The good old-fashioned witch hare

I was recently looking at a (poorly constructed, juvenile) meme quiz, and realized that of all the shapeshifters of folklore, one has entirely vanished from the minds of modern esoteric types. I find this strange, because it's really one of the strongest legends documented in English-speaking lands.

I refer, of course, to the woman/witch who turns herself into a hare. This change, unlike the classical werewolf's, is entirely voluntary. It is apparently best known in parts of England, where the superstition existed up through the twentieth century, though probably only as a quaint story to tell children and the idle rich. (For instance, Angela Thirkell's Barsetshire novels make repeated references to the grandmother of the half-gypsy keeper, who terrorized the neighborhood in the shape of a white hare until Jasper himself shot her with a silver bullet.)

To meet a hare was, in many parts of England, considered unlucky, despite the fact that hares are the only lagomorphs native to Britain-- rabbits were a rarity imported from the continent, and carefully preserved in warrens. Pikas, the other type of lagomorph known to the Old World, are found in Asia (and, in the New World, in the Rocky mountains), but not in Britain.

The hare as a subject of shapeshifting has some major advantages: hares are relatively common, they move swiftly and silently and usually are seen alone; they make forms in the grass from which they may appear suddenly. They move quickly, and if one had to have the animal's fur for shapeshifting purposes, a hare fur would be easy to conceal about the house. There is a great deal of mythology about them, such as the classical belief that they change gender between their first and third years.

Hares as witches' shapes or familiars were apparently known in all of Britain, Denmark, Norway, Sweden and later in some parts of the [Anglo] United States. These hares are difficult or impossible to catch or shoot, and often accused of lingering threateningly round people's houses, or worse, stealing milk from their cows. Witches that have to travel long distances may take the shape of a hare.

However, as a subject of modern-day shapeshifting fantasy, the hare has two major disadvantages: it's not a predator, and it's considered cute. Cuteness can be forgiven, in for instance the case of werecats and selkies-- but not being a carnivore, let alone a predator, and in fact being prey, seems to have blanked out the modern imagination.

So, if you see a large, long eared rabbit near the house and you run out of milk for your coffee unexpectedly... don't suspect me.

See:
William George Black. "The Hare in Folk-Lore," The Folk-Lore Journal, Vol. 1, No. 3. (Mar., 1883), pp. 84-90.
Bodil Nildin-Wall; Jan Wall. "The Witch as Hare or the Witch's Hare: Popular Legends and Beliefs in Nordic Tradition." Folklore, Vol. 104, No. 1/2. (1993), pp. 67-76.

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French feast with Hungarian touches

From
Roy Strong. Feast: A History of Grand Eating (NY: Harcourt, 2002), p. 73-75.:

What is probably the best and most complete account we have of a late medieval banquet describes the dinner given by Gaston IV, comte de Foix, at Tours in 1457. It was staged in honour of an embassy from the king of Hungary, a mission which included not only Hungarians but Germans, Bohemians and Luxemburgers. To that cosmopolitan guest list of a hundred and fifty must be added the whole of the French court. The guests were seated in strict order of precedence at twelve large tables with the host, together with the leaders of the embassy and the most important French notables, served separately, as was customary, at a high table.

The feast was exceptional, not only for the number of courses involved -- no fewer than seven -- but also for the fact that the account actually describes the food served. Up until now, such details were normally passed over in silence or, if mentioned at all, simply remarked in terms of splendour and abundance. The meal opened modestly with pieces of toast that the diner dipped into the spiced wine called hippocras, but then swiftly moved on to 'grands pates de chapons [capons],' 'jambons de sanglier [hams of wild boar],' and seven different kinds of potage, all served on silver. Each table bore a hundred and fourty silver plates, a feat of ostentation that was to be repeated in the courses that followed. Ragouts of game came next: pheasants, partridges, rabbits, peacocks, bustards, wild geese, swans, and various river birds, not to mention venison. These ragouts were accompanied by several other kinds of dishes and pottage. Then came a pause.

Although there is no reference in our account to the placement of the tables, they must have been arranged in a horseshoe forming an arena at the centre. Into that space came what was called an entremet, the first of a series. Twelve men wheeled in a castle on a rock. Whether the men were concealed inside the rock or not we do not learn, but the castle itself had four corner towers and a large keep at the centre with four windows, at each of which could be seen a richly attired lady. The central keep was adorned with heraldic banners bearing the arms of the king of Hungary and those of the other great lords who made up the embassy. At the top of each of the four towers a child sang like an angel (though what they sang we do not learn.)

After this display the feast resumed with a dish called 'oiseaux armes', which has defied definition by culinary historians, served with yet more pottages. But the real distinction of this course was that 'tout ce service fut dore' '-- all the food was apparently gilded, or at least given the appearance of being golden. Then came the second entremet: six men, dressed in the regional constume of Bearn, carried in a man disguised as a tiger wearing a collar from which was suspended the arms of the king of Hungary. The tiger spat fire and the Bearnais danced, to great applause from the onlookers.

Following a fifth course which included tarts, darioles (small moulded dishes, sweet in this case) and fried oranges, another entremet came forth. In terms of sheer spectacle this must have eclipsed everything that went before. Twenty-four men were needed to bring it into the hall, an indication as to both its size and weight. It was a mountain containing two fountains, one of which spouted rosewater, the other 'eau de muscade'. Suddenly out of this rocky promontory rabbits scampered while live birds emerged to fly around the hall. Four boys and a girl, all dressed as savages, descended to dance a morisco. Then the
count distributed largesse to the various attendant heralds of arms, the one from Hungary recieving, in addition to the two hundred e'cus bestowed on the others, a fine length of velvet.

The sixth course consisted of dessert, red hippocras served with certain kinds of wafer called 'oublies' and 'roles', after which came a final entremet. A man attired in embroidered crimson satin appeared astride a similarly caparisoned horse. In his hands he carried a model garden made of wax which was filled with roses and a variety of other flowers, and set it before the ladies (an indication that they must have been seated separately from the men). This, we are told, was the most admired of all the entremets, although what followed in the way of food as a finale must have been equally extraordinary. It involved a heraldic menagerie sculpted in sugar: lions, stags, monkeys and various other birds and beasts, each holding in beak or paw the arms of the Hungarian king.

Unbelieveably, the banquet was not yet over. In came a live peacock with the arms of the queen of France encompassing its neck and the arms of the ladies of the French court draped over its body. In response, all the lords present advanced and pledged to support the cause of the Hungarian king (it was customary to make vows of chivalry on birds). Our account closes with one other important detail. In the middle of the room there was apparently a platform, an estrade, from which singers and an organ provided music during the dinner.

Since the original of this description was in Catalan, I would suggest that the fried oranges are really the cheese balls described in De Nola. Having the ladies sit separately, if indeed they did, would have followed the Eastern European meal tradition.