Saint George’s charm against the Night-mare

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Mary Sharratt, author of Daughters of the Witching Hill—a wonderful new novel about the Pendle witches—has kindly written a guest post on Saint George and his charm against the night-mare.

Mary has written a number of novels set in the 17th century, and her understanding of the period is profound.


Saint George’s charm against the Night-mare
by Mary Sharratt, author of Daughters of the Witching Hill
 
George is the patron saint of England and his feast day is still celebrated on April 23 with the displaying of the English flag, which bears George’s red cross.

In medieval tradition, Saint George was the Virgin Mary’s champion knight; England itself was regarded as the Virgin’s dowry.

Saint George’s cult had both elitist and earthy aspects. On the one hand, he was the saint of nobility and monarchs. To join the Guild of Saint George, one had to own a horse, which made it exclusive indeed, because in the Middle Ages, as now, horses were expensive and only the wealthy could afford them. Poorer folk relied on oxen to pull their carts and ploughs.

On the other hand, the name George means farmer. In his more populist aspect, George was the patron of horses and the low born people who looked after them for their wealthy masters.

The following is a late medieval charm against the night-mare, which was believed to be a hag that entered the stable by night in spirit form and rode the horses until they were exhausted. This superstition was very long lived. Margaret Pearson, one of the Pendle Witches of 1612, was accused of bewitching to death a mare in the village of Padiham.

Saint Jorge, our Lady Knight,
He walked day, he walked night,
Till that he founde that foule wight; (foul spirit)
And when that he her founde,
He her bete (beat) and he her bounde,
Till trewly ther her trowth she plight (till she finally made her vow)
That she sholde not come by night
Within seven rod of lande space
Theras Saint Jeorge y-named was.
St. Jeorge, St. Jeorge, St. Jeorge.

This rhyme was written on a piece of paper or parchment, then tied into the horse’s mane. To ensure full power, an amulet or piece of flint with a natural hole was also hung over the stable door. Earliest reference to this charm dates back to 1425-50, but it appeared in a book on witchcraft as late as 1584.

From C. and K. Sisan (eds.), The Oxford Book of Medieval English Verse, Oxford, 1973.

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For an amusing image of Saint George, click here (http://bit.ly/StGeorge).

For more about Mary and her novels, go to her website: http://www.marysharratt.com/


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Was Descartes murdered by a priest?

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Was Descartes, founder of modern philosophy, murdered?

Yes, according to academic Theodor Ebert — poisoned by an arsenic-laced communion wafer given to him by a Catholic priest.

The more common theory was that Descartes died from the winter cold and early morning hours imposed upon him by Queen Christina of Sweden, his student.

However, Descartes's doctor described having found "something wrong" in Descartes urine — blood, Edbert concludes: "That is not a symptom of pneumonia; it is a symptom of poisoning, chiefly of arsenic." Also, Descartes asked his doctor to prescribe an emetic to make him throw up, which Ebert believes shows that Descartes may have believed he had been poisoned.

Ebert researched this for a long time, and I have to assume he did his homework. I'm unable to find the title of his new book, but I hope it helps to answer some of the questions that come to mind: How much arsnic can one get on a communion wafer? for example, and couldn't it be tasted? 

For more on this, see this article in the U.K. Guardian: 
http://bit.ly/Descartes

Also, this blog post adds to the discussion:
http://bit.ly/Descartes_murder

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A tragic legacy

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Am I the last to know?

While researching the family life of Pierre Corneille, the great French dramatist, I discovered that one of his descendants was Charlotte Corday, the 25-year-old woman who stabbed Marat to death on July 13, 1793, while Marat was in his bath.

The geaneology goes like this:

1. Pierre Corneille
2. Marie Corneille (Pierre's daughter)
3. Françoise de Farcy (Marie's son)
4. Jacques Adrien de Corday, seigneur de Launay-Cauvigny (Françoise's son)
5. Jacques François de Corday, seigneur d'Armont (Jacque A's son)
6. Charlotte Corday (Jacques F.'s daughter) 


How bizarre that a writer of tragedy should beget a tragedy.


(Painting: La Mort de Murat by Jacques-Louis David,  1793.)


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Adventures in Pdf land

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I continue to be astonished by the research that's possible on the Net. I've been reading, on computer, a pdf of a rare book, Racine et Voisin, that I was able to download from the Internet Archive. 

The author quotes an entry in Registre de La Grange. La Grange worked for Molière's troupe, and dutifully recorded daily tallies (and much else). The date given for the entry in Racine et Voisin seemed wrong according to my notes. A short Net search revealed that La Grange's notes were available on Open Library — a searchable version, no less, and I was quickly able to verify my suspicions.  

There is a wealth of information in La Grange's notes. With respect to this particular event, Molière's troupe had invested a considerable amount in producing the young and aspiring playwright Jean Racine's tragedy, Alexander, and were thus — according to La Grange's note — rather surprised to discover that the same play was also being performed by a rival theatrical troupe ... and that this had been Racine's doing.  

Jean Racine (see image above) was a genius, a writer of great power, but he was also, to be blunt, a rat. 

To see Registre de La Grange, go to: http://bit.ly/LaGrangeRegister (You may have to join Open Library, first.)

To see Racine et Voisin by Marc de Monifaud, go to: http://bit.ly/Racine_et_Voisin

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Beautiful Versailles: discovered

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I came upon this stunning image of Versailles on a blog yesteday and asked if anyone knew the artist's name and date. Voilá! Anthony (see his comment below) discovered that the artist is Isidore Laurent Deroy (1797-1886). In its original form (click here) the colors are duller. Clearly, the original has been re-colored — I like the almost surreal vibrancy of this doctored version. Too, it's possible that the colors of the original faded over time.

Virtual tour of Louis XIV, the man and the king

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Can't get to Versailles? This virtual tour of "Louis XIV, the man and the king," the current exhibition there, is amazing. It's a little clunky — our technology has yet to evolve — but it points to a future where it will be possible to see a museum exhibition from afar. For now, it's simply fantastic.

The French were the first, to my knowledge, to put an extensive digitized library collection on-line (long before Google). Might this virtual tour of an exhibition be a first, as well?

The Age of Comfort goes to bed

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I've been sick-a-bed this week, and pleasantly returned to reading The Age of Comfort, by Joan DeJean. Appropriately, Chapter Ten: The Bedroom.

Not surprisingly, the history of beds is even more interesting than the history of sofas. I'm rather shocked by how much I didn't know.

Before the 1670s, the sleeping area was a public space, open to everyone in the household. Over the next four decades, the private bedroom was born.

Beds, before, were movable, and simply curtained off. They tended to be single rather than double in size. Until late in the 17th century, most beds were moved around in the home rather than left in one room. The bed was made mostly of fabric, and, since fabric was expensive, it was the most expensive piece of furniture in the house.

A horsehair mattress provided springiness. A feather mattress on top make it plush. The less fortunate made do with straw mattresses.

Remember: there wasn't much to sit on in the home in those days (other than the storage trunks, which served for storage until closets and armoirs were created). The bed, thus, was the social center of the room, a rather large sofa by day, and a bed by night:

" . . . it's surface was used for all types of social interaction" (page 166).

Once again, it was the King's mistress Athénaïs, Madame de Montespan, who lead the revolution. The first grand bed-frames — the first beadstead, that is, a "bois de lit" — were created for her Porcelain Trianon at Versailles. No doubt she had a great deal to do with the over-the-top design: the garlands of tassels, fabric swags topped with bouquets of plumes, the curtains replaced by a grand canopy. Mirrors set into the headboard called attention to the frame (and, one might add, to the lovers, as well).


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