Edition 12: How Stories Change With Time

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From Luke Daly

The Latest: Saint Hercules?

The Cerne Giant, a towering 180-foot chalk figure etched into a Dorset hillside, has puzzled historians for centuries. Was this enigmatic figure a tribute to Hercules, a local saint, or a forgotten pagan deity? A new study published in Speculum: A Journal of Medieval Studies offers fresh insights, suggesting the Giant dates back to the early Middle Ages, potentially revealing its true purpose.

In their paper, “The Cerne Giant in its Early Medieval Context,” researchers Thomas Morcom and Helen Gittos challenge previous theories that dated the figure to either prehistoric or early modern times. Instead, recent tests by the National Trust using optically stimulated luminescence place the Giant's creation between 700 and 1100 AD. The study posits that the Giant may have originally served as a mustering site for West Saxon armies.

The authors explore the possibility that the Giant was initially a depiction of Hercules, a figure who, despite his classical roots, remained influential in ninth-century England. Hercules was seen in varying lights during the Middle Ages, from a Christ-like figure to a symbol of vice, making him a compelling candidate for the Giant’s inspiration.

However, the study also suggests a later reinterpretation of the Giant by Benedictine monks from the nearby Cerne Abbey. As the figure of Hercules waned in popularity, the monks might have repurposed the Giant, recasting it as Saint Eadwold, a local hermit venerated in the region. This transformation likely occurred as the monastery, founded in the tenth century, sought to align the figure with its own religious agenda.

The shift from Hercules to Eadwold might have been inadvertent, occasioned by a period in which the chalk outline fell into disrepair and the figure’s original function was forgotten. This would fit with changes that have been proposed in the mustering system during the tenth century. It is more likely, though, that the giant was intentionally reidentified by the monastic community… This would mean that the reinterpretation of the giant as Eadwold by the monks of Cerne was an accelerated, intellectual endeavor, making use of established hagiographic motifs to bring the pre-existing figure on the hillside into line with their own agenda.

Over time, the Giant's association with Saint Eadwold faded, as did the saint's own prominence. By the Later Middle Ages, folklore began to fill the void, with some mistakenly linking the Giant to the pagan god Helith.

This groundbreaking study not only redefines our understanding of the Cerne Giant’s origins but also highlights the fluid nature of historical interpretation, where religious and cultural shifts can transform a symbol’s meaning over centuries.

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From India to Europe: The Legend of The Dog

In the thirteenth century, papal inquisitor, Etienne de Bourbon, was sent to investigate a bestial martyr. He wrote:

“This recently happened in the diocese of Lyons where, when I preached against the reading of oracles, and was hearing confession, numerous women confessed that they had taken their children to Saint Guinefort. As I thought that this was some holy person, I continued with my enquiry and finally learned this was actually a greyhound, which had been killed in the following manner …. The peasants, hearing of the dog’s conduct and how it had been killed, although innocent, and for a deed which it might have expected praise, visited the place, honoured the god as a martyr, and prayed to it when they were sick or in need of something.”

Displeased at this heretical practice as the worship of bestial icons was symbolic of Celtic, pagan, and other pre-christian cultural and religious practices, Etienne cut down the grove and burned it along with the remains of the trusty canine companion. The saint was deemed heretical and his ‘sainthood’ was removed. Despite these best efforts, the cult of Guinefort endured and thrived as people continued to venerate the saint all the way until 1940.

In fact, despite six centuries of attempted suppression, in 1879 an antiquary travelled to the region and wood of the saint where locals continued to uphold the story and veneration. Likewise in the 1970s, Jean Claude Schmitt investigated the cult and found some elderly inhabitants who remembered the legend and had visited the saint for the protection of their children. Schmitt also discovered that Christian martyrology had contained a human Guinefort who had been a missionary that had been martyred in Padua during the Middle Ages.

With the rise of the canine folk tale, however, he passed into legend. Yet, this shows the ever-present battle in the medieval era between the mainstream theological and theoretical faith promoted by the Church and the physical local vernacular religion that was a concoction of pagan beliefs and weird ritual rites.

Another infamous story is that of Gelert, a wolfhound beloved by Prince Llewyln. According to the folklore myth in Beddgelert propagated by an innkeeper in the 18th century, Gelert was a wolfhound who, like Guinefort, was unjustly killed in the 13th century by his owner Prince Llywelyn the Great when he was discovered at the foot of the Llywelyn’s son’s bed. The prince killed the dog with a swift strike of his sword but then realised the dog was a brave hero who protected the heir:

“Hell-hound! My child by thee devour’d! The Frantic father cried; And to the hilt his vengeful sword He plung’d in Gelert’s side. Ah, what was then Llewelyn’s pain! For now the truth was clear: His gallant hound the wolf had slain To save Llewelyn’s heir.”

He carried the body of the hound down to the river and buried him. After this tragic incident, Gelert would emerge as a popular Welsh saint. What is particularly odd about the story and nature of Guinefort and Gelert is that they were not anomalies. Stories across the continent from Switzerland to Austria tell of heroic pets protecting their families in such way. In a Russian version of the story, Czar Piras played the role of Llewelyn. In a German version of the story, an angered knight beats his trusty dog to death and later disembowels himself upon discovering the snake.

In the Gesta Romanorum, a 14th century collection of moralistic anecdotes, a knight called Folliculus goes to a tournament, leaving his son to be guarded by a falcon and a greyhound. Upon the snakes arrival, the falcon flaps with alarm to awake the dog who then kills it. Alerted by his wife, Folliculus returns to kill the faithful dog in bitter rage. Seeing his folly, he retires his sword, breaks his lance into pieces, and embarks on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

Whilst Gelert was, however, a modern invention, how is it that the 13th century contained so many dog-saints who were martyred in an almost identical way? One prominent theory is that these two stories are built on a widespread medieval legend from India. Written in 540, the Sanskrit Pantschatantra details a story whereby a Brahmin named Devasaman had a wife, a son, and a pet mongoose. One day whilst the wife was collecting water she asked the husband to look after their child. The Brahmin, however, went out begging and left the house deserted. Whilst away, a black snake slithered in and attempted to bite the child before the mongoose tore it to pieces. Yet, when returning home, the scene the parents saw was a bloodstained mongoose by the crib of their child. The wife believed the mongoose had injured the baby and clubbed it to death with a water-jar. Only then did she realise her mistake and mourned the brave mongoose (whilst also berating her husband for leaving his house unattended).

The story of the mongoose and the snake quickly spread through the cultural world, twisting and changing as the mongoose transformed and evolved into a cat, falcon, lion, and finally dog. The ‘good vs bad’ meaning behind the story took on a religious connotation and the fate of the dog’s master varied widely from succumbing to madness to committing suicide.

In the Welsh tale, it is said that Llewelyn never smiled again. Nevertheless, the moral of the tale remained; that rash wrath can have disastrous consequences, and due to this moral depth and popularity, the cult of Guinefort and other ‘Martyred Dogs’ could never be extinguished by the Papacy.

Thank you for being a part of our community. We look forward to unravelling more historical wonders with you in the coming months. Until next time!

Warmest regards,

Luke