Lore - Lore 235: Privilege

Episode Date: August 28, 2023

Lore 235: Privilege The way folklore breaks through in our day to day lives is often dictated by the worldview that society applies to certain people. The way that has played out in practical terms, however, has been terrifying. Written and produced by Aaron Mahnke, with research by Allie Steed and music by Chad Lawson. ———————— Lore Resources Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  All the shows from Grim & Mild: www.grimandmild.com ———————— Sponsors BetterHelp: Lore is sponsored by BetterHelp. Give online therapy a try at BetterHelp.com/LORE, and get on your way to being your best self. Mint Mobile: Get your new wireless plan for just 15 bucks a month, and get the plan shipped to your door for FREE, go to MintMobile.com/lore.   To advertise on our podcast, please reach out to [e-mail], or visit our listing here. ©2023 Aaron Mahnke. All rights reserved.

It was a city of wealth and power. Located about 150 miles south of Rome, close to the west coast of Italy, the location took its name from the five separate burrows that made up the community of over 10,000 people, and the way they lived there speaks of privilege. Massive public bathhouses, large private gardens, and beautiful artwork could all be found throughout the city. Water provided by an aqueduct brought pressurized water into buildings and homes, plus an

elaborate toilet and septic system all worked together to make life a lot easier on everyone. It was a retreat town for the wealthy of the area, and a home to the hardworking people who kept it all running. Along the way, folks were given every opportunity to rise above, to climb the ladder and build their own fortune. And then, a little less than 2,000 years ago, it all came to a sudden and deadly end when a nearby volcano erupted.

In its wake, all we have left is a city frozen in time. Pompay There's no doubt that wealth can certainly act like insulation against many of the challenges life has in store for us, but as the tragic story of Pompey reveals, sometimes nothing can stand in the way of bad things happening, no matter how much cash we have in the bank. For one woman in Ireland, those bad things arrived at the end of a long and privileged life, but it wasn't a natural disaster that brought her all down upon her, or a literal cloud

of ash that stripped her world of beauty. It was an idea that was much more dangerous than its commonness would have us believe. folklore I'm Aaron Manky, and this is lore. Every country has something that makes it unique. For better or for worse, when certain places come to mind they conjure thoughts of specific events or foods or even attitudes. England has Stonehenge, France is known for their wine, and Italy has pasta and the Colosseum. Name a country and then identify the first thing that comes to mind,

like Egypt and the Great Pyramid. You get the idea. But what I mention Ireland, I'm willing to bet that almost none of you think about witches. Ferrys, yes. Stories like the tragic murder of Bridget Cleary drive that belief home in powerful ways. But compared to places like Germany, Scotland, and England, there isn't a common association between the Emerald Isle and Witchcraft. The records support that too. Germany was the site of 40% of all witch trials between 1400 and 1800. Scotland comes in second, and of course England is in the mix pretty strongly.

But Ireland, barely a mention, and a big part of the reason why, is religion. We've talked about this before, but the Protestant Reformation played a huge part in which trials, if only indirectly. And yes, it sounds like I'm giving you a religion lesson, but as we've always discussed here, context is king. You can't understand the stories that we tell, even the ones that are thrilling or scary, without first wrapping your head around the systems and outside forces that made those stories possible.

The Reformation was this moment in history when churches all across Europe essentially rebelled against the Catholic Church, creating a new branch on the tree that historians and theologians classify as Protestant churches, because they protested. But in the moments on the ground what was happening was basically a marketing PR battle between an old brand and a new upstart. And friends, it got ugly. Imagine a time when the politics of the day were so heated and so violent that each side accused the other of devilish things like eating babies, drinking the blood of children, and being in a godless cult in the disguise of the real church.

It sounds far fetched today, I know. But back then, the best way for one side to attack the other was to drag superstition and fear into the conversation. So, where did the reformation start? In Germany. And where did the most witch trials in Europe take place? Yep, Germany again. What was unique about places like Spain and Portugal and Ireland? They were firmly Catholic, and so there was less of a battle going on on the ground, and therefore less of a run-in with which accusations and trials. And then English colonialism had to go and screw all of that up. Remember King Henry VIII and his trouble getting divorced within the Catholic Church?

That led him to breaking England off and forming its own branch of the Church, putting the new Church of England at odds with the Old Catholic Guard, and they took that conflict with them when they colonized new countries. The Ireland before the arrival of the English was a very different place. Now I'm going to be clear here, Ireland's history with the English is a lot bigger and much more complex than I could ever adequately cover here in this episode, but there are two features that need to be mentioned. They were historically Catholic and had different laws on the books than English common law. They also had a different, more equitable approach to society, but I'll get to more of that

later. But it's probably most telling that by the time the Irish Parliament passed their first anti-witch ordinance in 1586, England had already spent centuries following and tightening up two of their own. In fact, one historian notes that in the 16th century, the Archbishop of Dublin, William King, commented that the witchcraft panic had never even really started in Ireland, although that wasn't entirely true, and one good example was the story of Florence Newton. Like so many accused witches, Florence fit the social outcast description perfectly. She was poor and living on the edge of society, and just like the event that kicked off the

Salem witch trials, she arrived at the home of a prominent man in 1661, knocking on the door to beg for some food. In Florence's case, she was apparently looking for a bit of beef. The maid of the house, Mary Lungdon, turned her away though. This was in an era where hospitality was incredibly important, so you can imagine how upset Florence was when she was sent away, so she said something to Mary that the maid took for a threat. Now Florence apparently tried to make up for things right after that. She even kissed Mary on the cheek and asked if they could be friends again.

But a short while later, Mary fell ill and started to exhibit odd symptoms, so she mentioned her encounter with Florence and turned the poor woman in. Then while in jail, Florence reportedly kissed the hand of the jailer, and he soon died after experiencing pains in that arm. Panic took over after that, and so did fantasy. People claimed that they had seen the bewitched maid hovering above her bed. Others said that they had seen stones

rain down from her body. So the town tortured poor Florence to get a confession, then put her on trial, where she was declared guilty. After that, the records go cold. Florence Newton most likely died as a result of those events. In Ireland at the time, men who were guilty of witchcraft that led to the death of another person would be hanged and then drawn and quartered. Women, on the other hand, would be burned, usually after first being strangled to death. The strangling was thought to be a mercy, but history

always gives us a better view of the past, doesn't it? And it's hard to see any of it as anything more than cruel and unnecessary. Then again, when fear is the motivator, anything can happen. Can't it? Like I mentioned a moment ago, Irish society prior to the influence of the English was a lot more equitable. By that I mean that women often had a much easier time enjoying almost all of the power and status that men could. For example, in ancient Ireland, women could be kings, and they could lead armies in battle.

If they didn't want to be warriors, they could be religious leaders, like druids and priestesses. Women were allowed to be teachers, lawgivers, even physicians, revolutionary privilege compared to the rest of Europe. When it came to money, they had total control, being able to hold wealth and property in the same way that men could, and this meant that they were usually entering into marriage on equal ground to their husbands, too. Yes, there was still a dowry system, but if the marriage ended in divorce or the husband's death, those women could take everything with them when they left.

The agent of change was Christianity, which you have to think of as an ever-evolving stew that had been moving across Europe. As it had, it was picking up cultural elements from various places and incorporating it into the fabric of its faith. For example, church law elsewhere had a much less equitable view on women, wealth, and rights. So by the time the Catholic church arrived in Ireland, it already had a distinctly patriarchal flavor, which is why when Alice was born there in 1263, she was raised

in a sort of social, liminal space, one foot in the old world, one less than equal foot in the new. But she did her best. According to some sources, Alice's father worked in the banking industry, but sometimes just prior to 1280, he unexpectedly passed away, which led to two important outcomes. Alice inherited his fortune, and she was rushed into marriage a little sooner than she might have been expected to. Her husband was a man in William Outlaw, and he was just as rich as she was. The couple eventually had a son, also named William. But after a few years, Alice's husband died without warning, and that meant that not only did she retain ownership of her own fortune, but now she

inherited his too. Alice had just moved up in the world. Now let's be clear, Alice lived in an Ireland that still afforded a lot more rights and equality to women than most other countries. She had a loving son who was helping her run her new side business, a popular in and tavern in Kilkenny. And to be honest, she really didn't need to get married again, but in 1302, that's exactly what she did. Husband number 2 was a guy named Adam Leblunt.

He came into the marriage with kids of his own, as well as a lot more money. Alison Adam didn't have any kids of their own together, but they raised William, and in 1303 he was officially declared to be an adult. And that's when Adam did something odd. He issued something called a quick claim in 1307 that basically gave his stepson William outlaw a whole bunch of money and possessions. We're talking cash, jewelry, household items, and more, and Adam's other adult kids weren't too happy about this. But then in 1308, just a year after that generous gift, Adam died unexpectedly.

At this point, it's clear that marriage wasn't just a practical business partnership for Alice. It seems that she genuinely liked having a husband and partner in life, so just a year after Adam passed away, she married for a third time, to one Richard DeValle, and guess what? He was rich as well, being a wealthy landowner. A few years later though, two big events happened that changed the course of Alice's story. First, Richard passed away, and by law happened that changed the course of Alice's story. First, Richard passed away, and by law, all of the property and wealth that she brought into the marriage

returned back to her, much to the frustration of Richard's adult son, who expected new or Catholic law to give him everything and make him extraordinarily wealthy. And second, in 1324, Alice married husband number 4, another rich landowner. This one, named Sir John Lapur. Four husbands in four decades, all of them rich, and all of them passing their wealth onto her and her son William instead of their other adult children. For Alice, it was a blessing. For all those stepchildren though, it was a curse. And after noting the changing social climates in Ireland,

those disgruntled parties decided to make a stink. And the results show folklore at its worst. The weapon used against Alice Kitaler would be a newcomer to Ireland, the Catholic Bishop of Osary, Richard Lalloudredi, and the evidence would begin with her fourth husband's decline. Sir John's health began to go downhill shortly after their wedding in 1324. Some accounts say that his fingernails and hair began to fall out, and over time he became so weak that he couldn't even get out of bed. But before the illness claimed his life, he managed to gather Alice in William to his bedside and declare them to be inheritors of all his wealth. Now had all of this taken place three or four centuries later, the immediate suspicion

would be poison, probably by Arseneck. We've heard a number of stories like that here before, but this was the early 14th century, and the lens through which people viewed illness was oriented in a different way. For the folks around Alice, the only answer could be witchcraft. Never mind the fact that maybe all of her former husbands just really cared for Alice in William, or that Illness was incredibly common. Early mortality rates were high and that men commonly died before their wives. So it definitely had to be something supernatural, right?

And that's where Ludre dee comes into the picture. On paper, he should have had a lot in common with Alice. They were born around the same time as each other and grew up in the same relative obscurity as she did. But where she was born into a flammish immigrant family in Ireland, he was born in England and rose through the ranks of the Franciscan Order to become a bishop. He'd spent time in Europe under very different social rules, including time in France and

Evan Young, where he witnessed the papal Inquisition first hand. This is the same Inquisition that took down the Knights Templar, and that sort of power was attractive to Ludru D, so he brought that new World Order with him to Ireland. As a result, seven different charges were filed against Alice, including all sorts of wild accusations that would resonate with a Catholic bishop looking for devilish deeds. She was accused, for example, of making animal sacrifices at crossroads, or of stealing church keys to perform dark rituals inside the buildings, or crafting potions to kill people. And most importantly, they claimed that she used witchcraft to trick her husbands to

give their fortunes to her, and then killed them with that same sorcery. So using a 30-year-old Irish law that forced civil authorities to obey the instructions of any bishop, Ludra D. had her formally accused of witchcraft. What he didn't expect, though, was for the brothers of two of her former husbands to come forward to advocate for her. One of them, Richard Outlaw, was a prior of the hospitalers of St. John and well-connected. Another Arnold Lapur was her fourth husband's brother, friend to her son William, and most importantly, a powerful local governor.

And Lapur actually managed to get the bishop locked up for over two weeks, which, as you might imagine, didn't make Ludra de very happy. So when the bishop was finally released, he excommunicated Lapur and then shut down religious services in the diocese, essentially cutting every living person off from the benefits of the church. No baptisms to save their souls, no marriages, no burials to send their loved ones into the afterlife. It was a campaign designed to sway public opinion against Alice, and it worked.

After an unfortunate incident where the bishop forced his way into a civil trial, being presided over by Lapurr, he got kicked out by the authorities and then demanded the arrest of Alice and her son. But Alice was a fighter. While the bishop had been battling it out with her former brother-in-law, she had traveled to Dublin to present her case in court. But it was quickly becoming a man's world instead of the more equitable society that she had grown up in.

And public opinion soon became overwhelmingly against her. Using her money and connections, Alice packed up and left town. And in doing so, she most likely avoided a brutal trial, barbaric torture looking for an admission of guilt, and a horrific death. Even today, historians don't know where she ended up, although William remained behind to keep their tabern open and operating. In a land with very few witch trials, one woman's privilege made her a target, and then thankfully, it offered her a way to escape. Our journey on this show has always been about one thing. The power of folklore to break free from our whispers and stories and have dangerous influence

over the real world. And few topics within folklore provide as many examples as witchcraft trials. Yes, sometimes we meet a little background history lesson to understand how that can even be possible, but the truth remains clear. From time to time, our belief in the supernatural has driven us to real world actions and decisions, and actual human lives have paid the price. Thankfully the story of Alice Kitaler is an exception to that dark rule. She was able to use her connections and cash to buy her way to freedom, although her disappearance

didn't stop the bishop of Osirie from concluding her trial. He had her tried in absentia and declared guilty of witchcraft. Considering how some of the charges against her included the murder of her fourth husband, she most likely escaped a painful death by strangulation and then the burning of her corpse. Her son William was not executed, but he suffered his own consequences for his part in the story. He was convicted of harboring a heretic and sent to prison, although some powerful friends

managed to get that sentence commuted to something a little better. William had to attend three daily masses for a year, and he had a fund of the covering of a local cathedral's roof with lead. A year later, William doesn't seem to have adhered to all of those instructions, and so he was arrested again. He bartered his way out for a second time, with a pilgrimage to the Holy Land replacing those daily masses, and oddly, he was told to cover the cathedral's roof with lead for a second time. William eventually settled back down in Ireland, and the tavern he inherited from Alice, now

known as Kydler's Inn, is still in operation today. It is apparently a wonderful tourist site, known for being an excellent place to stop and get a meal, and a cold drink. Oh, and the cathedral? It seems to have also suffered as a result of the trial and its aftermath. In 1332, the roof collapsed, because the weight of all that led. Social status has always played a role in which trials throughout history. The story of Alice Kitellert definitely shows us those dynamics at play, and I hope you can see how Ireland offered a different sort of setting for such a familiar bit of folklore. But not everyone had Alice's money and power.

We've got one last tale to tell, and this one focuses on someone with a lot less in the bank. Stick around through this brief sponsor break to hear all about it. This show is sponsored by BetterHelp. You know, sometimes we're faced with a crossroads in life, and we don't know which path to take. Maybe you're thinking about a career change, or you're feeling like one of your relationships needs a bit of TLC.

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to your door for free, go to MintMobile.com-LOR. That's MintMobile.com-LOR. That's MintMobile.com-LOR. Cut your wireless bill to 15 bucks a month at MintMobile.com-LOR. Like I said before, the way a community runs itself can have a huge impact on the way it handles its fears and superstitions. And 400 years after the trial and escape of Alice Kitaler, Ireland had become a very different stage for those sorts of events. Her name was Dorcus Kelly. Go ahead and give that a little chuckle. Yes, her name was Dorcus, and yes, that would probably get her mocked and ridiculed in a modern American middle school.

But back in the mid-1700s, the name was a lot more common than you'd think. So, let's just roll with it. We don't know a lot about her early years. In fact, a lot of her life is a mystery to us, but to be honest, that's par for the course for most people from the 18th century. The first time she appears on the public record, as far as I can tell, was in 1760, when she was arrested. What her crime was? Well, I'll get to that in a bit.

First, from those accounts, we learned that Dorcas Kelly owned a brothel called the Maiden Tower. It was a little bit of power in a rough and difficult world. That's not to say that sex work was uncommon in Dublin in the mid-1700s. Quite the contrary, it was everywhere. It just wasn't a very respected line of work. There were a lot of women out on the streets trying to make ends meet, something that had become a lot more challenging than in the days of Alice Kiddler for sure. Without equal footing in society, many of the women who weren't born into privilege

were forced to find other ways to earn money for food and lodging. Sex work was a common option. Now, Dublin is a seaside community, so you'd probably be unsurprised to learn that most of these women worked close to the quaysides in River, where sailors came in and out of the city. Their territories spread out from there, places like Corke Hill, Cook streets, and Wine Tavern Street. Most women had no place to live, and had to find work wherever they could. Dorcas Kelly owned one of the better solutions, a brothel which allowed women to work in

one place and let the customers do the traveling, owning a brothel. In Dublin, just as much as in most other cities, earned Kelly a bit of a reputation, which is probably where the rumors started. It's said that she became pregnant in 1760, although the father's identity wasn't certain. A few claim that he was just some random client, but most whispered that it was her romantic partner, the sheriff of Dublin himself, Simon Lutrelle. And here's where rumor blended with another, because Lutrelle was a known member of an

organization called the Hellfire Club. It was a secret society made up of wealthy men who gathered to drink and gamble. Thanks to their name, though, and the healthy dose of rumors, of course, people believe the Hellfire Club got out to a lot more than just card games and shots. It was, in short, a gathering devoted to dark rituals and the worst of human nature. So when Dorcas Kelly told Simon Lutrell that she was pregnant with his child, he leaned into those rumors to defend himself. Kelly, he claimed, had used witchcraft against him. A short while later, he used his powerful connections as Sheriff to have her

arrested and executed. That's the story, anyway. Truth be told, there's no concrete evidence to support any of that. All we have on record is that she was arrested in 1760 in connection with the death of a man named John Dowling. After that, she was arrested in 1760 in connection with the death of a man named John Dowling. After that, she was executed. After her death, the legends evolved. Some whispered that the bodies of five other gentlemen were found in the vaults beneath her house on Copper Alley.

Soon after it was said that one of those men was the son of a prominent doctor. Dorcas Kelly was more than just a brawl owner. She was a serial killer and a witch. How could anyone not be surprised? Over the years since, her story has continued to spread, false details and all. And she stands as yet another example for how a woman's place in society dictated how the public perceived her, and how a community's superstitions have always been the real, dark magic. This episode of lore was written and produced by me, Erin Manke, with research by Ali

Steed and Music by Chad Lawson. Lore is much more than just a podcast. There's a book series available in bookstores and online, and two seasons of the television show on Amazon Prime Video. Check them both out if you want more lore in your life. Information about all of that and more is available over at lorepodcast.com. And you can also follow this show on YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Just search for lorepodcast, all one word, and then click that follow button. And when you do, say hi. I like it when people say hi. And as always, thanks for listening.