Sacred Words and Worlds: Geography, Religion, and Scholarship, 1550–1700 (History of Science and Medicine Library 21 : Scientific and Learned Cultures and Their Institutions 2)

Sacred Words and Worlds

History of Science and Medicine Library VOLUME 21

Scientific and Learned Cultures and Their Institutions Editor

Mordechai Feingold California Institute of Technology

VOLUME 2

The titles published in this series are listed at www.brill.nl/slci

Sacred Words and Worlds Geography, Religion, and Scholarship, 1550–1700

By

Zur Shalev

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2012

Cover illustration: “Antiqvae Vrbis Hierosolymorvm topographica delineato,” Gerard de Jode (Antwerp, 1571?). Source: The Jewish National & University Library, available at http://jnul.huji.ac.il/dl/maps/jer This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Shalev, Zur, 1967– Sacred words and worlds : geography, religion, and scholarship, 1550–1700 / by Zur Shalev. p. cm. — (History of Science and Medicine Library, ISSN 1872-0684 ; v. 21) (Scientific and learned cultures and their institutions ; v. 2) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-20935-0 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Religion and geography. 2. Sacred space. 3. Bible—Study and teaching—History. I. Title. II. Title: Geography, religion, and scholarship, 1550–1700. III. Series. BL65.G4S53 2012 203’.509—dc23 2011029855

ISSN 1872-0684 ISBN 978-90-04-20935-0 Copyright 2012 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Global Oriental, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change.

For Ruth

CONTENTS List of Figures ..................................................................................... Note on Documentation ................................................................... Abbreviations ..................................................................................... Acknowledgements ............................................................................

ix xv xvii xix

1. Early Modern Geographia Sacra: Themes and Approaches ....................................................................................

1

2. The Antwerp Polyglot Bible: Maps, Scholarship, and Exegesis ..................................................................................

23

3. Antiquarian Zeal and Sacred Measurement on the Road to Jerusalem ............................................................

73

4. The Phoenicians are Coming! Samuel Bochart’s Protestant Geography ......................................................................................

141

5. Putting the Church on the Map: Ecclesiastical Cartography across the Denominational Divide ............................................

205

6. Epilogue ..........................................................................................

259

Appendix Extant Manuscripts of Samuel Bochart ................... Bibliography ........................................................................................ Index ....................................................................................................

271 279 309

LIST OF FIGURES 1. Ph. Galle, engraved portrait of Benito Arias Montano. Galle and Montano, Virorum doctorum de disciplinis benemerentium effigies XLIIII (Antwerp, 1572) .................. 2. Title page, Benito Arias Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), I ............................................... 3. Title page, Benito Arias Montano, Antiquitatum Iudaicarum libri IX (Leiden: Raphelenghius, 1593) ........... 4. Engraving of an ancient Hebrew Shekel. Benito Arias Montano, Antiquitatum Iudaicarum libri IX (Leiden: Raphelenghius, 1593), 126 ...................................................... 5. “Hispania veteris,” dedication to Arias Montano. Abraham Ortelius, Theatrum orbis terrarum (Antwerp: Plantin-Moretus, 1601), Parergon .......................................... 6. Benito Arias Montano following Peter Laickstein, “Antiqua Ierusalem vera icnographia,” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Nehemias” ................................................................................ 7. “Antiqvae Vrbis Hierosolymorvm topographica delineatio,” Gerard de Jode following Peter Laickstein (Antwerp, 1571?) ...................................................................... 8. Benito Arias Montano, “Templi icnographia.” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Exemplar” ................................................................................. 9. Temple plan on the map of Jerusalem, Figure 6, detail .... 10. Benito Arias Montano, “Tabula terrae Canaan Abrahae tempore,” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Chanaan” ...................................... 11. Benito Arias Montano, “Terrae Israel . . . in tribus undecim distributae accuratissimae,” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Chaleb” ............................................................................ 12. “Perseverantiae exitus,” in Benito Arias Montano, Humanae salutis monumenta (Antwerp: Plantin, 1571), sig. F2 ..........................................................................................

24 29 34

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48 49

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list of figures

13. Benito Arias Montano, “Sacra geographia,” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Phaleg” ....................... 14. Benito Arias Montano, “Forma . . . Arcae Noë,” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Exemplar” .................. 15. Benito Arias Montano, “Sacri Tabernaculi orthographia,” Montano, Antiquitatum Iudaicarum libri XI (Leiden: Antwerp, 1593), “Exemplar” ................................... 16. View of Jerusalem, Giuseppe Rosaccio, Viaggio da Venetia, a Constantinopoli per mare e per terra & insieme quello di Terra Santa (Venice: Giacomo Franco, 1598), 53 ..................................... 17. Equestrian drills in Cairo, Vincenzo Fava, “Relatione del Viaggio di Gierusalemme,” BL Ms. Add. 33,566, f. 20v ....................................................... 18. Title page, Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620) ...................................... 19. Perspective of Nativity complex, Bethlehem, Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620), plate 2 ........................ 20. Foldout manuscript map of Jerusalem and Mt. of Olives, drawn by Gio: Cales, Vincenzo Fava, “Relatione del Viaggio di Gierusalemme,” BL Ms. Add. 33,566, fos. 53v–54r ................................................................................. 21. Plan and elevation of the Edicule over the tomb of Jesus, Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Jerusalem, Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620), plate 33 ...................... 22. Scale of half foot, Vincenzo Fava, “Relatione del Viaggio di Gierusalemme,” BL Ms. Add. 33,566, f. 158 ...................................................... 23. St. Jerome, Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620), plate 8 ........................

59

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68

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list of figures 24. Title page, vol. 1, Franciscus Quaresmius, Historica theologica et moralis Terræ Sanctæ elucidatio, 2 vols. (Antwerp: Balthasar Moretus, ex Officina Plantiniana, 1639) ..................................................................... 25. Contemporary Jerusalem, Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620), plate 44 ............ 26. Ancient Jerusalem, Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620), plate 45 ............ 27. Mt. Calvary, Franciscus Quaresmius, Historica theologica et moralis Terræ Sanctæ elucidatio, 2 vols. (Antwerp: Balthasar Moretus, ex Officina Plantiniana, 1639), II: opposite 448 ............................................................................... 28. Entombment of Jesus, Franciscus Quaresmius, Historica theologica et moralis Terræ Sanctæ elucidatio, 2 vols. (Antwerp: Balthasar Moretus, ex Officina Plantiniana, 1639), II: 529 .............................................................................. 29. Burial cave, Jean Zuallart, Il devotissimo viaggio di Gerusalemme (Rome: F. Z. Zanetti & Gia. Ruffinelli, 1587), bk 3, 143 ......................................................................... 30. Interior of catacombs in Rome, Antonio Bosio, Roma sotterranea (Rome, 1635), lib. II.xxi, 137 .................. 31. Portrait of Samuel Bochart at the age of sixty-four (1663), Samuel Bochart, Opera Omnia, 3 vols. (Amsterdam: Boutesteyn & Luchtmans, 1692), III, frontispiece ............... 32. Title page, Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 2 ed. (Frankfurt: Wustius for J. D. Zunner, 1681), second impression by Zunner .............................................................. 33. Frontispiece of Samuel Bochart’s Opera Omnia (1692), Bochart, Opera Omnia, 3 vols. (Amsterdam: Boutesteyn & Luchtmans, 1692), I ........................................................................... 34. Samuel Bochart’s entry in William Bedwell’s Album Amicorum, 25 March 1623, Leiden UL Ms. BPL 2753, f. 89v ............................................................................................. 35. Map of Phoenician Sicily. Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 2 ed. (Frankfurt: Wustius for J. D. Zunner, 1681), opposite 557 ...............................................................................

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137 138

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list of figures

36. View of Syracuse, inset in map of Sicily (previous figure). Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 2 ed. (Frankfurt: Wustius for J. D. Zunner, 1681), opposite 557 ............................................................................... 37. Map of Creation based on 2 Esdras. Jacques d’Auzoles Lapeyre, La Saincte Geographie (Paris: A. Estienne, 1629), bk II, p. 77 .................................................................................. 38. Sample page, Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 3 ed. Phaleg, I:2, Opera Omnia (Amsterdam: Boutesteyn & Luchtmans, 1692), cols. 11–12 ............................................... 39. Bochart, “Tabula universalis locorum quae Phoenicum navigationibus maxime frequentata sunt a Taprobana Thulem usque.” Engraved by Sigmund Gab. Hipschman, based on the first edition (1646). Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 2 ed. (Frankfurt: Wustius for J. D. Zunner, 1681) ................................................................... 40. “Taprobanae Insulae descriptio,” inset in general map of Phoenician navigation (previous figure). Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 2 ed. (Frankfurt: Wustius for J. D. Zunner, 1681) ................................................................... 41. “Taprobanae Insulae descriptio,” in Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 3 ed., Opera Omnia (Amsterdam: Boutesteyn & Luchtmans, 1692), opposite col. 693 ............ 42. Map of the suburbicarian regions, Jacques Godefroy, Conjectura de suburbicariis regionibus et ecclesiis (Frankfurt: Unckelius, 1618), opposite 1 .............................. 43. Dedication, Noël le Vacher, “Carte du diocese de Soissons” (Paris: E. Vouillemont, 1656), BN Ge DD 2987 (300) ............................................................................................ 44. Cartouche, Nicolas Sanson, “Senones. Partie septentrionale de l’archevesché de Sens” ([Paris]: [P. Mariette], 1660), BN Ge DD 2987 (268, I) .................... 45. Title page, Aubert Le Mire, Geographia Ecclesiastica (Lyon, 1620) ............................................................................... 46. Franciscus Haereus, “Lumen Historiarum per Orientem,” in Le Mire, Notitia episcopatum orbis christiani (Antwerp, 1613), lib. 5 ............................................................. 47. Franciscus Haereus, “Lumen Historiarum per Occidentem,” in Le Mire, Notitia episcopatum orbis christiani (Antwerp, 1613), lib. 5 ...........................................

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234 235

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list of figures 48. Title page, Augustin Lubin, Orbis Augustinianus (Paris: Baudouyn, 1659) .......................................................... 49. Title page, Augustin Lubin, Topographia Augustiniana, in Orbis Augustinianus (Paris: Baudouyn, 1659) ................ 50. Augustin Lubin, “Vetus Africa Augustiniana,” in Orbis Augustinianus (Paris: Baudouyn, 1659) ................................ 51. Fr. L. de La Salle, “La nouvelle Thébaïde ou la carte très particulière et exacte de l’abbaye de la Maison Dieu nostre dame de la Trappe, de l’estroite observance de Citeaux, située dans la province du Perche, diocesse de Sées/ Dressée sur les lieux par Monsieur de La Salle” ([Paris]: De Fer, 1700), BN Ge DD 2987 (1060) ................................ 52. Title page, Augustin Lubin, Martyrologium Romanum (Paris: Florentinus Lambert, 1660) ........................................ 53. Augustin Lubin, “Tabula Tertia” [Gallia], Martyrologium Romanum (Paris: Florentinus Lambert, 1660) .................... 54. Title page, Thomas Fuller, A Pisgah-Sight of Palestine and the Confines thereof: with the History of the Old and New Testament Acted thereon (London: J.F. for John Williams, 1650) ............................................................... 55. Elevation and plan of the Temple, Thomas Fuller, A Pisgah-Sight of Palestine and the Confines thereof: with the History of the Old and New Testament Acted thereon (London: J.F. for John Williams, 1650), bk 3, 352–53 ....... 56. Thomas Fuller, “Fragmenta Sacra,” in Fuller, A PisgahSight of Palestine and the Confines thereof: with the History of the Old and New Testament Acted thereon (London: J.F. for John Williams, 1650), bk 5, opposite 203 ............................................................................... 57. Map of Ruben’s land, Thomas Fuller, A Pisgah-Sight of Palestine and the Confines thereof: with the History of the Old and New Testament Acted thereon (London: J.F. for John Williams, 1650), opposite bk 2, 54 ..............................

xiii

243 244 245

250 252 253

261

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NOTE ON DOCUMENTATION All translations are mine unless noted otherwise. In quotations I have kept original spellings and orthography but usually expanded abbreviations. Items on the List of Figures are less detailed than individual captions. Both locations contain full bibliographic data. Biblical passages are cited from the King James Version. All websites were reaccessed in July 2010.

ABBREVIATIONS BL BMC BN BHPF ODNB

British Library Bibliothèque municipale de Caen Bibliothèque nationale de France Bibliothèque de l’histoire du protestantisme français Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, online edition, 2009 [www.oxforddnb.com]

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I am delighted to acknowledge my debt and gratitude to many individuals—teachers, mentors, colleagues, and friends, in Jerusalem, Princeton, Oxford, London, Haifa, and other locations—who have been, in different ways, incredibly helpful and kind to this work and its author. They are listed here by alphabetical order: Sigal Abramovitch, Jim Akerman, Gur Alroey, Sara Alleyn, Ory Amitai, Lisa Bailey, Peter Barber, Adam Beaver, the late Mara Beller, Rami Ben-Shalom, Ayelet Ben-Yishai, Philip Benedict, Daniela Bleichmar, Lior Blum, Karen Bowen, Melanie Bremer, Denver Brunsman, Jed Buchwald, D. Graham Burnett, Charles Burnett, Tony Campbell, Angelo Cattaneo, Yossi Chajes, Joe Cullon, Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, Robert Darnton, Surekha Davies, Catherine Delano Smith, Avner and Yifat De Shalit, Yoav Di Capua, Simon Ditchfield, Eric Dursteler, Matthew Edney, Miri Eliav-Feldon, Ronnie Ellenblum, Tina Erdos, Robert Evans, Moti Feingold, Francesca Fiorani, Yehoshua Frenkel, Robert Frost, Vardit Garber, Claudia Gazzini, Guy Geltner, Vicky Glosson, Dimitri Gondicas, Molly Greene, Ruth HaCohen, Judy Hanson, Kristine Haugen, Michael Heyd, Alfred Hiatt, Dirk Imhof, Martin Jennings, Brendan Kane, Eileen Kane, Robert Karrow, Arnon Keren, Arik Kochavi, Arieh Kofsky, Rachel Kolodny, Lynn Kratzer, Jill Kraye, David Levi-Faur, Ora Limor, Greg Lyon, Merav Mack, Audrey Mainzer, Peter Mancall, Suzanne Marchand, Eti Marom, Tine Meganck, Amos Megged, Margaret Meserve, Peter Miller, Amos Morris-Reich, Stephennie Mulder, Jane Murphy, Yuval Nov, Brian Ogilvie, Yaron Perry, Donald Pohl, Gyan Prakash, Wendy Pullan, Theodore Rabb, Eileen Reeves, Aharon Refter, Elhanan Reiner, Franz Reitinger, Thierry Rigogne, Mark Rosen, Rehav (Buni) Rubin, Alessandro Scafi, Eran Shalev, Jonathan Sheehan, Orit Siman-Tov, Haia Shpayer-Makov, Felix Sprang, Dina Stein, Yael Sternhell, Guy Stroumsa, Naomi Sussmann, Pninit Tal, Robert Tignor, George Tolias, Emmanuelle Vagnon, John Warnock, Jenny Weber, Joanna Weinberg, the late David Woodward, Amanda Wunder, Amit Yahav, Myriam Yardeni, Avihu Zakai, and Yossi Ziegler. From our very first meeting in Jerusalem more than a decade ago and until the present, Anthony Grafton, my adviser at Princeton, is

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acknowledgements

a flowing source of inspiration as a scholar and teacher. Tony supervised my work with astonishing erudition, enthusiasm, generosity, and patience, for which I am deeply grateful. The writing of this book has been generously supported by the following institutions and organizations: Princeton University (Department of History, The Graduate School, Association of Princeton Graduate Alumni, Council on Regional Studies, Program in Hellenic Studies, Center for the Study of Religion); The Newberry Library, Chicago; Institute of Historical Research, University of London; Andrew K. Mellon Foundation; The Renaissance Society of America; American Friends of the J. B. Harley Research Fellowships; Max Planck Institute for the History of Science, Berlin; The Huntington Library, San Marino; Israeli Higher Education Council; University of Haifa, Faculty of the Humanities; and Yad Handaiv. I have been kindly and patiently helped at the following libraries and collections (staff names mentioned where known): At Princeton University: History Librarians (the late Lara Moore, Elizabeth Bennett), Department of Rare Books and Special Collections (Annalee Pauls, Charles Greene), Marquand Library of Art and Archaeology. Other collections: Special Collections, Henry Luce III Library, Princeton Theological Seminary; New York Public Library; The Newberry Library, Chicago (Robert Karrow); Bibliothèque municipale, Caen (Mme Noëlla Duplessis, Erik Calvet); Musée de Beaux Arts, Caen; Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris (Catherine Hofman); Bibliothèque de la Société de l’Histoire du protestantisme français, Paris (Mme Idelette Beauvais); Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, Paris; Bodleian Library, Oxford; Taylor Institution Library, Oxford; Sackler Library, Oxford; Merton College Library, Oxford (Dr. Julia Walworth); British Library, London (Peter Barber); Warburg Institute Library, London; Institute of Historical Research Library, London; National Archives, Kew; Plantin-Moretus Museum Library, Antwerp; Gennadius Library, Athens; The National Library, Jerusalem; Max Planck Institute for the History of Science, Berlin; The Huntington Library; and by correspondence, Pitts Theology Library, Emory University (Armin Siedlecki); Dousa Department, Leiden University Library (Dr. Jan Cramer); Manuscripts and Archives Department, University of Amsterdam (Dr. Jos Biemans).

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An earlier version of Chapter Two was published as “Sacred Geography, Antiquarianism and Visual Erudition: Benito Arias Montano and the Maps in the Antwerp Polyglot Bible,” Imago Mundi 55 (2003): 56–80. Images are printed with the kind permission of their holders. Finally, very special thanks go to my siblings Refealla and Meir, to my children Ronni, Naomi, and Amos, and above all, to Ruth LibertyShalev, to whom I dedicate this work with love.

CHAPTER ONE

EARLY MODERN GEOGRAPHIA SACRA: THEMES AND APPROACHES Michael Servetus painfully discovered in 1553 that Jean Calvin and fellow Genevans were not particularly amused by his snide remarks about the fertility of the Holy Land. As editor of Ptolemy’s Geography (Lyon, 1535), Servetus added in the commentary on a contemporary (i.e. non-Ptolemaic) map of the Holy Land: Nevertheless be assured, reader, that it is sheer misinterpretation to attribute such excellence to this land which the experience of merchants and travelers proves to be barren, sterile and without charm, so that you may call it in the vernacular “the promised land” only in the sense that it was promised, not that it had any promise.1

This paragraph, which Servetus in fact took almost verbatim from earlier editors of Ptolemy, was brought as evidence against him in the notorious trial that ended with a public burning (October 27, 1553). Servetus’ explanation that these were not his own words, and that the comment was made regarding the contemporary, not the biblical Holy Land, did not convince Calvin and the court. Although the accusation was dropped from the final sentence, which drew ample material from Servetus’ heretical views on the Trinity and baptism, the Ptolemy

1 “Scias tamen lector optime, iniuria aut iactantia pura, tantam huic terrae bonitatem fuisse adscriptam, eo que ipsa experientia, mercatorum & peraegre profiscentium, hanc incultam, sterilem, omni dulcedine carentem depromit. Quare promissam terram pollicitam, & non vernacula lingua laudantem pronuncies.” Claudii Ptolemaei Alexandrini geographicae enarrationis libri octo . . . (Lyon: Melchior and Gaspar Trechsel, 1535), TAB. TER. SANCTAE. I use the translation, as well as the passionate retelling of the trial in Roland H. Bainton, Hunted Heretic: The Life and Death of Michael Servetus, 1511–1553 (Boston: Beacon Press, 1960), 95, ch. 10. For more documents from the trial see Robert M. Kingdon and Jean-François Bergier, eds., Registres de la Compagnie des pasteurs de Genève au temps de Calvin, Travaux d’humanisme et Renaissance, 55 (Genève: Droz, 1962), II: 3–54. See also Lucien L. J. Gallois, Les géographes allemands de la Renaissance (Paris: E. Leroux, 1890), 67 n. 2; Robert W. Karrow, Jr., Mapmakers of the 16th Century and Their Maps: Bio-Bibliographies of the Cartographers of Abraham Ortelius, 1570 (Chicago: Speculum Orbis Press for the Newberry Library, 1993), s.v.

2

chapter one

clause throws early modern sacred geography into dramatic relief.2 The doctrinal rifts opening in Europe and the new worlds opening beyond its horizon placed in doubt traditional certainties, both religious and geographical. Geographia sacra, the subject of this study, stood at the heart of this complex process. Sacred geography is a burning topic in our academic culture, too. Recent scholarship across a wide array of disciplines has rediscovered space, place, and territoriality as fundamental analytical categories in the human sciences. Space is no longer conceived as a neutral continuum of human action and has now become an uneven, value-laden human construct. In the wake of this now vast movement, often referred to as ‘the spatial turn,’ religion and sacred geography have returned to the center of discussion as a crucial mode of perceiving and enacting space. Whereas the process of disenchantment and secularization of space was one of the founding myths of the Enlightenment and modernity (and sometimes bought wholesale by Enlightenment’s critics), interest in the crossings of space and religion is now on the rise.3 Sacred geography, or sacred space, normally refers in current usage to the conscious physical molding of the environment for religious purposes (as in shrine architecture and in ritual setting).4 Even more commonly, especially in anthropological studies, sacred geography denotes a representation of space, or a mentality, that is distinguished from a secular view of the world. In this sense, famously defined by Mircea Eliade, sacred geography is built on a set of symbols and

2 See also George H. Williams, Wilderness and Paradise in Christian Thought (New York: Harper, 1962), 71–72. 3 I have profited, among others, from Arnold van Gennep, The Rites of Passage, trans. M. Vizedom and G. Caffee (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960); Robert D. Sack, Human Territoriality: Its Theory and History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986); Edward W. Soja, The Political Organization of Space (Washington: Association of American Geographers Commission on College Geography, 1971); Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987); David Harvey, The Condition of Postmodernity: An Enquiry into the Origins of Cultural Change (Oxford: Blackwell, 1989); Katherine Clarke, Between Geography and History: Hellenistic Constructions of the Roman World (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999); and from Maurice Halbwachs’ often overlooked La topographie légendaire des Évangiles en Terre Sainte: étude de mémoire collective (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1941), the Conclusion of which was recently translated in Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, ed. and trans. Lewis A. Coser (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). 4 Andrew Spicer and Sarah Hamilton, eds., Defining the Holy: Sacred Space in Medieval and Early Modern Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005).

early modern geographia sacra

3

meanings shared by a community of believers (as in pilgrimage to a sacred site or founding a temple). Religion thus serves as a model for new or revived understandings of human spatiality. It is this basic recognition which I take with me into the early modern period and into the archaeology of this fruitful and complex notion—sacred geography. For despite its (still) fashionable overtones, the concept has a long history, and a particularly rich one in the early modern period. Geographia sacra—a term coined in the early modern period—was not only a technical expression, but also a rich scholarly genre, which captivated the intellects of many central figures of the European Republic of Letters. It was wholly embedded in a broader learned culture that took a spatial turn long before we did. Increasing numbers of scholars explore various early modern notions of space and geographical ideas, and elucidate the ways in which they are related to major process, such as the rise of territorial states, global trade, the colonization of the New World and the rise of empires. This book attempts to contribute to our understanding of the spatial history and spatial imaginary of early modern Europe by highlighting sacred geography, which was, I argue, a significant contemporary mode of thinking about space, land, history, and their role in a world where the divine had a powerful and immediate presence. I trace, in other words, a vast spatial turn in Christian scholarship that took place during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. At its most basic level, geographia sacra dealt with reconstructing the biblical landscape and often with translating the sacred text into a map. The geographical elaboration of the biblical text was not a new exercise in the Jewish and Christian tradition. In the early fourth century, Eusebius of Caesarea defined the main features of sacred geography in the preface to his Onomasticon, addressed to the Bishop of Tyre, Paulinus: First I shall transliterate into Greek the names for the people of the world which appear in Hebrew in Holy Scripture. Then, I shall make a map of ancient Judaea from the whole book, dividing the allotted territories of the twelve tribes. In addition, I shall trace the representation of their ancient, famous, mother-city, I mean of course Jerusalem, including in this the plan of the Temple, after comparison with the existing remains of the sites. I shall assemble things in line with this, and in accordance with those matters you have suggested already in your proposal for the improvement of the whole subject. I shall set out the cities and villages contained in Holy Scripture in the ancestral tongue, designating what sort of places they are, and how we name them, whether similarly to the

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chapter one ancients or differently. So, from the whole divinely-inspired Scripture, I shall collect the names that are sought, and set each one down in alphabetical order, for easy retrieval of names when they happen to occur here and there in the readings.5

From late antiquity until today, despite improving cartographic techniques and clearer representational conventions, this technical pursuit as first outlined by Eusebius has been marked by strong continuities. Collecting and representing, both visually and textually, the geographical material in the Bible—the dispersion of peoples in Genesis; the distribution of Canaan among the tribes of Israel in Joshua; the description of Jerusalem and the temple in 1 Kings, 2 Chronicles and Ezekiel; and place-names throughout the Canon—has been and still is the sacred geographer’s job.6 This continuity is easily explained by the essential role played by the canonical text as the primary source of information. Yet behind the façade of smooth, centuries-old continuities and the seemingly straightforward practice of pinning placenames down on a map, many complexities and fractures lie concealed. Sacred geography is not a simple translation of text into tabular or visual form, for by the very act of translation it becomes interpretative and exegetical. Maps, diagrams, and lists relating to sacred geography often appeared in biblical commentaries rather than in the Bible itself, and were not intended as mere illustrations.7 In that sense, the history

5

Palestine in the Fourth Century A.D.: The Onomasticon by Eusebius of Caesarea, ed. Joan E. Taylor, trans. G. S. P. Freeman-Grenville (Jerusalem: Carta, 2003), 11. This is the first translation into English. It is based on Klostermann’s critical edition (Leipzig, 1904) of Eusebius’ Greek text and Jerome’s (free) Latin translation. Of all the proposed items on Eusebius’ program only the list of biblical place names, commonly known as the Onomasticon, has reached us. See also Robert L. Wilken, “Eusebius and the Christian Holy Land,” in Eusebius, Christianity, and Judaism, eds. Harold W. Attridge and Gohei Hata, 736–61 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992). For a general overview of Christian Palestine in Eusebius’ time, see E. D. Hunt, Holy Land Pilgrimage in the Later Roman Empire, AD 312–460 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982). 6 The basic outline is given in Robert G. North, A History of Biblical Map Making (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1979). See Kenneth Nebenzahl, Maps of the Holy Land: Images of Terra Sancta through Two Millennia (New York: Abbeville Press, 1986), for good reproductions and informative captions. 7 For example, the diagrammatic maps in Rashi’s commentaries (11th century), which influenced those of Nicholas of Lyra (14th century); see Catherine Delano Smith and Mayer I. Gruber, “Rashi’s Legacy: Maps of the Holy Land,” The Map Collector 59 (1992): 30–35; or Andreas Masius’ map of the land of Ephraim in his controversial commentary on Joshua, Iosuæ imperatoris historia illustrata . . . (Antwerp: Christophe Plantin, 1574), 268.

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of sacred geography is part of—and as contentious as—the history of biblical scholarship. The early modern period is uniquely rich for exploring contesting notions of geographia sacra, for it is a time during which the understanding of both geography and the Bible were profoundly shaken. With the revival of ancient geography, exploration of the New World, and the emergence of print culture, there occurred in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries a veritable revolution in geographical thinking, as well as in map dissemination and use.8 The introduction of humanistic methods in biblical exegesis and the Reformation’s emphasis on Scripture as the foundation of religion made biblical scholarship a territory disputed as never before, while the Bible became available to more and more lay people in vernacular languages.9 Both geography and sacred scholarship experienced a period of tumultuous efflorescence. As the ecclesiastical geographer Augustin Lubin wrote in 1678, those who read a map enter a foreign country, where they encounter unknown words and symbols.10 Similarly, entering the scholarly gray area stretching between ‘religion’ and ‘geography’ requires us to open our minds to fluid terminology, blurred disciplinary boundaries, and conjunctions which on our map of knowledge may seem awkward. In

8 See Robert W. Karrow, Jr., “Intellectual Foundations of the Cartographic Revolution” (Ph.D., Loyola University, 1999), preface, for a convincing justification of the term. More generally, the relevant chapters in Lloyd A. Brown, The Story of Maps (Boston: Little Brown, 1949), are still useful. The most comprehensive and authoritative survey is in David Woodward, ed., The History of Cartography; Volume 3: Cartography in the European Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007). A general survey of early modern geography (as opposed to cartography) is a desideratum. See Numa Broc, La géographie de la Renaissance (1420–1620) (Paris: Bibliothèque nationale, 1980); for England see Lesley B. Cormack, Charting an Empire: Geography at the English Universities, 1580–1620 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997). 9 Jerry H. Bentley, Humanists and Holy Writ: New Testament Scholarship in the Renaissance (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1983); S. L. Greenslade, ed., The Cambridge History of the Bible, vol. 3: The West from the Reformation to the Present Day (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963); François Laplanche, La Bible en France entre mythe et critique (XVIe–XIXe siècle), Evolution de l’humanité (Paris: Albin Michel, 1994); Debora K. Shuger, The Renaissance Bible: Scholarship, Sacrifice, and Subjectivity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994); Richard A. Muller and John L. Thompson, eds., Biblical Interpretation in the Era of the Reformation: Essays presented to David C. Steinmetz (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W. B. Eerdmans, 1996). 10 “Ils y lisent des mots qu’ils n’entendent pas, ils y voyent des lignes qu’ils ne connoissent point [. . .].” Augustin Lubin, Mercure géographique; ou le guide des curieux des cartes géographiques. Par R. P. A. A. Lubin, Predicateur & Geographe ordinaire du Roy (Paris: Christophle Remy, 1678), 1–2.

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the course of this study we shall let a few prominent, self-proclaimed sacred geographers lead us on a perambulation of their field, during which we will often cross into neighboring counties. This crossover is required, first, by the nature of early modern geography itself, which was as much a textual and humanistic as a scientific and empirical discipline (if not more so), and as such a close ally of history and philology. This attentiveness to the period’s own categories is more often than not absent from modern histories of geography. Hence, early modern geographia sacra, as sketched out by Eusebius, functioned in this broader context, and for this reason its scope, aims and sources are hard to define. In a recent overview of religious mapping in the medieval and early modern period, the eminent historian of cartography, Catherine Delano Smith argues that sacred geography is more exclusive than biblical geography. Sacred geography sensu stricto is concerned with places deemed ‘holy’ in the relevant religion. Confusingly, however, the word ‘sacred’ has often been misused as a synonym for biblical geography, especially by eighteenthand nineteenth-century mapmakers, publishers, and writers on the Holy Land.11

Yet this attempt at limitation and delimitation, while useful for today’s geographers, seems to be too rigorous for the early modern period, when sacred geography had an even wider, more flexible usage, and when both terms, ‘sacred’ and ‘geography,’ were applied in a variety of senses. Geographia sacra often meant biblical geography, in the sense that the Bible was its source of information, and that it described the landscapes where biblical events took place. But sacred geography was not limited to the Bible as a sole source—many pagan authors were instrumental in the reconstruction of biblical lands; nor was it limited to a representation of the eastern Mediterranean—scholars such as Benito Arias Montano and Samuel Bochart wrote a global sacred geography. Finally, geographia sacra in early modern usage encompassed ecclesiastical geography as well. Hence any region at any period could have its own sacred geography, relating to ecclesiastical provinces, mission activities, or pilgrimages. Given this diversity, rather 11 Catherine Delano Smith, “Maps and Religion in Medieval and Early Modern Europe,” in Plantejaments i objectius d’una història universal de la cartografia = Approaches and Challenges in a Worldwide History of Cartography, ed. David Woodward, Catherine Delano Smith, and Cordell D. K. Yee, 179–200 (Barcelona: Institut Cartogràfic de Catalunya, 2001), 191.

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than beginning with a definition of geographia sacra in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, I would like this definition—the contour lines of geographia sacra on the map of early modern scholarship—to emerge as the end product of this study. Those who today we identify as (a term I usually try to avoid) ‘fathers’ of modern geography devoted considerable energy to geographia sacra, and were profoundly religious men—Gerard Mercator, Abraham Ortelius, and many others.12 Moreover, many of those who in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries studied and published geographical works were not geographers per se. An early modern ‘geographer’ may well have been primarily active as a diplomat, artist, printer, natural scientist, linguist, and theologian. We find quite a few churchmen and theologians on Ortelius’ Catalogus auctorum, the list of contributors to his celebrated atlas, the Theatrum Orbis terrarum (1570): the reformer Johann Honter (1498–1549), the “Apostle of Transylvania,” was the author of an extremely popular verse treatise on cosmography; Jacob Ziegler (1480–1549), creator of an influential map of Palestine, was an Erasmian whose theological works were put on the Index. The most conspicuous example is perhaps that of the theologian and Hebraist Sebastian Münster (1489–1552), an editor of Ptolemy’s Geography and author of a famous Cosmography.13 The phenomenon continues through the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, with figures such as Kaspar Peucer (1525–1602), Melanchthon’s son-in-law, the Arminian-turned-Catholic Petrus Bertius (1565–1629), an editor of Ptolemy and an author of many theological works, the Anglican divines Samuel Purchas (c. 1577–1626), Thomas Fuller (1608–61), and Peter Heylyn (1600–1662), to early eighteenth century scholars such as the prominent Orientalist Adriaan Reelant (1676–1718). Another point of contact between religion and geography was institutional. The Church in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was the

12 Mercator, for example, in his celebrated map of Europe (1544, 1572) included three textual cartouches on the peregrinations of Jesus, St. Peter, and St. Paul. See reproductions in Arthur Dürst, “The Map of Europe,” in The Mercator Atlas of Europe: Facsimile of the Maps by Gerardus Mercator Contained in the Atlas of Europe, Circa 1570–1572, ed. Marcel Watelet, 31–41 (Pleasant Hill, OR: Walking Tree Press, 1998). 13 These details are taken from the invaluable work by Robert W. Karrow, Jr., Mapmakers of the 16th Century and Their Maps. See also Matthew McLean, The Cosmographia of Sebastian Münster: Describing the World in the Reformation (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007).

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primary patron of geographical learning. In Italy, almost all the significant figures in the recovery of Ptolemy’s Geography and other classical authors were either clerics or scholars who worked under Church patronage. Beyond patronage, the revival of classical geography provided a paradigm of universalism to Catholics in an expanding world.14 The universalizing potential was clearly perceived by churchmen and missionaries, already in the fifteenth century and then by the great ‘geographical corporation,’ the Society of Jesus.15 Thus early modern secular geography at large was ‘sacred’ in the sense that it was mentally conceived and materially produced within a religious framework, both personal and institutional.16 Through these wider developments, the very traditional field of sacred geography made an immense step forward in terms of accuracy and sophistication, benefiting from new methods in geographical as well as biblical scholarship. It had become common understanding among students of Scripture that correct reading must be based on correct geography (as well as botany, zoology, and mineralogy). Erasmus warmly recommended the use of maps and cosmographies for the study and animation of Scripture. He ridiculed those who, shamelessly prognosticating or consulting terrible dictionaries, turned towns to fruits, gems to fish, and stars to birds. After all, as Erasmus said following St. Augustine, the mystical sense of Scripture often depended on the unique qualities of such things. As Kristine Haugen phrased it, Erasmus aspired to create a “multidimensional picture of the world in which Jesus and the Apostles lived.”17

14 John Larner, “The Church and the Quattrocento Renaissance in Geography,” Renaissance Studies 12, no. 1 (1998): 26–39. John M. Headley, “Geography and Empire in the Late Renaissance: Botero’s Assignment, Western Universalism, and the Civilization Process,” Renaissance Quarterly 53 (2000): 1119–55. 15 Steven J. Harris, “Mapping Jesuit Science: The Role of Travel in the Geography of Knowledge” in The Jesuits: Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts, 1540–1773, ed. John W. O’Malley, et al., 212–40 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999). 16 David Livingstone, “Science, Magic, and Religion: A Contextual Reassessment of Geography in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” History of Science 26 (1988): 269–94. 17 “Fit enim ut agnitis ex cosmographia regionibus, cogitatione sequamur narrationem obambulantem, & omnino non sine voluptate, velut una circunferamur, ut rem spectare videamur, non legere. Simulque non paulo tenacius haerent, quae sic legetis. Neque vero raro locorum vocabula suis libris, ceu lumina quaepiam interiiciunt prophetae, quorum allegoriam si quis tractare conetur, nec tuto nec feliciter id fecerit, si locorum situm ignoret. Iam si gentium, apud quas res gesta narratur, sive

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During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the dictionaries indeed improved. Catholic and Protestant scholars alike strove to perfect the array of study aids—linguistic, historical, and geographical—available for the correct reading of Scripture that they promoted. Joachim von Watt (Vadianus, also an editor of Pomponius Mela), Jakob Ziegler, Robert Estienne, Jacques Bonfrère, and Benito Arias Montano, to name but a few, used philological, historical, and antiquarian tools to survey the landscapes of the Old and New Testaments.18 Comprehensive place-name indices, maps, and textual geographical accounts enriched major Bible editions, and were designed to familiarize the reader with the lay of the land.19 Moreover, particular questions in sacred geography—such as the itineraries of the Patriarchs and the Apostles, the exact location of the Terrestrial Paradise and that of Ophir (the source of Solomon’s gold)—began to receive sustained scholarly attention.20

ad quas scribunt Apostoli, non situm modo, verumetiam originem, mores, instituta, cultum, ingenium, ex historicorum literis didicerimus: dictu mirum, quantum lucis, et ut ita dicam, vitae sit accessurum lectioni, quae prorsus oscitabunda mortuaque sit oportet, quoties non haec tantum, sed & omnium pene rerum ignorantur vocabula. adeo ut nonnunque vel impudenter addiuinantes, vel sordidissimos consulentes dictionarios, ex arbore faciant quadrupedem, e gemma piscem, e citharoedo fluvium, ex oppido fruticem, e sydere avem, ex brassica braccam. Abunde doctum videtur istis, si tantum adiecerint, est nomen gemme, aut, est species arboris, aut, est genus animantis, aut si quid aliud mavis. Atqui non raro ex ipsa rei proprietate pendet intellectus mysterii: Quod evidentius declarat Augustinus libro de doctrina Christiana {bk 2, ch. 16}, exemplis aliquot in eam rem arguendam adductis.” Erasmus, “Ratio seu methodus compendio perveniendi ad veram Theologiam,” in Opera Omnia, 9 vols., V: 63–116 (Basel: Froben, 1540–), 66–77. See Kristine L. Haugen, “A French Jesuit’s Lectures on Vergil, 1582–1583: Jacques Sirmond between Literature, History, and Myth,” Sixteenth Century Journal 30, no. 4 (1999): 967–85 at 979–80, where Erasmus and other authors are discussed. 18 Watt (Vadianus, c. 1484–1551), Epitome trium terrae partium, Asiae, Africae et Europae: compendiariam locorum descriptionem continens, praecipue autem quorum in Actis Lucas, passim autem euangelistae & apostoli meminere (Zurich: Froschauer, 1534), and further editions; Jacob Ziegler and Wolfgang Wissenburg, Terrae Sanctae, qvam Palaestinam nominant,. . . descriptio (Strasburg: Rihel, 1536); Robert Estienne (1503–59), Hebraea & Chaldaea nomina virorum, mulierum, populorum, idoloru[m],. . ., quae in Bibliis leguntur . . . (Paris: R. Estienne, 1549); Montano (1527–98), Antiquitates Iudaicae (Leiden: Raphelenghius, 1593); Jacques Bonfrère, S.J. (1573–1642), Pentateuchus Moysis commentario illustratus (Antwerp, 1625). 19 Brian Walton, ed., Biblia sacra polyglotta . . . Cum apparatu, appendicibus, tabulis, variis lectionibus, annotationibus, indicibus, &c., 6 vols. (London: Thomas Roycroft, 1657). 20 Heinrich Bünting, Itinerarium et chronicon totius sacrae scripturae (Magdeburg, 1598, first ed., in German, Leipzig, 1585). On Bünting as chronologer see Anthony Grafton, “Some Uses of Eclipses in Early Modern Chronology,” Journal of the History

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Even outside the ambit of biblical scholarship, introductions to general geographies and cosmographies frequently noted the crucial importance of geography to divinity. Kasper Peucer, who in 1554 became professor of mathematics in Wittenberg, published in the same year a manual for measuring distances on the surface of the globe. This skill was necessary to any student of history, explained Peucer, but particularly to believers, who wished to understand the locations of the series of divine revelations of God to his Church; who wished to grasp God’s wisdom in placing that Church in a corner of Syria, in the center of the habitable world, so that the propagation of the faith might be quicker; to those who wished to know where Christ first preached, where he performed miracles, and where he died.21 “In such important matters, failure to consider the location of regions and distances between them is not only a rude barbarism, but irreverence,” Peucer thundered.22 The apt companion which Peucer added to his mathematical manual was a description of the Holy Land by Burchard of Mt. Sion, whose thirteenth-century account was regarded as authoritative.23 Like Peucer, William Cuningham explained in the introduction to his Cosmographical Glasse that: Also, as touching the study of diuinitie, it is so requisite, and neadfull, that you shall not vndersta[n]d any boke, ether of th’ old law or Prophets (yea I had almost said, any part of à booke, or Chapter of the same) being in this Art ignoraunt. For what numbre of places, Ilands, Regions, Cities, Townes, Mountains, Seas, Riuers, and such like, is ther to be found in euery Booke? How often doth father Moses in his. v. bookes, make mention of Babilon, Sinehar, Armenia (in whose hilles,

of Ideas 64, no. 2 (2003): 213–29. On the cartography of Eden see Alessandro Scafi’s definitive treatment in Mapping Paradise: A History of Heaven on Earth (Chicago: University of Chicago, 2006). See also his earlier “Mapping Eden: Cartographies of the Earthly Paradise,” in Mappings, ed. Denis Cosgrove, 50–70 (London: Reaktion Books, 1999). 21 Kaspar Peucer, De dimensione terrae et geometrice numerandis locorum particularium intervallis ex Doctrina triangulorum Sphaericorum & Canone subtensarum Liber. . . . Descriptio locorum Terrae Sanctae exactissima Autore quodam Brocardo Monacho. Aliquot insignium locorum Terrae Sanctae explicatio & historiae per Philippum Melanthonem (Wittenberg: 1554), 1–3. 22 “In his tantis rebus non regionum situs & intervalla considerare, non solum agrestis barbaries est, sed etiam impietas.” Ibid., 3. 23 For a useful although too rigid introduction to Protestant confessional geographies see Manfred Büttner, “The Significance of the Reformation for the Reorientation of Geography in Lutheran Germany,” History of Science XVII (1979): 151–69. See also Axelle Chassagnette, “La géométrie appliquée à la sphère terrestre: Le De Dimensione Terrae (1550) de Caspar Peucer,” Histoire & Mesure 21, no. 2 (2006): 7–28.

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Noë his Arke stayed after the vniuersal deludge) Assur, Charan, Caphdorim or Caldaea, Aegipt called of the Hebrues Mizraim, Syria (deuided into thre parts, Mesopotamia, Arabia, and Aethiopia,) with infinite like places, whiche without Cosmographie can nether be rightly vnderstand, or yet trulye expounded? [. . .] These thinges I bring in only as example, to proue the necessarye vse of it in deuinitie, and not to dispute ether of Paradise or his situation, seing it belongeth not to my profession, and office.24

Similar statements can be spotted in the emerging geographical literary canon from the early fifteenth well into the seventeenth century. Studying sacred geography, as Erasmus noted, was part of inquiring into the origins of peoples, their customs, laws, and ritual. Following Vadianus’ and Erasmus’ call, scholars approached the Bible equipped with an expanded corpus of Oriental languages and texts, in an effort to reconstruct the life of past societies in its full spectrum, especially that of the Hebrews in the Holy Land in the time of Christ, and of early Christian communities. This exercise in reconstruction, to apply Arnaldo Momigliano’s famous formulation of 1950, was antiquarian par excellence. In other words, we see here the emergence of sacred antiquarianism, which sprang from traditional exegesis and Christian Hebraism on the one hand, and from the bourgeoning fascination with classical antiquities on the other.25 Momigliano was clear that antiquarianism dealt with the sacred as well as the secular past. One of the main contentions of my study is that sacred geography, both in content and in method, was a central element in this documentary and scholarly effort to recover the past.26 In my view, the study of antiquarianism pioneered by Momigliano and extended by Miller and others should include the world of cartography and geography. Often, the organizing principle of antiquarian works, both secular and sacred, has been spatial-geographical rather than thematic or temporal, as in Leandro Alberti’s influential description of Italy (1550). The itinerary was both a well developed

24 William Cuningham, The Cosmographical Glasse Conteinyng the Pleasant Principles of Cosmographie, Geographie, Hydrographie, or Nauigation (London: In officina Ioan. Daij, 1559), sig. A4v–A5r. 25 Arnaldo Momigliano, “Ancient History and the Antiquarian,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes (1950): 285–315. For the seventeenth century see Peter N. Miller, “The ‘Antiquarianization’ of Biblical Scholarship and the London Polyglot Bible (1653–57),” Journal of the History of Ideas 62, no. 3 (2001): 463–82. 26 See Chapter Two for further discussion and bibliography.

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antiquarian practice and a literary format. The scholarly map, it could be argued, enabled a primary mode of antiquarian expression in early modern Europe. It allowed juxtaposing textual and material evidence, and reducing information into tabular form.27 The map was an apt means to place material before one’s eyes or present it to memory, to use common expressions at the time. It displayed detailed, synchronic knowledge about the past; it allowed measured, visual documentation; and it was an antiquarian object in itself—collected, displayed in curiosity cabinets, reproduced, and exchanged. From its earliest manifestations, like Buondelmonti’s early fifteenth-century treatise on the Aegean, the new scholarly interest in antiquities was closely tied to cartography. Figures like Leon Battista Alberti, Angelo Colocci, and later Pirro Ligorio pursued both channels thoroughly, and the list continues to unroll through the names of Konrad Peutinger, Robert Cotton, William Camden, and of course Ortelius.28 Similarly, a map of the Holy Land, a view of Jerusalem, a plan of the Temple and the tomb of Christ, although subjects long central to the Christian tradition, were now antiquarian productions, which were born into an antiquarian milieu. Throughout this study these conceptual as well as social and biographical links between sacred geography and antiquarian practices will continually emerge. Beyond sacred geography, this is a phenomenon that has significance for the understanding of early modern geography as a whole. It awaits further study and elaboration. A related term, ‘devout curiosity,’ will appear several times as well throughout this study. Sacred or devout curiosity, a term coined most probably in the late fifteenth century, is perhaps the most important for understanding the traditions that merged in the workshop of the sacred geographer. This was what the sacred antiquarian practiced when he worked his way through the Talmud to learn about ancient Hebrew measures, when he commissioned a map of a diocese under his care, or when he carefully measured the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. Whereas the quantification and geometrization of space 27 Ann Blair, The Theater of Nature: Jean Bodin and Renaissance Science (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997), 175. 28 On Ortelius as antiquary see recently Tine L. Meganck, “Erudite Eyes: Artists and Antiquarians in the Circle of Abraham Ortelius” (Ph.D., Princeton University, 2003). See also George Tolias, “Ptolemy’s Geography and Early Modern Antiquarian Practices,” in Ptolemy’s Geography in the Renaissance, eds. Zur Shalev and Charles Burnett, 121–42 (London; Turin: Warburg Institute; Nino Aragno, 2011).

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were seen by previous scholarship as clear marks of secularization in Renaissance geography and cartography, I argue that this is not necessarily the case. Measurement and accuracy where happily adopted as pious modes of dealing with the sacred, in text and image, because they were not seen by contemporaries as emptying the world of its moral and qualitative properties. Curiosity becomes a devout act in itself. It is employed not in the traditional, pejorative sense of reaching beyond human and moral bounds, but in the evolving contemporary, positive one: examining curious evidence thoroughly, carefully, and patiently—just as Samuel Bochart and Isaac de La Peyrère did when they inspected a whale’s tooth in the curiosity cabinet of Ole Worm.29 Sacred geography thus participated in the emerging culture of curiosity and science in early modern Europe.30 Moreover, the centrality of the notion of devout curiosity in the practice of sacred geography makes its story part of the general phenomenon of pious science in early modern Europe. Antiquarian projects were never detached from present ideas and concerns, and sacred geography was no exception. Devout curiosity meant not only the careful study of biblical and ecclesiastical antiquity, but also mobilizing this study for contemporary devout purposes. The unique mix of devotion and erudition that Simon Ditchfield found in Roman learned circles, pervades the genre of sacred geography.31 Many of the works which this study examines operate on these two levels, with liturgical or polemical goals in mind. Arias Montano (Chapter Two), once he established the historical sense of Scripture, used his meticulous antiquarian images as meditative objects. Franciscan surveys of Jerusalem (Chapter Three) were crafted to defend the authenticity of the holy sites and rejuvenate the traditions attached to them. Protestant legal-historical inquiries about the territory under the jurisdiction of the bishop of Rome in the fourth century aimed to weaken the papacy’s modern claims to supremacy—the map gallery in the Vatican palace aimed to strengthen it (Chapter Five).

29 As related by Pierre-Daniel Huet in his memoire. See below Chapter Four, note 130. 30 See further discussion in Chapter Three. 31 Simon Ditchfield, “Text before Trowel: Antonio Bosio’s Roma sotterranea Revisited,” in The Church Retrospective, ed. R. N. Swanson, Studies in Church History; 33, 343–60 (Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell Press for The Ecclesiastical History Society, 1997).

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Thus the confessional battle over sacred geography took place on common antiquarian ground. It is, therefore, impossible to generalize, as some modern interpreters do, about a supposedly necessary connection between sacred geography and literal minded Protestantism.32 Protestants were not so averse to the allegorical or even mystical sense of Scripture, just as Catholics were deeply involved with the historical. More importantly, maps in this period have found uses beyond the strictly geographical. While sacred geography was clearly a subject dear to both camps, and therefore a controversial one, it is hard to reconstruct a neat front line of debate. Biblical geography gripped both Catholic and Protestant scholars, who, to some extent, especially in the seventeenth century, respected and utilized each other’s work.33 Pilgrimage to European shrines was fiercely criticized by Reformers, but their views on the voyage to Jerusalem were ambiguous, and many Protestants simply made the pilgrimage, whatever the official line may have been. Ecclesiastical geography presents the only clear case where Catholic geographers dominated the field and Protestants could produce mostly ‘negative’ geographies. The question of Protestant ecclesiastical geography, however, is still open for further study and debate. This book makes considerable use of maps and some other illustrative material as sources for intellectual history, drawing on the recent awakening of the history of cartography. If previous traditions of scholarship contented themselves with documenting the growing accuracy of maps, or with fine carto-bibliographical inquiry, research in the history of cartography at least since the early 1990’s seeks to interpret maps as objects which operate within specific intellectual and political environments, and thus partake of broader historical contexts. So far,

32 Frank Lestringant, Introduction to André Thevet, Cosmographie de Levant (Geneva: Droz, 1985), lxi–lxiv. 33 As we will see in Chapter Four, Bochart’s Geographia sacra won praise from Protestants and Catholics alike. Similarly, the Jesuit Jacques Bonfrère’s work on Holy Land geography was included in the apparatus of Brian Walton’s London Polyglot. The Anglican Henry Spelman warmly recommended Arias Montano’s and the Geneva Bible’s reconstruction of the Temple, as opposed to that of Adrichem: “See the forme of the Temple in Arias Montan: Antiquitat. Iudaic. lib. Ariel. and in the Geneva Bible I King. cap. 6. and marke well both it, and the notes vpon it; for I find them (above others) most agreeable to the Scriptures, and rely not vpon the figure of the Temple in Adricomius, without good examination; for I perceiue he hath misplaced somethings therein.” De non temerandis ecclesiis, A Tract of the Rights and Respect Due vnto Churches, 2 ed. (London: Iohn Beale, 1616), 74 note b.

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the scholars practicing the new history of cartography have mainly explored the political, literary, and artistic aspects of early modern mapping, with exciting results.34 The religious aspect of early modern cartography, however, still lags behind. For example, while maps of the Holy Land, are comprehensively catalogued, analyzed, and grouped according to formal and visual criteria, their broader cultural and intellectual contexts have only rarely been explored.35 The situation has changed as regards medieval cartography, especially mappae mundi, which have been studied and carefully placed in exegetical and literary traditions.36 In the early modern period, however, there is still a lot to be desired. In a recent overview of the field, Pauline Moffitt Watts observes that “there has been no comprehensive study of the relationship of cartography to the Protestant and Catholic reform movements of early modern Europe”.37 The recent works of Margriet Hoogvliet on world maps and of Alessandro Scafi on the mapping of Paradise present important steps towards a fuller understanding of the ways in which maps operated within changing religious cultural and intellectual spheres.38 One of the clear marks of this new scholarship is the full recognition that geography and cartography were to a large degree humanistic, text-oriented disciplines that took part in a wider world of early modern scholarship. Like most other branches of knowledge at the time, they were in continual negotiation with a 34 See for example, David Buisseret, ed., Monarchs, Ministers, and Maps: The Emergence of Cartography as a Tool of Government in Early Modern Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992); Josef W. Konvitz, Cartography in France, 1660–1848: Science, Engineering, and Statecraft (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987); Matthew H. Edney, Mapping an Empire: The Geographical Construction of British India, 1765–1843 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997); Tom Conley, The Self-Made Map: Cartographic Writing in Early Modern France (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996); Richard Helgerson, Forms of Nationhood: The Elizabethan Writing of England (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992); David Woodward, ed., Art and Cartography: Six Historical Essays (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987). 35 See Chapter Two for further discussion and bibliography. 36 See for example, Evelyn Edson, Mapping Time and Space: How Medieval Mapmakers View Their World (London: British Library, 1997); Scott D. Westrem, The Hereford Map: A Transcription and Translation of the Legends with Commentary, Terrarum Orbis; 1 (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2001). 37 Pauline M. Watts, “The European Religious Worldview and Its Influence on Mapping,” in The History of Cartography; Volume 3: Cartography in the European Renaissance, ed. David Woodward, pt. 1, ch. 11 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 387. 38 Margriet Hoogvliet, Pictura et scriptura: Textes, images et herméneutique des “mappae mundi” (XIIIe–XVIe Siècle), Terrarum Orbis; 7 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007); Scafi, Mapping Paradise.

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body of textual traditions, both scriptural and classical. I employ this approach when I study maps within the context of religion and scholarship. Jointly analyzing textual and visual sources, I stress both the obvious yet rarely practiced—that reading the texts which accompany a map is crucial—and the less obvious—that the specific intellectual arena into which a map is born should bear upon its interpretation. Moreover, if earlier critics, like J. B. Harley, who established “the power of maps” paradigm and thus redefined the history of cartography, looked at ‘mapping’ as a unified corpus with a clear agenda (power and rule), later map historians have gradually realized that individual maps, just like books, have specific arguments, and that dialogues and debates run through as well as between them.39 It will be noted throughout the following discussions that early modern scholars attentively designed their maps in order to promote particular views in response to other texts and maps. In recent scholarship there has been a real surge, sometimes called a ‘visual turn’, in the study of early modern visual culture.40 In the history of science in particular, images, diagrams, and sketches have assumed center stage in discussions on the production and presentation of knowledge, and on cultures of description.41 Somewhat paradoxically, the new history of cartography has taken a linguistic turn in order to turn maps into more meaningful historical documents. However, for my purposes, the two turns meet mid-way. I adopt the principle that images and maps are never simple descriptions of a natural or geographical reality, but are always mediated and shaped by convention and dialog. One of the more essential, demanding and

39 Valerie A. Kivelson, “Cartography, Autocracy and State Powerlessness: The Uses of Maps in Early Modern Russia,” Imago Mundi 51 (1999): 83–105. 40 David Freedberg, The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989); Robert W. Scribner, For the Sake of Simple Folk: Popular Propaganda for the German Reformation, 2 ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994); James Elkins, “Art History and Images That Are Not Art,” The Art Bulletin 77, no. 4 (1995): 553–71; Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, The Mastery of Nature: Aspects of Art, Science, and Humanism in the Renaissance (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1993); David Morgan, The Sacred Gaze: Religious Visual Culture in Theory and Practice (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005). 41 David Freedberg, The Eye of the Lynx: Galileo, His Friends, and the Beginnings of Modern Natural History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002); Barbara M. Stafford, Artful Science: Enlightenment, Entertainment, and the Eclipse of Visual Education (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1994). Wolfgang Lefevre, Jurgen Renn, and Urs Schoepflin, eds., The Power of Images in Early Modern Science (Basel: Birkhauser, 2003).

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rewarding aspects of dealing with visual sources is the reconstruction of historical discourses about their significance and use.42 Wherever I could, I have highlighted instances where early modern sacred geographers were highly conscious and articulate about maps. Some of them even developed a critical discourse about their use (or their opponents’ perceived misuse) of maps. On the whole, this book’s various chapters demonstrate the increasing and yet complex role played by visualization in early modern European scholarship. It is here that I see this study joining and contributing to current literature on past visual cultures. I have often been asked the very sensible question whether my studies in map history focused on any particular area. Regardless of the variety of evasive answers I have given in the past, I came to realize that indeed it was hard to pin down this project to any particular region. It mentions locations from Ceylon to Peru and from Cairo to Stockholm. It is certainly not tied to the Holy Land. My protagonists lived and acted in widely if not wildly different religious and political local contexts. The particular region I do cover, it would seem, is one province of the European Republic of Letters, that by-definition landless entity. Thus this study is at the same time very broad, hopping from one country and period to another, and very specific, in trying to explore one early modern scholarly genre. A survey of the whole field would have amounted to a frustrating list of authors and titles. I have chosen to avoid that and therefore many significant contributors to geographia sacra are either mentioned in passing or simply neglected. Instead, the book offers case studies, which explore in great detail central scholars and themes of sacred geography in the early modern period, while progressing chronologically from about 1540 to 1690. Together the chapters cover the essential issues which preoccupied sacred geographers at the period, and allow a view of the field from different scholarly perspectives.

42 As, for example, Sachiko Kusukawa amply demonstrated in the case of botanical illustrations: “Leonhart Fuchs on the Importance of Pictures,” Journal of the History of Ideas 58, no. 3 (1997): 403–27. See also Georgia Frank, The Memory of the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000); Peter Burke, “Images as Evidence in Seventeenth-Century Europe,” Journal of the History of Ideas 64, no. 2 (2003): 273–96.

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The following chapter examines the biblical maps of the Spanish theologian Benito Arias Montano, editor of the second great Polyglot Bible (Antwerp, 1569–72). Montano, who, so far as I can establish, was the first to use the term geographia sacra, was one of the earliest scholars to have fully realized Eusebius’ blueprint, and thus merits a closer look. Montano authored geographical texts, maps, and architectural designs, which he joined together in the Polyglot’s massive Apparatus. An examination of the Apparatus demonstrates that Montano’s scholarship combined his philological training in Oriental languages and exegesis with a profound antiquarian interest in tabulating and visualizing monuments of the past. A close look at Montano’s Latin texts and at his broader social and intellectual contacts underlines the importance of the antiquarian movement as a major factor in his biblical scholarship, and stresses the centrality of geography and maps in Montano’s religious thought. Geographia sacra, which for Montano encompassed the whole Earth, allowed him to demonstrate the relevance of Scripture to a modern overseas Spanish empire, and to argue enthusiastically for the potential of the text’s mysteries to yield more knowledge in the future. Sacred geography as an antiquarian practice manifested itself most clearly on-site, that is, in Jerusalem itself. The third chapter focuses on learned travel and pilgrimage, or, on what became of Eusebius’ remark that he would offer a representation of Jerusalem and the Temple “after comparison with the existing remains of the sites.”43 Current scholarship is almost united in the view that pilgrimage to Jerusalem died out after 1500. Yet the burgeoning publication of pilgrim accounts during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries calls for a reconsideration. It is shown here, first, that many took the route to the Holy Sepulcher, and second, that devotion to the sacred sites, even if it took a different form than its medieval predecessor, was lively and generated great interest at home in Europe, in both the Catholic and the Protestant worlds. The well-established tradition of pilgrimage was transformed by the growing practice of learned travel in search of curious items and phenomena, and the general scientific and descriptive culture of the time. Franciscan authors, who usually stayed for long periods in the Holy Land, effectively controlled information about the sacred sites, and were engaged in an extensive project of visual and textual

43

Eusebius, Onomasticon, 11.

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documentation of monuments and traditions. This activity was concurrent with similar efforts in Rome, especially in its catacombs, to document early Christian life and to tie them into contemporary devotion. The third chapter pays special attention to Bernardino Amico’s Trattato de sacri edificii di Terra Santa (1609, 1620). Amico, an Observant Franciscan, produced commentated maps, views, and meticulous scaled architectural plans of the Christian monuments of the Holy Land. His work allows a consideration of the meeting of CounterReform Christian scholarship, antiquarian interest in visualization and measurement, and the tradition of pilgrimage. Chapter Four investigates the scholarship of the Protestant minister and formidable Orientalist Samuel Bochart (1599–1667), and especially his Geographia sacra (Caen, 1646). Bochart’s authority and erudition were widely admired during his lifetime and throughout the eighteenth century,44 yet modern scholarship has so far failed to seriously engage with his oeuvre. I argue that Bochart’s geographical scholarship was distinctly Protestant, while tracing its origins back to the turbulent intellectual and political context of its inception and reception. The chapter also introduces the links between philology and sacred geography, which Bochart, following Montano, brought to perfection. Bochart’s mission in the Geographia was twofold. In Phaleg, following Eusebius and marshaling an intimidating range of sources, Bochart deciphered Genesis 10 and identified the location of each of Noah’s descendents. In Chanaan (both titles were borrowed from Montano) Bochart proceeded to explain the impact of Phoenician navigation on the ancient world. This two-tiered model allowed Bochart to chart human ‘prehistory,’ for which Mosaic geography was the only source, and to link it to the classical tradition of geography. Moreover, working with complex etymologies in European and Oriental languages, Bochart provided countless demonstrations of the Hebraic origins, propagated via the Phoenicians, of languages and cultures in various regions. These regions, significantly, did not include China and the New World. Bochart brought sacred geography to its utmost technical sophistication, while only tacitly admitting that the Bible was not a full account of human history and geography. It was a view that during

44 Bochart was crowned by Pierre Bayle as “un des plus savans hommes du monde.” Dictionnaire historique et critique, ed. Desmaizaux, 5 ed., 4 vols. (Amsterdam: 1740), I:585–87.

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these very years another Protestant, Isaac La Peyrère, moving in the same learned circles, would state explicitly in his Praeadamitae. Eusebius, although a pioneer of ecclesiastical history, did not include ecclesiastical geography in his master plan as outlined in the Onomasticon. In the sixteenth century and particularly in the seventeenth geographia sacra developed, as noted above, to include ecclesiastical geography and thus went beyond the strictly biblical to embrace a wholly different register. Chapter Five will explore this largely overlooked early modern development and extension of geographia sacra. Maps were an important tool of administration, and the Church, like the emergent monarchical states, was quick to use them. PostTridentine bishops, encouraged to visit and familiarize themselves with their dioceses, sponsored surveys and maps of the communities under their supervision. It became fashionable among monastic orders to record their origins and geographical spread in earlier periods, for which purpose they commissioned special atlases. Maps not only provided efficiency, but also added glory to the Catholic Church by presenting its ancient and enduring hierarchical structure, global missionary reach, and network of shrines. In this capacity ecclesiastical geography inevitably acquired a polemical edge. Chapter Five brings to light a fierce debate of the 1620s, whose main protagonists were the Genevan jurist Jacques Godefroy and the Jesuit Jacques Sirmond, over the geographical extent of the special diocese of the pope in the fourth century. It is shown that ecclesiastical geography was inseparable from explorations made by church historians and antiquaries into early Christian communities, institutions and material culture.45 The chapter ends with an account of the career in ecclesiastical geography of the Augustinian monk Augustin Lubin, who in the second half of the seventeenth century systematized the field and turned it almost into a technical pursuit. An Epilogue (Chapter Six) will trace the stabilization of geographia sacra in the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Once the Bible lost its role as the basic research program of human and natural history, and once confessional debates had fallen out of vogue, sacred 45

Simon Ditchfield, Liturgy, Sanctity and History in Tridentine Italy: Pietro Maria Campi and the Preservation of the Particular (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Ingo Herklotz, Cassiano Dal Pozzo und die Archäologie des 17. Jahrhunderts (München: Hirmer, 1999).

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geography lost its resonance and significance. Moreover, the field itself had been almost exhausted. With Bochart, the progeny of Noah had been definitively charted; Jacques Bonfrère edited Eusebius’ Onomasticon and perfected the map of Judea; Christian van Adrichem and Louis Cappel fully researched Jerusalem and the Temple, respectively; Franciscus Quaresmius gave an authoritative statement of Christian pilgrimage and the traditions relating to the sacred sites in the Holy Land; with Augustin Lubin, ecclesiastical geography was fully methodized. Until the beginning of Near Eastern scientific archaeology in the late nineteenth century, no major advances would be gained over these fruits of the concentrated effort of scholars all over Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It is during the later phase of that efflorescence that an Anglican preacher and writer, Thomas Fuller, could popularize sacred geography, and use it as a platform from which to comment on current English affairs, or that Friedrich Spanheim, Jr., would publish an introduction to the subject for young students, and that Jean Le Clerc would write a brief history of sacred geography, and thus incorporate it into the historia litteraria of Europe.

CHAPTER TWO

THE ANTWERP POLYGLOT BIBLE: MAPS, SCHOLARSHIP, AND EXEGESIS The Council of Trent (1545–64), the founding event of the CounterReformation, also marked the beginning of the spectacular ecclesiastical career of Benito Arias Montano (1527–98, Figure 1).1 Poet laureate, member of the Military Order of St. James, Doctor of Theology, Orientalist, and a leading biblical scholar, Montano was chosen by Bishop Martín Peréz de Ayala to join the Spanish delegation to the third session-period of the Council (1562–64), and won praise for his interventions on communion and on marriage.2 For Montano, however, 1 An earlier version of this chapter appeared as “Sacred Geography, Antiquarianism and Visual Erudition: Benito Arias Montano and the Maps in the Antwerp Polyglot Bible,” Imago Mundi 55, no. 1 (2003): 56–80. For a recent reevaluation of the historiographical tradition of Trent and the Counter-Reformation see John W. O’Malley, Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000). On Montano’s activities in Trent see C. Gutiérrez, Españoles en Trento, Corpus Tridentinum Hispanicum, 1 (Valladolid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto “Jerónimo Zurita” Sección de Historia Moderna “Simancas”, 1951), 180–81, n. 366; Benito Arias Montano, Elucidationes in quatuor euangelia, Matthaei, Marci, Lucae & Johannis. Quibus accedunt eiusdem elucidationes in Acta Apostolorum (Antwerp: Plantin, 1575), 62; T. Gonzáles Carvajal, “Elogio histórico del Dr B. Arias Montano,” Memorias de la Real Academia de la Historia VII (1823): 1–199, esp. 32–36. 2 We still lack a full intellectual biography and a full correspondence edition for Montano, a fascinating and central figure of early modern scholarship, though more and more particular studies and modern editions of his works shed light on his work and thought. Rekers’ standard biography is useful mainly as to Montano’s activities, yet less so regarding his works: Ben Rekers, Benito Arias Montano (1527–1598) (London: The Warburg Institute, 1972). See also, among others, Vicente Becares Botas, Arias Montano y Plantino: el libro flamenco en la España de Felipe II (León: Universidad Secretariado de Publicaciones, 1999), Luis Gómez Canseco, ed., Anatomía del humanismo: Benito Arias Montano, 1598–1998 (Huelva: Servicio de Publicaciones Universidad de Huelva, 1998); Sylvaine Hänsel, Der spanische Humanist Benito Arias Montano (1527–1598) und die Kunst (Münster: Aschendorff, 1991); Paul Saenger, “Benito Arias Montano and the Evolving Notion of Locus in Sixteenth-Century Printed Books,” Word & Image 17, no. 1&2 (2001): 119–37. Mark P. McDonald, “The Print Collection of Philip II at the Escorial,” Print Quarterly 15, no. 1 (1998): 15–35. Guy Lazure, “Possessing the Sacred: Monarchy and Identity in Philip II’s Relic Collection at the Escorial,” Renaissance Quarterly 60, no. 1 (2007): 58–93. Benito Arias was educated in Seville, and then in the University of Alcalá de Henares, a center for Hebraic and biblical studies. In 1560 he became a member of the military order of St. James. After

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Figure 1. Ph. Galle, engraved portrait of Benito Arias Montano. Galle and Montano, Virorum doctorum de disciplinis benemerentium effigies XLIIII (Antwerp, 1572). Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) CT 206 .G35x 1572q.

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the Council was not only about re-enforcing Catholic doctrine and fighting heretics, but also about scholarly exchange. During his stay in Trent Montano was able to examine ancient coins, buy and translate Hebrew books from Istanbul, and obtain a map of Canaan. Montano later used this map to illustrate the Apparatus sacer of the famous Antwerp Polyglot Bible, printed under Philip II’s auspices by Christophe Plantin, and of which Montano was the chief editor. Montano’s encounter with a map while at Trent and its later reworking into the Antwerp Polyglot opens a window onto the broader question of maps and religion in early modern Europe. When set against the rich intellectual and political context in which they were created and disseminated, prominent examples of geographia sacra such as these enable discussion of several key questions regarding their meaning and contemporary significance: How do maps function within an exegetical framework? What was the significance of the denominational rift in their conception and execution? How did biblical maps relate to the flowering of secular cartography, the geographical revolution, during the early modern period? As discussed in the opening chapter, Abraham Ortelius’ Catalogus auctorum in his celebrated Theatrum orbis terrarum (1570)—that invaluable ‘Who’s Who’ of late sixteenth-century cartography— demonstrates how deeply involved early modern mapmakers were in religious activities and scholarship.3 Like others in Plantin’s circle, Ortelius himself was to some extent sympathetic to the mystical and pietistic ideals of the Family of Love. As Giorgio Mangani has shown, Ortelius’s religious cartography was reflected in his use of the heartshaped projection, which intended to embody the union of Christian charity with Neostoic ideals.4 The authors listed on Ortelius’ Catalogus,

his recall from the Low Countries he was the librarian of the Escorial, and then, in 1586, retreated to his estate near Seville, where he died in 1598. 3 Robert W. Karrow, Jr., Mapmakers of the 16th Century and Their Maps: Biobibliographies of the Cartographers of Abraham Ortelius, 1570 (Chicago: Speculum Orbis Press, 1993); Peter H. Meurer, Fontes cartographici Orteliani: Das “Theatrum orbis terrarum” von Abraham Ortelius und seine Kartenquellen (Weinheim: VCH, Acta Humaniora, 1991). 4 Giorgio Mangani, “Abraham Ortelius and the Hermetic Meaning of the Cordiform Projection,” Imago Mundi 50 (1998): 59–83, and Il “mondo” di Abramo Ortelio: misticismo, geografia e collezionismo nel Rinascimento dei Paesi Bassi (Modena: Franco Cosimo Panini, 1998); René Boumans, “The Religious Views of Abraham Ortelius,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes (1954): 374–77; and the essays in Robert W. Karrow, Jr. et al., Abraham Ortelius (1527–1598): cartographe et humaniste

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like Jacob Ziegler, Sebastian Münster and Arias Montano himself, were theologians, philologists and historians. Modern scholarship, however, still lacks a comprehensive study that addresses the complex ways in which cartography operated within these religious and scholarly contexts. In the case of Holy Land maps, for example, we have fine albums and carto-bibliographies, yet very little that addresses contemporary discourses about the Holy Land and their relation to its cartography.5 In their survey of maps in Bibles in the sixteenth century, Catherine Delano Smith and Elizabeth Ingram opened the field for new kinds of questions about cartography and religion in the early modern period. Although their focus was on a specific genre in a single century, Delano Smith and Ingram made it clear that it is by no means obvious how maps function in such religious contexts as theology and exegesis, and that the question requires further historical investigation, specifically taking into account the wider social currents that mapmakers and their readers were navigating. Delano Smith’s and Ingram’s bibliographic survey was based on some 1,000 printed sixteenth-century Bibles, of which only 176 include maps. Their research revealed that maps never appear in Bibles printed in Catholic countries such as Spain, Portugal and Italy, and very rarely in Latin and French Bibles.6

(Tournhout: Brepols, 1998). Recent scholarship on The Family of Love tends to circumscribe the group’s extent and influence. See Jason Harris, “The Religious Position of Abraham Ortelius,” in The Low Countries as a Crossroads of Religious Beliefs, eds. Arie-Jan Gelderblom, Jan L. de Jong and M. van Vaeck, 89–139 (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2004). 5 For an album with valuable notes see Kenneth Nebenzahl, Maps of the Holy Land: Images of Terra Sancta through Two Millennia (New York: Abbeville Press, 1986); see also Eva Wajntraub and Gimpel Wajntraub, Hebrew Maps of the Holy Land (Wien: Brüder Hollinek, 1992); Eran Laor and Shoshanna Klein, Maps of the Holy Land: Cartobibliography of Printed Maps, 1475–1900 (New York: A. R. Liss, 1986); Rehav Rubin’s pioneering scholarly study of Jerusalem maps pays attention mostly to formalvisual analysis and to map provenance: Image and Reality: Jerusalem in Maps and Views (Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1999). 6 Catherine Delano Smith and Elizabeth M. Ingram, Maps in Bibles, 1500–1600: An Illustrated Catalogue (Genève: Droz, 1991). The first printed Bible map appeared with Froschauer’s Old Testament (Zurich, 1525), based on Luther’s translation. Later, the Geneva Bible, which appeared in many editions, contained five maps (Exodus, Eden, Division of Canaan, The Holy Land at the Time of Christ, Eastern Mediterranean). See also their other important contributions: Delano Smith, “Geography or Christianity? Maps of the Holy Land before AD 1000,” Journal of Theological Studies 42 (1991): 143–52; “Maps as Art ‘and’ Science: Maps in 16th Century Bibles,” Imago Mundi 42 (1990): 65–83; “Maps in Bibles in the 16th Century,” The Map Collector 39 (1987): 2–14; Delano Smith and Mayer I. Gruber, “Rashi’s Legacy: Maps of the Holy Land,”

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They were thus able to conclude that “the history of maps in Bibles is part of the history of the Reformation.” According to the authors, the Protestant adoption of humanist historical-philological approaches to texts, emphasizing the literal over the allegorical, “is perhaps the key factor that explains why maps were felt by so many Protestant publishers to be useful adjuncts to printed Bibles.”7 Writing about the Galleria delle carte geografiche in the Vatican, Francesca Fiorani extended the argument by claiming that the Galleria project, which was completed in 1581, was in fact a Catholic cartographic response to the wide Protestant use of maps in Bibles.8 The striking quantitative finding that including maps in Bibles was a predominantly Protestant practice puts Montano’s maps—an exception to what appears to be the rule—in a particularly revealing light. Thus, Montano’s approach to cartography and the reasons for his inclusion of maps in the Apparatus of the Polyglot Bible deserve closer attention. This is enabled by the fact that Montano recorded many of his thoughts on the creation and understanding of maps and images in the text of the Apparatus. The aim of this chapter is to explore further this still largely uncharted terrain, and try to extend and nuance Delano Smith’s and Ingram’s thesis. Rather than attributing the spirit of mapping to a general Protestant mapping ethic, I attempt to reconstruct the ways in which maps, visual erudition, and biblical scholarship interacted in Montano’s world, and to open up the notion of geographia sacra to take account of sacred antiquarianism, both textual and visual. Montano’s thoughts on biblical geography, moreover, lay within a broader movement of pious philosophy that attempted to harmonize knowledge of the natural world with Scripture.

The Map Collector 59 (1992): 30–35; Elizabeth M. Ingram, “A Map of the Holy Land in the Coverdale Bible: A Map by Holbein?,” The Map Collector 64 (1993): 26–33; and “Maps as Readers’ Aids: Maps and Plans in Geneva Bibles,” Imago Mundi 45 (1993): 29–44. 7 Delano Smith and Ingram, Maps in Bibles, xvii, xxiv. 8 Francesca Fiorani, “Post-Tridentine geographia sacra: The Galleria delle carte geografiche in the Vatican Palace,” Imago Mundi 48 (1996): 124–48, and more extensively in her The Marvel of Maps: Art, Cartography and Politics in Renaissance Italy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005). See further discussion of the Galleria in Chapter 5.

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The story of the Antwerp Polyglot, also known as the Biblia Regia, has been told many times, and the process of its creation is well documented (Figure 2).9 The idea had originated with Plantin, perhaps under the influence of the Orientalist and mystic Guillaume Postel, and was first mentioned in Plantin’s letter to Andreas Masius of February 1565. Plantin was persuaded to embark on such a massive project by the rarity of the previous great polyglot edition, the Complutensian of Cardinal Ximenes (completed 1517, published 1520–22).10 Plantin recruited a group of scholars, and even won German Protestant patronage. Yet, after having been forced to print anti-Catholic material during the outbreak in Antwerp of Calvinist iconoclasm in 1566, Plantin eventually decided to apply for Catholic patronage for the Polyglot in order to save his printing house and his own reputation in the eyes of the King. After Philip and his secretary Zayas had granted permission for the project, Plantin was informed that Benito Arias Montano, the King’s chaplain, would supervise the project. In May 17, 1568, after a tortuous sea journey, Montano reached Antwerp to take charge of the Polyglot, one of the most ambitious printing projects of the time. In Antwerp he spent seven incredibly productive years, and also made some of his most intimate friends.11

9 Basil Hall, “Biblical Scholarship: Editions and Commentaries,” in The Cambridge History of the Bible, vol. 3: The West from the Reformation to the Present Day, ed. S. L. Greenslade, 38–93 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963); Rekers, Benito Arias Montano, ch. 3; Léon Voet, “La Bible Polyglotte d’Anvers et Benedictus Arias Montanus. L’Histoire de la plus grande entreprise scriptuaire et typographique du XVIe siècle,” in La Biblia Polyglota de Amberes, eds. Federico Perez Castro and L. Voet (Madrid: Fundación universitaria Española, 1973), 35–53. Montano’s and Plantin’s correspondences concerning the Polyglot are published in “Correspondencia del doctor Arias Montano con Felipe II, el secretario Zayas y otros sugetos, desde 1568 hasta 1580,” in Collección de Documentos inéditos para la Historia de España (Madrid: Viuda de Calero, 1862); Christophe Plantin, Correspondance de Christophe Plantin, eds. Max Rooses and Jean Denucé, 9 vols. (Antwerpen: J. E. Buschmann, 1883–1918); Baldomero Macías Rosendo, ed., La Biblia Políglota de Amberes en la correspondencia de Benito Arias Montano (Ms. Estoc. A 902) (Huelva: Universidad de Huelva, 1998). For an insightful account of the intellectual background of the 17th-century Paris Polyglot see Peter N. Miller, “Les origines de la Polyglotte de Paris: philologia sacra, contre-réforme et raison d’état,” Dix-Septième Siècle 49, no. 1 (1997): 57–66. 10 On the Complutensian see Jerry H. Bentley, Humanists and Holy Writ: New Testament Scholarship in the Renaissance (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1983), 72ff. 11 Montano’s nostalgia for his Antwerp period frequently recurs in his letters to Ortelius. See for example the letter from Rome, 28 February 1576, in Ortelius,

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Figure 2. Title page, Benito Arias Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), I. Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 5145.1569f.

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Plantin, the leading printer of the second half of the sixteenth century, greatly admired his industrious new editor, of whom he noted that, “beside his nobility and rank, is not only so accomplished in the knowledge of Hebrew, Aramaic, Syriac, Greek, Latin, and various other languages, but also endowed with supreme modesty, prudence, [and] love of God.”12 Montano aimed to produce an authoritative Bible edition in five languages, supported by a weighty Apparatus complete with various reading aids. The project involved the concerted and prolonged work of experts in Oriental languages and biblical scholarship—including Masius, Postel’s students, the brothers Guy and Nicolas Lefèvre de la Boderie, and Franciscus Raphelenghius, Plantin’s son-in-law. By the end of two years Montano’s team of scholars and Plantin’s proofreaders, with the collaboration of the Doctors of the Faculty of Theology in Louvain, had the biblical texts ready for typesetting.13 The first four volumes of the Polyglot contain the Hebrew Old Testament, with the Vulgate, Septuagint, and Aramaic translations, while the fifth contains the New Testament in Greek, Latin and Syriac.14

Abrahami Ortelii (geographi Antverpiensis) et virorum eruditorum ad eundem et ad Jacobum Colium Ortelianum (Abrahami Ortelii sororis filium) epistulae. Cum aliquot aliis epistulis et tractatibus quibusdam ab utroque collectis (1524–1628), ed. John Henry Hessels (Cambridge: Typis Academiae, sumptibus Ecclesiae Londino-Batavae, 1887), no. 62: 1–3, 138–40. In September 1592 Montano even went as far as offering Justus Lipsius, one of his Antwerp acquaintances, to be the inheritor of his estate: Ronald W. Truman, “Justus Lipsius, Arias Montano and Pedro Ximenes,” Bulletin de l’Institut Historique Belge de Rome 68 (1998): 367–86. 12 “Estant donc de retour en ceste ville, je trouvay Monsigneur le docteur en théologie Bénédict Arias Montanus, officier de la Sainte Inquisition en Espagne, Chevalier de l’ordre de Saint Jaques, personnage, outre l’estat de noblesse et degré qu’il tient, non seulment autant accompli en la science des langues hébraïcque, chaldaïcque, syrienne, grecque, latine et diverses autres, mais aussi doué d’une autant souveraine modestie, prudence, amour divin, et toutes autres vertues divines qu’oncques j’en ay sceu congnoistre.” Plantin to Maximilian de Berghes, Archbishop of Cambrai, 28 June, 1568, Plantin, Correspondance, I, no. 137. 13 In an often quoted passage Plantin describes how his thirteen-year old daughter, Magdelaine, used to read the biblical texts to Montano: she was in charge of bringing “toutes les espreuves des grandes Bibles Royal au logis de Monsgr le Docteur B. Arias Montanus et de lire, des originaux Hebraïcques, Chaldéens, Syriacques, Grecs et Latins, le contenu desdictes espreuves, tandis que mondict Sr le docteur observe diligemment si nos feilles sont telles qu’il convient pour les imprimer.” Plantin to Zayas, 4 November 1570, Plantin, Correspondance, II: 251, p. 175–76. 14 For a complete bibliographic description of the Polyglot see Léon Voet and Jenny Voet-Grisolle, The Plantin Press (1555–1589): A Bibliography of the Works Printed and Published by Christopher Plantin at Antwerp and Leiden, 6 vols. (Amsterdam: Van Hoeve, 1980), entry 644; Rosendo, La Biblia Políglota de Amberes, Introducción.

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Montano then moved on to prepare the Apparatus, in three volumes. The idea of an apparatus was not new. The old Complutensian had already offered its readers a volume of reading aids, including Greek, Hebrew and Chaldean dictionaries and a Hebrew grammar. As the practice of studying the Holy Scriptures in their original languages became more common during the sixteenth century, other sophisticated tools for precise reading were published, such as biblical name indexes.15 Montano, however, furnished his Polyglot with a selection of study aids unprecedented in quantity and comprehensiveness.16 In the Apparatus volumes one finds, besides dictionaries and grammars for Hebrew, Syriac, and Greek, also a non-Vulgate, literal Latin translation of the Hebrew Old Testament, copious indices, and various methodological essays on translation. For Volume Eight, the third of the Apparatus, Montano composed a number of learned treatises that add up to a complete ethnography of the ancient Hebrews. Montano summed up and elucidated what was then at the forefront of biblical scholarship, and in his view, of scholarship at large. Montano also included four maps—Orbis tabula, Terra Canaan Abrahae tempore, Terra Israel in tribus undecim distributa, Antiqua Ierusalem—and about ten antiquarian illustrations of architectural designs, biblical monuments, and liturgical vestments

15 For example, Robert Estienne’s Hebraea & Chaldaea nomina virorum, mulierum, populorum, idoloru[m], urbium, fluuiorum, montium, caeterorumque locoru[m], quae in Bibliis leguntur, ordine alphabeti Hebraici (Paris: Rob. Stephani, typographi Regii, 1549). An excellent overview with an emphasis on Protestant biblical scholarship in the sixteenth century is Debora K. Shuger, The Renaissance Bible: Scholarship, Sacrifice, and Subjectivity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), ch. 1. See also François Laplanche, Bible, sciences et pouvoirs au XVIIe siècle (Napoli: Istituto Italiano per gli Studi Filosofici, 1997). 16 For example, while Estienne’s Hebraea & Chaldaea nomina gave only Hebrew names and their Latin translations, Montano amplified this format to include, as Plantin duly emphasized in his ‘Preface to the Christian Reader,’ short descriptions of biblical figures’ lives, and geographical descriptions based on classical authors: Montano, ‘Hebraica, Chaldaea, Graeca et Latina nomina virorum, mulierum, populorum, idolorum, urbium, fluuiorum, montium, caeterorumque locorum quae in Bibliis utriusque Testamenti leguntur in veteri interprete, cum aliquot appelativis Hebraicis, Chaldaicis, Graecis vocibus: adiecta eorum expositione & explicatione. Locoru[m] praeterea descriptio ex Cosmographis,’ in Montano et al., eds., Biblia sacra, Hebraice, Chaldaice, Graece & Latine [et Novum Testamentum etiam Syriace, cum versionum antiquarum interpretatione Latina. Cura Benedicti Ariae Montani] . . . Philippi II Reg. Cathol. pietate, et studio ad sacrosanctae ecclesiae usum, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, [= The Antwerp Polyglot], henceforth Biblia Sacra.

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and artifacts. Montano’s maps, as I demonstrate below, were inseparable from the general antiquarian program of the work. The Polyglot did not prove to be the powerful implement of CounterReformation propaganda that Philip had envisioned. Imbued with Erasmianism—minimizing doctrinal differences by presenting conflicting scriptural texts alongside one another, and emphasizing philological accuracy as a necessary condition for deciphering the Holy Writ—the new edition was profoundly ecumenical.17 Indeed, from its early stages onwards, the Polyglot was attacked by theologians who thought it damaged the authority of the Vulgate, and who were enraged by Montano’s reliance on rabbinical and a few Reformed sources, such as Sebastian Münster. The fiercest of the critics was the Spanish León de Castro, who was highly influential in Rome, and almost succeeded in having the work banned, despite its having been approved in 1572 by Pope Gregory XIII.18 In hindsight, Castro may have had a point. It is now known that Plantin and his circle, many of whom were acquaintances of Montano, were to some extent close to the Family of Love, a pietistic sect that promoted outward conformity to established religion, with intense spiritual devotion and indifference to dogma. As Ben Rekers notes, perhaps over-enthusiastically, “it was an irony of fate that [Philip’s] monument of the Counter-Reformation should be so entirely opposed, in nature and in spirit, to the principles of Trent. Almost all its collaborators were on the borderline between orthodoxy and heresy.”19 Alastair Hamilton is more cautious about labeling the Polyglot a Familist project, yet concedes that it was influenced by the ideals of concord and irenicism.20 The maps in the Polyglot, for sure, were

17 Marcel Bataillon, Erasme et l’Espagne, eds. D. Devoto and C. Amiel (Genève: Droz, 1991), 781–812. The harsh remarks about the Geneva Bible at the opening of the first volume (written in Hebrew verse) make clear that the Polyglot was not completely free of polemic. Erasmus himself, as is well known, engaged in polemics on many occasions. 18 In 1577 Juan de Mariana, entrusted with the final judgment of the Polyglot, pronounced it non-heretical, yet criticized Montano on various deficiencies. 19 Rekers, Benito Arias Montano, 54. 20 Alastair Hamilton, The Family of Love (Cambridge: J. Clarke, 1981), 74–77; for other skeptical evaluations of Montano’s recruitment to the Familist cause see Truman, “Justus Lipsius, Arias Montano and Pedro Ximenes”; Ángel Alcalá, “Arias Montano y el familismo flamenco: Una nueva revisión,” in Anatomía del humanismo, 85–109. I agree with Rekers’s critics that he uses Erasmianism and Familism almost

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created in a spiritually charged environment, where engraved images played a significant role.21 Antiquarianism, Visual Erudition and Geography The treatises, maps, and illustrations in Volume Eight of the Apparatus are a clear testimony to Montano’s antiquarian interests. The maps in particular, I argue, served him as a means of conveying antiquarian knowledge. They were a product of the encounter between Montano’s philological training in Oriental languages and scholastic theology, and his deep humanist interest in visualizing knowledge, tabulation, and measurement. While modern students of Montano have recognized his use of precise philological methods, they have generally neglected his antiquarian sensibilities and interests. In fact, he brought not only philological tools to his new Bible edition, but also an engagement with material evidence and a deep interest in architectural detail and theory and in chorographical and geographical description. In 1593 Franciscus Rapheleghius, who had been a member of the Polyglot team and who had in the meantime converted to Calvinism, published in Leiden nine of Montano’s treatises from the Apparatus. It is significant that Raphelenghius gave this volume the title Antiquitates Iudaicae and included the original maps and designs (Figure 3).22 So, strictly speaking, Montano’s maps were not “maps in a Bible.” They were an integral part of learned antiquarian treatises, which in the Apparatus were separate from the biblical text, and in the 1593 edition were completely independent of it. In his seminal essay of 1950, Arnaldo Momigliano laid the basis for our understanding of early modern antiquarianism. He argued that the study of classical antiquity from the fifteenth to late seventeenth centuries took shape in two forms. On one hand, historians proper, following Livy and Polybius, commented on political events and their interchangeably. For an earlier sound judgment see M. Sabbe, “Les rapports entre Montano et Hiël,” De Gulden Passer (1926): 19–43. 21 Karen L. Bowen and Dirk Imhof, Christopher Plantin and Engraved Book Illustrations in Sixteenth-Century Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). 22 Benito Arias Montano, Antiquitatum Iudaicarum libri IX, in quis, praeter Iudaeae, Hierosolymorum, & Templi Salomonis accuratam delineationem, praecipui sacri ac profani gentis ritus describuntur . . . Adiectis formis aeneis (Lugduni Batavorum: ex officina Plantiniana, apud Franciscum Raphelengium, 1593), henceforth Antiquitates Iudaicae.

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Figure 3. Title page, Benito Arias Montano, Antiquitatum Iudaicarum libri IX (Leiden: Raphelenghius, 1593).

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moral and pragmatic lessons. Antiquaries, on the other hand, following Herodotus and Varro, surveyed the material remains of past cultures, compared them with texts, and gave synchronic descriptions of ancient societies. The antiquaries laid the foundations for much of what we think of as modern historical methodology.23 Momigliano also noted that the study of Scripture stood apart from general antiquarian scholarship. Whereas antiquarians worked from material remains combined with textual testimonies, biblical scholars relied on internal criteria for establishing the bona fides of the text.24 Indeed, compared with the availability of Greek and Roman antiquities, there was in the sixteenth century little available epigraphic and archaeological material relating to the Bible.25 Yet in Montano’s case we can certainly discern a real effort to incorporate antiquarian methods and topics into the study of biblical and Jewish antiquities.26 Raphelenghius, in a short preface to the Antiquitates, went even further to argue that the Jews made greater monuments than those of the Greeks and Romans, but they did not boast about them as much.27 In selecting the title Antiquitates Iudaicae he was not only imitating Josephus, but also participating in a general culture of description which had emerged in fifteenth-century Venice and Rome.28 As we will see in

23 Arnaldo Momigliano, “Ancient History and the Antiquarian,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes (1950): 285–315. For a recent evaluation of Momigliano’s legacy see Peter N. Miller, ed., Momigliano and Antiquarianism: Foundations of the Modern Cultural Sciences (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007). 24 One should note that Biblical scholars also depended on manuscripts as material remains, and used paleographic criteria to date and assess them. 25 On the critical period in the mid-sixteenth century in the evolution of a systematic and critical classical epigraphy see William Stenhouse, Reading Inscriptions and Writing Ancient History: Historical Scholarship in the Late Renaissance. London: Institute of Classical Studies, 2005. 26 Cf. for the seventeenth century Peter N. Miller, “The ‘Antiquarianization’ of Biblical Scholarship and the London Polyglot Bible (1653–57),” Journal of the History of Ideas 62, no. 3 (2001): 463–82. 27 “Omnes nihilo minus nimium ridicula veneratione profana monimenta suscipimus, sacra negligimus: seu quod praeiudicio plerique ducamur, rari iudicio; seu quod Iudaei, Graecis Romanisque operum magnitudine alioqui maiores, in suarum tamen virtutum praeconiis fuerint inferiores.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, sig. A2. 28 The literature on antiquarianism is vast. See Patricia Fortini Brown, Venice and Antiquity: The Venetian Sense of the Past (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996); Anthony Grafton, The Footnote: A Curious History, rev. ed. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997); Francis Haskell, History and Its Images: Art and the Interpretation of the Past (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993); Peter N. Miller, Peiresc’s Europe: Learning and Virtue in the Seventeenth Century (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), and “Taking Paganism Seriously: Anthropology and Antiquarianism

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Chapter Three, sacred antiquarianism was also practiced in Jerusalem itself, under the guidance of local Franciscans. For the antiquaries no remnant of the past seemed unimportant, no subject unworthy of consideration. Seeking to establish the social, legal, and cultural structure of past societies, early modern antiquaries used various methods to organize their material. The more systematic followed Flavio Biondo and his classical model Varro, and structured their descriptions according to the four different kinds of antiquitates: publicae, privatae, sacrae, and militares.29 Montano did not use Biondo’s fourfold division but retained his thematic principle. In the Apparatus he devoted individual treatises—all based almost exclusively on Scripture—to geography, architecture, liturgy, weights and measures, chronology, and even biblical body gesture. Like the long succession of Roman antiquarians who used ancient regionary catalogues to reconstruct Rome’s historical divisions, Montano faithfully reconstructed the division of the Holy Land into tribal lands as described in Joshua.30 Montano’s project involved, therefore, the complete revival of Eusebius’s program for sacred geography—dispersion of Noah’s progeny, Canaan divided into the twelve tribal lands, description of Jerusalem and the Temple—dressed in the new secular language developed for describing ancient societies and monuments, namely, antiquarianism. One very clear indication of Montano’s antiquarian impulses is found in the treatise Tubal-Cain, named after the biblical “instructer of every artificer in brass and iron” (Gen. 4:22), and devoted to ancient Jewish weights and measures.31 Like Antonio Agustín, the Archbishop of Tarragona and a leading antiquarian (whom Montano must have

in Early Seventeenth-Century Histories of Religion,” Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 3 (2001): 183–209; Alain Schnapp, The Discovery of the Past, trans. I. Kinnes, G. Varndell (New York: Abrams, 1997); Roberto Weiss, The Renaissance Discovery of Classical Antiquity, 2 ed. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1988); Ingo Herklotz, Cassiano dal Pozzo und die Archäologie des 17. Jahrhunderts (München: Hirmer, 1999); and recently, Guy G. Stroumsa, A New Science: The Discovery of Religion in the Age of Reason (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2010). 29 Erna Mandowski and C. Mitchell, Pirro Ligorio’s Roman Antiquities (London: Warburg Institute, 1963), 24; Momigliano, “Ancient History and the Antiquarian,” 288–89. 30 There were two early sources for the geography of Rome: Notitia urbis Romae regionum XIIII cum breviaris suis (dated 334–57), and another version, the Curiosum: Philip Jacks, The Antiquarian and the Myth of Antiquity: The Origins of Rome in Renaissance Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 93. 31 Antiquitates Iudaicae, 107–140. On Thubal-Cain as the father of numismatics see Francis Haskell, History and Its Images, 20.

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met in Trent), Montano was deeply interested in ancient coins and historical metrology.32 The study of ancient weights and measures, which was inseparable from numismatics, was a major preoccupation of early modern antiquarians and scholars, from Colocci in the early sixteenth century to Isaac Newton.33 Montano broke new metrological ground when he worked seriously with the Talmud and even the Midrash in order to explicate Jewish weights and measures. He recalled a unique antiquarian experience at the Council of Trent, when, reading Nahmanides’ commentary on the Pentateuch, he found the rabbi’s detailed account of a Shekel coin he had seen in Acre. That very evening Montano received from the Archbishop of ‘Lestrigonia’ a group of thirteen Roman imperial gold coins to interpret. With them arrived a larger silver coin, which matched the description of Nahmanides. Montano saw this occurrence as a special divine favor. He reproduced the Shekel, with transcription and translation, and discussed it at length (Figure 4).34 For Montano, weights and measures were God’s gift to post-lapsarian human society. Studying an ancient Hebrew coin provided an almost direct link to divinely instituted standards, and a clue to the understanding of a universe which was created according to “mensura et numero et pondere” (Wisdom 11:21).35

32 Michael H. Crawford, ed., Antonio Agustín between Renaissance and CounterReform (London: Warburg Institute, 1993). 33 On Colocci’s metrological studies see Ingrid D. Rowland, The Culture of the High Renaissance: Ancients and Moderns in Sixteenth-Century Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), ch. 5–6. 34 Antiquitates Iudaicae, 126–27. Guillaume Postel, in Linguarum duodecim characteribus . . . introductio (1538), sig. C4v, published a much less elegant image of a similar coin, based on his first journey to the Levant and his encounter with Samaritans. See Marion L. Kuntz, “Voyages to the East and Their Meaning in the Thought of Guillaume Postel,” in Voyager à la Renaissance: actes du colloque de Tours, 30 juin– 13 juillet, 1983, eds. Jean Céard and Jean Claude Margolin, 51–63 (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 1987), 54; John Cunnaly, Images of the Illustrious: The Numismatic Presence in the Renaissance (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1999), 44. Postel was mainly interested in the script of the coin in comparison to Hebrew, and less in numismatic and metrological questions. Postel’s approach was also taken by the Jewish scholar Azaria de’ Rossi, who published the coin in Me’or Einayim [‫]מאור עינים‬ (Mantua, 1573), very shortly after Montano’s Apparatus came out. See the translation by Joanna Weinberg, The Light of the Eyes, Yale Judaica series; 31 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001). 35 Antiquitates Iudaicae, 111b. This verse appears in Hebrew (“‫כל במדה במשקל‬ ‫ )”ובמשורה‬on the fresco cycle of the Escorial Library, in the scene depicting King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba testing each other’s mathematical skills. Montano was involved in, if not fully in charge of the pictorial design. See more below.

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Figure 4. Engraving of an ancient Hebrew Shekel. Benito Arias Montano Antiquitatum Iudaicarum libri IX (Leiden: Raphelenghius, 1593), 126. Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 29555.129.

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Early modern antiquarianism was also defined by visuality. Antiquaries not only used visual sources for historical inquiry, but also presented their finds—whether topographical, numismatic, or epigraphic—in visual form.36 Writing from Seville in 1590, Montano complimented his friend Ortelius: That image after Lucretius which you sent me commends the most elegant artist, both the designer, as well as the engraver in copper. It proves, not for the first time, how discerning your mind is. Since you even have erudite eyes, you select the best in every art.37

Montano’s notion of “erudite eyes,” helps us rediscover some of the qualities of the realm of early modern learning that we have lost sight of. Despite their different backgrounds and careers, Montano and Ortelius were both immersed in classical and biblical texts on the one hand, and in images and artifacts on the other. The republic of letters, of which both were dedicated citizens, was a network in which coins, prints, miraculous stones, gems, and maps were avidly collected and often exchanged. Visual and material objects were just as important as learned discourses and textual scholarship. Thus, Montano’s world was not simply that of the Catholic exegete, and his maps, therefore, need to be addressed from this broadened perspective. From a very early stage of his education, Montano had been deeply interested and well versed in architecture, art and images, and he retained these interests throughout his life.38 His penchant for maps, globes and mathematical instruments is well documented. In their very first exchange of letters, Plantin offered to buy for Montano globes by Gerard Mercator, maps, and mathematical instruments.39

36 Peter Parshall, “Imago contrafacta: Images and Facts in the Northern Renaissance,” Art History 16 (1993): 554–79; Christopher S. Wood, “Notation of Visual Information in the Earliest Archaeological Scholarship,” Word & Image 17, nos. 1 & 2 (2001): 94–118. 37 “Pictura ista, quam ad me misisti, ex Lucretio disumpta [so in ms. for desumpta] elegantissimum artificem commendat, tum eum qui invenit, tum vero eum qui incidit in aes, et animi tui iudicium ut caetera probat, qui cum oculos etiam habeas eruditos, ea seligis, quae in singulis optima censentur artibus.” 30 March 1590, in Ortelius, Epistulae, no. 177:6. 38 Hänsel, Der Spanische Humanist. 39 Plantin to Montano, 14 February 1568, Plantin, Correspondance, I, no. 105. A month after his arrival in Antwerp Montano affirmed this purchase in a letter to Juan de Ovando, in which he praised Mercator: Montano to J. de Ovando, 14 June 1568, Antwerp, in E. M. van Durme, ed., Correspondence Mercatorienne (Anvers: De

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Montano’s correspondence with Ortelius reveals much about his preoccupation with maps and geographical material. In 1575 Montano was obliged to go to Rome to defend his Polyglot. Despite his business in the Vatican, Montano found the time for other diversions, about which he wrote to Ortelius: There is here a distinguished friend of mine, J. B. Raimondi, a lecturer in the mathematical arts in this academy, who besides the study of letters also paints and writes remarkably, and he makes the most elegant mathematical globes I have ever seen. He has a very beautiful copy of a map of China from the Portuguese legate. I have asked him to make me a light and easy, yet reliable copy. I will send it to you once I obtain it from the man, for your use and that of the public—as you know, this region is most worthy of knowing.40

Giovanni Battista Raimondi was one of the leading Orientalists of the day, and from 1583 was the director of the Typographia Medicea in Rome, a major center for printing in Oriental languages. He too had devised an ambitious plan for his own edition of a polyglot Bible, in which he intended to include—besides the Greek and Hebrew original texts, and the standard Greek, Latin, and Aramaic translations—the Arabic, Persian, Ethiopic, Armenian, Coptic, and Slavonic versions. Raimondi’s plan eventually materialized some three decades after his death, albeit in a less comprehensive form, in the Paris Polyglot of 1645.41 We have here, then, two biblical scholars and expert Orientalists,

Nederlandsche Boekhandel, 1959), no. 72. For Montano’s account at Plantin’s house see Jean Denucé, Oud-Nederlandsche Kaartmakers in Betrekking met Plantijn, 2 vols. (Antwerpen: De Nederlandsche Boekhandel, 1912), I, 1–16. It would be reasonable to assume that Montano had also been in direct contact with Mercator. 40 “Est hic amicus mihi insignis vir Johannes Baptista Raimundus Mathematicarum artium in hac academia praelector, qui praeter literarum studia insigniter pingit et scribit globosque mathematicos omnium quos ego viderim elegantissimos conficit. Is habet pulcherrimum exemplar descriptionis Synarum regionis a portogallensi legato; hunc autem rogavi ut exemplum mihi describeret levi et facili certa tamen descriptione; id cum a viro impetravero tibi mittam ad tuum et publicum usum, est uti scis regio illa cognitu dignissima.” 28 February, 1576, Ortelius, Epistulae, no. 62: 11–12. A “light and easy, yet reliable copy” probably refers to a method of transferring a design onto a blank sheet. In a previous section (7–10) Montano requested a colored copy (by Ortelius’ sister, he emphasized) of the Theatrum orbis terrarum for a friend. 41 Alastair Hamilton, “Eastern Churches and Western Scholarship,” in Rome Reborn: The Vatican Library and Renaissance Culture, ed. Anthony Grafton, 225–50 (Washington: Library of Congress, 1993); Miller, “Les origines de la Polyglotte de Paris”. Raimondi’s interest in maps and architecture is also shown in his publication of the first edition of Bernardino Amico’s Trattato delle piante et imagini de sacri edificii di Terra Santa (Rome, 1610), on which see Chapter Three.

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at least as we remember them today, discussing and exchanging in Rome maps of China and mathematical globes. The world of Montano and Raimondi (and of a much wider group of early modern scholars) was equally filled with profane maps and sacred texts, and vice versa, which they edited, collected, and received as symbolic gifts from erudite friends. Another example of the way friendship and scholarship went hand in hand is found in Ortelius’ dedication of his map of ancient Spain. The map was published by Plantin in the fourth supplement to the Theatrum (1590). The dedicatory inscription in the cartouche in the bottom left corner, conventionally modeled as a classical monument, reads: ‘1586. To the great theologian Sir Doctor Benito Arias Montano, a man distinguished for his mastery of languages, his experience of affairs, and his integrity of character, from A. Ortelius in friendship and loyalty’ (Figure 5).42 The map gave Montano great pleasure and pride, and he wrote to Ortelius: I told you earlier that this map of ancient Spain, elaborated by you, is always before my eyes with your most pleasant image, which I carry with me wherever I go.

As a token of his gratitude Montano promised to “reserve a beautiful bezoar stone chosen by you, with a few other gems, or stones of extraordinary effectiveness.”43 At Plantin’s request, in 1587 Montano wrote a preface to the Spanish translation of Ortelius’ Theatrum,

42 “1586. Summo theologo d[omi]no D. Benedicto Ariae Montano; Viro linguarum cognitione, rerum peritia, et vitae integritate magno Abrah. Ortelius amicitiae, et observantiae ergo, DD.” 43 “ante illam etiam Hispaniae veteris a te elaboratam descriptionem mihi pre oculis semper esse significabam una cum effigie tua gratissima quam quocunque migro circumferre soleo.” . . . “Elegantem lapidem Baghalzar tibi delectum servo cum nonnullis aliis gemis [so in manuscript] sive lapidibus mirae efficacitatis.” 30 March 1590, in Ortelius, Epistulae, no. 177. The image Montano refers to is a portrait medal of Ortelius, engraved in silver by Philip Galle, their mutual friend. Petrarch, who had written a pilgrimage companion to his friend Mandelli, likened his short text to an effigy of his soul. Petrarch’s Guide to the Holy Land: Itinerary to the Sepulcher of Our Lord Jesus Christ = Itinerarium ad sepulchrum domini nostri Yehsu Christi, ed. and trans. T. J. Cachey (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2002), Proem 7. Bezoar stones were highly sought after display objects and were thought to have healing powers as antidotes. Montano probably had access to Bezoar stones that were reaching Seville from the New World, beginning in the late 1560’s. See Marcia Stephenson, “From Marvelous Antidote to the Poison of Idolatry: The Transatlantic Role of Andean Bezoar Stones During the Late Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries,” Hispanic American Historical Review 90, no. 1 (2010): 3–39.

Figure 5. “Hispania veteris,” dedication to Arias Montano. Abraham Ortelius, Theatrum orbis terrarum (Antwerp: Plantin-Moretus, 1601), Parergon. Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 1009.689.14f.

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which was dedicated to the crown prince, the future Philip III.44 He later offered Ortelius his advice and help with updating the map of Spain.45 All these examples show the extent to which Montano, a biblical scholar, was attracted to, and immersed in, geography and cartography. As importantly, they demonstrate that biblical and geographical scholarships shared the same socio-intellectual environment, of patronage networks, erudite correspondence, and friendly gift exchange. We should bear these points in mind as we move to examine Montano’s own maps. Montano’s Maps The map of Jerusalem in Volume Eight (Figure 6)46 which accompanies ‘Nehemias,’ the treatise dealing with ancient Jerusalem, is not of Montano’s own design, but based on a map by Peter Laickstein, a Dutchman who had made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 1556. His original has been lost, but it was issued in many celebrated editions throughout the rest of the century (Figure 7).47 Of particular interest is the text with which Montano introduces the map. This is remarkable for the glimpse it gives modern readers into the use of maps in

44 Dirk Imhof, “The Production of Ortelius Atlases by Christopher Plantin,” in Abraham Ortelius and the First Atlas: Essays Commemorating the Quadricentennial of His Death: 1598–1998, ed. M. P. R. van den Broecke et al., 79–92 (Utrecht: HES, 1998). 45 “Now in the box in which you sent the wax cast of Julius Caesar, I send you a short treatise received from a friend two years ago, which perhaps could add to the map of Spain. He is a certain canon of Badajos, a learned and diligent man, Rodericus Delgadus Paciecus by name and surname. And I will consult him and others about the names of locations in Celtiberia that you ask for.” (nunc in eadem capsula qua Iulii Caesaris Ceram misisti meditationem tibi mitto brevem ab amico ante biennium acceptam quae aliquid fortassis contulerit ad Hispaniae descriptionem. Is Pacensis quidam canonicus est vir doctus ac diligens Rodericus Delgadus Paciecus nomine et cognomine. quem etiam cum aliis consulam de iis locorum in Celtiberica nominibus quae requiris.) Campo Florido, near Seville, 10 April 1591, Ortelius, Epistulae, no. 195. p. 428. See also Augustín Hernando, “The Contribution of Ortelius’ Theatrum to the Geographical Knowledge of Spain,” in Abraham Ortelius and the First Atlas, 239–62. 46 “ANTIQUAE IERUSALEM VERA ICNOGRAPHIA AD SACRAE LECTIONIS PRAECIPUE ET ALIARUM DE ILLA URBE HISTORIAE EXPLICATIONEM. Ex collatione auctorum cum ruinarum vestigiis ac situ ipso.” It is one of the three Jerusalem maps found in Bibles in the 16th century. Delano Smith and Ingram, Maps in Bibles, 121. 47 Rubin, Image and Reality, figs. 85–87.

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Figure 6. Benito Arias Montano following Peter Laickstein, “Antiqua Ierusalem vera icnographia,” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Nehemias.” Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 5145.1569f.

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Figure 7. “Antiqvae Vrbis Hierosolymorvm topographica delineatio,” Gerard de Jode following Peter Laickstein (Antwerp, 1571?). Source: The National Library of Israel, Eran Laor Cartographic Collection, Shapell Family Digitization Project and The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Department of Geography—Historic Cities Research Project, available at http://jnul.huji .ac.il/dl/maps/jer.

religious education and practice in the first half of the sixteenth century, at the time when Montano was a schoolboy. In the preface to ‘Nehemias,’ Montano nostalgically recalls his beloved teacher of letters and religion, Iago Vasquez Matamoro: After he had already busied his youth with various wanderings, he was driven by a great desire, and attacked by sorrow that he had omitted that best and most important voyage of all, the journey to Palestine in Syria, which Christians often undertake out of piety. . . .48

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“Is cum iuuentutem suam variis peregrinationibus diu exercuisset, magno animi studio impulsus, ac dolore etiam affectus, quod omnium optimam et potissimam illam unam praetermisisset, quae in Syriam Palaestinam pietatis ergo suscipi a compluribus Christianis solet. . . .” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 65a.

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Montano then goes on to point out that once in Palestine, Vasquez began an extensive project of description and observation: Since he was endowed with so elegant an intellect and trained in so many arts, and having traveled diligently and carefully the whole region which stretches between Jaffa and the Jordan, and from Damascus to Beer-Sheva, and blessed with acute judgement, skilled in identifying true antiquities and distinguishing them from the later fables of those living there, whatever he saw he noted down exactly, and described either in words, the autograph of which he gave me as a gift in pledge of friendship, or in maps [tabulis] that he drew himself.49

This is advanced antiquarianism in action, not in Rome, but in the Holy Land. Vasquez was bribing Ottoman officials, questioning local informants and weighing the relative value of their stories, and above all, describing or tabulating “ancient things” in words and images.50 Upon his return to Extremadura, Vasquez reproduced multiple copies of what Montano described as highly esteemed tabulae relating to the sacred monuments in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and Bethlehem. This practice will be discussed in detail in the next chapter. Vasquez had taught Montano the rudiments of drawing and, more importantly for our purposes in the present context, often told the eagerly listening young boy about the landscape and sites of the Holy Land. The adolescent Montano, as he tells us while narrating his independent progress in biblical studies, could very quickly call to mind an image of each of the sacred sites.51 He also received from Vasquez

49 “Itaque cum eleganti adeo ingenio, totque artibus praeditus et instructus esset, omnemque illam regionem quae a Ioppe in Iordanem, et a Damasco usque in Beersebagh iacet, diligenter attenteque peragrasset, atque ad antiquas cognoscendas res, a fabulisque recentiorum, qui in illis locis degunt, dignoscendas acro praeditus esset iudicio, quaecunque vidit, omnia exacte notavit, et tum literis, quarum autographum mihi amicitiae pignus gratissimum dono dedit; tum etiam tabulis a se depictis, expressit.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 65b. The term tabula could mean paintings, drawings, textual lists, as well as maps. 50 Suspicious reception of local lore was an antiquarian commonplace. In the middle of the 16th century the German antiquary Georg Fabricius warned travelers to Rome that “one must not listen to the ordinary crowd when learning the antiquities of the city.” Quoted in Anthony Grafton, “The Ancient City Restored: Archaeology, Ecclesiastical History, and Egyptology,” in Rome Reborn, 87–123 at 87–88. See also William Stenhouse, “Georg Fabricius and Inscriptions as a Source of Law,” Renaissance Studies 17, no. 1 (2003): 96–107. 51 “Idem mihi primas in pictura lineas ducendi auctor magisterque fuit. . . . Demonstrabat saepe ille mihi puero, & ex ore narrantis pendenti omnia fere illius regionis loca, quo singula modo essent, ut quondam habuisse viderentur, ut nunc haberent; ita

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an elegant image of Jerusalem, printed on cloth and carefully colored, which greatly helped him in the study of Scripture. Recommending his method to the serious student of the Polyglot, Montano explained how Vasquez encouraged him to combine biblical and antiquarian studies: First taught by this excellent man’s demonstrations, then having observed many things in the reading of the Holy Scripture, and then noted in other authors what may be useful for understanding the principles of topography, I made sure to place in the Apparatus a description of the site of ancient Jerusalem, the knowledge of which, I think, will be no less useful than pleasant to the students of the sacred disciplines. . . .52

Montano had one significant change made to Laickstein’s design. Laickstein’s depiction of Solomon’s Temple as a Ziggurat was replaced by Montano’s own detailed architectural plan, based on another treatise in Volume Eight, the ‘Exemplar,’ a study of sacred architecture according to Scripture and rabbinical sources (Figure 8, Figure 9). This again shows his insistence on visual accuracy and faithful reconstruction of ancient monuments.53 Montano’s strict historicism also manifested itself in his chorographical description of the Holy Land. While most contemporary descriptions were not very careful with chronology and correct historical stratification, Montano insisted on separating his into two treatises: ‘Chanaan’ discusses the land before its conquest and redistribution by Joshua, while ‘Chaleb’ explains the structure of the Israelite settlement. Each treatise is accompanied by a richly detailed map which follows

ut ego ipse iam adolescens simulachra illa locorum ab eodem demonstrata ac depicta referre expeditissime.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 65b. 52 “Igitur illius optimi viri demonstrationibus primum instructus, cum multa deinde ex sacrorum librorum lectione obseruauerim, quaedam etiam apud alios scriptores adnotaverim, quae ad topographiae rationem expediendam conducere possent, antiquum Ierosolymorum demonstratum situm, cuius cognitionem non minus utilem quam iucundam sacrarum disciplinarum studiosis futuram censebam, brevi descriptione inita, et tabula etiam depicta in sacro Bibliorum apparatu, opportune collocandum curauimus, additis iis quae in celebriorum locorum partiumque notis observatu videbantur dignissima.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 65b. 53 The editors of the London Polyglot preferred Villalpando’s aesthetically superior image of the Temple according to Ezekiel’s vision over that of Montano, which was based on the historical Temple. See more below.

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Figure 8. Benito Arias Montano, “Templi icnographia.” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Exemplar.” Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 5145.1569f.

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Figure 9. Temple plan on the map of Jerusalem, Figure 6, detail.

the principle of historical specificity (Figure 10, Figure 11).54 The two maps arguably form the most systematic representation of biblical geography produced in the later sixteenth century, until the publication of Adrichem’s map, which itself is indebted to Montano in many

54 “Tabula terrae Canaan Abrahae tempore et ante adventum filior. Israel cum vicinis et finitimis regionib. ex descriptione Benedicti Ariae Montani,” and “Terrae Israel omnis ante Canaan dictae in tribus undecim distributae accuratissimae et ad sacras historias intelligendas opportuniss. cum vicinarum gentium adscriptione tabula et exactissimo mansionum XLIII situ. Ad sacri apparatus instructionem a Bened. Aria Montano.” Nebenzahl did not include Montano’s map in his survey. For further notes see Delano Smith and Ingram, Maps in Bibles, 59. Ortelius, in a comment added to the Latin 1575 edition, crowned Montano’s treatment of Canaan, “the best of all,” as compared to Vadianus, Ziegler, Wissenburg, Postel, Belon, and Thevet. See translation in “Cartographica Neerlandica,” http://www.orteliusmaps.com/book/ort_text170.html.

Figure 10. Benito Arias Montano, “Tabula terrae Canaan Abrahae tempore,” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Chanaan”. Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 5145.1569f.

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Figure 11. Benito Arias Montano, “Terrae Israel . . . in tribus undecim distributae accuratissimae,” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Chaleb”. Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 5145.1569f.

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respects.55 In terms of coverage, the map of Canaan reaches as far as Mesopotamia (to illustrate the Patriarchs’ wanderings), while the map of Israel zooms in on Canaan itself, carefully divided into the tribal territories and marked with the route of the Exodus.56 The Canaan map is exceptional in the sincere yet incomplete effort to provide place names in Hebrew script (such as Moab (‫)מואב‬, Egypt (‫))מצרים‬. Montano’s Hebraistic sensibilities appear in other details as well, such as the grove drawn by kiryat yearim (‫)קרית יערים‬, i.e. the City of Woods. Montano even tells us how he obtained a map of Canaan in Trent from a learned Mantuan, very knowledgeable in Hebrew, who had commissioned it at great cost.57 Montano’s own map of Canaan is based on this Tridentine map, which he annotated and augmented with a descriptive text in order to facilitate the understanding of biblical toponymy.58 In ‘Chaleb,’ the treatise describing the division of the land, Montano uses in fact three descriptive layers: 1) an ‘Elenchus,’ or alphabetical index of biblical toponymy with scriptural references,59 2) a descriptive text, and 3) a map.60 The motive for this detailed description, as

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For Adrichem’s maps see Nebenzahl, Maps of the Holy Land, plate 35. Montano’s influence is also clearly seen in John Speed’s 1595 map, reproduced in Nebenzahl, plate 38. Interestingly, immediately after the publication of the Polyglot, seven of Montano’s maps and illustrations were inserted into the decorative program on the library walls of the Benedictine abbey of St. John the Evangelist in Parma. See Maria Luisa Madonna, “La biblioteca: ‘theatrum mundi’ e ‘theatrum sapientiae’,” in L’abbazia benedettina di San Giovanni Evangelista a Parma, ed. Bruno Adorni, 177–94 (Parma: Cassa di Risparmio di Parma, 1979). On the significance of such murals in monastic life, see Martin Kemp, Behind the Picture: Art and Evidence in the Italian Renaissance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997), 178–81. 56 As in his reconstruction of the Temple, Montano chose the historical (Joshua) rather than the visionary (Ezekiel) source to delineate the tribal boundaries. 57 This person remains to be identified. It is unlikely that it was the above mentioned Azaria de’ Rossi, the author of the controversial Me’or Enayim (1573), as we have no information about his presence in Trent. However, Rossi and Montano may have known of each other, as their studies dealt with similar issues and materials. I thank Joanna Weinberg for discussing this point with me. Montano may be referring to the anonymous Mantuan Hebrew map of c. 1560, which was rediscovered in 1991 in Zurich. See the reproduction in Ariel Tishby, ed., Holy Land in Maps (Jerusalem: Israel Museum, 2001), 127 [Hebrew], and full treatment in Rehav Rubin, “A Sixteenth-Century Hebrew Map from Mantua,” Imago Mundi 62, no. 1 (2010): 30–45. 58 Antiquitates Iudaicae, 54b. 59 Antiquitates Iudaicae, 43–51: “Elenchus Quo Libro et Capite Bibliorum, et quoties, singuli Palaesthinae loci continentur.” 60 “A description and an image of that index were placed before everyone’s eyes, so that [all the obscure places in Scripture] would be understood more easily.” (Utque facilius ab omnibus intelligi possint, ea ipsius tabulae descriptione ac pictura ante oculos uniuscuiusque sunt posita.) Antiquitates Iudaicae, 27a.

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Montano explains it, is to help Bible readers overcome the difficulty of reaching the simple sense of the text, and thereby let them access the arcane, salvific teachings which it contains.61 Montano’s prefatory, interpretative texts take the reader beyond the first descriptive stage of forming a basic picture of the land.62 The prefaces set the mode for contemplating the map’s subject, and place the Holy Land in a providential framework. In the preface to ‘Chanaan’—the treatise on pre-conquest Canaan—Montano insists on the extraordinary power of nature in this land, which is all the more remarkable given its size: “it has (to make its measure comply with the standard of geography) no more than sixty miles in length, and forty in width.”63 Benito Arias—self-titled ‘Montano’ after the landscape of his birthplace, Fregenal de la Sierra—attributes Canaan’s unique fecundity to its mountainous nature. The land’s mountains, he speculates, made its surface area four times greater than it would otherwise have been, and this explains how it supported thirty-one kingdoms. This uneven landscape is also very effective for the procreating of all species, because the heat, by which all things are begotten and supported, is caught between the caves and the entrails of the mountains, and increases variety and fertility. Bubbling springs, minerals, trees, plants, all abound in Montano’s Canaan, which is always under God’s eyes (here referring to Deut. 11:12). It was designed for sweet and pleasant life, which must be consumed by perpetual worship and love of God. Yet, Montano continues, the Canaanites, like their successors the Israelites, who won the best of all regions, eventually drowned in the river of their own wealth. Montano is indirectly arguing here against Michael Servetus and Sebastian Münster, who had denied, in different ways, the fertility of the Holy Land as a matter of fact.64

61 “Hoc vero tum a nobis, tum a doctissimis iis viris, qui quidem nos doctrina & ingenio longe antecederumt, qui in sacro hoc Apparatu egregiam posuerunt operam, praestitum esse arbitramur; ut, videlicet, sublata, aut saltem emollita asperitate ac difficultate illa, quae lectores, quominus simplicem sententiae, quae sacris in libris prima spectanda est, intelligentiam consequantur, impedire posset; ad arcanam illam, quae iisdem sacris continentur libris, aeternae beatitudinis doctrinam facilius perveniant.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 27a. 62 Antiquitates Iudaicae, 52–54. 63 “neque enim (ut eius dimensionis rationem ad geographiae normam ducamus) habet plura quam sexaginta millia passuum in longitudine; in latitudine vero quadraginta millia.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 52a. 64 Servetus, in his first Ptolemy edition (Lyon, 1535), “Tabula Terrae Sanctae,” doubted the Holy Land’s fertility (see Introduction). Münster argued for a translatio

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Montano also invites reflection on the corrupting power of wealth— not an insignificant comment in the Spain of Philip II, flooded by riches from America. In ‘Chaleb,’ Montano asks the reader to consider the miraculous nature of the conquest itself. It took place over a short period of time that would ordinarily have been insufficient even for walking the country, let alone conquering its fortified towns and fearsome inhabitants.65 Montano’s comment on the rapidity of the Israelite conquest may suggest an analogy with the equally quick rise of a (divinely ordained) Spanish global Empire. Montano’s maps of Canaan and Israel let us consider the ways in which description and interpretation, image and text, work in complementary ways. It is clear that the maps do not carry providential messages in themselves.66 Yet Montano’s method of exegesis systematically incorporates the maps. At a first stage they are required to help the reader establish the literal-historical sense of the text. Ultimately, however, they call for reflection on the providential meaning of the landscape. As Delano Smith and Ingram themselves explain, the maps in Genevan Bibles—especially that of Exodus—also had doctrinal messages to carry. Thus, on the one hand, Protestants did not have a monopoly, as it were, on the literal sense of Scripture, and on the other, they were quite seriously engaged themselves in some kind of allegorical exegesis. As Richard Muller notes: “None of the exegetes—Luther, Oecolampadius, Melanchthon, and Calvin—wanted to lose the flexibility of reference available to the allegorical method: the text must be allowed to speak to the Church.”67 Biblical maps, it would seem, had both a literal and an allegorical function, in both

fertilitatis—that God’s favors shifted from Canaan to lands of pious people, or in other words, to Germany. See his 4th edition of the Geography (Basel, 1552), “Appendix geographica,” 169. I am preparing a study of early modern views on this question. 65 “Adeoque exiguo temporis spacio ab ipsis est expugnata & occupata, ut temporis ipsius brevitas non ad expugnandam, sed ne ad totam quidem illam peragrandam satis esse potuisse videatur: cum tamen in illa urbes ipsa loci natura, atque hominum industria munitissimae frequentes essent.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 28a. 66 One notes that Montano, in his correspondence with Plantin, insists on incorporating these same two maps with another text, his commentary on Joshua, which Plantin eventually did after 1586. Arias Montano, De optimo imperio, sive, In librum Iosue commentarius (Antwerp: Plantin, 1583); Voet and Voet-Grisolle, The Plantin Press, entry 579. 67 Richard A. Muller, “The Hermeneutics of Promise and Fulfillment in Calvin’s Exegesis of the Old Testament Prophecies of the Kingdom,” in The Bible in the Sixteenth Century, ed. David C. Steinmetz, 68–82 (Durham, N.C.; Duke University Press, 1990), 81.

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Protestant and Catholic biblical scholarships. They represented a carefully reconstructed historical Holy Land, crafted with the best available antiquarian-geographical tools, but also one which was meant to be present and exemplary. Thus biblical maps functioned in both a literal and an allegorical register. The meticulously reconstructed historical Holy Land did not preclude an allegorical meaning and may even have contributed to it. This element in Montano’s work may be as significant as his Catholic belief for the understanding of his cartographical work. Moreover, there is evidence that biblical maps were used, and certainly conceived, as devotional images. As Walter Melion shows in an insightful study of the sacred geography map-series in Ortelius’ Parergon (a section of historical maps that appeared in editions of the Theatrum beginning in 1579), the notion of pilgrimage tied the maps together. Inviting the reader to undertake an imaginative pilgrimage in the footsteps of holy men, from Abraham to St. Paul, the maps are devotional, meditative devices that are modeled on the rhetorical form of ductus.68 Moreover, Melion pointed to Montano’s Humanae salutis monumenta of 1571 as a direct source for Ortelius’ use of maps as a pilgrimage metaphor. The Monumenta contained 71 figurative images devised by Montano, who also added to each image short captions as well as longer complementary poems. For example, the image of Terrae distributae (Figure 12), illustrating Joshua 18:2–10 and showing the leaders of the tribes poring over a large map, is emblematic of the benefit of those who bear their pilgrimage with patience.69 In this group of related images, maps function both as emblems, meaningfully juxtaposing image and text, and as a tool for emblematic readings of pilgrimage.70 Melion’s argument is reinforced by further evidence from the Apparatus of the Polyglot. As we saw in the discussion of ‘Nehemias’, the

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Walter Melion, “Ad ductum itineris et dispositionem mansionum ostendendam: Meditation, Vocation, and Sacred History in Abraham Ortelius’s Parergon,” The Journal of the Walters Art Gallery 57 (1999): 49–72. 69 Arias Montano, Humanae salutis monumenta B. Ariae Montani studio constructa et decantata (Antwerp: Plantin, 1571), “Perseverantiae exitus,” sig. F2. The Monumenta was perhaps Plantin’s most popular gift to friends and patrons. See Plantin, Correspondance, II, no. 279 (gift to Cardinal Granvelle), II, no. 298 (to the Bishop of Tournay). 70 See also Lucia Nuti, “The World Map as an Emblem: Abraham Ortelius and the Stoic Contemplation,” Imago Mundi 55, no. 1 (2003): 38–55; and in general, Michael Bath, Speaking Pictures: English Emblem Books and Renaissance Culture (London: Longman, 1994), ch. 1.

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Figure 12. “Perseverantiae exitus,” in Benito Arias Montano, Humanae salutis monumenta (Antwerp: Plantin, 1571), sig. F2. Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 2949.129.

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map of Jerusalem that Vasquez gave to Montano was used to invoke the notion of pilgrimage, in a manner not unlike that of Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises, or, in a secular context, the vicarious travel promoted by works such the Civitates orbis terrarum of Georg Braun and Frans Hogenberg (1572). In ‘Chaleb’ Montano explicitly presents his own map of Israel as a replacement for pilgrimage: those who cannot travel, and cannot enjoy the memory of the places themselves, could use a map for that purpose.71 It is perhaps not surprising then that in the lavish Bible edition in folio of 1583, Plantin printed many images in the manner of the 1571 Monumenta together with Montano’s maps of the Antwerp Polyglot. Some of the plates of this edition were then used for the 1583 quarto Monumenta.72 While the erratic flux of plates and images from one edition (and religious camp) to another should often be attributed to commercial considerations, it seems that for Montano and Plantin—a major producer of scholarly as well as emblem books— the two kinds of images, the emblematic engraving and the scholarly map, were two points on the same spectrum.73

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“Eorum autem qui pietatis causa illo sunt profecti, nemo (ut opinor) adhuc est inventus quem laboris, temporis, ac sumptus eam in rem facti adhuc poenituerit: quinimo, quamplures ipse & vidi & novi, qui cum eorum locorum sibi in mentem veniebat, eaque quae ipsi viderant, commemorabant; mirifica quadam delectatione afficiebantur. . . . Sed quoniam omnes, diversas ob causas illuc proficiscendi facultatem non habent; tamen nihilominus, quia non parum refert eos qui sacrae scripturae studiis sunt dediti, illam & singulas eius partes pernoscere; pro nostra, quantulacunque ea est, industria, ex accurata sacrorum librorum lectione, eam demptis locorum periculis, ac laboribus, lectori conspiciendam exhibemus, indeque sumpsimus initium, ubi Israëlitae ab Aegypto profecti primum per annos quadraginta mansiones collocarunt, interim dum in promissam sibi terram perducerentur.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 28b. Petrarch already evoked the notion of a mental pilgrimage in his Guide, 16.2. See Chapter Two. 72 Voet and Voet-Grisolle, The Plantin Press, entries 588–90. “Biblia etiam nunc statui imprimere magnis typis cum variis lectionibus in margine et earum rationibus in fine atque figuris in aere excisis juxta rationem Monumentorum tuorum addere sed fere duplo illis maiorem quod opus ni fallor placebit curiosis et illis qui raris cupiunt ornare suas bibliothecas. Vide quanta hoc tempore moliatur tuus Plantinus.” Plantin to Montano, 1 July 1580, Plantin, Correspondance, VI, no. 882. Montano in fact published with Plantin in his Antwerp period a few other books in which text and images (by Philip Galle) are joined: David, hoc est Virtutis exercitatissimae probatum Deo spectaculum, ex David pastoris militis ducis exulis: Bened. Aria Meditante, Philippo Gallaeo instrumente, ad pietatis cultum propositis (1575); Divinarum nuptiarum conventa et acta (1573); Virorum doctorum de disciplinis benemerentium effigies XLIIII (1572). 73 Thus maps take part in the tradition of illustrated bibles, and Biblische Figuren, which is common to Lutherans, Anglicans, and Catholics, often using the same woodcuts for their various editions. Margaret Aston, “The Bishop’s Bible Illustrations,” in The Church and the Arts, ed. Diana Wood, 267–85 (Blackwell, 1992).

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‘Phaleg’ is a short treatise describing the distribution of peoples in the post-deluvial world. It is structured as a hierarchical description of the Earth and its components, and in this it resonates with the influential contemporary cosmographies of Peter Apian, Johann Honter, and Postel, who in turn followed classical models.74 However, as much as Montano borrows from classical forms, he makes a conscious effort to use nothing but scriptural information for his geographical description of the globe. The ornate map (Figure 13) that accompanies ‘Phaleg’ shows that same tension, too.75 As a double hemisphere map, showing the modern geographical discoveries, it conventionally follows earlier examples. In terms of toponymy, however, the map is exclusively based on Genesis 10.76 As opposed to the partial effort in the map of Canaan, the world map is systematically lettered in Hebrew, including the cardinal directions on the frame of the map. This might be the result of Montano’s insistence on the primacy of biblical information. Thus Montano’s world map visually demonstrates his broader conception of geographia sacra: global in scope and founded in scripture. The programmatic statements in the preface to ‘Phaleg’ are most important for placing Montano’s sacred geography and world map in a wider theological framework. In the history of early modern natural science it has been long recognized that theological and devotional motives were significant elements in the efforts of scholars to uncover vital new facts and principles. Like other scholars and churchmen at the time, Montano was attempting to walk a fine line between natural philosophy and theology, without completely renouncing either one. In other words, Montano was struggling to assure the status of Scripture as a complete encyclopedia of human knowledge, without denying 74 “Phaleg, sive de gentium sedibus primis, orbisque terrae situ,” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 2–26. Cf. Petrus Apianus, Cosmographiae introductio, 1532; Johann Honter, Rudimenta cosmographica, 1530 and further editions; Postel, Cosmographicae disciplinae compendium, 1561. 75 “Benedict. Arias Montanus Sacrae Geographiae Tabulam ex antiquissimorum cultor. familiis a Mose recensitis ad sacrorum libror. explicandor. commoditatem Antwerpiae in Philippi Regis Catholici gratiam describebat.” 76 In a textual expanded legend corresponding to the map, Montano provides some etymological correlations between biblical names and those found in Ptolemy, Mela, Strabo, and others. In a ‘Monitio ad lectorem’ he adds a caveat that he was persuaded to do so by some friends (Antiquitates Iudaicae, 23–26). Ortelius, obviously, comes to mind. For further comments on the map see Delano Smith and Ingram, Maps in Bibles, 123–24. For earlier double-hemisphere maps see entries 57, 66, 91, 97, 99, 110, 113 in Rodney W. Shirley, The Mapping of the World: Early Printed World Maps, 1472–1700 (London: Holland Press, 1983).

Figure 13. Benito Arias Montano, “Sacra geographia,” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Phaleg.” Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 5145.1569f.

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the truths found in pagan and modern philosophies. Montano—like his contemporaries Francisco Vallès (1524–92), a physician of Philip II and author of De sacra philosophia (1587), and the Genevan Calvinist Lambert Daneau (1530–95), author of Physica christiana (1576–80), and many others from different religious backgrounds—used his literal hermeneutics and philological tools in order to prove the unity of human knowledge.77 Hence, Montano promoted a wide program which might be termed pious or Mosaic geography. As in the case of architecture, which will be discussed below, where Montano argues that classical architectural ideals were derived from those revealed in scripture, in ‘Phaleg’ he describes sacred geography as holding essential truths for understanding much about his contemporary world. In ‘Phaleg’ Montano records a conversation with Augustinus Hunaeus, one of the Louvain theologians with whom he collaborated. “He,” Hunaeus said, “who enters a house twice and thrice, or even lives in it continuously, cannot grasp its full form as the Architect does, who knows the principles of its construction in a thorough way, and each of its parts, from the floor to the roof.”78 Hence, God, the Architect of this world, is the only one fully capable of describing it, and the geographical information he shared with humans in Scripture is, therefore, of utmost utility. Sacred geography, Montano continues, is needed by everyone: doctors, merchants, and soldiers can learn from it about customs, rites, religion, matters private and public, ways of war and peace, trade, and even about clothing.79 It enables one to account for traditional enmity or harmony between peoples, according to their biblical genealogy, or to realize, for example, why the Greeks and Romans, the sons of Japheth, excel in philosophy and eloquence.80

77 Ann Blair, “Mosaic Physics and the Search for a Pious Natural Philosophy in the Late Renaissance,” Isis 91 (2000): 32–58, with further bibliography. For a different interpretation, less convincing in my view, see Peter Harrison, The Bible, Protestantism, and the Rise of Natural Science (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 78 “qui enim eam in domum, bis, terve introierit, aut etiam qui continuo in ea habitet, non ita totius eius aedificii formam perspectam habere potest, atque Architectus ipse, qui omnem eius aedificationis rationem, eiusque partes singillatim ab imis fundamentis usque ad tectum probe tenet.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 5a. 79 “quorum cognitio si ex sacra petatur Geographia, non est dubium quin illa perspectam quandam atque absolutam harum omnium rerum scientiam sit exhibitura.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 7a. 80 Antiquitates Iudaicae, 6b. It is worth pointing out that Montano’s sacred geography serves here the same needs and assumes the same encyclopedic character as

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The centerpiece of Montano’s pious geography is the identification of the biblical gold-bearing region of Ophir with Peru in the New World: “None of the Greek and Latin authors whose writings have survived to our time wrote anything,. . . which, if carefully examined, could be compared with those that Moses expressly wrote on the land of Ophir.”81 Montano provides a philological proof for his claim: the biblical verse referring to the building of Solomon’s Temple, “and the gold [was] gold of Parvaim” (2 Chron. 3:6), must refer to Ophir, the source of Solomon’s gold (1 Kings 9:28). Montano, with the aid of some Hebraistic acrobatics, interprets parvaim as ‘double Peru,’ which on his world map he clearly places on the western littoral regions of the two parts of the New World.82 While the identification of the New World with the biblical Ophir goes back to Columbus, and the more specific Ophir-Peru theory had indeed been suggested before Montano by Postel, it is Montano who provides the philological proof, bringing into action his talents as a Hebraist.83 The Ophir-Peru theory not only provided reassurance that the Hebrews knew the world in its entirety, it also proved King Philip and his Escorial to have been prefigured by Solomon and the Temple. However, as Giuliano Gliozzi explains, Montano’s version of the theory was at best ambiguous in terms of defending Spanish claims for monopoly on New World resources. Montano’s Ophir is a shared resource—it is the traditional source of wealth for many peoples, as if by providential design.84

universal history, as systematized at the same period by legal experts as Jean Bodin and Baudouin. See Marie-Dominique Couzinet, Histoire et méthode à la Renaissance: une lecture de la Methodus ad facilem historiarum cognitionem de Jean Bodin (Paris: Librairie philosophique J. Vrin, 1996); Julian H. Franklin, Jean Bodin and the Sixteenth-Century Revolution in the Methodology of Law and History (New York: Columbia University Press, 1963). Cf. Jean-Marc Besse, “Quelle géographie pour le prince chrétien? Premières remarques sur Antonio Possevino,” Laboratoire italien (“Géographie et politique au début de l’âge moderne”) 8 (2008): 123–43. 81 “Nullus denique ex Graecis, Latinisque Scriptoribus, quorum scripta ad nostram usque pervenerunt aetatem, aliquid edidit, quod si quale tandem id sit, diligenter examinetur, comparari possit cum iis, quae Moses de terra Ophir apertissime scripsit.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 4a. 82 Morphologically, parvaim (‫ )פרוים‬in Hebrew could be construed to mean double Peru. Montano claimed therefore that the verse should in fact read: “And this was the gold of Peru and Peru,” and not like the Vulgate, where parvaim was interpreted as a mark of high quality (probatissimum). 83 Giuliano Gliozzi, Adamo e il nuovo mondo (Florence: La nuova Italia editrice, 1977), cap. 4. 84 Gliozzi, Adamo e il nuovo mondo, 150–53. See also James Romm, “Biblical History and the Americas: The Legend of Solomon’s Ophir, 1492–1591,” in The Jews and

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The reception of Montano’s theory was generally negative. In his Synonymica Geographica, Ortelius, a close friend as we have seen, was polite enough to bestow lavish praise on Montano’s erudition, only to declare himself unconvinced by Montano’s argument.85 Other great authorities like José de Acosta, who was interested in the origins of the natives of the New World, and Joseph Scaliger, were also critical of the Peru-Ophir identification.86 In Chapter Four we will see that Samuel Bochart completely disregarded Montano’s thoughts on Ophir and proposed another etymologically driven solution. Yet in the final account it seems that Montano was more interested in strengthening the status of Scripture than in either justifying Spanish exploitation, or really solving the problem of the origins of the Indians. It is the realization that Scripture is pregnant with clues the meaning of which may be discovered in the future, rather than the discoveries themselves, which excited Montano: while Scripture holds essential truths for the understanding of the natural world, this understanding in turn facilitates our penetration into the arcana of Scripture.87 This set of priorities is clearly stated in his preface to the Itinerary of Benjamin of Tudela. Montano wrote there: “What fruits mortals normally gain from the opening up of lands, beyond what is obvious from experience, I have amply demonstrated in my Geographia sacra.”88 These fruits are deeper theological knowledge and the Expansion of Europe to the West, 1450 to 1800, eds. Paolo Bernardini and Norman Fiering, 27–46 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2001). 85 Ortelius, Synonymia Geographica (Antwerp: Plantin, 1578), 235. In his Thesaurus Geographicus, 1596, Ortelius added a few justifications for his rejection of Montano’s view. Pignoria, in his continuation of Cartari, perhaps because of his over-eagerness to trace the source of idolatry back to Egypt, claimed that Ortelius supported Montano’s view about Ophir. Vincenzo Cartari and Lorenzo Pignoria, Le vere e nove imagini de gli Dei delli Antichi . . .[&c.] da L. Pignoria. Aggionteui le annotationi del medesimo, nouissima impr. (Padova, 1615), 362. I would like to thank Peter Miller for the reference. 86 José de Acosta, The naturall and morall historie of the East and West Indies, trans. Edward Grimeston (London: Blount and Aspley, 1604), Lib I, ch. 13–14. Scaliger thought Montano’s arguments were “completely stupid” (quoted by Anthony Grafton, Joseph Scaliger: A Study in the History of Classical Scholarship, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983–93), II, 499). 87 In his later years Montano turned his energies to natural history as well. See his posthumous work, Naturae historia, prima in magni operis corpore pars (Antwerp: Plantin-Moretus, 1601). 88 “Quisnam vero apertarum terrarum fructus mortalibus contingere soleat, praeterquam quod res ususque indicat, in Geographia sacra abunde est a nobis demonstratum.” Arias Montano, Itinerarium Benjamini Tudelensis ex Hebraico Latinum factum a B. Aria Montano (Antwerp: Plantin, 1575), 9. Montano, who was the first to

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insight, which overshadow obvious benefits such as political and scientific progress. Montano, so far as I have been able to establish, is the scholar who had coined the term geographia sacra. On one level it is a technical and very sensible combination: geography, following Ptolemy’s definitions, was the depiction of the whole world; sacred geography was Ptolemaic geography as it applied to the biblical world. On another level, however, the synthesis offered by the term geographia sacra allowed Montano an insight into the relations of the human and the divine. Thus Montano’s geographia sacra carries the same message found on the walls and ceilings of the Escorial Library, of which he was the first librarian. The magnificent fresco cycle, painted by Pellegrino Tibaldi (concluded 1592), and whose basic program it is reasonable to attribute to Montano, presents the seven Liberal Arts on the vaults, flanked by Theology and Philosophy on each end of the hall.89 Sacred Architecture: Noah’s Ark In the foregoing analysis I have attempted to demonstrate that Montano’s maps take an active part in his scholarship. Montano skillfully creates a layered exegesis, in which the literal and arcane meanings of Scripture are revealed through a complex interplay of text and image. In the final section of the chapter I turn to Montano’s architectural designs in order to expose the same principles at work. This exercise forces us to study early modern maps within a spectrum of graphic material, and to expand our interpretation of maps beyond the geographical. While Montano provides many illustrations in his treatises,

translate the work from the Hebrew, had obtained a printed edition from Istanbul from a Venetian friend in that great antiquarian book fair, the Council of Trent. Montano, interestingly, presents Benjamin of Tudela as an eminent member of the illustrious Spanish tradition of travelers, explorers, and geographers, from Pomponius Mela to contemporary explorers. Christian L’Empereur published another edition of the Itinerary in 1633, in two formats: one with parallel Latin-Hebrew texts, and the other in petit format with the Latin only. For a detailed study of Montano’s edition of Benjamin see my “Benjamin of Tudela, Spanish Explorer,” Mediterranean Historical Review 25, no. 1 (2010): 17–33. 89 Hänsel, Der spanische Humanist, 153–57; Carmen García-Frías Checa, “Pellegrino Tibaldi y los frescos de la biblioteca del El Escorial,” in Los frescos italianos de El Escorial, ed. Mario Di Giampaolo, 171–201 (Madrid: Electa, 1993).

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I shall concentrate on his understanding of sacred architecture and on his reconstruction of Noah’s Ark.90 René Taylor, in a series of perceptive essays, has treated the Neoplatonic and Hermetic inclinations of the builders of the Escorial royal monastery. In particular he analyzed those of the Jesuit J.-B. Villalpando, the author of a very influential reconstruction of Solomon’s Temple according to Ezekiel’s vision, and of an accompanying map of Jerusalem.91 Taylor portrayed Montano, a critic of Villalpando’s visionary architecture, as the Jesuit’s negative image: Ostensibly [Montano’s] main objection to the Jesuit’s reconstruction was on the grounds that the building described by Ezekiel had nothing to do with the Temple built by Solomon, as described in the Book of Kings and in other sources. The truth, however, was that they were men of utterly divergent outlook. Arias Montano was a rationalist in the humanistic tradition. His interests lay in the fields of textual criticism and exegesis. . . . In this sense he stands close to Erasmus, whose approach to biblical and patristic studies was largely his own. He therefore can have felt scant sympathy for the mystical proclivities of the Jesuit.92

Montano, however, was not just a cold-blooded philologist, as Taylor would have it, as ‘Exemplar,’ Montano’s own treatise on sacred architecture, makes abundantly clear. ‘Exemplar’ is imbued with ideals of order, proportion, and anthropomorphism, in which, moreover, images play a significant role.

90 For a detailed study of Montano’s designs of sacred architecture see Hänsel, Der spanische Humanist, section 4.1.1.2. 91 R. Taylor, “Hermeticism and Mystical Architecture in the Society of Jesus,” in Baroque Art: The Jesuit Contribution, eds. R. Wittkower and I. Jaffé, 63–97 (New York: Fordham University Press, 1972); “Architecture and Magic: Considerations on the Idea of the Escorial,” in Essays in the History of Architecture Presented to Rudolf Wittkower, ed. Douglas Fraser et al., 81–109 (London: Phaidon, 1967); “El Padre Villalpando (1552–1608) y sus ideas estéticas (Homenaje en su cuarto centenario),” Academia: Anales y boletín de la Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, III época, vol. I, no. 3 (1952): 409–73. 92 Taylor, “Hermeticism and Mystical Architecture,” 75; see also Taylor, “Architecture and Magic,” 90, n. 99; Philip II and the Escorial: Technology and the Representation of Architecture, exhibition catalogue (Providence, R.I.: The Gallery, 1990), 87; Jaime Lara, “God’s Good Taste: The Jesuit Aesthetics of Juan Bautista Villalpando in the Sixth and Tenth Centuries B.C.E.,” in The Jesuits: Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts, ed. John W. O’Malley et al., 505–21 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999).

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In the preface to ‘Exemplar,’ which generally reads like an apology for antiquarian studies, Montano argues for the importance of studying sacred architecture: If we carefully and attentively consider the entire principle of the measures, the forms, and all the construction and craftwork that we find in Scripture, it will undoubtedly be admitted that the whole of the Greeks’ and Romans’ celebrated principle of buildings either came from here to them, or, at least, that it is laudable and famous chiefly for the reason that it is not unlike the biblical.93

Thus, Montano, like Villalpando after him, argues that the classical architectural orders are derived from biblical designs. Moreover, Montano argues (employing the modesty topos), that the two necessary skills for the study of sacred structures—the knowledge of both Hebrew and the principles of architecture—have coalesced in himself.94 His systematic use of the terms icnographia (plan, Figure 8), sciographia (section), and orthographia (elevation) for his architectural biblical designs shows that his self-esteem was not completely exaggerated. Montano then moves to analyze in painstaking detail Noah’s Ark, the Tabernacle, and Solomon’s Temple. His account of the Ark begins along strict Aristotelian and philological lines: the Hebrew word teva (‫)תבה‬, he explains, is reserved for a particular cause—the rescue of humans over water. The Ark’s form is therefore derived from this special purpose, and it carries arcane meaning, which Noah must have understood clearly upon hearing God’s instructions. It must be oblong, with four angles, so as to carry a person lying down.95 The Ark’s indicated measures (300 cubits long, 50 cubits wide, and 10 cubits high) “follow the observed ratio of measures of a man lying dead on the

93 “Si enim universa illa mensurarum, figurarum, totiusque structurae, & artificii ratio, quae sacris continentur libris, diligenter & attente consideretur, sine dubio omnem illam aedificationum rationem, quae apud Graecos & Latinos fuit, aut hinc ad ipsos effluxisse, aut certe ob eam potissimum causam, quod huic non sit absimilis, laudatam celebratamque esse fatendum erit.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 73b. 94 “Quocirca nobis, quibus summo Deus beneficio, tum arcanae illius significationis, tum etiam linguae Hebraicae atque architecturae artis cognitionem impertiit (ea quam sit exigua ingenue agnoscimus) nihil non enitendum duximus, quod modo hac in parte ad regiorum apparatum Bibliorum, & in communem omnium utilitatem conferre possemus.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 74a. 95 Antiquitates Iudaicae, 75.

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ground in length, width and height.”96 Montano’s insistence on the specific function of Noah’s Ark and on the meaning of its measures is immediately clear once we examine the accompanying illustration (Figure 14), where we see the figure of Christ lying in a snug-fitting Ark. This striking image becomes even more so once we note that Christ is not mentioned even once in the detailed textual analysis. Montano, so it seems, has chosen to work out the technical details in the text— discussing building materials, structure, and internal organization—in preparation for the image, which conveys the arcane significance of the Ark. A similar exercise reappears in Montano’s treatment of the Tabernacle, where the text is concerned with architectural detail, and the image shows figures of old, bearded men embedded in the patterns of the wooden beams of the structure (Figure 15).97 The association of the Ark with the Church, and even with Christ’s body, was not new in Patristic and medieval traditions. St. Augustine had already indicated the human proportions of the Ark, and referred indirectly to Christ by likening the Ark’s entrance to a wound (De civitate dei 15:26). Hugh of St. Victor had famously dealt with the Ark in two treatises, where he placed it in a cosmographic-spiritual context.98 Montano, however, merges this long-established exegetical tradition with the language and methods of the antiquarian study of monuments. We know that he owned, among other architectural works, an edition of Vitruvius.99 Here he could find many relevant passages on symmetry,

96 “Haec autem hominis in terra iacentis & mortui secundum longum, latum, & altum obseruata mensurarum ratio est.” Antiquitates Iudaicae, 76b. 97 Antiquitates Iudaicae, “Beseleel, sive de Tabernaculo,” 78–85. I have not yet been able to identify a specific Christian exegetical tradition which Montano refers to in the image of the animated Tabernacle beams. However, since Montano was familiar with the Midrash, Shemot Raba (Parasha 35, 6) might be his source. As the Tabernacle is an earthly mirror of the seat of God in heaven, the beams correspond to the Seraphim: ‫ מה למעלה כוכבים אף‬,‫”מה למעלן שרפים עומדים אף למטה עצי שטים עומדים‬ “‫למטן כן‬. 98 Don Cameron Allen, The Legend of Noah: Renaissance Rationalism in Art, Science, and Letters, Illinois Studies in Language and Literature, 33, nos. 3–4 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1949), 71–75; Grover A. Zinn, Jr., “Hugh of St. Victor, Isaiah’s Vision, and De arca Noe,” in The Church and the Arts, ed. Diana Wood, 99–116 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992); Emilia Fernández Tejero, “Las medidas del Arca de Noé en la exégesis de Arias Montano,” in Biblia y Humanismo: textos, talentes y controversias del siglo xvi Español, N. Fernández Marcos and E. Fernández Tejero, 185–91 (Madrid: Fundación universitaria española, 1997); Evelyn Edson, Mapping Time and Space: How Medieval Mapmakers View Their World, The British Library Studies in Map History, 1 (London: British Library, 1997), ch. 8. 99 Hänsel, Der spanische Humanist, 16.

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Figure 14. Benito Arias Montano, “Forma . . . Arcae Noë,” Montano, ed., Biblia sacra, 8 vols. (Antwerp: Plantin, 1569–72), VIII, “Exemplar.” Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 5145.1569f.

Figure 15. Benito Arias Montano, “Sacri Tabernaculi orthographia,” Montano, Antiquitatum Iudaicarum libri XI (Leiden: Antwerp, 1593), “Exemplar.”

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human proportions, and the significance of certain numbers.100 In Vitruvius he could also read about the plan suggested to Alexander the Great by the architect Dinocrates to carve Mount Athos into the image of a man, in whose left hand a city would be planted.101 In Alberti’s De re aedificatoria Montano could find further discussions of architectural anthropomorphic ideals, with direct reference to the Ark.102 The humanist Gianozzo Manetti, Alberti’s contemporary and pope Nicholas V’s biographer, likened the Florence Cathedral and St. Peter’s basilica to Noah’s Ark. Admitting that the actual proportions of the Ark could not have been kept in St. Peter’s, Manetti still argued that likeness in design was maintained.103 Hence Montano was not averse to hidden meanings with numerological overtones, and definitely not locked up in philological rationalism as Taylor argues. Certainly, he demanded philological accuracy as a necessary means to arrive at the arcane sense of Scripture. But in fact he was partaking in the same culture of which the Jesuit Villalpando may have been a more extravagant case, a culture in which textual humanism, antiquarianism, and mathematical Neoplatonism had much in common.104 The case is easier to make when we are reminded of Montano’s miraculous gems and powerful bezoar stones.

100

Vitruvius, 1:2, 4; 3:1–5, 9. Vitruvius, 2: preface, 2. 102 Alberti, 9:7. On Alberti’s treatise see Anthony Grafton, Leon Battista Alberti: Master Builder of the Italian Renaissance (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000), ch. 8. 103 Extracts from Manetti’s biography of Nicholas V are published in Torgil Magnuson, Studies in Roman Quattrocento Architecture (Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksel, 1958), 351–62. For analysis see Caroll William Westfall, In This Most Perfect Paradise: Alberti, Nicholas V, and the Invention of Conscious Urban Planning in Rome, 1447–55 (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1974), 120–24. Manetti’s earlier description of the dedication of the altar of Florence’s cathedral (1436) was recently published by Caroline van Eck, “Gianozzo Manetti on Architecture: the Oratio de secularibus et pontificalibus pompis in consecratione basilicae Florentinae of 1436,” Renaissance Studies 12, no. 4 (1998): 449–75. Eck challenges previous interpretations of the Oratio, which overemphasized architectural antropomorphism. 104 Ingrid D. Rowland, “Abacus and Humanism,” Renaissance Quarterly 48, no. 4 (1995): 695–727. 101

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Melanchthon wrote on Luther’s behalf to a mutual friend: Dearest brother, After your departure we received from our Elias [Luther] the whole New Testament translated into the vernacular, an outstanding work, better than many commentaries. He has decided to prefix to it a topography, as they call it, of the Holy Land, to make this reading easier. You know how much profit such a survey brings. And . . . as I hear that Reincke the Antiquarian has a certain Roman representation of Judea, excellent and improved, I request you in Christ, if possible, that you beseech him through the agency of our Caspar, or other friends, that they send it for our use, either on loan, or purchase.105

The place to look for maps of the Holy Land was the antiquary’s collection. The antiquary in turn had found his maps—where else?—in Rome. The figures cannot be refuted—maps in Bibles in the sixteenth century are mainly a Protestant phenomenon. But once we open the discussion to include the natural setting of biblical map making— antiquarian culture and sacred scholarship—the confessional differences dim down. By widening the scope of analysis, and focusing on Benito Arias Montano, a prominent Catholic scholar, I have shown that Protestants did not own the literal-historical sense of scripture, despite the sola scriptura principle. Geographia sacra was a mode of scholarship and thought which was embedded in contemporary practices and concerns of the Republic of Letters. Both Protestant and Catholic biblical scholars shared the world of antiquarian learning, with its emphasis on systematic description and obsession with measurement and visualization. Secondly, I demonstrated that the growing historical and geographical accuracy in maps did not preclude and perhaps even encouraged their use as religious emblems, as exemplary stories about a place, rather than a depiction of the place itself. At a period in which science and piety were not seen as conflicting, a literal, rationalistic map, based on textual analysis and first-hand travel accounts and advanced surveying 105 Letter to Caspar Cruciger in Leipzig, 6 March 1522. Quoted by Catherine Delano Smith, “Maps in Bibles in the 16th Century,” 3–4, from Corpus reformatorum I, letter 219, p. 583.

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methods was the basis for a wider philosophical-devotional program, a wonderful tool in the struggle to accommodate theology and philosophy into a unified body of knowledge. In the following chapter we will look at early modern pilgrims to the Holy Land and examine their pious antiquarianism as practiced in Jerusalem itself.

CHAPTER THREE

ANTIQUARIAN ZEAL AND SACRED MEASUREMENT ON THE ROAD TO JERUSALEM Arias Montano’s Apparatus of the Antwerp Polyglot Bible comprehensively covered Eusebius’ plan for sacred geography. Yet Montano did not travel himself to the Holy Land and Jerusalem, and although he relied on contemporary pilgrim reports (mainly those of his teacher, Iago Vasquez, and Peter Laickstein) he did not examine “the existing remains of the sites.”1 This chapter will introduce this segment of Eusebius’ program—sacred geography on-site. The first section of the chapter is an interpretative survey of early modern pilgrimage. It defends the (still minority) view that pilgrimage to Jerusalem continued well into the seventeenth century, and that it remained a valued and vital religious activity, albeit in a new form. The second and main part of the chapter will look more closely at Jerusalem pilgrimage literature and its role in the sacred scholarship of the period. The sixteenth century in Europe saw a major rise of documentary culture, equipped with increasingly sharper norms and discourses regarding eye witnessing, testimony and citation of authorities. In the following discussion I aim to incorporate the Jerusalem literature into this scholarly context by exploring the activities and publications of Europeans in Jerusalem around the turn of the sixteenth century. Like the written accounts and activities of many Europeans—merchants, missionaries, diplomats—who roamed the Levant in the early modern period, pilgrim accounts are complex documents that require attentiveness to the period’s sensibilities. I suggest that a broader, more flexible approach than is offered by modern scholarship is required in order to understand pilgrimage in its proper historical setting. In particular I question the validity for the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries of the dominant modern categorization that posits a strict distinction between pilgrimage and travel, and between devotion and curiosity. Whereas the Jerusalem journey is commonly regarded as an 1 Palestine in the Fourth Century A.D.: The Onomasticon by Eusebius of Caesarea, ed. Joan E. Taylor, trans. G. S. P. Freeman-Grenville (Jerusalem: Carta, 2003), 11.

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autonomous, impermeable, and not quite erudite genre, I attempt to understand it in the wider scholarly context of the period. It will be shown that the practice and writing of sacred geography in situ participated in several such intellectual contexts and communities. Most significantly, the antiquarian movement emerges as the natural backcloth of the phenomenon of early modern pilgrimage to Jerusalem. At the center of discussion will stand Franciscan efforts to document sacred sites in Jerusalem and the traditions attached to them. Particular attention will be given to the Franciscan Bernardino Amico of Gallipoli, whose visual documentation of the holy sites provides a superb example of devout antiquarianism in action. The Death of Pilgrimage? Arnold von Harff, a noble German pilgrim to Jerusalem who traveled between 1496 and 1499, claimed to have reached India and the Mountains of the Moon.2 This gave H. Prescott the occasion to comment: It matters little, for our purpose, whether [von Harff ] went to these places or not [. . .]. What matters is that the claim was made, and that von Harff stood with one foot already in a world in which the pilgrim was to become a rare bird, a survival, a freak; in which pilgrim galleys no longer sailed regularly from Venice; in which an adventurous mind sent a man gadding either into strange ways of thought and belief or out upon strange seas and round about the globe, but not along the ancient routes of pilgrim travel.3

Like Prescott, many scholars have passionately lamented the decline— both in numbers, and in the cultural value—of the pilgrim route to Jerusalem around the turn of the fifteenth century. The state of current scholarship, with the notable exception of Noonan’s comprehensive recent survey, clearly reflects this assumption.4 Whereas historical literature on medieval pilgrimage is immense and boasts a long scholarly tradition, there are but a few studies of pilgrimage in the early modern

2 According to Ptolemy (Geography 4:8, and fourth map of Africa) the Nile received its water from the Mountains of the Moon, a range in interior Ethiopia. 3 H. F. M. Prescott, Jerusalem Journey: Pilgrimage to the Holy Land in the Fifteenth Century (London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1954), 41. 4 Thomas F. Noonan, The Road to Jerusalem: Pilgrimage and Travel in the Age of Discovery, Material Texts (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007).

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period, and most of them take a literary perspective on the subject.5 Thus before we can examine early modern pilgrimage to Jerusalem it must be stressed that such a phenomenon did exist, that it was not so freakish and rare as Prescott imagines. A combination of developments, so we are usually told, reduced the numbers of Europeans who embarked on the voyage to Jerusalem. Venice, which had come to dominate and regulate the transport of pilgrims after the fall of Acre (1291), was now losing its battle with the Ottoman navy for control of the Eastern Mediterranean. At the same time the opening of oceanic trading routes was striking at the root of Venetian power. Moreover, the Jerusalem journey became a dangerous undertaking, both on sea and land, as Muslims were becoming increasingly hostile to pilgrims and charging ever-rising fees. This claim is often backed up only by the pilgrims’ own complaints about the hardships they encountered—complaints which are typical of the genre.6 Newett’s more careful and still invaluable analysis, based on documents from Venetian archives, in her introduction to the itinerary (1494) of Pietro Casola, paints a less dramatic picture. Although conditions in the Mediterranean did in fact worsen significantly for Venice, the crisis of organized pilgrimage had much to do with the collapse of one shipping company, and the corruption of its manager, Agostino Contarini, who in 1497 was probably forced to retire by the Venetian Senate.7 The 1520s saw a drop in the number of dedicated pilgrim ships from three per annum to one, and towards the end of

5 For an introduction to the medieval period see Diana Webb, Medieval European Pilgrimage, c. 700–c. 1500 (Houndmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002); Aryeh Graboïs, Le pèlerin occidental en Terre sainte au Moyen âge (Bruxelles: De Boeck Université, 1998); Jonathan Sumption, Pilgrimage: An Image of Mediaeval Religion (London: Faber & Faber, 1975). Sources relating to the early modern period will be referred to below. 6 For a convenient summary of this view see Colin Morris, “Pilgrimage to Jerusalem in the Late Middle Ages,” in Pilgrimage: The English Experience from Becket to Bunyan, eds. Colin Morris and Peter Roberts, 141–63 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); and Kathryn M. Rudy, “Northern European Visual Responses to Holy Land Pilgrimage, 1453–1550,” (Ph.D., Columbia University, 2000). Both base their account of increasing Muslim hostility on two sporadic pilgrim remarks cited by Sumption, Pilgrimage, 188–92. 7 M. Margaret Newett, ed., Canon Pietro Casola’s Pilgrimage to Jerusalem in the Year 1494 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1907), 99. Contarini was the ship patrono who took Bernhard von Breydenbach’s company to the Holy Land. The Venetian patroni were in charge of the pilgrim’s travel, food and security. Their business was regulated by the Ufficio dei Cattaveri.

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the sixteenth century the traditional annual voyage after the Corpus Domini feast was abandoned altogether.8 This was a reflection both of the decline in the number of pilgrims embarking in Venice and of the deregulation of the trade, which enabled many pilgrims to arrange their own travel aboard merchant ships. It is by no means, in itself, an indication of a more general decline in the number of pilgrims to the Holy Land.9 As Newett astutely observes: Pilgrimages did not go quite out of fashion even with the opening of the seventeenth century, but they changed their character, and pilgrims reached the common goal by various routes. Some went overland by way of Constantinople now that the Turk had a firm footing in Europe; and though Venice was not entirely abandoned, she had to divide the ever decreasing profits of what had once been such a lucrative branch of trade with many other ports in Italy and the Western Mediterranean— Marseilles amongst the number.

Thus a few stormy years in the eastern Mediterranean and the hardships facing a particular Venetian shipping business have been inflated by modern scholars into a general crisis, indeed, into the death of pilgrimage. Moreover, there is no indication that the rise of the Ottomans and their occupation of Mamluk Palestine changed in any meaningful way the realities of pilgrimage. On the contrary, the Ottomans were quick to reinstate the Mamluk code regulating pilgrim traffic in Jerusalem.10 The ‘death of pilgrimage’ thesis appealed perhaps to authors who nostalgically looked back to a Merry Mediterranean, unharmed by secular modernity.11 It echoed, too, no-longer current ideas about OttomanEuropean unbreakable antagonism.12

8

Ibid., 108–12. Ibid., 113. For more on the practicalities of arranging a pilgrim ship see Luigi De Gregory, “Notes d’un voyage en Terre Sainte 1559,” Bessarione (1909), 80–92. 10 Oded Peri, Christianity under Islam in Jerusalem: The Question of the Holy Sites in Early Ottoman Times (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 162. 11 “True, the mighty stream of Palestinian pilgrims shrank in the sixteenth century to the mere trickle that it is today. But that trickle has not gone dry; it still meanders on in our own century.” Henry L. Savage, “Pilgrimages and Pilgrim Shrines in Palestine and Syria after 1095,” in The Art and Architecture of the Crusader States, ed. Harry W. Hazard, History of the Crusades; vol. 4., 36–68 (Madison: the University of Wisconsin Press, 1977), 68. 12 For a corrective see Daniel Goffman, The Ottoman Empire and Early Modern Europe, New Approaches to European History; 24 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 9

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It is very hard to gauge the number of pilgrims who went to Jerusalem during each period, and this might explain why (to the best of my knowledge) no general quantitative study of the phenomenon has ever been attempted. Yet, considering this state of uncertainty, there is neither reason nor justification to assume that the number of visitors to Jerusalem declined. Henry Savage, repeating figures from the 1911 Britannica essay on pilgrimage, estimates that between 1200 and 1500 many thousands of pilgrims visited Jerusalem annually.13 Colin Morris cautiously suggests that in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries “a yearly average of something like 300 pilgrims sailed by the dedicated galleys from Venice,” and more people arranged their own travel.14 Neither author points to the sources of these claims. The Navis peregrinorum, a visitor list covering the period between 1561 and 1695 and kept at the Franciscan monastery in Jerusalem, is too fragmented a source to allow firm conclusions. The record is particularly sketchy for the earlier years, until in 1633 the Custodian Paolo a Lauda (or di Lodi) insisted on proper registration.15 The modern editor of the Navis did not supply any quantitative analysis of this valuable data. I list here my rough count of name entries in the Navis peregrinorum: 1561–1599 240 pilgrims 1600–1650 190016 1651–1693 1500

13 Savage, “Pilgrimages and Pilgrim Shrines in Palestine and Syria after 1095,” 66–67. 14 Morris, “Pilgrimage to Jerusalem in the Late Middle Ages,” 142. See also Noonan, The Road to Jerusalem, 242. 15 Bertrand Zimolong, O.F.M., Navis peregrinorum: Ein Pilgerverzeichnis aus Jerusalem von 1561 bis 1695, in Palästina-Hefte des Deutschen Vereins vom Hl. Lande, Hft. 12–14 (Köln: J.P. Bachem, 1938). The same Custodian arranged also the registration of the Knights of the Holy Sepulcher. See Valmar Cramer, “Das Ritterdum vom Heiligen Grabe im 16. Jahrhundert. Der Übergang zu einem Ritterorden unter der Schutzherrschaft der Päpste,” in Das Heilige Land in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart, Gesammelte Beiträge und Berichte zur Palästinaforschung IV, 81–159 (Cologne, 1941), 136. 16 The majority of whom, 1100 pilgrims, visited between 1600 and 1620.

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These records, moreover, are far from complete, for some notable visitors are missing: for example, the Bolognese Vincenzo Fava, who visited Jerusalem in 1615 and left a manuscript account of his journey,17 Giovanni Francesco Alcarotti, who published his account in 1596, the Nuremberg noble and ex-military man Christoph Fürer, who traveled between 1563–65, and the Jesuit Adrien Parvilliers. It is hard to estimate how many more European visitors in Jerusalem during that period did not sign the Franciscan guestbook.18 Ottoman records from the kadi’s court in Jerusalem, brought to light by Oded Peri, provide further information. The Ottomans registered pilgrims in Jaffa as well as those who entered the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. For the period 1565–1665 Peri reckons an average of 585 Christian pilgrims to Jerusalem from all origin countries (including the Balkans and the Levant). In the 7 months period between 14 September 1581 and 14 April 1582, 16 Western Europeans (as opposed to 231 Balkan pilgrims) entered the Holy Sepulcher. Between 1580 and 1594 an average of some 40 Christian pilgrims from Europe passed through Jaffa port annually. In 1698 it is estimated that some 350 pilgrims passed through Jaffa port. The records are uneven and do not provide the same level of detail throughout the period. They also do not list the numbers of penniless pilgrims who, after much negotiation, were let in at a reduced rate paid for by more affluent fellows. However, the Ottoman figures, if not in the hundreds, show a steady stream of western European pilgrims arriving in Jerusalem.19 To conclude this discussion, even if we accept the under-documented claim that thousands or hundreds visited Jerusalem each year during the late Middle Ages, the partial figures of the Navis peregrinorum, combined with Ottoman records, clearly prove that pilgrimage was quite alive and steady during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The pilgrim was not so freakish after all. 17 “Relatione del Viaggio di Gerusalemme,” BL Ms. Add. 33,566. Excerpts relating to Cairo and Damascus were printed in the collection of Valerio Zani, Il genio vagante, biblioteca curiosa di . . . relazioni di viaggi . . ., 3 vols. (Parma: Ippolito e Francesco Maria Rosati, 1691), I: 269–304. 18 See Reinhold Röhricht and Heinrich Meisner, Deutsche Pilgerreisen nach dem Heiligen Lande (Berlin: Weidmann, 1880) for lists of notable Germans in Palestine; and for a list of Englishmen (86 in total) who appear on the Franciscan register between 1583 and 1635 (12 of them are marked explicitly as Protestants—“Heretici perversi et indurati”) see Eugene Hoade, ed., Western Pilgrims: the Itineraries of Fr. Simon Fitzsimons (1322–23), a Certain Englishman (1344–45), Thomas Brygg (1392), and Notes on Other Authors and Pilgrims (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1952), 111–14. 19 Peri, Christianity under Islam in Jerusalem, 162–79.

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While we may never be able to establish the number of visitors to Jerusalem with certainty, another quantitative phenomenon is very clear: the number of different accounts of travel to or through the Holy Land dramatically increased with the advent of print. Although there are many detailed bibliographies dedicated to Palestine literature, no single survey of travelers who stopped in Jerusalem and described it in writing exists.20 The census most useful for our purposes is the Bibliotheca geographica Palaestinae of Reinhold Röhricht (1890).21 Röhricht lists any author who wrote on Palestine. His bibliography is therefore not restricted to those who made the actual trip. A rough count of Röhricht’s entries by century is quite instructive: 333 to 1300 14th c. 15th c. 16th c. 17th c. 18th c. 19th c.

177 works 97 279 333 390 318 1915

20 The detailed analysis of Stefanos Yerasimos, Les voyageurs dans l’Empire Ottoman, XIVe–XVIe siècles: bibliographie, itinéraires et inventaire des lieux habités (Ankara: Société turque d’histoire, 1991) is less useful for studying the longue durée of pilgrimage because it is restricted to lands under Ottoman rule (i.e. only after 1517 for Palestine). Yerasimos counts in his period a total of 463 journeys to the Ottoman Empire, out of which he classifies 147 as pilgrimages. Marie-Christine Gomez-Géraud has provided a useful quantitative discussion of pilgrim accounts for the period 1458–1620, for which she identifies, based on a conjunction of Röhricht and Yerasimos, 208 printed editions and 92 manuscripts between 1480 and 1610: Le crépuscule du Grand Voyage: les récits des pèlerins à Jérusalem (1458–1612) (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1999). Other important bibliographies for Palestine and Oriental travel are Leonora Navari, Greece and the Levant: The Catalogue of the Henry Myron Blackmer Collection of Books and Manuscripts (London: Maggs Bros., 1989); Nathan Schur, Jerusalem in Pilgrims’ and Travellers’ Accounts: A Thematic Bibliography of Western Christian Itineraries, 1300–1917 (Jerusalem: Ariel, 1980); Ioli Vingopoulou and Rania Polycandrioti, Travel Literature on S.E. Europe and the Eastern Mediterranean, 15th–19th Centuries (Athens: Kentron Neoellenikon Ereunon, 1993); Shirley H. Weber, Voyages and Travels in Greece, the Near East, and Adjacent Regions, Made previous to the Year 1801; [. . .]in the Gennadius Library in Athens (Princeton, N.J.: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1953). 21 R. Röhricht, Bibliotheca geographica Palaestinae. Chronologisches Verzeichnis der von 333 bis 1878 verfassten Literatur über das Heilige Land mit dem Versuch einer Kartographie, ed. David Amiran (Jerusalem: Universitas, 1963). On Röhricht, his predecessor, Titus Tobler, and other German ‘Palestinologists’ see Hayim Goren, ‘Go View the Land’: German Study of Palestine in the Nineteenth Century (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi, 1999) [Hebrew].

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The significant leap in the number of nineteenth-century entries is explained by the establishment of learned societies and journals dedicated to the study of Palestine all over Europe, and by Röhricht’s listing of individual short journal articles. Except for the nineteenth century, then, Palestine literature shows a peak in vitality during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the period during which pilgrimage is supposed to be dying. This pattern agrees with J. H. Elliott’s celebrated thesis, according to which Old World travel still held a dominant position in early modern literature and awareness in comparison to New World travel.22 Gomez-Géraud, who in her illuminating and comprehensive thèse analyzes this phenomenon in detail, sees these texts as the ‘twilight’ of the voyage to Jerusalem, as a swan song in print. She interprets this publication effort as motivated by religious controversy and the search for ‘good stories’ rather than as reflecting any vivid interest in the voyage itself.23 I maintain that this is a forced interpretation. Here we approach the more intangible and more significant aspect of the ‘death of pilgrimage’ thesis—the decline of the cultural value of pilgrimage. Reading the Arabic letters of Adrien Parvilliers, S.J. from Damascus, must have been pleasing to Samuel Bochart (whom I will treat in detail in the following chapter), the Caennais Huguenot pastor who normally shunned his Jesuit detractors. A Jesuit missionary in the Levant for a period of ten years, Parvilliers (1619–78) “accumulated a good stock of knowledge of matters and languages of the Orient.” Bochart shared the elegant Damascene letters with Pierre-Daniel Huet, who, upon Parvilliers’ arrival in Caen sometime before Bochart’s death (May 1667), eagerly sought the learned Jesuit’s company. To Huet’s chagrin, Parvilliers was ordered by his superiors to leave Caen, and died before being able to publish his Interpres orientis, a collection of erudite observations on the Orient.24

22 John H. Elliot, The Old World and the New, 1492–1650 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970). For French literature see G. Atkinson, La littérature géographique de la Renaissance (Paris: A. Picard, 1927). 23 Gomez-Géraud, Le crépuscule du Grand Voyage, 206–7, et passim. GomezGéraud argues that this is proven by the large number of editions printed in France and Germany—centers of theological debate. She fails however to factor in the number of presses in these large and most populated of European countries. 24 Huet wrote: “Commodum Lutetia Cadomum redieram, cum officiose venit ad me Hadrianus Parvillerius, e Societate Jesu, redux nuper e Syria, in qua multam rerum

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Yet it is not Parvilliers the learned Orientalist traveler, but Parvilliers the author of the Stations de Jérusalem who left his mark on posterity.25 The small devotional work was published throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in dozens of editions in various languages.26 Modeled on the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola, the Stations is a practical guide for meditation on the passion of Christ, evoking the sacred sites in Jerusalem and suggesting themes for prayer and devotion.27 The Stations enabled Christian readers to practice their devotion away from Jerusalem, at home, in the garden, or in the fields. However, Parvilliers himself, as the subtitle of his work indicates, “verified everything on location,” and even composed his prayers on site and at the right moment: his oraison for the Crucifixion, for example, was written in Jerusalem on Calvary, at the foot of the cross, on Good Friday, 1654.28

ac linguarum Orientis messem collegerat, ac praecipue Damasci, ubi per decem annos Arabicas literas publice docuerat. Utque erat hujus Linguae apprime gnarus Arabice, & valde quidem eleganter scriptas epistolas miserat ad Bochartum. Amice itaque complexus hominem, omni officio amicitiam ejus mihi conciliare sum conatus, non parum inde sperans emolumenti ad me studiaque mea perventurum. Eam vero & ipse liberaliter detulerat, literariae consuetudinis mecum conjugendae, sedisque Cadomi apud nos ponendae valde cupidus. Verum aliter visum est Societatis Magistris, qui Parvillerium traduxerunt Flexiam Andegavorum, ubi in obscuro otio mortem paulo post oppetiit: unaque cum eo periit ingens Opus, editioni jam paratum, quo parta sibi ex Oriente spolia fuse explicaverat, quodque Interpretem Orientis adscriptio titulo appellari volebat.” Pierre-Daniel Huet, Commentarius de rebus ad eum pertinentibus (Amsterdam: H. Du Sauzet, 1718), lib. IV, 239–40. See French translation in Huet, Mémoires (1718), ed. Philippe Joseph Salazar (Toulouse: Société de littératures classiques, 1993), IV, 94. A manuscript by Parvilliers of “remarques curieuses faites en Egypte” is mentioned in the catalogue of Melchisedech Thévenot’s library, Bibliotheca Thevenotiana (Paris: apud Florentinum & Petrum Delagini, 1694), 247. 25 Parvilliers, Les Stations de Jérusalem, pour servir d’entretien sur la Passion de Notre Seigneur Jésus Christ, par le R. P. Parvilliers de la Compagnie de Jésus, qui a vérifié le tout sur les lieux (Paris: Chauvin, 1874). The biographical note indicates that Parvilliers died in the Collège d’Hesdin, on 11 September 1678, as opposed to Huet’s claim that Parvilliers died in la Flèche soon after leaving Caen. 26 This is a selective list of editions of Parvilliers’ work (based mostly on the Catalogue Collectif de France): Blois, 1674; Paris, 1680, 1701, 1704, 1712, 1729, 1731, 1853, 1874; Liége, 1692, 1792; Bordeaux, 1700; Toulouse 1709, 1727, 1730, 1754, 1765, 1820; Lyon, 1721, 1755, 1769, 1825; Strasbourg, 1727; edition in Breton, 1725; Rennes, 1733; Rouen, 1760; Poitiers, 1772, 1782, 1806, 1815, 1821; Flemish translation, 1794; Berlin, German translation, 1804; Avignon, 1830; Montbéliard, 1823, 1824; Dublin (English), 1841. 27 Loyola, who made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 1523, had plans to remain in the Holy Land, but was ordered to leave by the Franciscans. 28 “Enfin, il n’y a point de lieu qui ne soit propre pour pratiquer cette sainte dévotion, le jardin, la campagne etc.” Ibid., 15.

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Parvilliers’ dual engagement with the Levant—as both a devout pilgrim and a learned, exact observer who immersed himself in Arabic culture—epitomizes the main argument of this chapter on the nature of early modern pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Parvilliers’ work fits uneasily into the rigid categories offered by modern scholarship. It is often claimed that medieval pilgrimage as an institution and a mentality was losing its momentum in the late Middle Ages. The devout medieval pilgrim whose mind was (or should have been) focused on the sacred site where his route ended was becoming increasingly attracted to things along the way: interest in observing foreign customs of remote peoples and exotic animals gradually displaced the spiritual goal of the pilgrim. Curiositas, once viewed as the sinful enemy of devout pilgrimage, steadily secularized the institution and gave birth to humanistic travel, as if years of repressed human desire to know and engage with the outside world erupted and cracked the traditional religious vessel of travel.29 In the end, “it was only when pilgrimage had disappeared as an institution that a writer like Samuel Purchas could think of ‘pilgrimage’ as an image of travel in general.”30 Purchas indeed published an immensely popular collection of mostly secular travel accounts covering the whole globe under the title Purchas his pilgrims (1625). Yet it is the same Anglican cleric, Purchas, who had earlier published Purchas his pilgrimage (1613)—“a theologicall and geographicall” survey of world religions—and Purchas his pilgrim (1619)—a pious work on the nature of man.31 Far from indicating the

29 Christian K. Zacher, Curiosity and Pilgrimage: the Literature of Discovery in Fourteenth-Century England (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976), is the best promoter of this view. For resonant views see Donald R. Howard, Writers and Pilgrims: Medieval Pilgrimage Narratives and their Posterity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980); and the editors’ “Introduction” in Jas Elsner and Joan Pau Rubiés, eds., Voyages and Visions: Towards a Cultural History of Travel (London: Reaktion Books, 1999), 20–41. On the history of curiosity see also Carlo Ginzburg, “High and Low: The Theme of Forbidden Knowledge in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” Past and Present 73 (1976): 28–41; and Peter Harrison, “Curiosity, Forbidden Knowledge, and the Reformation of Natural Philosophy in Early Modern England,” Isis 92, no. 2 (2001): 265–90. 30 Howard, Writers and Pilgrims, 107. 31 See the extremely useful collection edited by Loren Pennington, The Purchas Handbook: Studies of the Life, Times and Writings of Samuel Purchas 1577–1626 (London: The Hakluyt Society, 1997), especially H. C. Porter, “Purchas as a Theological Geographer,” 181–89.

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secularization of pilgrimage, Purchas’s complex use of the term may in fact point to a sacralization of travel in general. The thesis that pilgrimage declined around 1500 is also challenged by the fact that the increaingly sharper criticism leveled against the growing numbers of secular, ‘curious’ travelers, consisted in fact of very old forms of detraction. Warnings against pilgrimage (especially to monks and nuns) were as old as the practice itself.32 As Sara Warneke has shown, once travel had become freer and more available to increasing numbers of people, admonitions of the sort usually leveled against pilgrimage—the corrupting effects of exposure to otherness, coupled with the lessening of everyday moral constraints— now developed around secular travel.33 Moreover, there are parallel, positive lines of continuity from pilgrim guides to the secular books of ars apodemica, developing around 1570. These ‘art of travel’ texts, as pointed out by Justin Stagl, were “surprisingly detailed on religious issues.”34 Continuity and cross-fading, rather than disruption, mark the two domains at this period. Modern scholars take the alleged victory of curiosity or secular travel over pilgrimage as the real death knell of the Jerusalem journey. It is argued that travelers who stopped in Jerusalem as part of an extended tour of the Levant, that is, who did not have Jerusalem as the main or only goal of their journey, were not real pilgrims; that there is a deep chasm between the pilgrim, whose sole aim is to reach a sacred geographical and spiritual center, and the traveler, who explores the exotic margins.35 This line of reasoning leads Gomez-Géraud, following Frank Lestringant, to leave Levant travelers out of her census of

32 Giles Constable, “Opposition to Pilgrimage in the Middle Ages,” Studia Gratiana 19 (1976): 125–46. 33 Sara Warneke, Images of the Educational Traveller in Early Modern England (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1995), and note especially the excellent Chapter One. Warneke, who accepts the ‘death of pilgrimage’ line, focuses on travel to Italy and does not include the Levant in her study. 34 Justin Stagl, A History of Curiosity: The Theory of Travel, 1550–1800 (Chur, Switzerland: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1995), 75. 35 “Entre la curiosité du cosmographe et la dévotion des marcheurs de Dieu se creuse un écart de l’ordre de l’abîme”: Frédéric Tinguely, L’écriture du Levant à la Renaissance: enquête sur les voyageurs français dans l’empire de Soliman le Magnifique (Genève: Droz, 2000), 56; Id. “Janus en Terre sainte: la figure du pèlerin curieux à la Renaissance,” Revue des Sciences Humaines 245 (1997): 51–65; Erik Cohen, “Pilgrimage and Tourism: Convergence and Divergence,” in Sacred Journeys: the Anthropology of Pilgrimage, ed. Alan Morinis, 47–60 (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992).

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early modern pilgrims, even if they visited the holy sites and described them in detail in their published accounts.36 Yet the decline of the late medieval form of visiting Jerusalem under close Venetian and Franciscan supervision (which allowed very limited time, usually ten days, in Jerusalem and Bethlehem), need not disqualify the religious motives and sincere attachment to the sacred sites of those early moderns who went to Jerusalem as one among a variety of Levant attractions, or as Noonan aptly titled it, “Terra Sancta inter alia”.37 Rather than seeing the process as a mortal battle between curiosity and pilgrimage, we should be more attuned to actual early modern categories, practices and modes of description.38 The rise of European secular travel in the Levant is clearly marked, for example, by the curiosity shop of Louis Bertier, a Lyonnais merchant who stayed in Cairo for twenty-two years (1618–1640).39 Bertier’s collection, where European visitors could watch and buy exotic animals, antiquities, and powerful medicines, aimed at the new type of traveler reaching the Levant. However, our main source of information about Bertier’s shop is Jean Coppin, a consul in Damietta, who advocated a crusade and gave a detailed description

36 Gomez-Géraud here follows Lestringant’s interpretation of André Thevet and the Cosmographie de Levant (1554) as secular travel in Franciscan garb: Andre Thevet, Cosmographie de Levant, ed. Frank Lestringant (Geneve: Libr. Droz, 1985), Introduction. The distinguished retinue of the French ambassador d’Aramon, of which Thevet was a member, receives the same treatment in Tinguely, L’écriture du Levant, 56–68. 37 Noonan, The Road to Jerusalem, ch. 6. 38 See Wes Williams, Pilgrimage and Narrative in the French Renaissance: ‘The Undiscovered Country’ (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), 28–29, for another critique of Zacher’s and Howard’s periodization. 39 Henry Blount, Voyage into the Levant (London, 1636), 45; John Greaves, Miscellaneous Works, ed. Thomas Birch, 2 vols. (London: J. Hughs for J. Brindley and C. Corbett, 1737) II: 516–24. On Bertier and more generally on seventeenth-century European networks of mission, diplomacy and trade in the service of nascent Egyptology, see Sydney Aufrère, La momie et la tempête: Nicolas-Claude Fabri de Peiresc et la curiosité égyptienne en Provence au début du XVIIe siècle (Avignon: A. Barthélemy, 1990), 100–104. On other ‘curious’ travlers to the Levant, see H. J. M. Nellen, “‘Such Is My Rambling Destiny’: Travellers to the Levant in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,” in Commercium litterarium, 1600–1750: la communication dans la République des lettres, eds. Hans Bots and Françoise Waquet, 207–28 (Amsterdam: APAHolland University Press, 1994).

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of the holy places in Jerusalem.40 As in the case of Parvilliers, curious and learned pursuits need not preclude the continuation of traditional and genuinely religious travel and the liveliness of pious sentiments. The ultimate curious traveler to the Orient, Pietro Della Valle (1586–1652), is famous today as in his own time for his protracted travels in Asia, during which he collected important items such as mummy portraits and Samaritan manuscripts. Yet Della Valle, il pelegrino, was also formidably serious about his visit to Jerusalem in 1616. Timing his arrival to coincide with Holy Week and Easter, Della Valle participated in all the solemnities, and even left in the Holy Sepulcher an especially prepared silver tablet, similar to the one he had left in the tomb of St. Catherine in Mt. Sinai: “Pietro Della Valle, Roman noble, attested by this votive offering the efforts of his sacred pilgrimage and the piety of the vow he has undertaken 1616.” A transcription of the tablet was proudly printed in his travel account:41 PETRVS DE VALLE patricivs romanvs sacræ peregrinationis labores svsceptiqve voti pietatem hoc donario consignavit m. d. c. x. v. i.

40 Jean Coppin, Le Bouclier de l’Europe, ou La Guerre Sainte, contenans des avis politiques & Chrêtiens,. . . Avec une relation de voyages faits dans la Turquie, La Thébaïd & La Barbarie (Puy, 1686), 179–82. 41 “ [. . .] sopra quale [the Holy Sepulcher], quella mattina, lasciai la mia Tavoletta votiva d’argento, simile a quel’altra, che haveva lasciata già al Monte Sinai sopra’l sepolcro di Santa Caterina.” Pietro Della Valle, Viaggi di Pietro della Valle il Pellegrino con minuto ragguaglio di tutte le cose notabili osservate in essi, de scritti da lui medesimo in 54 lettere familiari, da diversi luoghi della intrapresa peregrinatione, mandate in Napoli all’erudito, e fra’ più cari, di molti anni suo amico Mario Schipano, divisi in tre parti, cioè la Turchia, la Persia, e l’India . . . (Roma: Vitale Mascaradi, 1650), 535. Avner Ben-Zaken, in a recent illuminating contribution, highlights Della Valle’s search after ancient religious texts, and yet, for some reason dismisses Della Valle’s pilgrimage to Jerusalem: “From Naples to Goa and Back: A Secretive Galilean Messenger and a Radical Hermeneutist,” History of Science 47, no. 2 (2009): 147–74.

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In a sense, the Levant was an area rediscovered in the early modern period—a zone of Spanish-Ottoman world war punctuated by lively economic and cultural interactions.42 As France and northern European nations began during the sixteenth century to trade in the eastern Mediterranean, enjoying the pax ottomanica over the region, growing numbers of Europeans like Della Valle—Catholics and Protestants, merchants, diplomats, and scholars—traveled to the Near East, some remaining in the area for lengthy periods. Not only is it almost impossible to disentangle the array of motives which brought Europeans to travel eastward, it is profoundly anachronistic to try to identify ‘real’ as opposed to ‘superficial’ religious sentiments. Thus, the growth of secular travel in the Levant did not hinder many of the travelers from visiting Jerusalem, where they eagerly followed traditional pilgrim routines, such as suffering while having their arms tattooed with a plan of the Via Dolorosa, and if noble (or rich), becoming Knights of the Holy Sepulcher.43 Moreover, one did not have to go to Jerusalem to mix religion and curiosity. To offer one example, the English consul at Smyrna, Sir Paul Rycaut (1629–1700), an early correspondent of the Royal Society who stayed in Turkey more than a decade, led a few local expeditions in search of the scriptural Seven Churches of Asia (Revelation 1–3).44 It is true that in some cases the characteristic balance of the worldly and the devout tips in favor of the former. A print at the beginning of a Relation d’un voyage fait au Levant (1665) depicts the author, Jean de Thévenot (1633–67), posing in Oriental garb among curious objects such as a map and a globe. Although the Cross of Jerusalem adorns the lower left corner of the image, we learn in the text that follows that Thévenot bothered to become a Knight of the Holy Sepulcher only because he heard that the Spanish did not take Knights as prisoners,

42

Fernand Braudel, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II, trans. S. Reynolds, 2 vols. (New York: Harper & Row, 1972); Daniel Goffman, Izmir and the Levantine World, 1550–1650 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1990); Molly Greene, A Shared World: Christians and Muslims in the Early Modern Mediterranean (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2000). 43 Mordechay Lewy, “Towards a History of Jerusalem Tattoo Marks among Western Pilgrims,” Cathedra 95 (2000): 37–66 [Hebrew]. 44 Paul Rycaut, The Present State of the Greek and Armenian Churches (London: Printed for John Starkey, 1679), 30–80. Rycaut is better known for his The Present State of the Ottoman Empire (London, 1667). See Sonia P. Anderson, An English Consul in Turkey: Paul Rycaut at Smyrna, 1667–1678 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989).

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even if they were French. Thévenot fulfilled his promise to his pious dedicatee, Mme. Faret, and described the holy places at length, but he informed her that Jerusalem as he had found it was a “tableau de commiseration.”45 Yet overall, certainly until the middle of the seventeenth century, the typical European visit to Jerusalem was remarkably orthodox even if Jerusalem was not the only destination of the trip. Whatever admonishing theologians may have written, curiosity— care (cura) and attention to peoples and phenomena along the way— was always a part of the trip to Jerusalem. Scholars, searching for an ideal-typical pilgrim guide, kept in the pocket of an ideal pilgrim, have tended to ignore such digressions and overemphasize the repetitive, narrow-minded quality of pilgrim accounts.46 But, especially from the thirteenth century onwards, pilgrims become increasingly intellectually involved with their surroundings.47 The French Bishop Arculf in the late seventh century noticed the crocodile in Egypt;48 many pilgrims and crusader chronicles gave an account—usually hostile— of the Eastern Churches and their rites.49 Most conspicuously, John Mandeville, whose pilgrimage account was one of the most popular texts in late medieval Europe and exerted its influence well into the seventeenth century, devoted the major part of his pilgrimage to a tour of remote lands and peoples, including Paradise.50 As Wes Williams observes, Renaissance pilgrimage accounts, seen as a coherent literary genre, inherited this richness and diversity and were inherently

45 Jean de Thévenot, Relation d’un voyage fait au Levant: Dans laquelle il est curieusement traité des estats sujets au Grand Seigneur, des mœurs, religions, forces, gouuernemens, politiques, langues, & coustumes des habitans de ce grand empire (Rouen: L. Maurry, 1665), frontispiece, sig. a iiiv, ch. 50. Thévenot, who leisurely toured the Levant between 1655 and 1658, had his book published while he was exploring Persia and India. See also Nellen, “ ‘Such Is My Rambling Destiny’ ”. 46 Josephie Brefeld, A Guidebook for the Jerusalem Pilgrimage in the Late Middle Ages: A Case for Computer-Aided Textual Criticism (Hilversum: Verloren, 1994) See the severe critique by Scott D. Westrem, Speculum 72, no. 1 (1997): 116–19. 47 Aryeh Graboïs, Le pèlerin occidental en Terre sainte au Moyen âge, 42. 48 Patrologia Latina, 88: cols. 808b–c. 49 Graboïs, Le pèlerin occidental, 138–39. 50 Note Rubiés’ convincing interpretation of Mandeville as a fictional traveler crafted by a stationary cleric, who was calling for a religious reform. Joan-Pau Rubiés, “Travel Writing as a Genre: Facts, Fictions and the Invention of a Scientific Discourse in Early Modern Europe,” Journeys 1, no. 1–2 (2000): 5–33. See also Iain M. Higgins, Writing East: The “Travels” of Sir John Mandeville, Middle Ages Series (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997).

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unstable—there were many kinds of pilgrims, and different ways to narrate pilgrimage.51 Another point worth emphasizing is that in addition to its internal variety, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries pilgrimage became entangled with other literary genres relating to the textual and visual writing of landscape and antiquity—the city plan and encomium, the Isolario, the merchant diary, the journey. These genres are usually conceived as secular, foundational humanistic forms, and are therefore ignored in the context of pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Yet there are clear links, literary, biographical, and chronological, between pilgrimage and other genres which described the same regions and were developed in the same centers by deeply religious people. In Venice, as Patricia Brown has demonstrated in detail, there developed a form of illustrated and cartographic description of ancient monuments, with a particular focus on the Aegean.52 The Franciscan Paolino of Venice, who traveled in Italy and perhaps in the East, was a pioneer of this antiquarian genre which mixed text and image. His famous map of Rome in the Chronologia magna was accompanied by a map of Jerusalem and the Holy Land, made by the innovative cartographer Pietro Vesconte. Paolino’s contemporary, Marin Sanudo il Torsello, who shortly after the fall of Acre advocated a new crusade in his Liber Secretorum Fidelium Crucis (1312–21), included the same Holy Land maps and plans, in addition to more maps by Vesconte.53 In the early fifteenth century Manuel Chrysoloras, Christoforo Buondelmonti, and Ciriac of Ancona perfected the art of autopsy—seeing with one’s own eyes— in the Mediterranean, describing cities, islands and their antiquities, with ever-growing attention to measurement, iconography and style.54

51

Williams, Pilgrimage and Narrative, 16. Patricia Fortini Brown, Venice and Antiquity: The Venetian Sense of the Past (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996), 55–85. 53 P. D. A. Harvey, “Local and Regional Cartography in Medieval Europe,” in The History of Cartography, Vol. 1, eds. J. B. Harley and David Woodward, 464–501 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 473–77. On representations of the Roman past see Philip Jacks, The Antiquarian and the Myth of Antiquity: The Origins of Rome in Renaissance Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). 54 On Chrysoloras see Christine Smith, Architecture in the Culture of Early Humanism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), ch. 7–8, Appendix with translation of Chrysoloras’ Comparison of Old and New Rome. On Ciriac see Francesco Scalamonti, Vita viri clarissimi et famosissimi Kyriaci Anconitani, eds. Charles Mitchell and Edward W. Bodnar, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society; 86, pt. 4 (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1996). 52

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It might be useful to refer to this evolving literature as ‘Mediterranean writing.’ In this broader context of Mediterranean writing, Petrarch’s highly personal and literary pilgrimage, Itinerarium ad sepulchrum domini nostri Yehsu Christi, makes perfect sense. Written in the late 1350s for his friend, the Milanese courtier Giovanni di Mandelli, who actually made the trip, the Itinerarium begins in Genoa with an inspection of the Holy Grail. Petrarch then glides along the Italian Tyrrhennian coast, evoking Virgilian landscapes and recalling personal explorations of various sites. Further down the route Petrarch flatters Rhodes of the Hospitallers (“once devoted to the Sun and now to Christ [. . .] the true sun”), and advises the reader to avoid the lascivious, unbearably hot, and effeminate island of Cyprus. Once the ship approaches the coast of Palestine, Petrarch assumes a perfectly pious tone: The journey by land will be less trying, however, since Jerusalem, the destination of your journey and of your desire, will be close to the point of disembarkation. In fact, already before setting out from home you had considered and frequented every place within your soul, since the end of all things, as the philosophers maintain, is last to be performed but the first to be conceived.55

Petrarch’s literary-historical attention to classical mythology and lengthy description of the route has been interpreted as a break from the tradition of pious pilgrimage.56 Yet when the Itinerarium is considered together with other works of antiquarian travel in the Mediterranean, to which pilgrimage was kin, it seems less of an exception. The Isolario, as established by Buondelmonti in Liber insularum arcipelagi (c. 1420)—written by an ecclesiastic for a cardinal—describes in word and image the author’s antiquarian adventures in the Mediterranean.57 As an illustrated, sequential enumeration of islands and their curious particularities along the route, it shares with pilgrim

55 Francesco Petrarca, Petrarch’s Guide to the Holy Land: Itinerary to the Sepulcher of Our Lord Jesus Christ = Itinerarium ad sepulchrum domini nostri Yehsu Christi, ed. and trans. T. J. Cachey (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2002), 14.3 (Rhodes), 15.1 (Cyprus), 16.2. Cachey’s edition very helpfully provides a facsimile of the manuscript, transcription, translation, and excellent notes. 56 Howard, Writers and Pilgrims, 32–33. 57 Harvey, “Local and Regional Cartography,” 482–84; George Tolias, “Isolarii, Fifteenth to Seventeenth Century,” in The History of Cartography; Volume 3: Cartography in the European Renaissance, Pt. 1 & 2, ed. David Woodward, pt. 1 ch. 8 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007).

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accounts its route to and from the Holy Land. The ultimate conjunction of these two Mediterranean narration modes is found in Rosaccio’s Viaggio da Venetia, a Constantinopoli per mare e per terra & insieme quello di Terra Santa (1598).58 On the route to the Holy Land, hopping from one island to another, Rosaccio includes a description of Ottoman possessions in Europe, tables of distances, view of Venice, fortifications in the Adriatic, a view of the Holy League armada in Lepanto, 1571, and a short text on the Holy Land (Figure 16). In terms of topical coverage, if we were to add to Rosaccio’s hybrid an extensive account of the holy places in Palestine, we would have created something very similar to Jean Zuallart’s full-fledged pilgrimage account (1587), of which more below. If we now take a look at the structure of what is perhaps the most famous yet understudied fifteenth-century pilgrimage, the Peregrinatio in Terram Sanctam of Bernhard von Breydenbach (1486), we will see that it weaves together many of the familiar strands of Mediterranean writing that have been identified thus far.59 The noble Canon of Mainz, who traveled (aboard the notorious Contarini’s ship) between 25 April 1483 and the end of January 1484, had entrusted the actual writing of the journey to Martin Roth (or Rencz) of Pfortzheim, who did not join the pilgrimage. More famously, Breydenbach had taken with him an artist, Erhard Reuwich. He was to capture impressions from the trip in drawings based on first-hand observation, and to supervise their subsequent printing.60 The resulting book is an amalgam of many historical sources, such as Vincent of Beauvais, Pedro Alphonsi, and Jacques de Vitry. It contains a description of Mediterranean islands, with distances, a vocabulary of Arabic words, illustrations of wondrous animals, and a series of Oriental alphabets.61 Like the Isolario,

58 In the same year Giuseppe Rosaccio (c. 1530–c. 1620) published an Italian edition of Ptolemy’s Geography. 59 The most useful bio-bibliographical data on Breydenbach is found in Hugh W. M. Davies, Bernhard von Breydenbach and His Journey to the Holy Land, 1483–4, A Bibliography (London: Leighton, 1911). See also Cornelia Schneider, Die Reise nach Jerusalem. Bernhard von Breydenbachs Wallfahrt ins Heilige Land (Mainz: GutenbergMuseum, 1992). 60 See Charles Talbot, “Topography as Landscape in Early Printed Books,” in The Early Illustrated Book, ed. Sandra Hindman, 105–16 (1982). 61 Arabic, Hebrew, Greek, Syriac, Coptic, Ethiopic and Armenian (the last, as Davies notes, only in the first German ed. and in the Spanish ed.). These alphabets are in my view an outcome of a close reading of Mandeville, who includes several of them, mostly corrupted. This mini-tradition, yet to be fully explored, would reappear

Figure 16. View of Jerusalem, Giuseppe Rosaccio, Viaggio da Venetia, a Constantinopoli per mare e per terra & insieme quello di Terra Santa (Venice: Giacomo Franco, 1598), 53. Source: BL.

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Breydenbach’s narrative progressed along Mediterranean islands; like Petrarch’s bookish pseudo-pilgrimage, Breydenbach’s was an amalgam of texts and historical vignettes clipped from other sources. Moreover, it was written by a person who did not actually travel. Like another great contemporary monument of early printing, the Nuremberg Chronicle (1493), the Peregrinatio was a collaborative work; like Mandeville, Breydenbach did not think the ‘curious’ was beyond his scope. Indeed he may be the first to coin the term ‘holy curiosity’ in the context of pilgrimage, albeit in an apologetic tone.62 Thus Breydenbach’s curiosity, often referred to as an unruly urge, a distraction, seems germane to pilgrimage when looked at against the background of a broader literary framework—Mediterranean literature. Pilgrim accounts around the turn of the sixteenth century, a period which saw a real proliferation in the genre, retained the curious as well as clipped nature of Breydenbach’s Peregrinatio, even if more awareness to authorial voice and to the use of images also developed with time.63 Perfectly pious pilgrims were happy to describe in great detail not only their experiences in Jerusalem, but also, to list a few examples, the political structure of the Venetian Republic,64 the tomb of Cicero (and that of the poor pilgrim Andreas Vesalius) on the island

in Thomas More’s Utopia, and slightly later, this time by a serious Orientalist who twice traveled to the Levant, Guillaume Postel, in Linguarum duodecim characteribus differentium alphabetum, 1538. See Marion L. Kuntz, “Voyages to the East and Their Meaning in the Thought of Guillaume Postel,” in Voyager à la Renaissance, eds. Jean Céard and Jean Claude Margolin, 51–63 (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 1987). 62 “Sancta profecto esset huiuscemodi curiositas (ut ita dixerim) et salubris evagatio atque exercitatio prorsus perutilis homini. Presertim mediocri. Sic videlic[et] exploratum ire atque perscrutatum. loca vite mortisque Jesu domini nostri salvatoris. eius ex amore et sincera dilectione. qui mortem ibi nostram moriendo destruxit: et vitam resurgendo reparavit.” Breydenbach, Peregrinatio in Terram Sanctam, 3 Lat. ed. (Speier: Drach, 1502), Aiiiiv. See discussion (based on Huen’s French adaptation) in Tinguely, “Janus en Terre sainte,” 64. For the patristic and medieval roots of this conception see André Godin, “Erasme: ‘pia/impia curiositas’,” in La Curiosité à la Renaissance, eds. Jean Céard and Gaudenzio Boccazzi, 25–36 (Paris: CDU, Sedes, 1986). 63 On the rise of the pilgrim-author see Williams, Pilgrimage and Narrative, esp. 54–55. 64 Johannes Cotovicus, Itinerarium Hierosolymitanum et Syriacum; in quo variarum gentium mores et instituta; Insularum, Regionum, Urbium situs, una ex prisci recentiorisque saeculi acciderunt, dilucide recensentur. Accessit Synopis Reipublicae Venetae (Antwerp: apud Hieronymum Verdussium, 1619). Cotovicus provides five foldouts of hierarchical diagrams explaining Venetian government.

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of Zante,65 equestrian drills in Cairo (Figure 17),66 a chameleon,67 Ottoman script,68 and the dimensions of the Great Pyramid.69 The route to and from the Holy Land often took the form of a learned commentary with classical references, in the tradition of the Isolario. Jean Zuallart’s influential account—which was accordingly plundered by other authors, especially for its original images—is a good example. The second book of Zuallart’s account gave a “description historiale & Geographique ou Topographique” of the provinces, cities and islands between Venice and Jaffa, especially on the left hand side, “most of which are mentioned in the Aeneid of Vergil, Metamorphoses of Ovid, Iliade of Homer, histories of Thucydides, and other such books.”70 Zuallart’s fifth and last book recounted the journey back, focusing on the

65 In the words of Zuallart: “Plusieurs autheurs disent, entre autres le Cosmographe Andre Thevet [l. 10. c. 7.], que en fossoiant au costé gauche de ladite Eglise [l’Anonciata, in Santo Nicolo], pour y faire les fondemens de quelque nouvel edifice, en l’an mil cinq centz quarante un, il fut trouvé une concavité faite de massonerie, en façon d’une petite chapelle, en laquelle estoient trois vases de verre espais de deus doigtz, & hautz de deux peidz, tresbien fermez, bouchez, & seellez au dehors: sur lesquelz estoient gravez en lettres maiuscules latines ce qui ensuit. M. TVLL. CIC.|AVE ET TV SEPTIA ANTONIA: qui fait coniecturer que c’estoit le monument, & dedans ces vases les cendres du grand orateur & pere d’eloquence Marcus Tullius Cicero, & que sa femme [. . .] l’avoit fait en ceste Isle transporter & brusler, pour ce qu’il aimoit ce lieu, & y avoit autrefois esté confiné, ou selon aucuns gouverné. “En la mesme Eglise, a aussy esté inhumé le tresfamé docteur & Anatomiste Andreas Vesalius, lequel y mourut retournant de visiter la terre S. l’an mil cinq centz soixante six, auquel, on avoit poser un honorable Epitaphe de cuivre [. . .].” Jean Zuallart, Le tresdeuot voyage de Ierusalem (Antwerp: 1608), Book II, ch. 9, 126. Cotovicus, Itinerarium, 50–52. George Sandys, A relation of a iourney begun an: Dom: 1610 Foure bookes. Containing a description of the Turkish Empire, of AEgypt, of the Holy Land, of the remote parts of Italy, and ilands adioyning (London: Printed for W. Barrett, 1621), bk 1, 8., based on Zuallart. On Vesalius’ pilgrimage see George Sarton, “The Death and Burial of Vesalius, and, incidentally, of Cicero,” Isis 45 (1954): 131–37. 66 Vincenzo Fava, “Relatione del Viaggio di Gerusalemme,” BL Ms. Add. 33,566, f. 20v. 67 Hans Jacob Breuning, Orientalische Reyß . . . mit schoenen Kupfferstueken gezieret . . . mit angehenckter summarischer Computation aller Meylen . . . (Strassbourg: Johann Carolo, 1612), 130. 68 Salomon Schweigger, Ein newe Reyßbescreibung auß Teutschland nach Constantinopel und Jerusalem (Nuremberg: Lantzenberger, 1608), 233. Schweigger was the translator of the Koran into German from Italian (Nuremberg, 1616). 69 Aquilante Rocchetta, Peregrinatione di Terra Santa e d’altre provincie . . . nella quale si scrive distintamente quella di Christo secondo gli Evangelisti (Palermo: Alfonzo dell’Isola, 1630), 323. 70 “beaucoup desquelles sont mentionnées es AEneides de Virgile, Metamorphoses d’Ovide, Iliades d’Homere, histoires de Thucydide, & autres semblables livres.” Zuallart, Le tresdeuot voyage, sig. *4.

Figure 17. Equestrian drills in Cairo, Vincenzo Fava, “Relatione del Viaggio di Gierusalemme,” BL Ms. Add. 33,566, f. 20v.

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cities in the Italian Adriatic, with particular narration of Venice and its government.71 We will return to Zuallart and his images below. The typical educated pilgrim account of the period roughly between 1550 and 1650 was the mature product of multiple literary and intellectual traditions, both secular and religious. This discussion has attempted to show that pilgrimage to Jerusalem was part and parcel of an emergent antiquarian-geographical literature concentrating on Italy, the Aegean and the Levant. As such it shared in the humanistic transformation of geography, which is often considered to be a secular process. Curiosity, as the primary intellectual tool of the enthusiast for antiquities, did not have to replace devotion, for the two developed together between the islands of the Mediterranean. Reformation and Pilgrimage The victory of curiosity over devotion, as the argument goes, was assisted by the criticism that humanists and Reformers leveled at pilgrimage as superstitious and idolatrous. The Reformation is often seen, as here in E. G. R. Taylor’s classic statement about England, as the coup de grâce to the practice: The Protestant Reformation, by putting an end to religious pilgrimage, put an end also to the narratives that had formed one of the most interesting and important classes of travel literature during the medieval and early renaissance period. [. . .T]owards the close of the sixteenth century, and with increasing frequency in the early seventeenth, there appeared as pilgrim substitute the urbane traveler, that is to say the man of culture who was touring Europe to complete his education, or to satisfy his spirit of curiosity, or occasionally just to seek notoriety.72

Yet, although the Reformation put a dramatic and concrete end to pilgrimage to local European shrines in newly Protestant territories, its effect on the voyage to the Holy Land is far from clear.73 Luther indeed categorized pilgrimage alongside harlotry and idolatry, and he

71

Ibid., sig. *4v. Eva G. R. Taylor, Late Tudor and Early Stuart Geography, 1583–1650 (London: Methuen, 1934), ch. XI, 144. And more recently: “Erasmus . . . effectively destroyed what was left of the medieval paradigm of the religious journey.” Elsner and Rubiés, “Introduction,” in Voyages and Visions, 41. 73 See for Bavaria Philip M. Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints: Counter Reformation Propaganda in Bavaria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993). 72

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called for its complete abolition as a purported “good work” that was cynically exploited by bishops and popes. The devil, says Luther, had performed this deceit “in ancient times to the people of Israel, when he led them away from the temple at Jerusalem to countless other places.”74 The choice of this historical parallel is illuminating in that within a ferocious criticism of Catholic pilgrimage at large, ancient Israelite pilgrimage to Jerusalem is evoked as a symbol of true religion. This example betrays a sense of ambiguity toward the sanctity of the Holy Land, and not a complete rejection of its relevance to piety. Similarly, although Calvin in his Traitté des reliques (1543) criticizes the trip to Jerusalem among many other, less demanding pilgrimages, it was in fact the worship of relics at the destination shrine that he denounced. For Calvin, however, it was perfectly pious to contemplate Christ’s passion at the historical sites where it had taken place— following the example of Alexander of Cappadocia, of whose reflective visit Calvin read in Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History.75 Protestants, moreover, were publishing important Holy Land travel collections. In 1584 Sigmund Feyerabend published a collection of German travel accounts, from Heinrich IV’s 1095 expedition to Leonhard Rauwolf’s learned journey of 1573.76 The Huguenot scholar and

74 “An Open Letter to The Christian Nobility of the German Nation concerning the Reform of the Christian Estate (1520),” trans. C. M. Jacobs (rev. by J. Atkinson), in Luther’s Works, 55 vols., 44: 115–217 (Philadelphia: Fortress: 1958–86), 187 (see also 169–72). See also Luther’s “A Treatise on Good Works (1520),” trans. W. A. Lambert (rev. by J. Atkinson), ibid., 44: 17–114 at 27–28, where Luther mocks the Jerusalem, St. James, and Rome pilgrimages together. In his commentary on Psalm 117 (1530), Luther mollified his views, and approved of the practice as long as ritual excesses were avoided. See Tinguely, L’écriture du Levant, 50. As noted in Chapter Two, note 6, Luther was interested in the topography of the Holy Land as a biblical scholar: the first printed Bible map appeared with Froschauer’s Old Testament (Zurich, 1525), based on Luther’s translation. 75 “quelques anciens ont entreprins de voyager en Ierusalem pour remarquer les lieux mentionnés en l’histoire saincte, & voir où Iesus Christ est né, a conversé & souffert mort, où ils l’ont adoré en esprit & en verité. Eusebe raconte au sixiesme livre de son histoire, chapitre neufiesme, qu’environ l’an 200. Alexandre de Cappadoce fit le voyage de la terre saincte, pour y faire prieres & voir les lieux mentionnés en l’histoire. Par succession de temps aucuns cui dirent que l’une des principales parties de devotion consistast à aller en Ierusalem: comme si la grace de Dieu eust esté plus ample, & le Sainct Esprit plus abondant & plus proche en ces lieux là.” Jean Calvin, Traitté des reliques (Geneva: Pierre de la Rouiere, 1599), 129–30. 76 Sigmund Feyerabend, Reyssbuch des heyligen Lands (Frankfurt a. M.: J. Feyerabendt in verlegung Sigmundt Feyerabendts, 1584). See discussion, with bibliographical emphasis in Anne Simon, Sigmund Feyerabend’s Das Reyssbuch dess heyligen Lands: A Study in Printing and Literary History (Wiesbaden: L. Reichert, 1998).

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diplomat Jacques Bongars (1554–1612) edited vital Frankish crusader manuscripts in a collection which remained in the service of researchers well into the twentieth century.77 Bongars published the texts of William of Tyre, Guibert de Nogent, Fulc of Chartres, and Jacques de Vitry, and in the second volume, dedicated to the Senate of Venice, Marino Sanudo’s Liber secretorum fidelium crucis, with faithfully reproduced maps (world, Holy Land, Egypt, Acre, Jerusalem) by Pietro Vesconte that accompanied the manuscript.78 Together with Ortelius’ reproduction of the Tabula Peutingeriana in the Parergon, this is one of the first examples of printed facsimiles of medieval maps. Most significantly, pace Erasmus, Luther, and Calvin, Protestant visitors kept coming to Jerusalem during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The Capitulations granted by the Ottomans to the Dutch Republic as late as 1680 clearly regulated the rights of Protestant pilgrims and warned against their molestation by other Christians.79 This proscription does not, as far as I am able to discern, reflect the reality of Protestant travel. Even if, as previously indicated, the Franciscans marked off Protestants as heretics in their guestbook, they were generally hospitable to any western Christian pilgrim (and happy to receive their donations). The Lutheran Leonhard Rauwolf, better known as a

77 Jacques Bongars, Gesta Dei per Francos, sive, Orientalium expeditionum, et regni francorum Hierosolymitani historia, a variis, sed illius aevi scriptoribus, litteris commendata, nunc primum aut editis, aut ad libros veteres emendatis, 2 vols. (Hanover: Wechel, 1611). According to a manuscript letter attached to the Bodliean Library copy (E 2.8 Art. Seld., opposite sig (a)6v), signed Willelmus Walkerus and addressed to the reader, Stephan Lesieur, to whom Walker was pastor in Cheswick, had been asked by Bongars for help in obtaining a few folios of William of Tyre’s manuscript in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. This effort failed, and Bongars traveled to England to consult the manuscript. “Hic gustus antiquissimi & optimi illius M.S. codicis sic movit salivam D. Bongarsio, ut ipse illius ergo e Gallia venit in Angliam, cum MS illum nullo modo sibi transmittendum a Collegio potuit impetrare, etiamsi Dominus Robertus Cecillius, [. . .] tunc temporis Academiae Cantabrigiensis Cancellarius sibi id petenti studebat [. . .].” 78 Bongars attests that he received two exemplars of the Sanudo manuscript (one with and another without maps) from Petavius and a third from Joseph Scaliger. Ibid., sig. *3v: preface to the reader. 79 Article 52 of the treaty reads: “Personne ne molestera les Néerlandais ou ceux qui en dépendent qui, en toute sûreté, iront faire le pèlerinage de Jérusalem, ou s’en retourneront; les religieux qui sont à l’église du Saint-Sépulchre ne les inquiéteront pas et ne leur feront pas de difficultés sous le pretexte qu’ils sont lutheriens; mais ils leur laisseront visiter les lieux qu’il faut.” Quoted by G. Pélissié du Rausas, Le régime des Capitulations dans l’Empire Ottoman, 2 ed., 2 vols. (Paris: A. Rousseau, 1910–11), I:188. I would like to thank Eileen Kane for this reference.

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pioneering Levant botanist, left a pious and detailed description of his 1575 pilgrimage.80 Rauwolf, a proto Mark Twain, felt detached from and superior to his fellow pilgrims, who were in his view obsessed by their indulgences, kneelings, and rosaries. Also like Twain, he took his own pilgrimage seriously.81 Having observed an indulgence-receiving ceremony on Mt. Sion, Rauwolf remarked aloud: I expected Remission of Sin no other ways but only in the Name, and for the Merits, of our Lord Jesus Christ: and that I had not undertaken this Pilgrimage, as they did, to get any thing by it, as by a good Work; nor to visit Stone and Wood to obtain Indulgence: or with opinion to come here nearer to Christ; because all these things are directly contrary to Scripture. [biblical citations follow]

Not surprisingly, Rauwolf ’s critical views on the meaning and value of pilgrimage were unappreciated by the rest of the group. He continued therefore with a series of solitary reflections: When I saw that they did not much mind this my discourse, I let them alone in their Opinions, but yet I saw here and there all these places, and considered by my self what our Lord Christ had, by his bitter Sufferings and Death, [. . .] procured us from his Heavenly Father. [. . .] All the while that they were thus busie [with their rosaries etc.], I considered rather standing behind, what our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ had suffered for us in these places, how he had humbled himself . . . [there follows a long meditation on the meaning of the Eucharist].82

Rauwolf was practicing, then, what Luther and Calvin had preached— silent prayer and consideration of the historical and spiritual import of the holy places. It is also interesting to note how he compared this 80 See the comprehensive monograph by Karl H. Dannenfeldt, Leonhard Rauwolf: Sixteenth-Century Physician, Botanist, and Traveler (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1968). Gomez-Géraud does not grant Rauwolf the status of a pilgrim. 81 Hilton Obenzinger, American Palestine: Melville, Twain, and the Holy Land Mania (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1999). 82 A Collection of Curious Travels [. . .] in two tomes: the First containing Dr. Leonhart Rauwolff ’s Itinerary into the Eastern Countries [. . .] (London: Printed for S. Smith and B. Walford . . . 1693), part III, ch. 5, 290–91. One contemporary reader found religious rather than botanical inspiration in Rauwolf’s book. The copy of the 1582 German edition in the Gennadius Library, Athens, was owned by Kilian Meule, who purchased the book in 1583, and on 16 added leaves at the end made extensive notes expounding Lutheran views (against Anabaptists and Papists). The printed text contains many highlights in red and a few marginalia. See description in Weber, Voyages and Travels in Greece, s.v. The Jesuit Gretser, of whom more below, reacted angrily to Rauwolf’s presumed piety. See discussion in Noonan, The Road to Jerusalem, 90–91.

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sort of on-site reflexive devotion favorably with the Rosary, which is detached from any particular space. Asked by a Franciscan guide whether he was interested in a devotional or in a ‘curious’ or ‘historical’ tour, another aloof Protestant pilgrim/observer, George Sandys, naturally chose the latter and made snide remarks about Catholic indulgence hunters.83 These are actors’ categories that are used in this case polemically by both Franciscan and Protestant in Jerusalem itself. Yet even Sandys’ cerebral attitude melted in the overheated inner chamber of the Holy Sepulcher, where he broke into verse and dictated a hymne “to my Redeemer.” Thousands of Christians performe their vowes, and offer tears here yearly, with all the expressions of sorrow, humilitie, affection, and penitence. It is a frozen zeale that will not be warmed with the sight thereof. And o that I could retain the effects that it wrought, with an unfainting perseverance! who then did dictate this hymne to my Redeemer: “Saviour of mankind, Man, Emanuel: Who sin-lesse died for sinne, who vanquished hell. [. . .]”84

Like the Catholics Della Valle, Thévenot, and Parvilliers, the Protestant George Sandys also timed his visit in Jerusalem for Holy Week. Like other pilgrims, Sandys, too, was searching for a meaningful matching of texts, times, and locations. Reading and writing in situ and in tempore is a recurring theme in early modern pilgrimage accounts. Thus, for both Rauwolf and Sandys, the learned Protestant pilgrim/travelers, the holiness of Jerusalem and the holy places was never in doubt—not of course as focal points of divine grace, but as some sort of spiritually charged environment, which could not be dismissed as a superstitious Regensburg or Glastonbury.85

83 “[T]he Confessor offered to shew us the holy and observable places of the Temple: which we gladly accepted of; he demanding first if devotion or curiosity had possest us with that desire. So that for omitting Pater nosters, and Ave Maries, we lost many yeares indulgences, which every place doth plentifully afford to such as affect them: and contented our selves with an historicall relation.” Sandys, A relation of a iourney, bk 3, 163. See discussion by Jonathan Haynes, The Humanist as Traveler: George Sandys’s Relation of a Journey begun An. Dom. 1610 (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1986), 104–7. 84 Sandys, A relation of a iourney, bk 3, 167. The poetic Sandys later translated Ovid’s Metamorphoses into English while unsuccessfully pursuing a colonial career in Virginia. 85 On the persistence long after the Reformation of popular religious practices such as local pilgrimage, see Robert W. Scribner, “The Impact of the Reformation on Daily

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Occasionally Protestant authors did raise certain objections to the Franciscan project in Jerusalem. Rauwolf gave a detailed account of the knighting ceremony of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher, performed for noble pilgrims by the Franciscan Guardian at the Church. According to Rauwolf (who confused this order with the Knights of St. John), during the ritual the noble initiates were required to pronounce their unconditional loyalty to the Pope and their willingness to “Defend and Protect the Roman Church against the Lutheran, and their Adherents, with Words and Deeds.”86 This accusation was strongly denied by the prolific Jesuit scholar and polemicist Jacob Gretser (1562–1625), who in De sacris et religiosis peregrinationibus (1606) gave an extensive historical and theological defense of Christian pilgrimage.87 Abraham Ortelius found the knighting ceremony at the Holy Sepulcher attractive enough to devote to it most of the text accompanying the map of the Holy Land in his Theatrum.88 Ortelius was careful, however, not

Life,” in Mensch und Objekt im Mittelalter und in der frühen Neuzeit: Leben, Alltag, Kultur, ed. Gerhard Jaritz, 315–43 (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1990). See also Alexandra Walsham, “Holywell: Contesting Sacred Space in Post-Reformation Wales,” in Sacred Space in Early Modern Europe, eds. Will Coster and Andrew Spicer, 211–36 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). On seventeenth-century English struggles with the notion of sacred place, see Jonathan Sheehan, “Temple and Tabernacle: The Place of Religion in Early Modern England,” in Making Knowledge in Early Modern Europe: Practices, Objects, and Texts, 1400–1800, eds. Pamela H. Smith and Benjamin Schmidt, 248–72 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007). See also Andrew Spicer, “Rebuilding Salomon’s Temple? The Architecture of Calvinism,” in The Holy Land, Holy Lands, and Christian History, ed. R. N. Swanson, Studies in Church History, 36, 275–87 (Woodbridge, Suffolk: published for the Ecclesiastical History Society by the Boydell Press, 2000). 86 Rauwolf, part III, ch. 20, 362. Cf. the shorter and milder description in Sandys, A relation of a iourney, bk 3, 159–60. 87 Jacob Gretser, S.J., De sacris et religiosis peregrinationibus libri quatuor (Ingolstadt: Adam Sartorius, 1606), 97–113. Gretser produced the first printed edition of bishop Arculf ’s pilgrimage, as told to Adamnan, Abbot of Iona, in the 7th century: Adamanni . . . De situ Terrae Sanctae . . . (Ingolstadt: apud E. Angermaria, for I. Hertsroy, 1619). Lucas Holsten took notes on Gretser’s book (BAV stamp. Barb. P. XII. 54) and planned to republish the work himself, compared with Vat. Lat. 636. See Roberto Almagià, L’Opera geografica di Luca Holstenio (Vatican: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1942), 64. 88 The description of the knighting ceremony appears in various Theatrum editions, beginning in the 1584 Latin and including the 1606 English edition. It accompanied the Terra Sancta map according to Peter Laickstein. See Peter H. Meurer, Fontes cartographici Orteliani: das “Theatrum orbis terrarum” von Abraham Ortelius und seine Kartenquellen (Weinheim: VCH, 1991); and “Cartographica Neerlandica” (http:// www.orteliusmaps.com/book/ort_text173.html).

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to include the specific anti-Lutheran wording of Rauwolf, and referred the readers to the original edition instead. It is reasonable to assume that Gretser was right, for the Order of the Holy Sepulcher attracted even Protestants who were knighted during their pilgrimage. One of them was Richard Clough (d. 1570), a wealthy Welsh business partner of Sir Thomas Gresham, who made the pilgrimage in his youth, probably around 1545. According to Thomas Fuller’s Worthies, under Queen Elizabeth, “who disdained her subjects should accept of such foraign honour,” Clough avoided acknowledging the badge, although he did work the five crosses of the Cross of Jerusalem into his arms.89 Other Protestant travelers—fully participating in a Catholic mass for the coveted knighthood—are the above-mentioned Christoph Fürer (traveled 1563–65) and Hans Jacob Breuning (1579).90 Another specifically Protestant critique of the Jerusalem pilgrimage was made by Heinrich Bünting. The Hanoverian scholar is popularly remembered today mostly for his representation of Jerusalem at the center of a cloverleaf, wrongly considered as an example of a late medieval ‘world-view’ (this was in fact a tribute to his hometown’s arms). The book in which this map appeared, Bünting’s Itinerarium et chronicon ecclesiasticum totius sacrae Scripturae (1597) is a weighty and learned compendium of Christian geography. Discussing Aelia, or Roman Jerusalem, Bünting strongly argued that monuments such as the houses of Caiaphas, Hanna, Herod, and Pilate had been literally razed to the ground, as Jesus himself had prophesied. The tomb of Christ itself had been destroyed by the Tartars. Salvation-seeking pilgrims, therefore, were shown fictitious monuments, which were fitted out by greedy monks.91 Yet despite the attack on Franciscan-controlled

89 Clough, when resident in Antwerp, was an acquaintance of Ortelius and mediated between the latter and the Welsh antiquary Humphrey Llwyd. Was Clough’s honorary title as Knight of the Holy Sepulcher an inspiration to Ortelius? This remains to be discovered. Gordon Goodwin, s.v. in Dictionary of National Biography (1887), available on ODNB. 90 Christophe Fürer, Itinerarium AEgypti, Arabiae, Palaestinae, Syriae, Aliarumque regionum Orientalium . . . (Nuremberg: Wagenmann, 1620); Breuning, Orientalische Reyß . . . (1612). See the treatment in Cramer, “Das Ritterdum vom Heiligen Grabe im 16. Jahrhundert,” 98–102. 91 “Romani enim devicta et expugnata urbe, explanarunt Domini templum et Regia aedificia, ipsosque montes detrahi jusserunt in valles portarum et cedronis, atque ita hae valles atque voragines, ruinis et terra sunt repletae, ita tamen ut earum vestigia hodie adhuc possint deprehendi, ut frater Brochardus monachus indicat. Ex his

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sites, on the whole, Bünting’s description of Jerusalem—indeed, his whole project—was traditionally conceived in terms of topics covered and sources used. Bünting was heavily reliant upon pilgrim accounts such as Burchard of Mt. Sion’s and Bernhard von Breydenbach’s, and despite his occasional criticisms of the authenticity of monuments, he accepted the location of the Holy Sepulcher as true. Even if for a Protestant Bünting the trip to Jerusalem had nothing to do with salvation, writing an extensive volume about the city’s topography was still an important and valuable task. We will encounter this dilemma again in the work of another Protestant, Samuel Bochart. This admittedly brief discussion of the Reformation’s effect on the theory and practice of pilgrimage to Jerusalem is far from the extensive elucidation that the question merits.92 It does suggest, however, that the Reformation was not the lethal weapon which dealt the deathblow to the Jerusalem pilgrimage, as many authors have represented it, influenced perhaps by general assumptions about Protestantism, secularization, disenchantment, and modernity. Instead, I suggest that Protestant attitudes to the Jerusalem voyage were ambiguous, if not entirely favorable. Protestant theologians and pilgrims could not, and did not, give up on the Holy Land and Jerusalem as a focal point of scholarship and religious devotion, even if they encountered genuine difficulties explaining their position to their Catholic counterparts, and indeed to themselves. To conclude this part of the discussion, what we actually see in the early modern period is not the death of pilgrimage, because attachment to the Holy Land and its sites did not wane. First, Europeans omnibus luce clarius apparet, aedificia illa et loca sacra quae nunc Jerosolymae monstrantur, a monachis esse subornata, in eum finem ut peregrinos decipiant, et argento eos emungant. Fatuos igitur oportet eos esse, qui Ierosolymam contendunt, & in huiusmodi locis fictitiis suam quaerunt salutem. Nam & Tartari, ut supra demonstravimus, sacrum Christi sepulchrum in minutissimas partes confregerunt, ut ita verum Domini monumentum non amplius sit in rerum natura. Quaeratur igitur Christus Redemptor & Salvator noster nunc deinceps non in sepulchro apud mortuos, sed in spirituali suo monumento, in sacro nimirum suo verbo, ibi enim iuxta divinam promissionem suam revera adest.” Heinrich Bünting, Itinerarium et chronicon ecclesiasticum totius sacræ Scripturæ . . . Accessit tractatus in librum Iosuæ & libellus de ponderibus, monetis ac mensuris Hebraicis, Græcis & Latinis (Magdeburg, 1597), 133. Partly quoted by Gomez-Géraud, Le crépuscule du Grand Voyage, 643. 92 The serious discussions in Gomez-Géraud, Le crépuscule du Grand Voyage, ch. II, III, Tinguely, L’écriture du Levant, 33–54; Williams, Pilgrimage and Narrative, ch. 3, and recently in Noonan, The Road to Jerusalem, 85–100; are still, in my view, inconclusive.

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still reached the holy sites in significant if lesser numbers. Second, changing patterns of pilgrimage and travel in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries should not detract from our reading of the sincerity of many early modern visits to the Holy Land, which often fail to meet the strangely strict criteria of modern researchers. The mixture of the secular and the pious was an inherent feature of medieval pilgrimage, which came into fruition in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Neither the sanctity of Jerusalem and the Holy Land nor the value of visiting the sites of the Incarnation, Crucifixion, and Resurrection were in doubt. Rather, a process of transformation and adaptation to a new, more flexible kind of travel took place, in which curiosity and devotion were fully compatible (i.e. visiting both Persia and Jerusalem). Moreover, the description of the sacred sites itself became ever more ‘curious,’ that is, precise, and ever more visually accurate, utilizing the methods of a broader learned culture concerned with antiquities. It shares therefore in the process of methodization of travel and curiosity that is so typical of the late sixteenth century.93 I will argue further—not only were curiosity and devotion compatible, but curiosity about the sacred also became a unique mark of devotion in itself. This point will be demonstrated in the second half of the chapter, with the help of Bernardino Amico and his fellow Franciscans. Bernardino Amico Measures the Sacred As we saw in Chapter Two, when Benito Arias Montano traveled to Rome in 1575 he befriended Giovanni Battista Raimondi, with whom he discussed globes and maps of China. Although Montano described Raimondi as “a lecturer in the mathematical arts,” he is better remembered as an Orientalist, as a biblical scholar and as the director of the innovative Medici Press, which specialized in Oriental publications.94 Founded in 1584 by Cardinal Ferdinando de Medici (future Grand Duke of Tuscany) as a tool of mission mainly among Oriental Christians, the Medici Press issued fine editions of Arabic texts. Among the 93 Stagl, A History of Curiosity, ch. 1. Robert Mayhew, “Geography, Print Culture and the Renaissance: ‘The Road less Travelled by’,” History of European Ideas 27, no. 4 (2001): 349–69; Joan-Pau Rubiés, “Instructions for Travellers: Teaching the Eye to See,” History and Anthropology 9, no. 2–4 (1996): 139–90; Rubiés, “Travel Writing as a Genre.” 94 See above Chapter Two, note 40.

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first publications of the press were two different editions of the Gospels in Arabic, with woodcuts by the Florentine artist Antonio Tempesta (1555–1630). Other significant publications included an abridgement of Al-Idrīsī (1592), later known as Geographia Nubiensis,95 and Arabic grammars. As director, Raimondi, himself a former traveler in the East, stood at the center of a scholarly network of missionary-agents, who fulfilled various tasks for the Press, including manuscript acquisition.96 When the Press was later sold to Raimondi it was in terms that limited the new material he could publish, yet in 1610, thanks to Cosimo II, the burden was lifted and Raimondi could publish fresh works.97 One of them was the Trattato delle piante & imagini de sacri edificii di Terra Santa, by the Observant Franciscan Bernardino Amico of Gallipoli, with engravings by the same Antonio Tempesta.98 Not much is known about Fr. Amico beyond what is supplied in his treatise.99 In 1593 Amico arrived in the Holy Land with the newly appointed Guardian, Felice Ranieri of Perugia, who died 15 days after his arrival and was replaced by Amico’s friend, Francesco della Salandra. Amico then moved between various posts in the Franciscan

95 As titled by its translators into Latin, Gabriel Sionita and Johannes Hersonita (Paris, 1619). See G. J. Toomer, Eastern Wisdome and Learning: The Study of Arabic in Seventeenth-Century England (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 22–23. 96 We still have the manuscript diary of Raimondi, describing his passage from Hormuz to Aleppo. Agents working for the Press were, among others, the brothers G.-B. and Gerolamo Vechietti, who stood in contact with Copts, and the Maltese priest Leonardo Abel, who was sent in 1583 to work with Eastern Churches in Aleppo: John Robert Jones, “Learning Arabic in Renaissance Europe (1505–1624)” (Ph.D., University of London, SOAS, 1988), 36–38, with extensive bibliography. 97 John Robert Jones, “The Medici Oriental Press (Rome 1584–1614) and the Impact of Its Arabic Publications on Northern Europe,” in The ‘Arabick’ Interest of the Natural Philosophers in Seventeenth Century England, ed. G. A. Russell, 88–108 (Leiden: Brill, 1994). 98 Related items among Tempesta’s numerous other prints are three engraved sets for Tasso’s Gerusalemme liberata, as well as a map of ancient Jerusalem (1601) based on Adrichem. Tempesta is better known for his 12–sheet map of Rome (1593 and further editions). 99 The following information is based on Bagatti’s useful preface and notes to the 1953 English translation, Bernardino Amico, Plans of the Sacred Edifices of the Holy Land, trans. Fr. Theophilus Bellorini and Fr. Eugene Hoade, ed. Fr. Bellarmino Bagatti (Jerusalem: Franciscan Press, 1953), henceforth ‘Amico 1953’. For a few complementary details see the commentary by Robin Halwas to the electronic facsimile of Amico, trans. David Sullivan (Oakland, CA: Octavo, 1999), which reproduces the Bridwell Library copy of the second edition (1620). References will be made to the translation of the Octavo edition (and to page numbers of the original). Short segments of the following discussion have appeared in my “Christian Pilgrimage and Ritual Measurement in Jerusalem,” La misura, Micrologus, 19 (2011): 131–50.

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hierarchy. He served a six-month term as the Guardian in Bethlehem, and in 1596 was appointed President of the Holy Sepulcher. A year later Amico was sent to Egypt, where he was chaplain to the merchant community in Cairo. In between official duties Amico devoted his energy to a systematic architectural documentation of the main holy sites in Jerusalem and Bethlehem. His stay in the Holy Land ended in 1598 when he left for Italy. We know nothing about Amico’s activities in the decade between his return and the publication of his treatise, nor about how he made contact with Tempesta and Raimondi. Be that as it may, the first edition of Amico’s Trattato was approved in 1609 and then printed by Raimondi’s Typographia Linguarum Externarum the following year with a dedication (dated 28 March) to Philip III of Spain and to his ambassador in Rome, Francesco de Castro. In 1620 a second, expanded, and more elegant edition came out from Pietro Cecconcelli’s newly-established press in Florence (Figure 18).100 The new edition was illustrated by the French engraver Jacques Callot (c. 1592–1635) and dedicated to Cosimo II (Florence, 20 November, 1619), who may have been the instigator of reprinting the Trattato.101 Like much Palestine literature from the period, Amico’s Trattato is hard to pin down to any particular genre. Amico was not the typical pilgrim, for he stayed five years in the Holy Land—much longer than a pilgrim would. Yet he shared with his audience some personal experiences as a Franciscan monk in the Holy Land, couched in the language of devout personal pilgrim accounts. He remarked, for example, that he had lived for six months in “Saint Jerome’s room,” a small, beautiful, and “very pious” cell, overlooking the Holy Manger

100 The full title of the second edition: “Treatise on the Plans and Images of the Sacred Edifices of the Holy Land. Drawn in Jerusalem according to the Rules of Perspective and the True Measure of their Size. By R. P. F. Bernardino Amico of Gallipoli, of the Order of St. Francis of the Observant Minor Friars. Printed in Rome and newly reprinted by the same author in a smaller format with the addition of the Via Dolorosa and other sketches.” 101 After Raimondi’s death in 1614 the Press ceased its operation and Raimondi’s material was kept by the Medici family. For the new edition the rights were transferred to the newly established press of Cecconcelli “alle stelle Medicee.” Callot entered Medici patronage in 1614 after being hired by Tempesta in 1611 to etch paintings and decorations related to the funeral of Marguerite of Austria, wife of Philip III and sister of Maria Magdalena, the wife of Cosimo II. In 1620 Callot produced another pilgrimage-related piece, “The Fair at Impruneta,” showing pilgrims to the Madonna of Impruneta, near Florence. David Freedberg, The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Reponse (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 107.

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Figure 18. Title page, Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620). Source: Octavo electronic facsimile edition, Ocatvo Corporation and The Bridwell Library.

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in Bethlehem.102 Amico also narrated in some detail the tumultuous story of the restoration of the church in Matarea, a project which he had overseen during his tenure as chaplain in Cairo.103 Similarly, while not as learned and eloquent as a humanist text, Amico’s Trattato consists of systematic and accurate documentation of Christian traditions and monuments. It is a unique and unprecedented architectural survey of the Christian Holy Land with detailed commentary. Lacking narrative or chronological backbone, its rationale is topographical and visual. The Trattato emerged from Raimondi’s learned Oriental press in Rome, in collaboration with Tempesta, a leading artist-antiquarian, and was thus a product of the same milieu that produced at this exact period major works of sacred scholarship. In that capacity the Trattato is a learned treatise on the Holy Land, more akin to Montano’s Antiquitates and to Boniface of Ragusa’s study of the rite of the Holy Land (1573), than it is to the personal pilgrim narrative.104 Finally, as a Franciscan publication surveying Franciscancontrolled monuments (and memories), Amico’s text could also be seen as an early example of monastic mapping, a theme that I develop further in Chapter Five. In the person of Bernardino Amico the pilgrim and the scholar coalesced into one. Amico explicitly appealed to the “devout and curious” reader—a reader, we may assume, who would have appreciated a pious presentation of an in-depth study with carefully (‘curiously’) executed images.105 Amico’s aims in publishing the Trattato were multiple. In the dedication of both editions, Amico appealed to his princely patrons’ military might, Christian zeal, and obligation to protect the sacred sites.

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Amico, 10 (5). Amico, ch. 13. This chapter did not appear in the first edition. The church in Matarea stood near a tree under which the Holy Family rested (a tradition based on the apocryphal Arabic Gospel of the Infancy). Its restoration was funded by the European consul Marsilio Acquisiti and with the approval of Andrea Paruta, consul of the Venetians. The project stirred quarrels within the European merchant community, of which Amico wrote at length. As Bagatti notes (Amico 1953, 66 n. 1), this account was repeated word for word, without acknowledgement, by the pilgrim Aquilante Rocchetta and by Pietro Verniero, the Holy Land Custody chronicler. 104 Bonifacius Stephanus, Liber de perenni cultu Terrae sanctae et de fructuosa ejus peregrinatione (Venice: Guerraea, 1573). Bonifacius was a powerful Guardian of the Holy Land during the 1550s and undertook a major reconstruction of the tomb of Christ. 105 Amico, 57 (55). 103

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To Philip III of Spain, Amico presented himself as the court military adviser, using visual expertise:106 Granted that fortresses reproduced in drawing are usually things of joy to the eyes of kings, then not in vain do I also hope that the plan of that fortress where the Saviour of the world, vanquishing the common enemy, wrought our salvation, will be very acceptable to you, since that of Jerusalem is deservedly counted among your other realms [. . .].

Amico then congratulated Philip for the recent expulsion of the Moors from Spain (1609), an action that demonstrated the Habsburg king’s emulation of the “most holy zeal of those great champions of the faith, Baldwin and Godfrey the first kings of the Christians in Jerusalem.”107 The Crusader analogy resurfaced in the dedication of the second edition to Cosimo II. Styling himself as a latter-day Peter the Hermit, the orator of the first Crusade, Amico wished to

106 Cf. Martha D. Pollak, Military Architecture, Cartography, and the Representation of the Early Modern European City: A Checklist of Treatises on Fortification in the Newberry Library (Chicago: Newberry Library, 1991). 107 Amico, Trattato, 1609 ed., sig. A2: I print here the whole original dedication, which is not given in the two modern translations: Alla Maesta Cattolica del Gran Filippo Terzo Rè di Spagna, di Napoli, di Sicilia, di Gierusalem, &c. Presento humilmente à V.M.C. il disegno de i sacri luoghi di Gierusalem, delineati da me à consolatione di tutti i Fedeli, non senza gran studio, per lo spatio di quattro anni in circa, che son stato nel numero di quei nostri Padri, i quali sostentati ivi dalla pia liberalità di V.M.C. pregano continoamente per la prospera conservatione della sua Real persona, e stati, che se le fortezze poste in disegno sogliono esser così grate à gli occhi de i Rè, non in darno sperarò ancor io, che la pianta de quella fortezza dove il Salvator del Mondo, vincendo il commun nemico, operò la nostra salvate, debba riuscirle molto accetta, essendo, che quello di Gierusalem si conta meritamente frà gli altri suoi Reami, e V.M.C. si come gode il titolo, così emula la pietà, e’l santiss. zelo di quei gran Campioni della Fede Balduino, e Gottifredo primi Rè de Christiani in Gierusalem, il che, per tacer tant’altre imprese manifeste al Mondo, si scorge nell’haver ultimamente, non ostante il danno temporale, che si potea dubitare, fossero per incorrere gli suoi Stati di Spagna, licentiati da quei Regni i Mori, in beneficio del Christianesmo, & à questo si giusto rispetto, che m’hà invitato à dedicar sotto la grand’ombra del suo nome la presente fatica; s’aggionge l’obligo particolar di Vassallo, e quello, che hò commune con tutta la nostra Religione per la continoata protettione, che di lei tiene V.M.C. onde non le sarà discaro, che si come il suo glorioso nome è scolpito ne i cuori di tutti i Figli del Serafico San Francesco, così anco sia impresso nella fronte de i parti loro, de quali uno è quello che riverente i l’offro pregando Dio. Di Roma li XXVIII di Marzo MDCX. Di V.M.C. Humilissimo & devotiss. Servitore Fr. Bernardino Amico da Gallipoli. English trans. by Hoade and Bellorini taken from Amico, 1953 ed., 37.

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demonstrate to the entire world the inner pain I feel, availing myself of the talent that God, by his particular divine grace, gave me. Namely, tarrying in these parts for the space of about five years, I have drawn the true and accurate portraits of these most holy places—where we were redeemed through blood of the immaculate lamb, Jesus Christ Our Lord—as a universal benefit to Christendom, and in order to kindle and enflame the minds and hearts of the Catholic Princes for the recovery of the Holy Land.108

The complementary themes of crusading and Christian unity against the infidels were still very much present in European political and religious discourse as late as the mid-seventeenth century.109 Amico’s use of the widespread crusading idea is typical of dedicatory epistles in pilgrim literature. Yet although both of Amico’s patrons actively fought against Islam and the Ottomans, it is hard to imagine that he hoped his images would bring them back to battle. The rhetorical element of the Trattato was reprised in the ending chapter, an “Exhortation to those wishing to visit the aforesaid holy places,” in which Amico corrected the common and (to his mind exaggerated) view of the difficulties of the journey. “[A] thousand delays and perils may arise from weather, contrary winds, storms, and other inconveniences,” but, Amico continued, “each should be assured that this most holy voyage is normally short and safe, in accordance with Heaven’s good disposition, and as many have proved.” While to Cosimo, Amico had described Ottoman harassment of Franciscans, he now dismissed pilgrim tales of Ottoman cruelty: “I have yet to see the storied tyrannies of the Turks or Arabs. And if some may have been exposed to molestation, the Turks did not so far exceed the bounds that they were not quieted, and allowed us to pass, by our humility and

108 Amico, 3 (Dedication 1–2). Amico told Cosimo how as President of the Holy Sepulcher in 1596 he had read in William of Tyre about Peter the Hermit, whose decision to launch the campaign had been inspired by a pilgrimage. This is another example of the importance of reading on-site. 109 Jean Coppin, Le Bouclier de l’Europe, ou La Guerre Sainte. Franciscus Quaresmius, Jerosolymae afflictae et humiliatae deprecatio ad suum Philippum IV (Milan, 1631). Franklin L. Baumer, “England, the Turk, and the Common Corps of Christendom,” The American Historical Review 50, no. 1 (1944): 26–48; id., “The Church of England and the Common Corps of Christendom,” The Journal of Modern History 16, no. 1 (1944): 1–21; Norman Housley, The Later Crusades, 1274–1580: From Lyons to Alcazar (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992); James Hankins, “Renaissance Crusaders: Humanist Crusade Literature in the Age of Mehmed II,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 49 (1995): 111–207.

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soft words.”110 But rather than draw new crusaders and mass pilgrimages to the holy places in Palestine, the Trattato’s immediate and more realistic goal was to import them back to Europe in a book. During his stay in the Holy Land Amico moved about Jerusalem and Bethlehem while taking numerous measurements of the main sites. We do not hear much about his working methods, the kinds of instruments he used, or how he recorded his data. Obtaining measurements in the most important locations—Bethlehem and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, where Amico served as the Franciscan supervisor— should have been fairly easy. In other locations, such as the first station of the Via Dolorosa (“Pilate’s Palace”), which was inside the Ottoman governor’s residence, Amico could only gather sketchy information.111 A converted Corsican helped Amico with measurements of the Dome of the Rock, which were later confirmed by other Muslims.112 Amico’s detailed images and commentaries, full of concrete quantitative information, were designed to enable the reader to reproduce the holy places, either mentally or physically. For example, the dramatically foreshortened perspective of the Nativity complex in Bethlehem (Figure 19) came with special viewing instructions for making the image “appear in relief, just as though it were made of solid matter.” To view the image “well and distinctly,” Amico instructed the reader to close one eye and then observe the surface with the other from a distance equal to the length of the special line drawn at the top of the image. Moving the opened eye along the various sections of the Nativity complex would then produce the desired effect, as if one were holding a model of the site and examining its different inner passages.113 Hence despite Amico’s use of perspective, limited to one viewpoint, this image is really a cartographic view. It is conveying information

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Amico, 69 (63–64). The Guardian Francesco de la Salandra (of whom more below) sent Amico to see the governor on several occasions. Amico used the opportunity to observe the hall in which Jesus was said to have been tried and where “justice is administered [. . .] to this day.” Amico, 28 (24). 112 “But since the common report is true, that any Christian found entering this temple or even its square must necessarily become a Turk or die, having been unable to take its measurements myself, I had them taken by an apostate Corsican. Moreover, several Turks with whom I compared them confirmed them to me: they were taken with the most exquisite care.” 51 (47). 113 Amico, 12 (7). 111

Figure 19. Perspective of Nativity complex, Bethlehem, Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620), plate 2. Source: Octavo electronic facsimile edition, Ocatvo Corporation and The Bridwell Library.

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rather than visual likeness that guided Amico in his representational decisions.114 As opposed to Amico’s measured views, Jean Zuallart drew his images to effect visual likeness. Following Breydenbach’s initial cue, Zuallart broke new ground in 1587 with the numerous, neat, and accurate designs which he added to his account. Indeed, many of them were freely copied by subsequent travelers, in print and in manuscript (Figure 20). In the preface to the French expanded edition (1608), Zuallart told the reader that it was an angel rather than his talent who guided him in the process, for he had only three or four months to take drawing lessons in Rome prior to leaving.115 Zuallart’s false modesty discloses serious preparation for the journey, perhaps with a view to publication. The high quality of his illustrations and architectural plans, however, is a good reason to suspect that he was provided with some of them by local Franciscans. After Amico published the Trattato, the two authors immediately gained recognition as providing the best, almost official images of the holy places.116 The Church of the Holy Sepulcher with the internal Edicule above the tomb of Christ—renovated in 1555—received Amico’s most careful attention. Having presented the special plan and then the elevation of the Edicule, Amico provides an image which juxtaposes the two (Figure 21). The image is prefaced by a paragraph which captures the essence of Amico’s project as a whole.117 Had this been an

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Explaining another group of images of the Holy Manger, Amico justified his decision to break the view into several segments, because “each of the drawings is different, and necessary, so that no detail may remain hidden.” Amico, 21 (16). On related questions in city views see Lucia Nuti, “The Perspective Plan in the 16th Century: The Invention of a Representational Language,” Art Bulletin 76, no. 1 (1994): 105–28. 115 Zuallart said he had decided to add images “& comme en passant, de ce que s’y peut veoir de remarcable, & tiré de ma main (guidée plustost d’un bon Ange, que de ma science, comme n’ayant par occasion mis que trois ou quatre mois, avant partir de Rome, pour apprendre un petit à craionner) les figures des lieux principaux, que nous avons veuz en la saincte Cité de Ierusalem & és environs, non faicts par aucun devant moy, & ce seulement pour me servir de satisfaction particuliere, de peur que le temps mange-tout, l’effaçat de ma memoire, sans aucune volonté de le mettre en evidence, comme m’en sentant incapable, peu stilé, de petite erudition, & foible iugement, specialement pour traicter un subiect si hault, meritant un escrivain & painctre tres exacte & tres docte.” Zuallart, Le tresdeuot voyage de Ierusalem, sig. *3v. 116 Della Valle, Viaggi, 514–15. Rocchetta, Peregrinatione di Terra Santa, 147–48. 117 I quote it here at length: “Reason and duty would have demanded that each part of these venerable and holy places should have received their profile drawn in perspective according to the rules of architecture. But I have omitted this in order not

Figure 20. Foldout manuscript map of Jerusalem and Mt. of Olives, drawn by Gio: Cales, based on Zuallart’s maps, Vincenzo Fava, “Relatione del Viaggio di Gierusalemme,” BL Ms. Add. 33,566, fos. 53v–54r.

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option, Amico explained, he would have liked to provide the fullest description of all the holy places. Yet for brevity’s sake, he limited this kind of treatment to the holiest among them. The aim of this detailed account—in some cases down to half minutes (~2mm)—was to provide a working scheme for anyone, including “simple artisans,” who wished to build a model of the Sepulcher.118 The less detailed plans could still serve “experienced architects [. . .] to reconstruct the whole from the plans and what I have written.” Amico certainly had in mind careful readers, whether artisans or architects, “who delight in the use of the compass,” and who would measure his plan according to the scale he provided.119 Amico’s plans and numbers were indeed put to use. As Bagatti conjectures, it was probably Amico himself who initiated in Bethlehem a local industry that produced complex models of the Holy Sepulcher and the Church of the Nativity, made of olive wood set in mother of pearl. Amico’s measurements may well have been taken initially for that purpose.120 We know, moreover, that the building of at least one real church made direct use of Amico’s plans—Patriarch Nikon, the controversial Russian reformer, consulted Amico’s book for the reconstruction of the Holy Sepulcher and other holy places at his New Jerusalem monastery near Moscow, founded in 1656.121

to swell my book; nonetheless, experienced architects will be able in each instance to reconstruct the whole from the plans and what I have written. But I have not wanted to make any omissions in this plan of the Most Holy Sepulchre, for the benefit of simple artisans so that, if one of them wishes to build anything with the authority of one seeing it, he may be able to do so with every ease, using the scale, from which they will find every detail.” Amico, 49 (45). The legend on the plate reads: “Plan and elevation of the Most Holy Sepulchre in cross section, so that anyone may use its scale and build it of whatever material desired without too much labor.” 118 In the second edition Amico used the Neapolitan cane (2.234m) subdivided into 10 palms, then to 12 inches, then to 5 minutes. In the first edition measures were given in the slightly longer ancient Roman palm (by which, I assume, Amico means the palmo di architetti and not the clasical palmus). Amico did not indicate which measures he used for the actual on-site survey. 119 Amico, 48 (34). 120 Amico 1953, 1, 13. I would like to thank Dr. Wendy Pullan (Department of Architecture, Cambridge University) for generously sharing with me her work in progress on Amico, the models, and their place in the western representational tradition. Several late sixteenth- and seventeenth-century models are extant, described, for example, in Rehav Rubin, “Relief Maps and Models in the Archives of the Palestine Exploration Fund in London,” Palestine Exploration Quarterly 138 (2006), 43–63. 121 Daniel B. Rowland, “Moscow—The Third Rome or the New Israel?” Russian Review 55, no. 4 (1996): 591–614 at 609–12.

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Figure 21. Plan and elevation of the Edicule over the tomb of Jesus, Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Jerusalem, Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620), plate 33. Source: Octavo electronic facsimile edition, Ocatvo Corporation and The Bridwell Library.

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Amico continued and brought to perfection a well-established tradition of importing to Western Europe and replicating the holy places of Palestine.122 Since late antiquity, bringing back home sacred mementoes such as water, chips broken off monuments, relics, and images was a universal pilgrim habit. Depiction of the holy places was part of that devotional practice. Bishop Arculf whose account of the holy places was written by Adamnan (c. 670), supplied plans of the Holy Sepulcher with measures in feet and palms.123 According to his twelfthcentury Vita, St. Petronius, the fifth-century bishop of Bologna, measured the Holy Sepulcher with a rod and then designed the monastery and church of San Stefano accordingly.124 In the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries there was a real surge of replicating Jerusalem in images, sculptures, and architecture and integrating these material elements into the local liturgies of churches and brotherhoods. In Florence, Leon Battista Alberti designed for Giovanni Rucellai a miniature marble Holy Sepulcher in the church of San Pancrazio, based on pilgrim reports.125 In 1487 began the building of the Sacro Monte of Varallo, which in the following decades inspired other such shrines recreating the Passion in a fabricated Jerusalem, such as San Vivaldo in Tuscany.126 Kathryn Rudy’s dissertation, synthesizing new research with extensive old scholarly literature in Dutch, clearly demonstrates the significant visual impact of Jerusalem on the religious culture of the Low Countries and Germany. As Rudy notes, the use of images as

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Robert G. Ousterhout, “Loca Sancta and the Architectural Response to Pilgrimage,” in The Blessings of Pilgrimage, ed. Id., 108–24 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1990); Id., “Architecture as Relic and the Construction of Sanctity: The Stones of the Holy Sepulchre,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 62 (2003), 4–23; Colin Morris, The Sepulchre of Christ and the Medieval West: From the Beginning to 1600 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). 123 Patrologia Latina, 88: cols. 779–814; and “Adamnani de locis sanctis,” ed. L. Bieler, in Itineraria et alia geographica, Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina, 175 (Turnholt: 1965), 186–89 (I, ii). 124 Herbert Thurston, S.J., The Stations of the Cross: An Account of their History and Devotional Purpose (London: Burns & Oates, 1906), 8. Colin Morris, “Bringing the Holy Sepulchre to the West: S. Stefano, Bologna, from the Fifth to the Twentieth Century,” in The Church Retrospective, ed. R. N. Swanson, Studies in Church History; 33, 31–60 (Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell Press for The Ecclesiastical History Society, 1997), demonstrates that the Vita of St. Petronius reflects contemporary Crusader ideals and is not a reliable source for the early history of San Stefano. 125 Anthony Grafton, Leon Battista Alberti: Master Builder of the Italian Renaissance (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000), 322. 126 Colin Morris, “Pilgrimage to Jerusalem in the Late Middle Ages,” 154, with further examples of churches and Jerusalem brotherhoods.

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a tool for translating the pilgrim’s experience began in closed, monastic circles, and then spread to much wider audiences in the late middle ages.127 The technology of print offered new possibilities for replicating in an image a sacred object (often itself an image) and thus to preserve to some extent the blessings of the original.128 The role of measurement and numerical repetition in image and ritual became more pronounced in the late fifteenth century, as the Via Crucis—the route from Pilate’s House to Calvary—began to assume a special status. Measuring the distance between the stations was an act of piety in itself, and a service to fellow believers back home, who could not travel to Jerusalem. An early measurement of the route (450 paces) appears in Johannes Poloner’s account of 1422.129 Aranda, the guardian of the Franciscan friary at Alcalà, stayed for a long period as a guest on Mount Sion, and reported 1,862 ‘passos’. Martin Ketzel, who sponsored the famous stations erected at Nuremberg, had lost his measurements from a first journey (c. 1468) and undertook a second a few years later to recover the data.130 The influential Spiritual Pilgrimage of Hierusalem (Dutch, 1563) by the Flemish Carmelite Jan Pascha (d. 1539), offered a year-long devotional plan with precise daily instructions for prayer and meditation. On the 207th day Pascha informs the reader that the Crosse was. 15. foote longe and 8. foote over thwart. and it weighed, 150. pounde waight. [. . .] and from the place where the Crosse was laied on him [Christ] to the place where he first fel, are 40. strides, and every

127 Rudy, “Northern European Visual Responses to Holy Land Pilgrimage, 1453– 1550,” 124. Béatrice Dansette suggests that the roots of Devotio moderna ideals in the Low Countries are to be found in the Franciscan-promoted ritual imitation of the passion: “Les pèlerinages occidentaux en Terre Sainte: une pratique de la Dévotion Moderne à la fin du Moyen Age? Relation inédite d’un pèlerinage effectué en 1486,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 72, no. 1–2 (1979): 106–33, no. 3–4: 330–428. 128 On the image-centered cult of Schöne Maria of Regensburg see Freedberg, The Power of Images, ch. 6. 129 “Et est notandum, quod a loco Calvariae usque ad idem praetorium sunt ccccl passus, quos omni diligentia, qua potui, numeravi.” Titus Tobler, Descriptiones Terrae Sanctae ex saeculo VIII. IX. XII. et XV. (Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1874), 229. 130 Thurston, The Stations of the Cross, 56–57. See Amanda Wunder, “Classical, Christian, and Muslim Remains in the Construction of Imperial Seville (1520–1635),” Journal of the History of Ideas 64, no. 2 (2003): 195–212, on the “Casa de Pilatos” in Seville, the palace of Don Fadrique Enríquez de Ribera (1476–1539), who returned with measurements from a pilgrimage in 1520. Amico counted 940 paces, 34 (30). In the middle of the seventeenth century, Parvilliers measured 700 steps. Les Stations de Jérusalem, 99–100.

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chapter three stride conteineth two comon paces, or six foote. [. . .] There went with our Lord to Mount Calvaries 15000 parsons.131

This strand of quantitative piety, despite “verification” on site, had little to do with historical veracity. Rather, quantification provided mnemonic signposts as well as structure and discipline to the imitator of Christ. Amico, too, occasionally used this mode, as when he repeated Pascha’s numbers with the same kind of meditative number-infused oration: Scholars say that he [Christ] received six thousand six hundred sixty-six blows. And after a cross of fifteen palms in length and eight in width, a good palm in thickness, was placed on his flayed and bloody shoulders, consider the wolfish charity by which they were moved to take the cross from him, fearing that he might die in the street, whereby they would lose the full satisfaction of seeing him die on the cross between two thieves, like a criminal.132

Thus Amico’s obsession with measures and numbers emerged from a long and entrenched tradition of ritual measurement in Jerusalem, using verisimilitude and numeric repetition as devotional aids, both on site and back home. Yet at the same time Amico spoke the newer language of the antiquarian, and performed in Jerusalem what countless local erudites and learned travelers had been doing since the early fifteenth century in Rome (e.g. obelisks), Constantinople (Hagia Sophia), or Cairo (the Pyramids).133 In Chapter Two we encountered Iago Vasquez Matamoro, Arias Montano’s teacher, who had been “driven by great desire” to make the

131 Jan van Paeschen, The spiritual pilgrimage of Hierusalem, contayninge three hundred sixtie fiue dayes iorney wherin the deuoute person may meditate on sondrie pointes of his redemption. With particular declaration of diuers Saints bodies and holy places which are to be seene in the said-voyage: As also sundrie deuout praiers and meditations verie healpful to the pilgrimes . . . ([Douai]: C. Boscard, 1605), 104. Pascha then indicated (p. 127) that 6666 (or as some maintain, 5475) was the number of wounds Christ received. 132 Amico, 31 (27). 133 See Chapter Two for further bibliography on antiquarianism. The noble Bolognese pilgrim Vincenzo Fava added a 1:1 sample of a half foot, divided into six inches (Figure 22). “Relatione del Viaggio di Gerusalemme,” BL Ms. Add. 33,566, f. 158. For a fuller treatment of the religious meaning of measurement in pilgrimages see my “Christian Pilgrimage and Ritual Measurement in Jerusalem”; Adam G. Beaver, “A Holy Land for the Catholic Monarchy: Palestine in the Making of Modern Spain, 1469–1598,” (Ph.D., Harvard University, 2008), ch. 4, esp. 197–203.

Figure 22. Scale of half foot divided into six inches (190mm / 7.5” on original manuscript) on the last page of a manuscript pilgrim account. Vincenzo Fava, “Relatione del Viaggio di Gierusalemme,” BL Ms. Add. 33,566, f. 158.

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journey to Jerusalem.134 Vasquez, according to Montano’s account, was “skilled in identifying true antiquities” and “noted down exactly [. . .] either in words [. . .] or in maps [tabulis]” whatever he saw in the Holy Land. Upon his return, Montano continued, Vasquez reproduced multiple copies of tabulae relating to the sacred monuments in Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Vasquez may have been a more traditional pilgrim, counting his steps along the Via Dolorosa and taking some notes, just like Ribera, who also traveled from Spain in the 1520s.135 In Montano’s view, however, Vasquez was the scholarly antiquarian whose erudite gaze could strip any monument down to its pristine state and whose intellect could distinguish local lore from historical truth. Early modern pilgrims were becoming increasingly curious not only about mummies and the Ottoman military, but also about Jerusalem and its sacred sites. Curiosity in its developing early modern sense—a careful observational investigation into any topic, particularly antiquities, often aided by images—thus became part of the pilgrim’s mental equipment.136 The Jesuit Gretser criticized the antiquities-worship practiced by Protestant pilgrims: The Sectarians set out to Jerusalem and to the holy places, but for another purpose, namely, to examine antiquities, indeed in the manner of antiquarians, without any taste of piety or religion, and simply to be able to brag that they have seen Jerusalem, Mt. Sinai, and other pilgrimage sites.137

Certainly, as George Sandys’ exchange with the Franciscan guide in Jerusalem demonstrates, such tensions did characterize interdenominational discourse on pilgrimage and the holy sites. However, antiquarian sensibility was not limited to Protestant perceived ‘antipiety’. Catholics like Montano and Amico adopted antiquarian curiosity as a perfectly pious pursuit. Amico often used the term ‘curious’ to denote what was worthy of attention in the holy places, or to describe readers who sought out 134

See above Chapter Two, note 48. See above note 130. See also Joseph R. Jones, Viajeros españoles a Tierra Santa, siglo XVI y XVII, Viajes y costumbres (Madrid: Miraguano: Ediciones Polifemo, 1998). 136 See Céard’s introduction to La Curiosité à la Renaissance. 137 “Proficiscuntur ergo etiam Sectarii Hierosolymam & ad loca sancta; sed alio fine; I. ut antiquitates lustrent, & quidem more Antiquariorum, absque ullo pietatis aut religionis gustu: tantum, ut iactare possint, se Hierosolymam montemque Sinai, & alia peregrina loca vidisse.” Gretser, De sacris et religiosis peregrinationibus libri quatuor, bk 1, 96. 135

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such things. For example, he reported on a cave in the Nativity complex in Bethlehem where Mary was feeding Jesus. Christians and Muslims alike used to wash the cave’s rocks with water, which was then given to animals when the mother’s milk was lacking. The ladies of France, Italy, and Spain asked returning pilgrims about this wonder with the “greatest curiosity.”138 As an example of this kind of natural curiosity, although in this case Amico did not apply the term, we could cite the image of St. Jerome, which was, according to tradition, naturally imprinted on the veins of a marble column in the Holy Manger (Figure 23).139 Works of art within the Holy Sepulcher were also described by Amico as curious.140 Finally, in the context of Amico’s two maps of Jerusalem, which I will discuss below, inquisitive friends and readers were dubbed “devout and curious,” as Breydenbach had written, more cautiously, of his pilgrimage over a century earlier.141 Although the Franciscans initiated and accepted the move towards historicism in the Holy Land, the process must have been complex, given their customary role as safe keepers of tradition. In other words, the mental exercise of peeling off accumulated layers of both architecture and oral traditions could potentially weaken the Franciscan claim on the memory of the Holy Land, which rested on the authority of

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Amico, 11 (6). “It is the opinion of scholars that this is Saint Jerome, considering that this great saint, a true mirror of penitence, we read, burned with divine love in these holy places; whence it seems that the Savior wished to trace his portrait with the very hand of nature so that the faithful might contemplate it eternally with devotion and wonder.” Amico 19 (14). The image appeared earlier in Zuallart’s narrative. In the French edition he remarks that the figure was seen “distinctement & naturallement” and that it was imprinted on the column “miraculeusement & par permission divine.” Zuallart, 1608, bk. III, ch. 15, p. 206. In the same location Zuallart’s pious eyes discovered a crushing proof against iconoclasts: the marbles of a small structure called the “Autel des Mages” (marking the place where Mary sat when the three Magi came to offer their presents), showed “la representation de ladite adoration & offertoire desditz trois Roys, comme si elle avoit esté tiree au pinceau, d’un excellent peintre, toutefois naturallement, qui est une chose de grande admiration: n’ayans esté iceux marbres trouvez ainsi figurez & si à propos, sans la providence divine. Que diront icy les Iconoclastes, briseurs des Images & representations du Sauveur Crucifié, de sa vierge mere, & lez sainctz: Car celles cy n’ont esté faictes par les mains des hommes, contre le commandement de Dieu, escript au Deuteronome, ains de Dieu par la nature mesme” (207). Sandys was skeptical about Jerome’s effigy, but still reproduced Zuallart’s image: In the manger there is a column “which retaineth, as they would make us believe, the effigies of Saint Ierome [. . .]. But surely they be the eyes of faith that must apprehend it; yet present they it in picture, as it it set forth in the former table.” Sandys, 1621, bk 3, p. 181. 140 Amico, 42 (36). 141 Amico, 57 (55) and again in 65 (59). 139

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Figure 23. St. Jerome naturally imprinted on the veins of a marble column in the Holy Manger, Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, following Zuallart. Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620), plate 8. Source: Octavo electronic facsimile edition, Ocatvo Corporation and The Bridwell Library.

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many apocryphal stories and practices. Amico’s justification of tradition may seem far-fetched but is typical, as he wrote on St. Veronica’s house on the Via Dolorosa: Not every detail of Jesus’ life could enter the Gospels. Of this woman, I find nothing said in either of the sacred scriptures, but only what is the common talk of the people. I do not marvel at this since, if everything Our Lord Jesus Christ did or wrought had been written down, the volumes would have mounted up to heaven. And besides, the Gospels do not mention the encounter with the Virgin Mary, as I have shown in the other, previous figure.142

Amico’s precise architectural documentation also discloses the tension between archaeological and present-day times. In essence his project was a snapshot of the contemporary state of the holy places. As we have seen, his most detailed plans—those of the Edicule—described a fairly recent structure, and did not try to reconstruct the tomb of Christ as it may have looked at the time of his death. In fact, as Amico confessed, the elevation ‘improved’ some details remaining from the older structure.143 His images therefore sanctified the Franciscan present as well as received tradition, or, in other words, Amico viewed the architectural present as a culmination of a sacred tradition. This is a tradition that the Franciscans were aiming to place on a surer ground. In 1639 Franciscus Quaresmius (1583–1650) published in two weighty folios the definitive Franciscan account of the Holy Land and its Christian legacy (Figure 24).144 Quaresmius held several chairs in Mantua, then, rising in the Franciscan hierarchy, during the 1610s and 1620s he held several prominent papal and Franciscan posts in the East. He was later the Procurator General of the order. The first book of the first volume of the Elucidatio gives a comprehensive description of the Holy Land (name, divisions, history, size, fertility) and offers

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Amico, 32 (28). Referring to the elevation of the Edicule, Amico wrote: “The socles, being roughly fashioned, are of different heights; likewise the columns are of varying sizes, rounded with eight faces and twisting. In sum, they seem in my judgment to be the relics of earlier buildings. I, however, have made them of equal size, partly out of negligence and partly to make the drawing more beautiful. Nonetheless, I wish to point this out so that the truth should have its place.” 48 (44). This sort of improvement was a standard procedure in the antiquarian tradition. 144 Franciscus Quaresmius, Historica theologica et moralis Terræ Sanctæ elucidatio, 2 vols. (Antwerp: Balthasar Moretus, ex Officina Plantiniana, 1639). Agustín Arce, Documentos y textos para la historia de Tierra Santa y sus santuarios, 1600–1700 (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1970), 259, 41. 143

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Figure 24. Title page, vol. 1, Franciscus Quaresmius, Historica theologica et moralis Terræ Sanctæ elucidatio, 2 vols. (Antwerp: Balthasar Moretus, ex Officina Plantiniana, 1639). Source: University of Haifa Library.

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reflection on the reasons for Muslim rule over it. The second book supplies a documentary ecclesiastical history, covering papal bulls concerning the Holy Land, from Sylvester II to Gregory XIV. The third book discusses the utility of pilgrimage. The remaining five books, in the second volume, describe the holy places in the form of peregrinations to each one. Quaresmius’ efforts at systematic documentation echo slightly earlier moves by the Franciscan order. In 1619 the Minister General Benigno of Genova sent a circular to all the provinces ordering them to conduct detailed local historical studies in each. Following that trend, in 8 January 1634 the Custodian of the Holy Land, Paolo di Lodi,145 commissioned Pietro Verniero to collect all the documents in the Jerusalem archive and to edit the Annals of the Holy Land, assigning to him as an assistant Vicente de Gallicano, who knew Arabic well. Verniero relied on papal and royal documents, Ottoman firmans, and decisions of the Court of Jerusalem. For Ottoman documents he used the services of a local sheik. Although, as in Amico’s case, tradition was the guiding principle of Quaresmius’ investigations, he approached it more critically, dismissing what in his view seemed untenable ‘false fables,’ and restoring tradition to a purer state.146 Amico’s Trattato discloses antiquarian sensibility of the more familiar kind, too, such as awareness of changing past landscapes and appreciation of the beauty of ruins. For example, Amico conjectures that vestiges in the Nativity complex suggested that a colonnade had

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See note 15 above. “Traditionem ergo semper sequor, explico, & defendo, nisi ratio vel urgens auctoritas obsistat. Quae fuit in causa, ut liber prolixior quam volebam evaserit.” Ibid., xxxvi. “Ad haec, cum ad Terram sanctam post multa pericula (a quibus singulari Dei gratia erutus fui) iam pervenissem, multaque ibi investigassem, & investigata cum aliis contulissem; comperi plura scitu dignissima vel ab aliis praetermissa, vel non (ut par erat) pertractata; vel quod ea peregrini satis non expenderint & examinarint, vel quod prae temporis defectu ea considerare non potuerint: quare pro solidis atque observatione dignis, nonnisi fabellas, falsa miracula, & futilia ediderunt. A quibus ipse prorsus abstineo, nonnisi quae notatu digna deprehendi, referens: non enim mendaciis illustrari loca sancta debent, nec ad sui commendationem falsis fabellis indigent. [. . .] Idque propter curiosos, non solum haereticos ad has partes venientes, sed etiam Catholicos, qui simplici traditione non contenti, maiorem eorum, quae de locis sanctis communiter asseruntur, requirunt evidentiam: ne scilicet illi supercilium erigant, &, ut assolent, omnes traditiones contemnant, quasi nec ratione nec auctoritate nitantur; propter Catholicos autem illa loca adventes, placuit rationes, auctoritates, dubiorum solutiones addere.” (xxxvii–xxxviii) 146

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once stood there.147 For the sake of “curious readers” Amico added in the second edition a chapter on the Royal Tombs, which he regarded as an architectural marvel rather than a sacred place. Criticizing both Sebastiano Serlio and Zuallart for writing about the place without having been there, he provided a detailed plan and elevation “in order to satisfy completely those wishing to understand the orders and measurements, the ornaments and wonders, of these tombs in detail.”148 But, as Zuallart acknowledged, Jerusalem could not compete with Rome’s wealth of magnificent ancient structures. Instead he advocated the Holy Land as a theater of the most antique, where cities, or their remains, survived from pre-deluvian times.149 As we have seen, this

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Amico, 6–7 (1). Bagatti notes that this was confirmed in 1932 (Amico 1953, 43 n. 1). 148 Amico 67–68 (61–62). As Bagatti notes, the copy of Serlio which Amico consulted is found at the library of St. Savior’s monastery in Jerusalem (Amico 1953, 138n2). I print here Serlio’s account of the Royal Tombs: “Trovasi in Gierusalemme in un monte di sasso assai sodo, incavato per artificio di mano e con ferri, un’edificio di buona grandezza, nel modo che quì sotto e dissegnato: & accioche per la grandezza della stanza di mezo ella non havesse a ruinare; gli furono lassati quei due pilastroni maggiori nel mezo, e quei due mezani dalle bande, & i due minori dinanzi, iquali pilastri tengono una volta (come ho detto) fatta per forza di scarpello cosi grossamente. Nella prima entrata ci sono quattro capellette. Nella parte di mezo ci sono diciotto capellette. Nell’altra parte piu interiore ci sono due capellette, & una porta chiusa: laqual dinota che si andava piu innanzi, e queste capellette erano luoghi, dove si sepellivano i Re di Gierusalemme, per quanto mi disse il Patriarca di Aquileia a quel tempo, e hora Cardinale, ilquale di questa cosa mi dette notitia, & il dissegno di sua mano: delle misure non teneva memoria, ma la minima capelletta non dee essere di minor larghezza, che la lunghezza di un’huomo, e di qui si puo comprendere la grandezza di tutto l’edificio. Le capellette cavate nel monte sono nel modo dimostrato qui sotto nella figura A, & B e questo luogo non ha luce alcuna, ne si comprende che per alcun tempo vi fusse, per esser questo sotto un monte di buona grandezza.” Sebastiano Serlio, Il terzo libro di Sabastiano Serlio Bolognese nelqval si figvrano, e descrivono le antiqvita di Roma, e le altre che sono in Italia, e fvori d’Italia (Venice: Appresso Francesco Rampazetto ad instantia di Marchione Sessa, 1562), 90–91. Amico refers to Zuallart as “Flemish Edward,” confusing him with the dedicatee of the first edition, Duarte Farnese. 149 “Si la devotion du Pelerin est accompagnee d’aucune honeste curiosité, à rechercher & veoir des lieux d’antique memoire: Il verra au dedans & à l’entour de la saincte Cité, tout autre chose, qu’un Colisee tant celebre, arcs triomphaux . . . & vielles structures d’une Cité de Rome, ne pouvans representer aux espritz des hommes, que ruines & devastation des Provinces & Peuples, [. . .]. Mais en la terre saincte, se trouvent des Citez, Villes, Chasteaux, Temples, & Autelz, pour le moins, les vestiges de ceux & celles qui (selon les historiens) y ont esté, non seulement devant Rome & devant le temps de Moyse & des Patriarches,. . ., mais aussi le delusge general.” Zuallart, Le tresdeuot voyage de Ierusalem. bk 1, ch. 7, 47.

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was exactly what Franciscus Raphelenghius argued in the preface to Montano’s Antiquitates (1593).150 In addition to plates of individual monuments, Amico provided a map of present-day Jerusalem (Figure 25) and a second map showing the ancient city according to Josephus (Figure 26). In this double set Amico’s historicism comes to the fore. In an introductory passage Amico explained that he did not initially plan to add the maps, due to his lack of ability and the danger of measuring the city in the presence of suspicious Turks.151 But, he continued, “in order to satisfy the devout and curious friends who often besought me, I have put in two views, from opposite directions, for their fullest satisfaction.”152 Amico’s first map—“La vera e reale città di Gierusalem come si trova oggi”—was a corrected version of a map by Antonio de Angelis of Lecce, a Franciscan who had preceded Amico in the Holy Land by two decades. Like Amico, de Angelis spent a long period (seven years) in the area and was similarly aided by Francesco de la Salandra in his mapping activities. In 1578, back in Rome, de Angelis published his map, engraved by Mario Cartaro, a well-known globe and map maker.153 In his comments Amico clearly set up the Franciscan line— 150

See above Chapter Two, note 27. Ottoman hostility to measurement is a common theme in Levant travel literature (found in Peter Gilles, Busbecq, and Greaves). It may point to actual limitations on European activities, but also to the travelers’ self-promotion of their skills and commitment. 152 Amico, Ch. 44, 57 (55). 153 De Angelis’ map became hard to find several years after its publication. It is referred to by Adrichem and later by Zuallart in his French edition (1608). In our time it was thought lost until accidentally discovered around 1980 by a private collector. It is valued as a reliable source for the geography of sixteenth-century Jerusalem. A. Moldovan, “The Lost de Angelis Map of Jerusalem, 1578,” The Map Collector 24 (1983): 17–24; Rehav Rubin, “The De Angelis Map of Jerusalem (1578) and Its Copies,” Cathedra 52 (1989): 100–111 [Hebrew]. Cartaro, born in Viterbo and active in Rome since 1560, produced several maps of ancient and modern Rome. See Amato Pietro Frutaz, Le piante di Roma, 3 vols. (Roma: Istituto di Studi Romani, 1962). I: XXIII, tavv. 51–55 (1579), CXXV, tav. 237 (1575), CXXVI, tavv. 238–46 (1576). On Cartaro’s later work in Naples see John Marino, “Administrative Mapping in the Italian States,” in Monarchs, Ministers, and Maps: The Emergence of Cartography as a Tool of Government in Early Modern Europe, ed. David Buisseret, 5–25 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 11–15. On the production and consumption of maps in Rome and Venice see David Woodward, Maps as Prints in the Italian Renaissance: Makers, Distributors & Consumers, The Panizzi Lectures; 1995 (London: British Library, 1996). I print here the cartouche of the de Angelis map (from the image in Moldovan), for it is transcribed neither by the latter nor by Rubin, and is illustrative of the broader social context from which it emerged: 151

Figure 25. Contemporary Jerusalem, following the map of Antonio de Angelis (1578), Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620), plate 44. Source: Octavo electronic facsimile edition, Ocatvo Corporation and The Bridwell Library.

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Figure 26. Ancient Jerusalem, according to Josephus, Bernardino Amico, Trattato delle Piante & Immagini de Sacri Edifizi di Terra Santa, 2 ed. (Florence: Pietro Cecconcelli, 1620), plate 45. Source: Octavo electronic facsimile edition, Ocatvo Corporation and The Bridwell Library.

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Salandra, de Angelis, and himself—in opposition to the multitude of celebrated authors who were “seriously in error” and, never having been to the sites, were “each borrowing fantasies from the other.”154 The second map—“Discretione vera de l’antica città di Gierusalem”— similarly argued against an author who without having seen the face of a place minutely and with the most careful consideration, dares to put it down on paper and discourse of its particulars, falling into a thousand errors. Even this is not enough, for I, having seen the place and read many books, ancient and modern, in particular the celebrated author of “The Jewish War,” Flavius Josephus, on whom I rely, remain somewhat confused, to tell the truth [. . .].155

A careful on-site examination of Jerusalem and the holy places was obviously a Franciscan privilege which Franciscan authors played up to their advantage. Quaresmius repeated this claim in the preface to his scholarly treatise, pointing to the exaggerated credence given to authors who have never been to the Holy Land, or who stayed there for very short periods and retold others’ errors.156

“All. Illmo et Rmo Snor mio e Padrone Colmo Il Sor Franco Cardinale Alciati Vice Protettore di tutta la religione de S. Franco frate Antonino de Angelis de Lecio Minore osserte. Sett’anni continui Patron mio Illmo ho dimorato nella Citta de Hierusalemme. In quel tempo visitai quei santissimi luoghi, testimoni tutti della n[ost]ra redentione. èvolsi per consolatione mia fabricarne un disegno. Ritornato poi in Italia ho conosciuto in molti un disiderio infinito de vedere in luce questa mia picciola fatica. á che se bene non ho mai voluto prestar il mio consenso, tutta via stimolato da continui preghi non ho potuto essere piu longo tempo renitente. Sotto l’ombra adonque di V. S. Illma hoggi l’apresento al mondo, persuadendomi io ch’ella per benignita sua non sara per attribuirmi cio a vitio di prosontione. ma piu tosto lo recivera in grado. stimando ella questa dedicatione che le faccio ancor che presente in equale alla grandezza sua, per segno della molta servitu che le portto, alla quale non potendo io sodissfare con le opere secondo l’animo mio, per esser un minimo fraticello de i poveri de S. Franco non manchero con affettuose parole pregar il Sor Dio per l’essaltatione, et prosperita della Illma persona sua, basciando le in tanto devotissimamente le mani. Di Roma nel convento di Sa Maria Araceli alli. 8. Settembre. MDLXXVIII” 154 Amico, 57–58 (55). 155 Amico 60 (56). Amico’s careless author remains unidentified. As Bagatti notes, this comment may refer to Adrichem “who enjoyed an exaggerated reputation,” even though I have not seen a clear indication for this (Amico 1953, 134 n. 1). Earlier on in the Trattato Amico did find the occasion to sting ‘Andrichom Delfo’ on the question of Ecce Homo Arch (Amico, 29 (25)). 156 “Et si magni aestimantur, & fidem inveniunt illi qui de locis sanctis scripserunt, nec tamen ea viderunt; vel si viderint, cursim, obiter & non accurate, vel ab aliis utcumque relata, retulerunt; egone reprehensionem verear, fidemque non merear, si, quae diligenter oculis meis non semel, sed pluries aliquot per annos observavi, quibus

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More significantly, Amico’s map of ancient Jerusalem, and the lengthy commentary on Josephus which came with it, served as a corrective to the skeptical view that Jerusalem had changed its location since the time of Christ: I am compelled to dismiss the wrongful opinion of some, who wish on slight grounds to claim that this is not the city, but that it has been moved, saying that the holy Mount Calvary is found inside, as seen in the previous plate, and availing themselves of Saint Paul’s statement in Hebrews 13, “He suffered without the gate.” But today it is inside, and therefore it must have been moved. [. . .] My devout and curious reader must know that the location of this holy city is the same as it has always been, and always will be, since it is effectively surrounded by mountains and valleys [. . .].157

The claim that Jerusalem had moved could have had a disastrous effect on the traditions accumulated around the holy place. A specific difficulty raised by the location of the city wall with respect to Mt. Calvary had already been addressed and solved by Burchard of Mt. Sion in the thirteenth century.158 Responding perhaps to doubts raised by visitors about the modern urban topography of Jerusalem, Franciscan guides explained to pilgrims that the new walls built by Hadrian enclosed Mt. Calvary, which formerly, in Christ’s time, had stood outside the city, and they provided evidence. Franciscan-inspired pilgrim literature of the 1580s onward is full of references to the Porta Vetus, or Porta Iudicalis, the gate through which Christ bearing the cross exited the walls and began his climb to Calvary. A short distance after the house of Veronica on the Via Dolorosa, the pilgrims were introduced to a ruin which represented this gate.159 in Terra Sancta mansi, & ex aliis in his partibus versatissimis accepi, litteris consignabo?” Quaresmius, Historica theologica et moralis Terræ Sanctæ elucidatio, xxxvii. 157 Amico 60 (56), 65 (59), emphasis added. 158 Quoted by Gomez-Géraud, Le crépuscule du Grand Voyage, 641. Rubin mentions in passing that this difficulty was known already in the Byzantine period. Rubin, “The De Angelis Map of Jerusalem.” 159 In Zuallart’s words: “De ceste maison de le saincte Veronique environ cent seise pas plus avant (passant par une ruë pleine de ruines, & la pluspart couverte d’une vieille voulte, rompuë en plusieurs endroitz, & traversant une petite ruë, venant aussi de la porte Septentrionale, ou d’Effraim, conduisant vers la place du Temple) on trouve une porte tres ancienne, à demy muree & ruinee, au dehors de laquelle, se voit encore sur pied au costé droict, une colomne ayante le chapiteau rompu, restante seule de deux qui y souloye[n]t estre posees, pour memoire que le Rede[m]teur sortit par icelle,

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The noble pilgrim Jacques de Villamont, who visited the Holy Land in 1588, recorded his discussion on the subject with a Calabrian Franciscan, who gave him an overview of the layout of the ancient city in comparison to its present situation. The two significant changes since the time of Christ, it was explained, were the exclusion of Mt. Sion from the city wall, and the inclusion of Mt. Calvary within it. The Calabrian, who is identified by Bagatti as Francesco de la Salandra, Amico’s and de Angelis’ patron in Jerusalem, then went on to describe at length the physical topography of the town.160 Bagatti argues convincingly that, as suggested above, Salandra or other local Franciscans must have supplied Zuallart—who stayed in the Holy Land for less than two weeks—with data for his architectural plans.161 Aware of

pour soufrir mort & passion sur le mont de Calvaire, qui pour lors estoit au dehors de la saincte Cité, & distant d’icelle porte, d’environ deux centz pas, & du pretoire d’ou il commença à porter sa pensante & dure Croix, environ huict centz, comme nous diront plusampleme[n]t, Dieu aydant, en la description d’icelle saincte Cité. Ladite porte à autrefois esté aucunement voisine, de la porte des poissons, qui est celle de Iaffa, & a eu diverses nominations, comme apert en la saincte Escriture [. . .]: Pareillement elle est appellee, Porta Iudicalis, ou Iudicaria, à raison qu’en icelle, les anciens seoyent exerçans la Iudicature [. . .].” Zuallart, Le tresdeuot voyage de Ierusalem, bk III, ch. 17, pp. 117–18. The Polish Prince Radziwil, who traveled in 1583, wrote (in Thomas Tretter’s Latin translation): “Hinc ad unum & medium teli iactum, sunt magnae & altae duae lapideae columnae, inter quas erat porta Iudicaria, qua damnati rei, ad supplicium in Golgotha ducebantur. In ea porta, ut pie Catholici credunt, denuo sub Cruce corruit Iesus: in cuius rei memoriam, plurimi, cum quascunque Civitatis portas ingrediuntur, signum Sanctae Crucis formant. Habetur hic indulgentia septem annorum & quadragenarum.” Radzivil, Ierosolymitana peregrinatio illustrissimi Domini Nicolai Christophori Radzivili, . . . IV epistolis compraehensa, ex idiomate Polonico in Latinam linguam translata & nunc primum edita (Brunsberg: George Schönfels, 1601), 87. And see Cotovicus, Itinerarium Hierosolymitanum et Syriacum, 254. 160 “Ceste Cité ou ville, est situee en lieu fort haut & eminent, & au mesme lieu & endroict où elle estoit du temps de nostre Seigneur Iesus-Christ, sinon que le mont de Sion estoit presque tout enfermé dans la ville, & le mont de Caluaire, or Golgoltha en estoit du tout hors. Ie sçay que quelques vns me voudront contredire en cest endroit, & diront qu’apres la destruction de la ville par Tite Vespasian, la face de la ville auroit esté tout changée, ayant esté rebastie par AElius Adrianus, qui de son nom l’auroit appellee AElia: Mais ie leur diray que s’ils avoient veu de pres, & contemplé Hierusalem, comme i’ay faict, & conferé les escritures sainctes, qu’ils confesseroient auecques moy, que hors mis le mont de Caluaire, qui est enclaué dans la ville, & enceint de fortes murailles, & le mont de Sion qui a vn petit esté relaissé & escarté des murs en quelques endroicts, La ville est telle qu’elle estoit du temps de nostre Seigneur, & des Apostres: & à ce propos ie diray de que i’apprins d’vn Religieux de l’Ordre de sainct François, qui estoit Calabrois de nation, & qui avoit demeuré en Hierusalem l’espace de vingt ans, & avoit remarqué ce qui estoit de l’ancienne & nouvelle situation de la ville . . .” Jacques de Villamont, [Les] voyages du seigneur de Villamont . . . (Paris: C. de Montreuil et J. Richer, 1600), 212b–13a, ff. 161 Amico 1953, 5.

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the power of pilgrim accounts back in Europe, the Franciscans were apparently trying to steer them in new directions, which appealed to ‘curious’ tastes. Zuallart, too, tried to prove that the modern Jerusalem was situated on the foundations of the old. It was true, he admitted, that the town had been destroyed according to Christ’s prediction. However, this was not meant to be read literally, for it was the Temple, the symbol of Jewish ritual and law, that was destroyed.162 Zuallart then went on to prove an uninterrupted succession of bishops in Jerusalem, as well as the antiquity of pilgrimage to various sites in the city, a practice which the Virgin herself had instituted.163 One wonders what led the Franciscans in Jerusalem to mount such a counteroffensive, for they reply to unnamed authorities (“those who say that”). The most influential maps of ancient Jerusalem (Laickstein, Adrichem, Villalpando) clearly showed Mt. Calvary outside the city wall. Most scholars, Protestant and Catholic alike, accepted the location of the Holy Sepulcher as verified, and did not argue that the city changed its location. The one Protestant, and fairly mild critique (by the above-mentioned Bünting) was that the current edifices—as for example the house of Caiaphas or St. Anne—could not have been standing since the time of Christ. As pointed out by Adam Beaver, Erasmus, in the brief and influential colloquy “De votis temere susceptis” (Rash Vows, or also “De visendo loca sacra” 1522), had one of the locutors, Cornelius, voice serious doubt on the authenticity of the location of ancient Jerusalem.164 This, however, was not an erudite, wellargued antiquarian attack, but a rather traditional criticism of spurious beliefs and practices attached to pilgrimage—of the kind voiced by its opponents since its very inception.165 The Franciscans were perhaps responding in part to such views that more skeptical pilgrims may have brought with them. I would like to suggest, moreover, that it was the new and evolving erudite taste of devout pilgrims themselves, who wished now to see well-documented ruins and antiquities rather than fully formed structures, that brought this change about. Finally,

162 “Aussy ceste demolition de Ierusalem ne se doibt entendre tant à la lettre, comme au sens mistique, ne tant de la Cité, comme du Temple, de la Sinagogue & ancien rit ou ceremonies legales des Iuifz.” Zuallart, Le tresdeuot voyage de Ierusalem, bk 1, ch. 4, 13. 163 Ibid., bk 1, ch. 5, 24–38. 164 Beaver, “A Holy Land,” 46–47. 165 Bruria Bitton-Ashkelony, Encountering the Sacred: The Debate on Christian Pilgrimage in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005).

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the Franciscans were marking off their sacred playground, claiming the authority to interpret the ‘antiquities’ under their control, and dismissing accounts, Catholic and Protestant alike, that were not based on physical presence and eyewitness. These considerations may have moved Franciscus Quaresmius, who generally left the visual treatment of the Holy Land and its sites to his predecessors, Zuallart, Amico, and Adrichem,166 to provide two images that illustrated a historically faithful entombment of Christ (Figure 27, Figure 28): a barren hill outside the walls and a carved stone tomb, free of marbles, icons, or lamps. Franciscan-led tours of the city now took pilgrims to ancient burial caverns carved into the rock, which were serving the dual purpose of a holy place (where the apostles hid during Christ’s passion), and more importantly, of demonstrating what the tomb of Christ looked like before being encased by marble (Figure 29). The place reminded Zuallart of the catacombs of martyrs under the Church of St. Sebastian in Rome.167 The comparison suggests to the modern reader that the Franciscans in Jerusalem and the Oratorians in their subterranean world of Roman martyrs were performing the same kind of sacred antiquarianism during the very same years. St. Philip Neri lived like a hermit in the catacombs of S. Sebastiano where he held vigils. In 1578, with the accidental discovery of catacombs near the Via Salaria, a whole new world of erudition and devotion opened up, which culminated in the work of Antonio Bosio, Roma Sotterranea (published posthumously, 1635, Figure 30).168 In Rome as in Jerusalem, mapping and careful documentation refueled liturgical rejuvenation.

166

Quaresmius, Historica theologica et moralis Terræ Sanctæ elucidatio, xxxvii. The tomb, “estans en forme de petites chambrettes, ayant les entrees estoites & basses, par lesquelles on y mettoit les corps mortz, & puis se fermoyent d’une grosse pierre qui se posoit au devant, & non au dessus, ainsi que se mettent les tombes à nostre mode sur les fosses des trespassez, ny aussi, comme la pluspart de noz peintres, depeignent & representent le Sepulchre du Redempteur. . . . Le reverend Pere Guardien nostre conducteur, nous dit, estans sur ledit lieu, comme disent aussi les reverends Peres, F. Boniface Stephani, en son livret intitulé De perenni cultu terra sanctae, & F. Francisco Soriani allieurs, ayans par plusieurs annees & long temps, l’un apres l’autre esté Gardiens du mont Syon) que le glorieux sainct Sepulchre du Redempteur, estoit en telle forme que le montre avoir esté ce luy representé en ce pourtraict [Figure 29], c’est à sçavoir que l’on cavoit & creusoit en la roche, un lieu de sept ou huict piedz de haut, autant de long & quatre de large,. . . .” Zuallart, 1608, book 3 ch. vii, 59–60. 168 Simon Ditchfield, “Review of Roma sotterranea, Rome: Quasar, 1998,” The Catholic Historical Review 86, no. 2 (2000): 305–8; Id. “Text before Trowel: Antonio Bosio’s Roma sotterranea Revisited,” in The Church Retrospective, ed. R. N. Swanson, Studies in Church History; 33, 343–60 (Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell Press for The 167

Figure 27. A historical reconstruction of Mt. Calvary, the city wall with the Judgment Gate, and the tomb of Jesus, Franciscus Quaresmius, Historica theologica et moralis Terræ Sanctæ elucidatio, 2 vols. (Antwerp: Balthasar Moretus, ex Officina Plantiniana, 1639), II: opposite 448. Source: University of Haifa Library.

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Figure 28. Entombment of Jesus in a stone carved burial cavern, Franciscus Quaresmius, Historica theologica et moralis Terræ Sanctæ elucidatio, 2 vols. (Antwerp: Balthasar Moretus, ex Officina Plantiniana, 1639), II: 529. Source: University of Haifa Library.

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Figure 29. Demonstration burial cave as shown to pilgrims, Jean Zuallart, Il devotissimo viaggio di Gerusalemme (Rome: F. Z. Zanetti & Gia. Ruffinelli, 1587), bk 3, 143. Source: University of Haifa Library.

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Figure 30. Interior of catacombs in Rome, Antonio Bosio, Roma sotterranea (Rome, 1635), lib. II.xxi, 137. Source: Marquand Library of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University.

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Conclusion Amico’s work is rightly praised for its unprecedented accuracy and level of detail, announcing a new ‘renaissance’ mode of description in the sacred geography of Jerusalem. I have attempted, however, to study it within the more general context of Catholic scholarship and Catholic piety, and to point to the diverse ways in which the two intersected in the Franciscan Holy Land. The first section of the chapter was concerned with the liveliness of early modern pilgrimage in both its physical and cultural manifestations. I have argued that devout pilgrimage, in the eyes of early modern actors, was fully compatible with secular curiosity. In the second section I have shown that Franciscan ‘Palestinology’ became a curious business in itself around the turn of the sixteenth century. Franciscan and Franciscan-inspired authors adopted new cartographic and antiquarian methods of precise measurement, systematic visual and textual documentation, and historical stratification. These tools were used to reaffirm a live liturgical tradition. In a way, being curious about this tradition was an act of devotion. We are back now with Adrien Parvilliers, this time not on Mt. Calvary, but on rue Neuve Saint-Jean in Caen, Normandy, in the company of a learned Protestant pastor, Samuel Bochart.

Ecclesiastical History Society, 1997). See, however, the corrective view, pointing to the long presence of the catacombs in Roman life, in Irina T. Oryshkevich, “The History of the Roman Catacombs from the Age of Constantine to the Renaissance (Italy),” (Ph.D. Columbia University, 2003).

CHAPTER FOUR

THE PHOENICIANS ARE COMING! SAMUEL BOCHART’S PROTESTANT GEOGRAPHY On Friday, 4 March 1644, the Parlement of Rouen issued an arrêt authorizing the Presidial Court in Caen to search the town for clandestine printers, allegedly operating from private homes, and seize their founts of type. The explicit intention of the act was to protect the public from “the great harm that the wicked books can cause.” Although no specific names were mentioned, the three town officials on the mission had no difficulty in locating ten days later the home of Pierre de Cardonnel, “marchand bourgeois” of Caen. There, in a small building separate from the main house, they surprised one Pierre Capelle from Geneva, a type-setter, and one Jean Jannon, dressed in black, who claimed to be a master printer from Paris and the employer of Capelle. Having read the arrêt aloud, the officials sealed the printing equipment in a cupboard and locked the printing chamber behind them.1 Pierre de Cardonnel (1614–67), in whose home the unauthorized press had been found, appealed the action to Chancellor Pierre Séguier (1588–1672), the person who stood behind the arrêt. In his petition de Cardonnel explained that, as one who cherished the cultivation of letters, he had decided to set up a press: . . . wishing to contribute his [de Cardonnel’s] efforts, such as they are, for the public good, he has bought a large quantity of characters of all sorts, even for oriental languages, on the advice of the sieur Sergius, a relation of M. Gabriel Sionita, professor of oriental languages. He has taken on as his employee M. Jannon, who is very skilled in the art of printing and has practiced that art for a long time in the printing-house of the Estiennes in Paris. [ . . . ] He [de Cardonnel] has collected the texts of Arabic proverbs and moral writings translated into Latin, with very fine annotations, as well as treatises on the animals, plants, precious stones, stars, and other curious things mentioned in the Bible. He will not have

1 “ . . . le grand prejudice que les mauvais livres peuvent causer . . . ” BN Ms. fr. 18600, f. 730 (arrêt), f. 728 (procès-verbal), printed by Georges Lepreux, Gallia typographica (Paris: H. Champion, 1909–12), série départmentale, t. III(ii), 180–83.

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I shall return later to the figures named in de Cardonnel’s petition. Yet, as Noel Malcolm notes, the most important figure in de Cardonnel’s project was not mentioned in the petition to Séguier.3 The document also failed to mention the specific book being printed behind the walls of de Cardonnel’s home. The man was Samuel Bochart (1599–1667), the book was his Geographia sacra (Figure 31, Figure 32). The two will stand at the center of this chapter. After many difficulties, Bochart managed to print the book in 1646 to Europe-wide acclaim. Compared to most biblical geographers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, who directed their efforts to the chorography of the Holy Land and the topography of Jerusalem, Bochart’s geographical horizons were global in scope. Following Eusebius, who proposed to “transliterate into Greek the names for the people of the world which appear in Hebrew in Holy Scripture,”4 Bochart set himself the task of explaining Genesis 10, which describes the progeny of Noah. The biblical world as recreated by Bochart in the Geographia sacra extended from Spain in the west to Persia in the east. Working from linguistic traces in place names and the names of deities, Bochart proceeded to demonstrate the reach of Phoenician navigation and colonization, which stretched this world even further, from the island of Thule and to India. Bochart’s geographical-historical model could thus shed light on the dawn of civilization, the two millennia that elapsed between the biblical Peleg (of whom it was said “in his

2 “ . . . désirant contribuer ce qui est de son Industrie pour le bien publicq Il a achapté vn grand nombre de characteres de toutes sortes, mesmes pour les langues orientalles par l’aduis du sieur Sergius parent du sieur gabriel sionita, professeur és langues Orientalles. Il a pris a ses gaiges le sieur Jannon fort entendu en l’art d’Imprimerie et qui en a faict longuement la profession dans l’imprimerie des estiennes a paris [ . . . ] Il a recouuré escripts de proverbes et moralitez Arabes traduits en latin, auec des notes exquises des traittées des animaux, plantes, pierres precieuses Astres et autres choses Curieuses dont est faict mention dans la Bible, Il mettra rien soubz la presse qu’il n’en ayt présenté vne copie fidelle a monseigneur le chancellier [ . . . ].” BN Ms. 18600, f. 726r, undated, printed by Ibid., série départmentale, t. III(i), 436–37. I use Noel Malcolm’s transcription and translation (slightly modified): “Pierre de Cardonnel (1614–1667): Merchant, Printer, Poet, and Reader of Hobbes,” in Aspects of Hobbes, 259–316 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002), 268–69, n. 43. Malcolm has written the first and apparently conclusive account of Pierre de Cardonnel’s life. 3 Malcolm, “Pierre de Cardonnel,” 269–70. 4 Palestine in the Fourth Century A.D.: The Onomasticon by Eusebius of Caesarea, ed. Joan E. Taylor, trans. G. S. P. Freeman-Grenville (Jerusalem: Carta, 2003), 11.

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Figure 31. Portrait of Samuel Bochart at the age of sixty-four (1663), with praise by his fellow pastor in Caen, Pierre du Bosc. Samuel Bochart, Opera Omnia, 3 vols. (Amsterdam: Boutesteyn & Luchtmans, 1692), III, frontispiece. Source: Warburg Institute Library.

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Figure 32. Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 2 ed. (Frankfurt: Wustius for J. D. Zunner, 1681), title page of the second impression by Zunner. Source: Princeton University Library.

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days was the earth divided,” Gen. 10:25) and Ptolemy, who described the oikoumene, the inhabitable world of the second century A.D. Why should such a valuable work by a sober scholar of vast erudition have been suspected by the Chancellor as a mauvais livre, potentially harmful for the public? Why should a laudable intellectual interest in biblical “animals, plants, precious stones, stars” and Arabic proverbs pose a problem?5 Séguier had a reputation in Normandy as the recent merciless suppressor of the Nu-pieds tax rebellion (1639–40), yet otherwise he was known as a great patron of the nascent Académie française and an avid collector of Oriental books and manuscripts.6 Séguier in fact owned a special presentation copy of Bochart’s Geographia sacra which de Cardonnel sent him after the book was finally published, as well as the later Hierozoïcon. The point becomes clear as we proceed down de Cardonnel’s text to read the anxious promise: And so that the religion which the said Cardonnel professes might not provide an excuse for his enemies to slander such a noble and generous plan, he pledges to forfeit his goods and reputation in the case that he prints anything other and of a different kind of learning than those specified above.7

5 Bochart’s remaining manuscripts in the BMC confirm that de Cardonnel was writing on Bochart’s behalf. Ms. 51 (382 in 8o 26) is a miscellany containing the printed Proverbiorum arabicorum centuriae duae, Cum interpretatione Latina et scholiis I. Scaligeri . . . et Thomae Erpenii, 2 ed. (Leiden: Erpenius, 1623), and Proverbia quaedam Alis, Imperatoris Muslimici et carmen Tograi, Poetae doctis nec non Dissertatio quaedam Aben Sinae (Leiden: Bonaventura and Elzevir, 1629). Bochart annotated and translated many passages on interleaved pages. The volume also contains printed Hebrew biblical commentaries (Paris, 1620) and a manuscript fragment of the Koran. See Appendix for more on Bochart’s extant manuscripts. Bochart’s interest in biblical animals would eventually materialize in the Hierozoïcon (1663), his other great work. 6 René Kerviler, Le Chancelier Pierre Séguier: second protecteur de l’Académie française (Paris: Didier, 1874), 146–66. Françoise Secret, “Gilbert Gaulmin et l’histoire comparée des religions, avec le catalogue Bochart des manuscrits Gaulmin,” Revue de l’histoire des religions 177 (1970): 42–43. Ownership: Bibliothecæ Seguierianæ catalogus (Paris: 1685), 217. 7 “Et afin que la religion dont faict profession ledict Cardonnel ne serve poinct de prétexte à ses enemies de calomnier un sy noble et généreux desseing, il s’oblige à la perte des biens et honneur en cas qu’il imprime aucune chose et d’autre nature de science que celles cy-dessus spéciffiées, mesmes d’associer avec seoy les Sieurs Blaise Cramoisy ou tel autre Catholique Romain qu’il plaira à Monseigneur le Chancelier nommer à conditions justes et équitables.” BN Ms. fr. 18600, f. 726, printed in Lepreux, Gallia typographica, série départmentale, t. III(i), 436–37.

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In other words, Bochart and his amateur printer were Protestants, and that very fact made their scholarship suspect. As professors of the wrong orthodoxy, they found themselves confronting an increasingly tough political and ecclesiastical regime. This basic condition of Huguenot life in the second half of the seventeenth century clearly affected, or even transformed the world of learning.8 In the tense environment of seventeenth-century scholarship, Oriental studies—in many ways a technical sub-discipline of theology and a tool of mission—were particularly sensitive.9 Thus Bochart’s Geographia sacra, a seemingly innocent study of biblical place names, was contested even before its birth, and born into a milieu riven by controversy. In the following pages I shall describe the writing, publication, and reception of the Geographia sacra, and the immediate and broader conditions which shaped them. I would like to argue that thinking of Bochart’s Geographia sacra as Protestant geography—branded as such by its rivals, and conceived as such by its author—is not only useful, but the only meaningful way of coming to terms with his erudition. I attempt to provide a contextual reading of Bochart’s magnum opus, one that takes into account both the specific moment in French Protestantism into which the Geographia

8 Bochart was not alone among Huguenot scholars to suffer from Séguier’s policy. On 16 January 1645 Marin Mersenne reported to Ismaël Boulliau that a certain Mr. De la Valone of Languedoc could not obtain a privilege for printing the text of the Epistle of St. Barnabas unless he converted to Catholicism. Mersenne, Correspondance du P. Marin Mersenne, religieux minime, ed. Cornelis de Waard, 17 vols. (Paris: Editions du CNRS, 1977), Letter 1333, Rome to Paris XIII: 319. 9 We still lack a general survey of early modern Orientalism. For more focused treatments see Josée Balagna Coustou, Arabe et humanisme dans la France des derniers Valois (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 1989); Nicholas Dew, Orientalism in Louis XIV’s France (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009); Alastair Hamilton and Francis Richard, André Du Ryer and Oriental Studies in Seventeenth-Century France (London, Oxford: Arcadian Library; Oxford University Press, 2003). J. Brugman et al., Arabic Studies in the Netherlands (Leiden: Brill, 1979); Gül A. Russell, The ‘Arabick’ Interest of the Natural Philosophers in Seventeenth-Century England (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994); G. J. Toomer, Eastern Wisdome and Learning: The Study of Arabic in SeventeenthCentury England (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996). Toomer (33) wrongly identifies the work printed by de Cardonnel as Bochart’s Hierozoïcon. On printing in Oriental languages see Alastair Hamilton, “Eastern Churches and Western Scholarship,” in Rome Reborn: The Vatican Library and Renaissance Culture, ed. Anthony Grafton, 225–50 (Washington; New Haven: Library of Congress; Yale University Press, 1993); Alastair Hamilton, “The Study of Islam in Early Modern Europe,” Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 3 (2001): 169–82; and especially Gérald Duverdier, “Les impressions orientales en Europe et le Liban,” in Le Livre et le Liban, ed. Camille Aboussouan, 157–279 (Paris: Unesco: AGECOOP, 1982).

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was launched, and the scholarly tradition which Bochart may be said to conclude. Perhaps not strangely, Bochart is a neglected scholar these days. Producing lengthy, dusty volumes consisting mostly of convoluted etymologies, Bochart is hardly attractive as an intellectual. Yet during his lifetime and onward until the middle of the nineteenth century, his scholarship was the subject of many eulogies. Like Descartes, Bochart had the honor of suffering at the court of Christina of Sweden. His colleagues and later biographers could not contain their admiration in describing his vast knowledge of languages and of an immense array of sources. Etienne Morin (1624–1700), a Hebraist and Bochart’s junior colleague at the Reformed church of Caen, wrote Bochart’s first biography.10 As an exile in the Netherlands after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, Morin was a member of the team of scholars who were preparing Bochart’s Opera omnia of 1692, the first edition to print significant manuscript material left by Bochart (Figure 33).11 A

10

An earlier brief account, which consists mostly of references by contemporary scholars to Bochart’s work (the standard compilatory method of seventeenth-century historia litteraria), is given by Paul Colomiès, Gallia orientalis, sive, Gallorum qui linguam Hebræam vel alias orientales excoluerunt, vitæ (Hagæ Com.: A. Vlacq 1665), 235–43, 261–62. Colomiès dedicated his whole work—a Who’s Who of French Orientalism—to Bochart, whom he regarded as the leading French scholar in the field. 11 Samuel Bochart, Opera omnia. hoc est Phaleg, Canaan, et Hierozoïcon, editio tertia in qua locupletanda, exornanda, & corrigenda, singulare studium posuerunt Johannes Leusden . . . et Petrus de Villemandy, 3 vols. (Leiden, 1692). Henceforth Opera. The fourth edition (1712) is essentially the same and retains the same pagination. As Morin tells us, the work of preparing the edition was first assigned to Pierre du Bosc (1623–1691/2), another Caennais minister, who was famous for his eloquent preaching. Still in France, du Bosc was furnished with all the necessary mémoires, but the misfortunes of the French Protestant Church prevented the completion of this enterprise, and the mémoires went to a relative of Bochart. This relative must be Samuel le Sueur de Colleville (b. 1651), Bochart’s grandson and only heir. In 1678 le Sueur succeeded his father, Pierre le Sueur, in the Parlement of Rouen, from which he was soon dismissed by Louis XIV for speaking against a Catholic practice. A proud Protestant, after the Revocation he was jailed for a long period, until left to his own, already an old man. Samuel le Sueur had already attempted to collect his grandfather’s unpublished manuscripts in 1682. See Gaston Lavalley, Catalogue des manuscrits de la bibliothèque municipale de Caen (Caen, 1880), xxiii–xxvii. Some evidence relating to the editorial work on Bochart’s Opera is given in a letter from Mme de Tilly, du Bosc’s friend, to Pierre Daniel Huet (1630–1721), then Bishop of Avranches: “L’on réimprime les ouvrages de M. Bochart; M. Morin s’est chargé de veiller sur cette impression. Il écrit la vie de cette excellent homme. Il a ramassé quelques dissertations qu’il y rejoindra; il y en avait en Français, il les a mises en latin; il dira un mot du Paradis terrestre. M. de Colleville, qui avait trente cinq ou quarante dissertations, n’en fournit pas

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Figure 33. Frontispiece of Samuel Bochart’s Opera Omnia (1692), showing themes from his Hierozoïcon (on animals mentioned in the Bible), and Geographia sacra. Bochart, Opera Omnia, 3 vols. (Amsterdam: Boutesteyn & Luchtmans, 1692), I. Source: Warburg Institute Library.

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first-hand testimony, Morin’s account provides the basic outline of Bochart’s life and work to this day, and has influenced most of the later biographers and panegyrists.12 The line of Bochart’s uncritical admirers was broken by Edmund Reuss in 1854, with a sharper survey of Bochart’s work. Reuss, imbued with the contemporary ideas and practices of positivism, described Bochart as a great scholar in his own time, whose methods and outlook were nevertheless completely outdated. Although gesturing towards a historical understanding of Bochart in his own terms, Reuss ultimately used the seventeenthcentury Bochart as a tool to criticize the Bocharts of his own day, the “traînards” (laggards) who still clung to obsolete methods.13 The most serious student of Bochart’s work in its historical context was Alfred Galland, writing in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. More than any of his predecessors, Galland paid close attention to Bochart’s texts and methods—in particular to Bochart’s political ideas—and brought to light new documents concerning Bochart and his milieu. Yet overall, Galland’s work, too, is marred by apologetics and ultimately geared towards the rehabilitation of contemporary French Protestantism.14 More recently, we have been blessed by the

une seule. Il dit que tout a été perdu quand les dragons ont été chez lui. N’auriez-vous rien, Monsieur, de ce grand homme, qui a été de vos amis et avec qui vous avez été si familier? Il n’était pas chiche de ce qu’il avoit et en faisait volontiers part à ses amis.” Tergaut (near Rotterdam), 19 July [1690], BN Ms. fr. 15188, fos. 137–43, printed in J. A. Galland, Essai sur l’histoire du protestantisme à Caen et en Basse-Normandie, de l’Édit de Nantes à la révolution (1598–1791) (Paris: Grassart, 1898), 485. I suspect that Huet kept to himself one of Bochart’s more important manuscripts, although this is yet to be proven. 12 They are Pierre Bayle, Dictionnaire historique et critique, ed. Desmaizaux, 5 ed., 4 vols. (Amsterdam: 1740), I: 585–87; Christian Ludwig Schlichter, “Apologia pro Bocharto,” Bibliotheca bremensis nova 2 (1761): 170–95; William R. Wittingham, “Essay on the Life and Writings of Samuel Bochart,” in Essays and Dissertations in Biblical Literature, 105–68 (New York: G. & C. & H. Carvill, 1829); L. D. Paumier, Éloge historique de Samuel Bochart (Rouen: Periaux, 1840); Edward Herbert Smith, Samuel Bochart. Recherches sur la vie et les ouvrages de cet auteur illustre. Mémoire (Acad. roy. des sci., arts et belles-lettres de la ville de Caen) (Caen, 1833); Eugène and Émile Haag, La France protestante, ed. H. Bordier, 2 ed., 6 vols. (Paris: Société de l’histoire du protestantisme français, 1877), II:649–65. The fullest and most accurate bibliographic account is François Martin, Bio-bibliographie normande. Athenæ Normannorum, eds. V. Bourrienne and T. Genty (Caen: 1901–3), 376–413. 13 E. Reuss, “Samuel Bochart,” Revue de théologie 8 (1854): 129–56 at 151. 14 J. A. Galland, Quid Samuel Bochartus “De jure regum” anno 1650, disseruerit (Alençon: Guy, 1897), which appeared in French as J. A. Galland, “Les pasteurs français Amyraut, Bochart, etc., et la royauté de droit divin, de l’Edit d’Alais à la Révocation (1629–1685),” Bulletin de la Société de l’histoire du protestantisme français 77 (1928): 14–20, 105–34, 225–41, 413–23. Galland’s most important contribution is the above-cited Essai sur l’histoire du protestantisme à Caen.

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massive oeuvre of François Laplanche, who in a series of publications elucidated the inner workings of French Protestant scholarship in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Laplanche, however, devoted most of his energies to Louis Cappel and Moïse Amyraut of Saumur, and treated Bochart only in passing.15 Finally, April Shelford in her book on Pierre-Daniel Huet has given a useful account of Bochart as the major source of influence on the young Huet.16 In terms of primary sources the situation is far from ideal for the modern student of Bochart. Many of Bochart’s letters and manuscripts have disappeared, and those that have reached us are dispersed among different collections and not always properly catalogued. Bochart’s huge library, which included about 4,000 books, 140 of them annotated in his own hand, has yet to be reconstructed, although it is unclear whether this might be possible at all.17 Moreover, basic working tools, such as an edition of Bochart’s correspondence and a decent intellectual biography, do not exist. If this chapter lingers on biographical and other non-geographical matters, it is due to this basic fact. The next two sections discuss Bochart’s career until the mid-1640s, briefly, and the publication process of the Geographia sacra in more detail. The sections that follow analyze Bochart’s Geographia, its sources, argument, maps, and reception. Born in Rouen, on 10 May 1599, into a Protestant family of robe nobility, Samuel Bochart spent most of his relatively uneventful life 15 François Laplanche, “Tradition et modernité au XVIIe siècle: l’exégèse biblique des protestants français,” Annales: Economies, Societes, Civilisations 40, no. 3 (1985): 463–88; Bible, sciences et pouvoirs au XVIIe siècle (Napoli: Bibliopolis, 1997); La Bible en France entre mythe et critique (16e–19 e s.) (Paris: Albin Michel, 1994), esp. 35–38; L’écriture, le sacré et l’histoire: érudits et politiques protestants devant la Bible en France au XVIIe siècle (Amsterdam: APA-Holland University Press, 1986), esp. 250–54. 16 April G. Shelford, Transforming the Republic of Letters: Pierre-Daniel Huet and European Intellectual Life, 1650–1720 (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2007), passim, based on her more detailed “Faith and Glory: Pierre-Daniel Huet and the Making of the Demonstratio Evangelica (1679)” (Ph.D., Princeton University, 1997), esp. chapter 2. See also Alphonse Dupront, Pierre-Daniel Huet et l’exégèse comparatiste au XVIIe siècle (Paris: E. Leroux, 1930), 95–99. 17 BN Ms. Gr. Supp. 1005, fos. 1–5, has a list of Bochart’s libri annotati compiled on 28 June 1835 by A. J. Letronne, who also transcribed Bochart’s actual notes on Philostorgius, [Aristotles] De mundo, Diodorus, Theocritus, and Nonnus. See partial transcription in the Appendix. For the history of the debate over the authorship of De Mundo see Jill Kraye, “Daniel Heinsius and the Author of De mundo,” in The Uses of Greek and Latin, eds. A. C. Dionisotti, J. Kraye and A. Grafton, 171–97 (London: The Warburg Institute, 1988).

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as a minister in Caen, Normandy. He received his first lessons from his father, René Bochart (d. 1614), a minister in Rouen since 1594. As a refugee in England during the Wars of Religion, René befriended Pierre du Moulin (1568–1658), the eminent French divine, and in 1595 married du Moulin’s sister, Esther.18 The young Samuel was sent to Paris to study with a colorful teacher, Thomas Dempster (1579?– 1625), a Catholic Scot, who edited the standard edition of Rosinus’s Corpus antiquitatum.19 Bochart then moved to the Protestant academy of Sedan, where he studied theology under his uncle du Moulin. In 1615 he defended his theses there, and dedicated the printed version of them to his uncle and to his grandfather, Joachim du Moulin.20 Three years later Bochart was studying in the recently established academy of Saumur, a Protestant intellectual (and actual) fortress.21 His Hebrew teacher was Louis Cappel (1585–1658), who, as will be discussed below, dramatically influenced Bochart’s formation as a scholar. In theology Bochart followed the lectures of John Cameron (1579?–1625), whose political ideas would resurface in Bochart’s own thinking on royal power. On 11 May 1621 Louis XIII, while en route to La Rochelle which rebelled in December 1620, took the castle of Saumur from Protestant control and deprived Duplessis-Mornay of any real power over the town.22 Following Morin, most biographers write that in the face of mounting trouble Bochart left for England with Cameron, and then moved to Leiden. It seems more likely, however,

18

Esther du Moulin, Samuel Bochart’s mother, was the widow of Georges Guillebert. On Rosinus (J. Rossfeld) see Arnaldo Momigliano, The Classical Foundations of Modern Historiography (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 58. Dempster was so impressed with Bochart that he included the latter’s youthful verse in his Rosinus edition, Antiquitatum Romanarum corpus absolutissimum, 1612. Dempster spent as much time dueling and litigating as on his books. See Alexander Du Toit, “Dempster, Thomas (1579–1625),” ODNB. 20 Περὶ τῆς ϕυσικῆς ϕύσεως, Quas favente Deo Opt. Ma. sub praesidio D. Jo. Smith (Sedan: Jean Jannon, 1615). Robert Evans notes that it was often the professor presiding over the defense (praeses) who wrote or annotated the thesis: “German Universities after the Thirty Years War,” History of Universities 1 (1981): 169–90. 21 On Saumur as a Protestant center see François Laplanche and Didier Poton, “Le temps de la controverse (1621–1685),” in Histoire de Saumur, ed. Hubert Landais, 165–85 (Toulouse: Privat, 1997); and in the same volume Didier Poton, “Réforme et guerres de religion (1500–1621),” 137–63; see also Saumur, capitale européenne du protestantisme au XVIIe siècle (Abbaye royale de Fontevraud, 1991). 22 Poton, “Réforme et guerres de religion,” 155. 19

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that Bochart left Saumur earlier (but not before 21 August 1620), and went by himself first to Leiden.23 Bochart matriculated at Leiden University on 24 November 1620.24 Here his theological guide was another illustrious uncle, the theologian André Rivet (1572–1651), who moved to Leiden from France that year.25 Bochart’s Oriental learning was now reinforced by lessons with Thomas Erpenius (1584–1624), arguably the leading Arabist in Europe of the time. Bochart’s Leiden theses on idolatry, defended on 23 June 1621, reflect perhaps his first foray into philological-antiquarian research and Oriental subject matter.26 Bochart then visited England. In Oxford, Anthony Wood records a “Sam. Bochartus, Gallus” who was admitted to the Bodleian Library as a foreign nobleman on 13 January 1622 (= 1623).27 More than two months later, on 25 March 1623 Bochart signed the Album amicorum of an aging William Bedwell (c. 1561–1632), the first serious student of Arabic in early modern England and Thomas Erpenius’ mentor (Figure 34).28 Although there is no further substantial evidence about Bochart’s stay in England, it is reasonable to assume that

23 Bochart’s Saumur thesis is entitled Theses theologicae de verbo Dei . . . , praeside clarissimo . . . D. Joanne Camerone, . . . , tueri conabitur Samuel Bochartus Rothomagensis . . . (Saumur: T. Portaeus, 1620). The thesis was defended on 21 August 1620 in the Protestant Temple of Saumur. L. W. B. Brockliss dates Cameron’s departure from Saumur to the spring of 1621: “Cameron, John (1579/80–1625),” ODNB. 24 Willem N. Du Rieu, Album studiosorum . . . (The Hague: 1875), 151. 25 Rivet married Marie du Moulin, the sister of Pierre and Esther, Bochart’s mother. Marie du Moulin was the widow of Antoine des Guyots. 26 Samuel Bochart, Disputatio theologica decima nona, de idololatria (Leiden: Isaac Elsevier, 1621). I have not seen this booklet myself (there are copies in Michigan and Koninklijke Bibliotheek). 27 Bodley Ms. Wood E. 5, f. 94v. See also Wood’s entry in Athenae Oxonienses (London, 1691), 844: “Sam. Bochartus of Roan in Normandy became a Sojourner this year [1622] in the University, and was entred a Student in the publick Library in the beginning of Lent Term: with the help of which and other Libraries he laid the foundation of most rare Books which he afterwards published. His Geographia sacra hath made him famous in the learned World, as also his Hierozoïcon; for both which, eminent authors do in an high manner celebrate his name. He was Pastor of the Protestant Church at Caen in Normandy, where he died in 1667, being ever a great lover of the Church of England.” 28 “Idha zalla ‘alim yazilu bizilihi ‘alam [If a scholar slips, the world falls with him]. Doctissimo linguarumque Orientalium peritissimo viro D. Will. Beduello. Verbi Divini Pastori Fidissimo, in perpetuum amoris et observantiae monimentum scriptum reliquit in Galliam profecturus. 1o die A. 1623. S. Bochardus Rothomag. Gall. Die Martis 25.” Leiden UL Ms. BPL 2753, f. 89v (Figure 34). I would like to thank Yoav Di Capua for the Arabic transcription and translation. On Bedwell see Alastair Hamilton, William Bedwell, the Arabist, 1563–1632 (Leiden: E.J. Brill/Leiden University Press for the Sir Thomas Browne Institute, 1985); Toomer, Eastern Wisdome, 56–64.

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Figure 34. Samuel Bochart’s entry in William Bedwell’s Album Amicorum, 25 March 1623, Leiden UL Ms. BPL 2753, f. 89v. Source: Leiden University Libraries, Special Collections.

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he made important acquaintances during that period. Later in his career Bochart had quite a few English correspondents, such as Meric Casaubon, Edward Pococke, and the latter’s pupil, Samuel Clarke.29 Bochart’s second major work, the Hierozoïcon, was published in 1663 in London, and dedicated to Charles II.30 More instances of Bochart’s English contacts will appear below, as I discuss the enthusiastic English reception of Bochart’s Phoenician thesis, and the less enthusiastic Huguenot response to the English Civil War. Bochart’s academic pilgrimage may then have taken him back to Sedan, for we find three theses by Bochart printed there in 1623–24: on Councils, defended on 1 November 1623, presided over by du Moulin; on the toleration of Arminians, defended on 20 November 1623, presided over by Cappel; and on the folly of praying for the dead, defended on 6 March 1624, presided over by Abraham Rambour.31 Thus the trail of documentation left behind by Bochart, although rather thin for this period, suggests that after he registered at Leiden, where he spent the whole of 1621, he moved to England as a visiting student, and finally returned, probably in mid-1623, to Sedan. Already in his twenties, Bochart’s spreading fame as a talented philologist earned him a pastor’s post in Caen, an opportunity which he embraced with enthusiasm and commitment. From this point onward—except for a glamorous trip to Stockholm in 1652–53 at the invitation of Christina of Sweden—Bochart’s life entered a routine of scholarship and pastoral work. He married Suzanne de Beverslhuys, who gave birth to his single daughter, Esther, and devoted his time to his books, sermons, and community. A few years after his arrival in Caen, Bochart found himself at the center of attention as the Protestant representative in a public debate against the ex-Jesuit François Veron (1575–1649), a professional

29 See also Malcolm’s analysis of the English dedicatee list in the special presentation copy of the Geographia sacra, which de Cardonnel prepared (Malcolm, “Pierre de Cardonnel,” 275–77) It is reasonable to assume that Bochart shared with de Cardonnel some English acquaintances, some of whom were Royalist exiles in Caen. 30 Samuel Bochart, Hierozoïcon, sive, bipertitum opus De animalibus Sacræ Scripturæ (Londini: Tho. Roycroft . . . impensis Jo. Martin & Jac. Allestry, 1663). 31 Thesium theologicarum de Conciliis . . . ; Theses theologicae satius ne fuerit Arminii doctrina tolerari quam damnari?; De Commentitiis peccati poenis disputatio secunda, quae est de suffragiis pro mortuis. . . . sub praesidio . . . D. Abrahami Ramburtii, . . . tueri conabitur Samuel Bochartus, . . . die 6 martii (Sedan, 1624). All printed in Sedan by Jean Jannon.

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controversialist who engaged many distinguished pastors along his route.32 The debate took place from 22 to 29 September 1628 in the presence of the Duc de Longueville, governor of Normandy, and was staged in the castle of Caen, out of fear of public agitation. Both sides claimed victory and published accounts of the dispute.33 In 1630, Veron, apparently unsatisfied by the outcome, continued to haunt Bochart and stir the communities in Caen, until Longueville banned him from carrying out missions in Normandy. Religious tensions notwithstanding, Caen provided a tolerant and rich intellectual environment, in which Bochart became one of the main protagonists. While they were away in Sweden, Bochart and his young companion Huet were elected to the newly formed Academy of Caen, headed by the Protestant Jacques Moisant de Brieux. Since then, until his death in 1667 (during one of the Academy’s sessions), the Academy would be another pole of Bochart’s life in Caen.34 Bochart, then, matured at the heart of Huguenot orthodoxy. He was a member by birth of the highest Protestant intellectual and aristocratic circles of France at the time, an elite trapped by pronounced loyalty to a kingdom by which it was increasingly persecuted. This was also a minority beset by internal disagreement. His family ties to Rivet and du Moulin placed Bochart squarely within the strict Calvinism of the Synod of Dort. His scholarly inclination toward philologicalhistorical research brought him closer to the controversial ideas of his teacher at Saumur, Cappel. As we shall see, these tensions would leave their mark on the Geographia sacra.

32 Bochart had already met Veron in 1619, as an assistant to his future brother-inlaw, Maximilian de l’Angle, in Rouen. On this and other debates in Normandy see Galland, Essai sur l’histoire du protestantisme à Caen et en Basse-Normandie, 36–45. 33 Bochart, Actes de la conference tenue a Caen, entre Samuel Bochart & Iean Baillehache, ministres de la parole de Dieu en l’eglise reformée dudit lieu, d’une part. Et Francois Veron predicateur des controverses, & Isaac Le Conte doyen du sainct sepulchre à Caen, de l’autre (Saumur: Iean Lesnier & Isaac Desbordes, 1630). 34 There is good coverage of intellectual life in Caen in the second half of the seventeenth century: Katherine Stern Brennan, “Culture and Dependencies: The Society of the Men of Letters of Caen from 1652 to 1705.” (Ph.D., Johns Hopkins University, 1981); out of which she extracted “Le zèle religieux et la discipline de la république des lettres à Caen au XVIIe siècle: les Rapports entre Pierre-Daniel Huet et Samuel Bochart,” Annales de Normandie 46, no. 5 (1996): 697–708; and “Indépendence et dépendence: la fondation de l’Académie de Caen et la construction des relations entre Caen et Paris 1652–1674,” Ibid., 675–96; David Stephan Lux, Patronage and Royal Science in Seventeenth-Century France: the Académie de physique in Caen (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1989).

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Except for a few short academic theses and the proceedings of his disputation with the Jesuit Veron, it seems that Bochart was not in any particular hurry to publish his philological studies—a subject that he much preferred to matters of theology and dogma. Although we have no direct evidence on the making of the Geographia sacra, his first major publication, the process can be reconstructed in rough terms from references in the correspondence of Claude Sarrau (Sarravius, c. 1600–1651), particularly with André Rivet, who then lived in The Hague. Sarrau, a noble Protestant magistrate, first in the Parlement of Rouen, then of Paris, was an érudit and patron of learning, deeply involved in literary and scholarly projects in the capital and all over Europe.35 The success of Bochart’s scholarly debut owed a great deal to Sarrau’s encouragement and pressure, and to his promotion of Bochart’s talents among his correspondents. Thus in 1641 Sarrau arranged a meeting in Rouen between Bochart and the famous Claude de Saumaise (1588–1658), Scaliger’s self-styled successor in Leiden.36 Sarrau also used his connections to open Parisian libraries and circles to the provincial pastor.37 Sarrau encouraged Bochart to engage in the controversies of the day and to enter the European Republic of Letters. For example, he urged Bochart to intervene in the debate between Nicolaus Heinsius and Saumaise on the appropriateness of the term “Hellenistic language” to denote the Greek of the New Testament. Saumaise opposed the term “Hellenistic language” proposed by Heinsius, and thought “Hebraistic” was more appropriate.38 Sarrau also wished that Bochart would write in defense of du Moulin against Grotius,

35 Among Sarrau’s correspondents were Christina of Sweden, Saumaise, Godefroy, Samuel Petit, and Hugo Grotius, who was also his friend. 36 The following chapter will discuss Saumaise in the 1620s, when still in Dijon. 37 “Encores que graces a D[ieu] nostre France aut de grands hommes, i’oze le {Bochart} mettre au rangs des premiers et ne le blasme qu’en une chose de ce qu’il ne se produit pas assés au dehors et ensevelit son talent dans son Caën.” Hans Bots and Pierre Leroy, eds., Correspondance intégrale d’André Rivet et de Claude Sarrau, 3 vols. (Amsterdam: APA, 1978), I:CXVI, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 6 February 1643 (henceforth CIRS). Bochart thanks Sarrau for these services in the dedication of Chanaan (Opera, 323–24). 38 CIRS I:III, Rivet to Sarrau, The Hague, 1 October 1641; I:IV, Sarrau to Rivet, Rouen, 9 October 1641; CIRS, I:XCII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 7 November 1642; I:XCIV, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 15 November 1642; I:CII, Rivet to Sarrau, The Hague, 16 December 1642.

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and answer the latter’s objections to equating the Pope with the Antichrist.39 Sarrau’s exhortations were at times aggressive, as when, for example, he asked Rivet, one uncle, to convince Bochart to defend another, du Moulin.40 Such pressures could reduce Bochart to respond in “kyrielles,” in which he bemoaned being overwhelmed by his pastoral duties. Of his two colleague pastors, Bochart complained, one was sickly and the other too young, and so he had to carry alone the burden of the whole Reformed Church in Caen.41 Yet one project suggested by Sarrau around 1639 was to Bochart’s liking. In the same letter Sarrau reports: Three years ago I gently suggested to him to write a treatise on the Terrestrial Paradise, which is now very advanced. This is not a mere work of curiosity. He breaks down and almost totally destroys all the Latin, Greek, and Arabic versions in order to give authority to the Hebrew original. Having found the way to shove much Oriental learning into this work, he is fond of it and wants to complete it.42

39 CIRS, I:V, Rivet to Sarrau, The Hague, 22 October 1641; I:XXXII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 4 April 1642. 40 “Solicités Mr vostre nepveu Mr Bochart d’entreprendre la deffence de Mr du M[oulin]. Il le peut ou personne. Mais si vous ne vous y prennés vivement Monsieur et par frequantes reprises, c’est perdre temps, car il est si souvent distraict qu’a moins que d’estre bien pressé il ne manquera iamais d’excuse ni de raison pour ne rien faire. Ie feray de mon costé ce que ie pourray”. CIRS I:VIII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 29 November 1641; and see also I: IX, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 20 December 1641. Sarrau, one should note, was an admirer of Grotius, and edited the latter’s letters to Frenchmen: Hugonis Grotii epistolae ad Gallos, nunc primum editae [by C. Sarrau.] (Leiden, 1648). 41 “Vous avez ci jointe la reponce de Monsieur Bochart plene sans doutes d’excuses: car il m’en escrit une belle kyrielle comme on dit. Certes Monsieur il est a plaindre. Ses collegues le soulagent peu et tout le fardeau de cette grande Eglise tombe sur lui. De deux, l’un est maladif, l’autre jeune et foible. La ville est plene de gents faineants et curieux: il est souvent heraclé de menues conferances dont on ne se peut depestrer qu’en prestant le collet. Duclos Ministre de Fallaize en son voysinage, s’est revolté depuis 15 iours, aussi tost 2 de ses quartiers s’addressent a lui et faut courrir a 10 grandes lieues les fortifier et consoler.” CIRS, I:XII, Sarrau to Rivet, 10 January 1642. The two pastors referred to are probably Jean de Baillehache (served 1620–61) and Jacques Bridou (1638–47). See Galland, Essai sur l’histoire du protestantisme à Caen, 478. 42 “Il y a 3. ans que ie l’engageai insensiblement a un Traicté du Parradis Terrestre lequel est fort avancé. Ce n’est pas une simple piece de curiosité. Per media, il bat en ruines toutes les versions Latines Grecques Arabiques si puissament pour authorizer l’original Hebreu qu’elles ne se peuvent garentir de totalle ruine. Ayant trouvé moyen de fourrer beaucoup de l’Orient dans cette piece, il l’affectionne et la veut achever.” CIRS, I:XII, Sarrau to Rivet, 10 January 1642. Sarrau’s high expectations are revealed in a letter to the Hellenist Paulmier de Grentesmesnil: “Bochardus ad vos rediit

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Here is the first reference to Bochart’s Geographia sacra, while it was still a treatise on the Terrestrial Paradise, as will be discussed in detail in the next section. But its ambition, as well as its sprawling nature, were already clear. Soon this project swallowed all of Bochart’s free time,43 and by the end of January 1642 he announced to Sarrau the imminent completion of the treatise on Paradise. Sarrau and Rivet were hoping that Bochart would then finally turn to the long-requested defense of du Moulin. They were again disappointed.44 When Saumaise directly attacked Bochart in print over the Hellenistic language debate, based on views that Bochart had expressed during their private meeting in Rouen, Sarrau encouraged Bochart to respond as soon as possible. He suggested that Bochart publish another book—on biblical animals— as soon as possible, and answer Saumaise in the preface. Here the Hierozoïcon (1663), Bochart’s other major work, was first announced, twenty years before its actual publication.45 On 4 September 1643 Sarrau could report an exciting piece of information from Bochart: a Maronite had settled in Caen, and Bochart was hoping to use his services for the Oriental press which Bochart

negotio ex animi sui sententia confecto pro se affinibusque suis, uti ab eo cognoscere potuisti. Stipulanti spopondit Diatribam de Paradiso terrestri, de qua sodes aurem velle.” Pieter Burman, ed., Marquardi Gudii . . . epistolae. . . . et Claudii Sarravii . . . epistolae ex eadem bibliotheca auctiores (Utrecht: F. Halma, G. van de Water, 1697), 13–14, letter V, Paris to Vandoeuvre, 14 July 1639. 43 “Mons. Bochart m’escrit le mesme qu’a vous, et ne me veut rien promettre qu’il ne soit hors de son paradis. Je luy ai neantmoins faict une recharge.” CIRS, I:XV, Rivet to Sarrau, The Hague, 20 January 1642. 44 “Mr Bochart est prest de finir son Paradis, puis tout de bon il se resout a executer vos ordres. Vous avez pourtant bien fait Monsieur de le guider encores une fois.” CIRS, I:XVI, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 24 January 1642; and I:XX, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 7 Feb. 1642; I:XXXII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 4 April 1642. When Bochart finally took the time to look at Grotius’s Appendix on the Antichrist, his reply must have disappointed the two correspondents: “Mr vostre neveu Mr Bochart dit aprés avoir veu l’Appendix de Antichristo qu’il n’y pourroit respondre sans irriter les puissance ce qu’il ne veut ni ne doibt. Que sans cela sa responce seroit trop maigre” CIRS, I:XL, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 2 May 1642. 45 CIRS, II:CII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 18 July 1643. When Bochart’s reply to Saumaise finally landed in Sarrau’s hands, he thought it was too bitter for circulation and suppressed it: “J’ay eu responce du Funus que i’avois envoié à Mr Bochard, laquelle ie me garderai bien de faire veoir à l’autheur de l’Ossilegium ni autre, esperant qu’avec le temps Monsieur Vostre neveu s’addoucissant, se trouvera jour a reunir ces deux tres excellents personnages. Il a occasion de mieux emploier son temps et plus utilement pour le public qu’a ronger cet os lequel il abandonne pour mettre a fin plusieurs ouvrages exquis qu’il a commencés.” CIRS, II:CLXXIII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 4 September 1643.

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owned.46 Two weeks later, Sarrau wrote about a discussion with Louis Cappel, who was visiting Paris. The two were trying to find a printer for Cappel’s Critica sacra. One of the options suggested was Bochart’s Oriental press in Caen—at that point still only an idea.47 By the end of October, however, Bochart’s printer was on his way to Caen, with all the necessary “appareil oriental.”48 A few weeks later the press was being set up: M. Bochart hopes to start the press rolling in the beginning of the year, and he could keep it busy with his own work alone. In case there is a need for work, M. Cappel could provide something, and I sent [Bochart] in advance some pieces of Cappel, which can only be printed correctly under an expert in Oriental languages such as Bochart.49

Bochart was putting together, then, an Oriental scholar’s paradise—a private press for his own use. And a scholarly entrepreneur such as Sarrau was quick to use this opportunity to advance other Protestant causes, such as Cappel’s problematic Critica sacra. In other words, a Protestant Oriental press was rapidly approaching operational status. This the Catholic authorities could not allow, and here our story rejoins the opening of this chapter, the arrêt of March 1644, and Pierre de Cardonnel’s petition to Chancellor Séguier. Who were the people involved in Bochart’s press? The Maronite who settled in Caen, sieur Sergius, is probably Sarkis al-Gamri, ordained in 1622 at the Maronite College, a professor of Oriental languages in Paris 46

“Pour le presser davantage que par ci devant il se trouve qu’on Maronite s’est habituë à Caën, de la conversation duquel il espere de grands avantages et les faire paroistre en bref par une impression Arabique qui dependra de luy.” CIRS, II:CLXXIII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 4 September 1643. 47 “C’est un excellent personnage es langues Orientales. Il remportera sa Critique sacrée pour y bailler la dernier main, et puis la laisser imprimer soit [a] Caen où Mr vostre neveu se promet de dresser une impression Orientale, soit en vos quartiers si vous voulés l’assister de vostre credit et authorité. Et ie crois ce dernier plus assuré.” CIRS, II:CLXVI, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 19 September 1643. On Cappel’s Critica sacra, eventually published in Paris, 1650, see more below. 48 “Pour Monsieur Bochart c’est tout de bon qu’il s’en va faire merveilles: son imprimeur est part d’ici cette semaine avec tout l’appareil oriental qui lui estoit necessaire a cet effect. Et il ne s’y engaige en rien qu’a leur bailler de quoy travailler, dont il ne manque pas.” CIRS, II:CLXXXVIII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 29 October 1643. 49 “Monsieur Bochart espere a ce commencement d’année faire rouller son imprimerie qu’il peut occuper tout seul du sien. En cas qu’il eust faute de besogne, Mr Cappel a de quoy subvenir; et ie lui ay envoié par advance quelques pieces dud[it] Sieur Cappel que ne peuvent estre imprimées correctement qu’avec le soing d’un tres savant aux langues orientales tel qu’est led[it] Sr Bochard.” CIRS, II:CXCV, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 27 November 1643.

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from 1647 until 1658, when he returned to Lebanon for a bishop’s post.50 According to Duverdier, Sergius and his more famous relative, Gabriel Sionita, actively assisted de Cardonnel in obtaining Arabic type—a very rare and powerful commodity, which Richelieu and later the Assembly of the Clergy attempted to control, especially to prevent its use by Protestants. Jean Jannon, the master printer recruited by Bochart and de Cardonnel, is a well-known figure in the history of printing as a specialist in minuscule books and an engraver of the fine character commonly known as Garamond.51 More importantly, Jannon, a Protestant of Swiss origin, became in 1611 the printer to the Protestant academy of Sedan, and in that role he printed Bochart’s four Sedan theses. Pierre du Moulin printed many of his polemical works with Jannon, as did Cappel and Rivet. Around 1640 Jannon found himself in financial difficulties, and the offer by Bochart and de Cardonnel to hire his services and buy his equipment must have come at the right moment. We cannot know the exact arrangement between Bochart and de Cardonnel concerning the press. Yet it is reasonable to assume that this was Bochart’s brainchild, and that he was involved in every stage of the organization of this complicated and risky initiative. In intellectual terms, as was noted above, the prospective books on biblical curiosities mentioned in the petition match Bochart’s actual work. The choice of the figures involved also bears Bochart’s mark—recruiting Jannon, the ‘family’ printer, who could found type, with the help of Sergius, a native Arabic speaker and a relative of Sionita, whom Bochart may have known via Erpenius. Finally, in the Rivet-Sarrau correspondence there are clear indications that Bochart had invested financially in the press.52 While Malcolm is right that Bochart’s name was dropped from de Cardonnel’s petition for political reasons, he

50

Duverdier, “Les impressions orientales,” 267–69; Malcolm, “Pierre de Cardonnel,” 269. 51 Beatrice Warde, The 1621 specimen of Jean Jannon (Paris: H. Champion, 1927); Lepreux, Gallia typographica, série départmentale II: 18–23. 52 While the Geographia sacra was printed Rivet wrote to Sarrau: “J’ay reçeu en fin lettres de mon Nepveu Bochart, qui se repent de ne m’avoir pas creu, et se trouve grandement embarrassé en l’impresion de son escrit qu’il a entrepris a ses despends [ . . . ]” CIRS, III:CCCXCIII, The Hague, 25 December 1645. After the Geographia sacra was finally published Rivet wrote: “Nous l’eussions mis en meilleures mains, s’il se fust voulu charger du debit de 200 exemplaires que eust esté peu au pris de la charge qui luy demeure apres une grande et ennuyeuse fatigue.” CIRS, III:CCCCLXIV, Breda, 20 April 1647 (my emphases).

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underestimates Bochart’s actual role in the planning, execution, and funding of this remarkable venture. I assume that the ideal scenario as it ran in Bochart’s mind when he entered partnership with de Cardonnel was to create a private press tailored for his own publications, over which he would have tight control—a perfectionist’s dream. Now, however, after the raid of 14 March 1644, everything fell apart. The vigilant Sarrau, who was universally respected as an upright magistrate, tried to reason with Séguier, unsuccessfully, and was very doubtful about the prospects of publishing Bochart’s work.53 Bochart faced mounting pressure from Rivet, Sarrau, and his brother-in-law in Rouen, de Langle, to forsake the printing in Caen and seek options in Holland.54 A desperate Bochart had Isaac Vossius take Rivet a prospectus of the work, now titled De origine gentium, in the hope of finding a publisher.55 In the following year Bochart changed his mind

53 “Le dessein de l’Imprimerie de Caën court grand risque, Mr le Chancelier s’y rendant fort contraire sans vouloir escouter raison: et sans cette occasion ie doubte que nous voyons iamais grand chose de Monsieur vostre nepveu que ie mets au rang des plus grands hommes en doctrine qui vivent au monde.” CIRS, II:CCXXXVIII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 7 May 1644. I assume that Sarrau had access to Séguier, because after the latter’s pacification of Normandy, Sarrau was chosen to be sent to Rouen while the local Parlement was in exile. Michaud, Biographie universelle, 2 ed. (Paris: Desplaces, 1843–) 38: 28. 54 CIRS, II:CCLXIX, Rivet to Sarrau, The Hague, 22 August 1644 (de Langle); II:CCLXXV, Rivet to Sarrau, The Hague, 12 September 1644 (Rivet reports that Spanheim is willing to help); II: CCLXXXII, Rivet to Sarrau, The Hague, 3 October 1644 (Vossius, father and son, might help too). De Langle wrote to Rivet on 5 August 1644: “Monsieur Bochart m’a envoié son Phaleg ou Geographia sacra que j’ay commencé à lire. Je n’ay jamais rien leu de plus docte, ni de plus agreable à ceux qui aiment cette sorte de littérature, qui a ses utilités relatives à la Religion et qui confime la vérité des Escritures. Il se promet de les faire imprimer auprez de luy, mais il se flate de vains esperances, car on ne luy permettra jamais. Cependant, il m’avoue que ceste esperence luy a fait espargner, en maintes rencontres, ceux de l’Eglise romaine.” On 14 October he wrote: “[Bochart] continue ses diligences pour obtenir la liberté de faire imprimer son livre à Caen et en a beaucoup d’esperance, quoyque le procureur general de ce lieu [?] luy soit contre.” Leiden UB Ms. lat. 278 fos. 63–64, quoted in Mersenne, Correspondance, XIII: 273–74. 55 “Mons. Isaac Vossius est ici, et m’a veu. Il m’a aporté une bonne lettre de mon nepveu Bochart, la seule depuis pres de six mois. Il m’en faict des excuses, et veut que ma femme {i.e. Bochart’s aunt, Marie} intercede pour son pardon, sans besoin. Il me represante le plan de son labeur de origine gentium, qui doibt estre une piece rare et de grand travail. Il me prie de voir s’il aura moyen de la faire imprimer ici, puis que toute esperance luy est ostée de delà.” CIRS, II:CCLXXXIV, Rivet to Sarrau, The Hague, 10 October 1644. Vossius passed through Caen especially to see Bochart, II:CCLXXIV, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 9 September 1644.

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a few times about this decision.56 However, he used the delay to circulate samples of the work in Paris: Sarrau became immensely excited reading Bochart’s manuscript of 1,200 pages in quarto. He singled out Bochart’s treatment of Ophir—which will be discussed below—as particularly valuable.57 Sarrau passed along to Saumaise the very enthusiastic response of Jérôme Bignon (1589–1656), an erudite magistrate like himself: “Scaliger, Drusius, and [Nicholas] Fuller seem like amateurs compared to our Bochart.”58 Bochart’s project surfaces—along with names such as Hobbes, Sorbière, Descartes, and Toricelli—in the correspondence of the Minim friar Marin Mersenne (1588–1648). Ismaël Boulliau’s reported to Mersenne about Bochart’s work in progress.59 Mersenne (then in Rome) responded:

56 “Mr Bochart [ . . . ] s’opiniastre a faire imprimer son livre a Caën.” CIRS, II:CCXCII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 12 November 1644; “Enfin Mr Bochart est tout a fait resolu comme il m’escrit par ses dernieres de se servir de vostre credit pour l’impression de son livre sans se laisser davantage amuser à Mr Cardonnel qui promet beaucoup et ne fait rien.” CIRS, III:CCCVII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 13 January 1645; and more. 57 “Son ouvrage est ceans qui est une piece plene de merveilles: sur un fondement sacré toute l’erudition profane est expliquée avec des ornements et enrichissements non communs. Sur une ouverture que lui ont fourni les Exercitations sur Solin en trois lignes, y a un chapitre de grande estendu où il monstre que l’Ophir de Salomon est la Taprobana des anciens et la Zeilan d’a present plus clairement que le jour. C’est un chef d’oeuvre de doctrine expliquée si clairement, si agreablement qu’il y a subiect d’admiration. Il me tarde que le public n’ayt conoissance de ces richesses et quand vos libraires auront une fois cognu ce que leur vaudra le nom de Samuel Bochart, ils ne seront pas si difficile. L’ouvrage est grand et crois qu’il en faudra faire un mediocre in folio: en ce que i’ay y a plus de 1200 pages in 4o, d’escriture commune ni grosse ni menue.” CIRS, II:CCXCII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 12 November 1644. 58 “Cadomensis Bochardus eruditissimum Commentarium ad Geneseos caput X perfecit: in quo Geographiae Sacrae illustris & nova tractatio cum omnigena doctrina conjuncta suaviter te afficiet. Majus nostro testimonium habet ab Amplissimo Bignonio, qui hodie mihi affirmavit Scaligerum, Drusium, Fullerum prae hoc nostro ineptire.” Burman, Marquardi Gudii . . . Epistolae; et Claudii Sarravii . . . epistolae, 116, letter CXIII, Paris to Leiden, 15 March 1645. As a precocious eleven-year old, Bignon had published a Chorographie, ou description de la Terre Sainte. 59 “J’ay veu quelque chose d’un livre intitulé Geographia sacra du Sr. Bochard, ministre de Caen en Normandie, et parent de Mess.rs de Champigni, voire mesme de Mr. de Noires. Son dessein est de prouver que toutes les fables des payens sont les verités de l’Escriture saincte depravée par l’idolatrie des descendans de Sem de Cham et de Japhet. Il prouve asses clairement que le Saturne et ses trois enfans, n’est autre que Noé et ses trois fils [ . . . ]. Encores que ce ne soient pas demonstrations, la chose est neantmoins bien traictee, et je ne vous donne que ce petit eschantillon pour vous faire juger de tout. Cet homme est fort versé en Hebreu et en Arabe. Il y a grand nombre d’etymologies dans son oeuvre, jusques la qu’il veut que nostre ancienne langue celtique tire plusieurs mots du Syriaque et Arabe, afin de monstrer que tous les hommes sont venus d’Orient, et de Syrie se sont respandus sur toute la face

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I find M. Bochart’s book worthy of great respect, and if he could also respond to Egyptian and Chinese claims that their chronology goes many years before our epoch of the Creation, it would be a fine work. If he pays you a visit, you can encourage him to do that.60

Mersenne’s interest in Bochart’s cutting-edge work on biblical geography and etymology is not surprising, for two decades earlier he had published his own researches on Genesis.61 Throughout the following two years he kept himself updated on the Geographia sacra, and even offered via Rivet to forward to Bochart his correspondence with the late Pierre le Loyer.62 An eccentric erudite poet and demonologist, Le Loyer (1550–1634) published Edom (1620), and toward the end of his de la Terre.” Mersenne, Correspondance, Letter 1320, Paris to Rome, 16 December 1644, XIII: 272. 60 “Je trouve le livre de Sr Bochard digne de grande consideration, et s’il pouvoit aussi bien repondre au dire des Aegyptiens ou Chinois qui disent avec leur chronologie de tant d’annees par dessuz nostre epoque de la creation, ce seroit un bel ouvrage; s’il hante chez vous, vous pouvez l’encourager à cela.” Ibid., Letter 1333, Rome to Paris, 16 January 1645, XIII: 316. 61 Mersenne, Qvaestiones celeberrimae in Genesim (Paris: Cramoisy, 1623). Mersenne (with Jean Morin) also helped Louis Cappel, Bochart’s teacher, to get the Critica sacra published. 62 “Si vous n’estiez point si loin, je vous prierois que quand vous escrires à Mr. Bochart à Caen, vous luy mandassiez que feu du Loyer d’Angers, dont je croy que vous avez veu le livre des Esprits et peutestre sur le Magnificat a fait trois ou quatre gros volumes de la migration des premiers peuples, de telle sorte qu’il pouvoit quasi dire de quelle famille des anciens nous sommes venus, vous et moy. Il usoit d’une certaine espece de cabale dont il m’a souvent escrit. Les volumes sont manuscrits entre les mains de son fils, avocat à Angers quoyque je ne sçache pas depuis 15 ou 16 ans qu’il estoit icy venu pour les fair imprimer, s’il est mort ou en vie. Tant y a que s’il veut, je luy envoyray un gros pacquet de longues lettres sur ce sujet qu’il m’escrivit un peu avant que de mourir et de cela vous le pouvez asseurer, car il y pourra peutestre profiter, y ayant quantité d’origines et d’hebrieu. Car puisqu’il vous apartient de si prez, je feray cela avec plaisir.” Four months later Mersenne expressed to Rivet his impatience to read the book, and repeated his offer: “Vous ne m’avez point dit où s’imprime le livre de vostre neveu Mr Bochart, neantmoins i’ay de la peine à croire qu’il s’imprime autre part qu’à Rouen, car ie ne pense pas qu’ils ayent des caracteres propres pour cela a Caen. Si tost que le livre sera venu icy, ie quiterray toute autre sorte de lecture pour le lire, car le sujet le merite. Et c’est sur ce mesme sujet que ie vous avois escrit que le Sr du Loyer Angenois avoit fait 3 gros volumes qui ne se sont imprimez, estant entre les mains de son fils (ie croy avocat à Angers). Or le bon vieillard un peu avant que mourir, m’escrivit plusieurs letters sur ce sujet et sur une certaine espece nouvelle de cabale dont il se servoit et c’est ses lettres que i’offrois au cas que vostre dit neveu les voulust voir, car ie suis tousiours bien ayse d’ayder de ce que ie peux ceux qui travaillant à d’excellens ouvrages, scachant par experience combien ils sont difficiles et comme d’une petite lumiere l’on tire parfois de grands avantages” Mersenne, Correspondance, Letter 1413, Mersenne to Rivet, Paris to the Hague, 19–28, December 1645, XIII: 560; Letter 1448, Mersenne to Rivet, Paris to the Hague, 20 Mars 1646, XIV: 151–52, and

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life was writing a large book on the migrations of peoples.63 We have no indication that Bochart ever heard of Mersenne’s offer. If he did, it is more than likely that he evaded it. Le Loyer and his cabalistic etymologies were exactly the kind of scholar and scholarship Bochart was attempting to distance himself from. Similarly, we cannot tell whether Mersenne’s research suggestions concerning Chinese and Egyptian chronology ever reached Bochart. As will be shown below, Bochart usually kept silent about regions which fell out of the scope of biblical geography as he saw it, and sidestepped the tough chronological problems of the time. While sending segments of his Geographia to others, Bochart also used the pause in the work to write a few new chapters, most significantly a large section on Sicily.64 In the end of August 1645, when the arrêt was finally lifted, Bochart and de Cardonnel could retrieve the equipment and the manuscripts, and resume the work. But the original collaborators were no longer involved. About Sergius we hear no more, and Jannon returned to Sedan and reestablished his practice there. The press in Caen now had to rely on unskilled workers.65 Lost, too, were the Arabic fonts, which Jannon may have supplied, or intended to found with the help of the Maronite. As a consequence Bochart had to use Hebrew characters for the printing of all Oriental languages. Despite these setbacks, the work proceeded at a reasonable see further inquiries to Rivet in Letter 1506, XIV: 439; Letter 1528, XIV: 524; Letter 1604, XIV: 113. 63 Edom, ou Les colonies Idumeanes (Paris: Nicolas Buon, 1620). Written with no chapters and almost in one paragraph, Edom is dedicated to the King of England in the hope of bringing England back to Catholicism. Le Loyer published IIII. ljvres des specters (Angers: G. Nepueu, 1586) and various poetical works. See Pierre Bayle, Dictionnaire historique et critique, ed. Desmaizaux, 5 ed., 4 vols. (Amsterdam: 1740), III: 137–38. 64 “Cependent l’ouvrage n’empire pas entre les mains de l’autheur. Il m’escrivoit par ses dernieres qu’il l’avoit accreu d’un grand chapitre concernant la Sicile de laquelle il avoit dechiffré toutes les fables qu’il trouvoit avoir esté puisées de la Bible. Cet escrit sera merveilleux et grandement honorable aux sainctes lettres.” CIRS, III:CCCXXXIII, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 5 May 1645. Indeed, in the first edition Sicily was the only island which received a full map, and Syracuse, the only town with a view (Figure 35, Figure 36). The Opera editors omitted the special map of Sicily. 65 “Monsieur Bochart a eu contentement du Parlement de Rouen d’où il a retiré sa coppie et est sur le poinct de travailler avec liberté ce dit il. Mais il n’a pas d’ouvriers capables d’une telle besogne. Ainsi il y a tousiours quelque fer qui loche, comme on dit, et qui l’empesche d’avancer et tirer chemin.” CIRS, III:CCCLX, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 17 August 1645. Although the procès-verbal of 14 March 1644 does not refer to any texts being confiscated, here we learn that Bochart won back a ‘coppie’ of a text. Jannon returned to Sedan on 5 November 1645.

Figure 35. Map of Phoenician Sicily. Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 2 ed. (Frankfurt: Wustius for J. D. Zunner, 1681), opposite 557. Source: Princeton University Library.

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Figure 36. View of Syracuse, inset in map of Sicily (previous figure). Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 2 ed. (Frankfurt: Wustius for J. D. Zunner, 1681), opposite 557. Source: Princeton University Library.

pace, and the two correspondents, Rivet and Sarrau, exchanged enthusiastic comments on the sample folios they had received. Rivet shared his copy of the section on the “peuplades des Phoeniciens” with Saumaise, who, despite a few quibbles about Persian (a language which Bochart did not know), wished to offer Bochart a chair in Leiden.66 In response, Sarrau guessed (correctly) that it would be impossible to dislodge Bochart from the Protestant church of Caen, since he is a “principal pillar of Lower Normandy” and rather fond of his

66 “Mons. de Saumaise l’a entre les mains, qui le prise grandement. Il dit seulement qu’en quelques endroits [l’auteur] manque de sçavoir la Langue Persienne, en quelques mots qui sont de cette langue il s’est mespris. Au reste il luy tesmoigne grande amitié, et voudroit bien le faire appeller a Leyden, si on sçait / qu’il se puisse liberer du païs de sapience, et quitter la France sans son prejudice. A quoy je travailleroy aussi tres volontiers, [ . . . ].” CIRS, III:CCCCXLI, Rivet to Sarrau, The Hague, 2 July 1646. We will see below that, after the Geographia sacra was published, Saumaise could not resist sending some harsh words to Bochart.

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present location.67 Three years later, Bochart would also decline an offer of a pastor’s post in Leiden—that of the late Friedrich Spanheim (d. 1649).68 In August 1646 the text was completed and Bochart began to prepare the indices. By the end of the year, the book that began and ended Pierre de Cardonnel’s printing career was complete.69 The first edition had two separate title pages: Geographiae sacrae pars prior. Phaleg, seu De dispersione gentium et terrarum diuisione facta in aedificatione turris Babel. And, Geographiae sacrae pars altera. Chanaan, seu De coloniis et sermone Phoenicum.70 Geography and Scripture The pages of the book that would become the Geographia sacra were piling up on Bochart’s desk from the late 1630s, as an outcome of his research on Genesis, and particularly on the Terrestrial Paradise. As we have seen, the subject of Paradise was suggested to Bochart by Claude Sarrau, a great believer in Bochart’s as yet unpublicized erudition. As Bochart explained in the preface to Phaleg, he thought it worthwhile to add to the treatise on Paradise an appendix which

67 “Vous aurez pene de l’arracher de Caën. Sa femme, sa maison, sa facilité envers ses amis lui seront de puissants liens pour l’y retenir. Outre que ie le considere comme le principal pillier de la Basse Normandie qui est soustenue par son auctorité et par sa reputation et grande creance.” CIRS, III:CCCCXLIV, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 12 July 1646. See Bochart’s thank-you letter to Saumaise, Caen, 19 March 1646, Opera, col. 1249–50. 68 “Je suis attaché, comme vous savez, il y a plus de 25. ans, à une grande Eglise, & considerable, & qui a pour moi plus d’inclination mille fois que je ne mérite, & ne consentiroit jamais à mon éloignement, sans grande violence.” Bochart to the Pastors and Elders of the French Church of Leiden, Caen, 5 August 1649, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal Ms. 5420, p. 1203. 69 “Le livre de Mr Bochart est fait et parfait a une Charte prés qui arreste tout.” CIRS, III:CCCCXL, Sarrau to Rivet, Paris, 18 January 1647. Bots and Leroy assume that this last minute delay was a final obstacle mounted by Séguier due to the privilege of the General Estates which Rivet procured for Bochart (on 7 September 1646) on top of the royal privilege (n. 8 to the quoted letter). 70 See Martin, Athenae Normannorum, for an excellent bibliography of Bochart’s printed works. For a brief time, unsold sheets of the Geographia were sold under de Cardonnel’s imprint with a new title page in Rouen, 1651. Next the Geographia came out in Frankfurt, printed by Zunner, 1674, and another printing in 1681. This quarto edition kept the original map design. Two treatises from Bochart were added: the letter to Morley on Presbyterianism and the divine right of kings, and the treatise on Aeneas’ travels.

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briefly explained Genesis 10, the chapter describing the progeny of Noah.71 Eventually Bochart’s appendix spread over 700 double-column printed folio pages, while his original, much slimmer, treatise on the Terrestrial Paradise remains unpublished, although announced in Phaleg as completed.72 Bochart’s extant manuscripts include four copies in different working stages of his work on Paradise, of which the Bibliothèque nationale Ms. Gr. Supp. 411 is the closest to completion.73 The manuscript in fact contains two different treatises on Paradise, each targeting a different audience. The first, in Latin, Paradisus, sive, De Loco Paradisi Terrestris diatribe, weighs various learned views on the subject. The second, in French, Du lieu du Paradis Terrestre, which is more sermon-like in style and accompanied by maps in Bochart’s hand, explains Genesis

71 “Anno proxime praeterito rogatus ab amicis ut sententiam meam scriberem de loco Paradisi Terrestris, novam institi viam, neque a quoquam tritam hactenus. . . . Operae pretium me facturum putavi, si ut ex hominum animis hunc errorem revellerem, altero exemplo docerem, eoque perillustri, Geographica Mosis vocabula nondum fuisse satis cognita. Consilium igitur fuit tractatui de Paradiso pro appendice subnectere brevem expositionem decimi capitis Geneseos de humani generis propagatione ex stirpe Noae. Ex qua non veteres modo sed & novitios interpretes meditanti mihi tam multa se obtulerunt ut quod unius capitis angustiis concludi posse speraveram sub manum creverit in multos libros.” Opera, III: sig. **1. 72 This complaint is made by Bochart’s pupil, Pierre-Daniel Huet, in his marginal notes to his own Traitté de la situation du Paradis terrestre (Paris: J. Anisson, 1691), Princeton University Library (Ex) BS1237.H8, opposite p. 12: “Mr. Bochart dans son Phaleg parle de son livre du Paradis terrestre, co[mm]e d’un livre deja fait, quoy qu’il ne le fust pas encore.” See also Jean-Robert Massimi, “Montrer et démontrer: autour du Traité de la situation du Paradis terrestre de P. D. Huet (1691),” in Moïse géographe: recherches sur les représentations juives et chrétiennes de l’espace, eds. Alain Desreumaux and Francis Schmidt, 203–25 (Paris: J. Vrin, 1988), and in general Alessandro Scafi, Mapping Paradise: A History of Heaven on Earth (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006). On the complex relations of Huet and Bochart see Brennan, “Le zèle religieux et la discipline . . . ,” and Shelford, “Amitié et animosité dans la république des lettres: la querelle entre Bochart et Huet,” in Pierre-Daniel Huet (1630–1721), Actes du colloque de Caen (12–13 Novembre 1993), ed. Suzanne Guellouz, 99–108 (Paris: Papers on French Seventeenth Century Literature, 1994). 73 See Appendix for a list of extant Bochart manuscripts. None of the texts resembles Bochart’s small dissertation on Paradise, printed by Etienne Morin in the 1692 Opera (29–30), which was excerpted from a letter by Bochart to Louis Cappel. The main argument, however, is similar: Bochart accepts Calvin’s view that Eden was a region between the Euphrates and the Tigris. Yet whereas Calvin and his followers placed Havila (‫ )חוילה‬east of Eden, and Kush (‫ )כוש‬to its west, Bochart argues the opposite.

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2:8–14 verse by verse.74 Bochart would later employ this joint learned/ popular writing mode in his severe critique of the English regicide.75 This dual approach also characterizes the learned Geographia sacra in relation to Bochart’s printed Sermons on Genesis, two books that fall into two distinct registers. We know from Morin’s account that Bochart systematically preached on topics from Genesis—his favored book, “which contains all religion”76—and prepared a running commentary on it (up to 49:18, to be precise).77 Bochart’s extant sermons— suited for a bookish Protestant audience—are devoted solely to the first three chapters of Genesis.78 Thus a serious attachment to Genesis

74 Indeed, in Bochart’s extant sermons, published a few decades after his death, one finds a sermon on the location of Paradise: Samuel Bochart, Sermons sur divers textes de Monsieur Samuel Bochart, 3 vols. in 2 (Amsterdam: Jaques Desbordes, 1714), III: 432ff. There are three unpublished sermons (on Gen. 2:18; 3:8; 3:9–13), some in a damaged state, in BHPF Ms. 1640. 75 Samuel Bochart, Lettre de Monsievr Bochart, a Monsievr Morley Chapelain dv Roy d’Angleterre, pour respondre à trois questions: I. De l’ordre episcopal & presbyterien. II. Des appellations des iugemens ecclesiastiques. III. Du droit & de la puissance des roys (Paris: Lovys Vendosme, 1650), and Bochart, Epistola, qua respondetur ad tres questiones (Paris: [s.n.], 1650). This practice of adjustment according to audience is by no means typical of Bochart alone. The Jesuit Canisius developed three catechisms (minimus, minor, major) according to the level of students. April G. Shelford, “Faith and glory: Pierre-Daniel Huet and the making of the Demonstratio Evangelica (1679)” (1997), 215, based on François de Dainville, La naissance de l’humanisme moderne (Paris: Beauchesne, 1940). 76 Bochart, Sermons, I:224. 77 “ . . . nam pro ordinario concionum suarum argumento primum Mosis librum a Graecis Genesim dictum delegerat, totumque exposuit a principio ad versum 18. cap. 49 excellentissimis concionibus, quas manu sua ad verbum nitide descriptas suo ex unica filia nepoti Samueli le Sueur domino de Colleville in Parlamento Rothomagensi olim Senatori cum multis aliis scriptis auro contra aestimandis reliquit: quia autem in secundo illius libri capite Paradisus in gratiam Adami conditus describitur, ad illius situm agnoscendum, & descriptionum illustrandam omnes ingenii, & eruditionis dotes adhibuit; multa autem occurrerunt quae concionibus ad populum in Ecclesia habendis non conveniebant, ut sunt nominum Ebraeorum origines, citationes auctorum, variae regionum, & fluviorum descriptiones, atque doctae observationes, quae Doctorum palatis dumtaxat sapiunt: idcirco tractatum peculiarem de Paradiso terrestri est aggressus, & sensim ad finem perduxit. “Phaleg similem habuit originem, cum enim ad caput Gen. 10 pervenisset, & ipsi exponendae essent primae omnium gentium origines totus earum scrutationi incubuit, antiquissimos consuluit auctores, diversa gentium monumenta cum Mosis historia sedulo contulit [ . . . ].” Opera, 4. 78 On the “book-centred devotional life” of Protestant laiety see Philip Benedict, “Religious Faith, Cultural Capital and Historical Consciousness: Protestant and Catholic book ownership in 17th-century Metz,” in The Faith and Fortunes of France’s Huguenots, 1600–85, 153–90 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001), 189–90. In contrast to his younger colleague Pierre du Bosc, Bochart was apparently not a very talented orator. See Galland, Essai sur l’histoire du protestantisme à Caen, 126.

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channeled itself into both piety and erudition: the French Sermons were intended for the ears of Bochart’s flock, and the Latin Geographia for the eyes of a learned, international audience. Both shared the task of the careful illustration of the parole de Dieu, the word of God, the foundation of true religion. Hence Bochart’s geographical interests in Paradise and the progeny of Noah were Protestant in that basic sense that they directly emanated from his preaching routine. Why should geography matter at all? In the opening of his Latin De loco Paradisi terrestris Bochart admitted that “knowing where the Terrestrial Paradise was located, was not necessary for salvation. It is better to aim for the celestial, where we are called, than to look for the terrestrial.”79 Here Bochart was following Louis Cappel, his influential teacher at Saumur, who distinguished between biblical sections which are necessary to salvation and those which are not, echoing the sixteenth-century Erasmian notion of adiaphora.80 Cappel, however, in emphasizing the historical mutations of the Hebrew and Greek texts, intended to defend Scripture rather than attack it. Errors, according to Cappel, were likely to occur in circumstantial sections of detail and enumeration, because scribes and interpreters are excited and alarmed when they encounter an absurdity in questions of morals and faith.81 Bochart repeated this point in his Geographia in resolving a case of uncertain chronology (the insertion of Cainan in the genealogy of Jesus in Luke 3:36). We do not doubt the whole of Roman history, argued Bochart, just because of a few inaccuracies in Livy and Suetonius. We should therefore trust Scripture, whose books are guarded from error by God’s providence, “at least in those things which are

79 “Scire quo loco fuerit Paradisus Terrestris ad salutem necesse non est. Praestat ad coelestem tendere quo vocamur, quam de terrestri inquirere; [ . . . ]” BN Ms. Gr. supp. 411, f. 19. 80 Louis Cappel, Critica sacra, siue De variis quæ in sacris Veteris Testamenti libris occurrunt lectionibus libri sex (Paris: Sebastian [et Gabriel] Cramoisy, 1650). As we have seen, printing Cappel’s controversial book was not simple, and became even more complicated once the operations of de Cardonnel’s press came to a halt. The work was eventually printed by the eminent Catholic printer Cramoisy, with the help of the Oratorian (and ex-Protestant) Jean Morin. On Cramoisy, ‘the king of rue Saint Jacques,’ see Henri Jean Martin, Livre, pouvoirs et société à Paris au XVIIe siècle, 1598– 1701, 3 ed., 2 vols. (Genève: Droz, 1999), I:339–42. Cramoisy was also the publisher of the works by Jacques Sirmond and Girolamo Aleandro on the suburbicarian regions; see Chapter Five. 81 Critica sacra, 6:2.

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absolutely necessary for faith and salvation.”82 In other words, a map of the Terrestrial Paradise could not lead Bochart’s readers to the one in Heaven. In a sense, interestingly echoing Galileo, Bochart implies that geography and theology work in two separate domains. Yet in an age with no firm notion of prehistory independent of the Bible, the information that could be extracted from biblical geography, in particular the dispersion of peoples and the division of the Earth among the sons of Noah, remained a “most noble” and an “indispensably necessary” subject to learn.83 The reconstruction of biblical geography was still a matter of great consequence, for even if not all the information in Scripture was necessary for salvation, it was all true, just as in nature nothing was made without cause.84 The recovery of such important information had to be done methodically, according to general principles, of which the first and most important, as Bochart explained in the opening section of his French treatise on Paradise, was that “in interpreting the Word of God there is nothing more dangerous than neglecting the literal sense and changing it into allegories.”85 An attack on excessive allegorizing

82 “Nam multo aliter invigilat Dei Providentia, ut sacros Scripturae codices ab errore praestet immunes, saltem in iis quae ad fidem & salutem sunt absolute necessaria.” Phaleg II, 13, Opera, 91–92. Bochart refers the reader to Spanheim’s De dubiis Evangelicis. Bochart’s discussion would later be used by Brian Walton in his Prolegomena to the London Polyglot Bible, with that of Sixtinus Amana, Louis de Dieu, and Daniel Heinsius, in support of Cappel. Biblia sacra polyglotta . . . Cum apparatu, appendicibus, tabulis, variis lectionibus, annotationibus . . . (London: Thomas Roycroft, 1657), Prolegomena, IV: §§2–3, p. 36. For a general discussion of “the theology of polyglot bibles,” including this point, see Peter N. Miller, “The ‘Antiquarianization’ of Biblical Scholarship and the London Polyglot Bible (1653–57),” Journal of the History of Ideas 62, no. 3 (2001): 463–82. 83 Stuart Piggott, “Antiquarian Thought in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” in English Historical Scholarship in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, ed. Levi Fox, 1–24 (London: Oxford University Press for The Dugdale Society, 1956), 4. See also Paolo Rossi, The Dark Abyss of Time: The History of the Earth & the History of Nations from Hooke to Vico, trans. Lydia G. Cochrane (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984). “Itaque pro appendice ad libellum de Paradiso propediem edendum si dederit Deus, en tibi Lector separatum opus de dispersione gentium e Babylonia facta, & divisione terrarum inter Noae posteros. De quo argumento plurimi nonnulla strictim & obiter, nemo accurate scripsit hactenus. Quod saepe mirari subiit, cum nobilissimum sit argumentum, & res scitu pernecessaria.” Opera, sig. **1. 84 “Porro ut in Natura nihil frustra fieri, ita in Scriptura nihil frustra dici verum & indubitum est.” Opera, sig. *** 2v. On the wider context of biblical natural science see Ann Blair, “Mosaic Physics and the Search for a Pious Natural Philosophy in the Late Renaissance,” Isis 91, no. 1 (2000): 32–58. 85 “Pour descouvrir la verité parmi tant d’opinions si diverses, il est necessaire de poser certaines maximes generales, qui nous serviront de fil d’Ariadne; pour nous

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resurfaces in Bochart’s introductory sermon on the significance of the Pentateuch and particularly of Genesis. For Bochart, to interpret the Garden of Eden story allegorically, by saying, for example, that the apple is the world or that the four rivers represent virtues, was “twisting Scripture instead of explaining it.”86 Moses was a careful historian, who sifted through oral and written sources, and could by inspiration identify the truthful sections in each. Moses, Bochart was careful to add, had also pure revelation to instruct him.87 His books, therefore, deserve literal readings.88 Although Bochart tried to present himself as someone who steered a middle course between extreme literal and allegorical readings, he made his true preference clear when he argued that pastors should explain Scripture, and leave the elaboration of its mysteries to the community.89 Bochart’s Moses, the inspired yet precise historian-geographer, stood in complete contrast to the author of the apocryphal 2 Esdras (or 4 Ezra), “livre inepte, fabuleux & plein de contes ridicules, qui contient mille choses dementies, par l’experience, & par le sens commun.”90 Suspecting or attacking 2 Esdras, as Alastair Hamilton amply demonstrated, was a clear mark of both Catholic and Protestant orthodoxy, while dissenting Christian movements have found it valid and significant.91 For Bochart, 2 Esdras was loathsome for two

conduire a ce Labyrinthe. Et premierement is est certain, qu’en matiere d’interpretation de la Parole de Dieu, il n’y a rien de plus dangereux, que de quitter le Sens literal pour le changer en allegories. C’est un moyen d’ebranler tout ce qu’il y a de plus ferme et de plus exprès en l’Escriture, pour le quintessencier en conceptions vaines, et s’en servir comme de cloches qui disent tout ce qu’on veut.” BN Ms. Gr. supp. 411, f. 98. 86 Bochart, Sermons, I:232. “Du Pentatheuque, c’est a dire des V. livres de Moyse, et principalement du premier, dit la Genese. III. sermon préliminaire aux Sermons sur la Genese.” 157–236. Very similar wording in both texts (on Terrestrial Paradise and sermon) makes it reasonable to assume that they were written in proximity, probably in the late 1630s. 87 Ibid., I:196–97. 88 Moses as historian also appears in Alexander Ross’ commentary on Genesis, for example in his discussion on the nature of created light: “This narration of Moses is historicall, not allegoricall”. Ross, The first booke of questions and answers vpon Genesis (London: N. Okes for F. Constable, 1620), 4. Ross was a close English friend of de Cardonnel (Malcolm, “Cardonnel,” 281–83). On visual representations of Moses as geographer see also James A. Welu, “Vermeer’s Astronomer: Observations on an Open Book,” The Art Bulletin 68 (1986): 263–67. 89 Bochart, Sermons, 235. 90 “De l’authorité et de l’utilité du Vieux Testament. II. sermon préliminaire aux Sermons sur la Genese,” ibid., 94–156 at 115–16. 91 Alastair Hamilton, The Apocryphal Apocalypse: The Reception of the Second Book of Esdras (4 Ezra) from the Renaissance to the Enlightenment, Oxford-Warburg Studies (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999).

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main reasons. First, 2 Esdras claimed that Ezra miraculously rewrote Scripture, and thereby challenged and increased the doubt over the Mosaic authorship of the Pentateuch (2 Esdras 14).92 Second, 2 Esdras posed an alternative creation story to Genesis, and in particular mentioned two mythological beasts, Leviathan and Behemoth (or Enoch), who were created so big that the sea could not contain them both (2 Esdras 6:49–52).93 Here Bochart follows earlier mainstream scholars who had censured 2 Esdras and also targeted these fabulous creatures. For Franciscus Junius, Behemoth and Leviathan were “Jehudaeorum fabulae,” for Bellarmine in De verbo dei (1576) “dreams of Talmudic Rabbis.”94 Yet the eccentric Catholic scholar Jacques d’Auzoles Lapeyre, in his Saincte géographie (1629), gave Ezran cosmology serious attention and produced a series of maps and illustrations inspired by it (Figure 37).95 I interpret Bochart’s complete silence about d’Auzoles’ Saincte géographie as a mark of distaste for this kind of scholarship. Hence Bochart clearly set himself as a defender of the Old Testament, especially of the Pentateuch, against both Catholics and atheists, who degraded its status. It was the most ancient text, written in the most ancient and perfect of all tongues, a text which was preserved under special divine guidance and contained the only record of the most ancient times, as well as the essence of Christian doctrine. Yet recovering the literal meaning of the parts in Scripture that were the most susceptible to corruption—such as geography and chronology—required careful historical-philological attention. As François Laplanche has demonstrated, Bochart’s basic attitude to interpretation and exegesis was largely shaped by Cappel and the school of Saumur.96 Cappel’s

92 On the long history of the theory of non-Mosaic or Ezran authorship see Noel Malcolm, “Hobbes, Ezra, and the Bible,” in Aspects of Hobbes, 383–431 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002). 93 “De l’authorité et de l’utilité du Vieux Testament. II. sermon préliminaire aux Sermons sur la Genese.” Bochart, Sermons, 94–156, here 15–16. Bochart makes the same argument in his Hierozoïcon, Lib. I: 7, p. 50, designating Leviathan and Behemoth as a particularly wild Jewish fable. It is perhaps this passage in 2 Esdras that Hobbes had in mind when he titled his books on order and anarchy, Leviathan and Behemoth, respectively, rather than Job 40 and 41. 94 Quoted by Hamilton, The Apocryphal Apocalypse, 81, 91. 95 Ibid., 101–3. 96 François Laplanche, L’écriture, le sacré et l’histoire: érudits et politiques protestants devant la Bible en France au XVIIe siècle (Amsterdam: APA-Holland University Press, 1986), esp. 250–54. Upon receiving Cappel’s printed Critica sacra, Bochart wrote to him in very warm terms, assuring Cappel against all his detractors that time would prove him right. Arsenal Ms. 5420, p. 1204, Bochart to Cappel, Caen, 13 June 1650.

Figure 37. Map of Creation based on 2 Esdras. Jacques d’Auzoles Lapeyre, La Saincte Geographie (Paris: A. Estienne, 1629), bk II, p. 77. Source: BL.

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insistence on the clarity and intelligibility of scripture entailed a certain exegetical freedom and demanded the basic acknowledgement that the original Hebrew text may have undergone changes along the process of transmission. Like other Orientalists of the time, Bochart shared this understanding with his teacher, and used comparative Oriental philology—which placed Hebrew on a par with other languages—as a primary tool for the study of Scripture. Yet Bochart was more conservative or cautious than Cappel in that he insisted on the primacy and sanctity of Hebrew as the language of creation and revelation.97 Bochart had no fear of using self-authenticating arguments in order to support the primacy of Hebrew: for example, the link between the Hebrew etymology of the word Eden (‫ )עדן‬and the delectable nature of the place.98 Even a cabalistic argument—generally shunned by Bochart—might be cautiously recruited for reinforcing the point.99 The Hebrew text was, accordingly, the preferred version of the Old Testament. In a letter to his friend Isaac Vossius in response to the latter’s defense of the Septuagint, Bochart wrote that although he agreed with Cappel that the Hebrew original may have suffered alterations in the transmission process, there was no reason to prefer the Septuagint, more vulnerable to human error. The Hebrew text was transmitted by prophets and inspired men, and protected by Providence for the use of

97 On the different contemporary attitudes to the special status of Hebrew see Daniel Droixhe, “La crise de l’Hébreu langue-mère au XVIIe siècle,” in La République des lettres et l’histoire du judaïsme antique XVIe–XVIIIe siècles: colloque tenu en Sorbonne en mai 1990, eds. Chantal Grell and François Laplanche, 65–99 (Paris: Presses de l’Université de Paris-Sorbonne, 1992). 98 “Linguam Hebraeam omnium esse antiquissimam docent Etymologiae nominum quotquot extant in historia Mosis, a mundi creatione usque ad dispersionem gentium. Sic hortus ‫ עדן‬Eden Hebraeis est hortus voluptatis sive deliciarum. Terra ‫ נוד‬Nod terra exilii, quia ibi exulavit Cain. . . . ” Phaleg, I:XV, Opera, 50–51. 99 Bochart found the following in Baal Haturim: ‘holy language’ (‫ )לשון הקדש‬in gematria equals ‘one language’ (‫שפה אחת‬, Gen. 11:1). The first expression (= 795) exceeds the second (= 794), but this, Bochart remarked perhaps ironically, was insignificant in gematrical calculations (“Sed apud illos unitas, in numerorum collatione Gematrica, non est ullius momenti”). Phaleg I:XV, Opera, 50. An instance of a more critical view is found in a manuscript response to Nicolas Sanson’s work on place names in Judaea, where Bochart dismissed the “resveries des Cabalistes qui cherchent ‫ הרבה דרשות‬quantité de mysteres en ce changement de noms [between the books of Joshua and Ezra].” BN n.a.f. Ms. 2488, f. 256v. It is more accurate to say that Bochart was interested in cabala not as a living source of natural and divine knowledge, but as a cultural practice of the Jews. In an undated letter to Meric Casaubon Bochart provides demonstrations of Hebrew gematria and ‫( נוטריקון‬notrikon) techniques. BL Ms. Burney 362, fos. 72–73v.

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the church.100 Similar ideas would later be pushed further by Bochart’s most forceful critic, the Oratorian Richard Simon (1638–1712). For Bochart, the reconstruction of the geography of the ancient world could rely on Scripture only, that “sacred anchor,” as the sole reliable source remaining from that period. The records of the Babylonians, Egyptians, and Phoenicians had been destroyed with the passing of time. The Greeks, says Bochart, could produce only ridiculous fables about the past. For Bochart, Genesis 10, if interpreted correctly, contained more reliable information than all the non-biblical sources put together.101 After this principal point had been made, Bochart justified his extensive use of non-biblical sources—Hebrew, Arabic, Greek, and Latin—which, once cleansed of their stains, harmonized remarkably with Scripture. This was done not as support for the word of God, but as a reminder of human weakness and as a reply to atheists, and for “the greater glory of God”.102

100 “Somme, que les originaux Ebreux estants l’ouvrages de l’Esprit de Dieu, qui doubte que la Providence de Dieu n’ait veillé d’une façon plus particulière à les conserver en leur entier pour la necessité de l’Eglise, a qui la parole de Dieu sert de regle? Je ne puis doncq approuver que mettant le texte Ebreu si fort au rabais, vous esleviez si haut la version des septante; sur tout telle que nous l’avons, et dans l’incertitude ou nous sommes, s’ils ont iamais rien traduict hors les cincq livres de Moyse, et si la version qui nous reste, est leur vraye traduction: de quoy plusieurs grands personages croient avoir subject de douter, la trouvants en quelques endroicts si esloignée de l’original, au quel on dict que les vrais septante s’estoient si fort attachez.” Bochart to Vossius, Caen, 14 July 1661. Bodley Ms. D’Orville 471, no. 474, fos. 140–41. The original is in Amsterdam UL. 101 “Nam Chaldaeorum, Phoenicum & AEgyptorum monumenta pridem consumpsit aetas. Et Saiticus ille sacerdos, Patenit nomine, de quo Proclus post Platonem in Timaeo, Graecos merito asserebat semper esse pueros nec unquam senes; utpote verae vetustatis prorsus ignaros. Proinde quoties de rebus vetustis sermonem instituunt ad ridiculas fabulas devolvuntur. Atque alii se ex quercubus aut lapidibus, alii ex fungis, alii ex cicadis, alii ex formiciis, alii ex draconis dentibus se fabulantur ortos. Quis porro gentium aliarum incunabula & primordia edoceri posse se putet ab iis, qui de propria origine talia mentiuntur? Itaque hoc restat unicum, ut ad sacram anchoram, hoc est, ad Scripturam confugiamus. Quae non solum in genere docet omnes homines ex uno semine esse editos, nempe ex Adamo in Creatione & post Diluvium ex Noa & tribus filiis, sed & recenset Nepotes Noae, & qui populi ex singulis ortum duxerint. Ita ut ex uno capite Mosis, si modo recte intelligatur, multo plura & certiora possint erui de populorum originibus, quam ex omnibus, quotquot supersunt, vetustissimarum gentium monimentis.” Opera, sig **1, and see the similar statement in the preface to Chanaan, Opera, 325. It is important to note that Bochart was using here the testimony of an Egyptian priest mentioned by Proclus, a late-antique Greek author to denounce Greek mythology. 102 “Quae a me frustra non dici arguet hic ipse liber, in quo hujusmodi maculas a scriptoribus theopneustois [θεοπνευστοις] abstergere conati sumus; & tractare Geographica ut Theologum decuit; ad Dei gloriam omnia referentes, & Scripturae illus-

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Phaleg, the first part of Bochart’s Geographia sacra, is a systematic exposition of Genesis 10, divided into four books. The first book describes the land inhabited by the first humans, discussing Noah and his sons, the construction of the Ark and its location after the Deluge, the Tower of Babel, and the dispersion of peoples. The other three books closely follow Genesis 10, and locate each of Noah’s descendants, bringing together a dazzling array of sources and discussing thousands of place names, myths, deities, and local customs. The basic premise about the primacy of the Hebrew language and the privileged status of Scripture as a source for geography was joined by another general and well-known principle: “that which is older is true”. Bochart adopted it from Tertullian’s maxim in Adversus Praxeam.103 Bochart was not the first to evoke this rule in a geographical context: Kaspar Peucer (noted in Chapter One) suggested it close to a century earlier in his mathematical manual for measuring distances. The art of triangulation was necessary, according to Peucer, for tracing geographically the trail of the ancient and true doctrine, as well as the points where new and idolatrous opiniones took over.104 But Bochart actually applied Tertullian’s rule, and did so with historical philology rather than mathematics.105 Since Scripture was older, it was therefore true, and other, more recent records from the past were corrupted. This allowed Bochart many philological-geographical discoveries, and decipherments. He proved that Noah was the historical figure behind Saturn (I:I): both Noah and Saturn were just and righteous, both ruled trationem, cui non Arabes modo & Hebraeos, sed & Rom. & Graec. scriptores mirum in modum concinere toto opere passim docemus. Atque eo fine, cum res postulat, eorum testimonia congerere non dedignamur. Non quod talibus suffragiis Dei verbum in se fiat firmius, sed ut infirmitati hominum consulatur, & revincantur athei, qui nihil habent quod regerant, cum quae in Scripturis nostris sunt maxime paradoxa in eorum scriptis legunt in quorum verba jurarunt.” Opera, sig. *** 2v. 103 “Id esse verum quodcunque primum, id esse adulterum quodcunque posterius. Necesse est ut veritas sit prior mendacio, cum mendacium nihil aliud sit quam corruptio veritatis. [ . . . ] Haec porro doctrinae antiquitas non aliunde melius potest adstrui, quam si doceamus in gentibus quicquid fuit antiquissimum, id ex Scripturis nostris aut petitum esse aut detortum.” Phaleg I:i, Opera, col. 1. 104 Kaspar Peucer, De dimensione terrae et geometrice numerandis locorum particularium intervallis . . . (Wittenberg, 1554), 3–4. Bochart does not cite Peucer. I cannot tell whether he knew of Peucer’s text. 105 It is worth noting that Bochart himself left an unfinished French treatise on practical geomtery and distance measurement. BMC Ms. 130 (237 in folio 27), “Traité de géometrie,” covering topics such as the method for measuring heights of buildings, depth of valleys and wells, distance on solid bodies, and drawing topographical plans. There is also an outline for a Latin treatise De globo.

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the earth alone according to the law of nature (Noah after the Flood, Saturn in the Golden Age), and twelve additional points of similarity.106 Other descendants of Noah resurface in pagan mythology: Chanaan is Mercury, Nimrod, the son of Chus (Gen. 10:8) becomes Bacchus (Bacchus = ‫בר כוש‬, Bar Chus, i.e. the son of Chus = Nimrod; while the ‘r’ drops just as in ‫דמשק = דרמשק‬, Darmesek = Damesek, for Damascus, QED), and Magog is none other than Prometheus. Other descendants were assimilated into the names of the towns they have founded (I:ii).107 Bochart here moves down a path blazed not long before him by John Selden in De Diis Syris (1617) and G. J. Vossius in De theologia gentili (1641), who began to look systematically at idolatry in the ancient world and to analyze its sources.108 Their basic assumption was that a primitive monotheism degenerated with time into a multiplicity of gods and practices.109 Bochart’s name is often mentioned with that of Vossius as a pioneer of a syncretism which allowed some truth-value to pagan myths.110 The linking of Saturn to Noah, as Huet noted in his own carefully annotated copy of the Geographia sacra, had already appeared in Vossius’ book.111 Annius of Viterbo had made the link to Janus even earlier. However, Bochart was not a mythographer, and his use of fables (to which he dedicated a special index in his work) was subservient to the geographical focus of the book. It should also be stressed that Bochart’s syncretism was very restricted. Pagan histories were by definition fabulous and corrupt, and needed to be purified

106 “Exemplo sit prisca fabula de Saturno & tribus liberis orbis imperium inter se partientibus.” Phaleg I:i, Opera, col. 1. 107 See Figure 38, reproducing the page where Nimord is discussed, for an example of the density of Bochart’s texts. 108 On the predecessors of 17th-century mythography see Jean Seznec, The Survival of the Pagan Gods: The Mythological Tradition and Its Place in Renaissance Humanism and Art (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1995 [1953]). 109 On changing attitudes to the origins of religious diversity see Peter Harrison, ‘Religion’ and the Religions in the English Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); Francis Schmidt, “Polytheisms: Degeneration or Progress?” History and Anthropology 3 (1987): 9–60. 110 Vossius the Elder dedicated to Bochart the second edition of Historiae de controversiis quas Pelagius . . . , Elzevier, 1655. 111 BMC, Rés. FN C 445. A Nota in a different hand reads: “quod Vossii liber, hic ab Huetii metipsa manu invocatus Bocharti Phaleg se annis anteivit. Amstelodami 1641, 2 vol. in 4o, et sic ‘In Saturno conservata[e] nobis reliquiae quaedam de Patriarcha Noe. Nimirum videbant, ut Adamus omnium, excepto nemine Origo est: Ita Noe primum esse omnium, qui post Cataclysmum vixere, etc.’ pag. 73. ed. in fol. t. 1” The person who added this—clearly not pro Bochart—may have been a Jesuit of the Maison Professe, the Jesuit congregation in Paris to which Huet donated his library in 1692, and to which he later retired.

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Figure 38. Samuel Bochart’s Geographia sacra, sample page, discussing the identification of Nimrod and Bacchus. 3 ed. Phaleg, I:2, Opera Omnia (Amsterdam: Boutesteyn & Luchtmans, 1692), cols. 11–12. Source: Warburg Institute Library.

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in order to reach the kernel of scriptural truth. There was never any doubt in Bochart’s mind about this hierarchy. That Saturn hid the truth of Noah did not mean that they were equally valid narrations of the same story. It is therefore problematic to see in him a promoter of syncretism, or even cabalism and ‘ancient theology,’ as some scholars do.112 In fact, Bochart seems to fit better what D. P. Walker defined as the ‘illiberal view’ of ancient theology, and to follow a line of sixteenthcentury French Protestants who despised the ancient theologians.113 Significantly, in the Geographia sacra Bochart approached the Bible mainly as a source for ancient history, not theology. Bochart’s principles, however, were not always at one with his practice. For while his mythography may rest on very clear orthodox assumptions, what he did was in many cases a new version of euhemerism, a pre-Christian way of dealing with mythology. As mentioned above, his reliance on an Egyptian priest, Saiticus, as cited by Proclus, to praise the antiquity and sobriety of Scripture, is one example of the ambivalence that pervades his work. This ambivalence reflects Bochart’s difficult situation as a defender of a hardening literal orthodoxy and at the same time as a scholar who felt compelled to study and interpret the richness of past human records.114 Bochart’s love of words, of multiple sources in many languages, certainly did not help ease this tension. Bochart was not a systematic thinker, and his main working method was argument by accumulation.115 In Chanaan, the second part of the Geographia sacra, Bochart turned to the only other source that, in his view, could approach the Bible’s authority as a basis for recovering ancient geography—Phoenician navigation. Chanaan, dedicated to Claude Sarrau, is divided into two books. The first describes the history and geography of Phoenician

112

Jonathan M. Elukin, “Jacques Basnage and the History of the Jews: Anti-Catholic Polemic and Historical Allegory in the Republic of Letters,” Journal of the History of Ideas 53, no. 4 (1992): 603–30, 612, Rossi; The Dark Abyss of Time, 152–53; Shelford, “Faith and glory: Pierre-Daniel Huet and the making of the Demonstratio Evangelica (1679),” 220. 113 D. P. Walker, The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century (London: Duckworth, 1972), 123–31. 114 Anthony Grafton, Joseph Scaliger: A Study in the History of Classical Scholarship, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983–93), II: 737. 115 This is clearly shown also in his political writings, in support of the divine right of Kings (Lettre de Monsievr Bochart, a Monsievr Morley Chapelain dv Roy d’Angleterre, 1650).

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exploration and colonization, the second is dedicated to the Phoenician language. The Phoenicians provided Bochart with an important link, both chronological and geographical, between biblical and profane geography, and with a key to the migrations of ancient peoples.116 According to Bochart’s theory, the Phoenicians, after being expelled from Canaan by Joshua, settled the shores of Phoenicia, and soon began to establish colonies all over the Mediterranean basin and beyond.117 As their records, however, were all but lost, only a critical and admittedly conjectural and yet confident study of place names, deities, and myths could recover Phoenician influence (Figure 39).118 If in Phaleg Bochart had a ready list of personal names (Gen. 10) and searched for the corresponding place-names, he now went backward from classical toponymy. Bochart roamed the map of the classical world and detected names that might lend themselves to etymological reduction back into Phoenician and Hebrew. Etymological work in a language that had left hardly any record had to be done with the help of Hebrew, Arabic, and Syriac. Bochart also assumed that Phoenician naming policies were not arbitrary, that they could reflect the colonists’ encounters with the new lands they settled, according to deities, the inhabitants’ customs and nature, animals, trees and metals.119 The second part of Chanaan was a treatise on the Phoenician language, and on the various sources from which it could be gleaned, such as a section in Plautus’ Poenulus (Act V, scene 1), and the history of Sanchuniathon the Phoenician, as preserved in the fragmentary reworking by Philo of Byblus, quoted in Eusebius. In 1661 Bochart

116 “Nunc secundo loco se offerunt Phoenicum navigationes, qui paulo post aetatem Mosis a Josua & Israëlitis e patrio solo pulsi, primo in Phoenices littora, mox per totum Mare Mediterraneum coeperunt se diffundere, & in multis Europae, Asiae & Africae locis colonias disseminare.” Chanaan, Preface, Opera, 325. 117 Bochart hypothesizes that the Phoenicians started their maritime adventures even before the Israelite conquest. Opera, 326. 118 “Itaque si hodieque Phoenicum monumenta superessent, inde accederet magna lux Historiae Sacrae & Profanae; & repleretur hiatus qui est inter Mosem & Graecos. Nec pauca disceremus de veteribus terrae incolis, & gentium migrationibus. Et pateret cur vetustis nominibus antiquatis nova substituta sint. Sed cum illa maximo rei literariae damno pridem consumpserit aetas, & ex historia Phoenicum nihil reliquum habeamus praeter tenues lacinias in Graecorum & Romanorum scriptis hinc inde sparsas; has, quod unum potuimus, tanquam e naufragio tabulas expiscari undecumque & in unum corpus colligere visum est.” Opera, 327. Bochart admitted the conjectural character of his deductions, but at the same time affirmed the value of conjectures: “Conjecturae igitur non sunt statim rejiciendae, ne veritatis dispendio id fiat.” Opera, 329. 119 Opera, 328.

Figure 39. Bochart, “Tabula universalis locorum quae Phoenicum navigationibus maxime frequentata sunt a Taprobana Thulem usque.” Engraved by Sigmund Gab. Hipschman, based on the first edition (1646). Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 2 ed. (Frankfurt: Wustius for J. D. Zunner, 1681). Source: Princeton University Library.

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would perform a similar reconstructive exercise, this time on the Phrygian language, in his treatise on the question whether Aeneas had reached Italy.120 Bochart had already sketched his Phoenician thesis a decade earlier in a long response to A. Gosselin’s History of the Ancient Gauls (1636).121 He appended to his critique a list of foreign influences on the language of the Gauls. The first and most ancient of these was the Hebrew, which, according to Bochart, reached Gaul via the Phoenicians, who had a significant presence in Spain.122 Bochart was not the first to remark on the global influence of the Phoenician language and on its affinity to the Hebrew. Several scholars in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries had dealt with the question in various forms. For example, in the middle of the sixteenth century John Twyne, inspired by Vives, had imagined metal-hungry Phoenicians landing in Britain and changing the local language and mores.123 In the early seventeenth century, Bernardo Aldrete devoted significant sections of his work on Spanish antiquities to Phoenician settlement and influence, with the clear aim of playing down the Arab and Muslim heritage of the land.124 Selden and Samuel Petit had already attempted a reconstruction of Phoenician based on the section in Plautus already mentioned.125 Joseph Scaliger, following his teacher Guillaume Postel, remarked on the primacy of the Phoenician script, which he had seen on Samaritan coins, and suggested that Hebrew—

120 The treatise was included in Jean Regnauld de Segrais, Traduction de l’Eneïde de Virgile, 2 vols. (Paris: Denys Thierry, 1668). See also Daniel Droixhe, La linguistique et l’appel de l’histoire (1600–1800) (Genève: Droz, 1978), 46–47. 121 The critique was sent as a letter to Moisant de Brieux, dated 25 January 1637. A seventeenth-century copy is kept at Arsenal Ms. 4116, Tome XI, pp. 507–620. A Latin translation was published in the Opera, col. 1265–1308. 122 “Et c’est ce qui reste à monstrer, à savoir, comment cette Langue [Gaulois] s’est peu à peu chargée de mots estrangers, qui à la fin l’ont accablée. Je commenceray par les Hebreux, qui, sans doute, sont les plus anciens, soit qu’ils leur restent de l’ancienne souche, ou qu’ils ayent esté portes es Gaules par les Phoeniciens, qui ont tenu autrefois toute l’Espagne, jusques aux Pyrenées, & ont mesme quelque fois passé les monts. Ainsi Hannibal, allant d’Espagne en Italie, prit son chemin par les Gaules. Quoy que c’en soit, voicy divers mots, qui sembles venir de l’Hebreu, ou Phoenicien. [a list follows]” Arsenal Ms. 4116, Tome XI, p. 611. 123 John Twyne, De rebus Albionicis, Britannicis atque Anglicis, commentariorum libri duo (London: E. Bollifantus, pro Richardo Watkins, 1590), 43. 124 Bernardo José Aldrete, Varias antiguedades de España: Africa y otras provincias (Antwerp: I. Hasrey, 1614). 125 Petit, Miscellaneorum libri novem, in quibus varia veterum scriptorum loca [ . . . ] spectant (Paris: Charles Morell, 1630), Liber II, “In Plautum observationes.” Bochart owned Petit’s Miscellanea and annotated it (BN Ms. Gr. Supp. 1005, f. 4).

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a language of immigrants—was an adaptation of Phoenician or Canaanite.126 Scaliger followed Josephus in praising the Phoenicians’ meticulous record-keeping practices, and decided that the Greeks had best preserved the independent, superior and accurate Phoenician tradition.127 Bochart, as in his attitudes to the Hebrew Old Testament, was more cautious than that. There was no doubt in his mind that Phoenician was a Hebrew dialect and not vice-versa. That Phoenician did not stray far from the mother tongue after the dispersion of peoples—in response to those who thought this proximity was defiling the holy language—was, according to Bochart, God’s design. It was a gift to Abraham and his offspring, not to the Canaanites, so that the Patriarchs would be able to communicate in Canaan, and their peregrination would be more tolerable.128 Isaac La Peyrère, who was forming his ideas at the same time Bochart was writing the Geographia sacra, had a slightly different take on this issue: We know certainly, That the Phoenicians had the use of Letters long before Moses, and that the Phoenicians spake the same language as the Hebrews did. A clear proof of which, Samuel Petit hath given us in his Miscellanea, and the famous Bouchard in his Phaleg. But if the Phoenicians learn’d to speak from the Hebrews, Why should not we think they learn’d likewise to write from them. Therefore the Hebrews wrote before Moses. But what should the Hebrews rather write, than their own historie? and what hinders us to believe, that Moses receiv’d the Jewish Chronicle from them, which he wrot.129

La Peyrère argued here what Bochart had already put in writing in his preface to Chanaan (and the Sermons) without any need for such acrobatics: Moses probably used earlier books for the writing of the Pentateuch. The major difference between La Peyrère and Bochart— the scope and content of the “Jewish Chronicle,” which placed Bochart

126 Daniel Droixhe, “La crise de l’Hébreu langue-mère au XVIIe siècle,” 76. On Samaritan script on coins see above Chapter Two, note 34. 127 Grafton, Joseph Scaliger, II: 654. 128 Chanaan, II:1, Opera, 702. The devil, too, is invoked by Bochart to take care of cultural processes: the similarity he discovers between the myth of Silenus and Shilo (the messiah) was planted by the devil. Chanaan I:XVIII, Opera, col. 443–44. 129 Isaac de La Peyrère, A theological systeme upon the presupposition, that men were before Adam the first part; Systema theologicum ex praeadamitarum hypothesi (London: 1655), 214.

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within orthodoxy and La Peyrère outside it—is independent of the Phoenician question.130 Compared to these previous studies, Bochart’s treatment of the Phoenicians and their language was unique in its comprehensiveness as well as its geographical emphasis. Yet one curious and probably deliberate omission in Bochart’s edifice is the name of Benito Arias Montano, the editor of the Antwerp Polyglot Bible and the subject of the second chapter. In the learned Apparatus appended to the Polyglot, published in 1571, Montano joined together some ten treatises which amount to a comprehensive exploration of Jewish antiquities.131 Montano used Phaleg as the title for his treatise on the dispersion of peoples after the confusion of languages, and Chanaan for the one dealing with the Promised Land before Joshua’s conquest. Bochart, as we have seen, used these same titles, too, and left his debt to Montano unacknowledged. I will compare here the two sacred geographers’ treatment of Ophir, the biblical gold-bearing region and the source of Solomon’s gold. As explained in Chapter Two, Montano, following a tradition begun by Columbus and developed by Postel, placed Ophir in Peru. Since Solomon’s Temple was said to be decked with ‘the gold of Parvaim’ (‫פרוים‬, 2 Chron. 3:6), it was commonly assumed that Parvaim must refer to Ophir (1 Kings 9:28). Montano interpreted Parvaim as ‘double Peru,’ and thus demonstrated that the ancient Hebrews had reached the New World. Bochart unceremoniously dismissed this view, without naming Montano, claiming that since ivory was also imported from Ophir, it could not have possibly been in the New World.132 Bochart in general thought that Phoenician navigation over the Atlantic was highly unlikely, because the compass was still unavailable to them.133 He

130

We have no evidence that Bochart and La Peyrère ever met. When Bochart and Huet visited Ole Worm on their way to Stockholm, the latter must have told them about La Peyrère, with whom he had become close in 1644 (Richard Popkin, Isaac La Peyrère (1596–1676): His Life, Work, and Influence (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1987), 10). At Worm’s cabinet Bochart examined a whale’s tooth from Greenland—a subject which both he and La Peyrère before him discussed in print. Pierre-Daniel Huet, Commentarius de rebus ad eum pertinentibus (Amsterdam: H. Du Sauzet, 1718), lib.II, 81. 131 Nine of them were reissued separately in 1593 by F. Raphelenghius, Leiden. 132 “Quidam in Novo Orbe quaerunt, atque aurum Parvaiin, 2. Par. 3, 6. volunt esse aurum Peruviae; de ebore non solliciti, quod eo loci plane ignotum [ . . . ].” Phaleg, II, ch. 27, Opera, col. 141. 133 Chanaan, I, ch. 38, Opera, col. 645–47.

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raised this point in particular against the Peru-Ophir identification. Bochart offered another location instead, which I paraphrase here with much that is left out. Bochart came up with a highly complex historical-philological move that revealed Montano to have been a complete amateur etymologer. Ophir, he started, in Arabic reads Auphar, that is, very rich (demonstrated by examples from Avicenna’s medical writings). Hence the legendary Arabian island Urphe, mentioned by Eupolemus, as preserved in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evanglica (9:30). The land of Ophir, Bochart maintained, was double: one in Arabia, the other in India. The first was in the region which Ptolemy called Cassanitae. This is derived from the Hebrew chasan (‫ )חסן‬and chosen (‫)חוסן‬, that is, to hold, and a treasury, respectively (and also the source of the French magazin). Hence the land of riches was populated by treasurers. Scriptural references to Ophir in the book of Job, who lived in the time of the Patriarch Jacob, when access to India was impossible, related to this land in Arabia, where the people of Ophir the descendant of Shem lived. King David’s gold of Ophir (1 Chron. 29:4), also could not refer to a remote land, because it was only in Solomon’s and Hiram’s period that the route to India had been opened. The remote Ophir could not have been in Arabia, given the length of the trip (three years) and the presence of ivory. But now the question remained—where in India (as a general term for the remote parts of the Earth) was the second Ophir? As we have seen above, Bochart rejected The New World, together with other options (Africa, the Black Sea). He gave his support to those who proposed the island of Taprobana (which Bochart identified as Ceylan). The Phasis river in Taprobana reminded Bochart of the biblical Paz (‫)פז‬, that is, gold. Yet the most conclusive proof was in the name Taprobana itself. In Syriac and Phoenician the Hebrew Parvaim would be Parvain, or Parvan, or Provan: “no one fails to notice immediately that this word is hidden in Taprobana.”134 We have then Taph (‫)טף‬, meaning shore, and Parvan, together they create Taph-Parvan, in Greek, Taprobana, namely, the shore of Parvan. But why Ophir on the shores of Parvan? The Phoenicians solemnly honored the newly discovered location with the old name, just as there are many Tyres and Sidons in the Persian Sea, and New Carthage in Spain. It made perfect sense to title one gold134 “quod vocabulum in Taprobane latere nemo non statim animadvertit.” Phaleg, II, ch. 27, Opera, col. 141.

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bearing region after another. In the chapter in Chanaan discussing Taprobana, Bochart tightened the proof with additional evidence: just as Taprobana concealed Parvaim, the port town Ippuros on the island, mentioned by Pliny and Solinus, was the Hellenized form of Ophir (Figure 40, Figure 41).135 But, as the cartouche on Bochart’s map of Phoenician Taprobana explains, Ippuros itself could not be located, and was therefore omitted from the map. In the passage from Montano to Bochart we see, first, an expansion of the philological tools in use—Montano manipulated Hebrew words, while Bochart ventured into Greek, Arabic, Syriac, and the elusive Phoenician. On the whole, however, the two scholars were engaged with similar questions and applying the same techniques to solve them. It is in the motives behind their philological geography that we find the major differences between the two Orientalists. For Montano, the tracking of Ophir was the ultimate proof for the very fact that Scripture was pregnant with arcane meanings. The elucidation of the literal sense of Scripture with geographical and philological techniques was only a basic step towards appreciating the power of Scripture as a total encyclopedia of man and nature. In Bochart’s version of Geographia sacra, Scripture was now a historical source—indeed a superior and unique source. But as such, it was tied to specific chronological and geographical limits. In Bochart’s Scripture there was no place for the New World, and no place for the post-biblical period. Thus Bochart’s pious geography ended at the point where Montano’s began. The distinction at hand goes beyond Bochart’s Protestant emphasis on the literal sense, as opposed to Montano’s Catholic attraction to the allegorical. As Chapter Two argued, these categories do not really help us to clarify the thorny questions of sacred geography. Bochart’s geographical and temporal restrictions on sacred geography point, in my view, to his difficult situation as a scholar committed both to the sober, precise reading of Scripture and to the defense of his flock, whose spiritual strength depended on the fortunes of that Scripture. In dismissing Near Eastern and classical records—while still using them widely—and Egyptian and Chaldean chronologies, Bochart was indirectly yet powerfully dismissing the scholarship of Scaliger, a significant move, given their common Huguenot background. Sidestepping the challenges of China and the New World, as well as the

135

Chanaan, I, ch. 46, Opera, col. 691–98.

Figure 40. “Taprobanae Insulae descriptio,” inset in general map of Phoenician navigation (previous figure). Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 2 ed. (Frankfurt: Wustius for J. D. Zunner, 1681). Source: Princeton University Library.

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Figure 41. “Taprobanae Insulae descriptio,” in Samuel Bochart, Geographia sacra, 3 ed., Opera Omnia (Amsterdam: Boutesteyn & Luchtmans, 1692), opposite col. 693. Source: Warburg Institute Library.

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chronological challenges of Mersenne, Scaliger, and the Egyptians, was necessary for an orthodox pastor in a closing world. Reception As we have seen, the word on Bochart’s great book was already spreading before its completion, and the work was awaited with some anticipation. The number of copies printed for the first edition is unknown, but it is safe to assume that Bochart’s Geographia sacra found its way to major collections all over Europe.136 In 1656, ten years after the first printing of the Geographia, Bochart had to disappoint the Oxford Orientalist Samuel Clarke, writing that he had run out of copies.137 Yet in the following decades, with republications in 1674, 1681, 1692, and 1707, the work became well known in the European and even American republic of letters.138 From a well-respected yet relatively unknown scholar, Bochart turned almost at once into a leading authority on biblical geography, and particularly on all things Phoenician. An official and surely flattering recognition came in the form of an invitation to Queen Christina of Sweden’s court, brokered by his friend and her librarian, Isaac Vossius. 136 The published catalogue of Séguier’s library (dispersed in 1685) mentions a copy of the Geographia sacra, which was probably a gift from de Cardonnel, as well as a copy of the Hierozoïcon. Bibliothecæ Seguierianæ catalogus (Paris: 1685), 217. Another copy was found in the library of the travel literature compiler, Melchisédéch Thevenot. Bibliotheca Thevenotiana (Paris: Florentinus & Petrus Delagini, 1694), 29. Minor collectors also bought Bochart’s work: in 1652 the registers of the Grenoble bookseller Jean Nicolas record sales to two Catholic nobles. François de Ponnat, Baron de Gresse (c. 1601–1669), a doctor of law, and M. de Poligni, sieur de Vaubonnais le fils, military engineer and mathematician, each bought the Geographia sacra for 12 l. Henri Jean Martin and Anne Marie Lecocq, Les registres du libraire Nicolas, 1645–1668: livres et lecteurs à Grenoble (Genève: Droz, 1977), II: 352. The minister Philippe Le Noir, Bochart’s junior by 25 years, owned and annotated both the Geographia and the Hierozoïcon: see Philip Benedict, “The owl of Minerva at dusk: Philippe Le Noir de Crevain, a pastor-historian under Louis XIV,” in The Faith and Fortunes of France’s Huguenots, ch. 8 at 254, 271. I would like to thank Prof. Benedict for sending me the microfilm of Le Noir’s annotations. 137 “Sed Geographiam illam, qualisqualis sit tibi libenter αντιδωρον obtulerim, si nunc haberem ad manum, aut si alicubi prostaret apud nostros bibliopolas. At pridem distracta sunt omnia ejus exemplaria [ . . . ].” BL Ms. Add. 22,905, f. 3, Bochart to Clarke, Caen, 22 September 1656. 138 Bochart was read and admired by Cotton Mather in New England (Clifford K. Shipton, “Literary Leaven in Provincial New England,” New England Quarterly 9, no. 2 (1936): 203–17 at 209) and by Jonathan Edwards (Robert E. Brown, Jonathan Edwards and the Bible (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002), 154.).

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Marin Mersenne, who, as we have seen, closely followed Bochart’s progress from 1644, wrote approvingly to Sorbière and Buxtorf in early 1647 of Bochart’s prodigious (or enormous) book.139 But the response from another early and significant reader, Claude de Saumaise, was characteristically bitter. Saumaise, as mentioned above, had received Bochart’s pre-publication excerpts with enthusiasm. The final product, however, he treated more critically. Claude Sarrau, who already witnessed a minor clash between Bochart and Saumaise over the Hellenistic language question, wrote carefully to the irritable professor: The book of Monsr. Bochart has been selling here for more than two months. It is in very great repute and since it is very modest and shocks no one, it is praised by all. Those who esteem it highest say this is a book to make Monsr. De Saumaise jealous. You are cited and praised there more than sixty times.140

Three weeks later, in response to Saumaise’s critique of Phaleg, Sarrau further defended the work as founded on very firm ground—despite some inevitable errors—and suggested suspending judgment until Chanaan was read too.141 When Saumaise’s criticisms increased Sarrau recommended writing to Bochart directly—but not in print!—about the matter.142 139 “Evolvo volumen ingens Bocharti Geographiae Sacrae.” Mersenne, Correspondance, Mersenne to Sorbière, Paris to the Hague, 21 March 1647, XV, Letter 13, p. 140. “Ingens volumen nuper apparuit titulo Geographiae Sacrae a ministro Cadonensi bene docte editae in que de familiis et gentibus à tribus filiis Noaei propagatis fusissime, hoc est caput Genesis 10 et 11 prosequitur;” Mersenne to Johann Buxtorf, Paris to Basel, 15 April 1647, XV: Letter 21, p. 206. 140 “Le Livre de Monsr. Bochart se debite icy depuis plus de deux mois. Il est en fort grande reputation. Et comme c’est un Ecrit extrémement modeste ne choquant personne, chacun le louë. Ceux qui le mettent au plus haut disent, c’est un livre pour faire jalousie à Monsr. de Saumaise. Vous y êtes cité & loué plus de soixante fois.” Marquardi Gudii . . . Epistolae . . . et Claudii Sarravii . . . epistolae, 269. Sarrau to Saumaise, Paris-Leiden, 14 June 1647. 141 “Vous aurez appris par mes derniéres les raisons pour lesquelles vous n’avez pas été satisfait du Livre de Monsr. Bochart. ce que vous avez vû n’est pas le meilleur. La seconde partie de Coloniis & sermone Phoenicum est plus ample & plus divertissante: sans doute vous y pourrez trouver à reprendre, & qui est ce qui ne fait point de fautes? Il suffit que le gros soit épurré pour donner passeport au reste. Toute l’oeuvre roule sur deux principes certains, le dixième de la Genese est le premier, & le second est le déchassement des habitans de Chanaan de devant les enfans d’Israël. Et où sont ils allez? c’est ce qu’il découvre avec un monde de merveille, les suivant par tout où ils ont laissé quelques traces.” Marquardi Gudii . . . Epistolae . . . et Claudii Sarravii . . . epistolae, 270. Sarrau to Saumaise, Paris-Leiden, 5 July 1647. 142 “Monsieur, Votre Lettre sur le Livre de Mr. Bochart est excellent, & si je l’osois communiquer au principal interessé, sans doute qu’il en feroit estime. Mais il vaut

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Saumaise’s censures of Bochart’s Geographia can be reconstructed from Bochart’s respectful yet stubborn self-defense.143 First, Saumaise apparently argued, the Geographia was built on the shaky argument that the Phoenicians had changed the place-names of the locations where they were trading. This, he thought, could have only happened in uninhabited places. In response, Bochart first explained that this claim did not apply to the whole book, but only to the first part of Chanaan. Even then, Bochart continued, Saumaise had misrepresented his argument, for only some of the places reached by the Phoenicians, and only those which they dominated, actually changed their names. Bochart pointed to the more recent colonization of the New World as an example of the same process at work.144 In the second place, Saumaise evidently alleged that Bochart had used his linguistic skills too freely, explaining Phoenician by Hebrew, Chaldaic, and Arabic. Bochart, Saumaise snapped, had deluded the gullible ( faire accroire aux crédules) by making all those languages interchangeable. An indignant Bochart replied that Saumaise had better read the book more closely. Just as Italian, French, and Spanish came from Latin, and can therefore help explain one another, the languages that descended

mieux que cela se passe directement entre vous deux, sans entremetteur. [ . . . ] Au fond son dessein n’est pas de montrer que les Phoeniciens ont changé tous les noms des lieux où ils ont été: mais de montrer jusques où se sont étenduës les navigations. Ce qu’il montre par les origins des noms des lieux tirez de cette Langue. Il sera bon que vous lui donniez occasion de s’en expliquer plus clairement. Je m’étonne que vous appeliez fondemens ruineux ce qui est pris de la Bible. Que les Chananéens aient été chassez de leur païs par les enfans d’Israël le V. T. le dit. Où s’en sont ils allez? C’est ce que Monsr. Bochart montre par les noms, qu’ils ont apparemment donné aux lieux où ils ont séjourné. Mais il vaut mieux vous laisser à demêler cette querelle avec lui. Seulement je vous prie qu’il n’en paroisse rien en public. Vous avez dans cette ouvrage là des temoignages en grand nombre de l’estime qu’il fait de vous; [ . . . ]” Marquardi Gudii . . . Epistolae . . . et Claudii Sarravii . . . epistolae, 263, Letter CCLXXII. Sarrau to Saumaise, Paris-Leiden, 29 Aug. 1648. 143 Nos. 88–89 in Bochart’s papers (BN n.a.f. Ms. 2489, fos. 180–84 “Sur l’origin phenitienne de divers noms de pais.”) I cannot tell whether this was sent to Saumaise. And BN Ms. Fr. 3930, ff. 395–96, letter to Saumaise, 6 December [1647?]. The editors of the Opera paraphrased the debate in Latin. Opera 1692, I: 827–32. 144 “Mais qu’ils {Phoenicians} en ont changé {place-names} quelques uns et en bon nombre, et je ne preuve pas simplement qu’ils ont traffiqué en ces lieux dont ils ont changé les noms, mais qu’ils y ont dominé ou en tous ou en la plus part. [ . . . ] D’ou vient que quasi toute l’Amerique est bordee de noms Espagnols et Portugais? Et que les Isles et les plus grands rivieres, et les destroits et les bayes et les promontoires y ont d’autres noms qu’autrefois?” BN n.a.f. Ms. 2489, f. 180.

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from Hebrew could be used the same way.145 He could not see anything wrong in this common practice, which was, moreover, the only one available in the case of the Phoenician language—a language without extant texts.146 Bochart was unwilling to accept general allegations, and demanded to know which particular etymologies Saumaise had found faulty, and why.147 Saumaise’s remarks were not made public; Bochart seems to have won this quarrel, and rightly so. The book won wide approval and gained Bochart his reputation. But Saumaise’s reading of the Geographia sacra would resurface as Bochart became increasingly identified as “Mr. Phoenicians.” Within a matter of a few years Bochart’s Geographia sacra was quoted as an authoritative source on a host of fine points. The earliest mention in print that has come to my notice is in Alexander Ross’s booklet of comments (1648) on Walter Ralegh’s History of the World, where Bochart is quoted as an authority on Niniveh.148 In 1650, Edward Pococke, England’s leading Arabist, quoted Bochart’s “most erudite

145 “Quand vous aures mieux leu mon livre, vous ne trouveres pas que j’y en fait accroire aux credules, comme vous dites par vos dernieres. Ce que je soustien je le preuve ou par des conjectures probables, si ce sont choses simplement probables, ou par des preuves demonstratives, si je le baille pour chose certaine. Sur tout je n’ay garde d’avoir fait accroire aux credules que les langues Chaldaiq. Arabiq. Egyptienne et Ebraiq. peuvent passer pour Phoenicienne. Car c’est ce que j’ay ne jamais ni dit ni creu ni pensè, bien loin de l’avoir fait accroire. Seulment je croy et soustien que les langues Chald. Arab. et Phoenic. estant venues de l’Ebr. comme l’Italien, le Francois et l’Espagnol du Latin, elles se peuvent quelque fois expliquer l’une par l’autre. Et jamais homme sçavant n’en a pu croire autrement.” BN Ms. Fr. 3930, f. 395v. 146 “Que si quelquefois j’explique le Phoeniciene par l’Ebreu, le Chal. et l’Arab. pourquoy non puis que ce sont langues dont l’une est sa mere et les autres les sueurs? Comment expliqueroit on le Phoenicien autrement, veu que nous n’en avons aucun livre? Qui est ce des scavans en ces langues qui n’a suivi la mesme methode?” BN n.a.f. Ms. 2489, fos. 180v–181. 147 “Si vous trouves que [erased] mes etymolog. il faudroit remarquer en quoy. Car il ne suffit par d’alleguer que d’autres s’y sont trompes. Les comparaisons ne sont pas raisons. Au fonds j’advoue que je suis homme, et que je ne tien qu’un rang tres mediocre entre ceux qui se meslent d’escrire, et ay pu me mesprendre en beaucoup de choses. Et quand on m’advertira de mes fautes, je donneray volontiers mes mains. Mais je ne suis pas homme a me rendre, si quelcun me pensoit imputer des choses que je ne dis pas, ou destruire ce que je dy par de mauvaises raisons.” BN Ms. Fr. 3930, f. 395v–396r. 148 Alexander Ross, Som animadversions and observations upon Sr. Walter Raleigh’s Historie of the world wherein his mistakes are noted and som doubtful passages cleered (London: William Dugard for Richard Royston, 1648), 19–20. As noted above, Ross was de Cardonnel’s friend, and for that reason may have been able to obtain the book

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work” in his Specimen historiae Arabum on the issue of female Arab rulers.149 That same year Thomas Fuller in his Pisgah-Sight of Palestine picked over Bochart’s Geographia for etymologies and Phoenician history (see Epilogue). Another early reference in print came from Sir Thomas Browne, who was quick to amend two paragraphs to the second edition of his Pseudodoxia, on the etymology of “Britannia” and “Ibernia,” and on the pagan counterparts of Noah and his sons, “as Bochartus hath well observed.”150 As Graham Parry has demonstrated in his chapter “Phoenicia Britannica,” Bochart’s Phoenician thesis had an immense influence on a series of British authors, running well into the eighteenth century.151 Bochart disagreed with William Camden who argued that the British Isles were unknown to the ancient world before Caesar. Britain according to Bochart, who echoed Twyne’s ideas, had been explored by the Phoenicians, who had found tin there.152 His most ardent follower was Aylett Sammes, of Christ College, Cambridge, who developed the theme of the Phoenician origins of Britain into a hefty volume.153 Sammes argued that the Phoenicians were the first to discover Britain, and that the first settlers of the island were of German, not Gaelic origin. The similarity between the Gauls and Britons was explained by common Phoenician influence. Sammes supplied a map of Phoenician Europe, so quickly. See also Adrian Johns, “Prudence and Pedantry in Early Modern Cosmology: The Trade of Al Ross,” History of Science 35 (1997): 23–59. 149 Edward Pococke, Specimen historiae Arabum, sive, Gregorii Abul Farajii Malatiensis de origine & moribus Arabum succincta narratio, in linguam Latinam conversa (Oxford: H. Hall, 1650), 85, referring to Phaleg II:XXVI, Opera, col. 124, where Bochart also quotes an anonymous Greek geographical text from Constantine’s time, edited by the Genevan scholar Jacques Godefroy, from a manuscript in Saumaise’s library: Vetus Orbis descriptio graeci scriptoris . . . Nunc primum, post Mille Trecentos ferme annos, edita (Genevæ: P. Chouët, 1628). On Godefroy’s intellectual ties with Saumaise, see Chapter Five. 150 Sir Thomas Browne, Pseudodoxia epidemica, or, Enquiries into very many received tenents[ . . . ], 2 ed. (London: A. Miller for Edw. Dod and Nath. Ekins, 1650), 1) VI, 6, p. 258; VII, 5, pp. 297–98. 151 Graham Parry, The Trophies of Time: English Antiquarians in the Seventeenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), ch. 11, 308–30. Parry mistakenly states that Bochart thought the Phoenicians had reached the New World. 152 Chanaan I, ch. 39, Opera col. 647–54. 153 Aylett Sammes, Britannia antiqua illustrata, or, The antiquities of ancient Britain derived from the Phoenicians, wherein the original trade of this island is discovered, the names of places, offices, dignities, as likewise the idolatry, language and customs (London: Th. Roycroft for the author, 1676). See review in Philosophical Transactions 11 (1676): 596–98.

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based on Bochart. In the eighteenth century, Charles Vallencey, in An Essay on the Antiquity of the Irish Language (1772), found similarities between Irish and Phoenician, as part of an argument for the existence of a thriving pre-Christian society in Ireland.154 Bochart’s Geographia sacra appealed not only to those who studied the British past, but also to theorists of religion. Edward Stillingfleet (1635–99), in his defense of Christian religion, Origines sacrae (1662), relied on Bochart’s scholarship to argue that pagan wisdom was a corruption of scripture.155 Theophilus Gale (1628–78) actually met Bochart in Caen while accompanying the sons of Lord Wharton to the Protestant college there. Gale argued in his Court of the Gentiles, based on Bochart, that Thales brought natural history to Greece from Phoenicia, which is really “some broken fragments of the Historie of Creation, delivered by Moses.”156 He reported that in a conversation with Bochart, the latter assured him that the philosophy of Mochus (or Moschus), a contemporary of Sanchuniathon, is “nothing else, but the Historie of the Creation.”157 Isaac Newton, too, owned a copy of the 1681 edition, which was heavily dog-eared. In his works on gentile theology and chronology he often cited Bochart as a highly authoritative source on geographical etymologies. When Newton argued with Bochart, it was not on principles and methods, but on specific identifications.158 154 Colin Kidd, “Gaelic Antiquity and National Identity in Enlightenment Ireland and Scotland,” English Historical Review 109, no. 434 (1994): 1197–1214 at 1204. 155 Sarah Hutton, “Science, Philosophy, and Atheism: Edward Stillingfleet’s Defence of Religion,” in Scepticism and Irreligion in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, eds. Richard H. Popkin and Arie J. Vanderjagt, 102–20 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1993). As Hutton notes, the second, posthumously published edition of Origines sacrae (1702) adopted reason as the main defender of religion. 156 Danton B. Sailor, “Moses and Atomism,” Journal of the History of Ideas 25, no. 1 (1964): 3–16 at 9–10. 157 Theophilus Gale, The Court of the Gentiles, or, A Discourse Touching the Original of Human Literature, both Philologie and Philosophie, from the Scriptures & Jewish church (Oxford: H. Hall for Th. Gilbert, 1672), II:59. 158 John R. Harrison,The Library of Isaac Newton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 105, entry 231. Jewish National and University Library, MS Yahuda 16.1, 17.2, passim. Richard S. Westfall, “Isaac Newton’s Theologiae Gentilis Origines Philosophicae,” in The Secular Mind: Transformations of Faith in Modern Europe, ed. W. Warren Wagar, 15–34 (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1982). Westfall argues that Newton relied on the orthodox ideas of Vossius and Bochart in to promote unorthodox, deistic ideas. Force claims in response that Newton never lost his belief in the Bible as revealed truth. James E. Force, “Biblical Interpretation, Newton, and English Deism,” in Scepticism and Irreligion in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, 283–305. Matt Goldish, Judaism in the Theology of Sir Isaac Newton (Dordrecht:

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Bochart thus became, with Selden, Vossius the elder, and Marsham, the place to look for evidence in favor of Hebraic and Mosaic origins of arts and mythologies. It is therefore ironic that John Edwards (1637–1716), in a book defending the elevated status of Scripture as a historical source—not a foreign idea to the Geographia sacra—criticizes Bochart as someone who claimed the Phoenician to be the primitive language. Like Saumaise before him, Edwards misrepresented Bochart’s Phoenician thesis.159 On the whole, contemporary readers of Bochart usually accepted his system wholeheartedly, and reserved their criticisms for the finer details of his linguistic discoveries. This warm reception, however, was marred by the Oratorian Richard Simon, often characterized as the Galileo of biblical scholarship and as a pillar of the intellectual shift that changed the “European mind” forever. It is important, therefore, to understand what it was precisely in Bochart’s scholarship that provoked Simon to denounce it so severely. Simon’s first mention of Bochart’s work was perhaps a bit impolite, yet in reality quite limited and straightforward. In the Histoire critique du Vieux Testament—the book which gained Simon his notoriety and fame—Simon lists Protestant authors whose work is useful for the critical study of Scripture. For example, Simon praises Cappel for not sharing the misconceptions of his “sect” about the nature of holy writ.160 Bochart ends this list as an author whose works are too long, yet still contain some useful information for the understanding of Scripture. That many of Bochart’s findings were conjectural was for Simon—and Karl Popper would have agreed—a point of strength: conjectures, even if they do not always lead us to the truth, at least help us eliminate claims which are obviously wrong. Bochart’s case allowed Simon to reflect more broadly on the potential weaknesses of narrowly focused authors like Bochart, who often lost sight of the

Kluwer Academic, 1998), esp. 53–55, also criticises Wesfall and places due emphasis on Newton’s Bochartian Etymoligical exercises. 159 “The Learned Bochart derives all Words from the Phaenician Tongue; but any impartial Judg may discern that he is too extravagant in his Derivations.” John Edwards, A Discourse concerning the Authority, Stile, and Perfection of the Books of the Old and New-Testament (London: Richard Wilkin, 1693), III: 48–49. 160 Richard Simon, Histoire critique du Vieux Testament, Nouvelle edition, et qui est la premiere imprimée sur la Copie de Paris (Rotterdam: Reinier Leers, 1685), 475.

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questions at hand.161 Thus Simon’s initial evaluation of Bochart was in fact positive: Bochart’s work was valuable, and could have been more so had it been abridged.162 Simon’s Histoire critique du Vieux Testament provoked a few Protestant responses, the most significant of which was that of the Remonstrant scholar Jean Le Clerc. Le Clerc saw Simon’s strictures on Bochart and other Protestant scholars as a breach of the “régles de l’honnêteté” binding the Republic of Letters.163 This was, moreover, an ungrateful act, for Simon was heavily indebted to Protestant scholars.164 Le Clerc’s accusations prompted a sharp response from Simon, who claimed that his reliance on Protestant authors was only in order to censure their works, and not due to any superiority over Catholics. Simon conceded one field of Protestant excellence—grammar. In Bochart’s case the

161 “Bochart a aussi composé deux grands Ouvrages sous le nom de Phaleg, & de De Animalibus Scripturae Sacrae, où il a expliqué un grand nombre de passages de la Bible: mais comme cet Auteur est beaucoup étendu, & qu’il semble avoir affecté de paroitre plûtôt sçavant & homme d’erudition, que judicieux, il seroit à desirer qu’on abregeât ces deux Ouvrages, en retenant seulment ce qui peut être utile pour l’intelligence des Livres Sacrés. Il est vrai que la plus-part de ce qui est rapporté tant dans le Phaleg, que dans le Livre des animaux dont il est parlé dans l’Ecriture, n’est souvent appuyé que sur des conjectures: mais ces sortes de conjectures sont quelquefois utiles, en ce que si vous ne découvrez pas toûjours la verité, au-moins peut-on se précautionner pour ne pas tomber dans l’erreur: & c’est en quoi le dernier Livre qui traite des animaux dont il est parlé dans l’Ecriture, peut beaucoup servir; car bien qu’on ne sçache pas au vrai les noms d’une bonne partie des animaux dont il est fait mention dans la Bible, il donne quelquefois assez de lumiere pour exclure de certains animaux, ausquels ces mêmes noms ne peuvent convenir. “Ils faut neanmoins prendre garde, que la plus-part des Auteurs qui ont traité une seule matiere, tâchent d’ordinaire d’y rapporter toutes choses: & ainsi, quoi qu’il soit vrai en general, qu’on doive préferer les Auteurs qui se sont appliqués a de certains sujets, à ceux qui n’en ont parlé qu’en passant, il arrive cependent souvent, que ces mêmes Auteurs deviennent tellement entêntés du sujet qu’ils traitent, qu’ils ne sont plus capables de juger sainement des choses dont il est question. Je pourrais en rapporter ici plusieurs exemples: mais il suffira d’en avoir averti en general, afin qu’on y fasse reflexion.” Ibid., 481. 162 The BN actually holds an anonymous eighteenth-century French abridgement in manuscript of Bochart’s Phaleg and Hierozoïcon: BN Ms. fr. 24,934. 163 Jean Le Clerc, Sentimens de quelques theologiens de Hollande sur l’Histoire critique du Vieux Testament . . . (Amsterdam: Henri Desbordes, 1685), 2nd letter, 20. On the evoloving etiquette of the Republic of Letters see Anne Goldgar, Impolite Learning: Conduct and Community in the Republic of Letters, 1680–1750 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995). 164 “Une grande partie de ce qu’il [Simon] dit est appuyé sur des remarques de Beze, de Scaliger, de Buxtorf, de Cappel, de Bochart, de Walton, de Pocock, et de divers autres, dont il fait la Critique dans son troisiéme Livre. Et y a-t-il eu, à son avis, beaucoup de gens dans l’Eglise Romaine comparables en ce genre de literature à Cappel, & à Bochart?” Le Clerc, Sentimens, 2nd letter, 25.

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compliment turned into a slur: “As to Bochart, he is a pure grammarian, a maker of etymologies, whose whole erudition consists of opening a couple of dictionaries.”165 Simon’s genuinely rude comment heightened the tensions and emotions around Bochart’s reputation, taken by both sides as representative of Protestant scholarship at large. In the Défense des sentimens de quelques theologiens (1686) Le Clerc responded by praising the philological study of Scripture. Excellence in grammar—providing access to a “génie d’une langue”—was in fact a great compliment. Simon, argued Le Clerc, was deeply indebted to authors like Cappel and Buxtorf, who had studied the Masorah and variant readings.166 As to Bochart, if Simon was clear-headed when passing his judgment, then either he had never read anything of Bochart’s or he had no appreciation of sophisticated criticism. This was only the beginning of a series of insults to Simon—a sour would-be “supreme judge” of the Republic of Letters. If Bochart was so distasteful, why did Simon—who in the preface to the Histoire critique bragged that he had copied from no one—rely on Bochart’s studies?167 Simon was clearly

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“Il n’est pas vrai que ceux dont Mr. Simon a tiré le plus de lumiere pour composer sa Critique, soient Protestans, puis qu’il y a eu sans doute de plus habiles gens pour les Langues & pour la Critique dans l’Eglise Romaine que parmi les Protestans. Si l’on s’est quelquefois appuyé sur les remarques de Beze, de Scaliger, de Buxtorf, de Bochard, de Cappel, de Walton, & de quelques autres, il ne s’ensuit pas qu’ils ayent plus étudié l’Ecriture que les Catholiques: mais c’est qu’on faisoit alors la Critique de leurs Ouvrages, ou qu’on se servoit de leur autorité dans des faits qu’ils avoient traité; & encore le plus souvent ne s’agit-il en ces endroits là que de la Grammaire, qui est presque la seule chose où les Protestans ayent excellé. Je ne voi pas aussi pourquoi Mr. le Clerc oppose aux Docteurs Catholiques Cappel & Bochard, & qu’il demande s’il y a eu beaucoup de gens dans l’Eglise Romaine qu’on leur puisse comparer. Car pour ce qui est de Cappel, ses Ouvrages font voir qu’il avoit plus profité dans la lecture des Anciens, & principalement dans les Ecrits de St. Jerôme, que dans les Livres des Protestans, dont il abandonna la methode pour suivre celle des Catholiqes, qui ont tous fait son Panegyrique dans le temps que ceux de sa Secte vouloient le priver de sa Charge. Ne l’accuserent-ils pas d’être convenu avec le P. Morin pour ruiner le Texte Ebreu, & pour autoriser la Vulgate? A l’égard de Bochard, c’est un pur Grammairien, un grand faiseur d’étymologies, & dont toute l’erudition consiste à se servir de quelques Dictionnaires. Les Protestans n’ont personne qu’ils puissent comparer à Masius & à Luc de Bruges pour ce qui regarde les matieres de la Critique.” Richard Simon, Réponse aux Livre intitulé Sentimens de quelques Theologiens de Hollande sur l’Histoire Critique du Vieux Testament . . . (Rotterdam: Reinier Leers, 1686), 18. 166 Jean Le Clerc, Défense des Sentimens de quelques theologiens de Hollande sur l’Histoire critique du Vieux Testament . . . (Amsterdam: Henri Desbordes, 1686), 44–45. 167 “Mais il y a un Protestant à qui nôtre Auteur n’a pû souffrir que l’on donnât des loüanges, que tous les Savans de l’Europe lui ont données jusqu’à présent. Voici ce qu’il en dit. A l’égard de Bochard, c’est un pur Grammairien, un grand faiseur

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upset the most by Le Clerc’s well-aimed shot at his capability as a fine critic. In the Réponse (1687) to Le Clerc’s Défense Simon reconfirmed his view of Bochart’s scholarship: “With the exception of the first part of [Bochart’s] Phaleg, what is there in the rest of the book and in the large work on biblical animals but etymologies and a confused heap of often irrelevant texts? Calling such collections ‘fine criticism’ is not a mark of delicate taste.” Next Simon attacked Bochart’s Phoenician argument as based on highly unlikely etymologies, and, consequently, as an example of poor criticism. Reasoning with etymologies, argued Simon, could lead to arbitrary and absurd results—that the Phoenicians had arrived from Lower Brittany, for example, if one should wish to make that claim. Bochart was engaged in the same kind of scholarship propounded before him by Guillaume Postel, whose “rêveries” were not less founded than those of Bochart. Simon, however, did qualify his reservations: “[Bochart’s] principle is not dismissed. One would have wished, however, that he had not gone to such lengths in discussing pure linguistic subtleties and conjunctions of letters.” Moreover, there was no need to dismiss all that is found in Postel and Bochart, but simply to note that the two have taken their methodology

d’étymologies, & dont toute l’erudition consiste à se servir de quelques Dictionnaires. Si M. Simon disoit cela de sang froid, il n’en faudroit pas davantages pour faire croire à tous ceux qui ont lû quelque chose de Bochart, qu’il ne l’a jamais lû, ou qu’il n’a aucun goût de la fine Critique: mais il faut pardonner cela à un homme à qui M. Spanheim avoit eu l’audace de préferer Bochart, & à qui j’avois cité ce grande Critique de nouveau, comme un Auteur incomparable. Le moien que le Juge Souverain de la République des Lettres, étant aussi bilieux qu’il l’est, rencontrât si souvent Bochart en son chemin sans se fâcher, & sans lui faire sentir quelque effet de son autorité suprême? Je ne m’arrêterai pas, Monsieur, à faire l’éloge de cet illustre Protestant, sa réputation est trop bien affermie, pour recevoir quelque atteinte par une période enflammée d’un Auteur outre de dépit, de ne trouver personne dans sa Communion pour lui opposer. De plus nôtre Prieur n’est pas toûjours si en colere contre lui, puis qu’il se sert utilement de ses Ouvrages, en copiant les endroits qui l’accommodent [here Le Clerc cites Simon’s criticism of the French translation of Matthew 12:40 (ketos as ‘baleine’ instead of ‘grand poisson’), as derived from Bochart’s discussion in the Hierozoïcon, II, bk 5, ch. XII, col. 743]. C’est ainsi qu’un pur Grammairien, & dont toute l’erudition consiste à se servir de quelques Dictionnaires est quelquefois d’un grand secours au plus habile Critique de nos jours, quoi qu’il fasse profession de ne copier personne.” Ibid., 45–46. Le Clerc is referring here to Ezechiel (and not Friedrich) Spanheim’s anonymous Lettre à un amy où l’on rend compte d’un livre, qui a pour titre, Histoire critique du Vieux Testament, publié à Paris en 1678 (Amsterdam: Daniel Elsevier, 1678), republished with the 1685 French edition of Simon. I would like to thank Brian Ogilvie for alerting me to the correct attribution of this letter.

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to the extreme.168 The debate faded away at that stage with some embittered remarks by the editors of Bochart’s Opera omnia of 1692, and in Le Clerc’s review of the volume in the same year.169 Thus Richard Simon regarded Bochart’s scholarship as basically useful and much needed, but Bochart’s encyclopedic and digressive style was not to his liking. Simon—“a little man, with a high-pitched voice, plain of feature, and not particularly intelligent-looking”170—had a sharp, synthetic mind, and little patience for the narrowly drawn and specialized philological scholarship that Bochart epitomized. As the Simon-Le Clerc exchange on Bochart escalated, Simon singled out Bochart as a case of Protestant philology taken to its absurd edge. Simon clearly had different ideas than Bochart about the role of etymology in biblical scholarship, and Bochart would have found it hard to defend himself against Simon’s accusation that he was a follower of Postel, or a ‘Goropizer,’ to use Leibniz’s term. In this respect

168 “Les Protestans feront tant d’éloges qu’il leur plaira de leur illustre Bochart; cela n’empêchera point M. Simon de juger des Livres de cet homme de la maniere qu’il l’a fait. Et en effet, si l’on excepte la premiere partie de son Phaleg, qu’y a-t-il dans le reste de ce Livre & dans son grand Ouvrage des Animaux de la Bible, que des étymologies & un amas confus de literature, qui n’est le plus souvent guere à propos? Ce n’est pas avoir le goust delicat, que d’appeller ces sortes de Recueils une fine Critique. Sous pretexte que les anciennes origines doivent être tirées des Pheniciens, un Grammairien viendra nous debiter une infinité d’étymologies peu apparentes, & l’on y voudra trouver une fine Critique. Pour moi je suis persuadé, que si un bas Breton entreprenoit le même travail, il monstreroit facilement par la voye des étymologies, que les Pheniciens mêmes tirent leur origine de ceux de sa nation. Il sera aisé par ce moyen de faire croire les plus grandes absurdités. [ . . . ] On ne rejette pas pour cela son principe; mais on auroit souhaitté qu’il ne se fust pas tant étendu sur de pures subtilités de mots & sur des rencontres de lettres. Guillaume Postel, qui étoit savant dans ces rêveries, a aussi traité cette matiere dans quelques-uns de ses Livres. [here a few ridiculous examples] Si on compare ces étymologies de Postel avec celles de Bochart, on trouvera que ce dernier en apporte un grand nombre qui ne paroissent pas mieux fondées. On ne pretend pas neanmoins les rejeter toutes ni dans Postel, ni dans Bochart. On veut seulement faire voir, que l’un & l’autre sont dans de grandes extrémités sur cette matiere [ . . . ].” Richard Simon, De l’inspiration des Livres Sacrés avec une Réponse à la Defense Sentimens de quelques Theologiens de Hollande sur l’Histoire Critique du Vieux Testament . . . (Rotterdam: Reinier Leers, 1687), 72–75. Simon is careful to note that the point he had allegedly copied from Bochart was in fact found already in Castelio. 169 Jean Le Clerc, Review of Bochart’s Opera omnia, 1692, Bibliothèque universelle et historique 23, (October, 1692): 273–322. 170 Paul Hazard, The European mind, 1680–1715, trans. J. Lewis May (London: Penguin, 1973), 218. See also Guy G. Stroumsa, “Jewish Myth and Ritual and the Beginnings of Comparative Religion: The Case of Richard Simon,” The Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 6 (1997): 19–35.

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Simon appeals more to our own scholarly tastes and could perhaps be portrayed as operating in a new world of biblical criticism. But, in my view, we cannot deduce from the exchange a clash between two worlds of exegesis—between Simon as a modern rational critic who had released himself from dogma and literalism, and Bochart as an orthodox bibliolater. Both scholars have taken what may be called the ‘Cappel’ turn—accepting the historical malleability of the Hebrew and Greek Scriptures, and applying this notion it to defend their respective orthodoxies. We cannot place them on opposite sides of a great turning point in the history of biblical criticism. In the Histoire critique du Vieux Testament Simon proposed, in fact, a dictionary that would accompany a new translation of the biblical text.171 The subjects to be covered by the dictionary as outlined by Simon—biblical animals, minerals, chronology, geography, and genealogy—are those tackled by Bochart in his two major works.172 This affinity shows that Simon’s and Le Clerc’s heated words over Bochart cannot, in the final account, hide the fact that the disagreement boils down to personal style and taste. It is not surprising that the notions of ‘fine critique’ and ‘good taste’ recur time and again. For Ernest Renan, writing in 1865, it was Baruch Spinoza and Richard Simon who were, respectively, the Bacon and Galileo of biblical criticism. In a sense this characterization merely extended Simon’s own rhetoric against Bochart, the “fabricator of etymologies.” Renan gave Bochart his due honor as a pioneer in the comparative science of Semitic antiquities, yet relegated Bochart to a pre-critical age.173 However, both Bochart and Simon were scholars who had taken the

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Histoire critique, Bk III, ch. II. Simon’s program for a biblical dictionary may have been transformed in the hands of his nephew and pupil, Antoine-Augustine Bruzen de La Martinière (1662–1749) into the Traitez géographiques et historiques pour faciliter l’intelligence de l’Ecriture Sainte (La Haye: G. Van der Poel, 1730). La Martinière, a Catholic oddity in the Huguenot milieu of the eighteenth-century Netherlands, collaborated with the publisher Jean-Frédéric Bernard and merits further study as a figure bridging seventeenthcentury scholarship and the early Enlightenment. See most recently, Hans-Jürgen Lüsebrink, “(Re)Inventing Encyclopedism in the Early European Enlightenment: The Work of Bruzen de la Martinière and Its Relations with Cérémonies et Coutumes,” in Bernard Picart and the First Global Vision of Religion, eds. Lynn Avery Hunt, Margaret C. Jacob and W. W. Mijnhardt, 313–30 (Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2010). 173 Ernest Renan, “L’Exégèse biblique et l’esprit français,” Revue des Deux Mondes 35, seconde période, no. 60 (1865): 235–45. 172

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‘historical turn’ in biblical exegesis, yet were deeply committed to their clashing Churches. The passion for religious controversy declined in the eighteenth century, and in this process Bochart’s work lost what for the seventeenth century had been one of its most powerful aspects. The Geographia sacra became a standard reference work for biblical place names and an authoritative survey of Phoenician life, but its specifically Protestant value had evaporated. In the Encyclopédie, about 60 different articles refer to Bochart, mostly as a source of etymologies, which are either repeated with approval or contested as overly imaginative. The author of the article on Tyre uses Bochart as the authority on Phoenician expansion, as does Montesquieu in De l’esprit des loix.174 In the second half of the eighteenth-century Johann David Michaelis (1717–91) still considered Bochart’s Geographia sacra worth updating. In his reworking of Bochart, Michaelis relied on the findings of the Niebuhr expedition to Arabia that he had initiated (1761–67).175 This development was in fact anticipated by Huet’s reading of Bochart’s Geographia: the marginalia in Huet’s copy of the book contain references to contemporary travel literature (e.g. journeys to Persia by Robert Shirley and Thomas Herbert).176 As late as 1890, no less a figure than W. Robertson Smith (1846–94), a pioneer of the anthropological study of Near Eastern religion, and author of Lectures on the Religion of the Semites (1889), acknowledged in a book review Bochart’s (and Selden’s) authority on matters Phoenician: “ . . . it is remarkable that neither Bochart nor Selden appears in the list of authors cited; for neither the Chanaan of the one, nor the ‘De diis Syris’ of the other can safely be neglected by any student in this field.”177

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Ed. J. Brethe de la Gressaye (Paris: les Belles-Lettres, 1958), III: 82. Johann David Michaelis, Spicilegium geographiae Hebraeorum exterae post Bochartum, 2 vols. (Goettingen: Vandenhoeck, 1769). See Jonathan Sheehan, The Enlightenment Bible: Translation, Scholarship, Culture (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2005), ch. 7. 176 BMC, Rés. FN C 445, p. 5, 48. 177 W. Robertson Smith, review of History of Phoenicia by George Rawlinson, English Historical Review 5, no. 17 (1890): 125–27. 175

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Conclusion This chapter suggests that it is useful and necessary to look at Bochart’s geographical scholarship, at its moment of inception and initial reception, as profoundly Protestant. First, as a member of a distinguished Huguenot family of pastors and theologians, Bochart was intimately involved in church administration and politics. His position entangled him in several controversies with Catholics, in which scholarship and erudition played a very significant role. Chancellor Séguier’s attempts to prevent the Geographia from seeing the light testify that Catholic authorities at the time perceived this book as potentially dangerous, even if there is not much in the substance of Bochart’s Geographia that should have raised the anger of Catholic scholars. However, although the Geographia sacra was written for an international audience of scholars, its roots run deep into Bochart’s routine practice of preaching the Word of God to his local community. This connection is made fully clear when reading the Geographia alongside Bochart’s sermons on Genesis. Finally, the work is Protestant in the sense that its method and particular path into and around geographical questions could be traced to Bochart’s particular position within the French and international Protestant community. Bochart had to navigate, Phoenicianlike, the stormy water of seventeenth-century religious controversy and biblical exegesis. Faced with the dilemma of maintaining the privileged status of the word of God while at the same time acknowledging its historicity, Bochart invoked the Phoenicians. His comprehensive geographical-historical model, with the ingenious Phoenician link between sacred and pagan wisdom, allowed him to face this dilemma successfully, at least in his own terms. Yet Bochart’s tour of the boundary line that Isaac La Peyrère would soon cross marked at the same time the intellectual limits of geographia sacra as an early modern discipline. Biblical geographies in the manner of Bochart would continue to be written well into the eighteenth century. And yet conceptually as well as technically Bochart has, in a way, exhausted the possibilities of philological sacred geography.

CHAPTER FIVE

PUTTING THE CHURCH ON THE MAP: ECCLESIASTICAL CARTOGRAPHY ACROSS THE DENOMINATIONAL DIVIDE The preceding chapters have traced, in various ways, the core of sacred geography as an early modern learned practice that was deeply embedded in the tradition of biblical exegesis and scholarship. Samuel Bochart’s global perspective brought the genre of biblical geographia sacra, as developed by Arias Montano, to its technical and epistemological limits. The multiple surveys of the Franciscans in Jerusalem have placed the sacred sites of the New Testament on an unprecedented level of documentation and accessibility. This scholarship, as I have suggested, clearly had significant contemporary religious and even political implications. It dealt, though, with a rather remote past and often covered distant locations. However, geographia sacra, as it was formulated and understood by contemporaries, also encompassed a less remote domain, that of ecclesiastical geography. As discussed in the introductory chapter, geographia sacra in the early modern period was a flexible term, because both ‘sacred’ and ‘geography’ were applied in a variety of senses. As book titles from the period make quite clear, this flexibility made it possible to create a sacred geography that was not restricted to the Bible either for its sources or for its coverage. Just as ecclesiastical history was a pillar of historia sacra, ecclesiastical geography, in turn, was an important segment of geographia sacra literature.1 For example, in 1679, the Protestant Friedrich Spanheim the Younger (1632–1701) published a geographia sacra textbook for young students, over half of which was devoted to post-biblical, ecclesiastical matters. Moreover, the geography of any region, not just the Holy Land, could become ‘sanctified’ or ‘sacralized’ by describing some of its religious dimensions—whether it were a historical collection of local saints’ lives, topographical accounts of religious houses and monuments, legal listings of church jurisdiction and hierarchy, or 1 Spanheim, Introductio ad geographiam sacram, Patriarchalem, Israëliticam, & Christianam, . . . In usus studiose Juventutis (Leiden: Daniel Gaesbeeck, 1679).

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all of these at once. It is important to recognize and accept this kind of geographical language, which to modern-day geographers may seem imprecise or confusing. Mapping the Church—both visually and textually—, its juridical and spiritual expanse, its borders and subdivisions, its past and present, was a primary concern of early modern édudits. It was a field that emerged in the zone between ecclesiastical history and the unfolding secular geographical revolution of the time. With a few notable exceptions, this genre has been largely overlooked both by historians of geography and historians of religion. Critical examinations of ecclesiastical geography and mapping have only recently emerged.2 This chapter, leading us towards the end of the seventeenth century, will survey the typical products of ecclesiastical geography in the period and examine their contemporary significance. It traces the history of this understudied area of early modern inquiry and analyses the main concerns and motives of its sharply divided practitioners. Two cases in ecclesiastical geography will receive closer examination: the early-seventeenth century debate on the suburbicarian regions, and the career of the French monk Augustin Lubin. How does one map the Catholic Church? In his Mercure géographique of 1678, Augustin Lubin gave the following answer, under the entry Ecclesia Catholica: The Church’s commonly and rightly accepted title ‘Catholic,’ that is to say, universal, clearly shows that it has no other boundaries than those of the Earth itself, the Gospels having been preached in all the Earth’s corners.3

2 François de Dainville, S. J., Cartes anciennes de l’église de France: historique— répertoire—guide d’usage (Paris: Librairie philosophique J. Vrin, 1956); Miscellanea historiae ecclesiasticae V: colloque de Varsovie, 27–29 Octobre, 1971, sur la cartographie et l’histoire socio-religieuse de l’Europe jusqu’a la fin du XVIIe siècle, Louvain: Publications universitaires de Louvain, 1974; Stéphane Gomis, “Délimitation de paroisses et identité paroissiale sous l’Ancien Régime: L’exemple du diocèse de Clermont,” in L’Historien en quête d’espaces, eds. Jean-Luc Fray and Céline Pérol, 407–28 (ClermontFerrand: Presses Universitaires Blaise Pascal, 2004); Jason A. Nice, “ ‘the Peculiar Place of God’: Early Modern Representations of England and France,” English Historical Review CXXI, no. 493 (2006): 1002–18. 3 “Le surnom que l’on lui donne si justement de Catholique, c’est-à-dire universelle, prouve assez fortement, que l’Eglise n’a point d’autres bornes que celles de la terre, la Loi de l’Evangile ayant été prêchée dans toutes les Regions de la terre.” Lubin, Mercure géographique; ou le guide des curieux des cartes géographiques (A Paris: chez Christophle Remy, 1678), 73–74.

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As Lubin implies, a spiritual and universal entity like the gospel was in principle unmappable. Its carrier, the ecumenical, divinely ordained Roman Church could not be grounded, as it were, in any specific region, because all parts of the Earth were open to the propagation of the faith. A map of the Church was a map of the globe, and vice versa. However, Lubin continued, the active opposition and persecution suffered by the true religion namely, the Catholic Church, gave geographers the idea of marking on maps the state of the Church in different times and places—where it flourished, and where unknown, persecuted, or even annihilated altogether.4 Thus the Church as a human institution and its earthly involvement in human history could definitely be mapped. This duality, as Momigliano has shown long ago, between the history of the Church as a divine institution and the history of the Christian community within the Roman Empire, has characterized the genre of ecclesiastical history since its early days.5 Lubin (1624–95), a French Augustinian monk, to whose work we will return at the end of this chapter, quite easily overcame the conceptual problems of mapping a universal religion and dedicated his whole career to ecclesiastical cartography and geography. He brought to perfection a sub-genre of geographia sacra which provoked intense interest, mainly in seventeenth-century Catholic scholarship. An important context for the development of ecclesiastical geography is institutional. As John Larner has pointed out, the Church in the fifteenth century was a major patron of secular geographical learning as part of its general role in the revival of antiquity and the promotion of humanist learning. In Italy, almost all the significant figures in the revival of Ptolemy’s Geography and other classical geographical authors were either clerics or scholars who worked under Church

4

“Il est toutefois constant, que la Foi n’a jamais été en même temps receuë & étenduë par tout le monde; que l’exercice de la Religion Chrêtienne n’a jamais été en même temps permis & receu par tout. Elle trouva d’abord par tout une contradiction universelle & des persecuteurs; ayant depuis été receuë, les histoires nous apprennent, que lors que la vraye Religion, (qui est la même chose que l’Eglise,) florissoit en quelque Royaume, elle étoit ou inconnuë, ou persecutée, & comme aneantie en d’autres provinces. Ce fait, si fortment établi, fournit aux Geographes l’idée de faire des Cartes de l’état ou de l’étenduë de l’Eglise Catholique, telle qu’elle étoit de siecle en siecle, & de marquer les Provinces où elle étoit mal-traitée.” Ibid. 5 Arnaldo Momigliano, “The Origins of Ecclesiastical Historiography,” in The Classical Foundations of Modern Historiography, 132–52 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990).

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patronage, such as Regiomontanus, who was recruited by Cardinal Bessarion.6 Beyond institutional and patronage connections, geography as a discipline gave the Church a broad and robust framework for demonstrating its role in the world. Geography, whose classically defined role was the description of the whole earth (as opposed to chorography), allowed the Church to express its universal authority.7 This universalizing element in geography was clearly perceived by churchmen as early as the beginning of the fifteenth century: the expansion potential which Ptolemy’s Geography offered was found already in the dedication of the work to Pope Alexander V (1409) by the translator of the Geography into Latin, Jacopo Angeli.8 Similar ideas lay in the background to Alexander VI’s bull “Inter Caetera” (1493) that divided the globe between Spain and Portugal by an imaginary geometrically-defined line from pole to pole, and inspired the Treaty of Tordesillas the following year. To give another example, the dedicatory letter of the 1508 Roman edition of Ptolemy exclaimed that the Geography was useful for the better tracking of the global progress of Christianity.9 These links are made more explicit by John Headley for the late sixteenth century, when indeed they had become stronger. Headley has convincingly shown in the context of Giovanni Botero’s Relationi universali (1591) that geography as a body of knowledge provided a paradigm of universalism to Catholics in an expanding

6

John Larner, “The Church and the Quattrocento Renaissance in Geography,” Renaissance Studies 12, no. 1 (1998): 26–39. 7 “Geographia imitatio est picturae totius partis terrae cognitae, cum iis, que sibi quasi universaliter sunt annexa.” Ptolemy, Geography, 1.1 (Latin translation by Pirckheimer, as printed in Servetus’s edition, Lyon, 1535). This famous definition has been recently translated from the Greek as: “The essence of world cartography is to show the known world as a single and continuous entity, its nature and how it is situated, [taking account] only of the things that are associated with it in its broader, general outlines (such as gulfs, great cities, the more notable peoples and rivers, and the more noteworthy things of each kind).” J. Lennart Berggren and Alexander Jones, eds., Ptolemy’s Geography: An Annotated Translation of the Theoretical Chapters (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2000), 1.1. 8 James Hankins has edited Angeli’s introduction in “Ptolemy’s ‘Geography’ in the Renaissance,” in The Marks in the Field: Essays on the Uses of Manuscripts, ed. Rodney G. Dennis, 119–27 (Cambridge, Mass.: The Houghton Library, 1992). See English trans. of the text in Zur Shalev and Charles Burnett, eds., Ptolemy’s Geography in the Renaissance (London; Turin: Warburg Institute; Nino Aragno, 2011). 9 Ptolemy, Geographia Cl. Ptolemaei . . . eds. Marco Beneventanus and Giovanni Cotta, 4 ed. (Rome, 1508), sig. A1v. This edition is based on the Rome 1478 and 1490 editions.

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world.10 In her comprehensive study of the Dominican mathematician and cartographer Egnazio Danti (1536–86), Francesca Fiorani has amply demonstrated the centrality of the scientiae mediae, or applied science, in the program of Danti and his Bolognese patrons, Cardinal Gabriele Paleotti and Gregory XIII. The former, in particular, in his well-known treatise on the use of images, saw secular maps and plans as useful for religious education as mirrors to God’s creation.11 The quantification and geometrization of space, long considered a mark of secularization, turn out to be more complex. The precise description of the created world was a pious and commended act. It is important to note this new trend in the interpretation of the geographical Renaissance, or what is often termed the geographical revolution. If earlier scholars tied the revival of geography to a proto-modern Florence and its thriving mercantile, mathematical, and secular culture, it is now in fact ecclesiastical Rome that emerges as a major center behind this development, and rightly so.12 Alongside the revival of ancient secular geography and its use as a productive intellectual framework for conceiving a global Christianity, there grew up in the Church a more particular genre of ecclesiastical geography. Catholics had an obvious vested interest in recording and displaying the many territorial aspects of the Church, for three overlapping reasons: administration, glorification, and polemics. As is well known, the rise of the territorial monarchy was accompanied, if not assisted, by an increased use of cartography and other methods of data collection and presentation.13 As cartography developed

10 John M. Headley, “Geography and Empire in the Late Renaissance: Botero’s Assignment, Western Universalism, and the Civilization Process,” Renaissance Quarterly 53 (2000): 1119–55. See also Denis E. Cosgrove, Apollo’s Eye: A Cartographic Genealogy of the Earth in the Western Imagination (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), esp. ch. 3. 11 Francesca Fiorani, The Marvel of Maps: Art, Cartography and Politics in Renaissance Italy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), 148–54. 12 For an earlier line of problematic interpretation see Samuel Y. Edgerton, Jr. The Renaissance Rediscovery of Linear Perspective (New York: Basic Books, 1975). 13 The literature on the emergence of political cartography in early modern Europe is large. See, among others, Josef W. Konvitz, Cartography in France, 1660–1848: Science, Engineering, and Statecraft. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987. James R. Akerman, ed., Cartography and Statecraft: Studies in Governmental Mapmaking in Modern Europe and Its Colonies, Cartographica 35, nos. 3 & 4, monograph 52, 1998. Michael Biggs. “Putting the State on the Map: Cartography, Territory, and European State Formation,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 41, no. 2 (2000): 374– 405. See also Chapter One, note 34 above.

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into a precise and powerful administrative tool, its role in the world of ecclesiastical government increased in importance as well. Early modern churchmen and scholars of different countries and backgrounds were quick to use this documentary technology and mode of presentation in their work. Especially after Trent, ecclesiastical geography served an increasingly professionalized Church government. Bishops, who were looking for accurate data on the souls and believers under their care, sponsored cartographic surveys of their dioceses. In this respect, ecclesiastical cartography in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries follows, mirrors, and also challenges the far better-studied developments in political, state-sponsored cartography. It was in seventeenth-century France that both forms of cartography—political and ecclesiastical—were most advanced, and they were often developed by the same cartographers. Ecclesiastical geography and cartography, like their secular counterparts, served ideological and polemical purposes that went beyond the functional and administrative. Maps provided an effective method for displaying the Church—an ancient yet ever-expanding institution— in all its territorial glory. Extravagant map murals, proud monastic atlases, and even pocket-sized companions of apparitions of the Virgin Mary around the globe, were deployed together in the effort to present an all-powerful, hierarchically organized structure.14 Thus, just as Counter-Reform Bavaria was physically re-sacralized by massive imports of Roman catacomb relics and the reinvigoration of local pilgrimages, ecclesiastical cartography and geography contributed to a representational sacralization of Europe, and even the whole earth.15 Missions to remote areas provided another venue for cartographic expression. As Lubin suggested: It would greatly augment the glory of the Church, should maps be prepared of countries where the Church’s missionaries are continually active planting the faith, so that those who wish to follow their footsteps might have some light shed on the trips they envisage.16

14 Wilhelm Gumppenberg, Atlas Marianus, sive De imaginibus Deiparae per orbem Christianum miraculosis, 2 vols. (Ingolstadt, 1655). 15 Trevor Johnson, “Holy Fabrications: The Catacomb Saints and the CounterReformation in Bavaria,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 47, no. 1 (1996): 274–97; Philip M. Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints: Counter Reformation Propaganda in Bavaria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993). 16 “Il seroit fort glorieux à l’Eglise de faire des Cartes des pays, où ses Missionaires vont tous les jours planter la Foi, afin que ceux qui les veulent suivre, ayent de lumieres pour le voyages qu’ils meditent.” Lubin’s idea apparently had only a limited success:

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The most extravagant example of ecclesiastical cartography as a display of Counter-Reform ideals is the Galleria delle carte geografiche (1578–81) in the Vatican Palace, designed by Egnazio Danti. The Galleria presents Italy as the new Holy Land, where saints lived and where their relics are venerated, and also—a point less emphasized by current scholarship—as unified under the Pope’s political and spiritual power.17 As we saw in Chapter Three, maps and images of the Franciscan landscape in Jerusalem operated very much along these lines. We will return in the concluding section of this chapter to the variety of Catholic applications of ecclesiastical geography for administration and display of tradition and progress. The uses of geography and cartography as means of display and propaganda are inextricably tied to their polemical role. In the wake of the Reformation, which posed a territorial as much as a dogmatic challenge to Catholic hierarchy, the Church’s use of geography and cartography acquired particular significance. As Lubin put it, if one were to produce a map of Catholicism (as was desirable), it would be necessary to mark it with the boundaries of the heretical kingdoms, provinces, or cantons from which the Church was expelled.18 The use of the term “cantons” leaves no doubt as to the Protestant identity of the heretics Lubin had in mind. We find, especially in seventeenth-century Catholic scholarship, a whole spectrum of ecclesiastical geographical studies

“J’en fis à Rome la proposition à quelques Cardinaux, qui étoient de la Congregation, établie pour la propagation de la Foi, lesquels tomberent dans mon sentiment, je n’ai pû apprendre depuis si on en a rien executé.” Lubin, Mercure géographique, 76. On earlier Jesuit mission maps see de Dainville, Cartes anciennes de l’église de France, 118. On the Jesuits as a geographical corporation see Steven J. Harris, “Mapping Jesuit Science: The Role of Travel in the Geography of Knowledge,” in The Jesuits: Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts, 1540–1773, ed. John W. O’Malley et al., 212–40 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999). 17 The Galleria is the subject of many studies. See Iris Cheney, “The Galleria delle carte geografiche at the Vatican and the Roman Church’s View of the History of Christianity,” Renaissance Papers (1989): 21–37; Francesca Fiorani, “Post-Tridentine geographia sacra: The Galleria delle carte geografiche in the Vatican Palace,” Imago Mundi 48 (1996): 124–48; Lucio Gambi, Antonio Pinelli, and Alvise Chiggiato, La Galleria delle carte geografiche in Vaticano = The Gallery of Maps in the Vatican, 3 vols. (Modena: F.C. Panini, 1994); Jürgen Schulz, “Maps as Metaphors: Mural Map Cycles of the Italian Renaissance,” in Art and Cartography: Six Historical Essays, ed. David Woodward, 97–122 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987). The most recent and comprehensive statement is Fiorani’s The Marvel of Maps. I find Walter Goffart’s “Christian Pessimism on the Walls of the Vatican Galleria delle carte geografiche,” Renaissance Quarterly 51 (1998): 788–827, to be a less convincing interpretation. 18 “il faut en marquer les frontieres prés des Royaumes, Provinces, ou Cantons Heretiques.” Lubin, Mercure géographique, 75.

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of the Christian past: from maps and atlases of ancient jurisdictions, through copious geographical indices keyed to published ecclesiastical histories, to listings of ancient monasteries and benefices. In surveying the early Christian landscape, and in drawing direct lines of continuity to the present, Catholic antiquaries were making a point. This massive, at times chokingly technical, corpus of Catholic documentation is indicative of the effort to use geography as a weapon in the scholarly battle against Protestants. Whereas biblical geography during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was a field of enquiry explored by scholars of all denominations, who often praised or criticized each other’s work regardless of their belief, ‘positive’ or enumerative ecclesiastical geography was quite clearly a Catholic stronghold. It may be said that for Protestants, once the traditional ecclesiastical hierarchy had collapsed, the very notion of positive ecclesiastical geography became, as it were, theologically meaningless: the true church was spiritual and un-mappable by definition, while the visible church belonged to secular geography. The extreme example of ‘negative’ Protestant sacred geography is the Genevan Mappe-monde nouvelle papistique of the late sixteenth century—an allegorical map which mocked the earthly ambitions and corruptions of Rome.19 As we shall see in detail in the following section, it is mainly in the context of anti-Catholic polemic that we find Protestants engaged in ecclesiastical geography. Their energetic involvement developed mainly in the context of learned Church historiography and antiquarianism. Scholars across the religious divide produced and made use of growing numbers of editions of early Greek Church historians and

19

See the recent critical edition: Giovan Battista Trento and Pierre Eskrich, Mappemonde nouvelle papistique [ . . . ] (Genève, 1566), eds. Frank Lestringant and Alessandra Preda (Genève: Droz, 2009). Modern literature: F. Lestringant, “The ‘Histoire de la Mappe-Monde Papistique’—Sixteenth century anti-Catholic propaganda in literature and cartography,” Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions & BellesLettres, no. 3 (1998): 699–730; Franz Reitinger, “ ‘Kampf um Rom’: Von der Befreiung sinnorientierten Denkens im kartographischen Raum am Beispiel einer Weltkarte des Papismus aus der Zeit der französischen Religionskriege,” in Utopie: Gesellschaftsformen-Künstlerträume, eds. Götz Pochat and Brigitte Wagner, 100–140 (Graz: ADEVA, 1996); Dror Wahrman, “From Imaginary Drama to Dramatized Imagery: The MappeMonde Nouvelle Papistique,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 54 (1991): 186–205.

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comprehensive collections of Church councils, both ecumenical and provincial.20 Church antiquaries explored early Christian communities, institutions and material culture. Protestant attitudes to patristics were often complex, but Melanchthon already considered them indispensable, and the Magdeburg Centuries drew extensively on information gathered from the Fathers. In the seventeenth century, Protestant scholarly interest and critical recognition in patristics were widespread.21 As recent studies on antiquarian scholarship make abundantly clear, the preoccupation of early modern scholars with the past was never isolated from current affairs, and this, especially between 1550 and 1650, meant confessional polemics.22 The study of ecclesiastical geography was no different. Geography was an inseparable part of this lively and often heated intellectual world of sacred scholarship, in which one could move easily from Eusebius and Rufinus to Pliny and Ptolemy, from Church councils to the Roman Agrimensores—a world in which canon and civil law, history, archaeology, geography, and cartography were inextricably related.23 It is probably the extravagant and polemical Catholic uses of ecclesiastical geography as a genre, appropriating an imperial past and profuse in universalizing statements, that elicited Protestant responses.

20 Christofle Justel, Codex canonum ecclesiae Africanae (Paris: Apud Abrahamum Pacard, 1615); Jacques Sirmond, Concilia antiqua galliae tres in tomos ordine digesta, 3 (+1 supplement) vols. (Paris: Seb. Cramoisy, 1629). 21 Mario Turchetti, “Jean Daillé et son Traicté de l’employ des Saincts Pères (1632), apperçu sur les changements des critères d’appréciation des Pères de l’Èglise entre le XVIe et le XVIIe siècles,” in Les Pères de l’Église au XVIIe siècle: actes du colloque de Lyon, 2–5 octobre 1991, eds. E. Bury and Bernard Meunier, 69–87 (Paris: I.R.H.T: Éditions du Cerf, 1993); on seventeenth-century patristic editions and editors. See essays in the second to fourth parts of this collection. On Emery Bigot (1626–89), owner of a huge library and editor of the Life of Chrysostom and several early martyrologies, see Leonard E. Doucette, Emery Bigot, Seventeenth-Century French Humanist (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1970). Samuel Bochart, too, who was an acquaintance of Bigot, mined the patristic corpus for his Geographia sacra. 22 The classic statement of this insight was made by J. G. A. Pocock, The Ancient Constitution and the Feudal Law: A Study of English Historical Thought in the Seventeenth Century: A Reissue with a Retrospect (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). See also Anthony Grafton, The Footnote: A Curious History (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997), ch. 6, and more recently Peter N. Miller, Peiresc’s Europe: Learning and Virtue in the Seventeenth Century (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), esp. ch. 4. 23 On Church history see Simon Ditchfield, Liturgy, Sanctity and History in Tridentine Italy: Pietro Maria Campi and the Preservation of the Particular (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Ingo Herklotz, Cassiano Dal Pozzo und die Archäologie des 17. Jahrhunderts (München: Hirmer, 1999).

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The legacy of Imperial Rome was subjected to close scrutiny and vigorous challenge. Questions in ancient geography, and in particular those relating to the territorial extent of the jurisdiction of the bishop of Rome, moved to center stage within the debate on Roman primacy and legitimacy. Protestants, surely, have found ways to sacralize their national landscapes and shrines. As regards the genre of ecclesiastical geography and particularly cartography, however, their output was minimal. The case of England presents a few alterations and challenges to this scheme. I will touch upon it very briefly as a question that merits a detailed and separate study. The complex religious landscape of postReformation England has brought about various lines of discourse on ecclesiastical geography, either directly or in passing. First, Catholic refugees and recusants have attempted both in maps and in texts to document the rich and still not distant Catholic past. Thus George Lily, a refugee in Rome, has produced the first separately printed map of the British Isles (1546).24 Lily has marked cathedral cities by a cross, and in the map’s legend detailed the ecclesiastical structure of England and Scotland.25 Remarkably, however, Lily purposely ignored the bishoprics newly created by Henry VIII, such as Oxford, Gloucester, or Peterborough. Gerard Mercator intentionally followed Lily in his own map of England (1564).26 Catholic authors, such as Nicholas Harpsfield (1519–75), a dominant actor in the Marian church, wrote the Historia Anglicana ecclesiastica while in prison under Elizabeth I. The work was published long after Harpsfield’s death, in Douai, 1622, by Richard Gibbon, together with a catalog of dioceses, numbers of parishes, and a detailed listing of ruined and confiscated monasteries, each with its individual worth. Interestingly, the catalog was in fact an acknowledged borrowing from the Protestant John Speed, a historian

24 “Britanniae insulae quae nunc Angliae et Scotiae Regna continet cum Hibernia adiacente nova descriptio” (Rome, 1546). BL K.Top.V.2, 396 × 539mm, engraving. 25 “Habet Anglia Episcopatus .22. quoru[m] dece[m] et octo Ca[n]tuarie[n]si primati pare[n]t, duo aute[m] Eborace[n]si Archipresuli . . . ”. 26 On Lily see Catherine Delano Smith and R. J. P. Kain, English Maps: A History (London: British Library, 1999), 61–63; and Peter Barber, “The British Isles,” in The Mercator Atlas of Europe: Facsimile of the Maps by Gerardus Mercator Contained in the Atlas of Europe, Circa 1570–1572, ed. Marcel Watelet, 43–77 (Pleasant Hill, OR: Walking Tree Press, 1998), esp. 56–57 for Mercator’s “Angliae, Scotiae et Hiberniae nova descriptio,” (1564, BN, Cartes et plans, 224(1341)). Alexandra Walsham’s recent book came out too late to be consulted.

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and well known cartographer, who had published the list as a rather critical appendix to his chapter on Henry VIII.27 Second, Anglican churchmen, who were eager to defend episcopacy, also contributed to English ecclesiastical geography. An early and influential example is that of Francis Godwin (1562–1633), who as subdeacon of Exeter published a historical catalog of bishops and dioceses.28 The most wellknown documentary trend in English ecclesiastical scholarship was that of a group of dedicated antiquarians, mainly Henry Spelman and William Dugdale, who, for motives that are to some extent debated, launched a comprehensive and detailed survey of Christian documents and architecture in England.29 Thus English Catholics as well as Protestants certainly produced significant work in ecclesiastical geography, in various modes. As we shall see, in comparison to geographical and especially cartographic work in Catholic continental countries, however, England produced very little. The issue, nonetheless, remains to be further explored. The Suburbicarian Regions Controversy (1618–21) In the late 1610s and early 1620s a controversy among some of Europe’s finest scholars erupted over the history, meaning, and extent of the suburbicarian regions, or the special diocese of the pope. The suburbicarian regions controversy entered the scholarly stage at an already

27

Nicholas Harpsfield, Historia Anglicana ecclesiastica [ . . . ] Nunc rimum in lucem producta studio & opera R.P. Richardi Gibboni (Duaci: Sumptibus Marci Wyon, 1622), containing (pp. 741–79) a “Catalogus. Ex Anglico Ioannis Speed Latinvs, in quo sub uno aspectu videre est omnium tum monasteriorum, . . . ”. The catalog first appeared in Speed, The history of Great Britaine (London, 1611), Henry VIII. 28 Francis Godwin, A Catalogue of the Bishops of England, since the First Planting of Christian Religion in This Island: Together with a Briefe History of Their Lives and Memorable Actions . . . (Londini: [Printed by Eliot’s Court Press] Impensis Geor. Bishop, 1601). 29 See F. M. Powicke, Sir Henry Spelman and the ‘Concilia’, Raleigh Lecture on History (London: H. Milford, 1930); Margaret Aston, “English Ruins and English History: The Dissolution and the Sense of the Past,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 36 (1973): 231–55; Graham Parry, The Trophies of Time: English Antiquarians in the Seventeenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995); For an approach that plays down nostalgia see Jan Broadway, ‘No Historie So Meete’: Gentry Culture and the Development of Local History in Elizabethan and Early Stuart England (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006).

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tense moment in ecclesiastical historiography. Between 1593 and 1607 the Oratorian Cardinal Cesare Baronio published his Annales Ecclesiastici in response to the Protestant Eccelsiastica historia, better known as the Magdeburg Centuries, written by a group of Lutheran scholars headed by Matthias Flacius Illyricus. Baronio’s Annales in turn elicited the harsh criticism of Isaac Casaubon in his Exercitationes.30 The suburbicarian regions controversy thus emerged at a moment when ecclesiastical historiography was sharply divided along confessional lines. At the heart of the matter stood the sixth canon of the Council of Nicaea (325 A.D.), a council whose acts, in the words of Edward Gibbon, “have been variously tortured, abused, interpolated, or forged, according to the interest of the clergy.”31 The language of the sixth canon, following its most recent translation, reads: The ancient customs of Egypt, Libya, and Pentapolis shall be maintained, according to which the bishop of Alexandria has authority over all these places, since a similar custom exists with reference to the bishop of Rome. Similarly in Antioch and the other provinces the prerogatives of the churches are to be preserved.32

In the West the canon was known primarily through Rufinus of Aquileia’s Latin continuation of Eusebius of Caesarea’s Church History.33 30 Flacius Illyricus, ed., Ecclesiastica Historia, 13 vols. (Basel: Oporinus, 1562–74); Caesar Baronius, Annales Ecclesiastici, 12 vols. (Rome: Typographia Congregationis Oratorij, 1593–1607); Isaac Casaubon, De rebus sacris et ecclesiasticis exercitationes XVI, ad cardinalis Baronii prolegomena in Annales (London: Norton, 1614); Gregory B. Lyon, “Baudouin, Flacius, and the Plan for the Magdeburg Centuries,” Journal of the History of Ideas 64, no. 2 (2003): 253–72; Frances Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 398–403; Anthony Grafton, “Protestant versus Prophet: Isaac Casaubon on Hermes Trismegistus,” in Defenders of the Text: The Traditions of Scholarship in an Age of Science, 1450–1800, 145–61 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1991). 31 Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 2 vols. (Chicago: Britannica, 1951), 766 n. 125. 32 Norman P. Tanner, ed., Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, 2 vols. (London: Sheed & Ward, 1990), vol. I: Nicaea, 6th Canon. For commentary, see Karl Joseph von Hefele and H. Leclercq, Histoire des conciles, 10 vols. (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1907), 1:552–69; R. Vancourt, “Patriarcats,” Dictionnaire de Théologie Catholique, fasc. xcix (1932): coll. 2253–97; George Salmon, The Infallibility of the Church: A Course of Lecturers Delivered in the Divinity School of the University of Dublin (London: John Murray, 1888), ch. 21. 33 Tyrannius Rufinus was born c. 345 A.D. in Iulia Concordia, west of Aquileia, to a wealthy noble family. He was educated in Rome, where he befriended Jerome, though at a later stage they broke off relations over the Origenist controversy. Rufinus spent the period between 372 and 397 in Egypt and Palestine, where he founded a monastery which set an example for that of Jerome and Paula. In 402, in response to

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Whereas the original sixth canon as quoted above does not specify which provinces lay within the pope’s sphere of influence, Rufinus added to it the so called ‘suburbicarian gloss’: VI. The ancient custom in Alexandria and the city of Rome is to be maintained whereby [the bishop of the former] has charge of Egypt, while [the bishop of the latter] has charge of the suburbicarian churches.34

Rufinus’s gloss increased the confusion rather than clarified it, for what he had meant by ‘suburbicarian churches’ was ambiguous both as to the exact territorial extent of the areas under the control of the Urbs, that is, Rome, and as to the legal meaning of that control. While modern scholars tend to dissociate the interpretation of the sixth canon and Rufinus’s gloss from the question of Roman primacy in the Church, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries this was not the case. The Magdeburg Centuriators, Baronio and Casaubon, in their monuments of learned historical propaganda, placed due weight on the interpretation of the sixth canon. The Magdeburg Centuries interpreted the canon as giving dignity out of custom to the bishop of Rome, but not superiority over other metropolitans.35 For the Centuriators, indeed, one of the main themes of church history during the fifth century, a century in which the Antichrist planted the first seed of supremacy in the Roman bishop’s mind, was the corruption of the Nicaean canons.36 In response to this minimal interpretation of the sixth canon, the invasion of the Goths, Chromatius of Aquileia asked Rufinus to translate Eusebius’ Church History. He produced an abridged version with continuation (Books 10 & 11), which was the first Latin church history. Rufinus died in 410 or 411, in Sicily, where he fled with other Romans from Alaric’s army. On his life and on further debates relating to his History see Amidon’s introduction to The Church History of Rufinus of Aquileia, Books 10 and 11, trans. Philip R. Amidon, S. J. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997). 34 “Et ut apud Alexandriam et in urbe Roma vetusta consuetudo servetur ut [or quia] vel ille AEgypti vel hic suburbicarum Ecclesiarum sollicitudinem gerat.” Rufinus, I, vi (= Patrologia Latina, XXI: 473). 35 Flacius, ed., Ecclesiastica Historia; Quarta Centuria (1562), 552. 36 “In primis vero hoc observatione dignissimu[m] est, quod spiritus Antichristi hoc seculo per episcopos quosdam Romanos prima semina sui primatus & excellentiae supra omnes alios ecclesiae Christi episcopos, imprudenter satis sparsit. Etsi enim vigiles quidam, acres et strenui, machinationes et tetro quodam facinore (nempe quod Romani praesules Nicena statuta nefarie corrumpebant) quasi auribus lupum deprehendissent, & quaedam opposuissent, quibus ambitiosam istam & sceleratam postulationem retundebant: . . . ” Flacius, ed., Ecclesiastica Historia; Quinta Centuria, 1–2. Quite uniquely, the Centuriators opened each century with a geographical overview of expansion of the church at the time, under the heading “De loco et propagatione Ecclesiae”.

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the Catholic Annales veered to the extreme opposite: Baronio viewed the canon as clearly referring to Roman universal supremacy, and also took Rufinus’s ‘suburbicarian churches’ to include the whole West as the special patriarchate of the pope.37 Casaubon in response asserted again what the Centuriators had claimed: what was granted to Rome in Nicaea was recognition of a customary honor, not any divinely ordained status, as Baronio imagined.38 As an aside it is interesting to note that in the early seventeenth century, in the wake of the Union of Brest (1596), a parallel debate over Roman supremacy developed in Poland-Lithuania between the Uniate and Orthodox churches, in which conflicting interpretations of the sixth canon were presented. Thus the Orthodox Zaxarija Kopystens’kyj, in response to the Uniate apologist Lev Krevza, interpreted the Sixth Canon as limiting rather than establishing the power of Rome: The holy fathers of the First Ecumenical Council, in Canon 6 [ . . . ], set for the bishop of Rome the limits of his diocese just as they do for the bishops of Alexandria and Antioch, and forbid him to cross them under penalty of annulment of his ordination.39

In 1618, Jacques Godefroy (1587–1652), an eminent jurist, classical and patristic scholar, and a high Genevan magistrate, published the Conjectura, a treatise on the history and nature of the suburbicarian regions.40 Although Godefroy published the work anonymously, 37

Baronio, Annales Ecclesiastici, vol. 3. sections cxxiii–cxxxvi. “Nam Victoris usurpatio, temeritatis notata est a sanctis Episcopis Orientis, neque obtinuit. In Niceno I. Fibula potius imposita est cupiditati ambitiosorum hominum, quam habenae laxatae. Et tamen, quicquid illud est, quod Romano & Alexandrino Patriarchis in illo Concilio defertur; id omne consuetudini adscribitur, non juri divino. Quare nullum ad id tempus Concilium extitit, qualia finguntur a conditore Annalium fuisse, non dicam multa, sed omnia.” Casaubon, Exercitationes, CLI, 763. 39 Lev Krevza’s A Defense of Church Unity; and, Zaxarija Kopystens’kyj’s Palinodia, trans. B. Struminski (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press for the Ukrainian Research Institute of Harvard University, 1995), 345. I would like to thank Robert Frost for referring me to this work. 40 Jacques Godefroy, Conjectura de suburbicariis regionibus et ecclesiis, seu, de praefecturae et episcopi urbis Romae dioecesi (Frankfurt: Johan: Carolus Unckelius, 1618). Jacques was the son of Denis Godefroy, called the Elder (Paris 1549—Strasbourg 1621), a Doctor of Law who converted to Protestantism in 1579 and moved between various Swiss towns until finally settling in Heidelberg. Jacques was a Professor of Law in Geneva beginning in 1619, later became a Genevan Councilor of State, and from 1637 served as a syndic, member of the highest council of the Republic. Godefroy published voluminously on legal and historical matters. See Nouvelle Biographie Générale (1857), XX, 898–904; Bruno Schmidlin and Alfred Dufour, eds., Jacques Godefroy (1587–1652) et l’humanisme juridique à Genève: actes du colloque Jacques Godefroy 38

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contemporaries soon ascribed it to him.41 This relatively short work—a learned bite—created the desired angry responses in Rome and Paris. The Conjectura is composed of two dissertations, of which the first deals with the Roman administration of Italy. Citing the Theodosian Code (12, passim),42 inscriptions (14), the Notitia dignitatum (18), the Peutinger Table (31), and many other varied sources, Godefroy claims that the administration of Italy was divided between two officials: the praefectus urbis and the vicarius Italiae. Godefroy describes the praefectus urbis as a Roman administrator whose jurisdiction extended over a semi-circular area around Rome, defined by a 100 miles radius, the centesimum.43 The four regions within that confined area—Tuscia suburbicaria, Picenum suburbicarium, Latium vetus, and Latium novum—were the suburbicarian regions. The rest of the peninsula was called Italia and governed by the vicarius Italiae. Having set out the secular and Imperial historical context in the first dissertation, in the second Godefroy moves on to the early hierarchy of the Church. The early Church, Godefroy claims, was closely modeled on the administrative structure of the Roman Empire. Accordingly, the bishop of Rome was given a realm of authority parallel to that of the praefectus urbis. Godefroy strives to prove that Rufinus’s ‘suburbicarian churches’ were precisely coextensive with these four civil provinces, bounded by the centesimum. Although Godefroy is careful to emphasize that the dignity of the bishop of Rome was not degraded

(Bâle: Helbing & Lichtenhahn, 1991); James W. Thompson, “The Age of Mabillon and Montfaucon,” The American Historical Review 47, no. 2 (1942): 225–44, at 229; Caroline R. Sherman, “The Genealogy of Knowledge: The Godefroy Family, Erudition, and Legal-Historical Service to the State” (Ph.D., Princeton University, 2008). 41 I was not able to track down the first attribution to Godefroy, but is seems that his authorship was common knowledge immediately after publication. On the Bodleian copy (8o Z 40(3) Th. Seld.) of Claude de Saumaise’s Amici ad amicum (about which more below), the original owner, old William Camden, noted Godefroy’s name in the margin as the author of the Conjectura (4). Camden read the book on 18th and 19th of May, 1619. The Conjectura has also been attributed to Claude Saumaise (as in Pierre Bayle, Dictionnaire historique et critique, ed. Desmaizaux, 5 ed., 4 vols. (Amsterdam: 1740), I:154 n (b)). 42 Godefroy labored for more than thirty years over his massive commentary on the Theodosian Code, published posthumously in six volumes in 1665: J. Godefroy and Antoine Marville, Codex Theodosianvs cvm perpetvis commentariis Iacobi Gothofredi (Lvgdvni: Hvgvetan & Ravavd, 1665). Godefroy’s commentary on the Code, as well as his edition of Philostorgius, Philostorgii . . . Ecclesiasticæ historiæ ([Genevæ]: I. Chouët, 1642), were important sources for later scholars such as Gibbon. Samuel Bochart owned and annotated Godefroy’s Philostorgius (see Appendix). 43 Today this office is usually referred to as praefectus urbi (in the dative).

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by this limited area, he still chooses to close his preface reprovingly with the words “remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set” (Proverbs 22:28).44 An immediate Catholic, ultramontane response came from the eminent Jesuit scholar Jacques Sirmond, and from Girolamo Aleandro the Younger, a Roman humanist and antiquarian.45 Sirmond and Aleandro rushed to defend both Roman supremacy and the reputation of their acquaintances, Cardinals Bellarmine and Baronio, who were Godefroy’s chief targets. According to Sirmond, the anonymous Conjectura, of which he provided a good summary, was a complete fabrication.46 He fully adopted the structure of the Conjectura in order to refute it item by item. In Sirmond’s view, the praefectus urbis had no diocese at all under him, and the four suburbicarian regions were the brainchild of the Conjector.47 Imperial Italy instead was divided into seventeen provinces, of which ten were suburbicarian, in the center and south of the peninsula, and governed by the vicarius urbis. The vicarius Italiae administered the other seven, which were located in the north and grouped under the name Italia annonaria.48 With this demonstration, he refutes Godefroy’s first dissertation. As Sirmond proceeds to discuss the second, he makes the following distinction: the pope has two dioceses, “one special, the other universal. The one has clear boundaries in the Church, the other is boundless.”49 Thus, first,

44 “Ne transgrediaris terminos antiquos positos a Patribus tuis” Godefroy, Conjectura, 8. 45 Sirmond (Riom, 1559–Paris, 1651) was one of the more significant Jesuit scholars of the time, and was known for his polemical work. A translator of the Greek Fathers and editor of the Gallican Councils, he served for sixteen years, from 1590, as the secretary to the Jesuit General Aquaviva. In Rome he befriended Bellarmine and Baronio, whom he helped with the Annales Ecclesiastici. On Sirmond’s varied geographical and historical interests as a young teacher in the Jesuit college of Pont à Mousson see Kristine L. Haugen, “A French Jesuit’s Lectures on Vergil, 1582–1583: Jacques Sirmond between Literature, History, and Myth,” The Sixteenth Century Journal 30, no. 4 (1999): 967–85. On Aleandro (1574–1649), a secretary to Cardinal Bandini and then to Cardinal Francesco Barberini, and on the circle of Roman antiquaries of which he was a member see Herklotz, Cassiano Dal Pozzo, 26 et passim, and Bayle, Dictionnaire, I:154. 46 “Haec totius fabulae est summa.” Jacques Sirmond, Censura coniecturae anonymi scriptoris De Suburbicariis regionibus et Ecclesiis (Paris: Ex Officina Nivellliana apud Sebastianum Cramoisy, 1618), sig. é iii. 47 “quo ausu, qua fiducia, quis dicat?” Ibid., 29. 48 Ibid., diss. I, cap. II. 49 “ . . . una specialis, altera universalis. illa certos in Ecclesia fines habet, haec nullos.” Ibid., diss. II, cap. I.

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the one-to-one parallel which Godefroy finds between the Roman civil administration and the ecclesiastical division is faulty. For Sirmond, moreover, Rufinus’s suburbicarian gloss does not refer to the civil suburbicarian regions, but to the whole West. Sirmond cites another early Latin translation of the sixth canon, which he found in a manuscript at the Vatican Library, that clearly indicates Roman supremacy and patriarchal authority in the West.50 Similarly, Girolamo Aleandro the younger, grandnephew of the better-known cardinal by the same name, questioned Godefroy’s assumption that the Church was based on the Roman imperial structure, on two grounds. In the first place, the Church actually reached beyond the bounds of the Roman Empire, into Persia and India. Secondly, there was no clear correlation between any Roman office and that of the Christian bishop.51 Aleandro agreed with Sirmond on most of the finer details, but was readier to use providential arguments. For Aleandro, the remarkable expansion of the Roman Church over the globe, despite opposition and despite its lack of an army, was the express wish of God. It was God the Supreme Architect’s design, that Rome, which was to yield to his vicar’s jurisdiction, would be called ‘caput mundi,’ although a major part of the Earth was still ignorant of Roman power. But now what remote region is there to which the authority of the Roman Pontiff

50 Ibid., 68–69. Sirmond refers to the version known as the prisca, which was made in the 5th or 6th century following the earlier Attici and Ingilrami. The Prisca translates the sixth canon as follows: “De primatu ecclesiae Romanae vel aliarum civitatum episcopis. Antiqui moris est ut urbis Romae episcopus habeat principatum ut suburbicaria loca et omnem provinciam sua sollicitudine gubernet . . . .” Cuthbert Hamilton Turner, ed., Ecclesiae Occidentalis Monumenta Iuris Antiquissima Canonum et conciliorum graecorum interpretationes latinae, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1939), I:121. 51 “Initio tuae enarrationis ais, Ecclesiam in Romana Republica fuisse constitutam. mirari conatus sum tuum istud effatum. an non et ad alias gentes peruaserat Ecclesia? non in Persidem? non ad Indos? . . . . qui Romae creandus erat episcopus, ad quem ex Romanis magistratibus conformasses? nonne ad Consules? ergo binos tu episcopos, eosq; annuatim Romae constituisses. mirum etiam, quum Romanum Episcopum Praefecto Urbis contulisti, cur non et annuum feceris, quemadmodum annuus magistratus erat Praefectus. Nosti praeterea pleraque municipia a Duumuiris, Quatuorviris, Septemuiris regi solita. num tribuendi illis erant bini, quaterni, septeni Episcopi? Hieronymus Aleandro, Junior, Refutatio Coniecturae anonymi scriptoris de Suburbicariis regionibus & dioecesi Episcopi Romani (Lutetiae Parisiorum: Sumptibus S. Cramoisy, 1619), sig. Biiir, v.

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chapter five had not extended? . . . Who of the bishops, which you, the Anonymous, try to put on par with the Roman, has ever wished this for himself ?52

The controversy continued to rage as Godefroy defended his views in a Vindiciae and recruited Claude de Saumaise (Salmasius, 1588–1658), his father’s student and his own friend, to join the battle.53 Saumaise, at that point residing in Dijon, published a defense of Godefroy’s Conjectura in the form of an open letter—anonymous again—to Sirmond.54 In response to Aleandro’s Refutatio, Saumaise wrote to his friend Fabri de Peiresc, the person who had brought the Refutatio to press in Paris: What danger is there, I ask, in conceding and admitting that the special diocese of the Pope is enclosed in the suburbicarian regions? [ . . . ] When Innocent III confined the province of the Bishop of Rome inter Capuanam et Pisanam, did he not confirm the conjecture of the Anonymous?55

52 “Fuit hoc Dei Opt. Max. consilium, ut Vrbs, quae in sui vicarij iura concessura erat, caput Orbis diceretur, quamquam pars Orbis maxima Romanum dominatum nesciret. Nam quae nunc adeo remota est regio, quo non Romanae sedis Pontificiae auctoritas peruadat? sunt Reges, sunt Principes a Christianis legibus alieni: sunt alij, qui suaue iugum Ecclesiae excusserunt, ut licentiae litarent; at in Regnis eorum, & ditionibus, quot homines degunt, qui Romano Pontifici parent? . . . An non heri, aut nundinus tertius Iaponii legati, gentesque nostris obuersae pedibus, tot demensis terrarum marisque spatiis, tot exhaustis laboribus Romam appulerunt, ut in Pontificis obsequium pronae reuerent, suorumque Regum in illium obseruantiam coram testarentur? Quis Episcoporum haec sibi aliquando expectauit, quos tu Anonyme Romano pares facere tentas? Immo quo eorum conatus ceciderunt, qui Patriarchali olim dignitate conspicui primo ipsi ac summo Antistiti aduersari sunt ausi?” Ibid., 186–87. 53 Jacques Godefroy, Vindiciae pro coniectura de suburbicariis regionibus et ecclesiis, aduersus censuram Iacobi Sirmondi ([Geneva]: Petrus de la Rouiere, 1619). 54 Claude de Saumaise, Amici ad amicum de suburbicariis regionib. et ecclesiis suburbicariis epistola (n. p., 1619). 55 “ . . . pour vous dire librement et ingénüment, le sentiment que j’ai de toute ceste belle question, je m’estonne grandement que deux grands personnages comme Sirmond et Aleandro, se soient si fort esmeus et travaillés à combattre une conjoncture qui ne déroge rien du tout à l’autorité du Sainct-Siège pourveu qu’elle soit bien prise et d’un bon biais. Car, quel péril, je vous prie, à concéder et confesser que le spécial diocèse du S[aint] P[ère] soit renfermé dans les régions suburbicaires; quel préjudice peut faire cela à son diocèse universel? Tout l’Occident n’est pas le spécial diocèse du pape, mais une partie de l’universel, comme l’Orient l’aultre, les deux faisants le tout. Son droict est recogneu en l’une de ces parties et controversé en l’aultre. Quand Innoncent troisiesme confine la province de l’Evesque de Rome inter Capuanam et Pisanam, ne confirme-t-il pas apertement la conjecture de l’Anonyme? Les interprètes canonistes là-dessus ne sont-ils pas touts d’accord que soubs le nom de province spéciale Innocent avoit entendu la Diocèse Patriarchal du Pape a différence et distinction de l’oecuménique et universel qui s’estend par tout le monde? Cependent Innocent et ses interprètes furent-ils jamais tenus pour hérétiques ou sectaires?” Saumaise to

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But the general atmosphere of the debate could not allow such painful Catholic concessions. The controversy went on with more prickly responses and more actors joining in, and the topic would continue to draw attention throughout the century.56 Saumaise, although himself a notoriously vicious critic of other scholars, was dismayed by the harsh language of Aleandro’s treatise, which made it impossible, despite Peiresc’s sincere efforts, to initiate a direct correspondence between the two.57 Peiresc’s attempts to tone down Aleandro’s language were not wholly successful, and this is a predominant theme in their correspondence between the years 1618 and 1620.58 As Gassendi, Peiresc’s biographer, narrated it close to twenty years later:

Peiresc, 2 February 1620, printed in Lettres inédites . . . à Peiresc: 1620–1637, ed. Ph. Tamizey de Larroque, Les correspondants de Peiresc, V (Dijon: Durantière, 1882), 9–10, from BN fonds françaises 9544 f. 6. 56 Sirmond replied to Godefroy and Saumaise in Aduentoria causidico diuisionensi: aduersus amici ad amicum epistolam De suburbicariis regionibus & ecclesiis: cum censura vindiciarum coniecturae alterius anonymi (Parisiis: S. Cramoisy, 1620), to which Saumaise answered in Eucharisticon Iac. Sirmondo . . . pro Aduentoria, de regionib. et ecclesijs suburbicarijs (Paris: 1621). Sirmond’s final publication was Propempticum Cl. Salmasio adversus eius Eucharisticon de sub-urbicariis regionibus et ecclesiis (Parisiis: S. Cramoisy, 1622). Other authors who responded to Godefroy’s Conjectura include: Marcantonio Cappelli, Dispvtationes dvae: prior De svmmo pontificatv B. Petri, posterior De svccessione episcopi Romani in eundem pontificatum: aduersus anonymos duos; alterum, cui titulus, Papatus Romanus; alterum, De svbvrbicariis regionibvs et ecclesiis . . . (Coloniae Agrippinae: Ioannis Kinchii, 1621); Jean d’Artis, De urbicariis et suburbicariis regionibus et ecclesiis, in Ioannis Dartis . . . Opera canonica in tres partes distributa, ed. Jean Doujat (Paris: Simon Piget, 1656); Jean de Launoy, “De recta Nicaeni canonis VI. et prout a Rufino explicatur intelligentia dissertatio,” in Opera omnia, 1–101 (Coloniae Allobrogum: Fabri et Barrillot, et Bousquet, 1731–1732). Writing two generations after the affair, William Beveridge (1637–1708) in his annotations on the sixth canon was able to take a more distanced view and dissociate its interpretation from present concerns: “His etenim verbis patres se nihil novi hic constituere, sed antiquas tantum consuetudines confimare testantur.” On the canon’s other interpreters he commented: “Hi enim, Episcopi Romani primatum hoc Canone adstrui: alii, eundem in eo destrui contendent; hi Patriarchicam hic autoritatem institui affirmant; alii negant; hi Canonem hunc de ordinationem tantum; illi de omni Ecclesiastica administratione intelligendum esse arbitrantur: hi denique Episcopum Romanum universae Ecclesiae hic praefectum; illi autoritatem ejus intra suburbicaria loca coercitam; alii nihil omnino hic de eo constitutum esse scribunt. Nimirum hic Canon inter ferventissimos disputationis aestus tractari solet; . . . ” Synodikon, sive, Pandectae canonum ss. apostolorum, et conciliorum ab ecclesia Graeca receptorum nec non canonicarum SS. patrum epistolarum . . . (Oxonii: Ex Theatro Sheldoniano, 1672), Annotationes, 49. 57 See also Herklotz, Cassiano Dal Pozzo, 26. 58 Jean-François Lhote and Danielle Joyal, eds., Correspondance de Peiresc et Aleandro, 2 vols. (Clermont-Ferrand: Adosa, 1995).

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chapter five There was at that time an hot contest in Point of Study, between the often before mentioned very Learned Jacobus Sirmondus and Claudius Salmasius, that same other glorious Example of polite learning, touching a famous question, occasioned a year before by Jacobus Gothofredus, in two dissertations, touching the Suburbian Grounds, and the Churches, or of the Diocese, or the civill Pretor, and of the Bishop of Rome. As for that controversie how far it proceeded; how many Learned men on both sides joyned their forces, is not to be related in this place. Only, I am to say, that Peyreskius was as carefull as he possibly could be, that the matter might be gently handled between them, as did befit Learned Men. The truth is when Aleander also interpolated himself in the quarrel, and had sent a treatise from Rome on that Subject, to be printed at Paris, Peireskius could hardly allow it: and being urged, he caused it indeed to be printed, but with some mitigation of what he had hinted, touching the Authority of Councils and Popes, and the bitter passages which he had scattered up and down, against the opinion which he opposed.”59

The flaring up of controversy and bitter personal animosity was nothing unusual in the early modern Republic of Letters. It is my purpose here to highlight the subject matter that brought this about, ecclesiastical geography. All involved, Godefroy and Saumaise vs. Sirmond and Aleandro were exceptionally capable of applying their erudition to the question at stake—the reconstruction of a territorial jurisdiction. They all marshalled a vast range of sources and methods—legal, historical, philological, and material—and used it to advance their claims. All agreed that this was a historical question that did not have any immediate implications. And yet, as poor Peiresc has discovered, in the religious climate of the early seventeenth century the question was unsolvable. The Protestant evidential and particularistic rhetoric could not meet Catholic claims regarding the universal and boundless spiritual diocese of the bishop of Rome. This reluctance to put the Roman Church on a map perhaps explains Aleandro’s and Sirmond’s critique of Godefroy’s map. Very interestingly for our purpose, Aleandro reserved some particularly severe words for a map which Godefroy designed and placed in the opening of his Conjectura (Figure 42). Godefroy’s map clearly delineated the centesimum by a double dotted line, as well as the subdivision of the area enclosed into the four above-mentioned suburbicarian 59 Pierre Gassendi, The Mirrour of True Nobility and Gentility being the Life of the Renowned Nicolaus Claudius Fabricius, . . . englished by W. Rand (London: Printed for Humphrey Moseley, 1657), 193–94. See original Latin in Gassendi, Opera omnia (Stuttgart: F. Frommann, 1964; reprint, Lyon: Laurent Anisson, 1658), V: 288.

Figure 42. Jacques Godefroy, map of the suburbicarian regions, Conjectura de suburbicariis regionibus et ecclesiis (Frankfurt: Unckelius, 1618), opposite 1. Source: BL.

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provinces. Outside the centesimum lay the rest of the central Italian peninsula, designated “Italiae pars,” and divided into the annonarian provinces. This hardly-innocent representation was a red rag to Aleandro’s eyes. He attacked it with bitter irony: You have set the names and boundaries of the regions arbitrarily, and not in words only, but also in an image, so that the eyes would not envy the ears. Some might wonder why together with your verbal analysis, so careful as if you painted those regions with an artist’s brush, you would nevertheless wish to present also a drawn map.

Aleandro likened the map to the sacrilegious pagan image, referred to by Tertullian, which depicted Christ as Ononychites (he who has an ass’s hoof ), and went on to compare the map to contemporary Protestant visual propaganda: Today’s rude heretics are accustomed to depict, if not Christ himself, then Christ’s vicar, the Roman Pontiff, with deformed face, wild horns, and duck feet. [ . . . ] The inventor and master of such elegant pictures was also, I have no doubt, the one who guided your hand along the lines of your shadow of a map. Tertullian, I know, would have called this map the figure of the Devil. You are not unaware that there are certain delicate people who are repulsed by the labor of reading books, sometimes after they have finished only a few pages. But by illustrations like this, the curious eyes of all of them are attracted, drawn in, captured. In this way you hoped to insinuate your opinion about the Roman diocese into these peoples’ minds.

Recruiting Tertullianus’ hypothetical support, Aleandro thus uncovered the Anonymous’ shameful plan: by appealing with an attractive, eye-catching image to a meretricious audience, Godefroy was trying to present his misguided ideas about the suburbicarian regions as a matter of fact.60 60 “Earum tu regionum limites & nomina tuo arbitratu constituis. nec verbis tantum, sed & typo, ut ne oculi auribus invideant. Sunt qui mirentur, cur tu ubi examine tam diligenti orationis veluti penicillo easdem regiones appinxisti, delineatam nihilominus tabulam exhibere quoque volueris. mihi tamen ad tui consilii penetralia et recessus (ni animi fallor) peruadere fas fuit. Tradit Tertullianus, propositam olim publice ab nescio quo ex ethnicis ridiculam impiamque effigiem, cui aures asiniae, et pes alter ungulatus, appostio titulo: Deus Christianorum ononychites. Hodie petulantes haeretici si non Christum ipsum, at Christi Vicarium Pontificem Romanum deformi facie, fronte cornibus torua, pedibus anserinis effingere consueuerunt. eo nimirum consilio, ut pueruli, rudesque homines haustum ex detestata huiusmodi imagine odium in ipsum Pontificem, vix ac ne vix quidem ullo tempore eijciant tanquam

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Sirmond, too, singled out Godefroy’s map for attack, and like Aleandro, though more subtly, implied that using maps in such complex argumentation was an unscholarly practice: “Parum fuit auctori, Coniecturam suam auribus nostris inferre, nisi eam oculis quoque spectandam obiiceret.”61 As was mentioned above, Sirmond chose to model his own Censura after the exact structure of Godefroy’s two dissertations (in the same way that Casaubon had responded to Baronio), and for that purpose he decided to reproduce the latter’s map in his own text: Here the map of the Conjector should be inserted. Keeping it would be agreeable, for it not only provides a kind of overview of his work, but also greatly helps in the work’s refutation, once the map is compared to true maps of ancient Italy.62

It is somewhat hard to explain why Sirmond decided to reproduce what was in his view a viciously erroneous map, instead of supplying a countering “true map” of ancient Italy. He may have lacked the technical means to provide it, but it is more likely that the chapter-bychapter format of his treatise seemed to him to require this procedure. Be that as it may, Sirmond or his publisher, Cramoisy, had Godefroy’s map re-engraved, and the result was hardly distinguishable from the

prauum alimentum in membra transmutatum. Qui tam elegantium picturarum repertor fuit et magister, non dubito quin tuam quoque manum per lineas duxerit in tua istius mappae adumbratione. quae mappa prae Circensi illa Tertulliano (sat scio) diceretur Diaboli figura. Non te fugiebat, delicatulos esse quosdam, qui legendi libros aversentur laborem, paucis quanquam paginis absolutos. at tabulis huiusmodi curiosos omnium oculos effici, trahi, teneri. Hac tu ratione fore sperasti ut in istorum animos hominum tua insinuetur de Romana dioecesi opinio. Tabulae subdis enarrationem. quae tamen non tam enarratio ipsius tabulae, quam eorum est compendium, quae fusius allata leguntur in duabus dissertationibus.” Aleandro, Refutatio Coniecturae anonymi, sig. Biir, v. Aleandro is referring to Tertullianus, Apologeticus adversus gentes pro Christianis, cap. XVI. (Patrologia Latina I: 372a–375a), and Ad nationes, I, cap. XIV (I: 579b–580a). It is interesting to note that Godefroy, a formidable patristic scholar, produced the editio princeps of Tertullian’s Ad nationes (Geneva: Chouët, 1625). In his two-page commentary (126–28) on the term ononychites he completely ignored Aleandro’s words. 61 Sirmond, Censura, sig é iii. 62 “Hoc loco inserenda est Tabula Coniectoris. quam idcirco retineri placuit quod non solum synopsin quandam operis contineat; sed ad eius quoque refutationem, si cum veris antiquae Italiae Tabulis comparetur, vel maxime conducat.” Ibid., sig é iiiv. The copy with which I have worked (BL 522 c 13 (1)) does not include the reproduction of Godefroy’s map. It is included, however, in the Bodleian Library copy (Z 40(2) Th.Seld.), as well as in the Pitts Theology Library, Emory University copy (1620 SIRM: 3, personal communication from Mr. Armin Siedlecki, 20 Nov 2002).

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original. In the body of his Censura Sirmond criticized in particular Godefroy’s designation of Spoleto (Spoletium) as the metropolis of Picenum suburbicarium. Citing Pliny, Strabo, Ptolemy, and Livy, Sirmond argued that Spoleto belonged in Umbria, and therefore that Godefroy placed Picenum and Umbria completely arbitrarily.63 Both Aleandro’s and Sirmond’s attacks on Godefroy’s map teach us an important lesson about early modern attitudes to cartography. Much has been written in the past few decades about the “power of maps” to promote political and social agendas under the guise of naturalistic, objective description. This is a very acute observation, yet it cannot be complete if we ignore or simply do not look for historical discourses and ideas about the nature, or indeed, the power of maps. The case of Godefroy’s map, which is admittedly rare, demonstrates that educated early-modern map readers were well aware, like J. B. Harley at the end of the twentieth century, of the power of maps to present contentious claims as matter of fact. For Aleandro, Godefroy’s bedeviled map was pure propaganda designed to appeal to lazy, uncritical readers. It is crucial to note that Aleandro explicitly connected the map to the insulting visual material that Protestants had used for decades against the papacy.64 The more reserved Sirmond made a distinction between false and true maps, and was confident enough in his elaborate textual refutation to reproduce Godefroy’s erroneous map exactly (copyright was not an issue). As Lubin wrote half a century later in the Mercure géographique, there were no faultless maps: “there never were maps so exact, and never will be. One would need an angel to mark all the distances so precisely from the air.”65 Thus maps, whether pure and angelic or made by the devil, were critically examined by educated readers. Being well aware of the limitations of cartography and of its malleability in the hands of partisan authors, readers and scholars developed a meta-language to discuss these concerns. In our

63 “Quis iam divino Coniectori de Provinciarum numero & situ reluctari velit, cum illum videat & nouas pro arbitrio condere, & veteres suis locis mouere? Quid ergo?” Ibid., 32. 64 Robert W. Scribner, For the Sake of Simple Folk: Popular Propaganda for the German Reformation, 2 ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994). 65 “Ce seroit tromper le public que de vouloir persuader qu’il y a des Cartes de Geographie si bien faites qu’il n’y a point de fautes; il n’y en a jamais eu de si exactes, & il n’y en aura jamais; il faudroit être un Ange & marquer à vol d’oiseau tres-exactement toutes les distances.” Lubin, Mercure géographique, 350–51.

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case, as this section demonstrated, this language evolved in the wake of controversial religious scholarship. The very existence of this debate attests to the significant degree to which cartography was incorporated into the daily practice of learned Europe—scholars designed maps, read maps critically, and reflected on the use and misuse of maps. The Uses of Ecclesiastical Geography Aleandro’s almost universal condemnation of maps as inappropriate in proper scholarship was, quite clearly, aimed at one particular map, Godefroy’s. Around Aleandro, Catholic scholars and Churchmen have heartily adopted cartography as a very useful tool for the study and representation of ecclesiastical geography and history. In this section I will survey the spectrum of Catholic ‘positive’ uses of ecclesiastical mapping and geography, and will dwell at some length on the career of the already-quoted Augustin Lubin. The Council of Trent, and the “mirrors of bishops” literature that preceded and informed its decisions, clearly stated the bishop’s duties of residence, preaching, and regular visitations in his diocese.66 The papacy was indeed encouraging bishops to exercise their saintly curiosity over the areas under their care. The bull Si Processus of Urban VIII (1627) contained a questionnaire addressed to each diocese, with twelve articles, many of which are geographical—enquiring about place names and locations of churches, seminaries, and parishes.67 As Lubin tells us in his Mercure, some popes (Gregory XIII, Sixtus V, Clement VIII) even tried making this data collection obligatory. In Rome Lubin was allowed by Alexander VII to study the returned questionnaires, and from the little he saw he could assure his readers: “What these 66 Hubert Jedin, L’évêque dans la tradition pastorale du XVIe siècle. Adaptation française de “Das Bischofsideal der katholischen Reformation,” par Paul Broutin (Bruges: Desclée de Brouwer, 1953). 67 De Dainville, Cartes anciennes de l’église de France, 32. The returned questionnaires, however, do not contain maps. The papal bull reminds us of the circular sent in 1619 by the Franciscan Minister General Benigno of Genova, ordering the preparation of detailed historical studies in all the Order’s provinces. See above Chapter Three, p. 125. On contemporary projects of systematization see Fernando Vidal, “Miracles, Science, and Testimony in Post-Tridentine Saint-Making,” Science in Context 20, no. 3 (2007): 481–508. On increased Church surveillance in France see Robin Briggs, Communities of Belief: Cultural and Social Tension in Early Modern France (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989).

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volumes contain could be used for the glory of God and his Church.”68 As Simon Ditchfield has amply demonstrated in the context of the creation of Ferdinando Ughelli’s Italia sacra (1644–62, nine volumes), local historical and antiquarian scholarship was part of Italian bishops’ regular practice, especially among those of Ughelli’s correspondents who were anxious to have their saints and traditions included in his massive collection.69 If the bishop was expected to be highly familiar with his diocese in order to carry out properly the administration of territory and souls, then the benefits of cartography became clear to the post-Tridentine churchman. As one of the very few scholars to have seriously studied ecclesiastical maps, the twentieth-century Jesuit François de Dainville, tells us, newly appointed bishops were often encouraged to produce a map of their diocese in order to become familiar with it. The postTridentine bishop, following the model of St. Carlo Borromeo, was expected to make frequent visitations in his territory, a task for which a reliable map was indispensable. Borromeo himself had maps made for his apostolic visitations (e.g. Bergamo, 1575).70 His practice was continued by Federico Borromeo, his cousin and successor, who ordered a series of manuscript maps for his visitations in the 1610s.71 Similarly, Carlo Bescapè, the Bishop of Novara (1593–1615), commissioned a map of his diocese and published a book titled Novara Sacra (1611).72 Mapping of individual dioceses in France began in 1538, with Ogier’s map of Le Mans, which was later followed by many others. To cite one of the other examples listed by Dainville in his census, Noël le Vacher, a canon of Laon, presented in 1656 a map of the “Diocèse de Soisson” to his bishop, Monseigneur Legras. In an ornamental carthouche le Vacher proclaimed (Figure 43): I do not claim, Monseigneur, that you will find any use for this map, seeing that the care and effort you took for more than thirty years in your continual visitations gave you perfect knowledge of the people under you and their habitations. Similarly, I had no other intention in presenting

68 “Il y a dans ces volumes de quoi faire de belles choses pour la gloire de Dieu et de son Eglise.” Lubin, Mercure géographique, 90. 69 Ditchfield, Liturgy, Sanctity and History, ch. 12, esp. 341–45. 70 De Dainville, Cartes anciennes de l’église de France, 32–34. 71 Segni e sogni della terra: il disegno del mondo dal mito di Atlante alla geografia delle reti (Novara: De Agostini, 2001), items 138, 139. The maps are kept at the Archivio storico diocesano of Milan. 72 De Dainville, Cartes anciennes de l’église de France, 33.

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Figure 43. Noël le Vacher, dedication of “Carte du diocese de Soissons” (Paris: E. Vouillemont, 1656), BN Ge DD 2987 (300). Source: BN, gallica .bnf.fr.

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Although le Vacher’s heavy flattery presents the maps as a reward for a successfully completed term in office, we can still see here what a contemporary cartographer and cleric thought about the potential benefits of diocesan maps: perfect knowledge of communities and the conquest of souls. Lubin, always full of ingenious ideas for improving ecclesiastical geography and strangely ignoring Nicolas Sanson’s achievements in this field, was still unhappy with the state of diocesan mapping in the 1670s: A considerable number of diocesan maps has so far been published, and I am surprised that we still do not have all of them. For it seems that the first and most holy curiosity of a newly consecrated bishop should be to obtain a very accurate and detailed map of the whole of his diocese, this being the easiest and best way to learn the nature of his flock . . . .74

While maps of individual dioceses were commissioned in growing numbers, general diocesan maps of the whole of France also started to appear. In 1624, Jean de Beins, an ingénieur et géographe du Roy, prepared the first general diocesan map of France.75 The famous Nicolas Sanson (1600–1667) created between 1650 and 1667 two detailed sets 73

“Je ne prétends pas, Monseigneur, que vous en pouissiez retirer aucune utilité, puisque les soins et les peines que vous avez pris depuis trente années et plus en vos visites continuelles, vous ont acquis une connaissance très parfaite des peuples qui vous sont soumis et des lieux qu’ils habitent. Aussy n’ay je point eu d’autre pensée en présentant cette carte à votre Grandeur, sinon qu’elle la puisse maintenant considérer comme une carrière qu’elle a parcouru tant de fois ou plustôt comme un champ de gloire où elle a moissonné par la conqueste des âmes des lauriers qui ne flétrissent jamais.” Quoted by de Dainville, ibid., 24–25, from BN Ge DD 2987, (300), my corrections added (available at gallica.bnf.fr). Another example: Jean Jubrien dedicated his map of the diocese of Reims (1623) to the encumbent since 1622, Gabriel de SaintMarie, as an instrument for visitations, de Dainville, 23f. 74 “On a déja donné au public les Cartes d’un nombre considerable d’Evêchéz, & je m’étonne de ce que nous ne les avons pas tous; car il semble que la premiere & la plus sainte curiosité d’un Evéque nouvellement consacré devroit étre d’avoir une Carte bien exacte & particuliere de tout son Evéché, comme étant le plus facile & le meilleur moyen de connoître la face de son troupeau . . . .” Lubin, Mercure géographique, 89–90. 75 On de Beins’s other projects as an ingénieur-géographe see David Buisseret, “Monarchs, Ministers, and Maps in France before the Accession of Louis XIV,” in Monarchs, Ministers, and Maps, 109.

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of ecclesiastical maps of France. They were based on his conviction that ecclesiastical boundaries retained the ancient Roman divisions to the level of the local village, or pagus. Thus maps titled “Lingones” and “Senones”—names of Gallic peoples mentioned by Ptolemy—represented the diocese of Langres and the archbishopric of Sens respectively (Figure 44).76 Augustin Lubin, apparently referring to Sanson, explained that the most judicious geographers tended to follow ecclesiastical divisions in their maps of contemporary France, for the reason that political divisions were greatly unstable.77 This way, the Church cartographical, so to speak, could exhibit its superiority over transient temporal political powers. Similarly, it could display continuity and hierarchy, two major emphases of early modern Catholicism. Alongside the growing quantity and spread of diocesan maps we find textual catalogs of historical and contemporary bishoprics. One of the first authors to deal with the subject in print was Aubert le Mire (Miraeus, 1573–1640), nephew of the Archbishop of Antwerp, and from 1624 the vicar general of the diocese. Le Mire wrote voluminously on ecclesiastical matters, publishing lives of eminent churchmen, bibliographies, and monastic histories.78 Among his various publications we find the Notitia Episcopatuum orbis christiani (1613), of which he extracted the Geographia ecclesiastica (1620, Figure 45).79 Le Mire compiled his ecclesiastical gazetteers from various sources, including Roman manuscripts. In his Notitia, le Mire included two maps made by the Antwerp cartographer Frans van Haren (Haraeus,

76 For Sanson see de Dainville, Cartes anciennes de l’église de France, 38. See also Sanson’s “La France et les environs, jusques a l’estendüe de l’ancienne Gaule divisée en ses primatiats, provinces ecclesiastiques, et dioeceses des archeveschés, et eveschés,” Paris: P. Mariette, [1651] (BN, Ge DD 2987 (189), available on gallica.bnf.fr). 77 “Pour ce qui regarde les limites; il y a eu fort peu de changement, c’est ce qui a obligé les plus judicieux Geographes à s’attacher plus volontiers à donner des Cartes divisées par les Evêchéz, que par les autres divisions des Etats politiques, dans lesquels on ne void qu’un changement continuel.” Lubin, Mercure géographique, 88. 78 Visiting Antwerp in the end of July 1606, Peiresc “contracted friendship” with Le Mire, “Dean of the Church and excellently skilled in the Belgick and Ecclesiasticall Histories.” Gassendi, The mirrour of true nobility, 106. 79 Aubert Le Mire, Geographia ecclesiastica, in qua provinciae metropoles, episcopatus, sive urbes titulo Episcopali illustres, Alphabeti serie digestae leguntur: et de Ecclesiarum maxime illustrium originibus, progressibus, ac vicissitudinibus breviter disseritur (Lugduni: A. Pillehotte, 1620), Le Mire, Notitia episcopatuum orbis christiani: in qua Christianae Religionis amplitudo elucet. Libri V. (Antverpiae: Ex Officina Plantiniana Apud Vid & Fil Io. Moreti, 1613).

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Figure 44. Nicolas Sanson, cartouche of “Senones. Partie septentrionale de l’archevesché de Sens” ([Paris]: [P. Mariette], 1660), BN Ge DD 2987 (268, I), Source: BN, gallica.bnf.fr.

c. 1555–1631), himself a theologian and historian.80 The two maps, which later re-appeared in the 1624 edition of Ortelius’ Parergon, describe respectively the West and the East. Titled “Lumen historiarum,” the light of histories—in reference to geography’s common epithet “the eye of history”—the maps are designed as a catchall guide to sacred geography, with an inset map of the Holy Land, and an inset global map for the investigation of the biblical gold-bearing region of Ophir (Figure 46, Figure 47).81 Le Mire’s preface to the Geographia

80 Van Haren published collections of saints’ lives: Vitae sanctorum: ex probatissimis authoribus, et potissimum ex surio, brevi compendio summa fide collectae (Antverpiae: ex officina Plantiniana, 1590); an edition of the Vulgate: Biblia Sacra; vulgatae editionis Sixti V Pont. Max. iussu recognita atque edita (Antwerp: Verdusii, 1630); and a history of Brabant: Francisci Haræi Annales dvcvm sev principvm Brabantiæ totivsq. Belgii (Antverpiæ: ex officina Plantiniana, 1623). 81 The maps were re-engraved at a later date and appeared (without the Ophir inset) in Accuratissima orbis antiqui delineatio, published in Amsterdam by Jansson, 1652 (and from 1654 with Hornius’ text). (Digitized in the Walker online collection at

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Figure 45. Aubert Le Mire, title page, Geographia Ecclesiastica (Lyon, 1620). Source: BN, gallica.bnf.fr.

Figure 46. Franciscus Haereus, “Lumen Historiarum per Orientem,” in Le Mire, Notitia episcopatum orbis christiani (Antwerp, 1613), lib. 5. Source: BL.

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Figure 47. Franciscus Haereus, “Lumen Historiarum per Occidentem,” in Le Mire, Notitia episcopatum orbis christiani (Antwerp, 1613), lib. 5. Source: BL.

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ecclesiastica, a book in which he lists all the episcopal cities with brief historical vignettes, makes clear that he did not see his publications as neutral or purely descriptive documents. Just as the Romans had their imperial Breviary, he declares, he has made an effort to present the Church as it is diffused all over the world, and, in place of the Roman legions, present the powerful army of the Society of Jesus.82 It is interesting to note that whereas Aleandro and Sirmond were trying to rid the Church of its Roman political legacy in an attempt to respond to Godefroy, Le Mire was proud of the parallel. He probably had in mind the late Roman Notitia Dignitatum (a late fourth-century list of civil and military offices, including a geographical listing of provinces), the late third-century Antonine Itinerary (a list of places, roads and distances), or the fourth-century Breviarium of Roman history by Eutropius. A grander publication in this genre was the Geographia sacra (1641) of Charles Vialart de St. Paul (d. 1644), the first general of the Feuillants of France, later bishop of Avranches, and a controversial political biographer of Cardinal Richelieu.83 In this lavish folio edition, unsurprisingly dedicated to the Cardinal-Minister, were included ten especially engraved maps by Melchior Tavernier. Like Le Mire, Vialart celebrated the tradition and glory of the Church and offered a detailed historical and geographical treatise on the origins of each

the University of Melbourne: www.lib.unimelb.edu.au/collections/maps/historical/ walker/index.html). 82 “Romani olim suum habuerunt IMPERII BREVIARIUM, in quo Provinciae omnes, Civitates, ac Legiones descripta continebantur. Conatus sum & ego BREVIARIUM ECCLESIAE, toto orbe diffusae, velut in tabela representatae, & sacras seu Archiepiscopales Provincias, itemque Dioeceses & Urbes Episcopales, iuxta praesentem Regnorum ac Principatuum statum, ab oculos ponere. Legionum Romanorum loco, fortissimum societatis Jesu agmen collocare visum fuit, quae toto terrarum orbe suas stationes habet, & pro Ecclesie passim excubat.” Le Mire, Geographia ecclesiastica, sig. †2–†2v. Interestingly, the Anglican Samuel Purchas summarized Le Mire’s Notitia Episcopatum with no apparent disagreements or difficulties. Purchas his pilgrimes, In fiue bookes. The first, contayning the voyages and peregrinations made by ancient kings, patriarkes, apostles, philosophers . . . (London: W. Stansby for H. Fetherstone, 1625), bk 1, ch. 16. 83 Mémoires du Cardinal de Richelieu (Paris, 1640), reissued as Histoire du ministere d’Armand Iean du Plessis cardinal duc de Richelieu, with later editions and translations into Latin and English. On May 11, 1650 the work was ordered by the Parlement of Paris to be burned for its false and calumnious contents. See Biographie universelle, ed. Michaud (Paris, 1844), VII, 633–34.

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patriarchate.84 Vialart thanked Richelieu for liberating the Gallican Church from the tyranny of heretics, a statement which indicates the broader anti-Protestant polemical context in which Geographia sacra was written.85 Indeed, on the question of the suburbicarian provinces Vialart adopts the Catholic line. His map of the “Patriarchatus Romanus” clearly depicts the whole of the Western Mediterranean and Europe, while the map of Italy (with Occidental Illyria) shows no sign of Jacques Godefroy’s notorious Centesimum. Quoting the Prisca version of the sixth canon of Nicaea, like Sirmond before him, Vialart exclaimed: “O verba singulari observatione digna!”86 Vialart’s working hypothesis, echoing that of Nicolas Sanson’s diocesan maps, is that the most significant developments in ecclesiastical geography were over by the end of the sixth century, with the death of Gregory the Great.87 Vialart is content therefore to stop his historical account at that stage. At the end of his volume Vialart adds a Parergon containing transcriptions of five ancient manuscripts of ecclesiastical hierarchy: “Parergon notitias aliquot ecclesiasticas et civiles diversis temporibus editas complectens. ex MS. Codicibus.”88 A similar assumption underlies La clef du grand pouillé de France (1671), compiled by Jean Doujat (1609–88), an Avocat au Parlement, professor of Canon Law in the Collège Royal, and a member of the Académie française since 1650.89 In an introductory historical account, preceding the 84 Charles Vialart de St. Paul, Geographia Sacra sive notitia antiqua episcopatuum ecclesiae universae ex Conciliis, Patribus, Historia Ecclesiastica, & Geographis antiquis excerpta (Lutetiae Parisiorum: Melchior Tavernier, 1641). 85 “Tibi et fanti et consulenti acceptum refert Ecclesia Gallicana, quod ubique ab haeresis tyrannide liberata sit, quod dignissimis Praesulibus commendata, quodque pluribus in provinciis erroris tenebris obvolutis, . . . et ab ignorantiae labe vindicata.” Vialart, Geographia Sacra, sig. à ii. 86 Ibid., 33. 87 “Sic veterem Ecclesiae ordinem, hoc est Catalogum sedium Episcopalium Ecclesiae, prout aliae aliis subiciebantur, illustrabimus; id autem vsque ad finem sexti saeculi mortemque D. Gregorii magni, cum post haec Ecclesia ab Imperatoribus, quantum ad dioeceses maxime, immutata fuerit.” Ibid., 8. 88 Lubin dismissed Vialart’s Geographia sacra as full of errors. Mercure géographique, 77. However, a decade before Lubin published his Mercure, the notes on Vialart of Lucas Holsten, the Vatican Librarian, were posthumously published as Lucae Holstenii Annotationes in Geographiam sacram Caroli à S. Paulo; Italiam antiquam Cluuerii, et Thesaurum georaphicum Ortelii . . . (Romae: Typis Iacobi Dragondelli, 1666). The work was still considered valuable in 1703/4 and then in 1711, when Vialart’s Geographia sacra with Holsten’s notes were reprinted in Amsterdam by Halma and Weststen respectively. 89 Jean Doujat, La clef du grand pouillé de France; Composée du Dénombrement des Archevéchez, Evéchez, & Abbayes; plus de la Liste des Prieures, saintes chapelles,

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description of the Gallican Church’s contemporary structure, Doujat described the ecclesiastical provinces and metropoles of the whole of Christianity, as they were spread in the sixth century. It is a century which Doujat saw as formative in the development of ecclesiastical structure: Africa and Italy were regained by Justinian, the five major Patriarchates were established, and Pannonia, Germany, Spain, and England received Christianity. Doujat thus found the state of Christianity in the sixth century to be the most relevant background to his own age in France (even though he referred the readers to works that described the intervening period, especially those of Le Mire).90 The body of Doujat’s work is a technical listing of benefices and religious houses in France, each with its assigned revenues and taxes, augmented by very brief historical notes, and followed by copious indices. La clef du grand pouillé ends with a third volume, separately titled Orbis Augustinianus and written by Augustin Lubin, with whom this chapter opened. Lubin was certainly not of the stature of the polymaths Peiresc, Saumaise, Sirmond, and Godefroy, who mobilized their immense erudition and command of sacred scholarship to bear upon geographical questions. He deserves our attention nevertheless as the first scholar to carve out ecclesiastical geography, and in particular cartography, as his own niche. In the preface to his edition of the Martyrologium Romanum, the Roman calendar of Saints, Lubin wrote: I saw that geography, that indispensable part of history, has so far been neglected in ecclesiastical matters, and that many church historians are immoderately concerned with chronological computation, and inquire into the “when” of things, while they ignore almost completely where events happened. [ . . . ] I was amazed to see such huge Annales, and so many diverse Chronologies, and astounded that no ecclesiastical geography appeared [ . . . ].91

Dignitez de Chapitres, Canonicats, ou Prebendes . . . , 3 vols. (A Paris: chez Gilles Alliot, 1671). 90 Ibid., 14–15. 91 “Illustrem adeo ac omnino necessariam historiae partem Geographiam hactenus in rebus Ecclesiasticis neglectam videns, ac historicos Ecclesiasticos non paucos de temporum ratione ultra modum sollicitos, quandonam quaeque peracta sint inquirentes, ubinam haec eadem acciderint penitus ignorare; annos, menses & dies curiosius observantes, loca ne quidem de nomine nosse, atque ubi gentium civitates apud quas illustriores Ecclesiasticae historiae actiones effulserunt non indicare: Annales immensos, tot & diversas adeo Chronologias demiratus, Geographiam Ecclesiasticam nullam apparere obstupui; quasi non aeque, ne dicam magis, necessarium sit, virum

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No doubt, the core of ecclesiastical erudition in the seventeenth century was historical and temporal. Baronio’s Annales, or the unfolding Acta Sanctorum of Bollandus and his followers, who codified the ecclesiastical year, were perhaps more prestigious. However, as demonstrated in the previous discussion, Lubin’s claim that his topic was ‘oddly neglected’ was manifestly wrong. Scholars such as Le Mire, Vialart and the Vatican librarian Lucas Holsten paid close attention to ecclesiastical geography long before Lubin began his active career.92 The brothers Sainte-Marthe continued Claude Robert’s ambitious Gallia Christiana (1626). Yet none of them had made the subject his only vocation like Lubin. During the second half of the seventeenth century, Lubin devoted the whole of his scholarly activity to the study of sacred and especially ecclesiastical geography. He touched almost every aspect of the subject, including method and technique, leaving behind him a trail of indices, annotations, maps, and guides. Lubin saw it as his mission to systematize ecclesiastical geography and promote it—among both fellow clerics and the general public—as an essential tool for the study of sacred history and the display of the Church’s glory. His self-esteem and high regard of the importance of his chosen craft seem to have been exaggerated. As we shall see, Lubin’s overspecialization is symptomatic of the decline of sacred geography in the late seventeenth century. Born in 1624 in Paris, Lubin entered in 1640 the monastery of Queen Marguerite in faubourg St. Germain. During his career he became a preacher to the King as well as one of his géographes ordinaires. He also acquired the unusual title chorographe général of the Augustinian

historiae cupidum locum actionis quam temporis differentiam non latere; . . . ” Augustin Lubin, Martyrologium romanum Gregorii XIII. pont. max. iussi editum, & Urbani VIII authoritate recognitum: illustratum, siue Tabulæ ecclesiasticæ geographicis tabulis & notis historicis explicatæ: quibus sanctorum siue mortis siue depositionis tempus & locus exactissimè exprimuntur: opus omnibus historiæ ecclesiasticæ amatoribus utilissimum & necessarium (Lutetiæ Parisiorum Paris: Apud Florentinum Lambert, 1661), sig. *1r, v. 92 Roberto Almagià, L’Opera geografica di Luca Holstenio (Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1942). Holsten (1596–1661), the young companion of Cluverius in the latter’s voyage in Italy, later converted to Catholicism and settled in Rome, where he became librarian first to Cardinal Barberini and then (1641) in the Vatican. He widely explored ancient manuscripts as well as the Roman countryside, and was involved in the first restoration of the Galleria delle carte geografiche. As expert as he was on ancient and particularly sacred geography, Holsten’s only publication on the subject was his posthumous annotations on the work of others.

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order—I have not been to trace the origins of this title, and it is not unreasonable to assume that Lubin was behind the creation of this unique office. During his six-year stay in Rome as the assistant general for the French Augustinians, he studied in Roman libraries and obtained access to Vatican documents.93 Lubin turned his cartographic attention first to monastic geography. His first publication, the Orbis Augustinianus (1658, Figure 48), is a small atlas with regional maps of Augustinian provinces and congregations, in Europe, Asia, and the New World.94 Following the maps there appeared a section entitled Topographia Augustiniana, consisting of a series of views of individual Augustinian monasteries (Figure 49). While intending to present a contemporary survey of the Augustinian world, Lubin opens his atlas with “Vetus Africa Augustiniana,” a map showing the congregations instituted by St. Augustine himself in the Roman province of Africa (Figure 50), and which served as the model for the medieval Augustinians. We could vividly imagine the sense of pride and achievement that filled the hearts of other Augustinians or those who were considering entering the order upon viewing Lubin’s small Orbis, in which the world was stripped of all non-Augustinian elements. As mentioned above, in 1672 Lubin augmented his atlas with a brief history of the Augustinians and a textual apparatus, published with Jean Doujat’s Clef du grand puillé.95 Lubin’s small publication joins a significant effort among different monastic orders at documentation and self-promotion. As I have noted in Chapter Three, in the early decades of the seventeenth century the Franciscans in Jerusalem as well as in other provinces tried systematically to gather traditions and documents relating to their activities. In 1626 the Jesuits issued a broadsheet listing all their provinces, houses, and colleges, which was then followed in 1640 by the lavish centennial Imago primi saeculi Societatis Iesu, a large celebratory volume, containing Jesuit history, poetry, and emblems and edited by Jean Bolland. The Dominicans and Cistercians have produced volumes of 93

For a short obituary see Journal des savants, 1695, 148–49. Augustin Lubin, Orbis Augustinianus, sive Conventuum Ordinis Eremitarum Sancti Augustini chorographica et topographica descriptio (Parisiis: Apud Petrum Baudoin, 1659). For a bibliographical description see Mireille Pastoureau, Les atlas français XVIe–XVIIe siècles: Répertoire bibliographique et étude (Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale, Département des Cartes et Plans, 1984), under “Lubin”. 95 “Orbis Augustinianus, sive Conventuum ordinis eremitarum S. Augustini Chorographica & Topographica Descriptio.” 94

Figure 48. Augustin Lubin, title page, Orbis Augustinianus (Paris: Baudouyn, 1659). Source: BL.

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Figure 49. Augustin Lubin, Topographia Augustiniana, title page, in Orbis Augustinianus (Paris: Baudouyn, 1659). Source: BL.

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Figure 50. Augustin Lubin, “Vetus Africa Augustiniana,” in Orbis Augustinianus (Paris: Baudouyn, 1659). Source: BL.

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their own.96 Lubin relied in his texts and maps on earlier Augustinian authors who had researched the history of the order, such as Thoma de Herrera, author of a biographical index of famous Augustinians.97 Moreover, Lubin was not the first to produce a monastic atlas: in 1643 a Capuchin atlas was issued in Rome by the order’s General, Giovanni da Moncalieri, based on a visitation in 1633 by the Umbrian Provincial P. Silvestro da Panicale.98 Lubin’s work on monastic geography, however, was not limited to that of his own order. In the Mercure he mentioned that during his stay in Rome he had designed provincial maps for the Discalced Carmelites.99 During that period in Rome Lubin also searched Italian libraries for materials on ancient and ruined monasteries in the peninsula. This work was eventually published towards the end of his life,

96 Broadsheet: “Catalogus provinciarum Socieatatis Iesv, Domorum, Collegiorum, ac Seminariorum, Sociorumq. qui in unaquaeque Provincia sunt.” Volume: Imago primi saeculi Societatis Jesu a provincia Flandro-Belgica eiusdem Societatis repraesentata (Antwerp: Plantin, 1640). See description in Thomas M. Lucas, ed., Saint, Site and Sacred Strategy: Ignatius, Rome and Jesuit Urbanism (exhibition catalogue) (Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1990), cat. 75, 76. Note also the Horoscopium Catholicum of Athanasius Kircher in his Ars Magna Lucis et Umbrae (1646), in the shape of an olive tree whose branches represent all the provinces of the Society, and allowing a correct time reading in each. Other examples of monastic topographies: Vincenzo Maria Fontana, Sacrvm theatrvm dominicanvm (Romae: ex typographia Nicolai Angeli Tinassij, 1666), Caspar Jongelinus de Lambertinis, Notitia Abbatiarum ordinis Cistertiensis per orbem universum (Coloniae Agrippinae, 1640). 97 Herrera, Alphabetum augustinianum, 2 vols. (Madrid: Rodriguez, 1644). 98 Ioannes a Montecalerio, Chorographica descriptio provinciarum, et conventuum FF. Min. S. Francisci Capucinorum (Rome, 1643). See Atlante cappuccino: opera inedita di Silvestro da Panicale, 1632, ed. Servus Gieben (Roma: Istituto storico dei Cappuccini, 1990); Peter H. Meurer, “Mitteleuropäische Ordenskarten aus dem 17. und 18. Jahrhundert,” Cartographica Helvetica 21 (2000): 23–34; Jacob Moskopp, “Germania: eine Übersichtskarte der Kapuzinerprovinzen im deutchsprachigen Raum 1712 (1723). Besonders hervorgehoben ‘Magonza’,” Archiv fur mittelrheinische Kirchengeschichte 40 (1988): 129–37. 99 “Les Ordres Religieux voulant mettre quelque reglement dans leur police, ont commencé depuis environ le 13 siecle, à diviser en Provinces, ausquelles ils ont donné pour titre, ou le nom d’un Saint qu’ils en élisoient pour Patron, ou le nom de la Province seculier, en laquelle la plûpart des Convents étoient situez, ou le nom du principal Convent dans lequel elle avoit pris naissance. L’ignorance de cette remarque surprend beaucoup de personnes, qui entendent nommer à des Religieux des Provinces, desquelles le nom est inconnu dans le siecle. Les RR. PP. Capucins ont fait graver toutes les Provinces de leur Ordre; j’ai desseiné étant à Rome les Provinces des Carmes déchaussez, qu’ils ont fait graver; & j’avois auparavant desseiné & gravé moimême toutes les Cartes des Provinces de mon Ordre de saint Augustin, auquelles j’ai ajoûté une notice fort courte sous le nom de Orbis Augustinianus.” Lubin, Mercure géographique, 40.

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as Abbatiarum Italiae brevis notitia (1693).100 In the dedication to Cardinal Colloredo, who encouraged Lubin to study monastic antiquities, and further in the preface, Lubin gives a brief account of the history of monasticism in Italy and laments the contemporary proliferation and misuse of the term Abbas, and Abbé. Today Lubin’s claim to fame—as modest as it is—rests mostly on the Mercure géographique of 1678. It is, again, François de Dainville, S. J. (1909–71), who is largely to thank for introducing the Mercure, by modeling on it his own general guide to early-modern cartographic terminology, Le langage des géographes (1964).101 At first glance the work betrays no particular relation to ecclesiastical geography or religious subject matter. The work’s subtitle—guide des curieux des cartes géographiques—as well as its lexical structure as a multi-lingual dictionary of geographical terms found on maps, certainly create the impression. This was also the way de Dainville used it.102 However, the Mercure hardly amounts to a critical survey of seventeenth-century cartographic terminology.103 It is replete with references to ecclesiastical and especially monastic geographical topics. About 10% of the approximately 1,300 index items are explicitly religious and ecclesiastical. Many others are covertly so: for example, the terms terra, status, and provincia, are explained from an ecclesiastical perspective. In the preface Lubin presents the thematic organizing principle of the work—from broad concepts and terms to particular ones. Yet this does not stop him from placing basic general terms such as insula, mare, and aqua only towards the end of the work. Thus, despite its subtitle, the Mercure is heavily and unsurprisingly biased in favor of Lubin’s ecclesiastical interests. The Mercure also served Lubin as a stage to promote various ecclesiastical mapping projects and to criticize published ecclesiastical maps for their deficiencies. One could hypothesize

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Lubin, Abbatiarum Italiae brevis notitia. quarum tam excisarum, quam extantium, Titulus, Ordo, Dioecesis, fundatio, mutationes, situs, &c. exactius exprimuntur . . . (Romae: Typis Jo. Jacobi Komarek Boemi, 1693), and Abbatiarum Italiae brevis notitia . . . Additiones et adnotationes ex manuscripto Bibliothecae Angelicae nunc primum editae, ed. Enrico Celani (Romae: 1895). For modern reference works which rely on Lubin see Monasticon Italiae, Pubblicazioni del Centro storico benedettino italiano (Cesena: Badia di Santa Maria del Monte, 1981). 101 François de Dainville, Le langage des géographes: termes, signes, couleurs des cartes anciennes, 1500–1800 (Paris: Picard, 1964). 102 Similarly, de Dainville, a Jesuit, wrote a general history of geography with a heavy Jesuit bias: La géographie des humanistes (Paris: Beauchesne, 1940). 103 See the favorable review in Journal des Scavans (1678), 229.

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that Lubin’s heavy-handed ecclesiastical bent suited de Dainville’s own tastes in the middle of the twentieth century. A good example of Lubin’s ecclesiastical and monastic bias in the Mercure could be found in the entry desertum. Lubin does not explain ‘desert’ as a natural phenomenon—an arid area governed by a unique ecology—but as an arena for remarkable human actions: It seems that the geographer, laboring only over the position of places, should not even consider the deserts, where there are none. Nevertheless, we see in the Holy Scriptures and in secular histories that very fine and very important actions took place in the deserts, for which reason they deserve to be known.104

It was not Bedouins that Lubin had in mind, but biblical figures and Christian saints who inhabited the deserts, suffered there, and performed miracles. The careful study of deserts mentioned in Exodus and ecclesiastical histories was crucial for understanding these narratives.105 Lubin was not alone in his fascination by Christian deserts. When he published the Mercure, a Christian desert map was either fresh off the press, or in preparation, by Alexis Hubert Jaillot (1640–1712), who took over from Nicolas Sanson in the preparation of the Atlas Nouveau.106 Jaillot’s map, sprinkled with small historical vignettes taken from saints’ lives, was reissued in 1700 by Nicolas de Fer, as “L’Ancienne Thébaide,” this time with a modern match: “La Nouvelle Thébaide,” namely, an estate map of the famous Cistercian abbey Notre Dame de

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Lubin, Mercure géographique, 219–20. “Il semble que le Geographe n’étudiant qu’à trouver la position des places, ne devroit pas même penser aux Deserts, où il n’y en a aucune. Nous voyons cependent & dans les saintes Ecritures & dans les Historiens prophanes, qu’il s’est passé de tres-belles & tres-importantes actions dans les Deserts, qui pour cette raison meritent d’être connus. Il faut un étude & une application toute singuliere, pour faire un discernement bien judicieux & bien clair de tous les Deserts, dont il est parlé dans le Livre de l’Exode & dans les autres; car il y a des Deserts plus petits, qui ne font que partie d’un plus grand. L’Histoire Ecclesiastique demeurera toûjours confuse en nôtre esprit, tant que nous ne sçaurons pas où étoient situez les Deserts de la Syrie, de l’Egypte, de la Thebaïde, & de la Libye: que tant de Saints & Illustres Personnages ont rendus celebres par leurs demeurs. Il n’y a à present presque plus de Deserts, au moins dans l’Europe. Les RR. PP. Carmes Déchaussez donnent le nom de Desert, à une espace d’une lieuë ou environ, dans lequel ils bâtissent des Cellules separées, pour y vivre à la maniere à peu prés des anciens Ermites.” Lubin, Mercure géographique, 219–20. 106 “Les Deserts d’Egypte, de Thebaide, d’Arabie, de Sirie, &c. ou sont exactement marques les lieuz habitez par les Saincts Peres des Deserts.” See a reproduction of a 1693 state in Kenneth Nebenzahl, Maps of the Holy Land (New York: Abbeville Press, 1986), plate 51. 105

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la Trappe (Figure 51).107 Vignettes on each upper corner of the map celebrate the order’s illustrious members, St. Bernard of Clairvaux and the austere reformer Rancé, who died that year. As on the walls of the Vatican Gallery of maps, here ecclesiastical history, cartography, and the invention of tradition joined forces.108 Catholic geographical fascination with deserts may perhaps be seen as an appropriation of a term which was prominent in Protestant polemic, in which it stood for territories where Protestants were persecuted (e.g. “The Church of the Desert” following the waves of Reformed immigration).109 Lubin is full of suggestions for perfecting the methods of representing monastic history and geography on maps. He finds the existing map of the abbeys of France (which he leaves unnamed) very bad, and claims it should not have been published at all. He offers instead a system of marking each abbey with a sign of its order. For example, the acronym A.H.O.B. could represent Abbaye d’hommes de l’Ordre de saint Benoist. It is also desirable, he continues, to produce maps of specific orders and abbeys, with their benefices, in order to prevent the loss of their rightful titles.110 Besides mapping and antiquarian research in the emergent field of ‘monastic studies,’ Lubin had a great interest in compiling geographical indices to published works. He provided these for a few Bible editions and for Archbishop Ussher’s Annales.111 His most elaborate 107 Fr. L. de La Salle, “La Nouvelle Thébaide, ou la Carte très particulière et exacte de l’Abbaye de la Maison Dieu, Nostre Dame de la Trappe, dans la Province du Perche,” Paris: De Fer, 1700. BL Map Collection, K. Top. 68.18.1. Available also on gallica.bnf.fr. 108 See also Trevor Johnson, “Gardening for God: Carmelite Deserts and the Sacralisation of Natural Space in Counter-Reformation Spain,” in Sacred Space in Early Modern Europe, eds. Will Coster and Andrew Spicer, 193–210 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). On the formative period of monasticism see Derwas J. Chitty, The Desert a City: An Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire (Oxford: Blackwell, 1966). 109 On Calvinists’ self-perception as “Sons of Israel” in the context of bestowal of biblical names in the community of exiles in London, see Guido Marnef, “Calvinism in Antwerp, 1558–1585,” in Calvinism in Europe, 1540–1620, eds. Andrew Pettegree, A. C. Duke and Gillian Lewis, 143–59 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 155–56. 110 Lubin, Mercure géographique, 183–84. Lubin’s marking system was realized in the map of Jean-Baptiste Nolin (1686–1782), “Galliae christianae Narbonensis secunda provincia ecclesiastica Aquensis (c. 1716) BN Ge DD 2987 (192). Available at gallica.bnf.fr. 111 Biblia Sacra: Vulgatae editionis Sixti V. & Clementis VIII. Pont. Max. auctoritate recognita, Editio nova, notis chronologicis, historicis et geographicis illustrata (Parisiis:

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Figure 51. Fr. L. de La Salle, “La nouvelle Thébaïde ou la carte très particulière et exacte de l’abbaye de la Maison Dieu nostre dame de la Trappe, de l’estroite observance de Citeaux, située dans la province du Perche, diocesse de Sées / Dressée sur les lieux par Monsieur de La Salle” ([Paris]: De Fer, 1700), BN Ge DD 2987 (1060). Source: BN, gallica.bnf.fr.

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production of this kind was an extensive geographical commentary on the Latin calendar of martyrs, the Martyrologium Romanum. The Martyrologium was conceived and authorized under Gregory XIII to accompany the new calendar, and was reissued under Urban VIII in 1630. In Lubin’s edition the first section is the standard Roman text, as first established by Cardinal Baronio, temporally arranged according to saints’ days. Lubin augments it with a second geographical section, arranged by province, with thirteen maps engraved by himself, as he had already done in the Orbis Augustinianus (“pro talento a deo accepto”) (Figure 52, Figure 53). Lubin was extremely proud of the fact that he engraved his own maps, following the example of Mercator.112 His unique insistence on personally executing all the stages of the production of his maps is explained in the Mercure: one of the three main reasons for inaccuracies in maps was the work of careless engravers, and cartographers can eliminate much of this problem by taking over the whole process.113 Lubin was upset by the many lacunae, confusions, and errors in previous editions, including that of the geographer Ferrarius, who published a complementary volume to the Martyrologium. Baronio, too, so Lubin complains, hardly spoke about locations in his notes to

Antonius Vitré, 1666), with further appearances in Bible editions in 1715, 1723, 1731, 1765. The index appeared separately as Tabulae sacrae geographicae sive Notitia antiqua . . . nominum utriusque Testamenti ad geographiam pertinentium. Parisiis: typis Petri Le Petit, 1670. Jacobi Usserii Armachani Annales Veteris et Novi Testamenti . . . . Cum duobus indicibus quorum primus est historicus, secundus vero geographicus qui nunc primùm prodit in lucem (Lutetiae Parisiorum: Billaine, 1673). Lubin prepared a geographical index for one secular work, a new edition of Plutarch’s Lives by Abbé Tallemant: Tables géographiques pour Les vies des hommes illustres de Plutarque, dressées sur la nouvelle tr. faite par l’abbé Tallemant (Paris, 1671). Pierre-Daniel Huet, who according to his memoire, helped Tallemant with the edition as much as he could, thought the outcome was mediocre. Huet, Commentarius de rebus ad eum pertinentibus (Amsterdam: H. Du Sauzet, 1718), lib. IV, 216–17. Lubin’s other foray into secular geography was a translation and illustration of Johannes Schefferus (1621–79), Lapponia (1673), as Histoire de la Laponie (Paris: 1678). 112 “J’avois . . . desseiné & gravé moi-même toutes les Cartes des Provinces de mon Ordre de saint Augustin, auquelles j’ai ajoûté une notice fort courte sous le nom de Orbis Augustinianus.” Lubin, Mercure géographique, 40. 113 One should not mistake the greedy Dutch merchant-engravers—Visscher, Blaeu, Hondius—for real cartographers, Lubin warns the reader. The other two sources of inaccuracy in maps were, according to Lubin, the authors’ ignorance and the (sometimes intentional) faults in written accounts from which maps are made. Lubin, Mercure géographique, 351–55.

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Figure 52. Augustin Lubin, title page, Martyrologium Romanum (Paris: Florentinus Lambert, 1660). Source: BL.

Figure 53. Augustin Lubin, “Tabula Tertia” [Gallia], Martyrologium Romanum (Paris: Florentinus Lambert, 1660). Source: BL.

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the Martyrologium.114 Lubin produced a kind of martyrology-madeeasy, designed to concentrate in one volume all the information necessary to let the reader geographically trace saints’ lives, deaths, and the afterlives of their relics.115 Hagiography, with its complex mix of linear history, cyclical calendar, and sacred space, presented the ecclesiastical geographer with a particularly rich field of action.116

114 I could not establish the exact publication of Philippus Ferrarius that Lubin targets. The two options are: Catalogus sanctorum Italiae in menses duodecim distributus (Milan: Bordoni, 1613); or Catalogus generalis sanctorum, qui in Martyrologio Romano non sunt (Venice: Guerili, 1625). 115 “Dolebam ex huius historiae partis ignorantia tot enatos in Ecclesiastica historia errores & in quotidiana Martyrologii Romani lectione, multa ad rationem spectantia locorum haud facilia, ignorata ab auditoribus negligi, a curiosis, sed Geographiae aliunde non peritis absurda plurima proferri animadvertens, Sanctos plerumque ex loci unius varia appellatione obscura temerarie multiplicari, ac saepius plures perperam confundi, & in unum conglomerari sentiens; haec mea mens fuit, quae in Ecclesiastica historia ad ubi sive loci rationem pertinent examinare & illustrare, ac Geographiam iam (licet tardius) in rebus prophanis cultam, in sacris operosius excolere. A Martyrologio Romano velut magis familiari libro exoriri ratus, iampridem Philippi Ferrarii Topographiam in Romanum Martyrologium prodiisse in publicum audieram: sed dolor erat rarissimam non reperire quam tandem, sed opere nostro iam typis parato vidi, & cum elucubrationibus nostris attentius contuli: quae nobis melius novit, ego secutus, in quibus illum errasse deprehendi, studui rejicere: sed hoc opus Topographiae Ferrarii in pluribus ieiunum & mancum, in quibusdam superfluum, in ceteris erroribus respersum cernens: Baronii quoque in Martyrologium Notas rarissime de positione locorum tractare: Sanctos etiam plurimos aliis in locis, quam quae in Martyrologio ipsis dantur, aut floruisse aut obiisse: Mappis Geographicis, pro talento a deo accepto, proprio tum calamo tum scalpro exactissime delineatis & sculptis, loca in Martyrologio tacta statui ob oculos ponere, haec insuper Historicis explicare Notis, eisque Sanctos sibi assignatos subjicere: & ut perfectae Historiae quodam modo responderet brevis his conatus, Sancti cuiuslibet in Martyrologio expressi obitus locum & tempus, tum depositionis aut praecipuarum reliquiarum translationis, praevio exacto Authorum examine subiungere, adeo ut quaelibet civitas aut locus proprias in Notis nostris tabulas habeat Ecclesiasticas: hocque imprimis efficere sum conatus, ut quisque Sancti alicuius annum & locum in quo decessit, scire desiderans, ad calcem Martyrologii reperire haec valeat, ne cogatur Bibliothecas ampliores adire, multaque rariorum Librorum quae me revolvere oportuit, volumina consulere, haec nunc laborum nostrorum tenuia licet initia, Orbem sanctum in quo tum Sanctorum quotquot in Ecclesia Catholica venerationem obtinent, servata Regnorum ac Provinciarum divisione, natalis diei, tum praecipuarum actionum ac mortis, tandem depositionis & translationis locum & tempus exactissime expressa, subiunctis tabulis Geographicis paramus, & quamprimum Deo iuvante & vita comite damus.” Lubin, Martyrologium romanum, sig. *i–*ii. 116 Cf. Michel de Certeau, L’écriture de l’histoire, 2 ed. (Paris: Gallimard, 1978), 285: “L’hagiographie se caractérise par une prédominance des précisions de lieu sur les précisions de temps. [ . . . ] L’histoire du saint se traduit en parcours de lieux et en changements de décors; ils déterminent l’espace d’une ‘constance.’ ”

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Lubin, however precise and systematic he was about locations and terms, did not stop to ponder the theological signification geography might carry. On the whole, his work represents both a professionalization and a kind of domestication of the field. If for Montano in the sixteenth century sacred geography was synonymous with geography itself, and for Bochart in the mid-seventeenth century it opened a unique window onto the obscure origins of humanity, for Lubin it was a specialized, technical field to master (though he would not have happily admitted that). Ironically, to go back to our opening question— “How does one map the Catholic Church?”—Lubin’s work symbolizes a certain coming to terms with the Catholic Church’s boundedness. Lubin’s Church was a human institution, with a geographical spread and a history to depict, just like kingdoms and empires. The more technical and precise ecclesiastical geography became, the more it was clear that it could no longer maintain the Church’s universal aspirations, as Ptolemy’s Geography did close to three centuries earlier. From a narrower history of cartography perspective, Lubin’s claim to fame belongs in fact to the history of thematic mapping, as a very early and talented proponent of standardized map legends and representations of particular subjects. The standard works on the history of thematic maps, almost completely ignore seventeenth-century ecclesiastical mapping projects.117 Conclusion Ecclesiastical geography, I suggest, was a richer and more complex genre than is usually allowed in current literature, on the few occasions when it is acknowledged at all. First, it is important to note that ecclesiastical geography was an essential part of what was understood in the period by geographia sacra. Conceiving, ordering, and representing space within a religious framework did not rely solely on the biblical text, but also on local traditions, institutions, and landscapes. Geographia sacra, therefore, had much to do with contemporary Europe, and, indeed, the whole Earth.

117 Erik Arnberger, Handbuch der thematischen Kartographie (Vienna: Deuticke, 1966); Arthur H. Robinson, Early Thematic Mapping in the History of Cartography (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982).

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Ecclesiastical geography was indistinguishable from the study of sacred history, archaeology, law, and the Fathers of the Church, especially at a time of sharp-tempered confessional scholarship, when all of the above were used as polemical tools. The suburbicarian regions controversy, where scholars and antiquarians of the first rank made significant efforts to establish the territorial spread and structure of the early Church, clearly demonstrates how prevalent and important geographical sources and methods were in legal-historical debates. The controversy also teaches us how self-conscious scholars were about their and their opponents’ use of images and maps. The constitutive link between antiquarianism, geography, and cartography, which was demonstrated in Montano’s treatment of biblical geography (Chapter Two), is fully maintained in the genre of ecclesiastical geography. However, towards the end of the seventeenth century, in an age of professionalism and specialization, it lost its touch with a broader body of knowledge, along with a whole set of meanings. Church administration and surveillance of ecclesiastical jurisdictions emerges as another important context of early modern ecclesiastical geography. A diocesan map was a working document and an instrument of power for the bishop, much like the kings and ministers of the time, who were beginning, especially from the late sixteenth century, to use maps regularly. In France, it was often the same cartographers who executed maps for the state and the Church (e.g. Sanson, de Beins). Also like secular rulers, churchmen used cartography and geography to glorify their institutions. Ecclesiastical geography was an invaluable tool for display and celebration of the Church’s geographical structure as both ancient and stable, yet ever expanding. Catholic writers and cartographers placed heavy emphasis on this issue in their defense of Catholic tradition and hierarchy against Protestant assaults. While the Protestant uses of ecclesiastical geography were only briefly explored in the previous discussion, it is clear that, with the possible exception of England, Protestants engaged in this field primarily for polemical reasons. The Suburbicarian regions controversy is emblematic of the Protestant impulse to dent Catholic claims of antiquity and succession, while not offering a new ecclesiastical geography of their own. Early modern ecclesiastical geography as a genre reminds us that scholars, churchmen, as well as rulers, viewed and articulated territory and land in a variety of modes, which do not always conform to our

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‘rise of the secular state’ paradigm. The early modern period is commonly seen as the age of the territorial monarchy and of an evolving secular state-system, which was enshrined in Münster and Osnabrück, in 1648. The body of literature surveyed in this chapter calls us to rethink aspects of this narrative. First, we should recognize the genre’s very existence and liveliness within the learned historiographical and political discourses of the period. This has been the primary aim of this chapter. Secondly, further detailed work on particular ecclesiastical geographies could shed more light on the ways in which political and ecclesiastical formulations of space and territory interacted in the period. A catalog of bishoprics with elaborate maps is not simply a catalog. It offers a contemporary vision of what constituted space, its boundaries and hierarchies.

CHAPTER SIX

EPILOGUE The young man was filled with inexpressible pity for those mummies buried in their elaborately paneled Pompadour-style hypogea, for those morose sluggards who lived with their gaze permanently fixed on a nebulous Canaan, an imaginary Palestine. —Joris-Karl Huysmans, Against Nature (A rebours, 1884).1

Between the Phaleg and Chanaan of Montano and those of Bochart three generations passed, a period during which geographia sacra thrived, and after which it stabilized and matured. Until the beginning of scientific Near Eastern archaeology in the late nineteenth century, no major advances would be gained beyond the results of this concentrated effort by scholars all over Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The main goal of this study, however, has not been a positive evaluation of achievements in the field of biblical and ecclesiastical geography. Rather, it aimed at reconstructing a field of knowledge by looking closely at central practitioners and practices of early modern geographia sacra at its most intense period. Erasmus, Vadianus, and a generation of biblical humanists after them emphasized the importance of natural history and geography for biblical scholarship. Their call was answered by a group of scholars, such as Arias Montano, who fully integrated traditional biblical exegesis with up-to-date geographical-antiquarian techniques and a deepening command of Oriental languages. Another traditional activity—pilgrimage to the Holy Land—went through a similar process of systematization, marked by attention to historical specificity as well as precise visual documentation. In 1639 Franciscus Quaresmius gave the definitive account of traditions attached to the Holy Land. With Jacques Bonfrère’s edition of Eusebius’ Onomasticon, and

1 Ed. Nicholas White, trans. Margaret Mauldon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 6. The young Des Esseintes on meetings of conservative relatives at the house of his cousin and guardian, the Comte de Montchevrel.

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his corrections to Adrichem’s map of the Holy Land, not much was left for cartographers working from textual sources. Samuel Bochart perfected what Montano had begun, and completely mapped out the progeny of Noah as given in Genesis 10. Finally, ecclesiastical geography flourished during the seventeenth century and was professionalized as a sub-genre by Augustin Lubin. This intense, innovative activity, fuelled by religious strife and shifting geographical truths, gave way in the later seventeenth century to popularization and codification. Questions in sacred geography—the location of Ophir, the fertility of the Holy Land, the territorial jurisdiction of the Pope—were still of great interest to geographers, historians, and to legal and biblical scholars, but they were not on the forefront of study and polemics as they once had been in the Antwerp of Plantin, the Rome of Raimondi, and the Paris of Sirmond. It was at this point, when the field moved into a more mature phase, that Friedrich Spanheim, Jr. (1632–1701), would publish an introduction to sacred geography for young students.2 Although Spanheim wrote from an explicitly Protestant perspective, the textbook was not an instrument of polemic. The popularization of geographia sacra began even earlier, in England, in the hands of the Anglican Thomas Fuller (1608–61).3 An author with a quick and witty pen, Fuller wrote Pisgah-Sight of Palestine (1650) for a general reading public (Figure 54).4 It was a public which already read and enjoyed his sermon collections, character books, and moderate consolations for England’s civil war.5 The Pisgah

2 Friedrich Spanheim, Introductio ad geographiam sacram, Patriarchalem, Israëliticam, & Christianam, . . . In usus studiose Juventutis (Leiden: Daniel Gaesbeeck, 1679). This was part of a series, which included introductions to sacred history and chronology as well. 3 John E. Bailey, The Life of Thomas Fuller, D.D., with Notices of his Books, his Kinsmen, and his Friends (London: Basil Montague Pickering, 1874); W. Brown Patterson, “Thomas Fuller as Royalist Country Parson during the Interregnum,” in Church in Town and Countryside, ed. Derek Baker, Studies in Church History, 16, 301–14 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1979); H. R. Trevor-Roper, “Fuller’s ‘Worthies’ and the Age of English Charity,” in Historical Essays, 125–29 (London: Macmillan, 1957). 4 Thomas Fuller, A Pisgah-Sight of Palestine and the Confines thereof: with the History of the Old and New Testament Acted thereon (London: J.F. for John Williams, 1650). 5 Fuller, Good Thoughts in Bad Times (London, 1645); The Holy State [Followed by] The Profane State (Cambridge, 1642); A Sermon of Assurance (London: J.D. for John Williams); Good Thoughts in Worse times: Consisting of Personall Meditations. Scripture Observations [etc.] (London: W.W. for John Williams, 1647). Fuller, according to

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Figure 54. Title page of Thomas Fuller, A Pisgah-Sight of Palestine and the Confines thereof: with the History of the Old and New Testament Acted thereon (London: J.F. for John Williams, 1650). Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 3747.9.372q.

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was accordingly written, despite Fuller’s declaration to the contrary, in an ornate style.6 An outsider to the European world of scholarship, Fuller was nevertheless remarkably well informed about novelties in erudite circles. Bochart’s linguistic discoveries—published only three years beforehand in France—were quick to enter Fuller’s account, even if Fuller did not always accept them.7 Rephrasing Bochart, Fuller wrote: “though these studies [of terrestrial Canaan] are not essentiall to salvation, yet they are ornamentall, to accomplish men with knowledge, contributing much to the true understanding of the History of the Bible.”8 Fuller also consulted Claude de Saumaise’s commentary on Solinus (1629), John Greaves’ survey of the Giza pyramids (1646), and many others. Most of Montano’s antiquarian designs and discussions also found their way into Fuller’s Pisgah (Figure 55, Figure 56), and Adrichem’s cartography in the Theatrum Terrae Sanctae (1590) served as the basis for that of Fuller. Fuller’s main innovation, of which he was fully aware, was the way in which he broke down the customary single image of the Holy Land into tribal territories, each with its own map and textual account (Figure 57).9 Every tribal map was decorated with two prominent coats of arms: one imaginary, designed by Fuller on behalf of the Israelite tribe, and the other the arms of the map’s dedicatee. Other images, as well as the Pisgah’s five books, also had individual dedications. In effect, Fuller populated the Holy Land with as many of his English Leslie Stephen (Dictionary of National Biography, 1889, available on ODNB), was one of the first authors to live profitably from writing. 6 “Lest in like manner we should offend this Country of Canaan with additionall ornaments of Rhetorique, and lest all flourishes of Eloquence be misinterpreted distrusts of the reall worth of this Country, a plain style and simple relation best becomes our present subject.” Pisgah, 6. 7 In the discussion of Canaanites in the tribe of Asher, Fuller acknowledges his debt: “In setting down of their severall places, I have wholly followed (let my candle goe out in a stink, when I refuse to confess from whom I have lighted it) Bochartus in his holy Geography.” Pisgah, II: 128. 8 Pisgah, I: 3. 9 “Wherefore although we cannot with Columbus, finde out another world, and bring the first tydings of an unknown Continent or Island, by us discovered, yet our labours ought not to be condemned as unprofitable, if setting forth an old subject in a new edition enlarged and amended. This I dare say, though many have written discourses without Mappes, and more Mappes without discourses, and some both, (yet so that three tribes are joined in one Mappe) none have formerly in any tongue (much lesse in English) presented us with distinct Mappes and descriptions together.” Pisgah I:2.

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Figure 55. Elevation and plan of the Temple, based on Arias Montano’s designs in the Apparatus of the Antwerp Polyglot. Thomas Fuller, A Pisgah-Sight of Palestine and the Confines thereof: with the History of the Old and New Testament Acted thereon (London: J.F. for John Williams, 1650), bk 3, 352–53. Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 3747.9.372q.

friends and patrons as he could.10 More importantly, the organization of the text and images by individual tribe resembled beyond coincidence that peculiarly English historical-geographical genre—the county atlas. Developed in the late sixteenth century by Christopher Saxton, William Camden, and Robert Norden, this sub-genre reached its peak with John Speed’s The Theatre of the Empire of Great Britaine

10

See Bailey, The Life of Thomas Fuller, 470–93.

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Figure 56. “Fragmenta Sacra,” a collection of Jewish coins, weights and measures, and vestments. Thomas Fuller, A Pisgah-Sight of Palestine and the Confines thereof: with the History of the Old and New Testament Acted thereon (London: J.F. for John Williams, 1650), bk 5, opposite 203. Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 3747.9.372q.

(1611).11 Profiting from the best in the tradition of geographia sacra without much research of his own, Fuller, with much talent, reinvented or appropriated the genre to appeal to the taste of patrons and readers. 11 On the English antiquarian tradition from which this form emerged see T. D. Kendrick, British Antiquity (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1950); Victor Morgan, “The Cartographic Image of ‘The Country’ in Early Modern England,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th series, 29 (1979): 129–54. For a thoughtful literary analysis see Richard Helgerson, “The Land Speaks: Cartography, Chorography, and Subversion in Renaissance England,” in Forms of Nationhood: The Elizabethan Writing of England (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), ch. 3.

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Figure 57. Map of Ruben’s land, with imaginary coat of arms for the tribe, and a dedication to one of Fuller’s English patrons. Note the marking of Levite towns, based on Maimonides’s explanation of Num. 35:4–5. Thomas Fuller, A Pisgah-Sight of Palestine and the Confines thereof: with the History of the Old and New Testament Acted thereon (London: J.F. for John Williams, 1650), opposite bk 2, 54. Source: Princeton University Library, Rare Books Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, (Ex) 3747.9.372q.

Indeed, as Florence Sandler demonstrated, Fuller used his Pisgah-Sight as a pulpit from which to comment on current English affairs.12 An Englished sacred geography of the Holy Land was now accessible to a wider public and presented comprehensively and eloquently. 12 Florence Sandler, “The Temple of Zerubbabel: A Pattern for Reformation in Thomas Fuller’s Pisgah-Sight and Church-History of Britain,” Studies in the Literary Imagination 10, no. 2 (1977): 29–42; Id., “Thomas Fuller’s Pisgah-Sight of Palestine as a Comment on Politics of Its Time,” Huntington Library Quarterly 41, no. 4 (1978): 317–43.

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Another aspect of sacred geography’s mature phase was codification and the creation of a stable tradition of authorities. During the first two decades of the eighteenth century, the editor and biblical scholar Jean Le Clerc reprinted in Amsterdam a series of masterpieces of geographia sacra, fruits of the scholarship of the previous century.13 Le Clerc, as we have seen in Chapter Four, had already involved himself in sacred geography during the early 1690s as a defender of Samuel Bochart. A decade later, in the preface to Nicolas Sanson’s Geographia sacra (1704), Le Clerc wrote what may be seen as the first literary survey of sacred geography as a tradition.14 Le Clerc’s survey, prompted by an effort to preserve the achievements of previous scholars, marks a point of stability and closure in this tradition.15 Le Clerc listed the main authors who had either described Judaea, or labored to explain sacred geography, while happily omitting many travelers to the Holy Land, as well as geographers who mentioned Palestine in passing—who would want to read so many works which repeat one another without any uniqueness? Itineraries in particular were of little value in Le Clerc’s mind, since they credulously reported irrelevancies and lies. He therefore chose only the older itineraries

13 Le Clerc, working with three different publishers, brought to the press a collection of biblical and ecclesiastical maps by Nicolas Sanson, the great French royal geographer, Atlas antiquus, sacer, ecclesiasticus et profanus: in quo Terrae Sanctae variae divisiones, dioecesium patriarchalium & episcopalium limites, orbisque universus antiquus, prout erat olim excultus & divisus oculis subjiciuntur (Amsterdam: P. Mortier, 1705); also from Sanson, the Geographia sacra ex Veteri et Novo Testamento desumta, et in tabulas quatuor concinnata .. (Amsterdam: F. Halma, 1704) (another edition in 1711 by Wetstein); following a 1705 Italian reprint, Le Clerc reedited and annotated Eusebius with additions: Onomasticon urbium et locorum Sacrae Scripturae: seu, liber de locis hebraicis, graecè primùm ab Eusebio Caesariensi, deinde latinè scriptus ab Hieronymo, in commodiorem verò ordinem redactus . . . operâ Jacobus Bonfrerii, recensuit & animadversionibus suis auxit Joannes Clericus. Accessit huic editioni Brocardi Monachi . . . descriptio Terrae Sanctae (Amsterdam: F. Halma, 1707) (another edition in 1711 by Wetstein, and a 1717 Dutch version from F. Halma). Wetstein printed Sanson and Eusebius bound with the ecclesiastical Geographia sacra of Charles Vialart (with the annotations of Lucas Holsten), in a volume titled Geographiae Sacrae scriptores tres, 1711, with separate title pages for each work. I cannot say whether Le Clerc was involved in reprinting Vialart. He certainly took an interest in ecclesiastical geography in the Atlas Antiquus. 14 Sanson, Geographia sacra ex Veteri et Novo Testamento desumta. . . . I work from the 1711 edition printed by Wetstein. 15 At that time Le Clerc published a French translation of the New Testament, as well as annotated Latin editions of the historical books of the Old Testament. It is reasonable that his survey of sacred geography is based on his researches as a biblical editor. NT (1703); Veteris Testamenti libri historici (1708).

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and descriptions of Palestine, which followed a geographical method. Aristeas, Strabo, Josephus, and Tacitus were useful. Ptolemy excelled in degrees of longitude and latitude, and profited from his contacts with Jews in Alexandria who must have known the region very well. Much of the remaining list will be familiar to readers who have followed the earlier chapters. It was Eusebius, according to Le Clerc, who had really started the tradition of biblical geography. Eusebius had mentioned other works, which did not survive: a work on the dispersion of nations, “a subject which Sam. Bochart in his Phaleg exhausted to such a degree that others were left with no work to do”;16 “a geographical map of Judaea and topographies of Jerusalem and the Temple made by him [Eusebius]—if only we could have them!”17 But Le Clerc criticized both Eusebius’ Onomasticon and Jerome’s translation for ignoring Ptolemy’s method and paying no attention to distance measurements, and for simply reporting what they were told rather than evaluating it critically.18 Le Clerc moved on to the seventh century and mentioned Adamnan, who wrote bishop Arculf’s pilgrimage account (Le Clerc used the 1619 Ingolstadt edition), as well as several Crusader authors.19 John Mandeville, “multis peregrinationibus illustris,” Bernhard von Breydenbach, and the Carmelite Jan Pascha represented the large corpus of late medieval pilgrimage literature. Arias Montano was also given his due role as a pioneer in sacred geography with an antiquarian interest: “a very learned man, who wrote Antiquitates Judaïcae. . . . His industry deserves every praise, but more recent authors have treated this matter more accurately, because many and great aids for the study of sacred antiquities have been published since that time, and are in regular scholarly use.” I assume Le Clerc meant that the pool of textual resources available for scholars increased, and was not referring to any material remains.20

16 “quod argumentum in suo Phalego ita exhausit Sam. Bochartus, ut aliis otium fecerit.” Ibid., 9. 17 “Videntur haec significare, ab eo Tabulam Geographicam Judaeae, & Topographicam Templi & Urbis confectas, quas utinam haberemus!” Ibid. 18 “Praeterea vix ulla diligentia Geographica adhibebatur, ad dimetiendam locorum distantiam, sed omnia ex relatu incolarum, Itinerariisque hauriebantur.” Ibid., 10. 19 Ibid. Le Clerc attributed the edition to Serarius. However, the editor was another Jesuit polemicist, Jacob Gretser. See above Chapter Three, note 87. 20 Montano: “Hispalensis, vir eruditissimus, edidit Antiquitatum Judaïcarum Libros novem; . . . Ejus viri laudanda sane est industria, sed Recentiores Scriptores haec omnia

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Le Clerc then turned to the seventeenth century. Christian van Adrichem’s valuable work, he said, had been corrected by Sanson in many places. On the Catholic Jacques Bonfrère’s edition of Eusebius, which Le Clerc reprinted as well, he remarked: “no work hitherto published is better or more accurate for clarifying the whole of sacred geography.”21 Next to appear on the podium was Bochart, who had explained Genesis 10 so well that he won the admiration of all, although “some extremely envious men, who are not comparable to Bochart, have attacked him.”22 The temptation to prick Richard Simon’s reputation once more was too strong for Le Clerc. Now Augustin Lubin’s geographical index of 1670, Tabulae sacrae geographiae was mentioned, as well as Friedrich Spanheim’s Introductio. Le Clerc’s final remark brings the survey back to its scriptural origin. The most ancient description of sacred geography, he said, was that commanded to be made by Joshua: “go through the land, and describe it” (18:4). This ur-sacred geography, in Le Clerc’s view, had been arranged in a large book format with maps, rather than as a catalogue of cities and estates. It was important to measure the land in order to divide it, and for that purpose the Israelites utilized the geometrical and cartographic expertise they had acquired in Egypt.23

accuratius tractarunt, cum plura & majora in dies ab eo tempore subsidia, ad sacras Antiquitates excutiendas, edita sint, autque studiosorum manibus terantur.” Ibid., 11. 21 “Quo opere nullum melius, atque accuratius, ad universam Geographiam Sacram illustrandam, adhuc editum est.” Ibid., 12. 22 “Geneseos Caput X. ubi nomina gentium antiquissima, ita illustravit vir summus SAM. BOCHARTUS anno MDCXLV. ut omnium Eruditorum puncta tulerit, omnibusque admirationi fuerit, & etiamnum sit; quamvis invidi quidam, nec cum eo ulla ratione conferendi, scriptis ejus detrahant.” Ibid. 23 “Haec fuit omnium prima descriptio Geographica Judaeae, seu in ea Chananaea depicta fuerit in libro, aut volumine expanso, quod solemus nunc facere in Tabulis Geographicis; seu tantum Catalogus urbium, agrorumque earum esset contextus. Sed prius videbitur forte verius, quia non tantum describenda fuit Chananaea ex numero urbium sed ex modo agrorum, quos ampliores, aut minus amplos esse oportuit, pro numero tribulium quibus fuerunt dividendi. Potuerunt enim esse interdum plures urbes in minore tractu, pauciores in majore; quomodo potuisset fieri, ut qui plures urbes accipiebat arctiores agros haberet, & vicissim, qui latiores sortiebatur agros, pauciores urbes. Itaque hos triginta sex viros agris dividundis, ut more Romano loquamur, verisimile est non tantum catalogum urbium contexuisse, sed & magnitudinem locorum descriptam habuisse, postquam eam essent demensi. Nec credendum est, quod fortasse objecerit quispiam, Israëlitis defuisse peritiam dimetiendi agros; cum eam possent in Aegypto (ubi primum inventa ars ea, [. . .]) didicisse. Audiamus hac de re Herodotum, [II: 109] [. . . and Diodorus Siculus, I, p. 71, Hanover ed.] Sic ergo potuerunt Israëlitae periti disciplinae, quae postea Geometria dicta est, facti esse, & didicisse etiam conficiendarum Tabularum Geographicarum artem. Fateor, magnum

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This final gesture places Le Clerc squarely within the tradition he narrated, as a follower of Montano and Bochart. At the same time, it is important to note that Le Clerc did not support his two predecessors’ “strong version” of sacred geography: if geometry was born in Egypt and taught to the Israelites there, then Scripture (Montano) or Hebrew culture (Bochart) no longer held the key to all knowledge. Also missing from Le Clerc’s survey is any reference to confessional debates relating to sacred geography, or at least to different attitudes to the subject. The passions which this topic previously stirred had now dissipated, except for Le Clerc’s personal enmity towards Richard Simon. It is worth noting, too, that the Protestant Le Clerc and his publishers reprinted the works of Catholic scholars: Vialart (with Holsten’s annotations), Sanson, and Bonfrère. Thus I would not attribute Le Clerc’s negative attitude to pilgrim accounts and his relative silence about ecclesiastical geography—the two more distinctly ‘Catholic’ domains of sacred geography—to his Protestantism. Le Clerc’s summary and his sustained editorial project marks a convenient ending point to the scholarly world which this book discussed. Le Clerc incorporated sacred geography into the historia litteraria of Europe. Sacred geography was no longer a genre in motion and internal debate, but a tradition, with clear signposts—Joshua, Eusebius, Montano, Bochart, Bonfrère, Sanson. The technical mastery, specialization, and rather narrow scope of Augustin Lubin’s ecclesiastical geography is another central example of that process. The eighteenth century did not neglect sacred geography, as the mammoth works of Dom Calmet (1672–1757) and Biagio Ugolini (1702–75) demonstrate, but these were mainly compilatory, presenting the status of former debates.24 Already in the mid-seventeenth century, we see that the more systematic, accurate, and detailed sacred geography became, the more it lost its relevance. These are, however,

discrimen fuisse inter Aegyptum inferiorem & Chananaeam, cum prior sit regio plana, & quam extensis funibus non difficile fuit dimetiri; Chananaea vero referta sit montibus. Sed qui sciunt artem conficiendarum Tabularum Geographicarum, norunt etiam facilius eas fieri, ubi sunt montes, ex quibus magnos terrarum tractus prospicere licet, quam ubi sunt tantum campestres agri. Verum de ea re cum quiquam contendere nolumus, & hic nobis sermo fuit de recentioribus praesertim Geographis, quos sat magno numero recensuimus.” Ibid. 14–15. 24 Augustin Calmet, Commentaire littéral sur tous les livres de l’Ancien et du Nouveau Testament (Paris, 1709); Biagio Ugolini, Thesaurus antiquitatum sacrarum complectens selectissima clarissimorum virorum opuscula [. . .] (Venice, 1744).

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only learned guesses—the story of sacred geography in the eighteenth century and forward still awaits a closer study and interpretation. My periodization, I am fully aware, quite neatly matches old and more recent grand narratives that have posited the dramatic transformation of the “European mind” from dogmatic and religious to critical and secular. Others have described the rationalization of biblical scholarship from within, as another path to secular modernity.25 However, I am reluctant to describe the fortune of geographia sacra during the eighteenth century as decline or death. The process which this epilogue narrated is better understood as stabilization and dissemination. Eighteenth-century scholars made ample use of the labors of their predecessors in sacred geography, including philosophes and encyclopédistes. Maps, atlases and compendia of biblical geography kept coming off the presses all over Europe. The major change that does mark the eighteenth century is perhaps the loss of the polemical edge that was so prominent in the period that this book has described. Thus, since the basic starting point of my discussion has been the problematization of the idea that a new secular geography has burst into the world around 1500, I am just as reluctant to mark 1700 as a new birth date for the same dubious phenomenon. In this I join a number of scholars who have argued for a more nuanced way of understanding Enlightenment and religion.26 The main concern of this book, however, has been to demonstrate the integration of cartography and geography into the religiously charged scholarship of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, to capture some of the activities and problems that engaged devout curiosi, and to explore some paths and connections that escaped the PisgahSight of Allen and Momigliano.

25 Paul Hazard, The European Mind, 1680–1715, trans. J. Lewis May (London: Penguin, 1973); Don Cameron Allen, The Legend of Noah: Renaissance Rationalism in Art, Science, and Letters, Illinois Studies in Langauge and Literature, 33, no. 3–4 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1949); Jonathan I. Israel, Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity, 1650–1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). 26 Of the large and growing literature, Jonathan Sheehan, The Enlightenment Bible: Translation, Scholarship, Culture (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2005), proposes the synthesis most suitable for my purposes.

APPENDIX

EXTANT MANUSCRIPTS OF SAMUEL BOCHART During my research on Samuel Bochart’s Geographia sacra, I made an effort to locate his extant manuscripts. In Chapter Four I rely on and cite only a few manuscript sources, yet I thought it would be worthwhile to append the information I gathered as an aid to further research on Bochart. A significant portion of the material is now available in Princeton University Library in microfilm or paper copies. I thank the Library and the Davis Center at the Department of History for funding the reproduction of these documents. Bochart’s papers, as I discussed in Chapter Four, note 11, were dispersed soon after his death among his colleagues and relatives. His vast library, donated in 1732 by his great-grandson to the University of Caen, is also hard to trace. I did not attempt to reconstruct the complex trails of his manuscript and books, although this could yield a fascinating story in its own right.1 I also omitted items owned by Bochart, unless significantly annotated by him. Manuscripts relating to but not by Bochart are included. This list is most probably incomplete, yet it should provide a solid starting point for students of Bochart’s work and life. BN, Paris Ms. gr. supp. 1005 A nineteenth-century copy (28 June 1835) by M. Letronne of Bochart’s notes on Philostorgius (ed. J. Godefroy), Aristotle De mundo, Diodorus Siculus, Theocritus and Nonnus, with a list of annotated books in Bochart’s library, Caen. Very few of them can now be traced at the BMC. I transcribed parts of Letronne’s list, fos. 1–5: 1 For some detail see M. G. Mancel, Notice sur la Bibliothèque de Caen (Caen: Le Roy, 1840); Gaston Lavalley, Catalogue des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque municipale de Caen (Caen, 1880).

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appendix Biblia Hebraica in 8, Aurel Allobr. 1609 Divinae Scripturae omnia, Paris, 3V Bibliorum codex sacer, 1654 in 8 Libri Moysi, Paris, Rob. Estienne, 1544 in 4 Psalmi Davidis, lng. Syr. Leiden, 1625 in 4 Concordantiae Hebraicae, Basel 1581 Scholastica historia, Peter Comestor, Strasbourg, 1515 in 4 Decapla in Psalmos, London 1639 J. Morin Exercit. eccles., Paris 1631 Exegesis dict. hebr. Isnae, 1641 Geographia Sacra, 1646 Gabriel Abaspinaei, de veter. Eccles. . . . Paris 1623 Disputatio de supposito, L. Frant. 1645 in 8 Epistolae genuinae St. Ignatii, 1646 Clementis Rom. epitome graece. Paris 1555 S. Eustachii comment. Lugdun. 1629 Origenis contra Cels., Cantabr. 1658 Eusebii Pamphil. Paris, R. Estienne, 1544 Gregor. Nysseni, Lutet., R. Estienne 1606 Tertullianus, Lutet. 1613 Arnobius, Leiden 1651 in 4 [. . .] S. Augustini opera, Basel, 1556, 7v [. . .] Mosis Maimonidis de idolat. Amst. 1641 J. Buxtorf Synagoga Judaica, Basel 1641 P. Cunaeus, De Republica Hebraeorum Compendium histo. Leiden 1640 [. . .] Chronologia sacra, G. Worsitio Leiden 1644 in 4 Strabonis Geographia, 1620 Stephnus de Urbibus, Basel 1568 Dionys. Alexander, R. Estienne, 1577 in 4 Voss. in Mel[a] hag. com. 1658, sent by to him Salmas[ius] in Solin[us] [. . .] Geographia nubiensis Ortelius Thes. Geog. Theartum Terrae Sanctae, Adrichom, Colon Agr. 1628, in f Itinerar. B. Tudelae Philostorg. ed. Godefroy Josephus, ed. Munster, Basel 1541 De Bello Judaico, Colon. 1555 Herodotus, Genev. 1618 Xenophon, Basel, 1555 Diodorus Siculus, Estienne 1559 Arrianus, H. Estienne, 1575 [. . .]

extant manuscripts of samuel bochart Hist. Saracenica, Leiden, 1625 [. . .] J. G. Voss De hist. Lat Platonis op. Basel 1534 Aristotelis de mundo 1580 Hippocratis op. omn, Bas, 1538 Avicennae opera arab. Romae 1593 Pedacii anazarbi de mat medica 1529 G. Agricolae Subterran. Basel 1546 Theophrast. Leiden 1613 [. . .] Buxtorf, mis. epist. hebraica, Basel 1613 [. . .] Buxtorf, Lexicon hebraic. et Chald. Basel 1616 —Lex. Chald. et Syr. Basel 1622 T. Erpenii rudim. L. Arab. Leid. 1620 J. Golius lex. arab. lat. Leid. 1653 [. . .] Etymolog. Magn. et. Sylb. 1594 Meursius, Gloss. Graec. Barbar. Leiden 1614 Hesychius, 1521 [. . .] Menage Origines de la langue, Par. 1650 Quintil. Orat.. Venet. 1493 Aristid. Oration. 1604 Theodoret, , 1604 Florilegium Grac. . . . 1604 Homeri op. Basel 1541 in 4 Eustachii comm. Basel 1541 [. . .] Eschyli Trag. H. Steph. 1557 [. . .] Isaaci Cas. in Athen. animadv. Lyon, 1612 Mart. Capella, Basel, 1532 [. . .] Sam. Petit, miscell. Paris 1630 Petron. Par. 1601 J. Stab. Sententiae. 1543 D. Erasmi Adagia, Basel 1539 [. . .] Scaliger, epist. leiden 1627 Casaubon hag. com. 1638 Bouteroue Memoires Par. 1666 Scylacis periplus, 1639 [. . .] Antiq. Roman. corpus, Demstero, Gen. 1620 Ciceronis op. lugd. 1588

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appendix Ms. n.a.f. 2488–2489

Two volumes of drafts, letters and notes, parts of which have been published in Bochart’s Opera omnia, 1692. See description in Eugène and Émile Haag, La France protestante, ed. H. Bordier, 2 ed., 6 vols. (Paris: Société de l’histoire du protestantisme français, 1877), s.v. Ms. Fr. 3930 Fos. 395–405: Letters to Claude de Saumaise. Ms. fr. 24934 An eighteenth-century abridgement of Bochart’s Hierozoïcon and Geographia sacra. Ms. gr. supp. 411 “De loco paradisi terrestris diatribe” and early Greek and Latin poems. Ms. fr. 892 A short biographical sketch of Bochart in a collection of lives and portraits of learned men. BHPF, Paris Ms. 11 v. 7 Research notes on Bochart’s family, collected in the nineteenth century by Emile Lesens. Ms. 756/1 F. 43, Bochart’s autograph letter to Pellisson, 16 July 1666, Caen. Ms. 1640 A collection of sermons, drafts, letters, and historical-philological notes. Ms. 759/1 Fos. 82–88: Four letters by Bochart and nineteenth-century research notes by L. D. Paumier.

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Ms. 388/1–2 Reading notes by Philippe Le Noir de Crevain, including abridgements of Bochart’s Geographia sacra and Hierozoïcon.2 BMC, Caen See full listing of manuscripts owned by Bochart in Catalogue général des manuscrits des bibliothèques publiques de France (Paris, 1890) XIV. Rés C 162/1–2 Bochart’s own copy of the Geographia sacra, with added manuscript notes. Rés FN C 445 Pierre-Daniel Huet’s copy of the Geographia sacra, with ample annotation. Ms. 241 in 4o 205, 243 in 4o 206 Nineteenth-century copies of letters between Huet and Bochart. Originals are at the Bibl. Medicea Laurenziana, Ashburnham collection, and the BN. Ms. 198 (234 in 4o 5) Excerpts from Qāmūs of Hamza, with Latin translation. Ms. 199 (235 in 4o 6) Various notes taken during Bochart’s stay in Stockholm. Ms. 236 in 8o 1 A printed copy of Johannes Buxtorf, Manuale hebraicum (Basel, 1613) with Bochart’s annotations. 2

See Philip Benedict, “The owl of Minerva at dusk: Philippe Le Noir de Crevain, a pastor-historian under Louis XIV,” in The Faith and Fortunes of France’s Huguenots, 1600–85, ch. 8 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001) [Also published in Bulletin de la Société de l’histoire du protestantisme français 146 (2000): 335–66.]

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appendix Ms. 341 (150 in 4o 103)

F. 6, abjuration of Bochart’s servant, 1642. Ms. 51 (382 in 8o 26) A collection containing Proverbiorum arabicorum centuriae duae, Cum interpretatione Latina et scholiis I. Scaligeri . . . et Thomae Erpenii, 2 ed. (Leiden: Erpenius, 1623); Proverbia quaedam Alis, Imperatoris Muslimici et carmen Tograi, Poetae doctis nec non Dissertatio quaedam Aben Sinae (Leiden: Bonaventura and Elzevir, 1629). Bochart annotated and translated many passages on interleaved pages. The volume also contains printed Hebrew biblical commentaries (Paris, 1620) and a manuscript fragment of the Koran. Ms. 9 (231 in fol. 11) “De loco paradisi terrestris,” working copy, with an unfinished map. Ms. 10 (232 in 4o 14) “Paradisus, sive de loco paradisi diatribe,” autograph. Ms. 11 (233 in 4o 15) Copy of parts of the previous. Ms. 130 (237 in folio 27) Unfinished treatise on practical geometry, autograph. Ms. 72 (387 in 8o 41) “Politicae universae ratio, e Europaeorum populorum consuetudine descripta, authore Thoma Dempstero, Lutetiae Parisiorum, 1613.” Collection Mancel, Musée des Beaux Arts, Caen Ms. 246 (101) Autograph letter of P.-D. Huet to Bochart (Caen, 10 March 1667). See April Shelford, “Amitié et animosité dans la république des lettres: la querelle entre Bochart et Huet,” in Pierre-Daniel Huet (1630–1721), Actes

extant manuscripts of samuel bochart

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du colloque de Caen (12–13 Novembre 1993), ed. Suzanne Guellouz, 99–108 (Paris: Papers on French Seventeenth Century Literature, 1994). Ms. 92 (98) F. 131: Dr. Gosseaume, “Notice du ms. de S. Bochart, sur la situation du Paradis terrestre” (nineteenth century). F. 137: Abbé de la Rue, “Analyse de cinq sermons de Mr Bochart, qui n’ont pas été imprimés”. F. 147: “Lettre de Mr de Colleville touchant le Paradis terrestre à Mgr l’évêque d’Avaranche, 22 Juillet 1698.” (copied by Abbé de la Rue). Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, Paris Ms. 4116, Ms. 5423, Ms. 5426, Ms. 5420 Recueil Contrart: Various works and letters by Bochart, copied in the seventeenth century. BL, London Ms. Add 22,905 Fos. 2, 60: Original letters to Samuel Clarke, D. D., Professor of Oriental Languages at Oxford, 1656–73. Ms. Burney 362 Papers of Meric Casaubon. Fos. 58–69v, 70–73v: Letters from Bochart to Meric Casaubon. Ms. Burney 369 Papers of Meric Casaubon. Fos. 22–25: Letter from Bochart to M. Casaubon. Ms. Burney 406 Poems by Peter Du Moulin, son of Pierre. Three poems dedicated to or praising Bochart.

278

appendix Bodleian Library, Oxford Ms. D’Orville 468–471

Copies of letters to Isaac Vossius, 1637–89. The originals are in Amsterdam. See below. Ms. Wood E. 5 F. 86: Record of Bochart’s entry to the Bodleian. Newberry Library, Chicago *Case Ms. 5012 Three letters to and from Bochart, 1662–66. Leiden University Library PAP 1b, PAP 2, PAP 15, BPL 293 B, BPL 282, BUR F 9, BUR F 11, BUR Q 22 2 Letters between Bochart and others (Isaac Vossius, Ph. Diodati, E. Morin, Godefroy Hotton, Christina of Sweden, etc.). BPL 2753 William Bedwell’s Album amicorum, containing Bochart’s entry, f. 89v. Bochartiana A collection of personal papers relating to Bochart (passports, birth certificate, etc.). University of Amsterdam Library Ms. III E 8, III E 9, III E 10, D 62 a–f, VI F 28, VI F 29 Autograph letters from Bochart to Isaac Vossius.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Manuscript Sources and Annotated Books Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, Paris Ms. 4116 (Bochart, “Hisoria Gallorum veterum,” seventeenth-century copy) Ms. 5420 (Bochart to Cappel, Caen 13 June 1650, seventeenth-century copy) Bibliothèque de la Société de l’histoire du protestantisme français, Paris Ms. 1640 (Miscellaneous papers of Bochart) Bibliothèque municipale de Caen Ms. 130 (237 in folio 27) (Bochart, “Traité de géometrie.”) Ms. 51 (382 in 8o 26) (miscellany of annotated books and manuscript fragments, see Appendix) Rés. FN C 445 (Huet’s annotated copy of Bochart’s Geographia sacra, 1646) Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris Ms. fr. 24934 (Abregé de Bochart) Ms. n.a.f. 2488 (Papiers de Samuel Bochart v. 1) Ms. n.a.f. 2489 (Papiers de Samuel Bochart v. 2) Ms. Fr. 3930 (Bochart to Saumaise, 6 December [1647]) Ms. Gr. supp. 411 (Bochart, “De loco Paradisi Terrestris diatribe”) Ms. Gr. Supp. 1005 (nineteenth-century list of Bochart’s annotated books) Bodleian Library, Oxford Bodley Ms. Wood E. 5 (register of foreign students admitted to the library) Bodley Ms. D’Orville 471 (Bochart to Vossius, Caen, 14 July 1661) Bodley E 2.8 Art. Seld., Jacques Bongars, Gesta Dei per Francos, 2 vols. (Hanover: Wechel, 1611), containing manuscript ‘letter to the reader’ by William Walker, attached opposite sig (a)6v Bodley 8o Z 40(3) Th. Seld., Claude de Saumaise, Amici ad amicum, with William Camden’s notes British Library, London Ms. Add. 22,905 (Bochart to Samuel Clarke, Caen, 22 September 1656) Ms. Burney 362 (Bochart to Meric Casaubon, undated) Ms. Add. 33,566 (Vincenzo Fava, “Relatione del Viaggio di Gerusalemme”) Jewish National and University Library, Jerusalem MS Yahuda 16.1, 17.2 (Newton’s writings on gentile theology) Leiden University Library Ms. BPL 2753 (William Bedwell’s Album Amicorum)

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INDEX Note: Italic numbers refer to figures. Abel, Leonardo 104 n. 96 Abraham 55, 184 Acosta, José de 62 Acquisiti, Marsilio 107 n. 103 Acre 37, 75, 88, 97 Adam 169 n. 77, 176 n. 101, 178 n. 111 Adamnan (adomnan) of Iona 100 n. 87, 116, 267 Adriatic Sea 90, 95 Adrichem, Christian Kruik van 14 n. 33, 21, 49, 52 n. 55, 104 n. 98, 127 n. 153, 130 n. 155, 133–34, 260, 262, 268 Aegean Sea 12, 88, 95 Aeneas 167 n. 70, 183 Aethiopia (Ethiopia) 11, 74 n. 2 Africa 74 n. 2, 118 n. 116, 186, 240, 245 Roman province of 242 Agustín, Antonio 36 Alaric I 217 n. 33 Alberti, Leandro 11 Alberti, Leon Battista 12, 69, 116 Alcalà de Henares 23 n. 2, 117 Alcarotti, Giovanni Francesco 78 Aldrete, Bernardo 183 Aleandro, Girolamo (the Younger) 170, 220–24, 226–29, 238 Aleppo 104 n. 96 Alexander of Cappadocia 96 Alexander the Great 69 Alexander V 208 Alexander VI 208 Alexander VII 229 Alexandria 216–18, 267 Al-Gamri, Sarkis (Sergius) 141, 159–60, 164 Al-Idrīsī 104 Alphonsi, Pedro 90 Amana, Sixtinus 171 n. 82 America 54, 192 n. 144 Amico, Bernardino (of Gallipoli) 19, 40 n. 41, 74, 103–34, 139 Trattato delle piante & imagini de sacri edificii di Terra Santa 19, 40 n. 41, 104–5, 106, 107, 109–110,

111, 112, 115, 122, 125, 128–29, 130 n. 155 Amsterdam 176 n. 100, 234 n. 81, 239 n. 88, 266, 278 Amyraut, Moïse 150 Angeli, Jacopo 208 Angelis, Antonio de, of Lecce 127–28, 130, 132 Angle, Maximilian de l’ 155 n. 32, 161 Annius of Viterbo 178 Antioch 216, 218 antiquarianism, antiquarians 9, 11–14, 18–20, 27, 31–39, 46–47, 55, 65–66, 69–71, 74, 88–89, 95, 107, 118, 120, 123 n. 143, 125, 133–34, 139, 152, 211–15, 220, 229–30, 256, 259, 262–64, 267 Antwerp 18, 28, 30 n. 11, 39 n. 39, 57 n. 72, 101 n. 89, 233, 260 Antwerp Polyglot Bible (Biblia Regia) 23–71, 73, 185, 263 Apian, Peter 58 Aquaviva, Claudio 220 n. 45 Arabia 11, 186, 202 Aramon, Gabriel d’ (Gabriel de Luetz) 84 n. 36 Aranda, Antonio de 117 architecture 2, 18–19, 31, 33, 36, 39, 40 n. 41, 47, 60, 63–69, 105, 107, 112, 114, 116, 121, 123, 126, 132, 215 Arculf (Bishop) 87, 100 n. 87, 116, 267 Arias Montano, Benito 6, 9, 13, 14 n. 33, 18–19, 23–70, 73, 103, 107, 118, 120, 127, 185–87, 205, 255–56, 259–60, 262, 263, 267, 269 Antiquitatum Iudaicarum libri IX 33, 34, 35, 38, 68, 267 Apparatus Sacer 18, 25, 27, 30–31, 33, 36, 37 n. 34, 47, 53 n. 61, 55, 73, 185, 263 Chaleb 47, 51, 52, 54, 57 Chanaan 19, 47, 50, 53, 185, 259 Exemplar 47, 48, 64–65, 67–68 Humanae Salutis Monumenta 55, 56, 57 Phaleg 58, 59, 60, 184–85, 259

310

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Aristeas 267 Aristotle 150 n. 17, 271 Armenia 10 Artis, Jean d’ 223 n. 56 Asher 262 n. 7 Asia 9 n. 18, 85, 181 n. 116, 242 Assur (Assyria) 11 Athens 98 n. 82 Atlantic Ocean 185 Augustine, Saint 8, 9 n. 17, 66, 242 Auzoles, Jacques d’, Sieur de Lapeyre 173, 174 Avicenna 186 Avranches 147 n. 11, 238 Ayala, Martín Peréz de 23 Baal Haturim 175 n. 99 Babylon (Babel) 10, 167, 171 n. 83, 176–77 Bacchus 178–79 Badajos 43 n. 45 Baillehache, Jean de 157 n. 41 Baldwin I 108 Balkan 78 Barberini, Francesco (cardinal) 220 n. 45, 241 n. 92 Barnabas, Saint 146 n. 8 Baronio, Cesare (cardinal) 216–18, 220, 227, 241, 251 Baudouin, François 61 n. 80 Bavaria 95 n. 73, 210 Bayle, Pierre 19 n. 44, 149 n. 12, 219 n. 41 Bedwell, William 152, 153, 278 Beer-Sheva 46 Behemoth (Enoch) 173 Beins, Jean de 232, 256 Bellarmine, Robert (cardinal) 173, 220 Belon, Pierre 49 n. 54 Benigno of Genova 125, 229 n. 67 Benjamin of Tudela 62, 63 n. 68, 272 Bergamo 230 Berghes, Maximilian de 30 n. 12 Bernard of Clairvaux 249 Bernard, Jean-Frédéric 201 n. 172 Bertier, Louis 84 Bertius, Petrus 7 Bescapè, Carlo 230 Bessarion, Basilios (Cardinal) 208 Bethlehem 46, 84, 105, 107, 110, 111, 114, 120–21, 122 Beveridge, William 223 n. 56 Beverslhuys, Suzanne de 154

Bèze, Théodore de 197 n. 164, 198 n. 165 Bezoar Stones 41, 69 Bible, see Scripture Biblical scholarship 5–10, 18, 27, 30–31, 55, 196, 200, 259, 270 Bignon, Jérôme 162 Bigot, Emery 213 n. 21 Biondo, Flavio 36 Black Sea 186 Blaeu (firm) 251 n. 113 Bochart, Esther 154 Bochart, René 151 Bochart, Samuel 6, 13, 14 n. 33, 19, 21, 62, 80, 81 n. 24, 102, 139, 141–203, 205, 213 n. 21, 219 n. 42, 255, 259–78 Chanaan 19, 156 n. 37, 167, 176 n. 101, 180–92, 202, 259 Geographia Sacra 14 n. 33, 19, 141–203, 205, 207, 213 n. 21, 238–39, 255, 259–60, 264, 266, 270–71, 274–75 Hierozoïcon 145, 146 n. 9, 148, 152 n. 27, 154, 158, 173 n. 93, 190 n. 136, 197 n. 162, 199 n. 167, 274 Opera Omnia 143, 147, 148, 179, 189, 200 Phaleg 19, 161 n. 54, 167–68, 169 n. 77, 177–81, 184–85, 191, 197 nn. 161–62, 199, 200 n. 168, 259, 267 Sermons 154, 168–73, 184, 203, 274, 277 Bodin, Jean 61 n. 80 Bolland (Bollandus), Jean 241–42 Bologna 116 Bonfrère, Jacques 9, 14 n. 33, 21, 259, 268–69 Bongars, Jacques 97 Boniface of Ragusa (Bonifacius Stephanus) 107, 134 n. 167 Borromeo, Carlo (saint) 230 Borromeo, Federico 230 Bosc, Pierre du 143, 147 n. 11, 169 n. 78 Bosio, Antonio 134, 138 Botero, Giovanni 208 Boulliau, Ismaël 146 n. 8, 162 Braun, Georg 57 Breuning, Hans Jacob 101 Breydenbach, Bernhard von 75 n. 7, 90, 92, 102, 112, 121, 267

index Bridou, Jacques 157 n. 41 Britain 183, 194 British Isles 194, 214 Browne, Thomas 194 Bruzen de La Martinière, Antoine-Augustine 201 n. 172 Bünting, Heinrich 9 n. 20, 101–2, 133 Buondelmonti, Christoforo 12, 88–89 Burchard of Mount Sion 10, 102, 131 Busbecq, Ogier Ghiselin de 127 n. 151 Buxtorf, Johannes 191, 197 n. 164, 198, 275 Caen 19, 80, 81 n. 25, 139, 141, 143, 145 n. 5, 147, 151, 154–66, 195, 271 Caesar, Julius 43 n. 45, 194 Caiaphas 101 Cainan 170 Cairo 17, 78 n. 17, 84, 93, 94, 105, 107, 118 Callot, Jacques 105 Calmet, Antoine Augustin (Dom) 269 Calvary 81, 117–18, 131–33, 135, 139 Calvin, Jean 1, 54, 96–98, 168 n. 73 Calvinism 28, 33, 155, 249 n. 109 Cambrai 30 n. 12 Cambridge 97 n. 77, 194 Camden, William 12, 194, 219 n. 41, 263 Cameron, John 151, 152 n. 23 Canaan 4, 25, 26 n. 6, 36, 49 n. 54, 50, 52–54, 58, 178, 181, 184, 191 n. 141, 259, 262, 268 n. 23 Canisius, Petrus 169 n. 75 Capelle, Pierre 141 Cappel, Louis 150–51, 154–55, 159–60, 163 n. 61, 168 n. 73, 170, 171 n. 82, 173, 175, 193, 197 n. 64, 198, 201 Cappelli, Marcantonio 223 n. 56 Cardonnel, Pierre de 141–42, 145, 146 n. 9, 154 n. 29, 159–61, 162 n. 56, 164, 167, 170 n. 80, 172 n. 88, 190 n. 136, 193 n. 148 Cartari, Vincenzo 62 n. 85 Cartaro, Mario 127 Casaubon, Isaac 216–18, 227 Casaubon, Meric 154, 175 n. 99, 277 Casola, Pietro 75 Castelio, Sebastian 200 n. 168 Castro, Francesco de 105 Castro, Leon de 32 Catherine, Saint (tomb of) 85

311

Cecconcelli, Pietro 105, 106, 111, 115, 122, 128–29 Cecil, Robert 97 n. 77 Celtiberia 43 n. 45 centesimum 219, 224, 226, 239 Ceylon (Ceylan, Taprobana) 17, 162 n. 57, 182, 186–87, 188–89 Cham 162 n. 59 Charan 11 Charles II 154 China 19, 40–41, 103, 187 Christina of Sweden 147, 154, 156 n. 35, 190, 278 Chrysoloras, Manuel 88 Church of St. Sebastian 134 Church of the Nativity 110, 111, 114, 121, 122, 125 Chus 178 Cicero, Marcus Tullius 92, 93 n. 65 Ciriac of Ancona 88 Cisneros, Francisco Jiménez de (cardinal) 28 Clarke, Samuel 154, 190, 277, 279 Clement VIII 229 Clough, Richard 101 Clüver, Philipp (Cluverius) 241 n. 92 Colloredo, Leandro (cardinal) 247 Colocci, Angelo 12, 37 Colomiès, Paul 147 n. 10 Columbus, Christopher 61, 185, 262 n. 9 Complutensian Bible 28, 31 Contarini, Agostino 75, 90 Coppin, Jean 84 Cotovicus, Johannes 92 n. 64 Cotton, Robert 12 Council of Nicaea 216, 218, 239 Cramoisy (Gabriel and Sébastien, printers) 145 n. 7, 170 n. 80, 227 Cruciger, Caspar 70 n. 105 Cuningham, William 10 curiosity, see devout curiosity Cyprus 89 Damascus 46, 78 n. 17, 80, 178 Damietta 84 Daneau, Lambert 60 Danti, Egnazio 209, 211 Della Valle, Pietro 85–86, 99 Dempster, Thomas 151, 276 Descartes, René 147, 162 devout curiosity 12–13, 73, 82–89, 92, 95, 99, 102–3, 107, 120–21, 125–27,

312

index

131–33, 139, 141, 160, 226, 229, 232, 270 Dieu, Louis de 171 n. 82 Dijon 156 n. 36, 222 Dinocrates 69 Diodorus Siculus 150 n. 17, 271 Dome of the Rock 110 Douai 214 Doujat, Jean 239–40, 242 Drusius, Johannes 162 Dugdale, William 215 Du Moulin, Esther 151 Du Moulin, Joachim 151 Du Moulin, Marie 152 n. 25 Du Moulin, Peter 277 Du Moulin, Pierre 151, 154–58, 160, 277 Earth 18, 58, 145, 171, 178, 186, 206–8, 210, 221, 255 Eden 10 n. 20, 168 n. 73, 172, 175 Edicule (of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher) 112, 115, 123 Edwards, John 196 Egypt (Aegyptus) 11, 52, 57 n. 71, 62 n. 85, 87, 97, 105, 216–17, 248 n. 105, 268–69 Elizabeth I 214 England 5 n. 8, 95, 97 n. 77, 151–52, 154, 164 n. 63, 193, 214–15, 240, 256, 260 Erasmianism 7, 32, 170 Erasmus 8, 9 n. 17, 11, 32 n. 17, 64, 95 n. 72, 97, 133, 259 Erpenius, Thomas 152, 160, 276 Esdras (Ezra) 172–73, 174, 175 n. 99 Estienne, Robert 9, 31 nn. 15–16, 141 Euphrates 168 n. 73 Eupolemus 186 Europe 2–3, 7 n. 12, 12–13, 15, 18, 21, 25, 73, 76, 78, 80, 87, 90, 95, 110, 116, 133, 152, 156, 190, 194, 209 n. 13, 210, 215, 229, 239, 242, 255, 259, 269–70 Eusebius of Caesarea 3–4, 6, 18–21, 36, 73, 96, 142, 181, 186, 213, 216, 217 n. 33, 259, 266 n. 13, 267–69 Onomasticon 3, 20–21, 259, 267 Eutropius 238 Exeter 215 Exodus (book) 54, 248 of the Israelites 26 n. 6, 52 Extremadura 46 Ezekiel 4, 47 n. 53, 52 n. 56, 64

Fabricius, Georg 46 n. 50 Family of Love 25, 26 n. 4, 32 Farnese, Duarte 126 n. 148 Fava, Vincenzo 78, 94, 113, 118 n. 133, 119 Fer, Nicolas de 248 Ferrarius, Philippus 251, 254 n. 114 Feyerabend, Sigmund 96 Florence 69, 105, 116, 209 Fontana, Vincenzo Maria 246 n. 96 France 80 n. 23, 86, 97 n. 77, 121, 147 n. 11, 152, 155, 156 n. 37, 166 n. 66, 210, 229 n. 67, 230, 232–33, 238, 240, 249, 256, 262 Fregenal de la Sierra 53 Froschauer, Christoph 26 n. 6, 96 n. 74 Fulc of Chartres 97 Fuller, Nicholas 162 Fuller, Thomas 7, 21, 101, 194, 260–65 Pisgah-Sight of Palestine 194, 260, 261, 263–65 Fürer, Christoph 78, 101 Gale, Theophilus 195 Galilei, Galileo 171 Galland, Alfred 149 Galle, Philip 24, 41 n. 43, 57 n. 72 Galleria delle carte geografiche 27, 211, 241 n. 92 Gallicano, Vicente de 125 Gassendi, Pierre 223 Genesis 4, 19, 58, 142, 163, 167–69, 172–73, 176–77, 191 n. 139, 203, 260, 268 Geneva 1, 20, 60, 141, 194 n. 149, 212, 218 n. 40 Geneva Bible 14 n. 33, 26 n. 6, 32 n. 17 Genoa 89 Germany 54 n. 64, 80 n. 23, 116, 240 Gibbon, Edward 216, 219 Gibbon, Richard 214 Gilles, Peter 127 n. 151 Giza 262 Glastonbury 99 Gloucester 214 God 10, 30, 37, 53, 54 n. 64, 60, 65, 66 n. 97, 109, 170–71, 176, 184, 203, 209, 221, 230 Godefroy, Denis 218 n. 40 Godefroy, Jacques 20, 156 n. 35, 194 n. 149, 218–24, 225, 226–29, 238–40 Conjectura de suburbicariis regionibus et ecclesiis 218–20, 222, 223 n. 56, 224, 225

index

313

Godfrey of Bouillon 108 Godwin, Francis 215 Gosselin, Antoine 183 Granvelle, Antoine Perrenot de (Cardinal) 55 n. 69 Greaves, John 127 n. 151 Greece 195 Greenland 185 n. 130 Gregory the Great 239 Gregory XIII 32, 209, 229, 251 Gregory XIV 125 Grentesmesnil, Paulmier de 157 n. 42 Gresham, Thomas 101 Gretser, Jacob 98 n. 82, 100–101, 120, 267 n. 19 Grotius, Hugo 156 n. 35, 157, 158 n. 44 Guibert de Nogent 97 Guillebert, Georges 151 n. 18 Guyots, Antoine des 152 n. 25

107, 109–110, 120–21, 123, 125–27, 130, 132, 134, 139, 142, 205, 211, 234, 259–60, 262, 265–66 Holy Manger 105, 112 n. 114, 121, 122 Holy Sepulcher (and Church of the Holy Sepulcher) 12, 18, 46, 77 n. 15, 78, 85–86, 99–102, 105, 109 n. 108, 110, 112, 114, 115, 116, 121, 133 Homer 93 Hondius, Jodocus 251 n. 113 Honter, Johann 7, 58 Hormuz 104 n. 96 Hospitallers 89 Huet, Pierre-Daniel 13 n. 29, 80, 81 n. 25, 147 n. 11, 150, 155, 168 n. 72, 178, 185 n. 130, 202, 251 n. 111, 275–76 Hugh of St. Victor 66 Hunaeus, Augustinus 60

Hadrian (Hadrianus) 80 n. 24, 131 Hagia Sophia 118 Hague 156 Hanna (St. Anne) 101, 133 Hannibal 183 n. 122 Haren, Frans van (Haraeus) 233, 234 n. 80 Harff, Arnold von 74 Harpsfield, Nicholas 214 Havila 168 n. 73 Hebraism 11 Heidelberg 218 n. 40 Heinrich IV 95 Heinsius, Daniel 171 n. 82 Heinsius, Nicolaus 156 Henry VIII 214–15 Herbert, Thomas 202 Herod 101 Herodotus 35, 268 n. 23 Herrera, Thoma de 246 Hersonita, Johannes 104 n. 95 Heylyn, Peter 7 Hipschman, Sigmund Gabriel 182 Hiram 186 Hobbes, Thomas 162, 173 n. 93 Hogenberg, Frans 57 Holland 161 Holsten, Lucas 100 n. 87, 239 n. 88, 241, 266 n. 13, 269 Holy Land 1, 6, 10–12, 14 n. 33, 15, 17–19, 21, 26, 36, 43, 46–47, 53, 55, 70–71, 73, 75 n. 7, 76, 79, 81 n. 27, 88, 89 n. 55, 90, 93, 95–97, 100, 102–5,

Illyria 239 Illyricus, Matthias Flacius 216 images, see maps, meditation, visualization India 74, 87 n. 45, 142, 186, 221 Innocent III 222 Inter Caetera 208 Ireland 195 Isolario 88–90, 93 Istanbul (Constantinople) 25, 63 n. 88, 76, 118 Italy 8, 11, 26, 76, 83 n. 33, 88, 95, 105, 121, 130 n. 153, 183, 207, 211, 219–20, 227, 239–40, 241 n. 92, 247 Iulia Concordia 216 n. 33 Jacob 186 Jacques de Vitry 90, 97 Jaffa 46, 78, 93 Jaillot, Alexis Hubert 248 Jannon, Jean 141, 142 n. 2, 154 n. 31, 160, 164 Janus 178 Japheth 60, 162 n. 59 Jerome, Saint 4 n. 5, 198 n. 165, 216 n. 33, 267 image of 121, 122 “room of ” 105 Jerusalem, see also Temple 3–4, 12–14, 18, 21, 26 n. 5, 36, 43, 45, 47, 49, 57, 64, 71, 73–141, 142, 205, 211, 242, 267 Jesuits (Society of Jesus) 8, 14 n. 33, 20, 64, 80, 98, 120, 154, 169 n. 75, 178

314

index

n. 111, 211 n. 16, 220, 230, 238, 242, 247 n. 102 Jesus (Christ) 7 n. 12, 8, 98, 101, 109, 110 n. 111, 121, 123, 136, 170 Tomb of 12, 101, 107 n. 104, 112, 115, 123, 134, 135 Job (Book of) 173, 186 Jordan (river) 46 Josephus 35, 127, 129, 130–31, 184, 267 Joshua 47, 181, 185, 268–69 Book of 4, 36, 52 n. 56, 54 n. 66, 55, 175 n. 99 Jubrien, Jean 232 n. 73 Judea 3, 21, 70, 175 n. 99, 266–67, 268 n. 23 Junius, Franciscus 173 Justinian I 240 Ketzel, Martin 117 Kircher, Athanasius 246 n. 96 Kiryat Yearim 52 Kopystens’kyj, Zaxarija 218 Koran 93 n. 68, 145 n. 5, 276 Krevza, Lev 218 Kush 168 n. 73 Laickstein, Peter 43, 44–45, 47, 73, 100 n. 88, 133 Lambertinis, Caspar Jongelinus de 246 n. 96 Langres 233 Languedoc 146 n. 8 Laon 230 La Peyrère, Isaac de 13, 20, 184–85, 203 La Rochelle 151 La Salle, L. de, Fr. 250 Latium 219 Lauda, Paolo a (di Lodi) 77, 125 Lebanon 160 Le Clerc, Jean 21, 197–201, 266–69 Le Fèvre de la Boderie, Guy and Nicolas (brothers) 30 Legras, Charles 230 Leiden 33, 151–52, 154, 156, 166–67, 185 n. 131, 276 Le Mans 230 Le Noir, Philippe de Crevain 190 n. 136, 275 Lepanto 90 Lesieur, Stephan 97 n. 77 Le Sueur de Colleville, Samuel 147 n. 11, 169 n. 77, 277

Letronne, Jean Antoine 271 Le Vacher, Noël 230–32 Levant 37 n. 34, 73, 78, 80, 82–84, 86, 87 n. 45, 92 n. 61, 95, 98, 127 n. 151 Leviathan 173 Libya 216, 248 n. 105 Ligorio, Pirro 12 Lily, George 214 Lipsius, Justus 30 n. 11 Livy 33, 170, 228 Llwyd, Humphrey 101 n. 89 London 154, 249 n. 109 London Polyglot Bible 14 n. 33, 47 n. 53, 171 n. 82 Longueville, Duc de (Henri II d’Orléans) 155 Louis XIII 151 Louis XIV 147 n. 11 Louvain 30, 60 Low Countries 25 n. 2, 116, 117 n. 127 Lower Brittany 199 Loyer, Pierre le 163–64 Loyola, Ignatius, Saint 57, 81 Lubin, Augustin 5, 20–21, 206–7, 210–11, 228–29, 232–33, 239 n. 88, 240–42, 243–45, 246–51, 252–53, 254–55, 260, 268–69 Martyrologium Romanum 240, 251, 252–53, 254 Mercure géographique 206, 228–29, 239 n. 88, 246–48, 251 Lucretius 39 Luther, Martin 26 n. 6, 54, 70, 95–98 Lyon 1, 208 n. 7 Magdalena, Maria (wife of Cosimo II) 105 n. 101 Magdeburg Centuries 213, 216–17 Magog 178 Maimonides 265 Mainz 90 Mandelli, Giovanni di 41 n. 43, 89 Mandeville, John 87, 90 n. 61, 92, 267 Manetti, Gianozzo 69 Mantua 123 maps in bibles and bible study 4, 8–9, 14–18, 23–71, 96 n. 74, 170–71, 173, 187 early modern discourses on 5, 17, 224–29 and pilgrimage 88, 97, 100 n. 88, 119–21, 127–33 monastic 20, 107, 210, 242–49

index Jerusalem 3–4, 12, 18, 26 n. 5, 43–47, 55–57, 64, 88, 97, 101, 104 n. 98, 120–21, 127–33, 211, 267 ecclesiastical 6, 13–14, 20–21, 205–57 world 15, 58, 59, 60–63, 97, 208–9 Holy Land 1, 4 n. 6, 6, 12, 15, 26, 36, 47–57, 70, 88–90, 97, 100, 120, 142, 234, 260, 262–65 Marguerite of Austria 105 n. 101 Mariana, Juan de 32 n. 18 Marseilles 76 Marsham, John 196 Mary (virgin) 121, 123, 210 Masius, Andreas 28, 30, 198 n. 165 Masorah 198 Matamoro, Iago Vasquez 45–47, 57, 73, 118, 120 Matarea 107 Mather, Cotton 190 n. 138 measures, measurement 10, 12–13, 19, 33, 36–37, 53, 65–66, 70, 88, 103–39, 177, 264, 267–68 Medici, Cosimo de (Cosimo II) 105 n. 101 Medici, Ferdinando de (cardinal) 103 meditation and images 13, 52 n. 55, 55, 81, 117–18 Mediterranean 6, 75–76, 86, 88–90, 92, 95, 181, 239 Melanchthon, Philipp 7, 54, 70, 213 Mercator, Gerard 7, 39, 40 n. 39, 214, 251 Mercury 178 Mersenne, Marin 146 n. 8, 162–64, 190–91 Mesopotamia 11, 52 Meule, Kilian 98 n. 82 Michaelis, Johann David 202 Midrash 37, 66 n. 97 Milan 230 n. 71 Mire, Aubert le (Miraeus) 233–34, 235–37, 238, 240–41 Moab 52 Mochus (Moschus) 195 Moisant de Brieux, Jacques 155, 183 n. 121 Moncalieri, Giovanni da 246 Montesquieu (Charles-Louis de Secondat) 202 More, Thomas 92 n. 61 Morin, Etienne 147, 149, 151, 168 n. 73, 169, 278 Morin, Jean 163 n. 61, 170 n. 80

315

Morley, George 167 n. 70, 169 n. 75 Mornay, Philippe de (DuplessisMornay) 151 Moscow 114 Moses 10, 61, 172, 176 n. 101, 184, 195 Mount Athos 69 Mount of Olives 113 Mount Sinai 85, 120 Mount Sion (Zion) 10, 98, 102, 132 Mountains of the Moon 74 Münster, Sebastian 7, 26, 32, 53 Nahmanides 37 Naples 127 n. 153 Navis peregrinorum 77–78 Neri, Philip, Saint 134 Netherlands 147, 201 n. 172 New Carthage 186 New England 190 n. 138 New Jerusalem monastery 114 New World 3, 5, 19, 41 n. 43, 61–62, 80, 185–87, 192, 194 n. 151, 242 Newton, Isaac 37, 195, 196 n. 158 Nicholas V 69 Nicolas, Jean 190 n. 136 Niebuhr, Karsten 202 Nikon, Patriarch 114 Nimrod 178, 179 Niniveh (Nineveh) 193 Noah (Noe) 11, 19, 21, 36, 142, 162 n. 59, 168, 170–71, 177–78, 180, 191 n. 139, 194, 260 Ark of 63–66, 67, 69 Nolin, Jean-Baptiste 249 n. 110 Nonnus 150 n. 17, 271 Norden, Robert 263 Normandy 139, 145, 151, 152 n. 27, 155, 161 n. 53 Notre Dame de la Trappe, Abbey 248, 250 Novara 230 Nuremberg 117 Oecolampadius, Johannes 54 Ogier, Macé 230 Ononychites 226, 227 n. 60 Ophir 9, 61–62, 162, 185–87, 234, 260 Ortelius, Abraham 7, 12, 25, 28 n. 11, 39–43, 49 n. 54, 55, 58 n. 76, 62, 97, 100, 101 n. 89, 234 Theatrum orbis terrarum 7, 25, 40 n. 40, 42 Ottoman Empire 75–76, 78, 79 n. 20, 86, 90, 97, 109, 120, 125

316

index

Ovando, Juan de 39 n. 39 Ovid 93, 99 n. 84 Oxford 152, 214 Paleotti, Gabriele 209 Palestine 4 n. 5, 7, 45–46, 76, 78 n. 18, 79–80, 89–90, 105, 110, 116, 216 n. 33, 259, 266–67 Panicale, Silvestro da 246 Pannonia 240 Paolino of Venice 88 Paradise, see also Eden 9, 11, 15, 87, 157–58, 167–68, 169 n. 74, 170–71, 172 n. 86 Paris 28 n. 9, 141, 142 n. 2, 151, 156, 159, 162, 178 n. 111, 219, 220 n. 45, 222, 224, 238 n. 83, 241, 260 Paris Polyglot 28 n. 9, 40 Parma 52 n. 55 Paruta, Andrea 107 n. 103 Parvilliers, Adrien 78, 80–82, 85, 99, 117 n. 130, 139 Pascha, Jan 117–18, 267 Paul, Saint 7 n. 12, 55, 131 Paula, Saint 216 n. 33 Paulinus (Bishop of Tyre) 3 Peiresc, Nicolas Fabri de 222–24, 233 n. 78, 240 Pentapolis (Cyrenaica) 216 Pentateuch 37, 172–73, 184 Persia 87 n. 45, 103, 142, 202, 221 Persian Sea (Gulf ) 186 Peru 17, 61–62, 185–86 Petavius, Dionysius 77 n. 78 Peter the Hermit 108, 109 n. 108 Peter, Saint 7 n. 12 Basilica of 69 Peterborough 214 Petit, Samuel 156 n. 35, 183–84 Petrarch 41 n. 43, 57 n. 71, 89, 92 Petronius, Saint 116 Peucer, Kaspar 7, 10, 177 Peutinger table 97, 219 Peutinger, Konrad 12 Pfortzheim 90 Phaleg (Peleg) 142, 161 n. 54, 168 n. 72, 169 n. 77, 197 n. 161 Phasis (river) 186 Philip II 25, 28, 32, 54, 60–61 Philip III 43, 105, 108 Philo of Byblos 181 philology 6, 9, 18–19, 26–27, 32–33, 60–61, 64, 65, 69, 152, 154–56, 173, 175, 177, 186–87, 198, 200, 203, 224

Philostorgius 150 n. 17, 219 n. 42, 271 Phoenicia 181, 195 Phoenicians 19, 142, 165, 176, 180–87, 188, 190–96, 199, 202–3 Picenum Suburbicarium 219, 228 Pignoria, Lorenzo 62 n. 85 Pilate (Pontius Pilatus) 101, 110, 117 pilgrimage 3, 6, 14, 18–19, 21, 41 n. 43, 43, 55–57, 71–139, 210, 259, 267, 269 Plantin, Christophe 25, 28, 30, 31 n. 16, 32, 39, 40 n. 39, 41, 54 n. 66, 55 n. 69, 57, 260 Plantin, Magdelaine 30 n. 13 Plautus 181, 183 Pliny the Elder 187, 213, 228 Pococke, Edward 154, 193 Poland-Lithuania 218 Poloner, Johannes 117 Polybius 33 Pomponius Mela 9, 58 n. 76, 63 n. 88 Porta Vetus (Porta Iudicalis) 131, 132 n. 159 Portugal 26, 208 Postel, Guillaume 28, 30, 37 n. 34, 49 n. 54, 58, 61, 92 n. 61, 183, 185, 199–200 Proclus 176 n. 101, 180 Prometheus 178 Ptolemy 58 n. 76, 63, 74, 145, 186, 213, 228, 233, 267 Geography 1, 7–8, 53 n. 64, 58 n. 76, 90 n. 58, 207–8, 255 Purchas, Samuel 7, 82–83, 238 n. 82 Pyrenees 183 n. 122 Quaresmius, Franciscus 21, 123–25, 130, 134, 135–36, 259 Queen of Sheba 37 n. 35 Radziwil, Krzysztof Mikołaj 132 n. 159 Raimondi, Giovanni Battista 40–41, 103–5, 107, 260 Ralegh, Walter 193 Rambour, Abraham 154 Rancé, Armand Jean le Bouthillier de 249 Ranieri, Felice 104 Raphelenghius, Franciscus 30, 33, 35, 127, 185 n. 131 Rauwolf, Leonhard 96–101 Reelant, Adriaan 7 Regensburg 99, 117 n. 128 Regiomontanus 208 Reims 232 n. 73

index Renan, Ernest 201 Reuss, Edmund 149 Reuwich, Erhard 90 Rhodes 89 Ribera, Don Fadrique Enriquez de 117 n. 130, 120 Richelieu, Armand Jean du Plessis de (cardinal) 160, 238–39 Riom 220 n. 45 Rivet, André 152, 155–64, 166, 167 nn. 67, 69 Robert, Claude 241 Rocchetta, Aquilante 107 n. 103 Roman Empire 207, 219, 221 Rome 13, 19, 28 n. 11, 32, 35–36, 40–41, 46, 70, 88, 96 n. 74, 103, 104 n. 98, 105, 107, 112, 118, 126–27, 134, 138, 162, 209, 211 n. 16, 212, 214, 216–19, 220 n. 45, 221–22, 224, 229, 241 n. 92, 242, 246, 260 Rosaccio, Giuseppe 90, 91 Rosinus, Johannes 151 Ross, Alexander 172 n. 88, 193 Rossi, Azaria de 37 n. 34, 52 n. 57 Roth (Rencz), Martin 90 Rouen 141, 147 n. 11, 150–51, 155 n. 32, 156, 158, 161, 163 n. 62, 164 n. 65, 167 n. 70 Royston, Richard 193 n. 148 Ruben (Reuben), tribe of 265 Rucellai, Giovanni 116 Rufinus of Aquileia (Tyrannius Rufinus) 213, 216–19, 221 Rycaut, Paul 86 Saint-Marie, Gabriel de 232 n. 73 Saiticus 176 n. 101, 180 Salandra, Francesco della 104–5, 110 n. 111, 127, 130, 132 Sammes, Aylett 194 Sanchuniathon 181, 195 Sandys, George 99, 120, 121 n. 139 Sanson, Nicolas 175 n. 99, 232–33, 234, 239, 248, 256, 266, 268–69 Sanudo, Marin, il Torsello 88, 97 Sarrau (Sarravius), Claude 156–62, 164 nn. 64–65, 166–67, 180, 191 Saturn 162 n. 59, 177–78, 180 Saumaise (Salmasius), Claude de 156, 158, 162, 166, 167 n. 67, 191–93, 194 n. 149, 196, 219 n. 41, 222–24, 240, 262, 274 Saumur 151–52, 155, 170, 173 Saxton, Christopher 263

317

Scaliger, Joseph 62, 97 n. 78, 156, 162, 183–84, 187, 190, 197 n. 164, 198 n. 165 Schefferus, Johannes 251 n. 111 Schweigger, Salomon 93 n. 68 Scotland 214 Scripture, see also Biblical scholarship 5, 8–9, 13–14, 18, 27, 31, 35–36, 47, 54, 58, 60, 62–63, 70, 167–90, 195–98, 201, 269 literal, allegorical senses of 8, 14, 27, 53–55, 60, 62–63, 65–66, 69–70, 133, 171–73, 180, 187, 201 Sedan 151, 154, 160, 164 Segrais, Jean Regnauld de 183 n. 120 Séguier, Pierre 141–42, 145, 146 n. 8, 159, 161, 167 n. 69, 190 n. 136, 203 Selden, John 178, 183, 196, 202 Sens 233, 234 Septuagint 30, 175 Serarius, Nicholas 267 n. 19 Serlio, Sebastiano 126 Servetus, Michael 1, 53, 208 n. 7 Seven Churches of Asia 86 Seville 23 n. 2, 39, 41 n. 43, 43 n. 45, 117 n. 130 Shem (Sem) 162 n. 59, 186 Shilo 184 n. 128 Shirley, Robert 202 Sicily (Sicilia) 164, 165–66, 217 n. 33 Silenus 184 n. 128 Simon, Richard 176, 196–201, 268–69 Histoire critique du Vieux Testament 196–97, 201 Sinehar 10 Sionita, Gabriel 104 n. 95, 141, 142 n. 2, 160 Sirmond, Jacques 20, 170 n. 80, 220–22, 223 n. 56, 224, 227–28, 238–40, 260 Sixtus V 229 Smith, William Robertson 202 Smyrna (Izmir) 86 Soisson (diocese) 230, 231 Solinus 187, 262 Solomon (King) 37 n. 35, 162 n. 57, 186 gold of 9, 61, 185 Sorbière, Samuel de 162, 191 Spain 26, 30 n. 12, 41, 43, 54, 105, 108, 120–21, 142, 183, 186, 208, 240 Spanheim, Ezechiel 199 n. 167 Spanheim, Friedrich (The Younger) 21, 161 n. 54, 167, 171 n. 82, 199 n. 167, 205, 260, 268

318

index

Speed, John 52 n. 55, 214, 215 n. 27, 263 Spelman, Henry 14 n. 33, 215 Spinoza, Baruch 201 Spoleto 228 Stillingfleet, Edward 195 Stockholm 17, 154, 185 n. 130, 275 Strabo 58 n. 76, 228, 267 Suetonius 170 Sweden 147, 154–55, 156 n. 35, 190 Sylvester II 125 Synod of Dort 155 Syracuse 164 n. 64, 166 Syria 10–11, 45, 80 n. 24, 248 n. 105 Tabernacle 65–66 Tacitus, Publius Cornelius 267 Tallemant, François (the Elder) 251 n. 111 Talmud 12, 37 Tarragona 36 Tasso, Torquato 104 n. 98 Tavernier, Melchior 238 Tempesta, Antonio 104–5, 107 Temple (in Jerusalem) 3, 12, 14 n. 33, 18, 21, 36, 47, 48–49, 52 n. 56, 61, 64–65, 99 n. 83, 133, 185, 263, 267 Tertullian 177, 226, 227 n. 60, 272 Thales 195 Thebes (Egypt) 248 Theocritus 150 n. 17, 271 Thévenot, Jean de 86–87, 99 Thévenot, Melchisedech 81 n. 24, 190 n. 136 Thevet, André 49 n. 54, 84 n. 36, 93 n. 65 Thucydides 93 Thule 142, 182 Tibaldi, Pellegrino 63 Tigris (river) 168 n. 73 Torricelli, Evangelista 162 Treaty of Tordesillas 208 Trent 25, 32, 37, 52, 210 Council of 23, 37, 63 n. 88, 229 Tretter, Thomas 132 n. 159 Turkey 86 Tuscany 116 Tuscia suburbicaria 219 Twain, Mark 98 Twyne, John 183, 194 Typographia Medicea 40, 103–5

Tyre 3, 202 Tyrrhennian Sea

89

Ughelli, Ferdinando 230 Ugolini, Biagio 269 Umbria 228 Union of Brest 218 Urban VIII 229, 251 Ussher, James Archbishop

249

Vallencey, Charles 195 Vallès, Francisco 60 Varallo 116 Varro, Marcus Terentius 35–36 Vatican 13, 27, 40, 211, 221, 241 n. 92, 249 Vechietti (brothers) 104 n. 96 Venice 35, 74–77, 88, 90, 93, 95, 97, 127 n. 153 Vergil 93 Verniero, Pietro 107 n. 103, 125 Veron, François 154–56 Veronica, Saint 123, 131 Vesalius, Andreas 92, 93 n. 65 Vesconte, Pietro 88, 97 Vespasianus 132 n. 160 Via Dolorosa (Via Crucis) 86, 105 n. 100, 110, 117, 120, 123, 131 Via Salaria 134 Vialart, Charles, de St. Paul 238–39, 241, 266 n. 13, 269 Villalpando, Juan Bautista 47 n. 53, 64–65, 69, 133 Villamont, Jacques de 132 Vincent of Beauvais 90 Virginia 99 n. 84 Visscher (firm) 251 n. 113 visualization 4, 12, 14–19, 33, 39, 47, 58, 70, 74, 88, 103, 107–8, 110–12, 116–17, 134, 139, 206, 224–28, 259 Viterbo 127 n. 153 Vitruvius 66, 69 Vives, Juan Luis 183 Vossius, Isaac 161, 175, 176 n. 100, 178, 190, 195 n. 158, 196, 278 Walton, Brian 14 n. 33, 171 n. 82, 197 n. 164, 198 n. 165 Watt (Vadianus), Joachim von 9, 11, 49 n. 54, 259 Wharton, Philip (Lord) 195

index William of Tyre 97, 109 n. 108 Wissenburg, Wolfgang 49 n. 54 Wittenberg 10 Wood, Anthony 152 Worm, Ole 13, 185 n. 130

319

Zante (Zakynthos) 93 Zayas, Gabriel de 28, 30 n. 13 Ziegler, Jacob 7, 9, 26, 49 n. 54 Zuallart, Jean 90, 93, 95, 112, 113, 121 n. 139, 122, 126, 127 n. 153, 131 n. 159, 132–34, 137 Zurich 52 n. 57