Tanistry and Authority

Congal Cáech was a king of the Irish province of Ulaid (on the north east coast) in the early 7th century. Cáech means  "squinting" or "half blind." He was so-called because he was stung in the eye by a bee, and according to the Bechbretha this made him ineligible for the position of High King of Tara. His clan demanded that the eye of the beekeeper's son (he was the son of the High King Domnall mac Áedo) be put out to even the score.

This is one of the few hints we get about early Irish kingship eligibility: that the High King must be without blemish.How one could be eligible for kingship seems to follow the system of tanistry. The Tanist is the second-in-command or second-in-line after a ruler, and not necessarily a descendant. Historically, the males of the clan would choose their next leader from among all the righdamhna ("kingly material"), which could include sons of the departed ruler.

This method persisted in Ireland until the early 17th century when English common law replaced it. In Ireland today, the echo of tanistry can be heard in the title of the deputy prime minister, Tánaiste.

The illustration shows the numerous kingdoms of Ireland, with each having its own king, although often neighboring kingdoms banded together for protection from larger alliances. Political marriages between kingdoms also contributed to descendants with legitimate claims to multiple kingdoms, which could help them unite under one ruler.

Irish kings had a different set of responsibilities than other European kings. For one, they did not have the authority to create laws. The laws were worked out by the Brehons, the judges/arbitrators who wrote tracts on what was right and proper for a working society. The kings' job was to support the law, not make it up. During times of emergency a king could create a law, but this was seen as only temporary.

The king was never above the law. He was not always directly subjected to restitution, however: a designated underling would have to suffer the consequences, and would then be compensated monetarily by the king. The king could lose his status, however, if he engaged in "non-kingly" activities such as being seen doing the work of a commoner, acting cowardly in battle, or traveling without a proper retinue.

Although limited in power when it came to the law, kings could collaborate with the church in developing laws. Adomnán of Iona produced a set of laws, the Cáin Adomnáin ("Law of Innocents"), which has the names of several kings attached to it showing heir involvement and support.

The Cáin Adomnáin has been called Europe's first human rights treaty, and is worth taking a closer look...next time.

Early Irish Marriage Law

Early Irish Brehon Law, so-called because it was administered by Brehons (from Old Irish breithem ("judge"), was more interested in proper conduct for social concord rather than punishment for wrongdoing. It was a progressive system that recognized equality in many ways for women not found in other parts of Europe until centuries later.

The approach to marriage was very flexible—something that alarmed the Roman Church very much, which is why they encouraged the Anglo-Norman Invasion in the late 12th century. Several forms of union were recognized as legitimate between a man and a woman.

There were three types of marriage based on property: whether the husband, or the wife, or both equally brought assets to the marriage. Wives could keep control of their property; it did not become their husband's property. A woman could also help to keep property in the family by marrying a cousin, a level of consanguinity that the Roman Church really didn't like to see.

Polygamy (but not polyandry) was also a legitimate form of marriage. The first/principal wife had some interesting advantage in a polygamous family: not only could she simply divorce the husband if she did not like his choice of an additional wife, but she had a three-day period on the arrival of a new wife when she was allowed to beat the new woman (so long as she did not leave a mark, of course!), and the new wife was allowed to scratch back and pull hair.

A man could also have concubines, whose status in the household was much lower than any wives—but it was still a legal status. Marriages in Brehon Law did not require church involvement (although no doubt when Richard de Clare married Diarmait's daughter Aoife he used a Roman ceremony, as in the illustration above, a detail of "The Marriage of Strongbow and Aoife" by Daniel Maclise, c.1854).

Women could even initiate divorce for several reasons:

• Husband too fat for sex.
• Husband hit her hard enough to leave a mark.
• Husband boasted about their sex life in public.

The Gaelic approach to male-female unions was clearly quite different. Rulers' authority and their succession was also quite different, but that's for tomorrow.

Early Irish Law

Early Irish law was called Brehon Law, a system of civil (not criminal) rules, some of which survived until the 17th century when they were replaced with British laws.

It was called Brehon Law because it was administered by Brehons (from Old Irish breithem ("judge"), successors to Celtic Druids who acted as arbitrators in disputes, and questions of compensation and conduct.

Brehon Law recognized equality between sexes and concern for the environment. It was progressive in that it promoted restitution rather than punishment after wrongdoing. Even homicide and bodily harm were recompensed according to an established scale of value, similar to the Anglo-Saxon wergild. Payments were made to the family, not to a civil court. Capital punishment was not part of Brehon Law, unlike many other legal systems before and since, and revenge and retaliation were strongly discouraged.

The clan was the most important social unit, and the property inhabited by that clan was treated as communal when it came to resources such as bee hives, fruit trees, and water mills. The seventh-century Coibnes wisci thairidne ("The Kinship of Conducted Water") discusses the importance of water and why it belongs to all.* Land itself was rarely sold; the highest-ranking lord "rented out" not the land but the right to graze cattle on it.

The manuscripts in the Library of Trinity College, Dublin (sample shown above) offer an extensive look at this early legal system. This particular illustration is part of a discussion of Bechbretha ("bee judgments"). Honeybees were an important part of the economy: people needed honey, and monasteries needed large amounts of beeswax. Bees were protected; bee possession was sacrosanct; but if you came across a swarm of bees (a mass clinging together on a branch, waiting for the secret apian signal to fly and find a new home), you could claim it for your own and remove it for your use.

The Anglo-Norman Invasion in the 1170s started to replace Brehon Law with English Law, but Brehon Law saw a revival in the 1300s as intermarriage between the Anglo-Norman lords and Irish led to Irish-oriented noble families.

Women in marriage had more agency than in Roman Catholic countries at the time, and I'll go into marriage and divorce tomorrow.

*Even in the 20th century, James Joyce has Leopold Bloom ask "How can you own water really?" in Ulysses.

Diarmait Mac Murchada

So the inevitable invasion of Ireland by the Anglo-Norman forces of King Henry II of England was initiated by an invitation from Diarmait Mac Murchada (anglicized as Dermot MacMurrough), the one-time King of Leinster. The illustration of him here is from a copy of Gerald of Wales' Expugnatio Hibernica ("Conquest of Ireland").

Diarmait (c.1110 - May 1171) had an illustrious background. His father, Donnchadh, was King of Leinster. His great-grandmother was descended from Brian Boru. His father died while attacking the King of Dublin in 1115; succession passed to Diarmait's older brother, Enna. When the brother died in 1126, the 16-year-old Diarmait became king.

This was not welcomed by the then-High King of Ireland, Toirdelbach Ua Conchobair (Turlough O'Conor), who saw Diarmait as a potential rival. Turlough sent an ally, Tigernán Ua Ruairc (Tiernan O'Rourke), King of Meath, to harry Leinster and oust Diarmait. Tiernan started slaughtering Leinster livestock to starve the inhabitants. Diarmait was ousted, but Leinster clans brought him back in 1132, where he remained for almost 40 years.

Between 1140 and 1170, Diarmait built Abbeys at Fern and Baltinglass, Killeshin Church, and St. Saviour's Priory. He sponsored numerous convents. He also had two wives—not in succession but concurrently, as allowed in early Irish/Brehon law. (This was another reason why the Roman Church wanted stronger influence in Ireland.) His first wife was the mother of a son who later succeeded Diarmait. His second wife was the mother of a daughter, Aoife.

There was a rumor that Diarmait kidnapped Tiernan's wife, aided by Tiernan's brother who wanted Tiernan out of the way and his kingship of Meath up for grabs. Tiernan must have had issues getting along with others, since the High King actually used Diarmait's help much later to raid Tiernan's lands because Tiernan had become problematic.

In 1166, a different High King was defeated by Ruaidrí Ua Conchobair (Rory O'Conor), who deposed Diarmait by sending Tiernan (again!) to Leinster. Diarmait fled to Wales and sought support from King Henry. Henry did not wish to get directly involved, but gave permission for Diarmait to seek help from the nobility. One who agreed to help was the 2nd Earl of Pembroke, Richard de Clare, to whom Diarmait promised his daughter Aoife (Eva of Leinster) in marriage (and the kingship of Leinster after Diarmait's death).

So began the Norman invasion of Ireland. The military aid was so useful that Diarmait used it to expand his territory to Thomond. Initially it was a Cambro-Norman invasion because it was begun by Welsh lords, but it was soon followed by the Anglo-Norman invasion when Henry's own forces arrived to subdue the island and make sure the Norman lords knew to whom they owed allegiance.

One of the "beneficiaries" of the invasion was the Roman Church, allowing it to bring the Irish Church into conformity. One of the facets of Irish culture that the Church wanted to "fix" was the law that allowed Diarmait to have two wives. This Brehon Law is worth exploring further, and we will do just that next time.

Henry's Invasion of Ireland

The first mass arrival of Normans in Ireland was actually by invitation of Diarmait Mac Murchada, King of Leinster until he was deposed by the High King of Ireland, Ruaidrí Ua Conchobair. Diarmait got military aid from Richard de Clare, the 2nd Earl of Pembroke, with King Henry's permission. In exchange, Pembroke would receive Diarmait's eldest daughter's (Aoife) hand in marriage.

Offering allegiance to Henry for the support, Diarmait led Pembroke's Anglo-Norman forces around to some of the neighboring kingdoms, subduing them within weeks. That was not to be the end of it, however.

Pembroke continued to bring military forces, seizing Dublin and Waterford in 1170. With Diarmait's death in May 1171, Pembroke (by virtue of his marriage to Aoife) declared himself Lord of Leinster. This was too much for the Irish, who planned a counteroffensive, besieging Dublin and attacking the Norman-controlled Waterford and Wexford. The Normans were too strong and entrenched, however.

Five months after Diamait's death, Henry himself landed with a large army to assert control over the Irish and the Anglo-Normans, lest they tried to be too independent. He declared any of the Norman-controlled towns as crown lands and gave Pembroke Leinster as a fiefdom. Many Irish kings submitted, probably hoping to prevent further conquest, but Henry gave Meath to Hugh de Lacey, and William FitzAldhelm got Wexford.

Henry also arranged the Synod of Cashel to reform the Irish Church. Henry had the blessing of the Roman Catholic Church. The Church (especially the Archbishops of Canterbury) wanted to make sure the Irish Church was conforming properly: they had not fully adopted the Gregorian Reforms. Pope Adrian IV in a 1155 papal bull, Laudabiliter, seemed to give Henry encouragement to conquer Ireland in order to bring them to Roman rule:

That Ireland, and indeed all islands on which Christ, the sun of justice, has shed His rays, and which have received the teaching of the Christian faith, belong to the jurisdiction of blessed St. Peter and the holy Roman church is a fact beyond doubt, and one which your nobility recognises.

(Then again, Adrian IV was the only English pope, so he may have had a particular tendency to favor what he considered English causes. Curiously, Laudabiliter is frequently cited and quoted since the 13th century, but no original exists.)

This was the start of eight centuries of English/British unwelcome involvement in Ireland. It was bound to happen anyway, but curious that it was initiated by invitation. Let's go back a little further and see what Diarmait Mac Murchada, King of Leinster, was all about.

William FitzAldhelm, Governor of Ireland

The illustration is a 19th century portrayal of King Henry II of England in Waterford, greeting the Irish delegates whom he intended to place under his rule. Of course he could not be everywhere and preferred to stay in England, so he gave the administration of Ireland over to Anglo-Norman nobles. One of these was William FitzAldhelm (or FitzAdelm, or FitzAudelin, or FitzAldelm).

His family had come over with William the Conqueror in 1066. When Henry II's 1171 attack on Ireland proved successful, Henry sent FitzAldhelm and Hugh de Lacey to receive the allegiance of the King of Connaught, Rory. FitzAldhelm was put in charge of the city of Wexford, but when the Lord of Leinster, "Strongbow" (Richard de Clare, 2nd Earl of Pembroke), died in 1176, FitzAldhelm was made Henry's deputy over the whole of Ireland and ward to the earl's daughter Isabel (one of the wealthiest heiresses in Wales and Ireland).

Unfortunately for FitzAldhelm, Henry was working out how to use his sons to control his Angevin Empire. His youngest, John, was soon to be a teenager, and Henry named John the Prince of Ireland a mere year after FitzAldhelm's rule over the island, leaving FitzAldhelm Wexford and Leinster. As it turns out, however, FitzAldhelm was once again put in charge of Ireland in 1181 as Henry's dapifer ("steward").

Around that time he founded the monastery of St. Thomas theMartyr at Dublin, a monastery of Dromore, and the Abbey of Athassel in Tipperary.

Gerald of Wales gives us a description of FitzAldhelm: 

This FitzAdelm was large and corpulent, both in stature and shape, but of a reasonable height. He was a pleasant and courtly man; but whatever honours he paid to any one were always mingled with guile. There was no end of his craftiness - there was poison in the honey, and a snake in the grass. To outward appearance he was liberal and courteous, but within there was more aloes than honey.

He died in 1204/5 and was buried at the Abbey of Athassel.

How did all this come about? The taking of Ireland, I mean; it wasn't just a matter of Henry saying "Here I am; bow down." Tomorrow we'll take a look at what the Anglo-Norman Invasion of Ireland involved, and what the pope and the Irish Church thought of it.

Prince John in Ireland

Prince John (24 December 1166 - 19 October 1216) had been made Lord of Ireland by his father, Henry II, in the 1177 Council of Oxford. He took a tour of Ireland in the second half of 1185 as a first step to creating a Kingdom of Ireland as part of the Angevin Empire. 

John may have had reason to be bitter from the start. His father had sought the pope's blessing to declare John King of Ireland, but Popes Alexander III followed by Lucius III were not in agreement, so John went as "Lord" instead of his hoped-for title "King." He arrived in Waterford with 300 knights and numerous soldiers and archers in April 1185, which of course caused anxiety among the Irish who saw an army rather than a diplomatic mission.

We have Gerald of Wales to thank for details*: his Topographia Hibernica tells how John was greeted by several Gaelic Irish leaders whose long beards made John and his men first laugh and then abuse the Irish by yanking their beards. On his tour through Ireland, he promised land grants to his retainers, further angering the locals.

His supposed goal of setting up administrative structures to maintain Anglo-Norman rule was a failure. He alienated the Irish, he ran out of money to pay his men (and lost some through desertion as well as in battles against Irish forces), and he had little or no skill as an administrator. His opposition in Ireland was not all Irish, either. Hugh de Lacey was an Anglo-Norman baron who had been made Lord of Meath by Henry years earlier. John complained to Henry that de Lacey prevented John from collecting tributes from the Irish leaders. This may well be true: Lacey had established a firm presence, and John's ham-handed approach to Ireland was disrupting a comfortable, pre-existing arrangement.

The Lord of Meath was not to remain a problem for John, however: he was killed a year later by an Irishman, Giolla Gan Mathiar Ó Maidhaigh. John was immediately sent back on hearing the news to take possession of de Lacey's lands.

It is unlikely that the Anglo-Norman plan to take over Ireland would ever be considered a positive event, but John's feckless attitude on his first tour certainly was not beneficial. Of course, there was already an Anglo-Norman presence (Hugh de Lacey, for example). In fact, there was already an Anglo-Norman "Lord" of Ireland, appointed by Henry years earlier but replaced by John at the Council of Oxford. His name was William FitzAldhelm, who was actually sitting at the Council of Oxford when Henry announced John's appointment to replace William. I'll tell you about him tomorrow.

*The illustration is from a copy of the Topographia: it shows the killing of a white mare that is then made into a stew in which the new king bathes before his courtiers eat the stew. (I wouldn't make this up.)

Instruction of Princes

The British Library contains a unique manuscript, acquired from the Cotton Library, labeled Cotton Julius B XIII. It is the sole known copy of Gerald of Wales' De principis instructione ("Instruction for a Ruler").

Writing Mirrors for Princes was a fairly common theme in the Middle Ages and Renaissance—there was a strong desire for educated men to offer advice to those that would grow up to rule them. There also exists a work by a Carolingian mother, Dhuoda, who wrote a guide specifically for her son.

Gerald draws on other works besides his own experience. He quotes the Bible, Gildas, and the Itinerarium Regis Ricardi ("Journey of King Richard") an account of Richard Lionheart on the Third Crusade.

Gerald had plenty of knowledge of how royals acted as well as strong opinions on how they should. He accompanied young Prince John on a tour of Ireland in 1185. The 19-year-old Prince of Ireland was clearly in need of instruction. Gerald's assessment of John and his brothers makes clear that John's excellence was expected as a future attribute, as opposed to his brothers' already existing admirable qualities.

This is not a generic guide promoting good behavior, but a history of specific incidents in recent history. For example, he clearly lays out as exemplary behavior how Henry II so wisely negotiates with other countries, takes advice from popes and prelates, and tithes to finance the Third Crusade. He lays out the problems when Henry's sons rebelled. He also talks about other rulers, such as Barbarossa "taking the Cross." He also offers negative examples, such as deceptions perpetrated by the enemy during the Crusades, and the rebellions of Henry's sons.

And speaking of negative examples, just how bad was Prince John during the tour through Ireland? How big an impression did he make on the country he was handed? We have a bad opinion already of the time he was king, but how bad was he as a prince? Let's visit John and his first expedition to Ireland next time.

Gerald and Henry's Sons

Gerald of Wales (c.1146 - 1223) wrote about Henry II and his sons, giving a different facet to the most prominent figures in England at the time. One of his character descriptions is of a man who was Henry II's son, his namesake, and his enemy: Henry the Young King, who rebelled against his father. Although Henry tried to usurp his father's throne, Gerald paints an admirable portrait of him:

In peace, and in private life, he was courteous, affable gentle, and amiable, kindly indulgent to those by whom he chanced to be injured, and far more disposed to forgive than to punish the offenders. His disposition was so good that he could never refuse to give anything that was fitting, thinking that no one ought to leave his presence sorrowful, or disappointed of his hopes. In short, he considered that he had lost a day when he had not secured the attachment of many by various acts of liberality, and bound them to him, body and soul, by multiplied favors conferred.

This amiable and generous nature changed when it was time for war:

When in arms and engaged in war, no sooner was the helmet on his head than he assumed a lofty air, and became impetuous, bold, and fiercer than any wild beast. His triumphs were often gained more by his valor than by fortune; and he was in all respects another Hector, son of Priam, except that the one fought on behalf of his father and his country, and the other, alas! was led by evil counsels to fight against both.

Henry's second son, Richard the Lionheart, did not fare so well in Gerald's eyes:

Different as were the habits and pursuits of the two brothers, sprung from the same stock and the same root, each has merited everlasting glory and endless fame. They were both tall in stature, rather above the middle size, and of commanding aspect. In courage and magnanimity they were nearly equal; but in the character of their virtues there v as a great disparity. One was admirable for gentleness and liberality, the other distinguished himself by his severity and firmness. The one had a commendable suavity, the other gravity. One was commended for his easy temper, the other for his determined spirit. One was remarkable for his clemency, the other for his justice. The vile and undeserving found their refuge in the one, their punishment from the other. One was the shield of bad men, the other the hammer to crush them. The one was bent on martial sports, the other on serious conflicts. The one bestowed his favours on foreigners, the other on his own people; the one on all the world, the other on the worthy only. The one's ambition magnanimously compassed the world; the other coveted, to good purpose, what was rightfully his own.

Geoffrey (prince of Brittany) and John (Prince of Ireland), get less attention; John especially seems to get the "we hope he will rise to the excellence of his brothers" treatment:

The Armorican-British and the Irish dominions proclaim the well-merited praises of the two others. Both of them were of rather short stature, a little below the middle height, and for their size were well-shaped enough. Of these, the one is already distinguished by his virtues, and has attained the highest honours; the other will. The one is well versed in military affairs; the other has to be instructed in them. ... The one is already great in action, the other leads us to expect he will be great; for not degenerating from his high origin, he has equaled his most noble brothers in worth as far as his powers admit.

Later in life, Gerald spent his time writing and making a few trips to Ireland and Rome. Some of his works were devotional instruction, but he did write a text designed to advise princes how to act. (I am tempted to think he wrote this because of his time spent with Prince John.) We'll take a closer look at his advice tomorrow.

Itinerary Through Wales

Gerald of Wales (c.1146 - c.1223) provided us with extensive information on Ireland and Wales and England of his time. Serving several Plantagenet kings, he traveled in their service and wrote about what he saw and was told. Two of his several works were the Descriptio Cambriae ("Description of Wales") and the Itinerarium Cambriae ("Itinerary Through Wales"). He claims fairness in his treatment of the subject of his homeland, splitting the Descriptio into two parts, first the virtues of the Welsh, then their vices.

His writing for the Itinerarium through Wales is also better informed than his Topographia of Ireland, since he spent a little time in only a few Irish locations and gathered stories from men he deemed "reliable." He was more familiar with Wales, and he did in fact have an itinerary (see the illustration).

This tour took place while he was accompanying the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1188, preaching to raise a Third Crusade. Gerald writes the Itinerarium almost like a daily journal, recording sights and experiences as he came across them, so it is a more reliable account of day-to-day life in Wales in the last years of the 12th century, and the remnants of Roman Britain:

We went through Caerleon, passing far away on our left Monmouth Castle and the great Forest of Dean, which is across the Wye, but still on this side of the Severn, and which supplies Gloucester with venison and iron ore. We spent the night in Newport. We had to cross the River Usk three times. 

Caerleon is the modern name of the City of the Legions. In Welsh ‘caer’ means a city or encampment. The legions sent to this island by the Romans had the habit of wintering in this spot, and so it came to be called the City of the Legions. Caerleon is of unquestioned antiquity. It was constructed with great care by the Romans, the walls being built of brick. 

You can still see many vestiges of its one-time splendour. There are immense palaces, which, with the gilded gables of their roofs, once rivalled the magnificence of ancient Rome. They were set up in the first place by some of the most eminent men of the Roman state, and they were therefore embellished with every architectural conceit. There is a lofty tower, and beside it remarkable hot baths, the remains of temples and an amphitheatre. 

All this is enclosed within impressive walls, parts of which still remain standing. Wherever you look, both within and without the circuit of these walls, you can see constructions dug deep into the earth, conduits for water, underground passages and air-vents. Most remarkable of all to my mind are the stoves, which once transmitted heat through narrow pipes inserted in the side-walls and which are built with extraordinary skill. [Chapter 5]

But then comes the less reliable (but no less interesting) detail (especially since he says "in our days"):

It is worth relating that in our days there lived in the neighbourhood of this City of the Legions a certain Welshman called Meilyr who could explain the occult and foretell the future. He acquired his skill in the following way. One evening, and, to be precise, it was Palm Sunday, he happened to meet a girl whom he had loved for a long time. She was very beautiful, the spot was an attractive one, and it seemed too good an opportunity to be missed. 

He was enjoying himself in her arms and tasting her delights, when suddenly, instead of the beautiful girl, he found in his embrace a hairy creature, rough and shaggy, and, indeed, repulsive beyond words. As he stared at the monster his wits deserted him and he became quite mad. He remained in this condition for many years. Eventually he recovered his health in the church of St David’s, thanks to the virtues of the saintly men of that place. 

All the same, he retained a very close and most remarkable familiarity with unclean spirits, being able to see them, recognizing them, talking to them and calling them each by his own name, so that with their help he could often prophesy the future.

The story does not end there. He offered numerous instances of Meilyr's ability to see and speak to devils and demons and learn things from them.

Despite the more fanciful anecdotes, as a record of daily life among the Welsh and Normans, it is a valuable account for modern historians.

As I mentioned, he served several Plantagenets, and we'll take a look at what he thought of Henry II and his sons before we move on. See you tomorrow.

Funny Ireland

The Topography of Ireland by Gerald of Wales seems to have been designed to paint the Irish as an ungovernable, crude people in need of conquering, but it is also a collection of fanciful stories of what Gerald "saw" there, but of course were tales told to him by the Hibernians.

"I am aware that I shall describe some things that will seem to the reader to be either impossible or ridiculous.  But I protest solemnly that I have put down nothing in this book the truth of which I have not found out either by the testimony of my own eyes, or that of reliable men found worthy of credence and coming from the districts in which the events took place."

One of his tales about flora and fauna includes the explanation of the barnacle goose.

Another is of the bearded woman (see illustration):

Duvenald, king of Limerick, had a woman with a beard down to her navel, and also, a crest like a colt of a year old, which reached from the top of her neck down her backbone, and was covered with hair. The woman, thus remarkable for two monstrous deformities, was ... in other respects had the parts of a woman; and she constantly attended the court, an object of ridicule as well as of wonder. The fact of her spine being covered with hair, neither determined her gender to be male or female; and in wearing a long beard she followed the customs of her country, though it was unnatural in her. [Chapter 20]

He also tells the story—and this may have the ring of truth—of an island that appears and disappears:

One calm day, a large mass of earth rose to the surface of the sea, where no land had ever been seen before, to the great amazement of the islanders who observed it. Some of them said that it was a whale, or other immense sea-monster; others remarking that it continued motionless, said, "No, it is land". In order therefore to reduce their doubts to certainty, some picked young men of the island determined to approach near the spot in a boat. When however, they came so near to it that they thought they should go on shore, the island sank in the water and entirely vanished from sight. The next day it re-appeared, and again mocked the same youths with the like delusion. At length, upon their rowing towards it on the third day, they followed the advice of an older man and let fly an arrow, barbed with red-hot steel, against the island; and then landing, found it stationary and habitable. [Chapter XII]

The beginning of the story makes one think it will turn into another anecdote of Fastitocalon, but the tales of St. Brendan make me think it is possible that the seafaring Hibernians sailed far enough westward and northward to see a volcanic eruption forming an island, as the 20th century saw the new island of Surtsey form off the southern coast of Iceland.

Gerald had a more kindly attitude toward his homeland of Wales, and that will be our next topic.

The Topography of Ireland

This title is a joke, since Gerald of Wales' Topographia Hibernica ("Topography of Ireland") was mostly history.* It did include a map, seen here. To properly orient the map, you need to see it rotated 90° clockwise; the largest mass is England with Scotland at the top, the middle-sized mass is Ireland, and the small oval is Iceland.

Gerald visited Ireland twice between 1183 and 1186. Although his Welsh heritage put him at odds politically with the Norman kings of England, starting with Henry II, he was open to serving them in other matters. His trips to Ireland were official, serving the royal family as advisor. He used the experience to write two works on Ireland, the second being the Expugnatio Hibernica ("Conquest of Ireland"), the story of Henry's military campaign there. Both works were revised several times during Gerald's lifetime.

He did not travel extensively in Ireland, spending most of his time in Waterford and Cork during the time of the Topographia. Part one of this three-part work is about topography: landscaper, as well as flora and fauna. He is certainly describing things he has not witnessed personally, since he describes the Island of Inishglora, where corpses do not rot, and where you can find generations of people all in a state of perpetual "freshness."

However untrustworthy his descriptions of Ireland may be, the work served an English political purpose by painting a picture of the Irish as primitive and in "need" of governance:

The Irish are a rude people, subsisting on the produce of their cattle only, and living themselves like beasts – a people that has not yet departed from the primitive habits of pastoral life. In the common course of things, mankind progresses from the forest to the field, from the field to the town and to the social conditions of citizens; but this nation, holding agricultural labour in contempt, and little coveting the wealth of towns, as well as being exceedingly averse to civil institutions – lead the same life their fathers did in the woods and open pastures, neither willing to abandon their old habits or learn anything new. They, therefore, only make patches of tillage; their pastures are short of herbage; cultivation is very rare and there is scarcely any land sown. This want of tilled fields arises from the neglect of those who should cultivate them; for theirs are large tracts which are naturally fertile and productive.

Very few sorts of fruit-trees are found in this country, a defect arising not from the nature of the soil, but from want of industry of planting them;

There are also veins of various kinds of metals ramifying in the bowels of the earth, which, from the same idle habits, are not worked and turned to account. Even gold, which the people require in large quantities and still covet in a way that speaks [to] their Spanish origin, is brought here by the merchants who traverse the ocean for the purposes of commerce. They neither employ themselves in the manufacture of flax or wool or in any kind of trade or mechanical art; but abandoning themselves to idleness, and immersed, in sloth, their greatest delight is to be exempt from toil, their richest possession, the enjoyment of liberty.

The Topographia was considered justification for England's treatment of the Irish for centuries.

Before moving on, next time we'll look at some of the more colorful reports he made of Ireland.

*You can see the manuscript online at the National Library of Ireland here.

Gerald of Wales

Gerald of Wales (Giraldus Cambrensis, c.1146 - 1223) was a priest and a writer of history. That could be the introduction for many of the folk mentioned in this blog. Gerald was a bit different, however, in that he was the offspring of very prominent nobility and was employed by royalty for much of his life.

He was of both Norman and Welsh descent, a child of the conquerors and the conquered. Educated at the Benedictine house at Gloucester, he was employed by Becket's successor, Richard of Dover, and trusted to manage affairs in Wales such as abuses of consanguinity laws and Welsh church finances. After revealing the existence of a mistress of the archdeacon of Brecon, Gerald was appointed to replace him. The position had a small estate at Llanddew, allowing Gerald to collect tithes of wool and cheese.

His lifelong goal was to become Bishop of St. Davids in Pembrokeshire, Wales. When his uncle (then Bishop of St. David's) died in 1176, the chapter nominated Gerald. King Henry II rejected Gerald's appointment; he may have thought Gerald would be too independent—Wales was hoping to split from the authority of the Archbishop of Canterbury—and Henry had just got over the troubles he had as a result of Becket's martyrdom. Henry appointed a loyal Norman retainer, Peter de Leia. Gerald was also cousin to Rhys ap Gruffydd, a Welsh lord who was understandably hostile to Norman rule. Peter de Leia's relationship with Gruffydd was less than amiable, and Henry liked it that way.

Gerald's historical account includes this (possible) statement from Henry:

It is neither necessary nor expedient for king or archbishop that a man of great honesty or vigor should become Bishop of St. Davids, for fear that the Crown and Canterbury should suffer thereby. Such an appointment would only give strength to the Welsh and increase their pride.

Gerald consoled himself by leaving the country. He spent a year at the University of Paris, studying and teaching canon law and philosophy. In 1180, back in England and continuing to study theology, Bishop Peter de Leia offered him a minor position in the Bishop's household, which he at first accepted but shortly gave up.

Where he becomes of greater interest to modern scholars is in 1184 when he was asked by King Henry to mediate between the Crown and Rhys ap Gruffydd. After, he was sent with Prince John to Ireland, which led to his first important writing: Topographia Hibernica ("Topography of Ireland," although it was mostly history). Not long after he wrote Expugnatio Hibernica ("Conquest of Ireland"), the story of Henry's military campaign there. Both works were revised several times during Gerald's lifetime. 

This was the start of both his writing career and his work with several kings. We'll pick up with his map of Ireland—and how his writings were influential right into Tudor times—tomorrow.

The Barnacle Goose Myth

One piece of evidence that supported the idea of Spontaneous Generation in the Middle Ages was the case of the barnacle goose. (See the third part of the triptych to the left.)

The barnacle goose (Branta leucopsis*) is a diving bird that flourishes in England and Northern Europe. It weighs from about three to five pounds, and is quite edible. The "myth" part springs from a riddle in the Exeter Book.

My nose was in a tight spot, and I beneath the water,

underflowed by the flood, sunk deep

into the ocean-waves, and in the sea grew

covered with waves from above, my body

touching a floating piece of wood.

I had living spirit, when I came out of the embrace

of water and wood in a black garment,

some of my trappings were white,

then the air lifted me, living, up,

wind from the water, then carried me far

over the seal's bath. Say what I am called.

The answer is, of course, the barnacle goose.

The belief was that the goose, observed coming out of the water after a dive for food, was actually being birthed from the barnacle (see the middle illustration above) which was attached to the "floating piece of wood" of the riddle and whose coloring seemed to be a precursor to the markings of the goose. Barnacles were formed on pilings of docks that were underwater, and no one saw anything creating them, so they must have arisen spontaneously from the rot experienced by wood exposed to water. This matched the theories about Spontaneous Generation.

I alluded in yesterday's post that a pope got involved in a case of Spontaneous Generation. Because the barnacle goose was thought to come from a barnacle that generated underwater, they were fair game (ha!) during Lent. Giraldus Cambrensis (Gerald of Wales) recorded:

Bishops and religious men (viri religiosi) in some parts of Ireland do not scruple to dine off these birds at the time of fasting, because they are not flesh nor born of flesh... But in so doing they are led into sin. For if anyone were to eat of the leg of our first parent (Adam) although he was not born of flesh, that person could not be adjudged innocent of eating meat.

At the Fourth Lateran Council, Pope Innocent III forbade the eating of these geese during Lent, claiming that despite their generation they lived and fed like ducks and so were to be treated as other birds during Lent. (Was this the start of the phrase "If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck..."?)

There was also an idea that they could be born on trees (see the first part of the illustration). In Judaism, Rabbeinu Tam (1100 - 1171) declared that, even if born from trees, they were kosher and should be slaughtered properly like other animals.

I find that I have mentioned and quoted Gerald of Wales many times without giving him his due. We know a lot about his time period (late 12th - early 13th centuries) because of his reporting, which I'll talk about tomorrow. See you soon.

*Quick side note on the scientific name: branta is Latinized from the Old Norse Brandgás, "burnt (black) goose"; the Latin leucopsis = "white" + "faced."

Spontaneous Generation

In the 6th and 5th centuries BCE, Anaximander looked for an origin of life that did not rely on the gods. He theorized that life arose from the "wet" when acted on by the sun. The way that small life forms appeared in puddles gave him the idea that life—including human life—started as an aquatic form and progressed. This has caused some to claim he was a "prophet" of Darwin and others.

His student, Anaximenes, thought there was a primordial slime consisting of earth and water on which the sun worked to form plants and animals—including human beings.

"Spontaneous Generation" was accepted in the Middle Ages, especially after Aristotle became widely available. His History of Animals explained that animals were generated directly from the elements. Here are some translations of his thinking:

...and of these instances of spontaneous generation some come from putrefying earth or vegetable matter, as is the case with a number of insects, while others are spontaneously generated in the inside of animals out of the secretions of their several organs.

 ...

...all testaceans [creatures having a shell] grow by spontaneous generation in mud, differing from one another according to the differences of the material; oysters growing in slime, and cockles and the other testaceans above mentioned on sandy bottoms;

... 

Other insects ... are generated spontaneously: some out of dew falling on leaves, ordinarily in spring-time...; others grow in decaying mud or dung; others in timber, green or dry; some in the hair of animals; some in the flesh of animals; some in excrements: and some from excrement after it has been voided, and some from excrement yet within the living animal, like the helminthes or intestinal worms. 

(See the illustration, where flies spring from the corpse of a quadruped.)

Some writers actually aver that mullet all grow spontaneously. In this assertion they are mistaken, for the female of the fish is found provided with spawn, and the male with milt. However, there is a species of mullet that grows spontaneously out of mud and sand.

Shakespeare refers to spontaneous generation as if it were still a known and accepted occurrence in the Elizabethan Era. "Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the/operation of your sun. So is your crocodile." [Antony and Cleopatra]

Spontaneous Generation was eventually supplanted by the understanding that animals could be extremely tiny (and cause infection, leading to germ theory) and that small eggs or larvae could explain creatures arising from corpses or puddles or slime.

There was one anecdote about the generation of life that required the intervention of a pope to help set people straight. Next time I'll tell you about the barnacle goose myth.

Medieval Germ Theory?

It was Ignaz Semmelweis in the 1840s in Vienna who noticed a link between illness (and death) and unsanitary conditions, specifically a link between women dying during childbirth who were aided by people who also were performing autopsies. He spent years trying to implement a universal handwashing policy. He did not know what was causing the deaths, but he saw a link to something.

Figuring out the cause of disease was a goal for anyone practicing medicine from the beginning of the discipline. Long before germ theory was developed, the miasma theory was proposed by Hippocrates (c. 460 – c. 370 BC): that some form of "bad air" or even "bad water" arising from rotting matter caused diseases like the Black Death, cholera, and other infections. This was an important move away from the theory of supernatural causes of illness. (There was also the idea of an imbalance in the body's natural humors.) The miasma theory allowed infection to pass through a population because of the environment, not from personal contact.

To counter bad air, you would naturally want "good air."  medical faculty of the University of Paris, writing in 1348 to explain the causes of the Black Death, said "The present epidemic or pest comes directly from air corrupted in its substance" and recommends incense which "hampers putrefaction of the air, and removes the stench of the air and the corruption [caused by] the stench."

Earlier, however, there were counters to the miasma theory.

The Classical Era and Middle Ages did have theories of person-to-person contact. Thucydides (c.460BCE - c.400CE) believed that the plague of Athens was being spread by personal contact. Galen (129 - c.200CE) referred to "seeds of plague" in the air. Isidore of Seville also mentioned "plague-bearing seeds." Avicenna (c.980-1037) was widely studied, and he linked the miasma theory with personal contact, believing an ill person could infect others by transmitting the "bad air" through breathing. His example was tuberculosis, and he believed that disease could also be transmitted through dirt and water, anticipating Semmelweis by 800 years.

Recent posts have mentioned Bologna as an important center for medical study, so it is not surprising that it was a professor of Bologna, Tommaso del Garbo (c. 1305–1370), who in 1345 promoted Galen's "seeds of plague" idea in his works

It took Girolamo Fracastoro in 1546, however, to publish De Contagione et Contagiosis Morbis ("On Contagion and Contagious Diseases"), three volumes on different diseases and their avoidance and treatment. He believed that there were particles that could travel through the air or by direct contact.

The idea that these "seeds of disease" were living things (what we call "germs") and traveling from one person to another was not being entertained, simply because there was a long-standing theory that living matter could arise spontaneously from putrefaction, and no one believed in invisible living things floating in the air. The belief that life could spring from rotting organic matter hindered understanding of bacteria already existing in the air around us. As it turns out, there were plenty of examples of Spontaneous Generation; let's talk about those tomorrow.

Theodoric Borgognoni

Speaking of surgery recently, we need to take a look at Theodoric Borgognoni, who pioneered some practices that were ahead of their time. Born in Lucca in 1205 to a physician and teacher, Hugo Borgognoni, he was destined for a medical career. He studied medicine at the University of Bologna. He also became a Dominican, then the personal physician to Pope Innocent IV, was made Bishop of Bitonto, and eventually became Bishop of Cervia.

Although he had ecclesiastical duties, he still practiced medicine and taught. One of his students was later the "father of French surgery," Henri de Mondeville. Borgognoni wrote the Chirurgia ("Surgery") in the mid-13th century, four volumes that cover what was known about surgery at the time, with his own additions. (A copy of the work created c.1300 on vellum was auctioned at Christie's a few years ago; a sample page is illustrated above.)

In the Chirurgia, he advocates many interesting techniques. Broken bones were a serious problem, and Borgognoni explained how to re-align the bones and tie them together with gold or silver wire. He also advocated post-operative massage of the area to aid proper healing.

Much of Chirurgia is similar to a work written 15 years earlier by Bruno da Longoburgo, but since both of them were students of Hugo Borgognoni, that can be expected. Borgognoni the younger, however, has plenty of ideas not found in the other work.

He departed from standard medical beliefs about pus. For centuries, pus bonum et laudabile ("good and laudable pus") in a wound was considered a sign of proper healing. There was some sense to this, because severe infection led to necrotizing tissue, which and looked very different was much worse. Pus was a different symptom, and looked to early doctors much better than the other option. Wounds that showed pus, therefore, would be left open to suppurate to support the healing process.

Borgognoni did not believe that pus in the wound was proper: he advocated cleaning and drying the wound, then suturing it:

"For it is not necessary that bloody matter (pus) be generated in wounds -- for there can be no error greater than this, and nothing else which impedes nature so much, and prolongs the sickness."

He also (which was not a unique idea) used wine to treat a wound. Now we know, of course, that alcohol in wine would help to kill harmful bacteria. Of course, wine for treating wounds did not automatically lead to the idea that a substance in wine was "killing" something in the wound. Wine was a good thing, and its goodness had healing properties—that was the thinking. It would take centuries to develop germ theory. There were, however, small steps in that direction, and I'll explain those tomorrow.

Medicine Men

In the middle of the 14th century, the centers of medical knowledge were the universities at Bologna, Montpellier, and Paris. One of the professors linked to Bologna who trained several future doctors was Taddeo Alderotti.

Alderotti was born in Florence but moved to Bologna where he taught several men like Gentile da Cingoli, the emperor's doctor Bartolomeo da Varignana, and the anatomist Mondino de Luzzi.

Alderotti was a highly reputed doctor in his own right, and patients came from all over Italy to see him, making him a very wealthy man.

Another student at Bologna was Henri de Mondeville. Mondeville (c.1260 - 1320) was French, and studied at Montpellier and Paris before moving to Bologna to study under the prominent surgeon Theodoric Borgognoni, who had some new ideas about treating wounds. After studying under Borgognoni, he went back to the University of Montpellier as a professor of anatomy and surgery. He became royal surgeon to King Philip IV and his son King Louis X.

Mondeville wrote the first French surgical treatise, La Chirurgie ("Surgery"). Intending to write it in five sections, he only completed two from 1306, when he started, to his death in 1320. Some of his statements were opposed to current "wisdom," and it wasn't until centuries later that it was rediscovered in 1892 and Mondeville's ideas were justified.

What was so controversial? His approach to treating wounds, which he learned from Borgognoni. I'll explain the radical ideas of Theodore Borgognoni next time.

Mondino de Luzzi, Anatomist

Successful surgery benefits from knowledge of the body's interior, and the study of anatomy was not always easy to come by. Dissecting human bodies fell out of favor after the Classical Era. One Italian physician did extensive research in anatomy and restored the study of it. His name was Mondino de Luzzi, and he lived and worked in Bologna from c.1270 - 1326.

His father and grandfather were pharmacists, and his uncle taught medicine. Mondino himself taught medicine and surgery at the University of Bologna from 1306 to 1324. In 1316 he published an illustrated manual of details of the inside of the human body (sample to the left). The Anathomia corporis humani ("Anatomy of the human body") was the first of its kind.

He theorized a hierarchy of body parts based on what he considered most important. The abdomen was the "least noble" part of the body, and so should be dissected first. The thorax came next, and last was the head with its "higher and better organized" structures (the organs of the senses: eyes, ears, mouth). He also discussed different methods of dissection between simple versus complex structures, like muscles and arteries versus eyes. When dissecting muscles, he suggested letting the cadaver desiccate, rather than mess with a decaying cadaver. The Anathomia was a manual to explain Mondino's proper methods for dissection.

That doesn't mean he was right about everything. He claims the liver has five lobes, the stomach is round and its internal lining is where sensation happens and the external layer is where digestion takes place. He apparently never found an appendix in a cavern, even though he examined many intestines. He says the heart has three chambers, not four. Still, the text became a standard in medical knowledge for 300 years.

Mondino wasn't much interested in pathology of disease, which is just as important to medicine as understanding how the physical; body works, if not more so. Fortunately, there were others—contemporaries of Mondino's, in fact—of whom we shall speak...tomorrow.

Surgery in the Middle Ages

The Middle Ages saw illness as an imbalance in the humors of the body. Sometimes that could be treated by changing the diet. In the case of some illnesses, it might be determined that the body had too much of the "hot, wet" humor, blood, for which the treatment was to drain some of it.

Blood-letting was the simplest surgical procedure, but medieval surgeons were eager to accomplish more. Part of the history of surgery in Western Europe was tied to the needs of warfare. Consider John Bradmore's efforts to remove an arrow from Henry V. Another surgeon connected to royalty was John Arderne, the expert on a very particular and painful physical problem that he treated with surgery.

Monasteries and other religious organizations were more educated than the general population, and their access to books meant knowing more about medicine. There was one branch of medicine they avoided, however, even though the Egyptian and Greeks practiced it: dissection and surgery. The church was squeamish about surgery because it shed blood (and could lead to infection and death). The Fourth Lateran Council of 1215 prohibited clerics from surgery or any practice that shed blood. Dissection of corpses was also frowned on.

Lay people, however, continued to expand knowledge of anatomy. The Italian Cronica of Salimbene di Adam (1221 - c.1290) tells the story of an epidemic that was killing men and chickens. A physician of Cremona discovered through dissection that the chickens had abcesses in their hearts. The corpse of a human victim was dissected; the same abcesses were found. The physician put out a pamphlet warning people against eating chicken or eggs, assuming that they were causing the spread of the disease.

Italy was where great strides in anatomy and surgery took place. The Anatomical Theatre of Padua, begun in 1595, was the first permanent anatomical theater in the world, where students watched their teachers dissect bodies to learn human anatomy. Anatomical dissection in Italy had begun long before that, however. For that story, we have to look at Italian physician Mondino de Luzzi (c.1270 - 1326), and the Anathomia corporis humani of 1316. We'll look into him next time.

Humorism

Trying to understand biology had many false starts. You probably have some idea of "humors" and the adjectives cold, hot, wet, and dry. These four provided a nice symmetry, and as you can see in the illustration, they also fit with the foursome of elements.

Other cultures came up with different paradigms. Indian Ayurveda medicine believed in three humors (tissues, waste, and dosha, "that which can cause problems") and five elements (adding "space" to the four seen here).

These qualities were supposed to explain the functioning of the body as a balanced mixture. An unhealthy state was the result of the balance being thrown off, the excess or absence of one of the humors.

The arrangement familiar to the West likely started with Hippocrates (although there were others around his time who also expressed ideas about the four elements), who systematized the idea of different substances being balanced in humans:

The Human body contains blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. These are the things that make up its constitution and cause its pains and health. Health is primarily that state in which these constituent substances are in the correct proportion to each other, both in strength and quantity, and are well mixed. Pain occurs when one of the substances presents either a deficiency or an excess, or is separated in the body and not mixed with others. [On the Nature of Man, attributed to either Hippocrates or his son-in-law, Polybus]

Galen furthered this theory, tying it to seasons and stages of life. For instance, a child corresponded to spring. Blood was hot and wet, which corresponded to spring. Yellow bile, hot and dry, corresponded to summer, corresponding with the life stage of a young man, and so on.

The humors could also influence personalities; one Greek text put it thusly:

• The people who have red blood are friendly. They joke and laugh about their bodies, and they are rose tinted, slightly red, and have pretty skin.
• The people who have yellow bile are bitter, short tempered, and daring. They appear greenish and have yellow skin.
• The people who are composed of black bile are lazy, fearful, and sickly. They have black hair and black eyes.
• Those who have phlegm are low spirited, forgetful, and have white hair. [from link]

These attributes were not predictive, like astrology. If a person's manner changed, it could be because the mix of humors in him had changed.

Humorism, or humoral theory, "explained" so much about physical health and temperament for 2000 years. The 1600s brought more exploration via surgery and the use of microscopes to better understand the function of the organs of the body and the fluids inside it. With the advent of germ theory, proposed in 1546 and expanded in the 18th century, the idea of humors fell by the wayside. 

Of course, there was much more to medical treatment in the Middle Ages than just fiddling with the balance of humors. Sometimes you had to get out the knives. Let's talk about medieval surgery tomorrow.

The Maintenance of Health

The modern Italian word for a notebook is taccuino. It comes from the medieval (and later) popularity of the Tacuinum Sanitatis. That name is a Latinized version of the Arabic Taqwīm aṣ‑Ṣiḥḥa ("Maintenance of Health"). It was written in the 11th century by Ibn Butlan of Baghdad, a physician and Christian theologian during the Abbasid Era.

The original was organized in synoptic tables: a way to present data in a simple and condensed manner, previously used for astrological tables. Ibn Butlan used them to present not just ways to treat illness and to maintain health, but also ways to prepare food and how and what to grow for health. Later manuscripts were lavishly illustrated, especially after the 14th century. (The illustration is of a facsimile edition made in 1986.)

Ibn Butlan set out the essential elements of health and well-being:

• sufficient food and drink in moderation
• fresh air
• alternations of activity and rest
• alternations of sleep and wakefulness
• secretions and excretions of humors
• the effects of states of mind

If one is not paying attention to these elements, illness occurs.

The Tacuinum includes lists of many vegetables, fruits, nuts, and herbs that are good for treating certain conditions. It also includes the dangers of excess consumption. As the manuscript was copied and distributed, changes were made, and not every copy includes every list. Some added remedies that were not in the original.

The word "humors" was italicized in Ibn Butlan's list because I wanted to draw attention to it. I've ignored discussing the medieval idea of humors for over a decade because I assumed people have already heard of them and I want this blog to focus on all the things that are not generally known. Of course, the details of humors are probably worth talking about. See you tomorrow.

Sugar!

Our teeth would no doubt be better off if this had never been discovered, but Pandora's box was opened long ago. Different species of sugarcane were being harvested in the Indian subcontinent, New Guinea, Southeast Asia, and other places long before the Common Era.

An admiral of Alexander the Great learned of sugar on a campaign in India, so it was inevitable that sugar would make it to the Mediterranean area by traders. Pliny the Elder describes it in his Natural History, but not as a food:

Sugar is made in Arabia as well, but Indian sugar is better. It is a kind of honey found in cane, white as gum, and it crunches between the teeth. It comes in lumps the size of a hazelnut. Sugar is used only for medical purposes.

Crusaders brought sugar back to Europe from the Middle East, calling it "sweet salt." It was a common sweetener during the reign of Henry II, and Edward I imported a lot. Until the 1300s, it was affordable only by the wealthiest.

Venice saw its value and set up manufacturing in Lebanon, becoming the chief sugar distributor in 15th century Europe. Sugar was introduced to the Canary Islands and Madeira, after which Europe could get it more easily (but not necessarily cheaply). In the same year that Columbus sailed westward on his maiden voyage to the New World, Madeira produced 3,000,000 pounds of sugar.

Part of the allure of sugar was its reputed health properties. The Tacuinum sanitatis ("Maintenance of Health") of the 11th century has this advice about sugar:

Ask the grocer for refined sugar which is hard, white as salt, and brittle.  It has a cleansing effect on the body and benefits the chest, kidneys and bladder...It is good for the blood and therefore suitable for every temperament, age, season and place.

If it's that good for ill bodies, imagine what it could do for a body already healthy? There was plenty of inducement to enjoy sugar for its "healthful" effects.

You might guess that the Tacuinum sanitatis—considering its early provenance—was not a European text, and you'd be right. Let me tell you more about it tomorrow.

Medieval Treats

Besides sweet concoctions like dragges, medieval cooks prepared things like mincemeat and apple pie. Some cook books survive from early on, such as the Forme of Cury from the kitchens of Richard II.

For desserts, common ingredients were fruits, ginger, honey, spices and wine to sweeten things, but sweet and savory were often mixed. The Forme of Cury has a recipe for pork tartletts that includes currants. Fabulous Feasts, a collection of updated recipes from old manuscripts by Madeleine Palmer Cosman, offers a recipe for quince sauce with almonds, cloves, ginger, sugar, and wine starts with beef broth. A plum and currant tart from the same book starts with the marrow of four large beef bones! Here is one of the more intriguing combinations:

Perys Cofyns ("Pear Coffins")

This has three distinct steps: making the pears into "coffins" or "coffers" to hold the filling, cooking lentils (!) to supplement the berry filling, steaming the berries.

Step 1 — Start with 10 fresh hard pears, the juice of a lemon, and 3/4 teaspoon cinnamon. Cut the pears lengthwise, scoop out the core leaving about 1/2 inch pear wall. Sprinkle with cinnamon. Bake at 3508° for 5-10 minutes; do not let them get too soft. Set aside to cool.

Step 2 — Prepare the lentils. Rinse the dried lentils and place in a pot of water with a stalk of finely chopped celery, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/4 cup finely chopped dates, 1/2 teaspoon dried basil. Cover with beef broth. Bring to boil and cook 15-20 minutes until lentils are just tender but doubled in size.

Step 3 — Steam the berries. Rinse 1 cup raw cranberries, remove stems.* In pot with water, bring berries and 2 tablespoons sugar or honey to boil. When 1/3 of berries have popped open, remove from heat.** Cool the berries.

Put 1 tablespoon of lentil mixture into pears and top with the cranberries.

An interesting use of lentils to supplement the berry filling, but of course the lentils also include dates for additional sweetness.

As mentioned above, there were several ways to introduce sweetness into food, honey being very popular. Was sugar difficult to come by? Let's talk about then history of sugar in Medieval England tomorrow.

*The original recipe calls for "bog berries"; not being sure what was meant, Cosman substitutes New World cranberries.

**The medieval manuscript warns that the berries popping can spurt boiling water upwards, so do not lean over the pot too closely.

Dragges

When Margery Kempe (c.1373 - c.1438) dictated the story of her mystic experiences, she had no idea that someone would append a recipe to the end of it. The recipe was illegible when the manuscript was found in 1934 until multispectral-imaging technology was used to make the words clear. The reason for adding this recipe to this manuscript has caused some furrowed brows, and there are two theories. Here is a translation:

For Phlegm take –

Sugar candy, sugar plate*, sugar with

Aniseed, fennel seed, nutmeg, cinnamon,

Ginger [...] and licorice. Beat them

together in a mortar and make them in all

manner of food and drinks and dry first and last eat it.

The "For Phlegm" seems clear: this is a recipe for dragges, a sweet mixture intended to be medicinal. At one point in her life, Margery came down with the "flux"; this was probably dysentery. She was so ill that a priest was summoned to give her Last Rites because she feared she was near death. Dragges was intended to be a cure for many ills. A well-meaning scribe may have decided to add this recipe to help people avoid her illness in the future.

There is another credible theory, however, put forth in 2018 by Laura Kalas.

Dr. Kalas' argument is that the reason for the existence of this particular confection becomes clear when you look at the references to "sweetness" in her writing (and the writings of other mystics). Besides her conversations with God, she describes the sensations she experiences during her mystic episodes, which include sensations of sweetness. She asks God how she might make her love of God as swet to þe as me thynkyth þat thy loue is vn-to me ("as sweet to you as I think your love is to me"). She describes her experience with God as "sweet dalliance."

As a recipe for digestive dragges, or dragées, it is rich with sugar and spice, suggesting a wealthy site of monastic holiness and health. It thus offers a lens through which to explore the sweetness of confection and divine love in the Book. The hot spices, used to correct a cold and moist physiological constitution, are at the same time a means of stoking the hot fire of love that is played out in the Book. But the recipe imbues more than metaphorical signification. In the Middle Ages, the moral properties of food were imbricated with its ingestion. In consuming a foodstuff, one would take on some of its associated properties (the Eucharistic wafer as an obvious example). [Link to her article]

So...recipe for flux/phlegm, or reminder of the sweetness connected to spiritual revelation? In a nod to social media memes, "why not both?"

Now I'm thinking of sweet things, and since we are on the leading edge of the holiday season (some would say we are fully embroiled in it), let's look at some sweet medieval recipes for holiday entertaining...next time.

*"sugar plate" was a moldable form of sugar paste. I found an Elizabethan recipe here.