Friday, June 21, 2013

A Book-Lovers Paradise

by Anne O'Brien





Any tourist visiting the lovely historic city of Hereford in the Welsh marches will have on the 'to see' list the Mappa Mundi which gives us the magnificent representation of the medieval view of the world.  Housed in Hereford Cathedral - worth  a visit in its own right for its solid Norman atmosphere - the map maker's masterpiece is displayed in the anteroom to another treasure which must attract any travelling book-lover.

This is the famous chained library.  It is a breath-taking remnant of the past.


   

The chained library at Hereford Cathedral is a unique treasure in England's rich heritage.  The earliest and most important book kept there is the 8th Century Hereford Gospels, but it is only one of the 229 medieval manuscripts which occupy two bays of the chained library.  And there are many more historic books, covering a wealth of subjects from theology to the law to horticulture.



Chaining books was the most effective security system in European libraries from the middle ages to the 18th century, and Hereford's 17th century chained library is the largest to survive with all its chains, rods and locks intact.

A chain is attached at one end to the front cover of each book; the other end is slotted on to the rod running along the bottom of each shelf.  This system allows a book to be taken from the shelf and read at the desk below, but not to be removed from the bookcase.



The books are shelved with their fore-edges, rather than their spines, facing the reader - the wrong way round to us - because this allows the book to be lifted down and opened without needing to be turned around.  This avoids tangling the chain.

The specially designed chamber at the Cathedral means that the whole library can be seen in its original arrangement as it was from 1611 to 1841.



To our good fortune, the library survived the 17th Century Civil War pretty much unscathed.  During the Second World War the medieval manuscripts and Mappa Mundi were removed to safety and returned 1946.

To visit this library is like stepping back into history; it is a special moment to stand in this room, surrounded by such a collection of past knowledge and erudition.  Even breathing in the air seems to be a privilege, although for the casual tourist it is definitely a case of look but don't touch.  It is an awe-inspiring place and not to be missed.  Long may it remain safe and secure for those who come after us.



The photographs of the chained library speak far louder of its quality and importance to us than do my words.  Do visit it if you ever get the chance.

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My novel of Katherine de Valois, and her life with Henry V and Owen Tudor, now available in the UK under the name The Forbidden Queen, will be released in the US in February 2014.
www.anneobrienbooks.com


Snippets of The Templar Rule

by Scott Higginbotham



The Knights Templar were many things, some true and some otherwise.  They are an enigma to many, owing to their secret rites of initiation, their use of ciphers and codes for communication, and their communal living.

Their ultimate earthly master was in the person of the pope, who resided at the top of their chain of command and these knights had a host of rules that governed their everyday lives. Some were outrageous by modern standards, while some were rather humorous.
    
Charles G. Addison writes, “’The rule of the poor fellow-soldiers of Jesus Christ and of the Temple of Solomon,’ arranged by St. Bernard, and sanctioned by the Holy Fathers of the Council of Troyes, for the government and regulation of the monastic and military society of the Temple, is principally of a religious character, and of an austere and gloomy cast. It is divided into seventy-two heads or chapters, and is preceded by a short prologue, addressed ‘to all who disdain to follow after their own wills, and desire with purity of mind to fight for the most high and true king,’”.1

Following these seventy-two rules would take singularity of mind and constant vigilance, but these same qualities are what made these knights such fearsome warriors and these facets are what make modern soldiers what they are today.  However, despite the harsh discipline and consequences for breaking faith, young men clamored to join their ranks.
 
And further, “The rule enjoins severe devotional exercises, self-mortification, fasting, and prayer, and a constant attendance at matins, vespers, and on all the services of the church, ‘that being refreshed and satisfied with heavenly food, instructed and stablished with heavenly precepts, after the consummation of the divine mysteries,’ none might be afraid of the fight, but be prepared for the crown.”2

Templars were not allowed to flee from a fight and neither was capture an option for a ransom was out of the question.  Metaphorically speaking, a young man would be forged between an anvil and a blacksmith’s hammer into the pinnacle of knighthood when these rules were embraced.

It becomes clear that induction into this order was one of strict military regimentation, monastic vows, and austere living.  Further study of The Rule provides a deeper look into their lives and how the regulations apply in practical situations.  However, humor can be found when one stops and considers these ideals and a very brief test based on The Rule will help you determine two things:  Are you already a Templar? And, if not, do you have what it takes?
 
Enjoy the humorous pokes, while adding some specific knowledge of these warrior monks known as the The Order of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon.

You just might be a Knight Templar if:
1.    You have never changed your undergarments.  Once inducted into the order a wrapping of lamb skin was worn like an undergarment and was never to be removed.  Addison writes concerning this part of The Rule, “XXIII. We have decreed in common council, that no brother shall wear skins or cloaks, or anything serving as a covering for the body in the winter, even the cassock made of skins, except they be the skins of lambs or of rams....”3

2.    You would never say to a fellow Templar of the order, “I kissed a girl. Verily, brother, I liked it.”  As Addison puts forth, “They are, moreover, to receive no service or attendance from a woman, and are commanded, above all things, to shun feminine kisses.”

3.    If your wardrobe consists of red and white contrasts, you just might be a Templar.  “XX. ... To all the professed knights, both in winter and summer, we give, if they can be procured, white garments, that those who have cast behind them a dark life may know that they are to commend themselves to their Creator by a pure and white life. For what is whiteness but perfect chastity, and chastity is the security of the soul and the health of the body. And unless every knight shall continue chaste, he shall not come to perpetual rest, nor see God, as the apostle Paul witnesseth: Follow after peace with all men, and chastity, without which no man shall see God....”5


And lastly, if you should ever stand in awe beneath the centuries-old olive trees in the Garden of Gethsemane, gazing toward the walls of Jerusalem, wondering if Christ Himself was betrayed in that very spot, you might not be a Knight Templar; you just might be a person who ponders what words the walls could speak and finds inspiration in the echoes of history. 


1Addison, Charles G. (2012-01-17). The History of the Knights Templars, the Temple Church, and the Temple (p. 7).  Kindle Edition.
2Addison, Charles G. (2012-01-17). The History of the Knights Templars, the Temple Church, and the Temple (p. 7).  Kindle Edition.
3Addison, Charles G. (2012-01-17). The History of the Knights Templars, the Temple Church, and the Temple (p. 9).   Kindle Edition.
4Addison, Charles G. (2012-01-17). The History of the Knights Templars, the Temple Church, and the Temple (p. 7).   Kindle Edition.
5Addison, Charles G. (2012-01-17). The History of the Knights Templars, the Temple Church, and the Temple (p. 9).  . Kindle Edition.

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Scott Higginbotham is the author of "A Soul’s Ransom", a novel set in the fourteenth century where William de Courtenay’s mettle is tested, weighed, and refined, and "For a Thousand Generations," where Edward Leaver navigates a world where his purpose is defined with an eye to the future.  His new release, "A Matter of Honor" is a direct sequel to "For a Thousand Generations"

Thursday, June 20, 2013

John Nash, Designer of Regency London

by Regina Jeffers


John Nash was the man responsible for the shape and development of London. Under Nash's plan, Londoners embraced the concept of Regent's Park in the northern sections and St James's Park in the south, as well as Regent's Street, which connected the two. Trafalgar Square came into being, as did the reconstruction of the Strand. The Regent's Canal was cut, along with its branch to service Regent's Park.

According to most experts, the reversion of Marylebone Park from the Duke of Portland to the Crown in 1811 opened the door to the "metropolitan improvements."

The original idea for the development came from John Fordyce, who had been appointed to the Surveyor General of His Majesty's Land Revenues. Fordyce drew up several plans, but the one from 1809 suggests the need for a new street from Marylebone Park to Carlton House. Fordyce reasoned that the nobility and professional classes required a means to conduct business and that these groups would settle north of the New Road. His creation would provide easier access to Westminster, Parliament, the Law Courts, and the Public Offices.

Fordyce requested development plans from two pairs of architects: Messrs Leverton and Chawner, of the Land Revenue Office, and Messrs Nash and Morgan, of the Office of Woods and Forests. Leverton and Chawner's plans simply extended the Bloomsbury pattern of streets. Meanwhile, Nash and Morgan suggested a landscaped park with peripheral ring of villas and fine houses.

Nash's connection to the Prince Regent is not clearly defined. Nash caught the Prince's attention after he formed a partnership with Humphry Repton, a landscape gardener. Although his partnership with Repton ended in 1800, Nash's career bloomed. In 1806, the Foxite Whig, Lord Robert Spencer, helped Nash secure a position with the Surveyor of the Office of Woods and Forests.

In his personal life, Nash attempted to obtain a divorce from his first wife after he went bankrupt in his business dealings because Mrs Nash did little to economize. His case was refused, but he remarried in 1798, presumably after the first Mrs Nash's death. It was with this second marriage that Nash came to notice of the nobility. He became a member of the Carlton House set.

John Summerson in Georgian London says, "On the strength of a scurrilous cartoon dated 1820, in which the new king [George IV] is shown making love to Mrs Nash on the royal yacht, it has been supposed that a liaison existed  between the two and that Nash's marriage twenty-two years earlier had been arranged for the prince's convenience. Speculation has even gone so far as to suggest that the Pennethorne children whom Nash adopted were in fact the progeny of the prince. All this can safely be discounted, but Nash's accession to wealth and princely favour at a period coincident with his second marriage in 1798 does remain something of a mystery."

Nash's plans sparked the Prince's interest. The future king had grand schemes to outshine Napoleon's Paris. From 1809 - 1826, Nash worked largely for the Prince.

Nash's original plans showed a rectangular layout of streets, anchored by Marylebone Park and St James's on either end. Eventually, the master plan for the area stretched from St James's northwards and included Regent Street, Regent's Park and its neighboring streets, terraces and crescents of elegant town houses and villas.

Nash did not design all the buildings himself, in some instances, these were left in the hands of other architects such as James Pennethorne and Decimus Burton. Nash re-landscaped St James's Park, reshaping the formal canal into the present lake, and giving the park its present form. Regent Street, which linked Portland Place in the north with Carlton House, followed an irregular path. Park Crescent, which frames Portland place, opens into Nash's Park Square. With terraces on the east and west, the north end of the plan opens into Regent's Park.

Around Regent's Park, Nash designed terraces, which conformed to the earlier form of appearing as a single building, as developed by John Wood, the Elder. However, Nash ignored the earlier examples and did not employ orthogonality in relationship to one another.

In Park Village East and Park Village West, completed between 1823-1834, Nash placed a mixture of detached villas, semi-detached houses, both symmetrical and asymmetrical in their design. They are set in private gardens railed off from the street, the roads loop and building are both classical and Gothic in style. No two buildings were the same, and or even in line with their neighbors. The park Villages are often considered a prototype for the Victorian suburbs.

Set up in 1812, Nash became the director of the Regent's Canal Company, which was to provide a canal link from west London to the River Thames in the east. Nash's design had the canal running around the northern edge of Regent's Park. His assistant James Morgan executed the plan, and the Regent's Canal was completed in 1820.

As part of his new position as an official architect to the Office of Works in 1813, Nash advised the Parliamentary Commissioners on the building of new churches from 1818 forward. He produced the design for ten churches, each estimated to cost £10,000 and offered seating for 2000. The plans for these ten churches incorporated both classical and gothic styles. Nash oversaw the building of both the classical All Souls Church, Langham Place (1822-1824) at the northern end of Regent Street and the gothic St Mary's Haggerston (1825-1827), which was bombed during The Blitz in 1941.

Nash was also involved in the building of The King's Opera House (now rebuilt as Her Majesty's Theatre) and the Theatre Royal Haymarket. Nash and George Repton remodeled The King's Opera House between 1816-1818. They added arcades and shops around three sides of the building, the fourth being the still surviving Royal Opera Arcade. The Theatre Royal Haymarket, which was finished in 1821. Although Nash's interior no longer survives, the Theatre Royal Haymarket sports a fine hexastyle Corinthian order portico, facing down Charles II Street to St James's Square.

Nash oversaw the remodeling of Buckingham House to create Buckingham Palace from 1825-1830 and the Royal Mews from 1822-1824, as well as the Marble Arch in 1828. Originally designed as a triumphal arch to stand at the entrance to Buckingham Palace, the Marble Arch was moved at the request of Queen Victoria, who had commissioned Edward Blore to build an addition to the east wing of the palace to meet the needs of her growing family. Marble Arch became the entrance to Hyde Park and The Great Exhibition.

With the death of George IV in 1830, the Treasury began to question the extravagant cost of Buckingham Palace. Nash's original estimate of the building's cost had been £252,690, but by 1829, the cost had risen to £496,169. Although unfinished, the actual cost was £613,269. Nash was denied the Knighthood promised to him. Finally, he retired to his home, East Cowes Castle, on the Isle of Wight. He died on 13 May 1835 and is buried at St James's Church, East Cowes, where the monument to him takes the form of a stone sarcophagus.
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Regina Jeffers loves all things Austen and is the author of several novels, including Darcy’s Temptation, Captain Wentworth’s Persuasion, The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy and Second Chances: The Courtship Wars .

Her website is: www.rjeffers.com

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Saint Lioba: Trusted Friend of a Martyr

by Kim Rendfeld


Before he became a martyr in Frisia in 754, Saint Boniface had put his affairs at Fulda in order. Part of that was summoning his younger kinswoman Lioba, whom he had installed as abbess at Bischofsheim. He gave Lioba his cowl and instructed the monks of Fulda that they were to treat her with reverence and, when her time came, to place her remains in the same tomb as his.

Photo by Kandschwar, statue of Lioba in Schornsheim
Neither Boniface nor Lioba were young. Boniface likely was in his 70s. Lioba might have been in her mid-40s. Her hagiography gives hints of her struggles at the time, referring to “her weakness.” Boniface also “exhorted her not to abandon the country of her adoption and not to grow weary of the life she had undertaken, but rather to extend the scope of the good work she had begun.”

Those instructions must have worked. Lioba spent the rest of her days in Francia, visiting the royal court, convents, and the monastery at Fulda, where no other woman was allowed to enter.

Given how close Lioba and Boniface were in life, it might not be a surprise that his parting words to her would have such an effect. In a letter to him, she reminds her kinsman that her father died eight years before and her mother was grievously ill. "I am the only daughter of my parents, and unworthy though I be, I wish that I might regard you as a brother; for there is no other man in my kinship in whom I have such confidence as in you."

Most of what we know about the British-born Lioba comes from her hagiography written by the monk Rudolf of Fulda almost 60 years after her death. Like other hagiographies, Lioba’s story includes dreams and miracles, with parallels to biblical characters and events, the accuracy of which I will leave to the reader to decide.

“In appearance she was angelic,” Rudolf wrote, “in word pleasant, dear in mind, great in prudence, Catholic in faith, most patient in hope, universal in her charity. … No one ever heard a bad word from her lips; the sun never went down upon her anger. … So great was her zeal for reading that she discontinued it only for prayer or for the refreshment of her body with food or sleep: the Scriptures were never out of her hands.”

Childhood in the Church

Like Boniface, Lioba (also spelled Leoba) was born in the Saxon kingdom of Wessex. Her parents, Dynne and Aebbe, had given up on having a child, but then Aebbe dreamed that she bore a church bell in her bosom, which rang out merrily when withdrawn. A nurse told Aebbe that she was going to have a daughter and she must dedicate the child to the Church the way Anna offered Samuel to the temple.

Aebbe handed her daughter over to the care of Mother Tetta, abbess of Wimbourne and future saint who believed in the power of mercy and prayer. Wimbourne was a double monastery where men and women did not mix. Women who entered stayed for life unless there was a greater cause.

Growing up, Lioba proved to be serious and pious. A dream she had of an endless purple thread from her mouth, she was told, was a sign that her wise counsel would be felt in other lands.

That dream was fulfilled when Boniface sent for Lioba, who had a reputation for being learned. Boniface was founding abbeys where the practice of Christianity had slipped, and he needed people he could trust to watch over them. Tetta was not happy to let Lioba go but felt like the need was too great for her to refuse.

Life in Francia

Lioba arrived in Bischofsheim (now called Tauberbischofsheim) around 748. She trained other nuns on the principles of monastic life and many of her disciples became abbesses themselves.

Photo by Andreas Praefcke, Lioba (right)
with Saints Walburga and Michael
But Lioba and her sisters faced their own difficulties. In a story that could have come from today’s tragic headlines, a woman discovered a murdered newborn in the river and jumped to the conclusion that one of the nuns - strangers to the area - had borne and killed the child to cover up her sin. Lioba and the nuns were horrified. After a series of prayers and processions, a vision like flames appeared around the guilty party - a crippled girl the nuns had been caring for. (Her hagiography has other miracles of her healing a very sick nun, putting out a fire, and quieting a storm.)

Lioba lived for 25 years after Boniface’s martyrdom. She was often invited to the Frankish court and well received and respected for her wisdom. She was an advisor to Pepin and his sons, Charles and Carloman (who didn‘t get along). After Carloman died, she still was in Charles’s favor and became close to Hildegard. Perhaps, she was even like a second mother to the young queen, who might have been 13 when she married in 772.

But she “detested the life at court like poison,” Rudolf wrote. And so she would return to her work, mainly mentoring nuns.

At some point, her age and failing health caught up with her. Perhaps when she was in her 60s, she must have realized she had little time left. After settling her affairs at the convents under her care, she retired to Scoranesheim. But Queen Hildegard made one final request to see her.

For the sake of her friendship with the queen, Lioba visited her but soon left. Her farewell is an intimate gesture. She kissed Hildegard on the mouth, forehead, and eyes, and called her “most precious half of my soul.”

Lioba died a few days after returning home. The monks remembered Boniface’s request but they were reluctant to break into his tomb. So she was buried nearby and moved to a different location in the church several years later. (After her hagiography was written, she was moved a few more times after that, finally resting in Petersburg Abbey in Fulda.)

Miracles continued to be attributed to Lioba after her death. One involved a man cured of his twitching. When asked what happened, he said he had a vision of an old man in a bishop’s stole accompanied by a young woman in a nun’s habit who took him by the hand, lifted him up, and presented him to the bishop to be blessed.

Sources

The Letters of Saint Boniface, p. 37-38

Medieval Sourcebook: Rudolph of Fulda: Life of Leoba

"Saint Lioba of Bischofsheim" Saints.SQPN.com. 2 April 2013. Web. 8 June 2013.

All images from Wikimedia Commons, permission granted under the terms of GNU Free Documentation License.

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Kim Rendfeld is the author of two books set in Carolingian Francia: The Cross and the Dragon, published by Fireship Press, and the yet-to-be published The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar. For more about Kim and her fiction, visit kimrendfeld.com or her blog, Outtakes. You can also connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.

Monday, June 17, 2013

A Look at Thomas Wyatt ~ Courtier, Diplomat, Poet, Lover

by Judith Arnopp


Thomas Wyatt by Holbein the younger
Thomas Wyatt’s portrait by Holbein shows a discontented fellow. His eyes are troubled, mentally tortured even, his mouth down-turned, his cheeks sagging, as if he is tired of life and living.

But maybe we are swayed by the stories we’ve all heard of his unhappy marriage, his unrequited love for Anne Boleyn, his lovelorn poetry, his enforced exile, false imprisonment. But what do we really know?

Was Tom Wyatt really the tortured poet and lover that we like to think he was? There are plenty of known facts about him, placing him in a certain place at a certain date, clues we can pick up and learn from. There is the aforementioned portrait by Holbein, various letters and papers, a biography of Anne Boleyn, written by his grandson, George Wyatt…and, closest to his heart of all, there is his poetry.

Born in 1503, Thomas Wyatt was destined for life in the royal court, his father remained in high favour since his support of Henry VII at Bosworth, and Wyatt’s first recorded presence is in the entourage of the christening of Princess Mary. (A future queen, incidentally, who would one day be responsible for the beheading of Wyatt’s son after the Lady Jane Grey affair in 1554.)

In a dynastic power match Wyatt was married to Elizabeth Brooke in 1520, a union that, despite the birth of Thomas Wyatt the younger, proved both unhappy and unsuccessful. In later years Wyatt, after accusing her of adultery, parted company with his wife to live openly with his mistress, Elizabeth Darrell.

One of Henry VIII’s esquires of the body, he became one of the King’s intimates, entering into
Woodcut by Holbein the younger
the courtly pastimes--jousting, hunting and dancing. Like Henry, Wyatt wrote verses, an important component of the courtly love games that were so popular among the royal household. These poems were often left where a girl could find them, or offered as tokens; sometimes the poems were altered or embellished by another hand before being passed on. They were not published in his lifetime and in all probability never meant for close interpretation. Due to Wyatt’s central role in the story of Anne Boleyn however, history has decided otherwise.

It must have been during this carefree period of Henry VIII’s reign that Wyatt’s romantic interest in Anne Boleyn was first piqued. As part of Queen Katherine’s household Anne would have been fair game for Wyatt’s attention but, when it became clear that Henry had set his sights on the same target, Wyatt either withdrew or was sent by the king on a mission that took him away from court.  

Most historians seem to agree that some sort of an attachment existed between Thomas and Anne but we can only guess at the extent of it. Some read a physical involvement into the poems but it seems to me to have been one sided.  Although there seems little doubt in the depth of Wyatt’s involvement, at the time he first began to make reference to Anne, she was engaged in a liason with Henry Percy, an affair that was quickly nipped in the bud by Cardinal Wolsey. 

I am not skilled enough to judge the quality of Wyatt’s poetry but his particular choice of words and nuances of meaning can leave no doubt as to his state of mind. This is love if ever I saw it. A riddle, punning on the name ‘Anna’, points to the possible identity of his secret lady.

What word is that that changeth not,
Though it be turned and made in twain?
It is mine answer, God it wot,
And eke the causer of my pain.
It love rewardeth with disdain:
Yet is it loved. What would ye more?
It is my health eke and my sore.

It could, of course, be another Anna, it was a common enough name. It is not until you read all the poems as one unit that the argument for the object of his passion being Anne Boleyn becomes stronger. 

The following poem is believed to have been written later, and the lines were altered at some point to make them less dangerous.  The line "Her that did set a country in a roar" was changed to read, "Brunet, that set my wealth in such a roar".  Obviously the initial reference to Anne was far too explicit, after all, what other ‘brunet’ of his acquaintance had ‘set the country in a roar?’

     If waker care, if sudden pale colour,
    If many sighs, with little speech to plain,
    Now Joy, now woe, if they my cheer disdain,
    For hope of small, if much to fear therefore;
    To haste to slack my pace less or more,
    Be sign of love, then do I love again.
    If thou ask whom; sure, since I did refrain
    Her that did set our country in a roar,
    Th'unfeigned cheer of Phyllis hath the place
    That Brunet had; she hath and ever shall.
    She from myself now hath me in her grace:
    She hath in hand my wit, my will, my all.
    My heart alone well worthy she doth stay,
    Without whose help, scant do I live a day.

Taken individually, Wyatt’s poetry could refer to anyone, it is not until you come to the most
  by Hans Eworth, after Hans Holbein the Younger
famous verse of all that arguments against it being Anne  begin to collapse. It could, I suppose, have been poetic licence or wishful thinking but surely, the words are too personal for that.  In my opinion these lines can only have been written by a man who has lived them and it is this poem that endorses all the others. There is no need, I think, to explain the meaning, Wyatt speaks as clearly now as he did then but he also illustrates, quite clearly, that the attachment was one-sided and, at least by the time that this verse was written,
Anne belonged to Henry

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas, I may no more,
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore.
I am of them that farthest cometh behind;
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the Deer: but as she fleeth afore,
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain:
And, graven with diamonds, in letters plain
There is written her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

The Hever Portrait
Another poem, possibly written after Noli Me Tangere shows Wyatt trying to reconcile himself to the fact that he has lost, trying to convince himself (and others perhaps) that his affection had been nothing but folly. But, all these years later, are we convinced? Or do the words smack of bravado? How many of us have shrugged our shoulders and said, ‘I never loved him anyway’?

Some time I fled the fire that me brent
By sea, by land, by water and by wind;
And now I follow the coals that be quent,
From Dover to Calais against my mind.
Lo how desire is both sprung and spent!
And he may see that whilom was so blind,
And all his labour now he laugh to scorn,
Meshed in the briars that erst was all to-torn.

Wyatt continued to serve the king. He was made High Marshal of Calais and Commissioner of the Peace of Essex.  In 1532 he accompanied the King and Anne, who was by then the King's mistress, on their visit to Calais and when the royal divorce was finally granted Anne Boleyn married the King in January 1533. Wyatt served in her coronation in June and in 1535 he was knighted but a year later, when Anne’s fortune turned, Wyatt’s former attachment for the queen almost dragged him down with her.

It is said that he witnessed Anne's execution, from the window of his prison in the Bell Tower, writing a lengthy elegy to the men who died alongside her, and making no secret of his broken heart. He also remembered her in another verse, although he still does not dare to mention her name.


These bloody days have broken my heart.  
My lust, my youth did them depart,
And blind desire of estate.
Who hastes to climb seeks to revert.
Of truth, circa Regna tonat. (around the throne it thunders)

The bell tower showed me such sight
That in my head sticks day and night.
There did I learn out of a grate,
For all favour, glory, or might,
That yet circa Regna tonat.

Some say it was thanks to Cromwell that Thomas Wyatt escaped execution, but he may well have suffered the more for surviving. A diplomat as well as a politician, his subsequent career took him back to Europe where he became involved in intrigue and espionage, leading to his capture and ransom by Spain. His involvement in the attempted assassination of Reginald Pole led (somewhat ironically) to an accusation of treasonable contact with the king’s enemies and a second spell in the Tower. 

As a diplomat (some say spy) Wyatt was in constant danger, and wherever he travelled, he will have taken his memories with him. He doesn’t seem to have achieved happiness and some biographers have accused him of revelling in poetic misery. That may be a little harsh. It is easy to sit in our secure, warm environment and judge those who lived in tougher times. I think we can say Thomas Wyatt was a man who, although unfortunate in love, understood love. I think we can say he suffered for his love, and I think we can say he was a victim of the times he lived in – yet another victim of Henry VIII. He died of a fever in 1542, just six years after Anne and in a letter written to his son in 1537 he described his life as "a thousand dangers and hazards, enmities, hatreds, prisonments, despites and indignations".

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Judith Arnopp is a historical novelist. She is currently working on a novel of Anne Boleyn. Her other books include:

More information about Judith and her books are on her webpage








Illustrations courtesy of wikimedia commons






Sunday, June 16, 2013

Conversations with Angels: The Strange Life of Edward Kelley

By Nancy Bilyeau

The castle of Hrad Krivoklat, built forty kilometers west of Prague in the 12th century, possessed a Gothic chapel known for its statues of the twelve apostles, gazing at worshippers from high above. Also of note was a statue of Jesus at the altar, flanked by angels with golden wings.

Hrad Krivoklat: 
In 1591, a lone Englishman of middle age and cropped ears, Edward Kelley, was confined in this castle, which began functioning as a prison in the 16th century. Kelley, held in a cell at the command of Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II, had decisions to make. He was no doubt forbidden to avail himself of the castle chapel while making his decisions. But if he had, those winged angels might have carried special significance to him. Perhaps they would have comforted him.

Or perhaps not.

Edward Kelly, from a 19th c drawing
After months of imprisonment, Kelly was due to be released  but for a single purpose. The emperor expected much of the man who came to Prague with the renowned John Dee in 1586. Rudolf had favored him, enriched him, spoiled him. The English commoner even held an imperial title: He was Sir Edward Kelley of Imamyi, "Baron of Bohemia," and he lived in high style in Prague.

Why did this bounty rain down on Kelly? Because Rudolf, an emotionally erratic Hapsburg obsessed with art, philosophy and magic, was convinced that Kelley possessed a secret of alchemy. There had been tantalizing glimpses of his power. However, Kelly had not come through as yet with what the emperor sought. He'd been arrested for dueling. But it was believed the true reason for his imprisonment was to force him to produce what Prague wanted to see.

While deciding what to do, Kelley reflected. This is only speculation--but might not these be the turning points that flitted through his mind:

March 1582: John Dee, scholar, astrologer, mathematician, physician, and philosopher, was in residence at his house, Mortlake, when a knock at the door produced a young man who called himself Edward Talbot, in the company of a Dee friend, Mr. Clerkson. Talbot was a name used by Edward Kelley.

John Dee
They had arrived at a prestigious address. Dee had a unique relationship with Queen Elizabeth. He was her personal astrologer--Dee selected her date of coronation--and adviser, but their meetings were discreet and their communications guarded. Courtiers at the pinnacle of her court--Robert Dudley and Christopher Hatton--also believed in Dee. But endorsement could not be open because Dee's methods skirted heresy. During the reign of Elizabeth's half-sister, Mary I, he was arrested under suspicion of casting the horoscopes of Queen Mary and Princess Elizabeth with an eye to predicting the succession. This was treason. He managed to exonerate himself, and found favor with Elizabeth but she did not financially reward him to the extent that he wished. Money worries dogged Dee for his entire life.

As for "Talbot," he was born in St. Swithin's, Worcester on August 1, 1555, according to a discovered astrological chart. Kelley may or may not have attended Oxford. He always wore his hair long or donned a monk's cowl or cap with hanging flaps to conceal the fact that his ears were missing. It was said he had been pilloried for "coining" (forging or adulterating coins) and lost his ears as punishment.

Mr. Clerkson brought Kelley to Dee because he had heard that the Queen's conjurer was in need of a new "skryer," or crystal gazer.  Such men were not uncommon. "Almost every parish, and apparently several aristocratic households, boasted a 'cunning man,' who for the price of a beer or a bed would summon spirits or tell fortunes," says The Queen's Conjurer: the Science and Magic of Dr. John Dee, Adviser to Elizabeth I.

Elizabeth I, Dee's patron
Dee had lofty motives for wanting to communicate with spirits of the other world: to elevate and unite mankind in an era of religious wars, hunger and disease. He sought to understand the universe. On his next visit to Mortlake, Kelley gave him what sounds like a winning audition. After looking into one of Dee's crystals for a quarter of an hour, Kelley said he'd made contact with an angel named Uriel, "the angel of light." Uriel had a number of messages for Dee.

Kelley was hired.

1583: A boat sailed from England, carrying Dee, Kelley and their respective families. Destination: Poland. Dee had a much younger wife named Jane and small children; Kelley had recently married a widow with children.  The trip was paid for by Albert Laski, a Polish count who came to England as an envoy to Elizabeth and was introduced to Dee and Kelley by Robert Dudley, earl of Leicester. Laski was a known dabbler in the occult, and soon spent much of his time at Mortlake.

Dee and Kelley had been focusing a tremendous amount of time on their "conferences" with angels. Kelley acted as medium, and Dee pondered the communications, which had to be decoded. The language that the various angels--Uriel was joined by Michael as well as other celestials--used was "Enochian." These were the pure words God spoke to Adam, before the Fall.  Dee sought to decode the entire language and capture the wisdom of the angels in a book.

In recent weeks, the angels, through Kelley as medium, had begun to urge Dee to leave England, at the same time that Laski was making his offer. Dee was also worried that Elizabeth's support of his work was wavering. Rumors abounded that Dee and Kelley were practicing necromancy,  which was communication with the dead. Dee did not want to clarify to anyone that it was actually angels they spoke to. Not yet. So it was time to leave England.

Dee & Kelley, raising the dead?
March 1587: Dee and Kelley, full of dread, were summoned to appear before the papal nuncio Germanico Malaspina, bishop of San Severo, in Prague, the cosmopolitan city of Bohemia.

The last four years had been difficult ones. Laski ran out of money almost the instant they arrived in Poland, and the two men and their families wandered through Central Europe, conducting their "actions" with the angels as they sought aristocratic sponsors.

They finally were given permission to present themselves in Prague, where Emperor Rudolf held court. Although Rudolf was intensely interested in magic, his court was dominated by papal and counter-Reformation forces. It was a treacherous climate. Dee had managed to obtain an audience with the reclusive Rudolf but that didn't prevent him from falling under suspicion of necromancy again. It also didn't help that Rudolf's uncle, King Philip II, was planning to declare war on Elizabeth I and all English Protestants were anathema.

Dee acquitted himself well under questioning by Bishop Malaspina, professing himself a pious man who would never cause religious discord in Prague or traffic in the black arts. Then it was Kelley's turn to speak. What he chose to say was astounding:
"It seems to me that, if one looks for counsel or remedy that might bring about a reformation in the whole church, the following will be good and obvious. While there are some shepards and ministers of the Christian flock who, in their faith and in their works, excel all others, there are also those who seem devoid of the true faith and idle in their good works. Their life is so odious to the people and sets so pernicious an example that by their own bad life they cause more destruction in the Church of God than  they could ever repair by their most elaborate, most long and most frequent discourses. And for that reason their words do not carry the necessary conviction and are wanting in profitable authority."
The papal representative remained calm. But he said later, privately, that he had wanted to "throw Kelley from a window"--a common way to resolve conflict in Prague. For a time Kelley and Dee were able to evade arrest or formal censure. But eventually the emperor turned on them. The order came to leave Prague within six days.

Vilem Rozmberk
May 1587: Dee and Kelley found a new sponsor: the wealthy Bohemian noble Vilem Rozmberk. He had a passion for alchemy and had set up several laboratories for experiments--Dee and Kelley now had one of their own. Although Dee was less than enthusiastic, Kelley threw himself into this work. Alchemy was the quest to transform base metals into noble ones--silver and gold--through the  Philosopher's Stone, a legendary elixir.

Kelley had brought with him from England a mysterious red powder he said he'd discovered buried in the ground. As a demonstration before dignitaries visiting the laboratory, Kelley dropped a speck of it into mercury held in a crucible. To all who witnessed it, shimmering gold appeared. Soon the news spread across Prague, Europe and even back to England: Kelley had discovered the Philosopher's Stone and could produce gold.

Now the balance of power between Dee and Kelley shifted. Dee wanted Kelley to communicate with the angels and obtain the wisdom of the universe. But his skryer wanted to focus on the alchemy experiments that were earning him fame. This was the time, when the angels communicated something new and shocking: Dee and Kelley must share wives.

With great reluctance, Dee's young wife slept with Kelley. Nine months later, Theodorus Dee was born. In 1589, the Dees returned to England. Kelley would never see them again.

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Emperor Rudolf II
It was not long after Dee's departure that Kelley reached his height of riches and renown. The Emperor's interest in alchemy went deeper than filling the imperial treasury. Rudolf was as unusual a ruler as Elizabeth I. He never married, recoiled from religious mania, and maintained a cautious stance among war-crazed relatives. "Wise hesitation" is what his supporters called it. His enemies found him inert and unfit to rule a Catholic empire.

One aspect of Rudolf's personality was fear of death. Alchemy's ultimate promise was immortality. He threw money, property and titles at Kelley, but there was a catch. The Englishman must deliver. He must turn base metal into gold. Despite his tantalizing experiments, Kelley could not prove his abilities to the emperor's satisfaction.

And so Kelley was imprisoned in Hrad Krivoklat. After his release, he was again given a chance to perform successful alchemic experiments. He failed. Kelley tried to flee Prague, but was captured and jailed in another imperial castle.

It is said that Edward Kelley died in 1598 after he crawled out of a Bohemian prison window and fell to the ground. Other reports say he survived to see 1600, but maintained a low profile.

He is considered a charlatan today, someone who was able to convince wise and astute people of mystical abilities ... until his tricks ran out.

But that is incorrect. Edward Kelley did perform an act of alchemy. It was on himself.


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This post is part of a continuing blog series on necromancy & prophecy in history:

From Homer to The Hobbit, the History of the Necromancer

The Duchess and the Necromancer

Prophecy: The Curse of the Tudors


U.S.: On sale $2.99 on amazon and Kindle
U.K. publisher: Orion
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Nancy Bilyeau is the author of The Crown and The Chalice, historical thrillers set in 16th century England. The protagonist is Joanna Stafford, a young novice of the Dominican Order. The next book in the trilogy will be The Covenant. To learn more, go to www.nancybilyeau.com