Thursday, October 24, 2013

Evolution of Witchcraft in Art and Literature: Part One, Late Medieval



It's almost Halloween! To celebrate, here is the first in a two part series looking at the evolution of late medieval and renaissance perceptions of witches, which is one of my favorite subjects. Enjoy!

In the midst of the medieval world was a growing fear of harmful magic that would soon lead to the massive execution and torture of men and women accused of witchcraft. Yet magic, both its helpful remedies and harmful effects was nothing new to the late medieval society. With the recovery of ancient texts on magic, the spread of the printing, and earlier medieval literature, the idea of magic and witchcraft during the late middle ages stood on a strong foundation of past works. Although changing political and religious spheres undoubtedly played a role in helping shape the idea of witchcraft, the literature and art circulating in the Renaissance became an integral part of society, both reflecting and shaping the perception of witchcraft.  
With the Renaissance era as a time of intellectual and artistic innovation and brilliance, the predominant belief in what can now be seen as superstitious, almost stands in a stark contrast. Yet, as historian Joseph Klaits notes, it is perhaps this very culture that was ripe for a formation of the witch phenomenon, stating that the rediscovery of ancient works on magic, as well as an idea of practical magic “produced an environment favorable to the crystallization of the witch stereotype.” [1]With literature serving to both reflect and influence society, using it as a focal point can help illuminate this environment.

Thus it is to these earlier works, that we must turn in order to uncover the evolving medieval attitudes towards magic and witchcraft. Early literature of the Middle Ages that involved magic often associated it with the courtly values of romance and chivalry. In early romance fictions such as those of Marie de France and Chrétien de Troyes, magic serves a multitude of purposes, as at times it is invoked to help heal a wounded knight, while in others, it serves as a challenge. In Marie de France's Guigemar, for instance, Guigemar is bestowed a magical wound in which he can “never find a cure, nor may any herb, root, doctor, or potion ever heal.” [2] It is only until he falls into the hands of a lady in which he is healed as she brings “water in golden basins, washed his wounded thigh, then removed the surrounding blood with a fine piece of white linen and bound it tightly.”[3] It is with her loving care that he is able to be healed, and thus Guigemar demonstrates magic being used to both inflict harm upon someone, as well as a healing agent. Though seemingly disconnected from the ideas of witchcraft, this early work provides an excellent example of how magic in a fictional setting mirrored the realities of society. A 15th century document found in the Wolsthurn Castle shows how the idea of curing someone with magic was not only accepted, but actually practiced. Scholar Richard Kieckhefer gives the following description of the handbook:
It contains instructions for almost every aspect of running a household. It tells how to prepare leather, make soap or ink, wash clothes, or catch fish...the compiler tells how to diagnose and treat fevers, ailments of the eyes, and other medical problems...the book at hand contains elements we can call magic. It recommends taking the leaves of a particular plant as a remedy for ' fever of all sorts. [4]

Although Keickhefer points out that this particular remedy would “count as science” and that the inclusion of writing Latin words on the leaves would “count as religion,” he goes on to argue how these sort of procedures may actually be a sort of magic, stating that “magic enters in with the notion that the disease itself has a kind of personality and can respond to a command.” [5] Thus it is clear how magical remedies portrayed in stories, even those as early as the 12th century story of Guigemar could have been both a reflection of what was attempting to be done in reality, as well as an influential source for the practical use of magic.

Earlier ideas of magic, therefore, provide a fascinating link to the opinion of magic circulating in the 14th and 15th centuries in Europe, which placed magic not in the court, but in the hands of a harmful witch. Literature and art played an important role of this transition, as it slowly began depicting the ideas of demonic magic and necromancy that would eventually become attributed to witchcraft.[6] Wirnt von Gravenberg's Arthurian romance, Wigalois,[7] tells the tale of Gawain's son who, through a series of challenges must seek out and prove his worth to his father. One such challenge arises in the form of a demonic magician and results in what scholar James Schultz describes as a “lengthy and explicit contest between demonic magic and divine providence [which] can be found in Arthurian romance only in Wigalois.[8] The story of Wigalois, and its inclusion of a magician who has explicit connections with the devil, stands as an excellent example of the demonic ideas that were beginning to become an integral part of literature and society. As a 13th century Arthurian tale, Wigalois stands as a sort of bridge between how magic had been treated in the past Arthurian tales of Chrétien de Troyes and Marie de France and the upcoming demonic magic associated with witchcraft.
An image similar to Necromancy's Messenger
With the role of magicians changing to include the aid of demons, a growing concern and practice of necromancy soon found its way into the early Renaissance. Although medieval magic certainly did not lack a dark or sinister side to it, the art of necromancy dramatically shifted from medieval magic as it included the conjuring of spirits or demons in order to create illusions, inflict harm on others, or use divination to gain knowledge of the past or future. [9] We begin to see the inclusion of the necromancer's art in such works as the 1355 pen and ink drawing published in Guillaume de Deguileville's The Pilgrimage of the Life of a Man.[10] This piece, entitled Necromancy's Messenger Shows the Pilgrim how Spirits are Raised, gives insight to the attributes of necromancy in the late medieval era, depicting the messenger of Necromancy as enclosed in a circle with figures or rune-like characters surrounding him. He holds a sword and stands inside the circle with treasure, while the demon he has raised stands just outside of it. The pilgrim stands to the left of all this, watching and learning.[11] This piece has several interesting points. For instance, it gives the reader of Deguileville a concrete image of the art of necromancy and its involvement with protective circles, treasures, and demons. More interesting however, is the notion that this piece depicts necromancy as something to be taught and learned. If the messenger, with all his treasures, sword, and assumed power was not enough to allure the viewer into the art, the image of the pilgrim learning and absorbing all of this hints at man's fascination and enticement of necromancy within the image itself. Thus images like this not only reflect the sort of actions already associated with magic, but also serve to suggest how art influenced medieval attitudes of fear or excitement towards demonic magic.

The idea of demonic magic used to lay harm on another is absolutely central to the formation of witchcraft. Soon, the idea that magic or sorcery could be performed without the assistance of the devil became obsolete. Klaits suggests the image of the witch began to solidify in 1398 when the, “University of Paris declared devil-aided malefice tantamount to heresy.”[12] Klaits suggests that when other authorities followed suit, “authorities combined the doer of malefice with the worshiper of Satan.” [13] It is clear how art depicting the conjuring of demons, as well as popular literature portraying harmful magicians helped influence this inability to separate magic from devilry. Furthermore, in looking at the art and literature circulating during the 15th century, it is clear how much influence it had over important manuscripts such as the Bull of Innocent VIII and what is possibly the most instrumental handbook to the witchcraft phenomenon, The Malleus Maleficarum.
For instance, in the 1484 Bull Summis desiderantes, Innocent VII states
…many persons of both sexes, heedless of their own salvation and forsaking the catholic faith, give themselves over to devils male and female, and by their incantations, charms, and conjurings, and by other abominable superstitions and sortileges, offences, crimes,…afflict and torment men and women. [14]

Waldensians Worshipping the Devil

This statement illuminates how the idea of devilry is firmly situated in the act of magic. Some of the most powerful images and literature that could have influenced this Bull involve the heretical group of Waldensians. The 1470 art piece entitled Waldensians Worshiping the Devil printed in Johannes Tinctor's Treatise against the Sect of the Waldensians blends the diabolical with the heretical.[15] In this image, the heretical group of Waldensians stand around the devil, who has the appearance of a goat. One worshiper kneels ready to kiss the goat on the anus, while others stand around watching and worshiping. Because devil aided malefice had been deemed heretical in the late 14th century, images such as this, which promotes the devil and the heretic together, undoubtedly not only helped shape the devil worshiping we see in Innocent VIII's Bull, but also promoted the picture of the witch as part a group.[16] The idea of witches meeting in groups to worship the devil is later seen in the Malleus Maleficarum, which, upon describing how witches make the pact with the devil states:
Now, the method of profession is in twofold. One is a solemn ceremony, like a solemn vow. The other is private, and can be made to the devil at any hour alone. The first method is when witches meet together in conclave on a set day, and the devil appears to them in the assumed body of a mad, and urges them to keep faith with him. [17]

With images encouraging the idea of heretics such as the Waldensians worshiping the devil in large groups, heretical witchcraft soon adopted the same image. In addition to this worship, however, was an inclusion of the sort of relationship with the devil similar to that of the necromancer. This passage from The Malleus Maleficarum shows that by the late 15th century, witchcraft included both ideas associated with that of necromancy, as well as heretics that were previously portrayed in both art and literature.





[1]  Klaits, Joseph. Servants of Satan: The Age of the Witch Hunts. (Maryland: Indiana University Press. 1985), 4
[2] Marie de France. The Lais of Marie de France. (London: Penguin Books. 1986), 44.
[3] Marie de France. The Lais of Marie de France, 48.
[4] Kieckhefer, Magic in the Middle Ages. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1989), 4.
[5] Kieckhefer,  Magic in the Middle Ages, 4

[6] Klaits, Servants of Satan, 35
[7] Kieckhefer,  Magic in the Middle Ages, 112
[8] Thomas, Neil. Wirnt von Gravenberg's Wigalois: intertextuality and interpretation. (Cabridge: Boydell and Brewer. 2005), 72.
[9] Kieckhefer, Magic in the Middle Ages, 158.
[10]  Zika, Charles. The Appearance of Witchcraft. (New York: Routledge. 2007), 53
[11] Necromancy's Messenger Shows the Pilgrim how Spirits are Raised, pen and ink colored drawing on vellum (1355) in Zika, Charles. The Appearance of Witchcraft, 54.
[12] Klaits, Servants of Satan, 38
[13] Klaits, Servants of Satan, 38
[14] Kramer, Heinrich and James Sprenger. The Malleus Maleficarum. (New York: Dover Publications, Inc. 1971), xLiv
[15] Workshop of the Master of the Dresden Hours, Waldensians Worshiping the Devil. 1470, in Zika, The Appearance of Witchcraft, 62.
[16] Zika, The Appearance of Witchcraft, 59.
[17] Kramer, Sprenger. The Malleus Maleficarum, 99.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

The Creation Stories of Narnia and Middle Earth


   It probably won't come as a surprise to you that Tolkien's creation story for Middle Earth, "Ainulindale," and C.S. Lewis' novel about the beginning of Narnia, The Magician's Nephew closely resemble each other. Like many creation myths, both Narnia and Middle-earth start out in a sort of 'nothingness' and both tales explain how the material and spiritual world come into being. 
Pauline Baynes
But both Tolkien and Lewis are particularly interested in the presence of evil during creation and especially the presence of music during creation. For both Narnia and Middle earth are sung into creation and music and harmony play an essential role in their worlds. 
   There are, however, important differences in each creation story. As the narrator in The Magician's Nephew is quick to point out, “For what you see and hear depends a good deal on where your standing” (125). Although there are clear similarities in the way each author describes his world's creation, there is an important and fundamental difference in “where one is standing” in each text. Tolkien's “Ainulindale” places the reader among Illuvatar and the Ainur, and internal growth within the world's creators plays a significant role. In Lewis' The Magician's Nephew however, the reader is placed alongside Digory and Polly who visit Narnia as outsides and are thus external to its creation.  

breathing2004
From the start of Tolkien's “Ainulindale” we are invited to learn more about Middle Earth's creators than Middle Earth itself.  The Ainur's music is ultimately revealed to be the world “foreshadowed and foresung”(20), but “Ainulindale” is largely about the Ainur's experience of creating the music. Unlike The Magician's Nephew, which describes the harmonious singing and Narnia's creation as “two wonders happen[ing] at the same moment” (99), Middle Earth (both the vision and the tangible world) is not revealed to the Ainur until they have a deeper understanding of themselves and of Illuvatar. It is clear that they must first grow together through music and learn more than “that part of the mind of Illuvatar from which he came” (15). As they do so, they are described as coming “to a deeper understanding, and increas[ing] in unison and harmony” (15). This harmonizing is integral to the creation of the world, for it is only after this initial music that Illuvatar begins to “declare to them a mighty theme, unfolding to them things greater and more wonderful than he had yet revealed” (15). Middle Earth's creation is thus founded in a growing knowledge of Illuvatar. 
Narnia, however, is fundamentally different than Middle Earth in that it is but one world among many. As such, Digory and Polly themselves are external to it. Unlike the Ainur who come to know much of illuvatar and are told much of “what is, what was, and is to come” (18) in the world, the children and their party enter Narnia quite literally in the dark. They do not take an active part in creating Narnia, but rather hear a voice singing that “seemed to come from all directions at once” (98) and watch as “a thousand, thousand points of light leaped out” (99). Illuvatar may have direct contact with the Ainur before Middle Earth is created, but Aslan lets the children witness Narnia's creation from the outside, revealing himself only after the world of Narnia takes shape. This has two effects that are very different from what we see in “Ainulindale:"The first is that unlike the Ainur, the children can see that Narnia is being brought to life with music. For, just as the singing voice creates “the mightiest and most glorious sound it had yet produced, the sun arose” (101).  
dreamsofalostspirit
The second effect is the feeling evoked when the children first see Aslan. The narrator describes, “The earth was of many colours: they were fresh, hot, vivid. They made you feel excited; until you saw the Singer himself, and then you forgot everything else” (101). We are not asked to come to know Aslan first and feel closer to him because of his creation (as the Ainur feel closer to the mind of Illuvatar after seeing the vision for his Children). But instead to see Narnia first in order to more easily recognize Aslan's magnificence and power.


  Digory and Polly not only learn of Aslan and Narnia differently than the Ainur learn of Illuvatar and Middle Earth, but they have an equally different experience with the creation of evil. The children expose Narnia to evil by bringing in Jadis. But in “Ainulindale” the evil of Melkor is weaved within the creation of the world itself. As the music progresses, Melkor seeks “to increase the power and glory of the part assigned to himself” (16), creating immediate discord among the Ainur. Illuvatar allows for within its very conception. 
dreamsofalostspirit
Melkor to sing and does not directly stop the discord from “spread[ing] ever wider” (16). Jadis embodies a similar evil from the outset of the novel, but once she enters Narnia, it is clear Aslan feels that he must protect Narnia from her, and that it is “Adam's race that has done the harm”(137), suggesting that Jadis does not belong in Narnia at all. Illuvatar, however, does not try to eliminate Melkor altogether. Rather he combats Melkor with his own second and third theme, knowing that in doing so he not only creates a music that “ gathered power and had new beauty” (16), but actively blends evil into the creation of the world. The two musics of the third theme is illustrative of this: as the loud, vain, and unharmonious music gains volume against the beautifully somber one, its “most triumphant notes were taken by the other and woven into its own solemn pattern” (17). Evil is thus not brought into Middle Earth as Jadis is brought to Narnia, but is brewed within its very conception.


Emma Guild
   

Sunday, August 25, 2013

I'm Getting Published!



  Just wanted to share the news that an article of mine will be appearing in the latest issue of Silver Leaves! Silver Leaves is a Tolkien studies journal that has featured scholarly and creative work on topics ranging from the Inklings, Dragons, and Fantasy art/artists. In the past, scholars like Tom Shippey, Michael C. Drout, Brian Sibley and Peter S. Beagle have contributed and I feel honored to be a part of this year's issue. My article is a short piece comparing the Rivendell Elves of the published Hobbit and its original manuscript. Fellow Mythgardian and Potterhead Kris Swank (who also writes regularly for the Hog's Head) is having 4 different poems published as well!

   Issue #5 of Silver Leaves on The Hobbit is being released this September. I hope some of you get the chance to read it!



Wednesday, July 3, 2013

"Honour to the Lincoln Green!": Robin Hood in the Poems of John Keats and John Hamilton Reynolds

mlpeters
  Pages Unbound is hosting another reading event! This time, it's on the legend of Robin Hood. Their last one on C.S. Lewis produced some great book reviews and analysis (my own contribution can be found here). This one is only a week long event, but already some great reviews of modern Robin Hood tales and re-tellings are showing up over on their page.
  Personally, I love it when Robin Hood pops up in a story. Among legendary figures, I think he stands out tremendously. Not only is he a more ordinary and down to earth figure than say, Beowulf or King Arthur, but he's a downright fun one. As much as I love them, a surprise appearance from any other legendary hero in a novel just doesn't give me that happy jolt in the stomach that Robin Hood seems to do. I think it's far from a coincidence that two of my all time favorite novels, Ivanhoe and The Once and Future King, both feature a Robin Hood character.
 
   And so I don't find it surprising at all that my favorite poet, John Keats once wrote a poem about Robin Hood. (If you haven't read any John Keats yet please, please do so now.) As a Romantic poet, Keats is often studied with poets like Wordsworth and Shelley, but his love for Faerie and folklore (which shines in poems like La Belle Dam Sans Merci and re-tellings of Medieval tales like Isabella) sets him far apart. His poem on Robin Hood was written in 1818, in response to his good friend and fellow poet, John Hamilton Reynolds, who wrote and sent him these three sonnets celebrating Robin Hood:

I.

Robin the outlaw! Is there not a mass
Of freedom in the name? – It tells the story
Of Clenched oaks, with branches bow’d and hoary,
Leanng in aged beauty o’er the grass;--
Of dazed smile of cheek of border lass 
Listening ‘gainst someold gate at his strange glory;
And of the dappled stag, stuck down and gory,
Lying with nostril wide in green morass.

It tells a tale of forest days—of times
That would have been most precious unto thee:
Days of undying pastoral liberty:--
Sweeter than music old of abbey chimes—
Sweet as the virtue of Shakepearian rhymes—
Days, Shadowy with the magic green-wood tree!




II.

The trees in Sherwood forest are old and good,
   The grass beneath them now is dimly green;
   Are they deserted all? Is no young mien
With loose-slung bugle met within the wood:
No arrow found--foil'd of its antler'd food,
   Struck in the oak's rude side? is there nought seen,
   To mark the revelries which there have been
In the sweet days of merry Robin Hood?

Go there, with summer, and with evening--go,
   In the soft shadows like some wandering man,
And thou shalt far amid the forest know
   The archer men in green, with belt and bow,
   Feasting on phesant, river-fowl, and swan,
With Robin at their head and Marian.



III. 

With coat of Lincoln-green, and mantle too,
   And horn of ivory mouth, and buckle bright,
   And arrows winged with peacock feathers light,
And trusty bow well gathered of the yew,--
Stands Robin Hood: and near, with eyes of blue
   Shining thro' dusk hair, like the stars of night,
   And habited in pretty forest plight,--
His green-wood beauty sits, young as the dew.

Oh gentle tressed girl! Maid Marian!
   Are thine eyes bent upon the gallant game
   That stray in the merry Sherwood? thy sweet fame
Can never die. And thou, high man,
Would we might pledge thee with thy silver can
Of Rhenish in the woods of Nottingham.


  These three sonnets could definitely be read as one continuing poem. The first sonnet describes Robin Hood as a story, a tale of old set in an earlier, idyllic time and place, a time of "undying pastoral liberty." The second sonnet picks up right where the first one leaves off, but the "magic green wood tree" of the Robin Hood tale becomes our own "trees in Sherwood forest...old and good." The whole of Sonnet 2, in fact, suggests that the magic of the Robin Hood story has never actually left us. Even though there is "no arrow found" or nothing to physically "mark the revelries...of Merry Robin Hood," we can come to understand and "know" the legend simply by walking through the forest and imagining the tale. Finally, what begins as a sort of vision in the second sonnet becomes a reality in the third. Robin and Marian get detailed descriptions, as if they really are right in front of us. More than that, they grow from figures from an old tale to immortal legends, as Marian's "sweet fame/ can never die." 

Keats' poem is slightly more complex. He opens with the melancholic reply of "No! Those days are gone away/ And their hours are old and grey." The forest, the poem begins to suggest, is not a place where you will come across Robin Hood- even in your imagination. In fact, far from showing Robin Hood, the woods bury him under the "leaves of many years." Reynolds celebrated the immortality of the Robin Hood legend, but Keats repeatedly laments that it is all "gone" and that the forest is silent and empty when "the bugle sounds no more" and the "twanging bow [is] no more." Throughout the poem, Keats is concerned with Time and what it does to people, to history, and to legends. As he begins to state that "you never may behold Little John, or Robin bold," he, like Reynolds, paints an illustrious scene of Robin and his band. Unlike Reynolds however, Keats seems to do so in order to show what the modern world is missing, rather than what it currently holds: Gone, Gone, Gone, "All are gone away and past." Keats muses that even if Robin and Marian were here in the modern world, they would be sorely disappointed and disoriented: "She would weep and he would craze." Thus the poem is not only a lament for Robin Hood's passing, but for the condition of the modern world. 
Wonderfully, beautifully, Keats ends his poem in the way that only he can: 
"So it is" he states, "Yet let us sing!"



Robin Hood
BY JOHN KEATS


TO A FRIEND



No! those days are gone away
And their hours are old and gray,
And their minutes buried all
Under the down-trodden pall
Of the leaves of many years:
Many times have winter's shears,
Frozen North, and chilling East,
Sounded tempests to the feast
Of the forest's whispering fleeces,
Since men knew nor rent nor leases.

         No, the bugle sounds no more,
And the twanging bow no more;
Silent is the ivory shrill
Past the heath and up the hill;
There is no mid-forest laugh,
Where lone Echo gives the half
To some wight, amaz'd to hear
Jesting, deep in forest drear.

         On the fairest time of June
You may go, with sun or moon,
Or the seven stars to light you,
Or the polar ray to right you;
But you never may behold
Little John, or Robin bold;
Never one, of all the clan,
Thrumming on an empty can
Some old hunting ditty, while
He doth his green way beguile
To fair hostess Merriment,
Down beside the pasture Trent;
For he left the merry tale
Messenger for spicy ale.

         Gone, the merry morris din;
Gone, the song of Gamelyn;
Gone, the tough-belted outlaw
Idling in the "grenè shawe";
All are gone away and past!
And if Robin should be cast
Sudden from his turfed grave,
And if Marian should have
Once again her forest days,
She would weep, and he would craze:
He would swear, for all his oaks,
Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes,
Have rotted on the briny seas;
She would weep that her wild bees
Sang not to her—strange! that honey
Can't be got without hard money!

         So it is: yet let us sing,
Honour to the old bow-string!
Honour to the bugle-horn!
Honour to the woods unshorn!
Honour to the Lincoln green!
Honour to the archer keen!
Honour to tight little John,
And the horse he rode upon!
Honour to bold Robin Hood,
Sleeping in the underwood!
Honour to maid Marian,
And to all the Sherwood-clan!
Though their days have hurried by
Let us two a burden try.




Artofwarble