What is an expert? Though much recent work has been devoted to this question, I have in mind a relatively little-studied dimension of the expert's expertise.Footnote 1 Derived from the Latin expertus, ‘expertise’ is generally defined as the possession of specialized knowledge and skill. This is well known. However, if we travel back to the early modern period, the word had several other quite interesting and unexpected associations. For example, in his Thresor de la langue françoyse (1606), Jean Nicot defines an expert not only as one who is knowledgeable and/or practised in many things, but also as someone particularly ingenious (ingenieux), which he defines as ‘one who has a good mind and understanding’.Footnote 2 He adds further precision to this definition with several synonyms: ‘artificiosus, argutus, solers’.Footnote 3 The first word of this trinity takes us towards a less-discussed and darker side of expertise. While artificiosus retains the strong connotation of skill and knowledge still associated with expertise today, it was also defined as ‘ruse, deguisement, fraude’.Footnote 4 We see this same set of meanings trace itself even further back into the sixteenth century, as illustrated by Robert Estienne's Dictionarium latinogallicum (1538), where, like Nicot, Estienne defines the expert both as one ‘qui a veu et faict beaucoup d'experiences et essaiz’ and as argutus – that is, one with a subtle and ingenious mind.Footnote 5 Estienne then cites a number of ancient authorities to describe argutus (Subtil, Ingenieux, Agu) as ‘trop affectee, trop diligente et curieuse’, as ‘thin’ (Maigre) and as ‘birds that make a lot of noise’ (les oiseaulx font grand bruit).Footnote 6 Here, too, experience is inflected with the suspicion that claims of superior knowledge and skill were in reality the mark of an imposter, a maker of fakes, a producer of lies, a parvenu. Thus to the usual definitions of an expert as one who was ‘much experienced in things’, or who was considered ‘skilful’, were grafted other less flattering associations. As Randle Cotgrave said in his Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues (1611), an expert is someone ‘cunning’ and/or ‘well seene’.Footnote 7Cunning, like ingenieux, had positive connotations, of course, but it too shaded into the pejorative with associated meanings such as regnarder or ruser – that is, someone shifty, crafty or practised in sleight of hand. Well seene, like Estienne's trop affectee, adds to cunning the desire to appear in a favourable light.Footnote 8 To be well seene similarly suggests an element of deception and dissimulation, of feigned display and/or trickery, someone who ‘perverts a truth with shifts, trickes, or subtilties’.Footnote 9 This implies, once again, that the expert's desire to be ‘well seene’ might also be associated with purposive attempts to garner power and prestige through guile and perhaps even fraud; in other words, that the ‘expert’ might be considered something of a social climber, as hinted at, not so subtly, by Estienne's characterization of the expert as ‘fine et affetee’.Footnote 10
There can be little doubt that the negative associations bound up with expertise were closely associated with its relationship to experience. As Cotgrave defined it, experience is ‘cunning, skill, knowledge, wisedome, gotten by much practise, and many trialls’.Footnote 11 Experience, here, had less to do with naked acts of perception than with hard work, practice and wisdom gained through careful and repeated rehearsal. This definition of ‘experience’ is somewhat at odds with our own, though perhaps not entirely opposed to modern notions of expertise. In early modern Europe, experience was understood to refer to how nature usually, i.e. universally, behaves, not to perception, empirical investigation or induction from discrete events.Footnote 12 Aristotle's Posterior Analytics is the touchstone here:
One necessarily perceives an individual at a place and at a time, and it is impossible to perceive what is universal and holds in every case. Since demonstrations are universal, and it is not possible to perceive these, it is evident that it is not possible to understand through perception.
Rather, ‘from perception there comes memory … and from memory (when it occurs often in connections with the same thing), experience; for memories that are many in number form a single experience’.Footnote 13 Thus experience, for Estienne, was synonymous not only with expertise but with proof (espreuve), based on a reference to common knowledge rather than on the assertion of a personal experiential claim. Experience of discrete phenomena was not really knowledge at all, for it was thought to be concerned with ephemera, particulars and singularities, or, as they were frequently referred to, with monsters. Coincidently, monster refers not simply to contingent experiences or to ‘monstrous’ anomalies of nature, but also to one who, contrary to nature, transgresses the boundaries of expected social (or professional) behaviour.Footnote 14 The parvenu who through cunning, skill and expertise rose above his station was just such a singular monster. This article is concerned to show how one such monster, a navigator–cosmographer–mathematician from Dieppe named Pierre Crignon (1464?–1540) attempted, through a series of complex mediations, to escape these shadowy associations to transform his expertise into creditworthy and laudable knowledge and himself into an expert worthy to be heard by powerful merchants, princes and kings.
Pierre Crignon and a poetic astrolabe
Though his voyages of exploration to Brazil and the East Indies are well known, we know next to nothing of Pierre Crignon's early life. Perhaps, like his friend and captain, Jean Parmentier, he had little if any scholarly training.Footnote 15 Nevertheless, he appears to have been closely connected to the humanist circles associated with his employer, the Dieppois merchant, conseiller du roi, vicomte-gouverneur-capitaine de Dieppe, Jean Ango.Footnote 16 Around Ango gathered some of the brightest lights of provincial humanist culture in early sixteenth-century France: men such as the poet Jean Doublet, translator of Terence and Cicero; the brothers Miffant, who translated Cicero and Xenophon; the Abbé Pierre Desceliers, the renowned mathematician, astrologer and cartographer; and, of course, Jean Parmentier, pilot, explorer, maker of maps, writer of court fêtes and religious poetry, translator of Sallust, and best friend and employer to Pierre Crignon.Footnote 17 Like Parmentier, Crignon gained fame not only for his skills as a navigator and explorer but also as a poet. Indeed, along with Parmentier, he was singled out by his contemporary Pierre du Val as one of the best poets in all of France.Footnote 18 He was a frequent competitor at the annual poetic concourses sponsored by Rouen's Puy de palinod and Dieppe's Puy de l'assomption. His contributions often won the day. In Rouen, he was crowned laureate in 1517 and 1527 with poems such as Purple, Excellent for Dressing the Great King,Footnote 19 and The King of the Treasures of Eternity.Footnote 20 Some time in the first third of the sixteenth century Crignon read to the assembled members of Rouen's Puy a poem, Our Astrolabe Where the Sphere Is Comprised, that provided a detailed exposition of the many similarities between an astrolabe and the virgin mother of God. The poem, reprinted as item I in the Appendix to this paper, compared every aspect of the mathematical instrument's design, ornamentation and use to the Virgin, for both, he explained, were defined and created with reference to the cosmic perfection and virtuous symmetry of the celestial sphere:Footnote 21
A computer of brass
The astrolabe, or star-finder, upon which Crignon based his chant, was a model of the heavens inscribed in brass. A kind of analogue computer, it was, at least in theory, capable of facilitating a number of complex astronomical and geometrical calculations.Footnote 23 In an era before accurate and portable clocks it could be used to tell time; it could be used in surveying and to measure altitude; in navigation it could be used to determine geographical latitude and the direction of true north. Additionally, it played an important role in casting horoscopes, for it allowed astrologers to reference an ‘accurate’ map of the heavens for a given time or locale.
The front of the astrolabe has a raised circumference called a limb. This is inscribed with a degree scale (usually a scale of hours); on the interior of the limb (the mater) a universal astrolabe can be fitted with alternative plates which depict the night sky as stereographically projected onto the plane of the equator from different latitudes. An observer selects a plate according to their latitude and fits it into the mater. By this means a system of celestial coordinates based on the reference point of the observer's horizon is established. Overlaid above this celestial template is a second projection: a moveable skeletal or open-plan star map, known as the rete or spider, which points out prominent stars and the ecliptic of the sun. The rete can be rotated above the latitude plate to mimic the daily apparent motion of the celestial sphere. The changing positions of the stars in altitude and azimuth can be charted by reference to the plate lying below it. On the other side of the astrolabe is the alidade, a pivoted arm lying across the back face of the instrument. This has small sighting holes (the pinules) that are raised above the astrolabe's plane. If the instrument is held vertically by the shackle and ring at the top or throne, the alidade can be used in conjunction with a fixed scale that runs along the outside rim of the instrument to measure the height of a given object. For example, to establish a model of the night sky all that is required, at least in theory, is to measure the altitude of one of the stars on the rete by using the alidade and degree scale on the back of the astrolabe, then to adjust the star represented on the rete to the appropriate altitude lines. By following this method, the time, as well as the positions of other celestial bodies, can be determined.
Yet despite these putative practical uses, the cumbersome nature of handling the astrolabe in the field, often in less than perfect conditions, combined with limitations imposed by its necessarily small size (usually between ten and forty centimetres), the lack of textual corroboration of instances of use, as well as the precious nature of the materials utilized in its construction (typically gilt brass), make it extremely unlikely that the astrolabe was used for anything except as a showcase item for display or for didactic purposes in teaching the principles of astronomy and geometry. Nevertheless, according to Crignon's poem it was by using an astrolabe that the intrepid sailor, ‘lost on the ocean's expanses without anchor, sail or mast’, could navigate to ‘a safe and good port’. Despite his assurances, however, the astrolabe he describes in his chant was not a navigational instrument. This is not to say that astrolabes were not used for navigation, but rather that such astrolabes were entirely different from the one described by Crignon. Appropriately, the navigational instrument was called a mariner's astrolabe.Footnote 24
The first reference to the mariner's astrolabe coincides with the expansion of Atlantic shipping towards the end of the fifteenth century. More closely resembling a simple quadrant or a theodolite turned on its side than the astrolabe described by Crignon, it was an eminently practical instrument particularly suited to long-distance oceanic navigation.Footnote 25 It has very little in common with its namesake. Mariner's astrolabes were usually made of brass or iron, with the plates, inscriptions and decorative paraphernalia that could catch the wind and interfere with functionality removed. Essentially this instrument was a heavily weighted circular ring. On its limb a degree scale was inscribed. The alidade swivelled around and across this divided circle. To navigate a ship, sun or star would be sighted through the pinholes on either side of an alidade. A traveller would take readings of the sun on successive days at its highest point as it crossed his meridian. The angular distance could then be determined by comparison with measurements of the horizon; this, adjusted with appropriate declination tables, could then be used to find a ship's approximate bearings. This contrasts markedly with the detailed craftsmanship and intricately inscribed plates of a planispheric astrolabe, which in theory could be used in surveying, navigation, time-telling and artillery but in reality was not.Footnote 26
Given all this, why did Crignon deliberately model his poetic astrolabe on a device that was never used for navigation? The apparent mistake was surely deliberate, for there can be no question that Crignon, an experienced navigator and explorer, knew the difference. Indeed, in his chronicle of Parmentier's voyage to Sumatra he took pains to note that he measured the height of the sun at midday almost every day.Footnote 27 There is little likelihood that he did this with a cross-staff, which was best suited for observation of celestial objects less than forty-five degrees above the horizon and was certainly not a tool one would want to use for naked-eye solar observation at high noon. That Crignon used a mariner's astrolabe can be plausibly deduced not only from his journal, but also from a poem written by his captain and friend, Jean Parmentier. Read before the Puy at approximately the same time as Crignon delivered his Just Astrolabe Where the Sphere Is Comprised, Parmentier's chant, The Mapemonde of Human Salvation, reprinted in the Appendix to this paper as item II, described how difficult it was for a ‘cosmographe’ to use an astrolabe to sight the pole star as his ship approached the equator:
It thus seems obvious that we attribute Crignon's ‘slip’ to poetic license. The complexity of the planispheric astrolabe clearly provided a much richer technical vocabulary for Crignon's verse than did the bare-bones navigational instrument. Nevertheless, more is going on here. To modern eyes it might appear that the association of the mariner's astrolabe with the planispheric astrolabe was a means of grounding the abstruse and difficult theories that mathematicians and astrologers employed in such eminently practical uses as navigation.Footnote 29 Yet in the early modern period this gesture to a rhetoric of utility might have done more to undercut the efficacy of the navigator's craft than to bolster it.Footnote 30 Though counterintuitive, it was just the opposite move that needed to be made: navigators and mathematicians had to steer clear of the monsters of the contingent world in favour of more abstract universally recognized truths. An important step in this process was to associate the working navigational instrument with its more lavish and vastly more complex cousin, the planispheric astrolabe.
Planispheric astrolabes were relatively esoteric instruments in the early sixteenth century. Few had experience with them; fewer still possessed Crignon's recondite knowledge of their complex structure and use. His poem pre-dates Dominique Jacquinot's L'Usaige de l'astrolabe (Paris: Jehan Barbé, 1545) and Jaques Focard's Paraphrase de l'astrolabe contenant: Les Principes de la geometrie, la sphere, l'astrolabe, ou déclaracion des parties de la terre (Lyon: de Tournes, 1546). Navigation in the North Atlantic was at this time a kind of craft knowledge learned through long experience in well-known and frequently travelled waters, having more to do with body-to-body transference of skills honed by constant practice than with books, elaborate instruments or mathematical abstractions.Footnote 31 It required knowledge of the tides and of landmarks; familiarity with birds, fish, kelp and water conditions; and experience in the use of a sounding line, a compass and perhaps a portolan chart. The use of new navigational instruments and the mathematical techniques associated with them were relatively well known on the Iberian peninsula in the early years of the century.Footnote 32 But this knowledge diffused slowly. Thus, for example, across the channel and as late as 1575 ‘even such relatively simple equipment as the cross-staff, the mariner's astrolabe, and the plane chart had been used aboard English ships for just a decade or two at the most’.Footnote 33 Navigation in the early sixteenth century was a menial craft carried out by practical men in familiar waters. There was nothing particularly learned or valorizing about it. At the same time, the loss of a ship and its crew could have devastating financial consequences for those who had invested in it. This lent impetus to efforts to ensure the safety and dependability of transatlantic travel through the development of new mathematical techniques of navigation based on universal theoretical principles and not on dangerously contingent local knowledge.Footnote 34 Such techniques had to be ‘marketed’ as necessary and useful tools to ensure the profitability of overseas trade. At the same time, as we shall see, this marketing also needed to appeal beyond mere economic interests, to social, intellectual and spiritual ambitions as well.
Navigating an audience
In writing his poetic astrolabe for the Puy de palinod, Crignon was playing to a perfect audience of actual and potential patrons. In addition to well-known courtiers, participants in the Puy de palinod included some of the most celebrated citizens of Dieppe and Rouen, including members of the old nobility, high-ranking members of the robe, wealthy merchants and important ecclesiastical officials. Thus not only was the cream of Rouen society present when Crignon read his poetry, including such luminaries as Pierre Monfauld, the president of Normandy's parlement; Louis Cannossa, Bishop of Bayeux and correspondent of Erasmus; and Clément Marot, France's most illustrious (and infamous) poet, but also important merchants, shipowners and civic leaders, such as Jehan Bonshoms, Gillebert le Fevre and Pierre Couldray. These men provided crucial financial and logistical support for overseas trade and exploration at a time when the French king was far more concerned with Milan and Naples and his rivalry with Charles V than he was with the transatlantic interests of Normandy's merchant community.Footnote 35 They traded in wool, silk, spice, alum and brazil wood, used to make brilliant red dyes.Footnote 36 In the first half of 1529 alone, over two hundred tons of the bois de braise, as it was known, were brought into Rouen's port.Footnote 37 However, the poetry read out before the assembled members of the Puy was far more than an attempt to garner the patronage of Normandy's merchant humanists for his skills as a navigator. It was also a form of symbolic address through which Crignon articulated the interests of, and appealed to and associated himself with, like-minded courtly and provincial elites who could help him on his journey from lowly navigator to laurel-crowned poet.
Vernacular poetry in the first half of the sixteenth century played an important role in the French court with the likes of André de la Vigne, Jean Lemaire de Belges and Jean Marot writing verse and orchestrating royal ceremonial to immortalize the reigns of their royal patrons.Footnote 38 This gave poetry and its exponents new-found status and prestige both at court and in the provinces.Footnote 39 The valorization of poetry and the persuasive power of eloquence it was thought to embody paralleled the growth of new urban centres of culture and commerce and the civically minded bourgeoisie that ruled them. The linguistic expertise that they cultivated went hand in hand with increasingly centralized bureaucratic forms of fiscal, military and juridical administration.Footnote 40 It is therefore not surprising that at the same time that poets were composing verse to honour princes and kings, they were also participating in religious poetic confraternities organized by the educated, urbane and cultured elites of provincial cities, such as Rouen, seat of Normandy's parlement and, after Paris, the second-largest city in France.Footnote 41 These confraternities were at the centre of Normandy's spiritual and cultural life. The Puy de palinod was among the most important of these. Each year on 8 December, the day of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary, a competition would be held where facteurs (agents) of the Puy would read their poetic compositions dedicated to the Virgin. Organized around mastery of complex poetic theory as detailed in a two-volume grammar written specifically for this purpose (Pierre Fabri's Le Grant et vray art de pleine rethorique), the poems written for these confraternities evidence an unusually high degree of literary skill and expertise. An invitation to the annual competition of Rouen's Puy printed in 1516 explained: a chant royal should contain ‘xj lignes pour chacun baston sans coupes feminines silz ne sont synalimphées’.Footnote 42 In other words, each stanza (baston) of a chant royal was to have eleven lines, with caesurae (coupes) structured into each line placed after the fourth masculine syllable (unless the tonic final ‘e’ was elided (synalimphées), thus making the syllable feminine).Footnote 43 The 1533 invitation went even further, stating that submissions had to be ‘well written, with correct orthography, diphthongs and grammar; otherwise, they … will be rejected’.Footnote 44 In terms that Pierre Bourdieu has made familiar, the cultivation of arcane and highly technical grammar by the Puy's poets demarcated a field of expertise that distinguished them as part of France's new bureaucratic–civic elite.Footnote 45 As Pierre Fabri aptly put it, ‘rhetoric donc est science politique’.Footnote 46 Indeed, he averred, rhetoric is a science of ‘royal nobility’ (noblesse royale) and ‘magnificent authority’ (de magnifique auctorité).Footnote 47 He who possesses knowledge of it excels over all other men (il a excellence sur les aultres hommes).Footnote 48
Crignon's solidarity with Normandy's merchant poets was a performed act of social distancing, a means of distinguishing those who possessed the hard-won and recondite linguistic expertise to participate in the annual competitions of the Puy from those who did not. As Fabri put it, it was a means of discriminating between ‘Sapiendum ut pauci en considerant la substance et signification’ of language, and ‘loquendum ut plures en ensuivant le commun langage’.Footnote 49 Not only did these merchant poets link their superior social status to spiritual justifications through the writing of Marian verse, they also attempted to link it to the growing power of the state. In this sense, their poetic contributions to the Puy de palinod coincided with efforts of Tory, Lefèvre d'Etaples, and Budé at court to transform the vernacular into a language suitable to guide the ship of state.Footnote 50 The reference to the king's instrument in Crignon's poem was thus meant in a double sense: first, to identify the king (and France) with Norman exploits on the high seas, then to link these exploits to the fulfilment of God's injunction to spread His redemptive Word (in French) throughout the world.Footnote 51 Like the Virgin, the astrolabe was thus an instrument of God's benign will. By helping to make voyages across the seas possible the astrolabe also made possible the extension of God's Word across the earth, thus fulfilling one of the preconditions for the prophesied end of the world and the thousand-year reign of Christ on earth.Footnote 52 As such the sphere of the astrolabe was not only a mirror of the heavens formed in God's own hand, but, as the guiding hand of the mother of God, a means of transporting all humanity from this world to the next. One would be transported to ‘a port of grace’, to paradise – as Crignon put it, to ‘the year in which wars and all quarrels end’ (L'an où prend fin la guerre et toutz desbatz).Footnote 53 This was so not only figuratively, insofar as Crignon's poetic astrolabe could be construed as a meditative device that could be used to focus a supplicant's attention, through contemplation of the mathematical instrument, on the Virgin's redemptive promise.Footnote 54 It was also to be construed literally, as a tool to navigate the worldly seas. Crignon wrote in the conclusion to his poem (see Appendix, item I), comparing the astrolabe to the Virgin,
Knights and inscriptions
In the sixteenth century the planispheric astrolabe was an emblem of both mathematical and worldly power. Identified by John Blagrave in 1585 as the ‘mathematical jewel’, it occupied a privileged status in the cabinets of kings, princes and nobles across Europe.Footnote 56 This owed as much to the intricate complexity and precious materials of its crafting as to its astrological uses, positing a close interweaving of earthly and celestial power. There is no reason to think that this was not also the case when Crignon was composing his chant. Seen from this angle, the conflation of the mariner's astrolabe with the planispheric astrolabe aimed to translate the ability to navigate the physical world into the ability to navigate the social one. Yet this act of social distancing was also an act of epistemic displacement whereby the image of the heavens inscribed on the astrolabe's brass plates was also projected as a series of precise imaginary lines onto the globe, thus making possible the back-and-forth displacement of men, ships and cargo across the open seas. Thus Crignon recounts how God inscribed the astrolabe with the tropics, the equator, the azimuth and the almicanaratz with his ‘error-free compass’, and how this would allow poor merchant sailors to navigate safely on the ‘vast and limitless seas’. By conceptualizing the earth's surface as a geometrical grid defined by angular distance relative to the heavens Crignon was also navigating an escape from local empirically based craft knowledge to a highly abstract ‘universal’ framework of transoceanic navigation.Footnote 57 So important was this mathematical projection that Crignon began his account of his many voyages with a detailed exposition of how the earth was to be inscribed with lines of latitude and longitude:
In order better to understand lands and their relative locations and distances, we must know what constitutes the longitude and latitude of regions. According to cosmographers, longitude is reckoned from the meridian of the Canary Islands eastward along the equator until, the earth having been encompassed, the said meridian is again reached. According to modern navigation, as established by the Portuguese, this circle is divided into 360 degrees, each 17 leagues in length. This is true for the equinoctial as well as for the longitudinal line. Latitude refers to another imaginary circle, crossing at right angles the equinoctial line passing through the two poles, and encircling the earth … These lines of longitude or latitude extend over the surface of the earth – the latitude being determined from the elevation of the pole, or from the altitude of the sun; and the longitude by [the positions of] the moon and the fixed stars, or by the eclipses, or by even more subtle means unknown to many.Footnote 58
This grid framework was far from imaginary. It had real practical effects in making overseas trade possible. In Aristotelian terms, it helped translate unpredictable contingencies (perceptions) experienced on the open seas into memories durably inscribed on vellum and brass, thus helping to transform voyages of exploration into normalized trade routes. Thus, on the morning of Tuesday 11 May, Crignon recounts that on his voyage to Sumatra some fifty men were made knights (chevaliers) for having passed beneath the equator (passant sous l'equateur). As was appropriate to the solemnity of this ‘feste de chevalerie’, together they sang the Mass of the Blessed Virgin (‘la messe de Salve santa parens’), and dined on albacore and bonito.Footnote 59 It was not only the earth that was inscribed with knowledge of the heavens, but, in chivalrous rites of passage, the men who sailed beneath them on the ocean seas.
Through these men, these knightly agents of translation, Heaven's inscriptions extended across the various and diverse inhabitants of the world. As Crignon said, the Tupinamba of Brazil, for example, are ‘like a blank canvas to which a brush has not yet been applied and on which nothing has yet been drawn, or like a young colt which has not yet been broken in’.Footnote 60 In this case, the tabula rasa of the New World's naked savages was to be covered with Christ's redemptive words as written and spoken by Normandy's merchants and sailors in the name of the French king and in the language of proto-nationalist dynastic competition between France and Portugal:
The Portuguese are fortunate that the King of France is so kind and polite to them, for if he wished to unleash the merchants of his country they would conquer the markets and friendship of the people of all the new countries in four or five years. They would do this with love and not by force and they would penetrate further into these lands than the Portuguese were able to do in fifty years … If the Portuguese, who say that this land is theirs, had been good Christians and had held the name of God before their eyes instead of their profits, half of the said people would have become Christians by this time, for many among them wish to learn about God and are very humble. The Portuguese prevent them from coming to know our faith by every means and make them believe many things which are not good for them in order to keep them in ignorance.Footnote 61
Crignon thus lent further legitimacy to practical mathematics, beyond appeals to utility, by plotting mathematics, exploration and trade along the axes of humanist linguistic virtuosity and Christian eschatology. He thus connected civic dimensions of humanism, the vita activa, to militant Catholic spirituality and to the social identities and professional activities of the merchant poets of the Puy. Not surprisingly, navigation and commerce, like the astrolabe, were poetically intertwined with an eschatological narrative of fall and redemption. As he explained in another of his contributions to the Puy (in the Appendix, item III):
As this poem makes clear, in the early modern period commerce was a sign of Man's fallen state, of hubris fuelled by the winds of pride, arrogance and greed. This is precisely why it was considered derogatory for a noble to stoop to trade. It was not simply because trade was a menial lower-class affair, but because it was understood in terms of epistemic and spiritual hierarchies that carefully distinguished between the high and the low, the mind and the body, God and the Devil, the eternal soul with its heavenly analogues and the corrupt contingencies of the material world.Footnote 63 Commerce was part of a sinful world. At the same time, Crignon's poem locates it within a narrative of redemption mediated by the power of the ‘courageous Virgin’. The merchant humanists of Normandy – unlike the Portuguese, who according to Crignon looked only to profits and not to God – thus inflected their material interests in overseas trade and navigation in a spiritual direction so as to plot a course towards ‘the great profit of all the public good’.
In a similar manner, Crignon's poetic confusion of the mariner's astrolabe with the planispheric astrolabe enabled him to intertwine his expertise in navigation and mathematics both with worldly (mercantile) power and with the very structure of the Christian cosmos. In another poem (Appendix, item IV) entitled The Island Where the Earth Is Higher than the Heavens, Crignon describes a paradise, found through divine cosmography and a ‘steady astrolabe and compass’, where the dreams of Normandy's merchants for success and profit would be infused with profound religious significance:
Crignon's wager, his bid to transform his recondite knowledge of practical mathematics into creditworthy expert knowledge, and thus to garner patronage, prestige and authority, depended on a fourfold linkage between practical mathematics, humanist poetics, worldly power and religion. Given the still fragile basis for their claims to social status, especially when compared to that of the old feudal nobility and the scholastic theologians of the universities, humanists such as Crignon and the civic elites whose patronage he sought legitimated their intellectual skills, their trading empires and their new-found position in elite society with reference to religious devotion.
Translations
Whether charted across unknown seas or well-established social hierarchies, early modern French mobility was reliant upon and mediated by expert knowledge and skill. With regard to the former, this knowledge might be instantiated in maps, instruments, ships and stars; with regard to the latter, in gestures, clothing, tableware, speech or the writing of poetry.Footnote 65 In both cases, practised familiarity with and expertise in navigational techniques and norms definitive of social status were the sine qua non of mobility. At the same time geographical and social mobility were also made possible by undercurrents of spiritual belief. Whether as pilgrimage or as crusade, geographical distance, commerce and colonization were subsumed into eschatological narratives of renewal, return and salvation. Similarly, insofar as the early modern social world was dominated by ideas of the Chain of Being, movement up the social ladder was also movement closer to God. Geographical and social mobility were thus translated into theology and vice versa. The astrolabe of Crignon's poetry demonstrates the symmetrical translation of mathematical expertise into instruments capable of guiding ships across the seas and of navigating humanity towards redemption. From a slightly altered perspective it embodied the means by which the cosmographers, navigators and pilots who guided these ships were translated into heroic spiritual athletes defending God and king in verse. From still further away, the poetic astrolabe can be seen as playing out a social gambit by translating the specialized craft knowledge of the navigator from a menial (quadrivial) form of expertise in practical mathematics first into poetry and then into politico-theological practice which intertwined practical mathematics, exploration, commerce and colonization. This final linkage constituted something of a pathway around the jealously guarded knowledge of university theologians. Anthony Turner has pointed out that the astrolabe symbolized the status and authority of the navigator and of the explorer. It embodied and conjoined their theoretical and practical knowledge, quite literally making it possible for the first time to navigate the open seas. By equating the astrolabe with the immaculately conceived Virgin, Crignon's chant can be interpreted as a means of endowing the maritime exploits of Normandy's merchants with the legitimacy of a spiritual quest.Footnote 66 At the same time, Crignon's poetry aimed to link navigation on the high seas not only with commercial profit but also with the authority and prestige associated with veneration for the Virgin. In attaching his mathematical knowledge to a ritual performance of verse, through the mediation of poetry and the status that it gave him, Crignon directly challenged those who would restrict access to Truth to those with formal university training in theology and natural philosophy.Footnote 67 The message of Crignon's poem thus closely resembles that of Oronce Finé, mathematics professor at the Collège Royale, when he argued in 1532 that mathematics participated in both natural and supernatural worlds and was the road to universal science – that is, to philosophy.Footnote 68 But Crignon's metrical translation of practical mathematics into verse aimed even higher up the early modern hierarchy of knowledge: beyond poetry, humanist learning and philosophy to theology, the queen of all sciences.
Crignon's poem thus articulates a missionary evangelism whose agents were to be Normandy's merchant humanists acting in the name of God, good business, the public good, the king and France. No longer were spiritual matters to be the sole purview of the doctors at the Sorbonne. Now poets, mathematicians, instrument-makers, merchants and navigators could have their say as well.Footnote 69 Thus Crignon's chant was not just a poem, but a tool. It was a means of forging links and alliances between his technical expertise in practical mathematics, his cultural skills as a poet, the mercantile interests of his fellow poets and the social legitimacy associated with a religious tradition of devotion to the Virgin Mary. His poetic astrolabe was not only a navigational tool, it was a spiritual device that was called upon to reveal and make evident the rational harmony imprinted upon the cosmos. It was also a rhetorical technology, a means to persuade his king that overseas exploration was a legitimate, honourable and worthy undertaking. Furthermore, it was an instrument of social mediation whereby Crignon could attach himself and his knowledge to the status of powerful merchants, civic leaders and courtiers. As Crignon's captain and friend, Jean Parmentier, wrote as he sailed towards his untimely death off the coast of Sumatra in 1529 (Appendix, item V),Footnote 70
The astrolabe here occupying centre stage was not an instrument made in metal, but one forged of beautiful words. It was as poetry that the linkage between mathematics, society and theology was made and Crignon's wager forged.
Appendix: original texts of verses
I Jean Parmentier, Oeuvres poetiques (ed. F. Ferrand), Geneva, 1971, 62–5
II From Jean Parmentier, Oeuvres poetiques (ed. F. Ferrand), Geneva, 1971, 25
III BN Ms. Fr. 379 fol. 20(r-v)–21(r)
IV BN, Ms. Fr. 379 fol. 29(r)–30(v)
V From Jean Parmentier, Oeuvres poetiques (ed. F. Ferrand), Geneva, 1971, 94–5