WILD MAN: Saint or Sinner

The Representation of Wild Folk During the German Renaissance

The wild man was inspired in part by pagan hybrid woodland creatures like the satyr, however, much of the mythology of the wild man stems from barbarians of Europe.[i] For much of the Middle Ages, they were considered the antithesis of the civilised Christian society. They were cannibalistic, sexually deviant predators whose many characteristics were related to monstrous races as well as the insane. Despite the wild folk’s outsider status and the antithesis of Christian morality, the wild man and woman nevertheless became an icon of German nationalism. The image of the wild man and woman became a pervasive figure throughout the German Renaissance, depicted on a vast range of media from stained glass, woolen tapestry, playing cards (fig. 3), and ordinary household objects. The wild man and woman transitioned from a demonic brute beast to a romanticised image of the noble savage. They recall a simpler time in German history and became a part of the image of a united and strong German people. They also posed as an affront to the court culture of Rome and became associated with the virtues of the natural wilderness. Cleric, Johann Geiler von Kaysersberg, associated them with the image of the hairy saints who found redemption in the wilderness by categorising them as a type of wild man in Die Emeis.[ii] The German forests that the Wild Man was thought to reside were starting to be romanticised. Geographer, Johannes Rauw, praised the ancient forests that had long been demonised by Italians as a place of barbarians.[iii] From rapists of damsels, wild men were depicted with the virtues of the nuclear family in the Garden of Eden before ‘The Fall’ (Genesis 3). In this way, the wild man and woman became increasingly mythologised, merged with ancient Germans, ascetic saints as well as Adam and Eve. Although there were a growing number of romanticised images of the wild man and woman during the sixteenth century, negative representations persisted. Their depiction was not a simple shift from demonic woodland creature to the image of holy saints; many possessed both contradictory notions of sinner and sainthood. The multifaceted representation of wild folk reflected many of the contradictions of German Renaissance society.

Man or Animal

The reputation of the wild man stems from antiquity. Aristotle believed that people who lived outside the civilising influence of the urban city lacked the ability to reason.[iv] In this way, they were considered closer to animal than man, subjected to their impulses.[v] The wild man and woman were also believed to lack speech, used primitive tools such as the club, and lived away from civilisation.[vi] Even the food that the wild folk would eat – berries and uncooked food – was a mark of uncivilisation and thus associated them more with animals than man.[vii] Many were also thought to crawl on all fours, which is illustrated by the often bare knees of wild men and women.[viii] The wild man as well as the woman were characterised for their violence and unhinged rage. They both shared a love of combat and have even been depicted jousting against one another.[ix]

 It is not just appearance, but also behaviour that made someone bestial like peasants who were described with animal qualities. The wild man has also been associated with bears and mythology exists with bears who were able to transform into wild men.[x] Their unbridled sexuality was also more associated with animals. Wild men were thought to abduct pretty maidens, while the wild woman would transform herself into a beautiful woman and attempt to seduce men with her true ugliness only to be revealed during intercourse.[xi] In this way, they were also associated with other pagan and hairy woodland hybrid creatures from antiquity including satyrs and centaurs, who were also known for their immoral behaviour and insatiable sexual appetite.[xii]

Fig 1. Albrecht Dürer, Abduction of Proserpine on a Unicorn, 1516,
Etching, 30.8 x 21.3cm,
The Institute, Chicago.

Albrecht Dürer combined classical mythology with German folklore in the engraving of the Abduction of Proserpine on a Unicorn (1516) (Fig. 1). The print recounts the mythology of the abduction of the goddess of fertility by Pluto (Hades), God of the underworld – the pagan equivalent to the Devil.[xiii] In place of the classical god is a wild man on the back of a unicorn. Although this wild man is not covered in think body hair, he has wild hair on top of his head and a large bushy beard. He is identified as a wild man by his riding of a unicorn where the wild man was believed to be the only creature strong enough to overpower it by force.[xiv] Unicorns were originally regarded as ferocious beasts who used their horn as a weapon.[xv] Tales and visual art from the fourteenth century tell of wild men who become tamed by love after abducting a woman.[xvi] Yet this print illustrates man’s sexuality was thought to reduce them to a brute beast.

During the Middle Ages, many people concluded that wild man and woman were degenerative humans. They became an irrational beast in the same way that the insane were believed to be a form of wild people. Medieval romances frequently described people who suffered a crisis and lost their mind and ran into the forest living as semi-human wild people.[xvii] In Hartmann von Aue’s (c. 1160/70- c. 1210/20) Iwein, the protagonist who has broken a promise to his wife and is rejected, roams around in the forest until he is discovered by a lady who saves him from his insanity.[xviii] The wilderness in part created the state for wildness as it was away from civilisation and rationality.[xix] Like many monsters during the period, the wild man and woman were defined by their nudity. In this way, they were symbolically outside civilisation – both physically and behaviourally.[xx] Even those who have become temporary wild men through madness and fled into the forest shed their clothes and only returned to civilisation by again putting their garments back on. While in the forest they begin to grow hair all over their body to signify their move away from the human realm and into the animal one.[xxi] The wild man and woman encapsulated the fears of Europeans and what happens to one if they abandon civilisation.[xxii] The theme of civilising the wild man was popular during the Middle Ages. It was knowledge and acceptance of the one true faith that inevitably brought the wild man back to civilisation.[xxiii]

In a thirteenth-century Bavarian epic poem, republished in the sixteenth-century German collection of stories, Das Heldenbuch mit synen figuren (‘The Book of Heroes’), recounts a wild woman called Raue Else (‘Rough Else’). The woman who was hairy all over and walked on all fours approached the knight, Wolfdietrich, who questioned if she was an animal. [xxiv] The wild woman demanded the love of the knight and upon his refusal turned him into a crazed wild man who crawled on all fours for half a year until God commanded her to disenchant him. In return, Wolfdietrich offered to marry the wild woman so long as she was baptised. She took him back to her kingdom at Troy and after bathing in the fountain of youth she was transformed into her former self, the beautiful princess, Sigeminne (‘Love’s victory’).[xxv]

Wild Man as Noble Savage

Fig. 2. Nicolaes van Geelkerken after Clüver in Philipp Clüver, Germaniae antiquae libri tres, Leiden: Louis Elzevir, 1616,
Engraving,
London, The Wellcome Library.
Source: archive.org

Although the wild man and woman were frequently represented in literature during the Middle Ages, they were rarely depicted in visual art until the fifteenth century.[xxvi] Therefore, their most ferocious reputation left little mark in visual culture. Instead, the wild man and woman were frequently represented in Renaissance art as the image of purity, with their family representing the virtues of parenthood and a companion or as a saint. Lynn Frier Kaufmann argues that the idea of chivalry and courtly love during the Middle Ages influenced the way wild men and women were depicted during the Renaissance.[xxvii] Larry Silver on the other hand interpreted their new role as cultural emblems brought by the rise in Germanic nationalism, which inspired the new translation of Tacitus’s Germania, describing wild people who only wore a cape of animal’s hide, as the first proud inhabitants of the Germanic lands (for example, fig. 2) .[xxviii] In this way, Tacitus’s Germania transformed the wild man into the romanticised version of the noble savage during the German Renaissance.[xxix] They lived a simple and virtuous life. They needed no written laws because they had good morals and rejected the habits of outsiders.[xxx] The nobility and urban elite began to romanticise the wild man for their strength and freedom from the rules of society.[xxxi] Conrad Celtis described a counterpart to early Germans in the Lapps. He described them as speechless but also that they had not been corrupted with luxury, fame, or wine. ‘Here no jurist twists the law, no doctor accumulates his blood money, and no tonsured man plagues the people’.[xxxii]

Fig. 3. Master ES, Wild Woman and Unicorn (Queen of Animals from the Small Playing) c. 1461,
Engraving on Playing Card, 10.5 x 7.3cm (Sheet); 9.8 x 6.cm (Plate),
New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

On a playing card by Master ES printed in c. 1461, a wild woman is depicted with a unicorn (fig. 3). While wild men overpower the unicorn with their bold ferocity, it was the wild woman’s sexual purity that allowed her to get close to the unicorn. A tale of the unicorn captured only by pure virgin maidens arose during the Middle Ages. This led to the unicorn being represented as a sign of purity and thus underscores the image of the wild woman as epitome of the noble savage.[xxxiii] A sense of innocence accompanies their ignorance of the civilized world. Playing cards usually consisted of four suits with illustrations of plants, animals, and heraldic symbols. The wild woman with the unicorn is one of four cards surviving in the animal suit by Master ES.[xxxiv] Richard Bernheimer suggests that the images on the cards represent a hierarchy.[xxxv] Therefore, it places the wild man and woman in the realm of animals.[xxxvi] This is plausible since this wild woman represents the Queen of the Animals. However, her clasping grip of the unicorn who is dwarfed by the wild woman shows her dominate position in nature.

Fig. 4. Martin Schongauer, Wild Woman and Heraldic Shield, Colmar, c. 1490,
Engraving, 7.7 diam.
New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The wild man also featured in more than 200 coat-of-arms across Europe, most of which were in German lands.[xxxvii] They were particularly popular during the second-half of the fifteenth century.[xxxviii] Interestingly, the wild man was illustrated beside coats-of-arms of popes and kings as their protector or guardian of the coat-of-arms despite the wild man’s history as a heretical being.[xxxix] Roundel prints of coat-of-arms were likely used as templates for goldsmiths or glassmakers who would fill in the family crest.[xl] It has also been suggested that these roundels were used by the middle class to emulate the coat-of-arms of the nobility. The templates were used as a substitute for commissioned coat-of-arms.[xli] In Wild Woman and Heraldic Shield, c. 1490 (fig. 4), a wild woman suckling her baby is reminiscent of the Madonna and child. This image reveals the redemption of women through childbirth for their responsibility for Original Sin (Genesis 3.16). She also serves as an emblem for fertility for the family whose shield she holds to ensure the family line.

Return to the Garden of Eden

The image of the noble savage in turn influenced the idyllic images of the wild family. Master bxg’s Wild Folk Family (c. 1475) parallel Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve who were portrayed in animal skins after ‘The Fall’ are akin to the hairiness of the wild family.[xlii] In Master bxg’s print stands the tree of knowledge, overlooked by an owl in the background, symbolising potential danger as owls served as a symbol for evil.[xliii] A rabbit bounds towards a forest in the top left. Rabbits were used as a symbol for fertility and has been depicted in images of Adam and Eve during ‘The Fall’ and thus can symbolise carnal knowledge. The wild woman’s long hair symbolises her fertility and thus her unbridled sexuality and parallels with the depiction of Eve in the Garden of Eden with long, loose flowing hair.[xliv] Although the representation of the wild family references Original Sin, they are still in a state of nature and innocence and their ignorance of God therefore cannot constitute sin.[xlv] However, it also provides a mirror of the tensions between good and evil within German Renaissance society – between temptation and godliness.[xlvi] The wild family not only recall Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, but also the image of the Holy Family who were often represented against the backdrop of the wilderness.[xlvii]

In a comparative print in Hans Leonhart Schäufelein’s, Wild Man and Wild Woman originally printed in c.1520 (fig.5), the wild family are still hairy and naked, although they wear fig leaves to help preserve their modesty. The fig leaves allude to after ‘The Fall’ in the Garden of Eden once they have eaten from the tree of knowledge and realise their nakedness and feel shame. In this way, the sins of the past are not completely forgotten. However, the image lies in opposite to the unbridled sexuality of the earlier idea of the wild man and woman. One son attempts to place a leash around a domesticated dog, which further symbolises a new domesticity to the wild family.[xlviii] Despite its clear reference to Original Sin, it illustrates an idyllic family scene, away from the corrupting influences of ‘civilised life’.[xlix]

Fig. 5. After Hans Schäufelein, Klag der wilden Holtzleüt, uber die ugetrewen Welt, verse by Hans Sachs, printed by Hans Guldenmundt, Augsburg, 1560
Coloured woodcut, 20.2 x 24.2cm (sheet), 20.2 x 15.2 cm (borderline)
The British Museum, London.

This image was later copied with an addition of a poem written by Hans Sachs in 1530. In the poem the wild folk lament against the corruption and evils of society such as the lust for wealth, flesh, and violence. The wild folk in Sachs’ verse have chosen to discard worldly pleasures to live the simple and pure life in nature. The verse ends with the wild folk declaring that they will be happy to return to civilisation once the world ‘see the light’.[l] This verse parallels the wild man with ascetic monks whose wildness is a temporary state and who seek redemption away from civilisation.

Wild Man as Saints

Fig. 6. Anonymous, Saint Onuphrius, c. 1480-1500,
woodcut, 14.6 x 11.4cm,
New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The tales of saints who found redemption in the wilderness by discarding worldly pleasures, growing hair on their body and then returning to civilization and shedding their hair once more became co-opted with the image of wild men and women during the Renaissance. Many stories of anchorites parallel with others, to the point that they can become indistinguishable.[li] Onuphrius is one of the better-known ascetic saints who lived during the fourth century. Paying penance, he lived in a cave for sixty years, as wild men and women were thought to do. His clothes wore away and he grew a thick coat of hair to protect his body against the elements (fig. 6).[lii] Saint John Chrysostom similarly went into the wilderness to pay penance and vowed to crawl on all fours until he found favour with God.[liii] Ascetic saints were similarly depicted with bare knees as wild men and women were also believed to crawl on all fours like an animal, wearing away the hair. In Leben der Heiligen (1499), where Saint John Chrysostom is depicted as covered in thick hair and crawling on all fours in the forest is described as an ‘abominable animal,’ despite being depicted with a halo around his head.[liv] Ascetic saints were therefore reduced to a beast just as the wild men and women had traditionally been as they are seen as degenerating into an animal who grow hair on their body and ate raw food.[lv] In this way, the figure of the hairy monstrosity was able to find redemption, at least in part, cast as the model of repentance.

Fig. 7. Hans Baldung Grien, St Mary Magdalen, c.1512,
Woodcut, Sheet: 13 × 8.7 cm
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

During the German Renaissance, Saint Mary Magdalene, who was regarded for her beauty,[lvi] was frequently represented covered in hair like a wild woman. Her hairy image found wide devotion through the southern Germanic region.[lvii] In a tale originating in the tenth century, Mary was set adrift by non-believers and by divine guidance found her way to the south of France where she preached and converted the locals. She lived in a cave in Saint-Baume, Provence, paying penance for her former sinful life.[lviii] The name Magdalene means manens rea or ‘remaining in guilt’.[lix] She grew hair all over her body in the same way as a wild woman. In her cave she remained silent and when a hermit approached her, she had trouble speaking after being secluded for so long, not unlike the wild man and woman.[lx] Every hour, angels would ascent her to the heavens where she would gain nourishment as she was so remote that there was no food or water.[lxi] Mary’s ascension into the heavens as a hairy wild woman was a theme in German Renaissance prints and is illustrated in a print by Hans Baldung Grien (c.1484-1545)  in c.1512 (fig. 7 ).[lxii] Her ascent represents her body’s transcendence from both worldly pleasures and the wilderness.

The image and identity of Mary Magdalene during the Renaissance is believed to be conflated with the story of Saint Mary of Egypt who lived in the fifth century. Mary has long been thought to be a prostitute. She travelled to Jerusalem where she became aware of her sins when she could not enter a Church as she was held back by a spiritual ‘force’. She saw the image of the Virgin Mary staring back at her and realised why she could not enter. Mary of Egypt, the antithesis to the Virgin prayed to her for forgiveness and renounced her life of sin.[lxiii] Mary went to live alone in the desert to repent for forty-seven years.[lxiv] The desert was a place to be tested against sins, for punishment, but also for contemplation and redemption.[lxv]

Fig. 8. Lucas Cranach the Elder, The Ecstasy of St. Mary of Egypt, 1506
Woodcut, 24.4 × 14.2 cm,
The Met, New York,

Both Mary of Egypt and Mary Magdalene have both similarly been depicted covered by hair that represents their place outside of civilization and discarding worldly possessions. It was also used to provide modesty to discern from their previous occupation of the flesh.[lxvi] As seen in the print by Lucas Cranach the Elder, The Ecstasy of St. Mary of Egypt (1506) (fig. 8) who was thought to levitate in prayer,[lxvii] is similar to the composition of prints of Mary Magdalene being accented by angels. The naked saints signified the return to nature before ‘The Fall’ in the Garden of Eden.[lxviii] Despite this earlier legend, Mary Magdalene was not depicted in art as covered in hair until the mid-fifteenth century but was rather naked with her long hair covering her modesty. The image of the hairy Mary Magdalene was therefore believed to originate in fifteenth-century Germany.[lxix] The detail of the hairy Mary Magdalene was also not included in the popular thirteenth century The Golden Legend by Jacobus de Voragine (c.1230-1298) that combined the tales of Magdalene. Her nudity was implied as the hermit who visited her passed her a garment to wear.[lxx] The hair covering Mary of Egypt was also a later addition to the story and also does not appear in The Golden Legend.[lxxi] She similarly does not seem to appear in art until the fifteenth-sixteenth centuries.[lxxii] The same can be said of other saints who turn into a wild man, at least temporarily such as Saint John Chrysostom.[lxxiii] This suggests ascetic saints who grew hair over their body was a contemporary idea that arose at the same time that the wild man and woman were popular in Renaissance prints. However, as Bartra notes, the idea of the hairy ascetic saint derived from Ancient Egypt when long haired hermits sought solitude in the desert.[lxxiv]

Wild Man in Reformation Propaganda

The image of the wild man was also co-opted into the Protestant Reformation in Germany and has been used by both Protestants and Catholics in contradictory ways. The engraving of The Pope as a Wild Man was created by Melchior Lorck (c.1526/7-1583) in 1545. This wild man with characteristic thick body hair with bare knees is a hybrid with long rat-like tail. Perched on top of his head is the three-tiered crown of the pope, but the last tier is a tower of excrement. Beneath his crown are ass ears, which represent folly and dishonesty. The ass’s ears allude to the myth of Apollo who made Midas grow the ears of a donkey to tag him for his dishonesty.[lxxv] On his back appears to be a bat with stretched out wings, which is a symbol for the Devil.[lxxvi] The wild man carries his characteristic wooden club, but this one has three cross branches at the end to represent the papal cross. He holds onto the papal key that is shattered at the end, which is a sign that the temporal powers of the papacy have been broken.[lxxvii] From his mouth pours a stream of toads and reptiles. This appears to reference the beast, the dragon, and the false prophet who release four foul spirits. A version of this image was discovered cast on a canon of Protestant troops captured during the Schmalkaldic War.[lxxviii]

Conclusion

In Renaissance Germany, complexity existed in people’s relationship with the wilderness. It both conjured up images of the Garden of Eden before ‘The Fall’ as well as the dangers that may lurk beyond. The wild man and woman were just as complex and represented sinfulness, but also redemption and innocence. As Merry Wiesner-Hanks concludes ‘beast, saint, or hero? the wild man was all three’.[lxxix] A closer look at images of the wild man reveals their complexity. There was not a simple evolution between a demonised creature associated with cannibalism and rape to the holy saint. In the age of the apocalypse, the wild man and woman provide a reminder of Original Sin and the need for repentance at a time of social reform. In this way, the hairy woodland creature is not entirely absolved.

Further Reading:

Abulafia, David, The Discovery of Mankind: Atlantic Encounters in the Age of Columbus, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008

Bartra, Roger, Wild Men in the Looking Glass: The Mythic Origins of European Otherness, trans. Carl T. Berrisford, Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1994.

Bernheimer, Richard, Wild Men in the Middle Ages: A Study in Art, Sentiment, and Demonology, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1952.

Colin, Susi, ‘The Wild Man and the Indian in Early 16th Century Book Illustration,’ in Christian F. Feest (eds.), Indians and Europe: An Interdisciplinary Collection, Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1999, pp. 5-37.

Husband, Timothy, The Wild Man: Medieval Myth and Symbolism, exh. cat., New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1980.

Kaufmann, Lynn Frier, The Nobel Savage: Satyrs and Satyr Families in Renaissance Art, Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1984.

Moseley-Christian, Michelle, ‘From Page to Print: The Transformation of the “Wild Woman” in Early Modern Northern Engravings’, Word & Image: A Journal of Verbal/Visual Enquiry, vol. 27, no. 4, 2012, pp.429-442.

Schama, Simon, Landscape and Memory, London: HarperCollins, 1995.

Wiesner-Hanks, Merry, The Marvelous Hairy Girls: The Gonzales Sisters and their Worlds, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009.


[ii] Simon Schama, Landscape and Memory, London: HarperCollins, 1995, p. 97; Timothy Husband, The Wild Man: Medieval Myth and Symbolism, exh. cat., New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1980, p. 12.

[i] Bartra, Roger, Wild Men in the Looking Glass: The Mythic Origins of European Otherness, trans. Carl T. Berrisford, Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1994, p. 79.

[iii] Schama, 1995, pp. 95-6.

[iv] Bartra, 1994, p. 9.

[v] Richard Bernheimer, Wild Men in the Middle Ages: A Study in Art, Sentiment, and Demonology, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1952, p. 11.

[vi] Joyce E. Salisbury, The Beast Within: Animals in the Middle Ages, New York: Routledge, 1994, p. 151; David Abulafia, The Discovery of Mankind: Atlantic Encounters in the Age of Columbus, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008, pp.16-7.

[vii] Susi Colin, ‘The Wild Man and the Indian in Early 16th Century Book Illustration,’ in Christian F. Feest (eds.), Indians and Europe: An Interdisciplinary Collection, Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1999, p.8.

[viii] Abulafia, 2008, pp.16-7.

[ix] Colin, 1999, p.6

[x] Bernheimer, 1952, pp.165, 59.

[xi] Colin, 1999, p.8.

[xii] Husband, 1980, p. 11.

[xiii] Walter L. Strauss (ed.), The Complete Engravings, Etchings and Drypoints of Albrecht Dürer, Courier Dover, 2013, p. 178.

[xiv] Bernheimer, 1952, p. 135.

[xv] Anne Clark, Beasts and Bawdy, London: Dent, 1975, p. 46

[xvi] Lynn Frier Kaufmann, The Nobel Savage: Satyrs and Satyr Families in Renaissance Art, Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1984, p. 34.

[xvii] Salisbury, 1994, p. 152.

[xviii] Classen, Albrecht (ed.), Meeting the Foreign in the Middle Ages, New York: Routledge, 2002, p. xx.

[xix] Colin, 1999, p. 9.

[xx] Danielle Régnier-Bohler, ‘Imagining the Self’, in Georges Duby (ed.), A History of Private Life: vol. II Revelations of the Medieval World, trans. Arthur Goldhammer, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1988,  p. 368.

[xxi] Régnier-Bohler, 1988, p. 369.

[xxii] Colin, 1999, p. 9.

[xxiii] Colin, 1999, p.6.

[xxiv] Husband, 1980, p. 62; Merry Wiesner-Hanks, The Marvelous Hairy Girls: The Gonzales Sisters and their Worlds, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009, p. 42.

[xxv] Husband, 1980, p. 64; Bartra, 1994, p. 101; Bernheimer, 1970, p. 37.

[xxvi] Gilmore-House in Husband, 1980, p. 139.

[xxvii] Kaufmann, 1984, pp.32-4.

[xxviii] Michelle Moseley-Christian, ‘From Page to Print: The Transformation of the “Wild Woman” in Early Modern Northern Engravings’, Word & Image: A Journal of Verbal/Visual Enquiry, vol. 27, no. 4, 2012, p. 431; Tacitus, Cornelius, Agricola and Germany, trans. Anthony Birley, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999, p. 46.

[xxix] Schama, 1995, p. 96.

[xxx] Caspar Hirschi, The Origins of Nationalism: An Alternative History from Ancient Rome to Early Modern Germany, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011, p. 169.

[xxxi] Colin, 1999, p. 23-4.

[xxxii] Lewis W. Spitz, Conrad Celtis: The German Arch-Humanist, Cambridge: Harvard Universtiy Press, 1957, p. 100-101.

[xxxiii] Anne Clark, 1975, p. 46.

[xxxiv] Gilmore-House in Husband, 1980, p. 168.

[xxxv] Gilmore-House in Husband, 1980, p. 167.

[xxxvi] Gilmore-House in Husband, 1980, p. 168.

[xxxvii] Wiesner-Hanks, 2009, p. 35.

[xxxviii] Bernheimer, 1952, p. 180.

[xxxix] Husband, 1980, p. 4.

[xl] Wiesner-Hanks, 2009, p. 44.

[xli] Husband, 1980, p. 187.

[xlii] Moseley-Christian, 2012, p. 438.

[xliii] George Ferguson, Signs & Symbols in Christian Art, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1959, p. 22.

[xliv] Christa Grössinger, Picturing Women in Late Medieval and Renaissance Art, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1997, p. 82.

[xlv] Husband, 1980, p. 15.

[xlvi] Husband, 1980, p. 17.

[xlvii] Kaufmann, 1984, pp. 36-7.

[xlviii] Schama, 1995, pp. 97-8.

[xlix] Colin, 1999, pp. 23-4.

[l] Husband, 1980, p. 133. The full translation is found in Appendix B of Husband, 1980, pp. 202-4.

[li] Husband, 1980, p. 97.

[lii] Husband, 1980, p. 95.

[liii] Husband, 1980, p. 102.

[liv] Husband, 1980, p. 105.

[lv] Bartra, 1994, pp. 83-4.

[lvi] Roberta Milliken, Ambiguous Locks: An Iconology of Hair in Medieval Art and Literature, Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland and Company, 2012, p. 189.

[lvii] Wiesner-Hanks, 2009, p. 41.

[lviii] Joana Antunes, ‘The Late-Medieval Mary Magdalene: Sacredness, Otherness, and Wildness’, in Peter Loewen and Robin Waugh (eds.), Mary Magdalene in Medieval Culture: Conflicted Roles, New York: Routledge, 2014,
p. 117; Wiesner-Hanks, 2009, p. 38; Husband, 1980, p. 100.

[lix] Husband, 1980, p. 100.

[lx] Antunes, 2014, p. 118.

[lxi] Milliken, 2012, p. 189.

[lxii] Wiesner-Hanks, 2009, p. 38; Husband, 1980, p. 100; Milliken, 2012, p. 189.

[lxiii] Michelle Erhardt and Amy Morris, ‘Introduction’ in Michelle Erhardt and Amy Morris (eds.), Mary Magdalene: Iconographic Studies from the Middle Ages to the Baroque, Leiden: Brill, 2012, p. 9; Else E. Friesen, ‘Saints as Helpers in Dying: The Hairy Holy Women Mary Magdalene, Mary of Egypt, and Wilgefortist in the Iconography of the Late Middle Ages,’ in E.E. DuBruck and B.I. Gusick, Death and Dying in the Middle Ages, New York: Peter Lang, 1999, pp. 240, 242; Milliken, 2012, p. 204.

[lxiv] Erhardt and Morris, 2012, p. 9; Friesen, 1999, pp. 240, 242.

[lxv] Bartra, 1994, pp.47-8.

[lxvi] Erhardt and  Morris, 2012, p. 9; Friesen, 1999, pp. 240, 242.

[lxvii] Milliken, 2012, p. 206.

[lxviii] Friesen, 1999,  p. 242

[lxix] Husband, 1980, p. 100.

[lxx] Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints (c.1260), ed. Eamon Duffy, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012, p. 381.

[lxxi] Virginia Burrus, The Sex Lives of Saints: An Erotics of Ancient Hagiography, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011, p. 149.

[lxxii] Voragine, 2012, p. 228; Milliken, 2012, p. 205.

[lxxiii] Husband, 1980, p. 102.

[lxxiv] Bartra, 1994, pp. 74-5.

[lxxv] Hélène  A. Guerber, The Myths of Greece and Rome, New York: Cosimo, Inc., 2007, p. 57.

[lxxvi] Russell, 1986, p. 232.

[lxxvii] Robert W.  Scribner, For the Sake of Simple Folk: Popular Propaganda for the German Reformation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981, pp. 135, 80

[lxxviii] Scribner, 1981, pp. 163, 164.

[lxxix] Wiesner-Hanks, 2009, p. 35.