Testimony

In the English Wikipedia article on Jeanne Harvilliers, a victim of Jean Bodin burned at the stake for witchcraft on 29 April 1578, the following is written about her last words:

“Her exact words on the day of execution was [sic] described by Jean Bodin:

‘Farewell, may heaven forgive you. During my life, I was an Egyptian, a girl, a vagabond; I was banished, I was beaten with canes, I was marked with iron; I begged for bread from door to door; I was hunted from village to village like a dog. Who then would have believed my words? But today, fettered to the stake, ready to die, my words will not fall on the ground. Believe this call of truth: I am innocent of the crimes ascribed to me, I have done nothing to warrant the treatment given to me.’”

(Visited 7 May 2021. Checked 17 December 2022–still up)

The English Wikipedia article is rather new, written sometime in April 2021, and basically a translation of the French Wikipedia article. The French article, however, qualifies the quotation as Charles Gomart’s report of Jean Bodin’s report of Jeanne Harvilliers’ last words:

“Charles Gomart relate que Jean Bodin[note 1], son juge et biographe, rapporte ses utlimes paroles:*

‘Adieu, que le ciel vous pardonne. Pendant ma vie j’étais une Egyptienne, une fille, une vagabonde ; j’ai été bannie, frappée de verges, marquée d’un fer chaud ; j’ai mendié mon pain de porte, en porte ; j’ai été chassée de village en village comme un chien. Qui, alors, aurait ajouté foi en mes paroles? Mais aujourd’hui, attachée au bûcher, prête à mourir, mes paroles ne tomberont pas à terre. Ajoutez foi à ce cri de vérité : Je suis innocente des crimes qu’on m’impute, je n’ai rien fait pour mériter le traitement qu’on me fait subir!’”

Charles Gomart, a 19th century historian, wrote an essay, first published in 1849, called “La sorcière de Ribemont: épisode historique de 1579 [The Witch of Ribemont: a historical episode of 1579 ].” The essay was published a few times, twice in 1849 (here, here), once in 1850 (here), and once in 1869 as part of Gomart’s larger history of Ribemont (here).** In none of these does Gomart attribute Harvilliers’ last words to a report by Bodin. He only writes that Jeanne “made her last words heard” (he doesn’t say by whom):

“Jehanne était montée et faisait entendre ces dernières paroles:

‘Adieu, que le ciel vous pardonne. Pendant ma vie j’étais une Egyptienne, une fille, une vagabonde ; j’ai été bannie, frappée de verges, marquée d'un fer chaud ; j’ai mendié mon pain de porte, en porte ; j’ai été chassée de village en village comme un chien. Qui, alors, aurait ajouté foi en mes paroles? Mais aujourd’hui, attachée au bûcher, prête à mourir, mes paroles ne tomberont pas à terre. Ajoutez foi à ce cri de vérité : Je suis innocente des crimes qu’on m’impute, je n’ai rien fait pour mériter le traitement qu’on me fait subir!’”

Charles Gomart, “La sorcière de Ribemont: épisode historique de 1579”, La Thiérache: recueil de documents concernant l’histoire, les beaux-arts, les sciences naturelles et l’industrie de cette ancienne subdivision de la Picardie, Tome 1, Vervins: Papillon, 1849, p. 138.

The text of Gomart’s report of Harvilliers’ last words is nearly identical to the last words spoken by a fictional character, Meg Merrilies, referred to as “l’Égyptienne” (English: “the gipsy”) in the French translation of Sir Walter Scott’s second Waverly novel, Guy Mannering, ou l’astrologue, published in Paris in1826.***

“—Adieu donc! que le ciel vous pardonne! votre main a donné la force à mon témoignage. Pendant ma vie, j’étais une Égyptienne, une folle, une vagabonde; j’ai été bannie, frappée de verges, marquée d’un fer chaud. J’ai mendié mon pain de porte en porte, j’ai été chassé de village en village comme un chien égaré. Qui aurait ajouté foi à mes paroles? Mais aujourd’hui je suis une femme mourante, et mes paroles ne tomberont pas à terre comme mon sang que vous avez versé.”

Walter Scott, Oeuvres complètes: traduction nouvelle, Tome 16, Guy Mannering, ou l’astrologue, Tome 3, Paris: Gosselin, 1826, p. 167.

Meg Merrilies’ last words were originally written in a dialect of Lowland Scots and found on page 304 of volume three of the first edition of Guy Mannering; or, The Astrologer, written by the author of Waverley, published in Edinburgh in 1815:

“‘Then fareweel!’ she said, ‘and God forgive you!—your hand has sealed my evidence. When I was in life, I was the mad randy gipsy, that had been scourged, and banished, and branded—that had begged from door to door, and been hounded like a stray tike from parish to parish—wha would hae minded her tale? But now I am a dying woman, and my words will not fall to the ground, any more than the earth will cover my blood!’”

Walter Scott, Guy Mannering; or, The Astrologer, Volume 3, Edinburgh: Archibald Constable and Co., 1815, p. 304 [text only].

Here are two versions of these last words side-by-side, Merrilies’ and Harvilliers’:

Wikipedia, 2021

“‘Farewell, may heaven forgive you. During my life, I was an Egyptian, a girl, a vagabond; I was banished, I was beaten with canes, I was marked with iron; I begged for bread from door to door; I was hunted from village to village like a dog. Who then would have believed my words? But today, fettered to the stake, ready to die, my words will not fall on the ground. Believe this call of truth: I am innocent of the crimes ascribed to me, I have done nothing to warrant the treatment given to me.’”

Scott, 1815

“‘Then fareweel!’ she said, ‘and God forgive you!—your hand has sealed my evidence. When I was in life, I was the mad randy gipsy, that had been scourged, and banished, and branded—that had begged from door to door, and been hounded like a stray tike from parish to parish—wha would hae minded her tale? But now I am a dying woman, and my words will not fall to the ground, any more than the earth will cover my blood!’”

---

Notes

* English: “Charles Gomart says that Jean Bodin[note 1], her judge and biographer, gave her last words.”

“Note 1” qualifies the quotation more precisely, saying:

“C’est en fait Gomart qui en est l’auteur, n’étant pas avare d’inventions dans ses écrits (source: in Eric Thierry, Jean Bodin et la sorcière de Ribemont [archive])”

English: “It is in fact Gomart—no stranger to introducing invention into his writings—who is the author [i.e., and not Bodin].”^*

** Gomart’s essay was printed in:

(1) La Thiérache: recueil de documents concernant l'histoire, les beaux-arts, les sciences naturelles et l'industrie de cette ancienne subdivision de la Picardie. Tome 1er. Vervins: Papillon, 1849, 129-139. [here]

(2) Mémoires de la Société académique des sciences, arts, belles-lettres, agriculture et industrie de Saint-Quentin. Saint Quentin: Imprimerie de Conttenest, Libraire Grand’Place, 1849, 196-219. [here]

(3) Arthur-Martin Dinaux (ed.). Archives historiques et littéraires du Nord de la France et du Midi de la Belgique: Troisième série. Tome 1er. Valenciennes: Au bureau des archives, 1850, 277-296. [here]

(4) Charles Gomart. Essai historique sur la ville de Ribemont et son canton. Saint-Quentin, 1869, 153-171. [here]

*** At this point in Scott’s story, Merrilies is mortally wounded and trying to give testimony about a murder she witnessed. There are accordingly some differences between the French translation of Scott and Gomart’s text: the words after “aujourd’hui” have been altered to reflect the different settings; the bit about testimony (“témoignage”) is missing; and some subtle changes, e.g. from “folle” (insane woman) to “fille” (girl) and from “chien égaré” (stray dog) to “chien” (dog).

---

Notes to notes

^* The note points to an essay by historian Éric Thierry, “Jean Bodin et la sorcière de Ribemont”, in which Thierry says of Gomart that:

“Il y utilise la Démonomanie de Bodin, mais a aussi largement recours à son imagination.”

“[Gomart] uses Bodin’s Demon-mania, but has to a great extent relied on his own imagination as well.”

Éric Thierry, “Jean Bodin et la sorcière de Ribemont,” Mémoires: Fédération des sociétés d’histoire et d’archéologie de l’Aisne, T. 62, 2017, page 27.

Thierry gives an example in note 29 of page 27:

“Une prétendue citation de Bodin (Archives historiques, note 2, p. 288) est en fait extraitede l’Essai chronologique pour servir à l’histoire de Tournay d’Adrien Alexandre Marie Hoverlantde Beauwelaere (t. LXXXXIX, Tournay, Chez l’auteur, 1831, note 1, p. 363-366).”

The quotation (or a paraphrase, it’s unclear) Gomart attributes to Bodin is about devil’s marks. It occurs in note 2 on page 288 of the 1850 version of Gomart’s essay (and parallels in later versions). Gomart cites Bodin’s Démonomanie Book II, page 80, but, while that page contains a discussion of devil’s marks (in general and on Jeanne Harvilliers), the texts are very different. Thierry discovered another text, one that resembles Gomart’s more closely: a note that runs from page 363 to 366 of l’Essai chronologique pour servir à l'histoire de Tournay, Volume 99, by Adrien Alexandre Marie Hoverlant de Beauwelaere and published in 1831 (about 20 years before Gomart’s essay).

Fire and water: Jean Bodin’s use of ancient medicine to justify the murder of women for crimes of witchcraft

Walpurgisnacht, 2021

I despise Jean Bodin (c.1530–1596) more than just about any other philosopher. I usually like to stay impartial, focusing my energy instead on trying to understand why someone held certain beliefs or made a particular argument rather than thinking about what that person might have been like. Not with Bodin.

Bodin had people tortured and burned alive for witchcraft (he presided over trials as a judge and especially sought out women as victims). He wrote a work to strengthen the legitimacy of witch trials, trials which almost everyone agreed relied on evidence that would be inadmissible or at least dubious in normal circumstances. And he relentlessly attacked anyone who tried to argue against the state-sanctioned murder of women, people like Johann Weyer (1515–1588), a Dutch doctor and student of Agrippa, who argued (following a long pagan and Christian tradition) that crimes such as those in Bodin’s fantasies were not humanly possible, or at least that there were far more plausible explanations for them (Weyer says the Malleus Maleficarum, the Hammer of the Witches, another dark chapter of humanity, written by the inquisitor Heinrich Kramer around 1486 and later also attributed to Jacob Sprenger, is basically a work of “silly and often godless absurdities”).

In fact, Bodin literally stopped the press on his own book, On the Demon-Mania of Witches (De la démonomanie des sorciers, 1580), when he received a copy of Weyer’s book, On Witches (De lamiis, 1577; lamiae is an old name that was appropriated for the early modern incarnation of the witch) so that he could add an appendix attacking Weyer’s humanist arguments against burning people alive for crimes like flying through the air or fucking Satan.

I wanted to reflect a bit on this text for Walpurgisnacht, since I find Bodin’s arguments— both in their rhetoric (“Weyer is either ignorant or evil, and he’s been to university, so he is not ignorant”) and in their speciousness (“women can’t be melancholic because Hippocrates says so, therefore the only remaining possibility is that they are witches”)—sound a lot like the fanatical rhetoric I’ve come across more and more since the start of this century. Sometimes it feels as if, like global warming, it keeps getting worse.

This fanaticism is one of the qualities of his work that makes it extremely difficult for me to consider him as just another “man of his time.” He may be indistinguishable from his contemporaries as a believer in demons and witchcraft. But why does this matter? Belief in witchcraft doesn’t make you a loathsome piece of shit. Appealing to that belief when burning people alive and saying it is for their own good does. Mind you, not everyone at the time did this, and believe it or not, it wasn’t only because these non-murderers were either witches or afraid of them. It strikes me as far too apologist a position to take to say he was not alone in holding beliefs we find unlikely to be true. Try to understand his arguments, even if they are difficult, but don’t think a common belief in demons or witchcraft is reason enough to explain them.

There’s this point in his appendix against Johann Weyer where he calls Weyer a fanatic. It’s as if Bodin knows his own position is fanatical and so he makes sure to accuse his opponent of it first. His reasons couldn’t be less convincing. He thinks Weyer is a fanatic because Weyer says women tried as witches were more likely to be melancholic than in league with Satan. Weyer is a medical doctor. His opinion is the considered opinion of one who has trained professionally for a lifetime. Bodin, however, thinks that to refute Weyer, it’s enough to quote Hippocrates and Galen, as if some 1000-year-old shit he read in Greek class makes him an expert. Weyer may have been wrong, but a contemporary doctor is a better judge of this than a theologian and jurist.

Weyer wasn’t alone in thinking a non-demonic explanation might be in order. In Bodin’s own France, Montaigne was wondering the same thing:

“‘Tis now some years ago that I travelled through the territories of a sovereign prince, who, in my favour, and to abate my incredulity, did me the honour to let me see, in his own presence, and in a private place, ten or twelve prisoners of this kind, and amongst others, an old woman, a real witch in foulness and deformity, who long had been famous in that profession. I saw both proofs and free confessions, and I know not what insensible mark upon the miserable creature: I examined and talked with her and the rest as much and as long as I would, and gave the best and soundest attention I could, and I am not a man to suffer my judgment to be made captive by prepossession. In the end, and in all conscience, I should rather have prescribed them hellebore than hemlock;

Captisque res magis mentibus, quam consceleratis similis visa;

[‘The thing seemed to resemble minds possessed rather than guilty.’ Livy, viii, 18.]

“Justice has its corrections proper for such maladies. As to the oppositions and arguments that worthy men have made to me, both there, and often in other places, I have met with none that have convinced me, and that have not admitted a more likely solution than their conclusions. It is true, indeed, that the proofs and reasons that are founded upon experience and fact, I do not go about to untie, neither have they any end; I often cut them, as Alexander did the Gordian knot. After all, ‘tis setting a man’s conjectures at a very high price upon them to cause a man to be roasted alive.”

Michel de Montaigne, “Of Cripples” (Des boyteux), Essays III 11 (first published 1580), trans. Charles Cotton

Unlike Weyer or Montaigne, I’m skeptical that something disturbed in the mind of the accused was ever behind accusations of witchcraft. I think another observation of Montaigne is more likely, where he says “[t]he witches of my neighbourhood run the hazard of their lives upon the report of every new author who seeks to give body to their dreams.” The fantasies were probably not in the minds of the victims.

I agree with them, however, that Bodin’s unshakeable and certain belief, and the belief of fanatics like him, in shit like flying through the fucking air to copulate with devils and destroying some crops along the way was completely unwarranted even by the standards of knowledge professed by “all the ancient philosophers and doctors” whom Bodin pretends to admire. And honestly, even if they did fly through the air, isn’t this all a misdirection? At what point was the severity and inhumanity of the punishment simply allowed to slip in there unargued?

I’m going on too long. Here’s a translation of a part of Bodin’s attack against Weyer. I transcribed the text as well, but I’m sure I’ve made mistakes in the transcription. Best to use the new critical edition. The original is here. At this point, Bodin brings in his reading of Hippocrates, Galen and Aristotle to explain why the doctor, Johann Weyer, is wrong about medical topics. Bodin’s implication is that Weyer knows these things but is lying because he is on the devil’s side. I’m not kidding.

One might keep in the back of one’s mind that Bodin himself could be dissembling: he might not believe the witch stuff either, but think it is politically expedient, maybe to preserve certain political alliances, or to bolster the legitimacy of a mechanism for terrorizing people for political ends. But to be honest, I do not know enough about Bodin or the political situation in 16th century Europe to be able to say much about the why of his statements. I just know I hate the man.

I based my translation on the one found in Monter’s European Witchcraft (online here), which is what I use when I teach this.

There’s one more thing: Bodin mentions a trial of Jeanne Harvilliers. This is a reference to an earlier part of the book. Bodin was one of the judges in her trial: he questioned her, tortured her, and sentenced her to death for having sexual intercourse with the devil. She’s known as the “witch of Ribemont” (la sorcière de Ribemont). A television movie was made about this in the 70s. The Wikipedia entry on it contains a philologically interesting quotation about her last words. I’ll post about it next week.

---

Jean Bodin, “Refutation of the Opinions of Johann Weyer”, On the Demon-Mania of Witches, 1580, fol. 225v-227v

[Johann] Weyer agrees that witches are in communication and pacts with devils, and that they do many wicked things with the help of the devil. Nevertheless, in his book On Witches (De lamiis), at one point he says that no compact exists, at another that one could not prove it exists, at another that the confessions of witches are not to be believed, at another that they trick themselves into thinking that they have done what they say and that they are possessed by the melancholic disease. This is the disguise that ignorant people or sorcerers have used in order to help their familiars escape and increase the reign of Satan.

Until now, those who have said it was melancholia may not have believed that demons exist, nor, perhaps, that any angels exist, nor even any god. But Weyer confesses that there is a god (as also the devils confess and tremble beneath his power as we read in scripture). He also confesses throughout his writings that there are good and bad spirits that conspire and make pacts with men. One must not, therefore, attribute the transportation, bad deeds and strange actions of witches to melancholia. Much less should one make women melancholics. For antiquity has noted a peculiar fact: that no woman ever died of melancholia nor any man of extreme joy, but on the contrary many women have died of extreme joy.

And because Weyer is a doctor, he cannot ignore that the humour of women is directly contrary to the dryness of melancholia from which the madness arises, whether it comes from dry, yellow bile or from melancholic fluid, as doctors agree. For both arise from excessive heat and dryness as Galen says in On Black Bile (*melan=black, chole=bile). Women, on the other hand, are naturally cold and wet, as the same author says, and all the Greeks, Latin and Arabs agree on this very point. For this reason, Galen also says that a man, having a hot and dry mixture, when in a hot and dry region, he can fall into the melancholic disease.

At any rate, Olaus the Great, Caspar Peucer, Saxo Grammaticus and Weyer himself agree with all the Inquisitors of witches in Germany that below the arctic region where the sea is frozen, in Germany and the mountains of the Alps and of Savoy – all these regions are full of witches. It is also certain that northern peoples have as little melancholia as the people of Africa have phlegm. For one sees that all northern people are white, with green eyes, blond hair, and slender, the face red, joyous and talkative, things totally contrary to the melancholic humour.

In addition, Hippocrates in the first book of the Epidemics and Galen in the same book holds that women are generally healthier than men because of their menstrual flow which protects them from a thousand diseases. Never, says Hippocrates, have women suffered gout, ulcerations of the lungs, adds Galen (in the book On Venesection), epilepsy, apoplexis, phrenesis, lethargy, convulsions, or tremblings while they have their “flows”, or, to put it better, their menstruation and flows. And although Hippocrates says that seizures (including those caused by demonic possession, which is called the sacred disease) are natural, nevertheless he maintains that these happen only to the phlegmatic and not at all to the bilious—something Johann Weyer, being a doctor, cannot ignore.

So, we have shown that women are normally more often demoniacal than men, and that witches are often transported in body, and also often ravished in ecstasy, their souls being separated from their bodies, by means of something diabolical, leaving the body insensible and stupid.

It is even more ridiculous to say that the illness of witches comes from melancholia, seeing that illnesses arising from melancholia are always dangerous. Nevertheless, one sees witches who have practiced this occupation for 40 or 50 years, and from the age of 12, like Jeanne Harvilliers, who was burned alive on the 29 April 1578*, and Magdalena de la Cruz, Abbess of Cordoba in Spain, 1545, having had ordinary acquaintance and sexual intercourse with the devil, which lasted 40 years in the first case, and 30 in the other. It is necessary, therefore, that Weyer admit that it is a notable incongruity in him as a doctor, and an ignorance far too gross (but it is not ignorance) to attribute melancholic diseases to women, which are as little compatible with them as the praiseworthy affections of a temperate melancholic humour, affections which make men wise, serious, contemplative (as all the ancient philosophers and doctors have remarked) — qualities as little compatible with women as fire with water. And Solomon himself, who also clearly recognized the humour of women (that man of the world) said that among a thousand men he saw one that was wise, but among women he did not see a single one. Let us put aside, therefore, the fanatical error of those who make women melancholics.

What’s more, Weyer—seeing that his cloak of melancholia was removed by demonstration and self-evident truth with respect to divine and human law, and by so many stories from all the peoples of the earth, and by so many confessions, some voluntary, some forced, and so many judgments, convictions, condemnations, and executions performed for 3,000 years in every country in the world—he offered a ruse much too gross to prevent sorcerers from being put to death, saying that the devil seduces the witches and makes them believe that they are doing what he does himself.

In doing this, he pretends that he is very much against Satan; however, he saves the sorcerers, which is plainly just to mock Satan with words, but in reality establish his grandeur and his power. For he knows well that the magistrates do not have any jurisdiction nor power to seize the devils. This will not only absolve witches, but also all the murderers, thieves, and perpetrators of incest or parricide, who are compelled by the enemy of the human race to carry out their deeds. Then he offers high praise to the tax of the Papal Camera, which condemns repentant witches to pay two ducats for a pardon; and in another place he says that he maintains not only that witches should not be punished with death by the law of god, but also that there is no mention of witches in holy scripture by which he could be easily convinced. Here I call on god and his law as witness, and 1000 passages from the Bible to convince this man.

Car Wier (I. lib.2.c.4. et 8. et 34. et lib.4 c.14. et lib.5.cap.9 de Praestigiis, et Saepe alibi.) est d'accord que les Sorcieres ont communication, et paction avec les Diables, et qu'elles font beaucoup de meschancetés à layde du Diable, et neantmoins au livre de lamiis, il dict tantost qu'il ny a point de paction, et tanost qu'on ne sçauroit le prouver, tantost qu'il ne faut pas croire la confession des Sorcieres, et qu'elles s'abusent de penser faire ce qu'elles disent, et que c'est la maladie melancholique qui les tient. Voila la couverture que les ignorans, ou les Sorciers ont prise pour faire evader leurs semblables et accroistre le regne de Sathan. Par cy devant ceux qui ont dict que c'estoit la melancholie, ne pensoyent pas qu'il y eust des Demons, ny peut estre qu'il eust des anges, ny Dieu quelconque. Mais Wier confesse qu'il y a un Dieu (commes les Diables le confessent aussi, et tremblent soubz sa puissance, ainsi que nous lisons en l'escripture (Epistola Jacobi c.2)) il confesse aussi par tous ces escripts qu'il y à de bons, et malins esprits qui ont intelligence, et paction avec les hommes. Il ne falloit donc pas attribuer les transports des Sorciers, leurs malefices, et actions estranges à la melancholie, et beaucoup moins faire les femmes melancholiques, veu que l'antiquité à remarqué pour chose estrange, que jamais femme ne mourut de melancholie, ny l'homme de joye extreme, ains au contraire plusieurs (Pline liv. 7. Valere Mox. Solin.) femmes meurent de joye extreme, et puisque Wier est medecin il ne peut ignorer, que l'humeur de la femme ne soit directemeut contraire à la melancholie aduste, dont la fureur procede, soit qu'elle vienne à bile flana adusta, aut à succo melancholico, comme les medecins demeurent d'accord. Car l'un et l'autre procede d'une chaleur, et secheresse excessive comme dict Galen au livre de atra bile. Or les femmes naturellment sont froides et humides comme dict le mesme autheur, et tous les Grecs, Latins, et Arabes, s'accordent en ce point icy. Et pour cette cause Galen (in liv. de atra bile) dit aussi que l'homme estant d'un temperament chaut, et sec, en region chaude et seche, et en esté tombe en la maladie melancholique, et neantmoins Olavs le grand, Gaspar Peucerus, Saxo Grammatic, et Wier mesmes est d'accord avec tous les inquisiteurs des Sorcier d'Allemaigne que souz la region arctique, ou la mer glace, et en Allemaigne et aux mons des alpes, et de Savoye tout est plein de Sorcieres. Or est il certain que les peuples de Septentrion tiennent aussi peu de la melancholie, comme les peuples d'Afrique de la pituité. Car on voit tous les peuples de Septentrion blancs, les yeux vers, les cheveux blondz, et desliez, la face vermeille, joyeux et babilardz, chose du tout contraire à l'humeur melancholique. D'avantage Hippocratte au premier livre des maladies populaires, et Galen au mesme livre tiennent que les femmes generallement sont plus saines que les hommes, pour les flueurs menstruales, qui les garantissent de mille maladies. Jamais, dict Hippocrate, les femmes n'ont la goute, ny ulceratione de poulmons, dict Galen (in libro de Vena Sectione), ny d'epilepsies, ny d'apoplexies, ny de frenesies, ny de lethargies, ny de covulsions, ny de tremblement tant qu'elles ont leurs flueurs, ou pour mieux dire leurs menstruës, et flueurs. Et combien que Hippocrate (in libro de Mobrbo Sacro) dict que le mal-caduc, et de ceux qui estoyent assiegés des Demons, qu'on appelloit maladie sacree, est naturelle: neantmoins il soustient, que cela n'advient sinon aux pituiteux, et non point aux bilieux: ce que Jean Wier estant medecin, ne pouvoit ignorer. Or nous avons monstré que les femmes ordinairement sont demoniaques plustost que les hommes, et que les Sorcieres sont transportees souvent en corps, et souvent aussi ravies en ectase, estant l'ame separee due corps, par moyens diaboliques, demeurant le corps insensible, et stupide. Encores est il plus ridicule de dire, que la maladie des Sorcieres provient de melancholie, veu que les maladies procedans de la melancholie, sont tousiours dangereuses (Galen, in lib. de atra bile). Neantmoins on void des Sorcieres, qui ont fait ce mestier quarante, ou cinquante ans, et de l'aage de douze ans, comme Jeanne Haruilier, qui fut bruslee vive le vigntneufiesm Avrile, mil cinq cens septante huict (1578), et Magdaleine de la Croix, Abbesse de Cordouë en Espaigne, mil cinq cens quarante cinq (1545), avoyent eu accointance ordinaire, et copulation avec le Diable, qui dura quarante ans à l'une, et trente à l'autre. Il faut donc que Wier confesse que c'est une incongruité notable à luy qui est Medecin, et ignorance par trop grossiere: (mais ce n'est pas ignorance) d'attribuer aux femmes les maladies melancholiques, qui leur conviennent aussi peu que les effects loüables de l'humeur melancholique temperé, qui rend l'homme sage, posé, contemplatif, (comme tous les anciens Philosophes et Medecine on remarqué (Aristot. in Proble. sectio. 30.princip.)) qui sont qualités aussi peu compatible avec la femme, que le feu avec l'eau. Et mesmes Salomon qui cognoissoit aussi bien l'humeur des femmes, que homme du monde, dit qu'il à veu de mil (in proverbiis.) hommes un sage, mais de femmes qu'il n'en à pas veu une seule. Laissons donc l'erreur fanatique de ceux qui font les femmes malancholiques. Aussi Wier voyant que son voile de melancholie estoit descouvert par la demonstration et verité apparente partant de loix divines et humaines, par tant d'histoires de tous les peuples de la terre, par tant de confessions les unes volontaires, les autre forcees, part tant jugemens, de convictions, de condamnations, d'executions faites depuis trois mille ans en tous les pays du monde, il c'est advisé d'une ruse trop grossiere, pour empecher qu'on face mourir les Sorciers, disant (9.cap.4 et ca.ult. de Lamiis) que le Diable seduict les Sorcieres, et leur faict croire qu'elles font ce que luy mesme faict. Et en ce faisant il fait semblant, qu'il est bien fort contraire à Sathan, et ce pendant il sauve les Sorciers: qui est en bons termes se jouer avec Sathan de parolles, et en effect establir sa grandeur, et sa puissance. Car il sçait bien que les magistrats n'ont point de Jurisdiction ny de main mise sur les Diables. Que n'est pas seulement absoudre les Sorciers, ains aussi tous les meurtriers, voleurs, incestueux, et parricides, qui sont poussés par l'ennemy du genre humain à faire ce qu'ils font. Puis il loue grandement (4.cap.24. de Lamiis) la taxe de la chambre du Pape, qui condamne les Sorcieres repenties à deux ducats pour le paron: et en autre (5.lib.2.c.335 de Praestig.) lieu il dit que s'il soustenoit que non seulement les Sorcieres ne doyvent estre punies à mort par la Loy de Dieu, ains aussi qu'il n'est faicte aucune mention des Sorcieres en la S. Escripture, qu'il ne peut estre conveincu facilement. Icy j'appelle Dieu, et sa loy en tesmoignage, et mille passages (6. Exod.ca.7. et 8. et 9. et 20. Deutero. ca.18 et 4. Reg. c.9. et 21. et 23. et. 2.Parali.33. et Jefa.ca.34 et Jesa. ca. 34. et 8. et 47. Daniel.cap.2. Miche.c.3. et cap.5. Ezechiel ca.13. Num.ca.23. Hierem. ca. 19. et 23. et 27. et 50. et Acto. cap.16. Nahum. c.3.) de la Bible pour convaincre cest homme.

Aristotle's Library

Here’s the story of what happened to Aristotle’s library after he died. From Strabo:

“From Skepsis came the Socratic philosophers Erastos, Koriskos and Neleus, Koriskos’ son , a man who was a student of both Aristotle and Theophrastos and who inherited the library of Theophrastos, which also included that of Aristotle; in fact, Aristotle had left his library to Theophrastos, to whom he also left his school, being the first person I’m aware of who collected books and who taught the Egyptian kings to arrange a library.

“Theophrastos left it to Neleus and having brought it to Skepsis, he left it to his descendants, common people who kept the books locked up without having stored them carefully. When, however, they became aware of how eagerly the Attalid kings to whom the city belonged were seeking books to add to the collection of the library in Pergamom, they concealed them underground in a kind of ditch. At some point after a long time, when they had become ruined by moisture and bookworms, his descendants sold the books of Aristotle and Theophrastos to Apellikon of Teos for a large amount of silver. Apellikon, however, was a lover of books more than a lover of wisdom, and that’s why when he sought to restore what had been eaten, he made new copies of the writing without filling things in very well and he published the books full of errors.

“The result of all this way that the ancient Peripatetics, those after Theophrastos, who basically didn’t have any books except for a few mainly exoteric ones, could not philosophize about anything in a practical way, but could only speak theses into perfume bottles (as it were); those who, on the other hand, came after the books re-appeared, they could philosophize and aristotelize better than the others, but were nevertheless compelled to say most things were likelihoods because of the great number of errors [in the texts].

“Rome contributed a lot to this too. For right after the death of Apellikon, Sulla carried off Apellikon’s library having seized Athens; and when it arrived in Rome, the grammarian Tyrannion—a fan of Aristotle—got hold of it by flattering the librarian; certain booksellers did, too, who used bad copyists and did not collate the texts, which happens in other cases, too, when books are copied for sale, both here and in Alexandria. But that’s enough about this.”

ἐκ δὲ τῆς Σκήψεως οἵ τε Σωκρατικοὶ γεγόνασιν Ἔραστος καὶ Κορίσκος καὶ ὁ τοῦ Κορίσκου υἱὸς Νηλεύς, ἀνὴρ καὶ Ἀριστοτέλους ἠκροαμένος καὶ Θεοφράστου, διαδεδεγμένος δὲ τὴν βιβλιοθήκην τοῦ Θεοφράστου, ἐν ᾗ ἦν καὶ ἡ τοῦ Ἀριστοτέλους· ὁ γοῦν Ἀριστοτέλης τὴν ἑαυτοῦ Θεοφράστῳ παρέδωκεν, ᾧπερ καὶ τὴν σχολὴν ἀπέλιπε, πρῶτος ὧν ἴσμεν συναγαγὼν βιβλία καὶ διδάξας τοὺς ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ βασιλέας βιβλιοθήκης σύνταξιν.

Θεόφραστος δὲ Νηλεῖ παρέδωκεν· ὁ δʼ εἰς Σκῆψιν κομίσας τοῖς μετʼ αὐτὸν παρέδωκεν, ἰδιώταις ἀνθρώποις, οἳ κατάκλειστα εἶχον τὰ βιβλία οὐδʼ ἐπιμελῶς κείμενα· ἐπειδὴ δὲ ᾔσθοντο τὴν σπουδὴν τῶν Ἀτταλικῶν βασιλέων ὑφʼ οἷς ἦν ἡ πόλις, ζητούντων βιβλία εἰς τὴν κατασκευὴν τῆς ἐν Περγάμῳ βιβλιοθήκης, κατὰ γῆς ἔκρυψαν ἐν διώρυγί τινι· ὑπὸ δὲ νοτίας καὶ σητῶν κακωθέντα ὀψέ ποτε ἀπέδοντο οἱ ἀπὸ τοῦ γένους Ἀπελλικῶντι τῷ Τηίῳ πολλῶν ἀργυρίων τά τε Ἀριστοτέλους καὶ τὰ τοῦ Θεοφράστου βιβλία· ἦν δὲ ὁ Ἀπελλικῶν φιλόβιβλος μᾶλλον ἢ φιλόσοφος· διὸ καὶ ζητῶν ἐπανόρθωσιν τῶν διαβρωμάτων εἰς ἀντίγραφα καινὰ μετήνεγκε τὴν γραφὴν ἀναπληρῶν οὐκ εὖ, καὶ ἐξέδωκεν ἁμαρτάδων πλήρη τὰ βιβλία.

συνέβη δὲ τοῖς ἐκ τῶν περιπάτων τοῖς μὲν πάλαι τοῖς μετὰ Θεόφραστον οὐκ ἔχουσιν ὅλως τὰ βιβλία πλὴν ὀλίγων, καὶ μάλιστα τῶν ἐξωτερικῶν, μηδὲν ἔχειν φιλοσοφεῖν πραγματικῶς, ἀλλὰ θέσεις ληκυθίζειν· τοῖς δʼ ὕστερον, ἀφʼ οὗ τὰ βιβλία ταῦτα προῆλθεν, ἄμεινον μὲν ἐκείνων φιλοσοφεῖν καὶ ἀριστοτελίζειν, ἀναγκάζεσθαι μέντοι τὰ πολλὰ εἰκότα λέγειν διὰ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν.

πολὺ δὲ εἰς τοῦτο καὶ ἡ Ῥώμη προσελάβετο· εὐθὺς γὰρ μετὰ τὴν Ἀπελλικῶντος τελευτὴν Σύλλας ἦρε τὴν Ἀπελλικῶντος βιβλιοθήκην ὁ τὰς Ἀθήνας ἑλών, δεῦρο δὲ κομισθεῖσαν Τυραννίων τε ὁ γραμματικὸς διεχειρίσατο φιλαριστοτέλης ὤν, θεραπεύσας τὸν ἐπὶ τῆς βιβλιοθήκης, καὶ βιβλιοπῶλαί τινες γραφεῦσι φαύλοις χρώμενοι καὶ οὐκ ἀντιβάλλοντες, ὅπερ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων συμβαίνει τῶν εἰς πρᾶσιν γραφομένων βιβλίων καὶ ἐνθάδε καὶ ἐν Ἀλεξανδρείᾳ. περὶ μὲν οὖν τούτων ἀπόχρη.

Strabo, Geographica, 13.1.54

Sleepwalking

From Michael of Ephesus’ commentary on Aristotle’s Generation of Animals.The discussion occurs during a comment on GA 5.1 779a11–25. The lemma printed is a11–12: “infants do not laugh when they are awake, but they cry and laugh when they are asleep [καὶ ἐγρηγορότα μὲν οὐ γελᾷ τὰ παιδία, καθεύδοντα δὲ καὶ δακρύει καὶ γελᾷ]”. Aristotle likens it to sleepwalking (a14–16: “just as those who get up while still sleeping do many things without dreaming [καθάπερ τοῖς ἀνισταμένοις καθεύδουσι καὶ πολλὰ πράττουσιν ἄνευ τοῦ ἐνυπνιάζειν]”). Michael tells us that something similar happened to his roommate.

“The fact that children are asleep during these kinds of activities is clear. For when they wake up later on, if they are asked, they say they did not know at all either that they were awake or what they did—like what happened to my friend as well. For an acquaintance of mine was a doctor by trade, and while I was reading and he was sleeping* (it was the seventh hour of the day**), he got up, went into the room where we keep the chickens,*** opened the door without doing much else, and having returned again he lay back down and went to sleep. Afterwards, when he had woken up, I asked him, ‘what was the necessity or the reason for which you woke up and opened the door then went back to sleep again?’ And he answered that he didn’t know, ‘for I was not conscious that I woke up let alone that I opened the door.’”

ὅτι δὲ κοιμῶνται ἐν ταῖς τοιαύταις πράξεσι, δῆλον· ὕστερον γὰρ ἐπειδὰν ἐγρηγορήσωσιν, ἐρωτώμενοι λέγουσι μηδὲν εἰδέναι, εἰ ὅλως ἠγέρθησαν ἢ ἔπραξάν τι, οἷόν τι συμπέπτωκε καὶ ἐμῷ φίλῳ. ἦν γὰρ ἐμὸς συνήθης τις τὴν τέχνην ἰατρός, καὶ ἐμοῦ ἀναγινώσκοντος, ἐκείνου δὲ κοιμωμένου (ἦν δὲ ὥρα ἑβδόμη τῆς ἡμέρας) ἐγερθεὶς καὶ ἀπελθὼν ἐν τῷ οἰκήματι, ἐν ᾧ εἴχομεν ἀποκεκλεισμένας τὰς ἀλεκτορίδας, ἤνοιξε τὴν θύραν μηδέν τι πλέον πράξας καὶ στραφεὶς πάλιν ἀνέπεσε καὶ ἐκοιμᾶτο· μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα ἐγερθεὶς καὶ ὑπ' ἐμοῦ ἐρωτηθεὶς ‘τίς ἡ ἀνάγκη καὶ ἡ αἰτία δι' ἣν ἐγερθεὶς ἤνοιξας τὴν θύραν, εἶτα πάλιν κατέδαρθες.’ ἐκεῖνος ἀπεκρίνατο μηδὲν εἰδέναι· ‘οὔτε γὰρ εἰ ὅλως ἠγέρθην σύνοιδα οὔτε πολλῷ μᾶλλον, εἰ τὴν θύραν ἀνέῳξα’.

Michael of Ephesus, On Aristotle’s Generation of Animals, CAG 14.3, 215,27–216,7 Hayduck

*Some people think Michael may have been a doctor. This passage suggests to me he was not, at least not when he wrote this.

**A reference to a period of rest in the middle of the day (i.e., the seventh hour after sunrise). The sixth (ἕκτη) hour is traditionally one of rest and in the canonical hours of prayer. Perhaps this is why Michael was reading and his friend, a professional, was sleeping. Note: Galen mentions the seventh hour in San. Tu. 6.333.1K (τὸ δέ τι καθ' ἑαυτὸν ἀναγινώσκων εἰς ἑβδόμην ὥραν παρέτεινε) as a time when a doctor named Antiochus might meet with friends or do some reading. I’m not too sure about the history though—need to follow up on it.

***Michael kept chickens.

Easter foods to have avoided

“Lambs have flesh that is extremely moist and phlegmy, while the flesh of adult sheep is more productive of residues and bad humours. The flesh of she-goats produces bad humours accompanied by acridity; but the worst is the flesh of he-goats, both with respect to good humours and digestion, followed by that of rams, then that of bulls. In all these cases animals that have been castrated are better. Old animals are the worst relative to digestion and good humours and nourishment, so that even in the case of pigs, although they have a moist temperament, the old ones are sinewy and dry, and for this reason their flesh is difficult to digest. The flesh of hares meanwhile is productive of thicker blood and better for good humours than the flesh of cattle or sheep.”

ὑγροτάτην δ' ἔχουσι καὶ φλεγματώδη σάρκα καὶ οἱ ἄρνες. ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν προβάτων ἡ σὰρξ περιττωματικωτέρα τέ ἐστι καὶ κακοχυμοτέρα. κακόχυμος δὲ καὶ ἡ τῶν αἰγῶν μετὰ δριμύτητος. ἡ δὲ τῶν τράγων χειρίστη καὶ πρὸς εὐχυμίαν καὶ πρὸς πέψιν, ἐφεξῆς δ' ἡ τῶν κριῶν, εἶθ' ἡ τῶν ταύρων. ἐν ἅπασι δὲ τούτοις τὰ τῶν εὐνουχισθέντων ἀμείνω. τὰ δὲ πρεσβυτικὰ χείριστα πρός τε πέψιν καὶ πρὸς εὐχυμίαν καὶ θρέψιν, ὥστε καὶ τῶν ὑῶν αὐτῶν, καίτοι γε ὑγρῶν ὄντων τὴν κρᾶσιν, οἱ γηράσαντες ἰνώδη καὶ ξηρὰν καὶ διὰ τοῦτο δύσπεπτον ἔχουσι τὴν σάρκα. καὶ τοῦ λαγωοῦ δ' ἡ σὰρξ αἵματος μέν ἐστι παχυτέρου γεννητική, βελτίων δ' εἰς εὐχυμίαν ἢ κατὰ βοῦς καὶ πρόβατα.

Galen, On the properties of foods 3.1, 6.663–664 K.

Eggs and Invisible Ink

How did Giambattista della Porta end up being associated with an ancient way of hiding secret messages inside of boiled eggs?

I recently stumbled across a trick for hiding secret messages inside of eggs. It’s in the 10th-century compendium known as the Geoponica or Farm Work:

“To make inscriptions on eggs. From Africanus. Grind up oak gall and alum with vinegar until it reaches the thickness of black ink. Use it to write whatever you want on the egg. Once the writing has dried in the sun, place the egg into a sharp brine. Once it has dried, boil it, and when you have peeled it, you will find the inscription.”

Ὠὰ κατάγραπτα ποιῆσαι. Ἀφρικανοῦ. Κικίδος καὶ στυπτηρίας μετὰ ὄξους τρίψας, ἕως γένηται πάχος μέλανος, ἐπίγραψον ἐξ αὐτοῦ ὃ θέλεις τῷ ὠῷ, καὶ ψυγείσης τῆς γραφῆς ἐν ἡλίῳ κατάθες τὸ ὠὸν εἰς ἅλμην δριμεῖαν, καὶ ψύξας ἕψησον, καὶ λεπίσας εὑρήσεις τὴν ἐπιγραφήν.

Geoponica 14.10 (roughly 10th century, originally 3rd century CE)

The compiler of the Geoponica attributes the recipe to someone named Africanus. Scholars typically identify him with Julius Africanus, a Libyan philosopher of the second and third century CE. Africanus was a Christian (before it was popular), spent time in and around Judaea and Rome, exchanged letters with Origen, and wrote a book called Kestoi—an encyclopedic mix of rhetoric, natural philosophy and what he called ‘forbidden investigations’ (ἱστορίαι ἀπόρρητοι).

From the Kestoi (if that’s where it originally was) the recipe would have found its way into a country-knowledge Compendium of Farming Practices (Συναγωγὴ γεωργικῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων) by Vindonius Anatolius sometime in the 4th century CE; and from there into a 6th-century work called Selections on Farming (περὶ γεωργίας ἐκλογαί) compiled by Cassianus Bassus, now lost, but which was a major source for the Geoponica. That’s the standard story anyway.

But if you try to find anything about Africanus’ recipe on the internet, you’ll notice three things: first, no one can get it to work; second; it’s nearly always missing one of its ingredients, namely oak gall; and third, it’s never attributed to Africanus, but to Giambattista della Porta, the 16th century Italian polymath and author of the Magia Naturalis or Natural Magic.

The story associating della Porta with the recipe usually goes something like this: Giambattista della Porta (or Giovanni Porta in some versions) and his friends were having trouble with the Church and they needed a way to get messages to those of them imprisoned by the Inquisition. To do this, della Porta invented a technique for writing messages where no one would ever expect: on the inside of hardboiled eggs. Here are a few re-tellings: 1, 2, 3, 4.

The story is popular enough that it even made it into della Porta’s Wikipedia page.

From the English Wikipedia entry for Giambattista della Porta, 27 March 2021.

Now, the story isn’t completely wrong. In chapter four of book sixteen of the Magia Naturalis, della Porta does write about secret messages in eggs. And at the beginning of the chapter, he writes:

“…eggs are not stopped by the Papal Inquisition and no fraud is suspected to be in them…”

…pontificalium suffragiorium comittiis ova non incipiuntur nec aliquid fraudis in eis suspicatur…

della Porta, Magia Naturalis 16.4 (Latin 1590, English 1658).

So, the inquisition thing is pretty much right, although whether he’s being serious is an open question.

A quick check of the chapter, however, reveals one big difference: della Porta does not take credit for the recipe. He attributes it to Africanus. Even more importantly he says he couldn’t get it to work:

“Africanus teaches thus: ‘grind oak galls and alum with vinegar, until they have the viscosity of ink. With it, inscribe whatever your want on the egg and once the writing has been dried by the sun, place the egg in sharp brine, and having dried it, cook it, peel, and you will find the inscription.’ I put it in vinegar and nothing happened, unless by ‘brine’, he meant sharp lye, what’s normally called capitellum*.”

Africanus ita docet. Gallas et alumen cum aceto terito, donec atramenti spissitudinem habeant, ex hoc quicquid libuerit ouo inscribito, et postquam scriptum Sole desiccatum fuerit, ouum in muriam acrem demittito, et resiccatum coquito, et decorticato, et reperies inscriptionem. Ego in acetum imposui, et nihil evenit, si per muriam non intelligat acre lixiviu, vulgo capitello dictum.**

della Porta, Magia Naturalis 16.4 (Latin 1590, English 1658)

*capitellum: a mixture of quicklime and oak ashes. See Magia Naturalis 9.3 where it is used in a black hair dye (English).

**Della Porta’s text is nearly a word for word translation of the Greek from the Geoponica, and it is also similar, but not identical, to Cornarius’ 1538 Latin translation.

Despite his failure in replicating it, della Porta found Africanus’ recipe tempting enough that he devised another method to try to get it to work. This one is almost never found online, so I’ll append it at the end. To summarize, he says one should first boil the egg, coat it in wax, and then inscribe the message in the wax through to the shell (like when doing etching); next, he says to put the egg in a solution of alum and gall (for how long is unclear), followed by a solution of sharp vinegar (again unclear), after which the egg is dried and the shell removed to find the message in saffron-coloured writing (and even this technique resembles another attributed to Africanus in the Geoponica).

I began to wonder how the mistaken attribution first came about, so I clicked on the footnote at the end of the story on Wikipedia, assuming I’d find something. And I did find something, just not what I expected.

Oak galls. Easter 2021.

The footnote pointed to page 227 of a 2015 book called Philalethe Reveal'd Vol. 2 B/W, the text of which was almost identical to the Wikipedia story and didn’t include any references. I checked other languages to see if I could find better sources. I checked French, Italian, Spanish and German versions of the article, but the story didn’t show up in any other languages at all.

This made me even more confused. Surely this story didn’t just appear in a 2015 book. And why was it only in English?

Wikipedia is great because it preserves the entire edit history for every article on the site. I wanted to find out when the story about the egg was added to see if it might give me some clues to other possible sources.

The story turns out to have been added on 23 December 2012—three years before the book in the footnote was published. But whoever it was who added the story (looks to have been someone interested in British art and museum collections in London) didn’t give a reference.

It was orphaned until 2015, when someone made a note that it needed a citation; the request remained unfulfilled until February 2017, when the reference to the 2015 book was added.

That meant the story was on Wikipedia for five years before the reference was added—long enough for this beautiful example of circular referencing to appear: the book, Philalethe Reveal’d (ironic) copied the story from the Wiki, was published, and was then cited as an authority for the Wikipedia story it nicked. It also meant this trail had come to an end.

I had to start from somewhere else; and since many of the websites I looked into besides Wikipedia mentioned a 2014 book on invisible inks by Kristie Macrakis, a professor at Georgia Tech, I started from there.

Macrakis’ version of the story resembles the Wikipedia version, but with a bit more flair. The book also came out two years after the story appeared in the Wiki, so Macrakis’ version could have been a descendent. I think, however, there’s reason to think that her version and the Wiki one are more distantly related. While both versions of the recipe leave ingredients out, they leave out different ingredients. The Wiki leaves out vinegar. Macrakis leaves out oak gall.

As some people on the internet have pointed out, it’s hard to understand how this recipe could work without a pigment (here’s a comment from a thread on reddit; and here’s a post by Craig Matsuoka in a magician’s forum, which was also published in the October 2002 volume of Genii magazine—Matsuoka and his interlocutor Stephen Minch correctly point out that della Porta is debunking Africanus, although they don’t follow it up). I think this insight is more likely to have been inspired by reading the Wiki (or its ancestor) than by reading della Porta, but it seems right. Alum on its own wouldn’t stain anything.

At any rate, it’s not much of a surprise that Macrakis and colour chemist Jason Lye report they couldn’t get the recipe to work. In an appendix (page 311), she appeals to anyone who’s gotten it to work to get in touch with them. On her website she also offers a $200 prize to anyone who can replicate it (Jason Lye also posted a video of one attempt).

I did find someone who mentioned a video on the internet purporting to do the trick with just alum and vinegar. I managed to find a creepy video from 2007—a pretty early date—which I think is the one. If it’s authentic, well, cool. But it’s likely a clever fake.

View fullsize

Old ways to play with your food. New York Times, 29 May 1965, page 14.

Macrakis however gives an even earlier source for the vinegar and alum recipe, well before Wikipedia: a New York Times article from 1965, in which it’s reported that the United States Department of Agriculture recommends parents encourage their kids to eat more eggs by teaching them to write secret messages on the inside using a ‘magic ink’ made of vinegar and alum. 

No doubt building on the popularity of ‘60s spy toys, they told kids to mix one ounce of alum with one cup of vinegar, then use the colorless magic ink to write a message on the shell of an uncooked egg. Once it was dry, one only had to boil the egg for 15 minutes, and—so the USDA promised—whatever secret was written on the shell would show up inside on the white of the boiled egg.

I have found a few leads that may be the USDA’s ultimate source, some dating back to the turn of the 20th century, and I’m sure there are others as well. All of these sources are missing the oak gall and none of them mention della Porta. How the one dropped out and the other dropped in is still a mystery…

For now, here are Africanus’ and della Porta’s recipes for writing messages in eggs. I also tried to reproduce Africanus’ version, with and without oak gall (well, a tannin anyway). It didn’t work.

Julius Africanus’ recipe for leaving a secret message in an egg

“To make inscriptions on eggs. From Africanus.

“Grind up oak gall and alum with vinegar until it reaches the thickness of black ink. Use it to write whatever you want on the egg. Once the writing has dried in the sun, place the egg into a sharp brine. Once it has dried, boil it, and when you have peeled it, you will find the inscription.

“If you coat the egg all over with wax and inscribe it until the shell appears through the letters, then leave it to soak in vinegar overnight, on the next day, after removing the wax, you will find that the vinegar has made the outline of the letters transparent.”

Ὠὰ κατάγραπτα ποιῆσαι. Ἀφρικανοῦ.

Κικίδος καὶ στυπτηρίας μετὰ ὄξους τρίψας, ἕως γένηται πάχος μέλανος, ἐπίγραψον ἐξ αὐτοῦ ὃ θέλεις τῷ ὠῷ, καὶ ψυγείσης τῆς γραφῆς ἐν ἡλίῳ κατάθες τὸ ὠὸν εἰς ἅλμην δριμεῖαν, καὶ ψύξας ἕψησον, καὶ λεπίσας εὑρήσεις τὴν ἐπιγραφήν. Εἰ δὲ κηρῷ περιπλάσας τὸ ὠὸν ἐπιγράψεις ἄχρις ἂν φανῇ τὸ ἔλυτρον τοῖς γράμμασιν, εἶτα ἐάσεις ὄξει βρέχεσθαι τὴν νύκτα, τῇ ἑξῆς περιελὼν τὸν κηρόν, εὑρήσεις τῶν γραμμάτων τὸν τύπον ὑπὸ τοῦ ὄξους γενόμενον διαφανῆ.

Geoponica 14.10 (roughly 10th century, recipe originally 3rd century CE, probably)

Giambattista della Porta’s recipe for leaving a secret message in an egg

“If you want to make yellow letters appear on an egg white (it will work better when the egg is cooked): Boil an egg hard, roll it in wax, and engrave the letters on the wax with an iron point so that the marks go through. Place it into a solution of powdered alum and oak galls. Then put it into sharp vinegar and they will penetrate. And taking off the shell, you will see them on the white of the egg. Africanus instructs as follows: ‘grind oak galls and alum with vinegar, until they have the viscosity of ink. With it, inscribe whatever your want on the egg and once the writing has been dried by the sun, place the egg in sharp brine, and having dried it, cook it, peel, and you will find the inscription.’ I put it in vinegar and nothing happened, unless by ‘brine’, he meant sharp lye, what’s normally called capitellum.”

 Si vis autem ut litera supra albumen videantur croceae et rectius, ubi ovum excoctum fuerit: Coque ovum donec durescat et cera obline et insculpe literas stylo, ut liturae dehiscent, imponatur in humore, id est, ex gallis cum alumine tritis. Inde acri aceto impones et eae fient pentrabiles, quas cortice, detecto videbis in albumine ovi. Africanus ita docet. Gallas et alumen cum aceto terito, donec atramenti spissitudinem habeant, ex hoc quicquid libuerit ouo inscribito, et postquam scriptum Sole desiccatum fuerit, ouum in muriam acrem demittito, et resiccatum coquito, et decorticato, et reperies inscriptionem. Ego in acetum imposui, et nihil evenit, si per muriam non intelligat acre lixiviu, vulgo capitello dictum.

Giambattista della Porta, Magia Naturalis 16.4, 1590 (English, 1658)

View fullsize

The Ingredients

View fullsize

Mixing the Ink and Inscribing

View fullsize

Control: Painting with Alum + Vinegar

View fullsize

Drying in the Sunshine

View fullsize

Placing the Eggs in Sharp Brine

View fullsize

Re-Drying

View fullsize

Boiling the Eggs

View fullsize

The First Disappointment

View fullsize

Inside of the Shell

View fullsize

Half Shell

View fullsize

Results Summary

View fullsize

Taking Control

View fullsize

Letting it Dry

View fullsize

Ink on Albumin

View fullsize

To be continued

Cat Bites

“For the bites of lions, leopards and bears.

“Their bites are terrible as are the ones of those like them. Because these animals, ferocious and hooked-clawed as they are, entwine their piercing claws when they attack, bodies end up ripped to pieces. With relentless gnawing, they not only tear the flesh apart, but sometimes even shatter the bones, which also sever the adjacent nerves. Clearly, then, the parts of the body that encounter such great misfortunes are susceptible to the dangers of gangrene—for even the parts that remain attached suffer sepsis and bring on wide-spread ulceration.

“Therefore, wash out these kinds of wounds with vinegar. Remove and extract the bits of body and bone that have come off while washing. Then one must use plasters. And following the suppuration of the parts of the body that have been torn apart, provide follow-up treatment with sterilizing gauze and promote scaring (as with ordinary wounds). The plasters suitable for this are those catalogued under Prepared with salt and the like, whichever ones are the same.”

Πρὸς τὰ τῶν Λεόντων δήγματα καὶ Παρδάλεων καὶ Ἄρκτων

Δεινὰ δὲ καὶ τούτων καὶ τῶν τούτοις παραπλησίων τὰ δήγματα· ὅτι ἄλκιμα ὄντα ταῦτα τὰ ζῶα καὶ γαμψώνυχα συμπλέκεται, ὅπου δ' ἂν ἅψηται, καταπείροντα τοὺς ὄνυχας, διασπαράττει τὰ σώματα· τῇ δὲ ἐπιμονῇ τῆς μασήσεως οὐ μόνον τὰς σάρκας διασπαράττει ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ ὀστᾶ ἐνίοτε κατάγνυσιν, ὑφ' ὧν καὶ τὰ παρακείμενα νύσσεται νεῦρα· εὔδηλον οὖν ὡς τὰ ταῖς τοιαύταις καὶ τοσαύταις συμφοραῖς περιπεσόντα σώματα οὐκ ἐκφεύγει τὸν τῆς ἀλλοτριώσεως κίνδυνον· καὶ γὰρ μένοντα σῆψιν ἀναδέχεται καὶ νομὰς ἐπιφέρει.

Ὄξει δ' οὖν καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα τῶν τραυμάτων ἐκπλύνοντες καὶ περιελόντες καὶ κομισάμενοι τὰ ἀποπλυνόμενα σώματα καὶ τὰ ὀστᾶ, ἐμπλάστροις χρὴ παραλαβεῖν· καὶ μετὰ τὴν διαπύησιν τῶν σπαραχθέντων σωμάτων, τοῖς ἀνακαθαίρουσιν ἐμμότοις ἀποθεραπεύειν καὶ εἰς οὐλὴν ἄγειν, ὡς τὰ κοινὰ ἕλκη. Ἔμπλαστροι δὲ καὶ τούτοις ἁρμόδιοι, αἱ δι' ἁλῶν ἐπιγεγραμμέναι καὶ αἱ παραπλήσιοι, οἵα ἐστὶν αὕτη.

Aetius of Amida, Medical Books 13.3, 265,23–266,11 Zervos

Herodian on the long peak of the Antonine Plague’s second wave

I’ve stayed away from posts about plague recently, but it’s been nearly a year since Berlin went into its first lockdown and I’ve found myself revisiting stories about the Antonine Plague—especially about how the city’s doctors, politicians and ordinary citizens responded to a crisis that seemed to go on for ages (it nearly led to civil war according to some sources). Here’s a little bit from the historian Herodian on doctor-recommended treatments for the rich (the emperor Commodus) and the rest (the ordinary inhabitants of the city). The narrative is familiar: lack of social distancing, travel, close quarters with animals, awareness of a need for face-protection; but also, while the treatments for both rich and poor were roughly the same (viz., aromatherapy), the outcomes were not.

“It so happened at this time that Italy was in the grip of the plague. The suffering was especially intense in the city of Rome, as it was naturally overcrowded and received people from all over the world. And there was great destruction of animals and people.

“At that point, on the advice of some doctors, Commodus retired to Laurentum. For the town, being cooler and shaded by large laurel groves (hence the town’s name), seemed to be a safe place; and he is said to have withstood the corrupting power of the air by means of the fragrant vapours from the laurels and the pleasant shade of the trees.

“Meanwhile, at their doctors’ urging, those in the city filled their nostrils and ears with the most fragrant perfumes and continually used incense and aromatics, since some of the doctors said the fragrance, entering first, filled the sensory passages and prevented the corrupting power of the air from getting in; and if any should get in, it would be overpowered by [the fragrance’s] stronger power.

“Only—it made no difference: the sickness continued to peak for a long time, with great destruction of people and of all sorts of domesticated animals.”

συνέβη δὲ κατ' ἐκεῖνο καιροῦ λοιμώδη νόσον κατασχεῖν τὴν Ἰταλίαν· μάλιστα δὲ τὸ πάθος <ἐν> τῇ Ῥωμαίων πόλει ἤκμασεν ἅτε πολυανθρώπῳ τε οὔσῃ φύσει καὶ τοὺς πανταχόθεν ὑποδεχομένῃ, πολλή τέ τις φθορὰ ἐγένετο ὑποζυγίων ἅμα καὶ ἀνθρώπων. τότε ὁ Κόμοδος συμβουλευσάντων αὐτῷ τινῶν ἰατρῶν ἐς τὴν Λαύρεντον ἀνεχώρησεν· εὐψυχέστερον γὰρ ὂν τὸ χωρίον καὶ μεγίστοις κατάσκιον δαφνηφόροις ἄλσεσιν (ὅθεν καὶ τὸ ὄνομα τῷ χωρίῳ) σωτήριον εἶναι ἐδόκει, καὶ πρὸς τὴν τοῦ ἀέρος φθορὰν ἀντέχειν ἐλέγετο εὐωδίᾳ τε τῆς τῶν δαφνῶν ἀποφορᾶς καὶ τῇ τῶν δένδρων ἡδείᾳ σκιᾷ. ἀλλὰ καὶ οἱ κατὰ τὴν πόλιν κελευόντων τῶν ἰατρῶν μύρου εὐωδεστάτου τάς τε ὀσφρήσεις καὶ τὰ ὦτα ἐνεπίμπλασαν, θυμιάμασί τε καὶ ἀρώμασι συνεχῶς ἐχρῶντο, φασκόντων τινῶν τὴν εὐωδίαν φθάσασαν ἐμπιπλάναι τοὺς πόρους τῶν αἰσθήσεων καὶ κωλύειν δέχεσθαι τὸ φθορῶδες τοῦ ἀέρος, ἢ εἰ καί τι προεμπέσοι, κατεργάζεσθαι δυνάμει κρείττονι. πλὴν οὐδὲν ἧττον ἡ νόσος ἐπὶ πλεῖστον ἤκμασε, πολλῆς ἀνθρώπων φθορᾶς γενομένης πάντων τε ζῴων <τῶν> τοῖς ἀνθρώπων συνοίκων.

Herodian, History Following the Death of the Divine Marcus Aurelius 1.12.1–2

A Prescription for Julius Caesar

“They say that Caesar had an epileptic fit brought on by an unending winter, but that he was later treated by drinking the juice of the Heraclean plant with the rennet from a seal. It’s not surprising if Caesar was able to get his hands on seal rennet. Aretas, however, the phylarch of Arab Scenitae, wrote a letter to Claudius Caesar about a treatment using birds. He says the liver of a vulture roasted along with the blood and taken with honey three times a week gives relief from epilepsy. Likewise, the heart of the vulture, when dried, taken with water in the same manner, is equally effective.”

Ὅτι τὸν Καίσαρά φασιν ἐξ ἀπείρου χειμῶνος ἐπιληψίᾳ περιπεσεῖν· θεραπευθῆναι δὲ ὕστερον ἡρακλείου βοτάνης χυλὸν σὺν πυτίᾳ φώκης ἑλκύσαντα. καὶ Καῖσαρ μὲν οὔπω θαυμαστὸν εἰ καὶ φώκης πυτίας ηὐπόρησεν· Ἀρέτας δὲ ὁ τῶν Σκηνιτῶν Ἀράβων φύλαρχος Κλαυδίῳ Καίσαρι γράφων ἐπιστολὴν περὶ τῆς δι' ὀρνέων θεραπείας φησίν, ἧπαρ γυπὸς σὺν τῷ αἵματι ὀπτὸν μετὰ μέλιτος διδόμενον ἐπὶ ἑβδομάδας τρεῖς ἀπαλλάττειν ἐπιληψίας, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ τὴν καρδίαν τοῦ γυπός, ὅτε ξηρανθῇ, ἐν ὕδατι διδομένην τῷ ἴσῳ τρόπῳ ἰσχύειν.

Johannes Lydus, On the months of the year, 4.104

“Most historians say that Caesar was a seven-month child, and that’s why he changed the name of the seventh month of the sacred year to his own.”

Ὅτι οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν ἱστορικῶν φασι τὸν Καίσαρα ἑπτάμηνον τεχθῆναι, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο τὸν ἕβδομον μῆνα τοῦ ἱερατικοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ εἰς τὴν οἰκείαν μεταβαλεῖν προσηγορίαν.

Johannes Lydus, On the months of the year, 4.105

“An oracle was delivered to the Romans by the Mother, that they are not to engage in sexual activity at all during July, if their bodies are to stay healthy.”

Χρησμὸς ἐδόθη Ῥωμαίοις πρὸς τῆς Μητρός, μηδ' ὅλως ἀφροδισίοις χρῆσθαι ἀνὰ πάντα τὸν Ἰούλιον μῆνα, εἴπερ αὐτοῖς ὑγιαίνειν τὰ σώματα μέλλοι.

Johannes Lydus, On the months of the year, 4.106

“When some people were suspicious of Marc Antony and Dolabella and urged Caesar to keep an eye on them, he said he wasn’t worried about plodding and portly people, but thin and pale ones, indicating Brutus and Cassius.”

Ἀντώνιον δὲ καὶ Δολοβέλλαν ὑφορωμένων ἐνίων καὶ φυλάττεσθαι κελευόντων, οὐ τούτους ἔφη δεδιέναι τοὺς βαναύσους καὶ λιπῶντας, ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἰσχνοὺς καὶ ὠχροὺς ἐκείνους, δείξας Βροῦτον καὶ Κάσσιον.

[Plutarch], Sayings of Gaius Caesar, c.14 (Moralia 206F)

“When the conversation at dinner turned to the best kind of death, Caesar said: ‘unexpected’.”

Λόγου δὲ παρὰ δεῖπνον ἐμπεσόντος περὶ θανάτου ποῖος ἄριστος ‘ὁ ἀπροσδόκητος’ εἶπε.

[Plutarch], Sayings of Gaius Caesar, c.15 (Moralia 206F)

Socrates’ Meteorology II

Xenophon, a source between Aristophanes and Plato, on Socrates’ meteorological reputation.

Weather Gods

“The conversations [at the party] were so good that the Syracusan [entertainer] noticed everyone was ignoring his dinner show and enjoying one another. Feeling a bit jealous, he said to Socrates:

‘Hey Socrates, aren’t you the one they call The Thinker?’

‘Isn’t that better,’ he said, ‘than being called thoughtless?’

‘Sure, if you weren’t supposed to be a thinker of ta meteora.’

‘Do you know,’ Socrates said, ‘anything more meteorological than the gods?’

‘For heaven’s sake, obviously not,’ he said, ‘but they’re not what people say you’re concerned with. They say you’re concerned with the most unbeneficial things.’

‘Well even if that were so,’ he said, ‘I’d still be concerned with gods. When it rains from above, they are beneficial, as when they give light from above. If it’s an awkward pun*,’ he said, ‘it’s your fault for giving me trouble.’”

τοιούτων δὲ λόγων ὄντων ὡς ἑώρα ὁ Συρακόσιος τῶν μὲν αὑτοῦ ἐπιδειγμάτων ἀμελοῦντας, ἀλλήλοις δὲ ἡδομένους, φθονῶν τῷ Σωκράτει εἶπεν:

ἆρα σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ φροντιστὴς ἐπικαλούμενος;

οὐκοῦν κάλλιον, ἔφη, ἢ εἰ ἀφρόντιστος ἐκαλούμην;

εἰ μή γε ἐδόκεις τῶν μετεώρων φροντιστὴς εἶναι.

οἶσθα οὖν, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, μετεωρότερόν τι τῶν θεῶν;

ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μὰ Δί᾽, ἔφη, οὐ τούτων σε λέγουσιν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, ἀλλὰ τῶν ἀνωφελεστάτων.

οὐκοῦν καὶ οὕτως ἄν, ἔφη, θεῶν ἐπιμελοίμην: ἄνωθεν μέν γε ὕοντες ὠφελοῦσιν, ἄνωθεν δὲ φῶς παρέχουσιν. εἰ δὲ ψυχρὰ λέγω, σὺ αἴτιος, ἔφη, πράγματά μοι παρέχων.

Xenophon, Symposium 6.6–7

*lit. “if I’m saying frigid things”, but he’s referring to a pun he’s making: anôphelestata (most unbeneficial) like anô ôphelestata (very beneficial things from above), so anôthen ôphelousin: “from above, when it rains, they are beneficial.”