The exaltÂed staÂtus of Isaac NewÂton’s Philosophiæ NatÂuÂralis PrinÂcipÂia MathÂeÂmatÂiÂca is reflectÂed by the fact that everyÂbody knows it as, simÂply, the PrinÂcipÂia. Very few of us, by conÂtrast, speak of the HisÂtoÂria when we mean to refer to John Ray and FranÂcis WillughÂby’s De HisÂtoÂria PisÂciÂum, which came out in 1686, the year before the PrinÂcipÂia. Both books were pubÂlished by the RoyÂal SociÂety, and as it hapÂpens, the forÂmiÂdaÂble cost of WillughÂby and Ray’s lavÂish work of ichthyÂolÂoÂgy nearÂly kept NewÂton’s groundÂbreakÂing treaÂtise on motion and gravÂiÂtaÂtion from the printÂing press.
AccordÂing to the RoyÂal SociÂety’s web site, “Ray and Willughby’s HisÂtoÂria did not prove to be the pubÂlishÂing senÂsaÂtion that the FelÂlows had hoped and the book nearÂly bankÂruptÂed the SociÂety. This meant that the SociÂety was unable to meet its promise to supÂport the pubÂliÂcaÂtion of Isaac NewÂton’s masÂterÂpiece.”
ForÂtuÂnateÂly, “it was saved from obscuÂriÂty by Edmund HalÂley, then Clerk at the RoyÂal SociÂety” — and now betÂter known for his eponyÂmous comet — “who raised the funds to pubÂlish the work, proÂvidÂing much of the monÂey from his own pockÂet. ”
HalÂley’s great reward, in lieu of the salary the RoyÂal SociÂety could no longer pay, was a pile of unsold copies of De HisÂtoÂria PisÂciÂum. That may not have been quite the insult it sounds like, givÂen that the book repÂreÂsentÂed a triÂumph of proÂducÂtion and design in its day. You can see a copy in the episode of Adam SavÂage’s TestÂed at the top of the post, and you can closeÂly examÂine its imagery at your leisure in the digÂiÂtal archive of the RoyÂal SociÂety. In the words of Jonathan AshÂmore, Chair of the RoyÂal Society’s Library ComÂmitÂtee, a browsÂing sesÂsion should help us “appreÂciÂate why earÂly FelÂlows of the RoyÂal SociÂety were so impressed by Willughby’s stunÂning illusÂtraÂtions of piscine natÂurÂal hisÂtoÂry.”
Though SavÂage duly marÂvels at the RoyÂal SociÂety’s copy of the HisÂtoÂria — a reconÂstrucÂtion made up of pages long ago cut out and sold sepÂaÂrateÂly, as was once comÂmon pracÂtice with books with picÂtures suitÂable for framÂing — it’s clear that much of the motiÂvaÂtion for his visÂit came from the prospect of close proxÂimÂiÂty to NewÂtoÂniÂana, up to and includÂing the man’s death mask. But then, NewÂton lays fair claim to being the most imporÂtant sciÂenÂtist who ever lived, and the PrinÂcipÂia to being the most imporÂtant sciÂence book ever writÂten. Almost three and a half cenÂturies latÂer, physics still holds mysÂterÂies for genÂerÂaÂtions of NewÂton’s sucÂcesÂsors to solve. But then, so do the depths of the ocean.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall or on FaceÂbook.
They’re almost an endanÂgered species, the vicÂtim of the InterÂnet, postal rate increasÂes, and the jetÂtiÂsonÂing of any time conÂsumÂing traÂdiÂtion whose exeÂcuÂtion has been found to bring the oppoÂsite of joy.
ChristÂmas cards must hold a speÂcial place in both the V&A’s colÂlecÂtions and heart, givÂen that the museum’s founder, HenÂry Cole, inadÂverÂtentÂly inventÂed them in 1843.
As a well respectÂed man about town, he received a great many more holÂiÂday letÂters than he had time or incliÂnaÂtion to respond to, but neiÂther did he wish to appear rude.
So he enlistÂed his friend, painter J.C. HorsÂley, to creÂate a fesÂtive illusÂtraÂtion with a built-in holÂiÂday greetÂing, leavÂing just enough space to perÂsonÂalÂize with a recipient’s name and perÂhaps, a handÂwritÂten line or two.
He then had enough postÂcard-sized reproÂducÂtions printÂed up to send to 1000 of his friends.
Part of the reaÂson the cards in the V&A’s colÂlecÂtion are so well preÂserved is that their recipÂiÂents prized them enough to keep them in souÂvenir albums.
UnderÂstandÂably. They’re very appealÂing litÂtle artiÂfacts.
The upper crust could afford such fanÂcy design eleÂments as clever die-cut shapes, pop up eleÂments, and transluÂcent winÂdows that encourÂaged the recipÂiÂents to hold them up to actuÂal winÂdows.
TechÂnoÂlogÂiÂcal advances in the printÂing indusÂtry, and the creÂation of the cost-effecÂtive PenÂny Post allowed those whose budÂgets were more modÂest than Mr. Cole’s to parÂticÂiÂpate too.
Their cards tendÂed to be simÂpler in exeÂcuÂtion, though not necÂesÂsarÂiÂly conÂcept.
In addiÂtion to the views we’ve come to expect — winÂter, Father ChristÂmas, holÂly — the VicÂtoÂriÂans had a thing for jolÂly anthroÂpoÂmorÂphized food and some truÂly shameÂless puns.
Enjoy these Ghosts of ChristÂmas Past, dear readÂers. We’re almost inspired to revive the traÂdiÂtion!
Read more about the advent of this traÂdiÂtion, includÂing how it jumped the pond, in SmithÂsonÂian Magazine’sHisÂtoÂry of the ChristÂmas Card.
I nevÂer use a metÂal detecÂtor and I often walk litÂtle more than a mile in 5 hours, yet I can travÂel 2,000 years back in time through the objects that are revealed by the tide. PreÂhisÂtoric flint tools, medieval pilÂgrim badges, Tudor shoes, GeorÂgian wig curlers and VicÂtoÂriÂan potÂtery, ordiÂnary objects left behind by the ordiÂnary peoÂple who made LonÂdon what it is today.
As she says in the short film above, her first find has become one of her most comÂmon — a clay pipe fragÂment.
The term mudÂlark was inventÂed to describe the poverÂty strickÂen VicÂtoÂriÂans who scoured the foreÂshore for copÂper, wire, and othÂer items with resale valÂue, as well as things they could clean off and use themÂselves.
Today’s mudÂlarks are priÂmarÂiÂly hisÂtoÂry buffs and amaÂteur archeÂolÂoÂgists.
The hobÂby has become so popÂuÂlar that The Port of LonÂdon AuthorÂiÂty, which conÂtrols the Thames waterÂway along with the Crown Estate, has startÂed to require foreÂshore perÂmits of all prospecÂtive debris hunters.
PerÂmitÂted mudÂlarks can claim as souÂvenirs howÂevÂer many VicÂtoÂriÂan clay pipes and blue and white potÂtery shards they dig up, but are legalÂly obligÂed by the Portable AntiqÂuiÂties Scheme to report items of potenÂtialÂly greater hisÂtoric and monÂeÂtary valÂue — i.e. TreaÂsure — to a museÂum-trained Finds LiaÂson OffiÂcer:
Any metalÂlic object, othÂer than a coin, proÂvidÂed that at least 10 per cent by weight of metÂal is preÂcious metÂal (that is, gold or silÂver) and that it is at least 300 years old when found. If the object is of preÂhisÂtoric date it will be TreaÂsure proÂvidÂed any part of it is preÂcious metÂal.
Any group of two or more metalÂlic objects of any comÂpoÂsiÂtion of preÂhisÂtoric date that come from the same find (see note below).
Two or more coins from the same find proÂvidÂed they are at least 300 years old when found and conÂtain 10 per cent gold or silÂver (if the coins conÂtain less than 10 per cent of gold or silÂver there must be at least ten of them). Only the folÂlowÂing groups of coins will norÂmalÂly be regardÂed as comÂing from the same find: Hoards that have been delibÂerÂateÂly hidÂden; SmallÂer groups of coins, such as the conÂtents of pursÂes, that may been dropped or lost; Votive or ritÂuÂal deposits.
Any object, whatÂevÂer it is made of, that is found in the same place as, or had preÂviÂousÂly been togethÂer with, anothÂer object that is TreaÂsure.
How did all this hisÂtoric refuse come to be in the Thames? MaikÂlem told ColÂlecÂtors WeekÂlythat there are many reaÂsons:
ObviÂousÂly, it’s been used as a rubÂbish dump. It was a useÂful place to chuck your houseÂhold waste. It was essenÂtialÂly a busy highÂway, so peoÂple acciÂdenÂtalÂly dropped things and lost things as they travÂeled on it. Of course, peoÂple also lived right up against it. LonÂdon was cenÂtered on the Thames so housÂes were all along it, and there was all this stuff comÂing out of the housÂes and off the bridges. It was the biggest port in the world in the 18th cenÂtuÂry, so there was all the shipÂbuildÂing and indusÂtry going on.
And then of course, there’s the rubÂbish that was used to build up the foreÂshore and creÂate barge beds. The riverbed in its natÂurÂal state is a V shape, so they had to build up the sides next to the rivÂer wall to make them flatÂter so the flat-botÂtom barges could rest there at low tide. They did that by pourÂing rubÂbish and buildÂing spoil and kiln waste, anyÂthing they could find—industrial waste, domesÂtic waste. When they dug into the ground furÂther up, they’d bring the spoil down and use it to build up the foreÂshore, and cap it off with a layÂer of chalk, which was soft and didn’t damÂage the botÂtom of the barges.
One of the reaÂsons we’re findÂing so much in the rivÂer now is because there’s so much eroÂsion. While it was a “workÂing rivÂer,” these barge beds were patched up and the revetÂments, or the woodÂen walls that held them in, were repaired when they broke. But now, they’re being left to fall apart, and these barge beds are erodÂing as the rivÂer is getÂting busier with rivÂer trafÂfic.
There are numerÂous social media groups where modÂern mudÂlarks can proudÂly share their finds, and seek assisÂtance in idenÂtiÂfyÂing strange or fragÂmentÂed objects.
Maiklem’s LonÂdon MudÂlark FaceÂbook page is an eduÂcaÂtion in and of itself, a reflecÂtion of her abidÂing interÂest in the hisÂtoric sigÂnifÂiÂcance of the items she trufÂfles up.
WitÂness the pewter buckÂle plate datÂing to the 14th or 15th-cenÂtuÂry that she spotÂted on the foreÂshore in late NovemÂber, turned over to her Finds LiaiÂson OffiÂcer and researched with the help of hisÂtoric pewter craftsÂman ColÂin Torode:
PriÂor to c.1350 pewter belt fitÂtings seem to have been rather rare, although a LonÂdon Girdlers’ Guild CharÂter of 1321 which banned the use of pewter belt fitÂtings does show that the metÂal was cerÂtainÂly in use. In 1344 the Girdlers’ guild again reitÂerÂatÂed the ban on what they felt were infeÂriÂor metÂals such as pewter, tin and lead. In 1391 howÂevÂer, a statute recÂogÂnized that these metÂals had been in use for some time and that their use could conÂtinÂue withÂout restricÂtion
This ornate plate would have had a sepÂaÂrate buckÂle frame attached to it and is probÂaÂbly a cheapÂer copy of the more upmarÂket copÂper alloy or silÂver verÂsions that were proÂduced at the time.Although the the openÂwork design is simÂiÂlar to those found in in furÂniÂture or church screens, it’s not reliÂgious or pilÂgrim relatÂed.
MaikÂlem also chalÂlenges fans to play along from home with “spot the find” videos for such items as a Tudor clothes hook, GeorÂgian cufÂflink, and a GerÂman salt glazed, stoneware bottle’s neck embossed with a human face.
The rivÂer also spews up plenÂty of drowned rats, flushÂing them out with the sewage after a heavy rain. OthÂer potenÂtial hazÂards include hypoÂderÂmic neeÂdles and broÂken glass.
In addiÂtion to such safeÂty preÂcauÂtions as gloves, sturÂdy footwear, and remainÂing mindÂful of incomÂing tides, MaikÂlem advisÂes novice mudÂlarks to look for straight lines and perÂfect cirÂcles — “the things that nature doesn’t make.”
It takes pracÂtice and patience to develÂop a skilled eye, but don’t get disÂcourÂaged if your first outÂings don’t yield the sort of jaw dropÂping disÂcovÂerÂies MaikÂlem has made — an intact glass VicÂtoÂriÂan sugÂar crushÂer, a 16th-cenÂtuÂry child’s leather shoe and Roman era potÂtery shards galore.
SomeÂtimes even plasÂtic comes with a comÂpelling stoÂry.
I’m still feelÂing quite gidÂdy over this bit of plasÂtic. I came to CornÂwall this week to write and to beachÂcomb. I hoped I might find a small piece of Lost Lego, but I wasn’t holdÂing out much hope. Calm weathÂer means less plasÂtic: good for the beach, bad for the Lego lookÂer. Then I found this wedged between two boulÂders. It’s one of the black octoÂpusÂes from the Lego spill of 1997 when, 20 miles from Land’s End, a huge wave hit the carÂgo ship Tokio Express. It tiltÂed 45 degrees and 62 conÂtainÂers slid into the water. One conÂtainÂer was filled with nearÂly 5 milÂlion pieces of Lego, much of which was sea themed. LitÂtle scuÂba tanks, flipÂpers, octoÂpusÂes, cutÂlassÂes, life rafts, spear guns, dragÂons and octoÂpusÂes like this still wash up on the beachÂes of CornÂwall and furÂther afield.
Stay abreast of Lara Maiklem’s mudÂlarkÂing finds here.
Try your hand at mudÂlarkÂing the Thames in perÂson, durÂing a guidÂed tour with the Thames ExplorÂer Trust.
Rare indeed is the ancient-hisÂtoÂry buff who has nevÂer dreamed of walkÂing the roads of the Roman Empire. But unlike many longÂings stoked by interÂest in the disÂtant past, that one can actuÂalÂly be fulÂfilled. As explained in the video above from Youtube chanÂnel Intrigued Mind, a fair few Roman roads remain in exisÂtence today, albeit only in secÂtions, and mostÂly ruined ones at that. “Like othÂer incredÂiÂble monÂuÂments that still stand, as if to prove the powÂer of the Roman Empire, there are a surÂprisÂing numÂber of Roman roads still in use today,” some conÂvertÂed into modÂern highÂways, but “many still paved with their origÂiÂnal cobÂbleÂstones.”
Of all such roads, none has more imporÂtance than the Via Appia, or AppiÂan Way, whose conÂstrucÂtion began back in 312 BC. “The first long road outÂside of the greater city of Rome that wasÂn’t EtrÂuscan,” it “allowed Romans to make their first major conÂquest” and begin their mighty empire’s “conÂquest of the world.” WithÂout underÂstandÂing the stoÂried Via Appia, none of us can truÂly underÂstand Roman hisÂtoÂry. But to grasp the conÂtext of the Roman Empire, we can hardÂly ignore the even oldÂer roads like the Via DomiÂtia, which was “the road HanÂniÂbal used to invade Italy, 100 years before the Romans claimed it” — not to menÂtion an imporÂtant setÂting in the Greek myth of HerÂaÂcles.
You can still cross one of the Via DomiÂtiÂa’s bridges, the Pont Julien in the south of France. In that same counÂtry stand the more-or-less intact Pont FlaÂvian, origÂiÂnalÂly built along the Via Julia AugusÂta, and the Pont du Gard, the most famous and eleÂgant Roman aqueÂduct of them all. Nor should enthuÂsiÂasts of Roman infraÂstrucÂture miss the AlcanÂtara Bridge in Spain, the ManÂfred Bridge in GerÂmany, or the ruins of TraÂjan’s Bridge — made into ruins delibÂerÂateÂly, by TraÂjan’s sucÂcesÂsor HadriÂan — in RomaÂnia. The most seriÂous among them will also want to go as far as the MidÂdle East and travÂel the Via Maris, which conÂnectÂed Egypt to SyrÂia, and the remains of the bridge across CaeÂsar’s Dam in Iran.
Iran belonged, of course, not to the Roman Empire but the PerÂsian one. But “legÂend has it that the PerÂsian emperÂor capÂtured the Roman emperÂor and forced him to use his army to build the dam and the beauÂtiÂful bridge to cross it.” All was fair, it seems, in the expanÂsion and conÂflict of ancient empires, and the ruins scatÂtered across their vast forÂmer terÂriÂtoÂries tesÂtiÂfy to that. Though much less techÂnoÂlogÂiÂcalÂly advanced than, say, modÂern freeÂway sysÂtems, the Roman roads that surÂvive have proven surÂprisÂingÂly robust, a pheÂnomÂeÂnon examÂined in the video just above by hisÂtoÂry YoutuÂber Told in Stone — a Chicagoan, inciÂdenÂtalÂly, who acknowlÂedges that the Via Appia has nevÂer had to take a Windy City winÂter.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall or on FaceÂbook.
Among the ranks of Open CulÂture readÂers, there are no doubt more than a few art-hisÂtoÂry majors. PerÂhaps you’ve studÂied the subÂject yourÂself, at one time or anothÂer — and perÂhaps you find that by now, you rememÂber only cerÂtain scatÂtered artists, works, and moveÂments. What you need is a grand narÂraÂtive, a broad stoÂry of art itself, and that’s just what you’ll find in the video above from Youtube chanÂnel Behind the MasÂterÂpiece. True to its title, “A Brief HisÂtoÂry of Art MoveÂments” briefly describes, and proÂvides a host of visuÂal examÂples to illusÂtrate, 22 phasÂes in the develÂopÂment of art in just 23 minÂutes.
The jourÂney begins in preÂhisÂtoÂry, with cave paintÂings from 40,000 years ago apparÂentÂly creÂatÂed “as a way to share inforÂmaÂtion.” Then comes the art of antiqÂuiÂty, when increasÂingÂly litÂerÂate sociÂeties “startÂed creÂatÂing the earÂliÂest natÂuÂralÂisÂtic images of human beings,” not least to enforce “reliÂgious and politÂiÂcal ideÂoloÂgies.” The reliÂgiosÂiÂty intenÂsiÂfied in the MidÂdle Ages, when artists “depictÂed clear, iconÂic images of reliÂgious figÂures” — as well as their oddÂly aged-lookÂing babies — “and decÂoÂratÂed them with extenÂsive use of gold and jewÂels as a way to attract more peoÂple to the church.”
When many us think of art hisÂtoÂry — whether we studÂied it or not — our minds go straight to the subÂseÂquent periÂod, the RenaisÂsance, durÂing which “artists startÂed to appreÂciÂate culÂturÂal subÂjects like art, music, and theÂater” as well. They creÂatÂed “porÂtrait paintÂings, anatomÂiÂcalÂly corÂrect sculpÂtures, and symÂmetÂriÂcal archiÂtecÂture,” and the invenÂtion of the printÂing press greatÂly expandÂed the pool of potenÂtial appreÂciÂaÂtors. Then, in the Baroque moveÂment, enorÂmousÂly skilled artists like BerniÂni and CarÂavagÂgio “emphaÂsized extravÂaÂgance and emoÂtion,” and othÂer forms folÂlowed suit with more intense embellÂishÂments of their own.
From eighÂteenth-cenÂtuÂry France emerged the “playÂful and utopiÂan” RocoÂco periÂod, which was folÂlowed by the backÂward-lookÂing “interÂest in renewed simÂplicÂiÂty” that charÂacÂterÂized NeoÂclasÂsiÂcism, which was folÂlowed by RomanÂtiÂcism, a moveÂment whose artists “looked withÂin and found inspiÂraÂtion in their own imagÂiÂnaÂtions, and the nature around them.” It was the levÂelÂing French RevÂoÂluÂtion that brought about the conÂdiÂtions for the rise of RealÂism, with its focus on “depictÂing real peoÂple in everyÂday life,” the kind of subÂjects to that point overÂlooked in major works of art.
In the secÂond half of the nineÂteenth cenÂtuÂry the develÂopÂment of art hit the gas, bringÂing on the imperÂfect vitalÂiÂty of ImpresÂsionÂism, the darÂing subÂjecÂtivÂiÂty of Post-ImpresÂsionÂism, the extreme subÂjecÂtivÂiÂty of ExpresÂsionÂism, and the sinÂuÂous luxÂuÂry of Art NouÂveau. TechÂnolÂoÂgy had always been a facÂtor in how art changes, but in the twenÂtiÂeth cenÂtuÂry — as Cubism gave way to FuturÂism, Dadaism, SurÂreÂalÂism, and the Bauhaus — it came to the fore. This brings us up to livÂing memÂoÂry: moveÂments like Abstract ExpresÂsionÂism, Pop Art, MinÂiÂmalÂism, and the incliÂnaÂtion of today’s artists to deal in “ideas rather than aesÂthetÂics,” all on disÂplay in most any museÂum you care to visÂit. Or at least they are in the museÂums of the West, there being, after all, a whole world of othÂer art hisÂtoÂries out there to underÂstand besides.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall or on FaceÂbook.
For a medieval knight, physÂiÂcal comÂbat in a full suit of armor could hardÂly have been a simÂple matÂter — but then, nor could the task of putting it on in the first place. You can see the latÂter depictÂed in the video above from NorÂweÂgian hisÂtoÂry buff Ola Onsrud. He describes the armor as a “detailed reconÂstrucÂtion based on the effiÂgy of the Black Prince (1330–1376) in the CanÂterÂbury CatheÂdral, othÂer relÂeÂvant effiÂgies, paintÂings in fourÂteenth-cenÂtuÂry manÂuÂscripts and late fourÂteenth-cenÂtuÂry armor disÂplayed in The RoyÂal Armories in Leeds.” If you’ve so much as glanced at such imagery, Onsrud’s armor should strike you as lookÂing quite like the real deal.
But this is funcÂtionÂal clothÂing, after all, and as such must be put to the test. Onsrud does so in the video just below, a demonÂstraÂtion of how the wearÂer of such armor would actuÂalÂly do hand-to-hand comÂbat. “To make comÂments, the visor of my helÂmet is open through most of the video,” he notes.
“This will of course make my face an interÂestÂing tarÂget for my adverÂsary.” In a real medieval batÂtle, of course, the helÂmet would be closed, and thus the comÂbatÂants wouldÂn’t simÂply aim for the face. As Onsrud explains, the idea is to use one’s sword “against the weak spots of the armor. After findÂing a weak spot, I can put all my body weight behind it and driÂve it in.”
Medieval suits of armor turn out not to be as impenÂeÂtraÂble as they look. Onsrud runs down a few of their major weak points, includÂing the insides of the gloves, the armpits, and — most wince-inducÂingÂly of all — the groin. The defense capaÂbilÂiÂty of armor also varÂied dependÂing upon the weapons used; even the best-suitÂed-up had reaÂson to fear an eneÂmy with a poleaxe. “But the absolute best way to take down an armored knight is by using a lance from a horse,” espeÂcialÂly a horse “galÂlopÂing up to 40 kiloÂmeÂters an hour” whose comÂbined weight with its ridÂer could reach 700 kiloÂgrams. SureÂly even the most comÂmitÂted reenÂacÂtor won’t do that on Youtube.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall or on FaceÂbook.
Most casuÂal viewÂers of HieronyÂmus Bosch’s paintÂings must acknowlÂedge his artisÂtic skill, and many must also wonÂder whether he was comÂpleteÂly out of his mind. But insanÂiÂty, howÂevÂer vividÂly sugÂgestÂed by his imagery, isn’t an espeÂcialÂly comÂpelling explaÂnaÂtion for that imagery. Bosch paintÂed in a parÂticÂuÂlar place and time — the NetherÂlands of the late fifÂteenth and earÂly sixÂteenth cenÂtuÂry, to be speÂcifÂic — but he also paintÂed withÂin a domÂiÂnant worldview.“He grew up in a time of deep reliÂgious anxÂiÂety,” says YoutuÂber HochelaÂga in the video essay above. “Ideas about sin, death, and the devÂil were becomÂing more sophisÂtiÂcatÂed,” and “there was a genÂuine fear that demonÂic forces lived amongst the popÂuÂlaÂtion.”
Hence the analyÂses like that of Great Art Explained, which frames Bosch’s best-known paintÂing The GarÂden of EarthÂly Delights as an expresÂsion of “hardÂcore ChrisÂtianÂiÂty.” But someÂthing about the tripÂtyÂch’s sheer elabÂoÂrateÂness and grotesÂquerie demands furÂther inquiry. HochelaÂga explores the posÂsiÂbilÂiÂty that Bosch worked in a conÂdiÂtion of not just fearÂful piety, but psyÂchoÂlogÂiÂcal afflicÂtion.
“There is a disÂease called St. AnthoÂny’s fire,” he says, conÂtractÂed “by eatÂing a poiÂsoÂnous black funÂgus called ergots that grow on rye crops. SympÂtoms include sores, conÂvulÂsions, and a fierce burnÂing senÂsaÂtion in limbs and extremÂiÂties,” as well as “frightÂenÂing and overÂpowÂerÂing halÂluÂciÂnaÂtions that can last for hours at a time.”
This psyÂchoacÂtive powÂer is now “believed to be behind the many DancÂing Plagues recordÂed throughÂout the MidÂdle Ages.” This explaÂnaÂtion came togethÂer when, “in the mid-twenÂtiÂeth cenÂtuÂry, it was disÂcovÂered that when ergots are baked in an oven, they transÂform into a form of lyserÂgic acid diethyÂlamide, also known as LSD.” Did Bosch himÂself receive the bizarre visions he paintÂed from inadÂverÂtentÂly conÂsumÂing that now well-known halÂluÂcinoÂgenic subÂstance? The many paintÂings he made of St. AnthoÂny “may have been a form of devoÂtionÂal prayer, done so in the hopes that the saint would rid him of his debilÂiÂtatÂing illÂness.” Look at The GarÂden of EarthÂly Delights even today, and you’ll feel that if you saw these murÂderÂous bird-human hybrids around you, you’d try whatÂevÂer you could to get rid of them, too.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall or on FaceÂbook.
No matÂter where you may stand on herbal medÂiÂcine as a viable 21st-cenÂtuÂry option, it’s not hard to imagÂine we’d have all been true believÂers back in the 15th-cenÂtuÂry.
In an artiÂcle for Heart Views, carÂdiÂolÂoÂgist Rachel Hajar lists some comÂmon herbal treatÂments of the MidÂdle Ages:
Headache and aching joints were treatÂed with sweet-smelling herbs such as rose, lavenÂder, sage, and hay. A mixÂture of henÂbane and hemÂlock was applied to aching joints. CorianÂder was used to reduce fever. StomÂach pains and sickÂness were treatÂed with wormÂwood, mint, and balm. Lung probÂlems were treatÂed with a medÂiÂcine made of liquorice and comÂfrey. Cough syrups and drinks were preÂscribed for chest and head-colds and coughs.
If nothÂing else, such approachÂes sound rather more pleasÂant than bloodÂletÂting.
Monks were responÂsiÂble for the study and culÂtiÂvaÂtion of medÂiÂcÂiÂnal herbs.
You may recall how one of FriÂar Lawrence’s daiÂly tasks in Romeo and JuliÂetinvolved venÂturÂing into the monastery garÂden, to fill his basÂket full “baleÂful weeds and preÂcious-juicèd flowÂers.”
(The powÂerÂful sleepÂing potion he conÂcoctÂed for the young lovers may have had disÂasÂtrous conÂseÂquences, but no one can claim it wasn’t effecÂtive.)
Monks preÂserved their herbal knowlÂedge in illusÂtratÂed books and manÂuÂscripts, many of which cleaved closeÂly to works of clasÂsiÂcal antiqÂuiÂty such as Pliny the Elder’s NatÂuÂralis HisÂtoÂria and Dioscordes’ De MateÂria MedÂica.
These earÂly medÂical texts can still be appreÂciÂatÂed as art, parÂticÂuÂlarÂly when they conÂtain fanÂtasÂtiÂcal embellÂishÂments such as can be seen in Erbario, above, a handÂmade 15th-cenÂtuÂry herbal from northÂern Italy that was recentÂly added to the UniÂverÂsiÂty of PennÂsylÂvaÂnia Library’s colÂlecÂtion of rare books and manÂuÂscripts.
In addiÂtion to straightÂforÂward botanÂiÂcal illusÂtraÂtions, there are some roots, leaves, flowÂers and fruit (parÂdon the proÂnoun) of a decidÂedÂly anthroÂpoÂmorÂphic bent.
FanÂcyÂing up drawÂings of plants with human faces and or dragÂon-shaped roots was a medieval conÂvenÂtion.
ManÂdrake roots — preÂscribed as an anesÂthetÂic, an aphroÂdisiÂac, a ferÂtilÂiÂty boostÂer, and a sleep aid — were freÂquentÂly renÂdered as humans.
Wired’s Matt Simon writes that manÂdrake roots “can look bizarrely like a human body and legÂend holds that it can even come in male and female form:”
It’s said to spring from the dripÂping fat and blood and semen of a hanged man. Dare pull it the from the earth and it lets out a monÂstrous scream, bestowÂing agony and death to all those withÂin earshot.
Yikes! Can we get a spoonÂful of sugÂar to help that go down?
No wonÂder JuliÂet, preparÂing to quaff FriÂar Lawrence’s sleepÂing potion in the famÂiÂly tomb, fretÂted that it might wear off preÂmaÂtureÂly, leavÂing her subÂject to “loathÂsome smells” and “shrieks like manÂdrakes torn out of the earth.”
Methinks some chamomile might have calmed those nerves…
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