Views on Eighteenth Century Culture : Design, Books and Ideas [1 ed.] 9781443884983, 9781443881005

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Views on Eighteenth Century Culture

Views on Eighteenth Century Culture: Design, Books and Ideas Edited by

Leonor Ferrão and Luís Manuel A. V. Bernardo

Views on Eighteenth Century Culture: Design, Books and Ideas Edited by Leonor Ferrão and Luís Manuel A. V. Bernardo This book first published 2015 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2015 by Leonor Ferrão, Luís Manuel A. V. Bernardo and contributors Cover design and vignettes at the end of each section ©Marco Neves All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-8100-7 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-8100-5

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction ................................................................................................. 1 Leonor Ferrão and Luís Manuel Bernardo Part 1: On Architecture and City Planning Chapter One ................................................................................................. 4 Royal Squares, Public Squares at the Time of Enlightenment Michel Delon Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 20 City and Architecture in Rousseau’s Thought Juan Calatrava Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 44 Sinapia: Utopia, Territory, and City at the End of the Eighteenth Century Carlos Sambricio Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 78 Eugénio dos Santos and City Engineering Paula André Part 2: Writings by Architects and Their Libraries Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 94 Notes on the Library of Eugénio dos Santos (Titles in the Science and Art Categories) Leonor Ferrão Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 127 The Quality of the Eugénio dos Santos Library on Gardens in the Portuguese Context Ana Duarte Rodrigues

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Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 151 José Manuel de Carvalho e Negreiros and the Portuguese Civil Architecture of the Late 18th Century Helder Carita Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 167 José da Costa e Silva (1747-1819): A Bird’s Eye View of a Neoclassical Architect’s Library Eduardo Duarte and Teresa Sequeira-Santos Part 3: Philosophy and Ideology Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 192 “Broadening Views”: Diderot, the Encyclopédie and the Enlightenment Propaganda Colas Duflo Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 206 Recreação Filosófica, an Eclectic War Machine José Alberto Silva Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 219 The Eucharistic Accidents and the Soul of the Brutes: Aspects of Cartesianism in Recreação by Teodoro de Almeida Luís Manuel A. V. Bernardo Part 4: Theories and Practices Chapter Twelve ....................................................................................... 252 Francisco Vieira Lusitano: The Autobiography Luísa Capucho Arruda Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 281 Contributions to the Understanding of Colour in Nature and Art: Diogo de Carvalho e Sampayo’s Tratado das Cores Maria João Durão Chapter Fourteen ..................................................................................... 302 Form and Matter in Mathias Ayres’ Problema de Arquitectura Civil Danilo Matoso Macedo and Sylvia Ficher

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Chapter Fifteen ........................................................................................ 326 The Concept of Sketch in Art Theory and Practice from the 18th Century: The Treatises, the Vocabularies, the Critics, and the Capriccio Miguel Jorge Duarte Part 5: Typing and Editing Chapter Sixteen ....................................................................................... 346 Reas, Watch and Laugh (with Eighteenth-Century Humorous Books) João Luís Lisboa Chapter Seventeen ................................................................................... 358 Henrique José Belinque (flor. 1755-1762): Portuguese Typefounder Rúben R. Dias Chapter Eighteen ..................................................................................... 374 Tradition and Contemporaneity in Typography: Mário Feliciano’s Interpretation of the Geronimo Typeface Teresa Olazabal Cabral

INTRODUCTION LEONOR FERRÃO AND LUÍS MANUEL A. V. BERNARDO

This publication includes contributions by academics from many different fields who study the 18th century, brought together by Eugénio dos Santos to celebrate his work. Eugénio dos Santos de Carvalho (18 March 1711 – 25 August 1760), or simply Eugénio dos Santos, was one of the most important Portuguese architects and urban planners of the 18th century. His work bridged the reigns of King João V (1706-1750) and King José I (1750-1777), both of which were marked by extraordinarily important cultural, economic, social and political events. His best-known and largest scale project was the plan for rebuilding the Baixa area of Lisbon after the earthquake of 1st November 1755, and the respective detail plan (1758): the draft projects for residential and commercial buildings and, finally, the Praça do Comércio (including the Stock Exchange), the Council Senate, the Royal Arsenal and the two Customs Buildings. His approach was able to interpret and modernise tradition, although it was integrated into Portuguese architecture and urban planning culture (which goes back to building Portuguese cities in the four corners of the world and the 17th century plain style). He was also influenced by the complex circumstances that surrounded the creation of New Lisbon. The result did not have the magnificence of other great European cities that saw large-scale urban intervention but certainly reflected a modern view of the city. It shows a concern for aesthetics and cleanliness that is coherent with the idea of the capital of an empire and the political pragmatism that characterised King José I’s governance. The reconstruction continued, however, in terms of public works, until 1807 (when the royal court left for Brazil to escape the first Napoleonic invasion). Discussing Eugénio dos Santos therefore means discussing the context of the Enlightenment in Portugal, with its specific characteristics and relationships with other European cultures. This book examines Eugénio dos Santos and the culture of his time, with a particular focus on books.

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This implies that some chapters are strictly concerned with him, but most of the contributions deal with other works and contexts. In the 18th century, particularly in countries further away from the great publishing centres, the book, whether handwritten or printed, was a very important instrument for acculturation, the circulation of ideas and the updating of knowledge in all areas, and it was the only one for many readers. Books allow us to see very different things, depending on the reader and the purpose of (re)reading. For Portugal, this aspect was particularly relevant because of religious censorship, political censorship and selfcensorship, which restricted reading and the selection of books and authors available in the bookselling market. Consequently, this conditioned both authors’ and readers’ choices. The criteria for importing foreign titles and publishing texts printed in Portugal, whether by Portuguese authors or translated into Portuguese, as well as the preferences concerning format, were also related to such procedures. The book – from recommended to prohibited reading – was also an essential tool for achieving “natural nobility” (which at the time was more valuable to some than nobility by birth) and feeding new socialisation practices. For others, it was simply a collectable item. This elitist dimension was obviously related to the knowledge of foreign languages. Readers’ level of understanding of the languages in which works were published was one aspect that helped establish a structure for accessing knowledge that had many limiting factors. For instance, as regards art literature, which included disciplinary texts, most titles found in Portugal were in their original language or in French translations, as some catalogues of book collections belonging to Portuguese architects that have now been discovered show. Of course, besides buying books, architects and artists also wrote and published mostly in Portuguese, thus producing a modern ontological and technical terminology. Nonetheless, books were not only a way of disseminating content: publishing techniques underwent deep transformations and a notable increase in quality over the 18th century, both in terms of typesetting and printing. Essentially, then, this book discusses books, collections (of books), printed documents, handwritten documents, and drawings, but also ideas, architects, philosophers, writers and printing techniques. The Editors acknowledge the important support from Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian.

PART 1: ON ARCHITECTURE AND CITY PLANNING

CHAPTER ONE ROYAL SQUARES, PUBLIC SQUARES AT THE TIME OF ENLIGHTENMENT MICHEL DELON UNIVERSITÉ PARIS-SORBONNE, FRANCE

The story of royal squares in Europe was for a long time encumbered with nationalist assumptions. Researchers defended and criticised the idea of a French model that would be exported to the other countries of the continent1. This model had become more precise through the squares successively dedicated to Louis XIII, Louis XIV and Louis XV in Paris and in other cities of the French provinces. A programme of geometrical urbanism cleared a space in the middle of which the king’s equestrian statue was raised. The control of the horse by its horseman became the image of the control of the State by its sovereign. There are similar cases and reminders of this model in Copenhagen, Lisbon, Naples, then under Spanish rule, and in Cassel2. But in the debates preceding and accompanying the building of these squares, the debate is sensitive, argued between a model of personal power that glorifies itself and a model that rather highlights religious reference. In Lisbon, the triumphal arch that 1

Cf. Louis Réau, L’Europe française au siècle des lumières, Paris, Albin Michel, 1951, p. 269-272, chart p. 281, and the critique of this point of view. This model had become Pierre-Yves Beaurepaire, Le Mythe de l’Europe française. Diplomatie, culture et sociabilités au temps des Lumières, Paris, Autrement, « Mémoires », 2007. 2 Richard L. Cleary, The Place Royale and urban design in the Ancien Régime, New York, Cambridge University Press, 1999; H. Ziegler, « Le modèle de la place royale française à l’épreuve de l’Europe », Ch. Chastel-Rousseau, « La figure du prince au XVIIIe siècle: monument royal et stratégies de représentation du pouvoir monarchique dans l’espace urbain », De l’esprit des villes. Nancy et l’Europe urbaine au siècle des Lumières, 1720-1770, Versailles, Artlys, 2005; Ch. ChastelRousseau (ed.), Reading the royal Monument in Eighteenth-Century Europe, Farnham, Ashgate, 2011.

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connects the square to the city can increase or complete the king’s equestrian statue. Eugénio dos Santos thought of the continuity of one monument to another: the glorification of commerce under the high patronage of King José I3. In Vienna, Maria Theresa chose to erect a church. In Berlin, Frederick II had a square built to avoid having his own equestrian statue erected there. In Saint Petersburg, Catherine II decided to pay tribute to the founding ancestor, Peter the Great, and in turn, her son Paul I made a point of erecting his own monument in front of his palace, paying tribute to Peter the Great with a second equestrian statue in a more classical style than the pathetic drama imagined by Falconet, with a horse rearing up on a bare stone pedestal. This story may be renewed in the perspective of the present symposium, taking into account the exchanges between paper, wood and stone architecture. The city is sketched, engraved, and told, before being built in monuments, either ephemeral or durable. Reproduced on paper, it circulates from one country to another; even among those who cannot travel, it becomes the subject of debate beyond the circles of power. The reality of cities built and rebuilt by the will of the most powerful and the richest was imposed on a population reduced to silence. To debate possible cities, to make proposals public and question oneself on the issues of urban choices, transforms individuals from mere witnesses into actors of the city and into citizens of the community. In Paris, the regular organisation of a public exhibition of recent works by the Academy of painting in one of the king’s palaces, the Louvre, gives rise to a critical literature which sets the example of a free debate regarding painting and sculpture4, as the century’s musical quarrels started issues that go beyond the aesthetic sphere. The media articles, the brochures and the books multiply and respond; the role of works of art, made for the king, the Church or the State, or for private individuals, leads to questions of private or public patronage. Should art be given to the simple market and to commercial competition or should it depend on a State policy? Is it for 3

Miguel Figueira de Faria, « 6 June, The king’s birthday present: an insight into the history of royal monuments in Portugal at the end of the Ancient Régime », in Ch. Chastel-Rousseau (ed.), Reading the Royal Monument in Eighteenth-Century Europe, op. cit., p. 79; Leonor Ferrão, « Eugénio dos Santos e a Estátua Equestre : relendo Machado de Castro », in Miguel Figueira de Faria (coord.), Machado de Castro, da utlilidade da escultura. Lisbon, Caleidoscópio, 2014, p. 66. 4 Cf. Richard Wrigley, The Origins of French Art Criticism, from the Ancien Régime to the Restoration, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1993; René Démoris et Florence Ferran, La Peinture en procès. L’Invention de la critique d’art au siècle des Lumières, Paris, presses de la Sorbonne nouvelle, 2001.

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private consumption or a vector of public discourse on the origins and values of the community? One of the brochures, for example, has the title, Observations sur les arts, et sur quelques morceaux de peinture et de sculpture, exposés au Louvre en 1748, où il est parlé de l’utilité des embellissements dans les villes. The principle of the Salon is to be open to the public, therefore to be subject to its judgement. The brochure goes from painting to sculpture and from there, as the title indicates, to sculpture and the Parisian public monuments, and to that which is not yet called urbanism. It discusses in particular the appropriateness of a new theatre. “Isn’t it deplorable that in the largest city in Europe, we have a theatre like our Opéra, whereas in Parma there is one which, due to its large dimension, amazes whoever sees it? Would it not be possible to have the same thing here?”5 To embellish a city is to establish a plan, to think about its alignment and plan public monuments which are not only the palaces and the churches, but also the fountains and the theatres. It is through this space of confrontation and debate that the royal square tends to become a public space. Certain years give examples of this. In 1763, an equestrian statue of the king was erected in a new square in Paris, at the city limits between the Tuileries and the Champs-Elysées, in what is today’s Place de la Concorde. The statue was started by Edme Bouchardon and finished by Jean-Baptiste Pigalle6. In 1765 in Reims, the city of the crowning of French kings, a new royal square, built after bitter controversies, was finished with the inauguration of a statue of Louis XV, sculpted by Pigalle. In that year’s Salon, an engraving shows the royal monument. In the same year, a Description de la place de Louis XV que l’on construit à Reims by Legendre, the engineer responsible for the construction, was published; as was a treaty by abbé Laugier, Observations sur l’architecture, which had a chapter, « Des monuments à la gloire des grands hommes », and a summary of the royal squares and monuments which aimed to produce a theory; and the Monuments érigés 5

[Saint-Yves], Observations sur les arts, et sur quelques morceaux de peinture et de sculpture, exposés au Louvre en 1748, où il est parlé de l’utilité des embellissements dans les villes, Leyde, Chez Elias Luzac Junior, 1748, p. 170. 6 Cf. M. Marin on Parisian royal squares, Les Monuments équestres de Louis XIV, Paris, 1986 ; S. Granet, « La Place Louis XV : recueil des différents projets et plans proposés pour la construction d’une place publique destinée à la statue équestre du roi », La Vie urbaine, 1962, n° 3; D. Rabreau, « La statue équestre de Louis XV d’Edme Bouchardon », L’Information d’histoire de l’art, 1974, n° 2 ; A. Rostaing, « La place Louis XV » et Mark K. Deming, « Les places Louis XVI », L’Urbanisme parisien au siècle des Lumières, Action artistique de la ville de Paris, 1997.

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en France à la gloire de Louis XV by Pierre Patte, which opens with an introductory reflection, « Des honneurs et des monuments de gloire accordés aux princes et aux grands hommes, tant chez les anciens que chez les modernes. » The three books don’t have the same status: Legendre’s is a large folio, 48cm x 66cm, accompanied by two full-page engravings and six double-page ones; Patte’s is a 28cm x 42cm folio illustrated with 57 drawings, and the several copies in the Parisian libraries in Morocco leather bear the different coats of arms of the royal family. Laugier’s book is an octavo, unnecessarily analysing luxurious engravings. If we take into account the simple brochures produced by the Salon which were rarely bound, we have knowledge of the extent of the printed production, from the more modest publications to the most prestigious and luxurious objects. There are also the manuscripts: projects which had only one copy stacked in the archives, and periodicals recopied into a few copies, such as Grimm and Meister’s literary correspondence, which is distributed according to fifteen princely recipients throughout Europe and in which Diderot confides his judgement to the Salon of Pigalle’s work in Reims and Bouchardon’s in Paris. The subject of all these texts is the square as a space with a meaning, a radiant place which would grant each element of the city its location and its function; a clear space that allowed the sovereign people to gather in a forum in the old city, or that stages the ruler and the void to better illustrate the pre-eminence of the king. The equestrian statue shows the king’s elevation in relation to the all of his subjects. The social hierarchy is shown, in the passage of time, through the difference between pedestrians and horsemen. The same gap is established between real life horsemen and the bronze horseman. Abbé Laugier ponders the « Monuments à la gloire des grands hommes »7 (Monuments to the glory of great men). The latter must be commemorated by history and by buildings. First come the princes, who might be celebrated with a “statue in the middle of a large square”. Laugier mentions the following squares: Place des Vosges and des Victories and Vendôme – that is, the Parisian squares dedicated to Louis XIII and Louis XIV – not to mention the dauphin square, where the statue of Henry IV is off-centre. He had mentioned the monument very favourably ten years earlier in his Essai sur l’architecture: “And what! Does a statue have to essentially have a square? That of Henri IV on the Pont Neuf, is it not in a hundred times more favourable [a] position than all the others?”8 Worried about a French-style conjuration, he refrains 7 8

Observations sur l’architecture, La Haye et Paris, Desaint, 1765, p. 226-250. Essai sur l’architecture, Paris, Duchesne, 1755, p. 168.

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from mentioning the illustrious Italian models, the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius in the Capitol, those of Gattamelata by Donatello in Padua, that of Bartolomeo Colleoni by Verrocchio in Venice, that of Cosimo I by Jean Bologne in Signoria square in Florence, and those of other countries which are mentioned by Pierre Patte in his own essay. He then proceeds to mention royal squares which had been built in the whole kingdom, in Lyon, Dijon, Bordeaux, Nancy, Rennes and Reims. But he thinks that the limited space in cities will not allow this policy to go on for a long time. It would be necessary, according to him, to replace entire squares, by demolishing them, with more limited monuments which would be less space consuming: triumphal arches, gates, fountains or even columns following the model of the Antonine and Trajan columns. In the Essai sur l’architecture, he proposed the transformation of the Pont Neuf into an alley with royal statues. It would only be necessary to install the successors of Henri IV on each side of him. As for illustrious men other than the sovereigns, tribute can be paid to them in galleries or on the peristyles of buildings corresponding to their speciality: the important magistrates in Law Courts, generals in military academies, and scholars, artists and writers in their respective academies. Religious personalities and politicians should have their own memorial places. While waiting for this national recognition, illustrious men would be commemorated at mausoleums installed in the churches’ external galleries. The Saint-Denis Abbey should be reorganised so that a bit of chronology and pedagogy can become part of the royal graves. Historical rationalisation imposes itself on the religious and dynastic ritual. All of the final part of the Observation has to do with funeral sculptures. For Laugier, cities cannot have royal squares. The safeguard of the city network excludes an urbanism that is too monumental. As for the idea of establishing those majestic squares outside the city limits, where space is available and land is cheaper, it does not appeal much to the abbé: “The idea, so they say, is to build a square on that large plot of land situated between the Pont Tournant and the Champs-Élysées. I have no doubt that after a lot of expenses, a beautiful thing will be built; but in earnest truth it is a square in the middle of fields, and this reflection is enough to make this project ridiculous.”9 This critique could also apply to the Peyrou square in Montpellier, which will be laid out as a promenade-alley at the entrance of the city. As much as he, on the one hand, praises commemorative statues, he shows reticence with regard to squares which 9 Ibid., p. 167-168. The Pont Tournant then led to the access of the Jardin des Tuileries.

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need too much space. He asks about the alignment of streets, but refuses “dull exactitude and a cold uniformity which makes one regret disorder”10. A city cannot be a mere “parallelogram crossed in every detail by straight right-angled lines”. The Utopian geometry should not destroy the urban clutter and its past experienced memory. Regularity has its limits; historical cities cannot resemble cities built ex nihilo or ones rebuilt after a catastrophe, such as the Pombal area in Lisbon11. Pierre Patte can be included in the long historical timeline, into the past as well as the future. He remembers the Egyptian and Roman monuments, reduced to ruins, and mentions Paris’ future transformations. His book is, in itself, a monument to the king’s glory. It is a large book and its illustrations are impressive. But he does not settle on only listing what was built, he supplies the records of the different projects proposed at the same time that d’Ange-Jacques Gabriel’s was taken on. He deploys, behind the real capital, a multitude of possible cities. The chosen monument and plan is a palimpsest of all the other imagined proposals. Reality deepens with a virtual world which puts it into perspective. Patte offers the urban issue to public administration; he also subjects it to an opinion, which judges the power’s decisions. The projects which were not taken on become objects of reflection, paper architecture, hypotheses which remove absolute character from royal verdicts, utopias that confront reality with other possibilities. Future becomes a page, if not blank, at least one on which to rewrite endlessly. “There is nothing wiser than to sketch on a general plan the wished embellishments, and in the likely places, even if they cannot be carried out but in the long run; what we have started, our nephews will finish. If we had followed this practice in the large cities, we would not see so many public and private works forming a chaotic structure, and whose different parts are not in harmony, do not form a unity or correspond.”12 Regularity here takes its revenge. Urbanism becomes a choice between several different models, between competing plans. Intellectual work, technical competence, and public 10

Ibid., p. 223. Cf. La Ville régulière. Modèles et tracés, under the direction of X. Malverti and Pierre Pinon, Paris, Picard, 1997. 12 Patte, Monuments érigés en France à la gloire de Louis XV, précédés d’un Tableau du progrès des arts et des sciences sous ce règne, ainsi que d’une description des honneurs et des monuments de gloire accordés aux grands gommes, tant chez les Anciens que chez les Modernes, et suivis d’un choix des principaux projets qui ont été proposés, pour placer la statue du roi dans les différents quartiers de Paris, Paris, Chez l’auteur, Desaint, Saillant, 1765, p. 179. 11

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opinion enter the scene. The projects which plan a Louis XV square on the île de la Cité – connected for the occasion to the île Saint-Louis, in front of the Louvre colonnade, in the middle of the Halles or Saint-Jacques street right in the heart of the Quartier Latin etc. – could have remained on paper in the archives, as the proposals to create a square between the Tuileries and l’Etoile were long forgotten in the « Recueil Marigny », a manuscript that ended up in an aristocratic library of Saint-Petersburg before returning to the west and being bought by the city of Paris in 199513. In publishing them to the great glory of His Majesty, Pierre Patte turns a reserved domain into an object of public debate. In no way should his attitude be compared to that of Necker, the Compte rendu au roi, some twenty years later, thus taking the country’s finances public for the first time, but in both cases it has to do with publishing; that is, the space of a new square for public opinion, no pun intended. Each publication puts a public space to the test, in the sense that Christian Jouhad and Alain Viala tried to renovate Jürgen Habermas’ reflection14. The royal square is the subject of debate; it virtually becomes a forum before being invaded by people as a political force. Richard Wittman showed how, little by little, debate on the city has become more open, in line with the more general debate on art and the monarch’s cultural policy. Newspapers included articles on embellishment and projects; the minutes of the Louvre salons integrate the judgments on Parisian urbanism15. From the case of Reims, Legendre and Diderot also conceive a royal square as the starting point of an urban reorganisation. Diderot explains: “The square was designed for the city, and the monument for the square”16 Legendre extends his Description de la place de Louis XV que l’on construit à Reims par des ouvrages à continuer aux environs de cette place, et de ceux à faire dans la suite pour l’utilité et l’embellissement de cette ville17. The two men have family ties. The king’s engineer, Jean13 Cf. Jörg Garms, Recueil Marigny. Projets pour la place de la Concorde, 1753, Paris Musées, 2002. Le débat reprend après la mort de Louis XV pour construire une place à son successeur : voir Mark K. Deming, « Louis XVI en l’île. Contribution à l’étude des places royales parisiennes à la fin de l’Ancien Régime », Revue de l’art, 83, 1989. 14 Christian Jouhaud et Alain Viala (éd.), De la publication entre Renaissance et Lumières, Paris, Fayard, 2002. 15 Richard Wittman, Architecture, Print Culture, and the Public Sphere in Eighteenth-Century France, New York-Londres, Routledge, 2007. 16 Diderot, « Le monument de Reims », Œuvres complètes, DPV, t. XIII, p. 168. 17 Legendre, Description de la place de Louis XV que l’on construit à Reims, Paris, De l’imprimerie de Prault, 1765.

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Gabriel Legendre, general inspector of France’s department of civil engineering, as mentioned in the title page of his Description, is Sophie Volland, the philosopher’s mistress’s brother-in-law. Diderot became interested in the Reims project at the very beginning. He informs the subscribers of the Correspondance littéraire of his interest in July 1760. A debate starts regarding the site for the statue: should it be placed in a colonnade on one of the sides of the square or at the centre? Diderot is in favour of the centre and approves of Pigalle’s invention. The equestrian statue is replaced by a pedestrian statue; the peaceful king replaces the warring king. “The monarch has his left hand on his scimitar, and his right hand is extended. It is not a hand which commands, it is a hand which protects. Thus the arm is limp; the fingers in his hands are apart and dropping slightly. The figure is not proud, and it should not be; but it is noble and sweet.”18 The monument in Reims is in the line of a wish expressed by Voltaire: “It is an old custom of sculptors to include slaves at the foot of statues of Kings; it would be better to portray free and happy citizens.” In Nancy, the inauguration ceremony of the royal square in 1755 reflected this old symbology being set aside: “These commemorations were always upset by the sound of chains and the moaning of the captives; they often dismayed nature and humanity; we often saw the scholar shudder and refusing to look at them.”19 In Reims, the royal figure is accompanied by two figures, neither slaves nor vanquished and chained enemies, but actors in the country’s life: on one side “a naked artisan sitting on bales, his head resting on one of his fists which is clenched, and resting from his tiredness”, on the other “a dressed woman leading a lion by a tuft of its mane” which represents administration. In reality, Diderot reproaches, we cannot place the two figures in the same plan: the artisan is a social type, whereas the woman with the lion is allegoric. This “mixture of the truth and fiction” cannot but displease. According to a habit he develops and systematises in the Salons, Diderot redoes the work according to his own taste. “I would rather have in place of the woman with the lion, a peasant with the tools of his work, and separate these two men with a woman who would have had several small children, one of which attached to her nipple.”20 Diderot thus replaces the two figures with a different iconological status with three figures of the same level: Commerce, Agriculture and Population.

18

Diderot, « Le monument de Reims », p. 166. Patte, Monuments érigés en France à la gloire de Louis XV, p. 165. 20 Diderot, « Le monument de Reims », p. 167. 19

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In 1765, he is at his fourth Salon composed for the princely subscribers of a manuscript, Correspondance littéraire. Two exhibitors are the pretext for speaking about the Reims monument once again: Falconet, Pigalle’s rival, and Moitte, who drew and engraved the sculpted group. The comparison between the 1760 article and the 1765 comment shows what draws the philosopher’s attention. When Pigalle’s monument was presented in Paris, “Falconet, who does not like Pigalle”, Diderot explains, admitted to his colleague: “I saw your Citizen; it can be made as beautiful, because you have done so; but I do not think that art can go one step further than this”21. The king and the administration allegory are set aside; the artisan remains, now turned into a citizen and the object of emulation between the two best sculptures of the time. Citizen is the word Voltaire uses and it is the one Legendre uses in his description: “The happiness of peoples derives from a happy citizen, enjoying a perfect rest, among the cornucopia overflowing with fruits and flowers; the olive tree grows between the feet of the citizen sitting [on] stacks of merchandise; his open purse shows his security; and a lamb that is sleeping between the paws of a wolf is the symbol of peace and tranquillity.”22 As for Moitte’s engraving, it was quickly dealt with by Diderot. According to him, it was “a complete failure”, with, in particular, a “stiff figure of the king walking on his heels”23. Grimm also adds his opinion as the director of the Correspondance littéraire, whose subscribers are directly concerned with the issue of the royal sculptures. He takes advantage of the engraving to criticise the monument extensively: “The pedestrian figure of the king is a complete failure. The king resembles a carter; he is ignoble and bulky, and it requires a particular talent to fail a figure and give the king this ignoble air.” And the naked figure sitting on a bale, why do we call him citizen? “He looks like a rascal. Why is he naked? Do we see in our cold countries citizens resting completely naked, in the evening, in our warm weather?”24 Grimm goes back to Diderot’s proposal, which was that of replacing the two characters with three figures representing the population, agriculture and commerce. Diderot denounced the confusion between the real and the allegoric25; Grimm extends the 21

Salon de 1765, Ed. Hermann, p. 291. Legendre, Description de la place de Louis XV que l’on construit à Reims, p. 7. 23 Ibid., p. 323. 24 The Lewinter edition at the Club français du livre reproduces the text of the Correspondance littéraire, it therefore makes Grimm’s note available: Œuvres complètes, CFL, t. VI, p. 246-247. 25 Cf. Georges May, « Diderot et l’allégorie », SVEC, LXXXIX, Oxford, The Voltaire Foundation, 1972 et M. Delon, « La mutation de l’allégorie au XVIIIe 22

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critique in refusing the citizen’s nudity. Should the king be on horseback or on foot, in Roman armour or in modern costume? Should the figures accompanying him be in an ideal state of nudity or in modern costume? The renouncement of the heroic idealisation condemns the characters as resembling carters and rascals. Diderot implicitly answers in the Essais sur la peinture which follow the Salon de 1765: “Naked figures, in the middle of a scene, where people are used to [being] dressed, does not offend us at all. It is because flesh is more beautiful than drapery […] In portraying them nude it makes the scene distant, it reminds us of a more innocent and simpler age, wilder manners, more similar to imitation manners. We are unhappy about the present times, and this going […] back to older times does not displease us.” 26 Some years later, Voltaire represented as a naked old man would be a scandal. But Diderot’s remark could be applied to the Reims monument; the naked citizen indicates an ideal that remains distant. It is a wish that is far from being granted. The king’s apology would become satire; the kingdom’s praise would become critical. The Essais sur la peinture resume the mixture of allegoric and real beings and also do not praise the monument. “What does that woman leading a lion by its mane next to a carter lying on bales mean? The woman and the animal are walking [in] the direction of the sleeping porter, and I know that a child would cry out: mummy, that woman is going to feed that poor man to her beast. I do not know if it is its intent, but it will happen if that man does not wake up, and that woman moves one step closer. Pigalle, my friend, grab your hammer, and tear apart this association of bizarre beings.”27 And Diderot resumes his national triad proposal: agriculture, commerce and the population. He defends the principle of nudity28, but he maybe responds to the pejorative word carter used by Grimm by using the word porter. The idea of royal sweetness and protection does not prevent the return of aggressiveness and violence in the figure of the lion. The representation of the king in Reims hesitates between the classical representation of a hero, and the incarnation of being made of flesh and with feelings. At his feet, the character on bales concentrates the doubt. Who is he really? In turn an artisan, a citizen, a carter and a porter, he climbs the ladder of the Third State, of politics and of the social. He siècle. L’exemple de Diderot », Revue d’Histoire littéraire de la France, avril 2012. 26 Essais sur la peinture. Salons de 1759, 1761, 1763, Ed. Hermann, p. 63-64. 27 Ibid., p. 58. 28 Regarding the inhabitant of the countryside: “Is it not a beautiful thing a naked peasant resting?” (p. 59).

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emphasises the ambivalence of the latter order in the France of the Ancien Régime, between the people’s ancient ideal and the reality of the rabble29. Reasonable people, restless rabble. His attitude may be understood from a realistic or allegorical point of view: weariness of the man who has dutifully accomplished his work, or the trust of the man protected by the social order, if it is not the melancholy man who, not at all asleep, wonders about his homeland, grabbing his chin. The call for a critical awareness, for some lucidity, for a consciousness of citizenship would then take on a new meaning. Yet, some years later, the theme of the citizen appears as the sculptor’s self-portrait. We could state “that the representatives of the city of Reims wanted this resemblance themselves”30. The anecdote agrees with Falconet’s words as quoted by Diderot. Either by its traits or by its artistic accomplishment, the character subsequently represents the artist’s power. The monument to the king’s glory is explicit, visible at the top, suggesting another power, implicitly, at the bottom. As the king humanizes himself, sets aside his dynastic grandeur, the artist idealises himself, strips himself from his special condition to become the conscience of time, and in fact, the spokesman of a community. Diderot dreamt of a Parisian square where the forest could have remained: “If I would have to set the Louis XV square where it is, I would have avoided cutting down the forest. I would have liked the obscure depth among the colonnade of a large peristyle to be seen.”31 As nudity or as bare stone, the forest would represent the instance of nature, the people’s deep truth, as opposed to monarchical arbitrariness; an ideal counter-power that the philosopher lets speak for itself. The architectural and administrative regularity will constantly be confronted with the metaphor of an ideal democracy of origins32. This development appears at the end of the chapter 29

Cf. Jean Fabre’s enlightening article on the rewriting by abbé Coyer and by the chevalier Jaucourt, « L’article ‘Peuple’ de l’Encyclopédie et le couple CoyerJaucourt », Images du Peuple au XVIIIe siècle, Paris, Colin, 1973. 30 Jean-Robert Gaborit, Jean-Baptiste Pigalle. 1714-1785. Sculptures du musée du Louvre, Paris, RMN, 1985, p. 67. More recently Guilhem Scherf, « Diderot et la sculpture », dans Le Goût de Diderot, Paris, Hazan, 2013, p. 161-163. 31 Essais sur la peinture, p. 52-53. Laugier amazingly compared the city of Paris to a forest: “It is an immense forest, varying from plain to mountains, cut right in the middle by a large river.” He entrusts the building to “[a] crafty artist”: “Let us suppose he is allowed to chop and sculpt as he pleases; what advantage might he take from these diversities?” (Essai sur l’architecture, p. 224-225). Ten years later he is more cautious. 32 It is in the forest that Bourbonne’s two friends hide. Bourbonne is the hero of Diderot’s novel, resisting monarchic and religious order. On the “liberties of the greenwood” and all the Robin Hoods, cf. Simon Schamma, Le Paysage et la

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of the Essais, dedicated to expression in painting. At the beginning of the chapter, Diderot looks over the conditions which determine the human body. The primitive man was thus characterised: “He looks proud and fierce at the same time. His head is held up straight. His look is fixed. He is the master of his forest.” 33 The two approaches of reformism and of radicalism are embodied, according to Diderot, in two types of royal squares: a public square, a forum decorated with the statue of the monarch who would be nothing but the first citizen of the State, or a square where absolute power remains under the threat of an obscurity, that of the wilderness and of the forest. The ideal of a popular monarchy is expressed through the account of a traveller, told to Sophie Volland in July 1762. The man told us incredible things of the love of the sovereigns towards their people. Patriotism took refuge among the Danish. Here is a scene he witnessed, and that you may have wished to have seen. It was on the occasion of the putting up of the king’s equestrian statue in one of the public squares of the capital. The people came in a large number.34 The public shouts long life to the king; the king joins the people and kisses those in his reach. He even throws his hat up in the air. The very antithesis of Versailles’ heavy ritual, the scene shows a bourgeois monarch, king of the Danes rather than king of Denmark. The royal square thus becomes a public square, the place of a national unanimity. In the same year, the question is raised concerning the decoration of Peyrou in Montpellier. That square combines two traditional types of monuments – the king’s equestrian statue and the fountain of power that offers the people a drink – at the end of the aqueduct crossing the countryside. It could be surrounded by allegoric groups, as is the Louis XV square in Paris, but in 1771, a report suggests replacing the allegories of the royal virtues with a series of renowned men. “Louis XV’s century is an era so glorious for the nation that is difficult to immortalise it. France produced under this reign men who were truly great in all areas. The sovereign, knowing how to recognise them, welcome them, protect them, grant them benefits, employ them according to their talent and merit, has truly contributed to shaping them and making them acquire that fame, [of]

mémoire, Paris, Seuil, 1999, p. 157-212. Robert Harrison, dans Forêts. Essai sur l’imaginaire occidental, Paris, Flammarion, 1992, takes an interest in “outlaws” (p. 119-128) and in Rousseau (p. 191-200). 33 Essais sur la peinture, p. 41. 34 Diderot, Correspondance, Paris, Minuit, t. IV, 1958, p. 66.

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which all the following centuries would approve […].”35 We can find evidence of Voltaire’s Siècle de Louis XIV. The king can no longer be separated from all those who have contributed to making his reign grandiose. Memory insists on the historical truth as opposed to the old heroic abstraction: “All the great men we want to pay tribute to should be dressed in [the] French style and according to the habits of the time in which they lived and that of their rank. Their figure must as much as possible [be] according to portraits one can easily have access to.” 36 We managed to partially recreate the programme of that Pantheon that would have commemorated in pairs, the militaries of Condé and Turenne; Colbert and Duquesne, representing the navy; Fénelon and Bossuet, representing the Church; and Lamoignon and Daguesseau, Justice. If a classical royal square is characterised by a uniform architectural element and by a statue of the monarch, the situation at the end of the Ancien Régime denotes a development of urban rationalisation beyond and independent from royal squares, and a “the birth of the Pantheon”37 even before the Convention had transformed the Saint-Geneviève church on the Quartier Latin mountain into a laic temple of national memory. The square becomes urbanism and, in statuary as well as in eloquence, the king starts giving up his place to citizens. Anacharsis Cloots, the revolutionary activist at the time of the constitutional monarchy, would put the royal statue and that of Voltaire at the same level, the king through blood and the king through his wits: “I have for a long time suggested [placing] Voltaire’s monument in the Champs-Élysées, at the centre of [the] Étoile, in alignment with the statue of Louis XV. Apollo and the Muses and the Graces in white marble would crown the rays of the Étoile.”38 In Tableau de Paris, at the beginning of the decade of the 1780s, Louis Sébastien Mercier praises the great squares that are spacious and lighten the old capital, but he is severe with all the signs of monarchic absolutism and militarism. In the Victories and Vendôme squares, “those chained up slaves, those proud bronzes, provoked against [the king’s] opponents who would have otherwise been peaceful, without that too insulting bronze.”39 35

A note by Faugères, quoted in Projets et dessins pour la place royale du Peyrou à Montpellier, Paris, Caisse nationale des monuments historiques et des sites, 1983, p. 63. 36 Ibid., p. 65. 37 Jean-Claude Bonnet, Naissance du Panthéon. Essai sur le culte des grands hommes, Paris, Fayard, 1998. 38 Anacharsis Cloots, Écrits révolutionnaires. 1790-1794, Paris, Editions Champ Libre, 1979, p. 168-169. 39 Mercier, Tableau de Paris, Paris, Mercure de France, 1994, t. I, p. 929.

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The inscriptions to Louis XIII’s glory in Place des Vosges are equally ridiculous, evoking a campaign in Asia. The Louis XV square is praised for its “superb display”, but the pacification of the monarch’s statue still does not seem to be enough for Mercier: “Experts pay more attention to the figure of the steed than to that of the king. Bouchardon started this monument; Pigalle finished it. But when will our sculptors learn to do something else than to put a sovereign on horseback, bridle in hand? Is there not another expression to be given to the leader of a people?” The object of popular devotion, only Henri IV’s statue on the Pont Neuf is spared any criticism. In a later chapter, the rue Royale is referred to as one of the two most beautiful streets on Paris, thanks to the view from the Louis XV square. “The superb entrance of Paris through the Neuilly bridge, and the Louis XV square, is no doubt worthy of the capital of France. The view from the quays, from Passy up to Arsenal, leads us to imagine the quays of Babylon. The farmsteads that overloaded the bridges no longer exist, and will no longer be an obstacle to having a pleasant view, and to the healthiness of fresh air.” 40 The king’s glorification is now relegated to being a second plan, as if the essential focus is the organisation of the capital, whose merit is the responsibility of the artists and engineers. The building of the Pont stresses the emergence of the figure of the engineer. It is true that in L’An 2440 (Memoirs of the Year Two Thousand Five Hundred), the remodelled Paris was decorated with new statues. “An imposing figured called my attention. Due to the sweet majesty of its forehead, the dignity of its height, its attributes of harmony and peace, I recognised the virtuous humanity. Other statues were on their knees, and represented women in pain and filled with remorse. Alas, the symbolism was not difficult to perceive: they represented nations asking humanity to forgive them for the calamities inflicted on it for over twenty centuries!” 41 France, for instance, begs forgiveness for the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre and the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. Further on, it is no longer an allegory, nor a royal figure. “I noticed on a magnificent pedestal, a negro, bare head, stretched out arm, a proud look, a noble attitude, imposing. Around him were the fragments of twenty sceptres. At his feet we could read the following words: To the avenger of the new world.” It is a slave that rebelled and has set free his brothers of America. The royal figure is either replaced by a feminine abstraction, which completes the passage of military power to peaceful power, or through a rebellious and 40 41

Ibid., t. II, p. 1039-1040. Mercier, L’An 2440, Bordeaux, Ducros, 1971, p. 201.

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liberating individual who replaces the monarch at the head of his army, who leads the crowds to conquer a liberty: Spartacus wins, not Augustus. This evocation is all we need to let us imagine popular and insurrectionary demonstrations. The revolutionary events would confirm the agitation. The royal statues were toppled. The Louis XV Square became that of the Revolution, before the reconciliation and the Concorde of the two Frances was outlined42. Of the monument erected by Bouchardon and Pigalle, there is nothing left but a hand and a foot. The hand was offered to Latude, the most famed prisoner, jailed in the Bastille due to a sealed letter signed by that same hand; the foot was deposited at the new Museum of French monuments. The hand that was sensed to protect did not replace the hand that commands; it is this one that history remembers. Henceforth, the hero is the prisoner moved by an irrepressible desire for liberty, the citizen arbitrarily locked up and relying only on his strengths to regain liberty. Mercier must have certainly known of Füssli’s drawing, a self-portrait in Rome next to the foot and hand of a colossal statue of Constantine43. On a study trip, the artist is crushed by the antique grandiosity which seems forever lost; the Parisian journalist on foot is rather sensitive to the brutal desecration. Fragmented, the antique hand seems even bigger, leading us to wonder about the lost monument. That of the king is a torn apart, decapitated image: “The day all the statues of kings were removed, I saw the crowd in a singular astonishment: it was evident that those bronzes were not massive, and that the bronze horse’s sides were no thicker than a three-pound écu.”44 In opposition to the royal monument as a principle of standardisation and urban extension; there is the scattering of bronze which is not much, and the dismembering of the royal individual, reduced to just a simple fragile body, with no thickness, no national consensus. This is as opposed to the vertical erection, the horizontal circulation. It is a new version of the king's two bodies which was analysed by Ernst Kantorowicz. The monarch’s features are slowly erased from coins and banknotes, but he remains fairly recognisable on a certain June 21st 1791 42

Cf. De la place Louis XV à la place de la Concorde, Paris, Musée Carnavalet, 1982. In Lisbon, the royal square is commerce square. In Paris, Louis XV square becomes concord square and the king’s statue is replaced by an obelisk. In Bordeaux, Louis XV square, opening onto a water perspective as in Lisbon, became the stock market square and the statue was replaced by a fountain. 43 Zurich, Kunsthaus. Cf. the exhibition’s catalogues, Johann Heinrich Füssli, 1745-1825, à la Hamburger Kunsthalle, Munich, Prestel, 1974, n°45, and at the Petit Palais à Paris, 1975, n° 10. 44 Le Nouveau Paris, Paris, Mercure de France, 1994, p. 137.

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in Sainte-Menehould, a decisive moment far from the Capital during the Revolution. The postmaster, Jean-Baptiste Drouet would have recognised the royal fugitive from an écu or bank note45. It is in the square dedicated to his ancestor that Louis XVI loses his head. In Mercier’s analysis, the overthrow is consummated: the artist, the writer opens the space and the time; he is the liaison agent between the singular and the collective, the concrete and the abstract; he redefines a democratic public space, whereas the former embodiment of power is restricted to a few fragments; the king is but a guilty body of flesh, divisible. At Louis XVI coronation in Reims, the formulae of the ancient royal magic were replaced by more reasonable wishes, but it is the whole monarchy that lost its symbolic strength. In the history of the royal square as it became a public space46, printed matters and the book constitute a decisive vector, according to two modalities: that of the image, of the technical drawing, and that of critical debate, of free speech. The rationality of the plan and of the measure supplies a new power to engineers and to those who master a technical skill: the argument and debate suggest a right to speak to all those who are capable of reading and thinking. The city invents itself in this way between knowledge and power, between know-how and politics, between sight and vision47.

45 Cf. Mona Ozouf, Varennes. La Mort de la royauté, Paris, Gallimard, 2005, p. 137. 46 From Tahrir square in Cairo to Taksim square in Istanbul, current history shows the role of public spaces as a territory of popular movements: cf. the journal Tous urbains, PUF, n º3, 2013. 47 This text benefitted from the remarks and suggestions from participants at the seminar of the Centre Eikones Bildkritik, in Basel, on « les images du pouvoir et le pouvoir des images », (the images of power and the power of images), then of those at the International Conference Books with a View, in Lisbon (Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, November 23rd-25th, 2011). An outline was proposed in Die Kunst des Dialogs. L’Art du dialogue. Sprache, Literatur, Kunst im 19. Jahrhundert. Langue, littérature, art au XIXe siècle. Festschrift für Wolfgang Drost. Mélanges offerts à Wolfgang Drost, Heidelberg, Universitätsverlag Winter, 2010.

CHAPTER TWO CITY AND ARCHITECTURE IN ROUSSEAU’S THOUGHT JUAN CALATRAVA ESCUELA DE ARQUITECTURA, UNIVERSIDAD DE GRANADA, SPAIN

As a starting point, it should be recognized that there is something paradoxical when speaking about ‘Rousseau and architecture’, given that, in comparison to some of the other great maîtres à penser of the XVIII century, in the extensive work of the Genevan, there is barely any interest in architecture. From the point of view of fine arts, numerous examples would actually support an argument for Rousseau’s indifference towards architecture. A worthy example, among many others, is found in Confessions as an account of his visit to Turin’s Royal Palace - although not a single architectural reference is made1. Another example, also in Confessions, refers to his trip back from Venice, in which he finds no time for the traditional descriptions of the traveller2: even when Rousseau is constantly moving around and his biography is full of travels, it is always about trips that have nothing to do with the periplus of a curious man or with the artistic descriptions of the grand tour travellers3. Indeed, even in

1 OC I, p. 71. All the quotes by Rousseau that appear in this work are from Oeuvres complètes by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Paris, Gallimard, col. “Bibliothèque de la Pléiade”, vols. I-V, 1959-1995. 2 “Je vis plusieurs choses, entre autres les Iles Borromées qui mériteroient d’être décrites. Mais le tems me gagne, les espions m’obsédent; je suis forcé de faire à la hâte et mal un travail qui demanderoit le loisir et la tranquillité qui me manquent” (OC I, p. 325). 3 Vid. G. Panella, “Viaggio e ‘rêverie’ nel dispositivo autobiografico di JeanJacques Rousseau”, in Scritti in onore di Eugenio Garin, Pisa, 1987, p. 193-220; Huguette Krief, “Regards sur l’Autre: Jean-Jacques Rousseau et les viyages: du Discours sur l’origine de l’inégalité aux Confessions”, Bulletin de l’Association Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 57, 2001, p. 3-16; Frédéric S. Eigeldinger, “Les

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the philosopher’s correspondence, there is hardly any architectural allusion and, when there is any, it is mostly in relation to his personal circumstances, rather than from an artistic point of view4. Certainly, as we shall see, there are examples a contrario, from which we can assume a Rousseaunian interest towards architectural details. Yet, the cases where specific attention is paid towards architecture as an aesthetic phenomenon are so few that we could consider these as exceptions to the rule. Rousseau’s admiration or critique towards a particular building or towards architecture in general, is mostly the reflection of his moral, economic or political thinking. As an example, the famous architectural complex in Paris, Les Invalides, is considered a bel établissement. By reading the phrase we notice that its beauty is not of an aesthetic kind. Its beauty does not reside in the building itself, but in its guests, those war travelers and authentic modern Lacedaemonians5. It is in the celebrated passage of Confessions, in September 1738, that Jean-Jacques describes the roman aqueduct of Pont-du-Gard and the equally roman amphitheater of Nîmes. Rousseau praises the architecture of both monuments, clearly echoing the aesthetics of the sublime when he conveys to us the feelings that seize him upon contemplating Pont-duGard6. However, he stresses that the amphitheatre of Nimes, despite being

pèlerinages de Rousseau”, Bulletin de l’Association Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 57, 2001, p. 33-48. 4 This is the case, for instance, of the letter 2 July 1771 to his friend from Neuchâtel Du Peyrou, about the Du Peyrou palace: “Êtes-vous en fin dans votre maison? Est-elle entièrement achevée, et y êtes-vous bien arrangé? Si comme je le désire son habitation vous donne autant d'agrèment que son bâtiment vous a causé d'embarras, vous y devez mener une vie bien douce” (Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Correspondance complète, t. 38, letter no. 6868, p. 234). 5 “Je ne vois jamais sans attendriseement et vénération ces groupes de bons vieillards qui peuvent dire comme ceux de Lacedemone: Nous avons été jadis / Jeunes, vaillans et hardis” (OC I, p. 1095). 6 “C’étoit le premier ouvrage des Romains que j’eusse vu. Je m’attendois à voir un monument digne des mains qui l’avoient construit. Pour le coup l’objet passa mon attente, et ce fut la seule fois en ma vie. Il n’appartenoit qu’aux Romains de produire cet effet. L’aspect de ce simple et noble ouvrage me frappa d’autant plus qu’il est au milieu d’un desert où le silence et la solitude rendent l’objet plus frappant et l’admiration plus vive; car ce pretendu pont n’étoit qu’un aqueduc [...] Le retentissement de mes pas sous ces immenses voutes me faisoit croire entendre la forte voix de ceux qui les avoient bâties. Je me perdois come un insecte dans cette immensité. Je sentois tout en me faisant petit, je ne sais quoi qui m’élevoit l’ame, et je me disois en soupirant: que ne suis-je né Romain!” (OC I, p. 256).

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a ‘much superior work’, has impressed him less than Pont-du-Gard, precisely because it is situated in a city with a beggarly urban surrounding. In contrast, while the amphitheatre of Verona is also situated inside the city, its surroundings are better preserved. This ‘architectural’ appreciation is, nonetheless, a manifestation of philosophical and political ‘romanity’ and one of the multiple illustrations of the important opposition that Rousseau establishes between urban and rural space, which I shall address later. At the same time, Jean-Jacques critiques the lack of respect by the French towards the city’s monuments, which serves also as one of the first formulations, now widely accepted, about the need to protect not only the monuments but also their surroundings7. Another important issue should be mentioned in regard to this secondary and ‘derived’ interest towards architecture and which is on par with great moral and political issues: I am referring to the theatre. One of the great thematic axes on Enlightenment architecture is the conception of a new building model for the theatre in relation to the new moral and aesthetic importance that the philosophes grant to theatrical activity. The theatres constructed in Paris, Nantes, Lyon, Bordeaux or Besançon, to name some of the most well-known cases, aimed to epitomize the new idea of the city and its monuments as well as the social role architecture itself was to play. Claude-Nicolas Ledoux, Victor Louis, Jacques-Germain Soufflot, Charles de Wailly or Marie-Joseph Peyre are some of the architectural protagonists in this process, effectively summarized in the Daniel Rabreau's expression ‘Apollon in the city’8. It is in this ‘philodramatic’ context that Rousseau shows himself, from a theoretical standpoint, as a crosscurrent, that is, as a firm enemy of the theater in its literary and philosophical aspects as well as in its architectural and urban ones. This is a well-known position of his that could be supported by

7

“Ce vaste et superbe cirque est entouré de vilaines petites maisons, et d’autres maisons plus petites et plus vilaines encore en remplissent l’arène; de sorte que le tout ne produit qu’un effet disparate et confus, où le regret et l’indignation étouffent le plaisir et la surprise. J’ai vue depuis le cirque de Vérone infiniment plus petit et moins beau que celui de Nimes, mais entretenu et conservé avec toute la décence et la propreté possibles, et que par cela même me fit une impression plus forte et plus agréable. Les François n’ont soin de rien et ne respectent aucun monument. Ils sont tout feu pour entreprendre et ne savent rien finir ni rien conserver” (OC I, p. 256). 8 Daniel Rabreau, Apollon dans la ville. Essai sur le théâtre et l'urbanisme è l'époque des Lumières, Paris, Éditions du Patrimoine, 2008 (with a copious bibliography).

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several quotes from the Lettre à D’Alembert sur les spectacles as well as from quotes in the Emile ou de l'Éducation. In the Lettre à D’Alembert, written between 1757 and 1758 in his retreat in Mont-Louis,“sans abri contre le vent et la neige et sans autre feu que celui de mon coeur”9, Rousseau scathingly rejects the proposal by D’Alembert in the article “Genève” for the Encyclopédie de Diderot et D'Alembert, to construct a theatre in Geneva10. In this text, Rousseau refutes the alleged influence of the theatre - otherwise defended by the pragmatism of the intelligentsia of the Enlightenment - on the moral betterment of men11 and considers the construction of theatres a waste of money and a source of moral and economic corruption. To build a theatre is to fall into the superfluous and to detach one self from the simplicity of customs and daily needs. Furthermore, once built, a theatre turns more and more into a center of idleness and useless expenditures, and it constitutes a waste of time that is otherwise needed to work and that is therefore sacred. For Rousseau, the inside of theatres is not a new social space, but an ‘antre obscur’12 in which an individual finds himself isolated amidst a multitude of people. Rousseau, once again, contrasts the enclosed space built by men and the open space in nature. He opposes the actor, i.e. the comedien, who lives off lie13 and costumes, and the public, who is passive inside the theatre. As a consequence, he advocates for the spontaneity and the sincerity of outdoor public feasts in which there exists no dividing architecture and no separation between the actor and the public, because 9

Les Confessions, OC I, p. 494. Vid. M.M. Moffat, Rousseau et la querelle du théâtre au XVIIIe siècle, Paris, 1930, reprint Genève, 1970; Philip Knee, “Agir sur les coeurs: spectacle et duplicité chez Rousseau”, Philosohiques, XIV, 2, 1987, p. 299-327; Juan Calatrava, La teoría de la Arquitectura y de las Bellas Artes en la Encyclopédie de Diderot y d’Alembert, Granada, 1992; J.-D. Candaux, “Voltaire contre Genève: les strategies d’un combat pour le théâtre”, in AAVV, Voltaire et ses combats, Oxford-Paris, 1994, p. 151-157; M. Butler (dir.), Rousseau on Arts and Politics / Autour de la Lettre à d’Alembert, Ottawa, 1997. 11 “Le théâtre rend la vertu aimable... Il opère un grand prodige de faire ce que la nature et la raison font avant lui! Les méchants sont haïs sur la scène... Sont-ils aimés dans la société quand on les y connaît pour tels? [...] Si tout son art consiste à nous montrer des malfaiteurs pour nous les rendre odieux, je ne vois point ce que cet art a de si admirable”, Lettre à d’Alembert, ed. par Michel de Launay, Paris, 1967 [1758], p. 75 (also in OC V, p. 21). 12 OC V, p. 114. 13 “Le théâtre n’est pas fait pour la vérité; il est fait pour flater, pour amuser les hommes; il n’y a point d’école où l’on aprenne si bien l’art de leur plaire et d’interesser le coeur humain”, Emile ou de l’Éducation, OC IV, p. 677. 10

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here everyone is an actor of the new drama of reconciliation between men and nature. Rousseau’s final opinion on the theatre, as well as on literature, architecture and institutions could only be one: if Plato did not accept Homer in his republic, we could not accept Molière in ours. Due to moral and philosophical reasons, Jean-Jacques could not accept one of the most modern and innovative aspects of Enlightenment architecture. Yet, parting from the above statements, we can see, even when it is difficult to find an architectural reflection stricto sensu, how architecture is always present in Rousseau’s thought, albeit in a very different manner and from a very essentialist point of view. Architecture is present not as a matter of aesthetics, but as a source from which his ideas on morality, economics and politics derive. We must remind ourselves that the frequent presence of architectural images is a widely used metaphor by Rousseau when it comes to formulating his most fundamental ideas. In Le Contrat Social, one can find the image of law as something one must build. Law is thus compared to a building. And so, the legislator is like an architect14. The same could be said of another one of his great political texts, the Projet de constitution pour la Corse15. It is, however, indispensable to go beyond the field of metaphors. Rousseau avails himself of his reflection on architecture to reinforce his ideal on rusticity and simplicity and his moral critique against fine arts. He considers them a waste of money and a corrupting luxury, including the art ‘of palaces’ and of cities that he contrasts to the ideal model of a rustic and patriarchal home in the countryside. The city and the palace go hand in hand in the Essai sur l’origine des langues when Rousseau identifies the origin of society after the famous ‘touch of the finger’ on the globe and the birth of architecture: “...j’entends au loin les cris de joie d’une multitude

14

“Comme avant d’élever un grand édifice l’architecte observe et sonde le sol pour voir s’il en peut soutenir le poids, le sage instituteur ne commence pas à rédiger de bonnes lois en elles-mêmes, mais il examine auparavant si le peuple auquel il les destine est propre à les supporter” (Du Contrat Social, OC III, p. 384-385). Dans le Contrat Social on peut trouver, aussi, une très intéressante application à l’architecture du relativisme de la théorie des climats: “C’est la même chose pour les bâtiments: on donne tout a la magnificence quand on n’a rien à craindre des injures de l’air. A Paris, à Londres, on veut être logé chaudement et commodement. À Madrid on a des salons superbes, mais point de fénêtres qui ferment, et l’on couche dans des nids à rats” (OC III, p. 417-418). 15 “Nous avons égalisé jusqu’ici le sol national autant qu’il nous a été possible; tâchons maintenant d’y tracer le plan de l’édifice qu’il faut élever” (Projet de constitution pour la Corse, OC III, p. 913).

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insensée; je vois édifier les palais et les villes; je vois naître les arts, les lois, le commerce...”16. As the heart of the problem in Discours sur les sciences et les arts we find a well developed idea on art as an injurious luxury; it represents the cause and the effect of surrendering the spirit and the alienation of men from nature. The confrontation between natural simplicity and corrupting luxury often assumes the form of a topos. The latter confronts the ideal models represented by Sparta and Athens. In his version of this topos in Discours sur les sciences et les arts, Rousseau compares architecture and language: whereas in Athens “...l’élégance des bâtiments y répondait à celle du langage"17, in Sparta triumph was rooted in virtue and its monuments were not marble buildings. Here in lies another leitmotif of the martinet discourse present since antiquity: the obsession of marble as a symbol of excellence and luxury. In Sparta, its monuments were founded on the heroic deeds of the citizens: “De tels monuments vaudraient-ils moins pour nous que les marbres curieux qu’Athènes nous a laissée?”. In his work, Rousseau would also appeal to the moral authority of the ancients in a famous "roman" discourse: Que signifient ces statues, ces tableaux, ces édifices? [...] C’est pour enrichir des architectes, de peintres, des statuaires, et des histrions, que vous avez arrosé de votre sang la Grèce et l’Asie? [...] Romains, hâtezvous de renverser ces amphithéâtres; brisez ces marbres; brûlez ces tableaux; chassez ces esclaves qui vous subjuguent, et dont les funestes arts vous corrompent18.

During the phase of natural rusticity, individuals still possess their individuality and their character is shown as is. However, when the progress and the development of society have reduced art to ‘principles’, vile and deceitful uniformity kill the real wit. Parting from the concrete example of the opposition between the individual home as a mirror of its owner’s virtue and his specific personality, the above is a critique of modern uniformity that can very well be applied to architecture and to the unidentified apartments amassed in Paris. As a matter of fact, one of the central themes of Rousseau’s response to Voltaire’s poem on Divine Providence - written right after the Lisbon earthquake in 1755 and whose readings perturbed Rousseau’s happy stay in his retreat in Ermitage - was that that from Paris to Lisbon, the damages resulting from the earthquake 16

OC V, p. 401. Discours sur les Sciences et les Arts, OC III, p. 12-13. 18 OC III, p. 14-15. 17

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were not due to Divine Providence, but to human actions and to the unnatural amassment of the population on flats of great height19. In the first great Discours, the paradigm of the rustic cabin as an architectural expression of natural primitiveness is of the utmost importance. The hypothesis of the cabin as a metaphor for ‘natural’ architecture - which is well known and has been pinpointed in a work by Vitruvio - is one of the propelling ideas of the Enlightenment regarding architecture20. It is explained in the almost-contemporary Essai sur l’architecture (1753) by the abbé Marc-Antoine Laugier21. Rousseau is not interested in a theory of architecture, but this hypothetical and ideal cabin symbolizes rusticity and it evokes a time of unity against the differentiation that has been brought along with the development of society. The cabin was the architecture of a time in which temple and home had not yet split and men and gods cohabitated22. In the second of the great Discours of the fifties, the celebrated Discours sur l’origine de l’inégalité parmi les hommes, the home would be counted by Rousseau as one of the ‘useless’ things that do not exist in the state of nature. Here he contrasts the home to another fundamental dichotomy: natural nudity and artificial dress23. It is also during this second discourse where he describes the ‘primitive cabin’ as an intermediate phase in the evolution of humanity: set between the primeval state of nature and the corruption of a developed society. According to Rousseau, in this search for the origin of inequality, to imagine the existence of perfectly solid families settled in their cabins in the state of nature, would equate to transposing to this original human state the ideas 19 “Sans quitter votre sujet de Lisbonne, convenez, par exemple, que la nature n’avoit pas rassemblé là vingt mille maisons de six à sept étages, et que si les habitants de cette grande ville eussent été dispersés plus également, et plus légèrement logés, le dégât eût été beaucoup moindre, et peut être nul” (letter to Voltaire, 18 August 1756, OC IV, p. 1061). 20 Vid. John Rykwert, On Adam’s House in Paradise. The Idea of the Primitive Hut in Architectural History, New York, 1972; Anthony Vidler, The Writing on the Walls. Architectural Theory in the Late Enlightenment, Princeton Un. Press, 1986; Juan Calatrava, Arquitectura y cultura en el siglo de las Luces, Editorial Universidad de Granada, 1999. 21 L'abbé Laugier wrote also an Histoire de la république de Venise (1758) and, against Rousseau's musical ideas, an Apologie de la musique française contre Rousseau (1754). Vid. W. Hermann. Laugier and the Eighteenth Century French Theory, London, 1962; V. Ugo (ed.), Laugier e la dimensione teorica dell'architettura, Bari, 1990. 22 OC III, p. 22. 23 Discours sur les origines de l'inégalité parmi les hommes, OC III, p. 140.

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taken from the reality of our own stable society. The archetype of the cabin is a manifest reference to the state of nature, but it is also, as with any and all architecture, an artificial product of the subsequent social evolution from the state of nature that once started cannot be reversed. In the state of nature, “...n’ayant ni maison, ni cabane, ni propriété d’acune espèce, chacun se logeait au hasard et souvent pour une seule nuit”24. Against the continuous movement of the nomadic man in the state of nature, settlement and ‘lodging’ are traits of the disastrous emergence of society - given that the foundational undertaking of such a society is that of fencing a lot25. The birth of the cabin can only be produced during a second state of human history, when man has recently paved the avenue of ‘progress’26. The emergence of a settled lodging is also linked to the emergence of the stable family27, while the socialization of men alongside these cabins or alongside a huge tree originates in singing and dancing and in the desire for public honour, regardless of its consequences28. Rousseau says that even as society’s evolution has started, men will remain free as long as they accept to live in their rustic cabins, as buildings that each can build on his own and that do not need the help of another29. The birth of architecture, which demands the division of labour, coincides with two great ‘arts’, that in Rousseau’s opinion, marked the beginning of slavery and humanity’s misery: agriculture and mining. Contemporary society is dominated by the urban architecture of palaces and it is only in the idyllic setting of Switzerland where Jean-Jacques would be able to find an echo of those ancient rustic cabins built by the hands of their owners. The ‘wooden home’ of the Swiss peasants comprises the subject of the

24

OC III, p. 147. “Le premier qui, ayant enclos un terrein, s’avisa de dire: Ceci est à moi, et trouva des gens assez simples pour le croire, fut le vrai fondateur de la société civile” (OC III, p. 164). 26 In the Essai sur l’origine des langues, the primitive cabin is the nucleus that holds the family together and it is seen as the symbol of an intermediate phase: a time of barbarism in which one only knows his own environment and in which it is possible to combine love towards one’s family with the utmost cruelty against everyone else. 27 OC III, p. 167. 28 “On s’accoûtuma à s’assembler devant les Cabanes ou autour d’un grand Arbre: le chant et la danse, vrais enfants de l’amour et du loisir, devinrent l’amusement ou plûtot l’occupation des hommes et des femmes oisifs et attroupés. Chacun commença à regarder les autres et à vouloir être regardé soi-même, et l’estime publique eut un prix” (OC III, p. 169). 29 OC III, p. 171. 25

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Lettre à D’Alembert as a space and a setting of the new simple and happy life that has no need for theatres30. The critique on architecture, considered an injurious luxury from an economic as well as a moral standpoint, continues in the Discours sur l’economie politique (this text was originally published as the entry “Économie politique”, written by Rousseau for the Encyclopédie in 1755 and it appears in the fifth volume of his great collected work). In this text, Rousseau affirms his ideal - strongly influenced by physiocratic thought of a natural economy led by agriculture and a public economy reigned by virtue in which all products of luxury and art are expelled through heavy taxes and severe sumptuary laws: servitude, carriages, mirrors, theatres, and of course, hôtels and urban gardens. Besides attesting to the opening of an abyss between Rousseau and the philosophes, this text presents to us another aspect of great interest: the issue of the difficult relationship between the city and the countryside; in other words, it presents the problem of Rousseau’s ‘antiurbanism’31. If this Discours speaks of the great problem of the unfair occupation of a territory in a country as a matter of economics and of first order politics32, in the Contrat social the criticism of the city as an idea in itself would be reinforced by the ideal opposition between the urban palace and the country house: “Souvenez-vous que les murs des villes ne se forment que du débris des maisons des champs. À chaque palais que je vois éléver dans la capitale, je crois voir mettre en masures tout un pays”33. The disavowal of the city is not only an argument of economics, however. On the contrary, in Rousseau’s thoughts it would turn into a complex and essential matter. In fact, the important role of this nonacceptance of the city would be at play in his autobiographical memoirs, from Confessions to the Rêveries, as well as in the great moral projects of Emile and La Nouvelle Héloïse. 30 “...dans sa jolie et propre maison de bois qu’il a bâti lui-même, s’occupe de mille travaux amusants, qui chassent l’ennui de son asile, et ajoutent à son bien-être” (OC V, p. 56). 31 Vid., besides the well-known main works about Rousseau from scholars as Bronislaw Baczko, Jean Starobinski, Robert Derathé, Raymond Trousson, Fréderic S. Eigeldinger, etc., M. Vernes, “J.-J. Rousseau: la ville dépravée”, in AA.VV., La Ville au XVIIIe siècle, Aix-en-Provence, 1975, p. 49-58. 32 Rousseau mentions among “...“...les maux qu’on guérit difficilement quand ils se font sentir, mais qu’une sage administration doit savoir prevenir”, the unequal distribution of territory and the crowding of men in specific areas while others areas are depopulated (OC III, pp. 258-259). 33 OC III, p. 427.

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In Emile, cities are defined as “...le gouffre de l’espéce humain”34 and are seen as the anthills in which men huddle (such as in Lisbon) contra natura35. With respect to city-capitals, besides being parasitic places par excellance, they act as the kingdom of uniformity, and of course, it is not in them where we would be able to find the ‘true nation’36. Concurrently, the pedagogical project in Emile establishes an obligation to keep children away from cities37. It is possible to read Rousseau’s self-portrait in the Confessions as a progressive detachment from the city, which is nothing but the producer of misfortune. If Jean-Jacques’s youth is marked by experiences such as his visit to Turin38, the celebrated episode of the closing doors, or the drawbridge of Geneva39, we could also find in these memoirs Rousseau’s future nemesis: Paris. His disappointment at the city’s unpleasant entrance40 appears to echo the reflections on urbanism made by abbé

34

OC IV, p. 277. “Les hommes ne sont point faits pour être entassés en fourmillières, mais épars sur la terre qu’ils doivent cultiver” (OC IV, p. 276). 36 “Toutes les capitales se ressemblent; tous les peuples s’y mêlent, toutes les moeurs s’y confondent; ce n’est pas là qu’il faut aller étudier les nations. Paris et Londres ne sont à mes yeux que la même ville” (OC IV, p. 850). 37 “Eloignez-les des grandes villes, où la parure et l’immodestie des femmes hâte et previent les leçons de la Nature, où tout présente à leurs yeux des plaisirs qu’ils ne doivent connoître que quand ils sauront les choisir. Ramenez-les dans leurs premières habitations, où la simplicité champêtre laisse les passions de leur âge se developper moins rapidement; ou si leur goût pour les arts les attache encore à la ville, prévenez en eux, par ce goût même, une dangereuse oisivété” (OC IV, p. 517). 38 “La première chose que je fis fut de satisfaire ma curiosité en parcourant toute la Ville, quand ce n’eût été que pour faire un acte de ma liberté” (Confessions, OC I, p. 71). 39 OC I, p. 42. 40 “Combien l’abord de Paris démentit l’idée que j’en avois! La decoration exterieure que j’avois vue à Turin, la beauté des rues, la simétrie et l’alignement des maisons me faisoient chercher à Paris autre chose encore. Je m’etois figuré une ville aussi belle que grande, de l’aspect le plus imposant, où l’on ne voyoit que de superbes rues, des palais de marbre et d’or. En entrant par le fauxbourg St. Marceau je ne vis que de petites rues sales et puantes, de vilaines maisons noires, l’air de la malpropreté, de la pauvreté, des mendians, des chartiers, des ravadeuses, des crieuses de tisanne et de vieux chapeux. Tout cela me frappa d’abord à tel point que tout ce que j’ai vu depuis à Paris de magnificence réelle n’a pu détruire cette première impression, et qu’il m’en est resté toujours un secret dégout pour l’habitation de cette capitale” (OC I, p. 159). 35

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Laugier41 in his Essai sur l'Architecture. And, the numerous passages in Confessions expose the formation process of the Rousseaunian hatred against Paris as a vivid symbol, and not only as a thought, of everything that is false, artificial and corrupt42. In 1762 Emile would settle accounts, although not definitely, with Paris: Adieu, donc, Paris, ville célèbre, ville de bruit, de fumée et de boüe, où les femmes ne croyent plus à l’honneur ni les hommes à la vertu. Adieu, Paris; nous cherchons l’amour, le bonheur, l’innocence; nous ne serons jamais assés loin de toi 43.

In the famous Letter XIV of the Second part of Julie ou La Nouvelle Héloïse, the character of Saint-Preux truly speaks as Rousseau’s alter ego when he describes to Julie the horror that his visit to Paris evokes. His descriptions counterpoise the simple, happy, and almost utopic life of the inhabitants of the mountains of Valais in Letter XXIII of the first part of this work44. Here again, we find the illusion of Switzerland as an authentic ‘island’ inside Europe. Rousseau’s accounts of Paris would be revised a century later by Baudelaire, who would depict it as solitude in the middle of a multitude of people and as silence in the middle of clattering noise45. The other great autobiographical text by Rousseau is Les Rêveries du promeneur solitaire. This text shows us a Jean-Jacques in the last phase of his life and who in spite of all of his declared rifts with the city continues to live in Paris. He also continues to feel threatened by the dangers of the city, such as the accident in Ménilmontant. He invites us to follow him in his painful and difficult trips from the centre of Paris to the countryside and through this ‘no man’s land’ that the outskirts of the city represent. The latter is the subject of one of his first modern theorizations46. 41

Essai sur l'Architecture, Paris, 1755, p. 212-215. Vid. A. Jourdan, “L’image de Paris dans l’oeuvre de Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Du rêve à la mémoire”, dans M.C. Kok-Escalle (ed.), Paris: de l’image à la mémoire, Amsterdam-Atlanta, s.d., p. 37-57. 43 OC IV, p. 691. 44 OC, p. 76-84. 45 “J’entre avec une secrete horreur dans ce vaste desert du monde. Ce cahos ne m’offre qu’une solitude affreuse, où regne un morne silence. Mon âme à la presse cherche à s’y répandre, et se trouve partout resserrée” (OC II, p. 231). 46 “Je loge au milieu de Paris. En sortant de chez moi je soupire après la campagne et la solitude mais il faut l’aller chercher si loin qu’avant de pouvoir respirer à mon aise je trouve en mon chemin mille objets qui me serrent le coeur, et la moitié de la journée se passe en angoisses avant que j’aye atteint l’asyle que je vais chercher. Heureux du moins quand on me laisse achever ma route. Le moment où j’échappe 42

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This ‘antiurban’ sentiment constitutes the background of the Rousseaunian idea of the home. The concepts of settling and establishing evoke man’s loss of nature. However, after man’s fall, the home, a country house in intimate contact with nature, is the only isolating refuge for the virtuous man. It is also the only place in which one can regain some of the unity and happiness that have been lost. In this context, to speak of Rousseau’s dwellings raises questions beyond a simple biographical anecdote. Rousseau’s homes are a very important part of his self-portrait and in all of his autobiographical texts the belief in the great potential of the architectural environment to produce happiness or misfortune47 is palpable. Often, critics have spoken of the impossibility to separate Rousseau’s eventful life from his work and thought. To this, it should be added that an essential part of his biography is influenced by the places in which he lived and above all, by the ways in which he inhabited those places. Rousseau’s eagerness to find his dream home far away from the wickedness of men is condemned to remain unsatisfied: through his life, the theorist of the home-refuge would be a true nomad, never a property owner like Voltaire48; but always a guest who time and time again would be expelled from paradise right after he has believed to have found it. Among Rousseau’s dwellings, the home of Madame de Warens in Annecy occupies a special place. In the memoirs of Confessions, Rousseau’s second arrival to the home of Madame de Warens - after the disappointment experienced in Turin - is seen as a true founding event. This home is modest, but comfortable. Paradoxically labelled as a ‘patriarchal’ home, that above all headquarters the virtue of truth and feelings, it offers us an image of the model Rousseau would always

au cortège des méchans est delicieux et sitot que je me vois sous les arbres au milieu de la verdure je crois me voir dans le paradis terrestre et je goute un plaisir interne aussi vif que si j’étois le plus heureux des mortels” (OC I, pp. 1082-1083). Vid. Burt, E.S., “Mapping city walk: the topography of memory in Rousseau’s Second and Seventh Promenades”, Yale French Studies, 74, 1988, pp. 231-247. 47 Confessions traces Jean-Jacques’ youth as an authentic moral itinerary linked to the different homes he lived in and to the environment in them: “J’étois hardi chez mon père, libre chez M. Lambercier, discret chez mon oncle; je devins craintif chez mon maitre, et dès lors je fus un enfant perdu” (OC I, p. 31.). 48 In Confessions, Rousseau establishes a distinction between property and enjoinment: “...il ne m’en falloit même la propiété: c’éstoit assez pour moi de la jouissance; et il y a longtemps que j’ai dit et senti que le propriétaire et le posesseur sont souvent deux personnes très differentes; même en laissant à part les maris et les amans” (OC I, p. 225).

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pursue: the home in contact with nature and distanced from urban luxury49. In 1736, always with ‘Maman’, the country house of Les Charmettes50 that was rented for the summer -with its terrace, garden, vines, orchard, and fountain- is linked to some of Rousseau’s happiest moments, in so much that the much obliged return to the city during the winter would literally be lived as an ‘exile’51. The second important dwelling in Jean-Jacques’s life is the Ermitage de Montmorency, proffered and prepared for him by Madame D’Epinay52. In April 1756, Rousseau settles there and he highlights that year as the renunciation of Paris and thus, of the city. Always with the expectation of a rapid escape to the countryside, he distinguishes between the concept of inhabiting and the simple fulfilment of sporadic stays53. Book IX of Confessions neatly narrates his idyllic life in this much-dreamed refuge: Me voilà donc enfin chez moi dans un azyle agréable et solitaire, maitre d’y couler mes jours dans cette vie indépendante, égale et paisible pour laquelle je me sentois né54.

Very soon, however, Ermitage would be added to the list of Rousseau’s ‘lost paradises’, whose recently found happiness is marred by the interferences of the exterior world, such as the unwelcome visitors of Paris, the supposed ‘conspiracy’ by Diderot and D’Holbach, Voltaire’s poem on the Lisbon earthquake, and the misunderstanding with Madame D’Epinay. 49

“C'était depuis Bossey la première fois que j'avais du vert devant mes fenêtres. Toujours masqué par des murs je n'avais eu sous les yeux que des toits ou le gris des rues [...] On ne trouvait pas chez Madame de Warens la magnificence que j'avais vue à Turin, mais on y trouvait la propreté, la décence et une abondance patriarcale avec laquelle le faste ne s'allie jamais” (OC I, p. 105). 50 OC I, p. 224. 51 “Nous vîmes arriver l'hiver avec grand regret et nous retournâmes à la Ville comme nous serions allés en éxil” (OC I, p. 231). His stay at Les Charmettes is also the first example of a complete and timeless happiness, serendipitously interrupted by an ‘awakening’ (his pastime next to Mme. de Warens), as it is indicated by N. Bonhöte, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Vision de l’histoire et autobiographie, Lausanne, 1992, p. 204-211. 52 OC I, p. 395-396. 53 “Ce fut le 9 avril 1756 que je quittai la ville pour n’y plus habiter; car je ne compte pas pour habitation quelques courts séjours que j’ai faits depuis tant à Paris qu’à Londres et dans d’autres villes mais toujours de passage ou toujours malgré moi” (OC I, p. 403). 54 OC I, p. 413.

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Now it is time to mention the house in Mont-Louis in Montmorency. Rousseau leases it following “...cette loi que je m’étois faite en quittant l’Hermitage d’avoir toujours mon logement à moi”55. Nonetheless, while some repairs are being done to the recently leased house, he accepts the invitation from Maréchal of Luxembourg to stay in a small isolated building in Montmorency Park. In the description of M. Luxembourg’s great château, we find one of the strictly rare architectural compliments to the building and to the garden, rooted in an interesting recourse on the aesthetic concept of the ‘Je ne sais quoi’56. In the small château, i.e. in the building offered to him as lodging, he occupies one of the four apartments, “le plus petit et le plus simple”. It is “dans cette profonde et délicieuse solitude” where Jean-Jacques writes, “dans une continuelle extase”, the fifth book of Emile. Here again we explicitly find the recollection of paradise, now linked to the very domestic memory of coffee and milk that he drinks everyday with Thérèse under the epistyle: “J’étois là dans le Paradis terrestre; j’y vivois avec autant d’innocence, et j’y goûtois le même bonheur”. Of this ‘paradise’, Rousseau would keep a key even after the reparations on the house were done, since he considers it his ‘country house’. In the small home in Mont-Louis, we find the perfect combination of the architectural environment and a ‘natural’ world, in spite of having been built by man. The property owner, M. Mathas, “le meilleur homme du monde", had given Rousseau total freedom to arrange the house to his taste, which he furnished rather simply. Despite its length, it is worth citing the almost complete description of this new ‘paradise’. It begins in media res, between a closed refuge and a true nature, whose landscape, greenery and even domesticated birds, among many other elements, are comparable to the glass enclosure of the donjon: Je trouvai donc le moyen de me faire d’une seule chambre au premier un appartement complet, composé d’une chambre, d’une antichambre et d’un garderobe. Au rez-de-chaussée étoient la cuisine et la chambre de Therese. 55

OC I, p. 526. “Mais on voit à Montmorency ou Anguien une maison particulière bâtie par Croisat dit le pauvre laquelle ayant la magnificence des plus superbes châteaux en mérite et en porte le nom. L’aspect imposant du bel édifice, la terrasse sur laquelle il est bâti, sa vue, unique peut-être au monde, son vaste salon peint d’une excellente main, son jardin planté par le célèbre Le Nôtre; tout cela forme un tout dont la majesté frappante a pourtant je ne sais quoi de simple qui soutient et nourrit l’admiration” (OC I, p. 517). Rousseau also writes an enthusiastic description of the beautiful landscape of Montmorency Park. Vid. Catalog of Exposition J.-J. Rousseau dans l’île enchantée: le Parc de Montmorency, Montmorency, 1995.

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Le Donjon me servoit de cabinet au moyen d’une bonne cloison vitrée et d’une cheminée qu’on y fit faire. Je m’amusai quand j’y fus à orner la terrasse qu’ombrageoient déja deux rangs de jeunes tilleuls, j’y en fis ajouter deux pour faire un cabinet de verdure; j’y fis poser une table et des bancs de pierre; je l’entourai de lilas, de seringa, de chevrefeuille, j’y fis faire une belle platebande de fleurs parallèle aux deux rangs d’arbres; et cette terrasse, plus élevée que celle du Château, dont la vue étoit du moins aussi belle, et sur laquelle j’avois apprivoisé des multitudes d’oiseaux, me servoit de salle de compagnie pour reçevoir M. Et Made. De Luxembourg [...]”57.

To Mont-Louis and to Montmorency, Rousseau would add a third occasional dwelling: the room offered to him in the Palace of Luxembourg in Paris, where he confesses to have stayed while controlling his disgust to the city-capital and reassuring his conscience with the argument that if he entered the palace through the garden, “...de sorte que je pouvois dire avec la plus exacte vérité que je n’avois pas mis le pied sur le pavé de Paris”58. We could continue speaking of a series of Rousseau’s dwellings. What is important though is the fact that his recollections - either real or dreamed, of the house of Madame de Warens in Annecy, Les Charmettes, Ermitage, Mont-Louis, and later Môtiers, or the island of Saint-Pierre in Switzerland, as well as the negative recollections of Paris and London fuel the theory of the home of the virtuous man. This theory intertwines Jean-Jacques’s life, his revision of his own biography in his autobiographical and epistolary texts and, finally, the great universal texts such as the different Discours, Emile or La Nouvelle Héloïse. It is precisely in Emile where Rousseau presents the hypothesis of what he would do “si j’étois riche”. In his response he clarifies his refusal to the idea of owning a palace: it is not only about a moral disavowal of luxury, but also about the fact that the ‘palace’ and the lavish manner in which one is supposed to inhabit a place, according to architectural typology, entails a ‘heaviness’ in staying, against the ‘light’ lodging to which Rousseau aspires. He is a modern nomad that is always willing to leave and whose house must be, above all, provisional. If Jean-Jacques were rich, he would be able to draw all his philosophical conclusions from the ubi bene, ibi patria. His home would be furnished very simply, without a library or a

57 58

OC I, p. 526-527. OC I, p. 528.

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gallery59, and it would headquarter a true, pure, and transparent sociability, with honest friends and without the deceitfulness of the court or the mundaneness of a sitting room. Even if he owned a palace, he would inhabit only one room because “...toute pièce commune n’est à personne”60. The corresponding term of this simple urban lodging is, in the same chapter of Emile, the country house of this ‘wealthy’ theorist. This must be a small rustic house in which the idea of taking to the country all the comforts and excesses of the city has been rejected, given that the purpose is to forget the urban ambiance and to become a true inhabitant of the country: “Je n’irois pas me bâtir une ville en campagne et mettre au fond d’une province les Tuilleries devant mon appartement”61. Rousseau maps out an ideal project of the rustic house. He even specifies its colors and construction materials. It must be a small house, “blanche avec des contrevents verds”, and situated “sur le penchant de quelque agréable colline bien ombragée”62. Its roof must be of tile instead of ‘sad slate’ or wattle. A fundamental element is his refusal to include in his project particular spaces with an urban air, which are substituted for rural ones: “J’aurois pour cour une basse-cour, et pour écurie une étable avec des vaches pour avoir du laitage que j’aime beaucoup”63. At the same time instead of a garden, there will be an orchard and its fruits will be available to all passersby. And, as it is known of Rousseau, an essential part of the house will also be the surrounding nature: the dining room will be everywhere, not inside the house, but in open air. The nature surrounding the house refers us back to a key concept in the Rousseaunian idea of inhabiting: insularity. The house is devised as an isolated refuge, preserved from urban depravity. It must be remembered that the only book Jean-Jacques saved for Emile’s education was indeed

59

Mes meubles seroient simples comme mes goûts; je n’aurois ni gallerie ni bibliothèque, surtout si j’aimois la lecture et que je me connusse en tableaux” (OC IV, p. 682). 60 OC IV, p. 681. In Book V of Emile, he critiques this promiscuous blend when he compliments the paternal and family house: “Ce n’est que dans la maison paternelle qu’on prend du goût pour sa propre maison, et toute femme que sa mère n’a point élevée n’aimera point élever ses enfans. Malheureusement il n’y a plus d’éducation privée dans les grandes villes. La société y est si générale et si mêlée qu’il ne reste plus d’azile pour la retraite et qu’on est en plublic jusques chez soi. A force de vivre avec tout le monde on n’a plus de famille” (OC IV, p. 739). 61 OC IV, p. 686-687. 62 Ibid. 63 Ibid.

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Defoe's Robinson Crusoe64. If in Confessions, Rousseau described his obligatory stay at the lazaretto of Genoa as the experience of a ‘new Robinson’65, the myth of the solitary man - who is well provided for by useless human production - acquires a new tone in the island: it is the metaphor of a deliberate isolation, brought about not by luck, but by man’s wickedness in society. This isolation is not necessarily lived in a remote place: while the city is always in geographical proximity, it is spiritually distant. It is separated from the house-refuge by a natural barrier such as a garden or water (the island of Saint-Pierre is a true case of isolation). When Rousseau remembers Les Charmettes, he insists that this property was situated “...à la porte de Chambéri, mais retirée et solitaire comme si l’on étoit à cent lieues” 66. As regards the paradisiac Ermitage, nobody would believe that it was four leagues away from Paris67. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre has narrated the relative project of seclusion that Rousseau had devised next to Lord Keith and a captain from the East India Company: each one of them would acquire a rustic property on the banks of lake Leman and their complete isolation would only be interrupted by the raising a flag when one of the three wished to have guests. In fact, Rousseau had thought of locating the plot of La Nouvelle Héloïse in the Borromean Islands and although this idea was abandoned68 in favor of the other great continental ‘island’ of Switzerland, the isolating myth resurfaces in the famous epistolary novel in the distant travels of Saint-Preux. Here he compares the blessed life of the inhabitants of Clarens to the life of the inhabitants of islands of the southern seas69. However, for Rousseau, the idea of the island is in itself the memory of his stay at lake Bienne in the island of Saint-Pierre in Switzerland: a very brief stay, between September 12th and October 25th 1765, would represent the 64

OC IV, p. 455. OC I, p. 296-297. 66 OC I, p. 224. 67 OC I, p. 403-404. 68 “Je songeai longtemps aux îles Borromées dont l'aspect délicieux m'avait transporté, mais j'y trouvait trop d'ornement et d'art pour mes personnages” (OC I, p. 431). 69 Vid., besides the main work from Michèle Duchet, Anthropologie et histoire au Siècle des Lumières, Paris, Maspéro, 1971; G. Mazzoleni and M. Tibaldi, Il mito delle Isole Felici nelle relazioni di viaggio del Settecento, Messina-Firenze, 1976; S. Faesel, “Entre l'état de nature et la civilisation: le mythe de Tahiti”, Etudes Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 8, 1996, p. 143-160; Geneviève Gubier-Robert, “Voyager dans La Nouvelle Heloïse”, Bulletin de l'Association Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 57, 2001, p. 17-31. 65

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closest he has been to reaching happiness in his ominous biography70. Confessions presents the island of Saint-Pierre as a small idyllic place that captures the ideal of autarchy, whereas Les Rêveries du promeneur solitaire places much more importance on landscape details and insists upon contrasting the savage nature of the lakeshore to the landscape of a civilized Genève71. Rousseau takes on a life project as he settles in this lightly frequented and adequate place for ‘ruminative solitaries’. He explains it in Confessions: “Tel étoit l’azyle que je m’étois ménagé, et où je résolus d’aller m’établir en quittant le Val-de-Travers. Ce choix étoit si conforme à mon goût pacifique, à mon humeur solitaire et paresseuse que je le compte parmie les douces rêveries dont je me suis le plus vivement passionné. Il me sembloit que dans cette Ile je serois plus separé des hommes, plus à l’abri de leurs outrages, plus oublié d’eux, plus livré, en un mot, aux douceurs du desoeuvrement et de la vie contemplative”72. The Rêveries will finally carry the nostalgic memory of his recently found and now lost happiness73. Insularity, however, does not aim at a physical isolation inside the house. On the contrary, the house, while situated in an isolated and protected territory must be open to a protective environment. The refuge of the virtuous man must not only be made up of the actual material house. Actually, as a recurrent theme, Rousseau rejects the idea of internment inside a den as well as that of confinement inside the walls of the house. It is important to remember that in his youth Rousseau suffered from confinement in two different institutions, one in Turin’s hospice, and the other in Genoa’s lazaretto. For Rousseau, the enclosing walls of the room would always resemble a prison in which it is not even possible to pray74. 70

Sigismond Wagner, L'île de Saint-Pierre, Genève, 1978; Barbara Piatti, Rousseaus Garten. Le jardin de Rousseau, Bâle, 2001. 71 “Les rives du lac de Bienne sont plus sauvages et romantiques que celles du lac de Genève, parce que les rochers et les bois y borden l'eau de plus près; mais elles ne sont pas moins riantes. S'il y a moins de culture de champs et de vignes, moins de villes et de maisons, il y a aussi plus de verdure naturelle, plus de prairies, d'asiles ombragés de bocages, des contrastes plus fréquents et des accidents plus rapprochés” (OC I, p. 1040). 72 OC I, p. 638. 73 “De toutes leshabitations où j'ai demeuré (et j'en ai eu de charmantes), aucune ne m'a rendu si veritablement heureux et ne m'a laissé de si tendres regrets que l'Île de Saint-Pierre au milieu du lac de Bienne” (OC I, p. 1040). 74 “Je n’ai jamais aimé à prier dans la chambre: il me semble que les murs et tous ces petits ouvrages des hommes s’interposent entre Dieu et moi” (OC I, p. 236). The relationship between religion and nature is the focus of the Profession of foi du Vicaire savoyard, included in Emile.

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In paradisiac land, Rousseau’s activity is very different from that of the stationary philosopher or the writer who is always seated inside his den. His activity is dynamic and it is best illustrated by the promenade as a way of thinking that connects with nature. This contact with nature is for JeanJacques an inseparable part of his work: “Car, comme je crois l’avoir dit, je ne puis méditer qu’en marchant; sitot que je m’arrête je ne pense plus et ma tête ne va qu’avec mes pieds”75. The central idea of the Rêveries confirms that the movement of the solitary promenade is a fundamental element of an unmethodical thinking that is not recognized by the traditionally written philosophical discourse: “...tenir un registre fidelle de mes promenades solitaires et des rêveries qui les remplissent quand je laisse ma tête entièrement libre, et mes idées suivre leur pente sans resistance et sans gêne”76. In spite of all the allegations about the idleness of the promenades - which for Jean-Jacques constitute a true form of intellectual work - they expand and define the ‘house’, of which the garden, the grove, the forest, the lakeshore, the mountains, etc. are all necessary elements. In Emile, Rousseau states the fundamental difference between the healthy sylvan promenade and the pernicious urban walk, in which one develops the habit of appearances and of wanting to be observed77. Emile would spend most of his time outdoors and not inside the house, because “...à peine peut-il respirer à son aise dans une chambre bien fermée, il lui faut le grand air, le mouvement, la fatigue”78. It is true that in the Rêveries the promenade was not always pleasant and adequate and often included unpleasant surprises that remind us of ephemeral happiness. In the seventh part of this work, Rousseau confirms the meddling of architecture in nature as he strolls through Jura in 1764: he is impacted, first by the noise and then by the sight of a factory of nylons. This discovery produces in him a set of mixed feelings: right after experiencing the immediate happiness of the human presence, he is overcome by pain as he reminds himself of the evils associated with humans and realizes that even the mountains have begun to lose their quality as a refuge79. 75

OC I, p. 410. OC I, p. 1002. 77 OC IV, p. 393. 78 OC IV, p. 801. 79 “Mais ce mouvement plus rapide que l'éclair fit bientôt place à un sentiment douloureux plus durable comme ne pouvant les antres mêmes des alpes échapper aux cruelles mais des hommes acharnés à me tourmenter” (OC I, p. 1071). Rousseau adds an interesting clarification on his confirmed vision of Switzerland as idyllic: “Il n’y a que la Suisse au monde qui présente ce mélange de la nature 76

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Rousseau’s house is at the same time made up of an interior and an exterior. Its walls are not borders, since they must allow openness and intimacy with the surrounding nature. As an architectural creation, the house is always indivisible from its natural environment, whether it is truly natural or ‘built-in’ as a garden, grove, or orchard. The built-in enclosure without an exterior is a threat80. For Jean-Jacques, the physical need of a closed and covered architecture is the symptom of a loss, a symbol of man’s weakness that results from society’s development. For him, nature and not the ‘inside’ of the house is the space for thinking to take place. Such a space has more to do with rêverie than reflection and it constitutes some of the most significant moments of the Rousseaunian iter, such as the famous ‘illumination’ of Vincennes, which happens outdoors. Rousseau never had an office, the place of the philosophe par excellance. When he had anything similar to an office, it was always, like in Mont-Louis, a very open room that he only used only if the weather was bad. For him, the closed office symbolizes a place of reflection, of painful writing that contrasted with the spontaneity of the free, immediate thinking of the open space and of the promenade81. His true office would always be his own nature: “...et je comptois bien que la forest de Montmorency qui étoit presque à ma porte, seroit desormais mon cabinet de travail”82. The most important ‘room’ of this house, broadly understood, is the garden. The idea of the garden as an adequate space for the retreat of man, whose been injured by moral corruption, is found in several instances throughout Rousseau’s work. This garden is a complex intellectual model that Rousseau builds step by step, that is, progressively. He begins by combining ancient concepts linked to the idea of paradises with the sauvage et de l’industrie humaine. La Suisse entière n’est pour ainsi dire qu’une grand ville dont les rues larges et longues plus que celle de St.Antoine cont semées de forets, coupées de montagnes, et dont les maisons éparses et isolées ne communiquent entre elles que par des jardins anglois”. The letter written in Motiers to the Marshall of Luxembourg on January 20, 1763 (CC, t. 15, nº 2441) is associated with this statement. It includes the famous ‘moral’ description of Switzerland along with an address from Neuchâtel that starts halfway between ancient simplicity and the corruption generated by money that was mostly derived from France. 80 At the beginning of the second part of Confessions, he states: “...les planchers sous lesquels je suis ont des yeux, les murs qui m’entourent ont des oreilles” (OC I, p. 279). 81 Vid. the Chapter VIII in Jean Starobinski, Jean-Jacques Rousseau. La transparence et l'obstacle, Paris, Gallimard, 1971. 82 OC I, p. 404.

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physiocratic ideas of agriculture. The model, however, is mostly the fusion between his passion for botany and his moral reflections on the benefits of man’s solitude in nature. As it has already been seen, Confessions abounds with various descriptions of idyllic gardens and diverse paradises, in which JeanJacques would find an ephemeral refuge against the evilness of his exterior world83. His personal interest for herbs must be understood in this context as it highlights the fact that compared to the primarily scientific and utilitarian interests of the Enlightenment, he considers such activities as ‘pure’ knowledge. The cultivation of the garden is also a ‘natural’ pedagogical element in Emile. La Nouvelle Héloïse, however, is the Rousseaunian work that purports the best model of the garden-house84. Letters X and XI in the fourth part of this epistolary novel describe the famous ‘Elysium’ of the Wolmar marriage as the most intimate space in a wider paradisiacal setting: it is comprised by an economically and morally well-administered property, whose center is the house. Indeed, Letter X describes the life in Clarens as an agrarian exploitation and as a social and utopic family setting. In Clarens, where convenience and utilitarianism succeed over the emptiness of appearances, the house has only become habitable due to the redistribution of the space that has suppressed the enfilades and reduced the dimension of the rooms so that “Depuis que les maîtres de cette maison y ont fixé leur demeure, ils en ont mis à leur usage tout ce qui ne servait qu’à l’ornement; ce n’est plus une maison faite pour être vue, mais pour être habitée”85. The solemnity that dressed the old house has disappeared to give way to a more genuine ‘sylvan’ appearance. The cultivation of the estate is a close physiocratic example of well-managed 83

The description of M. Mussard could be considered a true model, since his house in Passy offered a temporary refuge when Paris became unbearable: “Le bon homme Musard, vrai philosophe de pratique vivoit sans souci dans une maison très agréable qu’il s’étoit bâtie et dans un très joli jardin qu’il avoit planté de ses mains” (OC I, p. 373). 84 J.F. Jones, La Nouvelle Heloïse: Rousseau and Utopia, Genève, 1978; N. Behbahani, “Paysages rêvés, paysages vécus dans la Nouvelle Heloïse”, Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth-Century, 271, 1989; Elizabeth MacArthur, “Textual Gardens: Rousseau’Elysée and Girardin’s Ermenonville”, Romance Quarterly, 38, August 1991, p. 331-340; S. Taylor-Leduc, “Luxury in the Garden: La Nouvelle Heloïse reconsidered”, Studies in the History of Gardens, 19, 1, 1999, p. 74-85; Jacques Berchtold, “L’impossibilité du jardin verbal. Les leçons de la nature selon la Lettre IV, 11 de La Nouvelle Heloïse”, dans Jürgen Söring / Peter Gasser (Hrsg.), Rousseauismus. Naturevangelium und Literatur, Frankfurt, 1999, p. 53-83. 85 OC II, p. 441.

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farming, where the land is not leased, but worked under the direct care of the owner and where its benefit is not dictated by the urge for profit, but by the philanthropic wish to increase the happiness of the population of this ‘island’. Very few servants - bound to the land and not corrupted by any previous service in the city - are needed to take care of this very simple house. Healthy nourishment, pure and innocent outdoor games, and dancing distinguish the daily life of this happy community. On their shoulders, however, falls the responsibility of virtue, which takes the shape of the enlightened dictatorship M. Wolmar places on the smallest details in the daily life of his dependents. The house in Clarens is not a different architectural setting, but a true portrayal of the happiness and virtue of its owner86. It is only after having admired and shared the orderliness of this microcosm that Saint-Preux, the previous lover of Madame Wolmar, is admitted in the close and private garden of the Elysium. This is his final stop and his reward for the initiatory journey that allowed him to renounce his self-loveand to exchange it for the love of general happiness. Letter XI describes this last space: a place characterized for its isolation, a true hortus conclusus that is in proximity to the house, but invisible inside of its strict confinement,whichprevents one from even sensing the existence of a door87. For Saint-Preux, to pass through that invisible door, is to enter another world, “le plus sauvage et solitaire de la nature”. He has the feeling of being “le premier mortel qui jamais eût pénetré dans ce désert”, and he immediately remembers the islands of Tinian and Juan Fernández which Rousseau footnotes as ‘deserted’. Rousseau the botanist, who loved plants and herbs, praised the absence of exotic and imported plants at the Elysium and extolled the presence of native plants: the predilection for the domestic economy and the criticism of the luxurious phase created by exotic botany goes hand in hand with the compliment for authenticity and 86 “Mais toute maison bien ordonnée est l’image de l’âme du maître. Les lambris dorés, le luxe et la magnificence n’annoncent que la vanité de celui qui les étale; au lieu que partout où vous verrez regner la règle sans tristesse, la paix sans esclavage, l’abondance sans profusion, dites avec confiance: C’est un être heureux qui commande ici” (OC II, p. 466). 87 “Ce lieu, quoique tout proche de la maison, est tellement caché par l’allée couverte qui l’en sépare, qu’on ne l’aperçoit de nulle part. L’épais feuillage qui l’environne ne permet point à l’oeil d’y pénetrer, et il est toujours soigneusement fermé à clef. À peine fus.je au-dedans, que, la porte étant masquée par des aunes et des coudriers qui ne laissent que deux étroits passages sur les côtés, je ne vis plus en me retournant par où j’étais entrée, et, n’appercevant point de porte, je me trouvai là comme tombe des nues” (OC II, p. 471).

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for the natural and symbolic asset that this garden represents in his homeland. In this paradise water flows freely and naturally, not channeled through anything. Animal life is also an indispensible element. The singing of birds is nature’s music: it isolates man from the depravation of humanity and it allows him to be in communion with nature. Everything seems natural and original in this paradise, in this deserted island, never inhabited by man. Saint-Preux knows that that is only an illusion, but when he interrogates Wolmar about the gardener’s hands and the steps of men, the answer of the latter leaves no doubt on the artificial state of the Elysium: “Ah! Dit M. De Wolmar, c’est qu’on a pris grand soin de les effacer”88. Nature as original and uncontaminated is brought about though the proscription of symmetry: “Il ne donnera à rien de la symétrie; elle est ennemie de la nature et de la variété"89. This exemplifies Rousseau’s position on the great debates of the Enlightenment regarding gardens. Indeed, Saint-Preux compareshis experience at the Elysium with what we could call the anti-Elysium, that is, the geometric garden according to the French tradition of André Le Nôtre and its disciples: “Je me figure, leur dis-je, un homme riche de Paris ou de Londres, maître de cette maison et amenant avec lui un architecte chèrement payé pour gâter la nature”. This model - with its avenues and alignments, goose legs, trellises and grass squares, parterres, and shrubs clipped according to topiary art, vases and statues, etc. - is bluntly condemned by M. Wolmar: “Je ne vois dans ces terrains si vastes et si richement ornés que la vanité du proprietaire et de l’artiste”90. This notwithstanding, next to the geometric garden, other possible models are discussed. The first is that of the flower grower: a vain, puerile and costly enterprise that subverts the real purpose of flowers and that for Wolmar, as well as for Rousseau, exemplifies the excess and aberrations of the scientific spirit91. The second is that of the Chinese and English gardens. Saint-Preux, in the course of his travels, declares to have seen the gardens demanded by Wolmar, which are asymmetrical and disorderly. The Elysium has also nothing to do with the model of Chinese gardens because, from an economic point of view, they are very expensive to create and to maintain. From the point of view of aesthetics, they present an artificial composition of beauty that nature already distributes throughout. The crowding of artificial objects is also a complaint against 88

OC II, p. 479. OC II, p. 483. 90 This quote as well as the previous one is found in OC II, p. 480. 91 OC II, p. 481. 89

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the English garden that begins with the example of park Stowe, or ‘Staw’ as Saint-Preux says. It is a model that despite some of the hastened associations of ‘Rousseaunianism’ with the English garden, he would never claim as his: “Tel est, par exemple, la parc célèbre de milord Cobham à Staw. C’est un composé de lieux très beaux et très pittoresques dont les aspects ont été choisis en différents pays, et dont tout paraît naturel, excepté l’assemblage, comme dans les jardins de la Chine, dont je viens de vous parler. Le maître et le créateur de cette superbe solitude y a même fait construire des ruines, des temples, d’anciens édifices; et les temps ainsi que les lieux y sont rassemblés avec une magnificence plus qu’humaine. Voilà précisement de quoi je me plains”92. Rousseau’s garden, as a true sitting room and office of his ideal house, is neither French nor English: he stays out of the debate on aesthetics because, as Wolmar himself reminds us, it is about a place “...planté par les mains de la vertu”93.

92 93

OC II, p. 484. OC II, p. 485.

CHAPTER THREE SINAPIA: UTOPIA, TERRITORY, AND CITY AT THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY CARLOS SAMBRICIO ESCUELA TÉCNICA SUPERIOR DE ARQUITECTURA, UNIVERSIDAD POLITÉCNICA DE MADRID, SPAIN

In 1975, Stelio Cro published Sinapia in the United States. The Spanish utopian manuscript was discovered in the Archive of the Count of Campomanes, the Minister of Finance and Director of the Academy of History in the second half of the eighteenth century. One year later, the Spanish historian Miguel Avilés re-edited Sinapia in Spain (Figure 1). In his introduction to the book, he disagreed with Cro about the year of publication assigned to the original text. A rarity in Spanish literature, Sinapia describes a country that is antipodal to Spain. Rather than telling a story, Sinapia describes the political, fiscal, religious and administrative organization, as well as the moral behaviours and social structure of the Republic. Cro published the manuscript of Sinapia with an anonymous text called Discourse on Education that he found in the same archive. He published them together because he believed they shared the same author. Based on descriptions in Sinapia of the religious and educational systems, Cro was of the opinion that the text was written before 1682. He justified this date based on a pair of notations that he found in the same archive. Avilés, on the other hand, although he did not state why, thought that Sinapia was written in the second half of the eighteenth century; he even insinuated that Campomanes wrote Sinapia 1. 1

Jorge Cejudo López, Catálogo del Archivo del Conde de Campomanes (Fondos Carmen Dorado y Rafael Gasset) (Madrid: Fundación Universitaria Española, 1975); Stelio Cro, Descripción de la Sinapia, península en la tierra austral. A Classical Utopia of Spain (Hamilton: McMaster University, 1975); see also “La

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Figure 1. Map of Sinapia, by Miguel Avilés, in the Introduction to Sinapia. Una utopía española del Siglo de las Luces (Madrid: Editorial Nacional, 1976), 23.

The problem with Sinapia is twofold: both the authorship of the manuscript and the date it was written are unknown. French historian François López soon entered the debate. Although at first he was in agreement with Cro, later he suggested that the text had been written in the first third of the eighteenth century by a Levantine novador [reformer]. He noted the presence of two Catalan words – botilleres and parruqueros – in the story used to describe trades related to the leisure industry. For him, the Levantine roots of the words were enough to attribute authorship of the manuscript to a learned Levantine 2. Basing his judgment on intuition, López suggested that Manuel Marti was the author. Both Álvarez de Miranda and López Estrada shared his opinion on the matter 3. From that utopía en España: Sinapia,” Cuadernos para Investigación de la Literatura Hispánica 2-3 (1980): 27-38. Miguel Avilés, Sinapia. Una utopía española del Siglo de las Luces (Madrid: Editora Nacional, 1976). 2 Stelio Cro, Descripción de la Sinapia, op.cit. 67. 3 François López “Considerations sur la Sinapie,” in La contestation de la societé dans la littérature espagnole du Siécle d’Or (Toulouse: Université de Tououse-Le Mirail, 1981), 205-211; see by the same author “Una utopia española en busca de

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moment forward, scholars expressed diverse opinions about the date of publication of the manuscript. According to two important French Hispanists, Paul J. Guinard and J.R. Aymes, Sinapia could have been written at the end of the eighteenth century. Aymes even arrived at the conclusion that “qui lit la Sinapia ne retrouve la qu’un pauvre amalgame d’idées empruntrées au P. Sarmiento ou a Jovellanos” 4. For these scholars, three different dates seemed plausible: 1682, 1730, and 1780. Cro proposed the first date because he thought the manuscript exhibited signs consistent with various religious and educational controversies seen in Spain in the seventeenth century. He fixed the date subjectively, and he did not provide documentation for his reasoning. López, who at first agreed with Cro, later proposed the date 1730, citing the text’s relationship with the economic and scientific reforms that began to flourish in Spain during the first third of the eighteenth century. López situated the work within the context of people seeking a new spirit of rationality. Avilés, Guinard and Aymes believed that the text was written during the Enlightenment due to its demonstrated interest in the construction of a “New Rome.” Even today, nothing has been definitively proven, and Cro’s opinion, as well as those of López, Avilés, Guinard, and Aymes, are hypotheses. Given the variation among the suggested dates of publication of Sinapia, and the absence of concrete documents or facts, a close reading of the text is necessary to give context to the different arguments. In the editions of Sinapia by Cro and Avilés, the text is organized into thirty-three sections that can be grouped according to subject: sections one through five describe the origins of Sinapia, details about its inhabitants, the geography, the fertility of the land, and its flora and fauna; sections six through twenty-one describe the political division of the Republic; sections twenty-two and twenty-three comment on religion; sections twenty-four through twenty-eight describe the military government and economy, the justice and educational systems, and other civic organizations; sections twenty-nine through thirty one describe work and commerce, as well as the importance of the sciences and arts in the autor: Sinapia. Historia de una equivocación. Inicios para un acierto,” Anales de la Universidad de Alicante 2 (1982): 211-221, as well as “Une autre aproche a Sinapie,” in Las Utopías del mundo hispánico. (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez y Universidad Complutense, 1990), 13. 4 Jean René Aymes “Les ilustrados espagnols de la deuxième moitié du XVIII siècle et l’enseignement élémentaire. Etude Comparative,” in École et société en Espagne et Amérique Latine (XVIII-XX siècles) (Tours, 1983), 9-48.

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Republic. The author concludes the last section with two comments: he discusses different types of slaves in Sinapia and he also states that Sinapia “is the most perfect opposite of our Hispania”5. Certain aspects of Sinapia are described in detail; for example, the agricultural organization of the community and descriptions of architectural details share similarities with Thomas Moore’s Utopia (1516). It would be difficult to imagine that the author of Sinapia was not familiar with Moore’s Renaissance work. The originality of Sinapia as compared to Utopia lies in the quantitative organization of the territory. For example, in Sinapia, all of the cities are the same and “all are constructed according to the same plan and all have the same aspect.” The author defines the political and territorial organization of the Republic and proposes a qualitative assessment of it. In Utopia, King Utopos commissions an artificial island and establishes 54 cities. The capital, Amaurota, is situated in the middle of the island, and all the cities are situated an equal distance from it. For Moore, the cities are all the same, and, as he describes, “who knows one city, knows them all,” adding … “I will describe one of them, it does not matter which.” Moore does not explain why there are 54 cities. In Sinapia, the cities are established and differentiated by economic realities and systems of governance, justice, education and politics. “Our history is also the history of the things that we tell stories about,” said Foucault in 1971, explaining how fictional accounts can reflect society 6. Imaginary voyages, or “philosophical odysseys,” as Nicolaas Wijngaarden called them, offer social critiques 7. The utopian conscience created diverse models, and forms of expression. The authors of utopian texts identified with other writers who believed as much in the transcendence of the “noble savage” as in the careful action of a wise ruler of a kingdom. These authors believed in an idyllic vision of “paradise lost” and in the fair judgment of the remote legislator who travelled to far away exotic countries. In all cases, the “ideal city” is the reference that transforms reality through the invention of new social structures. Utopias through the centuries have acquired many forms, forms that tell the reader a story and give an implicit critique of the present. This critique has the potential to change the path of history. Utopian texts may be interpreted as political creeds capable of judging the behaviour of a society, or they may 5

Michel Foucault, L’ordre du discours (Paris: Gallimard, 1971), 71-72. Nicolaas van Wijngaarden, Les Odyssées philosophiques en France entre 1616 et 1789. (Haarlem: Druckkerij Vijlbrief, 1932). 7 Louis Marin, Utopiques: jeux d'espace (Paris: Minuit, 1973), 54. 6

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be taken as mere tales of adventure. However, what should not be forgotten is that in the second half of the eighteenth century, utopias opened up a new vein of thought that allowed for the critique of injustice and class privilege. At the same time, utopias promoted the idea of a new way of organizing society. What had until that time been called a “kingdom” or “Republic” in Sinapia is understood to be a “Nation”. The “construction of a Nation” that characterized the first moments of the nineteenth century had its genesis in the controversies in the second half of the eighteenth century. These controversies caused a political and territorial division of the Republic and opened up debates about its administrative organization. Moore’s Utopia does not describe such debates. Sinapia was not written as an imaginary voyage: it is more critical than fantastic, and it is capable of questioning Spanish reality and imagining a new order, “construction fictive… où apparaît figurativement l’autre où le négatif de la réalité sociale historique contemporaine,” as Louis Marin points out in Utopiques: jeux d'espace (1973)8. Coyer described in La Découverte de l'isle frivole (1752) an image of a decadent France. In another book of his, Chinki, histoire cochinchinoise qui peut servir à d'autres pays (1768), Coyer is critical of the feudal and community structures of the time period 9. In Sinapia, the author describes the spatial organization and administrative division of an imaginary country with “a coastal form that looks like Spain’s”. The author gives the approximate dimensions of the utopia stating that it is 153 Sinapian leagues long by 150 wide. Given these dimensions, it is not difficult to calculate the maximum number of inhabitants that could live in each province. These details allow the reader to imagine the population and the political organization as two parallels and two perpendiculars that divide the map of the country into nine equal squares. Each of these squares corresponds to the nine provinces, “each one of forty nine Sinapian leagues… separated one from the other with trenches, a double row of trees and pyramids of stone or brick.” If every resulting district receives the name of a province, then each one will be subdivided into forty-nine squares consisting of seven Sinapian leagues each. The sides of the squares form the boundaries of the cities that make up each province. Each of these boundaries is divided again into forty-nine squares of one league each, and these squares mark the boundaries of the towns.

8

Abbé Coyer, La découverte de l’isle frivole (La Haye, 1751); Chinki, histoire cochinchinoise qui peut servir à d'autres pays (Londres, 1768). 9 Stelio Cro, Descripción de la Sinapia, op.cit. 11-12.

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Sinapia thus includes nine provinces, various metropolises, 441 divisions, an equal number of cities, and 21,609 districts, each one of them with a town. Each of these divisions has at its geographical centre a population nucleus (a metropolis in the first case, a capital in the second, and a town in the third). These divisions are defined by three characteristics: first, each demarcation of a given level must be identical in surface area and number of inhabitants to all others of the same category; second, the resources and funding dedicated to each area differ based on whether the area in question is a metropolis, a city, or a town; finally, the whole territory is conceived on the basis of a new system of administrative organization that places civil power (administrative, fiscal, judicial, and military) together with religious power, thereby unifying their spheres of authority. That Sinapia defines its scope not as a city (the celebrated “lost island”) but instead as a country is important, because it signifies a change in the scale of the project. It also implies a critique of the heterogeneous administrative division of Spain at that time. As Lucien Febvre notes, utopias…express both the need to evade contemporary realities and to plan for future realities. They furnish historians with one of the most deliberately unfaithful and unconsciously faithful expressions of the reality of a time period or milieu. Observations and predictions blend together; the lineaments of the world that one sees; the characteristics that one predicts and that one prophesies about the world tomorrow or the day after tomorrow…For this reason, their works are often pathetic in the eyes of historians, but always interesting, not only for the fantasy and imagination that they foreshadow, but also for a look at the innermost state of a society10. To break with the administrative structure that reflected Spain as a place constituted by the association of historical kingdoms and to propose instead to divide the territory geometrically into provinces of identical size, population, and hierarchical importance, is, in my view, one of the most significant aspects of this utopia. Sinapia is not only an “imagined community” but also a sovereign nation, a claim borne out by three elements in the text. First, Sinapia is conscious of its own borders; second, it expresses the intention of defending them against invasions; and, finally, it defines the nation as a place where provinces have a collective sociospatial structure11. Despite the fact that members of a particular community 10

Lucien Febvre, Pour une histoire à part entière (Paris: SEVPEN, 1962), 736742. 11 Stelio Cro, Descripción de la Sinapia, op.cit., 31.

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might never meet the majority of their countrymen, in the minds of each one lives the consciousness of communion. For example, the inhabitants of cities have a duty to travel to the countryside every two years to work in agriculture, a task that makes them aware of a collective consciousness12. In Sinapia, territory is assessed on the basis of qualitative rather than quantitative criteria. Driven by this concern, the author specifies the maximum number of families that can reside in a metropolis, a city, or a town, noting that, “each family lives in its house” and specifying that “each family cannot exceed twelve people.” In his definition of a neighbourhood, the author stipulates that each should have ten houses, plus one house for the “father of the neighbourhood.” Towns, in turn, were to be composed of eight neighbourhoods and four common houses. Finally, cities were not to exceed 1,200 families, including local magistrates, students, and public slaves. Each urban nucleus was conceived in terms of the population and regulated by strict rules about funding and resources: the towns had eight common houses and, at their centre, a square plaza with a temple. The cities were surrounded by treelined paths and composed, like the towns, of neighbourhoods. The cities were also divided into parishes, each with its own temple, and at its centre, each city had a larger temple together with dwellings for clergymen, four parish common houses, and four city common houses. The metropolis differed from the city in that it was the seat of the bishop and the provincial magistrates. The metropolis had a cathedral and, nearby, seminaries. The Court differed from the metropolises in that it was the residence of the prince, the senate, the archbishop, the patriarchs, and the ambassadors. The Court housed the Academy and the archives and hosted meetings of the general councils of the nation13. “Whoever has seen one town has seen them all, for they are all equal and similar. And whoever has seen the towns has seen the cities, the metropolises, and the court itself, for they are only distinguished by the number of neighbourhoods,

12

Benedict Anderson, Reflexiones sobre el origen y difusión del nacionalismo (México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1993), 23-24. 13 Anne-Robert-Jacques Turgot, Fragmens et pensées détachées pour servir à l’ouvrage sur la géographie politique, 1751 in Gustav Schelle, ed., Oeuvres de Turgot et documents le concernant, vol. 1 (Paris: F. Alcan, 1913-1923); Guillaume Francois Le Trosne, De l’administration provinciale et de la reforme de l’impot (Balle, 1779), livre V, chapitre VI; Jean-Antoine-Nicolas de Caritat Condorcet, Essai sur la constitution et les functions des Assemblées provintiales (Paris, 1788).

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the improvement of materials, and the size of public buildings, because in all other respects they are uniform”14. If Sinapia was conceived of as a “monarchical republic, a mix of aristocracy and democracy, the monarch over the laws; the nobles are the magistrates of the people and the families,” then one of the most surprising aspects is the organization of slaves. The text describes three types of slaves: those bought from neighbouring countries to serve in the homes of residents of Sinapia; those captured in war, who serve in homes and work on public projects; and a third group made up of criminals. The criminals are treated severely and forced to wear chains when they work, whether it be in the galleys, in the mines, digging ditches, cutting wood, hunting, or fishing. Depending on their crime, they are condemned to temporary or perpetual slavery. While these three groups of slaves are mentioned, the author does not go into detail about what the concrete differences are between the three groups. For example, the author does not describe where they live, how their neighbourhoods are organized, or whether they participate in religious ceremonies. Tree-lined avenues form boundaries between provinces, districts, and towns in Sinapia. This same spatial organization can also be seen in France in the second half of the eighteenth century in a type of urban planning called “le devoir d’embellir”15. It reflected a new sensibility; for example brick pyramids were erected where roads intersected. The pyramids designed by Luis Paret on the road that connects Vitoria with Bilbao uses “le devoir d’embellir,” thus breaking with the idea of scenographic grandiosity. The pyramids demonstrate the potential to conceptualize the city on the basis of important landmarks. The detailed descriptions of the neighbourhoods seen in Sinapia raise questions about which other cities had similar characteristics. Neighbourhoods in Sinapia were composed of ten houses that were placed on parallel sidewalks and separated by an urban garden, a feature unimaginable in a Baroque neighbourhood16. The towns were closed communities containing eight neighbourhoods and four common houses. These descriptions of urban planning can be related to Spain’s colonial experience in the eighteenth century. 14

Stelio Cro, Descripción de la Sinapia, op.cit. 13-16. Jean Marc Dudot, Le devoir d’embellir (Paris: Ministère de l’Equipement et du Logement, 1977) and Jean Louis Harouel, L’embellissement des villes. L’Urbanisme français au XVIIIe siecle (Paris: Picard, 1993). 16 Stelio Cro, Descripción de la Sinapia, op.cit., 17, 32 and 44. 15

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Literary utopias rarely reflected the characteristics of the interior space of dwellings, and the idea of “making visible the invisible” is lacking in many such narratives. At most, as occurs in Diego Ventura Rejón y Lucas’s Aventuras de Juan Luis: historia divertida que puede ser útil (1781), literary utopias follow the customs of the gatherings, conversations, and card games of the upper classes. Sinapia, by contrast, describes the activities that ought to govern the daily life of families. For example, the text suggests what time citizens ought to wake up, proper table manners, appropriate kinds of food, how to set the table for meals (the menues plaisirs of the utopia), how to celebrate weddings, and how to organize household equipment and furniture. These details show the degree to which the organization of domestic space was well planned. The author of Sinapia describes the number of bedrooms each home should have and their particular uses: “the beds, the chairs, the tables and other necessary adornments are all uniform; all the dishes are of porcelain and of the same style.” The text defines domestic space and indicates schedules for work and rest, specifying that they should correspond to the rhythms of work in the countryside. In Sinapia, the uniformity of funding and resources was consistent with the desire to produce a single type of housing, of dress, and a single mode of social behaviour. In the cities of Sinapia, like in Baroque festivals, the space that individuals ought to occupy for each social activity is clearly defined. Sinapia contains descriptions of ecclesiastical, domestic, and public functions such as the following: “slaves come in first, followed by children, then parents, and finally the fathers of the neighbourhood. The magistrates come separately with their families. Ecclesiastical officials enter first through the principle door and occupy the choir and the presbytery; then the men separate from the women and enter through the door on the right while the women enter through the one on the left.” The idea of collectivity in Sinapia is based on the notion of mutual assistance and on a rejection of the ownership of private property. However, notions of Order and Hierarchy, even though they are framed on the basis of these new criteria, do not change. The author, like many economists of the time period – whether neo-mercantilists, agrarian reform advocates, or populists – was conscious of the degree to which a large tax burden coupled with obsolete agricultural machinery made life difficult for peasants. He saw how the situation might be alleviated, at least in part, through population growth. To this end, the author proposes an “extraordinary festival…that was celebrated when a father had twelve living children.” Fathers with families of this size were awarded a garland and a cluster of bananas. If

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the twelve children were born by the same mother, a garland was given to both parents. The importance of Sinapia lies in its capacity to define new guidelines for everyday life and in the way it influenced the style of domestic architecture in the Republic. On the basis of urban design, the text took up the “ordenanzas de ornato” defined by Ardemáns in the first quarter of the eighteenth century on the basis of Torija’s work. It did the same with other ordinances like the ones approved for the first time in Spain in 1783 when the Barcelonan Comisión Médica defined “ordinances of ‘water’, ‘air’, and ‘fire.’” These ordinances specified that the height of buildings should be proportional to the width of the street on which they were located. In addition, porticoed galleries were constructed on the façades of buildings in an attempt to define the image of the street. When discussing how dwellings should be placed on both sides of the street, the author of Sinapia notes that “between them is a common garden with its fountain or waterwheel,” an unusual practice in Spain before 1740. Just as the “building laws” are strictly specified, so are the guidelines that govern the economic arrangement of the Republic. For instance, after describing the education of children and adolescents, the author notes that, “those from fifteen to twenty years old learn agriculture,” adding that, “the perpetual occupation of those who reside in the territory is farming and rearing.” In light of this last citation, one might suppose that Sinapia’s population was predominantly rural. Thus, it is a surprise when the author adds: “so that everyone works equally and learns agriculture, every two years half of the families move from cities to towns, while other families move from towns to cities. Every year half of the families in the towns go to live in the territories, while families in the territories go to live in the town.” The fact that Sinapia’s economy is based on agriculture implies a connection between this idea, the agrarian reforms of the period, and colonization. This connection obliges us to reflect on three points: How were both the creation and the image of new cities represented in other Spanish utopian texts? What was Spain’s colonizing experience? And to what degree is physiocratic experience reflected in Sinapia? While the majority of narratives about utopian journeys written outside of Spain focus on descriptions of social customs, morality, behaviour, fashion, education, or the luxuries of the societies in question, it is also true that some comment on the characteristics of places that cease to be imaginary and become concrete geographic references. For example, Lettres édifiantes et curieuses (1780), which describes Indian, Chinese and

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American society, generated interest that is reflected in articles published in the following works: the Encyclopedie (1755) (Communautés tacites), the Journal Économique (1755), the Dictionnaire philosophique (1764) and the sixth volume of Abbé Rozier’s Cours complet d’Agriculture (1838) 17. Recalling Montaigne’s idea that “everyone labels as ‘barbarism’ what he is not accustomed to,” it is of interest to take note of the apology made by the “virtuous savage” on behalf of European society. Here I reference both Louis-François Delisle de La Drevetière’s Arlequin sauvage (1721) and Cadalso’s Gazel Ben-Aly (1766). Some years ago, Álvarez de Miranda, after consulting Pierre Versins’s Encyclopedie de l’Utopie, noted the scarcity of Spanish utopian texts. He pointed out that those that did exist were, by and large, travel narratives or moral tales18. The desire to create a well-ordered society corresponds to the idea that “a well-ordered family depends upon the good behaviour of a household, and a poorly shared kingdom will never be well-ordered”19. However, descriptions of places visited are rare in utopian works. For example, Pedro de Montengón’s adventure novel La Utopía de Chersoneso (1788) does not describe the cities visited by the main character. For example, when the fortune teller Chrisomis describes to Antenor the characteristics of the community he will found, he does not offer details about the community. Even when Chrisomis establishes the community on land given to him by King Tola, he does not describe it20. Neither La Isla Fortuna (1781) by Rejón de Silva nor Aventuras de Juan Luis (1781) describe cities. The narrator, who abandons the city of Nogalia and discovers the capital of the island, Fortunaria, relates his adventures and his daily activities, but he never describes the city. He does not describe 17

Lettres édifiantes et curieuses, écrites des missions étrangères par quelques missionnaires de la C. de J. (Paris, 1702-1776) ; Abbé Rozier, Cours complet d’Agriculture, théorique, pratiqué, économique et de médecine rurale et vétérinaire : suivi d’une méthode pour étudier l’agriculture par principes, vol. 7 (Paris, 1786). 18 Louis-François Delisle de la Drevetière, Arlequin sauvage (Paris, 1721); José Cadalso Cartas marruecas (Madrid, 1789). Pedro Álvarez de Miranda, “Sobre utopías y viajes imaginarios en el siglo XVIII español” in Homenaje a Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (Salamanca, Caja de Ahorros, 1981, 351-382; Pierre Versins, Encyclopédie de l’utopie, des voyages extraordinaires et de la science-fiction (Lausanne: l'Âge d'Homme), 1972. 19 León del Arroyal, Cartas político-económicas al Conde de Lerena (Madrid, 1784), Carta IV, 160. 20 Pedro Montegón, El Antenor, 2 vols. (Madrid, 1788), Chrisomis’ prophecy appears in vol. 2, at pp. 235 and 247. The account of the founding of the new city appears in the same volume on p. 379.

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access doors (that is, about the relationship between roads and streets), nor does he say whether the entrance door is also a point of access for goods, a gate or a “puerta noble.” Elements of the city are mentioned but not described in terms of location or function. For example, the narrator discusses the theater, the Casa de la Piedad, two prisons, the building that houses the Senado de los Moderadores, and an unnamed avenue lined with statues21. In La Monarquía Columbina (1782) by Andrés Merino de Jesucristo, the very existence of a society is denied: “the doves lived without any form of Republic at all.” In Bernard Mandeville’s Fable of the Bees: or, Private Vices, Public Benefits (1714), the only concrete reference is the one in which Calístomos states that “a cock pigeon or a dove…because historians disagreed about whether it was male or female.” He describes the place selected to found the colony in concise terms: “in order to avoid confusion it was divided into 12 tribes or neighbourhoods, specifying for each the amount of land necessary to build houses, storage facilities, and granaries”22. Similarly, in the article “Viaje al país de los Ayparchontes,” published in the newspaper El Censor, Zeblitz offers a clear description of the society of the Ayparchontes. He describes how it was “divided into six classes, those with noble titles have them less because of ancestry and more because of merit.” However, he does not discuss urban space. In “Viaje al país de los Ayparchontes,” a character called El Desengañador del Mundo assumes responsibility for educating “little by little” the illiterate multitudes. Descriptions of the utopia do not include criticism of the idleness of the nobility. Instead, the book focuses on the prerogatives of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. The clergy have been abolished to a land where “the laws not only grant them no jurisdiction or coercive authority” but also “do not exempt them from the authority of the

21

Diego Ventura Rejón y Lucas, Aventuras de Juan Luis: historia divertida que puede ser útil (Madrid, 1781). This is an adventure tale with a moral story. The protagonist arrives in Fortunaria, the capital of the island, and stays there for several months. However, he does not describe the city (p. 167) nor the urban image of “the crossroads, the most famous point of this town” (p. 196); nor does he comment on the theater (p. 199), the prisons (p. 209), the hospital (p. 251), the Tribunal, the Senate (p. 235), or the avenue of statues (p. 253). 22 Tratado sobre la Monarquía Columbina, en Semanario Erudito que comprehende varias obras inéditas…dadas a la luz por D. Antonio Valladares, vol. XXX (Madrid, 1790), 61-84. The reference to Calístomos appears on p. 66, the description of the valley on p.72.

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magistrates”23. Aside from El arte de cultivar la razón o descripción de la colonia Ponthiamas (this is a translation of a book by Pierre Poivre in which three Chinese men share their meditations on “the principles and rules of conduct that can supplement the absence of laws”24 but say nothing about the island’s urban space), the only mention of how to colonize abandoned areas appears in the fourth book of Pablo de Olavide entitled El Evangelio en Triunfo (1799)25. Several utopian works address the question of repopulating abandoned regions. Some, like Cuadrado Fernández’s Causas de la decadencia en España, suggest that: “if a poor man in every town or village of Spain were offered land to farm, seeds, ten years free of taxes and the tools necessary for cultivation – the conditions offered to foreigners – the uninhabited regions could easily be populated. One hundred and six councils of three towns each could be founded, with 320 to 500 useful residents each; all those who wanted could present themselves before the relevant authorities to demonstrate their destitute status.” Cuadrado favours repopulating abandoned regions, above all La Mancha, rather than the policy of creating new urban nuclei. He argues that his plan will cost less than bringing in 6,000 German settlers. Not everyone understood the logic of repopulating abandoned towns, however. Many people identified 23

José Miguel Caso González, ed. facsímil, prólogo y estudio preliminar, El Censor: obra periódica: comenzada a publicar en 1781 y terminada en 1787. Homenaje de la Universidad de Oviedo al rey Carlos III en el bicentenario de su muerte (Oviedo: Universidad de Oviedo, 1989). The citation appears in discourse LXXV, 135. 24 Pilar Nieva de La Paz, El arte de cultivar la razón o descripción del establecimiento de la colonia de Ponthiamas: un texto utópico traducido del fracés em el siglo XVIII en el siglo XVIII en Las Utopías del mundo hispánico (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez y Universidad Complutense, 1990), 79-94; Pierre Poivre, Voyages d'un philosophe, ou Observations sur les moeurs et les arts des peuples de I'Afrique, de l'Asie et de l'Amérique (Yverdon, 1768). 25 Pablo de Olavide, El Evangelio en triumpho, ó Historia de un Philosopho desengañado, vol. IV (Valencia, 1799). Marcelin Defourneaux Pablo de Olavide ou l’afrancesado. Paris, PUF, 1959. Gerard Dufour, Utopie et Ilustración: El Evangelio en triunfo de Pablo de Olavide en Las Utopías del mundo hispánico (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez y Universidad Complutense, 1990), 73-78, as well as “Reserches sur El Evangelio en triunfo de Pablo de Olavide,” Faculté des Lettres (Paris, 1965) and by the same author, “Le village idéal au debut du XIXe siecle selon El Evangelio en triunfo de Pablo de Olavide” in L'Homme et l'espace dans la litterature, les arts et l'historie en. Expugne et en Emperique Latine a Mixe suele (Lille: Universito de Lille, 1985), 11-25.

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the plan with the one carried out by Córdoba and Despeñaperros. People did not understand that the abandonment of settlements in La Mancha was caused by the region’s agrarian economy; it had not been organized according to an industrial agrarian economy as the repopulation plan intended. In contrast, the productive lands of Sierra Morena were abandoned because the government of Espiel blocked future settlers from moving into the area. In 1767, Olavide contacted Miguel Muzquiz to discuss his intention to repopulate a large area (Figures 2, 3]. The first task, however, was to request a survey of the land in order to determine the amount of available land. This would allow him to proceed with the equitable distribution of land. In the last five letters of El Evangelio en Triunfo (1797) (from thirty six to forty one, although only letter thirty seven relates to rural landowners) Olavide describes a rural landowner who, given the abandonment of rural settlements and his interest in agricultural progress and the increased wealth of the nation, proposes to divide a pasture on his property into lots of thirty-five fanegas each.

Figure 2. Simón Desnaux. “Plano, vista y perfil de las aldeas que comprende el territorio de Fuentepalmera” (Sierra Morena) (circa 1770) Military History Service (Madrid, Spain), sig.2884-015/353; NM 8-16/2884.

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He also sponsors the construction of two schools and a hospital. Reading the three volumes of this work is disconcerting because, as Olavide notes, his book is a translation of the apologetic work Les délices de la religión (1788) written by Antoine-Adrien Lamourette in 1788. Olavide presents the “arguments” of a disillusioned philosopher who has returned to the bosom of the church. Olavide, as Marcelin Defourneaux points out, only changes the names of the characters. The letters that constitute the fourth volume, however, have a different tone. The first thirty-five letters tell the story of a conversion; the last six letters, listed under the title Cartas de Mariano a Antonio, are different because they were written by the person responsible for the ambitious project to repopulate Sierra Morena and Nueva Andalucía. Thirty years later this person would offer a new proposal.

Figure 3. Simón Desnaux. “Plano, vista y perfil de las aldeas que comprende el territorio de Fuentepalmera.” (Sierra Morena) (circa 1770) Military History Service, sig.2884-015/354; NM 8-16/2885.

In the thirty years between the beginning of the colonization of Sierra Morena and the publication of Cartas de Mariano a Antonio, urbanistic knowledge underwent significant changes. However, it would be incorrect to attribute these changes to the repopulation plans conceived during those

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years (for example, the Puerto de la Paz, designed in 1803 by Silvestre Pérez). After reading Cartas de Mariano a Antonio, what is strange is that, rather than presenting a dream capable of being made reality, and describing “the ideal city,” the book makes a proposal with limited goals. It is conceived on philanthropic grounds rather than as a political project capable of changing the reality of 1799. Aware of the existence of vast unpopulated regions in Spain, and skeptical of the posture of the State, Olavide describes a man telling his friend his intention to make the peasants of the region see how agriculture can generate wealth. He divides his pastureland into lots of thirty-five fanegas each, and gives a few lots to his “enlightened” friends. In an attempt to persuade the peasants of the region to participate in the project he states, “after the lots are divided and delimited, I will take one, you will take another”26. Letters thirty-seven and thirty-eight are of little interest because they describe colonizing projects similar to those carried out by rural landowners during the reign of Carlos III. The landowners sought to obtain royal favours or receive titles by sponsoring the colonization of property within their estate. At the time, the repopulation of Sierra Morena had been approached in two ways: in political terms and in terms of the territory itself. The first implied taking advantage of the agrarian potential of unpopulated land. It also required questioning the privileges of noblemen with family estates, of clergymen who owned vast properties and of families who owned municipal offices. The following changes were proposed for such vast estates: compulsory primary education, nonpermanent municipal officials decided on the basis of direct election, the construction of dwellings throughout the countryside, and a series of agricultural and ranching measures. These measures were a direct affront to the medieval privileges enjoyed by the Mesta. Up until this point in time, a single owner cultivated large tracts of land. However, this represented a serious obstacle to intelligent farming practices. In the Nuevas Poblaciones, society was organized on the basis of familial property of a medium size. A discussion emerged concerning the optimal size of the each plot, and it was set at fifty fanegas. Thirty years before in Cartas de Mariano a Antonio, Olavide had the foresight to imagine the appropriate plot size at thirty-five fanegas. Fuero de Nuevas Poblaciones is unique because it was written with full knowledge of the agricultural and economic debates of the time. It is 26

Pablo de Olavide, Evangelio.. op.cit, vol. IV, letter XXXVII, 162.

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clear, moreover, that the ideas sketched by Duhamel du Monceau in his Nuevo método de cultivo de la tierra (translated into Spanish in 1751) now had a practical application27. Fuero de Nuevas Poblaciones notes that the purpose of the colonizing project was to establish “useful and industrious inhabitants” in the area, ones dedicated to farming, animal rearing, and the mechanical arts, activities that should be “the nerve force of the state.” Worried that the Church might disrupt the project, in 1766 Olavide prohibited the establishment of the following in the Nuevas Poblaciones: grammar studies, institutions of higher learning, religious communities, pedagogical systems based on Latin, and scholastic philosophy. He also made primary school mandatory, thereby demonstrating the relevance of Francisco Cabarrús’ comments about the necessity of understanding schools as a “patriotic temple.” He entrusted the diocese of each community with the task of helping citizens profess the Catholic faith. The goal of the project of colonization, carried out based on knowledge of the territory and on the location of settlements, was to increase the wealth of the country. In addition, the project would establish administrative units in accordance with qualitative standards, a reflection of the ideas of Mirabeau, Condillac, and Cantillon. The influence of these thinkers, as Fabián Estapé shows in his study of Jovellanos’ translations of Cantillon, is as apparent as the Sevillian cultural environment of which Olavide was a part. As Estapé notes, “For Samoza, Cantillon’s discourse on the study of civil economy is a translation, probably taken from some work that Jovellanos read during his time in Sevilla while he acted as Alcalde del Crimen and was a member of the circle of Pablo de Olavide, the supervisor responsible for repopulating Sierra Morena”. Cantillon understood that the market was essential to the creation of the city. For him, the number of landowners who lived in a city determined its importance and relevance. The problem, then, resided not only in deciding where to situate markets, but also in defining the ideal distance between markets and places of labour. On the assumption that spatial equality

27

Instrucción y Fuero de Población que se debe observar en las que se formen de nuevo en Sierra Morena con naturales y extranjeros católicos (Madrid, 1767). The instruction is composed of 79 points that provide detailed descriptions of the colonization efforts. Henri Louis Duhamel du Monceau Traité de la culture des terres, John Reeder, “Bibliografía de traducciones al castellano y catalán, durante el siglo XVIII, de obras de pensamiento económico,” Moneda y Crédito 126 (1973), 57-71 as well as “Economía e Ilustración en España: traducciones y traductores, 1717-1800,” Moneda y Crédito 147 (1978): 47-70.

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would be beneficial, he advised an organizational plan in which the capitals of the provinces would be situated far from the Court. All of this is reflected in the Fuero de Nuevas Poblaciones; it lays down guidelines for selecting the location of a capital and for determining the location of the communities situated around it. The author advocates that areas near main roads should be reserved for fruit traders. At that point in time, engineering skill, based on knowledge of the territory, emerges. The first colonization, as Bernardo de Quirós commented, was planned for the lower part of Sierra Morena. Olavide visited the area in August 1767 in order to inspect possible locations for the first settlement. The trip resulted in the selection of three locations for future colonization. Taking into account the urban culture of the 70s, thirty years later, in Cartas de Mariano a Antonio, Olavide took a strange step backwards. It is true that for both schools he sought the help of masters, perhaps in an attempt to reconcile himself with the Inquisition. Olavide incorporated and made his own the material presented in the first three volumes of Evangelio. The fourth volume proposed a colonization project so different from Olavide’s experience in Sierra Morena and Nueva Andalucía that it makes little sense. It makes even less sense if you take into account the fact that his previous work was met with unanimous praise. The only explanation for the change in scale of the intervention is that Olavide was politically responsible for the project of repopulating Sierra Morena and Nueva Andalucía; the real work of the project itself was given to someone who possessed the appropriate knowledge and skill to carry it out. When discussing the myth of the foundation of imaginary cities, it is important to take into account the Spanish reality: America was a culture capable of planning the spatial organization of a continent, and it sought to impose new spatial models upon conquered territories. Between the Discovery and the period of independence, Hispanic America underwent a two-part phenomenon: Conquest and Colonization. Despite Spain’s various wars in Europe, 230 cities were founded in the period before 1580, a number that would reach 330 by 1630. This corresponds to a rate of three cities per year. Archival evidence suggests that the number of towns founded during those years was more than twice this figure. From 1750 onward, however, urban politics changed both in America and in Spain, and plans were made on a larger scale than ever before28. 28

Fernando de Terán, El Sueño de un Orden, (Madrid: CEHOPU, 1989). José Muñoz Pérez “Los proyectos sobre España e Indias en el siglo XVIII: el proyectismo como género,” Revista de Estudios Políticos 54 (1955): 169-195.

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José de Gálvez proposed a border project in New Spain; it was utopian and would be composed of Franciscan convents and prisons stretching from San Francisco to Louisiana. The plan was conceived on the basis of new parameters and in accordance with a scale of urban intervention that had not been proposed previously. Another example of utopian influenced decision-making was the intervention in various settlements along the Gulf of Mexico in order to establish the port and the new naval yard of Havana as a bridgehead for the Flota de Indias. Yet another example of a utopian plan involved the construction of a series of canals in the north of New Granada to connect the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Other utopian urban planning projects include the Canal del Dique and Juan Antonio Escartín’s 1788 plan to construct a canal on the Isthmus of Panama that would take advantage of access from the Atlantic Ocean to Lake Nicaragua. Of the proposals mentioned, some were begun, others were partially completed and others never made it beyond the planning stages. However, one should not forget Johannes Caspar von Thurriegel’s intentions in his plan to repopulate Sierra Morena and Nueva Andalucía. He hoped to bring 6,000 German settlers to Texas in order to populate territory that belonged to the Viceroy of New Spain. Pierre Agustin Caron de Beaumarchais presented a utopian proposal to colonize vast unpopulated areas. His proposal was like the Fernandine Colonia Militar planned at the beginning of the nineteenth century in Alcalá de Henares and designed in accordance with the Napoleonic cities constructed at that time in France. More utopian ideas were expressed in Letter IV of León del Arroyal’s Cartas del Conde de Lerena (1841), which proposed the territorial reorganization of the kingdom. This included a plan to construct a large canal from Reinosa through Tierra de Campos and to Valladolid. There it would meet with Guadarrama, then with Manzanares and Henares, and then in Aranjuez, it would split into two parts. One part would follow the Tajo River and reach Lisbon, and the other, through a complex system of dams, would reach Sevilla. Ephemeral architectural projects designed for celebrations or special occasions were just as unrealistic as the projects previously mentioned. They often entailed large-scale plans and required the creation of designs of buildings for previously unimagined purposes. One such example is the building designed to house Madrid’s Instituto Pestalizziano. All the projects mentioned in the previous paragraph were conceived in the last third of the century at a time when a new form of Knowledge was making way for a new kind of Skill. There were, as a consequence, numerous intervention projects in the territory. These projects included the creation of new communities, plans for new buildings, and the construction

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of new neighbourhoods. Some construed this fervour as the emergence of a new obsession with large-scale projects. The first third of the eighteenth century saw the formulation of numerous “memoirs, projects, warnings, notices, ideas, suggestions, proposals” that sought to modify the economic situation of the country. However, these ideas were never formalized, never written with the intention of being put into practice. This is a characteristic that defines the aforementioned projects of the second half of the century. The first important change occurs just after Carlos III returns to Naples. After appropriating an idea formulated by Haras Du Quesnay and seeking to “make man the master of nature in practice,” Carlos III proposed the first large-scale urban projects. These projects included the design and construction of new canals and roads and a proposal to repopulate Sierra Morena and Nueva Andalucía. The desire to increase the nation’s wealth was reflected in Jovellanos’ project in the Ley Agraria. He proposed the construction of roads and canals in order to make the transport and production of goods cheaper. He sought to expand markets and increase monetary exchange by settling uninhabited regions of the country. Since the first third of the eighteenth century, attempts had been made to “repopulate and settle” uninhabited regions. For example, Cardinal Belluga founded five new communities called Pías Fundaciones. These communities were isolated and independent of one another. Years later, Compomanes, the politician in charge of the proposal to repopulate Sierra Morena and Nueva Andalucía, pointed out in his Bosquejo de política económica (1828) that: “up until this point we have discussed general rules for increasing the population of established communities. But since these are not sufficient to make the inhabited regions of the kingdom habitable…it is fitting to take measures to regulate them according to the Roman practices for founding colonies. The first step is to identify the uninhabited regions of the kingdom, to make an exact map of them, their extension, confines, the quality of the land, groves, grasses, waters…in such a way that creates an understanding of them and is able to make a judgment about towns that can be founded, the number of inhabitants necessary, which lands need to be dismantled…This said, all the reformed troops will populate the new community. In these new communities, reformed troops will be employed. In addition, true Catholic foreigners can also settle there. Since, before anything, this land needs to be dismantled, the troops of the community will work on it…and the houses will be made… and the houses will be made in a straight line along the streets on good land, with the engineers of Your Majesty directing the construction and clearing the land. The land will not be sold to a neighbour in the area in these new neighbourhoods…

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in the event an entire family dies, their vacant land will be distributed to a new occupant under the same conditions”. After describing the characteristics of the area’s agricultural prospects, and proposing the use of beehives and the planting of mulberry trees, and establishing the necessity of a hospital for the region, Compomanes fell into imprecision. He pointed out that these settlements ought not exceed 500 or 600 inhabitants “because if they are larger they are difficult to govern and many idle people will enter”29. Campomanes’ desire to understand the nature of the territory is evidenced both in Itinerario de las carreteras y postas de dentro y fuera del Reino (1761) and in his work as director of the Academia de la Historia. After deciding to substitute Tomas López’s “interrogations” for precise and scientific geographical descriptions, he proposed the writing of Diccionario geográfico de España. Both geographers and economists sought to understand the reality of the country. In the description of a Spanish utopia in Antenor, it was noted that, “one of the most useful lessons for a king or prince is to know the people he is to govern, and the kingdom and provinces to whose prosperity he is to attend. He will neither know his states nor make them prosper if he does not see with his own [eyes] the provinces and cities that are the responsibility of his government and the lands that are the perpetual and inexhaustible treasury of the Sovereign and his vassals. The knowledge of his towns and provinces also contributes to earning greater confidence and love from his subjects”30. Attempts to gain knowledge of the territory, whether through maps, reports, or memoirs, were made with the clear intention of increasing the wealth of the nation, a goal that often required administrative reorganization. Reorganization under the Bourbons focused on centralization and standardization and required technical knowledge that could make such territorial reforms possible. Despite his calls for the necessity of colonization, Campomanes did not understand, as Cantillon pointed out in Ensayo sobre la naturaleza del comercio, that differences should exist between towns, cities and capitals. He did not grasp, as some economists of the period had already proposed, the necessity of establishing a 29

Conde de Campomanes, Bosquejo de política económica española delineado sobre el estado presente de sus intereses, ed. Jorge Cejudo (Madrid: Editora Nacional, 1984), 161-164. 30 Conde de Campomanes, Itinerario de las carreteras y postas de dentro y fuera del Reino (Madrid, 1761); on the Diccionario Geográfico de España, see Antonio López y Carmen Manso, Cartografía del siglo XVIII: Tomas López en la Real Academia de la Historia (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 2006).

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hierarchical structure during the process of colonizing large areas. The process should be characterized not so much by the size of the settlement as by the funding and resources assigned to each31. Campomanes ignored the advice of Cantillon and failed to recognize the benefit of evaluating new communities in qualitative terms. He did not understand the importance of situating town and administrative divisions and subdivisions at a certain distance from one another in a nodal system capable of covering the whole territory. Despite all this, an idea appeared in his Bosquejo that would be put into practice: namely, the necessity of making an exact map of the region, delimiting its extension, and gauging the quality of the soil before undertaking the colonization process. It was important that the process of colonization be based on the reality of the geography. Sierra Morena and Nueva Andalucía are an obligatory reference for scholars of Spanish utopias in the second half of the eighteenth century. In some cases, it is sufficient that the word “colonize” appear in the text for commentators to establish a connection with those two regions. Despite what was discussed in the Cartas de Mariano a Antonio, responsibility for the project of colonization has been attributed to Olavide. However, it is attributed to him without specifying his political role or determining who was responsible for the project’s technical solutions. The technical solutions were not described in the writings of Campomanes or Olavide. I point this out because it is worth keeping in mind that in 1765, Reeder, in his comments on the translation of economic texts in Spain at the time, attributed the translation of François Veron de Forbonnais’s Elementos de comercio (1765) to Carlos Lemaur, an engineer and Teniente Coronel. This date coincides both with Lemaur’s stay in Andalusia and with the first studies of the colonization of Espiel. Aware that one of the essential means of expanding wealth was by increasing the rate of monetary exchange, Thurriegel proposed to colonize America. He knew that the colonization of uninhabited regions would foster the creation of new markets. His proposal was formulated despite a lack of reflection on the part of the Crown about the location of the new colony. When Thurriegel proposed to take various settlers to Sierra, it 31 Robert Cantillon, Essai sur la Nature du Commerce en General (London, 1755). The third chapter is titled “De los pueblos” and the fourth is “De los burgos.” In the following chapters, “De las ciudades” and “De las ciudades capitales,” the author explains the motivation for building cities – to establishing landowners and servants.

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turned out that he already had the Knowledge and Skill reflected in the Fuero de Nuevas Poblaciones. This Knowledge and Skill was also reflected in his decision about where to situate capitals, where to place administrative subdivisions, how many administrative subdivisions there ought to be, where to place the towns and villages, and what sort of resources ought to be allotted to each of them. The difference between the colonization carried out in America and that carried out in Andalusia is clear: in America, what officials proposed was to occupy an imprecise territory, while in Sierra Morena the engineer or architect responsible for the project visited the area and sketched its irregular spatial distribution before making a proposal for colonization. This kind of planning was necessary since the region was mountainous; it helped identify plots of land located on the slopes of mountains where cultivation was impossible. The proposal to bring in German immigrants to repopulate these areas was approved, and new agricultural techniques were employed. These techniques are reflected in El Semanario de los Párrocos (1797)32, which encouraged parish priests to instruct parishioners in matters of faith as well in agriculture (Figure 4). It is true that the concern to reorganize the territory led to proposals that were hardly innovative. For instance, in Campomanes’ comments on colonization, he suggests that 60,000 settlers should occupy the region within ten years. Unlike projects proposed by those who understood colonization in terms of the establishment of a number of communities spread out across an uninhabited area, in Sierra Morena and Nueva Andalucía, a rigid territorial project was proposed. The project specified the zone of intervention and then subdivided that zone into plots of fifty fanegas. Thus, it was possible to deduce the number of inhabitants that could live in each zone and to reorganize the territory. The capital was placed at the center, and four administrative subdivisions, each equidistant from the capital, were arranged in the shape of a crown. The proposal called for the placement of towns in the shape of a crown at a specified distance from the subdivisions. The villages were to be located equidistant from the towns. Cantillon and Forbonnais stressed that the spatial organization of the territory be less quantitative than qualitative. To this end, each of the divisions mentioned was assigned a maximum number of inhabitants; this indicated the benefit of not exceeding the suggested population. The divisions were also allocated specific funding

32

Prensa agraria en la España de la Ilustración. El Semanario de Agricultura y Artes dirigido a los Párrocos. (1797-1808) (Madrid: Ministerio de Agricultura, 1980).

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and resources. In my view, these ideas influenced the spatial organization proposed in Sinapia.

Figure 4. Semanario de agricultura y artes dirigido á los párrocos. 1797.

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This discussion of utopian texts provides context for the debate about the publication date of Sinapia. It is important for various reasons: first, Sinapia discusses the issue of spatial organization in qualitative terms and differentiates plans for towns, cities, and metropolises, and this, in my view, could never have happened before 1760. Second, because the colonization plan in Sinapia was for a country and not a city, it could not have been conceived on the basis of urban experience before 1760. Third, Sinapia demonstrates a technical knowledge completely alien to the literary texts we are familiar with. Finally, the oft repeated phrase about the absence of “lo mío y lo tuyo” should not be understood as a biblical reference even though Sinapia is described as “un reino de fraternidad y justicia” (a kingdom of fraternity and justice). This idea appears in Pascal when he describes, “This is my place in the sun: this is the beginning and the image of the usurpation of the earth”. It also appears in Rousseau when he describes, “The first man who, having enclosed a piece of land, said to himself ‘This is mine’ and found people simple enough to believe him was the true founder of civil society.” It requires us to establish a relationship between the Sinapia and Morelly’s Code de la Nature (1755). The relationship is evident in the following passage from Sinapia: “there everything is oriented toward living temperately, devoutly, and justly in this world, awaiting the happiness promised with the glorious coming of our great God, for which no means are more appropriate than communal life, equality, moderation, and work”33. Morelly wrote the Code de la Nature (1755) based on his desire to establish a new social order. The majority of the utopias that we know omit all references to the administrative and juridical systems of the Republic. In contrast, both Code de la Nature and Sinapia establish complex systems of social organization and recognize the necessity of the correct administrative division of the country. A majority of utopian texts 33 Isaiah 1.26. Blaise Pascal: “Mien, tien. Ce chien est à moi, disaient ces pauvres enfants; c'est là ma place au soleil.” Voilà le commencement et l'image de l'usurpation de toute la terre,” Pensées de M.Pascal sur la Religion et sur quelques autres sujets (Paris, 1670), chapter XXXI; Jean Jacques Rousseau: “Le premier qui ayant enclos un terrain, s’avisa de dire: Ceci est à moi, et trouva des gens assez simples pour le croire, fut le vrai fondeur de la société civile. Que de crimes, que de guerres, de meurtres, que de misères et d’horreus n’eût point épargnés au genre humain celui qui, arrachant les pieux ou comblant le fossé, eût crié à ses semblables: Gardez-vous d’écouter cet imposteur; vous êtes perdus, si vous oubliez que les fruits sont à tous, et que la terre n’est à personne.” Discours sur l'origine et les fondements de l'inégalité parmi les hommes (Amsterdam, 1755); Morelly, Code de la Nature ou le véritable Esprit de ses Loix (1755).

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reject the idea of living in luxury and embrace the idea of holding goods in common; this theme is evident in many travel books and fantastic narratives. The image of a city-society was only possible if its government submitted to the idea of a saine philosophie, a reflection of the principles of a political economy. While texts like Grivel M. Guillaume’s L’Île inconnue ou Mémoires du chevalier Des Gastines (1787) describe social order on the basis of physiocratic assumptions, Sinapia seeks to demystify and to define a new societal structure 34. What is most significant about the manuscript is its renunciation of fiction, its conscious break with fantastical narratives, and its resolute intention to create a manifesto. Morelly’s Code de la Nature was published in 1755, the same year as Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Discours sur l'Origine et les Fondements de l'inégalité parmiles hommes. Although it was criticized by the society of the time, what is unique about its proposal is not its condemnation of private property but rather its establishment of “three fundamental and sacred laws that cut off at the root the vices and all the evils of society.” These three laws involve the rejection of private property, the active role of citizens in governance, and the participation of citizens in public tasks. Morelly had faith in the Code de la Nature and its detailed descriptions of fundamental laws regarding sacred, economic, agrarian, building, sumptuary, and marital traditions. However, he was aware of the impossibility of applying them in practice; as Morelly noted: “I give this outline of Laws in the form of an Appendix, and as a foretaste, for it is unfortunately all too true that it would be impossible, in our days, to establish a similar Republic”. In his economic laws he specifies that “each tribe will be composed of an equal number of families, each city of an equal number of tribes, and so on.” This idea is similar to ones presented in Sinapia. Likewise, in his third economic law, Morelly notes that, “as the Nation grows, the tribes and the cities will increase in proportion; but only after this increase can new cities as large as the others be founded.” The fifth economic law states that “nothing, according to the sacred laws, will be sold or exchanged among citizens,” an idea that appears in Sinapia as well. As for the agrarian laws, the first law is similar to those described in Sinapia; the law states that “each city will have its territory as cohesive and regular as possible, not owned by anyone, and sufficient only for the 34

Voyages imaginaires, romanesques, merveilleux, allegoriques, amusans, comiques et critiques suivies des songes et visions et des romans cabalistiques. Ce volumen contient: L’Isle inconnue, ou Memoires du Chevalier des Gastines (Amsterdam, 1787).

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subsistence of its inhabitants.” The third law describes how “every citizen, without exception, from age twenty to twenty five, will be obligated to work in agriculture, unless some illness exempts him”35. The relationship between Code de la Nature and the Sinapia is evident in their descriptions of building laws and of the first images of urban space. These descriptions indicate which buildings ought to be placed around plazas and specify the city limits, the space that each tribe should occupy, and the space allotted to each family. A comparative study of the different laws and descriptions in each text reveals the similarities between them. However, there are also significant differences between the two texts with respect to the organization of families, customs, the concept of morality, and the role of priests. Priests are not mentioned in Code de la Nature, whereas in Sinapia they are described as omnipotent. These differences can be explained by the author’s fear of the Inquisition. Although the Inquisition’s power ebbed during the reign Carlos II, it regained force during the reign of Fernando VI and Carlos III. The period between 1768 and 1790 saw moments of tolerance, but such tolerance disappeared when the Inquisition exercised its power through autos de fe. During those years Olavide and Zeraín were condemned to death, and those events should be understood as a reflection of the tensions between the Church and the State. At this point, it is evident that Sinapia could neither have been written in 1682 nor during the reign of Felipe V. It could only have been written after 1755, the date of the publication of Morelly’s Code de la Nature. Cantillon and Forbonnais, in their study of the wheat trade, advise on the qualitative structuring of territory, pointing out the need to regulate the precise dimensions of each urban area. Taking these ideas into account, Lemaur went one step farther and proposed two types of dwellings for the settlements in Sierra Morena. According to him, there should be separate dwellings for traders and settlers. Given both the scale of intervention described in Sinapia and its conceptual break with previous colonization projects, it is inconceivable that the text was written before 1755. There is also another piece of evidence suggesting that Sinapia was written after 1785. In 1711 Fenelon proposed to his student, the Duke of Borgoña, the necessity of reforming the territorial division of France. Argenson, Turgot, Le Trosne, and Condorcet agreed on the necessity of redefining France’s 35

Morelly, Code, op.cit, 190-192, 194-196.

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administrative division. The political climate in France in 1789 was tense because an economic downturn had plunged urban popular classes and peasants into misery. The “revolt of the privileged,” led by the nobility of the parliaments, opposed the fiscal reforms proposed by Louis XVI’s ministers. The ministers wanted to put an end to the chaos of the state treasury, but their plan backfired. When the Estates General convened for the first time in 150 years, the Three Estates came with Cahiers de doléances, memoranda that the assemblies of each district filled with petitions and complaints. Representatives brought almost 60,000 of these “books of grievance” or Cahiers de doléances to the Assembly on May 5, 1789. The Cahiers de doléances (Figure 5) revealed great regional differences in terms of customs, traditions, weights and measures, and property.

Figure 5. Cahiers de doléances. Plaintes, remontrances et demandes de la jurisdiction des consuls de la Ville d’Angers. Angers, 1789.

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They even evidenced a lack of standardized knowledge of the French language. After the revolutionary events of July, these differences would generate the political will to unify the country36. The territorial organization of France at the time was disorganized because administrative, military, ecclesiastical, judicial, and fiscal divisions did not correspond to one another. Diderot in his Suplément au voyage de Bougainville (written in 1772, published in 1796) denounced the heterogeneous organization of French territory and the vices of corrupt society. On the night of August 4, 1789, the Constitutive Assembly responsible for writing both the Constitution and the Declaration of the Rights of Man reacted to the demands of those who sought to maintain feudal privileges. The Constitutive Assembly abolished aristocratic privileges and suppressed the legal exemptions [fueros] that some communities enjoyed. This response focused on creating equality among different regions and resolving the question of popular representation. At that time, the first Commission was established and Sieyes and Thouret played a fundamental role. They were opposed to the Assembly’s Rapport sur l’etablissement des basses de la représentation proportionelle. The Rapport sur l’etablissement des basses de la représentation proportionelle was inspired by the work of military geographer Robert de Hesseln37. Hesseln proposed the division of territory into square compartments of eighteen by eighteen leagues (Figure 6). These compartments were subdivided into square “communes,” and they were divided again into nine square cantons.

36

Merrick Whitcombe, ed., Typical Cahiers of 1789, in Translations and Reprints From The Original Sources of European History, vol. IV, no. 5 (Philadelphia, 1898), 1-36; Regine Robin, “El campo semántico de la feudalidad en los Cahiers de Doléances Generales de 1789,” Estudios de Historia Social 2-3 (1977). 37 Robert de Hesseln, Nouvelle topographie ou description détaillée de la France divisée par carrés uniformes… avec le rapport des mesures locales à la toise du Châtelet de Paris… (Paris: Lambert, 1780); Robert de Hesseln, Première Carte de la nouvelle topographie contenant la France divisée en IX régions; ses provinces, ses cours souveraines et le tableau général des carrés ou portions uniformes du terrain employés dans cette description détaillée du Royaume. Guillaume Delahaye (1786); Robert de Hesseln, Châssis figuratif du territoire de la France partagé en divisions égales entre elles… 29 septembre 1789 (55.5cm x 57.5cm) Centre historique des Archives Nationales (Paris) sig. NN/50/6. At the first Comité de la Constitucion, Lally-Tallendal on August 31 he presented a favorable report in which he pointed out that “France will be divided into equal districts, which comprise, to the extent possible, a population of 150,000 souls.”

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Figure 6. Robert de Hesseln. Dictionnaire Universel de la France (Paris: Desaint, 1771).

In the second half of the eighteenth century both Spain and Hispanic America underwent territorial reforms that culminated in the establishment

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of a system of administrative divisions that redistributed social power. The Crown carried out these reforms in order to increase its political and fiscal control over the territory. Lay and ecclesiastical aristocracy lost some power but, by virtue of models of conquest and colonization, they still held jurisdictional control over vast territories of the monarchy. As Burgueño shows in his comparative study of administrative divisions at the end of the eighteenth century, Aragon had 44,650 square kilometers and Guipúzcoa had 1,997 38. This fact led León del Arroyal to note in Carta IV to the Conde de Lerena that “the general map of the peninsula represents the ridiculous situation of provinces fitted together everywhere at the most irregular angles, capitals located at the extremes of administrative areas, large administrative divisions and small administrative divisions, bishoprics of four leagues and bishoprics of seventy leagues, tribunals whose jurisdiction barely extends beyond the walls of a city, tribunals whose jurisdiction includes two or three kingdoms”(58). Aside from the disproportion and heterogeneity of the provinces, other problems included the coexistence of various jurisdictional regimes, an overlap in authority, and the fact that Nomenclátor (1785), written by order of Floridablanca, identified more than thirty different administrative categories39. “The provinces, in the state in which we have them today, were not formed by economic pressures but by the accidents of war. The capitals were selected without considering the advantages of their location, and towns

38

Marie-Vic Ozouf-Marignier, La formation des départements. La représentation du territoire français à la fin du 18e siècle (Paris: Editions de l'EHESS, 1989); Marie-Vic Ozouf-Marignier y Daniel Nordman, Atlas de la Révolution française, vol. 4 Le territoire (1). Réalités et représentations (Paris: Editions de l'EHESS, 1989) and vol. 5 Le territoire (2). Les limites administratives (Paris: Editions de l'EHESS, 1989); Marie-Vic Ozouf-Marignier, “Province, département, région: le débat sur les cadres territoriaux en 1789,” in Cartes, cartographes et géographes, Actes du 114e Congrès National des Sociétés Savantes (Paris : Imp. Nationale, 1990), 35-43, as well as Marie-Vic Ozouf-Marignier, “La division du territoire: limites naturelles et limites politiques,” in Andree Corvo, ed., La nature en révolution (1750-1800) (Paris: Editions L'Harmattan, 1993), 126-133. Likewise, Jean-Louis Masson Provinces, départements, régions: l'organisation administrative de la France (Paris: ed. Fernand Lanore, 1984). 39 Arroyal, Cartas, op.cit. letter IV, 190; Jesús Burgueño, Geografía política de la España Constitucional. La división provincial (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Constitucionales, 1996), 311; Jacobo García Álvarez, Provincias, regiones y comunidades autónomas. La formación del mapa político de España (Madrid: Secretaría General del Senado, 2002), 235.

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were added in proportion to conquests, without taking into account another aspect of the convenience of defence”40.

Criticism of the administrative division of Spain in 1785 was widespread. It worth mentioning the comments made by Isidoro de Antillón, who was later a delegate to the Cortes de Cádiz, who opined on the divisions or “intendencias” of the map. He called it “irrational, anachronic, disproportionate, irregular, and monstruous”41. Sinapia reflects the concerns of this administrative debate that emerges in the 1780s. In terms of administrative division, the proposal made in Sinapia corresponds to one outlined by Hesseln in 1780 and taken up, after the Revolution, by Sieyes and Thouret. This is not a coincidence, and it raises questions about the effectiveness of the quarantine imposed by Floridablanca after the Revolution in France. Who is the author of Sinapia? It is not my intention to speculate about this. Sinapia is full of contradictions, as is demonstrated by its brief discussion of the Church. These contradictions become even more evident when viewed in comparison with Morelly’s discussion of the church. Sinapia reflects knowledge of the economic problems and debates of the period. Unlike adventure narratives, it is an authentic political manifesto that suggests reforms and changes, a text that helps us understand the culture of Spain at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century. According to Lamartine, “Utopias are often only premature truths” and “the value and the importance of utopias in the present depends upon their ‘truth,’ that is to say, their ability to predict the future.” In an unconscious way, Lamartine questions both the ephemerality of culture of a given time period (the importance, as a consequence, of studying the Zeitgeist). His comments started a debate about the very concept of a nation. They also demonstrated how existing social ills would have a central role in the debate about the strengths and weaknesses of a “moral economy” versus a “social economy.” Sinapia did not influence the culture of the time period. However, what is evident is that it reflects certain tensions and debates. Its utopian value is clear because it seeks to predict the future. For example, José Antonio 40

Arroyal, Cartas, op.cit. letter IV, 190. Isidoro de Antillón, Fragmentos de la geografía astronómica, natural y política de España y Portugal (Madrid, 1808). 41

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Llorente proposed Reglamento para la Iglesia Española (1808) in the middle of the war with France, and he pointed out to José I that Spain’s administrative division should conform to its civil division42. He also discussed the benefit of establishing an appeals court, an archbishop, a prefect, and a comandante in the capital of each province. Llorente noted that the capital of each departamento ought to house a tribunal of Primera Instancia, a bishop, a subprefect, and a subcomandante. He specified that each bishopric or departamento should have a hospital or a charity house and a place to educate poor children. Given Llorente’s proposal, it is worth establishing a parallel between the administrative division proposed in Sinapia and the organization of Spain presented by José I. As Rafael Fernández Sirvent demonstrates in his study, Franciso Amorós, after his November 7, 1808 assignment proposed to homogenize internal differences in the size and population of the old political map. Amorós suggested that the old kingdoms and principalities should be broken into equal units. At the same time, he emphasized the importance of weakening local and regional historical identities in order to strengthen national cohesion and promote the integration of new states. According to Amorós’ logic, the new spatial division would be carried out in an attempt at political unification. The construction of this new concept of the nation was based on political and territorial reorganization. Fernández Sirvent discovered Amoró’s writings in the Archives Nationales de Paris in the Archivo de José I. Sirvent later published Amoro’s writings; they described the organization of 38 departamentos, each inhabited by a maximum of 300,000 people. This organizational model was written in accordance with the Statute of Bayona, which specified that, “the representatives of the provinces adjacent to Spain will be named by these at a rate, roughly, of one representative per 300,000 inhabitants”43. Even though this proposal was 42 On 30 May 1808, Juan Antonio Llorente sent Napoleon a plan to reorganize the dioceses of the Church in Spain (Reglamento para la Iglesia Española). He adjusting them to civil and military criteria and also established parallels between the bishop, the prefect and the military comandante. The plan created a total of 15 prefectures or archbishoprics and 65 prefectures-bishoprics. See Gerard Dufour, Juan Antonio Llorente en France (1813-1822) (Genève: Dorz, 1982), 19-20 and “Le centralisme des afrancesados,” in Nationalisme et littérature en Espagne et en Amérique Latine au XIXe siècle, ed. Claude Dumas (Université de Lille, 1982), 13. 43 I would like to thank Professor Rafael Fernández Sirvent for his help with this article. For more information on the role of Amorós in the territorial division of Spain, see Rafael Fernández Sirvent “Un Comisario Regio de José I: Francisco Amorós,” Historia Constitucional 9 (2008) Available at:

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never approved, it served as the basis for José María de Lanz y Zaldívar’s 1809 proposal that specified the need for 38 departamentos. Sinapia foreshadowed many of the urban planning ideas later employed by the French. On August 18, 1812 Agustín de Argüelles presented the project of Spain’s territorial constitution in the Cortes de Cádiz, thus opening a debate about the territory of Spain. This debate is reflected in article 10 written by de Argüelles; in it he expresses the opinion of those who, faced with demographic differences, the fragmentation and diversity of the geography, and of institutions in Spain, advised against all geometrical and uniform solutions. It is evident that in Spain’s nascent liberal society the organization of territory would be carried out, as happened in France after the Napoleonic invasion, by those who relied on facts rather than by parliamentarians who wanted the new provinces to be “as uniform as the squares on a checkers board.” In Atenor (1788) Pedro Montegón describes Atenor’s journey and provides insight into the intentions of Sinapia: “Tradition does not always tell the truth. Often, information that is given to communities about their origins is the product of the coarseness and superstitions of the time in which they were conceived. All communities wish to pull their origins out of the clouds. Vanity, excited by ignorance, thus has spoiled the beginning of the great majority of our histories.” For this reason, as set out by Nietzsche’s comments in Daybreak (1881), “things that last a long time are so progressively saturated with reason that it becomes unimaginable that they have their origin in irrationality.” Sinapia, whose author and date of composition remain unknown, provided the first description of what we now call the “invention of the nation.”

[Accessed 27 Dec 2014], as well as Francisco Amorós y los inicios de la educación física moderna (Alicante: Universidad de Alicante, 2005).

CHAPTER FOUR EUGÉNIO DOS SANTOS AND CITY ENGINEERING PAULA ANDRÉ DINAMIA’CET – CENTRO DE ESTUDOS SOBRE A MUDANÇA SOCIOECONÓMICA E O TERRITÓRIO, INSTITUTO SUPERIOR DE CIÊNCIAS DO TRABALHO E DE EMPRESAS, INSTITUTO UNIVERSITÁRIO DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

Departing from Eugénio dos Santos’plans for the re-construction of Lisbon (second half of the 18th century), we pretend to demonstrate that those plans are founded on a matrix established by the urban practice and expertise of military engineers, simultaneously erudite and pragmatic, that became programmatic. We will try to realize not only how Pombaline architecture was able to endure over time and space, and how this plan was characterized by a modernity rooted in tradition, but also to ascertain whether this is in fact a characteristic of Portuguese culture. To this end, we draw on the systematic criteria and strong lines that were adopted when constituting the urban and architectural form, to the intent of discovering the foundations of the nature of the Portuguese city and its architecture. To do that, our study goes back over time to the articulated and programmed action of King Manuel I (15th-16th centuries). We start objectively from modern day Lisbon as the primary source, working on an active past. An interpretation is made of both the practice and consolidation of the “Ley do alinhamento” (Alignment Law), and the so-called “practical and tangible knowledge” a true lesson of praxis in the field with repercussions in the flexibility of Eugénio dos Santos’ plans for the reconstruction of Lisbon: both intelligent and sensitive, it was built on the application of rules and adjustment processes, and at the same time, on the capacity to maintain identity in flexibility. In Manuel da Maia’s cautious and methodical Dissertações 1755-56 he systematically refers to the “Ley do alinhamento” (Alignment Law) and states that care must be taken to

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“conserve the same and good symmetry”. This category of symmetry is intrinsically linked with the concept of regularity that we find applied both to architecture and urban layout and is visible in a number of works found in Eugénio dos Santos’ private library, written by people with different areas of expertise. Moreover, we endeavor to examine the tradition of each of these parameters based on the flexibility of Eugénio dos Santos’ plans, and of the agents of this concerted action and their exemplary articulation of law, urbanism, architecture, the valorization of memory and the exaltation of practice with programmed intent. The matrix of the straight line as the foundation and spirit of regularity and uniformity is the basis not only of the architecture but also of the design of the city. The regularity of the entire plans for downtown Lisbon make it an excellent means of expressing the city’s image and it is this classic tradition of the aesthetics of the straight line in the urban and architectural plans that we see raised to the category of monument in contemporary society. Having Eugénio dos Santos’ plan for the reconstruction of Lisbon after the earthquake of 1755 as a reference, we will try to demonstrate the way this plan has its roots in a practice of urban planning that was considered an competence of military engineers, an erudite and pragmatic competence that would reveal itself to be programmatic. We hope to understand how Pombaline architecture and urban planning have endured through time and place, and how the plan for the reconstruction of Lisbon by Eugénio dos Santos was characterized by a modernity anchored in tradition, in order to verify if that is indeed a characteristic of Portuguese culture. We think that the research about the long history of urban archaeology in Lisbon, the main city of the kingdom since the reign of King Afonso III –presented in the Regulations of Lisbon City Council of 30th August 1502 as the “mui nobre e sempre Leal Cidade de Lisboa e por ser a Cabiça [do Reino] deve sair todo bom exemplo pera todalas Cidades e Vilas”1, evaluator of projects and exporter of practices and principles – is important for a global understanding of the urban form in Portugal and of urban form of Portuguese origin. We propose to analyse and understand the identity of Portuguese urban morphologies, starting from the characterisation of the substantive elements that compose it, while a morphological palimpsest – that is, those 1

“… most noble and always Loyal City of Lisbon and because it is the Head [of the Kingdom] it must be the good example for all Cities and Villages”, in, Regimento da Câmara de Lisboa, 30 de Agosto de 1502, in, Arquivo Municipal de Lisboa-Arquivo Histórico (AML-AH), Liv. Carmezim, fl.11.

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elements that have remained perceptible in the long process of evolution – of urban Lisbon forms. For that, we will draw the systematic criteria and the lines of force that operate in the constitution of urban form and architectonic construction, in a study of the long cycles, backtracking into the articulated and programmatic action (involving architecture, urbanism and legislation) of King Manuel I, with the objective of finding the foundations of the city’s character. Because “the form of the city is the cartography of its history”2, we shall adopt a multidisciplinary methodology that applies the transversality of the physical and conceptual history of the city, articulating different areas of knowledge; namely geography, history, archaeology, architecture, and urbanism. We also propose an open dialogue through history, revealing the relationships between royal power, the religious domain, municipal action and private initiative. This way, we want to demonstrate (or share the knowledge of) a continued practice of expropriations and consequent demolitions, with the objective of widening and straightening the streets; a process that was articulated with the respective “regulated” architecture, always with the objective of dignifying the city. This transversality is equally articulated with different collections of sources of information, namely cartography, iconographic representations, notarial records, municipal bylaws and other written documents. Taking the contemporary city of Lisbon as the primary source, and using history in the word’s Greek etymologic meaning – that is, in the sense of “seeing” or “knowing”3 – and working over an active past, our study will focus on the process of the evolution of urban form. On the one hand, we will start from the coastline and the successive embankments carried out since the 14th century in the reign of King Dinis and continued by kings Fernando, Manuel I and José I, which were always a new motor of development for the city, and where some poles of development were located, taking us to the city of today, which we have inherited. On the other hand, we shall focus on a number of selected streets (Rua Nova, Rua Nova d’El Rei, Rua Direita das Portas de Santa Catarina, Rua Nova de Almada, Rua dos Ourives da Prata), which were structuring and active

2

Text of J. M. Hernández León in Terán, F., 2009. El pasado activo: del uso interesado de la historia para el entendimiento y la construcción de la ciudad, Akal, Madrid, p. 5. 3 Pinto, L., 2009. A cidade etimologizada : os sentidos acerca do espaço urbano nas Etymologiae de Isidoro de Sevilha, Archai, nº3, Julho, pp. 107-118.

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axes of the “urban morphogenesis”4, privileged stages of the continuous making and remaking of the city. This morphological evolution will be carried out by means of a regressive analysis whose temporal arch will take us back to the reign of King Dinis, “the first moment of a decisive intervention in the urban definition”5, an historical time of the middle Ages consubstantial to the future of the city. We agree with José Custódio Vieira da Silva when he says that “Medieval cities […] are in a continuum from the architectural and urban models of the Greek and Roman antiquity” and that in “Medieval Lisbon there were three decisive moments of structured growth: the first in the reign of Kings Dinis and Fernando; the second, with King João I until the regency of Infante D. Pedro; the third, under Kings João II and Manuel I”6. The city of Lisbon conquered by King Afonso Henriques was made of an enclosed nucleus surrounded by the Cerca Moura (Moorish Wall) and several neighbourhoods outside the walls. In the reign of King Dinis, the first embankments were carried out in order to build the Royal Warehouses and shipyards, close to the S. Francisco hill, which meant a first advancement of the city towards the river. King Dinis also built a second defensive wall of the city, the first including the riverside area, with the objective of protecting the new neighbourhoods that had grown in the meantime, namely the Baixa (in the West) and Alfama (in the East). However that wall did not reach completion and only in the reign of King Fernando, in 1373, were those new urban areas walled in7. In the 15th century, it was in the new river front that a series of new infrastructures related with the ultramarine expansion were developed: the Casa de Ceuta (the Ceuta’s house), from 1434, and the Casa dos Escravos (the slaves’ house) in 1486. King Manuel I decided to come down from

4 Desmarais, G., 1995. La morphogenese de Paris. Des origines à la Revolution, Paris, l’Harmattan. 5 Silva, J., 2006. Lisboa Medieval, breves reflexões, in, Revista de História da Arte, FCSH-UNL, Lisboa, nº 2, p. 40. 6 Idem, p. 36. 7 When King Dinis built the wall in Ribeira, this Rua Nova was still a beach or a recent embankment, which had to be made for the foundation of the city wall. Later on, in the embankment that had conquered the land to the river, King Fernando was able to build his own wall, beyond that of King Dinis, facing the sea, in, Silva, A., 1987. As Muralhas da Ribeira de Lisboa. Lisboa, p. 129.

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the castle8 in the hilltop, began the construction of new embankments, and built his palace over the Casa da Índia, Mina e Guiné (the house of India, Mina and Guinea). The terreiro (square) previously an estuary, beach and riverside started to be called Terreiro do Paço and became a privileged stage of the city and its image, as well as platform for the articulation of its main axes (from Ribeira to the Alcáçova; from Ribeira to the Alto de São Francisco; from Ribeira to Cata-que-Faraz; from Ribeira to São João da Praça and Alfama; from Ribeira to Rossio). In the north of the city, there was another platform where markets took place – the Rossio of Lisbon – which according to Luís de Vasconcelos in his work Etnografia Portuguesa, had its origin in the Latin word resíduus which means “remaining”9. This space was marked on its north side by the palace of Estaus, built by the Prince Regent D. Pedro, and, on its eastern side, by Hospital de Todos os Santos, built under the orders of King João II. A royal charter, dated 10th August 1502, refers to the fact that the new hospital façade follows the options chosen for Rua dos Ferreiros, and in 1513 the hospital’s windows were chosen – according to the builder’s contract – as a model for the windows of the new Praça da Ribeira. These two large empty spaces in the city, the riverside that became the Terreiro do Paço and the Rossio – shown in the engraving of Lisbon Olissipo quae nunc... which G. Braunio published in his Urbium Praeciparum Mundi Theatrum Quintum in 1598 –, were always important poles for the urban development of Lisbon with preferential stages at different times and have kept that identity, even after the earthquake in the new Pombaline plan. In addition to these two platforms, the city of Lisbon was structured around two axes of development, two streets that kept their structuring role in the Pombaline plan: the Rua Nova, parallel to the river, and Rua Nova d’El Rei, an axis perpendicular to the river. The Rua Nova, parallel and 8

This displacement of the city towards the river was also translated in the displacement of some city centres, namely the replacement of Largo da Sé and Largo da Madalena by Praça do Pelourinho, at the eastern end of Rua Nova dos Mercadores, which acquired a new centrality. 9 “The Feira da Ladra, had moved in the fifteenth century, from Largo da Feira, named after this market, near the entrance to the castle, to the Rossio de Santa Justa, where it would remain until the earthquake of 1755”, and since the late fifteenth century this market took place every Tuesday in front of the Hospital Real de Todos os Santos “in which, along with local manufactures, [there] started to appear commodities from North Africa and the East, both new and old”, in Moita, I., 1983. A imagem e a vida da cidade, in, Lisboa Quinhentista: a imagem a e a vida da cidade. Lisboa, pp. 9, 14.

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open to the river, probably did already exist at the time of King Dinis’ reign. One finds a reference to this street comes up in 1294, when it was widened to eight braças and made more regular. This work implied the demolition of a number of houses, as referred to by Helder Carita in his work Lisboa manuelina e formação de modelos urbanísticos da época moderna (1495-1521). There is a concern with the reordering of the city centre, with its regularization, with the alignment of its streets, denoting an aesthetics of the straight line, which is present in various letters sent to the Lisbon senate, as one may see in this reference from the secretary António Carneiro: …Like the buttresses of Rua Nova, straight and very well built and, furthermore, in certain places where it is necessary to provide sufficient land for the regularity and alignment of all the houses…10.

Concerned with the fact that in Rua Nova dos Mercadores, there were still “houses built with less noble materials, like wood” King Manuel I gave “a time limit of one year for the replacement of these houses for others made out of stone”11, and in a Royal Charter of 1502, ordered the “derybamento” (demolition) of all the balconies in the city, for its “nobreza” (ennoblement). The works carried out in Rua Nova were the model for the renewal of other streets, such as Rua da Tanoaria whose façades should be built: “[…] over stonemasonry foundations, like those of Rua Nova, which are straight and very well built” thus clearly promoting [a program of] architecture”. According to Augusto Vieira da Silva, that desire is articulated with urban morphology and expressed well in the royal donations in connection with the construction to be build the future Rua da Misericórdia “[…] a piece of land with a width of 30 span, for the construction of houses and shops […] no higher than 25 span”12. When King Manuel I extended Rua Nova d’El Rei, Rossio became connected with the area of Ribeira, implying the demolition of a few constructions for its alignment. From the middle of the sixteenth century, this street became known as the Rua da Ourivesaria do Ouro or Rua dos Ourives do Ouro. That was its name in 1755. Similarly to what had been 10

Carita, H., 2000. Reforma Urbanística da Lisboa Manuelina. Início da escola moderna de arquitectura, in, História. Lisboa, pp. 40-41. 11 Gonçalves, I., 1986. Posturas Municipais e Vida Urbana na Baixa Idade Média. O Exemplo de Lisboa, in, Separata de Estudos Medievais. Lisboa, p. 170. 12 Silva, A., 1987. As muralhas da Ribeira de Lisboa. Lisboa: CML, vol. II, pp. 135-136.

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done in Rua dos Ourives da Prata13, the works for the enlargement of Rua dos Ourives do Ouro – to a width of forty “span”, in order to be “the most public and principal”14 –, would continue with King Pedro II. This work is referenced to in a letter from the Secretary of State, Pedro Sanches de Farinha, dated 13th September: And it is also determined that Vossa Senhoria, verifying with ministers of the Senate the need for widening Rua dos Ourives do Ouro, given its benefits to the city, and because in that street there are problems of circulation all the time, given that no two carriages can pass at the same time, sees to the execution this work, which is of great utility for everybody15.

In the second half of the fifteenth century, in the sequence of social and economic transformations, the city was forced to expand beyond the King Fernando wall beginning in the neighbourhood Portas de Santa Catarina to Vila Nova de Andrade, “an example of the application of urban measurements systematized in the first years of the sixteenth century for Lisbon”16. According to Helder Carita “the tendency for the systematic use in Bairro Alto of the same measurements for the urban blocks was a new fact in the city of Lisbon, corresponding to a tendency for a greater rationality in the organization of the urban space”17. Here as elsewhere, whenever necessary, demolitions were carried out in order to rectify the streets’ regularity, keeping in mind that, “in 1515, in the sequence of a request made by the lessees of Rua do Vale and Rua Segunda, the lots are

13 “[…] this work has very useful consequences, because the city grows in beauty and nobility and makes easier the use of Rua da Padaria that nowadays is so difficult […]”, in, Consulta da Câmara ao Rei de 23 de Novembro de 1676, Livº IV de Cons. e Decr. do Principe D. Pedro, fl. 386 (AML-AH) apud Oliveira, E., 1885. Elementos para a História do Município de Lisboa. Lisboa: Typographia Universal, Tomo VIII, p. 173. “[...] In which it was necessary to demolish twentysix houses”, in Murteira, H., 1999. Lisboa da Restauração às Luzes. Lisboa: Presença, p. 88. 14 Murteira, H., 1999. Lisboa da Restauração às Luzes. Lisboa: Presença, p. 92. 15 Idem, p. 85. 16 Carita, H., 1999. Lisboa Manuelina e a formação de modelos urbanísticos da época moderna (1495-1521). Lisboa: Livros Horizonte. 17 Carita, H., 1990. Bairro Alto. Tipologias e Modos Arquitectónicos. Lisboa: CML, p. 47.

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realigned, because they were askew and there was urgency in building the houses”18. The wish for regularity, symmetry, a widening of the streets and for the corresponding architecture, implied a process of “expropriation” and the consequent demolition of constructions, based on the existing legislation. The connection and the corresponding restructuration of the street network between the lower part of the city and Vila Nova de Andrade / Bairro Alto would correspond, in 1665, to the opening of Rua Nova do Almada, which would be the programmatic and pragmatic model for other areas of the city. Similar to other situations, the decree of King Afonso VI, says that “because it is for the public benefit to improve Rua Nova do Almada, which has been open in this city, and for that it is necessary to buy a few houses, paying their owners what is fair, and if the owners do not want to sell the houses, the Senado da Câmara (the City Senate) shall evaluate them and buy them by a fair price with the utmost brevity”19. The same procedure would be applied to the widening of Rua dos Ourives da Prata (1676) and dos Ourives do Ouro (1687). Complying with a request from the Senate Chamber, the royal declaration of 17th September 1687, determines that “this work shall be performed without financial burden, and to that purpose the Senate Chamber may require selling the necessary houses”20. All of the modus operandi translated in this process show that there is a concern, predating the future Marquis of Pombal, regarding regularity and symmetry, which is present in all determinations – a request to build a loft in Praça da Ribeira on 6th March 1704 in an inquiry to the Town Hall to the King: “[…] the Senate of the Council, by means of decrees and resolutions of His Majesty, is spending and has spent a considerable amount [on] the widening of streets, […] the streets must have straight alignments for the beauty of the city”21. And showing exactly the same kind of concerns, in 1751 the crown decides that the city architect, Eugenio dos Santos, should be present at all

18

Saa, M., 1929. Origens do Bairro Alto de Lisboa. Lisboa: Centro Tip. Colonial, p. 10. 19 Oliveira, E., 1893. Elementos para a história do Município de Lisboa. Lisboa: Typographia Universal, Vol. VI, p. 573. 20 Oliveira, E., 1896. Elementos para a história do Município de Lisboa. Lisboa: Typographia Universal,Vol. VIII, pp. 173-174. 21 Consulta da Câmara ao Rei de 6 de Março de 1704, Livº XIX de Cons. e Decr. de D. Pedro II, fl. 84 (AML-AH), in, Oliveira, E., 1899. Elementos para a História do Município de Lisboa. Lisboa: Typographia Universal, Vol. X, pp. 232-233.

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of the city works’ surveys, given that for the Senate President “there can be no survey that does not respect the beauty and symmetry of the city”22. The decree of King João V (from 13th April 1745) detailing instructions that the Senate of the Council should apply, with the objective of the regular development of the city, is paradigmatic of the urbanistic principles and of a tradition founded on theory, practice and legislation: Because it is convenient for my royal service and the public benefit [from] the following observations, I order the Senate of the Council of this court and [the] city of Lisbon that, notwithstanding any laws, ordinances or traditions [to the] contrary, no street or other public path for public use shall be less than «twenty five span» wide, both within and outside the city”; however, in the main streets and roads with heavy traffic, in which concerns their width, the usual style should be followed, similar to some that have already been made, both in this Court and elsewhere, as is the case of Rua dos Ourives and other similar streets. And that at correct and commodious distances, squares shall be built, with capacity for public conveniences. And that in the areas where the waters tend to stagnate, with reduced flow, and where streets are being built, cesspools or pipes to receive the waters shall be made, which will lead the waters into the beaches, like the royal conduit that passes underneath the Terreiro do Paço. For the execution of everything that will lead to a better commodity, symmetry and beauty of the city, I recommend the same Senate of the Council to distribute the works [to] the persons of the different services and provide the necessary means, in order to avoid the known deformities of new streets and neighbourhoods, when one should expect that new developments would show improvements23.

With the earthquake and the following tsunami and fire, in 1755, the constructions in this area of the city were destroyed and Sebastião José de Carvalho e Melo, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs and the War, assigned Manuel da Maia, as chief-engineer of Portugal, to study proposals for the reconstruction of Lisbon. Between 4th December 1755 and 19th April 1756, this engineer wrote his Dissertação sobre a renovação da Cidade de Lisboa (Dissertation for the Renewal of Lisbon), in which he presented four alternatives duly justified, for the reconstruction. The future Marquis of Pombal chooses the fourth option; 22

Consulta da Câmara ao Rei de 17 de Janeiro de 1754, Livº V de Cons. e Decr. de D. José I, fl. 25 (AML-AH), in, Oliveira, E., 1910. Elementos para a História do Município de Lisboa. Lisboa: Typographia Universal,Vol. XV, pp. 492-496. 23 Livº XXI de cons. e dec. d’el-rei D. João v, fs.17, in, Oliveira, E., 1906. Elementos para a Historia do Município de Lisboa. Lisboa: Typographia Universal, Vol. XIV, pp. 411-412.

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that is, reconstruction in loco with a new plan. Six new plans are then presented, from which is selected the proposal by the engineer and city architect Eugénio dos Santos. This was the most “abstract and geometric”, in which the squares of Rossio and Terreiro do Paço were “regularized and redefined in their form and orientation”24. Manuel da Maia, in his prudent and methodical Dissertação (1755-56), gives important information regarding Lisbon prior to the earthquake, mentioning the – “Ley do alinhamento”25 (Alignment law), the streets that were used as models and the need to “conservar a mesma e boa simetria” (keep the same and good symmetry). In addition to the use and consolidation of “Ley do alinhamento” (Alignment law), the processes for the renovation of the city are presented, with a special reference to the “noticia prática e palpável”, (practical and tangible notice), a true lesson of the praxis to be carried out on the site, which leads us to the modus operandi of city making, of operating in the territory or a Portuguese school of urbanism. The intelligent, sensitive and flexible plan of Eugénio dos Santos is simultaneously based in both the application of rules and the processes of adjustment, and had the capacity to maintain an identity within the flexibility. A critical reading of the primary sources on Eugénio dos Santos, in comparison with other contemporary ones searching for the characterization of the aesthetic categories subjacent to the aesthetics of the Enlightenment, reveal the symmetry, regularity, ornament and commodity as key words. In 1757, in a report about works that had been embargoed in a farm in Campo Grande, Eugénio dos Santos recommends that the work should be carried out with “regularidade”, “simetria” e “ornato”26 (regularity, symmetry and ornament). This category of symmetry is closely related with the concept of regularity that one finds applied both to architecture and urban planning, and which is present in a number of works by authors of different areas of knowledge. The enshrinement of the secular in the 24

Teixeira, M.; Valla, M., 1999. O Urbanismo Português, séculos XIII-XVIII. Portugal-Brasil. Lisboa: Livros Horizonte, pp. 290-291. 25 Dissertação sobre a renovação da Cidade de Lisboa por Manoel da Maya, Engenheiro Mor do Reyno, in, Ayres, C., 1910. Manuel da Maya e os engenheiros militares portugueses no Terramoto de 1755. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional, pp. 2833. 26 Ferrão, L., 2007. Eugénio dos Santos e Carvalho, Arquitecto e engenheiro Militar (1711-1760): Cultura e Prática de Arquitectura. Lisboa: [s.n.]. PhD thesis, Nova University of Lisbon, vol. 1, p. 384.

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enlightened logic of the Pombaline project for the Baixa de Lisboa is also set in the enlightened and hygienist thought of doctor António Nunes Ribeiro Sanches, particularly in his work Tratado de conservaçam da saude dos povos (1756), which states that one should ordain and “build wide and straight streets that should end in squares”27. Based on classical roots founded on Vitruvius and Leon B. Alberti, Ribeiro Sanches reminds that “the Romans made the city street with the same width of the military roads; these streets ended in the city doors or in squares: the latter were narrower, and their width corresponded to the side paths of military roads”28, a hierarchy that closely resembles the logic expressed in the plan of Baixa by Eugénio dos Santos. In the personal library of Ribeiro Sanches, one could find the treaties of Robert Valutius, De re militari (Paris, 1534) and Manuel Azevedo Fortes, O Engenheiro Portuguez (Lisbon, 1728), and in the personal library of Eugénio dos Santos, in addition to the work of Ribeiro Sanches, one could also find works by the priest Marc-Antoine Laugier, architect J.-François Blondel and military engineer Sébastien Vauban29. In Eugénio dos Santos’ plan, the two great, pre-existing voids Rossio and Terreiro do Paço seem to acquire a sacred dimension, usually attributed to church spaces, which, in turn, are assimilated in the order imposed by the urban fabric. This engineer / architect of Pombal has probably not forgotten the colonial experience, the urban composition of Jesuitical missions or “the plans of everything that is renowned in the world and the models of all the churches and the most famous palaces of Rome”30, that King João V ordered and collected in his Paço da Ribeira (Royal Palace).

27 “Fabricar ruas largas e diretas que se terminem nas grandes praças” (Sanches, A., 1756. Tratado de conservaçam da saude dos povos: obra util, e igualmente neseffaria aos Magiftrados, Capitaens Generaes, Capitaes de Mar, e Guerra, Prelados, Abbadeffas, Medicos, e Pays de familias. Paris: e se vende em Lisboa em casa de Bonardi e du Beux, p. 48). 28 “os Romanos fazião as ruas das cidades na mesma largura, que tinhão as vias militares, ou estradas reaes; terminavão-se nas portas dellas, ou nas praças: a segunda sorte de ruas era mais estreita, e conrespondia a sua largura à dos caminhos de travessa, que sahião das vias militares” (Idem, ibidem). 29 Ferrão, L., 2007. Eugénio dos Santos e Carvalho, Arquitecto e engenheiro Militar (1711-1760): Cultura e Prática de Arquitectura. Lisboa: [s.n.]. PhD thesis, Nova University of Lisbon, vol. 1, pp. 250, 257, 266. 30 “As plantas de tudo o que ha celebre no Mundo, e modellos de todas as Igrejas, e mais famosos Palacios de Roma” (Silva, F., 1750. Elogio funebre e historico do

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If in the plan for Rome of Sixto V (1585-1590), elaborated by Domenico Fontana, the streets connected to important buildings, in the Pombaline plan elaborated by the engineers / urbanists, the streets connect the remarkable voids: Rossio and Praça do Comércio. It is the straight line as the foundation and spirit of regularity and uniformity that is the basis of both the architecture and design of the city. This shows that the design of the city was carried out by designing the voids, not forgetting the two structuring axes – (the Rua Nova d’El Rei - cardus –, and – the Rua Nova dos Mercadores – decumanus) – denouncing a classical ancestrality. It is the regularity of the whole plan for the Baixa of Lisbon that makes it an excellent means for communicating the image of the city and it is the classical tradition of the aesthetics of the straight line in the urban and architectonic project that is elevated to the category of monument. The analysis of the process of making the city reveals the interventions on the very city, where much of the works are interventions on pre-existing elements; they are works of renewal, not new works, where the city appears as an experimental stage. This is a method prolonged over time, materialised in space and registered in the Dissertação of Manuel da Maia. The urban programme is not only the application of a previous model, but also that which results from a thoughtful and affective reading of the physical nature of the territory, from which would result a diversity of composition, evidencing a clear pragmatic and programmatic intention, both erudite and vernacular. Performing a reading (or a study) of the topographic evolution of Lisbon, interconnected with the confrontation between a culturalist reading versus a progressive reading of contemporary urbanism, leads us to take a forward-looking perspective considering that historical knowledge “in transition time”31 should be an operational tool of interventions in the city of today.

muito alto, poderoso, augusto, pio e fidelissimo Rey de Portugal, e Senhor D. João V. Lisboa: na Regia Officina Sylviana, e da Academia Real, p. 267). 31 Mészáros, I., (2008) O desafio e o fardo do tempo histórico, in, Política e Sociedade, nº 13, Outubro de 2008, pp.17-33.

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References Ayres, C., 1910. Manuel da Maya e os engenheiros militares portugueses no Terramoto de 1755. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional. Carita, H., 1990. Bairro Alto. Tipologias e Modos Arquitectónicos. Lisboa: CML. —. 1999. Lisboa Manuelina e a formação de modelos urbanísticos da época moderna (1495-1521). Lisboa: Livros Horizonte. —. 2000. Reforma Urbanística da Lisboa Manuelina. Início da escola moderna de arquitectura, in, Revista História, Lisboa, s.3, a.2, nº 26, pp. 36-45. Desmarais, G., 1995. La morphogenese de Paris. Des origines à la Revolution, Paris: l’Harmattan. Ferrão, L., 2007. Eugénio dos Santos e Carvalho, Arquitecto e engenheiro Militar (1711-1760): Cultura e Prática de Arquitectura. Lisboa: [s.n.]. 2 vols. PhD thesis, Universidade Nova de Lisboa. Gonçalves, I., 1986. Posturas Municipais e Vida Urbana na Baixa Idade Média. O Exemplo de Lisboa, in, Separata de Estudos Medievais, Porto, nº 7, pp. 153-172. Mészáros, I., (2008). O desafio e o fardo do tempo histórico, in, Política e Sociedade, nº 13, pp. 17-33. Moita, I., 1983. A imagem e a vida da cidade, in, Lisboa Quinhentista: a imagem a e a vida da cidade. Lisboa: C.M.L., pp. 9-22. Murteira, H., 1999. Lisboa da Restauração às Luzes. Lisboa: Presença. Oliveira, E. 1893-1910. Elementos para a História do Município de Lisboa. Lisboa: Typographia Universal, Vols. VI, VIII, X, XIV, XV. Pinto, L., 2009. A cidade etimologizada : os sentidos acerca do espaço urbano nas Etymologiae de Isidoro de Sevilha, Archai, nº 3, pp. 107118. Regimento da Câmara de Lisboa, 30 de Agosto de 1502, in, Arquivo Municipal de Lisboa-Arquivo Histórico (AML-AH), Liv. Carmezim, fl.11. Saa, M., 1929. Origens do Bairro Alto de Lisboa. Lisboa: Centro Tip. Colonial. Sanches, A., 1756. Tratado de conservaçam da saude dos povos: obra util, e igualmente neseffaria aos Magiftrados, Capitaens Generaes, Capitaes de Mar, e Guerra, Prelados, Abbadeffas, Medicos, e Pays de familias. Paris: e se vende em Lisboa em casa de Bonardi e du Beux. Silva, A., 1987. As Muralhas da Ribeira de Lisboa. Lisboa: CML. Vol. II. Silva, J., 2006. Lisboa Medieval, breves reflexões, Revista de História da Arte, FCSH-UNL, Lisboa, nº 2, pp.37-42.

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Silva, F., 1750. Elogio funebre e historico do muito alto, poderoso, augusto, pio e fidelissimo Rey de Portugal, e Senhor D. João V. Lisboa: na Regia Officina Sylviana, e da Academia Real. Teixeira, M.; Valla, M., 1999. O Urbanismo Português, séculos XIIIXVIII. Portugal-Brasil. [Lisboa]: Livros Horizonte. Terán, F., 2009. El pasado activo: del uso interesado de la historia para el entendimiento y la construcción de la ciudad. Madrid: Akal.

PART 2: WRITINGS BY ARCHITECTS AND THEIR LIBRARIES

CHAPTER FIVE NOTES ON THE LIBRARY OF EUGÉNIO DOS SANTOS (TITLES IN THE SCIENCE AND ART CATEGORIES)1 LEONOR FERRÃO CIAUD - CENTRO DE INVESTIGAÇÃO EM ARQUITECTURA, URBANISMO E DESIGN, FACULDADE DE ARQUITECTURA, UNIVERSIDADE DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

For historians, books are always puzzling objects. [...] Studying them reveals the difficulties of the historian’s trade: shifting from the individual to the collective, the relationship between the intellectual and the social, judgements of time on time, the measurement of innovation and inertia. 2

The library of Eugénio dos Santos (1711-1760)3 helps us to understand his cultural and mental standpoint in time. Although being in possession of a book does not prove that it has been read, nor that the holder agrees with 1

This chapter is an excerpt from my PhD thesis in history of architecture and urbanism (Ferrão, L. 2007. Eugénio dos Santos de Carvalho, arquitecto e engenheiro militar (1711-1760): cultura e prática de arquitectura. PhD thesis, Nova University of Lisbon. 2 vols.), revised, amended and updated specially for this publication. 2 Furet, F. 1965. Avertissement. In: G. Bollème et al., dir. 1965. Livre et société dans la France du XVIIIe siècle. Paris-La Haye: Mouton, vol. 1, p.3. 3 The bookcase and list of books are included in the inventory of assets belonging to Eugénio dos Santos: Inventário dos bens que ficarão por falecimento do Capitão Eugénio dos Santos de Carvalho, 1760-1780 [MS]. Available at: Arquivo Nacional Torre do Tombo (Portugal), Orfanológicos (Testamentarias), letter E, pack 3, box 967, ff.26v., 47-49. On Santos’ career see Ferrão, 1996. Santos, Eugénio dos. In: A. Turner, ed., 1996. The Dictionary of Art. New York: Grove, vol. XXVII, pp.799-802.

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the points of view expressed within it, it is not plausible that his books were acquired simply to give the impression of being learned. He did not have the social status, time or money to succumb to self-importance or vanity. In Portugal’s stratified society, the concept of “natural nobility”, supported by Luís António Verney (1713-1792) in a famous title published outside the kingdom, 4 was applied to a limited, cultured and book-loving elite, of which Santos was a member. This study is therefore openly hazardous and uncertain.5 It is intended to establish an (imagined) dialogue between the books and their owner, exploring the personality of an author built up over 24 years of work (from 19 June 1736 until the end of June 1760). There are too many details still missing to provide a complete picture of his background and there is a risk of underestimating the intellectual standing of Eugénio dos Santos (because the list of omissions is long) or overestimating it (since the catalogue is important, for its quantity and quality, and is the most substantial collection that has been found in Portugal among people who had the same occupation, including those from abroad who worked in Portugal and those who worked in the overseas provinces ruled by Portugal). It is impossible to prove how many titles were acquired by mistake (rendering any expectations encouraged by the works meaningless), how many he inherited from his father-in-law (Manuel da Costa Negreiros) and how many he disposed of once he had read them. 4 “Outstanding men are the truly noble ones. This nobility is natural, and nobody can divest them of it.” (Verney, L.A. 1746. Verdadeiro método de estudar [Online]. Valença: Oficina de António Bale, vol.2, p.69. Available at: [Accessed 15 November 2014]. Luís António Verney (17211792) was born to a French father and a Portuguese mother. He studied theology at the University of Évora, and in Rome he completed a PhD in theology and jurisprudence. He belonged to the congregation of the oratory in Lisbon (Espírito Santo da Pedreira Convent). He was one of the most famous “foreigners” in the country. The work cited in this note gave rise to one of the best-known literary controversies in Portugal, which placed the Jesuits and the Oratorians on opposing sides. See Andrade, A. B. 1965, Vernei e a cultura do seu tempo. Coimbra: Universidade (Acta Universitátis Conimbrigensis, no. 15); Martins, J.V. 1980. Luís António Vernei contra a escolástica entre 1745 e 1750. Paris: Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian (Separata do Arquivo do Centro Cultural Português, no. 15). 5 Regarding the care to be taken when interpreting private library catalogues, see Charon-Parent, A. 2002. Enquête à travers les catalogues de vente de bibliothèques d’architectes du XVIIIe siècle: la bibliothèque de Jacques-Gemain Souflot. In: J. M. Leniaud and B. Bouvier, dir. 2002. Le livre d’architecture XVe-XXe siècle: édition, représentations et bibliothèques. Paris: École des chartes, p.188.

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It is also outside the scope of this chapter to discuss any direct correspondence between the visual culture conveyed by the literature on art that he acquired and his conceived, designed and built architecture, which was responsible for one of the longest formal series in Portuguese architecture: the imprecisely but impressively named Pombaline. 6 Nonetheless, this collection of books demonstrates that his visual culture was fed by reading, further to knowledge based on empirical experience of vernacular and erudite forms of architecture.7 Until now, no writing by Eugénio dos Santos on architecture has been found, other than opinions, 8 requests, 9 or measurement certificates. 10 These documents have very specific styles, which makes it impossible to analyse any personality in his writing beyond some working hypotheses that are certainly interesting but cannot be proven. His silence in terms of writing about architecture, the scarcity of drawings by him, uncertainty regarding who created some major works and the mixed criticism of his work (some of which denigrated his intellectual and artistic standing because of ideological whims) highlight the importance of this library for finding clues to interpret his architectural and urban design. Frazão de Vasconcellos published the first reference to the inventory of assets belonging to Eugénio dos Santos, which explicitly mentions an assessment of his library, included in the same document (see Figure 1).11 6

Pombaline refers to Sebastião de Carvalho e Melo (1689-1782), the first Marquis of Pombal and Prime Minister under King José I (1714/1750-1777). However, Eugénio dos Santos’ poetics were already formed before King José I came to the throne. On the concepts of “prime objects”, “replication” and “seriation” (implied in the body of the text), see Kubler, G. 1962. The shape of time: remarks on the history of things. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press. 7 Reference to a fundamental work that established “plain style” as the common feature in Portuguese architecture for a long period of time (see Kubler, G. 1972. Portuguese plain architecture: between spices and diamonds, 1521-1706. Middletown Conn.: Wesleyan University Press), not to be confused with the Spanish “estilo desornamentado” (see Kubler, G. 1982. Building of the Escorial. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp.126-127). 8 Ferrão, L. 2007. Eugénio dos Santos de Carvalho, op. cit., vol.2, pp.66-67. 9 Idem, pp.24-25, 75-76, 94-95. 10 Ferrão, L. 1994[1992]. A Real Obra de Nossa Senhora das Necessidades. Lisbon: Quetzal, pp.269-282, 284-295. 11 Vasconcellos, F. de 1930. Subsídios inéditos sobre Eugénio dos Santos, arquitecto da Nova Lisboa. Lisbon: Centro Tip. Colonial, p.8 (see also note 3 above).

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Figure 1. Books’ catalogue in Inventário dos bens que ficarão por falecimento do Capitão Eugénio dos Santos de Carvalho, 1760-1780 (Arquivo Nacional Torre do Tombo/ANTT, Portugal, Orfanológicos (Testamentarias), letter E, pack 3, box 967, f.48v.) (Photo: © ANTT)

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The study of the library presented in this chapter began as part of my Master’s degree project but the difficulties faced have been enormous.12 Then, it was not always possible to be sure which publication matched each entry identified by George Rey, the representative of the Italian bookseller Lorenzo Antonio Bonnardel, who was based in Lisbon. Many works were reprinted and/or republished several times, with revisions and additions, and some kept the same format, place and publisher as the first edition while others did not. The clues found are mostly not enough to identify them with absolute certainty.All the descriptions given by the bookseller’s representative were checked against the different editions that were published before Eugénio dos Santos died in 1760. The oldest (according to the information gathered from the different library catalogues consulted) were chosen whenever several editions matched the evaluator’s description.13 The 160 items represent 161 different titles, in a total of 354 volumes, and have the following formats: 62 Quarto (38.5%), 49 Folio (29.8%), 34 Duodecimo (21.1%), 15 Octavo (9.3%) and 2 unspecified (1.2%). Of these 161 titles, 3 are collections of prints: 1 with loose architectural prints, another with military architecture prints and yet another without a specific theme. The further 2 are collections of drawings, but it is impossible to know what they contained from the descriptions. It is likely that 1 of them was a folder of Santos’ drawings, since there is evidence to suggest that professional drawings were made at his place of residence, even while the project was being drawn up to rebuild Lisbon after it was destroyed by the earthquake on 1st November 1755.14 Other catalogues belonging to architects (or those identified as such) and military engineers were sought in order to establish possible parallels for comparison with Eugénio dos Santos’ library, in light of the scarcity of studies on Portuguese architects’ libraries.15 Among Santos’ contemporaries, 12

Access to online catalogues of major foreign libraries made it possible to confirm and correct the results of the first study of the library during my research for the Master’s dissertation (see note 10 above). 13 In light of the length of the reconstituted list of books, see Ferrão, L. 2007. Eugénio dos Santos de Carvalho, op. cit., vol.1, pp.234-279. 14 Idem, pp.218-219. 15 Within this social and professional group there are two catalogues, one belonging to Henrique João Wilckens and one belonging to José da Silva Pais (1679-1760), both of whom worked in Brazil. Wilckens’ catalogue was briefly studied (Idem, vol.1, pp.158-161) – it contains 71 titles, of which 31 are in the

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only four catalogues of architects’ book collections were found. Three were in inventories of assets belonging to João Frederico Ludovice (c. 1670-1752),16 Rodrigo Franco (1709-1763),17 and Caetano Tomás (17001766).18 The fourth is a catalogue of books belonging to Manuel Caetano de Sousa (1742-1802), son of Caetano Tomás (and so it includes books from his father’s catalogue). 19 These catalogues cover Italian 17th century baroque architectural culture, although the selection is filtered through the idiosyncrasies of Portuguese architecture (namely the persistence of “plain style”). However, none of the six catalogues mentioned (including those that belonged to the engineers Wilckens and Silva Pais) surpasses Eugénio dos Santos’ catalogue, not only because of the number of entries, but also because of the importance of the titles and what they mean in terms of artistic, technical and scientific influence.20 science and arts classes; José da Silva Pais’ catalogue, included in his will and written by his own hand in 1757 (Boletim do Centro Rio-Grandense de Estudos, Ano I, Rio Grande, 1939, pp.168-178), contains 439 titles, of which 14 (3.2%) are in the philosophy class and 89 (20.3%) are in the geometry and trigonometry class (although several titles can be found in this section that should have been included in the history class). This catalogue was briefly analysed in 1951 by Abeillard Barreto (see Piazza, W. 1988. O Brigadeiro José da Silva Pais estruturador do Brasil Meridional. Florianópolis: Universidade Federal de Santa Catarina, pp.159, 163-164). 16 The list of Ludovice’s books was drawn up by the painter Inácio de Oliveira Bernardes (1695-1781), which explains the care taken in the descriptions of what he found. This list was partially published by Bonifácio, H. 1990. Polivalência e contradição: tradição seiscentista: o barroco e a inclusão de sistemas ecléticos no séc. XVIII: a segunda geração de arquitectos. PhD thesis, Technical University of Lisbon, pp.297-301. This library included a valuable collection of c. 1000 prints in 21 albums. 17 Idem, pp.307-310. 18 Idem, pp.306-307. 19 Ferrão, F. 2007. Eugénio dos Santos de Carvalho, op. cit., vol.1, pp.221-229 (for a brief analysis of these four libraries). 20 In Catholic Portugal, Italian baroque culture was very important for the rhetoric of power. For this reason, the study by Joseph Connors and Angela Dressen (2010) on Italian libraries in the modern era (and the library at El Escorial) is an inescapable reference; nevertheless, it focuses on the interior design of the libraries and not on their collections (Biblioteche: l’architettura e l’ordinamento del sapere. In: D. Calabi and E. Svalduz, eds. 2010. Il rinascimento italiano e l’Europa, vol.6, Luoghi, spazi, architetture. Treviso: Fondazione Cassamarca, pp.199-228). Joseph Connors' study of the libraries of four 17th century Italian architects remains: Francesco Borromini (1599-1667), with 459 titles, of which 123 on architecture

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The catalogue that belonged to Luigi Vanvitelli (1700-1777) is relevant here, although the collection cannot be compared to Eugénio dos Santos’, either in quantity (it had only 86 titles) or in terms of the titles themselves. Vanvitelli’s collection was essentially formed of Italian authors, including eleven works by Giovanni Battista Piranesi (17201778), 21 which are missing from Santos’ catalogue (including the titles printed before his death). Vanvitelli lent books, borrowed books, wrote about books, debated with his peers and was directly involved in producing and publishing illustrated books of engravings (some of which of his own making) at the Stamperia Reale in Naples22. For this reason, he was a truly unique architect. The catalogue belonging to Jacques-Germain Soufflot (1713-1780) also dates from roughly the same time as Eugénio dos Santos’ book catalogue. It is composed of 278 titles, of which 41 are classified as “architectural books”.23 It is important to note the differences in number – it seems that Santos had more titles in the architecture category (although he died 20 years before Soufflot) – and in context (both cultural and mental characteristics).24 There are interesting differences (the (and so one of the largest of his time); Pietro da Cortona (1596-1669), with 222 titles; Paolo Maruscelli (1594-1649), with 120 titles (but with more books on science and arts than Pietro da Cortona); Carlo Maderno (1556-1629), with just 24 titles (Connors, J. 1989[1980]. Borromini e l’ Oratorio romano. Stile e società. Turin: Einaudi, pp.168, 193-196). 21 See Thomas, R.L. 2010. From the Library to the Printing Press: Luigi Vanvitelli’s life with books. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, vol. 69, no.4, pp.508–533. 22 Idem, pp. 519ff. 23 According to the description made by the painter Jean-Baptiste-Pierre Lebrun (1748-1813). See Charon-Parent, A. 2002. Enquête à travers les catalogues de vente de bibliothèques d’architectes du XVIIIe siècle..., op. cit., p.189. To be sure of the numbers for “architectural books”, it would be necessary to see the catalogue because at the time the term included titles on engineering (from fortification to hydraulics), philosophy, mathematics and geometry. 24 The situation in Portugal was very different from the situation in France, although France also had a Catholic monarchy. The Portuguese court was “barbarously Catholic”, and so as well as the Index of the Holy See which prohibited, among many other books, the Encyclopédie, the list of banned books in Portugal included other entries that were the consequence of political variations that made the Portuguese Catholic context a unique case in Europe. The fathers of educated religious orders could have all the prohibited books that they desired in their collections, provided that they were given authorisation by the Pope. After 1769 and the creation of the Real Mesa Censória (Royal Censorship Board), papal permission was not enough and all institutions and private individuals had to submit their book catalogues for approval by the Board (lack of compliance with

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Encyclopédie is missing from Santos’ catalogue) and recurring features (mostly French authors, or those that arrived via French translations, as in Santos’ case, and a large proportion of works published in the 17th century). As it is not possible to analyse all of Eugénio dos Santos’ books in this chapter, it will focus on the most important works in the science and arts class, within the liberal arts subcategory, since this is where works on architecture and military engineering are recorded. This reconstruction attempts to follow the organisation used internationally and in Portugal at the time, and so discrepancies were resolved by using the classification in force at the Necessidades Library.25 In the science and arts category, we find 79 titles (49.0%). Of the remaining works, 37 (23%) are classified as literature, 24 (14.9%) as history, 18 (11.2%) as theology and 3 (1.9%) as jurisprudence (see Table I below). 26 For the distribution of languages, the language of the specific publication takes precedence over the language of the original publication (see Table II below).

this obligation had severe penalties). Among many other aspects relevant to contextualising Santos’ catalogue, the fact that it is a list to be included in a will should be taken into consideration. This list would have involved evaluation by what today one could call the Family Court, so it would need to be cleansed of any easily identifiable banned works. In the period of 20 years that separated the deaths of the two architects, the arrival and departure of banned titles is also significant and had an effect on the content of their catalogues and the catalogues of other libraries. 25 For the classification adopted, it was necessary to consult the many catalogues of the Necessidades Library, located at the college that King João V (1689/17071750) gave to the Oratorians of Lisbon in 1750, named Nossa Senhora das Necessidades. Eugénio dos Santos knew this library well. It was the largest and best stocked in Lisbon after the royal library. The formation of the collection at Necessidades was mostly thanks to the funding provided in the last eight years of his reign to the Fathers of the Congregation of the Oratory of Saint Philip Neri. The library’s catalogues date from different years, relating to successive updates, ranging between 1764 and 1780. 26 The following three tables were adapted from Tables I, II and III, published in my PhD thesis, with new infographics by Teresa Olazabal Cabral.

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Santos’ catalogue included: 69 titles in French (42.8%), 51 in Portuguese (31.7%), 16 in Spanish (9.9%), 12 in Italian (7.5%), 3 in Latin (1.9%) and 5 (3.1%) in other languages – 1 in French and Italian, 2 in Spanish and French, 1 in Spanish, French and Italian, 1 in Italian and Latin; 5 titles are collections of maps, prints and drawings (3.1%) without any explicit reference to publishers or authors. Table I

The publishing dates can be analysed in one of two ways: by class or overall. A breakdown by class follows. In both cases, the dates of the first editions of each title are used: titles from the end of the 17th century that include some volumes published at the start of the 18th century are classified as 17th century titles (see Table III below). In theology (18 titles), 11 titles are from the 18th century (61.1%), 6 are from the 17th century (33.3%) and 1 is undated (5.6%); in jurisprudence (3 titles), 2 are from the 18th century (66.7%) and 1 is from the 17th century (33.3%); in

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Table II

history (24 titles), 14 are from the 18th century (58.3%), 8 are from the 17th century (33.3%), 1 is from the 16th century (4.2%) and 1 is undated (4.2%); in science and arts (79 titles), 33 are from the 18th century (41.8%), 31 from the 17th century (39.2%), 11 from the 16th century (13.9%), 1 is a classical text (1.3%) and 3 are undated (3.8%); in literature (37 titles), 20 are from the 18th century (54.1%), 11 from the 17th century (29.7%), 3 from the 16th century (8.1%), 1 is a classical text (2.7%) and 2 are undated (5.4%).

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Table III

In all classes, the majority of titles are from the 18th century; the percentage of titles from the 17th century is also very similar throughout. Considering the titles overall, 80 were published in the 18th century

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(49.7%); of these, only 13 date from 1750 or later (which represents only 16.3% of titles from the 18th century). There are 57 titles from the 17th century (35.4%), which does not represent a lack of updating because in this case they are texts that relate to artistic culture (and there are significantly broad-reaching titles in this field). There are 15 titles from the 16th century, equivalent to 9.3% (of these, 11 are found in the science and arts class). The presence of classical texts is limited, with only 2 titles (1.2%). Finally, there are titles whose publication dates could not be established because they are folders with prints, drawings and maps (which represent 4.3% of the total). The science and arts class brings together secular knowledge and includes a vast range of themes with a common origin.27 It is split into eight subdivisions, but Eugénio dos Santos’ library has entries in only three: philosophy (ancient philosophy, modern philosophy, logic, morality and metaphysics), sciences (mathematics, natural sciences and medicine) and liberal arts (civil architecture, military architecture, music, etc.). The classification proposed by François Furet 28 is followed in this chapter, based on a comparison with other sources, specifically Jacques-Martin Cels (1773), whenever it does not conflict with the criteria used in the Necessidades Library catalogue (in which works on painting, sculpture, engraving and decorative arts are classified as literature).29 Of the 25 architecture titles, 1 is classic (4%), 7 are from the 16th century (28%), 8 are from the 17th century (32%) and 9 are from the 18th century (36%).30

27

Furet, F. 1965. Avertissement. In: G. Bollème et al., dir. 1965. Livre et société dans la France du XVIIIe siècle, op. cit., p.18. 28 Idem, p.15. 29 Jacques-Martin Cels’s classification makes more sense to readers today but, for obvious reasons, the criteria used in Portugal in the 18th century are used here. The Necessidades Library catalogues were used to fill gaps and dispel doubts, as mentioned in note 24 above. 30 For this count, the date of the first edition of each title was used, even if the first edition did not belong to Eugénio dos Santos’ library. From the 16th century: Androuet du Cerceau, Arphe y Villafañe, Cataneo, Delorme, Palladio, Vignola, Serlio. From the 17th century: Ferrerio and Falda, Fréart de Chambray, Montano, Perrault, Pozzo, Rubens, San Nicolas, Scamozzi. From the 18th century: Bibiena, Blondel, Borromini (2 titles), Briseux, Daviler, Laugier, Mariette, Frézier.

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Starting with the Italian titles, there are four works from the 16th and 17 centuries translated into French: three are instaurational texts, of which two are part of the Vitruvianising regression,31 one in the wake of De Re Ædificatoria and the other a treatise on the orders. The first two are a book by Sebastiano Serlio (1475-c.1554), published in Paris in 1545 and translated by Jean Martin (?-c.1553) in an edition overseen by the author (1587), and a work by Andrea Palladio (1508-1580), a title originally from 1601, possibly in an edition from 1726. The third work is the treatise by Vicenzo Scamozzi (1552-1616), published in 1615, “censored” and translated by Augustin-Charles D’Aviler (1653-1701) in 1685. The final book is by Giacomo Barozzio da Vignola (1507-1573), probably in the Pierre Mariette (1634-1716) edition, published in Paris in 1662 (a hundred years after the princeps edition in Italian). The Serlio title grouped together the two most important books, one a treatise on elementary geometry (Book I) and the other a treatise of perspective applied to scenography (Book II), because they provide both a study and a design method. The Palladio book was extraordinarily well received by a readership composed of architects, experts and amateurs. Palladio did not invent the practice of self-citation, but used it in a particularly effective way, (self-)complimenting the social and professional figure of the architect-artist-hero, exploring his chosen authoritative argument, i.e., his set of built projects. Disregarding the Palladian “detour”32, which was scarcely found in Portugal at the time in question (other than in the abundant use of Palladian or Serlian arches and windows, and in the extraordinary cloister of the Convento de Cristo, in Tomar, by the Portuguese architect Diogo de Torralva), the relevance of this treatise for 18th century Portuguese architecture may have been in raising awareness of the differences in opportunities, programmes, budgets and even status: in Portugal, an architect was a fac totum and not an th

31

The expressions “instaurational texts” and “Vitruvianising regression” are used by Françoise Choay to describe the common denominator in treatises that do not follow Albertian theory, which, in her view, did not have forerunners or successors but for two exceptions (L’idea dell’architettura universale by Vicenzo Scamozzi and the abrégé des dix livres de Vitruve by Claude Perrault) (see Choay, F. 1980. La règle et le modele: sur le théorie de l’architecture et de l’urbanisme. Paris: Seuil, pp.16, 218-247 passim). 32 This “detour” is an allusion to the extensive critical success that Palladio’s book had in England and its American colony, which did not happen in continental Europe.

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artist. 33 This was the reason for so much interest in being a military engineer, rather than an architect/builder, which shifted the practice to an intellectual framework that was supported by scientific bases. Scamozzi’s treatise shows a concept of architect that is more intellectual than Palladio’s and is clearly distinguished from other mechanical occupations linked to construction. 34 Nonetheless, the publication that belonged to Eugénio dos Santos seems to be a French translation that removed five of the books, simply translating part of Book VI on the decoration of exteriors and interiors. This manipulation of one of the rare architectural treatises that established a continued link with Albertian theory (and his extraordinary, important treatise) 35 limited reception of the work among readers who preferred the French translation over publications in the original language. Vignola’s treatise of orders was widely known throughout the world.36 Vignola reduced the complex systems of proportions used at the time – 33

The architect as an artist paradigm is due to Leon Battista Alberti, in architectural theory and in (his) practice. The architect as an artist was masterfully embodied by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564) but the social recognition that he was able to achieve was not the rule: the aristocracy (of blood or of money) recognised the value of the works but considered the artists to be more or less extravagant servants, who often did not meet agreed deadlines (see: Wittkower, R. and Wittkower, M. 1963. Born under Saturn: the character and conduct of artists: a documented history from antiquity to the French Revolution. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson). 34 “The difference between the architect and the project supervisors is like the difference between the master and his servants: they do everything he imposes on them” (“In oltre la differe[n]za tra l’architetto, & i capi mastri è come appunto fra il padrone, & i servi questi cõ le mani esquiscono tutto ciò, che da quello loro viene imposto”) (Scamozzi, V. 1694. Architettura universale… Venice: Girolamo Albrizzi, p.15). 35 Choay, F. 1980. La règle et le modéle, op.cit., pp.226, 234ff. 36 One of the copies consulted at the National Academy of Fine Arts Library (Lisbon) includes a wonderful definition for the word order, given on the frontispiece: “The word Order in this art means the set of different elements that, when proportioned between each other and the whole, please the eye in the same way that different sounds in harmony produce a pleasant sensation for the ear” (“Le mot d’Ordre signifie dans ce grand art un assemblage de differens corps qui êtans proportionnels entre-eux et au toût, flattent la vüe; de même que l’union de plusieurs sons harmoniques procure a l’oreille une agréable sensation”) (Vignola, G. B. 1757. Livre nouveau, ou Règles des cinq ordres d’architecture... Nouvellement revu... et augmenté. Paris: Charpentier). The same expression is found in Briseux, Ch.-E. 1752. Traité du Beau essentiel dans les arts appliqué particulierement à l’Architecture... Paris: Chez l’Auteur, vol.2, pp.39-40.

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full of contradictions and difficulties – to a simple calculation, based on a fixed proportion between the main elements (pedestal, column, entablature) of 4:12:3. The unit of measurement used was the radius of the column measured at the base (module) and the rule was defined for each order of architecture (for the Doric and Tuscan orders, the module is divided into twelve parts and for the others, eighteen). This simplification increased the number of potentially interested parties: architects, dilletanti and amateurs of architecture were joined by builders and draughtsmen of altar architecture (i.e. gilded carved wood retables). This is why, together with the Serlio books, it was one of the most published texts in modern times, in several languages. In terms of French authors, Santos’ library had three architectural treatises – two from the 16th century, one from the 17th century – and a false treatise from the 18th century, the Livre d’architecture (1559) by Jacques Androuet Du Cerceau (1515/20-1585/86); Le premier tome de l’architecture (1567) by Philibert De l’Orme (c. 1510-1570); the heavily manipulated translation by Claude Perrault (1613-1688) of Vitruvius' text (1613); and the Essai sur l’architecture (1753 or 1755) by Marc-Antoine Laugier (1713-1769). The first two show the beginnings of the French treatises on architecture and assume the architect’s superiority over the other building crafts. They established a new language for architecture that was different from the Italian and was proudly claimed as French. In the translation of De Architectura, one of the rare treatises in line with Albertian theory, 37 Perrault derides the pseudo-erudite people who researched the texts (above all Greek) that Vitruvius would have read. The content of those Greek texts cannot be proven because they have been lost and so he moves on to what matters, in his eyes: distinguishing between what belongs to ancient architecture (and here there are two nuances lost in the Portuguese translation) and what belongs to modern architecture.38 The originality of this text can be better understood in the context of art literature in the world in the 17th century, bearing in mind that Claude 37

Choay, F. 1980. La règle et le modèle, op. cit., p.234. Perrault divides his treatise into two parts, the first on the maxims and precepts “that can be adapted to modern architecture” (“qui peuvent s’accomoder à l’Architecture moderne”) – the term modern refers to architecture of his time and is adapted to recent needs – and the second on what he called “architecture antique”, i.e. Greek architecture, and “architecture ancienne”, for post-Vitruvius architecture (Perrault, C. 1681. Architecture generale de Vitruve reduite en Abregé. Dernière édition enrichie de figures en cuivre. Amsterdam: aux dépens des Huguetan, pp.11-12). 38

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Perrault was a doctor and physicist with an interest in architecture. He was an author who was of a line of humanist architects, rather than a practical one.39 His writing is hugely diverse and is filled with many other implicit points; it reveals a real enthusiasm for truly ground-breaking texts. Perrault “lies” more often than he tells the truth and this is the novelty of his approach: by breaking up Vitruvius’ work in order to realign his chosen pieces and fill in the supposedly lacking information with his own text, he in fact wrote another text. It was organised into three narratives: two for ancient architecture (that is, Greek architecture up to Vitruvius and Roman architecture post-Vitruvius) and one for modern architecture.40 In the preface he quickly unpicks Vitruvius’ authority. He compliments the forerunners, a status that confirms their genius and endorses the authority of what they produced in terms of both theory and practice. Nonetheless, contrary to appearances, these considerations are not directed towards Vitruvius but rather towards the different architectural texts by Greek authors on Greek architecture, works that Vitruvius would allegedly have read and known. In very few words, Perrault places Vitruvius in his proper place – one of an arduous author, who provided the keys for interpreting Greek and Roman architecture, but who requires an effort to understand in order to be of interest for architectural design at a different time and even then only at a strictly hypothetical level. These nuances further suggest the prominence of Greek architecture over Roman architecture (an argument that provoked another Quarrel that appeared in the middle of the 18th century and continued into the 19th, opposing those who supported the Greeks and those who defended the Romans). In spite of the Ancients’ protests, even they were unable to overcome the extent of the damage caused by Perrault’s text to the classical system (i.e. a system based on the theory of the architectonic orders). It is impossible to know what Eugénio dos Santos took from Perrault’s vivid words but, if he read them, he would have noticed that the bon goût in Perrault’s work did not have the same meaning as the term found in

39

Choay, F. 1980. La règle et le modèle, op. cit., p.235. On the variety of Perrault's interests, from scientific illustration to architectural theory, see Picon, A. 1988. Claude Perrault 1613-1688 ou la curiosité d’un classique. Paris: Picard. On the confrontation with François Blondel (1618-1686), known as the Quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns, see Pérez-Gómez, A. 1983[1980]. Architecture and the Crisis of Modern Science. Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, pp.18-47. 40 See Perrault, C. 1681. Architecture generale de Vitruve reduite en Abregé..., op. cit., no page reference.

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Rafael Bluteau’s Vocabulary.41 If Santos had had access to Volume VII of the Encyclopédie (1757) and had read Montesquieu’s essay on taste, he could have overcome the poor definitions provided by Portuguese and French dictionaries for a concept that was essential to the forms of architecture conceived from the second half of the 18th century onwards.42 In fact, as I stated before, the Encylopédie is not part of Santos’ library catalogue. Although the meaning that Perrault uses is not the same as the one in Montesquieu’s work (because it merely prepares the concept of beauty based on experience, i.e. focused on the subject and not on the architectonic orders), he provides a special distinction for the end of criticism based on compliance with rules to discern beauty (or lack of it) in a piece of architecture. This was the opening made by the version of Vitruvius “revised” by Perrault to prepare the start of the crisis of classicism and the generation of the Architects of the Revolution.43 The category of false treatise includes one of the most important texts of the second half of the 18th century, Essai d’architecture by abbé MarcAntoine Laugier (1713-1769). Laugier was an amateur, unlike his contemporary Pierre Patte (1723-1814), who was an academically-trained 41

Bluteau, R. 1713. Vocabulário português e latino …[Online]. Coimbra: Colégio das Artes da Companhia de Jesus, vol. 4, pp.98-100. Available at: [Accessed 20 Oct 2014]. Father Rafael Bluteau (16381734) was born in London to French parents. He studied in France and went to Portugal in 1668, where he joined the São Caetano Monastery (Lisbon). He attended several universities (Verona, Paris and Rome, where he completed a PhD in theology). In Portugal, he learned Portuguese. He created the first Portuguese dictionary, cited at the start of this note. It was an ambitious project and was developed at the Royal Academy of History, of which he was a full member. He belonged to various literary academies in Lisbon and published many titles, some of which are included in the literature class in Eugénio dos Santos' library (see Silvestre, J. P. 2008. Bluteau e as Origens da Lexicografia. Moderna. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional-Casa da Moeda). 42 Baron de Montesquieu 1757. “Goût” [Online], in D. Diderot & J. D’Alemberg. Encyclopédie..., Paris, [s.n.], vol.7, pp. 762-767. Available at: [Accessed 22 Oct 2014]. 43 I follow the definition of classicism (15th-18th centuries) by Tafuri, M. 1982[1968]. La arquitectura del Humanismo. Madrid: Xarait Ediciones, pp. 9-10. On the architects of the Revolution see: Kaufmann, E. 1952. Three revolutionary architects: Boullée, Ledoux, and Lequeu. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society; Fichet, F. 1979. La théorie architecturale à l’age classique: essai d’anthologie critique. Brussels: Madraga, pp.,23ff. and Etlin, R. 1994. Symbolic space: French Enlightenment Architecture and its Legacy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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architect with projects completed and theory published. Laugier was part of a group of theorists who were not involved in the Architecture Academies and were therefore free from their orthodoxy. He was also a member of the even smaller group that prepared the advent of a new type of instaurational text (on urban planning theory), to which the technical applications of scientific discoveries, the “medicalisation” of knowledge and social practices and the surveillance/punishment measures applicable in the area all made a contribution.44 Laugier considers the column to be the key element in architecture (while rejecting square pilasters and pillars) and disapproves of decoration that is not strictly structural. This is the origin of the defence of straight lines, squares and rectangles applied to the different elements of the composition, such as entablatures, pediments, doors and windows. His aesthetic and critical vocabulary includes the terms nobility and simplicity (rather than the luxury of baroque architecture and rococo decoration)45, elegance, grace and delicateness. His concept of architecture and urban areas senses a changing social order (the bourgeoisie was beginning to lead architecture commissions) and discovers the social function of architecture, giving citizens the right to discuss the architecture of their cities. Giovanni Battista Piranesi (17201778) and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) rose up against this increasingly bourgeois architecture, arguing against the loss of meaning and submission of architecture to the will of the “critic/pedagogue”, 46 which is not surprising within a pre-Romantic mental framework. This is also what is interesting in the second Laugier publication, which Eugénio dos Santos acquired. In the note to readers, Laugier pens arguments against his critics (Piranesi and Frézier) and reiterates the essential elements of his most controversial ideas; at the end, he includes a reply to Frézier, published in 1754 in the Mercure de France. The concepts of ornamentation and order of architecture put forward by Laugier survived his aesthetic era and made the long journey beside neoclassical and contemporary architects. 44 Choay, F. 1980. La règle et le modèle, op. cit., pp.260ff. On Laugier in French architectural theory, see Herrmann, W. 1985[1962]. Laugier and eighteenth century French theory. London: A. Zwemmer. 45 Noble simplicité (noble simplicity) is one of Laugier's key concepts, equivalent to the terms grandeur (greatness) and noble manière (noble manner) used by Fréart de Chambray (see the work cited in note 45 below). 46 Laugier, M.-A. 1979[1755]. Essai sur l’architecture + Observations sur l’architecture. Édition intégrale des deux volumes. Introd. by Geert Bekaert. Brussels: Pierre Madraga, pp.xx-xxi.

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Laugier's concept of the city was fundamentally a plan that included access points, safety, good traffic flow and healthiness; the central areas were given over to the city itself (hence the recommendation to place cemeteries and hospitals in locations outside the centre), and the city limits were clearly defined, in the name of efficient and "healthy" organisation. These and many other ideas were extensively developed in a work by one of his advocates, Jacques-Germain Soufflot (1713-1780) and later in urban planning in Paris under the direction of Baron Haussmann (18091891). Laugier intended to release architecture from the weight of history but by freeing it from references he transformed it into an exercise of combinations, without a past, tied to sociological references that in the end gave him a far more promising critical future then his detractors could have foreseen. It is difficult to avoid establishing links between Laugier’s thought and Eugénio dos Santos’ design for New Lisbon, reborn from the rubble, and it is not the only instance of their coinciding principles. Other French authors not in the instaurational texts classification include: the treatise of orders by Roland Fréart de Chambray (1650); the famous survey by Pierre-Jean Mariette (1694-1774), l'architecture françoise (1727) and De la distribution des maisons de plaisans et de la décoration des édifices en général (1737-1738) by Jacques-François Blondel (1705-1774), two sumptuously illustrated tomes, directed mostly towards non-professionals and commissioners, which compliment French architecture and architects; the Cours d’Architecture (1738) by AugstinCharles D’Aviler (1653-1701) and L’art de bâtir des maisons de campagne (1743) by Charles-Etienne de Briseux (1680-1754). Parallèle de l’architecture antique avec la moderne by Fréart de Chambray is one of the titles that opened the Quarrel. It took the side of the Ancients, emphasising the superiority of Greek orders over Roman ones,47 and is a key work of French classicism. It deals with the proportions of each of the five orders of architecture in five pairs of authors who he chooses as if they were ahistorical examples – Alberti+Viola, Serlio+Vignola, Palladio+Scamozzi, Barbaro+Cataneo, Delorme+Bullant. Fichet considers him a kind of “inquisitor” of bon goût.48 The Cours d’Architecture by D’Aviler that Santos had in his library is combined into a single volume, so several dates are possible (1738, 1750 and 1760). In any case, the edition was revised and expanded by Jean Baptiste Le Blond (1679-1719) in 1710. Reading the list of addenda gives 47

Chambray, R. F. 1702[1650]. Parallèle de l’architecture antique et de la moderne... Paris: P. Emerey, p.5. 48 Fichet, F. 1979. La théorie architectural à l’age classique, op. cit., p.102.

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an idea of the importance of the new edition: it includes new architectural plans with elevations and cross sections and the composition and decoration of stairs (illustrated by prints that were used in Mariette’s Architecture françoise). Le Blond included a new chapter on stereotomy – in which the French were skilled 49 – and carpentry, although the illustrations regarding stereotomy are basic, technically speaking.50 The work was a publishing success and it was reprinted in 1720. In the meantime, there were taste alterations to the interior decoration. Le Blond had died (1719), so it was necessary to include reputedly excellent drawings from more recent works in the new edition. To make the work coherent, text and illustrations on the topic in the D’Aviler and Le Blond publications were removed. This and other alterations are found in the first Mariette edition (1738). In terms of the distribution of the buildings, a subject dear to French art literature, Mariette refers to Architecture françoise, a very comprehensive and recent work on the topic. The D’Aviler prints used in earlier editions were replaced because the plates were too worn to provide the necessary quality.51 The preface, biographies of Vignola and D’Aviler, the contents page and a glossary of geometry terms follow. 52 At the end, there is a subject index, and under the word “artiste” there is a list of names of artists (from A to Z); the subject index returns at the term “architecture”. This care reflects the growing diversity of an audience that may or may not have had training in architecture. It is interesting to note the mixture of illustrations and architectural elements taken from Vignola’s works and examples given without mentioning the author, which were typically French. The mixture gives rise to surprising things such as a sequence involving the Villa Farnese in Caprarola and buildings from the Campidoglio square in Rome interspersed with a chateau and several columns by Michelangelo Buonarroti, followed by columns with shafts embellished in a typically French fashion. The relevance of Briseux’s book, L’art de bâtir les maisons de campagne, is the same as the Mariette or J.-F. Blondel collections, although it does not contain the theoretical reasoning of Traité du beau essentiel, which was published in 1752 (and is not found in Santos’ library). Nonetheless, the Blondel and Briseux books do not only include illustrations, that is, they were designed for architects too (and deal with 49

Monclos, J.-M. P. 2004. Jacques-Germain Soufflot. Paris: Centre des monuments nationaux – Monum, Éditions du patrimoine, pp.186ff. 50 D’Aviler, A.-Ch. 1760[1691]. Cours d’architecture… Paris: chez CharlesAntoine Jombert, pp.275-277. 51 Idem, pp.v-xii. 52 Idem, pp.xiii-lvi.

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architectural types like chateaux and villas). This book is also known as Traité d'architecture dans le goût moderne. The expression goût moderne is used by Briseux (in L’art de bâtir …) in the dedication to Michel Étienne de Turgot (1690-1750), Marquis of Sousmons, State Adviser and Prevôt des Marchands of Paris (1729-1740), the institution that commissioned the construction of the square dedicated to Louis XV in Paris that Pierre Patte (1723-1814) published53. The equestrian statue was published in Jean Mariette's Architecture françoise. The first volume of Blondel’s book has plans and projects for country houses and gardens (44 prints); the second volume (of which Eugénio dos Santos had two copies) has details for gardens, decorations for façades and a section dedicated to interior decoration (99 prints). In the preface, Blondel states that he sought to discuss several authors (both Ancients and Moderns) and makes a wry reference to his social and professional group, apologising for having the audacity to examine the theme while referring to his own projects.54 The Briseux book presents guidance and suggestions to be followed for the benefit of urban and rural landscapes and owners’ pockets, since “frequently the recognition that a project has been badly designed and is a continual source of expense comes too late”.55 In the first book, Briseux discusses the general layout and sun exposure of buildings so that they can be distributed according to use, which involved the following steps: choosing the site, creating the work programme, designing the project and carrying out works themselves, from foundations to roof. This type of organisation reveals the intended use of the book: it is not a normative text directed towards design but instead focuses on execution. The second book includes instructions on materials and building processes (parts IIV), and deals with the topic of decorating façades and interiors. It ends with recipes for glues, paints and varnishes (parts VI-VII). The indexes are very detailed, which makes consulting the book easier. This work also shows the taxonomy of the different rooms used in houses in France, in

53

Patte, P. 1765. Monumens érigés en France a la gloire de Louis XV... Paris: Chez l’Auteur, 1765, pp.120ff. This is the so-called Turgot plan for Paris, a cavalier perspective of which was made between 1734 and 1739. 54 Blondel, J.-F. 1737. De la distribuition des maisons de plaisance... Paris: Chez Charles-Antoine Jombert, vol.1, pp.i-iii. 55 “On reconnoît, mais trop tard, qu’un plan mal conçu est une source continuelle de nouvelles dépenses” (Briseux, Ch.-E. 1743. L’art de bâtir des maisons de campagne…, op. cit., vol.1, p.v).

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accordance with the owner’s social standing: 56 vestibule, peristyle (in some aristocratic homes), anti-chambre, chambre, cabinet, 57 cabinet de toilette, 58 serre-papier, 59 garderobe, gardemeuble, office, 60 billard, depence,61 lavoir,62 salle a manger, sallon.63 The organisation of rooms in a Portuguese aristocratic residence in the 18th century did not include specified functions, which is explained by loyalty to tradition (among social elites) rather than a lack of knowledge about customs in other places, specifically France.64 56 For a detailed study on the interior of the homes of the Parisian bourgeoisie and aristocracy in the 18th century, see Cabestan, J.-F. 2004. La conquête du plainpied: l’immeuble à Paris au XVIIIe siècle. Paris: Picard, pp.81-93. 57 Room where the master of the house dealt with business. In Portuguese, the term escritório was used for a small writing desk, to be placed on the floor or on a table. The Portuguese word contadores, which were larger pieces of furniture for the same purpose, included storage compartments (some of which were secret), a folding lid and fixed feet. 58 Similar to the French cabinet d’aisance, it was an area that had no equivalent at the time in Portugal (and was relatively rare in France), since the bath and sinks were mobile objects that were brought into and out of bedrooms by the servants. 59 Small room where important papers were kept (archive), later included in the office. 60 Room attached to the kitchen where tableware was stored. 61 Room attached to the kitchen where food was stored (pantry). 62 Room attached to the kitchen where clothes were washed. 63 Servants’ room. 64 In Portugal, the specialisation of internal areas of aristocratic homes was limited to the following (with some variations in names): vestíbulo (lobby), escada de aparato (servants’ stairs), casa de visitas (visiting room), casa da livraria (library when there was one), cozinha (kitchen) and anexos (annexes), casa da baixela (pantry) casa de jantar, (dining room) câmaras (bedrooms for the lord of the house and his family), casa do toucador (dressing room), oratório (prayer room), acomodações dos criados (servants’ quarters) and remaining annexes not used as living quarters, normally linked to the main building by patios and gardens (stables, hayloft, harness storage, etc.). At the end of the 18th century, this description of functions remained virtually unchanged, apart from the inclusion of a room known as the gabinete (office), imported directly from the French cabinet. The description by Santos’ son, José Manuel de Carvalho e Negreiros (17521815), discusses the types of residence according to social standing. The sequence begins with married peasants and works through the following social groups: mechanical workers, farmers, minor noblemen, married noblemen, grandees, royal family. From the farmer’s home onwards, Negreiros includes a room for books, preceded by an office, on the first mezzanine floor (between the ground floor and the main floor); in the home of a married nobleman, he adds an archive and in the home of a grandee (the highest level of nobility before the royal family) he adds a

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Among the texts that are considered catalogues to be copied or cited/reinterpreted, there are illustrated books by Falda and Ferrerio 65 – probably inherited from Eugénio dos Santos’s father-in-law – together with other books that have the same purpose (i.e. simple catalogues of images). There is also the extraordinary survey of buildings in Genova compiled by Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640), which has several editions (Santos possibly had an edition included in a 1622 volume). Common factors in the buildings drawn by Rubens include the grandiose nature of their appearance and their architectural plans, suggesting a bourgeois or aristocratic social standing. Highlights include the logge of the first floor (portico lobbies) and the second floor (covered balcony) and the presence of specific rooms for bathing, the architectural plans of which recall the private bathrooms of domus (urban Roman aristocratic homes) of the 3rd century AD. This can be seen specifically in the palaces labelled D, E, F and I.66 These buildings are almost all equipped with large cisterns, which reflects the importance of the culture of water typical of southern countries. The adaptation to function and the detail in the organisation of the kitchens and the servants’ quarters also stand out. The treatises by Spanish authors include Arte y uso de architectura (1639-1665) by Fray Lorenzo de San Nicolás (1593-1679). George Kubler (1912-1996) considered it to be essential to understanding Spanish architecture, especially the most conservative and vernacular, 67 and Françoise Choay (b. 1925) included it in an exclusive group of

bedroom for the librarian (Aditamento ao Livro intitulado Jornada pelo Tejo, 1797 [MS]. Available at: Biblioteca da Ajuda, Portugal, Cod. 54-V-295, ff.14ff.). 65 The title by Ferrerio and Falda is a catalogue of mannerist and baroque architecture in Rome and contains no text (like the Falda book on the fountains of Rome). It had many editions in folio format from c. 1680 onward. The prints show elevations, plans, cross sections and some cavalier perspectives (such as the one of Villa Farnese in Caprarola). The work makes it possible to “travel” to Rome, and look at great pieces of civil architecture by the most renowned Italian architects of the 16th and 17th centuries; it does not include “bread and butter” architecture which normally serves to magnify the exceptional nature of the master works. 66 Rubens, P. P. 1755[1622]. Architecture italienne, contenant ls plans et les elevations des beaux palais et edifices de la ville de Genes... Amesterdam & Leipzig: chez Arkstree & Merkus, vol.1, plates 21, 29, 54, 71. 67 The statement is made by Antonio Bonet Correa in Wiebenson, D. 1988[1982]. Los tratados de arquitectura — de Alberti a Ledoux. Spanish edition coordinated by Juan Antonio Ramirez. Prologue by Adolf Placzek. Madrid: Blume, p.100).

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instaurational texts of the 17th century (composed of two utopias and six treatises).68 There are three fundamental titles on perspective. The oldest is by Hans Vredeman de Vries (1527-c.1607), in an edition possibly by Samuel Marolois (1572-1628) (1604). The work by De Vries is a paradigm of Flemish Renaissance visual culture, and alternately shows Gothic and Renaissance architectural perspectives because there were clients for both. Perspectiva pictorum et architectorum is by the Jesuit Andrea Pozzo (1642-1709) and was published at the turn of the 18th century (1693-1700). It is considered to be a compendium of the aesthetic and ideological purposes of the Roman baroque and had a considerable influence on painters and architects. Pozzo believed that architecture drew on painting and is therefore expressed in different registers, from the perennial to the ephemeral and from the real to the simulacrum. This horizontal perspective of the different registers of architecture is typically baroque (far from the Albertian idea of architecture) and paves the way for all manner of contamination and blending. The prints are good quality, which is not very common in Italian books (except for Piranesi’s editions) and the effect of seducing the eye persists. Pozzo has absolute mastery of representing any kind of object placed in space and had a genius comparable only to Ferdinando Galli Bibiena (1656-1743), whose treatise on perspective came later. Further to images that simulate complex domes, Pozzo’s treatise includes models of altars that are similar to those found in some churches in Lisbon. The work ends with two views of fortifications and a lighthouse, stating that he did not intend to teach fortification. His aim was to apply the rules of perspective and show that they can be used to draw any object in space, regardless of theme or scale. The book by Ferdinando Galli Bibiena is also visually extremely effective. The Bibiena family produced excellent set designers who served in some of the major European courts, including the Portuguese court.69 Bibiena is aware of imperfections in the engravings of the opening note, saying that the engravers available were not versed in architecture and that 68

Choay, F. 1980. La règle et le modèle… op. cit., p.347. Giovanni Carlo Bibiena (1717-1760) was the son of Francesco Galli Bibiena (1659-1739) and nephew of Ferdinando Galli Bibiena. He arrived in Lisbon around 1751, after being invited by King José I. He produced several set design projects and at least two architecture projects, the Ópera do Tejo (Tagus Opera), a grandiose building that opened a few months before the earthquake and was destroyed by the subsequent fire, and the Church of Memory (Belém), which celebrates the thwarting of an attempt to kill King José I.

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their many tasks and trips away did not allow them to follow the work closely. In fact, the quality of the prints cannot be compared with the illustrated French books by the printing workshops of Mariette or Jombert, but the drawing underlying the engraver’s work is excellent, extremely sophisticated and highly expressive. Bibiena intended to make the difficult easy, not only for architects and painters but also for masons and carpenters: his experience with building works taught him the advantages of having masons and carpenters who were able to read and interpret the project drawings. He did not intend to make mechanical professionals into artists, but rather to teach them geometry so that they would be able to improve the execution of their work. Bibiena refers to several authors who came before him and whose work he followed. He claimed to be the inventor of the angled perspective (scena per angolo), as he declares in his message to the readers. 70 In architecture, the authors mentioned by Bibiena are all Italian71 except one, Juan Caramuel y Lobkowitz (1606-1682).72 When discussing perspective, he mentions Albrecht Dürer (14711528), Daniele Barbaro (1513-1570), Vignola again and Pietro Accolti (1455-1532), among others. In the field of painting, he refers to Alberti, Dürer, Pietro Accolti, Gio. Paolo Lomazzi (1538-1592) and Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519). In mechanics, as well as Aristotle (384-322 BC) and Heron of Alexandria (10 AD-70 AD), he refers to Nicolò Tartaglia (15001557) and Guidobaldo del Monte (1545-1607). The records that he mentions – architecture, mechanics and perspective – reflect the area in which his work was applied: baroque opera. The set effects of the opera were designed to marvel even the most demanding audiences and to challenge the imagination and technical ability of set designers and decorators. It did not involve merely creating the illusion of buildings or complex objects in space (trompe-l’œil) but instead had to make a huge

70

Bibiena, F.G. 1711. L’architettura civile... Parma: Per Paolo Monti, no page reference. 71 The list includes only the most renowned: Leon Battista Alberti (1404-1472), Pietro Cataneo (?-c.1569), Sebastiano Serlio (1475-c.1554), Donato Bramante (1444-1514), Giulio Romano (c. 1499-1546), Andrea Palladio (1508-1580), Vicenzo Scamozzi (1552-1616) and Giacomo Barozzi Vignola (1507-1573), whom he favoured for his simple calculation system. 72 Caramuel is a singular baroque figure. He was an engineer, mathematician, painter, philosopher, architect and eminent polymath, author of Architectura recta y oblicua. Vigevano: C. Corrado, 1678, 3 vols. – Françoise Choay (1980) considers this text a false treatise (La règle et le modèle, op. cit., p.351).

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variety of effects appear and disappear, including clouds, storms, cars, animals, water, fire... There is a title rarely found in Portugal, written by Francesco Borromini (1559-1667) in partnership with Virgilio Spada (1596-1662), about the church of Sant’Ivo alla Sapienza (1720) and the Oratorio in Rome (1725).73 Spada was the Leader of the Congregation at the Rome Oratory and an unconditional defender of Borromini’s project for Vallicella. It is, therefore, not hard to imagine his reason for purchasing this work. Eugénio dos Santos took Custódio Vieira’s place in the royal works at Necessidades (Lisbon) during a stage of construction that required some corrections to the initial project74 and so it is likely that he wished to know about the building made by the Oratorians in Rome during St. Philip Neri’s lifetime up to Borromini’s intervention starting in 1636.75 Nonetheless, the fact that there were morphological details identical to so many at Vallicella – in the design of the windows at the Convent of Necessidades, corbels, capitals, semi-circular forms with shellwork in the niches of the church, the door from the church to the sacristy, the doorway to the library... – does not mean that they were direct citations from Borromini’s work because they were features of the Roman baroque style in general. In fact, there are no features of Borrominian spatial design in the Necessidades project (or in any other Eugénio dos Santos building), so it may have been an acquisition simply to inform the project but not to be copied “word for word”. The treatise by Pietro Cataneo (1510-1669) makes the connection between civil architecture books and books on military engineering. I quatro primi libri di architettura is one of the most important architectural treatises of the 16th century in the world and was especially important in Portugal. 76 Cataneo was a military engineer and the last writer of the Renaissance to study both military and civil architecture. The most original part of his text is dedicated to military architecture. 73

The two books were published in Rome by Sebastiano Giannini. It is possible that Santos had acquired the edition with the two titles together, since the bookseller provides a very short description which could easily correspond to one title or two. The edition consulted for this study belonged to the Necessidades Library and is a combined edition (Available at: Biblioteca da Ajuda, Portugal, Cod. 13-X-4). 74 See note 10 above. 75 Connors, J. 1989[1980]. Borromini e l’oratorio romano, op. cit., p. 35. 76 For the Vila Real plan, see Correia, J.E.H. 1997[1984]. Vila Real de Santo António: urbanismo e poder na política pombalina. 2nd. Edition. Pref. by Nuno Portas. Oporto: FAUP, p.13.

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The daring of Cataneo’s text is expected of treatise writers: they are not ashamed to take responsibility for authorship and they demonstrate that they are aware of tradition, although they do not follow it uncritically. The work was influenced by treatises by Francesco di Giorgio Martini (1439-1502) and Serlio and was greatly appreciated at the time, although it did not spread as widely as Palladio’s treatise (an architect with whom he was personally acquainted). Like other writers of the Italian Renaissance, Cataneo understands architecture as the final destination of a reflection that starts with unbuilt land and ends with buildings and shifts from the urban space to the architectural object. At the time of Eugénio dos Santos, while the possibilities for rebuilding Lisbon were being considered, this and other equally brilliant ideas by Cataneo remained up-to-date. In technical terms, we also find one of the most important works that discussed construction from a scientific point of view. La theorie et la pratique de la coupe des pierres et des bois (1737-1739) by AmedéeFrançois Frézier (1682-1773) is spread over three volumes. Together with François Blondel (1628-1688), Frézier was the great authority of the time on mechanics and stereotomy, and was a forerunner of the descriptive geometry developed by Gaspard Monge (1746-1818). He debated with abbé Jean Louis Cordemoy in the Mémoires de Trevoux (1709-1712) newspaper and with abbé Laugier in Mercure de France (1754). As we have seen, Laugier included a reply to Frézier at the end of the republication of Essai sur l’Architecture (1755), a title that was also part of Eugénio dos Santos’ library. Frézier intended to put knowledge about construction at the service of architecture, that is, the orders of architecture. 77 Frézier was a learned engineer (and was more sober and contained in his writing). At the end of his third discours, he wrote about the responsibilities of engineers and architects as professionals with clearly demarcated competences.78 In France, the opening of two education institutions – École des Arts (c.1740) and École royale des ponts et chaussées (1747) – separated training for architects from training for engineers and increased the awareness of a class for each group.79 Frézier’s third discussion relates to 77 Pérez-Gómez, A. 1983. Architecture and the Crisis of Modern Science. Translated and revised by the author. Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, pp.322ff. 78 Frézier, A.-F. 1754. La théorie et la pratique de la coupe des pierres et des bois... Nouvelle édition corrigée et augmentée. Paris: chez Charles François Jombert, vol.1, pp.xx-xxj. 79 See Picon, A. 1988. Architectes et ingénieurs ai siècle des Lumières. Marseille: Parenthèses, pp.95ff.

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the friction between the two groups and extolled, naturally, the figure of the man of science – the engineer – to the detriment of the architect (whose status ranged between that of an artist and that of an artisan).80 Architects, in turn, did not allow themselves to be influenced and remained encapsulated in their own academic knowledge (they were unable to consider the growing possibilities of new materials for aesthetics, which had consequences for architecture).81 In Portugal, among engineers, the effort to improve, clarify and separate responsibilities reached its peak with the Chief Engineer of the Kingdom Manuel de Azevedo Fortes (1660-1749), 82 but there was no parallel movement within architecture, which may explain (among other factors) the prominence of engineers over architects. Eugénio dos Santos had thirteen engineering titles: 1 from the 16th century (7.7%), 3 from the 17th century (23.1%) and 9 from the 18th century (69.2%). 83 They form a more up-to-date subdivision, not only because of the dates of the editions but also because of the quality and updated content. These publications are: Teoria y practica de fortification (1598) by the military engineer Cristobal de Rojas (?-1614), Escuela militar de fortificacion (1705) by the Jesuit father José Cassani (16731750) and Architecto perfecto en el arte militar (1708) by Sebastián

80 For an approach related to this idea of “productive art”, see Coxhead, M.A. 2012. A close examination of the pseudo-Aristotelian Mechanical Problems: The homology between mechanics and poetry as techne. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science, no. 43, pp.300-306. 81 The increasingly academic nature of education, on the one hand, and lack of openness to other disciplines, on the other (particularly the refusal to include new materials and new technologies in architecture), had disastrous consequences for both architects and architecture and meant that the most interesting production in the 19th century came from engineers and not architects (although there are some notable exceptions). The concepts of historicism and eclecticism underlying this context, are drawn from Colquhoun, A. 1989. Modernity and the Classical tradition: architectural essays 1980-1987. Cambridge, Mass.: The Mit Press, pp.319. 82 On Azevedo Fortes see Bernardo, L.M.A.V. 2005. O projecto cultural de Manuel de Azevedo Fortes. Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional-Casa da Moeda. 83 For this count the titles by Rojas were included in the 16th century; those by Deville, Mallet, Pfeffinger in the 17th century; those by Belidor, Cassani, Deidier, Fer, Fortes, Frézier, Medrano and two by Vauban were included in the 18th century.

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Fernández de Medrano (1646-1705); 84 Johann Friederich Pfeffinger (1667-1730), translated from French into Portuguese in 1713 under the title Fortificação moderna; O engenheiro português (1728-1729) by the chief engineer of the kingdom, Manuel de Azevedo, a (Portuguese) approach to fortification and an essential text for training Portuguese engineers. There were eight titles by French authors, of which two stand out. The first is La science des ingénieurs (1729) by Bernard Forest de Belidor (1698-1761), which covered the deepest recesses of engineering, justifying the technical superiority of engineers over architects while also accentuating the innovative nature of the book compared to previous texts.85 The second is La theorie et la pratique du jardinage by Antoine Joseph Dezallier D’Argenville (1680-1765) – probably the 4th edition of this title (dated 1747) – one of the contributors to the Encyclopédie (responsible for writing 541 entries on hydraulics and gardens). Dezallier D’Argenville, according to the information on the book’s title page, belonged to the Montpellier Académie Royale des Sciences, which shows the work’s scientific approach, directed towards designing and building gardens. The artistic supervision of the work by the architect Le Blond and the stamp of Mariette’s workshop attest to the artistic quality of the engraving and printing. Eugénio dos Santos’ library is small – in Jean-Henri Formey’s (17111797) opinion, as he considered that 500-600 volumes was the minimum for meeting a lifetime’s reading needs. 86 However, considering it in its historical, cultural and civilisational contexts, it includes almost all that was important for a military engineer. It is also a Catholic person’s library and is (possibly) touched by a Jansenist spirituality. 87 84 The book by Medrano was fundamental in training the team of Spanish military engineers (Capel H. et al. 1988. De Palas a Minerva: la formación científica y la estructura institucional de los ingenieros militares en el siglo XVIII. [Barcelona]: Serbal, p.18). 85 Eugénio dos Santos had two more books by Belidor (in the mathematics subdivision), which deal with the range of theoretical knowledge indispensable to practising engineering and its different areas of application. 86 Formey, J.-H.-S. 1756. Conseils pour former une bibliothèque peu nombreuse, mais choisie, nouvelle édition corrigée et augmentée. Berlin: Chez Haude et Sepner, p.7. 87 There is a story surrounding Eugénio dos Santos’s death that claims that he was suffering greatly when he died. The anonymous person that relates this story was poorly transcribed and therefore misinterpreted. The text is as follows: “he died in agony saying that he could not save himself because of the damage he had caused

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Santos’ interests were not limited to architecture and military engineering: as well as artistic controversies, namely between amateurs and architects du Roi, he was interested in some literary and philosophical debates of his time, which is not expected of a military engineer. His list of books further shows a close ideological alignment that was similar to the compromise between the dogmas of faith and openness to scientific and philosophical thought of the century led by the Oratorians of Lisbon, with whom he was in contact while directing the work at the Convento das Necessidades. The hypothesis that some titles were inherited (from his father-in-law) has already been posited and this would explain the uncomplex nature of some of the works that is inconsistent with enlightened professional practice. It would also help explain the eclecticism that characterises the collection – although eclecticism was also a distinguishing feature of his built works, as already acknowledged.88 This library allowed him to build a cultural and critical framework that was essential for interpreting – the backbone of an informed, cultured design process, which was not extensive within his social and professional group – and having access to expressions of politeness, such as writing and conversation. Furthermore, the idea that he had access to other libraries, namely the Necessidades Library, cannot be disregarded, so his range of references may have been wider and more varied than his list of books and the corresponding analysis of his work would suggest. There is a risk, therefore, as stated at the start of this capter, of underinterpreting or overinterpreting the architectural works that came from his drawings. For that reason, the following statement applies: “between the mysterious history of text production and the uncontrollable fluctuation of future interpretations, the text as a text is always a convenient presence, a point to churches and many.” The word “many”, which was abbreviated, was interpreted as “convents”, which transformed the ideological meaning of the sentence. This context clearly related to the Lisbon Reconstruction Plan and the decisions (which were political) reflected in the project and implemented on the ground despite owners’ resistance. The difficulty in deserving salvation is typical of Jansenist spirituality, which was violently persecuted in Portugal as in other Catholic states. It was not, therefore, a sudden attack of affected piety, particularly because most of the sacred ground of central Lisbon was maintained in the new plan. The same cannot be said of the remaining buildings: a comparison between old and new land use shows that the plan did in fact harm many owners' legitimate interests, thereby causing resistance to its implementation. 88 See Correia, J.E.H. 1989. Santos, Eugénio dos. In: J.F. Pereira, dir. and P. Pereira., coord. 1989. Dicionário da arte barroca em Portugal. Lisbon: Presença, p.437.

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to which we can anchor ourselves”.89 The term text production is taken, in this context, in a very broad sense (to include architectural work produced, which is also another form of writing), while the term text, which appears twice further on in the sentence, is taken to mean written text. It is worth remembering, at this point, the scarcity of texts written by Eugénio dos Santos, whether finished or unfinished. It was not a problem for him, since he simply did not feel the need to write about architecture, like many before and after him, but it does pose an added difficulty for historians. The publication of his examination theses, presented in a public session at the Aula da Esfera 90 (19 June 1736) were printed at the print workshop of António Isidoro Fonseca (a publication that, surprisingly, is not found in his library catalogue).91 The theses would suggest a promising future for Eugénio dos Santos’ reflective texts, although the content could not be more than a proficient recital of the school’s syllabus. Throughout the presentation, Eugénio dos Santos shows the virtues of his character and the soundness of his training that defined him as a “consummate” Portuguese engineer. 92 In the presentation of the seven theses, he uses two discourse methods: detailed explanation or summary of a topic, offering (eleven times) to answer any questions that those present wished to ask him (the clearest example can be found in Exercise V: “anyone may challenge whatever they wish because I shall defend it”93. The explanation is clear, direct and refers to many authors, both Ancients and Moderns, often showing a preference for the latter because the truth should always be the primary criterion for authority, according to the maxim "amicus Plato, sed magis amica veritas.94 At the end of Exercise 89

Eco, E. et al. and Collini, S. ed. 1993[1992]. Interpretação e sobreinterpretação. Lisbon: Presença, p.80. 90 The Aula da Esfera of the Saint Anthony Jesuit School (1590-1759) taught mathematics, navigation, cosmography, geometry, fortification, perspective, etc. From a scientific point of view, it was the most advanced in the kingdom. See Almeida, B. et al. 2012. A Aula da Esfera [Online]. Available at: . [Accessed 5 Dec. 2014]. 91 Carvalho, E.S. 1736. Exercitações matemáticas de Geometria Elementar, Trigonometria Plana, Geometria prática, Arte de esquadronar, Arquitectura Militar, Expugnação e Propugnação das Praças... Lisbon: na oficina de António Isidoro da Fonseca. This is a very rare print available at: Biblioteca Geral da Universidade de Coimbra, 677, ff.103-108. 92 Reference to a passage by Fortes, M.A. 1729. O engenheiro português... Lisbon: na oficina de Manuel Fernandes da Costa, vol.2, p.431. 93 “Pode cada um impugnar o que quiser porque defenderei a parte que me deixar”. 94 Latin maxim inspired by Aristotle (NE, I, 1096a11-18).

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III, he takes on Newtonism with the necessary caution – “How far does the atmosphere surrounding the Earth reach? The Ancients always thought it to be between 50 and 52 miles. The Moderns doubt this measurement because of refraction. The latter are correct, but not so much as to cast shadow on the delicate discourse of the former”. 95 In the science of fortification (Exercise V), he follows the modern authors, the Marquis of Vauban (1633-1707) and Count Pagan (1603-1665). The arguments are scientific, sometimes interspersed with aphorisms (as in Exercise V) and quotations of the classics. In 1736, aged 25, Eugénio dos Santos proved the discourse skills he had acquired, which are clear from his mastery of his mother tongue and foreign languages (implied in the learned references he makes), eloquent resources for praise (following the models used at the time), knowledge of classical authors (without excessive erudition) and a variety of scientific matters essential to the occupation of a military engineer. Given the courage with which he takes responsibility for his discourse before a demanding audience 96 – clear in the expression “I believe this to be the best”, found throughout the text – it would be expected that he would continue to write and publish. This was not the case. While the theses, presented and defended in 1736, are not enough to make Eugénio dos Santos an engineer-philosopher of the same standing as Manuel de Azevedo Fortes, his library shows that he was able to prepare himself for enlightened, considered practice. This can be seen in his built work, notably New Lisbon, which was constructed according to his plan approved on June 175897 and implemented from that date onwards with 95

“A quanta altura chegará a atmosfera que rodeia a Terra? Os Antigos a consideraram sempre de 50 até 52 milhas. Os Modernos duvidam desta medida por causa da refracção. Têm razão os segundos, mas não tanta que se haja de escurecer o delicado discurso dos primeiros”. 96 The presence of Manuel de Campos (1681-1758) and certainly the readers of the Fortification Academy and the Chief Engineer of the Kingdom (which at the time of Santos’ examination was still Manuel de Azevedo Fortes) would have been enough to intimidate a timorous candidate, uncertain of the results of his study. These examinations, which were directly supported by the king and were sometimes attended by him, were an important instrument of Johannine-era enlightenment (luzes joaninas). 97 I disagree with interpretations that understate Eugénio dos Santos’ responsibility within the collective formed of several military engineers. The issue is complex and has a tradition in Portuguese architectural historiography, starting with the work of Aires, C. 1910. Manuel da Maia e os engenheiros militares portugueses no terramoto de 1755 [Online]. Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional. Available at:

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some minor alterations. It continued in spite of the death of King José I and the fall of his Ministry98 until, symbolically, the Portuguese court’s departure for Brazil on 29th November 1807…99

[Accessed 20 Oct. 2014]; see also the PhD thesis by José-Augusto França (1965) submitted to the School for Advanced Studies in the Social Sciences in Paris (Une ville des Lumières: la Lisbonne de Pombal. Paris: SEVPEN). Although Professor França has revised his interpretation of the intervention of military engineers in the rebuilding of the city (see the 3rd ed. revised and expanded. Lisbon: Bertrand Editora, 1987, pp.88-93), it became common to frame issues surrounding the plan within the collective led by the Chief Engineer of the Kingdom, Manuel da Maia (1677-1768). Cf. also among others Tostões, A. and Rossa, W., coord. 2008. Lisboa 1758: o plano da baixa hoje. Lisbon: Câmara Municipal de Lisboa, pp.53ff. 98 The kingdom of Queen Maria I (1734/1777-1816), who succeeded King José I, was a political turning point in many ways, but not in terms of rebuilding the city (see Silva, R.H. 1997. Lisboa romântica: urbanismo e arquitectura, 1777-1874. PhD thesis, Nova University of Lisbon). 99 The creation of the Tithe of the city of Lisbon on 26 September 1762 makes it possible to date the progressive development of the city’s land. See Reis, A.R. et al. 2004. “A Décima da Cidade: contributo para a datação do edificado da Baixa”. Monumentos – Revista Semestral de Edifícios e Monumentos (DGEMN), no.21, pp.58-65.

CHAPTER SIX THE QUALITY OF EUGÉNIO DOS SANTOS’ LIBRARY ON GARDENS IN THE PORTUGUESE CONTEXT ANA DUARTE RODRIGUES CIHCT - CENTRO INTERUNIVERSITÁRIO DE HISTÓRIA DAS CIÊNCIAS E TECNOLOGIA, FACULDADE DE CIÊNCIAS, UNIVERSIDADE DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

Focusing on a particular section of the Eugénio dos Santos’ library that concerns the art of gardens, the aim of this study is to evaluate its depth and scope within the Portuguese context and to address the reasons that the architect and engineer acquired these books. To achieve these goals, the library’s contents are cross-referenced with other private libraries, before comparing the inclusion of the works of greatest relevance to the art of gardens that were circulating during the early modern period in Portugal (Rodrigues, 2011a; 2014a). The Eugénio dos Santos’ library, studied by Ferrão (1994, 2007) and enhanced in value, as the core of her study for the International Congress on 18th Century Architecture and Culture “Books with a View” (2011), is the point of departure for our analysis. In his will, 160 titles are listed with 49% of these titles on the Arts and Sciences, with 21 identified as architectural treatises (Ferrão, 2007, I, p. 279, 304) and 13 on engineering. Hence, the content of this library matches the interests of the architect and engineer by profession. He had a quite diversified selection of architectural treatises, but this included the leading reference books. He had also the spectacular catalogue of French palace and villa layouts and façades by Mariette (1727), which has no text but is highly illustrated with a lot of images (without counting Blondel’s and Briseux’s treatises; as they are on pleasure architecture I consider them to be of interest to the art of gardens).

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The first point I stress is that the Eugénio dos Santos library is specialized (on the definition of a specialized library, see Gonçalves, 2004). I underline that, due to this correspondence between his professional interests and his books, the fact that he did not have important treatises or books on urbanism and city planning or on utopia, where an ideal society corresponds to an ideal city, is rather odd. Nevertheless, Ferrão (2007, I, p. 311) says we can recognize in Laugier’s treatise, published in the same year as that of the earthquake, some of the ideas for the city held by Eugénio dos Santos. Furthermore, and for example, he also does not have Pierre Le Muet’s Maniere de bien bastir pour toutes sortes des personnes the first treatise on urban apartments appropriate to Lisbon’s downtown architecture. Nevertheless, in general terms, the quantity of books related with his profession is very expressive. He could have gathered them because he needed to use these specific books in his profession. As Ferrão (1994, p. 107) states, Eugénio dos Santos had rare and expensive books in his library when compared with other private Portuguese libraries of this time, and as he was not rich as the architect João Frederico Ludovice (1673-1752), the author concludes that the books served purposes beyond this. Later, in this chapter this topic will be reconsidered. However, we can suppose that he bought or was given books that interested him. As art of gardens’ subject, he had the reference books of his time. He had in his library the most up-to-date treatises on the French formal garden, as well as, the reference works in terms of taste and technical challenges to build a garden. This is very important as it provides the foundations for asserting that if needed he had the necessary books for designing and implementing gardens. Based on the knowledge and art contained in his library, one cannot say he was not aware of pleasure architecture and pleasure gardens’ creation, although he was a military engineer. Therefore, among the books identified previously by Ferrão, I have selected nine as being of relevance to the art of gardens. This number, when compared with the quantity of books on architecture, both military and otherwise, somehow seems quite healthy. Nevertheless, what is of particular importance is that the books owned by Eugénio dos Santos were the prevailing titles in garden planning at that time and featuring, Cerceau’s Livre d’architecture (1559), Caus’ Les raisons des forces Mouvantes (1615), Falda’s Le fontane diversi di Roma (1691), Bibiena’s L’architettura civile (1711), Palladio’s Architecture de Palladio, divisé en quatre libres (1726), Mariette’s Architecture Françoise ou recueil des plans, elevations, coupes & profils (1727), Blondel’s Distribution des maisons de plaisance (1737-38), Briseux’s L’art de batir

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les maisons de campagne (1743) and Dézallier d’Argenville’s Theorie et pratique du jardinage (probably 1747) (see Ferrão, 1994, pp. 313-315). From research on the circulation of books approaching the art of gardens during the Early Modern period in Portugal (Rodrigues, 2011a, pp. 119-144; Rodrigues, 2014a) and that I identify as treatises on agriculture, on the art of gardens and on botany, I am already certain that it proved much easier to source information on this issue from books on agriculture and botany than from treatises on the art of gardens. I am talking about universes made up of more than a hundred copies of books on agriculture and botany found in Portuguese public libraries, against another group with less than twenty copies on the art of gardens. The numbers are so expressive they leave no room for any doubt. However, in the Eugénio dos Santos library, what one encounters are treatises and books on the art of gardens, on pleasure architecture and on hydroengineering that render it outstanding in the Portuguese context. The treatise by Antoine-Joseph Dézallier d’Argenville (1680-1765), illustrated by Jean-Baptiste Alexandre Le Blond (1679-1719), is, probably, the most significant of all the books dedicated to pleasure gardens on the French garden style, entitled La theorie et la pratique du Jardinage. French lawyer and gardening connoisseur, Dézallier d’Argenville published this unsigned treatise in 1709. As most of the illustrations were by Alexandre Le Blond – in 1722 –, the name of Le Blond subsequently appears as the author (Medvedkova, 2007). A paradigmatic treatise on the French formal garden (Le Dantec, 1996), but also important for the English garden because the ha-ha was described for the first time here (Hunt, 1990, p. 125), the author Dézallier d’Argenville claimed to be inaugurating a new editorial line as no other author had written about what he was writing about or in the way he was writing1. Many had written on agriculture, on fruit gardens, but none on 1

“Après avoir examiné la plupart des Auteurs, qui ont écrit sur l’Agriculture & le Jardinage, il ne s’en est trouvé aucun, qui se soit étendu sur la matière qu’on se propose de traiter. On s’égare aisément dans uns route que personne ne nous a frayée. Les écrivains Latins & Italiens qui ont traité cette matière, sont remplis d’excellentes maxims qui regardent plus l’Agriculture que le Jardinage, & nous n’avons parmi nos François que deux ou trios auteurs qui ayent parlé de beaux Jardins. […] Le dessein de l’Auteur dans cet Ouvrage est d’écrire des Jardins qu’on peut appeller Jardins de Plaisance ou de Propreté, c’est-à-dire de ceux qu’on a soin d’entretenir proprement, & dans lesquels on recherche principalment la régularité, l’arrangement, & ce qui peut flatter davantage la vue, tels que les

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Jardins de propreté, which is not entirely true (for example, Gregorio de los Rios’ Agricultura de jardines, 1592 and Jacques Boyceau’s Traité du jardinage, selon les raisons de la nature et de l’art, 1638). Nevertheless, this immense treatise is the most extensive book on the various elements included in a French formal garden, such as parterres2, mazes, galleries, gates, balconies, staircases and many other features necessary to garden decoration. Dézallier d’Argenville’s treatise, considered the most important treatise on the French garden style was, however, quite rare in Portugal. Thus far, only six copies have been identified: one at the BNP, a 1739 edition3; and three at the Biblioteca da Ajuda (one 1713 edition4, another published in the Hague in 1739, and originally from the Royal Library5; and, finally, a copy of the 1747 edition, published in Paris by Jean Mariette, originally from Necessidades library6. The other two are held at the Biblioteca de Arte, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, Lisbon (BA/FCG)7, and hence acquired over the course of time. While Portuguese libraries did not hold many copies, the treatise also existed in the libraries of the architects João Frederico Ludovice and Eugénio dos Santos (Ferrão, 1994, p. 314; 2007, p. 253), as well as in the library of the owner of an estate in Almeirim, Paulo de Azevedo Pita Lima who had the 1733 version (Rodrigues, 2011b, p. 246). Joaquim Machado de Castro (1731-1822) and Cirillo Volkmar Machado (1748-1823) who also worked in or for gardens, such as Quinta Real de Caxias (Rodrigues, 2009) and the Quinta de Belas (nowadays Quinta do Senhor da Serra) even though none of these estates had acquired the treatise for their libraries (see Faria, 2008; Arruda, 1999).

parterres, les Bosquets, les Boulingrins ornes de Portiques, de Cabinets de treillage, de Figures, d’Escaliers, de Fontaines & de Cascades” (Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, pp. 1-2). 2 Parterre is a “Flat terrace near a house laid out with flower-beds or decorative planting in a regular formation to be read from above”. Parterre de broderie is “embroidered parterre with the patterns formed of trimmed box planting bordering beds of coloured earth, occasionally with bands of turf” (Curl, 1999, p. 483). 3 BNP, S.A. 2060 A. 4 BA, 31-X-14. 5 BA, 31-X-15. 6 BA, 31-X-16. 7 There are two copies, one of the 1722 edition and the other 1760 edition (BA/FCG, AAT 14/1 and AAT 14/2).

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There is no clinching evidence from the inventory saying what the edition owned by Dézallier d’Argenville was8, but the 1739 edition was the one of which more copies have been found up until now. In this work, Eugénio dos Santos would have encountered details on the arrangement of gardens, placing them in alignment with the palace, which is approached in a chapter on the garden layouts (Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, pp. 15-43), as others might have done in Portugal before him. One of the examples seen in this image is clearly that used by André Le Nôtre (1613-1700) in his design of the gardens of Versailles, which have influenced Queluz design. The plan of the park after the Portico of Fame at the Royal Villa of Queluz is an evidence of this book’s influence, as we can confirm by comparing Figure 1 with Queluz’ plan (which can be seen at Luckhurst, 2011, p. 33).

Figure 1. Different parterres, from La théorie et la practique du jardinage by Antoine-Joseph Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, no reference page.

There, one finds many different outlines and drawings of how gardens and parks are to be laid out, showing the relative sizes and positioning of the component parts, such as lakes, fountains, tree avenues (see Figure 2 below), but also the illusion in perspective. 8

The 1747 version was the copy consulted by Ferrão at the Biblioteca da Ajuda which belonged to the Necessidades’ library and that is why the author quotes it.

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Figure 2. Example of a garden plan with different rooms and lakes, from La théorie et la practique du jardinage by Antoine-Joseph Dezallier d’Argenville, 1739, no reference page.

The treatise of Dézallier d’Argenville covers all the issues surrounding the art of gardens, as well as all their respective elements, in a chapter entitled Des Portiques, Berceaux, Cabinets de Treillage & de Verdure. Figures, Vases & autres ornemens servant à la decoration & à l’embellissement des Jardins (1739, pp. 87-97). Here, many solutions of curved structures built as an ornament or gateway are presented, as in these cases the arches are not supporting the weight of what is above in the manner that they usually do. These rows of arches, colonnades, covered walks, corridors or galleries seem useful for dividing space, for garden

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walks, for displaying works of art, but serve especially for decorating the garden (Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, after p. 62). All these hedges can also be seen in Portugal, although are much more common in the northern part of the country where it is more difficult to trace the circulation of the book. Gates, as in Figure 3 (below), are another very important feature of the French style garden because the whole is organized as if into many rooms, with the corresponding division requiring gates and entranceways for circulation (Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, after p. 90), such as, for example, the opening of iron gratings in a garden enclosure in the Royal Palace of Versailles. Nevertheless, I have to stress that this particular feature – trellises – does not match Portuguese taste or commissions because most of our gates are in stone and inspired in Serlio’s treatise (1584)9.

Figure 3. Examples of gates, from La théorie et la practique du jardinage by Antoine-Joseph Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, no reference page.

This treatise also approaches levelled areas of ground, with vertical and sloping fronts. Series of these levelled areas, separated by sloping banks, rising one above the other, are prompted as a hillside irrigation method 9 As we can see in many estates in the surroundings of Lisbon, such as in Azeitão, Quinta das Torres or Sintra, Quinta do Bonjardim (Rodrigues, 2014b, p. 55).

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(Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, after p. 146). The forth image features a lot of different solutions for decorating terraces and the staircases that provide for movement between them (see Figure 4 below).

Figure 4. Images of Amphitheatre at the head of a lake, from La théorie et la practique du jardinage by Antoine-Joseph Dezallier d’Argenville, 1739, no reference page.

Even the act of drawing a garden with recourse to a quadratura10 (the same matrix used for painting) and how this should be transferred into the ground is included in this treatise (Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, pp. 156158). In this image, we see how a parterre de broderie drawn on paper is implemented in the terrain (see Figure 5 below).

10 Quadratura is “painted perspectives of architecture in Roman, Renaissance, and (especially) Baroque ceilings and walls, often very realistic, and frequently (in C17 and C18) extending the actual interior architecture as trompe l’oeil work of breathtaking technical brilliance, as in the works of quadraturisti such as A. Pozzo” (Curl, 1999, p. 527).

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Figure 5. The parterre drawn and squared over upon paper, from La théorie et la practique du jardinage by Antoine-Joseph Dezallier d’Argenville, 1739, no reference page.

Finally, the treatise by Dézallier d’Argenville approaches in part fourth the mechanisms of fountains which was not included in the original edition. Each edition had some additions, but the most important was in the 1739 edition when a fourth part was added to the book, concerning hydro-engineering (Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, pp. 305-462). In view of this, one understands the kind of knowledge and art that Eugénio dos Santos had in his library. If he had to develop a garden project (which in Portugal was a frequent request made to architects) he had all the necessary information to do it in the French style. Even more important, based on research made so far for that period of time, is the fact that he was one of the few people to have had privileged access (as it was in his own library) to the most complete and paradigmatic treatise on the French formal garden as it was created by Le Nôtre. Subsequent treatise editions also include indications on how to distribute water around gardens, how to make jets of water and build fountains and cascades. Dézallier d’Argenville justifies this inclusion by

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emphasizing its sheer importance to gardens and even to the extent of justifying a specific treatise on such issues11. He was, however, overlooking the fundamental treatise by Salomon de Caus, Les raisons des forces mouvantes (1615), from which he had taken some inspiration for the drawing of fountains (Cf. Caus, 1615, images of the Problesme XXVII and Problesme XIII and Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, p. 426 ff.) recognized in his own words (see Figure 6 below):

Figure 6. Images of a fountain, from La théorie et la practique du jardinage by Antoine-Joseph Dezallier d’Argenville, 1739, no reference page. On y trouvera la manière de faire un Horloge avec le cours d’une Fontaine artificielle, de contrefaire la voix des petits Oiseaux, par le moien de l’air & de l’eau, d’élever l’eau dormante par le moien du Soleil, de donner du movement à une Galatée qui sera trainee par deux Dauphins, & à un Neptune qui tourney circulairement avec quelques Tritons, & de faire jouer un jeu d’orgues & un flageolet (Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, p. 3).

Nevertheless, the most famous treatise on hydro-engineering, Architecture hydraulique by Belidor, was to be published only in 1750 and accused of plagiary by Dézallier d’Argenville in 176012. 11 “Comme la necessité d’avoir de l’Eau dans les Jardins est indispensable, suivant ce que nous avons dit dans le Chapitre 2e de la Ie Partie, il ne sera pás hors de propôs d’en parler dans ce Traité, le plus succinctement que le peut permettre une matiere aussi ample, & qui demanderait seule un Traité particulier” (Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, p. 314).

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Eugénio dos Santos had only the third volume13 of Belidor’s treatise, on L’art de diriger les eaux de la mer & des rivières à l’avantage de la defense des places (Ferrão, 2007, I, pp. 248-249), thus he did not own the volume on garden hydraulics systems. I would underline the importance of Les raisons des forces mouvantes by Salomon de Caus (1615) in quoting Michael Symes “through the work in particular of Salomon de Caus, the world of the Italian grotto with its accompaniment of automata, giochi d’acqua (water games) and other hydraulic effects now became available to English patrons” (Symes, 1996, p. 29) as well as to anyone else in Europe with access to the book. In fact, as we have seen, in order to be able to discuss the design and construction of fountains - as water is one of the most important of all garden features – Eugénio dos Santos acquired all of the most relevant books hitherto published on this issue. Although I believe the Dézallier d’Argenville treatise edition owned by Eugénio dos Santos already included the hydraulic question and the book by Deidier on Mechanique generale (1741) also dealt with hydraulic issues, the book by Salomon de Caus was the first published in Europe specifically on water games. In this treatise, the study of hydraulics focuses on the effects created in gardens, specifically enlivening groves and sculptures through mechanical methods or pressure pumps, as we can confirm by one of his examples: Dessein d’une grotte, où il y aura un Satire, lequel jouera du Flaiolet, & une Nymphe Echo, laquelle respondra aux cadences du dit Satire, & autre l’on pourra mettre quelques autres figures, pour jetter de l’eau.” (Caus, 1615, p. 109).

However, besides the hydraulic question, Caus also addresses questions related with the terrain and sightseeing. Although just a few copies have been found in Portuguese libraries (Rodrigues, 2011a, pp. 12 “Ce long intervalle de trente-trois années l’a laissé prévenir par le Traité d’Architecture Hydraulique dans lequel on trouve plusieurs plans & coupes de machines, & la manière don’t les eaux de la Pompe Notre-Dame sont distribuées dans la Ville de Paris. Même projet avoit été conçu par l’Auteur, mêmes machines avoient été dessinées sur le lieu il y a plus de vingt ans: il ne pourrait, sans passer lui-même pour Plagiaire, les presenter aujourd’hui au Public, il se contentera donc de lui offrir les Pratiques & les Observations qu’ont fait naître les Expériences & les recherches Physiques qu’il a faites sur les eaux” (Dézallier d’Argenville, 1760, no reference page). 13 Cf. “Architecture hidraulique p. Belidor, 4º 3 vol….3$200” (see Ferrão, 1994, p. 314).

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129-130), the gardens of the Palace of Fronteira are full of references taken from Caus’ books (Rodrigues, 2011b, pp. 432-435; Rodrigues, 2014c, p. 57), such as the Mount Parnasso (see Figure 7 below), which confirms it was known in Portugal.

Figure 7. Images of a fountain, from Les Raisons des Forces Mouvantes by Salomon de Caus, 1615, no reference page.

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Also found in the Santos’ library are catalogues of images used as sources for planning Garden Art (Ferrão, 1994, pp. 313-315). For example, to inspire himself when drawing fountains, the architect had recourse to the remarkable 1691 compendium, Le fontane di Roma nelle piazze, e luoghi publici della città com il loro prospetti, come sono al presente by Giovanni Battista Falda (c. 1640-1678), published in Rome (1680). This catalogue of fountain designs taken from the squares and public places, villas, palaces and gardens of Rome contains two volumes, one dedicated to public places, such as the fountain at S. Mattei square (see Figure 8 below), with the second dedicated to private fountains in palaces and villas in Rome and Tivoli, including those from Villa d’Este. This catalogue was very rare in Portugal even though Mafra’s library 14 15 holds one copy and the Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, another (Rodrigues, 2014a, p. 76). The book for which Jacques Androuet du Cerceau (c. 1520-1584) became famous, published in 1559, was on civil architecture and covered a wide range of constructions for people of petit, moyen ou grand état, backgrounds but was in fact mostly on houses for aristocrats and the bourgeois. Instead of divulging the Gothic or Renaissance style, the author seems more concerned with the specificities of French architecture (Ferreira, 2010, p. 55). The book ran to many editions and became particularly interesting for garden planning, as the 1582 edition contained many villa views, plans and façades of the French palaces and villas. It was due to these birds’ eye views that Cerceau’s book became so influential in garden and villa planning. No copy on Cerceau has been found in Portuguese public libraries, and thus we conclude it was even rarer than the other books in circulation during the Early Modern period in Portugal, which reveals the unique quality of Eugénio dos Santos’ library concerning gardens’ design. 14

Falda, Giovanni Battista, Le Fontane di Roma nelle Piazze e Lvoghi Pvblici della Citta con li loro prospetti come sono al presente. Disgnate, et intagliate da Gio: Battista Falta. Data in luce con dirretione, e cura da Gio: Giacomo de Rossi, dalle sue Stampe in Roma alla Pace con Priu. del. S. Pont. Libro Primo. 2 vols. BPNM, 2-59-17-4 and 2-59-17-5. For example, in the catalogue organized by Mandroux-França, she could only point out some views done by Dominique Barriere and Giovanni Battista Falda on the Vatican’s church, the Rotunda, the College of the Sapiencia, the Navone square, the square of Santa Maria in Trastevere, the Capitole, the Castle of St. Angelo and Trajane’s column (Mandroux-França, 2003, vol. III, p. 584). 15 BNP E. A. 78 V.

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Figure 8. Images of a fountain, from Le Fontane di Roma nelle Piazze e Lvoghi Pvblici della Citta by Giovanni Battista Falda, 1691, no reference page.

Because of the book’s size, Ferrão (2007, p. 247) stresses these might be one of the 1748 or 1750 editions by Mariette, but the author does not make any reference to any interest this book might have held for Eugénio dos Santos as she does for some other works. I have already concluded that Eugénio dos Santos only sought to collect the books that interested him. Thus, why would he be interested in a catalogue of images focusing primarily on birds’ eye views of villas or detailed features? It might be that at some point in his career he had to design and plan a villa. Together with the palace and villa prints published between 1727 and 1738 entitled Architecture Françoise ou recueil des plans, elevations, coupes & profils (…) by Jean Mariette (1660-1742), the collector and 16 dealer of old master prints, also owned by Eugénio dos Santos , these

16 “A book of 2 vols, in-fól.” (Author’s translation). From this description it could only be Mariette’s compendium, without text and exclusively illustrated because the edition of François Blondel (1673 or the 1685 version) is in-8º and the edition by Jacques-François Blondel (1752-56) has 4 volumes (see Ferrão, 2007, I, pp. 258-259).

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would provide inspiration and a lot of models for the planning of pleasure architecture for villas, gardens and parks. Jean Mariette, continuing on the path of earlier engravers such as Israel Silvestre, Jean Marot, Gabriel Pérelle and his own father Pierre Mariette, would publish a large illustrated work on French architecture from the 16th to the 18th centuries17. These prints feature compositions of artificial fountains, lakes, grottoes, cascades, and many different views of different palaces and gardens. A compendium of pleasure architecture, as well as of ecclesiastical and civil urban architecture, Mariette’s will was to assemble a collection of plates suitable for patrons and with architects selecting their preferred model. Besides the art of writing and printing books about gardening, the knowledge on planning gardens could also be obtained from civil architectural books such as those by Palladio, Blondel and Briseux. Eugénio dos Santos also had a French edition of the treatise by Andrea Palladio (1508-1580), Les Quatre Livres de L’Architecture (1650). Palladio designed for Daniel Barbaro (the editor of Vitruvius’ De Architectura with Palladio’s illustrations) the most famous of his villas and his theory reflects his practical work as an architect (as well as his practice being influenced by his erudition and knowledge of classical architecture). His treatise, “an apogee of fascination with the Vitruvian tradition” (Mallgrave, 2006, p. 46) certainly proves highly important to the architectural design of villas with plans and especially façades sourced directly from Classical Roman architecture. It includes plans of the Villa de Francesco Pisani in Montagnana where we can recognize the organization around a central square room, as in Classical Roman villae. In his treatise, all villa constructions appear concluded (even when in reality they were not) and we can hence recognize the rationality of the designs, the importance of their axial layout and the influence of Antiquity, especially the Vitruvius’ treatise. This was probably one of the best books for Eugénio dos Santos take lessons on how architecture and landscape should be thought together and in a relational way. The French architect Jacques-François Blondel (1705-1774), grandson of the famous François Blondel, author of the Cours d’architecture (1683), wrote a treatise on pleasure architecture De la distribution des maisons de plaisance et de la décoration des edifices en general, published in 1737. It approaches the garden as a continuation of the house, focusing on the importance of the various features and their distribution. He concludes by 17 See Mandroux-França (vol. II, 256, 528, 590-592; vol. III, 237, 281, 412-416, 418-424, 425-455, 484, 485, 603, 612).

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saying beauty in gardens, or parks is a result of “leur arrangement & leur varieté qui causent de la surprise & qui amusent agréablement” (Blondel, 1737, I, p. 6). We know this book was in the Necessidades’ library18 and it was owned by Eugénio dos Santos and by Manuel Caetano de Sousa (Ferrão, 2007, I, pp. 220, 229-230; Rodrigues, 2011b, pp. 633-642), but was otherwise not a particularly common work in Portugal. The French architect Charles-Étienne Briseux (c. 1680-1754), an expert on the design of interiors during reign of Louis XV, also became famous due to his treatise on pleasure architecture - L’art de bâtir les maisons de campagne (1743). In this treatise, it is clear that the façade turned towards the garden was highly decorated in the gayest of styles and that the ballroom should face the garden, as we can confirm in Figure 9 below. We have thus far found four copies – one at the Biblioteca da Ajuda (BA), originally from the Necessidades’ library; one 1768 edition in the Biblioteca Pública do Porto, originally from the Convent of Tibães (Mandroux-França, 1973, p. 35)19; and two 1743 editions at the Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal 20 (Rodrigues, 2011a, p. 131), however, there are no other reports of any other architects owning a copy. Therefore, we need to underline that on gardens, the Eugénio dos Santos’ library is absolutely exceptional within the Portuguese context due to the quality and pertinence of the books chosen. Finally, to demonstrate the sheer quality of the Eugénio dos Santos library, we provide the following comparison with other colleagues and patrons. Although the number of private libraries of Portuguese patrons and artists that have hitherto been published and studied is rather restricted in scope, some comparisons are feasible and we can rely on certain conclusions (whilst taking into consideration that such are made with the knowledge thus far acquired). Ferrão has already compared the collection with those of an architect and of a military engineer, both considered to be peers of Eugénio dos Santos. Besides Belidor’s Architecture Hydraulique, we have identified no work as interesting to the art of gardens as that owned by João Wilkens (see Ferrão, 2007, I, pp. 158-160). When comparing the Eugénio dos Santos library with the Manuel Caetano de Sousa’s library (Rodrigues, 18

BA, 39-VIII-39/40. We have adjoined the information from Mandroux-França to the quote from BA, 39-VIII-37/38. 20 BA, A-I-10 and BNP, B.A. 263 V. and B.A. 264 V. 19

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2011b, 633-635), who worked at the Royal Gardens of Queluz and the Ajuda Botanic Garden, we observe that although Sousa did have a relevant collection of architectural treatises such as Serlio (1600), Nicolas (1663), Caramuel (1678), Blondel (1737), two editions by Vignola (Aviler, 1738 and 1747), and the same book by Bibiena that Santos had, he did not have any reference work on the art of gardens, whilst having worked on garden planning21. Curiously, Manuel Caetano de Sousa held the botanic book by João Vigier, História das Plantas da Europa (1718) (Rodrigues, 2011b, p. 636). Both architects had Architecttura Civile preparata sulla Geometria22 by Ferdinando Galli Bibiena. This treatise, written by the most renowned member of an important family of European scenographers and present in both the aforementioned libraries, reveals the expressive forms of scenographic architecture in Early Modern Europe and, especially, in the recreation of ornamental vocabulary. In terms of scenography, this book contained a significant number of drawings for stages representing gardens. The exchange of compositions and forms between these two artistic media has already been confirmed in the gardens of the National Palace of Queluz (Rodrigues, 2011b, p. 95). Indeed, Bibiena’s treatise was so popular in Portugal that it was translated into Portuguese by Jose Carlos Binheti in 1787. Having acquired its knowledge, any architect could create scenographic layouts 23 . This reflects the depth of importance of the circulation of art treatises: they corresponded to the diffusion of knowledge, forms, proportions, styles, theories and taste. With such a treatise in hand, an architect could create a work of art very similar to a model in Italy that he had never seen before. The diffusion of forms

21

Manuel Caetano de Sousa had none of the books we selected from among Eugénio dos Santos’ books. For example, he has a book by Belidor but not on hydraulic engineering and instead: on mathematics (1764), as with many others in Sousa’s library. 22 Ferrão proves that Eugénio dos Santos had the first edition (2007, I, p. 249). 23 José Sarmento de Matos thought the Palace of Grilo was by Bibiena because it was such an advanced design that could only be made by a foreigner architect (in Pereira, 1989, p. 214). However, we would propose that an architect that had studied these treatises could design in a similar style without being a foreign. This argument furthermore extends to our suggestion that Eugénio dos Santos, the most erudite of Portuguese architects, could have done so.

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through art treatises helps explain why a work of art seems Italian despite the artist is not being Italian and having never visited Italy.

Figure 9. Façade turned towards the garden, from L’art de bâtir les maisons de campagne by Charles-Étienne Briseux, 1743, no reference page.

When we compare the Eugénio dos Santos library with the rich library of Paulo de Azevedo Pita Lima, the owner of a villa in Almeirim, who also owned the book by Dézallier d’Argenville, the differences are expressive. When making this comparison we have to bear in mind that we are comparing the library of an architect with the library of a villa owner. Lima’s collection contained many more books on agriculture, such as Quintinye’s Instruction pour les Jardins (1739); Le Jardinier Solitaire (1743), Le Nouveau Jardinier (1741); Miguel Augustin’s Secretos de la Agricultura (1722); Roux’s Traité de la Culture et de la Plantation (1750); Duamel’s Elements d’agriculture (1753); De la Salle’s Manuel d’Agriculture (1764); Clavalon’s Manual des Champs (1764); Mortimer’s Agriculture Complète (1765); and the Traité de la conservation des Grains (1768) (Rodrigues, 2011b, pp. 642-645). Most such books are among those Dézallier d’Argenville criticises at the beginning of his treatise,

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terming them out-of-date24. Even the Paulo de Azevedo Pita Lima owned treatise by Dézallier might be a different edition to that owned by Eugénio dos Santos. Paulo de Azevedo Pita Lima had the 1733 edition that still lacked the fourth section with all the information on designing and building fountains and cascades. Ferrão (2007, p. 63-97), who has already studied the libraries of the Grandee of Portugal, categorized the marquis of Louriçal, the dukes of Lafões, the counts of Vimieiro, the duke of Aveiro, the marquis of Fontes, the marquis of Nisa, the count of Alegrete and of Abrantes as owners of great libraries. However, even if there is notice of their grandeur, we do not really know enough about their contents to make a proper comparison of titles. Furthermore, only in 18.3% (11 houses of the 60 grandees of Portugal) of the grandee is there confirmation of existence of libraries of considerable extent and quality (Ferrão, 2007, I, p. 95). The relationships between these libraries and the gardens of their owners have already begun to be studied. Julien (2011) proves the relationship, sometimes direct and sometimes indirect, between the 1st Marquis of Fronteira’s library and the gardens of his palace. In this library one could find the treatise by Olivier de Serres and L’architecture ou l’art de bien bastir de Marc Vitruve Polion mis en latin en François par Jean Martin. However, the rest of the books adopted are mostly on history. He also had a very good collection of books on iconography, such as Valeriano’s Hieroglyphica, Alciat’s Emblemata, Cartari’s Le imagini de gli dei, Conti’s Mythologiae, Ripa’s Iconologia and Ovid’s Methamorphoses (1649), which revealed the essentials to the iconographic and iconological program of the garden. From these comparisons (which are still liminal), it seems that architects search out information in a different kind of books to owners. Patrons of villas have more books on agriculture because their concern is the good management of their estate and architects have more books on 24

“Les autres qui ont écrit de l’Agriculture, ont apparemment cru cette matiere indigne de leur plume; les uns parlent de la Taille des Arbres fruitiers, de la Culture des Jardins potagers, du Jardin Botaniste, & de la proprieté des Simples, &c: les autres du ménage des Champs, du devoir d’un bom Pere de famille, d’un Laboureur & Fermier, de la Vigne & des Vendanges, de la Pêche, de la Chasse, & de la maniere de faire la Cuisine, & toutes fortes de Confitures, en quoi l’on voit la difference de cet Ouvrage, d’avec les leurs”. [Laterally, there is this row: La Quintinye. Le Jardinier François. L. Liger. Le Jardinier Solitaire. Le Jardinier Botaniste. J. de Tournefort. Le Jardinier Fleuriste. Liebaut. De Serres] (Dézallier d’Argenville, 1739, p. 2).

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architecture connected with pleasure gardens and the art of gardens because they search for knowledge and technical details on design. Finally, the last issue we wish to raise here: why did Eugénio dos Santos buy these books? It could be because he was an erudite and curious man, it could be because of status or it can be interpreted as a sign of his own interests, which could be professional or not. Ferrão has already suggested that the Blondel’s and Briseux’s treatises could have been bought for designing the palace of the dukes of Lafões (2007, p. 313). Indeed, it certainly was not for restructuring the fortress in Estremoz (Costa, 1992). It was also not to inspire him in drawing the church of the Royal Hospital or Lisbon’s downtown or the Court of Law. Even the restoration project of the palace of the marquis of Marialva in Portas de Santa Catarina, near one of the main gates into the city, was for an urban palace in which drawings signed by Eugénio dos Santos show only two façades and no garden25. It is not conclusive that the palace of the dukes of Lafões is by Eugénio dos Santos, although Ferrão has already considered Eugénio dos Santos to be the author of the (first) restructuring project of the palace of the dukes of Lafões at Grilo which would match the chronology of the ups and downs of this family (2007, pp. 521ff.). She also points out the utility of the books by Blondel, Briseux and J. Mariette to this pleasure architecture. However, even more important are the other books selected here as these would only really make sense when someone is interested in building a villa. At least, if Eugénio dos Santos had to do so, he would certainly be prepared to do it. The palace of the 1st duke of Lafões at Carmo was totally destroyed by the 1755 earthquake and he lived in a tent put up in the gardens of the Necessidades complex. However, as almost all Grandee families went on to do, it is very probable that, in the wake of the earthquake, they searched for a site outside the city on which to build a villa. Eugénio dos Santos might be enrolled in the project, but is not conclusive and we cannot do anything more than speculate why he had such an outstanding collection of books on the art of gardens. These books are intended to create pleasure architecture where gardens are supposed to exist, and to place parterres de broderie and water games within. If we consider that his library reveals his professional interests, we 25

The drawings of Marialva Palace signed by Eugénio dos Santos and the drawings of Grilo Palace were bought by the Museu da Cidade (Lisbon) in 1977 as having belonged to the Lafões’s family (Museu da Cidade, 1982, II, p.82 and nr. 243-244, 246-250).

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can stress some hypotheses: he may have bought them when working at Necessidades or for the Grilo Palace. The convent-palace complex of Necessidades might have been the real reason. Nevertheless, some books do seem appropriate for inspiring the design of a villa. Or, the reason for these books might be related with the restructuring of Grilo Palace. We do know the garden was being built around the 1780s 26 and the palace was already built in 1779 for the occasion of the preparatory meetings for the Academy of Sciences (Ferrão, 2007, p. 524). Nevertheless, it is very probable the 1st duke of Lafões intended to live there after the earthquake, because his palace in Lisbon’s downtown was destroyed. The 1st duke died in 1761 and only in 1779 did his brother, the 2nd duke, return to the country from exile abroad, and probably the works at Grilo were only resumed after this date. Grilo Palace was on the outskirts of Lisbon with its location in accordance with that deemed appropriate as a villa and planned as such. Even if history changed circumstances starting with the death of Eugénio dos Santos in 1760 and the exile of the 1st duke also in 1760 (having died in 1761 at his villa in Alpriate), we cannot discard the possibility that he might have commissioned the entire project from the first architect in charge of the Reconstruction, whose exceptional library on the art of gardens in Portugal prepared him on how to best achieve the results desired.

References Arruda, L. d’O. C. (1999), Cirillo Wolkmar Machado. Cultura artística. A Academia. A obra Gráfica. Research Project to obtain the degree of Doctor in Drawing at the Faculty of Fine Arts, University of Lisbon. Belidor, B. F. de (1739-53), Architecture Hydraulique ou l’Art de conduire, d’élever et de ménager les eaux pour les différents besoins de la vie, Paris: Chez C.-A. Jombert. Bibiena, F. G. (1711), L’Architettura Civile preparata sul a Geometria, e ridotta alle Prospettive, considerazioni pratiche di Ferdinando Galli Bibiena cittadino bolognese architetto primário, e capo maestro maggiore, e pittore di camera, e feste di teatro della maestà di Carlo 26 Ferrão quotes the Marquis of Bombelles’ testimony on this issue (2007, I, p. 524).

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III. Il monarca delle Spagne dissegnate, e descritte in cinque parti, Parma: per Paolo Monti. Blondel, J.-F. (1737-1738), De la distribuition des maisons de plaisance et de la décoration des édifices en general, Paris: Charles Antoine Jombert. Briseux, C. É. (1743). L’Art de Bâtir des Maisons de Campagne où l’on traite de leur distribution, de leur construction, & de leur Décoration, Paris: Chez Prault Pere, 2 vols. Caus, S. de (1615), Les raisons des forces mouvantes: Avec diverses machines tant utiles que plaisantes…augmentées de plusieurs figures, avec le discours sur chacune, Francfort: en la boutique de Ian Norton. Cerceau, J. A. du (1559), Livre d’architecture de Iaques Androuet du Cerceau, contenant les plants & dessaings de cinquante bastiments tous differens: pour instruire ceux que desirent bastir, soient de petit, moyen ou grand estat, Paris: André Wechel. Costa, M. A. N. (1992), A obra de Eugénio dos Santos em Estremoz, Lisbon: [s.n.]. Curl, J. S. (1999), A Dictionary of Architecture, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dézallier d’Argenville, A.-J. (1739). La Theorie et la pratique du Jardinage ou l’on traite a fond des beaux jardins appelés communément les jardins de plaisance et de propreté, A La Haye: chez Jean Martin Husson. Falda, G. B. (1691). Le fontane di Roma nelle piazze, e luoghi publici della città con il loro prospetti, come sono al presente disegnate et intagliate da Gio. Battista Falda, Roma: Gio. Giacomo de Rossi. Faria, M. F. de (2008), Machado de Castro (1731-1822): Estudos, Lisbon: Livros Horizonte. Ferrão, L. (1994), A Real Obra de Nossa Senhora das Necessidades, Lisbon: Quetzal Editores/Ministério dos Negócios Estrangeiros. —. (2007). Eugénio dos Santos, Arquitecto e engenheiro militar (17111760): cultura e prática de arquitectura, PhD thesis in Art History presented at The Faculty of Social and Human Sciences, Nova University of Lisbon. 2 vols. Ferreira, S. (2010), História da Teoria da Arquitectura no Ocidente, Lisbon: Vega. Hunt, J. D. (1990), The genius of the place: the English Landscape Garden, 1620-1820, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Gonçalves, C. C. C. (2004), As bibliotecas e os centros de documentação: tipos, aplicações e outros casos, Lisbon: Universidade Lusófona de Humanidades e Tecnologias.

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Julien, P. (2011), «La Bibliothèque du Marquis de Fronteira et la conception du jardin de son Palais», in Tratados de Arte em Portugal/Art Treatises in Portugal (ed. Rafael Moreira and Ana Duarte Rodrigues), Lisbon: Scribe, pp. 145-152. LeDantec, J.-P. (1996), Jardins et Paysages, [S.l.]: Larousse. Luckhurst, G., Rodrigues, A. D., and Pereira, D. (2011), The Gardens of the National Palace of Queluz, Lisbon: Palácio Nacional de QueluzImprensa Nacional-Casa da Moeda. Mallgrave, H. F. (ed.) (2006), Architectural Theory, vol. I, Malden; Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Mandroux-França, M. T. (1996-2003), Catalogues de la collection d’estampes de Jean V, roi de Portugal / par Pierre-Jean Mariette; direction et coordination scientifique Marie-Thérèse MandrouxFrança, Lisbonne, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian: Fundação da Casa de Bragança, Paris: Centre Culturel Calouste Gulkenkian: Bibliothèque Nationale de France. Mariette, J. (1727-1738), L’architecture Françoise ou Recueil des plans, élévations, coupes et profils des églises, palais, hôtels & maisons particulières de Paris et des châteaux & maisons de champagne ou de plaisance des environs & plusieurs autres endroits de France, bâtis nouvellement par les plus hábiles architectes, et levés et mesurés exactement sur les lieux, Paris: Chez J. Mariette. Medvedkova, O. (2007), Jean-Baptiste Alexandre Le Blond, architecte, 1679-1719: de Paris à Saint-Pétersbourg, Paris: A. Baudry. Museu da Cidade org. (1982), Lisboa e o Marquês de Pombal [Exhibition Catalogue], Lisbon : Câmara Municipal de Lisboa, 3 vols. Palladio, A. (1726), Architecture de Palladio, divisé en quatre libres, &, avec des notes d’Indigo Jones; mis au jour par Jacques Léoni, vénitien, architecte de l’eclecteur palatin, tarduit de l’italien par Nicolas Dubois, architecte, ingénieur de sa Majesté britannique, La Haye: Pierre Grosse. Pereira, J. F. (dir.) (1989), Dicionário da Arte Barroca em Portugal, Lisboa: Presença. Rodrigues, A. D. (2009), «Parte I – A Quinta Real de Caxias». In Quinta Real de Caxias. História. Conservação. Restauro, Caxias: Câmara Municipal de Oeiras, pp. 19-80. —. (2011a). «O conhecimento teórico ao alcance de arquitectos e jardineiros em Portugal durante a Idade Moderna», in Tratados de Arte em Portugal/Art Treatises in Portugal, Lisbon: Scribe, pp. 119144.

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—. (2011b), A Escultura de Jardim das Quintas e Palácios dos Séculos XVII e XVIII em Portugal, Lisbon: Fundação para a Ciência e Tecnologia e Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian. —. (2014a) (ed.). Uma história de jardins. A sua arte na tratadística e na literatura, Lisbon: Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal/Centro de História da Arte e Investigação Artística (forthcoming). —. (2014b), Os Jardins de Sintra nos séculos XVII e XVIII/The Gardens of Sintra in the 17th and 18th centuries, Évora: Centro de História da Arte e Investigação Artística. —. (2014c), «O bom gosto do Palácio Fronteira», in Rodrigues, A. D. (ed.), O Gosto na Arte. Idade Moderna, Lisbon: Scribe, pp. 44-61. Symes, M. (1996), Garden Sculpture, Buckinghamshire: Shire Publications.

CHAPTER SEVEN JOSÉ MANUEL DE CARVALHO E NEGREIROS AND THE PORTUGUESE CIVIL ARCHITECTURE TH OF LATE 18 CENTURY HELDER CARITA IHA - INSTITUTO DE HISTÓRIA DA ARTE, FACULDADE DE CIÊNCIAS SOCIAIS E HUMANAS, UNIVERSIDADE NOVA DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

The Portuguese architectural culture across the last decades of the 18th century is mainly highlighted by the work of the so-called três arquitectos da Ajuda (Three architects of Ajuda)1. Less studied, José Manuel de Carvalho e Negreiros, seems to represent a significant contribution, within the aesthetic context of the reign of Queen Mary I of Portugal, to the architecture of this period. A significant effort to develop research has been made, in recent years, highlighting the work and bibliographic output of this architect.2. More recently, an article was published that once again resets the issue of Carvalho Negreiros, now focused on the controversial opposition against the architect Costa e Silva.3 This paper discloses a series of 1 These architects, Manuel Caetano de Sousa(1738-1802), José Costa e Silva (1747-1819) and Francisco Xavier Fabri (1761-1817), are the main subject of the work of AYRES DE CARVALHO, Os três arquitectos da Ajuda, do Rocaille ao Neo-clássico, Lisbon, Academia de Belas Artes, 1979. 2 GOMES, Paulo Varela, “Sobre José Manuel de Carvalho Negreiros” in Cultura Arquitectónica e Artística em Portugal no séc. XVIII, Lisbon, Caminho, 1988, pp.105-114. FERRÃO, Leonor, Eugénio dos Santos de Carvalho, arquitecto e engenheiro militar (1711-1760): cultura e prática de arquitectura. Lisboa: [s.d.], 2007 (vol.1, p. 316). PhD Thesis, Faculty of Social and Human Sciences, Nova University. 3 GOMES, Paulo Varela, “Jornada pelo Tejo: Costa e Silva, Carvalho Negreiros e a cidade pós-pombalina”. Monumentos, Lisbon, no. 21, Sept. 2004, pp. 132-141.

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unpublished designs stored in the Department of Prints & Drawings of the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga, whose aesthetic choices and superlative quality attest to the need for further research regarding his career and actual skills in terms of design and architectural projects.

Figure 1. Section of the entire building by the line indicated in the plan A-A. Signed: An offer to His Highness with the deepest respect from José Manuel de Carvalho e Negreiros in November of 1794. Biblioteca Nacional do Rio de Janeiro, ARC.29.8.4 (4)

In addition to these designs, we find a magnificent project for a garden pavilion offered, in 1794, to King João VI, who was the regent at the time (Figures 1-3). Currently in the National Library of Brazil (Rio de Janeiro), the designs for this project, featuring a refined neoclassical taste, further contribute to the understanding of the work of this architect, now within the field of civil architecture of an erudite nature. Driven by the study of these designs, this paper aims to further establish the implications of Carvalho Negreiros in civil architecture, conjugating his designs with his theoretical work, in which he does a rare formulation of typologies for domestic households including a detailed description of the noble house and the complexity of the spatial structures of a royal palace. Carvalho Negreiros follows a family tradition of great masters and architects connected to the Royal House and the Provedoria de Obras Reais [Office of Royal Works] that, by passing on certain positions from father to son, kept alive a knowhow and specific understanding of

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architecture and construction. The son of Eugénio dos Santos, Carvalho Negreiros was the grandson of Manuel Costa Negreiros Carvalho Negreiros, on his mother side, and thus linked through his father and grandfather to great architects involved in the fates of architecture and urbanism of Portugal, in the 18th century. Concerning his academic education, Cyrillo Volkmar Machado (17481823) wrote in his Memórias4 a small bibliographic note which Sousa Viterbo would later correct in accordance with archival documentation. Based on this documentation, we know that Carvalho Negreiros completed his studies in Italy as mentioned in an application: o mesmo sobreditto foi à sua custa para a Itália aonde se instruiu na architectura militar e civil, para cujo fim esteve oito annos no ditto Paiz [The aforementioned went at his expense to Italy where he learned about military and civil architecture. For this purpose, he remained in this country for eight years]5. He returned to Portugal in 1776 and joined the Office of Royal Works having been nominated as medidor das obras de todos os reais paços [measurer of the works of all royal palaces], in 1788, due to the passing of Elias Sebastião Poppe. In his official career, in 1793, he was promoted to Sergeant major6 in the Royal Engineer Corps, attaining the rank of 2nd architect of the Royal Palaces. Finally, in 1804, he was nominated architecto geral dos paços reais [general architect of the Royal Palaces]7. In the prologue of Jornadas, in 1792, Carvalho Negreiros claims he is still arquitecto do Senado desta cidade de Lisboa [architect of the Senate of this city of Lisbon], which was confirmed by Cyrillo. With the departure of the Royal family to Brazil, Carvalho Negreiros appears to drift away from the Office of Royal Works and his role as an architect. In 1810, he was working for Marshall Beresford in the construction of the Royal Road connecting Lisbon to Oporto. Through his personal file, in 1813, we find that he was involved in the Kingdom’s census, surveying the nº de fogos de cada hua freguesia e os públicos estabelecimentos que existem em cada huma das commarcas [number of 4

MACHADO, Cyrillo Volkmar, Collecção de Memórias…, Coimbra, Imprensa Nacional, 1823, p.193. 5 Instituto do Arquivos Nacionais /Torre do Tombo (IAN/TT), Papéis do Ministério do Reino, Pack 280. 6 SEPÚLVEDA, Christovão Aires de Magalhães, Historia Orgânica e Política do Exercito Português - Provas, Lisbon, Imp. Nacional, vol. VIII, 1910, p. 225. 7 SOUSA VITERBO, Dicionário Histórico e Documental dos Arquitectos, Engenheiros e Construtores Portugueses, Lisbon, IN/CM, 1988, vol. II, pp. 194195.

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houses in each village and public facilities in each district]8. This was not a lasting collaboration since, in 1815, he was reported dead. Within his regular duties of assisting the works in the Royal Palaces, we know by a document in Torre do Tombo that Carvalho Negreiros, in 1787, supervised the restoration of the Swann’s Room of the National Palace of Sintra9. His work, as we know it, was cautious and kept the spatial coherence of the room, both in the restoration of the azulejos and of the artezoados [coffered wood ceilings] in the ceiling, in accordance with the respect he demonstrated in his texts for gothic art, divided between the gothic of the Goths and Moorish architecture. Also, as architect engineer of the Office of Royal Works, Carvalho Negreiros takes on the project of the building of the Royal Guard’s Regiment in Ajuda at the request of the Count of Soure, Superintendent of the Office of Works and Royal Palaces in 179710. Aside from his work in the Royal Works, Carvalho Negreiros executed several projects for aristocrats, as inferred by the certificate issued by the Marquis of Penalva stating that: e tem dado manifestas provas da sua habilidade em diversos riscos da sua invenção e desenho que tem aprezentado a muitas pessoas desta Corte [and he has demonstrated clear evidence of his skills in several sketches of his invention and designs he has been presenting to many people of the Court]11. Concerning these works for private individuals, it was recently disclosed that he was involved, in 1778, in the plans for rebuilding the palace of the Marquis of Louriçal12. Known as the Palace of the Anunciada, this project sought to rebuild one of the most famous palaces in Lisbon, reflecting the obvious prestige that the architect enjoyed among the erudite circles of the highest aristocracy. Destroyed by the earthquake of 1755, the palace was described by Carvalho e Costa, in his Choregrafia: “com uma entrada magnifica entrando-se por um claustro de colunas com huma fonte no meyo … e a melhor livraria de Portugal … adornada de globos, e instrumentos mathematicos, medalhas e outras antiguidades” 8

Arquivo Histórico Militar (AHM), Lisbon, DIV-3, Box 311 (Personal file of José Manuel de Carvalho Negreiros). 9 Instituto do Arquivos Nacionais /Torre do Tombo (IAN/TT), Lisbon, Obras Reais, Box 93, 1797, transc. in Carvalho, Ayres de, Os três arquitectos da Ajuda – do rocaille aonNeo-clássico, op. cit, p. 61. 10 SOUSA VITERBO, Dicionário histórico e documental dos arquitectos, engenheiros e construtores portugueses, Lisbon, IN/CM, 1988, vol. III, p. 393. 11 SOUSA VITERBO, op. cit., vol. II, p. 468. 12 SILVA, Raquel Henriques da, “O Palácio Castelo Melhor: contexto e projecto inicial”. Monumentos, no. 11, 1999, p. 22.

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[with a magnificent entrance, through a cloister of columns with a fountain in the centre ... and the best library of Portugal ... adorned with globes, and mathematical instruments, medals and other antiques]13. Although the Palace of the Anunciada was never rebuilt, everything suggests that Carvalho Negreiros took on, in the late 1780s, the project of the Estate of the Marquises of Angeja, in Lumiar. The estate’s project was suggested by Ayres de Carvalho14 based on two designs that were signed by the author and which were currently in the Department of Prints & Drawings of the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga. They are two fine designs, from 1789, one with three pedestals for statues meant for the gardens and the other with two fountains. One designed for the praça grande [big square] and the other for the praça piquena [small square], matching the yard entrance of the current courtyard. Since these drawings were for a final stage of the palace construction, it would be natural to assume that the same architect was also in charge of the building, especially considering that the alternatives such as Caetano de Sousa or Costa e Silva are, from an aesthetic perspective, unlikely: the former was very rococo, as evidenced by his project in the palace of Manteigueiro and the later very neoclassical work which was untied to a Pombaline tradition. In fact, the project of the Estate of the Marquis of Angeja is one of the most accomplished transpositions of the Pombaline aesthetic options in the context of the Manor House, enhanced by an international taste undoubtedly cultivated by Carvalho Negreiros’s stay in Europe. By making use of older constructions, the house is coherently articulated with a front over the street and a main front sheltered by a walled courtyard, acting as an entrance yard. It is worth noting that this courtyard is preceded by an elegant half-spherical dome highlighted by delicate “fogaréus” [flame-shaped finials] and lined with small watchtowers, a very typically French solution also found in the project of the Palace of the Dukes of Lafões. The similarities between this building and the project of the Palace of the Dukes of Lafões are also found in the solution for the entry in the front of the building over the yard, with a porch made from three-centred arches; and also in the use of recessed edge ashlars seen in the wide pilasters and in the revetment of the entrance ground floor. In both buildings, the broached ashlars grant an exquisite animation to the 13

COSTA, António Carvalho, Choreografia Portuguesa, Lisbon, na Officina Real Deslandesiana, 1712, vol. III, p. 306. 14 CARVALHO, Ayres de, Os Três Arquitectos da Ajuda – do Rocaille ao Neoclássico, op. cit., p. 46.

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facade’s composition while maintaining a sort of solidity of a neoclassical nature. The use of double roofing in the Mardel way and the mansard roofs add a Pombaline element attested to by current building practices. More recently, the analysis of a magnificent set of designs signed by Carvalho Negreiros, currently in the Library of Rio de Janeiro, suggests, yet again, a revision of his artistic work (Figures 1, 2, 3). The designs taken to Brazil in the famous library of King João VI, consist of a project in elevation, a plan and two sections. According to the plan’s legend, it is a precious garden pavilion (para ser construído num dos jardins de S. A. Real / To be built in one of the gardens of His Royal Majesty]). The date, November 1794, inscribed in the legend of the drawings, matches another date, the fire of the so-called Barraca Rica which happened on November 7th of that year, revealing, once more, the intentions of Carvalho Negreiros on the project of the new Royal Palace. The choice, however, fell on Manuel Caetano de Sousa, who, as 1st architect of the Office of Royal Works, had every right and duty by the rules of the institution. The replacing of Caetano de Sousa, shortly after, seems to favour the goals of Carvalho Negreiros. Fate, or the political backstage of the court, did not consider the author for this role, and it would be Costa e Silva, along with Fabri, who would replace Caetano de Sousa. Drawn in a large size, the designs reflect a neoclassical taste and a strong architectural culture, combining in its clean lines a remarkable formal coherence and rigor in construction details. Here we face a project of thematic palace architecture that is not present in the architectural designs stored in the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga (MNAA), but which portray instead the main concerns of Carvalho Negreiros in his texts, both in the Jornadas pelo Tejo as well as in the following text Aditamento às Jornada pelo Tejo. From an aesthetic and programmatic standpoint, the review of the designs brings us closer to another project: The palace of Grilo for the 2nd Duke of Lafões. Composed of a plan, a main elevation and two sections, these notable drawings of strong French influence represented, undoubtedly, the most ambitious palace of that time. By its almost excessive grandness, the palace was built only on a small portion. Since the designs are not signed or dated, this attribution remains mere conjecture based on aesthetic and formal similarities, previously mentioned

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in this work, and which require further archival research, which would deviate us from the purpose of this study15.

Figure 2. Section of said building by the line indicated in the plan B-B. Side facade of the dº building. legend: An offer to His Highness with the deepest respect from José Manuel de Carvalho e Negreiros, in November of 1794. Biblioteca Nacional do Rio de Janeiro, ARC.29.5.2 (3)

We know that, in exile since 1757, João Carlos de Bragança (the future 2nd duke of Lafões) returned to Portugal in 1779, founding the Royal Academy of Sciences with its prestige and culture, a fact that takes us closer to the physiocratic ideas of Carvalho Negreiros. Also, while tying these designs to Carvalho Negreiros, it also important to mention that they were found in a file along with the projects of his father, Eugénio dos Santos, currently in the Library of the City’s Museum. The figure of Carvalho Negreiros and his implications on the field of civil architecture, which we have been analysing, intersect with another research subject: his theoretical texts, prone to treatises and for educational

15

About this palace see ARAÚJO, Norberto, Inventário de Lisboa, fasc. VIII, Lisbon, C.M.L., 1950, pp. 33-38. MATOS, José Sarmento de, PAULO, Jorge Ferreira, Caminho do Oriente, vol. II, Lisbon, Livros Horizonte, 1999, pp. 77-87.

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purposes, especially in Jornada pelo Tejo16, written in 1792 and in his following text, written throughout 1796, Aditamento às Jornadas pelo Tejo17.

Figure 3. Project for a Caffeaus adaptable for any of the Estates of His Royal Highness, must be enclosed with windowpanes in the places N I, and in the Porches N2 may not have windowpanes.Signed: An offer to His Highness with the deepest respect from José Manuel de Carvalho e Negreiros, in November of 1794 Biblioteca Nacional do Rio de Janeiro, ARC.29.5.3 (3)

Although with different scopes and developments, we find in these two works a rare theorising about domestic housing and a systematisation of noble house typologies which form a unique and essential testimony for the understanding of the noble house of the 18th century in Portugal. When briefly contextualising these works, it is important to highlight that the Jornadas do Tejo are structured as a sort of practical course divided into twelve parts, to be lectured to students appointed to learn

16

The manuscript of this text is found in the Biblioteca da Ajuda (BA), Lisbon, Cod. 54-V-28. 17 Its full name is Aditamento ao livro intitulado Jornada pelo Tejo que foi ofº a S. A. Real o Príncipe Nosso Senhor que Deus guarde em o anno de 1792-1797, Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal (BNP), Lisbon, Cod. 3758-62. The Biblioteca da Ajuda holds another copy (Cod. 54-V-29).

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architecture next to the arquitecto-mor [main architect], a tradition dating back to the late 16th century. With a broader and more theoretical approach, the second work uses the text of the Jornadas as a starting point, adding an extensive set of chapters on trigonometry, mechanics, hydrostatics, hydraulics alongside other chapters about methods, materials and building methods. As a whole, this second text results in a sort of treatise divided into five tomes, embodying a broader scope, a fact stressed by the author in the introduction when he states that this text is addressed not only to architects and engineers but also to todos aquelles que servem os grandiosos e importantes empregos de fiscaes, directores, Provedores, inspectores a administradores das Obras Reais e Públicas (all those who serve the great and important roles of supervisors, directors, representatives, inspectors and administrators of the Royal and Public Works). By closely studying the text of Aditamento às Jornadas pelo Tejo we acknowledge that Carvalho Negreiros sought to demonstrate his technical expertise in order to take over the project of the Royal Palace of Ajuda, which, in the meantime, was assigned to the architect Manuel Caetano de Sousa. In fact, the text as a whole converges into an extensive lecture about the complexity of a royal palace project, listing in detail all of its structures across a wide range of late chapters in his treatise. Ideologically, Carvalho Negreiros presents a strong physiocratic bearing, disseminated by the then young Academy of Sciences in Lisbon, which he attended regularly18. The references in the text to lectures and theses apresentadas à nossa Academia de Ciências [submitted to our Academy of Sciences] clearly indicate the concern of the author to be bound to the ideas of this institution and to support their theses and positions towards the latest scientific advances observed in Europe. Architecture, urbanism and land management are presented as being closely linked to the notion of progress based on natural resources. These concerns about land management and planning inspire chapters dedicated to rivers and water routing or even the managing of wastelands for agricultural purposes. It is worth mentioning that as the chapters on the different sciences follow a standard practice across Europe, we also observed a strong concern for scientific update, in which architecture, the following of a tradition for the Portuguese school of architecture and urbanism, is presented as deeply linked to scientific training that connects this art to 18

In his texts, Carvalho Negreiros suggests he is a member of the Academia de Ciências de Lisboa (Academy of Sciences of Lisbon), but we did not find any reference to this fact in the documentation of this Academy.

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good construction practices rooted in the knowledge of the resistance of the different materials and building systems. Architecture and engineering are inseparably bound, with architecture perceived as a key element for the establishment of social order and the progress of the people. These more scientific and technical concerns are described in a later text, called O Engenheiro Civil [The Civil Engineer], from 1804. The author foresaw its printing in order to be distributed as instalments, but this work remained as a manuscript as with the rest of his texts. Carvalho Negreiros seems to represent an ancient tradition promoting the bem fazer [do well], which is clearly stated in the interesting chapters of his treatise where the specifications of the construction materials and related building systems are thoroughly analysed. In this perspective the author was trying to assert the standard of competence developed throughout the centuries by the architects and engineers associated with the former Ombudsman of Royal Works as opposed to the type of architects and artists more bound to the study of the Arts, and who were strongly criticized by the author: a liberdade com que se intitulam architectos e exercitão esta profissão todo aquelle que unicamente sabe, debuxar e as cinco ordens de Vignola … e lhes faltão os estudos indispensáveis para saberem a theoria necessaria – que é a definição da sciencia da arquitectura (The freedom with which they call themselves architects and exercise this profession to all those who only know, sketch and the five orders of Vignola... and lack the fundamental studies to know the necessary theory – which is the definition of the science of architecture)19. With his position as an architect and engineer, Carvalho Negreiros seems to represent an ultimate example of a secular school that advocated a pragmatic and technical approach. If art history and evolution will progressively approach a position closer to the Fine Arts and the Academies, which will spread across all of Europe throughout the 19th century, architecture will resent, with this withdrawal, from the technical and constructive aspects which, in turn, become a privileged field of engineering. Defending a sciencia da arquitectura (Science of architecture), Carvalho Negreiros was against a vision of architecture strictly linked to the Fine Arts, which will happen during the 19th century.

19 BA, Adittamento ao Livro Intitulado Jornada pelo Tejo…, Cód. 54-V-294, fol, 63.

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The housing typologies of Carvalho Negreiros Resuming the theme of civil architecture, and as we stated earlier, Carvalho Negreiros conducts a particularly interesting approach to the domestic housing problem, organising it in a ranking by typologies that, once again, reflects his affiliation to a physiocratic ideology. Starting from a sort of matrix, the author describes the casa de um plebeu solteiro (the home of a single commoner), dividing it into three key areas which, although not mentioned, correspond in our understanding to the living room, kitchen and sleeping chamber. This division is more clearly presented in his barracks programs, in which the author assigns, for the officiais inferiores (lower officers), three rooms huma sala, alcova e cozinha (a living room, bedroom and kitchen)20. From a theoretical perspective, it is interesting to find this formulation of a minimum housing unit in Carlos Mardel. It is a plan for a hat factory including, in the main entrance area, housing for the factory master and two foremen21. While the housing of the master presents an interior layout with living room, two chambers and kitchen, the foremen’s housings present three spaces each, respectively: living room, chamber and kitchen. In a sort of systematisation from the simpler and elementary to the most complex, and having the house of the single commoner as a generating model, the author establishes four typologies: a casa de um plebeu cazado (the house of a married commoner), a casa de hum mecânico (the house of an artisan), a casa de hum nobilitado (the house of a ennobled man) and the casa de hum lavrador (the house of a farmer). In this progression, the house of a married commoner is defined as a program of seis cazas (six rooms)… para hum e outro sexo poderem viver com separação e decencia (so that one and the other gender can live with separation and decency). As for the house of a mechanic, the text dictates acrescentaria mais duas cazas além das do seu officio ou officina (would add two more rooms aside from the ones from his office or workshop). This systematisation is made for a rural universe, in which the author stages the various building typologies suited for the urban structure of lugar, aldeia e julgado (thorp, village and hamlet). However, when considering the city universe, the author resumes the issue of the noble house, addressing it with another level of detail.

20

BA, Aditamento ao Livro Intitulado Jornada pelo Tejo… – op. cit., fol. 76. A copy of this plan can be found in the work of Walter Rossa, Além da Baixa: indícios de planeamento urbano na Lisboa setecentista, Lisbon, IPAAR, 1998, p.100. 21

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It is clear that Carvalho Negreiros intends to showcase his knowledge and rich experience in manorial architecture. To this purpose, the author presents a rare formulation of a noble residence program, hierarchically dividing it into four variants: habitação de um nobre cazado (the housing of a married gentleman], habitação de um fidalgo (the housing of a nobleman) e habitação de um titular ou Grande do Reyno (the housing of a titled nobleman), e Palácio Real (Royal Palace). In his describing structure, the author itemises the necessary compartments for the housing of a married nobleman, progressively adding rooms and quarters for the other mentioned housing scenarios, in hierarchy, based on the logic of pomp and programmatic complexity. In this progressive increase of scale and complexity, the text provides valuable evidence on the logical organization of the interiors of a manor, the names of each space, the precedence system regarding the representation quarters on the noble floor, clarifying by comparison important matters about the general organisation of a manor for this period, as well as the identification of each space and its purpose. Even though it is a theoretical and idealised vision, this systematisation allows for a better understanding of the distributive structures and the purpose of each space within the house, in a comparative study with other documentation such as old plans, inventories, construction contracts and coeval descriptions It is important to mention that these are idealised formulations of how these programs should be, according to Carvalho Negreiros. On the other hand, it considers as a base example, a building model with three floors and an attic, as opposed to the more common Portuguese model, with two floors and an attic (with the first floor conforming to the noble floor). This option suggests a resemblance to an Italian palace model, which the architect Ludovice and his grandfather had used, having the Barbacena palace as the most iconic example. Of special importance in the housing of a titled nobleman, the waiting room articulates with the noble stairways, as mentioned in the text, um grande vestíbulo no cimo das escadas para os lacaios com bancos (a large hall for the lackeys at the top of the stairs, with benches). This large hall at the top of the stairs points us to the impressive structures of noble stairways with a first flight unfolding into two opposing flights, which here appear to be established as a typology reserved for the housing of the high nobility, suggesting a typological separation between palace and noble house. In his programmatic distribution of the noble house, Negreiros starts by placing in the ground floor, following the traditional way, the support

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services to everyday life: cavallariça, cochieiras, armazéns, quartos para bolieiros e mais moços de despenças, e despejos, cozinha quarto para o cozinheiro (stable, stalls, warehouses, rooms for riders and pantry boys, wastes, kitchen and a room for the cook). Connecting these spaces, the author naturally mentions the entrance, the main stairway and private stairways. As a whole, we find a matrix very similar to the Pombaline plans for a manor house; such as for the Rua Formoza (Lisbon)22, the plans for the house of the Governor of the Captaincy of Santa Catarina23 and also the plans for the Palace of Rolim de Moura in Belém do Pará (Brazil)24. This program of establishing a ground floor for a gentleman’s house becomes increasingly complex in the typologies of nobleman and titled nobleman. For the nobleman, he adds more rooms for the moços da taboa, fiel da caza dos Arreios, moços da cavalharice comprador cozinheiro e ajudante copeiro (grooms, manager of the Saddlery, stable boys buyer cook and cupbearer). In the housing of a titled nobleman, he adds even more rooms for dois ferradores, dois andarilhos para o mestre e dois ajudantes de cozinha para o copeiro e seu ajudante (two blacksmiths, two lackeys for the master and two kitchen helpers for the cupbearer and his helper), suggesting that, in addition to all these services, in the yard or in the farming grounds, a covered and an open riding ring should be added. Negreiros’s option of setting a middle floor between the ground floor and the noble ground, mentioned as primeiros mezaninos (first mezzanines), enables the author to place here a group of rooms which, in the common model with only three floors, were usually distributed between the noble house and the attic. In this floor, we find sleeping rooms for criados graves, escudeiros, capelão, e para os filhos maiores (varlets, squires, chaplain, and for the older sons), setting apart the servants of lower status, generally referred to as lower servants, from the upper servants, whom we frequently find mentioned in inventories and coeval descriptions.

22

Plantas do piso térreo e piso nobre das casas que se hande fazer no extremo da Calçado da Rua da Formoza. Ass. Marquês de Pombal, 12 Jan. 1772. Biblioteca do Arquivo Histórico das Obras Públicas (BAHMOP), Lisbon, D. 0027. 23 Alçados para o projecto da Casa do Governador” da Capitania de Santa Catarina. Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino (AHU), Lisbon. Cart.MS, D.1211/1224. 24 Planta do Palácio feito para (...) o Ilmo e Exmo Sr. D. Rollim de Moura Plenipotenciario das Demarcações da parte do Norte. Pará, Brasil. c. 1760. Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal (BNP), Iconografia, D. 202a.

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In an attempt to rationalize, but also following an evolution of this period, the architect also places in this floor a set of rooms dedicated to the everyday life of the master of the house, respectively, antecâmara, gabinete, caza para a livraria, outra para archivo, outra grande para guarda roupa (antechamber, office, room for the library, another for archive, another large for wardrobe). These kinds of quarters, as we find in other examples, are located on the noble floor, although less sequentially and rationalized as presented here. It is our understanding that this sequence of spaces dedicated to the home owner is a personal and unusual choice, given that in several cases, in ancient plans or inventories, we find on the noble floor the presence of a casa de livros (library) as well as an office. However, this separation discloses an autonomy of quarters assigned to the male and female domains, corroborating the tendency of the noble house of the 18th century for creating separate areas for both genders. In fact, almost opposed to this floor, clearly suited for the male domain, we find in the last floor quartos para filhas, para creadas, para os filhos the idade de cinco annos, caza de roda, cozinha pª engomar (rooms for the daughters, for the maids, for the sons of age five, wheel house(?), kitchen for ironing), creating this sequence of chambers for a clearly feminine universe. It is undoubtedly here in the organisation of the noble floor that Negreiros’ text becomes most interesting, by choosing the guest room as the central and structuring element of the program of the interiors of this floor. In the three mentioned typologies, the text presents the guest room preceded by a waiting room, (and also an antechamber for the housing of a gentleman), increasing this sequence in two antechambers for the housing of a nobleman, as referred to in the text: antes da sala de vizitas duas antecâmaras (before the guest room two antechambers). Thus we can confirm that the waiting room, for its purpose, is the salla de officiais (officers’ room) ou salla vaga (acant room), that we find in other inventories or plans. As for the antechamber, this now, as an introductory space to the guest room, clearly deviates from the traditional sense of an antechamber, inherited from the Middle Ages, which would represent a more intimate space immediately before the sleeping chamber and in which Bluteau still mentions for this purpose in his Dictionary, in the early 18th century25. This change of function appears to take place throughout the 18th century, as the manor presents increasing complexity and openness in its social affairs, which would explain, in the plans of the 25

Antecâmara; a caza anterior à câmara onde se dorme (antechamber; the room before the sleeping chamber). See BLUTEAU, Raphael, Vocabulário Portuguez e Latino, Coimbra, Collegio das Artes da Companhia de Jesu, 1712, t. I, p. 396.

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Governor’s Palace in Santa Catarina or of the Palace of Rolim de Moura, in Belém do Pará, the placing of the antechamber before the so-called guest room. In the program of the noble floor for the housing of a titled nobleman, Negreiros’ treatise indicates also the presence of a sala de docel (the canopy room) placed within the sequence of the waiting rooms and antechambers but before the guest house as prescribed in the text: seguindo-se depois da sala do Docel a sala das visitas (with the canopy room followed by the guest room). In its role of distinct formalism and rituality, the canopy was placed in the antechambers or in the sala grande (great hall) of the palaces of the high nobility of the 16th and 17th century, now with an autonomous space in a progressive rationalization of the housing programs. After the guest room and unlike the spaces for entertaining guests, which are more open to the outside, follows the set of quarters dedicated to the intimate and everyday life of the owners. As examined above, this separation was accomplished in the hall of the top of the stairs, with its wide doors, becoming a second entrance, leading guests either to the formal areas of entertaining or to the areas of everyday life. It is within these daily life areas that Negreiros places o gabinete, toucador, oratório ou tribuna para a ermida, caza de jantar, câmara, guarda roupa com chaminé, caza de lavor e despejos (the office, dressing room, oratory or tribune for the chapel, dining room, chamber, wardrobe with chimney, embroidery room and latrine). Unlike the areas preceding the guest house, whose program changes according to the status of nobleman, gentleman or titled nobleman, the daily life apartments are basically the same. The only variation lies in the dining room which, in the prescriptions for nobleman and titled nobleman, also have a cabinet for coffee and a staff dining room. Also noteworthy is the fact that both Negreiros’ treatise and coeval documentation suggest a certain logic in distributing these spaces according to a scale from most public to most private and in which the sleeping chamber acts as a key element. Indeed, we find the cabinet, dressing room and dining room all located before the chamber, followed by o guarda-roupa, a casa de lavor e os despejos (the wardrobe, embroidery room and latrine). As noted in several plants, the sala de estrado26, commonly found in the 17th century, disappears, replaced by the embroidery room, now placed in a more intimate and secondary space.

26 A room with a platform or a large carpet usually associated to the feminine social universe.

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Negreiros does not refer to the term camarim (cabinet), which we believe has been replaced by the office, but that is still occasionally mentioned in the various apartments of the Palace of Queluz that was assigned to the princesses. Both the sala de estrado and the cabinet, which Bluteau defines as a cabinet of precious things, seem to disappear, becoming the typical spatial structures of the 17th century. In a broader perspective, these more private spaces also meet the social purposes of entertaining not only the more intimate guests but also a way of demonstrating greater importance and dignity, in a crossing of purposes clearly inherited from the Middle Ages. This relationship between spaces of progressively greater intimacy, social status and distinction conferred to visitors, is mentioned in the text of João Rosado de Villa-Lobos e Vasconcellos in his book, O Perfeito Pedagogo na Arte de Educar a Mocidade: deve lembrar-se que quanto mais interior for a casa, de todas as que podem receber visitas, tanto melhor será recebe-la no interior, guardando também a este respeito a proporção do carácter das pessoas; e mostrando por tudo isto a distinção que se faz do seu merecimento. (The Perfect Educator on the Art of Educating the youth: must remember that the more interior the room is, of all that can have visitors, the better it would be to host in it, keeping also in this regard the proportion of the character of people; and demonstrating with all of this the distinction that is made of their worthiness)27. The text of Carvalho Negreiros does not present significant examples of plans, but rather features his proposals as flexible programs, adaptable to several situations, whether the demands of the clients or the physical constraints of the site. Although flexible and presenting itself as a set of ideal programs for manor houses, we find in this text a series of relationships between spaces whose study is crucial in order to better understand and study the manor house of the late 18th century. The importance of this text, and the fact that it is a manuscript, determined that we place the excerpt of this treatise as a documental annex, with the description of the different programs, allowing its consultation according to other studies about the manor house of the 18th century.

27

VASCONCELOS, João Rosado de Vila-Lobos, O Perfeito Pedagogo na Arte de Educar a Mocidade, 2nd ed., Lisbon, Typ. Rollandiana, 1816 (princeps edition 1782).

CHAPTER EIGHT JOSÉ DA COSTA E SILVA (1747-1819): A BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF A NEOCLASSICAL ARCHITECT’S LIBRARY EDUARDO DUARTE AND TERESA SEQUEIRA-SANTOS CIEBA – CENTRO DE INVESTIGAÇÃO E DE ESTUDOS EM BELAS-ARTES, FACULDADE DE BELAS-ARTES, UNIVERSIDADE DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

This paper focuses on the library of Portuguese Neoclassic Royal Architect and Royal Works Surveyor General José da Costa e Silva (Povos-Lisbon, Portugal, 1747-Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 1819). Our purpose is to unveil it and briefly assess its relevance.1 In the last two decades the analysis of libraries and private collections of papers and art of prominent public figures has experienced extensive critical fortune among art and culture historians. Several academic teams worldwide have been, and still are, studying the denominated “legacy libraries” and documents and artistic objects collected by influential individuals2. This research proves particularly relevant to periods preceding the twentieth century and is in itself noteworthy as a means for 1

The sources and references cited here are primarily the ones utilised in the first presentation of this paper at the International Conference on 18th Century Architecture & Culture ‘Books With a View’, celebrating the birth of the Portuguese architect and city planner (1711-1760), Lisbon, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, November 23-25, 2011. Programme online available from http://www.bookswithaview.com/en [Accessed 25 November 2014]. The web links were verified for the present text. 2 An overview at the Library Thing book club website available from http://www.librarything.com/legacylibraries [Accessed 11 December 2014].

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retrieving such individuals’ references and formative influences whilst, additionally, conveying valuable data for the outline of the respective biographies. In Portugal, that is the case concerning the research on the documental legacy of diplomat, scientist and academic Correia da Serra (1750-1823) that had been recently undertaken. Serra was one of the most prominent personalities of the Portuguese Enlightenment, a member of several European scientific academies and an esteemed and influential attendant of the Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello House.3 The in-depth analysis of his documentation materialized in several outcomes.4 Here in the UK, the historiography of art and architecture is largely rooted in the study of the collections and libraries of personalities of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries such as artists, architects and theorists. Several studies were developed here at institutional level aiming at the inquiry and conservation of their collections and, admittedly, some of these works that can be taken as methodological references. That is, unquestionably, the case of the documentation and collections of Robert Adam and John Soane (Soane Museum, London)5 or Ruskin’s papers preserved in John Ruskin Library (Bailrigg)6 and his teaching notes in the Ashmolean Museum (Oxford)7. As far as international academic works are concerned, several enthralling books and theses have been issued about the libraries of Inigo Jones8, Bernini9, François Blondel10, Le Vau11 and 3

A summary available online in http://www.monticello.org/site/research-andcollections/jos%C3%A9-correia-da-serra [Accessed 25 November 2014]. 4 Listed online at the project’s website: http://chcul.fc.ul.pt/correia_da_serra/correia_da_serra.htm [Accessed 25 November 2014]. 5 Online catalogue available from http://www.jeromeonline.co.uk/drawings/ [Accessed 25 November 2014]. 6 At Lancaster University, available from http://www.lancaster.ac.uk/users/ruskinlib/Pages/collection.html [Accessed 25 November 2014]. 7 At the University of Oxford information available from http://ruskin.ashmolean.org/ [Accessed 25 November 2014]. 8 ANDERSON, C. 2007, Inigo Jones and the classical tradition. Cambridge, Mass., Cambridge University Press. 9 MCPHEE, S. & BERNINI, G. L. 2012, Bernini’s beloved: a portrait of Costanza Piccolomini. New Haven, Conn., Yale University Press; MCPHEE, S. 1999, The Architect as Reader, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, Vol. 58, No. 3, Architectural History 1999/2000 (Sep., 1999), pp. 454-46; MCPHEE, S. 2000, “Bernini’s Books”. The Burlington Magazine, vol. 142, no. 1168 (Jul.), pp. 442-448.

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Vanvitelli12 to mention only the most noteworthy. Some of these studies have proved valuable for the devising of biographies as for e.g. Bernini’s13 and others to build a corpus of knowledge relevant to the History of teaching and the practice of art and/or architecture, e.g. for England.14 In Portugal, where the eighteenth century is concerned, kindred studies can be found in two doctoral theses on the libraries of Johann Friedrich Ludwig15 and Eugénio dos Santos16, and, more recently, a book on the library of the most important eighteenth-century sculptor Machado de Castro among others.17 The data brought to light has allowed us to draw interesting comparisons. This brief overview leads us to our collector: José da Costa e Silva who has been widely acknowledged as one of the most important Portuguese neoclassical architects. The list of his projects in Portugal includes some of the most noteworthy buildings of his time such as the Royal Exchequer building in Lisbon (1789, its construction halted on the second layer of stone above the ground); the Opera House of S. Carlos, 10 GERBINO, A. & BLONDEL, F. 2010, Franc֊ois Blondel: architecture, erudition, and the scientific revolution. London, Routledge; GERBINO, A. 2002, The Library of François Blondel 1618-1686. Architectural History, no. 45, pp. 289324. 11 BALLON, H. 1999, Louis Le Vau: Mazarin’s Collège, Colbert’s revenge. Princeton, N.J., Princeton University Press. 12 THOMAS, R. L. 2010, From the library to the printing press: Luigi Vanvitelli’s life with books. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, no. 69, pp. 508533. 13 MCPHEE, S. & BERNINI, G. L. 2012. 14 GERBINO, A. & JOHNSTON, S. 2009, Compass and rule: architecture as mathematical practice in England, 1500-1750. New Haven, Conn., Yale University Press; The exhibition outline available online from http://www.mhs.ox.ac.uk/compassandrule/ [Accessed 25 November 2014]. 15 BONIFÁCIO, H. M. P. 1990, Polivalência e Contradição: tradição seiscentista o barroco e a inclusão de sistemas ecléticos no séc. XVIII a segunda geração de arquitectos, PhD, Faculdade de Arquitectura da Universidade Técnica de Lisboa, Lisboa. 16 FERRÃO, L. 1992, A Real Obra de Nossa Senhora das Necessidades, MA, Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e Humanas, Universidade Nova de Lisboa, Lisboa; FERRÃO, L. 1994, A Real Obra de Nossa Senhora das Necessidades. Lisboa, Quetzal Editores.; FERRÃO, L. 2007, Eugénio dos Santos e Carvalho: Arquitecto e Engenheiro Militar (1711-1760): cultura e prática de arquitectura, PhD, Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e Humanas, Universidade Nova de Lisboa, Lisboa. 17 FARIA, M. F. de 2008, Machado de Castro (1731-1822): estudos. Lisboa, Livros Horizonte, pp. 119-177.

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Lisbon (1792-1793) [Figure 5], the Royal Military Hospital in Runa (1792-1827), the Seteais Manor House in Sintra (1793), the Villa of the 2nd Marquis of Pombal, in Queluz (1795) [Figure 6] and finally Ajuda Royal Palace in Lisbon (1802) co-authored by Italian Francesco Fabri. The latter was also interrupted by the devastating Napoleonic Invasions, which forced the Royal Court departure to Brazil. Graph 1. Overview of Costa e Silva’s Collection

Throughout his life, and particularly during his ten year studies in Italy, Costa e Silva, a man of remarkable erudition, amassed a collection of books and art objects totalling more than 3700 items (Graph 1 above). This vast compilation of manuscripts and printed books (over 300 works, many with several volumes) prints, cameos, models and drawings either by himself or by Italian authors requests perusal. Hitherto only the latter – i.e. the Italian drawings - were thoroughly identified, appraised and studied in 1995 by a team of art experts from the Universities of Urbino and Teramo. This project that turned into a large referencing compendium,

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inventoried and catalogued most of (but not all) the remnant collection of 218 Italian drawings still preserved in the Iconography section of the National Library of Brazil. Graph 2. Overview of Costa e Silva’s Library

The remainder of the collection, which includes, as we have said, more than 300 book titles and many more prints, Italian drawings and cameos besides his own drawings, sketches, and plans remains largely unchartered at the National Library and Archive in Rio de Janeiro (see Graphs 1, 2 above). We naturally wish to safeguard here the works of Alves18 and Ayres de Carvalho19 wherein substantial passages from handwritten documentation of Costa e Silva were published which are still widely quoted to date. Anacleto, on the other hand, in a series of three papers has 18

ALVES, A. M. 1936, “José da Costa e Silva, Engenheiro-Arquitecto. Subsídios para a sua biografia”, Anais das Bibliotecas, Museus e Arquivo Histórico Municipais [Lisboa], ano VI, no. 20, 1936, pp. 37-48. 19 CARVALHO, A. de 1979, Os três arquitectos da Ajuda. Do rocaille ao neoclássico. Lisboa, Academia Nacional de Belas-Artes, pp. 79-133.

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put forward some very interesting matches of his drawings with known projects.20 Costa e Silva’s library however did not, however deserve comparable appreciation and analysis which, in our view, would have allowed us a comprehensive insight and understanding about the sources and references that permeated his professional practice as an architect, designer and academic (Graph 2). We therefore propose to mark this as our starting point, certain as we are that such inquiry will allow further comparisons with the coeval Pombalino and the dissolving Baroque styles and their theoretical sources both in their Portuguese as international expressions.21 Costa e Silva, as a neoclassical architect was, in fact, a critical player in erosion of the Baroque and the (so called) Pombalino styles and paradigms to which he so fiercely opposed - an attitude we might consider in itself as ‘neoclassical’. Thus, one asks, which sources informed him? Initially, the forefront of the Pombaline intelligentsia itself seems to have shaped him, considering that, as a student and aspiring architect, he took up engineering lessons in Lisbon with Filipe Rodrigues and figure drawing with Carlo Maria Ponzoni, Milanese, “drawing master” at the Real Colégio dos Nobres.22 Nevertheless this was also his gateway to a more international cultural broth considering that Ponzoni was part of an extended group of immigrated Catholic foreign scholars and scientists in Portugal. Among them were also Bolognese mathematician and scholar 20

ANACLETO, R. 1999, “O edifício da Academia Real da Marinha e do Comércio do Porto: nótulas de investigação”, Carlos Alberto Ferreira de Almeida in memoriam. Porto, Faculdade de Letras da Universidade do Porto, vol. 1, pp. 7176; ANACLETO, R. 2002, “José da Costa e Silva, arquitecto de D. João VI nótulas de uma investigação em curso”, Biblos: Revista da Faculdade de Letras da Universidade de Coimbra, vol. 78, pp. 223-244; ANACLETO, R. 2007, “José da Costa e Silva: um arquitecto português em terras brasileiras”, Artistas e artífices: e a sua mobilidade no mundo de expressão portuguesa, Actas/VII Colóquio LusoBrasileiro de História da Arte. Porto, Universidade do Porto. Faculdade de Letras. Departamento de Ciências e Técnicas do Património, pp. 459-468. 21 This is work was partially supported by the following entities: Dr. Esther Bertoletti, Projeto Resgate, Brazil and by Centre for Research and Studies in Fine Arts (CIEBA), at the Faculty of Fine Arts, University of Lisbon (FBAUL) and FCT –Portugal. 22 “The Royal School of Nobility”, founded by Pombal in 1961, provided preuniversity lay education for aristocrats and their protégés and acolytes. It emerged at a time when the Jesuits had been expelled (1759) and Colégio de Santo Antão in Lisbon had been deactivated. MACHADO, C. V. 1823, Collecção de Memorias, relativas às vidas dos pintores, e escultores, architetos, e gravadores portuguezes… Lisboa, Victoriano Rodrigues da Silva, p. 234.

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Giovanni Angelo Brunelli, and many others such as: Ciera, Landi, Schwebel, Gronsfeld, Galluzzi, Sturm, and Szentmártonyi. Most of them constituted the multinational expert teams recruited by King João V for the works of Brazil’s borders demarcation succeeding the Treaty of Madrid (01/13/1750). According to several accounts, including the memoir of artist Cirilo Volkmar Machado, these experts arrived in Lisbon in 1750 having departed to Brazil in 1753. Eight years later, after a number of strenuous scientific expeditions through the Amazon, Brunelli returned to Portugal where he was hired as a resident professor at the newly created Real Colégio dos Nobres.23 Simultaneously he became Costa e Silva’s tutor; acknowledging his “standing evidence of great intellect and exertion.”24 This way Brunelli’s experiential and erudite knowledge introduced Costa e Silva to the exotic world of America: Brazil. Later, in March 1769, and to further the pupil’s studies, both left to Bologna having Brunelli, meanwhile, succeeded in obtaining, by Royal conferment, an annual grant of 200$000 réis for his protégé to study architecture. In Italy, Costa e Silva enrolled at the Academy of Fine Arts of Bologna (Accademia Clementina), initially as a student of Petronio Fancelli, painter of perspective and architect, whose classes he attended for over a year.25 There, he acquired the in-depth precepts and rules of civil architecture26 and exercised in the art of drawing, seeking to grasp the “good taste” that, in his own words, so “often embarrassed the teachers of civil architecture.”27 His next teacher was multifaceted Carlo Bianconi (1732-1802), architect, painter, sculptor, engraver, collector and famous as the organizer/curator of Brera Art Gallery.28 Bianconi came from a family of 23

ANTT, Registo Geral de Mercês, D. José I, Liv. 19, f. 350. CARVALHO, R. de 1959, História da fundação do Colégio Real dos Nobres de Lisboa. Coimbra, Atlântida, pp. 125, 150. 24 CASTRO E SOUSA, A. D. de 1865, “Elogio Histórico de José da Costa e Silva Architecto Portuguez. Recitado na associação dos architectos civis portuguezes, na sessão publica e solemne de 22 de Janeiro de 1865”, Archivo de Architectura Civil, no. 1, Jul., col. 9-13, p. 10. 25 MACHADO, 1823, p. 235. 26 Ibidem. 27 ALVES, 1936, p. 40. 28 In Milan he put together the “Racolta Bianconi”, with about 20,000 items that was later dispersed and only partly preserved at the Trivulziana Library, Sforza Castle. According to PANZA, P. 1990, Antichità e restauro nell’Italia del Settecento: Dal ripristino alla conservazione delle opere d’arte. Milan, F. Angeli, p. 260: “Formatosi culturalmente a Bologna dove era nato il 20 aprile 1732,

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remarkable intellectuals, scientists, arts lovers and literati of northern Italy settecento.

Figure 1. Costa e Silva- 'Palace with Church and Theater’, elevations and sections of the facades, sepia, India ink and watercolour on paper 102 x 134 cm. Projects for the Marsili-Aldrovandi Awards, Bologna Academy, 1772. MNAA, Lisbon, inv. no. 2782-2783-Des. (Photo Luísa Oliveira, 2011)

They had connections not only to the literary, artistic and academic zeitgeist but also to collectors and archaeologists. They were also writers and as such were engaged in knowledge production in the artistic and Bianconi potè [sic] stringere rapporti con l’Algarotti ed il Winckelmann, completare con una nuova guida l’opera del Malvasia del 1686 quindi venire eletto nel ’68 accademico di San Luca and due anni dopo accademico Clementino. Nel ’78 fu chiamato a Milano come Segretario dell’Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera, ed a questo periodo dobbiamo far risalire la sua più significativa attività, nel corso della quale egli produsse la prima guida “scientifica” di Milano nell’ 83 (rifatta nell’ 86) contenente sbalorditivi giudizi, per uno scrittore inserito in pieno clima neoclassico, riguardo al duomo all’arte gotica ed una serie di notazioni e disegni, soprattutto Intorno a fabbriche milanesi, radunate nell’omonimo fondo alla Library Trivulziana di Milano”.

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architectural fields.29 Family connections and ties were common in Bologna where the Bianconis were close to the Brunellis and these remained so to Costa e Silva throughout their lives. It was with C. Bianconi that Costa e Silva embraced architectural theory and also consolidated his abilities in architectural practice, art theory, archaeology and classical studies whilst he made himself a bibliophile and art collector.30 Hence he came into close contact with Bianconi’s felsinian intellectual circle in which the theorist Algarotti, architect Mauro Tesi and antiquarian and archaeologist brother Giovanni Ludovico B., Royal advisor in Dresden, organiser and art procurement supervisor for the Old Masters Gallery31 were all involved. Costa e Silva also registered for classes with the engineer and astronomer Eustachio Zanotti (1709-1782) at the Accademia delle Scienze dell'Istituto di Bologna (Academy of Sciences of the Institute of Bologna) where he probed practical geometry, theoretical perspective, mechanics and hydrostatics.32 The Zanottis were acquainted

29

“La riflessione intorno all’interminabilità e alla transtestualità di un tessuto architettonico, alla sua sequenzialitá anaforica e cataforica, al procedere delle sue fissione semantiche e dei suoi diversi aspetti connotativi, caratterizza il discorso di Carlo Bianconi intorno ai manufatti architettonici” in PANZA 1990, p. 260. Works that reflect this discourse: BIANCONI, C., 1780, Esemplare di alcuni ornati per la gioventù amante del disegno. Bologna, Apresso il Longhi ; BIANCONI, C. 1787, Nuova guida di Milano: Per gli amanti delle belle arti e delle sacre, e profane antichità milanesi. Milano, Stamperia Sirtori; MALVASIA, C. C., ZANOTTI, G. & BIANCONI, C. 1766, Le pitture di Bologna: Che nella pretesa, e rimostrata sin’ora da altri maggiore antichità, e impareggiabile eccellenza nella pittura, con manifesta evidenza di fatto, rendono il passeggiere disingannato, ed istrutto. Bologna, Nella stamperia del Longhi; BIANCONI, C. & BIANCONI, G. 1818, Riflessioni di Carlo Bianconi bolognese sopra un cammeo antico rappresentante Giove. Bologna, Nella tipografia de’ Franceschi alla Colomba. 30 For the Bianconi family art holdings see for e.g. Catalogo delle pitture e sculture possedute dalla famiglia Bianconi in Bologna: le quali appartemero per la maggior parte alla collezione dell’abate Carlo Bianconi già secretario perpetuo della Accademia di Belli Arti di Brera in Milano 1854, Bologna, S. Tommaso d’Aquino. 31 BIBLIOTECA trivulziana; Accademia di belle arti 1963. Photographic reproduction of the architectural drawings from the Raccolta Bianconi. Milan, Biblioteca Trivulziana; BIBLIOTECA Trivulziana & PATETTA, L. 1995, La raccolta Bianconi: disegni per Milano dal manierismo al barocco. Milano, Guerini e Associati. 32 ALVES, 1936, pp. 40-41.

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with the Brunellis, as were the Bianconis33, and it’s within this virtuous circle that the student found shelter for his academic endeavours.34 At the Academy, the student thrived and, for two consecutive years, snatched two Marsili-Aldrovandi Awards in 1771 (2nd class) and 1772 (1st class)35 (see Figure 1 above). In 1775, culminating his astounding quest, he was designated Accademico Clementino in his words ‘without having summoned it and without dispute.’36 The graduation diploma was signed by C. Bianconi37 who, later (1778) departed to Milan to administer the Pinacoteca.

Figure 2. Costa e Silva, Accademia di San Luca, Rome, 'Progetto di un Grande Palazzo', Elevation of the facade and section, n.d. circa 1778-9, tech. ink pen and watercolour, 67x143 cm, inv. no. 2126 (Photo Accademia di San Luca, anon.)

33

The documentation on these connections was surveyed by PAPAVERO, Nelson et al. 2010, Os escritos de Giovanni Angelo Brunelli, astrônomo da Comissão Demarcadora de Limites portuguesa (1753-1761), sobre a Amazônia brasileira. Bol. Mus. Para. Emílio Goeldi. Ciênc. hum., Belém, vol. 5, no. 2, Aug. 2, Available from . Accessed on 04 Mar. 2015. 34 During the second phase of his stay in Portugal, where he returned to in Costa e Silva’s company at the end of 1778, G. A. Brunelli left Angelo Michele Bianconi (brother of Carlo and Giovanni Ludovico) in Bologna as his representative and intermediary. See BIANCONI, G. L. 1802, Opere del consigliere Gian Ludovico Bianconi bolognese. Milano, Nella Tipografia de’ classici italiani., pp. VIII and XV in where he explains the need to republish his works and kinship here reported. 35 Albeit he modestly confides: “My limited talent and the little skills I have may be the cause for not having yet born greater fruits” in ALVES, 1936, p. 41. 36 Idem, pp. 40-41. 37 In Biblioteca Nacional do Brasil/National Library of Brazil (BN-BR), Iconography Arm. 6. 8. 1 (1).

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At this point Costa e Silva’s pursuit seemed fairly accomplished and, therefore, he was able to return to Portugal. However, according to him, it was arduous to be a skilful civil architect for it was not enough to study the Masters and exert continuously in drawing: it was, furthermore, mandatory to closely examine the works great architects built.38 Hence, with the endorsement and stipend of the Portuguese court, the architect undertook Le Grand Tour of the European elites: “watching diligent and attentively (...) the most perfect buildings.”39 According to his own account, he travelled throughout the whole Italian peninsula: Genoa, Lombardy, Tuscany, Veneto, the Papal States, Rome and Naples. Besides Bologna, the architect highlights Genoa, Venice, Florence, Rome, and above all Vicenza, as fundamental cities for the study of architecture. The latter, in the Veneto, ‘though small’, he says, ‘was full of excellent buildings by the always great and incomparable Palladio.’ In Rome, he stayed for a year, a short a time in order to scrutinise the layered palimpsest-city – ‘and the remnants of the old Romans’ factories.’40 Later, in a letter to his friend and patron, Counsellor Cruz Sobral41, dated 1776 Rome, Costa e Silva describes the journeys through Naples, Pompeii and Herculaneum. Regarding Naples, he states that the Palace of Caserta provided him an “ample field for study”, provoking “magnificent and flamboyant ideas... all in conformity with the taste of true architecture.”42 In his journals and letters he reiterates the significance of studying and observing modern buildings and learning as much from their beauty as from their flaws, even if only to prevent them. In Pompeii, he noted an underlying quality in the way of building even in the “poorest and more modest buildings”, and marvelled at both the legionary barracks and houses of “great taste.” In Herculaneum, he gazed at the theatre, “the most admirable and magnificent.”43 Costa e Silva alludes to all the buildings of the ancient Romans, to the different systems of building, to their great art and fine taste. Indisputably he was granted an élite education, fulfilling all the requirements of the men of culture of his time. Between 1777 and 78, before returning to Portugal, he prepared a project for his appointment as Academic of Merit of the Roman Academy 38

ALVES, 1936, p. 41. Costa e Silva quoted in ALVES, 1936, p. 42. 40 Ibidem. 41 Cruz Sobral, baron of Quintela, mediated Costa e Silva’s Royal patronage while the latter lived in Italy namely by ensuring the funding for his expenses usually through the Piaggio, Portuguese consuls in Genoa. 42 Costa e Siva quoted in ALVES, 1936, pp. 43 ff. 43 Ibidem. 39

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of St. Luke (Accademia di San Luca), an honour that required, in addition to personal talent, the contribution of his network of connections in Italy.44 The nomination for the Roman Academy would still take a year further and meanwhile he returned to Lisbon.

Figure 3. Costa e Silva – Erário Régio (Royal Exchequer Building), elevation of the façade. Pen, ink and watercolour on paper, 46,2x60,7cm. S.l., s.n., 1789, Brazil, Biblioteca Nacional, Iconography ARC.35.1.3c. (Photo by Cláudio de Carvalho Xavier/Laboratório de Fotografia e de Digitalização da Fundação Biblioteca Nacional)

After almost ten years in Italy, the architect returned to Portugal at the end of 1778, once more, in the company of Dr. Brunelli.49 Shortly after he

44 Mathematician and hydraulics engineer Pio Fantoni and publisher Nicolò Pagliarini emerge as intermediaries in the payment of expenses related to Costa e Silva’s nomination to and tenure in the Roman St. Lukas Academy. In correspondence with Brunelli, e.g. BR-BN, Mss. I-04, 25, 073 to 074, and I-04, 25, 086-088. 49 On December 3, 1778 in Gibraltar are on the way back to Portugal. Brunelli’s letter in BN-BR, Mss. I-04, 26, 087.

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was appointed lecturer of architecture at the University of Coimbra50 a position he never truly took over. Back in Lisbon, he was, subsequently commissioned to rebuild the Italian expatriates Loreto Church and in 1781, and was appointed Lecturer at the Royal course of Figure Drawing and Civil Architecture. That year he was, finally, awarded the title of Academic of Merit of the Academy of St. Luke in Rome, one of the most prestigious and mythical academies of fine arts.51 (see Figure 2 above). In the following years he became Royal Architect and the majority of his projects and works were then commissioned and executed, including the new Royal Palace, the Exchequer Building (Figures 3, 4) and S. Carlos Opera House in Lisbon (Figure 5). In 1807, upon the Napoleonic wars and Portugal’s invasion the monarch and the court, in an unprecedented way, fled to exile in Brazil.

Figure 4. Costa e Silva – Erário Régio (Royal Exchequer Building), wooden model, 88x77 cm. Palácio Nacional da Ajuda, Lisbon, inv. no. 53999 (Photo by Luísa Oliveira, 2012)

50

Brunelli’s letters in BN-BR, Mss. I- 04, 26,089 and Costa e Silva’s, in Ibid, I04, 26, 006 dated 01.31.1779. 51 “Diploma dado pela Academia de S. Lucas a José da Costa e Silva” in BR-BN, Mss. I-24.05.007.

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Figure 5. Cossta e Silva – Teatro de São Carrlos (Opera Houuse of S. Carloss), Lisbon, 1792-93 (Phooto by Eduardo Duarte, 2013)

Five yeaars later, in 18812, Costa e Silva was callled to Rio dee Janeiro, leaving behiind the works of Ajuda and d Runa which were never co ompleted. We will not linger on thhe work of Costa C e Silva in Brazil, which w will deserve detaailed attentionn in due timee. However, w we would likee to point out that ann obelisk planned for a square in Rio54 amon ng other commissionned works, was w inexpliccably halted,, which und doubtedly frustrated thhe architect (Figure ( 8). In n Rio he forrcibly teamed d up with locally appointed Publicc and Royal architects ssuch as Silvaa Moniz, engineer Saantana and lieeutenant-engin neer J. M. da Silva, none of whom had his stannding or expeertise. Costa e Silva was called on to meet the demands off many workss in progresss and urban eemergencies (e.g. was called in 18113 to Salvador, Bahia, becaause of severe landslides) un ntil 1815.

54

Plate title: Monumento q. a quis se levan ntasse em mem moria da feliz ch hegada da R. Familia aoo Rio em 18077. Começou-se a obra mas nãão foi adiante. J. J Costa e Silva inven.; C.A. sculp. in SANTOS, L. G. dos 1825, Memórias parra servir à Reino do Braziil: Divididas em tres épocas da Felicidadee, Honra e História do R Glória..., Lisbboa, Impr. Régiia, vol 2, pp. 20 09-210. See alsoo figure 8 here below.

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From this yeear on, there is i evidence that he was unw well, possibly suffering from a neuroological disorder such as Paarkinson’s dissease.55

Figure 6. Cossta e Silva – Palacete Pomball (Villa of the 22nd. Marquis of o Pombal, Queluz, (Phott. Eduardo Duaarte, 2012)

The following year, at the decree of Count daa Barca, Gran ndjean de Montigny annd the group of o French artiists, who wouuld be at the co ore of the establishmennt of the Braazilian Escola a Real de Ciêências, Artes e Ofícios (Royal Schoool of Sciencees, Arts and Crafts), C arrivedd in Rio. Costta e Silva was by theen, apparentlly, oblivious to these deevelopments and was notorious foor his absencce in the prep paration of thhe Acclamatio on of the Regent (i.e. coronation) as a King João VI V in 1818. T That same yearr, he sold his private collection (G Graph 1) to the public trreasury, with minister Vilanova in Portugal signning the acquiisition order.599 Vilanova, att the time plenipotentiary minister, was in favou ur of the perm manence of the t Royal

55

He’s grantted a pension on o behalf of his sisters: Letterr of Mercy datted Rio de Janeiro, October 13, 1815, siigned by the Prrince Regent, A Arquivo Nacionaal (Brazil), 4 ff. 123v.-124 4. NP - 59 Fundd, Cod.15, vol. 4., 59 Arquivo Naacional, NP-Funnd 59, Cod. 109 99.

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Court in Brazil.60 Therefore he congruently sought to ensure the incorporation of this heritage in the collection of the Royal Library (the books) and the Royal Museum (the drawings, prints, cameos, models, etc.). In compliance with the acquisition order an inventory of the collection was issued under the guidance of chief librarian Father Dâmaso, and Costa e Silva himself, with peculiar personal annotations and occasional snide remarks.61 The catalogue hence is a cultural object, structured accordingly, and revealing of an intellectual profile, a search for eternity or a list in Eco’s connotation of the word.62 In it, what can be read in between the lines is as meaningful as what is, de facto, recorded. It uncovers that Costa e Silva was the devisee of Brunelli’s (d. Lisbon in 1804) who bequeathed him a number of handwritten and printed works, some of which are illustrated. Thus, on the date of sale, the architect’s collection already comprised the merging of both libraries and collections being Costa e Silva’s, arguably, the largest and most substantial (Graph. 2). Notwithstanding that, for many, the collection’s origin still remains unclear, since several Brazilian authors believe it to be Brunelli’s.63 Nevertheless we would like to emphasise that a substantial part of this

60

See CLAYTON, A. B. 1977, The life of Tomas Antonio de Vilanova Portugal a study in the government of Portugal and Brazil, 1781-1821, PhD, Columbia University, New York, chapter III (“The One Man Cabinet”). 61 In particular about his purported rival, and Eugénio dos Santos son, Carvalho e Negreiros. 62 We refer to a U. Eco commentary in an interview to Der Spiegel online on his 2009 book The Infinity of Lists: “We have a limit, a very discouraging, humiliating limit: death. That’s why we like all the things that we assume have no limits and, therefore, no end. (…) We like lists because we don’t want to die”. Available online from http://www.spiegel.de/international/zeitgeist/spiegel-interview-withumberto-eco-we-like-lists-because-we-don-t-want-to-die-a-659577.html [Accessed 25 November 2014]. 63 “Giovanni Angelo Brunelli, è nato in Italia, probabilmente a Bologna. All’epoca in cui la Corona Portoghese l’ha contrattato, era considerato un’astronomo emergente e molto rispettato. In Brasile ha fatto diverse misurazioni importanti per la cartografia ed ha osservato e descritto varie ecclissi. Al suo ritorno in Portogallo fu contrattato come professore di matematica del Reale Collegio dei Nobili di Lisbona, ed ha tradotto, in portoghese, l’opera Elementi dal greco Euclides (del 300 a.C. circa). Dopo la sua morte, sua biblioteca con di piu [sic] 3,500 volumi e innumerevoli manoscritti è [sic] stata acquisita dalla Reale Biblioteca di Rio de Janeiro (Biblioteca Nazionale di attuale Rio de Janeiro) nel 1818.” Available from http://ufpa.br/forumlandi/IT/AppendiceDocumentale/AppendiceDocumentale.html [25 November 2014].

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heritage was assembled by Costa e Silva himself during his stay in Italy.64 The remainder of the collection and library was aggrandised by the architect’s own commissions back in Portugal and was mediated by personalities, such as Nicolò and Giovanni Piaggio (Portugal consuls in Genoa), the publisher Nicolò Pagliarini and A. Cataldi. Hence, at its apex, Costa e Silva’s library and collections would have had, as previously mentioned, over 3700 items, including books - among which such subjects as architecture, geometry and art treatises -, drawings, prints and cameos could all be found. Although some have not yet been located, there are works in the Brazil’s National Library that we have identified. The “visual” part of the collection has never been seen as being Costa e Silva’s, and as having a coherence of its own and was, consequently, amalgamated with the old fund, commonly referred to as ‘Real’, or Royal Collection in which so many items still remain to be identified and catalogued. In fact, only a set of 218 Italian drawings are currently catalogued and indexed as ‘Collection Costa e Silva’. The cataloguing of this set of drawings and their recovery was only possible thanks to the judicious work of Ambrosini and Morselli.65 (e.g. Figure 7 below). Although we will not analyse the iconographic collection content at this stage, we will emphasise that the holdings are extensive, exclusive and perfectly corresponding to the erudite artist paradigm (see Graph 1). Therein is the Nolli Map66, a remarkable work of cadastral mapping, constituting the first scientific effort to depict the territory of Rome with its overlapping architectural layers.67 Brunelli, Bianconi, and the bookseller Niccolò Pagliarini have certainly influenced the selection of works. The latter published several books from the architect’s library including archaeologist Carlo Fea’s. A few years earlier Pagliarini had been appointed the organiser of the Real Colégio dos Nobres’ library 64

In an autograph document drafted before returning to Portugal he states: “[Among] the many things I have gathered belonging to my profession and will carry with me are, in the first place, books on architecture and mathematics, prints, drawings, models, and the like, which all together reach a considerable volume and will add to the expenses of the journey (...). A considerable expenditure in my transportation and on the aforesaid things is inevitable (...)”, quoted in ALVES 1936, p. 39. 65 AMBROSINI, A. M. & MORSELLI, R. 1995, Disegni italiani della Biblioteca nazionale di Rio de Janeiro: la collezione Costa e Silva. Pesaro, Banca Popolare dell’Adriatico. 66 BN-BR Cart., ARC. 033, 11, 019 ex. 2 and ARC. 029 04 004 Ex. 1. 67 See AURELI, P. V. 2011, The possibility of an absolute architecture. Cambridge, Mass, MIT Press, Chapter 3 (“Instauratio Urbis”).

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(Lisbon) by the Prime Minister Pombal, and had a close relationship with Portugal.68

Figure 7. Costa e Silva's Italian Drawings Collection - Guido Reni - Nude, pencil on paper, 22,4x16 cm, Brazil, National Library, Iconography. ARM.6.6.1(14) (Photo by Cláudio de Carvalho Xavier / Laboratório de Fotografia e de Digitalização da Fundação Biblioteca Nacional).

In Costa e Silva’s library (organised according to a modern classification system), architecture and mathematics subjects are prevalent, followed by Literature, History, Geography and Chronicles, Science (Physics, Nature, Medicine), Economics and Politics and finally, Philosophy, Religion and Law (overview in Graph 2). Regarding Geometry and Art, the architect’s

68

“Il 2 febbraio 1768 Pagliarini communica a Bottari che il primo ministro gli ha affidato il compito di riorganizzare la Biblioteca del nuovo Collegio dei Nobili di Lisbona e la libreria reale, accorpando in esse i fondi librari dei cinque principali Istituti ex gesuitici del paese” in GUASTI, N. 2007, ‘Niccolò Pagliarini, stampatore e traduttore al semizio del marchese di Pombal, in G.Imbruglia, R. Minuti, L. Simonutti (a cura di), Traduzioni e circolazione delle idee nella cultura europea tra ’500 e ’700. Atti del cowegno internazìonale (Firenze, 22-23 settembre 2006), Napoli, Bibliopolis, 2007, pp. 217-255. Available from http://www.cromohs.unifi.it/12_2007/guasti_pagliarini.html [25 November 2014].

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library has some masterpieces such as one by Albrecht Dürer, devoted to geometry, in a 1st edition dated 1532.72 (Figure 9). Architectural treatises are central in the compendium as they were, obviously, crucial to the knowledge and dissemination of architectural theory among classically trained architects, who conveniently and permanently probed them. Treatises were recurring in architects’ libraries in order to provide an erudite foundation for their professional practice and capabilities.

Figure 8. Costa e Silva's Obelisk possibly to Rio de Janeiro. Brazil, National Library, orig. size truncated and reconditioned, pencil on paper. Iconography C.V.2.6 (124) (Photo by Cláudio de Carvalho Xavier/Laboratório de Fotografia e de Digitalização da Fundação Biblioteca Nacional)

They were also revealing of the aesthetic and theoretical affiliation of their owners. The collection of architectural treatises that Costa e Silva assembled throughout his life draws a faithful picture of his aesthetic, theoretical and formal route. It comprises of, for example, four editions of the essential treatise of Vitruvius. The oldest, from 1536, is the commentary 72

DÜRER, A. 1532, Albertus Durerus nurembergensuis pictor… e germânica língua in latinam quatuor his suarum institutionum geometricarum libris, Paris, Chr. Wechel, located in BN-BR, OR. 055, 003, 013 and microfilm OR-00503 (02).

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by Gianbatista Caporali di Perugia (1536).73 Also critical was Daniele Barbaro’s (1514-1570) famous commentary on I dieci dell'architettura libri di M. Vitruvius illustrated by Palladio, an edition of 1584.74 He also owned the well-known edition of Perrault’s Italian translation from Venice dated 174775, and another from Naples, 175876. Costa e Silva equally had Alberti’s (a rare re-printing of the 1550‘s, dated 1565)77, Serlio’s (1566)78, Labacco’s (1773)79, Cataneo’s (1554)80, V. Scamozzi’s (1615)81, three editions of Vignola’s (1672; 1743; 1773)82, and two of Palladio’s treatises 73 Located at BN-BR, OR. 118,005,002. VITRUVE, CAPORALI, G. & GUIDI, S. 1536, Architettura con il suo commento et figure Vetruvio in volgar lingua raportato per M. Gianbatista Caporali di Perugia. S.l, s.n. 74 The date of first ed. is Venice, 1556. Costa e Silva had an ed. Venice 1584. Located in BN-BR, OR. 112,004,009. 75 The original edition was Les dix livres d’ architecture de Vitruve...., Paris, 1673 which Eugénio dos Santos had in his library. See FERRÃO 2007. 76 VITRUVIUS, M. P. 1758, L'Architettura di M. Vitruvio Pollione colla traduzione Italiana e comento del Marchese B. Galiana. Lat. and Ital. Napoli, Stemperia Simoniana. 77 BN-BR, OR. 202,3,2. The manuscript of De re aedificatoria dates from 1452; 1st ed. is Florence, 1482; another ed. in Italy is Venice, 1546 and 1st illustrated edition is in Florence in 1550 and the re-print in Venice, 1565. ALBERTI, L.B., BARTOLI, C. & MEDICI, C. De‘ 1565, L‘Architettvra Di Leonbatista Alberti: Tradotta In Lingva Fiorentina da Cosimo Bartoli, Gentilhuomo, & Academico Fiorentino. Con la aggiunta de‘ Disegni. Venetia, Franceschi Senese. 78 It comprised the five books of Serlio (Book IV on Orders, 1537, Book III on Antiquity, 1540, Book I on Geometry and Book II on Perspective, both dated 1545 and Book V on Churches, 1547). A volume in the BN-BR, OR. 00398 [1] and 211,2,2 n.2. SERLIO, S. 1566, Il primo [quinto] libro d‘architettura di Sebastiano Serlio, Bolognese Venetia, F. Senese e Z. Krugher. 79 The original edition is from 1552. The book is an interesting and important repository of archaeological reconstructions. Found at BN-BR, Iconography 33.3.11. LABACCO, A. 1773, Libro d‘Antonio Labacco appartenente a l‘architettvra nel qval si figvrano alcvne notabili antiqvita di Roma. Roma, C. Losi. 80 Found in BN-BR, OR. 57H,4,5. CATANEO, P. 1567, L‘Architettura di Pietro Cataneo Senese. Allaquale oltre all‘essere stati dall‘istesso autore riuiste, meglio ordina ti, e di diuersi disegni, e discorsi arricchiti i primi quattro libri per l‘adietro stampati, sono aggiunti di piu il quinto, sesto, settimo, e ottauo libri… Venezia, Aldo. 81 BN-BR, OR. 234,2,5. SCAMOZZI, V. 1615, L‘Idea Della Architettvra Vniversale, Di Vincenzo Scamozzi Architetto Veneto. 1, 1. Venetiis, Auctor. 82 The original edition of Vignola is 1562. Tracked in BN-BR, OR. 52,5,5A. VIGNOLA, G. B. 1773, Regola delli cinque ordini d‘architettura. Roma, Carlo Losi.

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(1570; 1741)83 along with another two by O. B. Scamozzi (1776; 1785) on the latter.84 In addition, we must also mention Bibiena’s (1711; 1764), Pozzo’s (1717)85 and Rusconi’s (1660).86 From this series we can infer that Costa e Silva’s interest in the study and collation of the great theorists of architecture such as Vitruvius (four editions, a rare one by Barbaro), Vignola (three) and Palladio (four books, two editions of his treatise, a book on Vicenza’s buildings and a drawings catalogue of the Roman baths). The inventory displays pressing bias towards the great classic treatises, in particular Vitruvius and, of course, Palladio. In this regard, Costa e Silva’s sources are noticeably Italian in contrast with French cognates on architecture. In the records, we find only the Cours d'Architecture by Blondel (1771-1777)87 and Les Plans et les Descriptions des Maisons de Campagne by Félibien des Avaux (1707).88 By comparison, the library of Eugénio dos Santos89 included, two editions of Vitruvius (one from 1521 and Perrault’s, 1673), one of Serlio’s (only books I and II), Vignola’s, Palladio’s (2 volumes in a French edition annotated by Inigo Jones, 1726), V. Scamozzi’s and Cataneo’s. Nonetheless, what most distinguished these two libraries was the critical role of French treatises on Santos’ work, whose titles ranged from Androuet du Cerceau to Laugier, through Delorme, D'Aviler, Blondel and Briseaux. Perhaps Costa e Silva’s dismissal of Santos’ Pombalino style 83

The 1570 edition of Palladio was located AT the BN-BR, OR. 118,5,3. PALLADIO, A. 1570, I quattro libri dell‘architettura di Andrea Palladio: ne‘ quali, dopo un breve trattato de‘ cinque ordini, & di quelli avertimenti, che sono piu necessarii nel fabricare : si tratta delle case private, delle vie, de i ponti, delle piazze, de i xisti, et de‘ tempii. Venetia, appresso Dominico de’Franceschi. 84 SCAMOZZI, O. B. & PALLADIO, A. 1776, Le fabbriche e i disegni di Andrea Palladio. Vicenza, per Francesco Modena; SCAMOZZI, O. B., PALLADIO, A. & CORK, R. B. 1785, Le terme dei romani. Vicenza, F. Modena. 85 Original edition from 1693. POZZO, A. 1717, Perspectiva pictorum et architectorum. Romæ, Ex Typographia Antonni de Rubeis in Platea Cerensi. 86 Located in BN-BR, OR. 171,3,12. RUSCONI, G. A. 1660, I dieci libri d‘Architettura di Gio. Antonio Rusconi, secondo i precetti di Vetruvio, novamente ristampati et accresciuti della pratica degl‘ horologi solari. Venetia, appresso il Nicolini. 87 In BN-BR, V-89,4,13-21. BLONDEL, J. F. & PATTE, P. 1771-1777, Cours d‘architecture, ou Traité de la décoration, distribution & construction des batiments: contenant les lecons données en 1750, & les années suivantes. Paris, Desaint [etc.], 9 vols. 88 AVAUX, F. des 1707, Les Plans et les descriptions de deux des plus belles maison de Campagne de Pline le consul. London, Mortier. 89 FERRÃO, 2007, vol 1, pp. 251 ff.

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falls within his clear classic Italian (and Palladian) matrix against the French repertoire which, although palliated, is still evident in Pombalino.90 Costa e Silva’s intellectual leverage was unequivocal; his works were considerably versatile: he was knowledgeable, cultured and never a “mimic”. The library and collection provides an accurate view of his cultural standing although not so much of the lineal connections to his works. Regarding S. Carlos Opera House, for e.g., Carneiro91 suggests Costa e Silva's sources might be Patte’s treatise (1782)92 and Piermarini La Scala Theatre. His arguments are compelling. Costa e Silva’s collection however, did not include Patte’s book and only five prints (unknown themes/titles) by Piermarini. Notwithstanding he had the original edition of Alfieri’s on the Turin Theatre (1761)93, Maffei’s book (1728)94, copies of drawings of Naples Theatre and some “sketches and drawings” copies made by Costa e Silva himself of San Carlo Theatre in Bologna.95 In his library there is also an extensive range of mechanical engineering books on devices for complex stage settings. Costa e Silva’s repository furthermore mirrors the heterogeneity of his concerns in works such as the book of papal librarian Bottari (1770)96, a friend of Piranesi’s, and the cookbook from the famous papal chef Scappi (1622)97, initially published in 1570 or, in a 1788 French edition, the main 90

DUARTE, E. 2004, “De França à Baixa, com passagem por Mafra. As influências francesas na arquitectura pombalina”, Monumentos, no. 21, Lisboa, DGEMN, pp. 76-87. 91 CARNEIRO, L. S. 2003, Teatros portugueses de raiz italiana, PhD, Faculdade de Arquitectura da Universidade do Porto, Porto. 92 PATTE, P. 1782, Essai sur l‘architecture théatrale, ou, de l‘ordonnance la plus avantageuse à une salle de spectacles, relativement aux principes de l’optique & de l’acoustique avec un examen des principaux théâtres de l‘Europe, & une analyse des écrits les plus importans sur cette matière. Paris, Moutard. 93 ALFIERI, B. 1761, Il nuovo Regio Teatro di Torino apertosi nell‘anno... Torino, Stamperia Reale. 94 MAFFEI, S. 1728, De gli anfiteatri, e singolarmente del Veronese, libri due: ne‘ quali e si tratta quanto appartiene all‘istoria, e quanto all‘architettura. Verona, Per Gio, Alberto Tumermani. 95 AN-BR, Fund. 59, Cod. 1099, fl. 49. 96 BOTTARI, G. G. 1770, Dialoghi sopra le tre arti del disegno corretti e accresciuti. Firenze, [s.n.]. 97 SCAPPI, B. 1622, Opera di Bartolomeo Scappi, mastro dell‘arte del cvcinare, con laquale si può ammaestrare qual si voglia cuoco, scalco, trinciante, o mastro di casa: Divisa in sei libri ... Con le figure che fanno dibisogno nella cucina. Venetia, Per Alessandro de‘ Vecchi.

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Figure 9. Costa e Silva Library - A. Dürer, Albertus Durerus Nurembergensis pictor... Institutionum geometricarum libris : lineas, superficies & solida corpora tractauit, adhibitis designationibus ad eam rem accommodissimis, Lutetiae, Apud Christianum Wechelum (Brazil, National Library, OR. 1292597)

work of Adam Smith’s.102 We also found an Italian edition of Chambers’ encyclopaedia (1749)103, as well as the works of Mengs (1783; 1787)104 102

The first edition in Portuguese would only be translated later by the Viscount of Cairú in Rio de Janeiro, 1811-12. SMITH, A. 1788, Recherches sur la nature et les causes de la richesse des nations. London, Chez Pierre J. Duplain. 103 Found in BN-BR, V-139,5,1-9. CHAMBERS, E. 1749, Dizionario universale delle arti e delle scienze. Venezia, Presso Giambatista Pasqual.

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and Winckelmann (1783)105 in critical editions by archaeologist Féa published by Stamperia Pagliarini. There is also Milizia (one book only, 1768)106 whose proposals Costa e Silva knew well. We also found patent, in several works, a steady interest in Roman archaeology and Etruscology.107 The book of G. Ludovico Bianconi on the Caracalla circus stands out (the author was a brother of Carlo’s) in another edition of Féa (1789).108 In this cultural micro-cosmos, the archaeological strand intertwines the imperatives of heritage conservation and restoration with the paradigm or reinvention of antiquity or palingenesis upheld by Milizia.109 Thus was the Grand Tour world unravelled in architect Costa e Silva’s collection of books and art. A realm for the Latin and Anglo-Saxon intellectual traditions to mingle gracefully in the quest for a heroic past that was willingly common. His library as an intellectual metaphor, epitomising his life-journey, and the narrative of an intimate reality; a tale of two continents that has sailed the Mediterranean first, and then the Atlantic towards a collective amnesia of two hundred years.

104

In BN-BR, V-89,5,16-17 and in Fèa’s edition by the Stamperia Pagliarini in BN-BR, V-170,6,16. MENGS, A. R. & AZARA, J. N. de 1783, Opere di Antonio Raffaello Mengs. Bassano, a spese di Remondini di Venezia; MENGS, A. R., AZARA, J. N. de & FÈA, C. 1787, Opere di Antonio Raffaello Mengs: primo pittore del Re Cattlico Carlo III. Roma, Stamperia Pagliarini. 105 In BN-BR, V-168,6,2-4. WINCKELMANN, J. J. & FÈA, C. 1783, Storia delle arti del disegno presso gli antichi. Roma, Stamperia Pagliarini. 106 MILIZIA, F. 1768, Le vite de‘ piu celebri architetti. Rome, Paolo Giunchi, Komarek. 107 PASSERI, G. B. 1767, Picturae Etruscorum in vasculis:nunc primum in unum collectae explicationibus, et dissertationibus inlustratae. Romae, Ex typographio Johannis Zempel, sumptibus venantii Monaldinibibliopolae ; HIRT, A. 1791, Osservazioni istorico-architettoniche soprail Panteon. In Roma, Nella stamperia Pagliarini. 108 BN-BR, V-35,7,9. BIANCONI, G. L.; FÈA, C. & UGGERI, A. 1789, Descrizione dei circhi particolarmente di quello di Caracalle e dei givochi in essi celebrati: operapostuma del consigliere Gio. Ludovico.... Roma, Stamperia Pagliarini. 109 PANZA, P. 1990, pp. 130 ff.

PART 3: PHILOSOPHY AND IDEOLOGY

CHAPTER NINE “BROADENING VIEWS”: DIDEROT, THE ENCYCLOPÉDIE AND THE ENLIGHTENMENT PROPAGANDA COLAS DUFLO UNIVERSITÉ PARIS OUEST NANTERRE LA DÉFENSE, FRANCE

We propose to demonstrate how Diderot sets about making the Encyclopédie, which could have remained a commercial task launched by intelligent publishers to take advantage of the trend in accumulating dictionaries, a book “with a view” which offered a deep political meaning in divulging not only knowledge, but also Enlightenment: to bring into broad light that which, in the knowledge restricted to scholars, in the hidden ideological debates of the libertine circles or the philosophical traditions confiscated by the University, transforms through the publicity surrounding it, a society’s values, its moral ideas or its representation of power. «*As we intend not only to present a good book, but also to broaden the author’s views, I order to publish on various of the best we may have, we will finish this entry on the plan of a treaty which would include all we can wish on the preliminary issues of the Bible » (Encyclopédie .art. BIBLE, addenda by Diderot, II, 2261).

Not only «to publish a good book» but also «to broaden views»: something decisive is expressed in this statement in the entry BIBLE. The ambition of Diderot and Alembert’s Encyclopédie is not only greater than 1

All our quotes, if not stated otherwise, come from the Encyclopédie, ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des metiers, etc., publ. Denis Diderot and Jean le Rond D’Alembert, University of Chicago: ARTFL Encyclopédie Project (Spring 2011 Edition), Robert Morrissey (ed), http://encyclopedie.uchicago.edu/. We indicate the volume and the page and we have modernised the spelling.

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that of the Dictionaries preceding it, it is also, at least to a certain extent, another of their kind. How should one interpret this wish of «broadening views»? To what extent does it give us a lead into a possible interpretative path in this considerable literary compilation, which is considered one of the most emblematic works of the French Enlightenment? We must first recall some facts. The Encyclopédie is more than a book. It is, above all, an editorial task. Originally, the project was relatively modest. In 1745, the bookseller-editor Le Breton, aware that dictionaries were in fashion, considered publishing an increased and updated translation of Cyclopédia (1728) by Ephraïm Chambers. From the original two in-folio volumes by the English author, we now had four volumes, plus one volume with drawings. But Le Breton aspired to something bigger, and together with three other booksellers (Briasson, Durand and David), in order to direct this ambitious project, he hired abbot Gua de Malves. Gua de Malves gave up on this task in 1747, and was duly replaced by d’Alembert and Diderot. If the former is a renowned academician and scientist who conferred upon the project a sense of respectability and rigour, the latter, hired at first to translate the English texts, was at the very beginning of his career as a philosopher and writer. His career had not started in the best way, as he was arrested and jailed in Vincennes in 1749 for having published the Lettre sur les aveugles, which in some passages expressed in too direct a manner, a certain form of materialistic atheism. Thanks notably to the pressure of the booksellers/publishers, he regained his liberty some months later; this affair meant that, from the beginning, conservative thinkers were « prejudiced against the Encyclopédie »2. In 1750, the Prospectus of the Encyclopédie, which in an unscrupulous manner uses a kind of misleading publicity when it declared, to reassure the public, that the manuscript and the drawings were finished, and then subsequently announced eight volumes of texts and two of drawings. In 1722, after more than twenty eventful years, the Encyclopédie itself was comprised of 17 volumes with text and 11 volumes with drawings, more or less 18 000 pages and 76 000 entries, to which another editor, Panckouke, would add to in the following years five volumes of Supplements and two volumes of Contents. It is evident that from the moment the Encyclopédie became the responsibility of d’Alembert and Diderot, the initial project took on another direction and acquired a new ambition, not only in terms of pages 2

Préjugés légitimes contre l’Encyclopédie (1748), an anti-encyclopedia book by Abraham Chaumeix.

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and volumes, but also in what was regarded as the philosophical and political meaning of the project. The Encyclopédie, as devised by d’Alembert and Diderot, was not only a project in aid of the dissemination of knowledge, but also had the ambition of implementing Enlightenment through this dissemination. Diderot in particular stresses several times that the task that consists of making public what was hidden – the knowledge of artisans, the scholars’ debates, but also the philosophical traditions confined to University or the libertines clandestine ideological debates – changes the meaning of the terms, and thus rendered them public and ended up deeply transforming a society’s values, moral ideas and its representation of power. The Encyclopédie is also, as its title indicates, and as d’Alembert reminds us at the beginning of the preliminary Speech, a collective intellectual work undertaken by « a group of scholars ». It is an « admirable conspiracy » in view of spreading knowledge as defended by Jaucourt, and in the line of what Bacon states in the last entry of the Encyclopédie. So far, the 134 identified authors are very varied and do not form a sect or an encyclopaedist party as the opponents of Enlightenment might have thought. Some were well known by their contemporaries, such as Voltaire, but for the most part they were specialists in certain fields and did not have, at the moment they were collaborating in the project, any special notoriety; some defend bold philosophical and political ideas, such as d’Holbach; others are far more orthodox and conservative; others write only very few entries, others like Diderot, d’Alembert or Jaucourt (without whom the last ten volumes would not have been carried out) would write several hundred. So, within the encyclopaedia, several conceptions of what the Encyclopédie should be coexist: the idea held by the booksellers-editors sponsoring the project is not exactly that of d’Alembert, which in turn is not exactly that of Diderot nor Jaucourt’s, or even that of the less active writing collaborators, such as Voltaire, who is very present in the ideological debate, and would remind society on several occasions in a more or less public manner what, in his opinion, the Encyclopédie should be… this coexistence of different points of view, which are in fact different conceptions of Enlightenment; this simultaneous presence of not entirely compatible opinions is in itself a significant expression of the manner in which Diderot considered the implementation of Enlightenment. It is the positive direction of this « society of Scholars » which has never, in fact, « been a society ».

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For Diderot, Enlightenment was neither a state nor a period: it was work. The work of Enlightenment carried out in the Encyclopédie as Diderot devised it, is precisely what transformed what had the potential to be a vast commercial task aimed at producing a « good book » that met the dictionary trend, into a programme to « broaden views ». To begin with, we will now analyse the way in which Diderot carries out the dramatization of Enlightenment’s struggle against obscurity in highlighting the theme of the encyclopaedic moment. Then we will study the meaning he gives to the publicity of Enlightenment: what are the causes of and objectives for this vast task in divulging secrets? Finally, we will see that a book cannot, according to Diderot, « broaden views », without forcing the reader to turn himself into an observer and accomplish on his own a part of this enlightenment and liberation work, which is that of Enlightenment.

A torch among the owls Despite what the encyclopaedists say, the Cyclopedia by Chambers is a « good book » which served as a starting point to the work that followed, and which they copied sometimes shamelessly and without appropriate referencing. If the encyclopaedists stated that their task was something new, it is not only to publicize it, but also to declare an ambition partly different in relation to Chambers’ work. It is not only to compile, synthetize and translate what was already known, but also to produce something new. To « broaden views » is, above all, to fill the gap in Chambers’ empty synthesis: the disorders, the irregularities of the Encyclopédie, its flaws even, of which Diderot was fully aware, are paradoxically the sign of the work’s success in showing what was yet unknown. But in general the inventions and new ideas introduce a necessary disproportion; and the first edition is of all of them the one containing more things that, if not recently invented, were anyhow as little known as if they had been such; and it is evident that for this reason and for those mentioned before, the edition where disorder is most evident, but which, on the other hand, will show through its irregularities an originality which will hardly make it into the following editions. Why is it that the encyclopaedic order is so perfect and regular in the English author? Limiting himself to compiling our dictionaries and analysing a few books, inventing nothing, only strictly keeping to known things, everything was equally of interest to him or indifferent, preferring no subject, nor having a favourable or unfavourable moment to work,

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Chapter Nine except when he had migraines or suffered from spleen; he was a ploughman who drew his furrow, superficially, but evenly and straight. This does not happen with our book. We praise ourselves. We want to have powerful texts. It may even be my vanity at the moment. One’s example leads to another. The publishers complain, but in vain. We boast of their own mistakes against themselves and everything leads to excess. Chambers’ entries are quite regularly distributed; but they are empty. Ours are full, but irregular. If Chambers would have filled his, I have no doubt his organisation would not have suffered 3.

Where a malicious critique could have seen a flaw, one must find the « originality » – which, for Diderot, is close to geniality – which will necessarily disappear with posterity. The Encyclopédie must be viewed as a first attempt and not as a result. It is part of a conducive and unique historical moment. Diderot is always in tune with the sense of circumstances. In his work he stresses several times to what extent he is now capable of thinking about things he would not have thought about before. The Encyclopédie comes at a privileged historical time for this task of the self-assertion of Enlightenment, which involved becoming aware that the time was right to achieve this. We have seen that the Encyclopédie could not have been merely an attempt at creating a philosophical century; instead, it is apparent that that century had arrived; that the fame leading to the immortality of those achieving this task, would maybe not disdain caring for ours; and we felt comforted by this consoling and sweet idea, that we would be remembered when we would be gone; through this voluptuous murmur, coming from some of our contemporaries’ mouths, what would scholars say about us and to the joy of which we would immolate ourselves, who we esteem and love although they have not yet reached immortality4. If the Encyclopédie is rather an attempt more than a good finished book, it is intended for posterity, it is intended to what does not yet exist but whose consideration informs our present. Because « philosophical century » does not mean here « a century where philosophy reigns », but instead that the time where the struggle for Enlightenment is possible, the right time to work for this, with the conditions to write under surveillance 3 4

Diderot, *ENCYCLOPÉDIE, III, 643. DIDEROT, *ENCYCLOPÉDIE, V, 643.

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and censorship, leading to the transformation of consciences – and, by doing so, in the long run, to the transformation of those writing conditions themselves. That is why the presentation of the Encyclopédie as a task to « broaden views » involves the metaphorised dramatization of the struggle of Enlightenment against obscurity. Everything has to do with human understanding; the obscurity of an idea spreads on those ideas around it: a mistake casts darkness on contiguous truths; and if so happens that in a society there are individuals interested in forming, so to speak, darkness centres, soon people will be immersed in total darkness. We must not fear this to happen: never have the darkness centres been so rare and tightened as now: Philosophy is progressing steadily, and light accompanies and follows it 5.

Thus, with a certain extent of dramatization, Diderot constantly described the act of broadening views not as a state but as a struggle; to « broaden views » he further explained that this also, hurt the eyes of those who did not want to see and made them hate you: in the Promenade du sceptique, an unfinished allegoric work of the years preceding the Encyclopédie, Diderot describes the superstitious as walking blindfolded along an alley of thorns. The owls of the AIGLE (HAWK) entry owe a lot to the imagery coming straight from Plato, who Diderot read quite often: « If you introduce a ray of light in an owl’s nest, you would but hurt their eyes and make them hoot desperately6. » The philosophical century is a battlefield. If the moment is conducive, it is in view of a generalized unveiling which will enable the good book to produce better ones7. The Encyclopédie is not an end, but a start. Its ultimate aim, which is a general transformation of ideas, is to slowly and through intense labour, divulge secrets; it is this that is the task of Enlightenment, according to Diderot.

Building a fire Diderot has a real obsession with indiscretion: one has to say everything, what is hidden must be unveiled, as well as what is dissimulated under the obscurity of a technical language or in the secret of practices. This imperative applies to artisans and their secrets of manufacturing, to scholars and their penchant for dissimulation (we know 5

DIDEROT, *BRAMINES (II, 394). AIGLE, addenda by Diderot (I, 196). 7 Diderot, *ENCYCLOPÉDIE: « If our Dictionary is good, how many more better books will it produce » (V, 643). 6

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that Newton, the great man of science of the time is condemned in the Pensées sur l’interprétation de la nature), as well as to politicians or priests: « Every secret has to be divulged with no exception »8. .

The deep meaning of such an enterprise is in fact connected to Diderot’s strong belief that when knowledge is misplaced and withdrawn to its confidential sphere, where it is confined to the usage and contemplation of a few privileged, then its range changes, and even its meaning. The same knowledge, according to the place where it is disclosed, will no longer be exactly the same, and therefore will have encountered a different reception than that it was initially meant to have. There is a deep political range to the universal veridiction commitment: « We thus fulfil one of our first commitments; that of seeking and saying, as much as we are allowed, the truth »9. The promise is valid for all of the Encyclopédie, but it is not by chance that is it specified in the entry BIBLE. To say, in a public space of debate, what theologists and scholars have known for a long time – to share the interrogations on the historicity of the biblical books, their internal contradictions for example – is to change the meaning of information itself, and its range. This is a constant in Diderot, an example of his own way of interpreting the meaning of Enlightenment. In the entry IMPIE (UNHOLY), he also invited, through rendering them public, the religious controversies, and recommends Sorbonne (the faculty of Theology) for the publishing of the most famous texts by the heterodox, which it condemns as well as their rebuttal page by page. In the same way, regarding another subject, he refuses in Pensées sur l’interprétation de la nature the use of obscurity by chemists and physicians: it should be possible to make scholars’ debates accessible to the general public. The scholar, the artisan, the politician, the theologist, etc., do not want to conform to this obligation of accessibility of knowledge, in which they imagine, understandably, they have something to lose. The task of the Encyclopédie is also to compel them to do so. To fully understand the meaning of this publicity of the Enlightenment as carried out in the Encyclopédie, we can compare two visions of knowledge that are 50 years apart, and compare Diderot and Fontenelle. We know Fontenelle can write extremely malicious texts, similar to what 8 9

DIDEROT, *ENCYCLOPÉDIE (V, 647). BIBLE, adenda by Diderot (II, 227).

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Diderot would write some years later, for example on the soul (which in the end can be reduced to the brain) on liberty (which is an illusion as our will is the result of a material process). But Fontenelle expresses his heterodox views in writings meant for restricted circles. They are either clandestine treaties in the manner of the late 17th century libertines such as the Traité de la liberté de l’âme, so clandestine that it seems to have been condemned to the fire by parliament in 1700, and of which we have no material trace, if it ever existed, before it was republished in the collection of the Nouvelles libertés de penser in 1743. Or Fontenelle can write texts as bold as in the context of activities as secretary of the Académie Royale des Sciences, that is, in texts of a scientific nature meant for a chosen public. In both cases, they are confidential writings for an enlightened elite, in the tradition of the 17th-century libertinism, where those who have been initiated only address those who have been initiated. « Let us be pleased in being just a small flock of chosen […] and let us not divulge our mysteries to the public »10, says the philosopher to the Marchioness regarding belief in the inhabitants of the other planets. It is possible that Diderot recalls this sentence when he writes, as a reply in his Pensées sur l’interprétation de la nature: « Let us make haste in making philosophy popular »11. It is in this spirit, in any case, that he uses the same experimental material gathered by Fontenelle in the context of the Histoire de l’Académie Royale des Sciences in order to make the reader reach the same philosophical conclusions on the materiality of the soul and the absence of metaphysical liberty, through divulging it in the Encyclopédie. Diderot therefore quotes, in his famous addenda to the too orthodox entry ÂME (SOUL), different observations by scholars published in the Mémoires of the Académie des Sciences or also a mémoire of La Peyronnie for the Académie Royale de Chirurgie. Those texts existed, their content was made available, and the conclusions we could reach were no doubt evident for a small number of scholars. But they do not take on all of their controversial content, or rather they do not become truly controversial until the structural displacement to which they were submitted by Diderot in quoting them immediately after abbot Yvon’s theologically irreproachable entry – and the consequences of such misplacement will be evident many volumes and years later until the entries VICE and VOLONTÉ (WILL) which clearly question, with arguments very close to those of Fontenelle, the very idea of the freedom 10

Fontenelle, Entretiens sur la pluralité des mondes, ed. Ch. Martin, GF Flammarion, 1998, p. 160. 11 Diderot, Pensées sur l’interprétation de la nature, ed. C. Duflo, GF, Flammarion, 2005, p. 93.

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of the soul. In the entry ENCYCLOPÉDIE, Diderot explains straightforwardly that this misplacement of knowledge for publicity reasons is the meaning itself of the inflammatory action of Enlightenment. Let us compare the eighty in-quarto volumes of the Académie Royale des Sciences, compiled according to the dominant spirit of our most renowned academies with eight or ten volumes made, as I conceive it, and let us see if there is a possibility of choosing. The latter would include an infinity of excellent materials scattered in a great number of books, where they remain without producing any useful sensation, like scattered coals never becoming a blaze12. Paradoxically, at first sight, the Encyclopédie, a compilation of human knowledge, cannot be built but on the background of a final abandonment of the idea of a universal knowledge held by a sole man: « I do not think a sole man should know everything that should be known; to make use of everything that exists; to see everything that can be seen; to understand all that is understandable »13. There is a definitive element here, notably regarding the encyclopaedic ideals of the classical age as we can find in Leibniz for instance, because only this abandonment can make real eclecticism possible, which is exactly the opposite of a syncretism. Eclecticism is a paradoxical form of an accessible scepticism: The eclectic is a philosopher who, through trampling prejudice, tradition, ancientness, universal consent, authority, in one word all that submits people’s minds, dares to think for himself, returns to the clearer general principles, examines them, discusses them, accepts nothing without experiencing it and reasoning accordingly; and of all philosophies he has analysed objectively and, impartially, drawn his own conclusions. I say drawn his own conclusions, because the eclectic’s ambition is not to be humankind’s tutor, but its disciple; to reform others rather than himself; to know the truth, rather than to teach it. It is not a man who plants or sows; it is a man who reaps and sieves14. How can we not imagine Kant having read this text and remembering it in his famous What is Enlightenment? He makes Sapere aude, dare to be wise, Enlightenment’s motto. The word « crible » (sieve) has the same Indo-European root krei as the word « critique »: it is what collects and at the same time separates. The Encyclopédie is the eclectic book by excellence, and its reader has to become he himself eclectic, that is, critical, to read it according to the appropriate reasons of order. The 12

Diderot, *ENCYCLOPEDIE (V, 635). Diderot, *ENCYCLOPEDIE (V, 635). 14 Diderot, *ECLECTISME (V, 270). 13

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recipient of this labyrinthine and open compilation which renounces the idea of a compilation must think for himself, collect, separate, establish a parallel, discuss, and in the last instance « draw his own conclusions » which he should not impose on others but which aim at reforming his own understanding and his own ideas. The definition of eclectic we have just read has nevertheless a curious anomaly: the ambition of that philosopher is less « to know the truth, rather than to teach it ». Coming from someone who wants to be the disciple of humankind rather than its tutor, we would expect in a way the opposite: his ambition should want to know the truth – he is not dogmatic – not to teach it – he wants to make his own personal philosophy without carrying out a brilliant achievement at the expenses of others. And how can he teach without knowing? No doubt there is here a mere inadvertence of the Encyclopédie’s publisher – we might find others in Diderot’s texts. We may, however, find they have a meaning. What is it that is to be taught, passed on in the Encyclopédie? Not an already known truth, neatly arranged in a knowledge system, but rather a truth that needs to be revealed in the mind of the reader, sometimes delivered in detached pieces and disorganised. It is up to the reader to build his own truth from the irreducible diversity with plenty of experiences and directions, and not from the void and orderly uniformity of Chambers’ entries. Putting together an Encyclopédie is like founding a large city. One should not build the houses according to just one model, when a general model has been found, beautiful and suitable to any space. The uniformity of the buildings, leading to the uniformity of public roads, would make the whole city seem gloomy and dull. Those walking do not resist the boredom of a long wall, or even that of an endless forest that delighted them at first. A good mind (and one must suppose the editor to have at least this quality) will know how to put each thing in its place, and should not be afraid of having little in his ideas, or in his mind lack of taste to needlessly mix with dissimilar meanings15. The utopic city of classical age, with identical houses, was considered a representation of the rationality of political concepts that found it. But it is not in the uniformity of the new city that one must look for the image of 15

Diderot, *ENCYCLOPÉDIE (V, 642).

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rationality: rationality is not in the experience, it is in the « good mind » that strives to find itself once again in the diversity and irreducible multiplicity of experiences, with no boredom or tiredness. That is the publisher’s goal, as well as the one he demands from the reader. The eclectic gathers and sieves: thus we can interpret the fact (inacceptable in the current context in terms of copyright) that part of Diderot’s texts were not solely Diderot’s, but a result of a series of excerpts by other authors. To take a well-documented example, where the source is cited; the entry ANIMAL in the Encyclopédie is mainly composed of quotes by Buffon. But it is a chosen Buffon, sieved, in which Diderot injects his own interventions, which work on the meaning. The publisher has, first and foremost, an action on the language, on the definition of the words that the reader has to follow in order to understand the consequences: the end of the entry warns us that the living and the animated, instead of being a metaphysical degree of living beings, are a physical property of matter. For the reader’s meditation on this difficult redefinition, it most surely means a displacement towards a materialistic concept of nature. But Diderot introduces as well, in the core of Buffon’s doctoral text itself, elements of dialogue – which he very often does in his works – which transform in real problems, issues that could have remained purely rhetorical and void. This kind of intervention introduces in the text the effect of creating a disturbing instability which forces the reader to think for himself. This is, in fact, Diderot’s aim: during all his life as a writer he wrote texts which forbade the reader to let himself be led in a passive way. From this point of view, his biggest destabilising device is, undoubtedly, the Encyclopédie, and it is one of the privileged tools in producing this type of effect and of bringing together the coals in order to form a blaze, which is the reference system, as he clearly exposed in his ENCYCLOPÉDIE entry which is delivered with its instructions for use. References connect, through one word, one entry to the other, and suggest that the reader use his intelligence in order to give meaning to the text and make it say more than it literally does. It can be expected, a simple reminder of the encyclopaedic order that situates the defined object in the whole in which it belongs and provides it with a meaning by situating it architectonically. It can be unexpected, disconcerting: it is an ingenious reference, as Diderot theorises it in his Pensées sur l’interprétation de la nature, that which combines in a surprising and fruitful manner. Be it constructive or critical, it is in both cases up to the reader to collect and

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sieve, and to operate this building or this critique: there is no real Enlightenment task if it does not oblige the reader to participate and to operate in himself the consequences of Enlightenment. I distinguish two types of references: one of things and the others of words. The references of things enlighten the object, indicate its close connections with those directly in touch with it, and its farther connections with others we would think isolated; they remind us of common notions and analogue principles: they strengthen the consequences; they intertwine the branch and the trunk; and confer this whole the unity which is so favourable in establishing truth and persuasion. But when need be, they will produce an opposite effect as well; they will oppose notions; they will make principles contrast; they will attack; they will upset; they will secretly overthrow some ridiculous opinions one would not openly insult. If the author is impartial, they will always have the double function of confirming and rebutting; of upsetting and conciliating. These last references are well devised and have an enormous advantage. The whole book takes on an internal strength and a secret usefulness, of which the muffled effects would necessarily be sensitive over time. Every time, for instance, a national prejudice would be worthy of respect, its entry should deal with it respectfully, and with all its likelihood and its appeal; but to reverse the mud building, to dissipate a futile pile of dust, referring to the entries where solid principles are the basis of opposing truths. This way of disabusing men promptly operates on good minds. It is the art of deducting and it operates infallibly and without any harmful consequence, secretively and with no glamour, on all minds. It is the art of tacitly deducting the strongest consequences. If these confirmations and rebuttal references can be predicted from afar, and prepared with care, they will give an Encyclopédie the characteristic a good dictionary should have; that characteristic is that of changing the normal way of thinking16. Further on, Diderot also mentions the ironical reference, like the teasing reference to the entry CAPUCHON (CAP) at the end of the compliment to the entry CORDELIER (FRANCISCAN FRIAR). The irony in such a book is that irony, based on the difference between what is said and what one should understand, makes one think. It warns the reader that he should not simply read what he reads, but interpret it. It implies a deciphering task of the intentions which prevent him from being passive. But irony has its limits in the complicity effect it establishes. It reconstitutes the small community of those who understand the signs and 16

Diderot, *ENCYCLOPÉDIE (V, 642).

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remains imperceptible to most. We risk falling back into a form of dissimulation, of a cryptic language meant for the initiated only: « Taking everything into consideration, I would prefer saying the blunt truth »17. To slowly call into question the national prejudices, to work over time to change ideas and habits, this is of an extreme ambition for a dictionary, as vast as it might be. « To change the usual manner of thinking »: we could not have said in a clearer manner what « broadening views » means. For some years now, the idea of “radical Enlightenment” has returned to the vocabulary of 18th century specialists. So that that we question ourselves in order to know if the Encyclopédie must be included in radical Enlightenment or in moderate Enlightenment. What the study of Diderot’s entries for the Encyclopédie helps us understand is that such an issue is in truth very poorly questioned in order to have a meaning. Enlightenment, as Diderot sees it, is neither a state nor contents, but a task: a task of divulging secrets and calling into question prejudices, a task constantly forcing the reader to reflect. The references are not only a skilful way of avoiding censorship – and if not why expose so clearly the instructions for use? Diderot, be it in the Encyclopédie through the reference system or in all the rest of his work through different writing strategies, gives few lessons and, above all, he maintains in all his texts, elements that create a troublesome reading and force the reader to think for himself. From that point of view, it is not maybe a simple inadvertence to write that the ambition of the eclectic is rather to teach than to know: we also teach how to doubt. Diderot, we know, likes to identify with Socrates. « Broadening views »: but views on what? On posterity, it has been said, without which the present task would be despairing. But mainly on man himself. Enlightenment reinvents a form of assumed anthropocentrism which is opposed to the theological orientation of discourses and knowledge. This must be our starting point, and on this we must conclude: Man is the only term we must start from, and to which everything is connected, if we want to please, interest, move, even in the driest subjects and details. Not considering my existence and happiness of my fellow men, who cares about the rest of nature?18

17 18

Ibidem. Diderot, *ENCYCLOPÉDIE (V, 641).

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References Darnton, Robert, L’Aventure de l’Encyclopédie, un best-seller au siècle des Lumières, Paris, Perrin, 1982. Leca-Tsiomis, Marie, écrire l’Encyclopédie : Diderot, de l’usage des dictionnaires à la grammaire philosophique, SVEC, Oxford, Voltaire Foundation, 1999. Lough, John, Essays on the Encyclopédie of Diderot and d’Alembert, Londres, Oxford UP, 1968. Proust, Jacques, Diderot et l’Encyclopédie, Paris, Albin Michel, 1962. —. L’Encyclopédie, Paris, Armand Colin, 1965.

CHAPTER TEN RECREAÇÃO FILOSÓFICA, AN ECLECTIC WAR MACHINE JOSÉ ALBERTO SILVA CIHCT - CENTRO INTERUNIVERSITÁRIO DE HISTÓRIA DAS CIÊNCIAS E TECNOLOGIA, FACULDADE DE CIÊNCIAS, UNIVERSIDADE DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

When the Oratorian priest Teodoro de Almeida (1722-1804) left Portugal, on the 21st of September 1768, pursued by the Count of Oeiras, Sebastião José de Carvalho e Melo (1699-1782), King José I’s prime minister, he had built a considerable reputation as a populariser of the sciences, namely around his seven tomes which had already been published: Recreação Filosofica ou Dialogo sobre a Filozofia natural, para Instrucção de pessoas curiosas que não frequentarão as aulas (Philosophical Recreation, or Dialogue on Natural Philosophy, for the instruction of curious people who could not attend classes).1 1

Philosophical Recreation consists of ten tomes published between 1751 and 1800: tome I (1751) deals with the movement of the bodies and of the hydrostatic; tome II (1751) deals with light and colours, sound, smell and taste, heat, cold, and the “main difficulties that the Peripatetics offer against the Moderns”; tome III (1752) deals with fire, water, air and the weight of air; tome IV (1757) “Deals with Man”, in which sight is included, reflection and refraction, optical instruments, the senses, the voice, vigil, sleep and “the human body factory”; tome V (1761) deals with brutes and plants; tome VI (1762) deals with the skies and the world; tome VII (1768) with logic; tome VIII (1792) with metaphysics; tome IX (1793) deals with the “Harmony of Reason and of Religion”; and tome X ( 1800) with moral philosophy. Of the vast production on Teodoro de Almeida, I would emphasize, in chronological order, Francisco Contente Domingues, Ilustração e catolicismo. Teodoro de Almeida, Lisboa, Edições Colibri, 1994; Zulmira C. Santos, Literatura e espiritualidade na obra de Teodoro de Almeida (1722-1804), Lisboa, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian/Fundação para a Ciência e Tecnologia, 2007, and José Alberto Silva, “The Portuguese Popularizer of Science Teodoro de Almeida:

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The Count of Oeiras, later the Marquis of Pombal, was, in Portugal as the secretary of internal affairs and chief minister (1750-1777), the protagonist of enlightened despotism, which would mark the ruling of King José I.2 Two of the most apparent targets of his regalist politics and of the reinforcement of the power of the State were the Jesuits which he expelled in 1759, and, later, a meaningful part of the Oratorians – in which Almeida was integrated – who allied themselves with the nobility of the court which dared to face up to their ministry.3 The Jesuits held, until their expulsion in 1759, the monopoly on teaching in Portugal and the Oratorians would dispute that cultural and pedagogical monopoly of the Jesuits, until their near extinction which was decreed by Pombal in 1760.4 Teodoro de Almeida left Portugal in the same year in which the seventh tome of Recreação, Diálogo sobre a Filosofia Racional – Trata da Lógica (Dialogue on Rational Philosophy – About Logic) (1768), was published. “Fizica ou Filozofia Natural” (Physics or Natural Philosophy) constituted the thematic unit of the first six tomes of Recreação, whose publication was initiated, with the first two tomes, in 1751. Logic (1768), metaphysics (1792), natural theology (1793) and moral philosophy (1800) would later be the object of the four tomes that followed tome VI (1762) which dealt with the subject of astronomy. The dialogues of Recreação are organized, in the first eight tomes, around three characters that, along fifty Tardes,5 carry on a conversation about the most varied themes of natural philosophy. Of these three characters – Teodósio, the alter ego of Almeida and defender of modern Agendas, Publics and Biligualism”, History of Science, 50, 166, 2012, pp. 93-122. On the demarcation of vulgarization/popularization in the Portuguese context of the 18th century, see José Alberto Silva, “A vulgar Recreation”, HoST – Journal of History of science and technology 6, 2012, pp. 15-32. http://johost.eu/vol6_fall_2012/jose_silva.htm. Accessed 21/02/2014. 2 On the Marquis of Pombal, see Kenneth Maxwell, Pombal: Paradox of the Enlightenment, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999 and A. R. Disney, A History of Portugal and the Portuguese Empire, vol. 1, Cambridge University Press, 2009, pp. 280-310. 3 On the process moved against the Oratorians, see A. A. Banha de Andrade, “O processo pombalino contra os Oratorianos”, in A. A. Banha de Andrade, Contributos para a história da mentalidade pedagógica portuguesa, Lisboa, Imprensa Nacional/Casa da Moeda, 1982, pp. 435-490. 4 For an overview of the Portuguese cultural panorama of the 18th century, see J. S. da Silva Dias, Portugal e a cultura europeia (Séculos XVI a XVIII), Lisboa, Campo das Letras, 2006. 5 Almeida uses “Tarde”, which translates to English as “afternoon” or “late”, to designate each chapter of Recreação.

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philosophy; Sílvio, a medical doctor who graduated from the University of Coimbra, and defender of the peripatetic philosophy; and Eugénio, a member of the military with business in the court, and apprentice of the philosophy of the Moderns – it is Teodósio who leads the dialogue, introducing and then concluding the themes, articulated by a rhetoric that develops around “constant experience and the safe calculation”.6 The typology of the characters would suffer alterations in the last two tomes. This time, Teodósio’s interlocutor is the baroness of Armendariz, a representative of rural nobility, a sort of salonnière, at whose house the several characters of her circle of acquaintances would gather around and function as vehicles of the typical argumentation of atheist, deist or European agnostic Enlightenment, personified by Teodoro de Almeida in “Ímpios Voltaire, [...] d’Alembert, Diderot e outros” (Impious Voltaire, […] d’Alembert, Diderot and others).7 In these last two tomes, Almeida unravels his whole apologetic arsenal anchored in the idea of harmonizing reason and religion in such a way that, the latter, sharing a rationality usually attributed to the laws of nature, could respond to the accusations of irrationality and superstition, of which it was a target. In addition to Recreação, the works of Almeida – in which several devotional texts are included, one poem in prose of a moral tone like O Feliz Independente do Mundo e da Fortuna (1779) and also Cartas FísicoMatemáticas para servir de suplemento à Recreação Filosófica (PhysicoMathematical Letters to serve as a supplement to Philosophical Recreation) (three volumes; 1784-1799) – would integrate the Iberian circuits of editorial circulation in the 18th and 19th centuries, as well as their Portuguese and Spanish colonial extensions. 8 All the tomes of Recreação would be the object of several editions and also several

6

Teodoro de Almeida, Recreação Filosófica, vol. I, 4ª ed. “Discurso Preliminar sobre a História da Filosofia”, Lisboa, Na Regia Officina Typografica, 1778, p. L. 7 Teodoro de Almeida, Recreação Filosófica, vol. X, “Dedicatória”, Lisboa: Na Regia Officina Typografica, 1800, p. 2. 8 On the reception of the works of Teodoro de Almeida in Spain, see Marie-Hélène Piwnik, “Les souscripteurs espagnols du P. Teodoro de Almeida (1722-1834)”, Bulletin des études portugaises et brésiliennes, 42, 1981, pp. 95-119; “Une entreprise lucrative. Les traductions en espagnol du Père Teodoro de Almeida”, Arquivos do Centro Cultural Português, XXXI, Paris, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, 1992, pp. 199-206; Robert Ricard, “Sur la diffusion des oeuvres du P. Teodoro de Almeida”, Boletim Internacional de Bibliografia Luso-Brasileira, IV, 4, 1963, pp. 626-630; Zulmira C. Santos, “As traduções das obras de espiritualidade de Teodoro de Almeida (1722-1834) em Espanha e França: estado da questão, formas e tempos”, Via Spiritus I, 1994, pp. 185-208.

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translations, namely to Spanish and French, with dates that go all the way up to the beginning of the 19th century.9 In this article, I will approach Teodoro de Almeida’s Recreação as a vehicle of the popularization of the sciences in a European peripheral context, like Portugal was in the 18th century. Some discursive marks inscribed in Recreação will be approached that will allow me to clarify the way in which the natural philosophy produced in central Europe was appropriated by Teodoro de Almeida and how this process of appropriation constituted a flag of modernization hoisted by Almeida, destined to place Portugal in the picture of the European Enlightenment.

Natural philosophy – a continent of diffuse frontiers Natural philosophy, which is the subject of Recreação, was, in the 18th century, a continent of diffuse frontiers in which several non-stabilized designations could be found – “physics”, “experimental philosophy”, “general physics”, “particular physics”, “mystic mathematics” – and indexed to personal criteria. Straight away in tome I of Recreação, Almeida gave his definition of natural philosophy which did not coincide with some of the other contemporary texts cited by him in Recreação.10

9

Until 1819 – the year of the publication of the 6th edition of tome V of Recreação – there had been already four editions of tome I, five of tome II, six of tomes III and IV, five of tome VI and six of tome VII. Apart from these, Recreação was also the object of nineteen translations into Spanish, total or partial, and the Cartas Físico-Matemáticas had six translations, also into Spanish. See, on this subject, João Luís Lisboa, Ciência e Política, Lisboa, Instituto Nacional de Investigação Científica / Centro de História da Cultura da Universidade de Lisboa, 1992, p. 141; Zulmira C. Santos, Literatura e espiritualidade na obra de Teodoro de Almeida (1722-1804), Lisboa, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian/Fundação para a Ciência e Tecnologia, 2007, pp. 243 and 433-442, and José Alberto Silva (Introdução e coordenação editorial), Teodoro de Almeida. Oração e memórias na Academia das Ciências de Lisboa, Porto Porto Editora, 2012, pp. 14-16. 10 In the titles of three of the most cited works by Almeida, and which constituted vehicles of access to Newtonian physics in continental Europe – namely, Physices Elementa Mathematica. Experimentis Confirmata sive Introductio ad Philosophiam Newtonianam (1720) by Willem’s Gravesande (1688-1742), Les Entretiens Physiques d’Ariste et d’Eudoxe, ou Physique Nouvelle en dialogues by the Jesuit Noel Regnault (1683–1762) and Leçons de physique expérimentale (1743-1748) by Jean Antoine Nollet (1700-1770) – the expression “natural philosophy” does not appear, although, in the English translation of Gravesande’s work, completed by John T. Desaguliers (1683-1744) in 1721, the original “physices” has been

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The natural philosophy of Almeida was a “science that addresses all natural things” in which are included “the plants, the brutes and man with everything that serves his senses.” 11 Such thematic amplitude was not accompanied by a good part of the European texts that Almeida took as reference in Recreação. From the beginning of the 18th century, natural philosophy was gradually restricted to what, from the 19th century onwards, would be understood as “physics.” 12 The invocation of experience as a methodological principle and the progressive application of mathematics to the study of natural phenomena, exemplarily evidenced by Isaac Newton (1642-1727) in his Philosophiae naturalis principia mathematica (1687), were concomitant with the progressive expulsion of man, the plants and the brutes from the domain of natural philosophy. The approach that Almeida takes with regard to natural philosophy in Recreação can be indexed both to the Portuguese cultural context of the 18th century, and to the agenda of the dissemination of science to which he was committed. The Oratorians, in which Almeida was integrated, were, in the Portuguese 18th century, the protagonists of one of the cultural renovation currents marked by differentiated processes of appropriation of the philosophical theories – that had in Bacon, Gassendi, Descartes, Locke, Leibniz or Newton, among others, their most iconic authors – in opposition to the Aristotelic-scholastic or peripatetic philosophy. 13 That appropriation process, marked by the dichotomy of Moderns–Ancients and usually designated by eclecticism or eclectic philosophy, 14 had, in Portugal, its proclaiming motto in the sentence expressed by Luís António Verney (1713–1792) in his Verdadeiro Método de Estudar (True Method of Study) (1746), “This is the modern system: not having a system; and

translated as “natural philosophy”, Mathematical Elements of Natural Philosophy, confirmed by Experiments, or An Introduction to Sir Isaac Newton’s Philosophy. 11 Teodoro de Almeida, Recreação Filosófica, vol. I, pp. 4-5. 12 John Gascoigne, “Ideas of Nature – Natural Philosophy”, in Roy Porter (ed.), The Cambridge History of Science – Eighteenth Century Science, vol. 4, Cambridge, CUP, 2008, p. 298. 13 Silva Dias, Portugal e a cultura europeia, pp. 269-277. On the role of the sciences in the modernization process of Eighteenth-Century Portugal, see Ana Simões, Ana Carneiro and Maria Paula Diogo, “Constructing Knowledge: Eighteenth-Century Portugal and the New Sciences” in Kostas Gavroglu (ed.), Archimedes, 2, 1999 – The Sciences in the European Periphery During the Enlightenment., pp. 1-40. 14 J. S. da Silva Dias, “O ecletismo em Portugal no século XVIII – Génese e destino de uma atitude filosófica”, Revista Portuguesa de Pedagogia, 6, 1972, pp. 3-24.

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only so some truth has been found”15 – of which Almeida would give his version in the prologue of tome I of Recreação: “I shall not limit myself to some school, nor blindly follow some determined Author; but what I sincerely understand, that more gets to the truth.”16 The critique of authority and of the systems claimed by Almeida constituted a common perspective with some European natural philosophers of the 18th century, a time when the Newtonian paradigm was not yet conveniently stabilized and the Cartesian proposals still occupied a significant part of the explaining arsenal of natural phenomena.17 One of the signs of that paradigmatic instability was translated in the oscillation between the Cartesian doxa and the Newtonian doxa, used in the explanation of some natural phenomena. Teodoro de Almeida glided from one to the other, in an ostensive manner, anchored in a rhetoric that had, in “experience” and in “safe calculation”, the key to the natural phenomena. We find an example of that oscillation in the successive positions that Almeida took concerning light and the theory of colours.18 In the first edition of tome II of Recreação, Almeida followed the Cartesian argumentation very closely by considering light a “vibrational movement of ethereal matter,” 19 that was constituted by “little globes” or “small elastic balls”20 to which one applied the laws of collisions. Seven years later, Almeida continued to invoke the argumentation of “Gassendi and other Philosophers before Newton”21 and, also, I should add, of Descartes in his explanations about the reflection and refraction of light but, this 15

Luís António Verney, Verdadeiro Método de Estudar, vol. III, carta X, Lisboa, Livraria Sá da Costa, 1950, pp. 202-203. 16 Teodoro de Almeida, Recreação Filosófica, I, Prólogo, pp. 8, 9. On the philosophical eclectism of Teodoro de Almeida, see F. Contente Domingues, Ilustração e catolicismo. Teodoro de Almeida, Lisboa, Edições Colibri, 1994, pp. 59-74. 17 J. A. Nollet (1700-1770) stated, in his Leçons de Physique Experimentale, Preface, vol. I, Paris: chez Hypolite Louis Guerin, 1743, pp. XX-XXI, that “Je ne me présente ici sous les auspices d’aucun Philosophe; ce n’est ni la Physique de Descartes, ni celle de Newton, ni celle de Leibniz que je me suis préscrit de suivre particuliérement [...] En matiére de Physique, on ne doit point être esclave de l’autorité”. 18 José Alberto Silva, A apropriação da filosofia natural em Teodoro de Almeida (1722-1804), Lisboa, CIUHCT, 2009, pp. 61-67. 19 Teodoro de Almeida Recreação Filosófica, tomo II, Lisboa, Na Oficina de Manuel Rodrigues, 1751, p. 3. 20 Idem, p. 22. 21 Teodoro de Almeida, Recreação Filosófica, tomo II, 3ª edição, Lisboa, Na Oficina de Miguel Rodrigues, 1758, p. 59.

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time, in a less convincing manner, to the point of actually affirming, about the nature of light, “However I am not Newtonian, nor Cartesian [...] If this light is a very tenuous flame as the Newtonians say, or merely agitated, as others wanted [Cartesians], I affirm to thee in all sincerity that I do not know”.22 Almeida would go back to the theme about forty years later, in various texts where the nature of light was approached, this time with a different perspective from the last.23 In all of them Almeida defended the existence of a “Newtonian vacuum” against the Cartesian “plenum”, and also the idea that the light was constituted by particles, no longer the globe-like or elastic particles, explaining the refraction and reflection in terms of attractive forces.

Reason and religion, the same struggle The eclecticism of Teodoro de Almeida constitutes the conceptual framing that allowed him to promote the transition to modernity without it implying a rupture with the “Catholic dogmatic” that he defended. 24 “Harmony of reason and of religion” was the title that Almeida gave to tome IX that constituted a philosophical reply to “the arguments of the incredulous who repute the Religion contrary to Good Reason”, just as was indicated in the subtitle.25

22

Idem, pp. 26-27. I have found these positions by Teodoro de Almeida expressed in a manuscript submitted to the Academia Real das Ciências de Lisboa, of which he was a cofounder, “Memória sobre a Natureza da Luz e Vácuo Celeste”, série azul, ms. 377, nº 2, transcribed in José Alberto Silva, Teodoro de Almeida. Oração e Memórias, pp. 102-105. The other two texts in which Almeida defends the same thesis about the nature of light are Conclusões de Filosofia natural sendo presidente o P. Theodoro de Almeida e defendente José Marcelino, Lisboa, Na Regia Officina Typografica, 1798, pp. 18-23 and “Sobre a Natureza do Sol, e da Lua, onde se trata do Vacuo Newtoniano e dos Espaços Celestes”, carta XXIV, in Cartas Fysico-Mathematicas para servir de Suplemento à Recreação Filosófica, tomo III, Lisboa, Na Regia Oficina Typografica, 1799, pp. 200-224. 24 For a characterization of this tension between renovation and tradition, see Luís Bernardo, “Le Souci du ‘canon’ chez Teodoro de Almeida: Les Lumières Portugaises entre Affranchissenent et Conformité”, Dix-Huitième Siècle, 46, 2014, pp. 603-621. 25 Teodoro de Almeida, Harmonia da Razão e da Religião ou Respostas Filosoficas aos Argumentos dos Incrédulos, que reputão a Religião contrária à Boa Razão, Lisboa, Na Officina Patriarcal, 1793. 23

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The thesis of the harmony between religion and natural philosophy crossed all of Recreação in a pervasive way, assuming different configurations in conformity with the themes that were successively being discussed. Subjacent to this thesis was the argument of finality or the argument for design according to which the laws of nature constituted an evident sign of the existence of God. This argument structured an important part of the European apologetic and philosophical production of the 18th century. 26 It was an inductive argument, based in the analogy between human artefacts as products of the design of man and the objects and creatures of nature that, just like the artefacts created by man, allowed the inference of the existence of a divine author, ultimate cause and creator of all nature. This argument would be the object of scrutiny and criticism on the part of David Hume (17111776) and also of Immanuel Kant (1724-1804). Hume criticised the logical jump that consisted in deducing transcendence from the finitude of the objects of nature. He also considered that the argument for design, if taken to the final consequences, would force an explanatory process of infinite regression. 27 Kant, somewhat like Hume, concludes in favour of the impossibility of establishing the physical-theological proof of the existence of God, displacing the proofs about the existence of God and his attributes away from the object of natural philosophy.28 Almeida’s positions were aligned with the argumentative pattern that structured the European Apologetic, whether its authors were Catholic or Protestant. 29 Metaphors, images and analogies constituted a rhetoric arsenal mobilized by the natural philosophers and theologists of the time

26 On the relations between natural philosophy and religion in the 18th century, namely in Protestant contexts, see John Hedley Brooke, Science and Religion. Some Historical Perspectives, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1991, especially chapter V, “Science and Religion in the Enlightenment”, pp. 152-191. 27 David Hume, Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, 2nd ed., London, 1779, pp. 47-48, 51 and 104-112. 28 Immanuel Kant, Crítica da Razão Pura, Lisboa, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, 1985, pp. 518-531. There is no place here to explore the philosophical implications of the positions of Hume, or of Kant, in what concerns the relation between science and religion. On this matter, see John Hedley Brooke, Science and Religion, pp. 181-184, 203-209. 29 I have found examples of this argumentative similitude in both works by Protestant authors, like William Derham’s Physico-Theology (1713) and William Paley’s Natural Philosophy (1801), as well as Traité de l’existence et de les attributs de Dieu (1712) by the Catholic bishop François Fénelon.

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against the attacks of deism, atheism and agnosticism of the 18th century directed at the Catholic and Protestant orthodoxies.30 Almeida thought that the ultimate purpose of natural philosophy would be to discover, through the study and knowledge of the phenomena of nature, “the vestiges of the perfections of God”.31 Knowledge appears thus endowed with a religious utility that constitutes, simultaneously, an instance of double validation: to caution faith and, in a single step, to validate reason, seen as an instrument of access to nature as a work of God.32 “The harmony of reason and religion” defended by Almeida in Recreação faced a unique difficulty when the time came to defend the Copernican system. Apart from exposing the advantages of the Copernican system over the Ptolemaic and Tychonic systems, Almeida had to respond to the accusation of heresy made by the Peripatetics against heliocentrism. And he made it according to an argumentation developed on two levels. In the first moment, it concerned separating what is from theology and what is from philosophy. According to Almeida, the truths of theology are ancient and given by faith, contrary to the truths of philosophy that can be scrutinized by experience and by “the light of reason”.33 In “matters of Philosophy, [the Holy Priests] only deserve the veneration that in itself their opinion has, and its fundament, which is very weak, given that in their time, existed neither instruments, nor observations accordingly”. 34 Consequently, Almeida would use an argumentative artifice inherited from the polemics, raised with the publication De revolutionibus orbium coelestium (1543) by Nicolau Copernico (14731543), qualifying it as a “licence granted to me by the Church by Decree of the Cardinals Members of the Supreme Inquisition, in the year 1620”.35 That “warning” of the Holy Consecration of the Index, emitted on 15th May 1620, which Almeida refers to, prohibited the publication of the De 30 See John Hedley Brooke, Science and Religion, pp. 152–191 and also John Hedley Brooke and Geoffrey Cantor, Reconstructing Nature. The Engagement of Science and Religion, Edinburg, T & T Clark, 1998, pp. 141-161. 31 Teodoro de Almeida, Recreação Filosófica, tomo I, 4ª ed., Prólogo, Lisboa: Na Regia Officina Typografica, 1778, p. 2. 32 José Alberto Silva, “The Portuguese Popularizer of Science Teodoro de Almeida: Agendas, Publics and Bilingualism”, History of Science, 50, 166, 2012, pp. 105-107. 33 Teodoro de Almeida, Recreação Filosófica, tomo I, Prólogo, p. 13. 34 Teodoro de Almeida, Recreação Filosófica, tomo VI – Trata dos Ceos e do Mundo, Lisboa, Na Oficina de Miguel Rodrigues, 1762, p. 280. 35 Idem, p. 269.

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revolutionibus as long as the placement and movement of the earth that were described in it were therein considered to be expressing the whole truth. However, given the importance and the useful things that such a book contained, the Congregation permitted its publication on the condition that the placement and movement of the Earth were described in it as a mere explanation of a hypothesis.36 As cardinal Bellarmino wrote in a letter to Carmelite Paolo Foscarini, supporter of Galileo, it was a matter of “saving appearances” 37 and it would be precisely that position that Almeida would adopt to justify his adhesion to heliocentrism: “I, as thesis, am not inclined to none [system]; that is, none dare I say that it is in reality true [...] Now as hypotheses, that is, as mere supposition, that each one establishes, from it to explain all the effects, I am inclined to the Copernican”.38 The description that, following this, Almeida steadily makes of the Newtonian system leads one, however, to suppose that the previously adopted thesis/hypothesis distinction is no more than mere artifice, behind which he hides his full adhesion to Copernicanism. This becomes obvious when he affirms that the Omnipotence and Wisdom of God would become more admirable in case the movement of the celestial bodies were to be described by the Newtonian system.39

36

One can read a transcription of the warning by the Congregation of the Index in Jules Speller, Galileo’s Inquisition Trial Revisited, Frankfurt am Main, 2008, pp. 111-112. 37 “I say that it seems to me that Your Reverence and Galileo did prudently to content yourself with speaking hypothetically, and not absolutely, as I have always believed that Copernicus spoke. For to say that, assuming the earth moves and the sun stands still, all the appearances are saved better than with eccentrics and epicycles, is to speak well; there is no danger in this, and it is sufficient for mathematicians. But to want to affirm that the sun really is fixed in the center of the heavens and only revolves around itself (i.e., turns upon its axis) without traveling from east to west, and that the earth is situated in the third sphere and revolves with great speed around the sun, is a very dangerous thing, not only by irritating all the philosophers and scholastic theologians, but also by injuring our holy faith and rendering the Holy Scriptures false”, Modern History Sourcebook – Robert Bellarmine: Letter on Galileo’s Theories: 1615, http://legacy.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/1615bellarmine-letter.asp. Accessed 8/02/2015. 38 See note 35 (above). 39 Teodoro de Almeida, Recreação Filosófica, tomo VI, p. 318.

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A delicious theatre The programme of popularization of the sciences by Teodoro de Almeida was not reduced solely to the publication of books for the “instruction of curious people that did not frequented classes.” Almeida extended his pastoral action of the dissemination of knowledge, directing it to a new kind of public and to settings thus far excluded from the circulation of that knowledge. The curious people whom Almeida addressed did not frequent the classes of schools and universities. The houses of nobles and bourgeois, and the Cabinets of Physics, amongst which the one at Casa das Necessidades (Oratorian Convent of Our Lady of Necessities)40 – that “delicious theatre” where Almeida entertained the king and his court “with the admirable spectacle of Nature”41 – were now part of the new geography of knowledge, indexed to the cultural panorama of the 18th century.42 The public conferences presented in the shape of spectacular exhibitions/demonstrations of phenomena of the most varied nature configured the socialization process of the sciences in the 18th century.43 The announcement of one of these conferences, distributed together with the periodical Gazeta de Lisboa (Lisbon Gazette) on October 18th 1725, about the organization of a set of conferences on “New or Experimental Philosophy”, to be given by the Englishman Luís Baden in the houses of the Count of S. Miguel, indicated a double objective; namely, the 40

The Congregation of the Oratory was established in Portugal by Father Bartolomeu do Quental in 1668. The first Oratorian House to be founded was the House of the Holy Spirit (Casa do Espirito Santo), followed in 1745 by the House of Necessities, which was supported by the royal provision of King João V. 41 ANTT, ms. 2316, Vida do P. Theodoro de Almeida da Congregação do Oratório de Lisboa, transcribed in F. Contente Domingues, Teodoro de Almeida (1722-1804), subsídios para uma biografia, master’s dissertation, Lisboa, FCSH da Universidade Nova de Lisboa. 42 On the emergence of new places and protagonists in the production and popularization of science in the 18th century, see Bernadette Bensaude-Vincent and Christine Blondel (ed.), Science and Spectacle in European Enlightenment, Aldershot, Ashgate Publishing, 2008. 43 Rómulo de Carvalho signalled a set of conferences in Experimental Physics that would take place not only in the Gabinete das Necessidades but also in other private cabinets, as well as the coming of foreign demonstrators who, accompanied by their instruments or utilizing instruments fabricated here, promoted sessions of Experimental Physics in the houses of nobles and bourgeois, Rómulo de Carvalho, A física experimental em Portugal no século XVIII, Lisboa, Instituto de Cultura e Língua Portuguesa, 1982, pp. 65-69 and 73-90.

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epistemological demarcation of the contents that it dealt with – a “new philosophy” or “experimental philosophy” – and the demarcation of the public who had access to it, namely, “Noblemen, Foreigners, and Portuguese, divided in three different days of each week”.44 These two traits – a new philosophy and a new public – would also be transversal to the pastoral action of Almeida: reason and experience, machines, instruments and “curious people who have not frequented the classes” nurtured modern philosophy which circulated through those new places of knowledge. Recreação was a component of that pastoral perambulation that took Almeida “to the houses of noblemen with a small Electric Machine”, amusing them “with its prodigious as well as inexplicable effects”.45 Moderns and Peripatetics confronted each other in Recreação in an asymmetrical dispute, staged to produce a sole winner: modern philosophy. One critic of Recreação was right when, in treating the Eucharistic accidents and the soul of the brutes, he qualified Sílvio, the defender of the Peripatetic cause, as “good man, bad philosopher and worst peripatetic”.46 The reason being that Sílvio was not bilingual and did not know the modern syntax, unlike Teodósio, Almeida’s alter ego, who, being a modern man trained in the scholastic syntax, and placing himself on the side of the moderns, could articulate the paradigmatic incommensurability that connected the two systems in terms of a logic of 44

Gazeta de Lisboa, 42, 1725. The leaflet in which the “Experimental Philosophy Course” given by the Englishman Luis Baden, was publicized, is transcribed in Joaquim de Carvalho, “João Locke, Ensaio philosophico sobre o entendimento humano – Introdução”, Boletim da Biblioteca da Universidade de Coimbra, XX, 1951, pp. 171-179. 45 This was the way in which Almeida was portrayed by one of his critics in the polemic that involved him concerning the opening Oração (lesson) he gave in the public presentation, on 4th July 1779, of the Academia Real das Ciências de Lisboa: “Carta que se escreveu ao P. Theodoro de Almeida, sobre a Oração que recitou na Abertura da Academia das Sciencias de Lisboa, BNP, cod. 8058, ff. 3135 (Transcribed in José Alberto Silva, Teodoro de Almeida. Oração e memórias, pp. 56-61). 46 This is the title of the anonymous work written against Recreação, namely, against the pro-Cartesian perspective defended by Almeida about the Eucharistic accidents and the existence of the soul of the brutes, Palinodia Manifesta ou Retractação publica de muitos erros, carocas, e falsidades, que a hum pobre Medico, chamado Sylvio, bom homem, mao Philosopho e peior Peripatetico se encaixarão na ultima tarde da Recreação Filosófica, Sevilha, António Bucaferro, 1752.

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refutation constructed in favour of modern philosophy against the peripatetic scholastic.47

47

The characterization of the epistemological, methodological and religious perspective of Teodoro de Almeida as being a form of bilingualism was inspired by Mário Biagioli, Galileo Courtier: The Practice of Science in the Culture of Absolutism, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1994, pp. 232-244.

CHAPTER ELEVEN THE EUCHARISTIC ACCIDENTS AND THE SOUL OF THE BRUTES: ASPECTS OF CARTESIANISM IN RECREAÇÃO BY TEODORO DE ALMEIDA LUÍS MANUEL A. V. BERNARDO CHAM - CENTRO DE HISTÓRIA D’AQUÉM E D’ALÉM MAR, DEPARTAMENTO DE FILOSOFIA, FACULDADE DE CIÊNCIAS SOCIAIS E HUMANAS, UNIVERSIDADE NOVA DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

In the second half of the 18th century, one work, for the Portuguese cultural context, divided as it was between loyalty to the aristotelicthomist tradition and the curiosity about the most recent theories, fulfilled the function of an encyclopaedia of knowledge for the modern man. That work is Recreação filosófica, written by the Oratorian priest Teodoro de Almeida (1722-1804)1, published in ten tomes, between 1751 and 1800.2 In the prologue to tome I, the author himself presents it as a work involving the dissemination of philosophical, scientific and technological knowledge of new times, destined to «instruct, and concurrently recreate».3 This encyclopaedic characteristic is not unique in the Portuguese context. Francisco Domingues points to the existence of a set of «encyclopaedic projects of the mid settecento»4, which represent the same 1

For a global presentation of the author and his work see the previous chapter. Teodoro de Almeida, Recreação filosófica, ou Diálogo sobre a Filosofia Natural, para instrucção de pessoas curiosas, que não frequentárão as aulas, 10 tomos, Lisboa, Regía Officina Typografica, 1786-1800 (5ª impressão corrigida). 3 Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit, tomo I, prólogo. 4 Francisco Domingues, Ilustração e Catolicismo. Teodoro de Almeida, Lisboa, Colibri, 1994, p. 53. 2

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purpose of dissemination of «the wider acquaintance in various domains of knowledge» 5 and which commit to the same didactic of entertainment. However, after analysing the characteristics and limitations of several of those works6, I have concluded that: «a work of much greater breadth and consistency was available at the time, and which encountered much greater success without being heavy reading: this was Recreação filosófica by Teodoro de Almeida».7 With its preparatory works completed within the final stages of the rule of King João V (1689-1750), Recreação thus came to constitute a true symbol of the national movement of Enlightenment, of its programmatic and ideological orientation, of its thematic and authorial enthusiasms, of the literary, scientific and philosophic canon that it hoped would replace the university tradition of Second Scholasticism,8 of the limits imposed upon itself concerning the concept of modernity, and, above all, of that ever so idiosyncratic interlining of natural philosophy and religion, declared from the start as the general purpose of the work: «In this work I will serve as guide to those who want to see the best beauty of the creatures, and those who whish to make of this a step to ascend to the knowledge of its author».9 It is, therefore, legitimate to assume that Eugénio dos Santos himself, even if he didn’t possess any of the volumes of Recreação in his private library, had read them and, subsequently, had identified himself not only with several aspects of its contents, but also with the type of rationality it carried.10 5

Ibidem. For example, Política moral, e civil, in seven volumes, by Damião António Lemos Faria e Castro, published from 1749 to 1761, deemed unequal and superficial in the development of the themes, as well as lacking any «signs of modernity» (Idem, p. 53), or the failure of the periodical O occulto instruído, despite the successive edition of eighteen booklets between 1756 and 1757 and the declared intention to give «very close attention to the scientific subjects» (Idem, p. 55), through resorting to the highest authorities in a regime of assumed eclecticism. 7 Idem, p. 56. 8 See Luís Bernardo, “Le souci di «canon» chez Teodoro de Almeida: les Lumières portugaises entre affranchissement et conformité”, Dix-Huitième Siècle, nº 46, Paris, La Découverte, 2014, p. 603-621. 9 Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., tomo I, prólogo. 10 Leonor Ferrão has demonstrated how Eugénio dos Santos had an ideological positioning in accord with the efforts of the harmony of reason and religion on the part of the Oratorians (Leonor Ferrão, Eugénio dos Santos e Carvalho, arquitecto e engenheiro military (1711-1760): cultura e prática de arquitectura. Lisboa [s.n.], 2007. Tese de Doutoramento, Universidade Nova de Lisboa, vol. 1, p. 344), in spite of that absence, in the class of Sciences and Art of the catalogue (Idem, pp. 247-268). 6

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The author, who, thus, assumed himself to be a paladin of the Catholic Illustration – a peculiar conciliatory formula, that the Enlightenment movement in Portugal will share with that of other Catholic states, like Spain and Italy, if not also with the version that the majority of Frenchmen, believers, those distant from the avant-garde while recognizing the value of modernity, would be willing to accept – published many other works11, but none with the monumentality or the impact of Recreação. That same double apologetic purpose, in the defence of the effective coincidence of the speculative merits of the Moderns – a category that entails less of its contemporaries than the big philosophical systems that were affirmed in the course of the 17th century, and the existential virtues of religious orthodoxy – more than any other trait, whether of authorial or investigative originality, will have most likely been the main cause of his success. Recreação proposes, thus, to offer a conception of reality, in line with the data of the new science, sufficiently cohesive and orthodox to be able to constitute an alternative to that of Second Scholasticism, whose aristotelic-thomist matrix – disseminated in the several manuals that, in the meantime, thickened the Cursus conimbricensis 12 – configured the formation carried out by the Jesuits at the various levels of teaching, 11

Some of those other texts, namely the ones concerned with Christian civility and devotional spirituality, as, for instance, O Feliz Independente (1779), are analyzed by Zulmira Santos (Literatura e Espiritualidade na Obra de Teodoro de Almeida (1722-1804), Lisboa, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, 2009, pp. 329 ff) whom, therefore, seeks to counter the overall dominant interest in Recreação. In the general context of this paper, Cartas físico-matemáticas (1787), a book complementary to Recreação on physical and mathematical subjects, deserves special mention. 12 At Universidade de Coimbra, «still in the 16th century, the movement for the restoration of the aristotelic-scholastic philosophy had a remarkable expression in the famous Curso Conimbricense, written by three Jesuits […]. The treatises that constitute the Course are composed of eight comments to the works of Aristotle, in the domain of natural philosophy, ethics and logic […]. In what concerns the content of the treatises, the themes are kept essentially within the traditional framing, St. Thomas and Duns Escoto, being, among the medieval, the most followed authorities, in relation to whom Aristotle’s thought is, generally, interpreted. But the new elements present in the Course are scarce, originating from philosophy and science of the time» (Amândio Coxito, “O Curso Conimbricense”, in Pedro Calafate, História do Pensamento Filosófico Português, II, Lisboa, Caminho, 2001, pp. 503-504). These characteristics were maintained in the 18th century: in spite of the inclusion in some manuals of some of the more recent ideas, namely the ones defended by Descartes, the scholastic matrix did not suffer, in general, significant changes.

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including the university, and, thus, impregnated deeply into the contemporary mentality. That objective is accomplished in the first eight tomes, which form the reference corpus of this article, by staging a long dialogue between the two perspectives. To each one, a character is attributed: Teodósio defends the Moderns; Sílvio, the Peripatetics. The Moderns prevail, with the proper agreement given by Eugénio, the third character that symbolizes the public eager to understand the new ideas, not through annulment of the established position, but by a game of mutual concessions to the reasons of each one, which will end up prompting a kind of third worldview; an integration of both. One may therefore assume that the asymmetry of his bilingualism13 is not only the result of his will to favour the Moderns, but stems, equally, from the effort to produce that interbred contexture, through the practice of a complex mise en abyme. This textual option has as its main consequence a sort of constant interaction between sciences and dogma, in such a way that the contents of the former end up, inevitably, being presented in their relationship with the latter, and the questions that this raises form a pretext for the best philosophical theories. The purpose of this chapter is the composition of that interlining in its structural aspect, raising, at the same time, a hypothesis, more general in nature, about the relevance of Jansenist Cartesianism in the construction of the idea of modernity by the advocates of the Portuguese Illustration. To that effect I will be focusing on the two questions that Teodoro himself regards as condensing the essential nature of the divergence between the ancients and the moderns: what is appropriate to understand about Eucharistic accidents and how should one conceive of the soul of the brutes14. These two topics are, consequently, emblematic of the way in which Teodoro combines the various planes of faith and reason, and how he integrates the diversity of references that derive from an assumed eclecticism in a coherent scheme. Pedro Calafate writes that «one of the most interesting consequences of the debate between ancients and moderns in the field of physics is the one referring to the consequences of the adoption of mechanism, when placed before the “explanation” of the so-called Eucharistic accidents».15 Teodoro 13

José Silva, A Apropriação da Filosofia Natural em Teodoro de Almeida (17221804), Braga, Centro Interuniversitário de História das Ciências e da Tecnologia, 2009, p. 93. 14 Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., tomo I, tarde I, § 4, p. 38. 15 Pedro Calafate (dir.), História do Pensamento Filosófico Português, vol. III, Lisboa, Caminho, 2001, p. 169.

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de Almeida must have thought in a similar way as he was well aware that the explanation that was to be put forward regarding the issue of the transubstantiation of the bread in the body of Christ did not have a mere theological implication. No doubt, it challenged the Catholicism of the moderns, generically suspected of standing by the Protestant version, which refused to see in that transformation a real effect, instead assuming only the consecration of a symbol of the faith. However, the issue did not involve less the cluster of physics, namely the general understanding of the constitution of physical bodies, as well as the theory of knowledge in line with it. The importance given to the problem can be measured by its recurrence in several moments of the dissertation, as well as by its inclusion right at the beginning of Tarde I, at the time of the second edition. Therefore, even if in Tarde IX of tome II, where the author deals with the question directly, he has chosen to transcribe a good number of the arguments of his teacher, the Oratorian João Baptista (1705-1761), exposed in Philosophia Aristotelica Restituta (1748) 16 – and subsequently turn them into his own so that his version was best known to his readers – that indeed, global understanding shows that he was not only being influenced by it but that the manner in which he integrated it was a deliberately convenient way of dealing with a wide reaching and sensitive issue: the Cartesian solution for Antoine Arnauld’s (1612-1694) objections, interpreted from the horizon of his philosophy. The dependency upon the Jansenist strategy is clearly marked in the way he constructs the conciliating scheme: he introduces, in a first moment, the authority of some popes and authors of reference, like Jacques Bossuet (1627-1704), in order to confirm the acceptability of the explanation that he attributes to the Moderns; in a second moment, he insists on the respective agreement with the true aristotelic-thomist positions, i.e., those that wouldn’t have been modified by Scholastics; and, in a third, he ends up defending the point that orthodoxy should not surprise us considering that the Moderns do no more than give a scientific configuration to what was, originally, a doctrine established by the Fathers of the Church. This strategy shows that, beyond playing with the contextual conditions, Teodoro, following Arnauld, by way of the approach between philosophy and theology, seeks to establish «a truth to 16

João Gomes, “Sistemas Eucarísticos na Filosofia Portuguesa do Século XVIII”, Lumen, nº 10, Lisboa, 1946, p. 213-234. The plagiarism accusation was part of the controversies around Recreação. But some authors, such as the Jesuit Inácio Monteiro (1724-1812), who had a significant good knowledge of Descartes, realized that the work had its originality. See Francisco Domingues, op. cit., pp. 74-83.

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the dogmas of the faith».17 The presupposition of both is that for a dogma like that of transubstantiation, unquestionable from the point of view of the faith and having a necessary compatibility between the two orders of knowledge, one should find the rational explanation that best suits the object of revelation: «Unity of the spirit and the conviction that the truths of faith are never opposed to the truths of reason – even if they appear provisionally to be so: this is what allows the approach to a problem in a philosophical manner and to solve it theologically».18 Such a solution of continuity doesn’t pass without a certain partition of the degrees of certainty that one may obtain in each path. In tomo VII, Teodoro follows the model of Port-Royal in the distinction between metaphysical, natural or supernatural certainties, in which «there is an absolutely infallible sign that always brings with it the predicate», physical certainties, in which, concerning that implication, «we can be wrong if there is a miracle, witchcraft or a true case of nature», and moral certainties, in which the sign «usually appears together with the predicate».19 This differentiation implies that what is at stake in the issue of Eucharistic accidents is the search for a scientific version that induces from, at least, a physical certainty to a supernatural, metaphysical one, that is, «of divine faith, testimony of God, proposed by the Roman Church».20 It concerns, therefore, in the trail of St. Augustine, understanding what one believes, only that this understanding loses its existential dimension to assume an objectified feature, thus defined by Arnauld, in the objections to Descartes: «Celui-là entend, qui comprend quelque chose par des raisons certaines».21 The main consequence, paradoxical only in appearance, is the predominance of the epistemological investigation over the theological. Because what becomes truly relevant is identifying the explanation of the matter that makes, by the use of reason, Man understand that the mystery of transubstantiation occurs really in the physical world, that is; that bread, a natural substance, transmutes itself in the body of Christ, maintaining, in turns, both the natural order and a supernatural intervention. It is thus justified that, in general, having introduced the problem, straight away in Tarde I, the author would have immediately considered that its resolution depended upon the exposition of general physics 22 . In a way, as with 17

Francesco Adorno, Arnauld, Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 2005, p. 45. Francesco Adorno, op. cit., p. 64 (italics in original). 19 Teodoro de almeida, op. cit., tomo VII, tarde XLII, § 2, p. 259. 20 Idem, p. 261. 21 AT, IX, p. 168. 22 Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., tomo I, tarde I, § 4, p. 39. 18

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Protestantism, it concerns the erection of science on the criteria of the credibility of faith. Whereas for the Protestants that position implied the impossibility of seeing in the bread something other than bread, for the Catholics the same scientific version should establish the possibility that certain natural attributes of the bread are kept noticeable by the subject, even if its substance, that is, what identifies it as being real, has been transmuted. These attributes are precisely the accidental ones, meaning those who accompany the thing itself, without them entering its formal definition. In conclusion, what becomes pertinent, in the midst of the new gnosiological paradigm, is to find the physical justification for the fact that the bread, its essence transmuted, continues to appear, taste, and smell like bread. Thus, I find it is equally applicable to Teodoro what Francesco Adorno writes about Arnauld: «there is an agreement of principle between dogmas and («natural») knowledges, but that agreement is not given. It must be researched».23 In this sense, Descartes’ answer to Arnauld’s remarks offers the advantage of constituting a specific reflection on the theme that has the declared intent of satisfying the demands of the theological orthodoxy, without altering the main conclusions that he had reached in the domain of Physics, guided by scientific rigour. No less important, the Jansenist appropriation gave it an adequate theological framing, making it, therefore, the modern solution. It is at this stage that Teodoro recovers and disseminates it. Consequently, the choice of the explanation of the Eucharistic accidents in line with Descartes is, in my view, the choice of his Jansenist version, and it is with that, generally speaking, which the author tries to counter to the Jesuit one. This conception is, also, intimately connected to the Cartesian natural philosophy. When Arnauld advances his objections, including those that fall on the question of Eucharistic accidents, he does not contest neither physics nor Descartes’ epistemology, but merely its likely conformity with some aspects of the religious orthodoxy: «Mais ce dont je prévois que les théologiens s’offenseront le plus, est que, selon ses príncipes, il ne semble pas que les choses que l’Eglise nous enseigne touchant le sacre mystère de l’Eucharistie puissent subsister et demeurer en leur entier». 24 On the contrary, for him, as Adorno points out, «the “scientific” Descartes is precious. His way of considering numerous scientific advances doesn’t imply to take them as opposite to the Dogmas».25 23

Francesco Adorno, op. cit., p. 62. AT, IX, p. 169. 25 Francesco Adorno, op. cit., p.64. 24

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Descartes, in turn, felt under no obligation to revise his physics in the face of the spectrum of heterodoxy. Instead, he lays his whole defence as being the displacement of the problem from the sphere of ontology to the sphere of the theory of knowledge. In doing so, the question ceases to be that of the effective maintenance of accidents given substantial transmutation, as the thomist authors wanted, but converts itself successively into the following three aspects: (1) the question of coherence of such supposition with the general idea of substance, (2) the question of its appropriateness to the knowledge of bodies and (3) the question of conformity with the physics’ theory of sensation. On the first, he writes: «l’esprit humain ne peut pas concevoir que les accidents du pain soient réels, et que néanmoins ils existent sans sa substance, qu’il ne les conçoive en même façon que si c’étaient des substances ; c’est pourquoi il semble qu’il y ait en cela de la contradiction, que toute la substance du pain soit changée, ainsi que le croit l’Eglise, et que cependant il demeure quelque chose de réel qui était auparavant dans le pain ; parce qu’on ne peut pas concevoir rien de réel, que ce qui subsiste ; et encore qu’on nomme cela un accident, on le conçoit néanmoins comme une substance». 26 This does not imply, as Descartes clarifies, denial of the existence of real accidents in the bodies, but that such an existence is that of a mode of corporeal substance, and not a reality that is otherwise independent of it. Its is thus that the second condition is reached, one which requires that bodies be understood according to the epistemological model of extension, which privileges the knowledge of the most abstract modes, directly linked to measure and order, identifiable only by reasoning – in detriment of those that appear, in the School’s terminology, as «species», that is, as immediate objects of sensitive knowledge, which, as he exemplified in the second of the six Metaphysical Meditations, with the piece of wax, are variable and unstable, even for the imagination.27 In this sense, the species are completely accidental, not permitted to define the corporeal substance, but only to evaluate a certain explanation for them to be perceived as they actually are, that is, in terms of colour, taste, odour, etc. It is thus that the final condition is reached, that of finding the physical cause for the species. It is precisely in answering this query that Descartes supplies the solution to the problem. On the one hand, he redirects the explanation of the species to his geometrical theory of the local movement, which has, as corollaries, the inexistency of emptiness and action by 26 27

AT, IX, p. 195. AT, IX, p. 23.

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contact, assuming that «il n’y a personne qui pense que par l’espèce on entende autre chose que ce qui est précisément requis pour toucher les sens».28 On the other hand, having as a previously established premise that such cause cannot be constitutive of the substance, but nevertheless has to determine the possibility of contact between the perceived body and the organs of perception, he proposes the notion of surface, understood as «le terme des dimensions du corps qui est senti ou aperçu par les sens».29 The sensation, therefore, does not derive from direct contact with the substance of the bodies, but from contact with these surfaces. To counter any preliminary critique, he is quick, then, to remit that idea to the Aristotelic tradition, and, in fact, Alquié suggests that it will have been indeed in the reading of St. Thomas that he will have come face-toface with that hypothesis discussed by the Thomists that «les accidents, lors de la transsubstantiation, demeurent dans l’air environnant, qui leur servirait alors de substance». 30 However, it is important to note that Descartes will insist less on the idea of surrounding air, than on the idea of the surface of bodies, there including, on a par with the external surface, the supposition of internal surfaces: «Et il faut remarquer que ce n’est pas la seule figure extérieure des corps qui est sensible aux doigts et à la main, qui doit être prise pour cette superficie, mais qu’il faut aussi considérer tous ces petits intervalles qui sont, par exemple, entre les petites parties de la farine dont le pain est composé».31 This complication, which supposes equally the idea of a movement of the surface in its totality and of each partial surface, results from treating the question in “scientific” terms. He is therefore moved by the aim to establish a sort of physical hiatus, but not a strictly corporeal one, where contact occurs, which does not compromise the definition of the substance as extensive, but rather frees it from the spectrum of the accidental attributes and leads to the satisfactory explanation of the theological mystery in terms of the natural philosophy itself. Descartes actually makes it quite clear: Enfin, il faut remarquer que, par la superfície du pain ou du vin, ou de quelque autre corps que ce soit, on n’entend pas ici aucune partie de la substance, ni même de la quantité de ce même corps, ni aussi aucunes parties des autres corps qui l’environnent, mais seulement ce terme que

28

AT, IX, p. 194. AT, IX, p. 192. 30 René Descartes, Œuvres philosophiques, II, Paris, Garnier, 1999, note 1, p. 695. 31 AT, IX, p. 192. 29

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Regarding such a modal entity, one should understand, fundamentally, two things according to the adopted viewpoint. In ontological terms, it means one sort of existence that is not that of a substance, because it is not in itself a complete being, capable of distinguishing itself in any meaningful way from another, 33 nor is it a constitutive mode of a substance, as «être étendu, divisible, figure, etc., sont des formes ou des attributs par le moyen desquels je connais cette substance qu’on appelle corps»,34 but that of a limit of each corporeal substance, through which it interacts with others.35 As to the knowledge that we may have of it, this results from an abstraction of the spirit that suggests a possible entity as the best explanation for a problem that with another explanation would end up being insufficiently clarified. Conjugating both perspectives, we have, thus, a possible entity, not necessary, that is, whose actuality depends fully upon the actualization by God of the substance of which it is a frontier. With such a concept, Descartes can conclude that transubstantiation does not imply the alteration of the surface, which, not being one of the substantial attributes, should remain not only the same, but in the same mode, i.e., producing the same effects over sensation: one can still sense the taste or the smell of bread, even when the substance of bread is no longer there.36 This justification allows him also to economize one of the two miracles assumed by the Thomists;37 given that only transubstantiation requires supernatural intervention, the permanence of the Eucharistic accidents ends up being explained by the principles of Physics: Car tant s’en faut que, selon l’explication que j’y donne, il soit besoin de quelque miracle pour conserver les accidents après que la substance du pain est ôtée, qu’au contraire, sans un nouveau miracle (à savoir par lequel les dimensions fussent changées) ils ne peuvent pas être ôtés.38

This heterodoxy could not pass unnoticed by Arnauld; more than condemn it, he chooses to circumscribe it to the field of philosophy, a 32

AT, IX, p. 193 (italics in original). AT, IX, p. 171. 34 AT, IX, p. 173 (italics in original). 35 AT, IX, p. 193. 36 AT, IX, pp. 196-197. 37 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, III, 77, I. 38 AT, IX, p. 196. 33

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reminder that, in matters of the faith, the definitive authority belongs to the Council of Trent. Francesco Adorno justly points out the importance of this division, in spite of the conventional element that remains in it: Therefore, in the end and in his own way – without really understanding in what consists the Cartesian rupture – Arnauld identifies it as part of the separation, so important for Modernity, between speculating over the origin of phenomena (and produce a result that ordains them) and explaining them, between Symbolic and Science (a separation that Newton achieved decisively).39

This gesture, if, on the one hand, it discredits the novelty of Descartes’ proposal, on the other hand it makes acceptable, in the name of the separation of the fields, the coexistence of the two orders, the Cartesian philosophy and the theological orthodoxy. Furthermore, it makes that conciliation into a kind of aspiration for the modern theologian, forced by his fidelity to the Church to defend the dogmatic version and, by pretending to be modern, to follow the essential of Descartes’ philosophical proposal, which, it is important to remember, remains sufficiently metaphysical, and which makes use of many concepts from scholastic tradition, as to be able to relate to the religious vision (in a sort of unified narrative, in mirror mode, where each of the perspectives ends up agreeing with the other). It is precisely in line with this that Teodoro de Almeida finds himself. Therefore, what he understands as modern conception is, in its matrix aspect, this mix of Cartesian thought and Tridentine orthodoxy inside which he affirms his eclecticism. His discursive strategy aims to establish the consistency of such narrative, even at the cost, or eventually in certain ignorance, of whatever contradiction may exist between that reference panel and the several threads with which he intends to fill it. Now, Teodoro knows that, in the Portuguese context, on the one hand, that interpretation of reality must be explained from the perspective of its most rudimentary aspects, whereas, on the other hand, it has to be reconciled with the existing worldview. It is precisely that preliminary aspect that Teodósio assumes when he sets out to suggest the need for a previous detour over matters concerning the bodies in general. Sections II e IV of tomo I, respectively, over «the parts or principles of all things in common» and «of the accidents common to all things», establishes the elements necessary to understand the meaning of the argument put forward in the second tomo. In turn, read from that standpoint, they reveal the intention to lead the readers to theses that 39

Francesco Adorno, op. cit., p. 71.

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determine the epistemological basis of the science that concerns that of the Moderns. In Section 1, Teodoro departs from the notion of the compound of matter and form, referring to prime-matter as «common and universal matter in itself capable and indifferently for any composite»,40 and to form as that which determines matter in order to become a specific being, as to which he quickly gains Sílvio’s accord, who declares: «on this we all agree, both the ancients and the moderns».41 But, once the benevolence of the opposite party is guaranteed, Teodoro sets off immediately to the exposition of the novelty, through a fundamental distinction between the metaphysical character that these two concepts shared, and their expression in the domain of physics, as he makes clear when he writes: «Discord concerns what physically that matter and that form is».42 Now, the author intends to redirect the bodies to their material dimension, which confers upon them a certain substantiality based on their physical attributes, and to, also, refuse the Aristotelic separation between matter and form, and, therefore, deny any existence independent to the attributes, be they per se or accidental. To this effect, he begins by defining matter as «an aggregate of corporeal of an incredible smallness, in such fashion that each one separated from the other would be totally imperceptible». 43 In spite of his definition of matter reflecting the influence of Gassendi, it becomes clear that the central reference is Descartes. In truth, the author makes explicit that he is not looking to reclaim ‘at all costs’ the merits of atomism, even if he does not consider them minor, as would fit a Gassendist, but merely to establish an explanation of the structure of matter that may conform to the epistemological principles of modernity, such as he asserts by reminding us that «many peripatetic are atomists without being modern and René Descartes is modern in denying atomism».44 The first of these principles concerns relative divisibility, that is, the one that finds its limit in the physical consistency of the parts that result from the division: «give me you in matter very tenuous particles which is what suffices me to explain the natural effects, be they divisible by the Angel, or not».45 It should be noted that, even if the argument seems to deny Descartes’ thesis of the infinite divisibility of extensive substance, in 40

Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., tomo I, tarde I, § 2, p. 11. Idem, p. 12. 42 Idem, p. 13. 43 Ibidem. 44 Idem, p. 25. 45 Ibidem. 41

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reality the image of the dividing Angel reveals that it is directed against the thomist position, expressed by Sílvio in the following terms: «an Angel may keep dividing a grain of sand for all Eternity».46 Teodoro, as we shall see, has in mind the Cartesian explanation of the surface that supposes the real existence of parts of matter, hence, at this stage, he is not interested in the exploration of metaphysical possibles. This intention finds its confirmation in a final example, precisely about the bread: «all the difference that baked bread already has from wheat in grain, and plus the water (…), is in the diverse way, in which the parts of wheat, and water, are laid». 47 Now, the hypothesis of infinite divisibility in Scholastic conception, by its ontological content, is contrary to that of a physical interaction of the bodies, whereas the Cartesian understanding, situating the problem in the analytical coherence, does not prevent, in reality, that division from finding an end.48 The correlate of this principle is, thus, that of the existence of one and the same matter, recombined in multiple ways. These «wonders of combination»49 allow, in turn, for the sustaining of the principle of the inexistence of emptiness, which the recent findings on the seminal liquid or the silk thread confirm, facilitated by the use of the microscope. But the core of the exposition, as I anticipated, ensues from the intention to cement the real existence of the substances, of which the attributes are but modes, not having any autonomous existence, effective or possible. To that end, Teodoro refuses equally the Aristotelic thesis that constitutes an actualization of the material potency, determining it as this or that being. On the other hand, he reappoints it to the status of one more mode of the body: «the form in our system is something that in itself has neither being nor substance; neither is it an entity really distinct from matter. It is only the mode in which matter is laid out».50 He then makes use of the difference between real distinction and modal distinction, in a meaning close to the one we find previously in Descartes, to sustain that the first only occurs between entities or substances, whereas the second concerns the modes of those same substances. He can, therefore, conclude that «everything that is a mode of any thing is not really different from it and therefore everything that is a mode of matter cannot really be different from matter».51

46

Idem, p. 24. Idem, § 3, p. 33. 48 Cf. René Descartes, «Les principes de la philosophie», II, § 35, AT, IX, II, p. 83. 49 Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., p. 31. 50 Idem, p. 27. 51 Idem, p. 29. 47

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In this general refocusing on matter, there is no place for any temptation of a materialist type, but the resuming of the Cartesian distinction between extensive substance and thinking substance, as it is clarified at the end of the paragraph, when Teodoro considers that the human compound, constitutes an exception to that dominance: «this that I told you, Eugénio, should not be understood of man; because the form of man is the rational soul, really distinct from matter because it is spirit and the matter is the body. But from this no argument can be made by the Peripatetics about the remaining compounds, because they do not say that its form is spiritual; because if it were spiritual, so would I have said it was really distinct from matter».52 The first part of this thesis should serenade the anthropological concerns of his opposers, but the second shows that the essential is still the affirmation of the unique real existence of the substances, material and spiritual, which is decisive for the future argument. With such a position, Teodoro may, on the one hand, centre the problem of Eucharistic accidents in the real transmutation of the real substance that bread is, whereas, on the other hand, he would have established the fundamentals for a spiritual substance to relate to another material one, submitting, in a single step, the question of the permanence of accidents to the plane of modality. Now, modality, as he will defend later on, in harmony with Logique ou l’art de penser, beyond the four conventional modes pointed out by Sílvio «which come to be, necessary, impossible, possible and contingent», admits «as many modes, as adverbs that can be put into propositions, because all of them, modify the affirmation or negation. These adverbs, ordinarily, casually, probably, rarely, commonly, alternatively, put into any proposition already make it modal».53 As modes of the substance, or accidents, defined in paragraph IV of Tarde I as «some predicates without which [the compound] could well do without», 54 even those that correspond to the categorization proposed by Aristotle and retrieved by the Scholastic, from quantity to ubiquitousness, start to constitute, therefore, the expression of a certain layout of matter, without real existence, in the sense in which, by depending on the organization of matter, they are no more than that matter laid out in a certain way. Consequently, accidents don’t have a nature of their own, as the School intended, and as Sílvio never tires of reminding us, but correspond to the certain way in which the substance presents itself, which, without contradiction, can be altered according to a modification of that same layout. 52

Idem, § 4, p. 36. Idem, tomo VII, tarde XLII, § 4, p. 274. 54 Idem, tomo I, tarde I, § 4, p. 39. 53

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The whole argument is crossed, as can easily be understood, by the Cartesian notion of the real distinction being a substantive distinction, but the presence of Cartesian physics makes itself felt, likewise, in the definition of certain modes. Thus, for example, ubiquitousness, defined as «the mode with which we are regarding this place»,55 ends up reduced to a displacement in space – constituting itself as the pretext to introduce and validate the Cartesian idea of local movement, as mode of relation with places,56 which consists in «successively putting our body in successive places». 57 In what concerns the problem of Eucharistic accidents, this elucidation of the principles of natural philosophy has as an absolutely decisive consequence, its reappointment in the domain of physics, in which one should, therefore, think about them as material attributes, before any metaphysical consideration about the reason for their permanence; at the same time it anticipates its resolution through the use of concepts originating from the same order of explanation, in particular those proposed by Descartes. Even if discussed systematically only in tomo VII, a significant alteration of the theory of knowledge, in the terms of Cartesianism of the authors of Port-Royal, accompanies this replacement of the ontological aristotelic-thomist model. Concerning the theme of Eucharistic accidents, for the complete understanding of the solution embraced by the author, it is enough to recover some decisive moments of the implementation of that new gnosiology. The direct relation of the first of those moments with the topic being analysed is, in fact, signalled in the text itself. When Eugénio mistakes the value of experience for the total trust in the senses, Teodósio takes the opportunity to dismount that common-place of the School, that nothing is in understanding that wasn’t previously given by the senses, reminding us that «that which our eyes clearly persuade has considerable certainty, when neither faith, nor strong reason contradicts it, however, in that same, that the senses clearly persuade absolutely, there may be deceit […]. Even if the further senses agree with what the eyes say, and not only you, but further men testify to that same, even in that case we absolutely make a mistake either by witchcraft or by miracle». 58 Now, significantly, the example he chooses is the one of transubstantiation: «And to not go further, see what happens in the ineffable Mystery of Eucharist. The eyes persuade that it is bread, the taste the ears when the Host is divided, the 55

Idem, p. 44. Idem, p. 45. 57 Idem, p. 44. 58 Idem, tomo VII, tarde XLII, § 2, p. 259-260. 56

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touch in its weight, finally all senses uniformly, and clearly say, that there is bread; and yet it is false».59 In effect, the choice of this example, that fed all the Logique of Arnauld and Nicole, is not random, either in the economy of the work, or from the viewpoint of philosophy in general, since with it are raised the main questions about human knowledge and, at the same time, what allows it to unearth reverts directly to its own comprehension. Teodoro will, thus, make use of it to introduce some distinctions that open up successively to the possibility of an equivocal perception to occur, by virtue of a miraculous intervention. In that orientation of the problem to the mode of perception he follows, naturally, the Cartesian model, such as we have exposed it. To the Portuguese author, also, the theme of the Eucharistic accidents is tied, lastly, with the question of the limits of perception and, therefore, with the way we acquire knowledge. The whole argumentation seeks, in all conformity, to settle that (1) not everything we perceive is equivalent to the reality of what is perceived, (2) what we perceive is not what we understand, (3) what we understand benefits, however, from its translation in a certain figurative representation, as is appropriate. To make the first argument count, on the one hand, he points to the difference between seeing the predicate and seeing the sign of the predicate,60 making it apparent that, in the perception of accidents, it is mainly the sign of the predicate that is captured, whereas, on the other hand, it raises the need to distinguish between ideas and existing things and between ideas and chimeras. 61 With this last distinction í which recovers that Cartesian among adventitious and factitious ideas í imagination ends up being introduced as a «faculty that we have to paint inside ourselves any image of sensitive objects».62 Imagination appears, thus, characterized as the physical counterpoint of the spirituality of understanding. Hence, it is in the existence of that faculty, which internalizes the data of sensation, producing «sensitive and material inner images formed in the brain»,63 that the game is really played. What is at stake is the fact that the same internal representation of an altered external perception is given, that in its turn, is not accompanied by understanding – which recognizes the ontological implications of Eucharistic transmutation. For this, which has as its «main function […] the

59

Idem, p. 260. Idem, p. 263. 61 Idem, § 3, p. 266-267. 62 Idem, tarde XXXVII, § 1, p. 22. 63 Idem, § 2, p. 29. 60

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knowledge of its Creator», 64 there would not be any difficulty in the ideation of the mystery of transubstantiation if the imagination failed to continue to represent the accidents of the bread as such. But, by having always in consideration the Christological event, instead of supposing the image representation to be purely and simply wrong, which would annul the mystery itself, Teodoro prefers to put into evidence that the existence of a conflict between the two faculties, appears inevitable: on the one hand, it is one of the manifestations of the «commerce between the soul and the body», 65 in what concerns the representation of certain objects; on the other hand, it inscribes itself in the very destination of the human being, as «a wonderful thing and one of those that I deem inexplicable».66 In that sense, he stresses that «in three cases there usually is a big difference between the Ideas of Phantasia, and the ones of understanding, and it comes down to the Ideas of spiritual things, the Ideas of negative things, and the Ideas also of corporeal things; when they are difficult to paint with exactitude».67 Hence, immediately, he understands that if the process of transubstantiation is included in the first option, the problem of the Eucharistic accidents is inscribed in the last. But, once put into perspective in terms of its dissimilitude with its adequate ideation, it ends up corresponding to one of those cases in which the persistency of the figurative representation serves «to excite or to preserve the Understanding in its spiritual acts»,68 and is therefore always partially unsolved. It is in such a zone of inevitable indecision that there is space to propose the best explanation. Thus, if with the explanation of the principles of the Cartesian natural philosophy, Teodoro relegated the Eucharistic accidents to the sphere of physics, with his appropriation of the Logic of Port-Royal í valuing, in a similar register of Cartesian quality, the double conflict between sensation and imagination, and imagination and understanding í these end up both having been converted into a matter of representation. The successive analogies with painting, which are also found in Tarde IX, of tomo II, where the solution is exposed, offer proof of that rotation from ontology to gnosiology, by means of the philosophy of nature. The question does not concern, henceforth, the reality of the accidents, because they are no more than disposable modes of the substances. Instead, it considers the way in which they end up being represented by the subject of 64

Idem, tarde XXXVIII, § 4, p. 56. Idem, tarde XXXVI, § 3, p. 15. 66 Ibidem. 67 Idem, tarde XXXVIII, § 1, p. 41. 68 Idem, tarde XXXVII, § 2, p. 36. 65

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knowledge. In making use of the metaphor of the painter to characterize that process through which recreation of the data of the senses occurs, I think one can detect an echo of the way in which Descartes used the example of the pictorial activity to break the circle of transcendental illusion, in the first of the six Metaphysical Meditations, by reminding us that the possibility of representation presupposed the reality of the represented.69 However, applied to the Eucharistic accidents, it allows for the equating of another difficulty, one that is less that of an ontological reference than of a trompe-l’oeil effect, which keeps our perception of the accidental modes of an object that suffered a modification in its substance both unaltered, and perfectly noticeable by understanding. In any other circumstance the conflict of the faculties would have given rise to the resolution of the amphiboly, but, in this case, the very function of understanding ends up being subverted, given that the latter is not called upon to correct the error of the sensation nor the illusion of the phantasy, but instead to justify them. In short, what is at stake is comprehension of how we can continue to imagine based on what we continue to feel, even if we should not, and that, because of it, understanding cannot remit to the field of chimerical ideas. Just like for Descartes, therefore, what is at stake is the status of sensation at the basis of the production of an imaginary idea, whose theme has been displaced, this time, to the sphere of the subject. But, inasmuch as the sensation and the imagination are conceived as faculties of the corporeal part of the compound, the sphere of the subject, in these cases, concerns, likewise, Physics. This is how the circle is closed: the passage through the theory of knowledge leads to the general theory of the bodies, given that the representation of the accidents of the bread, by remaining identical, before and after the transubstantiation, should, firstly, deserve the same type of explanation, and, only then, will there be room to understand the mystery of that permanence. In consequence, the mystery also suffers a displacement of the permanence of the accidents, as such, to the permanence of their representation. It is in this difference of perspective that all of the argumentative strategy of Tarde IX of tomo II is played, in which Teodoro exposes the solution that he would have recovered from his master, that, in its turn, is in direct line with the Cartesian one. The final analogy of the miraculous action of God with the activity of the painter leaves no room to doubt that the focus was, since the beginning, on the representation, more than on the reality of the represented: «if men with some pieces of glass, or paintings 69

AT, IX, p. 15.

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deceive us such that our senses do not understand the minor difference from the fake object to the real, why will not God be able in equal fate to imitate the effects that in our senses bread made, with such propriety, and resemblance, that in no way may we know that there is no bread, no matter how many exams and reflections we make?».70 It is, also, in the alteration of this viewpoint that Teodoro sets his conciliatory rhetoric, which cannot but surprise Sílvio, who had just set out that without accidents really distinct from substances, the Eucharistic accidents cannot be explained, thus questioning the validity of the prior exposition, in the name of religious orthodoxy, with the affirmation: «You say, that in Eucharist stay the accidents of bread, and wine. Well the same say I, and yet I am Modern».71 Sílvio, however, paid close attention to Teodoro’s lessons and, thus, he disputes the question with the obvious consequence of his theory of modality, that is, if the accidents are not distinguishable from the substance, its permanence means that the substance has not been modified – which implied the heresy of Protestantism. The way in which Teodoro solves the question consists of showing that the accidents are accidents precisely because that accidental character is a result both of their intermediate situation between matter, of which they are modal variations, and of the sensation that they are, equally, modifications. This duplicity justifies his aim to set the thesis, apparently paradoxical, that there exist accidents separable from the bread, even if not separate in themselves.72 Now, to defend that ambiguous status of the accidents, simultaneously modes of substance and separable from the latter, by not being necessary to it, Teodoro reaches directly for the notion of surface, just as we find it in the Cartesian explanation. Keeping it in mind, even when he prefers other definitions of phenomena such as, for example, Gassendi’s for the light, reduces successively the accidental attributes to modifications of that same surface: «the colour of bread consists in the substance of modified light in a certain way by the surface of the bread»;73 the smell «consists in a tenuous vapour, called effluvious, which leaving the odoriferous body, spreads across the neighbouring air»;74 the sound «consists in the vibratory movement of the air coming from the body», 75 etc. The analysis of flavour, by being considered a specific attribute of bread, proves that the 70

Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., tomo II, tarde IX, § 1, pp. 295-296. Idem, p. 288. 72 Idem, p. 292. 73 Idem, p. 288. 74 Idem, p. 289. 75 Idem, p. 292. 71

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modes are conceived at the same time as the modifications of the substance that are felt and of the organ that generates the sensation, given that what remains, in this case, is the movement of the tongue, in the absence of the particles that moved it. Through this route, Teodoro makes clear that those accidents were no longer really constitutive of the bread, their apprehension stemming from that intermediary plane that Descartes had designated as surface – hence the alteration of the substance, that should also introduce sacramental attributes, is compatible with their physical permanence. Given this, the author validates the modern conception as the best philosophical explanation. But, in accordance with the distinction proposed by Arnauld, it remains still to be seen whether it is, also, the best theological explanation. The difference is indirectly pointed out by Sílvio when, relative to the definition of light, he declares: «Impossibility I don’t find it, difficulty yes; because without miracle cannot light now (when there is no bread) stay with the same modification it had, when there was bread». 76 Now, in this case, Teodoro immediately agrees with his interlocutor: «I am also in that same, and confess, that without miracle that cannot happen; however the Church teaches us, that in sacrament many miracles occur».77 The relaunch of the question in ontological terms may seem like a regressive gesture, originated by the caution in following the orthodoxy closely. However, it is important to consider that, according to the logic that assists the belief in the dogma, the question is above all theological, and supposes, in the Catholic understanding, the effective transformation of the bread in the body of Christ. This process is not, in itself, physical, given that it does not follow the laws of nature, but rather supernatural, since it represents a miraculous eruption that occurs each time the sacramental words are uttered, neither does it occur among natural beings, inasmuch as the bread itself is already consecrated. Therefore, in order to explain it, it is not enough to find a physical theory whose reach does not surpass the field of probability or of possibility; it becomes necessary, always, to convey its reality, attuning the natural certainty of reason and the metaphysical certainty of faith, according to Teodoro’s expressions. The explanation through the terms of science may pretend to establish what bread is and what characterizes it; but, for dealing with nature, inevitably, this leaves the sacrament unexplained. Consequently, for science itself, that constant subversion of the laws of nature implies a supernatural action. Thus, physics does not vacate 76 77

Idem, pp. 288-289. Idem, p. 289.

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metaphysics, neither totally, except if it denies the phenomenon, nor partially, as Descartes wanted when saving one miracle, because all that occurs is miraculous, but leads the believer (whom one wants to also be knowledgeable) to understand better the natural reality over which God operates. Teodoro reintroduces in conformity, the need for the double miracle, but in relation to a nature conceived in Cartesian terms, of which, manifestly, he does not intend to abdicate. This means that, for him, the conciliation of philosophy and theology does not suppose the reduction of the first to the second, or vice-versa, but an articulation of the two planes that does not compromise the truth and the reasonability of each one. The most evident corollary of this understanding is that the physical explanation acquires an effective autonomy, without it being able, as stems from my exposition, to attain a status of independence, which, in fact, for Teodoro, it wasn’t his desire to achieve in any case. Of course, that autonomy was already contained in the game between reason and faith, but the unscathed passage through the sieve of one of the central dogmas of the faith gave it a reinforced authority. Thus, whatever is thought about transubstantiation will have a reality that fits to its scientific conception as a reference point from now on – in the present case, as I have tried to show, of a structurally Cartesian nature. This fidelity to Cartesianism, demonstrated by referring to the general picture, is not compromised by peculiar use of the inherited concepts, including the one of surface, neither by a relative incomprehension of the meaning of the project of the French philosopher, assumed in a predominantly formal way, or by the intromission of the eclectic vocation, conducted more by the rhetoric value of acceptability than by the rational request for coherence. But, in this form of appropriation, one should recognize a condition common to the reception of the thought of Descartes by Cartesians, as I pointed out in Arnauld, and as I have sought to make clear in other texts.78 However, a second and less obvious corollary concerns the very theological comprehension that ends up being itself altered by way of that new reading of nature and of the predominance that the cognoscente subject therefore acquires through it. The innovation in that alteration does not consist so much in what there is to be understood as substance and accident, in spite of that being the focus of the debate, as in the way of 78

Luís Bernardo, O Projecto Cultural de Manuel de Azevedo Fortes – um Caso de Recepção do Cartesianismo na Ilustração Portuguesa, Lisboa, Imprensa NacionalCasa da Moeda, 2005; “Le substrat cartésien de la conception carthographique de Manuel de Azevedo Fortes, Engenheiro-Mor de D. João V», Odisei II: O Cartografie Identitaria – Studii de Caz, Bucharest, University of Bucharest, 2009, pp. 180-203.

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putting into perspective the divine action itself. No doubt there occurs a profound change in the passage from belief in the real subsistence of the Eucharistic accidents to that of its merely formal or virtual permanence, as Teodoro concludes of the discussion around the figure: «If you take the figure merely by the space the body occupies, I say that formally the same figure remains; because the Body of Christ occupies all, and only the space, that the bread occupied. However, if you take the figure by the extension, and disposition of the parts, we say that only virtually the same figure of bread remains». 79 But this version presupposes much more, namely, that the miracle be pondered from the conclusions of the epistemological research, in such a way that the supernatural intervention comes to articulate itself as a compatible possibility within that context. That means, straight away, that there is no room to think about bodies in relation to what in them is adequate to the dogma of transubstantiation, but that dogma should be analysed considering its physical consistency. Thus, having concluded that the accidents are just modes of the substance and that its permanence is linked to a certain relationship with other modes of other bodies – the sensation, which gives origin to a set of imaginative ideas about those attributes – the decisive question is directed to the possibility of God recreating those very conditions, as made manifest after the analysis of colour: «Do you find it impossible, that by destroying the bread, God preserves the light, from it reflected, and that He preserves it modified, in the same way it was, when there was bread?».80 The analysis of other attributes, like the sound («Now it seems to me that it does not have consequence for God to do by miracle, that when the Host is divided, that the air may move with a movement similar to that, it would have, if the bread was divided»81) and the taste («similarly we shall converse about the flavour: the particles of bread, that moved the tongue, do not remain; however God Himself moves the tongue in the same way it would be moved by the bread particles, if they were there; and this is to keep the 79

Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., tomo II, tarde IX, § 1, p. 294. In spite of the clearly Cartesian terminology, this is an enunciation that illustrates well a certain lack of understanding of the reach of the notion of surface in the answer of Descartes, given that Teodoro is forced to introduce the modal operator in the first hypothesis, for referring to the figure, when the former had only mentioned the surface when writing: «Davantage, il n’y a rien en cela d’incompréhensible ou de difficile, que Dieu, créateur de toutes choses, puisse changer une substance en une autre, et que cette dernière subsatnce demeure précisément sous al même superfície sous qui la première était contenue» (AT, IX, p. 196). 80 Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., tomo II, tarde IX, § 1, p. 288. 81 Idem, p. 292.

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same flavour virtually, because the same effect remains»82), confirm that the miracle concerns certain effects that correspond, in their turn, to modalities of perception. In conclusion, just like Descartes, and regarding a physical conception that is imposed on both, the miracle is decentred on the object and its attributes, to be conceived instead from the representation that the subject produces as a consequence of the interaction between the object and the subject, in a neighbouring zone, neither real, nor ideal, but only just virtual, which the term “effect” portrays. The divine action, in consequence, is no longer exerted over real attributes, inasmuch as the miracle concerns the isomorphism of the virtual effects and of the internal ideas of those attributes, as stands defined in the description of the way in which the subject continues to recognize the figure of the bread: Since the fingers will experiment the same resistance in all that round space, where before they experimented it, when there was bread, and this time experiments the sense of touch the same effect that made the figure of the bread, when it existed, and this is to remain the same figure virtually.83

In my reading, therefore, Teodoro does not limit himself to affirm ontologically that «the physical quantity remains virtually, that is, in its effects, of which God is an efficient cause»,84 but values the viewpoint of the philosophy of knowledge over all modalities, including the one of the permanence of quantity, considered by him, as another mode of the substance.85 We do not know if Teodoro will have had full consciousness that this hybrid textualism, by keeping nature as a hostage of God, in turn, made God a hostage of nature. However, by staging a last effort to get validation, we understand that he realized the heterodox element in this combinatory exercise, neither completely scientific, nor fully metaphysical, nor sufficiently canonical. The motto is given by Sílvio: I have produced some thought on the way you explain the accidents, that belong to the Sacrament; however I cannot ease my conscience; because the same weight, the same taste, etc. do not remain truly but only virtually, and this no matter how hard you try, is neither in accord with the experience, nor the faith.86 82

Idem, p. 293. Idem, p. 294-295. 84 João Gomes, op. cit., p. 219. 85 Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., tomo I, tarde I, § 4, p. 42. 86 Idem, tomo II, tarde IX, § 1, p. 295. 83

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In refuting the argument in both planes, Teodoro, truth be told, does not solve Sílvio’s difficulty, because he can no longer do it – not due to any one personal impediment, but because he has already made a sufficient part of the epistemological rotation, which treasures the cognoscente subject and his concomitant mathesis universalis, invalidating a return to the conditions of the aristotelic-thomist ontology: As to the experience there can not be the slightest doubt; because if God makes the same effects in our senses, that these accidents made, as long as there was bread, it follows that we shall have no sign, that our senses may know, that there really is no bread there […]. I say the same [regarding faith] that many of the Peripatetics say, who follow, that the quantity, and the gravity are not entities really distinct from bread».87

The invocation of Physics and of Metaphysics by the Jesuit Rodrigo de Arriaga (1592-1667), in the name of the same conciliatory spirit that he boasts, in no way alters the epistemological fracture that his hybrid textualism, if not produces, then at least, induces. If there is no reason to contest Teodoro’s conviction that «so faithful are we the Moderns, as are the Ancients»,88 one cannot but recognize that the object of that fidelity is no longer totally coincidental, which may justify the prolixity of the arguments, in favour of the Moderns, that are spread, still, over a considerable number of pages. As I have been stating thus far, and without prejudice to the relevance of other philosophies, like Gassendi’s, the Cartesian matrix, with the structuring logic that supports it and the inset of physics and metaphysics that it proposes, passed through the prism of the port-royalist Jansenism, had a decisive role in that deviation. This very reception of the Cartesian mould, redone by the authors who have resumed the thought of Descartes, is patent in the following question, on the soul of irrational animals, of which I will highlight just two or three topics that allow me to demonstrate my reading. In spite of the introduction of some considerations stemming from posterior debates, around the explanatory value of mechanism concerning the phenomenon of life, as well as the recourse to a similar conciliating strategy, it is still within the theoretical possibilities offered by Cartesianism that Teodoro de Almeida will sustain his argumentation, a dependency made more obvious, in this case, because no dogma of the faith is at stake, but, merely, different conceptions of reality.

87 88

Idem, p. 295-296. Idem, tomo I, tarde I, § 4, p. 39.

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Teodoro, thus, starts making use of the Cartesian idea of «animal spirits» to defend the concept that the soul of the brutes is in their blood, which allows him to meet both the peripatetic thesis that animals have a soul, even if he considers it to be merely material, and the modern version which supposes that the irrational animal is an analogue of the mechanism, although this analogy appears admissible to him only to explain the movements: «It is so, because this part of the blood, or these animal spirits, passing through the limbs of the brute, animate and command them».89 The subsequent discussion is rather revealing of his appropriation of the Jansenist strategy, to which I pointed in relation to Arnauld, which consists of approaching Descartes and St. Augustine, in this case, concerning the understanding of that animist principle. In face of the suggestion made by Sílvio that the invocation of the Priest of the Church was made against good judgement, given that he defended that the soul was pneumatic, Teodoro counteracts with a system of convergences in which the modern materialist understanding clearly prevails: Friend Sílvio, the blood where particles of the air were mixed, does not stop being blood; nor does water, where particles of salt were mixed (like the one in the sea), stop being water.90

Strategy, indeed, given that the observation made by Sílvio over the false authorship of the work attributed to the Saint does not dissuade the conciliatory purpose of Teodoro who, immediately, addresses another book, the Quaestiones in Heptateuchum, attributing to Saint Augustine the thesis of the soul of animals belonging to the blood, which the latter only referred to as a hypothesis.91 The essential does not reside in the fidelity to the word of the Ancient but in the process of validation that its allusion confers upon the heterodoxy of this new position, settled, in turn, in a peculiar interpretation of the Cartesian notion of «animal spirit», as he does not conceal: Therefore, even if in some other place the Saint either denies our opinion, or gives to the places of the Scriptures a metaphorical sense, we maintain that this opinion, when he would not follow it, he would not repute it for being so dissonant, and so ridiculous.92

89

Idem, tomo II, tarde IX, § 4, p. 354. Idem, p. 357. 91 Idem, p. 358. 92 Idem, p. 361. 90

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Precarious harmonization, as can be inferred, that forces a more detailed clarification of the reasons that lead the author to neither adopt a narrow mechanism, nor an enlarged vitalism. The extensive argumentation shows us, then, that Teodoro wants to preserve, without loss of coherence or explanatory capacity, the latter of which, in each of the litigating theories, in truth, ends up suffering a reduction, the essential difference between the material soul, as the motor of movement in the living, according to a deterministic procedure, and the spiritual soul, exclusive of Man, as principle of consciousness and of freedom. From the start, he faces the thomist position for which the soul wouldn’t know how to be a body, through the distinction between what there is to be thought about the soul in general, including the human, considering this as what is referred to in the Summa Theologica, and what is specifically adequate to the one of the brutes, in which he finds no contradiction in the scholastic position, in relation to the perspective that he tries to defend. Embracing the conception, also Cartesian, «that all sensation can be reduced to a kind of touch»,93 he accepts, in its turn, the Aristotelic argument that sensing, including pain, forms the specificity of the soul of the animals: With this given, I infer that every time that the soul of the brute (whatever it is) being inside it, those touches, movements, or impressions are present, that are made outside in the exterior senses, there is sensation of the brute.94

However, also in relation to this, the balance is apparent, because the explanation that he makes prevalent for such movements, at the origin of the sensation, intends to be aligned with the recent investigations in the domains of anatomy and of physiology, which mechanism favoured, escaping, in such way, the introduction of any other order of entities. He can, thus, describe the animal sensation in characteristically Cartesian terms: Now I conclude: To the animal spirits, who are in the brain of the brute, one communicates, and makes present all the movement, that is made outside, in the exterior senses; this itself, is what we call sensation: thus with truth one can say what the brutes feel.95

93

Idem, § 5, p. 367. Idem, p. 369. 95 Idem, p. 370. 94

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Consequently, in order to justify the hypothetic intentionality that would accompany the regularity and the consistency of animal behaviour, he proposes that one recognize in memory, the maximum faculty of the brutes, a physical basis in the brain, which implies that the memories are impressions subject to an identical process of contact: «This impression […], is received in a soft substance, like wax, that exists inside the brain; and the impression lasts more or less time, according to that substance being more, or less 96 soft».

In the whole of this conception, one can easily recognize the influence of chapter XVIII of Traité du Monde, by Descartes, published as an independent work under the title Traité de l’Homme,97 in 1664, by Claude Clerselier (1614-1684), whose impact made itself felt in all the fields of the new scientific anthropology, in which Teodoro would have collected, likewise, the model for his description of associative memory like a kind of conditioned reflex from the material traces left by the impressions of the brain: Thus we conclude, that the trace, made in sight of the owner, and what the cuddle he has done, will be imprinted together in the brain. Now supposed to stay together these traces, when after the brute sees his owner again, the impression is excited, that the brute has of him in the brain, and because next to this trace is the one of the cuddle, that trace is also excited, and makes in the brute the same effect, that it did when imprinted the first time: from which one can see that even if no one cuddles it yet, the brute gets joyous, because it was excited the trace of what was done to it, and was still there preserved in the brain.98

Sensing the danger of that memory finding itself mistaken for a principle of intelligence, guiding the actions according to a kind of teleology, shared between the irrational animal and man, which would 96

Idem, p. 375. In this work, that describes the scientific fable of the body as analogue of the machine, one can find the main concepts exposed by Teodoro, from the animal spirits to the physiological theory of memory. Descartes summarized his purpose in this way: «je désire, dis-je, que vous considériez que ces fonctions suivent toutes naturellement, en cette machine, de la seule disposition de ses organes, ne plus ne moins que font les mouvements d’une horloge, ou autre automate, de celle de ses contrepoids et de ses roues; en sorte qu’il ne faut point à leur occasion concevoir en elle aucune autre âme végétative, ni sensitive, ni aucun autre principe de mouvement et de vie, que son sang et ses esprits» (AT, XI, p. 202). Unfinished, limited to the human body, it nevertheless leaves expressed the hypothesis that the same occurs «aussi en plusieurs animaux sans raison» (AT, XI, p. 200). 98 Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., tomo II, tarde IX, § 5, p. 377. 97

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result in the negation of substantial dualism defended by Descartes, he insists in the global value of the mechanist explanation: «This whole industry seems wonderful considered in itself, but it does not surprise when the cause is known. I explain myself: all those operations so ordained are born of the admirable disposition of organs, that exist in the brutes; which, given that in itself it is admirable, it is no surprise, if we compare it with the wise hand of the Artisan who formed it».99 The typically apologetic inference corroborates the intention to authorize the mechanism as the best theory on nature, namely for accounting for the how and the why, for order and for finality. To that effect, he resumes the same analogies between the activity of the animal and the working of the clocks or of automatons that feed the referred work of the French philosopher, but, strategically, put in the mouth of Doctor Angelicus, to conclude, likewise, in a very Cartesian way: Therefore there is not in the brutes more freedom, than in a clock, or other machine; for thus like that, when it makes its movements, it is out of necessity, neither could it stop making them, thus the brute (in accord with what is conceded) when it makes a movement, in such way it does it, that it cannot stop making it: even if to us it seems that it does it freely, with the power of not doing it».100

Being fair to the complexity of the phenomenon of life, without leaving, however, the Cartesian register, he introduces a distinction between the connection or arrangement of the parts and the partial movements that are made, which, implying two orders of causality, require, equally, two types of explanation: for the movements themselves, a justification via the causality of the second order suffices, according to the laws of the mechanism, whereas to put them in an orderly whole, it is necessary to introduce the first causality: that of human wisdom, for the artefacts, those of divine wisdom, for natural beings. In response to the 99

Idem, § 6, p. 380. Idem, p. 389. We may find a parallel of this whole argumentative sequence, for example, in the 5th part of Discours de la méthode: «C’est aussi une chose fort remarquable que, bien qu’il y ait plusieurs animaux qui témoignent bien plus d’industrie que nous en quelques-unes de leurs actions, on voit toutefois que les mêmes n’en témoignent point du tout en beaucoup d’autres : de façon que ce qu’ils font mieux que nous ne prouve pas qu’ils ont de l’esprit […]; mais plutôt qu’ils n’en ont point, et que c’est la nature qui agit en eux, selon la disposition de leurs organes : ainsi qu’on voit qu’une horloge, qui n’est composée que de roues et de ressorts, peut compter les heures, et mesurer le temps, plus justement que nous avec toute notre prudence» (AT, IV, p. 58-59).

100

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criticism that such a conclusion presupposes a useless resort to transcendence in order to account for natural phenomena í which would compromise, ipso facto, the philosophical reach of the modern systems í Teodoro de Almeida insists in the idea that it is imperative to distinguish two fundamental processes in nature: on the one hand, one should consider those whose material content admits a physical explanation, whereas, on the other hand, it is important to identify those that, in conceding a spiritual dimension, address an intelligent cause and, accordingly, offer themselves as a big continuous miracle, determining the border zone between what the understanding of Man can attain and what will, always, end up escaping him. This is an obvious motive for long considerations about the divine science, but no less a pretext to describe in detail those icons of modern technology, that were the automatons, in order to make palpable the new science of man. To the fascination of these machines, not even Sílvio, so reticent in other aspects, escapes. After hearing the description by Eugénio of a house exposed in Lisbon, from which a character leaves and, after the request, returns to get tea or coffee, and that of Teodósio, a complex mechanism kept in Parisian College Louis le Grand, which included a lyre player to attract animals, a representation of the earth and the sea in perspective, the first filled by horsemen and carriages, the second by vessels, a bucolic staging, with the dive of a duck and the movement of a mill, all accompanied by a «harmonious concert of mermaids and nightingales, that almost transport any person»,101 he is forced to declare «There is no doubt, that that is an astonishing thing, and it becomes extraordinary».102 In this shared praise of the technological progresses made possible by the new science and favouring times of expanded learning, it is, also, through action that man recognizes himself as being close to God. Still far from the Faustian feeling, what manifests is a trust in the isomorphism between human creativity and divine creation, which justifies the conviction that modernity is the most excellent era for having been able to conjugate a knowledgeable faith and an illuminated science. Now, it is important to emphasize once again, that the science that embraces the light of revelation has its privileged matrix in the Cartesian way of equating the problems. Six years after, in 1757, in tomo V, dedicated to the animals and plants, Teodoro confirms this conception, as well as the fidelity to 101 102

Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., § 7, p. 402. Idem, § 7, p. 402.

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Cartesianism which characterizes it, namely, in referring in an explicit manner to the idea that animals possess a material soul; a concept which is distinctive of the Cartesians.103 However, in this volume, his appropriation of the legacy of Descartes is not opposed to the peripatetic conception, but to the animistic vitalisms, as defended by the Platonists of Cambridge or by Georg Stahl (1659-1734), arousing a strong adhesion at the time, of which we have a clear example in Portugal in Historiologia Médica (1733) by José Rodrigues de Abreu (1682-c. 1752). 104 That displacement is introduced with the pretext of Sílvio’s declaration of his manifest preference for the new conceptions that attribute to the animals a spiritual soul, however incipient, showing his willingness to discard the Aristotelic model. Now, in clear contrast with his interlocutor, Teodoro maintains, significantly, that the totality of the theses around the material soul, constitutes a sufficient explaining principle for the operations of the brutes, of sensation, memory and imagination that they still share with Man, «because the brain substance in them is as capable as in us to receive the traces of the objects, that arrive through the nerves of the exterior senses»,105 as well as that which does not carry implications contradictory with the irrationality of animals. To that end, he reminds us of the distinction between structure and coordination, the first supposing a mechanism, and the second requiring the action of the mechanic. Such distinction, as in Descartes, shows that the perfection in the actions of the brutes is purely mechanical, thus excluding the freedom, the intelligence, the judgement, the speech, the moral consciousness, as well as its immortality, which it would have to include if it was spiritual, in total or in part, to a greater or lesser degree. He can, thus, be ironic in a tone that addresses the Cartesian rhetoric: «I of the three that are here am the greatest appraiser of the astuteness of the brutes, and of the reasoning that appears in the actions that they do; and because of that I give them soul that be pure matter». 106 The rest, one may deduce, belongs to divine action, since «with such admirable proportion between its ends and means to achieve them, it is totally impossible that they are done by chance, and

103

Idem, tomo V, tarde XXII, § 1, p. 21. See Luís Bernardo, “Martinho de Mendonça: un représentant des Lumières portugaises”, Armelle Saint-Martin; Sante Viselli (dir.), Les Lumières au-delà des Alpes et des Pyrénées, Paris, Hermann, 2013, pp. 145-148. 105 Teodoro de Almeida, op. cit., § 4, p. 39. 106 Idem, § 2, p. 23. 104

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without an intelligent cause, that coordinates and provides means and ends».107 Teodoro, consequently, kept intact his philosophical and scientific paradigm, structurally aligned with Cartesianism, which, beyond the personal insufficiencies or the damaging effects of his eclecticism, may justify some of the coarse contradictions that characterize his physics, namely those that concern the manifest difficulties in dealing with the main concepts of Isaac Newton’s system (1643-1727). But, everything leads me to believe that this steadiness indicates, above all, that the main objective that assists in the creation of Recreação Filosófica is that of contributing to the flourishing of one type of rationality, half-way between science and theology, and, therefore, neither really scientific, nor blindly devotional. This hybrid rationality, that one should, in truth, designate as doubly apologetic, as I have suggested in the beginning, recognizes the epistemological rotation carried on by modern science, embraces many of its theses, assumes the task of keeping them circulating (by repeating and disclosing them), and predicts ways of applying them in everyday life. However, this conceptual orientation remains focused on the intention of the corroboration of the truths of the faith. These, in turn, to the extent in which they begin to be subjected to the sieve of the new epistemology, find in the universe of the sciences the preferred imaginings of enlightened religion, with its topics, its notable cases, from the silkworm to the anatomy of insects, and its exemplary experiments, of which Teodoro was an accomplished practitioner. Therefore, in a last analysis, this rationality is not compromised by the production of new knowledge, or with the deepening of religious convictions, but is satisfied with the deontological practice of reason, called to judge what deserved to be converted into an object of transmission, and the aesthetic version that results from it. Hence the centrality of the conciliator procedure, that overlaps any other, culminating in the ostentation of the orthodox character of modern philosophy and in the suggestion that the theses of natural philosophy would have been anticipated, already, in the reflections of the Priests of the Church. This conception, even if incorporating the characteristics of the Apologetic in the recourse to the Cartesian model,108 does not intend to be 107

Idem, § 2 p. 23. «L’histoire des idées construira donc pour le besoin de sa description un type idéal caractérisé au plan de la pensée religieuse, par la défense de l’orthodoxie, au plan métaphysique, par celle des systèmes associés à celle-ci (…) cartésianisme, malebranchisme, leibnizianisme (…), au plan des images, par l’évocation d’une lumière stable, fixe, venue d’en-haut, donnée d’abord aux hommes et rayonnant du

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anti-enlightenment. On the contrary; not being able, nor capable, nor even wanting to be revolutionary or radical, it does not stop to intentionally convey the main ideals of the Enlightenment, nor to defend a moderated project of the modernization of the Portuguese culture. Besides, this solution of compromise ends up configuring the way in which the idea of modernity was received in the Portuguese cultural context. In all fairness, one may, then, conclude, that Recreação was indeed a book with a view.

soleil des esprits» (Jean Deprun, “Les anti-lumières», Yvon Belaval (dir.), Histoire de la philosophie, tome II, Paris, Gallimard, 1973, p. 717).

PART 4: THEORIES AND PRACTICES

CHAPTER TWELVE FRANCISCO VIEIRA LUSITANO: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY1 LUÍSA CAPUCHO ARRUDA CIEBA – CENTRO DE INVESTIGAÇÃO E DE ESTUDOS EM BELAS-ARTES, FACULDADE DE BELAS-ARTES, UNIVERSIDADE DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

O Insigne Pintor e Leal Esposo Vieira Lusitano, História Verdadeira, que elle escreve em cantos lyricos/ The Illustrious Painter and Loyal Spouse, Vieira Lusitano, True Story, he writes in Lyrical Cantos2 is the book’s main title which firstly reveals the painter as a poet, conferring upon him the status in the sphere of nobility granted for example to architects, physicians, doctors or poets, in the perspective of their time (Figure 1). He describes himself as a painter-poet based on the painting /poetry fellowship as stated by the aesthetic theories of Arcadia. We will see 1

Francisco Vieira de Matos, o Lusitano (1699-1783) such is the Autobiography presented in this chapter based on a proposal for the International Conference on 18th Century Architecture & Culture ‘Books with a View’ (Gulbenkian Foundation, November 23rd-25th, 2011), a commemoration of the three-hundredth anniversary of the birth of architect Eugénio dos Santos (1711-1760). This Conference text was subject to a revision for this publication and a new drawing that recently come to our knowledge was added. 2 Francisco Vieira Lusitano, O Insigne Pintor e Leal Esposo, Vieira Lusitano, História Verdadeira, que elle escreve em Cantos Lyricos, E oferece ao Illust. E Excellent. Senhor José Da Cunha Gran Ataide e Mello, Conde e Senhor de Povolide, do Conselho de Sua Magestade Fidelissima, Gentil-homem da Sua Real Camara, Comendador da Ordem de Cristo, Acaide mór da Vila de Sernancelhe, &c., Lisboa: Oficina Patriarcal de Francisco Luiz Ameno, 1780. This book is one of the primary sources for Luísa Arruda in Francisco Vieira Lusitano (1699-1783). O Desenho. Lisbon: [s.n.], 2000, PhD Thesis presented to the Fine Arts College of the University of Lisbon.

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further in this essay how the Arcadia Academy is linked to several facts in Lusitano’s work. A likely source for the autobiography of Vieira Lusitano is The Life of Benvenuto Cellini written by goldsmith and sculptor Benvenuto Cellini (1500-1571), circa 1558-66, and first published in Naples in 1728.3 The source of this Neapolitan edition is not known given that another manuscript, with few variants, was found in 1805 and sold to the Laurentian Library in Florence. During the first half of the eighteenth century the book, unknown in other countries outside Italy, is translated into French (with an important edition in 1770), followed by many other editions.

Figure 1. O Insigne Pintor e Leal Esposo, Vieira Lusitano, História Verdadeira, que elle escreve em Cantos Lyricos/ The Illustrious Painter and Loyal Spouse, Vieira Lusitano, True Story, he writes in Lyrical Cantos, 1780 (Author collection, Estoril, Portugal) 3

Benvenuto Cellini, La Vita scritta da lui medesimo, Naples, 1928 (first edition, prepared by A.Gocchi and dedicated to Lord Boylen). Edition used, Benvenuto Cellini, Autobiography, (translated by George Bull) London: Penguin Books, 1996. See Julius Schosser, Die Kunstliteratur (1924). Edition used, La leteratura artistica, (translated by Esther Benítez) Madrid: Catedra, 1996, pp. 316, 326.

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Francisco Vieira Lusitano brought back from Italy several books in the Tuscan language, as he liked to refer to the Italian. He most likely read The Life of Benvenuto Cellini while at Rome, since the first edition of this book (1728) was published at the final period of Lusitano’s stay in Italy. The style of Cellini’s text, written in colloquial tone and using terms and modes of expression of sixteenth century Florence, the birthplace of the painter, is rather different from Lusitano’s biographical poem, the style of which is natural to the ways and literary taste of the XVIII century. The connections that we deem to find between both texts are located at a much deeper level and in a somewhat timeless way. At the beginning of the autobiography, Cellini states that: No matter what sort he is, everyone who has to his credit what are or really seem great achievements, if he cares for truth and goodness, ought to write the story of his own life in his own hand; but no one should venture on such a splendid undertaking before he is over forty.4

Vieira Lusitano had, to his credit, great achievements which seemed as such to him, or in reality were certainly great, and he cared for the truth and goodness of the future transmission of the story of his life. Just as with Cellini, only he should write about his life, so that the truthfulness of the facts, some controversial in their time, could be heard and linger. He knew from experience that no man is a prophet in his own homeland, as was indeed the case with Cellini, and only foreign recognition would bring him deserved renown, and even then, if his message was not told, left only in writing, everyone would forget and no one would talk about it. The Portuguese painter witnessed the Lisbon earthquake of 1755, when many of his works disappeared or turned to ashes, finding in their description one more reason to write his life story. Cellini tells what happened to him during his life, without omitting his defects, revealing some with a certain manly pride, portraying himself as a violent and vindictive man, able to kill and steal, and at the same time as a man endowed with a creativity and working ability out of the ordinary, provoking great envy amongst the artists of his time. His dedication to artistic creation is total; consuming all possible energy and being, in this field, the absolute judge of the works he designs and carries out, a fact that brings the greatest disappointments in relation to the commissioners of the works and the entourage of his patrons. The relentless defence of his artistic thought, of his pride as an artist, raises some of the most fascinating adventures described in La Vita. 4

Cellini, op. cit, p.15.

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The great pride of Vieira Lusitano is to have been a great painter, a great lover, an illustrious painter and loyal husband. A great painter because he achieves recognition well beyond his country, being thereafter accepted in his country; a loyal husband because he doesn’t abandon his beloved wife, trapped in the convent, triggering perilous adventures aiming for her release.5 Vieira declares to his patron and to his readers: Here one describes a spouse that, for so many years and travelling several countries, never denied his faith or his promises: a care to pursuit honour, for in a foreseeable way to restore himself by the means of his gifts to balance the qualities of [noble] birth by which his spouse excelled him; the performance of this zeal, in the labour of study, and diligent application, with which he excelled in his Art, with the most distinguished honours, no other Portuguese has achieved. And even though at first glance it may not seem decent to free oneself from seclusion, in which his wife was wearing the Religious habit; However shall not be unseemly, knowing by This story the violence, with which they attacked her freedom: and persuade herself, an indecent Victim of Religion, that she was first bound by the obligations of marriage; nor should she risk eternal health by embracing a State, albeit more perfect, for which she had no calling. You may praise that in making public this History, I establish the idea of a truly loyal lover Spouse; and this without resorting to the paintings, which the poets imagine to adorn the Fables of their Poems, but with concrete facts, and the more resolute, which could inspire a chaste and love true; and still this one explained with phrases the more innocent and pure, that honesty and decency can dictate.6 5

For a biography of Vieira Lusitano see Cirilo Wolkmar Machado, Colecção de Memórias relativas às Vidas dos Pintores, e Escultores , Arquitectos e Gravadores Portugueses, Lisboa: Na Imp. de Vitorino Rodrigues da Silva, 1823, pp. 99-104. See also Júlio Castilho, Amores de Vieira Lusitano, Lisboa: Parceria António Maria Pereira, 1901. 6 Author translation. “Aqui se descreve um esposo, que por tantos anos, e viajando diversos países, nunca violou a fé, a palavra prometida: um zelo de ganhar a honra, para de um modo possivel se repor pelas suas prendas no equilibrio das qualidades do nascimento, em que o excedia a esposa; o desempenho deste zelo, no ardor do estudo, e assidua aplicação, com que chegou a laurear-se na sua Arte, com as mais distintas honras, que outro algum português tenha conseguido. E ainda que à primeira vista pareça menos decente retirar-se de huma Clausura, em que tinha vestido o habito de Religiosa a sua Esposa; com tudo não ficará sendo indecoroso, sabendo-se por esta História a violencia, com que lhe atacaram a liberdade: e persuadir-se ella, que era indecente Victima da Religião, a que estava primeiro ligada com as obrigações do Matrimonio; nem devia arriscar a saude eterna abraçando um Estado, ainda que mais perfeito, para que não tivera vocação. Poderá lisongear-me de que fazendo pública esta Historia, formalizo a ideia de um

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Two different personalities, and indeed two different periods characterize the tone and deeds described in these autobiographies, albeit one the same certainty of having reached outstanding achievements, and one the same condition – that of artists, born under the aegis of Saturn and as such different from other men, always defying the limitations that others impose on themselves. In fact, as evidenced by Rudolf and Margot Wittkower, it is from the Renaissance onwards that a new idea of the artist is forged, (essentially different from the craftsman) that is conscious of its intellectual and creative power. As stated by the authors, it was the first autobiography written by an artist, the one by Lorenzo Ghilberti (13781455) integrated into his book on art and artists, that he himself writes that few things of importance were made in his homeland apart from those that were drawn and commanded by his own hand.7 This ability to look upon his own life with the detachment that allows introspection and reflection are in fact one of the characteristics of the new kind of artist.8 In both excerpts from the autobiographies that we quoted above, it is possible to highlight considerable differences between the two men: Cellini, writing in the sixteenth century, still belongs to a class of artists who had just broken free of all corporate bonds, a free man and a loner who confronts kings, popes and great lords, proud of his artistic condition. There are no dedications on his work. Lusitano, writing in the eighteenth century, who is by then a man of the system, fought to be part of a higher social class, the nobility which, in a way, he achieves by marriage and also when he is granted the Knighthood of Saint James, from then onwards signing his works: Eques Vieira Lusitano. The painter places himself under the aegis of a court patron to publish his autobiography and his clashes with the king of Portugal are much less dramatic, although they still show some independence, mainly throughout his younger years. The way he describes his artistic capabilities, as a result of dedication and calm study, also contrasts with those of Cellini, who is in turn Esposo verdadeiramente amante, e leal; e isto sem recorrer às pinturas, que souberam imaginar os Poetas para adornar as Fábulas dos seus Poemas, mas sim com factos certos, e os mais resolutos, que podia inspirar um amor casto, e verdadeiro; e ainda este mesmo explicado com frases as mais inocentes, e puras, que pode ditar a honestidade e a decência” (Francisco Vieira Lusitano, op. cit., Dedication to José da Cunha Grã Ataíde e Melo, Earl of Povolide, no page reference). 7 Rudolf and Margot Wittkower, Born Under Saturn: The Character and Conduct of Artists (1963), edition used Nati sotto Saturno, Torino: Einaudi, 1996. 8 Idem, p.24.

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represented as an uncontrollable temperament and creative fury. The two autobiographies reveal two distinct personalities and are written in different times when the concept of the artist itself changed along with the mentalities. Lusitano presents himself as an Academic painter, being part of a structure that fits the artistic activity of the age, a structure that will hold prestige until the end of the nineteenth century. Although he complains that he is no prophet in his own country, he will never return to Rome, but based in Seville he returns to Portugal as soon as King João V grants him the dignified status of court painter, with fixed salary and works paid separately. At the age of eighty, his reputation remains intact, being invited as a Professor of Drawing at the Academy of the Nude, directed by the painter Cirilo Wolkmar Machado (1748-1823). Portuguese artists rarely produced written texts this being the only printed autobiography in Portuguese Art, conceived as an autonomous text. Art Historian Luis Xavier da Costa, one of his biographers and severe critic of this book, acknowledges the qualities of the text.9 Xavier da Costa recognizes in Vieira’s text narrative qualities able to captivate the reader, from an initial curiosity which develops into sympathy and compassion and, finally, satisfaction is achieved when success is reached by the book’s heroes, Francisco Lusitano and Inês de Lima (1696-1774). At the engraved frontispiece of his biography, from a drawing now lost, Vieira depicts himself as a poet crowned with pine tree instead of laurel and with the Saint James symbol, a scallop shell, adorning his chest and showing Inês de Lima’s portrait. Scallop in Portuguese is the name of the painter and referring also to his election as Knight of Saint James’s Order (1744). The lady very well dressed and coiffed has a star over her head indicating her recent departure. Inês is pointing out to her husband and wears a bracelet in which is displayed the motto firme, the Portuguese word that could be translated as “strong minded”. The widowed painter decided to represent Inês in a portrait: an image inside another image. The front page shows us everything about Vieira – a lover, suffering with de departure of his wife, a painter and a poet. We know of two more engravings, this one published at Julio de Castilho Vieira biography with a verse (Figure 2): “Beautiful Ines / your Francis without you cannot have peace/ Ask God to take him/ there with you/ where you are”.10 Since his second trip to Italy Francisco Vieira de Matos adopted for himself the title of Lusitano/Lusitanian and this can be explained in the light of one of the 9

Luís Xavier da Costa, Francisco Vieira lusitano Poeta e Abridor de águas-fortes 2nd ed., Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade, 1929, pp.3-4. 10 Author translation. “Bela Inês o teu Francisco sem ti não pode ter paz. Pede a Deus que ele contigo lá vá estar onde tu estás”.

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paramount works of Portuguese literature, Os Lusíadas by Luís Vaz de Camões (1524-1580) that portrays the epic of Portuguese Discoveries.11

Figure 2. Gregório Frois Machado, Inês de Lima and Francisco Vieira Lusitano engraving after a lost Vieira Lusitano drawing, in Júlio de Castilho, Amores de Vieira Lusitano, 1901, hors-texte (Author collection, Estoril, Portugal)

The autobiography tells the story of a Lusitano, a man who, according to the author, deserves this title for his love life and for his painting; two 11

Luís Vaz de Camões, Os Lusíadas, Lisboa: Em Casa de António Gonçalves Impressor, 1572 (editio princeps).

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themes highlighted in the title of The Illustrious Painter and Faithful Spouse. As an Arcadian poet his work is close to that of a classic Portuguese text: the structure of the text, divided into thirteen Cantos,12 preceded by a First Canto, and ending with an Appendix and also the use of lyric verses, refers to classical texts and also inspiration in the epic poem Os Lusíadas by Luís Vaz de Camões is evident. Vieira did not want to just write a love poem, he casts it into a work of greater scope which recounts the heroic facts of his life, stopping the narrative when he reaches his two objectives: to be reunited with his loved one and recognized as an academic painter. Being an Academic Painter in Portugal was also an adventure as there wasn’t such a status and Vieira had to struggle for this title in Saint Lucas Academy of Rome becoming the first Portuguese with this title. Another fact approaches his history to the biography of Luís Vaz de Camões: the poet lived in love with a lady from an aristocratic family, as Vieira Lusitano did. The painter was luckier as he married by proxy, abducted his wife from a convent and lived many years with his beloved. Such a love of adventure aroused great curiosity at the time and became central in the autobiography as an experienced love story that implied danger and personal risks: a grand poetical love theme, as Paris and Helen, Tristan and Isolde, Lancelot and Guinevere, Romeo and Juliette. The story of Lusitano’s love unfolds in the first half of the eighteenth century when King João V reigned and was in love with Mother Paula, a nun at a Convent near Lisbon. Both stories were deeply commented upon in Portugal and abroad. This love story wasn’t told in the first printed biography of Vieira Lusitano written in 1736 by Pietro Guarienti in the Abecedário Pittorico of Pelegrino Orlandi13, although the text on him is considerably longer than those written about his professors: Benedetto Lutti and Francesco Trevisani. Vieira’s biography appears years later in Charles Rogers’ monumental and sophisticated book on his collection of drawings called Collection of Prints in Immitation of Drawings, with biographies of the artists, in which participated the principal engravers of his time, like Francesco Bartolozzi (1728-1815).14 But it was Simon Watts 12

See Encyclopedia Britannica, Canto, from Latin word cantus … major division of an epic or other long narrative poem. 13 Pelegrino Orlandi, Abecedário Pittorico, acresciuto da Pietro Guarienti, Bologna:A Presso Giambaptista Pascuali, 1753, p. 205. 14 See Nicholas Turner, “Francisco Vieira e o Coleccionador Inglês Charles Rogers” / “Francisco Vieira and the English Collectioneur Charles Rogers” in Luísa Arruda and José Alberto Machado, Francisco Vieira Lusitano (1699-1783) O Desenho, Lisboa: MNAA/IPM, Exhibition Cathalogue, 2000, pp.74-75.

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(act.1760-80) who engraved two of Lusitano’s drawings in this Collection: Tereus Banquet and Diana and Callisto. According to the romanced version of Julio de Castilho, and interpreting the absence of any sort of punishment to Vieira and Inês, when the monarch learned of the abduction of Inês de Lima from the Saint Anna Convent, by Vieira Lusitano, he exclaimed Let it be, nobody could do it better and cleaner.15 Regardless, the monarch never favoured Vieira’s romance directly, having merely compromised, accepting the consummated facts. A very symmetrical and regular structure, in quantitative terms, characterizes the autobiographical text, adorned with artifices that reveal Lusitano’s ingenuity as a poetic author. However, the narrative has interesting moments such as a visual description of places, which he loves or visits, and moments of some dramatic intensity, sometimes theatrical, that arise when addressing experienced situations. Vieira opens the book with a dedication to the Earl of Povolide. In Canto I he introduces the plot of his romance, and describes paintings that were lost in the Lisbon earthquake. He apologizes to the reader for this, but it is perfectly understood that Vieira has an absolute need to show how the 1755 earthquake affected his life, erasing the memory of part of his work. The paintings that were considered by the painter as the most important ones of his career are described in considerable detail, thus being recorded and remembered in the ensemble of his artistic work, which, deprived of this core, might seem sparse or incomplete. These are important works performed in his most brilliant time as a painter, commissioned by King João V for the Patriarchal Church and for the Royal Palace and also some of the most significant works that he painted for the nobility.16 The most interesting ones are autobiographical interpretations of classic mythological stories in which he portrays himself as the hero and Inês as a heroine of the plot. The following thirteen Cantos are similar in terms of text distribution with a rate of twenty-seven to thirty-eight pages each. Only two Cantos have significantly more pages: the Canto V where he reports his first stay in Rome, as a student, and the Canto XII, referring to his second trip to Rome. These are exhilarating moments of his life as a painter, especially the first one, which occupies the largest part of the text. 15

Author translation: “Deixem-nos lá. Ninguém nuca a fez mais limpa”. See Julio de Castilho, op cit, p. 213. 16 See Francisco Vieira Lusitano, op.cit, pp.3-11.

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In the Canto I and II Vieira abundantly describes his childhood, from the age of eight years old, revealing himself as a clever child, over gifted in artistic genius and very handsome, compared to a blond, blue-eyed cupid. This section of the poem takes place in a special setting, the Bella Vista Villa located in Benfica, a mythical neighbourhood in Lisbon, where he meets Inês, with whom he falls in love instantly. A relatively modest literary academy, consisting of minor nobility, clergy and representatives of the bourgeoisie, like Lusitano’s father, a sock manufacturer, gathered at the villa and these are the characters who will acknowledge the painter’s precocious talent. From this moment onwards his life is transformed, he becomes protégé of the first Marquis of Abrantes, Don Rodrigo Annes de Sá Almeida e Meneses (1676-1733), 7th Earl of Penaguião and 3rd Marquis of Fontes, Ambassador to the Pope Clement XI 1649-1721) from 1712-1718. The Marquis of Abrantes Entrée in Rome was magnificent, and Lusitano states having made drawings of him in his carriage and the procession of carriages and guards behind him, drawings that were to be engraved, to commemorate the Entrée. 17 This important court personage was the artistic advisor of King João V and with other few artists he integrated Francisco in his entourage, meanwhile giving him to the best teacher available in Lisbon, as we can learn in Canto III. 18 The trip to Rome by sea, the dangers and an imminent shipwreck are then reported in Canto IV. To describe the storm Vieira uses his mythological knowledge – gods, characters and mythical places of classical geography – creating images full of trickery, an attempt to find a strong and dramatic moment for his narrative. But soon everything calms down and he tells us about the stop in Genoa, taking an interest in the city’s monuments, the lighthouse and the cathedral, the facade of which, like a black and white checkers board, he considers insipid and tasteless, although the name of its architect does deserve respect, as he states. In the Doria family’s Palace he stops to describe the frescoes of Perin del Vaga and the gardens. At the gardens he sees a kind of predecessor of submarine vessels and, inside the church, some religious artefacts, both recorded in drawings that were sent to Portugal and unfortunately were lost or not properly assigned to Lusitano.

17 Vieira complaints the drawings were never engraved, and the King never disclose their author’s name. See Vieira Lusitano, op. cit., pp. 207-208. 18 See Angela Delaforce, “Art and Diplomacy: The Marquês de Abrantes and the Splendour of his Embassy to Rome”. In: Art and Patronage in Eighteenth Century Portugal, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002, pp.117-164.

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As we said, the description of Rome through the impressions of the young painter is presented in Canto V. In this Canto and in Canto VI Vieira complains of not being able to devote himself to the study of painting for he occupies all his time with tasks that he has to comply with, drawing all that the Marquis of Fontes asks of him, from the Corpus Cristi Procession, to religious objects in churches, as those of Saint Peter’s Cathedral, tapestries and furniture for the Palaces as the Colona Palace chosen to be Marquis of Fontes’ lodging in Rome, to mention only some of his drawing duties. These tasks were dedicated to the service of King JoãoV, as a complete archive of models for silverware, furniture and other decorative art pieces that he could commission to Lisbon’s craftsmen; a drawn models’ archive which he describes in some detail and that also didn’t survive in its entirety. In this context, some eighteenth century drawings of models of decorative pieces from the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga’s (MNAA) collection can be attributed to Lusitano.19 However, Canto VI is largely devoted to the detailed description of the Pope Clement’s Competition for young artists that rewarded Lusitano with the third prize of the Second Class.20 A painter of the next generation, Domingos Sequeira (1768-1837), was as well impressed by the formalities of this competition, giving an exact account in a letter to Lisbon not different from Lusitano’s own account. 21 The triumphant return to Lisbon of the painter, who studied in Rome as a disciple of Benedetto Lutti (1666-1724) and Francesco Trevisani (16561746), and the description of the reunion with the Marquis of Abrantes and his family are the major themes of the Canto VII and Canto VIII. Canto IX is especially dedicated to the works that have been commissioned by King João V and Canto X is left for the description of the love stratagems he uses in order to meet alone with Inês. Again he portrays himself as a handsome young man, this time at 18 or 19 years of age. Canto XI is dedicated to the proxy marriage to the beautiful Inês, to the discovery of the ruse by the parents of the one whom he considers to be his wife and of the young girl’s imprisonment at Saint Anne’s Convent, 19

See Luísa Arruda, “Francisco Vieira Lusitano e o desenho para as artes decorativas”. In: Dibujo y Ornamento Estudios en Honor de Fuensanta Garcia de la Torre. Trazas y Dibujos de Artes Decorativas entre Portugal, Espana, Italia, Malta e Grecia. Córdoba: Ed. Sabina di Cavi (waiting for publication). 20 These drawings are kept at Rome Saint Lucas Academy. See Angela Cipriani, I disegni di figura nell’Archivio Historico dell’ Academia de San Luca, vol II, Roma: Academia de San Luca, 1989. 21 See Joaquim Martins Teixeira de Carvalho, Domingos Sequeira em Itália (17881795), Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade, 1922, pp. 25-28.

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forced to become religious and to wear the habit of nun. Several picaresque adventures are reported in this context as Vieira shares his complaints with King João V who refuses to intervene in his favour. In this Canto, creating a sort of anti-climax, certainly to entertain the reader with a little side story, Vieira describes an encounter with a friar who, when trying to comfort him for his unhappiness shows him a gallant instrument of mathematics, as he calls it.22 The friar used printed designs and mirrors which made distant what seemed to be close, and according to our interpretations, he showed him motion images, probably an optical machine which was very fashionable in the eighteenth century and was used for the execution of vedute and even portraits.23 Vieira leaves again for Rome where he tries to find a solution for his case, only to be advised to give up his intents or risk being exiled to India. But before that, in Canto XII, he shows in some detail the paintings he did for the Patriarchal, as we mentioned. The painter accounts for how he managed to send to Inês 300,000 reis to purchase a better room in the convent, facing the street. Hence the beautiful lady uses a little basket that goes up and down bringing the letters from Francisco and sending hers to him. Vieira reaffirms to his readers that he has enough money for the trip to Rome. In fact Vieira never complains of economic difficulties, which allows us to think that he lived without financial constraints. The painter tells us about his election as an Academic to S. Luke’s Academy in Rome (1728), describing the painting that got him admitted and which is now lost. We know that this test is required for he had no public work (i.e. no paintings in Rome, although he has paintings in Portugal, and very important ones), and we also know that soon after entering S. Luke he asks for a leave of absence to come to Portugal having been summoned by his king due to the diplomatic rupture with the Vatican that forced all Portuguese nationals back to Lisbon.24 The adventures of Inês’ abduction, who finally comes out disguised as a man, taking advantage of the presence of workers doing repair work at the Convent are the subject of Canto XIII ending with Vieira’s promise to dedicate a serious pictorial monument to Our Lady. This is how the story is told. Nevertheless, the author does not want to pass up the opportunity to report the attack he suffers when his brother-in22

See Vieira Lusiano, op.cit p. 419. On this topic see Martin Kemp, The science of Art: optical themes in Western Art from Brunelleschi to Seurat, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990. 24 See for Portugal and The Holly See, António Domingues de Sousa Costa, Diccionário de História de Portugal edited by Joel Serão, Lisboa: Iniciativas Editoriais, 1963-71, vol. V, pp. 445-461. 23

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law shoots him causing a bullet wound in his face. He reports this in an appendix where he also covers other facts not yet mentioned in the course of the narrative. This wound that scars him for life will always be witnessed when observing an existing copy of the Vieira Lusitano Portrait, by his follower Joaquim Manuel da Rocha (1727-1786) at the gallery of portraits featuring Professors in Fine Arts at the National Fine Arts Academy of Lisbon.25 The painter also takes this opportunity to tell the way of life that he provides to his wife Inês revealing that he has a family of seven people, two white girls, a matron, two black girls, a good servant and a Galician boy, once again declaring his financial well-being. In Canto XIII again Vieira shows himself unhappy with the poor jobs he’s been given in the homeland, and is willing to return to Rome. Before ending his autobiography he reflects on Painting, leaving a testimony of his understanding of art, namely the close relationship between painting and poetry (Ut Pictura Poesis 26), closing his autobiography with a bucolic journey in the Tagus with Inês. The autobiographical text as well as the artistic work reveals the literary culture of Vieira Lusitano. One of his close friends was the Oratory Father Francisco José Freire (1719-1773) who used the pseudonym Cândido Lusitano, to whom the painter devotes a Portrait of Virgin Mary, as engraved on the panting with his signature and date.27 A Vieira’s drawing is also related to this personality: Tragedy and Poetry in the MNAA collection. 28 Carlo Gregori engraved this drawing that would serve as frontispiece to the book Merope by Scipione Maffei, translated by Cândido Lusitano. Both drawing and engraving were studied and published by Xavier da Costa.29 Francisco José Freire might have inspired Vieira to write his biography, having overseen his readings namely in the monumental library of the Palace and Convent of Mafra, the most

25 Vieira Lusiano Portrait copied by Gregório Luís Maria Rato, at 1852. See Luisa Arruda and José Alberto Machado, op. cit., p. 73. 26 See Rensselaer W. Lee, Ut Pictura Poesis. The humanistic Theory of Painting (1967). Edition used Ut Pictura Poesis. La Teoria Humanistica de la Pintura, (translated by Consuelo Luca de Tena). Madrid: Catedra, 1982. 27 Retrato da Virgem Maria, oil painting over canvas in a Portuguese private collection. See Luisa Arruda and José Alberto Machado, op. cit. (Catalogue no. 1), p.79. 28 A Tragédia e a Poesia, drawing, sanguine on paper, (248x166cm) Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga (MNAA), inv. no. 712. 29 Xavier da Costa, Francisco Vieira poeta e abridor de águas-fortes, Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade, 1926, pp.139-44.

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important edifice of the patronage of King João V, where they lived at the service of the King, as many other artists and intellectuals of the times.

Figure 3. Cândido Lusitano (Francisco José Freire), Diccionário poetico /Poetic Dictionary, 1765 (Author collection, Estoril, Portugal).

Francisco José Freire 30 adopted the name Cândido Lusitano at the Roman Arcadia Literary Academy. This Academy was an aesthetic and literary movement which held King João V as a member and protector 30

See Inocêncio Francisco da Silva, Dicionário Bibliográfico, Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional, 1859-1972 (vol.2, 1859, pp. 404-11,vol.9, 1870, pp.313-14).

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from 1723. The Arcades wanted to return to classical precepts, of the order and reason in the composition, away from the Baroque artifices, setting ground for neoclassical tastes and targeting the public and pedagogical function of art.31 However, despite being the first to write about the educated taste he also asserts the need for fantasy and imagination balanced by proportion, order and unity in the wake of the classics, in this rebuttal by writer Luís António Verney (1713-1792) who was interested in the search of concrete reality and experience as sources of literary work. An important contribution to Lusitano’s writing is the Poetic Dictionary by Cândido Lusitano.32 This work was intended, as indeed the title implies, to contribute to the literary education of both oratory and writing in Portuguese language, introducing some ideas of the new poetic theory of Arcadia to this education (see Figure 3 above). João Baptista de Castro (1700-1775), author of Mappa de Portugal Antigo e Moderno /Ancient and Modern Map of Portugal,33 embodies another influence on Vieira as to his contemporary and friend sculptor and art writer Joaquim Machado de Castro (1731-1822). Baptista de Castro was a secular priest and visited many Italian cities, living in Rome for some time34 (see Figure 4 below). The contacts that Lusitano established with the Academies must be mentioned having started with these proceedings’ from an early age. His father was a member of one of these dilettanti associations that held its meeting place in the outskirts of Lisbon, where he was accompanied by little Francisco, a fact he describes in his autobiography. In the seventeenth and eighteenth century there were numerous literary academies in Portugal, sponsored by noble families, with the rivalry of clergy figures of course, that guaranteed a certain cultural quality and, in some cases, the control of activities within decency standards, having greater or lesser literary importance, depending on the figures involved. 31

For Arcadia Lusitana, see António José Saraiva, “Arcadismo”. In: Joel Serrão, Dicionário de História de Portugal, Porto: Livraria Figueirinhas, 1985, vol. 1, p.75. 32 Cândido Lusitano, Dicionário poético. Para uso dos que principião na arte da poesia portuguesa; obra igualmente útil ao orador principiante, Lisboa: na Offic. Patriarcal de Francisco Luís Ameno, 1765. 33 João Baptista de Castro, Portugal Antigo e Moderno, Lisboa: Miguel Manescal da Costa, 1745. See Inocêncio, op.cit, vol. 3, pp.300-301. 34 See Joaquim Machado de Castro, Descripção analytica da execução da real estatua equestre do senhor rei fidelissimo D. José I [1810], notes and postface by J-A França, Lisbon: Academia Nacional de Belas Artes; 1975, p.96.

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Figure 4. João Bautista de Castro, Mappa de Portugal Antigo e Moderno /Ancient and Modern Map of Portugal, 1870 (Author collection, Estoril, Portugal).

In such academies the link to the visual Arts was not very frequent, although there was some contact in specific situations. The painter Bento Coelho da Silveira (1620-1708) is one of these cases; an artist honoured by the Academia dos Singulares de Lisboa, bringing together representative poets of the seventeenth century, and producing a series of poetic texts and even a poetic contest whose theme was one of Bento Coelho’s Immaculate Conception paintings. These texts remained unpublished at the General Library of the University of Coimbra until 1994, the date of a critical edition.35 Vieira Lusitano was part of a literary Academy during his second stay in Rome from 1721 to 1728. He designed a hypothetical emblem of the Academy, probably to be engraved, the design of which lies in the

35

Cfr. Luís Moura Sobral, Pintura e Poesia na época Barroca, Lisboa: Estampa, 1994.

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Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal (BNP): Academy Emblem. 36 The design is not easily deciphered, in the case of a hand holding a bell and another hitting with a clapper, as representing a mortar that is reversed, the pylon of which is unable to remove anything. Multiple tapes intersect the figurative field and in them are inscribed: “The Afflicted/ if the man is sterile/ arid is the ovary/ nothing contained/ nothing will contain”. On the Verso of the drawing, an inscription: “To the most illustrious and most famous Academy of the Afflicted”.37 If we look at this in Vieira’s autobiographical context, this emblem may represent a sign of the desperation that riddled the painter in these Roman years that sets the inability to solve the romantic problem in which he was involved. The design can also represent a foreshadowed drastic action that he will ultimately perform: the abduction of Inês from Saint Anne’s Convent, which will happen as soon as he returns to Lisbon. The iconographic interpretation of Vieira’s work will have to consider the literary text, since he induces us to do so as he describes some of his works in the autobiographical poem. Júlio de Castilho follows this same methodology, in Amores de Vieira Lusitano as Xavier da Costa, in Vieira Lusitano Poeta e abridor de águas-fortes.38 The painter left us a memory of this Academy, an etching on the collection of the Biblioteca Pública de Évora (BPE). The composition shows Orpheus crowned with laurels, sitting in the woods and playing a stringed instrument that enchants domestic animals and the other wildlife arranged around him. We believe that the painter portrays himself as Orpheus, as well as in other drawings that we shall see further on. The etching subscription clarifies the theme: One of the major facade of the room delineated by Francisco Vieira Lusitano Excellent Painter & lodge of The Abandoned Academy were one improvises singing and recites compositions &. RomeAnno 1727. Francisco Vieira delineavit, et Sulpsit.39

36

Emblema da Academia (BNP, inv. D. 65 P). GLIAFLITTI / SI VlRENS ESTERILIS / ARIDA OVALIS / NEC CONTERITUM NEC CONTEREDUM. The author’s translation. Verso in hand writing: Alla Illus.ma e Affamat. ma Accademia dell’ Affliti . See Aires de Carvalho, Biblioteca Nacional de Lisboa. Colecção de Desenhos, Lisbon: Biblioteca Nacional de Lisboa, 1977, p. 19. 38 Júlio de Castilho, op.cit, and Xavier da Costa, op. cit. 39 Author’s translation. Etching Subscription: “Una della facciate maggiore della Stanza delineata dal Sig.r Francesco Vieira Lusitano Eccelente Pittore & : com / modo dell’ Accademia dell Abbandonati, dove Sicanta all’ improviso, e si recitano 37

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There seems to have existed in Rome an Academy of the Abandoned and the Afflicted that will only have expression in these works of Vieira. On this subject, António Ribeiro dos Santos (1745-1818) wrote in his critical biography of Vieira 40, stating about a house he perhaps visited or heard about: Until today in Rome it is greatly estimated and well paid the lodging of the house where he lived because of the many drawings he left in the walls.41

Most likely the meeting place of the abandoned Academy was his own home, like Vieira had witnessed at the Bella Vista Villa. This Academy would most certainly be attended by his friends and some Italian artists. Vieira Lusitano was a close friend of Agostino Ratti (1699-1775), painter, printer, scene painter, and painter of ceramics, disciple of Benedetto Lutti, around the time that Vieira was in Rome and of whom he became a great friend, corresponding with and exchanging drawings and prints. The two sons of Benedetto Lutti and other characters were among the friends that Vieira refers to in the letters that we will quote. Vieira was also interested in another kind of literary works, especially in classical literature as a source for the mythology, which is absolutely necessary for his writings and his artistic production. But the painter also uses, as indeed he reveals in a letter, certain books on artistic aspects of the Italian cities that have the function of keeping his memory of the works of art he saw in Italy. In fact he receives a book written by a young sculptor on the famous emerald chalice of Genoa Cathedral that might have served the Paschal Lamb to Christ at the Last Supper, an emerald chalice two hand palms in diameter in a perfect hexagon shape, and made of one intact precious stone, as he tells us in his autobiography.42 In a letter to the painter Agostino Ratti, dated Lisbon on January 17, 1765, the Portuguese painter refers to the book he received:

compositione &. / Roma Ann. 1727 / Franciscus Vieira delineavit, et Sulpsit” . See etching and comments on it, Luís Xavier da Costa, op.cit, pp.38-39. 40 António Ribeiro dos Santos, Epistolas sobre as Bellas Artes em Portugal, Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal (BNP), MS. 11, no. 18, ff. 4v.- 5. 41 Author’s translation: “Ainda hoje em Roma hé de grande estimação e de subbido aluguer a casa onde morou pelos muitos desenhos que deixou bosquejados pelas paredes” (Ibidem). 42 Vieira Lusitano, op.cit, p. 143.

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Chapter Twelve From this young sculptor I received the book that you gave to me about the famous chalice that when I passed through Genoa, not only was I lucky to see but also to represent in two drawings with a pencil, but today I lost them, and as I make a sort of poem today, in which I talk about same particularities’ of your metropolis, and specially of the chalice, so I would like to speak about it with great formality. So I Shall thank you […] This is the famous chalice that is conserved in the Genoa Cathedral, and about the chalice there is a book that shows an engraving were one can see the proportions.43

The information that Vieira gives us about the book which he asks his Genoese friend for also allows us to realize that by 1765 he was already preparing his autobiography, therefore long before the death of Inês in 1774, the date which is traditionally assigned to the beginning of the writing, and even the intention of writing, this text. Vieira had a passion for Classical Mythology, as suited the culture of his time, and which is also linked, as we mentioned, with the structure and the shape of his text. In his painting, Classical Mythology plays an important role, being used in support of autobiographical themes, in drawing, printmaking and painting. In his autobiography, mythology is featured in the form of gods, images and allegories, as befitted the grandiose style that today appears extraordinarily pompous, in the description of the most dramatic or bucolic situations. However, some parts gain unexpected quality given the articulation of mythological references to the very visual description of the artistic works that he sees, or places where the action takes place, perhaps under the influence of the Arcadians’ aesthetic style that he got from Cândido Lusitano. Right at the beginning of Canto I, he describes Bella Vista Villa, near Lisbon, the place where he first meets Inês de Lima, like a mythical place with some resonances of the Arcadian grove.44 The Arcadian grove 43 Author translation. “ Da quel giovane scultore ricevei il libro, che mi favoriste dei famoso Catino dal qual, quando passai per genova, ebbi la sorte de vederlo non solo, ma di fame anche due segni con il lapis, ma gli ho perduto; e siccome fo una specie di poema, dove parlo d’alcune particolarità della vostra metropli, e tra qualle dello detto Catino, cosi volevo parlarne con formalità vera; pertanto ve ne ringrazio [...] questo è il Catino celebre di smeraldo che conservasi nella Cattedrale di Genova, e sopra cui v’è un libro in quarto che ne parla, col rame che ne mostra il proporzione.(See G. Bottari, Racolta di lettere, Milano: StefanoTicozzi, 1822, vol. VI, letter XXXIX, pp.171-172). 44 Vieira Lusitano, op.cit, p. 17.

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represented Arcadia, a location in ancient Greece frequented by shepherds and shepherdesses living an outdoor life and without social constraints; a kind of paradise of pagan times. In this mythical place it was possible to have total dedication to poetry and the arts, or so the Academy of Arcadia claimed when it tried to reconstruct this classic lost paradise. Vieira, despite not belonging to the Academy of the Arcadians of Rome, was influenced by it through the personalities he met and with whom he was connected through King João V to André de Mello e Castro (1668-1753), who was the Vice king of Brazil (1735- 49), to the famous diplomat Alexandre de Gusmão (1695 -1753) and Francisco José Freire/ Cândido Lusitano, of whom we have spoken. We should also mention artists of the Roman Arcadia who he contacted closely such as the musician Domenico Scarlatti (1685-1757), composer of King João V’s Court and teacher of his daughter Maria Bárbara de Bragança, accompanying her to Madrid, where she married the Spanish prince, Fernando de Bourbon; the architect Antonio Canevari (1681-1764) who has worked in Portugal and the painter Francesco Trevisani (1656-1746), his master.45 They are all represented in the graphic and artistic work of Vieira either as patrons or as friends, of whom he made gifted drawings. The aesthetic ideals of Arcadia end up having some resonance in his art.46 Vieira Lusitano displays himself in the manner of a mythological hero endowed with great physical courage; He resorts to Perseus, describing another autobiographical painting that was lost in the Lisbon earthquake.47 This text allowed for the understanding of the subject of some of Vieira’s drawings as the Dead Combat Soldier [Collection of the Academia das Ciências de Lisboa, Album 28/31] identified by the painter himself through the inscription “for my laborious Perseus Panel I made in Rome” and also the Portrait of Inês as Victory [Lisbon Academy of Sciences, Album 28, 17/18] a drawing that will have belonged to his close friend, the painter André Gonçalves (1685-1754), offered to him by Vieira, as described in the autobiography.48 45

See Aurora Scotti, “L’Accademia degli Arcade di Roma e suoi rapporti con la cultura portoghese nel primo ventenio del 700”. Bracara Augusta, revista cultural da Câmara Municipal de Braga, vol. 27, no. 63 (75), Braga: Câmara Municipal de Braga,1973, pp.115-130. 46 See Franck R. Di Federico, Francesco Trevisani. A Catalogue Raisonné, Washington: Decatour House,1977. 47 Vieira Lusitano, op. cit., pp.9-11. See Ov., Met., book V, lines 1-235. 48 Vieira Lusitano, op.cit p.463. See these two drawings in Luísa Arruda and José Alberto Machado, op.cit (catalogue 7, pp.82-83 and catalogue 18, p.105).

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Here he introduces the term Concept to express a new invention and goes further in the qualification of his work, saying that it delights the eye (the senses) but also the understanding. The reason, intellect, then appears as one of the painter’s objectives that should also spiritually delight the viewer. It is therefore another category of Painting which also connects to the Arcadian theory. Cândido Lusitano defines concept in his Poetic Dictionary as being a thought, idea, and image, or credit, opinion reputation, fame.49 Vieira Lusitano is a reader of Ovid’s Metamorphoses; his constant source of research for the text as well as for the images he creates. A drawing from the Museu de Évora’s (ME) collection is the image of a lost painting (to which the author refers widely in the autobiography and titles it Orpheus painting where Lusitano shows Orpheus in the underworld playing his lyre to Pluto and Persephone.50 We know that this drawing belonged to João Baptista de Castro, the writer we met above, then to another collection, João Bapista da Silva, the businessman, and finally to the collection of the Bishop of Évora, Manuel do Cenáculo (1724-1814). 51 Another version is due to belong to Alexandre Gusmão, and from his collection to King João V’s one, as Lusitano states in the same letter to Agostino Ratti. 52 Once considered lost in the Lisbon earthquake, this drawing is now found and published here for the first time. It came to our knowledge that the drawing of Orpheus in the underworld was found in a private collection with the exact composition, characters and measures of the first drawing and also a sanguine, showing a technique of duplicating drawings, the counterproof, often used by Lusitano as the painter studied engraving techniques in Rome (Figure 5).

49

Cândido Lusitano, op.cit, p.168. Museu de Évora (ME), inv. no. 672, sanguine, dim. 475x760cm. 51 See Bottari-Ticozzi, op.cit (Letter from Lusitano to Agostino Ratti where he names the first owner of this drawing, Father João Baptista de Castro). For João Baptista da Silva, the merchant, we have two manuscript sources: Epistolas sobre as Bellas Artes em Portugal pelo Dr. António Ribeiro dos Santos, BNP, MS. 11, ff. 4v.-5 and by José da Cunha Taborda, Igrejas, Conventos , Cazas e Quintas em Lisboa e alguns subúrbios que conservão Pinturas e Objectos dignos de atenção (Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, Arquivo Reis Santos, Box 173 /Doc 3. See Luisa Arruda, op.cit vol. II, pp.118-120. 52 See Luisa Arruda, op. cit., vol. II, pp.118-120. 50

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Figure 5. Orpheus in the underworld playing his lyre to Pluto and Persephone, sanguine on paper (475x760) (Lisbon, Private collection)

Orpheus in the underworld playing his lyre to Pluto and Persephone is a composition that is intended to illustrate the author’s feathers, comparing and portraying himself as Orpheus while depicting his beloved as Eurydice. This is one of the best and most famous drawings of his time, extending his fame throughout the nineteenth century. The painting was lost in the earthquake of 1755. The artistic work is represented in the autobiography (a kind of euphrasys) using the lines 1-85 of the Book X of Ovid’s Metamorphoses to illustrate the autobiography and drawing: He represented in the other / From the cruel Pluto /The atrocious Court and workshop/ Of the endless flagellations. / The tenebrous King/ was sitting/ in his horrendous throne/ With Proserpine seizing/ arrogantly the sceptre. / The Eumenides and Harpies/ and The Gorgons’ the ugly/ shadows were courting/ Their tremendous Sovereigns’./ The inexorable three Fates / Were sit on the right side/ From the Lethal Throne / they could be seen/ with their fatal instruments./ In front of the obscure Prince/ Of the Darkness showed Orpheus/ Marvellous Chanting/ With the sound of his own Lyre;/ And for his own and honest/ Eurydice interceding for/ he moved the inhuman/ Imperators of the Hades/ By an allegorical manner/ Vieira wanted one example/ Signifying in this excerpt/ with hopes of getting effects/.For that on the view/ of so great pardon/ from the terrible King/ Could be moved the benign /and Just one to favour him:/ to free from the painful/ enclosure, almost hell/ The consort/ by an indulgent law/

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Vieira keeps on describing all the characters of The Hades in the lost painting and his loved one, Eurydice, who was astonished by the Chants of Orpheus on her behalf. Everyone in King João V’s Court could recognize the story and the characters he was referring to and at the same time admire Vieira’s skills as a painter and his mythological culture: he invented a tour de force using his painting as a manifesto.53 Another source for Lusitano’s drawing may be the Lomazzo’s Art Treaty Della forma di Plutone, di Proserpina & delle Parche chapter XXXI Della forma delle tre furie infernalli (book VII, chapter XXX) were the Italian painter reasons on the writings about these themes in Ariosto, Seneca, Ovid and Dante, and pointes up to drawings and paintings on these subjects by Michelangelo, Leonardo, Zuccaro, Rosso Fiorentino and Ticiano, among others. 54 It appears that Lusitano’s text has various layers or goals: to portray the love facts of his life as mythological stories, in which Inês and he have the role of heroes; show himself as great creator capable of inventing new concepts of mythological subjects in artistic expression, and finally to assert himself as a man of literary culture. The first is achieved by portraying himself as a hero of classic loves when, like Orpheus, he uses his lyre (his painting) to rescue the woman he loves. At this stage King João V, the benign king, is mildly criticized for not being sensitive to 53 Author translation. “Representava no outro [desenho ou pintura] / Do cruel Plutão soberbo / A corte atroz, e a officina / Dos incesantes flagellos. / Estava o Rei tenebroso / Sentado em seu throno horrendo / Com Proserpina, empunhando / Arrogantemente o cetro. / Das Euménides, e Arpias, / E das Gorgonas os feios / Vultos cortejando estavam / Seus soberanos tremendos. / As inexoráveis Parcas / Postas ao lado direito / Do Sólio lethal se vião / Com seus fatais instrumentos. / Perante o Principe obscuro / Das trevas mostrava Orfêo / De estar mavioso cantando / Ao som do próprio saltério; / E que pela honesta sua / Eurídice intercedendo / Commovia os deshumanos / Imperadores do Averno. / Por allegorico modo / Quiz o Vieira hum exemplo / Significar neste passo / Com esperanças de effeito. / Para que à vista de tanto / Indulto do Rei protervo, / Se comovesse o benigno, / E justo a favorecê-lo: / Em lhe livrar da penosa / Clausura, quasi do inferno, / A suspirada Consorte / Por indulgente Decreto; / Mas todos forão baldados / Seus justos requerimentos” (Vieira Lusitano, op. cit., pp. 6-9). 54 Trattato dell'arte della pittura, scultura, et architettura di Gio. Paolo Lomazzo milanese pittore, Milan: Paolo Gottardo Pontio estampatore regio, 1584, book VII, pp. 666-678.

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Vieira’s suffering, an aspect that permeates throughout the autobiography linked to other facts that he reports, in particular those resulting from the artistic preferences of the monarch. Then he reports on how he invented a new way to represent time being frozen, as Ovid put it in The Metamorphoses, when Orpheus begins to play his lyre – a new, exquisite and worthy concept, expressed with elegance. Both categories of Invention as of Elegance reflect fundamental concepts of Painting theory in the late Baroque period, already with Arcadian influence, in contrast to the naturalism or Mannerism (exacerbation of form), of the past, heavily criticized at the time.55 As a painter, Vieira, by describing paintings, favours the description of images through constructing a text that relates exclusively to the figures and to the scenarios, and to how they are mutually interconnected, as well as their meaning. He clearly explains the structure and the composition of the picture, although we cannot see completely all the works he describes as paintings because he doesn’t refer to the colour, or to the atmosphere. In essence, Vieira speaks of the Painting as a structure and, in fact, we can especially see the drawing, or by comparing it with the text, we can identify all its elements. Vieira Lusitano refers several times to books that he brought from Italy without describing them, and one time he mentions a specific reading. This is a book that he brought from his first trip to Italy, and through crediting the precision of Vieira’s text, that at this time tells us about his return and especially the many details of his visit to the Villa to meet Inês, and especially the moment of pause while waiting for his beloved, saying he is reading stories of Psyche.56 The most important, better known, text on the love of Psyche is the Golden Ass or the Metamorfoses by Lucius Apuleius57, written about AD 158 that has its 1st edition in Rome in 1469 followed by other editions in Italian and other European languages. The Golden Ass, written in prose and not in verse, as Lusitano says, is the source usually cited for the famous frescoes of Raphael of Urbino and his school, painted in the Loggia of Amore and Psyche at the Vila Farnesina in Rome, although there are some deviations from the text of Apuleius, that have been attributed to the use of other sources for the myth

55

Cfr. Julius Shlosser, op.cit, p. 591. Vieira Lusitano, op. cit., p.339. 57 Lucius Apuleius, The Golden Ass, translated by Robert Graves, revised with an introduction by Michael Grant, London: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1990. 56

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of Psyche.58 Vieira Lusitano knew these frescoes and there is a drawing of his youth in the Museu de Évora’s Collection (ME, inv. no. 692) with a more or less free copy of the roof fresco at the loggia in which the Council of The Gods is depicted where, by Jupiter’s command, the marriage of Eros and Psyche and the wedding feast takes place. The story of Eros and Psyche could not be better suited to the way Lusitano sees the triumph of love after a series of blissful and adverse events that put love to the test. Psyche was the most beautiful daughter of a certain city’s King. Her fame was such that she came to be looked upon and admired as Venus. The jealous Goddess then commands her son Eros to strike her with one of his most powerful arrows making her fall in love with the most miserable man on earth. However, Eros falls in love with the princess, disobeys his mother and makes the princess fall in love with him too without ever seeing him. However Psyche, instigated by her sisters decides to discover the identity of her love. Soon the two are punished by Venus who imposes on Psyche a series of tests that culminate with a descent into hell. Finally Eros convinces Jupiter to intervene. Ambrosia is given to Psyche to drink, thus allowing her to become immortal. The wedding and the banquet are held at Olympus. From the union is born a son who is given the name Pleasure. However the myth of Eros and Psyche may be much earlier than the story told by Apuleius that would just put a widespread folktale in writing.59 The iconography of this myth is relatively common in many Roman representations that show one Psyche (which is the Greek word for the human soul) with spiritual nature, often in the art of tombstone. In a private collection we discovered a beautiful marble sculpture showing Eros and Psyche embracing, a Roman piece which surfaced from an excavation in Conímbriga, a Roman town site near Coimbra (Portugal), now in a private collection in Lisbon. It is not opportune to analyse in depth the survival of the myth, even in Christian art works and how it arrives to the Renaissance, a time when we witness a return to the Apuleius source. The two interpretations of the myth of Eros and Psyche, one of a religious and spiritual nature and the other of a profane nature is possible, although the latter is the most common since the Renaissance.60 When Vieira Lusitano refers to the love affairs of Psyche, a book he would be reading, as he put it, it allows various interpretations, although, 58 See Luísa Scalabroni, “Rafaello Sanzio e scuola. Loggia di Amore e Psiche”. In: Luciana Cassanelli and Sergio Rossi, I luoghi di Rafaello a Roma, Roma: Multigrafica, 1983, pp.55-61. 59 See Michael Grant, “Introduction”. In: Lucius Apuleius, op. cit, p.xii. 60 See Luisa Scalabroni in op. cit., note 13.

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as we said, the myth of Psyche as an example of earthly love is closer to his own love affair. When he writes Psyche, using a plural word, it could mean souls, beautiful ladies, goddesses and in this case it is possible that he may be talking of Ovid's Metamorphoses and not of Apuleius’s Golden Ass.61 Another source used by Vieira is the Iconology, work of Cesar Ripa,62 where he finds numerous classical and mythological themes, quoting him in a text written by his own hand in a drawing of his Album today at the Academy of Sciences. Ripa’s Iconology is used for his artistic work, on the composition of allegorical images. However, in the context of his autobiography, it should be seen as a fundamental cultural reference that runs through all of his thought. The Frontispiece of the Antonio Caetano de Sousa, História Genelógica da Casa Real Portuguesa 63 a monumental history of the Portuguese monarchy, wrote for King João V, shows abundantly Vieira’s use of Ripa’s texts for the allegories displayed in this engraving (Figure 6) signed Vieira Lusitanus invenit et F. the work is dated 1728 and it was finished by the French engraver Pierre Massar de Rochefort (1643-1740) who came to Portugal to work for the Royal History Academy, funded by King João V.64 Here we can see the writer with Minerva offering his book to a personification of the Lusitania monarchy, within a full set of allegories opening to a view of Rome’s Trajan Colon and Caius Cestius’ Pyramid. Another engraving of the same period Restituet omnia (Figure 7) presents the subscription Franc. Vieira Luzitano inv.e sculp. and was meant to be used in frontispieces of different books written for the Royal History Academy.65 In a drawing of the Madrid National Library, we may follow Lusitano’s design for the two frontispieces and see that he represents King João V’s portrait as Cesar receiving the gift of the book by Antonio Caetano de Sousa, on his knees. 66 61

See Idem, notes 6 and 12. Cesare Ripa, Iconologia (editio princeps, Roma 1593). Edition used Cesare Ripa, Iconologia, Madrid: Catedra, 1996. 63 António Caetano de Sousa, História Genealógica da Casa Real Portuguesa, Lisboa: Na Oficina de José António da Silva, 1735-49, 12 t. 64 See Luísa Arruda and José Alberto Machado, op. cit. pp.160-162. 65 Ibidem. 66 Allegory with Portuguese Arms, Biblioteca Nacional de Madrid (BNM), Drawing, sanguine, black chalk and pen and black ink on paper, inv. DIB 15/25/2 (27,9 x 17,2) 62

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Figure 6. Francisco Vieira Lusitano, Engraved Frontispiece to António Caetano de Sousa, História Genealógica da Casa Real Portuguesa, 1728 (267x192) (Author collection, Estoril, Portugal).

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Figure 7. Francisco Vieira Lusitano Restituet Omnia, Engraved Frontispiece to be used on Royal History Academy publications, 1728 (254x173) (Author collection, Estoril, Portugal).

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This portrait is replaced by an allegory of Lusitania Monarchy in the frontispiece for the História Genelógica da Casa Real Portuguesa and the Genius of Portugal for the frontispiece Restituet Omnia. The attributes of both images can be understood in Ripa’s instructions to represent the personification of Time, qualities like Majesty, Magnificence, Magnanimity as well as the introduction of mythological personalities like Minerva. Vieira may also have been a reader of Pliny, if not directly, at least in quotes and transcripts which are in artistic treatises, The Natural History being a major source for the art of Antiquity. Vieira repeatedly refers to Apelles, the great painter of Antiquity, naming the precept of Apelles as essential to professional artistic practice: as very busy as the artist could be he should draw every day, drawing at least one line, as a way to keep both hand and eyesight trained. Pliny mentions that this precept became a proverb, probably not foreseeing that it would remain current in the eighteenth century. Francisco Vieira Lusitano’s autobiography allows us to recognize and interpret many of his drawings and paintings that survived the Lisbon Earthquake of 1755, as The Orpheus Drawing that we show here a second version, considered lost. He describes the mentality and life in the Portuguese Court of the first half of VXIII, especially the gentry’s way of life, in their Villas in neighbouring Lisbon. King João V’s Embassy to Rome, The Entrée of Marquis of Abrantes, is an important theme of his book, detailing the drawing tasks he had to achieve to make archives of decorative arts for his King. Learning painting in Rome is also a subject and the climax of this is Pope Clement’s Drawing Contest. We foresee how painters lived in Rome in those days and the international importance of being accepted and elected Academician by the Roman Saint Lucas Academy. Through all the pages we can also foresee his moving story as a man and an artist.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE UNDERSTANDING OF COLOUR IN NATURE AND ART: DIOGO DE CARVALHO E SAMPAYO’S TRATADO DAS CORES MARIA JOÃO DURÃO LABCOR (COLOUR LABORATORY) AND CIAUD - FACULDADE DE ARQUITECTURA, UNIVERSIDADE DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

To José

Introduction This paper aims to analyse a rare and vaguely known Portuguese eighteenth century colour treatise: Tratado das Cores/que consta de tres partes: Analytica, Synthetica, Hermeneutica written by Diogo de Carvalho e Sampayo. In the frontispiece of the Tratado das Cores, the following words read: Offerecido Aos Amadores das Sciencias Naturaes, e a os Dilectantes, e Artistas, que começaõ a occupar-se em todo o genero de Trabalho Colorido (Offered to Amateurs of the Natural Sciences and to Dilettants and Artists that begin to occupy themselves with all sorts of Coloured Work), printed in Malta (Na Officina Typographica de S. A. E. Impressor Fr. Joao Mallia, 1787, Com licence dos Superiores). For the purpose of this study a fac-simile edition of the Biblioteca Publica Municipal do Porto, published by Chaves Ferreira-Publicações, S.A. was used, while the colour tables were obtained in The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tratado das Cores, by Diogo de Carvalho e Sampayo. Tratado das Cores is about experimentation with colour that is embedded in a larger cultural setting. Carvalho e Sampayo used a broad array of ideas and integrated them with his experiments in order to

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produce an innovative treatise on colour. ‘Principles’ were drawn from these experiments, and explained in the first two parts of the book: Parte Analytica and Parte Synthetica. Such principles were found to have analogies to Nature and are illustrated in coloured tables. The ‘Synthesis of Colours’ is composed of either the colours of Nature or the colours of Art, in a dichotomy that called for a method divided into two parts: The 1st deals with mechanisms used by Nature, that with only two colours is able to ‘ornate such a vast empire’-Synthesis Natural das Cores; the 2nd shows how Art can combine two primitive colours with four others to produce all existing colours- Synthesis Artificial das Cores. Furthermore, principles are drawn from the phenomena of light and sight and their interactions with bodies as a means for colour to actually exist for our appreciation. The 3rd part - Hermeneutica - offers a ‘Vocabulary of Colours’, with 53 different colour names, each with descriptions and indications to similarities with Tables A, B, C, D and the method that enable relationships to Tables XIIII-I, II, III, IV, V, VI. One of the unique qualities of the Tratado das Cores lies in the hand-painted plates that illustrate and elucidate the colour system of Carvalho e Sampayo. Tratado das Cores is an organic entity to be read interactively with consultation of colour plates and colour terminology. Besides the 3 parts and the coloured tables, there is a section named ‘Notes and illustrations’ with quotes and references from 30 authors in various fields of knowledge such as philosophy, natural history, natural science, optics, art and literature. Carvalho e Sampayo quotes from texts written in Classical Greek, Latin, German, French, Italian and English 1 . This section demonstrates the range of disciplines involved in Carvalho e Sampayo’s background as well as some elements that sustain his contention that philosophers of all times, poets and artists have developed inquiries on colour, none of which resulted in a fundamental theory.

The presence of Newton For the rest of my life I will reflect on what light is. (Einstein)

Tratado das Cores (henceforth, Tratado) begins with an epigraph by Newton “Hujus enim ignorantia quam plurimos, labore non exiguo, sed 1

In this list of Portuguese authors who studied the subject matter some names are absent, namely: Luís António Verney, Teodoro de Almeida, Inácio Monteiro, Castro Sarmento, João Jacinto de Magalhães, Vicente Correia Seabra Silva Teles (Bernardo, 2005).

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pp.43-48, pp.65-68)7. According to Beau (1949, pp.406-410) Wilhem von Humboldt made acquaintance with Carvalho e Sampayo in 1799, during his stay in Madrid. Carvalho e Sampayo offered Wilhem von Humboldt his book Memória sobre a formação natural das cores, published in Madrid eight years before Goethe’s Zur Farbenlehre, published in 1810. Memória sobre a formação natural das cores summarizes some of Sampayo’s theories, namely: Tratado das Cores, Dissertação sobre as cores primitivas com hum breve tratado da composição artificial das cores, Lisbon, 1788, Elementos de Agricultura: em que se contém os Princípios Theóricos e Práticos desta útil, agradável e honestíssima disciplina, Madrid (1790-91). Beau (1949, p.406) also shares the content of a letter sent from Humboldt to Goethe, stating the similarity between the theory of both Goethe and Carvalho e Sampayo. In Goethe’s Zur Farbenlehre, one finds a general assessment of Carvalho e Sampayo’s book Memória sobre a formação natural das cores with the title Bemerkungen über die Natürlische Bildung der Farben von Diogo de Carvalho e Sampayo (Beau, 1949, p.408).8 It is clear that research concerning the influences and contributions of Carvalho e Sampayo’s work to Zur Farbenlehre is required in parallel to a cross-comparative assessment of the methods used at the time for the study of colour phenomena. By the eighteenth century, colour involved academics, colour makers, and manufacturers as well as tradesmen, and there were already established industries in printing, ceramics, glass, textiles and colour materials for painting. Furthermore, colour was also a subject for theoretical pursuits in connection with art, science and philosophical thought, so it is not surprising that research carried out on the entire corpus of work by Carvalho e Sampayo would not only improve the comprehension of its cultural integration, but also shed light on a wider range of possible influences and connections.

7

R. G. Feijó’s publications are essential reading for the understanding of Carvalho e Sampayo’s colour treatises and colour system. R. G. Feijó organized Tratado das Cores (2001) and wrote the opening essay. The book O Sistema das Cores (2008) is a compilation of writings by Carvalho e Sampayo’s (excluding Tratado das Cores, 2001), and contains essays by R. G. Feijó. 8 Goethe’s assessment was translated and published in Feijó (2008, pp.65-68).

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References Alberti, L. B. (1991) On Painting. London: Penguin. Almeida, A. B. de (1967) Diogo de Carvalho e Sampayo, Cavaleiro Setecentista da Ordem de Malta e único português que meditou sobre a Teoria das Cores. Palestra. 30. pp.74-82. Aristote (2000) Petits Traités d´Histoire Naturelle (Parva Naturalia). Paris: Flammarion. Bernardo, L. M. (2005) Histórias da Luz e das Cores-Vol. I. Porto: Universidade do Porto. Beau, A. E. (1949) Goethe e a Cultura Portuguesa. Biblos (xxv:406-410; 430-436). Coimbra: Coimbra Editora. Berlin, K. (1969) Basic Colour Terms. Berkeley: University of California Press. Chevreul, M. E. (1987) The principles of harmony and contrast of colors. West Chester, PA.: Schiffer. Da Vinci, L. (1955) The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci. (E. MacCurdy, Ed. and Trans). New York: George Braziller. Durão, Maria João (1993) Cadernos-Estudos de cor, 1993. Unpublished Colour Sketchbooks. Private collection. —. (2006) O Diáfano e o μȑȜĮȢ. Ar - Cadernos da Faculdade de Arquitectura da Universidade Técnica de Lisboa. 6. pp. 144-147. Durão, M. J. (2008) Sketching the Ariadne’s Thread for Alchemical Linkages to Painting. FABRIKART-Arte, Tecnología, Industria, Sociedad. 8. pp. 106-123. —. (2011) Cadernos-Estudos de cor, 2011. Unpublished Colour Sketchbooks. Private collection. —. (2011a) Der Raum der Einbildungskraft: Der Visuelle und der Phänomenale Gedanke. Studia Universitatis Babes-Bolyai – Philosophia. 2/2011. pp. 113-124. Evans, R. M. (1974) Perception of color. New York: John Wiley. Feijó, R. G. (2001) Introdução in Sampayo, Diogo de Carvalho. Tratado das Cores (fac-sim. edition). Lisboa: Chaves Ferreira-Publicações S.A. —. (2008) (Introduction and editorial coordination). O Sistema das Cores: Diogo de Carvalho e Sampayo. Porto: Porto Editora. Gage, J. (1999) Colour and Meaning: Art, Science, and Symbolism. London: Thames and Hudson. Goethe, J. W. v. (1967). Theory of colours. (C. L. Eastlake, Trans.). London: Frank Cass & Co.

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Helmholtz, H. L. F. v. (1924-25) Treatise on physiological optics (3 vols.) (J.P.C. Southall, Ed. and Trans.). Rochester, New York: The Optical Society of America. Hering, E. (1964) Outline of a theory of the light sense (L.M. Hurwich and D. Jameson, Trans.). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Locke, J. (1975) An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Oxford: The Clarendon, Oxford University Press. Newton, I. (1952) Optiks. New York: Dover. Pliny the Elder (1855) The Natural History 35, 32. (John Bostock). London: Taylor and Francis. Sampayo, D. de C. (2001) Tratado das Cores. (fac-sim. edition). Lisboa: Chaves Ferreira-Publicações. Stratton, G. M. (1917) Theophrastus and the Greek Physiological Psychology before Aristotle. New York: The Macmillan. https://archive.org/stream/theophrastusgree00stra#page/132/mode/2up.

Acknowledgements I am thankful to Dr. António Albuquerque for his support and friendship.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN FORM AND MATTER IN MATHIAS AYRES’ PROBLEMA DE ARQUITECTURA CIVIL DANILO MATOSO MACEDO CÂMARA DOS DEPUTADOS, BRASÍLIA, BRAZIL

AND SYLVIA FICHER1 FACULDADE DE ARQUITECTURA E URBANISMO, UNIVERSIDADE DE BRASÍLIA, BRAZIL

This article aims to present the Problema de Architectura Civil – Problem of Civil Architecture – a book by Brazilian author Mathias Ayres Ramos da Sylva de Eça (1705-1763), issued posthumously in 1770, in order to discuss the recurrent opposition the author presents between form and matter in architecture. Mathias Ayres was neither an architect nor a craftsman, but an intellectual. Educated in Coimbra and in Paris, he lived in Lisbon from 1733 onwards, occupying a high ranking position in the Casa da Moeda, the Portuguese Mint. In his own words, “The problem of Civil Architecture, that we must solve, and demonstrate, is the following. Why ancient buildings had, and have more duration than modern ones? and for which reason these latter ones are less resistant to movement when the earth trembles?” Of course this was a momentous issue in Lisbon after the devastation caused by the earthquake of 1755. The author states that: “The reason, why ancient buildings lasted more, is because they have been make of good materials: and the reason, why modern ones do not last as much, is 1

Danilo Matoso is Architect at the Brazilian Chamber of Deputies and a PhD candidate at the University of Brasilia and Sylvia Ficher is Associated Professor at the University of Brasilia.

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because they are usually made of inappropriate materials. This is the resolution of the problem: and to demonstrate that, it is necessary to examine which are the materials the walls are made of; which are the qualities of the ones that are employed today, and which are the qualities they should have, for the work to be permanent, and to resist further to movement when the earth trembles.” Therefore, his volume deals with the chemical properties of building materials, chiefly of the minerals present in masonry, through empirical experiments conducted by himself. Most commentators agree that it is not a book on architecture, and that “the issues relating to building were a simple pretext that Mathias Ayres took advantage of to disclose to a Portuguese speaking public all that came to his knowledge and the findings of his studies and of his experiments on natural phenomena."2 Quite the reverse, our point here is that his is also a book on architecture, where compelling architectural opinions are asserted, both in its explicit content, about building materials, and implicit meanings. The later ones are found in many seemingly secondary ethical and aesthetical remarks along the text, where the author privileges matter over form. In fact, today the understanding of architecture mostly as a formal endeavour may also be the basis for many historians’ inclination to leave this book – which has no illustrations – outside the architectural canon. However, if we accept the quite contemporary definition of architecture, as proposed by Rafael Bluteau (1638-1734) in 1712, as “the art and science of all genres of buildings”, it is equally justifiable to reinstate Mathias Ayres' work as being of architectural import. In order to expound this stance, our article offers a commented selection of the author's thoughts on the relationship between matter and form – the core of a conceptual and professional shift being carried out at that time. Seldom mentioned by historians of architecture, engineering or craftsmanship, the book Problema de Architectura Civil (Problem of Civil Architecture), by Mathias Ayres, written in the second half of the eighteenth century, is generally reputed to be a work in chemistry – in turn, overlooked by historians of science. However, in our appreciation, the ideas exposed in this work accredit its author as an architectural theorist. Such a reading may well be carried out in two levels. The first 2 Luiz Camilo Oliveira Neto, in Ennes, 1944, p. XIII: “as questões relativas à construção dos edifícios foram simples pretexto de que se aproveitou Mathias Ayres para divulgar ao público da língua portuguesa tudo que chegara ao seu conhecimento e as conclusões dos seus estudos e das suas experiências, sobre os fenômenos naturais.”

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one, centred in its explicit content: an explanation about building materials, as conventionally presented in traditional architectural treatises. And the second level, of implied nature, which considers the epistemological and aesthetic judgments made by the author in his more than sixty digressions. Of actual relevance to the architectural debate, in them he proposes an ethical scale of values, between form and matter, and questions the practices and methods of contemporary architects. In an event dedicated to Eugenio dos Santos (1711-1760) and the reconstruction of Lisbon, it seems befitting to present the reflections of a Brazilian scholar about buildings and earthquakes. Mathias Ayres Ramos da Sylva Eça was born in 1705 in São Paulo, Brazil, the first son of Jozeph Ramos da Sylva (1683-1743), a successful Portuguese trader. Ramos da Sylva senior made his fortune in the then newly discovered mines of gold and diamonds in the country's hinterland, and became involved with politics and the sponsorship of public and religious activities. He fought as a volunteer in charge of troops against the attack perpetrated by French privateer Jean-François Duclerc (?-1711) to Rio de Janeiro in 1710, and was considered in São Paulo, among men of business, the most accomplished and of large riches, and always reputed as a man of great truth and good conduct. 3 Ramos da Sylva returns to Portugal in 1716, whereupon his firstborn was enrolled in the Jesuit College of St. Anthony, where he would remain until 1722. In sequence, the young Mathias was admitted to the University of Coimbra law school, where he graduated as Mestre em Artes. Dropping out in 1728, he travels to Madrid, where he attends the court and becomes close to the Infante Dom Manuel, brother of King John V of Portugal. Afterward, he settles in Paris until 1733, studying Civil and Canonic Law, and attending the Royal Academy of Sciences. Back in Lisbon, in 1742 he inherits his father's office of Provider of the Mint (Provedor da Casa da Moeda), a position that he would occupy until being fired in 1761. He passed away two years later, victimized by a seizure. In contrast to the intense social activity of his sister, Teresa Margarida Silva e Horta (1711-1793) – author of Aventuras de Diofanes (Adventures of Diofanes), published in 1752 – Mathias Ayres would have led a secluded life. Between 1744 and 1755 he resided in the sumptuous Palace of the Counts of Alvor, today the National Museum of Ancient Art. Reportedly for misanthropy, he never married, even though he 3

In Ennes, 1944, p. 23: “...dos homens de negocio o mais avultado e de cabedal, e sempre reputado por homem de muita verdade e bom procedimento...” Transcribed from a process of the Holy Office about Jozeph Ramos da Sylva (National Archives of Portugal, Torre do Tombo, letter J, pack 23, document 384).

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acknowledged the paternity of two children, and spent much of his time in his farm in Agualva, near Lisbon. In both of these places, he has always maintained habits of reading and writing, and has conducted chemical experiments.

Figure 1. Reflexões sobre a vaidade dos homens, title page of the first edition, 1752 (Photo by Danilo Matoso Macedo)

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In 1752, he issued Reflexões sobre a vaidade dos homens, ou discursos Moraes sobre os efeitos da vaidade (Reflections on the vanity of men, or moral discourses on the effects of vanity), the only book that he published in his lifetime (Figure 1). According to cultural historian Wilson Martins: A unique and massive dissertation on vanity in all its manifestations, it obeys a sensitive and sensible plan, from the vanity that leads men to disavow the world in favour of convent life up to the vanity that, on the contrary, under the name of Nobility, leads some people to imagine themselves superior to others.4

Although considered a minor work, the book was reissued four times in the eighteenth century, having been included in the Catálogo dos livros que se hão de ler para a continuação do Dicionário da Língua Portuguesa (Catalog of books that will be read for the continuation of the Dictionary of the Portuguese Language), published in 1799 by the Royal Academy of Sciences of Lisbon and attributed to Agostinho José da Costa de Macedo (1745-1822). Since in relative obscurity, it was rediscovered only in 1914 by Solidônio Leite (1867-1930, in Clássicos esquecidos (Forgotten classics), after which it got numerous editions, mainly in Brazil, being in print today. In the fourth volume of his Bibliotheca Lusitana (1759, t. IV, p. 254), Diogo Barbosa Machado (1682-1772) refers to the manuscripts Philosophia rationalis, et via ad campum Sophiae, Physicae subterraneae, Letres bohemienes (that would had been printed in Amsterdam), Discours Panegyrique sur la vie, et actions de Joseph Ramos da Silva (a biography of his father), all unpublished. In the prologue of Reflections on the vanity of men, Mathias Ayres mentions translations that have not yet been located: But if, anyway, I did poorly in forming a book from my Reflections, I can no longer amend myself by this time; I can only promise that I will not make another one, and this promise I will fulfill now, because by virtue of it I am already suppressing the translations of Quintus Curtius, and of Lucan. The actions of Alexander, and Caesar, which were to see the light 4

Martins, 1992, p. 372: “Uma dissertação única e maciça sobre a vaidade em todas as suas manifestações, obedece a um plano sensível e sensato, partindo da vaidade que leva os homens a repudiarem o mundo em favor da vida conventual e terminando com a vaidade que, ao contrário, sob o nome de Nobreza, leva alguns outros a imaginarem-se superiores aos demais.”

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soon in the Portuguese idiom, are reserved to be posthumous works, and maybe then they will be well accepted; for errors are easily excused from the dead.5

He also atones for the vanity of being an author, stating that he did not intend to edit any other work in life. Maybe the promise was only partially fulfilled, as the book Discurso congratulatorio pela felicissima convalescensa, e real vida de ElRey D. Jozé I (Congratulatory discourse for the joyful convalescence and royal life of King D. Joseph I), published in 1759, is credited to him, although a definitive attribution of authorship has not been reached.6 The Problema de Architectura Civil was issued in 1770 by Mathias' son, Manoel Ignacio Ramos da Sylva de Eça (1748-?). The book presents problems in its structure, with repeated sections and inconsistent chapter divisions, as well as mistakes that stem perhaps from being posthumously published. Nevertheless, it is written in a cultivated language, fact recognized by its inclusion in the already cited catalogue of the Royal Academy of Sciences of Portugal (Macedo, 1799, p. 130). In the judgment of Inocêncio Francisco da Silva (1810-1876), the work shows remarkable erudition and still could serve as a subject for study, at any rate philological (1862, t. VI, p. 159). According to this scholar, the two subsequent editions, issued in 1777 and 1778, would all be one and the same, with differences only in the title pages.

5

Eça, 1752: “Mas se ainda assim fiz mal em formar das minhas Reflexões hum livro, já me naõ posso emendar por esta vez, senaõ com prometter, que naõ hey de fazer outro; e esta promessa entro a cumprir já, porque em virtude della ficaõ desde logo supprimidas as traduções de Quinto Curcio, e de Lucano. As acções de Alexandre, e Cesar, que estavaõ brevemente para sahir à luz no idioma Portuguez, ficaõ reservadas para serem obras posthumas, e tal vez que entaõ sejaõ bem aceitas; porque os erros facilmente se desculpaõ em favor de hum morto.” 6 As presented in the title page reproduced in Ennes (1944, pp. 132-33): Discurso congratulatorio pela felicissima convalescensa, e real vida de ElRey D. Jozé I, Nosso Senhor; consagrado com hum dia festivo de Acção de Graças a DEOS no Mosteiro de Saõ Bento da Saude desta Cidade aos 19 de Janeiro de 1759 (Congratulatory discourse for the joyful convalescence and royal life of El Rey D. Joseph I, Our Lord; consecrated with a festive day of Thanksgiving in the Monastery of Saint Benedict of Health in this Town in January 19th, 1759). Attribution due to Brito Aranha, according to the Dicionário Bibliográfico Português (Silva, 1858, t. XVII, p. 14).

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Figure 2. Problema de Architectura Civil, title page of the second edition, 1777 (Photo by Danilo Matoso Macedo)

Here, we consulted the 1777 edition (according to Inocêncio Francisco da Silva, it is a reprint of the first edition of 1770), an in-octavo composed of two parts, the first with 14 chapters in 250 pages, and the second, with

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17 chapters in 256 pages, plus an Index – actually, a glossary – with 135 pages and 42 terms (Figure 2). Entirely devoid of illustrations and even of any typographical embellishments, as drop caps, vignettes or cul-delampes, such austere composition is coherent with its contents. Mathias Ayres explains: The problem of Civil Architecture, that we must solve, and demonstrate, is the following. Why ancient buildings had, and have more duration than modern ones? and for which reason these latter ones are less resistant to movement when the earth trembles? …The reason, why ancient buildings lasted more, is because they have been make of good materials: and the reason, why modern ones do not last as much, is because they are usually made of inappropriate materials. This is the resolution of the problem: and to demonstrate that, it is necessary to examine which are the materials the walls are made of; which are the qualities of the ones that are employed today, and which qualities they should have, for the work to be permanent, and to resist further to movement when the earth trembles.7

In his explanations, he would treat in depth a few materials, focusing on their physical and chemical characteristics, and general definitions and experiences about the nature of matter. In fact, the book has not been mentioned by theorists or craftsmen in the field of construction, who appears to have found little use in the erudite digressions of the LusoBrazilian amateur chemist. The words of Luis Camilo de Oliveira Neto in 1944 seem to translate a widespread understanding that the issues relating to building were a simple pretext that Mathias Ayres took advantage of to disclose to a Portuguese speaking public all that came to his knowledge and the findings of his studies and of his experiments on natural phenomena.8

7

Eça, 1777, pt. I, pp. 1 and 8: “O problema de Architectura Civil, que devemos resolver, e demonstrar, he o seguinte. Porque razaõ os edificios antigos tinhaõ, e tem mais duraçaõ do que os modernos? e estes porque razaõ resistem menos ao movimento da terra quando treme? ... a razaõ, porque os modernos naõ tem a mesma duraçaõ, he porque saõ cõmummente fabricados com materiaes improprios. Esta he a resoluçaõ do problema: e para a demonstrarmos he preciso examinar quaes saõ os materiaes, de que os muros se compoem; quaes saõ as qualidades que tem os com que hoje se fabríca, e as que devem ter, para que a obra fique permanente, e para que resista mais ao movimento da terra quando treme.” 8 In Ennes, 1944, p. xiii: “As questões relativas à construção dos edifícios foram simples pretexto de que se aproveitou Mathias Ayres para divulgar ao público da

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This is an understanding partially warranted by Mathias Ayres himself, as he admits that what I say is nothing new: I recollect that which everyone knows. What further I did, it was to verify that known truth, with physical experiments likewise known. For architects it was not necessary to say anything more, because they know better than I all the precepts of a profession that is not mine.9

This line of reasoning suggests that the author wanted to give a social and political relevance to his theoretical and experimental studies in natural sciences, to be placed to practical use in the reconstruction of Lisbon – certainly the most important pursuit in the field of construction being carried on in the decade following the earthquake. Indeed, at the cost of 647 pages and numerous digressions, Mathias Ayres deals in great detail with four materials, in his estimation essential to the erection of walls – stone, lime, sand and water – in order to demonstrate that to build good walls, it is necessary to have good materials and to know how to mix them with art; because the whole compound requires certain proportion between the parts from which it is composed: without which the end result never matches the just intent of the artisan.10

Good materials, in turn, have their quality associated with their degree of purity. Lime must be sprayed with pure water; sand must be fine and free from soil or organic material, and any water should be free of salt. For him, water is the main agent in the degradation of materials, and its infiltration in walls should be prevented. Consequently, one should also avoid the presence of any salts in any of wall components, since this would attract moisture from the air, which carries invisible impurities:

língua portuguesa tudo que chegara ao seu conhecimento e as conclusões dos seus estudos e das suas experiências sobre os fenômenos naturais.” 9 Eça, 1777, pt. II, p. 254: “Nisto naõ digo eu nada de novo; lembro aquillo mesmo que todos sabem. O mais, que fiz, foi verificar aquella verdade conhecida, com experimentos physicos igualmente conhecidos. Para os architectos naõ era preciso dizer nada; porque sabem melhor do que eu todos os preceitos de huma profissaõ, que naõ he minha.” 10 Ibid., pt. II, p. 184: “... saber misturallos com arte; porque todo o composto exige certa proporçaõ entre as partes que o compem: sem a qual nunca corresponde o effeito á justa intençaõ do artifice.”

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Duration comes from the very substance of the building, not from the remedy that is sought to make it strong: we must assume the purity of the substance, i.e. of the materials.11

Likewise, opposing the time-honoured practice of mud walls, he advocates that: A compound of clay, or of any common earth, will never allow for firmness. Even though the best stone is amassed to this compound, never with such a composition it will be formed a solid body; because clay always retains a propensity to break down, or crumble in water.12

In these points, Mathias Ayres does not deviate from the usual prescriptions found in the most renowned treatises of architecture and construction. As Cybèle Celestino Santiago (2007, pp. 17-64) has pointed out in her studies on lime mortars, the presence of oils with hydrophobic properties and of brick dust or gravel to increase the workability of a mass is recommend in the relevant literature since Vitruvius and Pliny, through out Leon Battista Alberti, Pietro Cataneo, Francesco di Giorgio Martini, and many other authors that wrote about the practice of construction. However, Mathias Ayres does not mention any of these works: he prefers the company of classical writers and naturalists. The Roman poet Virgil is the most cited – six times – followed by Johann Joachim Becher (1635-1682) and Georg Ernst Stahl (1659-1734), German chemists that formulated the phlogiston theory, to which our author adhered: Through many, and several experiments it is verified the existence of entangled combustible particles, held in those bodies that have a propensity for receiving them, and retaining them a while.13

11

Ibid., pt. I, p. 3: “A duraçaõ aprovém da propria substancia do edificio, naõ do remedio que se busca para o fazer forte: devemos presuppôr a pureza da substancia, isto he dos materiaes.” 12 Ibid., pt. I, p. 8: “Hum composto de barro, ou de qualquer terra commua (sic), em nenhum tempo póde admittir firmeza. Ainda que a hum composto tal se lhe ajunte a melhor pedra, nunca de huma tal composiçaõ se ha de formar hum corpo solido; porque o barro conserva sempre propensaõ para desunir-se, ou desfazer-se na agua”. 13 Ibid., pt. I, p. 163: “Por muitos, e varios experimentos se verifica a existencia das particulas igneas embaraçadas, e detidas naquelles corpos que tem disposiçaõ para as receberem, e a reterem algum tempo.”

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In fact, this theory was valid and accepted by most chemists of the eighteenth century (Maar, 2008, p. 495), and would be overcome only thirty years later, with the work of Antoine Lavoisier (1743-1794). Of his teachers in Paris, Mathias Ayres (1777, pt. I, p. 109; pt. II, p. 200) cites Johann Grosse († 1744), engineer, naturalist and assistant of Henri-Louis Duhamel du Monceau (1700-1782) that had articles published in the Mémoires de l'Académie Royale des Sciences. But he does not mention Louis Godin (1704-1760), astronomer sent in 1735 to Latin America by the French government to carry on researches on the figure of the earth. There, Godin resided in Lima, Peru, from 1738 to 1751; as this city underwent an earthquake in 1746, he studied the occurrence – even including directives for the construction of sounder buildings – in his book El temblor de tierra de Lima, sus causas, efectos y consecuencias (The earthquake of Lima, its causes, effects and consequences), published there in 1748. In 1753 he moved to Cadiz, Spain, where he published Des tremblements de terre en général, de ceux de Lima et Lisbonne en particulier (Earthquakes in general, the ones of Lima and Lisbon in particular).14 On construction proper, Mathias Ayres' stance is somewhat radical and scarcely practical, as his book do not consider earths, woods, ceramics and metals by themselves, exclusively discussing walls from a statics point of view – and that without going into the merits of different kinds of stonemasonry. All other construction elements are discarded, since: The discussion has only the walls as topic: they support the weight of the building; and from their strength depends the duration; all the other parts are of less consequence, and may be less subjected to attention without irreparable damage.15

In contrast, the architects engaged in the reconstruction of Lisbon's central area, the so called Baixa Pombalina, went deeper in their research

14

Bio-bibliographic excerpt in Appletons Encyclopedia (2001). Unfortunately, we have not accessed yet texts by Godin, certainly influential in the work of his former Brazilian student. Mention to Godin is made in Barbosa Machado (1759, t. IV, p. 254), and expanded in Ennes (1944, pp. 90-91). 15 Eça, 1777, pt. I, p. 141: “a presente discussaõ só tem as paredes por assumpto: ellas sustentaõ o pezo do edificio; e da fortaleza dellas depende a duraçaõ; todas as mais partes saõ de menos consequencia, e podem ser menos escrupulizadas sem prejuizo irreparavel.”

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and developed a structural timber frame – the successful gaiola pombalina – to reinforce the new buildings against further tremors.16 Even so, Mathias Ayres focus in walls – for him, the essence, so to speak of a building – was in consonance with the spirit of economy and speed of execution distinctive of Pombal's architectural style. According to José-Augusto França: No variation, no fancy in these facades: a directive dated June 16, 1759, formally prohibits all decorative or utilitarian element jutting out of the walls: stairs, brackets, corbels for flower pots in the windows, and even lattices and rings to hold horses, and already a rule of October 14, 1758, prohibited steps in doors.17

A man of letters, Mathias Ayres discusses architecture – a profession that he does not profess – in order to demonstrate the universal worth of scientific knowledge and to assert theory's autonomy: “a professor of art is not only that who practices it, but also all that who somehow knows it.”18 This is, of course, the expected stance of the learned Provider of the Mint, in charge of craftsmen and dealing with chemical and artistic operations in his workplace, but it is also the long-term vision of a humanist who gives value to what he reads and writes. In fact, for him: Any book, albeit small, is like a public treasury, where everything can be gathered, or deposited, as it can be publicly useful... All arts and sciences have a recognized affinity between them, and in such a manner, that a science or an art can hardly establish itself alone, without concurrence, and assistance from others; all are equally dependent.19 16

The gaiola pombalina, or Pombal's cage, is an anti-seismic building system comprising a three-dimensional wooden structure embedded in masonry walls, inspired by naval construction methods. This solution combines the flexibility of wood with the resistance to fire of masonry. Its name derives from the Marquis of Pombal (1699-1782), then prime-minister of Portugal and foremost responsible for the effective progress of the reconstruction works. 17 França, 1987, pp. 177-78: “Nenhuma irregularidade, nenhuma fantasia nestas fachadas: um alvará datado de 16 de Junho de 1759 proíbe de maneira formal todo o elemento decorativo ou utilitário saído das paredes: degraus, consolas, mísulas para vasos de flores nas janelas, e até gelosias e argolas para prender os cavalos, e já um assento de 14 de Outubro de 1758 proibia degraus nas portas.” 18 Eça, 1777, pt. II, p. 145: “professor da arte naõ he só quem a exercita, mas tambem todo aquelle que de algum modo a sabe.” 19 Ibid., pt. II, p. 193: “Qualquer livro, ainda que pequeno, he como hum erario publico, em que póde recolher-se, ou depositar-se tudo, quanto póde ser publicamente util. A noticia dos phenómenos mais raros em toda a parte tem lugar;

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Besides his insightful references to architectural practice in Portugal at the time, his major contributions to solving actual problems are found in his ethical digressions – which could be considered as metaphorical aesthetic precepts –, where he keenly advocates the adoption of rigorous scientific methods for technological control of construction. Despite this faith in learning, he does not waive the empirical verification of any theoretical formulation, stating repeatedly that he writes based on his own experiments. It is a vision to some extent divergent from that of the leading Portuguese architectural theorist at the time, Manuel de Azevedo Fortes (1660-1749), chief-engineer of D. John V and author of Engenheiro portuguez (Portuguese engineer), a book published in 1729 and largely devoted to geometry, topography and design. According to Luís Manuel Bernardo (2005),20 Azevedo Fortes was a Cartesian rationalist that emphasized, throughout his writings, almost exclusively the abstract operations involved in geometric drawing as a logical translation of reality. In contrast, Mathias Ayres calls into question common sense and any a priori formulation, asserting that “in practical matters the number of votes does not bring about a close.”21 For him: What an admirable art, which has for purpose most rightfully the knowledge of the effects by their causes, and the causes by their effects, and in which experiment alone has a decisive vote, and in which rules, and precepts do not come from human, or positive institution, but from a permanent and unfailing order. In it, systems do not have any authority, and syllogisms are not conclusive when the proof is not a fact visible, and constant. Such is the learned Chemistry, or Physics, is in the highest degree.22 e aquelle mesmo, de que alguns homens naõ tem curiosidade, outros se interessaõ muito, e querem ver tratada huma materia, ainda que seja alheia da materia, de que se trata. Quanto mais, que no mundo ha poucas cousas, que deixem de conter alguma connexaõ humas com as outras; e esta talvez he a catena aurea de que faz mençaõ Homero. As artes, e sciencias todas tem entre si affinidade conhecida, e de tal sorte, que huma sciencia ou arte, mal póde estabelecer-se só, sem a concurrencia, e assistencia de outras; todas saõ igualmente dependentes.” 20 Luís Manuel Bernardo also specifically comments the shift of epistemological values presented in Mathias Ayres’ Problema de Architectura Civil in two other essays (2007, 2008). 21 Eça, 1777, pt. II, p. 21: “nas materias praticas o numero de votos naõ conclue.” 22 Ibid., pt. I, p. 178: “Que admiravel arte, que com mais justo titulo tem por instituto o conhecer os effeitos pelas suas causas, e as causas pelos seus effeitos, e em que só a experiencia tem voto decisivo, e em que as regras, e preceitos naõ vem de humana, ou positiva instituiçaõ, mas de huma ordem permanente, e

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In his empiricism, he does not consider as imperative even the establishment of a causal nexus on natural substantiation, because: It seems that it is better to suspend a conclusion, that is, not to determine the cause from which arises a phenomenon. We must content ourselves with the thing, without going to decide the reason of it; it is enough to know what the thing is, even though we do not know the how or the why. The information about the effects is more useful for us than the causes.23

In the same vein, he also recognizes the instrumental and independent character of technology, stating: He who first discovered how to give to inert iron the shape of a sharp instrument, he was also the first who taught how to take life with that hard metal: he is innocent of the substance, and also of the shape itself for evil: the blame can only be in the hand directing the blow, not in the instrument that performs it.24

But he does not hesitate to assign an ethical dimension to scientific labour, placing it, and the architect's task, in the service of saving lives: In the case of earthquakes, many lose their lives due to lack of a minute; how many die because they had not a moment's more! Time being precious, how much precious it will be that time on which relies the death or life of many! ...Neither fortune, nor adversity decide our fate; we ourselves shall move the machine on which relies our good, or our evil: and given that nothing moves without time, what care should we not take to have some brief period of time as we will come to an end temporally?

indefectivel! nella naõ tem os systemas authoridade alguma, e os sillogismos naõ concluem quando a prova naõ consiste em facto visivel, e constante. Esta he a Chimica instruida, ou Physica por excellencia.” 23 Ibid., pt. II, p. 176: “parece que he melhor suspender a conclusaõ, isto he, naõ determinar a causa, de que hum phenómeno provém. Devemos contentar-nos com a cousa, sem entrar a decidir a razaõ della; basta que saibamos que cousa he, ainda que naõ saibamos o como, nem o porque he. A intelligencia dos effeitos he-nos mais util, que a das causas.” 24 Ibid., pt. I, p. 122: “Aquelle, que primeiro descobrio o modo para dar ao ferro inerto a figura de hum instrumento agudo, foi tambem o primeiro que ensinou a tirar a vida com aquelle durissimo metal: este na susbstancia he innocente, e ainda na figura propria para o mal: a culpa só póde estar na maõ que dirige o golpe, naõ no instrumenro (sic) que executa.”

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Returning to the universality and permanence of knowledge, he assigns social responsibility to civil construction, considering public buildings to be at the service of all, and literally any building at the service of posterity. Hence the need to build without saving as regards to sturdiness. We shall last the duration of the work, as in ourselves it is so little what we last. Let's imagine that the building is a part of us; and that in this exterior part, distant and insensitive, we may remain without frights, without hassles, without pains. Lastly, let's suppose that our descent also persists in it, and that even though this prolongation is motionless, and without action, yet it is, and it will always be innocent, owing to its very inaction, and immobility, unable of merit, and of virtue, but also unable of vice, and guilt.26

This ethical awareness leads Mathias Ayres to establish, at all times, a clear relationship between form and substance, shape and matter. Form is not his treatise's subject, given that it should necessarily stem from pure substance. Such an extreme approach might find a parallel in the thought of his Venetian contemporary, Carlo Lodoli (1690-1761). According to Pietro Bargellini:

25

Ibid., pt. II, pp. 5-6: “No caso dos terremotos, quantos perdem a vida por hum minuto de menos; quantos morrem porque naõ tiveraõ hum instante de mais! Sendo o tempo precioso, quanto naõ será aquelle, de que depende a morte de muitos ou a vida! ... Nem a fortuna, nem a desgraça decidem a nossa sorte; nós mesmos havemos de mover a machina de que depende o nosso bem, ou o nosso mal: e com sem tempo nada se move, que cuidado naõ devemos pôr para termos algum breve espaço quando houvermos de acabar temporalmente? esse espaço nos promette o edificio bem fundado; porém mais, que tudo, a sabia, e misericordiosa providencia.” 26 Ibid., pt. II, p. 227: “Duremos na duraçaõ da obra, já que em nós mesmos he taõ pouco o que duramos. Façamos de conta que o edificio he huma parte nossa; e que nesta parte exterior, afastada, e insensivel, podemos permanecer sem sustos, sem tribulaçoens, sem dores. Em fim supponhamos que tambem alli se continua a nossa descendencia, e que esta ainda que seja immobil, e sem acçaõ, com tudo he, e ha de ser sempre innocente, por força da sua mesma inacçaõ, e immobilidade, incapaz de merecimento, e de virtude, mas tambem incapaz de vicio, e culpa.”

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Friar Carlo Lodoli linked tightly architectural style to building materials. For him, the architect's reasons should be determined by the reasons of the employed material. In this, he was perhaps too inflexible.27

Paulo Assunção (2011, p. 10) suggests that, when recalling classical amphitheatres, Mathias Ayres was probably referring to Roman ruins revealed by the earthquake: Why endure today those eminent monuments, that wise antiquity left us as models? That would be because they were made without rule, without proportion, without art? No, indeed it is otherwise. At that time, excellent architects flourished: and Architecture does not consist only in a building pretentious figure, neither in the regularity visible in each of its parts; but also in the correct selection of its materials, and in the reciprocal proportion that should exist between them. From this comes the strength of all, and any work, and this is the sure pledge that warrants its duration.28

Purity of matter, in good architecture, should be reflected in formal purity and integrity, as observed in nature, where willing to avoid confusion, the divine Architect of the universe disposed that all bodies be distinguished from one another, not only by interior and substantial qualities, or properties, but also by an external and visibly known form; and not only by the essential and invisible part; but by a simply configured, material, and noticeable one.29

27 Bargellini, 1947, p. 11: “Fra Carlo Lodoli legava dunque strettissimamente lo stile architettonico al materiale da construzione. Faceva dipendere le ragioni dell’architetto dalle ragioni del materiale usato. In ciò era forse anche troppo rigido”. 28 Eça, 1777, pt. II, p. 226: “...porque subsistem hoje aquelles insignes monumentos, que a douta antiguidade nos deixou para modelos? Será, porque foraõ fabricados sem regra, sem proporçaõ, sem arte? Naõ, antes he certissimo o contrario. Entaõ floreceraõ architectos excellentes; e a Architectura naõ consiste só na apparatoza figura do edificio, nem na regularidade visivel de cada huma das suas partes; mas tambem na justa eleiçaõ dos seus materiaes, e na proporçaõ reciproca que entre elles deve haver. Daqui vem a fortaleza de toda, e qualquer obra, e este he o penhor seguro que certifica a sua duraçaõ.” 29 Ibid., pt. II, p. 281: “...para evitar a confusaõ dispoz o divino Architecto do universo que todos os corpos se distinguissem entre si, naõ só pelas qualidades, ou propriedades interiores, e substanciaes, mas tambem por huma fórma exterior, e visivelmente conhecida; e naõ só pela parte essencial, e invisivel; mas por huma simplesmente configurada, material, e perceptivel.”

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When discussing a building’s permanence, Mathias Ayres establishes a temporal correspondence for his ethical and substantial system, in which he correlates the geological time taken in the formation of natural matter to the life-time of a building. For instance, granite, resulting in a lengthy process, would be a durable and resistant to stone. In his words: Everything that is made suddenly, also suddenly comes to an end. Things that are made slowly, and with premeditation, are those that will last more. Likewise with buildings30.

In this equation, analogous to natural processes, correct proportion and the manner in which parts are mixed would be at the core of converting pure substance to pure form. Proportion, in fact, is a term employed by him in two different senses, referring both to form and to matter: Thus are formed, and transformed some bodies. In knowing their component parts organization, and the way nature behaves, easily we imitate the same nature, and sometimes in less time; because art is more precipitous, and absolves its periods in a more brief gap. Everything resides in the application of certain materials, and of certain, or determinate proportions; without these, neither art, nor nature can make anything; and what they make, it is akin to blindly made, and without instinct; and thus they make wrongly, and imperfectly.31

For Mathias Ayres, public utility in intentions, purity of substance, right timing and proper proportions are the basis for good architecture, a system in which formal integrity arises as a consequence, and it is not the main concern. When discussing the crystallization of potassium nitrate, or nitro, his remarks help to elucidate why he gives such importance to this causal relationship:

30

Ibid., pt. II, p. 241: “Tudo, o que se faz de repente, tambem de repente acaba. As cousas que se fazem de vagar, e com premeditaçaõ, saõ as que duraõ mais. Assim saõ os edificios.” 31 Ibid., pt.II, p. 220: “Assim se fórmaõ, e transfórmaõ alguns corpos. Em se sabendo a organizaçaõ das partes que os compoem, e a fórma com que a natureza se comporta, facilmente imitamos a mesma natureza, e ás vezes em menos tempo; porque a arte he mais precipitada, e absolve os seus periodos em mais breve espaço. Tudo está na applicaçaõ de certos materiaes, e de certas, ou determinadas proporçoens; sem estas, nem a arte, nem a natureza podem fazer nada; e o que fazem he como cegamente, e sem instintcto; e por isso fazem erradamente, e imperfeitamente.”

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The appearance of vegetating that nitro has; showy appearance, in fact, similar to the painter's art, that mimics everything without giving reality to anything; that shapes the figure, not the thing; that draws a body without giving it any substance; everything is for the view, and nothing for the being.32

Even though ornamental Baroque flourished in Portugal during the reign of D. John V, from 1707-1750, the demand for simpler forms led to the economical trimness of the Pombal style, reminiscent of sixteenth century plain style,33 but also contemporary of French Neoclassicism. Our author sides with this tendency, deploring Baroque scenographic excesses, maybe influenced by a new labour organization in architecture, in which design was becoming, at least in Portugal, an activity apart from construction. He attributes the fragility of buildings to the inconsequential immediacy of contemporary craftsmen who little tuned to the durability of buildings, and with unfair economy, are more engaged in the work's completion, than in its permanence; and being scrupulous in the control of perspective, and of other less important parts, they carelessly select the materials with which they build.34

This mention of perspective does not come by chance. Mathias Ayres assigns to the urgency of design in the process of conception – perhaps resulting from the influence of architectural treatises then current – the responsibility for this deplorable inversion of values: It must be pointed out that, even though a building's strength is the first goal that we should meet, we seldom occupy ourselves with controlling the just portions that will make up the mass that serves to join the stones with each other. We are more concerned with the work's fine outline in paper, and with the correct presentation in this outline of an ordered perspective, 32

Ibid., pt. I, p. 103: “a apparencia de vegetar que o nitro faz; apparencia vistosa com effeito, semelhante á arte do pintor, que imita tudo, sem dar realidade a nada; fórma a figura, naõ a cousa; debuxa hum corpo sem lhe dar substancia alguma; tudo fica para a vista, e nada para o ser.” 33 Expression established by Portuguese historian Julio de Castilho (1840-1919) and adopted by the American historian George Kubler (1912-1996; 1972), it refers to sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Portuguese architecture. 34 Eça, 1777, pt. I, p. 3: “...pouco attentos á duração dos edificios, e com economia menos justa, tem mais por objecto a conclusaõ da obra, do que a duraçaõ della; e sendo escrupulosos na ordem da perspectiva, e em outras partes menos importantes, saõ faceis na eleiçaõ dos materiaes com que fabricaõ.”

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As a consequence of the architect's distancing from the construction site: The quality of materials, and the proportions in which they must be combined, is also an assumed issue, little taken into account; and as such, it is usually left to the first workers that were hired at the work's beginning. It is not inquired what are the best materials, and the most adequate ones, but which ones are closer, and where they will be less expensive.36

Against this pressing economy, Mathias Ayres argues that, “although it is with some more spending, the work's strength pays all extensively. A higher expenditure does not trouble he who wants to build safely.”37 A second consequence of this severance between design and construction site would be the primacy of ornamental elements over the building's structure. In a kind of Purism avant la lettre, Mathias Ayres argues that the latter may well waive the former: It takes a certain ratio between every kind of material from which the walls are constituted. The skilled architect never ignores this rule, on the contrary he puts his first and chief care in it. With strengthening he begins, and with adorning he ends. The ornament can be placed at any time, the 35

Ibid., pt. II, pp. 232-33: “He muito de reparar, que sendo a fortaleza do edificio o primeiro objecto a que devemos attender, raras vezes nos occupamos em ordenar as porçoens justas de que ha de compôr-se a massa que serve de ligar as pedras humas com as outras. No que consideramos mais, he, que a obra esteja bem delineada no papel, e que neste esteja bem disposta a ordem da prospectiva, a correspondencia das entradas, a distribuiçaõ das serventias, a divisaõ das suas partes, a introducção da luz em cada huma dellas, e finalmente a symmetria em todo o corpo do edificio. A segurança das paredes entra como cousa menos importante.” 36 Ibid., pt. II, p. 233: “A qualidade dos materiaes, e as proporçoens, em que devem concorrer, tambem he como materia supposta, para que se olha pouco; e como tal, commumente se entrega aos primeiros serventes que a noticia da obra convocou. Naõ se inquire quaes saõ os materiaes melhores, e mais proprios, mas sim quaes saõ os que estaõ mais perto, e donde se haõ de haver com menos despeza.” 37 Ibid., pt. I, p. 143: “Seja embora com mais algum dispendio; a fortaleza da obra paga tudo largamente. Huma despeza maior naõ assombra a quem quer edificar com segurança.”

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fortification has to be soon; because that first one is made up for the delight of sight, and this last one for the thing's subsistence. A building can subsist without any ornamentation, but not without the whole fortification; it may well be rough in surface appearance, but not in its inner substance.38

Given the severity of his assertions, Mathias Ayres takes steps to protect himself from the corporation of architects and engineers, ascribing – not without some reason – part of the blame for less secure buildings to their owners. Speaking of the need to use clean sand, for example, he states that: All architects know well this practical truth; but not all of them can use it; because they build according to the owner's will, and not to their own: they understand perfectly what is better; but their understanding sometimes is deemed as little necessary and an impertinent scruple: the owner always wants the sand that takes less lime, and the lime that is less pricey; and that the materials be those that are near, and whose transport be less expensive. Such conditions rarely conform with the work's goodness, and strength; and, as the building does not speak until after becoming a wreck, only then its owner knows the sad consequence of a badly engendered economy.39

Hence, the Problem of Civil Architecture copes with issues concerning the conception and construction of buildings. Not only directly, while discussing stones, lime, sand and water as building materials, or while assessing design practices and construction economy, and their vices, but

38

Ibid., pt. II, p. 231: “He preciso pois huma certa proporçaõ entre cada hum dos materiaes de que os muros se compoem. O architecto experiente nunca ignora aquella regra, antes nella poem o seu primeiro, e principal cuidado. Fortificando principia, e ornando acaba. O ornato póde vir em qualquer tempo, a fortificaçaõ ha de ser logo; porque aquelle faz-se para o agrado da vista, e esta para subsistencia da cousa. O edificio póde substistir sem ornato algum, mas naõ sem toda a fortificaçaõ; póde ser tosco na apparencia superficial, mas naõ na sua susbstancia interior.” 39 Ibid., pt. II, pp. 73-74: “Todos os architectos conhecem bem esta verdade pratica; porém nem todos podem usar della; porque fabricaõ á vontade do proprietario, e naõ á sua: entendem perfeitamente o que he melhor; porém o seu entender he tomado ás vezes por hum escrupulo pouco necessario, e impertinente: o proprietario sempre quer a arêa que leve menos cal; e quer aquella cal que he de menos preço; e que os materiaes sejaõ aquelles que estaõ perto, e de que o transporte seja menos dispendioso. Estas condições raramente se conciliaõ com a bondade, e fortaleza da obra; e como esta naõ falla senaõ depois de arruinada, só entaõ conhece o senhor della a triste consequencia de huma mal disposta economia.”

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also indirectly, by stressing the decisive influence of all these factors in the resulting features of buildings. Yet, it is not just a book on architecture, but possibly the first one published by a Brazilian author; and its typographic plainness should not entail the feat's underestimation. Without any illustrations came to light Vitruvius' De architectura libri decem, rediscovered in 1414 by Poggio Bracciolini (1380-1459), a book in fact dealing predominantly with building materials and machinery, today considered engineering topics, in a division of labour that might be about to be questioned. View corroborated by Frank Granger (1934, p. ix), translator of Vitruvius into English, in his introduction: It is only in modern times that Vitruvius has been regarded mainly as an architect, and that attention has been almost concentrated upon his exposition of the orders of architecture to the neglect of the major part of his achievement. Not unnaturally the expectation has been raised that his style should exhibit the qualities of order, arrangement and symmetry which he somewhat confusedly traces in architecture, Book I. ii. 1. If with more propriety we follow tradition and approach him as an engineer, the case is altered.

Another publication which that had no illustration was De re aedificatoria, published in 1452 by Leon Battista Alberti (1404-1472), three centuries before our Problem of Civil Architecture. In his Vocabulário Portuguez e Latino (Portuguese and Latin Vocabulary), Rafael Bluteau defines architecture broadly as the “art or science of all kind of buildings”,40 thus corroborating the relevance that held Mathias Ayres' commentaries in his times. But for us, his opinions are still relevant and fitting: That is the resolution of our Problem. Old buildings lasted longer, and resisted some more time to underground movements; because they had being made with more regularity. Some of our modern buildings resist less, and have less duration; because they are produced with less attention, and without intention that they last long: thus it follows that it is not surprising that we witness the little they last. In this, I do not say anything new; I just point out what everybody knows. What else I did, it was to verify that well-known truth, with equally well-known physical experiments. For the architects, it was not necessary to say anything; because they are better acquainted than I with all the precepts of a profession that is not mine.41 40

Bluteau, 1712, v. 1, p. 476: “Arte ou ciência de todo o gênero de edifícios.” Eça, 1777, pt. II, pp. 253-54: “Aquella he a resoluçaõ do nosso Problema. Os edificios antigos duravaõ mais, e resistiaõ algum tempo mais aos movimentos 41

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References Appletons Encyclopedia, 2001. Louis Godin. [online] Available at: [Accessed 2 September 2013]. Assunção, P. de, 2011. Mathias Ayres e o conhecimento sobre os problemas de Arquitetura Civil. In: 2o Seminário Ibero-Americano Arquitetura e Documentação. Belo Horizonte Nov 2011. Belo Horizonte: IEDS/UFMG. Bargellini, P. and Freyrie, E., 1947. Nascita e vita dell’architettura moderna. Firenze: Arnaud. Bernardo, L. M. A. V., 2005. O projecto cultural de Manuel de Azevedo Fortesࣟ: um caso de recepção do cartesianismo na ilustração portuguesa. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional-Casa da Moeda. —. 2007. Aprendizagens da relatividade: as experiências químicas de Matias Aires. Revista da Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e Humanas 19, pp.127–143. —. 2008. Metafísica dos materiaisௗ: o “Problema de Arquitectura Civil” de Matias Aires. In Convergências & afinidades: homenagem a António Braz Teixeira. Lisboa: Centro de Filosofia da Universidadeௗ: Centro de Estudos de Filosofia da Faculdade de Ciências Humanas da Universidade Católica Portuguesa, pp. 459–471. Bluteau, R., 1712. Vocabulario portuguez, e latino, aulico, anatomico, architectonico, bellico, botanico ... zoologico: autorizado com exemplos dos melhores escritores portuguezes e latinos, e offerecido a elrey de Portugal D. João V. Coimbra: No Collegio das Artes da Companhia de Jesus. Available at: [Accessed 22 July 2011].

subterraneos; porque foraõ fabricados com mais regularidade. Alguns dos nossos, e modernos edificios resistem menos, e tem menos duraçaõ; porque se fabricaõ com menos attençaõ, e sem intençaõ de durarem muito: de que se segue que naõ he para admirar que os vejamos durar pouco. Nisto naõ digo eu nada de novo; lembro aquillo mesmo que todos sabem. O mais, que fiz, foi verificar aquella verdade conhecida, com experimentos physicos igualmente conhecidos. Para os architectos naõ era preciso dizer nada; porque sabem melhor do que eu todos os preceitos de huma profissaõ, que naõ he minha.”

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Eça, M. A. R. da S. de, 1752. Reflexões sobre a vaidade dos homens, ou discursos moraes sobre os effeitos da vaidade [...]. Lisboa: na Officina de Francisco Luiz Ameno. —. 1777. Problema de Architectura civil, demonstrado por Mathias Ayres Ramos da Sylva de Eça. Provedor, que foi da Caza da Moeda desta Corte: e author das Reflexoens sobre a Vaidade dos Homens, que dedica, e offerece ao senhor Gonçalo Jozé da Silveyra Preto, Fidalgo da Caza de Sua Magestade [...] Manoel Ignacio Ramos da Sylva de Eça. 2nd ed. Lisboa: Na Officina de Antonio Rodrigues Galhardo, Impressor da Real Meza Censoria. Ennes, E., 1944. Dois paulistas insignes. Brasiliana: Biblioteca Pedagógica Brasileira, série 5a. São Paulo: Companhia Editora Nacional. França, J.-A., 1987. Lisboa pombalina e o iluminismo. 3rd ed. Lisboa: Bertrand. Kubler, G., 1972. Portuguese plain architectureࣟ: between spices and diamonds, 1521-1706. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press. Maar, J. H., 2008. História da químicaࣟ: primeira parteࣟ: dos primórdios a Lavoisier. 2nd ed. Florianópolis: Conceito Editorial. Macedo, A. J. da C. de, 1799. Catalogo dos livros, que se haõ de ler para a continuaçaõ do diccionario da lingua Portugueza: mandado publicar pela Academia Real das Sciencias de Lisboa. Lisboa: Na Typographia da Mesma Academia. Machado, D. B., 1965. Bibliotheca Lusitana, historica, critica, e cronologica. Na qual se comprehende a noticia dos authores portuguezes, e das Obras, que compuseraõ desde o tempo da promulgação da Ley da Graça até o tempo prezente. Coimbra: Atlântida. Martins, W., 1992. História da inteligência brasileira. 4th ed. São Paulo: T. A. Queiroz. Moraes, R. B. de, 1969. Bibliografia brasileira do período colonialࣟ: catálogo comentado das obras dos autores nascidos no Brasil e publicadas antes de 1808. São Paulo: Instituto de Estudos Brasileiros. Núcleo de Engenharia Sísmica e Dinâmica de Estruturas, Laboratório Nacional de Engenharia Civil, A gaiola como génese da construção anti-sísmica. [online] Available at: http://www-ext.lnec.pt/LNEC/DE/ NESDE/divulgacao/gaiol_const_sism.html [Accessed August 15, 2013]. Santiago, C. C., 2007. Argamassas tradicionais de cal. Salvador: EDUFBA. Silva, I. F. da, 1858. Diccionário bibliographico portuguezࣟ: estudos de Innocencio Francisco da Silva applicaveis a Portugal e ao Brasil. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional.

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Silva Telles, P. C. da, 1984. História da engenharia no Brasil, volume 1, (séculos XVI a XIX). Rio de Janeiro: Livros Técnicos e Científicos Editora. Vitruvius, (Marcus V. Pollio), 1934. De Architectura = On Architectureࣟ: books VI-X. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge / London: Harvard University Press.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN THE CONCEPT OF SKETCH IN ART THEORY AND PRACTICE OF THE 18TH CENTURY: THE TREATISES, THE VOCABULARIES, THE CRITICS, AND THE CAPRICCIO MIGUEL BANDEIRA DUARTE CIEBA - CENTRO DE INVESTIGAÇÃO E DE ESTUDOS EM BELAS-ARTES, FACULDADE DE BELAS-ARTES, UNIVERSIDADE DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

The Sketch belongs to the initial movement of producing a work of art, architecture, design, literature or music. On this subject, Luigi Grassi (1955: 97) stated that the genesis of the work of art constitutes an interest shared by the artist, the philosopher and the art critic, who have diversified viewpoints on the matter. To the former belongs a speech from the perspective of his artistic practice, of reflection on a technique of producing registers that match the creative process and his expressive sense. The philosopher constructs his observation from the set of forces and phenomena implied in the production of the register, and its corresponding behaviour, as well as from the questions of the aesthetic sensibility associated with it. Lastly, the art critic observes the artistic grammar, considering its implications for the tradition of representation, and emergent in its individuality in order to comprehend the contemporary trait of the production. Accordingly, the documents analysed here are considered while knowing the difficulty of dividing the type of appreciations, as suggested above, thus developing the understanding, in a critical sense, of the artist, the artistic sense of the philosopher, and the philosophical posture of the critic. Therefore, the structure of the text assumes a tripartite nature between treatises, dictionaries and critics, the capriccio being the fourth party – a synthesis of the three types of documents.

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The Treatises In the treatise, the sketch takes an essentially operative form. It is a resource that allows the manifestation of the expressive intentions and, graphically speaking, an outline that sets the idea. It is a process of mental organization as well as of the work and its production; it operates on the level of invention, imagination and also visual communication. Occasionally mentioned in the treatises, manuals, conversations and speeches on painting, sculpture or architecture since De Pictura (1435-6) by Leon Battista Alberti, it was not until the 19th century that the concept of sketching and its designed objects began to receive considerable interest and autonomy sufficient to justify specific publications on the subject. This happened when its instrumental function was deviated so that the artefact acquired a final value, much as a result of the force of the transformations that had occurred during the 18th century. However, the sketched drawing started to be a part of a phase of the disegno since the 16th century, figuring in publications as an operative, functional component of the drawing in the process of creating a work of art. Throughout this time, the mentioning of the sketch varied significantly among different authors. One can say that the higher the significance of the drawing as a basis for the formation of both artist and work, the higher the dedication towards the argumentation surrounding the drawing and its importance as a common foundation to all art forms. As a consequence not only of the abundance of literature in the 18th century but also of the growing number of apprentices and people interested in drawing, the necessity emerged to describe the processes more rigorously so that their content could be more easily understood without the help of a Master. Portugal follows this editorial tendency, nevertheless adapted to its reality – less audience, less interest, less investment. Bearing in mind the idea of compiling principles that underlie the production of art, with a particular incidence in painting, one can observe a series of authors whose treatises or writing on the theory of art had a significant impact in Portugal between the 15th and 18th centuries: Leon B. Alberti1, Leonardo Da Vinci2, Francisco de Holanda, Giorgio Vasari, 1 With Alberti, the word used to describe something similar to Sketch is Concetti. Book III, Para. 61, «E quando aremo a dipignere storia, prima fra noi molto penseremo qual modo e quale ordine in quella sia bellissima, e faremo nostri concetti e modelli di tutta la storia e di ciascuna sua parte prima, e chiameremo tutti gli amici a consigliarci sopra a cio» (Alberti [1980] 1435). The translation from concetti to schizzi first appears in the edition of Società Tipografica dé Classici Italiani (1804: 95).

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Vincenzo Carducci3, Charles Alphonse du Fresnoy4 e Abraham Bosse5 produce a vast set of references that are quite contextualized by the origins of their apprenticeship and their commitment to the culture of their time. Among these authors are the ones who relate to drawing in the orthodox sense of delineating the shapes, of expressing clarity, of reason over the preparation process and also those who relate to the invention process through the evocative power of the blot (Macchia), believing in progressive clarification by the redoing, correcting or overlapping inherent to the painting process. The last authors would be the ones to establish deeper connections between the act of drawing and the artist’s intellectual development through classic literature, as a source of inspiration and profound reflection on the concluded work. In the 18th century, in spite of the circulation of a few translations, of editions in the original language and contact with foreign artists, the main difference to Central Europe’s trends lies in the progressive transformation of the concept of sketch, mostly in France and England, by way of new aesthetic paradigms and debates in Academies. Gérard de Lairesse (1707)6 mentions the main qualities essential to the first idea, or sketch (schets in the original version, esboço in Portuguese7). 2 Da Vinci uses the Italian term abbozzare, or simply bozza, to describe the set of preparatory drawings. Although the name is different, its characterization sets it close to schizzo. 3 The presence of the Dialogos de la Pintura (1633) is known thanks to a manuscript with the bookplate by António de Sousa Pintor, in the second half of the 17th century (Viterbo 1903: 41). 4 The treatise by Du Fresnoy, L’Art de Peinture (1668), and its translation to Portuguese became an editorial case throughout the entire 18th century. The attempt to edit this poem about a painting, accompanied by vocabulary and other significant side notes, extended from 1713 to 1801. 5 Only Tratado da Gravura [Traicté des Manieres de Graver en Taille Douce (1645)] was translated to Portuguese by José Joaquim Viegas Meneses in an edition by Typographia, Chalcographica, Typoplástica e Litteraria do Arco do Cego (1801), Lisbon. However this work does not contemplate the term being analysed here. 6 “I say that he ought in the first place to have a ‘good’ memory, to consider well what he is to represent, and to retain it in his thoughts; and next, ‘a free and rapid hand’ to execute ‘instantly’ on paper what he conceives, lest it slip out of his memory again” (Lairesse [1817] 1707: 27). 7 The translation to Portuguese would become real under the title O Grande Livro dos Pintores, ou a Arte da Pintura, by Typographia, Chalcographica, Typoplástica e Litteraria do Arco do Cego (1801), Lisbon. One of the interesting aspects of this edition relates to the title for the chapter Principios do Desenho ou Methodo Breve e Fácil para Aprender esta Arte em Pouco Tempo. It is implied that this edition,

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The quality of the memory is emphasized for the first time. Its operative power allows us to simultaneously participate in the construction of images and, by removing its influence, to promote a judgment on what is produced or to find space for new concerns. Memory, mistaken for other cognitive faculties, operates selectively on the image, avoiding the evolving process on paper. Focused on the author, on the memory of what he has observed and composed, the image is drawn rapidly on the spur of the moment. One can foresee the intolerance to error, to hesitation, because what is represented would have been present in the memory. The freedom of the hand implies that the draughtsman would not be delineating a contour but attempting to fixate an instant. Lairesse refers to the need of a work methodology based on the sense of order. Considering that brilliant ideas do not have a precise time to flourish and that they soon fade away, only an orderly procedure allows for the diligent recording of this fleeting moment. This would be one of great magnitude, collected, requiring the draughtsman to be isolated and composed in order to prevent the confusion of the senses ([1817] 1707: 27) to rule over reason. This is the first text to refer to the representation of the instantaneous as a moment of creative tension, showing the need for a specific attitude. The sketch, by capturing the instant, is, furthermore, a way to freeze the movement as an extension of the Baroque. Jonathan Richardson (1728) makes an important comment conciliating the two dimensions. He mentions that, on the one hand, the sketch is formulated, drawn, in spirit, and, on the other, as a representation of the whole, one should not attend to inaccuracies because accuracy does not exist in the idea. Accepting this thought implies the formulating of an idea wherein genius can produce an error and that in its inaccuracies one can find the seed of beauty. Richardson approaches the English empiricist theories of contrasting diversity that generates the picturesque and of the emotional contrariety that generates the sublime. The registered drawing of the Sketch is observed as a mirror of thoughts, motifs, ambitions, desires, anxieties, among other subjective states that define the creator’s spirit8. more than satisfying the professional interests of the artists, was gueared towards the amateur’s learning, those who loved to draw and paint but made no living from it. 8 In Traité de Peinture (1765: 127) by Dandré Bardon, one can detect a reinforcement of the idea that the apparent characteristics of the drawing correspond to something other than what mere sight can say about them. Bardon explains the shortcomings of the Master in the eyes of those who find him unequivocal; that which seems careless, irresolute, is not synonym of incapacity but of gracefulness.

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The text edited by Charles Antoine Jombert (1755) brings something new about the draughtsman. To the necessity of order and concentration, required by Lairesse, it is added that body posture is necessary to compare the original to the sketch. In a straightened body, correcting the ‘usual’ stooped posture inherent to a more detailed drawing, defined and with rich content, the draughtsman moves his head less, therefore being able to concentrate on the sketch and on the comparison, and needing to make fewer changes between the original and the register. To produce the sketch, concentration is not only a mental process. The body contributes to a specific disposition of the draughtsman at the moment in which he sketches, obtaining rapid reactions that serve the changes in direction of the line on the draft or the alterations imposed by setting personal intentions. Alexandre Cozens (1785) publishes a manual entirely based on a sketching experience that, as the author mentions, instead of lines has blot. Trying to systematize the process of inventing the composition of the landscape, he discovers the suggestive power of the accidental blot, the same way Leonardo da Vinci described it in his notebooks. The defence of these drawings attempts to make them carriers of all qualities related to the preparatory studies mostly associated with delineation. Bearing this in mind, Cozen mentions that An Artificial blot is a product of chance, with a small degree of design (Cozens, 1785: 6), so that the presence or control of the author still exists, demanding ‘minimal’ mastery, so that the process of drawing can be reverted to the artist. For Cozens, the draughtsman focused on the totality of the parts, and the hand and the brush followed that determination. It would be in this fashion that the drawings would prove to be spirited Sketches, to which the artists would abandon themselves in the moment of invention. To sketch is to delineate ideas; blotting suggests them (Cozens, 1785: 8-9). Nationally speaking, Cyrilo Volkmar Machado publishes Nova Academia de Pintura dedicada às Senhoras Portuguesas (1817) [New Painting Academy dedicated to Portuguese Ladies], where one can find the terms being used in Portugal at the time and that escaped (or not) the lexical compilations. Having Du Fresnoy and Gerard de Lairesse as reference, Machado states: Faça-se hum esquisso, bosquejo, ou rascunho da história que se quer tratar; e depois leão-se os melhores historiadores, que sobre ella escreverão: e aponte-se no esquisso o que se tiver esquecido. (…) O fim da Acção deve-se collocar no primeiro pavimento, e o principio della nos longes. Indicai tudo no esquisso e tornai a ler vinte vezes o vosso

331 The Concept of Sketch in Art Theory and Practice from the 18th Century assumpto. (…) / Quando quizeres compor, pensa, lê, esquissa, modela, e pede conselho aos amigos10 (1817: 45-46, 59).

Beyond this note on the necessity of the sketch as an auxiliary to fixate memory, it is also an instrument for reflection and its advantages should be subject to study and thorough attention. On his previous work from 1749, Conversações sobre a Pintura, Escultura e Architectura [Conversations about Painting, Sculpture and Architecture], the approach to the subject is more extensive, with a touch of personal experience: No principio ajude-o o Mestre a esquiçar, e a “metter em carta”. No fim toque só os contornos. (…) Todos os desenhos devem ser acabados com todo o asseio. Muitos se jactão, e se dão, a desenhar (croqué) libertina, e superficialmente; apanhando com vivacidade a primeira ideia, que a imaginação lhes aparenta. (…) Estas obras não soffrem exame: e a reflexão, tirando-lhe a máscara, que os admirava, deixa ver debaixo a ignorância profunda, em vez do falso brilhante 11 (Machado, 1794: 78-79).

The Vocabularies The compilation of vocabularies begins with the search to legitimise a body of knowledge gathered by the Academy on the etymology and semantics of vocabularies. In this particular case, compared to the treatises, the terms’ definition tends to be produced outside of the trade. The body of contributors, with a few exceptions, has social occupations that are external to artistic practices. In these ‘definitions’, one can find different ways to approach the term ‘sketch’. The first, evident to those who search for some clarification, is to be faced with the need to understand the concept according to a 10

“Do a sketch, a boscage, or draft of the story you want to represent, and read the best historians who shall write about it: and note down in the sketch what you may have forgotten. (…) The end of the Action should stay in the foreground, and the beginnings in the background. Note it all in the sketch and read about your subject twenty times more. (…) / When you want to compose, think, read, sketch, model, and ask your friends for advice” (Free translation by the Author). 11 “In the beginning may the Master help you to sketch, to ‘envelop’. By the end touch only the contours. (…) All drawings should be finnished with great cleanliness. Too many find themselves squirting, drawing (croqué) in a superficial and libertine way, vivaciously catching the first idea, that imagination thus make apparent. (…) These are non examined works: and the reflection (removing the mask) that admired them, reveals a deep ignorance, instead of the fake gloss”. (Free translation by the Author)

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geographical perspective. If, on one hand, the demonstration that attitude overlaps the object has already been attempted, on the other hand it is certain that the several aspects of the mechanics of production generate common names with disparate meanings. The research on the term compels us to a broadening of similar words, not only due to the linguistic diversity of the sources, but more precisely because of the distinct use of each term. Its comparative analysis results in the formation of a more determined idea on the relationship between the concept and its verbal content. So, in Portuguese one searches for Bosquejo, Esquisso, Esboço and Rascunho; in Spanish: Esquicio, Bosquejo, Boceto and Rasguño; in French: Esquisse, Ébauche e Croquis; in Italian: Schizzo, Bozza; and in English: Sketch. It is essential to observe if there is any specification pertaining to the disciplinary area in which one makes the analysis. It is evident that some entries refer to the term in the area of Drawing, Painting or Sculpture. This distinction will be important from the moment when the sketch will maintain a ‘lineage’ related to the valuing of the significance of the Drawing, whereas another branch will be referred to as the same work on the surface of the canvas or prior to the use of colour. It is important to mention also that other particularities co-exist when it comes to Sculpture. However, this distinction is also owed to the position taken by the Academy on the importance of the Line or Colour, from the 17th and 18th century debates about the aesthetic relevance of a preparatory drawing versus the preparatory painting work (oil and watercolour sketches) or even the finished work12. The interpretations over the functionality and aesthetics of the Sketch suffered, in the 18th century, a great impulse due to the growing need to clarify the use of the term but also, to a great extent, to legitimise the French thought on drawing, so as to detach itself from the Italian inheritance. It will be with the help of the encyclopaedic dictionary that the definition exceeds the briefness of previous entries13, becoming more widespread. In 1694, editions of the Dictionnaire de l’Academie Française begin to emerge. The definition of the term in the first edition (that can be 12

For further reading see Sha (1998). Included in the group of older editions for the English language are: Dictionaire of the French and English Tongues, compiled by Randle Cotgrave in 1611, with the entries Esquiche, Esbauché e Croqué; An Universal Etymological English Dictionary by Nathaniel Bailey, in 1675, with entry for Sketch. As for Italian: Vocabolario della Crusca (1612) and Vocabulário Toscano dell’Arte del Disegno by Filippo Baldinucci, in 1681, the latter being a technical artistic vocabulary. 13

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described as a literary sketch) is maintained until the eighth edition (1932). Esquisse: s. f. (l’S se prononce.) Petite esbauche, premier crayon de quelque ouvrage qu’on medite de faire. Il se dit principalement en matiere de Peinture. However, in the fourth edition (1762), it is mentioned that Esquisse se dit aussi d’Une première ébauche coloriée. This is a turning point that illustrates the widening of the concept, which now includes both the first pencils and the ‘first’ brushstrokes. Seeking to clarify the term, by mentioning that Ébauche is a work of painting or sculpture that has been roughly started, the author also presents two designations for the same attitude, its variants depending on the material and the support. This introduction to the dictionary is a result of the attention drawn by the coloured sketches as created by painters. In this particular case, these are not ‘incomplete’ works, as in Drawing, but quick studies done with oil on any support. The fourth edition also brings the term Croquis. s.m. Terme de Peinture. Esquisse, première pensée d'un Peintre, establishing an equivalency between croquis and esquisse. Jacques Lacombe ([1752] 1753)14 defines Esquisse, Croquis and Croquè (dessein). The presence of references about the author’s state of mind makes it quite characteristic of its time for this type of document. In fact, if the artists were already making a few references about the perception of the act of drawing, they are now starting to characterize the concept of the sketch. Lacombe builds a genus of speech that goes beyond the extreme abstraction of his summary note to establish rules for the artist’s behaviour at the moment of invention and during the process of registering. When defining Croquis, he makes a moral judgment based on the drawing and its marks. Through the marks and their organization it would be possible to discern the artist’s ability and, most of all, the clarity of his thought. This idea would be connected to the exploration of the aesthetic sense through the search for harmony and balance in the composition. When he refers to the Croquè, it is clear that the reflection focuses on the gesture and the way in which the drawing is built by a gestural variation that produces a particular type of image. One can say that, in this case, Croquè is the name of the object that results from a particular gesture. Claude-Henri Watelet (1792) wrote one of the longest articles on Sketch that is known. It was ‘borrowed’ for the Encyclopédie ou Dictionnaire Universel Raisonné des Connoissances Humanines (1772), published in Yverdon by Fortuné de Felice, as well as for the 14 Also by this author, edited in Portuguese, Espectaculo das bellas artes ou considerações acerca da sua natureza, dos seus objectos, dos seus effeitos e das suas regras principais (1786) by Officina de Antonio Alvarez Ribeiro, Oporto.

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Encyclopédie ou Dictionnaire Raisonné des Sciences, des Arts et des Métiers by Diderot et d'Alembert (1750-1772), although the latter has an initial, simplified version. This article is introduced by an etymological study and a definition, which he describes as the fast tracing of a painting subject so that it can be evaluated, to ascertain whether or not it is worth being developed. The author mentions that the sketch is something detached from the means used to develop it, representing an obvious clarity of thought. On the use of materials, he thinks that the important thing is to satisfy the need for expression and the speed that allows for conceptions to be fixated. Speed constitutes the principle of fire as seen shining on the genius’ sketches. Through speed it is, then, possible to observe the movement of the soul, calculate the strength and fecundity. Watelet builds his speech through drawing as a mediator, searching for reasons for the draughtsman’s physical and psychological dynamics. He possesses, however, the discernment to mention that there are no formulae to make beautiful sketches or to achieve geniality. The article ends with advice to the young, whom the author finds to be in the age of the sketch. He advises judgment and moderation to fight the vices of indecision in composition, of inaccuracy in drawing and of aversion to finish. This pedagogic aspect would become common by the end of the 18th century15. It is pertinent to refer to some aspects of the Portuguese language’s lexis. The 18th century is not a time of affirmation for the Sketch vocabulary. Esquisso or Esquicio would have been used by Francisco de Holanda and, surely, by Manoel Denis in his Castilian manuscript (1564) of Da Pintura Antiga (1548). Therefore, it may be assumed that the term was being used in Portugal since the 16th century, this document being proof of its circulation. The presence of the term in Holanda’s vocabulary, other than by his knowledge of the current use of Portuguese, would have been due to his experience in Italy and to the adaptation to Portuguese of the term when he got back to Portugal. As mentioned before, the recognition of the term is a result of the reflection on the importance of drawing as a basis for the new liberal arts of painting, sculpture and architecture. Consequently, the Sketch would have been a known, spoken of and debated term among artists at the time but hardly recognized by Academia. It was likely that copies of O Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana, o Española (1611), by Sebastian Covarrubias, were circulating in Portugal. 15

The entry that Francesco Milizia makes in the Dizionario delle Belle Arti del Disegno (1797) seems to be based on this issue. In fact, his definition is so generic that the idea remaining is that it is an abstract concept that can be applied to any creative subject. That notion is not at all wrong.

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However, this work does not contain any entrance for Esquicio, the closest term being Bosquejar. Bosquejo is also present in the first vocabulary of the Portuguese language, organized by Raphael Bluteau, between 1712 and 1728, where Esquisso does not appear. Bosquejo: Bosquèjo (termo de Pintor.) primeiro debuxo, que o pintor vai fazendo com o lápis. ‘Deformatio, onis. Fem. Vitruv. Adumbratio, onis. Fem, Cic.’ / Hum bosquejo. ‘Opus rubricâ’, ou ‘plumbo’ ou ‘carbone adumbratum’. / Fazer hum bosquejo, ou bosquejar. ‘A liquid plumbo’, ou ‘carbone adumbrare’, ou ‘delineare’.; e, também, Rascunho. Delineamento da obra em borrão. ‘Rudis adumbratio’, ou ‘designatio’, onis Fem. Estas duas palavras são de Cicero16 (Bluteau, 1712: 166).

If Covarrubias’ Bosquejo is directly related to painting, Bluteau brings it closer to drawing. However, both references demonstrate the influence (as well as preference) for the use of colour. The pictorial blot overlaps the graphical plot, the ‘macchia’ is compared to the representation of a forest, under Germanic influence, of a dense grove that does not reveal clearly the understanding of its shapes, proposing them to the sensibility and imagination of the observer. In 1783, in the Diccionário da Língua Portugueza [Dictionary of Portuguese Language], Bernardo Bacellar introduces the word Esboço: Esbôç-o, âr, âdo (cisbolè) principio da pinctura, debuxo. [: beginning of painting, sketching. (f.t.)]. Since then, esboço is the word of reference for translations from foreign terms to the Portuguese language. The understanding of the term sketch in this dictionary matches the notion that every preparatory drawing for a painting has no value when compared to the latter. A definition without specific features also reflects the difficulty of typological determination; to know when an Esquisso ends and an Esboço begins, but also to categorize all of the apparent unfinished drawings. Although Cyrillo Volkmar Machado uses the term Esquicio in his writings, it is only in 1875, in the Diccionário Technico e Historico de Pintura, Escultura, Arquitectura e Gravura [Technical and Historical Dictionary of Painting, Sculpture, Architecture and Engraving], that

16

“Bosquejo (boscage): Bosquèjo (Painter’s term) first sketch made by the painter with the pencil. ‘Deformatio, (-onis. Fem.) Vitruv. Adumbratio (-onis. Fem.) Cic.’ / A bosquejo: ‘Opus rubricâ’, or ‘plumbo’ or ‘carbone adumbratum’. / Make a bosquejo, or bosquejar. ‘A liquid plumbo’, or ‘carbone adumbrare’, or ‘delineare’.; and, also, Rascunho (draft): Preparatory work in blot technique. ‘Rudis adumbratio’, or ‘designatio’, (-onis Fem.)”. (Free translation by the Author)

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Francisco Assis Rodrigues pays to it the proper attention17. The use of Bosquejo or Esboço, as a proper word for the painter, may demonstrate the lack of attention paid to the discipline of drawing mentioned by Joaquim Machado de Castro (1787), in the Discurso sobre as Utilidades do Desenho [Discourse on the Drawing Utilities].

The Critics In the following set of texts, which, as with all of the previous ones, are but a sample, the analysis of the term is more dynamic, since it stands outside the concerns of operability or usefulness. So, what is the real difference in this speech? The status of the ‘connoisseur’ receives a new lease of life in the 18th century. With it, the opening and democratization he claimed for the artistic phenomenon leads us to art’s socialization and the private presentation of its artefacts. It will be around these social figures that the cabinets de curiosités, museums, salons will be organized, as well as the rapport on artists and their work, establishing the rules for ways of seeing (and feeling) according to the latest aesthetic tendencies. What makes this type of speech so important is the withdrawal, not always real, from the knowledge of the techniques of producing a work of art. Thus, the references used enrich the perception of the fruition of the work, looking for behavioural reasons that justify its apparent phenomenon and strengths. Taste will command the relationship that is established with the artefact, often in an intimate domain, conditioning the aesthetic judgment via sensory experience and not the logic of production. From the perspective of preparatory drawings’, the sketch, among others, is part of the group of works that awakens these amateurs’ curiosity. This is due to its number and portability and, above all, to its proximity to the artist’s creative talent, in him at its most expressive intensity, representing the artist’s critical moment. Pierre-Jean Marriette was a notable collector that, in referring to Ticiano’s composition sketches, mentioned the revealing nature of the 17

“Esquissa, Esquisso e Esquizo: s.m do it. schizzo ou schizzi, lat. Adumbratio, fr. Esquisse, hesp. Escorche, ingl. Sketch (pint. Esculp. e archit) pequeno desenho ou modelo imperfeito, que exprime a ideia ou projecto de uma obra d’arte, concebida e já borreteada ou rascunhada pelo autor” (Rodrigues, 1875). “Esquissa, Esquisso e Esquizo: f.n. from it. schizzo or schizzi, lat. Adumbratio, fr. Esquisse, sp. Escorche, engl. Sketch (paint. sculp. and archit.) small drawing or imperfect model expressing the idea or the design of an art work, conceptualized and already blotted or drafted by the author.” (Free translation by the Author).

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small sketch drawing, which is meant to fixate thought, denoting a great man and beauty of form underlying his taste (1741: 71). This type of writing adds an aesthetic dimension to the definitions of the graphical mode of the time that is associated with proto-Romanticism and the search for shapes that reflect the nature of emotions. The curiosity and criticism regarding the collections of drawings growing and exchanging hands across Europe, had Jean-Baptiste de Sainte-Palaye make a tremendously significant comment on his personal discovery of this type of drawing, particularly on the strong impact that they have on the observer. In his letter to Louis Petit Bachaumont (1751), collector and connoisseur, he shares the experience he had on their last meeting when they observed a folio with drawings by Michelangelo, de Carracci and Raphael. He had found his friend contemplating a portfolio of warped sheets with monstrous scribbles that appeared to have come from a sorcerer’s book (Sainte-Palaye, [2000] 1751: 579). In fact, the adjectives used by Sainte-Palaye are extremely singular. Up until this point no other author has referred to drawings through an external point of view, as if approaching the registers for the first time, reporting the shock, the immediate experience without reflecting upon the observed. An important contribution to the legitimization of this type of drawings, at that time, is the speech that recognizes the author’s character and geniality, therefore proving he is worthy of attention. That alone skirts the precariousness of the support and the qualities of rigor in a formal sense. The sketch moves from the image to its author by the capacity of expressing his thoughts and his intellectual qualities. Therefore, the graphic aspect is seen as a vulgar piece of evidence that is not worthy of being considered as an end in itself but as a starting point for knowing the author who produced it. Francesco Algarotti (1764) mentions the need to signal with a few marks the beautiful things in nature that catch the painter’s attention. He mentions the artist’s need to take the sketchbook with him in order to catch the instants when beauty is found, so that the sketchbook can later be a repository of beautiful things that rival with the ones in nature. This wise reunion, eulogizing the spirit of the observer, would be compared to the sublime state in eloquence. One of the most paradigmatic cases of criticism of the works exhibited or present in collections is the writings of Denis Diderot. Of particular interest, to what concerns the sketch, are the texts on the works exhibited in the Salons from 1765 and 1767, by which it becomes known that the sketches are exhibited alongside the finished work or stand isolated. It is, then, questionable if they match effectively the first thoughts on the work

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or if, by convenience, they are the product of a search that made them aesthetically interesting; that turned them into something more than a moment in a process. However, Diderot’s greatest contribution is the relevance he awards the artist and his predisposition in the act of representation, those being the traits that extol the sketches and that are, consequently, transmitted to the attentive observer. For Diderot, the sketch would always be something beyond the drawing or its painted form, synthesizing a poetic dimension analogous to literary writing. The speech on artefacts would also be a sketch that would resort to the compositional structure of its pictorial analogue to take form. It would also search for a way to make the text match a synaesthetic relationship with other senses, in order to amplify the perception of the work. In that sense, he uses several strategies that allow him to submerge himself in the work, or fuse with it, becoming an intermediary between artist, work and observer. At the Salon of 1765 the presence of references to the sketch is rather small when compared to the following Salon. However, there is still enough to understand the enthusiasm and energy felt by Diderot through these drawings, when he states, for example, that Les esquisses ont communément un feu que le tableau n’a pas and C’est le moment de chaleur de l’artiste, la verve pure, or that they represent the place where the poet’s feather meets the draughtsman’s pencil ([1966] 1876: 123). In the writings on the Salon of 1767 he poses the question: Pourquoi une belle esquisse nous plaît-elle plus qu’un beau tableau? For Diderot, the preliminary drawing has the seed of purity of the initial thought, unchanged by time and reflection, and if the finished work should contain that spirit, then the importance of the former resides, vastly, in the eloquence of the attitude that generated it, of quick thinking accompanied by the skilful hand. Nevertheless, he cautions some younger artists, able to produce sketches full of life, by saying: Une mauvaise esquisse n’engendra jamais qu’un mauvais tableau; une bonne esquisse n’en engendra pas toujours un bon ([1966] 1876: 322). Furthermore, he focuses on the unfinished character of the sketch in the sense that it allows freedom of thought over the work. It is almost like a bodiless work, like listening to music and allowing the loosening of the imagination, thus opposing the affirmative sense of the register with the wider sense of the interpretation. As a result, the author shows the importance of an observer, sensible, educated and delicate in knowing the sketch’s merit18. 18

For further reading see Agin (2008) and Brewer (2008).

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The Capriccio The illustration proposed here through the concept of Capriccio and its images (at least those that have the term on the title) is not a direct one or representative of the terms in which the sketch has been presented previously. The choice of the thematic orientation for the drawings related to architectonical taste, or to landscapes that include architectonical elements, is due to the growing interest in, and the production itself of, this new type of drawings during the 18th century and from then on. As a starting point, there will not be a difference between an architectural capriccio and one related to subjects of the human figure beyond the object of representation. The concept that drives the need of representing a capriccio will be equal in any of the objects because, as with the sketch, it is dependant upon an attitude that conditions its development. In effect, it is easier to relate the capriccio to an attitude, or behaviour, than the sketch with an object motif. The presence of the capriccio in this context counterpoises the search for the rule that guided most of the publications mentioned. Escaping the authority of the Academies, the rationalization of theory and artistic practice, allows the artist to gain autonomy and manifest his genius by breaking the rules. In this case, the rules of convenience for the right part for the character, of correction and proper manners and also of proximity to known customs19. The capriccio exists because the artist has spare time, considering the amount of functional tasks that ensure his revenue. Accustomed to using the drawing as a source of analysis and speculation over the surrounding reality to solve pictorial questions, it deviates him from the practical sense, giving way to a predominantly hedonistic one. From this notion a second point of view on both the artist and his work is generated, explored by a consumer society of artistic ‘artefacts’. A surplus form made profitable. Nonetheless, this conjuncture requires the precedence of three centuries around landscape and vedutismo that reaches its peak in the 18th century20. The view over the city is, to some artists, the essence of their work. Bearing in mind the necessity to dominate the topographic view (an accurate representation of the subject), the image was frequently distorted

19 “Capricio (…) c’est-à-dire, de ces compositions en même temps ingénieuses & bizarres, qui sont contraires aux régles, & aux beaux modèles de la Nature & de l’Art, mais qui deviennent agréables par une singularité piquante, & par une exécution libre & hardie” (Lacombe, [1752] 1753: 134). 20 For further reading see Blumin (2009).

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or invented to potentiate the perception of the urban whole, of the characteristic edifices and of passers-by going about their daily lives. The enormous amount of produced work, satisfying the orders from patrons, editors or merchants, provides the artists with great technical dexterity over which the character of geniality awakens. It is important to mention that the capriccio of architectonical taste, like the pictorial, has become a manner within the genre and that geniality is not a privilege in every representation. Regarding drawing, one can understand the closer relation between the artist’s thought and the need for graphic expression more than in painting, where the artist tries to give a finished look to the unfinished and the fragment. This is partly because not every drawing becomes a model for painting, guaranteeing them a more immediate expression, less conceptualized, less according to the policy of taste. In the vocabularies and dictionaries there is, almost always, a convergence in the definition of the term. Baldinucci (1681) mentioned that it was made of the proprio pensiero e invenzione, Della Crusca (1612) added the connection to terror – quel tremore, che scorre per le carni, o per orrore di che che sia, che ti fa arricciare i peli, o per febbre sopravvegnente. These two definitions establish a duality between expression and morality that define the successive approaches to the subject. On the one hand, the intensity of the creative moment and the strategies ‘outside the rules’ for the drawing composition, on the other hand, the allocation of discomfort caused through the contents that, in the human figure, relate to death and, in landscape, to ruin, with contrasting scales. This duality also determines the sources of pleasure both for the draughtsman and the observer of the drawings. A relevant aspect mentioned by Bluteau is related to a duplicity that binds together both the aesthetic and the expressive need, saying the following about the Capriccio: Repentino movimento interior, que mais, que a razão nos obriga, a que façamos alguma cousa21 (Bluteau, 1712: 120). This movement happens both ways, either in the expressive necessity that both generates and is generated by the capriccio or in the feeling of its experience, whether by the strokes made by the artist and the necessity of discovering the image or through the statement it conveys. The definitions of capriccio produced by the end of the 18th century reflect not only a search for clarity on graphical production but also the depreciation of its usage. Francesco Milizia (1797), in a time when the 21

“Capriccio: sudden inner movement, that more, that reason forces us, to do something” (Free translation by the Author).

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usage of the concept was deteriorating, mentions that it reveals a taste for non-convergent things that quickly fall into depreciation. It would have been difficult as a detractor from the Baroque and the Rococo for Milizia to make a speech advantageous to capriccio, associating it instead with the exaggerated taste for pleasure as a fruit of leisure and a testimonial proper of weakness, of bad organization. Aubin L. Millin has a different analysis of the motives that lead to capriccio, allowing us to understand, on a slightly more positive note, how they are accomplished. Millin mentions that tout desir sans besoin que l’imagination produit, et dont elle ne peut longtemps soutenir l’illusion, corresponding, in the domain of art to toute invention, toute forme sans nécessité que la nature n’a point suggéré (1806: 192). Sketch (esquisso) and capriccio (capricho) are different because the latter has an eminently aesthetic sense whereas the first has an operative dimension. However, both share a similar graphic appearance. The energy in the expression of invention, or imaginative fantasy, is the same as that which tries to transmit the first thoughts to paper, when organizing the composition. The stroke is fast and agile, revealing of the general shape, sparingly organizing the figures through strokes or short blots, very fragmented and conveying an unfinished appearance. The moment when the sketch becomes public and an object representative of artistic activity, it ceases to have a functional value by becoming a symbolic artefact destined to aesthetic fruition. In fact, these are the ‘small detours’ that compromise the balance of productive fantasy, the enigmatic and ordained universe of the imagination, with the sense and order of pictorial production. The forms and appearances of the represented marks are also similar, by necessity of mimetic correspondence. Nevertheless, as Milizia and Millin mention, there are alterations at the level of structure, layout and ornament. The critique is concerning for the architectonic production of the late Baroque and Rococo periods, although these three levels of changes are noticeable in the way artists build the environment and resolve architecture in the capriccio. In summary: the structural alterations relate to unbalance in the usage of tectonic rules in search of admiration from the crowd; the alterations to disposition reflect the excess of drawing – driven by the separation from construction, the drawing becomes too speculative and a science of combinations; lastly, the excessive use of ornamentation, an alteration that, in forgetting the symbols of Antiquity, reflected an outdated taste for arabesques and a predisposition to imitation. In spite of the critique, the capriccio would be the way to set in motion an amusement without pictorial consequence that allowed for the valuing

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of the poetic experience of the image. Based on the mimetic paradigm, it alters rules through the illusion of the possibility of becoming something it never was under a determined context. In the representation of places one can find the imaginative fantasy based on a collage of objects that do not belong there, turning it into a space that is clearly virtual. If in the capriccio this could cause some disturbance, due partly to the metaphorical nature of its contents, the fact is that the habit of visualizing enlightenment period buildings or urban plans was more than established in the 18th century. The sketch and the capriccio have a very close coexistence. In fact, the argument of functionality based on the character of operability is quite ambiguous, as seen in theory of art, semantics or art criticism. The drawn capriccio follows from the acceptance of the visual character of an unfinished image, with blurred definition, which Ernst Gombrich qualifies as Beholders Share ([1984] 1960: 145). The artists begin to explore the observer’s capacity to complete or generate new images, valued by their purely expressive character.

References Agin, S. 2008 Sketch, Illustration and the Power of Imagination: Aesthetic Production and Reception in Eighteenth-Century France. In Wagner, P. Ogée, F., Mankin and Hescher, A. (eds.) 2008 The Ruin and the Sketch in the Eighteenth Century, Trier: WVT Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier. Alberti, L. B. 1980 [1435] De Pictura. A cura de Cecil Grayson, RomaBari: Laterza. Algarotti, F. 1764 Saggio sopra la Pittura, Livorno: presso Marco Coltellini. Bacellar, B. 1783 Diccionario da Lingua Portugueza, Lisboa: Jozé de Aquino Bulhoens. Bailey, N. 1675 An Universal Etymological English Dictionary, 24th edition enlarged and corrected by Edward Harwood, London: J. Buckland, etc. Baldinucci, F. 1681 Vocabolario Toscano dell’Arte del Disegno, Firenze: per Santi Franchi al segno della Passione. Bardon, D. 1765 Traité de Peinture, Paris: Desaint. Blumin, S. M. 2009 The Encompassing City: Streetscapes in Early Modern Art and Culture, Manchester: Manchester University Press.

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Bluteau, R. 1712-1728 Vocabulario Portuguez e Latino, Coimbra: Collegio das Artes da Companhia de Jesu. 10 vols. Bosse, A. 1649 Sentiments sur la distinction des diverses manieres de Peinture, Dessein & Gravure, & des Originaux d’avec leurs copies, Paris: A Bosse. Brewer, D. 2008 The Progress of Sketches. In Wagner, P. Ogée, F., Mankin and Hescher, A. (eds.) 2008 The Ruin and the Sketch in the Eighteenth Century, Trier: WVT Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier. Carducho, V. 1865 Diálogos de la Pintura, Madrid: Imprenta de Manuel Galiano. Castro, J. M. 1787 Discurso sobre as Utilidades do Desenho, Lisboa: António Rodrigues Galhardo. Cotgrave, R. (comp.) 1611 A Dictionarie of the French and English tongues, London: Adam Islip. Covarrubias, S. 1611 Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana, o Española, Madrid: Luis Sanchez. Cozens, A. 1785 A New Method of Assisting the Invention in Drawing Original Compositions of Landscape, London: J. Dixell. Da Vinci, L. 1786, Trattato della Pittura. Bologna: Instituto delle Scienze. Dictionnaire de l’Academie Française, 1694, Paris: chez Jean Baptiste Coignard. Diderot, D. [1966]1876 Oeuvres Complètes de Diderot, Garnier Frères, Libraires-Éditeurs. Paris: Kraus Reprint LTD Liechtenstein. Du Fresnoy, C. A. 1668 L’art de Peiture, Paris: Nicolas l’Anglois. Gombrich, E. H. [1984] 1960 Art and Ilusion, London: Phaidon Press. Grassi, L. 1993 Il disegno italiano dal Trecento al Seicento, Roma: Archivio Guido Izzi. Holanda, F. de [1983] 1548 Da pintura Antigua, Lisboa: INCM. Il Vocabolario degli Accademici della Crusca (1612) Edizione elettronica, Accessed November 20th, 2011, available at: . Jombert, C.-A. (ed.) 1755 Méthode pour apprendre Le Dessein, Paris: impr. de l'auteur,. La Curne de Sainte-Palaye, J.-B. 1751 Letter to M. de Bachaumont on Yaste in the Arts and Letters. In Harrison, C., Wood, P. & Gaiger, J. (eds) 2000 Art in Theory 1648-1815, Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, pp. 578-580. Lairesse, G. [1817] 1707 A Treatise on the Art of Painting, London: Edward Orme. Lacombe, M. [1752] 1753 Dictionnaire Portatif des Beaux Arts, Nouvelle édition, Paris: chez Jean Th. Herissánt.

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Machado, C. V. 1794 Conversações sobre a Pintura, Escultura e Architectura, Lisboa: Oficina de Simão Thaddeu Ferreira. —. 1817 Nova Academia de Pintura dedicada às Senhoras Portuguesas, Lisboa: Impressão Régia. Mariette, P.-J. 1741 Description Sommaire des Desseins des Grandes Maitres, Paris: chez P.-J. Mariette. Milizia, F. 1797 Dizionario delle Belle Arti del Disegno estratto in gran parte dalla Enciclopedia metodica da Francesco Milizia, tomo primo, Bassano: [Remondini?]. Millin, A. L. 1806 Dictionnaire des Beaux-Arts, Tome I, Paris: Desray. Richarson, J. 1728 Traité de la Peiture et de la Sculpture, Amsterdam: Herman Uytwerf. Rodrigues, F. A. 1875 Diccionário Technico e Historico de Pintura, Escultura, Arquitectura e Gravura, Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional. Sha, Richard C. 1998 The Visual and Verbal Sketch in British Romanticism, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Vasari, G. 1873 Le Vite, Firenze: Sansoni. Viterbo, S. 1903 Notícia de alguns pintores portuguezes..., Lisboa: Typographia da Academia Real das Ciências. Watelet, C.-H. 1792 Dictionnaire des arts de Peinture, Sculpture et Gravure, Paris: L.F. Prault.

PART 5: TYPING AND EDITING

CHAPTER SIXTEEN READ, WATCH AND LAUGH (WITH EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY HUMOROUS BOOKS) JOÃO LUÍS LISBOA CHAM - CENTRO DE HISTÓRIA D’AQUÉM E D’ALÉM MAR, DEPARTAMENTO DE FILOSOFIA, FACULDADE DE CIÊNCIAS SOCIAIS E HUMANAS, UNIVERSIDADE NOVA DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

There are those who wish to read, and stop At times, spelling the words, Halting at some much like that Of a saw, that found a knot in the wood. (...) If by misfortune they found a tortoise, The next-to-last was always lengthened And they carry on very holy, If not the bystander bursts out laughing; And only when hearing a loud laughter do they raise The head, and in a way that they are astonished, Without having yet arrived at their judgment, What would be the motive of such laughter. We already see that these are scratchers, That do not deserve the name of readers; And since it is readers that I am dealing with here, I will not expand on such stumblers. 1 1 All translations into English are my own. The original reads as follows: “Há huns que querem ler, e vão parando / Por vezes, as palavras soletrando, / Detendo-se em algumas á maneira / De serra, que encontrou nó na madeira. / (…) / Se por desgraça um cágado encontraram, / A penúltima sempre lhe alongaram; / E vão muito santinhos por diante, / Se não desfecha a rir o circunstante; / E só ouvindo hum riso alto levantam / A cabeça, e por modo que se espantam, / Sem ter inda chegado ao seu juízo, / Qual será o motivo de tal riso. / Já se vê, que isto são

Read, Watch and Laugh (with Eighteenth-Century Humorous Books)

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These are words from Miguel do Couto Guerreiro (1717-1793), a satirical author with very few published titles by the late 18th century. He despises those "poor readers" who laugh without really understanding what has been read. But it is not exactly these kinds of readers he wishes to deal with, because “fools” do not cause so much damage. He is annoyed by these revilers, the critics that join reading with laughter and murmuring. The murmuring in itself is evil and it is always preferable to be silent than to talk too much. But in the verses he wrote he confronts those who read and speak at the same time, of which there are various kinds. Some do not distinguish what is of value, and "confuse the dung and gold" through the compulsion of enjoyment. It is these who are the "poor readers". But there are others that may be considered as really "bad readers". The worst are those who, whatever they read, will always be conditioned by libertine works that they had the misfortune of having at hand. Of the latter he says: There are others that are terrible readers; They learn in the lesson of some authors The low licentiousness, the impiety; They scorn the authority of Augustine For a Baile, a Volter, a Espinosa, A Jaques, and other people of this prose, Unworthy people, lost people, That flee the punishments of this life, Of the eternal they consider as absolute; That is why they go on living as brutes.2

Bayle, Voltaire, Spinoza and Rousseau are here mentioned as authors that are wrongly replacing Saint Augustine among the readings. And all bad readers are presented as a plague: arranhadores, / Que não merecem nome de leitores; / E como de leitores aqui trato, / Com torpeçudos taes me não dilato.” It should also be noted that there is a word game concerning the term “cágado” (translated into English as tortoise) and “cagado”, meaning defecated. Thus, stressing the second “a” as opposed to the first makes it quite humorous. Miguel do Couto Guerreiro, Satiras em desabono de muitos vícios, Lisboa, Officina de Francisco Luis Ameno, 1786, pp. 1-2. 2 The original version reads: “Há outros que são péssimos leitores; / Aprendem na lição de alguns authores / A vil libertinagem, a impiedade; / Desprezam de Agostinho a autoridade / Por um Baile, hum Volter, hum Espinosa, / Hum Jaques, e outra gente desta prosa, / Gente indigna de o ser, gente perdida, / Que fugindo os castigos desta vida, / Dos eternos se dão por absolutos; / Por isso vão vivendo como brutos.” Idem, p. 6.

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Chapter Sixteen I speak of those that are clever and lively, That are given to witticism and misconceptions; To see if it accommodates to someone else's taste: I speak of some smug know-it-alls, That carry their life as critics, And they employ their criticism discretely Commonly in the works of Poets. 3

We are in an environment where talking is unwise. Laughter is nonetheless lawful, despite the wickedness he attributed to "poor" and "bad" readers. Critical laughter is anticipated by joking about the wickedness of criticism. We may take the description of this "bad reader" as a way to protect the text itself, as a rhetorical strategy to anticipate evil. It is a common practice for those that used to publish, although terms may change. Couto Guerreiro is a poet who wants to create laughter with the support of virtues. The misconceptions, word games, the exposure of what people understand as laughable, ridiculous, and entertaining, puts together moralistic attitudes and makes for a much profitable business. In most cases and after this has been read, it is still not possible to make clear distinctions. Laughter is not necessarily either moralistic or subversive. However, it is the denunciation of the vices that unites the ability to disallow the grotesque, make people laugh and be on good terms with the powerful. This is how Couto Guerreiro's satires may be understood, stressing that no one thinks that satires concern oneself.4 It is obviously not the case of the most susceptible authors. And, after all, these verses represent a self-fulfilling statement, as it is true that the critic “does not consider” himself out of the reach of criticism. Nonetheless, comments on critics always stick to critical satire. We chose to comment on humorous books. But the satire is also made available otherwise, as in leaflets, periodicals, or manuscripts, and it certainly runs orally, and in plays. It is a convergence made of mismatches. Indeed, among the flagrant distinctions involving merit, objectives, subjects, and forms of diffusion, there's the need to clarify what characterizes these readings. Firstly, there is a distinction between leaflets and humorous books, although many of these are compilations of single sheets with previous circulation. We know that most loose sheets do not aspire to be turned into book form as many are not even printed as a 3

The original is: “Fallo de huns espertetes, e azougados, / Que a chistes e a equívocos são dados; / A ver se ao gosto alheio se acommoda: / Fallo de huns sabichões tão presumidos, / Que a críticos por vida andão metidos, / E empregam suas criticas discretas / Communmente nas obras dos Poetas.” Idem, p. 3. 4 “Nenhum cuida, que a sátira he consigo”. Idem, p.11.

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typographical brochure. In any case, the laughter that is used in print tends to be well behaved. Or at least, if it does not assume the fierce defence of morality, it navigates in an area that tends to be socially acceptable. Some of the most prolific critics always had the objective to print, as it allowed their texts an unmatched reach in terms of readership, notoriety and, no less important, monetary compensation. Among the best known and most published in the late eighteenth century and beginning of the following century, there is one, as often happens, who is not as recognized and esteemed today. We are speaking of José Daniel Rodrigues da Costa (1757-1832), the author of loose verses and jocular journals of great success. Among the most well-known is the periodical Almocreve de Petas, printed by Simão Tadeu Ferreira in 1797 and 1798. The title was used again (glossed, appropriated and opposed) immediately afterwards, still in the eighteenth century, as the Return of the Almocreve de Petas (Regresso do Almocreve de Petas), with the head of the periodical showing the picture of a man and his donkey, copied from a print by José Daniel, but turned backwards, and produced in a competitor workshop, the Nunesiana. This issue / response in the form of the return trip, witnessed the recognition of the original paper and its author. This periodical would be reprinted in the nineteenth century, along with other titles by the same successful author such as the Barco da Carreira dos Tolos and O Comboio de Mentiras. The foolishness, the misleading and plain lies are permanent elements of humour, as we may see from the titles. And it must be remembered that each of these have, at least, two lives. In addition to the weekly circulation of leaflets, there followed a collection in book form, which contributed to subsequent reprints of depleted numbers, as indeed was done with periodicals from other areas, when their state changed and they became a volume. Throughout the eighteenth century, many humorous titles were published. Some are still kept in libraries nowadays, as the leaflets Folheto de Ambas Lisboas (also with the title Folheto pelo escabexe de Gazeta) and the Queixas de Manoel de Passos, produced in 1730 and 1731 by the Officina de Música and by the workshop of Pedro Ferreira and written by Jerónimo Tavares Mascarenhas Távora and José Vitorino José da Costa. Many decades later, in the Almocreve, Rodrigues da Costa expressly made the connection between his own sheets and those produced by these pioneers, noting the difficulty of maintaining a humorous publication for weeks, and the need to adopt a plain and popular style as opposed to a “grandiloquent” or elaborate manner of writing.5 He aims at protecting 5

Almocreve de Petas, Parte XIII, 1797, p.7.

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himself, once again from the slanderers, those who tease others’ work, and assumes that one's success does not guarantee or certify the quality of the writing, nor is it desirable to cultivate an academic way of writing. What matters is to make people laugh. The fact that José Daniel refers to the papers of 1731 does not erase the fact that several others had been published in the meantime. Some have had a brief and discreet life, and it is possible that they had been forgotten by the end of the century, so they may have gone unnoticed by the author of the Almocreve. Our perception of the track of publications is not the same as what any reader would have had 200 years ago. By the 1740s, several papers were circulating. The Pascónio em Portugal was published in 1748, and the Folheto Cotovia in 1749. Both, however, had a brief life. Later in 1771, the Oficina de Caetano Ferreira da Costa published the Palestras críticas e semi jocosas, and the smaller (in 8th) Café jocoso is printed in Lisbon at the same time as the Almocreve and the Retorno do Almocreve. The Gazeta de Lisboa has several advertisements on these three periodicals throughout the years of 1797, 1798 and 1799. There is, at the same time, competition and continuity, between these publications. The Café ends its circulation of only 12 numbers when the Retorno publishes its first issues, at the beginning of 1798, at which point we may see the competitors being advertised together.6 The big difference is that the Almocreve lasted much longer and was sold in many more places in town than all the others.7 There is thus a tradition that will flourish in the next century. Meanwhile, other volumes, collecting verses or passages in various outbound leaflets were successfully being published. A series of major repercussion was certainly the Anatomico jocoso, which was resumed and recast in authorized editions after having traversed the path of loose manuscript and clandestine print with a fake address, in the 1750s.8 6

“Sahirão a´luz os Cadernos 11º e 12º do Café Jocoso, com os quaes se termina esta obra. Vende-se separada em Folhetos, ou em Collecção, na loja de Luiz José de Carvalho, Livreiro, defronte dos Paulistas, e na loja da Gazeta.” (Gazeta de Lisboa, 17/3/1798); The 48th issue of the Almocreve is advertised together with the 7th and 8th of the Retorno, (Gazeta de Lisboa, 27/3/1798). 7 The works of José Daniel were sold in these places and also by Reycend, Calhariz, by Bertrand, Mártires, by Bento Valença, in his “botequim”, Poço Novo, at the Madre de Deus “botequim”, at the corner of the Inquisition Palace, Rocio, and in Belém, at the Café owned by João Baptista. 8 Anatomico jocoso que em diversas operaçõens manifesta a ruindade do corpo humano, para emenda do vicioso..., padre Fr. Francisco Rey de Abreu Matta Zeferino, Lisboa, Oficinas de Manoel Alvarez Solano, Miguel Manescal da Costa and Miguel Rodrigues. 1752-1753-1755-1758, 5 v., in 4º. Some of these volumes

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The verses by Tomás Pinto Brandão (1664-1743) have also had several lives.9 He made a living, we believe most precariously, on account of what he wrote and said, without printing or even publishing until he was already well over sixty. But the fortune of his collection, Pinto renascido, survived him. Published in 1732 in the Oficina de Música, it was reprinted (and revised) the following year by José António da Silva, and twenty years later, with more added verses, in the publication by Pedro Ferreira. Pinto Brandão’s relationship with the brochure and the book, precisely because it was so late, is still significant for our purposes, since it is, in part, a consecration and, simultaneously, a virtual discovery. The discovery is not of the author, who was known among those who later bought his books. The discovery relates to the possibility of having his texts move beyond the circles that shared them orally and in manuscripts. This change was initially due to the Oficina de Música, where many of his loose leaflets had been printed since 1725, but especially between 1729 and 1930. In Pinto renascido we may find some verses which are still preserved in previous manuscripts such as the “Verdades pobres ditas em Portugal”, from 1717.10 Pinto Brandão, along with others, is sensitive to what is said about him. And he should have been, as there are some manuscripts where we can still read explicit and violent criticism against him and his activity that circulated at the time.11 In particular Pinto Brandão reacts badly to the slander of those who seek his verses and simultaneously criticize him behind his back. Do not say to me, oh thou that speak of me Dogs, why do you bark, if you do not bite Beasts, why do you shoot if you miss? Pigs, why do you snore without rummaging? If it is because I make Verses, perhaps more, may be read at . Also, João Luís Lisboa, “O Anatomico entre os papéis jocosos setecentistas” in Isabel Lustosa (ed.), Imprensa, Humor e Caricatura: a questão dos estereótipos culturais, Belo Horizonte, Editora UFMG, 2011, pp.391-406; and José Alfaro, O jogo das cartas. O lúdico numa antologia epistolar barroca, Lisboa, Quimera, 1994. 9 See, with an introduction by João Palma Ferreira, Esse é o bom governo de Portugal, Mem Martins, Europa América, 1976. 10 At the Biblioteca da Ajuda (Lisbon), 50 /I /11. 11 “(...) huma numerosa turba de patifes e entre elles o mayor de todos Thomas de Pinto Brandão (...) disse em voz alta 'assumpto temos' e apartandosse do concurso se pos a paliar (...)”, British Library, London, Add. 15195, fl.305vº.

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With these commissions, and copies of verses, I get to my point, which constitutes an important part on the relationship of the satirical writer and those who show interest in his verses. I mean the joke as a picture. The word “portrait” (retrato) is an expression that they choose to express what they do. People are fond of pictures and portraits, even if only in words, and Pinto Brandão compares himself to a painter who writes. Here I am, torn, and in apods; by works, by words, by beckoning, Portraits I have done for free, in a thousand ways. Either good, or bad, or big or small, Christianly finished I gave them all; except for one alone, that had less of an eye. 13

He didn't offer the picture, however, he does say that it “did go”. How did it go? Was it sold? Did the deformation pay? The reference to the “nicknames” assumes a satirical standpoint, a pun. But here the distinction, in whatever survives in print, is that jokes are usually made of word games and witticisms, and not so much from criticism. The poet is asked to write verses about places and about people. He represents them graciously and funny whenever possible. He is asked to write about situations too. A portrait does not mean a drawing that we see, or a physical description. Therefore, we must consider what we have as descriptions of places. The verses on the Quinta de Belas, dedicated to the Count of Pombeiro are an exercise in style where grace should be found in puns, which become quite evident when the author plays with the “Beauty” of a place called Belas, and the “quintessence” of the Portuguese 12 The original reads: “Não me direis, oh vós que em mim falais / Caens, para que ladraes, se não mordeis / Bestas, porque atiraes, sem que acerteis? / Porcos, sem que fosseis, porque roncais? / Se he porque Versos faço, talvez mais, / ou melhores, talves, que os que fazeis; / Brutos, para que delles mal dizeis, / Se os quereis, se os pediz, e os tresladais?”, Pinto Renascido empennado e desempennado, Lisboa, Pedro Ferreira, 1753, p.13. 13 The original reads: “Aqui estou eu, que em rasgos, e em apódos; / por obras, por palavras, por acenos, / Retratos fiz de graça, por mil modos. / Ou bons, ou máos, ou grandes ou pequenos, / Christanmente acabados os dey todos; / excepto hum só, que foy cum olho menos.” Idem, p.25.

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villa (“quinta de recreio”).14 The concrete description is not completely absent, as there are pears, grapes, dogs, houses, and water. But the game runs out a verbal baroque portrait. The same happens in other examples of the same kind as those who are dedicated to a bridge in Belém, or a temple, ruined by an earthquake. If we remember the previously mentioned words by Couto Guerreiro, some decades later, making fun of the poor reader who enjoys himself with tasteless games of words (“cágado” and “cagado”, stressing the second “a” while reading out loud), we understand that it is not just the reader who is to blame. With the overjoyed descriptions of the countryside, found in the writings of Rodrigues da Costa, about three quarters of a century later, we realize that most baroque artifice has disappeared, while the presence of plenty “benign land” remains against the arrogance, ambition, envy, and hatred that infects Courts and Cities.15 The bucolic might look the same, but nature has evolved with language. We see the gold cobs, the cattle, the sun, the snow, the purple morning, that purple also present in lilies, reeds folding, the tangled woods, and crystal waters. There is a clear, though misleading, consensus around the idealization of a timeless nature, opposed to the corruption of the times. In fact, it is neither the same nature nor the same city that they were writing about. A morality, rather than tranquillity, is projected through a country description. Nature is happy, despite the landscapes dominated by flooding, even in winter, even if the “ferocious wolf” devours their livestock.16 The concrete description goes along with the remaining commonplaces. These are indeed fundamental commonplaces, as a mechanism of humour, assuming stereotypes and shared views of normality where the laughter appears when something breaks with what is considered to be normal. In the case of landscape descriptions they were not looking for a paradox. They picked contradictions, confrontations, perhaps irony. This is the case of the “painting” made by Rodrigues da Costa for his friend, the lettered Barbosa, in whose house, his heart was the only “safe and good old junk” that may be found in that decaying house, rotting wood, disgusted table, bringing down chairs, crumbling walls, moist beams, abundant fleas and spiders.17 In contrast to the countryside, the city is described as being corrupt and sad. It is a hostile landscape, that is dangerous, muddy, and has ruined the 14

Op. cit, p.24. “A soberba, a ambição, a inveja, o ódio / (que) Contaminão as Cortes e as Cidades”, Rimas, Lisboa, 1795, p. 113. 16 Idem, p. 156. 17 Idem, p. 3. 15

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streets, but also the people, including what they appear to be, what they wear, the environments they attend, “trash in coffee houses and billiards”, the fashions they copy, “the foolish English dressing, the French manners”, and even worse if they are foreigners. Lisbon is wretched I do not know who did such mischief, I see it contaminated Of crazy English clothing, And of people in French style. 18 The biggest pest we have in Lisbon, Are some high fashion boys, Rubble from the cafés and billiard rooms. 19

With the social space and individual characters, the description is multiple and diverse. Much of what is presented does not imply any visual image. They are vices that force laughter. The envious, the skinflint, the mean or the slanderous, need not be described physically. On the other hand, the vain or the impostor gain advantage in a specific description. The “Taful” that fills the sarcastic stories does not have a specific image of itself. He is a loafer, a player, and he can have many faces. The “Taful” is not the beggar or miserable man. He is the good-fornothing who, in one way or another, finds the means to survive without doing anything socially useful. But he is often associated with a physical description that accentuates his ridiculous or vicious character. Some of the features and information added stick to the connotation that the expression “Taful” already entails. “Taful” and “peralta” are not synonymous, though they may be condensed into the same person and thus enhances mockery. Both characters are socially reprehensible, useless and vain. “Peralta”, nonetheless, may refer to a visual image. To begin with, he is said to be effeminate. Moreover, the description emphasizes his pedantic gestures, his visual construction that repulses the solid moralist. To his gesture, the description adds the way he puts the powder on his face and wig, making him white and floured, steeped in fashions.20

18

The original reads: “Lisboa está desgraçada / Não sei quem tal damno fez, / Eu vejo-a contaminada / De hum louco trajar Inglêz, / E de gente afrancesada.” Costa, Op. cit., p. 70. 19 The original reads: “A maior praga que em Lisboa temos, / São huns meninos chefes de altas modas, / Entulho dos cafés e dos bilhares”, Costa, Op. cit, p. 47. 20 “nas modas enfronhado”, Idem, p. 22.

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Couto Guerreiro also has several pages that are devoted to one of these “peraltas”: “Vainglorious, / pitching his legs as a Frenchie”.21 The “peralta” is vain which is already known. But he can also be a deadbeat, because the important thing is to have the props, fabrics or services, with or without money. The reader imagines the haberdasher and the barber running or chasing the debtor through the streets of Lisbon, but they lose him in the crowd. The poet plays with the lack of sense of the “peralta”. He has no taste, and the lack of view is associated with his vanity in wearing glasses: Is there a pretentious dandy without a spy-glass? I assure you That this is his distinctive instrument And that moves him not to give it up? I do not see anything besides a lack of sight. 22

The “peralta” is a dandy, and thus at the same time, vain and phony. The glasses are not laughable in itself, although their proliferation in Lisbon’s landscape looks suspicious. Much like the coaches of those who have no means to sustain them, what motivates mockery is the pretension, the snobbery and the inadequacy of the social picture. The writer falls over those who use or wear anything out of what is due or appropriate. The critic stresses the idea that those who live outside their ambiance cannot avoid showing inadequacy, a lack of manners, and a lack of education. To these critics, conventions and social places are solid and acceptable, whereas, they are staggered by the actions of those who want to appear something they are not entitled of: Where they will say that I have erred, is in my laughter, For it being a noticeable absence of judgment, To laugh at man that does not have understanding, That it is the most worthy loss of lament. Hence, I explain myself: when I laugh, It is not of he who suffers the derangement: My laughter comes from monkey tricks, That he makes, for a lack of courtesies. 23 21

The original reads: “emproado, / Lançando as suas pernas à Franceza”, Guerreiro, Op. cit., p. 127. 22 The original reads: “Há peralta sem óculo? Eu assento / Que he o seu distintivo este instrumento / E que o move a que delle não desista? / Não vejo, senão falta de vista.” Guerreiro, Op.cit, p. 126. 23 The original reads: “Onde dirão que eu erro, he no meu riso, / Por ser notável falta de juízo, / Rir de homem que não tem entendimento, / Que he a perda mais digna de lamento. / Explico-me porem: quando me rio, / Não he de quem padece o

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Monkey tricks (“monarias”) of ill-mannered people, as the gestures and clothing of the “peralta”, are part of the portrait of the city. It may be a colourful and funny landscape, but not cheerful, according to these critics. Rather, it is a sad city where the vain and effeminate contribute to the same picture that includes the mayor with his prisoners crossing the streets, the homeless and beggars, the weeping mothers24, and the muddy corners, tarnishing everybody, are places of dispute on who goes first and who splashes who.25 The description of the degraded city is not surprising, but the set of accidents are a source of inspiration. But the picture of Lisbon, described as a vanity fair, contrasts with the image of gloomy streets and squares dominated by the dark habits of the religious. Portraits are alternative but not contradictory, highlighting the brooding look of the one who describes. This contrast is curious since it shows us how the eye builds the landscape highlighting what draws attention to it. There will certainly be, in the city, colours and figures that predominate. But the pictures capture and rank, deforming, whatever can be seen. And it takes place, in part, as we have seen, through a social and moral component of a biased look. Not that this picture is not real. But it isn't obviously independent of the beholder, in this case, the writer. The three poets whose books we have brought here had different editorial and personal fortunes. They also had distinct merits, despite all of them being equally almost forgotten nowadays. They lived in three different times, although two of them published simultaneously for a brief period, in the 1790s, one being already about 70 years old (Miguel do Couto Guerreiro), and the other being 30 by then (José Daniel Rodrigues da Costa). But they have something in common. The most marginal of the three, the Baroque Tomás de Pinto Brandão, lived on account of the favours of those to whom he dedicated his verses. At the end of the century, the other two are more openly part of the combat of ideas. Rodrigues da Costa was protected by the brothers Pina Manique (the judge and the police governor), to whom he dedicated several of his compositions. He reproaches those who stand against the rulers, considering this criticism illegitimate. There are those who have the power and order and those who must obey.26 Miguel Couto Guerreiro is more explicitly moralistic, in the above mentioned book, as well as in others writings, published until 1793. Two desvario: / O meu riso provém das monarias, / Que elle faz, por faltar às cortezias.” Guerreiro, Op.cit., p. 22. 24 Costa, Op. cit, pp.96-98. 25 Idem, p.25. 26 Idem, pp.223-224.

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examples: he first translated and published in 1788 some of Aesop's fables adapted to Christian morality. The following year, he published a translation of the letters of Ovid purged of “every obscenity”.27 The above descriptions have shown some examples of the visual importance, in jocular books, of the accepted truths about social places, about what is decent and what is indecent, about the illegitimacy of social mobility, about the vicious nature of daring and ambition, and about the apparent strangeness of the alien. Social and physical landscapes, associated with moods, types, colours, and gestures, interfere with what is apparent as far as right and wrong is concerned and what breaks social and moral certainties. People see what is known and what jumps out, confronting what one expects to see. Clearly humour has an absolute necessity of stereotypes and commonplaces. That these commonplaces tend to be conservative is a recurring event, although not mandatory. That is, if humour is not necessarily either subversive or subservient, the jokes that use books are understandably different from those that may be found on flyers or heard in the streets. We are reminded of another poet, the contemporary of José Daniel, named Manuel Maria Barbosa du Bocage. Reading and listening, writing and speaking are, once again, alternative paths, also as far as humour is concerned.

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“com aplicações acomodadas à moral christã” and “expurgadas de toda a obscenidade”, both books published in Lisbon, by Francisco Luís Ameno.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN HENRIQUE JOSÉ BELINQUE (FLOR.1755-1762): PORTUGUESE TYPEFOUNDER RÚBEN R. DIAS CIAUD - CENTRO DE INVESTIGAÇÃO EM ARQUITECTURA, URBANISMO E DESIGN, FACULDADE DE ARQUITECTURA, UNIVERSIDADE DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

Context Enormous artistic and technological development was seen throughout Europe in the 18th century, particularly in the arts associated with books, from bookbinding to etching and type. In general, large investments were made to improve printing type. In France, from the end of the 17th century, the Académie des Sciences kick-started the advances that would later be known as the modern period of typography, with its creation of the Romain du Roi typeface. PierreSimon Fournier le jeune (a punchcutter) and the Didot family (printers and type producers) appeared over the following century, bringing with them great advances in typography and type design. In the most important countries in Europe, other widely-recognised punchcutters included Caslon and Baskerville, in England, and Bodoni, in Italy, each with his own relevance and context. There have been few studies in Portugal on the history of type production in the 18th century, which is why it has widely been believed that this period had little interest in this industry. There was, however, considerable activity in the field, for such a small country. The beginning of the 18th century in Portugal was marked by a large increase in book production, and saw countless publications with an enormous number of notable graphical touches (Mota, 2003, pp.77-90). The graphical quality that had been lost since the 16th century, generally

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ruled by the poor material conditions and few aesthetic demands at the time, was thus reborn (Peixoto, 1967, pp.19-24). The great driver of development in the typographical arts in the first half of the 18th century was King John V (1706-1750), king of Portugal and a book and art lover. His support in implementing the Portuguese Royal Academy of History (Academia Real da História Portuguesa) was decisive in continuing the history of type and typography in Portugal. There was a large increase in the production of books, and the number of new titles published tripled. From the beginning to the end of his reign, the number of new books published increased from 300 to 900 (Anselmo, 1997). “1731-1740 was the splendorous period of King John V’s reign” and this was the context in which not just one punchcutter emerged, as has been stated – Jean de Villeneuve, a Frenchman who came to Portugal on the King’s request to open a type foundry at the Royal Academy of History (Dias, 2012) – but two. King John V sponsored the creation of the Portuguese Royal Academy of History, whose main goal was to write the history of the church and the conquests of the kingdom The Academy would lead the way for the graphic arts throughout the century (Peixoto, 1969). Royal support for culture, particularly at the Academy, was affirmed by hiring artists from the north of Europe, specifically France and the United Provinces. At the start of 18th century, these countries were recognised for their excellence in the book-related arts (Coutinho, 2007). King John V’s support for graphic arts in publishing is undeniable, and he used it as a symbol of both peace and ostentation (Anselmo, 1997). Jean de Villeneuve came to Lisbon, at the King’s invitation, to make type for the Royal Academy of History, in 1730 (Dias, 2012), and enjoyed status as the King’s punchcutter. It was believed that he was the only punchcutter in Portugal in the 18th century and it was also assumed that Royal Academy’s Foundry and it’s master passed directly to the Trade Council (Junta do Comércio), later incorporated into the Royal Press, but new evidence shows that this was not the case. In 1736, Jean de Villeneuve was removed from the Academy’s type foundry and, according to his reports, the foundry eventually stopped producing types a few years later (Dias, 2012). The ban on importing printing type, which was imposed when Villeneuve arrived in Lisbon, and the enormous increase in the production of books, would make space for another type foundry to be established. This was the context in which, during King John V’s reign, another type foundry emerged in Lisbon, which changes the way in which we can explain [this piece of] history, and some unknown details become clear.

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Henrique José Belinque’s type foundry Almost nothing is known about the birth of Henrique José Belinque. Despite is foreign name, Rómulo de Carvalho (1982) presents him as a Portuguese artisan. José Pacheco (2013, p.288) points to the possibility that he might be the son of one of the engravers Clemente Bilingue or Félix Belingue. Henrique surname’s is not always written the same way, through the researched documents, has the Portuguese language at the time spelling is not established. It is frequent to find it written with different letters, interchanging randomly even in the same document changing from e to i, and from g to q. He established a type foundry in Lisbon in the XVIII century, but the date on which it was created is not known; Acursio da Neves (1827, pp.345-346) explains that it was working in 1755 and was also strongly affected by the earthquake. Subsequently there emerged, as the result of the large increase in book manufacturing in the 1740s, an increase in the need for type. It is known that, from 1732 onwards, with Villeneuve’s arrival, importing type was banned and the Academy’s type foundry stopped working a short time after Villeneuve left it. The emergence of another type foundry would, therefore, have been an urgent need for Portuguese printers. Joseph I (1714-1777), king of Portugal, was crowned in 1750. In 1755, after the earthquake, there was an increase in action by the absolute state. This is the background against which various institutions were created, among which we can highlight the Trade Council (Junta do Comércio), in 1756, as a type of Ministry for the Economy of the time and the Royal Press (Impressão Régia), in 1768, the organism that centralised production of royal documents, possibly in an attempt to increase ideological control and strengthen the position of the state (Canavarro et al., 1975). According to the Trade Council, the foundry was kept “secret and in reserve”, manufacturing characters “at the same level as the best that came from foreign kingdoms.” (Junta do Comércio, 1758) Although no reason has yet been found for this secrecy, the truth is that the type produced by Belinque was used by several printers, and cannot exactly be considered secret. The 1755 earthquake in Lisbon left considerable damage in all areas of business, and the type foundries were surely no exception. Generally, type was destroyed or damaged by the catastrophe, and needed to be replaced. As Villeneuve explained, the Academy’s foundry stopped operating after he left. Villeneuve continued to make type on his own (Dias, 2012), but both he and Belinque were probably affected by the earthquake, like

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other businesses, and with the enormous increase in demand for type, they would have been unable to meet the many requests by printers (Neves, 1827: pp.345-346). Faced with this impossibility, the Trade Council intervened on two fronts: — allowing printing type to be freely imported, for 10 years, as per the Decree of 26 August 1756 (Sousa, 1886); — releasing an order that stated the printers to whom Belinque should distribute the type he produced, and in what order (Neves, 1827, pp.345-346). The Trade Council’s intervention in the type market in Portugal is the first instance known today of the royal power’s preference for Belinque over Villeneuve, who had been the first royal punchcutter of the century.

Trade Council public school/type foundry (1760-1769) Among the foundry’s management records and in the Trade Council’s documents, the entities “public type school” and “type foundry” appear alone; they do not refer to each other, nor do they appear at the same time. At the time, learning a manual art like typography or type making, was done using a master-apprentice system, in a “learning on the job” approach, and the concept of separately educating a practical skill did not exist. Neves (1827, pp.345-346) mentions these two entities as only one, which seems to be the most plausible scenario. Since the foundry and school were under the purview of the Trade Council, and as most official documents refer to each separately and at different times, they are presented separately here, in spite of the author’s conviction that they were, in fact, only one entity.

Public Printing Type School On 24 April 1758, at a meeting with his Majesty, the Trade Council stated that the art of making type had not been taught in Portugal and that many uses had been lost because the inventors were not protected. It was suggested that this education be supported by royal power and it was proposed that a public type school be founded, offering free education. Belinque was named master of the school, thanks to the quality of his letters and as the last person to master the art in Portugal. Finally, it was

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suggested that the school operate at the Trade Council’s property, and that it contribute 200 thousand réis per year for the master to keep the apprentices. Belinque accepted these conditions, and would keep the foundry’s production and pay the remaining expenses (Junta do Comércio, 1758). His Majesty approved the Council’s proposal three days later, and the first public type school known to date in Portugal with free education was founded (Junta do Comércio, 1758). Belinque would, however, only sign the contract on 23 January 1759. The contract stipulated that the master would: — have the right to live in the building where the lessons would take place; — receive a salary of 200,000 réis, with maintenance for the apprentices coming under his responsibility; — be obliged to teach four apprentices who, after five years, and after passing tests, would become officials. They would be paid as such for two more years, after which they would be entitled to open their own foundries; — always have four apprentices, replacing those who did not have the necessary abilities; — responsible to teach everything he knew about the art of creating types for printing, and the apprentices could not be used in his own “House”1 or any function outside the school; — The Trade Council, on the other hand, undertook to meet its obligations, as long as Belinque met his own, and satisfy any needs that did not substantially exceed the terms of the contract (Junta do Comércio, 1758). At the Trade Council meetings, Belinque is presented as the only person who mastered the art of making type, but in fact Villeneuve would have still been in Lisbon and making type for himself. We can see, once again, a preference for Belinque over Villeneuve. Why was Master Villeneuve ignored in these events when he had been sponsored by the previous King? The fact that King Joseph I had not continued King John V’s support for the Academy of History may perhaps 1

“House”, in Portuguese “Casa”– this word is used in the original document with a capital letter, and can be interpreted in two different ways: the house where he lived or the place where he practised his business. Even today the word may be used to refer to the place where someone lives or to a specific commercial establishment.

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provide some clues on this matter, but the topic goes beyond the scope of this article.

Trade Council Type Foundry According to the foundry’s records, it only began operating on 14 October 1760, and Henrique José Belinque was its first Master (Junta do Comércio, n.d.). In the same book, we find undated payments to Belinque, Villeneuve and Caetano Teixeira Pinto, the latter as an official. Belinque did not make it to a year and a half as master of the foundry, as he died on 20 February 1762. In 1764, Leonor Luísa Leutaro de Figueiredo, Belinque’s widow, began the process of selling his workshop and its products. She collected written testimonial from three prestigious printers in the Kingdom, Manescal da Costa, Miguel Rodrigues and António Rodrigues Galhardo, showing that they had used and continued to use the type produced by her husband and that it was an extremely wellcrafted product. She obtained a Juízo dos Órfãos (Inheritors’ Rights) Certificate that proved that she had inherited her husband’s foundry and a certificate recognised by Manescal da Costa and Jean Villeneuve that described what she had inherited, as follows: — punches and matrices of different sizes; punches matrices x x --x x x x x x x --x

body size2 Breviario Entreduo Leitura Tanazia Texto Parangona

roman 1 1 2 2 1 1

italic 1 1 1 1 1 1

matrices 217 214 297 298 198 216

value (réis) 374,200 214,000 475,200 476,800 316,300 50,000

— punches and matrices made in Rome that needed improvements, valued at 60,000 réis; 2

The following list shows the rough size intervals of each body, to better understand the sizes of the bodies involved. Mignone/[Incomparável/Miudinho] 6/7 pt; Breviário miúdo 8 pt; Breviário 8 › 9 pt; Breviário grosso/ Gaillharde/[Galharda] 8 pt; Entreduo/[Interduo] 10 pt; Leitura 12 pt; Tanazia/[Atanásia] 14 pt; Texto 16 pt; Parangon pequeno/[Parangona pequena] 18/20 pt; Parangon grosso/[Parangona grande] 22 pt; Parangona 18 › 22 pt; Canão pequeno/[Pequeno Cânon] 26 › 32 pt. The names of the bodies are a sensitive issue and just started to be analysed or discussed in Portuguese (Dias and Monteiro, 2013).

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— 8 casting moulds (two damaged), valued at 64,000 réis; — one press; — one press to justify type and other things belonging to the foundry; — several arrobas 3of alloy; and — several arrobas of metal that had already been prepared for casting. Finally, she made a formal request to the Trade Council for His Majesty to allow the notable work to be acquired, allowing her to split the value of the sale with the inheritors. In October 1766, the Trade Council decided that the purchase of this material would be useful to start a type foundry for the Kingdom and it requested an order from His Majesty to buy the material held by the widow. It also obtained an order to create a foundry — without which the purchase would be useless; an order to name a master, who would be Villeneuve, which would provide national autonomy once again; and an order to impose a ban on importing type. The acquisition of the 909 matrices and punches from Leonor de Figueiredo was made on 27 February 1767 for the amount of 1452,800 réis (Junta do Comércio, n.d.), which was the same as the valuation made by Jean Villeneuve of the material held by the widow. As well as this material, some damaged punches and matrices that were found with the others were also included in the sale. In the foundry’s records, there is also an entry showing the acquisition of 214 Greek punches and matrices from José da Conceição4, among other acquisitions of punches, matrices and a great deal of material for the foundry. Moreover, in 1763, there is an entry for the receipt, by the Master5, of 400 matrices, which are not discriminated and are of unknown origin (Impressão Régia, n.d.-a). Villeneuve was called to be master of the foundry, probably still in 1762. In January 1763 and October 1764, António Aniceto and Miguel Pereira de Freitas requested permission from the Trade Council to learn at the type school, where they knew Villeneuve taught, in accordance with the conditions that had been imposed by the Trade Council (Peixoto, 3

The Portuguese word arroba has its origin in Arabic “ar-rub” (ϊΑήѧѧѧѧѧѧѧϟ΍) which means “the fourth part” of a quintal. It is equal to 32 pounds (14,688 kg). 4 In 1769, he emerged as a worker at the Royal Foundry. He may have learned from Belinque or Villeneuve? And which types did he make? This is another name to be researched regarding type production in Portugal. 5 Everything suggests that Villeneuve would have been master of the works.

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1969). This would be the first time that it can be confirmed that he was there as master. Villeneuve describes the state that the Trade Council’s foundry was in, saying that on his arrival he found no new works; he was only given a few very badly treated matrices and punches ruined by rust that he was able to restore (Junta do Comércio, n.d.). He also says that Caetano Alberto Ferreira was responsible for the best quality products that had been made there, but that in spite of his commitment he could not manage everything. He says that at the workshop there were apprentices with three years’ experience who were hardly able to justify type and could barely cast, and he says that he taught them to perfect their use of the instruments and technique. At the time, producing typefaces meant physically making every character for each size. According to Fred Smeijers (1996), put simply, the characters were produced in the following way: — punches are created, which involves engraving counterpunches that, afterwards, are struck into the punches and the remaining contours of the character are engraved (it may also be fully engraved without using counterpunches, or even using a mix of both techniques); — the punches are struck into a copper bar, forming a strike that needs to be justified, to become a matrix usable to produce type; — by placing the matrix in a mould, metal can be poured into to it, casting characters one by one. Using this method, casting a new size of a certain typeface meant new punches had to be made, with their respective matrices. Villeneuve states that a typefounder should know how to fix a mould that has imperfections, and describes the abilities of those who worked for him: — Caetano, who was able to make punches and fix matrices; — António, who could become a good founder and already knew how to treat a mould, and would soon be able to make punches; — Miguel, who was beginning to work well with moulds. The master then proposed getting the foundry working properly by repairing and making characters for the sizes that were lacking, in order to serve Portuguese printers without needing to import type. It could even become possible to export, at a later stage (Junta do Comércio, n.d.).

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As the new master of the works, he indicated that, by bringing all the matrices that could be found in the offices of the Portuguese Royal Academy of History together with those that had been produced and the works that could be produced, it would be possible to implement a type foundry. In the foundry’s records (Impressão Régia n.d.-a), there is an entry for the packs of matrices from the Royal Academy that would have been produced by Villeneuve, as follows: — two packs of Parangona (two sets); — nine packs of Texto (one set); — twelve packs of Breviário grosso (one set); — twenty-six packs of Breviário miudo (one set); — five packs of Letra Grifo de Leitura; — one pack of two points of Tanazia; — one pack of two points of Leitura; — five packs of Vaticano (one set); — 10 casting moulds; — other packs of different punches. When presenting this to the king, Villeneuve described the matrices found at the workshop (Junta do Comércio, n.d.), as follows: RO MAN Case: body size Mignone Breviario miúdo Gaillarde*** Breviario grosso Leitura** Tanazia Texto olho pequeno* Texto Paragon pequeno Paragon grosso Canão pequeno

upper

lower

small caps

two-line

• • • • • — — • • • —

• • • • • — • • • • —

• — • • • — • • • • —

— — • • • • • • • — —

Henrique José Belinque (flor. 1755-1762): Portuguese Typefounder

I TA LI C / CU R SIV E Case: upper body size Mignone • Breviario miúdo • Gaillarde*** • Breviario grosso • Leitura** • Tanazia — Texto olho pequeno* — Texto • Paragon pequeno • Paragon grosso • Canão pequeno —

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lower

small caps

two-line

• • • • • — • • • • •

— — — • • — • • • — —

— — — • — — — • — — —

* Missing ligatures of upper case letters, diacritics and punctuation in italic. ** The upper case, lower case and small caps would be finished easily. *** On the body of Breviário grosso.

As well as the table shown above, Villeneuve also states that he delivered prints of 60 vignettes produced by him to the 1st Count of Oeiras, Sebastião de Carvalho e Melo (1699-1782), and for which he held the respective matrices and punches. This report goes on to show the materials and instruments that belonged to the Trade Council Type foundry, and shows the presence of 15 moulds that were made at the foundry, of which 10 came from the Academy and 5 belonged to the works themselves or had been brought by Villeneuve. The fact that some of Belinque’s pieces do not appear on the list, leads us to believe that Villeneuve had carried out this inventory after receiving the material that he had requested the 1st Count of Oeiras from the Academy’s Foundry, and before receiving the material purchased from Belinque’s widow. Interestingly, the presence of a typeface that seems to be in the size Vaticano among the material that Villeneuve requested from the Academy is not recorded in this latest inventory but re-appears later, in the inventory for the incorporation of the foundry at the Royal Press. This name is found exclusively among the material related to Villeneuve and no other reference has been found by other Portuguese or foreign authors, which means it is uncertain as to which type is being referred to by Villeneuve. When Villeneuve arrived at the Trade Council foundry, he described its production as being surrounded by a certain amount of chaos. It must

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be noted that Villeneuve’s descriptions are the only ones that have been found to date, so we must bear in mind that the evidence shown here represents only his point of view, as Master punchcutter and as someone who, having not been first choice, was called upon only later. At the same time, it is important to remember that Belinque had been described by three of the best printers as a highly skilled artist in his métier. Villeneuve himself refers to the quality of the types made by this punchcutter. Perhaps Belinque, for some reason, did not want or was unable to honour the Council’s contract. The fact that he died roughly a year and a half after the Trade Council’s Foundry started operations could be the reason, but other motives may be unearthed in future research. On 30 March 1769, the foundry was acquired by the Royal Press for the amount of 12,201,964 réis (Impressão Régia, n.d.-b) and it began working as a department, supervised and managed by Master Jean Villeneuve. In the same decree, it was ordered that the training of apprentices in the art be continued, which reinforces the idea that the school and the works were part of the same entity. The facts drive us to believe then, that Belinque’s punches and matrices ended up being incorporated into the Royal Press’ type foundry.

The coexistence of types by Belinque and by Villeneuve At the time, different sizes had different cuts, for optical compensation and it was technically impossible to obtain the uniformity and accuracy achievable today. The use of both typefaces in the same book is very common. Once they were used for body size, they can easily go unnoticed by the common reader, which is perhaps the reason why it has never been mentioned or studied before. In truth, the printers commonly used both typefaces simultaneously. There are some historical and accounting notes and relationships between the typefaces, allowing to understand a little about the connection between the two. What is certain is that Belinque’s typefaces were used to compose common bodies of text between Breviário (around 8 or 9 points) and Texto (approximately 16 points) by several of the most prestigious printers in Lisbon, in the second half of the 18th century. In Portugal, the typographic size system had yet to be metricised, and each founder made types according to his own system (Boag, 2000). It is also known that the printers, at the same time, asked their foundries for specific, exclusive sizes, as way of discouraging other printers from borrowing their type (Tracey, 1965, p. 1).

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Villeneuve emerged in a new era in European typography that appeared at the beginning of the 18th century, which Harry Carter described as “a cult of personality in the typographical world” (Dreyfus, John & McKitterick, 1982). It was at this time that foundries/individuals such as Caslon, Baskerville Fournier or Bodoni come in to view. The facts tell us that Villeneuve worked under the Royal Power. Although, he developed not only regular typefaces with respective italics, but also made a large range of type sizes, and even Dois Pontos [two-line titling faces], as was being offered from the new Foundries/individuals, and that European printers began to demand. Jean de Villeneuve published a [second] undated proof (Dias, 2012), showing the different typefaces that he possessed, as follows: “Canon Pequeno, Parangon Grande, Parangon Pequeno, Texto, Atanásia, Leitura, Breviario Grosso, Breviario Pequeno, Mignone”. It shows quite a large selection in terms of types and could meet the needs of most printers, with a warning at the end of the document saying “To make this foundry perfect, it is lacking Grand Canon, Gaillarde and Nompareille” (Sousa, 1886). Regarding Belinque’s types, we know that Parangona, Texto, Atanazia, Leitura, Interduo and Breviário were made, as described in the inventory for the sale performed by his wife. Comparing these with Villeneuve’s type sizes, it is clear that the former’s selection was more complete. It would be understandable that printers were interested in possessing a complete system from just one founder, as Dreyfus states, rather than using type from two founders with different systems, as can be seen in the simultaneous use of type from two founders. Notwithstanding the technical issues that have just been described, there was a preference for Belinque’s types for smaller sizes, and Villeneuve’s types were normally used in larger sizes, especially for title pages in books, titles themselves, etc., in sizes known as Two-line or Letras de dois pontos. As Fertel (1723, p.52) explains, the two-line typefaces are used to compose the first lines of a work, page, title, chapter or section, and are normally cast only in upper case (Silva, 1908, p.87). Their particularity was that the eye of the letter was the same height as two lines of the text that followed - and was aligned between ascenders of the first line and the descenders of the second. At this foundry, the letter occupied the full height of the case, and there was no room in the space for descenders, since this would cause a problem in the alignment described (Vervliet,

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2008). It is shown by the term “two-line", which clearly shows that it is equivalent to two lines. From the analysis of the typefaces used to print books at the Royal Press, it can be seen that, in general, the use of typefaces matches the sizes in the inventory of the purchase of Belinque’s material. The same typefaces are similar to those used by printers, which attests to the quality of the material mentioned, and shows the incorporation of Belinque’s typefaces in the Royal Press foundry. It could be suggested, then, that Villeneuve, as the master of the only type foundry, would have chosen to produce a collection of punches and matrices, making use of Belinque’s originals to produce smaller sizes; he would have recovered the typefaces that we recognise from his specimens to make larger sizes and two-line type. Villeneuve presented two of the typefaces that he had left at the Academy’s foundry as being in poor condition but said that he could use his skills to recover them. In the face of the acquisition of Belique’s typefaces, he found himself in possession of the same body for two different typefaces, sometimes reaching as many as three sets of punches and matrices. In the Foundry, there were several sets of punches and matrices for the same size, and Villeneuve would have made a choice — although perhaps this is impossible to prove — and everything suggests that he stopped developing some sizes of his own typefaces to work on Belinque’s, under his own supervision at the Royal foundry. This view follows an extremely functional approach and was potentially the cheapest solution, which would have allowed the collection of the different sizes necessary for the only type foundry in the country to be completed quickly. At the same time, it followed the predominant taste at the time, because it is true that the best printers used Belinque’s type to print most of the text in their books, revealing a preference for these typefaces.

In summary Belinque was a master of printing type, owner of his own foundry and, later, he also developed type for the royal power under the supervision of the Trade Council. It was he who founded the Trade Council’s Type School and Foundry around 1760, a few years after the Lisbon earthquake in 1755. It was believed that this Royal foundry was the direct successor of the foundry that Villeneuve created for the Portuguese Royal Academy of History, but in fact it was only after Belinque’s death, in 1762, that

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Villeneuve began to manage the type foundry, later incorporating the typeface and tools he had developed for the Academy. Later, all this material would be integrated into the Royal Press. It is a fact that Belinque’s and Villeneuve’s typefaces coexisted in most books printed in the second half of the 18th century in Portugal, particularly in Lisbon. This article presents a historical perspective and introduces some theories based on the facts, deliberately avoiding giving a concrete explanation as to the design of the characters in Belinque’s typeface. Although the author of this article is currently undertaking research on these characters, with the aim of transferring them to a digital format, some caution is needed before making firm statements, as James Mosley states: “it is (…) unwise to be over confident in matching apparently identical types. Imitations of existing and popular models are part of the history of type” (Carter and Mosley, 2002, p.14). The investigation will surely present discoveries in graphic and technical analyses that are currently being carried out to study and reinterpret these typefaces, in an attempt to find the heritage that builds history, and that history is the reference for constructing the present day.

References Anselmo, A. (1997), “O livro português na época de D. João V”. In Estudos de História do Livro (pp.87-98). Lisboa: Guimarães Editora. BOAG, A. (2000), Replies to Peter Bunhill, Typography Papers (pp.121122). (4). Canavarro et al., P. (1975), Imprensa Nacional, Actividade de uma casa impressora 1768-1800 (vol. 1). Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional-Casa da Moeda. Carter, H. and Mosley, J. (2002). A view of early typography up to about 1600. London: Hyphen Press. Carvalho, R (1982), “O recurso a pessoal estrangeiro no tempo de Pombal”, in O marquês de Pombal e o seu tempo Vol. I, pp.91-115, Coimbra: Revista de História das Ideias. Coutinho, A.-S. de A. (2007), A Oficina Tipográfica da Academia Real da História, Imagens cartográficas de Portugal na primeira metade do século XVIII. pp. 48-55 Porto: Faculdade de Letras da Universidade do Porto.

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Dias, R. and Monteiro, F. 2013, “Corpos do tipos”, in: IV Encontro de Tipografia, Do Inscrito ao Escrito: Livro de actas, 26-29 September 2013, organised by the Instituto Politécnico de Castelo Branco, Raposo, D. ed. Neves, J.V. ed. Retrieved from http://repositorio.ipcb.pt/handle/10400.11/2048 [Accessed: 2014-10-12]. Dias, R. (2012), “A letra de imprensa na Academia Real da História Portuguesa na primeira metade do século XVIII”. In: Terceiro Encontro de Tipografia. Porto: Escola Superior de Música, Artes e Espectáculo – Instituto Politécnico do Porto. Retrieved from http://issuu.com/iiiet/docs/livro. [Accessed: 2012.05.20]. Dreyfus, J. & McKitterick, D. (1982), Aspects of French eighteenth century typographyࣟ: a study of type specimens in the Broxbourne Collection at Cambridge University Library. Cambridge: Roxburghe Club. Fertel, M. D. (1723), La Science pratique de l'imprimerie, [Online]. Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Retrieved from: http://gallica.bnf.fr/. [Accessed: 06/08/2012]. Impressão Régia (n.d.-a), Livro da fábrica da fundição de lêtra anêxa á Impressão Régia, 449. At: Lisboa: Arquivo da Imprensa Nacional e Casa da Moeda. —. (n.d.-b), Diário da Fábrica de Fundição de letra 1769-1783, 512A . At: Lisboa: Arquivo da Imprensa Nacional e Casa da Moeda. Junta do Comércio (n.d.), Livro 1º dos termos de mestres fabricantes de nova invenção e outros. At: Lisboa: Arquivo Nacional da Torre do Tombo, Mass.69, Cx 220. —. (1758), Documento do Cartório da Junta do Comércio respeitantes a Lisboa. At: Lisboa: Arquivo Nacional da Torre do tombo Lisboa, Livro 104, ff.155-156. Morison, S. (1997), Letter forms. Vancouver: Hartley & Marks. Mota, I. F. da. (2003), A Academia Real da Históriaࣟ: os intelectuais, o poder cultural e o poder monárquico no século XVIII. Coimbra: Minerva. Neves, J. A. das. (1827), Noções historicas, economicas, e administrativas sobre a produção e manufactura das sedas em Portugal, e particularmente sobre a real fabrica do suburbio do rato, e suas anexas. Lisboa: Impressão Regia. Pacheco, J. (2013), As artes gráficas e a imprensa em Portugal, Lisboa: Instituto Superior Manuel Teixiera Gomes. Peixoto, J. (1967), História do livro impresso em Portugal, Coimbra; Atlântida.

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—. (1969), “Jean de Villeneuve fundidor de tipos em Portugal no séc. XVIII”, pp.24-28. Gutenberg-Jahrbuch Mainz: Verlag der GutenbergGesellschaft. Silva, L. (1908), Manual do typographo. Lisboa: Biblioteca de Instrução Profissional. Sousa, F. P. (1886), “Da Typografia em Portugal”. in A imprensa. Retrieved from http://hemerotecadigital.cm-lisboa.pt/ [Accessed: 20/05/2011]. Tracey, W. (1965), Typography: the point. Reprinted from the Penrose Annual. Aberdeen: Aberdeen Technical College. Vervliet, H. D. L. (2008). The Palaeotypography of the French Renaissance (pp. 2-7). Delaware: Brill Academic Pub.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN TRADITION AND CONTEMPORANEITY IN TYPOGRAPHY: MÁRIO FELICIANO’S INTERPRETATION OF THE GERONIMO TYPEFACE1 TERESA OLAZABAL CABRAL CIAUD - CENTRO DE INVESTIGAÇÃO EM ARQUITECTURA, URBANISMO E DESIGN, FACULDADE DE ARQUITECTURA, UNIVERSIDADE DE LISBOA, PORTUGAL

1. Introduction At the moment, fonts for digital typography are constantly emerging, using interpretations by contemporary designers of metal typefaces from previous centuries: a special way of keeping the past alive and making it functional in the present day. This is particularly true if these typographical creations emerge from looking carefully at the past and attempting to find creative inspiration: “the process of revival can select what is good from the past and rejuvenate it” (Carter, 1990, p. 184). Mário Feliciano (b. 1969), a Portuguese type designer, designed and launched several different typefaces between 1997 and 2010 – Eudald News, Geronimo, Merlo and Rongel – based on typefaces used by the Royal Spanish Library Press in the 18th century. These typefaces are interpretations by a contemporary designer of typefaces created in Spain during the so-called “golden era” of Spanish typography. 1

This text is based on a presentation made at the International Conference on 18thcentury Architecture and Culture “Books with a View”, which took place at the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation in November 23-25, 2011. Some of the results are drawn from a doctoral thesis that was being written at the time (see Cabral, 2014).

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This article intends to critically analyse the Geronimo typeface, sold by the prestigious Dutch foundry, Enschedé Font Foundry.

2. From the Renaissance typefaces to the typefaces of the 18th century. Relationships between typography and technology, calligraphy and aesthetic concepts The typefaces created in the 18th century in Spain were designed at a time of transition, forming a “bridge” between the humanist typography of the Renaissance and so-called modern typography from the end of the 18th century. Simply put, we could say that from the emergence of the Press until today, the typefaces still known as roman type have come a long way. They were developed from the upper case epigraphs of the Roman Empire, mostly by Cresci in the 16th century in Italy (Mosley, 2010), adding humanist lower case letters, which descend from the Carolingian fonts written in the 8th century and, a little later, the italic, introduced by Aldo Manuzio and designed by Francesco Griffo. This set, which consists of three basic forms of font, was put into practice and harmonised by the humanists of the Renaissance (Carter, 1999 [1969]) and it was this triad of forms that the typographers of the 18th century used when creating a new typeface.

2.1. Relationship between typefaces and technology From the invention of the press until the 19th century, the printing method did not undergo any significant changes. It basically consisted of manufacturing metal types (an alloy of lead, antimony and tin), to later be placed into composing sticks that could be used to form words and sentences in horizontal lines. When these sticks were placed in a printing press, they formed columns and, finally, a specific number of identical copies could be printed using the same composition. In turn, manufacturing type involved following three main steps: – “Carving” the shape of the letter in relief at the top of a block of steel, in order to produce a punch, whose form and relationship with the other characters was checked by placing it in the flame of a candle and pressing it against a piece of damp paper, leaving the “ink” made by the soot on the surface. This “smoke proof” meant the two dimensional print made by the punch on the paper could be

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seen, providing an image that would be the same as the shape of the type at the end of production. – Using pressure to create an inverted die, made in a softer metal, copper, to produce a matrix. – Justifying and placing matrices at the bottom of a mould, which worked using two complementary parts that fitted together. It could slide to allow types with the same height but different widths. A liquid metal was poured into the mould, casting the type (which was once again not inverted, like the punch), now in the form of a fully regular parallelepiped that could fit together with other blocks and produce words and sentences. As well as these three essential stages for producing a typeface, another procedure was involved until the 19th century – to complement the initial stage of manufacturing punches – which was making counterpunches. Although not all punchcutters used them, they seem relevant enough to warrant a few words. Using counterpunches involved producing counters of the letters – i.e., the forms inside the letters – to later be used to when manufacturing punches, engraving those forms on the punch by applying pressure. The great advantage of this method was essentially that the same counterpunch could be used for several characters (for example, it was the same for the inner part of the b, the d, the p and the q or of the h, the n and the u), which, as well as reducing the time spent producing a font, helped to systematise the work and improve the rhythm of words and sentences. Fournier, in his Typography Manual, discusses its importance, saying that “it is on the precision of the counterpunch that the perfection of the form of the letter depends.”2 (1764, p.9-10) Analysing this process of creating types, which alternates successively between extrusive forms and intrusive forms – the extrusive (punch) /intrusive (matrix) /extrusive (type) – leads us to reflect on the importance that this form of production could have had on punchcutters’ outlook at the time. It seems clear, in fact, that this method for making type would encourage the punchcutters of the time to develop a finely tuned aesthetic awareness that gave equal importance to form and counter, an awareness that, as we know, is essential in designing typefaces: “We see a character as a whole form, whereas the punchcutter divided it into two constituent 2

“C’est de la précision du contrepoinçon que dépend la perfection de la forme de la lettre”.

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parts: the inner and the outer. This conception followed from – or interacted with – the technique of punchcutting. And it happened also that this conception resulted in a better understanding of the principles of visual balance” (Smeijers, 2011, p.126) . It is my belief that there are, actually, some specific characteristics in the production of metal types that are relevant in punchcutters’ training and, above all, in the way they educated their eye. On the one hand, working with counterpunches, which are intrusive forms, meant more attention could be paid to counters – to the “whiteness of the word” as Noordzij (2005) calls it. On the other hand, when working with mirror images and with forms that are successively intrusive and extrusive, punchcutters would, perhaps, be freer to concentrate on the abstract characteristics of the form of the letter and the rhythm created by the black and white space in the composition of letters in words and sentences. Furthermore, working at real scale (rather than working on a computer that can reduce or increase the size of letters in a fraction of a second) meant that punchcutters could produce exactly what the eye would see. Emphasis was placed on human perception and not showing off skilfulness. Today, we know that the sharpness and level of detail possible in producing metal types were as great as those we have today. Technology was not a limitation. There was, however, great awareness that some more subtle and imperfect forms were more pleasing to the eye than the purely geometric forms that, over the history of typography, have emerged as an ideal to be achieved. The truth is that if geometric shapes do not tolerate any kind of deviation – normal in manual work – the punchcutters of the 18th century avoided them, which may be an advantage for type design: “by building in a kind of visual doubt: no straight edges, no sharp corners. The forms become easy to handle, easy to mix and to bring into balance with each other.” (Smeijers, 2011, p.147) To what extent those subtleties are interpreted in the 21st century is something that will be analysed in due course. There was, in the 18th century, an education of the eye that focused on the methods used in dayto-day practice, which seems useful to understand when designing digital fonts today.

2.2. Relationship between typefaces and calligraphy When the printing press emerged, the first typographers were inspired by the written letter and designed similar forms of letters because they were the forms known and accepted at the time. Gutenberg attempted to reproduce the letters used in handwritten books, which is why gothic script

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was the first type of font produced. Later, gothic typefaces in typography were replaced in most of Europe by humanist roman typefaces, which were interpretations of Carolingian calligraphy. The printing technique increased the alphabet’s potential and made this potential more noticeable. It allowed a model font to be set that could be reproduced countless times using the same matrix and that, when placed together with other letters, meant a text could be reproduced from the same blocks of type. More than ever, letters became individual, abstract, unique units, with this new and particular ability of being repeated many times. This characteristic separates typography from calligraphy, since in handwritten texts, the form of a letter is different every time it appears, and there are countless possibilities for variations and often a series of different connections between adjacent letters. Nevertheless, the relationships between these two activities are many and mutual. Building a model letter was also an objective for calligraphers who, when publishing their manuals for the first time during that period, tended to introduce a design as a model to be copied: a specific, precise design that should follow certain rules of construction. These calligraphy manuals influence typography, which, in turn, influence calligraphy. Paradoxically, with the invention of the printing press, calligraphy did not start to disappear, but rather evolved based on the Italian Chancery hand of the 16th century, designed by calligraphers like Tagliente, Palatino and Arrighi, before reaching an enormous level of refinement and perfection in the 17th and 18th centuries. Calligraphy would also inherit new forms that were introduced in the meantime by typography. At the same time, typography in the 18th century continued to be influenced by calligraphy, not only by observing the forms of letters designed by calligraphers by hand on paper, but also by analysing calligraphy manuals engraved entirely on copper (Perousseaux, 2010, p.29). Effectively, the relationships are reciprocal: “It seems that scribes and printers influenced each other, that the result is a cross-fertilization between the two worlds.” (Smeijers, 2011, p.51) As previously mentioned, calligraphy manuals intend to establish an ideal letter, a model that reduces the variations in the form of each letter that arise naturally in handwriting. There is an idealisation of writing that brings typography and calligraphy closer together, and influences them, since the model is, in fact, the essence of type design. Furthermore, the technique of engraving on copper, that can reproduce finer, more delicate lines than lead characters, would also influence the evolution of the form of letters in the 15th and 18th centuries: they gradually became more and

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more contrasted, with thinner lines becoming thinner, and thicker lines becoming thicker.3

2.3. Relationship between typefaces and aesthetic concepts Alongside technological innovations, the evolution of ideas and worldviews is no less important for type design. Although these views are also heavily influenced by technological advances, I believe that the latter are not decisive. All the relationships with culture and thought from each period push design forward to new, and occasionally unexpected, forms of letters. A concern with geometry and defining logical and rational principles in the designing and creation of fonts was an idea that already had a few fans, even at the time of the Renaissance; Albrecht Dürer (1471-1528), Luca Pacioli (1445-1517) and Geofroy Tory (1480-1533) are a few of the artists who, even at that time, sought to find regulatory geometric principles in the design of capital letters. With the advent of the printing press, the act of creating letters shifted from two dimensions to three, and it is probably this change that helped increase the importance given to geometry. Geometric proportions are essential for establishing relationships between the different parallelepipeds that constitute the type, and between the different blocks that make up each line of text. An interest in geometry would later be essential for establishing typographical measurements and for rationalising this activity, reaching a critical point in the endeavours undertaken in Illuminist France in the 18th century, with the production of the Romain du Roi typeface. This more rational and methodical way of looking at letter design had, in fact, been evolving since the Renaissance, finding space to develop in Illuminist culture in the 18th century. Romain du Roi was the first attempt at systematic rationalisation, with the aim of finding a unifying concept in typeface design and production. Towards the end of the 17th century, in 1693, the French Academy of Sciences, under the leadership of Abbot Jean-Paul Bignon, formed a threeperson committee to carry out a project whose aim was to describe and illustrate all of the mechanical trades at the time and the technologies used by them. In 1694, the committee abandoned these projects to instead 3

The invention of vellum parchment, smoother than laid paper, and better quality printing ink, were some of the technical innovations that led to these alterations in the form of letters, since they allowed more precise printing of the more delicate details of these new letter designs.

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concentrate on what would eventually lead to the creation of the typefaces known as Romain du Roi, which would, by will of King Louis XIV, renew all the typefaces used by the French Royal Press at the time. In 1702, the book Médailles sur les principaux événements du règne de Louis le Grand was printed in an elegant edition, using this typeface for the first time. Nonetheless, only two bodies were made to print it, and 65 years passed before the project was totally complete, with a set of 21 bodies (roman and italic type). This was an eventful process, and designs were successively made and remade (Mosley, 2002). The desire to achieve perfection, which is typical of all culture in the 18th century, could help explain the complexity of this process. The stability in type design from the invention of the printing press until the 17th century was due to a wide consensus on its application. Before that, alterations made to type design were considered improvements, which is substantially different from the concept of “perfection” desired by the typographers of the 18th century: Improvement is one thing: perfection another. By the time the committee was formally brought into being on 16 January 1693, its brief had been extended to “la description & perfection des arts”. One of its early tasks was to find “une parfaite construction des lettres pour réformer les poinçons & matrices dont on s’était servi jusqu’à présent” (Howes, 2007, p.65).

There are two features that deserve highlighting in the production of Romain du Roi. Firstly, the systematisation of the size of letters: until then, the different letter sizes had randomly chosen names and could change from one printer to another. For Romain du Roi, the committee’s mathematician, Truchet, devised a logical system that constituted the first precise system for measuring characters.4 Another important point is the relationship between new type design, geometry and calligraphy, at the same time, which is not as obvious as it may seem on first sight. The main creator and punchcutter for this typeface, Philippe Grandjean, based his designs on a geometric grid. Nevertheless, his model can be found in the work of prestigious calligraphers, such as Nicolas Jarry, and the final design of Romain du Roi; although it is more rational and rigid than Renaissance types, it still has a strong link to calligraphy. In other words, the transition type adopted 4

This fact is still relatively unknown and Fournier, who is considered the forerunner of the type size measuring system, was certainly influenced by this study, made 50 years previously (Mosley, 2002).

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Figure 1. Pages printed using typefaces by Geronimo Gil. Double page, reduced in size, and detail at approximately actual size. Source: Cervantes, Miguel Saavedra, El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha. Madrid: D. Joaquin Ibarra, impresor de cámara de S.M., 1780 (Copyright © Patrimonio Nacional)

leaves behind the oblique axis of humanist script, making the overall appearance of the design more vertical and making the links between the different parts of the font more geometric, simplifying its curves. This gives us a more solid and harmonious whole, whose elegance does not prejudice legibility, as was the case later with the so-called “modern”

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typefaces. Indeed, at the end of the 18th century, the belief in perfection and progress in all areas of culture would also reach typography but, taken to the limit by typefaces such as those by Bodoni or Didot, it would bring with it a reduction in legibility, which is paradoxical. “Modern typography in the eighteenth century, while incorporating an impulse towards rationality and system, also issued in a style that exceeded the limits of reason.” (Kinross, 2004, p.33)

3. Typefaces by Geronimo Gil In the middle of the 18th century, Juan de Santander, the royal librarian, suggested to the king that he create a National Press, following the example of the French Imprimerie Royale, and took the initiative to hire a punchcutter for the first time so that the Spanish press could have its own typefaces, without the need to resort material from France or Flanders. The Imprenta Real would be created in 1761 and in 1766 Geronimo Gil was hired as a punchcutter and matrix cutter at the Royal Library. In 1780, the Spanish Royal Academy published the prestigious Spanish work El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha, printed by Ibarra using types by Gil, in a quarto volume (Figure 1). The Academy had been disappointed by the typefaces initially presented by Ibarra to print the book and asked Santander for permission to use matrices from the Imprenta Real to cast the types needed (Corbeto, 2009, p.71) . When we look at Don Quixote, we can see that we are standing before a highly refined work, not only because of the quality of the printing and etchings, but also because of its overall quality, for which the excellence of its fonts play an indispensable role. It is important to highlight, firstly, the harmonious relationship between the text and the etchings, which creates a very pleasant and balanced whole, as can be seen, for example, in the relationship between the etching of the dropped capital and the opening paragraph of each chapter. The relationship between the roman and italic types is similarly harmonious, although the latter are rather expressive. The openness and balance of the types gives the form of the text a sense of levity, while still making it solid and legible. To create these types, Gil worked with the calligrapher Palomares, who began working at the Royal Library at around the same time, and with whom Gil maintained a noticeable visual cooperation, above all in his italic types.

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Francisco Javier de Santiago Palomares’ participation in the project is not only well documented, but it can also be said that it began practically at the moment that Santander entrusted Geronimo Gil with performing so great a task (Corbeto, 2006).

It could be said that the collaboration with Palomares was real and effective and that, since Spanish calligraphy had a prestige that typography did not, and since there were no relevant references in the area, it was natural that Palomares had a real influence on Gil’s designs. Nonetheless, we also know that Gil was a cultured, learned man, from his education, revealed in the list of titles in the enormous personal library that he left in Mexico (Corberto, 2006). He certainly had his own ideas however, perhaps occasionally contradicting those of Palomares’ calligraphy. It would also be natural that, as a cultured man, he sought references in his own area of work, attempting to analyse and keep up with the best work being done on punches in other European countries. Still referring to the 16th century, Smeijers writes: “Soon for both printers and punchcutters the reference point was not manuscripts but rather the work of a more successful competitor printer. Punch cutters began to imitate punchcutters and not scribes” (Smeijers, 2011, p.71). Since there were no references in his own country, Gil went to find them in Holland (a former colony of Spain), specifically, it would seem, from an excellent German punchcutter who worked at the time for the Enschedé foundry, Johann Michael Fleischmann (1701-1768). His characters would have influenced Gil’s, above all his roman typefaces. They were now closer to the “modern” typefaces of the end of the 18th century than his italics, which were still “strongly influenced by seventeenth-century models” (Middendorp, 2004, p.28) (Figure 2). In terms of working methods, there is, in my view, proximity between these two punchcutters, since both used counterpunches, which appear to be a favourable element in achieving a balanced relationship between form and counter. JZ and Jean Enschedé write, in the introduction to their catalogue of typefaces in 1756 (p. 2), discussing the punches cut by Fleischmann: “(…) they are all cut deeper than ever by counterpunches". In Gil’s case, it is known that he used them, from a contemporary description by Ponz (1776, p.132): “Gil has almost completed a variety of different sets of Latin and oriental letters and the good quality and perfection of the matrices that the Flemish and French sold us can be seen, with the particularity that all the punches are perfectly finished using the indispensable help of counterpunches.” Comparing Gil’s types with those

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Figure 2. Fleischmann’s type in the Enschedé foundry book of samples. Jean Enschedé, Epreuve des lettres et caractères typographiques fondues à Harlem à la Fonderie de Jr. A. Jean Enschedé. Harlem: Imprimerie de Jr. et Jean Enschedé, 1756 (Source: Biblioteca Nacional de España)

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by Fleischmann in the above-mentioned 1756 catalogue of samples, we can see Fleischmann’s influence in the x-height –which is relatively large (although smaller in Geronimo Gil’s typefaces) – and the contrasts between the thinner and thicker parts of the letters (that begin to show the types characteristics found in Bodoni’s and Didot’s letters). Gil‘s typefaces, however, are less condensed and produce a form of text that is less regular than in Fleischmann’s types (Figure 3).

Figure 3. Comparison of Fleischmann’s type (left) and Gil’s type (right). X-height and contrast (Source: author’s image, from the originals at the Real Biblioteca and the Biblioteca Nacional de España, Copyright © Patrimonio Nacional)

Figure 4. Teardrop terminals in Geronimo Gil’s roman typefaces (Source: author’s image, from the originals at the Biblioteca Real de España)

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In relation to the Renaissance typefaces, there is, in fact, a more accentuated contrast in the thickness of the letters in Gil’s typefaces; the upper serifs of the lower case letters are less inclined (although not fully horizontal, like the serifs in the Romain du Roi typeface), the axis, though still oblique, gets closer and closer to vertical and there are small tear-drop terminals on some of the letters (c, f, g, j, r and y), which are Neoclassical characteristics (Figure 4). Like Fleischmann’s upper case letters, Gil’s capitals have some “wedges” (see the E or the F), although they are very soft and less angular (Figure 5).

Figure 5. Comparison of some of Gil’s and Fleischmann’s upper case letters (Source: author's image, from the originals at the Real Biblioteca and the Biblioteca Nacional de España. Copyright © Patrimonio Nacional)

Figure 6. Comparison of the shape of lower case characters b, d, p and q in Geronimo Gil’s typefaces and Romain du Roi, actual size and enlarged. Source: author’s image, from the originals at the Real Biblioteca in Madrid and in the book Le Romain du Roi: La typographie au service de l’État, 1702-2002, Lyon: Imprimerie Nationale 2002 (Copyright © Patrimonio Nacional)

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In this typeface, the rationality and symmetry of Romain du Roi is still not present, which can be seen in the forms and counters of the b and the d or of the p and the q. The serifs at the end of the ascending strokes are oblique, rather than the more “modern” serifs in Romain du Roi (Figure 6). As is common in movable type printing, when the body is bigger, the contrast between thick and thin lines is also greater, and this is clearly visible comparing the characters in the titles and subtitles of D. Quixote (Figure 7).

Figure 7. Different contrasts for different body sizes. Detail of a page printed using Gil’s type. Approximately actual size (Source: Real Biblioteca. Copyright © Patrimonio Nacional)

The capital letters have a stronger colour in relation to the lower case letters, which is true of most typefaces of the time (Figure 8).

Figure 8. Colour of upper case and lower case letters in a detail of a page printed using Gil’s type. Approximately actual size (Source: Real Biblioteca. Copyright © Patrimonio NacionaL)

As well as this, Gil’s typefaces have some characteristic details, such as the tilde on the capital N, relatively common in Spain in the 18th century and, most of all, a small horizontal line that frequently appears on the capital U e no J. (Figure 9).

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Figure 9. Some Geronimo Gil upper case characters: J, U, Ñ (Source: Real Biblioteca. Copyright © Patrimonio Nacional)

When discussing these details on the J and the N, Corbeto (2006) notes that they had already appeared in the calligraphy of Casanova and Polanco, and Ribagorda (2009, p. 21) shows its use in Asensio’s designs. Everything seems to suggest, therefore, that Gil took this particularity from calligraphy. On the other hand, Corberto, quoting Enric Tormo Ballester, suggests that its origins are found in etching, which gives the impression that it is the result of the difficulty of joining a vertical line to the curve of the base, believing that Gil had transported it from one technology to the other. Fred Smeijers notes that the fact that the letter J does not appear in the Latin language, although common Dutch (and also, it should be mentioned, in Spanish), means it is a later character, which may explain some of the difficulty in harmonising it with the other letters (Smeijers, 2011, p. 168). The upper case J is the only letter that does not sit on the baseline, and runs past it. It appears that the horizontal line, which coincides with the baseline, helps to balance it with the other characters. Nevertheless, the same does not occur with the lines of the letter U. In any case, these characteristic details are very discreet and are not noticeable in smaller blocks. Probably the first person to recognise the quality and originality of these typefaces was Updike, who discusses the Spanish typefaces used in D. Quixote, especially the italics, as having a “surprisingly calligraphic quality” (Updike, 1937, p.86).

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Figure 10. Don Quixote printed using Geronimo Gil’s type, including roman and italic type (Source: Cervantes, Miguel Saavedra, El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha. Madrid: D. Joaquin Ibarra, impresor de cámara de S.M., 1780 (Copyright © Patrimonio Nacional)

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John Downer referred to these italics as being “surprisingly distinctive in their liberal disregard for matching their roman and italic counterparts as closely as possible. Although some italics do harmonize sweetly with their roman counterparts, a greater number show a streak of independence generally unseen in italics from other regions of Europe” (Downer, 2005, p.15). However, as a whole, although the italic stands out starkly from the roman (which was also the result of the relatively large and, at times, slightly irregular spaces between the letters) it manages to maintain a harmonious relationship with the roman (Figure 10). Lastly, it is interesting to note that, in relation to Fleischmann’s typefaces, these italics have at the same time a quality similar to calligraphy – in the marked inclination of the f, for example – and they are more “modern”, as can be seen specifically in the form of the h, which is similar to Romain du Roi and other typefaces of the 18th century. There are, on the other hand, characters such as v that are also quite calligraphic, both in Fleichmann’s typefaces and Geronimo Gil’s, and are quite different from the same character in the Romain du Roi typefaces (Figure 11). Gil’s typefaces are, in fact, still baroque, although they have some details that would become common in neoclassical fonts.

Figure 11. Comparison of italics in Fleischmann’s type, Geronimo Gil’s type and in the Roman du Roi typeface (on the left, the contemporary interpretation of Gil’s typefaces by Mário Feliciano)

4. Mário Feliciano’s interpretation 4.1. Background Mário Feliciano began to design the Geronimo typeface in 1997 – mostly based on samples of fonts from the Spanish Royal Press and from the book D. Quixote – and was presented in an initial version in New

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York, at the TypeCon Convention organised by the Society of Typographic Aficionados in 2005. At the same time, Feliciano published a brochure, Cosas de España,5 containing Feliciano’s interpretations of several Spanish typefaces from the 18th century; among them, the Geronimo typeface, whose design was based on Geronimo Gil’s typefaces (Figure 12). In 2010, the Geronimo typeface was launched by the company that succeeded the Dutch foundry that Fleischmann had worked for in the 18th century, the prestigious Enschedé Font Foundry. Creating a digital font based on a typeface from the time of lead-based technology is not an obvious or immediate process. There are irregularities that do not make sense: one must interpret thicknesses, contrasts and forms. Moreover, Mário Feliciano explicitly states that what he does is make interpretations, adding contemporary aspects that he creates himself: “Geronimo is (…) a digital interpretation of the types cut by Geronimo Gil in Spain in the eighteenth century (…) My idea was to create a digital typeface family mainly designed for books and magazines that would retain the main characteristics of Gil’s types (…) but to add freedom for my own personal ideas as well” (Feliciano, 2010, no page reference). In the 18th century, each letter body had its own design, whereas with today’s fonts we can use each one in the size we like. Nonetheless, among this family of typefaces, we have the advantage of there being six weight variations – light, book, medium, semibold, bold and black – and Feliciano suggests that lighter weights are used for larger sizes. In other words, Feliciano – just like the punchcutters of the 18th century – takes into account the differences in perception that are inherent to the different sizes of the typefaces used: “While Geronimo was mainly conceived as a typeface for (small) text, it also performs well at bigger sizes most notably the lighter weights” (Feliciano, 2010, no page reference). The range of this family of fonts is extraordinarily complete. For each weight, there is an equivalent italic and all the fonts have a version in small capitals, a series of ligatures, accents for a wide variety of languages and four versions for numbers (tabular lining, tabular oldstyle, proportional oldstyle, proportional lining). Between 2005 and 2010, José Maria Ribagorda, a Spanish designer, designed the Ibarra font, also using typefaces by Gil. The font has two weights: regular and bold and variants in italic, as well as two versions for 5

Feliciano, Mário (2005) Cosas de España. Interpretations of eighteenth-century Spanish types. Lisbon: Published by the author.

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numbers. This is why, when analysing Feliciano’s font, it seemed relevant to make a comparison between these two typefaces.

Figure 12. Interpretation of 18th-century Spanish typefaces by Mário Feliciano. Samples from 2005 of the Salustiana, Monteros, Eudald, Merlo, Rongel and Geronimo typefaces (source: Feliciano, 2005, p. 32)

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4.2. Analysis Throughout the history of the letter, the movement of the hand, the form of the calligraphy tool and the background determined the form of the line, which is taken and modified by the punchcutters in the press era and continued, today, by the designers of digital fonts. There is a guiding line that links the history of typefaces, which ends up determining the two main characteristics that today still provide cohesion and personality to a font as a whole, and which can be seen individually in each character: the axis (see Figure 13), which is slightly oblique in the case of Geronimo and vertical in the case of Ibarra (with a secondary oblique axis) – and the proportions between the different elements that make up the characters. When analysing the proportions, perhaps the most important aspect, which is related to the letter’s axis, is the contrast between the thick and thin lines of each character. It is clearly smaller in Geronimo, as we can see in Figure 14, which makes this typeface more appropriate for text, above all in small bodies of text where the exaggerated contrast (especially in Ibarra capital letters) or its excessive “levity” could make it harder to read.

Figure 13. Comparison of contrast in Geronimo and Ibarra typefaces (source: author’s image)

The x-height is another decisive element in the visual appearance of a text, and in this case it is greater in Geronimo than in Ibarra, as we can see in Figure 15.

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Figure 14. Comparison of contrast in Geronimo and Ibarra typefaces (source: author’s image)

Figure 15. Comparison of x-height in Geronimo and Ibarra typefaces (source: author’s image)

Furthermore, in these two typefaces we can see a different proportion between the height of the upper case letters and x-height – clearly smaller in Geronimo – and the different proportion between the height of the capitals and the height of the ascenders, which in this case is clearly larger in Geronimo (Figure 16).

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Figure 16. Comparison of cap height and x-height and of cap height and ascender height in Geronimo and Ibarra typefaces (source: author’s image)

Moreover, there are several characteristic details in the forms and counters of the characters, which decisively help to give personality to any font: •

The form of the serifs and links: curved serifs in both typefaces, but in Geronimo they are much stronger and more moulded, with more subtle, slightly convex forms (Figure 17).

Figure 17. Comparison of serifs in Geronimo and Ibarra typefaces. Source: author’s image.

In Geronimo, the upper serifs of some characters (such as b, d and h, for example) are oblique and curved, just as they were in Gil’s original characters (see Figure 6), although the serif on the d has a slightly different inclination, as can be seen in Figure 18 (notice the thicker line, with the same inclination in the upper serif of the d, which is slightly out of sync with the serifs on the other letters). In Ibarra’s case, most are also oblique, although the upper serif on the d is totally horizontal.

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Figure 18. Comparison of the slopes of some serifs in Geronimo and Ibarra typefaces. In Geronimo, the sloping varies and is slightly curved: in the image, the line that follows the slope of d does not follow, for example, the slope of h (source: author’s image)

The Geronimo italics, like Gil’s originals, have oblique serifs with slightly different angles (Figure 19).

Figure 19. Comparison of the serifs in the original Geronimo Gil type and the Geronimo typeface by Mário Feliciano (source: author’s image, from the original Don Quixote book, dating from the 18th century, and the Geronimo italic font by Mário Feliciano)

•

The moderated aperture and form of the tear-drop terminal: although they appear different because of the difference in the letters’ contrast, they are fundamentally the same in both typefaces (Figure 20).

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Figure 20. Comparison of the apertures and terminals of the Geronimo and Ibarra typefaces (source: author’s image)

When analysing the details of the letters, it can be observed that the Geronimo typeface has countless subtleties that give the typeface balance and quality, as we can see in some of the following examples: •

The counters of the m are slightly smaller than the counter of the n, so the m is not excessively wide (Figure 21).

Figure 21. Comparison of the counterforms of m and n in the Geronimo typeface. The letter n has a larger counterform (source: author’s image)

•

The counters of the n and of the u are also different, paying attention to the laws of visual perception (Figure 22).

Figure 22. Comparison of the counterforms of n and u in the Geronimo typeface.

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On the right, the outline of an upside-down n is superimposed on the letter u to show that it has a slightly larger counterform (source: author’s image)

•

There are many details in some of the characters that accentuate the reading movement, from left to right, such as the horizontal spur on the G or the elongated leg of the R, with an expressive serif pointing to the right (Figure 23).

Figure 23. Upper case characters G and R in the Geronimo typeface (source: author’s image)

• Some of the details analysed appear to be characteristic of some of Mário Feliciano’s typefaces (Figure 24).

Figure 24. Joining of the curved line and stem in some characters in the Geronimo typeface. Source: author’s image.

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The form of the links between shoulders/curved lines and stems: in some letters, such as the n, the p and the a, the shoulder becomes sharply thinner at the point where it meets the stem, in a way reminiscent of some forms by designers Fred Smeijers, Gerard Unger, and Bram de Does. In the a, furthermore, the stem follows an oblique curve at the join. The join between the shoulder of the r and the stem is made at a relatively low point on the stem, which helps create excellent definition and clarity in the form of the letter and, at the same time, gives it a certain dynamism, in a diagonal movement that runs from left to right.

Finally, when analysing the individual letters, it was decided to highlight three whose curves are, in fact, difficult to draw; and which seem particularly well designed in Feliciano’s typeface: the a, the S (capital) and the g. In Figure 25 we can see four designs of these letters in some of the types that I thought were most interesting to compare with the Geronimo typeface: • • •

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The Rolland typeface, by Hugo d’Alte, which is based on Portuguese typefaces from the same period as Geronimo Gil’s. The Ibarra typeface, which has been analysed in this article. The Fleischmann typeface by Erhard Kaiser, a German designer, from the Dutch Type Library, which was directly inspired by the Fleischmann typefaces and appears to me to have been influenced by Geronimo Gil. The Periodico typeface by Eduardo Manso, an Argentinian designer who was inspired by a series of 18th century Spanish typefaces to create a family of typefaces with a very contemporary look, produced for editorial design. The a in Geronimo appears to me to be particularly balanced, at the same time possessing a certain oblique movement, from left to right, given by the accentuated diagonal in the curve of the lower part. The lower part of the letter is rather larger than the upper part and, together with other characteristics (such as the narrowing of the curve at the bottom, next to the stem, as described previously) gives it a certain elegance. Its aspect is clearly that of a contemporary typographic character but at the same time it has a more classic style than the expressive a in the Rolland typeface, for

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example, and its style is especially more classic than the a in the Periodico font, which has a more open interpretation. In comparison with the expressive a in the DTL Fleischmann font (very close to the a in Feliciano’s Eudald typeface), the a of the Geronimo typeface appears to me to be more sober.

Figure 25. Comparison of the characters a, S and g in several current typefaces, inspired by 18th-century typefaces (source: author’s image)

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The S in the Geronimo typeface also appears to be particularly stable and balanced, although it encourages the eye to move in the direction of reading. I believe that this stability is better established here than in any of the other s letters shown here: in Rolland, it seems to lean very slightly to the left and in Ibarra it seems that the lower part is excessively large in comparison with the upper part. Finally, the g in the Geronimo typeface has a particularly interesting and dynamic form. The loop introduces a clear oblique movement from left to right, in an upward direction, which produces a certain dynamism and gives the character a look that is close to calligraphy. In Figure 25, we can see how this movement is clearly more expressive than in any of the other g characters shown.

In terms of the different weights, it can be said that from the lightest to the heaviest, the form of the glyphs gets progressively larger, allowing the balanced relationship between form and counter to be maintained (Figure 26).

Figure 26. The different weights of the Geronimo typeface (source: author’s image.)

Moving from observing individual letters to looking at letters in the context of words and sentences, I shall analyse the cohesion and rhythm that the characters establish between each other, which is much more relevant for the legibility of a text (especially if it is long) than the form of each individual character: “Letters do not live in isolation. They are the elements of meaning, the components of visible language and their spatial relationship with each other is crucial, not only for the rapid recognition of words by the reader but for the regularity of texture that is essential if the reader’s comprehension is to be maintained for a long period” (Tracy, 1986, pp. 77-78).

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In the Ibarra typeface, it seems to me that some fragility is created by the fineness of some of the lines. On the other hand, its contrasts seem too great and, at times, unequal, which creates focal points where the line is stronger and attracts more attention, making the typeface and its movement less fluid. Although, perhaps, the design seeks to remain faithful to the original, its rhythm is fragile, which makes the text difficult to read, above all in the italics (where the spaces between words seem too big), because our gaze is attracted to the parts that distract it: “Typography has to take care of this unconscious seeing: not by building fly-fences, but by removing the factors that set off alarms and so interfere with Reading” (Smeijers, 2011, p.157). In Figure 27, there is a small text written in Berthold Bodoni Light italic, in Geronimo italic and in Ibarra Real italic where we can see how, regardless of weight and contrasts, it is essential that a font for text creates a homogenous texture, which happens in the first two texts but not the third. The Geronimo typeface seems to have a warmer design, which could be due to the subtle harmony of its curves and its moderated contrast, which reflect the movement of the hand that writes it. Together, the letters are able to give the text visual interest and rhythm, although none of the letters (or details of the letters) stands out individually, thereby helping to create a homogenous texture that makes it easy to read. The curves (which are very slight and discreet in some of the letter details) and some horizontal tension also certainly help create the typeface’s visual interest and increase its legibility. Although there are some peculiar details, such as the horizontal form that stands out in the U and the J (characteristic of Gil’s original typefaces), these details go unnoticed when they are found in a body of text (Figure 28). These details, like others in Feliciano’s design, appear to comply with what Tracy refers to when he says that “Perfect regularity in all respects in a type design is not an absolute requirement; indeed, it may produce a sterilised effect, a lack of vitality. Irregularities in a design are acceptable if they are an ingredient in its charm, do not affect its texture, and are unobtrusive” (Tracy, 1986, p.140). Furthermore, the large x-height, together with the refined design of the ascenders and descenders (which gives them the presence necessary even at a smaller size), the strong upper serifs, and slightly condensed proportions make this typeface very elegant and functional. It allows space to be saved and works very well at small sizes. These are characteristics of Dutch type design that seem to have influenced all Feliciano’s work.

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Figure 27. From top to bottom, texts composed using Berthold Bodoni Light italic, Geronimo italic and Ibarra Real italic. At the bottom, some parts of the text have been highlighted because they have a different texture (source: author’s image, from an excerpt of text by Luís António Verney, Verdadeiro método de estudar. Oporto: Domingos Barreira, 1984, p.131. [original edition from 1746])

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Figure 28. Text composed using small caps in the Geronimo book font to show the behaviour of upper case U and J characters in a relatively small text size (source: author’s image, from an excerpt of text by Luís António Verney, Verdadeiro método de estudar. Oporto: Domingos Barreira, 1984, p.131. [original edition from 1746])

Geronimo’s versatility in the different versions of its family and its expressive, well-proportioned characters, which are balanced among themselves and form cohesive words, make it a typeset that can be used for numerous ends and various types of media, although surely preferentially in editorial design (see Figure 29 bellow).

5. Conclusion The creation of new typefaces is always a matter of sensitively and consistently searching for an effective (and affective) balance between two different factors: – On the one hand, balance between typographic forms that have been known and established for almost five centuries – the basic forms of Latin letters established by humanists in the 16th century – and the alterations introduced in the details of those letters that, without warping them, can give them an interesting, dynamic contemporary feel. – On the other hand, another balance must be found in these new designs, between a letter’s form and counter, which leads to a balance between the “black” and “white” of the word. In other words, the balance between the form and the background that lies at the heart of all visual perception. I do not use this term “balance” to mean something static and monotonous, but rather a dynamic harmony that gives us the comfort and safety of something we already know but, at the same time, the interest and liveliness of a contemporary creative object. It is this characteristic that lets us read a text fluently without stopping or getting bored.

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Figure 29. Simulation of a page of Don Quixote from the 18th century (see figure 1) composed using the contemporary Geronimo typeface (source: author’s image)

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I believe that Feliciano manages this in his Geronimo typeface. Although the final result is, in some of the details, formally different from the originals that inspired it, Feliciano’s typeface has the same ability that Spanish typefaces had at the turn of the century when they were produced, that is, the ability to innovate and surprise but also to give us the safety and comfort of a pleasant read. This is, since the beginning of writing, the main goal of the form of letters. Finally, it is important to highlight the course of influences that come from different times and different places. Feliciano based his work on Geronimo Gil’s 18th century Spanish typefaces. Gil was undoubtedly influenced by production in the Low Countries, specifically by the early Enschedé punchcutter Johannes Fleischmann. Almost three centuries later, it is the same Dutch foundry that will make this excellent new typeface by Mário Feliciano, a designer from Portugal – a country with little typographic tradition – available. This typeface is, certainly, the contemporary result of all these influences.

References Bringhurst, Robert (1996 [1992]) The elements of typographic style. Vancouver: Hartley & Marks Publishers. Cabral, Teresa Olazabal (2014) Tipos de sucesso: tradição e contemporaneidade no design de letra de portugueses [1994-2012]. Lisbon: [s.n.]. PhD thesis presented at the Faculty of Architecture, University of Lisbon. Carter, Harry (1999[1969]) Orígenes de la tipografia. Punzones, matrices y tipos de imprenta (siglos XV y XVI). Madrid: Ollero & Ramos Edición de Julián Martin Abad. Carter, Matthew (1990) “Now we have mutable type”, in Ruari McLean, Typographers on Type. London: Humphries Publishers. Corbeto, Alberto (2006) Tipografia y caligrafia en España durante la segunda mitad del siglo XVIII. Presented at the Conference “Las Otras Letras”, Valência [Accessed 28 Dec. 2014]. Available at: . Corbeto, A. (2009) “Tipografía e patrocínio real. La intervención del gobierno en la importación y producción de tipos de imprenta en

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España”. In Imprenta Real. Fuentes de la Tipografia en España. Madrid: Cultura Hispanica / AECI. Downer, John (2005) The art of planning and unplanned marriage. In: Feliciano, Mário (2005) Cosas de España. Lisbon: Published by the author. Enschedé, Jean (1756) Epreuve des letters et caractéres typographiques fondues à Harlem à la Fonderie de Jr. A. Jean Enschedé. Harlem: Imprimerie de Jr. et Jean Enschedé. Feliciano, Mario (2005) Cosas de España. Interpretations of eighteenthcentury Spanish types. Lisbon: Published by the autor. Feliciano (2010), Geronimo concept. [Accessed 28 Dec 2014]. Available at: . Fournier, Pierre Simon, Manuel Typographique. [Online]. Tome I, 1764. Facsimile de Jacques André. [Acessed 28 Dec. 2014]. Available at: . Howes, Justin (2007) “Extreme type: progress, ‘perfectibility’ and letter design in eighteenth-century Europe” in Typographic Papers, 7. London: Hyphen Press Kinross, Robin (2004) Modern typography: An essay in critical history. London: HyphenPress. Middendorp, Jan (2004) Dutch Type. Rotterdam: 010 Publishers. —. (2010) Creative Characters. The MyFonts interviews, vol I. Amesterdam: BIS Publishers. Mosley, James (2010[1999]) Sobre las orígenes de la tipografia moderna. Valencia: Campgràfic Editors. —. (2002) Les Caracteres de l’imprimerie Royale. In la Romain du Roi. La typographie au service de l’État, 1702-2002. Lyon: Musée de l’imprimerie. Noordzij, G. (2005 [1985 dutch edition]) The Stroke, Theory of writing, London: Hyphen Press. Perrousseaux, Yves (2010) Histoire de l’écriture typographique. Le XVIII siècle, tome II/II. [Méolans-Revel]: Atelier Perrousseaux. Ponz, António (1777) Viage de España en que se da noticia de las cosas mas apreciables, y dignas de saberse, que hay en ella. Tomo tercero, Segunda edicion. Madrid: Joachin Ibarra, impresor. Ribagorda, Jose Maria. (2009) Las fuentes de la letra española. Diseño, tecnología y cultura de la lengua. In: Imprenta Real. Fuentes de la Tipografia en España. Madrid: Cultura Hispanica / AECI. Smeijers, Fred (2011) Counterpunch. Making type in the sixteenth century designing typefaces now. 2nd ed. revised and reset. London: Hyphen Press (First published by Hyphen Press, London 1996).

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Tracy, Walter (1986) Letters of Credit. A view of type design. London: Gordon Fraser. Updike, D. Berkeley (1937 [1922]) Printing Types. 2nd ed. London: Oxford University Press. Vol. II.