There Might Be Bears

There is a question about Ursus arctos in England, the brown bear that was most common in that part of the world: when did it disappear?

The illustrations of bears found throughout the Middle Ages show that people were quite familiar with them. There is little hard evidence of their range and dates, however. The brown bear was widespread in Europe after the last Ice Age, but estimates of when the wild population in England died out range from pre-Roman occupation to late- or even post-Medieval times. The few bones found in caves or other sites do not paint a definitive picture.

It is possible the Romans brought bears with them for the purposes of entertainment, and that some of these were released to breed and expand on the island. Some stones to mark graves from Anglo-Saxon times (420-1066 CE) have bears carved on them, and small carved bears in children's graves suggest they were considered protection for children. But were these evidence of bears in England, or just symbols brought from Northern Europe, where bears were plentiful and part of the culture?

After 1066, the only certain evidence of bears in Great Britain comes from bear-baiting in London—seen in the illustration from a 14th century manuscript—and bears kept at the Tower of London as a zoo, and a medical school in Edinburgh where bones were kept.

In the 12th through 19th centuries, bear-baiting was a "sport" that involved pitting a chained bear against one or more dogs, and sometimes against other animals. In Europe, it was popular in Sweden and Great Britain. It was also common in India, Pakistan, and Mexico.

The arena for it was called a "bear garden" or "bear pit": a circular space with a high wall and raised seating outside of it. The bear would be chained by the leg or neck near one end. Henry VIII was fond of watching bear-baiting, as was Elizabeth I; she even overruled Parliament when a bill was introduced to ban bear-baiting on Sundays. Bear-baiting was eliminated by Cromwell's Puritans, but brought back after 1660. It was not long afterward, however, that people in England started to speak out against the cruelty of bear-baiting (also, the cost of importing bears was becoming prohibitive). The Cruelty to Animals Act of 1835 ended it.

Bear symbolism in the Anglo-Saxon culture, mentioned above, is probably seen no more clearly than in the greatest and best-known epic hero of Anglo-Saxon literature, the "predator of the makers of honey." You all know him, but by a different name, so I'll leave you with that riddle until tomorrow.

"Who Killed the Bears?"

The village of Ruardean in Gloucestershire is small. It has a single school with fewer than 100 students. The Ruardyn [sic] Castle ruin is scheduled as an ancient monument. It started out as a manor house, but was crenellated and became known as a castle in 1311 by Archbishop of Dublin Alexander de Bicknor. It was all but destroyed by Cromwell's men during the Civil War. The Malt Shovel Inn has existed since the 11th century, no doubt serving the iron and coal miners from its ancient past.

Behind the Inn stands a shed in which Horlicks, the hot malt drink often used as a bedtime beverage, was first mixed and sold by two Ruardean natives, James and William Horlicks, in the 1860s.

One other notable incident in the history of Ruardean took place when four Frenchmen brought two trained bears to town, traveling from the town of Cinderford where they had been performing. Bears were not generally considered safe animals (hunting bears and chaining them for bear-baiting were more common experiences for most people in England), and a rumor that the bears had killed a child and injured a woman led to an angry mob that killed the bears and beat the Frenchmen.

The mob was actually composed of citizens of Cinderford who had followed the Frenchmen, but because it took place at Ruardean, the attack was attached to Ruardean's history. An investigation learned that no one had been injured, the bears had been killed wrongly, the Frenchman beaten unnecessarily. Thirteen people were accused; 12 of them were found guilty. A collection was taken to compensate the Frenchmen. The phrase "Who killed the bears?" was used for many years as an insult to the townspeople of Ruardean, blaming the town for the event, even though all the convicted were members of Cinderford. 

Native bears have only recently been reintroduced in England; the bears in Ruardean would have been brought from the continent. England did have bears of its own, once upon a time, and they were used for the purposes mentioned above. A little about bears in England next time is in order, I think.

Alexander de Bicknor

Alexander de Bicknor had a distinguished career that lasted through three kings of England, Edwards I, II, and III. A person of the same name appears in records of Gloucestershire; if it is the same person, then he may have been born in the 1260s, giving him a very long life (he died 14 July 1349). It is possible, since a few later records that definitely refer to this particular Alexander de Bicknor refer to him as being from Gloucestershire.

In 1311, for example, a license to crenellate a building in Ruardean is granted by Edward I to Alexander de Bicknor, who is almost certainly our guy, and indicates that he had a substantial dwelling. Ruins of the structure, now called Ruardean Castle, still exist (see illustration).

One year earlier, de Bicknor had been unanimously elected by the chapters of St. Patrick's Cathedral and Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin, to the position of Archbishop of Dublin. Although he was a priest, prior to this he had held civil positions such as Treasurer of Ireland. We don't know why, but taking over as archbishop was temporarily deferred in favor of a John de Leche, who had there support of the chapter of Dunkeld; he held it for two years until his sudden death in 1313. The position was then contested between de Bicknor and the Lord Chancellor of Ireland Walter de Thornbury, but Thornbury died in a shipwreck, leaving de Bicknor the clear option.

As archbishop he founded the first Irish University at St. Patrick's Cathedral in 1320, based on a charter obtained by de Leche. It has not survived. He also founded Tallaght Castle in order to defend the Tallaght monastery.

After the death of Edward I, the reign of Edward II was problematic, especially when his queen turned against him and took a lover. de Bicknor originally supported the king, but then changed his loyalty to Isabella and was against the Despensers. He even claimed he would have fought the younger Despenser in a duel except for his ecclesiastical position. When Edward III came to power, he punished those who had turned against his father. de Bicknor's fate was mild, in that he lost his assets to the crown. He had also been guilty of accounting fraud in his administration. He got into further trouble when he tried to forge a royal pardon for fraud! He is fortunate that, in the dispute with Bishop Richard Ledrede, Edward III saw Ledrede as a worse person, and gave his support to de Bicknor.

Although his place in Ruardean is long gone, Ruardean itself is still around. Tomorrow I'll tell you how it is connected to a popular hot drink, and we will answer the Ruardean question "Who killed the bears?"

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Aftermath

Sometimes, zeal can backfire. The man who presided over the trial that created the first condemnation for witchcraft in Ireland went a little too far. For the background on the trial, read parts one, two, and three.

The trial had consequences for Bishop Richard Ledrede himself. Roger Outlaw, the Lord Chancellor of Ireland, quarreled with Ledrede about his conduct.  Roger (brother of the accused's dead first husband) teamed with the Seneschal of Kilkenny, Andrew le Poer (brother of the accused's dead fourth husband), to have Bishop Ledrede temporarily imprisoned.

When Ledrede got out, he attempted (unsuccessfully) to have Roger tried for heresy. A Commission of Inquiry declared Roger a faithful Christian who was innocent of heresy. Ledrede was then summoned before the Irish Privy Council to account for his actions. They were also concerned about public accusations he had made against the Archbishop of Dublin, Alexander de Bicknor.

Ledrede followed the example of Alice Kyteler by fleeing Ireland; in his case, however, he did not disappear: he fled to the Papal Court of Pope John XXII in Avignon, whom he thought would surely support him, since John was urging all priests to root out and prosecute witchcraft.

Archbishop Bicknor followed him to argue his side, and Bicknor had a trump card: he was on very good terms with England's King Edward III. Edward sent a message to John, telling him that Ledrede was notorious for stirring things up and should not be believed. The Papal Court mediated and persuaded both clerics to drop their charges against each other.

Back in Kilkenny, Bishop Ledrede got revenge against Arnold le Poer in 1331, making an accusation of heresy against him and managing to get him imprisoned, where he died. He angered the king again in 1355-56, however, when he excommunicated the Lord Treasurer, William de Bromley, in a foolish attempt to prevent Bromley from collecting taxes in the diocese. Realizing this was a bad move, he made an apology to the king and was forgiven.

His remaining few years were quiet ones, spent composing hymns for church services that are collected in the Red Book of Ossory. He died in 1360 or 1361 and was buried in the chancel of St. Canice's Cathedral (pictured).

Attacking de Bicknor as he did was a mistake; de Bicknor was too powerful and significant a character to be bullied by Ledrede, as I'll explain tomorrow.

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Part 3

See Parts one and two.

The outcome of the trial was dire for Alice, her maid Petronilla, and her stepson William Outlaw. There were others associated with the household that were also on trial, such as Petronilla's daughter, and other associates who had been accused of consorting with Alice.

While the trial was in progress, however, Alice managed to escape prison. It seems likely that she had help from the Chancellor of Ireland, Roger Outlaw (who was her brother-in-law). So far as anyone knows, she left Ireland and was never heard from again. No records exist that give any clue to her fate.

Petronilla was not so lucky. She was condemned for heresy and burned at the stake.

William Outlaw's fate was more complex. Condemned for heresy, he was served with penance. He was required to hear mass three times each day for an entire year and make donations of food to the poor. Also, he was required to provide lead for part of the roof of St. Canice's Cathedral.

Before the year was up, Bishop Ledrede learned that William had failed to observe his penance. He was imprisoned, and only released after he was made to lie in the mud before the bishop and other clergy and declare his fault. His penance was increased: he was now required to provide even more lead to cover more of the roof of the Cathedral, and to go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land on the first available boat heading that way.

In 1332, a Kilkenny Franciscan records that the bell tower of St. Canice's cathedral collapsed because of the weight of the lead. Bishop Ledrede was not present for this catastrophe, having fled Ireland himself. I'll explain why tomorrow.

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Part 2

Read the first part here.

Bishop Richard Ledrede wants to try the case himself. In those days bishops had their own courts separate from civil courts, giving them jurisdiction over many crimes that took place within their diocese.

Alice fled to Dublin, where she turned for help to a relative of her first husband: Roger Outlaw, chancellor of English government in Ireland. Bishop Ledrede acted by excommunicating Alice; he then ordered William Outlaw, the son of Alice's first husband, to appear in his court for heresy and protecting heretics. But William also had influential friends, in this case the seneschal Arnold le Poer (who, yes, appears to have been related to Alice's latest deceased husband). This seneschal had the ability to overrule Ledrede—and he used it, arresting Ledrede and imprisoning him for two and a half weeks until William's court appearance date had come and gone.

Ledrede had his own weapons, however, and while in prison he placed his diocese under Interdict, during which no sacraments could be performed. This was a radical move that left Christians without baptisms or marriages, etc., and usually served to make secular authorities comply with the ecclesiastical authorities. Ledrede was released, and appeared in Arnold le Poer's court in full regalia with an entourage to impress upon everyone his status. le Poer had him put in the dock, calling him "an ignorant low-born vagabond from England." Ledrede replied by holding up the Host and saying "Woe, woe, woe, that Christ should be sent to stand at the bar, a thing unheard of since he stood trial before Pontious Pilate." le Poer had him thrown out of court.

Alice decided the best defense is a good offense, accusing Ledrede of defamation. With le Poer acting as her and William Outlaw's lawyer, they took their case to the justiciar, the chief political officer. le Poer claimed:

As you well know, heretics have never been found in Ireland, which has always been called the ‘Island of Saints’. Now this foreigner comes from England and says we are all heretics and excommunicates. Defamation of this country affects everyone of us, so we must all unite against this man.

The justiciar, however, ruled in favor of Ledrede and allowed him to handle the trial in Kilkenny. Alice Kyteler, William Outlaw, Alice's maid Petronilla—all were in danger. Ledrede was not going to "lose" this battle after what he had just been out through. There were consequences for all three from this event—unequal consequences, as it happened—and even Ledrede did not escape the aftermath; but those will be revealed tomorrow.

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Part 1

When Pope John XXII became the target of an assassination attempt using poison and witchcraft, he decided that witchcraft should be labeled heresy. This was in 1320, although it did not become official Church policy until 1326 with the papal bull known as Super illius specula ("Upon His Watchtower"; bulls are known by their opening phrases). In 1324, Bishop Richard Ledrede of St. Canice's Cathedral in Kilkenny declared his diocese a hotbed of devil worshippers, due to the affair of Alice Kyteler. (The illustration show's Alice's house, which is now a pub.)

Alice was the only child of a wealthy Flemish merchant, born about 1263. She married a wealthy merchant and moneylender named William Outlaw. After William died Alice shared the business with her stepson, also named William.

Alice married again ... and again ... and again. By 1302 she was married to Adam Blunt, also a moneylender. He had children from a previous marriage. Adam died within a couple years of marriage to Alice. By 1309, she was married to a wealthy Tipperary landowner named Richard de Valle. He died about 1316, and she was owed a widow's dower; her stepson (also named Richard) denied her this, and she brought legal proceedings against him. Richard and his siblings, who wished to keep that money for themselves (which would have been illegal) were quite angry with her. Alice then married a fourth time to John le Poer, who also had children from a prior marriage.

Through all this, she accumulated a substantial amount of wealth and maintained the business she shared with her stepson, William. This was despite the fact that Alice and her second husband Adam had briefly been suspected of killing the elder William.

Her other stepchildren, however, were not so agreeable to her. As John le Poer was sick and dying, he expressed the concern that he was being poisoned by his wife. After his death, his children accused her of poison and witchcraft, accusations in which they were joined by her other stepchildren. The children complained to Bishop Ledrede, who sprang into action.

Investigation led to seven charges:

1. Denying Christ and the Church.
2. Sacrificing animals to demons.
3. Asking demons for advice.
4. Having a sexual relationship with an incubus.
5. Holding coven meetings and burning candles in the church at night without permission.
6. Making magic powders and potions from ingredients including but not limited to body parts of unbaptized children, worms, etc.
7. Killing her husbands for their money, which she shared with her stepson William Outlaw.

Her maid, Petronilla de Meath, was also accused. William Outlaw was also called to court for heresy and consorting with a heretic.

The stepchildren were likely thinking they could go through the bishop's ecclesiastical court for a quicker decision that would benefit them, rather than going through the civil courts which had more rules. Things were not that simple, however, and the case of the first person condemned for witchcraft in Ireland gets more complicated, which I'll tell you about tomorrow.

About Medieval Witchcraft

The history of witchcraft, like any historical phenomenon, is a combination of truths, falsehoods, reinterpretations, and misunderstandings. What we now call "witchcraft" was defined differently by different groups—or rather, what it was remained the same, but its significance was redefined. I'll try to explain.

By the end of Charlemagne's reign in 814, overt paganism had died out in Western Europe, replaced by Christian practices. There were traditions that did not die out, however. Some examples are divination for the gender of an unborn child and dowsing for water; the mixing of substances intended to bring about an emotional effect such as love or desire; or attempts at healing illness using sympathetic magic (described here being used by a midwife).

"Magic" was sometimes a professional's pursuit. People like Ficino and Fibonacci and Geert Groote and even Hildegard of Bingen were associated with learning or practicing magic. There was a point in time, however, where these "un"natural practices were declared to be bad. That may well have started with Pope John XXII, when he declared such things to be heresy. This created the formal framework for investigating and prosecuting anyone suspected of practicing witchcraft by the Inquisition. This was in the 1320s. Now the woman in the village to whom you turned for medical or magical aid was suspect, and associating with her made you suspect.

What exactly constituted witchcraft and was worthy of accusation fluctuated with time and temperament.  The 1487 Malleus Maleficarum ("Hammer of the Witches") became the manual for identifying the offenses of witches, which could be categorized in three levels:

“i) slight (ii) great, and (iii) very great.” 

Slight offenses constitute something as simple as small groups meeting secretly in order to practice the craft, whereas very great, or violent, offenses included respecting and admiring heretics. With such a broad spectrum of infractions, accusing anyone of practicing the craft was possible. This, in conjunction with the broad spectrum of who could be a witch, pushed the witch craze to its apex. [source]

(The "craze" reached a peak in 17th century New England, when a husband and wife accused each other of witchcraft after the death of their child. It went to trial.)

The Malleus Maleficarum supported and extended John XXII's bull making witchcraft equal heresy. It firmly linked witchcraft to worship of the devil, and a thing to be avoided at all costs. Between 1450 and 1750, there were an estimated 110,000 trials for witchcraft, about half of which led to capital punishment.

It is times like this that I cannot help thinking of C.S. Lewis' words at the beginning of Mere Christianity:

Three hundred years ago people in England were putting witches to death. Was that what you call the 'Rule of Human Nature or Right Conduct?’ But surely the reason we do not execute witches is that we do not believe there are such things. If we did—if we really thought that there were people going about who had sold themselves to the devil and received supernatural powers from him in return and were using these powers to kill their neighbours or drive them mad or bring bad weather—surely we would all agree that if anyone deserved the death penalty, then these filthy quislings did?

He knows full well that witchcraft is not a thing to be condemned, and that it is arrogant of the modern age to look back and condemn the accusers of being stupid; they had no choice—if they truly believed what they were told—that they were acting to save themselves and their neighbors. It was a dark period in the human history of belief and fear of "The Other," which manifests itself in many ways, such as in this recent post.

Let us look at a specific witch trial in more detail, of a wealthy Kilkenny woman who was accused of witchcraft by her (perhaps less-than-neutral in this matter) stepchildren. See you tomorrow.

The Pope vs. Witchcraft

John XXII (pope from 1316 - 1334 in Avignon) had a lot of opinions, getting involved in politics all over Christendom, opposing the Franciscan ideal of the need for poverty, and passing numerous papal bulls to enforce his numerous ideas of what was right and proper.

After an assassination attempt on him that used poison and sorcery, he turned his attention to condemning witchcraft. His bull of 1326 said:

With grief we discover, and the very thought of it wrings our soul with anguish, that there are many Christians only in name; many who turn away from the light which once was theirs, and allow their minds to be so clouded with the darkness of error as to enter into a league with death and a compact with hell. They sacrifice to demons and adore them, they make or cause to be made images, rings, mirrors, phials or some such things in which by the art of magic evil spirits are to be enclosed. From them they seek and receive replies, and ask aid in satisfying their evil desires. For a foul purpose they submit to the foulest slavery. Alas! this deadly malady is increasing more than usual in the world and inflicting greater and greater ravages on the flock of Christ.

The practice of witchcraft had not been formally condemned prior to this, although there were certainly instances of the authorities trying people for using witchcraft to hurt others. This action by John put witchcraft under the label of heresy; it therefore fell under the jurisdiction of the Inquisition, and those suspected of practicing could be rounded up, questioned, and made to recant or else to suffer.

This papal bull established the official attitude toward witchcraft for the rest of the Middle Ages. But the question raised is: How big a deal was witchcraft? Was it popular? What form did it take? Let's look at witchcraft tomorrow.

Female Physicians

We talked here about how women and Jewish women could be physicians in the Middle Ages, but it would be a mistake to think that there was no opposition to this phenomenon, especially after a change in 1220.

Consider that, technically, anyone could practice medicine. No one would object to a mother caring for a family member, or a nun feeding a leper (as in the illustration). More formal, professional medical practice in France, however, required a degree from the University of Paris. This prevented many, women especially, from helping their fellow human beings. There were consequences for treating the sick if you were not "official."

Consider the case of Jacqueline Felice de Almania, a woman from Florence who was living in Paris. Her reputation was excellent: she was known for finding cures for patients who had been treated elsewhere without relief. She did not charge fees unless the patient was cured. 

In 1322, she was brought to trial by the University of Paris. The accusation was treating patients without any "real" knowledge of medicine; that is, she did not have a degree. Seven former patients were brought as witnesses; all testified that she had helped them where male doctors had failed. Her actions involved analyzing urine by sight, taking the pulse of patients, examining their limbs, etc. She was found guilty of practicing without a license, fined 60 pounds, and threatened with excommunication if she ever treated patients again.

The year 1322 was popular for cracking down on unlicensed medical practitioners. In that same year, records show women named Clarice of Rouen (banned for treating men), Jeanne the Convert (likely originally a Jew) of Saint-Médicis, Marguerite of Ypres, and "Jewess Belota" all were banned from practicing medicine.

The University of Paris in 1325 appealed to Pope John XXII to speak out strongly on this issue. He wrote to Bishop Stephen of Paris to forbid women practicing without medical knowledge or acting as midwives, because what they were doing was akin to witchcraft. A bit of a stretch to go from medicine to witchcraft just because the person was female, but then, John was determined to stamp out witchcraft...and a lot of other things, which I'll talk more about tomorrow.

(By the way, women earning medical degrees at the University of Paris was suppressed until the 19th century!)

Jewish Female Physicians

Female doctors were not unknown in medieval Europe. I've written before of Trotula, for instance, and of course there were midwives. The practice of midwifery was naturally dominated by women; in some cases  men were not even allowed in the room during childbirth. Even if they were, they did not necessarily involve themselves directly in the process. One medieval Jewish medical text, in the section on childbirth, has the physician direct the midwife to "massage the orifice of her womb" with herbs rather than do it himself.

But Jewish women were not just midwives. Many of them learned and practices medicine thanks to their families. Jews were not allowed to attend Christian universities, so they could not earn medical degrees in the normal way. Anyone could, however, "test out" by passing an exam and earning a license to practice medicine. Jews—female as well as male—did this by learning from mentors and family members who were physicians.

Two examples were Hava from Provençal, mentioned in the 1320s for her medical ability, and Virdimura, who earned her medical license in 1376 in Sicily. In both cases, we know that their husbands were physicians (in Hava's case so were her sons), and so medicine was clearly the "family business." Mayrona, from Provençal, appears in 40+ documents starting in 1342 as a holder of a licentia curandi et practicandi, a "license to practice medicine."

Jews were more likely to be familiar with Greek and Arabic, as well as Latin and Hebrew, and therefore had access to more medical texts than their Western European counterparts who knew Latin but did not have as many opportunities to learn other languages, and also may not have had the motivation to read texts written by non-Christians. Female Jewish doctors were accepted in Paris, Florence, and Naples as well as Sicily. They were also respected enough to become teachers of medicine as well: Sara of St. Giles was a Jewish doctor who in 14th-century France took on a Christian pupil.

I cannot in truth say that female doctors were accepted everywhere, and tomorrow I'll share some of the less-tolerant stories of this topic. See you then.

Jewish Medicine

Jews comprise less than 0.02% of the world population, and yet 28% of Nobel prize winners in medicine have been Jewish. This expertise has a long history.

The Sefer Refuot or "Book of Remedies" is the earliest known Hebrew text on medicine. It contains information on illnesses and treatments, but also talks about how to maintain health through exercise, eating properly, and observing proper hygiene. It also suggests that astrology is connected to health, and there are different treatments depending on the month. It includes a code of conduct for doctors.

Although the only manuscripts we have are later medieval ones, they are considered to be faithful copies of a very early work for a particular reason: the book does not have any of the Arabian medical knowledge that was so prevalent in the Middle Ages. The assumption is that this book recorded Jewish knowledge, including a theory of blood vessels and circulation, that pre-dates the cross-cultural sharing that happened with the spread of Muslims after the 7th century.

There was some controversy about medicine in Jewish culture. In II Chronicles 16:12, King Asa of Judah is criticized because “in his illness he sought not God but rather physicians.” In the same book, King Hezekiah is praised for hiding a medical book in order to get his people to turn to God for aid. The 13th-century Nachmanides argued that Jews have a special relationship with God and should thrive or suffer according to His will; they should not try to subvert his will through practices like medicine. Because of this turning to natural cures, he says, their relationship with God in this area has been annulled, and now they have no choice but to turn to doctors. The practice of medicine is now considered a mitzvah, a fundamental religious obligation.

Jewish physicians often learned Latin, Greek, and Arabic; along with Hebrew, they had access to many medical texts inaccessible to their Christian counterparts. This made them exceptionally knowledgeable and effective—and sought after. I've already mentioned Jacob Mantino ben Samuel, who was so important to many high-ranking figures in Venice that they asked the Council of Ten to exempt him from wearing the degrading yellow cap that was mandated to denote Jews in public.

Jewish physicians also included women among their number, not just as midwives, which we will talk about next time.

A Jewish Physician

Article One of King Henry III's 1253 Statute of Jewry allowed Jews to stay in England so long as they served the king in some capacity. There were financial advantages to having Jews around, since they were not limited by the Biblical injunction against usury (charging high interest on loans) when lending to non-Jews. Usury created a dilemma for many: usury was not to be allowed, and yet Jewish lenders were an important source of funding for some.

Another dilemma for Christian Europeans in the Middle Ages was the idea that Jews were not to be fraternized with, and yet they were often the best physicians. One example of this was mentioned here, Jacob Mantino ben Samuel (died 1549).

Jacob's family was from Tortosa, Spain, but were forced to flee in 1492 because of the Alhambra Decree. Jacob studied medicine at Padua and Bologna, staying in Bologna to set up his practice. His translations of scientific works from Hebrew to Latin brought him to the attention of the court of Pope Clement VII. War in 1527 (between the Holy Roman Empire and Protestants) caused him to settle in Verona, where the Catholic bishop protected him. When the bishop went to Rome, however, Jacob left Verona and settled in Venice.

Jacob had many influential clients: ambassadors from France and England, papal dignitaries, and other wealthy local patrons. Despite medieval culture's antipathy toward Jews, his clients made an appeal to Venice's ruling Council of Ten. The appeal—which was granted—was to exempt Jacob from wearing the yellow that was intended to denote Jews in public. Originally this was temporary, but later was made permanent.

Jacob later went to Rome, acquiring great influence and becoming personal physician to Pope Paul III in 1534. In 1544 he returned to Venice, where once again he was exempted from wearing yellow. Accompanying the Venetian ambassador to Damascus, he died in 1549.

Why was he exempted from wearing yellow? Was it a desire on the part of his clients to not be seen associating with a Jew? Or was it for a slightly more kind-hearted reason: they understood the insult of being forced to wear yellow and wanted to spare the feelings of a man they had come to respect? Perhaps a little of both. He was not unique in the Middle Ages: Jewish doctors and Jewish medicine were regarded very highly. We'll delve into that a little more deeply tomorrow.

The Yellow Badge

King Henry III's Statute of Jewry demanded (among other things) that Jews wear a badge conspicuously on their clothing. This was not a new idea. Designating "others" by a badge was already common in the Middle Ages. The Muslim and Christian worlds both found ways to distinguish those not of their faith.

In 717, Caliph Umar II ordered that non-Muslims (dhimmi) wear distinguishing marks on their clothing. The Pact of Umar, attributed to his father, had many injunctions against non-Muslims. In 847-861, Caliph Al-Mutawakkil had Christians wear honey-colored patches, on both the front and back of their clothes. In 887, the governor of the Emirate of Sicily had Jews wear special hats and yellow belts.

The Fourth Lateran Council of 1215 said Jews should at all times be denoted by their clothing, and in 1222, Archbishop of Canterbury Stephen Langton ordered English Jews to wear a white band. Distinguishing marks were ordered for Jews by the Synod of Narbonne (1227), by James I of Aragon (1228), and by Alfonso X of Castile (1265).

In 1274, King Edward I in England enacted a second Statute of Jewry, which ordered a badge of yellow felt six inches long by three inches wide to be worn. The yellow color was used in 1315 for the Jews of Granada, in 1321 by Henry II of Castile, and decreed in 1415 by a bull of Antipope Benedict XIII (men wore it on their breast, women on their forehead).

Jews in Venice wore yellow, but in 1528 a special dispensation was given to the physician Jacob Mantino ben Samuel to wear a regular black doctor's cap instead of anything yellow.

In 1710, King of Prussia Frederick William I abolished the mandatory yellow badge in Prussia. This was not an act of charity: he required 8000 thaler (the equivalent of over $75,000 today) from each person who wished to no longer wear the badge.

So what was the deal with Jacob Mantino ben Samuel? I'll explain next time.

Henry's Statute of Jewry

St. Augustine of Hippo (354 - 430) was one of the most influential writers in Christianity in its first few centuries. He believed that Jews should be tolerated by Christians because God chose them for a special purpose. Through the years, however, hostility to the Jews grew; they were made scapegoats for problems and accused of many horrible acts.

Despite this hostility, Jews created communities all over the world. The illustration shows Jewish communities in medieval England. King Henry III instituted repressive laws intended to segregate and oppress Jews. The Statute of Jewry in 1253 had 13 articles, some of which are listed here:

Article One: Jews could live in England provided that they serve the king in some manner. (This might include financial support or civil service.)

Article Two stated that no new synagogues could be constructed.

Article Three: Jews in synagogues must keep their voices low while praying so that no one else could hear them.

Article Four: Jews must donate money to their local Christian church.

Article Five banned Christians from working for Jews or living in Jews' houses.

Article Six banned Jews from eating meat during Lent.

Article Seven: Jews may not publicly dispute the Christian faith.

Article Eight banned romantic relations between Christians and Jews.

Contemporary historian Matthew Paris followed the Augustinian view of Jews, and did not approve of Henry's policies regarding them, which mirrored the papal view at the time (Innocent IV). Through Paris we discover that antipathy toward the Jews was not universal. His tolerant attitude is tested by relating incidents of supposed "blood libel" (the notion that Jews killed Christians in order to use their blood in Jewish rituals), but he has sympathy for their oppression and the financial extortion brought upon them by kings and others who saw Jews as a source of easy money. Through Matthew Paris we can see that the medieval attitude toward Jews was not monolithic.

I want to relate another article of the Statute, however, Article Nine. Article Nine commanded every Jew to wear a badge conspicuously. The yellow Star of David forced upon Jews in Germany during World War II is a familiar image. It turns out, however, that the "yellow badge" has a long history stretching back even before Henry III, but that's a story for tomorrow.