Why The Rabbit But Not The Hare?

One of my biggest questions about the whole rabbit fondness in Medieval England is that the hare is native and plentiful on the island. So why did the medieval Norman gentry feel the need to import rabbits? I started by doing a little quick research on the common differences between the two because that might help explain the Normans desire to import the rabbits rather than hunt the hares.

Both hares and rabbits belong to the same Linnaean classification family - Leporidae - and both are plentiful, quick breeders and adaptable to a wide variety of environments.[1] (FYI: apparently the terms “harlot”, “whore” and “hare” all meant pretty much the same thing in Middle English and came from the same root[2]) The hare and the rabbit are both edible and can be prepared in the same fashion; they are both low in fat content and carry the same health issues for those eating the meat. They both feed on the same things, feed at night, live in the same areas, have the same enemies, and both have sensitive ears, nose, and quick speed.[3]

Major differences between the hare and the rabbit include the fact that hares are born with fur and open eyes, unlike rabbits. Hares are solitary and live in nests above ground while rabbits are communal and live in burrows below ground. Hares are larger and heavier than rabbits and consequently can jump further, than a rabbit and keep up their speed for longer periods of time. Many of the hares turn white in the winter while rabbits keep the same color fur all year round. Since I have been a vegetarian since I was 11 I have never eaten either but the hare supposedly has a gamier flavor than the rabbit. Probably the most major difference between the two is that the hare has not been domesticated while the rabbit has been domesticated in Europe since at least the Romans.[4]

The Question of Evidence

The fundamental exercise of the medieval historian is teasing a narrative out of an often scattered or incomplete body of evidence.  At our last meeting, we once again discussed some of the problems that evidence (or the lack of it) can pose for the researcher of animals in the Middle Ages.  How should we interpret archaeological findings, for example?  Do medieval animal remains offer us a comprehensive view of the ways in which people and animals during the period encountered one another?

In the case of the latter question, we seemed to agree that it is highly problematic to argue for continuity of animal experience for the whole of medieval Europe going off of isolated archaeological evidence alone.  Nevertheless, an archaeological approach can be extremely useful as a means of filling in gaps in our knowledge stemming from incomplete records or conflicting accounts.  Our readings on rats and the plague were informed by substantial use of archaeological data and epidemiological/statistical modeling.  The findings of these modern scientific approaches were interpreted against the backdrop of more standard forms of medieval historical evidence (writings and art), resulting in novel theories about the relationship between rats and the spread of plague in the fourteenth century.  It seems to me, however, that David E. Davis either undercuts the importance of his own research or underestimates its potential value for the historian when he says that the Rattus rattus’s presence in Europe prior to the outbreak of the plague is of lesser concern to the medievalist than the plague’s consequences (Davis, 468).  Most historians, I would wager, value understanding of the causes behind events just as highly as they do understanding of the consequences of events—but this is just a personal quibble I had with Davis’s presentation.

This Country Life: Animals as Help and Hindrance to the Medieval Farmer

It is very hard to discover the way that medieval people actually used and experienced animals, as became clear in our class discussion. Obviously archaeological evidence and tax rolls can give us evidence of the animals that were present, help us approximate their value, and suggest the manner in which they were used. But it cannot give us solid answers, even about those questions, and certainly cannot reveal much at all about human interactions with animals or the ways humans processed those interactions. For this we need supplementary information.

There are two main types of sources which we have not approached but which provide more evidence for the ways in which people used animals during daily farm life in the Middle Ages. These are literature and art. Although these were largely created for a rich audience, many pieces of literature and also artwork such as illuminated psalters, contain descriptions and images of medieval peasants going about their daily lives. Through these we can get some sense of what actual farming looked like.

Through examining the Luttrell Psalter, the Très Riches Heures, and the “Nun’s Priest’s Tale” from the Cantebury Tales, I would like to make several observations about both medieval farming practice and the broader relationship between humans and animals in the Middle Ages. This will include a further look at using oxen and horses on the farm, as well as a glimpse of something not captured in tax rolls, the natural predator. Through this discussion I would like to advance a very modest claim: Medieval people, although well-versed in using animals in their farm work, had a complicated relationship with the natural world because of the unpredictability of nature and the dangers posed by many animals.

Medieval Economics in Chronicle of the Abbey of Bury St. Edmunds

As we spoke about manorial advice of Sir Walter Henley in today’s discussion I wondered whether or not this advice was actually put into practice throughout most manors and Abbeys during the Middle Ages. Later on when we explored further readings, most specifically Postan’s Village Livestock in the Thirteenth Century, who mentions that he based his calculations mostly upon the tax accounts and jury records and surname accounts of the manors within Hinderclay , that happens to be a part of the larger Abbey of Bury St. Edmunds I was further motivated to explore the general economic state of the Abbey of Bury St. Edmunds. I had also been reading this piece of literature for a separate class and therefore I thought that this exploration would help to better my understanding of the text.

Animal Utility in the Salic Law

The Salic Law (or the Law of the Salian Franks)¹ was written and revised multiple times between ca. 500 and 798 by a number of different people and groups from both Frankish and Roman perspectives. It is an extremely complicated source for historians for a number of reasons. It is impossible to say exactly how it was perceived by the people who created it, much less how or even whether it was used by them. It is impossible to tell exactly what it means in some parts because it is impossible to tell what was meant by some of the words used in it, most notably the Malberg glosses but also some of the Latin terms. It is also impossible to tell exactly how severe the monetary punishments it prescribed were since we do not have an adequate sense of the economy of the time or the exact value of the fines either objectively or in relation to the wealth of the average Frank. Given these and other issues it should be used carefully, especially when attempting to draw conclusions about Frankish society. However, the law can be examined internally in order to reveal its own sometimes fractured logic and used tentatively to draw conclusions about the ways in which its creators organized their world. Whatever its dangers it remains an excellent source dealing with animals in northern Europe during its time period. I would like to briefly suggest some of the main conclusions about the use of animals that can be drawn from it.