Why Doctor Who Fails at Time Travel in Medieval and Renaissance England

Today, I was doing some research into New Year's during different time periods and checking out some of the awesome calendars people made hundreds of years ago.  Calendars tended to last longer in those days and generally came in book form.  Rather than being the ephemeral items they are today, they were works of art and skill:

 A 1496 copy of the German calendar created by Johannes Von Gmunden (c.1380-1443).  It sold recently for £73,250 ($117,347).  Astrological in nature, but the book also contains a liturgical section.  The moon looks smug though.  It bothers me.

However, I was reminded of something I learned years ago in school -- these medieval and renaissance types used a different calendar back then.  At that point, as I was discussing the nuances of the Julian vs the Gregorian calendars to the other half, he just exclaimed "That's why The Doctor can't ever get anywhere or any-when at the correct time or place!  It's not a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff -- he's just not taking calendars into account!"

I thought about this a moment and was going to disagree because, well, Time Lord.  But then I remembered that The Doctor couldn't even think to save Rory and Amy from the weeping angels by going to 1935 to pick them up.  So it makes sense to me that he could miss the whole calendars thing, which I should probably now explain, given that I've had caffeine and it's showing.

Or this.  They could have done this.  That would have been fine too.  HOW DID HE NOT SPOT THAT?  Okay, calm.  But it illustrates the point.  No common sense.  Or perhaps New York is just too full of flanginium, that rarest, yet most common of metals.  Incidentally, if you know who the artist for this is, I'd love to give them credit -- this is something that I saw floating around the Internet... :(

See, people have found different ways of measuring time.  The Romans had a few ways, the last of which being the Julian Calendar, brought in by Julius Caesar in 46BC to start in 45BC (by our calendars).  Romans of course measured from the founding of their city, Rome, (Ad Urbis Condita) so this change happened in 708AUC and 709AUC.  For perspective, by their calendar, we're now living in 2676, by the way...

The Julian calendar was all very well and good, except for the fact that it was 11 minutes longer per year than nature allows for.  Doesn't sound much until you realise that over the course of four centuries, it gained around 3 calendar days.  By the time the more accurate Gregorian calendar that we use today was introduced to the Catholic countries of Europe in 1582, the vernal equinox was taking place on the 11th March instead of the church's date of the 21st, meaning that 10 calendar days had been unintentionally inserted over time.  This was unacceptable given that the celebration of Easter was tied to the equinox and the seasons were getting out of sync.

This was further compounded by the fact that yes, under the Julian calendar, the year sensibly started on 1st January.  But of course that didn't take Roman Catholic religious observances -- the liturgical cycle -- which began on 25th March.

A Medieval Calendar:  A page from an English Book of Hours (1401-1414) held at the British Library, helpfully filed as "Royal 2 A XVIII".  This page illustrates 25th March (the Feast of Annunciation), which according to tradition is the day Mary was told "Yo.  You're pregnant."  This was therefore the start of the New Year for countries using the Julian calendar.  

So in practice, there was a secular New Year's Day and a religious one.  The year, however, only went up on the religious New Year's Day, 25th March.  Therefore, if Queen Elizabeth were to write a letter dated on the 1st January, 1567, which is correct from her perspective, we'd view it now as 1st January, 1568, which is correct from ours.  She'd also go to bed on 24th March, 1567 and wake up on 25th March, 1568 and this would be entirely normal.

To make matters even more complicated, note how I mentioned that the Catholic countries adopted the Gregorian calendar in 1582.  So most of Europe (Spain, Portugal, France, Poland, the Netherlands and all their territories) took this on board.  Britain didn't.  It was Protestant and firmly so; this new calendar thing was clearly a Catholic plot by the Pope to bring Britain back into line!  Many Protestant countries felt this way.  However, the new calendar eventually caught on, in time, because it was more accurate.

Britain, her American colony and her territories took on the Gregorian Calendar in 1752.  By this time, the calendar was in something of a bind, so some trickery was used to fudge the dates and bring them into line.  On 24th March, 1751, the next day was 25th March, 1752.  This was actually normal (religious New Year, remember).  But, it was decreed that the year ended on 31st December, 1752, and therefore the year went up, the next day, on 1st January, 1753.  The calendar was also still out by 12 days, however, so 2nd September, 1752 was followed by 14th September, 1752.  1752 was 72 days shorter.  I kid you not.  They just decided to not have those days that year.

A page from William Hunter's Virginia Almanack for September 1752.  Despite 1752 being 72 days shorter than every other year ever, I doubt he gave 20% off his Almanacks (source).

Apparently, this is all even confusing to historians, mostly because half of them update and half of them don't.  Not exactly helpful, but at least they generally state it at the start of their works.  The Gregorian calendar became the worldwide standard over time, though the last country to accept it was Greece in 1923.  The Greek Orthodox churches, however, still use the Julian calendar.

Just as a note:  This will blow my mind at 4am tomorrow night -- when I remember it and I've had a few.  Although no time travelers ever make note of any of these discrepancies, I'm really glad they don't.  It'd just be confusing.  But you'd think The Doctor could at least install some kind of upgrade for it!

The Jesse Tree

It's been a little while since my last posting... You know how it is -- December is a month for family and friends visiting and for panicking and shopping and, well, failing to get stuff done.  I even got a little bit of writer's block, if I'm honest, so I decided to turn to my leatherworking muse to try and shift it.  In doing research for tree designs, I came across the idea of a Jesse Tree -- an unfamiliar idea that actually should be very familiar, as it turns out.

A Jesse Tree from the Winchester Psalter, a 12th century book of psalms from England, made for the brother of King Stephen.  It depicts the line of Christ.  Yep, it's a family tree.

The chap lying down at the bottom is Jesse, father to David, who is the chap on the first fork of the tree.  It ascends up to Mary and then Jesus at the top.  The chaps at either side are actually prophets, holding the scriptures that point to the prophesy of Christ as the Messiah.  It's a fairly common theme in these scriptural family trees -- but they're not just kept to books.  Trees of Jesse are also depicted in stained glass windows in churches and as time went on, good grief, they got grand:

 

Stained glass Jesse Tree at Saint-Étienne's church in Beauvais, France, created between 1522-1524.  Jesse is the chap in the four-poster bed at the bottom.  To his left is Francis I of France and to his right is the Holy Roman Emporer Charlies V.  The rest are misc kings of Judea plus St. Louis.

It took two years for this to be put together -- it's no wonder really to look at it.  It's amazingly beautiful and detailed.  If you'd like to see better and more in detail pictures, check out this article by Professor Moriarty. 

It wasn't just stereotypical churchy things that got the whole Jesse Tree treatment either.  I came across a liturgical comb fragment that features this design:

Ivory comb fragment from Bavaria, Germany.  It's from between 1180-1220 and measures 3 5/8"x4" in size and has an insane amount of detail.  Each of the scriptures have writing in Latin, in incredibly small lettering...  How much skill?

Isiah is stood on the left, holding a scroll that translates to "And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse...".  I don't think they could have thought of a more unattractive way of putting it.  Yeesh.  That was probably the point though.

I've always wondered where the idea of a family tree actually came from.  Incidentally, the Jesse Tree bears no relation to the Christmas tree, even though I really looked for that connection -- well, you know.  It's December.  Everything has to be Christmas related, right?

Jorvik Centre & Coppergate Helm

Last week I went to the Jorvik Centre in York.  I'd been there before as a child, but as that was a very long time ago, I thought I'd give it another visit.  It's a museum based on the Coppergate digs, which have yielded artifacts mostly from the mid to late 10th century, but with several from before that.  It's mainly Viking focused, although there's a good smattering of Anglo-Saxon and other influences too. 

The Jorvik Centre good way to spend an afternoon, though it is definitely oriented towards school groups as it features a ride that you have to go on in order to get from one part of the museum to the other.  I have to admit to not taking any pictures during the ride because it includes moving, talking, mechanical people and I don't know about you, but those things creep me the hell out.  At least one of them has been pooping in a corner since I was a kid.  I think I'm good for pictures of that, thanks...

It's pretty dark inside Jorvik, but I did get a few decent pictures of one or two items.  The exhibits largely give an insight into the day to day life of your average person living in York during this time period; the average, day to day folk -- not berserkers or warriors, but folk.  I kind of like that.

 Bone and antler combs found in the Coppergate area of York.  These were really common objects, however, the evidence points to a crafter making combs at Coppergate as many half-finished combs were found.  The teeth were finely spaced so as to take care of nits and lice.

Having said that, the museum also houses a few skulls and skeletons, with some of those people noted as having "likely died in battle".  One chap in particular had 16 bone crushing or damaging wounds, so "likely" is probably not the word.  I did find myself contemplating exactly how he died, as grim as it sounds.  It is easy to picture a lone Viking warrior, unaware of the line having folded to both sides, being swamped by the oncoming tide of enemy.  His skeleton told the story of someone who'd been a career warrior; I hope his death was at least quick.  It was certainly violent.

Jorvik also houses a reproduction of the Coppergate Helmet (the original being housed at the Yorkshire Museum).  This helm is awesome.  It's an Anglo-Saxon helm from between 750-775AD which was partially dismantled and stashed so that someone could return for it at a later point.  It would have belonged to someone of pretty high status because it's iron, brass and bling:

Reconstructed it it's original glory:  The bar running up the forehead bears the inscription "IN NOMINE:DNI:NOSTRI:IHV:SCE:SPS:DI:ET:OMNIBVS:DECEMVS:AMEN:OSHERE:XPI".  In short "In the name of our Lord Jesus, the Holy Spirit and God:  and to all we say Amen/Oshere/Christ".

All that's known about the helm's original owner is that he was a Christian Anglian called "Oshere".  He likely had a lot of money but even if he was royalty we'd likely never know, given how short a time some of the kings of York stayed in power at this time.

Detail of the nasal bar. Makes you wonder if the guy had been wearing it rather than stashing it, if he'd have been capable of revisiting the well at some point.

The helm reminds me of a later, Romanised version of the Vendel helms from Sweden -- these were also laden with scroll work and usually had a a boar crest where the inscription on this helm lies.  As much as this was an Anglian helm, other influences are definitely apparent, which is appropriate given just how multicultural York was during this period.

As I said, it was a nice way to spend the afternoon and as a bonus, the gift shop is quite good too.  On my way out though, I couldn't help but snap a picture of this:

Now that would be a great way to spend an afternoon...  ;)

The Geese Book

By the name of it, you'd think it was another falconry manuscript like De Arte Venandi Cum Avibus, but it's actually a two volume liturgical book that was created in Germany between 1503 and 1510.  It's called The Geese Book due to this illustration in the first book:

 Illustration from the bottom of a page showing a wolf leading a choir of geese, with a fox standing over them.  Keeping the fowl singers in line?  ...I'll get my coat...

The volumes largely contain musical notation for chants with several very decorative illuminations.  It's believed that one monk acted as scribe, whilst another chap was the artist.  Having researched it a bit, I found out that this book is huge -- 25.75" x 17.5" -- and made of vellum with pigskin bindings.  That's a lot of book, which doesn't sound massive until you see pictures:

 Left:  The cover of volume II of The Geese Book.  Sooo very pretty!  

Right:  Pictures of the book being digitised by the good people at The Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies. 

The book contains a variety of chants for use at different times, some with some gorgeous illuminated margins and letters.  Some of these chants are suggested for use at very precise days, such as the first Sunday in Advent, which, incidentally, has a really beautiful page, with a really odd illustration at the bottom:

Bear and bear hunter in a bear hug.  It looks oddly like a reconciliation rather than the bear attacking...

Even after all these centuries, the gold on these pages is bright and looks absolutely stunning.  The best example is a page with notation for chants on Trinity Sunday.  The whole page is beautiful and in fantastic condition:

Look how shiny that gold is!  Also, I totally agree that the best time to shoot a deer with antlers like that is when it's asleep.  For a higher res and zoomable image, check this page out.

ACMRS has been digitising this manuscript since at least 2004.  It became available online yesterday.  I genuinely feel the need to thank the people who worked on this project for putting it online in this fashion.  Without their work, I would never have lost myself in these two books which were created by two talented men.  If you want to know more, examine the manuscript or even hear the chants (yeah, that hard work was part of the project too!), here's a link that'll take you straight to the online versions of the book:  http://geesebook.asu.edu/volumes.htm.  Enjoy!

The Smithfield Decretals

In my random googlings today, I came across a manuscript with the weirdest marginalia.  It's the Decretals of Gregory IX with glossa ordinaria, specifically The Smithfield Decretals.  This work was a collection of medieval canon law, designed to replace all the previous collections.  Originally compiled in 1230, this specific manuscript was actually finished around 1300 in Southern France.  Well, the written part was. 

 Top:  The last page of the Smithfield Decretals, including illustrations.  Oh, the folio is half a metre tall, by the way.

Bottom:  Close up of the last line of the manuscript.  Translated, it reads "The whole thing is finished; give the guy who wrote it a drink."  Good man!

Nearly all the illuminations, however, were added 40 years later.  Whoever owned it at that point lived in England and commissioned a group of artists to illuminate every page of the folio.  Some of the pages have pretty illustrations of birds or people hunting boar and are fairly "normal".  Other pages show battles and sieges, with some interesting details:

In this case, the interesting detail is that the castle is being defended by a sword-wielding woman.  Judging by the hairstyles, everyone in the castle is female, barring the face at the window, which could be that of a child.  Still, looks like the guy on the ladder is having a really bad hair day...

There are also some illustrations of Reyard the Fox, who was a trickster character in European folklore.  He is shown preaching to geese, chickens and even a heron.  But of course, geese are tasty...

Nom, nom, nom, geese.  I wonder what this picture could *possibly* be an allegory of... that's almost brave for the time!

Of course, once Reynard is caught, he must face  justice for his crime.  Hanging is a fitting medieval punishment for theft and murder:

The geese and ducks require retribution!  Though how on Earth that goose intends to fire that bow is beyond me...

Given that Reynard was a wily type, he probably managed to talk them out of it at the last, mind.  The manuscript has many story pictures of this type, including the revenge of the bunny rabbits, a knight jousting against a snail, and a dragon attacking a windmill.  If any of these descriptions take your fancy, a catalogue of images is available here:  http://www.bl.uk/catalogues/illuminatedmanuscripts/record.asp?MSID=6549&CollID=16&NStart=100504

I swear, there is even one captioned "Man attacking a butterfly."  I'd love to know the context for that one...

Henry VIII: The Prince in Mourning

When you think of Henry VIII, you think of a rather large ginger man who ate too much and always got his way.  The church disagreed with him, so he left and created his own damn church; he went through wives at a rate of knots; he was absolute ruler and commanded obedience in court.  He pulled no punches and seemed pretty heartless, but he also came across as a strong, charismatic leader, showing anger rather than sadness or vulnerability.

 Henry VIII.  Ladies... check out my cod.  WOOF!

Portrait from 1540 by Hans Holbein.

People forget that the man was once a child whose mother died when he was 11.  It had been a hard time for the family; his brother, Arthur, died of some kind of fever-based illness in April 1502.  Elizabeth, his mother, fell pregnant and gave birth to a girl called Catherine on the 2nd February, 1503, but the child died a few days later.  Elizabeth then died to a post partum infection a week after the child died.  You cannot help but empathise with the small child shown in this manuscript:

 Prince Henry weeping at his mother's empty death bed.  The two girls are his sisters shown in mourning attire, Princess Margaret (aged 13) and Princess Mary (aged 7).  Poor kids.

Image from the National Library of Wales.

Henry was known to be very close to his mother so it's no surprise that the young prince was devastated.  It's possible that his distanced relationship with his father was compounded by his mother's death, as according to one account, his father "privily departed to a solitary place and would no man should resort unto him".  Harsh.  Sometimes a kid needs his dad, even in 1503.

This image has had a lot of interest lately; although the Vaux Passional has been in the National Library of Wales since 1921, it's recently been digitised and therefore re-evaluated.  No one had really looked at it in a while.  People are interested in this image because Henry VIII has never been pictured as being vulnerable or even having grieved for anyone much, even as a child.  During the re-evaluation, it became evident that this Passional was likely part of the library of Henry VIII's father, Henry VII.  In fact, it's possible that the image below actually shows the Vaux Passional being given to Henry VII:

Illumination showing the possible presentation of the book to the king.  Prince Henry is weeping in the background.

The activity in the background has actually helped to date the piece somewhat, placing its creation at the start of the 16th century.  The manuscript, which is written in French, similarly follows themes of death.  It contains two bodies of work -- a Passional and Le Miroir de la Mort by Georges Chastellain.  The Passional calls on the reader to meditate on the arrest, trial, Crucifixion and Resurrection of Christ.  It starts at the raising of Lazarus and ends with Judas and Pontius Pilate.  Le Miroir de la Mort is a work that discusses "the futility of wordly pleasures in the face of certain death".  Cheery stuff then.

 Illumination from the Vaux Passional showing "Christ between two thieves".  The source has stunning detail, available here)

The manuscript also shows the seige and fall of Jerusalem, which I think is my favourite illumination -- saving for that of Prince Henry:

It's worth taking a look through the National Library of Wales online gallery for this book.  It's all stunning, and all done by one person who lived in London back in the early 1500s.  No one knows who made it, but it's pretty clear they had a good understanding of death and sadness.  It's also a wonderful reminder that this "swaggering warrior king" was once a child.

Canterbury Tales

I had one of the pages from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales appear in my feed, so it's compelled me to go off and do more research as the artwork is truly stunning.  It's odd; I remember being in class reading through it all in 11th Grade AP English, being actually quite bored by it, but I think that part of the problem was that we were focusing solely on the stories, not the art or the social importance of the piece.  I'm a bit sad that I decided that "Mr. Cliff and his notes" would be an awesome shortcut, but then again, what do you know when you're 16, you're in High School, and your love of your life has just broken up with you after three months?  How times change...

Anyhow, here are some awesome pictures I've dug up from various places online.  The first page of the tales is quite gorgeous and actually, very readable given it's in archaic English:

"Ere begynneth the book of tales of Canterburye compiled by Geffraie Chaucer of Brytayne chef poete"

Although Chaucer wrote his tales between 1387 and 1400, this is a copy of his tales made around 1450.  Sadly, according to the British Library, no copies exist today that Chaucer wrote himself.  However, the fact that at least 80 copies from the 15th century do still exist points to his works being incredibly popular.

They were popular for many reasons.  Firstly, he wrote about a cross-section of society from dyers to nuns and it was a work of social commentary, which always grabs attention.  He also chose to write the stories in English, which was pretty rare in England at that time.  The ruling classes spoke French seeing as the Normans had invaded a few centuries before, with the normal, everyday classes speaking English.  This is probably another reason it was popular -- it was actually the language many people spoke.

A picture of Chaucer as a pilgrim from the Ellesmere Manuscript.  "Heere Bigynneth Chaucers Tale of Melibee" 

That's not to say that people were particularly literate, but that is to say that English was a popular spoken language in England (who'd've thought it?).  As this was one of the first times that the English language had been written down for this purpose post-invasion, Chaucer also got a chance to sculpt it and capture it, showing that different classes spoke in different manners.  What I really like though is the portraits of some of the people telling the tales.  The Prioress, for example is really quite a beautiful illumination:

I also like the Ellesmere version of the Man of Law, however it's smudged now, sadly:

I still find it beautiful.  I think I'm going to end up doing a few posts about this one...

Medieval Limp Bindings

I work as a lecturer in Graphic Design and as such I have an interest in different methods of publication and book binding.  During research, I came across some beautiful examples of medieval limp binding, a method of binding a manuscript to a limp cover of vellum  or similar material in order to provide a lightweight cover.

It's pretty hard to know how often this binding was used for definite as the style is generally seen as being cheaper and more ephemeral than other "proper" bindings.  We do know that limp binding was used in the 14th & 15th centuries and that it became a quite popular style in the 16th century, with some library collections having over 50% of their works bound in this fashion thanks to the efforts of scholar-publishers.  By the 17th century, however, the style was in decline.  I've yet to find a reason as to why, but one can speculate that changing print processes were likely having an effect on book production and binding methods.

Still, it's a nice little style of book to make and one of the easier binding techniques for documents, perfect for your average SCA/re-enactor/LARPer types.  I've made a couple in the past but have never been hugely pleased with the results due to the paper stock and the leather being a wee bit too limp, so looking at these older manuscripts is giving me a shove to make nicer feeling books with better stock and better leather.

One of the examples that stood out for me was a limp binding with a linen cloth cover, held by the National Library of Sweden.

It's a document from 1451-1452, which is simply referred to as the Vadstena Observance.  Vadstena was a monastery so it's fairly safe to say that this is a religious document.  It has three seals -- but unfortunately the information at source is pretty lacking (source is here).  The inside is pretty stunning though, given that it's a limp bound manuscript, bound only in linen:

It's a simple way of binding things.  I can't help but feel that these books are meant for use; a copy meant for wear, rather than a library reference, which would be the grander version of the manuscript that you'd want to keep nice.  Some of the records from 14th and 15th century convent libraries certainly agree as most of these books were in the hands of the nuns, with only 9% of the books in the library being limp bound.  That doesn't mean these books weren't of value though.  They still contained information and have even been documented as being taken as part of the spoils of war, such as this one:

It's not much to look at, until you look at the reinforced leather spine:

...and of course, the manuscript itself:

It's also in the National Library of Sweden, listed as being from 1398.  They believe it was part of the spoils of the sacking of Prague in 1648.  I just wish I knew what it said...

In doing the research for this entry, I also found a really cool little website by a lady who is putting the limp binding technique into practice based on actual historic pieces.  She's a few interesting comments on putting the theory into practice.  I also came across http://www.textmanuscripts.com, which is a site that sells manuscripts privately.  My favourite of their current stock is a processional with musical notation from Northern Italy, made between 1450-1500.  The exterior is just plain vellum with no design, saving for some gilt lettering down the spine that reads "Uffiziolo Francescano, sec. XV."  The interior, however, is gorgeous:

This processional contains multiple forms of burial services for friars, the laity and also for children.  Because everything is in the masculine form, it's believed it was created as a book for use by Franciscan friars.  It is a working book, not a reference book.

Either way, it took someone of talent to put something like this together.