Showing posts with label Halloween. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Halloween. Show all posts

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Going Medieval on Halloween

By Cokie Anderson


Skeleton did not receive the "Death Be Not Proud" memo


It began just after the Fourth of July. Okay, Labor Day, but it seemed earlier. Orange and black bedecking every store, plastic jack-o-lanterns, skeletons, witches, and spiders everywhere you look, and candy. Bags and bags of expensive, delicious, bad-for-you candy that you were urged to “stock up on” (i.e., eat yourself) in time for America’s second favorite holiday, Halloween. Ghosties, ghoulies, and long-legged beasties are on the prowl. The goblin’s going to get you if you don’t watch out. All of these are traditional images of death, decay, and the eternal punishment that awaits the wicked. However, the only decay most modern celebrants are concerned about is tooth decay from the aforementioned candy. What’s scarier than a ghost? Your 10-year-old daughter dressed as Lady Gaga, that’s what.


Exercise all you want-- someday you'll die and look like this anyway



In ages past, people were also obsessed with images of skeletons and death, but not in a party kind of way. Unless a funeral is your idea of a party. (If you’re Irish or from the South, as I am, that may be so. Y’all just play along here, okay?)

In Medieval times, death was a daily companion. Women had a shorter average lifespan in those years because so many died in childbirth or from postpartum infections. Strep throat was often fatal. That cold could turn into pneumonia. And many, many children died every year from diseases for which vaccines now exist. Add to that the constant wars, the famine that resulted from a bad harvest, the plagues that wiped out a huge percentage of the population, and it must have seemed like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were on a permanent rampage.


"Nice service. I wonder if there'll be cake after."


Consequently, the Medieval Christian was urged to constantly contemplate their own mortality, and to consider what awaited them after death. The Book of Hours was the primary vehicle for personal devotion in those days--at least for those who could afford them. These prayer books contained set prayers, psalms, and readings to be observed throughout the day (the “Offices”), as well as psalms, special prayers to the Virgin Mary and the saints, and always The Office of the Dead, prayers to be said for the souls of the departed. It could be used at any time, but was especially to be observed on All Souls’ Day (November 2).

In the beautiful illuminated books of hours created in the Medieval era, most offices were accompanied by a small painting, called a miniature, on a religious subject. Most of these were scenes from the life of the Virgin, and were set in biblical times (though matters of costume might reflect recent fashions).


"Harry, would you be careful? We don't want to drop him in front of the mourners. Bad for business."


The miniature for the Office of the Dead was often a scene all too familiar to Medieval audiences: a funeral or burial. From a modern vantage point, they are interesting in that they represent depictions of ordinary life in Medieval times. Sometimes, it’s a nice, dignified funeral--a clutch of clergy, candles, a nice crowd of hired mourners (de rigueur at your better class of funeral), and the coffin draped in a discreet pall. Other scenes were more brutally frank: a couple of gravediggers wrestling a shrouded body into its final resting place.


Covering all the bases


If the artist were really ambitious, we might see a combination of favorite Office of the Dead themes: the funeral, the burial, the prancing skeleton, and Job, the faithful man afflicted by God, lying on his dung heap covered with boils. Now, you kids go to your room, look at that, and think about what you’ve done!

More subtle, yet I should think more effective for their intended purpose, are those miniatures that show someone eating, drinking, and making merry, but forgetting they will die, as in the interpretation of the parable of the rich man (Dives) and the beggar Lazarus, below.


Live it up today, burn tomorrow


Dives is shown opulently attired, enjoying a feast in his richly appointed home in the company of a beautiful woman. All the riches and pleasures of this world are his. The beggar Lazarus, covered in sores, pleads at the door for a few crumbs for the table, only to be shooed away by a horrified servant. Below, however, we see the eternal suffering that waits for Dives after death: he is chained, naked, writhing in flames, and further tormented by the vision he sees above him--Lazarus in heaven, accompanied by Abraham. The patriarch informs Dives that he had his rewards on earth, where Lazarus suffered greatly; now, Lazarus will have his reward in heaven, while Dives suffers. Forever. Bwahahahahaha!!!!

And let that be a lesson to those who would be stingy with the Halloween candy.

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All images of Medieval illuminated manuscripts from Phillip J. Pirages Fine Books & Manuscripts.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Rare Were-Wolves Found in Beverly Hills

by Stephen J. Gertz

BARING-GOULD, Sabine. The Book of Were-Wolves:
Being an Account of a Terrible Superstition.
London: Smith, Elder, 1865.
First edition.

"In many a distant village there exists the Legend of the Were-Wolf or Wolf Man...a legend of a strange mortal man with the hair and fangs of an unearthly beast...his hideous howl and dirge of death" (The Wolf Man, 1941).

In one of those distant villages, the sleepy little hamlet of Beverly Hills, CA, the legend has become reality. It is now the home of rare Were-Wolves.

A copy of the scarce first edition of Sabine Baring-Gould's classic, oft-reprinted, The Book of Were-Wolves, which recently surfaced after an absence of ten years' worth of full moons, was heroically captured  in a life or death struggle by Mark Hime,  proprietor of  Biblioctopus, the bilaterally symmetric, multi-tenacled rare book business in Beverly Hills, who is now  offering it just in time for All Hallow's Eve 2010.

CRANACH, Lucas. Werewolf (1512).
The Book of Were-Wolves was the first volume in English to  be wholly devoted to the subject. Within, Baring-Gould collected the legends, folklore, and tales from many cultures over many centuries. It remains the primary reference on the subject simply because it has never been surpassed.

18th century engraving.
The last copy to come to auction, ten years ago, was, as Hime describes it,  a fright, "a glue-repaired horror, damp-stained inside and out, a jump-into-the-wolf-pit-with-a-pork-chop-around-your-neck kind of copy," a condition statement that reads like a CSI report; all it lacks is a chalk outline.

German woodcut, 1722.
 Rare book dealers are often asked about how they acquire material. Watch Mark Hime of Biblioctopus subdue, after violent struggle, the Were-Wolf in Beverly Hills:



What we bookmen do to snag good books...silver bullets, silver-topped canes; whatever it takes.
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BARING-GOULD, Sabine. The Book of Were-Wolves: Being an Account of a Terrible Superstition. London: Smith, Elder, 1865. First Edition. Octavo. xii, 266 pp. Illustrated.
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Image of The Book of Were-Wolves binding courtesy of Biblioctopus.
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