The One Ring

I have had my head in a world of costume and dwarves lately, so it may sound like I'm losing my grip on reality when I say that The One Ring, The Preciousssss, actually exists in the real world -- and it's not a film prop.

This real world ring is a cursed (yes, really) Anglo-Romano ring from the 4th/5th century that was found in a field in 1785 in Silchester, Gloucestershire.  It's a rather large inscribed gold ring, weighing 12g.  And when I say large I mean "dude must have worn it on his thumb over his gloves" kind of large as it's 25mm in diameter.  It has 10 facets, with the top centre facet engraved with a profile of Venus -- albeit a rather unattractive one.  As the writing is reversed and the profile is quite recessed, I think it was probably a seal ring, however, there is nothing in any source article that officially states that it was.

Above:  The ring and a close up of the Venus head, sourced from The National Trust website.

The ring inscription runs across the facets and reads "SE | NI | CIA | NE | VI | VA | S | II | NDE."  Several sources interpret this as a shortened statement of monotheistic belief, seeing it as "Senicianus vivas in Deo" or "Senicianus lives in God".  A 19th century source suggests that "Senicia ne vivas iinde" is more likely, with iinde being a truncated form of any one of the many words that start with "indec"-- most of which bear the connotations of dishonour.  This would translate to "Senicia does not live indecently", which would explain the presence of the Venus head as a representation of chastity and honour.  Either translation would be a nice counterpoint to the curse placed on the ring though.

Of course, to curse something properly, you'd have to write the curse on a separate item, cursing the first one.  Why?  Otherwise the cursed object itself would be in the hands of the person and can therefore be easily destroyed, breaking the curse.  And the whole point of curses is to make someone paranoid and make them wonder if they've been cursed.  Besides, everyone knows that Roman and Celtic gods only read curses that are inscribed using a bronze stylus onto lead or pewter tablets like these:

Roman curse tablets from the British Museum.  These were usually left in places in closer contact with the underworld, such as baths, springs, graves and temples.

Thirty years after the ring was discovered, a tablet like those above was found at the site of a Roman temple to the Celtic god Nodens.  Nodens was a god of healing, the sea, hunting and dogs.  This tablet was found in the temple along with similar tablets bearing requests for Nodens to heal people.  However, this tablet was different.  This one reads:

1 Deuo
2 Nodenti Silvianus
3 anilum perdedit
4 demediam partem
5 donauit Nodenti
6 inter quibus nomen
7 Seniciani nollis
8 petmittas sanita
9 tem donec perfera(t)
10 usque templum [No]
11 dentis

Translation: "To the god Nodens: Silvianus has lost his ring and given half (its value) to Nodens. Among those who are called Senicianus do not allow health until he brings it to the temple of Nodens." (Source: CSAD at Oxford).

Now sure, the two items weren't found too close together, apart from being in the same part of the country.  But that ring is pretty distinctive and Senicianus was not a common name at all.  Many of these curse tablets specifically cursed people for theft, although this tablet never uses the word.  The word "lost" is interesting -- and why only half it's worth? Of course we'll never actually know that answer.  Obviously, Senicianus never brought the ring to the temple; instead, he put his name on it with the message of "I didn't steal it".  After all, he does not live indecently.  As far as I can see it, this is basically Latin for "Neener neener".

There's a story there and I wish I knew it.  It's a very human, very petty story, but it would be an insight to the lives of these people.

So where's the Tolkien tie in?  In 1929, when Sir Mortimer Wheeler was working on the temple excavation, he realised the link between to the curse tablet and the ring and asked Tolkien to work on the etymology of the name "Nodens".  Tolkien visited the temple several times that year.  Of course it's just coincidence that the Iron Age mine fort  "Dwarf's Hill" is just next door...  And that he started writing The Hobbit the next year.  Sure, we don't know for sure, really, but... just sayin'.

Seriously though.  How big were this guy's fingers?

Either way, The National Trust is taking full advantage of The Hobbit publicity and has put the ring on display from 2nd April, 2013 at The Vyne in Basingstoke with all the Tolkien tie-ins ever.  The ring sits in a special rotating case in it's own room, along with a magnifying glass and a copy of the curse tablet and first edition signed Tolkien works.  The Vyne has also created a Middle Earth adventure garden for the kids -- though I can see that I'd have to have a go in there.  Seriously, whoever made this happen is a marketing genius because I'd love to go see it.  Next time I'm dahn saff, I may have to.

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 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...

De Arte Venandi Cum Avibus

Sometimes you see something interesting that leads you down a path of research that you didn't intend.  This totally happened today and I ended up googling De Arte Venandi Cum Avibus (On The Art of Hunting with Birds), a medieval treatise on ornithology and falconry.  Written in the 1240s by Frederick II of Sicily, it now exists in two forms as the original was lost in 1248 during the siege of Parma.  One form is a six-book version, the other is a two book version, which is an illuminated manuscript.

And it is gorgeous:

Sure, that's not necessarily one of the more spectacular illuminations in terms of medieval bling, but what I'm taken by is the sheer simplicity as well as the really nice layout.  That is a work of talent.  It also shows some of the hawking pouches that I make, which is nice too.

The book itself contains around 500 illustrations of about 80 different species of bird, some in flight:

Some being attended by falconers:

Some in the middle of eating the ears off a rabbit:

(Thank you, Wikipedia!)

Frederick wrote this book with the intention of sharing some of his scientific knowledge in terms of breeding and handling.  He did experimentation with eggs and how they hatched.  He also wrote "Whoever wants to learn the art of hunting with birds to be able to feed them, keep them, tame them, take them, teach them to hunt other birds sent them to hunt and, if necessary, treat, must unite, the quality which will be indicated, science (the theoretical and practical knowledge) contained in this work."  He was a big believer in doing things right.

I've not been able to find any single place online that holds all the illustrations, nor anywhere that holds a translation, sadly.  However, there is a Latin copy of just the text here:  http://www.scribd.com/doc/20486846/De-Arte-Venandi-Cum-Avibus-1, although my basic High School Latin fails after a sentence and a half, sadly.  Still, if anyone would like to spend out on a translated copy, there's one available on Amazon with the original pictures too.  It's 768 pages long and quite some money:


I know it's expensive, but I'm still not convinced that it's not worth it.  I should probably go have a word with myself about that...  

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.

Madonna of Mercy with Kneeling Friars

I'm usually not one for the big religious medieval scriptures as they don't show much in the way of fashion of the time usually, however, today this caught my eye:

It caught my eye because of it's vibrancy and it's use of the fish to for the letter S.  This piece is called Madonna of Mercy with Kneeling Friars.  It was created around 1424 by a chap named Fra Angelico (the Angelic Brother), who also went by the name Fra Giovanni da Fiesole (Brother John of Fiesole).  He was born in the Italian town of Fiesole and by the age of 13 he was already in the Dominican Friary of Cortona, painting frescoes which have all now been destroyed.  He did this piece when he was 29ish, having studied illuminations from a really, really young age.  This piece is an illumination from Messale 558 -- a book of hymns for Mass that also contained the liturggies for the feast days of several saints.

Another page from this book shows the glorification of St. Dominic:

This is straight from wikipedia, so if you want a bigger picture (where you can even see the grain of the parchement), check it out here.  This is a page from the book which even has musical notation.  My favourite though has to be this one, which is simply called Blessed angelic annunciation:

It's my favourite one from the set I've seen online simply because of the scrollwork inside of the R.  That's a lot of work, a lot of patience, a lot of hours and a lot of talent. 

There's a set of four of his images from this book available at http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Messale_558, which are all really high res and worth a look if you like illuminations.  I can't help but wonder how long it took him to put it all together though, even though the evidence shows that he had an assistant.  I should still think it took some time!