Ghosts and Demons in Japanese Prints

I’ve been itching to revisit the Chicago Art Institute, and over Thanksgiving I got my wish. This time we were able to tour the entire museum, including a special exhibit on ghosts and demons in 19th century Japanese prints.

One of the most ingenious pieces on display depicted a scene from a kabuki performance. As you can see, the center figure is pouncing upon a hapless damsel, having transformed from a maiden to a ghoul. This required a rapid costume change from the actor, which we can observe by turning a flap on the print. Kind of like a children’s book.

Turn to the right, and it’s a woman.

To the left, and it’s a ghoul.

The second print was far more frightening. In it we see a ghost made of ceramic plates, rising into the coal-black sky bent on haunting her murderous husband. According to legend, he slew her for breaking the dishes, but in death she found power that she never had in life.

Hide your eyes, because this next print is even spookier. This time a ghoul is in the bedroom, peeking through the mosquito netting at the treacherous couple who drowned him. Aren’t the colors incredible? And look at those tendrils by the ghost’s skull. They remind me of seaweed, perhaps alluding to his watery grave.

Alright everyone, calm yourselves. Warai Hannya, pictured below, is our last demon. She was known for preying upon children and even clutches a head in the print. Nice lady, right?

Now that you’ve been thoroughly spooked by the bad guys, it’s time I introduced you to a hero. Meet Shōki the Demon Queller. In the print below you can see him astride a slavering tiger, mincing goblins to chutney with a wicked-blue sword. Pictures like this were displayed for the Boys’ Day festival, and Shōki banners were used as a safeguard against disease. I guess that sword kills bacteria as well as demons.

What did you think of the prints? Do you have a favorite? Or are they too grotesque for that?

How To Make An Authentic Chiton

The other day whilst perusing the Internet, I came upon a set of instructions for making a chiton, or Greek tunic. It’s surprisingly simple, and best of all no sewing is required. All you need is a white sheet, five safety pins, a belt, and a friend to model it for you. The latter was supplied by one of my buddies, who we’ll just call Mymy.

STEP ONE - Fold the sheet lengthwise until it’s as long as you want the chiton to be. Traditionally it was worn to the ankle, but Mymy and I decided to be scandalous and made ours shorter.

STEP TWO - Grasp one side of the sheet and hold it in front of your body. Note that I said side, not corner. You want to grab the cloth a few inches behind that. See how Mymy holds it?

STEP THREE - Wind the other half around your back.

STEP FOUR - Pin the two top corners together. If you don’t have a pin, hairbands will suffice.

STEP FIVE - Take the piece of material held in your right hand and attach it to the corresponding cloth behind your back. Greek women used brooches, but again, pins or hair ties will suffice. Once this step is completed, you will have created the first sleeve. Slip your arm through.

STEP SIX - Repeat Step Five using the material in your left hand.

STEP SEVEN - Next pin the slit on your left together. Tie a belt around the middle, strike a pose, and you’re done. Congratulations!

If you decide to give the chiton a try, let me know how it went in the comments. I’d be happy to answer any questions.

The Leper King

Tutor discovers Baldwin's leprosy

In 1170, Prince Baldwin’s tutor noticed something strange about him. He felt no pain while roughhousing with the other boys, even when they dug their fingernails into his arm. Soon it became apparent that the young prince had contracted leprosy. He was only nine years old.

Tragedy struck again in 1174. The king was dead, and the only possible successor was Baldwin, who was by this time in his early teens. Managing an Empire is a major undertaking, even for an adult, but Baldwin had neither experience nor health on his side. Right from the beginning, his reign appeared to be doomed.

And yet despite the odds, Baldwin clung to the throne. He lived under the guidance of regents until the age of fifteen, then assumed full control of Jerusalem. By this time he was noticeably sick with leprosy. The last thing he needed was a kingdom to worry about, but once again Baldwin did not shirk from leadership.

One of his first decisions was to attack the Muslim king, Saladin, who had been plundering Syrian village of Aleppo. If Syria fell, Jerusalem would soon follow. It was a brittle situation requiring uncommon wisdom. One wrong move could result in the death of thousands, but Baldwin proved to be an excellent strategist. First he struck Damascus, putting Saladin on the defensive, then forged an alliance with the Byzantine Empire and prepared to attack Egypt. Unfortunately an important member of the raid died, Baldwin’s own health began to wane, and the invasion was canceled.

About this time several nobles stripped their support from Jerusalem, leaving the city only 600 knights and a few thousand infantrymen to face Saladin’s army. With the enemy just 45 miles away, the time had come for Baldwin to make a final stand. He rose from his sickbed, mounted his horse and stood in the path of Saladin’s force.

A contemporary author wrote that Baldwin appeared “already half dead.” The rest of the army wasn’t much better. The sight of the teeming Muslim soldiers drove knives into their hearts. Perhaps sensing this, Baldwin called for the Bishop of Bethlehem to present the relic of the One True Cross. The king prostrated himself before it, prayed earnestly for victory, and encouraged the troops to hold fast.

After that, the Leper King led the charge. He raised a sword with one bandaged hand, striking down the enemy wherever they dared appear. The people said Saint George road beside him, and under Baldwin’s leadership the crusaders not only defended Jerusalem but utterly trounced the invaders. Almost ninety percent were killed. Saladin himself barely escaped.

Baldwin returned home victorious, but his troubles weren’t over yet. Illness plagued the Leper King all of his life, rendering his arms, legs and vision useless. Several times he tried to abdicate, but was unable to find a suitable replacement. He died of sickness on May 6, 1185, and without his guidance Jerusalem fell to Saladin two years later.

Egypt - Land of the Crazy Cat Ladies

My baby and despot,  Cinnamon.

“Mommy wuvs her baby. Yes her does! Yes her does! Mommy wuvs her baby more den wife itself. Mommy would do anyfing for her baby...”

I talk like this to my cat sometimes. Pretty stupid, right? Well, at least I’m not the first to descend to this level. The Egyptians were crazy cat ladies too, although they took it to a much greater extreme.

In 450 BCE, the penalty for killing a cat was death. Exporting them out of Egypt was strictly forbidden, and an entire government agency was developed to repatriate kidnapped kitties to their home country. When a house caught fire people would rush inside to rescue their pets, but when this was unsuccessful the bodies were embalmed and buried with great honor in special burial grounds. Over 80,000 cats were found in a Beni-Hassan tomb, along with supplies for the afterlife such as mice and milk.

Unfortunately, Cambyses of Persia took advantage of this devotion during the Battle of Pelusium.

It began like any other war. The two armies marched out to meet each other, spears bristling, armor rattling--but then the Egyptians noticed something strange on the Persians’ shields. They were covered with paintings of Bastet, the cat goddess. Sacrilege!

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Cambyses ordered hundreds of sacred animals, including cats, to be driven before his army. The Egyptians were horrified. They couldn’t fight back without hurting one of their beloved companions. Ultimately this led to the destruction of Pharaoh’s army, and Persia emerged victorious. According to legend, Cambyses hurled cats at the Egyptians during his parade through the city, mocking their shameful defeat.

Isn’t that ridiculous? Why would somebody sacrifice their freedom for a cat? I would never--oh wait. You’ll have to excuse me. Cinnamon wants me to rub him. And after this I’ll have to scrape out his litter box, pick fur off my clothes, bandage my scratched hands, refresh his cat chow…

Do any of you guys have cats?

Mummified cats.

I Wish

Adolph Hitler as a child.

While Adolph Hitler wasn’t solely responsible for World War II, I think we can all agree that he was one of the instigators. Think of him as a match and Germany as a gasoline puddle. While something probably would have sparked conflict eventually, without Hitler it might not have been as devastating. The Allies realized this and took every opportunity to shoot at him.

None of the assassins were successful, and ironically Hitler’s closest encounters with death happened by chance. Both times he survived--but only because bystanders went out of their way to rescue him.

Hitler’s life was first threatened when he was a child. One day, while playing on the banks of the River Inn, he tumbled into the water and was swept off by the current. Fortunately--or unfortunately, depending upon your perspective--another boy named Johann Kuehburger dove after him. He dragged Hitler ashore, saving one life and unwittingly dooming eleven million others.*

Several years after the river incident, Hitler once again brushed shoulders with death. This time it happened during one of World War I’s final battles, in which he made the mistake of crossing into a British soldier’s line of fire. They locked eyes for a moment. But when the Englishman saw that Hitler wounded, he allowed him to flee.

My brother was incredulous when I told him these stories. “We came so close! Why couldn’t we have killed Hitler when we had the chance?”

That was my reaction too. Millions of lives might have been saved if Kuehburger hadn’t rescued him, or the Englishman had pulled the trigger. But then I realized what we were wishing for. We were wishing that Kuehburger let a little boy drown. We were wishing that the soldier committed murder. At the time, Hitler was guiltless. It would have been unjust to hurt him.

Still. I wish.

*It should be noted that the evidence supporting this particular story is ambiguous, based mostly upon the word of Kuehburger’s friend and some vague newspaper clippings.

Three Unsolved Historical Mysteries

An engraving showing victims of the Dancing plague

#1 - Dancing Plague

During July of 1518, dozens of people in the French city of Strasburg were seized with disco fever and literally danced themselves to death. It began with one woman, Frau Troffea. One day, as she was walking down the street, she started convulsing in time with an unheard beat. Several neighbors joined her, and by the end of the week 30 people were cavorting around Strasburg like some sort of medieval flash mob. Victims reportedly danced nonstop for nearly six days before dying of strokes, heart attacks, and exhaustion.

Nearly five-hundred years later, scholars are still trying to uncover the cause of the Dancing Plague. Somebody suggested that the victims were suffering from stress-induced psychosis, but that doesn’t quite cut it for me. Mental illness isn’t contagious, and the Dancing Plague seems to be, judging by the way it spread from Troffea to her neighbors. Another theory blames erot fungus, the organic version of LSD. But again, that’s not contagious. And erot fungus is more likely to kill you than give you happy feet.

Personally, I think Strasburg was infected with Jitterbugs.

#2 - Lost Colony of Roanoke

In August, 1587, over a hundred men, women and children established a colony on Roanoke Island, just off the coast of North Carolina. At first everything went according to plan. Houses were built, crops were planted, and the settlers celebrated the birth of the first English child to be born in the New World.

Unfortunately, supplies ran low after a few months. The governor was sent back to England for more, but war broke out while he was there, and delayed his return for three years.

When he finally reached Roanoke, the rest of the settlers had disappeared. To this day, nobody knows what became of them. The only clue to their fate was the word “CROATOAN” carved on an old fencepost.

“CROATOAN” is an aggravatingly ambiguous phrase. It could refer to the local Croatoan Island, to which the colonists may have relocated, or to the Croatoan Indians, who may have attacked them or let them join the tribe. Testing has been conducted to see if modern Native Americans carry English DNA, but so far the results have been inconclusive.

Kaspar Hauser

#3 - Kaspar Hauser

One day in May, 1828, a shoemaker named Georg Weickmann noticed a strange boy tottering around Nuremburg as though drunk. He wore peasant clothes and carried a letter addressed to the local calvary captain. Weickmann decided to play the Good Samaritan and showed him to the officer’s house.

After awhile it became apparent that the boy wasn’t drunk. He was simply in awe of his surroundings and still learning to walk. His feet were blistered, as though unaccustomed to shoes, and when the captain’s servants offered him food, he spat it out in surprise. Naturally Weikmann and the captain questioned him, but all the boy knew how to say was “I don’t know” and “I want to be a rider the way my father was.”

Nobody knew what to do, so they called the police and locked him in the Vetsner Gate tower. While there, he gradually learned more German, and revealed his strange story to one of the jailers.

The boy said his name was Kaspar Hauser. He claimed to have spent all of his life in a dark cell, with no human contact except for a mysterious cloaked figure who left food on occasion. A tall tale, perhaps, but circumstances backed his story. For instance, Kaspar had an abnormality in his knees, suggesting that he hadn’t been able to stand up straight, and his behavior was incredibly childlike.

Kaspar said he had only recently left his cell. Apparently the cloaked figure decided to release him. He taught the boy how to walk and speak, then shoved a letter into his hand and sent him on the road to Nuremburg with strict instruction to join the calvary.

As you might expect, Kaspar’s story turned a lot of heads. Visitors mobbed the tower to stare at him, and there were whispers that he might be royalty--perhaps even the rightful prince of Baden. All of this attention overwhelmed Hauser, and it was agreed that he should be placed under the guardianship of a college professor.

To complicate things even further, the cloaked figure made a reappearance, perhaps angry that Kaspar had not joined the calvary. While the professor was gone, he cornered the boy and tried to assassinate him, but Hauser escaped with only a slight wound.

After this he was tossed back and forth between several more guardians, the figure tried to kill him again but was unsuccessful, and the public became more critical of Kaspar’s account. Some called him a liar. After all, there were gaping holes in his story. For example, Hauser claimed to have been fed exclusively bread and water during his confinement. Nutritionally speaking, that’s impossible. He would have starved years ago. Could it be that this was just a ploy for attention?

Unfortunately, Kaspar died before more conclusive evidence could be discovered. On December 14th, he stumbled into the house with a chest wound which he claimed was from the cloaked figure. Nobody took him seriously enough to call a doctor, and he died just a few days later.

Visit to the Chicago Art Institute

((Disclaimer: I’m writing most of this from memory. Unlike the rest of my articles on this blog, I can’t vouch for the content’s complete accuracy.))

Last week I met the Greeks, Romans, Byzantines and Etruscans at the Chicago Art Institute. The experience was transcendent; I teared up when I saw the Athenian vases. Some long-dead artist touched those pots. I could have touched them too if I’d had a hammer for the display case.

My favorite pieces were two Fayum portraits, shown below. Since nobody knows the names of the subjects, I decided to call the cheerful man Jerry. The other is his surly friend, Damien.

Jerry

Damien

Fayum portraits are essentially mummy masks, although prior to the subject’s death they were kept on display in the house. These two hail from Roman Egypt sometime in the second century. The gold laurels you see around Jerry’s head were added after he died--one last way to flaunt his wealth. I think Damien’s jealous.

Here’s another one of my favorite exhibits: the Greek Eye-Cup.

When used as a drinking vessel, the bottom of the bowl creates a mask, complete with an open mouth and handles for ears. It is thought that Eye-Cups were related to related to Dionysus somehow, seeing as he’s the god of wine and theatre.

Another Greek exhibit included gravestones, known as steles. Usually sculptures aren’t my thing, but the emotion captured in these figures was enough to stir the most jaded heart. Take the picture below for example, in which you can see a couple clasping hands. Maybe they didn’t want to let go. Or perhaps the family wanted to show that they were still linked to their loved one. Whatever the case, it made the Greeks much more relatable.

And maybe that’s what I loved about the Art Institute. Maybe that’s what I love about history. It reveals what makes us human. Two-thousand years ago, a woman became a widow. Two-thousand years ago, fathers drank from the Eye-Cup while their children pointed and laughed. We like to think we're more advanced in the twenty-first century, but we haven't changed much. I don't think we ever will.