Recently, I have been looking at one of our most 'fishy' manuscripts.

A fish in combat with an unidentified animal, in a Psalter (England, 1220s): Lansdowne MS 420, f. 52r

 
Two fish attacking a bearded man’s head: Lansdowne MS 420, f. 69v

In a fascinating Psalter made in 13th-century England, savage fish are depicted attacking humans, animals and other hybrids. Almost every page of this manuscript offers a new variation on a violent encounter. On f. 69v, two fish trap a floating male head, who looks slightly perplexed by the occasion. On f. 67r, another fish confronts a horse with a human head. Events unfold dramatically in the initial on f. 48v, where a fish devours a human for good. More peaceful species of fish seem to enjoy a simpler life swimming between the lines of the manuscript, where they have little to do except for staring at us, and at each other.

A fish confronting a horse-human hybrid: Lansdowne MS 420, f. 67r

A fish devouring a human head: Lansdowne MS 420, f. 48v

Two fish as a line filler: Lansdowne MS 420, f. 58r

Little has been written about this Psalter, and even less about its idiosyncratic fish. In 13th-century books, fish often appear as a line filler, since their flat and elongated shape was convenient for the narrow space between the lines; but the 'violent' fish motif so prominent in our manuscript is much more unusual. It might be that the artist used the fish as their signature. We don’t know whether one artist worked on both the penwork in the margins and on the illuminations in the initials, but the same motifs travel from the initials into the margin, exhibiting a similar drawing style. It is also possible that the fish was some kind of joke on behalf of the artist, a pun obvious for the manuscript's audience in the 1200s but more difficult to decipher several hundred years later.

Similar scenes in the initial and in the margin of the Psalter: Lansdowne MS 420, f. 58r

Since these fish appear in a Psalter, a manuscript intended for prayer and devotion, one wonders if all of its decoration, including the fish penwork, was of some use for the readers of the Psalms. The Psalter’s audience might have been familiar with some of the fish symbolism and used these images as an additional devotional tool. For instance, Jacques de Vitry (d. 1240), a contemporary preacher, compared the Devil to the fish, the snake, the wolf and the dog. According to Jacques, the spittle of a fasting man would kill the snake, abstinence kills the fish, hunger kills the wolf, and prayer drives out the Devil much as boiling water drives a dog out of the kitchen. Could the hostile fish have been a reminder to the Psalter’s audience of the Devil that must be fought at all times?

A wolf-like head devours a human: Lansdowne MS 420, f. 78r

Fish are not the sole aggressor in the margins of Lansdowne MS 420. A wolf-like creature devours a human on f. 78r, a dragon swallows a human head on f. 50r, and another dragon feasts on an unfortunate fish on f. 66r. Combat is a major theme in the decoration of this Psalter, and it might not be coincidental that the theme of fighting is also prevalent in the text of the Psalms. ‘Why, O Lord, are they multiplied that afflict me?’, asks the Psalmist in Ps 3:2. In the same vein, Ps 6:8-9 begs, ‘I have grown old amongst all my enemies. Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity.’ While ruminating on the text of the Psalter, the readers engage in numerous confrontations between the ‘workers of iniquity’ and the Psalmist. The endless combats described in the Psalms have traditionally been interpreted as a personal spiritual struggle and as a battle between vice and virtue. Perhaps the puzzling series of violent encounters that illuminate our manuscript metaphorically reflect the violent spiritual world of the Psalter itself?

It is challenging to prove any of these hypotheses: the case of the idiosyncratic fish remains unsolved. We are left bemused and bewildered, pondering the curious appearance of the 'violent' fish in a devotional book.

Lansdowne MS 420 can be viewed in full on the Library's Digitised manuscripts and archives pages, alongside hundreds of other medieval manuscripts.

 

Elena Lichmanova

The Campbell Charters are among the oldest but least studied charter collections in the British Library. Three of the collection's charters shine a light on Henry VIII’s invasion of France in 1513, and the supply of armour for the English army.

The young Henry VIII (r. 1509-1547) was eager to build a reputation as a warrior king like that of his namesake, Henry V (r. 1413-1422), whose victory at Agincourt in 1415 had cemented his legacy as one of England’s great rulers. When the Pope proclaimed a new alliance against France in 1511, Henry leapt at the chance to emulate his ancestor. He sent an expedition to Aquitaine in southern France, a region that had been lost to England almost sixty years earlier. His Spanish allies were supposed to help supply the English troops with food and horses but failed to do so. Poorly equipped and wracked by hunger and disease, the English raided a few French towns before the risk of mutiny forced them to return to England. Henry was angry but undeterred. He decided to attempt another invasion and, this time, he would lead it personally. Helping him was a rising star, the king’s almoner and soon to be Archbishop of York, Thomas Wolsey (b. c. 1473, d. 1530).

Portrait of Thomas Wolsey by an unknown artist; 1589-95, based on a work of c. 1520: NPG 32 (© National Portrait Gallery, London; CC BY-NC-ND 3.0).

Henry appointed Wolsey as director of the invasion force, tasked with raising troops and buying supplies. In the Campbell Charters collection, three documents record his efforts to purchase armour for the gathering army. The first is a contract (LFC Ch VIII 18) between Wolsey and another royal agent, John Daunce (b. by 1484, d. 1545), with Guido Portinari, a Florentine merchant living in London. The Portinaris were one of several Italian merchant families whom the Tudors commissioned to provide armour, weapons, ammunition, and supplies for their forces. The 1511 expedition had been woefully underequipped, so, on behalf of the king, Wolsey and Daunce placed an order for 2,000 suits of Almain rivet for infantrymen. The contract features both their signatures – though in this instance Wolsey spells his name ‘Wuley’ – as well as that of King Henry himself.

Contract of Thomas Wolsey and John Daunce with Guido Portinari for the delivery of 2,000 suits of armour, 13 September 1512: LFC Ch VIII 18.

The signatures of Thomas Wolsey (‘Wuley’), John Daunce, and Henry VIII: LFC Ch VIII 18

Almain rivet was a recently invented type of flexible armour, of German design, made up of overlapping plates bound together by rivets. It was relatively cheap and easy to mass produce. Wolsey and Daunce required each suit be made according to a ‘pattern’ which Daunce possessed, and to include a breastplate, backplate, a sallet helm, a gorget to protect the neck, and a pair of splints for the legs. At 16s per suit, the king was being charged a high rate. In the 1520s and 1530s, a suit of Almain rivet could cost anywhere between 6s and 13s 4d, but, in 1512, with war ongoing, Portinari was able to demand a much higher price.

A suit of Almain rivet: CC BY-SA 2.0 fr

Five months later, Portinari delivered the 2,000 suits of Almain rivet to Edward Guildford (b. c. 1474, d. 1534), master of the royal armoury at the Tower of London (the receipt now survives as LFC Ch VIII 19), but it would be a further three months before he was actually paid for his work by John Daunce, a total of £1600, the equivalent of over £1 million in modern-day currency (LFC Ch VIII 20).

Receipt of Edward Guildford, master of the royal armoury, to Guido Portinari for the delivery of 2,000 suits of infantry armour; 16 February 1513: LFC Ch VIII 19.

The expedition reached France in June 1513. Among the troops disembarking at Calais were thousands of footmen armoured in Almain rivet. The army besieged Thérouanne and defeated a French relief force before taking the town and the nearby city of Tournai. Henry would make peace with France the following year and ultimately relinquish control of Tournai in 1518, but, in comparison to 1511, the campaign was a success, mainly thanks to Wolsey’s effective administration, including his purchase of adequate armour from merchants like Portinari.

Receipt of Guido Portinari to John Daunce, of £1600 for supplying 2,000 suits of infantry armour, 28 May 1513, LFC Ch VIII 20.

These three documents are just a few of the over five hundred Campbell Charters and Rolls being catalogued as part of the Library’s Hidden Collections initiative. As the project progresses, future blogposts will highlight more discoveries and stories from the collection.

Rory MacLellan

The Nails with which Christ was hammered to the Cross, the Crown of Thorns, the Lance that left a wound on Christ’s tortured body — these objects constitute a striking visual catalogue of the instruments of Christ’s Passion, as depicted in our newly-acquired Arma Christi manuscript (Add MS 89792).

The opening page of ‘O Vernicle’ with the Veil of Veronica (England, 15th century): Add MS 89792, f. 7r

Made for private devotion, this little 15th-century book contains the Middle English poem ‘O Vernicle’ or ‘O Veronica’. It was named after its opening lines that refer to the Veil of Veronica, a cloth with an imprint of Christ’s face. According to medieval legend, a woman named Veronica (‘vera icona’, a true icon), wiped sweat from Christ’s face with a linen fabric on the road to Calvary. Her garment was marked with a miraculously produced portrait of Christ. ‘O Vernicle’ begins with a prayer to this renowned relic:

O Vernicle, I honoure hym and the           

That the made thorow his priuete               

The cloth he sett to his face                       

The prent lefte ther thorow his grace      

(‘O Veronica, I honour him and you

Who made you through his divine mystery

The cloth he set to his face

The imprint remained there through his grace’)

‘O Vernicle’ was a popular text, preserved in some twenty-two surviving manuscripts, five of them at the British Library (another copy was recently discovered at Bar Convent, York). It's what comes next in the poem that gives it perpetual fame, namely verses dedicated to the so-called Arma Christi, the tools associated with Christ’s Passion. Each verse treats an object, symbol or isolated micro-episode related to Christ’s sufferings, all illuminated with dramatic precision next to the text.

‘O Vernicle’ with the Pelican at the top: Add MS 89792, f. 7v

Turning to the poem's second page, the reader’s eyes are drawn to the image of the pelican which resurrects its young with its own blood. The accompanying verse compares the selfless pelican with Christ’s sacrifice, whose blood serves for the salvation of all the faithful.

Just below the pelican, an image of thirty coins illuminates the verse about Judas’s betrayal, begging God to shield the supplicant from treachery and covetousness. A Lantern, following next, symbolises the night when Christ was taken while the adjoining verse pleads with God to protect the supplicant from ‘night’s sin’.

It was relatively uncommon for medieval poetry to be illuminated. That so many copies of ‘O Vernicle’ were decorated with a set of images tells us that illuminations played a key role in the devotional practice to which this poem attests.

The instruments of Christ’s Passion: Add MS 89792, f. 8v

Arranged in chronological order, the verses and images lead us meticulously through Christ’s Passion, urging the reader to repeat and almost to physically experience His difficult path. From the clubs with which Christ was hit and the hand that slapped His face to the vessel of gall from which He was forced to drink, the materiality of the Arma Christi depictions transforms the reading into a tangible understanding of the magnitude of Christ’s pain and sacrifice. At the same time, the verses relate Arma Christi to the readers’ personal struggles with sin, making the Gospel story relevant to their own spiritual lives.

‘O Vernicle’ in a roll form, England, 15th century:  Add MS 22029

Sometimes, the path-like composition of the poem finds its expression in the very form of the manuscript. Many surviving manuscripts of ‘O Vernicle’ are rolls. Engaging with ‘O Vernicle’ in the roll form implies physically unravelling verse after verse and image after image, moving like a pilgrim on a spiritual journey.

The resurrected Christ standing in the Sepulchre: Add MS 22029

At the end of this journey awaits a great reward: participation in Christ’s Resurrection. The final section of ‘O Vernicle’, namely Christ’s Sepulchre, is where the different medieval artists of the ‘O Vernicle’ manuscripts took the most liberty in interpreting the verse. The textual meditation on the Sepulchre expresses hope that the supplicant will join the Lord in heavenly bliss after their death. In at least two other copies of ‘O Vernicle’, the illuminators depicted the Tomb with Christ’s wounded and bleeding body, highlighting the idea of suffering and sacrifice. The artist of Add MS 22029 instead chose to emphasise the idea of salvation in the figure of the resurrected Christ standing triumphantly in the Tomb. The reader’s passage through the episodes of Christ’s Passion concludes here on a truly high note.

Christ’s Sepulchre in ‘O Vernicle’: Add MS 89792, f. 10r

In our newly-acquired Arma Christi manuscript, the Tomb is empty. Christ has already left, a sign of His resurrection. The sepulchre shines from the inside with golden strokes.

Christ’s Resurrection: Add MS 89792, f. 12v

However, this is not the end of our journey through this book. The image of Christ victorious over death spotlights another devotional climax in the manuscript. It begins a series of prayers each starting ‘O Jesus’ and contemplating different aspects of Christ’s Passion, from the Last Supper to His suffering on the Cross, expanding the themes referenced in ‘O Vernicle’. The reader’s devotional experience was staged around Christ’s Passion in a way that repeatedly moves from the darkness of Christ’s agony to the light of his salvation, in the hope for absolution. 

How exactly this manuscript was used, who was its original owner, and what it tells us about 15th-century devotion, are questions still to be addressed. But this is not the time to untangle these fascinating puzzles: the Arma Christi manuscript awaits future research.

Our newly-acquired Arma Christi manuscript (Add MS 89792) is now on display in the British Library’s Treasures Gallery. Alongside it is one of our roll versions of the Arma Christi (Add MS 22029), showing the different ways in which the text was transmitted.

We are very grateful to the National Heritage Memorial Fund, the Art Fund, the American Trust for the British Library (Bernard Breslauer Fund), the Friends of the Nations’ Libraries, the British Library Collections Trust and other donors for supporting the acquisition of Add MS 89792.

 

Elena Lichmanova