Inigo’s return to London’, and ever since it has been accepted that the payment was for a journey already undertaken.9 Even Roy Strong, despite hypothesizing a possible Jones–Cranborne connection

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suggesting that ‘Jones must have been an influence on determining the young lord’s route’, still assumed Jones had been in France sometime between his involvement in the ‘Entertainment’ at the opening of Salisbury’s New Exchange on 12/22 April and the issuing of the warrant on 16/26 June.10 He therefore concluded that Jones’s references to having visited Chambord, Nîmes, Arles, Orange and the Pont du Gard must necessarily relate to a journey made within this period, that is to say a few months before Cranborne’s tour commenced.11 This would mean that Jones toiled around the architectural wonders of France by himself, only for his principal patron’s son to follow the same route a few weeks later and to be instructed at the various sites of interest by others far less qualified. Rather than returning by the payment date, Jones almost certainly left after it, though not before 15/25 April, on which day he signed for £9 12s: his payment for the Entertainment.12 Jones was given roughly half that normally paid to couriers of similar status whose warrants, recorded in the same Exchequer Roll, specify return journeys, for example that for £30, dated 22 June 1609, ‘To Andrew Bussey upon Therle of Salisburies warrante for carreigne of lettres for his Majesties service into ffraunce and retornynge back againe wth letters of answere’,13 whereas, in February 1612, Finet could only obtain ungenerous one-way expenses for William Trumbull’s messenger: ‘I got your man 10l. for his packet hither, but the times are too thrifty or too needy for his double journey.’14 Jones was effectively being given a one-way passage, as once he had reached Paris his status would change from that of government courier to servant of the Earl of Salisbury. The implications of this are considerable, for it allows for Inigo Jones’s participation as a guide throughout Cranborne’s ‘voyage du tour de France’, and their mutual appreciation of all that Cranborne recorded seeing, in particular both ancient and modern architecture.15 The most conclusive evidence, however, that Jones crossed to France after payment was authorized for his journey is to be found in a newsletter addressed to Salisbury and dated 3 July 1609, from Sir George Carew, the British ambassador in Paris, which concludes: I receaved his M.ties letters of the 19 of the last by Mr. Sergeant of the cellar, the 28 of the same, and to the execution of his gratious commandment therein, I will attend as soone as the King [i.e. Henri IV, who was at Fontainebleau] commeth to this Towne; At the same time I also receaved your L.ps by Mr. Jones, for wch I geve your Lp. mine humble thankes.16

Allowing this ‘Mr Jones’ to be Inigo, his arrival in Paris on the eve of Cranborne’s tour is securely documented. It seems likely that the two bearers, one bearing Salisbury’s letter, the other bearing the King’s, crossed over to France together. The latter, the ‘Sergeant of the Cellar’, was the Scots gentleman James Bowy, who occasionally crossed



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to France to purchase wine and fruit for the King’s household, returning to present very large bills to the Exchequer out of which we may suppose he made a good profit.17 It would be wrong to conceive of Bowy as a mere backstairs servant; he was sufficiently intimate with the King in November 1607 to be able to distract him at Royston with a message that a quantity of Frontenac wine had become available, to which he received James’s reply to buy it and to deliver some to the Earl of Salisbury; the following year, he bought wines in France for the King’s household in partnership with Louis de L’Hospital, Marquis de Vitry, a leader of the French Catholic party, who had visited England as an ambassador-extraordinary in 1603 and would do so again in 1611.18 Bowy retained his court post after being confined for a while in the Marshalsea for ‘abusing’ the daughter of Sir Thomas Gardiner under the pretence of marriage – he already had a wife and children in Scotland.19 Clearly, Bowy was a colourful character but, as the probable companion of ‘Mr Jones’, he becomes of particular interest as a known participant in several of Inigo Jones’s court masques performed between 1620 and 1625.20 One of these, The Masque of Augurs (1622), which inaugurated Jones’s new Banqueting House, opened in a mock version of the court buttery (the most accessible area of the Sergeant of the Cellar’s domain) and its audience would have recognized this to be, in part, Jones’s (and Jonson’s) humorous tribute to Bowy. He may also have appeared in earlier court performances – referred to in a wine-buying context as ‘Sergeant Boy’; he is surely also ‘Sergeant Boide’, one of five, high-leaping Scots in the medley-masque (not Jones’s) that celebrated the wedding of Frances Howard and the Earl of Somerset in December 1613.21 On such evidence, Inigo Jones and James Bowy were not unlikely travelling companions and, as part-time couriers as well as courtiers, they may indeed have made a congenial pair as they crossed the Channel and rode on to Paris. For Jones, however, the carrying of a diplomatic letter to the ambassador was incidental to his ulterior purpose, which was to accompany Cranborne and provide him with instruction on the antiquities and architecture to be encountered during his forthcoming tour. Salisbury may have envisaged an additional benefit: the inevitable increase in Jones’s own knowledge that would enable him to improve the new Great Britain’s architecture. Certainly, he would have calculated Jones’s potential usefulness and would not have been moved solely to assist Inigo Jones’s further self-improvement. It is perhaps also worth observing that John Finet and Matthew Lister – always one, often both, attended Cranborne – would also be treated to Jones’s pronouncements on the sites to be visited. In later years, as a prominent courtier, Finet would witness all Jones’s spectacles at court, become familiar with all his architectural works and be one of those best equipped to understand his achievement and contribute to that broad acceptance necessary for the decisive changes in visual culture; Lister, meanwhile, would supervise the

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Figure 25: C.R. Cockerell, Houghton House, watercolour, c.1825

building of Houghton House (1615–19) for his lover, Mary Sidney, dowager Countess of Pembroke, ‘according to the Design of Sir Philip Sidney in his Arcadia, a house of pleasure’, perhaps with advice from Inigo Jones, and in 1638 he purchased a house in St Martin in the Fields (near Finet’s) from John Milton and his father (Figure 25).22 Guiding the young nobles and their entourage around the ruins of Provence would certainly have raised Jones’s credit on his return, but this would only have supplemented the reputation he had already achieved with his court shows, most recently memorable the highly innovative Masque of Queens, performed the previous February. After his return from France, he would have an opportunity with the Twelfth Night (6 January 1610) staging of The Barriers – gloriously realized – to delight Prince Henry and impress the Prince’s principal officers, who with the assent of the Privy Council would decide the professional posts within the Prince’s newly enlarged household. The tour of Provence and the sophisticated design modifications Jones had recently proposed for Salisbury’s buildings and those he designed on his



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return, above all at Hatfield, would enhance perceptions of him not merely as a brilliant designer but also as an architect-in-waiting, a person indeed worthy of the Surveyorship of the Prince’s Works. Lord Salisbury would have less call upon him when, a year later, he would be publicly listed for this prestigious office. In France, Jones had sufficient time – essentially the whole month of July 1609 – to explore Paris and the Île de France. Though believing he must have done this earlier in the year (between April and June), Roy Strong makes the reasonable assumption that ‘he certainly studied French court art and architecture of the school of Fontainebleau’.23 Jones might also have been able to observe set construction, confer with fellow court designers and see a court performance. Henri IV’s legitimized bastard son, César, Duc de Vendôme – the same Vendôme who, much later, would spend the years 1641–3 exiled in England, partly coinciding with the exile of Marie de Médicis herself – and Françoise de Lorraine, long contracted to be married, finally took their vows that summer. In celebration, Le Ballet du Mariage de Monsieur de Vendôme was performed at Fontainebleau on 9 July.24 Jones had arrived in Paris about two weeks earlier, not too late to learn of the Vendôme celebrations, or even to find his way behind the scenes. It was otherwise not the best of years to see the ballet de cour. Though the year had begun auspiciously with a production for Marie de Médicis, Le Ballet de la Reine, performed at the Arsenal and at the house of Queen Marguerite on the last day of January, soon afterwards, the death of Marie de Médicis’ father, Ferdinando, Grand Duke of Tuscany, put the court into mourning and caused the abandonment of an ambitious spring programme, which, Pierre de L’Estoile observed, led to the impoverishment of many craftsmen dependent on the work.25 In Florence, Ferdinando’s rule, like that of his elder brother, Francesco, and their father, Cosimo I, had been punctuated with hugely inventive spectacles celebrating the supposed antiquity and authority of the Medicis; the latest being a series of fêtes held over three weeks the previous October to celebrate the marriage of Ferdinando’s heir, Prince Cosimo (now Cosimo II), to the Habsburg princess Maria Maddalena. These recent fêtes confirmed Florence’s claim to be the generative core of Renaissance court culture and it seems that the court in Paris had been about to respond with the ‘beautiful ballet projects, tournaments, combats and other follies which were already prepared’, referred to by L’Estoile, when they were cancelled.26 As uncertainty hung over Vendôme’s wedding until the vows were exchanged, the Fontainebleau celebrations, though consisting of numerous acts, may have been quickly prepared. Sully, in his recollections for the preceding year, informs us that whereas Fontainebleau could accommodate impromptu performances, such as those of the troupes of comedians brought from Italy to amuse Henri IV, the more elaborate and rehearsed

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productions were always held at the Arsenal.27 Paris, where the marriage was also celebrated, and the Arsenal in particular, with its permanent facilities, may therefore have been of greater interest to Jones and also more accessible. We may, however, be entirely sure of one spectacle that Jones witnessed at this time – a failed demonstration, the mechanical aspects of which would have particularly interested him – for a note by him in the margin of his Italian edition of Vitruvius records: ‘being in Parris the yeare. 1609. a Privancall maad a triall to make a Perpetuall mosio[n] but did not Reusire’.28 We await the discovery of a corroborative reference to the unnamed Provençal and his unsuccessful mouvement perpétuel; one suspects some connection to Nicolas Fabri de Peiresc, though it appears he was not in Paris at this time.29 Inasmuch as Jones’s and Cranborne’s tours of 1609 were surely one and the same, Jones would have been involved in the determining of the itinerary. At Orléans, therefore, where Cranborne lodged prior to commencing his tour, Jones, the ‘great traveller’, would have joined forces with the recently disparaged ‘travayler of no note or account’, John Finet; in reality these were two individuals well matched for hardiness, curiosity and linguistic ability. A tutorial triumvirate was made complete by the presence of the dependable, similarly well-travelled physician, Matthew Lister, who had been trained at Basel and Padua. Salisbury did not merely intend that his son should enjoy the scenery as he passed through France, but that he should meet persons of distinction and that his attention should be directed to places of significance, whether historic, artistic, economic or strategic. Finet, Lister and Jones knew the country beyond the Île de France tolerably well, and their collective knowledge of France’s geography and history would have been impressive. Nevertheless, we know that they had recourse to guidebooks while leading Cranborne’s tour of France. Of the few itinéraires then available to travellers at Parisian bookstalls, that which was probably selling best was entitled Sommaire Description de la France, Allemagne, Italie, et Espagne avec la guide des chemins pour aller et venir par les provinces, et aux villes renommées de quatre regions.30 Aside from its intrinsic usefulness, the fact that it had been written by the Huguenot physician, Theodore Turquet de Mayerne, may also have served to recommend it to Matthew Lister (Figure 26). Though Mayerne was just a precocious 18-year-old scholar when he wrote this travelogue, he had since become something of a hero to Paracelsian practitioners across Europe – Lister being among them – for his prominent role in the Paris debates between the Galenists and the Paracelsians in 1603. Three years later Mayerne had visited the University of Oxford, which hastily conferred upon him an honorary doctorate in medicine.31 At that time, Oxford could only muster a small number of physic fellows, of whom Lister was among the most thoroughly trained, and while entertaining Mayerne and

Figure 26: Paul van Somer (attrib.), Theodore Turquet de Mayerne, oil on canvas, c.1620

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conversing with him in any of his several languages he would have been able to acquaint him with his own familiarity with the Continent’s best medical schools. Mayerne’s first, brief visit to England in 1606 was in all likelihood facilitated by a grateful Francis, Lord Norreys of Rycote – Cranborne’s wealthy first cousin – whose life Mayerne was credited with saving when Norreys had fallen dangerously ill in Paris while returning from participating in Nottingham’s great embassy to Madrid.32 Following his successful visit of 1606, during which Anne of Denmark had sought a consultation, Mayerne seems to have cultivated his English contacts with thoughts of emigration. He was able to do this by engaging with Englishmen who were either residing in or passing through Paris, for whom Sir George Carew’s embassy was an essential port-of-call. It was not until 1611, however, some time after the assassination of his royal patient, Henri IV, that Mayerne moved (permanently, as it would turn out) from Paris to London. As Mayerne was still resident in Paris in the early months of 1609, it would have been remiss of Matthew Lister not to seek out his illustrious colleague while waiting to co-lead Cranborne’s tour. Lacking documentary confirmation of a meeting, we may only point to an overwhelming coincidence of professional interests and to their subsequent remarkably long professional association and friendship in England, traceable from 1612 to 1644. If Lister called upon his colleague in Paris, plain courtesy and professional curiosity would have come before any thought that Mayerne might supply useful travel advice, though clearly – with one reprinting of Sommaire Description following another – Mayerne was happy to maintain his early-attained reputation as an authority on travel. Though it was the audacity of youth that had won him this reputation (having not visited half the places he described), Mayerne had subsequently made a more thoroughgoing Grand Tour, serving as a travelling physician to a great Protestant nobleman (just as Lister was about to), his charge having been Henri, Duc de Rohan, who wrote his own travelogue, subsequently published as Voyage du duc de Rohan faict en l’an 1600 (Amsterdam, 1600).33 It is worth briefly digressing on the de Rohan tour of 1599–1601, as its significance lies not merely in revealing Mayerne as a perceptive traveller but in having been made by future leaders of the Huguenot cause, principally the Duc de Rohan; his younger brother, Benjamin, later Duc de Soubise; and Armand Nompar de Caumont, later Duc de la Force.34 In 1599, this party left Paris and passed through Lorraine and into Germany to proceed south, through Innsbruck and the Brenner Pass, to Italy – the same road by which Lord Cranborne, Finet and Lister would travel, but in the opposite direction, a decade later. The de Rohans and their companions tarried for two months in Venice and Padua, and then traversed Lombardy, visiting Milan and Genoa, before descending to Pisa and then Florence, Siena, Rome and Naples. On the return journey, after diverting to Lucca, they took a northeasterly route



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to Bologna, proceeding thereafter to Ferrara and Mantua, before leaving Italy for Vienna, Prague, and parts north. While in Italy, the parties of de Rohan and Francis Manners, future 6th Earl of Rutland, could not have been separated by many miles or days. A good decade, therefore, before they all secured posts at the English court, Mayerne, Robert Dallington and probably Inigo Jones had been seeing similar sights and experiencing similar travails. Whereas it seems Dallington’s travel notes contained enough detail for him to publish two books out of them, and may, at least in one case, have been compiled with this in mind, Mayerne’s travel diary (de Rohan’s even more so) was only ever intended to stimulate personal memories. In these private notes, Hugh Trevor-Roper has discerned both a precocious appreciation of natural beauty and an interest in art and antiquities.35 To make such an observation of an educated Frenchman around the year 1600, however, is less remarkable than it would be to make it of an educated Englishman, not for reasons of religion but for the greater cosmopolitanism of the French. Indeed, it was clearly possible for a Huguenot to be a ‘Protestant virtuoso’ and, from his youth, Theodore de Mayerne set out to become one.36 He was assisted in this by his father, Louis, a fervent convert to Calvinism who, nonetheless, was so interested in art that by 1589 he had not only read Vasari’s Lives but had also translated its introductory chapters on architecture, painting and sculpture into French.37 Though the younger Mayerne’s own extraordinary treatise, ‘Pictoria, Sculptoria, et quare subalterarum atrium […]’, was begun in 1620, by which time he had already entered middle age, he had formed his interest in such matters much earlier.38 In 1612, Lister and Mayerne both treated Salisbury, Mayerne diagnosing his terminal cancer. Theirs became a long professional association during which they would share ‘recipes’ or remedies; many of Lister’s are among Mayerne’s papers. Inigo Jones, who was to be treated by Mayerne for nephritis and melancholy, also collected remedies, several listed in the rear end-papers of his copy of Palladio’s Quattro Libri.39 Lister and Mayerne’s friendship was still active in May 1644 when the pair set off in the Queen’s carozza to treat Henrietta Maria in Exeter.40 Though the ageing doctors could no doubt have done without this wartime expedition to the West Country, as young practitioners they had both followed the dictum that to gain wide medical experience, travel was essential – Peter Severinus, the doyen of French Paracelsians, and Joseph du Chesne, Mayerne’s mentor, had stressed the importance of this.41 Mayerne’s by then 52-year-old book could not have been written otherwise. It is unclear whether Jones brought any of his own books to France. He already owned a few very useful volumes – a copy of Palladio’s Quattro Libri, which he might already have owned for seven or eight years – and he was already annotating as well as least one copy of Serlio’s Tutte l’Opere d’Architeturra et Prospetiva, from which he had been borrowing ideas for

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masques since 1606, if not earlier.42 Both these works specifically discussed architecture that Cranborne and his companions would inspect, and Jones would have found it enormously useful to have them to hand. Whatever books were packed for the tour, more, as we shall discuss, seem to have been purchased at the locations visited. Though scholarship suffered in many ways during the Wars of Religion, the rediscovery of Roman survivals within France helped to sustain the socalled French Renaissance up to the Edict of Nantes of 1598 and beyond. And whereas manuscripts in monastic libraries proved all too vulnerable to Huguenot mobs, the heavy imprint of Roman civilization on the Gallic provinces remained. The impressive achievement of French chorographers and antiquarians in this period to trace out this imprint makes the work of their Elizabethan and Jacobean counterparts in England seem slight by comparison.43 By 1609, not only had some general itinéraires and guides routiers been published in France but so too had several scholarly local studies.44 British efforts had also been hampered by the ravaging of monastic libraries, causing several early antiquaries to abandon their projects, among them John Leland, who ‘fell beside his wits’, and William Lambarde, whose intended national survey got no further than his Perambulation of Kent which, he conceded, remained ‘a bearwhelpe that lacketh licking’.45 William Camden, though not the first to aspire to ‘restore Britain to Antiquity, and Antiquity to Britain’, had, nonetheless, the persistence to see his Britannia through the press in 1586. Thereafter, it stood as a great but somewhat lonely monolith on the British antiquarian landscape, though it continued to be expanded, improved and abridged in subsequent editions; Saxton’s and Norden’s engraved maps were added to the 1607 edition and Philemon Holland’s English translation was being prepared for press even as Cranborne toured France.46 Although the activities of its antiquaries are increasingly noticeable after 1570, in visual terms Britain’s classical education was undoubtedly held back by a relative lack of architectural and monumental remains upon or beneath British soil. Inigo Jones’s treatise on Stonehenge, in which he claimed that Neolithic feat of engineering for the Romans, beyond serving to satisfy the King’s curiosity, may be regarded as a contribution to this somewhat hesitant national enterprise inspired by both the ruins and local treatises he had encountered in France and Italy.47 The English gentry and clergy made the most of locally found coins, sometimes deducing rather too much from the location of their finds, while a few – the most enthusiastic and scholarly – conducted extensive searches for altars, inscriptions and other fragments.48 Soon after Arundel and Jones returned from Italy, Camden himself found a bronze statuette he hoped might be a Romanizing Isis. He wrote to Franciscus Swertius and Peiresc about it but having passed on a drawing to Rubens and Lorenzo Pignoria they decided, disappointingly, that it did not



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represent Isis.49 Meanwhile, it was relatively easy for the English antiquaries’ French counterparts (not to mention their Italian colleagues) to examine the numerous antique structures still extant within their country. Though some of these were also visited by a few pioneering Elizabethan travellers and by rather more Jacobeans, 119 years would separate the appearance of Britain, Philemon Holland’s translation of Camden’s Britannia, and the second volume of John Breval’s Remarks on Several Parts of Europe (1738), the first illustrated description of the Roman antiquities of France to be published in English.50 The development of a new geo-cultural conception of France had been greatly encouraged by the prolonged royal progresses undertaken throughout the sixteenth century, not least that of Charles IX and Catherine de Médicis (1564–6) with its five-thousand-strong retinue, which had an even more urgent cultural and political agenda than Elizabeth I’s summer progresses through the English shires.51 More recently, the Edict of Nantes had laid a definitive confessional ‘map’ upon that awareness of an ancient, pagan France formed by the French Renaissance. Cranborne was encouraged to read the country as a palimpsest, perceiving both ancient and contemporary patterns of control over the land. He frequently noted that the places they slept at or passed through were Huguenot strongholds, though it was neither possible nor, for the most part, necessary for Finet and Jones to devise an itinerary that allowed them to rest only at such places de sûrété, thanks largely to Henri IV’s willingness to compromise his initial Protestantism. France in 1609 was unusually peaceful, though no one believed that such calm would endure for long; nor did it. For the time being, however, it was the best period in which to travel for many decades. It is very clear that the imminent tour de France was regarded as distinct from the previous eight months Cranborne had spent in the cities of the North.52 If special requirements now led Salisbury to dispatch Inigo Jones, they also called for extra horses. Another mark of the transition to greater challenges was that Cranborne was expected by his father to keep a journal, which he had not done in and around Paris and would be reprimanded for not doing in Normandy.53 For all its obvious limitations, not least in being written in schoolboy French, Cranborne’s journal is the best account we have of any such early tour and, given its date, it is, by English standards, remarkably perceptive, especially on the subjects of art and architecture, and thus of intrinsic importance. It is, moreover, suggestive of a particular presence; every reference to antiquity, architecture, ornament and setting, and occasionally to painting, that the 18-year-old Viscount makes, however cursory, may now be read in the context of Jones’s influence. As it is Cranborne’s journals that have survived, it is his perceptions that we must consider. It should, however, be borne in mind that these were combined Cecil–Howard tours, as two of Cranborne’s newly acquired brothers-in-law, Thomas and Henry, sons of the

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hugely wealthy Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk, had crossed to France with him and were following more or less the same educational programme. These Howards, as sons of England’s Lord Chamberlain, had scarcely less status abroad than Cranborne, the Lord Treasurer’s son, and the younger of the two, the promising Henry, was also to accompany Cranborne to Venice. Most of the seven sons of Suffolk toured, and their well-noticed travels in the earliest years of the seventeenth century played a significant part in establishing the Grand Tour’s respectability, even if it was their cousin, Thomas Howard, Earl of Arundel, and his Talbot wife who would be responsible for its particular association with art collecting, which it would retain for as long as it remained a cultural phenomenon. If the Suffolk Howards also wrote diaries, they have not survived; indeed, the general paucity of documentation for this once-great branch of the Howard family is in marked contrast to that for the Cecils, whose extensive archives are still preserved in Hatfield House. Before following Cranborne’s itinerary and examining his observations, it is, therefore, worth pausing to at least note these tours of the Suffolk brothers, particularly that of the eldest, Theophilus, Lord Howard de Walden, later 2nd Earl of Suffolk, which set a precedent for the rest. His, in fact, was the first major continental tour of the Jacobean Age.54 It was in the autumn of 1603, even before the signing of the peace treaty with Spain (though clearly in anticipation), that the 19-year-old Lord Walden went abroad.55 Given that his parents were Catholic sympathizers in receipt of Spanish ‘pensions’, he was no doubt confident of the outcome. He passed the winter in northern Italy and in the spring pushed south, visiting Rome and Naples, where he witnessed one of the regular liquefactions of the blood of S. Gennaro in the cathedral. On his return, having travelled up through southern Germany, he re-entered France by way of Nancy, where the autonomous Duke of Lorraine kept his court. Seven years later, his younger brother, Henry, would also winter in the Veneto, prior to exploring the Italian peninsula, and return through Lorraine. None of the Suffolk Howards seemed particularly keen to visit northern Germany, Switzerland or the United Provinces and, in this, a divergence may be perceived between a typical Catholic tour and a Protestant one. Although their cousin, Lord Arundel, with his wife and children, journeyed through Holland to Heidelberg in 1613, the circumstances were exceptional, as he was escorting the newly married Palatine couple and, as previously noted, he lost no time in pressing on to Italy. The previous year Arundel, then alone, had headed straight for the Veneto. When, in 1636, he travelled once more through Protestant parts of Germany, by this time ravaged by war, he did so as an ambassador on a peace mission to the Imperial Court in Prague; a journey he would otherwise certainly not have made, though he seized this opportunity to acquire more art along the way, notably prints and paintings by Dürer from the Pirckheimer and other collections.56



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After spending some time in Paris, Lord Walden returned to England in February 1604 [N.S.]. In April 1606, he would return to woo (unsuccessfully) the Constable of France’s daughter.57 A decade after completing his tour, in August 1614, he would achieve another touring ‘first’ by become the first senior English nobleman to make a tour of Scotland after the Union of the Crowns; a near princely progress during which he deeply impressed a succession of Scottish hosts with his compliments and manners. Among these was Bernard Lindsay, one of the King’s grooms, an inveterate host, who in 1618 would entertain two (more modest) tourists – lone walkers in the tradition of Tom Coryate – John Taylor, the ‘Water Poet’, and Ben Jonson.58 Being both highborn and first-born, Theophilus Howard was expected to take on great responsibilities and attain distinction, yet he avoided both. He, nevertheless, possessed considerable charm and sophistication, qualities no doubt enhanced by his youthful travels, but he chose to follow the path of pleasure, frittered away the vast Suffolk estate, and was eventually forced to abandon his father’s sprawling ‘prodigy house’, Audley End. As John Dowland’s dedication to him in his Pilgrimes Solace suggests, Theophilus was a Catholic,59 but neither this nor the downfall of his father, who in December 1615 was stripped of the Treasurership and sent with his countess to the Tower, were responsible for his lacklustre career. Walden’s knack of projecting nobility and affability simultaneously won him Buckingham’s respect and friendship soon after the favourite’s emergence at court, and Prince Charles’s favour followed. When Charles became King, Theophilus (from 1626, Earl of Suffolk) became a privy councillor, though he never achieved any great distinction as such. Cranborne warmed neither to him nor to the ostentatious Whitehall clique to which Theophilus belonged, which included Buckingham, Hamilton and Lennox. Among the Cecil Papers is a verse libel against all four, written c.1618, which, if not composed by Cranborne (by then, 2nd Earl of Salisbury), was copied and kept by him.60 It refers disparagingly to his Catholic brother-in-law ‘Sacrificing to St Luke’ (the patron saint of painters), but as much as it confirms Theophilus Howard’s profligate and more cosmopolitan nature, it also confirms Cranborne’s conformist religion and social inadequacy; the latter probably exacerbated by his wan looks and the slight frame he inherited from his father, which tended to set him apart from these peacocks of the court. Judging by the regularity with which the sons of the 1st Earl of Suffolk criss-crossed Europe, it is apparent that their father approved of continental travel for the purpose of education, though his own voyaging undertaken in the previous reign had, perforce, mainly been on the seas. Suffolk seems to have had fewer reservations about continental travel than his Privy Council colleague, Salisbury; an attitude which may be attributed to his family’s crypto-Catholicism and pro-Spanishness.

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On the 25 July 1609, William Becher, the English ambassador’s secretary, wrote from Paris to Thomas Wilson in London, reporting that the two Howard brothers who had crossed the Channel with Cranborne had begun exploring deeper into France ahead of their brother-in-law, and that Cranborne, having obtained horses out of England, was now about to leave Orléans: to begin his journey further into the Countrey, Sr Thomas Howard and his brother [Henry], being seaven or eight daye since set forwards on theyres […] Here is lately arrived My Lord St Jhon, and my Lord Wentworth. My Lord Roos hath beene a great while in the South partes of Fraunce, and is shortly to came hether, by the same way wch my Lord of Cranborne is going.61

Becher, referring to the lords St John, Wentworth and Roos, added the wry comment: ‘they doe all three sympathise in this, that they have left theyre Governours behinde them in Italy’.62 The fates of these governors were already known in England: St John’s governor, Lomax, had died in Florence, whereupon Roos’s governor, John Mole, had taken on responsibility for St John also. In Rome, Mole had been seized and charged with heresy by the Inquisition, whose prisoner he remained until his death more than thirty years later, remaining firm to the end in his Protestant faith.63 As for Edward Lichfield, governor of Thomas, 4th Baron Wentworth, it was reported by Wotton that he had been seized in Bologna and carried ‘with all his papers into the prison of the Inquisition where he yet remaineth’. Lichfield, however, unlike Mole, rapidly became ‘reconciled’ to the Church of Rome, gained his freedom, and in due course became a Jesuit.64 Each of these governors had intended to keep their protégés on the straight and narrow, not least where religion was concerned, but Roos felt nothing for Mole and, probably encouraged by Tobie Matthew, had colluded with the Roman authorities to be rid of him.65 Cranborne’s tutors might well have been forgiven for questioning their career choice. The tension prior to departure for those responsible for conducting the tour is perhaps detectable in Becher’s reminder to Wilson: ‘Mr Finnet doth wth some impatience attend to heare from you before his going.’66

chapter 4

INTO AQUITANIA

Cranborne had been residing in Orléans during the early summer of 1609, but on 8 August 1609 [N.S.] he set off down the Loire Valley with an entourage of some 30 gentlemen and servants, marshalled by Finet, on ‘mon voyage du tour de France’.1 The Howards had set out a week earlier, perhaps with the intention of making a rendezvous with them later but perhaps also to escape Cecil supervision. Cranborne had begun to follow a route that had been travelled as far as Angers, by way of Blois, Amboise, Tours and Saumur, by his father when, in 1598, as one of Queen Elizabeth’s commissioners, he had sought out Henri IV to learn what he could about the negotiations between the French and the Spanish at Vervins. When he came to peruse Cranborne’s journal, Salisbury, therefore, would have been able to visualize these places as his son mentioned them. Though his journey was a diplomatic mission of the utmost importance, Sir Robert Cecil (as Salisbury had then been) had found time with the other commissioners – John Herbert, Sir George Carew and Shakespeare’s patron, the young 3rd Earl of Southampton – to visit Saint-Denis and, in the Loire Valley, to make a political pilgrimage to the lobby outside the King’s cabinet on the second floor of the Château de Blois, the spot where Henri, Duc de Guise, had been assassinated ten years earlier, having been summoned there by the King (Henri III).2 It is this Guise who had appeared as the archetypal Machiavellian villain in Marlowe’s Massacre at Paris (1593) and he is also mentioned, by the ghost of Machiavelli himself, in The Jew of Malta. Cranborne’s company spent the first night at Saint-Laurent-Nouan. The next morning they continued alongside the Loire another 12 miles,3 whereupon Cranborne presumably left the main highway and rode through the forest park to see what he calls ‘the superb château of Chambord’, though he gives no indication whether or not he entered it (Figure 27A).4 When, a few years later, Inigo Jones revisited the section in his personal copy of I Quattro Libri, in which Palladio had incorrectly illustrated and described the Leonardesque double-helix staircase of Chambord, he wrote opposite the engraving:

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The Jacobean Grand Tour The staires at Shambourge I sawe being in fraunce [this is followed by a space which seems to have been left blank in anticipation of remembering the date, but it was never filled in] and they ar but 2 wayes to assend and ye well hath a. waal wth windoues cut oute but this yt semes was discoursed to Palladio and he Inuented of himsealf thes staires.5 (Figures 27B and 28)

Jones had clearly seen Chambord’s interior – having read and annotated the relevant section in advance – but we do not learn from this whether it was on the day Cranborne passed by or on an earlier visit. Interestingly, almost forty years later, John Evelyn, travelling along the same route south from Orléans, also noted ‘the Stayre-Case mention’d by the Architect Palladio’ but followed him in his error regarding the ‘4 Entries or ascents’.6 Despite the magnificent external staircase of the pre-Mansart Château de Blois, which they visited next before dining in the town, Cranborne was less impressed with its irregular ‘ornament and structure’ (Figure 29A). Due to the château’s position on the hillside, Cranborne commented that there was no garden worth speaking of to the front, but, high above the road, he entered what was one of the first, great Renaissance gardens in France, laid out by Pacello de Mercogliano for Louis XII a century earlier (Figure 29B).7 Here, Cranborne was naturally more enthusiastic and commended in particular the ‘very beautiful avenues, almost a league in length, well planted with palisades and great trees’.8 This was the archetypal formal garden of a type that continued to inspire Jones’s stage scenery as late as 1635 when he produced Florimène, a masque performed by a French company with British anti-masquers for Charles I’s birthday (Figure 30A). The introductory act featured a Temple of Diana on the island of Delos (for which Jones’s visit to the Temple of Diana at Nîmes, later on the tour, may have been relevant as may the pre-1635 visits to Delos itself by the likes of Kenelm Digby, Bullen Reymes and Lord Carnarvon) (Figure 30B). The second act of Florimène included a design for ‘a spacious garden, with walks, parterras, close arbours and cypress trees’.9 For Cranborne, the garden at Blois would have been more immediately relevant given that his father was beginning to lay out the gardens at Hatfield that he would himself continue to cherish.10 In this connection it is worth observing that the copy of the 1607 edition of du Cerçeau’s Les Plus Excellens Bastiments de France, containing engravings of Blois and Amboise and its gardens, is still in the library of Hatfield House and was almost certainly purchased by Cranborne himself between 1608 and 1615.11 Cranborne hints that, like his father, he saw the interior of the château and, very likely, the room in which, on 23 December 1588, the Duc de Guise was assassinated and where Henri III informed Catherine de Médicis, who took to her bed and died there a fortnight later.12 After dinner they left Blois and, riding along the north bank of the Loire through what Cranborne describes as ‘very pleasant country both for the

Figure 27A: Château de Chambord, exterior

Figure 27B: Château de Chambord, staircase

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Figure 28: Château de Chambord, spiral staircase (Palladio, Quattro Libri, I, pp. 64–5, with Jones’s inscription on the left page and incorrectly engraved stairs on the right)

hills which are here and there thick all over with woods and everywhere all manner of comfort such as the beautiful houses and chateaux’,13 they eventually crossed the river over ‘a fine bridge’ and entered Amboise, where they spent the­second night so as to be able the next morning to see what is now acknowledged to be the first Italianate château in France, but which Cranborne merely describes as ‘most superbly built, large and well fortified’, failing to mention the fact that Leonardo da Vinci spent the last three years of his life in the adjacent Clos Lucé as the guest of François I (Figure 31).14 Whereas at Chambord Jones had been interested in the technically impressive spiral stairs (associated with Leonardo), here Cranborne was impressed by the larger-scale, vaulted ramps by which ‘one can go right up by a spiral to the highest level of a huge tower in a carriage-and-four’.15 He was also impressed by ‘some admirable stag’s horns’ which, after being

Figure 29A: Château de Blois, staircase

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Figure 29B: Jacques Androuet du Cerçeau, Blois, building and gardens, from Les plus excellents bastiments de France, II, Paris, 1579

similarly admired by generations of tourists, were finally exposed as fake wooden ones when a Prussian soldier attempted to remove them and they crumbled into dust.16 The fifteenth-century chapel, with its sculpted Vision of St Hubert in which antlers also feature above the entrance, is supposed to shelter the remains of Leonardo da Vinci, but he was actually buried in the subsequently demolished church of Saint-Florentin, which was part of the main château (Figure 32).17 From Amboise they journeyed to Tours – thus still in father’s footsteps – where, over the course of three days, Cranborne was shown a variety of sights: the new fortifications, the pall-mall course (he does not mention whether he tried the croquet-like game), ‘certain dripping caves where the water congeals and turns to stone’,18 the Abbey of Marmoutier (founded by St Martin of Tours) and the superb Gothic Cathedral of St Gatien.19 Both the abbey and the cathedral had been severely damaged by Huguenots in 1562 and much of the latter’s interior carving and statuary had been broken or defaced by the hammers of the iconoclasts, so it would have been in this unrestored state that Cranborne saw them.20 Cranborne specifically mentioned seeing the ‘ioly cabinet’, by which he may have meant the fine library there.



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Figure 30A: Inigo Jones, view of formal gardens, stage design for Florimène, pen and ink, 1635

On Friday 14 August, Cranborne left Tours for Saumur, where he spent the night. Having no doubt been instructed by his father to see his old acquaintance, Cranborne would have been disappointed not to meet in person Philippe du Plessis-Mornay, the celebrated Huguenot governor of this Protestant stronghold (he had been called away on business to Poitou). The next morning Cranborne was instead shown around the great castle at Saumur by his lieutenant (Figure 33). He admired the distinguished author’s ‘very beautifull library’ and the three galleries, one for pleasure (where Du Plessis’ portrait of Philip Sidney was kept), a second full of armour and the third full of muskets and other sorts of weapons.21

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Figure 30B: Inigo Jones, ‘Temple of Diana’, stage design for Florimène, pen and ink, 1635

With ‘its beautiful churches’ and strong, well-equipped and maintained château, Angers was the next halting point; then Nantes, where, having entered Brittany, they stayed for three days. Cranborne dispatched books back from Nantes22 along with a servant to inform his father that he intended to add an extra loop to his tour when he reached Geneva, proposing to venture into Switzerland and part of Germany. Salisbury’s approval (when it was received, we cannot be sure) came with a reminder that the tour was not intended to be a hurried accumulation of princes and states seen.23 Though Cranborne only obliquely references the Edict of Nantes by mentioning ‘Madame de Mercure’ at the ‘beautiful and strong castle’ of Ancenis (presumably Marie de Luxembourg, the widow of Philippe-Emmanuel, Duc de Mercoeur, who held Nantes for the Catholic League until his capitulation to Henri IV in 1598), he does cite ‘un beau tombeau en l’Eglise de Carmes’. This clearly refers to Michel Colombe’s magnificent tomb of Duke Francis II of Brittany and his wife, Margaret de Foix, commenced in 1507.24 At seven in the evening of the 22 August, the party arrived at the Huguenot fortress-port of La Rochelle. Eighteen years on, when peace with both Spain

Figure 31: Jacques Androuet du Cerçeau, Amboise building and gardens, from Les plus excellents bastiments de France, II, Paris, 1579

Figure 32: Vision of St Hubert, fifteenth century, chapel entrance, Château d’Amboise

Figure 33: Limbourg brothers and Jean Colombe, Château de Saumur from Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry: Septembre, miniature, fifteenth cenury



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Figure 34: Unknown artist (French School), The Siege La Rochelle, 1627–28, oil on canvas

and France had broken down, an army under the command of the Duke of Buckingham would attempt to relieve it, only to land on the nearby Île de Ré and linger there ineffectively for a few miserable months. Cranborne’s abilities and inclinations were still undetermined and it remained a serious possibility that responsibilities of such magnitude might eventually fall to him; in any case, the study of fortifications at La Rochelle and elsewhere formed a serious part of a tour of this period (Figure 34). Unfortunately, Cranborne was in no fit state to survey the defences or to scout the coastline, as he found that, in his own words, God had visited him with ‘la maladie qu’ils appellent la petite verole’; that is to say, the smallpox.25 That summer, the disease was, indeed, rampant: in the same month, Pierre de L’Estoile reported shocking mortality rates among children in Paris, Chârtres and Lyon, and that the epidemic had spread ‘aux autres villes et endroits de la France’.26 Cranborne recovered with surprising rapidity, however, and was able to make some sort of inspection of the harbour, the town hall and the arsenal, where he took special note of a culverin with a 20-foot barrel. Just 12 days later he departed from La Rochelle, carrying away

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Figure 35: Amphitheatre, Saint-Eutrope, Saintes

an impression of its constant preparedness and its apparent impregnability. By pressing beyond this point, he outdistanced his friends, William Lytton and William Borlase, who had toured that way earlier, but ‘who went no further then Rochell, but turned short, backe to Blois, where they lie as yt were at pawne for lacke of monie, wherwith theyre frends are nothing pleased’.27 The party now wished to head directly south, but for the first few leagues it was necessary to skirt the marshland that extends deep inland from the coast. A southeasterly route took them to crossing points at a succession of streams and rivers flowing straight to the sea. Cranborne, no doubt in post-illness good spirits, was at his most attentive and diligent, even recording stopping to eat at Le Gué Charreau, barely a hamlet even today. After crossing the ford there, the party rode to Tonnay-Boutonne to cross the River Boutonne and then to the Huguenot château of Taillebourg where they spent the night. Taillebourg is situated on the east bank of the Charente, and though early seventeenth-century maps suggest that there were roads either side of the river which it would have been possible to follow downstream to Saintes, local advice, no doubt, led the party to cross the river the following



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day to make the ride on the west side. Called by the Romans ‘Mediolanum Santonum’, Saintes had, in fact, still to spread beyond its walled perimeter on the west bank, though it possessed its own ancient bridge. In his first reference to the still-impressive Roman remains of mid- and southern France, which were to become for him the main attraction of his tour, as they were clearly intended to be, Cranborne noted seeing ‘the ruins of an old amphitheatre and other antiquities towards the bridge’ (Figures 35 and 36). His approach would, indeed, have been from the far side of the city, and he and his party would have had no need to cross the bridge on either their entry or departure. Possibly for that reason, Cranborne did not single out the so-called ‘Arch of Germanicus’, which had in fact been erected on the eastern end of the bridge by the Romanized Gaul, Caius Julius Rufus (who also paid for the amphitheatre) in the early first century ad.28 As a consequence of the widening of the river in the medieval period and the necessary addition to the bridge of two arches, however, the Arch had become curiously suspended on the bridge to stand impressively above the waters of the Charente until its actual removal (on the insistence of Prosper Mérimée) to the east bank in the 1840s. Had Cranborne been required to ride through the Arch, he could hardly have failed to give it special mention among the other ‘antiquities’ of Saintes.29 Whether Jones and the more antiquarian-inclined among the party inspected the antiquities of Saintes more closely and ventured onto the bridge where inscriptions would have been visible on the Arch remains a matter of speculation, though it may be observed that a scholarly treatise on Saintes was available: Élie Vinet’s L’Antiquité de Sainctes (Bordeaux, 1571), whose companion volume on Bordeaux was to be used by Jones.30 It is worth mentioning at this point that Cranborne’s tutors did not need to inform him of the general merits of travel in these parts, as no less than four of his Cecil cousins had already seen the profuse evidence of Roman civilization in what had been the important provinces of Aquitania and Gallia Narbonensis.31 Cranborne’s senior cousin and namesake, the Catholic William Cecil, 3rd Baron Burghley (the future 2nd Earl of Exeter), would have been anxious to brief him, as he enthusiastically recalled his own tours through France and Italy, the first of these being made in the mid-1580s. A matter of days before Cranborne set out on his tour, Burghley had written to Gilbert Talbot, 7th Earl of Shrewsbury (himself a great traveller and an important influence upon his son-in-law, the collector Earl of Arundel), commenting on a glowing description of the Cappella dei Principi which Shrewsbury had forwarded to him: This Chapel is cum to this parfection since I was at Florence, yet then indoinge. Yor L. knows those parts better than I though I have bene there twise. This notwithstandinge [it] is my opinion yt the ruins of the Ancient Romans both

Figure 36: Arch of Germanicus, Saintes



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at Roome and yt Province ar fairer than the greatest buildings in all Europe yt ar not ancient.32

Just as the impact in the first half of the eighteenth century of the Greek remains in Sicily, as distinct from those in Greece itself, has tended to be overlooked by historians of taste, so the impact in the early seventeenth century of the plentiful Roman remains in mid- and southern France, as distinct from those in Italy, seems to have been likewise underestimated.33 Though it is unlikely that Cranborne escaped his older cousin Burghley expounding on the ruins of ‘Province’ and may have profited from it, he was at least fortunate in avoiding Burghley’s unstable son, William, Lord Roos, who was at large on the Continent at the same time. Before Cranborne set out in earnest from Orléans, Sir George Carew, the English ambassador in Paris, had reported: There came yesterday to me a servant of my Lord Rosses who is out at Montpellier still. He told me that passing through Orleans he inquired for my Lo: of Cranbourn and found that he has made a little voyage for three or four days to see some Townes thereabouts.34

Roos spent most of this period abroad, during which he wantonly bought works of art and other rarities. When both he and Arundel were in Rome in 1614, they seem to have kept their distance but to have engaged in a flurry of competitive buying. Roos’s passion for collecting antiquities, however, did not last. It would be reported of him in 1616, after his departure for Spain in a quasi-ambassadorial role: after all his paines and chardges bestowed in collecting and gathering togeather such antiquities of this kind as he could get in his travailes, he hath now in an humor (and I may say an ill one) given them all to my L. of Arundell, wch hath exceedingly beautified his Lordship’s Gallerie.35

Chamberlain, with heavier sarcasm, commented: ‘It seemes he is very desirous to buy frends; for he gave the Earle of Arundell all the Statues he bought out of Italy at one clap and reposeth such confidence in him that he hath left in his hands all the entailes of his land and other writing, of greatest moment.’36 Though the Cranborne and Roos parties covered the same ground between Montpellier and Marseille, their journeys were separated by a few months. In April, Roos had sailed from Genoa to Marseille and from there he went to Arles and then Avignon, where he celebrated Easter (16 April) with the Jesuits.37 The manipulative Tobie Matthew accompanied

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him this far before heading back into Italy, while Roos proceeded to Montpellier, where he was still lingering in June. If the two parties had met, Finet and Lister would have been on their guard, as Matthew was already notorious – all that summer, he was believed to be the author of a treasonable book smuggled into England and circulating among disaffected Catholics.38 His influence over Roos would, moreover, have been unmistakable, though Roos’s capacity for unaided mischief may not have been as obvious as it should to Cranborne’s governors. It was September, however, before Cranborne reached Montpellier, by which time Roos had departed for Lyon. Having left Saintes, Cranborne’s party headed for Bordeaux. They spent a night at the Protestant stronghold of Pons on the Seugne and the next day, via the medieval pilgrim hospice (Figures 37A and B), travelled past the ‘very beautiful chateau’, Le Petit Niort, belonging to Louis de Nogaret de la Valette, Duc d’Épernon.39 They continued to Blaye on the Gironde estuary, where their sleep was cut short by the need to rise before dawn to catch the tide. Sailing up the Garonne, they arrived at Bordeaux later that Sunday morning, 6 September. Here, in this ‘handsome port where the English conduct a great trade in wine’, they stayed three days and were above all impressed with what Cranborne, in accordance with contemporary opinion, describes as the ‘ruins of the palace of the Emperor Gallien outside the town’40 (in fact a second-century amphitheatre), and still more interestingly for our purposes, the nearby ruins known as ‘Les Tutelles’ or ‘Les Piliers de Tutelle’, which Cranborne calls the ‘palais tutele’, perhaps following Élie Vinet in his L’antiquité de Bourdeaus (1564–5 and 1574–5), as he may have followed the same author in Saintes (Figures 38–42). Not a palace at all, but a Gallo-Roman temple of a similar date to the amphitheatre, its mystery was maintained, or even played up, by the scholarly Vinet, possibly because he knew that the Bordelais enjoyed a good trade from the curious who visited the ruins.41 Both sites Cranborne praises as ‘ancient manifestations of the grandeur and magnificence of the Romans’.42 The best-known sixteenth-century admirer of Les Pilliers des Tutelles was Jacques Androuet du Cerçeau, whose original engraving survives (Figure 41).43 A century later, in 1669, Claude Perrault conducted a detailed survey of the ruins of Bordeaux, eight years before the still-substantially intact colonnade was demolished during the making of a glacis around the adjacent fortress.44 His drawings for Les Tutelles were later engraved by Le Pautre and published, and these probably inspired Vanburgh and Hawksmoor when they designed the great corner pavilions at Blenheim.45 Between these two dates, however, Les Tutelles clearly made a great impression on Cranborne, for he mentions them again at Nîmes in connection with the Maison Carrée. Also inspired by his visit, Inigo Jones seems to have consulted a copy of Vinet’s book on Bordeaux, perhaps acquired locally, which includes

Figure 37A: Château d’Usson, Pons

Figure 37B: Hôpital des Pèlerins, Pons

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Figure 38: Amphitheatre, Bordeaux

a fold-out woodcut of the monument (Figure 42). This reveals to us that as early as the 1570s Les Tutelles was run as a commercial attraction, and contained within the 18 (of an original 24) Corinthian columns, a wellmaintained, formal parterre laid out with four compartiments reminiscent of those so poetically described by Ausonius (born in Bordeaux c.ad 310) and discussed by Vinet, each having either a topiary feature or a tree at its centre. Access appears to have been gained through a door set in the rear of the temple base where refreshments were sold from a stall.46 Within a few months of returning to England, representations of a very similar ruin – a distinctive Corinthian colonnade supporting an arcade featuring prominent raised sculptures – appeared in two of Jones’s architecturally rich stage designs for Prince Henry’s Barriers: the opening scene, ‘The Fallen House of Chivalry’, and the main scene, ‘St George’s Portico’ (Figure 43). The remains of the so-called Palais Galliene, meanwhile, may well have inspired other surrounding ruins depicted in these scenes.47



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Figure 39: Amphitheatre, Bordeaux, woodcut from Vinet’s L’antiquité de Bourdeaus, Poitiers, 1565

At Bordeaux, therefore, Jones may have had recourse to a scholarly publication on the local architecture and antiquities. Two weeks later, at Nîmes, Jones seems to have done so again, and though such purchases may have been for the immediate benefit of Cranborne, Jones may have retained these books to study at his leisure. His designs always depended heavily on published sources – indeed, we know from his so-called ‘Roman Sketchbook’ that his drawings were rarely the record of direct observation but were usually based on engravings or the drawings of others.48 As John Peacock has demonstrated, the Aristotelian concept of imitation, or mimesis, was regarded by Jones as fundamental to his profession and preliminary to invention.49 This resulted in the carefully thought-out capricci in his masques for Prince

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Figure 40: Bordeaux, from G. Braun and F. Hogenberg, Civitates Orbis Terrarum, I, Cologne, 1572, engraving after a woodcut in Antoine du Pinet, Plantz, pourtraitz et descritions de plusieurs villes et forteresses, Lyon, 1564

Henry, sometimes misread by those expecting a singular truthfulness to extend across the entire image.50 Though he seems not to have actually sketched on tour, Jones clearly set great store on viewing and examining actual ruins. He would draw on notes and his acute visual memory to pass judgement on the architectural illustrations of others and, when it came to his own designs, thereby compete with the very antiquities he had observed. Confirmation that Cranborne was capable of omitting from his journal fairly significant events – even those that did him credit – is evident in news of him at Bordeaux brought back to Cornwall by an ‘honest merchant’, who told it to Sir William Godolphin, who then conveyed it to the Earl of Salisbury. The English wine merchants in the town had taken an unspecified gift to Cranborne, who not only insisted on paying for it, but also entertained them to dinner, of which honour the merchant ‘was not a little proud’. As for



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Figure 41: Jacques Androuet du Cerçeau, engraving of Les Piliers de Tutelle, 1560

his son’s appearance, Salisbury was doubtless relieved to read that ‘no marks of the small pox are on his face’.51 Before leaving Bordeaux, Cranborne sent a servant homeward, who carried, among other messages, a short rhetorical reply to a letter that had reached him from Prince Henry. This business may have taken up the early morning of the departure, but the company needed only to reach Cadillac by dinnertime. Cranborne may have expected something more elegant than what the Duc d’Épernon’s still-incomplete château looked like from a distance, situated on the crown of an old bastide. Later, he would concede: ‘the design [is] perhaps greater than it appears’;52 phrasing curiously reminiscent of Inigo Jones’s characteristic method of appreciation – probing through subjective impressions to the underlying design. That Cranborne had adopted the word ‘design’ as his starting point for his summary of a building was, in itself, a hopeful sign. His initial misperception of Cadillac may have simply been due to its fine architecture and formal garden being largely hidden behind steep perimeter walls and towers; defensibility, indeed, continued to be a

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Figure 42: Les Tutelles, woodcut from Vinet’s L’antiquité de Bourdeaus, Poitiers, 1565

requirement in the design, or at least the setting, of great houses in this region. Work on Cadillac had begun as recently as 1599 to the design of the Rome-trained sculptor-architect Pierre Biard. Its central pavilion and northern wing had been completed by Pierre Soufflon around 1603, and at the time of Cranborne’s visit the southern wing and galleries on the east range were being built under the supervision of Gilles de la Touche-Aguesse. The completed interiors, meanwhile, were being decorated by some of the most proficient painters and sculptors in France.53 Épernon was, even by the standards of the time, an ‘overmighty subject’ – it was largely to curb his authority that Henri IV proposed his own progress to the south in 1609, a plan that was abandoned due to the Queen’s pregnancy. His new château’s deliberately discreet grandeur could only have provided a sharp contrast in



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Figure 43: Inigo Jones, ‘The Fallen House of Chivalry’ for Prince Henry’s Barriers, 1610, pen and ink on paper

the minds of the English visitors to the exposed elegance of recently built Jacobethan ‘prodigy houses’ such as the Wimbledon of Cranborne’s uncle, and his father-in-law’s Audley End. Continuing to follow the Garonne upstream, the party spent the night (Wednesday, 9 September) at Langon. The following morning, they crossed the river and proceeded to La Réole, a much-fought-over stronghold both in the Hundred Years’ War and in the Wars of Religion. As recently as June 1600, the parlement of Bordeaux had been ordered to return to the status quo of 1577 along the valley by re-establishing the reformed religion at La Réole and other places: Monsegueur, Langon, Gironde, Castelmoron and

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Sainte-Bazeille. Having passed through it, Cranborne noted that SainteBazeille was ‘a poor little town […] entirely demolished’. It would have provided Cranborne with a spectacle, of which kind there would be several on the tour, that encouraged a view of history as a process of alternating periods of peace and conflict, to be read by the traveller through the evidence of construction and destruction of buildings and monuments. Sainte-Bazeille had been held and taken by the Huguenots and the Leaguers in turn. In his Memoires, Sully records the assault on Sainte-Bazeille of 1586 – ‘La ville fut battue de dix-huit pièces de canon. Les maisons percées d’outre en outre, tombaient en ruine, et volaient en éclats de tous côtés’54 – and it was probably the results of this assault that Cranborne and his companions were still able to see. By the end of the day (Thursday, 10 September) the party had reached Marmande, where they stayed the night. Cranborne was clearly aware of the enduring strategic importance of the Garonne valley and was attempting to commit to memory the sequence of strongholds and who currently possessed them – to the right, on the opposite bank, Caumont, garrisoned by the Comte de St Paul; close to it, the town and château of Aiguillon, a petty duchy, which Cranborne understood was held by the son of Charles of Lorraine, Duc de Mayenne, former leader of the Catholic League. At Aiguillon, the Lot, flowing from the east, joins the Garonne, but the party needed to keep to the Garonne as far as its confluence with another great tributary, the Tarn. They, therefore, pressed on to Port Sainte-Marie and then to Agen, the ancient Aginnum and scene of many battles between the English and the French, which was where they spent the following night (Friday, 11 September).55 On Saturday 12 September, they dined at La Magistère, just before diverging from the Garronne to follow the Tarn to Montauban. That night, they stayed at Moissac, which Cranborne describes as an ‘assez belle petite ville’. From there, he noted, ‘one could clearly see the Pyrenees’ but he did not mention the extraordinary Romanesque sculpture to be seen closer to hand in the Abbey of St Pierre.56 On the Sunday, they arrived at Montauban, a Huguenot town described by Cranborne as ‘entirely of the religion except two houses’ and one that was ‘well fortified in the modern manner’ which he had already seen employed at La Rochelle.57 The following day, Monday, 14 September, was one of unremarkable travel, broken for a meal at Fronton, which ended at one of the more notable stopping points on the tour: Toulouse, the ancient capital of Languedoc.

chapter 5

IN SEARCH OF GALLIA NARBONENSIS

Though most of its Roman remains were yet to be revealed, Toulouse was conscious of its ancient heritage and close enough to other major Roman sites for its very fine sixteenth-century architecture to have been clearly influenced by them.1 Though relatively few of these Renaissance buildings survive, those that do, show how important this style might have been for Elizabethan and Jacobean attempts at classicism. The Bacheliers’ (father and son) very fine Hôtel d’Assézat, for example, which dates from the 1550s, would surely have been of interest to the architect who designed the south front of Hatfield House (Figure 44). Cranborne observed that this major university city was full of ‘beaux bastiments’ and he particularly admired the Hôtel de Ville, noting the portraits of the Capitouls or magistrates with which it was embellished (Figure 45).2 As so often on this tour, he seems to have been echoing Inigo Jones’s responses; his governors, Finet and Lister, making sure he did so. In noting a ‘beau moulin hors de la porte’, Cranborne may have been referring to one of the great water-mills mentioned by Rabelais, located close to the ancient barrage across the Garonne known as the ‘chaussée du Bazacle’, which ground corn and also the pastel made for dyeing, for which Toulouse was famous.3 The party visited Saint Sernin and viewed the images of the Twelve Apostles on the badly damaged west front of the cathedral, which Cranborne considered blasphemous, only to find the complete corpses of six of them and parts of other saints among the relics venerated there (Figure 46). Having satisfied their curiosity and, no less satisfyingly, found some outrageous manifestations of Catholic superstition, the company rode out of Toulouse. Having passed through Castelnaud and Carcassonne – ‘belle petite ville’ – they came to Narbonne, where, despite its former status as a major Roman port, monumental remains were less in evidence than at Saintes, Bordeaux, and those sites yet to be visited. Even so, the English visitors found interest in the still-visible and, indeed, plentiful Roman inscriptions and fragments embedded in Narbonne’s massive medieval fortifications, which had been extended as recently as the reign of François I. This much older masonry had been reused, as it was close to hand; nevertheless, its conspicuous placement,

Figure 44: Hôtel d’Assézat, Toulouse, begun 1555 to a design by Nicolas Bachelier

Figure 45: Magistrates (Capitouls) of Toulouse, oil on canvas, c.1620

Figure 46: Basilica of Saint Sernin, Toulouse, exterior

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particularly around gateways, was done in imitation of the traditional practice of decorating defensive walls with spolia in order to proclaim a city’s antiquity.4 Besides the fortifications and their embellishments, Cranborne pioneeringly praised a ‘most excellent’ painting of Lazarus (Figure 47). This was Sebastiano del Piombo’s life-sized Raising of Lazarus in the Cathedral of St Just, considered so excellent, indeed, that it was thought that Michelangelo had done some of the painting. Sebastiano, in fact, painted it for the then Archbishop of Narbonne, Cardinal Giulio de’Medici (later Pope Clement VII) between 1517 and 1519. Whenever a member of one of the great dynasties of Renaissance Italy was temporarily installed in a French see, be it a Medici in Narbonne or a Borghese in Avignon, some artistic legacy would be left. Giulio de’Medici intended to leave more to Narbonne: the Lazarus was to have a companion piece, no less a work than Raphael’s Transfiguration, but the master died before completing it and it never left Rome. It is debatable when Cranborne would see his first autograph Raphael; perhaps not for more than another decade, when Prince Charles would acquire the Sistine Chapel cartoons as patterns for the newly established Mortlake tapestry works.5 The tour continued over hard terrain from Béziers – scene of the worst massacre of the Albigensian Crusade – to Montpellier, and, as if anticipating the famous herbal garden he would visit there, Cranborne, the future garden creator, inhaled the fragrance of the wayside vegetation, detecting rosemary, thyme and lavender – ‘Tout le chemin est montueux pour le plus part mais plein d’herbes et arbrisseaux odoriferants, romarins, lavande, thim, etc.’6 It was no longer possible for a large party to follow the old Via Aquila, which followed a straight line from Béziers to Montpellier, not least on account of the loss of several arches from the Roman bridge at Saint-Thibéry. Instead, to cross the Hérault, it was first necessary to travel some way north to Pézenas, noting to the right the two fine baronies of Conas and Castelnau-de-Guers en route. Having stayed in Pézenas, the residence of the Duc de Ventadour, on Monday morning they travelled as far as Loupian, where Cranborne and a few companions took post horses, leaving the heavily laden carriages to continue on the main road to Montpellier. Clearly well informed, Cranborne set off to ride around the upper corner of the great coastal lagoon, the Étang (or Bassin) de Thau, in order to visit Balaruc.7 The Romans had once bathed in the natural springs of Balaruc but it had only recently begun to flourish again as a resort. In 1595 and 1596, the Swiss physician, Thomas Platter the Younger, broke from his medical studies in Montpellier to make several excursions to Balaruc, and, even though his visits were made outside of the spring and autumn bathing seasons, reported ‘many foreigners, numerous merchant stalls, a pharmacy, and all sorts of games and amusements’.8 At that time, some 15 years before Cranborne’s visit, Platter noted that Balaruc-les-Bains was attracting ‘fashionable people from

Figure 47: Sebastiano del Piombo, The Raising of St Lazarus, oil on canvas transferred from panel, 1517–19

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Montpellier, from Nîmes, from Toulouse’ and beyond, and when he came to revise his journal around 1605, he added that it had grown considerably in the intervening period, although there was still no permanent bathhouse as the springs had an unhelpful tendency to change their position.9 Matthew Lister’s professional curiosity would, undoubtedly, have been aroused by Balaruc’s water and by the cures and treatments offered there, and it is to be suspected that both he and Finet accompanied Cranborne on this ride. Platter vividly describes how it was the custom to down a large number of glasses and then to stroll in the surrounding countryside where the young men would relieve themselves in competitive fashion. Cranborne may have forgone such pleasures in his eagerness to reach adjacent Frontignan, where a more palatable drink was to be had, noting in his journal that the town was ‘so famous for the good muscat[el] which is picked there’.10 At Frontignan, Cranborne would have gained a view of the Golfe de Lions, part of the Mediterranean Sea. For a young man tasked with acquiring a strategic sense of Europe, it was a sight, like the Pyrenees, worth remembering. Cranborne slept that night in Montpellier in the satisfying knowledge that he had travelled the full length of France.11 On Tuesday, 2 September, Cranborne’s party watched a Scottish student take his doctorate at the famous university, probably witnessing him debate against the students, as was normal on the last day of such an election.12 The candidate would be expected to be generous with gifts and there would be sugared almonds for all.13 Afterwards, Cranborne went to admire the Jardin du Roi or Jardin des Plantes, located ‘a gunshot away from the walls of the town’,14 which, since receiving permission from Henri IV in 1593 to develop it, Pierre Richer, Professor of Anatomy and Botany, had turned into one of the best two or three herb gardens in Europe.15 Richer had set out to emulate Padua’s famous medical garden but his aim eventually extended beyond even that as he sought to display every plant species native to Languedoc. For this, it was necessary to establish microclimates within the garden, as Platter explained in his own journal: ‘He had had a large well or cistern dug there, beside which have been built several grottoes that are deliciously cool in summer; here acquatic [sic] plants are cultivated in humid and mossy earths brought here by his order.’16 The Jardin was created primarily for the medical students but was nonetheless a work of art: at Montpellier, therefore, physic garden and pleasure garden were one. Cranborne saw the garden in its first phase – before its devastation during the siege of 1622 by Louis XIII and its subsequent restoration and extension under the patronage of the same King.17 It covered a small hill, at the top of which was a porticoed courtyard with 13 portals, each bearing an inscription in gold stating which part of the garden lay beyond it. Like any other visitor or student, Cranborne would have chosen one to pass under, perhaps the third, which was inscribed Plantae quae in locis apricis,



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saxocis, arenosis crescunt, and would then have proceeded along and down the terraces.18 On that same day, in England, James I thought of Cranborne while writing to Salisbury, in his inimitable way: My littil beagle, I have bene this nighte surprysed by the venetian ambassadoure [Correr], quho, for all my hunting, hathe not spaired to hunt me out heir; to be shorte, his cheife earande was to tell me of a greate fraye in venice betwixte my ambassadoure thaire [Wotton], and that Staite, anent a prohibicion that the inquisition of venice hathe sett foorthe against the publishing of my booke thaire, he hathe complained that my ambassadoure takis this so hoatlie as passeth; in a worde he hath bestowid an houris vehement oration upon me, for this purpose […] I only wryte this unto you nou, that incace this pantalone come unto you.19

This distraction had been caused by Wotton playing the pantalone to even greater dramatic heights than his Venetian counterpart (in a show of indignation he had divested himself of his ambassadorial robes and retreated to his villa as a private gentleman), and thoughts of Venice had led the King to remember the absent Cranborne, who would soon be going there. He concluded kindly, ‘I nou hoape to heare from you the assurance that youre Sonne is well, and so fairwell.’ Cranborne was, in fact, in fine fettle, which could not be said for his horses (probably only those that had been pulling the carriages), which were now so wearied that he was obliged to spend four nights in Montpellier before setting out for Nîmes.20 This at least gave Dr Lister an opportunity to enter into lengthier discourse with his professional colleagues, while there is reason to believe that Inigo Jones, to occupy his own spare time, devised an excursion. Thirty miles away, on the far bank of the Rhône, lay Arles, once a prosperous Roman colony (Lat. Arelate), and still a city of major importance for its antique remains. If, however, we read the only printed account of Provence available in English at this date – that to be found in John Eliot’s The Survay or Topographical Description of France … Collected out of sundry approved Authors 21 – we begin to appreciate the originality of Jones and the various members of the Cecil family who sought out and inspected its monuments. Arles is summed up thus: ‘Arles an archbishoprike nigh to Rhosne standeth in the fennes where they now breed as goodly cattell as may be. Therin are to be seene the ruines of an Amphitheatre.’ Had Jones relied solely upon Eliot’s Survay for information about Arles he might well have spared himself the effort of reaching it, but he was better informed on what there was to see, not least through having read Serlio’s Tutte l’Opere d’Architettura.22

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To proceed directly to Arles from Montpellier it was necessary to follow the old pilgrim way that skirted the marshy Camargue and passed through the abbey town of Saint-Gilles. This route may be roughly imagined as the base line of a triangle formed by Montpellier, Nîmes and Arles (with Nîmes at the northern point). It was not easy country to traverse; almost half a century later, another touring Englishman, William Hammond, who at the same time of year took that route (but in the opposite direction) wrote: ‘From Arles hither we came riding over a Country, ready to be drown’d by the swelling Rhosne, which is this Autume more swell’d, than the oldest man alive has hitherto seen it; insomuch that they are faine to boat from house to house.’23 Certainly, the prospect of coaxing the party, with all its impedimenta, due east for more than ten leagues across such country would not have appealed to Finet, even if the carriage horses had been fresh. It would, though, have been a less daunting prospect for two or three riders. We know for certain that Jones visited Arles at around this time. It is therefore likely that he took advantage of the enforced rest and, lightly equipped, with perhaps a servant or companion, rode to Arles, having agreed to rejoin the rest of the company at Nîmes on 25 September. At the beginning of the seventeenth century, prior to being ransacked by builders and collectors, the Roman remains of Arles must have been extraordinarily impressive; far more so than now or even when Van Gogh and Gauguin both painted the famous avenue created by the brothers of Saint-Honorat a century earlier in an attempt to impose some order on the sprawling and chaotic site of the Roman necropolis known as Les Alyscamps: a corruption of Elysii campi or Elysian Fields (Figure 48). Arles also boasted an amphitheatre, a theatre and a triumphal arch. Persuasive evidence of Jones’s examination of the sarcophagi of Les Alyscamps is to be found, unexpectedly, in a Shropshire village church. It was shortly after Jones returned from France, at the newly constituted court of Henry, Prince of Wales, that he encountered the scholar, wit and part-time wrestler, Sir Rowland Cotton, who asked him to design a funerary monument for his recently deceased wife (Figure 49). Jones responded with a pen-and-wash drawing that incorporates a sarcophagus strongly reminiscent of the Roman sarcophagi of Arles; a feature he also used in a design for the ‘Fallen House of Chivalry’, another scene for The Barriers that was performed in 1610.24 It is, however, in a terse annotation in Book Four of his copy of I Quattro Libri, alongside Palladio’s engraving of the carved frieze (a griffon supporting a candelabrum) of the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina in Rome, that indisputable evidence of Jones’s excursion is to be found: ‘of This kynd of freece I sawe att Arles in Prouince’.25 It is, perhaps, idle to speculate who might have guided or even hosted Jones, but it should be recognized that Arles, at this time, boasted a number of learned and cultured citizens, among them the goldsmith and antiquary

Figure 48: Les Alyscamps, Arles

Figure 49A: Inigo Jones, design for Sir Rowland Cotton’s funerary monument for his wife, c.1610

Figure 49B: Inigo Jones’s annotation in his copy of Palladio, Quattro Libri, IV, p. 35, the frieze in Arles

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Antoine Agard, who was preparing for publication a catalogue of his cabinet of antiquities (many, no doubt, obtained locally) which included medals, stones, cameos, intaglios, bronze figurines and statues, and terracotta figures ‘à l’égyptienne’, all of which would have been of the utmost interest to Jones.26 Larger finds, whenever they were uncovered, were increasingly prized by Arlesians, who had become highly conscious of the now-prestigious past of their city. There had long been a tendency, also, to relocate from Les Alyscamps and the other necropoli the best-preserved and most decorative sarcophagi; sometimes to break them into more portable sections and to present fragments to important visitors.27 In 1609, there was no civic collection for Jones to see, though, a mere five years after his visit, the Jupiter of Arles was found at Trinquetaille on the opposite bank, a discovery of sufficient interest to prompt the consuls to display the statue in the Maison commune, around which a collection began to form.28 This was joined in the middle of the century by the Venus of Arles, as noted by Francis Mortoft in November 1658: There is also kept in the Hotel de Ville a very precious antiquity, the Image of Diana, and the very same which the Pagans worshipped in former tymes, and was found about 7 yeares since under the ground in the very same place where the Temple stood, which indeed is a very lively and fine piece of worke, and is much esteemed by the Governours of the Citty, in so much as they refused 20,000 francks that a gentleman offered for it.29

The celebrated, serpent-encoiled Torso of Mithras had already been found, but remained in private hands until its purchase by the city in 1723.30 The various fates of Arles’s Roman remains typified the suffering of monuments everywhere after the fall of the Empire. The theatre, whose design was not dissimilar to the much better preserved one at Orange, had the misfortune to be adjacent to the place where St Augustine had been consecrated bishop of the English in ad 597, and on that spot, over the next half-millennium, the Cathedral of St-Trophime had grown. The site of the theatre became the yard of the cathedral works, and, little by little, much of the theatre’s structure was dismantled and its stone reused. Nearby, the greatest of all Arles’s monuments, the oval amphitheatre (136 m × 107 m), was found to be in a deplorable state by François I when he visited Arles in 1538, yet it would continue to be crammed with over two hundred dwellings for another two centuries. In spite of this, it remained instructive and, for the aspiring architect, Jones, it would have been impressive for its sheer Flavian monumentality and the unbounded confidence and self-evident competence of its first-century builders, ancestors of the Compagnons du Tour de France, whose craftsmanship continued to set an example throughout the medieval period (Figure 50).31

Figure 50: Amphitheatre, Arles

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Beyond the city walls and close to the banks of the Rhône, Roman Arles had once boasted a vast race-track or circus, of which there was hardly a trace left by the early seventeenth century, though it seems to have been known to Gervase of Tilbury, a remarkable English traveller and scholar of the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries, who settled in Arles where he became a magistrate and wrote the extraordinary, part-chorographical Otia imperiali.32 All that remained visible was an obelisk that once stood on the circus spina (Figure 51). It was first recorded as lying in the marshes in 1389, and there it would remain embedded until repositioned and reerected in 1676. This single piece of pink granite, almost sixteen metres in length, was always recognized as a great rarity; it was, in fact, the only ancient obelisk then in France (if one excludes Vienne’s somewhat squat ‘Aiguille’), not Egyptian but, as recent analysis has established, quarried in northwest Turkey, in the region known as the Troad, probably during the reign of the Emperor Constantine, and erected by his son, Constantine II. Visitors to Arles of great distinction were invariably taken to see it – these included Charles IX (1562), the Duke of Savoy (1591) and Henri IV – though fresh deposits of silt needed to be dug away and the exposed faces cleaned off for each royal visit. Whether Jones was led out to the obelisk probably depended on how much of it was visible towards the end of September 1609 – something probably determined by ground conditions and the level of demand to see it. Though anyone interested in the Antique would very likely have been interested in obelisks, Jones was particularly keen on them – he placed them prominently on the four façades of St Paul’s Cathedral and designed an unusually large pair to flank the bust on his tomb. Similarly enthusiastic was his soon-to-be friend and patron, Lord Arundel, who, with a breathtaking assurance more associated with the greatest collector-tourists of the eighteenth century and the most arrogant excavator-archaeologists of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, would attempt to import an authentic obelisk from Rome itself: namely, the Obelisk of Domitian, which then lay broken and neglected in the Circus of Maxentius.33 If Jones did view the unusually thin and tapering Obélisque d’Arles, we might hope to detect its influence somewhere in the designs for The Barriers, where other visual references to his recent reconnaissance would soon appear. With this in mind, we cannot but notice and muse upon the spike-like obelisk that appears in the design for the ‘Fallen House of Chivalry’ scene.34 In Cranborne’s diary, which he or his tutors knew would be perused and no doubt queried by his father, there is a hint of defence where he notes the delay at Montpellier. If Cranborne’s tutors were determined to keep to a tight schedule – they were surely thinking ahead at this point to their anticipated stay in Marseille as guests of the Duc de Guise – any days lost would have to have been made up by cutting out planned visits. Was the original intention,

Figure 51: Obélisque d’Arles, Place de la République, Arles

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therefore, that the entire party should visit Arles? If Jones thought Arles sufficiently important to ride there on his own, would he not, in normal circumstances, have wished Lord Cranborne to visit it as well? Even if Arles had been on the original itinerary, it is highly unlikely that Finet, Lister and Jones had ever intended it should be the next destination beyond Montpellier; more likely, Arles would have been visited after Avignon and before Marseille. In the event, the rested party (as we suggest, sans Jones) sallied out of the university town to head northeast for a mere eight leagues through what Cranborne was to judge ‘the best countryside of the Languedoc’;35 a ride that took them to Nîmes. It is possible that those in Cranborne’s party who had not been to Nîmes before already had some visual impression of it. Copies of Jean Poldo d’Albenas’s Discours Historial de l’Antique et Illustre Cité de Nismes, which had been published in Lyon in 1560,36 were, it seems, widely distributed. Palladio used it (as we shall see) and the bird’s-eye view of the city that appeared in it was later published in the well-known Civitates orbis terrarum (Cologne, 1572–98). This showed a walled city, much of the walls being Roman, pressed against which, on the south side, stood the great amphitheatre, by then full of houses of much later date. There was also an outer enceinte, thrown out to the north, which closed from both sides on a great tower, called, in fact, the Tour Magne, built atop a steep hill, which had pre-Roman origins (Figure 54). Nîmes had contracted since Roman times, so that, by the early seventeenth century, most of its population lived inside the inner walls while the area between these and the outer walls had become semi-rural. Somewhat isolated, therefore, at the bottom of the hill, was the famous spring which had given Nîmes (Lat. Nemausus) its name and original raison d’être, and close by was the Temple of Diana, still largely intact and roofed thanks to its long-term occupation by the Augustine friars, who had only recently been ejected.37 At least in the half-century since the Discours had been published the city had not altered much more in size or shape but religious strife had left its mark. While sparing the nearby Maison Carrée, an exemplary Roman capitolium temple of the Corinthian order built in the reign of Augustus, then in private ownership,38 the Protestant inhabitants, after perpetrating the Michelade massacre of 1567, had set about demolishing the temple of the New Rome, the Catholic Cathedral of Notre-Dame-et-Saint-Castor (built on the site of another Roman temple), only desisting from their efforts to bring down the last of its towers when their own nearby properties appeared to be at risk.39 Though the cathedral would have still been in a semi-ruinous state, Cranborne’s visit occurred during a relatively tranquil period for Nîmes, a city in which both confessions were (amply) represented. It was, indeed, in 1609 that the city council agreed that the Catholic community could, after 42 years, begin rebuilding the cathedral. What was subsequently



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accomplished, principally the reconstruction of the choir and sacristy, would, however, be destroyed in 1621 by the Huguenot grandchildren of the earlier assailants.40 On Nîmes and the nearby Pont du Gard, Eliot’s Survay is no more informative than it is on Arles: Betweene Beaucaire, Uzes and Lodesue, standeth the bridge of Gardes, which being of a marvellous workmanship, hath served as a conduct to Nismes. Nismes standeth in a fayre and plentifull soile, beautified with sundrie antiquities as Arennes and others.41

Eliot’s failure to identify what was obviously Les Arènes in his French source as the amphitheatre suggests the author never actually visited Nîmes, as does the fact that he also fails to mention the Temple of Diana, the Tour Magne and the Maison Carrée – the last of these Tobias Smollett would in the next century describe as ‘ravishingly beauitiful’. In contrast to Eliot, all these monuments are well described by Cranborne, and testify as vividly as Inigo Jones’s own brief annotations to the fact that he had both visited and admired them. He writes: [Nîmes] was a Roman colony, a far bigger town than its ruins would suggest. There you see outside the town the ruins of a temple, well built in honour of Diana or the god Dis. On a high mount nearby is a tower of an excellent structure, and some believe that it is a mausoleum to preserve the ashes of some great man. In the town [there is] a very beautiful amphitheatre almost totally intact, [and] an ancient building which they call the square house and I was told that this building takes after the form of that at Bordeaux as it is in honour of an empress just as the one there honours two tutelary gods. But these buildings are of a wonderful structure [made] of great stones joined together without cement, and yet so that they cannot come apart.42

Further evidence that Jones and Cranborne did not merely visit Nîmes at around the same time but communicated with each other about what they saw lies in Cranborne’s reference to the temple outside Nîmes as having been built in honour either of Diana or Dis (Figure 52). A little Latin treatise on the antiquities of Nîmes, De antiquitatibus Nemausensibus dissertatio (Paris, 1607), the first to argue that the temple was dedicated to Diana, had very recently been published by a Swiss scholar well known in British academic circles, Johan Jacob Grasser.43 Neither Poldo d’Albenas nor Palladio (who plagiarized Poldo d’Albenas on the­buildings of Nîmes) refer to Diana in connection with the fountain. Palladio, giving priority to the exemplary Maison Carrée, calls it simply ‘[L’]Altro Tempio di Nimes’, and argues that it could not have been dedicated to Vesta, ‘which is

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Figure 52: Temple of Diana, Nîmes

what those of the city say’, as it was entirely enclosed, ‘and was able to receive no light from any quarter’. Instead, and partly perhaps for the same reason, he suggests it had been dedicated ‘to some of their infernal gods’.44 Cranborne’s mention of Dis as a possible alternative candidate for the dedication of the temple may have resulted from Jones telling him of Palladio’s suggestion, though Jones was clearly not convinced by it. The relevant passage is underlined in his copy of I Quattro Libri, where, significantly, he added a comment alongside it soon after his return to England: ‘To mee The sayd [temple is] of Diana wch I Rather Thinke because of t[h]e fountain near it.’45 The fountain is a feature not mentioned by Palladio, who, as Jones deduced, never visited the city. Jones, indeed, took the opportunity of further ‘improving’ his copy by subtitling Palladio’s chapter heading, ‘Dell’Altro Tempio di Nimes’, with the italic inscription ‘Della Fontana’ (Figure 53). On this point, Palladio was particularly remiss, and Jones somewhat less unaided than he pretended, since Serlio, in his address to François I, had mentioned ‘the full and very deep spring, or rather lake, at the foot of the hill,



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above which can still be seen that beautiful and well-conceived Corinthian temple dedicated to the goddess Vesta’.46 The symbolic and practical significance of the temple’s proximity to the fountain had been suggested by Grasser, but, having visited the place, Jones and Cranborne were able to judge for themselves the soundness of Grasser’s argument. It is now known that the so-called Temple of Diana, whatever its function may have been, was an integral part of a sanctuary complex created around the sacred spring of Nemausus. Initial Roman enthusiasm for the worship of a local water deity (as with Sul Minerva at Bath) was eventually replaced or overlaid by the cult of the emperor and it is to this development, marked by the construction of an Augusteum, that the Temple of Diana may be dated.47 Cranborne and his companions were, of course, unable to discern any of this in the rubble and vegetation they surveyed around the temple, but they managed, nevertheless, to register the central importance of the spring, and most impressively, they remained critical of what they read and were told about the site. Also in Grasser and not in the earlier Poldo d’Albenas is the suggestion (picked up by Cranborne) that the Tour Magne was a mausoleum, possibly of the ancient kings of the region (Figure 54). This local tradition had first been recorded in 1548 by the Nîmois scholar, Guillaume Bigot, and at the time of Cranborne’s visit it was much spoken of due to the activities of the energetic gardener, François Traucat, who, having made a small fortune planting hundreds of thousands of mulberry trees across Languedoc for silk manufacture, hoped to make another by finding treasure under the tower.48 In 1601, Traucat obtained a royal permit to excavate, despite the objections of the city council, which feared the tower might collapse. Watched over by an inspector and under threat of a heavy fine in the event of structural damage, Traucat proceeded with his dig, which proved ruinous only to his own finances. Nîmes was undoubtedly proud of the Tour Magne and of François I’s visit to it in 1533 (when he had gone down on his knees to examine its Roman inscriptions, wiping away the dust with his own fingers), but in indemnifying itself for the sum of two millon écus against the loss of the Tour it is unlikely that the city estimated its heritage value or its attractiveness to tourists.49 In fact, its ancient function as a watchtower and stronghold was not yet over – 20 years after Cranborne peered into the cavity that Traucat had dug inside it, the Tour Magne would be surrounded by a star of modern earthworks, after the Duc de Rohan became concerned that the city’s main defences might be susceptible to assault or bombardment from the high ground to the north which the tower commanded.50 As previously in Bordeaux, it seems, therefore, that the appreciation of sites by the whole party was aided in Nîmes by reference to the best-available treatise, albeit, unusually for Jones, one written in Latin.51 As the most obvious market beyond Paris for Grasser’s newly published work would have

Figure 53: Inigo Jones’s annotations in his copy of Palladio, Quattro Libri, IV, pp. 118–19

Figure 54: Le Tour Magne, Nîmes



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Figure 55: La Maison Carrée, Nîmes

been Nîmes itself, Jones, even if he had not previously known of the book, would undoubtedly have had the opportunity to see if not purchase a copy; his mentioning of Diana in connection with the temple, reiterated, surely, by Cranborne, is the tell-tale mark that he did. Whether or not a copy of De antiquitatibus Nemausensibus emerged from Jones’s valise on his return to London, Jones would soon possess one of Britain’s most distinguished libraries of this sort of material.52 As for Poldo d’Albenas’s Discours Historial, there is no doubt that Jones continued to have access to a copy, as he used it in his later study of the Pont du Gard. As we would expect, Jones inspected Nîmes more thoroughly than Cranborne, though both may have benefited from a personal tour with Protestant Professor Grasser. This is evident in another note in his copy of I Quattro Libri on the subject of the Maison Carrée alongside Palladio’s engraving of its portico (Figures 55–56B). Noticing that Palladio, now misunderstanding Poldo d’Albenas (Figure 56C), illustrates the façade of the temple as if the decorated frieze along its sides continued across the front, when, in fact, this had been left blank for the affixing of bronze letters, long

Figure 56A: Inigo Jones’s copy of Palladio’s Quattro Libri, IV, pp. 114–15

Figure 56B: Inigo Jones’s copy of Palladio’s Quattro Libri, IV, pp. 112–13

Figure 56C: La Maison Carrée, capital, plan and elevation, from Jean Poldo d’Albenas, Discours Historial de l’Antique […] Cité de Nismes, Lyon, 1560

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since missing, Jones comments: ‘Thes freece G is not Carved in ye Tempell ytself in frontt E for thear the inscription was of summ metal I take yt for ye holes of ye fastening ar seene.’ Where Palladio captions this part of his engraving specifically as: ‘fogliami che vi sono sopra del fregio, che gira sopra le collonne intorno tutto in Tempio’, Jones is still less respectful to one whom he generally sought to emulate, concluding: ‘But this sheaues that Palladio never saw this temple for thear are no folage in the freese of the front but the holes of ye Iornes are to bee seene which had hild in sum inscription of brass.’53 Jones’s empirical acuteness when it came to observing the form and detail of classical architecture is unquestioned. Yet, we may still hesitate before accepting that he noticed for himself that the temple had once borne letters on the undecorated north frieze and on the architrave below. This would have been common knowledge to érudits of Nîmes such as Grasser and indeed Thomas Dempster – though it was only in 1758 that one of them, J.F. Séguier, worked out what the inscription on the Maison Carrée had once been from the pattern of the fixing holes (apparently not simply a matter of ‘joining the dots’).54 If we deny Jones a minor discovery at Nîmes, we must alternatively accept that he and his companions conversed with resident scholars. Whereas eighteenth-century and, indeed, later seventeenth-century Grand Tourists such as John Evelyn often made do with local ciceroni, whom they engaged for a fee in towns of antiquity, Cranborne’s visit to Nîmes was, for its time, unusual and something of an honour, and it would have elicited eager exposition from the most learned of the city, not least because the young English nobleman carried letters of recommendation from his own King.

chapter 6

PONT DU GARD TO PONTIUS PILATE

Having spent Friday night in Nîmes, rounding off his account with the observation that almost all the inhabitants were Protestants, Cranborne set off the next morning into the rock and scrub of the Garrigue to see the Pont du Gard en route for Avignon (Figure 57). This great bridge and aqueduct, built in the middle of the first century, has always been regarded as an attribute of Nîmes, even featuring prominently in the top right-hand corner of the view of the city in Poldo d’Albenas’s book, despite being situated 20 kilometres away to the northeast. It would have been de rigueur for the English party to proceed to it next. On arrival, Cranborne was even more struck with the Pont du Gard than with the city he had just left, describing it with unusual eloquence as: [an] admirable bridge on the little river of Gardon [made] to join two mountains [and] for an aqueduct to flow above which came seven long leagues from Uzès to Nîmes; it is the most superb antiquity of all, [set] in an extremely barren landscape.1

Jones was at least as impressed with the bridge, as among his surviving papers is a pen-and-ink sketch of one end of it, though not as he had seen it; indeed, not as it stands today (Figure 58).2 It is hard to imagine that Jones would have drawn this for any other purpose than for the stage set of a masque. If Jones, though, had in mind his next production, The Barriers, then a further evolution of the great ruin scene, ‘The Fallen House of Chivalry’, seems to have taken place subsequent to the drawing of his broken edifice, as the Chatsworth drawing of the whole scene retains two tiers of great arches on the left side, but this feature is less prominent and only subtly evocative of the Pont du Gard. The drawing alone does not reveal that Jones had been to the Pont du Gard. It is plain to see, in fact, that Jones had, again, referred to Poldo d’Albenas’s Discours Historial, in which a woodcut of the Pont is to be found (Figure 59). D’Albenas depicts the bridge from the northwest, with a

Figure 57: Le Pont du Gard

Figure 58: Inigo Jones, Le Pont du Gard, pen-andink drawing



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Figure 59: Jean Poldo d’Albenas, Le Pont du Gard, woodcut from Discours Historial de l’Antique […] Cité de Nismes, Lyon, 1560

winter torrent rushing through all the lower arches, and Jones’s view is from the same side. After the woodcut had served its initial purpose, Jones added notes alongside the sketch to create a curious and somewhat contrived fact sheet on the Pont du Gard; first, by inscribing its measurements, which are straight translations of those given in the Discours Historial, and later, by appending the crucial comment that proves both that he visited the bridge and that he had referred to Poldo d’Albenas. It identifies an important difference between what he had seen and the woodcut he had partly copied: ‘I observed that over ye 6th arch from ye Left hand which is somwhat Broder then ye Rest is foure Littel arches of ye upper order and all ye Rest have but 3 arches over them.’3 To notice this important discrepancy between the illustration and the actual bridge – the fact that the Roman engineers had made one pair of arches, upper and lower, wider than the rest, in order to span the main channel of the Gardon – would have required some moments of careful contemplation. Jones – and one assumes, his companions – had clearly pulled up a short distance from the bridge to take it all in, as the wider arches are the sixth from the left when viewed on the old approach from Nîmes (i.e. from the southeast). Jones, as we know, liked to point up the errors of scholars, whether by Palladio, Scamozzi, or in this case Poldo d’Albenas, but though he may have made a few notes on the spot he clearly preferred to rely on another artist’s rendering of the scene.4

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These details are perhaps of chief interest to us because they suggest Cranborne’s party took its time at the Pont du Gard, as, indeed, at other instructive sites. After crossing the bridge, Cranborne records that he dined nearby. Though the piers on the upstream side (the other side to the modern roadway) had been hacked back in the Middle Ages to allow the passage of carts, Cranborne’s wagons had surely crossed the river downstream at Remoulins to wait for the return of those who had ridden up to the bridge, and it was probably at an inn there that the party found sustenance and discussed the great antiquity they had just seen. Cranborne’s party had ridden four leagues, and as the Pont du Gard is more or less halfway between Nîmes and Avignon, they would comfortably ride another four before the day was out – an average day’s travel for the tour. After taking an easterly route through what Cranborne observed was territory belonging to the King, the company passed through the royal town of Villeneuve-lès-Avignon, where the Fort Saint-André kept watch over the papal territory across the Rhône.5 In reality, Villeneuve-lèsAvignon had long been a satellite town, dependent for its prosperity on Avignon, with which contact was maintained, via the tall Tour Philippe le Bel, by the then nearly intact, multi-arched Pont Saint-Bénézet .6 Whereas Cranborne had just lavished praise upon the Roman Pont du Gard, he chose to pass no comment on this early medieval (and saintly) feat of engineering. Whether it could be crossed at the moment Cranborne arrived at the Rhône is somewhat doubtful, as sections of the bridge had been swept away by floods in 1603 and 1605. A topographical drawing by Etienne Martellange of Avignon, dated 29 August 1609, clearly shows a gap, though it continued to be re-spanned with timbers where and when necessary well into the reign of Louis XIV (Figure 60).7 After entering Avignon, Cranborne was received ‘well enough’, presumably at the thirteenth- to fourteenth-century Palais des Papes, by ‘the legate’. His host was, in fact, not the titular legate, Pope Paul V’s favourite nephew, the great art patron, Cardinal Scipione Borghese, but in all probability Giuseppe Ferreri of Savona, Archbishop of Urbino, the resident vice-legate between November 1607 and March 1610.8 Though apparently unmotivated to comment on the sites of Avignon, Cranborne was clearly intrigued by the extent of – in fact, the very existence of – the Comtat Venaissin, the papal enclave in which Avignon lay. As the Pope’s encroachment upon the sovereignty of monarchs and princes remained a matter of controversy and one in which James I was a prominent disputant, Avignon provided Cranborne with a valuable example of Rome’s continuing temporal interests. Coming from a country from which the Jews had been excluded since Edward I’s Edict of Expulsion of 1290, he also found it noteworthy that the Jews were permitted to practise their religion in Avignon.



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Figure 60: Etienne Martellange, View of Avignon and the Pont Saint-Bénézet, 29 August 1609, penand-ink drawing

Two years after Cranborne’s visit, the Catholic traveller, Sir Charles Somerset, arrived in Avignon to observe: There is in this towne some foure hundred Jewes, who have a streete by themselves, and have their temple there; there are none in all France but here; they pay some 1000. Crownes per annum unto the Pope; they weare yellow hatts the men, and the women a peculiar dressing on their heads, to make a difference; they have bene for long time in this towne; their course of life is to sett monies at interest to the greatest advantage all upon pawnes, and withal they are but a kind of brokers; yf they know of anie gentleman or strangers that is come to towne, they will be readie and never leave him with asking them what they will buy, what they wante; for they will furnish them with anie thing; or else they will demaunde what they will sell or exchange; for they will make anie bargaine in the world; but they will cosin you horribly in all things that they deale for.9

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There was much that the sceptical Protestant mind could make out of the observation that the Jews could practise their religion, as where revenue was at stake the Papacy could incline more to pragmatism than to dogmatism.10 In Avignon, as in Venice, the Jewish presence helped sustain a flourishing trade, and it would not be unreasonable to see some linkage between the local policy of toleration towards Jews and the increasingly conspicuous wealth of the absentee legate, whose appetite for art and antiquities to fill the planned Villa Borghese in Rome seemed, at that time, insatiable.11 On leaving Avignon, whether the original intention might have been to head southwest to Arles, the company followed the southeasterly road to Salon. Located in the middle of the triangle of countryside between these three towns, just outside Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, a pair of Roman monuments known as ‘Les Antiques’, comprising the oldest triumphal arch in France and a remarkably well-preserved mausoleum, stood in mysterious isolation (the nearby Gallo-Roman ceremonial complex of Glanum remained buried and forgotten until the twentieth century) (Figure 61). There would be little justification for mentioning ‘Les Antiques’ here had Serlio not paid them detailed attention in a dedicatory epistle written to François I in hope of securing employment in France.12 We know, therefore, that Jones would have read about the site in one of his copies but not whether he found Serlio’s description irresistible. More than a century later, John Breval remarked, ‘As it lies out of all the great roads, it is visited by very few gentlemen that travel for pleasure, but has sufficient vogue nevertheless among the curious.’13 Even such a diligent student as Robert Adam contrived in 1754 to visit Arles but not Saint-Rémy.14 It was, in fact, nicely placed to separate the dedicated antiquary from the amateur. While there is nothing in his journal to suggest that Cranborne did other than keep to the main road, there remains the tantalizing possibility that Jones may have been among the earliest of Breval’s ‘curious’ Britons, as he had so recently demonstrated his readiness to break away from the main party in order to examine yet more Roman remains. After leaving Avignon, Jones could have crossed the Durance river with the whole company, parted from them at that point, and trotted along the easy road that runs for nine miles across the plain of La Petite Crau to Saint-Rémy. He could have done this and still have arrived at Salon, the halting place for the night, not long after Cranborne’s baggage. This possibility would appear all the more likely if Jones had originally intended, before the enforced rest in Montpellier, to lead Cranborne past ‘Les Antiques’ on the way to Arles. At Marseille, Cranborne enjoyed the hospitality of Charles de Lorraine, 4th Duc de Guise, for four days.15 Guise, the son of ‘le Balafré’ (Scarface), who was assassinated at Blois at Christmas 1588, had become a figure of immense power and influence. Once seen as a potential figurehead for the Catholic League, he had shrewdly sided with Henri of Navarre and established his own



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Figure 61: Arch and Mausoleum, Les Antiques, Saint-Rémy

power base by ousting the Duc d’Épernon from Marseille in 1596, where he remained governor but maintained what to all intents and purposes was a court.16 Cranborne noted with gratitude Guise’s readiness to facilitate their every need during their stay. It was the second and last occasion that Cranborne was ever to see the Mediterranean. Marseille was visited mainly to improve Cranborne’s strategic awareness and he duly observed the commodious, tidefree harbour, the galleys of the French King’s Mediterranean fleet and the fortifications, including the hilltop Nôtre Dame de la Garde and the maritime Château d‘If, built in the 1520s by François I and secured for the royalist– Guise alliance in 1597 by a Tuscan force under the command of Giovanni de’Medici in order to deny it to Savoy or Spain.17 On leaving Marseille, the party struck north once more and rode up to Aix, and though Cranborne noted it was the seat of the parlement of Provence, he found little to impress him; the only building of note being the palace of the counts of Provence and the ‘poor baths, little resorted to’.18 Enduring belief in the curative powers of hot and mineral water springs had, as much as anything else, preserved awareness of certain Roman civic sites

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across Europe where baths had been built. The Renaissance had inevitably brought about a revival of drinking the waters and bathing. England’s own Bath had experienced a modest revival in the last quarter of the sixteenth century when new baths were built, though the Roman baths remained concealed. Even before Bath gained prestige from Anne of Denmark’s visits of 1613 and 1615, gentry and nobility went there seeking a cure for their ailments. In 1602, Shakespeare’s patron, George, Lord Hunsdon, took the waters, and a decade later a dying Lord Salisbury, attended by Lister, Finet and 60 other servants, arrived in Bath seeking, as John Chamberlain put it, ‘the best place to be at peace’.19 A few weeks later, the English Resident in Brussels reported a new trend: The Earle of Arundel, L. Shandoys, countesse of Worcester, Sir Ed. Conway, Sir Robert Drury, and their ladyes; Sir Peregrine Berty, Sir Anthony Merry, and diverse other Englishe gentlemen of accompte, are now at Spaw [Spa, near Liège], to cure their diseases by those wholesome fountaines.20

Though the gouty 12th Earl of Arundel had taken the waters at Padua in the 1560s, the English were now travelling to baths abroad in greater numbers for recreational purposes (or as a cover for religious or political intrigue) as well as for the improvement of their health. Somewhat remarkably, the epilectic Tobie Matthew visited Bagni di Lucca in 1606.21 Cranborne’s dismissal of the baths of Aix-en-Provence carries a note of reproach: a town fortunate enough to possess baths should value and maintain them.22 Instead, due to an affair between the priest, Louis Gaufridi, and a 17-year-old nun, taking place at the very time Cranborne was passing through, Aix was about to become notorious for witchcraft. Father Gaufridi was condemned by the parlement and burned in the main square on 30 April 1611.23 Cranborne informs us that it was late on Sunday 4 October 1609 that the party entered Orange.24 Here, Cranborne admired ‘the ruins of a theatre’ and ‘part of a triumphal arch which is believed to have been erected in honour of C[aius] Marius by the Roman army after the defeat of the Cimbri’ (Figures 62A, 62B and 63).25 With the latter, Cranborne reveals that he knew his Livy and Plutarch, sources for the early, violent history of Orange (Lat. Arausio, after a local water god): conquered by the Romans c.128 bc and again by the Cimbri, a Germanic tribe, in the devastating battle of Arausio of 103 bc, only for the Romans to return in force and avenge their defeat. As reliefs on the arch depict Roman forces vanquishing barbarians – memorably, one warrior is shown tied to tree – it was reasonable to assume that the scenes depicted the decisive battle, as well they might. The arch had, in fact, been erected long after, around ad 25, by the settled veterans of the 2nd Gallic legion. It is also somewhat telling that Cranborne records that he saw only part of the arch. Whereas today the

Figure 62A: Roman Theatre, Orange

Figure 62B: Roman Theatre, Orange

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Figure 63: Triumphal Arch, Orange

triple-arched monument stands somewhat battered but free of excrescences, when Cranborne saw it, it was set in a perimeter wall and partly encased in medieval masonry. It was, in fact, the mustering point, the clubhouse almost, for the town militia. In visiting Orange in 1609, as with Nîmes, the English travellers missed by a few years the heavy re-fortification of the town. By a quirk of inheritance, Orange was a possession of the Nassau family and as the princes of Orange also traditionally held the office of stadtholder in five of the United Provinces, the Dutch influence in early seventeenth-century Orange became pronounced. Wherever he went, Cranborne was always keen to establish who held sway and in Orange he found that a certain internal tension existed. He observed that the castle protecting and dominating the city from the heights above it was formidable and, moreover, that it had a Catholic garrison, whereas almost all the citizens of Orange were Protestant. All this would soon change. Between 1620 and 1623, that is to say concurrent with Rohan’s defensive



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preparations at Nîmes, Maurits of Nassau, fearing that Louis XIII might seize Orange, had his Dutch military engineers transform the appearance of the town by surrounding it with modern defences and incorporating the old castle into an even more formidable system of salients and revetments on top of the Saint-Eutrope hill.26 Louis XIV razed the whole site in 1660. It was presumably in the morning after their arrival that the English visitors went to the foot of Saint-Eutrope to investigate the Roman theatre, the largest and best preserved of its kind. This would have entailed walking between the many poor cottages that cluttered the proscaenium and the orchestra, some of which were even perched on the ima cavea (lower tiers of seats). Intact and rising above this village to a height of 36 metres, the frons scaenae (or stage wall) – no other example of which in all Europe had survived so well – with its various recesses, projections, colonnades and valvae (doors), would have been of enormous interest to the designer of masques for the English Court, though the various ‘lean-to’ dwellings that it had acquired denied Jones and the others a clear view. If not in Cranborne’s scant lines, then in Jones’s reference to Orange in his copy of Vitruvius, which may now be read in the context of Cranborne’s tour, evidence is to be found of the thoroughness of their examination of the celebrated theatre’s architecture and its former use (Figure 64). Next to a passage in which Vitruvius recommends the construction of colonnades around the outside of theatres as protection from the weather, Jones comments in a hand characteristic of his writing of the late 1630s: ‘thes porticos wear about ye walkes & behind the sceane as I saw it remaining bhind the Theater at Orange ye rofe of which had binn of timber the colloms are gonn this I desined’.27 These few words reveal Jones had inspected the theatre, from front to back and top to bottom. He perceived that a portico had once covered the walkway above the upper tiers of seats (porticus in summa cavea), which could be accessed by doorways from the rear. He had also scrutinized both the rear wall façade – where he saw there had formerly been a porticus postscaenam (again, no simple observation to make, as yet more houses had been built against the outside of the great wall) – and the stage wall façade, where he noticed the places where the timber joists of the roof had once lodged. In 1639, Joseph de La Pise would express surprise that none of those keen enough to search for antique remains ‘among the pines and bramblecovered old hovels’ – such men as Jones – had produced a work on ancient Orange before his own informative and well-illustrated book.28 Though Cranborne and his companions did not have access to such a book, they were at least fortunate in visiting Orange only a dozen years before much of the Roman ruins was destroyed, having survived the earlier Huguenot demolitions of 1562 that were directed mainly against Orange’s churches. La Pise mentions five principal remains: ‘Le Theatre ou Cirque’, ‘L’Arc

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Figure 64: Jones’s annotation in his copy of Vitruvius, I dieci libri dell’architettura, ed. D. Barbaro, Venice, 1567

Triomphal’, ‘Les Aqueducts aux Bains antiqs’, ‘Le Chemin Romain’ and ‘Les Arenes’. The last two of these, within his memory, had been ‘thoughtlessly broken up and demolished down to ground level by the greed of those wishing to make a profit from the stone’.29 He recalled seeing the arena with walls 12 feet high and the lower parts of arches and doorways still visible; this much, therefore, would have been there for the English party to see in 1609. La Pise had been paid 3,000 guilders to write his book by Frederik Hendrik of Nassau, which probably explains why he fails to mention that stone had been in such great demand primarily for the building of the fortifications. Ironically, though La Pise’s book put Orange on the itinerary of Dutchmen touring southern France, many were disappointed, having already visited either Aix, Arles or Nîmes, to find there was less to see at Orange than they had been led to believe, largely thanks to the efforts of their own military engineers.30 After Orange, the party continued northwards up the Rhône Valley, passing through Huguenot Montélimar and the bishopric and university town of Valence. Near Tournon they became aware of having entered another area of intensive former Roman occupation, not least because of its connection with the final phase of the career of Pontius Pilate. It was in this vicinity that a house was pointed out to them as having been Pilate’s, but Cranborne, unimpressed, later noted that it ‘hardly had the appearance of antiquity’; a quality he now felt well able to recognize.31 On 8 October, they arrived in Vienne, France’s most ancient archbishopric, in time for dinner. Cranborne duly noted the ancient status of the archbishopric and the historic



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association of the area with the Dauphin, but otherwise he seems to have been preoccupied with the various contraptions that harnessed the powerful flow of water to work the city’s iron forges and mills.32 Perhaps conscious that his father expected a range of interests to be reflected in his journal, or perhaps simply having tired of writing about architecture, Cranborne did not record seeing a single monument in Vienne. In fact, the party was, once more, amid very important Roman ruins, but much of these had either been covered or obscured through centuries of habitation. The hemispherical theatre, set in the side of the hill, once as impressive as that at Orange, having had a capacity of 13,000 spectators, was barely discernible beneath soil and vegetation, and the 32-metre-high frons scaenae had long since been demolished; the vast sanctuary complex atop the hill was obscured by medieval fortifications; the odeum, one of only two known in Roman Gaul, was still less evident. Assuming the English travellers announced their arrival at the Maison des Canaux, where the city consuls were to be found, they may even have missed the two massive arches incorporated into its medieval structure, which were once part of Vienne’s forum.33 But even the least perceptive of the company could hardly have failed to notice the Eglise de Nôtre-Dame-de-la-Vie and to realize at once that it was a converted Roman temple (Figure 65). Though its cella had been demolished and the spaces between the columns walled up, it was very similar in design to the previously admired Maison Carrée at Nîmes. There was, in any case, a reference to it to be found in Serlio: ‘the Corinthian temple in Vienne dedicated to Mary Magdalene’.34 The only Roman monument in Vienne untouched by medieval accretions and, therefore, unmissable was the Plan de l’Aiguille, a four-sided, somewhat truncated obelisk, roughly 16 metres in height, or 25 metres if one includes the quadrifrons on which it is set – the only surviving feature of Vienne’s circus spina (Figure 66). As we have seen, Jones always showed a fascination for pyramids and obelisks, not least because the authors of the principal architectural treatises gave them serious attention. That it was noticed by English travellers is confirmed by Sir Charles Somerset, who mentions passing it on his way out of Vienne en route to Valence on 4 September 1611: ‘A little out of Vienne there is a pyramide that the Romans built.’35 The illustration to Serlio’s section on ‘Tragic Stage Scenery’, which has long been recognized as a source for the ‘Fallen House of Chivalry’ scene in The Barriers, provided an authoritative example for the inclusion of both a pyramid and an obelisk, but Jones’s versions differ significantly both in appearance and placement.36 Part of Jones’s genius lay in his readiness to make subtle modifications to his source material, and to blend several sources rather than slavishly to imitate a single one.37 In conceiving his own pyramid and obelisk for The Barriers scenes, he undoubtedly consulted published illustrations but, importantly, he was able to draw upon the visual impressions of his recent tour, calling to

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Figure 65: Temple of Augustus and Livia, Vienne

mind those rare, actual examples encountered in Vienne and, as suggested, possibly in Arles. From all this Jones was able to create fresh, yet derivative, images that perfectly met his requirements.38 Quitting Vienne, Cranborne continued up the Rhône Valley to Lyon, which impressed him with its size and situation, but here again he commented neither on its antiquity nor on its sights. During the next two weeks Cranborne reached Geneva, but he was dissuaded from proceeding further into Switzerland (where Dr Lister’s familiarity with the country would have proved valuable) because it was becoming too cold. His journal for this period is devoid of comments on either history or the fine arts and is given over instead to observations of military strongholds and terrain, both of which occasionally succeeded in filling him with awe. After travelling by Cranborne’s careful computation a total distance of 416 leagues (2,000 kilometres), the party re-entered Paris on 30 October 1609 [N.S.].

Figure 66: Plan de l’Aiguille, Vienne

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No sooner had he arrived than Cranborne made an unexpected gift of a horse – ‘a very fayre French Courtaill’ – to Becher for his support services, which Becher acknowledged to Wilson: ‘I know it was the rather geven me for your sake, and I am proude of this argument of his Lps favour, who I knowe hath neede thereof, his owne being overharried wth this long journey.’39 Whether learned or natural, Cranborne’s thoughtful generosity, like that of the Prince’s, was beginning to secure the devotion of his close servants and friends. Now, once more, the 18-year-old settled down to his French, music and riding lessons.

chapter 7

‘AN ICHING HUMOR TO RETOURNE’

Salisbury’s steward, Roger Houghton, who had accompanied him in the Netherlands in 1588, hastened to Whitehall with news of the party’s safe return and delivered Cranborne’s journal into Salisbury’s hands.1 Jones seems to have crossed the Channel at the same time and probably also reported to Salisbury, for the following day, together with Thomas Wilson, he rode up to Hatfield and was subsequently paid £10 ‘for drawinge of some Architecture’ (Figure 67).2 Salisbury wrote to his son immediately, requiring to speak with either Lister or Finet: ‘because I would truly know by them how your body and health serve you to take so long a journey as Venice, which I do much desire you should do to spend a year in Italy’.3 As he continued to write, he settled on recalling Finet rather than Lister, so that the physician could remain with Cranborne. This was a wise precaution, as the Viscount’s health continued to be up and down; in a single letter written that November it was reported both that Cranborne had killed two stags while hunting at SaintGermain-en-Laye and that he was ill again.4 A few days later, Marc’Antonio Correr reported to the Doge and Senate, ‘The Earl of Salisbury has told me that he means to send his only son to Venice shortly, but he does not intend him to go elsewhere in Italy’, the ambassador adding, ‘I am certain that any honours your Serenity may bestow on this youth will be well invested on account of his father’s great weight.’5 Interestingly, by the time Cranborne set off for Italy almost a year later, after unforeseen delays, the planned itinerary included the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, which probably reflected the growing importance in Salisbury’s mind of the proposed marriage of Prince Henry to a Medici princess. Cranborne’s arrival in Florence would have signalled his father’s good intentions for the match and it might also have been an opportunity for Cranborne to play some part in the proceedings.6 In late March 1610, Finet crossed over again to England carrying letters to Cranborne’s friends, including Sir Thomas Howard, which establishes that at least one of the Howard brothers had by this date concluded his tour.7 He brought to Salisbury two letters, which Cranborne had written on

Figure 67: Hatfield House, south front, c.1610



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Figure 68: Abraham Hogenberg, The Siege and Capture of Jülich by Maurits of Nassau, etching, 1610

successive days, containing assurances that he would comply with his father’s wishes, an interest to ‘see the wars in Cleves this summer’ (Figure 68), and also his true feelings that he would be glad to see ‘the end of his voyage’.8 Unmoved, Salisbury also sent two letters in rapid succession, making it plain that Cranborne was to stay abroad until winter, and during that time see both Venice and Florence.9 It would appear that when Finet presented himself, Salisbury reproached him for not being firmer with his son, and his mood was not improved by the arrival while Finet was still in England of another messenger bearing a fresh plea from Cranborne that if he had to go into Italy he would prefer to set off soon. He now emphasized his preparedness, mentioning he was already learning Italian and that he wanted to take Nicholas Lanier with him (Figure 69).10

Figure 69: Nicholas Lanier, Self-portrait, oil on canvas, c.1643



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I have a desire to have Nicholas Lanier into [i.e. ‘in’] Italy, by reason of a desire I have to learn on the viol while I am there, having no other exercises to do by reason of the heat, the which I hope you will not mistake, meaning by no means to augment my company, for in his place I will send home one of my chamber who I hope your lordship will have care of while I am abroad.11

Lanier was a talented young lutenist and singer in Salisbury’s household who already held various responsibilities ranging from replacing broken strings to instructing Cranborne in playing the viol da gamba.12 Though the Laniers, like the miniature-painting Olivers, were originally Huguenot refugees from Rouen, Nicholas may have become a Catholic.13 His grandfather, Nicholas ‘the Elder’, had brought his family to London early in the reign of Elizabeth I and had become a musician at the English court. As Nicholas’s father, John, also a court musician, married Frances Galliardello, daughter of a Venetian musician who had come to the court of Henry VIII, he had rather more Italian blood in him than the one-eighth Italian, Finet. Trilingual, Lanier would have been as at ease in France as in Italy and, being better equipped for the task than many in the spring of 1610, he was sent to Paris with diplomatic letters, whereupon, it may be safely assumed, he resumed contact with his occasional pupil, Viscount Cranborne.14 Clearly, Cranborne enjoyed Lanier’s company; indeed, the point has been made that he may have regarded Lanier, who was his senior by a mere three years, as a friend as much as a tutor.15 Cranborne’s plea to his father provoked a lengthy response from Salisbury, recapitulating the instructions contained in his previous letter, but now more admonishing in tone: I do plainely see that you have such an iching humor to retourne to yor English sports, as when you travaill any whither you are not caried wth a desire as others are to understand the state of the Countries, or any other things that are remarquable eyther concerning the persons of men, theyre authoritie or place of habitacion, the beautie, the antiquitie, strength or situation of Townes, or any occurents more then to keepe to the high wayes, longing to be at yor Inne and back againe. […] Where you and they propound to me to passe into Italie presently, I cannot approve the same. First because yor aboad in those parts in the summer cannot be but pernicious, those diseases being sharpe that rise from the heat / Secondly yor leaving France so soone, will hazard that language, wch 3 or 4 monthes will better confirme now then double the tyme past / Thirdly I would be loath (even for your own reputacion) that you should chuse this tyme to go into Italie, when every active spiritt that is in France, and so many here in England declare themselves desirous to see the warres in Cleave. Lastly, concerning the doubt yow have to be kept in Italie so long as you shall not be able to retourne

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into England if where it seemes you so much affect to be, I will lett you know plainely what I think of that argument by that wch followeth. First I consider that those that are in Italie in the Summer must eyther preserve their health by sitting in a Cave where they shall see nothing, or out of a desire to see the Country hazard their healthe, or if you should keep yor selfe from unseasonable travaill all the summer; and bestowe septembr: and octobr: in seeing the Townes, it is most certayne:, that those that have bene in Italie in the summer for the most part are asured to fall into Agues in the fall of the leafe, where (on the contrary) if you shal pass the Summer out of Italie, and fall upon it about september then shall not your body be possessed wth the effects of those heates in Italie wch would make you so apt to the Autumnall Feavors, All wch cannot but be knowne to Mr Lyster that is wth you, and was so expressed by me to Mr Finett, as they might have layd before you these just considerations, (both in respecte of healthe, of ho.or & perfection of yor Language) were they not more willing to go on wth yow in yor owne desires, then to crosse yow, though it be for yor owne good. […] For yor desire to carry Nick Laniere wth yow, if it be true that yor man tells me:, that yow give yor selfe to delight in Musick and practise both hand and voyce, I shall think him verie well bestowed upon yow, and shall account it among the rest of those things yow do to please me.16

As a postscript to his response, Salisbury wrote the following: I send you a note of the townes by wch yong Litton hath passed, to wch although I do not precisely tye yew, yett Mr Lyster and Mr finett may see how easily yow may passe from Venice to Florence wthout comming in the Popes danger.17

Here Salisbury was referring to the same William Lytton who had been stuck at Blois for lack of funds. His tour had resumed, temporarily managed from England by John Chamberlain (a family friend) while a serious eye complaint incapacitated his father, Sir Rowland. Lytton had returned home by way of the Low Countries at the end of March 1609, and the following month had fallen ill with smallpox, from which he made a good recovery. Accompanied by his tutor and kinsman, Osbert Mountford, he had then set off on a second tour – this time through Italy as far as Florence, just as Cranborne now intended, and had arrived in Venice in early December 1609 bearing a letter from Salisbury for Sir Henry Wotton, whom he proceeded to impress greatly.18 In the following month the industrious Lytton sent home what seems to have been an appreciative and perceptive letter (now unfortunately lost) that was subsequently read by Salisbury, who gave it ‘goode commendation, and he had geven a thousand pound his sonne could do as much’.19 After their separate returns to England, Lytton, regarded as



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a good influence, would become Cranborne’s companion again in 1611. They had been put together as early as 1606, Chamberlain reporting to Dudley Carleton, ‘Will Lytton is become as yt were younge Crambourns mignon, and hath followed him in a long hunting progresse out into Stafford, Lancashire and I know not whether.’20 This seems to have gone sufficiently well to prompt speculation that they might travel abroad the following year, with Dudley Carleton (Lytton’s cousin) as their tutor. In the end, however, the dynastic alliance between the Cecils and the Suffolk Howards required Cranborne to tour with Thomas and Henry Howard, the brothers of his new bride, and obliged Lytton to tour separately. To some extent, Lytton tested the water for Cranborne – at least in Salisbury’s mind. To his credit, despite his fatherly concern, he discounted the mayhem caused by Lord Roos, for, as he knew, these cousins had utterly different characters. But if a sensible lad like Lytton had met with disaster in Italy, Salisbury might well have been inclined to cancel Cranborne’s tour. He, of course, was able to assess a whole number of tour experiences from a wide circle of Cecil relatives, friends and clients in order to obtain, as we have seen, a balanced view. Few of these tours are known to us in much detail; we know next to nothing, for example, of the tour to Italy made c.1607 by two of Cranborne’s relatives, the More brothers, stepsons of one of his aunts, other than that they travelled with a tutor and visited Rome.21 Salisbury would have been able to recall the outcomes of them all and also, possibly bearing disproportionate weight, his father Burghley’s injunction, issued shortly before his death: Suffer not thy sonnes to pass the Alpes, for they shall learn nothing there but pride, blasphemy, and atheism. And if by travel they get a few broken languages, that shal profit them nothing more than to have one meat served on divers dishes.22

Still current was Roger Ascham’s negative view of Italy – ‘I was ownce in Italie my self: but thanke god, my abode there was but 9. daies; and yet I sawe in that little time in the citie of Venice, more libertie to sinne, than ever I heard tell of in our noble citie of London in 9 yeare’ – aired in The Scholemaster (London, 1570), which Salisbury’s colleague, Sir Julius Caesar, Chancellor of the Exchequer, copied into his commonplace book, presumably after February 1608, when his own son was killed in a swordfight in Padua.23 As Cranborne wintered in Paris, Henri IV began to make military preparations as the Jülich-Kleve crisis deepened. This was essentially a successional dispute concerning a clutch of strategically important, northGerman, petty states, made all the more critical by the fact that the rival claimants were of different faiths. It was, indeed, not merely a two-way contest between the forces of Catholicism and Protestantism but a threeway struggle between Calvinism, Lutheranism and Roman Catholicism; a

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situation that would soon be replicated on a vast scale in the Thirty Years’ War.24 This promised a different kind of experience for Cranborne, and he and his father were keen that he should observe the campaigning, not least because he knew that his cousin, Sir Edward Cecil (the same son of the Earl of Exeter who had toured Italy in 1596), would be commanding the English regiments assisting the Dutch. Finet, who already had some experience of the soldiering life, was now faced with the unenviable prospect of taking his young master into camp and perhaps even up to siege positions – far more hazardous for Cranborne’s person and Finet’s prospects than the longdiscussed Italian tour. Salisbury, however, seems to have been satisfied that it was possible to safeguard his son’s person and honour at the same time, as his information was that Henri IV would make a bold demonstration but not lead his army beyond France’s frontier. At the beginning of May, with troop movements imminent, Salisbury House dispatched its own reinforcements and it was reported, ‘The Lord Treasurer hath sent over his secretarie Kirkham, to take order to furnish the Lord Cranbourne with all the necessaries to follow the French king in this journy, and more of our court gallants talke of taking the same course yf the viage hold.’25 Yet no sooner had preparations for Cranborne’s battlefield tour commenced than they were halted on 14 May 1610 [N.S.] by the calamity of Henri’s assassination, what Cranborne calls: ‘le detestable parricide en la personne de Henry 4 Roy de France et de Navarre’.26 This threw France into a state of panic and confusion. Within a week William Becher reported to William Trumbull, the English Resident in Brussels, that ‘This Accident hath made my Lord of Cranbourne soudainly to retourne.’27 Chamberlain had his own prurient gloss to put on it: The young Lord Cranbourne took occasion upon this accident to come posting away; which yf there had been any stirring, was not the meanes to avoid, but rather to runne into Danger. But the world apprehends he had another Errand homeward, and a stronger Adamant to draw him hither, the desire to gather the first Fruits of his fayre young Lady.28

Unexpectedly back in England, another compensation for Cranborne, apart from whatever matrimonial pleasures he took, was that he was now available to participate in the ceremonies for the Prince of Wales’s creation at Westminster on 4 June. Together with his cousin, Lord Burghley, he shared the honour of carrying the Prince’s train. John Finet, continuing to attend Cranborne, also witnessed the three days of events and wrote a detailed description for his friend, Trumbull, from which it seems there was no greater spectacle to be seen anywhere in Europe at that moment. Though they had missed Inigo Jones’s Prince Henry’s Barriers at New Year, 1610, they were now able to witness the creation masque, Tethys’ Festivall, performed on the



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second day of the celebration, 5 June 1610. Later, when an account of the performance, including the verses, was published, its author, Samuel Daniel, generously ‘interserted the description of the artificiall part, which onely speakes Master Inigo Jones’.29 Of the final day, Finet wrote: ‘First we had the runners at the Tilt; afterwards in the evening a gallant Sea-fight [on the Thames], and lastly, many excellent Fire-works, which were seen by almost half a million of people.’30 In the middle of August a party that included Theophilus, Lord Howard de Walden, eldest of Suffolk’s sons, his brother, Sir Thomas Howard, and Sir Thomas Somerset, left England for Kleve, and it was reported, ‘Lord Cranborn hath a will to follow them, and then into Italy’.31 A fortnight later, all immediate thoughts of visiting the war zone had finally been set aside. On 28 August Sir Dudley Carleton, who had recently been assigned as Wotton’s successor in Venice, reported to Winwood that: My Lord of Cranbourn sets forward for Venice about the same time as I purpose, and takes his way thro’ Lorraine. There was once a purpose he should have gone by the Camp [The Hague] where you [Sir Ralph Winwood] are, but is now resolved that he shall take those Parts in his way homewards. He hath the same Companion, Mr Henry Howard which he had in his former Journey, and likewise the same Conducters, Doctor Lister and Mr. Finnet.32

As Cranborne’s new destination was Venice, the presence of Inigo Jones would again have been desirable ‘by reason of his language and experience in these parts’, the terms in which his subsequent accompaniment of the Earl and Countess of Arundel into Italy was explained.33 He had, however, just been appointed Surveyor of the Prince’s Works, a post for which he was even better fitted since his 1609 tour of France, and though his duties would not officially commence until January 1611, he was already shadowing the officers of the King’s Works while they pressed on with hugely ambitious projects for Prince Henry at St James’s Palace and at Richmond Palace until such time as the office of the Prince’s Works began to be financed by revenues from the Duchy of Cornwall.34 It was not until after the death of the Prince of Wales in November 1612 and the subsequent dispersal of his household that Jones was free to travel abroad again.35 When Cranborne asked for Nicholas Lanier to accompany him he was still anticipating being in Italy during the summer months, which, he argued, made this musician’s presence all the more desirable as it would be too hot for outdoor recreation (Figure 69). Salisbury agreed entirely with his son’s weather forecast but was of the opinion that as it was necessary to be cooped up to escape the heat or risk one’s health, he should not be in Italy at all through the summer. Though he had never travelled further south than Nantes, Salisbury was convinced the English could not endure the Mediterranean

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sun and must have known of the opinion of his nephew, William, 3rd Lord Burghley, whom Camden heard say ‘that while he was travelling in Italy he did verily believe his brains were dessicated [sic], and that his wits were much poorer than they were before’.36 It was a risk Salisbury could hardly take with an only son whom he already considered none too brilliant, and so with such considerations he dismissed Cranborne’s hopes of an early departure for Italy but agreed that Lanier should go. Already recognized as a versatile and capable individual – he would rise to be Master of the King’s Musick – Nicholas Lanier could only have been regarded as an asset to any Italy-bound party. He was also a growing expert in the visual arts and, in the late 1620s, would be largely responsible for bringing off the most spectacular coup in the history of English art collecting by acquiring for Charles I one of the finest Renaissance collections in existence: that of the Gonzaga dukes of Mantua, which included many works by Mantegna, Correggio, Giulio Romano and Titian. In his own right, Lanier was to become one of the first English collectors of old master drawings,37 and also become an etcher, a sculptor and a versatile painter, capable of producing scene painting, as he did for Lovers Made Men, the highly successful masque of 1617, and (in Civil War Oxford) a decent self-portrait.38 Confirmation that Lanier journeyed to Venice this year is found in yet another Exchequer warrant – ‘To Nycholas Laneer uppon like warrante dated xvij ffebruarij 1610 [O.S.] for careinge of le[tte]res to Venyce – xxl’39 – but this may represent retrospective payment and that he had returned earlier than Cranborne’s bringing news of his condition.40

chapter 8

‘ON THE WAY UNTO VENICE’

With or without Lanier, Cranborne resumed his continental touring on 3/13 September 1610, sailing once more from Dover and landing at Calais on Friday 17th. It was a tour that, at the outset, was intended to push at least as far south as Florence: the ultimate destination of the likes of Philip Sidney before the war with Spain but now becoming a more commonplace one again, increasingly en route to Rome, despite this destination being proscribed in the Privy Council’s licences to travel.1 News of his departure was soon dispatched to Venice by its well-informed ambassador, Marc’Antonio Correr: Viscount Cranborne, Lord Salisbury’s son, left three days ago for Italy, where he will spend the winter. He has his father’s orders to spend almost all the time in the territory of your Serenity and of the Grand Duke of Tuscany. With him goes the third son of the Earl of Suffolk, Lord High Chamberlain [Henry Howard]. Enough for me to have informed your Serenity, who is well aware of the power of these houses, and especially of Lord Salisbury, whose son is heir to a full treasury rather than to a merely opulent estate. The Viscount has special instructions not to touch any point in Papal territory, as they fear that his holiness would be glad to have in his hands the son of so powerful a minister.2

Correr was correct in reporting fears – these would have been those of the Privy Council as well as Salisbury’s – that the Pope might be glad of a prominent English hostage. At very much the same time an English soldier, Captain William Turner, reported in Paris that the Papal Nuncio had tried to induce him to lure an ‘Englishman of note’ – Lord Roos and Lord Cranborne were specifically mentioned – into the Pope’s dominions.3 The motive, it was explained, was to seize someone worth exchanging for the Jesuit, Father William Baldwin, who had been implicated in the Gunpowder Plot, recently captured on the Continent and since brought back to England on the end of a chain. It is far more likely that Turner, in hope of reward, had simply made up a story that confirmed what Salisbury wanted to hear. He was a low-grade spy who had been rewarded for several useful services earlier in the reign but at Wotton’s instigation had been imprisoned for some months in 1606–7 for

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communicating with the agent of the Archduke of Austria. Though adjudged ‘a knave’ he was being used again, for, as Wotton cynically observed, with the intrigues of Italy in mind, ‘they are almost as necessary as honest men’.4 In fact, English and Scottish visitors of noble birth were almost invariably treated with courtesy when travelling in papal or Spanish-controlled parts of Italy, as after the failure of the Armada a policy emerged of conquest by charm and diplomacy.5 The papal authorities reasonably assumed that those who ventured to Rome or beyond were likely to be susceptible to the blandishments of the Catholic Church, and they also assumed that if a significant proportion of the British aristocracy could be returned to the faith, then their countries would follow. All due honour and hospitality was therefore the order of the day in Rome, at least for lords. James I did not issue an outright prohibition on travel beyond the southern borders of Tuscany until December 1616, and until that time his ministers and ambassadors could resort only to persuasion and admonishment, these proving largely ineffective. In the spring of 1610, before Cranborne resumed his tours, his future host in Venice, Sir Henry Wotton, was worrying about James, 2nd Marquess of Hamilton (Figure 70). He had been in Venice for Christmas and had celebrated Twelfth Night there, and now, having resumed his travels, as the weather and roads were improving, Wotton learned that this intimate of Lucy, Countess of Bedford, and future art collector on the grandest scale, proposed to visit Rome, continue to Naples, and return again through Rome. Wotton wrote urgently to the Marquess, raising every uncertainty relating to the proposed journey that his imagination could conjure. The ambassador was also sensible of the precedent Hamilton would establish, referring to the ‘public notice taken of your Lordship’s person and quality in the Italian Courts’.6 His efforts, however, were to no avail. The near-paranoia of the English authorities was partly the result of the increasingly vehement controversy between James I and Cardinal Bellarmine, which began with the introduction of the Oath of Allegiance, a legislative response to the Gunpowder Plot. The Pope had banned the Oath and Bellarmine had written to English Catholics in defence of the ban. This provoked James’s Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance, to which Bellarmine issued his Responsio. Determined to have the last word, James republished the Apologie, including a hard-hitting introduction, a Premonition of all Christian Monarchies, Free Princes and States, in which he (somewhat anachronistically) warned of the Papacy’s boundless claim to temporal power. What might have been a controversy of interest only to ideologues was seen to be of the greatest potential consequence when it was repeated that an excommunicated monarch could lawfully be killed. James, whose father had been assassinated, whose mother had been executed, and whose own life had twice nearly ended in assassination (by the Gowrie Conspiracy and the Gunpowder Plot), not only felt personally threatened but also outraged that the divine right of all

Figure 70: Daniel Mytens, James, 2nd Marquess of Hamilton, oil on canvas, early 1620s

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Christian monarchs and princes to rule should be thus qualified. Any thoughts, moreover, that the threat was exaggerated had, of course, been utterly dispelled by the assassination of Henri IV of France by a Catholic fanatic. It was in this climate, with some apprehension therefore, that Salisbury sent his son once more to the Continent. Cranborne, however, was untroubled by such concerns. He was apparently keen to get back to Paris, a city now familiar to him, so he spurred his post horses the whole way from Abbeville. Once in Paris, he sought entertainment and company in the remaining days leading up to Michaelmas while Finet busied himself with horses, carriages and baggage at Troyes. Among the gathering company was Mr Gervaise, styled the French reader, who would on his return be paid £75 for his efforts to perfect the Viscount’s second language.7 Curiously, no specific provision seems to have been made for Cranborne to learn Italian, perhaps because the visit was intended to last only two months, though he had companions, not least Finet, who were Italian speakers. On 1 October 1610 [N.S.] Cranborne and entourage set off. Mid-autumn was a well-chosen time to travel – it was cooler but snow was yet to fall in the mountain passes. All prudent travellers were now considering where to make their winter quarters; for Cranborne and Henry Howard it was to be Venice or Padua. Behind them, other English and Scottish travellers would soon arrive in Paris to settle there for the season, some having recently crossed from England; others, like Hamilton, returning from Italy; a very few, like Roos, returning from Spain. In November, John Beaulieu at the Paris embassy reported: My lord Ross […] is arrived here and purposes to spend some months. He is altogether after the Spanish fashion. Here also are lord Clifford and Mr Puckering the old chancellor’s son, who have both taken place in the academy for a twelve month, Mr Beecher residing with lord Clifford […] Above all here is a Scotch lord, the Marquis of Amilton, a gallant young gentleman which doth ‘piaffer and paroistre’ with a very fair train and expense.8

Tobie Matthew and George Gage, meanwhile, prepared for a Madrid winter by availing themselves of the hospitality of William Calley, a presumably Catholic English merchant who lingered about government offices seeking payment for military clothing he had supplied to the Archdukes in the Spanish Netherlands.9 Via Dijon, Chalons and Lyon, Finet finally led the way out of France, crossing the Isere into the Duchy of Savoy at le Pont-de-Beauvoisin on Sunday, 10 October 1610. They spent the night at Chambéry, the duchy’s capital until the court transferred to Turin in 1563, characterized by Cranborne as relatively diminished as a consequence and featuring a castle he describes as a mere mass of stone; observations which might be the product



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of conversations with Finet and Jones respectively.10 On Tuesday 12th they crossed Mont Cenis pass, a route that was relatively easy of ascent but so steep to descend that travellers had to walk or be carried rather than ride. Thus, via the Lac du Mont Cenis and the chapel where ‘one buries those found frozen in the snow’, the company proceeded down, via a night at Aiguebelle, with its ‘mechant chasteau’, to Turin, where the young lord ‘was very honourably treated’ by Carlo Emanuele I, Duke of Savoy. The Duke ‘stayed him there five or six Days, lodged him and defrayed him all the while, and caused him to be continually accompanied by the Marquess of Lullin’.11 Presumably, it was this nobleman who guided the visitors through Carlo Emanuele’s ‘quite beautiful gallery enriched with very rare pictures’. Even more enthusiastically praised by Coryate, who compared it to the Louvre, this late-sixteenth-century extension to what became known as the Palazzo Madama may have provided the model for the similar two-storey gallery that Inigo Jones designed for the Arundels after they were likewise entertained in Turin in September 1614 (Plates C and D).12 Cranborne paid particular attention in the Galleria to the realistic portraits of all the Duke’s predecessors, and their wives and children, going back eight centuries.13 Even among the aspiring rulers of seventeenth-century Europe, the Savoys were particularly anxious to be recognized as royal and were correspondingly concerned with their genealogy.14 Within months of this visit, these portraits were to be joined by one (probably presented by the homeward-bound Venice ambassador, Sir Henry Wotton) of Cranborne’s friend, Henry, now Prince of Wales, who was being looked to with increasing earnestness by the Savoyards as a potential regal husband for the Infanta Maria.15 Maintaining the range of observations that was expected of him, Cranborne also enthused about Turin’s five great bastions, built ‘in the modern style, well clad’ but he then descended to His Highness’s beautiful gardens with their orange trees, great alleys and grottoes in which to place the trees in inclement weather. It was in these gardens that Cranborne took his leave of the Duke and thanked him for the honour with which he had been received.16 In Milan, the English travellers were ignored by the Spanish authorities, except for a single, calculated slight: Finet was ‘arrested on a denunciation for carrying a pistol’, which he presumably carried for the protection of both himself and the Viscount. Eventually, James I learned of this incident through reading letters sent by Wotton and Cranborne from Venice, enjoying, according to Marc’Antonio Correr, the detailed accounts, and remarking on the difference between the reception in Milan and the subsequent one in Venice.17 Lord and Lady Arundel would be similarly snubbed in Milan while staying there for a week with Inigo Jones (just long enough to celebrate his fortieth birthday there) en route for Padua and Venice, via Parma, in 1613.18 Cranborne, however, whom the King, in sentimental mood, had assured Correr ‘after his own sons, he placed before every one’, recorded none of

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these difficulties in his journal and concentrated on writing up his inspection of ‘that which is of the most worth in the town’. Even by this criterion his notes are sparse, omitting any mention of S. Maria degli Grazie, the location of Leonardo’s Last Supper; the Basilica di S. Lorenzo; the Roman Colonni di S. Lorenzo, or even Cardinal Francesco Borromeo’s Bibliotheca Ambrosiana, which had opened the previous year. Cranborne and his company – wisely, perhaps, given the sourness of the Spanish – spent only a single day viewing the sights of Milan, though in that time they were not idle. Cranborne admired the lavish Gothic ornamentation of the Duomo, noting the profusion of marble altars, sepulchres and columns. He likewise praised the ‘very beautiful’ Renaissance hospital ‘in which an infinite number of poor people were well cared for’,19 though he did not mention its architect, Antonio Filarete, by name (Figure 71). British travellers visiting such enlightened and still-flourishing institutions were almost universally impressed by the contrast with the lack of such facilities at home, largely the result of Henry VIII’s closure of the monastic hospitals.20 Cranborne also praised the Basilica di S. Vittore al Corpo and its attached monastery (Figure 72). This palaeo-Christian site, once Benedictine but at the time of the visit occupied by the Olivetani, had been subject to a lavish programme of building and decoration since 1530s. The new altar had been consecrated as recently as 1602 and the remains of Saints Vittore and Satiro transferred there at that time. Cranborne described the complex as ‘very beautiful and enriched by the most exquisite paintings’.21 Among those that he and his companions must have seen was the still-fresh Story of St Benedict in the apse of the left transept, completed in 1605 by the local master, Giovan Ambrogio Figino. The ‘extremely old’ Basilica di S. Ambrogio was also visited, and though there was much to admire, Cranborne picked out the famous, and genuinely ancient, bronze serpent set atop a column, fascinated as much for the belief, inspired by an Old Testament reference (Numbers 21:8–9), that it was of the time of Moses. As elsewhere in the diary, the observations of the art and architecture of Milan are intermixed with description of an example of the intellectually and aesthetically rewarding science of Renaissance fortification, here represented by the Castello Sforzesco. There were lessons of engineering, strategic and political kinds, to be learned: how such a fortification appeared and what made it so formidable; the fact there was such a fortress at Milan; and (what seemed to strike Cranborne most forcibly) that all the cannon manned by the Spanish garrison were directed over the city, controlling the citizens as much as external enemies. At Brescia he greatly admired the Loggia, ‘square-built, and the greater part of marble’,22 but, not surprisingly, he failed to mention Sansovino, Alessi or Palladio, who completed the upper storey and gave it its large rectangular windows (Figure 73).

Figure 71: Ca’ Granda, Milan, designed by Antonio Filarete, 1456–69

Figure 72: Basilica di S. Vittore al Corpo, Milan

Figure 73: Palazzo della Loggia, Brescia, 1492–1574, designed by Donato Bramante with interventions by Jacopo Sansovino and Palladio

Figure 74A: William Hole, The Amphitheatre [Theatre] of Verona (1610), plate illustration for Coryats Crudities

Figure 74B: Roman Theatre, Verona

Figure 75: Palazzo Giusti gardens, Verona

Figure 76: Santuario di Madonna di Campagna, Verona



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At Verona, as well as the Roman amphitheatre, Cranborne admired the many beautiful houses, in particular the Palazzo Giusti and its famous gardens cut into the hillside, recommended by Lord Arundel in his Remembrances to John Evelyn some 35 years later (Figures 74A–75).23 A little way outside the town he encountered the Santuario di Madonna di Campagna: ‘done in the round’, to which he added the comment, ‘the architecture is rather pretty’ (Figure 76).24 Stopping at the same spot just six months previously, another young Englishman, Sir Thomas Berkeley, had been far more expansive in his enthusiasm: 2 Mills from this Toune on the way unto Venice is a neue Chappell builded like the Cockepitt at Whitehall, itt is dedicated and cauled Nostra dama di Verona. heare is a monistarie of Monkes: itt is the best contrived peace of woorke in the worlde and in a little Compus all of square freestone: there is no other place in the world builded like itt.25

Neither Berkeley nor Cranborne, nor indeed Coryate, names Michele Sanmicheli, the architect, despite having seen so many buildings by this great pre-Palladian in his native town. Only John Caius, co-founder of Gonville and Caius College, seems to have paid specific attention to the architect per se, more than half a century earlier, attention which seems to be reflected in his precociously classical additions to the college, most clearly in the Gateway of Virtue.26 At his next stop, Vicenza, Berkeley admires the Basilica but fails to mention Palladio either. Here, however, on Friday, 29 October 1610 [N.S.], Cranborne earns pioneering Palladian status by praising Palladio by name as the architect of the Teatro Olimpico: ‘Mark well there the theatre built twenty-five years ago by this great Architect Palladius [possessed] of as rare an invention as any other could be’ (Figure 77).27 Thomas Coryate, though, would have written his Crudities even earlier, and it is worth remarking here that his account of his visit to the Villa Rotonda was published two years before Jones made the historic reference in his copy of Palladio’s Quattro Libri to his own visit in September 1613. In Padua the next day, Cranborne’s even greater enthusiasm for Santa Giustina is at least partly explained by his, in this case, being misinformed that it was ‘l’invention de Palladius’.28 He was, of course, recording the kind of thing his father expected him to, but it is unlikely that within a year he had lost that sincere appreciation of architecture engendered by Inigo Jones. Without Jones, however, Cranborne was at the mercy of local informants in matters of attributions, unless his party kept to its old practice in France and had obtained a copy of the most popular guidebook of the period, Fra Girolamo da Capugnano’s 1601 Vicentine edition of François Schott’s Itinerarii Italiae, the Palladio-promoting source that enabled Coryate to publish such an apparently sophisticated account of his work.29

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Figure 77: Teatro Olimpico, Vicenza (interior), 1580–5, built by Andrea Palladio and Vincenzo Scamozzi

Having anticipated Cranborne and Howard’s arrival for more than a year, and put off his departure for England in order to entertain them, it is possible that Wotton intercepted them at Padua, if not indeed at Vicenza. This might account for the close similarity between Cranborne’s enthusiastic description of the church of Santa Giustina, seen the day before he entered Venice, and that to be found in Wotton’s sophisticated treatise, The Elements of Architecture, published in 1624 after almost two decades of familiarity with the architecture of the Veneto.30 Somehow, though, on 30 October 1610, Cranborne got it into his head that Palladio was the architect of Santa Giustina; an error Wotton is unlikely to have made. It seems that, by this point, Cranborne was equating



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excellent architecture – for him, Santa Giustina surpassed everything he had seen before – with Palladio’s genius. His awareness of the great architect was, of course, due not to precocious connoisseurship but to the assiduousness of his mentors. We cannot tell, though, whether Inigo Jones’s lauding of Palladio the previous year had stayed with Cranborne and his governors, Finet and Lister, or whether fresh instruction in the Veneto had drawn Palladio’s name to the forefront of Cranborne’s mind. If, like Coryate, however, they were carrying with them a copy of the Itinerarii Italiae, they would find in it a complete biography of Andrea Palladio by the urbane Vicentine Inquisitor, Fra Girolamo. As Cranborne and Howard neared Venice it was not, therefore, Sir Dudley Carleton, the newly appointed English ambassador, who awaited them but old hand, Henry Wotton (Plate G). As late as the end of July [O.S.] Carleton had anticipated leaving England around the beginning of September, and, by taking a quicker route than Cranborne, reaching Venice around the beginning of October.31 Yet it was only on 3 November [N.S.], after what was described as 42 days’ travel, that Carleton entered Venetian territory (which means his party left England on 12 September [O.S.]). It had been too optimistic of him to allow only a month for the journey, even though on reaching Venetian territory he was able to report ‘no mishap or sickness or death among his suite’ en route. Carleton was, therefore, still a couple of days behind Cranborne and Howard when on 1 November [N.S.] they entered the city of Venice to be entertained by a delighted Wotton. Facetiously nicknamed ‘Fabritio’ in their private correspondence, Wotton was regarded by Carleton and Chamberlain as a preposterous show-off and schemer. Perhaps in confirmation of that reputation, he had persuaded Salisbury to let him linger just long enough to receive Cranborne and Howard. A more generous interpretation would be that Salisbury was of the opinion that the outgoing ambassador, with his intimate knowledge of Venice, would be able to attract the greatest attention and honour for the two young noblemen. Two days after their arrival, on 3 November, the honour fell, therefore, to Wotton to take the scions of the Lord Treasurer and the Lord Chamberlain of England to the Ducal Palace to be presented to the Doge. Wotton proudly told the Doge: ‘I recognise the honour Lord Salisbury has done me in desiring that these gentlemen should arrive here before the new Ambassador, and that I should have the honour of presenting them.’32 Although Wotton had been told he could bring Cranborne and Howard straight into the Sala del Collegio, he was determined to heighten the drama, and initially left the pair outside in the Anti-collegio, where they could at least gaze for a few moments on the works of Tintoretto and Veronese. It was only after Wotton’s grandiloquent preamble that Cranborne and Howard were beckoned in. Revelling in the occasion, Wotton proceeded to emphasize the high status of the new arrivals, even though the Venetians were well aware

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of this from the dispatches of their own ambassador in London. Clearly this stuck in their minds, as Cranborne was generally referred to as the ‘Viscount Salisbury’ during his stay, which, though incorrect, explained his importance most effectively. Wotton also did his best to elevate Henry Howard, whom, he explained, though not the eldest son of England’s Lord Chamberlain, had, to his good fortune, been made the heir of his uncle, the Earl of Northampton, ‘Keeper of the Privy Seal’. The Doge responded that he was very willing to see them, out of his regard for Lord Salisbury. He then warmly embraced both in turn, and caused them to be seated at his left hand. The Venetians noted with some satisfaction that although neither said a word, as they could speak no Italian, it became obvious they could understand it. Wotton paid their compliments for them, and gave a brief résumé of their honourable reception in Turin and their subsequent passage through Milan and the cities of the Republic. He concluded by saying that Cranborne was only intending to stay a short while, giving his recent marriage as the reason he needed to return home so soon. After a little further conversation the Englishmen withdrew to enjoy the refreshments ordered for them.33 However politely received, the mute pair failed to make as memorable an impression upon the Doge and Senate as that made 20 months earlier by the 16-year-old Sir John Harington of Exton (Figure 78). He had arrived in Venice from Florence,34 via Siena and Urbino, with such a large following of English gentlemen that he had to take a palazzo at S. Polo, as the embassy could not accommodate them.35 Like his elder sister, Lucy, Countess of Bedford, who was hailed as early as 1607 as being ‘beloved of the Muses’,36 Harington was regarded as being both virtuous and a virtuoso. When Wotton brought him before the Doge on 13 January 1609 [N.S.] he predicted that one day he would govern England and described him as the Prince’s ‘right eye’, alluding to Harington’s role, first, as the Prince’s boyhood companion, and now as his observer and foreign correspondent.37 At this point, the engaging Harington proceeded to perform a legerdemain that the English had, since the 1570s, occasionally used to great effect on the Continent; he extracted a miniature of Prince Henry, almost certainly limned by Isaac Oliver, for the Doge to admire (Figure 79).38 Harington did not leave the Republic until late July, when Wotton was able to report that he was ‘on the German journey’ and therefore heading for home.39 On 23 November, Wotton announced Harington’s departure, explaining that the Prince, who was so fond of him, wanted him back, thereby reinforcing the Venetians’ impression of a special bond. Leonardo Donato took the point, replying, We seem to see him now before us as he was that day when he showed us the beautiful portrait of the Prince and told us that he was fairer within than without. We do not wonder the Prince loves him; he deserves it.40

Figure 78: Magdalena or Willem de Passe, John, 2nd Baron Harington of Exton, engraving

Figure 79: Isaac Oliver, Henry, Prince of Wales, miniature, c.1611



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A full year later, when the time came for Wotton to announce his own departure, Cranborne and Howard were still lingering in the Republic, but the Doge referred not to them but to his earlier meeting with Harington, again recalling being shown the image of the Prince: he [James I] is happy in his offspring, and particularly his Highness the eldest Prince, who truly in the gifts of his outward form appears a very Angel.41 To our great satisfaction we saw his portrait which, as Sir Henry Wotton knows, was shown us by that English gentleman; we are told that the gifts of his mind are in nowise inferior; he is therefore sure to imitate to the full the striking qualities of his father, and we may hope that the good understanding will be continued in him.42

While Cranborne and Howard were visiting the Doge, Sir Dudley Carleton and his company had run into unforeseen difficulties (Figure 80). The Venetian Resident at Milan sent a dispatch to Venice relating how Francesco Zen, the governor of Crema (the Venetian town a day’s journey on the road from Milan to Venice) had asked him to ascertain what steps the Milanese sanitary authorities intended to take when the English arrived. As Zen’s courier only delivered his message on the evening of 2 November, inquiries were made the following morning, whereupon the Resident learned that the English had arrived late the previous day and had spent what remained of it ‘in seeing the city’, afterwards staying the night unobtrusively at the famous ‘Three Kings’. By the time the English were located they were on the point of leaving – the Milanese sanitary officers had paid them no attention whatever.43 Governor Zen’s desire for information had been prompted by instructions, forwarded by the Rectors of Brescia, from the Sanitary Commissioners in Venice to hold the new English ambassador and his entire party in quarantine. Zen, no doubt recalling the unhindered passage of another party of important Englishmen only a few days before, clearly thought his orders unusual and may have hoped that the Milanese would detain Carleton so that he would not have to. To his alarm, however, late on 3 November, Carleton and his entourage appeared at the gates of Crema.44 When refused admittance and informed of the quarantine order, Carleton protested vehemently and Zen began to fear that he might be blamed for offending a foreign dignitary, even though he was obeying strict instructions. Lodgings had been prepared two miles outside of Crema but Carleton could not be persuaded to retreat so far along the road he had just travelled. He demanded to know why he had not received any warning of such treatment and declared that at no point since leaving England had he been delayed; rather, he had always been granted free passage and accorded every courtesy. As Carleton had women in his party, the governor feared he might refuse any sort of accommodation beyond the protection of the town walls. A crisis

Figure 80: Willem Delff, after Michiel Jansz. van Miereveldt, Sir Dudley Carleton, engraving



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point was reached when Carleton threatened to return to Lodi, which would be to leave Venetian territory altogether, and await further instructions there. It was to the governor’s great relief, therefore, that Carleton eventually accepted lodgings at a house hurriedly vacated by one of his captains a mere mile outside Crema.45 When the gates were opened the following morning, Zen discovered to his alarm that the English had again loaded their carriages and were only waiting for their horses to be harnessed before returning whence they had come. It had earlier been observed that the English were travelling light: there were nineteen or twenty persons in all, travelling in four hired carriages. They had no baggage wagon and carried only three cases (tamburi) and a trunk (coffa) in the carriages. One of Zen’s deputies, a Signor Clavello, hurried out to implore Carleton to wait at least until clarification of the orders came from Brescia. In some desperation, he explained to Carleton that the authorities in Crema were utterly bound to follow any orders received from the sanitary officers. A now desperate and possibly fearful Governor Zen pressed on with his placatory attempts, deploying Crema’s full gastronomic resources. He later reported: I caused some bowls to be made ready, in one of which was quince and peach ices, one with peach-paste, another with pistacchio, two jars of preserved citron; on four other dishes were thirty different kinds of salad and some salted tongue; a piece of cheese weighing sixty pounds, six pairs of capons, and a barrel of old Malmesey, and another of fresh Muscat; cost of the whole about 200 lire.46

Carleton’s introduction to Italian gelati seems to have had a calming effect, and, having called Lady Carleton (referred to as the ‘Ambassadress’ by the governor) to sample the refreshments, he settled down to watch the road for the appearance of the courier from Brescia. All day long the English waited, until the response came. The Rectors of Brescia, however, proved no more able than the governor of Crema to rescind the orders of the sanitary officers, and made it clear that Carleton’s entourage would not be permitted into the town or even the territory of Brescia; in fact, it was not to be allowed to proceed at all for the time being. Carleton now accepted that his detention was not the result of any local blunder but that a higher and, as yet, inaccessible authority was responsible. If they were to be detained for 15 or 20 days, he declared, at least they should be allowed to stay at Desenzano (on the shores of Lake Garda). Clearly, there was someone within Carleton’s retinue, possibly a guide, with sufficient local knowledge to recommend such a location for any period of detention. Carleton also mentioned, though with fast-diminishing hope, that he had arranged to meet Wotton in Padua on Tuesday (9 November) and that he

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knew Wotton was anxious to depart for England before bad weather set in and the roads worsened.47 It seems not to have occurred to Carleton that a little Wottonian string-pulling and the tacit approval of Salisbury might have been behind the mysterious obstruction of his progress. That Wotton was capable of using his considerable influence with the Venetian authorities to have his own countrymen restricted or confined cannot be doubted – vide the fate of Captain Turner.48

chapter 9

VENICE

Cranborne’s presumed healthy group of Englishmen, meanwhile, entered Venice on Monday, 1 November 1610, whereupon Cranborne himself, overwhelmed by the impending task of doing literary justice to the sights of Venice, excused himself from writing anything at all on the subject thus: It is not my intention to say something of the wonderful location of this town, [nor] of the beauty of its churches, of their riches, of the construction of so many beautiful buildings both public and private; it would be a great fault to say too little and there are entire books on the subject.1

Cranborne’s reticence, or perhaps indolence, is to be regretted, not least because the young lords had now entered Wotton’s palazzo in the Cannaregio district, which the ambassador had long since furnished with rich furniture hired ‘from the Jews’, carpets for tables and floors, arms and armour for display, a billiard table, a pet monkey and paintings. There had been relatively few Englishmen, and fewer still Protestant Englishmen, familiar enough with Italy to qualify for the new ambassadorial post in Venice when it was established in 1604. Wotton, however, had travelled in Italy extensively during the 1590s, and indeed in other parts of the Continent, and though it was not yet recognized in England to be a diplomatic qualification, he had already developed a talent for acquiring items that would please a discerning patron, such as books, manuscripts and architectural drawings; in Venice his range would extend to telescopes and paintings.2 Here, for all his Kentish affections, Wotton was in his element and during his long years of residence (he was three times ambassador in Venice: 1604–10, 1614–18, 1621–3) he perfected the Renaissance practice of intruding the fine arts into diplomacy.3 Thirty years before Wotton first took up his post, Sir Philip Sidney, during his stay in Venice, considered both Tintoretto and Paolo Veronese before choosing the latter to paint his portrait, a work which is now lost (Figure 81).4 Sidney was ahead of his time, as his visit did not initiate a custom among Elizabethans to travel to Venice, and as for sitting for one’s portrait in Venice, Sidney was even less of an example to his countrymen during the Elizabethan

Figure 81: Unknown artist, Sir Philip Sidney, oil on panel, c.1576



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period. Elizabethans who did arrive in the Republic found it to be tolerant of them even though the Pope had excommunicated their Queen; Venice itself would, after all, fall under papal interdict in 1606, its entire population thereby excommunicated. Nevertheless, the English would not visit the Republic in substantial numbers – students attending Padua University excepted – until the rest of Italy became safer for them during the reign of James I, whereafter the majority of seventeenth-century visitors would then pass through Venice as part of a more comprehensive ‘Voyage of Italy’.5 Meanwhile, Elizabethans intent on venturing deeper into Italy did so clandestinely, often disguised as French or (as in the case of Henry Wotton) German Catholics. A report of July 1582 states that apart from residents of Catholic seminaries there were not more than twenty Englishmen in the whole of Italy and those few went in fear of their lives.6 Though travel became less hazardous after peace was made between England and Spain in 1604, because the latter dominated much of the Italian peninsula (also a great swathe of Western Europe stretching from Dunkirk to Lake Geneva), Protestant travellers, if indiscreet, remained at risk while on Habsburg or papal territory. Two exceptional tours reached Venice c.1595/6 and later went on to Tuscany, but there is no evidence that they came together and there may indeed have been an element of rivalry between them.7 One was that of the Manners brothers: Roger, 5th Earl of Rutland, and Francis (later the 6th Earl); both were drawn to Catholicism. The other was that of Richard and Edward Cecil, the second and third sons of Sir Thomas Cecil, later 1st Earl of Exeter, and grandsons of Lord Treasurer Burghley, then still alive.8 Though these young aristocrats would have been sufficiently aware of art to realize that they were in the proximity of painters’ studios, no record of any of them sitting to a Venetian master is known. A single visual record of one of these tours, however, seems to have survived, which may be the only one for an English tour to Italy of the pre-Stuart period. It is the enigmatic miniature of a sandy-haired young man, signed on the reverse of an untrimmed playing card, ‘adv. 13 Magio 1596. In Venetia. Fecit m. Isacq oliuero Francese Ø v. 14’ (Figure 82). This inscription is the only known evidence that Isaac Oliver, the highly talented miniaturist whose best-known place of work was in the Blackfriars, was ever in Venice.9 The inscription is written in a curious mixture of Latin and Italian, which may indicate that the Huguenot Oliver was using a foundation of Latin to improve his Italian. This miniature, its inscription, and the record of payment added the following day (when, presumably, it was handed over to the sitter), suggest an encounter rather than an attachment. It seems that Oliver was not of the sitter’s party, in which case he may have travelled out to Venice with another party. Certainly, by 1596, Oliver was well known in Court and City circles and he would have been eminently suitable to fill the role of mentor and interpreter; a role that was to be

Figure 82: Isaac Oliver, Unknown Man (possibly Sir Edward Cecil), miniature, 1596



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John Finet’s, when he led a party into Italy 14 years later, and Inigo Jones’s some 17 years later. Oliver’s miniature is clearly in a different category from any Venetian oil portraits of Englishmen that may be dated to the same period, of which reports are few and extant examples fewer still. John Chamberlain, John Finet and Lord Roos are all mentioned in contemporary documents as having been painted by Domenico Tintoretto, while a near contemporary, Carlo Ridolfi, lists more of Tintoretto’s English sitters: Carleton, Wotton, Lord and Lady Arundel and their children (though not, alas, their companion Inigo Jones, who had himself engraved instead by Francesco Villamena in Rome in 1614), further alluding to a great number of other unnamed visiting gentlemen, particularly English and Germans (Figure 83).10 Ridolfi further gives the impression that some travellers were so intrigued by the keenness of the competition between Tintoretto and the Bassano brothers (who followed their father, Jacopo, as closely as Domenico followed his) that they sat for both. In Wotton’s case, Ridolfi is unequivocal in recording that, as well as sitting to Domenico Tintoretto, Leandro Bassano painted him – full-length in his red gown or chimere (Figure 84).11 Wotton, of course, as a three-term resident ambassador, had the leisure to be painted multiple times, if he so desired. Among the less ambiguously named sitters mentioned by Ridolfi is ‘Il Duca di Oxenfort nipote del Rè di Danimarc’. He is, in fact, conflating two young travellers of similarly high status, who were both in Venice at the same time and made use of Wotton and his residence. Both, moreover, brought themselves to the attention of the Doge and Senate by offering to raise small armies in the service of Venice. It is unclear whether they considered each other friends or rivals, but to the Venetians they would have appeared of much the same stamp and it is not surprising that Ridolfi remembered a composite individual. One was Henry de Vere, 18th Earl of Oxford, who resided in Venice c.1617 during his five-year continental tour.12 He was following the steps of his father, Salisbury’s Italophile brother-in-law, Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford, who had visited Venice more than thirty years before, 1575–6, when, not to be outdone by Sidney,13 he might also have sat for his portrait, as he would later do in Paris on his way home.14 The other was Joachim Ernst of Schleswig-Holstein, inaccurately referred to as the ‘Duke of Holstein’ by English contemporaries. He was, in fact, not a nephew but a much younger first cousin of Christian IV (also, therefore, of Anne of Denmark and a member of the extended British royal family). Wotton warmed to Joachim Ernst and played host to him at his palazzo for many months before the pair journeyed to a gathering of the German Protestant Union at Heilbronn.15 It would, undoubtedly, have been Wotton who recommended Domenico Tintoretto to Joachim Ernst for his portrait, as he may also have done to the young Earl of Oxford, making Ridolfi’s confusion all the more understandable.

Figure 83: Giacomo Piccini, Domenico Tintoretto, engraving from Carlo Ridolfi, Maraviglie dell’arte, Venice, 1648

Figure 84: Giacomo Piccini, Leandro Bassano, engraving from Carlo Ridolfi, Maraviglie dell’arte, Venice, 1648

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Unfortunately, the current whereabouts of most of these portraits, if even extant, remains unknown. We hope, however, that some might reappear and that other, hitherto undocumented portraits of English travellers of this period might also emerge, as in recent years two portraits of John Finet and of Sir Richard Wenman of Thame Park have done (Plates B and I). Both of these portraits feature a similar Venetian canal view (the second more amateurishly painted than the first) as seen through a window to the rear and right of the sitter, and relate to each other. The Finet can confidently be ascribed to Domenico Tintoretto and thereby gains path-breaking status as a portrait contemporary with the early Jacobean encounter with Venice, documenting that first flurry of English interest in the studios of the Venetian painterdealers. These were practitioners of a trade which was eventually carried out predominantly in Rome, where the likes of Carlo Maratti, and then Francesco Trevisani and eventually Pompeo Batoni, would paint the most celebrated portraits of the Grand Tourists.16 The portrait of Wenman is more problematic but, despite its periodic restorations, it is in all likelihood the earliest-known portrait of an Englishman in Italy.17 Though it was always important to maintain a splendid embassy for the honour of sovereign and state, Wotton took special delight in treating visitors to a display of art he had assembled. Even though it must have been greatly inferior to the wondrous collections to be formed over the next three decades in England by the aristocratic mecenati, its significance lies in its predating them, being sufficiently impressive to be noticed by the more perceptive among the young, touring Jacobeans who were then reaching Venice in increasing numbers. Sir Thomas Berkeley, previously observed ‘on the way unto Venice’, duly arrived in the city, only to be disappointed by the absence of plays; a marked contrast to the abundant theatrical offerings of Jacobean London that he was used to. He found, however, that one of the principal diversions remained buying and admiring paintings, which continued to be produced by local studios, the best of them commanding astonishing prices. He jotted: heare hath been no plays this 5 yeare. heare ar the most admirable exquisit drawers in the world. heare are picture of one man making that lb 1000 stearling will not buie itt: my Lor: Embassador of England hath one that 2000 Chekins will not buie itt. Everie Chakin is 7s 6d our monies.18

One would dearly wish to know more about Wotton’s masterpiece, worth above the equivalent of £750. Some of the embassy’s paintings as well as other furnishings were hired by Wotton and would be re-hired by Carleton, but others Wotton had clearly bought for himself.19 Wotton also occasionally entertained foreign diplomats, of whom one, the highly cultured and much-



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travelled Count Christoph von Dohna, emissary of the German Protestant leader, Christian of Anhalt, took note of a portrait of Prince Henry after Wotton gestured to it during their conversation at his residence.20 Few ambassadors, however, could hope to entertain a sovereign prince, but in February 1606 Wotton was honoured with a visit by Vincenzo I, Duke of Mantua, who was in Venice to congratulate the new Doge, Leonardo Donato, on his election.21 During that visit the Duke also admired the portrait of Prince Henry as well as a portrait of his mother, Anne of Denmark, whereupon Wotton promised to have copies made of both and delivered to Mantua. At the end of the following month, Wotton found it necessary to send his nephew, Edward Partridge, to the Duke with an apology for a delay in sending the copies. This revealing letter confirms the extent to which artistic matters at the embassy involved the versatile painter and engraver, Odoardo Fialetti.22 Originally from Bologna but long since domiciled in Venice, where he had come to work under Jacopo Tintoretto, by about 1608 Fialetti had to a considerable extent become dependent on Wotton’s patronage.23 In the matter of the portraits for Mantua, Wotton, as he explained to the Duke, preferred to wait for Fialetti (‘di che mi soglio servire’) to recover from a long illness rather than entrust the work to an untried painter. Fialetti undertook several commissions for Wotton including portraits ‘done after the life’ of each of the four doges who ruled Venice during Wotton’s residences, the Venetian College (showing Wotton in attendance, though somewhat distantly and indistinctly),24 and the celebrated bird’s-eye View of Venice (Plate J).25 Though it is not especially instructive to compare this particular relationship between a British diplomat and an Italian artist with later examples, such as those between Consul Smith and Canaletto, or Sir William Hamilton and Pietro Fabris (Horace Mann preferred the self-exiled Thomas Patch), it is nonetheless important to recognize the fruitfulness of this particular association, which occurred so early in the long process of re-classicizing Britain via Italy.26 Plainly, Wotton and Fialetti were already friends by 1608, the year in which Fialetti secured wider recognition for himself by publishing Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parti, et membra del corpo humano, a manual of engravings for the professional artist on the correct delineation of the human figure and its various parts, to which Palma Giovane contributed two etchings (Figure 85). This work became useful to some within England’s small cadre of professional virtuosi, including Inigo Jones27 and Edward Norgate (who married Lanier’s sister in 1613); the latter, while discussing ‘Designe’ in his Miniatura or the Art of Limning, recommended ‘principally that excellent booke in folio of Jacomo Palma and graved by Odoardo Fialetti, my old acquaintance in Venice’.28 Wotton, didactic by nature and future author of the influential The Elements of Architecture (London, 1624),29 can only have approved of this new, Venetian contribution to the practice of art, and in some way may even have financed it. Close to the time of publication

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Figure 85: Odoardo Fialetti, studies of a torso, from Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parti et membra del corpo humano, 1608

of Il vero modo and perhaps not unconnected with it, Wotton sent Palma Giovane’s Prometheus to Lord Salisbury (Figure 86), describing it as: a figure (I take it) of Prometheus devoured by the eagle, done by Giacobo Palma in concurrence with Titiano, which for emulation between two painters (both of no small name) I dare almost say to be worthy of a corner in one of your Lordship’s galleries.30

With this impressive gift, Wotton began to reintroduce his countrymen to the colour and vigour of Venetian mythological and religious narrative painting, which, in the form of a few pictures by Titian, had been merely glimpsed in England during the reign of Mary Tudor.31 In November 1553, a Titian portrait of Mary’s future but as-yet-unseen husband, Philip of Spain,

Figure 86: Palma Giovane, Prometheus, oil on canvas, late sixteenth century

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Figure 87: Titian, Venus and Adonis, oil on canvas, 1554

was sent on loan to her by Margaret of Hungary, her future sister-in-law, and was kept by Mary for a week before it was returned.32 A year later, Titian, in Venice, sent his newly finished Venus and Adonis to Philip, by then in London, where, it has been asserted, it remained for four years before being retrieved by Philip on Mary’s death (Figure 87).33 This assumes that it was presented as an allegory of the royal romance. Titian, however, understood that it would hang in a room with his Danae, earlier sent to Madrid, and had designed both as companion pieces for each other; in any case, the canvas, as Philip complained to Titian, had been noticeably creased in transit, and Mary might not have been given the opportunity



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to enjoy it more than briefly. These introductions, as short-lived as Philip’s stay in England, seem to have had no effect on the taste for contemporary art in England. It was the arrival of Wotton’s Prometheus that marked the true beginning of a lengthy period of British buying in the Venetian art market that would ultimately expand south to every centre of art in Italy. The Prometheus was soon offered by Salisbury to Prince Henry, who by accepting it confirmed his willingness to accept such pictures into his own gallery at St James’s Palace. Subsequently, the distinctive core of Prince Henry’s new collection would be purchased in Venice.34 This shipment, en route to England even as Cranborne’s party headed for Venice, must surely have been entrepreneured by Wotton, and in successfully penetrating the Venetian art market he must have relied heavily on one who was already an insider, his friend, Odoardo Fialetti.35 Various young Englishmen, itinerant and resident, encountered Fialetti through Wotton, including the same peripatetic William Cecil, Lord Roos, who had explored the ‘South partes of Fraunce’ ahead of his cousin, Cranborne. After provocatively visiting Naples and Rome, a journey that alarmed the Protestant element both within his family and the English court, Roos arrived in Venice with Lord St Joh n in December 1608. They had probably not been to the city before, as it was during this stay that Wotton presented the young barons to the Doge, though Roos had been in northern Italy as early as 1607.36 A decade later, during Wotton’s second ambassadorship to Venice, Roos reappeared. On this occasion Fialetti dedicated to him his Scherzi d’amore, a series of etchings of Venus and Cupid with accompanying verses by D. Maurizio Moro, an act that is unlikely to have been done without his knowing that Roos had recently abandoned his wife, the daughter of Secretary of State, Sir Thomas Lake (Figure 88).37 Thereafter, Roos would be unlikely to return to England and was at last free to declare his Catholic faith. Fialetti also sold him some pictures and it was possibly he who guided him to Domenico Tintoretto’s, where Roos bought more; but if he hoped for the patronage of this free-spending English nobleman he was to be disappointed, for within a few months Roos succumbed to fever near Naples, his favourite haunt.38 Fialetti dedicated etchings to a visiting Englishman on another occasion: to the Earl of Arundel (‘Baron e Cavalier da Rondel’) during his formative tour of Italy in 1613–14 when the latter would already have appeared to Fialetti as an extraordinary collector and connoisseur. A few years later, in 1622, he got to know Edward Norgate who was within the circle of Aletheia, Countess of Arundel during her stay in the Veneto, who, possibly following Norgate’s introduction, took to Fialetti so much that several times she richly rewarded him (Figure 89).39 It was presumably the Countess’s generosity that encouraged Tizianello to dedicate his 1622 biography of Titian to her.40

Figure 88: Odoardo Fialetti, ‘Venus punishing Cupid’, dedicated to Lord Roos in Scherzi d’amore, Venice, 1617



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Figure 89: Peter Paul Rubens, Lady Arundel with a hound, dwarves and Sir Dudley Carleton, 1620

Before ever Jones or Norgate encountered Fialetti, another English artist knew him well and, we suppose, learned much from him. This was Mark Belford, who served as one of Wotton’s secretaries at the embassy and returned with him to England in 1611. It was Belford, in the summer of 1608, who rescued the eccentric Thomas Coryate by gondola from a crowd of forty or fifty angry Jews after he had rashly attempted to dissuade them from their ‘superstitious ceremonies’.41 For this timely appearance he was

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about to receive an honourable mention in Coryats Crudities, then at press in London. Like the ultimately more successful Norgate and, for that matter, Buckingham’s factotum, Balthazar Gerbier, Belford clearly saw his future as an art adviser, his credibility being enhanced by some amateur ability in the art of the miniature. It was a reasonable ambition, as England was beginning to experience a surge in art patronage and collecting, largely as a consequence of improved contacts with continental Europe. Wotton had already tried to place Belford at the court of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, both for Belford’s advancement and, no doubt, for his own information, albeit without success. He had recommended him as a young man of good education, honest appearance and, by profession, a portraitist in miniature not inferior to any other alive.42 Before leaving Venice, the ever-calculating Wotton obtained from the Senate a letter praising him and saluting the Prince, to whom he was to deliver it.43 With very similar motives to those behind the recommending of Belford to the Florentines, at their return Wotton presented his man at the court of the Prince of Wales, wagering three pictures (undoubtedly Venetian) against three of Prince Henry’s horses that Belford could portray the Prince better than Isaac Oliver.44 It was a challenge that Wotton had no intention of winning – he had no desire to deprive Henry of his horses, whereas he would be delighted to hand over his pictures, thereby joining those supporters of the Prince who had already donated pictures to the increasingly magnificent gallery in St James’s Palace. This amusing contest was, besides, designed to secure a position for Belford as the Prince’s miniaturist, and in this it succeeded. Though not responsible for any of the late miniatures of Prince Henry that are known, all of which are by Oliver, Belford was named among the late Prince’s ‘officers of the works and artificers’ who received allowances for mourning cloth, and presumably he walked with them in the funeral procession of 1 December 1612. Belford disappears, hereafter, from our view and were it not for his will of 1638 we would not know that for the next quarter of a century he seems to have acted as an adviser on artistic matters to a coterie of gentleman-collectors, latterly of a younger generation, who included Christopher, 1st Baron Hatton.45 We do not know whether Belford ever travelled again, as would the increasingly high-profile Nicholas Lanier, whose court service repeatedly required him to make the journey to Italy. He may well have done so, but even if he did not stray far from the parish of St Bride, favoured by professional artists and gentlemen virtuosi alike, where he made his home, he would have been able to trade off, if not dine out on, his Italian years. At the embassy, therefore, Cranborne, Howard, Finet, Lister, Lanier and whoever else was of the company, found themselves within Wotton’s ‘domestic college’, an erudite and sophisticated household that was well connected to the cultural life of the city, though Wotton, as an ambassador,



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Figure 90: The Arsenale, Venice, engraving, c.1620

was forbidden private association with members of the Venetian nobility. Wotton was keen as ever to play the part of the knowledgeable guide. Even though Cranborne chose not to pick up his pen while in Venice, it is possible to glean something of his local tour of Venice from the Venetian records and from Finet’s record of his spending. Part of this, which involved the civic authorities, was clarified at the time of his audience with the Doge, when refreshment and entertainment was authorized to the value of 400 ducats at the Arsenale, which was to be shown to them along with other sights of the city (Figure 90).46 Cranborne responded by lavishly bestowing gifts on all the officers of the Arsenal when he ‘sawe it and was feasted there’ and did likewise ‘upon the Gallies’.47 Mention of the purchase of glasses indicates possibly a trip also to the island of Murano, which was well known to Wotton. There is good reason to suppose that Cranborne and Howard also toured the principal painters’ studios. Towards the end of a month full of rich experiences Wotton escorted Cranborne onto the mainland ‘to see the rarities of that country’.48 This involved conducting Cranborne to Palmanova on the eastern frontier of the Venetian Republic, which Coryate would compellingly describe as ‘a

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most inexpugnable fortresse’ (Figure 91A).49 This too had been planned from the start, as at the time of the audience the Cabinet issued orders to the governor of Palmanova that when the English came, they should be lodged and entertained to the amount of 60 ducats.50 Almost two years earlier, Wotton had taken Prince Henry’s favourite, Sir John Harington of Exton, on a similar trip and, as with Cranborne, had arranged for him to receive instruction there from a ‘Master for Architecture and fortification’ – conceivably Buonaiuto Lorini, the Florentine aristocrat, who co-planned the fortress town and became its chief architect.51 Whereas Harington narrowly preceded the 1609 Venice publication of Lorini’s revised and enlarged edition of his illustrated treatise, Le Fortificationi, which had first been published in 1596, this would have been available to Cranborne, as it would be to Inigo Jones, who probably inspected Palmanova in late 1613 with Arundel and acquired a copy of this later edition, which he pored over and annotated almost as thoroughly as his Palladio (Figure 91B).52 As one who had made a career out of observing and judging others, Wotton must be suspected of informing and amusing himself by running his young guests through a near-identical routine. Wotton was still highly ambitious and aiming at the Secretaryship, for the attainment of which it would have been of great advantage to know the calibre of the young aristocracy upon whom the highest hopes were laid. When it was Cranborne’s turn to be taken to Palmanova, Wotton was able to compare his behaviour and responses to the same sights and the same discourse to which Harington had previously been treated. Palmanova was instructive not only through being an example of the latest and best military architecture, but also because it stood on the ‘leopard spot’, the contorted eastern boundary between the Venetian Republic and the Habsburg Empire: a bastion against both Imperial incursion and Turkish invasion.53 By all accounts a precocious and brilliant youth, Harington is likely to have been stimulated by being brought to this strategic nerve point. Cranborne, at his most animated, was also capable of appreciating much of this, as his travel writings contain due regard for matters of defence, but how he reacted at Palmanova we cannot tell, as his journal is, disappointingly, wholly devoid of entries for this period. We sense the beginnings of his malaise. On returning to Venice, Cranborne and Howard decided to retreat to Padua due to the ‘gros aire’. In any case, the changeover at the embassy could no longer be delayed and both the outgoing and the incoming ambassador needed to be together for a short while in Venice. Accordingly, the two nobles departed on 29 November for Padua, where Carleton had been kicking his heels for over two weeks, and it was there that the parties finally made contact.



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Figure 91A: Palmanova, engraving from G. Braun and F. Hogenberg, Civitates Orbis Terrarum, V, Cologne, 1598

Figure 91B: Bonaiuto Lorini (with Inigo Jones’s annotations), Le fortificationi, Venice, 1609

chapter 10

PADUA

On arrival in Padua, Carleton’s entourage had been lodged in a palazzo belonging to the Signori Boltari ‘at the Eremitani’, presumably one of those great houses fronting the Piazza Eremitani (Figure 92).1 Game, sweets and wine to the value of 30 ducats were immediately sent by order of the governor of Padua, who, perhaps intrigued by reports of the presence of ladies, visited in person soon afterwards. Carleton met the governor at the foot of the staircase, informing him that his intention was to remain until Wotton vacated the embassy, though in the event, as we know, the two ambassadors briefly doubled up in Venice.2 Carleton’s temporary residence was only a few yards from the Church of the Eremitani, within which that devotee of the Antique, Andrea Mantegna, had, in the Ovetari Chapel, painted his dramatic fresco scenes from the life of St James and St Christopher. Also close by, in the Scrovegni Chapel, otherwise known as the Arena Chapel for its location on the site of Padua’s former Roman amphitheatre, were Giotto’s frescoes dating from the early Trecento. But whether curiosity or recommendation led Carleton or any of his party into these churches, which in time would become veritable sepulchres of Western art, or indeed to any of the other architectural sites that Lord Arundel would show John Evelyn in the autumn of 1646, we do not know.3 Carleton was duty-bound to pay his respects to the young nobles and it seems a reciprocal visit was also made, as Finet’s accounts record that Cranborne gave rewards to the ‘servants and officers in both the ambassadors houses’, that is to say, Wotton’s and Carleton’s.4 Immediately after talking to Cranborne, Carleton wrote with surprising frankness to Salisbury about his son: ‘He finds relish in nothing on this side of the mountains, nor much in anything on this side of the sea; his affections being set so strongly on his return homeward, that any opposition is a disease.’5 It was also at this time that John Chamberlain must have first met Finet, the person he had once condescendingly described as a ‘travayler of no note or account’ – unless they had encountered each other in London during the summer of 1610. There was now no impediment to Carleton’s entry into

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Figure 92: Piazza Eremitani, Padua

Venice and, on 1 December, the party was able to enter Wotton’s palazzo, presumably to occupy the chambers vacated by Cranborne and Howard. Having seen Cranborne for himself, Carleton was now able to hear Wotton’s opinion of his recent guest, as the ambassadors were to share the palazzo for a fortnight.6 On 7 December [N.S.], Wotton took his formal leave of the Doge in Cabinet and at the same time introduced Carleton. Over a year earlier, Wotton had gone to the Doge with news of his recall and of his successor, who would ‘come with a goodly company, as he brings his wife and family’. The contrast between his own household and that of the Carletons, and how the latter might be effective in Venice, seems to have caught the bachelor ambassador’s imagination and, after praising Carleton’s abilities, as he was bound to do, he grandiloquently set about building a reputation for Lady Carleton. The official Venetian scribe recorded that: He rejoiced at the coming of this lady for she would show herself as spirited as any lady of France and would prove that England was not in the wilds, and by



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Figure 93: Palazzo Mocenigo, Venice

her example she may induce more of these gentlemen [the Venetian senators] to visit England than has been the case.7

Wotton seems genuinely to have felt that ‘spirited’ and sophisticated Englishwomen could help to break down the impression Italians might have that his country was as much lacking in the kind of civility celebrated in Castiglione’s Cortegiano as in sunshine. It was, indeed, true that by virtue of their particular social position, married ladies could be of considerable assistance in representing their nation and state. In this regard, few women would make a greater impact in Venice than the Countess of Arundel (Plate D), who between 1621 and 1622 maintained a splendid household there while she vaguely supervised her sons’ Catholic education in Padua. Her rented residences, the Palazzo Mocenigo and then the Palazzo Giustinian, both on the Grand Canal, were frequented by, amongst others, the Papal Nuncio, the Emperor’s Secretary and the unfortunate former ambassador to England, Antonio Foscarini, who during the Countess’s stay was wrongly condemned for treason and executed (Figure 93). This list of guests gave ill-wishers an opportunity to allege that the Countess had facilitated treasonable discourse. Lady Arundel, however, dealt with the rumours headon by demanding an audience at the Doge’s Palace, with a discomfited Wotton in attendance. The Doge and Senate encountered the Countess once more when she hounded Tizianello, after he had become one of the first of a

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number of Italian painters and sculptors to resist (in the tradition of Benvenuto Cellini) an opportunity to work in early Stuart England, among them Pietro Tacca, Guercino, Francesco Albani and Carlo Maratti.8 Tizianello appears to have been alarmed at the prospect of having to follow Lady Arundel to Madrid, from where she intended to chaperone the Infanta on her assumed journey to England. Tizianello had already taken some payment from Lady Arundel, and the Doge and Senate promptly ordered the arrest of the defaulting painter.9 The formidable Countess would undoubtedly have created a stir in Madrid, and if she had included Italian artists or indeed retained Van Dyck in her entourage the benefits of the Arundels’ patronage that were felt in England far beyond Arundel House would have been still greater. But James I and Buckingham, not least wishing to prevent the return of Charles with his bride from taking on the appearance of a Catholic bandwagon, refused the Countess permission to proceed; then, in any case, tragedy struck in the form of the smallpox that killed the Arundels’ eldest son, James, Lord Maltravers, in Ghent.10 Arundel abandoned his collaboration with Inigo Jones in preparing for the Infanta’s reception in Southampton and London, and in great distress rushed off with a physician too late to save his son and heir. Lady Arundel may meanwhile have assisted in the first stages of the greatest collecting coup of the century by drawing attention to the increasing availability of the treasures of Mantua during the decade of decline which culminated in its sacking by Habsburg troops in 1630.11 Less well known is the contribution made to Anglo-Venetian relations by Anne, Lady Carleton, whose advice Carleton clearly valued.12 She seemed to succeed in captivating her husband’s Italian contacts, albeit falling out with at least two members of the ambassadorial household, the ambitious Isaac Wake and volatile Thomas Carew, not to mention her sister-in-law, Alice Carleton. When the defecting Archbishop of Spalato, Marc’Antonio de Dominis, reached The Hague in 1616, he was welcomed by the Carletons, who had befriended him previously in Venice, and it was Lady Carleton who treated the corpulent prelate to her panatelle alla veneziana, while Sir Dudley took him to have his portrait painted by Michiel van Miereveldt, with whom the Carletons were friendly and whom the English, when in Holland, favoured in much the same way as they did Domenico Tintoretto when in Venice.13 Though Wotton and Cranborne parted company after the Palmanova trip, they were soon to see more of each other, for Wotton did not immediately return to Kent after quitting his post in Venice but moved to Padua, or possibly to nearby Noventa, where he had long maintained a villa. He remained there well into the New Year, and his household therefore had as much time to interact with the Cranborne–Howard group in Padua as it had previously in Venice. It must have been during this period that Belford and Dr Lister became acquainted, and more than a quarter of a century later, when Belford came to write his will, he left to Lister that essential reference work for the



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serious miniaturist, his copy of Vesalius’s Anatomy.14 There was in that gesture an obvious reference to Padua – which, as Belford must have fondly recalled, had been the place where his friendship with Lister was forged one winter long passed. Apart from the followings of Wotton and Carleton and the Cranborne– Howard party, there were others making up the English-speaking community in Padua that winter. The university always had several English students (Lister had been one of them, eight years earlier) and the current crop would soon turn out to accompany the new ambassador into Venice when he made his formal entry. There were also a few independent travellers seeking warm quarters and English-speaking company; these included Scots, such as John Achmouty of Fife, whom Chamberlain would encounter first in Padua, then in Venice and again at court in London, where he seems to have had a great reputation as a dancer, as between 1613 and 1620 he was repeatedly recruited to perform in masques alongside the likes of Prince Charles, Buckingham and Hamilton. He was, moreover, among those chosen to accompany James, Lord Hay, on his glittering embassy to Paris of 1616.15 Despite having obtained the good air of Padua, Cranborne fell dangerously ill soon after arriving. Henry Howard also felt unwell after enduring the fug of Venice, while Carleton had found it necessary to leave one of his company, Henry Mompesson, in the hands of the physicians in Padua, though he was recovered by Christmas.16 By then in his early thirties, Henry Mompesson was still something of a celebrity, as he constituted a rare success for the Jacobean ecclesiastical and civil authorities in the tussle for England’s more restless souls. In 1595, he had been one of six young men found hiding with the notorious Jesuit, Father William Baldwin, in the hold of a ship that had been intercepted in the Channel. All were bound for Spain and, more particularly, for the new English seminary at Valladolid. While Baldwin was imprisoned, John Whitgift, the then Archbishop of Canterbury, distributed the young men among various Anglican divines for their reconversion. All managed to slip away except for the youngest, Mompesson, who subsequently conformed. Whether or not Mompesson remained a discreet Catholic thereafter is unclear – if this and nothing worse had been the case, it would not have troubled Carleton, who had probably known of Tobie Matthew’s conversion almost from the beginning and, to a large extent, had kept it to himself. What is clear is that, 15 years on, Mompesson was still within the fold and sufficiently well regarded to be accepted into an ambassadorial entourage. Dr Lister kept Carleton informed of Cranborne’s condition, writing to him every Friday. On 14 December, he reported that Cranborne’s sickness was lingering on, week after week, and that the outcome was still doubtful.17 He added that he had written truly to Salisbury, by which he meant he had not concealed the danger his son was in, though he remained hopeful.

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This may have been the ‘accompt of my lord your son from Doctor Lister’ which Wotton mentioned was being sent in the same post as his own letter of 10 December. By the following Tuesday, Lister felt it necessary to send another message to Carleton, informing him that Cranborne was improving too slowly for him to return immediately to England as he now desired.18 Lister foresaw, however, that as soon as Cranborne was able to travel, he would insist on curtailing his tour. His purpose in writing, therefore, was to ask the ambassador to write as if instructed by Salisbury, conveying his father’s wish that he should not leave his tour unfinished, but should press on to visit Florence and other places. In the regular Friday letter that followed, Lister was able to write in terms of a recovery, though a tedious one.19 Cranborne was suffering, according to the doctor, from a slow fever from which he was not improving as fast as could be wished. One suspects that today such a malaise would be diagnosed as a depressive illness. Lister’s stratagem, though, had failed even before it could be tried – there was ‘no crossing his desire’ to return home and so Lister was sending back Carleton’s letter unread. A week later, Lister again revealed how difficult it was to present Cranborne with any unwelcome news, confessing he had not yet ventured to show him recently arrived letters from his father for fear that he would become agitated and suffer a relapse.20 These letters must have been written before Salisbury learned that his son’s life was thought to be in danger, and if at all like his previous missives would have been the usual mix of instruction and admonition. Cranborne was now somewhat better, but still determined to go no further into Italy. Then, Carleton arrived – he had ‘stolen away’ from Venice to see Cranborne for himself and later informed Salisbury that, just as Lister had reported, he found the Viscount physically improved though insistent upon curtailing his tour.21 Assuming he still intended to visit Florence, the Grand Duke of Tuscany offered to facilitate Cranborne’s journey via Bologna.22 The significance of this lay in the fact that the quickest and easiest route to Florence from Padua was through Ferrara and Bologna, though both cities lay within the Papal States, which were excluded from the licence to travel. By travelling with Florentine accreditation, maybe even escorts, Cranborne’s company would have been left unmolested by the Inquisition, unlike that of Lord Wentworth, whose tutor, Edward Lichfield, had been arrested and taken to prison in Bologna. Given Cranborne’s immovability, at least in any southerly direction, the offer had to be declined, but with the excuse that Salisbury had instructed his son not to incur any foreign obligations. The Grand Duke’s offer was more than mere courtesy, for although it would in any case have been prudent to seek the goodwill of the son and heir of England’s most powerful minister, the Tuscan court was at that moment planning to propose a marriage match between Henry, Prince of Wales, and the Grand Duke’s sister. Salisbury was already known to look favourably on a Tuscan match, and the visit of his son,



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who was known to have good access to the Prince, would have been seen by the Florentines as wholly desirable.23 On recovering, however, Cranborne confirmed his decision to curtail his tour, long since having lost all desire to reach Tuscany. The possibility that he could play a part in the dynastic manoeuvrings of states was no more alluring to the obdurate young Viscount than related aesthetic pleasures, such as viewing the Cappella dei Principi recommended by his uncle, or the intellectual enrichment promised him in Florence. Cranborne had finally and emphatically signalled his limitations, at which Finet and Dr Lister could only have been saddened. Except for what could be learned en route home to England, his continental education was now effectively over, as was the dream that he might carry some of the greatness of his father and grandfather. His indolence might have been excused by his weak physical condition but for the fact that he became his normal self as soon as he began to ride homeward, which tends to confirm a suspicion that neurotic anxiety beyond mere melancholy was what had ailed him. His actions are in marked contrast to those of his cousin, Lord Roos, who, though decidedly unstable, could show himself to be astute and calculating. When the restless Roos visited Florence in November 1612, like Harington four years earlier and with an AngloTuscan alliance in mind, he sent off a detailed report to Prince Henry and, in a private letter dispatched at the same time, attempted to influence the outcome further by setting the Prince’s closest attendant, Sir David Murray of Gorthy, against another officer of the household. His efforts were wasted, however, as Henry had just died.24 Cranborne’s winter malaise had required the ministrations of Padua’s best physicians, apothecaries and surgeons (in that regard he could not have fallen sick in a better place). Finet disbursed £87 on medical fees alone and also paid £36 13s 4d for a silver ewer and basin ‘to bestow on ye gentleman of the house where my Lord lay at Padoa during his sickness’.25 He left Padua on 14 February 1611, but not before paying one last visit to Venice. For whatever reason, Cranborne chose not to record this return in his diary, but it is apparent in Carleton’s precise dating of the sequence of his departure: My Lord Cranbourne went from hence [i.e. Venice] on Friday last [11 February], and on Monday [14 February] parted from Padua, with purpose to go by Trent, Augusta, and Franckfort, and so to you in Holland […] Mr Henry Howard, who came with him out of England stays here to see somewhat more of Italy.26

The omission of this excursion in Cranborne’s journal is curious, but what drew the hitherto lethargic Viscount back, setting aside any obligation he might have felt to take leave of his hosts, was a spectacular entertainment event, the Carnival, which that year was also attended by the convert ‘Prince

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of Morocco’, Muley Xeque, living in exile (and some style) at Vigevano, near Milan.27 Costumes and masks were permitted from the Feast of S. Stefano (26 December) until the day before Lent, but the revelry was always at its peak in the second week of February. Carleton wrote to Trumbull, the Resident in Brussels: My house has been full of company, my L. of Cranborne with his train being with me to see the Carnival and to recruit28 after his long sickness at Padua. In ten days he will set out for England through Germany, and afterwards by Brussels or Holland.29

Admitting he too had been ‘busied with carneval Sports’, Carleton claimed not to have been impressed with the occasion, disapppointed that the beauty of the ladies was concealed behind their masks: which though they here much magnifye with superlative Commendations of bellissimo spasso, to our poore Tramontaine Judgements, it was le plus pouvre passetemps du monde: Though the Libertye be somewhat to the poore Wenches, (who are kept like Birds in a Cage all the Year besydes,) to rove and raunge about the streets at Pleasure: But so long as they were hoodwinked like Hawkes, there was small Contentment to the Spectators.30

As Finet later became one of the principal organizers of the revelry (and foolery) at James I’s Court, it seems likely that he assisted in Cranborne’s participation in the Carnival since it marked the turning point of his tour at which he would take leave of his companion hitherto, the more intrepid Henry Howard.31

chapter 11

OUT OF ITALY

Remaining in Venice, Chamberlain wrote to Winwood at The Hague some days after Cranborne’s departure: And I doubt you will not be able to hold him long, beeing caried away not only velis et remis (as they say) but even upon wings of earnest desire, as well as to satisfy others as himselfe that attend him in great devotion, as redditum postliminio, and restored almost from death to life.1

Cranborne’s party did set off at a brisk pace, reaching Bassano del Grappa via Cittadella on the first night. From there they followed the course of the River Brenta, which meandered between mountains. They observed an inaccessible fortress on a crag and passed through Primolano before reaching Borgo Valsungarno on 15 February. This valley led to Trento, famous as the seat, from 1545 to 1564, of the General Council that effectively planned the Counter-Reformation. Cranborne noted the palace, which was then occupied by the third of four consecutive prince-bishops of the Madruzzo dynasty.2 The party chose not to rest here, but to continue northward along the Adige to Lavis (16 February). During the following few days, the route to the Brenner Pass, via Bolzano, Brixen and Sterzing, elicited little comment from Cranborne other than some remarks on the Alpine scenery. It should not, however, be inferred from this that all instruction had ceased and that tutors and tutee were unaware that they were following a route into and out of Italy that had been of immense strategic importance since antiquity. In Sterzing they would have trotted past a Roman votive inscription mounted on the exterior wall of the church above a tablet explaining that, having been found there in 1497, it had been set up by Emperor Maximilian I.3 Whether they entirely missed it, or saw it but were defeated by the Gothic miniscule, the relative lack of new insights on antiquity and architecture in Cranborne’s Italian journal compared to his earlier French journal may be attributed to the absence of Inigo Jones’s engaging pedantry rather than to any change of didactic priorities, though some things, such as the primacy of Palladio, had clearly stuck. Once through the Pass, they made for Innsbruck,

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Figure 94: Hofkirche, Innsbruck

reaching it on 20 February. Cranborne noted it was where the court of the Archduke was normally to be found, but it seems that Archduke Maximilian was not then in residence. The party satisfied itself with a visit to the Hofkirche, where Cranborne appears only partly to have comprehended what he saw (Figure 94). The church was constructed principally in order to house an immense memorial to the Emperor Maximilian I (1459–1519), begun in 1553 but only completed in 1584. A suprematist statement of the continuity of Habsburg Imperial rule, the cenotaph, occupying a central position in the nave, is surrounded by 28 greater-than-life-size statues – cast at different times throughout the first half of the sixteenth century by several different sculptors – of a slightly bizarre selection of Maximilian’s ancestors, relatives and role models. Along with Michelangelo’s tomb project for Julius II, it was the inspiration for Henry VIII’s tomb, which, had it been achieved, would have boasted 142 life-size statues.4 Cranborne begins, however, by noting ‘two marble



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tombs’ – which can only have been those of Archduke Ferdinand II and his commoner wife, Philippine Welser – that occupy the two niches in the Silver Chapel.5 He then refers to the bronze statues in the nave, ‘very well made in the old [style]’ – which suggests his difficulty in distinguishing between medieval subjects executed with Renaissance grace and the merely Gothic.6 Accurately recording the number of statues, he identifies three Frenchmen among them; two correctly – Clovis, King of the Franks, and Godfrey of Boulogne, King of Jerusalem – and one incorrectly, as Louis XI. In doing so, he probably mistook this statue of Duke Leopold III, the Saint, for France’s saint-king (who was actually Louis IX). Cranborne does not name the rest, being ‘of the House of Austria, emperors as well as others’, and so misses the somewhat surprising presence of King Arthur, cast by Peter Vischer of Nuremberg in 1513 from a preparatory drawing attributed to Albrecht Dürer. This would surely have interested the English party, especially as Arthurian mythology was at the time featuring strongly in the nascent court culture of Henry, Prince of Wales. Wilfully, one suspects, Cranborne ignores that which all the statues were in solemn attendance upon: the massive, relief-decorated memorial – strictly a cenotaph and not a tomb, as the Emperor’s body was interred at Wiener Neustadt. Although his tutors, assisted no doubt by their hosts in Innsbruck, had again found for Cranborne a site of great significance, it would seem that reluctance to be impressed by the Habsburgs prevented him from fully appreciating this mighty, sculptural statement within the Hofkirche. After leaving Innsbruck, passing through the Scharnitz Pass and making night stops at Mittenwald and Schongau, the party arrived at Augsburg on 23 February. There, Cranborne and his companions rested for a full day, not leaving until the morning of the 25th; time enough for Cranborne to be charmed by this greatest of Lutheran cities, especially by its ‘beautiful boulevards’, even though the great civic works of Elias Holl, the Stadtwerkmeister appointed in 1602, would only reach their culmination with the construction of the Golden Hall (begun 1615; destroyed 1944) (Figure 95).7 Here, he saw – if not with prescience, then certainly with some acuity – the precariousness of Augsburg’s position: an Imperial Free City, effectively a republic (as he observed), that had long since thrown off the control of its Catholic bishop; yet its Catholic churches, though outnumbered by Lutheran ones, had never been stripped bare and still retained their full, glorious ornament.8 Its citizenry were sufficiently apprehensive to maintain a permanent force under arms. When, however, 18 years later and well into the Thirty Years’ War, Augsburg would come under threat of attack, its forces would lay down their arms without a fight, Protestant worship would be banned and eight thousand Lutherans would be driven into exile.9 Imperial authority in Germany, as exercised by the Emperor Ferdinand, would thus reach its highest point since the time of Charles V. In the same year, 1629,

Figure 95: Lucas Kilian, Elias Holl, city architect of Augsburg, displaying an illustration of his new town hall, engraving, 1619



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that other great bastion of Protestant independence, La Rochelle, also fell. Cranborne had inspected them both, and as one of the main themes of his Finet-led tours appears to have been the fragility of humankind, from fortifications to entire states, when the news reached the 2nd Earl of Salisbury at Hatfield House, he may not have been surprised. On the road a few miles north of Augsburg, the company of Englishmen crossed the Danube over a wooden bridge and rode on to another Free City, Donauwörth – a place-name now and forever associated with the early signs of instability before the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War. The potential consequences of the kind of tensions Cranborne noticed at Augsburg had already been realized in Donauwörth. Here, in 1606 and 1607, Lutheran mobs had intimidated the Catholics, obstructed their processions and defied the Imperial Commissioner sent to restore order. On the Emperor’s authority, Maximilian of Bavaria had, in December 1607, pacified the city with his soldiers and 18 months later he had been granted it for his trouble. Protestant worship was now banned and those who would not conform had gone into exile. Cranborne was apprised of all this as he rode through. Three miles on, he was able to admire the ‘beautiful and great’ twelfth-century Cistercian Abbey of Kaisheim.10 It had been greatly adorned by an abbot, Georg Kaster, a century earlier, who had employed Hans Holbein the Elder to paint the altarpiece (now in the Alte Pinakothek, Munich) and carry out other work. A league further on, he reached Monheim, ‘a miserable little town’ where the party took rest.11 A further two days’ travel through pine forests brought Cranborne to another of the Imperial Free Cities, Nuremberg, which appeared to Cranborne to be the grandest of them all, well populated, prosperous and entirely Lutheran (Figure 96). He marvelled at the many bridges spanning the Pegnitz river and, as in La Rochelle and Venice, he visited the great Arsenal, which he described as ‘un de beaux d’Allemagne’.12 Like Augsburg, Nuremberg warranted a full day’s sightseeing and, therefore, having arrived on a Sunday, the company did not depart until the morning of Tuesday, 1 March. Now heading northwest, they reached Würzburg in two days. Both the bridge over the River Main and the castle there were declared to be beautiful – Cranborne did not on this occasion elaborate, although there was much to say about this glorious showpiece of the Counter-Reformation. He felt a more pressing need to set down (no doubt suggestive of disapproval) the curious status of the driving force behind the revival and beautification of the city, Julius Echter von Mespelbrunn, the Bishop of Würzburg, who for almost forty years had ruled as both temporal and spiritual ruler and was also a prince of the Empire.13 The English party showed no inclination to linger and explore, and remained in ignorance of the new university and the characteristic ‘Julius style’ of decoration, which had spread throughout the diocese. On the way out of Würzburg they passed ‘the College of the

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Figure 96: Wenceslaus Hollar, The Approach to Nuremberg, etching, 1636

Jesuits’ and ‘a monastery founded in favour of the Scots’, presumably St James’s Abbey, founded as such in the twelfth century and restored as a specifically Scottish institution at the request of John Whyte, abbot of the Scottish Monastery at Ratisbon, in 1595. Cranborne seemed to prefer the local countryside and ‘all this day [2 May] passed through a very beautiful land’.14 On Friday 4 March, Cranborne’s company reached Frankfurt am Main, yet another Imperial Free City, which the diarist decided was certainly a major town but not as beautiful as either Nuremberg or Augsburg. He was informed it had little to interest a visitor outside of the times of the great Mart, which was held every spring and autumn.15 Unfortunately, they had arrived somewhat too early for the first Mart of the year and so just failed to witness another of Europe’s great international concourses. Unlike Venice’s Carnival, the Mart was essentially a commercial occasion, but it attracted many besides merchants, including gentlemen-scholars and university men drawn to the bookstalls and freshly stocked bookshops that gave (and still give)



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the Frankfurt Mart some of its special character.16 Though no bibliophile, Cranborne would have been informed of Frankfurt’s reputation, not least because book buying was a perennial activity in his father’s household. When Wotton had made his late but inevitable offer of service to the new regime from Venice in May 1603, he mentioned to Robert Cecil that he would be found at Frankfurt the following September – at the time of the Mart – where Cecil should send instructions if he desired Wotton to serve him in any way. A less subtle supplicant would have been glad to receive any instruction at all but Wotton enhanced his perceived usefulness by placing in Cecil’s mind the possibility of obtaining a few hard-to-find titles or other luxury items. In subsequent years, he may well have spoken of Frankfurt and recommended it while his guests in Venice discussed their route home. That he encouraged Thomas Coryate to make such a visit in 1608 is still more likely, even though Coryate makes out that he made a snap decision to go to Frankfurt am Main when he heard that the second of the Marts that year had just begun. Amid all the diversions and the press of the crowds, Coryate, if he is to be believed, happened across an old servant of his father’s, Thomas Stockfield, who had since made his fortune in Germany as a goldsmith. Certainly not of any great surprise to Coryate at this Frankfurt Mart would have been his sighting of Robert, 3rd Earl of Essex, who was nearing the end of his two-year tour. Then aged 17 and already married to a daughter of Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk (as Cranborne would soon be also), Essex had spent most of his time abroad in France, rather less in Switzerland and Upper Germany, but curiously none at all in Italy – by the sound of it, a disdainfully Protestant tour.17 When Cranborne’s company left Frankfurt, it proceeded briskly by boat, first down the Main, and then the Rhine, to reach Cologne on 8 March 1611. A quarter of a century later, the Earl of Arundel would make similar river voyages between Cologne and Frankfurt as part of the outward and return journeys of his embassy to Vienna to negotiate with the Emperor for the restitution of the Palatinate and Frederick of Bohemia’s forfeited electoral dignity.18 It was while passing through Cologne in May 1636 that Arundel took into his service the Bohemian artist, Wenzel Hollar, afterwards informing his principal art agent, the Reverend William Petty: ‘I have one Hollarse wth me, whoe drawes and eches in strong water quickely, and wth a pretty spiritte.’19 Hollar’s initial task would be to create a visual record of Arundel’s embassy, initially by making rough sketches in pencil, pen or silverpoint and then, when time allowed, executing more finished studies in watercolours. These views, as with others done during Hollar’s immediately preceding Cologne period (1629–36), show from a safe distance a deceptively serene landscape, much like that seen by the English party that travelled the same way in 1611.

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Cologne, Cranborne noted, was another Imperial Free City, though one that was exclusively Catholic; a fact which seems to have brought his scepticism to the fore again. Apart from three or four great squares, he recorded there was nothing of any greatness to see, apart from the churches: ‘full, as they say, of an infinity of relics’. Among these he was surely told the legend of the eleven hundred (some said eleven thousand) English virgins, martyred with St Ursula in ad 640, whose relics were kept in the twelfth-century church dedicated to that saint – an inauspicious beginning, if true, to English travels on the Continent. Cologne Cathedral was described as ‘a great temple, extremely beautiful, even though it still hasn’t been finished, wherein is the sepulchre of the Three Kings, or so is believed by the most simple’.20 By now, the dismissive comment, a kind of combined protection against the possible effects of whatever shrine was being considered and proclamation of unwavering Protestantism, could be effortlessly rolled out of Cranborne’s journalistic armoury.21 The fact remains, however, that Cranborne and his companions went into the cathedral and saw and admired – if only for its astounding artistry and antiquity – the largest and possibly most ornate reliquary in the Western Church; its carved, gilded and bejewelled sarcophagus an early thirteenthcentury creation by Nicholas of Verdun. A change of boats was made the following day, Wednesday, 9 March, in order to continue down the Rhine. Shortly before reaching Düsseldorf, Cranborne noted the town of Nuess on the opposite bank, long held for security by the Elector-Archbishop of Cologne. The boats put in at Düsseldorf, the old seat of the disputed territory of Jülich-Kleve. Fortunately, the English party had entered this region between the great crises of 1609–10 and 1614 but, above and below Cologne, they still had to pass armed vessels belonging to two of the claimants, the Elector of Brandenburg and the Duke of Pfalz-Neuburg, enforcing their assumed rights to levy dues on river traffic. At Düsseldorf, Cranborne was well received by Margrave Ernst, younger brother and representative of one of the claimants, Johann Sigismund, Elector of Brandenburg. Whereas the Elector converted from Lutheranism to Calvinism only in 1613, in order to show his inclination to side with the Palatinate and the Dutch, his brother had fostered evangelical Protestantism ever since arriving in the duchy; first, by taking communion in Düsseldorf at Whitsuntide, 1610, then by arranging a general Synod for the duchy the following September. Pfalz-Neuberg, meanwhile, sponsored a Lutheran Synod in the disputed territory and the Duke later responded to the Elector’s conversion by converting to Catholicism. In the few waking hours Cranborne spent in Düsseldorf he can only have gained a very general idea of the huge struggle, even while the peace held, that his host was engaged in. This passing company of Englishmen had, however, gravitated naturally to the Brandenburgers, for they knew that



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Margrave Ernst, apart from being religiously sound, was related, if not by blood then by marriage alliances, to the British-Danish royal family.22 They did not question whether Brandenburg was in the right over Jülich-Kleve and felt instinctively that when, in the inevitable cataclysm, the battle lines came to be drawn they would find themselves on the same side. Unfortunately, the Stuarts would never be able to think in the same uncomplicated way as the majority of their subjects. Shortly after the departure of the English visitors, Margrave Ernst would transfer his court to Kleve, making a great show of taking with him Dr Wilhelm Stephani, who had been the ‘Präses’ or principal preacher at the recent Synod, as his new court chaplain. But the Margrave’s influence was to be brief, as he died, aged 30, only two years after Cranborne met him.23 The next day, they passed Kaiserswert, which Cranborne recorded as being ‘named the Tower of Caesar’, as if not convinced it could be so ancient.24 He reported in his journal that it was another of the Archbishop of Cologne’s strongholds, holding a garrison of 800 soldiers. The tension in this region must have been palpable to the travellers. The bewildering patchwork of fiefdoms continued to unfold before Cranborne. He spent the next night at Wesel, which, he made note, was actually part of the Duchy of Guelders though it took on all the airs of a Free City. It was the city from which the evangelizing preacher Stephani hailed and, while still there, he had helped bring the townspeople and Dutch residents together within a unified church.25 Wesel, in fact, had for more than half a century been known to the English as a refuge for Protestants: in 1555, the old Lord Treasurer Burghley’s ‘good friend’, the late Peregrine Bertie, 13th Lord Willoughby de Eresby, had been born there and, appropriately, given the name of a traveller (Lat. peregrinus) by his parents.26 Ben Jonson may have had him in mind when he used the name for the relatively sophisticated traveller in Volpone (1606). Cranborne found Wesel full of industry, quite grand and, predictably, well fortified. Just before coming to it, they passed Rheinberg, where the river was flanked on both sides by fortifications and where barges had to pay imposts. As recently as 1606, Rheinberg had been besieged and taken by the Spanish, led by the renowned general, Ambrogio Spínola, and the Comte de Bucquoy. Further downstream, where the Rhine and the Waal separated, they passed a ‘beautiful fortress’27 – it is both notable and interesting how readily Cranborne and his contemporaries would see a certain beauty in military architecture – built and held by the Dutch and only accessible by boat. This was, in fact, the famous Schenkenschanz, which Cranborne remembered as ‘Schin skons’ (Figure 97).28 Indeed, ‘sconce’ was the English equivalent of the Dutch word ‘schans’: the typical fort of the age, characterized by massive, star-shaped earthworks, that had become familiar to English soldiers serving in the Netherlands over the previous 30 years and to

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travellers passing through.29 We are not told whether the party put in to make an inspection, but to sail straight past would have been contrary to its normal assiduousness, for Schenkenschanz was barely less significant strategically than Palmanova, to which Cranborne, Sir John Harington and probably Jones had made lengthy excursions from Venice. The fortress had been constructed by Maarten Schenken (hence its name), a client of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, who had rewarded him with a gold chain worth 2,000 florins soon after its completion in 1586.30 Only the previous July, another generalissimo, Cranborne’s admired cousin, Sir Edward Cecil, at the head of 4,000 English soldiers, had arrived at Schenkenschanz, chosen as the mustering point by Maurits of Nassau for his multi-national force of 13,000 foot and 3,000 horse prior to their march on Jülich. This was the campaign and great siege in which Cranborne had wished to take part. Arriving at the now-quiet location, from where phalanxes of English pikemen and musketeers led by banners and drums had so recently marched away, must have evoked feelings of regret in the young, reluctantly non-combatant tourist.31



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Figure 97: Claes Jansz. Visscher, Schenkenschanz, etching, c.1630

At this point, more or less on the borders of the United Provinces, had they steered their boats into the Waal, they would then have sailed past Nijmegen and on into the saltier waters around the islands of Zeeland. That would have been a quicker route to England but by their keeping to the Rhine it seems that Cranborne was not as desperate to reach home as Carleton had predicted to Winwood. There may now have been an intention within the party to fill out the last days of the tour as much as possible, given that it had failed miserably to progress beyond Padua. By taking the more northerly channel, the party was committing itself to at least reach Amsterdam. Another day’s travel left them short of any substantial habitation and they passed a fairly miserable night in a poor house. Mercifully, it did not take long the following morning to reach Arnhem, which was found to be an attractive place.32 Here, the company took to the roads once more, this time riding in what Cranborne calls ‘wretched waggons’, which they were assured was the usual form of conveyance in those parts.33 They managed seven leagues, jolting up to the walls of Utrecht after dark, whereupon the watch obligingly opened

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the city gates to let them in. Cranborne and company rested on Sunday and the Viscount was later able to sum up succinctly and accurately Utrecht’s unusual position within the power structure of the United Provinces (Figure 98). He had gleaned that it was a provincial capital, undoubtedly great, but very turbulent and resentful of the strong garrison provided by the Province of Holland. Indeed, though Utrecht had its internal divisions, if anything united its inhabitants it was their distaste for Holland and its radical Calvinism.34 Long after the Dutch Revolt had got underway, Utrecht retained a Catholic bishop and nurtured its own largely Catholic, Caravaggio-inspired school of painters, though the artistic life of the city and surrounding province was maintained by Catholics, Remonstrants and Calvinists alike. Next, Cranborne took a boat to Amsterdam, which provided him with the most impressive urban panorama he had seen since leaving Nuremberg (Figure 99). He acknowledged it to be one of the greatest mercantile centres in Europe – a judgement he could reasonably make having now seen for himself Paris, Marseille, Venice and the principal Imperial Free Cities, not to mention London. He also noted the large number of ships and described it as a great, free port for all sorts of nations and religions, except for that of the Catholics, who were not permitted services.35 This arrangement seems to have fitted perfectly into Cranborne’s way of thinking. At the house of the Dutch East India Company, the party viewed impressive quantities of spices. The sight and fragrance of cloves, nutmeg and other spices by the case-load would have provided a lasting reminder of the hugely lucrative Dutch spice trade, allowing some comprehension of what was at stake in the vicious rivalry between the English and Dutch factors already apparent in the Banda Islands, which would culminate in the Amboyna Massacre of 1623 (thereafter to much exercise Carleton as ambassador at The Hague). Cranborne decided that Amsterdam was, in many ways, like another Venice36 – a fairly conventional analogy for the time, as, besides the obvious shipping and trade similarities, Amsterdam was even more evidently a city of canals and fine waterside architecture than it is today. Leaving Amsterdam, Cranborne and companions diligently visited the other major towns of the United Provinces, even though they had to continue putting up with the discomfort of the lumbering Dutch wagons. They pushed westward, all but reaching the North Sea, to Haarlem, duly pronounced to be another ‘beautiful town’ and noted as the old seat of the Counts of Holland; then southward, to the university town of Leiden, also ‘beautiful’ and noted especially for being well built and provided with a good number of canals; then further southward to The Hague, where the court was located. It was found to be an undefinable oddity; not strictly speaking a town, mused Cranborne, because it had no walls, though it had a large number of fine houses occupied by the deputies of the States-General and by ambassadors of other countries.



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Figure 98: Anthonie Waterloo, View of Utrecht, with the Mariakerk, black chalk with grey wash, mid-seventeeth century, c.1650

Here, Cranborne was received by the great Stadtholder, Maurits of Nassau, who responded graciously when this slight and wan-looking English lord offered his services (Figure 100). Perhaps in the same presence chamber, his father, Robert Cecil, had witnessed a meeting in 1588 between Peregrine, Lord Willoughby, and a boorish, 21-year-old Maurits, judging him then: ‘[one] in whom there is neither outward appearance of any noble mind nor inward virtue; in my life I never saw a worse behaviour except it were one that lately came from school’.37 When, many months previously, Cranborne had made his way along the Loire Valley, his route followed ground once covered by his father. Now, it did

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so again, Robert Cecil having travelled in the opposite direction, northward, to The Hague. Cranborne passed through Delft, then Rotterdam, both duly added to his list of ‘belles villes’. His father had thought likewise, commenting that Delft was ‘the finest built town that ever I saw’.38 At Rotterdam, Cranborne recorded nothing apart from the statue of Erasmus in the square and yet, with this, as so often, his guides had succeeded in bringing him to a site that was both instructive and symbolic. The statue that Cranborne and his companions viewed was not the famous bronze statue by Hendrick de Keyser (another decade would pass before its installation in the Grote Kerk Plein), but its predecessor, a blue freestone statue, erected in 1557 to replace an even earlier wooden one. It had been toppled when Spanish soldiers, led by Comte de Bossu, marched into Rotterdam in April 1572, only for it to be re-erected by the citizenry at the first opportunity. It stood, therefore, not only as a memorial to Rotterdam’s most famous son, but also as a symbol of an unsuppressible Dutch desire for independence.39 Erasmus remained a controversial figure for the Dutch – adored by the Remonstrants and despised by the Calvinist Contra-Remonstrants – but Cranborne, by acknowledging Erasmus to have been a ‘great personage’, is unlikely thereby to have been signalling his sympathies with the Remonstrants or even his awareness that Rotterdam was governed by regents whose prime concern was to maintain order and prosperity rather than to engage in or foment religious controversy.



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Figure 99: François van den Hoeye, View of Amsterdam from the river, etching, c.1620

From Rotterdam, the English party could have taken the westward channel towards Brill, one of the English ‘cautionary towns’, which had been governed in the 1590s by Cranborne’s uncle, Thomas Cecil, since created Earl of Exeter. The alternative was the eastward channel leading towards Dort (Dordrecht) and it was the latter course that, after dinner, the party took, courtesy of one of Prince Maurits’s ships. Of all the Dutch towns, Cranborne seemed to appreciate Dort the most, calling it the most ancient and among the best built, and noting it possessed two harbours as well as beautiful canals. Before the end of the decade the Synod held there would confirm the triumph of the Contra-Remonstrants, the overall military control of Maurits of Nassau, and the vulnerability of Johan van Oldenbarneveldt, leader of the Amsterdam regents, who, in 1619, would be tried for treason and executed. The next two days proved uncomfortable for Cranborne’s party, for their ship had to battle against headwinds to make its way south through the islands of Zeeland. Each night, the crew succeeded in finding a haven and the passengers availed themselves of whatever poor shelter there was. Eventually, the ship reached the shores of Walcheren at the mouth of the Scheldt, where the English passengers not unwillingly disembarked, then traipsed a league inland to reach Middelburg. Their hike took them through one of the most fertile and intensively cultivated places in Europe,

Figure 100: Michiel Jansz. van Miereveldt, Maurits of Nassau, oil on panel, 1625



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the ‘garden’ of Walcheren, which may already have been planted with crop species from the New World. Since the establishment by treaty of an English garrison on the island in 1572 to occupy Flushing (Vlissingen) and Rammekens, English appreciation of the potential of horticulture had greatly increased.40 Perhaps invigorated by some physical exercise and intrigued by the regimented field crops and the many orchards, all just coming into leaf, Cranborne arrived at Middelburg in good humour, observing how populous the town was and, yet again, declaring this town to be ‘belle’. Later in the year, the Cecils’ head gardener, John Tradescant the Elder, would be sent over to Walcheren to buy rare plants for Hatfield (Figure 101).41 The following day, the party made the short journey across the island to Flushing, one of the Cautionary Towns – the others being Rammekens, an adjacent fort, and Brill (Brielle), which was more distant (Figure 102). These were held by the English under the 1585 Treaty of Nonsuch, and would remain so until 1616. At Flushing, Cranborne inspected the defences and noted their strength on both the landward and seaward sides.42 The evening must have been spent in the company of the garrison officers and the following morning the party took another ship that was about to sail up the mouth of the Scheldt, into the territory of the Archdukes and then all the way to ‘Anvers’ (Antwerp). At the forefront of Cranborne’s mind could only have been the recent ravages of war and the impending threat of renewed hostilities. They passed Lillo, the last Dutch fortress on the Scheldt, which faced similar ‘schans’, or sconce-type bastions, belonging to the Spanish Netherlands lining the river approach to Antwerp. With a hint of regret, Cranborne noted that Antwerp was held to be among the most beautiful of towns, but that it was no longer the Antwerp of old, as its commerce had declined so much. With this, he echoed the comments his father had made 23 years earlier.43 Once they were in Antwerp, they again found the fortifications to be of greatest interest, as much for their visual impressiveness as for their place on the military map of Europe. The party walked the walls, taking the opportunity to admire the city below, and visited the Citadel, which Cranborne thought to be much like that at Turin, which he had seen almost six months earlier. On Friday 25th they dined at Malines (Mechlin), seat of the parliament of Brabant, a large town ‘more full of priests than other people’.44 The same day they reached Brussels and the court of the Archdukes, who, we learn (though not from Cranborne), provided lodging. The following Sunday, Cranborne, probably already flattered, was granted an audience by the Archdukes. Now, for the first time, he encountered Habsburgs in the flesh and was treated with great courtesy and generosity, though he does not confide the full extent of this in his journal. Rather, it is in the report of the Venetian ambassador

Figure 101: Wenceslaus Hollar, John Tradescant the Elder, etching for Musæum Tradescantianum, 1656



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in London that we read: ‘On his way back he came through Flanders, where he was lodged and highly honoured by the Archdukes, who gave him on his departure a very beautiful jewel.’45 Thereafter, the party headed back towards the coast, passing through Ghent – a formidable place, its castle crammed with Spanish troops but otherwise half deserted – and Bruges, much more pleasant and still with much evidence of its old wealth. There, the party made its final visit to a site of special interest, entering the Romanesque-Gothic Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk, where in the choir they saw the bronze, Renaissance-style tomb of Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, whose body had been reinterred in 1550, close to the equally lavish, Gothic tomb of his daughter, Mary of Burgundy; her bronze effigy lying upon black marble (Figure 103). Cranborne’s journal is imprecise and somewhat vague about this last visit; he seems inattentive, perhaps because his long tour was almost at an end. It seems all the more likely, therefore, that he and his companions entirely failed to find for themselves, or be directed to, Michelangelo’s marble Madonna and Child, which had been brought back from Florence in 1506 by two merchant brothers and placed in one of the church’s chapels. There is some slight irony in the probability that Cranborne, having failed to reach his intended destination of Florence, where he would have been directed to see the works of Michelangelo before those of any other, so nearly missed, in the unlikely setting of Bruges, his final opportunity to see a work by this then most celebrated of all artists. Neither Cranborne nor his governors may be deemed culpably unobservant on this occasion, as this sculptural work was not then well known and only the merest handful of Englishmen, had they come across it, would have recognized its exceptional quality and assigned it correctly. Among these few might have been the now-otherwiseemployed Inigo Jones, who had seen Michelangelo’s sculpture in Italy and by this time possessed Vasari’s Le Vite, which, as well as immortalizing the Italian masters and ensuring that attribution would henceforth be essential to the appraisal of works of art, presented the life and work of Michelangelo as the culmination of the Renaissance.46 Apart from a passive reference to him in Thomas Hoby’s 1549 diary, the day had yet to come when even Michelangelo’s name, let alone those of less major masters, would appear in the travel diaries and letters of Englishmen.47 After Bruges, all that there remained to do was to gain an impression of the string of heavily defended coastal ports: Ostend, Nieuport, Dunkirk and Gravelines, that led down to the French border, beyond which lay Calais, a mere four leagues distant. The party arrived there on 1 April 1611 [N.S.] and shortly thereafter embarked for England.

Figure 102: Adriaen van de Venne, Flushing, pen and ink with watercolour, c.1618; study for a print showing the arrival of the Elector Palatine and Princess Elizabeth

Figure 103: Tomb of Charles the Bold, Onze-LieveVrouwekerk, Bruges

chapter 12

COMMODITIES BY SHIP

If not at his father’s behest, then all the more to his credit, Cranborne cemented the personal relationship he had established with the Venetian Republic as soon as he reached England by visiting Marc’Antonio Correr: Viscount Cranborne, son to the Lord Treasurer, was no sooner in London than he came to see me, even before he went to see the King at Royston. He omitted nothing that could make me understand his gratitude and the memory he preserves of the favours received from your Serenity. I replied in a suitable manner, and will not fail to cultivate this friendship, as it cannot fail to be of great service to this Embassy.1

Meanwhile, Henry Howard, who recovered his enthusiasm for the tour along with his health at Padua, continued travelling in Italy and only reached Augsburg in October, at which point he set off on a different course to Paris. He eventually reached England a full year after he and Cranborne had gone their separate ways. Chamberlain announced his return: ‘Master Henry Howard arrived here out of Fraunce on Saterday, and as I heare is very gallant.’2 Chamberlain stayed in Venice until August 1611. In the following March, when back in London, he wrote to Carleton: ‘Master Finet is likewise very desirous to understand whether a letter to you with an inclosed to Tintoret came safely to your hands and what aunswer he may expect from him.’3 Three weeks later, Carleton penned a succinct reply in his newsletter: ‘I have sent Mr Finet a letter from Signor Tintorett.’4 Carleton and Chamberlain seem to have known about the matter in hand. Fortunately, more light is thrown on the business between Finet and ‘Tintoret’ by a letter written 18 months later by Isaac Wake, Carleton’s secretary, then also in London: Mr Beale maketh account to be gone within 10 dayes in which respect I must crave leave to remember your Lp. of Mr Finnet’s 2 pictures yt are in ye great portico, which I have long since promised to send him with some other commodities by his ship.5

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The reference to the ‘great portico’ may be compared to the following, written, again by Wake, to Carleton only two weeks later: ‘I have visited Mr Nyses warehouse where I have found no room to place so many books [referring to books for Carleton’s father-in-law, Sir Henry Savile] […] though […] they may be accommodated there in his porch very sufficiently.’6 If portico and porch were, in fact, the same place, the Flemish-born Protestant merchant and art dealer Daniel Nys’s involvement in the shipment of pictures to England – a business in which he was to become ever more deeply involved until his ultimate ruin – is observable some months earlier than his better-known employment in the assembly of a collection for Robert Carr, Earl of Somerset, which began in the spring of 1614 with the purchasing and packing of Jacopo Bassano’s The Creation of Animals and two histories by Veronese. Carleton had only slowly come to realize he could not afford to neglect the advantage of his position, which allowed him, as Wotton had ably demonstrated, to procure highly desirable art for powerful figures at court.7 The sea captain mentioned was Henry Beale, who sailed regularly to Venice and, in 1615, would be responsible for shipping to England 29 cases of marbles for the Earl of Somerset, while the ‘Tintoret’ referred to was undoubtedly Domenico Robusti, who had maintained both the workshop and sobriquet of his more illustrious father, Jacopo, after the latter’s death in 1594. As the correspondence strongly suggests that Finet visited the Tintoretto workshop while in Venice, it is highly likely that Cranborne and Henry Howard had also been there, though not necessarily for their portraits (Figure 104). ‘Pictures’, along with ‘tables, glasses and other things’, are, indeed, recorded as having been bought by Cranborne while in Venice, but the word could have been used to describe any kind of painting. Cranborne had been Wotton’s guest in Venice for 28 nights, within which they made their excursion to Palmanova (27–8 November [N.S.]). Finet must also have been in the city at the same time and may subsequently have made brief visits while Cranborne recuperated under the care of Dr Lister at Padua. Adding together the Venice and Padua stays, it seems clear that Finet sat for his portrait (Plate B) sometime between 1 November 1610 and 11 February 1611 [N.S.] and most likely sometime during the three weeks immediately prior to his master’s departure for Padua – that is, roughly 6–26 November 1610 [N.S.] . The party’s contact with the Venetian art market may also account for the rare set of Venetian paintings that hung in Henry, Earl of Northampton’s house at Greenwich at the time of his death in 1614. Northampton almost certainly began collecting paintings after his own youthful travels but before the first agent-procured shipment of art arrived in London from Venice. It is surely significant that of an exceptionally large collection of pictures owned by Northampton at the time of his death, only the Venetian set was left to the

Figure 104: Tintoretto’s House, Fondamenta dei Mori, Venice

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younger Henry Howard, Northampton’s favourite nephew, godson and major beneficiary. With this bequest, Northampton seems to have acknowledged his nephew’s connection with Venice, and it may have been the case that these very pictures had been purchased by him there and, having been gifted, were eventually gifted back.8 As much for its name as for the quality of its early seventeenth-century work, the studio of Domenico Tintoretto attracted foreign visitors wishing to have their portraits painted in Venice, among them, in increasing numbers, the English, as a sitting became part of the city tour as defined for their countrymen by the resident English ambassadors: first Wotton, and then Carleton. Within weeks of Finet’s sitting for Domenico Tintoretto, John Chamberlain, whose stay in the city (December 1610–August 1611) overlapped that of the Cranborne–Howard party, also went to have his portrait painted. We know this because Carleton wrote to Chamberlain after the latter had left: ‘I shall have more of yr company then you thinck having violently rob’d Tintoret of a picture of yrs he retained wch is (I assure you) a masterpeece.’9 This portrait later travelled with Carleton to The Hague, whence he wrote: Michael of Delft [the painter, Michiel Jansz. van Miereveldt] hath been with me and remembers you well by a picture of yours I have of Tintoret’s hand. My old pieces both he and others do much approve, but for the new – figulus figulum.10

The new pieces that failed to impress Miereveldt, were, presumably, contemporary Venetian works, as was the portrait of Chamberlain. Indeed, Miereveldt could never have been expected to concede the palm of honour in the matter of portraiture to Domenico Tintoretto, though the view might be taken that these portrait painters were so distanced by style and taste as to render any comparative assessment of ability all but meaningless. Carleton was content that his acquisition was by ‘Tintoret’s hand’, which for him defined it as a masterpiece, as distinct from an ‘apprentice piece’. It may have been a study canvas, routinely retained in the workshop after Chamberlain had departed with a finished version, which Domenico Tintoretto then allowed Carleton to relieve him of, knowing the sitter would not be one of his returning customers. We must also wonder whether Carleton went to the studio solely for the purpose of seeking out his friend’s portrait, or whether he had other business there. Indeed, Ridolfi states that Carleton at some point had his own portrait painted by Domenico.11 As well as being a landmark in the history of the portrayal of the English, particularly the English in Italy, John Finet’s portrait, by its very existence, informs us of his aspirations and self-image. As Cranborne’s tutor and guide, Finet was little more than a gentleman servant, so to have himself painted by Venice’s foremost portrait painter was to epitomize his ambition and self-assurance. He was now nearing 40 and, as the sandglass in his portrait



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shows, he was acutely aware of the passing of time. His thoughts would often have turned to the rewards and opportunities due to him after the many stressful months shepherding Cranborne around the Continent. As we have seen, Finet was not to be disappointed, for after returning to England he became, though for less than a year, one of Salisbury’s secretaries. Dr Lister was not forgotten either. Indeed, the pair made another, possibly their last, journey together along the Bath Road, attending their master, Salisbury, on his tortured progress in search of relief from continual pain. Salisbury chose not to wait for death but to travel, even if that meant being carried in a litter, for travelling – simply to keep on going – was an affirmation of life. He finally called Cranborne to his deathbed for an emotional farewell.12 Even the death of his great patron did not prove calamitous for Finet as he was now sufficiently qualified to slip into the post of assisting officer to the Master of Ceremonies at court, with every expectation of the reversion. Whereas Anthony Wood asserted, ‘by his wit, innocent mirth, and great skill in composing songs, he pleased James the First very much’, Chamberlain reported an occasion at Theobalds in January 1618 when Finet sang a song ‘of such scurilous and base stuffe that it put the king out of his goode humor’.13 More often than not Finet must have pleased, for Sir Anthony Weldon, in his acerbic Court of King James, states, ‘After the King supped, he would come forth to see pastimes and fooleries; in which Sir Edward Zouch, Sir George Goring, and Sir John Finit, were the cheife and Master Fools, (and surely the fooling got them more than any other’s wisdome).’14 Versatility demonstrated with courtly ‘sprezzatura’ was clearly Finet’s most valuable quality, such that his role could switch quickly from presiding over the severest formalities to leading unrestrained revelries. Though his official salary as assisting officer to the Master of Ceremonies was a nominal £10 per annum, his position brought indirect rewards, including a marriage to a rich widow and a knighthood, which he was only then able to afford.15 Finet was also able to increase his wealth from the substantial gratuities routinely received from ambassadors, and if, to maintain his place at the court of James I, he had to find ways to amuse the King after dinner, he would do so. On the accession of Charles I, Finet realized it would be necessary to cut a graver figure; hence the Finet of Finetti Philoxensis in which the mask of formality rarely slips. The office of Master of Ceremonies eventually reverted to him in 1627, whereupon his salary rose to £200 per annum.16 Whether versatility can be suggested in a portrait is questionable; what is unmistakable in Finet’s portrait, however, is a fox-like alertness suggestive of intelligence and curiosity. It is disappointing that while we have a Nicholas Lanier and an Inigo Jones, we have no portrait of Finet by Van Dyck, though the two certainly knew each other.17 One wonders how Van Dyck might have applied the languor and insouciance that typify his Caroline sitters to Finet’s image – perhaps not without difficulty, as his qualities were those of

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quick-wittedness and crisp efficiency. Such qualities are often combined with self-effacement – Finet had a fine sense of his place, was never importunate (to use a common word of the period), yet ultimately managed to attain all he could have hoped for. It may be asked to whom such a man would present his portrait – his self-defining portrait. An inscription which is contemporary with the rest of the portrait appears on a slip of paper (effectively a cartellino) lying upon the table beside Finet – it reads ‘Quanullum superest / æt: meae 38’. The actual words (curiously, four standard Latin words compounded into two) may be translated as, ‘Thus none is above/beyond’, or perhaps more loosely, ‘Thus no one is too high’. With the sandglass placed next to it, this motto seems, therefore, to be a reminder of the folly of vanity and that death is the great leveller. As the phrase, ‘Ætatis suae’ is far more often encountered on portraits of this period, the use of ‘meae’ in this case is a strong indicator that Finet not only commissioned his portrait and some of its detail, but also intended to keep it for himself. Finet’s acquaintance with art, or at least his awareness of the growing interest in collecting at court, extending to requesting works from abroad, seems to have reached his friend William Trumbull, the English Resident in Brussels, who got wind of a collection for sale during the very months that Finet was waiting for his own Venetian purchases. We know this from Finet’s responses, which, interestingly, reveal that whereas Trumbull had no contacts close to Prince Henry (whom Trumbull thought, not unreasonably, might be interested, as his passion for art was already widely known), Finet did: I imparted your note of sculpture and pictures to a gentleman of his Highness’ Chamber, who returned me the answer I send you, and will require your care for the satisfaction thereof, perhaps to no ungrateful purpose. The sooner you return your knowledge in it, the better, for such appetites of such persons must be fed while they are up. Otherwise you are checked with their own fruitless longing.18

Then, six weeks later, Finet reminds Trumbull with an even more spurious piece of cod psychology: For those rarities you write of as fit for his Highness’ notice I am called upon by the gentleman that imparted your note; so the sooner you send a resolution of them the better, while the appetite is up, which you know is lessened with overmuch expecting.19

No further correspondence has come to light suggesting that Trumbull responded to Finet’s prompts for further information and it is probable that he was dependent upon others in Brussels more expert in artistic matters. The sculptures and pictures to which Trumbull alluded may have been part



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of the great collection of Charles de Croy, 4th Duke of Aerschot. Though the latter died in June 1612 [N.S.], Trumbull resumed the role of art agent as best he could, attempting to interest the Earl of Somerset in the collection, but not before it had already been viewed in person by the Earl of Arundel. To conduct Arundel around the late Duke’s galleries, Trumbull seems to have engaged an English painter, William Smith (soon thereafter to move to Rome), and, as Howarth suggests, he may also have been responsible for introducing the leading artist, Hendrik Van Balen, to him.20

chapter 13

THE AFTERLIFE OF A PORTRAIT

The whereabouts of Finet’s portrait remained generally unknown throughout the twentieth century. In 1929 the National Portrait Gallery had resorted to purchasing a small watercolour copy of it by George Perfect Harding (1781–1853) (Figure 105).1 Nearly sixty years later, Father Loomie S.J. still found it necessary to resort to this watercolour to provide an illustration of the author for his edition of The Note Books of John Finet.2 The portrait shows an inscription giving the age of the sitter as ‘38’, which allows a calculation involving Finet’s recorded age at death that suggests the original was painted between July 1608 and July 1610. Many portraits of Englishmen were painted on home soil in this period, of which a fraction, though still a fair number, have survived four centuries. This dating alone, therefore, would be insufficient to arrest our attention, but when one takes note that this portrait has the Grand Canal in Venice as its background view, its rarity becomes apparent. This much could be told from the evidence of Harding’s watercolour, though sight of the original was much to be desired. On 28 September 1998, a portrait bearing the inscription, ‘Sr John Finet Master of the Ceremo:nies to king Iames ye 1st’, was sold by Sotheby’s, London, along with much of the contents of Noseley Hall, Leicestershire. Ascribed simply to the ‘English School’, no date for it was hazarded by the cataloguers, though it was known to have been hanging at Noseley, the seat of the Hazelrigg family, in 1797.3 It was the first oil portrait of Finet to come onto the market in living memory and a little research would have established that it was not the source for the Harding watercolour. Seven months later, however, another version appeared at auction in London (Plate B), revealing the Noseley portrait to be a distinctly inferior copy.4 This, the original portrait of Finet, had not been available to public view since it had been shown at the South Kensington Museum in April 1866 as one of 1,031 early portraits pulled in by an unprecedented trawl of Britain’s private collections for the First Special Exhibition of National Portraits.5 The enthusiasm of the lenders, however, was not matched by the critics, who decried the curators’ general lack of discrimination and cast doubt on many of the attributions. Sixty-seven were too darkened by discoloured varnish and dirt

Figure 105: George Perfect Harding, Sir John Finet, watercolour, c.1820



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even for adequate photographic reproduction, though the Finet portrait was not among them, and, for the first time, it was photographed and published. The critics of the Special Exhibition were more satisfied with the general quality of the Finet portrait than with its attribution and the identification of its sitter. George Scharf (later to be the first Director of the National Portrait Gallery) wrote no remarks against the Finet entry in his own copy of the exhibition catalogue but marked it with an ‘x’, which, according to his personal system of noughts, crosses and struck-through crosses, signified his positive estimation of its ‘qualities or importance’. The Athenæum, to its credit, was scornful of the uninspired catalogue attribution to Cornelius Jansen (i.e. Cornelius Johnson, 1593–1661) and, having noticed the view of the Grand Canal, plumped confidently for a big-name Venetian artist, but almost as confidently, for a Venetian sitter: ‘The so-called Sir J. Finett (541), which was amazingly attributed to Jansen, but is, doubtless, a Tintoretto, and very probably represents a Venetian gentleman, not Finett at all.’6 Another sharp-eyed critic (or perhaps the same) sent to Notes & Queries his list of ‘those portraits found or supposed to be spurious’, which included the Finet; once again declared to be manifestly the portrait of a Venetian. Ignorant of the extent to which Early Modern Englishmen travelled to Italy, it seems not to have occurred to these Victorians viewers that John Finet might actually have visited Venice and there to have sat for his portrait.7 They were not to know that within the Cecil manuscripts at Hatfield House lay ample documentary evidence to confirm that Finet was in Venice, or nearby, between late 1610 and early 1611. By the time those manuscripts had been calendared and published, the original portrait had long since returned to the obscurity of private ownership. Though Harding’s watercolour copy, accessible in the National Portrait Gallery from 1929, presented an image that could be accepted as that of a named Jacobean in Venice, only when the original re-emerged could it be verified as a Venetian painting.8 On inspection, it is immediately evident that, apart from some restoration and a somewhat inaccurate, later inscription, it is an early seventeenth-century work, in manner and composition wholly consistent with portraits of the Venetian School, particularly those of the studio of Domenico Tintoretto.9 This portrait, along with that of Sir Richard Wenman (Plate I, and see below), therefore takes its place at the beginning of a great tradition of portraits of the British in Italy, confirming the commencement of three centuries of the cultural pilgrimage that became known as the Grand Tour.10 In reconstructing the provenance of the Finet portrait, the painting of the watercolour copy provides the critical information. Fortunately, George Perfect Harding diligently recorded in manuscript notebooks all those portraits which he saw in English country houses – many of which he copied in watercolour. His second notebook contains an entry revealing that he came across the

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Finet portrait (attributed at that time, predictably, to ‘Vandyck’) at Upton Hall, Northamptonshire (Figure 106).11 The date of Harding’s visit is not given but it must have been sometime between 1804, when he commenced his recording, and 1831, when his host at Upton Hall, T.S.W. Samwell, died. Supporting evidence is to be found in the relevant volume of a county series, The Beauties of England (1818), encouragingly entitled, ‘the Result of Personal Survey’, where it is stated that the Finet was then hanging in the hall or saloon at Upton in the company of a Charles XII of Sweden, a full-length Apollo, several family portraits and, interestingly in view of the late-sixteenthcentury portrait of Sir Richard Wenman in Venice: portraits of Thomas, 2nd Viscount Wenman and his three daughters.12 The latter group came to Upton as a result of the marriage of the eldest daughter and co-heir, Frances, to Richard Samwell, c.1636,13 as also may the portrait of Sir Richard Wenman, with its very similar Venetian view to the one in Tintoretto’s Finet. The eldest son and heir of this marriage was the first of three Samwell baronets, all named Thomas after their aristocratic forebear, though Wenman, as a Christian name, was subsequently used on several occasions down to the nineteenth century, most notably by Sir Wenman Samwell, who, though dying without issue, encouraged his nephews to adopt the name to preserve it. Thus did Domenico Tintoretto’s portrait of Finet join an established but still-expanding collection of both Samwell and Wenman family portraits. Meanwhile, of less importance than the essential fact that the Tintoretto Finet was at Upton Hall, was this knowledge in combination with other information, not least concerning the copy at Noseley, there since at least as early as the late 1730s. The copy of the Finet (the only one in oils known to exist) had hung at Noseley for many years before it was sold at the lamentable sale of Noseley’s contents in 1998. How an undistinguished copy of a portrait of Sir John Finet had come to hang at Noseley Hall was no doubt a question that had rarely been asked through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, still less answered. It may, however, be explained by a close and lasting friendship that existed between Noseley’s owner, Sir Arthur Hesilrige, 7th Bt (c.1698–1763), and the owner of Upton Hall, Sir Thomas Samwell, 2nd Bt (1687–1757), two wealthy, travelled and cultured landowners who shared a passion for art and architecture (Figure 107).14 There can be no doubt that the Noseley portrait was copied from the Upton original. In fact, it was only one of several allusions among the Noseley Hall pictures to the years of contact with Upton Hall, some more obvious, such as the two portraits of Sir Thomas Samwell, 2nd Bt, and of his son, Thomas, later 3rd Bt (1710–79), both by Philip Mercier, which, with the Finet copy, would also fall under the auction hammer.15 Sir Thomas Samwell was Finet’s great-grandson and, as the owner of the original, looked upon his portrait as that of an especially significant ancestor. This blood tie, which explains why the portrait came to be at Upton Hall, is



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Figure 106: Upton Hall, Northampton, east front

confirmed in the 1705 will of an elderly spinster residing in Aynho, a village also in Northamptonshire, who left as her first bequest ‘to my nephew Sir Thomas Samwel a mourning ring of a guinea value’.16 This lady was Finetta, the last surviving daughter of Sir John Finet. From her description of Sir Thomas as a nephew, it would be reasonable to assume that one of her sisters had married a Samwell. She and two of her four sisters were unmarried at the time of their father’s death in 1641, still unmarried at the time of their mother’s death in 1652, and most probably remained so. Of the two known to have married, Anne married Oliver Ivye of Hullavington, Wiltshire, in 1649, who died the following year; his posthumous daughter later died in infancy.17 It was not, therefore, through the tragic Anne that the Finet–Samwell union was achieved. The remaining sister, Elizabeth, is shown in both her father’s and her mother’s wills to have taken the name Godscall, which indicates that she had married into that prosperous, Protestant Dutch family of merchants, known variously as Godscall, Godschall and Godschalk, which had settled in England after the Sack of Antwerp in 1560.18 It was not she, however, who married into the Samwell family but her daughter, Anne Godschalk, who became the second wife of Sir Thomas Samwell, 1st Bt (d. 1693) and mother

Figure 107: Philip Mercier, Sir Thomas Samwell and his Four Children, oil on canvas, c.1721, Upton Hall



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of Sir Thomas, the second baronet, recipient of the mourning ring. Finetta was therefore his great-aunt.19 It seems probable that Finetta chose to reside at Aynho to be near not only to the Samwells but also more immediately to the Popes of Wroxton Abbey.20 Finetta left instructions for her body to be buried in the parish church at Wroxton, where she must have regularly worshipped with the Popes. Thomas Pope had been in possession of Wroxton since the death of the 1st Earl of Downe in 1631, though he only inherited the title in 1660 at the age of 62, becoming the 3rd Earl. His third daughter was baptized Finetta, which strongly suggests that Finetta Finet was her godmother. Her unusual name proves useful in revealing her social circle, as a daughter of a wealthy local landowner, Ambrose Holbech (c.1632–1701), also baptized Finetta, was no doubt another of her godchildren.21 It appears that a certain regard and affection existed in north Oxfordshire and the adjoining parts of Northamptonshire for this unattached gentlewoman. It was also obviously important to Finetta Finet that her great-nephew, her niece, and possibly even her sister, Elizabeth Godscall, if widowed, were also within visiting distance at Upton Hall, 25 miles away from Aynho. Finetta must surely have made visits to Upton, and the portrait (assuming Finetta was, for a time, its custodian) may have been brought along the same route. Whichever of these Finet women was actually responsible for bringing the portrait to Upton Hall, its transfer of ownership from the Finets to the Samwells followed the bloodline; Upton Hall was its next, natural home. Though Sir John Finet also had a son, the family name seems to have died with him, and if the brief mention in his mother’s otherwise lavish will is to be interpreted as a final rejoinder, she may have thought him an idler: ‘I give my son William Finet my watch for a legacy.’ It was all she left him.22 It must have been several decades after the arrival of Finet’s portrait at Upton Hall that the canvas was extended so it could be hung in a new frame of a size and design to match other family portraits. In accordance with precepts of William Kent, the re-framed Finet, with other pictures, became part of a unified interior scheme of architecture, fittings and furniture desired by Sir Thomas Samwell and his second wife, Mary Clarke. The frame, which still exists, is of the ‘Kent’ type, having a flat frieze with a sand texture, raised inner and outer mouldings, and, most characteristically, outset corner squares.23 Set within each of these corners is a moulded scallop shell. This was the Clarke emblem, which, together with the Samwell squirrel, appears repeatedly in the rooms at Upton that were redecorated in the second quarter of the eighteenth century.24 The frame perfectly matches those of several pictures still hanging in the ballroom at Upton Hall, providing visual testimony to the portrait’s provenance that supplements the documentary evidence.25 Moreover, the inscription, which incorrectly identifies the King for whom Finet acted as Master of Ceremonies, is plainly by the same hand

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that applied inscriptions to various Mercier portraits at Upton, including the group portrait of Sir Thomas Samwell with son, Thomas, and daughters, Millicent, Mary and Frances.26 It was almost a century after his great-greatuncle’s death when Samwell came to apply inscriptions to his re-framed portraits. As a youth, however, he would have been told on the best authority – that of his elderly great-aunt Finetta – that his portrait of a Jacobean traveller in Venice was of her father, John Finet, later knighted and made the Master of Ceremonies to Charles I. The halls of Upton and Noseley, less than thirty miles apart, lie on a north–south line connected by a straight road that runs through Market Harborough. Samwell and Hesilrige must have travelled it often during the 1720s and 1730s, as they remodelled, redecorated and furnished their houses. It was Hesilrige, the younger man by 11 years, who followed Sir Thomas Samwell’s confident taste. Samwell was the first to undertake his Grand Tour (only a few months after the death of his great-aunt Finetta), following Finet’s path to arrive with his French tutor in Venice in late November 1706, subsequently visiting Padua, Florence, Rome (where his presence was noted by the Catholic architect, James Gibbs), Genoa and Turin, and returning in 1708 through Germany, which was the way he had come, as the ongoing War of the Spanish Succession made other routes dangerous.27 The great changes to Upton Hall were not effected immediately upon Samwell’s return but took time to achieve. They were a provincial, though nonetheless significant, manifestation of the stability and prosperity of Whig England. Though Sir Thomas Samwell had only a fraction of the money that, for example, Sir Robert Walpole was able to lavish on Houghton, he was able to bring artists of the quality of Giuseppe Artari and Philip Mercier to Upton, as his family, by marrying judiciously, had succeeded in replenishing over and again a fortune that had first been made by a Samwell father and son who served long and profitably within the machinery of late Tudor and early Stuart government.28 Sir Arthur Hesilrige, meanwhile, was rebuilding Noseley Hall and filling it with works of art, some of which were obtained on his own Grand Tour made between 1723 and 1724.29 Doubtless, he had departed with his head full of advice from Samwell. It was after Hesilrige’s return, when the close-knit Samwell–Hesilrige circle was engrossed in the changes being made to the two halls, that the Finet portrait must have been copied for Noseley Hall. Hesilrige could claim no Finet ancestry but may have felt an affinity with this Jacobean who had visited Venice more than a century before he made his own journey, possibly even acknowledging him as a pioneer of the Grand Tour that had so inspired him. Incorporated into Upton’s Kentian scheme, the original portrait remained undisturbed for more than a century. The second baronet died in 1757 and was succeeded by Sir Thomas, 3rd Bt (1710–79). He had no issue and it was with him that the Finet bloodline ran out. His half-brother, Sir Wenman



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Samwell, 4th Bt (d. 1789), whose name commemorated the inheritance of the Wenmans of Thame, inherited Upton Hall, but also left no issue. The year after his death, his nephew and heir, Thomas Samwell Watson, was allowed to adopt the Samwell name by Act of Parliament and it was he, as T.S.W. Samwell (now using the name ‘Samwell’ twice for good measure), who welcomed George Perfect Harding to Upton when he copied the Finet. He became the third owner in succession unable to leave Upton Hall to any offspring and so it passed in 1831 to his brother, Wenman Langham Watson Samwell, who was no more capable of male heirs than his immediate predecessors – ‘Sine Decessit Prole’ would by then have been a fitting family motto.30 It was after Wenman’s death in 1841 that the Samwell estate became subject to dispute and began to be divided up. In 1874, the proprietors were named as Gervase Wright, Miss Drought and Sir Henry Fairfax,31 though it was Wright, described as ‘lord of the manor and principal landowner’,32 who resided at the Hall from at least the mid-1860s until his death in 1880.33 The Finet portrait remained all the while at Upton; it was recorded as being there in 1862;34 then, in April 1866, Gervase Wright lent it to the First Special Exhibition of National Portraits at the South Kensington Museum. Wright lent only one other portrait to the exhibition: that of James Harrington (1611–77), a complex man, personally attached to Charles I yet author of the republican treatise, The Commonwealth of Oceana. Harrington was actually born at Upton Hall – his mother, Jane, being the daughter of Sir William Samwell, auditor to Queen Elizabeth (d. 1627). He was thus first cousin to the Restoration architect William Samwell (1628–76) who designed Grange Park for Sir Robert Henley.35 These portraits of three distinguished ancestors of the Samwells may have hung close to each other since the time of Sir Thomas Samwell, 2nd Bt. If so, they were appropriately associated, as Harrington had also been a great traveller in Italy in the mid-1630s, along with his friend Henry Neville, and at about the time that his cousin Richard Samwell was marrying Frances Wenman, thereby no doubt acquiring the portrait of that earlier traveller in Italy, Sir Richard Wenman.36 Although John Finet’s travels and his role as Cranborne’s governor on two important continental tours received no mention in print until the twentieth century, his striking portrait served to remind his descendants at Upton Hall of the breadth of his education and achievement and its indebtedness to the experience of European travel. Today it serves to remind us of the wide-ranging benefits that accrued from that most remarkable educational phenomenon of the post-Renaissance world: the Grand Tour.

NOTES

Chapter 1: ‘The Face of an Angell’ (and the Anglo-Spanish Business) 1

2

3

4

5

The Autobiography of Phineas Pett, ed. W.G. Perrin (Navy Records Society, 1918), p. 128. The Prince Royal was depicted as described in a painting of 1623 to commemorate its maiden voyage of 1613; see Adam Willaerts’ The Embarkation at Margate of the Elector Palatine and Princess Elizabeth (above); also Willaerts, The Arrival of the Elector Palatine at Flushing, 29 April 1613 (National Maritime Museum, Greenwich), dated 1623. A companion piece to the latter, now in the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, bears a date of 1622. In all, three versions of the departure are known and one depicting the arrival at Flushing. These tenth-anniversary commissions probably reflect Protestant Dutch anxiety that English foreign policy, as reflected in current royal marriage proposals, might have changed. In the same retinue were Robert Dallington and Inigo Jones, experienced travellers who would both contribute to the evolving model of the Tour. Rutland’s sophisticated patronage was undoubtedly informed by his travels, in particular by his acquaintance with several foreign courts. In March 1613, he paid Shakespeare to devise an impresa for the shield he would carry in the Accession Day tilt; the ceremony itself would have been designed by Jones on the eve of his departure for Italy with the Earl and Countess of Arundel; see Edward Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, 2 vols (London, 2006), II, pp. 8–9; Timothy Wilks, ‘The Peer, the Plantsman, and the Picture-Maker: The English Embassy to the Court of Christian IV of Denmark, 1603’, The Court Historian, XII, 2 (December 2007), pp. 155–71. See Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion: Richard Lassels and the ‘Voyage of Italy’ in the Seventeenth Century (Geneva, 1985) and, idem, The Evolution of the Grand Tour: Anglo-Italian Relations since the Renaissance, 2nd edn (London, 2000), both passim. The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) credits Lassels for the first use of the term ‘Grand Tour’ in his posthumously published The Voyage of Italy (Paris, 1670); cf. Chaney, ‘Richard Lassels’, in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (ODNB). In April 1618 Sir John Digby returned from Spain with the news that the Infanta’s portion would be £600,000. The following November he was rewarded by being created Baron Digby of Sherborne. He was created Earl of Bristol on 15 September 1622 to facilitate the marriage negotiations. See S.R. Gardiner, Prince Charles and the Spanish Marriage, 1617–1623, 2 vols (London, 1869); Per Palme, Triumph of Peace: A Study of the Whitehall Banqueting House (London, 1956). Glynn Redworth, The Prince and the Infanta: The Cultural Politics of the Spanish Match (New Haven and London, 2003); Alexander Samson (ed.), The Spanish Match: Prince Charles’s Journey to Madrid, 1623 (Aldershot, 2006).

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Notes to Pages 5 to 11

Jones, Alleyn and Arundel were all made honorary burgesses of the town on 4 June 1623; Southampton City Archives SC3/1/1, fol. 184v. It is possible that the surviving brick gate piers to the seaward side of what was the grandest house in Southampton, Lord Southampton’s Bull Hall, date from this period and were therefore by Inigo Jones (still visible in Cuckoo Lane). The piers were probably stuccoed and the entrance seems to have been filled in at an early date. 7 The subsequent alliance with France was sealed by Charles’s marriage to Louis XIII’s sister Henrietta Maria, whom he is supposed to have glimpsed dancing in a masque rehearsal en route to Spain. 8 The Prince and Buckingham were rushed to Portsmouth and thence, via York House in London, and on to Royston where they were received with joy by King and nation. 9 Thomas, future Viscount Somerset of Cashel, was the elder brother of Sir Charles Somerset, whose earlier travel diary survives. Thomas subsequently settled in Rome where he hosted Protestant and Catholic compatriots alike, including an appreciative John Evelyn; see Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion, passim, and Michael Brennan (ed.), The Travel Diary (1611–1612) of an English Catholic: Sir Charles Somerset (Leeds Philosophical Society, 1993). 10 John Finet, Finetti Philoxenis: Som choice observations of Sr. John Finett, knight, and Master of the Ceremonies to the two last Kings, touching the Reception, and Precedence, the Treatment and Audience, the Punctillios and Contests of Forren Ambassadors in England (London, 1656), p. 121. The same diamond ring is mentioned in Finet’s will: ‘to my said wife my ring and diamond set in tablet fashion of three Carates waight or more given me by the deceased Duke of Buckingham’, TNA PROB 11/187. 11 We exempt from the reckoning Princess Elizabeth, who, in 1613, travelled (see note 1, above) to Heidelberg with her new husband Frederick, Elector Palatine, intending, naturally, to stay. Her eventual return must have seemed, paradoxically, like a visit to a foreign country, as it was to the Restoration England of 1661. 12 See Sandro Chignola, ‘Civis, Civitas, Civilitas: Translations in Modern Italian and Conceptual Change’, Contributions to the History of Concepts, III, 2 (2007), pp. 234– 53; John Gillingham, ‘From Civilitas to Civility: Codes of Manners in Medieval and Early Modern England’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 12 (2002), pp. 267–89. 13 See Gustav Ungerer, ‘Juan Pantoja de la Cruz and the Circulation of Gifts between the English and Spanish Courts in 1604/5’, in Leeds Barroll (ed.), Shakespeare Studies, XXVI (1998), pp. 145–86. 14 This year saw publication of Diego Ortâuñez de Calahorra’s Espejo de principes y cavallaros as The third part of the first book of the Mirrour of knighthood, translated by ‘R. P.’ [perhaps Robert Parry or Robert Park] (London, 1586); also The pleasaunt historie of Lazarillo de Tormes / drawen out of Spanish by David Rouland of Anglesey (London, 1586). 15 See Gustav Ungerer, Anglo-Spanish Relations in Tudor Literature (Madrid, 1956); Maria de la Cinta Zunino Garrido, ‘Boscán and Garcilaso as Rhetorical Models in the English Renaissance: The Case of Abraham Fraunce’s The Arcadian Rhetorike’, Atlantis 27, 2 (December 2005), pp. 119–34. 16 Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 66–7. 17 Winwood, Memorials, II, p. 52; cf. the account in John Selden’s Table Talk. 18 Ben Jonson, Volpone (1606), Act II, scene 1. 19 See HMC 12th Report Appendix, Pt 1 (Cowper MSS), p. 46. 20 D. Howarth, Lord Arundel and his Circle (New Haven and London, 1985) and E. Chaney, ‘Inigo Jones in Naples’, in Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 168–202. 21 See M.J. Rodriguez-Salgado, ‘Suárez de Figueroa [Dormer], Jane, Duchess of Feria in the Spanish Nobility (1538–1612)’, ODNB.



Notes to Pages 11 to 19

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22 A participant, Richard Treswell, the Somerset Herald, published a concise account in London in 1605, including a list of the principal participants: it was republished as ‘a Relation of such things as were observed to happen in the Journey of the Right Honourable Charles, Earl of Nottingham’, Harleian Miscellany (Oxford, 1809), II, pp. 535–66; also A Collection of Scarce and Most Valuable Tracts [Somers’ Tracts], ed. W. Scott (London, 1809), II, pp. 70–96. For a summary, see John Stoye, English Travellers Abroad, 1604–1667 (rev. edn, New Haven and London, 1989), pp. 236–40. 23 There were no other extraordinary embassies dispatched from the Jacobean court that were remotely comparable with those to Spain of 1605 and 1623, although the 1603 embassy of Roger, 5th Earl of Rutland to Denmark, was of significance and contained the renowned botanist and physician, Matthieu Lobel (Lobelius), and the emerging Inigo Jones; see Wilks, ‘The Peer, the Plantsman, and the Picture-Maker’. 24 See Paul C. Allen, Philip III and the Pax Hispanica, 1598–1621 (New Haven and London, 2000). 25 See Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 320. 26 See Alice Hogg, God’s Secret Agents: Queen Elizabeth’s Forbidden Priests and the Hatching of the Gunpowder Plot (London, 2006). 27 See Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 83. 28 Students Admitted to the Inner Temple 1571–1625, p. 18, where given as Edward (sic), son of Sir Osbert (sic). The younger Edmund would be knighted in 1629. 29 Cal. S.P. Domestic, 1603–1610, 1 February 1605; 7 December 1608. 30 Logan Pearsall Smith, The Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, 2 vols (Oxford, 1907), I, pp. 410–11. 31 Cal. S.P. Domestic 1603–1610, p. 418; A.L. Rowse, Ralegh and the Throckmortons (London, 1962). 32 See Alison Deborah Anderson, On the Verge of War: International Relations and the JülichKleve Crises (1609–1614) (Leiden, 1999). 33 For the Thirty Years’ War, see Peter H. Wilson, Europe’s Tragedy: The Thirty Years’ War (Harvard, 2009); Ronald G. Asch, The Thirty Years’ War: The Holy Roman Empire and Europe (Basingstoke, 1997). 34 See Redworth, The Prince and the Infanta, p. 73. 35 Both Cottington and the quarter-Spanish Porter, who had spent the years 1605 to 1612 at the Spanish court in the service of the Olivares family, would later be included in Charles I’s intimate circle of connoisseurs and collectors. For Cottington, see Martin J. Havran, Caroline Courtier: The Life of Lord Cottington (London and Basingstoke, 1973) and ODNB; for Porter, see Gervas Huxley, Endymion Porter: The Life of a Courtier 1587–1649 (London, 1959) and ODNB. 36 See Gardiner, Prince Charles and the Spanish Marriage, passim. 37 John P. Feil, ‘Sir Tobie Matthew and his Collection of Letters’, unpublished PhD dissertation (University of Chicago, 1962). 38 See Karen Hearn, Dynasties: Painting in Tudor and Jacobean England 1530–1630 (Tate Britain: London, 1995), ch. 8: ‘The New Netherlanders’, pp. 202–30; Oliver Millar, The Queen’s Pictures (London, 1977), pp. 35 and 38; James Stourton and Charles SebagMontefiore, The British as Collectors (London, 2012), pp. 63–4. 39 See William Kerr, Itinerario fatto l’anno 1625 Ch’era quello dal Jubileo Vrbano octavo papa, National Library of Scotland MS 3785. We are grateful to Professsor John McGavin for providing us with his transcription of this unpublished manuscript. See also Robert Wenley, ‘William, Third Earl of Lothian: Covenanter and Collector’, Journal of the History of Collections V, 1 (1993), pp. 23–41; Duncan Thomson, A Virtuous and Noble Education (Scottish National Portrait Gallery, Edinburgh, 1971). 40 Finet to Lord Clifford, 26 May 1623, HMC Appendix to 3rd Report (Duke of Devonshire MSS), p. 39.

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41 See Jonathan Brown and J.H. Elliott (eds), The Sale of the Century: Artistic Relations between Spain and Great Britain (New Haven and London, 2002); Stourton and SebagMontefiore, The British as Collectors, pp. 58–65; Sarah Schroth, ‘Charles I, the Duque de Lerma and Veronese’s Edinburgh Mars and Venus’, Burlington Magazine, CXXIX, 2 (August 1997), pp. 548–50. 42 Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion, p. 56. 43 For Prince Henry, see Catherine MacLeod with Timothy Wilks, Malcolm Smuts and Rab MacGibbon, The Lost Prince: The Life and Death of Henry Stuart (London, 2012); T. Wilks (ed.), Prince Henry Revived: Image and Exemplarity in Early Modern England (London and Southampton, 2007); Roy Strong, Henry Prince of Wales and England’s Lost Renaissance (London, 1986); on the marriage proposals specifically, see Roy Strong, ‘England and Italy: The Marriage of Henry Prince of Wales’, in Richard Ollard and Pamela Tudor-Craig (eds), For Veronica Wedgwood These: Studies in Seventeenth-Century History (London, 1986), pp. 59–87, and Andrea Pennini, ‘Le missioni del conte di Cartignano (1611–1612). Un progetto di matrimonio inglese per il Principe di Piemonte’, Bollettino Storico-Bibliografico Subalpino, CX, 1 (2012), pp. 141–73. 44 See Anon., Beschreibung der Reiss (Heidelberg, 1613). 45 See Elizabeth Goldring, ‘So iust a sorrowe so well expressed’: Henry, Prince of Wales and the Art of Commemoration’, in Wilks (ed.), Prince Henry Revived, pp. 280–300, especially n.16. 46 See Mary Hervey, The Life, Correspondence and Collections of Thomas Howard, Earl of Arundel (Cambridge, 1921); J.A. Gotch, Inigo Jones (London, 1921); D. Howarth, Lord Arundel and his Circle; Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion; idem, Evolution of the Grand Tour; idem, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook; Michael Leapman, Inigo: The Troubled Life of Inigo Jones, Architect of the English Renaissance (London, 2003), pp. 129–57. 47 The ODNB entry on Finet improves upon its predecessor, the DNB, by at least mentioning that he was Cranborne’s tour tutor and guardian, though it fails to mark this as a pivotal point in his career. The biographical essay in Albert J. Loomie (ed.), Ceremonies of Charles I: The Note Books of Sir John Finet 1628–1641 (New York, 1987), pp. 8–11, is mainly concerned with the later part of Finet’s career and conflates the separate tours into a ‘leisurely journey through France and Italy’ and provides no details. Anna V. Danushevskaya, ‘The Formation of a Renaissance Nobleman: William Cecil, 2nd Earl of Salisbury 1591–1668, History of Education, XXXI, 6 (November 2001), pp. 505–20, supplies useful information on the relationship between Cranborne and Roger Morrell, his tutor at Cambridge (1602–7), but does not consider the influence of Cranborne’s travel tutors. Michael G. Brennan, The Origins of the Grand Tour: The Travels of Robert Montagu, Lord Mandeville (1649–1658), William Hammond (1655–1658), Banaster Maynard (1660–1663), Hakluyt Society, 3rd series, XIV (London, 2004), mentions Cranborne briefly (pp. 20–1), but also conflates his tours, terminating the ‘journey’ in 1610 rather than 1611, and erroneously identifying Thomas Lorkin as Cranborne’s tutor (he was Thomas Puckering’s), later stating that Cranborne was ‘accompanied by two experienced travellers’ (referring correctly to Lister and Finet), only to introduce a ‘third trusted servant of the Cecils’: William Becher, who, as Sir George Carew’s secretary at the English embassy in Paris, occasionally assisted Cranborne. Stoye, English Travellers, covers Cranborne briefly but well; cf. note 12 of Chapter 2, below. On Finet’s poetry collections, see L.A.D. Cummings, ‘John Finet’s Miscellany’, unpublished PhD thesis (Washington University, 1960) and below, p. 35. 48 Privy Council to Sir Ralph Winwood, 4 October 1609 [O.S.], Winwood, Memorials of Affairs of State in the Reigns of Q. Elizabeth and K. James I, 3 vols (London, 1725) (henceforth: Winwood’s Memorials), III, p. 76.



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Chapter 2: The Fashioning of Sir John Finet 1 2

For his early career, see Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, II, pp. 5–43. See Michael Strachan, The Life and Adventures of Thomas Coryate (London, 1962), p. 123; also Michelle O’Callaghan, ‘Coryats Crudities (1611) and Travel Writing as the “Eyes” of the Prince’, in Wilks (ed.), Prince Henry Revived, pp. 85–103. 3 Its editor, James Howell, published the first two of Finet’s five manuscript books, almost in their entirety, covering the period October 1612–February 1628. Finet’s three later notebooks, covering the period October 1628–May 1641, remained unpublished until the appearance of Father Loomie’s edition in 1987. 4 Cal. S.P. Venice, 1527–1533, IV, no. 682; VI, nos. 3 and 171; Ovid, Tristia, 3, 14, pp. 27–30. 5 Inner Temple, Petyt MS 538/47, fol. 265, undated, c.1600. 6 R.B. Wernham (ed.), List and Analysis of the State Paper Foreign Series, V (July 1593–4) (London, 1989), pp. 371, 461. John Arden [Ardern] was a Catholic, who went to Rome on the pretext of searching for his much older brother, Father Robert Arden, who had gone abroad many years earlier, and who, when found, had all but forgotten his English (ibid., p. 461); Charles Danvers was arrested during the Essex plot together with the Catholic Earls of Rutland and Southampton, and a John Arden, perhaps one of the Catholic Ardens who were cousins of Shakespeare; see Charlotte C. Stopes, The Life of Henry, 3rd Earl of Southampton, Shakespeare’s Patron (Cambridge, 1922), pp. 90, 197, 223. 7 See Danvers’ entry in ODNB. For Unton’s Grand Tour of the late 1570s and the depiction of his visits to Padua and Venice in his memorial portrait, see Roy Strong, The Cult of Elizabeth (London, 1977), pp. 84–110. 8 See Gustav Ungerer, A Spaniard in Elizabethan England: The Correspondence of Antonio Pérez’s Exile, 2 vols (London, 1974), II, pp. 9–11; TNA E.351/2793; Loseley MS 1666/41; Thomas Birch, The Life of Henry Prince of Wales (London, 1760), p. 322; HMC Downshire, IV, p. 133; HMC Cowper, I, p. 168; Acts of the Privy Council, 1623–1625, p. 321; will of Francis, 6th Earl of Rutland, 23 January 1633, TNA PROB 11/163/46. 9 See Alexandra Gajda, The Earl of Essex and Late Elizabethan Political Culture (Oxford, 2012), pp. 55, 120; Albert J. Loomie, Spain and the Jacobean Catholics, 2 vols (Catholic Record Society, 1973 and 1978), I, p. 8. 10 Wernham (ed.), List and Analysis, IV (May 1592–June 1593), p. 378. 11 On 29 June 1612 Sanquhar was tried and hanged in London for instigating a revenge murder. On the scaffold he declared himself a Roman Catholic, a fact probably known to the Venetian authorities as early as 1599 and certainly by 1603. By the time of his execution he had married and separated from Lady Anne Fermor (sister of Richard Wenman’s Catholic wife Agnes) and left a legitimized natural son in Paris. Chamberlain commented, ‘Yt is verely thought that the Lord Sanquir shall die beeing a man nothing gracious among his own nation.’ His body, however, was claimed and sent for interment in Scotland by the prominent Scottish courtier, Richard Preston, Lord Dingwall, who, in 1617, undertook his own journey to Venice, principally to discuss military matters, though the episode is not without cultural interest: see ODNB; Cal. S.P. Venice, 1603– 1607, X, nos. 78, 91, 118, 160, 166; Chamberlain Letters, I, 197, 348–9, 362, 364; T. Wilks, ‘Of Neighing Coursers and of Trumpets Shrill’: A Life of Richard Preston, First Lord Dingwall and Earl of Desmond (London, 2013), pp. 51–104. 12 Wernham, List and Analysis, IV, p. 378. This innocent was possibly Henry, son of Francis Slingsby of Knaresborough, Yorks (Kt. May 1602). 13 Simon Wyllys [Willis] to the Earl of Salisbury, 21 April 1609, HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 44. 14 Cf. the proverb, ‘One gift ill accepted, keep next in thy purse, / Whom provender pricketh, are often the worst’ (Thomas Tusser, Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry [London, 1573], fol. 71), the analogy being to horses finding fault with their dry feed. Cecil had

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15 16 17 18 19

20

21

22 23 24

Notes to Pages 31 to 32 given Willis £40 for life; for Willis see his entry in The History of Parliament: The House of Commons, 1558–1603, ed. P.W. Hasler (London, 1981). Salisbury to Wotton, 29 March 1608, in Arthur Collins (ed.), Letters and Memorials of State, 2 vols (London, 1746), II, pp. 326–7. 11 July 1604, Cal. S.P. Domestic, 1603–1610, p. 131. HMC Salisbury, XXII, pp. 249 and 516. Howard Vallance Jones, ‘The Journal of Levinus Munck’, English Historical Review, LXVIII (1953), pp. 234–58 (234). HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 147. Willis names 36 English knights and gentlemen (excluding servants and tutors) and five Scottish noblemen and gentlemen: ‘Sir Charles Moryson’ with ‘Mr Storay’ and ‘Mr Askeworthe’ with two or three servants; Sir William Dormer’ with ‘Mr Anthonie Tracye’ and three servants; ‘Sir George Peter’, alone (i.e. Petre, Catholic friend of Tobie Matthew); a company comprising ‘Sir Robert Chamberlain’ with servant, ‘Sir Edmund Hampden’, Sir Thomas Crompton’, ‘Mr Baskervyll’, ‘Mr Boughton’ and ‘Mr D. Moore’ (Willis states that he was in their continual company at Rome and Naples); ‘Mr Gyfforde’ (whom Willis met at Padua returning from Rome, identified as a servant of the Earl of Shrewsbury); ‘Mr Barrett’ with ‘Mr Leveson’ and ‘Mr Ffytzwylliams’ and three servants; ‘Mr Cholmley’ with ‘Mr Hopkins’; ‘Mr Ffroome (identified by Willis as the son of a vintner in Newgate market, who had lived long abroad, especially at Rome); ‘Mr Partherydg’ (whom Willis knew to be connected to Sir Henry Wotton, the ambassador in Venice, who can be identified as his nephew, Edward Partridge, see Smith, Wotton, II, p. 476; Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 167; cf., below, note 85); ‘Mr Ffynch’ with ‘Mr Doncombe’ (Willis informed that Finch had corresponded with Father Persons, the head of the English Jesuits in Rome, to gain permission to visit the city); ‘Mr Toby Mathewe’ with ‘Mr Eston’; ‘Mr Rooke’ (whom Willis knew to be Wotton’s servant; see below, note 85); ‘Mr Hunt’ (described as an organist and servant to the Archbishop of Canterbury); two sons of ‘Sir Edward Moore’ of Odiham, Hampshire, and their tutor; ‘Mr Ffryer’ (identified as the son of ‘Dr Ffryer’, the physician); ‘Mr Mychele’ (identified as secretary to ‘my lo. Grace that dead is’; i.e. Francis Mitchell, probably Willis’s denouncer); ‘Mr Purfrey’; ‘Mr Rhenells’ (identified as a nephew of the Lord Chamberlain’s secretary); ‘Mr Gorge’ (identified as son to ‘Mr William Gorg’ of near Plymouth); ‘Mr Gage’ with ‘Mr Wenman’ (George Gage and his tutor Thomas Wenman; see Feil, Matthew, pp. 32, 52 and below, p. 280); ‘Mr Chalcrofte’ (identified as the King’s servant); and ‘Of the Scottish nation’, the Earl of Mar’s son with ‘Mr James Colvyll’; the Earl of Murray with ‘Mr Mongo Murray’ and another unknown Scottish gentleman. HMC Salisbury, XXIV, pp. 146–8. For the Wyatts, see ODNB, Susan Brigden and Jonathan Woolfson, ‘Thomas Wyatt in Italy’, Renaissance Quarterly, LVIII, 2 (2005), pp. 464–511, and Brigden, Thomas Wyatt: The Heart’s Forest (London, 2012); for both Hobys and William Thomas, see ODNB and Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 58–101. See Alan Haynes, The Elizabethan Secret Service (Stroud, 2004). For the 1580s, see Conyers Read, Mr Secretary Walsingham and the Policy of Queen Elizabeth, 3 vols (Oxford, 1925), II, pp. 340–433; also John Bossy’s related studies, Giordano Bruno and the Embassy Affair (New Haven and London, 1991) and Under the Molehill: An Elizabethan Spy Story (New Haven and London, 2001). For the 1590s, see Ungerer, A Spaniard in Elizabethan England; also Daphne du Maurier, Golden Lads: A Study of Anthony Bacon, Francis and their Friends (London, 1975). For Campeggio in England, see William E. Wilkie, Rome and the Tudors before the Reformation (Cambridge, 1974), pp. 179–203. See ‘John Finet’ in DNB (not ODNB) where the maid is identified as a Mantell. ‘Early Tudor Tombs and the Rise and Fall of Anglo-Italian Relations’, in Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 41–57.



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25 See Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England, c.1400– 1580 (New Haven and London, 1992). 26 John Hale, England and the Italian Renaissance, 4th edn, ed. E. Chaney (Oxford, 2005), passim. 27 Sometimes encountered as ‘Sowlton’ or ‘Soulton’, the site is now known as Solton Manor, East Langdon. 28 S.P.H. Statham (ed.), Dover Charters (London, 1902), p. 379. 29 See John Foxe, Acts and Monuments of the English Martyrs (London, 1568), bk 10, p. 1468. 30 Statham, Dover Charters, p. 403. 31 Edward Hasted, The History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent, IX (London, 1800, reprinted Wakefield, 1972), pp. 423–4. 32 The Visitation of Kent Taken in the Years 1619–1621, Harleian Soc. XLII (1898), gives ‘Anna’, p. 49, and ‘Agnes’, p. 166; ODNB, following W. Berry, County Genealogies: Pedigrees of the Families in the County of Kent (1830), prefers ‘Agnes’. She was the daughter of John Wenlock, a former captain of Calais, who fought at the siege of Boulogne (1544), and was probably a descendant of John Wenlock, governor of Calais, remembered for being slain by his own commander, the Duke of Somerset, at the Battle of Tewkesbury in 1471. 33 For Foche (or Foach), see Visitation, p. 49. John Finet’s nephew, Henry (b. 1606), would become the principal heir to the Foche possessions of Ripple Court (only a mile from Solton Manor), Sutton and Wotton (or Wootton). 34 See Michael Zell, Early Modern Kent, 1540–1640 (Woodbridge, 2000), p. 71. 35 HMC Salisbury, XVII, p. 322. 36 Finet to Trumbull, 24 December 1615, HMC Downshire, V, no. 807, p. 387. 37 In 1541, Thomas, 9th Lord Dacre, and his brother-in-law John Mantell, were hanged at Tyburn for murdering a gamekeeper during a night-time escapade; see Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic Henry VIII, XVI (1540–1), nos. 932, 941; Brigden, Thomas Wyatt, passim. 38 Anthony Wood, Athenae Oxonienses, ed. P. Bliss, 4 vols (London, 1815), II, p. 472. 39 Bodleian MS. Rawl. Poet. 85. See L.A.D. Cummings, ‘John Finet’s Miscellany’, unpublished PhD dissertation (Washington University, 1960); also Arthur F. Marotti, Manuscript, Print, and the English Renaissance Lyric (Ithaca, 1995), pp. 63–5. 40 For the poems by Lord Strange, see Steven May, ‘Spenser’s “Amyntas”: Three Poems by Ferdinando Stanley, Lord Strange, Fifth Earl of Derby’, Modern Philology, LXX, 1 (August 1972), pp. 49–52. As for those poems attributable to the Earl of Oxford’s circle, it has been suggested that they may have been obtained from the same source, i.e. that Finet had good contact with a member of the circle; see Jane Stephenson and Peter Davidson (eds), Early Modern Women Poets (1520–1700): An Anthology (Oxford and New York, 2001), p. xxxv. With regard to the inclusion of no less than 23 poems or fragments by Sidney, Marotti (Manuscript, p. 65) is more circumspect, noting that they were ‘obviously chosen for their extraordinary literary quality rather than because he had ongoing social relations with their author’. The possibility remains, nonetheless, that Finet had a connection with the Sidneys, not least in view of the fact that he gained his first overseas experience under the command of Sir Robert Sidney, Philip’s brother. 41 See ODNB. 42 See Loomie, Ceremonies, pp. 8–10. 43 John Finet, The Beginning, Continuance, and Decay of Estates: wherein are handled many notable questions concerning the establishment of Empires and Monarchies […] Written in French by R. de Lusinge, and translated […] by I. F. (London, 1606), A2. 44 An alternative form of offering, also undertaken by experienced diplomats, was the ‘relation’ of a foreign country. Recent examples included Henry Wotton, The State of Christendom

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(1594, first published 1657); the anonymous A relation of the state of Polonia (1598, first published 1965); Edwin Sandys, A relation of the state of religion used in the west parts of the world (London, 1605); George Carew’s A relation of the state of France (1609, first published 1749); on this tradition see Jonathan Woolfson, Padua and the Tudors: English Students in Italy, 1485–1603 (Toronto, 1998), p. 131. 45 L. Lewknor, The commonwealth and government of Venice. Written by the Cardinall Gasper Contareno, and translated out of Italian into English, by Lewes Lewknor Esquire. With sundry other collections, annexed by the translator for the more cleere and exact satisfaction of the reader. With a short chronicle in the end, of the lives and raignes of the Venetian dukes from the very beginninges of their citie (London, 1599). Lewknor had earlier gone to print with The Resolved Gentleman (1594), a translation of Hernando de Acuña’s El Caballero determinado, itself a translation of Olivier de la Marche’s Le Chevalier délibéré, on which, see now: Marco Nievergelt, ch. 6: ‘Lewes Lewkenor: The Humanist Quest’, in Allegorical Quests from Deguileville to Spenser (Cambridge, 2012), pp. 142–64, and The estate of the English fugitives under the king of Spaine (1595), which was conventionally critical, for its date, of Philip II and his government. After the peace of 1604, however, Lewknor became notoriously Hispanophile and was converted to Catholicism in 1618 by Gondomar’s chaplain, Fray Diego de la Fuente; see Loomie, Spain and the Jacobean Catholics, II, pp. 104–6. 46 Finet, Estates, A2. 47 In his biographical essay (Ceremonies, p. 8), Loomie does not mention that Whitgift died more than a year before Finet’s book was published, or mention Bancroft at all, therefore failing to establish the succession of Finet’s hoped-for patrons, i.e. Whitgift–Bancroft–Cecil. 48 Algernon Cecil, A Life of Robert Cecil (London, 1915), p. 235. 49 See Caroline Knight, ‘The Cecils at Wimbledon’, in Pauline Croft (ed.), Patronage, Culture and Power: The Early Cecils 1558–1612 (New Haven and London, 2002), p. 62. 50 See Martin Andrews, ‘Theobalds Palace: The Gardens and Park’, Garden History 21, 2 (Winter 1993), pp. 129–49. 51 See J.F. Merritt, ‘The Cecils and Westminster 1558–1612: The Development of an Urban Power Base’, p. 232. 52 See James Knowles, ‘“To raise a house of better frame”: Jonson’s Cecilian Entertainments’, ibid., pp. 181–95; Linda Levy Peck, Consuming Splendor: Society and Culture in SeventeenthCentury England (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 42–61; Laurence Stone, Family and Fortune: Studies in Aristocratic Finance in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Oxford, 1973). 53 P.J. Drury, ‘“No other palace in the kingdom will compare with it”: The Evolution of Audley End, 1605–1745’, Architectural History 23 (1980), pp. 1–39, 145–51. 54 See Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, II, pp. 12–14. 55 Mark Girouard, Elizabethan Architecture (New Haven and London, 2009), p. 54. 56 No patron of building and self-taught architectour of the Jacobean era was capable of anything better; at Longleat, according to Nicholas Cooper, ‘the frequent changes of design during his many years of work there suggest that [Sir John] Thynne was on a long, steep learning curve’, Houses of the Gentry, 1480–1680 (New Haven and London, 1999), p. 20. 57 The fundamental work on the functions of Robert Cecil’s secretaries (who would include Finet) is A.G.R. Smith, ‘The Secretariats of the Cecils, circa 1580–1612’, English Historical Review, LXXXIII, 328 (July 1968), pp. 481–504. For pertinent comments, see also Paul E.J. Hammer, ‘The Use of Scholarship: The Secretariat of Robert Devereux, Second Earl of Essex, c. 1585–1601’, English Historical Review, CIX, 430 (April 1994), pp. 26–51. 58 Thomas Nashe, The Unfortunate Traveller (1594; Harmondsworth, 1985), p. 287. 59 Amicus usque ad aras: A friend even to the altar (of sacrifice). 60 Finet to Wilson, from Paris, 29 September 1607 [N.S.], HMC Salisbury, XIX, p. 249.

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The student was one Edward Benedict, and the other witnesses were Richard Willoughby, Francis Josselyn, Richard Milleis, Samuel Smalman, John Webb, Joseph Webb and William Harvey; see Woolfson, Padua and the Tudors, p. 211. Willoughby, a Catholic convert and, by the time Finet arrived, a resident at Padua for 20 years, occasionally supplied intelligence to the English authorities and remained a friend of Sir Ralph Winwood, later Secretary of State; see ibid., pp. 283–4. For Josselyn, see ibid., p. 248; for Milleis, ibid., p. 257. Smalman entered the English College at Rome in 1602 and became a priest the following year; see ibid., p. 272. For John Webb, see ibid., p. 281. Joseph Webb obtained his doctorate in arts and medicine at Padua in 1603; he was suspected of papistry by parliamentary commissioners in 1626; see ibid., p. 281. Harvey may have sworn loyalty to Catholicism when graduating at Padua; see Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion, p. 91, though cf. Gweneth Whitteridge, William Harvey and the Circulation of the Blood (London and New York, 1971). He would become Royal Physician in 1618 and would have encountered Finet on many occasions thereafter at court. He returned to Italy in 1636. 62 Created Lord Wotton, as one of James I’s privy councillors, he would be regarded by the Spanish as consistently sympathetic to Catholics: see A.J. Loomie, ‘A Jacobean CryptoCatholic: Lord Wotton’, Catholic Historical Record, LIII (1967–8), pp. 328–45, ODNB, and idem, Spain and the Jacobean Catholics, I (1603–12), pp. 36, 86, 158; II (1613–24), pp. xviii, 32, 33, 94, 95. 63 For Pickering Wotton, see his biographical note in Smith, Wotton, II, pp. 481–2; Henry Foley, Records of the English Province of the Society of Jesus, ii (London, 1842), pp. 253–4; Stoye, English Travellers, p. 243. 64 Arden noted that all the English exiles were weary of Italy and other places and wished they were back in England, if only with brown bread and water; see Wernham, List and Analysis, IV, p. 378. The other worthy Englishman according to Arden was ‘Godolphin’ (possibly Sir William Godolphin, for whom see p. 94). 65 For the Persian embassy and Sherley’s subsequent stay in Venice, see D.W. Davies, Elizabethans Errant (Ithaca, 1967), pp. 114–65. 66 According to Wotton’s entry in ODNB, they were related through Wotton’s mother, a Finch of Eastwell in Kent; for Sherley’s use of ‘cousin’, see Evelyn P. Sherley, The Sherley Brothers (Chiswick, 1848), p. 37. 67 Wotton’s subsequent journey and stay at the Scottish court assuming an Italian identity and the name ‘Ottavio Baldi’ is recounted in Smith, Wotton, I, pp. 40–3. 68 Wotton, I, pp. 39–40. 69 Anthony Sherley’s companions in Venice included a gentleman, Simon ‘Smifiz’ (possibly Smurfits or Smithies?), Captain Thomas Leighton, and two Scotsmen, George Craig and Robert Gore. A young and naive Aurelian Townshend, the later poet, despite being a Cecil client, became friendly with Sherley and lent him money; see Davies, Elizabethans Errant, pp. 148, 151, 156. 70 E. Dennison Ross, Sir Anthony Sherley and his Persian Adventure (London, 1933, reprinted 2004), p. 35. 71 Davies, Elizabethans Errant, pp. 144–5. 72 Parts of letters dated 16 September and 5 October 1601 are printed in Smith Wotton, I, pp. 39–40; others, from the period June–August 1602, are in Sherley, The Sherley Brothers. 73 See Ungerer, A Spaniard in Elizabethan England, I, p. 6. 74 Thomas Buckhurst to Robert Cecil, 4 June 1603, HMC Salisbury, XV, p. 120. 75 Wilson to Sir David Foulis, ibid., p. 203. 76 Privy Council warrant, ibid., p. 248. 77 Molin to Doge and Senate, 17 November 1603, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1603–1607, X, no. 157. 78 Duodo and Molin to Doge and Senate, 25 November 1603, ibid., no. 160.

256

Notes to Pages 43 to 45

79 See E. Chaney, Inigo Jones’s Roman Sketchbook, II, p. 19n.32; Giles Worsley, ‘Scamozzi’s Influence on Seventeenth-Century English Architecture’, Annali di architettura 18–19 (2006–7), pp. 225–33; and idem, Inigo Jones and the European Classicist Tradition (New Haven and London, 2007), pp. 19–20. 80 Scaramelli to Doge and Senate, 22 May 1603, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1603–1607, X, no. 56. 81 Horatio Palavicino, for example, lived in the parish of St Dunstan’s during the 1570s and 1580s; see Lawrence Stone, An Elizabethan: Sir Horatio Palavicino (Oxford, 1956), p. 268; Returns of Aliens in London (Huguenot Society publication), II, p. 255. 82 Finet, The Beginning, Continuance, and Decay of Estates (Printed [at Eliot’s Court Press, London] for Iohn Bill, 1606). Wilson’s host may have been Sir Francis Calton, newly knighted on 5 April of that year at Greenwich Palace, or his brother, Thomas, for whom see Collectanea Topographica Genealogica, III (London, 1836), p. 164. Their grandfather had been granted the manor by Henry VIII in 1544 after its confiscation from the Abbey of Bermondsey; both brothers would sell property in the locality to Inigo Jones’s actor friend and founder of Dulwich School, Edward Alleyn. 83 Finet to Wilson, 14 July 1605, HMC Salisbury, XVII, pp. 321–2. 84 Ibid. 85 Logan Pearsall Smith writes of ‘several young men of Kentish families, sons of gentlemen who lived in the neighbourhood of Bocton’, whom Wotton took into his service; Smith, Wotton, I, p. 48. Among them, as Coryate relates, was ‘a Kentish Gentleman, one of the principal favourites of that honourable Gentleman, Sir Henry Wotton … and a worthy traveller’; he went on, ‘This Gentleman Mr. George Rooke [son of John Rooke of Canterbury] used me so kindly both in Venice and Padua, that he hath perpetually bound me unto him in a very Gordian knot of friendship’, Thomas Coryat, Coryats Crudities, Hastily gobled up in five moneths travells (London, 1611), pp. 128–9. Simon Willis saw in Rome ‘Mr Partherydg [Edward Partridge] A Kentysher gent, allyed to Sir Ha: Wotton’, HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 147; cf., above, note 17. For two other trusted agents of Wotton, William Parkhurst and Rowland Woodward, see Smith, Wotton, II, Appendix III. In 1630, Finet chose Woodward, still maimed from being robbed and left for dead while carrying dispatches from Venice through France in 1607, to be his deputy Master of Ceremonies. 86 Cottington to Trumbull, 11 November 1610 [O.S.], HMC Downshire, II, p. 394. For Lord Roos, see above, p. 74 and below, p. 282n.38. 87 See Peter Beal, ‘Townshend, Aurelian (fl. 1583–1649?)’; ODNB. For Herbert, see The Life of Edward Herbert, First Lord Herbert of Cherbury, ed. J.M. Shuttleworth (Oxford, 1976). 88 Finet to Wilson, Paris, 14 February 1608 [N.S.], HMC Salisbury, XX, pp. 48–55. Finet had previously written on 1 February. 89 Geoffrey Keynes, The Life of William Harvey (Oxford, 1966), p. 33; cf. Whitteridge, William Harvey and the Circulation of the Blood, pp. 13–15, with a brief biography on Lister and his fellow witnesses, p. 39; also Woolfson, Padua and the Tudors, p. 88, which reveals that a Yorkshire relative, Joseph Lister, had set a family precedent by obtaining his medical degree at Padua in 1597. 90 See Brian Nance, ‘Lister, Sir Matthew (bap. 1571, d. 1656)’, ODNB (Oxford, 2004), though this article makes no mention of his visit to Italy in 1602 and witnessing Harvey’s graduation or his co-leadership of the Cranborne tours of 1609–11. Lister went on to become physician to both Anne of Denmark and her son, Charles I, who knighted him. Interestingly, Matthew seems to have been partly responsible for the education of his great nephew Martin, who also became a successful doctor (and arachnologist), studying in Montpellier in the mid-1660s and becoming physician to the later Queen Anne. Ironically, Martin Lister published on smallpox (conservatively) in A Journey to Paris in the Year 1698; see the modern edition by R.P. Stearns (University of Illinois Press, 1967).

91

Notes to Pages 45 to 53

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Signed by Anthony Blencowe, Provost, and 13 others, n.d. (the Calendar suggests ‘probably 1608’), HMC Salisbury, XX, p. 301. 92 Finet to Wilson, from Paris, 22 March 1608 [N.S.], HMC Salisbury, XX, pp. 104–5. Finet is thought to have written a treatise on duelling in Paris in 1610, perhaps as a result; British Library Cotton Titus MS C.1v, cited by Cummings, John Finet’s Miscellany, p. 29. 93 See above, n.85, and his biographical note in Smith, Wotton, II, p. 478. 94 HMC Salisbury, XX, pp. 104–5. 95 Chamberlain to Carleton, 8 November 1608; Letters, I, p. 268. John Finet’s only (living?) brother, Richard, married, secondly, Bridget, daughter of James Parkhurst of East Lenham, Kent, and thereby became the brother-in-law of William Parkhurst, Wotton’s assistant secretary in Venice between 1604 and 1610, who returned to England with Wotton in 1611 and retired to Kent (he would sell East Lenham in the following reign). The following year, he accompanied Wotton to negotiate the Savoy match in Turin and remained there to assist the Savoyards restore relations with the Genevans. When John Finet encountered Parkhurst in Venice, as he undoubtedly did, their families may have already been connected by marriage. See Visitation, p. 167; Hasted, History of Kent, V, p. 429; Wotton, II, pp. 476–8. 96 HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 177. 97 Essex Record Office, D/DQ 53/88; the miniatures are known from a later engraving; see NPG D27227. He may have been the same Thomas Finett who matriculated at St John’s College, Cambridge (also John Finet’s college), c.1591 (Venn, Alumni Cantabrigienses, II, p. 139) and the Thomas Fynett who was serving as a Messenger of the Chamber in 1597 (Acts of the Privy Council, XVII, p. 295). 98 It was Finet who informed Chamberlain that Carleton had been maliciously implicated in the Gunpowder Plot by the Earl of Northumberland but that Salisbury had ‘dispersed those clouds’; information which was confirmed by Sir Walter Cope. See Chamberlain to Carleton, 6 November 1611, Letters, I, p. 308. 99 Salisbury to Cranborne, undated [1608], HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 161. 100 Chamberlain to Carleton, 9 December 1608 [O.S.], Letters, I, p. 273. Chamberlain commented unfavourably on the private and secular nature of the wedding. These Howards were the second and third sons of the Earl of Suffolk, and therefore Cranborne’s new brothers-in-law. Chamberlain reported it was their intention to leave Cranborne at Paris and continue to Italy. 101 Wotton to Salisbury, from Venice, December 1608, Smith, Wotton, I, p. 444. 102 The newly resident English ambassador, Sir Charles Cornwallis, reported that the Jesuit father, Richard Walpole, was credited with the conversion. The Catholicism of his father was either unknown to him or deemed by him unmentionable or irrelevant. Earlier, in mid-July, Wotton’s associate, Sir Thomas Palmer, had died of smallpox after he had been converted by the Jesuits of the English College in Valladolid; see Winwood’s Memorials, II, p. 95; Foley, Records, II, p. 256n.11. 103 Winwood’s Memorials, II, p. 151. 104 Smith, Wotton, I, p. 318. 105 Gilbert Burnet, The Life of William Bedell, D.D. (Dublin, 1736), pp. 312–13. 106 Ibid., p. 313. 107 Ibid., p. 314. 108 Smith, Wotton, I, p. 345n.1. He would also have seen there the magnificent wall monument (attributed to Alessandro Vittoria) of his elder half-brother Edward’s old acquaintance and mutual friend of Philip Sidney, the Catholic exile Edward, 3rd Baron Windsor (died 1575); see Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 79 and 98 and Fig. 22B. 109 For Edward Wotton, see Loomie, ‘A Jacobean Crypto-Catholic’, pp. 328–45, and Loomie’s article on him in ODNB.

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Notes to Pages 53 to 62

110 See Ungerer, Spaniard, II, p. 276n.3. 111 See Cathedral Archives and Library, Canterbury, Map 123 (c.1640); Mea Allen, The Tradescants (London, 1964), p. 104. 112 Warren Boutcher, ‘Marginal Commentaries: The Cultural Transmission of Montaigne’s Essais in Shakespeare’s England’, in Jean-Marie Maguin and Pierre Kapitaniak (eds), Shakespeare et Montaigne: vers un nouvel humanisme (Paris, 2004), pp. 13–28. 113 For a convenient English edition, see The Complete Works of Montaigne: Essays, Travel Journal, Letters, ed. and trans. Donald Frame (London, 1958). 114 The dowager Lady Wotton, Edward, Lord Wotton’s second wife, was not Pickering’s mother. 115 In fact, Wotton first secretly declared his faith to Don Alonso de Velasco, the lieger ambassador to England in 1610, and by Spanish means secured a papal bull allowing him to continue concealing it, until he finally took the Mass from the Spanish ambassador’s chaplain in 1618; Loomie, ‘A Jacobean Crypto-Catholic’, pp. 328–45.

Chapter 3: Paris and ‘the Grand Tour of France’ 1

See for this, and his (and his father’s) Spanish name, Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, II, p. 7. 2 The observation is that of an unidentified observer of the stage preparations for the entertainment of the King in Oxford in August 1605; see J. Alfred Gotch, Inigo Jones (London, 1928), p. 38. 3 Knowles, ‘“To raise a house of better frame”: Jonson’s Cecilian Entertainments’, pp. 181– 95; see John Harris and Gordon Higgott, Inigo Jones: Complete Architectural Drawings (New York and London, 1989), pp. 36–7; Stephen Orgel and Roy Strong, Inigo Jones: The Theatre of the Stuart Court, 2 vols (Berkeley, 1973); Scott McMillin, ‘Jonson’s Early Entertainments: New Information from Hatfield House’, Renaissance Drama, NS, I (1968) pp. 156–9. 4 C. Herford, P. Simpson and E. Simpson (eds), Ben Jonson, 11 vols (Oxford, 1925–52), VII, p. 155; Orgel and Strong, Inigo Jones, I, p. 129 and The King’s Arcadia: Inigo Jones and the Stuart Court, ed. John Harris, Stephen Orgel and Roy Strong (exhibition catalogue, Banqueting House, London, 1973), p. 28. 5 See Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, II, pp. 13–14. 6 For Aubrey recording otherwise unknown incidents in Jones’s career, see Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, II, pp. 27 (n.47), 28, 78–80. 7 H. Colvin, ‘Aubrey’s Chronologia Architectonica’, Essays in English Architectural History (New Haven and London, 1999), p. 209. 8 Peter Cunningham, Inigo Jones: A Life of the Architect (London, 1848), p. 9. 9 Cf. Gotch, Inigo Jones, pp. 51–2. 10 Roy Strong, Henry Prince of Wales and England’s Lost Renaissance (London, 1986), p. 112. Cf. King’s Arcadia, p. 36, where the supposed window of opportunity is suggested as extending from 2 February (the date of Jones’s Masque of Queens) to 16 June [O.S.], the editors having overlooked the New Exchange performance. 11 In this he follows Gordon Higgott, ‘Inigo Jones in Provence’, Architectural History, XXVI (1983), pp. 24–34, where it is established, through the dating of Jones’s changing handwriting style and other evidence, that his observations at Nîmes, Arles, the Pont du Gard and Chambord were made in 1609 and not in 1613–14 when he accompanied the Earl and Countess of Arundel to Italy. While accepting that Jones saw these named sites during his mission of 1609, John Newman’s ODNB entry does not connect the visits with



Notes to Pages 62 to 63

259

the Cranborne tour; cf. Chaney, ‘The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography: A Personal View’, British Art Journal, Winter 2004, pp. 88–92. 12 HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 168. 13 TNA E.351/543. 14 HMC Downshire, III, p. 239. For later payment to Nicholas Lanier, see below, chapter 6, n.19. 15 This argument, here fully expounded, was first outlined in E. Chaney’s review of A. Cerutti Fusco, Inigo Jones: Vitruvius Britannicus (Rimini, 1985) in the Burlington Magazine, CXXX (1988), pp. 633–4, summarized in Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 196– 7n.24; was accepted by Harris and Higgott, Inigo Jones: Complete Architectural Drawings, pp. 40–2, and, implicitly by Stoye, English Travellers, p. 332n.28; and was alluded to in E. Chaney (ed.), The Evolution of English Collecting: Receptions of Italian Art in the Tudor and Stuart Periods (New Haven and London, 2003) by Susan Bracken (p. 207) and Jane Roberts (p. 263). 16 TNA SP 78 [France] 55/122. This letter describes among other things a recent entertainment at Fontainebleau in which Henri IV ran at the ring, and which may have influenced the programme for Prince Henry’s Barriers, as suggested in Chaney’s Burlington Magazine review of Cerutti Fusco, cit. note 15 above. Henri left Paris for Fontainebleau on 18 May [N.S.], stayed there throughout June, and returned to Paris on 15 July [N.S.]; see Jean-Claude Cuignet, L’itinéraire d’Henri IV (Edition Heracles Société Henri IV, 1997); a completed and corrected version: Itinéraire d’Henri IV (2003) has been published only on the World Wide Web. The King’s letter borne by Bowy is TNA SP 78 55/114, which contains a scrawled note from Salisbury to Carew: ‘I have nothing at this present worthie of an express messenger & yet am not content to catch occasion to say something to you to whom I am beholding for so many courtesies have thought to charge this bearer of this ltre wch shall convey nothing else but salutations and thankes.’ This seems to indicate that the letter taken by Jones was written afterwards, though it arrived at the same time. 17 For example, 3 July 1610: ‘warrant to pay James Bovey, Serjeant of the Cellar, 650l. for providing wines in France for the King’, Cal. S.P. Domestic, 1603–1610, pp. 622–6; 20 June 1613, as ‘James Bowey’: BL Stowe MS. 174, fol. 104; 18 September 1617: a similar warrant for 400l. ‘to go into France […] as in former years he hath been accustomed’, Frederick Devon, Issues of the Exchequer (London, 1836), p. 204. For his naturalization by Act of Parliament see Journal of the House of Commons, I: 1547–1629 (1802), p. 604. 18 Warrant, 4 January 1608, Cal. S.P. Domestic, 1603–1610, pp. 393–420; for De Vitry and England, see Edmund Lodge, Illustrations of British History, 3 vols (London, 1838), III, pp. 21, 24; Nichols, Progresses, I, p. 255; Cal. S.P. Venice, 1603–1607, X, nos. 132, 141; XII, nos. 216, 217, 250, 252, 231, 387. De Vitry appears to have had contact with King James even before his accession to the English throne; he and the King also remained in contact between his two ambassadorial visits, during which period the exchange of hounds and the purchase of horses and wine may have provided cover for communications of a political nature. 19 See Chamberlain, Letters, I, pp. 531–2. 20 Bowy performed in News from the New World Discovered in the Moon (1620); Pan’s Anniversary (1620); The Masque of Augurs (1622); Time Vindicated to Himself (January 1623); The Fortunate Isles and their Union (January 1625); he was also scheduled to appear in the cancelled Neptune’s Triumph, the Prince’s Twelfth Night masque for 1624, as ‘Thomas Bowey’ [sic]; see Herford, Ben Jonson, X, p. 429; see Orgel and Strong, Inigo Jones, I, passim. 21 Chamberlain, Letters, I, 496; as ‘Sergeant Boy’, mentioned as having been sent to France for wines, Sir Thomas Lake to Salisbury, 27 July 1607, HMC Salisbury, XIX, p. 197.

260

Notes to Pages 64 to 69

22 See Harris and Higgott, Inigo Jones: Complete Architectural Drawings, pp. 84–5; Colin Platt, The Great Rebuildings of Tudor and Stuart England (London, 1994), pp. 83–4; Margaret Hannay, Mary Sidney, Lady Wroth (Farnham, 2010), p. 204; Gordon Campbell and Thomas Corns, John Milton: Life, Work and Thought (Oxford, 2008), pp. 105 and 408n.16. 23 Strong, Henry, p. 111. Elsewhere, Strong suggests that Jones would have studied the Mannerist architecture of du Cerçeau and de L’Orme, and would have seen the Place Royale (now Place des Vosges) and the Place Dauphine; see King’s Arcadia, p. 36. For the Château d’Anet, see below, pp. 263–4n.11. 24 This production should not be confused with the very successful Ballet de Monsieur le Duc de Vendosme, ou Ballet d’Aleine, based on Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso, which was performed in January 1610; see Paul Lacroix, Ballets et mascarades de cour de 1581 à 1652, 4 vols (Paris, 1870), I. 25 Mémoires-Journaux de Pierre de L’Estoile, 12 vols (Paris, 1881), IX, pp. 214, 220. 26 For the Medici influence via Marie de Médicis on the Valois court, see Sara Mamone, Firenze e Parigi, due capitoli dello spettacolo per una regina Maria de’Medici (Milan, 1987). 27 M. de B. de Sully, Memoires de Maximilien de Béthune de Sully (London, 1773), VII, p. 2. 28 Jones’s copy (now at Chatsworth) of Daniele Barbaro, I Dieci Libri di Archittetura di M. Vitruvio (Venice, 1567), as quoted by Higgott, ‘Inigo Jones in Provence’, p. 26. Amusingly, it is recorded that Lord Arundel referred to his friend, the celebrated physician he permitted to travel to Rome in 1636, as ‘that little perpetual movement called Dr Harvey’; see Hugh Trevor-Roper, From Counter-Reformation to Glorious Revolution (London, 1992), p. 43. 29 On Peiresc, see Peter N. Miller, Peiresc’s Europe: Learning and Virtue in the Seventeenth Century (New Haven and London, 2000); on Peiresc, Rubens and perpetual motion, see Paul Oppenheimer, Rubens (London, 1999), pp. 263–4. 30 The Sommaire Description had first been published in Geneva in 1591; it was reprinted in Paris (1592 and 1605) and Rouen (1604); see H.G. Fordham, Les routes de France. Etude bibliographique sur les cartes routieres et les itinéraires et guides routiers de France, suivie d’un catalogue des itinéraire et guides routiers, 1552–1580 (Paris, 1929); idem, ‘The Earliest French Itineraries 1552 and 1591: Charles Estienne and Theodore de Mayerne-Turquet’, The Library, 4th series, I, 4 (March 1921), pp. 193–224. 31 Hugh Trevor-Roper, Europe’s Physician: The Various Life of Sir Theodore de Mayerne (New Haven and London, 2006), pp. 101–16. 32 Ibid., p. 103. 33 Mayerne’s complementary travel diary is: BL Add MS 20921, fols 93r–110v, titled ‘Voyage de M. de Rohan le viii de May 1599’. 34 Such was Mayerne’s eventual status (and wealth) that two of his daughters would marry members of a branch of the Nompar de Caumonts: Elizabeth to Pierre de Caumont, Marquis de Cugnac (1652); Adriana to Armand de Caumont, Marquis de Montpuillan (1659); see Trevor-Roper, Europe’s Physician, pp. 365–6. 35 See ibid., p. 49. 36 Though observed in Mayerne by Trevor-Roper (ibid., p. 5), the characteristics of the Protestant virtuoso remain insufficiently defined and studied; see, however, Paul Corby Finney (ed.), Seeing Beyond the Word: Visual Arts and the Calvinist Tradition (Grand Rapids and Cambridge, 1999); Olivier Christin, ‘Les Modèles’, in Max Engammare et al. (eds), L’étude de la Renaissance: nunc et cras (Geneva, 2003), pp. 349–59; more specifically on the development of Protestant court culture, see Helen Watanabe-Kelly, Court Culture in Dresden: From Renaissance to Baroque (Basingstoke, 2002); in the context of English antiquarianism, see Daniel Woolf, The Social Circulation of the Past: English Historical Culture, 1500–1730 (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 183–220.



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37 Trevor-Roper, Europe’s Physician, pp. 340–1. 38 His interest in art led him to encourage Edward Norgate to write Miniatura and he was painted in miniature by Jean Petitot (Ham House), for whom he invented new enamels, and also painted by Paul van Somer (NPG), Rubens and John Hoskins; for the last, see Hugh Trevor-Roper, ‘Mayerne and his Manuscripts’, in D. Howarth (ed.), Art and Patronage in the Caroline Courts (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 264–93; also his entry in E. Chaney and G. Worsdale, The Stuart Portrait: Status and Legacy (Southampton and London, 2001), pp. 21–2. 39 Those of Lister’s recipes that are among Mayerne’s papers are listed in Lister’s entry in ODNB. For Jones’s ‘receipts’, see Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, II, p. 39n.66. 40 See Norman Moore, The History of the Study of Medicine in the British Isles (Oxford, 1908), p. 108. 41 Allan G. Debus, The French Paracelsians: The Chemical Challenge to Medical and Scientific Tradition in Early Modern France (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 8–9. 42 Sebastiano Serlio on Architecture, I (Books I–V of Tutte l’Opere d’Architettura et Prospetiva), trans. V. Hart and P. Hicks (New Haven and London, 1996). For the most detailed discussion of his early reading, see John Newman, ‘Inigo Jones’s Architectural Education before 1614’, Architectural History, XXXV (1992), pp. 18–50; cf. Christy Anderson, ‘Inigo Jones’s Library and the Language of Architectural Classicism in England 1580–1640’, unpublished PhD thesis (MIT, 1993), passim. 43 See Frédérique Lemerle, La Renaissance et les antiquités de la Gaule (Turnhout, 2005), and for the external influence, Margaret McGowan, The Vision of Rome in Late Renaissance France (New Haven and London, 2000). 44 The exact date that André du Chesne’s Les Antiquitez et Recherches des Villes, Chasteaux, et Places plus remarquables de toute la France (Paris, 1609) went on sale is unknown and it is possible the tour party might have been able to obtain a copy before setting off. Its author is regarded as the father of the history of France, though his work was preceded by several important studies of the antiquity of particular towns; Lyon and Vienne had been treated by S. Champier (Paris, 1510, with additions 1529); Lyon by G. Paradin (Lyon, 1573) and Cl. de Rubys (Lyon, 1604); Vienne by J. du Bois-Olivier (Lyon, 1605); Saintes by Vinet (Bordeaux, 1571); Bordeaux also by Vinet (Avignon, 1564 and Bordeaux, 1574); Nîmes by J. Poldo d’Albenas (Lyon, 1559 and 1560) and J.J. Grasser (Paris, 1607); Arles by L. de Romieu, though only in manuscript (c.1574); the whole of Languedoc, Provence and Dauphiné had been covered by the Scandinavian scholar, Johann Isaac Pontanus, in his Itinerarium Galliae Narbonensis (Leiden, 1606). 45 M.W. Greenslade, ‘Introduction’, in C.R.J. Currie and C.P. Lewis, English County Histories (Stroud, 1994), p. 10. 46 Britain, or, A chorographical description of the most flourishing kingdomes, England Scotland and Ireland and the ilands adioyning, out of the depth of antiquitie: beautified with mappes of the severall shires of England / written first in Latine by William Camden: translated newly into English by Philemon Holland (London, 1610). 47 Inigo Jones [much revised by John Webb], The Most Notable Antiquity of Great Britain, vulgarly called Stone-Heng, Restored (London, 1655). 48 See Leslie W. Hepple, ‘William Camden and Early Collections of Roman Antiquities in Britain’, Journal of the History of Collections 15, 2 (2003), pp. 159–74. 49 See Edward Chaney, ‘Roma Britannica and the Cultural Memory of Egypt: Lord Arundel and the Obelisk of Domitian’, Roma Britannica: Art Patronage and Cultural Exchange in Eighteenth-Century Rome, ed. D. Marshall, S. Russell and K. Wolfe (Rome, 2011), pp. 147–70 (169). 50 See Greenslade, ‘Introduction’, pp. 9–31; Michael McCarthy, ‘Sir Roger Newdigate and John Breval: Drawings of the Grand Tour’, Apollo, CXXXVI, 336 (August 1992), pp. 100–4.

262

Notes to Pages 71 to 75

51

See V.E. Graham and J.W. McAllister, Tour of France by Charles IX and Catherine de’Medici: Festivals and Entries 1564–1566 (Toronto, 1979); J. Bouthier et al., Un Tour de France Royal: Le Voyage de Charles IX (1564–1566) (Paris, 1984). 52 Interestingly, though the OED cites Richard Lassels’ posthumously published, Voyage of Italy (Paris, 1670) for the first use of the term ‘Grand Tour’, his use of it there is in fact restricted to the tour of France rather than denoting the European tour, including Italy, with which the phenomenon came to be inextricably associated. In the wonderful Baroque essay on the virtues of travel that prefaces his Voyage, he concludes (sig.avi): ‘In fine its an excellent Comentary upon historyes: and no man understands Livy and Caesar, Guicciardin and Monluc, like him who hath made exactly the Grand Tour of France, and the Giro of Italy.’ 53 Published in full in HMC Salisbury, XXI, pp. 104–13. Hereafter cited as ‘French Journal’. 54 See David Mathew, The Jacobean Age (London, 1938) and G.P.V. Akrigg, Jacobean Pageant: The Court of King James I (London, 1962). 55 Stoye, English Travellers, pp. 23–5, 75, 82. 56 See Francis C. Springell, Connoisseur and Diplomat: The Earl of Arundel’s Embassy to Germany in 1636 (London, 1963). 57 1 April 1606, Cal. S.P. Domestic, 1603–1610, p. 308; Cranborne mentions the Constable at Oudon, ‘French Journal’, p. 106. 58 David Laing (ed.), The Bannatyne Miscellany, III (Edinburgh, 1855), pp. 209–11. Walden’s motives in making this tour were as much dynastic as educative; he had married in March 1612 the 12-year-old Lady Elizabeth, daughter of George Home, Earl of Dunbar. 59 Dowland, then serving as Walden’s household musician, composed the Pilgrimes Solace, possibly to accompany a masque, for Walden’s marriage. The much-travelled Dowland was also a Catholic, though this caused him considerable personal torment, and he would also occasionally work as an agent for Cecil; see Diana Poulton, John Dowland, 2nd edn (London, 1982), passim. 60 HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 235. 61 TNA SP78/55/140. For William Paulet, Lord St John and his travels with Roos in Italy, see Smith, Wotton, I, pp. 440–1, 442, 445, 457. 62 TNA SP78/55/140. 63 See R.W. Lightbown, ‘The Protestant Confessor, or the Tragic History of Mr Molle’, in E. Chaney and Peter Mack (eds), England and the Continental Renaissance (Woodbridge, 1990), pp. 239–56. 64 Smith, Wotton, I, p. 457n.; cf. Thomas M. McCoog, English and Welsh Jesuits 1555–1650, 2 vols (CRS, 1994, 1995), II, p. 199, which gives Lichfield’s death, qua Edward Hall, alias Litchfield, rather than the other way around, as 11 March 1627 in Rome; cf. Liber Ruber Venerabilis Collegii Anglorum de Urbe, ed. W. Kelly (Catholic Record Society, I, London, 1940), pp. 158–9: ‘Edwardus Halus, alias vero nomine Litchfildus’. 65 Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion, p. 266, citing Feil, ‘Sir Tobie Matthew’, pp. 59–70. 66 Becher to Wilson, 25 June 1609, TNA SP78/55/140.

Chapter 4: Into Aquitania 1 2 3

‘French Journal’, p. 194. See Cecil, Robert Cecil, p. 117, citing TNA SP78/41/314. Cranborne appears to have used the English league of three statute miles, rather than the somewhat shorter and regionally variable French league (lieue).

4 5

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‘le superbe chasteau de Chambourg’, ‘French Journal’, p. 104. Andrea Palladio, I Quattro Libri (Jones’s copy: Worcester College, Oxford), Book I, p. 64; Higgott, ‘Inigo Jones in Provence’, pp. 26–7, on an analysis of the handwriting, argues that it could not have been written much before 1609 and might have been written in Italy in 1614. It seems likely that whereas Jones took his Palladio to Italy, he did not have it with him five years before in France. Jones’s note of the windowed [stair]well refers to the transition of the staircase into Chambord’s central tower and lantern, which rise above the three storeys of the château. His comment that there are ‘but 2 ways to assend’ is part of his correction to Palladio and it seems he visited partly in order to check this, having, according to John Newman, annotated the relevant page before his visit to France in 1609: ‘an admirable Invention of winding stayres 4 paires wch have foure entrances and assend one about ye other’, John Newman, ‘Inigo Jones’s Architectural Education before 1614’, Architectural History, XXXV (1992), p. 26. 6 Diary, ed. E.S. de Beer, II, pp. 139–40. André Félibien also corrected Palladio’s error in his Memoires […] des maisons royalles et bastiments de France (1681), ed. A. de M[ontaiglon] (Paris, 1874), p. 41. 7 For the gardens at Blois see Roy Strong, The Renaissance Garden in England (London, 1979), p. 29. 8 ‘tres belles allees bien plantees de palissades et de grands arbres pres d’une lieue de long’, ‘French Journal’, p. 104. 9 Orgel and Strong, Inigo Jones: The Theatre of the Stuart Court, II, p. 633. For the earlier visits to Delos, see Chaney, Evolution of English Collecting, p. 103. 10 As a result of an enormous expenditure spread over the last four years of Cecil’s life and throughout the early years of Cranborne’s occupancy of Hatfield as 2nd Earl of Salisbury, these gardens came to be recognized as perhaps the most important in England, eulogized by Thomas Fuller, John Evelyn, Sorbière and Pepys, who on 22 July 1661 admired ‘the house, the chappell with rare pictures, and above all the gardens, such as I never saw in all my life’; The Diary of Samuel Pepys, ed. Robert Latham and William Matthews, 11 vols (London, 1970), II, p. 139. 11 We are grateful to Hatfield’s former archivist, Robin Harcourt Williams, for the information that this title does not feature in a 1608 list of French books acquired by Salisbury. Although there is no copy of this book among the Jones collection at Worcester College, Oxford, the 1611 designs for Oberon are closer to du Cerçeau’s illustration of the famous gateway to the Château d’Anet than to Philibert de L’Orme’s engraving of du Cerçeau’s own design in Le Premier tome de 1’Architecture, which Jones certainly owned. It is possible that Jones borrowed Cranborne’s copy of du Cerçeau and, indeed, might have acquired other books from him, as for example the copy of La Militia Romana Di Polibio (Ferrara, 1583) now at Worcester College, which had formerly belonged to Sir Walter Ralegh, who had briefly tutored Cranborne. Cranborne also seems to have given at least two architectural books, including a Vitruvius to the Earl of Arundel. Given the constant coming and going of the French court between Anet and Paris and the great favour shown by Henri IV to Cranborne, to whom in May 1609 he granted a licence to travel throughout his Kingdom (SP France, 55/79; Stoye, English Travellers, p. 28) and with whom he hunted the stag in this area, Cranborne and Jones would both have been familiar with the building itself. In Jones’s case this is further suggested by the fact that his Oberon designs show the sculptured pediment from the front. One wonders whether Jones’s sculptured animals moved like their mechanical originals. Henri IV’s pride in his major building programme in and around Paris, and perhaps Cranborne’s interest in the results, are suggested by one of Sir George Carew’s letters to Cecil, dated 20 February 1609 (2 March 1610 [N.S.]): ‘the king [Henri IV] hath taken my Lord of Cranbourne with him to St Germynes where he will shew to my Lord all his buildings at his coming thither and by the way […] the manner of hawking

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Notes to Pages 76 to 81 and hunting in this Countrey’. In a slightly later letter, Carew comments interestingly on the King and Queen’s recent return from staying in the Château d’Anet itself: ‘The Queen [Marie de Médicis, later to escape from Blois through a back window] liketh it well, but Madame d’Aumale is unwilling to part with it, especially to him, who should buy it for the Queene, being the farmer for the impost of salt’ (TNA SP 78/55/48; 5 April 1609). Perhaps in Cranborne’s entourage was Edmund Skory, who in 1610 published (with Robert Barker) An extract out of the historie of the last French king Henry the fourth, which he dedicated to Cranborne. Skory is described by Anthony Wood (Athenae Oxonienses, II, p. 89) as having hung on gentlemen or noblemen, with no fixed abode. His book claims to be ‘according to an authentique copie written in his lifetime’. ‘Il faut y voir le Chasteau, plus remarquable pour ce que s’y est passé aux estats que pour l’ornam[en]t ou la structure’, ‘French Journal’, p. 104. ‘pais fort plaisant tant pour les colines qui sont a l’entour chargees de bois par endroits et de toutes sortes de commodités par tout que pour les belles maisons et Chasteaux’, ‘French Journal’, p. 104. ‘le Chasteau qui est fort superbement basty, grand et bien fortifié’, ‘French Journal’, p. 104. Largely the creation of Charles VII from 1492, latterly with Italian architects. He died here in 1498 after hitting his head on a lintel and the work was continued by Louis XII, who built the gallery around the terrace visible in du Cerçeau’s 1576 engraving. ‘On peut monter par une vis qui est une grosse tour iusques au plus haut estage en un carosse tire a 4 chevaux’ (‘French Journal’, p. 104). James I’s brother-in-law, Christian IV of Denmark, was to achieve similar results with his Rundetårn (Round Tower) in Copenhagen (1637–42), up which, in 1714, Peter the Great rode, followed by the Tsarina Catherine, in a carriage. Christian IV may have been inspired by the spiral ramp he had seen many years earlier in Hartenfels Castle near Torgau (1532–6); see Joakim Skovgaard, A King’s Architecture: Christian IV and his Buildings (London, 1973), pp. 91–2. ‘des cornes admirables d’un cerf’, ‘French Journal’, p. 104. For the soldier in the FrancoPrussian war discovering that the horns were in fact made of wood, see T.A. Cook, Old Touraine, 2 vols (London, 1892), I, p. 88. Leonardo was buried in the main château but this was demolished after the Revolution. When, during subsequent excavations, a skeleton was found with fragments of an inscription containing some of the letters of Leonardo’s name, these bones were removed to the chapel of Saint-Hubert, where there is now a tomb slab with his name inscribed on it. ‘ou l’eau se congele et devient pierre’, ‘French Journal’, p. 105. This place appears to be what John Evelyn calls ‘Goutiere near Colombieres’, though probably meaning Savonnières (Diary, II, p. 148). Francis Mortoft writes of Tours’ particularly fine course for this game, after which London’s Pall Mall is named, in September 1658: ‘there is also the place where they play at Mall, which is a thousand paces long, and shadowed with 7 Rowes of trees, and is esteemed to be the fairest in all France: see Francis Mortoft: his Book: being his Travels through France and Italy 1658–1659, ed. Malcolm Letts (Hakluyt Society, London, 1925), p. 11. Still spelled St Gratian by Francis Mortoft in September 1658 when he described it as Tours’ principal church, ‘which is believed to be the worke of the English’; Francis Mortoft: his Book, p. 10. See Francis Salet, La cathédrale de Tours (Paris, 1949), p.15. The statuary was restored by Bertrand d’Eschaud, Archbishop of Tours (1617–41). ‘le dedans est assez beau, surtout le gouveneur y a un fort belle bibliotheque, trois galeries, l’une pour le plaisir, l’autre pleine de cuirasses et courcelets, la troisieme pleine de mousquets et de toutes sortes d’armes’, ‘French Journal’, p. 105. Du Plessis and his wife came to England on behalf of the future Henri IV in 1591–2 and befriended the Sidneys and Cecils. His castle, originally built by Henry II in the 1180s, is one of those depicted



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in the Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry (illustrating the month of September). For the portrait of Sidney, documented as being in the castle in 1619, and possibly the one by Veronese, see Alan Stewart, Philip Sidney: A Double Life (London, 2000), p. 127. Cecil MSS 228/28. Salisbury to Cranborne, 31 August 1609, HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 123. Now in the Cathedral of St Peter, Nantes, it was, before the Revolution, in the chapel of the Carmelites. ‘French Journal’, p. 106. Sir Thomas Edmondes reported Cranborne’s sickness to Trumbull on 14 September; HMC Downshire, II, p. 127. Curiously, two years later, Philip Herbert, Earl of Montgomery, having just survived a severe case of smallpox, wrote to Cranborne, c.November 1611, ‘I know the filthines of my disease was such and so infectius that I would not for anny thing in the world, you should have com’ (HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 319). As the various poxes were not then clearly distinguished, the gaining of immunity after infection may not have been altogether apparent. Herbert’s mother, Mary Sidney, would die of smallpox in 1621. In 1635, Herbert (by then 4th Earl of Pembroke) would lose his son and heir, Charles, to smallpox, which the 16-year-old contracted in Florence, leaving an even younger widow, Buckingham’s daughter, Mary Villiers, who would remarry to the 4th Duke of Lennox two years later. The Villiers dowry, had it been received, would have paid for Pembroke’s ambitious plans by Isaac de Caux on the advice of Inigo Jones for Wilton House which were, however, drastically curtailed as a result of the loss of Villiers’ dowry; see Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion, p. 289, and Colvin, ‘The South Front of Wilton House’, Essays in English Architectural History, pp. 136–57. De L’Estoile, Mémoires, IV, pp. 229–300. The following year, de L’Estoile would be given a copy of Claude Chanuel’s Chasse-vérole des petits enfans, composé en françois pour soulagement du peuple de France & ses circonvoysins (Lyon, 1610), a work clearly inspired by the recent epidemic; see P. de L’Estoile, Memoires-Journaux, tom. 10, 1609–10 (Paris, 1881), p. 194. Another copy was obtained by Henry, Earl of Northumberland; see G.R. Batho, ‘The Library of the Wizard Earl, Henry Percy, Ninth Earl of Northumberland (1564–1632)’, The Library, 5th series, 15 (1960), p. 261. Northumberland was at this time confined to the Tower but as a young man he had travelled – certainly to France c.1585 and to the Low Countries in 1588 and 1600–1 – and he would write advice for his son and heir, Algernon, for his own travels. Algernon (later 10th Earl) began his Grand Tour in 1618, accompanied by his tutor, Edward Dyce (or Dowse), spending time in the Netherlands, France and Italy, returning in 1624. In January 1629, Algernon married Cranborne’s (by now 2nd Earl of Salisbury) eldest daughter Anne (1612–37), by whom he had five daughters; see ODNB and Lita-Rose Betcherman, Court Lady and Country Wife: Royal Privilege and Civil War – Two Noble Sisters in Seventeenth-Century England (Chichester, 2005). Chamberlain to Carleton, 9 December 1608 [O.S.], Letters, I, p. 272. These were the sons of Sir Rowland Lytton of Knebworth and Sir William Borlase of Bockmer, who, with their tutor, John Dunstar of Magdalen College, Oxford, were granted a licence to travel for three years on 11 January 1608; see Cal. S.P. Domestic, 1603–1610, p. 396. See Anthony King, Roman Gaul and Germany (London, 1990), pp. 66–76. Saintes was also one of a handful of Gaulish and Germanic cities to boast a circus, the only other securely documented ones being at Arles, Vienne, Lyon and Trier (ibid., p. 81). ‘les ruines d’un vieil amphiteatre et autres antiquités vers le pont’, ‘French Journal’, p. 106. On Vinet, see Louis Desgraves, Élie Vinet, humaniste de Bordeaux (1509–1587), vie, bibliographie, correspondance, bibliothèque (Geneva, 1977). We refer to three sons of Thomas Cecil, 1st Earl of Exeter: William, 3rd Baron Burghley, Richard and Edward Cecil, and Burghley’s son, William, Lord Roos.

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44

Notes to Pages 89 to 90 Burghley to Talbot, 23 July 1609, see J.I. Whalley, ‘Italian Art and English Taste: An Early Seventeenth-Century Letter’, Apollo, XCIV (1971), pp. 184–91, though she misidentifies the author of this letter as the ‘great’ Lord Burghley’s nephew (rather than grandson); see Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 99, notes 100–10. Burghley had disappeared from Paris in July 1585 and gone to Italy in defiance of his father’s orders, whereafter it was reported that he had been to Rome and become a Catholic. This rings true, inasmuch as he was shown Rome’s monuments by Christopher Perkins, a Jesuit, but he eventually returned home with Perkins, whose subsequent conversion to the Church of England and preferment within it was effected within the embrace of Cecil patronage. By July 1586 Burghley was back in Paris, at which time the English ambassador reported dolefully, ‘he haunts bad company’. See Conyers Read, citing William Murdin, A Collection of State Papers relating to affairs in the reign of Queen Elizabeth: from the year 1571 to 1596 (London, 1759), p. 475; Godfrey Goodman, The Court of King James the First (London, 1839), I, pp. 330–1; Cal. S.P. Domestic, Addenda, 1580–1625, pp. 147, 183. For Burghley’s secret confession to the Count of Gondomar in 1617 that ‘in his outlook and his inner attitude he was a Catholic’, see Loomie, Spain and the Jacobean Catholics, II, pp. 85–90. Though an early example, Burghley’s letter is based on a topos according to which the moderns rival the ancients but the latter are still preferred; see, for example, George Berkeley, more than a century later on: ‘this gusto of mine […] formed on the remains of antiquity that I have met with in my travels, particularly in Sicily, which convince me that the old Romans were inferior to the Greeks, and that the moderns fall infinitely short of both in the grandeur and simplicity of taste’ (Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 327). Carew to Salisbury, 15 June 1609, TNA; SP78 55/109. Edward Sherburn to Carleton, 13 June 1616; Hervey, Arundel, p. 102. Thomas Birch, Court and Times of James I, 2 vols (London, 1848), I, p. 428. Feil, ‘Sir Tobie Matthew and his Collection of Letters’, p. 64. HMC Salisbury, XXI, pp. 100, 151. ‘Mr d’Epernon y a un fort beau chasteau, e tout contre le Petit Niort est celuy de Mirambaut’, ‘French Journal’, p. 107. ‘les ruines du palais de l’Empereur Galien hors la ville’, ‘French Journal’, p. 107. The English had ruled Bordeaux for three centuries from the 1150s. ‘Tout le monde, qui voit cela, est en esmai de sçavoir, que ce peut avoir esté: & n’i a personne, qui en puisse rien assurer’ (Vinet, Discours, B1). Even before Vinet published his treatise, the 1563 map of Bordeaux published ‘A Lyon par Jean d’Ogerolles’ clearly illustrated ‘les restes d’un Amphitheatre qu’on nominee Palais Galien’. The later dating was partly based on the discovery of coins from the reign of the Emperor Gallienus and perhaps also on confusion with Galiana, the mythical wife of Charlemagne, but subsequent finds of Trajanic coins prompted reassessment, which is ongoing. The construction method, always of interest to Inigo Jones, who annotates relevant illustrations in his Palladio, is opus vittatum mixtum. ‘remarques ancien[n]es de la grandeur et magnificence des Romains’, ‘French Journal’, p. 107. Du Cerçeau’s drawing for this is in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, ref. 904*1.f.66 (Paintings, Drawings and Prints; Reference Number: 35982). For the engraving see Peacock, Stage Designs, p. 288. For knowledge of du Cerçeau in England, see Karl Josef Höltgen, ‘An Unknown Manuscript Translation by John Thorpe of du Cerçeau’s Perspective’, in Chaney and Mack (eds), England and the Continental Renaissance, pp. 215–28. Charles Perrault, Mèmoires de ma Vie, and, with Claude Perrault, Voyage à Bordeaux, ed. P. Bonnefon (Paris, 1909); the MS source for the Voyage is: fr. 24713, BNF, Paris. The engravings by Antoine Le Pautre appear in Perrault’s book on Vitruvius (edns 1673 and 1684); cf. Kerry Downes, Hawksmoor (London, 1979), p. 149.



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45 Kerry Downes, Vanburgh (London, 1977), p. 31. 46 Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 202n.68. The first edition of Vinet’s work (Avignon, 1564; reprinted Poitiers, 1565) lacks the woodcut, but a later edition, ‘depuis reveuë, et augmentée, et ceste autre impression enrichie de plusieurs figures’ (Bordeaux, 1574), includes it opposite sig. Bv. This was reprinted in 1580; see Richard Cooper, ‘Histoire et Archéologie de la Gascogne Antique au XVIe siècle’, in D. Bohler and C. MagnienSimonin (eds), Ecritures de l’histoire: XIVe–XVIe siècle (Geneva, 2005), pp. 143–66. 47 A more thorough exposition of the sources for both scenes is given in Peacock, who defends Jones against the charge of ‘jumbling’ and nonsensicality, averring that his capriccio scenes were carefully thought out; emphasizing also that Jones did not see ‘ancient Rome’ in purist terms, but ‘commingled with nature in a state of decay or […] continuous with the more recent fabric of the city’. Indeed, many of Jones’s published sources offered a proto-Piranesian ‘combination of picturesque topography with antiquarian and architectural scholarship’ (p. 176). Though Peacock acknowledges Jones’s references to Bordeaux and the Pont du Gard, he emphasizes Jones’s conception of Rome itself, and though he had probably been there prior to 1603, the scenes he would create for the Barriers masque, of decayed, overgrown, and overbuilt antiquity, were surely charged with more recent impressions of very similar sites that he had seen in southern France in 1609. 48 See Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, II, passim. 49 John Peacock, ‘Jonson and Jones collaborate on Prince Henry’s Barriers’, Word and Image, III, 2 (April–June 1987), pp. 172–94, and revisions in The Stage Designs of Inigo Jones (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 283–8. 50 Ibid. and cf. Orgel and Strong, Inigo Jones: The Theatre of the Stuart Court, I, p. 163: ‘The scene is a jumble of Roman ruins, including the pyramid of Cestus [sic], the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina and the arch of Titus. These recur in architectural and topographical books, e.g. Serlio, Opere […]. See also the series of engravings by Hieronymus Cock, a typical example of the Roman ruins genre with which Jones would have been familiar.’ 51 HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 146. 52 ‘dont le dessein peut estre plus grand qu’il n’apparoist’, ‘French Journal’, p. 107. For the word ‘design’ as an imported one and its use by contemporaries, including Inigo Jones, see Michael Baxandall, ‘English Disegno’, in Chaney and Mack (eds), England and the Continental Renaissance, pp. 204–14. 53 See Charles Braquehaye, Les artistes du Duc d’Épernon (Bordeaux, 1888). 54 See Raymond-Luis Alis, Histoire de la ville et de la baronnie de Ste Bazeille (de l’ancien diocèse de Bazas) (Agen, 1892), p. 172. 55 Augustus J.C. Hare, South-Eastern France (London, 1890), p. 456. 56 See Richard Barber, The Companion Guide to South West France: Bordeaux and the Dordogne (London, 1977), pp. 229–33. 57 ‘Montauban sur le Tar ou le peuple est tout de la religion excepté 2 maisons; bien fortifiee à la modern au plus pres comme La Rochelle, et bien autant avancee’, ‘French Journal’, p. 107. Montauban’s superb Romanesque Cathedral of S. Theodard had been entirely destroyed by the Huguenots in 1561; ten years later it was one of the four cities granted to the Calvinists by the Treaty of Saint Germain; Hare, South-Eastern France, p. 469.

Chapter 5: In Search of Gallia Narbonensis 1

See Jules Chalande, Histoire des rues de Toulouse, 3 vols (Toulouse, 1920–9); Robert Mesuret, Evocation du vieux Toulouse (Toulouse, 1960).

268 2 3

Notes to Pages 99 to 105

‘de beaux bastiments par tout’, ‘French Journal’, p. 108. See Pierre Gérard, Germain Sicard and Brigitte Saulais, ‘Les moulins de Toulouse’, in Technologies et cultures traditionelles: mission d’action cuturelle en milieu scolaire (Toulouse, 1980), pp. 49–60. 4 The last of the town’s fortifications were dismantled in 1870, but many Roman fragments of interest were transferred to the garden of the archiepiscopal palace and others are now to be found in the Musée Lapidaire. 5 The Lazarus, now in the National Gallery, London, remained in Narbonne until it entered the collection of the Duke of Orléans in the early eighteenth century; it came to England in 1792. It was admired by most travellers of the period, Thomas Platter providing a detailed account and Francis Mortoft lamenting that ‘being in the Church too soone in the morning [he] could not see it’ (Francis Mortoft: his Book, p. 24). 6 ‘French Journal’, p. 108. Though, as the 2nd Earl of Salisbury, William would inherit his father’s gardens, he soon ordered a replanting of the gardens of Salisbury House in the Strand and Cranborne House in Dorset, for which John Tradescant was sent on another buying expedition to France; see Allen, The Tradescants, p. 57. 7 In the later seventeenth century, the Canal du Midi was constructed to connect up the lower Etang with the Garonne below Toulouse, eventually continued as far as Bordeaux. 8 Thomas Platter, Journal of a Younger Brother: The Life of Thomas Platter as a Medical Student in Montpellier at the Close of the Sixteenth Century, trans. Sean Jennett (London, 1963), pp. 93, 99. 9 Ibid., pp. 49–51. The studies of Felix Platter, Thomas’s elder half-brother, at Montpellier had helped him develop the herb gardens at Basel; see Beloved Son Felix: The Journal of Felix Platter, a Medical Student in Montpellier in the Sixteenth Century, trans. Sean Jennett (London, 1961), p. 88. When Montaigne visited him there in October 1580 he was amazed to see 20-year-old specimens glued into nine volumes in his study; see The Cambridge History of Science, III, Early Modern Science, ed. K. Park and L. Daston (Cambridge, 2006), p. 447, citing Donald Frame (ed.), Montaigne’s Travel Journal (San Francisco, 1983), pp. 13–14. 10 ‘La [at Loupian] ie prie la poste pour voir les bains de Ballerue [sic] Frontignan tant celebre pour le bon muscat que s’y recueille’, ‘French Journal’, p. 108. 11 In September 1668, Father Richard Lassels, heading for Italy with tutee Richard, Lord Lumley and Ralph Sheldon, on what would have been his sixth visit, died at Montpellier and was buried in the church of the Barefoot Carmelites; see Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion, ch. 14. 12 Another most likely attender on this occasion would have been George Scharpe, who had obtained both his bachelor’s degree in medicine (1606) and his doctorate (1607) at Montpellier, and had subsequently joined the faculty as physician in charge of the poor at l’Hôtel-Dieu Saint-Eloi. Scharpe’s thesis was published in 1617 along with that of another Scottish doctoral student at Montpellier: one Adam Abernethy, who may have been the candidate watched by Cranborne; see J.T. Hughes, ‘George Scharpe, c.1581– 1637. A Scots Doctor at Montpellier’, Scottish Medical Journal, XLVII, 2 (April 2002), pp. 40–3. 13 See Platter, Journal, p. 37. 14 Platter, Journal, p. 165. 15 See Jean-Antoine Rioux (ed.), Le Jardin des Plantes de Montpellier (Montpellier, 1994); also Platter, Journal, pp. 165–7. 16 Platter, Journal, p. 165. 17 It was Louis XIII who granted arms to Richer and the appellation ‘de Belleval’: the regional name for the Hyacinthus romanus. 18 Platter, Journal, p. 166.

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Notes to Pages 105 to 112

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James I’s book, An Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance (1607), had been republished with a new introduction, A Premonition of his Maiesties, to all most mightie monarches, kings, free princes and states of Christendome (1609), which several Catholic princes refused to read. 20 ‘Je n’en peu partir pour la lassitude de mes chevaux que le vendredy 25 Sept. pour venir a Nimes’, ‘French Journal’, p. 108. 21 [Eliot], Survay, p. 75. 22 For Arles, unlike Bordeaux, Saintes and Nîmes, there was as yet no published, dedicated antiquarian work, although manuscript copies of Lanteaume de Romieu’s ‘Histoire des antiquités d’Arles’, written in 1574, were to be found in the libraries of the patrons and scholars of Provence. For a useful introduction, see M. Heijmans, J.-M. Rouquette and C. Sintès, Arles antique (Paris, 2006). 23 William Hammond to Anthony Hammond, from Nîmes, 1 October 1657; Brennan, Origins of the Grand Tour, p. 193. 24 See John Newman, ‘An Early Drawing by Inigo Jones and a Monument in Shropshire’, Burlington Magazine, CXV (1973), pp. 360–7; also Higgott, ‘Inigo Jones in Provence’, pp. 29–30. Both Jones and Cotton, during the time of Prince Henry’s Court, had contributed mock-eulogistic verses to Coryats Crudities (London, 1611). Cotton’s association with Prince Henry is confirmed in Thomas Randolph, ‘An Elegie’, ll. 15–18, in Parentalia spectatissimo Rolando Cottono equiti aurato salopiensi memoriae et pietatis (London, 1635): ‘This Royall Henry, whose Majestike eye, / Saw thorow men, did from his court descrie, / And thither cal’d him, and then fix’d him there / one of his prime starres in his glorious Sphaere.’ Another contributor, Edward Foulis, son of Sir David Foulis, one of Prince Henry’s senior household officials, wrote ‘A Panegyricke better doth become / The stout and learned Cotton, then a Tombe’, which gives a hint that Cotton’s circle was familiar with the project realized at St Chad’s, Norton-in-Hales. 25 Palladio, I Quattro Libri, Book IV, p. 35 (Jones’s copy). Since this annotation has been dated to ‘before 1613’ (see Higgott, ‘Inigo Jones in Provence’, pp. 24–34; cf. Newman, ‘Inigo Jones’s Architectural Education before 1614’), it may have been made while Jones was examining the adjacent engraving of the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina with the intention of referring to it in his Barriers design for ‘The Fallen House of Chivalry’ (October–December 1610); the temple is noticed as a source in Orgel and Strong, Inigo Jones, p. 163. 26 See A. Agard, Discours et rôle des médailles et des autres antiquités, tant en pierreries, gravures, qu’en relief, et autres pierres naturelles, admirables, plusieurs figures et statues de bronze antiques, avec autres statues de terre cuite à l’égyptienne, et plusieurs rares antiquités qui ont été recueillies, et à présent rangées dans le cabinet du sieur Antoine Agard, maitre orfèvre et antiquaire, de la ville d’Arles en Provence (Paris, 1611). 27 One sarcophagus, which Higgott speculates might, in particular, have influenced Jones, retained its position close to the entrance of Les Alyscamps until the nineteenth century. See Higgott, ‘Inigo Jones in Provence’, p. 30. 28 See François de Rebattu, La Diane et le Jupiter d’Arles se donnans à cognoistre aux esprits curieux (Arles, 1656). 29 Francis Mortoft: his Book, p. 32. 30 See Louis Jacquemin, Guide du Voyageur dans Arles (Arles, 1835), p. 301; Le Gôut de l’Antique: quatre sieècles d’archaéologie arlésienne, exhibition catalogue (Arles: Espace Van Gogh, 1990), no. 49. 31 King, Roman Gaul, pp. 80–2. 32 See Gervase of Tilbury, Otia imperiali: Recreation for an Emperor, ed. and trans. S.E. Banks and J.W. Binns (Oxford Medieval Texts, 2002); also ODNB. 33 Pope Innocent X eventually had Bernini erect it in the Piazza Navona; see Chaney, ‘Roma Britannica and the Cultural Memory of Egypt’, pp. 147–70.

270

Notes to Pages 112 to 117

34 See A. Charon and M. Heijmans, ‘L’obélisque du cirque d’Arles’, Journal of Roman Archaeology, XIV, 1 (2001), pp. 373–80. A competition was eventually held in 1675 to devise a means of shifting it and, with great difficulty, it was erected in the following year on its present site in the Place de la République. For discussion of Serlio’s similarly shaped obelisk, see p. 141. 35 ‘du meilleur pais de Languedoc’, ‘French Journal’, p. 109. 36 On Poldo d’Albenas, see Frédérique Lemerle, ‘Jean Poldo d’Albenas (1512–1563), un antiquaire “studieux d’architecture”’, Bulletin monumental 160, 2 (2002), pp. 163–72. 37 See D. Dard, Nîmes antique (revised edn, Paris, 2005). 38 See Jean Ch. Balty, ‘Études sur la Maison Carrée de Nimes’, I (suite), Latomus, vol. 18, fasc. 1 (January–March 1959), pp. 117–49; Désiré Nisard, Histoire et Description de la Ville de Nismes (Paris, 1835), pp. 453–4. 39 See Allan Tulchin, ‘The Michelade in Nimes, 1567’, French Historical Studies, 29, 1 (Winter 2006), pp. 1–35. 40 Robert Sauzet, Contre-réforme et réforme catholique en Bas-Languedoc: Le diocèse de Nîmes au XIIe siècle (Louvain, 1979). 41 [Eliot] Survay, p. 77; Robert Dallington’s View of France (London, 1604); another edition, A Method for Travell (London, 1605), is considerably more sophisticated in general, to the point of acknowledging Paris to be ‘better built’ than London and indeed ‘all the Cities and villages in France, fairer than ours in England’. Unfortunately, although Eliot’s description of Paris is extremely interesting (particularly as Jones, having served the Manners family, undoubtedly knew both Dallington and his book), he makes no mention of the towns that concern us here, except for Blois, which he mainly remembered for watching women play tennis there. On new building in Paris, see also Tobie Matthew’s letter to Carleton, c.1605/6, TNA SP78/52, fol. 73 (unsigned fragment). 42 ‘[Nîmes] estoit une colonie des Romains, bien plus grande ville qu’elle n’est comme les ruines le monstrent. La vous voyes hors la ville les ruines d’un temple bien basty a l’honeur de Diane ou du dieu dis. Sur une haute montaigne tout au pres une tour d’une structure excellente, et quelques uns croyent que c’estoit un mausole pour conserver les cendres de quelque grand. Dans la ville un tresbel amphitheatre presque tout entier, un bastiment ancien qu’ils appellent la maison quarree et m’est advis que ce bastiment tient de la forme de celuy de Bourdeaux pour estre un temple a l’honneur d’une imperatrice comme celuy la a l’honneur des dieux tutelaires. Mais ces edifices sont de structure admirable de grandes pierres ioinctes sans ciment, et si ne les peut on disioindre’, ‘French Journal’, p. 109. 43 Grasser was a professor at Nîmes, who had visited England in 1606–7 after having been accused by a fellow professor, the irascible Scots Catholic, Thomas Dempster, of trying to kill him and Grasser accused Dempster of pederasty. Meanwhile, Grasser published his observations as Frantzösische und Englische Schatzkammer (Basel, 1610). His interest in classical remains had developed in his native Basel, where pioneering excavations were begun in 1582 by another scholar, Basilius Amerbach, and the merchant, statesman, antiquary and patron, Andreas Ryff (1550–1603), with whom, in 1601, Grasser had published an improved version (with coordinates) of the Great Map of Greece, first published in Basel in 1544–5; see Alfred R. Weber, ‘Johann Jacob Grasser (1579–1627)’, Basler Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Alterkunde 89 (1989), pp. 41–133, and Robert Leighton and Celine Castelino, ‘Thomas Dempster and Ancient Etruria: A Review of the Autobiography and De Etruria Regali’, Papers of the British School at Rome, LVIII (1990), pp. 337–52. 44 ‘il quale dicono quelli della Città’; ‘e non poteva ricevere lume da alcuna parte’; ‘ad alcuno de i loro Dei infernali’, Palladio, I Quattro Libri, IV, p. 118. 45 Ibid., IV, Cap. XIX, p. 118. 46 Sebastiano Serlio on Architecture, I, p. 97. 47 Dard, Nîmes Antique, pp. 58–69.



Notes to Pages 117 to 134

271

48 49

See Xavier Gutherz and Raymond Huard, Histoire de Nîmes (Aix-en-Provence, 1982). See A. Tulchin, That Men Would Praise the Lord: The Triumph of Protestantism in Nîmes, 1530–1570 (Oxford, 2010), p. 31. 50 Jules Igolen, ’Les anciennes fortifications de Nîmes’, Mémoires de l’Académie de Nîmes, series VII, vol. 46 (1933–5), pp. 67–132. 51 Higgott, ‘Inigo Jones in Provence’, p. 29, cites the place of publication as Geneva and, partly for that reason, states that Jones is unlikely to have known this work; he suggests instead that Jones appears to be reflecting a tradition extant in Nîmes at the time of his visit. He does not cite Grasser’s familiarity with England. 52 See Anderson, ‘Inigo Jones’s Library’; idem, Inigo Jones and the Classical Tradition (Cambridge, 2007), ‘Appendix: Inigo Jones’s’ Library’. A list of Jones’s books in the library of Worcester College, Oxford, is also printed in Gotch, Inigo Jones, pp. 248–52. 53 I Quattro Libri, IV, p. 113. This is no doubt why Palladio went wrong in plagiarizing Poldo d’Albenas’s excellent treatise. Poldo d’Albenas did not attempt to illustrate the frieze on the front and Palladio assumed it went all the way around the building. 54 Dard, Nîmes Antique, pp. 78–83. Local lawyer, Léon Ménard, confirmed Jones’s deduction and, tracing the names via the holes, identified the temple dedicatees as Gaius and Lucius Caesar, grandsons of Augustus; see Tom Williamson, Inigo’s Stones (Kibworth Beauchamp, 2012), p. 42, citing R.A. Tomlinson, Greek and Roman Architecture (London, 1995), p. 109.

Chapter 6: Pont du Gard to Pontius Pilate 1

‘pont admirable sur la petite riviere de Gardon pour ioindre deux montagnes pour couler dessus un aqueduct qui venoit d’Usez a Nimes sept grandes lieues; c’est la plus superbe antiquité de toutes, et en un pais fort sterile’, ‘French Journal’, p. 109. 2 J. Harris, Catalogue of the Drawings Collection of the RIBA: Inigo Jones and John Webb (Farnborough, 1972), no. 102, p. 19. 3 Ibid. 4 Harris and Higgott, Inigo Jones: Complete Architectural Drawings, pp. 40–2; Higgott, ‘Inigo Jones in Provence’, p. 29. 5 Either side of the Rhône was referred to as Kingdom and Empire in this period; Norman Davies, Vanished Kingdoms: The History of Half-Forgotten Europe (London, 2012). 6 Named after the canonized shepherd-boy who built it between 1177 and 1185. 7 Bibliotheque nationale in Paris, ref. inv. UB9A, fol. 172. Our thanks to Gordon Higgott for informing us of this drawing. 8 We are grateful to Christine Martella, Directeur des Archives Départmentales de Vaucluse, for this information. 9 Somerset, Travel Diary, pp. 133–4. 10 The same observation was made by visitors to Rome regarding papally licensed prostitution. 11 Cardinal Borghese had recently appropriated over one hundred pictures from the studio of Cavaliere d’Arpino, and had acquired 278 statues from the Ceuli banking family in 1607, and more from Giovanni Battista della Porta in 1609: the same year in which the celebrated Borghese Gladiator was unearthed at Nettuno near Anzio, the first bronze casts of which appeared in England less than twenty years later: Charles I caused one to be set up in St James’s Park, while another, for the 4th Earl of Pembroke, was installed in the gardens of Wilton House (now at Houghton); both were probably made by Hubert Le Sueur from a cast procured in Rome by George Gage; see Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 29, 43 and 104.

272

Notes to Pages 134 to 139

12 ‘at San Rémy, there is a very beautiful tomb with three storeys, one on top of the other. The first storey, including the podium, which it has below it, is Ionic Composite work and has flat columns in the corners. In the spaces there are beautiful reliefs – on one of the sides there is a cavalry battle, on the other there is an infantry battle, on the third side there is a hunting scene, on the fourth side there are victories and triumphs. Above the first storey there is another one, Corinthian with the columns in the corners. It has windows and is highly ornamented. Above there is a circular temple with its vault, or rather cupola, supported by ten very slender, fluted Corinthian columns. In the middle of this temple there are two marble statues, which exceed the height of a man – one is of a man and the other is of a woman and they have lost their heads and other members which have been knocked off by the passing of time and the wickedness of men. Opposite this there is a triumphal arch which is very rich in all kinds of ornaments’, Sebastiano Serlio on Architecture, I, p. 98. 13 McCarthy, ‘Sir Roger Newdigate and John Breval’, p. 103, citing Breval (1738), II, pp. 154–6. 14 While Bramante’s Tempietto is accepted as an influence upon Jones’s designs for ‘Oberon’s Palace’ for the masque, Oberon, performed on 1 January 1611 (see Orgel and Strong, Inigo Jones, I, pp. 214–16, featuring an Anet-like stag at bay), he may also have recalled the ‘circular temple’ near Saint-Rémy. 15 ‘Ce jour mesme I’ally baiser les mains a Monsr Le Duc de Guise qui me receut tres bien, et pendant que ie fus en la ville me feit tout l’honneur que i’eusse peu desirer’ (‘French Journal’, p. 109). 16 See Fernand Braudel, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II (London, 1995), II, pp. 1212–15. 17 See Brendan Dooley, ‘Art Information and Brokerage in the Career of Don Giovanni de’Medici’, in Hans Cools, Marika Keblusek and Badeloch Noldus (eds), Your Humble Servant: Agents in Early Modern Europe (Hilversum, 2006), pp. 81–95. 18 ‘pauvres bains peu hantez’, ‘French Journal’, p. 110. 19 Chamberlain, Letters, I, p. 347. 20 Hervey, Arundel, p. 65; cf., R.C. Bald, John Donne: A Life (Oxford, 1970), p. 360. 21 Feil, ‘Sir Tobie Matthew and his Collection of Letters’, p. 29. 22 For Renaissance and Early-Modern balneology, see Richard Palmer, ‘The Development of the Spa in Seventeenth-century France’, and Ralph Jackson, ‘“In this our lightlye learned tyme”: Italian Baths in the Era of the Renaissance’, both in Roy Porter (ed.), The Medical History of Waters and Spas (London, 1990); D.S. Chambers, ‘Spas in the Italian Renaissance’, in Reconsidering the Renaissance, ed. M. de Cesare (Binghamton, 1992), pp. 3–22, reprinted in Chambers, Individuals and Institutions in Renaissance Italy (Aldershot, 1998), XI; Phyllis Hembry, The English Spas, 1560–1815 (London, 1990). 23 See The Life and Death of Lewis Gaufredy (London, 1612): the kind of book that James I would have appreciated; also Stuart Clark, Thinking with Demons: The Idea of Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe (Oxford, 1999), p. 425. 24 ‘French Journal’, p. 110. 25 ‘Vous voiés les ruines d’un theatre, une partie d’un arc triomphal, qu’on tient avoir este dresse par l’armee Romaine en l’hon[n]eur de C. Marius apres la defaite des Cimbres’, ‘French Journal’, p. 110; see also Michel-Edouard Bellet, Orange antique (Paris, 2001). 26 On early seventeenth-century Orange, see Amanda Eurich, ‘Sacralising Space: Reclaiming Civic Culture in Early Modern France’, in Will Coster and Andrew Spicer (eds), Sacred Space in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 259–81. 27 Daniele Barbaro (ed.), I Dieci Libri, Chatsworth, p. 261. Higgott, ‘Inigo Jones in Provence’, pp. 30–1. This later dating of Jones’s hand tends to suggest a similarly late date for his, or perhaps John Webb’s, drawing for the theatre whose interior is now being completed as the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse alongside the Globe at Southwark.



Notes to Pages 139 to 145

273

28 See Joseph de La Pise, Tableau de l’Histoire des Princes et Principauté d’Orange (The Hague, 1639), pp. 9–11. 29 ‘Les deux autres ayant estre de ma memoire ingratement abbatues & demolies à fleur de terre, par l’avarice de ceux qui voulu profiter de la pierre’, La Pise, Tableau, p. 14. 30 See Willem Frijoff and Marijke Spies, Dutch Culture in a European Perspective: 1650, Hardwon Unity (Aldershot, 2004), p. 95. For Dutch travellers in France (and Italy) see A. Frankvan Westrienen, De Groote Tour (Amsterdam, 1983). 31 This may have been the Château de Fontager situated just north of Tournon, which has long been associated with the tradition; though its cellar walls are Roman, its external appearance in 1609 was entirely medieval. 32 In September 1611 Charles Somerset recalls: ‘in this towne there are made greate store of blades, from whence we in England for the most parte are furnished. I was in the house where they make them; it is the water that drives some wheeles, which makes all the rest of the engines worke’ (Somerset, Travel Diary, p. 122). 33 At 11.45 metres and 8.75 metres in height, these were only fully revealed in the 1930s. 34 Sebastiano Serlio on Architecture, I, p. 98. Its original dedication in the reign of the Emperor Claudius had been to Augustus and Livia. 35 Somerset, Travel Diary, p. 123. 36 Sebastiano on Architecture, I, p. 89. John Peacock points out that this Serlio design is used by Jacopo Tintoretto as the background to his Washing of the Feet (Prado), once probably in Charles I’s collection; see Stage Designs, pp. 53–4, citing Cecil Gould, ‘Sebastiano Serlio and Venetian Painting’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtaultd Institutes, XXV (1962), pp. 61–2; cf. the title-page of Vincenzo Scamozzi, Discorsi sopra l’antichità di Roma (Venice, 1582), which Peacock suggests Jones knew of by 1610. 37 Peacock draws attention to Scamozzi’s precept that ‘literal transcription and exact study of […] monuments are not incompatible with allowing oneself to devise “un bel capriccio […] una bella invenzione”’, and demonstrates Jones’s adherence to this in the case of his Trajan’s Column in ‘St George’s Portico’; see Peacock, ‘Jonson and Jones’, pp. 176–7, 183. 38 Jones’s Barriers pyramid appears to have emerged out of an amalgam of sources: certainly, Serlio’s illustration (accompanied by a second-hand description) of the relatively gentlesloped (51 degrees) Great Pyramid and perhaps his own memories of the more steeply pitched pyramid of Curtius Cestius in Rome. In addition to these, Jones was now able to visualize Vienne’s pyramid with its characteristic platform top. 39 TNA SP78 55/214. Becher to Wilson (though later inscribed ‘Mr Becher to Sr G. Cary’), from Paris, 24 October 1609 [O.S.]. A ‘Courtaill’ was a horse with a docked tail, as in John Taylor’s, Bull, Beare and Horse, Cut, Curtaile and Longtaile (London, 1638).

Chapter 7: ‘An Iching Humor to Retourne’ 1 2

3 4 5 6

See Cecil, Robert Cecil, p. 38. Payment for this was made on 28 February 1610; see Lawrence Stone, Family and Fortune: Studies in Aristocratic Finance in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Oxford, 1973), pp. 79–80. Salisbury to Cranborne, 8 November 1609 [O.S.], HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 157. TNA SP78 55/223. Correr to Doge and Senate, from London, 3 December [N.S.] 1609, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1607–1610, X, no. 727, p. 393. For the Florentine match, see Timothy Wilks, ‘“Forbear the Heat and Haste of Building”: Rivalries among the Designers at Prince Henry’s Court, 1610–1612’, The Court Historian,

274

Notes to Pages 145 to 150

VI, 1 (2001), pp. 49–65; Strong, ‘England and Italy’, pp. 59–87; Katherine Watson and Charles Avery, ‘Medici and Stuart: A Grand Ducal Gift of “Giovanni Bologna” Bronzes for Henry Prince of Wales, Burlington Magazine, CXV (1973), pp. 493–507; Anna Maria Crinò, ‘Two Medici-Stuart Marriage Proposals and an Early Seicento Solution to the Irish Problem: Some Unpublished Documents’, in E. Chaney and N. Ritchie (eds), Oxford, China and Italy: Writings in Honour of Sir Harold Acton on his Eightieth Birthday (London and Florence, 1984), pp. 107–15. 7 Salisbury to Cranborne [April 1610?], HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 218. This letter must pre-date a letter of 18 April (ibid., p. 215), as it states that Cranborne has not yet taken Communion, whereas in the other he is ‘perfectly established in religion by coming to the Lord’s supper’. 8 Cranborne to Salisbury, 19/29 March and 20/30 March 1609/10, HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 208. 9 Salisbury to Cranborne [April 1610?], ibid., p. 218. 10 Cranborne to Salisbury, undated, HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 218; the same, 9/19 April 1610, ibid., p. 215. Lanier had at the commencement of the 1608/9 tour of France supplied Finet with a ‘base violl with the case for my Lord of Cranborns use in his travayll’, for which he was paid £5; see HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 158. 11 HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 212. 12 For Lanier, see Michael I. Wilson, Nicholas Lanier, Master of the King’s Musick (Aldershot, 1994); idem, ‘Nicholas Lanier’, ODNB; Lynn Hulse, ‘The Musical Patronage of Robert Cecil, First Earl of Salisbury’, Journal of the Royal Musical Association, CXVI, 1 (1991), pp. 24–40; Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 211–13; and Duncan Thomson (ed.), Nicholas Lanier: A Portrait Revealed (London, 2010). 13 For his appearance in a December 1640 list of recusants (along with Lady Arundel and many others), see Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion, pp. 323–4. 14 ‘To Nicholas Lanyer for his chardges and paynes in carrying lres to Parris – £13 6s 8d’, Secretary’s Warrant, 11 March 1609 [O.S.], TNA E351/543, fols 218–39, given in Andrew Ashbee (ed.), Records of English Court Music, 7 vols (Aldershot, 1986–93), IV, p. 85. It should be noted that this payment is identical in amount to that paid to Inigo Jones three months later, indicating that it was the going rate (one-way) for such a trip. Moreover, as it has been argued above that Jones was paid on departure, the possibility must be entertained that Lanier was also paid before leaving England. He may, therefore, have remained with Cranborne until the latter’s unplanned return in May prompted by Henri IV’s assassination. Back in England Lanier was paid his half-year’s annuity, due at Michaelmas, in advance on 9 June, which might be taken to suggest a forthcoming absence. However, he was still in England on 6 August (as was Cranborne’s party); see HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 187. 15 Wilson, Nicholas Lanier, p. 19. 16 Salisbury to Cranborne, 18 April 1610 [O.S.], Hatfield MS CP228/32 (summarized in HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 212). 17 Hatfield MS CP228/32. 18 Wotton to Salisbury, 18 December 1609, Smith, Wotton, I, pp. 477–8. Wotton reported that Lytton was then in Padua ‘where he bestoweth his time … exceeding industriously’. Mountford, who later became Wotton’s secretary in The Hague but drowned at sea in 1614, was first cousin of Edmund Mountford, who commenced a tour in 1604, and the son of Dr Thomas Mountford, whose patients included Arbella Stuart. His physician father should not be confused with the divine, Dr Thomas Mountford, prebendary of St Paul’s, John Donne’s close friend and father of John, executor of Donne’s will, for whom see Two sermons preached at the funerals of Mrs. E. Montfort and of Dr. T. Montfort (London, 1632), pp. 49–50, and, for his knowledge of Vasari in particular, Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, II, pp. 40–1.



Notes to Pages 150 to 153

275

19 Chamberlain, Letters, I, p. 295. 20 Chamberlain to Carleton, 5 October 1606, Letters, I, p. 232. 21 See HMC Salisbury, XXIV, pp. 147–8. These were two of the four surviving sons of Sir Edward More (or Moore) of Odiham by his first wife, Mary Poynings (d. 1591): Edward b. c.1587; Adryan b. c.1589; John b. c.1590; William b. c.1591. Sir Edward’s second wife was Frances Brooke, sister of Cranborne’s mother Elizabeth Brooke (their eldest brother was Henry, 11th Lord Cobham). More had two more sons by Frances Brooke, John and Francis, but they would not have been old enough to tour at the time of the report. In view of the Rome visit, it may be significant that the Mores of Odiham intermarried twice with the Catholic Stourtons (the 9th and 11th Barons) – it was at the house of the 10th Baron Stourton that the Gunpowder Plot was revealed to his brother-in-law, Francis Tresham. We are grateful to Mrs Sheila Millard of the Odiham Society for information on the More pedigree. According to the ODNB, after the death of their mother when William was six, he and his sister, Frances, were placed in the care of their aunt, Frances Lady Stourton. The Mores of Odiham were connected with the more prominent Mores of Loseley, though, curiously, through the female line: Sir George More of Loseley married Anne (d. 1590) another daughter and co-heiress of the late Sir Adrian Poynings, former governor of Portsmouth. Roman Catholicism, however, was absent from Loseley: as early as 1586, Sir George (later Prince Henry’s Receiver-General and John Donne’s reluctant father-in-law) had declared Popery to be ‘the chief and principal root of all the late horrible treacheries and practices’; see P.W. Hasler (ed.), The Commons, 1558–1603, III (1980), p. 80. 22 Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 81. 23 Commonplace Book of Sir Julius Caesar, BL Add MS 6038, fol. 250a. 24 For an excellent analysis see Alison D. Anderson, On the Verge of War: International Relations and the Jülich-Kleve Succession Crises (1609–1614) (Brill, 1999). 25 Chamberlain to Winwood, London, 2 May 1610 [O.S.], Letters, I, p. 297; Beaulieu to Trumbull, London, 2 May 1610 [O.S.], HMC Downshire, II, p. 487. N.B., Salisbury had several secretaries; those who attended his funeral were Robert Kirkham, Dudley Norton (Irish Affairs), Richard Percival (Court of Wards), Edward Sherburn, Thomas Wilson and John Finet; see HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 375. 26 The first words of what we shall call his ‘1610–11 Journal’, HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 237. 27 Becher to Trumbull, Paris, 9 May 1610 [O.S.], Winwood’s Memorials, III, p. 158. 28 Chamberlain to Winwood, London, 24 May 1610 [O.S.], Letters, I, p. 300. 29 Nichols, Progresses, II, p. 348; cf. Orgel and Strong, Inigo Jones, I, pp. 191–201. Daniel, apparently. seems intent upon goading his fellow professional poet, Ben Jonson, and, conversely, cultivating his increasingly indignant friend Inigo Jones: ‘But in these things wherein the only life consists in shew; the art and invention of the Architect gives the greatest grace, and is of most importance: ours, the least part and of least note in the time of the performance thereof’; see Joan Rees, Samuel Daniel (Liverpool, 1964), p. 94. 30 The letter is printed in Winwood’s Memorials, III, pp. 179–81, and Nichols, Progresses, II, pp. 359–61. 31 John More to Trumbull, from London, 16 August 1610, HMC Downshire, II, p. 368. Theophilus Howard had undertaken a Grand Tour between the summer of 1603 and February 1605 [N.S.], and had visited Rouen, Paris, Lyon, Avignon, Turin, Rome and Naples; see Stoye, English Travellers, pp. 23–5. Sir Thomas Somerset, having been to Kleve, arrived in Paris as one of a party that included Lord Chandos, Sir Henry Rich and Sir Edmund Sheffield, in late September. There is no report at this time of the Howards; see TNA SP78 56/286: Becher to Salisbury, 26 September 1610. 32 Carleton to Winwood, 28 August 1610, Memorials of Affairs of State, III, p. 213. 33 Maurice Lee (ed.), Dudley Carleton to John Chamberlain, 1603–1624: Jacobean Letters (New Brunswick, 1972), pp. 144–5; cf. Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 173.

276

Notes to Pages 153 to 159

34 See Wilks, ‘“Forbear the Heat and Haste of Building”’, pp. 49–65. 35 For that tour, see Hervey, Arundel, pp. 74–88; Howarth, Lord Arundel, pp. 31–52; Chaney, ‘Inigo Jones in Naples’, pp. 168–202. 36 Goodman, Court of James the First, I, p. 330. 37 See Jeremy Wood, ‘Nicholas Lanier (1588–1666) and the Origins of Drawings Collecting in Stuart England’, in C. Baker, C. Elam and G. Warwick (eds), Collecting Prints and Drawings in Europe c. 1500–1750 (Aldershot, 2003), pp. 85–121. 38 For his self-portrait (Faculty of Music, University of Oxford), see Chaney and Worsdale, The Stuart Portrait, no. 9, which makes for an interesting comparison with Van Dyck’s portrait of Lanier that belonged to Charles I which Lanier (re-?)acquired. Lanier was also painted by Jan Lievens and others. 39 Warrant, 17 February 1610 [O.S.], TNA E351/543 mm. 240–53, given in A. Ashbee (ed.), Records of English Court Music, 9 vols (Aldershot, 1986–96), IV, p. 87. 40 See Wilson, Lanier, p. 19, which, however, gives the impression that any meeting between Cranborne and Lanier in Venice would have been by coincidence rather than design.

Chapter 8: ‘On the Way unto Venice’ 1

In 1574, Sidney made a four-week journey from Venice to Genoa and Florence for which he was reproached by Hubert Languet, who had nothing good to say about either (letter, 9 April 1574); Kuin, while stating that ‘the journey’s purpose remains obscure’, offers some suggestions as to why Sidney might have been curious about Genoa but remains silent on Florence; see The Correspondence of Sir Philip Sidney, ed. Roger Kuin (Oxford, 2012), p. 179n.1. 2 Correr to Doge and Senate, 16 September 1610 [N.S.], Cal. S.P. Venice, 1603–1613, p. 42. 3 22 September 1610, Cal. S.P. Domestic, 1603–1610, p. 634. 4 Smith, Wotton, I, pp. 368–9. 5 See Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, passim. 6 Smith, Wotton, I, pp. 487–8. 7 HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 201. 8 Beaulieu to Trumbull, 27 November 1610 [N.S.], HMC Downshire, II, p. 399. (The first part of this letter only is printed in Winwood’s Memorials, III, p. 233.) The Puckering referred to here was Thomas, soon to be knighted and made baronet, son and heir of the Catholic-persecuting Lord Chancellor who died when Thomas was four in 1596. His sister had married Prince Henry’s tutor Adam Newton and he was brought up in the royal household. Nicholas Stone carved his tomb, which Hollar engraved. 9 Cottington to Trumbull, 7 December 1610 [O.S.], HMC Downshire, II, p. 404. 10 ‘Ceste ville n’est pas des meilleures bien che ce soit la capital de Savoye. Il y a un chasteau qui n’est autre chose qu’une masse de pierre’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 238. 11 John Beaulieu to Trumbull in Brussels, Paris, 8 November 1610 [O.S.], Winwood’s Memorials, III, p. 232. Cranborne’s guide was Clériade ‘Gaspard’ de Genève, Marquis de Lullin (c.1580–1619); see A. Zanotto (ed.), ‘Lettres du marquis de Lullin gouverneur du duché d’Aoste au Conseil des Commis’, Bulletin de la Soc. Academique du duché d’Aoste, 39 (1962), pp. 207–305. 12 E. Chaney, ‘Torino Britannica and the Cultural Memory of Egypt: Stuarts, Savoys and the Divine Right of Kings’ (forthcoming in the proceedings of the Rome–Turin conference (June 2013): Torino Britannica: Political and Cultural Crossroads in the Age of the Grand Tour (Cambridge, 2014).

13

14 15

16

17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

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‘mais sur tout vous y avez le commencement ou l’extraction de la maison de Savoye avec les pourtraicts au naturel de tous les predecesseurs de S.A.; leur femmes et enfans depuis 800 ans iusques a auiourdhuy. En ceste mesme gallerie on me monstra plusieurs livres et dissent qu’il y en 50 mille de toutes sortes et douze mille manuscripts’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 239; cf. Giovanni Romano (ed.), Le Collezioni di Carlo Emanuele I di Savoia (Turin, 1995). Toby Osborne, Dynasty and Diplomacy in the Court of Savoy: Political Culture and the Thirty Years’ War (Cambridge, 2002). See C.E. Bertana, ‘Il Ritratto di uno Stuart alle Corte dei Savoia’, Studi piedmontesi, XIII, 2 (1983), pp. 423–6; also Roy Strong, Henry Prince of Wales (London, 1986), p. 114. This portrait by the English painter, Robert Peake, datable to the period 1604–10, may have been presented in Turin, 8–11 January 1611 [N.S.] by the homeward-bound Sir Henry Wotton, having formerly hung in his palazzo in Venice. Wotton was shown the gallery and library by the Duke after dinner on 10 January 1611; perhaps, by then, the portrait of Prince Henry was in place. ‘Le Lundy après disner Son Al: voulut me voir en son parcq qui est tout contre Turin. La dedans outré la beaute ordinaire de tel lieux chamestres vous avez de beaux Jardins, un grand nombre d’Orangers, de grandes allees avec de belles grottes pour metre ces arbres a couvert durant le mauvais temps’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 240; for the fortifications, see Martha D. Pollak, Turin, 1564–1680: Urban Design, Military Culture and the Creation of the Absolutist Capital (Chicago, 1991). Correr to Doge and Senate, 2 December 1610, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XII, p. 85. See Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 173. ‘l’hopital est aussy fort beau ou ie vis une infinite de pauvres qu’on a solicite assez bien a mon advis’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 240. For comparative descriptions see Chaney, ‘Philanthropy in Italy’, in Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 239–77. ‘bien belle et enrichye des peinctures fort exquises’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 240. ‘bastye en quarre, et la plus part de marbre’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 240. The Loggia was begun in 1492 but not completed until 1574. See Chaney, ‘Evelyn, Inigo Jones and the Collector Earl of Arundel’, in Frances Harris and Michael Hunter (eds), John Evelyn and his Milieu (London, 2003), pp. 37–60. ‘l’Architecture est assez iolye’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 242. BL Sloane MS 682, fol. 37. Sanmicheli’s design was only completed by Bernardino Brugnoli in 1586. See Paul Davies and David Hemsoll, ‘Sanmicheli through British Eyes’, English Architecture Public and Private: Essays for Kerry Downes, ed. John Bold and E. Chaney (London, 1993), pp. 121–34. Richard Symonds sketches the church and quotes Vasari on it in Bodleian Library Rawlinson D.121. ‘Remarquez y bien le theatre fait depuis 25 ans par ce grand Architecte Palladius d’une aussy rare invention qu’autre qui puisse estre’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 242. Ibid., p. 243. See E.S. de Beer, ‘François Schott’s Itinerario d’Italia’, The Library, 4th series, XXIII (1942–3), pp. 57–83, and Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 207. Elements of Architecture, ed. Frederick Hard (Charlottesville, 1968). Sir Dudley Carleton to Sir Ralph Winwood, London, 25 July 1610, Winwood’s Memorials, III, p. 200. 3 November 1610, Collegio Secreta, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XI, no. 88. Ibid.; Smith, Wotton, I, p. 498n. For Harington in Florence, see Birch, Henry Prince of Wales, pp. 124–6; Stoye, English Travellers Abroad, p. 83. N.B. also that he arrived from Basel during the marriage festivities

278

Notes to Pages 172 to 179

of Cosimo de’Medici and the Archduchess Maria Magdalena, which took place between 18 October and 7 November, and lingered until the publication of Camillo Rinuccini’s Descrizione delle feste later that month, which he immediately dispatched to Prince Henry, though it never arrived; cf. J. Peacock, ‘Italian Libretti and the English Court Masque’, in Marie-Claude Canova-Green and Francesca Chiarelli (eds), The Influence of Italian Entertainments on Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century Music Theatre in France, Savoy and England (Lewiston, Queenston and Lampeter, 2009), pp. 99–100. 35 Smith, Wotton, I, p. 441n. 36 ‘Musis dilecta’, in Isaac Wake, Rex Platonicus (Oxford, 1607), p. 20. The author, then a college man, was the same Wake who would later travel to Venice as Carleton’s secretary; see Susan Bracken and Robert Hill, ‘Sir Isaac Wake: Venice and Art Collecting in Early Stuart England, Journal of the History of Collections (2011), pp. 1–16. For Lucy Harington, see ODNB, also Karen Hearn, ‘A Question of Judgement: Lucy Harington, Countess of Bedford, as Art Patron and Collector’, in Chaney (ed.), The Evolution of English Collecting, pp. 221–39. 37 Cal. S.P. Venice, 1607–1610, XI, pp. 215–16. Some of Harington’s letters in Latin and French to Prince Henry have survived: see BL Harleian MS 7007; four are printed in Birch, Henry, Prince of Wales, pp. 420–5; others (in Italian) to his secretary, Adam Newton, are in BL Landsdowne MS 91. 38 In 1577, Dr Thomas Wilson, the English Agent in the Low Countries, showed Don John of Austria a miniature of Elizabeth I, at which he was ‘moche pleased’, and, somewhat later, Sir Henry Unton showed a miniature, also of the Queen, to an enraptured Henri IV of France, while keeping a firm hold on it. Robert Cecil also showed the Queen’s miniature during his time in Paris; see Roy Strong, Portraits of Queen Elizabeth I (Oxford, 1963), pp. 20, 28. 39 Smith, Wotton, I, p. 462. 40 23 November 1609, Collegio, Secreta, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1607–1610, XII, no. 716. 41 The Doge, clearly, has in mind the ‘non Angli sed Angeli’ axiom derived from Bede’s story of Pope Gregory I encountering blond-haired Angles in the slave market. As the source is an English one, it may have been introduced by Wotton into conversation on the subject of Prince Henry with the Doge and senators, possibly at an early date in his ambassadorship, the fairness of the Prince having become a trope by the time Harington made elegant use of it. 42 7 December 1610, Collegio Esposizioni Principi, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XII, no. 129. 43 Giovanni Francesco Marchesini, from Milan, to Doge and Senate, 3 November 1610, ibid., no. 87. 44 Zen to Doge and Senate, from Crema, 3 November 1610, ibid., no. 86. 45 Ibid. 46 Zen to Doge and Senate, from Crema, 4 November 1610, ibid., no. 89. 47 Ibid. 48 See above, pp. 155–6.

Chapter 9: Venice 1

2

‘Ce n’est pas mon desseine de dire quelque chose de l’admirable situation de ceste ville, de la beauté des Eglises, de leurs richesses, de la structure de tant beaux bastimens publics et privez; ce seroit une grande faute d’en dire trop peu et y en a des livres tous entiers’, HMC Salisbury, XXI, p. 243. Wotton endeavoured as early as 1591 to obtain drawings in Vienna of the late Emperor Maximilian II’s Lusthaus (his hunting lodge built in the 1560s) on behalf of Edward, 11th Baron Zouche, initially, by proposing to take ‘a painter with me on the next



3

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5 6 7

8

9

10

11 12

Notes to Pages 179 to 183

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fair day’, then by requesting the plans from the Imperial Master of Architecture; see Smith, Wotton, I, pp. 246, 260, 269. In Florence, the following year, he ‘came often to review’ Bartolomeo Ammannati’s enlarged Palazzo Pitti, which many years later he still remembered as the ‘most magnificent and regular pile within the Christian world’, ibid., II, p. 298. Garrett Mattingly’s otherwise fundamental Renaissance Diplomacy (London, 1962) does not address the role of art. For Wotton as ambassador, besides the essential Pearsall Smith, see Melanie Ord, ‘Venice and Rome in the Addresses and Dispatches of Sir Henry Wotton: First English Embassy to Venice, 1604–1610’, The Seventeenth Century, XXII, 1 (Spring 2007), pp. 1–23, and idem, ‘Returning from Venice to England: Sir Henry Wotton, Diplomat, Pedagogue, and Italian Cultural Connoisseur’, in Thomas Betteridge (ed.), Borders and Travellers in Early Modern Europe (Aldershot, 2007), pp. 147–67; insights are to be found in A. Lytton Sells, The Paradise of Travellers, the Italian Influence on Englishmen in the Seventeenth Century (London, 1964) pp. 52–76, also Gerald Curzon, Wotton and his Worlds: Spying, Science and Venetian Intrigues (n.p., 2003). See Katherine Duncan-Jones, Sir Philip Sidney, Courtier Poet (London, 1991), pp. 75–6, and Stewart, Sidney, pp. 118–33 (cf. Bernard Berenson’s suggestion that it might be the Portrait of a Young Man now in the Getty Collection; John Buxton, Elizabethan Taste [London, 1963], p. 106). Cf. Richard Lassels, The Voyage of Italy: or a Compleat Iourney t[h]rough Italy (Paris, 1670), for which see Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion, passim. Cal. S.P. Foreign, Elizabeth, XVI, p. 134, in Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 83. Elizabethan politics of the 1590s were dominated by the contest between the Essex and Cecil factions. Roger Manners was sufficiently close to Essex to be arrested with his friend, Shakespeare’s patron, Henry Wriothesley, 3rd Earl of Southampton, after Essex’s failed coup of 1601 on suspicion of involvement. They were locked in the Tower with Rutland’s servant and tutor on his Italian tour, Robert Dallington. The marriage of William, the elder brother of the touring Cecils, to the only child and heir of the late Edward Manners, 3rd Earl of Rutland, and her subsequent death while giving birth to William, Lord Roos (1590–1618), had led to a dispute between the Manners and Cecil families over the barony of Roos that was only finally settled in 1616 (in favour of the Cecils), though the title meanwhile was used by William Cecil; see Dalton, Life and Times, I, p. 8. Lord Cranborne’s grandson and heir, James, 3rd Earl of Salisbury, eventually married a daughter of John Manners, 8th Earl of Rutland. Their son, James, the 4th Earl, became a frequent traveller in Europe and a penniless Roman Catholic. In September 1594, a ‘license for Richard and Edward Cecyll, Sir Thomas Cecyll’s sonnes to travayle abroad for the space of three years’ was granted; see Charles Dalton, Life and Times of General Sir Edward Cecil, Viscount Wimbledon, 2 vols (London, 1885), I, p. 10. Victoria and Albert Museum, London. The later inscription on the reverse, ‘Viva & vera effigies Arundelli Talbot Equitis Aurati’, is a patently spurious identification. We tentatively suggest the sitter is Edward Cecil (1571/2–1638), later Viscount Wimbledon, already sporting his characteristic, upwardly twirled, auburn moustaches; cf. the portrait of him by Miereveldt, c.1610 (Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, and version at Pallant House, Chichester). The implication of this identification is that Oliver was attached to the Cecils’ tour. For Roos’s portrait, see the correspondence in BL Add MSS 18,639/18, 19, 95, 96; also Carlo Ridolfi, Maraviglie dell’arte, overo le vite de gl’illustri pittori veneti, etc. (Venice, 1648), p. 266; cf. Jennifer Fletcher, ‘The Arundels in the Veneto’, Apollo, CXLIV, 413 (August 1996), pp. 63–9. ‘Henrico Vutonio Inglese in piedi con Zimarra rossa’, ibid., p. 168. For Henry, 18th Earl of Oxford, see ODNB and Complete Peerage.

280 13 14

Notes to Pages 183 to 187

On the Oxford–Sidney rivalry, see Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, p. 82. For Edward, 17th Earl of Oxford’s tour, see Alan H. Nelson, Monstrous Adversary: The Life of Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford (Liverpool, 2003), pp. 117–40. 15 Joachim Ernst (1595–1671) was the eighteenth child of Johan II, Duke of SchleswigHolstein-Sønderborg, himself the fourth child of Christian III, King of Denmark. The duchy was divided on his father’s death in 1622 and only then did he become Duke of Schleswig-Holstein-Sønderborg-Plön. For Holstein and Wotton, see Smith, Wotton, II, p. 157n.164, and pp. 174–5; for Holstein and Henry, Earl of Oxford, in the context of the defence of Venice, a cause that stirred the ambitions of several would-be generals among the aristocracy of the northern Protestant states in the years immediately preceding the Thirty Years’ War, see Wilks, ‘Of Neighing Coursers, and of Trumpets Shrill’, pp. 76–7. 16 See Chaney, Evolution of English Collecting, pp. 66–7. 17 This portrait, which would originally have hung at Thame Park, bears an inscription which clearly post-dates the picture itself. The Venetian view also seems to have been added to have it conform with the Tintoretto, suggesting that the two portraits, perhaps also that of James Harrington, found themselves in the same collection at around the time these alterations were effected, arguably during the ownership of the returned Grand Tourist, Sir Thomas Samwell, who was himself in Venice in 1706 (see below, p. 240). Now no longer accessible (or over-painted) documentation is probably responsible for the identification of the sitter, which should therefore not be dismissed: ‘RICHARD WENMAN, KNIGHT. MARRIED. ISABELLA ELDEST DAUtr. OF IOHN LORD WILLIAMS OF THAME OBIIT MAR. 9th. 1572’. Although no evidence has so far come to light confirming that this Sir Richard Wenman travelled to Italy, several subsequent Wenmans and indeed Samwells did, including Thomas Wenman of Balliol College, friend of Tobie Matthew and tutor to George Gage during the latter’s 1606 travels in Italy. Gage became Matthew’s inseparable friend and a connoisseur of art and architecture, depicted as such by mutual friend Van Dyck. This Thomas Wenman, sometime Orator of the University of Oxford, was certainly a Catholic, while the contemporary Sir Richard Wenman was married to notorious recusant Agnes Fermor. Sir Richard Wenman’s portrait was acquired by Edward Chaney on 2 May 2012 at Bonhams, Knightsbridge (lot 72) as ‘English School, circa 1600’; see below, p. 240 and Plate I. It had previously been reproduced in black and white with a Sotheby’s credit in Christopher Hibbert’s The Grand Tour (London, 1987). Having been searching for the original for several years we would like to thank Dr Jonathan Yarker for the timely tip-off when it appeared at auction. 18 B.L. Sloane MS. 682, fol. 21r. The MS is anonymous, but Stoye’s identification of the author as Berkeley is convincing; see Stoye, English Travellers Abroad, p. 339n.23; see also ibid., n.27, where the statement, ‘the anonymous traveller who discussed Galileo also had a high opinion of Wotton’s pictures’, is based upon the above comment, which makes no attempt at connoisseurship, commenting only on the prices that pictures could attain in Venice. A ‘chekin’/‘chakin’ was a sequin or zecchino, the standard coin of Venice. 19 For a discussion of Wotton’s interaction with the Venetian art world and a summary of previous assessments of his collecting achievement, see Francesca Panzarin, Il collezionismo inglese a Venezia nel Seicento: Henry Wotton, letterato, agente collezionista mecenate e il suo rapporto con Odoardo Fialetti (Trieste, 2000). Panzarin (p. 40) mentions the claim (for which Ridolfi is the source) that Wotton snapped up an unfinished Miracle of St John the Evangelist on the death (in 1618) of the artist, Pietro Malombra. Smith (Wotton, I, p. 60) mentions Wotton ‘employing a painter to travel about Italy to hunt for works of art’, but it is not clear to whom he was referring – most likely Fialetti. 20 M. Ritter, Briefe und Acten zur Geschichte des Dreissigjährigen Krieges, 3 vols (Munich, 1870–4), II, p. 88n.2. For von Dohna, see F.H. [Friedrich Spanheim], Commentaire de



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la vie et de la mort de Messire Christofle Vicomte de Dhona (Geneva, 1639); Walter Nissen, ‘Dohna, Christoph Burggraf von’, in Neue Deutsche Biographie 4 (1959), p. 47. 21 Smith, Wotton, I, p. 342. 22 Wotton to the Duke of Mantua, 25 March 1606 [N.S.], Italian, published in Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 165–6. For Fialetti, see Laura M. Walters, ‘Odoardo Fialetti (1573–c.1638): The Interrelation of Venetian Art and Anatomy, and his Importance in England’, unpublished PhD dissertation (St Andrews, 2009). 23 See Panzarin, Il collezionismo inglese a Venezia nel Seicento, passim. 24 Wotton left it in his 1637 will to Charles I; it remains in the Royal Collection. See Michael Levey, The Later Italian Pictures in the Collection of Her Majesty the Queen (London, 1964), pp. 79–80. 25 Wotton left the portraits of the four doges, and the Venetian College, in his will to Charles I (now Royal Coll., Kensington Palace); he gave the View of Venice to Eton College in 1636; see Smith, Wotton, I, p. 216, and Jonathan Bate and Dora Thornton, Shakespeare: Staging the World (British Museum, London, 2012), pp. 148–51. Several versions exist of the portrait of Wotton inscribed ‘PHILOSOPHEMVR’; e.g. Provost’s Lodgings, Eton College (left to the College by Wotton), and NPG 1482. 26 See Harold Acton, Three Extraordinary Ambassadors (London, 1983). 27 See Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, passim, and John Peacock, ‘Inigo Jones as a Figurative Artist’, in Lucy Gent and Nigel Llewellyn (eds), Renaissance Bodies: The Human Figure in English Culture c. 1540–1660 (London, 1990), p. 173; also Jeremy Wood, ‘Inigo Jones, Italian Art and the Practice of Drawing’, Art Bulletin, LXXIV (June 1992), pp. 247–70. 28 Jeffrey M. Muller and Jim Murrell (eds), Miniatura or the Art of Limning (New Haven and London, 1997), p. 106. For an explanation of Norgate’s innocent exaggeration of Palma’s contribution, see ibid., p. 206n.295. Norgate took letters to Venice in October 1621 and remained there into the following year. 29 Elementa Architecturae, Collecta ab Henrico Wottoni, Equite, translated into Latin by Johannes de Laet and published as a supplement to M. Vitruvii Pollonis De Architectura Libri Decem (Amsterdam, 1649) is possibly the first example of an architectural treatise published in English and in England and subsequently translated and published abroad. 30 Wotton to Salisbury, 4 April 1608 [N.S.], Smith, Wotton, I, pp. 409–10. He also sent a portrait of the current Doge, ‘done truly and naturally but roughly, alla Venetiana’. 31 See Charles Hope, ‘Titian, Philip II and Mary Tudor’, in Chaney and Mack (eds), England and the Continental Renaissance, pp. 53–65. 32 See Harold E. Wethey, The Paintings of Titian, 2 vols (London, 1975), I, pp. 42 and 203. 33 No. 40, ibid., II, pp. 188–90; cf. Chaney, Evolution of English Collecting, pp. 34–6. The earliest record of this Venus and Adonis being in Madrid dates from 1626; it is now in the Prado. For the argument, countered by Wethey, that Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis was influenced by this picture (for which it would have to have still been found in an English palace half a century on) or by an engraving of it, see Erwin Panofsky, Problems in Titian Mostly Iconographic (London and New York, 1969), pp. 153–5. 34 For the subsequent history of the Prometheus and for Wotton’s role in the assembly of the collection of Henry, Prince of Wales, see Timothy Wilks, ‘“Paying Special Attention to the Adorning of a Most Beautiful Gallery”: The Pictures in St James’s Palace, 1609 to 1649’, The Court Historian, X, 2 (December 2005), pp. 149–72. 35 Walters, ‘Odoardo Fialetti (1573–c.1638)’; it is unclear how many were involved in the purchase of Prince Henry’s Venetian pictures and what roles they took, though the financier, Filippo Burlamacchi (Wotton’s personal banker) was certainly involved. The shipment also bears close similarity to later ones to England organized by the Dutch merchant, Daniel Nys (whose portrait Fialetti engraved for G.C. Gigli’s La pittura trionfante [Venice, 1615]).

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Notes to Pages 191 to 196

36 See Smith, Wotton, I, pp. 428, 441–2. 37 Walters, ‘Odoardo Fialetti (1573–c.1638)’, pp. 98–102. 38 On 29 July 1611, Carleton complained to the Venetian authorities that the Customs House was refusing to accept the Doge’s waiver of export duty on the goods of Lord Salisbury’s nephew (meaning Roos), which, it was hoped, would be shipped in ten days’ time; Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XII, p. 187. Roos also visited Venice in August 1612 on his way into Italy, and again at Christmas 1613, having come up from Florence; see Lee, Dudley Carleton, pp. 132, 154. He was also in Venice for Christmas 1614, when he bought the paintings from Domenico Tintoretto and Fialetti, as well as carpets, glasses, torches, candlesticks and andirons. Besides Roos’s previously discussed portrait, his Tintorettos included a portrait of the Doge, Leonardo Donato, a Judgement and a Mary Magdalene; see BL Add. MSS 18,639/18, 19, 95, 96. These letter-books of Isaac Wake, the sender, are used by Stoye (English Travellers, p. 99), though no mention is made of the purchases from Fialetti. 39 See Carlo Cesare Malvasia, Felsina pittrice, vite de’ pittori Bolognesi, 2 vols (Bologna, 1678; reprint edn, Bologna, 1967), I, p. 235. 40 Breve compendio della vita del famoso Titiano Vecellio di Cadore cavalliere, et pittore con l’arbore della sua consanguinità: All’Eccellenza Illustriss. Di madama Madama di Arundell, Surrey, &c (Venice, 1622); modern edn by Lionello Puppi (Milan, 2009). 41 In his contribution to the mock panegyric verses prefacing Coryats Crudities, Inigo Jones wrote: ‘Odde is the Combe from whence this Cocke did come, / That crowed in Venice gainst the skinlesse Jewes’ (p. 64). In choosing to apply the adjective ‘skinlesse’ it is possible that Jones was indicating his awareness of this epithet’s Roman origins, as in Horace’s pun ‘credat Judaeus Apella’, where Apella is not only the name of a fictitious Jew but also, when read as ‘a pella’, characterizes the Jew in general; thus: ‘let the skinless Jew believe it’; see Louis H. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World: Attitudes and Interactions from Alexander to Justinian (Princeton, 1996). 42 Wotton to the Grand Duke, from Venice, 8 September 1607 [N.S.], Archivio di Stato, Florence, Mediceo 945, fol. 102, reproduced in full in David Howarth, ‘Lord Arundel as a Patron and Collector, 1604–1646’, unpublished PhD dissertation (Cambridge, 1978), p. 239. 43 Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XII, 16 December 1610, p. 96. 44 Chamberlain to Carleton, 13 November 1611, Letters, I, p. 312. 45 See Belford’s will, Testamentary Records, Commissary Court of London, Register 27, fol. 502, Guildhall Library, London. 46 4 November 1610, Collegio Cerimoniale, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XII, no. 90. 47 HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 200. 48 HMC Downshire, II, p. 406; Smith, Wotton, I, p. 499n.1: Wotton, having ended a hurried note to Carleton, ‘and so ready to leap into our gondolas I rest’, departed with Cranborne and, inevitably, Finet and Lister, on 27 November [N.S.] and was back in Venice by 29 November [N.S.]. 49 Coryats Crudities, p. 283. 50 4 November 1610, Collegio Cerimoniale, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XII, no. 90. 51 See M.E. Mallett and J.R. Hale, The Military Organisation of a Renaissance State: Venice c. 1400 to 1617 (Cambridge, 1984), pp. 392, 418–19, 443–4, 446. 52 Both now at Worcester College, Oxford. 53 See R. Finzi, C. Magris and G. Miccoli (eds), Il Friuli – Venezia Giulia, 2 vols (Turin, 2002), II, p. 811.



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Chapter 10: Padua 1 2

See Chaney, ‘Evelyn, Inigo Jones and the Collector Earl of Arundel’, p. 47. Governors of Padua to Doge and Senate, 14 November 1610, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XII, no. 105. 3 For John Evelyn being taken on a walk in the autumn of 1646 by the Earl of Arundel through the sites of Padua, with which Arundel had, by then, been familiar for more than thirty years, see Chaney, ‘Evelyn, Inigo Jones and the Collector Earl of Arundel’, pp. 47–8. 4 HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 200. 5 Carleton to Salisbury, 23 November 1610 [O.S.], i.e. 30 November [N.S.], Smith, Wotton, I, p. 501n.1. No doubt the word ‘disease’ is here intended to mean ‘dis-ease’ as much as being a metaphor for illness. 6 Wotton took his formal leave of the Doge on 7 December [N.S.], but was still in Venice on 10 December [N.S.] when he wrote to Salisbury that he expected to see Cranborne (in Padua) within three days, i.e. 13 December [N.S.], Smith, Wotton, I, p. 501. 7 Collegio Secreta, Espozioni Principi, 6 September 1610, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XII, no. 46. 8 For Charles I’s efforts, see Francis Haskell, Patrons and Painters: Art and Society in Baroque Italy (New Haven and Yale, 1980), pp. 177–8. Cf. the argument that it was Charles I in the mid-1640s, rather than Charles II 20 years later, who invited Maratti to England, in Chaney, Evolution of English Collecting, pp. 67–8. Traveller John Evelyn was a pioneering patron of Maratti and the young 2nd Duke of Buckingham followed quickly in his wake. 9 See Hervey, Arundel, ch. XVI, ‘Lady Arundel in Venetia’, pp. 198–219. 10 Hervey, Arundel, p. 228. 11 David Howarth, ‘Mantua Peeces’: Charles I and the Gonzaga Collections’, in David Chambers and Jane Martineau (eds), Splendours of the Gonzaga (Victoria and Albert, London, 1981), p. 95. 12 Anne Gerrard (1585–1627), stepdaughter of the respected scholar, Sir Henry Savile, Provost of Eton, co-translator of the King James Bible and editor of the works of St Chrysostom. For Lady Carleton’s later involvement in buying art and luxuries in Holland see Robert Hill and Roger Lockyer, ‘Carleton and Buckingham: The Quest for Office Revisited’, History 88, 289 (January 2003), pp. 17–31. 13 See Noel Malcolm, De Dominis (1560–1624): Venetian, Anglican, Ecumenist and Relapsed Heretic (London, 1984), p. 44. For companion portraits of the Carletons, c.1625, by Miereveldt, see NPG 110 and NPG 111; for an earlier sitting of Sir Dudley Carleton to Miereveldt, c.1620, see NPG 3684. Wotton was painted by both Tintoretto and Mierveldt; the Arundels by both Tintoretto and Mytens, as well as Rubens and Van Dyck, the Earl also being sketched by Jan Lievens. 14 ‘Item I give to Doctor Lister a book in folio of Vessallius Anatomyes’, Belford’s will, loc. cit.For a discussion of Isaac Oliver’s ‘fairly evident’ ownership of a copy of Vesalius, credited with assisting his ability to display ‘absolute mastery of human anatomy’, see Jim Murrell, The Way Howe to Lymne: Tudor Miniatures Observed (London, 1983), p. 41. Murrell suggests that Oliver even took his monogram – an ‘I’ running through an ‘O’, with which he signed his miniatures – from that found on the title-page of the first edition of Vesalius, where it serves to identify the publisher and printer, Iohannes Oporinus. Lister was also named as a beneficiary in an earlier will: that of his London neighbour, Jean Loiseau de Tourval, whom he may have met as early as 1609 in Paris; see Alison Clarke, ‘Jean Loiseau de Tourval: A Huguenot Translator in England 1603–31’, Proceedings of the Huguenot Society of London, XX, 1 (1959), p. 52. For Inigo Jones’s interest in and use of Vesalius, a copy of which he may have presented to Charles I, see Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, II, pp. 122–4.

284

Notes to Pages 203 to 206

15 Chamberlain, Letters, I, p. 496; II, pp. 14, 128, 200, 282. 16 Carleton to Trumbull, 24 December 1610, HMC Downshire, II, p. 413. 17 Lister to Carleton, Friday, 14(?) December 1610, Cal. S.P. Domestic, 1603–1610, p. 652. 18 Lister to Carleton, Tuesday, 18(?) December 1610, ibid., p. 653. 19 Lister to Carleton, Friday, 21(?) December 1610, ibid., p. 653. 20 Lister to Carleton, Friday, 28(?) December 1610, ibid., p. 654. 21 Carleton to Salisbury, Friday, 28 December 1610 [N.S.] Cal. S.P. Domestic, 1603–1610, p. 654. 22 Ibid. 23 For the Florentine match, see above, p. 273n.6. 24 Roos’s covering letter of 25 November is printed in Birch, Life, pp. 320–2. He reports that Sir Robert Dudley is supporting the Medici marriage proposal while the Grand Duchess is persuaded that Sir Charles Cornwallis and Sackville are opposing it. On hearing of Henry’s death, Roos wrote to the Prince’s secretary, Adam Newton, on 15 December; ibid., p. 371. 25 HMC Salisbury, XXIV, p. 200. Curiously, Cranborne also presented a basin and ewer (though not such fine ones) to ‘Sign Biondy’, that is Giovanni Francesco Biondi (1572– 1644), a convert to Protestantism and Wotton’s trusted agent, who, the previous year, had conveyed details of Paolo Sarpi’s plans for an anti-papal league to James I. The King made him a pensioner, and, in 1622, a Knight. What special service Biondi performed for the Cranborne tour remains unclear, though as recently as June 1610 he had been sent by Wotton to observe military preparations in Turin and it is possible that from there he escorted Cranborne to Venice; see Smith, Wotton, I, p. 493. For his historical writings, see Daniella Savoia, ‘Giovanni Francesco Biondi: An Italian Historian of the Wars of the Roses’, Journal of Anglo-Italian Studies I (1991), pp. 51–61. 26 Carleton to Sir Ralph Winwood, 8/18 February 1611, Winwood’s Memorials, III, 257. Cranborne dissembles on the matter, possibly to avoid criticism from his father that he was well enough to go to the Carnival but not to go on to Florence: ‘comme le mal fut long, encores me faillut il du temps pour recouvrir de nouvelles forces, si bien que ie ne sorty de Padoa que le 14 Feburier 1611’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 244. 27 On Muley Xeque, also known as the Infante of Africa and Don Filipe of Africa, see Jaime Oliver Asín, Vida de Don Felipe de África, príncipe de Fez y Marruecos, 1566–1621 (Madrid, 1955; reprinted 2009); Ruth MacKay, The Baker Who Pretended to be King of Portugal (Chicago and London, 2012), pp. 214–15; on the Flemish tapestries he left to Vigevano Cathedral, see Nello Forti Grozzini, ‘On the Tapestries in Seventeenth-Century Milan: Some New Findings’, in T. Campbell and E. Cleland (eds), Tapestry in the Baroque (New York, 2010), p. 157. In 1609, at the time of the expulsion of the Moriscos from Spain, where Xeque had long been resident, the Duke of Lerma arranged his resettlement in the Spanish-governed Duchy of Milan. Having become one of the local grandees, he was called to the citadel of Milan in April 1610 to greet the unexpectedly arrived Prince of Condé, see Cal. S.P. Venice, 1607–1610, XV, no. 844. For other contemporary Princes of Morocco, candidates for Shakespeare’s Prince in The Merchant of Venice as well as in Othello, see Bate and Thornton, Shakespeare: Staging the World, pp. 171–3. 28 In the sense of ‘to renew health, spirits, or strength’, or, as we might now say: ‘recoup’. 29 Carleton to Trumbull, 25 January/4 February 1610/11, HMC Downshire, III, p. 14. 30 Carleton to Sir Ralph Winwood, 8/18 February 1610, Winwood’s Memorials, III, p. 257. 31 Jones would design a flaming headpiece for Cranborne, now 2nd Earl of Salisbury, in February 1613, the bill for which survives at Hatfield: CP199/132. Finet commented in detail on this, worn in The Lord’s Masque that celebrated the wedding of Princess Elizabeth and the Elector Palatine; see Orgel and Strong, Inigo Jones, I, pp. 240–52.



Notes to Pages 207 to 213

285

Chapter 11: Out of Italy 1

Chamberlain to Winwood, 15/25 February 1610/11, Chamberlain, Letters, I, p. 302; ‘Velis et Remis’: with sails and oars, i.e. with all haste; redditum postliminio: a reference to the Roman legal principle concerning the restitution of persons or possessions. It is possible that the phrase had been prompted by recent reading of Hugo Grotius’s groundbreaking treatise of international maritime law, Mare Liberum (Leiden, 1609), which Chamberlain would have known was required reading for Winwood. 2 Carlo Gaudenzio Madruzzo (1562–1629), Prince-Bishop of Trento, 1600; Cardinal, 1604. 3 See Christopher S. Wood, ‘Maximilian I as Archaeologist’, Renaissance Quarterly, LVIII, 4 (2005), pp. 1133–5. 4 Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 45, 48, 54. 5 ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 244. 6 ‘fort bien faites a l’ancienne’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 244. 7 See Bernd Roeck, Elias Holl: Architekt einer europäischen Stadt (Regensburg, 1985). 8 ‘Leseglisedes Papistes y sont bien parees encore qu’ils soyent en moindre nombre du beaucoup que les Lutherans’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 245; for the context, see A.G. Dickens, The German Nation and Martin Luther (London, 1974), pp. 185–6. The Fuggers of Augsburg financed the Habsburgs and thus depended on Imperial goodwill. 9 These events are succinctly described in C.V. Wedgwood, The Thirty Years War (London, 1944), pp. 241, 245–6; cf. Thomas Munck, Seventeenth-Century Europe, 1598–1700 (Basingstoke and London, 1990), p. 323, which suggests that Augsburg’s Lutherans did not all immediately flee and that the arrival of the Swedes rendered them safe until 1635. 10 ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 245. 11 ‘petite meschant ville ou ie couche’, ibid. 12 Ibid. 13 See Barbara Schock-Werner, Die Bauten im Fürstbistum Würzburg unter Julius Echter von Mespelbrunn 1573–1617: Struktur, Organisation, Finanzierung, und künstlerrische Bewertung (Würzburg, 2005). 14 ‘Tout ce jour passe un tres beau pais’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 246. 15 ‘Mart’ was the name used by Wotton in his correspondence, perhaps chosen as a close approximation to ‘Markt’, a word familiar to him as a German speaker. The modern event is called a Messe. Cranborne, continuing his journal in French, used the word ‘foire’, and no doubt he and his company simply called it ‘the Fair’. For some relevant bibliography, mainly on Frankfurt, see Maria R. Boes, ‘Unwanted Travellers: The Tightening of City Borders in Early Modern Germany’, in Borders and Travellers in Early Modern Europe, ed. Thomas Betteridge (Aldershot, 2007), pp. 87–111. 16 See The Frankfort Book Fair, 1574: The Franconfordiense Emporium of Henricus Stephanus II, ed. and trans. James Westfall Thompson (Chicago, 1911, reprinted Amsterdam, 1969). 17 See Strachan, Thomas Coryate, pp. 89–90. Essex ended his tour by visiting the United Provinces, where, as Stoye notes (English Travellers, pp. 188–9), he would return for the campaigning season in four successive years (1621–4) after turning soldier following his humiliating divorce from Frances Howard, who left him for Robert Carr, Earl of Somerset. 18 See Springell, Connoisseur and Diplomat, where 104 landscape drawings executed by Hollar while accompanying the embassy are catalogued; contains also (pp. 54–94) a modernized transcription of William Crowne’s A true relation of all the remarkable Places and Passages observed in the travels of […] Thomas Howarde, Earle of Arundell […] Ambassadour Extraordinary to his sacred Majesty Ferdinando the second, Emperour of Germanie, Anno Domini 1636 (London, 1637), a travel diary which, where it coincides with Cranborne’s journal, makes for some interesting comparisons.

286

Notes to Pages 213 to 217

19 Hervey, Arundel, pp. 365–6. For Hollar, see Richard Pennington, A Descriptive Catalogue of the Etched Work of Wenceslaus Hollar, 1607–1677 (Cambridge, 1982). 20 ‘un grand temple fort beau, bien qu’il ne soit pas encore achevé, ou est le sepuclre de 3 rois comme croyent les plus faciles’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 246. 21 Such scepticism, which would become the prerogative of Protestants, was expressed in sophisticated Church circles on the eve of the Reformation, as when Cardinal Luigi of Aragon’s secretary, Canon Antonio de Beatis, wrote in June 1517: ‘they display the heads of the three kings, Caspar, Balthasar and Melchior, which we saw through grills in an iron shrine where they say their bodies are too’, The Travel Journal of Antonio de Beatis: Germany, Switzerland, the Low Countries, France and Italy, 1517–1518, ed. J.R. Hale (London, 1979), p. 77. In the Franciscan church, de Beatis mentions the body of Duns Scotus. 22 Ernst von Hohenzollern (1583–1613) was the brother of Anna Katharina (1575–1612), who was married to Christian IV, King of Denmark, the brother of James I’s consort, Anne of Denmark (d. 1619). 23 See Wilhelm Cürten, ‘Die Organisation der jülich-clevischen Landesverwaltung vom Beginne des Erbfolgestreites bis zur Abdankung des Markgrafen Ernst (1609–13)’, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Niederrheins 24 (1911), pp. 205–62; J.F. Gerhard Goeters, ‘Der Protestantismus im Herzogtum Kleve im 17. Jahrhundert’, Studien zur niederrheinischen Reformationsgeschichte, Schriftenreihe des Vereins für Rheinsche Kirchengeschichte, 153 (Cologne, 2002), pp. 213–30. 24 ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 246. 25 See Werner Arand (ed.), Die Reformation in der Stadt Wesel, Weseler Museumschriften, 26 (Cologne and Bonn, 1990); Walter Stempel, ‘Die Reformation in der Stadt Wesel’, in Jutta Prieur (ed.), Geschichte der Stadt Wesel, 2 (Düsseldorf, 1991), pp. 107–47. 26 Cranborne would have known his sons, Robert Bertie, 14th Lord Willoughby (later 1st Earl of Lindsey), and Sir Peregrine Bertie the younger, newly made a gentleman of the privy chamber in ordinary in the household of Henry, Prince of Wales, who also lived up to his name, having in 1599 been granted a licence to tour for three years with his tutor and two servants (see Cal. S.P. Domestic, Elizabeth (1598–1601), p. 215), and in the summer of 1612 he would be at Spa with the Earl of Arundel (see Hervey, Arundel, p. 65). It was on this tour that Arundel began buying art abroad and visiting collections (notably, the Duke of Aerschot’s in Brussels). The elder brother, Lord Willoughby, had been part of the English horde that descended on Madrid in 1605, returning through France with Lord Norreys and Dudley Carleton. In 1624, he was reported to be a ‘great byer’ at a sale on Walcheren of pictures and other luxuries taken from a captured Spanish ship, where also Lady Carleton bought on behalf of the Duke of Buckingham; see Stoye, English Travellers, pp. 210–11; also R. Hill, ‘Works of Art’, p. 191. 27 ‘1610–11 Journal’, pp. 245–6. 28 HMC Salisbury, XXI has ‘Schins Kons’, which surely breaks the words in the wrong place, as Cranborne would certainly have known what a sconce was. 29 The first companies of English soldiers arrived in the Netherlands in 1572. Robert Cecil himself writes in 1588: ‘I came in a skiff down the river which is blocked on both sides with sconces’, and later, of being at ‘Lyllo Sconce’, Cecil, Robert Cecil, p. 34. William Crowne also uses the term; see Springell, Connoisseur and Diplomat, pp. 55 and 96n.12. 30 The Correspondence of Sir Philip Sidney, p. 1016. 31 For Schenkenschanz, located on the island of s’Gravenwaard near Lobith, see G. Leibold, Schenkenschanz (Kleve, 1906; reprinted Kleve, 1986); Guido de Werd, Schenkenschanz (Kleve, 1986); Karl Kossert, Martin Schenk von Nydeggen (Duisberg, 1993). Maurits mustered another army there in 1622; it was taken by Piccolomini in 1635 and retaken by Frederik Hendrik of Nassau the year after. 32 ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 247.



Notes to Pages 217 to 229

287

33 34

‘meschants chariots a la façon du pais’, ibid. See Judith Pollmann, Religious Choice in the Dutch Republic: The Reformation of Arnoldus Buchelius (1565–1641) (Manchester, 1999); Natasha T. Seaman, The Religious Paintings of Hendrick ter Brugghen: Reinventing Christian Painting after the Reformation in Utrecht (Farnham, 2012). 35 ‘Ceste ville est des plus marchandes en l’Europe; y a grand nombre de navires, un grand abord de toutes sortres de nations et de religions, excepté qu’il n’y a point d’exercise de la Romaine’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 247. 36 ‘Voyez la maison des compagnies des marchands qui trafiquent aux Indes, pleines de toutes sortes d’epiceres et autres, comme la situation de la ville resemble une autre Venise’, ‘1610– 11 Journal’, p. 247; cf. Peter Burke, Venice and Amsterdam: A Study of Seventeenth-century Elites (Cambridge, 1994). 37 Cecil, Robert Cecil, p. 36. 38 Ibid., p. 36. 39 Jortin, the eighteenth-century classicist, in Gibbonesque vein, observed that, ‘If the materials of these statues advanced in intrinsic value, Erasmus had this in common with the Deities of ancient Rome’, John Jortin, The Life of Erasmus (London, 1758), I, pp. 590–1. 40 The abundant plant life of the island had just been scientifically described by the Middelburg doctor and botanist, Caspar Pilleterius (Pillet?), with the publication of Plantarum tum patriarum tum exoticarum in Walachria, Zeelandiae insula, nascentium synonymia (Middelburg, 1610). Pilleterius had obtained his doctorate at Montpellier, where his interest in plants had obviously begun in the famous botanical garden that Cranborne had visited in 1609. Cranborne’s kinsman, Nathaniel Bacon, who became an admired horticulturalist as well as an amateur painter of considerable ability (both skills fostered in the Netherlands) landed at Flushing in 1613 to pursue private interests; this may not have been his first visit to Walcheren, and he would make further visits to the Netherlands at least until 1620. See Karen Hearn, Nathaniel Bacon, Artist, Gentleman and Gardener (Tate Britain: London, 2005), p. 8. A half-century later, another traveller, Edward Browne (son of Sir Thomas Browne of Religio Medici and Urn Burial fame), would remark: ‘the whole country about it [Middelburg] is fruitful; either divided into Gardens and Orchards, or Planted with Madder, Pompions, or Grain and Fruits’, An Account of Several Travels through a Great Part of Germany (London, 1677): ‘Journey from Norwich to Colen in Germany’, pp. 1–38. 41 See Allen, The Tradescants, pp. 37–43. 42 ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 248. 43 ‘this town […] is one of the pleasantest cities I ever saw for situation and building but utterly abandoned by those rich merchants who used to frequent it, saving some Italians’, Cecil, Robert Cecil, p. 32. 44 ‘une grand ville plus remplye de prestres que d’autres gens’, ‘1610–11 Journal’, p. 248. 45 Correr to Doge and Senate, 21 April 1611, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XII, p. 136. 46 Certain marginal notes in the extant volume in the library of Worcester College, Oxford, are in Jones’s pre-1610 hand. See Jeremy Wood, ‘Inigo Jones, Italian Art, and the Practice of Drawing’, The Art Bulletin lxxiv, 2 (June 1992), p. 248. 47 See Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, pp. 46 and 64, though cf. Philip Sidney’s references to Tintoretto and Veronese (and patronage of the latter) above, p. 179.

Chapter 12: Commodities by Ship 1 2

Correr to Doge and Senate, 21 April 1611, Cal. S.P. Venice, 1610–1613, XII, no. 204. Chamberlain to Carleton, from London, 26 February / 8 March 1612, Letters, I, p. 337.

288

Notes to Pages 229 to 237

3 4

Chamberlain to Carleton, 11/21 March 1612, Letters, I, p. 341. Carleton to Chamberlain, 3 April 1612, NA SP99/9/166, Lee, Jacobean Letters, p. 126, where misdated as 3 April 1611; correctly given in Robert Hill, ‘Works of Art as Commodities: Art and Patronage – The Career of Sir Dudley Carleton 1610–1625’, unpublished PhD dissertation (Southampton Institute/Nottingham Trent University, 1999), p. 35. 5 Wake to Carleton, 15 November 1613. Hill, ‘Works of Art’, p. 35, citing TNA SP99/14/128. For the variety of meanings of ‘portico’, see Richard Riddell, ‘Temple Beauties’: The Entrance-Portico in the Architecture of Great Britain, 1630–1850 (Oxford, 2011). More specifically relevant here is Scamozzi’s reference to Daniel Nys’s ‘Portico’ in his L’Idea dell’Architettura Universale (Venice, 1625), p. 306. 6 Wake to Carleton, 27 November 1613. Hill, ‘Works of Art’, p. 24, citing TNA SP99/14/137. 7 See Timothy Wilks, ‘The Picture Collection of Robert Carr, Earl of Somerset (c.1587– 1645), Reconsidered’, Journal of the History of Collections 1, 2 (1989), pp. 167–77; Hill, ‘Works of Art’, pp. 44–68; Christina M. Anderson, ‘Art Dealing and Collecting in Venice: The Multi-faceted Career of Daniel Nys (1572–1647), Broker of the Gonzaga Sale’, unpublished DPhil dissertation (Oxford, 2012). 8 For the association of both Henry Howards with Venetian paintings see Timothy Wilks, ‘Art Collecting at the English Court from the Death of Henry, Prince of Wales to the Death of Anne of Denmark, Journal of the History of Collections, IX, 1 (1997), pp. 31–48. 9 Carleton to Chamberlain, Venice, 30 July 1613. Hill, ‘Works of Art’, p. 35, citing TNA SP99/13/150. 10 Carleton to Chamberlain, 1 May 1616, Jacobean Letters, p. 199. ‘Figulus figulum odit’: ‘the potter hates the potter’; Carleton quotes one of the classical adages gathered by Erasmus in his Adagia, relating here, presumably, to rivalry among craftsmen, incidentally reminding one of the still-commonplace view of painters’ low status. 11 Ridolfi, Maraviglie dell’arte, p. 266. 12 Cecil, Robert Cecil, pp. 340–2. 13 Nichols, Progresses, II, p. 38; Loomie, Ceremonies, p. 10. 14 Ibid., p. 9. Cummings, ‘John Finet’s Miscellany’. 15 Finet was knighted on 21 March 1615 [O.S.], see W.A. Shaw, Knights of England, II, p. 157. For Jones’s offer of knighthood and his non-acceptance, probably due to the required expense, see Chaney, Inigo Jones’s ‘Roman Sketchbook’, II, pp. 24–5. 16 F. Devon, Issues of Exchequer, Jas I, p. 259; see also Loomie, Ceremonies, ‘Financial Review of the Note Books’, p. 319. 17 Van Dyck: A Complete Catalogue of the Paintings, ed. S.J. Barnes, N. de Poorter, O. Millar and H. Vey (New Haven and London, 2004), pp. 320–1 and 539. 18 Finet to Trumbull, 14 February 1611 [O.S.], HMC Downshire, III, p. 238. 19 Finet to Trumbull, 4 April 1612 [O.S.], HMC Downshire, III, p. 268. 20 See Howarth, Lord Arundel, p. 232; Hervey, Arundel, p. 501.

Chapter 13: The Afterlife of a Portrait 1

Lot 131, Sotheby’s, New Bond St, 22 October 1929; bought for £1, together with several other Harding copies from the collection of the late J.B. Nicholls, by H. Breun, printseller, on behalf of the Gallery. The subject had been misidentified in the sale catalogue as ‘Sir John Finch’; now NPG 2404, the watercolour, at 11¼ × 8½ in (222 × 216 mm), is a little more than a fifth of the size of the original.

2

Notes to Pages 237 to 240

289

Cf. Loomie, Ceremonies, caption facing p. 34, where it is incorrectly stated that Finet visited Venice in 1609. Finet’s date of birth is given in ODNB as 1570/1, based on his tomb inscription, which gives his date of death as 12 July 1641 [O.S.] and his age as 70. On these figures, Finet’s 39th year must have passed within the range 12/22 July 1608–11/21 July 1610. Yet, Finet’s first day in Venice was 1 November 1610 [N.S.] and his last, 11 February 1611 [N.S.], those being the limits within which he could have sat for his portrait. The two periods fail to overlap by a margin of 13 weeks; therefore, either the portrait inscription or the tomb inscription (or both) is inaccurate. This discrepancy matters little and is left for antiquarian rumination. 3 Lot 4, English School, oil on canvas, 55 in × 46 in (140 cm × 117 cm), Sotheby’s, 28 September 1998. It was seen by John Nichols and John Tailby at Noseley on 15 June 1797; see J. Nichols, History of Leicestershire: The History and Antiquities of the County of Leicestershire (4 vols in 8 parts, London, 1795–1815), II, part 2, pp. 749–50. N.B., Hazelrigg has several spelling variants, e.g. Hesilrige, Haselrig. 4 Lot 86, oil on canvas, 49½ in × 39½ in (125.7 cm × 100.3 cm), Old Master and British Paintings and Old Master Drawings, Phillips Auctioneers, London, 13 April 1999. 5 No. 541, Catalogue of the first special exhibition of national portraits ending with the reign of King James, the Second: on loan to the South Kensington Museum, April 1866, ed. R.H. Soden Smith, J. Beck and R.F. Sketchley (London, 1866); the dimensions are given as 48 in × 39 in, which match the dimensions of the portrait sold at Phillips. 6 The Athenæum, 11 August 1866. 7 Letter of Edward C. Davies, Notes & Queries, 3rd series, X (29 September 1866), p. 243. 8 This canvas and its copies present the only known image of Finet, though we know from the following bequest in his wife’s will that he was also painted in miniature (not, however, whether it was also based on the image under discussion): ‘I also give my eldest daughter Lucy Finet a diamond picture case wherein is her fathers picture’, TNA PROB 11/224, proved 22 July 1652. The miniature, if it has survived, remains unidentified. Lest a reference in Horace Walpole’s correspondence should ever again be misinterpreted (as formerly in the NPG card files) as indicating that a print of Finet existed, it should be noted that Walpole, in thanking the Rev. William Cole for his responsiveness to ‘the list of heads I wanted’, and continuing, ‘but there is no end of thanking you and yet I must for Sir J. Finett, though Hawkins gave me a copy a fortnight ago’, was referring to a copy of Finetti Philoxenis. Cole, in sending it, had observed interestingly, ‘he was your townsman, and had a country house at Twittenham’ (i.e. Twickenham). See Walpole to Cole, 11 August 1769, Horace Walpole’s Correspondence, ed. W.S. Lewis (New Haven, 1937), I, p. 190. 9 The inscription (of the sort commonly applied to early British portraits in subsequent centuries) reads: ‘Sr Iohn Finett. Master of ye Ceremonies to king Iames ye 1st’. Finet did not become Master of Ceremonies until 8 March 1626/7, i.e. in the reign of Charles I, though he had served as deputy to the previous Master, Sir Lewes Lewknor, for more than a decade in the previous reign. 10 See above, p. 186. 11 George Perfect Harding, List of Portraits, Pictures in Various Mansions of the United Kingdom, 4 vols, NPG MSS 47–50, II, p. 279. This location should not be confused with Upton House, now a National Trust property, 23 miles distant. 12 J. Evans and J. Britton, The Beauties of England and Wales or Delineations, Topographical, Historical, and Descriptive of each County (London, 1810), XI, p. 154. 13 Her portrait by Simon Peter Verelst is now in the Northamptonshire Museum, no. PCF92. Her husband, Richard, inherited Upton in 1668. 14 Neither Samwell nor Hesilrige have entries in ODNB; for their association, see John Ingamells and Robert Raines, ‘A Catalogue of the Paintings, Drawings and Etchings of Philip Mercier’, Walpole Society, XLVI (1978), pp. 1–70.

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23

24 25 26 27 28

Notes to Pages 240 to 244 Sotheby’s Noseley Hall Sale, 28–9 September 1998, lots 61 and 63. TNA PROB 11/514, will of Finetta Finett, 8 February 1705. These facts appear on a wall memorial in the church of St Mary Magdalene, Hullavington, erected by Anne Ivye in 1663. The memorial, which remains in situ, was transcribed by John Aubrey not long after its erection, but the transcription remained unpublished for two centuries. See J. Aubrey, Wiltshire: The Topographical Collections of John Aubrey AD 1659–1670. Corrected and enlarged by John Edward Jackson (Devizes, 1862), pp. 245–9. James Godschall (d. 1636), was the son of John (Jan) Godschall (d. 1636). John, another of Jan’s sons, was sufficiently wealthy to lend money to the Crown. A Joas Godschalk (fl. 1640), was an associate of Sir William Courteen, whose company, c.1635, was backed by prominent courtiers including Endymion Porter in its rivalry with the East India Company; see Robert Brenner, Merchants and Revolution: Commercial Change, Political Conflict and London’s Overseas Traders, 1550–1653 (London, 2003), pp. 175 ff., 192 ff. It is possible that Elizabeth married twice, as a medical recipe book compiled by an Elizabeth Morton, the daughter of Sir John Finet, exists (NRA 20976 Lewin). The Finet portrait was brought to Upton Hall either by Finetta Finet, Elizabeth Godscall or Anne Godschalk. It seems most likely that it was Finetta, as her mother, Jane, Lady Finet, left ‘All household stuff […] as carpets hangings pictures brasse pewter or whatsoever […] to be sould and the money to be equally divided betwixt my three above named daughters’ (that is, the unmarried daughters: Lucy, Finetta and Jane), will of Dame Jane Finet, 22 July 1652, TNA PROB 11/224. Assuming the portrait was among the pictures referred to – presumably in the Finets’ town house in St Martin’s Lane, London, the daughters might have agreed not to sell it. In 1652, it is unlikely that anyone, beyond the family, would have had any interest in the portrait, at a time when London was glutted with pictures for sale and old royalist friends of the late Master of Ceremonies were either in exile or living frugally and discreetly under the Protectorate. The only known portrait of Jane, Lady Finet, c.1615, by an unknown artist (private coll.), was formerly at Wroxton Abbey, but this was probably introduced after ownership of the abbey had passed from the Popes to the Norths; see ‘Notes on Collections (Wroxton Abbey)’, NPG archive. Finetta Holbech (c.1675–1758) was described as ‘of Warwick’ and a spinster in 1743. Curiously, the name appears to have passed to a third generation, as Finetta Holbech was the aunt of Finetta Harvey of Wormsworth, who married in 1733. TNA PROB 11/224. This was probably the William Finet admitted as Fellow-Commoner, Emmanuel College, Cambridge, February 1640 [O.S.] and recorded as a student at Leiden, 28 August 1643; see Venn, Alumni Cantabrigienses, II, p. 140. N.B., the (old) DNB entry for Sir John states in error that his son was called John and that he had only two daughters. Subsequent to its purchase in 1999, the portrait was taken out of its eighteenth-century frame and the canvas reduced to its original size and restored. The original frame is in the possession of the authors. Kathleen A. Healey, A Brief History of Upton, Northampton (Northampton, 1995), p. 36. Healey provides a useful schematic diagram of the portraits in the ballroom, ibid., pp. 38–9. Ingamells and Raines, ‘Philip Mercier’, no. 80 (with illustration). John Ingamells, A Dictionary of British and Irish Travellers in Italy, 1701–1800 (New Haven and London, 1997), p. 839. Francis Samwell (d. 1585) and his son, Sir William (1559–1628) were auditors of the Exchequer. The latter may have been the ‘Samuell’ awarded a chain by Sir Richard Spencer, bestowed by the Archduke upon the leader of the English delegation to Brussels in 1609 for doing a good job of keeping the register of the negotiations; see J. Chandler to W. Trumbull, from Antwerp, 5 July 1609, HMC Downshire, II, p. 111.



Notes to Pages 244 to 245

291

29 Ingamells, Dictionary, pp. 492–3. A drawing by Pier Leone Ghezzi of Hesilrige, dated 6 April 1724, is in the Christ Church Picture Gallery at Oxford. Sir Arthur also acquired pictures by Francesco Trevisani and a copy of Pietro da Cortona’s Planetary Cycle from the Palazzo Pitti, which he set in the ceiling of the saloon at Noseley. Sir Arthur’s third son, Sir Thomas Maynard Hesilrige of Hoxne Hall, Suffolk (d. 1817), also went on the Grand Tour in the mid-1780s; see J.M. Robinson, Country Life, 29 March 1990, p. 89. 30 His heirs were Charlotta, Clarissa and Frances, daughters of his sister Charlotta Tinsley (also sister of T.S.W. Samwell). See Healey, Upton, pp. 20, 49. 31 Francis Whellan, History, Topography, and Directory of Northamptonshire (London, 1874), p. 330. 32 TNA MH12/9538/48 fols 63–7; MH12/9538/50, fol. 50; E.R. Kelly (ed.), The Post Office Directory of Northamptonshire, Huntingdonshire, Bedfordshire and Oxfordshire (London, 1869), p. 143. 33 Edward Walford, The County Families of the United Kingdom (London, 1919), p. 319. 34 See J. Aubrey, Wiltshire: The Topographical Collections of John Aubrey AD 1659–1670. Corrected and enlarged by John Edward Jackson (Devizes, 1862), p. 245n.2. 35 See Howard Colvin, A Biographical Dictionary of British Architects 1600–1840 (New Haven and London, 1995), pp. 841–2. This William Samwell was the grandson of Sir William of Upton and chose to be buried there. For the most recent work on his buildings see David Brock, ‘John Webb and the Grange’, English Heritage Historical Review, IV (2009), pp. 99–121. 36 See Chaney, The Grand Tour and the Great Rebellion, pp. 285–6. His father was Sir Sapcotes Harington, a first cousin of Prince Henry’s ‘right eye’, Sir John Harington of Exton, and the collector and connoisseur Lucy Harington, Countess of Bedford. A tablet to Harington’s memory, erected by Wenman Langham Watson in 1810, is to be found in the estate church.

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INDEX OF NAMES

Abernethy, Adam, 268n.12 Achmouty, John, 203 Adam, Robert, 134 Aerschot, see Croy Agard, Antoine, 110, 269n.26 Albani, Francesco, 202 Albenas, Jean Poldo d’, 114–15, 117–21, 129–31, 271n.53 Albert VII, Archduke of Austria, 158, 223, 225, 290n.28 Alessi, Galeazzo, 160 Alleyn, Edward, 5, 248n.6, 256n.82 Alva (Alba), see Álvarez Álvarez de Toledo y Beaumont, Antonio, 5th Duke of Alba, 50 Amerbach, Basilius, 270n.43 Ammannati, Bartolomeo, 279n.2 Anna Katharina, Queen of Denmark, 286n.22 Anne of Denmark, Queen of England and Scotland, xvii, 11, 59, 68, 136, 183, 187, 256n.90, 286n.22, 288n.8 Archdukes, see Albert; Isabella Arden, John, 29–31, 39, 251n.6, 255n.64 Arden, Robert, 251n.6 Arias Dávila y Bobadilla, Francisco, 4th Conde de Puñonrostro, 50 Artari, Giuseppe, 244 Arthur, King of Britain, 209 Arundel, see Howard, Thomas, 14th Earl of Arundel; Talbot, Aletheia; Fitzalan, Henry Ascham, Roger, 151 Askeworthe, Mr, 252n.19 Aubrey, John, 61, 258n.6, 290n.17 Ausonius (Decimius Magnus Ausonius), 92 Bachelier family, 99 Bacon, Anthony, 30, 32 Bacon, Francis, 1st Viscount St Alban, 32 Bacon, Sir Nathaniel, 287n.40 Baldwin, William, 155, 203

Bancroft, Richard, archbishop, 35, 254n.47 Barrett, Mr, 52 Basil, Simon, 38 Baskerville (Baskervyll), Mr, 252n.19 Bassano, Jacopo, 183, 230 Bassano, Leandro, 183 Batoni, Pompeo, 186 Beaulieu, John, 158, 275–6 Becher, William, 74, 144, 151, 250n.47, 273n.39 Belford, Mark, 25, 193–4, 202–3, 282n.45, 283n.14 Bellarmine (Bellarmino), Roberto, Cardinal, 156 Bellini, Giovanni, 53 Benedict, Edward, 104, 255n.61 Berkeley, George, bishop, 266n.33 Berkeley, Sir Thomas, 169, 186, 280n.18 Bernini, Gianlorenzo, 269 Bertie, Peregrine, 13th Baron Willoughby, 215, 219 Bertie, Sir Peregrine, 136, 286n.26 Bertie, Robert, 14th Baron Willoughby (later 1st Earl of Lindsey), 11, 57, 286n.26 Bertrand d’Eschaud, archbishop, 264n.20 Béthune, Maximilien de, 1st Duc de Sully, 65, 98 Biard, Pierre, 96 Bigot, Guillaume, 117 Biondi, Giovanni Francesco, 284n.25 Blount, Sir Christopher, 30 Boltari family, 199 Borghese, Scipione, Cardinal, 132 Borlase, Sir William I, 265n.27 Borlase, Sir William II, 86, 265n.27 Boscán, Juan, 9 Bossu (Bossou), see Hénin-Liétard Bothwell, see Stuart, Francis Boughton, Mr, 252n.19 Bourbon, César de, Duc de Vendôme, 65 Bourbon, Henri II de, Prince de Condé, 284n.27

306

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Bourchier, Sir James, 15 Bowy (Bovy, Bowey), James, 62–3, 259n.20 Bramante (Donato di Pascuccio di Antonio), 163, 272n.14 Breton, Nicholas, 35 Breval, John, 71, 134 Bristol, see Digby, Sir John Brooke, Elizabeth, Countess of Salisbury, 275n.21 Brooke, Frances, Lady More, 275n.21 Brooke, Henry, 11th Baron Cobham, 275n.21 Browne, Edward, 287n.40 Browne, Sir Thomas, 287n.40 Brydges, Grey, 5th Baron Chandos, 136, 275n.31 Buckingham, see Villiers, George, 1st and 2nd Dukes of Buckingham Bucquoy, see Longueval Burghley, see Cecil, Thomas; Cecil, William, 1st and 3rd Baron Burghley Burlamacchi, Filippo, 281n.35 Bussey, Andrew, 62 Button, Sir Thomas, 57 Byrd, William, 2 Caesar, Julius (Jules), 15 Caesar, Sir Julius, 15, 151 Caius Julius Rufus, 87 Caius, John, 169 Calley, William, 158 Calton, Mr, 43 Calton, Sir Francis, 256n.82 Calton, Thomas, 256n.82 Camden, William, 70–1, 154 Campeggio, Lorenzo, Cardinal, 32 Canaletto (Giovanni Antonio Canal), 187 Cansfield, Robert, 22 Capugnano, Girolamo da, 169 Caravaggio, Michelangelo Merisi da, 2, 218 Cárdenas, Cipriano de, 53 Carew, Sir George, 62, 68, 75, 89, 250n.47, 254n.44, 259n.16, 263n.11 Carew, Thomas, 202 Carey, George, 2nd Baron Hunsdon, 136 Carey, Thomas, 16 Carleton, Alice, 202 Carleton, Sir Dudley (later 1st Viscount Dorchester), 9, 11, 49, 57, 151, 153, 171, 175–7, 183, 186, 196, 199–200, 203–6, 218, 229–30, 232, 257n.98, 278n.36, 282n.38, 283n.13, 285n.1, 288n.10 Carleton, Lady, see Gerrard, Anne Carlo Emanuele I, Duke of Savoy, 112, 159

Carnarvon, see Dormer, Robert Carr, Robert, Viscount Rochester and 1st Earl of Somerset, 32, 63, 230, 235, 285 Castiglione, Baldassare, 201 Catherine, Tsarina of Russia, 264n.15 Caumont, Armand-Nompar de, Marquis de la Force, 68 Caumont, Armand-Nompar de, Marquis de Montpouillan, 260n.34 Caumont, Pierre-Nompar de, Marquis de Cugnac, 260n.34 Caux, Isaac de, 265n.25 Cavaliere d’Arpino (Giuseppe Cesari), 271n.11 Cecil, Anne (later Countess of Northumberland), 265n.26 Cecil, Sir Edward (later Viscount Wimbledon), 16, 152, 181, 216, 265n.31, 279n.8 Cecil, James, 3rd Earl of Salisbury, 279n.7 Cecil, James, 4th Earl of Salisbury, 279n.7 Cecil, Richard, 181, 265n.31, 279n.8 Cecil, Robert, 1st Earl of Salisbury, 15, 23, 26–8, 31–2, 36–45, 49–50, 59–66, 69, 71, 73, 75, 82, 94, 105, 136, 145–55, 158, 171–2, 178, 188, 191, 199, 203–4, 211, 213, 219–20, 233, 254n.57, 257n.98, 259n.16, 275n.25, 278n.38, 286n.29 Cecil, Thomas, 2nd Baron Burghley (later 1st Earl of Exeter), 181, 221, 265n.31 Cecil, William, 1st Baron Burghley, 30, 36, 151, 181 Cecil, William, 3rd Baron Burghley (later 2nd Earl of Exeter), 29, 87, 152, 265n.31 Cecil, William, Lord Roos, xvi, 44, 74, 89–90, 151, 155, 158, 183, 191, 205, 265n.31, 279n.7, 282n.38, 284n.24 Cecil, William, Viscount Cranborne (later 2nd Earl of Salisbury), xv, xvi, 23, 26, 38–9, 45–50, 59–63, 66–8, 70–179, 191, 194–200, 202–33, 250n.47, 257nn.99–100, 259n.11, 262n.57, 262n.3, 263nn.10–11, 265nn.25–6, 268n.12, 274n.14, 275n.21, 276nn.40, 11, 279n.7, 282n.48, 283n.6, 284nn.25, 31, 285n.15, 286nn.26, 28, 287n.40 Cervantes, Miguel de, 2 Ceuli family, 271 Chaloner, Sir Thomas the Younger, 29–30, 32 Chamberlain, John, 49, 50, 89, 136, 150–2, 171, 183, 199, 203, 207, 229, 232–3, 251n.11, 257n.98 Chamberlain, Sir Robert, 252 Chandos, see Brydges



Index of Names

Charles, Prince of Wales (later Charles I of England and Scotland), xvi, 1, 5–8, 16, 19–21, 23, 26, 73, 76, 102, 154, 202–3, 233, 245, 248n.7, 249n.35, 256n.90, 273n., 276n.38, 281n.24, 283n.8 Charles II, King of England, 283n.8 Charles V, Emperor, 19, 209 Charles VII, King of France, 264 Charles IX, King of France, 71, 112 Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, 225 Châteaumartin, Henri, 42 Cholmley, Mr, 252 Christian I, Prince of Anhalt-Bernburg, 187 Christian IV, King of Denmark, 12, 59, 183, 264n.15, 286n.22 Chute, Sir Walter, 15 Cima da Conegliano, 53 Clarke, Mary, Lady Samwell, 243 Clavello, Signor, 177 Clement VII, Pope, 102 Clement VIII, Pope, 14 Clifford, Francis, Lord Clifford (later 5th Earl of Cumberland), 158 Clovis, King of the Franks, 209 Cock, Hieronymus, 267n.50 Coke, Thomas, 11, 22 Cole, William, 289n.8 Colombe, Michel, 82 Colt, Maximilian, 21 Colville (Colvyll), James, 252n.19 Condé, see Bourbon, Henri II de Constable of Castile, see Velasco, Juan Fernández de Constable of France, see Montmorency Conway, Sir Edward (later 1st Viscount), 136 Cope, Sir Walter, 257n.98 Cornwallis, Sir Charles, 44, 57, 257n.102, 284n.24 Correr, Marc’Antonio, 105, 145, 155, 159, 229 Coryate, Thomas, 25–6, 49, 73, 159, 169, 171, 193–5, 213, 256, 269, 282 Cottington, Sir Francis (later 1st Baron), 16, 44, 249n.35 Cotton, Sir Rowland, 106 Courteen, Sir William, 290n.18 Craig, George, 255n.69 Cranborne, see Cecil, William, Viscount Cranborne Cresswell, Joseph, 44 Crichton, Robert, 8th Lord Crichton of Sanquhar, 30–1, 251n.11 Crompton, Sir Thomas, 252n.19 Crowne, William, 285–6

307

Croy, Charles III de, 4th Duc d’Aerschot, 235, 286n.26 Cugnac, see Caumont, Pierre-Nompar de Dacres of the South, see Fiennes, Gregory; Fiennes, Thomas; Lennard, Henry Dallington, Sir Robert, 69, 247n.2, 270n.41, 279n.7 Daniel, Samuel, 153, 275n.29 Danvers, Sir Charles, 30, 251n.7 Danvers, Henry (later 1st Earl of Danby), 30 Davies, Sir John, 30 De Beatis, Antonio, 286n.21 De Dominis, Marc’Antonio, archbishop, 202 De Vere, Edward, 17th Earl of Oxford, 35, 183 De Vere, Henry, 18th Earl of Oxford, 183, 280n.15 Della Porta, Giovanni Battista, 271n.11 Dempster, Thomas, 128, 270n.43 Devereux, Robert, 2nd Earl of Essex, 8, 29–30, 39, 251n.6, 279n.7 Devereux, Robert, 3rd Earl of Essex, 213, 285n.17 Devereux family, 8 Digby, Sir John (later 1st Earl of Bristol), 5, 247n.4 Digby, Sir Kenelm, 76 Diodati, Theodor, 57 Dobson, William, 59 Doge, see Donato; Priuli Dohna, Christoph von, Burggraf, 187 Donato, Leonardo, Doge of Venice, 53, 145, 171–5, 187, 191, 195, 200, 282n.38 Doncombe, Mr, 252n.19 Donne, John, 15, 274n.18, 275n.21 Dormer, Jane, Duchess of Feria, 11 Dormer, Robert, 1st Earl of Carnarvon, 76 Dormer, Sir William, 252n.19 Dowland, John, 73, 262n.59 Drought, Miss, 245 Drury, Sir Robert, 136 Du Cerçeau, Jacques Androuet I, 76, 90, 260n.23, 263n.11, 264n.14, 266n.43 Du Chesne, André, 261n.44 Du Chesne, Joseph, 69 Du Plessis-Mornay, Philippe, 81, 264n.21 Dudley, Robert, 1st Earl of Leicester, 8, 216 Dudley, Sir Robert, 284n.24 Dunstar, John, 265n.27 Duodo, Piero, 42 Dürer, Albrecht, 72, 209 Dyce (Dowse), Edward, 265n.26 Dyer, Edward, 35

308

The Jacobean Grand Tour

Echter von Mespelbrunn, Julius, bishop, 211 Edward I, King of England, 132 Eliot, John, 105, 115, 270n.41 Elizabeth I, Queen of England, 11, 31, 71, 278n.38 Elizabeth, Electress Palatine (later Queen of Bohemia), 16, 21, 248n.11, 284n.31 Épernon, see La Valette Erasmus, Desiderius, 220, 287n.39, 288n.10 Erskine (son of 2nd Earl of Mar), 252n.19 Essex, see Devereux, Robert, 2nd and 3rd Earls of Essex Eston (Easton), Mr, 252n.19 Evelyn, John, 76, 128, 169, 199, 248n.9, 263n.10, 264n.18, 283n.3 Exeter, see Cecil, Thomas Fabris, Pietro, 187 Fairfax, Sir Henry, 245 Fawkes, Guy, 14 Felipe of Africa, Don, see Xeque Ferdinand II, Archduke of Further Austria, 209 Ferdinand II, Emperor, 209 Ferdinando, Lord Strange (later 5th Earl of Derby), 35, 253n.40 Fermor, Agnes, Lady Wenman, 251n.11, 280n.17 Fermor, Anne, 251n.11 Ferreri, Giuseppe, archbishop, 132 Fialetti, Odoardo, 187, 191–3, 280n.19, 281nn.22, 35, 282n.38 Fiennes, Gregory, 10th Baron Dacre, 34 Fiennes, Margaret, 34, 44 Fiennes, Thomas, 9th Baron Dacre, 253n.37 Figino, Giovan Ambrogio, 160 Filarete (Antonio di Pietro Averlino), 160 Finch (Ffynch), Mr, 252n.19 Finch, Mr, 45, 47 Finch family, 47, 255n.66 Finet, Anne, 241, 290n.17 Finet, Finetta, 241–2, 244, 290n.19 Finet, Joanna, 34 Finet (Finett, Fynett), Sir John, xvi–xvii, 5, 7, 19, 23, 25–57, 62–4, 66, 68, 71, 75, 90, 99, 104, 106, 114, 136, 145–9, 152–3, 158–9, 171, 183, 186, 194–5, 199, 205–6, 211, 229–34, 237–45, 248n.10, 250n.47, 251n.3, 253n.40, 254nn.47, 57, 255n.61, 256n85, 257nn.92, 95, 97, 98, 274n.10, 284n.31, 288n.15, 289n.2 Finet, Lady, see Wentworth Finet, Lucy, 289n.8, 290n.19 Finet, Robert, 34

Finet, Thomas (grandfather of John), 34 Finet (Finett), Thomas (traveller), 47, 257n.97 Finet, William, 243 Finetti, Giovanni, 32–3 Fitzalan, Henry, 12th Earl of Arundel, 136 Fitzwilliams, Mr, 252n.19 Florio, John, 54, 57 Foche, John, 34 Foche, Thomas, 34 Foche (Foach) family, 34, 253n.33 Foulis, Sir David, 269n.24 Foulis, Edward, 269n.24 François I, King of France, 12, 78, 110, 116–17, 134–5 Frederick IV, Elector Palatine, 16, 21–2, 72 Frederik Hendrik of Nassau, 21, 140, 286n.31 Frías, see Velasco, Juan Fernández de Froome, Mr, 252n.19 Fryer, Mr, 252n.19 Fuente, Diego de la, 254n.45 Fuller, Thomas, 263 Gage, George, 16, 158, 252n.19 271n.11, 280n.17 Galilei, Galileo, 2, 280n.18 Galliardello, Frances, 149 Garcilaso de la Vega y Guzmán, 9 Gardiner, Sir Thomas, 63 Garnet, Henry, 14 Gaufridi, Louis, 136 Gauguin, Paul, 106 Genève, Clériade de, Marquis de Lullin, 159 Gerbier, Sir Balthazar, 16, 194 Gerrard, Anne, Lady Carleton, 177, 200–202, 223, 283n.12, 286n.26 Gervaise, Mr, 158 Gervase of Tilbury, 112 Giambologna (Jean de Boulogne), 19 Gibbs, James, 244 Gifford (Gyfforde), Mr, 252n.19 Godfrey of Boulogne, King of Jerusalem, 209 Godolphin, Sir William, 94, 255n.64 Godscall (Godschall, Godschalk) family, 241 Godschalk, Anne, 240–1, 290n.19 Godschalk, Joas, 290n.18 Godschall, James, 290n.18 Godschall, Jan (John), 290n.18 Godschall, John, 290 Gonzaga family, dukes of Mantua, 154 Gore, Robert, 255n.69 Gorge, William, 252n.19 Gorges, Sir Arthur, 21, 35 Goring, Sir George, 233



Index of Names

Grasser, Johan Jacob, 115, 117, 121, 128, 270n.43, 271n.51 Gregory I, Pope, 278n.41 Guercino (Giovanni Francesco Barbieri), 202 Guise, see Lorraine, Charles de, 4th Duc de Guise Gwinne, Matthew, 57 Hall, Edward, 262 Hamilton, James, 2nd Marquess of Hamilton, 73, 156–8, 203 Hamilton, Sir William, 187 Hammond, William, 106 Hampden, Sir Edmund, 252n.19 Harding, George Perfect, 237–40, 245, 288n.1 Harington, Sir John, 53, 57, 172–5, 196, 205, 216, 277n.34, 278n.37, 291n.41 Harington, Lucy, Countess of Bedford, 57, 156, 172, 291n.36 Harington, Sir Sapcotes, 291n.36 Harrington, James, 245, 280n.17, 291n.36 Harvey, Finetta, 290n.21 Harvey, William, 2, 39, 45, 255n.61, 260n.28 Hasted, Edward, 34 Hastings, Elizabeth, Countess of Worcester, 136 Hatton, Christopher, 1st Baron, 194 Hawksmoor, Nicholas, 90 Hay, James, Baron Hay (later 1st Earl of Carlisle), 203 Hazelrigg (Hesilrige, Haselrig) family, 237 Hénin-Liétard, Maximilien de, Comte de Bossu, 220 Henley, Robert, 245 Henri III, King of France, 75–6 Henri IV, King of France, 62, 65, 68, 71, 75, 82, 96, 104, 112, 151–2, 158, 259n.16, 263n.11, 274n.14, 278n.38 Henrietta Maria, Queen of England, 69, 248n.7 Henry Frederick, Prince of Wales, 21, 25, 29–30, 32, 42, 64, 92–3, 95, 106, 145, 152–3, 159, 172, 187, 191, 194, 196, 204–5, 209, 234, 269n.24, 275n.21, 276n.8, 277n.15, 281n.35, 286n.26, 288nn.34, 37, 41 Henry VIII, King of England, 12, 32, 34, 149, 160, 208 Herbert, Edward, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, 45 Herbert, John, 75 Herbert, Philip, 1st Earl of Montgomery, 265n.25 Hesilrige, Sir Arthur, 7th Bt, 240, 244, 291n.29

309

Hesilrige, Sir Thomas Maynard, 291n.29 Hilliard, Nicholas, 2 Hoby, Sir Philip, xvii, 32 Hoby, Sir Thomas, xvii, 32, 225 Hohenzollern, Ernst von, Margrave of Brandenburg, 214–15 Hohenzollern (House of), Johann Sigismund, Elector of Brandenburg, 214 Holbech, Ambrose, 243 Holbech, Finetta, 243, 290n.21 Holbein the Elder, Hans, 211 Holl, Elias, 209 Holland, Philemon, 70–1 Hollar, Wenceslaus, 213, 276n.8, 285n.18 Home, Elizabeth (later Countess of Suffolk), 262n.58 Home, George, 1st Earl of Dunbar, 262n.58 Hopkins, Mr, 252n.19 Hoskins, John, 261n.38 Houghton, Roger, 145 Howard, Charles, 1st Earl of Nottingham, 8–11, 50, 57, 68 Howard, Frances, Countess of Somerset, 63, 213, 285n.17 Howard, Henry, 151, 153, 155, 158, 172, 203, 205–6, 229–30, 232 Howard, Henry, 1st Earl of Northampton, 57, 172, 230, 232 Howard, James, Lord Maltravers, 202 Howard, Katherine, 49–50 Howard, Theophilus, Lord Howard de Walden (later 2nd Earl of Suffolk), 72–3, 153, 275n.31 Howard, Thomas, 1st Earl of Suffolk, 38, 50, 72–3, 213, 257n.100 Howard, Thomas, 14th Earl of Arundel, xvi–xvii, 5, 11, 19, 22–3, 42, 70, 72, 87, 89, 112, 136, 153, 159, 169, 183, 191, 196, 199, 202, 213, 235, 248n.6, 260n.28, 263n.11, 274n.13, 286n.26 Howard, Sir Thomas (later 1st Earl of Berkshire), 74, 145, 151, 153 Hunt, Mr, 252n.19 Huygens, Constantijn, 19 Innocent X, Pope, 269n.33 Isabella of Austria, 158, 223, 225 Ivye, Oliver, 241 James I of England and VI of Scotland, 5, 12, 14–16, 23, 26, 36, 59, 61, 105, 132, 156, 159, 175, 202, 206, 259n.18, 272n.23, 284n.25

310

The Jacobean Grand Tour

John of Austria, Don, 278 Johnson (Jansen), Cornelius, 239 Jones, Inigo, xvi–xvii, 2, 5, 22–3, 25, 38, 42, 45, 49, 59, 61–6, 69–71, 75–8, 87, 90–5, 99, 105–31, 134, 139–42, 145, 152–3, 159, 169, 171, 183, 187, 196, 202, 207, 216, 225, 233, 247n.2, 248n.6, 249n.23, 256n.82, 258n.11, 263n.5, 265n.25, 266n.41, 267n.47, 271n.51, 272n.14, 273nn.36–8, 274n.14, 275n.29, 282n.41, 283n.14 Jones, Yñigo, 59 Jonson, Ben, 11, 26, 45, 59, 63, 73, 215, 275n.29 Jortin, John, 287n.39 Josselyn, Francis, 255n.61 Julius II, Pope, 208 Kaster, Georg, 211 Kent, William, 243 Ker, Sir Robert (later 1st Earl of Ancram), 19 Ker, William, 3rd Earl of Lothian, 19 Keyser, Hendrick de, 220 Kirkham, Robert, 152, 275n.25 La Force, see Caumont, Armand-Nompar de, Marquis de la Force La Pise, Joseph de, 139–40 La Touche-Aguesse, Gilles de, 96 La Valette, Louis de Nogaret de, 1st Duc d’Épernon, 90, 95–6, 135 Lambarde, William, 70 Languet, Hubert, 276n.1 Lanier, John, 149 Lanier, Nicholas I, 149 Lanier, Nicholas II, 25, 147–9, 153–5, 187, 194, 233, 274nn.10, 12, 14, 276n.38 Lassels, Richard, 247n.3, 262n.52, 268n.11 Le Pautre, Antoine, 90, 266n.44 Le Sueur, Hubert, 271n.11 Leighton, Thomas, 255n.69 Leland, John, 70 Lennard, Henry, 12th Lord Dacre, 34 Lennard, Samson, 34 Lennox, see Stuart, James; Stuart, Ludovic Leonardo da Vinci, 78, 80 Leopold III of Austria, ‘the Saint’, 209 L’Estoile, Pierre de, 65, 85 Leveson, Mr, 252 Lewknor, Sir Lewes, 26, 35, 42, 254n.45, 289n.9 L’Hospital, Louis de, Marquis de Vitry, 63, 259n.18

Lichfield, Edward, 74, 204, 262n.64 Lievens, Jan, 19, 276n.38, 283n.13 Lindsay, Bernard, 73 Lister, Edward, 45 Lister, Joseph, 256n.90 Lister, Dr Martin, 256n.90 Lister, Dr Matthew, xvii, 25, 45, 49, 63, 65–9, 90, 99, 104–5, 114, 136, 142, 145, 153, 171, 194, 202–5, 230, 233, 250n.47, 256nn.89–90, 283n.14 Livy (Titus Livius Patavinus), 136, 262n.52 Lobel (Lobelius), Matthieu, 249n.23 Lomax, Mr, 74 Longueval, Charles-Bonaventure de, Comte de Bucquoy, 215 Lope de Vega, Félix, 2 Lorini, Buonaiuto, 196 Lorraine, Charles de, Duc de Mayenne, 98 Lorraine, Charles de, 4th Duc de Guise, 112, 134–5 Lorraine, Françoise de, Madame de Vendôme, 65 Lorraine, Henri de, 3rd Duc de Guise, 75–6, 134 Lorraine, Philippe-Emmanuel de, Duc de Mercoeur, 82 Louis XI of France, 209 Louis XII of France, 76, 264n.14 Louis XIII of France, 104, 139, 248n.7, 268n.17 Louis XIV of France, 132, 139 Lucinge, René de, 35 Lullin, see Genève Lumley, Richard, 2nd Viscount Lumley (future 1st Earl of Scarborough), 268n.11 Luxembourg, Marie de, Madame de Mercoeur, 82 Lytton, Sir Rowland, 150, 265n.27 Lytton, William, 45, 86, 150–1, 265n.27, 274n.18 Machiavelli, Niccolò, 75 Madruzzo, Carlo Gaudenzio, prince-bishop, 207 Malombra, Pietro, 280n.19 Maltravers, see Howard, James Mann, Horace (1st Bt), 187 Manners, Edward, 3rd Earl of Rutland, 279n.7 Manners, Francis, 6th Earl of Rutland, 1, 23, 30, 69, 181, 247n.2, 251n.8 Manners, John, 8th Earl of Rutland, 279n.7 Manners, Roger, 5th Earl of Rutland, 23, 30, 249n.23, 251n.6, 279n.7



Index of Names

Manners family, xvii, 270n.41, 279n.7 Mansell, Sir Robert, 57 Mantegna, Andrea, 154, 199 Mantell, John, 253 Mantell, Walter, 34 Mantell, Walter (nephew), 34 Mantell family, 33–4 Maratti, Carlo, 186, 202, 283n.8 Marchesini, Giovanni Francesco, 175 Margaret of Hungary, 190 Marguerite de Valois, Queen of France, 65 Maria Ana, Infanta, 5, 16, 19, 159, 202, 247n.4 Maria Maddalena of Austria, Grand Duchess of Tuscany, 65 Marius (Gaius Marius), 136 Markham, Griffin, 29 Marlowe, Christopher, 75 Martellange, Etienne, 132 Mary I, Queen of England, 12, 34, 188, 190 Mary of Burgundy, 225 Matthew, Sir Tobie, xvi, 16, 74, 89–90, 136, 158, 203, 252n.19, 280n.17 Maurits of Nassau, stadtholder, 216, 219, 221, 286n.31 Maximilian I, Duke of Bavaria, 211 Maximilian I, Emperor, 207–8 Maximilian II, Emperor, 278n.2 Maximilian III, Archduke of Further Austria, 156 Mayerne, Adriana de, Madame de Montpuillan, 260n.34 Mayerne, Elizabeth de, Madame de Cugnac, 260n.34 Mayerne, Theodore Turquet de, 66–9, 260nn.33–4 Maynard-Hesilrige, Sir Thomas, 291n.29 Médicis, Catherine de, Queen of France, 71, 76 Médicis, Marie de, Queen of France, 65, 260n.26, 264n.11 Medici, Caterina de’ (later Duchess of Mantua), 204 Medici, Cosimo I de’, Grand Duke of Tuscany, 65 Medici, Cosimo II de’, Grand Duke of Tuscany, 65, 277n.34 Medici, Don Giovanni de’, 135 Medici, Ferdinando I de’, Grand Duke of Tuscany, 65 Medici, Francesco I de’, Grand Duke of Tuscany, 65 Medici, Giulio de’, see Clement VII Ménard, Léon, 271n.54 Mercier, Philip, 240, 244

311

Mercoeur, see Lorraine, Philippe-Emmanuel de; Luxembourg Mérimée, Prosper, 87 Merry, Sir Anthony, 136 Michelangelo (Buonarroti), 102, 208, 225 Miereveldt, Michiel Jansz. van, 202, 232, 279n.9, 283n.13 Milleis, Richard, 255n.61 Milton, John I, 64 Milton, John II, 64 Mitchell, Francis, 252n.19 Mole, John, 74 Molin, Nicolò, 42 Mompesson, Henry, 203 Montaigne, Michel de, 54, 268n.9 Montemayor, Jorge de, 9 Monteverdi, Claudio, 2 Montmorency, Henry I, Duc de Montmorency, 73 Montpouillan, see Caumont, Armand-Nompar de, Marquis de Montpouillan Moore, Mr D., 252 Moray (Murray), see Stuart More, Sir Edward, 252n.19, 275n.21 More, Sir George, 275n.21 More of Loseley family, 275n.21 More (Moore) of Odiham family, 252n.19, 275n.21 Moro, Maurizio, 191 Morocco, princes of, 284n.27 Morrell, Roger, 250 Morrison, Sir Charles, 15 Mortoft, Francis, 110, 264n.19, 268n.5 Mountford (Moundeford), Edmund, 15 Mountford (Moundeford), Sir Edmund, 15, 274n.18 Mountford, John, 274n.18 Mountford, Osbert, 150, 274n.18 Mountford, Dr Thomas (cleric), 274n.18 Mountford, Dr Thomas (physician), 274n.18 Munck, Levinus, 31 Murray, Sir David, 205 Murray, Mungo (later 2nd Viscount Stormont), 252n.19 Nassau, see Maurits of Nassau; Frederik Hendrik of Nassau Naunton, Sir Robert, 32 Neville, Henry, 245 Neville, Mr, 30 Newton, Sir Adam, 276n.8, 278n.37, 284n.24 Nicholas of Verdun, 214 Nichols, John, 289n.3

312

The Jacobean Grand Tour

Norden, John, 70 Norgate, Edward, 187, 191–4, 261, 281n.28 Norreys, Francis, 2nd Baron Norreys of Rycote, 11, 57, 68, 286n.26 Northampton, see Howard, Henry, 1st Earl of Northampton Norton, Dudley, 275n.25 Nottingham, see Howard, Charles Nys, Daniel, 230, 281n.35, 288n.5 Ochino, Bernardino, 33 Oldenbarneveldt, Johan van, 221 Oldenburg (House of), Joachim Ernst (later Duke of Schleswig-Holstein-SønderborgPlön), 183, 280n.15 Oliver, Isaac, 149, 172, 181–3, 194, 279n.9, 283n.14 Overbury, Giles, 15 Overbury, Sir Thomas, 15 Oxford, see De Vere Pacello de Mercogliano, 76 Palavicino, Sir Horatio, 256n.81 Palladio, Andrea, 2, 69, 75–6, 106, 114–16, 121, 128, 131, 160, 169–71, 196, 207, 271n.53 Palma Giovane (Iacopo Nigreti), 57, 187–8 Palmer, Sir Thomas, 257n.102 Parkhurst, Bridget, 257n.95 Parkhurst, James, 257n.95 Parkhurst, William, 256n.85, 257n.95 Partridge, Edward, 187, 252, 256n.85 Patch, Thomas, 187 Paulet, William, Lord St John, 74, 191 Peacham, Henry, xvi, 15 Peake, Robert, 277n.15 Peiresc, Nicolas Fabri de, 66, 70 Pepys, Samuel, 263n.10 Percival, Richard, 275n.25 Percy, Algernon, 10th Earl of Northumberland, 265n.26 Percy, Henry, 9th Earl of Northumberland, 257n.98, 265n.26 Perkins, Christopher, 266n.32 Perrault, Claude, 90, 266n.44 Persons, Robert, 252n.19 Peter ‘the Great’, Tsar of Russia, 264 Petitot, Jean, 261n.38 Petre (Peter), Sir George, 252n.19 Petty, William, 213 Phelips family, 25 Philip II of Spain, 12, 34, 188–91, 254n.45 Philip III of Spain, 8, 12

Philip IV of Spain, 5, 19 Pignoria, Lorenzo, 70 Pilleterius Caspar (?Pilleterio, Gaspar), 287n.40 Pindar, Sir Paul, 49 Pindar, Ralph, 49 Platter, Felix, 268n.9 Platter the Younger, Thomas, 102–4 Plutarch (Lucius Mestrius Plutarchus), 136 Pontius Pilate, 140 Pope, Thomas, 3rd Earl of Downe, 243 Pope family, 243 Porter, Sir Endymion, 16, 249n.35, 290n.18 Possevino, Antonio, 52–3 Poynings, Sir Adrian, 275n.21 Poynings, Anne, Lady More, 275n.21 Preston, Richard, Lord Dingwall (later Earl of Desmond) Priuli, Antonio, Doge of Venice, 201–2 Puckering, Sir Thomas, 158, 250n.47, 276n.8 Puñonrostro, see Arias Purfrey, Mr, 252n.19 Rabelais, François, 99 Ralegh, Sir Walter, 35, 263n.11 Raphael (Raffaello Sanzio), 102 Rembrandt (van Rijn), 19 Reymes, Bullen, 76 Rhenells (?Reynell), Mr, 252n.19 Rich, Sir Henry, 275n.31 Richer, Pierre, 104, 268n.17 Ridolfi, Carlo, 183, 232, 280n.19 Rochester, see Carr Roe, Sir Thomas, 11 Rohan, Benjamin de (later Duc de Soubise), 68–9 Rohan, Henri de, Duc de Rohan, 68–9, 117, 139 Rooke, George, 47, 252n.19, 256n.85 Roos, see Cecil, William, Lord Roos Rubens, Sir Peter Paul, 2, 19, 70, 261n.38, 283n.13 Ryff, Andreas, 270n.43 Sackville, Edward (later 4th Earl of Dorset), 284n.24 Sackville, Thomas, 29 Sackville, Thomas, Baron Buckhurst (later 1st Earl of Dorset), 42 Salisbury, see Cecil, James, 3rd and 4th Earls of Salisbury; Cecil, Robert, 1st Earl of Salisbury Samwell, Frances, 244 Samwell, Francis, 290n.28 Samwell, Jane, 245



Index of Names

Samwell, Mary, 244 Samwell, Millicent, 244 Samwell, Richard, 240, 245 Samwell, Sir Thomas, 1st Bt, 240 Samwell, Sir Thomas, 2nd Bt, 240–1, 244, 280n.17 Samwell, Sir Thomas, 3rd Bt, 240, 244 Samwell, Thomas Samwell Watson, 240, 245, 291n.30 Samwell, Sir Wenman, 4th Bt, 240 Samwell, Wenman Langham Watson, 245 Samwell, Sir William, 245, 290n.28, 291n.35 Samwell, William, 245, 291n.35 Sandys, Sir Edwin, 254n.44 Sanquhar, see Crichton Sansovino, Jacopo, 160 Sarpi, Paolo, 284n.25 Saxton, Chrstopher, 70 Scamozzi, Vincenzo, 2, 42, 131, 233, 273n.37, 288n.5 Scaramelli, Giovanni Carlo, 42–3 Scharf, George, 239 Schenken, Maarten, 216 Schott, François, 169 Scott, Walter, Lord Scott of Buccleuch, 30 Sebastiano del Piombo, 102 Séguier, Jean-François, 128 Selden, John, 248n.17 Serlio, Sebastiano, 69, 105, 116, 134, 141, 267n.50, 270n.34, 272n.36, 273n.38 Severinus, Peter, 69 Shakespeare, William, xvi, 2, 75, 136, 247n.2, 251n.6, 281n.33, 284n.27 Sheffield, Sir Edmund, 275n.31 Sheldon, Ralph, 268n.11 Sherburn, Edward, 275n.25 Sherley, Sir Anthony, xvi, 39–40, 45, 255 Shrewsbury, earls of, 11 see also Talbot, Gilbert Sidney, Mary, Countess of Pembroke, 64, 265n.25 Sidney, Sir Philip, 8, 35, 64, 81, 155, 179, 183, 253n.40, 257n.108, 265n.21, 276n.1 Sidney, Sir Robert (later Viscount Lisle and 1st Earl of Leicester), 35, 253n.40 Sidney family, 8, 35, 253n.40, 264n.21 Slingsby, Henry, 31, 251n.12 Smalman, Samuel, 255n.61 Smifiz (?Smurfits, Smithies), Simon, 255n.69 Smith, Joseph ‘Consul’, 187 Smith, William, 235 Smollett, Tobias, 115 Somerset (Earl of), see Carr

313

Somerset, Sir Charles, 133, 141, 248n.9, 273n.32 Somerset, Sir Thomas (later Viscount Somerset of Cashel), 5, 153, 248n.9, 275n.31 Sorbière, Samuel de, 263n.10 Soufflon, Pierre, 96 Southampton, see Wriothesley Spencer, Sir Richard, 290n.28 Spenser, Edmund, 35 Spínola, Ambrogio, Marquis de los Balbases, 215 St John, see Paulet Stephani, Wilhelm, 215 Stockfield, Thomas, 213 Stone (the fool), 11 Stone, Nicholas, 276n.8 Storey (Storay), Mr, 252n.19 Stourton family, 275 Stuart, Francis, 5th Earl of Bothwell, 30 Stuart, James, 3rd Earl of Moray, 252n.19 Stuart, James, 4th Duke of Lennox, 1st Duke of Richmond (new cr.), 265n.25 Stuart, Ludovic, 2nd Duke of Lennox, 1st Duke of Richmond, 73 Suffolk, see Howard, Thomas, 1st Earl of Suffolk; Howard, Theophilus, 2nd Earl of Suffolk Sully, see Béthune Swertius, Franciscus (Sweerts, Frans), 70 Tacca, Pietro, 202 Tailby, John, 289n.3 Talbot, Aletheia, Countess of Arundel, 72, 153, 159, 183, 191, 201–2, 283n.13 Talbot, Gilbert, 7th Earl of Shrewsbury, 11, 87, 252n.19 Tasso, Torquato, 2 Taylor, John, 73, 273n.39 Throckmorton, Robert, 15 Thynne, Sir John, 254n.56 Tinsley, Charlotta, 291n.30 Tintoretto (Comin or Robusti), Domenico, 25, 183, 186, 191, 202, 230, 232, 239–40, 282n.38, 283n.13 Tintoretto (Comin or Robusti), Jacopo, 25, 53, 171, 179, 187, 239, 273n.36, 287n.47 Titian (Tiziano I Vecellio), 19, 53, 154, 188, 190–1 Tizianello (Tiziano II Vecellio), 191, 201–2 Torrigiano, Pietro, 32 Tourval, Jean Loiseau de, 283n.14 Townshend, Aurelian, 45, 255n.69 Tracey (Tracye), Anthony, 252n.19 Tradescant the Elder, John, 54, 223, 268n.6

314

The Jacobean Grand Tour

Traucat, François, 117 Tresham, Francis, 275n.21 Treswell, Richard, 248n.22 Trevisani, Francesco, 186, 291n.29 Trumbull, William, 34, 49, 62, 152, 206, 234–5 Turner, William, 155, 178 Turquet, Louis, 69 Unton, Sir Henry, 30, 251n.7, 278n.38 Urfé, Honoré d’, Marquis de Valromey, 2 Ursula, Saint, 214 Valromey, see D’Urfé Van Balen, Hendrik, 235 Van Blyenberch, Abraham, 19 Van Dyck, Sir Anthony, 19, 59, 202, 233, 240, 276n.38, 280n.17, 283n.13 Van Gogh, Vincent, 106 Vanburgh, Sir John, 90 Velasco, Don Alonso de, 258n.115 Velasco, Juan Fernández de, 5th Duke of Frías, 50, 57 Vendôme, see Bourbon, César de Vermigli, Peter Martyr, 32 Veronese (Paolo Caliari), 19, 53, 171, 179, 230, 265n.21, 287n.47 Vesalius, Andreas, 203, 283 Villamena, Francesco, 183 Villiers, George, 1st Duke of Buckingham, 1, 5–8, 16, 19–21, 73, 82, 203, 248n.10, 286n.26 Villiers, George, 2nd Duke of Buckingham, 283n.8 Villiers, Mary (later Duchess of Lennox), 265n.25 Vincenzo I, Duke of Mantua, 187 Vinet, Elie, 87, 90–2, 261n.44 Vinta, Belisario, 41 Vischer, Peter, 209 Vitruvius (Marcus Vitruvius Pollio), 66, 139, 263n.11, 266n.44 Vitry, see L’Hospital Wake, Sir Isaac, 202, 229, 278n.36, 282n.38 Walden, see Howard, Theophilus Walpole, Horace, 4th Earl of Orford, 289n.8 Walpole, Richard, 52, 257n.102 Walpole, Sir Robert, 1st Earl of Orford, 244 Webb, John (architect), 261n.47, 272n.27 Webb, John (traveller), 255n.61 Webb, Joseph, 255n.61 Weldon, Sir Anthony, 233

Welser, Philippine, 209 Wenlock, Agnes (or Anna), 34, 253n.32 Wenlock, John I, 253n.32 Wenlock, John II, 253n.32 Wenman, Frances, Lady Samwell, 240, 245 Wenman, Sir Richard, 186, 239–40, 245, 251n.11, 280n.17 Wenman, Thomas, 252n.19, 280n.17 Wenman, Thomas, 2nd Viscount Wenman, 240 Wentworth, Jane, Lady Finet, 243, 290n.19 Wentworth, Thomas, 4th Baron, 74, 204 Wharton, Margaret, Lady Wotton, 53, 57, 258n.114 Whitgift, John, archbishop, 35, 203, 254n.47 Whyte, John, 212 Williams, Isabella, Lady Wenman, 280n.17 Willis, Simon, 31, 251n.14, 252n.19 Willoughby (Baron), see Bertie, Peregrine; Bertie, Robert Willoughby, Richard, 255n.61 Wilson, Dr Thomas, 278n.38 Wilson, Thomas, 25, 38–48, 74, 144–5, 275n.25 Win, Peter, 29 Windsor, Edward, 3rd Baron, 257n.108 Wintour, Thomas, 12 Winwood, Sir Ralph, 9, 11, 153, 207, 217, 255n.61, 285n.1 Wood, Anthony, 34, 233, 264n.13 Woodward, Rowland, 256n.85 Worcester, see Hastings, Elizabeth, Countess of Worcester Wotton, Edward, 1st Baron Wotton, 39, 53–7, 255n.62, 258n.115 Wotton, Sir Henry, 31–2, 39–41, 44, 47, 50, 52–3, 74, 105, 150, 153, 155–6, 159, 170–204, 213, 230–2, 252n.19, 255nn.66–7, 256n.85, 257n.95, 274n.18, 277–85 passim Wotton, Lady, see Wharton, Margaret Wotton, Pickering, 39, 41, 50–7, 258n.114 Wright, Gervase, 245 Wriothesley, Henry, 3rd Earl of Southampton, 30, 75, 248n.6, 251n.6, 279n.7 Wyatt, Sir Thomas I, 32 Wyatt, Sir Thomas II, 32, 34 Xeque, Muley, 205–6, 284n.27 Yates, Edward, 30 Zen, Francesco, 175–7 Zouche, Edward, 11th Baron Zouche, 278n.2 Zouche, Sir Edward, 233

INDEX OF PLACES

Adige river, 207 Agen, 98 Aiguebelle, 159 Aiguillon, 98 Aix, 135–6, 140 Alpilles, xv Amboise, 75–80 amphitheatres, Roman, 87, 90, 106, 110, 114–15, 169, 199 see also odeum; theatres Amsterdam, 217–18 Ancenis, 82 Anet, Château d’, 263–4, 272n.14 Angers, 75, 82 Antwerp (Anvers), 223, 241 Aquitania, 87 arches, Roman, 87, 106, 134, 136–8, 267n.50, 272n.12 Arles, 62, 89, 105–15, 134, 140, 142 Arnhem, 217 arsenals, 65–6, 85, 195, 211 Audley End, 36–7, 97 Augsburg, 209–11 Austria, 207–9 Avignon, 29, 102, 114, 129, 132–4 Aynho, Northamptonshire, 241–2 Baghdad, 49 Balaruc-les-Bains, 102–4 Banda Islands, 218 Banqueting House, Whitehall, 61, 63 Basel, 45, 66, 268n.9, 270n.43, 277n.34 Bassano del Grappa, 207 Bath, 117, 135, 233 baths, Roman, 102–4, 135–6 Bayonne, 41–2 Beaufort House, Chelsea, 36 Beziers, 102 Blois, 75–6, 86, 134, 150 Bocton, Kent, 256n.85

Bohemia, 16 Bologna, 69, 74, 187, 204 Bolzano, 207 Bordeaux, 87, 90, 92–5, 97, 99, 115, 117 Borgo Valsungarno, 207 Boughton Place, Kent, 53, 57 Boutonne river, 86 Brenner Pass, 68, 207 Brenta river, 207 Brescia, 160, 175, 177 Brittany, 82 Brixen, 207 Bruges, 225 Brussels, 206, 223, 234 Burghley House, Cambridgeshire, 36 Cadillac, 95–7 Camargue, 106 Cambridge, 35, 38, 250n.47 Carcassonne, xv, 99 Castelmoron, 97 Castelnau-de-Guers, 102 Castelnaud, 99 Caumont, 98 Chambord, 62, 75–8 Charente river, 86–7 Chârtres, 85 circuses, Roman, 112, 141, 265n.28 Clos Lucé, 78 Cologne, 213–15 Conas, 102 Constantinople, xvii, 49 Copenhagen, 264n.15 Cornwall, 94 Coruña, 11 Cranborne Manor, Dorset, 36, 54 Crema, 175–7 Danube river, 211 Delft, 220

316

The Jacobean Grand Tour

Denmark, 1, 12, 23, 264n.15 Desenzano, 177 Donauwörth, 211 Dort (Dordrecht), 221 Douai, 112 Dover, 34, 42, 44, 155 Dunkirk, 181, 225 Düsseldorf, 214–15 East Lenham, Kent, 257n.95 Ferrara, 69, 204 Florence, 38–41, 44, 47, 65, 68, 74, 87, 145, 147, 150, 155, 172, 204–5, 225, 244, 265n.25, 276n.1, 279n.2, 282n.38, 284n.26 Flushing (Vlissingen), 223, 247n.1, 287n.40 Fontager, Château de, 273n.31 Fontainebleau, 62, 65, 259n.16 France, 45–9, 59–152, 153–8, et passim Frankenthal, 16 Frankfurt am Main, 212–13 Frontignan, 104 Gallia Narbonensis, 87 Garonne river, 90, 97–8, 268n.7 Garrigue, 129 Geneva, 82, 142, 181 Genoa, 68, 89, 244, 276n.1 Germany, 16, 21, 39, 68, 72, 82, 206, 209–15, 244 Ghent, 31, 202, 225 Gironde estuary, 90 Gironde-sur-Dropt, 97 Glanum, 134 Gouttièrres, Les Caves, 80, 264n.18 Gravelines, 225 Greece, 89, 270n.43 Greenwich, 43, 61, 230, 256n.82 Haarlem, 218 Hague, The 21, 44, 153, 202, 207, 218, 220, 232, 274n.18 Hartenfels Castle, 264n.15 Hatfield House, Hertfordshire, 36, 38, 54, 59, 61, 65, 72, 76, 99, 145, 211, 223, 239, 263n.10 Heidelberg, 21–2 Heilbronn, 183 Hérault river, 102 Herstmonceux Castle, Sussex, 34 Holland, 72, 202, 205–6, 218, 283n.12 see also United Provinces

Holy Roman Empire, 15–16 Horton Priory, Kent, 33 Houghton Hall, Norfolk, 244, 271n.11 Houghton House, Bedfordshire, 64 Ile de Ré, 82–5 Innsbruck, 207–9 Isère river, 158 Italy, 7–9, 11, 14–15, 41, 43, 68, 159–207, et passim Jülich-Kleve, 214–16 Kaiserswert, 215 Kaisheim Abbey, 211 Kent, 33–5, 43–4, 47–50, 70 Kleve, 153, 215, 275n.31 La Magistère, 98 La Réole, 97 La Rochelle, 82–6 Lancashire, 151 Langon, 97 Languedoc, 98, 104, 114, 117, 261n.44 Lavis, 207 Le Gué Charreau, 86 Le Petit Niort, 90 Leiden, 218, 290n.22 Lillo, 223 Lions, Golfe de, 104 Lodi, 177 Loire river, 75–6, 219 Lombardy, 68 London, 7, 21, 30, 36, 43, 47, 53, 57, 61, 63, 68–74, 121, 149, 151, 172, 186, 190–4, 199, 202–3, 218, 229–30 Longleat House, Wiltshire, 254n.56 Lorraine, 68, 72, 153 Low Countries, 150, 265n.26 see also Holland; Spanish Netherlands Lucca, 43 Lyon, 41, 85, 99, 142, 158, 261n.44, 275n.31 Madrid, xvi, 5–11, 14, 16, 19, 44, 68, 158, 190, 202, 281n.33, 286n.26 Main river, 211–13 Malines (Mechlin), 223 Mantua, 69, 187, 202 Marmande, 98 Marmoutier, Abbey of, 80 Marseille, 89, 112, 114, 134–5, 218 Middelburg, 221, 223 Milan, 68, 159–60, 172, 175



Index of Places

Moissac, 98 Monheim, 211 Monsegueur, 97 Mont Cenis, 159 Montauban, 98 Montélimar, 140 Montpellier, 89–90, 102–6, 112–14, 256n.90, 268nn.9, 11–12, 287n.40 Nancy, 72 Nantes, 82, 153 Naples, 30, 53, 68, 72, 156, 191, 252n.19, 275n.31 Narbonne, 99–102 Netherlands, the, 8, 21, 145, 215, 265n.26, 286n.29, 287n.40 see also Holland; Spanish Netherlands New World, the, 1, 223 Nieuport, 225 Nijmegen, 217 Nîmes, 62, 76, 90, 93, 104, 106, 114, 129, 132, 138–41, 258n.11, 261n.44, 270nn.42–3, 271n.51 Normandy, 71 Noseley Hall, Leicestershire, 237, 240, 244, 289n.3, 291n.29 Noventa, 202 Nuremberg, 209, 211–12, 218 obelisks, 112, 141, 270n.34 see also pyramids odeum, Roman, 141 see also amphitheatres; theatres Orange, 62, 10, 136–41 Orléans, 66, 74–6, 89 Ostend, 225 Oxford, 26, 42, 45, 66, 154 Padua, 2, 23, 28, 39, 42, 45, 47, 66, 68, 104, 136, 151, 158–9, 169–70, 177, 181, 196, 199–205 Palatinate, the, 16, 21, 213–14 Palmanova, 195–6 Papal States, the, 204 Paris, 30, 38, 44–8, 59–68, 71, 73, 85, 142, 149, 151, 155, 158, 183, 203, 213, 229, 250n.47, 251n.11, 257n.92 Parma, 159 Pegnitz river, 211 Penshurst, Kent, 35 Persia, 39, 49 Pézenas, 102 Pisa, 38, 68

317

Pons, 90 Pont-de-Beauvoisin, 158 Pont du Gard, 62, 115, 121, 129–32 Portsmouth, 42, 248n.8, 275n.21 Prague, 69, 72 Primolano, 207 Provence, xv, 23, 105, 132–40 pyramids, Roman, 141, 267n.50, 273n.38 see also obelisks Ratisbon (Regensburg), 212 Remoulins, 132 Rheinberg, 215 Rhine river, 16, 213–17 Rhône river, 105, 112, 132, 140–2, 271n.5 Ripple Court, Kent, 233 Rome, 14, 29–32, 41, 68, 72, 74, 89, 183, 186, 191, 235, 244, 248n.9, 251n.6, 252n.19, 255n.61, 256n.85, 260n.28, 266n.32, 267n.47, 271n.10, 273n.38, 275n.21 Rotonda, see Villa Capra Rotterdam, 220–1 Rouen, 149, 275n.31 Royston, Hertfordshire, 63, 229, 248n.8 Saint-Denis, 75 Saint-Germain-en-Laye, 145 Saint-Gilles, 106 Saint-Laurent-Nouan, 75 Saint-Omer, 12 Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, 134, 272nn.12, 14 Saint-Thibéry, 102 Sainte-Bazeille, 97–8 Saintes, 86–90 Salisbury House, Westminster, 36, 54, 59, 61, 152, 268n.6 Salon, 134 San Sebastián, 42 Santander, 1, 25 Saumur, 75, 81 Savonnières, 264n.18 Savoy, 158–9 Scharnitz Pass, 209 Scheldt river, 221, 223 Schenkenschanz, 215–16, 286n.31 Scotland, 30, 41, 63, 73, 251n.11 Seugne river, 90 Sicily, 89, 266n.33 Siena, 68, 172 Solton, Kent, 34, 42 Southampton, 5, 42, 202, 248n.6 Southwark, Surrey, 43, 272n.27

318

The Jacobean Grand Tour

Spa, 136, 286 Spain, 1–19, 28, 41, 50, 57, 82, 89, 135, 155, 181, 203, 247n.4, 284n.27 Spanish Netherlands, 12, 32, 44, 158, 223 see also Netherlands St Augustine’s Abbey, Canterbury, 53 St James’s Palace, Westminster, 153, 191, 194 Staffordshire, 151 Sterzing, 207 Stonehenge, Wiltshire, 70 Sutton, Kent, 34, 253n.33 Switzerland, 72, 82, 142 Taillebourg, 86 Tarn river, 98 Thau, Etang (or Bassin) de, 102 theatres, Roman, 106, 110, 136, 139–41 see also amphitheatres; odeum Theobalds, Hertfordshire, 36, 59, 233 Titchfield Abbey, Hampshire, 30 Tonnay-Boutonne, 86 Toulouse, 98–9, 104 Tournon, 140 Tours, 75, 80–1, 264nn.18–20 Trento, 207 Trinity College, Dublin, 12 Trinquetaille, 110 Troyes, 158 Turin, 158–9, 172, 223, 244, 257n.95, 275n.31, 277n.15, 284n.25 Tuscany, 42, 145, 156, 181, 205 Twickenham, Middlesex, 289n.8 United Provinces, 12, 72, 138, 217 see also Holland; Netherlands Upton Hall, Northamptonshire, 240–5 Utrecht, 217–18 Valence, 140–1 Valladolid, 11–12, 50, 52, 203, 257n.102

Venetian Republic, 195–6, 229 see also Venice Veneto, the, 72, 170–1, 191 see also Venetian Republic Venice, 31, 38–9, 41–2, 44–5, 49, 50, 52, 57, 68, 72, 105, 134, 145, 147, 150–1, 153–96, 199–208, 211, 213, 216, 218, 229–32, 237, 239, 244, 251n.7, 255nn.65, 69, 256n.85, 257n.95, 276n.1, 277n.15, 278n.36, 280nn.15, 17–18, 281n.28, 282nn.38, 41, 48, 283n.16, 284n.25 Verona, 169 Vervins, 75 Via Aquila road, 102 Vicenza, 169–70 Vienna, 69, 213, 278n.2 Vienne, 112, 140–2, 265n.28, 273n.38 Vigevano, 206 Villa Capra (La Rotonda), Vicenza, 169–70 Villa Molin, Mandria, 42 Villeneuve-lès-Avignon, 132 Waal river, 215–17 Walcheren, 221–3, 286n.26, 287n.40 Wesel, 215 Westminster, 36, 152 Whitehall Palace, Westminster, 19, 33, 73, 145, 169 Wiener Neustadt, 209 Wilton House, Wiltshire, 265n.25, 271n.11 Winchester, 12 Wotton (Wootton), Kent, 34, 253n.33 Wroxton Abbey, Oxfordshire, 243, 290n.20 Würzburg, 211 York House, Westminster, 19, 248n.8 Zeeland, 217, 221

Plate A: Daniel Mytens, Charles Stuart, Prince of Wales, oil on canvas, 1624

Plate B: Domenico Tintoretto, John Finet, oil on canvas, 1610–11

Plate C: Daniel Mytens, Thomas Howard, 14th Earl of Arundel, oil on canvas, c.1618

Plate D: Daniel Mytens, Aletheia, Countess of Arundel, oil on canvas, c.1618

Plate E: Anthony Van Dyck, George Gage, oil on canvas, c.1622

Plate F: George Geldorp, William Cecil, 2nd Earl of Salisbury, oil on canvas, c.1626

Plate G: Unknown artist, Sir Henry Wotton, oil on canvas, 1620s

Plate H: Anthony Van Dyck, Nicholas Lanier, oil on canvas, c.1628

Plate I: Unknown artist, Sir Richard Wenman, oil on canvas, c.1600

Plate J: Odoardo Fialetti, View of Venice, oil on canvas, 1611

Plate K: After John de Critz the Elder, Robert Cecil, 1st Earl of Salisbury, Venetian mosaic, 1608