Making Ink

When the oak gall wasp lands on a species of oak, it secretes a chemical that interferes with the tree's normal growth, producing a bulb, or gall, into which its eggs are inserted; they will grow to be wasps that crawl out of the gall.

Somewhere along the way, folk learned that the galls could be used for something other than a wasp hatchery. Pliny makes a vague reference to oak gall ink. The typical way to make ink from oak galls was to crush the galls, add water, and boil the concoction; sprinkling in some iron sulfate turns the mixture black.

Too much iron could be problematic, however. It turned the ink corrosive, and too much iron could destroy (over time) the document for which it was used. But oak gall ink was the popular ink for 1400 years, and some of the oldest manuscripts have easily survived. The Codex Sinaiticus, the oldest Bible known (from c.325 CE), used oak gall ink.

Oak gall ink, sometimes called iron gall ink, was prevalent for at least 1400 years. The majority of manuscripts from the Middle Ages were made with oak gall ink, which dries to a light brown. Great Britain and France mandated oak gall ink for legal records. The popularity extended to the Renaissance: Leonardo da Vinci used oak gall ink. Even later, the U.S. Postal Service had its own prescribed version of oak gall ink at their branches.

One of the reasons the popularity of iron gall ink faded was the rise of the fountain pen. The ink was suitable for dip pens, but dip pens hold only a little ink on the tip, and the writer had to constantly re-dip the pen point into the ink and be careful not to splatter ink drops while traveling from the ink bottle to the page. Fountain pens were developed that stored more ink and released it slowly, as the ink was drawn from the tip. The fountain pen uses capillary action to raw the ink along a thin barrel, and the iron in iron gall ink could create deposits in the barrel that would impede the smooth flow of the ink. The development of other ink formulations made fountain pens more useful.

Oak gall ink is still manufactured for those few who want it. The U.S. Postal Service no longer uses it. But that suggests a direction for tomorrow: how did mail service work in the Middle Ages?

A Brief History of Ink

You see it everywhere, yet we never give it a moment's thought. Almost everything printed uses ink. (There are heat-sensitive labels/receipts, and photocopiers don't use liquid anymore.) Carving in stone or wood, pressing into clay—these were sufficient ways to make records, but the result was a cumbersome piece of material to lug around or deliver. Once we started using thin, flat sheets of light material, we needed something to create images on it that would be durable and neat, not become illegible over time.

Just about every culture in the early stages of writing developed lampblack, carbon mixed with a liquid that would allow it to be spread neatly. Egypt added iron and ocher for red ink. China was grinding graphite mixed with water and applied with brushes. China also used soot and animal glue as of the 3rd century BCE.

India ink has been around for thousands of years, having been invented in China. A mixture of fine soot and water, it was used at least a thousand years BCE. It became known as "India ink" (in British English, "Indian ink") because the materials were sourced from India. It is still used for comic books and other purposes.

Countless materials were experimented with to create cheap and Latin inks. Ferrous sulfate and oak galls produced an ink that dried to a dull brown and is familiar on numerous medieval manuscripts.

During the time of Gutenberg, most inks were of two kinds: a mixture of soot, water, and glue as a binder, used since the Classical Era; and the medieval combination of ferrous sulfate, gall, water, and gum as a binder. (The binder was to make it water-resistant and therefore more durable.) Unfortunately, while fine for writing, they were unsuitable to the printing press because of their tendency to "blur" when applied with pressure. Even worse, iron gall ink can be corrosive to paper; the presence of iron causes oxidation of the cellulose in the paper. Johann Sebastian Bach's original works are being eaten away by the ink he used. 

Gutenberg's innovation was oil-based, mixed with lampblack (soot), varnish and egg white. This combination made a sharper impression when pressed onto paper or vellum, producing a clear image that did not blur or fade over time.

Oak gall ink, however, was popular in the Middle Ages and even used by Pliny. It might be worth taking a closer look at. Stay tuned.

Movable Type

Movable type—the process of using interchangeable parts to create a page rather than carving/casting an entire page—revolutionized the production of the written word.

Prior to using movable type, pages were printed by carving an entire wooden block...backwards. One mis-carved letter would prompt the carver to start with a new block. Even without typos the process was time-consuming, and a block could only be used for that one page. Moreover, the ink would eventually soak into the wood, not just sit on it, softening the wood so that the letters lost their sharpness.

The invention of movable type is credited to Bi Sheng, whose process was described by a Chinese scholar, Shen Kuo:

During the reign of Chingli ..., 1041–1048, Bi Sheng, a man of unofficial position, made movable type. His method was as follows: he took sticky clay and cut in its characters as thin as the edge of a coin. Each character formed, as it were, a single type. He baked them in the fire to make them hard. He had previously prepared an iron plate and he had covered his plate with a mixture of pine resin, wax, and paper ashes. When he wished to print, he took an iron frame and set it on the iron plate. In this, he placed the types, set close together. When the frame was full, the whole made one solid block of type. [Dream Pool Essays, 11th century]

As seen in the illustration above, Chinese needed many more individual blocks to accommodate the characters in the Chinese writing system.

Korea developed movable type, but the process was more laborious than Bi Sheng's carving into clay:

At first, one cuts letters in beech wood. One fills a trough level with fine sandy [clay] of the reed-growing seashore. Wood-cut letters are pressed into the sand, then the impressions become negative and form letters [moulds]. At this step, placing one trough together with another, one pours the molten bronze down into an opening. The fluid flows in, filling these negative moulds, one by one becoming type. Lastly, one scrapes and files off the irregularities, and piles them up to be arranged. [Thomas Christensen (2007). "Did East Asian Printing Traditions Influence the European Renaissance?" Arts of Asia Magazine. 2006-10-18.]

The large number of individual characters needed for Korean—Korean used Chinese characters in a system they called hanja—made this process laborious. A solution was found several years before Gutenberg: Sejong the Great created a simplified alphabet of only 24 characters—called hangul—that would speed up the process of setting type. This did not catch on, however, as the elite refused to give up hanja in favor of making things easier for the masses. Another reason why movable type did not take off in Korea as it would in Europe under Gutenberg was a Confucian prohibition: the new printing method was only to be applied to government publications.

Johannes Gutenberg is described as having perfected movable type because of his experience with metals: he figured more efficient ways to make the numerous letters he needed to be able to compose many pages at once.

Although the oldest books extant made with movable type are Asian—the oldest extant book printed with movable type is Korean, made 78 years prior to Gutenberg's invention—there is no evidence that Asia influenced Europe. Gutenberg's method that produced cheap copies of books revolutionized scholarship and learning.

There was one more thing Gutenberg did that changed printing, and it never gets mentioned although in its way it is significant as part of the printing process. Tomorrow I'll tell you about something you see and use every day and don't give a moment's thought: ink.

1453-The End

Historic periods rarely have well-defined dates, unless they can point to a specific event that created definitive change. One can say there's an "Atomic Age" that started with the dropping of the bomb on Hiroshima, for instance. Human history is divided into three periods: Classical Antiquity, The Middle Ages, and Modern History. There is, of course, "pre-history" where we have evidence of human beings but no written records (we are ignoring cave paintings).

The Middle Ages itself spans such a long time that it is convenient to split it into Early (late 5th century to 10th century), High (1000 CE to 1300s), and Late Middle Ages (about 1250 CE to 1500). You can't help noticing that High and Late overlap by at least 100 years.

For me, the Middle Ages ends in 1453. That year is not quite as arbitrary as the "official" year of 1500, picked (I assume) because it was a nice round number. I like 1453 because there are events—two specific and one approximate—that make large enough changes politically and culturally that it seems to me things in Europe will never be the same.

The first is the final end of the Hundred Years War. The economies and cultures of England and France were dominant through much of the previous centuries; their political alliances and hostilities affected several other countries, their trade partners as well helped create a "global" economy. With the French victory at the Battle of Castillon in 1453, a long period of instability that had started in 1066 came to and end. (Yes, there were military conflicts between France and Great Britain afterward, but no large or sustained campaigns. They are sometimes referred to as "The Second Hundred Years War." In fact, there was a period of 1159-1259 referred to as "The First Hundred Years War." [sigh])

The second specific event is the final Fall of Constantinople. (I feel obligated to designate it "final" because of the disastrous Fourth Crusade, which for some reason I have avoided discussing. Some day...) The result of a 53-day siege by the Ottoman Empire, it not only altered the history of one of the constants of history—Constantinople had never lost its reputation the way Rome did after the Goths—but it also marked a change in siege warfare. Until then, strong walls/ramparts had prove effective against siege warfare, and Constantinople had very strong ramparts. They were defeated, however, by the use of gunpowder. Defeating a well-defended city became easier. Constantinople became the new capital of the empire. There was a secondary result of this conquest: an influx of new (and classical) learning through Greek texts brought to Western Europe by scholar fleeing Constantinople. The Renaissance had already started in Italy and elsewhere, and now would be enhanced by the new scholars and scholarship.

My third (and the "approximate" event) was a development brought about by a German named Johannes Gensfleisch, whose expertise with metal work helped him perfect a process that had actually been around for 200 years—just not in Europe. We know him now as Johannes Gutenberg. The famous Gutenberg Bible took about two years to set and print, and was completed in 1454. We are certain his press was in operation as early as 1450. The cultural sea-change brought about by the relatively easy method of providing the world with books without fear of scribal errors cannot be calculated. There were fears that learning would not be appreciated properly or used wisely—once you let just anyone have a book, the less-educated could misinterpret it and spread misinformation. It is likely that an elite class would oppose widespread dissemination of learning in order to maintain their elite status (which is why movable type did not become widespread two centuries earlier). The cat was out of the bag, however. It is likely that the choice of printing an impressive Bible helped some see the beauty and utility of mass-produced books.

...and that, for me, is why post-1453 would never be the same in Europe and the very-near East. Now, as much as I want to talk about that "First" Hundred Years War, you may be sick of that topic and the petty fighting between England and France. For a change, let's look at the "failure" of movable type to catch on in the 13th century, and for that we have to turn to a country never before mentioned in this blog: Korea.

The Hundred Years' War, Part 4

(If you want to see parts one and two and three.)

If we follow Shakespeare's themes, King Henry V surprised his subjects when his coronation transformed him into an able and savvy ruler, as compared to the frivolous youth he had recently been.

He had plenty of military experience, however, prior to his father's death. He had commanded the English forces in Wales during the revolt of Owain Glendower. By 1410, with Henry IV ailing, the 24-year-old young Henry had been running much of the government (albeit with the help of his uncles, Henry and Thomas Beaufort; Thomas was named Chancellor at this time).

Still, Henry might have been content to rule England when he was crowned on 9 April 1413, but for the situation in France. Charles VI—whose first bout with delirium happened at the age of 24 in 1392, when he attacked his own men during a military expedition—was becoming increasingly unstable. Placed under the regency of two uncles, the Dukes of Berry and Burgundy, he became a pawn between them and his own brother, the Duke of Orléans, who wanted control by being a regent. These opposing forces created the Armagnac-Burgundian Civil War that lasted from 1407 until 1435.

A France in military and political turmoil looked ripe for a resumption of hostilities; and France had given support to Owain Glendower. Meddling in England's affairs was reason enough.

Henry sailed for France on 12 August 1415. His first target was the principal seaport of Harfleur. The siege took weeks, and dysentery hit the English troops hard. Henry had to leave a part of his army in Harfleur while he marched toward Calais, but an approaching French army forced him inland, away from his ships and his target. Unfortunately, this move by the French forced the encounter at Agincourt, where the French soldiers were bogged down in the muddy fields, making them easy targets for the longbow men commanded by Henry. The victory of the English was sufficient to lead to the Treaty of Troyes, in which Charles "disinherited" his son: Henry V would become King of France upon Charles' death. Charles' daughter Catherine de Valois married Henry in 1420. They had a son, Henry.

The deaths of both Charles V and Henry V within two months of each other in 1422. Henry VI became king of both England and France; he was nine months old, and the only English king to have been officially named King of France. Skipping over decades of rocky reign, the English lost control of France decisively at the Battle of Castillon on 17 July 1453, which lost Gascony/Aquitaine, the English throne's major territory on the continent for the previous three centuries.

This has been (necessarily) a much-abbreviated look at the Hundred Years War, which ended in 1453. Next I want to explain why I think 1453 is a good year to say the Middle Ages were well and truly over.

The Hundred Years' War, Part 3

(If you want to see parts one and two.)

The second part of the Hundred Years' War was the Caroline Phase, named after Charles V of France, who ignored the Treaty of Brétigny and started reclaiming sections of land from the English-held territory.

Charles had a reason to think the time was right for this move. Problems in Castile caused Pedro the Cruel to ask England for help in restoring him to his throne. Edward, the Black Prince, spent a lot of money raising an army to help. Once Pedro was restored, he broke his promise to repay Edward. Edward decided the best way to recoup his losses was to raise taxes in Aquitaine.

The people of Aquitaine, since they were French citizens, appealed to King Charles for aid, who summoned Edward to Paris in May 1369. When Edward did not appear, Charles declared war. An ailing Black Prince had returned to England in 1371 where his father was also elderly and in poor health. While Aquitaine was in turmoil, Edward's forces were no longer helping Pedro, who was once again deposed. His enemy was his half-brother, Henry of Trastámara. Henry was now more than willing to throw his military power behind the French forces against England. The English fleet was defeated soundly in the Battle of Rochelle in June 1372.

The Black Prince died on 8 June 1376; his father died 21 June 1377, leaving the throne to the Black Prince's son and heir, crowned Richard II, who was 10 years old. A pre-teen king was not going to conduct a war, so England's territory on the continent was mostly the town of Calais.

We should also remember the the Black Death struck between 1348 and 1351, killing up to 33% of English and 40-50% of the French. Raising and outfitting armies could not have been easy. Moreover, the Plague returned every several years, although it did not kill as many each time.

The war would be renewed by Henry V. Stay tuned.

The Hundred Years' War, Part 2

In what can be called the Edwardian Phase of the Hundred Years' War, King Edward III of England fought to keep what territory he had on the continent. Much of the war was guided by his son Edward,  now called The Black Prince.

(About the nickname: there is no record of that label during his lifetime; the first recorded use is around 1540 by an antiquarian who claims he was known as "The Black.")

England took years to gather its forces, sailing for France in July 1346. Prince Edward was 16 years old, but upon landing, his father knighted him. On 26 August, the first big battle of the War took place at Crécy. The two Edwards commanded different flanks; when word came to the king that his son was in dire straits, having charged bravely into the French troops but then being surrounded by a fierce counter-attack, he declined to send help, wanting to give the prince an opportunity to prove himself.

The prince was in trouble, however, being thrown off his horse. His standard-bearer dropped the standard and stood over the prince, defending him while he recovered. Help did arrive, and the English ultimately were the victors.

The next big event was the taking of Calais, after which the prince burned and pillaged several square miles of the surrounding area. Calais would stay in English hands until 1558. The Battle of Poitiers in 1356 was another success for the English.

The Edwardian Phase took several years, and overlapped with the first appearance of the Black Death. It also experienced a devastating storm called Black Monday. This phase ended with the Treaty of Brétigny in 1360, leaving England with a large section of southwestern France as well as hostages captured in battle who needed ransoming. John II of France had been captured and his ransom set at 3,000,000 crowns. England was content. A few years later, however, Charles V ( trivia about Charles here) became King of France, and he had no intention of adhering to the treaty.

His phase comes next.

The Hundred Years' War, Part 1

Simply put, the Hundred Years War was an argument over the rightful ruler(s) of England and France. Officially, it ran from 1337 to 1453, making it 116 years long. It was not an ongoing battle, but a series of battles depending on who decided it was time to assert a claim to the other's throne, and a series of truces depending on who thought they could make a deal that was advantageous to their country.

It started with Duke William of Normandy, alias William the Conqueror. He was a vassal to the king of France because he held Normandy and other territories in France, even though he became king of England in 1066. Here's the issue: should a king be subordinate to another king, just because he holds territory in the other king's country?

France did not like having large swaths of territory held by the English king, and would occasionally occupy and "take back" those territories when England's army was busy elsewhere, such as when it was fighting Scotland. The real sticking point came in 1328 when King Charles IV of France died. He had no sons, and no brothers. France held to something called Salic law, that determined only males could inherit, not females. Charles had a sister, Isabella, who had married Edward II of England. Their son, Edward III, was the closest male heir to Charles, and Isabella claimed that Edward should be King of England and France.

France did not want a non-Frenchman ruling their country, and so they went up the family tree instead of down and the throne was offered to Philip VI, Count of Valois, a cousin through Charles' father. Edward fumed, but gave in, offering loyalty to Philip through Edward's possession of Gascony. This might have settled things, but Philip got greedy. In 1337, he called a Great Council in Paris where they decided that Gascony should not belong to the English king.

Edward III was not going to stand for this insult (and confiscation of his lands), so the war was on. Tomorrow we will see how the first phase went.

Medieval Cavalry

The Middle Ages in Europe recognized the value of cavalry and put resources toward evolving it. Stirrups so the rider can brace himself (seen on the Bayeux Tapestry), high-backed saddles for the same reason, and spurs to urge the mount on faster were all modifications that enhanced the use of cavalry as a swift and formidable strike force. Armor also became more elaborate and enclosing for horse and rider.

The importance of the armed cavalryman in battle transferred to his social status outside of battle. Knights ranked higher than foot soldiers. Part of this was the cost of outfitting a mounted warrior: few could afford it, which made knights not only special for their ability, but also because of their rarity (compared to infantry).

This special significance in warfare ultimately faded, especially once the English longbow men proved to be so valuable and deadly during the Hundred Years War, such as at Agincourt. The cavalry evolved into a way to get fighters to the battlefield fast, who then dismounted and used swords, maces, and poleaxes to fight on foot, engaging the enemy on its own level.

It occurs to me that the Hundred Years War has been mentioned many times, for instance here, but never explained. I'll give it a crack tomorrow.

The Cavalry is Coming

St. Martin of Tours as a young man was a cavalryman, and likely a member of the Equites cataphractarii. Of all the cavalry styles Rome used, the cataphractarii were the most heavily mailed. Although equites is Latin for Knight/horseman, cataphractarii was Greek, κατάφρακτος, meaning "covered over."

The Romans did not invent the heavy-armoured horseman: on the contrary, the innovators were the Assyrians, whose monuments uniquely illustrate the evolution of cavalry technique in antiquity. [link] 

Cavalry with lances/spears could be formidable: swift and deadly. We have a detailed contemporary description by Julian the Apostate (331 - 26 June 363). Julian was a nephew of Constantine who became emperor; he was called "Apostate" because he rejected Christianity and turned back to Greek beliefs. He wrote:

...their limbs were fitted with armour that followed closely the outline of the human form. It covers the arms from wrist to elbow and thence to the shoulder, while a cuirass made of small pieces protects the shoulders, back and breast. The head and face are covered by a metal mask which makes its wearer look like a glittering statue, for not even the thighs and legs and the very ends of the feet lack this armour. It is attached to the cuirass by fine chain-armour like a web, so that no part of the body is visible and uncovered, for this woven covering protects the hands as well, and is so flexible that the wearers can bend even the fingers.

The horse was the weak point, however, since charging into a crowd of enemy soldiers risked a sharp blade to the horse. An excavation in Syria at Dura Europos, a Roman border city above the Euphrates, uncovered two iron/copper horse armors with some of the fabric backing still attached. Besides those rare examples, we have a few carvings showing samples of the equine armor. (The illustration gives an Assyrian example.)

Let's look at what the later Middle Ages did with cavalry next.

St. Martin of Tours

In "The Shipman's Tale" of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, a monk gains the trust of a friend's wife by invoking St. Martin of Tours, a testament to the power of even the name of this enormously popular saint.

Martin was born in Pannonia (Hungary) in Gaul to pagan parents, he was raised in Italy and forced into military service at the age of 15. He started learning about Christianity and was baptized at 18. (Note: there are very conflicting reports about his birth year, with 316 and 336 offered up, neither of which can be verified. His death on 8 November 397 is certain, but whether he was 60 or 81 we cannot know. The 336 year is preferred by modern scholars.)

His position was with the cavalry, likely the heavily armed Equites cataphractarii. Once he became a Christian, however, he refused to fight. His biographer, Sulpicius Severus, writes that he was jailed for this refusal, and that he offered to go unarmed to the front of the line in an imminent battle in Gaul. This was deemed acceptable, but the opponents made peace with Rome, the battle never happened, and Martin was released from service.

Martin vowed to be a monk, and went to Caesarodunum (Tours) to become a follower of Bishop Hilary of Poitiers (see here) and join his quest against the Arians. In the ensuing years, he fought against Arians, sometimes losing; converted many, including his mother (but not his father); rejoined Hilary in 361, where he established a hermitage nearby. This developed into the oldest monastery in Europe, Ligugé Abbey. As of this writing, the abbey has 25 monks.

In 371, Martin was asked to come to Tours to aid a sick person; he was enticed into the church, where he was convinced to be named the third bishop of Tours. His demeanor very public life of a bishop disd not suit him, especially the negative attention he received when demolishing pagan sites of worship. He soon withdrew to Marmoutier Abbey, which he founded.

His best known anecdote (pictured above) is as a soldier when he cut his cloak in half with a sword to give half to a freezing beggar. His half of the cloak was preserved by the Merovingians in Marmoutier Abbey. The king would even carry it into battle for protection. It is specifically mentioned in the inventory of a royal villa in 679. The priest who cared for the half cloak was called a cappellanu, plural cappellani. In French that becomes chapelains, and in English chaplain.

Martin is the patron saint of several groups, including the U.S. Army Quartermaster Corps, beggars, innkeepers, vintners, equestrians, and many more. His feast day is 11 November, aka Martinmas.

There are more details and many anecdotes/miracles attributed to him, but I think it would be interesting, since the subject has been raised, to see next an example of early medieval cavalry, namely the Equites cataphractarii.

Marmoutier Abbey

American author Henry James took a six-week tour of France in 1883, in which he mentions the "chatty nun" who guided him through Marmoutier Abbey. By that time, most of it had been demolished or simple fallen into disrepair, after having been "disestablished" in 1799 during the French Revolution. (You can see an artist's rendition from 1819 to the left.)

St. Martin was made bishop of Tours in 371 CE. The job was too conspicuous for his taste, so he founded an abbey in 372 into which he could withdraw from the press of public life. Martin's contemporary, Sulpicius Severus, in his biography of St. Martin, describes the restrictions Martin placed on those who wished to join him:

No one there had anything which was called his own; all things were possessed in common. It was not allowed either to buy or to sell anything, as is the custom among most monks. No art was practiced there, except that of transcribers, and even this was assigned to the brethren of younger years, while the elders spent their time in prayer. Rarely did any one of them go beyond the cell, unless when they assembled at the place of prayer. They all took their food together, after the hour of fasting was past. No one used wine, except when illness compelled them to do so. Most of them were clothed in garments of camels' hair. Any dress approaching to softness was there deemed criminal, and this must be thought the more remarkable, because many among them were such as are deemed of noble rank.

This was prior to the strict set of rules for monastic living formulated by St. Benedict and adopted by so many abbeys.

The abbey fell on had times when the Normans invaded and damaged it in 853, killing over 100 monks. Abbot Majolus of Cluny (Cluny was mentioned here) restored it in 982; a generation later, it was thriving and becoming one of the richest abbeys in Europe. You can read here how a monk of the abbey attended the Battle of Hastings and suggested to William the Conqueror that an abbey be built on the site. That abbey was "seeded" with monks from Marmoutier, which led Marmoutier to claim control over it, but the idea was rejected.

Now it is a Catholic school, the Institution Marmoutier, whose webpage begins Sur les pas de Saint Martin, symbole universel du partage. "In the footsteps of St. Martin, the universal symbol of sharing."

Time to take a closer look at St. Martin, I think.

The Abbot of Battle

Yesterday I presented a series of facts (as we know them) about the founding of Battle Abbey. Today we take a look at a story of the founding.

A manuscript called The Chronicle of Battle Abbey tells this story that took place during :

When William, duke of Normandy, looked from the high ground of Telham Hill upon the forces of King Harold, he vowed that if God gave him the victory he would found a monastery upon the place of battle. Amongst those who heard this vow was a monk of Marmoutier, William called 'the smith,' who when William had obtained the crown of England urged him to fulfil his promise; the king willingly agreed and entrusted William with the execution of his design. 

The monk, therefore, brought over from Marmoutier four of his brethren, but as the actual site of the battle seemed to them unsuitable for a great monastery, they began to build on the lower ground to the west. When the Conqueror heard of this he angrily insisted that the foundations should rest upon the very spot where he had achieved his victory, and upon the monks pleading a scarcity of water he replied, 'If God spare my life I will so amply provide for this place that wine shall be more abundant here than water is in any other great abbey.' 

 ...  For various reasons, however, building progressed slowly, and it was not until 1076 that things were sufficiently advanced for an abbot to be appointed. Robert Blancard, one of the four monks who had first come over, was elected, but on his way back from Marmoutier he was drowned. Accordingly William 'the smith' was sent to Marmoutier to fetch Gausbert, who came with four of his brethren and was consecrated abbot of St. Martin's of the place of Battle.

In Heads of Religious Houses: England and Wales 940–1216, the authors compile lists of abbots, etc., that include Battle Abbey. From their research, Robert Blanchard was the first abbot, starting in 1067. He had previously been a monk at Marmoutier Abbey. Marmoutier Abbey was founded in 327 CE by St. Martin of Tours, which explains why Battle Abbey was dedicated to Martin.

Pope Alexander II telling William to do penance for all the souls killed in the battle is true. Battle Abbey being built "on the lower ground to the west" away from Senlac Hill where the fighting actually took place  is accurate. A conversation in the middle of a huge battle between the leader of one side and a monk hanging out is ... less likely. Making sure there is a compelling story behind the founding of the abbey to enhance your reputation ... priceless.

Under the third abbot of Battle Abbey, Henry of Bec (appointed 1096, died 1102), Marmoutier tried to claim control over Battle Abbey. It didn't happen, but let's learn more about Marmoutier next.

Battle Abbey

You would think that the name "Battle" for a religious house must be an abbreviation of some more appropriate term, and you would be wrong. It is named for one of the most pivotal moments in the history of England, the Battle of Hastings and the death of King Harold.

Once William the Conqueror won, he began a building campaign of massive churches whose size completely dwarfed the smaller Anglo-Saxon buildings they were meant to replace. This had the effect not only of impressing upon the natives how different everything would be, but was also likely a way to atone for the bloodshed he had caused. This second reason was important, since Pope Alexander II in 1070 ordered him to do penance for the deaths he caused.

To that end, he ordered the construction of an abbey whose high altar should stand on the exact spot where Harold's standard fell, marking victory for the Normans. The abbey was dedicated to St. Martin of Tours (4th century), who had been a soldier before becoming third bishop of Tours and one of the most popular French saints. Despite that dedication, however, the place was referred to as Battle (or "Battel") Abbey, and the town of Battle developed next to it.

We don't know when exactly it was started, but in 1070 William invited 60 Benedictines to establish a monastery. His intent was that it would eventually house 140 monks. Enough was built for it to be habitable by 1076; it was finished in 1094. by William's . He endowed it with many estates, so that it became one of the richest monasteries in England.

When Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, Battle Abbey was given to one of the king's friends, who demolished most of it and turned the remainder into a large manor house. Little of the original remains, but visitors are welcome, historical reenactments take place on the grounds, and a plaque and stone stand where (we suppose) the high altar once stood.

There is a slightly different story about the founding of Battle Abbey that also establishes a closer link to St. Martin of Tours. I'll tell you about it tomorrow.

The Seat of Wisdom

The special nature of the Virgin Mary—having been born without sin so that she could bear the Savior—made her the focus of attention as Christianity evolved. We've looked at the end of her life on earth and what happened afterward. In the Middle Ages, she took on a new title: the Seat of Wisdom.

The connection between Mary and Wisdom can be found starting in the 8th century. Masses focused on Mary used particular texts:

Wisdom sings her own praises, before her own people she proclaims her glory; In the assembly of the Most High she opens her mouth, in the presence of his hosts she declares her worth. [Sirach 24:1-2]

In the 11th century we first hear the phrase "Seat of Wisdom" to refer to Mary, in a litany at the Shrine of Our Lady of Loreto in Italy. A 12th century Benedictine, Odo of Canterbury, Abbot of Battle Abbey, offers an explanation for the title:

Philosophy is called the pursuit or love of wisdom. Mary is, therefore, the philosophy of Christians for whoever desires to find true Wisdom must direct his/her love and endeavor to Mary.

This could be interpreted to mean that Mary=Wisdom, but most theologians in the Middle Ages say Wisdom as a synonym for "The Word," Logos, from the Gospel of John. Since Mary, one of whose other titles is Theotokos [Greek: "god bearer"] brought God/Logos/Wisdom into the world, she is the seat (or throne) of Wisdom. Depictions of this in art, either two-dimensional or three-dimensional, show her sitting, with Christ as a child on her lap or knee.

Next let's take a sharp turn to something completely different: the above mentioned Battle Abbey.

Where did Jesus' Mom Go?

On 1 November 1950, Pope Pius XII declared as dogma the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, that her body was taken up into heaven because of her sanctity. The Assumption had been a common theme in Christian art since the Middle Ages, but the event appears nowhere in the New Testament. How did this idea come about?

Mary was obviously a significant figure in the life of Jesus, but the Gospels give us no information about her after Pentecost. A Byzantine author of the late 7th-early 8th century, Hippolytus of Thebes, wrote that she lived another 11 years after her son, dying in AD 41 [sic; I would have suspected AD 44, if Jesus lived 33 years]. Tradition had her supporting the early Church, living with the Apostle John, and being visited by the angel Gabriel who told her she would die in three days. The apostles, scattered around the world, were magically transported to her side (except for Thomas in India). Thomas arrived three days after her death, and asked to be taken to her grave in Gethsemane. When they got there, the body was gone but a sweet fragrance remained.

In the East was a tradition called the "Dormition of the Mother of God": the idea that she died peacefully in her sleep with no suffering. A sarcophagus in Zaragoza in Spain dated c.330 is carved with a scene of the Dormition. This idea of the Dormition was acceptable to the Western Church, although not initially celebrated as a holy day. The Eastern Roman Emperor Maurice (582 - 602) set the date of the celebration of the Dormition as 15 August, after which its celebration spread.

A bishop in Cyprus, Epiphanius of Salamis, living near the end of the 4th century, was concerned that he could find no authorized tradition about the end of her life, and he identified three beliefs surrounding the end of her life: that she died peacefully, that she died a martyr, that she did not die. Eventually he wrote a text claiming that, like Elijah, she did not die but was taken into Heaven.

The desire to have Mary continue to be special after bearing the savior teased theologians. Pope Leo IV (847 - 855) gave the Dormition (being called the Assumption in the West) a vigil and an octave to further its importance. Elisabeth of Schonau, a German nun, experienced visions of Mary and Christ in Heaven; as word spread, this promoted the belief that she was assumed into Heaven.

There is still no official dogma on whether Mary died and was then taken into Heaven, or was taken into Heaven without dying. To some this is a distinction without a difference, but it shows the uncertainty out of which this important Holy Day has sprung.

Some centuries after we've been discussing, Mary takes on an even grander role in Christian art, as the Seat of Wisdom. We'll explore that next.

John of Damascus

John of Damascus was born into a well-to-do Arab-Christian family in Damascus around 675 CE. His father was an official serving the Umayyad Caliphate. He was a priest, a composer of hymns (some of which are still used in Eastern Orthodox liturgy), and a defender of Christianity. He was interested in law, theology, music, and philosophy.

He lived near the end of patristic development of church dogma, and is considered the last of the Eastern Orthodox Doctors of the Church, being referred sometimes specifically as the Doctor of the Assumption because of his writing on the Assumption of Mary.

He spoke out in contrast to the Eastern tradition of iconoclasm. He wrote three (that we know of) works defending icons:

You see that He forbids image-making on account of idolatry, and that it is impossible to make an image of the immeasurable, uncircumscribed, invisible God. You have not seen the likeness of Him, the Scripture says, and this was St Paul’s testimony as he stood in the midst of the Areopagus: ‘Being, therefore, the offspring of God, we must not suppose the divinity to be like unto gold, or silver, or stone, the graving of art, and device of man.’

These injunctions were given to the Jews on account of their proneness to idolatry. Now we, on the contrary, are no longer in leading strings. Speaking theologically, it is given to us to avoid superstitious error, to be with God in the knowledge of the truth, to worship God alone, to enjoy the fulness of His knowledge. We have passed the stage of infancy, and reached the perfection of manhood. We receive our habit of mind from God, and know what may be imaged and what may not. [link]

The anti-Semitism is not unique. Other works of his show strong hostility to other groups: Against the Jacobites; Against the Nestorians; Dialogue against the Manichees; On the Faith, Against the Nestorians; On the Two Wills of Christ (Against the Monothelites); as well as the straightforward On Right Thinking.

He was also, unsurprisingly, opposed to Islam; one of the first known Christian writers to attack it. In Concerning Heresy he claims Muslims first worshipped Aphrodite, and that Mohammad learned Christianity from an Arian monk instead of true Christianity. Also, he criticizes the claim that Mohammad received the Koran from God in his sleep, because there were no witnesses. Moses received the Torah in front of the Israelites, Jesus was foretold by the Old Testament, but no witnesses exist to support Mohammad's claims, and no prophecies in the Bible foretold Mohammad.

John was also a promoter of perichoresis, the idea that the members of the Trinity are constantly "going around" each other, endlessly interacting and being intertwined. This sounds obvious (maybe) to anyone raised in a Christian environment, but pre-Nicene Councils, focus on the Trinity was often on distinguishing between the three to explain why three were needed. Perichoresis ties their being/existence closer together.

John of Damascus died 4 December 749. He is considered a saint in the Catholic Church, as well as Eastern and Ethiopian Orthodox Churches, the Anglican Communion, and Lutheranism. His feast day is 4 December and 27 March. He is there patron of pharmacists, theology students, and icon painters!

As mentioned above, John's writings helped define the dogma of the early Church. Next I want to go a little deeper into his unofficial title "Doctor of the Assumption."

Buddhism in the West

Buddhism started seeping westward during the time of Alexander the Great, and many Greek colonists adopted Buddhism or parts of it. Commerce between Europe and Asia would have exposed Europeans to Buddhism. Some exposure to Buddhism may have been coerced, such as when Tëmur, a grandson of Kublai Khan, became Khan after Kublai's death.

The story of Shakyamuni Buddha would have been spread about: that his royal father wished his son to succeed him, but a prophesy that he would become a religious figure made the father anxious. The father surrounded his son with all manner of sinful items and behavior and isolated him from any evils of the world that might provoke sympathy and caring. Despite these precautions, the son turned to religion and eventually became the Buddha.

This story would have been appealing and familiar to Christians: turning away from the pleasures and riches of a material life and embracing religion is the origin story of several saints. In fact, many details of the Buddha's origin (I have severely streamlined it) match uncannily to the life of a particular Christian saint, St. Josaphat.

I wrote a skeptical post years ago about St. Josaphat and the supposed connection to Buddha. Around the same time, a book was published that tracks the story of the Buddha as it raveled westward and was translated into different languages, with each new translation adding culturally significant details, until it reaches the Latin west adapted as the story of St. Josaphat. And that is how Buddha became a Christian medieval saint. The illustration shows Buddha on the left and St. Josaphat on the right.

Some think the Greek version was first created by John of Damascus, one of the Doctors of the Church such as Augustine of Hippo. I'll tell you more about him tomorrow.

The Cloud of Unknowing

Many works of Christian mysticism in the Middle Ages are biographies or autobiographies of mystics, sharing their revelations, their visions, and their interpretations of such. In the 2nd half of the 14th century, an anonymous author wrote a manuscript called "The Cloud of Unknowing" which was a guide aimed at a student on approaching God through mysticism.

The author shared three forms of prayer: reading, ordinary prayer, and contemplative prayer. Reading referred to contemplative or pious reading (in Latin, lectio pia). Ordinary prayer would be praying out loud or silently.

The last, contemplative prayer, inspired what is now called Centering Prayer, a form of Christian meditation with a strong emphasis on internal silence. The idea is to be more "present" and open to God.

Indeed, the point of the "Cloud" seems to be to avoid specific images and works and thoughts of God's attributes, and realize that God is not really knowable, that there is a vast "cloud of unknowing" between you and God. One must surrender all thought of specific aspects of God and open oneself to allow a glimpse of the true indescribable nature of God. This abandonment of trying to know God by specifics is the apophatic method, mentioned when discussing Maimonides' explanation of what God is by discussing what God is not.

The author felt that his approach was not for just anyone. At the start of the prologue, he says:

I charge thee and I beseche thee, with as moche power and vertewe as the bonde of charité is sufficient to suffre, [...] neither thou rede it, [nor] write it, [nor] speke it, [nor] [yet] suffre it be red, wretyn, or spokyn, of any or to any, bot yif it be of soche one or to soche one that hath (bi thi supposing) in a trewe wille [...] to be a [perfect] folower of Criste,

There are a few other works that are possibly written by the same author. One of them seems certain: "The Book of Privy Counseling" is only half the length of his most famous work, and explains further the concepts in "Cloud." The "Cloud" has 17 known manuscripts, and was clearly not as popular as the works of Richard Rolle, but interest grew in the 20th century.

One paragraph stands out for some thinkers:

If you want to gather all your desire into one simple word that the mind can easily retain, choose a short word rather than a long one. A one-syllable word such as "God" or "love" is best. But choose one that is meaningful to you. Then fix it in your mind so that it will remain there come what may. This word will be your defence in conflict and in peace. Use it to beat upon the cloud of darkness above you and to subdue all distractions, consigning them to the cloud of forgetting beneath you. [Chapter 7]

Some see in this a strong similarity to Buddhist meditation and modern transcendental meditation, which got me thinking: was Buddhism known in medieval Western Europe? Let's find out tomorrow.

Heat, Sweetness, Sound

Richard Rolle's career as a hermit left him plenty of time for writing. He chose a wide variety of topics—although Psalms figured heavily—and wrote in Latin early on; after 1340 he mostly wrote in English, perhaps trying to aim his words of wisdom at a wider audience.

Incendium Amoris ["The Fires of Love"] was one of his most popular in later years. We still have 44 copies, one-third of them from outside England. In it he describes the stages of mystical experience that he perceived, the first of which was the purgative stage he called "open door." In it one has to purge oneself of all worldly thoughts that would stand between yourself and the divine. Then came the stages of calor, canor, and dulcor.

Calor was the first experience of mystic contemplation, what they called illumination; it is a glimpse of heavenly glory felt as heat:

I call it fervour when the mind is truly ablaze with eternal love, and the heart similarly feels itself burning with a love that is not imaginary but real. For a heart set on fire produces a feeling of fiery love. [Penguin Classics, translator Clifton Wolters]

Canor, or song, became the most constant and important to him. As he first described it in "The Fires of Love":

I call it song when there is in the soul, overflowing and ardent, a sweet feeling of heavenly praise; when thought turns into song; when the mind is in thrall to sweetest harmony. [Ibid.]

Last was dulcor, always a part of the other two:

This twofold awareness is not achieved by doing nothing, but through the utmost devotion; and from these two there springs the third, for unspeakable sweetness is present too. Fervour and song bring marvellous delight to a soul, just as they themselves can be the product of very great sweetness. [Ibid.]

Some of his other works:

* Readings in the Office of the Dead taken from the Book of Job. It was popular enough to be printed in 1483 in Oxford and was used by clergy in York in the 15th century. It survives in 42 manuscripts.

*Commentary on the first 2.5 verses of the Song of Songs, of which we still have 30 manuscripts.

*Twenty manuscripts exist of Commentaries on the Psalter, in both Latin and English. The English version was for Margaret Kirkby, and was the only English translation of (part of) the Bible for 200 years.

*The Form of Living, written as a guide for Margaret Kirkby, exists in 30 manuscripts. 

His writing was enormously popular, copied and shared for several generations.

Not all authors of mystic writing are known to us; some maintained anonymity, whether through humility or simple obscurity. One such author, writing shortly after Rolle, produced a work of Christian mysticism with the evocative title, The Cloud of Unknowing. That will be next.

Richard Rolle

Richard Rolle (c.1300 - 30 September 1349) was born to a North Yorkshire farming family. He showed promise as a young man and was sponsored by the Archdeacon of Durham to attend Oxford to study philosophy. He gravitated more toward theology and biblical studies, but left Oxford while still in his teens to become a hermit.

At first he tried to live simply near his family's home, but became worried that they would disapprove and try to "reclaim" him. One day he encountered a former fellow Oxford student, John Dalton, who was willing to set him up in a cell with the necessary provisions.

A few years after leaving Oxford, while living an ascetic life on Dalton's property, he had his first mystical experience. He expressed the feeling of mystical experience as calor, canor, and dulcor. Calor was a feeling of heat. Canor was an experience of sound. Dulcor was a sweetness that accompanied both the feelings of calor and canor. A combination of these feelings was with him always after that, about which he says "I did not think anything like it or anything so holy could be received in this life."

Having attained this level of mystic expression, he left Dalton's cell and started to travel. We know he spent time in Hampole, sharing his experience with a Cistercian convent. He also visited Margaret Kirkby, whom he had set on the path to the anchorite life. He was able to cure her seizures by his presence.

He stayed near the Hampole convent for the rest of his life. He died there in 1349, possibly having succumbed to the Black Death, although by fall of that year the worst of the plague was over. He was originally buried in the convent cemetery, but later moved to his own chapel space because of the attention his grave drew: visitors and supplicants came to pray and make offerings; miracles were claimed to result.

In the 1380s, canonization proceedings were begun; many of the details of his life (other than details he included in his many writings) came from recording the anecdotes from people who knew him or had heard of him during the process of preparing a biography as part of the canonization process. The process was never completed, however, so he never became Saint Richard Rolle, although the Church of England commemmorates him on 20 January. In the Episcopal Church in the USA, he is commemorated on 28 September along with the mystics Margery Kempe and Walter Hilton.

His writings were so popular that over 450 manuscripts survive that were produced between 1390 and 1500. His writings were more popular than Chaucer. We can look at some of them next.

Margaret Kirkby

Margaret Kirkby (c.1322 - 1391/4 CE) was an anchoress in a couple locations in England. Although she withdrew from public life to devote herself to a contemplative life worshipping God (in a cell like the illustration to the left), we  actually know quite a bit about her.

Growing up in a landowning family in Ravensworth, North Yorkshire, she made the acquaintance of Richard Rolle, the spiritual director of the Cistercian convent at Hampole. He wrote for her an English translation of the Psalms, with commentary relating the Psalms (which are, technically, songs) with his concept of canor, the idea that sound—specifically through singing things like the Psalms—can link the devout to God.

Rolle wrote his own version of the Ancrene Wisse, called The Form of Living, in which he warned her of the difficulties she would face as an anchoress cut off from his guidance. He also sent her copies of other of his writings.

Margaret Kirkby and Richard Rolle had an interesting relationship. She suffered from seizures while in her cell, and Rolle would sit at the window to her cell and comfort her with her head on his shoulder.

Margaret's career as an anchoress took an unusual turn in 1357 when she was allowed to leave her cell in Hampole and enter a cell at a church in Ainderby that would allow her to observe Mass. Remarkably, she reversed this in the early 1380s, returning to the Hampole convent for her remaining years.

Anchorites were not too numerous, and having an extremely devout person sealed away in the church (or some other building's) wall was rare enough that the spectacle drew visitors and donors. A silver ewer was bequeathed to her by one of her patrons, Sir Bryan Stapleton, in 1394. She did not get to enjoy its use for long, however, since she died in 1394.

The man who guided her to and through the religious life, Richard Rolle, became one of the most widely read authors in the hundred years after he died. We will meet Richard Rolle next time.

A Manual for Nuns

Sometimes, devoting yourself to a religious life meant a life of service: going out into the world to help others. Sometimes, pursuing a religious calling meant withdrawing from the world as a hermit, living simply on your own in order to contemplate God. Sometimes, the withdrawal was more severe, and your desire to withdraw from the world meant enclosing yourself in a small space and avoiding contact with the world. The men and women who took this path were called anchorites and anchoresses.

Many anchoritic cells still exist—called anchorholds—small cells built into the walls of local village churches. They might have three windows: one facing the altar for observing Mass, one for food and drink to be passed into the anchoress, one for light from the outside.

The Ancrene Wisse (Old English: "Rule of Anchoresses) was written in the early 13th century as a guide for young women wishing to live the anchoress life. The context tells us it was written for three young women known to the author. We can also guess approximately where it was written—or at least where the author grew up—because of the West Midlands dialect used.

Because medieval manuscripts were copied by hand, mistakes could be made. There are nine copies of the Ancrene Wisse in various British libraries with tiny alterations, but the main message is the same. One of the pieces of advice is: 

No anchorite, by my advice, shall make profession, that is, vow to keep any thing as commanded, except three things, that is, obedience, chastity, and constancy as to her abode; that she shall never more change her convent, except only by necessity, as compulsion and fear of death, obedience to her bishop or superior;

 and when you wake in the morning:

When you are quite dressed, sprinkle yourselves with holy water, which you should have always with you, and think upon God’s flesh, and on his blood, which is over the high altar, and fall on your knees toward it, with this salutation, “Hail, thou author of our creation! Hail, thou price of our redemption! Hail, thou who art our support during our pilgrimage! Hail, O reward of our expectation!”

Although anchoresses by definition withdrew from the world, presumably avoiding fame and attention, at least one was well-known. Tomorrow we'll meet her.

Leprosy

Hospitals in the Middle Ages could be designed for different clientele. Some (like the Jerusalem Hospital) were specifically for pilgrims/crusaders who needed help in the Holy Land. Some were for the poor and infirm/elderly. Then there were hospitals specifically designed for those whom you wanted to keep distant from everyone else: lepers.

The word "leprosy" comes from Greek Λέπρα, literally "a disease that makes the skin scaly" (yep, they had a word for it!). The earliest English language use is in the Ancrene Wisse, a 13th century handbook for nuns. The word "leprosy" is falling out of use since the disease is less common. It is more commonly referred to as Hansen's disease, after the Norwegian physician who identified Mycobacterium leprae in 1873. Four strains have been identified, largely confined to geographical area.

Symptoms described in literature that could be leprosy have been recorded as early as 700 BCE in Sri Lanka and by Hippocrates (who was aware of a lot) in 460 BCE.

Lepers were not welcome in town or village, and leprosaria, a hospital for lepers, were few and far between. Covering the open sores with bandages was one way of dealing with it. 

Sometimes it could be treated with blood—a physician might think the leper had too much blood, and would make an incision near a sore to drain some blood. Because some thought leprosy was the result of sin, attempts to restore the victim to pre-sinful innocence involved a bath that was "medicated" by adding  some blood from an innocent infant or pure virgin. Supposedly, the corrupt blood would leave the body, to be replaced by the innocent blood. Another method to restore purity was an alchemist's concoction that contain the "purest" of elements, gold. Pliny and others thought snake venom was a potential cure; as recent as 1913 doses of bee stings were considered as a cure by someone named Boinet.

These days Hansen's can be controlled by bactericides and by the patient developing good habits: frequent VSE (Visual Surveillance of Extremities), cleaning any scratch/wound immediately, good hygiene.

Now to "turn on a dime," let's look at that manual for nuns next.

Of Hospitals and Treatments

Much of the medieval "medical" care happened in the home—herbal remedies and such—but hospitals did exist, run by religious groups such as the Order of the Hospital of St. John. This Order founded and managed the Jerusalem Hospital to support crusaders and pilgrims to the Holy Land. In the case of this Order, they were so committed to care that, in the words of an anonymous cleric who visited the Jerusalem Hospital:

It has happened on a number of occasions that when the space … proves insufficient for the multitude of the suffering, the dormitory of the brethren is taken over by the sick and the brethren themselves sleep on the floor.

Their charity did not know boundaries. Jerusalem had thousands of Muslims and Jews living there who were also in need of care. Therefore,

the sick are gathered together in this House out of every nation, every social condition, and both sexes, so that by the mercy of the Lord the number of lords increase in proportion to the multitude of languages. Indeed, knowing well that the Lord invites all to salvation and wishes none to perish [Ezek.18:32], men of pagan religion find mercy within this holy House if they flock thither, and even Jews.

Of course daily "treatment" would have included Christian instruction and daily prayer as well as food and medicine and ointments. Since sickness was often considered the result of sin, this made sense at the time.

The hospital and the care offered even tempted wealthy citizens to act poor so they could get treatment. 

There was only one type of person was outright refused entry to the Jerusalem (and other) Hospital.

Next? Lepers.

Ergot Poisoning

When the relics of St. Geneviève were paraded through there streets of Paris in 1129 during an outbreak of St. Anthony's fire, they seemed to work. The truth is, however, that St. Anthony's fire could abate as suddenly as it arrived, so coincidence might have figured in the miraculous cure. But what was (is) St. Anthony's Fire? Modern researchers put their money on ergotism, or ergot poisoning.

Ergot is a fungus— Claviceps purpurea—that grows on certain grains, especially rye. The early symptoms may not cause too much alarm: fatigue, nausea, diarrhea. Later, it can lead to convulsions. It becomes St. Anthony's Fire when the fungus causes the blood vessels in the outer extremities to constrict. The arms and legs do not get blood and oxygen and therefore develop gangrene. At that stage, amputation (or a miracle) is the only recourse. While the limbs were dying, the sensation of burning was intense, hence the reference to "fire." So why "St. Anthony"?

The Order of Hospitallers of St. Anthony founded hospitals to treat the disease. There was plenty of work to do. St. Anthony's Fire was a problem waiting to happen as soon as stored grain started getting moldy.

Ergot was known at some point: the black growth on the rye was studied. In 1582, a German doctor used small doses to produce contractions in pregnant women. In the 20th century, ergotamine was developed to help with migraines and cluster headaches.

Tomorrow I'll talk a little more about medieval hospitals and cures.

St. Geneviève

St. Geneviève was born a peasant in Nanterre around 419/22 CE. One day, while St. Germanus was passing through Nanterre, she told him she wanted to devote herself to God. He told her she should live a life espoused to Christ. At the age of 15, she decided to devote herself to the Christian life and move to Lutetia.

She spent 30 years mortifying her flesh through extensive fasting and abstaining from meat. Her austerity was considered excessive by her ecclesiastical superiors, who urged her to deprive herself less. She drew many visitors due to her piety, even divine visitors: she reported so many visions of angels that those jealous of her threatened to drown her in a lake. A visit by St. Germanus convinced her detractors to trust her.

Her piety was so strong that, when Attila was approaching Paris in 451, she convinced the people to pray instead of fleeing; the strength of her prayers turned the Huns instead to attack Orléans instead (I guess they did not have a saint to pray for them). In 464, Clovis and his father Childeric were besieging Paris (Gallo-Roman clergy were very resistant to the Frankish attempt to bring all of Gaul under its banner), Geneviève crossed their lines to bring grain to the city, and persuaded them to be merciful to the citizens.

Clotilde, the wife of King Clovis, was a patron and supporter of Geneviève, and may have commissioned her biography. Clotilde—a Catholic whom Clovis married partially to placate the clergy, whose cooperation he eventually realized he would need—was known for religious patronage; you can read about an example here.

Clovis (no doubt at Clotilde's urging) built an abbey where Geneviève could live. After her death, her tomb at the abbey saw many visitors and many miracles. In 1129, an epidemic of ergot poisoning was ravaging the city; it subsided after her relics were paraded through town.

Louis XV ordered a new church for the "patron saint of Paris." Before it was finished, her relics were destroyed in 1793 during the French Revolution, but some were recovered, and the church was finished and reconsecrated in 1885.

I was going to talk next about why she moved to "Lutetia" (see the first paragraph) and yet was called the "patron saint of Paris," but right now I really want to talk about ergot poisoning, so that's next.

Germanus of Auxerre, Part 2

After Germanus defeated the Pelagians in Briton (through sheer force of his rhetorical skills, apparently, having studied eloquence and having argued the law), Germanus celebrated at the shrine of St. Alban (the first British Christian martyr). That night, St. Alban appeared to Germanus in a dream, telling the details of his martyrdom. Germanus had the story written down next morning. Our only record of St. Alban is the Passio Albani, ("Passion of [St.] Alban"), written in either the 5th or 6th century. Some scholars feel it is likely that we only have any information regarding St. Alban because Germanus had it written down.

Another anecdote about him in the Historia Brittonum ("History of the Britons," mentioned once before here) has him traveling to Britain a second time in the mid 430s or 440s, at which time he condemned for incest Guorthigern, the Vortigern of Welsh tales who figures into stories of Arthur. Vortigern tried to humiliate Germanus by having his daughter declare the bishop as the father of her child. In retaliation, Germanus cursed Vortigern, who fled into Wales pursued by Germanus and others. Vortigern holed up in a castle; Germanus and his group fasted and prayed for three days; fire from heaven fell on the castle, destroying it and all within. No historian gives any value to this story, but it is an example of Germanus' reputation.

He died in Ravenna; his feast day is 31 July.

His name lives on, at the Abbey of Saint-Germain d'Auxerre, at the church Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois which stands across from the Louvre, and several St. Germanus churches in England. He also makes appearances in literature and other media; his 2nd mission to Britain is included in the 2004 movie King Arthur, opposite Clive Owen as Arthur; in 2007, his character appears in The Last Legion where he leads the Romans and Britons against the Picts.

But back to that little girl he saw in Nanterre (see the illustration); what he told her more specifically was that she should live her life as if she were espoused to Christ. Apparently, that's exactly what she did. Tomorrow I'll introduce you to St. Geneviève of Paris.

Germanus of Auxerre, Part 1

There are some stories about Germanus (c.378 - c.445 CE) that are difficult to believe and hard to substantiate. The Vita Germani ("Life of Germanus") written c.480 CE by Constantius of Lyon, no doubt intended to inflate Germanus' reputation, gives us most of our information on him.

We are told, for instance, that he was from one of the noblest families of Gaul, receiving the best education in eloquence and civil law in Rome, where he practiced law before the Tribune. He married s noble lady, Eustachia, before being sent back to Gaul as one of six dukes.

Unfortunately, he made an enemy of the local bishop, Saint Amator. Germanus would hang the carcasses of his hunting expeditions on a certain large tree with many branches to age. This tree had been used as a site of pagan rituals. Amator was angered that Germanus was drawing attention to it, so while the duke was away, he had the tree cut down and burned, along with the carcasses. Amator feared the duke's reaction, fled to the prefect Julius, and requested permission to tonsure Germanus.

When Germanus came to the church to find Amator, Amator gave him the tonsure against his will, telling Germanus that he needed to amend his ways to be prepared to replace Amator when the bishop died, and ordained him a deacon. Surprisingly (for real life; not surprisingly for a saint's story), when Amator died, Germanus was unanimously chosen to replace him as bishop. Germanus was made bishop on 7 July 418.

"Spontaneous religiosity" was a theme in anecdotes about Germanus. When he was sent from Rome to go to Britain to fight Pelagianism, he passed through Nanterre in Gaul. Walking through a crowd, he spotted a young girl and told her she should devote her life to Christ, and she did.

Germanus—who, remember, was a duke and soldier before he became a bishop—also helped the Britons against Pictish and Saxon raiders. Leading his army into a vale in North Wales, he told them to shout at his signal. Once the raiders approached, he shouted "Alleluia!" three times. The Christian army repeated his call, and the sound echoed so much between the mountains that the raiders fled, thinking themselves vastly outnumbered.

There are more stories, including one that tangentially connects him with the Arthurian legends. I'll share those next. (And eventually I'll get back to that little girl in Nanterre; we're not done with her.)

Pre-Patrick Palladius

Although St. Patrick gets credit for spreading Christianity widely in Ireland, he was not the first Christian sent there for that purpose. He was preceded by Palladius (fl.408 - 431; died c. 450 CE), the first bishop of Ireland.

Some of what we know from him comes from accounts of St. Patrick, who was his contemporary, along with St. Prosper of Aquitaine. Palladius came from a noble family in Gaul, and had a wife and daughter. We don't know what happened to the wife, but at one point, after becoming an ascetic, he placed his daughter in a convent in Sicily and in 415 was ordained a priest. He seems to have lived in Rome from 418 - 429; we assume he is the Deacon Palladius who convinced Pope Celestine I to send a bishop named Germanus to Britain to fight growing Pelagianism.

Celestine also sent Palladius with relics of saints Peter and Paul to be the first bishop of Ireland. According to a later account, the Book of Armagh, Palladius had a difficult time in Ireland: the natives did not want his preaching, and he did not want to live in a strange land.

After 431, he went to Britain and served among the Scots for 20 years. Scottish historians acknowledge that Palladius was the first bishop and "first apostle" of Scotland. There are several dedications in the village of Auchenblae suggesting he spent most of his time there, and perhaps died there in 450.

We know more about the Germanus sent to Britain; he's next.