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Medieval Medicine

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(Guido da Vigevano’s Anathomia Designata per Figures, 1345)

Earlier today I read Jenni Nuttall’s blog post about a medieval instance of a migraine in the context of a short poem. I was very intrigued so I started poking around on and off throughout the day until I came across another instance of a migraine in medieval writing that caught my attention, specifically in Harley MS 2390, a medical compilation of the fifteenth century (the manuscript begins in Latin and intermittently contains Middle English in various instances).

This particular manuscripts is an interesting patchwork of materials, with each apograph rooted in earlier texts dealing with cures for various ailments, and overall it is another compendium of the Speculum medicorum that has made its rounds from its inception in the twelfth century.

By folio 105 of Harley MS 2390 “3iff þere be any man or wymman þat / is dyshesyd in any dyuersse seknesses þat is for / to sayne …. Here is a man þat / is a conyng man in lechecrafft3 both yn ffy/sykke et surgere,” reads an advertisement for a physician who “wyl curyn ye mygreyn qwiche is a Malady3 yat takyth halff a man is hed & doth hym lesyn is sy3the of his yie.”

The word “migraine” comes into Middle English from Old French, via Latin, and was originally Greek, literally meaning having half a head, or skull. For anyone who has had a migraine, you will immediately recognize that that is an apt figurative definition since the process of having one very much feels like someone has smashed half of your skull, rendering you incapacitated for much else.

Much like in the poem Jenni analyzed, here too the ailment is characterized by a loss of sight, especially under the duress of light. However, what I found most interesting was the amount of detail used to describe a migraine (in both instances) which makes me question how well known the term was at the time, especially considering how few people today can accurately determine the difference between a really vile headache and an actual migraine. So perhaps the descriptors for the term served a double purpose of informing the public of specifically the type of ailment the doctor proposed to cure, but also as an emotive force to establish the potency of the doctor’s powers as he is able to overcome a condition that “takyth halff a man is hed and doth hym lesyn is sy3the of his yie.” And how does he do that you ask? Well, I don’t know since this advert promotes visiting the doctor to obtain a cure and does not actually deliver it in the text.

Afterall, as Chaucer’s Physician states best, for a doctor “gold in phisik is a cordial / Therefore he lovede gold in special.” So, pay him a visit, and a pound or two, and much like the Physician, the doctor in the advertisement can cure you of “everich maladye.”

(N.B. The picture for this post is from a medical book dedicated by Guido da Vigevano to Philip VI that included 24 plates. I chose the one here because it seemingly appeared to do with dispensing of head problems, and while this is correct it reaches far beyond headaches, or even migraines. This image illustrates the act of trepanation, or trephination, which literally meant to bore a hole, namely into the patient’s head in order to cure various ailments that would roughly translate into today’s version of the lobotomy, except that it occurred in a different part of the skull. I was very surprised to find that many people actually survived this procedure, although I don’t know to what ends)

Sources:

Bakay, L. “An Early History of Craniotomy.”

British Library, Harely MS 2390.

Voigts, Linda Ehrsam. “Fifteenth-Century English Banns Advertising the Services of an Itinerant Doctor.”

St. Albans Psalter

st. albans

The St. Albans Psalter, despite having been around for 900 years, has not had (comparatively speaking) very much research done on it outside of the illuminations. In fact, they are so remarkable they have by far overshadowed the text for centuries. However, recent studies have begun questioning the origin of the manuscript, and further, its purpose.

It was for several decades presupposed the Psalter originally belonged to Christina of Markyate, who confined herself to St. Albans at around the age of eighteen after abandoning her betrothal and taking a vow of chastity. The dates are not entirely known, but it was circa 1110, and the Psalter was most likely created in between 1120 and 1140. While Christina played an integral part at St. Albans, it is now accepted that it was not entirely her history within the walls of the monastery that was documented within the Psalter, and it perhaps served a different purpose altogether. Closer examination shows multiple additions as it changed hands over time, and by tracing the scribal notations it can be theorized as to its various uses.

I have to admit this post is about a year late as it originated with my viewing of the Psalter at the Getty Museum last January and then later attending the conference in early February where a marvelous panel of scholars who worked personally with the Psalter shared their findings.

I finally finished reading one of the most recent and authoritative texts on the manuscript (Collins, Kidd, and Turner), but there are still many things unknown, or addressed about the manuscript. Two such things caught my attention, and are of most interest for future research – should the fantastic opportunity arise.

The first concerns the Psalter’s calendar at the beginning of the manuscript. As has already been stated by several scholars, it is not a liturgical calendar. Most who would be familiar with liturgical calendars would immediately note the sparsity of entries, with many significant dates left out. This initially indicates that the calendar was created for private use, made further evident by the inclusion of personal dates (birth dates and obits relevant only to a few). However, what is of interest are the additions made to the calendar. They are written in a different ink by a different hand. At what point they were added is unknown (this is different from dates like obits that were continuously added as they happened). Many of the additions reflected holy days that were not initially included, making the calendar at first glance appear more official. In other words, it was purposely made to look like a liturgical calendar. Yet there are still a great number of important dates omitted. When the decision was made to begin remodeling it, it is unknown who made this decision, why, and how it was decided what dates would be included.

Albans-f3r

(St. Albans Psalter, folio 3r – On the first month of the calendar, January, on the 11th we can see the obit for Christina’s father. This is obviously a personal detail that connects her with the book above others since the obits for the parents of others connected with St. Albans at the time were not inscribed in the calendar. However, in the same month we do see various obits for other church members that were more than likely housed at St. Albans, or in close vicinity)

Albans-f3r-detail

(St. Albans Psalter, folio 3r close-up “Auti pater do[mi]n[a]e Cristin[a]e” – This sort of personalization of the book continues onto every month of the calendar, and in many places the names mentioned are untraceable, with only speculations left to be made)

My first instinct was to attribute these insertions to scribal decision making, but that seems like a rather knee jerk reaction to a difficult (and perhaps unanswerable) question. While it is quite likely that the scribe was also a monk at the monastery who would be able to distinguish which dates were for personal use and which were pertinent in a broader sense, it appears there was a lot of picking and choosing that went into the development of the calendar in its later days.

N. Morgan’s theory regarding this has to do with the amount of saint’s names, specifically women, returning to the tie in with Christina who started a nunnery on the premises of St. Albans. Even if it is no longer accepted that the book was made for her, the amount of her relatives that are mentioned in the obits maintains her connection to the book, and adds to the possibility that it was used in her nunnery as opposed to the main church. And while this accounts for the numerous female saints listed, and even more so for the various virgins who were never official saints but entered in the book nonetheless, there is something more there that needs discovery.

The calendar is a perpetual calendar that spans 28 years, altering between fixed and movable dates for each month. However, the actual years need to be calculated cyclically (through the use of kalends –  the first day of the month), making it very difficult to realize at what point during the calendar’s existence events and names were added. However, I am not going to describe the entire methodology of calendar reading  in its technical sense since it is not necessary to understanding the final inquiry.

And I am calling it an inquiry because I have no actual conclusion. I have a few speculations based on observations, but the main question will for now remain unanswered. My first theory is that the various additions were made in two groupings. As Morgan stipulated, there is in fact a chunk of names which were added to indicate the role the book held at a convent. But there are other dates which were also later additions, written in a very different hand, that have seemingly little to do with the convent. The entirety of the Psalter is written by a total of 6 scribes, and three of them worked on the calendar section – the primary calendar before additions, the convent additions (my own terminology for lack of a better identifier), and the last additions. I think the key to understanding the appropriation of the Psalter can be found in further studying the last of these two, essentially working backwards in the calendar through the cycles to figure out at what point during the 28 year span each scribe worked at it, in conjuncture with the other parts of the book to identify a correlation between calendar additions and overall editing/additions/deletions throughout the text. If enough movement of text happened in intervals at specific points, then it can lead to an interpretation of how the text function, and perhaps even its original intent. Nevertheless, I must note that this is also contingent upon picking a more definite date for the Psalter’s origin, otherwise counting the years in either direction will be of little use.

The second item that grabbed my attention was an illumination on folio 18v. Very little commentary exists on it other than a description: three pictures describing the expulsion of Adam and Eve from paradise and the posting of the Cherub at the gate.

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Although the intricate details of the artwork are beautiful, what I want to convey is the placement of the images. Three things are happening here that don’t appear quite right.

The stories of the expulsion of Adam and Eve and of the later posting of the Cherub are here conflated into a single triptych image. Considering the psalter in its entirety is over 400 pages long, economy of space was not an issue. It was purposely conflated. Why?

God is expelling Adam and Eve as opposed to an angel. While this is odd, it is also the only oddity for which scholars have an answer; it falls in line with Anglo-Saxon convention, and the depiction is not unique to the St. Albans Psalter.

The last strange piece which (when looking at the actual picture) is immediately obvious and for which there is the most commentary, has to do with the ordering of the narrative. Cherub-God-Adam and Eve. The story is inverted, and in following with the original the Cherub was posted at the gates *after* the expulsion, not before (a small but notable point). For a book in which the hundreds of pictures are so impeccable, this seems most idiosyncratic, and most likely intentional.

Unlike with the calendar where further developments and research could perhaps illustrate the sequencing of text as it was written, providing answers, or at best more speculations in regards to its uses, the pictorials are more difficult and the research that needs to be conducted is actually outside of the Psalter, relying on other texts that would hint towards various interpretations of well known narratives (within temporal proximity). Currently not enough is known on localized perceptions and how (or if) they played into the creation of this work. I think ultimately devising its origins and primary intentions will widen (and paradoxically narrow) the scope of what we should be looking for.

Sources:

Collins, Kristen, Kidd, Peter Kidd and Nancy Turner. The St. Albans Psalter.

Geddes, Jane. The St Albans Psalter: A Book for Christina of Markyate.

Haney, Kristine Edmondson. St. Albans Psalter.

Haney, Krisine Edmondson. The Illuminated Psalter: Studies in the Content, Purpose and Placement of Its Images.

L’Hermite-Leclerq and Anne Marie Legras. Vie de Christina de Markyate.

Talbot, C.H. The Life of Christina of Markyate A Twelfth Century Recluse.

Castelloza – A Medieval Mystery

Castelloza has less than a handful of trobairitz songs attributed to her, just four actually, and only three are ascribed to her with irrevocable certainty. All of her songs are written in the canso form that was the most common among Troubadours and trobairitz alike. Very little is known from her vida except that she may have been from Auvergne and married to Turc de Mairona. Maybe. Distinguishing these facts from fiction seems like an almost insurmountable task at the moment, but it is also well outside my scope where I will share a piece of my current project, my translation of one of her songs, with a brief analysis. While the personal histories of the trobairitz were very interesting, their songs are the keys to a broader understanding of their culture, and perhaps even more importantly, a gateway to how their songs and society influenced poetry and the concepts of love for centuries to come.

Canso:

Amics, s’ie.us trobes avinen
humil e franc e de bona merce,
be.us amera, quand era m’en sove
q’us trob vas mi mal e fellon e tric,
e fauc chanssos per tal q’en fassa auzir
vostre bon pretz. dond eu non puosc sofrir
que no.us fassa lauzar a tota gen,
on plus mi faitz mal et adiramen.Iamais no.us tenrai per valen
ni.us amarai de bon cor e de fe
tro que veirai si ia.m valria re
si.us mostrava cor fellon ni enic;
non farai ia, car no vuoil puscatz dir
q’ieu anc vas vos agues cor de faillir,
c’auriatz pois caique razonamen
s’ieu fazia vas vos nuill falimen.Eu sai ben c’a mi esta gen,
si be.is dizon tuich que mout descove
que deompna prei a cavallier de se
ni que.l teigna totz temps tan lonc pressic,
mas cel q’o ditz non sap ges ben gauzir
q’ieu vuoill proar enans qe.m lais morir
qe’l preiar ai un gran revenimen
qan prec cellui don ai greu pessamen.

Assatz es fols qui m’en repren
de vos amar, pois tant gen mi cove,
e cel q’o ditz non sap cum s’es de me,
ni no.us vei ges aras si cum vos vic,
qan me dissetz que non agues cossir
que calc’ora poiria endevenir
que n’auria enqueras gauzimen,
de sol lo dich n’ai eu lo cor gauzen.

Tot’autre’amor teing a nien,
e sapchatz ben que mais iois no.m soste
mas lo vostre que m’alegra e.m reve
on mais en sent d’afan e de destric,
e.m cuig ades alegrar e gauzir
de vos, amics, q’ieu non puosc convenir,
ni ioi non ai, ni socors non aten
mas sol aitant qan n’aurai en dormen.

Oimais non sai qe.us mi presen,
que cercat ai et ab mal et ab be
vostre dur cor don lo mieus no.is recre,
e no.us o man q’ieu mezeussa.us o dic
qu’enoia me si no.m voletz gauzir
de calque ioi, e si.m laissatz morir
faretz pechat e serai n’en tormen
e seretz ne blasmatz vilanamen.

Friend, if I have found you being kind
humble and frank and with good mercy
I would love you so, yet when I recall
that I find you evil and cruel to me
I sing so that my song can be heard
of your good worth since I cannot suffer
that you are not lauded in every way
even as you continue bringing me cruelty and pain.Never shall I hold you valiant
nor fully love you with a good heart
until I negotiate the reality of it all
see if I show you an evil and cruel heart;
but I will not, because I don’t want you to say
that I have ever had a false and failing heart,
or to be able to say with reason
that in any acts I have failed you.I know this all suits me well in this way
even if everyone tells me this is not fitting
for a lady to plead with a knight as such
or to hold his time for so long,
but who says this knows not joy
that I would like to prove before I die
that in prayer I feel greatly renewed
to him who has given me heavy thoughts.

All are crazy who reproach me
for loving , as it is fitting to me,
and who says this does not know how it is
nor do I now look at you as I once did
when you told me not to be distressed
that at any time it will happen
that I will again have joy,
And these words alone fill my heart with joy.

All other love means nothing
certainly there are but no other joys
except yours that lifts and revives me
when I feel but only pain and distress
so I will be brought pleasure and joy
of you, friend, from whom I cannot convert,
I have no joy nor do I hope for help
but what rest I shall have when I sleep.

I no longer know how to present myself,
I have tried with good and with bad intent
your hard heart from which mine does not retract,
and this is no sent message, but I tell you myself
angered I will die if you do not want to give me joy
whatever manner of joy, and if you let me die
you sin and I will be tormented
and you will be villainously blamed.

BnF_ms._854_fol._125_-_Na_Castelloza_(1)
(Castelloza, BnF MS 843 f. 125 – the beginning of the poem cited above)
BnF_ms._854_fol._125_-_Na_Castelloza_(2)

(Close-up of the same)

This highly stylized poem gives voice to her pain derived from unrequited love. In keeping with the courtly love tradition she first raises the beloved other upon a pedestal and gives him power over her while asserting his higher position in the world at large. However, in this assertion there is a certain double language in use – it is uncertain as to whether the lover was in fact of a higher class than her, but there is good reason to believe he was not, therefore if socially they were equals, her statement is false. Yet, even as equals, by virtue of being a woman she is below him socially, thus rendering her statement simultaneously true and drawing attention to the place of women in society as opposed to the artificial pedestal they sit upon in traditional Troubadour poems. Regardless of her title, class, or wealth, in love, much like in life, the woman is beneath the man and must beg his favor like Castelloza here does.

However, while begging his favor she usurps the male role in multiple ways. It is often thought that in the role reversal the trobairitz give a voice to the silent females of the Troubadour poems, but that is in fact not the case, and as I have argued before, these women find their own voices, separate from another. What I found the most interesting is that through Castelloza’s unrelenting praise of her beloved she manages to create a similar superficial pedestal for the male of her poetry where she uses words to elevate the man and synchronously place herself even higher, becoming a martyr to love. Petty and angry thoughts and gestures are beneath her, and she operates in accordance to a higher power. While she “non puosc sofrir” (cannot suffer) anyone thinking less of him, or for him to believe she “fazia vas vos nuill falimen” (has in any acts failed him), she unfailingly enumerates his various methods of mistreating her and casts the blame for her demise solely upon his shoulders, whose neglect is not only a fault, but a sin for which he must pay doubly – to God for having collaborated in her demise, and to the world who will blame him. Her love places him in a most precarious position, ultimately responsible for her well being, even if only to safeguard his own reputation. After all, his good name could not withstand women dying on the streets of Southern France from neglect.

Yet, what she wants from him is not simply attention, but “gauzir,” that roughly translates to joy, or “joi.” This concept emerges throughout the song, and carries several connotations, but there is one in particular I want to focus on – joi as related of joue (game) – and can lead to another form different from the canso that troubadours used, the jeu-parti. This reading of joi places her expectations into a different context and highlights the playfulness in her words. I don’t mean to detract in any way from the seriousness of her song because love at the time, along with everything it entailed, was indeed of crucial importance, but as she forces his hand in a response, she is essentially eliciting a game, while keeping in mind that games were not necessarily light matters either. Think of this type of game on par with chess or a similar cerebral activity that demands a certain level of involvement from the players while providing a comparable level of stimulation.

And it is this very stimulation that creates the extended metaphor for joi that can easily pour over into the meaning of a different kind of joy that also stems from stimulation, and then even further into joy which sustains itself simply through the act of loving.

Some have said Castelloza’s poetry is not as sophisticated or refined as the other trobairtiz, but her range of emotions combined with the various statements she makes demonstrate her prowess as a poetess and songstress, placing her on par with the likes of Comtessa de Dia.

While I am very much going to continue researching Castelloza and translating the rest of her songs, I do need to return for while to the Crusades and finish work on my conference paper that is quickly approaching. So, for those of you who have been enjoying my Crusades posts, there will be several coming in the next couple of weeks. As for my female writing fans, rest assured, I am not done.

Sources:

Bruckner, Matilda Tomaryn. “Fictions of the Female Voice: The Women Troubadours.”

Dronke, Peter. “The Provencal Trobairitz: Castelloza.”

Lazar, Moshe. “Fin’amor.”

Paden, William. The Voice of the Trobairitz: Perspectives on the Women Troubadours.