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British Library, London
Lead curator: Eleanor Jackson
Until March 2025
In the Middle Ages, narratives of this world and the next were dominated by men. Men recorded history and wrote great works of literature, commanded kingdoms and fought wars and male authorities controlled religion.
And yet – or therefore – the times were marked by extraordinary women. Between 1100 and 1600, Europe had 20 reigning queens. It produced numerous women who turned to religion to escape female servitude and gain influence and others who offered practical common sense to relieve the often fatal trauma of childbirth.
Every one of these women merits further study and much of the excitement of the British Library’s magnificent exhibition on Medieval Women is to see 21st-century crowds, dominated at least during my visit by women, poring over artefacts and gloriously illustrated manuscripts, greedy for more.
Among the many standouts, Catherine of Siena resorted to fasting to avoid an unwanted marriage and dared to speak truth to power, urging Pope Gregory XI to move his court from Avignon to Rome, which he did.
Pious – and political – as implied by her stern portrait, Lady Margaret Beaufort manoeuvred to secure the crown for her son, the future King Henry VII, who was born when she was only 13, probably inflicting permanent damage on her. She never bore another child, but she had established the Tudor dynasty.
Hildegard of Bingen, who was sent to live in the Benedictine nunnery of Disibodenberg in Germany when she was eight years old went on to found and become abbess of the nunnery of Rupertsberg.
She was a visionary, an author, a prolific letter-writer and managed extended preaching tours, even in her 60s and 70s.
She was also author of a musical play, or proto-opera, the Ordo virtutum (Play of the Virtues), which tells the story of the struggle for a human soul between personifications of the virtues and the devil. Intended to be sung by nuns, the musical score is on display.
We also have immersive fragrance installations to capture the sweet smell of heaven and the sulphur of hell, created by contemporary scent designer Tasha Marks who draws on medieval recipes. Evocative as they are, I would say the artefacts alone are enough to stir our imagination.
Julian of Norwich intrigues because she locked herself away as an anchoress. Her writings are the earliest surviving works by a woman in English, and they cut through the pompous haze of the male Latin tradition.
For her, fresh from a spiritual vision, the whole of creation was a hazelnut-sized ball that she looked at: “with the eye of my understanding, and thought: ‘What may this be?’”
The Medieval Women exhibition does not limit itself to Christian women and holy sentiments.
Hafsa bint al-Hajj ar-Rakuniyya, was one of the most celebrated Andalusian female poets of medieval Arabic literature, who apparently had a poetic exchange with another poet Abu Ja’far.
Abu Ja’far describes a garden made happy by their love-making, but his partner was under no such illusions.
“Believe me, love … the garden took no joy in what we did together there.”
For good measure, she adds: “I hardly think the sky displayed its stars for any reason but to be our spies.”
For medieval women, the horrors of childbirth tended to end the poetry of love.
We are introduced to medical work “The Sekenesse of Wymmen” and the Trotula – a group of three 12th-century texts associated with Trota of Salerno, a woman medical practitioner who promoted cleanliness, a balanced diet, exercise and avoidance of stress.
True to her times, her methods also included the birth girdles widely used in the Middle Ages. They possibly provided physical support to a woman with a distended belly, and gave spiritual comfort.
Nearly all English birth girdles failed to survive the Dissolution of the Monasteries when they became linked with superstition and the old religion, but the British Library exhibition has a rare 15th-century example decorated with prayers and a life-size representation of Christ’s Side Wound to put the pangs of birth into perspective.
Another fascinating survival is the mortuary roll of Lucy de Vere, first prioress of the Benedictine nunnery at Castle Hedingham, Essex.
The long parchment was passed from place to place to spread news of the death and ask for prayers for the departed’s soul. Each recipient would add an inscription, which in this case came from 122 places across East Anglia and southern England, often in wildly different scripts.
The handwriting showstopper, however, is from Joan of Arc, or Jehanne, as she signed a letter, dated 1429, in the uncertain hand of someone otherwise illiterate and very young.
For all that, the peasant farmer’s daughter, who said she received visions from God, persuaded crown prince Charles of Valois to allow her to lead a French army to Orleans where they achieved a resounding victory against the English.
Later captured by her enemies, she became a martyr and a saint. Though hardly a straightforward role model, she is proof of the power of a determined woman in any age.
Medieval Women: In Their Own Words
British Library, London
Lead curator: Eleanor Jackson
Until March 2025
In the Middle Ages, narratives of this world and the next were dominated by men. Men recorded history and wrote great works of literature, commanded kingdoms and fought wars and male authorities controlled religion.
And yet – or therefore – the times were marked by extraordinary women. Between 1100 and 1600, Europe had 20 reigning queens. It produced numerous women who turned to religion to escape female servitude and gain influence and others who offered practical common sense to relieve the often fatal trauma of childbirth.
Every one of these women merits further study and much of the excitement of the British Library’s magnificent exhibition on Medieval Women is to see 21st-century crowds, dominated at least during my visit by women, poring over artefacts and gloriously illustrated manuscripts, greedy for more.
Among the many standouts, Catherine of Siena resorted to fasting to avoid an unwanted marriage and dared to speak truth to power, urging Pope Gregory XI to move his court from Avignon to Rome, which he did.
Pious – and political – as implied by her stern portrait, Lady Margaret Beaufort manoeuvred to secure the crown for her son, the future King Henry VII, who was born when she was only 13, probably inflicting permanent damage on her. She never bore another child, but she had established the Tudor dynasty.
Hildegard of Bingen, who was sent to live in the Benedictine nunnery of Disibodenberg in Germany when she was eight years old went on to found and become abbess of the nunnery of Rupertsberg.
She was a visionary, an author, a prolific letter-writer and managed extended preaching tours, even in her 60s and 70s.
She was also author of a musical play, or proto-opera, the Ordo virtutum (Play of the Virtues), which tells the story of the struggle for a human soul between personifications of the virtues and the devil. Intended to be sung by nuns, the musical score is on display.
We also have immersive fragrance installations to capture the sweet smell of heaven and the sulphur of hell, created by contemporary scent designer Tasha Marks who draws on medieval recipes. Evocative as they are, I would say the artefacts alone are enough to stir our imagination.
Julian of Norwich intrigues because she locked herself away as an anchoress. Her writings are the earliest surviving works by a woman in English, and they cut through the pompous haze of the male Latin tradition.
For her, fresh from a spiritual vision, the whole of creation was a hazelnut-sized ball that she looked at: “with the eye of my understanding, and thought: ‘What may this be?’”
The Medieval Women exhibition does not limit itself to Christian women and holy sentiments.
Hafsa bint al-Hajj ar-Rakuniyya, was one of the most celebrated Andalusian female poets of medieval Arabic literature, who apparently had a poetic exchange with another poet Abu Ja’far.
Abu Ja’far describes a garden made happy by their love-making, but his partner was under no such illusions.
“Believe me, love … the garden took no joy in what we did together there.”
For good measure, she adds: “I hardly think the sky displayed its stars for any reason but to be our spies.”
For medieval women, the horrors of childbirth tended to end the poetry of love.
We are introduced to medical work “The Sekenesse of Wymmen” and the Trotula – a group of three 12th-century texts associated with Trota of Salerno, a woman medical practitioner who promoted cleanliness, a balanced diet, exercise and avoidance of stress.
True to her times, her methods also included the birth girdles widely used in the Middle Ages. They possibly provided physical support to a woman with a distended belly, and gave spiritual comfort.
Nearly all English birth girdles failed to survive the Dissolution of the Monasteries when they became linked with superstition and the old religion, but the British Library exhibition has a rare 15th-century example decorated with prayers and a life-size representation of Christ’s Side Wound to put the pangs of birth into perspective.
Another fascinating survival is the mortuary roll of Lucy de Vere, first prioress of the Benedictine nunnery at Castle Hedingham, Essex.
The long parchment was passed from place to place to spread news of the death and ask for prayers for the departed’s soul. Each recipient would add an inscription, which in this case came from 122 places across East Anglia and southern England, often in wildly different scripts.
The handwriting showstopper, however, is from Joan of Arc, or Jehanne, as she signed a letter, dated 1429, in the uncertain hand of someone otherwise illiterate and very young.
For all that, the peasant farmer’s daughter, who said she received visions from God, persuaded crown prince Charles of Valois to allow her to lead a French army to Orleans where they achieved a resounding victory against the English.
Later captured by her enemies, she became a martyr and a saint. Though hardly a straightforward role model, she is proof of the power of a determined woman in any age.
Barbara Lewis © 2024.
By Barbara Lewis • art, books, drawing, exhibitions, history, print, society • Tags: art, Barbara Lewis, books, drawing, exhibitions, history, print, society