Valley of Dry Bones (20 page)

Author’s Notes

Despite loving theater for decades, enjoying many musical forms, and having some experience with Christian rituals, I remained utterly ignorant of liturgical drama until early December 2003. This embarrassing gap in my knowledge was filled when the Aurora Theatre and the Pacific Mozart Ensemble presented
The Play of Daniel
at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Berkeley, California.

Although the night was certainly dark and very stormy, I inched my way to the performance of the 12th to 13th century drama. Not only did I discover that it was an astonishingly delightful mini-opera, but the moment I heard the roaring lions off-stage, I knew it was also perfect for murder.

After the sun came out, my first visit was to the University Press Bookstore, which made sure I got Professor Dunbar Ogden’s
The Staging of Drama in the Medieval Church;
the next was to the adjoining Musical Offering where I found CDs of
Ludus Danielis
by the Dufay Collective and Clemencic Consort. Later, a friend discovered E. K. Chambers’
The Medieval Stage
at Black Oak Bookstore. Thus a few Berkeley merchants were made minimally richer by my small purchases and I, immensely so.

From its earliest years, the Church condemned plays, equating them with the many varied depravities of a few murderous Roman emperors as well as the legitimization of non-Christian deities. Yet the love of “playacting” may be as much a part of our DNA as music, dance, and other ways of telling of tales in verse or prose. Whatever the antipathy for them, few can deny that enactments are powerful teaching tools.

When something is useful, we have always found a way to repackage and incorporate it into the culture even if it was objectionable in its original form. (Today, we might call this
spin.
) The Church leaders have been successful at this as well, and, as they have converted popular wood nymphs into Christian saints, they have also transformed theater into a method of educating those who did not understand Latin, did not read, or might be converted. And so a tenth century canoness, Hrotswitha of Gandersheim, was permitted to write well-regarded, instructional plays inspired by Terence. About the same time, brief dramatizations of the Easter tale (with the three Marys at the tomb) and the manger scene at Christmas (complete with shepherds, ox, and donkey) became commonplace.

The twelve days of Christmas were especially suitable for enactments. It was a harsh season in the northern latitudes, filled with illness, bitter cold, and diminished food supplies. People needed color and excitement to lift their spirits. One popular event was the Feast of Fools. As possible counter to this rather riotous amusement, which probably included a little warming alcohol, the Church put on more edifying performances like the flight into Egypt, Herod slaying the innocents, and the
Prophetae.
The latter were stories of prophets from the Old Testament, all of whom foretold a messiah. One of the most popular and well-developed of these was the
Play of Daniel
or
Ludus Danielis.

Like many early enactments, there is much information we do not have about the play: what the actual costumes looked like; most details about stage directions and set; or the music. With
Daniel,
however, we do know that the first recorded version was written by Hilarius, a twelfth century pupil of Abelard, and further developed by “the youth of Beauvais” in the thirteenth century. The popularity of
Daniel
(with Darius, Belshazzar and the Persians) may be explained, in part, by the numerous crusades in those centuries. Not only did crusaders bring back spices and medical knowledge from Outremer, they also sparked curiosity about the cultures there.

Given such gaps of knowledge and even contradictory information, I saw that I might have some reasonable flexibility with the performance done at Tyndal Priory. After listening to more than one version of
Daniel,
I learned there were many interpretations possible for stage set, the type and number of instruments used, composition of singers, and even how to use the lions. One of the most intriguing omissions in extant manuscripts is an explanation of how the writing on the wall was done. Some suggest a monk did it, but I preferred more drama in the moment and so created the embroidered banner myself. The idea fits the time and might have actually been used.

The play is primarily written in Latin, but many vernacular phrases are sprinkled throughout. As for the narrator, this may not be strictly original but was used in the 2003 Berkeley performance. Since Queen Eleanor was not comfortable with Latin (nor was Edward), I thought she might like the thoughtful addition even though the story was quite familiar. Overall, I have kept details close to what is known of early performances of this or similar plays.

Most of the information we have on enactments are from those done in great cathedrals or wealthy religious houses, but, having seen
Daniel
in a little church, I can attest to the power of the tale in a small space with less elaborate settings. Since Tyndal Priory is modest in size and riches, I have kept the staging simple and limited the number of instruments to those easily learned by young boys and readily available in a rural setting.

To anyone who wants to know more about this subject than I could possibly write in short notes, I point to the wonderful sources listed at the end of this book.

To the best of my knowledge, Eleanor of Castile, wife of Edward I, never spoke of going on the pilgrimage suggested in this book. As a conventionally religious queen, she might have considered doing so but would never have been able to undertake it. Her only living son at that time, Henry, died in October 1274, and she was already pregnant with her next child, born in March 1275.

In fact, during her twenty-five year marriage, she had fifteen known pregnancies, the last in 1284 or six years before she died at forty-nine. She and her husband had a remarkably happy marriage, much like the one between Henry III and Eleanor of Provence, and Edward grieved deeply at her death. The famous Eleanor crosses are testimony to that.

Although her husband was not noted for his literary interests, Eleanor read the vernacular and owned a library containing both history and fiction. Embroidery and weaving were favored leisure activities, but she preferred hunting with dogs rather than falcons, the king’s favorite. She did not especially fancy gambling but did enjoy chess and was serious enough about that to have studied a contemporary manual on the game. In addition, she loved gardens and was very fond of fruit, imported her own olive oil, and received the occasional cheese from her sister-in-law who was the dowager countess of Champagne and Brie.

Eleanor of Castile is also surrounded by legend and controversy. The story of how she sucked the poison from Edward’s wound when he was almost assassinated on crusade is probably untrue. Another tale has Otto de Grandson doing the same thing, which may well be equally fabricated. But I also doubt she had to be gotten out of the room because of her weeping and lamenting. The known details of her life suggest a much tougher woman than that.

As for the controversy, there is some debate over how much she had to do with her husband’s callous expulsion of the Jews from England in 1290. Her preferred religious were the Dominican friars, later closely associated with the Inquisition, and there is little to suggest she had much concern for the Jews, besides viewing them as cash cows whenever she wanted extra money. I have seen the argument that the strength of her faith was often questioned, because she was more highly educated than many women of her time, and thus she dared not show tolerance of non-Christians out of fear that she might suffer even harsher censure. At the moment, I have some doubts about that, but, since Eleanor of Castile is far too interesting not to show up in some future book, I plan more reading to grow better acquainted with the multi-faceted person she most certainly was.

The Seven Comfortable Acts were based on that highest of all virtues, charity. They included feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, quenching thirst, housing the wayfarer, visiting prisoners, nursing the sick, and burying the dead. Although they were intended to balance the Seven Deadly Sins, it is the latter we know best.

Kenard’s loss of speech, a form of aphonia, is an actual psychological condition, often caused by trauma and known to occur in soldiers. The victim can cough and sometimes whisper but not speak normally. It is also curable. The modern methods of doing so, however, are definitely preferable to how Kenard recovered his ability to speak.

In September 1274, Edward replaced the majority of sheriffs who had grown corrupt under his father’s lax administration. Oaths were required to keep the few retained and the new ones honest, but some were skeptical about the efficacy of this method. One clerk noted on an official document that he considered these oaths to be no better than
sheriffs’ perjury.

Edward himself had been an early de Montfort supporter and, once king, even instituted some governmental changes favored by the dead Earl of Leicester. It seems reasonable, therefore, that he should offer, in 1276, what we might call a general amnesty for all who had fought in the civil wars during the reign of his father. How this gesture might have affected someone like Simon in this story is unknown. Then, as now, a broad statement may sound good, but people often discover to their dismay that the devil inevitably lies in the details.

Bibliography

One of the joys in writing these mysteries is the opportunity to discover academic treasures that both spark the imagination and delight the mind. The following are a few I’d like to share for those who want to know more about certain details in this book. As always, I take full blame for any errors of understanding or fact.

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