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(#litres_trial_promo) He was labouring away on a series of globes and maps that incorporated the discoveries made by Columbus and his successors in the New World. Dee became fascinated by Mercator’s painstaking work, watching over his shoulder as a picture of the world emerged that to sixteenth-century eyes would have been just as startling and significant as the first photographs of Earth taken from space were in the twentieth. Medieval charts typically depicted the world as a disk or semicircle comprising three continents divided by the Mediterranean, Asia at the top, Europe to the left, Africa to the right and Jerusalem in the centre.
(#litres_trial_promo) They also often showed religious features, such as the Garden of Eden and the Tower of Babel.
(#litres_trial_promo) Mercator’s maps, in contrast, were starkly geographical, showing a world made up of four continents, its curved surface ‘projected’ onto a rectangular map using a mathematical method that enabled accurate navigation.
It was in the midst of these Measurers of Louvain that Dee’s ‘whole system of philosophising in the foreign manner laid down its first and deepest roots’.
(#litres_trial_promo) He and the thirty-six-year-old Mercator became inseparable. ‘It was the custom of our mutual friendship and intimacy that, during three whole years, neither of us willingly lacked the other’s presence for as much as three whole days,’ he reminisced years later. As a mark of his respect and affection, Mercator gave Dee a pair of his globes, one of the earth, the other of the heavens, objects of huge financial and scientific value. In return Dee later dedicated his astronomical work, Propaedeumata Aphoristica (1558), to Mercator.
At Louvain, Dee also practised his skill using such instruments as the cross-staff, perhaps during surveying expeditions guided by Frisius and Mercator, stealing off into the dangerous hinterland of cosmological speculation. Only a few years before Dee’s arrival, news of Copernicus’ heretical theory about the sun rather than the earth being at the centre of the universe had started to seep out of Germany. It was first described in an account by George Rheticius (which Dee owned, though it is unclear when he bought it),
(#litres_trial_promo) and later published in full in 1543 in Copernicus’ own De Revolutionibus. Whether or not Dee and Mercator were discussing Copernicus’ ideas at this point is uncertain but they were experimenting with new models of the universe. Mercator even made one from brass, especially for Dee. Dee called it a ‘theorick’. At first glance the theorick might have appeared to reflect the orthodox view of the universe, comprising a series of concentric rings made of brass representing the spheres thought to carry the planets and stars. But Dee mentions it having rings for the ninth and tenth spheres.
(#litres_trial_promo) According to the standard view of the universe, there were eight spheres: seven carrying the planets (the Moon, Mercury, Venus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn), and an outer shell carrying the stars. Ptolemy also proposed a ninth sphere, the primum mobile or divine force that drove the cosmic system. Mercator’s ‘theorick’ had ten rings, which at least suggests that it was unconventional, though in what way is impossible to know, as the device, like Mercator’s globes, was later stolen from Dee’s house.
Mercator may have been the most influential but was by no means the only mathematician and cartographer Dee encountered at this time. In 1550, Dee went to Brussels to meet Mathias Haker, musician and mathematician to the Danish court, and then ‘by wagon’ to Antwerp, to see Abraham Ortelius, Mercator’s one-time travelling companion and a fellow cartographer. Dee and Ortelius (who also came from a family of merchants) evidently got on well. Some time later Dee wrote a fulsome entry for Ortelius’s ‘Friendship Album’, to which he added his coat of arms (only granted in 1567) and an expression of love for Ortelius, ‘Geographer, Mathematician, Philosopher’.
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Another acquaintance at this time was Pedro Nunez, then Lisbon’s leading navigator who became a close friend and an important figure in Dee’s life. When struck down by serious illness in the late 1550s, Dee appointed Nunez his literary executor.
Dee generally had little to do with his fellow countrymen while abroad. The exception was Sir William Pickering, the English ambassador to Charles V’s court at Brussels. On 7 December 1549 Dee began to ‘eat at the house’ of Pickering, as he put it in his diary. He also became his host’s tutor, training him in the arts that would help Pickering establish a position in the ferociously competitive court of Europe’s most powerful ruler: ‘logic, rhetoric, arithmetic, in the use of the astronomer’s staff, the use of the astronomer’s ring, the astrolabe, in the use of both [i.e. terrestrial and celestial] Globes, &c.’
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Pickering had, like Dee, studied under Sir John Cheke at Cambridge, who presumably provided the connection between the young scholar and the powerful and glamorous diplomat. Pickering was of good family: his father had been Knight Marshal to Henry VIII. Dashing and wealthy, ‘one of the finest gentlemen of this age, for his worth in learning, arts and warfare’, he was to be a future suitor to Queen Elizabeth.
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The two men developed a long and fruitful relationship, Pickering occasionally sending Dee books he had managed to pick up from his various foreign postings.
(#litres_trial_promo) He also was to bequeath Dee a strange mirror which, like Pickering himself, would catch the eye of Queen Elizabeth.
Dining at Pickering’s table in Brussels and surveying with Mercator and Frisius in Louvain, Dee must have felt himself at the centre of the intellectual and political firmament, a feeling only confirmed when Charles V offered Dee a position at his court. It was the first of five such offers from ‘Christian Emperors’, and like the others, he turned it down. He never gave a reason for this decision. It may have been anxiety about embracing a Catholicism which would exile him from an increasingly Protestant England. It may have been a combination of loyalty to his homeland and the hope that its sovereign would one day make the same offer.
By 1551, the whole Continent seemed to lie at young Dee’s feet. On 20 July, after five days’ travel, he arrived in Paris, where, ‘within a few days after (at the request of some English gentlemen, made unto me to do somewhat there for the honour of my country) I did undertake to read freely and publicly Euclid’s Elements Geometrical… a thing never done publicly in any University of Christendom.’
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According to Dee, the lectures were a great success. Even though just twenty-four and unknown, he later boasted that he had packed out the ‘mathematical schools’, forcing latecomers to lean in through the windows. He left no record of what had attracted such numbers, but whatever it was, it apparently caused a sensation. ‘A greater wonder arose among the beholders, than of my Aristophanes Scarabeus [the dung beetle] mounting up to the top of Trinity Hall in Cambridge,’ he later wrote.
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More offers of royal patronage and jobs flowed in, as did invitations from learned scholars. Once again, Dee turned the work down. But he did exploit the chance to meet as many other mathematicians as possible and to start building up his book collection. One particularly precious item that came into his hands at this time was a manuscript copy of Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblios, the standard ancient work on astrology and astronomy, which came from the library of the French king.
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After his triumphs in Paris, Dee returned to a very different England. The throne was no longer overflowing with the dominating bulk of Henry, whose reign had ended in religious and political inertia. Perched upon it now was Henry’s nine-year-old son Edward VI, his feet not yet reaching the floor. Edward’s succession in January 1547 had released a surge of pent-up Protestant fervour. ‘Everywhere statues were destroyed in the churches,’ Dee noted in his diary.
(#litres_trial_promo) ‘The great crucifix… on the altar of St Paul’s was a few days ago cast down by force of instruments, several men being wounded in the process and one killed,’ and an alarmed Spanish ambassador reported. ‘There is not a single crucifix now remaining in the other churches.’
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The impulses of the reformers were not, however, purely destructive. A progressive academic mood, receptive to the ideas Dee had encountered in Louvain, swept through the court, promoted by Roger Ascham, now Edward’s Latin secretary, and John Cheke, Edward’s former tutor and now his close aide. Although Cheke professed he did not have a ‘mathematical head’, he showed ‘great affection’ towards mathematicians. Dee was evidently among them, as Cheke personally supervised his introduction to the upper reaches of the new Edwardian court. Among those Dee met was Cheke’s son-in-law, William Cecil, who was to become the foremost statesman of the Elizabethan era. Even this early in his career, Cecil was well established and it was he who presented Dee to Edward VI.
Dee proudly pressed into the King’s hands two astronomical works he had written at Louvain. Both clearly showed Mercator’s and Frisius’s influence, one being on celestial globes, the other on the sizes and distances of heavenly bodies.
(#litres_trial_promo) Neither work has survived (like much of Dee’s prolific output), though their very titles indicate that he was now hoping to establish himself as a British Mercator.
Dee could hardly expect the boy king to understand his works but the books’ dedication to Edward was certainly appreciated, and Dee was duly rewarded with a pension of one hundred crowns, which he exchanged in March 1553 for income from the rectory of Upton-upon-Severn. This produced eighty pounds a year, a modest but certainly comfortable sum for an ambitious young man with expectations of a large inheritance.
His situation improved even further when, on 28 February 1552, he was invited to enter the service of William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke.
(#litres_trial_promo) Herbert was then at the height of his powers; the wily broker who had sided with John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, in the scramble for political domination during Edward’s minority. Dee was probably retained as tutor to William’s sons.
It is hard to imagine how Dee got on in the household. The Earl of Pembroke was no Pickering. He was wild, ‘a mad… fighting fellow’, according to Aubrey.
(#litres_trial_promo) It was said that he could neither read nor write, and used a stamp to sign his name.
(#litres_trial_promo) His idea of good company was not a learned tutor or refined diplomat but his beloved ‘cur-dog’.
Despite their obvious differences, Pembroke evidently came to trust his in-house scholar, asking him to cast horoscopes for various members of his family, including his second wife.
(#litres_trial_promo) He may also have recommended Dee to John Dudley who, since his seizure of power from Edward’s Protector, the Earl of Somerset, had promoted himself to Lord President of the Council and Duke of Northumberland.
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Dee joined Northumberland’s household in late 1552, possibly as an advisor to the Duke himself or again as tutor to his sons.
(#litres_trial_promo) Dee would have been a safe choice for either role, with impressive testimonials from well-known Protestant humanists such as John Cheke and Roger Ascham.
Dee was now established as an intellectual of some standing. He was ‘astronomus peritissimus’, an expert astronomer, as John Bale put it in his Index of British and Other Writers, published in the 1550s.
(#litres_trial_promo) At the heart of the new Protestant order, he was poised to become a favourite of the King, and seemed destined to enjoy rank and wealth.
Then fortune intervened. The heavens turned hostile and, for Dee, as for Hamlet, all occasions did inform against him.
IV (#ulink_d09981e8-d121-54e9-bed9-0d6b68f7201a)
On the afternoon of 6 July 1553, a terrible storm broke over Greenwich as King Edward lay close to death. He had fallen ill the year before, and the Duke of Northumberland, possibly on Dee’s advice, had called in the Italian physician and astrologer Girolamo Cardano to treat the ailing King.
(#litres_trial_promo) Before seeing his royal patient, Cardano cast Edward’s horoscope, and discovered ‘omens of great calamity’. A physical examination followed which only confirmed the prediction: Edward was found to be suffering from consumption. Cardano was summoned to the Council to give his opinion. He did not report his grim astrological findings, as drawing up the horoscope of a monarch was potentially illegal, a form of spying through magical surveillance. All he said was that the King needed rest.
By the end of 1552, Edward was coughing up blood. He was prescribed opiates and other remedies, some quite elaborate, such as a mixture of spearmint syrup, red fennel, liverwort, turnip, dates, raisins, mace, celery and the raw meat of a nine-day-old sow, nine spoonfuls to be taken as required. To counter the rumours that the King was being poisoned, Northumberland planted the story that Princess Mary, Henry VIII’s only child from his first marriage and in Catholic eyes his only legitimate offspring, had given her half-brother the evil eye, attempting to despatch him by witchcraft. Northumberland rightly feared that if she became queen, England’s great Protestant experiment would be over.
Northumberland persuaded Edward to disinherit Mary in favour of Lady Jane Grey, the Protestant great-granddaughter of Henry VII. To protect his position further, Northumberland then married Lady Jane to his fourth son Guilford, and Jane’s sister Katherine to Pembroke’s son William, Lord Herbert. The joint ceremony was held on Whit Sunday 1553 at Durham House, Northumberland’s London palace overlooking the Thames. It involved the two families that were now acting as Dee’s patrons, and it is likely he attended the event.
Two months later, on that stormy July afternoon, King Edward prepared to meet his maker. With his final breaths, he was said to have whispered a prayer he had composed especially for the occasion, beseeching God to ‘defend this realm from papistry, and maintain Thy true religion, that I and my people may praise Thy holy Name, for Thy Son Jesus Christ’s sake, Amen.’
(#litres_trial_promo) He died at 6pm.
As soon as Edward was dead, Northumberland attempted to install Lady Jane Grey as queen. But popular sentiment, nimble aristocratic loyalties and the law favoured Mary. Within days, she had won over most of Northumberland’s allies, including the Earl of Pembroke, who stood outside Castle Baynard, his London home, and threw a ‘cap full of angels’ (gold coins, worth around ten shillings) to the people to celebrate her accession. He also announced the annulment of his son’s marriage to Katherine Grey, which he had taken the precaution of ensuring remained unconsummated.
The speed of Northumberland’s fall was breathtaking. On 23 August, barely a month after Edward’s death, he was standing on the scaffold on Tower Hill. Stretched out beneath him was the City that had abandoned him for Mary. Nearly a tenth of its population, around ten thousand people, had gathered to watch him die. They beheld a broken man who now publicly renounced his Protestant beliefs. He was, and wanted to die Catholic. Having recanted, he was blindfolded and knelt before the block. But before the executioner could strike, the blindfold slipped and the duke had to get up to put it on again. He knelt again, his distress now obvious, and with a single blow he was beheaded.
In the days leading up to his execution, Queen Mary’s Privy Council began to purge his sympathisers. On 21 August 1553, an order was issued to the Lieutenant of the Tower of London, requesting that three prisoners be sent before the Council for examination. One of the names listed was Roland Dee.
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Roland, like his son John, had prospered in recent years. Reforms such as the dissolution of the monasteries had released expanses of new land onto London’s starved property market and set off a boom that would see the City’s population nearly quadruple from fewer than 50,000 to nearly 200,000.
(#litres_trial_promo) Roland had directly benefited from this, being appointed by the King as one of two ‘packers’ with joint responsibility for checking all merchandise shipped through London and its suburbs, and the right to ‘untruss and ransack’ any consignment not packed in his presence. In return, he was to receive a ‘moiety’ (half share) of fees payable on the shipments, the other half going to the other packer, who was appointed by the Lord Mayor.
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Now he was a wanted man, though there is no record of the precise charge. Given the political situation, and the fact that the Privy Council itself wanted to interview him, it seems likely he had been identified as a Protestant activist or even one of Northumberland’s conspirators. Ten days later on 1 September, he was released, a ruined man. Having nurtured a position at court, a thriving business in the City and been rewarded with lucrative privileges – having, indeed, carefully laid the foundations for promotion to the gentry, perhaps ultimately even minor nobility – he had lost everything. This misfortune was also to have a devastating impact on the fortunes of his son. By such ‘hard dealing’, Dee later wrote in a begging letter to William Cecil, his father ‘was disabled for leaving unto me due maintenance’.
(#litres_trial_promo) In other words, having confidently expected to inherit independent means that would enable him to continue his studies as he wished, Dee suddenly had to fend for himself.
But the legacy of his father’s fall was to have even wider implications. Two years later, John Dee found himself in equal, if not greater, peril.
In 1555, Mary’s supporters began to burn prominent Protestants. As the church could not execute those it convicted of heresy so, under a statute called De Heretico Comburendo, the civil authorities undertook this responsibility. In force during Henry’s reign, the statute had been abolished in 1547, part of Edward’s Protestant reforms. In January 1555 Mary’s government restored it, and within a month the fires were alight. First victim was John Rogers, former canon at St Paul’s Cathedral. He was burned at Smithfield, which was London’s meat market, as well as the venue for its grisliest executions. For over four centuries traitors, witches and heretics had been brought there and, like the cuts of meat in the butchers’ stalls, hung, roasted and boiled.
Rogers was a married priest, therefore by definition a heretic and, according to partisan Protestant accounts, denied the chance to say goodbye to his wife and children before being tied to the stake. Across the country, many more met the same fate. The numbers vary widely according to the religious sympathies of those reporting them, but are estimated at around three hundred in the five years of Mary’s reign. Later, Protestant storytellers would send shudders through their audiences with highly coloured tales of agonising death, of necklaces of gunpowder which ignited and blew off the victims’ heads or, even worse, failed to go off, as happened to John Hooper, Bishop of Gloucester, who took three-quarters of an hour to expire. According to one tale, a baby erupted from a woman’s womb while she burned, which was thrown back into the fire by the executioner.
The flames burned fiercest in Smithfield and the smoke crept through the surrounding streets, stoking up rebellion as well as fear. There were reports of a mysterious voice emanating from a wall that spoke favourable words about Mary’s half-sister the Princess Elizabeth but remained silent about the Queen. A dead cat dressed as a Catholic cleric was hung from the gibbet at Cheapside.
(#litres_trial_promo) A dagger was thrown at one priest who criticised Edward VIs reign, a ‘murderous assault’ made on another during Communion. ‘The Blessed Sacrament itself was the object of profane outrages, and street brawls arising out of religious disputes were frequent,’ one Catholic commentary later noted.
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Late in May 1555, John Warne, an upholsterer living in Walbrook in the east of the City, looked up from his stitching to find the sheriffs at his door. Dragged off to Newgate prison, he was interrogated by Edmund Bonner, the ‘bloody’ Bishop of London. In Acts and Monuments of these Latter and Perillous Dayes (more popularly known as Foxe’s Book of Martyrs), compiled by the Puritan teacher John Foxe exiled in Switzerland during Mary’s reign, Bonner was named as the most diligent and heartless executor of Mary’s religious policy. Foxe summarised his view in two lines of doggerel:
This cannibal in three years space three hundred martyrs slew.
They were his food, he loved so blood, he spared none he knew.
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Bonner accused Warne, presumably on the testimony of informants, of failing to attend Mass and refusing to accept tran-substantiation – the Catholic belief that during Mass bread and wine were turned into Christ’s flesh and blood. Warne was also reported to have seen ‘a great rough water-spaniel’ with its head shaved in the manner of a Catholic priest: ‘Thou didst laugh at it and like it,’ Bonner said.
(#litres_trial_promo) Apparently unmoved by such accusations, Warne refused to recant his beliefs ‘unless he were thereunto thoroughly persuaded by the holy Scriptures’. This was a robustly nonconformist response, as belief in the Bible as the sole source of divine truth and authority was central to Protestant theology.
Having been examined by Bonner for three days, Warne was handed back to the sheriffs at Newgate to await his fate. On 31 May, he was taken to Smithfield, where, according to Foxe, he was chained to the stake and burned with John Cardmaker, another former canon at St Paul’s. As the flames leapt up around them, the two held hands and together ‘passed through the fire to the blessed rest and peace among God’s holy saints and martyrs’.
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The following day, the sheriffs were out again. This time the man they wanted was John Dee.
THE LORD OF MISRULE (#ulink_1bd28f42-7a52-5ee7-9987-11b7b90d5623)
… when the planets In evil mixture to disorder wander, What plagues and what portents, what mutiny, What raging of the sea, shaking of earth, Commotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors, Divert and crack, rend and deracinate, The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixture!
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
V (#ulink_f06b7f90-5038-5aea-89c6-f84809399584)
On 28 May 1555 the Privy Council despatched a letter ordering Francis Englefeld, Mary’s Master of the Court of Wards, ‘to make search for one John Dee, dwelling in London, and to apprehend him and send him hither.’
(#litres_trial_promo) His house was to be sealed, and his books and papers seized as evidence. His living from Upton-upon-Severn was also confiscated, depriving him of his only regular source of income.
By 1 June Dee was in the custody of Sir Richard Morgan, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas. He was taken to Hampton Court, to be held incommunicado ‘until Mr Secretary Bourne and Mr Englefelde shall repair thither for his further examination’.
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This can hardly have come as a complete surprise. Many of Dee’s closest friends had already been arrested or forced into exile. Following an audience with Princess Elizabeth, Sir William Pickering had escaped back to the Continent, and been indicted for treason in his absence. John Day, a prominent printer who later published many of Dee’s works, had been imprisoned and, on release, also went abroad. The arrest of his own father must have further thickened the atmosphere of apprehension, casting suspicion on the whole family.
Dee was arrested with several others: one Butler, whose identity remains unknown; Christopher Cary, a pupil of Dee’s;
(#litres_trial_promo) John Field, a publisher and astronomer who was soon to collaborate with Dee on the printing of a set of ephemerides drawn up according to the heretical Copernican principles; and Sir Thomas Benger, by far the group’s most senior member, who later became auditor to Queen Elizabeth and was now one of her ‘principal servants at Woodstock’, as Dee put it.
(#litres_trial_promo) This list is a telling one. It suggests Dee was identified as a member of a secret Protestant cell Mary’s government believed to be clustered around Elizabeth. A week later Elizabeth herself was brought to Hampton Court, where Mary, now married to Charles V’s son Philip, approached the term of what turned out to be a phantom pregnancy. Mary was under pressure from her advisors to dispose of Elizabeth, whose very existence was seen as a threat to the English re-establishment of Catholicism. There were repeated attempts to implicate the princess in Protestant schemes and plots. In Mary’s private chambers, the sisters had a tearful confrontation, apparently (according to Elizabeth) within the hearing of Philip, hiding in a suitably Shakespearean manner behind an arras. Mary demanded that Elizabeth reject her Protestant beliefs, and she refused once more.
The many accusations against Dee focussed not on his religious leanings so much as his links with mathematics and magic. ‘In those dark times,’ John Aubrey later wrote, ‘astrologer, mathematician and conjuror were accounted the same things.’
(#litres_trial_promo) This was certainly the case with Dee. He was charged with ‘calculating’, ‘conjuring’ and ‘witchcraft’ on the grounds that he had drawn up horoscopes for Mary, her husband Philip and Elizabeth.
He was probably guilty as charged. The remnant of his diary for this period includes an entry (inaccurately transcribed by Ashmole) showing the date and time of Mary’s marriage to Philip, and noting that the rising sign at the moment of their wedding – 11am, 25 July 1554 – was Libra (a good omen, as Libra, ruled by Venus, was the sign associated with marriage or partnership).
The only other entry from his diary for this period, dated three weeks prior to his arrest, simply reads ‘Books brought from France to London’. Although it appears innocent enough, it may disguise an attempt to communicate with the exiled Pickering, one of Elizabeth’s partisans and a potential traitor. Dee may even have been acting as an intermediary between Pickering and Elizabeth because he was also in correspondence with the princess at this time.
Whether there were grounds for such suspicions or not, the merest whiff of intrigue was sufficient to have prompted the Council’s decision to arrest Dee, but if they were to keep him imprisoned, they would need something stronger than the suggestion he had been drawing up royal horoscopes.
A more serious accusation was duly found, and the very nature of its source hints at the political nature of the proceedings. Two informers were now cited who claimed to have evidence that Dee had ‘endeavoured by enchantments to destroy Queen Mary’. One of them was subsequently identified by Dee as ‘Prideaux’. A Catholic spy of that name later fled to Spain, seeking the protection of King Philip.
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The other informer was a rather more conspicuous character called George Ferrers, a lawyer, member of Lincoln’s Inn, MP and convicted debtor.
(#litres_trial_promo) In 1553 he was appointed London’s ‘Lord of Misrule’, an ancient role bestowed during yuletide revelries. This tradition had been revived by the Duke of Northumberland for Edward’s last Christmas and it had been a huge success. Decked in satin robes, Ferrers fulfilled his duties admirably, presiding over a court of fools and illusionists. He repeated the part during Mary’s reign, though no doubt the ‘merry disports’ that formed part of the event did not include jesters dressed as cardinals, as in the inaugural year. Ferrers now accused Dee of using ‘enchantments’ to blind one of his children, and to kill another.
Ferrers apparently bore Dee a longstanding grudge. In 1578 a suppressed edition of a pamphlet entitled Mirror for Magistrates included a story he wrote apparently lampooning Dee. It described a sorcerer hired by one Elianor Cobham to kill the Queen by sticking pins through a wax effigy of her. The story had a particular resonance at the time, as just such an effigy of Elizabeth had been found (at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where Ferrers practised as a lawyer), and Dee had been asked by the Privy Council to advise upon its significance.
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On 5 June, Dee, together with Cary, Benger and Field, was brought before the Secretary of State Sir John Bourne, Francis Englefeld, Sir Richard Read and Doctor Thomas Hughes to be examined on his ‘lewd and vain practises of cal-culing and conjuring’.
