6 October - Potpourri

A collection of notes related to the date and to this blog*:

St. Francis was first mentioned here, then the phenomenon of his stigmata here. Today is the Feast Day of St. Mary Frances of the Five Wounds (born into the very prominent Gallo family). Despite initial opposition from her family, she entered the Third Order of St. Francis in 1731, and she also experienced the stigmata.

I have mentioned, more than once, the alteration of the calendar to correct inaccuracies. Because of the change described here, and the implementation of the Gregorian reform, 6 October 1582 does not exist in the historical calendars of Italy, Poland, Spain or Portugal.

In the entry on Good King Wenceslaus, I mentioned that he was never a king, but that there was a King Wenceslaus of Bohemia. King Wenceslaus of Bohemia was born on 6 October 1289.

The entry "Not One Iota of Difference" has an image showing what is called the Trinitarian shield. That design, shown here, is the heraldic emblem attributed in the Middle Ages to St. Faith, also known as Sainte Foy to the French and Santa Fe to the Spanish. She was reputedly tortured to death in Rome in about 287 or 290 CE for refusing to make pagan sacrifices. Her name and life seem more legendary than historical, but there is an Abbey of Sainte-Foy in Conques in southern France that holds her relics, and the area has centuries of tales of miracles—often amusing and "prank-like—attributed to her.

Wycliffe's daring translation of the Bible into English was first described here. The death sentence offered or anyone with a copy kept the idea of an English language Bible "off the table" for a long time. William Tyndale (c.1492-1536) produced the first complete English language Bible that was mass-produced on a printing press and that was a translation from Greek and Hebrew versions that were earlier than the Latin version. Tyndale left England in order to be able to produce his Bible, and moved around Europe to avoid authorities who wished to stop him. He was eventually arrested, imprisoned, strangled as a heretic, and then his body burned at the stake, on this date in 1536.

*Plus two UNrelated to this blog: it is the date Frodo gets stabbed on Weathertop, and years later, the date on which Maeve is born.

William of Malmesbury

In the 12th century in England, the practice of writing histories was becoming relatively common. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles and the Chronicle of Melrose were ongoing, and Orderic Vitalis and the prolific Eadmer were writing their histories. Since I cast doubt on William of Malmesbury (1095-c.1143) in yesterday's post, however, I thought he deserved some attention.

William of Malmesbury's aim was not simply to write a history, but to produce a great literary work that was worthy of the greatest historian England had yet known. His Preface begins:

The history of the English, from their arrival in Britain to his own times, has been written by Bede, a man of singular learning and modesty, in a clear and captivating style. After him you will not, in my opinion, easily find any person who has attempted to compose in Latin the history of this people. Let others declare whether their researches in this respect have been, or are likely to be, more fortunate; my own labor, though diligent in the extreme, has, down to this period, been without its reward.

Bede (673-735) was universally respected, so much so that it was rare to see his name without the modifier "Venerable" before it. After praising Bede's singular position in English literature, William attempts to produce a work that equals or surpasses it. The result was the Gesta Regum Anglorum (Deeds of the Kings of the English).

And according to many scholars, he succeeded. In the opinion of Milton, William was "both for style and judgment by far the best writer of all." He included anecdotes and detailed descriptions of important figures—far more historically valuable information than the often terse Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. Like Bede, and unlike other historians, he showed the cause and the effect of historical events and the actions of kings. His account of the First Crusade is detailed and colorful.

He followed this work with Gesta Pontificum (Deeds of Pontiffs), a history of abbeys and monasteries in England. About the year 1140, he revised both works, updating them, and began an addendum to the first, his Historia novella (History of new[er] things). His patron in all this was Robert, Earl of Gloucester. As a son of King Henry, Robert was fairly powerful; it is thought that Robert would have made William the abbot of Malmesbury Abbey, but William preferred to concentrate on his learning instead of administrative duties.

That learning certainly contributed to his writing. It is believed that some of his information, such as what he has to say about Wulfstan, the Bishop of Worcester, comes from the account by Wulfstan's contemporary, Coleman. But that is how medieval scholars managed: they took from available works, and providing attribution was not as important as making your own work as complete as possible. William's works remain the best accounts we have of life in England in the first few generations after the Norman Conquest.

Æthelstan—The Forgotten King

In the history of the Middle Ages, there must be many "forgotten kings"—those whose rules were too short or too obscure or too trivial to add any momentous events to the modern consciousness (many people know the phrase "The Norman Conquest" even if they couldn't tell you details). In the case of Æthelstan (c.894-939), however, his reign was significant enough for the history of England that it is a shame that he is not known better.

Perhaps there is irony that part of his undeserved obscurity is actually paired with elements that should have helped to make him more noteworthy. To a modern world who wants only a few highlights from studying the past, his accomplishments are overshadowed in classrooms by those of his grandfather, Alfred, the only king in English history to have earned the epithet "the Great."

Also, we have an account about him from William of Malmesbury (c.1095-1143) who said of Æthelstan "no one more just or more learned ever governed the kingdom." Most modern scholars, however, mistrust the Malmesbury account (although some have argued that internal evidence suggests that Malmesbury is actually drawing on an earlier and probably reliable biography). A 10th century Latin poem says of him: "Holy King Æthelstan, whose esteem flourishes and whose honor endures everywhere."

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle often only mentions military engagements, and therefore neglects his administrative and economic achievements. But in his lifetime, he was praised as "the English Charlemagne." He financed Catholic churches. He regulated currency and controlled the weight of silver coins and passed laws to penalize currency fraud. (In the image below of the Æthelstan penny, note the "braiding" around the edge that prevents "coin clippers" from shaving off silver in order to spend a coin of less weight.) He regulated commerce, confining it to the burh (Anglo-Saxon "town"; think Modern English "burg"), encouraging the growth of towns. He consolidated the wilderness areas and settlements in the Midlands, creating new shires, asserting royal control and law more consistently over the entire country.

Æthelstan silver penny

He also made valuable alliances. He married off his half-sisters to European noble families, so that he had connections with brothers-in-law such as the future Holy Roman Emperor Otto. King Harald Fair-Hair of Norway sent his son Haakon to foster at Æthelstan's court. When Harald died and Haakon's brother Eirik Bloodaxe proclaimed himself king, Æthelstan equipped Haakon with ships and men to take his rightful place as King of Norway (which he did).

He won a decisive battle, the Battle of Brunanburh in 937; summed up by Winston Churchill:

The whole of North Britain—Celtic, Danish and Norwegian, pagan and Christian—together presented a hostile front under Constantine, king of the Scots, and Olaf of Dublin, with Viking reinforcements from Norway. [History of the English-Speaking People]

After Æthelstan's victory, he could rightfully call himself "the King of all the English"—the first ruler on that island to be able to do so.

Upon his death in 939, he was laid to rest in Malmesbury Abbey—a place for which he had great affection—rather than the traditional Winchester, which was the seat of power for the royal family of Wessex.

Perhaps, as one fan of Æthelstan put it, his fame is tenuous because there are too many things about his life that cannot be grasped succinctly and with certainty: did he possess the greatest collection of sacred relics at the time, including the Spear of Longinus? Why did he not marry and have children? Did he have a half-brother killed? Was his mother a concubine? These questions, however, should not prevent knowing something about a remarkable and forward-looking figure from England's past.

St. Francis & Stigmata

Painting, Vincenzo Foppa (1430-1515)

St. Francis of Assisi has already been mentioned, but since this is the anniversary of his death ...

One of the fascinating events in the St. Francis story is the appearance of the stigmata. In September 1224, while Francis was fasting for 40 days leading up to Michaelmas (29 September), he had a vision of the Exaltation of the Cross (one of the feasts used to venerate the cross on which Christ was crucified).

After that vision, stigmata appeared on him. Stigmata is the plural of the Greek στίγμα, stigma, meaning a mark or brand. In the religious context, the word refers to marks that mirror the wounds received by Christ. Francis was the first person in history known to have experienced the stigmata.

Were they real? Can we know? Unlike, say, the legends of St. Rémy or "Good" King Wenceslaus, which grew long after their lives, Francis had biographers shortly after his death, who would have known Francis' contemporaries. St. Bonaventure (1221-1274), one of those biographers, became a Franciscan almost 20 years after Francis' death, but would have met people who knew the saint. In fact, one of Francis' companions, his secretary and confessor Brother Leo, was with him at the time of the vision, and said of the event:

Suddenly he saw a vision of a seraph, a six-winged angel on a cross. This angel gave him the gift of the five wounds of Christ.

We are also told that he sought aid for these wounds (and an eye disease) in Siena and other cities, but no one could explain or stop the flow of blood. Francis returned to the Portiuncula, a small church near Assisi. Feeling the end was near for him, he dictated some memoirs and guidance for his followers. He passed away 3 October 1226, singing Psalm 141: "Lord, I cry unto thee."
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The Chronicle of Melrose

Melrose Abbey, on the Scottish border, mentioned in connection with St. Cuthbert, is historically significant for other reasons. Many Scottish kings are buried there, and a stone coffin found in 1812 under an aisle in the south of the abbey was speculated to be that of the "wizard" Michael Scot. And although Robert Bruce was said to have been buried in Dunfermline Abbey, his embalmed heart was supposedly buried on the grounds of Melrose, encased in lead.

The Abbey had a checkered history. Long after Cuthbert's time, it was damaged in 839. King David I of Scotland (1084-1153) wanted it rebuilt, but the Cistercians who would populate it picked a different site with more fertile land for farming. It was rebuilt and its church dedicated in 1146. In 1322, much of the Abbey was destroyed by Edward II of England (1284-1327). It was rebuilt by Robert the Bruce. In 1385 it was burned by the forces of Richard II of England (although he did grant them some money in 1389 in compensation). Rebuilding began again, but stalled. At the beginning of the 16th century, it still wasn't complete. That was probably just as well, since in 1544 the Abbey was again damaged by English forces attempting to force the marriage between Mary Queen of Scots and the son of Henry VIII. And of course, Oliver Cromwell felt the need to bombard it with cannon fire in the 1640s, even though it hadn't held a monk since 1590.

As well as majestic ruins and burial legends (and the ghostly monks said to walk the grounds), Melrose left us something else. Not directly though: it was found in the Cotton Library as Faustina B.x, and investigation traced its origin to Melrose.

Page for 1246, 1247, 1248

The Chronicle of Melrose has two sections. The first, covering from 735 until 1140 (the new founding), is a summary of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and other works, including that of Roger of Hoveden. It adds nothing new to our knowledge. The second section, from 1140 until 1270, is unique. The handwriting changes over time, suggesting that it was added to contemporaneously by eyewitnesses, rather than compiled all at once like the first section.

As a singular Scottish viewpoint on events, it is invaluable. A 1263 battle between Norway and Scotland is part of a saga written by Icelandic historian Sturla Thordarson (1218-1284). The Chronicle of Melrose offers a second viewpoint from the Scottish side, confirming the fact of the conflict—if not precisely the same details. A series of mis-steps caused the Norwegian forces to cede valuable ground and, in deteriorating weather, they retreated. The monks' Chronicle puts it a little differently:

A.D.1263.  ... it was not man's power which drove him away, but the power of God which crushed his ships, and sent a pestilence among his troops. Such of them as mustered to engage on the third day after the feast of Michaelmas, God defeated and slew by means of the foot-men of the country. Thus they were compelled to carry off their wounded and slain to their ships, and to return home in more disgraceful plight than they had left it.

The Chronicle also gives us a list of deaths and promotions of abbots and lords and high-ranking laymen, radical weather and the appearance of comets, the ups and downs of political figures in Scotland and the northern English shires, and the earliest list extant of Scottish kings. It's another valuable tool in piecing together the complex history of the Middle Ages.

St. Rémy

In the history of medieval Christianity, there are stories of entire countries converting all at once. The tale of St. Rémy (c.437-533) is one.

St. Rémy baptizes Clovis

Rémy, also known as Remigius, was born to a very prominent Gallo-Roman family in Laon. He studied literature at Reims. His reputation for piety and learning was so great that at the age of 22 he was appointed Archbishop of Reims. Clovis I, King of the Franks (reigned 481-511), had a Christian wife, the Burgundian Clotilde. Clovis was friendly and generous to the church in Reims. Rémy decided to make it his life's work to Christianize the Frankish kingdom.

One legend in particular attests to the good relations between the king and the archbishop. When Clovis conquered Soissons under Syagrius in 486, his soldiers plundered the church there. St. Rémy asked Clovis to return, if nothing else, at least the very special Vase of Soissons, one of the greatest pieces owned by the church of Soissons. Clovis agreed, claiming the Vase as his own part of the booty, but the soldier who had taken it was angry at having to give it up and broke it irreparably. Clovis returned the pieces to the church; a year later, he had that soldier killed with his own axe, telling him "Just as you did to the vase at Soissons!"

According to chronicler Gregory of Tours (writing a century later), Clovis agreed to convert to Christianity after his 496 victory at Tolbiac: he had prayed to his wife's God after seeing so many of his men being killed against the Alemanni tribes. We are told that the Alemanni began to flee at the completion of Clovis' prayer. Clovis agreed to be baptized; it was performed by St. Rémy, along with the baptisms of 3000 Franks.

More specifically, Clovis was baptized into Roman Catholic Christianity, which helped to make a distinction between him and the other German tribes establishing themselves in Europe. Groups like the Visigoths and Vandals were Christians, but had embraced Arianism, which by this time was deemed heretical. The choice of Clovis brought him into the favor of Rome and aligned him with the more mainstream version of Christianity. This was a major event in the life of St. Rémy, who is now considered the patron saint of France. St. Rémy also supposedly converted an Arian bishop to Roman views at a synod Rémy held in 517.

Of his writings, all are lost except for a few letters, two of which are to Clovis. A legend that attached itself to St. Rémy is the Baptism of the Moribund Pagan. When a dying pagan asked for baptism, Rémy discovered that he did not have the chrism—the sacred oils—needed to perform the ceremony. He placed two empty vials on the altar and prayed, whereupon they were filled with the two oils needed. When his crypt was opened during the reign of Charles the Bald (823-877), they found two vials containing very aromatic oils. Scholars have hemmed and hawed over these. Were they actually the two vials of the legend? Were they two vials placed symbolically in the coffin because of the legend? Or were they two vials of perfumes placed in the coffin to cover the odor of putrefaction?*

To the Archbishop of Reims at the time, Hincmar, it was clear: these vials confirmed the Legend of the Baptism of the Moribund Pagan. Clearly, the oil was that very same used for Baptism, and since Rémy also baptized King Clovis, it was clear (to Hincmar) that Reims ought to be recognized as the appropriate church for the future anointing of the Kings of France. Any relics associated with him (the locations of the two vials are no longer known for certain) now reside in the Abbey of Saint-Rémy in Reims.

*This particular theory also points out that the method of making perfumed oils was known to the Romans, but lost to Europe by the time of the Carolingians. In the 800s, they would have seemed miraculous, since the art of making perfume was unknown.

"The Most Popular Poet in America"

Today is the 805th anniversary of Rumi's birth. On the 800th anniversary, in a story done by BBC News online, he was referred to as "the most popular poet in America." What journey took a medieval Muslim mystic to that title?

Marco Polo described the city of Balkh in what is now northern Afghanistan as a "noble and great city and a seat of learning"—this despite its destruction 50 years earlier by Genghis Khan. Since the mid-8th century, Balkh had been a center for Persian-Islamic culture, drawing scholars and theologians from near and far. One of them was a theologian, jurist and mystic named Bahā ud-Dīn Walad, the latest of several generations of jurists, who was also known later as Sultan al-Ulama, "Sultan of the Scholars."

Bahā ud-Dīn Walad fled Balkh at the approach of the Mongols, taking his family westward until finally reaching an area that had been under the control of the Eastern Roman Empire and was still called Rûm. There he became head of a madrassa, which upon his death was inherited by his son, Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī. Because the son lived in Rûm, however, he is usually known today as Rumi.

Rumi started in his father's footsteps as a jurist; he preached and issued fatwas.* A meeting with the dervish Shams-e Tabrizi inspired him to become an ascetic; when Shams disappeared (or was murdered; sources disagree) a few years later, Rumi was devastated. His emotions found expression in poetry. Once he started writing, he didn't stop; the Mathnawi has been called his greatest poetic work.

Although a devout Muslim (his poetry includes hundreds of lines from the Quran), his work is considered to have universal appeal. According to the BBC:

With his injunctions of tolerance and love, he has universal appeal, says Abdul Qadir Misbah, a culture specialist in the Balkh provincial government.
"Whether a person is from East or West, he can feel the roar of Rumi," he says.

The madrassa where Rumi taught

"When a religious scholar reads the Mathnawi, he interprets it religiously. And when sociologists study it, they say how powerful a sociologist Rumi was. When people in the West study it, they see that it's full of emotions of humanity."[source]

His poetry has an evolutionary strain, in that he saw a progression in the universal soul working through levels of existence. The Muslim philosopher Al Farabi introduced this idea to Islam, and it finds expression in Rumi in lines like:

I died as a mineral and became a plant,
I died as plant and rose to animal,
I died as animal and I was Man.
Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?
Yet once more I shall die as Man, to soar
With angels bless'd; but even from angelhood
I must pass on: all except God doth perish.
When I have sacrificed my angel-soul,
I shall become what no mind e'er conceived.
Oh, let me not exist! for Non-existence
Proclaims in organ tones,
To Him we shall return.

Rumi's poetry has inspired much of classical Iranian and Afghan music, and has been translated into languages all over the world. Madonna, Goldie Hawn, Philip Glass and Demi Moore have done performances of his poetry.

As for Rumi in his country of origin: the Taliban outlawed music, and Sufism didn't fit their view of Islam. Since their ouster from political power in Afghanistan, Rumi has had a resurgence.

*Although in the West fatwas have a bad name, they are treated differently in the Sunni and Shia sects. Rumi was Sunni, and so his fatwas were non-binding.

Good King Wenceslaus

It's far from St. Stephen's Day, but yesterday was the anniversary of the death of the man who is associated with that holiday.

Wenceslaus (c.907-935) was the eldest son born to the Christian Duke of Bohemia, Wratislaw, and Dragomir. Dragomir was the daughter of a chief of a Hevelli tribe from eastern Germany; she was baptized a Christian at her marriage, but remained pagan. When Wratislaw died in 921, the 13-year-old Wenceslaus was sent to his paternal grandmother, (who would later be Saint) Ludmilla, for a good Christian education. Dragomir, angry at losing the influence over the new duke, had Ludmilla strangled, took Wenceslaus back into her care, and started introducing him to her religion (Bohemia was not entirely or steadfastly Christian). Her son secretly continued to practice Christianity, however.

Around 924-5, he became Duke in his own right and gathered the nobles who were Christians to depose his mother. This did not make all well in Bohemia, however, since there were still plenty of pagan nobles who did not appreciate the religion of their ruler. Wenceslaus' younger brother, Boleslav, was pagan, and some of the nobles tried to create a faction around him, hoping to replace Wenceslaus.

But Wenceslaus had plenty of external political difficulties as well. Henry I, the Christian King of Germany, attacked Bohemia with help from Duke Arnulf of Bavaria. The probably reason is that Henry I needed a tribute from Bohemia that had first been established in 895 and had recently been stopped. Henry himself owed tribute to the Magyars, and Germany very likely needed the money it could get from Bohemia in order to make his own payments.* Rather than engage in a war, Wenceslaus swore fealty to Henry and made the payment. The nobles—especially the pagan nobles—would not have appreciated becoming subservient to another country, especially a Christian one.

Wenceslaus, pursued, tries to enter church

Eventually, and for whatever reason, Boleslav and his supporters saw a chance and took it. Boleslav invited Wenceslaus to celebrate the feast of Saints Cosmas and Damian together. He was stabbed on his way to the church by three of Boleslav's friends.

A cult venerating him built up immediately after his death. The hagiographies written about him stressed how he would give alms to poor people. Whether this were true did not matter years later when it became celebrated as fact. Although he had only been a duke, the Holy Roman Emperor Otto I proclaimed him a King, hence the title given in the holiday song. (There was an actual King Wenceslaus of Bohemia, but that was 300 years after the saint.)

His reign was short, and we cannot confirm the piety attributed to him. His legend became very powerful, however, enough to have him proclaimed the patron saint of Czechoslovakia. His feast day is the day of his death, 28 September, but he will forever be associated with 26 December, the Feast of St. Stephen, because of the 1853 song written by the English priest and scholar, John Mason Neale.

And just for the sake of completion.

*The politics of this situation were complicated, and might need their own post to clarify.

Saint Anthony

The Classical and Middle Ages generated more Saints Anthony that you can shake a crozier at:

Anthony of Antioch (d.302)
Anthony the Hermit (c.468-c.520) aka Anthony of Lérins
Anthony of Kiev (c.983-1073) aka Anthony of the Caves
Anthony of Rome (d.1147) aka Anthony Rimlyanin
Anthony of Padua (c.1195-1231) aka Anthony of Lisbon
Anthony of Florence (1389-1459)

But if you wanted to talk about an Anthony, wouldn't you pick the one they called "the Great"?

St. Anthony the Great (c.251-356) was mentioned in yesterday's post, supporting St. Athanasius against Arianism. He was a Coptic Christian from Egypt, but is recognized as a saint by the Coptic, Roman Catholic, Bulgarian Orthodox, and Eastern Orthodox churches.

His denomination-crossing significance derives from his status as the first monk. To be honest, there were monks—ascetics, men who chose to deny themselves worldly pleasure in order to study and pray—before him, but his decision to go out into the desert of Libya to get away from civilization was the example that made other ascetics take note.

It was about the year 270 that he heard the words from the Gospel of Matthew 19:21 at mass: "If you wish to be perfect, go, sell what you have, and give it to the poor." He was moved to act immediately: he convinced his sister to join a local group of nuns, sold his considerable property, gave the money to the poor (except for a small amount he set aside for his sister's needs), and headed into the desert. He fasted during daylight hours, lived on bread and salt and water, slept on the ground, resisted devilish temptation, and fought demons.

The Enemy subjected him to the temptations of the flesh and the anxieties of the world like thoughts of his family and loved ones, urging him to return to the world (as we are told by his biographer, St. Athanasius):

But the more the Evil One brought unto him filthy and maddening thoughts, the more Saint Anthony took refuge in prayer and in abundant supplication, and amid them all he remained wholly chaste.

Monastery of St. Anthony

Stories of Anthony's great devotion and asceticism were taken back to civilization by visitors, and more and more people came to learn from him and share in his growing reputation for holiness. But Athanasius tells us that Anthony was horrified by this, lest he himself be exalted as more worthy than other men. The so-called "first monk" never founded a monastery, never gathered followers, never preached a set of rules for others to live by. He pursued his own path to faith. On his death bed, he instructed the division of his garments to others, and requested to be put into an unmarked hole in the ground by two friends, Marcarius and Amatas, and the location left unrevealed to prevent veneration.

That didn't stop others from using him as a focal point, however. Shortly after his death at the age of 105, his followers started to dig and expand a spring in the cave where he lived, creating an oasis. Around this they began to build a monastery. The Monastery of St. Anthony still stands today, the oldest and largest Coptic monastery in Egypt. Its extreme isolation saved it from being a target of Arab conquest. It has changed and expanded greatly over the centuries, but can still be found 1300 feet above sea level in the desert southeast of Cairo.

Coptic Christians

Coptic Icon of St. Mark

Coptic Christians have suddenly been in the news, from a centuries-old fragment of papyrus with a supposed reference to Jesus being married to the maker of a controversial film on Mohammed. Now might be a good time to talk about their history.

According to tradition, St. Mark the Evangelist carried the message of Christianity to Alexandria in Egypt and founded the first communities that became the Coptic Church. There is a fragment of the Gospel of John written in Coptic that dates to the first half of the 2nd century in Upper Egypt, suggesting that St. Mark's efforts bore widespread fruit. The English name "Copt" started being used in the 17th century, from the Latin Coptus (Copt), which derived from Arabic al-ḳubṭ (the Copts) from Greek Aigyptios (Egyptian).

Christianity's foothold in Egypt was strong, and has remained so. The Catechetical School in Alexandria has operated continuously since 190 CE, and produced some significant theologians of the first millennium: Athenagoras, Clement, and the prolific Bible commentator Origen all studied there.

Coptic Christianity has been present in this blog before, but hidden in the background. The Nicene Creed, discussed here, was modified at the Council of Constantinople in 381; tradition has it that the new version which is more like what is used today was proposed by the Coptic Christian St. Athanasius of Alexandria (c.298-373). Athanasius was Pope in 352 during the debate over the Arian heresy. He was supported by his fellow Copt, Saint Anthony of Upper Egypt, who is considered the first Christian monk. When John Cassian, the "sometime saint," went to Egypt to learn asceticism from Christian monks, he was visiting Copts who were following Anthony's model. St. Jerome, translator of the Bible into Latin, seen here mocking Pelagius, visited the Coptic Christian community in Egypt around 400.

Coptic Bible

The Copts survived after the Arab conquest of Egypt in 640, because the Prophet preached kindness to Egyptians on account of his Egyptian wife. Over the centuries, however, as the Christians in Egypt became a minority, they lost more and more rights. Still, in the long run they were able to maintain their separate religious identity and yet be accepted as citizens of largely Muslim Egypt; Coptic Christians remain <20% of the Egyptian population. The late 20th century is better for Copts, and one even made it to one of the most internationally prestigious positions in the world: Dr. Boutros Boutros-Ghali, Secretary-General of the United Nations (1992-97).

The Father of Modern Optics

For a long time, there were two competing theories about how the eyes see—both wrong.

Alhazen ibn al-Haytham

Aristotle believed in what is called the intromission theory: the idea that actual physical forms enter the eye to plant images in your head. Euclid and Ptolemy believed in the theory of extromission: the idea that rays from the eyes went out and "scanned" or "detected" objects. Scholars and philosophers for centuries came down on one side or the other. It wasn't until the 11th century that a better theory came along.

Alhazen ibn al-Haytham (965-c.1040) was a Muslim who wrote about many topics. Originally he was a theologian, trying to address and reconcile the issues between the Shi'ah and Sunnah sects. He made his most lasting contributions, however, in the fields of astronomy, mathematics and optics. His Kitab al-Manazir (Book of Optics) changed the study of optics forever. He rejected both previous theories, arguing that there was no time for the eye to emit rays that could travel to a distant star and back to the eye instantly the way they would have to when first opening the eyes. He also refused to believe there was any mechanism that allowed forms to enter the eye. Instead, he opted (ha ha) for light coming from external objects to enter the eye, carrying an image of the object being looked at.

His theory of light's involvement in sight came when he realized that bright and dim light both affected visual perception, and that bright light left after-images on the eye. Also, it was obvious that perceiving color depended upon having sufficient light. He even invented the camera obscura in order to learn more about how light worked.

...and he did it while in prison.

Alhazen's diagram of the eye, with terms we still use

Earlier in his career, he became overconfident in his knowledge and made the mistake of claiming it would be possible to devise a way to control the annual spring flooding of the Nile. (Although born in Basra, Iraq, he lived his adult life in Cairo.) Hearing this, Caliph al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah, the sixth ruler of the Fatimid dynasty, ordered him to do so. When al-Haytham realized he wasn't able to perform this enormous feat of engineering, he tried to simply retire from the profession. The angry Caliph sent his men for al-Haytham, who feigned madness in order to avoid a death sentence for disappointing his all-powerful ruler. He was placed under house arrest, and devoted the remainder of his life to the sciences for which he is now known. Because of the experiments he conducted in order to test his theories, mirroring what would be known as the scientific method, some think of him as the "first scientist."

The Price of a Man

Murder has long been considered the worst crime in many societies. Unlike theft, or vandalism, it cannot be paid back. The only "proportional response" for avenging the death of a friend or loved one was to use the Old Testament values of "an eye for an eye" and slay the slayer. This, unfortunately, could lead to a Hatfields and McCoys situation, with death after death on both sides, an escalating cycle of inter-family murders.

But does it have to?

In the early Middle Ages, Anglo-Saxon and Germanic societies found a way to establish, as a community, a way to settle the matter of a death in a legal and tidy system: wergild (Old English wer = "man"* + gild = "tribute/gold").

The practice was first established by Æthelbert of Kent (c.560-616). The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle tells us that Æthelbert held sway over the other Anglo-Saxon kingdoms in Britain. He was the first English ruler to convert to Christianity, and perhaps wergild was his attempt to cool the hot blood of the Anglo-Saxon culture. Within a couple centuries, wergild was being used for theft, rape, breach of peace and many other crimes and misdemeanors. Wergild allowed a community to move on after monetary retribution.

How much retribution? It was different for different areas and times. In Kent in the 8th century, a cow was worth a shilling; a freeman was worth 100 shillings, and a nobleman 300. Elsewhere, a sheep might be worth a shilling, and a nobleman worth 1200 sheep. Only slaves were worth too little to account for.

Exchanging money for people had uses beyond crime. In the later Middle Ages, ransoms for captured prisoners were a regular occurrence, and money was more valuable than eliminating an enemy in a military engagement that was far removed from the emotional setting that might have led to homicide in a different time and place. The 20th century hasn't forgotten about wergild, even if we do not use it widely. You may recall the revelation that the U.S. was using financial compensation for deaths and injuries to civilians in Afghanistan. Wergild also appears in The Lord of the Rings, when Isildur refuses to throw the One Ring into Mount Doom when he had the chance, instead claiming it "as wergild for my father and brother." In his case, however, wergild created a larger problem than it solved.

*Think "werewolf"="man+wolf."

Hermann of Reichenau

Hermann, with crutch & Salve Regina

Hermann of Reichenau (1013-1054) was born to Count Wolverad II and his wife Hiltrud in Upper Swabia. He was severely disabled at birth, and had to be carried around in a specially built chair. A 1999 article tried to diagnose him based on contemporary reports.

Using the biography written by his disciple Berthold, [an] unbiased analysis of the symptoms described [...] is worked out: [...] Intellectual functions were unaffected. [...] Muscle disease is considered possible, but motor neuron disease - either amyotrophic lateral sclerosis or spinal muscular atrophy - seems to be the most convincing diagnosis. [C Brunhölzl, Thoughts on the illness of Hermann von Reichenau]

Because of his condition, he was nicknamed "Contractus" or "the Lame." When he was seven years old, his parents handed him over to the cloister school of the nearby Benedictine monastery on Lake Constance, where he studied under Abbot Berno. Berno was a well-known figure at the time for, among other things, his reforms in liturgical music. Hermann became a monk in 1043 and, upon Abbot Berno's death in 1048, became Berno's successor as abbot.

Despite Hermann's extreme difficulty in moving and even speaking, he was considered a devoted monk and brilliant scholar. He wrote a great deal on music, mathematics, and astronomy. As well as a treatise on the science of music, he wrote two of the best-known of the medieval liturgical songs, the Alma Redemptoris Mater (Loving Mother of the Redeemer), and the Salve Regina (Hail Holy Queen).*

Among his other accomplishments, he is credited with speaking Arabic, because through his writings he made available to the Latin West many scientific discoveries that were previously only widely known in the Arab world. This knowledge of Arabic, however, is only an assumption. His biographer, Berthold, never mentions knowledge of Arabic, which would be unusual omission for such an accomplishment. The monastery was a center of learning in the area, and very likely held copies of works by Gerbert of Aurillac, who learned much from Arabic sources in Spain.

Hermann wrote two works on the astrolabe, previously unknown in Europe, and described a portable sundial. His works on mathematics used Roman numerals. Although this precluded the use of decimals, he still achieved some remarkable results. In his Epistola de quantitate mensis lunaris (Letter on measurement of lunar months), he tries to find the average length of a lunar month. In decimal notation, it is 29.530851 days. Hermann did not only not have decimal notation, he didn't have minutes and seconds. In his time, the hour was divided into "moments" and "atoms." He calculates the length of the lunar month to be 29 days, 12 hours, 29 moments, 348 atoms, which turns out to be exactly right.

He also wrote a history called Chronicon ad annum 1054 (Chronicle to the year 1054). The original is lost, but a 1529 edition saved the unique historical knowledge inside. After Hermann's death, it was continued by Berthold; Berthold died in 1088, but the duty was taken up by others up until 1175.

Hermann died on 24 September. In 1863, he was beatified (a step toward being recognized as a saint). As Blessed Hermann of Reichenau, he is considered the patron of unborn babies, and his Feast Day is celebrated on 25 September.

*A popular English version of Salve Regina was prominent in the Whoopi Goldberg film "Sister Act."

Autumnal Equinox Lightshow

Holy Trinity Church in Barsham, Suffolk

The equinox, from Latin aequinoctium (the time of equal days and nights), the day twice each year when the amount of daylight and darkness equalizes. We are used to marking the solstices, because the longest day of sunlight and the shortest day in winter carry real-life significance for us. But the equinoxes in spring and fall rarely get the same attention.

But in Suffolk, England, in Holy Trinity Church in the tiny town of Barsham, the equinoxes have provided a special show since the Middle Ages—if one knew where to look.

To be truthful, the "special show" was forgotten for a long time because of some changes. Holy Trinity is an early church, using stone from Caen that tells us it was built post-1066, although the round tower is by many considered to be an earlier Saxon style. The church suffered when Henry VIII broke with Rome and made changes consistent with the new Anglican Church. A rood screen, an ornate partition between the main part of the church and the nave behind the altar, was torn down, and the large crucifix that hung on it was eliminated. In 1870, however, the vicar of Holy Trinity decided to rebuild the rood screen and restore the crucifix to the same spot it hung in centuries earlier. Unfortunately, the vicar also decided to hang a large painting over a narrow west window whose significance he did not realize.

On the equinoxes, light strikes the crucifix for 4 minutes

Then, in 1979, a fire destroyed the nave roof. During the reconstruction, someone took the painting down. Years later, during a mass at dusk on the autumnal equinox, someone saw it. Now that the church was restored to its original configuration, the narrow western window throws a shaft of light for 4 minutes each equinox—and only on the equinox—right onto the crucifix near the top of the rood screen.

It was easy to miss for several years: it doesn't show when there is cloud cover at twilight, and you need to be looking up. Now that the phenomenon has been re-discovered, however, the church is filled each equinox by people waiting to see the fascinating result of an unknown medieval architect who decided to use light to illuminate his art.

Jews in London

One street is all that remains of the Jewry

Jews had followed William the Conqueror to England* and established a significant presence in London in an area still called Old Jewry. Their business and money-lending practices were efficient, such that their homes were made of sturdy stone more often than their Gentile neighbors' houses. William II (1087-1100) seems to have been tolerant of the Jews; Henry II (fl.1154-1189) as well. Life in London was considered amenable enough to Jews that the well-known Rabbi Abraham ibn Ezra visited London, where in 1158 he wrote his Iggeret ha-Shabbat (Epistle on the Sabbath), which can still be found in print today.
Of course, life was never "good" for the Jews in medieval Europe. In England, for instance, there were laws designed to harass the Jews, like that which required every Jew who died in England to be buried at a special cemetery set up at Cripplegate in London—which forced every Jewish family to pay a fee for the burial.

King Henry III of England was first mentioned here in my second-ever blog post. In 1232 he established the Domus Conversorum (House of Converts), meant for Jews who converted to Christianity, giving up their possessions in exchange for a home and a daily stipend for food and necessities.

Henry was devout, certainly, but not always charitable. In the words of one scholar:

If Henry III, despite being constantly broke, managed to find enough money to keep work at [Westminster] Abbey in progress, that was partly because he was at least a devout enough Catholic to be able to rob the Jews with a good conscience. [A History of London, Robert Gray]

Henry, always in need of money, was fond of borrowing from the Jews and simply not paying them back. Jews were seen as being a tool for the King's pleasure, and the Barons and others resented the Crown's control over them. For the Coronation of Richard I Lionheart in Westminster Abbey, a Jewish group tried to crowd in the Abbey to show support and bring gifts for the new king. Their presence touched off riots. Londoners rushed to the Jewry and set fire to houses, killing those who tried to escape.

Thirty were reported killed. The conviction rate afterward: three. Two of those had accidentally torched a Christian home, and one had robbed a Christian home in the confusion.

*No evidence exists of a Jewish presence in England prior to 1066.

London Bridge is Falling Down!

[For earlier history, see here.]

Finding the origin of nursery rhymes can be unreliable, since one never knows how long a rhyme was circulating orally until it got recorded. See my comments on "Ring Around the Rosie" here. Also, what we think of as the nursery rhyme may be just the latest version; earlier versions may lead to entirely different interpretations. The full current version of "London Bridge Is Falling Down" can be read here. It has references that make it very unlikely to be a medieval poem.

Viking boat pulling down London Bridge

The earliest reference to something that might be related to the Bridge rhyme is found in the Norse Heimskringla, written in Iceland by Snorri Sturluson (1178-1241). In it, Sturluson collected stories of Norwegian kings. In one story, King Olaf II attacked London and the Bridge in the company of the Saxon King Æthelred the Unready. They pulled it down with chains, dividing the Danish forces who had no other easy way to cross the Thames. The 1844 English edition included a poem by another poet, Ottar Svarti ("Ottar the Black"), which begins with the line "London Bridge is broken down." It was discovered later, however, that the translator decided to prefix Ottar's poem with a made-up line. Ottar never referred to London Bridge.

In the 1890s, another theory as to the origin came from a British folklorist. Drawing on an old theme of blood sacrifice to make foundations strong, she suggested that children were buried—perhaps alive—under the Bridge. Actually, there was a burial "under" the Bridge. Peter de Colechurch, who was heavily involved in the construction of the 12th century version, was a chaplain of the church in which St. Thomas Becket was baptized. He had a chapel on the Bridge dedicated to Becket. de Colechurch died in 1205 and was buried in the crypt, at the river level of the chapel. At the dismantling of the Bridge in 1832, when his bones were found, they were unceremoniously tossed into the Thames.

Wedding of Henry III & Eleanor of Provence

Then there's the story that Eleanor of Provence (c.1223-1291), who was given the tolls and rents from the Bridge as a present from her husband, Henry III, spent them on herself rather than the upkeep of the Bridge. The Bridge fell into disrepair, and a derisive verse was formed with the telling, sarcastic phrase "my fair lady."

Control of the Bridge was returned to the City of London in 1281. Ironically, the heavy river ice that winter built up against the bridge and five of the arches collapsed.

The Bridge has become iconic. A few remaining stones of the medieval version can be seen in the churchyard of St. Magnus Martyr, which used to be at one end of the span. In the early 1960s, when he learned London wanted to replace the Bridge and offered to sell the Victorian version, American chainsaw magnate Robert McCulloch offered the winning bid of $2,460,000. McCulloch transported the stones (carefully coded) to Lake Havasu City, Arizona, USA, where he had them painstakingly re-assembled over a steel structure. "London Bridge" now exists on both sides of the Atlantic!

London Bridge is Going Up!

London Bridge—the first of which was built in 80 CE—has, indeed, fallen down. In fact, for the first millennium of the Common Era, the wooden structure linking Southwark to the City of London was rebuilt countless times. As the only link between the banks of the river from the sea until Kingston (15 miles upriver from London), it was important for commerce and defense.

In 1014, when Æthelred the Unready's Saxons and King Olaf's Vikings joined forces and sailed up the Thames, they aimed to split the Danish forces in London by attacking the Bridge. The Danes hurled spears down on the ships, which defended themselves with thatch taken from London cottages; then the attackers went under the Bridge and pulled down the supports with cables. To some, this is the origin of the nursery rhyme.*

That wasn't the only time "London Bridge is Falling Down" would have entered the vocabulary. For the first 70 years after the Norman Conquest in 1066, there were ten incidents in which fire destroyed or significantly damaged the bridge. Several of the rebuilding efforts included aid from different counties, proving the importance of London Bridge to those outside the city.

A stone bridge was begun in 1176. Financed by a tax and overseen by Peter de Colechurch, it took 33 years to finish.

The enclosed road on the Bridge

This was an enormous undertaking. The new London Bridge was 300 yards long, with 20 arches that were 60 feet high and with 30 feet wide spaces, each with gates. The bridge supported a road 20 feet wide—wide enough to be used for houses and shops, some of which were three stories high. Upper stories would be built wider than the main floor, and joined by timbers. The Bridge became a narrow lane lined with shops, with a roof overhead. Their rents supported the upkeep. Mill wheels were set up under the arches to grind grain.

Sadly, the City's modern needs demanded that the old Bridge be demolished and a new one be built, in 1831-2. Another decade, and we might even have had photographs of the structure that stood for over six centuries.

*More on that in the future.

Abbot Suger

Abbot Suger in stained glass

Back here, I discussed Gothic architecture, but there was no time to mention its birthplace, the Abbey Church of St.-Denis, or its midwife, Abbot Suger.*

The church had existed for centuries, and was rebuilt a few times before Abbot Suger (flourished 1122-1151) arranged the renovation that was to transform ecclesiastical architecture. The major elements of Gothic architecture—elaborate style, ribbed vaulting that supported higher ceilings, pointed arches that enabled larger windows, etc.—already existed, but Suger's efforts brought them together in one building for the first time and created something very different from the massive, dense, dark Romanesque style of building.

Was Suger an architect? A builder? How is it that we so confidently give him credit for this change in ecclesiastical building? Because he did something else that was unique for the era: he told us what he was doing. He left us two works, preserved by the Abbey: Liber de De rebus in administratione sua gestis (The book of deeds done in his administration), and Libellus Alter De consecratione ecclesiae sancti dionysii (The other little book on the consecration of the church of St.-Denis). Translated in 1946 by art historian Erwin Panofsky (previously mentioned here), they tell a tale of a devoted man dedicated to praising God and His creation through every aspect possible of the church that was built to honor Him.

Ambulatory showing ribbed vaulting

No, he probably didn't design the building, but we are sure he had a hand in the design, and have no reason to discount his words when he says:

Noble is the work, but the work which shines here so nobly should lighten the hearts so that, through true lights they can reach the one true light, where Christ is the true door… the dull spirit rises up through the material to the truth, and although he was cast down before, he arises new when he has seen this light.

Suger made clear that introducing more light to the interior of the church, promoting the use of color, and building in taller elements would help lift the congregants' spirit as well as their eyes upward. He had an enormous amount of money and effort put into the construction of a gold crucifix, 6 meters in height, and gold altar panels; into these panels he says he put:

about forty-two marks of gold; a multifarious wealth of precious gems, hyacinths, rubies, sapphires, emeralds and topazes, and also an array of different large pearls

The cross is long gone, but the church remains, celebrated as the first truly Gothic church, standing on the Ile de France. A piece of it—Suger's chalice—has made it to North America, however, and stands in the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC.  Also, there is a photo-filled blog devoted to Suger right here.

*Pronounced su-zháy.

Locks Through the Ages

Locks are mentioned as far back as the Old Testament. The book of Nehemiah, which describes events in the second half of the 5th century, makes mention in chapter 3 of repairing the gates of the City of Jerusalem, saying that they "set up the doors thereof, and the locks thereof, and the bars thereof." Whatever they meant by locks, they were clearly a part of the security different from bars and doors.

Late Medieval lock from Newcastle-upon-Tyne

We know that the Romans had barbed spring padlocks made of iron. A barbed hasp of metal under tension would catch on a hook inside the padlock, and a key would push in at the hook, releasing the barb so that the hasp would spring open.

A pin-tumbler lock—that uses internal pins (sometimes) of varying lengths that require a matching key pattern before they are in the proper alignment to allow the lock to open—was first patented in 1784 patent by Joseph Bramah. The modern version with which we are familiar today was patented in 1848 by Linus Yale Sr., and then modified by Linus Yale Jr. in 1861.

Mechanism of Egyptian pin-tumbler lock from Nineveh

Chances are that none of these gentlemen was aware that a 2700-year-old pin tumbler lock has been found in the Khorsabad palace in Nineveh.* It is made of wood. The key had four pins; it would be inserted into a channel in the bolt and lifted up to raise four tumblers up and out of the way so that the lock could be opened.

Between Khorsabad and Yale, the pin-tumbler lock was used all over Europe and Asia, changing very little in mechanics, but a lot in art design. As metal-smithing became more refined, the locks and keys became more complex. Locks and keys also became works of art, designed to fit visually with their intended purpose.

In medieval Europe, with men going off to war, important keys—to doors, chests that held valuables, coffers that held the lord's seal (needed for official documents) would be left with the trusted lady of the castle, the chatelaine (from Latin castellan, the "lady of the castle"). The symbol of the chatelaine became a cord or belt from which hung several keys. This led to the term "chatelaine" (still in use) to mean a chain or dangling clip used to organize items, such as a small pair of sewing scissors on a long chain.

*If you care to do your own searches on this topic, you'll frequently find the oldest lock is said to be 4000 years old or from 4000 BC. Since the references agree it was found in Khorsabad palace, which was built by Sargon II, who ruled 721-705 BCE, I have to assume online sources have been careless in their reporting of its age. Smith College is a little more careful with its description.

Got Silk?

Silk was not a medieval invention. According to Chinese tradition, Empress Si-Ling-Chi in 2460 BCE watched silkworms spinning cocoons; she unwound several cocoons, then ran the strands together to make thread, then wove the result into cloth to make a robe for Emperor Huang-Ti.

The Silk Road routes

Unverifiable, but it may very well be true. What is slightly more historically documented is that China guarded the secret of this magnificent fabric for centuries, but was willing to manufacture the cloth and sell it for very high prices to others. Wealthy people from other countries would gladly pay large sums to purchase it—soft and smooth, light to wear, dyed easily—so knowledge of this material spread. India somehow figured out the secret and was manufacturing its own silk by the 2nd century CE.

Ezekiel mentions silk, which means it was known to the Middle East in the 6th century BCE. Aristotle mentions the process of dealing with the cocoons, but the knowledge must have been lost for awhile, because it seems to be a mystery to that part of the world centuries later. We are told that Julius Caesar (100-15 March 44 BCE) had silk curtains. It is thought that the Romans first encountered silk in the hands of the Parthians in the first century BCE. By the end of the 1st century CE, Rome was trading for silk with the Parthians; we don't know what kind of "mark up" the Parthians were putting on the silk that they got from the East, but it was probably substantial. Although more than silk was traded between the East and West, silk was one of the few things only available from the Far East, and so the collection of interconnected trade routes from China and India to Byzantium and Alexandria became known as the "Silk Road."

Of course, it is cheaper to manage production yourself, and the Byzantine scholar Procopius (500-565 CE) tells us how some Nestorian monks* gave the Emperor Justinian the secret: the thread comes from silkworms that could not survive transportation, but their cocoons would travel well if insulated in dung and fed on mulberry leaves when hatched. Byzantium created a thriving silk industry and supplied Europe for centuries. The silk factories were staffed by all-female crews, and so were called gynaecea—after the name given to the section of a Roman or Greek home devoted to women.

Marco Polo on the Silk Road

The cycle of industrial espionage continued, however, when Muslims, who learned the secret of silk when they conquered Persia, took over Sicily and Spain. By the 13th century, Europe was producing its own silk and purchasing less from Byzantium. By the 15th century, France had its own factories. This was necessary, according to Louis XI, because purchasing silk from Italy created a trade deficit for France of 40-50,000,000 gold écus.**

Silk is different from cotton or wool in that it is not spun; rather, two or more strands are twisted together. To produce this, new techniques were invented. The simple reel is said to have been first devised for holding strands of silk, which could be up to a mile long. Two reels would be set up to unwind simultaneously so that their strands could be twisted together in a technique called "throwing."

The Middle Ages loved silk so much that a whole new vocabulary was created to describe its uses in fabrics:

• alexander - a striped silk
• baldachin - a warp of gold thread with a woof of silk
• begin - 14th century rayed silk fabric
• camlet - half silk/half hair (such as angora)
• cendal - woven silk material
• ecarlate - high-quality silk
• gauze - semi-transparent silk (from 13th century onward)
• imperial - silk with gold thread; originally from Byzantium, later called baldachin
• osterni - silk dyed purple
• samite - silk with interwoven gold or silver threads
• sarcenet - thin soft silk with slight sheen; sometimes called "shot"
• tartaire - silk from Tartary

...and in all these centuries, it hasn't lost its luster.

*Remember the Nestorians? They were a branch of Christianity deemed heretical a century before Procopius, who made their home in the East where William Rubruck ran into them.
**Story of the Silk Road by Yiping Zhang, p.146 (I don't normally bog things down with citations—I assume you trust me!—but this number was so ... impressive that I felt the need to point to a source. It may be a huge exaggeration.

You CAN take it with you

12th c. image of St. Cuthbert

St. Cuthbert (c.634-687), briefly mentioned here, never stayed in one place for very long—not even after he died. He grew up near Melrose Abbey, became a monk and was made master of guests in a monastery at Ripon, then returned to Melrose when the monastery was given to someone else.* After a few years he was made prior at Lindisfarne. Before his death he resigned and retired to one of the Farne Islands off the northeast coast of Northumbria. Urged to become Bishop of Lindisfarne, he left the Islands for a few years, but returned when he felt his death was approaching. His body was brought back to the mainland so that he could be interred at Lindisfarne Priory.

In 875, with the threat of Danish Invasion, the monks fled Lindisfarne, taking Cuthbert's remains. The monks and Cuthbert's body wandered for seven years looking for a home. In 883 they were offered a place called Chester-le-Street near Durham, where Cuthbert was re-interred.

In the late 900s, the threat of Danish invasion caused monks to remove the Saint's bones again, carrying them to Ripon over 300 years after he had lived there—but only for a few months. The monks brought the bones back toward Chester-le-Street, but stopped in Durham after having dreams that the saint wished to be interred there. A stone church was built to house the relics. Then came William the Conqueror, campaigning to make sure the north of England feared him, so in 1069 the monks fled with the bones back to Lindisfarne, but shortly after returned to Durham.

William's habit of building massive churches to impress the locals (and perhaps to appease God for William's sins) meant that, by 1104, the bones of Cuthbert could return to Durham to a cathedral that had been built on the site of his original stone church. We are told that it was decided at this time to open the casket they had carted around for so many generations; they discovered two remarkable things. One was that Cuthbert's body had remained uncorrupted (a sign of sanctity). The second thing was a book, now called The Stonyhurst Gospel or St. Cuthbert's Gospel.

It's a tiny bound book, only 5.4x3.6 inches, and was probably not Cuthbert's personal Gospel. It is likely that it was made after his death, and placed with him out of piety at some point during his post-death wandering. It, like Cuthbert, wandered for hundreds of years after its finding, ultimately passing among collectors until it came to the Jesuit Stonyhurst College. The British Library has called it "the earliest surviving intact European book," and purchased it in April 2012 for £9,000,000. They plan to display it alternately in London and Durham.

*That someone was later St. Wilfrid; among other things, Wilfrid became celebrated for his speech at the Synod of Whitby on why Easter should be calculated using the Roman method, not the Irish method. Cuthbert was raised in the Irish tradition, but accepted the Roman method when it became the rule.

Marco! Polo!

Today is the 758th anniversary (according to tradition) of the birth of Marco Polo (1254-1324). Son of a wealthy Venetian merchant who traded with the Middle East, Marco might have simply grown up to follow his father's footsteps, but he instead followed a different set of footsteps: at the age of 17 he accompanied his father and uncle to Asia.

At the time, Marco's father and uncle had just returned from a trip to the East. They brought with them a letter from Kublai Khan of the Mongols (1215-1294), to be delivered to the Pope, requesting 100 missionaries and oil from the lamp of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. In 1275, after a three-year journey, the two Polos and Niccolo's son Marco delivered the oil to the Khan. There, we are told, the Khan took a liking to Marco. Marco returned 24 years later to find Venice at war with Genoa; Marco was imprisoned by Genoan authorities because of his participation in a naval battle, and spent his time in prison dictating an account of his travels. The rest, as they say, is history.

But what about history before Marco?

Trade between East and West at this time benefited from the Mongol Expansion (c.1207-1360), because it broke the monopoly on trade routes enjoyed by the Islamic Caliphate. Marco's family was well situated for these travels. His grandfather, Andrea Polo of San Felice, was noble and well-off. Andrea set up his three sons (Marco, young Marco's father Niccolo, and Matteo*) in commerce. They had offices in Constantinople and at Sudak on the Black Sea. Niccolo and Matteo had met Kublai Khan when, on a trading expedition, they met up with his envoys who were returning from visiting the Khan's brother Hulagu in Persia. The Polos were persuaded to make the journey to Cathay to meet the Khan. It was Kublai's first meeting with Europeans, and he was fascinated by what they had to tell him about Europe and the Latin West. He asked them to take his request to their Pope; he wanted to learn all about Christianity and the liberal arts of the growing university system.

Marco Polo's travels

Upon returning home, the brothers discovered that Niccolo's wife had died, leaving Marco to be raised by relatives. Pope Clement IV had died and a new pope had not yet been chosen. After two more years with still no papal successor in place, the brothers decided they could wait no longer, and headed East with young Marco. They stopped at Acre and consulted with the papal legate Teobaldo Visconti, who gave them letters for the Khan explaining why their commission failed. They continued East.

Not long after, however, they learned that Teobaldo himself had been named pope, and they turned back to Acre and managed to get communications to and from him. Now, as Pope Gregory X (c.1210-1276), he could only offer a couple Dominicans. These Dominicans lost heart in Armenia when they ran into the troops of a sultan, and turned back for home.

The Khan was pleased to see the Venetians, who did not return to Europe for many years. According to Marco's account, not only did he see coal and paper money for the first time, but he was made governor of Yang-chow, with 27 cities under him, for three years, and given several missions by the Khan to visit other areas in Asia and return with information. It was more than 20 years before the Khan gave them permission to return home.

People of his era had a difficult time believing the stories he told. Later scholars had an even more difficult time: why did he never mention chopsticks in all that time? Or the Great Wall? But the Great Wall was a work in progress, much of which was only built after Marco's time there. And perhaps chopsticks weren't an impressive enough difference to bother reporting; after all, his was a Europe still only slowly adopting the use of the fork.

But, embellishments or not, his name is famous—even if children who play it in a swimming pool have no idea who he was. (And some day soon I'll tell you about the "Reverse Marco Polo," Rabban bar Sauma.)

*Half the sources call him "Maffeo"