Chewing over the House of Tudor

by

Damien F. Mackey

I’m Henry the eighth I am
Henry the eighth I am, I am
I got married to the widow next door
She’s been married seven times before

And every one was an Henery (Henry)
She wouldn’t have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)
I’m her eighth old man, I’m Henry
Henry the eighth I am.

Herman’s Hermits

Talk about parallel lives!

Herod Antipas and Henry VIII. John the Baptist and Bishop John Fisher.

This is astutely picked up by Thomas McGovern, in his article for Catholic Culture.org, “Bishop John Fisher: Defender of the Faith and Pastor of Souls”

https://www.catholicculture.org/culture/library/view.cfm?recnum=7604

Adultery is worth dying for

Henry replied to the legates, in answer to the bishop, in a manner which clearly showed how resentful he was at the bishop’s protest, particularly that he was ready to suffer like St. John the Baptist, as it naturally suggested a comparison between Henry and Herod Antipas. However, the martyrdom of St. John had long been a familiar subject of contemplation to Fisher, as is clear from his treatise (1525) in defense of Henry’s book against Luther — the “Defensio.” “One consideration,” Fisher writes, “that greatly affects me to believe in the sacrament of marriage is the martyrdom of St. John the Baptist, who suffered death for his reproof of the violation of marriage. There were many crimes in appearance more grevious for rebuking which he might have suffered, but there was none more fitting than the crime of adultery to be the cause of the blood-shedding of the Friend of the Bridegroom, since the violation of marriage is no little insult to Him who is called the Bridegroom.”…. Bridgett draws the striking parallel between the fate of the Baptist and John Fisher: “At that time (1525) no thought of divorce had as yet, in all probability, entered the mind of Henry; Anne Boleyn, Fisher’s Herodias, was then unknown. But the circumstances of Fisher’s death bear so close a resemblance to those of the Baptist’s, that it is strange even Henry did not observe and seek to avoid it. Both were cast into prison and left there to linger at the will of a tyrant; both were beheaded, and both by the revenge of impure women. But what Herod did reluctantly, Henry did with cruel deliberation.”….

[End of quote]

Perhaps the received Tudor history needs to subjected to a more intense scrutiny. According to Oxford University historian, Dr. Cliff Davies, the very term “Tudor” is highly problematical. We read about this, for instance, at: http://www.bbc.com/news/education-18240901

‘Tudor era’ is misleading myth, says Oxford historian

By Sean Coughlan

BBC News education correspondent

29 May 2012

From the section Education & Family

The idea of a “Tudor era” in history is a misleading invention, claims an Oxford University historian.

Cliff Davies says his research shows the term “Tudor” was barely ever used during the time of Tudor monarchs.

….

Dr Davies says films and period dramas have reinforced the “myth” that people thought of themselves as living under a “Tudor” monarchy.

“The term is so convenient,” says Dr Davies, of Wadham College and the university’s history faculty. But he says it is fundamentally “erroneous”.

Missing name

During the reigns of Tudor monarchs – from Henry VII to Elizabeth I – he said there was no contemporary recognition of any common thread or even any recognition of the term “Tudor”.

Dr Davies, who specialises in 16th-Century history, says “the rather obvious thought occurred to me” of investigating whether there had been any references to “Tudor” during the years of the Tudor monarchs.

His years of trawling through contemporary documents yielded almost no references – with only one poem on the accession of James I (James VI of Scotland) recognising the transition from Tudor to Stuart.

Surprised by this absence of any contemporary usage, he says he expected “clever American professors to come up with examples to prove me wrong” – but so far there has been no such evidence.

There might also be suggestions that the use of “Tudor” was deliberately omitted – as monarchs, always sensitive to rival claims, wanted to assert their legitimacy.

“I do think that Henry VII was defensive about his past and wanted to downplay ‘Tudor’, which might have been used by his opponents.”

He says that in Welsh documents the name of Tudor is “celebrated” but it was “considered an embarrassment in England”.

Henry VIII preferred to represent himself as the embodiment of the “union of the families of Lancaster and York”, says Dr Davies.

False memory

Dr Davies suggests that the idea of a distinct Tudor period of history was first established in the 18th Century by the historian and philosopher, David Hume.

This has proved a very “seductive” way of approaching history, he argues. It also helps to create the idea of a separate historical period, different from what came before and after.

But the text-book writers and makers of period dramas should re-think their terminology, as he says that talking about “Tudor men and women” introduces an artificial concept which would have had no contemporary resonance.

If historians aim to “recover the thought processes” of past generations – he says it means understanding how they saw themselves and their own times.

Dr Davies says that in the late 16th Century people in England would have understood the idea of living in the reign of Elizabeth I – but would not have identified her as a Tudor.

“The word ‘Tudor’ is used obsessively by historians,” says Dr Davies. “But it was almost unknown at the time.”

Will the true Elizabeth please stand up?

Compared to Judith and Esther, she was a new Moses and as wise as King Solomon.

According to this article:

http://www.ibrarian.net/navon/paper/The_Development_of_the_Cult_of_Elizabeth_I.pdf?paperid=20396591

On one … of the first portraits of [Elizabeth I] as a queen she appears in a religious context, she washes the feet of twelve poor women at a Maundy ceremony. …. On the title-pages of the different editions of the Bible Elizabeth’s figure appears: she is surrounded by the four cardinal virtues on the 1569 edition, while on the 1568 edition between the figures of Faith and Love she personifies the third New Testament virtue, Hope.

At the beginning of the Coronation Entry as she left the Tower she praised God for her deliverance from prison during the reign of Mary and compared herself to the prophet Daniel spared by God by special providence:

“I acknowledge that Thou hast dealt as wonderfully and as mercifully with me as Thou didst with Thy true and faithful servant Daniel, Thy prophet, whom Thou deliverest out of the den from the cruelty of the greedy and raging lions. Even so was I overwhelmed and only by Thee delivered.” ….

During the first decade Elizabeth was mostly compared to figures of the Old Testament.

In the fifth pageant of the Coronation Entry she appeared as Deborah, the Old Testament judge, listening to the advice of three figures representing the three estates of England, the clergy, the nobility and the commons. …. In sermons she was compared to Judith who rescued her people, and to Esther who interceded for her people. ….

She was seen also as a new Moses leading his people out of the captivity of Egypt, and as Solomon the wise king.

“Only in Wales was anything made of the Tudor name. Bards featured Tudor genealogy

in their praise poems. This tradition broke surface in English in 1547 when Arthur Ketton,

a Welshman and a citizen of Shrewsbury, published A Chronycle with a Genealogie”.

Clifford S. L. Davies

Cliff Davies (RIP) wrote:

https://www.the-tls.co.uk/articles/public/the-tudor-delusion

The Tudor delusion

….

“The Tudors” and “the Tudor Age” are among the staples of English history. How can we do without them? Not only are the monarchs themselves referred to, individually and collectively in books, articles, plays, films, television series and exhibitions by their patronymic, but their subjects become Tudor men and women. In fifty years of studying sixteenth-century England, it did not occur to me to question the convention. Nor, apparently, did it occur to other historians. But how much was the Tudor word used at the time? Did the monarchs from Henry VII to Elizabeth I think of themselves as a Tudor dynasty?

Did their subjects think of themselves as Tudor people living in Tudor England?

In spite of the linguistic turn, historians cannot avoid some anachronistic use of terms. It is impossible to discuss, say, economic development meaningfully while only using language comprehensible to Shakespeare. But contemporary vocabulary imposed limitations on sixteenth-century people attempting to discuss economic affairs; their efforts to formulate even the straightforward connection between the quantity of money in circulation and price levels, for instance, were painfully slow. Tudor is a term too deeply entrenched to be banished from our vocabulary, but we should be aware that it, too, is an anachronism, creating a similar barrier to our understanding of contemporary thought.

The Tudor name made an unlikely journey from the fastnesses of Anglesey into English high political discourse. About 1430, Queen Catherine, the still young widow of Henry V (she was born in 1401), born a French princess, married a member of her household, Owain ap Maredudd ap Tudur. (The Tudors could equally well have been the Merediths.) The marriage was an embarrassment to the council which ruled in the name of her young son, Henry VI, and it was kept quiet, but nobody seems to have queried its legitimacy. ….

Outside Wales, the Tudor name was not used by Henry. The red dragon badge was certainly Welsh, but not specifically Tudor. Descent from Cadwaladr could equally well be claimed by Elizabeth of York; a Mortimer ancestor had married into a Welsh princely house, and Welsh bards had been as enthusiastic for Edward IV as they were for Henry VII. Henry is said to have commissioned an investigation into his Welsh genealogy; it may be too cynical to see this as pre-emptive action against those who would deny Owen Tudor even his gentry origins. Henry did provide a new tomb for his father at the Franciscan house at Carmarthen (moved to St David’s Cathedral when Henry VIII suppressed the house), and, as Leland reported, commemorated his own birth at Pembroke Castle. But Owen Tudor’s tomb at the Franciscan house at Hereford was provided by his bastard David Owen, and nothing was done to preserve it at the Dissolution. Certainly, no ancestral Tudors were allowed to sully the dignity of the Henry VII chapel at Westminster, although Lady Margaret Beaufort was given a place of honour.

Polydore Vergil, the first historian to provide a full account of 1485, at royal instigation, was also notable for his demolition job on the whole British history tradition, from Brutus to Cadwaladr. If Henry VII was less keen than is sometimes thought about his Welsh origins, Henry VIII apparently showed no interest in them at all. (Family piety seems to have been conspicuously lacking in his case.) After 1485 no Tudor monarch seems to have crossed the border into Wales, although Prince Arthur and, later, Princess Mary, were sent to Ludlow and Bewdley respectively to provide a nominal headship to what became the Council of Wales and the Marches.

….

Only in Wales was anything made of the Tudor name. Bards featured Tudor genealogy in their praise poems. This tradition broke surface in English in 1547 when Arthur Ketton, a Welshman and a citizen of Shrewsbury, published A Chronycle with a Genealogie. This traced the descent of Edward VI from Osiris, first King of Egypt, through Brutus, Arthur, Cadwaladr (the hundredth King of Britain and the last), and Tewdr Mawre who chased the Saxons, Danes, and Picts from the borders of Wales. Edmund, Earl of Richmond was, he claimed, of lineal descent from Tewdr Mawre and Cadwaladr, by eleven and twenty-one generations respectively. Ketton’s purpose was to praise Henry VIII, whose gentleness was especially demonstrated in his freeing the Welsh from bondage by giving them, through the Acts of Union, the status of Englishmen; an argument which would surprise modern nationalists.

The theme was taken up by the Welsh humanists, the circle of William Salesbury and Humphrey Llwyd, who were responsible for translating the Bible into Welsh. As the historian Steven Gunn reminds me, George Owen of Henllys, in his Description of Pembrokeshire (1603), talks of her Majesty whose name is Tyder. ….

Taken from: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1111/rest.12258

Elizabeth I as Judith: reassessing the apocryphal

widow’s appearance in Elizabethan royal

iconography

…. Historians and literary scholars have long noted and analysed the appearance of biblical analogies as part of Tudor and Stuart royal iconography. Using the example of a biblical figure, monarchs demonstrated the divine precedent for their decisions, and subjects in turn could counsel their monarch to emulate the actions of a divinely favoured biblical figure. Queen Elizabeth I of England was the subject of the greatest number of biblical analogies drawn in the early modern period: analogies were drawn both by apologists and by Elizabeth herself throughout the entire span of the queen’s reign, and for almost a century after her death.

….

Elizabeth’s comparisons with Deborah the Judge, Queen Esther, Daniel the Prophet, King Solomon, and King David have all received varying levels of attention in the existing scholarship: but the analogy to Judith, the chaste widow of the Apocrypha, has generally escaped detailed analysis. …. Judith was invoked in various ways throughout Elizabeth’s reign, and the diverse analogies reflect the changing religio-political climate of the time.

This article offers a re-examination of the comparisons drawn between Elizabeth and Judith during the queen’s life. In doing so, I argue that contrary to claims in some of the existing scholarship, Judith was routinely and consistently offered to Elizabeth as biblical precedent for dealing with Roman Catholics – with violence, not just diplomatic rhetoric – and for the providential sanctioning of female rule; and that Elizabeth, in drawing the parallel to Judith herself, inserted her own voice into these debates. ….

Judith’s story can be found in the eponymous book of the Apocrypha. A prophecy was brought, foretelling that Bethulia, Judith’s city, would be lost to the invading Assyrians because of the Jews’ disobedience. Judith attempted to prevent this happening, and prayed to God that he would give her a ‘sworde to take vengeance of the [invading] strangers’. …. She and her handmaiden allowed themselves to be captured by the Assyrians, claiming that they had deserted. The Assyrians took her to Holofernes, the General of the Army. Judith lied to Holofernes that God had forsaken the Jews because they ate his offerings before the requisite time had past, and that he would not defend them until the sacrifices were re-offered, which would take many days to organize. Holofernes was pleased with this news, and allowed Judith to stay in the camp. On the fourth night at the camp, after a banquet, Holofernes passed out, drunk. His servants left the tent, and Judith remained inside, alone. She picked up Holofernes’ sword, grasped his hair, prayed, ‘Strengthen me, O Lord God of Israel, this day,’ and then ‘shee smote twise upon his necke with all her might, and she took away his head from him.’ …. She stowed the head in her handmaiden’s bag, and the two left the camp. She returned to Bethulia, and showed the head, saying, ‘Beholde the head of Holofernes the chiefe captaine of the army of Assur . . . the Lord hath smitten him by the hand of a woman.’ …. Without their general, the Assyrian army fell into disarray, and the attack was abandoned.

In the existing scholarship, the most comprehensive study of Elizabeth as Judith remains England’s Eliza, by Elkin Calhoun Wilson. The first chapter of Wilson’s book is called ‘Judith in the Broadsides’, which, despite its title, focuses on ‘the concept of Gloriana taking form’ throughout Elizabethan literature, including pamphlets and dramatic productions. …. Rather than systematically analysing Elizabeth as Judith, Wilson used the concept of the widow Judith – the chaste, God-fearing woman who saved her people – and attempted to trace this theme in depictions of the queen. Wilson ends his discussion of Judith, however, by noting the familiarity the English felt for Judith: ‘in the study of Elizabeth idealized as Elisa [sic], Diana, and Gloriana, it is always to be remembered that the Judith . . . is an elder cockney cousin of these court ladies; in her homely style she testifies to their honest English stock.’ ….

John N. King’s study of Tudor iconography remains the key work that argues for Judith’s potency and longevity. King observes that, ‘Judith, in her victory over Holofernes (now considered a type for militant Catholicism) . . . embodies triumphal power conventionally relegated to kings.’ …. By arguing that Judith’s gender did not prevent her from saving the Israelites, Elizabeth’s apologists were able to assert that God’s defence of England would continue, even with a female king on the throne. …. The analogy to Judith thus asserted Elizabeth’s position as England’s providential monarch, who would be given the necessary strength by God to overcome England’s enemies.

While I do not argue that Elizabeth was the first English monarch to be paralleled with Judith … the examples assembled here demonstrate that Elizabeth was both the first monarch to be compared to Judith in a sustained and systematic way for religio-political purposes, and also the first monarch to affirm the analogy in her own words. The importance of these two facts is often sidelined in the scholarship that does discuss the Judith analogy. Helen Hackett’s study of Elizabeth and the cult of the Virgin Mary is excellent, but dismisses Judith’s longevity by claiming, ‘biblical heroines like Deborah and Judith dominated early Elizabethan royal iconography.’ ….

Leonardo da Vinci is Archimedes like

How Genuine is Leonardo?

by

Damien F. Mackey

“Over 1500 years before Leonardo Da Vinci became

the Renaissance Man, antiquity had its own in the form of Archimedes,

one of the most famous Ancient Greeks”.

Charles River Editors

If Leonardo da Vinci has been modelled to some degree upon a possibly fictitious Archimedes, then how much of what we have about Leonardo is truly reliable?

Or, to put it another way, we might ask: What is the real Da Vinci Code?

The two names, Archimedes and Leonardo, are constantly found mentioned together.

For instance, there is this article, “Archimedes and Leonardo Da Vinci: The Greatest Geniuses of Antiquity and the Renaissance”:

https://www.createspace.com/4430132

Authored by Charles River Editors

….

“Give me a place to stand, and I shall move the world.’”– Archimedes

“Iron rusts from disuse; stagnant water loses its purity and in cold weather becomes frozen; even so does inaction sap the vigor of the mind.” – Leonardo

Over 1500 years before Leonardo Da Vinci became the Renaissance Man, antiquity had its own in the form of Archimedes, one of the most famous Ancient Greeks. An engineer, mathematician, physicist, scientist and astronomer all rolled into one, Archimedes has been credited for making groundbreaking discoveries, some of which are undoubtedly fact and others that are almost certainly myth. Regardless, he’s considered the first man to determine a way to measure an object’s mass, and also the first man to realize that refracting the Sun’s light could burn something, theorizing the existence of lasers over two millennia before they existed.

People still use the design of the Archimedes screw in water pumps today, and modern scholars have tried to link him to the recently discovered Antikythera mechanism, an ancient “computer” of sorts that used mechanics to accurately chart astronomical data depending on the date it was set to.

Mackey’s comment: Ah, but these water pumps were actually used by Sennacherib in Assyria in c. 700 BC, well before the Greeks. See Dr. Stephanie Dalley’s book:

The article continues:

 
It has long been difficult to separate fact from legend in the story of Archimedes’ life, from his death to his legendary discovery of how to differentiate gold from fool’s gold, but many of his works survived antiquity, and many others were quoted by other ancient writers. As a result, even while his life and death remain topics of debate, his writings and measurements are factually established and well known, and they range on everything from measuring an object’s density to measuring circles and parabolas.

The Renaissance spawned the use of the label “Renaissance Man” to describe a person who is extremely talented in multiple fields, and no discussion of the Renaissance is complete without the original “Renaissance Man”, Leonardo da Vinci. Indeed, if 100 people are asked to describe Leonardo in one word, they might give 100 answers. As the world’s most famous polymath and genius, Leonardo found time to be a painter, sculptor, architect, musician, scientist, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, geologist, cartographer, botanist, and writer.

It would be hard to determine which field Leonardo had the greatest influence in. His “Mona Lisa” and “The Last Supper” are among the most famous paintings of all time, standing up against even Michelangelo’s work. But even if he was not the age’s greatest artist, Leonardo may have conducted his most influential work was done in other fields. His emphasis on the importance of Nature would influence Enlightened philosophers centuries later, and he sketched speculative designs for gadgets like helicopters that would take another 4 centuries to create. Leonardo’s vision and philosophy were made possible by his astounding work as a mathematician, engineer and scientist. At a time when much of science was dictated by Church teachings, Leonardo studied geology and anatomy long before they truly even became scientific fields, and he used his incredible artistic abilities to sketch the famous Vitruvian Man, linking art and science together. ….

[End of quote]

Then there is this one by D. L. Simms, “Archimedes’ Weapons of War and Leonardo” (BJHS, 1988, 21, pp. 195-210):

https://www.cambridge.org/core/services/aop-cambridge-core/content/view/S0007087400024766

INTRODUCTION

Leonardo’s fascination with Archimedes as well as with his mathematics is well known.

There are three fairly extensive and eccentric comments in the surviving notebooks: on his military inventions; on his part in an Anglo-Spanish conflict and on his activities, death and burial at the siege of Syracuse. Reti has examined the first of the three, that about the Architronito or steam cannon, mainly considering the origin of the idea for the cannon and its attribution to Archimedes, but with comments on the later influence of Leonardo’s ideas.

Marshall Clagett has produced the most comprehensive attempt

to try to identify Leonardo’s sources for the third. ….

Reti’s analysis can be supplemented and extended in the light of more recent comments and Sakas’ experimental demonstration of a miniature working model, and Clagett’s proposed sources modified. The origins of the other reference, Leonardo’s belief that Archimedes played a part in an Anglo-Spanish war, can also be rendered slightly less baffling. Any conclusions must necessarily be tentative given the generally accepted opinion that much less than half of Leonardo’s manuscripts survive. ….

ARCHITRONITO

Leonardo’s earliest surviving mention (late 1480s-1490) of Archimedes’ weapons of war is perhaps the most startling (Ms.B 33r): ….

Architronito. Gunsight. Ensure that the rod en is placed over the centre of the table fixed beneath so that the water can fall with a single shot on to this table.

The Architronito is a machine of fine copper, an invention of Archimedes, and it throws iron balls with great noise and violence. It is used in this manner:—the third part of the instrument stands within a great quantity of burning coals and when it has been brought to white heat you turn the screw d, which is above the cistern of water abc, at the same time that you turn the screw below the cistern and all the water it contains will descend into the white hot part of the barrel. There it will instantly become transformed into so much steam that it will seem astonishing, and especially when one notes with what force and hears the roar that it will produce. This machine has driven a ball weighing one talent six stadia.

….

Origins of the attribution

Reti demonstrated that Leonardo’s source of the idea for this weapon was the drawings of cannons in De Re Militari by Valturius, who stated that the cannon had been invented—ut putatur—by Archimedes. ….

[End of quote]

And here is another one, with a most interesting question posed at the end of it:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/159447

In 1499 Leonardo di Vinci is hired by Cesare Borgia as a military engineer. He begins to work on a steam canon that had originally been an idea of Archimedes 1500 years earlier. Leonardo tells Cesare the story of Archimedes and how he made many discoveries in mathematics and science.

Archimedes visits Alexandria and falls in love with Princess Helena, and in spite of their age difference, they marry and return to Syracuse. Soon Helena gives birth to their only child, a daughter they name Arsinoe.

For nearly fifty years of peace, Syracuse is drawn into the war between Rome and Carthage. Archimedes must use all his vast knowledge to defend Syracuse and his very family.

Cesare offers to purchase the chest of ideas from Leonardo but he declines the offer.

Who knows which of Leonardo de Vinci’s inventions were really the brainchild of Archimedes of Syracuse?

[End of quote]

Mackey’s comment: Ah, Cesare Borgia!

He, too, may be under a bit of a credibility cloud. As I wrote in my article:

Achitophel and Machiavelli

(4) Achitophel and Machiavelli | Damien Mackey – Academia.edu

In Bringing the Hidden to Light: The Process of Interpretation (edited by Kathryn F. Kravitz, Diane M. Sharon), we find the requisite (if Achitophel is Machiavelli) comparison now between Absalom and the Prince, Cesare Borgia (p. 181):

…. As Melamed pointed out, although Luzzatto’s interpretationfollowed the literal the literal meaning of the text and traditional Jewish commentators such as Kimḥi and Abrabanel, nevertheless he expressedit in the sprit and vocabulary of Machiavelli and the tradition of raison d’état; in Melamed’s most felicitous formulation, “the House of Borgia in the ancient … land of Israel”, Ahitophel plays Machiavelli to Absalom – his Cesare Borgia”. …. However, it should be observed that Luzzatto was not endorsing the behaviour of Absalom but only indicating, in the context of his refutation of the allegation of Tacitus that the Jews were sexually immoral, how in the spirit of Machiavelli and raison d’état, a prince might acquire power. ….

“The House of Borgia in the ancient land of Israel …”. Hmmmm.

[End of quotes]

Understanding the Priory of Sion

Andrew Gough shows the Priory of Sion to be quite a modern invention:

SAINT SULPICE AND THE SYMBOLISM OF THE PRIORY OF SION

SAINT SULPICE AND THE SYMBOLISM OF THE PRIORY OF SION

By ANDREW GOUGH

 

March 2016

What if some of the most haunting symbolism of the twentieth century was the invention of a shadowy figure who pirated innocuous images from a famous church in order to construct the mythos of a secret society?

On a recent trip to Paris, France, I discovered that this supposition just might be true, and could help explain the origins of the infamous Priory of Sion.

First, a Rant

Despite some rather weighty evidence to the contrary, belief in the Priory of Sion remains inexplicably stout. The notion that the Priory of Sion is a secret, members-only club which has propagated and protected the holy bloodline of Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene for nearly two thousand years remains a popular topic in esoteric discussion forums.

The smart money has always been on the belief that the Priory of Sion was the invention of Pierre Plantard, an ambitious Frenchman who cobbled the essence of the story together in 1956. Although Plantard had political aspirations, there is always the possibility that it all came down to his personal amusement. The truth is, his motivation probably included both.

Plantard claimed to be the Grand Master of the Priory of Sion, before recanting it all under oath. Funny how the threat of prison will do that to a man. Thus, believers insist that he had to lie in order to protect the integrity of the order, and that the Priory of Sion is an ancient society that grew out of L’Ordre de Sion (The Order of Sion), as founded in 1090 by Godefroy de Bouillon (the medieval Frankish knight who was one of the leaders of the First Crusade), and that it has been fronted by an illustrious list of Grand Masters: thought leaders such as Nicolas Flamel, Leonardo da Vinci, Isaac Newton, Charles Radclyffe, Claude Debussy, Jean Cocteau, and hordes of others. Clearly, these are accomplished individuals of great renown. However, it remains to be seen if any was the grand master of anything other than his own discipline.

Given the character of those who claim to hold the position of Grand Master today (men of absolutely no notoriety or accomplishment – individuals who live in shadows and who have never contributed to society in any discernable way), it is hard to believe they are part of the impressive list of thought leaders who challenged the religious, scientific and artistic dogma of their day. In fact, it strongly suggests that the entire tradition is dubious at best.

The men who claim to hold the office of Grand Master today appear to suffer from delusions of grandeur. If the Priory of Sion were real, should not its recent Grand Masters include the likes of Stephen Hawking, and not Gino Sandri and Nicolas Haywood? Who? That is exactly my point. Actually, the same goes for Pierre Plantard.

Alas, I have drifted from my thesis. It is not my desire to conduct character assassinations or disparage people with ambition, as delusional as it may be.

Nevertheless, let me be clear: I believe the Priory of Sion, as recounted by Plantard, is a modern-day creation which has artificially manipulated its charter, and history, and to that end I will attempt to show that its evocative symbolism is not ancient, and that it came from one place, Saint Sulpice church in Paris, France. So, who was the person who drew upon the symbolism of Saint Sulpice and incorporated it into the Priory of Sion? The answer will not surprise enthusiasts of the subject one bit. However, I will refrain from revealing their name a little longer.

The official emblem of the Priory of Sion is partly based on the fleur-de-lis, which is found throughout Saint Sulpice and represents a bee, and the tradition of long-haired kings of France known as the Merovingian dynasty, including Childeric, who was found with 300 gold bees in his tomb ….

[End of quote]

Read this most informative article.

See also my article:

Chilperic a Nero, Herod wife Fredegund, Jezebel

 

(4) Chilperic a Nero, Herod wife Fredegund, Jezebel | Damien Mackey – Academia.edu

Chilperic a Nero, Herod wife Fredegund, Jezebel

by

Damien F. Mackey

“Gregory calls [Chilperic] “the Nero and Herod of our time,”

and loads him with abuse. He ridicules his poems, and according to

his own story overwhelms him with an avalanche of contempt …”.

Ernest Brehaut

King Chilperic I lived (according to the conventional view) from c. 539 – 584 AD, and was said to have been a Merovingian king of Soissons.

Gregory of Tours (considered to have been the king’s contemporary), called Chilperic the Nero and the Herod of his age.

And according to the following site, King Chilperic was an early ‘gangster’:

http://medievalchroniclers.blogspot.com.au/2010/10/chilperic-original-gangsta.html

Chilperic: The Original Gangsta’

Chilperic, the “Nero and Herod of our time” as quoted by Gregory of Tours, was the king of Soissons from 561 until his assassination in 584, an event Gregory seems to cherish, as it ended the reign of “this wicked man”. Gregory’s description of him is very unfavourable throughout the book. From the onset, Chilperic is described as a greedy man who inherited his late father’s treasury, and bribed all the prominent Franks to his side. (IV. 21) He also lusted after women, as he asked for the hand of Galswinth, the sister of his brother’s wife, even though he had a number of wives. He told his messengers to inform the people that he had gotten rid of the other wives, in order for him to marry someone with his own ranking, and with a large dowry. He went back and forth between Galswinth and his other trophy wife Fredegund, before ultimately choosing Galswinth. Ultimately, Galswinth died and within a couple of days, he was asking Fredegund to sleep with him again, and there was strong suspicion he killed Galswinth. (IV 27-8) He charged outrageous taxes for people under his control, and felt no contempt for the poor, rather burdened them with more debt, and banned them from the churches. (VI.46)

Chilperic was also described by Gregory of Tours as being a man of uncontrollable rage and violence. He burned much of the districts around Tours, and marched on Rheims burning and destroying almost everything in his path. (IV. 47)

When his brother Sigibert was killed, Sigila, who was associated with Sigibert’s death was captured by King Chilperic was burned by red hot pincers, and had his limbs torn limb by limb. (IV. 51) Obviously not trying to win a father of the year award, Chilperic had his son Clovis stabbed to death, had his wife Fredegund brutally murdered, and had his daughter thrown into a monastery. (V.1) And the woman who testified against Clovis was burnt alive. People who attempted to desert his city would be cut down and slaughtered by the thousands, and he even poked out people’s eyes for disobedience. In an exceedingly cruel act, Leudast, a man who had fallen on the King’s bad side, and was not allowed to take residence in the city, had his scalp chopped off. Still alive, Chilperic ordered that he receive medical attention until he healed, and then would be tortured to death, done by having a block of wood wedged behind his back while being bludgeoned to death by being repeatedly hit in the throat by another block of wood. (V1.32)

Chilperic was also described as an intolerant man, as he forbade his son Merovich from seeing Sigibert’s widowed wife, whom the King had banished to the city of Rouen and stole her treasure. When they refused to come out of church, Chilperic lied to them in order for them to come out, and took his son home with him, refusing the two to coalesce. When he still chose to defile his fathers [sic] wishes, Chilperic had his son held in exile in a narrow, roofless tower for two years. After these two years, Merovich was forced to become a priest and sent to live in a monastery. Merovich decided to take his life rather than allow his father to constantly dominate his life, so he had his friend Gailen kill him. In retaliation, Gailen was taken by Chilperic and had his hands, feet, ears and nose cut off, and was tortured to death. Anyone who was associated with Merovich were also tortured to death. (V1-18)

One aspect of judgement that Gregory of Tours holds against Chilperic is in regards to religion. Chilperic attacked and destroyed churches along the way, and made a mockery of the Lord.

He even argued Gregory’s religious views by stating to him that there should be no distinctions of Persons in the Holy Trinity. For him, they should all be referred to as God, as if he was a Person, and the Holy Ghost, Father, and Son were one. Gregory of Tours viciously debated his assertion, stating that anyone who agreed with Chilperic would be a fool. Chilperic even begged to the Bishop of Albi to believe his views. (V.44) Gregory of Tours dislike of Chilperic also stems from the fact that the King accused him of levelling wild accusations about his wife. Gregory shows that his judgements of Chilperic are due to the fact that he has been a victim of the Kings outrage. (V.49) Chilperic eventually turned towards Gregory and asked for a blessing to be performed on him. This newfound religious aspect, moved Chilperic to convert a great number of Jews to be baptized, and even carried out a number of baptisms. However, many “converted” Jews resorted to their old faith. He even gave to the churches, and the poor in an effort to show good grace. (V.34)

Overall, by bestowing the unfortunate name of “Nero and Herod” of our time, Gregory of Tours is claiming that King Chilperic was an evil, demonic tyrant, who lusted for power, and reviled in torturing others. His standard of judgement is being a victim himself of Chilperic’s outrage, and having witnessed grave atrocities. Personally, I see a direct link between Chilperic and a later tyrant, and the first tsar of Russia, Ivan Grozny. Ivan IV was a man similar in many ways, in that he had numerous wives, some whom [sic] strangely disappeared, but lusted after one in specific, Anastasia Romanov. More than that, he was a man who disliked the woman whom his son was dating, beat her until she had a miscarriage, and murdered his own son “accidentally”. He even set up the “oprichnina” and had thousands of fleeing citizens to Novgorod cut down and massacred. He was fascinated by torture, and seeing others in grave pain. Much like Chilperic, he would remove people’s eyes, much like he did with the two architects who made a beautiful church monument that outshone all others, and Ivan even found religion later on in life. Aside from my ramblings about similarities, overall I think Chilperic was a brutal man, who committed many acts of greed, gluttony and death, in order to elevate his status, and force obedience from other people. Too call him Nero is a very harsh comparison, but by looking at many of his acts, including the murder of Leudast, it may be deserved, as he was a man not afraid to torture, maim, and kill for his own personal enjoyment. Overall, Gregory is correct in looking down upon Chilperic, as he was a bad man.

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Finally, Ernest Brehaut (1916) has designated king Chilperic I “the forerunner of the secular state in France”:

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Gregory calls him “the Nero and Herod of our time,” and loads him with abuse. He ridicules his poems, and according to his own story overwhelms him with an avalanche of contempt when he ventures to state some new opinions on the Trinity. The significant thing about Chilperic was this, that he had at this time the independence of mind to make such a criticism, as well as the hard temper necessary to fight the bishops successfully. “In his reign,” Gregory tells us, “very few of the clergy reached the office of bishop.”

Chilperic used often to say:

“Behold our treasury has remained poor, our wealth has been transferred to the churches; there is no king but the bishops; my office has perished and passed over to the bishops of the cities.” [note: see p. 166 (Book VI: 46)] Chilperic was thus the forerunner of the secular state in France.

Wife, Fredegund

“Gregory credited himself with this last role – admittedly more a paradigm than biography – so that he could demonstrate what Marc Reydellet

has observed: ‘Gregory of Tours covers himself in the robe of the prophet

in order to cast anathema on the diabolical couple Chilperic and Fredegund, the new Ahab and Jezebel’.”

Martin Heinzelmann

It is amazing just how many kings of the (supposedly) AD era have been described as Ahab-like, or as Nero-like, or as Herod-like, whilst any number of queens, especially those named Isabelle, have been likened to Jezebel or Herodias – so much so that I was prompted to ask:

Isabelle (is a belle) inevitably a Jezebel?

https://www.academia.edu/35191514/Isabelle_is_a_belle_inevitably_a_Jezebel

Now, the wife of king Chilperic I, whilst not actually named Isabelle, but Fredegund, has been described in Martin Heinzelmann’ book, Gregory of Tours: History and Society in the Sixth Century (p. 43), as one of a “diabolical” pair with her husband, Chilperic, and also as “the new … Jezebel”.

According to the following, she was:

http://www.rejectedprincesses.com/princesses/fredegund

Fredegund

(mid 500s – 597)

Assassination-obsessed Queen

…. Here is the most cartoonishly evil woman I have ever come across: Fredegund. This woman was a 6th-century Merovingian queen consort with a penchant for killing people. Her notable life went roughly as follows:

• She works her way into the palace of Chilperic I as a serving woman for the queen, Audovera.
• Chilperic I, although married to Audovera, takes Fredegund as a concubine.
• Fredegund convinces him to divorce Audovera and send her to a nunnery.
• Fredegund then quietly kills Audovera.
• Chilperic then marries another woman, Galswintha.
• Galswintha turns up strangled in her own bed.

• Chilperic marries Fredegund a couple days later, presumably getting the hint.
• Fredegund kills Chilperic’s brother Sigebert (the two brothers had been fighting). She also tries to kill Sigebert’s son.
• Chilperic turns up mysteriously dead.
• Immediately thereafter, Fredegund takes all his money, skips town, and starts living in Notre Dame Cathedral (sanctuary, indeed!) under the protection of Chilperic’s brother, Guntram.
• Three years later she tries to assassinate Guntram.
• Ten years later, Fredegund dies (how, I do not know).

If Fredegund had a foil, it was Galswintha’s sister (and Sigebert’s widow), Brunhild. For forty years, the two of them fought — resulting in endless warfare and, you can be sure, at least one assassination attempt.

In the end, Brunhild outlived Fredegund, but even from beyond the grave, Fredegund had the last word.

Mackey’s comment: Brunhild, too, has, for her part, been described as a ‘Jezebel”:

Queen Brunhild the ‘second Jezebel’

https://www.academia.edu/35178294/Queen_Brunhild_the_second_Jezebel

The article continues:

Sixteen years after Fredegund’s death, with Brunhild now a sixty-something woman, Fredegund’s son killed her in as brutal a manner as I’ve ever heard. First, torture on the rack.

Next, each of her extremities was tied to a different horse, and they were all set to run in different directions, tearing her apart. Lastly, they burnt her body.

But none of these are the craziest thing Fredegund ever did.

“Hey Rigunth, go pick out some jewelry from that treasure chest.”

So what is the craziest thing she ever did? Well, you see, she had a daughter, Rigunth. Rigunth, as princesses do, was looking forward to one day being queen herself. One day, exasperated by her daughter’s “I want to be queen nowww” whining, Fredegund told her to go look inside Chilperic’s treasure chest and pick out some jewelry for herself.

When Rigunth poked her head in the treasure chest, Fredegund slammed it shut on her neck. Had servants not stopped her, she would have killed her own daughter.

“Vengeance” is also well to the fore in the following lively account of queen Fredegund:

http://www.badassoftheweek.com/fredegund.html

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The Frankish Queen Fredegund is a rare exception to this rule – and, oddly enough, it’s not because historians portray her in a positive light. No, with this chick it’s because she truly was an utterly-bloodthirsty vengeance machine who rested at nothing short of the completely over-the-top torture deaths of all who stood in her path, obliterating dumbasses across the continent of Europe until every single human being – from King to Bishop to Peasant – who stupidly wound up on her bad side immediately found themselves face-down in a pool of their own blood surrounded by knife-wielding assassins, poisonous beverages, and/or well-sharpened instruments of painful torture and horrible mutilation.

She is one of history’s most violent and bloodthirsty queens, and her entire life was centered around the one primary tenet of unquestionable badassitude – Live for Revenge.

We don’t know much about where one of the world’s most epic vengeance-mongers actually came from. We’re pretty sure Fredegund (also known as Fredegond, Fredegunda, or simply Freddie) was Frankish, meaning that she was simultaneously French, German, and Belgian without actually being any of those things, and that when she was in her late teens she was sold as a slave to the wife of King Chilperic of Souissons – a guy who at the time sort-of ruled a piece of the Frankish Kingdom (when Chilperic’s dad died, he’d divided his empire up among his sons rather than putting one kid in charge of the entire kingdom…

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Well Fredegund wasn’t all that particularly interested in being a servant-girl to the Queen, so instead … she seduced King Chilperic, hooked up with him, then convinced him to divorce the Queen and send that annoying primadonna off to live a life of celibacy in a convent somewhere. Unfortunately for Freddie, once the king was divorced he decided to marry some annoying Visigoth Princess instead, so once again Fredegund worked her magic and had that bitch strangled to death in her sleep.

After all the competition was dead or nunnified, Chilperic decided it was in the best interest of self-preservation to marry Fredegund, a woman who had now somehow awesomely gone from slave-girl to Queen of the Franks in the span of like a year and a half.

Well, naturally being the Queen was great and everything, but now Fredegund had a new problem to worry about – the hardcore sister of the recently-strangulated Visigoth Queen just so happened to be a … warrior-babe named Brunhilde, and Brunhilde was not a very happy girl. Brunhilde also just so happened to be a Queen in her own right, married to Chilperic’s brother Siegebert, a guy who was in charge of another part of the recently-divided Frankish Kingdom (still with me here?), and before long the two factions were in the process of stabbing each other in the face repeatedly and without mercy in an all-out war that stretched from Paris to Berlin.

Long story short, Chilperic/Fredegund fought an epic seven-year war with Siegebert/ Brunhilde, with either side sending their mailed knights charging spears-first into combat …. After a hard-fought campaign, Fredegund defeated her rivals, crushed them in battle, then had King Siegebert whacked by stabbing him in the kidneys by a pair of assassins while he was in the process of giving a speech about how he was going to get revenge … [on] Fredegund once and for all (I’m not sure if she planned the timing to work out like that, but it’s badass either way). With the rival King dead, Fredegund overran the rest of Siegebert’s men, captured Brunhilde, destroyed her cities, and then had Siegebert’s top government official (who was admittedly a greedy evil bastard known as “The Breaker of Wills”) executed by being systematically dismembered joint-by-joint with white-hot pokers and knives ….

Fredegund also planned to have Brunhilde whacked as well, but while she was trying to figure out some sort of awesome new cruel and unusual punishment to carry out some … [one] … broke Brunhilde out of prison and snuck her out of the realm.

….

Fredegund eventually tracked that guy down and had him stabbed to death by his own servants, then had his kid poisoned to death by an evil chef just for good measure.

With Brunhilde sort-of out of the way, Fredegund continued her mad rampage to consolidate power for her, her husband, and their now-newborn son.

First she went after the sons of Chilperic’s first wife (you know, the poor girl Fredegund had already exiled to a monastery), killing them by infecting them with dysentery until they died of their own explosive diarrhea. Then she went after some alleged conspirators and other people that talked trash about her, having them executed on torture racks and then throwing their broken bodies to wolves or lions. After that she attacked the clergy, most of whom weren’t all that cool with things like torture-related deaths and were stupid enough to say something like that out loud – first she whacked a dude named Mummolus the Perfect (who, let’s face it, couldn’t have been all that bad), then she publicly yelled at a Catholic Saint (and then silently watched the guy get stabbed and slowly bleed to death in his own cathedral), and, as if that’s not enough, she then tried to ice the Bishop of Bayeux for investigating the murder and sticking his stupid face where it didn’t belong (snitches get stitches).

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Fredegund’s primary method of disposing of her enemies was by hiring easily-bribeable men to poison or shiv her enemies for her. Thanks to her own personal charm, a collection of dirty secrets that would make Nick Fury want to high-five her, and a nearly-limitless amount of gold at her disposal, the Queen of the Franks routinely hired everyone from Dukes and Priests to slaves and brigands to take up oleander-coated daggers and shank douchebags in her name. Her personal favorite method of execution was to hire a band of thugs armed with heavily-poisoned Swedish eating utensils known as scramsaxes (it even sounds like an IKEA thing) to fall upon her target in the woods … rob them, and leave them to die slow, agonizingly-painful deaths. Then, when the brigands would return to report the kill, Fredegund would have those …. whacked as well, regardless of whether they completed their mission or not (though it’s worth mentioning she’d just behead them with axes at dinner parties if they succeeded, whereas if they failed it was much worse… one poor cleric who failed to execute Brunhilde was punished by having his hands and feet cut off and then being thrown in a hole).

Eventually Fredegund’s enemies got a little fed up with all this nonsense and had her husband Chilperic assassinated (some people think this was Fredegund’s doing as well, but this seems unlikely). With her husband dead and her son still too young to rule, Fredegund fled Soissons to Paris, moved into the cathedral of Notre Dame, and took on the role of Queen Regent, where she controlled the day-to-day operations of the realm.

Now officially in charge of the Kingdom, she ruled with an iron fist, forging alliances, sending armies into the field, and utterly crushing anyone who she considered a threat to either herself or her son.

For the most part, things were pretty successful – she ruled solo for a decade, captured several cities near Paris, allied with the powerful Kingdom of Burgundy, won the throne for her son, and beat … Theodebert who was acting up and causing all sorts of trouble – all of which are notable achievements for anybody, let alone a woman ruling undisputed in the … Middle Ages. She did have a little trouble with her daughter though… Fredegund unwisely tried to marry that poor girl off to the Visigoths, but instead of accepting her into their tribe they just robbed her of her dowry and sent her back to Paris empty-handed. The girl lived at home for a while, and, as can tend to happen with teenaged daughters and their mothers, they didn’t really get along. The highlight of this feud was one time when the daughter came out and said she should be the Queen Regent and Fredegund should retire – Fredegund, who was in the treasure room picking out jewels at the time, asked the daughter to grab something for her out of a particularly-huge treasure chest. When the daughter reached in, Fredegund closed the chest on her head and choked her … until she got her act together. As if you needed more … about this woman, this story was so popular during the Middle Ages that Fredegund is sometimes cited as a possible inspiration for the Wicked Stepmother in Cinderella.

Fredegund eventually sorted [things] out with her kid, handed the reins off once her son was old enough to take over as King, and then died peacefully in her bed in Paris in 597 AD. She’d ruled for 40 years, killed everyone who opposed her, and lived for revenge in a way most action movie heroes could only dream about.

The only person who’d successfully eluded her wrath was that annoying do-gooder Brunhilde, but Fredegund’s son eventually settled that … once and for all as well – he captured the 60 year-old queen, put her on the rack for three days, then had her drawn and quartered by horses. His mom would have been proud. ….