The Medieval Grotesque

The word grotesque does not appear in that form until the 1560s, though now it is used to refer to illustrations and carvings from much earlier eras. It is from Italian grottesca ("of a cave") from Italian grotto ("cave") because it was first used to refer to paintings found in basements in the ruins of Classical Era Rome, specifically the palace complex begun by Nero in 64CE that had been abandoned and buried long ago.

We see grottesca used in Italy in a 1502 contract in which Raphael Sanzio da Urbino (better known to the Modern Era simply by his first name) agrees to decorate the Piccolomini Library attached to Siena Cathedral.

Not everyone appreciated the fanciful designs. One artist complained about

this insatiable desire of man sometimes prefers to an ordinary building, with its pillars and doors, one falsely constructed in grotesque style, with pillars formed of children growing out of stalks of flowers, with architraves and cornices of branches of myrtle and doorways of reeds and other things, all seeming impossible and contrary to reason... [link]

We use the word to describe three-dimensional art such as gargoyles. If you wanted to categorize types of grotesques in two-dimensional art, you will often see hybrids such as the illustration to the left. Another type is a strange juxtaposition or anthropomorphism such as a rabbit jousting with lance and sword, using a hybrid snail for a horse.

Sculptural grotesques originally were used for waterspouts in medieval architecture, but became their own genre of architectural decoration. Despite the complaint noted above, folk like the monk who designed Salisbury Cathedral did not hesitate to add grotesque figures that had no function other than to provide decoration. Salisbury, in fact, shows a more consistent architectural style than most other cathedrals, owing to its swift completion: 38 years, as opposed to generations for most gothic structures. In fact, Salisbury Cathedral is a good subject for the next post. See you soon.

Gargoyles!

Large stone buildings intended to last for centuries, such as examples of Gothic Architecture, would be exposed to ages and ages of rainwater running down the sides and eroding the mortar. The solution was to devise a channel that would carry water away from the side of the building. The channel was thought of as a "throat" or "gullet" carrying water, and the French term for that was gargouille from the root gar "to swallow."

Not all gargoyles are waterspouts. In Italian architecture, a distinction is made between the carved creature used as a waterspout and called a gargolla or garguglia, and a carving designed simply to carry water away from the building, which is called gronda sporgente, literally "protruding gutter."

A late-14th century legend of St. Romanus explained the origin of the term as the name of a dragon; a good story, but pretty silly.

Long before the Romanus legend, Bernard of Clairvaux in the 12th century commented on gargoyles:

What are these fantastic monsters doing in the cloisters before the eyes of the brothers as they read? What is the meaning of these unclean monkeys, these strange, savage lions and monsters? To what purpose are here placed these creatures, half beast, half man or these spotted tigers? I see several bodies with one head and several heads with one body. Here is a quadruped with a serpent's head; there a fish with a quadruped's head; then again an animal: half horse, half goat... Surely, if we do not blush for such absurdities, we should at least regret what we have spent on them.

The origin of gargoyles that were not waterspouts is up for debate: Bernard doesn't seem to know why they were there. One theory is that they were illustrations of sin or evil, designed to make you glad you were a good Christian. Another thought is that they guarded the church.

If a carving of a creature was not a waterspout, it was a grotesque. The medieval grotesque needs its own explanation, which you will get tomorrow.

St. Romanus of Rouen

Among other events of which he was a part, Richard Barre also was present in 1179 in Rouen for the display of the body of the 7th century bishop of Rouen, St. Romanus. The Catholic Encyclopedia makes clear that the information we have on Romanus' life is legendary and not authentic. Since his reputation  is based on it, however, let us "go with what we have." His list of miracles makes for fun reading.

A woman named Félicité was sterile, but one day an angel appeared to her husband to say a child would be born in his house. The result was Romanus. He was sent to court to be educated; there he met St. Eligius. We then leap to his adulthood, where he becomes bishop of Rouen. He was also chancellor to the Merovingian king Clothar II.

His legend—found in four differing accounts—includes many miracles. When asked to eliminate a temple to Venus, he simply pulled the dedication to Venus off the altar and the whole temple collapsed. He collapsed another pagan temple he found in the countryside by simply cursing the demons he saw dancing on it.

Needing to create some baptismal fonts and consecrate them, he realized he had forgotten to bring any chrism (holy oil used for anointing). He sent a deacon to retrieve it, but the deacon was in such a hurry that he dropped the vial, which broke and let the oil seep into the earth. Romanus picked up the pieces of the vial and prayed, whereupon the vial reassembled itself and the oil returned to the vial.

A later legend that crops up in an account of his life in 1394 tells of Gargouille, a dragon that inhabited the swamps of the left bank of the River Seine. A vicious beast that devoured livestock and humans, it was tamed by Romanus when he made the sign of the cross. The dragon lay down at is feet, whereupon Romanus put his stool around its neck and led it by this leash into the town where it was killed and either burned or thrown into the river (stories differ).

Near the end of his life he chose to retire to a hermitage. One day a woman appeared, asking for hospitality. Torn between his duty to a guest and his apprehension about allowing a woman into his quarters, he decided to show good manners and allow her in. She then disrobed and unbound her hair. Romanus called on the Lord, an angel appeared, revealing the "woman" as a demon and throwing it into a bottomless pit.

Romanus died ab out 640. Like many early medieval saints, it is likely that we know nothing historically accurate about them, but that does not stop their veneration. St. Romanus has a feast day on 23 October, still celebrated in the archdiocese of Rouen (these days simply transferred to the following Sunday).

Let me now draw your attention to the name of the dragon he tamed, Gargouille. If you say it a certain way, it sounds like gargoyle. There's a reason for that, which we will explore next time.

A Boring Civil Servant

Richard Barre was likely Norman by birth, probably born at La Barre (hence the name) in northern France c.1130. He studied law at Bologna (illustration is of the Bologna University Library in modern times) at the same time as Stephen of Tournai, who would go on to become Bishop of Tournai in 1192 (we have correspondence between Richard and Stephen from later in their careers). A fellow student wrote of Richard "May you manage the causes of bishops and the affairs of kings." As it happens, that is precisely what Richard wound up doing.

By 1165 he was in the household of King Henry II of England. One of the legal matters on which he advised the king was the dispute with Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Becket over royal vs. ecclesiastical authority over the church. In September 1169, Barre was sent to Rome to complain to Pope Alexander about the behavior of the papal legates to England, whom Barre claimed agreed to one thing and then changed their minds the next day.

Months later, in late winter 1170, Barre was again sent to Rome to discuss rescinding the excommunication placed by Becket on royal officials. It is believed that Barre's mission was also to receive the pope's blessing to allow Henry's eldest son, the "Young King Henry," to be crowned by someone other than the Archbishop of Canterbury, as was traditional. This was absolutely not allowed.

Barre was sent to Rome again after Becket's murder in December 1170 to make clear to Pope Alexander that Henry had nothing to do with Becket's death. Shortly after this mission, Barre became Archdeacon of Lisieux and was named a royal justice. He was also made chancellor to Young King Henry in 1172, but when the son rebelled against the father Barre chose to abandon the son for the father's service.

He continued to go on missions for the Crown. In early 1198 he went to the continent to meet with German Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, King Béla II of Hungary, and Byzantine Emperor Isaac II Angelos to discuss travel through their lands and permission to gather supplies on an intended Crusade. King Henry's death in 1189 ended the Crusade plans.

After Henry's death, Barre served William Longchamp, who made Barre the Archdeacon of Ely, but when Prince John exiled Longchamp (King Richard was away on Crusade at the time, and John was managing things with the style that earned him the nickname "Bad King John"), Barre had no royal justice duties until Richard's return. Upon Richard's death, the new King John dismissed Barre from royal service; Barre returned to his duties in Ely. He died c.1202.

He wrote a work on the Bible, dedicated to Longchamp, in which he annotated certain passages; it exists in two manuscripts.

There were many people in the Middle Ages who led similar lives. Richard Barre came to my attention because of sci-fi author Duncan Lunan's theory that one of the Green Children of Woolpit was named Agnes and married him.

One of the other events from Richard's life was as odd as the idea that he was married to an alien child. That was the revealing of the body of St. Romanus. Let me tell you about that next time.

The Green Children of Woolpit

Sometime in the 12th century, an unusual find in Suffolk produced one of the Middle Ages' greatest mysteries. The event was recorded by William of Newburgh (admittedly not the most faithful historian, but this was the Middle Ages), and by Ralph Coggeshall (who published his history in 1220). Although writing later, Coggeshall says he drew on the writing of Sir Richard de Calne, the man who (we are told) cared for the children.

The story goes that villagers of Woolpit one day during harvest time found two small children—a boy and a girl—looking scared and speaking in an unknown language. More notable than the unknown language was the fact that they had green skin. The villagers took them to Sir Richard de Calne, who took them in.

The two would not eat any food put before them. This lasted for days, until they saw some green beans growing in the garden and ate them off the plant. Sir Richard kept them with him for years, teaching them English and slowly getting them to eat available food. (Over time the green of their skin faded; it was presumably because of the different diet.)

Once they had learned sufficient English, the children told this story:

“We are inhabitants of the land of St. Martin, who is regarded with peculiar veneration in the country which gave us birth.”

“We are ignorant [of how we arrived here]; we only remember this, that on a certain day, when we were feeding our father’s flocks in the fields, we heard a great sound, such as we are now accustomed to hear at St. Edmund’s, when the bells are chiming; and whilst listening to the sound in admiration, we became on a sudden, as it were, entranced, and found ourselves among you in the fields where you were reaping.”

“The sun does not rise upon our countrymen; our land is little cheered by its beams; we are contented with that twilight, which, among you, precedes the sun-rise, or follows the sunset. Moreover, a certain luminous country is seen, not far distant from ours, and divided from it by a very considerable river.”

The children eventually were baptized. The boy died soon afterward of an unknown cause. Presumably the girl lived until adulthood.

Theories in the Modern Era about the origin of the children range from natives of a fairy world, to abandoned non-English-speaking Flemish orphans who were "green" from malnourishment, to extraterrestrial beings transported here accidentally. There is, of course, no way to know.

What happened to the girl? One 20th-century author believes, based on the family tree of Sir Richard de Calne, that she was named "Agnes" and married the clergyman and scholar Richard Barre. That's as good a reason as any to look at the life of Richard Barre next.

Child of the Forest

Widukind (seen here as a memorial in Hereford, Germany) was a Saxon leader who organized the chief opposition to Charlemagne's conquest of Saxony and his introduction (enforcement) of Christianity. To Frankish forces he was a murderer, a heathen, a destroyer of churches. To the Saxons he was a freedom fighter, a great leader, and protector of their way of life.

We know little about him personally except what the Franks record. He is first mentioned in the Royal Frankish Annals as the only significant Saxon leader who did not attend the Diet at Paderborn, when Charlemagne first set down the laws he expected Saxony to follow. Widukind was staying in Denmark with King Sigurd.

In 782 he was back in Saxony and convincing his countrymen to go to war again with the Franks. One success of his led to Charlemagne retaliating with the Massacre at Verden. Widukind agreed to surrender in 785 if the Franks guaranteed no bodily harm would come to him. He was baptized in the Elbe with Charlemagne as his godfather. He is now considered a saint, with churches named for him and a feast day on 6 January.

What made him surrender? Why did he acquiesce to baptism as a Christian after resisting for so long? Of course there is a legend that explains this.

According to the legend, Widukind decided to learn more about Christianity. He disguised himself as a beggar and infiltrated the Frankish military camp. It was Easter, and he saw a priest performing Mass. At the moment of the elevation of the Host, Widukind saw the priest holding up a beautiful child. He offered this beautiful child to each member of the congregation. Widukind was amazed at this vision. Continuing to act as a beggar afterward, he was captured when one of the soldiers recognized him.

He described the scene at mass, and Charlemagne declared that God had given him this vision of the divine child Jesus. Widukind realized the significance of this and renounced paganism, embracing Christianity.

Over time he was hailed as a national hero. A tomb made for him in 1100 in Herford was discovered in the Modern Era to contain the body of a woman. Three graves in front of the altar contain the bodies of three men, two of them about 60 years old, all of them related. It is assumed that one is Widukind.

The name Widukind literally means "child of the forest." For some real "children of the forest," I should tell you about the Green Children next, and that's just what I'll do.

The Saxon Wars, Phase 2

The Saxon Wars (see Part 1) were a series of campaigns led by Charlemagne to incorporate and Christianize Saxony. A first phase was complete by 779CE, with three of the four Saxon areas conquered; Nordalbingia would come later.

There was peace for a few years after that. In 782, Charlemagne returned to Saxony with the goal of making sure their code of laws conformed to his own ideas of justice. This code of laws was the Lex Frisionum, the "Law of the Frisians." He held a gathering of Saxon nobles, but there was one notable exception: Widukind was instead staying with the Danish king Sigurd (father of Ragnar Lodbrok). It might not have been difficult to have the native peoples adopt the new laws, but it was particularly harsh regarding pagan practices.

In autumn of 782, Widukind returned and led a revolt that burned several Christian churches and invaded the Chatti, a Germanic tribe that had been converted by St. Boniface and who were firmly part of the Frankish empire. Charlemagne was busy fighting the West Slavic Sorbs (Serbs), and in his absence Widukind defeated a Frankish army at the Battle of Süntel, killing the leaders and many other nobles. Charlemagne retaliated by killing 4500 rebels in a single day, referred to as the Massacre at Verden.

Charlemagne stayed in Saxony for two solid years of fighting. The Saxon rebels were reduced sufficiently that Widukind himself gave in and had himself baptized in 785. The major battles for Frankish rule over Saxony were done, but sporadic revolts continued for another two decades. The Nordalbingian Saxons were subdued in 798 by allies of Charlemagne, the Obotrites, a confederation of West Slavic tribes near what is now Mecklenburg. The Obotrites had also helped Charlemagne put down an Engrian revolt in 796.

In 797, Charlemagne started backing away from some of the harsher penalties, and in 802 codified Saxon common law. He also established bishoprics in Paderborn, Munster, Bremen, Verden and others.

Widukind's particular entry in this blog (see paragraph two) labels him only as Charlemagne's enemy. His conversion after his strong opposition to Frankish invasion seems unlikely, but of course there's a story behind it, which I will relate next time.

The Saxon Wars, Phase 1

In January of 772CE, a church in Deventer in the Netherlands was sacked and burned by Saxons who objected to missionary work in their lands. Deventer had been founded only a few years early, about 768, by an English missionary named Lebuinus. This burning was the reason for Charlemagne's first foray into Saxon lands to conquer the territory and forcibly convert the area to Christianity.

Saxony contained four areas at the time: Westphalia, Eastphalia, Engria, and Nordalbingia in the north. Charlemagne's Frankish forces subdued Engria first. It was on this occasion that Charlemagne destroyed the Irminsul. The difficulty for the conqueror was that he had many campaigns not in Saxony, so that he would "lose ground" whenever he turned his attention to, say, Lombardy. Charlemagne would destroy Saxon strongholds and take hostages, but Saxons led by Widukind would raid Frankish lands while Charlemagne was away.

There were 18 separate campaigns between 772 and 804 needed to complete the absorption and Christianization of Saxony. During this phase he conquered Eastphalia and converted their leader Hessi in 775, then returned to Austrasia through Westphalia, leaving a few temporary strongholds there as well. At this point he felt Saxony was well in hand except for the northernmost section of Nordalbingia. More missionaries were sent by Charlemagne.

In 777, a diet at Paderborn was called to integrate Saxon and Frankish laws. Charlemagne earned the nickname "butcher of Saxons" by decreeing capital punishment for anyone engaging in heathen practices. His harsh approach put him at odds with Alcuin of York, whose position was that God's word should be spread by persuasion, not the sword. Two years later he enforced mass baptisms. There was relative peace at this time, the end of the first phase of the Saxon Wars.

In 782, the second phase would begin because Charlemagne couldn't leave well enough alone. We'll go further with this tomorrow.

As for that church at Deventer, it was rebuilt a few years after the destruction by the "Apostle of Saxony," St. Ludger.

Starkad (the Giant?) Part 2

After the killing of Vikar and receiving the blessing of Odin and the curse of Thor, the (giant?) warrior Starkad joined a Danish viking raid on Russia. The terrain had been scattered with caltrops, but Starkad and the crew donned clogs to get through the caltrops and conquer the Russians. After that event he joined the Bjarmians.

Later he went to Uppsala in Sweden for several years with the so-called Sons of Freyr who claimed descent from the god Freyr, whom Snorri Sturluson called the most renowned of the gods. Uppsala had a temple that was the center of the Norse religion. The dancing and mimes for the sacrificial rites and the jingling of bells connected to them nauseated Starkad for their effeminacy.

He left to join the Danish king Hali and fought with him against King Hugleik of Ireland. Unfortunately for Starkad, the curse of Thor was in effect, and he received the worst wound he had ever had (so far) from one of Ireland's defenders, who happened to be a name we've seen recently, Svipdag. Starkad won anyway, and looted all of Hugleik's treasure.

Starkad then was sent east to quell a rebellion, fighting against Curonians, Sambians, and Semigallians. He also fought a magical Russian warlord named Wisin, who could blunt an instrument by looking at it. Starkad covered his sword with hide and defeated Wisin. He also killed a jotun (giant) named Tania in Byzantium.

His exploits took him all over. He helped Frotho against the Saxons, but when Frotho was succeeded by his wanton son Ingild, Starkad was disgusted and went to join the Swedish king Halfdan (the father of Hrothgar and Halga of Beowulf and other legends). When Starkad heard that Ingild's sister Helga was about to marry a lowly goldsmith, he was so annoyed at the idea that he went back in disguise, castrated the goldsmith, and slapped Helga.

Ingild decided to give Helga in marriage to a Norwegian named Helgi, but to win her Helgi had to fight nine brothers who had courted her. Helgi knew he would fail, so he looked for a champion; he found it in Starkad. Starkad killed all nine himself, but—again, along the lines of Thor's curse—received so many wounds that his intestines were hanging out.

At the end of his life, weakened and with poor eyesight, Starkad went wandering until he ran into Hather. Determining that Hather was noble, Starkad decided that Hather should be the one to kill him. He told Hather to cut off his head, and then run between the head and body as they fell: this would grant him invulnerability (possibly by being splashed with the blood, as in the tale of Bothvar Bjarki). (This is where we remember that Starkad is a giant.) Hather fears being crushed by the enormous body as it fell, so does not follow Starkad's direction. When Starkad's head hits the ground, it bites at the grass, showing his ferocity even in death.

Traditions about Starkad persisted long after the first centuries of the Common Era. The late 13th-century Annals of Ryd (a Cistercian monastery in Schleswig-Holstein) record that his sword could still be seen beneath a certain bridge when the water was low.

Starkad takes up Book 6 of the Gesta Danorum. Book 7 is a collection of unrelated stories. Book 9 is about Ragnar Lothbrok/Lodbrok, about whom I wrote years ago. Book 8 covers the Saxon Wars against our old friend and frequent subject, Charlemagne. Back to the Carolingian Era next time for a little more fact and a little less fiction.

Starkad (the Giant?) Part 1

The story of Starkad was retold in many Scandinavian sources, but the most complete re-telling was in the Gesta Danorum. Starkad the son of Stórvirkr saved himself from a shipwreck and entered into service of the Danish king Frotho, who gave him a ship to patrol the danish shoreline.

In order to be complete in his telling, however, Saxo Grammaticus relates two origin stories for Starkad. In one, Starkad is an Estonian from east of the Baltic Sea. Grammaticus could not bring himself to leave out the earlier version of Starkad's origin: that he was a jotun ("giant") with eight arms. (Alternately, Starkad was a human warrior who was the son or grandson of a jotun also named "Starkad" or maybe "Ali-Starkad." That's the way it goes when legend and history collide.)

In either case, Starkad possessed greater-than-usual size and strength, and no one could defeat him. While on a viking expedition with the petty king Vikar, the ship's progress was halted by a strong wind. The crew thought a blood sacrifice to the gods was the answer, and Vikar was chosen. Starkad made a noose to put around Vikar's neck, saying it was just for show, but Starkad either was lying or the noose magically became stronger and started strangling Vikar. Starkad finishes him with a sword.

In another version of this story, the lot falls to Vikar and the crew puts off the decision to the following day. Then Starkad's foster-father, Grani Horsehair, reveals himself to be Odin in disguise. In exchange for the sacrifice, Odin will bless Starkad with three lifetimes, the best weapons, riches, victory in battle, a noble reputation, and the gift of poetry. Thor, however, because he is a foe to giants, objects to these blessings because of Starkad's jotun heritage. He curses Starkad to counter the blessings: Starkad will commit a crime in each lifetime, he will never have children, he will never possess land, he will always be wounded in battle, he will never be able to remember his poems, he will be hated by the common people.

With the blessings and curses done, Odin gives Starkad a spear which appears to be simply a reed stalk; Starkad uses this to sacrifice Vikar to Odin—his first evil deed.

Tomorrow I'll relate the rest of his life, including how he tired of it and had himself killed, but even in death he showed his ferocity.

Amleth, Prince of Denmark

William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616) drew inspiration from history, and not just for his Henry plays. His best-known play was no different. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark has been endlessly retold and adapted for 400 years. Shakespeare himself probably got the story from a 1514 Paris printing of Saxo Grammaticus' Gesta Danorum. (The illustration here is from a 17th-century Danish printing.) The Amleth story is told in Books three and four of the Gesta.

In the Danish original, Amleth (Amlóði in Old Norse) is the grandson of a Danish king. Amlóði is a term for a fool or simpleton, reflecting the character's pretense of helplessness to fool his victim. Amleth's father, Horvendil, married Gerutha (Gertrude), daughter of the king of Denmark, after slaying the king of Norway, but Horvendil's brother Feng (Claudius) kills him out of jealousy. Feng convinces Gerutha that her husband hated her and that he, Feng, had saved her from this marriage and that she should marry him. This is in Jutland.

Amleth, afraid of sharing his father's fate, acts like an imbecile, but Feng is not satisfied with this. Feng tries to occupy him with a young girl who is being fostered at court (this character becomes Ophelia in Shakespeare's play). Amleth, while speaking in his mother's chambers, slays an eavesdropper (Polonius), and disposes of the body. Feng now knows he cannot trust Amleth, and sends him to Britain with a letter asking the king of Britain to put the bearer to death.

Amleth learns of the letter's content and alters it to instead execute the attendants with him (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern) and give the king's daughter to Amleth in marriage. Amleth marries the princess and returns to Denmark a year after he left. He shows up in time to see a funeral—his own, since Feng assumed his death had taken place as intended. After encouraging everyone at the feast to drink a lot of wine, he weighs them down with the heavy tapestries from the hall and sets it all on fire, including his mother. He kills Feng with Feng's own sword.

He makes a long speech to his people, who proclaim him king. He then goes to Britain to bring his wife home, but learns that Feng and the king of Britain had a pact to each avenge the other's death. The king is reluctant to kill Amleth, and so sends him on a dangerous task: proxy to woo a Scottish queen who has executed all those who tried to woo her. This queen falls in love with Amleth and returns with him to Britain, where his first wife warns him of her father's intent to kill him. Amleth wins the battle that follows.

He returns to Jutland with his two wives, but Wiglek, the successor of his maternal grandfather, seeks revenge for the death of Gerutha. Wiglek kills Amleth.

From the photo-story of a character with whom we are all familiar, we turn next in the Gesta to a famous hero who is completely unknown outside of Scandinavia, Starkad. See you tomorrow. 

Early Denmark

The Gesta Danorum ("Deeds of the Danish People") was written in the 12th-century by Saxo Grammaticus ("Saxo the Grammarian"). Its 16 books are indispensable for their look at the history of Denmark, and particularly because they contain a look at early Estonia and Latvia.

Because it begins with pre-history, the first half deals with mythological and legendary characters. It introduces the brothers Dan and Angul, the founders of the Danes and Angles, respectively. Book One relates the loss of Denmark to Sweden (starting a long hostility between the two countries) and the attempt to get it back with the help of Odin. Hading, one of the first Danish kings, is orphaned when his father, King Gram, is killed by King Svipdag of Norway. Hading is taken to Sweden and raised by a giant whose daughter tries to seduce Hading into staying with her instead of training as a warrior.

Hading eventually returns to Denmark with the giantess, Harthgrepa, who raises a man from the dead to get some information but then is killed by supernatural beings. Odin then gives Hading advice and predicts his future.

Hading achieves success fighting in the Baltic, then returns to Denmark to kill his father's killer and assume the throne. He spends his reign fighting the Norwegians and Swedes until his death by suicide. He is succeeded by Frotho I, who has to replenish the royal treasury (depleted due to the Hading's wars) by slaying a dragon for its hoard. Like Hading, he campaigns first in the Baltic and later in Britain where he captures London. He dies fighting against the king of Sweden.

Book Three introduces Hamlet, Prince of Denmark ... sort of. I'll explain next time.

Yrsa

Yrsa was the mother of the 6th century King Hrolf Kraki. Her name is uncommon, not appearing in any other Norse sources, and there is a common assumption that it relates to Latin ursus, "bear." This would align with the Scandinavian tendency to use bear symbolism for extraordinary people, like Beowulf and Bothvar Bjarki (who appears in Hrolf Kraki's Saga, of which Yrsa is a main character).

Her story is quite tragic. She is the illegitimate child of Halga (a brother of Hrothgar from the poem Beowulf) and the Saxon Queen Oluf. Halga wooed Oluf, but she wanted nothing to do with him; while he was asleep, she shaved his head and tarred him. Later, he returns and kidnaps her, getting her pregnant in the process. Oluf returns to her home and bears a daughter whom she names Yrsa, who is sent away to be raised with shepherds.

At the age of 12, Halga comes upon the young shepherdess and decides to wed her. (Yes, the age discrepancy is alarming, but Halga had a reputation for pursuing women.) Oluf, learning this, keeps quiet about Ursa's lineage, thinking it a sweet revenge that Halga should wed his own daughter. The pair wed, and have a son, Hrolf, who will some day inherit the kingdom of Denmark.

Hearing that the marriage is a happy one, Queen Oluf decides to ruin them by traveling to Denmark to reveal Yrsa's parentage. Halga accepted this, but Yrsa was ashamed, and left him. She winds up in Sweden where she marries King Aðils (Eadgils in Anglo-Saxon literature). Learning this, Halga goes to Sweden to take her back, but he is killed by Eadgils and robbed. Upset by this, Yrsa curses Eadgils that all his berserker warriors will die. Later, when the warrior Svipdag arrives to "test his skills," she supports him and he slays all the berserkers. Svipdag leaves Sweden for Denmark and enters service under King Hrolf, who has succeeded Halga.

Yrsa saw her son again when he went to Sweden to collect the gold that Eadgils had taken from Halga. Eadgils and Hrolf had recently worked together against their mutual enemy, King Áli, Eadgils' uncle who usurped his throne. Eadgils was reluctant to return the gold, and kept putting off the event. Yrsa gives Hrolf much more gold than he was owed, including Eadgils' favorite gold ring, Sviagris, and gives him and his retainers armor, provisions, and the dozen best horses.

Hrolf and his men leave, Eadgils pursues; Hrolf casts Sviagris on the ground; Eadgils sees it and stoops to pick it up by spearing it with the tip of his spear; while leaning down, Hrolf cuts his back with his sword.

When Hrolf was later killed by his brother-in-law, his sister Skuld ruled Denmark. Yrsa gets revenge for the death of her son by sending a Swedish army that captures Skuld, whom she tortures to death. Hrolf's daughters rule Denmark.

Yrsa's story appears in more than the Hrolf Kraki Saga: Saxo Grammaticus in his Gesta Danorum ("Deeds of the Danish People") says she fled with Hrolf, and suggested the stratagem of casting some of the gold behind to delay the Swedes. Thinking ahead, she had packed gilt-covered copper coins for this purpose.

The Gesta Danorum is another collection of stories like Hrolf Kraki's Saga that offers a lot of information about early Scandinavian beliefs and culture. We'll check that out next.

Hrolf Kraki's Saga

There is a major source of Scandinavian legend called Hrolf Kraki's Saga. King Hrolf, supposedly a nephew of Hrothgar—the king mentioned in the poem Beowulf whose hall is menaced by Grendel—would have ruled in the 6th century.

Hrolf is mentioned in Beowulf as Hrothulf. It is not said which of Hrothgar's brothers is his father, but later tradition makes it Halga (instead of Heorogar), because the Saga does talk about his relationship with Halga. The "kraki" that gets tacked onto his name means "tall, angular, slender" and no doubt referred to his physical appearance.

The Saga was composed in Iceland about 1400, and brings together many separate incidents in history and legend, tied together by their connections to Hrolf Kraki and the members of his family, including his father, aunt, and uncle. Its five sections each focus on a different set of people. The first section of four chapters presents a long and illustrious lineage for Hrolf and the struggle for control of the Danish kingdom.

Chapters five through 13 deal with Hrolf's problematic father, a man of uncontrollable ... appetites. He cannot resist women, and apparently doesn't want to: he ignores any advice about caution. This leads him ultimately to a liaison with Yrsa, by whom he sires Hrolf. This is followed by a few chapters about some men who will later become champions in King Hrolf's service.

What follows next is the tale of the bearlike Bothvar Bjarki, in many ways a completely separate story that was grafted onto the Saga by its link to Bothvar working for Hrolf. It is an elaborate tale of magic and adventure far more complex than the summary I gave in the previous post. I've previously discussed some of the shared elements between his story and Beowulf's.

The final ten chapters are more directly about Hrolf himself. Prior to this the Saga has introduced all the significant characters surrounding him, not just warriors but also several notable women. Women make up a large part of these sections: men seek their advice, there is an elfin woman and her daughter who change the destiny of anyone who encounters them, details of marriages (both good and bad) are revealed.

In fact, although Hrolf is of course the focal point for the Saga, women are frequently the connective tissue between different episodes. One in particular is his mother, Yrsa, whose tale is fascinating and deserves to be known. See you next time. 

Bothvar Bjarki

The Northern European fascination with bears led to heroes like the subject of the Anglo-Saxon poem Beowulf. There are enough legends involving bears and humans that they have collectively been referred to by folklorists as the "Bear's Son Tale"; that is, a human raised by a bear who becomes a strong warrior.

A related tale is that of Bothvar Bjarki. He was the son of a king of Norway named Bjorn ("bear"), whose wife was named Bera ("she-bear"). Bjorn was cursed to become a bear during daytime.

Bjorn and Bera had three sons: Moose-Frothi or Elk-Frothi, who is a moose/elk from the navel down; Thorir/Dog-foot, who has dog's feet; Bothvar Bjarki (bjarki="little bear"), who looks human. The boys grow up and go their separate ways.

One day, Bothvar comes upon Moose-Frothi's hut and waits for him. When his brother arrives, he does not recognize the hooded stranger and wrestles him to the ground, whereupon the hood falls away and Moose recognizes Bothvar. Telling Bothvar he is not strong enough, Moose cuts his own leg and has Bothvar drink some of his blood, which makes him much stronger.

The next day, while Bothvar is getting ready to leave, Moose stomps on a rock with his hoof, creating a depression. He tells Bothvar that he will know how Bothvar dies by observing the rock: if it fills with water, Bothvar has drowned; if with mud, Bothvar has died of illness; if it fills with blood, Bothvar will have died from violence.

Bothvar then sails to Denmark, heading for the hall of King Hrolf Kraki. Along the way he lodges at a small farm, where the wife tells him that their son, Hott, is being bullied by the king's men. He is kept in a corner where the men throw bones at him during meals. Bothvar reaches the hall when the men are out; he sees a pile of bones in the corner and a scrawny dirty boy there. He pulls him out and seats him next to Bothvar.

When the men return for the evening feasting, they continue to throw bones at Hott; when one throws a whole leg of an ox, Bothvar catches it and throws it back at the man, killing him. Complaints to King Hrolf fall on deaf ears, as Hrolf declares that the death was justified and wishes to take Bothvar into his service.

As Yule approaches, King Hrolf's men begin to show fear; it turns out that a monster comes to the hall each Yule and kills cattle and men. Bothvar waits outside on Yule, and kills the monster when it arrives, having Hott drink some of its blood, which makes Hott stronger.

Versions of this story appear in Hrolf Kraki's Saga and in the Gesta Danorum ("Deeds of the Danes") of Saxo Grammaticus. It is also mentioned in a. reference to the Skjöldunga saga, a lost work about the Scyldings (the Danish dynasty mentioned in the opening lines of Beowulf). In some versions Bothvar fights as a spirit bear.

Hrolf Kraki was a semi-legendary Danish king of the early 6th century. He is one of those figures who made such an impression that—like Arthur of Britain—stories sprung up around him, like that of Bothvar Bjarki. He also has a direct link to Beowulf, since he was the nephew of Hrothgar, whose hall is menaced by Grendel.

We are going to stay in Northern Europe and look at Hrolf Kraki next.

The Bee Wolf

The previous post ended with a riddle about a hero's name that you all know. This blog has mentioned the poem Beowulf before in the context of its place in the development of the English language, or its discovery in the Cotton Library, but has not addressed its actual contents. Therefore, like Tolkien did, I will finally discuss the poem itself as a story.

Beowulf the warrior, a Geat from southern Sweden, travels to Denmark to the hall of King Hrothgar. Hrothgar has been menaced by a monster, Grendel, who comes at night and kills and eats Hrothgar's men. Beowulf lies in wait in the hall, and fights Grendel that night, ripping off Grendel's arm. Grendel flees back to the marshes.

That night, after feasting, Grendel's mother visits the hall and kills one of Hrothgar's men while they all lay asleep. The next day, Beowulf and Hrothgar and their men track the monster to a lake. One of Hrothgar's retainers who had been rude to Beowulf upon his arrival offers his sword to Beowulf. Beowulf tells Hrothgar that, if he does not return from under the lake, Hrothgar must accept Beowulf's followers as his retainers. He dives in, finding a cave at the bottom where he encounters Grendel's mother.

The sword he was given has no effect on her hide, but her attempts to stab him are likewise turned aside by his armor. Spotting a giant blade hanging on the wall, he grabs it and cuts off her head. He finds Grendel's body, cuts off Grendel's head with the giant sword, whose blade then melts away from Grendel's corrosive blood. He returns to the surface where his men are waiting, and presents Grendel's head and the hilt of the sword to Hrothgar. Hrothgar gives Beowulf gifts and a makes speech about avoiding pride.

Beowulf returns home, where he eventually becomes king of his people. Fifty years later, a dragon menaces the land because a thief stole a cup from its hoard. Beowulf fights it alone, deserted by his fearful men except for one man. Beowulf's body is burned in a great pyre.

It is an interesting mix of fictional, mythical, and historical elements. A number of characters mentioned in the poem show up in other records as historical figures, and one event mentioned is related by Gregory of Tours. One of the elements is the name of the hero. "Beowulf" is a kenning: a compound word using figurative language to represent a single noun. In this case, Beowulf means "bee wolf"; that is, one who preys on bees. This was one way to describe a bear.

Bears were symbolic of strength and power in Norse legend. The common name "Bjorn" means bear, and was clearly the origin of the were-bear character of Beorn in Tolkien's The Hobbit. There is a Norwegian legend of a king named Bjorn, whose wife was named Bera ("she-bear"). They had a child named "little bear"; I want to tell you about his legend next, and about his two brothers, who likewise had a connection to animals.

There Might Be Bears

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who Killed the Bears?"

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

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

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

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

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

Alexander de Bicknor

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Aftermath

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Part 3

See Parts one and two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Part 2

Read the first part here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

Investigation led to seven charges:

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

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

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

About Medieval Witchcraft

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pope vs. Witchcraft

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

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

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

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

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

Female Physicians

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jewish Female Physicians

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

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

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

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

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