'The Bishop of Butterflies' by Karen Maitland

King Arthur, 13th Century Illustration

Recently, I stumbled across a delightful legend recorded in the chronicles of Lanercost Priory, Cumberland written around 1216. It tells how Bishop Peter of Rochester was hunting in a forest, but became separated from the huntsman. Lost, weary and hungry, he was relieved when he stumbled upon a palace in the forest and was offered food and shelter. He discovered that his mysterious host was none other than the immortal King Arthur.

Awe-struck, the bishop told the great king that no one would ever believe him if he said that he had seen and talked with King Arthur. Arthur told him to close his right hand and then open it. When the bishop did so, a beautiful butterfly flew from his palm. Arthur told Peter that as a remembrance of their meeting, whenever the bishop wanted to see a butterfly he only had to close and then open his right hand, and one would appear. The bishop returned to his duties and fame of this miracle soon spread, so that whenever men or women knelt before the bishop to ask for his blessing, they’d also ask for a butterfly, and the bishop would open his hand to release another butterfly into the world. Bishop Peter became known as the Bishop of the Butterflies.

1503-1508, by Jean Bourdichon

Page from the beginning of

St. John's Gospel. 'In the beginning...'

It is just a fable, of course, but these legends can be wonderful insights into medieval mind. And I love the idea that a blessing could take the form of a butterfly. Many ancient cultures saw the transformation of the earth-bound caterpillar into a chrysalid of death then its rebirth as the aerial butterfly, as a symbol of death and resurrection, or of the transformation of the spirit. Butterfly wings were said to resemble the flickering of firelight. 

The Celts likened the soul of a baby waiting to enter woman to be born, to a butterfly hovering around her. Although, we should not assume that they thought butterflies really were souls. In the same way, during the medieval period, the spirits of the departed were likened to butterflies, but that does not mean that the majority of people believed butterflies were spirits. Nevertheless, this did later solidify into a superstition in some country areas that it was unlucky to kill a butterfly, because they were the spirits of the recently dead who had not yet entered purgatory and were hovering close to the living, unwilling to depart this earth, or that they were the souls unbaptised infants who could enter neither heaven nor hell.

1410, by Jean Malouel. Madonna and angels

with butterflies hovering above.

In places such as Somerset, the first butterfly of the year was hunted and killed to prevent it ‘coming again’, in other words returning to ‘haunt’ the living. And this perhaps is linked to the idea that the souls of dead children could re-enter a woman’s womb over and over again, preventing her from giving birth to a living child. In Lincolnshire, butterflies were said to symbolise the enemies who were planning to harm you, both known and unknown, and so the first butterfly you saw, you killed and crushed to powder, so that your enemies would be defeated for the rest of the year.

14th century. Children playing and catching butterflies.

One of the minor frustrations of writing novels set before the 17th century, is that our medieval forbears were far more pragmatic than we are. Naming plants and fungi was essential to survival, because they had to be able to identify different plants for healing, food and poisons, and in many cases the name they gave the plant, such as lungwort, told you exactly what its use was for man. But there was no practical function in being able to distinguish one type of butterfly from another, so there was no reason to invent different names for them.

Labels such Red Admiral and Tortoiseshell butterfly only came into use once people started to collect butterflies for scientific interest. So, unlike mentioning flowers in the novel where the medieval novelist can easily find and use the old names of the period, if we want to specify a type of butterfly in the story we can only refer to its colour. But maybe that’s no bad thing. It reminds us that classifications and names are man-made, and encourage a human-centric outlook on the world. And occasionally, we should stop and enjoy the blessings of a creature just for the beautiful thing that it is.

Thistles and Butterflies

by Otto Maseus Van Schrieck. (1660's)

Maria Merian's Butterflies & Flowers by Janie Hampton

I have always loved detailed, exotic flower designs such as William Morris's 'Pomegranate' wallpaper and Osborne & Little curtains. But until I visited the Queen's Gallery recently, I had no idea that they were all inspired by an extraordinary 17th century woman.

Maria Sibylla Merian was born in Frankfurt in 1647. Her father was Matthäus Merian, a successful printmaker and when he died only three years later, her mother married the still-life artist Jacob Marrel, who taught Merian to paint accurate and detailed flowers.

Pineapple with Cockroaches which Merian described  as 

‘the most infamous of all insects in America’.

While raising a family, teaching and painting, she also published books of flower engravings, as reference for embroidery and amateur painters.

From childhood, she was also fascinated by the life-cycles and habitats of insects. Merian's full colour compositions were not only elegant but also carefully observed and naturalistic. The caterpillars, chrysalis and adult butterflies are shown on the actual plants on which they fed. Most naturalists then still believed that caterpillars and butterflies were distinct species and Merian was one of the first to understand the metamorphosis of insects. Her pioneering work on the relationship between animals, plants and their environment, and that specific food was vital to the survival of each species, made her the first 'ecologist'.

After separating from her husband, Merian moved with her two daughters to a Labadist commune in Waltha castle in Holland. Choosing to live in simple austerity, she continued her studies including into the metamorphosis of frogs. When the commune broke up, she moved to Amsterdam, then a thriving centre of art and nature, and saw her first pineapple.

Ripe Pineapple (Ananas comosus) with Dido Longwing Butterfly (Philaethria dido), 1702-3. Merian noted that the wine made from pineapples had 'an unsurpassable flavour.'

Merian was also fascinated by the specimens of exotic insects that were arriving into Europe from South America. But as they were dead, she could not observe their life-cycles. In 1699, she sold all her paints, prints and copper plates, and set off with her 21-year old daughter, Dorothea for Suriname. A Dutch colony in South America, it had been called 'Willoughbyland' until 1667, when the British exchanged it for some swampy islands further North, now called New York.

Maria Merian lived in the capital, Paramaribo, with Dorothea and explored the surrounding forests for plants and animals to draw, and caterpillars to rear and observe. For two years she painted scientifically accurate illustrations, until her ill-health forced them to return home.

Banana (Musa paradisiaca) and bullseye moth (Automeris liberia). Merian commented that a banana ‘has a pleasant flavour like apples in Holland; it is good both cooked and raw.’  

Back in in Amsterdam, in 1705 Merian published a luxury book of beautiful, hand-coloured etchings called 'The Metamorphosis of the Insects of Suriname'. She also produced partially printed and  hand-drawn coloured plates printed on vellum to sell to her richer patrons. Merian, probably assisted by her daughters, inked sections of each etched plate and ran them through the press. While the ink was still wet, she transferred a reverse image onto a sheet of vellum. This ‘counterproof’ was then coloured by hand with watercolour mixed with gum arabic. Merian varied the arrangement of insects and plants so that each plate is a unique composition. She became one of the most celebrated natural scientists of her age and regarded throughout Europe as both an entomologist and an artist. She was also an astute businesswoman. ‘I had the plates engraved by the most renowned masters, and used the best paper in order to please both the connoisseurs of art and the amateur naturalists interested in insects and plants,’ she wrote.

Guava tree (Psidium guineense) with Army Ants (Eciton sp.), Pink-Toed Tarantulas (Avicularia avicularia), Hunstman Spiders (Heteropoda venatoria) and a Ruby-Topaz Hummingbird (Chrysolampis mosquitus). Merian showed a tarantula carrying off a hummingbird which may have led to the erroneous belief that tarantulas eat birds.

Merian died in Amsterdam in 1717. Three hundred years later her meticulous, brilliant works continues to inspire and excite artists and designers. Several plants, butterflies and beetles have been named after her, such as the Split-Banded Owlet Butterfly (Osiphanes cassina merianae).

False Coral Snake and Banded Cat-Eyed Snake with  unidentified frogs. Merian shipped snakes from Suriname, preserved in brandy. This drawing may be by one of her daughters, Johanna or Dorothea who were also talented artists. Dorothea worked for Peter the Great in St Petersburg and left her mother's sketch books with the Russian Academy of Sciences.

In 1810 George III bought the set of plates from Merian's Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium which are now in the Royal Collection in London.

Kate Heard's book Maria Merian's Butterflies [ISBN 978 1 909741 31 7] is a treasure to behold and tells the story of Merian's life and work with 150 colour illustrations.
All illustrations copyright Royal Collection Trust/ Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, 2016.

www.janiehampton.co.uk  @janieoxford