Early Metal Working

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

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

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

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

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

Arderne's Medical Manual

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Father of English Surgery

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roger Frugard's Chirurgia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Medieval Surgical Procedures

Yesterday's post took a turn toward a particular surgical procedure, so I thought we'd talk a little more about that topic. What procedures were known and practiced with evidence of patient survival, back when doctors believed in the Four Humors of Hippocrates? I have talked about medicine numerous times, so here I want to focus on actual invasive practices with instruments.

Purging was one of the most common forms of surgery, piercing a vein to let out blood because a person's fever or angry nature indicated an excess of blood.

Amputation was another fairly common practice when a limb was so damaged by accident or warfare that there was no chance of it healing. Unfortunately, surviving an amputation was not always assured. An interesting article by the National Library of Medicine points out early art of people with crutches that supports their educated medical opinion that a leg amputation was only likely to survive if it were below the knee. Above the knee amputation led to too much bleeding. [link] Presumably amputations of smaller parts—toes, fingers, arms up to elbows—were less of a problem.

Related to amputation was cautery/cauterization, sealing off blood vessels by heating iron and pressing it to the wound. In an ideal situation, the wound was sealed, bleeding was stopped, infection did not occur, and the patient would survive. Even in this situation, however, the process caused intense pain, especially if you accepted the treatment for hemorrhoids that involved inserting a hot poker. This did not work, nor did the non-surgical suggestion of going to sit on the rock where St. Fiacre was cured of hemorrhoids. [link] (Maimonides finally wrote a seven-chapter treatise on the subject ultimately suggesting a good soak in a bath.)

Dental surgery was not unknown. Toothache was a major problem in the Middle Ages, and extractions were common. Situations arose, however, whose descriptions suggested the client had oral cancer. Roger Frugard (pre-1140 - c.1195), a surgeon in Salerno, wrote a Practica Chirurgia ("Practice of Surgery") in which he describes cancer in the jaw:

"if the flesh is hard, perforated and blackened' ('Si la char est dure, perse e anercie') cancer ('cancre') of the mouth was difficult to cure."

He describes cutting into the healthy flesh around the hard cancer, cauterizing the wound, and sealing it with muel de oef ("egg yolk"!).

Trepanning—boring a hole in the head to relieve pressure—is the oldest surgical procedure for which we find evidence: Skulls—many hundreds of them—that were trepanned have been found dating back 7000 years ago and more, with evidence of healed bone around the edges showing that the patient lived. The circumstances under which it was decided to drill a hole in the cranium are unknown.

Cataracts were originally dealt with by using a thick needle to push the cornea back. Islamic medicine came up with a better solution: a thin hypodermic needle inserted through the white part of the eye to extract the obstructing cataract material.

The illustration above is from a later manuscript copy in the Trinity College Library of Roger Frugard's Practica Chirugia that has many illustrations that help explain his techniques. Let's learn a little more about him and them tomorrow.

About Preventing Children

Folk in Classical and Medieval times developed many methods for avoiding getting pregnant, but sometimes the inevitable happened. The Bible's statement to "be fruitful and multiply" made the Church's stance on aborting a pregnancy clear, but the rest of the culture did not always see it that way.

Avicenna (c.980 - 1037) offered this reasoning:

At times it may be necessary to induce abortion; that is, when the pregnant woman is young and small and it is feared that childbirth would cause her death, or when she suffers from a disease of the uterus or when a fleshy growth in the uterus makes it very difficult for the fetus to emerge. Also when the fetus dies in the womb of the woman. Know that when labour continues for four days it means that the fetus is already dead.

Methods of abortion could be dangerous to the women as well. Hippocrates had refused to use abortifacients because of the danger they posed to the mother. The early Church stated that women who abort a child should be exiled from the church. A synod in 314 modified that to 10 years of exile. The Church Father Basil the Great later softened that, saying it should be less if the woman shows repentance.

In another case, a woman was sentenced to death for aborting her child precisely because she did it with malicious intent to prevent her husband (whom she had come to hate) from having an heir. Roman law allowed that, if a woman were to do the same thing for the same reason but it post-divorce, then she should only be exiled.

The Church Father St. John Chrysostom criticized abortions, but gave the example of a sex worker who needed to abort a pregnancy or else she would lose her livelihood. He goes so far as to blame her male client, who was responsible for getting her pregnant, as the real murderer.

A 9th century Byzantine author of a biography of a Greek Patriarch Ignatios tells the story of a woman with a breech birth who is in intense pain. The doctors prepare for an embryotomy (removing the baby by cutting it into parts and removing them). The 6th-century Bishop Paul of Mérida, who trained as a doctor in his youth, doesn't scruple to perform an embryotomy to save a woman's life.

That late-term abortions can find their way into accounts of religious lives and can be justified by Christian saints suggests a very different attitude toward the health and safety of the mother than is sometimes taken these days.

Embrotomies would have been difficult for the surgeon and the patient. Let's talk next about some of the other surgical practices that were employed in the Middle Ages. 

Avoiding Pregnancy

Yesterday we talked about medieval parents having large families. Today we're going to talk about preventing large families. Although Canon Law insisted that sex was solely to be engaged in for procreation, in the "real world" that was not a feasible attitude. (Pope Gregory IX even stated that marriages entered into intending not to have children were ipso facto null.) There were, therefore, plenty of instances where becoming pregnant was not a desirable outcome of sex. Therefore, methods were devised for avoiding pregnancy.

The simplest one was for the woman to track her menstruation. Lack of menstruation could lead to pregnancy, so either knowing reliably when menstruation would occur or inducing it was one method. Herbal remedies were often readily available around the house as prophylactics against pregnancy. Parsley, Queen Anne's Lace,* and Pennyroyal were considered effective in inhibiting fertility.

Another way to prevent pregnancy was by inserting something into the cervix. Lacking modern IUDs, Avicenna's Canon of Medicine suggests mint "in there" would prevent conception. Aristotle taught that rubbing the womb with cedar oil, lead ointment or incense, mixed with olive oil, would prevent the sperm from coming in contact with the woman. (The lead ointment had other damaging effects.) Also, wooden blocks were not uncommon, and very uncomfortable.

One could try to prevent the sperm from reaching its goal through a barrier, or one could try to kill the sperm. Medieval and Classical spermicides included inserting a cloth after the act that was soaked in vinegar, or honey, or grated acacia leaves soaked in honey (the sap in acacia is spermicidal).

Another way to "avoid pregnancy" is to pretend one is not pregnant. I grew up understanding the meaning of the phrase "she's gone to her sister's" to explain a long absence.

A French novel (only a little later than the Middle Ages) has advice to a teenage girl about sex, and assures the girl that getting pregnant unexpectedly is easily managed, but not by abortion:

...moreover, to remove any worry, there is one more thing to consider, it is that this mishap is not so extraordinary that one should fear it so much. There are so many pregnant girls who never attract notice, thanks to certain corsets and dresses made to order, which they use, and which do not prevent them from having a good time with those who made them pregnant.

...and during that interval, you can simulate illness, trips, pilgrimages. When the time comes, you will identify a midwife who is obliged in conscience to keep the fact hidden. [L'Escole des Filles]

If the calendar was off, if contraception didn't work, then eliminating the fetus was the next step, but we'll look at that grisly topic tomorrow

*The name is for Anne, Queen of Great Britain (1665 - 1714); earlier names would have been "bishop's lace" or "bird's nest" or simply "wild carrot."

Were There Children in the Middle Ages?

Until fairly recently there was an idea that "childhood" as we think of it today did not exist in the Middle Ages. You can see this in a recent online essay:

Regardless of social class, childhood in the late Middle Ages was markedly different from what we know today. Children were viewed as miniature adults, expected to contribute to the family’s livelihood from an early age. [link]

One of the reasons behind this theory is pictures from the era that show little distinction in clothing worn by children and adults. That essay goes on to say:

Playtime was limited, and the concept of a carefree, innocent childhood was virtually nonexistent. Instead, children were taught the skills necessary for survival.

One of the first serious explorations of daily life in the Middle Ages found evidence against this theory. The Ties That Bound: Peasant Families in Medieval England, by Barbara Hanawalt, looked at coroners' reports in England that explored deaths. Interrogation of witnesses regarding "what you were doing when..." turn up a wide variety of daily activity that otherwise would never have been recorded. Those reports tell us that young children (with ages in the single digits) are playing at home or outside with friends, and not dragged into slavish agricultural labor or being drilled in the "skills necessary for survival." In fact, children are out playing and falling into ditches or dying in other accidents totally unsupervised by adults. They kicked balls around, or played catch, or were playing with toys or dolls by the hearth when disaster struck.

There is another notion that parents did not love their children the same way modern parents do. Because families were larger than they often are now, and because a child might be given the same name as a child born previous to the same parents that had died early on, the feeling is that parents considered babies interchangeable, or merely as a way to produce "more laborers" for the family business. There are plenty of recorded examples of parents grieving for dead children, lullabies that were sung to babies, and toys and games that were made for them. More affluent families had advice books written for raising children well and making sure they are moral.

The Church supported the difference between children and adults:

It came to regard children under the age of puberty as too immature to commit sins or to understand adult concepts and duties. [link]

Puberty was 12 for girls and 14 for boys, and that is when they generally began to be educated in ways that would lead to economic success in the future, either in their parents' trade or as an apprentice to some other person with a desirable career.

Since a large part of the population—perhaps up to a third—at any time was under the age of puberty, there was no getting around the idea that children were different and needed to be nurtured and cared for, not treated as tiny adults. That's a lot of babies being produced at any time, and a lot of mouths to feed. Was there a way around that? Did the Middle Ages have methods of contraception available to them? Let's take a look at that topic tomorrow.

The Man Who Invented the Future

Imagine a world with no clocks or calendars in the homes. You lived by the cycle of the seasons and the annual religious festivals and holy days. Life is cyclical. After all, "If winter comes, can spring be far behind?" as Shelley wrote centuries later. No need to look ahead, unless the pope called a synod or Crusade that took years of preparation. No one imagines this changing. Into this world comes Joachim de Fiore (c.1135 - 1202), who begins to study the Bible, looking for hidden meanings. He especially focuses on John's book of Revelation that describes a very different world.

We've talked about medieval attitudes to the end times before (here and here, for example). Clearly the world did not end or change radically at the millennium, and Joachim was trying to figure out what biblical references to upcoming events meant. What he proposed was a theory of the ages of the world that was very appealing to his co-religionists, and saw what lay ahead in very attractive terms.

He tied the history of the world—both past and future—into the concept of the Trinity. The first age of the world was represented by God the Father and aligned with the Old Testament. The second age was the age of Jesus Christ, and aligned with the New Testament. A third age was coming, however, and this is why Joachim's thought was such a pivotal moment in theology and culture. Each age was better than the previous, and the best was yet to come.

Of course people had a concept of the future, in that they knew they would wake up tomorrow and different events might happen during their day. They knew they would eventually die, but their children would age, have children of their own, and the cycle would continue. Joachim envisioned a future in which the entire world evolved into something new.

The third age was the age of the Holy Spirit. It was supposed to arrive at or by 1260, and would be the age of universal love, the Kingdom of the Holy Spirit, and the ecclesiastical structure of the Roman Catholic Church would be replaced—an enormous change in society!—by the "Order of the Just," people whose level of Christian enlightenment would mean no rules were needed: people would simply care for each other.

Those who felt the church was too worldly were attracted to Joachim's theory. One of Joachim's followers, Gerardo, would later declare the "Order of the Just" was the Franciscan Order, that had developed an ascetic branch called the Spirituals. Ubertino de Casale adopted Joachim's ideas. Joachim's notion of the third age also inspired the Cult of the Holy Spirit centuries later.

One of the problems with the reception of his writing was, of course, that he foresaw the end of the current ecclesiastical system. He had no problem declaring the end of the papacy because Rome was Babylon and the pope as the Antichrist. As the year 1260 approached, however, his writing was widely circulated. Thomas Aquinas (writing just after 1260) opposed Joachim's theory, but Dante (c.1265 - 1321) placed Joachim in Paradiso. Some Franciscan Joachimite Spirituals decided that the Antichrist was Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II (died 1250).

The Fourth Lateran declared some of his ideas heretical. Worthy of note, however, was that Joachim himself was still respected and never declared a heretic.

Joachim has been referenced by poets and authors, including Umberto Eco, James Joyce, Yeats, the modern Illuminatus trilogy. Some think that Hegel's theory that each age of history gets better than the last came from Joachim's theory.  There was even a 2023 movie called Joachim and the Apocalypse.

I want to get away from "heavier" topics for a bit and build on what I said in the fourth paragraph above. Tomorrow we'll look at the question "Did children exist in the Middle Ages?"

Joachim de Fiore

In a message for the World Day of Creation (27 June, 2024), Pope Francis said of Joachim de Fiore that he  "was able to propose the ideal of a new spirit" and that this was a turning point in history. And Rick Searle, author of the Utopia or Dystopia blog, called him "The Man Who Invented the Future" in a 2015 post. These are extraordinary 21st century statements about a little-known 12th century monk. So who was Joachim de Fiore?

He was born in Calabria c.1135 to a good family who made sure he was educated to become a clerk of the courts and then follow his father's footsteps and become a notary.

On a pilgrimage to the Holy Land c.1159 he experienced a spiritual conversion that made him turn away from a worldly life. On his return to Calabria, he became a hermit, wandering and preaching for several years although he did not join an order. Lay preaching was not always an acceptable practice to church authorities, who pressured him to "form Alize" his actions by joining the monks of the Abbey of Corazzo, where he was ordained c.1168. He began studying Scripture intently, certain that there was meaning hidden there that had not yet been revealed or understood. He was especially concerned with the apostle John's book of Revelation.

Around this time he had become a counselor to Margaret of Navarre, mother and regent for the underage William II of Sicily, where he probably met Peter of Blois.

About 1177 the monks of Corazzo, impressed by his scholarship and piety, made him their abbot, a responsibility and authority which he did not crave. In 1182, after trying and failing to join Corazzo to the Cistercian Order because of Corazzo's poverty, and convincing William II of Sicily to grant Corazzo some lands, he got permission from Pope Lucius III to step down as abbot and find another home. Joachim went to the Abbey of Casamari, which had recently changed from Benedictine to the more strict Cistercian Order. There he wrote three books: The Harmony of the New and Old Testaments, Exposition of Apocalypse, and the Psaltery of Ten Strings.

He was one of those rare people in this era who was writing things people had not said before, but did not get declared heretical. Lucius III and succeeding popes approved of what he was saying, and his fame spread. Constance the Empress of Sicily invited him to hear her confession, and left her raised chair to sit on the ground when he pointed out the need to humble herself. Richard the Lionheart met with him prior to the Third Crusade to get advice. The Spirituals of the Franciscans declared him a prophet (which Joachim denied).

In 1200 he submitted all of his writing to Pope Innocent III for examination and approval. Sadly, he died in 1202 before the results and before he could finish his final book, Tract on the Four Gospels, but his works were copied and distributed widely.

What was it that he wrote that created such an impact that, 800 years later, a pope would call his work a turning point and a scholar would call him the man who invented the future? I'll go. explain that tomorrow, but leave you with this teaser: by "future" Searle did not mean he predicted what things would be like in the future. Searle meant that Joachim invented the concept of the future. Stay tuned.

Ubertino the Heretic

Ubertino de Casale felt so strongly that the proper spiritual life for a Franciscan and other prelates required a life of strict poverty that he strongly denounced those who thought and lived otherwise. Franciscans who felt the same were called the Spirituals.

The Spirituals publicly declared the leaders of the Franciscans as heretics, along with Popes Gregory IX, Nicholas III, and Innocent III. Innocent had spoken against the teachings of Joachim of Fiore, a brilliant theologian whose ideas supported the Spirituals. Another pope, Benedict XI, forbade Ubertino from preaching and banished him to Monte Alverna, a remote convent in the center of the Tuscan Apennines that was associated with St. Francis (he supposedly received the stigmata there).

Rather than be penitent and alter his views, Ubertino used his time to write a book, Arbor Vitae Crucifixae Jesu Christi ("The Tree of the Crucified Life of Jesus"), in which he promoted his views on the poverty of Christ and Christians. The book became popular reading, which brought it to the attention of the church authorities.

In the book, Ubertino had identified Pope Boniface VIII and Benedict XI as the first and second beats of the Apocalypse. This was not received well by the papacy, and Ubertino was summoned to Avignon with other leaders of the Spirituals to debate his ideas. Ubertino's demand that the Spirituals of the Franciscans have separate monasteries was denied. Pope Clement V issued a bull in 1312, Exivi de Paradiso, in which he declared the Franciscans able to accept and use money for necessities despite the strict rule of St. Francis.

In 1317, Ubertino was allowed to lave the Franciscans and make his home with the Benedictines, but he did not stop commenting loudly on the Franciscans, for which he was excommunicated in 1318. In 1322, the Dominicans and the Franciscans were arguing about the poverty of Jesus Christ, and Ubertino was summoned once again to Avignon to offer his opinions. Ubertino's opinion mirrored the papal bull of 1312: although Christ and the Apostles rejected personal possessions, they used alms and goods for necessities and to help others.

Pope John XXII liked this answer. Ubertino stayed in Avignon, but in 1325 he was accused of heresy again by speaking out in support of Peter Olivi, a French Franciscan who had been Ubertino's teacher in Florence who also promoted strict poverty and probably influenced Ubertino in that direction. Pope John XXII ordered him arrested, but Ubertino fled and disappeared from the historical record.

I mentioned Joachim de Fiore above. His ideas still resonate today among theologians. Our current Pope quoted him just a few months ago, so I think he's worth discussing. See  you next time.

Ubertino of Casale

St. Francis of Assisi insisted on personal poverty for members of the order he founded, the idea that one should have no possessions and live with as little as possible. Over time, some members of the Franciscans felt that this restriction was not being observed the way it should, and they started practicing the extreme poverty exemplified by Francis himself.

To be fair, the Franciscans began caring for the poor and the sick, and that was not something you could do unless you had possessions: a roof and paraphernalia for helping sick and hurt people. So the Franciscans evolved into two groups: The Zelanti (from the word "zeal"), also called the Spirituals, and the Relaxati, later called the Conventuals.

The Spirituals' extreme views caused them to criticize the growing wealth of the Church and the lavish lifestyle of its top prelates. This put the Fraticelli on a collision course with the papacy, fictionalized by Umberto Eco in the book The Name of the Rose. In the book (and movie), we meet one of the Spirituals, Ubertino de Casale (seen above worshipping Christ).

Ubertino joined the Franciscans in 1273 as a 14-year-old. After a few years he was sent to Paris to study, but returned to Italy when he was done. He traveled to Rome, visiting Christian sanctuaries and sites, then settled in Tuscany. Considered very smart though eccentric, he soon became leader of the Tuscany Spirituals.

The Tuscany Spirituals were so extreme that they started to publicly claim that Popes Gregory IX and Nicholas III (who had been a friend of Francis) were heretics for not interpreting the Franciscan rule of poverty properly, and allowing moderation. Gregory had stated that gifts given to the Franciscans were in fact gifts to the pope, and the Franciscans were just using them temporarily. Pope Innocent IV allowed the Franciscans to appoint an outsider who would be in charge of buying, selling, and managing goods, like a quartermaster. The Spirituals did not approve of this way of trying to weasel out of Francis' original rule.

Of course, Ubertino was one of the loudest critics of the papacy and his fellow Franciscans, and the authorities decided he needed to be dealt with. We'll talk about that tomorrow.

The Council of Vienne

The Council of Vienne (1311-1312; seen here in a painting in 1880 by Paul Lacroix) has been mentioned before, and produced some positive decisions, but its goal of church reform led to the condemnation of certain groups who did not seem to deserve condemnation.

One of its condemnations was of the Beguines and Beghards. These were groups of (respectively) laywomen and laymen who created communities of folk who wanted to live simple lives devoted to prayer and good works. Their lifestyle mirrored that of monks, but they took no formal vows. The difficulty for the Council was that these groups were accused of believing that they could achieve their own salvation independent of the guidance of religion (or the authority of the Church) by living their lives simply. Pope Clement V produced an encyclical from the Council condemning the groups as heretical. In some areas, Beguines and Beghards were actually burned.

Another conflict between formal and informal spirituality was sparked by Ubertino de Casale (a significant figure in the book and movie The Name of the Rose). He complained that a stricter adherence to the Rule of St. Francis was necessary, especially regarding the vow of poverty. Those following this stricter rule were called Spirituals, and they were opposed by the leaders of the Franciscans, who were straying away from the vow of strict poverty. The outcome of the Council was a bull from Clement left decisions of behavior up to the individual abbots.

The Council embedded in canon law that priests must not marry, and laid out punishments for adultery, concubinage, fornication, incest, and rape.

A crusade was discussed, because the King of Aragon wanted to attack the Muslim city of Granada. Philip IV of France on 3 April 1312 (the Council ended the following May) vowed to go on Crusade within the next six years, but Clement said he had to start within the next year and Philip must lead it. A tithe was begun to raise funds for the Crusade, but Phillip died in November 1314.

One of the biggest decisions to come out of the Council was regarding the Knights Templar. When Clement called the Council by a bull in August 1308, saying the Templars would have to answer for their actions in a new ecumenical council in 1310 (it was obviously delayed). This bull created papal commissions to investigate the Templars and take depositions that would be brought to the pope.

The fate of the Templars has been discussed many time in this blog, but Ubertino de Casale has not, so tomorrow we'll look at his life and impact on the Franciscans.

Who Were the Beghards?

After the successful spread in the Low Countries of the simplified Christian lifestyle of laywomen called Beguines, a similar trend appeared for laymen. Groups like these did not take any formal vows or join monasteries. Rather, they chose to live simply and do good works, often in communities. One of the laymen groups was called the Beghards.

Beghards were often older, working men who were not wealthy to begin with, or who found themselves in a situation in life where they might have difficulty supporting themselves. They owned no property and agreed that the money in the community would be kept together for community needs. Members shared a living space. (The illustration is of a former beguinage in a borough of Stuttgart.) They chose leaders to guide them.

The origin of the terms "Beguine" and "Beghard" are unknown. They likely have nothing to do with begging, and are supposed to come from the Flemish beghen, "to pray."

Synods in 1259, in 1261, and in 1282 produced laws limiting their growth. They were condemned strongly by the Council of Vienne in 1312, but Pope John XXII overrode the Council. What was so bad about Beguines and Beghards? Because they were not educated as clergy, their practices and beliefs could develop into ideas opposed to official doctrine. Also, formal religious groups that took vows were offended by the idea that a random group could attain "religious status" without committing themselves by taking vows. In fact, Beghards and Beguines could leave their community at any time.

Beguines and Beghards started to wane before the Middle Ages were over, but some communities lingered; there were still 34 communities in 1734 in Flanders. Pope Gregory XVI referred to them in a 1832 encyclical. The world's "last Beguine" died in 2013.

The Council of Vienne tackled church reform, and attacked another religious group, which I'll tell you about next time.

Marie of Oignies

The Beguines were a 12th century movement in which ordinary Christian women decided to live a more simple and pious life, rather than formally join a monastery or abbey or the priesthood. The Cardinal Jacques de Vitry was intrigued by this group, and wrote a biography of one of them, to whom he was her confessor. His fascination with her life and belief in her piety motivated him to try to persuade the pope to formally approve their movement.

That woman was Marie of Oignies. She was born to a wealthy Belgian family in 1176. While still young, she saw the contrast between the fine clothes provided by her parents and the New Testament comments against excess, in 1 Timothy 2:9, for example:

Likewise also that women should adorn themselves in respectable apparel, with modesty and self-control, not with braided hair and gold or pearls or costly attire,

Her parents were not happy with her attitude, but she chose solitude and prayer over playing with other children. She was attracted to the life of the Cistercians she saw. When she was married at the age of 14, the independence from her parents allowed her to make more choices of her own concerning how she conducted her life. She started to mortify herself with denying herself sleep, sleeping on wooden planks, and wearing a tight rope around her waist.

She convinced her husband, Jean de Neville, to take a vow of chastity so that she could preserve her body as God's handmaiden. She claimed to have a vision in which promised her spiritual compensation for a childless marriage. She also convinced him to do good works along with her, and they began to care for lepers.

Their example caused others to live near them and start conducting their lives according to rules established by St. Francis. Jacques de Vitry came in 1208 to investigate the growing reputation of her community. His hagiography of her tells us that she was constantly praying, no matter what she was engaged in.

Miracles were attributed to her. She offered a hair from her head to an ill man, who was cured. She predicted de Vitry would receive a summons to cross the sea, which happened. While traveling with companions, a severe storm approached. Marie prayed to John the Evangelist, and the storm raged around them but they remained dry.

As another sign of her holiness, she claimed she could detect whether a Host was consecrated, and she claimed the unconsecrated Host made her ill. She swore to only consume consecrated Hosts. When she died, her body was found to be severely emaciated.

She died on 23 June 1213, and is venerated in the Catholic Church as protection for women in labor.

The Beguines were a female movement. Was there a corresponding male movement? There was, and tomorrow we'll talk about the Beghards.

Hair and Religion, Part 3

I wrote two parts about this topic previously (Part 1 and Part 2), but the research for yesterday's post on just plain hair led me to believe it is time for a follow-up, especially since it will include some of the people we have previously discussed.

Hair (as opposed to flesh) did not decay, and on the occasion when a saint was exhumed for the sake of retrieving relics (or simply proving sainthood by the belief that incorruptibility of the corpse was a divine sign) finding a good head of hair was proof and a relief. Locks of hair counted as relics.* The earliest reference to this was in the 4th century, when an early martyr named Nazarius was disinterred and discovered to have a full head of hair. 

The first Christian king of Norway, Olaf Tryggvason, was a cruel man to those who would not accept forced conversion, but a year after he died he was exhumed and found to have hair and nails that had continued growing "as much as when he had been alive." (Presumably, this means twice as long as when he died.)** His beard and hair were trimmed and put into a fire to see if they were suitable as relics. When the hair did not burn, the presiding bishop declared Olaf a saint.

Hildegarde of Bingen was a cloistered nun who was recognized in her life as very wise and holy. A single hair of hers was preserved in a silk container the altar at her abbey. A fire that swept through the church left her relic unharmed. This hair had other powers: when a woman who was possessed by a demon had the hair brought before her, the demon fled.

Jacques de Vitry wrote a biography of a Beguine, Marie d'Oignies. During her life, a man whose illness could not be diagnised after seeing many doctors was cured by the touch of Marie's hair.

The illustration is of the Talisman of Charlemagne, an amulet carried by him that supposedly carried a hair of the Virgin Mary.

Jacques de Vitry left behind several writings, but only the one biography. What was it about Marie d'Oignies that made her a special interest? He was fascinated by the "holy power" of the Beguines, and Marie was a singular member. We'll take a look at what made her special next time.

*Teeth and fingernails were also desirable, since they could be taken without desecrating the body; in later centuries, of course, the entire skeleton became fair game.

**And you know that hair and nails do not continue to grow after death: the skin shrinks and pulls back, revealing more hair/nail from under the surface.

Hair & Baldness

Let's talk about hair in the Middle Ages; not hairstyles, but hair itself.

Hairstyles were important, of course, because there was cultural significance to them. A tonsure shaved the head of a monk to resemble the Crown of Thorns pressed onto Jesus prior to the Crucifixion. (Although we believe some tonsure patterns were different.) "Hair and Religion" was a topic that produced a Part 1 and Part 2. A lock of hair from a saint was just as good a relic as a bone, and for a long time was the only thing allowed to be taken from the body. And it was felt that a shaved head disqualified a man to be king. Charles the Bald was probably not bald since he was qualified to be emperor, and the nickname was likely a reference to something else.

But what did the Middle Ages feel about hair itself? Well, they liked it, and if you were a man who didn't have it on the top of your head, you'd probably want to find a way to get it back. They therefore looked for remedies for baldness. One Irish manuscript authored by Connla Mac an Leagha assembled 920 remedies arranged from the head to the feet. Several are remedies for hair-related conditions (I'll skip over the lice and mites solutions).

Connla said hair could be encouraged to grow with a poultice of crushed chickweed and goat's dung. No details are included regarding proper preparation—which suggests that the readers would be familiar with it and did not need instructions—just that it needs to be applied and then held in place with a cloth. (My personal assumption is that no one in his right mind would smear goat dung on his head, and therefore the uselessness of Connla's remedy would never be discovered.)

Another slightly more elaborate hair-loss cure also included dung (I see a pattern forming). Meadowsweet, plantain, sheep's fat, and fresh butter were mixed with sheep's dung. (Must have fresh; wouldn't want it to spoil and stink up the sheep's dung.) These were to be cooked together and then strained (and presumably cooled) and applied to the scalp. It probably became a semi-solid thanks to the butter, so it would stay on the head when applied.

Another way to make a vile cure for baldness was to fill a clay vessel with mice, seal it with a lid, and bury it for a year. When the year was up, dig it up and open it, and smear the results not the scalp. This was considered so powerful a remedy that it was advised to wear gloves when handling it, lest you grow hair on your fingertips.

It wasn't all about baldness: one might also lament the graying of the hair. We know oak galls were used in making dark ink. Hot water, powdered oak galls, and the juice of white cabbage were mixed together, (presumably) cooled, and then applied to the graying hair and a cabbage leaf put on top of the process. This was supposed to reverse graying.

An old friend, Hildegarde of Bingen, wrote about medicine as well as music. She had ideas about hair and its lack:

A person with a big, wide bald spot has strong warmth inside himself. This warmth and the sweat from his head push out the hair. The moisture of his breath is fertile and moistens the flesh where the beard grows so that much hair can grow there. But a person who does not have much hair in his beard, though hair in abundance on his head, is cold and quite infertile. When his breath touches the flesh around his mouth this flesh becomes infertile.

And she also had a solution for hair loss:

When a young person begins to lose his hair, take bear fat, a small quantity of ashes from wheat straw or from winter wheat straw, mix this together and anoint the entire head with it, especially those areas on the head where the hair is beginning to fall out. Afterwards, he should not wash this ointment off for a long while.

Researching for this post led me to information that prompts me to write a "Hair and Religion, Part 3"; I'll get right on that for next time.

Charles the Bald

Charlemagne's son and successor as emperor, Louis the Pious, had several children. Several of them were with his first wife, Ermengarde of Hesbaye. After her death in 818, Louis married Judith of Bavaria and had one son, Charles, born 13 June 823. Charles was much younger than his brothers, who all had been granted sub-kingdoms of their own by the time of his birth. The presence of another son and possible successor to Louis raised concerns among the older children.

Louis tried to give Charles his own sub-kingdom, but Louis' older sons rebelled against these attempts. You can read more about that here. In 837, Louis called his nobles together in Aachen and asked them to recognize Charles as heir to the entirety of Gaul. When Louis died in 840, Charles' allied himself with his older brother Louis the German to defeat their other brother, Lothair I. The Treaty of Verdun in 843 gave Charles all of the kingdom of the West Franks, an area which essentially encompasses modern day France. Louis the German held the eastern area that corresponds to Germany. Lothair kept the title King of Italy.

Life was relatively peaceful after Verdun. The brothers would meet every few years to discuss matters of mutual concern. In 858, however, Louis was persuaded by his nobles to try to take land from Charles. Charles was not very well-liked by his people, who did not respond to his call to raise an army, so he fled to Burgundy. Louis the German's bid failed, because the bishops refused to crown him king of the West Franks.

He eventually became emperor when Lothair's son died, and traveled to Rome where Pope John VIII. When John asked him for help against the Saracens in Italy, he crossed the Alps to help, but the nobles of Lombardy were not interested in supporting him. Charles, feeling ill, started back home, but died on 6 October 877, in the mountains. The body had to be brought home for proper burial, but carrying a body across the Alps was not easy or swift. The stench from the decaying corpse prompted them to bury him as soon as possible, at an abbey in Burgundy. A few years later the body as disinterred and taken for burial to the Abbey of Saint-Denis

Regarding his nickname: A Genealogy of Frankish Kings that was started during his reign lists him as Karolus Calvus, "Charles the Bald." There are no contemporary records that suggest he had little or no hair. Some scholars suggest that it was an ironic nickname because he was very hairy. Others point out that "bald" could simply be a reference to his lack of land at first. The illustration above is of Charles in the Vivian Bible, made in 845, and shows him with plenty of hair.

The Middle Ages cared about hair and its upkeep, and baldness was not seen as desirable. There were cures for baldness. If you're interested in them, come back tomorrow.

Pope John VIII

John VIII was a Roman who, as a young man, witnessed the 846 CE raid against Rome by Muslims. According to the Liber Pontificalis ("Book of the Popes"), the raiders were Saracens from Africa, although other records offer other origins. These would have been Aghlabids from Ifriqiya, who started with the conquest of Sicily a couple decades earlier. They plundered the suburbs of Rome but were prevented from entering the city thanks to the walls, which were damaged but not breached.

When he became pope on 14 December 872 (after the death of Adrian II), John commenced to push back on the presence of Muslims in and around Italy. He considered the Muslim successes the result of bad Christians. He requested aid from Charles the Bald and others, but aid was not forthcoming, not even from local Christian leaders.

The incoming Muslims had, in some cases, settled in and made arrangements with local Christians to live peaceably near each other. He decided to declare a ban on forming alliances, but no one was buying it. This was seen simply as a ploy to increase the reach and power of the Papal States.

In 876 he himself traveled to the cities of Salerno, Capua, Naples, Gaeta, and Amalfi to form an alliance against the Saracens. He reinforced the walls of the city. The 846 raid had plundered the Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls (which was its name, not just a description of its location). He fortified the basilica, the connected monastery, and even the nearby houses. He also formed a papal fleet.

John's predecessor, Adrian, had condemned Photios I, the patriarch of Constantinople. John reinstated him, hoping to appease the Byzantines and gain their support.

Unfortunately for John, his attempts to strengthen Rome drained the papal treasury. This is assumed to be the reason that, almost exactly one decade after the start of his pontificate, he was poisoned and then clubbed to death by his own clergy, on 16 December 882.

"Taking out the boss" was not the usual way to end the pontificate of a pope, but it was effectively employed more than once in the history of the Liber Pontificalis, especially in the 10th century starting with John. There were another half-dozen "eliminations" that are certain, and then maybe a further half-dozen papal deaths that were, let's say, a little bit suspicious.

But as tempting a topic that is, I've realized that Charles the Bald keeps getting mentioned, going back 12 years, and hasn't really been given his own entry, despite being the descendant and ancestor of those who have been highlighted. Time to put Charles in the spotlight and find out if he really was bald, or if that was a reference to some other characteristic. See you tomorrow.

"Pope Joan"

Jean de Mailly was a Dominican chronicler working in Metz in northeast France in the middle of the 13th century. He wrote a history of the Diocese of Metz, in which he mentions a female pope reigning for two years about the year 1100. She was a talented woman who dressed as a man and became a notary to the pontifical Curia, then a cardinal, and finally a pope.

One day, while riding her horse, she gave birth to a son, revealing the deception. (Honestly, if she were pope for two years and at the end of that time had a son, then at least one person in her orbit knew that she was actually a woman.) With the deception revealed, she got tied to the tail of the horse, dragged around the city, then stoned to death and buried on the spot with the inscription placed over her Petre pater patrum papissae prodito partum ("Peter, Father of Fathers, betray the childbearing of the woman Pope").

This idea tickled the imagination of others, and so it became repeated and expanded. Along came Martin of Troppau, a Polish Dominican, who also wrote history. His history of the world first appeared during the pontificate of Clement IV (1265-68), but it wasn't until the third edition in 1277 that he added the story of the female pope.

Martin places the event in the 9th century, just after the death of Pope Leo IV (847-55). She was an "Englishman" named John of Mainz. Originally taken to Athens as a young girl in male clothing, she became educated until no one was her intellectual equal. She went to Rome (still disguised as a man), and earned so much respect that she was eventually made pope. During a procession from St. Peter's to the Lateran, she gave birth to a child. She died (and was buried) on the spot. Martin refers to her as Johanna. Martin himself was a papal chaplain at the Vatican, so his accounts were widely read, and the legend spread. In a later version of his history he changed the story, saying that she was deposed, imprisoned, and then lived for many years doing penance. The child grew up to become bishop of Ostia, who had her body interred at Ostia.

Later writers give her the birth name of Agnes; others said she was Gilberta. One version of the story says she was given a vision and offered eternal punishment or temporal disgrace. She chose the latter, and that is why she died on the spot after giving birth.

By the 15th century, scholars were looking at these stories and noting their improbability. Unfortunately, the 20th century enjoys escapism and conspiracy theories, and the legend of "Pope Joan" has been embellished to the point where entire books have been written to recount her "history." There is no gap in the history of popes where Joan was excised (although I wrote here, coincidentally, that one annal thought there was a gap before Leo IV, not after.) A 10th-century pope, John XII (955-64), supposedly had a concubine named Joan who was given much authority at the papal palace during his pontificate, and some have speculated that this gave rise to the idea of a "Pope Joan."

But let's say she did become pope; what was she called? She would not have taken the name "Pope Joan"! A Dominican named Bartolomeo Platina (1421-81) called her Pope John VIII. This is silly, since he should have known that there was a Pope John VIII in the 9th century, and not an inconsequential one, either. Let's talk about him next time.

Pope John XII

After the story of Gregorius by Hartmann von Aue, I became curious if there ever was a pope who was the product of incest. The only pope I could find with any connection to incest was John XII, who was called Octavian at birth and probably should never have become pope.

His father was Alberic II of Spoleto (912 - 954). Alberic styled himself Prince of Rome, and for all intents and purposes, he controlled Rome politically after a quarrel with the actual King of Rome, Hugh, when Alberic incited a mob that drove Hugh out of the city. Alberic married his step-sister Alda, which would (sort of) make their son the product of incest. But their son was Gregory I of Tusculum. Octavian's mother was actually Alberic's concubine. On Alberic's deathbed, he had the nobles and clergy of Rome swear to make Octavian the next pope (Gregory was a count, and didn't need anything else).

This idea was not completely out of the blue. Octavian had entered holy orders and was a cardinal deacon of a basilica in Rome. Pope Agapetus II died in November 955, and the 25-year-old Octavian was elected his successor one month later, taking the name John XII.

A note about the name: for centuries, popes used their own names when elected; they rarely took a new name when they became pope. When Octavian chose to call himself "John" it was only the third time that a pope took a new name. This is called a "regnal name"; that is, the name used when one starts a reign or pontificate. The only other times prior to this when a pope used a different name were John II (born Mercurius, reigned 533-535) and John III (born Catelinus, reigned 561-574). Octavian would use 'Octavian" when issuing directives on secular matters, and "John XII" when issuing papal bulls.

There were plenty of secular issues. In 960 he personally led an attack on some Lombard duchies to reclaim part of the Papal States. He did not achieve that goal, and in fact had to agree to relinquish a claim on certain territories. He was equally ineffective in controlling Rome the way his father had. When King Berengar II of Italy began to attack papal territory, John appealed to Otto I "the Great" of Germany. For his help, John crowned Otto Holy Roman Emperor.

At home, John was considered coarse and immoral; the Lateran Palace was described as a brothel. At a Synod of Rome in 963, charges of corruption were brought against him. The contemporary priest and historian Liudprand of Cremona offers us this (hearsay) account:

Then, rising up, the cardinal priest Peter testified that he himself had seen John XII celebrate Mass without taking communion. John, bishop of Narni, and John, a cardinal deacon, professed that they themselves saw that a deacon had been ordained in a horse stable, but were unsure of the time. Benedict, cardinal deacon, with other co-deacons and priests, said they knew that he had been paid for ordaining bishops, specifically that he had ordained a ten-year-old bishop in the city of Todi ... They testified about his adultery, which they did not see with their own eyes, but nonetheless knew with certainty: he had fornicated with the widow of Rainier, with Stephana his father's concubine, with the widow Anna, and with his own niece, and he made the sacred palace into a whorehouse.

I have italicized the relevant phrase. (I promised an incestuous pope, after all.)

It was his deal with Otto that ultimately caused him trouble. Otto wanted John to abandon his worldly ways. As Otto did what John wanted—subduing Berengar—John feared Otto's hold in Italy and sent for help from the Magyars and the Byzantines. Seeing John turn on him, Otto besieged Rome. John fled Rome, taking papal treasure with him. A council summoned in Rome by Otto deposed John and elected Pope Leo VIII in his place.

After Otto left Rome, John re-entered (Leo fled) and summoned his own synod to declare his deposition invalid. Before he could negotiate with Otto, he died on 14 May 964. The cause of his death is uncertain. All accounts say it involved an adulterous encounter, but some say he died of apoplexy and some say he was caught and killed by the husband.

His very worldly behavior may explain a papal legend that won't go away. A medieval writer claims that among John's concubines was one named Joan who wielded great authority during John's pontificate. It has been suggested that this gave rise to the legend of "Pope Joan," that supposedly there was a pope who was secretly a woman—a claim for which no evidence exists. But I suppose that legend is worth examining next time.

The Good Sinner

The German knight-poet Hartmann von Aue wrote epic poetry, some of which was about the Arthurian Cycle. He also wrote an early "rags to riches" story called Gregorius, which was popular enough that five intact manuscripts remain, as well as six fragments.

The death of a wealthy duke leaves his very young son and daughter orphaned and destitute. The two have an incestuous union that produces a child, Gregorius, who is born when his parents are still only about eleven years old. A wise old man sends the father to Jerusalem on pilgrimage to repent of his sins. The father dies along the way. The same man tells the mother to put the child in a box and put the box out to sea so God can take care of him. The child is placed in a box with 20 pieces of gold and a tablet explaining his birth.

The box is found by two fishermen who are working on behalf of an abbey. The present the box to the abbot, who tells one of the fisherman to raise the boy as his own. When Gregorius is six, he begins his education under the abbot. He grows into a smart and handsome young man, which makes clear to those around him that he could not be the son of a mere fisherman. Realizing his family is not his own, he talks to the abbot, who gives him the tablet that explains his origin. In order to repent of his parents' sin, he becomes a knight to perform chivalric deeds.

Coming upon a besieged city, he frees it and wins the hand of its mistress. They marry, and he settles down in the city. A maid notices that, there is a room which the knight frequents, after which he always emerges with eyes red from crying. She leads Gregorius' wife there, and they find the tablet that explains his origin. The wife recognizes the tablet, because (in an Oedipal twist), she is the mother who bore him! She realizes that she is his mother and wife and aunt. When he discovers the truth, Gregorius tells his wife-mother to give away all her goods and live a life of poverty as penance. Gregorius has himself chained to a rock in the middle of a lake, and has the keys to his chains thrown into the water by a fisherman. The fisherman says that, if the key is ever found, it will be proof that Gregorius is a holy man whose penance has been accepted by god.

Well! Seventeen years later, two priests have a vision from God that the next pope will be found on a rock in Aquitania, repenting of his sins. The two set off to look for this man, and come upon the fisherman who chained him and threw the key. The fisherman should have simply offered them a meal, but instead he sells them a fish. When the fisherman cuts the fish open to clean it, he finds a key inside. He is horrified that he has chained a holy man to a rock, and also that after seventeen years the man is dead.

He ferries the two clergymen to the rock where they find an emaciated but still-living Gregorius. He unlocks the chain, and Gregorius goes off with the clergymen and becomes pope. As pope, he one day recognizes a poor and penitent woman as his mother, although she does not recognize him. He tells her who he is, and that their penance was sufficient to be forgiven by God.

A real rollercoaster of a story for the 12th century! But was this inspired by a legend of a pope who was the product of incest? Unknown, but incest does haunt the record of a pope who is also reputed to have been born of a concubine. Tomorrow let's look at the disturbing reign of Pope John XII.

The Poet Knight

Hartmann von Aue (born c.1160) started as a member of the lower nobility in Swabia. We don't know precisely where he was born; the "von Aue" tacked onto his name is because he became a knight in the service of the Lords of Aue (Obernau by the River Neckar).

He was educated at a monastery school and became a minor minister at the Swabian court. Whether at the monastery or later we don't know, but besides German he had knowledge of French and Latin. He participated in a Crusade, either the Third Crusade in 1189 or its followup in 1197 (called the "Emperor's Crusade"), when Hohenstaufen Emperor Henry VI tried to redeem the efforts of his father, Emperor Frederick I "Barbarossa," during the Third.

Outside of his knightly duties he was a poet and songwriter. He is considered one of the three great epic poets of Middle High German, along with Wolfram von Eschenbach and Gottfried von Strasburg.

Four narrative poems came from Hartmann's pen, two of which, Erec and Iwein, are part of the Arthurian cycle and help to introducer that subject into German epic poetry. They are based, respectively, on Eric and Enide and Yvain, the Knight of the Lion by Chrétien de Troyes.

The other two are Gregorius, adapted from a French epic, and Der arme Heinrich, which tells the story of a leper cured by a young girl.

The date of his death is unknown, but von Strasburg, writing in his "Tristan" c.1210 mentions that Hartmann is still living, while Heinrich von dem Türlin, in his Arthurian poem "Krone" ("The Crown"; c.1215-1220) says Hartmann is deceased.

Gregorius is quite unusual, and a summary here would make this post very long, so I think I'll save it for tomorrow.

Types of Knight

It was mentioned that John de Coupland was made a "knight banneret" after service to King Edward III. What was the significance of this?

The typical knight, the "basic" knight, was a "knight bachelor." This position existed in England during the reign of Henry III (1216 - 1272). The word "bachelor" denoted a junior rank, and had nothing to do with marital status. In fact, a wife gained some status when her husband was knighted. A knight bachelor would be addressed as "Sir John Smith" or "Sir John," and his wife would be addressed as "Lady Smith." The same naming convention applies in modern times.

The knight does not have any letters after his name the way, say, Members of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire get to write "MBE" after their name. Conversely, you may be given an honor such as the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, but this does not come with the honorific "Sir" or "Lady." It is an honor, not a title.

A 'knight banneret' was different from a knight bachelor. The outward sign that one was a knight banneret was, as the name implies, a knight who had a banner. Knights bachelor fought under the banner of their lord. A knight banneret could have his own coat of arms on a banner in battles, and could have his own contingent in battle who bore his standard. That standard was a squared banner, not a tapering standard or pennon (see illustration of a knight banneret).

The banneret was not a hereditary title like count or duke that could be passed to sons, but it had other benefits. The knight banneret would be paid more during war time. The wife of a knight banneret could be called banneress. Because the banneret title was given for valor in battle or special service to the king, it often led also, for the recipient, additional privileges such as other titles or estates. The 14th century saw some confusion when some knights banneret also were elevated as barons. Which designation was more appropriate? The resolution was to refer to the subject as a baron in a civil context and as a banneret in a military context, when they could request a higher rate of pay.

The knight bachelor had no distinguishing insignia that would compare to the other's banner. In 1926, however, King George V authorized the wearing of a badge for knights bachelor on appropriate occasions. (Illustrated.)

The illustration at top is of Hartmann von Aue, a 12th-century German knight. Let's talk about him tomorrow.