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Esthétiques de la nouveauté à la Renaissance

 | 
Franck Lessay
, 
François Laroque

There by Design: English Renaissance Landscapes and Their Readers

Jane Avner

Resumen

L'émergence du paysage européen au cours de la Renaissance est un lieu commun. Mais de quel paysage s'agit-il ? Et dans quel pays ? Bien qu'Edward Norgate, dans son traité Miniatura (1648), souligne la nouveauté du paysage (“a Noveltie [...] an Invention of these later times”) peut-on vraiment parler de “paysage anglais” à cette époque ? Questionnant l'hégémonie du modèle pictural avancé par l'histoire de l'art, cet article se propose de considérer le paysage non comme un objet mais comme un processus de théâtralisation qui prend ses racines dans l'art antique de la skenographia. Les paysages créés dans les parcs princiers renaissants fonctionnaient à la fois comme theatrum naturae et comme des miroirs d'une étonnante complexité. À travers deux exemples centrés sur la mise-en-scène de l'eau dans deux parcs élisabéthains — Nonsuch et Elvetham — nous explorerons divers aspects de cette théâtralité spéculaire.

Texto completo

  • 1 Simon Schama, Landscape and Memory, London, 1995, p. 10.
  • 2 John Dixon Hunt, “Le paysage américain est-il devenu non-européen ?”, Le Débat, no 65, 1991, pp. 6 (...)
  • 3 Philippe Hamon, Du descriptif, Paris, 1993, p. 11 ; Tison-Braun, Micheline, Poétique du paysage, P (...)

1The novelty I would like to explore here is the birth, diversely dated, of landscape in Renaissance Europe. The broad outlines of the story of what Gombrich has called “the rise of landscape” are well known. It is generally accepted that European landscape made its entrance sometimes, as for example in Girolamo da Treviso's “Isaac blessing Jacob”, by the proverbial back door but more often by the back window. First framed by various veduta landscapes finally made their way to the foreground dwarfing and eventually displacing the religious subjects which had so long occupied centre stage. To speak of these new secular compositions as being transpositions of “landscape into art”, as in the title of Kenneth Clark's influential re-telling of this story first published in 1949, would however be misleading. Or so cultural theorists would argue: landscape is never, can never, be anything else. Thus Simon Schama, in his justly celebrated Landscape and Memory, writes that “it is our shaping perception that makes the difference between raw matter and landscape”1. Schama's “raw matter” is what Alain Roger calls “le pays” or “le degré zéro” of landscape, and John Dixon Hunt, the “wilderness”. Hunt, following Bonfadio and Taegio speaks of garden and landscape design as belonging to a “third Nature”, which Taegio descrbed as the result of “ingenious connections” between art and nature (the so-called second Nature designating agricultural cultivation of the land). To these Hunt has added a “fourth Nature” —textual, ekphrastic accounts of gardens— to which students of the Tudor period are of course, particularly indebted for their knowledge of early designed landscapes2 Many such accounts are to be found in texts of an essentially epideictic nature. Indeed, as Philippe Hamon has shown, the descriptive genre is more frequently than not, eulogistic. Descriptions, he notes are never “gratuits”, but always what he calls a kind of “contredon sémiologique”, or gift in lieu. And in her Poétique du paysage Micheline Tison-Braun writes, “On croit que la description peint les objets. Il n'en est rien: elle propose des significations”3 Alain Roger, who has been one of the most ardent defenders of the cultural position (and one should really speak of positions) has defined landscape as a double form of “artialisation”, a word he borrows from Montaigne via Charles Lalo:

  • 4 Alain Roger, “Le paysage occidental”, Le Débat, op. cit., p. 14.

Il y a deux façons d'esthétiser le pays, c'est à dire de le paysager. La première consiste à inscrire directement le code artistique dans la matérialité du lieu. On artialise in situ. C'est l’art millénaire des jardins et, depuis le XVIIIe siècle, celui des jardins-paysages, du landscape gardening. L’autre manière est indirecte. On artialise plus in situ, on opère sur le regard, on lui fourni des modèles de vision, des schèmes de perception et de délectation, bref on artialise in visu. Cette seconde modalité est beaucoup plus récente, du moins en Occident, puisqu'elle date de la fin du Moyen Âge et de ce qu'il est convenu d'appeler la Renaissance. Le décalage est considérable, et c'est pourquoi je n'hésite pas à dire que cette “double articulation” : pays/paysage d'une part, artialisation in situ lin visu d'autre part, constitue la clef de voûte d'une théorie du paysage.4

2Roger's articulation in situ / in visu is a useful one. It lacks a textual dimension which I shall be exploring further on and it identifies the process of aestheticsing with that of landscaping which is, I think, open to question. A more radical version of the “pays/paysage” articulation is proposed by Augustin Berque who has published a number of texts on the queston of landscape, notably Les Raisons du paysage (1995). For Berque there are “landscape civilizations” and “non landscape civilizations”, and there have only been two of the former: the Chinese and the European. Only these fully satisfy Berque's four criteria:

  1. the use of one or more words to denote ‘landscape’;
  2. an oral or written literature describing landscapes or extolling their beauty;
  3. pictorial representations of landscapes ;
  4. gardens of pleasure.
  • 5 Catherine Francheschi, “Du mot paysage et des ses équivalents dans cinq langues européennes”, in L (...)
  • 6 See for example Suzanne Said, “Le paysage des idylles bucoliques” ; Anne Videau, “Fonctions et rep (...)

3It is the first of these which is the most decisive for Berque and he notes that historically it effectively implies the presence of the other three. His definition thus places great stress on the emergence of the words “landscape”, “paysage”, “landschaft”, “landschap”, “paesaggio” etc. in Renaissance Europe. On strictly philological grounds, there can be little doubt that “les mots pour le dire” were indeed coined in the 15th and 16th centuries and that this is in itself significant5 Does this authorize the conclusion that, despite numerous scholarly studies of landscape representations in Latin and Medieval texts, landscape had no prior existence, or only one which Berque would qualify as a “proto-paysage?”6 A part, and a part only, of the problem resides in the fact that the word denotes both a material “reality” and a painting, and it is perhaps also worth noting that in English it operates as noun, verb and adjective. The emergence of European landscape is generally identified with landscape painting, which is in turn felt to be a component part of a more comprehensive, and newly emergent cultural nexus. I quote from Berque's conveniently succinct summary of this :

  • 7 Augustin Berque, “Paysage, milieu, histoire”, in Cinq propositions pour une théorie du paysage, Se (...)

Ce n'est pas un hasard si, en Europe, la découverte du paysage en peinture et la mise au point de la perspective linéaire sont contemporaines. Elles témoignent en effet qu'au XVe siècle un certain regard sur le monde c'est instauré en Europe. Un regard qui prend du recul par rapport aux choses, les toise (c'est-à-dire les mesure), et les institue peu à peu en un environnement objectif, abstrait du sujet. En ce sens la perspective, comme la célèbre thèse de Panofsky l'a mise en lumière, aura été la “forme symbolique” de l'émergence du sujet moderne. Corrélativement, la découverte du paysage aura été la forme symbolique de l'émergence du monde moderne, objectivé sous le regard du sujet.7

  • 8 Paul Everson, “Bodiam Castle, East Sussex: a 14th Century Designed Landscape”, in D. Morgan Evans, (...)

4Is it not perhaps the conjunction, or co-naissance of these three elements — paintings which are nominally identified as landscapes, the development of linear perspective together with the emergence of the modern subject which constitute the real novelty of European landscape, rather than the discovery or invention (and where novelty is concerned the distinction is not without consequence) of landscape itself, of which there are abundant examples — literary, pictorial, in situ —in classical Antiquity and also, with respect to the tradition which concerns us here, in Anglo-Saxon and Medieval England. One example must suffice. Rather than entering into a discussion of perhaps more familiar, but necessarily lengthier examples (Sir Gawain immediately suggests itself), I will cite a particularly well-known in situ example. Bodiam Castle in East Sussex, is one of the National Trust's most visited and most easily recognized properties, indeed it was chosen to illustrate the cover of the Trust's centenary issue of History Today in 1995. It is now regarded by landscape archeologists as one of many medieval designed landscapes. Archeological evidence from a Royal Commission of the Historical Monuments survey carried out at the 14th century castle have shown that Bodiam, like many other medieval sites such as Somersham Palace in Cambridgeshire, was “the centre of an elaborate modification of the whole landscape [that is] quite familiar in later country houses and their settings but until recently was scarcely envisaged as relevant to the late 14th century”. The survey established without doubt that the majority of Bodiam’s extensive earthworks are “the remains of elaborate gardens and water features all intended to enhance the visual appearance of the building and to manipulate access to it for maximum effect [...] Most striking is the use of sheets of water to create a staged landscape, not only to be passed through but to be viewed from above, from where the castle and its watery setting appear to float above the wider landscape of the Rother valley”8.

  • 9 Edward Norgate, Miniatura or the Art of Limning, ed. M. Hardie, Oxford, 1919 (1648), pp. 44 f.
  • 10 John Ruskin, Modern Pointers, vol. V, pp. 192-200 in The Works of John Ruskin, ed. E.T. Cook and A (...)
  • 11 See Ann Bermingham, Landscape and Ideology (1986); John Barrell, The Dark Side of the Landscape (1 (...)

5Which brings us back to the problematics of novelty. Gombrich, in quest for that chimeric object “pure” landscape, follows the 17th century writer, Edward Norgate, in stressing the absolute “Noveltie” and indeed revolutionary nature of Renaissance landscape9 Norgate had devoted several pages of his Miniatura to landscape painting. It was, he wrote, “an absolute and intire Art [...] an Invencion of these later times, and though a Noveltie, yet a good one, that to the Inventors and Professors hath brought both honour and profitt...”9. Ruskin too seems to have been firmly on the side of invention. In a chapter of Modern Pointers entitled “Novelty” he roundly declared that landscape painting “could be shown to depend upon or cultivate certain sensibilities which neither the Greeks nor the medieval knight possessed, and must have resulted in some extraordinary changes in human nature since their time”10 Over the following chapters Ruskin expounds upon various aspects of this ‘new sensibility’ which appears to hinge essentially on a notion of purity, a kind of landscape equivalent of ‘art for art's sake’. It is an approach which has had (and I suspect is still having) a long run for its money, but has recently come under considerable critical scrutiny, notably from critcs who have, in one form or another, drawn on the pioneering work of Raymond Williams11 However the question I want to address is the following: where in Renaissance England should we look for evidence of the new sensibility of which Ruskin speaks?

  • 12 Lucy Gent, Picture and Poetry 1560-1620. Relations between Literature and the Visual Arts in the E (...)

6Though advice was certainly being proffered —witness Henry Peacham in Minerva Britannica— as to how young gentlemen should go about the sketching of ‘landskips’ the very least one can say is that in England this new, ‘intire’ art appears to have made an extremely timid beginning; virtually no landscape painting of any consequence was produced by native artists before the end of the 17th and early 18th centuries. Nor was landscape an exception. As Lucy Gent's study of the visual arts and their relation to poetry in Elizabethan and Jacobean England demonstrates, apart from portraiture and architecture, an understanding and practice of the fine arts was severely limited12 Does this mean then that the idea of landscape was totally inoperative in Renaissance England? That no new perceptual schemas, no new visual paradigms emerged? That England essentially remained what Berque calls a non-landscape civilization right down to its celebrated ‘heure de gloire’ in the 18th century? If landscape is felt to be essentially a question of its pictorial representation then it would be hard to resist such a conclusion. But it is the purpose of this paper to take issue with the hegemony of the visual model proposed by art-historical discourse. I would like to explore an alternative way of looking at landscape, namely its mise-en scène or theatralisation in the newly designed parks and gardens of 16th century England. Just as all roads lead to the Renaissance in art-historical accounts of landscape so all roads have seemed —until very recently— to lead to the 18th century in studies of English garden design. But, though largely ignored, England had in fact enjoyed what I unhesitatingly call a prior furor hortensis several centuries earlier when Renaissance gardens and parks took shape on English soil, as they did in continental Europe. They were inherently theatrical spaces: not only were they the site of princely entertainments, but their innovatory deployment of sculpture and water for instance defined them as —in several senses — spectacular.

  • 13 John Dixon Hunt, “Theatres, Gardens and Garden Theatres”, in Essays and Studies, ed. Inga-Stina Ew (...)
  • 14 The ‘tussle’ betxeen the English ‘draught’ and the Italian ‘disegno’ —a ‘particularly anglophone a (...)
  • 15 Barbara Freedman, Staging the Gaze, Ithaca, 1991, p. 1.
  • 16 Vitruvius: see Antoine Picon's recent edition of Claude Perrault's 1673 translation Les dix livres (...)

7The idea of the theatrum naturae informs Renaissance enthusiasm for the relationship between theatre and garden which, as John Dixon Hunt points out in an essay on 18th century Ranelagh and Vauxhall, “variously and collaboratively shaped each other's development during and after the Renaissance”13 The —very capacious— and indeed ubiquitous notion of the theatrum naturae embraces two, seemingly paradoxical impulses: the desire to collect, to bring together and hold in a stable space or text —hence the numerous conspectus' such as John Parkinson's Theatrum Botanicum: The Theatre of Plants or a Universall or Complete Herball, and the idea of garden as microcosm. But it also includes the opposing idea of nature as a perpetuum mobile, an ever-changing spectacle which may, with profit and pleasure be organized in a variety of ways including garden designs. Focusing on theatrical expressions of landscape means displacing the accent from the object ‘landscape’ to the act or process of perception itself. I am particularly interested in what, in classical Antiquity were called skenographia —hence the designed landscapes of my title. I use the word ‘design’ firstly, to denote something that was conceived, planned, drawn or, as the Elizabethans would have said ‘drafted’; secondly, to indicate the intentional nature of such drafts which effectively make designs upon their viewers14 Such landscapes pointed both to the tension (stability/mutability) inherent in the theatrum naturae but also to its specularity, to its functioning as a mirror. Meditating Dürer’s woodcut of a draughtsman drawing a reclining woman with what is clearly intended to be geometrical precision —the artist gazes at the nude figure through a squared grid— Barbara Freedman asks at the beginning of her book Staging the Gaze: “What do we mean when we say that someone or something is theatrical?” She offers the following reply: “What we mean is that such a person is aware that she is seen, reflects that awareness, and so deflects our look. We refer to a fractured reciprocity whereby beholder and beheld reverse positions in a way that renders a steady position of spectatorship impossible. Theatricality evokes an uncanny sense that the given to be seen has the power both to position and displace us. [...] Works that both confound the spectator's look and parade that fact are theatrical”15 Elizabethan designed landscapes delight in what Freedman calls ‘fractured reciprocity’ a characteristic they appear to have shared with the classical landscape scaenae which first associated theatrical and garden art, and were described in several brief but influential passages of Vitruvius's De architectural16

  • 17 Ibid., Bk. VII, ch. 5.
  • 18 Pierre Grimal, Les jardins romains, Paris, 1984, p. 242.
  • 19 In this respect the Elizabethans were following the essay by Donatus which prefaced practically al (...)
  • 20 Gent, op. cit., pp. 78-86.
  • 21 See the superb catalogue prepared by Luisa Franchi dell'Orto and Antonio Verone for the exhibition (...)

8Some of the very earliest European landscapes known to us are the so-called topiographia painted on the walls of Roman villas in the first century A.D. These typical scenes, described by Vitruvius, included ports, promontaries, river scenes, sanctuaries, sacred woods, mountains, pastoral and garden scenes etc.17 They could be found in the colonnades —the porticoes and peristyles— which formed the junction between villa and garden. But mural landscape paintings were also integrated into the interior architecture where they always formed part of a decorative ensemble. In some cases these landscapes appear to represent a perspective view of an idealised natural scene glimpsed through a fictive opening in the wall, a kind of veduta. Pierre Grimal has emphasized the preponderant role played by theatrical décors as defined by Vitruvius in these decoratve ensembles, and remarked that theatrical and garden scenes thus became part of the interior decoration of such villas at the same moment: “le jardin n'y était plus une perspective mais déjà l'image d'une perspective, celle qui prétendait être sur la scène d'un théatre”18 Vitruvius's three canonical scenes —the tragic, the comic and the satiric— were each identified by a specific décor. The last —represented by woods, caverns, mountains and pastoral topoï— was not only to influence garden design but was also adopted by the Elizabethans who cheerfully confounded satyr and satire, and made of it a vehicle for social criticism19 Vitruvius's treatise, which was to remain immensely influential right down to the 18th century, was widely circulated in Renaissance England. Indeed, there appear to have been far, far more copies of Vitruvius circulating than of any other work pertaining to the visual arts: John Dee owned at least six copies, Cecil three, Lumley two, Tresham six, Smith five (three in Latin, one in Italian, one in French) etc.20 The extraordinary complexity of the “Perspectives” which Vitruvius specifically compares to “Theatrical décors for Tragedies, Comedies and Pastorals”, has gradually come to light as the excavations, begun at Pompeii in 1900, have progressed21.

  • 22 Ibid., p. 233.
  • 23 “Le banquet religieux”, in Erasme, ed. Claude Blum, André Godin, Jean-Claude Margolin and Daniel M (...)

9In 1979, a single room excavated at Pompeii (known as Room 32, villa 6), was found to be entirely decorated with frescoes representing different garden scenes. They have been described as among “the best and most important of this particular type of illusionistic painting”22 On one wall the owners appear to have had themselves represented mid-way between the masks suspended in the upper panels and the extraordinarily realistic paintings of gardens which occupy the central and lower part and cover the other walls. The perspective effect created by certain vertical elements emrging from the garden and the precision with which the flora and fauna have been depicted participate in the theatrical trope. As doser inspection reveals the flowers and birds drawn with such botanical accuracy could not have physically co-existed in a real garden; they are an ideal collection, a theatrum botanicum, like the painted garden described by Erasmus in the Convivium religiosum23 But it is in the celebrated Boscoreale Salon from the villa of Fannius, excavated in 1900 and reconstituted at the Metropolitan Museum in New York, that the conjunction of the real and the illusory are brought to quite dizzying heights. Pierre Grimal has remarked on the correspondence between the Boscoreale frescoes and Vitruvius's three scenographies. Norman Bryson has analyzed in some detail the way this eminently theatrical space functions, its most striking feature being, he observes, “the systematic nature of the transitions between reality and simulation”, since what is painted draws on the essential components of the site of the villa itself:

  • 24 Norman Bryson, Looking at the Overlooked, London, 1990, pp. 39, 40.

One starts with the true local conditions — a real landscape, a real villa, and the boundaries of the actual chamber. Then a shift occurs and forms which belong to the real chamber pass over into a painted version of the room: in place of an actual dado or actual pilasters one finds these transposed into paint. Above the dado things change again. On the side walls the columns rise from their bases on the dado to capitals that reside in another space: masks suspended betwen the capitals establish this as the proscenium arch in front of a stage. Then there is a further break and the eye enters on-stage: behind the masks, between the proscenium columns, one sees the stage rafters overhead. Finally, vision reaches the scaena, the architecture or landscape held within the backdrop. Yet not even this is the journey's end, for the scaenae generate a dizzying series of almost exact mirror reflections, with panels reappearing, laterally inverted, both within each wall and on the wall on the opposite side.24

10Undoubtedly a virtuoso performance these playful, vertiginous juxtapositions were clearly designed to engage the spectator in their multiple visual trajectories, positioning her or him within, as opposed to simply in front of, its fictive spaces. For, as this brief excursus into early designed landscapes indicates, visual experiences of landscape organized in situ are of a rather different order from free-standing images, the framed, painted representations that we are more familiar with. Mises-en-scène of a mise-en-scène, they make different demands upon the viewer —diverting and challenging the spectator's curiosity and offering multiple and reversible entries or views. In short they delighted in what Taegio was later to describe as the ‘ingenious connections’ between art and nature so flamboyantly displayed in the Renaissance parks and gardens which strove to emulate those of Antiquity.

  • 25 Roy Strong, The Renaissance Garden in England, London, 1979, pp. 78, 79.
  • 26 Tudor Garden Conference, Museum of London, June 1998.
  • 27 See Roy Strong, “Sir Francis Carew's Garden at Beddington”, in England and the Continental Renaiss (...)

11Water was a key element in the illusory ‘realism’ designed to captivate the visitor in those sixteenth century gardens, the grotto its ‘lieu théâtral’ par excellence. Architectural enthusiasts in Elizabethan England would have come across descriptions of this revival of antique grotto forms, notably in Alberti and Vitruvius's architectural treatises, but also in first-hand accounts such as Fynes Moryson's. Moryson visited Buontalenti's Pratolino (the grotto garden par excellence) in the 1590’s and marvelled at the tableaux vivants —the mechanical metamorphoses— in the numerous grottoes where Buontalenti recreated the hydraulic automata of the Alexandrian school for Francesco de Medici25 Contrary to earlier belief it has become increasingly clearer over the last twenty years (largely due to the advances made in landscape archeology) that water had become a privileged feature of sixteenth century English gardens. Indeed water gardens seem to have been, as Roy Strong put it at a recent Tudor garden conference, a ‘veritable obsession’ in the latter part of the century26 By the 1570's, French gardeners familiar with the work of Bernard Palissy were already creating a series of water gardens for Sir Francis Carew at Beddington which included ponds, streams, classical statuary and grotto features. These appear to have been influenced by Palissy's 1563 treatise De la grotte rustique which advised on how to create illusionistic conceits by manipulating the play of water over grotto decorations27 Carew devoted half a century to landscaping Beddington where the Queen visited him no less than thirteen times. This new direction in English gardening was subsequently developed in numerous great gardens including Burghley's Theobalds, Sir Thomas Tresham’s Lyvedon New Bield, and Sir Christopher Hatton's Holdenby —a raised site where a number of ornamental ponds must have presented something of a technical feat for the Dutchman, Peter Moris who worked there. I would like now to comment on two quintessentially Elizabethan configurations of this —in all senses of the word— spectacular development. Both were designed with the same spectator in mind —namely the Queen herself— both wittily parade their theatricality.

12I begin with a grotto. We now know considerably more about the grotto featuring a sculptural group of Acteon and Diana, created on Lord Lumley's estate at Nonsuch in the early 1580's, thanks to archeological surveys undertaken there over the last 30 years. The site was first excavated in 1959/1960 under the direction of Professor Martin Biddle and an account of his findings was published in his own interim reports and in John Dent's The Quest for Nonsuch (1970). At Martin Biddle's request the Royal Commission on the Historical Monuments carried out further surveys between 1993 and 1995 which established that considerable evidence of the Tudor period survives confirming or extending what knowledge can be gleaned from 16th and 17th century textual sources.

  • 28 Anthony Watson, Brief and True Description of Nonsuch Palace. Mss. R.7.22, Trinity College Cambrid (...)
  • 29 Daniel Rogers (1591), cited by Biddle, op. cit., p. 160.
  • 30 Alastair Oswald, Nonsuch Park, Surrey. Archeological Field Survey Report, RCHME, Cambridge, 1993-1 (...)

13It was described —along with the rest of the park and palace by one, Anthony Watson, whom Lumley had appointed rector of neighbouring Cheam in 15 828 In addition to Watson's Brief and True Description of Nonsuch (c. 1582) and the Parliamentary Survey (1650) fourteen foreign travel books covering the period 1561 to 1637 contain significant descriptions of Nonsuch and two English diarists, Samuel Pepys (1665) and the gardenist John Evelyn (1666) testify to the gardens in decline. But whilst the gardens were at their zenith foreign visitors appear to have followed more or less the same route, which corresponds to Watson's description: palace, Privy garden, Wilderness, Grove of Diana and finally Banqueting House. A number of diaries give full texts of the inscriptions in the Grove of Diana which proved to be of particular interest to the visitors; indeed for Daniel Rogers —who composed some Latin couplets on Nonsuch in September 1585)— Diana's “cruel lair” was a key element in what he called (already) “the genius of the place”29 What held the visitors' attention was undoubtedly the eminently theatrical nature, not just of the grotto scenography itself but of its insertion in a landscape ensemble composed of wilderness, grove and summer house. But the landscape appears to have held further conceits. The grove lay to the west of the Wilderness where a boundary ditch appears to have been “massively re-cut as part of its design”. The eastern end of the grove itself “is defined by a much larger ditch, the northern end of which broadens to form a massive irregular depression, regarded as the likely site of the grotto”. A pool still existed in 1866 (Ordnance Survey 1867)30 This would correspond to the woodland dell which Watson refers to as ‘The Vaile of Gargaphy’ and suggests that far from being a rather fanciful reference on his part, this Ovidian landscape was deliberately contrived. The visitors to the Nonsuch grave were clearly meant to feel that they had walked into a page torn from the Metamorphoses. Ovid's Gargaphie was a thickly overgrown woodland valley:

  • 31 Ovid, Metamorphoses, English translation by Mary Innes, Harmondsworth, 1964 (1955), p. 78.

[...] in its depths lay a woodland cave, which no hand of man had wrought: but nature by her own devices had imitated art. She had carved a natural arch from the living stone and the soft tufa rocks. On the right hand was a murmuring spring of clear water, spreading out into a wide pool with grassy banks. Here the goddess when she was tired with hunting in the woods, used to bathe her fastidious limbs in the pure water. When she entered the grotto she handed her javelin to one of her nymphs...31

  • 32 Watson, see Biddle, op. cit., p. 177 and RCHME Archeological Field Survey Report, p. 37.
  • 33 Biddle, op. cit., p. 156.
  • 34 David R. Coffin, “The Lex hortorum and Access to Gardens in Latium”, in Journal of Garden History,(...)

14The grove's intertextuality however, was but one of a series of theatrical conceits for this woodland scaerta was, as we shall see in a moment, itself mise-en-abyme. The rector is at his most lyrical in his extensive descriptions of the Wilderness which he regards more highly than “the strange beauties of any other garden”. According to Watson it contained many strange and indeed savage beauties of its own. Whether or not Watson's references to wild animals are fanciful or whether Nonsuch did indeed have some kind of menagerie, it was of course for their wild conceits —for their mise-en-scène of wildness — that the novel garden spaces of 16th century wildernesses were admired. No doubt Nonsuch’s steady stream of German visitors were fully responsive to the symbolic resonance of the Wilderness as they traversed one of its three paths before entering Diana’s grave, over which a statue of Pan presided. The grave itself seems to have been encircled by topiary arches, rather in the manner of a natural theatre. One of the streams mentioned in descriptions of Nonsuch flowed through this Ovidian vale feeding what Watson calls “the rocke welle”: “Whether the rock is more of an embellishment to the well, or the well to the rock is a problem full of hazards”, he writes. “Of no matter what art, nature or divinity it may be, who is there who does not admire in this hardest rock, the skilful arrangement of stones, the plentiful variety of blossoms and fruits, but especially how the rush of spraying water now subsides with gentle murmur, now bubbles up on high in full force” —a description which suggests that its writer was not as conversant with grotto design as his patron, Lumley, who would have gained first-hand knowledge of this new and spectacularly discursive element in Renaissance garden design on his travels to Italy. At the centre of what has been described as Lumley’s “exotic modern innovation” was a sculptural group representing Diana's metamorphosis of Acteon in punishment for his unlicensed looking, which developed the wilderness motif in several interesting ways32 This inherently dramatic scene was unusually lifelike. Emerging from the Wilderness proper, the visitor would have encountered a particularly colourful hunting scene (we know from repairs accounts that the Nonsuch group was painted). Acteon, already partially transformed, stood fifteen paces away from the actual grotto grouping —the pool with its fountains and Diana, her dogs and nymphs. A similar arrangement figures in the first printed English illustration of the metamorphosis, on the title page of Henry Willoby's Willobie, his Avisa (1594)33 The dramatic impact of the scene was further enhanced by a rather novel version of leges hortorum, a series of texts appended to the walls of grove and bower. These ‘garden laws’—pithy epigramatic inscriptions derived from Greek and Latin poets and agricultural writers— first made their appearance in the late 15th century as Roman gardens began amassing large groups of sculpture34 One of the inscribed tablets in the Nonsuch ensemble warned the visitor not to gaze passively, voyeuristically at the woodland drama which was, as Lumley was at pains to point out, a cautionary tale all about looking. But though the Acteon/ Diana reversal between beholder and beheld, hunter and hunted, appears to be at the centre of the scene, the object of the visitor's looking, it is in fact only a part of a scenography which openly and playfully displaces his gaze. The grove illustrates what Leonard Barkan —in an essay on Renaissance narratives of Antique sculpture— has called “a beholder's tale”. The sculptural figures in this théâtre de verdure are given (Latin) “voices”. The scripts inscribed on tablets placed in the grove read as follows:

Acteon:

It would cause resentment if a painter should choose to join a horse's neck or a dog's face to a human head. Diana lays a stags head on my neck. I demand that the unjust one restore my proper flesh.

15To which Diana replies:

There must be humanity if Parrhasius is not to paint nor Praxiteles to carve the morals of a beast in human form. Your inclinations are a stag's, Acteon. Why should there not be horns? Prudent myself, I lament foolish affections.

  • 35 Leonard Barkan, “The Beholders's Tale: Ancient Sculpture, Renaissance Narratives”, in Representati (...)
  • 36 George Sandys, Ovid's Metamorphosis Englished, Mythologiz'd and Represented in Figures, Lincoln, N (...)

16What the prosopopoeic inscriptions in fact inscribe is the observer; in Barkan's words they “turn the statue into a work which knows it is being watched and defines the terms for the watching”35 At Nonsuch those terms seem to have defined two kinds of spectator. No sooner is the more general visitor ushered to his seat as it were —“To the hot a shade, / To the weary a seat;”— than the same text playfully unseats him: “Do not be overshadowed in the shade, / Nor let the seated have a serpent's eyes”. Other maxims warn that impure springs can only give rise to polluted streams and that the “eyes” of an unpleasant mind are “impure”. But such homilies were meant to be overseen — as the exchange between Acteon and Diana was designed to be ‘overheard’— by the sovereign herself. The identity of this ideal spectator —she for whom the scaena was designed— is made perfectly clear in Watson's description and in the insignia which crowned twin pinnacles in the grove: Lumley’s popinjay and the Queen's phoenix, “another Diana among birds”, as Watson puts it. The grove is more than just an homage to the contemporary Diana, the scene clearly enacts a sort of ‘Lumley, his Avisa’ — an acknowledgement of the waywardness of his past looking’, a statement of present loyalty. For both Lumley and his father-in-law, Lord Arundel, Nonsuch's previous owner, had had a distinctly troubled relationship with Elizabeth. Though Arundel had at one time hoped for the Queens’s hand in marriage, he, Lumley and Norfolk, had all been involved in plots in 1569 and 1571 to set Mary Queen of Scots on the throne, as a result of which Norfolk lost his head and Arundel and Lumley were sent to the Tower. One of the many interpretations of this, most popular of Ovidian narratives —one included in George Sandys Ovid's Metamorphosis Englished— held that the fable was invented to warn against looking into the secrets of Princes lest one provoke their hatred and find oneself condemned to lead the life of a wild stag, haunted by fear and suspicion. Not content with transforming Actæon into a stag Ovid’s Diana, we remember, “put panic fear in his heart as well”36 Immediately after the description of the emblematic harmony figured in the grove Watson cites the following inscription set up in letters of gold in Diana’s Bower;

The smitten fisherman at length grows wise,
But unhappy Acteon is ever rash;
The chaste virgin may easily feel compassion,
But the powerful goddess punishes the crime.
Let Acteon die,
A prey to dogs, a warning to youths,
To his own a shame,
Long live Diana,
A care to the gods, beloved of mortals,
The security of her own.

  • 37 See Morris Palmer Tilley, A Dictionary of Proverbs in England in the 16th and 17th Centuries, Ann (...)
  • 38 Nonsuch was built for Henry VIII between 1538 and 1547. By Augustl559 gardens — presumably the Pri (...)

17The ‘smitten fisherman’ proverb —a version of “the fish once caught bewares the hook” — occurs in a number of 16th century texts37 Lumley, whose inscription follows Erasmus's adage “Piscator ictus sapit”, is clearly the “smitten fisherman at length grown wise”. Acteon's dismemberment was the fate from which the Virgin Queen had so compassionately reprieved him while Diana's grove became the elegant, formidably conceited expression of their chequered history, and the culminating statement of the garden which his forebear had inherited from the Queen's own father38.

18My second example is a royal entertainment in which water was the central element of the designed landscape. Elvetham not only bears comparison with its more Mannerist Italian and French counterparts but also foreshadows in some respects the masque/anti-masque device invented by Ben Jonson and described in his 1609 preface to The Masque of Queens as a “foil or false masque”. Here I would like to draw attention to just one aspect of its iconographical programme which strikingly extends the occasion's theatrical and political resonance. The Queen's four day visit was clearly designed as a coherent thematic whole, each scaena developing a variation on a theme in a way that is extremely unusual in progress festivities. Elvetham was probably unique in this respect as in so many others. The overall design was sustained by an iconographical scheme based on the Four Elements and their ‘discordant harmony’, a quality which well fitted them, Ovid felt, for the work of creation. Re-creation was to be the maître mot at Elvetham. According to the traditional cosmology the elements are arranged in concentric spheres with the earth at the centre, enclosed in turn by the spheres of water, air and fire. These are themselves enclosed by the next sphere —that of the moon, significantly positioned between the earthly and the celestial where she may influence the affairs of men. Elvetham's elemental dramas were designed to be overlooked by that contempory moon-goddess, the Queen herself; the courtly cult of Cynthia/Diana whose command over the waves was to be in every sense imperious, having started a few years previously in the mid-80's.

  • 39 John Dee, General and Rare Memorials Pertayning to the Perfect Arte of Navigation, London, 1577.

19When Edward Seymour, the Earl of Hertford, learned that Elizabeth intended to visit him at Elvetham during the course of her 1591 summer progress he was faced with several seemingly irresolvable problems. Unlike his other estates tiny Elvetham in Hampshire was in every way unfitted to accomodate a progress visit —the Queen and a retinue of around four hundred people, wagons, horses etc. He had, however, pressing personal reasons for not allowing the opportunity to slip through his fingers as well as other, more political reasons for seizing the occasion which were linked to his family connections to one of the branches of the Howard dynasty. Hertford's wife, Frances Howard was the sister of Charles, Lord Howard of Effingham and First Lord of the Admiralty, who had directed operations against the Spanish Armada in 1588. His cousin, Lord Thomas Howard was commander of what the English were pleased to call ‘an expeditionary force’, then in the Azores, to which the Queen had contributed a not inconsiderable sum. News of the naval battle —or débacle— in which Howard's force had been routed, Sir Richard Grenville had lost his life, thus becoming a national hero overnight, and Howard's own conduct called into question, was still very fresh at the time of the Queen's visit to Elvetham in september, 1591. It was scarcely calculated to persuade her of the opportunity of founding a permanent navy, a step which numerous counsellors had long been urging her to take. Indeed I would argue that the imperial theme developed so resoundingly at Elvetham was a kind of blocking out —a theatralisation— of the emblematic scene drawn by John Dee for the frontispiece of his General and Rare Memorials39 That arch promoter of a British navy had represented Britannia pleading with Elizabeth, seated in the vessel, Europa, to seize Occasion by the forelock and found the Royal Navy as a first step towards the British Empire of which he dreamed. Such, briefly, is the background to the water pageants with which Elizabeth was entertained from the 20th to the 23rd of september, 1591.

20These were mounted on a large crescent-shaped lake especially created for the occasion and equipped with a number of islands and props, as shown in several wood-cuts published at the time. An aerial photograph taken in April 1981 confirms the site and gives some indication both of the size of the lake and the way it was formed. Hertford’s solution to the seemingly insuperable problem of entertaining the Queen in a park whose circumference measured less than two miles, was an extremely witty one: its very smallness became the central conceit of Elvetham's theatrum naturae. At once an extravagant homage to the cult of Elizabeth as Cynthia, this miniature emblem of the Ocean over which she supposedly held sway, became the stage upon which Elvetham's tiny park was re-figured as micrcosm. Over the following days the four Elements —Water, Air, Fire and Earth— gave battle in various ways, recomposing an imaginary order of an altogether more satisfactory nature than recent events had presaged.

21In the face of all evidence to the contrary Cynthia/England's maritime supremacy was celebrated in the second day's entertainment —an extraordinary naumachia— in which the elements Water and Earth engaged in a boisterous sea battle. Weary of waiting on the coast for “faire Cynthia, the wide Ocean's Empresse”, the sea god, “watry Nereus”, proclaims, in a barely veiled reproach, that he has been forced to bring the sea to a Queen whose memory seems, regrettably, to be a little short. After all, it is thanks to his waves, he reminds her, that her Majesty's enemies have so recently been vanquished —a reference of course to the routing of the Spanish armada in 1588. Naturally that good for nothing Earth is to blame for this sorry State of affairs:

  • 40 Jean Wilson, Entertainments for Elizabeth 1st, Woodbridge, 1980, ‘Elvetham’, p. 109.

Therefore impatient, that this worthless earth
Should beare your Highnes weight, and we Sea-gods,
(Whose jealous waves have swallowed up your foes,
And to your Reaime are walles impregnable),
With such large favour seldom time are grac't:
I from the deepes have drawen this winding flud,
Whose crescent forme figures the rich increase
Of all that sweet Elisa holdeth deare.40

22He calls upon his train of Tritons to Sound their trumpets and call out the lusty Sylvanus and his earthy companions. The satyr-like Sylvanus —“attired from the middle downwards to the knee in kiddes skinnes with the haire on [...] his head hooded with a goates skin and two little horns over his forehead”— is accompanied by a merry band of wild men carrying fire-brands. No need for the sea-gods “ayr-enforcing shells” to awaken them to their duty they cry testily. But to Nereus's cry “water will extinguish wanton fire” earthy Sylvanus is repeatedly ducked in the lake by the Tritons and in the comic water skirmish which ensues Water and Air meet Earth and Fire, the sea gods sounding their war horns, the earth-bound folk throwing their fire darts until they are put to rout and retire, amidst general laughter, to the woods.

23This ‘satyrical’ scene effectively functions as a foil —a kind of anti-masque: the rough and tumble of the popular mock fight contrasting with the elegant, lofty tones of the prior discourses serving to dissipate the sea god's rather pointed criticism and oblique allusions to current misfortunes. Having escaped from the water, Sylvanus “being so ugly, and running toward the bower at the end of the Pound, affrighted a number of the countrey people that they ran from him for feare and thereby moved great laughter”. It is of course her Majesty —“alwaies friend to Peace, and ennemy to Warre”— as Nereus puts it, who must reconcile them. The following night a second naumachia was staged on the lake, this time in the form of a fire-works display. Whilst Hertford and his guests watched the English ‘fort’ confront the Spanish ‘snail mount’ in a theatrical re-play of the 1588 armada battle, they enjoyed a ‘banquet’ composed of hundreds and hundreds of marzipan figures —animal representatives of the four Elements, Water, Air, Fire and Earth.

24The configuration of the four Elements was shaped, according to the theory derived by Plato and Aristotle from Empedocles, by two conflicting forces: Love and Combat, which alternately combine and separate them. The element personified by the sea god, Nereus, emerges victorious, as of course it must do, in the various water battles staged in Elvetham's microcosmic theatrum naturae. But the real and fictive spaces thrown into play, and which are pulled together by a series of verbal and visual, musical and choreographic echoes and symmetries, effectively seek to arrest, to stabilize Elvetham's ambitious but ephemeral landscape. It is Love of course who must heal the breach between Earth and Water, land and sea, and Love's task —as in Lumley's grove— turns out to be an essentially specular affair. As the various reflections gather on the lake's surface “faire Cynthia” is obliquely invited “in mirrours more than one herself to see”. The first of these reflections was dramatically captured on the evening of the Queen's arrivai when, summoned by a salve fired from the gun isle, Elizabeth first looked down upon the astonishing emblematic image of herself. Framed by her appartment window this mirror image must surely have been the most flamboyant homage ever rendered to her in the fashionable courtly cult of Cynthia —supposedly founded by Raleigh, whom she nick-named ‘Water’. However, the mirror images so discreetly proffered in the course of the following days were addressed —rather in the manner of the textual speculums in the Mirror for Magistrates tradition— to the Prince. Unlike the initial mirror/blason which steadily returned a narcissistic image of an eternal present, to an ageing Queen whose motto was Semper eadem, the elemental conflicts staged on the lake —erasing present deceptions— reflected both past glories and present hopes, obliquely coaxing an unwilling sovereign to identify England's destiny with the sea. Cast as the harbinger of Spring in the Botticelli-type tableaux of the Hours and Graces that greeted her arrival, Elizabeth is constantly attributed with the power of infusing new life into the very scaena she is watching. Again and again as the landscape takes shape before her eyes —receiving, Nereus says, “life from verdure of (her) looks”— the text playfully re-positions the spectator-Queen as ‘genius’ of Elvetham's emblematic landscape. At one rather striking moment of the playfully serious or seriously playful world conjured up for her there the Queen was called upon to perform something very akin to one of Austin's speech acts —to give the sea god's pinnace a suitably optimistic name. She obliges by ceremoniously baptizing it the Bonadventure. But the real Bonadventure was, as everyone present was well aware, still at sea with Howard's ill-fated force under the command of Robert Cross. Unlike the gay symbolic pinnace in Elvetham's ephemeral scenography, it was to limp home three weeks later, unable even to defray the cost of its voyage.

  • 41 Paula Johnson, “Jacobean Ephemera and the Immortal World”, in Renaissance Drama, n.s. 8, 1977, pp. (...)
  • 42 David Bergeron, op. cit., pp. 163-183.

25It is only from the written accounts —Hunt's ekphrastic 4th Nature— that we can form any idea of what such designed landscapes —Elizabethan garden design and festival art— were like. Hedged about by their necessarily epideictic nature these fascinatingly hybrid texts purport, one and all, to give “A True Account of all that passed at....” And that is the crux. They are not exactly ‘play texts’, albeit of a particular kind, for they also claim to record an actual occasion, a performance, and as such are shot through with what Paula Johnson has called “the rhetoric of presence”41 Like the 17th century pageant texts studied by David Bergeron they contain both dramatic fictions and historical reality: a real sovereign was there, witnessing and responding to the tableaux prepared for her42.

26The entertainments offered to Elizabeth marked something of a new departure which owed much to the new settings and concomitant vocabulary arising from England's 16th century furor hortensis. And their discreetly dialectical character —it is Elizabeth's hosts and not the Queen who designed the occasion— sets them apart from the more celebrated examples of their European counterparts.

27Such landscape scenographies do not respond well to analysis in art historical terms but the theatralisation process —of which they were but one expression among many taking shape in Renaissance gardens— has proved extremely vigorous. It still is. I would like to close with a fairly recent example, Peter Greenaway's The Draughtsman's Contract, a film which wittily revisits the dipositifs of theatre and garden we have been shadowing here: landscape as seen in perspective, landscape as experienced in situ. Neville, the draughtsman, strides about the garden and park, confident that thanks to the Albertian-type grid he so ostentatiously deploys —an exact copy of the one used by Dürer's draughtsman— he will represent them with all the painstaking exactitude its owners desire. And this is, of course, his undoing. Disconcerted one day to find a number of stray garments littering the very prospects he has chosen to draw, he hesitates a bare instant before deciding that —in accordance with the firmly held principle that the artist is an ‘innocent eye’ whose task it is to faithfully, objectively record what is ‘there’— he incorporates them into his pictures. As he tells Mrs. Talmann (his patron's daughter) who hastens to point out these incongruities, he tries “very hard never to distort or dissemble”. The apparent security of this position —one cannot help but think, once again, of Dürer's draughtsman— is immediately undermined by Mrs. Talmann who proceeds to list the various items of her father's clothing which adora the landscape and to ask if the diligent draughtsman feels that the body that inhabited all those clothes will shortly come to light. He protests that the items are innocent. “Taken one by one they could be so construed”, she acknowledges. “Taken together you could be construed as a witness to misadventure [...] And more than a witness, an accessory to misadventure”. He has, she implies been caught out by his own looking. This striking reversal in the roles of beholder and beheld is caught in a brilliant cinematic conceit: as Neville is being framed —that is caught in Mrs. Talmann's frame-up— his head is itself now framed by his own geometric grid. Re-positioned —designated now as an actor— he thus effectively enters his own compositions, his gaze now situated from within rather than without. Forced to relinquish the position of outsider, of objective observer, by whose sovereign gaze he has set such store, he discovers to his chagrin that he is in fact a figure in the landscape:

  • 43 Peter Greenaway, The Draughtsman's Contract, screenplay printed in L'Avant-scène Cinéma, Paris, Oc (...)

Mrs. Talmann: Mr. Neville, I have grown to believe that a really intelligent man makes an indifferent painter, for painting requires a certain blindness —a partial refusal to be aware of all the options. An intelligent man will know more about what he is drawing than he will see. And in the space between seeing and knowing, he will become constrained, unable to pursue an idea strongly, feeling that the discerning —those who he is eager to please— will find him wanting if he does not put in, not only what he knows but what they know as well. You, Mr. Neville, if you are an intelligent man and thus an indifferent painter, will perceive that a construction such as I have suggested could well be placed on the evidence contained in your drawing. If you are, as I have heard tell, a talented draughtsman, then I could imagine that you could suppose that the objects I have drawn your attention to form no plan, strategem or indictment.43

28This astute, if somewhat mangled version, of Parrhasios’ celebrated skill, effectively places Neville on the horns of a dilemma: “I am allowed to be neither of the two things I want to be at the same time”, he says. In Antiquity, Parrhasios was famed not just for the mimetic exactness of his paintings, as the oft-repeated anecdote concerning his competition with Zeuxis illustrates, but also for his remarkable skill in suggesting the presence of what he did not in fact represent. (In this respect the Nonsuch scenography which appeals to Parrhasios's authority gets the point —precisely— wrong.) Plunged into the midst of a landscape which everywhere proclaims and parades its theatricality, Greenaway's draughtsman, like the birds who famously tried to peck at Parrhasios's grapes, fatally misreads the frontier between art and nature and the designs this landscape has upon him.

  • 44 Dewitte, Jacques, “L'Artialisation et son Autre”, in Critique, juin-juillet 1998, no 613/614, pp. (...)

29It has not been my intention to propose a rival discourse —a theatrical one to match the art-historical version— but to argue that other discourses have diversely shaped the story of landscape; that art history tells not the story but a chapter in that story. Although I have remained here broadly within the cultural parameters which have come to seem so evident in recent years, I believe this overriding cultural determinism is itself open to question. Consideration needs to be given to what it is in the ‘real’—that which both precedes and is exterior to man— that incites him to elaborate visual or other paradigms in the first place. In this respect Jacques Dewitte's recent critique of Alain Roger's ‘artialisation’ theory is particularly welcome. Dewitte argues in favour of what he calls an ontological “répondant”, for an understanding of landscape as “une relation mutuelle complexe où chacun des termes (le réel, l'art) vient pour ainsi dire à la rencontre l'un de l'autre et où ils peuvent aussi se manquer”44 In purely pictorial terms that encounter certainly was ‘missed’ in Renaissance England; but I have tried to suggest here that something of the ‘new sensibility’ of which Ruskin speaks, was beginning to express itself in situ, in the all too ephemeral designed landscapes of 16th century English parks and gardens.

Notas

1 Simon Schama, Landscape and Memory, London, 1995, p. 10.

2 John Dixon Hunt, “Le paysage américain est-il devenu non-européen ?”, Le Débat, no 65, 1991, pp. 60,61.

3 Philippe Hamon, Du descriptif, Paris, 1993, p. 11 ; Tison-Braun, Micheline, Poétique du paysage, Paris, 1980, p. 15.

4 Alain Roger, “Le paysage occidental”, Le Débat, op. cit., p. 14.

5 Catherine Francheschi, “Du mot paysage et des ses équivalents dans cinq langues européennes”, in Les enjeux du paysage, éd. Michel Collot, Brussels, 1997, pp. 75-111.

6 See for example Suzanne Said, “Le paysage des idylles bucoliques” ; Anne Videau, “Fonctions et représentations du paysage dans la littérature latine” ; Françoise Ferrand, ‘Le paysage dans la littérature médiévale des XIIe et XIIIe siècles”, in Les enjeux du paysage alone, op. cit., pp. 13-31, 32-53, 54-74 respectively.

7 Augustin Berque, “Paysage, milieu, histoire”, in Cinq propositions pour une théorie du paysage, Seyssel, 1994, pp. 16, 22.

8 Paul Everson, “Bodiam Castle, East Sussex: a 14th Century Designed Landscape”, in D. Morgan Evans, P. Salway, D.Thackray, eds. Archeology and the National Trust, 1996, pp. 66-72.

9 Edward Norgate, Miniatura or the Art of Limning, ed. M. Hardie, Oxford, 1919 (1648), pp. 44 f.

10 John Ruskin, Modern Pointers, vol. V, pp. 192-200 in The Works of John Ruskin, ed. E.T. Cook and Alexander Wedderbum, London, 1903-1912.

11 See Ann Bermingham, Landscape and Ideology (1986); John Barrell, The Dark Side of the Landscape (1980); Simon Pugh (ed.), Reading Landscape (1990); Barbara Bender (ed.) Landscape: Politics and Perspectives, (1993); W.J.T. Mitchell, “Gombrich and the Rise of Landscape”, in The Consumption of Culture: Image, Object, Text, ed. Ann Bermingham, John Brewer (1995).

12 Lucy Gent, Picture and Poetry 1560-1620. Relations between Literature and the Visual Arts in the English Renaissance, Leamington Spa, 1981. For a rather different view see Gloria Kury, “‘Glancing Surfaces’: Hilliard, Armour and the Italian Model”, in Albion's Classicism: The Visual Arts in Britain, 1550-1660, ed. Lucy Gent, The Yale Center for British Art, New Haven and London, 1995.

13 John Dixon Hunt, “Theatres, Gardens and Garden Theatres”, in Essays and Studies, ed. Inga-Stina Ewbank, London, 1980, pp. 95-118.

14 The ‘tussle’ betxeen the English ‘draught’ and the Italian ‘disegno’ —a ‘particularly anglophone agony’ (Baxandall) — took place in the 16th and early 17th centuries. See Michael Baxandall, “English disegno”, in England and the Continental Renaissance, ed. Edward Chaney and Peter Mack, Woodbridge, 1990, pp. 203-214.

15 Barbara Freedman, Staging the Gaze, Ithaca, 1991, p. 1.

16 Vitruvius: see Antoine Picon's recent edition of Claude Perrault's 1673 translation Les dix livres d'architecture de Vitruve, Paris, 1996. See Bk. V, ch. 8.

17 Ibid., Bk. VII, ch. 5.

18 Pierre Grimal, Les jardins romains, Paris, 1984, p. 242.

19 In this respect the Elizabethans were following the essay by Donatus which prefaced practically all editions of Terence published in England between 1500 and 1600. See O.J. Campbell, “The Elizabethan Satyr-Satirist”, in Satire, ed. Ronald Paulson, Eaglewood Cliffs, 1971.

20 Gent, op. cit., pp. 78-86.

21 See the superb catalogue prepared by Luisa Franchi dell'Orto and Antonio Verone for the exhibition “Rediscovering Pompeii”, Rome, 1992.

22 Ibid., p. 233.

23 “Le banquet religieux”, in Erasme, ed. Claude Blum, André Godin, Jean-Claude Margolin and Daniel Ménager, Paris, 1992, pp. 228, 229.

24 Norman Bryson, Looking at the Overlooked, London, 1990, pp. 39, 40.

25 Roy Strong, The Renaissance Garden in England, London, 1979, pp. 78, 79.

26 Tudor Garden Conference, Museum of London, June 1998.

27 See Roy Strong, “Sir Francis Carew's Garden at Beddington”, in England and the Continental Renaissance, op. cit., pp. 229-238.

28 Anthony Watson, Brief and True Description of Nonsuch Palace. Mss. R.7.22, Trinity College Cambridge; John Dent, The Quest for Nonsuch, London, 1970 (1962); Martin Biddle, ‘The Gardens of Nonsuch”, in Garden history, vol. 27, no 1, Summer 1999, pp. 145-183. I quote from the English translation of Watson's Latin text proposed by Martin Biddle in this article.

29 Daniel Rogers (1591), cited by Biddle, op. cit., p. 160.

30 Alastair Oswald, Nonsuch Park, Surrey. Archeological Field Survey Report, RCHME, Cambridge, 1993-1995. See pp. 13, 14.

31 Ovid, Metamorphoses, English translation by Mary Innes, Harmondsworth, 1964 (1955), p. 78.

32 Watson, see Biddle, op. cit., p. 177 and RCHME Archeological Field Survey Report, p. 37.

33 Biddle, op. cit., p. 156.

34 David R. Coffin, “The Lex hortorum and Access to Gardens in Latium”, in Journal of Garden History, vol. 2, no 3, July-September 1982, pp. 201-232.

35 Leonard Barkan, “The Beholders's Tale: Ancient Sculpture, Renaissance Narratives”, in Representations, no 44 (Fall 1993), p. 147.

36 George Sandys, Ovid's Metamorphosis Englished, Mythologiz'd and Represented in Figures, Lincoln, Neb., 1970, p. 151.

37 See Morris Palmer Tilley, A Dictionary of Proverbs in England in the 16th and 17th Centuries, Ann Arbour, 1950, p. 219, F. 332 cp. F 316.

38 Nonsuch was built for Henry VIII between 1538 and 1547. By Augustl559 gardens — presumably the Privy gardens— had been created when the then owner, Henry Fitzalan, the 12th Earl of Arundel, entertained Elizabeth Ist there.

39 John Dee, General and Rare Memorials Pertayning to the Perfect Arte of Navigation, London, 1577.

40 Jean Wilson, Entertainments for Elizabeth 1st, Woodbridge, 1980, ‘Elvetham’, p. 109.

41 Paula Johnson, “Jacobean Ephemera and the Immortal World”, in Renaissance Drama, n.s. 8, 1977, pp. 151-171. Cited by David Bergeron, “Stuart Civic Pageants and Textual Performance”, in Renaissance Quarterly, vol. LI, no 1, 1998.

42 David Bergeron, op. cit., pp. 163-183.

43 Peter Greenaway, The Draughtsman's Contract, screenplay printed in L'Avant-scène Cinéma, Paris, October 1984, no 333, p. 90.

44 Dewitte, Jacques, “L'Artialisation et son Autre”, in Critique, juin-juillet 1998, no 613/614, pp. 348-366. Argument further developed in Jacques Dewitte's communication at Cérisy-la-Salle, July 1999, “Le Paysage: états des lieux”.

Autor

Maître de conférences à l'Université de Paris XIII, est l'auteur de plusieurs articles portant sur les configurations textuelles du paysage à la Renaissance. Sa recherche actuelle porte sur la question de l'ornement et de l'ars memoriae dans les paysages littéraires médiévaux et renaissants.

© Presses Sorbonne Nouvelle, 2001

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