It is easy to view medieval times as a dreary, colorless life of drudgery and hard work at best, and warfare, torture, and deadly plagues at worst.  A study of the holidays, however, spins the kaleidoscope and breathes color and joy into the picture, as well.  Our modern vacation and feasting doesn’t hold a flickering beeswax candle, much less a torch, to theirs!  Christmas, for instance, was two weeks of feasting and celebration.  Easter, Christmas, and Whitsunday (or Pentecost) were the three most important holy days of the year.

Feasting is an expression of joy, and to that end, it’s important to remember Easter is a religious feast celebrating the miraculous event of a man rising from the dead after a horrific crucifixion.  This event being the evidence that the long-awaited Messiah had walked among us, it is the very crux of the Christian faith, and therefore the most important day of the year, religiously.  A popular current view of the medieval Church is of a grim and stern overlord.  In contrast, however,  John Chrysostom’s Easter sermon, found at the Medieval Sourcebook, brims with joy and hope.

Are there any weary with fasting?
Let them now receive their wages!
If any have toiled from the first hour,
let them receive their due reward;
If any have come after the third hour,
let him with gratitude join in the Feast!
And he that arrived after the sixth hour,
let him not doubt; for he too shall sustain no loss.
And if any delayed until the ninth hour,
let him not hesitate; but let him come too.
And he who arrived only at the eleventh hour,
let him not be afraid by reason of his delay.

Like Christmas, Easter in the medieval world often involved plays, in this case depicting the angel at the empty tomb, and telling the Resurrection story. Similar to the Christmas creche, was the Easter sepulchre, dating back to at least the tenth century, and common all over Europe and Britain by the 16th Century.  They were displays of sorts.  They might be set in a small niche in a church or they might be extravagant wooden displays mounted atop tombs.  Still others were free-standing.  There might be brackets for candles, and carved depictions of angels or scenes of Christ’s Passion.

The ceremonies surrounding these sepulchres involved responsories being sung while placing a crucifix and consecrated host in the tomb on Good Friday, surrounding it with candles and incense, and having either minor clergy or the sexton and his assistants watch the ‘tomb’ until Easter morning.  At that time, the Host and crucifix were removed with much ceremony and processed around the church.

 The feasting and celebration, of course, is a big part of what comes down to us, hundreds of years later.  Maybe it is partly our fascination with what is so different from our time.  The Easter message, after all, has not changed in all this time.  Medieval and modern Easter sermons carry the same, eternal message: He is risen. Hallelujah.  But we can hardly conceive, in our hasty modern world, of celebrating as they did.

Of course, to the modern world, giving up chocolate for 40 days is typical of Lent.  To the medieval populace, with, metaphorically speaking, more churches and fewer grocery stores,  seasons and religious belief made for a very different Lenten experience.  The winter season offered little enough meat as it was.  Lent, however, was a time of fasting from meat, dairy, and eggs.  Fish might be the daily special for a full six weeks, with herring being particularly common–salted, says one site, and cooked with onions and cabbage.  Mmm, good!  Or, in the probably more accurate and less sarcastic words of one medieval boy: “Thou wyll not beleve how werey I am off fysshe, and how moch I desir that flesch wer cum in ageyn.”

A medieval Easter feast, then, featured all the things that had been missing for so long, whether due to religious stricture or lack of grocery stores: meat, eggs, greens.  More specifically, lamb, veal,  rabbit, herbs.  In case this wasn’t enough meat, a medieval master chef also prepared a variety of birds for the table: swan, peacock, partridge, pheasant, blackbirds, pigeon, woodcock, sparrows, curlew and capon.  A capon is a castrated rooster.

And the food was not just prepared for gastrointestinal delight, but to be aesthetic masterpieces.  The peacock, for instance, would be stuffed and sewn back together, and served in full feathered regalia with its neck propped up and tail feathers fanned behind it.  One article tells of a fanciful creature that might appear at the medieval table: the back of a pig joined to the front of a capon.  When combined with such things as the Unicorn tapestry, mysterious myths of strange creatures and events, and the rich symbolism rampant at the time, it is a unique look into the medieval mind,  perhaps full of mystery, romance, and possibilities beyond what they could see, to think of such things being created.  Or perhaps it just makes some people squirm!

For those with a sweet tooth, the tansy was a favorite.  It was something like a butter-fried pancake or omelette, flavored and colored with spinach, spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon, and flavored with cream.  It vied with pain perdue (bread dipped in egg, fried, and topped with sugar, which sounds very like French toast), gilded marchpanes, and a form of gingerbread which involved honey, saffron and ginger baked into a biscuit.  And for a society that did not have our regular access to candy and chocolate of all sorts, nuts and fruits also would have been a wonderful treat bursting from the barren winter back into their diets.

Dining in medieval days, of course, was not just about fueling the body.  Without facebook, phones, or movies, feasts were a social and entertainment mega-event.  The feast proceeded over many courses, with jugglers, minstrels, acrobats, and other entertainment, along with the chance to meet and greet.

Like today, medieval families often marked the day with new clothes, yet another sign of new beginnings.  And of course, no Easter story is complete without mention of eggs.  Even in medieval times, they were an integral part of the day.  Children took eggs to church to be blessed, tenants brought eggs to their lords (a hen tithe so to speak), and kings dispensed gilded eggs to their underlings and favorites.  Records survive of the Countess of Leicester purchasing  eggs to distribute to her tenants in 1265.  The number ranges from 1,000 to nearly 4,000.  Edward I of England is said to have distributed 450 eggs, many covered in gold leaf, on his last Easter in 1307.  (It’s a safe assumption he didn’t share any with Robert the Bruce.)

And now, after a day of alternately writing and hunting for my boys’ Easter clothes, I am off to dye eggs–no gold plate here, I’m afraid–and buy a ham.  It doesn’t seem like much in comparison to a medieval Easter, but then, I have had plentiful meat these past few months, which they didn’t.  Still, maybe I can find feathers somewhere to stick in the ham, and call it a peacock. 

Happy Easter!

Like all enduring myths and legends, there are variations on the story of King Herla, but the gist of it is this:

 Herla was the king of the Britons more than a thousand years ago.  One day, while hunting in an ancient forest with his men, he met a dwarf with a great red beard, and cloven hooves, riding a huge goat.  “I am a king of many kings and chiefs,” the dwarf told Herla and his men.  “But I have heard of your fame and great deeds, even in my world.  You are worthy to attend my wedding.  We’ll make a compact: even now, the ambassadors of France are arriving at your palace to arrange your marriage to their princess.  I’ll attend your wedding, and a year to the day later, you’ll attend mine.”

It was as the dwarf king had said.  Herla and his men arrived back at his palace to see the ambassadors awaiting him.  The wedding was arranged, and in the midst of the celebrations and feasting, the dwarf king and his people arrived, great crowds of them.  They provided food and drink in vessels of gold and crystal in such abundance that King Herla’s provisions went untouched.  At cock-crow the next morning, he and his people disappeared back to their own world.

A year to the day later, the dwarf king appeared to remind Herla of their pact.  Being a man of honor, Herla and his men selected gifts worthy of a fellow monarch and rode into the ancient forest.  There, a cliff opened before them.  They traveled into a dark tunnel, but soon enough, it opened up into a great cavern of light, seemingly lit by thousands of lamps.  There, Herla and his men celebrated for three days with the dwarf king and his people.

Finally, on preparing to leave, the dwarf showered them with gifts of horses, dogs, and hawks.  In particular, the dwarf lifted up a small hound to ride with Herla on his horse.  “Do not get down from your horses until this dog jumps down,” the dwarf warned.  “Only then will it be safe for you to dismount.”

Herla and his men rode back out of the dwarf’s realm.  Coming out into the forest, they found their world did not look quite as they’d left it three days before.  Disturbed, they rode on, till they found an old shepherd.  “Tell me news of my queen, wife of Herla,” Herla demanded.

The old man looked at him strangely, and finally said, “I scarce understand you, for you are a Briton, and I am a Saxon.”  After some thought, he added, “I have heard such a name.  But it is a very old story, of the wife of Herla.  Her husband rode into the forest to celebrate the marriage of a dwarf king, and was never seen again.  She died of a broken heart.  But that was in the days of the Britons, and the Saxons have ruled England for two hundred years now.”

One of Herla’s men, upset, leapt from his saddle.  He instantly turned to dust, and Herla understood that what the shepherd said was true.  He ordered his men to stay on their horses.  And so they were doomed to ride endlessly, and became the Wild Hunt, roaming the earth forever in their saddles without rest.

Until the first year of King Henry, in 1133, men reported sightings of the Wild Hunt.  In that year, the sightings occured in Wales, until shortly after, many Welsh reported seeing King Herla’s men sinking into the River Wye.  From then, they were never seen again.

The story of King Herla warns us against the trickery of the elder races, such as the dwarves, and the dangers their kingdoms hold even for the greatest among us.

In short, do not go to a dwarf king’s wedding, no matter how much food and drink he brings to yours.

Ale, in short, was largely the drink of the medieval day, made with malted grains (oats, barely, or wheat, for instance), water, and yeast.  It may have been flavored with spices, herbs, sugars, or fruits.  Beer, by contrast, contained hops, which gave it a touch of bitterness and helped with preservation.  Most speculation is that medieval ale was weaker than today’s, and had little to no carbonization, although these points, like any others, are up for debate.  In medieval England, it was served fresh, meaning still, or only very recently done, fermenting.

As usual, opinions vary about the state of things seven hundred years ago.  Both music and ale have similar problems: we have no direct experience of their medieval versions.  In the world of music, we have a few manuscripts from which to re-create a few pieces, but not many, and we can’t hear the actual instruments, nor how a medieval bard would have interpreted what manuscripts we have.   

In the world of ale, a few written household records have survived.  Judith Bennett quotes many such medieval sources in her book Ale, Beer, and Brewsters in England, and these sources were used to construct two possible recipes for medieval ale, and brew several batches, using no modern equipment.  

Opinion on medieval ale veers strongly toward it having been sweet; the brewer says the ale from his first recipe was definitely not sweet, although this may be due to the ale being deliberately weak.  He describes one batch as quite cloudy, tasting ‘tannic,’  like ‘liquid bread,’ and apparently being quite low in alcoholic content.  Despite this, he says, it was ’quite drinkable and refreshing.’  Further batches, produced from a recipe that would have been more appropriate for an aristocratic household, gave tastes ranging from paint thinner to pleasant apple.

 We can safely say there would have been a great variety in the taste of ales from one town to the next, depending on the individual brewer, and the ingredients and equipment available.  But it seems that in general, they would have been sweeter and weaker than what we know today.

sources: Recreating Medieval English Ales by Paul W. Placeway, Getting Medieval by Jeri Westerson

Hogmanay celebrations these days are large events, often held at castles.  They include music of all sorts, rock bands, pipe bands, drinking, revelry, lots of kissing– it is New Year’s Eve, after all–fire ceremonies, swinging fire balls, fireworks, and singing of Auld Lang Syne.  In smaller towns, Hogmanay may be celebrated with ceilidhs (dances).

One youtube clip shows “1000 Pipers” marching down the Royal Mile outside of Edinburgh Castle: 1000 Pipers  Be prepared: this is a lot of bagpipes!  And I’m saying that like it’s a good thing.  It’s quite a sight to see so many marching in their kilts and sporrans, all playing together.

Scottish History at Suite 101 explains the reasoning behind the “first footing” tradition of it being considered good luck for the first person to cross your door at midnight to be a tall, dark-haired man: in the days of the Viking attacks, you didn’t want to see shorter, blonde men.  They were often raiding, pillaging, and raping.

Interestingly, as I search for details on how Niall might have celebrated at Glenmirril, I find that, with the exception of a few sketchy paragraphs about old traditions, and no details as to just how old those traditions are, there is virtually nothing.  There is plenty about medieval Christmases, but no mention of Hogmanay in the same period.  As Niall lived just after the days of the Viking raids, he may have still been celebrating very much like their Yule, which is also thought to have been a strong influence on Scottish Hogmanay.  He lived long before the Reformation that drove it underground, so chances are high that he did in fact celebrate it.

January 1, in medieval times, was not the new year.  That happened in March, by the Julian calendar by which they still lived.  For them, it commemorated the circumcision of Jesus which, according to Jewish custom, happened on the eighth day.

Only with January 6 did the medieval population conclude the Christmas season.  It is on this 12th day after the birth of Jesus, that the wise men, the magi from the East, are said to have found him.  They gave him gold for kingship, frankincense for the priesthood, and myrrh symbolizing death.  It must have been a heart-breaking gift for Mary, knowing what lay in store for her newborn son.  In remembrance of the gifts they gave, this was the day of gift-giving at that time.

Sources: http://dickens111.tripod.com/id14.html, http://theglaive.livejournal.com/, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boxing_Day, http://www.reliquary.co.uk/gedeonus/medyear.htm, http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/medieval_xmas.htm, http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1075&context=historyfacpub, Children’s Literature…

One source reports that children were beaten on this day in memory of Herod’s cruelty.  As a rule, the day was considered ill-luck: not a day to marry, or take on a new project.  Edward IV would not be crowned on Childermass Day.  And throughout the following year, on whatever day of the week Childermass fell, no new clothes would be bought, and no new undertakings begun, on that day.

But by far the most interesting part of Childermass day is the issue of the boy bishops.  Throughout Europe, and especially England, the day was celebrated by making a boy both bishop and head of the town for one day.  At first reading, it sounds like a joke of sorts, something for fun and laughs.  But on further reading, it’s an eye-opening look at medieval society and medieval childhood. 

Prior to the advent– no pun intended– of Protestantism, the ‘boy bishops’ were elected on the Feast of St. Nicholas, December 6.  Throughout the Christmas season, they presided over various festivals from then until Candlemas on February 2.  On December 28, from the thirteenth to the sixteenth centuries, the boy bishops preached sermons.  (It is interesting to note that, for a time reputed to be so patriarchal, some places had girls preaching, too.)  The earliest records of  boy bishops date from the 1220′s, in York, Salisbury, and St. Paul Cathedrals, delineating their duties.  There are also surviving records of the miniature copes, staffs, and rings used by these boys.

The boy bishop, elected by his peers, headed an entire group of school or choir boys, all replacing their elders in the performance of various duties within the religious service, for 24 hours, beginning with Vespers on the night of December 27. 

Warren Wood discusses these sermons in his book Children’s Literature of the Early Renaissance.  He gives a fascinating and detailed contextual background in which the sermons were preached, telling of the various feasting and customs surrounding the day of the Holy Innocents, before examining the three surviving sermons from that time. 

That from St. Paul’s Cathedral is ‘direct and homely,’ while the one written by Richard Ramsey of Gloucester Cathedral and delivered by John Stubs, Boy Bishop of 1558, was ‘racy and colloquial with a spicy vernacular flavor.’  Wooden reports, however, that they were “far more than mockeries of adult sermons,” but rather dealt with serious subjects.  The three surviving sermons may have had very different tones, but all dealt with the subject of the feast day, the slaughter of the Innocents, and each discusses the New Testaments attitudes about children, particularly that found in Matthew 18, the admonition that unless you become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of Heaven.

Wooden goes on to make a fascinating distinction between the middle ages’ view of what makes one childlike– innocence and purity– in contrast to the much later Romantics’ ‘veneration’ of chronological childhood, and further mentions that at least one sermon stresses there are elements of childhood, such as frivolity, which are not what Matthew is speaking of.

The tradition of boy bishops lasted for several centuries, ending with the Protestant Reformation.

Adam and Eve in the Garden

Christmas Eve was known as Adam and Eve day.  From the early 14th century, “miracle plays”– performances that told Bible stories for a largely illiterate population– were performed on that day. 

To a modern reader, the connection between Adam and Eve and the birth of Christ may or may not be immediately apparent.  But the plays highlighted the importance of Christ returning, to bring us redemption from the Fall; to remind the people that once we had paradise, and, thanks to Christ coming to Earth as man, we may have Paradise again.  It stressed the importance of the Christmas season and Christ’s coming, in their lives.

Christmas trees were called “Paradise Trees” because they originally were used as a prop in the Christmas Eve miracle plays centering on Eden, or Paradise.  The decorations on the tree stem partly from the apples hung there to symbolize Adam and Eve, and partly from the legend that says evergreens bloom at midnight on Christmas Eve, thus leading to the tradition of decorating the trees with both fruits and paper flowers.  Round white wafers– representing the communion host– were also hung in the boughs as a reminder of redemption coming through the birth of Christ.  The fall of man was a key component to understanding the significance of the birth of Christ.

Adam and Eve Day, on the 24th, and Christmas Day on the 25th, were immediately followed by St. Stephen’s Day or Boxing Day on December 26, a day popular for visiting friends and family.

From the middle ages, Boxing Day was a day in which servants received a yearly gift much like our current Christmas bonuses, and were free of their duties for a day, in exchange for having made sure their masters had a smooth and pleasant Christmas, some say.  Traditionally, it was also a day to give money to the poor, and has been a public holiday in Scotland since 1971. 

In Ireland, which, in the middle ages, shared a very similar culture to the Scottish highlands, the same day is also called Wrens Day, after the tradition of carrying an effigy of a wren, or even capturing a live one to carry in a cage.  The ”Wrenboys” or “Mummers” who carried these wrens traveled from house to house, singing, dancing, and playing music.A a look at the wren in the cage was exchanged for treats.

A popular rhyme, later turned into a song, began thus:

Tomorrow… more on some very interesting traditions associated with December 28.

How might the halls of the great castles been decorated throughout the celebrations?   It has turned out to be a particularly difficult topic for research, with very little information turning up.

As mentioned in a previous post, trees might have been decorated with apples on Christmas Eve.  But the trees stayed outside, strongly rooted in terra firma.  Pine boughs would have been common, however, perhaps with plenty of ivy, holly, and mistletoe.  As it was a great feast day, we can guess that the rushes on the floor would be fresh, and likely a higher quality of candle used around the hall– perhaps more candles than usual.  A yule log would have burned in many hearths throughout the twelve days.  It’s a good guess, too, that it would have been a time of fresh linens on tables and altars.

But for the time, very little is recorded about those decorations.  I hope soon to find more information.

Today, of course, it is an almost secular celebration of lights, feasting, gift-giving and family gatherings.  But for the people of Glenmirril, Christmas would have been focused on the religious aspect, the birth of Christ, more solemn than what we know.  People of the time saw Christmas as a time of prayer and reflection, in hopes of Christ coming again.

They feasted, as we do, but not on turkey.  It seems no one was willing to sail west in hopes of finding an undiscovered country with such a creature.  Being of the upper crust, Niall, Allene, and the Laird may have feasted on goose, swan, and venison.  The poorer people of medieval Europe dined on Christmas goose.   Mince pies, filled with spices, fruits, and meats at that time, were popular, as were Christmas puddings, or ‘frumenty’ as it was also called.  Frumenty consisted of a thick porridge mixed with egg yolk, currants, spices, and fruits.  There were also plenty of stews, soups, fish, and boar. 

Before or while feasting, the lords and ladies may have been entertained by ‘mumming,’ which was the practice of putting on plays or dancing.  The story of Christ, with Herod as the villain, was popular.

Less common to our own time, hearths would typically burn with a yule log, a practice of both Vikings and Druids.  And the term wassail comes from the old words waes hael, be well.  We certainly do drink to one another’s health, but in medieval times, a hot brew of honey, ale, and spices was poured into a large bowl, which the host lifted to greet his company, with the words Waes hael!

The people of the medieval world knew caroling.  The word carol, in fact, meant to sing and dance in a circle, which, not surprisingly, the priests found a bit disruptive to Mass.  As a result, ‘carols’ of the disruptive singing and dancing in a circle during Mass kind were banned, and carolers took to the streets.  Hence the tradition of caroling door to door.  I, for one, am glad that the songs themselves are now allowed in church, but do not plan to dance in a circle, square, or any other manner, during Mass this year.  (Or next, just in case anyone is wondering.) 

In 1223, 67 years before Niall’s birth, St. Francis of Assisi created the first Nativity Scene in Italy, to explain the Christmas story to the villagers.

Niall and Allene may have seen a decorated tree, but it would have stayed outside.  Medieval priests would decorate trees on Christmas Eve with apples, as the day was known as “Adam and Eve Day.” 

For those of us who have managed not to get whisked back in time via a mysterious Scottish castle, we associate Christmas with gifts.  We might be disappointed, because for the medieval Christian, Christmas was a more solemn occasion, and gifts were not traded until Epiphany, or Twelfth Night– the night the Magi reached Christ in the stable.  On the other hand, of course, a medieval Christmas celebration lasted for 12 days.  Talk about partying like it’s 1399!

Sources:

http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/medieval_xmas.htm, http://www.godecookery.com/mtales/mtales09.htm

http://historymedren.about.com/od/dailylifesociety/a/xmas_traditions.htm

As we toured Stirling Castle in May of 2008, we viewed the incredible set of Unicorn Tapestries.  These really deserve– and probably will eventually get– a topic to themselves.  Suffice it to say for now, what struck me was our tour guide’s comment that what is merely a pretty, crowded picture to a modern viewer was an entire story to a medieval viewer.  While we see simply men hunting a unicorn, they saw a secular story of “the search and capture of the lover bridegroom” (quote from the Metropolitan Museum’s site, linked above), or a Christian allegory of Christ’s persecution and suffering.  We see a garden like any other; the red and white roses tell the medieval viewer of Mary’s charity and virginity.

My real foray into the world of medieval symbolism came when I started researching the wedding of Niall and Allene.   Today, brides adorn themselves with flowers and jewels– whatever looks nice, whatever might have sentimental family value, whatever might go well with the chosen wedding colors.  A medieval bride, however, told the world of her hopes and beliefs, of her values, who she herself was, by the flowers and gems she wore. 

Among stones, white jasper stood for gentleness, red jasper for love, and green jasper for faith.  The amethyst, emerald, and sapphire, three of our modern birthstones, symbolized respectively  in those days Christ’s martyrdom, Christian hope, and ‘heaven-bound.’  A thorough discussion of the medieval view of stones can be found here for the interested reader.  It goes quite a bit beyond the scope of symbolism, but explains the roots of this symbolism.

Going back to symbolism as it relates to the medieval bride, she might also typically wear a crown of orange blossoms, woven with various flowers, or weave flowers into her hair.  Including a small bouquet of herbs– especially rosemary for remembrance, sage for wisdom, thyme, and basil, or, according to other sources, wheat– symbolized luck and fertility.  Some sources specify that medieval brides carried bouquets of only herbs, no flowers, while others state that orange blossoms represented happiness and fertility, lilies stood for purity, and ivy for fidelity.

With roots going back so far that the origin of the word itself is no longer known, but it originated in deep winter celebrations of sun and fire, and moving from there into the Roman Saturnalia, a Baccnalian event if ever there was one.  The Reformation drove much of the Hogmanay celebrations underground until the 17th Century, and in recent years, they have become far more extravagant even than what most of the 20th Century knew. 

Hogmanay celebrations these days are large events, often held at castles.  They include music of all sorts, rock bands, pipe bands, drinking, revelry, lots of kissing– it is New Year’s Eve, after all–fire ceremonies, swinging fire balls, fireworks, and singing of Auld Lang Syne.  In smaller towns, Hogmanay may be celebrated with ceilidhs (dances).

One youtube clip shows “1000 Pipers” marching down the Royal Mile outside of Edinburgh Castle: 1000 Pipers

Be prepared: this is a lot of bagpipes!  And I’m saying that like it’s a good thing.  It’s quite a sight to see so many marching in their kilts and sporrans, all playing together.

Scottish History at Suite 101 explains the reasoning behind the “first footing” tradition of it being considered good luck for the first person to cross your door at midnight to be a tall, dark-haired man: in the days of the Viking attacks, you didn’t want to see shorter, blonde men.  They were often raiding, pillaging, and raping.

Interestingly, as I search for details on how Niall might have celebrated at Glenmirril, I find that, with the exception of a few sketchy paragraphs about old traditions, and no details as to just how old those traditions are, there is virtually nothing.  There is plenty about medieval Christmases, but no mention of Hogmanay in the same period.  As Niall lived just after the days of the Viking raids, he may have still been celebrating very much like their Yule, which is also thought to have been a strong influence on Scottish Hogmanay.  He lived long before the Reformation that drove it underground, so chances are high that he did in fact celebrate it.