This post explores the family dynamics of Esther Inglis and their impact on her work. It is written by Jaycee Streeter, Outreach and Communications Intern for the Esther Inglis Project. Jaycee is an MSc History student at the University of Edinburgh with an interest in public history and engagement, as well as Early Modern religious history. This post is written with reference to original research by Jamie Reid-Baxter and Anna-Nadine Pike.

 

Esther Inglis (c. 1570-1624) is best known for her calligraphy skills and her role as a scribe. She was a pious Protestant woman, and many of her manuscripts are devotional texts, such as bible verses, psalms, or other religious verse, which were made to be gifts for others. While her religious devotion is a central theme of her works, her family relationships—shaped by her roles as a daughter, a wife, and a mother—deeply influenced her artistry. Her works hold clues to the kinds of relationships she had with her closest family members. This post will look at some of the references to her family in her manuscripts, and discuss the impact her family had on her work.

A Dutiful Daughter  

Esther Inglis was the daughter of two French Huguenot refugees, Nicolas Langlois and Marie Presot. To escape religious persecution in France, the family fled to neighbouring England before moving up to Edinburgh. There, Nicolas became the master of a French school and Esther began to learn the art of calligraphy. 

The first manuscript we know that Esther wrote dates to 1586, when she was sixteen years old. It is evident that her parents were an essential factor in guiding and instructing their daughter to develop her skill. In a manuscript titled, “Livret traittant de la grandeur de Dieu…” (‘Booklet dealing with the greatest of God…’) in which Esther was experimenting with forms of calligraphy and print imitation, there is a reference to her parents, reading:  

“Filia me scripsit mandante utroque parente, desidiae calamo taedia discutiens.”

“The daughter wrote me, at the command of both parents, dispelling the tedium of idleness with the pen.”

Esther’s obedience to her parents is evidence that she had early encouragement from them to hone this extraordinary skill. Though she did learn forms of writing from ‘writing manuals’, instruction books which gave direction on different type-forms of calligraphy, Esther’s primary teacher was undoubtedly her mother. Marie Presot was a calligrapher herself, with beautiful penmanship, and was known to give manuscripts as gifts. Only one piece of her writing survives, a letter of thanks from Nicolas Langlois to David Lindsay, who helped the family settle in Edinburgh, which Nicolas credited his wife for writing. In his voice but through her pen, they wrote:  

“Tale tibi munus quaeris cur scripserit uxor?
Virtutis fulsit splendida fama tuae.
Exiguum esto, tamen rarum est, quia foemina scripsit.
Quem nisi rarum hominem munera rara decent?” 

“You ask why my wife wrote you such a gift?
Report of your goodness has shone bright.
Small though the gift be, it is nonetheless a rare one, because a woman wrote it.
Whom but a rare man do rare gifts befit?”

Another thing Esther may have learned from her mother was to sign her name on work produced by her. In the letter to David Lindsay, Marie made sure to finish her letter with the words: Marie Presot Françoise escrivoit à EDIMBVRGH le 24. d’Aoust. 1574. Esther would go on to include her signature in nearly all of her manuscripts, and eventually even added miniature portraits of herself to them.

It is worth acknowledging, or at least wondering about, the extent to which Esther might have been an overachiever in her practice. At the time, a woman of her age and status would not have been expected to be able to write to this standard– or anything approaching this standard. Though clearly prompted by her parents, the amount of advanced calligraphy techniques and styles Esther practiced, such as zigzagging letters, or letters with a rope running through them, is extraordinary. These techniques are beyond the scope of what her mother was capable of, as far as we know. It is fun to imagine Esther simply showing off by executing as many curious fonts as possible, just to show that she is capable.

A Collaborative Wife

Esther would have lived with her parents until she was married around 1596. Her husband, a Scotsman named Bartilmo Kello (c. 1564-1631), was part of the spy network adjacent to Anthony Bacon and later worked for the Church. The couple, though not noble, was involved with the royal court of King James VI and an extensive network of scholars, authors, Reformers, and other scribes around Edinburgh, which is the focus of the Rewriting the Script Exhibition. Many of Esther’s manuscripts were given as gifts to those in their circle, including the royal family, probably as a means of gaining political favour from them that would then help Bartilmo’s career. Esther also hoped that she would receive patronage from her recipients, which would come with a monetary reward. 

One example of their collaboration is a manuscript dedicated to Sir David Murray, dated 1608. When James VI ascended to the English throne, the family followed him and his court to London, where they lived for about a decade. There, Bartilmo secured the position as a rector of the parish of Willingale Spain in Essex, likely thanks to the help of this manuscript’s dedicatee. The manuscript, “A Treatise of Preparation to the Holy Supper and of our only Saviour and Redeemer Jesus Christ,” is a French text translated into English by Bartilmo, as indicated in the title page and preface, and then scribed by Esther to look like printed text.

Several of Esther’s manuscripts were created explicitly at her husband’s request to present to figures in their lives. The stunning “Octonaries upon the vanitie and inconstancie of the world” (1607) was a gift to their landlord, indicating he must have been a good one. In the preface she indicates her husband’s influence, writing: 

“I have at the desyre of my husband prepaired this most singular work
of my pen and pensell for recreation of your mynd.”

Bartilmo even acted as a courier for his wife on many occasions, delivering her work to their intended recipients. An example of this early in their marriage is the journey that Bartilmo took to London to deliver one of Esther’s manuscripts to Queen Elizabeth I. There, he anxiously awaited a reward from the queen in exchange for his wife’s work.

His efforts are noted by Esther in “Argumenta in librum Psalmorum” (1606), when she writes (originally in French, but translated here): 

“Whatever it may be, it is devoted to your Lordship, humbly beseeching you  
to graciously accept what I have formed and dedicated expressly,  
and I send it to you with all reverence by the hand of my husband, 
 hoping that it will bring you some enjoyment.” 

Their partnership is in many ways reflective of her parents’ collaboration in the Lindsay letter. Esther turned Bartilmo’s words into beautiful calligraphy to serve as gifts, in the process leaving behind traces of herself in both words and signature. In the manuscript “Les Proverbes du Roy Salomon” (1601), given as a gift to Henri du Rohan, the godfather of Prince Charles, the verses are followed by the phrase, “Hec scripsit coniunx dulci dictante marito” (‘The wife wrote this, with her sweet husband dictating’).

The endearment used gives an intimate glimpse into her relationship with Bartilmo, and the partnership they built. The support they lent one another should not be understated, and without each other, neither would have risen to the level of social and political prominence that they did. It is also important to emphasise that although Esther—perhaps strategically—included her husband’s voice in her manuscripts, she retained agency over every creative aspect of the gifts she made.

A Loving Mother

Bartilmo Kello and Esther Inglis created a large family, having eight children. Half of them were born in Edinburgh, the other half in London after the family moved there in 1604. Their family tree can be found here. Perhaps now it is important to note that all of her children bear the last name of their father, Kello. Although it was traditional for Scottish women to keep their last name after marriage in this period, hence why Esther is never referred to as “Esther Kello”, all children assumed their father’s family name.

Unfortunately, not all of Esther’s children survived to adulthood. While the family was living in Essex in 1614, two of her sons, Joseph and Isaac, aged thirteen and nine, passed away from an illness. St. Andrew’s, the parish church that Bartilmo Kello preached as a minister, still bears two memorials for the boys that contain short epitaphs. The poems are similar to other of Esther’s short poetry, and it is possible that Esther herself wrote her sons’ tributes, showing her love and devotion to her children. They read:

This happy child adorned with gifts of grace 
His choice was dissolution. 
To sing with Simeon, to depart in peace,  
Unto Christs heavenly mansion.  

…

This godly child knew his originall,  
And though right young did scorne base cells of earth.  
His soule doth flourish in Heavens glistering hall 
Because it is a divine plant by birth. 

Shortly following the death of her sons, the family returned to Edinburgh in the summer of 1615. That fall, her oldest son, Samuel, left home to attend university. With him Esther sent her smallest known manuscript, measuring five by three centimetres, dedicated “to my well-loved sonne”. She even wrote him an affectionate verse, which reads:  

My l[oving] sone [your ] resoluti[oun] 
Your godly [pur]pose and you[r] full intent 
When[…]I did reed [the te]ares my [face] ran doun 
[Such] was my ioy [su]ch was my hearts content. 
Deare blessed child, who is so stayd and bent 
To feare the Lord in this your pilgrims race 
Gods sacred LAW to you I haue heere sent 
The full sowme: read oft; Lord incres yr grace. 

More is known about Samuel than any of Esther’s other children, as we have this record of him, and the only surviving personal letter of Esther’s that is known is regarding Samuel. The letter is addressed to none other than King James VI/I, who she had a personal connection to, and asked the favour of recommending her oldest son to ‘sum fellowship either in Cambridge or Oxefoord as occasion shall fall out’. Just as Esther once leveraged her political connections to garner favour for her husband, she then extended the same care and consideration for her son. Here we get a glimpse of a mother willing to do anything to secure her child’s lot in life. 

Because Esther learned the art of calligraphy from her own mother, Marie, it is natural to wonder if she extended the same lessons to any of her own children. The short answer: it is unknown. The only handwriting sample we have of one of her children is from Samuel, who although not illegible, shows no great aptitude for artistry. Because the calligraphical skill was passed down through the female line in Esther’s experience, it is not impossible to think that one of Esther’s daughters took up the skill, but there is no evidence of that as of now. Regardless, Esther clearly had great love for her children and was invested in their success.  

 

Although Esther is often put her religious and political context, this look at her familial life shows that her intimate family relations were a driving force in her work and life. The deep connections she had with each generation of her family, from her parents to husband to children, give us the picture of a woman who loved and valued those closest to her, and that they inspired and encouraged her in return. Her manuscripts are more than just extraordinary examples of calligraphy—they are intimate artifacts of a life deeply intwined with family, faith, and creativity.  

This post explores in further detail the connections between Esther Inglis (c.1570-1624), her family, and the city and University of Edinburgh. This post is written by the project curator, Anna-Nadine Pike, with reference to unpublished research provided by Dr Jamie Reid Baxter (University of Glasgow).

Esther Inglis died on 30th August 1624. Her will, now held in the National Records of Scotland, is dated to the 11th March 1625; it records her death, and describes Inglis as “sometime spouse to Bartilmo Kello, indweller in Leith”. Four hundred years later, 2024 offers a milestone anniversary in which to celebrate and share the work of this unparalleled calligrapher, who deserves far greater recognition within and beyond the city in which so many of her manuscripts were produced. The city of Edinburgh itself plays a significant part in Esther Inglis’ life and manuscripts. From their first arrival in the city as Huguenot refugees, Inglis and her family were immersed in the urban landscape and networks of early modern Edinburgh. In September 1574, as Jamie Reid Baxter has discussed, Inglis’ father Nicolas Langlois became master of the French School in Edinburgh. From the 11th November that year, this post afforded accommodation for him and his family in a house “at the New Well”, owned by Alexander Udwart, close to the modern Guthrie Street which connects Chambers Street to Cowgate. The Burgh Records of Edinburgh for July 1580 note the payment “to Alexander Vddert £10” by the Council, to account for “the hous and schole of the maister of the Frainsche schole, Nicolas Anglois”. The Langlois family had early links with other high-ranking individuals in Edinburgh, including David Lindsay, the minister of Leith, who provided early assistance to Nicolas and Marie Presot on their arrival in the capital.

Esther Inglis’ further integration into the political and social networks of Edinburgh must have followed her marriage to the Scottish clerk Bartilmo Kello, who was a servitor to his kinsmen Bishop Adam Bothwell and his son John, Lord Holyroodhouse. Several of Inglis’ surviving manuscripts are dedicated to members of the Scottish nobility; in 1602, she presents an intricate copy of the books of Ecclesiastes and Lamentations in French to Archibald Campbell, 7th Earl of Argyll (1575-1638). In a flattering dedication, she describes the many “rares vertus desquelles Dieu et nature se sont forcez d’orner vostre Seigneurie par dessus les autres Princes de vostre aage” [rare virtues with which God and nature have been compelled to adorn your Lordship, above the other Princes of your age]. At least four manuscripts were presented to Scottish men and women in the year 1616 alone: to Robert Frenche, Clerk of Kircaldy, the Archbishop of St Andrews John Spottiswood, to Robert Boyd of Trochrig, and to Boyd’s wife, Anna Maliverne de Lavignolle. The dedicatory letters which Esther Inglis writes, mostly in French, between 1599 and 1602, and again from 1616, are often signed “a Lislebourg” [at Edinburgh] or “de Lislebourg en Ecosse” [from Edinburgh in Scotland]. In this way, her books emphasise their Scottish production, while also retaining Esther Inglis’ own identity as a Frenchwoman who lives and works “en Ecosse”.

 

Beyond Inglis’ connections with the city of Edinburgh, however, there is a further significance to “Esther Inglis 2024” taking place within this University. The University of Edinburgh was founded as Tounis College in 1582, opening in 1583, and initially offered just one four-year course, the Master of Arts. The first principal of the University was Robert Rollock (1555-1599), and from August 1587 the graduations of the college began to be recorded. In 1588, one of these graduates was David Inglis, Esther Inglis’ elder brother. It is likely that this is the same “David Inglis” who, in 1588, adds his signature to the First Laureation Album held in the University’s archives.

 

Robert Rollock is also one of several Scottish individuals who composes neo-Latin verses in praise of Esther Inglis’ calligraphy; Inglis copies such laudatory verses by Rollock into her manuscripts between 1599 and 1606, and again in 1624.  One such example is this four-line verse, included in Inglis’ 1599 Book of Psalms for Queen Elizabeth I. Rollock compares Inglis to the classical Greek artist Apelles who was famed for his ability to paint the finest line possible:

Egregiam peperit laudem sibi pictor Apelles
Caelatur Calamis arte etiam meruit
Tu calamo Calamin superas pictura et Apellem
Psalmographi pingens Davidis Ester opus.

[The painter Apelles won great praise for himself
It is engraved that, by the art of the pen, he also deserved it
You, Esther, by the pen surpass the pen, and surpass Apelles in depiction
Depicting the work of the psalm-writer David.]

Robert Rollock writes further epigrammatic verses which are dedicated to the specific recipients of some of Inglis’ manuscripts; he writes a verse in praise of Robert Earl of Essex to be included in the Book of Proverbs which Inglis dedicates to Essex in 1599. He also writes a verse for Elizabeth I, for Inglis’ 1599 Psalms, and another for Anthony Bacon, the dedicatee of Inglis’ copy of Ecclesiastes and the Song of Songs, also in 1599.

Even prior to his offering of these verses, however, Robert Rollock seems to have have established a yet closer relationship with both Inglis and Kello. This is suggested by his appointment as a witness to the baptism of Samuel Kello on the 13th March 1596 — a role which, Jamie Reid Baxter notes, is equivalent to a godfather. Samuel was baptised with his twin sister, Agnes, about whom, sadly, nothing else is presently known.
Samuel Kello is later seen to have followed in the footsteps of his uncle, David Inglis, in attending Edinburgh’s Tounis College. He matriculated at the University in 1615, and in 1617 is described as Academiae Edinburgensis Alumno on the title-page of a printed collection of poems which he authored and dedicated to James VI/I. The shortened title of this volume is Carmen gratulatorium [a song of congratulations], published by the Edinburgh printer Andro Hart.

The University of Edinburgh, then can be seen as a truly fitting place in which to celebrate the manuscripts and life of Esther Inglis, and the circles in which she moved. The newly-founded University played an important part in the lives of Inglis’ relations, soon after their arrival in the city. The Inglis-Kello family later establish a lasting connection with Robert Rollock, its first principle, whose personalised verses seem to integrate Inglis’ calligraphic manuscripts into his own early-modern scholarly network. The city of Edinburgh itself is woven into the impression of authorial identity which is found in Esther Inglis’ early manuscripts, and becomes a place to which she returns in later life. Four hundred years later, the University of Edinburgh is working to ensure that the impression which Esther Inglis and her family left upon this city in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is not forgotten.