Saint Dymphna, lost heads, and material revelation

Sint-Dimpnakerk, Geel, Belgium. Image courtesy of WikiCommons.

SAINT DYMPHNA, LOST HEADS, AND MATERIAL REVELATION

Two years ago, I became interested in several Saint Job pilgrim badges from a village church in Wezemaal, Belgium. This church saw throngs of medieval pilgrims flock to its site for healing and protection from physical ailments. I now find myself drawn to another pilgrimage site just thirty-five kilometres north of Wezemaal in Geel, Belgium, where pilgrims flocked not for healing of their bodies, but of their minds. Sint-Dimpnakerk (the Church of Saint Dymphna) marks where the legendary seventh-century Dymphna is honoured as both patron saint of the city and of mental illness.

According to tradition, Dymphna was an Irish princess, born to the pagan king and his devout Christian wife. Following her mother’s death and her father’s subsequent incestuous advances towards her, Dymphna is said to have fled to Antwerp with her confessor to maintain her Christian vows. Her father and his men eventually found them near Geel and when Dymphna again refused him, martyred them both – cutting off her head.

The gothic church honouring Dymphna was erected in the fourteenth-century. Pilgrims would visit her relics at the church for healing from mental illnesses. Some legends suggest that she could heal mental illness because she was able to resist her insane father; others suggest that people with mental illnesses were healed at her beheading. That which ties Dymphna to mental illness is thought by art historian Katharina Van Cauteren to be her head. Van Cauteren writes, “It is not clear why Dymphna was elevated to her position as patron saint of the mentally ill. Perhaps it was because she lost her head. Many saints are supposed to protect against the physical torments that killed them or the agonies they endured.”[1] Regardless of the provenance of this association, the connection between Dymphna and those with mental illness has left a strong legacy in Geel. Geel has been recognized internationally for its community-based care model for people with mental illnesses. The home-based care that continues today stems from the pilgrimages in the late Middle Ages, when an overflow of pilgrims seeking healing would be taken in and cared for by its citizens.

I was drawn to Saint Dymphna and so turned my attention to the thirty-nine surviving pilgrim badges of Dymphna listed on the Kunera database. Niels Schalley points out certain iconographic traits that are common to Dymphna representations – such as a sword (indicating Dymphna’s beheading); a devil (madness); a crown (nobility); and a Bible (virtue) – which are likewise seen in the pilgrim badges.[2] When looking through the badges online, I noticed another trait that several of the badges curiously had in common: Dymphna’s headlessness.

Pewter badge, Dymphna with sword standing on devil in gothic frame with pilgrim on her left, inscription [S DY]MPNE TE G[EEL], Geel, Belgium, 1400-1449, found in Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 29 x 37 mm. Van Beuningen Family Collection, inv. 2348 (Kunera 00181). Photograph courtesy of the Van Beuningen Family Collection.

Pewter badge, crowned Dymphna with sword standing on devil in a gothic frame, Geel, Belgium, 1400-1449, found in Nieuwlande, the Netherlands, 30 x 38 mm. Van Beuningen Family Collection, inv. 1377 (Kunera 24437). Photograph courtesy of the Van Beuningen Family Collection.

Pewter badge, Dymphna with sword standing on devil in gothic frame with pilgrim on her left, inscription SANCTE DYMP[NA], Geel, Belgium, 1400-1449, found in Nieuwlande, the Netherlands, 30 x 33 mm. Van Beuningen Family Collection, inv. 0065 (Kunera 00180). Photograph courtesy of the Van Beuningen Family Collection.

Above are three of the nine surviving badges from the Kunera database where Saint Dymphna is headless. A headless pilgrim badge is surely not unusual. One can find many headless figures in surviving badges: birds, knights, angels, saints like Servatius and Bridget and even the Blessed Virgin Mary. The fragility of pewter badges offers a simple explanation to this phenomenon. The heads were broken off somehow at some point. Given the material of the badges, this is unsurprising. And yet despite this material reality, headless badges of someone like Saint Dymphna – whose beheading is central to her martyrdom and the pilgrims participating in her martyrdom story – take on special significance.

Because of this, I want to imagine beyond a mere natural reality that offers an obvious explanation for the absent Dymphna head. Instead, I assume that the headlessness of surviving Dymphna pilgrim badges is not a material coincidence, but a material revelation. This kind of imagining, I think, brings me closer to the medieval pilgrims who carried these badges, for whom the revelatory aspects of the material world were vital.

It seems to me that there are two central alternative ways of understanding the headless Dymphna badges, both of which have within them a myriad of sub-possibilities. The first way is to assume that the Dymphna heads were intentionally broken off by pilgrims. This possibility is an argument against looking at surviving badges as objects of time alone and instead as social objects that are acted upon by pilgrims with symbolic intent. If this were the case – and I like to assume that it is – the impossible question to answer is why. It might have been an act of remembrance or reverence for the saint when a pilgrim was cured of mental illness. It may have been an act of defiance by a pilgrim – devout or disobedient – displeased to see the saint again donning a head. Perhaps after the journeys back home, to the Netherlands, for instance, where the majority of headless badges in the Kunera collection were found, the heads were broken off to symbolise an end to the object’s purpose and the badges then discarded or forgotten.

The second possibility is that pilgrims did not break the heads off, but that the badges, as spiritual objects, disclosed their own realities. I am not advocating that the badges broke themselves, though the idea compels me; rather, that the manner of intervention that caused the head to break off was secondary to the outcome. Perhaps the badges broke while being pinned on a hat or stuck in a pilgrim’s pocket; they may have fallen on the ground and been stepped on or hit against something unintentionally. I don’t suppose that Dymphna badges that became headless during a pilgrimage would have been seen as worthless but enchanted, especially for the pilgrim who encountered this change. Instead of a material coincidence, medieval pilgrims might frame this change in the badge as a revelatory occasion: one imbued with the presence of Dymphna. How much more valued would a pilgrim badge of Saint Dymphna be if it mirrored the martyrdom of the saint it represented? This second possibility sees a headless badge, as I do, as an occasion of and for further meaning making. It assumes the badge to be a special kind of spiritual participant in the pilgrimage.

Though thinking about these different possibilities excites me, the passage of time prevents me from knowing the truth of them. Despite this, I intend to continue learning about Dymphna and will be going on a research pilgrimage to the city of Geel at the end of May. I look forward to sharing more about what I find on this blog in the coming weeks. There is still much to learn from Dymphna and the pilgrim badges that represent her.    

H. Dimpna van Geel, polychrome wood sculpture, 1501-1600, 122 cm. Kerk Sint-Amandus, Geel, Belgium. Photographer: Jean-Luc Elias, KIK. © KIK-IRPA, Brussels, cliché X029117*.

[1] Katharina Van Cauteren, “Goosen Van der Weyden’s Dymphna altarpiece: A material witness to something intangible,” in Crazy about Dymphna, pp. 16-20; here p. 18.

[2] Niels Schalley, “The Cult of Saint Dymphna in Image and Prayer,” in Crazy About Dymphna, pp. 282-94; here p. 284.

Further Reading

Chen, Angus. “For Centuries, A Small Town Has Embraced Strangers With Mental Illness.” NPR, July 1, 2016. https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2016/07/01/484083305/for-centuries-a-small-town-has-embraced-strangers-with-mental-illness.

Flemish Masters in Situ -  Sint-Dimpnakerk Geel, 2019. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_3nKU4EwI8.

Jay, Mike. “Geel: Where the Mentally Ill Are Welcomed Home | Aeon Essays.” Aeon, January 9, 2014. Accessed March 14, 2023. https://aeon.co/essays/geel-where-the-mentally-ill-are-welcomed-home.

McCrary, Lorraine Krall. “Geel’s Family Care Tradition: Care, Communities, and the Social Inclusion of Persons with Disabilities.” Journal of Literary & Cultural Disability Studies 11, no. 3 (October 1, 2017): 285–303. https://doi.org/10.3828/jlcds.2017.23.

Van Dorst, Sven, ed. Crazy about Dymphna: The Story of a Girl who Drove a Medieval City Mad. Hannibal Publishing, Veurne, 2020.

Written by Hannah Gardiner.

Margery Kempe and Pilgrim Badges

Margery Kempe and Pilgrim Badges

Today marks the commemoration day of a remarkable English mystic, Margery Kempe, a middle-class, medieval woman born in what is now King’s Lynn, Norfolk around 1373, where she died after 1439. We know of Kempe’s life through the chance discovery of her dictated work, The Book of Margery Kempe, in the twentieth century. From her Book, which is considered the first autobiography written in English, we learn that Kempe was married and bore fourteen children before negotiating a chaste marriage. After the birth of her first child, Kempe suffered from demonic visions before having a saving vision of Christ. The heart of Kempe’s Book is her love for God: her visions of Christ, the grand tears she wept for him, her afflictions for his love, and the many religious pilgrimages she undertook where these accounts took place.

Kempe is an interesting case study for medieval badges because, as a medieval pilgrim, she visited some of Europe’s most famous pilgrimage sites – sites where pilgrim badges were certainly present and in circulation during her fifteenth-century journeys. Despite this, no mention is made to pilgrim badges in her Book. Over the next few blog posts, I will question this omission: Did Margery Kempe collect pilgrim badges but omit discussing them when dictating the Book? Or did she not participate in this practice?

To collect or not to collect?

Because no mention is made to pilgrim badges in her Book, pursuing the connection between Kempe and badges depends not on the question’s answerability but on its possibility. Our speculation, however, is not without clues. Kempe discloses herself to readers in her Book in both practical and personal ways. Practically, we have information about where and when she went on pilgrimage. These details are important because they can be cross-referenced with data on surviving badges to determine the kind of badges that would have been available to Kempe at specific sites and times.

In thinking this question through, I wrote to Dr. Anthony Bale, whose translation of and notes for The Book of Margery Kempe have helped my research. I asked Dr. Bale whether he thought Margery Kempe would have collected pilgrim badges, and he replied that he did:

My feeling is that pilgrim badges were so cheap and ubiquitous in places like Rome, Santiago, Wilsnack and Aachen, that Kempe would certainly have bought them. They were likely not even worth recording - although she does mention in passing other pilgrimage souvenirs like her walking stick from the holy land.

In his reply, Dr. Bale pointed me to surviving badges that were found in Lynn and are now housed in the Thomas Pung Collection in Lynn Museum, illustrating that “pilgrim badges from the places visited by Kempe were common in Lynn.” For example, of the two surviving Wilsnack badges found in England, where Kempe visited during her pilgrimage to Prussia, one of them was found in King’s Lynn.

So, it is likely that a pilgrim like Kempe would have participated in an economy of pilgrim badges – but was Kempe a normal pilgrim? Dr. Anne E. Bailey calls Kempe’s established identity as a pilgrim into question in her article, “The Problematic Pilgrim: Rethinking Margery’s Pilgrim Identity in The Book of Margery Kempe.” If Kempe does not refer to herself as a pilgrim in her Book, perhaps she would not have wanted to identify as one visually on pilgrimage; what use would these badges then have had? I wrote to Dr. Bailey asking her thoughts on my research question. Not committing herself to either side, Dr. Bailey wrote back with her own speculations:

[I]f you follow the logic of my article (and I’m quite open to challenges!) in which I argue that Margery saw herself as being spiritually superior to the common crowd, I suppose you could also speculate that she might avoid the more commercial, popular aspects of pilgrimage such as souvenir buying. If her direct relationship with Christ is the crux of her religiosity, perhaps pilgrim badges were irrelevant? One might even argue that her Book acts as a kind of pilgrim badge: it’s a record and memento of her journeys.

 Another thought: did any of the female saints and mystics Margery so admired, and tried to emulate, go on pilgrimage and purchase pilgrim badges? If they didn’t mention pilgrim badges, this may be one reason for Margery’s silence. 

Dr. Bailey’s proposal that the Book itself acts as a pilgrim badge is provocative and puts forth questions of the difference between keeping visual mementos or creating textual ones. What if Kempe did both? For the sake of my coming blog posts, I assume that she did. I will trace Margery’s three large pilgrimages – the first great pilgrimage (1413-1415), the pilgrimage to Santiago (1417-1418), and the pilgrimage to Prussia (1433-1434) – to reimagine which of the surviving badges available at those times Margery may have seen and potentially purchased.

Throughout the series, my research question remains in the air: Did Margery Kempe collect pilgrim badges but omit discussing them when dictating the Book? Or did she not participate in this practice? What do you think?

Works Cited

Bailey, Anne E. Personal Correspondence, 24 October 2022.

Bailey, Anne E. “The Problematic Pilgrim: Rethinking Margery’s Pilgrim Identity in The Book of Margery Kempe.” The Chaucer Review, vol. 55, no. 2 (2020): 171-96.

Bale, Anthony. Personal Correspondence, 23 October 2022.

Kempe, Margery. The Book of Margery Kempe. Translated with an introduction and notes by Anthony Bale. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015.

Written by Hannah Gardiner. Edited by Dr. Ann Marie Rasmussen.

What is Popular (Religious) Culture in the 15th Century?

Westminster Abbey. Photo courtesy of Sara Fontes

In 1420, the Vicar Richard Caistor of Saint Stephen’s died. Upon his death the locals wanted to make him a saint. Why did they want to honour him in this fashion? He was known to be a knowledgeable man who was pious and radical; perhaps he was also charismatic. For whatever reason, a cult sprang up around his tomb.

People went on pilgrimage to Saint Stephen’s and bought special souvenirs there. One version of the Caistor badges showed him preaching in a pulpit with a dove whispering into his right ear. Caistor is framed by a hexagonal scroll that is inscribed with the words ‘Mr Cast of Norwich’ and decorated with exterior crockets.  In June, 2018, I had the amazing opportunity to handle this badge up close and personal at Lynn Museum. It was fascinating to see and hold something that was so old and connected to the locale of  King’s Lynn.

Tin Lead Alloy, Richard Caister as priest standing in pulpit, Holy Ghost in shape of dove at one side of his head framed in pentagon shape scroll [MR CAST OF NORWICHE], Saint Stephen’s, 1420-1599, found in the Purfleet Quay, 400 x 400 mm. King’s Lynn, Lynn Museum, PB 86 (Kunera 07528). Photo courtesy of Sara Fontes.

At first, this badge aroused my curiosity because of the tiny dove whispering into Caistor’s ear. I wondered what the dove was inspiring him to talk about. The more I learned about the history behind this badge, the more it intrigued and puzzled me. Why did the locals want to make Caistor a saint of the Roman Catholic church? What made him so special? He was a local man, and popular enough to be chosen by the populace for sainthood. He is said to have been very devout; perhaps he inspired religious devotion in others. Another reason might have been to increase regional interest in the town and so increase trade and pilgrim visits. Why should another town benefit when King’s Lynn had such an amazing vicar? And yet, the bid to have Caistor made a saint failed. I wondered about that, too. This tiny object has quite a story to tell about popular religious culture in fifteenth-century England.

Written by Sara Fontes and Jana Köpcke.

Works Cited

Spencer, Brian. Medieval Pilgrim Badges from Norfolk (Hunstanton: Witley Press, 1980).

Tanner, N.P. The Church in Late Medieval Norwich, 1370-1532 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1984).

 Webb, Diana. Pilgrimage in Medieval England (London: A&C Black, 2000).

Is the dog man's best friend or his loyal retainer?

This badge shows the now extinct Talbot hound seated on its haunches. While similar badges bear the breed’s name or decoration on the collar, this dog is shown with a plain collar.

What is so special about this dog? For starters, it is thought that the Talbot is a reference to the Earls of Shrewsbury, whose coat of arms bore an image of this hunting dog. More evidence for the association between this baronial household and the image of the Talbot hound comes from a remark reportedly made by King Henry VI referring to John Talbot, the first Earl of Shrewsbury, as “oure good dogge,” words also used in a contemporary political poem.

Lead Tin Alloy, seated dog wearing collar, King’s Lynn, United Kingdom, 1000-1599, found in Purfleet Quay, 300 x 350 mm. King’s Lynn, Lynn Museum, BP 100 (Kunera 07573). Photo courtesy of Shannon Phaneuf.

The first Earl’s name and these references all strongly suggest that the image of the Talbot hound was used as a kind of shorthand reference for the household of the Earls of Shrewbury, and that the badge with this image was part of the household’s livery or distinguishing uniform that were worn by retainers and household staff. Medieval descriptions of dogs as a symbol of loyalty from Isidore of Seville and Gerald of Wales suggest how the Talbot badge may have been be received. The loyalty symbolised by the dog mirrors the loyalty established by feudal relationships, lord and master being one and the same just as the dog and retainer are one and the same. The extinction of the Talbot breed and line shows that even in death a dog is loyal to its master. He really is oure good dogge!

This badge was found in the King’s Lynn river alongside other medieval badges. It was uncovered in 1878 under Mr. Pung’s patronage and is now housed at the King's Lynn Museum.

Written by Moira Scully and Michelle Serrano-Sandoval.

Works Cited

Blick, Sarah. Beyond Pilgrim Souvenirs and Secular Badges (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2007).

Pillars, A. J. John Talbot and the War in France 1427-1453  (London: Royal Historical Society, 1983).

The Veil of Veronica

““He had big bulging eyes, just like a hare.

He’d sewn a Vernicle on his cap.”

– A description of the Pardoner in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.

Tin Lead Alloy, Veronica Icon: countenance of Christ on a veil, surrounded by dots in round frame, Rome, 1000-1599, 310 x 400 mm. King’s Lynn, Lynn Museum, PB 49 (Kunera 07520). Photo courtesy of Shannon Phaneuf.

The vernicle was a popular badge which showed the Veronica: an image of Christ’s face on Saint Veronica’s veil.  One delicate, fifteenth-century vernicle was found around a hundred years ago in the muddy River Great Ouse in Norfolk, far away from Rome where it was made and sold to traveling pilgrims.  This vernicle was discovered by children, who had been hired by Thomas Pung in King’s Lynn to search the river for such finds.

St Veronica standing, holding the veil in front of her; a reversed copy after Marcantonio Engraving. Photo courtesy of the British Museum 1869,0410.13, AN37921001

Have you ever thought about why people traveled in the late Middle Ages? Besides trade and war, the most popular reason to go abroad was to undertake a pilgrimage. Just like travel today, pilgrimage, which promised spiritual rewards, was widespread among all social classes. Pilgrims would often buy small pewter and lead alloy badges at the holy sites they visited. These badges signified the completion of their journey and were a sign of devotion and commemoration.

The vernicle is a representation of the veil of Saint Veronica, a so-called contact relic (because it was believed to have been in contact with the living Christ) and symbol of a miracle. Legend held that the miracle happened when Saint Veronica used her veil to wipe the sweat and blood off Jesus’ face as he was walking to his crucifixion, leaving an imprint of his face permanently on the cloth. The shrine of the Veronica was one of Rome’s biggest pilgrim attractions in the Middle Ages. The first direct references to its existence are from the end of the twelfth century. At that time, it was hidden behind a curtain, away from the public. Pope Innocent III (b. 1161-d. 1216) brought it closer to the public by parading it through the streets on Fridays and feast days. Allowing pilgrims this access helped make Rome an ever more popular pilgrim destination. By the early seventeenth century, the Veil of Veronica had disappeared from public view. If it is still housed in Rome, it has very likely disintegrated. Textiles usually do not last more than two thousand years, although there are exceptions due to preservation conditions such as the Tarkhan Dress which is over 5,000 years old. Due to its frequent exposure in the Middle Ages most scholars believe that the Veronica is no longer extant.

Written by Sarah Johnston and Mackenzie Pritchard.

Works Cited

Birch, D. Pilgrimage to Rome in the Middle Ages (Suffolk: Boydell Press, 1998).

Clark, John. Medieval finds from the River Thames: Accidental Loss, Rubbish or Ritual? Powerpoint presentation, 2017.

Hopper, Sarah. To Be a Pilgrim: The Medieval Pilgrimage Experience (London: Sutton Publishing Limited, 2002).

Rasmussen, Ann Marie. “Material Meanings: What a Medieval Badges Can Tell You about Translation in the Middle Ages.” In Un/Translatables: New Maps for German Literature edited by Catriona Macleod and Bethany Wiggin, 215–28 (Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 2016).

Weitbrecht, Julia."The Vera Icon (or Veronica) in the Verse Legend Veronica II: Medialising Salvation in the Late Middle Ages,“ in Seminar: A Journal of Ger­ma­nic Studies 52, no.2 (2016): pp. 173–92.