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

Follow us @BLMedieval

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
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).

 

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

Follow us @BLMedieval

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