All from George Cruikshank, Click for full size! (Most below the fold.)
All from George Cruikshank, Click for full size! (Most below the fold.)
There was a wide variety of doors and windows to be seen, some looking more authentic than others, some being very evidently modern. And of those modern ones some made a better job at concealing this than others.
I think that maybe the two doors at the castle gate (Alte Kanzlei) were truly authentic, or at least very old. Wood and iron can survive centuries when kept dry and these both were good hidden from immediate reach of the elements. The one on the left was on the back side of the building, the red one on the right on the inside of the gate arc.
What I found interesting however is the aforementioned mixture of authentic looking and modern. I am not very well informed on this problematic, but to the best of my knowldedge in CZ if someone owns an authentic historic building that is listed as such and is protected by law, then all repairs must be performed with technology authentic to the time the house was built – at least on the outside, or on the specific part that is being protected. Once I have talked with an old lady whose house had authentic wooden shingles on the roof and she complained about how difficult – not to mention expensive – it is to find somene to do repairs that are confirming with law.
It seems that in Idstein not all houses have such strict protection , although some perhaps do. There was definitively a visible hint of plastic here and there.
There will be much of George Cruikshank, caricaturist and printmaker coming up, but I felt this one deserved to be on its own, given the sheer amount of very weird detail. There seems to be an implication of witchery and/or paganism here. Interestingly, this one was one of the ones designed by Frederick Marryat, a British naval officer, and author. It’s interesting to note that In 1839, Marryat also published his Diary in America, a travelogue that reflects his criticisms of American culture and society. The book and the author were both subject to acts of violence, including the burning of the book and of Marryat’s effigy in public. It can be read for free at the link provided; I note that the e-books are also available through Barnes & Noble and Amazon.
There’s an astonishing amount of detail here. Note the painting hanging on the wall – an assault in progress. That earns a WTF? Then the Goddess detail on the mantel, with the dogs. Peacock feathers on the mantel, too. They were associated with witches, particularly those with healing arts. Then there’s the cat and dog, and screaming parrot, with the mouse in between. And what appears to be a Buddha on the mantel, and so. much. more. Click for full size!
Still with Louis-Léopold Boilly. I know La Luxure is supposed to be creepy, but Boilly outdid himself there. :shudder: But I do love Le Lunettes. All images, click for full size.
Still with Louis-Léopold Boilly. Click for full size!
I’ll be indulging in a highlight of Louis-Léopold Boilly the next day or three. Boilly was an incredibly talented artist, with an extraordinary gift for portraiture. Looking at his paintings, you get a strong sense that you should not be staring in the window, looking at these people, because there is a profound intimacy in his paintings. The Geography Lesson (Portrait of Monsieur Gaudry and His Daughter) is a good example of this intimacy. I also think his portrait of Robespierre is the absolute best. Boilly was a prolific painter, producing a great many small portraits as well as full scale paintings. When it comes to Les Grimaces, I like Les Grimaces 3 best. I think. All images, click for full size!
A new series! The Harvey Cushing/John Hay Whitney Medical Library has an absolutely astonishing collection of old prints and drawings, all to do with medical matters. There are exquisite anatomical drawings, drawings of hospitals, and the like, but I won’t be posting those. There are wonderfully satirical prints, interesting characters, and depictions of certain maladies, etc., of which, many tickle my fancy. We’ll start with Mary Tofts, who drew a great deal of attention, from on high to low in her day, for giving birth to rabbits. (All images, click for full size.)
Moving on to…head stones! :D
I’m not at all sure what this is all about, it doesn’t look quite like trepanning, but who knows? One very interesting thing about this is that it leads to a painting by Hieronymus Bosch, called Cutting The Stone, aka The Extraction of the Stone of Madness. It’s quite clear that Bosch is not being complimentary to the medical profession. The Band Wire did a song about the painting, called The Madman’s Honey.Finally, we have a scary look at Elephantiasis, [Warning: A very graphic photo at that link.] a most dread disease back in the day. Note that the woman depicted has 6 toes on each foot.
Thomas Gowing felt the mighty yet fragile English Beard to be threatened with extinction by an invasive foreign species, the Razor. So he set out to defend the furry face mammal in every conceivable way. The resulting lecture was received so enthusiastically by a bushy-faced audience in Ipswich that it was soon turned into The Philosophy of Beards (1854) — the first book entirely devoted to this subject.
It is Gowing’s ardent belief that the bearded are better looking, better morally and better historically than the shaven.
[…]
In the last section, Gowing gambols through the ancient and modern past, attaching a beard or lack thereof to thousands of years of heroism and cowardice, honour and deceit. Viewing history through the prism of the beard makes things nice and simple: “The bold Barons outbearded King John, and Magna Charta was the result,” … “Henry the 7th shaved himself and fleeced his people”. Napoleon I only allowed men in his empire to have an “imperial”, an upturned triangle of a beard, as a way of letting them know “that they were to have the smallest possible share in the empire”.
[…]
Finally, he dismisses as “a foul libel” the idea that ladies don’t fancy a beard. He declares, presumably without much survey data to hand, that “Ladies, by their very nature, like everything manly, and cannot fail to be charmed by a fine flow of curling comeliness.”
You can read much more at The Public Domain Review, including the book itself. The book has also been recently republished by the British Library, for the first time since 1854. You’ll find a link at The Public Domain. I’d think the book would be a fine gift for anyone’s bearded friends and loved ones.
You might also be interested in Beards of Time:
I have a deep and abiding love of Medieval Manuscripts, there’s always more to discover and wonder over, and here’s a new and delightful discovery to me, the early repairs of manuscripts, where beautiful embroidery was utilised to repair flaws in the parchment.
In the Cantonal and University Library in the ancient city of Fribourg, Switzerland, is a 14th-century manuscript with some gloriously beautiful defects. Scattered throughout the text are small tears and holes. And many of them have been carefully, intricately stitched together with colorful thread.
[…]
Holes in the parchment weren’t always dealt with, but when they were, any repairs needed to be done before it could be written on. This might include both patching over holes and evening out edges, explains Sciacca. The repair method could be crude or rudimentary—“Frankenstein” repairs, as Sciacca jokingly calls them—but, as writer Paul Cooper recently highlighted, sometimes they could be quite beautiful.
In that same 14th-century text in Fribourg, a single page is elegantly adorned with two sets of thin stitches, one pink, one green. Elsewhere in the same manuscript there are rainbow-hued repairs of different shapes and sizes. In a text held at the Engelberg Abbey library in Switzerland, stitches at the edge of the page create a “rope”, as Sciacca refers to it, to fill in the edge of the parchment. And from the same library, the missing side of one page has been patched with an additional square of parchment.
As medieval book historian Erik Kwakkel points out, these repairs must have been common in certain monasteries. “Where I was finding a lot of these embellishments were in manuscripts that came from either nunneries, or from what they call in Germany, double cloisters,” Sciacca says. “So you have this paired male and female monastic community. They live separately, but they’re allied with each other, and they’re physically located next to each other. So it seems that this may be part of what was, in fact, women’s training, what was nuns’ training, which was to practice embroidery. And they were doing it not just on textiles, but also actually in manuscripts.”
Stitching wasn’t the only way to make the best of flawed parchment. There are instances of holes being incorporated into illustrations, or used to reveal an illustration on the following page. The stitches themselves could even be embellished. In a text in Germany’s Bamberg State Library, a curve of plain-colored stitching is surrounded with the drawing of a man so that the thread resembles his skeleton.
You can read much more, with lots of links, and see much more at Atlas Obscura. Fascinating!
Matt Easton is not the greatest orator of all time, a lot of tangents upon tangents upon tangents. However this is still a good point well made and an excellent response to the more and more vocal nationalists and race purists in Europe.
As someone of mixed Germanic/Slavic ancestry who in WW2 had relatives both in SS Waffen* and in Totaleinsatz I can only nod in agreement.
*For the sake of completeness the story as said by my mother:
One of my grandmother’s cousins was conscripted in Wehrmacht and during the war he got transfer order to SS Waffen. That is an offer one cannot refuse, so he has swallowed a bullet, because he just could not follow the orders anymore. However there is no doubt in my mind that I had relatives on that side of the family who fought and slaughtered for the Führer quite happily.
The map above shows when women got the right to vote in each country around the world.
2018 marks the centenary of Women’s suffrage in the UK and even then only with several restrictions (had to be over the age of 30 and meet property qualifications).
You can read much more (with links) at Brilliant Maps: Women’s Suffrage Mapped: The Year Women Got The Vote By Country.
According to the story, not only did 15-year-old Saint Agatha of Sicily refuse to abandon her faith, she also rejected a Roman governor’s advances. As such, she was punished by having her breasts amputated, then died of her wounds in prison on February 5, 251 A.D. Frescoes of the mutilated martyr are easily recognizable. She’s often depicted holding her breasts on a platter.
Known as minne di Sant’ Agata in Italian, these sweet cheese and marzipan desserts are an edible reminder of Saint Agatha’s suffering. Bakers craft the perfectly round confections using a base of shortcrust pastry topped with ricotta. After adding in chocolate or a piece of boozy spongecake to accompany the filling, they blanket everything in pistachio marzipan and a thick, creamy glaze. A candied cherry on top completes the anatomically-correct aesthetic.
Each February, hundreds of thousands of people flock to Catania to honor Saint Agatha in a three-day celebration. The centuries-old festival features an all-night procession and delicious replicas of saintly, amputated breasts at every pastry shop.
You can read more at Atlas Obscura. A bit grisly, but I’ll admit they do look on the delicious side. Religions certainly do come with a side order of weird. There are many depictions of Agatha of Sicily, including ones of her holding her breasts on a platter, her breasts alone are carved in stone, and much more.