Post by Icarus on Jan 28, 2008 11:06:33 GMT -5
The Basilisk was one of the most wisely feared monsters of the Middle Ages, for all writers agreed that merely to catch sight of him was certain death. The victim simply expired on the spot, with no time to give warning to anyone else who might be about. Some authorities stated that it was equally fatal to feel his breath, or even to hear him hiss. It is not surprising, therefore, that naturalists before the year 1500 referred to the Basilisk as the King of Serpents, just as the lion was called the King of Beats. In his portraits, the Basilisk often wears a golden crown to show that he is a king.
You may well ask how the creature could be described so fully, if everyone who had seen him was dead. But this was not the kind of question that could be asked during the centuries of which we are speaking. Respect for the opinion of the Authorities (meaning the Greek and Roman times) was too great. It was enough for the scholars that the Basilisk was described by the Roman naturalist Pliny and mentioned by the biblical prophet Isaiah. And, of course, the ordinary people did not consult even the scholars. They knew the Basilisk existed, because their grandfathers and their grandfathers’ grandfathers had said he did.
There was another factor that bolstered general belief in the Basilisk: the King of Serpents was a very inconspicuous beast. If a Dragon were living in your neighborhood, you would be pretty sure to know it, but a Basilisk might lurk in dark corners, rock crevices, and other out of the way places. This, of course, made him all the more feared, for unlike the sportsmanlike rattlesnake he gave no warning of his nearness. Thus, even in the big cities, tales of the Basilisk flourished far into the sixteenth century.
The life history of the Basilisk is strange, even among those of imaginary monsters. Isidorus of Seville, a Spanish scholar of the early Middle Ages, wrote that the King of Serpents was born in the days of the Dog Star (that is, in the hot and sickly days of late summer). He was hatched from the egg of a nine year old cock-surely a most unnatural start in life, since male birds are not in the habit of laying eggs. The fact of the Basilisk’s strange origin was so well known that any rooster who was suspected of intending to lay an egg was in danger of his life. In the fifteenth century, a law court in the city of Bale held a trial at which the defendant was a cock accused of un-rooster like activity. The unfortunate bird was found guilty and executed. It is not reported, however, whether a Basilisk did in fact hatch from the egg in question.
In any event, the whole weight of tradition assures us that such eggs were laid, and were found to be round as a ball and shell-less. A toad then acted as foster mother, guarding the eggs until they hatched.
There is some disagreement as to where the full grown Basilisk preferred to live. Many accounts place him in cities, or in the ordinary countryside, but some people insisted that the creature was native to deserts. If this was so, perhaps the desert was made by the Basilisk’s own venom, which destroyed everything in the neighborhood, including plant life.
There are several tales which indicate that Basilisks were much commoner in early times than they were thought to be later. It is said, for example, that a plague of the little monsters once laid waste the whole of England. The country was only saved by a nameless hero who walked up and down the land in a suit of armor polished as bright as mirrors. In this way, the Basilisks were all killed by the sight of their own reflections. (This was the standard, indeed the only method of dealing with them.) What the story does not make clear is that the man in the mirror suit must have had to keep his eyes closed in order to avoid the deadly sight of his prey. One can imagine his stumbling into trees, falling into rivers, and generally having a miserable time of it. The task must have taken years to perform. What a shame that the valiant fellow’s story is not better known. Surely he deserves as much praise as the heroes who merely passed an idle hour in slaying a Dragon!
Another story about the Basilisk shows him in what seems to have been his favorite haunt-a great city. The tale was found carved on a stone and gives us perhaps the only authentic street address of a monster. The year was 1202 A.D. and the place was the city of Vienna, at Number Seven, Schonlanterngasse, home of a master baker named Garhibl. Now, at one time, Garhibl had had an apprentice lad called Hans, who had been dismissed for having dared to ask for the hand of the baker’s lovely daughter Apollonia. The lad had made his plea early one morning, at cockcrow, in fact, and Garhibl had sneeringly replied that Hans might marry Apollonia “when that cock lays an egg.” He sent the suitor away in despair, and, of course, we can guess what happened.
Not long after, Garhibl’s housemaid went to fetch water one morning and found that the well gave off a horrible smell. The baker’s new apprentice went down to investigate but was overcome by the fumes. Just then there happened to be passing the Master of Justice of Vienna, a learned man named Jacobus. On hearing what had occurred, he announced that the cause of the trouble was indeed a Basilisk. It was well known, he informed the crowd which had now gathered, that the only way to kill the beast was with a mirror. Not very surprisingly, however, none of the spectators was very anxious to climb down into the slimy well to test Jacobus’ statement. Finally, along came Hans, the ex-apprentice, and volunteered to make the descent. Obtaining a mirror and slithering into the well with his eyes shut, he killed the monster in the approved way. And since it was obvious to all that the Basilisk had actually been bron from the cock’s egg which Garhibl had specified, the baker had no choice but to yield his daughter to the happy hero. The whole tale is a fine example of what may happen to those who speak slightingly of the King of Serpents or any of his imaginary fellows. For if Garhibl had had proper respect for the power of the monster, he would never have tempted fate by making his rash promise.
This, then, was the Basilisk, a sly and deadly terror. We may be glad, on the whole, that he was only myth. But was there any real creature on which the story may have been based? One good clue to this question is found in the traditional description of the egg from which the monster is hatched. Round, shell-less, white eggs, though never laid by roosters, are quite common among snakes. Another clue is the European tradition that the only animal immune to the Basilisk’s poison is the weasel. This belief is also widely held concerning a relative of the weasel, the Indian mongoose. Mongooses do, indeed, kill and eat the deadly Indian cobra and other snakes, without apparent harm, although research has shown that the animal is not really safe from the effects of the cobra’s poison, but it is so agile that it avoids being bitten. Nevertheless,, here is a weasel-like creature who was once widely thought to be immune to the deadly bite of a serpent which hatches from a round, shell-less egg. Only one more piece of evidence must be added. There are in Africa several kinds of cobra which can spit their poison at victims. Their aim is often very accurate at distance of up to several feet. So here we have a very strong candidate for the original Basilisk-a snake which might, in its own right, easily be described as te King of Serpents and which kills at a distance.
Another possible choice is the scorpion, a poisonous creature which lives in tropical climates and has an unpleasant reputation for hiding itself in bureau drawers, empty shoes, and other unexpected places. Although its bite is generally not deadly, it is painful. Probably its reputation as a menace was greatly exaggerated in northern Europe. Being a relative of the spider it naturally has more legs than do members of the lizard family-eight, in fact. Another notable feature of the scorpion is that it carries its tail (where the sting is found) curled up on its back, in the position in which the Basilisk’s tail is most often shown. We should bear in mind, however, that the artists may have been in the habit of curling the Basilisk’s tail for decoration or to save space, and not because he was really thought to carry it that way.
There is just one other thing which must be said in favor of the scorpion as “ancestor” of the King of Serpents. In at least a few of his early portraits the Basilisk is shown with a second head at the end of his curled tail. This would have been a reasonable sort of mistake for anyone who had never seen a scorpion but who may have heard that its “bite” was in its tail. And certainly it is true that neither the cobra nor the scorpion could have been familiar to the people of Europe, who feared the Basilisk so heartily for so long.
Taken from: The Beasts of Never by Georgess McHargue
You may well ask how the creature could be described so fully, if everyone who had seen him was dead. But this was not the kind of question that could be asked during the centuries of which we are speaking. Respect for the opinion of the Authorities (meaning the Greek and Roman times) was too great. It was enough for the scholars that the Basilisk was described by the Roman naturalist Pliny and mentioned by the biblical prophet Isaiah. And, of course, the ordinary people did not consult even the scholars. They knew the Basilisk existed, because their grandfathers and their grandfathers’ grandfathers had said he did.
There was another factor that bolstered general belief in the Basilisk: the King of Serpents was a very inconspicuous beast. If a Dragon were living in your neighborhood, you would be pretty sure to know it, but a Basilisk might lurk in dark corners, rock crevices, and other out of the way places. This, of course, made him all the more feared, for unlike the sportsmanlike rattlesnake he gave no warning of his nearness. Thus, even in the big cities, tales of the Basilisk flourished far into the sixteenth century.
The life history of the Basilisk is strange, even among those of imaginary monsters. Isidorus of Seville, a Spanish scholar of the early Middle Ages, wrote that the King of Serpents was born in the days of the Dog Star (that is, in the hot and sickly days of late summer). He was hatched from the egg of a nine year old cock-surely a most unnatural start in life, since male birds are not in the habit of laying eggs. The fact of the Basilisk’s strange origin was so well known that any rooster who was suspected of intending to lay an egg was in danger of his life. In the fifteenth century, a law court in the city of Bale held a trial at which the defendant was a cock accused of un-rooster like activity. The unfortunate bird was found guilty and executed. It is not reported, however, whether a Basilisk did in fact hatch from the egg in question.
In any event, the whole weight of tradition assures us that such eggs were laid, and were found to be round as a ball and shell-less. A toad then acted as foster mother, guarding the eggs until they hatched.
There is some disagreement as to where the full grown Basilisk preferred to live. Many accounts place him in cities, or in the ordinary countryside, but some people insisted that the creature was native to deserts. If this was so, perhaps the desert was made by the Basilisk’s own venom, which destroyed everything in the neighborhood, including plant life.
There are several tales which indicate that Basilisks were much commoner in early times than they were thought to be later. It is said, for example, that a plague of the little monsters once laid waste the whole of England. The country was only saved by a nameless hero who walked up and down the land in a suit of armor polished as bright as mirrors. In this way, the Basilisks were all killed by the sight of their own reflections. (This was the standard, indeed the only method of dealing with them.) What the story does not make clear is that the man in the mirror suit must have had to keep his eyes closed in order to avoid the deadly sight of his prey. One can imagine his stumbling into trees, falling into rivers, and generally having a miserable time of it. The task must have taken years to perform. What a shame that the valiant fellow’s story is not better known. Surely he deserves as much praise as the heroes who merely passed an idle hour in slaying a Dragon!
Another story about the Basilisk shows him in what seems to have been his favorite haunt-a great city. The tale was found carved on a stone and gives us perhaps the only authentic street address of a monster. The year was 1202 A.D. and the place was the city of Vienna, at Number Seven, Schonlanterngasse, home of a master baker named Garhibl. Now, at one time, Garhibl had had an apprentice lad called Hans, who had been dismissed for having dared to ask for the hand of the baker’s lovely daughter Apollonia. The lad had made his plea early one morning, at cockcrow, in fact, and Garhibl had sneeringly replied that Hans might marry Apollonia “when that cock lays an egg.” He sent the suitor away in despair, and, of course, we can guess what happened.
Not long after, Garhibl’s housemaid went to fetch water one morning and found that the well gave off a horrible smell. The baker’s new apprentice went down to investigate but was overcome by the fumes. Just then there happened to be passing the Master of Justice of Vienna, a learned man named Jacobus. On hearing what had occurred, he announced that the cause of the trouble was indeed a Basilisk. It was well known, he informed the crowd which had now gathered, that the only way to kill the beast was with a mirror. Not very surprisingly, however, none of the spectators was very anxious to climb down into the slimy well to test Jacobus’ statement. Finally, along came Hans, the ex-apprentice, and volunteered to make the descent. Obtaining a mirror and slithering into the well with his eyes shut, he killed the monster in the approved way. And since it was obvious to all that the Basilisk had actually been bron from the cock’s egg which Garhibl had specified, the baker had no choice but to yield his daughter to the happy hero. The whole tale is a fine example of what may happen to those who speak slightingly of the King of Serpents or any of his imaginary fellows. For if Garhibl had had proper respect for the power of the monster, he would never have tempted fate by making his rash promise.
This, then, was the Basilisk, a sly and deadly terror. We may be glad, on the whole, that he was only myth. But was there any real creature on which the story may have been based? One good clue to this question is found in the traditional description of the egg from which the monster is hatched. Round, shell-less, white eggs, though never laid by roosters, are quite common among snakes. Another clue is the European tradition that the only animal immune to the Basilisk’s poison is the weasel. This belief is also widely held concerning a relative of the weasel, the Indian mongoose. Mongooses do, indeed, kill and eat the deadly Indian cobra and other snakes, without apparent harm, although research has shown that the animal is not really safe from the effects of the cobra’s poison, but it is so agile that it avoids being bitten. Nevertheless,, here is a weasel-like creature who was once widely thought to be immune to the deadly bite of a serpent which hatches from a round, shell-less egg. Only one more piece of evidence must be added. There are in Africa several kinds of cobra which can spit their poison at victims. Their aim is often very accurate at distance of up to several feet. So here we have a very strong candidate for the original Basilisk-a snake which might, in its own right, easily be described as te King of Serpents and which kills at a distance.
Another possible choice is the scorpion, a poisonous creature which lives in tropical climates and has an unpleasant reputation for hiding itself in bureau drawers, empty shoes, and other unexpected places. Although its bite is generally not deadly, it is painful. Probably its reputation as a menace was greatly exaggerated in northern Europe. Being a relative of the spider it naturally has more legs than do members of the lizard family-eight, in fact. Another notable feature of the scorpion is that it carries its tail (where the sting is found) curled up on its back, in the position in which the Basilisk’s tail is most often shown. We should bear in mind, however, that the artists may have been in the habit of curling the Basilisk’s tail for decoration or to save space, and not because he was really thought to carry it that way.
There is just one other thing which must be said in favor of the scorpion as “ancestor” of the King of Serpents. In at least a few of his early portraits the Basilisk is shown with a second head at the end of his curled tail. This would have been a reasonable sort of mistake for anyone who had never seen a scorpion but who may have heard that its “bite” was in its tail. And certainly it is true that neither the cobra nor the scorpion could have been familiar to the people of Europe, who feared the Basilisk so heartily for so long.
Taken from: The Beasts of Never by Georgess McHargue