Our exhibition Medieval Women: In Their Own Words tells the story of the lives and experiences of medieval women not just through manuscripts, documents and printed books, but also works of art, paintings, jewellery, coins and sculpture. One of these precious artefacts is an ivory cross that once belonged to Sibylla of Anjou (b. c. 1112, d. 1165), Countess of Flanders, who for a time served as regent in her husband’s place and ultimately embarked on a journey to the Holy Land, where her life would change forever. We are delighted that the cross is on loan to the exhibition from the Musée du Louvre in Paris.

The ivory Cross of Sibylla of Flanders: Musée du Louvre, OA 2593

Sibylla was a noblewoman, the daughter of Fulk V of Anjou (d. 1143) and Ermengarde of Maine (d. 1126), and later the stepdaughter of Melisende (d. 1161), Queen of Jerusalem, a significant royal woman in her own right who also appears prominently in our exhibition. In 1134, Sibylla married Thierry of Alsace (d. 1168) and became Countess of Flanders. It was her second marriage, after her first to William Clito (d. 1127), Thierry’s predecessor as count, had been annulled by the Pope in 1124. Throughout much of their relationship, Thierry was away fighting on crusade, leaving her in Europe to rule as regent in his stead. Sibylla was clearly a formidable figure, able to take charge of the administration of Flanders effectively on her own. Notably, during one of her husband’s absences in 1148, the region was attacked by a rival lord, Baldwin IV, Count of Hainault, who intended to annex the territory for himself. Sibylla led her force in a counterattack that not only repelled the invasion, but also devastated Hainault and ultimately led to the negotiation of a truce between the two sides.

Sibylla’s father, Fulk V of Anjou, and stepmother, Melisende of Jerusalem, from William of Tyre’s Histoire d’Outremer: Yates Thompson MS 12, f. 82v

In 1157, Thierry embarked on his third journey to the Holy Land and this time Sibylla went with him. However, when they finally arrived, Sibylla decided to leave her husband altogether to enter the Convent of Sts Mary and Martha in Bethany, one of the wealthiest abbeys in the kingdom, situated less than two miles outside Jerusalem. The convent had an important familial connection for Sibylla, as it had been founded by her father Fulk and stepmother Melisende in 1138, and its abbess Ioveta of Bethany (b. c. 1102, d. 1178) was also her step-aunt, though the two were actually very similar in age. Despite initial opposition from both her husband and the Patriarch of Jerusalem (its leading bishop), Sibylla was successful in taking her vows and ultimately remained in the convent until her death in 1165. There she was able to work together with Ioveta to support Melisende in her ruling of the kingdom, particularly through their combined influence over appointments to positions in the Latin Church.

An itinerary map of the Holy Land, showing the city of Jerusalem, made by the Benedictine monk and artist Matthew Paris: Royal MS 14 C VII, f. 5r

The cross is one of only a small number of surviving objects and documents with any known connection to Sibylla. It is made from walrus ivory and was crafted in the Meuse Valley region, probably a few years after her marriage to Thierry. A small, veiled female figure appears lying flat at the foot of the cross’s base before the crucified Christ, who appears between allegorical representations of the Sun and Moon. An accompanying inscription in Latin asks for pardon and identifies the figure as Sibylla herself:

NATE. MARIS. STELLE. VENIAM. C[on]CEDE. SIBILLE.

You who were born of the Star of the Sea grant forgiveness to Sibylla.

Here, Sibylla addresses Christ, but references the Virgin Mary using her ancient title, the Stella Maris (or Star of the Sea). It is an interesting choice, one perhaps made with her journey across the sea to the Holy Land in mind. The cross probably formed part of the decorative cover of a book, though it is unclear what happened to its original manuscript or if it even came with Sibylla on her journey. Nonetheless, its devotional symbolism remains a testament to a noble and politically influential figure, who ultimately found the greatest strength and happiness in the religious life and the community of women it provided her.

Sibylla kneeling at the base of the ivory cross, with an accompanying inscription in Latin: Musée du Louvre, OA 2593

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

Follow us @BLMedieval

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 

When you visit our exhibition, Medieval Women: In Their Own Words, the first item you’ll find on display isn’t a manuscript, a document or a printed book. It’s a statue. A crowned female figure in formal robes, weathered to a ruddy brown, her body damaged in places and missing a hand, but whose distinctive likeness remains. This statue and the woman she represents lay claim to one of the most poignant stories to survive from medieval England, a testament to the strength of affection of a husband to his wife, as well as an elaborate display of royal power. This is the story of Eleanor of Castile (b. 1241, d. 1290), Queen of England, and the Eleanor Crosses made in her memory.

The reproduction of a statue of Eleanor of Castile, on display in Medieval Women: In Their Own Words, made by Michael Whitley

Eleanor was the daughter of King Fernando III of Castile and Juana of Ponthieu. She came to England in 1255 at the age of only 14, following her marriage to Prince Edward, son of Henry III, who later became Edward I. They ruled the country together for some 18 years. During their reign, Eleanor became renowned for her skill as a landowner and administrator, her devotion to the Church, and her patronage of the arts, particularly the production and copying of books. Among the manuscripts associated with her is the Alphonso Psalter (Add MS 24686), a lavishly illuminated copy of the Book of Psalms, made to commemorate the betrothal of her son Alphonso to Margaret, daughter of Florent V, Count of Holland and Zeeland in 1284.

The Alphonso Psalter, made for Eleanor of Castile’s son: Add MS 24686, f. 11r

Towards the end of her life, Eleanor’s health began to decline, some have speculated because of an underlying heart condition or possibly a case of malaria. She eventually died on 28 November 1290, a record of which can be found in a set of accounts made by her personal treasurer, John of Berewyk (see our previous blogpost on the details of this fascinating account-book). At the time, Edward and Eleanor were engaged in a tour of her properties in the Midlands, their final stop the village of Harby in Nottinghamshire. Perhaps aware of her impending death, Eleanor had already made preparations for her final resting place. Notably, she was to receive a triple burial: her internal organs were to be buried at Lincoln Cathedral, her heart in Blackfriars Priory in London, and her body in Westminster Abbey.

The final page of Eleanor of Castile's household account book, including a note of her death: Add MS 35294, f. 15v

Such was the depth of Edward’s affection for Eleanor that after her death he commissioned a permanent memorial to his departed queen, a series of large stone crosses placed at 12 sites along the route her body was taken from Lincoln to Westminster. Constructed between 1291 and 1295 at a collective cost of at least £2000 (over £1.5 million in modern currency), each cross was at least 13 metres tall and featured a representation of her likeness. Now known as the ‘Eleanor Crosses’, these sculptures stood at Lincoln, Grantham and Stamford in Lincolnshire; Geddington and Hardingstone in Northamptonshire; Stony Stratford in Buckinghamshire; Woburn and Dunstable in Bedfordshire; St Albans and Waltham in Herfordshire; Cheapside in London; and Charing in Westminster.

The sites of the Eleanor Crosses, from Lincoln to Charing Cross (Source: Wikipedia; © OpenStreeMap)

The statue in our Medieval Women exhibition is a handmade reproduction of a sculpture owned by Hertfordshire County Council and now housed at the Victoria & Albert Museum. It was originally part of the Waltham Cross, crafted by Alexander of Abingdon, one of the leading sculptors in England around the turn of the 13th century. The statue was removed and replaced by a replica in the 1950s because of the weathering it had suffered over the centuries. This was the fate of many of the other Eleanor Crosses too, which either deteriorated through exposure to the natural elements, or instead were dismantled or destroyed. Aside from the Waltham Cross, only two others now survive in their original state (Geddington and Hardingstone). But even though the statues may not mark Eleanor's final journey as they once did in the 13th century, the story behind the crosses, Edward's love for Eleanor, and the strength of the queen's image in the popular imagination has persisted. 

A drawing of the Waltham Cross as it looked in the 18th century: Add MS 36367, f. 49r

To see the statue of Eleanor of Castile 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

Follow us @BLMedieval

A book of conspiracy theories about the Titanic; a manifesto for reforming society by appointing a ‘War Minstrel of Supernatural character’ to lead men into battle; a volume of erotic poetry dealing with ‘aspects of love usually passed over’. These 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. It was not just eccentric modern material that was rejected. Medieval manor court rolls, an Elizabethan songbook, and the manuscript collection of an Italian prince were all refused, for a variety of reasons.

A rejection form for a manuscript offered to the British Museum Library in 1939 (Department of Manuscripts Correspondence, 1939:2, p. 95)

Today, the acquisition minutes, reports on manuscripts and correspondence relating to this material are held in the British Library’s departmental archives. Since October, the collection has been used in a research project looking at 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.

Letter from the Keeper of Manuscripts to Mrs E. E. Cope rejecting the charters and rolls she offered (Department of Manuscripts Correspondence, 1921, p. 51)

When a manuscript was offered for purchase or as a gift, the Keeper of Manuscripts would prepare a report for the Museum Trustees, describing the item and making a recommendation for acceptance or rejection, with the Trustees usually agreeing with the Keeper’s suggestion. When he suggested that a manuscript be accepted, with little reasoning or justification usually given, seemingly the item’s value or importance was thought to be self-evident; but when the Keeper recommended rejection, he offered a more detailed explanation in his report. From these rejections we can infer what priorities and principles governed the decisions of the Museum Library and what was considered worthy of entering the national collection. The project will result in an academic journal article on rejected acquisitions and collection policy at the British Museum Library in the period 1904 to 1954.

A leaflet for A. W. Sichart’s The Relativity of True Socialism, the manuscript of which he offered to the British Museum Library (Department of Manuscripts Correspondence, 1939:2, p. 27)

The ‘War Minstrel’ manifesto was The Relativity of True Socialism, a booklet proposing several societal reforms and written by A. W. Sichart, AKA Inigo Amana, who lived in Tokai, South Africa, and was known locally as the Tokai Hermit. Sichart offered the manuscript to the British Museum Library in May 1939. He was turned down, with the Keeper of Manuscripts writing back that their policy was to reject ‘unpublished work by living authors unless it is of an antiquarian character or has some other special claim to preservation in the National Collection’. But the Tokai Hermit did eventually get his writings into the Museum Library collections in the shape of his 1938 pamphlet Light: The mystery and mechanism of the human mind and moral heart with their inter-relation to the soul (8412.bb.17.).

Photograph of A. W. Sichart (The Announcer, 10 July 2024)

Another common reason for rejection was when manuscripts were thought to be too specialist or local in interest, in which case the Keeper of Manuscripts would usually recommend a more suitable repository. In 1925, a set of early modern manor court rolls for Barton Manor in Lancashire was instead forwarded  to the University of Manchester’s John Rylands Library. Particularly in the 1930s and in the years immediately after the First and Second World Wars, many acquisitions were turned down at least in part because of the department’s exhausted funds. The Deputy Keeper wrote that a 15th-century English translation of Boethius’ The Consolation of Philosophy, offered in 1946, would have been acceptable as a gift, but he could not justify paying for it, especially as the collections already included four manuscript copies of the text and this particular manuscript was missing its prologue and early lines.

These few examples already demonstrate the breadth of factors influencing manuscript acquisitions by the British Museum Library in this period and there is much more still to be uncovered in the departmental archives. As the research project progresses, future blogposts will highlight new discoveries and stories.

This research has been made possible by an award of the British Library’s Coleridge Fellowship.

 

Rory MacLellan

Follow us @BLMedieval

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.  

Follow us @BLMedieval 

Follow us @BLMedieval 

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

Follow us @BLMedieval

On 8 July 1458, Ippolita Maria Sforza (b. 1445, d. 1488) completed work on a manuscript, a handwritten copy of Cicero’s Latin treatise De senectute (On Old Age), which she made for her tutor, the Renaissance humanist Baldo Martorelli (d. 1475). At the time, Ippolita was only 14 years old and living in her childhood home of Milan. The small volume (Add MS 21984) is currently on display as part of our major exhibition, Medieval Women: In Their Own Words, running between 25 October 2024 and 2 March 2025.

The opening of Cicero’s De senectute (On old age), written by Ippolita Maria Sforza at the age 14: Add MS 21984, f. 3r

Ippolita Maria was born into the influential Sforza family, then rulers of the duchy of Milan. At the age of 20, she married Alfonso II (d. 1495), Duke of Calabria, who would go on to become King of Naples. Like many members of the nobility at this time, Ippolita was the beneficiary of a privileged education. From an early age, she showed an aptitude for learning and letter-writing, pursuits actively encouraged by her father, Francesco I (d. 1466). She studied Latin and Greek alongside her older brother Galeazzo, the pair having at least three tutors in addition to Baldo, who wrote a Latin grammar for them to study. She also learned to read the works of some of the most famous classical authors, as well as compose her own Latin orations, one of which she delivered to Pope Pius II at the Diet of Mantua in 1459.

A reproduction of the bust of a young woman, believed to be Ippolita Maria Sforza: Victoria & Albert Museum, Repro 1889-94

Ippolita’s handwritten copy of De senectute was probably the result of a homework exercise, in which she was instructed to copy out famous works of Classical poetry and rhetoric. The volume is finely illuminated. Its opening page features a beautiful decorated border which encloses her emblem (a palm tree and a pair of silver scales) and an abbreviated form of her name (‘HIP, MA’), written in chrysography, or gold lettering. Her Latin motto runs alongside these illuminations, an extract from Psalm 91:13: ‘Iustus ut palma florebit et sicut cedrus libani multiplicabitur’ (The just will flourish like a palm tree and multiply like the cedar of Lebanon’).

Ippolita’s abbreviated name (‘HIP, MA’), Latin motto and emblem, painted into the border of her handwritten copy of Cicero’s De senectute: Add MS 21984, f. 3r

We know that Ippolita wrote the manuscript herself, because of a Latin colophon inscribed at the very end of the text. It reads:

Hippolyta Maria Vicecomes filia Illustrimi principis Francisci Sforciae ducis Mediolani exscripsi mea manu hunc libellum sub tempus pueritiae meae et sub Baldo praeceptore anno a natali christiani MCCCCLVIII octavo idus julius'

I, Ippolita Maria Visconti, daughter of the most illustrious prince Francesco Sforza, Duke of Milan, wrote this little book in my own hand around the time of my childhood and under my tutor Baldo, 8 July 1458.

Ippolita’s Latin colophon in which she states that she wrote the manuscript herself: Add MS 21984, ff. 71r-v

The manuscript is a window into Ippolita’s learning at such an early age, as well as the close relationship she had with her tutor. Throughout the volume, pointers (known as manicules) have been added in the margins to indicate important maxims or meaningful passages to remember. On this page, for example, a manicule has been added next to a Latin sentence, emphasising the importance of thought and reflection as a means of achieving great deeds:

Non viribus aut velocitate aut celeritate corporum res magnae geruntur, sed consolio auctoritate sententia

It is not by strength, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved but by reflection, force of character, and judgement.

A manicule drawn into the margin to indicate a memorable passage in the text: Add MS 21984, f. 16v

Baldo’s hand appears in several places as well, where he made discreet corrections to her work, either adding a marginal comment alongside the text, inserting a letter in a word she had missed out during the copying, or to indicate a mistaken spelling.

Corrections made to Ippolita’s work, including a missing ‘u’ in the Latin ‘uiuendi’ and ‘gati’ in the word ‘defatigationem’: Add MS 21984, f. 71r

Ippolita’s love of learning persisted throughout her later life when she became Duchess of Calabria and left Milan for Naples, following her betrothal to Alfonso in 1465. In a letter to her mother, Bianca Maria Visconti (d. 1468), written on 6 January 1466, only four months into the marriage, Ippolita reported that she had built a study in her new Neapolitan home, the Castel Capuano, a place for her to read and write in private contemplation. In a particularly moving section of the letter, she asked to be sent portraits of her mother, father, and all her brothers and sisters, so she could hang them around the room to provide her ‘with constant comfort and pleasure’. The study seems to have been a room of her own in a place that was still alien to her, a space dedicated to the pastimes and people that mattered most in her life.

Portraits of Ippolita’s parents, Francesco I Sforza and Bianca Maria Visconti, painted by the Italian artist Bonifacio Bembo: Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera

To learn more about women’s education during the medieval period and see Ippolita’s manuscript and bust in person, visit our major exhibition Medieval Women: In Their Own Words, which runs from 25 October 2024 until 2 March 2025, at St Pancras in London. 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.

Calum Cockburn

Follow us @BLMedieval

In our major exhibition, Medieval Women: In Their Own Words, we find evidence of women undertaking a wide variety of roles across all levels of society. While many women had to do unpaid household chores, they also engaged in paid employment in agriculture, trade, domestic service and textile production. They acted as notaries and financiers, contributed to their family businesses or ran businesses of their own. Some even became professional authors, musicians, artists, printers and bookmakers.

Agricultural labourers bringing in the harvest, from the Luttrell Psalter; Lincolnshire, 1325-40: Add MS 42130, f. 172v

Here is a selection of some of the occupations that were available to women during the medieval period and that'll you find when you visit the exhibition:

Weaver

A female artisan weaving on a loom, from the Egerton Genesis Picture Book; England, 14th century: Egerton MS 1894, f. 2v

Domestic Servant

A domestic servant cleans her master's bedchambers, from the Hours of Joanna of Castile; Bruges, 1486-1506: Add MS 18852, f. 1v

A servant combs her mistress's hair, from the Luttrell Psalter; Lincolnshire, 1325-40: Add MS 42130, f. 63r

Book illuminator

Jeanne de Montbaston and her husband Richard writing and illuminating manuscripts in their workshop, from the margin of a copy of the Roman de la Rose; Paris, 14th century: Bibliotheque nationale de France, ms fr. 25526, f. 77v

Silkworker

A group of noblewomen spinning silk, from Les Fais et les Dis des Romains et de autres gens; Paris, 1473-80; Harley MS 4375/3, f. 179r

A woman spinning silk, from the Luttrell Psalter; Lincolnshire, 1325-40: Add MS 42130, f. 193r

Wet nurse

A woman selects a potential wet nurse, from Aldobrandino of Siena's Régime du corps; France, 1265-70: Sloane MS 2435, f. 28v

Teacher

A schoolmistress with a ferule (wooden paddle), a tool of discipline, teaching for young girls in a classroom, from a Latin primer probably made for a girl; Bruges, c. 1445: Harley MS 3828, f. 27v

Medical Practitioner

A female medical practitioner caring for a patient and performing a cupping treatment, from a collection of medical treatises in Middle English; England, 15th century: Sloane MS 6, f 177r

Ale-Seller

An ale-seller, from the Smithfield Decretals; Southern France and London, c. 1300-40: Royal MS 10 E IV, f. 114v 

Writer

The professional writer, Christine de Pizan working in her study, from the 'Book of the Queen'; Paris, c. 1410-14: Harley MS 4431/1, f. 4r

To find out more about the working lives of medieval women, 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.  

Follow us @BLMedieval