THE DIABOLICAL IN CARICATURE.--MEDIÆVAL LOVE OF THE
LUDICROUS.--CAUSES WHICH MADE IT INFLUENCE THE NOTIONS
OF DEMONS.--STORIES OF THE PIOUS PAINTER AND THE ERRING
MONK.--DARKNESS AND UGLINESS CARICATURED.--THE DEMONS IN THE
MIRACLE PLAYS.--THE DEMON OF NOTRE DAME.
As I have already stated in the last chapter, there can be no doubt
that the whole system of the demonology of the middle ages was
derived from the older pagan mythology. The demons of the monkish
legends were simply the elves and hobgoblins of our forefathers, who
haunted woods, and fields, and waters, and delighted in misleading
or plaguing mankind, though their mischief was usually of a rather
mirthful character. They were represented in classical mythology by
the fauns and satyrs who had, as we have seen, much to do with the
birth of comic literature among the Greeks and Romans; but these
Teutonic elves were more ubiquitous than the satyrs, as they even
haunted men's houses, and played tricks, not only of a mischievous,
but of a very familiar character. The Christian clergy did not look
upon the personages of the popular superstitions as fabulous beings,
but they taught that they were all diabolical, and that they were
so many agents of the evil one, constantly employed in enticing and
entrapping mankind. Hence, in the mediæval legends, we frequently find
demons presenting themselves under ludicrous forms or in ludicrous
situations; or performing acts, such as eating and drinking, which are
not in accordance with their real character; or at times even letting
themselves be outwitted or entrapped by mortals in a very undignified
manner. Although they assumed any form they pleased, their natural form
was remarkable chiefly for being extremely ugly; one of them, which
appeared in a wild wood, is described by Giraldus Cambrensis, who wrote
at the end of the twelfth century, as being hairy, shaggy, and rough,
and monstrously deformed.[24] According to a mediæval story, which
was told in different forms, a great man's cellar was once haunted by
these demons, who drank all his wine, while the owner was totally at a
loss to account for its rapid disappearance. After many unsuccessful
attempts to discover the depredators, some one, probably suspecting
the truth, suggested that he should mark one of the barrels with holy
water, and next morning a demon, much resembling the description given
by Giraldus, was found stuck fast to the barrel. It is told also of
Edward the Confessor, that he once went to see the tribute called
the Danegeld, and it was shown to him all packed up in great barrels
ready to be sent away--for this appears to have been the usual mode
of transporting large quantities of money. The saintly king had the
faculty of being able to see spiritual beings--a sort of spiritual
second-sight--and he beheld seated on the largest barrel, a devil, who
was "black and hideous."
_Vit un déable saer desus
Le tresor, noir et hidus._--Life of S. Edward, l. 944.
[Illustration: _No. 35. The Demon of the Treasure._]
An early illuminator, in a manuscript preserved in the library of
Trinity College, Cambridge (MS. Trin. Col., B x. 2), has left us a
pictorial representation of this scene, from which I copy his notion
of the form of the demon in cut No. 35. The general idea is evidently
taken from the figure of the goat, and the relationship between the
demon and the classical satyr is very evident.
[24] "Formam quandam villosam, hispidam, et hirsutam, adeoque enormiter
deformem." Girald. Camb., Itiner. Camb., lib. i. c. 5.
Ugliness was an essential characteristic of the demons, and, moreover,
their features have usually a mirthful cast, as though they greatly
enjoyed their occupation. There is a mediæval story of a young
monk, who was sacristan to an abbey, and had the directions of the
building and ornamentation. The carvers of stone were making admirable
representations of hell and paradise, in the former of which the demons
"seemed to take great delight in well tormenting their victims"--
_Qui par semblant se delitoit
En ce que bien les tormentoit._
The sacristan, who watched the sculptors every day, was at last moved
by pious zeal to try and imitate them, and he set to work to make a
devil himself, with such success, that his fiend was so black and ugly
that nobody could look at it without terror.
_Tant qu'un déable à fere emprist;
Si i mist sa poine et sa cure,
Que la forme fu si oscure
Et si laide, que cil doutast
Que entre deus oilz l'esgardast._
The sacristan, encouraged by his success--for it must be understood
that his art was a sudden inspiration (as he had not been an artist
before)--continued his work till it was completed, and then "it was so
horrible and so ugly, that all who saw it affirmed upon their oaths
that they had never seen so ugly a figure either in sculpture or in
painting, or one which had so repulsive an appearance, or a devil which
was a better likeness than the one this monk had made for them"--
_Si horribles fu et si lez,
Que trestouz cels que le véoient
Seur leur serement afermoient
C'onques mès si laide figure,
Ne en taille ne en peinture,
N'avoient à nul jor véue,
Qui si éust laide véue,
Ne déable miex contrefet
Que cil moines leur avoit fet._--Meon's Fabliaux, tom. ii. p. 414.
The demon himself now took offence at the affront which had been
put upon him, and appearing the night following to the sacristan,
reproached him with having made him so ugly, and enjoined him to break
the sculpture, and execute another representing him better looking, on
pain of very severe punishment; but, although this visit was repeated
thrice, the pious monk refused to comply. The evil one now began to
work in another way, and, by his cunning, he drew the sacristan into a
disgraceful amour with a lady of the neighbourhood, and they plotted
not only to elope together by night, but to rob the monastery of its
treasure, which was of course in the keeping of the sacristan. They
were discovered, and caught in their flight, laden with the treasure,
and the unfaithful sacristan was thrown into prison. The fiend now
appeared to him, and promised to clear him out of all his trouble on
the mere condition that he should break his ugly statue, and make
another representing him as looking handsome--a bargain to which the
sacristan acceded without further hesitation. It would thus appear that
the demons did not like to be represented ugly. In this case, the fiend
immediately took the form and place of the sacristan, while the latter
went to his bed as if nothing had happened. When the other monks found
him there next morning, and heard him disclaim all knowledge of the
robbery or of the prison, they hurried to the latter place, and found
the devil in chains, who, when they attempted to exorcise him, behaved
in a very turbulent manner, and disappeared from their sight. The
monks believed that it was all a deception of the evil one, while the
sacristan, who was not inclined to brave his displeasure a second time,
performed faithfully his part of the contract, and made a devil who
did not look ugly. In another version of the story, however, it ends
differently. After the third warning, the monk went in defiance of the
devil, and made his picture uglier than ever; in revenge for which the
demon came unexpectedly and broke the ladder on which he was mounted
at his work, whereby the monk would undoubtedly have been killed. But
the Virgin, to whom he was much devoted, came to his assistance, and,
seizing him with her hand, and holding him in the air, disappointed
the devil of his purpose. It is this latter _dénouement_ which is
represented in the cut No. 36, taken from the celebrated manuscript in
the British Museum known as "Queen Mary's Psalter" (MS. Reg. 2 B vii.).
The two demons employed here present, well defined, the air of mirthful
jollity which was evidently derived from the popular hobgoblins.
[Illustration: _No. 36. The Pious Sculptor._]
[Illustration: _No. 37. The Monk's Disaster._]
[Illustration: _No. 38. The Demons Disappointed._]
There was another popular story, which also was told under several
forms. The old Norman historians tell it of their duke Richard
Sans-Peur. There was a monk of the abbey of St. Ouen, who also held
the office of sacristan, but, neglecting the duties of his position,
entered into an intrigue with a lady who dwelt in the neighbourhood,
and was accustomed at night to leave the abbey secretly, and repair
to her. His place as sacristan enabled him thus to leave the house
unknown to the other brethren. On his way, he had to pass the little
river Robec, by means of a plank or wooden bridge, and one night
the demons, who had been watching him on his errand of sin, caught
him on the bridge, and threw him over into the water, where he was
drowned. One devil seized his soul, and would have carried it away,
but an angel came to claim him on account of his good actions, and
the dispute ran so high, that duke Richard, whose piety was as great
as his courage, was called in to decide it. The same manuscript from
which our last cut was taken has furnished our cut No. 37, which
represents two demons tripping up the monk, and throwing him very
unceremoniously into the river. The body of one of the demons here
assumes the form of an animal, instead of taking, like the other, that
of a man, and he is, moreover, furnished with a dragon's wings. There
was one version of this story, in which it found its place among the
legends of the Virgin Mary, instead of those of duke Richard. The
monk, in spite of his failings, had been a constant worshipper of the
Virgin, and, as he was falling from the bridge into the river, she
stepped forward to protect him from his persecutors, and taking hold
of him with her hand, saved him from death. One of the compartments
of the rather early wall-paintings in Winchester Cathedral represents
the scene according to this version of the story, and is copied in
our cut No. 38. The fiends here take more fantastic shapes than we
have previously seen given to them. They remind us already of the
infinitely varied grotesque forms which the painters of the age of the
Renaissance crowded together in such subjects as "The Temptation of
St. Anthony." In fact these strange notions of the forms of the demons
were not only preserved through the whole period of the middle ages,
but are still hardly extinct. They appear in almost exaggerated forms
in the illustrations to books of a popular religious character which
appeared in the first ages of printing. I may quote, as an example, one
of the cuts of an early and very rare block-book, entitled the _Ars
Moriendi_, or "Art of Dying," or, in a second title, _De Tentationibus
Morientium_, on the temptations to which dying men are exposed. The
scene, of which a part is given in the annexed cut (No. 39), is in the
room of the dying man, whose bed is surrounded by three demons, who
are come to tempt him, while his relatives of both sexes are looking
on quite unconscious of their presence. The figures of these demons
are particularly grotesque, and their ugly features betray a degree of
vulgar cunning which adds not a little to this effect. The one leaning
over the dying man suggests to him the words expressed in the label
issuing from his mouth, _Provideas amicis_, "provide for your friends;"
while the one whose head appears to the left whispers to him, _Yntende
thesauro_, "think of your treasure." The dying man seems grievously
perplexed with the various thoughts thus suggested to him.
[Illustration: _No. 39. A Mediæval Death-bed._]
[Illustration: _No. 40. Condemned Souls carried to their Place of
Punishment._]
Why did the mediæval Christians think it necessary to make the devils
black and ugly? The first reply to this question which presents itself
is, that the characteristics intended to be represented were the
blackness and ugliness of sin. This, however, is only partially the
explanation of the fact; for there can be no doubt that the notion
was a popular one, and that it had previously existed in the popular
mythology; and, as has been already remarked, the ugliness exhibited
by them is a vulgar, mirthful ugliness, which makes you laugh instead
of shudder. Another scene, from the interesting drawings at the foot
of the pages in "Queen Mary's Psalter," is given in our cut No. 40. It
represents that most popular of mediæval pictures, and, at the same
time, most remarkable of literal interpretations, hell mouth. The
entrance to the infernal regions was always represented pictorially
as the mouth of a monstrous animal, where the demons appeared leaving
and returning. Here they are seen bringing the sinful souls to their
last destination, and it cannot be denied that they are doing the work
right merrily and jovially. In our cut No. 41, from the manuscript in
the library of Trinity College, Cambridge, which furnished a former
subject, three demons, who appear to be the guardians of the entrance
to the regions below--for it is upon the brow above the monstrous mouth
that they are standing--present varieties of the diabolical form. The
one in the middle is the most remarkable, for he has wings not only
on his shoulders, but also on his knees and heels. All three have
horns; in fact, the three special characteristics of mediæval demons
were horns, hoofs--or, at least, the feet of beasts,--and tails, which
sufficiently indicate the source from which the popular notions of
these beings were derived. In the cathedral of Treves, there is a mural
painting by William of Cologne, a painter of the fifteenth century,
which represents the entrance to the shades, the monstrous mouth, with
its keepers, in still more grotesque forms. Our cut No. 42 gives but a
small portion of this picture, in which the porter of the regions of
punishment is sitting astride the snout of the monstrous mouth, and
is sounding with a trumpet what may be supposed to be the call for
those who are condemned. Another minstrel of the same stamp, spurred,
though not booted, sits astride the tube of the trumpet, playing on
the bagpipes; and the sound which issues from the former instrument is
represented by a host of smaller imps who are scattering themselves
about.
[Illustration: _No. 41. The Guardians of Hell Mouth._]
[Illustration: _No. 42. The Trumpeter of Evil._]
It must not be supposed that, in subjects like these, the drollery of
the scene was accidental; but, on the contrary, the mediæval artists
and popular writers gave them this character purposely. The demons and
the executioners--the latter of whom were called in Latin _tortores_,
and in popular old English phraseology the "tormentours"--were the
comic characters of the time, and the scenes in the old mysteries or
religious plays in which they were introduced were the comic scenes,
or farce, of the piece. The love of burlesque and caricature was,
indeed, so deeply planted in the popular mind, that it was found
necessary to introduce them even in pious works, in which such scenes
as the slaughter of the innocents, where the "knights" and the women
abused each other in vulgar language, the treatment of Christ at
the time of His trial, some parts of the scene of the crucifixion,
and the day of judgment, were essentially comic. The last of these
subjects, especially, was a scene of mirth, because it often consisted
throughout of a coarse satire on the vices of the age, especially on
those which were most obnoxious to the populace, such as the pride and
vanity of the higher ranks, and the extortions and frauds of usurers,
bakers, taverners, and others. In the play of "Juditium," or the day
of doom, in the "Towneley Mysteries," one of the earliest collections
of mysteries in the English language, the whole conversation among
the demons is exactly of that joking kind which we might expect from
their countenances in the pictures. When one of them appears carrying
a bag full of different offences, another, his companion, is so joyful
at this circumstance, that he says it makes him laugh till he is out
of breath, or, in other words, till he is ready to burst; and, while
asking if anger be not among the sins he had collected, proposes to
treat him with something to drink--
Primus dæmon. _Peasze, I pray the, be stille; I laghe that I kynke.
Is oghte ire in thi bille? and then salle thou drynke._
--Towneley Mysteries, p. 309.
And in the continuation of the conversation, one telling of the events
which had preceded the announcement of Doomsday says, rather jeeringly,
and somewhat exultingly, "Souls came so thick now of late to hell, that
our porter at hell gate is ever held so close at work, up early and
down late, that he never rests"--
_Saules cam so thyk now late unto helle,
As ever
Oure porter at helle gate
Is halden so strate,
Up erly and downe late,
He rystys never._--Ib., p. 314.
With such popular notions on the subject, we have no reason to be
surprised that the artists of the middle ages frequently chose the
figures of demons as objects on which to exercise their skill in
burlesque and caricature, that they often introduced grotesque figures
of their heads and bodies in the sculptured ornamentation of building,
and that they presented them in ludicrous situations and attitudes in
their pictures. They are often brought in as secondary actors in a
picture in a very singular manner, of which an excellent example is
furnished by the beautifully illuminated manuscript known as "Queen
Mary's Psalter," which is copied in our cut No. 43. Nothing is more
certain than that in this instance the intention of the artist was
perfectly serious. Eve, under the influence of a rather singularly
formed serpent, having the head of a beautiful woman and the body of
a dragon, is plucking the apples and offering them to Adam, who is
preparing to eat one, with evident hesitation and reluctance. But three
demons, downright hobgoblins, appear as secondary actors in the scene,
who exercise an influence upon the principals. One is patting Eve
on the shoulder, with an air of approval and encouragement, while a
second, with wings, is urging on Adam, and apparently laughing at his
apprehensions; and a third, in a very ludicrous manner, is preventing
him from drawing back from the trial.
[Illustration: _No. 43. The Fall of Man._]
In all the delineations of demons we have yet seen, the ludicrous is
the spirit which chiefly predominates, and in no one instance have
we had a figure which is really demoniacal. The devils are droll but
not frightful; they provoke laughter, or at least excite a smile,
but they create no horror. Indeed, they torment their victims so
good-humouredly, that we hardly feel for them. There is, however, one
well-known instance in which the mediæval artist has shown himself
fully successful in representing the features of the spirit of evil. On
the parapet of the external gallery of the cathedral church of Notre
Dame in Paris, there is a figure in stone, of the ordinary stature of
a man, representing the demon, apparently looking with satisfaction
upon the inhabitants of the city as they were everywhere indulging in
sin and wickedness. We give a sketch of this figure in our cut No. 44.
The unmixed evil--horrible in its expression in this countenance--is
marvellously portrayed. It is an absolute Mephistophiles, carrying in
his features a strange mixture of hateful qualities--malice, pride,
envy--in fact, all the deadly sins combined in one diabolical whole.
[Illustration: _No. 44. The Spirit of Evil._]