Last summer my family and I took a trip to Cornwall (which is gorgeous), and while there we discovered the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic.
It was both fun and informative, which is what I like from both museums and tourist attractions, so I can recommend it. Of course, as someone who writes nonfiction history, I was most enthralled by the Medieval magical folklore – in particular the museum’s examples of stones that were ascribed magical properties in Medieval lapidaries.
Using a stone or gem as a charm would have been a form of magical syncretistic practice by Medieval Christians; they would have seen no contradiction between practicing folk magic and their otherwise orthodox beliefs. The use of magical stones by Christians was even supported by Medieval philosophers such as St. Thomas Aquinas, who argued that since God made them as part of the natural world then he must have intended them to benefit people. Moreover, most of the folk magic of stones was aimed at defending the user from ‘bad’ magic done by those considered to be witches. That was one of the reasons hagstones were so popular.
Hagstones are rocks with a naturally occurring hole in them, and were worn to protect the wearer from evildoers or curses. It was believed that supernatural creatures could be seen by looking through the hole of a hagstone, especially the fae, and a flint hagstone was said to prevent nightmares. A Christian in the Medieval Era would have seen no problem with using such a ‘pagan’ object, and the Puritans of the 17th century would have thrown a fit about them more because it was a form of ‘superstition’ than any fears it was a form of witchcraft. In the end, folklore triumphed over Puritanism; these stones were were still being nailed to doorways in the late 19th century in order to “keep away witches”.
The museum also had fine example of an aetite among its exhibits:
More commonly known as an eagle-stone, these stones-within-stone were seen from ancient times as a source of valuable folk magic to aid women in childbirth. Eagle stones were mentioned as magical birthing charms in multiple Medieval texts, including Juan de Mena’s 1444 work Labyrinth of Fortune and the late 15th century work known as the Peterborough Lapidary.
The eagle stone was still being used for folk magic in the 20th century, and the museum’s example had been acquired from a woman named Joan Long in 1961. According to the museum, “Joan was a travelling person working the west country in various seasonable trades. On the side she had “power” to see the future, to work curative spells and the best money spinner of all – to find solutions to a wide range of human problems – be they drinking or impotency and all that lies between. This strange, naturally formed stone was part of a wide range of Joan’s rituals.” Although the stone was no longer used exclusively for help in childbirth, its original purpose was reflected in the fact that Joan Long referred to it as her “fanny stone”, while most of her clients “called it by a crisp, down-to-earth four lettered word.”
What I find most interesting is how ancient and Medieval beliefs about the magical properties of stones have continued into the modern era. Even those who don’t ascribe to the healing power of crystals or who are wise enough not to think putting an egg-shaped piece of jade into our vaginas would good for our health probably know our birthstones. I also have a hagstone that I picked up from the beach without knowing it was supposedly magical, simply because I thought it looked neat. The human psyche has not changed just because our technology and understanding has increased over the centuries. We have not outgrown the human yearning for sympathetic magic, and in each of us is the irrational hope (acknowledged or not) that an object will somehow provide a feeling of control in a chaotic universe.
