Vendredi: Chthonian Histories

The cousin or, perhaps more correctly evil step-brother, of the dream lover that we talked about last Friday is the incubus. Known of old as a demon to be feared and especially battled against, the incubus was envisioned as a sometimes handsome but in true form grotesque creature who either raped women or enticed them into sexual liaisons in the very dead of night. This demon is generally thought of in our modern, scientific world as a result of psychiatric disease brought on by the overly repressed cultures of Medieval Europe and Puritanical New England, to name two. In fact, the incubus may be a much older presence than a passing glance would have us believe.

Certain scholars, including those who study such diverse histories as Hebrew beliefs and Arthurian legends, access that the original incubus may have been one of that famous trio of Sumerian demons that included the previously discusses Ardat-Lili. The lili, a male demon, was said to trouble women's sleep, bring them erotic dreams and, in some cases, sire children of a changeling nature upon them. This would make the lili/human hybrid at least somewhat akin to a fairy child.

Fast forward to those days of Medieval tension and the stories of incubi accosting women - particularly innocent maidens and sequestered Brides of Christ - abound. In this period, incubi were said to be clever shapeshifters who could take on the appearance of anyone their chosen female prey might be attracted to. Demons, having no particular corporeal restraints, could pass as smoke or mist under a door or through the cracks in a wooden or stone wall and materialize on the other side. No woman, it seemed, was safe; but the incubi had their favorites.

Nuns were a decidedly popular conquest and, in the reverse, incubi were usually blamed for any convent indiscretions. Until well into the Gothic period, the accusation that an incubus, and not a human man, had gotten a nun pregnant was taken almost for granted.

When one Archbishop Sylvanus, who was the particular confessor of a large convent of Dominican nuns in what is now Bavaria, was accused of sexual assault by one of the good sisters - a particularly young and pretty good sister it is said - he simply turned up his silk-gloved hands. It could not be me, he protested; I would never break my vow of chastity. Surely Sister so-and-so (needless to say her name does not appear in the record) was visited by an incubus who had taken my form. What other explanation could their be? The 15th century inquisitors before whom Sylvanus appeared nodded thoughtful and then agreed with him. Case closed.

Telling an honest (or dishonest, in the case of the aforementioned Bishop) man from an incubus was surprisingly simple. When the list is ticked off, in fact, it is a little surprising that these demons troubled themselves with a disguise. The incubus had an unholy odor, either of sulfur, the barnyard or the rotting corpse that he had picked up as a skin. He had the power to paralyze anyone near his chosen victim, putting them into a trance-like sleep so that, even if the person in question lay right next to the woman, they would not be disturbed from their slumber. Worst of all, the incubus - regardless of what form he took - was said to be endowed with a huge, ice-cold member that was sometimes reported to be two or even three-pronged.

Anomolies of birth were often whispered to have been the result of rutting with an incubus. Woe to the woman who gave birth to an unfortunately harelipped, club-footed or otherwise "different" child; twins or children with red hair were also said to be the sons or daughters of incubi. The wizard Merlin is told to have been such a one and even in the Romantic era certain unkind types talked of George Gordon Byron, who had a club-foot, being the son of an incubus.

With all this, there were some ladies who willingly welcomed the incubus as a steady lover. Franciscan Ludovico Sinistrari, operating in the late 17th century and author of Demoniality, became somewhat of an expert on incubi and ways to exorcise them from the lives of such deluded women. He noted that these demons were particularly difficult to clear out as they "have no dread of exorcisms, show no reverence for holy things [and]... sometimes even laugh at exorcists." He goes on to give the example of a wife and mother so infatuated with her demon lover that she hardly blinked when, in retaliation to Sinistrari's exorcism attempts, the incubus built a wall of roofing tiles around her bed so tall that she needed a ladder to climb in and out.

A troublesome situation indeed... Next Friday, the yang to the the incubus' ying: the succubus.

Header: Incubus by Charles Walker c 1870 via Wikipedia

Mardi: Herbal-Wise

Primroses, usually thought of as an old-time flower favored by the Victorians, has a history in magick as well. It is said to be particularly helpful with obstreperous children. In Wicca, primroses are often used in love sachets.

Scott Cunningham notes that some practitioners warn that primrose can bring on wantonness, and this is probably an old wives’ tale that has something to do with their heady scent. All the same, a little wantonness in love can’t be all bad, can it? The blue and red varieties are said to be protective when planted in the garden. Cunningham mentions that they will also draw fairies; but take care on that account.

In hoodoo, primroses are trained around garden gates and front doors to provide not only general protection but keep away unwanted visitors. If you cannot grow a primrose near your front door, the dried flower petals and/or leaves scattered under the front mat or at the base of the door will have the same effect. Taking root anywhere in the garden, a primrose is thought to bring peace to the home.

Both Wiccans and root workers agree that primrose is the herb to use when seeking to raise respectful and well mannered children. For this purpose the flowers are steeped in a tea that is then added to a child’s bath, sewn into clothing or tied up in a mojo bag and placed in the little one’s pillowcase. A little more of this kind of working might help to ease the current epidemic of ill-tempered, self-centered brats I seem to perceive all over the place. But maybe that’s just me. Bonne chance ~  

Header: Nanny and Child by Margaret E. Browne

Jeudi: Great Spirits

Beltane was just two days ago and this time of year one often hears Neo-Pagans speaking of their work with the fey, fee, fata or, more familiarly, fairies.  In popular imagination, fairies are the little folk illustrated in the painting above, all gossamer wings and dainty gowns, none of them any bigger than a man’s finger.  They seem harmless if a little mysterious and speaking of fairy godmother, lawn gnomes and fairy tales is not more off-putting than talk of the toaster needing to be fixed.

Personally, I beg to differ.

Fairies have a long and storied history in Indo-European folklore.  They appear in almost all cultures from Russia to Spain and back again.  Most of the stories however, if read in their original forms, are not about helpful little people with a yen to protect nature.  In many cases the fairies are secretive, mischievous, sometimes malicious and on occasion down right evil. 

The history of the Western fairy proper is itself somewhat in dispute.  Certain scholars (K.M. Briggs of Oxford University, for instance) claim that the tradition of fairies was exclusive to the Mediterranean cultures of Greece and Rome and specifically the Etruscans in particular.  In this theory, fairies were not introduced into the north until the Roman invasions.  Briggs points out that written evidence of fairy lore does not appear in England, for instance, until the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles of the 9^th century.

This is probably overstating the case, and perhaps a symptom of the conqueror, who could write and thus leave their history, not bothering to mention the traditions of the conquered.  Fairy lore is so engrained in Celtic tradition, which sweeps across not just the British Isles but Spain, Portugal and France as well, that familiar oral traditions concerning fairies remain alive to this day.

The Etruscan fairy, according to Wiccan scholar Raven Grimassi, was known as the Lasa.  These were spirits of nature who also knew the secrets of healing and would protect people who left them offerings.  Grimassi speculates that the Lasa may have been, at least in part, the origin of the Roman house spirits known as Lares which in more agrarian times were protectors of cultivated land.

From here, the little spirits known as fatua or fata must be considered.  These were personal “fates” that looked after individuals and were imagined to function rather like what modern people call their conscience.  If an individual did the right thing, the fata was pleased and would help them; if not, the little spirit might make them ill or bring about injury or even death.

The leap, then, to French and Spanish words like fee or fia and then to the British fey becoming fairy is not hard to imagine.  All of these creatures retained a certain fascination with, and need to be close to, human beings even after they lost their attachment as personal or family sprites.

Of course, stories of “fairy children” abound.  In the average story, a baby is taken from its cradle by fairies with one of their own left in its place.  Why fairies want to raise human children is never sufficiently explained in these stories which may be a point in and of itself.  The reason for fairy kidnapping may have been so well understood by our ancestors that there was no need to include it in the story.  Because of this, it unfortunately slipped away to be replaced, on occasion, with some clumsy add-on.

But babies were not always the fairies’ target.  The Scottish story of the blacksmith and his son tells of a child who simply took to his bed one day and refused to move.  Though he ate he would not drink, he rarely spoke and he stared at the wall across the room with unblinking, silvery eyes.  Upon consulting a local wise man, or in later versions a priest, the smith found that his son had been kidnapped by fairies and replaced with one of their own.  Through a series of trials, he manages to banish the imposter and retrieve his son from a fairy mound.  Once home, the young man displays a previously unknown genius for smith craft and makes his father a tidy fortune through this art.

The good done by the fairies here is back handed and after the fact.  Would they have returned the boy without his father’s courageous efforts?  The story does not say.

In other cases, there seems to be no chance of happy ending and the fairy in question seems to be satisfying their own selfish needs at the expense of humans.  This seems to be the case in the French story of the fee, sometimes mermaid or gargoyle, Melusine who marries a human man but makes him promise never to spy on her on Sunday.  They are happy, have children and grow rich together but, when on one fateful Sunday the husband peeks into Melusine’s chamber and sees her in her true form, none of that matters.  She flies, or swims, away and is never seen again.

Countless tales such as these, which are far more ancient than the modern fairies-in-the-raspberries stories told today, can be found.  To my mind this points up what fairies really are.  I share my grandmother’s opinion; they are great spirits, gods we no longer know, and the best way to handle them is to nod in respect and keep your distance…

Header El Sueno de Una Noche de Verano (The Dream of a Summer Night) by Emilio Freixas via Old Paint