Cara/Andrea here,
I recently attended an “Art In Context” lecture at Yale’s British Art Center which highlighted the opening of an exhibit entitled “The English Prize.” It’s a small but very interesting show, not just for the artwork but for the intriguing story behind it. And given the unique insights it gives to “The Grand Tour”—a term we aficionados of British history hear so often—I thought I would share some of the fascinating things I learned.
All of the pieces on display were part of the cargo carried by the Westmoreland, a 26-gun British merchant ship which set sail for London from Livorno, Italy in January 1779. Other goods included parmesan cheese, anchovies, olive oil and textiles, but the fifty crates containing artwork acquired by English “Grand Tourists” and other travelers was the most valuable loot. For loot it became when the ship was captured by two French warships and declared a prize of war.
The contents were sold off in Spain, and much of it was purchased by King Carlos III (though one painting ended up in Catherine the Great’s collection in St. Petersburg.) Because a
detailed inventory listing who owned what ended up being preserved, scholars recently began taking a closer look at this seemingly insignificant moment and as they looked more carefully at the individual pieces, they realized that taken together, the captured art actually showed a grand picture—as the Yale exhibit states, “It is a rare time capsule, giving insights into the personalities and trends of the important cultural phenomena known as the Grand Tour.”
Now, most of us have heard the term “Grand Tour” and know it refers to the trip through the Continent made by rich young British gentlemen in order to acquire some polish. However, the scholars looking at the Westmoreland cargo have learned some wonderful details about this rite of passage by looking at who had purchased the artwork, and then going back and studying the letters and diaries of those individuals.
From those sources, we have learned that the ritual had a well-established route that was followed by many of the travelers. The first stop was Paris, where the young men were expected to learn about the social graces—dancing, fencing, and how to dress fashionably, as well as the art of conversation and an appreciation of the theatre. From there, they would head south, usually to Nimes, where they would get their first exposure to the classical Roman ruins of the Mediterranean area. From there, they often headed across the Alps and stopped in Geneva before heading south into the Italian peninsula.
Rome were the ultimate destination (with Florence and Naples—especially at Carnival time—also important stops.) It was here that the classical education that these young gentlemen studied at school and university was meant to come alive. But how, you might wonder, did these callow youths appreciate all the culture and history surrounding them? An excellent question! And that brings us to another interesting detail of the Grand Tour.
Traveling with a tutor was considered part of the ritual. Often these men were teachers the young gentlemen had become acquainted with during their university studies, but a few of them were actually professional tutors, who studied specifically to lead this specific educational trip. Through previous travels, they often had well-established connections in Rome with artists and dealers. This was important because collecting was a large part of the Tour’s purpose. But more on that in a moment.
Letters and diaries show that relationship between a tutor and his protégé was far from a simple teacher-student relationship. The young man’s father expected the tutor to control the finances and the wilder impulses of his son. And yet, the two men were travel companions for a lengthy period of time, and were together, as we say today, 24/7, so they often developed a close friendship. (Many Grand Tour tutors went on to become influential men in their own right—government ambassadors, playwrights to name just a few—because of the bonds they had developed with their aristocratic pupils.)
The tutor’s official role was to show his pupil the important classical sites and through these travels to educate him to appreciate the art and culture of classical antiquity. And in doing so, he often shaped that young gentleman’s taste in art. One of the individual travelers highlighted in the exhibit is Francis Basset, who at age 12 came into great wealth on inheriting copper and tin mines in southern England. After attending Harrow and Cambridge, he hired William Sands to guide him on his Tour.
Sands was a professional tutor with many useful connections in Rome, and through his journals we have learned many interesting details of the Grand Tour. There was a well-established English community in the Eternal City, and on arrival, Grand Tour travelers would stay in this enclave. There, they would usually engage the services of a resident agent/dealer—James Byres and Thomas Jenkins were the two most prominent—to help arrange access to artist studios and to help negotiate the purchases of antiquities. Who the tutor or agent knew often helped shape the taste of the pupil. For example, Sands was good friends with the noted Italian artist Giovanni Piranesi, who was known for his dramatic etchings of classical subjects. So it’s no surprise that Basset’s crates on the Westmoreland contained numerous prints by Piranesi. (Other notable pieces among the captured art include watercolors by John Robert Cozens and portrait busts by Irish sculptor Christopher Hewetson, who was working in Rome.)
Perhaps the most significant piece of art among the Westmoreland’s treasure is the full length portrait of Basset by the painter Pompeo Batoni because it’s a wonderful example of yet another important cultural tradition of the time—having a formal Grand Tour portrait painted to display at home. There is a very specific symbolism to these portraits—the gentlemen are usually shown holding a map of Rome, which indicates that they had visited the city. Fragments of ruins are meant to show their familiarity with classical art, and lastly, the scenic views of important buildings in the background serve to show how well-traveled they were.
These portraits were intended to be hung in a prominent place back home and their purpose was not only to be a “travel snapshot” for the men shown, but also to trumpet to viewers that the subject of the portrait was a sophisticated, well-traveled, well-cultured individual.
I hope you have enjoyed this quick dash through the Grand Tour. Now, let’s play collector too! If you could choose any piece of art from Rome to bring home, what would your heart desire? I would have asked an agent to find me a chalk drawing done by Michelangelo or DaVinci. Or perhaps some Roman coins, or . . . Sigh—It’s so hard to choose!
I recently attended an “Art In Context” lecture at Yale’s British Art Center which highlighted the opening of an exhibit entitled “The English Prize.” It’s a small but very interesting show, not just for the artwork but for the intriguing story behind it. And given the unique insights it gives to “The Grand Tour”—a term we aficionados of British history hear so often—I thought I would share some of the fascinating things I learned.
All of the pieces on display were part of the cargo carried by the Westmoreland, a 26-gun British merchant ship which set sail for London from Livorno, Italy in January 1779. Other goods included parmesan cheese, anchovies, olive oil and textiles, but the fifty crates containing artwork acquired by English “Grand Tourists” and other travelers was the most valuable loot. For loot it became when the ship was captured by two French warships and declared a prize of war.
The contents were sold off in Spain, and much of it was purchased by King Carlos III (though one painting ended up in Catherine the Great’s collection in St. Petersburg.) Because a
detailed inventory listing who owned what ended up being preserved, scholars recently began taking a closer look at this seemingly insignificant moment and as they looked more carefully at the individual pieces, they realized that taken together, the captured art actually showed a grand picture—as the Yale exhibit states, “It is a rare time capsule, giving insights into the personalities and trends of the important cultural phenomena known as the Grand Tour.”
Now, most of us have heard the term “Grand Tour” and know it refers to the trip through the Continent made by rich young British gentlemen in order to acquire some polish. However, the scholars looking at the Westmoreland cargo have learned some wonderful details about this rite of passage by looking at who had purchased the artwork, and then going back and studying the letters and diaries of those individuals.
From those sources, we have learned that the ritual had a well-established route that was followed by many of the travelers. The first stop was Paris, where the young men were expected to learn about the social graces—dancing, fencing, and how to dress fashionably, as well as the art of conversation and an appreciation of the theatre. From there, they would head south, usually to Nimes, where they would get their first exposure to the classical Roman ruins of the Mediterranean area. From there, they often headed across the Alps and stopped in Geneva before heading south into the Italian peninsula.
Rome were the ultimate destination (with Florence and Naples—especially at Carnival time—also important stops.) It was here that the classical education that these young gentlemen studied at school and university was meant to come alive. But how, you might wonder, did these callow youths appreciate all the culture and history surrounding them? An excellent question! And that brings us to another interesting detail of the Grand Tour.
Traveling with a tutor was considered part of the ritual. Often these men were teachers the young gentlemen had become acquainted with during their university studies, but a few of them were actually professional tutors, who studied specifically to lead this specific educational trip. Through previous travels, they often had well-established connections in Rome with artists and dealers. This was important because collecting was a large part of the Tour’s purpose. But more on that in a moment.
Letters and diaries show that relationship between a tutor and his protégé was far from a simple teacher-student relationship. The young man’s father expected the tutor to control the finances and the wilder impulses of his son. And yet, the two men were travel companions for a lengthy period of time, and were together, as we say today, 24/7, so they often developed a close friendship. (Many Grand Tour tutors went on to become influential men in their own right—government ambassadors, playwrights to name just a few—because of the bonds they had developed with their aristocratic pupils.)
The tutor’s official role was to show his pupil the important classical sites and through these travels to educate him to appreciate the art and culture of classical antiquity. And in doing so, he often shaped that young gentleman’s taste in art. One of the individual travelers highlighted in the exhibit is Francis Basset, who at age 12 came into great wealth on inheriting copper and tin mines in southern England. After attending Harrow and Cambridge, he hired William Sands to guide him on his Tour.
Sands was a professional tutor with many useful connections in Rome, and through his journals we have learned many interesting details of the Grand Tour. There was a well-established English community in the Eternal City, and on arrival, Grand Tour travelers would stay in this enclave. There, they would usually engage the services of a resident agent/dealer—James Byres and Thomas Jenkins were the two most prominent—to help arrange access to artist studios and to help negotiate the purchases of antiquities. Who the tutor or agent knew often helped shape the taste of the pupil. For example, Sands was good friends with the noted Italian artist Giovanni Piranesi, who was known for his dramatic etchings of classical subjects. So it’s no surprise that Basset’s crates on the Westmoreland contained numerous prints by Piranesi. (Other notable pieces among the captured art include watercolors by John Robert Cozens and portrait busts by Irish sculptor Christopher Hewetson, who was working in Rome.)
Perhaps the most significant piece of art among the Westmoreland’s treasure is the full length portrait of Basset by the painter Pompeo Batoni because it’s a wonderful example of yet another important cultural tradition of the time—having a formal Grand Tour portrait painted to display at home. There is a very specific symbolism to these portraits—the gentlemen are usually shown holding a map of Rome, which indicates that they had visited the city. Fragments of ruins are meant to show their familiarity with classical art, and lastly, the scenic views of important buildings in the background serve to show how well-traveled they were.
These portraits were intended to be hung in a prominent place back home and their purpose was not only to be a “travel snapshot” for the men shown, but also to trumpet to viewers that the subject of the portrait was a sophisticated, well-traveled, well-cultured individual.
I hope you have enjoyed this quick dash through the Grand Tour. Now, let’s play collector too! If you could choose any piece of art from Rome to bring home, what would your heart desire? I would have asked an agent to find me a chalk drawing done by Michelangelo or DaVinci. Or perhaps some Roman coins, or . . . Sigh—It’s so hard to choose!
Thank you for this fascinating post! I've been interested in the Grand Tour for some time, and this is the best insight into it which I've read. I wasn't aware of this when it was at the Ashmolean in Oxford so missed it, but I've just purchased the Exhibition catalogue online and have added the Yale University book to my Wish List!
Posted by: HJ | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 12:57 AM
So glad you enjoyed this, HJ. I'm sorry you missed the exhibit when it was at the Ashmolean for I'm sure you would have found it fascinating, (And the gallery talks have so far been relly wonderful too. One of the Spanish scholars who ws part of the research is presently visiting Yale for the semester, so she's been giving some of the informal "In Context" talks and answering questions.) If you are anywhere near New Haven, CT it might be worth a visit.
Posted by: Andrea Penrose | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 05:39 AM
Wish the tradition were still alive... If I could have anything, I'd want a life size reproduction of the Apollo Belvedere. For all the impact that statue had on English fashion and culture, I'd want to see what the fuss was about.
Posted by: Grace Burrowes | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 07:51 AM
Lovely choice, Grace! And yes, I wish we could all have the opportunity to do the Grand Tour . . .oh, to take a year off and travel to appreciate the cultural history of classical Greco-Roman thought and art. Sigh. maybe if I ever win the lottery I will hire a tutor and go!
Posted by: Andrea Penrose | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 07:56 AM
Cara, you always write such interesting posts! I love the portrait...with Hadrian's Castel Sant'Angelo and St. Peter's Basilica in the background!
Gosh, if I had to choose one piece of art to bring back from Rome, it would have to be School of Athens (although that might be just a problematic!). OR a Fra Lippo Lippi fresco. Or maybe a Bernini sculpture? A Caravaggio painting? Okay...I'll go for the Caravaggio.
Sigh.
Jaye
Posted by: Jaye Marie Rome | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 09:45 AM
Thank you, Jaye! That's so nice of you to say. Ha—-why don't we just get a ship like the Westmoreland and fill it with our choices! As I said, I've LOTS more than just one that I'd like to bring home from my Grand Tour!
Posted by: Andrea Penrose | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 01:48 PM
Definitely the statue of Pauline Bonaparte by Canova that's in the Borghese. That was the first work that came to mind.
Posted by: LindaS | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 05:01 PM
I love Canova, LindaS. And that's a fabulous statue. I say we start a "Wench Swag" museum here in the States to display our treasures!
Posted by: Andrea Penrose | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 05:11 PM
Cara, what a facinating post. I've always wanted to know more about the Grand Tour. It's fun for me to have been able to visit most of those places, but, oh, to have a year to just travel and not worry about funds. What a treat that would have been. Of course, I'd have to be a man.
Posted by: Ella Quinn | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 06:04 PM
So glad you enjoyed it, Ella. I've been to most of the places too, but as you say, a prolonged Tour would have been such a great experience . . .though in truth the actual traveling probably wasn't all that fun at times. The endless hours spent joustling in a carriage probably became tedious, especially if you were prone to motion sickness when reading. (I am)Still, I like to romanticize about it.
Posted by: Andrea Penrose | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 06:25 PM
The Grand Tour - Sign Me Up!
Thank you for describing this tour full of wonderful experiences.
I love it for all the works of art brought back to England for others to see. If I were along for the Grand Tour I'd be the one sketching famous places for my rich client who would later have the sketches reproduced & bound into books for sale.
Some who made the Grand Tour brought home an Italian Greyhound - lap dog seen in some historical movies.
Posted by: Kathryn Smith | Friday, October 19, 2012 at 08:55 PM
Kathryn, thanks for the info on the Italian greyhound! How interesting, and yes, that makes perfect sense.
I would have loved to sketch the scenery too—in fact, I think I would have hired John Robert Cozen's father, Alexander, who was a famous artist and watercolor teacher at Eton, to be my tutor!
Posted by: Andrea Penrose | Saturday, October 20, 2012 at 05:27 AM
Great post, Cara! All of these young gentlemen are long gone and I STILL envy them their Grand Tours! I've been fortunate in my life to visit many countries in Europe and to actually live in some, but to take a year or so just to soak up the art and culture these young men experienced would be heaven!
And what to bring home!! Michelangelo's David would be lovely in the foyer. A nice Caravaggio would dress up the library. Sine DaVinci sketches and a small Rembrandt would look lovely in the parlor. I think I need a bigger boat. And a bigger house!
Posted by: LouisaCornell | Saturday, October 20, 2012 at 06:46 PM
Ha, ha, ha, Louisa. I'll join you in buying a bigger ship—and a bigger house. How about the Sistine Chapel for the library ceiling!
Posted by: Andrea Penrose | Saturday, October 20, 2012 at 07:28 PM
Now you're talking, Cara! This is going to be some house!
Posted by: LouisaCornell | Sunday, October 21, 2012 at 11:46 AM
Yes, maybe we'll have to dismantle Chatsworth or Blenheim and bring it over the Pond to house all our swag!
Posted by: Andrea Penrose | Sunday, October 21, 2012 at 11:48 AM
I think I would love a DaVinci or Michaelangelo drawing too.
And somewhat off topic, but today is the anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar & someone pointed me to this great article about it.
http://www.historytoday.com/andrew-lambert/nelson-trafalgar-and-meaning-victory
Posted by: Karin | Sunday, October 21, 2012 at 12:27 PM
Thanks for the link, Karin!
Posted by: Andrea Penrose | Sunday, October 21, 2012 at 01:34 PM