Conclusion

The eighteenth-century Grand Tour was a major educational and cultural experience shared between the generations of young men who constituted Britain’s aristocracy and gentry.¹ Its principal purpose was to maintain the power and privilege of Britain’s elite by educating, forming and testing these individuals. Elite families and society achieved this through treating the Tour as a rite of initiation and coming-of-age process in which a variety of itineraries, curricula, places, practices, performances and narratives were used to instil the requisite knowledge, virtues, behaviours and identities of an elite man. This area of travel history is therefore closely related to the study of eighteenth-century masculinity, as having an understanding of the Grand Tour is connected to an awareness of the sort of man it was meant to produce.

Until recently, the Grand Tour has been viewed as a process of masculine refinement in which French academies were used to form polite, elegant manners while the time spent among Italy’s art and classical ruins was intended to develop aesthetic taste and a sense of the British elite as the rightful inheritors of classical civic virtue. This interpretation of the ideal elite man produced through the Tour has reinforced a hegemonic reading of eighteenth-century masculinity that fixates on polite, refined manhood. It has also placed considerable emphasis on the Grand Tour’s published discourses and taken a selective geographical approach by prioritizing the itineraries of France and Italy.

This book has aimed to investigate the relationship between the eighteenth-century Grand Tour and masculinity more thoroughly, and achieve a fuller understanding of how aristocratic and gentry communities rationalized and comprehended it, through focusing on their writings drawn from archives covering more than thirty Tours undertaken between 1700–80. Even the most cursory reading of these archival sources affirms two important points: scholars of the Grand Tour have been absolutely right in identifying the significance of the ideal of the polite refined man to its purpose; but they have been wrong to presume that this importance equates to a hegemonic dominance. The archival records and private exchanges within elite society show that the scope and ambition of the Grand Tour was much more complex, varied and extensive than existing interpretations allow. In terms of itineraries, it is important to remember that Grand Tourists routinely devoted substantial time to destinations outside France and Italy, particularly the Low Countries, the German principalities, Austria and Switzerland. Less commonly, excursions to Hungary, Poland, Russia, Scandinavia and destinations around the Mediterranean were also made. During their travels, Grand Tourists did spend time in academies and among classical ruins but they also sojourned for lengthy periods at universities, prized their successful social interactions with the continental elite, avidly pursued healthy lifestyles and wrote about the trials, dangers and discomforts of travel. They recorded and prioritized numerous social and pleasurable pastimes and demonstrated interests in a wide array of areas: diplomacy, war, law and justice, science and industry, theatre, music and literature, and botany and geology as well as art and antiquity.

All these elements (and more) are repeatedly present in archival records relating to the Grand Tour, yet they have received little serious scholarly attention. This is a significant oversight since the rich diversity of Tour itineraries and activities gives rise to questions that deserve careful consideration. What purpose did these aspects of the Grand Tour serve? How did they function alongside or even against the Tour’s focus on refinement? To what extent does acknowledgement of their importance require a re-evaluation of the Grand Tour’s rationales and agendas? Does this in turn challenge perceptions of the Tour as an institution exclusively dedicated to the formation of the polite man? If the Grand Tour did have room for other expressions of elite masculinity, how does this lead to a re-evaluation of the hegemonic model of masculinity and to an overall understanding of what it meant to be an elite man in the eighteenth century?

This book has started to explore answers to these questions by focusing on the set of itineraries, activities, agendas and identities that coalesced around travellers’ encounters with danger, hazard and hardship. Continental travel comprised hours, days and months invested in physical exercises, hunting, playing sports, attending military sites, jolting in carriages, inching alongside precipices, scrambling around glaciers and mountains, and arduously ascending Vesuvius: activities that were all united by a frisson of danger. Rather than avoiding this danger, the culture of the eighteenth-century British elite was to proactively embrace and use it as a tool in the formation of elite masculinity. This response to danger was rooted in Tourists’ ongoing conceptualization of themselves as a military service elite. The Grand Tour was important for the perpetuation of this identity as it enabled elite young men to benefit from encountering continental military training, activities and culture. Grand Tourists actively sought to form themselves as martial leaders through touring past and present military sites, receiving a military education at academies and, at times, by observing and participating in live conflict.

The enduring ideal of the military service elite also shaped aristocratic and gentry concepts of honour as something that had to be proven, affirmed and defended through displays of courage, prowess and leadership. In this context, danger operated as a challenge to an elite man’s honour and masculine virtue and therefore had to be confronted, rather than retreated from. This understanding of honour and danger had its origins in the battlefield, but it also influenced and underpinned the rationale behind other Grand Tour activities, particularly sporting activities like hunting, the trials and tribulations of rough travelling conditions, and the growing practice of physically exploring natural phenomena such as glaciers, mountains and volcanoes. Each of these activities provided the traveller with the opportunity to honourably and courageously confront a physical peril. As such, they were an accepted part of elite culture and education and had two important functions: as a means of preparing for war or, alternatively, as a substitute for its dangers in which the same masculine qualities could be developed and proven.

Throughout the period, Grand Tourists and their family, friends and acquaintances documented these encounters in their private exchanges, writings and, less frequently, in the more public domain of commissioned art and printed texts. In these accounts, Tourists steadily – if often somewhat fleetingly – articulated a mentality that conceptualized danger and hardship as formative challenges and as transformative, purifying forces which tested, refined and affirmed the eighteenth-century traveller’s manhood. Danger was a jeux de societé: a game to be cheerfully chanced, gambled with and even enjoyed. By chancing and confronting danger on battlefields, hunting runs, perilous roads, Alpine glaciers and the slopes of Vesuvius, Tourists partook in a gamble that could elevate or destroy their physical health, their Britishness and their reputations as men of honour, courage and virtue who were capable of leadership and worthy of admiration.

At the centre of this lay the ideal of the hardy, martial elite man. Historians of masculinity have typically argued that this ideal only emerged in the late eighteenth century and grew stronger in the nineteenth century via the rise of muscular Christianity, the heroic mountaineer and the soldier-explorer-heroes of the British empire. In demonstrating that plentiful evidence exists of earlier iterations throughout the early modern period, this book has shown how the late eighteenth-and early nineteenth-century ideal of hardy masculinity was inherited from earlier masculine cultures. The martial, hardy man was stoic, courageous, relentlessly curious, fearless of danger, vigorously active, indefatigable, carelessly cheerful of hardship, impatient of ease, and always in command of himself and others. As such, he was every bit as much an unrealistic ideal as the civil perfections of those other eighteenth-century cultural archetypes, the polite man and the man of feeling. Nevertheless, young elite men across the period responded enthusiastically to opportunities to identify with this masculine ideal by presenting themselves as flourishing during encounters with continental dangers, hazards and hardships.² Examples include William Bentinck’s 1727 description of travelling on poor roads as a means to ‘use one’s self to hardness’; William Windham’s celebration of the Common Room club’s fearless resolution and curiosity during their 1741 glacier expedition; John Holroyd’s self-described ‘military madness’ in 1763; and George Herbert’s numerous hardy heroics during his 1775–80 Grand Tour.

These were real men struggling to attain an ideal. Studying them therefore brings an element of ‘real-life’ complexity to the celebration of aspirant elite masculinity. Many of these young men undoubtedly did undertake acts of genuine and rather foolhardy bravery during their travels, but they were in all likelihood not the paragons of courage, honour and self-control they wished themselves to be. In such times of defeat or failure, they used written narratives, commissioned artwork and their self-presentation therein to gloss over these limitations, and presented in their place idealized depictions of themselves engaging more appropriately with danger. These numerous representations demonstrate that successful eighteenth-century masculinity was indeed a matter of providing ‘a fairly convincing’ corporate and individual display of the ideal.³ At the same time, there is evidence that these attempts, failures and even successes caused individual men to experience discomfort and distress, thus providing some insight into the cost of achieving the markers of successful masculinity.

In seeking to form men who could flourish in, or at very least endure, rough and dangerous conditions, the Grand Tour was, at certain times and in certain places, being used to produce a masculine ideal completely opposite to polite refinement. Crucially, though, it should be emphasized that while hardy, martial masculinity was an enduringly important part of eighteenth-century elite men’s conception of themselves, it was not the hegemonic ideal. Ultimately, a successful elite male was a man of many parts. This diversity was the foundation of any Grand Tour as individual men continually moved between multiple masculine identities and behaviours. Tourists were expected to, and did, present a range of elite masculinities which included the polite, refined man of taste and the hardy, stoic man, and extended to the sensitive man of feeling, the enlightened man of science, the patriotic military leader, the convivial man of homosocial cheer, the libertine and others. Each of these facets of elite masculine identity were situationally bound and therefore only required in certain scenarios, spaces and contexts. For example, claims to and performances of a hardy masculinity occurred during long stints of rough travel, when viewing an active military camp, during a hunt or on a mountainside. They were neither necessary nor appropriate within the context of a ballroom, a conversazione or among Rome’s ruins. In these scenarios, Grand Tourists switched to other masculine performances: those of the elegant dancer, polite, erudite man or the connoisseur of the classical past. These very different facets of eighteenth-century elite manhood therefore complemented, rather than competed, with one another.

Even situationally bound performances of masculinity were complex and rarely involved a straightforward identification with one masculine ideal. For example, men’s demonstrations of hardy courage and endurance on the Alpine glaciers and mountains, or on the flanks of Vesuvius, were often combined with efforts to present themselves as enlightened men of science, adventurous explorers, admirers of the sublime or, as the century progressed, men of feeling who were sensitive to, but not overcome by, fear and danger. Moreover, while it is clear that elite society commonly expected their young men to meet danger with a degree of stoic courage, there was also evidently some scope to reject a hardy, martial masculinity and undertake an alternative performance without being considered a failure. The two case studies explored in chapter 5 – Horace Walpole and George Simon Harcourt, Viscount Nuneham and later 2nd Earl Harcourt – are examples of this. Both young men openly communicated their dislike of harsh terrains and mountain precipices and their fears of bodily harm. Yet Walpole and Nuneham were not simply recording fright and fear. Instead, they deliberately used these admissions to construct other masculine identities that were more unusual in this situational context. In Walpole’s case, it was that of the literary wit who deliberately and provocatively renounced the core masculine traits of command. In Nuneham’s case, it was the sensitive man of feeling and dedicated man of fashion.

It is important to note that Walpole’s and Nuneham’s families and friends accepted and affirmed these masculinities. The social world of the eighteenth-century British elite was not a large one and this relatively small pool of peers created a fascinating environment in which men who may have held completely different political or moral viewpoints, or who chose to express their masculine identity in a range of ways, were closely associated with one another. At times these differences could result in expressions of scorn, dislike, exasperation and jealousy, but in these case studies, this did not happen. Walpole’s cousin, Henry Seymour Conway, was busily preparing himself for a military career and yet he delighted in Walpole’s vivid descriptions of shrieking on the edge of a precipice. Nuneham’s father, the 1st Earl Harcourt, was unperturbed by his heir’s distaste for blood and war, despite opting to watch a battle during his own Grand Tour. Walpole and Nuneham, in turn, took pride and pleasure in the martial identities of their cousin and father despite their own reluctance to embrace that element of elite masculinity. These instances of affection and affirmation between men whose ways of expressing their masculinity sometimes varied raises the question of what made such differing masculine performances acceptable to family and friends?

Ultimately, the defining feature of elite masculinity was not politeness, chivalry, hardiness or sensibility. Rather, it hinged upon the core values and virtues of what it meant to be part of the aristocracy and gentry. This involved a profound and shared sense of hierarchy and social superiority, which was based on economic capital, claims to sociopolitical exclusivity and a shared cultural understanding of wider social concepts like attitudes towards danger and risk. It also rested, as Henry French and Mark Rothery observed, on a ‘fundamental and remarkably tenacious’ set of ordering principles; ideas of honour, virtue, reputation, autonomy, self-control, stoicism, courage, a command of others, morality, prudence, industry, cosmopolitanism and patriotism.⁴ Each of the different expressions of masculinity found on the Grand Tour were united in being performed by young men from the same sociopolitical and economic group. They were also united in reinforcing the same underlying principles and a sense of exclusivity and elevated status, although they achieved this in a variety of ways. For example, Grand Tourists who chose to perform hardy, martial masculinity in the context of encountering danger reinforced the elite claim to the right to command others by juxtaposing their superior performances and self-control against non-elite servants and locals who were unable to cope with the dangers and hardships of travel. This ability to maintain a physical and emotional command of themselves and others is markedly absent from Nuneham’s and Walpole’s performances. Yet while they lacked the quality of self-control in relation to danger, their sophisticated command of language and narrative was in itself a subtle claim to another type of superior aristocratic autonomy and self-determination, and strongly indicated that their performance was a deliberate (and therefore controlled, rather than involuntary) renunciation of hardy, martial traits. Through this, they reinforced claims to elite exclusivity and elevated status by demonstrating how their rarefied emotional, literary and sartorial capacities made them far superior to those around them. Alongside demonstrating a different sort of exclusivity and command that centred on literary skills and wit, Nuneham and Walpole also carefully demonstrated an ongoing respect for the principles of honour, self-control, stoicism, courage and command as they manifested in the martial masculine ideal, by upholding the importance of military service elsewhere in their Grand Tour writings. Such constructions of masculinity were accepted by elite society because even in their difference they championed the same core principles of elite manhood and affirmed other elite expressions of masculinity.

While the varied expressions of elite masculinity were anchored to deep-seated and homogenous principles, it is evident that the performance and construction of this masculinity was anything but homogenous: it was highly fluid and contingent on far more than conformity with a set of cultural ideas. This, combined with French and Rothery’s observation that masculine identities were predominately shaped by ‘everyday experiences’ and ‘familial cultures of masculinity’, suggests that historians of eighteenth-century masculinity need to carefully investigate the social circumstances in which individual masculinities were performed and constructed.⁵ More thought also needs to be given to how individuals and families tailored the cultural institutions used to shape individual masculinities (like the Grand Tour) to reflect their proclivities, ambitions and financial resources. Investigating how different subsets of elite groups influenced and authenticated varied combinations and presentations of elite masculinity is a distinctive practice from identifying the cultural trends and manifestations of a masculine ideal. Chapter 2 has shown how certain families had a particularly martial bent which was passed down the generations. What other nuances to elite masculinity were inherited within families and augmented by differences of denomination, political persuasion or education? The family of Philip Yorke, later 3rd earl of Hardwicke, for example, was known for its leading contribution to Whig intellectual, legal and political life. While Yorke’s Grand Tour correspondence of 1777–9 revealed a remarkable commitment to presenting himself as martial and hardy, intellectual study also dominated his correspondence in a manner that markedly echoed familial preferences.

Age is another important factor. This study has focused chiefly on the figure of the young man of superior social standing but what of older elite men who also travelled? Did maturity mean that there was less need to confront hazard? At least one set of accounts surrounding an older elite male traveller indicates that performances of hardy, martial masculinity did not diminish in importance. In March 1766, at the age of thirty-six, the highly erratic Frederick Augustus Hervey, earl-bishop of Bristol and Derry, climbed Vesuvius with Sir William Hamilton and several other companions. On this occasion, the volcano was extremely active and giving off signs of imminent eruption. In a letter to his young daughter, Mary, Hervey described how the group climbed into the crater, where the mouth of Vesuvius was shooting out:

Hervey made this seem like a random accident, but the exasperated William Hamilton wrote that the bishop had been ‘very much wounded in the arm’ because ‘he approached too near’ in what was essentially a competitive show of bravado.⁷ As Michael Roper and John Tosh observed, ‘Masculinity is never fully possessed, but must be perpetually achieved, asserted and renegotiated’ throughout a man’s life.⁸ Evidently, confrontations of danger remained important to older men as well as youthful Grand Tourists, but not enough is yet known about the culture and practices of this subgroup of elite travellers to suggest whether the rationale and approach towards hardy masculinity was completely unchanged or if age and maturity brought some alteration.

Nuancing the intersection between elite and male is important but thought also needs to be given to whether certain values, traits and behaviours were specifically masculine or aristocratic. The eighteenth century was a period in which more women and non-aristocratic social groups began to travel, raising the question of how they reacted to their encounters with danger and hardship. Did they also value the virtues of courage, endurance and stoicism? If they did, was this valuation adapted from elite masculine ways of thinking or did women of superior social standing, and men and women from the ‘middling sorts’, have their own traditions and cultures that shaped their attitudes and their performances? As explored in chapter 5, elite female travellers like Lady Mary Wortley Montagu evidently relished juxtaposing their superior courage against the fears of servants and fellow travellers in a manner that closely matches elite male narratives of danger. Furthermore, Rosemary Sweet has shown that by the end of the century, Vesuvius was the site of numerous female, as well as male, acts of physical courage and endurance, as women, including those from a middling sort background, undertook a ‘distinctly unfeminine level of physical activity without incurring disapproval’.⁹ Similar acts also took place in the Alps. In 1788, Ann Flaxman, the wife of the artist, John Flaxman, climbed Vesuvius aided by ‘an additional draught of strong Beer’ and some ‘gallant’ singing.¹⁰ When her travelling party sheltered from the rain in a cave at the bottom of Mount Cenis, one of her male travelling companions ‘scrambled down over some large loose stones to examine the Interior parts of caverns’. As ‘my presumption told me I could do the same’, she scrambled after him, only to fall and sprain her wrist.¹¹

Flaxman’s accounts of Vesuvius and the cave contain confessions of doubts, fears and physical mistakes. She also characterized her determination not to retreat as ‘womanlike’ and was highly conscious of her perceived failure when, having ‘mounted [Vesuvius] Heroically alone with the help of a Club’, she was eventually ‘forc’d to submit to lay hold of the Guides Girdle and let him lug me up’.¹² Elite male Grand Tour narratives of danger almost never included such vulnerabilities and they certainly would never have presented the routine assistance of guides as evidence of failure. Nevertheless, Flaxman’s and other women’s accounts also share some key commonalities with elite male narratives: a certain physicality, curiosity, determination, sang froid in the face of discomfort and danger, and a belief that these traits were evidence of superiority. Travelling a few years earlier and visiting Naples in 1785–6, Hester Thrale Piozzi commented on ‘the exploits of rash Britons who look into the crater [of Vesuvius] and carry their wives and children up to the top’.¹³ Piozzi deliberately gendered ‘the exploits’ as being undertaken by British men, but by incorporating the admittedly more passive wives and children, she strongly indicated that the virtues of courage, hardiness and intrepidity were shared evidence of a British national character.

Danger and hardship also featured in the writings of male middling sort travellers. One such example is the Scottish physician and writer, Tobias Smollett, who travelled with his wife in order to recover their health after the death of their daughter. His Travels through France and Italy (1766) includes several highly charged confrontations with danger and/or the possibility of it. Yet again, though, some important differences merit further investigation. Smollett’s encounters were often pointedly presented as patriotically British confrontations of hazards that were the embodiment of continental vice and corruption and veered away from any celebration of the cosmopolitanism often present in aristocratic accounts.

In contrast to this, another set of male middling sort travellers was closely related to aristocratic and gentry cultures of travel and masculinity. These, of course, were the Grand Tour tutors, many of whom came from military, clerical or academic professions. The often-close relationship between Tourists and tutors is an example of the cross-pollination between men from different social strata in relation to perception of masculinity and experiences of travel. The Grand Tourist, William Windham, for example, was profoundly shaped by his relationship with Benjamin Stillingfleet, who had been his tutor since he was a small boy. Stillingfleet not only instilled in Windham a love of science and mathematics but being ‘inured to bodily exercises, and attracted by the wonders of nature’, he was also influential in shaping his pupil’s interest in physical activity, hardship and exploration.¹⁴

Stillingfleet did not just influence his elite charge and the rest of the young Grand Tourists who formed the Common Room club in the 1730s and 1740s. He was also deeply admired by another tutor, Revd William Coxe, who produced a biography of Stillingfleet in 1811. Coxe and his fellow tutor, Captain John Floyd, who both enjoyed physical encounters with nature and desired to be ‘hardy’ men, in turn greatly influenced their own Grand Tourist, George Herbert, later 11th earl of Pembroke, in the 1770s. Yet tutors did not just influence their charges. They in turn were shaped by aristocrat and gentry culture and ideals. Stillingfleet, Coxe and Floyd, for example, were each in the service of the Windhams and the earls of Pembroke respectively for many years before accompanying their sons on Grand Tours, and continued to receive the patronage and friendship of these families for the rest of their careers. Much the same can be said for Joseph Spence, William Whitehead and David Stevenson and their relationships with the earls of Lincoln, Jersey, Harcourt and Dartmouth.

Expanding this study of elite male travellers’ encounters with risk and danger to include a wider comparison with elite female and older male travellers, and with men and women from middling backgrounds, has the potential to give a deeper insight into the profound distinctions that separated men, women and different social strata. Furthermore, identifying when, why and how these different genders and social groups influenced one another and whether such moments had a lasting effect upon the range of cultures and behaviours will expose the interactions and relationships between diverse elements of eighteenth-century society. Ultimately, this will enable scholars to attain a clearer sense of whether and how a shared culture of eighteenth-century Britishness existed. As well-documented microcosms of eighteenth-century life, the Grand Tour and other cultures and travel practices provide a valuable lens through which scholars can examine how the wider changes and continuities of Hanoverian Britain played out among individuals and communities.

Finally, it is essential to recognize that the Grand Tour and other cultures of travel must be contextualized within wider shifts and trends in eighteenth-century British culture and society. This book has explored some of these: the powerful sway of non-natural health regimes; the elaboration of climatic theory; the rise of cultures of science and exploration; and Britain’s involvement with military conflict. Grand Tourists’ experiences, reflections and writings were also substantially shaped by a distinct post-1750s discursive shift in literature and culture, in which the advent of sensibility and Methodism resulted in the increasingly conventional practice of recording and reflecting on one’s emotions and experiences in diaries, letters and publications. This in turn led to a more articulated sense of self, and had a substantial impact on the genre and practice of travel writing.¹⁵ The writings of Grand Tourists are no exception to this, a development that is therefore important when considering their interactions with and writings about danger.

In the second half of the eighteenth century, the major theatres of war shifted beyond Europe. This resulted in a decline in Grand Tourists’ actual engagement with warfare itself and an increase in the practice of using encounters with mountains and glaciers as a substitute. Despite this, Tourists became far more adept in making the most of the limited military experiences available to them and in clearly articulating how these and other encounters with danger were significant to their elite and masculine identities. In part, this was achieved by undertaking more substantial reflections on the physical impressions and exhilarating emotions of each encounter. This intensification of articulation was therefore not just a response to late eighteenth-century military activity and the calls for a more martial, chivalric masculinity. It was also directly shaped by the concurrent developments in the literary culture of reflection and selfhood. Thus, while the Grand Tour may have taken place beyond Britain, it was always situated within the context of British society and culture. Reconnecting the study of travel history to wider surveys of the eighteenth century is therefore an endeavour of benefit to both.

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1 M. Cohen, Fashioning Masculinity: National Identity and Language in the Eighteenth Century (London, 1996), p. 130.

2 Brit. Libr., Egerton MS. 1711, William Bentinck, 1st Count Bentinck, Prague, to Elizabeth Bentinck, countess dowager of Portland, 18 Jan. 1727; Add. MS. 34887, fos. 122–3, John Holroyd, later 1st earl of Sheffield, St Quintin, to Revd Dr Baker, 9 May 1763.

3 R. W. Connell, Masculinities (Cambridge, 1995), p. 77.

4 H. French and M. Rothery, Man’s Estate: Landed Gentry Masculinities, 1660–1900 (Oxford, 2012), pp. 11–15, 37.

5 French and Rothery, Man’s Estate, pp. 16, 18–19, 105–7.

6 Frederick Augustus Hervey, 4th earl of Bristol and bishop of Dery, Naples, to Lady Mary Hervey, 15 Apr. 1766, in The Earl Bishop: the Life of Frederick Hervey, Bishop of Derry, Earl of Bristol, ed. W. S. Childe-Pemberton (London, 1924), pp. 75–6, Frederick Augustus Hervey, 4th earl of Bristol and Bishop of Derry, Naples, to Lady Mary Hervey, 15 Apr. 1766.

7 Sir W. Hamilton, Observations on Mount Vesuvius, Mount Etna, and Other Volcanos: in a Series of Letters, Addressed to the Royal Society (London, 1772), p. 8.

8 M. Roper and J. Tosh, ‘Introduction: historians and the politics of masculinity’, in Manful Assertions: Masculinities in Britain since 1800, ed. Roper and Tosh (London, 1991), p. 18. See also H. Yallop, Age and Identity in Eighteenth-Century England (London and New York, 2015), Chapter 5.

9 See R. Sweet, Cities of the Grand Tour: the British in Italy, c.1690–1820 (Cambridge, 2012), pp. 55–6.

10 Brit. Lib., Add. MS. 39787, fos. 70v–72r, Ann Flaxman’s journal.

11 Brit. Lib., Add. MS. 39780, fo. 165, Flaxman to her father, 8 Nov. 1787. My thanks to Rosemary Sweet for sharing these Flaxman examples with me.

12 Brit. Lib., Add. MS. 39787, fos. 70v–72r, Flaxman’s journal.

13 H. Lynch Piozzi, Observations and Reflections Made in the Course of a Journey through France, Italy, and Germany (London, 1789), p. 535.

14 W. Coxe, Literary Life and Select Works of Benjamin Stillingfleet (3 vols., London, 1811), i. 80–1.