Hi everyone. I’m in the final stages of tidying up my manuscript for my book about Anthony Munday, so am taking a break from blogging. I’ll be back by Spring 2018!
Meanwhile, you can follow me on Twitter: @codexhistoria
Hi everyone. I’m in the final stages of tidying up my manuscript for my book about Anthony Munday, so am taking a break from blogging. I’ll be back by Spring 2018!
Meanwhile, you can follow me on Twitter: @codexhistoria
Many thanks to the Arts and Humanities as Higher Education blog for promoting my work on Anglo-Iberian relations and the history of propaganda.
Their showcase of my work undertaken via the Marie Skłodowska-Curie Actions is available here:
My previous blogs about The Battle of Alcazar have focused upon Peele’s plot and its history as a stage play (Parts 1 and 2), and on an examination of Stukeley as a ‘Cosmopolitan’ figure on the English stage (Part 3). The final entry is reserved for an examination of Thomas Stukeley the soldier, rather than on his dramatic representation. Understanding something of Stukeley the man – what motivated and moulded him – facilitates our understanding his controversial public appeal, and the reasons for his popularity as a figure on the English stage.
During my time as a British Academy Postdoctoral Fellowship at the University of Cambridge (2004-2007), I had the great pleasure of being a contemporary of Rory Rapple, who, at the time, was turning his PhD thesis into a book for Cambridge University Press. Martial Power and Elizabethan Political Culture: Military Men in England and Ireland, 1558-1594 (CUP, 2008) is a tour de force in historiographical analysis of early modern military men. My analysis of Stukeley – both in this blog and in my more detailed analysis of Stukeley in my forthcoming book (on representations of Portugal and Spain on the early modern English stage) – owes a great debt to Prof. Rapple’s work.
Once I’ve completed my volume about Anthony Munday, I will complete my contextual analysis of the actual events that provide the backdrop to The Battle of Alcazar and so add more information to this site.
My more detailed analysis of The Battle of Alcazar, as represented on the English stage, is reversed for my forthcoming book, Portugal and Spain on the English Stage, c.1580-1700. The manuscript will be completed in 2019, in which I will consider the following plays:
We are preparing to gather case studies and data on the experiences and concerns of British expats currently living in Portugal and Spain, in the aftermath of the UK’s decision to leave the European Union. We intend to evaluate the impact the continued uncertainty is having on these communities, in the lead up to the expected triggering of Article 50 of the Lisbon Treaty by the end of March 2017.
If you are interested in taking part in this study, please contact:
Data with be gathered via an online questionnaire (by invitation only). Any information provided can remain anonymous.
Uncertainty faced by British Expats Post-Brexit in the news:
The Wall Street Journal British Expats Face Uncertain Future After Brexit
International Business Times British expats in Spain fear for future in adopted homeland post-Brexit
This week I’m staying at Buçaco Palace Hotel (Palace Hotel do Buçaco). I’d visited the Palace and its surrounding forest back in the summer of 2013, during a research trip to Portugal as part of my Marie Skłodowska-Curie Fellowship. It has been a real treat to be able to stay here this week. (Not work this time; I’m actually on my honeymoon… I thought I’d blog about this wonderful place while in situ.)
The Palace was built between 1888 and 1907, having been commissioned by King Carlos I as a royal retreat. This neo-Manueline gothic building was the invention of the Italian architect Luigi Manini (who also acted as stage designer for the National Opera House), and certainly succeeds in evoking the beauty of the sixteenth-century design principles.
Manini did not live to see the project’s completion and was succeeded by Nicola Bigaglia, José Alexandre Soares and Manuel Joaquim Norte Júnior. This latter architect designed the Palace’s annex, the ‘Casa dos Basões (House of the Coat-of-Arms), and was also the architect of the famous ‘Café a Basileira’ in 120 Rua Garrett in Lisbon (first opened in 1905, in the Baixa Chiado district). The building was opened as a hotel in 1910.
The interior of the palace is resplendent in its wealth of Neo-Manueline portals and stucco work, reminiscent of Manueline rib vaulting. It is also awash with spectacular tile panels (azulejos), created by Jorge Colaço. They depict scenes from works of great Portuguese literature (such as the writings of Luís Vaz de Camões and Gil Vincente), as well as key scenes from the Battle of Buçaco. The Battle of Buçaco was fought on 27 September 1810, during the Peninsular War, resulting in the defeat of French forces by the Wellington’s Anglo-Portuguese Army. Wellington stayed at the Carmelite convent in the lead up to the battle. The Palace is, in part, attached to the remains of the convent. Still an active community at the time of Wellington’s arrival in Buçaco, one of the monks resident at the time wrote an account of Wellington’s time situated amongst their community (detailed below).
Scenes from the Battle of Buçaco:
Further azulejos at the Palace:
The surrounding forest (Serra do Buçaco) was first settled by Benedictine monks during the sixth century. It was subsequently administered by priests from Coimbra Cathedral. A papal bull of Pope Gregory XV (1623) declared that any women who entered the forest would be excommunicated; the same fate await any who sought to damage the trees. The barefoot Carmelites took over the area in 1628, building both a monastery and a wall to encircle their 105-hectare (250-acre) forest abode, the Convento de Santa Crux do Buçaco.
The convent’s surrounding garden was intended to represent Mount Carmel (where the order was founded), as was as an earthly paradise. A series of chapels (representations of a Via Crucis) in the surrounding gardens were created in the seventeenth century. Part of the convent, including its chapel with Baroque altarpieces, remains to this day. The forest contains over 400 varieties of Portuguese trees, shrubs and flowers, and hosts around 300 species from former Portuguese territories, including specimens from Mexico, Chile and Japan, all introduced during Portugal’s great ‘Age of Discovery’. The perimeter wall of the forest (approximately 5km / 3.1 miles in circumference) is punctuated with a series of gates, which bear the text of the seventeenth-century papal bull forbidding women to enter the forest.
The forest and the monastery were eventually taken over by the Portuguese government in 1834, when monasteries were abolished across Portugal. In 1885, the dining hall, kitchen and library of the Palace, as well as some of the cells of the convent were demolished, and a new foundation stone laid. The Palace was erected in brick and then encased with local limestone, sandstone from Ançã, and marble from Vila Viçoca in Alentejo. Though first conceived as a retreat for the Portuguese royal family, the building has now spent the significant part of its existence as a luxury hotel, having been converted to public use after the Lisbon Regicide and subsequent coup d’état.
The trees of the surrounding forest have been the subject of literary and academic analysis from the seventeenth century onwards. The celebrated female Portuguese scholar and playwright, Bernarda Ferreira de Lacerda (1596-1644), dedicated her Soledades de Buçaco (Lisbon, 1634) to Felipe III. In 1768, an English botanist provoked a 200-year-long debate by claiming that one of the varieties of Cypress trees found in the forest had originated in Goa.
While much of the convent was destroyed to make way for the palace, sections of it do remain, not least its chapel and a number of the monks’ cells. The exterior is decorated in the Carmelite’s characteristic white quartz and coal-tar inlay, and the monks’ cells are each insulated with cork (much-needed protection against the cold throughout the winter months).
Paintings housed in the convent include this seventeenth-century painting of Frei Sebastião da Encarnação. There is also an impressive seventeenth-century painting of Dom João de Mello; these two pictures are part of a set of around 40 paintings throughout the cloister, which are all framed in cork and detail various depictions of saints and ascetics in the desert.
The central chapel includes a number of noteworthy pieces, not least those dedicated to holy women. The chapel dedicated to Our Lady of Milk was damaged by fire on Christmas Eve 2014, and the painting by the celebrated female artist Josefa d’Óbidos, of Mary offering milk to the baby Jesus was destroyed. (A copy is now in situ.)
The Via Crucis and the forest – the storm damage of 2013.
On 19 January 2013 (the year of my first visit to Buçaco) Portugal was hit by cyclone ‘Windstorm Gong’. More than 40 per cent of the forest was seriously damaged by the storm, and a number of buildings on the site suffered significant damage. Of the area’s 86 most precious trees, 10 were felled and six critically damaged.
The Via Crucis was also damaged in the storm. First introduced in 1644, these stations offer an idyllic setting in which to contemplate the Stations of the Cross. Those damaged in the storm are slowly being restored to something near their former glory but much remains to be done. The hard work and dedication of those tending the needs of the battered forest and the Via Crucis has been exceptional, and the dedication of those involved should not be underestimated or go unacknowledged. It has been a privilege to stay at the Palace this week; it has been a genuine joy to see the progress made in the salvage and restoration work undertaken in the surrounding forest.
Further Reading / viewing
The website of the Palace Hotel, which includes a brief history: http://www.bussacopalace.com/en/history.html
On the Battle of Buçaco: René Chartrand, Bussaco 1810: Wellington Defeats Napoleon’s Marshals (Osprey, 2009)
The Carmelite monk’s account of Wellington’s time at the convent is available for pdf download here: https://ia800306.us.archive.org/6/items/bussaco00cham/bussaco00cham.pdf
Bernarda Ferreira de Lacerda, Soledades de Buçaco: available for pdf download here: http://bdlb.bn.br/acervo/handle/123456789/259101 (via Biblioteca Digital Luso-Brasilieira)
Pùblico article about the loss of the painting by Josefa de Óbidos at Buçaco: https://www.publico.pt/culturaipsilon/noticia/incendio-destroi-pintura-de-josefa-de-obidos-1618330
In his 2015 exploration of Early Modern Catholics, Royalists, and Cosmopolitans, Brian C. Lockey provides an important contribution to scholarly discussion of contemporary and modern perceptions of Thomas Stukeley and his motives. [Brian C. Lockey, Early Modern Catholics, Royalists, and Cosmopolitans (Farnham and Burlington VT: Ashgate, 2015, chapter 4: ‘Traitor or Cosmopolitan? Captain Thomas Stukeley in the Courts of Christendom’, pp. 185-209.]
Setting his analysis in a wider, contemporary framework, Lockey first considers Sir Francis Drake, noting how contemporary pamphleteers set Drake on a semi-heroic stage, equating his actions with nationhood: Henry Roberts’ Most Friendly Farewell to Sir Francis Drake (1585), for example, depicts Drake’s activities as ‘the natural product of English nationalism’ (Lockey, p. 184.) Such writings position the enterprises of Drake and his cohort within ‘an ideology of incipient nationhood’ (ibid.). They do so in order to incorporate their actions as part of a wider narrative about ‘the English’ – their principles, their motivations, and their actions – all of which are justified as godly. Lockey positions Stukeley within these Elizabethan narratives, therefore offering a more detailed portrayal of Stukeley than simply ‘Stukeley the pirate’ or ‘Stukeley the Traitor’. Such epithets, after all, negate any understanding of Stukeley within the complexity of early modern cosmopolitan exchange.
In 1563, Robert Seall produced a tribute to Stukeley entitled ‘A Comendation of the adve[n]terus viage of the worthy Captain M. Thomas Stutely Esquyer and others, towards the land called Terra Florida, in which he praised Stukeley as a seafaring hero. In his lifetime, then, depictions of Stukeley as a loyal servant to Elizabeth were available, even if their veracity remained open to question.
Doubts about Stukeley’s motives were inevitably voiced posthumously, often suggesting that they were ingrained within English circles even during his lifetime. William Camden, for example, insisted that he was known to be ‘a Ruffian, and a ryetous spender, and a notable boaster of himselfe’. [William Camden, The Historie of the Life and Reigne of the Most Renowned and Victorious Princesse Elizabeth, late Queene of England (London, 1630), Book 1, 6-12, cited Lockey, p. 186.] Others saw him as a fallen man, one who repented his trespasses just before his demise. Richard Johnson’s ballad about him being a case in point:
“… thus haye I left my contry deere,
To be so vildly murthered here:
eue in this place wheras I am not known.”
Richard Johnson, The Crown Garland of Golden Roses: Consisted of Ballads and Songs, ed. W. Chappell (London, 1842), 38; cited Lockey, p. 186.
It was after his voyage to Terra Florida that Stukeley defected to Spanish service, invalidating any possibility of a Drakeian narrative being extended to the Captain. Yet, as Lockey notes, both Peele’s The Battle of Alcazar and the anonymous The Famous History of the Life and Death of Captain Stukeley offer a surprisingly nuanced appraisal of his life and actions.
“Both portrayals refuse Stukeley a settled role within the narrative of emerging English identity, neither presenting him as exclusively English nor as the typical traitor to the English crown who might easily be excluded from any relationship to his native country.” (Lockey, pp. 186-7.)
Instead, Stukeley becomes a node in a network where religious and secular agendas meet, where authority is questioned and identity can be explored. He becomes ‘the product of a dialectical relationship existing between his English identity and the transnational or “cosmopolitan” identity that his Englishness enables.’ (Lockey, p. 187.)
The plays use Stukeleys’ very Englishness as a window by which to view the potentiality of the transnational Christian identity. He is at once both a traditionally-seafaring Englishman and a member of an international community of Christians, one not bound by language, land or shore. As such, he can be acknowledged by and incorporated into a wider Christian community – indeed, a wider English community, be it one dispersed through mercantile or military connections, or through self-imposed or enforced exile. He is hardly a man alone in the world and, as Lockey’s observations attest, he is not perceived as marginalised by movement either.
In The Battle of Alcazar, Stukeley himself acknowledges his cosmopolitan outlook:
“Lord Governor of Lisbon, understand
As we are Englishmen, so are we men,
And I am Stukeley so resolved in all
To follow rule, honour and empery,
Not to be bent so strictly to the place
Wherein at first I blew the fire of life,
But that I may at liberty make choice
Of all the continents that bounds the world.
For why, I make it not so great dessert
To be begot or born in any place,
Sith that’s a thing of pleasure and ease,
That might have been performed elsewhere as well.’ (2.2.26-36)
In the subsequent dialogue, the Irish Bishop claims that ‘We must affect our country as our parents’ (2.2.42), whereby reinforcing link between state and family. Stukeley rebuts his view succinctly: ‘Well said, Bishop, spoken like yourself / The reverent lordly Bishop of Saint Asses.’ (2.2.50-51) Stukeley emphatically denies the traditional political analogy of the state as familial, one where loyalty and deference to the head are mandatory. Stukeley’s voluntary exile may distance him from one unit but enables him to commune with others.
Ultimately, both plays display Stukeley’s actions as a form of defection. Even so, he is no renegado, no Christian turned Turk. He may align himself with Catholic monarchs but his final decision is to support England’s oldest ally, Portugal, is crucial to how we view him. As Peele in particular was at length to emphasise, Portugal rightly demanded the aid of its ally in its hour of need, particularly when the aggressor was Spain. (Peele had, of course, penned a lengthy poem around the same time he was composing The Battle of Alcazar, in which he reiterated such anti-Spanish sentiment: A Farewell Entitled to the famous and fortunate generalls of our English forces: Sir Iohn Norris & Syr Frauncis Drake Knights, and all theyr braue and resolute followers [London, 1589]).
Similarly, the anonymous author of Thomas Stukeley portrays Portugal’s claim for independence from Spain and legitimate. In that play, Dom Antonio appears at Dom Sebastian’s side, and sees his claim as heir to the Portuguese throne corroborated by the ill-fated Sebastian (19.69-70). In both plays, as Lockey identifies, Stukeley is presented as having ‘one foot in Portugal, a realm of his own choice’ while maintaining the ‘tip of his toe in the English polity as well’. (Lockey, p. 202.)
One of the reasons Stukeley remains so intoxicating a figure, therefore, is the ability of his stage incarnations to create such a viable, cosmopolitan identity. This dimension is key to understanding the complexity of his dramatic character, and why he maintains our interest: his previous decision to ally himself with Spain, in such a context, seals his fate; his commitment to the Portuguese, England’s allies, to an extent, redeems him.
Further reading / viewing
Charles Edelman (ed.), The Stukeley Plays: ‘The Battle of Alcazar’ by George Peele and ‘The Famous History of the Life and Death of Captain Thomas Stukeley’ (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005)
Jesús M. Garcia and Cinta Zunino Garrido, ‘”As we are Englishmen, so are we Men:” Patterns of Otherness in George Peele’s The Battle of Alcazar’ in Jesús López-Peláez (ed.), Strangers in Early Modern English Texts (Berlin: Peter Lang, 2011), pp.75-108
W.W. Greg, Two Elizabethan Stage Abridgements: The Battle of Alcazar & Orlando Furioso: An Essay in Critical Bibliography (Oxford: Clarendon, 1923)
Eric Griffin, ‘”SPAIN IS PORTUGAL / AND PORTUGAL IS SPAIN”: Transnational Attraction in The Stukeley Plays and “The Spanish Tragedy”‘ in Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies, 10:1 , pp.96-116
Andrew C. Hess, The Forgotten Frontier: A History of the Sixteenth-Century Ibero-African Frontier (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1978)
Brian C. Lockey, Early Modern Catholics, Royalists, and Cosmopolitans (Farnham and Burlington VT: Ashgate, 2015)
Hammood Khalid Obaid, Topicality and Representation: Islam and Muslims in Two Renaissance Plays (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), chapter 1
David Trim, ‘Early-Modern Colonial Warfare and the Campaign of Alcazarquivir, 1578’ in Small Wars and Insurgencies 8:1 (1997), pp.1-34
Spoken word (extract in English):
Part 1: Introduction
During a trip to Ushaw College Library (in Country Durham) this summer, I came across items from the collection once held at Alcobaça Monastery in Leiria, Portugal. I am now working on a journal article about one of the printed books from Alcobaça (one that also contains several leaves in manuscript), which now resides in the marvelous collection at Ushaw. While I undertake research into that beautiful monastery, its manuscripts, its printed books (and its curious hybrids), I thought I’d share with you some information about the monastery and, in subsequent posts, highlight some of the items known to have been once on the shelves inside Alcobaça’s magnificent library.
Early History of the Monastery
The town of Alcobaça is in west-central Portugal, near the Atlantic coast; eighteen miles south-west o Leiria, and sixty miles north of Lisbon. The town emerged as an agricultural society around its Cistercian monastery.
The Cistercian order was founded by St Robert of Molesmes at Cîteaux, France, in 1098. Robert was of noble birth, born c. 1029 in Champagne, and entered the Benedictine abbey of Montier-la-Celle (near Troye) at the age of 15. As his spiritual journey progressed, he, like others, became disillusioned with the laxity of his order, and he eventually founded the new order, so that they could follow the Rule of St Benedict more closely. By 1115, a young monk called Bernard, also of Cîteaux, founded another monastery in Clairvaux. It was Bernard who adapted the structures of Gothic architecture as a ‘practical ideal for Cistercian structures’. [Randall J. Van Vynckt, ‘Alcobaça (Leirria, Portugal)’ in Trudy Ring (ed.), International Dictionary of Historic Places, Vol. 3: Southern Europe (Chicago and London: Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1995), p. 14.] Bernard saw church buildings not simply as the ‘house of God’ but ‘rather an oratorium, a place for the soul’s communion with God’. [Ibid.]
King Afonso I of Portugal (b.1105-d.1185; ruled from 1139) worked closely with English Crusaders on their way to the Holy Land throughout the 1140s, in order to conquer the Moslem areas of Portugal. He also encouraged resettlement throughout the land by financing and building new monasteries: the first were at Tarouca and Sever. Alcobaça monastery was founded in 1153, initially with at least 12 monks, under the leadership of Abbot Ranulphus.
The monastic buildings were begun in ernest in 1178, dedicated in 1223, and its church consecrated in 1252. The complex was laid to the north of the church, which is Burgundian in its structural system and proportions. The architectural methods presented suggest French masters, since such techniques were not known in Portugal at that time. It is the largest surviving Cistercian church.
The monastery’s primary charge was to repopulate the region, and provide spiritual, social and economic support to that community. Life revolved around worship and agricultural work, cultivating the neglected land. The monks were known for collecting manuscripts that detailed methods for nurturing the land, and for seeking out botanical specimens that could be propagated in the region. Close to the Atlantic coast, the monastery also took an active role in the country’s seafaring activities, and took possession of a number of ports, first at Pederneira (its nearest), and then at Paredes, San Martinho, Alfeizerão, and Selir.
The monastery steadily began to build a community and a prestigious reputation, founding a second house at Bouro in 1174; a further 11 affiliates would follow. Yet the foundation was by no means secure at that time. The reconquest of what constitutes present-day Portugal was not complete until the mid-thirteenth century, and Alcobaça remained vulnerable, being located near to the Tagus river frontier between Portuguese territories and western edges of the Moslem an-Andalus empire. But by the close of the thirteenth century, Albcobaça had not only survived, it had thrived. Under Abbot Estevam Martins, it founded its first public school in 1269, teaching grammar, logic, and, of course, theology. During the reign of King Dinis (b.1261-d.1325; ruled from 1279), the monastery’s abbot, Martinho II, joined others of his rank in supporting the foundation of the University of Lisbon in 1290, which would later move to Coimbra in 1308.
A library was central to the monastery’s foundation, as was its scriptorium, which made significant contributions to Portugal’s literary tradition. It is particularly noted for its translations from Latin, Italian, and French from the mid-fourteenth and throughout the fifteenth century, and for its likely role in the development of the distinctive Portuguese style of prose that emerged during the fifteenth century. It is to Alcobaça’s rich collection of manuscripts that I will return in Part 2.
Paulo Pereira, Monastery of Alcobaça (The national monuments of Portugal) (New York: Scala Publishers, 2007)
Randall J. Van Vynckt, ‘Alcobaça (Leirria, Portugal)’ in Trudy Ring (ed.), International Dictionary of Historic Places, Vol. 3: Southern Europe (Chicago and London: Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1995), pp. 14-18