The Untold Story of Bauhaus Women: The Avant-Garde Artists Who Helped Shape Modernism

It does­n’t take too long a look at the almost sur­re­al­is­ti­cal­ly clean-lined build­ings of Wal­ter Gropius to get the impres­sion that the man want­ed to ush­er in a new world, espe­cial­ly when you con­sid­er that many of them went up before World War II. Take the Bauhaus Dessau build­ing, which, though com­plet­ed exact­ly a cen­tu­ry ago, looks like a con­crete trans­mis­sion from the future that nev­er arrived, or one that may indeed still be on the way. It once housed the Ger­man art school turned polit­i­cal and cul­tur­al engine he found­ed in 1919, whose prin­ci­ples includ­ed absolute equal­i­ty between male and female par­tic­i­pants — or they did at first, at any rate.

Soon decid­ing that the new insti­tu­tion would­n’t be tak­en seri­ous­ly with too high a pro­por­tion of women, Gropius lim­it­ed their enroll­ment to one-third of the stu­dent body. That episode, among oth­ers that under­score the ways in which Gropius and the Bauhaus’ osten­si­ble com­mit­ment to the advance­ment of women was­n’t all it could be, fig­ures into Susanne Radel­hof’s doc­u­men­tary The Untold Sto­ry of Bauhaus Women.

Yet what­ev­er the short­com­ings in that depart­ment one might iden­ti­fy from a twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry van­tage, the fact remains that the Bauhaus made pos­si­ble — or at least encour­aged — more endur­ing and influ­en­tial work by female artists and design­ers than almost any art school in ear­ly twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry Europe.

Among the almost 500 women who stud­ied at the Bauhaus, the film pro­files fig­ures like Alma Busch­er, “who cre­at­ed pro­to­types of avant-garde fur­ni­ture and toys”; “vision­ary met­al­smith and design­er” Mar­i­anne Brandt; Gun­ta Stöl­zl, whose “weav­ing rev­o­lu­tion­ized mod­ern tex­tile design” (weav­ing even­tu­al­ly being the main pro­gram to which women were admit­ted); Friedl Dick­er, a “mul­ti­tal­ent­ed artist” ded­i­cat­ed to the Bauhaus; and Lucia Moholy, whose “excep­tion­al pho­tographs still influ­ence how we view Bauhaus design today.” The school itself may have shut down in 1933, owing to the con­flict between its aes­thet­ic and polit­i­cal ends and those of the ris­ing Nazi Par­ty, but the for­ward-look­ing nature and world­wide cul­tur­al influ­ence of the Bauhaus have ensured that we still feel the influ­ence of its alum­ni, male and female alike.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Female Pio­neers of the Bauhaus Art Move­ment: Dis­cov­er Gertrud Arndt, Mar­i­anne Brandt, Anni Albers & Oth­er For­got­ten Inno­va­tors

Watch Bauhaus World, a Free Doc­u­men­tary That Cel­e­brates the 100th Anniver­sary of Germany’s Leg­endary Art, Archi­tec­ture & Design School

The Pol­i­tics & Phi­los­o­phy of the Bauhaus Design Move­ment: A Short Intro­duc­tion

The Women of the Bauhaus: See Hip, Avant-Garde Pho­tographs of Female Stu­dents & Instruc­tors at the Famous Art School

An Oral His­to­ry of the Bauhaus: Hear Rare Inter­views (in Eng­lish) with Wal­ter Gropius, Lud­wig Mies van der Rohe & More

The Bauhaus Book­shelf: Down­load Orig­i­nal Bauhaus Books, Jour­nals, Man­i­festos & Ads That Still Inspire Design­ers World­wide

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

 

How This Skyscraper Ruined Paris, and Why They’re Now Trying to Make It Invisible

The play­wright Tris­tan Bernard is said to have eat­en lunch at the Eif­fel Tow­er every day, but not because he liked the menu in its café: rather, because it was the only place in Paris with no view of the Eif­fel Tow­er. His view wasn’t whol­ly eccen­tric in the decades after its con­struc­tion, in the late eigh­teen-eight­ies, when the struc­ture had yet to become the most beloved in France, and per­haps in the world. Yet not far behind the Eif­fel Tow­er as a must-vis­it tourist attrac­tion in a town full of them is Paris’ least beloved build­ing: the Tour Mont­par­nasse, which since its com­ple­tion in 1973 has stood in infamy as the only sky­scraper in the cen­ter of the city.

Unlike the Eif­fel Tow­er, which was com­mis­sioned in part to cel­e­brate the cen­ten­ni­al of the French Rev­o­lu­tion, the Tour Mont­par­nasse projects no polit­i­cal sym­bol­ism; unlike Notre-Dame de Paris, or Sacré-Cœur de Mont­martre, it has no reli­gious sig­nif­i­cance. Its pur­pose is whol­ly com­mer­cial, befit­ting a large office build­ing with a shop­ping mall — or now, the remains of a shop­ping mall — at the bot­tom. But when it was first con­ceived in 1958, it embod­ied the very image of moder­ni­ty in a built envi­ron­ment that was dilap­i­dat­ed where it wasn’t war-torn. A mod­ern sky­scraper would show the world, unmis­tak­ably, that Paris had stepped ful­ly into the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry of indoor plumb­ing, elec­tric­i­ty, fast trains, and telecom­mu­ni­ca­tion.

This mis­sion gained the full back­ing of none oth­er than Andre Mal­raux, then France’s first Min­is­ter of Cul­tur­al Affairs. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, nine­teen-fifties Europe lacked the tech­nol­o­gy, exper­tise, and mon­ey required for a 60-sto­ry sky­scraper, let alone one serv­ing as the cen­ter­piece of a sweep­ing rede­vel­op­ment project that includ­ed gleam­ing new res­i­den­tial blocks and a com­plete­ly rebuilt Mont­par­nasse Sta­tion. The tow­er could­n’t even break ground until 1969, by which time the build­ing’s once-cut­ting-edge mid-cen­tu­ry design — hard­ly a uni­ver­sal hit even in maque­tte form — had already begun to look passé. (Part of the prob­lem was sure­ly its col­or, which archi­tect Philippe Tré­ti­ack described as hav­ing “a touch of the nico­tine stain about it.”)

When the Tour Mont­par­nasse turned 50 a few years ago, I hap­pened to be in Paris on my hon­ey­moon. Noth­ing was hap­pen­ing to mark the occa­sion, apart from the long-ongo­ing dis­cus­sions about whether to ren­o­vate the thing or just knock it down. The for­mer option hav­ing won the day, you can see the details of the planned extreme makeover in the B1M video above. Rather than destroy­ing the exist­ing build­ing, the idea is to do the next best thing and make it invis­i­ble. This ambi­tious project will install a new façade of clear glass and bands of sky gar­dens, among oth­er changes, in order to light­en its bur­den­some visu­al mass. But how­ev­er rad­i­cal its trans­for­ma­tion, one sus­pects that it will remain most appre­ci­at­ed as the only place in Paris with­out a view of the Tour Mont­par­nasse.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How Paris Became Paris: The Sto­ry Behind Its Icon­ic Squares, Bridges, Mon­u­ments & Boule­vards

Watch the Build­ing of the Eif­fel Tow­er in Time­lapse Ani­ma­tion

The Archi­tec­tur­al His­to­ry of the Lou­vre: 800 Years in Three Min­utes

The Cre­ation & Restora­tion of Notre-Dame Cathe­dral, Ani­mat­ed

Why Europe Has So Few Sky­scrap­ers

Why Do Peo­ple Hate Mod­ern Archi­tec­ture?: A Video Essay

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

How Brunelleschi Engineered Florence’s Iconic Dome

No one who trav­els to Flo­rence can help see­ing the dome of the Cathe­dral of Saint Mary of the Flower. That’s true not just because of its sheer loom­ing phys­i­cal pres­ence over the rest of the city, but also because of its impor­tance as an achieve­ment in var­i­ous kinds of his­to­ry, from that of engi­neer­ing to archi­tec­ture to reli­gion. Its sto­ry is told by art his­to­ri­ans Beth Har­ris and Steven Zuck­er in their new Smarthis­to­ry video above, which begins in the year 1417. At the time, Zuck­er explains, Flo­rence had a “huge” prob­lem: the ground­work for its ambi­tious­ly large cathe­dral had been laid a cen­tu­ry before, but nobody knew how to build the dome for which its plans called.

The assump­tion, says Har­ris, was that “by the time they had to build it, they would fig­ure out how to do it,” a reflec­tion of both the more relaxed speed of con­struc­tion in the fif­teenth cen­tu­ry, as well as a pace of inno­va­tion that must have felt rapid­ly on the increase.

Such a struc­ture had­n’t been built since the Pan­theon in antiq­ui­ty, the out­do­ing of which would, at least in the­o­ry, con­firm Florence’s recep­tion of the torch of civ­i­liza­tion from Rome. But none of the tra­di­tion­al tech­niques could sup­port a dome of this size, atop so high a tow­er, dur­ing con­struc­tion. Sal­va­tion even­tu­al­ly came in the unpromis­ing form of Fil­ip­po Brunelleschi, an archi­tect, sculp­tor, and gold­smith with­out much of a résumé — but, cru­cial­ly, with a deep under­stand­ing of the Pan­theon.

“Brunelleschi real­ized that hemi­spher­i­cal domes func­tion in a self-sup­port­ing man­ner if they’re con­struct­ed out of self-sup­port­ing con­cen­tric cir­cles,” Zuck­er says, and his chal­lenge was to use that knowl­edge to build an octag­o­nal dome. This involved design­ing two domes, a thick inner one cov­ered by a thin out­er one. Drop €30 on a tick­et, and you can ascend the stairs through the inter-dome gap your­self. There the walls reveal the her­ring­bone brick pat­tern that kept the struc­ture sta­ble; at a larg­er scale, those bricks form struc­tur­al ele­ments, much like over­sized ver­sions of the stones used to build arch­es since time immemo­r­i­al. Regard­ing almost any pic­ture of Flo­rence, your eye may go straight to the cathe­dral, drawn both to the dome and to the splen­dor of its oth­er era-mix­ing archi­tec­tur­al fea­tures. But only from the inside can you under­stand how it all works.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How the World’s Biggest Dome Was Built: The Sto­ry of Fil­ip­po Brunelleschi and the Duo­mo in Flo­rence

How Fil­ip­po Brunelleschi, Untrained in Archi­tec­ture or Engi­neer­ing, Built the World’s Largest Dome at the Dawn of the Renais­sance

The Beau­ty & Inge­nu­ity of the Pan­theon, Ancient Rome’s Best-Pre­served Mon­u­ment: An Intro­duc­tion

Why Hasn’t the Pantheon’s Dome Col­lapsed?: How the Romans Engi­neered the Dome to Last 19 Cen­turies and Count­ing

How Design­ing Build­ings Upside-Down Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Archi­tec­ture, Mak­ing Pos­si­ble St. Paul’s Cathe­dral, Sagra­da Família & More

His­to­ri­an Answers Burn­ing Ques­tions About The Renais­sance

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Were the Egyptian Pyramids Not Built Up, But Carved Down?: A Bold New Theory Explains Their Construction

We know more or less every­thing we could pos­si­bly know about ancient Egypt­ian civ­i­liza­tion. That owes in large part to the advanced state of record-keep­ing it achieved, and how many of its writ­ings have sur­vived, up to and includ­ing — as pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture — a home­work assign­ment and a list of excus­es giv­en by builders who missed work. There just hap­pens to be one espe­cial­ly glar­ing gap in our knowl­edge: exact­ly how the ancient Egyp­tians built the Pyra­mids of Giza. This inter­sec­tion of rel­a­tive igno­rance and extreme fas­ci­na­tion has, as archi­tec­ture YouTu­ber Dami Lee acknowl­edges in the video above, inspired no end of crack­pot-ism. Noth­ing could be as unpromis­ing as unso­licit­ed con­tact from some­one claim­ing to have dis­cov­ered the secret of the pyra­mids.

The case of a Kore­an inde­pen­dent researcher called Huni Choi proved to be dif­fer­ent, for rea­sons Lee uses the video to lay out. Con­ven­tion­al assump­tions about how the pyra­mids were built hold that work­ers would have had to drag the stones up one or more ramps, though the dimen­sions of the struc­tures dic­tate that the project would neces­si­tate huge, com­plex, or huge and com­plex ramp sys­tems — whose own con­struc­tion has some­how left behind not a trace of evi­dence.

Accord­ing to Choi, “the Great Pyra­mid was­n’t built on its own, but through a chain of ‘sac­ri­fi­cial’ struc­tures” designed to be “can­ni­bal­ized.” The idea is that the pyra­mids were “over­built,” start­ing with a gigan­tic “trape­zoidal mass” with an inte­grat­ed ramp sys­tem, which, after being topped out, was then carved down into the pyra­mid shape we still find so famil­iar and com­pelling.

If true, Choi’s the­o­ry would solve the long-intractable prob­lem of the point­ed tops, which posed such a thorny engi­neer­ing prob­lem that even oth­er pyra­mid-build­ing civ­i­liza­tions seem­ing­ly avoid­ed even attempt­ing them. It also accounts for how the Egypt­ian design­ers and builders could have kept an eye on the angles all the while, in order to make sure the things were going up straight. And what of the left­over stone cut away from each pyra­mid? Why, it would sim­ply have been re-used for the con­struc­tion of the next one. This all squares not just with the esti­mat­ed mass of the Giza com­plex, but also with appar­ent ancient Egypt­ian atti­tudes toward the nat­ur­al and built envi­ron­ment. Alas, unlike in, say, physics, an archae­o­log­i­cal the­o­ry like this one remains dif­fi­cult to prove dis­pos­i­tive­ly, bar­ring anoth­er tech­no­log­i­cal break­through that enables a new form of analy­sis of the pyra­mids them­selves. Still, it’s a lot more sat­is­fy­ing than just assum­ing some ancient aliens did it.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Pyra­mids of Giza: Ancient Egypt­ian Art and Archaeology–a Free Online Course from Har­vard

A Walk­ing Tour Around the Pyra­mids of Giza: 2 Hours in Hi Def

Who Real­ly Built the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids — and How Did They Do It?

How Did They Build the Great Pyra­mid of Giza?: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion

Ancient Egypt­ian Pyra­mids May Have Been Built with Water: A New Study Explore the Use of Hydraulic Lifts

Isaac New­ton The­o­rized That the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids Revealed the Tim­ing of the Apoc­a­lypse: See His Burnt Man­u­script from the 1680s

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Discover Khipu, the Ancient Incan Record & Writing System Made Entirely of Knots

Khi­pus, the portable infor­ma­tion archives cre­at­ed by the Inca, may stir up mem­o­ries of 1970s macrame with their long strands of intri­cate­ly knot­ted, earth-toned fibers, but their func­tion more close­ly resem­bled that of a dense­ly plot­ted com­put­er­ized spread­sheet.

As Cecil­ia Par­do-Grau, lead cura­tor of the British Museum’s cur­rent exhi­bi­tion Peru: a jour­ney in time explains in the above Cura­tors Cor­ner episode, khi­pus were used to keep track of every­thing from inven­to­ries and cen­sus­es to his­tor­i­cal nar­ra­tives, using a sys­tem that assigned mean­ing to the type and posi­tion of knot, spaces between knots, cord length, fiber col­or, etc.

Much of the infor­ma­tion pre­served with­in khi­pus has yet to be deci­phered by mod­ern schol­ars, though the Open Khipu Repos­i­to­ry — com­pu­ta­tion­al anthro­pol­o­gist Jon Clin­daniel’s open-source data­base — makes it pos­si­ble to com­pare the pat­terns of hun­dreds of khi­pus resid­ing in muse­um and uni­ver­si­ty col­lec­tions.

Even in the Incan Empire, few were equipped to make sense of a khipu. This task fell to quipu­ca­may­ocs, high­born admin­is­tra­tive offi­cials trained since child­hood in the cre­ation and inter­pre­ta­tion of these organ­ic spread­sheets.

Fleet mes­sen­gers known as chask­is trans­port­ed khipus on foot between admin­is­tra­tive cen­ters, cre­at­ing an infor­ma­tion super­high­way that pre­dates the Inter­net by some five cen­turies. Khi­pus’ stur­dy organ­ic cot­ton or native camelid fibers were well suit­ed to with­stand­ing both the rig­ors of time and the road.

A 500-year-old com­pos­ite khipu that found its way to the British Muse­um organ­ics con­ser­va­tor Nicole Rode pri­or to the exhi­bi­tion was intact, but severe­ly tan­gled, with a brit­tle­ness that betrayed its age. Below, she describes falling under the khipu’s spell, dur­ing the painstak­ing process of restor­ing it to a con­di­tion where­by researchers could attempt to glean some of its secrets.

Vis­it Museo Chileno de Arte Precolombino’s web­site to learn more about khipu in a series of fas­ci­nat­ing short arti­cles that accom­pa­nied their ground­break­ing 2003 exhib­it QUIPU: count­ing with knots in the Inka Empire.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2022.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How the Incas Per­formed Skull Surgery More Suc­cess­ful­ly Than U.S. Civ­il War Doc­tors

How the Inca Used Intri­cate­ly-Knot­ted Cords, Called Khipu, to Write Their His­to­ries, Send Mes­sages & Keep Records

Explore the Flo­ren­tine Codex: A Bril­liant 16th Cen­tu­ry Man­u­script Doc­u­ment­ing Aztec Cul­ture Is Now Dig­i­tized & Avail­able Online

Ancient Maps that Changed the World: See World Maps from Ancient Greece, Baby­lon, Rome, and the Islam­ic World

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist in NYC.

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The Rohonc Codex: Hungary’s Mysterious Manuscript That No One Can Read

Image by Klaus Schmeh, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Mag­yar, which is spo­ken and writ­ten in Hun­gary, ranks among the hard­est Euro­pean lan­guages to learn. (The U.S. For­eign Ser­vice Insti­tute puts it in the sec­ond-to-high­est lev­el, accom­pa­nied by the dread­ed aster­isk label­ing it as “usu­al­ly more dif­fi­cult than oth­er lan­guages in the same cat­e­go­ry.”) But once you mas­ter its vow­el har­mo­ny sys­tem, its def­i­nite and indef­i­nite con­ju­ga­tion, and its eigh­teen gram­mat­i­cal cas­es, among oth­er noto­ri­ous fea­tures, you can final­ly enjoy the work of writ­ers like Nobel Lau­re­ates Imre Kertész and Lás­zló Krasz­na­horkai in the orig­i­nal. Alas, no degree of mas­tery will be much help if you want to under­stand a much old­er — and, in its way, much more noto­ri­ous — Hun­gar­i­an text, the Rohonc Codex.

“Lit­tle is known about this book before it was bequeathed to the Hun­gar­i­an Acad­e­my of Sci­ences in 1838,” writes The Art News­pa­per’s Gar­ry Shaw. “Its 448 pages bear illus­tra­tions cov­er­ing Bib­li­cal themes and an as yet unread­able text, writ­ten using around 150 dif­fer­ent sym­bols.”

Like the famous­ly cryp­tic Voyn­ich Man­u­script, much cov­ered here on Open Cul­ture, “there has been much spec­u­la­tion over what lan­guage, if any, is encod­ed — rang­ing from old Hun­gar­i­an to San­skrit, or even a spe­cial­ly invent­ed one — as well as debate over the book’s ori­gin and date of cre­ation.” Most col­or­ful­ly, some attribute it to the noto­ri­ous nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry forg­er Sámuel Literáti Nemes.

Down­load this PDF scan of the Rohonc Codex, and you can behold for your­self both its often charm­ing­ly sim­ple medieval-style illus­tra­tions — many of which exhib­it a mix­ture of Chris­t­ian, Pagan, and Mus­lim sym­bol­ism — and the fiendish­ly reg­u­lar-look­ing script against which gen­er­a­tions of would-be deci­pher­ers have banged their heads. Here in the twen­ty-twen­ties, per­haps arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence can do its part, as has been attempt­ed with the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, to build upon ear­li­er analy­ses. One of those, con­duct­ed in the ear­ly nine­teen-sev­en­ties, deter­mined that, what­ev­er the lan­guage in which the Rohonc Codex was writ­ten, it shows no traces of case end­ings. To enthu­si­asts of bizarre man­u­scripts, that dis­cov­ery prob­a­bly means lit­tle, but to stu­dents of Mag­yar, noth­ing could come as a greater relief.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Explore a Dig­i­tized Edi­tion of the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, “the World’s Most Mys­te­ri­ous Book”

An Intro­duc­tion to the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, the World’s Most Mys­te­ri­ous Book

The Strangest Books in the World: Dis­cov­er The Madman’s Library, a Cap­ti­vat­ing Com­pendi­um of Pecu­liar Books & Man­u­scripts

An Intro­duc­tion to the Codex Seraphini­anus, the Strangest Book Ever Pub­lished

Solv­ing a 2,500-Year-Old Puz­zle: How a Cam­bridge Stu­dent Cracked an Ancient San­skrit Code

The Foot-Lick­ing Demons & Oth­er Strange Things in a 1921 Illus­trat­ed Man­u­script from Iran

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Cats in Medieval Manuscripts & Paintings

Renais­sance artist Albrecht Dür­er  (1471–1528) nev­er saw a rhi­no him­self, but by rely­ing on eye­wit­ness descrip­tions of the one King Manuel I of Por­tu­gal intend­ed as a gift to the Pope, he man­aged to ren­der a fair­ly real­is­tic one, all things con­sid­ered.

Medieval artists’ ren­der­ings of cats so often fell short of the mark, Youtu­ber Art Deco won­ders if any of them had seen a cat before.

Point tak­en, but cats were well inte­grat­ed into medieval soci­ety.

Roy­al 12 C xix f. 36v/37r (13th cen­tu­ry)

Cats pro­vid­ed medieval cit­i­zens with the same pest con­trol ser­vices they’d been per­form­ing since the ancient Egyp­tians first domes­ti­cat­ed them.

Ancient Egyp­tians con­veyed their grat­i­tude and respect by regard­ing cats as sym­bols of divin­i­ty, pro­tec­tion, and strength.

Cer­tain Egypt­ian god­dess­es, like Bastet, were imbued with unmis­tak­ably feline char­ac­ter­is­tics.

The Vin­tage News reports that harm­ing a cat in those days was pun­ish­able by death, export­ing them was ille­gal, and, much like today, the death of a cat was an occa­sion for pub­lic sor­row:

When a cat died, it was buried with hon­ors, mum­mi­fied and mourned by the humans. The body of the cat would be wrapped in the finest mate­ri­als and then embalmed in order to pre­serve the body for a longer time. Ancient Egyp­tians went so far that they shaved their eye­brows as a sign of their deep sor­row for the deceased pet.

Aberdeen Uni­ver­si­ty Library, MS 24  f. 23v (Eng­land, c 1200)

The medieval church took a much dark­er view of our feline friends.

Their close ties to pagan­ism and ear­ly reli­gions were enough for cats to be judged guilty of witch­craft, sin­ful sex­u­al­i­ty, and frat­er­niz­ing with Satan.

In the late 12th-cen­tu­ry, writer Wal­ter Map, a soon-to-be archdea­con of Oxford, declared that the dev­il appeared before his devo­tees in feline form:

… hang­ing by a rope, a black cat of great size. As soon as they see this cat, the lights are turned out. They do not sing or recite hymns in a dis­tinct way, but they mut­ter them with their teeth closed and they feel in the dark towards where they saw their lord, and when they find it, they kiss it, the more humbly depend­ing on their fol­ly, some on the paws, some under the tail, some on the gen­i­tals. And as if they have, in this way, received a license for pas­sion, each one takes the near­est man or woman and they join them­selves with the oth­er for as long as they choose to draw out their game.

Pope Inno­cent VIII issued a papal bull in 1484 con­demn­ing the “devil’s favorite ani­mal and idol of all witch­es” to death, along with their human com­pan­ions.

13th-cen­tu­ry Fran­cis­can monk Bartholo­maeus Angli­cus refrained from demon­ic tat­tle, but nei­ther did he paint cats as angels:

He is a full lech­er­ous beast in youth, swift, pli­ant, and mer­ry, and leapeth and reseth on every­thing that is to fore him: and is led by a straw, and playeth there­with: and is a right heavy beast in age and full sleepy, and lieth sly­ly in wait for mice: and is aware where they be more by smell than by sight, and hunteth and reseth on them in privy places: and when he taketh a mouse, he playeth there­with, and eateth him after the play. In time of love is hard fight­ing for wives, and one scratch­eth and ren­deth the oth­er griev­ous­ly with bit­ing and with claws. And he maketh a ruth­ful noise and ghast­ful, when one prof­fer­eth to fight with anoth­er: and unneth is hurt when he is thrown down off an high place. And when he hath a fair skin, he is as it were proud there­of, and goeth fast about: and when his skin is burnt, then he bideth at home; and is oft for his fair skin tak­en of the skin­ner, and slain and flayed.

Pigs and rats also had a bad rep, and like cats, were tor­tured and exe­cut­ed in great num­bers by pious humans.

The Work­sop Bes­tiary Mor­gan Library, MS M.81 f. 47r (Eng­land, c 1185)

Not every medieval city was anti-cat. As the Aca­d­e­m­ic Cat Lady Johan­na Feen­stra writes of the above illus­tra­tion from The Work­sop Bes­tiary, one of the ear­li­est Eng­lish bes­tiaries:

Some would have inter­pret­ed the image of a cat pounc­ing on a rodent as a sym­bol for the dev­il going after the human soul. Oth­ers might have seen the cat in a com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent light. For instance, as Eucharis­tic guardians, mak­ing sure rodents could not steal and eat the Eucharis­tic wafers.

Bodleian Library Bod­ley 764 f. 51r (Eng­land, c 1225–50)

St John’s Col­lege Library, MS. 61 (Eng­land (York), 13th cen­tu­ry)

It took cat lover Leonar­do DaVin­ci to turn the sit­u­a­tion around, with eleven sketch­es from life por­tray­ing cats in char­ac­ter­is­tic pos­es, much as we see them today. We’ll delve more into that in a future post.

Con­rad of Megen­berg, ‘Das Buch der Natur’, Ger­many ca. 1434. Stras­bourg, Bib­lio­thèque nationale et uni­ver­si­taire, Ms.2.264, fol. 85r

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2022.

Relat­ed Con­tent

What Peo­ple Named Their Cats in the Mid­dle Ages: Gyb, Mite, Méone, Pan­gur Bán & More

Cats Migrat­ed to Europe 7,000 Years Ear­li­er Than Once Thought

Cats in Japan­ese Wood­block Prints: How Japan’s Favorite Ani­mals Came to Star in Its Pop­u­lar Art

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Cats: How Over 10,000 Years the Cat Went from Wild Preda­tor to Sofa Side­kick

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist in NYC.

The First American Cookbook: Sample Recipes from American Cookery (1796)

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

On the off chance Lin-Manuel Miran­da is cast­ing around for source mate­r­i­al for his next Amer­i­can his­to­ry-based block­buster musi­cal, may we sug­gest Amer­i­can Cook­ery by “poor soli­tary orphan” Amelia Sim­mons?

First pub­lished in 1796, at 47 pages (near­ly three of them are ded­i­cat­ed to dress­ing a tur­tle), it’s a far quick­er read than the fate­ful Ron Cher­now Hamil­ton biog­ra­phy Miran­da impul­sive­ly select­ed for a vaca­tion beach read.

Slen­der as it is, there’s no short­age of meaty mate­r­i­al:

Calves Head dressed Tur­tle Fash­ion

Soup of Lamb’s Head and Pluck

Fowl Smoth­ered in Oys­ters

Tongue Pie

Foot Pie

Mod­ern chefs may find some of the first Amer­i­can cook­book’s meth­ods and mea­sure­ments take some get­ting used to.

We like to cook, but we’re not sure we pos­sess the where­with­al to tack­le a Crook­neck or Win­ter Squash Pud­ding.

We’ve nev­er been called upon to “per­fume” our “whipt cream” with “musk or amber gum tied in a rag.”

And we wouldn’t know a whortle­ber­ry if it bit us in the whit­pot.

The book’s full title is an indi­ca­tion of its mys­te­ri­ous author’s ambi­tions for the new country’s culi­nary future:

Amer­i­can Cook­ery, or the art of dress­ing viands, fish, poul­try, and veg­eta­bles, and the best modes of mak­ing pastes, puffs, pies, tarts, pud­dings, cus­tards, and pre­serves, and all kinds of cakes, from the impe­r­i­al plum to plain cake: Adapt­ed to this coun­try, and all grades of life.

As Kei­th Stave­ly and Kath­leen Fitzger­ald write in an essay for What It Means to Be an Amer­i­can, a “nation­al con­ver­sa­tion host­ed by the Smith­son­ian and Ari­zona State Uni­ver­si­ty,” Amer­i­can Cook­ery man­aged to strad­dle the refined tastes of Fed­er­al­ist elites and the Jef­fer­so­ni­ans who believed “rus­tic sim­plic­i­ty would inoc­u­late their fledg­ling coun­try against the cor­rupt­ing influ­ence of the lux­u­ry to which Britain had suc­cumbed”:

The recipe for “Queen’s Cake” was pure social aspi­ra­tion, in the British mode, with its but­ter whipped to a cream, pound of sug­ar, pound and a quar­ter of flour, 10 eggs, glass of wine, half-teacup of del­i­cate-fla­vored rose­wa­ter, and spices. And “Plumb Cake” offered the striv­ing house­wife a huge 21-egg show­stop­per, full of expen­sive dried and can­died fruit, nuts, spices, wine, and cream.

Then—mere pages away—sat john­ny­cake, fed­er­al pan cake, buck­wheat cake, and Indi­an slap­jack, made of famil­iar ingre­di­ents like corn­meal, flour, milk, water, and a bit of fat, and pre­pared “before the fire” or on a hot grid­dle. They sym­bol­ized the plain, but well-run and boun­ti­ful, Amer­i­can home. A dia­logue on how to bal­ance the sump­tu­ous with the sim­ple in Amer­i­can life had begun.

(Hamil­ton fans will please note that the cake for the 1780 Schuyler-Hamil­ton wed­ding leaned more toward the for­mer than any­thing in the john­ny­cake / slap­jack vein…)

Amer­i­can Cook­ery is one of nine 18th-cen­tu­ry titles to make the Library of Con­gress’ list of 100 Books That Shaped Amer­i­ca:

This cor­ner­stone in Amer­i­can cook­ery is the first cook­book of Amer­i­can author­ship to be print­ed in the Unit­ed States. Numer­ous recipes adapt­ing tra­di­tion­al dish­es by sub­sti­tut­ing native Amer­i­can ingre­di­ents, such as corn, squash and pump­kin, are print­ed here for the first time. Sim­mons’ “Pomp­kin Pud­ding,” baked in a crust, is the basis for the clas­sic Amer­i­can pump­kin pie. Recipes for cake-like gin­ger­bread are the first known to rec­om­mend the use of pearl ash, the fore­run­ner of bak­ing pow­der.

Stu­dents of Women’s His­to­ry will find much to chew on in the sec­ond edi­tion of Amer­i­can Cook­ery as well, though they may find a few spoon­fuls of pearl ash dis­solved in water nec­es­sary to set­tle upset stom­achs after read­ing Sim­mons’ intro­duc­tion.

Stave­ly and Fitzger­ald observe how “she thanks the fash­ion­able ladies,” or “respectable char­ac­ters,” as she calls them, who have patron­ized her work, before return­ing to her main theme: the “egre­gious blun­ders” of the first edi­tion, “which were occa­sioned either by the igno­rance, or evil inten­tion of the tran­scriber for the press.”

Ulti­mate­ly, all of her prob­lems stem from her unfor­tu­nate con­di­tion; she is with­out “an edu­ca­tion suf­fi­cient to pre­pare the work for the press.” In an attempt to side­step any crit­i­cism that the sec­ond edi­tion might come in for, she writes: “remem­ber, that it is the per­for­mance of, and effect­ed under all those dis­ad­van­tages, which usu­al­ly attend, an Orphan.”

Read the sec­ond edi­tion of Amer­i­can Cook­ery here. (If the archa­ic font trou­bles your eyes, a plain­er ver­sion is here.) A fac­sim­i­le edi­tion of Amer­i­can Cook­ery can be pur­chased online.

Lis­ten to a Lib­riVox audio record­ing of Amer­i­can Cook­ery here.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2022.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Explore an Online Archive of 12,700 Vin­tage Cook­books

The World’s Old­est Cook­book: Dis­cov­er 4,000-Year-Old Recipes from Ancient Baby­lon

Dis­cov­er the World’s Old­est Sur­viv­ing Cook­book, De Re Coquinar­ia, from Ancient Rome

An Archive of 3,000 Vin­tage Cook­books Lets You Trav­el Back Through Culi­nary Time

A 13th-Cen­tu­ry Cook­book Fea­tur­ing 475 Recipes from Moor­ish Spain Gets Pub­lished in a New Trans­lat­ed Edi­tion

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist in NYC.

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