Birds II
Happy Easter! Just in time, here’s part II of my series of birds in medieval European manuscripts. Today, religious and moral birds.
One of the best places to find birds is the genre known as bestiaries, compilations of animal lore that originated in ancient Greece and were later combined with Christian allegories. The images below are from the Aberdeen Bestiary; sorry about the low quality scans, but I couldn’t find any other complete bestiaries online. The Aberdeen Bestiary is one of the finest of its type, made in England around 1200.
In one of the opening illustrations God creates the fish and birds.
And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth under the firmament of heaven. And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good. And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth. And the evening and the morning were the fifth day’ (Genesis 1:20-23).
The next image illustrates the chapter on the fox, the false teacher who lures good Christians (the birds) into heresy:
The word vulpis, fox, is, so to say, volupis. For it is fleet-footed and never runs in a straight line but twists and turns. It is a clever, crafty animal. When it is hungry and can find nothing to eat, it rolls itself in red earth so that it seems to be stained with blood, lies on the ground and holds it breath, so that it seems scarcely alive. When birds see that it is not breathing, that it is flecked with blood and that its tongue is sticking out of its mouth, they think that it is dead and descend to perch on it. Thus it seizes them and devours them. The Devil is of a similar nature. For to all who live by the flesh he represents himself as dead until he has them in his gullet and punishes them. But to spiritual men, living in the faith, he is truly dead and reduced to nothing. Those who wish to do the Devil’s work will die, as the apostle says: ‘For if ye live after the flesh, ye shall die; but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live.’ (Romans, 8:13) And David says: ‘They shall go into the lower parts of the earth: they shall fall by the sword: they shall be a portion for foxes.’ (Psalms, 63:9-10)
The hoopoe represents the ideal parent-child relationship:
When the bird called the hoopoe sees that its parents have grown old and that their eyes are dim, it plucks out their old plumage and licks their eyes and keeps them warm, and its parents’ life is renewed. It as if the hoopoe said to them: ‘Just as you took pains in feeding me, I will do likewise for you.’
If birds, who lack reason, do as much for each other, how much more should men, who have the power of reason, support their parents in return; because the law says: ‘And he that curses his father, or his mother, shall surely be put to death’ (Exodus, 21:17); it is as if he were guilty of parricide or matricide.
The heron:
It is called heron, ardea, as if from ardua, meaning ‘high’, because of its capacity to fly high in the sky; it fears rain and flies above the clouds to avoid experiencing the storms they bring. A heron taking wing shows a storm is coming.
Many people call the heron Tantalus, after the king who betrayed the secrets of the gods. Rabanus says on this subject: ‘This bird can signify the souls of the elect, who fear the disorder of this world, lest they be caught up by chance in the storms of persecution stirred up by the Devil, and raise their minds, reaching above all worldly things to the tranquility of their home in heaven, where the countenance of God is forever to be seen.
Today we associate owls with wisdom, but they had completely different connotations for medieval people:
Isidore says of the owl: ‘The name owl, bubo, is formed from the sound it makes. It is a bird associated with the dead, weighed down, indeed, with its plumage, but forever hindered, too, by the weight of its slothfulness. It lives day and night around burial places and is always found in caves.’
On this subject Rabanus says: ‘The owl signifies those who have given themselves up to the darkness of sin and those who flee from the light of righteousness.’ As a result it is classed among the unclean creatures in Leviticus (see 11:16). Consequently, we can take the owl to mean any kind of sinner.
Many of the bestiary birds were based on real creatures and their actual behaviors, others were purely mythical. Probably the most well-known is the phoenix:
It lives for upwards of five hundred years, and when it observes that it has grown old, it erects a funeral pyre for itself from small branches of aromatic plants, and having turned to face the rays of the sun, beating its wings, it deliberately fans the flames for itself and is consumed in the fire. But on the ninth day after that, the bird rises from its own ashes.
Our Lord Jesus Christ displays the features of this bird, saying: ‘I have the power to lay down my life and to take it again’ (see John, 10:18). If, therefore, the phoenix has the power to destroy and revive itself, why do fools grow angry at the word of God, who is the true son of God, who says: ‘I have the power to lay down my life and to take it again’?
Birds also appear in the Bible itself, such as the raven and dove released by Noah after the flood. Depicted here in Yates Thompson 13, a 14th-century book of hours made in England.
To be honest, I have no idea what is happening in the illumination below, from the Macclesfield Psalter. It looks like a king and his adviser, probably David, who was believed to be the author of the Psalms. But what is the bird doing there? Is it just a bit of marginalia or is it integral to the story of the two figures? You can see the full image here, folio 161 (verso).
One of the most common Christian birds was the eagle that represented the Gospel of John the Evangelist John was thought to have received his inspiration directly from God, much as the eagle flies to the heavens. From the Aberdeen Bestiary’s eagle chapter:
The word ‘eagle’ represents the acute understanding of the saints. The same prophet, Ezekiel, when he described how he had seen the four evangelists in the form of animals, saw the fourth among them, that is, the one signifying John, as an eagle, which left the earth in flight; as John, on earth, penetrated the mysteries with his acute understanding by reflecting on the word. Likewise, those who still leave behind their earthly mind, seek heavenly things, as the eagle with John, through contemplation.
An evangelist symbol appears in each corner of this illumination from Yates Thompson 13: clockwise from top left, Matthew (the man/angel), John (eagle), Matthew (bull), Mark (lion). In the center is the Trinity, God the Father, Christ on the Cross, and between them the dove of the Holy Spirit.
Probably the most well-known of all medieval evangelist leaves, that in the magnificent Book of Kells (Trinity College Dublin, MS 58). John’s eagle is on the lower right, apparently clasping the gospel book in its talons.
The opening page of the Gospel of John from the equally spectacular Lindisfarne Gospels, made by Northumbrian monks during the early 8th century. Interestingly, John sits with a scroll while the eagle carries a codex.
In many cases the eagle is depicted assisting John by holding his pen case and ink bottle, as in the two illuminations below. The first is from a late 15th century French book of hours at the University of Texas at Austin, HRC 006. And don’t forget that the pen itself came from a bird, the pinna, or primary flight feather, was used to make quills.
15-century French book of hours. Columbia University Rare Book Library BP.096.
Doves are one of the oldest Christian symbols, with roots in the imagery of Judaism and other ancient cultures. Representing the Holy Spirit, they appear in many episodes of the life of Christ found in manuscripts. I particularly like the Annunciation, not least because Mary is frequently depicted reading. Below, Mary and the angel in a 15th-century French book of hours, University of Texas at Austin HRC 006. Of all the images in today’s post, this is my favorite.
Below, the Annunciation as depicted in a 13th-century French copy of The Golden Legend, a popular medieval book on the lives of various saints. I love that it looks like the dove is whispering the news in the Virgin’s ear, or maybe it’s just about to crash into her like a plate-glass window. Huntington Library HM 3027.
Three of the Gospel writers describe the Holy Spirit descending from heaven in the form of a dove at the Baptism of Christ.
Then cometh Jesus from Galilee to Jordan unto John, to be baptized of him. But John forbad him, saying, I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me? And Jesus answering said unto him, suffer it to be so now: for thus it becometh us to fulfill all righteousness. Then he suffered him. And Jesus, when he was baptized, went up straightway out of the water: and, lo, the heavens were opened unto him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and lighting upon him: And lo a voice from heaven, saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. (Matthew 3:13-17)
German antiphonary dated to 1350, Free Library of Philadelphia Lewis E M 042:11.
Late 13-century French psalter. Free Library of Philadelphia Widener 009.
13th-century Italian antiphonary. Free Library of Philadelphia Lewis E M 026:20-29.
Finally, the dove appears in images of the Pentecost, the descent of the Holy Spirit to the disciples and the Virgin following the Resurrection. I find these images odd, as the Biblical story tells of “tongues of fire” appearing over each person.
And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place. And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting. And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them (Acts 2:1-4)
Is there a reason why the dove was substituted for fire so often? Perhaps to maintain symbolic continuity throughout the cycle of illuminations? The image below is from the Free Library of Philadelphia Widener 009.
University of Texas at Austin HRC 006.
Below, the dove appears in an illustration of the Trinity. Late 15th or early 16th-century book of hours made in Flanders for an English patron, now at the Bodleian Library.
European Blockbooks
Lately I’ve been looking at a lot of medieval manuscripts. And thinking about mostly just… medieval manuscripts. Which is great; I’ve seen amazing things in the last few days and my dissertation is coming along nicely. But I’d like to think about something else for a bit, so while this topic is actually kinda still medieval, at least it’s a form of printing.
Blockbooks appeared in northern Europe at almost the same time as movable type, during the mid-fifteenth century, and may have developed from the printing of patterned fabric, individual devotional images, and playing cards. They can be differentiated from other types of early printed books because they didn’t use movable type: text was always carved into the block along with the images. This process is labor-intensive and sort of a bitch if you screw up or decide to change something, but it allowed for quick, cheap reproduction. Pages were printed on one side by rubbing the paper against the carved and inked block, and the blank sides were often glued together before binding. Hand-coloring of the illustrations was also common. These were cheap, popular, and ephemeral publications, similar in that way to the broadsides that would become ubiquitous in later centuries. Blockbooks were probably owned by a range of people, including the illiterate, and may have been common teaching aids. This is mostly speculation, though, as few copies remain and we have little material evidence of their use.
Blockbooks developed into a handful of extremely specific genres, usually based on older manuscript books and traditional illustration cycles. Here are examples of a few:
Ars moriendi (The Art of Dying): You’d think that once at the deathbed there couldn’t be much left in the way of sin. After all, you can’t move enough to commit murder or adultery, and you’re probably not in the mood for gluttony. Unfortunately, this is incorrect. In the medieval Christian worldview death was a time of significant temptation and obviously the most important time to resist. The Ars moriendi were guides to a good death, explaining the types of sin that the dying could fall into, and counseling both the sick and his or her family on how to behave at this crucial time. In the illustrations saints and demons fight over the soul of a dying man, who eventually goes to heaven. In the image below, from the Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel (which has a nice selection of digitized blockbooks), the dying man is tempted by devils into deathbed-specific sins such as despair, impatience, and pride.
Apocalypse: These blockbooks are based on the Book of Revelation, one of the most visually interesting parts of the Christian Bible, and their format and illustrations come from manuscript traditions that are extant in an illuminated Apocalypse held by the Bodleian Library. The image below, of the mouth of Hell, is from a hand-colored Apocalypse at the University of Glasgow, which was featured as their website’s book of the month in August 2005. The site includes lots of images and a really excellent discussion of this particular book of the Bible and the blockbooks it inspired—highly recommended.
Danse Macabre (Dance of Death): This was a widely popular series of illustrations that originated in the late Middle Ages, probably as a response to widespread mortality during the plague, and it appeared in many variations in books and artwork. In each image Death takes someone, from children, paupers and farmers to merchants, scholars, knights, kings, and popes; the lesson being that Death can come at any moment and he doesn’t care how much money or power you have. Potentially humbling for the rich, darkly humorous for the downtrodden. BibliOdyssey has posted a nice set of images from a German Totentanz at the University of Heidelberg: below, death takes (what I assume is) a haughty queen. Interestingly, in most of the pictures Death looks jovial, but here he seems pretty annoyed by the queen’s attitude. The coloring in these is also nicely done.
Biblia Pauperum (Poor Man’s Bible): Some might say it’s the ideal Bible for the easily distracted internet generation. The Biblia Pauperum compresses the the whole thing into 40 pages— mostly illustrations of the life of Christ. From the Herzog August Bibliothek, a page featuring a scene from Genesis. I really like the serpent, though a it’s bit odd that Eve seems to be the one offering the fruit. Here you can see that the quality of script carved into a piece of wood could easily be less than optimal. The text in the Ars moriendi above is much better.
Readers in Art
The very cool Art Inconnu blog features ‘forgotten, little-known, and under-appreciated art’, and two recent posts have highlighted images of readers – check out Reading Part 1 and Part 2. [via BibliOdyssey]
Reading List Update:
The excellent Blackwell Companion to the History of the Book, edited by Jonathan Rose and Simon Eliot, is now available in a significantly lower-priced paperback edition in both the US and Europe. (It is available in all three formats from amazon in the US.)
That is not most books.
I wanted to point out a great interview at The Casual Optimist with Ben and Eric of the Book Cover Archive. They talk about the impetus behind the site, favorite cover art, and books they’d love to redesign. The last question is the inevitable ‘Are we finally seeing the end of print?’ The response is thoughtful and, in my opinion, spot on. Eric explains that most books are not anything special, and that e-books could actually lead to more readers and a renewed emphasis on fine books and independent bookshops.
(That’s my opinion as a book lover, techie, and environmentalist. The historian part of my brain shouts, ‘But we can learn about a culture from their trashy novels!’ Oh, shut up for once historian lobe.)
Filed under book art, book cover archive, book history, books, e-books, history, reading, technology | Comment (0)What to Read…
…if you’re interested in book history: a short list of foundational works and other helpful material. This list is very Europe and print-centric, but I would encourage you to become comfortable with the theoretical aspects of the material and then branch out to whatever sub-topics interest you.
The Coming of the Book (L’Apparition du livre) by Lucien Febvre and Henri-Jean Martin (1958): Lucien Febvre was one of the founders of the influential French Annales School, which emphasized a sociological approach to history rather than the ‘important people/events’ perspective that had dominated nineteenth century historical discourse. Whereas earlier historians had analyzed the impacts of specific printers or nations, Febvre and Martin saw printing as a social movement intimately connected to the intellectual and cultural environments of early modern Europe. The Coming of the Book provides a detailed overview of printing history, beginning with the introduction of paper into Europe and moving on to the technological issues of printing, the structure of printing firms and the journeyman system, the geographical distribution of printing, the book as commodity, and the cultural impact of print.
Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts by D.F. McKenzie (1986): This book, based on a series of lectures given in 1985, is a crucial theoretical work in book history. McKenzie explains that the importance of bibliography (the description and classification of texts) lies in what it can tell us about history. Rather than a dry recitation of facts about the structure of a text, bibliography should be used to establish a broad socio-historical understanding of text producers, book readers, and their cultures. Most importantly, he demonstrates that the structural aspects of a text (of any kind) affect its reception and use, and explains the impacts of evolving materiality on reception. (Some of his ground-breaking work was done on New Zealand history and the reception of the Treaty of Waitangi; it is included in the volume.)
The History and Power of Writing (Histoire et pouvirs de l’écrit) by Henri-Jean Martin (1988): Writing is such an integral part of our lives that we seldom step back to look at it critically, asking what meaning it had to past societies and what it means today. It is important, though, to understand the ways that our ancestors viewed the written word. Similar to The Coming of the Book, The History and Power of Writing is a social history of writing throughout western history, from the development of the first alphabets to industrial printing. My favorite part was Martin’s discussion of writing in ancient Greece, where the art was viewed with skepticism as a mental crutch, particularly by Plato.
The Printing Press as an Agent of Change, by Elizabeth Eisenstein (1979): This is definitely the most controversial work of book history. Eisenstein’s thesis is that the fixed and stable nature of print led directly to the scientific and Protestant revolutions because, for the first time, many accurate, identical copies of books could be quickly produced and distributed. Her book generated intense debate immediately upon its release and in the years following, but today most book historians reject the bulk of Eisenstein’s theory as overly deterministic. Rather than social change occuring as the result of a specific technology, they see printing as one part of a complex of cultural, intellectual, religous, and technological changes. Additionally, historians such as Adrian Johns have pointed out that printed text, especially in its first centuries, was not as fixed or reliable as Eisenstein described it. For responses to Eisenstein, see ‘How Revolutionary was the Print Revolution?’ by Anthony Grafton, in The American Historical Review, volume 107 (1) pp. 87-106 and also ‘The Book of Nature and the Nature of the Book’, the introduction to The Nature of the Book by Adrian Johns. Digging deeper, Eisenstein’s work owes a debt to that of Marshall McLuhan – The Gutenberg Galaxy (1962).
The Nature of the Book by Adrian Johns (1998): Our society automatically attributes different forms of authority to books. We trust that the title, author, and publisher listed are accurate and that the contents are what they claim to be, but this has not always been the case. Johns’s lengthy but thoroughly engaging work provides an in-depth description of the culture of book production in early modern London, from the roles of authors, booksellers, and printers to the influence of the government and the powerful Stationer’s Company. But, beyond the descriptions of everyday life in the early modern book world, he lays out a powerful argument about the nature of print and the ways that authority is not inherent in the technology (as Eisenstein states), but is constructed by individuals and social forces. I would recommend this work not only to those studying the histories of books and technology, but to anyone interested in modern copyright law and piracy issues.
The Business of Enlightenment by Roger Darnton (1979): I’ve been a fan of Darnton since my undergrad days, before I even knew that book history was its own field. A cultural historian focusing on eighteenth-centuy France, Darnton directs much of his gaze to books and their creators. The Business of Enlightenment explores, in great detail, the personalities, business decisions, and social forces behind the publishing history of Diderot’s Encyclopédie. If you’re not up to 600+ pages on an encyclopedia then I definitely recommend his other books, especially The Great Cat Massacre (1984), a collection of essays on ‘episodes in French cultural history’ revolving around text and written in Darnton’s lucid and engaging style. And yes, there is a real cat massacre.
ABC for Book Collectors by John Carter and Nicholas Barker (first published 1952, continually revised and updated): This is a delightful book for anyone interested in book collecting and book history. A reference work that’s actually intended to be read, it’s essentially an encyclopedia of important book terms with often witty explanations (as an example, see the entry for ‘chronological obsession’). While the ABC is available as a free pdf from the International League of Antiquarian Booksellers, I recommend checking out the print edition, as part of the enjoyment of the book comes from the labeling of its parts with their correct names such as ‘free-endpaper’, ‘fore-edge’, and ‘pagination’.
A few more that I don’t have time to write about:
- A History of Reading in the West ed. by Guglielmo Cavallo and Roger Chartier
- A History of Reading by Alberto Manguel
- The Blackwell Companion to the History of the Book ed. by Simon Eliot and Jonathan Rose
- The Order of Books and The Culture of Print by Roger Chartier
- The English Common Reader by Richard Altick
- A Critique of Modern Textual Criticism by Jerome McGann
- Orality and Literacy by Walter Ong
Intuitive, Touch-Based Interface
I <3 you so much, Penny-Arcade.
Check out the news post, where Tycho explains that, ‘…books are still an incredible – even competitive – technology.’
(PA guys: if you see this, let me know if you’d prefer me to take the comic down.)
Filed under books, humor, penny-arcade, reading, technology | Comments (2)Inappropriate Places for Reading
If you follow me on Twitter you know that a lot of idiotic stuff goes on in my dorm, but I think that what happened yesterday was the greatest fail so far.
To provide some background, I share a bathroom with the other women on my hall. There are two shower stalls (not enough for the number of people they serve, but that’s beside the point) set up in a similar fashion to the toilets. There’s a divider that doesn’t go all the way to the floor or ceiling, the showers share a floor, and the water drains down to a (pretty gross) trough outside the stall. Though usable, the showers are not a pleasant place to be, filled as they are with soap scum, questionable stains, and other people’s hair. There’s not a bench to sit on or any place to put your things, which have to go in the floor. Like a McDonald’s, the International Hall bathrooms are designed to encourage an in-out mentality.
One stall was occupied when I went to the shower yesterday, so I stepped into the empty one. And the first thing that I saw was a huge paperback resting precariously on top of the divider. The weirdo person next door took the book down as soon as she heard me come in, so I didn’t get a good look, but it appeared to be a novel. Something the size of, let’s say, a paperback Neal Stephenson. (But definitely not Neal Stephenson because that would make this person fairly cool, which we cannot have.)
So here I am, standing in a damp shower stall in my bathrobe thinking, “Have five months of book history finally driven me mad, or does that person have a codex in the shower? With the water running.” A lot of things went through my head in those few minutes. Why would you take a book in the shower? I understand the bathtub in your own (clean) home, but the dorm shower, seriously? Where there isn’t even a dry place to put it, or a comfortable seat? Not to mention that if you’re using a public shower it’s pretty impolite to take up time with non-cleansing-related activities. Had she done this before, or was it a rash experiment? Pleasure reading, or a disastrously procrastinated assignment? And now that it’s no longer resting on the divider, what is she doing with it?
At least one of my questions was answered within seconds, as I heard a sickening thwack and turned to see the poor book lying with its spine broken, its leaves covered in the soapy water and whatever else lives on the floor of a public shower. She tried to retrieve it quickly, but the damage was done. (I pity the used book dealer she will attempt to sell it too, as she inevitably will.) And when she left it was an enormous struggle for me to not peek around the curtain to discover her identity.
Since then I can’t stop thinking about shower book person. Did she try to finish the soaking-wet book? Has she learned her lesson? Like most of us, I’ve taken books to some pretty odd places, but I thought it might be good to create a list of zones where you actually shouldn’t be reading at all. Please feel free to chime in with your own.
- while surfing/skiing/skydiving, etc.
- a burning building
- sewage treatment pond
- a riot
- Level 4 bio-containment unit (unless it’s on microbiology)
- demolition derby
- neo-nazi book burning party
- slaughterhouse
- reactor core
- the lion enclosure at the zoo
Museum Day
I had two essays due on Wednesday, so for a break I took Thursday off and went to the Science Museum and the V&A.
Half of the main hall of the Science Museum is taken up by a wonderful gallery called ‘Making the Modern World‘ that showcases important technologies and inventions from 1750 to the present. Some of the things I was particularly taken with included a working model of a belt-driven workshop, Watson and Crick’s DNA model, the first difference engine, the first atomic clock, glass created by the Trinity nuclear test, and a Jacquard loom with punch-cards. I was a bit disappointed, though, that there were no examples of printing technology on display, especially since the nineteenth century was such an innovative period for the industry. Upstairs, though, is a walkway overlooking the main gallery, and lining it are models, like this one:
A scale-model of the Timson MK III Litho Wun-Up from 1976.
(Sorry for the blurriness.) So, not exactly revolutionary, but kind of cool anyway. Especially that mid-century avocado green; how could you go wrong with that?
Next stop was the V&A where I wandered, completely lost, through galleries for several hours (and this wasn’t even my first visit). Here are the bookish highlights. First, in the twentieth-century design room, this awesome, wildly impractical bookshelf that I believe has been featured in a number of blog posts about unique bookshelves:
Next, a display on the 40th anniversary of the Booker Prize, including short-listed and winning novels from the collection of Peter Straus. (Again, apologies for the quality, my camera does not do well in low light.)
Making Visible Embryos
The Cambridge University Department of the History and Philosophy of Science has created an absolutely wonderful online exhibition called Making Visible Embryos. It looks at changing perceptions and imagery regarding human prenatal development from the late Middle Ages to the present, and includes illustrations from a number of interesting, early modern printed works. The exhibit is extensive – make sure you go through both layers of tabs to get all the good stuff.
Filed under books, early modern era, embryos, enlightenment, fetus, gender, gender history, medical illustration, medicine, pregnancy, prenatal development, rare books, science | Comment (0)