The Church of St. Morwenna and St John the Baptist is steeped in history, the width and breadth of which is still expanding to this day.
The church has a clear Norman heritage, but scholars have concluded that a Saxon church once occupied these grounds before the current structure was built. In addition, the entire site is thought to have began as a pagan site of worship centuries ago.
Beyond the known reconstructions, the church has undergone numerous restorations in the last 100 years, including a series of large-scale renovations during the turn of the previous century.
The church contains a historic figurehead that belonged to the Caledonia--a ship that ran aground on nearby Sharpnose Point. 8 crew members died in the shipwreck, including the captain, whose graves now rests on the church grounds. The captain's grave is marked with a replica of the famous figurehead.
The famous eccentric Robert Stephen Hawker was vicar from 1834 to 1875 and is commemorated by a stained glass window,
Editor’s Note: James Daily, a lawyer and co-author of The Law and Superheroes, typically focuses his legal critiques on the superhero world at the Law and the Multiverse website he runs with fellow lawyer and co-author Ryan Davidson. Today, Daily takes a look a very important cultural document for Wired: The contract between Bilbo Baggins and the dwarves in The Hobbit.
Ordinarily I don’t discuss legal issues relating to fictional settings that are dramatically different from the real world in terms of their legal system. Thus, Star Wars, Star Trek, Tolkien’s Middle Earth, etc. are usually off-limits because we can’t meaningfully apply real-world law to them. But the contract featured in The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey was just too good a topic to pass up, especially since you can buy a high-quality replica of it that is over 5 feet long unfolded.
First, it seems fairly clear (to me, anyway) that Tolkien wrote the Shire (where hobbits live) as a close analog to pastoral England, with its similar legal and political structures. For example, the Shire has a mayor and sheriffs, and there is a system of inheritance similar to the common law. The common law fundamentals of contract law have not changed significantly since the time that the Shire is meant to evoke, so it makes sense that the contract would be broadly similar to a modern contract (and likewise that we could apply modern contract law to it).
So, without further ado, let’s get to it.
The Contract in General
As mentioned, the contract is quite long. This is in contrast with the contract as described in the book, which is very terse. Its terms amounted to this:
For your hospitality our sincerest thanks, and for your offer of professional assistance our grateful acceptance. Terms: cash on delivery, up to and not exceeding one fourteenth of total profits (if any); all travelling expenses guaranteed in any event; funeral expenses to be defrayed by us or our representatives, if occasion arises and the matter is not otherwise arranged for.
Even in the book’s version we see an issue: the dwarves accept Bilbo’s “offer” but then proceed to give terms. This is not actually an acceptance but rather a counter-offer, since they’re adding terms. In the end it doesn’t matter because Bilbo effectively accepts the counter-offer by showing up and rendering his services as a burglar, but the basic point is that the words of a contract do not always have the legal effect that they claim to have. Sometimes you have to look past the form to the substance.
But back to the movie version: It has at least 40 major sections and numerous footnotes and digressions in smaller type. We will begin at the beginning and go on till we reach the end, except where the form of the contract requires some jumping around.
Bilbo’s Obligations to the Dwarves
Two clauses describe Bilbo’s primary obligations:
I, the undersigned, [referred to hereinafter as Burglar,] agree to travel to the Lonely Mountain, path to be determined by Thorin Oakenshield, who has a right to alter the course of the journey at his so choosing, without prior notification and/or liability for accident or injury incurred.
The aforementioned journey and subsequent extraction from the Lonely Mountain of any and all goods, valuables and chattels [which activities are described collectively herein as the Adventure] shall proceed in a timely manner and with all due care and consideration as seen fit by said Thorin Oakenshield and companions, numbering thirteen more or less, to wit, the Company.
All contracts require some consideration from all parties to the contract. Consideration, in the contract sense, means a bargained-for performance or promise. Restatement (Second) of Contracts § 71(1). Basically, this is something of value given or promised as part of the agreement. This can be anything that the parties agree is valuable; the classic example is a single peppercorn. Whitney v. Stearns, 16 Me. 394, 397 (1839).
Here, Bilbo is promising to go with the Company to the Lonely Mountain and performing various services there, including extracting the treasure, plus a few more services we’ll get to later. In turn, as we shall see, the Company promises to pay Bilbo one fourteenth of the profits, plus a few other obligations. Thus we have “a promise for a promise,” otherwise known as a bilateral contract.
There are some other details to notice in these clauses. One is the use of defined terms (e.g. “referred to hereinafter as Burglar”). The parties to a contract may define terms however they wish, even in ways that contradict the definition used in statutes or regulations.
This is important in this case because of the use of the defined term “Burglar.” Contracts to do something illegal are ordinarily unenforceable (e.g. collecting on an illegal gambling debt). But here what matters is not that the parties used the word ‘burglar’ but rather what sort of meaning they assigned to that defined term. As we shall see, the contract doesn’t require Bilbo to do anything illegal (or at least not obviously illegal), and so the contract will probably not fail for use of a questionable term.
Thorin’s Right to Alter the Journey
These two clauses also pose something of a contradiction. On the one hand we see the first of many liability waivers:
[Thorin has] a right to alter the course of the journey at his so choosing, without prior notification and/or liability for accident or injury incurred.” But on the other hand we see this explicit obligation of care: “[the Adventure] shall proceed in a timely manner and with all due care and consideration.
Ordinarily “due care and consideration” signifies taking on liability for negligence, so this conflicts with the earlier liability waiver. Perhaps the two can be reconciled by the phrase “as seen fit by said Thorin Oakenshield and companions.” Thorin and Co. could always claim that the amount of care and consideration they saw fit was extremely minimal, though that runs the risk of making the clause meaningless, which courts usually don’t like to do. ”As a general proposition, whenever possible, the law favors reconciliation of clauses within a contract which appear contradictory.” City of Columbia v. Paul N. Howard Co., 707 F.2d 338, 340 (8th Cir. 1983). Taken together with the numerous other waivers and disclaimers, I think a court would probably conclude that Thorin & Co. were not taking on any particular duty of care. ”A writing is interpreted as a whole.” Restatement (Second) of Contracts § 202(2).
Waivers or disclaimers of liability are an important part of many contracts. These can include waivers of a product warranty (seen all the time in software license agreements) and waivers for liability due to negligence (often required before doing something dangerous like skydiving). But there are limits to liability waivers. While a party to a contract can ordinarily waive liability for negligence (although not in every jurisdiction), one cannot waive liability for gross negligence, recklessness, or intentional misconduct. So the numerous (and sweeping!) waivers and disclaimers may not be as effective as they appear at first glance.
So far the Dwarves haven’t committed any unsalvageable drafting errors or done anything that might jeopardize the validity of the contract. We’ll see if that keeps up!
Waivers for Notoriety and ‘Unlooked-for’ Misfortune
The next section is yet another waiver:
Burglar holds harmless and without blame in perpetuity the Company and its successors for any notoriety, incarceration, or proceedings brought against, in regard to or as a result of the adventure or any activities related thereto.
Also includes slander, libel, loss of face or of social standing in country of Burglar’s origin.
Remedies shall similarly not be sought for any unlooked-for misfortune befalling Burglar’s home during his absence.
The smaller text is written in the margin or otherwise in smaller writing. There’s a lot of that kind of writing in the margins that we’ll be referring to as we go through the contract. For the most part the size of the print doesn’t matter, but there are some contract terms, such as warranty disclaimers, that must be printed conspicuously, which usually means large print or all caps. UCC §§ 2-316(2), 1-201(b)(10). At common law we suspect the rules were even looser.
This set of waivers is not particularly objectionable. As discussed in the prior post, the actual scope of the waiver may not be as broad as the language suggests. For example, if the Dwarves intentionally burned down Bag End, this waiver would not prevent Bilbo from suing them for the damage.
It may bear mentioning that the slander waiver only protects the Company. Bilbo could still sue the actual slanderer, of course. Traditionally this has been easier to do in England than the United States. At common law, for example, truth was no defense to criminal libel (also known as seditious libel). Garrison v. Louisiana, 379 U.S. 64, 67-68 (1964).
Payment (and Funeral Expenses) for the Burglar
Now we come to some terms of the contract actually described in the book:
Cash on delivery, up to and not exceeding one fourteenth of the total profit [if any]. Not including any of the gross paid to other parties in lieu of royalties or help and provisions given or loaned.
All traveling expenses guaranteed in any event. But refer to attached and appended conditions, clauses and riders regarding any Return Journey. ‘Traveling expenses’ shall be understood to mean basic fare as seen fit by the Company. ‘Luxury’ catering or accomodation over and above this standard shall be enjoyed only at Burglar’s considerable [but justifiable] expense.
Funeral expenses to be defrayed by us or our representatives if occasion arises and the matter is not otherwise arranged for. Basic funeral to ‘commoner’ or peasant standard is allowed for only. Lavish ceremonies and jewelled (sic) or gilded coffins not provided. Plain pine box is the normal standard. Transport of any remains, in whole or in part, back to the country of Burglar’s origin is not included.
Most of these clauses are fairly straightforward. In terms of the plot, the more important clause is the one regarding profits. Already we see part of the definition: it excludes royalties paid to others and anything given or loaned to Bilbo counts against it. In the margins we see some more relevant terms:
Burglar acknowledges and agrees that each item of the Company’s valuables, goods, money or merchandise which he recovers from the Lonely Mountain [the 'Recovered Goods'] during the term of his engagement with the Company, shall remain the Property of the Company at all times, and in all respects, without limitation.
Furthermore, the company shall retain any and all Recovered Goods until such a time as a full and final reckoning can be made, from which the Total Profits can then be established. Then, and only then, will the Burglar’s fourteenth share be calculated and decided.
So Bilbo can’t just pick up some treasure that he likes and decide that it’s part of (or the entirety of) his share. Instead, as provided by yet another clause, he will be paid in gold or its equivalent, in correct weight or of good quality, respectively. And he can’t lay claim to any particular article of treasure. Indeed, the Dwarves could conceivably purchase gold from somewhere else and pay him with that. He’s not entitled to any part of the treasure itself as such.
There are several ways in which these contract terms affect the plot. The book has been out for about eighty years, but nonetheless, spoiler alert:
As anyone who has read the book knows, the definition of Bilbo’s “fourteenth share of total profits” goes directly to a major issue in the plot, namely Bilbo’s taking of the Arkenstone. In the book Bilbo feels comfortable taking it, since he figures it’s worth his fourteenth share, and the contract didn’t say which fourteenth he could take. This contract eliminates that possibility. We doubt that the plot will actually be modified to take this into account, but it may be an example of the writer of the contract being a bit too clever.
Next we have a non-disclosure or confidentiality clause:
Confidentiality is of utmost importance and must be strictly maintained at all times. During the course of his employment with the Company, Burglar will hear, see, learn, apprehend, comprehend, and, in short, gain knowledge of particular facts, ideas, plans, strategies, theories, geography, cartography, iconography, means, tactics and/or policies, whether actual, tangible, conceptual, historical or fanciful. Burglar undertakes and agrees to maintain this knowledge in utmost secrecy and confidentiality, and to neither divulge nor make known said knowledge by any means, including but not limited to speech, writing, demonstration, re-enactment, mime, or storage and retrieval within means or apparatus currently known or unknown or as yet unthought of.
(It is a plain drafting error to refer to “the course of [the Burglar's] employment with the company”, since a later clause specifies in no uncertain terms that “Burglar is in all respects an independent contractor, and not an employee … of the Company.”)
This confidentiality agreement is a little overbroad, since by its strict terms it requires Bilbo to keep confident anything he learns on the journey, not just things he learns in confidence. The fact that information is already publicly known is usually a defense to a breach of confidentiality, since the information wasn’t actually secret. Overbreadth probably isn’t fatal to the clause, however.
What’s really unusual about this part of the contract is that it doesn’t appear to include a clause acknowledging that monetary damages alone would be inadequate compensation in the event of a breach of confidentiality. The purpose of such a clause is to make it easier to obtain an injunction ordering the breaching party to stop disclosing the confidential information. Ordinarily breach of contract results in a payment of monetary damages, and getting an injunction usually requires showing, among other things, that those damages are insufficient to remedy the harm done.
What’s doubly weird about this is that the contract does have this clause later on:
Burglar acknowledges that monetary damages alone will be adequate compensation for a breach of this contract by the Company.
It’s curious that the contract only contemplates injunctions defensively (i.e. protecting the Company from them) and not offensively (i.e. making it easier to enjoin Bilbo).
Mandatory Binding Arbitration in the Dwarvish Tongue
There are also a group of clauses dealing with disputes arising under the contract. This is an important part of many contracts. If you’re going to the trouble of creating a formal legal agreement, then you might as well contemplate what might happen if the deal goes bad. Somewhat anachronistically, the contract contains an arbitration clause:
Disputes arising between the Contract Parties shall be heard and judged by an arbitrator of the Company’s choosing
I say “somewhat anachronistically” because although arbitration has a long history in the common law — going back at least as far as 1609 — it was for centuries frowned upon by the courts. One early case, Vynior’s Case, held that mandatory arbitration clauses (i.e. requiring a party to a contract to submit to arbitration) were revocable. In other words, parties could submit to arbitration but only by ongoing, mutual agreement. It was not until the 1800s that mandatory arbitration really became acceptable in either England or the US. See, e.g., Burchell v. Marsh, 58 U.S. 344 (1854).
The other issue is that the clause allows the Company to choose the arbitrator. This is highly unusual and may actually invalidate the arbitration clause. In order to comport with due process, a mandatory arbitration agreement must, among other things, provide a neutral, impartial decision maker. Typically this is done by allowing the parties to jointly select an arbitrator or to have an impartial third party (such as an arbitration agency) select one.
The next part of the arbitration paragraph is a rarity for an American lawyer:
… and all pleas shall be pleaded, shrewed [sic], defended, answered, debated and judged in the Dwarvish Tongue
Obviously this is a significant disadvantage for Bilbo, as he evidently cannot read (and presumably cannot speak) Dwarvish. Choice of language clauses like this one are much more common in international contracts than in contracts between parties in the United States. They are also much more common in contracts that contain arbitration agreements rather than forum selection clauses (e.g. “any disputes arising under this contract will be heard in the courts of Capital City, State X”) because in most countries the courts only deal in one official language, making a choice of language clause redundant. But when the case will go to arbitration, the chosen arbitrator could potentially speak multiple languages.
However, the most common reason for a choice of language clause is when the contract itself is translated into multiple languages for the benefit of the parties. In that case it is common for the contract to specify that one version is the “authoritative” version.
Jurisdiction: The Shire vs. the Dwarven Kingdom?
The one thing that leaps out at me about this contract is that it doesn’t contain a choice of law clause. Such a clause allows the parties to specify what jurisdiction’s law will govern the contract. This is particularly useful when multiple jurisdictions may potentially apply. The area of the law that deals with figuring out which court has jurisdiction and which law applies is known as conflict of laws.
Conflict of laws is a complex subject. Typically it is a stand-alone course in law school. So we won’t go into too much detail here, but suffice to say that arguably both the law of the Shire and the law of the Dwarven Kingdom could conceivably apply to this contract. Some of the factors that a court might consider include:
The parties are a Hobbit of the Shire and a group of Dwarves.
The contract was signed in the Shire.
The contract concerns services to be performed in the Dwarven Kingdom.
The most likely source of the breach of the contract occurs in the Dwarven Kingdom.
Since the applicable law is debatable, this is precisely the kind of case in which a choice of law clause makes sense, so its absence is notable.
Ownership of the Ring: Specialized Equipment?
Given the clauses describing ownership of the recovered goods, one might wonder whether the Company has a claim to the One Ring. After all, Bilbo has expressly agreed that he has only a right to 1/14th of the profits, to be paid in a form determined by the Company, and no right to the treasure itself. So could it be that the One Ring merely forms part of the treasure? The contract seems to indicate otherwise.
First, the contract describes the extraction of goods from the Lonely Mountain as being the subject of the Adventure, whereas the One Ring was found underneath the Misty Mountains. Second, the contract includes this clause:
Specialist equipment required in the execution of duties in his professional role as Burglar shall be purchased, procured, purlioned [sic] or obtained by Burglar, by whatsoever method Burglar sees fit.
The One Ring is definitely “specialist equipment” and it turns out to be required in the execution of Bilbo’s duties in his professional role as Burglar. Certainly he could not have defeated the spiders, evaded the Wood Elves, or snuck past Smaug without it (possibly only the last counts as proper burgling, but the point stands). So the Dwarves would not appear to have any claim to the One Ring.
I probably would have left out the “purloined” part, though. That comes dangerously close to making the contract unenforceable on the grounds that the subject matter of the contract is illegal.
Closing Thoughts
One the whole, the contract is pretty well written. There are some anachronisms, unnecessary clauses, typos, and a small number of clear drafting errors, but given the contract’s length and its role in the film (which is to say not a huge one, especially in the particulars) it’s an impressive piece of work. I congratulate prop-maker and artist Daniel Reeve on a strong piece of work. A lesser studio or artist might have been tempted to go with several pages of lorum ipsum written in Cirth. If you’d like an even more accurate replica of the contract, Weta’s online store has a version with hand-made touches by Mr. Reeve.
Whereas tournaments of the late thirteenth century were infused with cross-channel contact, whether in reciprocity of form or in the international composition of the participants involved, by the early fifteenth century, tournament forms... more
Whereas tournaments of the late thirteenth century were infused with cross-channel contact, whether in reciprocity of form or in the international composition of the participants involved, by the early fifteenth century, tournament forms in England and the Netherlands had significantly diverged. As has been thoroughly explored by recent historians, English tournaments became increasingly socially exclusive, whilst retaining an international dimension in the interests of diplomacy. However, this essay demonstrates that this development was by no means typical of all late medieval tournaments. The case of the Low Countries demonstrates that the more socially inclusive style tournaments did continue into the fifteenth century, and provided an opportunity for the ducal household and noblemen to come into contact with patrician townspeople and even more diverse urban audiences.
More Info: "published in: Hannah Skoda, Patrick Lantschner and R. L. J. Shaw eds., Contact and Exchange in Later Medieval Europe. Essays in Honour of Malcolm Vale (Woodbridge 2012) 247-266 http://www.boydellandbrewer.com/store/viewitem.asp?idproduct=13989"
Determine size and shape. The width of the fabric should be taken into account when determining the size. Plan for one or two center poles, the slope of the top, and how many other poles with placement. Poles are commonly placed a maximum of 6 feet apart at the perimeter. If you plan to add walls later on, you'll want to think about placing the poles no farther apart than 4 to 5 feet. The style of pavilion will also dictate where the poles are.
What color(s) do you want?
Not all fabrics come in the colors you might want, and canvas is fairly restricted in colors. Remember to visualize the colors together or you might end up with something that looks like a giant fruit or bruise on your favorite fighter.
What dag shape did you want?
square, rectangular, keyhole, triangular, heater. Make a template of the dag style you want. Dags on average are commonly 12 to 16 inches long and 12 inches wide.
Make a drawing of size and shape, two views at least. Then make a setup drawing of pavilion, showing how it would look on the field. 5) Make a cutting plan. This helps if you have a non-rectangular shape.
Optional items. Painting on dags and/or Top. Backdrop. Floor. Barrier. Break-down or single piece poles. And waterproofing. Backdrop, Barrier, and Floor Covering.
Items needed:
Yardstick, Tape Measure, and a long straight edge. Chalk and Pencil.
Pavilion drawings and Templates.
Dag Template.
Scissors, sharp.
Sewing Machine. An old steel one works best with Duck and Canvas.
Fabric (with 2 yds extra).
Lots of thread, about 900 yds worth for a 10'x15' Oval. Use a cotton covered polyester thread for strength.
Poles and steel rod, Grommets and leather, Parachute Line, Stakes, and Line Tighteners.
Optional items: paint, waterproofing, designs to paint.
Order of Construction
PRE-SHRINKING
The fabric needs to be pre-shrunk, otherwise it will shrink funny after the first time it gets wet. For the larger pavilions you will need to run a test piece through the washer and dryer, measuring before and after to figure out the percent shrinkage. Allow for the shrinkage if you cut out the pieces before washing. Sometimes you will need to iron the fabric after drying.
CUTTING
Cut the pieces out of fabric, remember to allow 1 inch seam allowance for each fabric piece. Using cutting layout if you have it. When cutting out dags, fold fabric in quarters so you can get more dags with less cutting. If dags are symmetrical, then you can waste less material. Dags only need 1/2 inch seam allowance. Here you would also cut out the pennants for poles. IMPORTANT: Be sure to track which piece goes where before you start sewing. Any painting of dags and pennants are done now.
SEWING
Pin the pavilion pieces together for sewing.Start with the seam in the center of the pavilion and work outward. Make sure all the seams are getting sewn on the same side out. Use a French or Jean seam. The dags and pennants are sewn with the painted surface inside to be turned right-side out. After the pavilion top is sewn all together, start sewing the dags on. The dags should sewn on so the side it face out is against the top side of the pavilion. Use the same French or Jean seam on connecting dags to pavilion top, then sew again around the seam.
POLES
Either machine or hand sew leather squares on the pavilion where the grommets are going. The leather pieces need to go on the bottom side of the pavilion. Then put the grommets in. Now the Top is done. Make your poles to the height you wanted. Remember to make the center pole(s) to the height you planned for. Drill the holes in the poles for the pennant rods. Cut the rods long enough for the hole depth plus pennant height and 3 inches. Paint the poles if you wanted. If you paint, use an oil based paint for durability and make sure you also paint the ends. Make the line tighteners out of dowel rod or old broom handles.
FINISHING
Now your pavilion can be setup and used, or you can waterproof it now. A note on waterproofing: Only immersion and brushing methods truly get the waterproofing into the fabric.
Suggested Fabrics:
Roof - Canvas, 10oz. Duck, Trigger, Sportsweight, and Silk.
Backdrop/Barrier -Canvas, Duck, Sportsweight, Broadcloth, Sheeting, and Silk
Dags - Broadcloth, Sheeting, and Silk (for flapping in the breeze.)
Choose the design that best suits you the best. A few years ago, finding anything about trebuchets was pretty difficult, but these days there are many websites and several books that offer detailed building plans.
Draft the trebuchet's front, side and top view. The drawing must be to scale. This way you will have a clear idea what the finished project will look like and how much space it will occupy.
Draft plans for each of the trebuchet's components. A trebuchet consists of six basic components: base frame, upright supports, runway, swinging arm, counterweight bucket and sling.
Building the Base Frame
Put on your safety goggles. Cut three four-by-fours to a length of 4 feet on your table saw. Put the leftover 2-foot pieces to the side. One of the four-foot pieces is the base frame's front, another its back and the last one its central parallel brace.
Cut the leftover 2-foot pieces into four 1-foot long pieces on the table saw. Cut one four-by-four into two 4 foot long pieces. Place one of them to the side. Cut the remaining one into four 1 foot long pieces. You now have eight 1 foot long sections of four-by-four. Set the table saw's frame to a 45 degree angle. Cut off both corners of each 1-foot piece so that you have eight trapezoids with a 1 foot long base. These are the base frame's corner support braces.
Return the table saw's frame to the original setting. Set the blade's height to 1 3/4 inches. That's half a four-by-four's width. Cut the 4 foot long pieces at 3 1/2 inches and 44 1/2 inches. The frame will be put together with lap joints, so you're not cutting all the way through the lumber. Make four cuts into the 6-foot lengths: at 3 1/2 inches, at 34 1/4 inches, at 37 3/4 inches and at 68 1/2 inches. Make three additional cuts at equal intervals between the two cuts in the center. Punch out those central sections with the wood chisel and mallet.
Set the band saw's fence to 1 3/4 inches. Cut the ends of the 4-foot and 6-foot lengths so that each lumber's end has an L-shaped section cut out. All L-shapes must be on the same side.
Place the base frame's sides on top of the front and back end pieces and the central parallel support. Attach a Phillips head drill bit to your power drill and secure each joint with four 3-inch deck screws. Position the diagonal braces at the base frame's corners and to each side of the central parallel support. Secure each diagonal brace with 3-inch deck screws.
Building the Runway
Set the table saw's fence to 4 inches. On the table saw, cut one of the dimensional lumbers lengthwise. These two sheets are the runway's sides.
Make pencil marks on the base frame's front, back and central parallel support at exactly 20 inches and 28 inches. Align the 8 inch wide dimensional lumber with the pencil marks. Make sure it is precisely parallel with the base frame's sides. This is crucial to the finished trebuchet's accuracy. Secure it to the base frame with deck screws.
Cut six right-angled squares with 4 inch sides from your wood scraps. Secure these triangles with nails to the runway side pieces at 2 inches, 36 inches and 70 inches. Make sure that the right angles are all on the same side.
Place the runway side pieces against the 8 inch wide dimensional lumber. Fasten the triangular support brackets to the base frame with nails.
Buiding and Securing the Upright Supports
Cut six pieces of four-by-four to a length of 2, feet 9 inches on the table saw. Put two of these pieces to the side. These are the upright supports. The other for pieces are the support braces. Set the table saw's fence to a 135 degree angle. Cut the support braces along the top. Set the table saw's fence to a 64 degree angle. Cut the support braces along the bottom.
Draw a pencil line across the top of each upright support at 1 3/4 inches. Carry that line over to each of the support's sides. The line needs to drop down 1 3/4 inches. Mark the end of each line with an "X". Attach a drill bit to your power drill. Drill straight through the lumber, making sure you drill through the center of each "X." Attack the keyhole bit to the drill. Using the hole you just drilled as a pilot, drill as deeply into the wood as you can from both sides. You won't be able to cut entirely through the lumber. Punch out the center with the mallet. Remove all splinters with the wood rasps.
Make a pencil line across the upright support's top portion at 1 3/4 inches. That's halfway across the circle you just punched out. Cut off the top section on the band saw along this line.
Making the Axle and Swinging Arm
Draw an "X" across each end of your 4-foot four-by-four. With the compass, draw a 1 1/4 inch circle at the center of each "X." Draw a pencil line 3 1/2 inches from each end across all four sides of the lumber. Cut an octagonal shape around each circle's perimeter to the 3 1/2 inch line. Punch out the pieces around the octagon with the chisel and mallet. Round off the edges with the wood rasps so that you have perfect 3 1/2 inch cylinders on each end.
Set the table saw's blade to a height of 1 3/4 inches. Make cuts at 21 1/4 inches and 23 3/4 inches. Make three additional cuts at equal intervals between these cuts. Punch out the center sections with the chisel and mallet.
Cut a four-by-four to a length of 5 1/2 feet on the table saw. Set the table saw's blade to a height of 1 3/4 inches. Make a cut at 27 inches from the swinging arms front end and another at 30 1/2 inches. Make three additional cuts at equal intervals between these t two cuts. Punch out the center sections with the chisel and mallet.
Cut a 1 inch wide, 1 inch deep mortise into the swinging arm's back. Make the cuts on the band saw. Punch out the center with the chisel and mallet. The mortise must be vertical, not horizontal. Drill a hole through the swinging arm 1/2 inch from the top and 1/2 inch from the back, so that it punches through the entire mortise. Fasten a 3/4 inch eye hook to the top of the swinging arm, 1 inch below the mortise.
Building the Counterweight Bucket and Attaching the Aiming Pin
Place the 3 1/2 inch wide dimensional lumber on the table saw. Cut two 1-foot lengths, one 1 1/2-foot length and two 7 3/4 inch lengths. Cut the plywood to two rectangles, 1 foot x 1 1/2 feet.
Center one of the 1 1/2 foot long dimensional lumbers on the swinging arm's front end. Secure it with three 3 inch deck screws. This is the bottom of the counterweight bucket. The plywood rectangles are its sides. Secure them to the swinging arm and bottom with 3 inch deck screws at 2 inch intervals. Secure the 1 foot long lumbers to the bucket's front and back in the same manner.
Attach the 1 inch keyhole bit to the drill. Drill out a 1 inch wheel from the 1 inch thick dimensional lumber. Attach a 1/2 inch drill bit to the drill. Drill a 1/2 inch deep hole onto the wheel's side. Place the dowel into the hole and secure it with wood glue.
Place the wheel into the mortise at the end of the swinging arm so that the dowel points up. Secure it with a 4 inch bolt, two washers and a nut.
Final Assembly
Cut two 4 1/2 foot lengths of nylon rope. Cut an 16 inch long, 6 inch wide diamond from the denim cloth. Tie the diamond's front corner to one length of rope, the back corner to the other. Secure one nylon rope to the swinging arm's eye hook. You now have one free end of nylon rope. Tie this end into a 1 inch hoop. This hoop will hook onto the aiming pin when the trebuchet it loaded and ready to fire.
Place the axle onto the upright supports. Replace the upright support tops and fasten them with straight brackets and 1/2 inch wood screws. Make sure the axle can move freely before tightening the screws. Hang the swinging on the axle, mortise to mortise. Drill four holes through the mortise joint. Fasten the swinging arm to the axle with four 4 inch bolts, washers and nuts.
Fill the counterweight bucket with cat litter. Secure the two 7 1/4 inch pieces of dimensional lumber to the bucket's top with 3 inch deck screws.
Fasten a 3/4 inch eye hook to the top of the trebuchet's left runway rail, 6 inches from the trebuchet's rear. Cut a 6 foot length of nylon rope. Drill a hole into the center of each runway rail, 6 inches from the rear. This is the trebuchet's firing mechanism.
Archaeologists excavating inside an 18th century theater slated to become an addition to the Museum of the Works of the Cathedral in Florence have discovered what appears to be a builder’s model of the cathedral’s famous dome. The mini-dome is nine feet in diameter and features bricks laid in a herringbone pattern, a unique characteristic of the dome designed and built by architect and engineer Filippo Brunelleschi.
It was found in a layer two-and-a-quarter feet below surface level which contains copious metal and marble fragments from the period when the space was used as a construction workshop during the late 14th and 15th centuries, the same time when Brunelleschi was working on his dome. Herringbone brickwork had been used before in Persian domes, but Brunelleschi’s was the first in Europe, which means this model may be the first brick herringbone dome built on the continent. The dome of Santa Maria del Fiore was built between 1420 and 1436, and the herringbone pattern was one of the key elements to Brunelleschi’s brilliant design. An octagonal dome had been planned for the cathedral by Arnolfo di Cambio in 1296, but even as the rest of the church was built, the dome never moved past the model phase. The decision to eschew Gothic buttresses in favor of a classical dome was made when the design of architect Neri di Fioravante was accepted in 1367. That left the Duomo’s builders with a dilly of a pickle: how to build a huge octagonal dome without elaborate scaffolding that would make the interior of the church unusable and without exterior buttresses.
In 1418 the wool guild sponsored a contest to solve the thorny problem. Brunelleschi studied the dome of the Pantheon in Rome — still today the largest unreinforced concrete dome in the world — but he couldn’t use the Pantheon’s techniques for the Duomo dome. The Roman recipe for concrete was lost, for one thing, and for another, it had required massive wooden forms to keep the dome standing while the concrete dried. There literally wasn’t enough timber in Tuscany to scaffold and frame even a masonry dome 144 feet in diameter. Also the outer walls of the cathedral had already been built, and there was no way they could withstand the compression forces of a massive, heavy dome. Besides, there was still the stricture that the interior of the church had to be open to the public during construction. Brunelleschi’s solution was brickwork rather than concrete or stone. He built wooden vertical ribs that curved upwards from each corner of the octagonal base. The ribs had slits that wooden planks could be attached to, and then terrifying skinny platforms built off the planks for workers to use building the dome without the need for scaffolding. The bricks were then laid in a diagonal herringbone pattern that would transfer the weight of the bricks to nearest vertical rib while the mortar was drying instead of pressing downwards and collapsing onto the heads of assembled worshipers.
Even today there are many questions about how he accomplished this extraordinary feat of architecture. Brunelleschi kept his overall plan close to his chest, releasing snippets on a need-to-know basis so he couldn’t be easily replaced. The discovery of a brick and mortar model (as opposed to the small mock-up style model which is on display at the Museum of the Works of the Cathedral) could add to our understanding of Brunelleschi’s methods. Unfortunately the top of the mini-dome is missing, probably sheared off during the construction of the theater in 1779. The theater was commissioned by the Grand Duke of Tuscany Peter Leopold, son of Maria Theresa of Austria and future Holy Roman Emperor. It replaced the many workshops used by artisans and craftsmen employed by the Works of the Cathedral since the Middle Ages, one of which may well have been the place where Michelangelo sculpted the David. The Theater of the Intrepids became known for its low-brow entertainment, raucous audiences and wholly crappy acoustics.
In the 1900s the theater was gutted and used as a garage until it was purchased by its former owners, the Works of the Duomo, in 1998. For the next decade or so, the organization used it for storage and as a restoration laboratory. In 2009, construction began to transform the space into an adjunct space for the museum. The new addition is scheduled to open in 2015. The newly discovered domelet will be fully excavated, restored as much as feasible and put on display in the new museum.
A Sandakada pahana, a beautifully carved semi-circular granite slab which a thousand years ago graced the entrance to a temple in Anuradhapura, a sacred Buddhist city and a capital of Sri Lanka from the 4th century B.C. to the 11th century A.D., has been found in the garden of a modest bungalow in Devon. Sam Tuke, an appraiser at Bonhams, happened to hear about it from a woman who was in the office picking up something else. When she mentioned the elaborate carvings of animals which she had loved tracing with her fingers since she was a small child, the expert was intrigued. The client brought him a picture of it the next day and he realized it was something special. It is so special, in fact, that it’s one of only seven of its kind. The other six are all still the first steps to stupas (spired dome temples representing the enlightened mind of the Buddha) in Anuradhapura. The tradition of the elaborately carved first step goes all the way to the dawn of Buddhism. According to tradition, the practice began in India when the Buddha was still alive. A devotee had covered the floors of the temple he had built with expensive, richly patterned cloths. When another devotee wanted to do the same, Ananda, the Buddha’s personal attendant and first cousin, suggested she place them at the base of the temple steps. From then on, the first step would be a beautiful art work.
In Anuradhapura, this tradition took the form of carved stones. Sandakada pahana means half-moon stone in the Sinhala language and indeed all the steps are semi-circular in shape. The designs carved within the half-moon are laden in Buddhist symbolism, representing the life of the Buddha and the cycle of Samsara (birth, life, death and reincarnation). Within the half-moon are concentric half-circles carved with Buddhist symbols. In the center is a half lotus in bloom. The lotus represents purity of spirit as it floats unblemished above the mud of earthly attachment. When the Buddha was born, he took seven steps and at each step a lotus flower blossomed.
The next band is a line of geese (some call them swans, but swans aren’t native to the region and the creatures don’t have long necks). Geese are considered examples of ideal qualities — they aren’t vainly adorned like peacocks but they can fly to much greater heights, their migration shows a lack of attachment to home, they make pleasing sounds — and the Abhiniṣkramaṇa Sūtra tells the tale of a young Prince Siddhartha saving a goose which had been shot with an arrow by his cousin and nursing it back to health.
After the geese is a band of foliage called a liyavel, a stylized design symbolizing worldly desires, and after that is a parade of four animals: elephant, horse, lion and bull. They follow each other in that order representing the four phases of Buddha’s life.
The elephant represents the Buddha’s birth and growth. One night before he was a twinkle in her eye, his mother Queen Maya dreamed that a white elephant holding a lotus flower in its trunk walked around her three times then entered her womb. The white elephant, symbol of mental strength greatness, was the Buddha himself returning to life in his final incarnation as Prince Siddhartha. The horse represents energy and effort in the practice of dharma. Buddha rode his horse, Kanthaka, when he left the palace for good to live as an ascetic begging for alms. The lion symbolizes power and the teachings of the mature Buddha which are also known as “the Lion’s Roar.” The bull represents forbearance and the acceptance of death. An alternate interpretation of the four animals is that they represent the four mortal perils: birth (elephant), disease (lion), decay (bull) and death (horse).
The outermost band is a carving of stylized flames representing the fire of worldly existence.
The Sandakada pahanas were created towards the end of the Anuradhapura Kingdom. Sri Lanka was invaded by the Tamil Chola Empire of India in 993. Anuradhapura king Mahinda V, a weak ruler who made the fatal mistake of not paying his army, was finally captured in 1017. He was kept prisoner in India while the Chola army sacked the sacred city of Anuradhapura. They then moved the capital of Sri Lanka to Polonnaruwa tolling the final death knell of the Anuradhapura Kingdom. The city was abandoned and the jungle reclaimed the ruins. It wasn’t forgotten, however. It had been written about extensively by ancient Roman (Pliny the Elder in Book VI, Chapter 24 of Natural History refers to the travelogue of Annius Plocamus whose servant was blown off course to Sri Lanka) and Chinese sources. In the 1820s and 30s, British colonial administrator Sir William Colebrooke describes the art and architecture of Anuradhapura, and a Sandakada pahana in particular, in glowing if Eurocentric terms.
“I saw here ornamented capitals and balustrades, and bas reliefs of animals and foliage. I cannot better express my opinion of their elegance than by saying that, had I seen them in a museum, I should, without hesitation, have pronounced them to be Grecian or of Grecian descent. One semicircular slab, at the foot of a staircase, is carved in a pattern of foliage which I have repeatedly seen in works of Greek and Roman origin.”
So how did this masterpiece of immense cultural importance find its way to a Devon bungalow? It was in the garden of the current owner’s childhood home in Sussex. Her parents had purchased the house from a tea planter in the 1950s, a tea planter would certainly have good reason to visit Sri Lanka, or Ceylon as it was then called, and in those days could easily have purchased some loot from Anuradhapura and brought it home.
When her parents died, the Sussex house was sold, but the owner of the stone couldn’t bear to leave behind a piece that had given her so much delight in the happy days of her youth. She took it with her. “The Pebble,” as the three-quarter ton, eight-foot by four-foot, six-inch-thick granite slab is known in the family, has moved with her five times since then. Now she’s parting with it for good, sadly. It will be sold at Bonham’s Indian and Islamic sale in London on April 23rd. They expect it will sell for at least £30,000 ($48,000), which seems very low to me considering its beauty and incalculable historic and cultural value.
I wish she’d donate it to a museum. It’s in such impeccable condition, which makes it even rarer than the six which remain in place since they’ve been stepped on by so many thousands of pilgrims and tourists.
As mentioned, the contract is quite long. This is in contrast with the contract as described in the book, which is very terse. Its terms amounted to this:
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