The Adventures Of The Sailor-Donkey Of Cyprus

The Malleus Maleficarum was a 15th-century text that presented bizarre (but, unfortunately, influential) theories about witchcraft and magic, as well as commentary on subjects such as supernatural monsters, demons and other similarly diabolical creatures. Its authors, the inquisitors Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, did not simply write a dry treatise on the convoluted assumptions of witch hunters and demonologists; they also spiced up the text with supposed first-hand accounts of what they personally witnessed as inquisitors, and they also recorded tales of folklore presented to them by their co-workers. Many of these paranormal yarns are depressing reads, as they often end with the death of an accused (and most likely innocent) witch. Yet, some of the tales preserved by the inquisitors are so bizarre that they come across as quite humorous, which is a delightful change of pace from the otherwise dark and frustrating sections of the Malleus Maleficarum. One such comical digression appeared in part II, question 2, chapter 4 of the text—which featured a sailor who allegedly lived as a transformed donkey for over three years on the island of Cyprus.

To set the scene, a merchant ship was said to have pulled into port at the city of Salamis, in Cyprus, where it loitered for a time to sell its wares and restock its hull with new cargo. The protagonist of this strange tale was an unnamed member of the merchant ship crew. He was something of an antihero, for he seemed to be a loner who was at the bottom of the ship’s hierarchy of importance. While the rest of the crew set about loading and unloading goods, or accomplishing other such tasks, our protagonist was given the menial chore of buying a batch of eggs. In pursuit of this goal, the lone sailor went not to the city market, but to an isolated house which was situated near the beach. Outside of this dwelling, the sailor found a woman who was strolling around her property and enjoying the seaside breeze. The unnamed woman, according to the story, was not all that she appeared. She was allegedly a powerful witch and a member of a significant coven operating in Cyprus.

As the sailor said his greetings and asked to buy some eggs, the woman sized up the stranger with the eye of an intuitive predator. She could tell that he was a disrespected loner who was far away from home—the type of person who might be overlooked if he happened to suddenly disappear. While thinking these thoughts, the woman agreed to sell some eggs to the sailor, asking him to wait outside while she gathered them from her house. After some time, she reappeared from her abode with a basket of very special eggs, which the sailor purchased without any second thoughts. Leaving the mysterious woman behind, the sailor returned to the port, and finding that his crewmates had not returned to the ship, he decided to wander around the docks.

The rest of the crew was apparently having a grand time in the city, and did not intend to return to the ship any time soon. As such, the lone sailor on the docks had only the basket of eggs for company, which inevitably made him bored and hungry. Before long, he decided to snack on one of the eggs, and he found the morsel so delicious that he ultimately ate the whole basket of eggs as he waited for the return of his crewmates. Yet, as mentioned earlier, these were very special eggs, prepared with extra care by an alleged witch. The sailor soon began to feel odd, and started to show peculiar symptoms. As the Malleus Maleficarum exclaimed, “behold! an hour later he was made dumb as if he had no power of speech” (part II, question 2, chapter 4).

While the unfortunate sailor was being attacked by the effects of the bad eggs, the other members of the merchant ship began wandering back to the docks. None of them made notice of the dazed and muted sailor who could now only move by crawling about on all four limbs. Although the lone sailor was not noticed by his comrades, he saw that the crew was finally returning to the ship. Still feeling odd, the sailor crawled his way back, probably hoping they had some sort of medicine or antidote on board for whatever ailed him. As soon as the sailor attempted to board the ship, however, his former crewmates looked on him with shock and annoyance—those nearby even went so far as to pick up sticks and brooms to shoo the poor sailor away. They called his such names as ‘beast’ and ‘animal,’ and before long our protagonist began to piece together what had happened. In the zoological sense of the word, the sailor had become a total ass.

The crew of the merchant ship apparently cared little for their missing crewmate, and they set sail despite the sailor’s absence from the ship. Stranded, the donkey-sailor wandered about Cyprus, searching for food and shelter. It was a rough life, for, as the Malleus Maleficarum rightly said, “since everybody thought he was an ass, he was necessarily treated as such” (part II, question 2, chapter 4). The sailor-donkey eventually realized that only one person on Cyprus would be able to see through his transformed appearance. Therefore, he returned to the city of Salamis and retraced his steps to the seaside house of the alleged witch who had caused his transformation. She agreed to feed and house the sailor-donkey, but there was a catch—in exchange, she wanted him to be her beast of burden for the foreseeable future. The sailor-donkey, so the story goes, accepted the witch’s terms and would spend the next three years hauling supplies, such as lumber and grain, back to the woman’s seaside home.

Life with the witch was a bittersweet existence for the sailor-donkey. On the one hand, he had been unwillingly turned into a beast of burden and was now living a servile existence on the estate of the person who had caused his transformation. On the other hand, the witch and her coven were the only people on Cyprus who knew the sailor’s identity, and while they were away from prying eyes, the witches would give the sailor-donkey the ability to speak. They even reportedly had quite amicable conversations.  

Despite being fed, sheltered and allowed to speak from time to time, the sailor-donkey was not happy. As the tale was recorded in a religious-themed text, it may not be surprising to learn that one of the main complaints that the sailor had was that the witches refused to allow him to go to church. During his fourth year as the witch’s beast of burden, this church-deprivation became too much for the bewitched sailor. As the tale goes, our cursed protagonist was one day hoofing through the streets of Salamis with the witch when he heard the sound of bells ring out from the local church. Hearing those beckoning tones, the sailor clopped his way to the location of the church. Yet, as he still apparently looked like a donkey, he feared to enter, lest he should be shooed away by the congregation. Therefore, he stayed just outside the entrance and knelt in prayer as best he could in his awkward animal form. According to the Malleus Maleficarum, he “knelt down outside by bending the knees of his hind legs, and lifted his forelegs, that is, his hands, joined together over his ass’s head, as it was thought to be, and looked upon the elevation of the Sacrament” (part II, question 2, chapter 4).

Unfortunately, the sailor-donkey was not allowed to pray for long, as the witch had followed him to the church and promptly started beating him when she discovered what he was doing. Fortunately, the outlandish sight of a praying donkey with outstretched hooves had caught the attention of some people on the street, and they subsequently saw the woman appear and smack the donkey with a stick as punishment for the animal’s show of piety. The onlookers found this whole situation incredibly suspicious and they decided to make a citizens’ arrest. They then dragged the woman and the donkey before a local judge. As the story goes, the accused witch confessed after being tortured, and she was able to change the sailor back to normal after they were both escorted to her seaside home. Once the sailor was released in human form, the accused witch was thrown back in jail. According to the Malleus Maleficarum, “she paid the debt to which her crimes merited. And the young man returned joyfully to his own country” (part II, question 2, chapter 4).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Taming of the Donkey by Eduardo Zamacois y Zabala  (1841–1871), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).

5 Odd Ways 15th-Century People Believed They Could Detect A Witch

The witch-fearing people of medieval Europe developed for themselves several methods that they thought would help them detect, and possibly track, witches living in their communities. As with folk remedies and superstitious actions meant to ward off bad luck, these practices could be quite odd and imaginative. The methods recorded here comes from the Malleus Maleficarum, written by the Inquisitors Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger and published around 1487. They drew much of their inspiration from what they encountered or heard in Germanic, Austrian, and Alpine regions. As such, these methods for detecting witches were likely used in those areas, although some of these practices were also found elsewhere. Many of these methods are related to livestock, which is understandable, as livestock troubles (especially the drying up of milk and animal deaths) were some of the most frequently reported claims of witchcraft. Without further ado, here are five ways that 15th-century people attempted to detect, and sometimes track, possible witches in their communities.

The Divination Method

Molybdomancy is a type of divination performed by pouring molten metal into water and examining the resulting metal formations. Diviners used this method in their attempts to predict the future, but it also eventually developed into a method for detecting witches. If citizens of a town suspected that a witch was in their midst, they might go to their local occult healer or diviner and ask for molybdomancy to be used in order to search for a malicious practitioner of witchcraft. According to the Malleus Maleficarum, a practitioner of Molybdomancy could both detect if witchcraft was used on a person and also harm the witch who cast the spell. Inquisitors Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger described a peasant healer in Swabia who used Molybdomancy to determine if his patient was bewitched: “he took molten lead (in the manner of another witch whom we have mentioned), and held it in an iron ladle over my foot and poured it into a bowl of water… ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I see that this infirmity is not natural, but certainly due to witchcraft’” (in Part II, question 2, introduction).

If the benevolent occult healer also dabbled in witchcraft, it was believed that he or she could use molybdomancy to track and harm the witch who cursed the person that the healer was healing. The Malleus Maleficarum described a good witch who reportedly offered this service to someone she was healing: “Then the witch pours molten lead into water until, by the work of the devil, some image is formed by the solidified lead. On this, the witch asks in which part of the body he wishes his enemy to be hurt, so that he may recognize him by that hurt” (Part II, question 2, introduction). Therefore, in theory, if the healer scratched or broke the lead figure’s arm, then the arm of the guilty witch would be magically injured, and the townspeople could hunt the witch by scouring the town for people with injured arms.

The Bucket Drumming Method

Like the previous method, this practice supposedly could detect witchcraft and cause harm to a malignant witch operating in a town. Yet, whereas the molybdomancy was used to detect and punish witches who used their spells to do bodily harm, the bucket drumming method was instead used against witches who harmed livestock. If a milkmaid discovered that a cow was producing less milk than usual, and suspected that this reduction was of supernatural origin, then she might have used the bucket drumming method to ferret out the troublesome witch. The first step was to gather as much of the afflicted cow’s milk as could be obtained and place it in a pail. Next, this bucket of milk was hung over a fire, and then the practitioner of the ritual would begin drumming on the side of the pail with a stick. To increase the chance of the method working, some magical phrases could apparently be learned from the local occult healer or benevolent witch that would improve the ritual’s effectiveness. This method, it was believed, linked the milk bucket to the malignant witch, and every blow made against the pail was magically transferred to the back of the witch. The villagers then could search for witches by looking for people with welts on their backs, and even if no witch was discovered, it was believed that the ritual would at least deter the witch from placing any more curses on cows.

The Rampaging Cow Method

If bucket drumming was not your style, and you wanted a more direct way to discover a witch, there was always the good ol’ rampaging cow method. This one is quite self-explanatory. According to an odd supernatural theory, if a bewitched cow was led out to pasture and given a good whack, the animal would run straight for the house of the witch. There was, however, a catch—this method apparently only worked if dirty laundry was placed on the cow’s head or back. On this type of witch-tracking, the authors of Malleus Maleficarum wrote: “they drive it [the cow] out into the fields with a man’s trousers, or some such unclean thing, upon its head or back. And this they do chiefly on Feast Days and Holy Days, and possibly with some sort of invocation of the devil; and they beat the cow with a stick and drive it away. Then the cow runs straight to the house of the witch, and beats vehemently upon the door with its horns, lowing loudly all the while” (Part II, question 2, introduction).

The Organ-Burning Method

If the bewitched animal had died from the spell, the organ-burning method was another option. This ritual, however, was not for the faint of heart. Once the ritual was begun, the witch would reportedly feel so much pain that she would hunt down the person performing the ritual and do all in her power to stop the rite from being completed. What was supposed to be burned in these rituals could vary from case to case, but in stories of this method, the witch almost always appears, and with her arrival, the tales transition into the genre of spooky horror stories.

In the account presented in the Malleus Maleficarum, a person whose animal was supposedly killed by witchcraft had the organ-burning method in mind when he ceremoniously took the deceased creature’s intestines to his home. For unclear reasons, he made sure to enter through the back door—by no means was he to enter through the front door—and ultimately brought the intestines to his kitchen. Before proceeding, he made sure that the doors and windows of the house were secure, then he built a fire from coal. Finally, when the fire was hot and he had prepared himself for the horrors to come, the man put the intestines of his bewitched animal on top of the fire. As with the milk-bucket method, this ritual supposedly transferred the damage sustained by the cursed intestines back to the witch who cast the spell. Therefore, according to the theory, as the cow’s intestines were burning, so too were the intestines of the witch. The Malleus Maleficarum described the eerie and scary scene:

“But when they perform this experiment they take great care that the door is securely locked; because the witch is compelled by her pains to try to enter the house, and if she can take a coal from the fire, all her pains will disappear. And we have often been told that, when she is unable to enter the house, she surrounds it inside and out with the densest fog, with such horrible shrieks and commotions that at last all those in the house think the roof is verily going to fall down and crush them unless they open the door” (Part II, question 2, introduction).

According to folklore, if this method was used and completed, the witch would often be found dead somewhere near the location where the ritual was carried out, including right outside the door. Spooky.

The Shoe-Grease Method

To end this article on a more jovial note, we will conclude with a strange witch-hunting technique that we have hereby named the shoe-grease method. This is one of the more unique methods as it neither punishes the witch or points the user toward the witch’s direction. Instead, the shoe-grease method is more of a trap that could supposedly be laid out in secret to catch a witch by surprise.

The shoe-grease method seems to have been a community effort, as multiple people were involved. For this to work, the youths of the town would have to be willing to go along with the plan, and all the conspirators had to keep the plot confidential until Sunday. The Malleus Maleficarum described the bizarre ritual trap as follows:

“On a Sunday, they smear the shoes of young men with grease, lard or pig’s fat, as is their wont when they wish to repair and renew the freshness of the leather, and thus the juveniles enter the church, whence it is impossible for any witches who are present to make their way out or depart until those who are anxious to espy them either go away themselves or give them express leave to make their way to their homes” (Part II, question 2, introduction).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Bewitched Man by  Francisco Goya  (1746–1828), [Publioc Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers. New York: Dover Publications, 1971.
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Malleus-maleficarum  

Seven Strange Character Names From The Ancient Philosopher And Theologian, Chuang Tzu

Get to the Point

The ancient Daoist philosopher, Chuang Tzu, was one of the most brilliantly witty thinkers of his day, and his work still is influential. He was one of the most important figures of early Daoism, with only Laozi, the founder that religion, consistently ranked above him. Chuang Tzu’s insight into the world we live in will leave a lasting impression on anyone who reads his work, but some particulars about his writing may cause a stray giggle here and there; the names of the characters in his stories can be very peculiar. This article uses the version of Chuang Tzu’s work translated by Burton Watson. Whether Chuang Tzu’s names are a result of the English translation, or a tool to convey meaning, is unclear, but the latter is the likeliest option. Here are seven of Chuang Tzu’s strangest names, starting with the most tame and ending with the most bizarre.

The Marriage Fiasco of Cleisthenes, Tyrant of Sicyon

(Painting of a ancient festival to Demeter, by Francis Davis Millet  (1846–1912), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

The tyrant, Cleisthenes, is thought to have ruled the city-state of Sicyon from approximately 600-570 BCE. Sicyon was located somewhere in the northern Peloponnesus, between ancient Corinth and Achaea. Cleisthenes was a member of the Orthagoras family (or the Orthagorids), and his reign was the climax of his dynasty’s rule in Sicyon.

Cleisthenes successfully ushered Sicyon through the political and military conflicts of ancient Greece. He sided with the Oracle of Delphi in the First Sacred War (around the 590s BCE), which led to the destruction of Crisa. He was also a patron of athletics and sports, both in Delphi and at home in Sicyon.

It was around this time, after emerging victorious from the First Sacred War, that Cleisthenes began thinking of arranging a marriage for his daughter, Agariste. The tyrant, however, did not want just any marriage for his daughter; he wanted to marry his girl to the greatest man in all of Greece. To make sure the most accomplished men in Greece would hear of his daughter’s marriage eligibility, Cleisthenes made an announcement at one of Greece’s most prestigious events—either the Olympic or Pythian Games. According to the historian, Herodotus, he made his declaration after having won fist place in an Olympic chariot race. Yet, others think his announcement came after participating in the 582 BCE Pythian Games. Either way, the most athletic and affluent Greeks heard that Cleisthenes was accepting suitors for his daughter’s hand in marriage. As with most stories recorded by Herodotus, the tale of Cleithenes’ marriage fiasco is likely highly exaggerated and filled with folklore, but nonetheless, it remains incredibly entertaining.

Did The Crusader Bohemond Escape The Middle East By Pretending To Be A Corpse? The Byzantine Emperor’s Daughter Believed He Did

(Bohemond of Antioch by Merry-Joseph Blondel  (1781–1853), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

When Pope Urban II announced the First Crusade in 1095, the Norman noble, Bohemond (1050/58-1109 CE), quickly grasped at the opportunity. Of all of the crusader lords that partook in the armed pilgrimage, his motives are among the clearest. As his half-brother seized the great majority of the family’s lands and assets, Bohemond saw the crusades as an unequalled opportunity to amass land, gold and glory. Plus, the spiritual rewards and absolution of sins promised by the pope were also gladly welcomed.

The crusader coalition made their way to the Holy Lands by a route through the Byzantine Empire, which controlled most of the Balkans and much of western Anatolia at that time. To gain safe passage through the Byzantine territory, the crusaders made a costly deal with the emperor, Alexios I Komnenos—the crusaders swore that they would hand over all the lands to the emperor that they captured which were former imperial provinces. Unfortunately for the crusaders, the Byzantine Empire was the surviving remnant of the Roman Empire, which meant that Emperor Alexios claimed as his own almost everything that was captured during the First Crusade.

U. S. General William T. Sherman Was Shipwrecked Twice In One Day During One Odd And Unbelievable Adventure

(General William Tecumseh Sherman from 1865 in front of a sinking ship painted by painting by Willy Stöwer (* 1864; † 1931), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

In early 1853, William Tecumseh Sherman was a captain of the United States Commissary Department, but he was looking for a change in profession. Around this time, some buddies sent Sherman an invitation to join a banking venture named Lucas, Turner & Co. Sherman enjoyed, and was comfortable in, his military life, but admitted that he would not mind a higher wage. Therefore, he petitioned his superiors for leave to journey to California to meet with his potential business partners and assess their banking operation.

From his location in New Orleans, Sherman boarded a steamship heading toward Nicaragua. Once he had arrived there, the passengers took smaller boats across the Nicaragua River and Lake, and made the rest of the voyage to San Juan del Sur by mule.

Now the passengers were ready to depart Nicaragua for California. Sherman boarded the propeller ship, S. S. Lewis, which Sherman later remembered was commanded by Captain Partridge. For the voyage, Sherman was given his own stateroom with three berths located on the deck of the ship. Little did Sherman know, however, just how dramatic his sea voyage upon the S. S. Lewis would turn out to be.

Diogenes ‘The Cynic’ of Sinope—The Philosopher-Hermit Who Disregarded Luxury, Law And Civilization

(Diogenes by Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824–1904), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

During the late 5th century BCE, one of the most bizarre men to have ever lived was born in the Greek-colonized city of Sinope, located on the coast of the Black Sea in modern Turkey. His name was Diogenes, and he would go on to impress and astound many of the great names from ancient Greece. The renowned philosopher, Plato, supposedly described Diogenes of Sinope as a “Socrates gone mad” and Alexander the Great (according to Plutarch) honored the man by saying, “If I were not Alexander, I would be Diogenes.”

Diogenes of Sinope grew up in a wealthy household. His father was a moneychanger, or a minter, whose business was in currency. Despite this, Diogenes detested money. In fact, most accounts of Diogenes’ early life claim he was exiled from Sinope because he defaced or tampered with the local currency. Whatever the exact cause, Diogenes was expelled from Sinope and found himself in Athens with—reportedly—only a wooden bowl or cup to his name, which he soon discarded.

The Strange And Lively Adventures In The Apocryphal 2nd-Century 'Acts of John'

From Resurrections To Commanding Bugs And A Tale Of Necrophilia

(St John the Evangelist, by El Greco (1541–1614), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

The Acts of John

According to Christian teachings, after the crucifixion of their Savior, many of the apostles of Jesus dispersed into the known world to spread their religion to the masses. They traveled in all directions from Jerusalem, venturing downward toward Ethiopia, northwest to Turkey and Greece, and west through North Africa, Rome and Spain. The adventures of the apostles were immortalized in Christian texts featuring mystical healings, exorcisms and all sorts of miracles. One of the most dramatic accounts of one such apostle, however, is less well known. Despite its unique story and its vivid descriptions of miracles, the Acts of John was left out of the New Testament cannon for its hints of Docetism, which described Jesus as more divine and less human than the proto-orthodox (pre-Catholic) church could condone. Though the Docetic elements in the text were mainly at the end of the work, those latter passages tarnished the entirety of the Acts of John in the eyes of the church.

Loki Almost Caused The Loss Of The Goddess Freyja, The Sun And The Moon To The Giants, But Saved The Day With His Thorough Shape-Shifting Abilities

(Loki transformed as a bird, by W.G. Collingwood (1854 - 1932), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

Troublesome Loki

In most Norse legends, Loki was often the culprit behind the dangerous or embarrassing situations that plagued the gods. He, however, usually set things right with the gods and fixed the problems he created (with the exception of the myth where he caused the death of the god, Baldr). This is one such myth—Loki nearly ushered the world to destruction, but eventually saved the day, ending with Loki giving Odin a great gift, the eight-legged horse, Sleipnir.

Mythology Madness—The Norse Gods And The Giant, Skrymir

The humorous talent contest in the land of giants.

Norse religion and mythology has some intriguing differences from Rome and Greece. The Norse gods (or Æsir) are arguably the most human of the old gods. They were described as not inherently immortal—they had to eat magical apples to live their long lives. Many of them were not born with their powers, but rather gained their abilities through the weapons they wielded and attire they wore. Also, while most religions claim their gods reign supreme, and will continue to do so forever, many of the most powerful Norse gods were prophesied to die in Ragnorak.

Stories of Norse mythology often emphasize the mortality of the Æsir, or at least recount ways the divine can be thwarted, fooled or embarrassed. This is one such story where three of the Norse gods find themselves in an embarrassing situation in the land of giants.

Thor Meets His Match

("I am the giant Skrymir" by Elmer Boyd Smith. Thor, with his hammer Mjolnir, confronts the jötunn Skrymir, c. 1902, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

The Misadventures of Publius Clodius Pulcher

The Odd, but Awesome, Story of Julius Caesar’s Popular Hooligan of the People

On a fateful night in 62 BCE, women of the highest caliber in Rome met together for an evening of festivities. No men were invited to this house party, for this was no ordinary party, and the location was definitely not the average mundane home.

No, this was the festival of the Bona Dea, the Good Goddess, now only remembered as Fauna. The goddess had powers in the field of fertility and fruitfulness, and was well-honored by the Romans. The celebration took place in the palace of the highest priest of Rome, the pontifex maximus, and was hosted by his mother, Aurelia, and the Vestal Virgins, a sisterhood of full-time priestesses of the hearth goddess, Vesta. The pontifex maximus’ wife, Pompeia, was also in attendance. This festival, however, was more than a sacred ceremony. It was also a time for the women of Rome to relax and enjoy each other’s company away from their bothersome husbands and fathers.

(Illustration of Pompeia, published by Guillaume Rouille (1518?-1589) ("Promptuarii Iconum Insigniorum") [Public domain], via Creative Commons)