An old waterlogged vellum book, with sand and seashells still stuck to its cover, which bears the words ‘My Secrete Log Boke’. Inside, an English account by Christopher Columbus of his second voyage to the Americas in 1493, written in his own hand. A preface explains that Columbus had sealed the log in a box and threw it overboard during a storm that he feared would take his life and that of his crew. Almost 400 years later, a Cornish fisherman had found the box off the coast of Pembrokeshire and rescued it. In 1946, this volume was offered to the British Museum Library by a hopeful private seller as a unique source for the history of European contact with the New World. Unfortunately for her, the Keeper of Manuscripts replied that he’d already got one.

My Secrete Log Boke: L.R.408.g.7.

The Log Boke was in fact a well-known literary forgery (that it was written in English being something of a clue). It had been offered many times before. The Keeper, Eric Millar (1944–1947), told the seller that it was ‘constantly brought in here’, including earlier that year, when Millar had advised the owner to stop by the next time they were in London and look at the Museum Library’s own copy. The volume was a creation of the German artist Carl Maria Seyppel, who designed and printed it in Düsseldorf in 1892.

The opening page of the Log Boke

Several such forgeries were offered to the British Museum Library between 1904 and 1954. In 1935, a private seller offered a letter by George Washington but Keeper H. Idris Bell (1929–1944) found that the signature was a deliberate imitation and the body of the letter was a clumsy forgery. He also noted that Christie’s just so happened to have a genuine Washington letter on display at the same time, writing dryly that ‘it is certainly a coincidence that they should have it at this moment’.

Fakes were not limited to the correspondence of the famous. In 1953, a well-meaning county archivist sent the Museum Library a set of Egyptian papyri but these turned out to be ‘forgeries of the kind usually manufactured by Egyptians for sale to tourists. They are made of small scraps of genuine, but blank, papyrus, pasted together to give them the rough appearance of scrolls, and covered with meaningless scrawls which, it was hoped, would be mistaken for Greek cursive handwriting’.

When a letter of Confederate General Robert E. Lee was discovered to be a forgery shortly after it was acquired in 1917, Keeper Julius P. Gilson (1911–1929) recommended that it be given to a professor at the University of Virginia who was interested in it as a literary curiosity. He wrote that this was possible ‘as it has not actually been incorporated in the collections’, referencing a peculiarity of the British Museum’s statutes.

Choosing the right acquisitions, and avoiding forgeries, was even more consequential at the Museum Library than at many rival institutions, as the Trustees could not normally remove items from the collection except by Act of Parliament. Under the British Museum Act (1769), they were authorised to dispose of duplicates of ‘Printed Books, Medals, Coins, or other Curiosities’; the Act of 1807 also allowed for the sale or exchange of items deemed ‘unfit to be preserved’ in the collection. Several such sales did occur but, after this policy caused Richard Fitzwilliam, 7th Viscount Fitzwilliam, to leave his library and art collection to the University of Cambridge in 1816, establishing his eponymous museum there instead of at the British Museum, the Trustees decided that no gifted or bequeathed item could be removed from the collection. If a Keeper chose poorly by accepting a manuscript that was later found out to be a fake, it would sit on the Department's shelves forever, occupying precious space. Keepers therefore had good reason to be cautious about which manuscripts they chose to accept.

Richard Fitzwilliam (1745–1816), 7th Viscount Fitzwilliam, whose collections founded the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge

These forgeries were just some of the manuscripts turned down by the Department of Manuscripts at the British Museum Library, one of the British Library’s precursors, in the first half of the 20th century, as recorded in the archives of the Department of Manuscripts. Since October, this archival material has been used in a research project investigating rejected acquisitions and offers of manuscripts to the British Museum Library between 1904 and 1954, to see what these can tell us about collecting policy in the period. As the  project progresses, future blogposts will highlight new discoveries and stories.

This research has been made possible by the award of a British Library Coleridge Fellowship.

Rory MacLellan

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The involvement of nuns in creating beautiful medieval manuscripts is often underappreciated. It is very exciting, then, to discover a new example of their work. While searching for items to include in our Medieval Women exhibition, we came across a mysterious illuminated leaf that has a fascinating story to tell.

Opening leaf from a Gradual: Add MS 35069, f. 11r

The mystery leaf

The leaf was once the first page of a gradual, a manuscript containing the chants sung during the Mass throughout the Church year. It features the opening chants for the First Sunday in Advent, which begin ‘Ad te levavi animam meam’ (To you I lift up my soul). The text starts with an impressive historiated initial showing King David lifting up his soul to God, flanked by Sts Catherine of Alexandria and Clare of Assisi.

But the reason it caught our attention was because of a small figure in the lower margin. Not the huntress who is apparently unable to persuade her hawk and hound to chase a rather smug looking hare, but a diminutive nun. She kneels and hold her hands up in the same posture as King David. Immediately above her is an inscription in red ink:

'Sister Isabella of Guelders, who gave 20 marks to complete this book; pray for her and for all those who gave their alms for the writing of this book’

(Soror ysabela de gelria, quae dedit .xx. marcas ad librum istum complendum orate pro ea, et pro omnibus quae elemosinas suas ad hunc librum scribendum dederunt).

Detail of the lower margin, showing a nun, a huntress with hare, hawk and hound, and a butterfly: Add MS 35069, f. 11r

We did not have to look far to find out where this leaf came from. Inside the volume that houses the leaf is a reading room slip on which a reading room superintendent has written:

“Folio 11 comes from a gradual written and illuminated for the Convent of St Clare at Cologne. Further leaves are in the Wallraf-Richartz Museum at Cologne, see the exhibition catalogue Rhein und Maas: Kunst und Kultur 800–1400, Köln 1972, pp. 88 and 91, no. VI 6.”

Although the identification is correct, whoever supplied this information apparently did not publish it. This leaf is not mentioned in the existing scholarship on the Poor Clares of Cologne, a convent known for being a major manuscript-producing centre in the 14th century.

The church of St Clare, the Poor Clares convent, Cologne, in 1670, after Justus Vinckenboon: Wikimedia Commons / CC-PD-Mark

The Poor Clares of Cologne

The Order of Poor Clares, initially led by St Clare of Assisi (d. 1253), is the women’s branch of the Franciscan Order, founded by St Francis of Assisi (d. 1226). The Rule of St Clare, authored by St Clare and approved by Pope Innocent IV in 1253, set out instructions for the nuns to live according to the Franciscan ideal of absolute poverty (owning no property). In 1263, however, Pope Urban IV sanctioned a milder version of the Rule that made allowances for communal property and incomes. Convents that followed the 1263 Rule are known as ‘Urbanist’ Poor Clares, or sometimes ‘Rich Clares’.

The convent of Poor Clares in Cologne, founded in 1304, was an Urbanist house. The nuns came from wealthy families of the urban elite and aristocracy, bringing with them generous dowries and powerful connections. It grew rapidly, and by 1340 housed almost sixty nuns.

With expansion came an increasing need for books. The nuns formed their own scriptorium, active between the 1320s and 1360s, producing beautifully illuminated liturgical manuscripts (containing texts and music for church services). Fifteen manuscripts and around forty decorated leaves survive from the convent, suggesting an impressive scale of output. We know the names of several of the nun-scribes and artists, the most celebrated of whom was Loppa vom Spiegel who was active around 1350.

Loppa vom Spiegel and a Franciscan friar, with the note that she wrote and notated the text © Wallraf-Richartz-Museum & Fondation Corboud, Cologne, Graphische Sammlung, Inv. M 23, photo Stanislaw Rusch

One of the characteristic features of manuscripts produced by the Poor Clares of Cologne are the depictions of small nuns kneeling in the margins, often inscribed with their names and prayer requests. In some cases at least, they represent the women who contributed to the manuscript’s production. As well as commemorating the sisters and encouraging prayers for their souls, these portraits were probably intended to foster a sense of community and shared identity among the nuns.

The convent was dissolved in 1802 and demolished in 1840. Around this time, its manuscripts were dispersed. Many were cut up and their decorated leaves were sold off separately. Today, they are housed in collections around the world.

The gradual reconstructed

Other illuminated leaves extracted from the same manuscript as the British Library leaf are now housed in the Wallraf-Richartz-Museum in Cologne. Each leaf introduces one of the major feast days in the Church year, and features a diminutive picture of a named nun.

Leaf from the opening of the Feast of St Andrew in the gradual, with the figure of Sister Bela de Nusia © Wallraf-Richartz-Museum & Fondation Corboud, Cologne, Graphische Sammlung, inv. Nr. M 5, Photo: Dieter Bongartz

Sabine Benecke grouped together the other leaves from this gradual and suggested the order in which they were originally arranged. She was not aware of the British Library leaf, however, which was the first in the manuscript. All together, the surviving leaves probably appeared as follows:

Item reference	Feast Day	Nun’s inscription
British Library, Add MS 35069, f. 11r	First Sunday in Advent	‘Soror Ysabela de Gelria...’
Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Graphische Sammlung, inv. Nr. M 1	Christmas	‘Soror Margareta de Yota orate pro me’
Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Graphische Sammlung, inv. Nr. M 22	Feast of St John the Evangelist	‘Soror Heylwigis orate pro me’
Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Graphische Sammlung, inv. Nr. M 2	Epiphany	‘Soror Jutta orate pro me’
Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Graphische Sammlung, inv. Nr. M 8	Ascension	‘Soror Christina de Porta orate pro me’
Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Graphische Sammlung, inv. Nr. M 5	Feast of St Andrew	‘Soror Bela de Nusia orate pro me’
Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Graphische Sammlung, inv. Nr. M 15	Feast of St Mary Magdalene	‘Soror Agnes Eese’
Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Graphische Sammlung, inv. Nr. M 17	Feast of St Clare	‘Soror Clara de Valkensteyn orate pro me’
Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Graphische Sammlung, inv. Nr. M 12	Death of the Virgin	‘Soror Agnes de Aldenhoven orate pro me’
Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Graphische Sammlung, inv. Nr. M 10	Nativity of the Virgin	‘Soror Margareta de Valkenburg orate pro me’

The British Library leaf adds considerably to our knowledge of this manuscript because it gives valuable evidence about its patronage. While the other leaves are inscribed only with the names of the nuns and requests for prayers, the British Library leaf tells us that Isabella of Guelders, a major figure in the history of the convent, paid for it.

Isabella of Guelders

Beginning in the 1330s, the Poor Clares of Cologne received special patronage from two sisters, Isabella and Philippa of Guelders, daughters of Reginald I and Margaret of Flanders, count and countess of Guelders. In time, both sisters joined the convent and Isabella served as abbess from 1340 to 1343. They are associated with various projects, including rebuilding the convent church in 1336 and possibly commissioning the Altar of the Poor Clares now in Cologne Cathedral.

Altar of the Poor Clares in Cologne Cathedral: Ludwig Schneider / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 3.0

Additionally, a two-volume bible, now housed in the Archbishop’s Diocesan and Cathedral Library, Cologne, contains an inscription stating that Isabella of Guelders bought the manuscript for the convent of Poor Clares using the proceeds from selling jewellery that she had worn before entering the convent.

The Bible of Isabella of Guelders: Erzbischöfliche Diözesan- und Dombibliothek Köln, Cod. 1235 © Diözesanbibliothek Köln, 13.12.2024

Isabella died in 1354 and was buried with her sister Philippa in a grand tomb in the choir of the Poor Clares’ church. The newly discovered leaf adds to her legacy as a major supporter of cultural projects within the convent.

The British Library’s leaf from the Poor Clares of Cologne is on display in the exhibition Medieval Women: In Their Own Words, from 25 October 2024 to 2 March 2025. You can purchase your tickets online now. 

Eleanor Jackson
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This exhibition is made possible with support from Joanna and Graham Barker, Unwin Charitable Trust, and Cockayne – Grants for the Arts: a donor advised fund held at the London Community Foundation. 

Further Reading

Sabine Benecke, Randgestaltung und Religiosität: Die Handschriften aus dem Kölner Kloster St. Klara (Ammersbek bei Hamburg, 1995).

Harald Horst and Karen Straub (eds), Von Frauenhand: Mittelalterliche Handschriften Aus Kölner Sammlungen (Cologne, 2021).

 

Exactly 630 years ago today, a woman called Eleanor Rykener found herself in trouble. On the night of 11 December 1394, on Soper’s Lane off Cheapside, she had agreed to go into a stall with a client named John Britby, having first demanded an unspecified amount of money for her services. Medieval London’s anti-prostitution laws made this a hazardous venture, but Eleanor was an experienced sex worker, and must have concluded that Britby’s money was worth the risk. Unfortunately, they were discovered by city officials while engaging in ‘that detestable, unmentionable, and ignominious vice’, and were hauled up before the Mayor of London for questioning. It was during the questioning that Eleanor, still wearing the dress she had been arrested in, was revealed to have been born John Rykener. We might describe her, in modern terms, as a transgender woman. Eleanor’s remarkable story is preserved in a single document: the record of her questioning held in the London Archives, currently on display in our exhibition Medieval Women: In Their Own Words.

‘Calling [herself] Eleanor’; the account of Eleanor Rykener and her arrest; London, 1395: The London Archives, Plea and Memoranda Roll A34, Membrane 2.

The manuscript and its account are not immediately eye-catching—a dense block of unadorned, bureaucratic text written on a parchment roll, bookended by many other accounts—and, indeed, it went almost entirely unnoticed for several centuries. This is partially due to deliberate censorship: a 1932 summary of the Plea and Memoranda Rolls completely obscured Eleanor’s gender-nonconformity, describing the case as an ‘examination of two men charged with immorality’. The truth of the case was eventually uncovered by Ruth Mazo Karras and David Lorenzo Boyd in 1995. Since then, it has generated a huge amount of scholarship and popular interest, pivoting around fascinating and complex questions: what does it mean to describe a fourteenth-century individual as ‘trans’?  Was Eleanor’s supposed ‘crime’ sodomy, sex work, gender nonconformity, or something else entirely? And—perhaps the most conspicuous gap in the record—what happened to her after this one recorded moment of her questioning?

It’s not possible to answer all those questions today, but we can focus on what we do know of Eleanor’s story, as recorded by a court clerk. Even though her narrative was doubtless filtered through the preconceptions and prejudices of the court that sought to judge her, it remains one of the most detailed accounts we have of a medieval sex worker in something close to her own words.

Eleanor’s early life—the period in which she was, presumably, still known as ‘John’—is completely obscure to us. Her story in the record begins at some unspecified point in time before her arrest with Britby, when a woman named Anna, also a sex worker, ‘taught’ Eleanor how to have sex ‘in the manner of a woman’. It is worth noting that, while the courtroom must have been dominated by men, Eleanor begins her account with a moment of intimacy, knowledge-sharing, and perhaps even friendship between herself and another woman. This theme of feminine community continues when Rykener describes herself being ‘dressed in women’s clothing’ and employed in sex work by a certain bawd called Elizabeth Brouderer (‘Embroiderer’).

Joan of Arc chases away a group of sex workers from her army camp, from Martial d’Auvergne’s Vigiles de Charles VII: Bibliothèque nationale de France, fr. 5054, f. 60v

Eleanor practiced more than just sex work with Elizabeth. It may well have been in her house that she picked up the embroidery skills she put to work while she was living in Oxford. Eleanor’s employment history—she worked for stints as an embroideress and barmaid alongside sex work—indicates that her feminine self-presentation was not confined to sexual role-playing. She positioned herself, and was apparently read, as a woman in almost all aspects of her daily life, including in the courtroom, where she insistently ‘call[ed herself] Eleanor’ and retained her feminine attire. This cannot have been easy. Existing as a woman—let alone a trans woman—in the world of medieval England was often a gruelling business. The fact that Eleanor chose to do so suggests that there were reasons, known only to her, because of which she felt more comfortable as a woman. A trans identification, or something like it, is one plausible explanation for the shape of Eleanor’s life.

The Assyrian king Sardanapalus dressed in women’s clothing spinning silk with a group of noble women, from a 15th-century copy of Valerius Maximus’ Facta et Dicta Memorabilia:  Harley MS 4375/3, f. 179r

There are still more complexities to Eleanor’s story. While she had sex ‘as a woman’ with several named and unnamed male clients (she preferred taking on priests, she explains, because they tended to pay better), she also had sex ‘as a man’ with ‘many nuns’ and ‘many women both married and unmarried’: too many, apparently, for Eleanor to keep count. Several aspects of this part of the story are unclear. Were the women also clients, or did Eleanor have sex with them without financial motive? Did she genuinely desire these women—was she possibly, to use more modern terms, bisexual or queer?

We can never know the answer to these, and countless other, questions about Eleanor. As mentioned above, this is the only known surviving record of her life, and will remain so, barring another remarkable discovery in the archives. We don’t even know if she was found guilty of any crime or faced punishment. What we do have is a glimpse into the life of an exceptional, resourceful woman making her way in the medieval world, one of many on display in our exhibition Medieval Women: In Their Own Words.

 The roll bearing the account of Eleanor’s case on display

To see Eleanor Rykener’s account in person, visit our exhibition Medieval Women: In Their Own Words, on show at the British Library from 25 October 2024 to 2 March 2025. You can purchase your tickets online now. 

This exhibition is made possible with support from Joanna and Graham Barker, Unwin Charitable Trust, and Cockayne – Grants for the Arts: a donor advised fund held at the London Community Foundation. 

Rowan Wilson

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