Showing posts with label 17th century. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 17th century. Show all posts

Vanitas Paintings: the meaning of life and death

Histatic blog wrote a very interesting piece on Victorian memorial art called Art or a little morbid?. Tammi felt the post-mortem photographs were popular with Victorian families who, for whatever reason, did not have any portraits of the parents and children painted or photographed in life. I imagine that with peri-natal mortality being so high, with young men going off to soldier so often and with disease being largely uncontrolled, death was a common visitor in many Victorian homes. But how morbid was it to hang these post-mortem images on the lounge-room wall? I suspect not morbid at all.


Pieter Claesz, Vanitas Still-life, 1630

I was reminded of vanitas paintings from a much earlier era and wondered once again how morbid was it for devout Dutch burghers to hang these images on their lounge-room walls.

Vanitas was a type of still life painting that was very popular in C17th Netherlands. So popular was it that Charlotte Herczfeld said that over a hundred painters focused solely on vanities and other still-lifes in the Netherlands. And another thing. Intelliblog suggested that still life paintings gave the artist freedom of expression, as well as allowing much leeway in selection of subject matter, colours, composition and technique than did most other genres of painting

The word vanitas referred to the meaninglessness of earthly life and the transient nature of vanity, so vanitas painting were full of symbols reflecting this depressing world view. Vanitas paintings reminded the viewer of the transience of life, the futility of pleasure and the imminence of death.

Common vanitas symbols included human skulls; decaying fruit that could be full of creepy bugs; watches and hourglasses marked the shortness of life; wine paraphernalia and musical instruments which suggested that even joyous experiences would end in death; and lit candles, snuffed out before their time. I am not sure if viewers now would read and understand all the symbols, but I am certain that all viewers in the C17th would have immediately understood their meaning.


Cornelis de Heem, Still-life with Musical Instruments, c1662

Pieter Claesz’s painting called Vanitas Still Life 1630 included more than one of these symbols. At a time when Italian art was soar­ing to new classical heights that celebrated Italian cul­ture, architecture, music, women and pleasure, Claesz was painting a tiny (40 x 56 cm), predominantly brown image dominated by an ugly skull and an upturned wine glass. Even the books on the table, a source of eternal wisdom, look battered.

Cornelis Janszoon de Heem painted a large (153 x 166cm) painting called Vanitas Still-Life with Musical Instruments in c1662. I am including this work because the elements were so rich that the modern viewer would be hard pressed to detect the vanitas elements. Note the viola, lutes, trumpet, flute, mandolin, violin, bagpipe, bowls crammed with luscious fruits and precious golden objects. But the snail on the ground, the half eaten fruit left to rot and the upturned objects tell of a sombre future for the family.

Nearly all Dutch still-lifes included an element of vanitas, even when a lumping great skull didn’t dominate the image. In Edwart Collier’s painting Vanitas Still Life 1697, the viewer noticed the implements that might be on any intellectual’s desk: ink-well and quill, candles, seals, wax, books and a globe, all within easy reach. Collier wasn’t criticising learning at all, but he was suggesting that even great learning isn’t eternal. If anything, this beautiful and detailed still life created a paradox in its very beauty. The message was consider the enjoyment of beautiful objects in a fine painting but at the same time be very beware of material concerns and intellectual conceits.


Edwart Collier, Vanitas Still-life, 1697

I recommend two other blogs on the subject. pre-Gébelin Tarot History blog has an amazing array of vanitas images in Homo Bulla Vanitas. And The Pond Seeker blog examined many examples of vanitas paintings, one of them being Holbein's famous Ambassadors, in Vanitas. His conclusions are worth reading.

For those interested specifically in the role of musical instruments in vanitas paintings, I wrote a guest post called "Musical Instruments and Dutch Vanitas Paintings" for Cynthia Wunsch.

How close were Claude Lorraine and JMW Turner?

The National Gallery in London has an exhibition called Turner Inspired: In the Light of Claude which will continue until 5th June 2012. According to the gallery, it is the most in-depth examination of Turner's experience of Claude's art. The exhibition includes oils, watercolours and sketchbooks, and introduces visitors to the story of the Turner Bequest and its importance in the history of the National Gallery.

Claude, Seaport With the Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba, 1648. Nat Gall

J.M.W Turner (1775-1851) himself understood well the connection between the two artists; on his death, Turner bequeathed the National Gallery two paintings, on condition that the works were hung between two pictures by Claude Lorraine (1600-82)! The final room of the current exhibition has collected and displayed archive material dedicated to the relationship between Turner's bequest and the Gallery.

Turner, Dido Building Carthage, 1815. National Gallery

So my question to the Gallery is: how real was the connection between the 17th century Frenchman who lived in Italy … and the 19th century Englishman who loved Claude’s work, even before he made his first visits to France, Switzerland and Italy?

The longer Claude lived in Italy, the more his paintings became classical, monumental and sensitive to the effects of light. One of his important mid-life paintings was Seaport With the Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba, painted in 1648. Many of Claude's paintings were concerned with travel, but here he created an imaginary seaport to depict the unusual story of Sheba’s and Solomon’s separation. The classical architecture was stunning, dwarfing the human beings and even dwarfing the ships.

I believe that during the Italian decades, Claude was always Claude. So the comparison between the two artists stands or falls on which Turners were selected. Country Life 21/3/2012 aptly chose the National Gallery’s own Dido Building Carthage 1815, identifying it as one Turner’s most direct salutes to Claude. The seascape was also concerned with an imaginary seaport, with ancient architecture and human beings, but this time the sky was hazier and the water darker than in Claude’s vision.

Turner, Waves Breaking on a Lee Shore at Margate c1840. Tate

Perhaps comparing Turner to Claude became less tenable after Turner’s first visit to central Italy in 1819 and his second visit a few years later (in 1828). Then a middle aged man, Turner soon discovered that Claude’s idealised classicism was not real, and perhaps it never had been. For all the beauty of Claude’s landscape, 19th century Italy was very different. Modernity itself was very different!

Turner’s later painting Waves Breaking on a Lee Shore at Margate c1840 (Tate London) was a very different kettle of fish, owing nothing to Claude. Instead of classical ruins, depicted in minute detail and lit by a pale blue sky, Turner’s drama came from an extremely rough sea. The sky above looked ominous and in the distant coast, the viewer could almost detect the outlines of the town’s harbour wall and lighthouse. Turner no longer bothered with minutely depicted architecture, classical or otherwise. The wild sea and sky were now his subjects.

Turner, Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying, 1840, Boston MFA

Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying was also painted in 1840 and once again focused on wild and romantic seas and skies. However the details were intentionally very difficult to detect and the viewer had to rely on Turner's title, when first analysing the contents. The ship in the background, sailing through a tumultuous sea of churning water, left alive human bodies thrown overboard. Brutal yes, but with more of an emphasis on wild nature than on human brutality.

The finest silver art objects in European history?

Augsburg may well have been shaped by the trade in salt and silver in Roman times and by its sophisticated canal system, but Roman wealth was not enough to explain the demand for silver and gold art in Renaissance Augsburg.

The route to Rome developed, over the centuries, into a main trading route, linking Augsburg to other trading towns. After all, Augsburg was located in the south of Germany, not very far from the modern borders with Austria (to the east) and Switzerland (to the west).

By 1276 trade and banking were so important to this otherwise ordinary town that the good burghers of Ausburg were able to make their home into a Free Imperial City. The local municipal government was able to make its own plans, raise its own taxes and legislate for its own laws.

 gilt silver, embossed dish made by Abraham Waremberger with Roman emperor busts

Money was being made hand over fist and you can see that Maximilian Street, bordered on both sides by the original stately homes, witnessed the city's affluence in the days of the famous Fugger, Peutinger, Welser and other famous merchant families. I say “famous”, but for the purposes of this post I should have said “rich”. So let us include some of the important banking families: the Baumgartners, Herwarts and Höchstetters.

But power was being distributed more widely than expected; Augsburg's guild constitution provided that all the craft guilds were to send representatives to the Great and Small Councils. Although the patricians retained the mayoral position, the guilds actually shared power with the Great and Good Families. Throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, the Augsburg economy boomed because of its export of gold and silver art, armour, the establishment of textile manufacturing, and the city's continuing role in banking and finance.

nautilus cup with silver gilt mount, by Ulrich Ment, c1623, now in Galerie J Kugel, Paris

Wealthy, cultivated and powerful families became wonderful patrons of gold and silver art objects. And the demand must have been endless. Even when Augsburg had only 30,000 inhabitants, some 260-275 of them were occupied full time as master gold and silversmiths.

Although the objects were for domestic use rather than for public use, these objects still had to be grand enough to decorate halls designed for solemn ceremonies, large receptions and sumptuous banquets. Examine, for example, the gilt silver dish made and embossed by Abraham Waremberger in Augsbug. I would love to know just how heavy and how broad this dish really was.

Some art objects were clearly ceremonial or decorative, but not necessarily functional. A nautilus cup with silver gilt mount, made by Ulrich Ment in Augsburg during the early 1620s, had the outer layer of the shell removed to reveal the lustrous inner layer.  Sometimes the ornate lids of nautilus cups were detachable, as was the case with other forms of covered ceremonial drinking cups. But even then, I wouldn’t have allowed my teenage sons to play soccer in the dining room.

And not just private families. In 2008, The Moscow Kremlin organised an exhibition of 500 Augsburg masterpieces, often given as ambassadorial gifts by the representatives of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, the Holy Roman Empire, Denmark and Sweden. The display included gold and silver trays, tankards, ewers and decorative sculptures that were placed near fireplaces, all of which glorified Augsburg and its silversmiths, and thrilled the recipients. A lidded silver jug, made by Melhior Gelb in the c1654, was decorated with embossing and pouncing. This was an ambassadorial gift, brought by King Charles X Gustav of Sweden, in 1655. A silver double goblet, made in Augsburg between 1576-1583, displayed casting, embossing and pouncing.

lidded silver jug, by Melhior Gelb, c1654

In Augsburg itself, the place to visit would be The Maximilian Museum. It displays many fine exhibits from the city's great silver- and goldsmith artists. And for a very useful reference, see Lorenz Seelig Silver and Gold: Courtly Splendour from Augsburg (Art & Design), Prestel, 1995.

Patrician family homes, Maximilianstrasse Augsburg, C16th and C17th

Rembrandt and colleagues: the Book of Esther

Triumph of Mordechai, by Pieter Lastman, 1624

Between 1624-1685, Rembrandt van Rijn, his colleagues and then his students painted and etched scenes from the Book of Esther. They took their themes from various stages in the Esther story, intense, full of imminent danger, sometimes highly decorative. The paintings were almost all of fine quality, so my research questions published in The Jewish Magazine, Feb 2008 did not deal with connoisseurship. Rather I was asking what was the endless appeal of this slightly obscure, historically questionable post-Biblical Jewish story to a particular group of 17th century Dutch Christian artists?

Calvinist collectors in the Dutch Republic WERE often very interested in Old Testament art; Calvin had advocated careful study of the biblical narrative, from both Testaments equally. But a general interest in Biblical stories does not explain why the Book of Esther, in particular, was popular. There have been three main reasons offered to explain the popularity of the Purim story:

Esther Accuses Haman, by Jan Lievens, 1625

1.)  The Netherlands had a free open market, religious tolerance and a broad intellectual life (Brown et al 1992). Jewish merchant families had both the finances and the taste to live well and to buy art for their increasingly attractive homes. Naturally they would want to buy narrative tales based on much loved  Old Testament stories.

What was Jewish Holland like? The Dutch East India Company, founded in 1602, had a monopoly on all profits from trade east of the Cape of Good Hope. Lisbon had been conquered by the Spanish so the Dutch had to find their own way to the East for spices. Luckily the Portuguese Jews, who had fled their country, brought a great deal of experience and expertise with them. Eventually the Dutch East India Co. became a public company, and commerce expanded to the extent that the Dutch Republic was culturally and economically the most flourishing country in Europe. And by then, Dutch Jews were allowed to practise their religion. They lived their lives openly, surrounded by all the religious and community facilities they required.

Haman Begging for Mercy, by Rembrandt, 1655

Artists had long painted Old Testament stories, but often from a Christological point of view i.e Old Testament stories were only important in as far as they could prefigure New Testament events. Rembrandt painted many New Testament scenes of course, but they were not full of explicitly Christian symbolism. No crucified Christs, weeping Madonnas or vengeful Jewish onlookers. Dutch Jews at last found paintings they could buy and be proud of.

2.) In 1609 King Philip III of Spain agreed only to a 12 years' truce with the Netherlands. Freedom for the tiny Dutch nation arrived, after 30 miserable years of war. But the Netherlands were still at risk. Renewed in 1621 as part of the wider European conflict of the 30 Years' War, the Dutch battle for independence was continued until 1648. Via the Peace of Westphalia, Spain finally and formally recognised the independence of the United Provinces.

The Dutch, who were well versed in the Bible, saw themselves as The New Israel and their tiny country was likened to the land of Canaan. The leaders of the revolt in the Netherlands became identified in general with Biblical heroes, while the Spanish appeared to them like tyrants eg Pharaoh, Haman and Nebuchadnezzar. Every Dutch citizen would have either remembered the tragic war against Spain from his own experience or would have remembered his parents' stories. So by celebrating the original Purim story, tiny Netherlands could explain God's miracle in their own generation.

Consider the timing of the emergence of Queen Esther paintings in the Netherlands. After only 12 years of independence, by 1621 the Dutch could see their freedom at risk again. Purim stories appeared there for the very first time in 1624 and 1625, by Lastman, Lievens and others. The audience could easily recognise the figure of Haman, with his idolatrous demands, as a representation of the hated Spanish. Esther and Mordechai were clearly personifications of the virtuous, pious Dutch. The artists paid careful attention to material and emotional detail, and often dressed the characters in contemporary garb, to reinforce the scene's moral and civic lesson.

The King and Queen with Haman, by Rembrandt, 1666

3) Rembrandt was personally fascinated with the Old Testament and he chose to live in a Jewish area of Amsterdam. He and his students were naturally drawn to Jewish characters, Biblical and contemporary. Both Testaments provided subjects for his artistic output, and counting his paintings etchings and drawings, I would have to admit that New Testament themes predominated. And yet the impression remains that the Old Testament held a greater attraction for him.

In 1634 Rembrandt married the wealthy Saskia van Uylenburgh, niece of a successful art dealer, who also lived in the Jewish quarter: Jodenbreestraat. Her money allowed the young family to live a life of prosperity and joy, and to buy a house in the main Jewish area. The family lived on the lower floors of the house, leaving the first floor for his studio. Rembrandt had at least 50 pupils and followers who worked there.

Although there was probably very little connection between Dutch Jews of the mid 17th century and Biblical Jews in the Middle East, the Jewish environment in which Rembrandt lived helped him get a feel for the Old Testament's world at the source.

Zell (2002) found a positive sympathy in Rembrandt to Judaism and to Christian messianism, via a group of philo-semitic Protestants. Zell saw that Rembrandt became intimately familiar with the deeper meaning of the Old Testament via his close friendships with two of the most important Jewish figures in Holland. They were the scholarly Rabbi Menasseh ben Israel, 1654, owner of Holland's first Hebrew printing press, and the erudite physician and community leader Dr Ephraim Bueno, 1647. They were in and out of each other's houses, studios and publishing houses. Many etchings of these two famous Jews survive, mostly by Rembrandt, Govert Flinck and Jan Lievens.

Reverend Mom and Women in the Bible blogs have a wonderful painting called The Banquet of Esther 1645 by the Dutch artist Jan Victors (1616-76), a student of Rembrandt van Rijn.

Read:
1. Nadler, Steven Rembrandt's Jews, Chicago UP, 2003  (one chapter is on line) and
2. Zell, Michael Reframing Rembrandt: Jews and the Christian Image in C17th Amsterdam, Uni California Press, Berkeley, 2002.

Tulip mania revisited

17th century middle class Dutch homes loved having fresh flowers on their hall stand. If they couldn't afford a constant supply of fresh flowers, they could commission a beautiful painting of fresh flowers, and put the painting on their hall stand instead. The 1620 Ambrosius Bosschaert painting below included tulips and other flowers.

Tulip cultivation in the United Dutch Provinces was rare. It probably started in 1593 when tulip bulbs were sent from Turkey by the Dutch ambassador there. Those beautifully coloured and variegated tulips, newly arrived, cost a fortune. Only the wealthiest aristocrats and merchants could afford them. But by the early 1630s, flower growers successfully raised crops of more simply-coloured tulips in Holland. So tulips became one of the few luxury goods that could be purchased by a wider portion of the community.

When I wrote a post last January called Tulip mania: Netherlands in the 1620s and 30s, I thought I would probably come back to the topic of 17th century Holland again. But not to a novel. The Tulip Virus by Dutch writer Danielle Hermans (Minotaur 2010) changed all that.

The novel, published 2010

The publishers wrote that “it is a gripping debut mystery set in contemporary London with roots in 17th century Holland and the mysterious tulip trade. In 1636 Alkmaar, Wouter Winckel’s brutally slaughtered body is found in the barroom of his inn, an anti-religious pamphlet stuffed in his mouth. Winckel was a tulip-trader and owned the most beautiful collection of tulips in the United Republic of the Low Countries, including the most coveted and expensive bulb of them all, the Semper Augustus. But why did he have to die and who wanted him dead?

In 2007 London, history seems to be repeating itself. Dutchman Frank Schoeller is found in his home by his nephew. Severely wounded, he is holding a 17th-century book about tulips, seemingly a clue to his death moments later. With the help of his friend, an antique dealer from Amsterdam, the nephew tries to solve the mystery, but soon comes to realise that he and his friend’s own lives are now in danger.

The Tulip Virus is a fast-paced, fascinating mystery. It is based on the real-life events surrounding the collapse of the tulip bubble in 17th century Holland, the first such occurrence in history, a story that plunges readers deeply into questions of free will, science and religion, while showing the dark fruits of greed, pride and arrogance”.

By now the publishers had my attention, since I am passionate about 17th century Netherlands. But publishers always promise fast-paced, fascinating mysteries; it is like a 19 year old boy promising his young girlfriend a lifetime of total honesty and tenderness.

What IS true is that by 1636, tulips were traded on the stock exchanges of many Dutch towns; the prosperous trading cities of the Netherlands were turned upsidedown by a tulip frenzy. Serious Calvinist Dutch citizens from every walk of life, if they had some spare money to invest, really did get involved in buying and selling tulip bulbs. Speculators, who wouldn't have known a tulip from a begonia, began to enter the market.

Warning pamphlet from the Dutch government, printed in 1637

The bubble didn’t last for long, but while it did, rare bulbs changed hands for ever-increasing amounts of money. Contemporary reports noted that a rare bulb might have been worth more than the cost of a family’s home.  It was not until Feb 1637 that tulip traders could no longer find new buyers willing to pay increasingly inflated prices for the precious bulbs. As this realisation set in, the demand for tulips suddenly collapsed and prices plummeted. The excitement came to a shuddering, crashing halt.

Both the government and the church had published pamphlets, warning about the foolishness of investing all of the family’s assets on tulips. But the character in The Tulip Virus, Wouter Winkel, didn’t listen. He and his wife seemed to have been the owners of an average tavern who died before their bulbs had been sold. It seems likely that during this bit of Dutch history, their seven children ended up in an orphanage and the bulbs were auctioned off to defray the orphanage’s costs. The auction price was so hysterically high, the children became rich overnight.

I loved The Tulip Virus but what did other reviewers think of  Danielle Hermans' novel? Mandythebookworm's Blog said she did not want to put this book down and whenever she had to, she was always thinking about how to wangle the next reading opportunity. She was hooked right from the first page. The Mystery Gazette believed the tulip connection to 17th century Holland added a very fresh spin to a secret that must be concealed at any cost. To be completely honest, I must let you know that not everyone loved the book. The Greenman Review didn’t enjoy the two intertwined, parallel stories at all.

Ambrosius Bosschaert, Flower Vase in Window Niche, 1620

My favourite reference for this period is The Embarrassment of Riches: An interpretation of Dutch Culture in the Golden Age, written by Simon Schama and published by Alfred A. Knopf in 1987.

Huguenot domestic architecture: 1696

Eggington House near Leighton Buzzard in Bedfordshire has been for sale. I am interested in the home for two important reasons. Firstly it was built in 1696, soon after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes (1685). The Edict forced Protestant Frenchmen to flee France or face forced conversion to Catholicism, galley slavery or even execution. Secondly not many William and Mary era homes survive for us to examine, splendid or otherwise.

Nikolaus Pevsner, my hero amongst architectural historians, carefully differentiated between this William III style and the later Queen Anne style of William’s sister in law. The houses and gardens of the William III era (1650–1702) were graceful but rather heavy, coming mid-way between the French-inspired Baroque of the Restoration and the rather austere Queen Anne period that might have better reflected Protestant Huguenot taste. For example, the use of brick became popular in Britain as an element of William’s international influence. He was, after all, born and raised in the Netherlands.

To restate the importance of the Huguenots on William III taste, note that among the Huguenots seeking refuge in Calvinist Holland was interior designer Daniel Marot, himself the son of an architect. The stadtholder soon  commissioned Marot to work on his palace at Het Loo in the Netherlands and other buildings. William also took a keen interest in the gardens that Marot designed, so it was not a surprise when Marot followed William and Mary to England.

Treasure Hunt made a similar point. Dyrham Park in Gloucestershire has a variety of Dutch art objects, collected by Secretary of War William Blathwayt during his travels with King William III to the Continent. Blathwayt adored Dutch paintings, seventeenth-century Delft glazed earthenware, cut flowers, Dutch stamped leather wallhangings and a state bed in the style of Daniel Marot.

South Bedfordshire in particular discovered late-Renaissance mansion architecture from France and the Netherlands. It foreshadowed the distinctive brick houses of the 18th century which were introduced through the royal patronage of King William.

Eggington House, built in 1696

Eggington House was built in 1696 for Jean Renouille, a Huguenot described as a merchant tailor who fled from Montauban in Languedoc in SW France. Bedfordshire encouraged newly arriving Huguenots to settle in the towns and surrounding county, thus becoming an important centre for the Huguenot lace-making industry in Britain.

I’d love to know how Jean Renouille made his livelihood in Bedfordshire - we know for a fact that he eventually became Sheriff of Bedfordshire, an establishment position if ever I heard of one. And within a generation, we know the Renouille family must have integrated rather nicely, because they Anglicised the family name to Reynal, moved to the very smart Hockliffe Grange and let out Eggington to other well-to-do families.

Pevsner described Eggington House as an uncommonly fine example of C17th domestic architecture, completely up to the moment in features. It was built of red brick under a tiled roof with a panelled parapet. The main façade had 7 bays of classical segment-headed sash windows and was three storeys high. The roof line was concealed by a panelled parapet decorated with urns. Surrounded on three sides by its own land and woodland, the house was approached down its own gravelled drive through a set of gates. Pevsner didn’t call it smallish, but I will.

Descriptions in CountryLife .co.uk are very useful. The house has magnificent reception rooms, all with high ceilings and full length sash windows allowing light to flood into every room. The interior contains a staircase with twisted balusters. The drawing room is peaceful with light, soft-oak panelling on all walls with attractive carved wooden alcoves either side of a carved wooden fire-place with a French door leading out onto the terrace and garden. The sash windows have their own light oak shutters and with wooden floor boards and wooden cornicing. The study has walls of decorative painted panels, a unique painted alcove which is thought to be of the original William III style and an impressive marble fire-place. The dining room leads off from the reception hall with walls of painted wooden panelling, wooden floor boards and an open fireplace.

Over the decades, this house has enjoyed a series of impressive owners, including Sir Gilbert Inglefield, a Lord Mayor of London after WW2, and, more recently Lord Slynn. Slynn was no slouch himself; he held the office of Lord of Appeal in Ordinary, Judge of the European Court of Justice and Advocate General of the European Court of Justice.

I have seen some modern photos of Eggington House’s interior, but I wish I could find drawings or photos from previous centuries. [Since the house was requisitioned by the Army during WW1, it is possible that substantial internal renovations were required, post-war]. In general, we can say that William and Mary design styles included French, Dutch and eastern influences. In wealthy homes, these influences could be found in furnishings carved in walnut, fruitwood and ebony, along side marquetry. But perhaps Huguenots, in that first difficult generation of exile and adaptation, had simpler tastes.

If the house sells, I wonder if the new owners will know about the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, Bedfordshire's Huguenot community, the Dutch stadtholder, Daniel Marot and Jean Renouille.

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I couldn’t find many bloggers discussing Huguenot architecture, after the expulsion (1685). katy elliot blog has wonderful images from Huguenot Street: New Paltz, NY but the slightly later date (early 1700s) suggests that the New York Huguenots had been living for a generation in The Netherlands. She suggested that the windows and shutters felt Dutch and different from anything she had ever seen in New England. Sam Gruber’s Jewish Art and Monuments also has an image of Huguenot architecture, but again it is early C18th. In 1742 a Huguenot chapel was built on the corner of Brick Lane and Fournier Street in Tower Hamlets in London’s East End. Called La Neuve Eglise, this dark brick and rather austere building later became Spitalfields Great Synagogue.

I would like to write a post on The French Protestant Hospital, La Providence, of the same era. But sofar I cannot find any photos of its original 1718 architecture.

The best books are:
Cottret , BJ and P Stevenson Huguenots in England: Immigration and Settlement c1550-1700, 1992
Davies, Horton and Marie-Helene French Huguenots in English-Speaking Lands, 2000
Gwynn , Robin D Huguenot Heritage: History and Contribution of the Huguenots in England, 1985
Gwynn, Robin D The Huguenots of London, Alpha Press, 1998 (my favourite)
Sparks , R.S and Van Ruymbeke, B Memory and Identity: Huguenots in France and the Atlantic Diaspora, 2008
Vigne, R and C. Littleton From Strangers to Citizens: The Integration of Immigrant Communities in Britain, Ireland and Colonial America 1550-1750, 2002

Tulip mania: Netherlands in the 1620s and 30s

With the Union of Utrecht in 1579, only the 7 Calvinist provinces to the north succeeded in gaining their independence from Spanish rule. Thus the north ie The United Provinces became independent and Protestant; the south ie Flanders remained Catholic and under Spanish rule. Dutch people elaborately celebrated their success in consolidating their Republic as a free, independent state. It was the first of the states created by means of a people's revolution against monarchical power in the early modern era. Peace was a gift from the Protestant God. Dutch trading companies founded colonies and profitable businesses, and banking and shipping boomed.

A BOSSCHAERT, Bouquet of flowers in a vase, 37 x 26 cm, 1621.
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The Dutch East India Co, founded 1602, had a monopoly on all profits from trade east of the Cape of Good Hope including South Africa, India and Indonesia. Lisbon had been conquered by the Spanish so the Dutch had to find their own way to the East for spices. So the Dutch East India Co. went public and for 200 years ran a commercial empire more powerful than some countries.

The Dutch West India Company, founded 1621, was granted a charter for a trade monopoly in the Caribbean and was given jurisdiction over the African slave trade, Brazil and North America. The purpose of the charter was to eliminate competition, especially Spanish or Portuguese, b/w the various trading posts established by Dutch merchants. The company became instrumental in the Dutch colonisation of the Americas.

Commerce had expanded so much that the Dutch Republic had become the culturally and economically most flourishing country in Europe. A welfare system and public works were important expressions of Dutch civic government. Guild members and regents of charitable institutions were proud representatives of their Protestant, mercantile society. By early C17th, all Dutchmen were allowed to practise their religion freely. And it was to the Dutch that other Protestant cities looked for rebuilding. Dutch engineers, artists and designers spread all over Europe.

The cities’ canals and bridges were a source of huge civic pride. New roads were built, horse drawn public transport by barges started up, Bourses boomed, public clocks appeared all over the country and cities became clean. Street lighting became a model for other European cities. Fire fighting teams were developed and equipped. A civic medical board was set up in each city to license and supervise doctors. Windmills made it possible to raise the water level from the low lying land, and to mill flour and timber.

In the Dutch Republic there had few noble families, and the small Catholic Church in the north could not commission altar pieces. Worse still, for artists, Calvinist churches didn't tolerate lush ornamentation of their churches. So art commissions came from new sources: civic institutions, militia companies, charitable foundations, bankers and business people. Newly wealthy burghers enjoyed their new fortunes.

Tulips had long been growing in Constantinople. Then, in the 1560s, trade and diplomatic interaction with the Ottoman Empire allowed for a small number of tulips to be imported into Hapsburg Europe. In this early stage, tulip ownership was primarily limited to wealthy nobles and scholars. Antwerp, Brussels, Augsburg, Paris and Prague are among some of the cities where tulips first began to circulate. Tulip cultivation in the United Provinces probably started in 1593 when tulip bulbs were sent from Turkey by the Netherlandish ambassador.

Maria Oosterwijck, Flower Still Life, 1669

The most vividly coloured of the new tulips became exorbitantly priced. Only the wealthiest aristocrats and merchants could afford the variegated hybrid varieties. By the early 1630s, however, flower growers had begun to raise vast crops of more simply-coloured tulips. With the increasing number of varieties and the ever-widening price range, tulips became one of the few luxury goods that could be purchased by members of all classes.

Not everyone could afford these insanely high prices and many families were in any case opposed to gambling. One way to achieve the beauty of full blown floral bouquets in the home was to have an artist paint the floral image on canvas. The canvas could be hung in the reception area, opposite the front door, so that visitors would be impressed by the floral display.

The Dutch were in any case passionate about still life paintings in the C17th, especially serious botanical studies. And there might well have been a vanitas element eg Bosschaert’s tiny Bouquet of Flowers in a Vase 1621, combined with small animals and insects. A skull, an hourglass or pocket watch, a candle burning down or a book with pages turning, would serve as a moralising message on the ephemeral nature of sensory pleasures. Often some of the luscious fruits and flowers themselves would be starting to spoil, or bugs would crawling around.

Whether still-lifes had a moralising intent or were painted for the pure pleasure of displaying the talent of the artist and the wealth of a newly wealthy society, their message of beauty and natural content was understood. They were closely observed and beautifully painted. But it could also be argued that it was the national obsession with exotic flowers that made still lifes so highly sought after.

In 1623, a single bulb of a famous tulip variety could cost up to a thousand Dutch florins, 6 or 7 times the average yearly income. Tulips could be exchanged for land, homes or valuable livestock. If a family could afford a number bulbs, they would buy a pyramid-shaped vase to display each flower separately. Possibly this was not an exclusively Dutch preference; the multi-spout vases/bulb pots were popular in Holland, England, France and Germany, made from painted porcelain, delftware or bone china.


Maddy's Ramblings said that people abandoned jobs, businesses, wives, homes and lovers to become tulip growers. And even more so for royals. Austrian Archduke Albert and the Infanta Isabella were fine patrons of the arts, making Peter Paul Rubens their court painter in 1609. See their collector’s cabinet c1626 . Flowers were as important as paintings, rugs, musical instruments, sculptures and globes for their royal collection.

Tulip vase of Willem III, 1690s, blue-painted faience, 102cm

The record price reached for the sale of one bulb, the Semper Augustus, was 6,000 florins in Haarlem. By 1636, tulips were traded on the stock exchanges of many Dutch towns. This encouraged trading in tulips by all members of society, with many people selling or trading their other possessions in order to speculate in the tulip market. Some speculators made large profits as a result. As did advertisers.

Of course during Tulip-mania there were many who tried to stop or slow down the absurd speculation. Religious leaders, moralists and even the government warned their people against obsession with base secular concerns. Van Gogh's Chair blog cited a painting called A Satire of Tulip Mania by Jan Brueghel II c1640, definitely a scathing satire of human greed.

But the passion burned strongly. Because the flower-growers had to cultivate the bulbs and could not sell them until they were ready, flower sellers began selling promissory notes guaranteeing the future delivery of the tulip bulb. The buyers of these pieces of paper resold the notes at marked-up prices. Thus promissory notes changed hands from buyer to buyer until the tulip became ready for delivery. The key was to be able to resell the note before the tulip could be delivered; the unlucky gambler was the person who could no longer resell the note because he now owned the actual tulip.

Tulip speculation became so excessive that in 1637 the States of Holland passed a statute curbing the extremes, but the legislation failed. That year the market began to panic when people realised that tulips were not worth the prices people were paying for them. People began to sell as quickly as they could and in less than 6 weeks, tulip prices crashed by over 90%. The negative side of option leverage meant fortunes were lost. People who traded in farms and life savings for a tulip bulb were left holding a worthless plant seed. Many defaults occurred, where speculators couldn’t pay off their debts. Others were left holding contracts to purchase tulips at prices now 10 times greater than those on the open market. Many Dutch gamblers were financially ruined. No court would enforce payment of a contract, since judges regarded the debts as contracted through gambling, and thus not enforceable in law.

The aftermath of the tulip price deflation and other events led to an economic chill throughout the Netherlands for years afterwards, resulting in an economic depression and harming Dutch commerce. But the tulip remained the much loved national floral emblem.  And floral still lifes with tulips still continued being painted long after the bubble burst and crashed.

The most serious analysis of the phenomenon was provided by Anne Goldgar, in Tulipmania: Money, Honour and Knowledge in the Dutch Golden Age. She argued that the phenomenon was limited to a smallish group of Dutch families. She believed that tulips were treated more like art, for which high-status people paid exorbitant prices in the pursuit of beauty. In other words, tulipmania might have been a social and cultural crisis for the young nation, not a financial one.

Anne Goldgar's book

Birdbrain(ed) Book Blog  reviewed the House of Windjammer by VA Richardson (2003). Mike Dash wrote Tulipomania : The Story of the World's Most Coveted Flower. Deborah Moggach wrote Tulip Fever and Anna Pavord wrote The Tulip. Investing Notes blog discussed the economic reasons behind the success and later failure of this speculative mania.

Charles II recipe book by Robert May

The earliest hardback cookbook I have seen was written up by Fragments, published originally in 1610. Called Closet for Ladies and Gentlewomen Or The Art of Preserving, Conserving, and Candying, the book invited the reader "To make Marmelate very comfortable and restorative for any Lord or Lady whatsoever".

Then something even more wonderful emerged. The Daily Mail 18th Dec 2009 reported that auctioneer Charles Hanson was stunned to unearth a copy of The Accomplisht Cook, Or The Art And Mystery Of Cookery, published 1665. It was in a trunk full of books that he was examining when clearing a house in Derby.

Charles Hanson found a Restoration treasure

Readers might not expect me to write about cook books. But I found many blogs who were delighted with the May book and its recipes eg Gherkins & Tomatoes blog, lostpastremembered blog, Save the Deli blog and The Old Foodie blog.
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This book was the first substantial recipe book to be published in England and ran to 5 editions. So it was special back in the 1660s, and is even more special now. Few books were published during the Civil War so when this book was printed after the 1660 Restoration of Charles II, it would have been read by the upper classes and used within court and for important social occasions. The book boasts a number of illustrations, also a rare feature for the time.

Robert May might have been a professional cook who specialised in preparing grand dishes for the great and the good, but even so, the variety of May’s dishes was huge. Other cookery books in that era were almost entirely focused on fruit, conserves and confections. Some household books were largely medicinal.

What is known about Robert May 1588-1685? He was the son of Edwarde and Joan Mayes and came from a family of noted chefs. His father Edwarde was the chief cook at Ascott Park, working for the Dormer family, so Robert was "bred up in this Art". Lady Dormer obviously placed great value in food; at the age of 10, she sent young Robert to France to train for 5 years. 

Cheesecake recipes

Why would anyone send a 10 year old abroad? Note that the Dormers were Catholic, a family able were able to successfully retain their faith with minimal persecution during a very troubled century. Perhaps she thought she could protect Robert’s Catholicism better in a Catholic country. Perhaps she though that French food was the standard to which young chefs should aspire.

Upon his return to England he finished his long apprenticeship in London working for Arthur Hollinsworth, then returned to the village of Wing in Bucks, becoming one of the five cooks reporting to his father at the Dormer family’s estate at Ascott Park. After Lady Dormer's death, Robert moved around the country serving in other aristocratic households. His was a long life and a long professional career.

The Accomplisht Cook, Or The Art & Mystery of Cookery was first written in 1660 when May was already 72 years old, and in it he shared his experiences and many secrets of his profession. May acknowledged the end of the Puritan Commonwealth, noting that his recipes 'were formerly the delights of the Nobility, before good housekeeping had left England.' His books give directions for many extravagant meat dishes, including a pastry stag filled with blood-like claret, a tortoise stewed with eggs, nutmeg and sweet herbs, and a 'pudding of swan' made with rose water and lemon peel.

May’s was consciously a book for the upper class gourmet, but he was aware that many of his readers were not rich enough afford such luxuries. Very cleverly, I thought, May specifically ensured that many of the dishes were relatively modest.

Along with recipes and general technical commentary, the book contained Robert’s effusive record of his indebtedness to the Persons of great Honour in whose households he had been privileged to serve.

The author wrote the book in Sholeby in Leicestershire. He identified himself as an Englishman who profited much in his cooking by living in France and by consulting Spanish cookery. As well as French recipes, he added recipes from Britain, Spain and other nations.

The British Library’s page noted that May was clearly indebted to French master chefs cooking in French aristocratic courts, but was careful not to overplay their influence, and thus run the risk of offending his English readership. So in the book’s preface he had a few digs at the French. “To all honest well intending Men of our Profession, or others, this Book cannot but be acceptable, as it plainly and profitably discovers the Mystery of the whole Art; for which, though I may be envied by some that only value their private Interests above Posterity, and the publick good, yet God and my own Conscience would not permit me to bury these my Experiences with my Silver Hairs in the Grave: and that more especially, as the advantages of my Education hath raised me above the Ambitions of others, in the converse I have had with other Nations, who in this Art fall short of what I have known experimented by you my worthy Country men. Howsoever the French by their Insinuations, not without enough of Ignorance, have bewitcht some of the Gallants of our Nation with Epigram Dishes, smoakt rather than drest, so strangely to captivate the Gusto, their Mushroom’d Experiences for Sauce rather than Diet, for the generality howsoever called A-la-mode, not worthy of being taken notice on. As I live in France, and had the Language and have been an eye-witness of their Cookeries as well, as a Peruser of their Manuscripts, and Printed Authors whatsoever I found good in them, I have inserted in this Volume.”

This extraordinary man died in 1685, aged 97. His book will be auctioned at Hanson's of Lichfield, early in 2010. A facsimile of the 1685 edition, incorporating Robert May's last amendments from 1665 and a great deal of biographical information, can be bought, or read on-line.

Two worthwhile blog posts have appeared recently, of great interest to foodies.  Cardinal Wolsey posted an article on the Tudor Kitchens cookery project at Hampton Court Palace. I would love to have been there! And Two Nerdy History Girls wrote that the very scholarly John Evelyn was so devoted to his vegetarianism that he wrote an entire book on the subject: Acetaria: A Discourse of Sallets. Published in 1699, the book suggested what kinds of plants and herbs to include in a salad garden, their cultivation, and recipes. Note the 1699 publication date - so soon after Robert May's book.
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