21 January 2025
Black Agnes and the siege of Dunbar
Overlooking the harbour town of Dunbar in East Lothian, Scotland, stands a ruin. The corner of a tower, a broken courtyard, and the walls of a blockhouse: these stone fragments and the barest of foundations are all that remain of one of the most important fortresses in medieval Scotland. Dunbar Castle’s location and prominence against the surrounding coastal landscape meant that it was often the target of enemy lords and across the centuries, it sustained many sieges. One particular siege would take on an almost legendary status in Scottish history thanks to the actions of a single woman. In 1338, Agnes Randolph (b. c. 1312, d. 1369), commonly known as ‘Black Agnes’ either because of her dark complexion or her fierce character, led a heroic five-month defence of its fortifications against an invading English army. An account of the siege and Agnes’ bravery is detailed in the Orygynale Cronykil by the 15th-century writer Andrew Wyntoun, currently on display in our exhibition, Medieval Women: In Their Own Words.
Dunbar Castle Ruins by Jennifer Petrie: CC BY-SA 2.0
Agnes was the daughter of Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, and later Countess of Dunbar through her marriage to Patrick Dunbar, a prominent Scottish lord during the reigns of Robert the Bruce and David II. In January 1338, Patrick Dunbar was away on an expedition, leaving Agnes to hold the castle. It was then that an invading English army led by William Montagu, 1st Earl of Salisbury, took the opportunity to cross the Scottish border, the latest in a series of military campaigns ordered by Edward III to seize Scotland. They surrounded the fortress and laid siege to it. The defenders were made up of Agnes, her household and only a handful of soldiers, but despite the odds against her, Agnes refused to give up the castle.
A 15th-century map of Scotland, including a depiction of Dunbar Castle (bottom left), from John Hardyng's Chronicle: Lansdowne MS 204, ff. 226v-227r
During the siege, Montagu made various attempts to assault Dunbar Castle. He began by using catapults to fire huge rocks at the walls, but they did little to damage the strong fortifications. According to Wyntoun, Agnes poured salt on the wound of Montagu’s failed bombardment by sending out her ladies-in-waiting to dust the ramparts with pieces of cloth:
Thai warpyt at the wall gret stanys
Bathe hard and hewy for the nanys
Bot that nane merryng to thame made.
And alswa qwhen thai castyne hade,
Wyth a towalle a damyselle
Arayid jolyly and welle
Wipyt the wall, that thai mycht se,
To gere thaim mare anoyid be.
They threw great stones at the wall
Both hard and heavy for that purpose
But they did no damage.
And also, when they had the thrown them,
A damsel with a cloth,
Dressed prettily and well,
Wiped the wall, so that the English could see,
To make them even more annoyed.
The siege of a medieval castle, defended by women, from the Luttrell Psalter: Add MS 42130, f. 75v
When the catapult barrage failed, Montagu then tried to blackmail Agnes into submission, by threatening to execute her brother, John Randolph, 3rd Earl of Moray, who had recently been captured. Agnes responded by pointing out that there was no incentive for her to save her brother, as his death would leave her the inheritor of the earldom. At the same time, another effort by the English to reach the walls with a special siege engine, called a 'cat’ or a ‘sow’, ended badly when Agnes ordered a giant boulder to be dropped on it, re-purposing one of the very stones Montagu had fired at the castle earlier in the siege.
An English attempt at bribing one of Agnes’s men to sneak them through the castle gates similarly led to disaster for the besieging army. The guard received the money, but promptly told the countess, who used it as an opportunity to set a trap for Montagu and his men. When a portion of the English army was already through the gates, she suddenly closed the portcullis behind them with no way for them to leave. While the English earl was able to escape in time, many of his men were killed in the chaos that ensued.
A woman defends a castle from assault, from the Smithfield Decretals: Royal MS 10 E IV, f. 18v
Eventually, on 10 June 1338, five months after the English had first arrived at Dunbar Castle, with supplies dwindling and having spent some £6000 in the attempt (the equivalent of over £4.5 million in modern currency), Montagu decided to raise the siege completely. Wyntoun’s chronicle quotes a song the English are believed to have sung as they abandoned the castle, its words a testament to the strength of Agnes’ resilience and the impression she left on them over those five months:
I wowe to God, scho maid gret stere
The Scottish wenche ploddere.
Come I are, come I late,
I fand Annot at the yhate.
I vow to God, she makes a great leader
That Scottish woman fighter.
Come I early, come I late
I found Agnes at the gate.
Andrew Wyntoun’s verse account of the Siege of Dunbar in his Orygynale Cronykil; Scotland, 15th century: Royal MS 17 D XX, ff. 238v-239r
To learn more about Agnes Randolph and see the account of the Siege of Dunbar 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.
Calum Cockburn
18 January 2025
The mortuary roll of Lucy of Hedingham
What is the measure of a life once it has ended? In the early decades of the 13th century, the Benedictine nuns of Castle Hedingham Priory in Essex marked the life and passing of their first prioress, Lucy, in the most special way: they made a mortuary roll for her. This most poignant of manuscripts (Egerton MS 2849) can be found on display in our major exhibition, Medieval Women: In Their Own Words, which runs till 2 March 2025.
The installation of the Mortuary Roll of Lucy of Hedingham (Egerton MS 2849) in Medieval Women: In Their Own Words
Mortuary rolls were used to commemorate the deaths of the most significant members of monastic communities during the medieval period. They were typically composed of a covering letter, which eulogised the deceased and set out a call for prayers to be made for their soul. Specially employed messengers would then take the roll around neighbouring institutions, who would add these Latin prayers for the dead beneath the letter, together with memorials and reflections on their passing.
The mortuary roll of Prioress Lucy was made between 1225 and 1230. Now divided into two parts, the roll comprises ten parchment membranes and is almost six metres long. It is particularly notable for its opening illustrated panel, arranged in three framed scenes. At the top, a depiction of the Crucifixion is shown alongside the seated Virgin and Child; in the middle, two angels carry the soul of Prioress Lucy up to Heaven; at the bottom, a vision of Lucy’s funeral appears, with her body lying in a bier, surrounded by priests, clerics, and nuns.
The illustrative programme at the beginning of the Mortuary Roll of Lucy of Hedingham: Egerton MS 2849/1, Membrane 1
The roll’s covering letter, written by Agnes, Lucy’s successor as prioress of Castle Hedingham, provides an account of her virtues – among them her virginity, her piety, her abstinence, and her lifelong discipline – and the grief of her fellow sisters at her death, ‘ymbres lacrimarum, et fletuum innundacionem’ (a storm of tears and flood of lamentation).
The letter is followed by the written responses (also known as 'tituli') of 122 religious houses in East Anglia and the southern half of England, including Barking Abbey, the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds, Campsey Priory, St Augustine’s Abbey, Canterbury, Dover Priory and Wilton Abbey. It is unclear how long it took the roll-bearers to reach these houses and return to Castle Hedingham, but it could have been a period of many years, a reflection of both the magnitude of the nuns’ undertaking and the strength of their affection for the late prioress herself.
The first response, made by the monks of St Botolph’s Priory in Colchester, some 20 miles from Castle Hedingham, is also the longest and includes a set of Latin verses dedicated to Lucy, which play on the Latin meaning of her name, ‘light’:
Hec Virgo vite mitis super astra locatur.
Et sic Lucie lux sine fine datur.
Transijt ad superos venerabilis hec Monialis.
Vix succedit ei virtutum munere talis.
Luci lucie prece lux mediente Marie
Luceat eterna, quia floruit vt rosa verna.
This Virgin, humble in life, is placed above the stars.
And so, Lucy is given eternal light.
This venerable nun has passed to the Heavens.
There are few who can compare to her in virtue.
Let the eternal light shine on Lucy with its light,
by the intercession of Mary’s prayer, because
she flowered just like a spring rose.
The first ‘titulus’ or written response added by the monks of St Botolph’s Priory: Egerton MS 2849/1, Membrane 3
Little is known about the rest of Prioress Lucy’s life. There are few documents or references to her in the surviving historical record, though some have speculated that she was a close relation of Audrey de Vere (d. 1194), 1st Earl of Oxford, who probably founded Castle Hedingham Priory in the second half of the 12th century. Nonetheless, the impact of her life and the emotion at her passing are preserved forever in this precious mortuary roll, made by the community of women she led and left behind.
The Mortuary Roll of Lucy of Hedingham on display in Medieval Women: In Their Own Words
To see the Mortuary Roll of Lucy of Hedingham 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.
Calum Cockburn
07 January 2025
Tales of Medieval Women
The team behind our major exhibition Medieval Women: In Their Own Words has created a new animation (designed by animator Ivyy Chen) telling the stories of five of the exhibition’s extraordinary leading figures, women who carved out their own destinies in ways that would be remembered for generations to come. The full animation can now be viewed below!
Discover the stories of Empress Matilda, who battled to assert her claim to the English throne in the 12th century, and Shajar al-Durr who became the first Sultana of Egypt and defended her country from an invading Crusader army.
Learn about Margery Kempe, a visionary responsible for the first autobiography written in the English language, and Christine de Pizan, a professional female author who argued for the moral and intellectual equality of women in her writings.
Explore the life of a military leader and patron saint of France, the young peasant girl Joan of Arc, who was inspired by a divine calling to rally the French army and save her country.
The animation’s design has been inspired by medieval manuscripts that are part of the British Library’s collections, many of which are also on display in the exhibition. How many references can you spot?
Medieval Women: In Their Own Words is 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.
Calum Cockburn
26 December 2024
The Nativity according to St Birgitta
In August 1372, a woman had an extraordinary experience that changed the way that people pictured Christmas. Birgitta Birgersdotter (or, as she is better known, St Bridget of Sweden) was a Swedish widow who had moved to Rome and made a name for herself as a holy woman. When she was around 69 years old, Birgitta made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. There, at the Grotto of the Nativity, the subterranean cave in Bethlehem traditionally believed to be the birthplace of Christ, she experienced a spiritual vision in which she saw the events of the first Christmas. Of the many visions she experienced in her life, Birgitta’s vision of the Nativity is probably the most famous and influential, going on to profoundly shape the way the scene was depicted in medieval art.
Before Birgitta
The descriptions of the Nativity in the Bible are light in detail. The gospels of Matthew and Luke recount that Jesus was conceived through the power of the Holy Spirit by a virgin named Mary, who was betrothed or married to a man called Joseph. They state that Jesus was born in Bethlehem, with Luke explaining that Mary and Joseph had travelled there for a census and that Mary “wrapped him [Jesus] in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7).
In order to create vivid and compelling images of the Nativity, medieval artists desired more information. They drew extra details from Old Testament prophecies, apocryphal gospel accounts and medieval childbirth practices. The standard image of the Nativity in Western Europe until the 14th century showed the Virgin Mary reclining in bed, as was normal for medieval mothers. Jesus is usually lying in the manger, being adored by an ox and ass. Joseph and sometimes midwives accompany the scene, as in the example below. In the 14th century, however, a new type of Nativity scene began to appear, due in a large part to Birgitta’s vision.
Birgitta’s vision of the Nativity
Birgitta described her vision at the Grotto of the Nativity in her magisterial visionary work, the Liber celestis revelacionum (heavenly book of revelations), which was widely read throughout Europe. She described seeing the pregnant Virgin Mary enter the cave with Joseph, the ox and ass. Joseph lights a candle and fixes it to the wall, then leaves. Mary takes off her shoes, mantle and veil, spreading her long golden hair. After preparing cloths in which to wrap the baby, she kneels facing east and begins to pray. According to Birgitta,
“While she was thus praying, I saw the infant in her womb move, and at that very moment, in the flash of an eye, she gave birth to her son... The birth of the child was so instant and sudden that I was unable to see or discern how or even with what part of her body she gave birth. And yet I immediately saw that glorious infant lying on the ground, naked and shining”.
(Liber celestis, book VII, chapter 21, translation by Denis Searby, 2012, p. 251).
Birgitta’s vision is rich with details, two of which are particularly important for medieval art. First, the Virgin Mary gives birth instantly while kneeling, with Christ supernaturally transported out of her womb and onto the ground. As the mother of eight children, Birgitta was fully aware of the realities of childbirth. Birgitta’s description of this miraculous birth is her way of explaining how Mary could give birth without damaging the virginal intactness of her body. Additionally, since the Bible presents painful childbirth as a punishment inflicted on womankind for Eve’s disobedience (Genesis 3:16), Birgitta’s description of the painless birth implies that Mary was free from Original Sin inherited from Eve.
The other distinctive feature is that the newborn Christ shines. The idea that the birth of Christ was accompanied by a bright light originated in apocryphal gospel accounts, probably referring to the idea of Christ as “the light of the world”. Birgitta specifies that light radiates from the body of Christ and that his brightness outshines both the sun and the candle that Joseph had brought in:
“Such indescribable light and splendour went out from him that the sun could not be compared to it. The candle that the old man had placed there was giving no light at all, for that divine lustre completely outshone the material lustre of the candle”.
(Liber celestis, book VII, chapter 21, translation by Denis Searby, 2012, p. 251).
Within only a few years, these elements from Birgitta’s vision began to appear in medieval depictions of the Nativity.
Nativity scenes in Books of Hours
One place where medieval Nativity scenes often appear is in Books of Hours. These prayer books, often described as the “best-sellers of the Middle Ages”, contain sets of prayers for reading at the eight canonical hours of the day. The most important of these, the Office of the Virgin, often begins each hour with a picture from the life of the Virgin Mary, where the Nativity usually accompanies the hour of prime (first daylight). An examination of Books of Hours in the British Library reveals many examples of Nativity scenes depicting elements from Birgitta’s vision.
The Book of Hours shown below was made in Italy in 1412 for Neapolitan nobleman and diplomat Antonio Carafa. Nativity scenes inspired by Birgitta’s vision first appeared in Italy, where she spent the latter part of her life and had many supporters. Although the Western artistic tradition usually sets the Nativity in a stable, this image depicts the birth of Christ taking place in a cave, corresponding with Birgitta’s description of the Grotto of the Nativity. The Virgin Mary kneels and the infant Jesus lies on the floor emitting light, outshining the sun above and the candle that Joseph holds up. Behind them, the ox and the ass wait by the manger and in the background an angel announces the birth of Christ to the shepherds.
More often, artists transported the key elements from Birgitta’s vision to a stable or a classical ruin. The idea that the Nativity took place in a stable was a logical inference based on biblical references to a manger and animals, and the ruin was a symbol of paganism crumbling with the birth of Christ.
The image of the Nativity shown below includes a pilgrim’s bag and staff lying on the floor in the foreground, perhaps referring to Birgitta’s pilgrimage to the Holy Land. We can imagine that we are seeing the scene through Birgitta’s eyes, with her belongings laid down in front of her.
It is questionable whether the artists who created these images and the book owners who admired them were always aware of Birgitta’s vision. Most medieval images were based on other images rather than texts, so once the vision became an image, it took on a life of its own. The kneeling Virgin, the shining Infant on the ground, the sun's rays and Joseph holding a candle all became part of the visual tradition of the Nativity, and they can still be found in many Nativity scenes to this day.
You can see manuscripts of Birgitta’s Liber celestis and learn more about her incredible legacy in the British Library’s exhibition Medieval Women: In Their Own Words, from 25 October 2024 to 2 March 2025. Tickets are available to purchase online now.
From everyone in the Medieval Manuscripts team, we wish you a very Merry Christmas!
Eleanor Jackson
Follow us @BLMedieval
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.
Translations
The Revelations of St. Birgitta of Sweden: Volume III: Liber Caelestis, Books VI–VII, trans. by Denis Searby, ed. by Bridget Morris (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), pp. 250-51.
14 December 2024
An unknown leaf from the Poor Clares of Cologne
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.
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).
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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
Follow us @BLMedieval
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).
30 November 2024
Don't try this at home
Imagine you’re a medieval woman with a stomach-ache. Oh, and you’ve got jaundice. And gout. And you’re trying to have a baby. And you’ve recently been bitten by a rabid dog. And, to top things off, you’ve recently been thrown out of a moving vehicle. What’s a girl to do? Well, according to the Tractatus de herbis, a medieval herbal treatise, all these problems could be solved by differing preparations of the herb betony.
Betony (betonica): Egerton MS 747, f.14r
The treatise appears in a late 13th-century Italian manuscript (Egerton MS 747) currently on display in our Medieval Women exhibition. It's full of just such marvellous cures, many of them relating to gynaecological ailments and problems facing pregnant women and nursing mothers. For example, if you need to treat ‘suffocation of the womb’, a condition attributed to the womb’s wandering about the body and compressing the heart and lungs, you might turn to clove, ambergris or laudanum. To stimulate lactation, the herbal recommends asafoetida, aniseed, hemp, mint or chickpeas. Meanwhile, a staggering number of different herbs are prescribed for what the text vaguely calls ‘cleansing the womb’.
Laudanum: Egerton MS 747, f. 51r
Is there any evidence that these cures actually worked? We are used to imagining that medieval people were ignorant of the medical knowledge required to properly treat diseases. Certainly, some of the cures listed might have harmed more than they helped. ‘Monkshood’, recommended as a treatment for afflictions including intestinal worms and pains of the womb, is extremely toxic, as is ‘lords-and-ladies’, recommended for scrofula, haemorrhoids, and ‘cleansing’ and ‘refining’ the face. At least when the text lists white lead as a cosmetic for women, it also includes a warning that those who make it often suffer from epilepsy, paralysis and arthritis, suggesting that the author was aware of lead's toxicity, but the herbal seems to conclude that white lead’s potency in ‘wiping away impurities’ is worth the risk.
Monkshood (anthora): Egerton MS 747, f. 11r
However, with popular interest in sustainable alternative medicines on the rise, it's worth noting that at least some of the treatise’s cures are not quite as bogus as our preconceptions about medieval medicine might lead us to believe. Camphor, which the text suggests can induce sneezing, is still used as a decongestant in products like Vicks VapoRub. Many of the text’s recommended uses for aloe—such as strengthening digestion and promoting wound healing—have been affirmed in recent scientific research. And both the medieval herbal and modern researchers agree that garlic is good for more than just aioli. It also has anti-inflammatory, antioxidant and antifungal properties—though today’s scientists are less confident than their medieval counterparts in recommending garlic as a sure-fire treatment for venomous animal bites.
Garlic (allium): Egerton MS 747, f. 5r
Like many other pre-modern herbals, our manuscript uses covert language to identify plants that could be used to induce abortions. Arabian balsam tree, centaury, yellow gentian, madder and rue, for example, are all described as effective in ‘inducing menstruation’ and ‘bringing about the abortion of a dead foetus’. Some of these—like yellow gentian—are still warned against for pregnant people due to risk of unwanted abortion. Given the insistence of medieval canon law on the sanctity of life, herbal writers couldn’t afford to be explicit about identifying plants as a means of bringing about the end of a pregnancy by choice. Medieval women must have been capable of reading between the lines to seek out the help they needed.
Madder (rubea): Egerton MS 747, f. 84v
Mugwort (artemisia): Egerton MS 747, f. 7v
However baffling the advice of herbals may sometimes seem (did you know that if you anoint yourself with marigold juice at night, you will find yourself transported somewhere else in the morning?), it is clear that they still have a great deal to say to medics and patients today. Whether in providing healthy eating tips—celery is indeed as good for you as the treatise suggests—or informing us about the history of women’s medicine, they make for fascinating reading. Still, though, we have to warn you: the British Library cannot advise that you follow our herbal’s advice and include gold, bitumen, opium or cuttlefish bone in your morning herbal tea!
Cuttlefish bone (os sepie): Egerton MS 747, f. 71r
Medieval Women: In Their Own Words is 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
Follow us @BLMedieval
24 November 2024
Medieval Women at the British Library shop
There are many reasons to visit our major exhibition, Medieval Women: In Their Own Words. There are the hundreds of fascinating women whose stories you'll encounter, from Eleanor of Castile and Hildegard of Bingen, to Margaret Paston and Birgitta of Sweden. There's the collection of unique items you’ll find on display, including The Book of Margery Kempe, the Melisende Psalter, an original medieval birthing girdle and a signed letter by Joan of Arc. There’s the opportunity to play interactive quizzes to check if you’re a witch or if you’d be entitled to a divorce. You can even smell what medieval fragrances might have been like, with our recreation of an original cosmetics recipe from the 14th century.
But, all those aside, one of the main reasons to see our exhibition is the absolutely incredible line-up of medieval women-themed gift available from the British Library Shop, including one of our favourite items we’ve ever made (we’ll leave you to guess which one that is…)
Here are just a few of our top picks from the range, also available to purchase online.
Medieval Women: Voices and Visions, ed. by Eleanor Jackson and Julian Harrison
A beautifully illustrated, large format volume, accompanying the exhibition, which seeks to recover women's voices, visions and experiences in Britain and Europe from around 1100 to 1500. It includes a selection of detailed expert essays and some 40 spotlight studies, revealing the rich and complex world of the women of the Middle Ages, full of colourful characters and intriguing stories from personalities both famous and lesser known, including Christine de Pizan, Joan of Arc and Julian of Norwich.
Medieval jewellery
A range of gorgeous pieces, including this stunning necklace, created by Tatty Devine and inspired by the artistry of original brass rubbings and manuscript depictions of medieval women.
Medieval Women 2025 Calendar
Our calendar showcases twelve full-colour illustrations of women from the Middle Ages, drawn from the British Library’s extensive collections. You’ll see women from all walks of life, from queens, teachers and saints, to nuns and writers, each accompanied by a brief biography.
Christine de Pizan’s cushion cover
A wonderful addition to any living room sofa: a cushion cover with the famous portrait of the French author Christine de Pizan, taken from the ‘Book of the Queen’. It shows her sitting writing at her desk in her study, with her ever-faithful dog at her side.
Medieval Women Christmas jumper
Perfect for the festive season, our Christmas jumper brings iconic women from history to life with a brass-rubbing inspired design. It features figures such as Joan of Arc, Christine de Pizan, Hildegard of Bingen, Eleanor of Acquitaine and Julian of Norwich, each adorned with subtle details hinting at their legacy.
To see all these items and more, 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.
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21 November 2024
Nunning amok
Many of the manuscripts on display in our exhibition Medieval Women: In Their Own Words portray medieval nuns as holy creatures, devoting themselves to prayer, contemplation and good works. Ancrene Wisse, a 13th-century guide for female anchoresses sets out rigorous expectations for those women who chose lives of permanent enclosure and isolation in cells attached to churches. Notably, anchoresses must ‘never [be] idle’, ‘think about God all the time’, commit to a vegetarian diet, and ‘be as little fond of your windows as possible’, avoiding distraction from the outside world. The fact that the author of Ancrene Wisse felt obliged to write out these strict guidelines suggests that religious women did not always act in ways befitting their holy houses. It raises the question: where are the badly behaved nuns in the Middle Ages?
Anchoresses are warned not to keep any animal ‘bute cat ane’ (except one cat): Cotton MS Cleopatra C VI, f. 193r
We find plenty of them in the art and literature of the period. Then, as now, the ‘naughty nun’ seems to have been a popular trope. In William Langland’s Piers Plowman, ‘Wrath’ speaks about the behaviour of the nuns at his aunt’s abbey:
And dame Pernele a preestes fyle,
Prioresse worth she nevere,
For she hadde child in chirie-tyme,
Al our chapitre it wiste.
Dame Parnel, a priest’s mistress
she'll never be a prioress
For she had a child in cherry-time:
all our chapter knows it!
In the 15th-century satirical poem ‘Why I Can’t Be a Nun’ (Cotton Vespasian MS D IX), a would-be bride of Christ is aghast to discover that many convents are ‘not well governed’, but are instead populated by figures like ‘Dame Disobedient’, ‘Dame Hypocrite’, ‘Dame Lust’ and ‘Dame Wanton’. And who can forget the infamous image of a penis-harvesting nun from a 14th-century copy of the Roman de la Rose, illuminated by the Parisian artist Jeanne de Montbaston (active c. 1325–1353)?
A penis-harvesting nun from a 14th-century copy of the Roman de la Rose: Bibliotheque nationale de France, ms fr. 25526, f.106v
While these examples owe more to lewd fantasy than to historical reality, other evidence suggests that their portraits of convents in chaos contain a grain of truth. Medieval bishops regularly surveyed monasteries and nunneries in their dioceses, and many kept detailed records of their visitations. Eudes Rigaud, archbishop of Rouen, visited several convents between 1249 and 1265, and was not pleased with what he found. He wrote up nuns for faults ranging from ‘singing the hours with too much haste’, wearing costly pelisses of ‘the furs of rabbits, hares and foxes’, to drunkenness and sex with priests and chaplains.
A dancing nun in the margin of the Maastricht Hours: Stowe MS 17, f. 38r
English visitation records give examples of whole convents in disarray. At Cannington in 1351, in addition to poor leadership from a cash-hungry prioress and a lazy, Matins-shirking sub-prioress, a nun called Joan Trimelet was found pregnant—‘but not indeed by the Holy Ghost’, as the bishop’s commissioners wryly remarked. Joan Trimelet’s pregnancy was not unique. The convent of Amesbury was dissolved in 1189, following reports that the abbess had given birth three times, and that many of the sisters were living in ‘infamy’.
The misbehaviour of individual nuns could put a strain on their entire community. Bishop Alnwick’s 1442 report of Catesby Priory gives an insight into the disorder that could arise in a poorly governed convent. Through Alnwick’s documentation of the nuns’ voices, we find hints of a quarrel between the prioress Margaret Wavere and sister Isabel Benet, who accused each other of sexual misconduct with local knights. While other nuns commented on Benet and Wavere’s impropriety—one accuses Benet of having ‘passed the night with the Austin Friars at Northampton... dancing and playing the lute with them... until midnight’—they seem more upset by the prioress’s poor management of convent finances, and her tendency to ‘sow discord among the sisters’. Under such conditions, it is understandable that some nuns could not keep to the high standards of behaviour set out in their monastic rules. Most medieval convents were small and poor in comparison to equivalent men’s houses. It is no wonder that underfed, underfunded nuns living together in close quarters didn’t always abide in holy harmony.
A flirtatious nun with a male companion from the margins of the Maastricht Hours: Stowe MS 17, f.226r
Is it a surprise that some nuns wanted to call it quits entirely? Medieval ecclesiastical records give several examples of nuns on the run, attempting to leave their orders for reasons ranging from trying to reclaim an inheritance, running away with a lover, to simply having had enough of convent life. Sometimes convents would see flights of multiple nuns at once: in 1300, Isabella Clouvil, Matilda de Thychemers and Ermentrude de Newark all fled Delapré Abbey in Northampton, much to their bishop’s disappointment.
Church authorities often exerted considerable force to haul such nuns back to their houses. In the 14th century, Agnes de Flixthorpe, a nun of St Michael’s in Stamford, ran away from her Order at least three times, once dressed in a man’s gilt embroidered robe. She claimed that she had never been legitimately professed as a nun and was legally married to a man she refused to name. Bishop Dalderby of Lincoln responded by branding Agnes an apostate, sending secular authorities to imprison her, and eventually excommunicating her. The last reference to her case is in 1314, when Agnes was still at liberty, and we don’t know whether Dalderby’s forces managed to catch her again.
The greatest escape artist of all was surely Joan of Leeds, a nun of St Clement’s by York. In 1318, Joan slipped the convent’s net by ‘simulating a bodily illness’ and then faking her own death. She made a dummy ‘in likeness of her body’, which was buried in ‘sacred space’, leaving Joan free to ‘wander at large to the notorious peril to her soul and to the scandal of all her order’, as Archbishop Melton of York put it. Exactly what motivated her to leave is unclear. In 2020, researchers at the University of York discovered another 1318 letter from Melton, in which he reports that Joan had come to another priest, ‘Brother John’, ‘with great sorrow in her heart’. She apparently described how ‘as a girl and being under the age of personal discretion she was forced to enter the Order... by her father and mother... she both never consented to this and continually protested and also never uttered any vow of profession’.
A specific mention of ‘Johana de Ledes’ in Melton’s Register. Archbishop of York’s register, 9A f. 326v, entry 2
Joan’s story is not just one of ingenuity and bravery, but also reflects a harsh reality of medieval monastic life. Many nuns were professed at a young age, compelled to the religious life not by a legitimate calling, but by their parents’ desire to keep them out of trouble, be rid of an inconvenient second or third daughter, or even deprive them of an inheritance. Convent life was a rich tapestry, in which nuns of various levels of commitment lived and worked together: as the author of ‘Why I Can’t Be a Nun’ writes, ‘some are devout, holy and obliging’, while ‘some are feeble, lewd and forward’.
The procession of nuns to the mass: Yates Thompson MS 11, f. 6v
For more stories of complicated, daring medieval women, visit our exhibition Medieval Women: In Their Own Words, which runs until 2 March 2025. Tickets are available to order 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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