Prophet

Stag beetle: Found by a Mrs Berrenclot sometime around September, 1688, and sold, for six shillings, to famous naturalist William Courten. Courten bought it for his collection, then housed across ten rooms in Middle Temple, London, and open to the public. Perhaps, one soft September evening, Mrs Berrenclot found the beetle lying dead in the lane, and perhaps she picked him up and cradled him in her hanky, heart-stirred at the wonder of him. Perhaps the morning was bright, and the wind from the East was sharp. Perhaps money was short and Mrs Berrenclot sent her youngest son out to the woodpile to find the biggest beetle that he could while she chopped laurel leaves to line a little killing jar. Either way she must have been thrilled - six whole shillings for a boring old beetle!

Way back, when Herod still haunted grandmothers’ dreams, Pliny wrote that stag beetles were hung around the necks of babies to ward against evils; their mandibles were crushed and used as medicine for centuries; the Germans believed they could carry burning coals and summon lightening; and the people of the New Forest would stone them to death as an omen of bad harvest. Carl Linnaeus, namer of namers, reckoned that if an elephant was as comparatively strong as a stag beetle it could ‘tear up rocks and move mountains’. Courten of course hadn’t bought a boring old beetle. He’d paid good money for an icon. An insect king. A corn prophet, life keeper, earth shaper, fire starter. A creature whose story, for better or worse, has been tangled into the web of our own for longer than anyone has ever been able to remember.

Courten’s exhibits would eventually pass to Hans Sloane, whose collections famously formed the basis of the British Museum and Natural History Museum. I can’t help but wonder if Mrs Berrenclot’s beetle might still be lurking in a forgotten cabinet. And I can’t help but wonder if my children’s children will ever see a stag beetle outside of one.

1) Prophet? Ink on gesso and oak. 13x18cms.