Showing posts with label illustration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label illustration. Show all posts

Friday, 14 February 2014

'A dateless lively heat': Happy Valentine's!

In keeping with today's theme of love, all things heart-shaped and amorous, I thought it might be fun to share a few early-modern (and, I admit, some eighteenth- and nineteenth-century ones) that reflect today's warm and fuzzy feeling. (And if that warm, fuzzy feeling is only provided by your furry slippers this year, then that's fine, too!)

All of the images are courtesy of Wellcome Images.

Cupid dissecting a heart (1665)
The treatment of a love-sick woman (representing the Netherlands) (1672)
Cupid armed with a bow and arrow flies through the window (18th century)

A woman with bulging eyes, expressing desire through her face (1770)

A woman, the physiognomy of whom expresses attention excited by desire (1792)

A bewildered doctor taking the pulse of a love-sick woman (1802)

A young woman in love clasps her hands against her heart (1830)
There will be another post coming up over the weekend on some 'Bellifying Receipts', so keep your eyes peeled!

© Jenna Townend 2014

Monday, 23 September 2013

Roman Relics Part 1: Gladiatorial scrawls

If you are a reader of my blog that is unyielding in terms of what 'early modern' means, then I'm afraid that you will have to excuse the content of the next few blog posts! Before I get back into my normal early-modern-themed posts, we are taking a brief trip back to around 50-80AD...

As some of you may know, I recently went on holiday to Italy: Rome and Sorrento to be precise. Now, apart from eating my own body weight in pasta, pizza, and gelato, I did actually manage to fit in a fair bit of sight-seeing. First on the list was the Rome's Colosseum. 

Rather than bore you with the standard photos of its exterior and interior (which are, nonetheless, absolutely stunning!), I wanted to share with you a little collection of photos that I took of some sections of marble that have been removed from the walls of the Colosseum's 'corridors' - for want of a better word - and have been placed as part of the exhibition that sits on the upper floors.

I really can't get these images out of my head. They are something that at once struck me as unmistakably antiquarian (they are, after all, accompanied by a card telling you the likely date that they were engraved), but also incredibly modern. Engravings and scrawlings in stone, wood, even modern school tables, are surely as common now as they were around 80AD.

A gladiator, with armour, spear and shield

A big cat used in gladiatorial competitions

Two gladiators fighting. Both wearing armour, with the left-hand gladiator holding a shield, and the right-hand gladiator brandishing a sword

Gladiator with wonderfully detailed armour on his lower body, carrying a spear

 © Jenna Townend 2013

Monday, 2 September 2013

Beautiful Bibles

Happy September everybody! Am I the only one who doesn't know where that summer went?

About a week ago on Twitter, I stumbled across a link to MS 19; a sumptuously illustrated Bible from the 14th century that was given to the University of Edinburgh in 1680. The entire manuscript is digitized, and can be found here: http://images.is.ed.ac.uk/luna/servlet/view/search/what/Ms%2019?q=bible%20historial

It really is an absolutely beautiful thing. The craftsmanship of medieval texts such as this never fails to astound me, so I just had to share three of my favourite images with you all! I have cropped the original facsimiles so that you can really see the incredible detail of the illustrations.

f.5v

f.89v

f.145v
I am going to be away for a couple of weeks now on holiday, so won't be able to do much other than tweet about any beautiful early modern things that I stumble across in Rome (my Twitter is @MyEMWorld in case you aren't already following). I do, however, have another couple of posts planned for when I return, one of which will be a write-up of the EEBO-TCP conference that I will be attending at Oxford University in two weeks' time!

© Jenna Townend 2013

Tuesday, 11 June 2013

Judging a book by its cover

Throughout our lives, the adage of not judging a book by its cover is constantly re-iterated to us. However, there is perhaps not as much truth in it as we would like to think, particularly (and ironically) in the context of literature. It is certainly apparent that, contrary to the popular stereotype which often casts seventeenth-century writers and publishers as highly austere, lively and detailed front covers were used as much to promote books then as they are today. As we know, an interesting front cover is often one of the first things to draw us to a text (I am of course making the argument here that in seventeenth-century texts the author's name, unlike books today, was in relatively small typeface). The same is clearly true of many seventeenth-century publishers, such as John Marriot, who (among other texts in their publishing oeuvre) produced works intended to be for popular consumption. An attractive frontispiece was a highly effective way of attracting a browser's interest in  locations such as Fleet Street or St Paul's.

Below I have included three such frontispieces that I have come across which stick in my mind as some of the most beautiful: The English Catechisme (1621), The School of the Heart (1674) and my favourite, The Divine Cosmographer (1640). If you want to look any of them up, they are all to be found on EEBO.



































































































© Jenna Townend 2013

Friday, 7 June 2013

Monstrous births

Today I thought I would do a quick post on something that I have been doing a little bit of research on this week: monstrous births in the seventeenth century. In this post, I have brought together two different sources that I have come across: The Workes of that famous Chirugion Ambrose Parey (1649) and Jane Sharp's The Midwives Book: or the whole Art of Midwifry Discovered (1671). I think these texts make for a nice comparison on this topic, since the relevant section of Parey's work is focused upon largely anecdotal accounts of monstrous births, whereas Sharp's does not include any such figures or diagrams, and instead focuses solely upon explaining the causes of monstrous births through science rather than hearsay.

What I think this difference in approach reveals, albeit subtly, is that Sharp is far keener (unlike other places in Parey's text) to avoid lying the blame for a monstrous birth solely at the door of the mother. Instead, she assigns a portion of blame to the father and, perhaps most surprisingly, avoids accounting for the birth's occurrence solely by the means of astrology or religion. By early modern necessity, and to avoid what could be some extremely uncomfortable criticism, she does concede that 'we must not exclude the Divine vengeance' (see extract below) in accounting for a monstrous birth, but in the latter half of this sentence goes on to reveal her evident skepticism about relying upon it entirely as a way of explaining this natural phenomena. 

Below I have included several excerpts which I think best show this contrast in gendered approaches to monstrous births in Parey's and Sharp's texts. As ever, I have preserved the early modern spelling and capitalization of the two texts, both of which can be found on EEBO.

The Workes of that famous Chirugion Ambrose Parey (1649):


- ‘Dorothie an Italian had twentie children at two births; at the first nine, and at the second eleve, and that shee was so big, that shee was forced to bear up her bellie, which laie upon her knees, with a broad and large scarf tied about her neck, as you may see by this figure’ (p. 655).


- ‘In the year of our Lord 1570 … at Paris … these two infants were born, differing in sex, with that shape of bodie that you see here expressed in the figure’ (p. 652).


‘In the year 1530, there was a man to bee seen at Paris, out of whose bellie another, perfect in all his members except head, hanged forth as if it had been grafted there. The man was fortie years old, and hee carried the other implanted or growing out of him, in his arms, with such admiration to the beholders, that manie ran verie earnestly to see him’ (p. 650).

The Midwives Book: or the whole Art of Midwifry Discovered (1671):

‘Of the causes of Monstrous Conceptions’

- ‘What should be the causes of Monstrous Conceptions hath troubled many great Learned men. Alcabitius saith, if the Moon be in some Degrees when the child is conceived, it will be a Monster. Astrologers they seeke the cause in the stars, but Ministers refer it to the just judgements of God, they do not condemn the Parent or the Child in such cases, but take our blessed Saviours answer to his Disciples, who askt him, who sinned the Parent or the Child, that he was born blind? Our Saviour replyed, neither he nor his Parents, but that the Judgements of God might be made manifest in him. In all such cases, we must not exclude the Divine vengeance; yet all these errors of Nature as to the Instrumental causes are either from the material or efficient cause of procreation’ (p. 116).

- 'The matter is the seed, which may fail three several wayes, either when it is too much, and then the members are larger, or more than they should be, or too little, and then there will be some part or the whole too little, or else the seed of both sexes is ill mixed, as of men or women with beasts and certainly it is likely that no such creatures are born but by unnatural mixtures, yet God can punish the world with such grievous punishments, and that justly for our sins’ (pp. 116-17).

- 'But the efficient cause of Monsters, is either from the forming faculty in the Seed, or else the strength of imagination joined with it; add to these the menstrous blood and the disposition of the Matrix; sometimes the mother is frighted or conceives wonders, or longs strangely for things not to be had, and the child is markd accordingly by it’ (pp. 117-18).

1. Ambrose Parey, The Workes of that famous Chirugion Ambrose Parey (1649), in EEBO.
2. Jane Sharp, The Midwives Book: or the whole Art of Midwifry Discovered (1671), in EEBO.

© Jenna Townend 2013

Monday, 3 June 2013

Tracing a transfiguration of death in seventeenth-century religious literature

The central focus of my dissertation's final chapter was on how two of George Herbert's poems ('Death' and 'Heaven') could have succeeded in dispelling mortal fear in his aged Christian reader by presenting death as a transcendent event to be welcomed, rather than something to be feared. Of course, this transfiguration in attitude is aligned with the progression in the presentation of death seen across the Old and New Testaments. Here, death is transformed from a finite event in which the body is simply recommitted to the dust from which it was created (Genesis 3:19, and see also 'The Order for the Burial of the Dead' in John Booty's edition of the 1599 Book of Common Prayer), to its position in the New Testament as a transcendent event for the Christian soul that, according to Scripture, was provided by Christ's self-sacrifice and the resulting doctrine of soteriology.
One of the most interesting things that I observed when looking at Herbert's 'Death' (which I have reproduced below from Helen Wilcox's edition), is how the poem follows this Biblical chronology of transforming death into a positive event. In relation to this, it also constructs a powerful pictorial representation of death's transfiguration by drawing upon its personified form as a skeletal figure that was seen in the meditatio mortis tradition of the Renaissance. In Herbert’s poem, the figure of death is gradually transformed from being the fear-inducing figure of this artistic tradition, where it is 'nothing but bones', to a figure that, 'since our Saviors death', is 'clad' with 'beauty' and can be 'much sought for as a good'.
When researching other primary sources which support or echo this transfiguration that Herbert enacts, I came across a fascinating source entitled Death's Universall Summons (EEBO) published in 1650. Whilst obviously published some time after Herbert's death in 1633, this anonymous work presents a discourse between 'the great Messenger of Mortality' and 'a presumptious Sinner', and it concludes with this man's 'chearful Entertainment of Death' (p. 1). Apart from a similar transfiguration of a Christian individual's attitude to death, what also struck me was this illustration included on the pamphlet's title page:

I would suggest that this skeletal figure (who is certainly an allusion to the meditatio mortis tradition seen in Renaissance art such as Hans Holbein's The Ambassadors) is very similar to the terrifying figure that Herbert alludes to in the first half of his poem. Furthermore, like the conclusion of Herbert's poem where his speaker welcomes death 'as a good', this dialogue also concludes with the Sinner confidently stating that 'my Friend [Death] I do Embrace' (p. 8). Because of Christ's own transfiguration of death, the Sinner has realised that the Christian can, in the spiritual and physical sense respectively, 'go Live for-ever, yet for-ever Die!' (p. 7) by greeting this personified figure of death.
I was so excited when I came across this obscure pamphlet in my research around Herbert's poem, and I'd love to hear if anyone else has found any other similar transfigurations of death in some of the more obscure religious literature of the seventeenth-century (whether poetic or otherwise!).
‘Death’
Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing,
                           Nothing but bones,
      The sad effect of sadder groans:
Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing.

For we considered thee as at some six
                           Or ten years hence,
      After the loss of life and sense,
Flesh being turned to dust, and bones to sticks.

We looked on this side of thee, shooting short;
                         Where we did find
      The shells of fledge souls left behind,
Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort.

But since our Savior’s death did put some blood
                           Into thy face,
      Thou art grown fair and full of grace,
Much in request, much sought for as a good.

For we do now behold thee gay and glad,
                           As at Doomsday;
      When souls shall wear their new array,
And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad.

Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust
                           Half that we have
      Unto an honest faithful grave;

Making our pillows either down, or dust.

  • George Herbert, ‘Death’, in The English Poems of George Herbert, ed. by Wilcox, p. 648. 
  • Death's Universall Summons: or, A General Call; to all Mankind, to the Grave: in a Dialogue Betwixt a Presumptious Sinner, and the Great Messenger of Mortality (London: [n. pub.], 1650), in EEBO.
  • The Book of Common Prayer: 1559 The Elizabethan Prayer Book, ed. by John E. Booty.

© Jenna Townend 2013