The Honeymoon

So what is the origin of the word "honeymoon"? Was it a medieval term for the first month of marriage? Well, in times like these I turn to the Oxford English Dictionary, in which the earliest we see that phrase in English where we are certain it refers to the first month of marriage comes from 1592:

They were marryed: well that daye was past with dauncing and Honney moone it was for a moneth after.

This was written by a writer and playwright Robert Greene (1558-1592). There was an earlier entry. It was yet but hony moone. This is from John Heywood's A dialogue conteinyng the nomber in effect of all the prouerbes in the englishe tongue, 1st edition, 1546. It is likely that this is also the familiar use of "honeymoon." We simply don't know when the phrase was first used. The common notion in cases like this is to say "Well, it must have been around for awhile." Fine, but for how long? Marriages are pretty common, and writing about them is also pretty common, so not finding an earlier reference to a couple embarking on the "honey moon" should give us reason to pause in our assumptions.

Another theory about the origin is that newly married couples were gifted a month's worth of honey mead. I like it. Women were the brewers in the household, since they could stay in and work while the men farmed. A gift like this would allow her time to follow other home-making (baby-making) pursuits. I wish I could find a source for this.

Old English had a term, hony moone, but it refers to a moon during June. Now, perhaps they associated June with marriage, the way the Romans did (June being named after Juno and Juno being the goddess of marriages, and all that), but unless June was the only month that Anglo-Saxons got married...

Speaking of the Northern European types, I found one website that claimed the Norse word hjunottsmanathr meant honeymoon. I can see the resemblance, since "hjuno" looks like "Juno" and would be pronounced "hyuno" and sound a little like "honey." But...no. hjunott means "in hiding" and referred to spending time alone and away from others, celebrating your newly wedded bliss. 

St. Valentine and the Bees

We've covered bees and beekeeping a few times over the years, and honey has had its own entry, but I don't think we've mentioned why St. Valentine is considered the patron saint of beekeepers. Since we know so few facts about his life, we have to speculate.

It might have something to do with the fact that he became the patron of lovers and affianced couples. This is because he was accused of secretly performing Christian marriages at a time when Emperor Claudius Gothicus oppressed Christians in Rome. Since honey was considered an aphrodisiac, it became connected to lovers. We even have the word "honeymoon" to describe the period immediately following marriage when all is sweet. Love connected to honey connected to bees might have been enough.

A legend about Valentine—and most likely created later to reinforce his connection to lovers—is that he was a beekeeper himself. In The Golden Legend of Jacob Voragine, there is the following:

When Saint Valentine was brought in an house in prison, then he prayed to God, saying: Lord Jesu Christ very God, which art very light, enlumine this house in such wise that they that dwell therein may know thee to be very God. And the provost said: I marvel me that thou sayest that thy God is very light, and nevertheless, if he may make my daughter to hear and see, which long time hath been blind, I shall do all that thou commandest me, and shall believe in thy God. Saint Valentine anon put him in prayers, and by his prayers the daughter of the provost received again her sight, and anon all they of the house were converted.

This was compiled in the 13th century, a thousand years after Valentine. The Golden Legend was one of the most popular works for a couple centuries, and no doubt inspired many to embellish what they learned about saints' lives. One result was the link between Valentine and bees.

The later legend says that Valentine himself was a beekeeper, gently caring for them and talking to and blessing them with his prayers. The legend extends the story shared above, saying that the provost's daughter loved bees (tricky, when one is blind). This legend says that valentine talked to her about how to care for bees, training her to be a beekeeper, and she eventually regained her sight during this process.

Supposedly, some beekeepers will celebrate 14 February by placing wax candles and honey on the altar.

A casual search about the origin of the word "honeymoon" often turns up the idea that it started in the Middle Ages. That makes its origin fair game for this blog, and we will look into that and report back tomorrow.

Valentine

The legend of St. Valentine from the Golden Legend (compiled c.1260) was shared here long ago, but what were the facts as we know them, and how did this 3rd century clergyman become connected with lovers centuries later?

The first thing to realize is that there were three different Valentines mentioned in very early stories of martyrs. The earliest list of martyrs, called the Chronography (calendar) of 354, doesn't mention a Valentine at all (although funnily enough it was compiled by a man named Valentinus). The modern Catholic Encyclopedia, however, mentions three Saints Valentine connected to 14 February. One was a Roman priest, one the bishop of Terni, one a martyr who was persecuted on 14 February in Africa. The legend of the first two claim they were buried on the Via Flaminia, a road out of Rome. (Some eastern churches list even more Valentines.)

Although it is impossible now to reconcile the different (same?) early Valentines, the one we mean when we refer to him these days is generally considered a priest or bishop of Terni, Italy. He converted many people to Christianity, and was beheaded for refusing to renounce Christ. This was done in the year 269 on 14 February by the Emperor Claudius "Gothicus," who reigned from 268-270.

Other stories claim he defied the emperor by secretly performing Christian weddings. The story goes that the Roman army only conscripted single men, so Valentine's efforts enabled men to escape the draft. Also, Valentine would cut hearts out of parchment to give to the men to remind them of their cos and of God's love. Of course, part of the association with love and lovers is due to Geoffrey Chaucer's Parliament of Fowls, discussed yesterday.

There are many churches named after Valentine(s), and if all the saints relics were brought into one place, one night have to assume that there were, in fact, several saints and martyrs with that name. The skull shown above is displayed in the church of Santa Maria in Comedian, Rome.

Valentine is considered the patron of Terni in Italy, epilepsy (which he supposedly cured), and beekeepers; also, affianced couples, happy marriages, love.

So why beekeepers? I'll tell you that story tomorrow.

The Parliament of Fowls

Chaucer's Parlement of Foules had a very different purpose from the Conference of Birds by Attar of Nishapur that I discussed yesterday. Whereas Attar intended to educate the reader on the Sufi path to enlightenment in this world, Chaucer wanted largely to entertain, although one can argue that there is a theme of love and free will.

The narrator starts by lamenting that he does not know love himself. One day, while reading a book about a prophetic dream (Cicero's "Dream of Scipio"), he falls asleep and has his own dream in which the Roman general Scipio appears and leads him up through the celestial spheres to the temple of Venus, decorated with images of doomed lovers.

Passing through, they come to a garden where he sees Cupid making arrows, as well as several other allegorical figures connected to the quest for love (Pleasure, Adornment, Lust, Courtesy, Cunning). Here the personification of Nature is holding a parliament in which birds will choose their mates. Three male eagles try to make their cases for who should mate with the sole female eagle.

There is no conclusive winner in this debate. The other birds are getting restless, waiting for the eagles to finish, and want to lave. The turtledove tells them to wait and let the eagles' debate play out. Nature decides to speed things up by selecting a judge.

The male falcon is selected to judge the eagles' situation, and suggests (in chivalric-tournament style) a battle between the three. The goose speaks up and suggests that maybe the female eagle should be given the choice herself. The female eagle says she cannot make a decision, and would like another year to think about it. Nature agrees, and tells the males to stay faithful while waiting.

After this, all the other birds pair off and began to chatter and sing. The noise wakes up the narrator, who resumes reading.

The poem is 700 lines, but one line has been quoted in more scholarly (and mundane) periodicals than any other, and that is line 309-10:

For this was on Seynt Valentynes day,

Whan every foul cometh ther to [choose] his [mate],

...and again, starting at line 319:

This noble emperesse, ful of grace,

Bad every foul to take his owne place,

As they were wont alwey fro yeer to yere,

Seynt Valentynes day, to [stand] there.

This is the earliest known reference to St. Valentine's Day being connected to the idea of love or choosing a mate. It may simply be that 14 February was warm enough that birds started being more active and building nests. There was a Medieval Warm Period when average temperatures were higher than they were after 1400, so mid-February might not be too great a stretch for spring activity.

Whatever the reason in Chaucer's mind, it gives us a reason to turn to St. Valentine, and get at the heart (pun intended) of this legend.

The Conference of the Birds

Probably the best-known work of the Sufi poet Attar of Nishapur is Manṭiq-uṭ-Ṭayr, called in English the Conference of the Birds. In it, birds from all over the world hold a conference to decide which of them should rule all the others. They turn to the wisest of the birds, the hoopoe, for advice. The hoopoe says they should go and ask the Simurgh. The Simurgh (pictured here) was a legendary bird of Persian mythology, like the phoenix. Attar makes its name a pun, because the phrase sī murğ means "thirty birds" in Persian. You'll see why this is significant.

The hoopoe tells the birds that to each the Simurgh they must cross seven valleys:

1. Valley of the Quest, where the Wayfarer begins by casting aside all dogma, belief, and unbelief.

2. Valley of Love, where reason is abandoned for the sake of love.

3. Valley of Knowledge, where worldly knowledge becomes utterly useless.

4. Valley of Detachment, where all desires and attachments to the world are given up. Here, what is assumed to be “reality” vanishes.

5. Valley of Unity, where the Wayfarer realizes that everything is connected and that the Beloved is beyond everything, including harmony, multiplicity, and eternity.

6. Valley of Wonderment, where, entranced by the beauty of the Beloved, the Wayfarer becomes perplexed and, steeped in awe, finds that he has never known or understood anything.

7. Valley of Poverty and Annihilation, where the self disappears into the universe and the Wayfarer becomes timeless, existing in both the past and the future.

The birds quail*, because they cannot imagine going through these valleys. Attar, of course, is trying to take his readers through the necessary stages of asceticism and purification that are the hallmarks of Sufism.

Some of the birds die of fright at the hoopoe's announcement. The rest start the journey anyway, but many don't make it due to hunger and thirst, or heat, or wild animals. Some just give up.

Finally, only 30 birds reach the Simurgh, to discover that they are the Simurgh, and that traversing the seven valleys has caused them to achieve success and become the pinnacle that they sought.

Although Attar wants the story to be entertaining, it became famous because of the symbolism that leads the reader through the stages to achieve enlightenment.

It would be difficult for a medievalist reading about this to not think about another poem in which all birds gather together, although their purpose for being together would be appalling to Attar. Next time we'll talk about Chaucer's Parliament of Fowls and the first recorded reference to a holiday that generates $10 billion in sales each year.

*Yes, that's an avian pun.

Pharmacist Turned Poet

Although little is known of his personal life, and he was not famous in his own lifetime, the Sufi poet known as Attar of Nishapur (c.1145 – c.1221) is commemorated in a National Day of Attar Nishapuri on 14 April. From rare contemporary comments and later mythologizing, here is what we think we know about him personally.

His full name was Abū Ḥāmid bin Abū Bakr Ibrāhīm. Born to a chemist, he was highly educated and became a pharmacist ("Attar" means "apothecary"), in which profession he attended to numerous patients. His patients would confide their troubles in him, which affected him deeply. Abandoning his profession, he traveled widely, meeting many people but especially Sufi philosophers, finally returning to his home town of Nishapur where he promoted Sufism, a religious practice found within Islam which is characterized by a focus on Islamic purification, spirituality, ritualism, and asceticism.

(By the way, Nishapur produced another famous Persian poet I have talked about in this blog, who died not many years prior to Attar's birth: Omar Khayyam.)

Attar wrote lyrical poems representing Islamic mysticism, biographies of famous Muslim mystics, and a few philosophical works. Although mentioned by contemporaries, he was not well-known in his lifetime, but some of his works survived so that they could be promoted in the 15th century. It is possible that he was "discovered" because of a comment by Rumi:

"Attar was the spirit,

Sanai his eyes twain,

And in time thereafter,

Came we in their train."

In another poem, Rumi wrote:

Attar travelled through all the seven cities of love

While I am only at the bend of the first alley.

The ideas infused in Attar's poetry reflect Sufi ideas: the soul is bound to the body and awaits its release to return to the source of spirit. This reunion can be attained in this life through purification and asceticism. He draws on many older works and history to explain his ideas.

In April 1221, Mongols invaded and slaughtered many in Nishapur, including the 78-year-old Attar. A mausoleum in Nishapur was built in the 16th century (pictured above is the mausoleum after a 1940 renovation).

His most famous poem is called (in English) The Conference of the Birds. I'd like to share it with you tomorrow.

The Persian Connection

Yesterday's post, "This Too Shall Pass," tells about a particular poem from the Exeter Book with the theme that sorrowful occurrences eventually pass away, so things get better. The saying "This too shall pass" is familiar to English speakers.

On 30 September, 1859, Abraham Lincoln used this expression while addressing the Wisconsin State Agricultural Society when he said:

It is said [redacted] once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: "And this, too, shall pass away." How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!

Seems straightforward, and yet it's now time to reveal the [redacted] portion. The words I left out are "an Eastern monarch." Huh? Why not the Western European source of the Exeter Book? One of the earliest translations into Modern English of passages from the Exeter Book was in 1842, the Codex Exoniensis by Benjamin Thorpe. Deor was included, but it seems clear that Lincoln (although widely read) did not get his theme from this work on Old English poetry.

It is likely that he got it from a more popular author, Edward FitzGerald. Known more as the author of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, FitzGerald had published a retelling of an old Persian fable, Solomon's Seal, in which a sultan requests of Solomon a motto for a signet that would be useful in both adversity and prosperity, and Solomon offers "This also shall pass away." The story also appears in Jewish folklore, where sometimes Solomon is the king who requests a motto.

Lincoln may have got it from Blackwood's Magazine (1817 - 1980), a British periodical that was also distributed in the United States and featured American authors. An early English appearance of this tale appeared in Blackwood's in 1848.

Ultimately, the saying's origin has been traced to Persian Sufi poets such as Rumi, Sanai, and Attar of Nishapur. In fact, Attar (c.1145 – c.1221) may be the earliest source, and we'll check him out tomorrow.

This Too Shall Pass

Yesterday's post told the story of Wayland Smith as told in the Völundarkviða. I mentioned the plight in which he left Böðvildr, the daughter of the king that had captured and crippled Wayland, and that she was used as an example in the poem "Deor."

"Deor" is an Old English lament from the c.10th century Exeter Book (pictured), the largest surviving collection of Anglo-Saxon poetry. The title of the poem does not exist in the manuscript; modern editors have given it that title, because the poem ends with the author naming himself.

The author (or the character created by a poet) was a poet and faithful retainer of a lord, but he has been replaced in the lord's favor with another poet. He reflects on his fate by writing about many others in the past who suffered defeats or tragedy. Each stanza ends with the stoic reflection that, since the mentioned calamity ultimately passed, his personal tragedy and sadness  may also pass. The line in Old English is þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg, which can translate simply to "that passed, this also may." If you recall that the letter þ=th, and æ=flat or short a, you could reliably pronounce the whole phrase yourself and see its connection to Modern English.

Because the poet refers to events of the past, the poem reinforces some legends we find in other sources. The opening stanzas cover Wayland and Böðvildr. Here they are, translated/interpreted by the poet Michael Burch:

Weland endured the agony of exile:
an indomitable smith wracked by grief.
He suffered countless sorrows;
indeed, such sorrows were his bosom companions
in that frozen island dungeon
where Nithad fettered him:
so many strong-but-supple sinew-bands
binding the better man.
That passed away; this also may.

Beadohild mourned her brothers' deaths,
bemoaning also her own sad state
once she discovered herself with child.
She knew nothing good could ever come of it.
That passed away; this also may.

The final stanza explains the narrator's plight:

If a man sits long enough, sorrowful and anxious,
bereft of joy, his mind constantly darkening,
soon it seems to him that his troubles are limitless.
Then he must consider that the wise Lord
often moves through the earth
granting some men honor, glory and fame,
but others only shame and hardship.
This I can say for myself:
that for awhile I was the Heodeninga's scop,
dear to my lord. My name was Deor.
For many winters I held a fine office,
faithfully serving a just king. But now Heorrenda
a man skilful in songs, has received the estate
the protector of warriors had promised me.
That passed away; this also may.

This notion of "this too shall pass" is an old one, one would think. The fact that it is found so eloquently in the Exeter Book would make you think that this is where it entered into the English language. In fact, Western Civilization got it from another part of the world, and we'll talk about that tomorrow.

Völundarkviða

Wayland Smith was a legendary figure in Germanic culture. The earliest and most-detailed origin for his legend is in the Völundarkviða (Old Norse: "The lay of Völund"), part of the Poetic Edda.

Wayland (Völundr) was the son of the King of the Finns; he had two brothers, Egil and and Slagfiðr. In one version, the three brothers spend nine years as lovers to three Valkyries. In one version, Wayland marries the Valkyrie Hervor and has a son, Heime. However gives him a ring before leaving him. 

Wayland was a master craftsman who gets captured while sleeping by King Niðhad of Sweden and forced to forge things for him. Niðhad cuts Wayland's hamstring tendons in order to prevent him from escaping (and curiously making him similar to Hephaestus, the god-smith of the Greeks). The ring given to Wayland by Hervor is given to King Niðhad's daughter, Böðvildr.

In another Greek parallel (I'm not saying these are intentional, but they do post-date the Greek myths), Wayland fashions a pair of artificial wings for himself and plots revenge. (The illustration is from Myths and Legends of All Nations by Logan Marshall.)

He kills the king's sons and makes items from the sons' body parts. He fashions goblets from their skulls, jewels from their eyes, and a brooch made from from their teeth. He sends these as gifts to Niðhad, Niðhad's wife, and Böðvildr. Wayland then seduces/rapes Böðvildr when she comes to him to repair the ring she was given. Wayland then flies to the king, explains what he has done, and flies away. Böðvildr appears to her father and claims she is pregnant, and that she could not resist Wayland because he is too strong.

The plight of Böðvildr is mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon poem Deor, mentioned in the Exeter Book. It is used (believe it or not) as an example of things being "not so bad." I'll explain more tomorrow when I share the stoicism of Deor.

Wayland the Smith

Wayland was a legendary figure whose name and fame stretched across the entire Germanic world, referred to in stories from the Norse, Frisians, Germans, Anglo-Saxons, and more. The most detailed accounts are found in Old Norse sources, particularly a poem that is part of the Poetic Edda. The oldest (possible) reference is a gold solidus (see illustration) from c.575-600CE with a Frisian runic inscription ᚹᛖᛚᚪᛞᚢ, "wayland." (This might not refer to the legend, but rather a person with the same name.)

Other depictions that are clearly Wayland are found on some 8th/9th century carved stones called Ardre image stones, and an 8th century whale-bone chest called the Franks Casket.

Anglo-Saxon culture made frequent reference to the smith. In Beowulf, we are told the source of the hero's armor:

If the battle takes me, send back
this breast-webbing that Weland fashioned
and Hrethel gave me, to Lord Hygelac.
Fate goes ever as fate must. (lines 452-55, Heaney translation)

Another Anglo-Saxon poem, Waldere, mentions the hero's sword made by Weland. In Alfred the Great's translation of Boethius, he laments "What now are the bones of Wayland, the goldsmith preeminently wise?" Medieval romances often included swords made by Wayland.

A megalithic mound in the Berkshire Downs is known as Wayland's Smithy, about which was the legend that, if one left a horse tethered there overnight with a silver coin, the horse would be shod by morning.

More than just an image and symbol of smithing, the poem in the Poetic Edda, the Völundarkviða (Old Norse: "The lay of Völund"), tells that he was captured and crippled (similar to Hephaestus, the lame smith of the Greek pantheon) in order to be forced to work for a king. I'll tell you that story tomorrow.

Blacksmiths

Metalwork was important to the development of civilization, and blacksmiths in the Medieval Period were at the center of this development in each village or town.

The word itself derives simply from being a "smith" and working with "black" which referred to black iron, as opposed to goldsmiths or silversmiths. (A goldsmith was such a high-profile profession that the surname Goldschmidt still exists.)

Blacksmiths needed a variety of tools: an anvil, a hammer, and a set of tongs at the very least. They also developed other tools for shaping metal. They also needed a very hot fire. Iron had a very high melting point, so the smith's goal was to heat the iron sufficiently to make it "plastic" so it could be hammered into shape. This was not a quick process, so required endurance and strength.

The heating required charcoal—a lot of it—which had a benefit that was noted if not completely understood. The repeated thrusting of raw iron into the fire to keep it malleable produced a stronger and more durable metal object. The smith might have seen the outcome as the result of more repeated hammerings, but the truth was understood only much later: greater exposure to the hot charcoal added carbon (perhaps only from 0.5-2%) to the iron, as well as removing oxygen, making it stronger and less likely to crack or rust. This improved daggers and swords and armor.

Of course, it wasn't all about armor and weapons. Blacksmiths made tools, door hinges, axles for carts, hooks and hangers and sconces, pots and pans, locks and keys, horseshoes and harness, and any of the myriad items needed in daily life that could not be efficient if made of wood.

Men were not the only smiths. In 1346, Edward III of England appointed Katherine Le Fevre to "keep up the king’s forge within the Tower and carry on [its] work … receiving the wages pertaining to the office." In the early 1300s, an Alice la Haubergere worked in Cheapside in London, making armor. In York in 1403, Agnes Hecche inherited her father's chainmail equipment after he died, and continued the family business.

One of the best-known smiths in history, however, was the Anglo-Saxon legend of Wayland Smith, of whom we shall learn more next time.

Early Metal Working

The blacksmith or metalworker in the Middle Ages was a highly respected craftsman. The results of the blacksmith's skill were so important to society that many pantheons had a god of blacksmithing, or at least a legendary figure, such as Hephaestus among the Greeks, Goibhniu in the Tuatha Dé Danaan cycle, or Govannon in the Welsh Mabinogion. The Anglo-Saxons had the legendary Wayland Smith. Even the Bible mentions Tubal-Cain in the book of Genesis as the first blacksmith.

Metalworkers originally worked with gold, silver, and copper, which are all found in their native states as pure metals. They are also fairly malleable, and so could be shipped and hammered relatively easily into whatever was wanted—mostly small decorative objects like jewelry. Phoenician trade brought together tin from Cornwall and copper from Cyprus and the discovery that a mixture produced a stronger metal with a lower melting point we call bronze, making it easier to shape into larger objects that would be stronger, such as a weapon.

The so-called Iron Age came about around 1500BCE, when the Hittites in the Middle East began working with iron, much of which was embedded in other ores. (Many early peoples first used iron found in meteor deposits, where the iron was mixed with up to 40% nickel.) The armor and weapons of The Iliad are bronze, but Homer refers to arrowheads as iron. At the time of its composition (or its later revision), iron was known, but was not being easily worked into larger items.

One difficulty with iron compared to previous metals is that its melting point is very high (2800°F), and so the heat produced by the blacksmith could soften it so that it could be hammered and shaped, turning it into a liquid to pour into a mold was not within the power of most forges. If a village had a blacksmith, it likely only had one. On the other hand, a village without a blacksmith was in a sad state. Smithing was a necessary craft for the functioning of the Middle Ages. It was one of the seven essential Artes mechanicae (to parallel the seven Liberal Arts).

Tomorrow we'll look at the medieval blacksmith in more detail, and the men and women who were employed in this important trade.

Arderne's Medical Manual

John Arderne (1307 - 1392), of whom I first wrote many years ago, has been called the father of English surgery. He earned this by producing a manual in Latin that was copied into English and widely used.

Although we know little of his personal life except that he practices in Nottinghamshire and London, his broad knowledge suggests someone who traveled and had a variety of experiences. Since he lived through the Black Death and the Hundred Years' War (during which he saw action in France), he had plenty of opportunities to learn about and deal with a wide variety of illnesses and injuries.

In 1370 he wrote the Practica Chirurgiae ("Practice of Surgery"), in which he detailed many of his techniques and boasted a for-his-time astonishing survival rate of 50%. There are not only detailed instructions, but detailed illustrations of the parts of the body being operated on, as well as illustrations of the instruments (many of which he designed) used.

More than the practical side of things, however, he gave advice to the surgeon open dress and behavior. He urged the university-trained doctor to dress the part, rather than wear the limited short (above the knee) robe of the typical "barber surgeon" (educated in a guild), to appear more important. Barber surgeons were looked down upon, and he advises his readers not to share techniques with them, lest they usurp the position of the university-educated surgeon. In a later century, in Paris, a distinction was made with the titles "Surgeons of the Short Robe" (who could offer their services never having taken an exam or proved their knowledge) and "Surgeons of the Long Robe."

Arderne's advice went beyond haughty classism, however. He also advised a pleasant bedside manner: the doctor should be able to tell tales "that may make þe pacients to laugh" and tales from the Bible to "make or induce a liȝt hert[light heart] to þe pacient or þe sike [sick] man." He should also, when speaking to a patient, not confuse him with complicated terms or harsh language:

“be the wordeȝ short, and, als mich as he may, faire and resonable and withoute sweryng”

make the words short, and, as much as he may, faire and reasonable and without swearing.

He felt that wealthy patients should be charged as much as possible, but poor patients treated for free.

More than 50 copies of his Practica exist today; 36 of them are copies with the original 250 illustrations. The expense of reproducing so many illustrations was significant, but it is a testimony to how valuable the work was considered to be. The illustrations were not only important to show how the body was being treated, but to understand the use of the instruments. These tools of the trade were not readily available, and had to be custom-made. I feel not enough has been said about the relationship of people with specific requests to the metal-workers of the age, so tomorrow let's talk a little about the blacksmith trade.

The Father of English Surgery

John of Arderne (1307 - 1392) was an innovative English surgeon who devised a number of cures and procedures and is considered the first English surgeon.

He grew up in Newark-on-Trent, which in his lifetime was a fairly large town. It is believed he attended the University of Montpellier; if so, then he may have been exposed to the Practica Chirurgia of Roger Frugard. He was in London in 1370, and was active in the Hundred Years' War in the regiment of Henry Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster, and John of Gaunt (King Edward III's son and Henry's son-in-law). (Incidentally, this would put him in the orbit of a young Geoffrey Chaucer.) He remained an employee of Gaunt.

War creates injuries, and this is where surgeons are most needed and are given opportunities to come up with new ideas for treating people. Long stretches bouncing on horseback can be damaging and lead to an issue now called a pilonidal cyst, but described by Arderne as a fistula in ano ("fistula in anus"). A fistula is a connection between two parts of the body that don't normally connect. You can learn more about this and Arderne's painful-but-successful treatment in this post.

But perhaps not so painful. Arderne knew of the soporific and nerve-deadening effects of opium, and prescribed it so that the patient "shal sleep so that he shal feel no cutting." To the opium he would add hemlock and henbane. He would apply this topically via an enema, and also use it on arrow wounds to deaden the pain while they were extracted.

His innovations were not just in what he was able to do for patients, but also in the profession itself. He believed, for instance, that wealthy patients should be charged what the market would bear, but poor patients should be treated for free. He also suggested ways to con duct oneself as a surgeon, and what to wear. The frontispiece for one of his manuscripts (shown above) shows him dressed in the robes of a university doctor, elevating the status above that of the more mundane "barber surgeon" who (because they possessed razors) were used to quickly treat war-related amputations, blood-letting, and (of course) hair-cutting. Because of the messiness involved, barber surgeons wore short robes. Arderne advised against this, urging his followers to distinguish themselves from the less-educated barbers.

More than 50 medieval manuscripts exist today with his texts, most with multiple illustrations as well. I'll share more of his guide for successful surgeons tomorrow.

Roger Frugard's Chirurgia

Roger Frugard (pre-1140 - c.1195) was also known as Rogerius, and sometimes called Roger of Salerno because he taught and worked at the hospital there (but not to be confused with the Roger of Salerno who was a regent of Antioch during the Crusading period). We don't know much about his life, but c.1180 he produced Practica Chirurgia ("The Practice of Surgery") with a no-nonsense approach to the subject.

Rather than write long pre-ambles, quoting Hippocrates or Galen or other surgeons and doctors on which much of 12th-century surgical knowledge was based, he gives clear and brief explanations for how to treat different illnesses and injuries. His writing provided the first Western European practical manual for teaching surgery. It was duplicated and used in universities at Bologna and Montpelier. Besides describing surgical techniques, he also described how medicines were prepared and applied, and how to diagnose illnesses. He was the first to use the word "lupus" to describe a rash that appeared on the cheeks.

In the 13th century, an Anglo-Norman translation was made and illustrated (above you see the dispensary and a doctor instructing his students). Though written in French, it was likely written in England because English terms are used throughout the text. This manuscript is now in the Trinity College Library collection. One of the delights of the illustrations is the facial expressions given to the patients, indicating the level of (dis)comfort they are going through. Also, surgical instruments are drawn with admirable accuracy.

(There are errors, however, due to sloppy reading of the text. One illustration is supposed to depict a condition that causes a blackened tongue, but the illustrator painted the tongue red. In another section on nasal polyps, the copyist did an "eye skip" where, while looking from original to copy, his eye skipped to a later occurrence of a word he just wrote, omitting the section in between. These errors can be determined by comparison to other manuscripts, and show that the copyist was not paying close attention to textual comprehension.)

Medieval surgeons were always looking for new ways to treat injury:

For example, it is believed that Roger of Salerno may have originated a technique for detecting a tear in the dura or cerebral membrane in skull fractures. Now known as the Valsalva maneuver, the doctor would have his patient hold their breath, introducing pressure into the skull, and the doctor would watch for air bubbles or cerebrospinal fluid leaking from the skull. Additionally, Roger was a pioneer in the treatment of nerve damage, advocating reanastomosis – the realignment of damaged tissue by surgical means – to repair severed nerves. [source]

The illustration of the dispensary above is in the section about treating fistula. This brings us to one of the most painful and "icky" treatments, but also to one of my favorite figures in medieval medicine, John Arderne, whom I'll tell you about tomorrow.