History Matters: Patriarchy and the Challenge of Feminism 9780812200553

Table of contents :
Contents
Chapter 1. Introduction: Feminism and History
Chapter 2. Feminist History and Women's History
Chapter 3. Who's Afraid of the Distant Past?
Chapter 4. Patriarchal Equilibrium
Chapter 5. Less Money Than a Man Would Take
Chapter 6. The L-Word in Women's History
Chapter 7. The Master and the Mistress
Chapter 8. Conclusion: For Whom Are We Doing Feminist History?
Notes
Index

Citation preview

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His to? Matters Patriarchy and the Challenge of Feminism

JUDITH M. BENNETT

PENN

Copyigllt C 2006 Uriiversit\- of Pelilisylx-ariia Press All rights r r s e ~ ~ e d Printed in the United States of Anierica o n acid-free papel

Published by Uliix-ersity of Perilis\-lvaliia Press Philadelphia. Pennsvlvania 19104-4112 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Pnblicarion Data Bennett, Judith 11. History matters : patriarchy and the challrnge of frminism i Judith \I. Bennrtt. I n c l l ~ d r bibliographical s refrrences and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-8122-3946-1 ISBN-10: 0-8122-3946-6 (cloth : alk. paprr) 1. T\briieri-Histo1~-. T TT\briieli-Historiogrnpkiy. 4. Feminist theo17. 5. Patriarchy. I. Title.

3. Feniiliisrii-Historiograpki\-.

943-2005) Unmutched in political courage) generosity of spirit) intellectual integrity, and sharp wit

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Contents

1. Introduction: Felninisrn and History

1

2. Ferninist History and Tllbmen's History 3. 11Vl1o's Afraid of the Distant Past?

4. Patriarchal Equilibrium

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30

34

3. Less Money Than a Man Would Take 6. The L-\Vord in Women's Histo17

7. The Master and the Mistress

82 108

128

8. Conclusion: For Tll'horn A-e Tll'e Doing Feminist History? Notes

157

Index

207

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C l ~ a p t ~1? "

Introduction: Feminism and History

I first came to feminist history in the 1970s as a way of reconciling my two f ~ d but l contrary identities at the time. In one, I was a lesbian feminist, absorbed by activism at home and in the streets. In the other, I was a studious medievalist, training under the guidance of male professors, most of them priests, at the Pontifical Institute of Mediaera1 Studies. Radical feminist by night, medieralist by day; feminist histo17 brought my two selves together. As I recall, the reconciliation was less than perfect. Among some feminists I felt a~vk~vard about the elitism of my education, the snottiness of my diction, and the maleness of my chosen profession. '2nd at both the Pontifical Institute and the University of Toronto I encountered a steady stream of students and professors TI-hodismissed feminist histoi7, not to mention abortion rights, lesbian self-determination, and the other struggles that nourished my political soul. But there lvas one aspect of the reconciliation that was ahvays a perfect fit: I never doubted that my work as a historian was important work for ferninisin. In the 1970s it seemed crvstal clear that one of the battlefronts of feminism was women's histoi7, where feminists-both in the academy and outside itwere reclaiming a lost past in their research, empowering students in their teaching, and using historical insight to inform feminist strategy. This book seeks to i-ecovei-some of the clarity of that 1970s ideal of a seamless union of history and ferninism-and to add depth to it. In the thirty years since I first pulled a histo17 book off the shelves of the Toronto Tllbinen's Bookstore, the history of women and gender has developed into a recognized academic field, institutionalized in departments, conferences, journals, and presses, and rnatllre enough to participate in the creation of such newer fields as lesbian histo17 and the history of masculinity.' Feminism, even though it has waxed and vaned in popularity, has also grolvn immensely, its theories becoming more sophisticated and inclusive and some of its tenets now realized in the legal codes, educational curricula, and eveiyday

2

Chapter 1

values of some nations; in the 1990s, for example, sexual equality lvas enshrined in the constitutions of the emerging states of Namibia, South M I - i c and the Czech Republic. Yet, although both history and feminism have grown stronger over these decades, the relationship between them has weakened. IlVomen's history once shone as a critical battlefi-ont of the ferninist struggle, but today it is often considered irrelevant: feminist media include much less histom than they once did (such once-regular venues as the "Lost Women" colurnn of lll.ls. magazine and the "Archives" section of Sipz.~:A J0111.7201 of I / V O ~ P ~ in Cnltur-Pand Sorietj are now themselves "histol~");much feminist theory is remarkably uninformed by historical insight; and, most worrying of all, sorne young feminists cavalierly reject the utility of the past, proclaiming proudly that "we don't much remember."' I iualzt to remember; I think that the achievement of a more ferninist future depends on such remembrance; and I believe it is the particular job of feminist historians to ensure that those memories are rich, plausible, and well-informed.:' I first began expressing my concerns about an eroding relationship bet~veen''feminism and history" in an article of that title published in 1989. In the years since, I have learned fi-orn the generous suggestions of readers and audiences, refined my thinking, and continued to reflect in print on developments in feminist history. This book borrows from some of these past publications but in ways that will often be unrecognizable. I have dra~vnmy thoughts together here into a new argument about the depoliticization of women's and gender history, the loss of historical depth in feminist scholarship, the critical perspectives afforded by a long view of the history of ~vomenand gender, and the importance of studying what I call a "patriarchal equilibrium." In this process of rethinking and revision, I have formulated sorne new ideas and text, and I have also sometimes freely selfplagiarized fi-orn previously published articles. Histo,? 111atters:Patl-inrrlzj crnd the Clzcrllenge ofF~minisnzaddresses some subjects entirely new to my process of historiographical reflection, and it also provides, compared to any of my individual articles, a more coherent and thorough statement of my hopes for ferninist history." In tackling the major issues of this book, I can speak, of course, only fi-om my own experience and expertise. I teach in the United and middle-class parents States, where I was born to nun-immigrant of European descent and where I retain the privileges of citizenship; I pursued my graduate studies in Canada; I now spend a few months of each year in England, the country whose medieval history is the subject of my academic research. My perspective is, in short, pro-

Introduction

3

foundly Anglo, in American terms, or Tll'estern, in world terms. These are the intellectual traditions ~vithinwhich I work and fi-om which I dra~vmost of my obsel~ations. Although my examples will be largely taken from European history, my working assumption has been that the issues raised here are of general relevance to feminist historians. My familiarity with nonEuropean branches of ~vomen'shistory is necessarily more limited, but ~vhatI kno~vof the pursuit of wornen's history in other world regions-particularly the United States, Latin Anerica, Africa, Australia, and China-suggests that, in these areas, too, feminist histo17 is challenged by depoliticization, present-mindedness, and inattention to long-term continuities. Such challenges do, of course, play out differently in the histories of specific regions and times, and I certainly do not mean to imply that the history of European wornen should sene as a paradigm for histories of women e1se~1-here. Instead, I hope that readers of this book will consider both the European peculiarities of my concerns and the general trends of TI-hichEurope is merely one example of many. Even for Europeanists, much of the historical information in this book ~villbe riel\; for I dra~vthe bulk of my examples fi-om my olvn field of nzedieucrl TI-omen'shistory. Most historians of women, Europeanists or not, are unfamiliar with the history and historiography of the European Middle Ages. My focus on medieval evidence speaks directly to this book's contention that feminist history should be more attentive to premodern eras. In "getting medieval," I have endeavored not to dwell unnecessarily on medieval arcana and to offer examples that are clear, accessible, and to-the-point, even for readers unfamiliar with early Europe." hope that readers ~I-ill,in turn, open themselves to these earlier histories, thereby expanding their temporal perspectives on feminist history while also thinking in comparative ways about ~vomen'shistory, broadly conceived. This is not a book on medieyal TI-omen'shistol7; this is a book in TI-hichevery incursion into the history of TI-omenis intended to help us think more generally about history, patriarchy, and feminism. One last caveat. I have been told that anyone who begins a sentence with "we" is starting to deceive her (or his) audience, and I know that there are many circumstances that separate me fi-om the diverse I hope, read this book. By using the firstfeminist historians who ~I-ill, person plural, I mean to evoke our common feminist interest in the past, not to claim a common subjectivity. My evocation is practical and strategic, and it seeks to extend to "feminist historians" the implications of Iris Young's smart argument that we can conceptual-

4

Chapter 1

ize "~vomen"as a serial collective, as formed by shared circumstance rather than common attribute or identity.Feminist historians are a sort of serial collective, too. \Ye work in many national and institutional settings; we work on many subjects and centuries; we are both teachers and students; and we work with tape recorders as well as tro~vels,in archives as ~vellas streets. Feminist history is different evelyvhere-it has been, for example, especially influenced by socialism in Britain, shaped by Marxism in China, interested in ~vornen's culture in the United States, allied with sociology in Brazil, and fractured by "TI-omen"versus "gender" in Japan.' These sorts of differences are a rich strength of ~vomen'shistory, and they need not divide 11s. In ~vritingthis book for ferninist historians, in other words, I have seen myself as part of a diverse collectivity of ferninist wornen and men who share a common interest in studying the past. The argument of this book builds steadily from problem to solution to elaboration. The next two chapters lay the foundation by outlining the challenges that TI-omen'shistoq-a term which I will use as a shorthand for "~vomen'sand gender history"-faces in the twentyfirst century, specifically a waning of feminist connection in history (Chapter 2) and a waning of historical depth in ferninisrn (Chapter 3 ) . Chapter 4 suggests a way of approaching these problems-that is, by attending more to the history of a "patriarchal equilibrium" whereby, despite many changes in ~vomen'sexperiences over the centuries, wornen's lo~vstatus vis-a-vis men has remained remarkably unchanged. The fact of this patriarchal equilibrium presents, in my view, a critical feminist problem that only historians-and, indeed, only femini.st historians TI-110 take a long U ~ P I Uof women's past-can unpack. The next two chapters offer in-depth illustrations of how deep historical study can enrich feminist understandings of ~vornen's ~vork(Chapter 5) and lesbian sexualities (Chapter 6 ) . The book is ~vrappedup with a chapter that adds a nelv twist-the challenges of textbooks and classrooms-to viewing women's history from a distance and with feminist intent. And a brief conclusion offers some final and (I hope) stirring thoughts. Ferninism has come a long ~vaysince the 1970s. As I look back nol\; I am amazed by some of the "truths" I then held dear, embarrassed by the differences among lvornen I then overlooked, and ashamed by some of the ways in ~vhichmy certainties then oppressed other women.': But I remain as confident now as I was then that histol? is critical to the feminist project, that history provides feminist activists and theorists ~vithlong-term perspectives essential to building a better long-term filture. I hope this book ~villhelp us think more explic-

Introduction

3

itly about ~vhatsorts of feminist history can best aid feminist struggles in the t~venty-firstcentury. In the 1970s, feminists often turned to history for inspiring stories about great lvomen ~vhohad triumphed over adversity and accomplished marvelous deeds. Today, felllinists still mostly see histol?, when they turn to it at all, as an ever-expanding list of positive and encouraging role models: such women as Rosa Parks, Eleanor Roosevelt, Simone de Beauvoir, Susan B. Anthony, and, for those who take a longer vie~v,Elizabeth Cady Stanton, So-journer Truth, Olympe de Gouges, Mary I~~ollstonecraft, and perhaps even Christine de Pizan. These TI-omenare certainly important parts of the feminist past and their inspiration does important ~vorkin the feminist present, but I seek in this book to encourage a more substantive integration of history and feminism, one that turns to history for strategy as well as inspiration. To my mind, the strategic lessons of TI-omen'shistol? are more sobering than encouraging. Stirring tales of strong TI-omen~ v h o accomplished marvelous deeds against great odds may build selfesteern and confidence, but ~vomen'shistory, especially ~vhenvie~ved across many centuries, can also stimulate feminist outrage and revolutionary fenor. To whet your appetite for the long vie~t;here is one example taken from the pages that fo1lo~1-:in fourteenth-century England a female TI-age-workerearned, on the average, 71 percent of male wages; in Great Britain today women earn roughly the same-7.3 percent of the annual lvages earned by men.!' There are many ways to qualify this bald comparison and I ~villdo just that in Chapter 5, but surely this "sticky" wage gap offers good information for feminists to think through. The feminist potential of this particular sort of women's history-focused on feminist issues, aware of the distant past, attentive to continuities, and alert to the ~vorkingsof patriarchal po~ver-is the subject of this book.

C1mf)t~r 2

Feminist History and Women's History

In 1405, Christine de Pizan, an Italian humanist TI-hospent most of her life in France, set out to rebut the misog~nisticliterature of her time. Crafting ~vhatwas to become the first major feminist tract in the Western tradition, Christine de Pizan turned, again and again, to the feminist promise of history. In The Book of the City of Ladies, she described a city populated wit11 the great TI-omenof the past-Queen Esther, who saved the Jews; the Sabine women TI-hosolidified peace between the Romans and their neighbors; Clothilda, who brought Christianity to the Franks; and of course, the Virgin Mary and various other notable female saints. By focusing on the accomplishments of these admirable lvomen, Christine de Pizan used women's history to demonstrate the grievous errors of those TI-holambasted the female sex as inherently weak and evil. She also turned to these historical lvomen to inspire ordinary wornen in her own day: "My ladies, see h o ~ vthese men accuse you of so many vices in everything. Make liars of them all by showing forth your virtue, and prove their attacks false by acting TI-ell."In the hands of Christine de Pizan, history was a feminist tool for celebrating TI-omen'spast accomplishments, rebutting the accusations of those TI-homaligned women, and urging women to greater goa1s.l Some six hundred years later, probably no one ~vouldconsider The Book of the C,'i[y of Ladies an ideal example of feminist history; its tone is too polemical, its sources too mythical, its perspective too elitist, and its examples too much in the mode of "women worthies." But Christine de Pizan inaugurated a tradition of feminist history that has long endured.' In the centuries since she wrote, some of our greatest feminists have found inspiration in history (think, for example, of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Simone de Beauvoir), and some of our greatest historians have been motivated, at least in part, by feminism (Catherine Macaulay, Eileen Power, and Mary Beard are a fe~vclassic examples). In the 1970s, the link between feminism and history was simultaneously broadened and deepened. On the one hand, the fern-

Feminist History and TZ'omen's History

7

inist media-not only in the "Lost Wornen" colurnn of ,\Is. magazine but also in a proliferation of such fi-ee-standing publications as Tl'itches, ~,\.Gdwives, aizd Sz~rses+xposed the feminist public to the outrageous omissions of histon as it was then taught in schools and universities.:' On the other hand, in the halls of academe itself, feminist scholars began to re~vritethe past, so that history not merely included women but also tussled substantively ~vithtopics of importance to the feminist agenda. So, for example, Sheila Rowbotham traced the history of socialist women in her 1972 book I/Vol?zrn,R~sistaizceaizd Reuol~ition; a few years later Linda Gordon added a historical voice to the feminist struggle for reproductive rights wit11 her Wol?zan 's Bodj, I/tbl?zniz 's Right; and t~voyears after that, Joan Scott and Louise Tilly tackled the complex history of wornen's work in Tl'omeiz, Tl'ol-12, nizd F(~??zilj." These early ~vorkswere often produced in a heady mixture of activism and writing; thus, for example, Sally Alexander researched the sweated work of nineteenth-century women by' dav . and advocated better conditions for cleaning staff by night. In such a context, as Sara Evans has recently noted, the cluestions of feminist history lvere easy to formulate: "Tll'e just started taking the questions fi-om our own activism and applying them to the past." ' Today, TI-omen'shiston (I will explain shortly why I use this as an umbrella term for "~vomen'sand gender histon") reaps the benefits of the feminist offensive of the late twentieth century, having matured into a field of intense research, writing, and teaching throughout the world. We nolv have departmental positions in ~vornen'shistory (in some cases even chaired professorships), undergraduate majors and graduate fields, programs on several continents that offer master's and/or doctoral degrees (there are some seventy such programs in the United States alone), regular conferences and prizes for articles and books, an international association, and three journals dedicated just to the English-language side of the field.%As ~vornen'shistory has grown, it has also expanded into gender histon and helped to give birth to new subfields, especially the histon of men and masculinities and the histon of sexualities. Although it is in the United States in particular that a flexible university system has most thoroughly accornmodated wornen's histoll., all ~vorldregions have been touched-both intellectually and institutionally-by the remarkable advance of lvomen's histol?.' Christine de Pizan's pioneering plunge into the feminist possibilities of the past has now grown into an institutionalized field of historical teaching and research. ,211 this is cause for celebration. But there is cause for caution too. Tllbmen's history is stronger than ever before, but its links with ferni-

8

Chapter 2

nism have weakened. This ~vitheringpartnership ~vithfeminism poses a major challenge to ~vomen'shisto17 in the twenty-first century. This chapter and the next examine the two parts of that TI-ithering-here, the slo~veclipse of ferninism ~vithinhistory and, then, the truncation of historical consciousness within feminism. But, first, I ~vouldlike to lay out some history, clarify some concepts, and define some terms.

Feminism Ferninisrn cannot clairn sole credit for the phenomenal gro~vthof ~vomen'shistory in the late twentieth century. In part, feminist historians were able to build on related disciplinary developments that redirected historians away from "great men" and toward ordinary people. In Britain, for example, many feminist historians emerged from traditions of Marxist and socialist histol7; in France, Christiane Klapisch-Zuber and others found some support for their study of ~vomen'spast in the traditions of the Annales Schoo1;"nd in the United States, the methods and subjects of TI-hatwas then called the "ne~l-social history" proved amenable to women's history. The advance of women's history was also aided by the extraordinary expansion of higher education after IlVorld War 11; when universities began to accommodate more women as both students and professors, the curriculum changed accordingly. '2nd in part, the growth of ~vornen's history was spurred by complementary advances in the histories of other neglected groups, especially the roughly simultaneous expansion of Af1-ican American history in the United States. But these factors played supporting rather than initiating roles. As reported by ~vomen'shistorians fi-om across the globe in 1991, feminist advocacy lvas the chief impetus for the expansion of the field in the 1970s and thereafter." This is a proud legacy, but it has been undermined by decades of assaults on feminism, assaults that have grossly misrepresented ~vhat feminism and its corollary, feminist history, really are. To my mind, ferninism is simply the conviction that lvomen, like men, should be afforded the opportunity to realize fully their humanity.'" Simple as that. Yet, not so simple, for feminism has been slandered, smeared, and saddled with so many canards that many people ~ v h otoday agree that lvornen should be afforded fill1 human rights nevertheless avoid calling themselves "feminists," much less "feminist historians." What exactly do feminists believe?

Feminist History and TZ'omen's History

9

F ~ \ f ~ s ~A s nS D f "\l'ohfEs"

In our postmodern world, feminism's focus on the category "women" is easily ridiculed as naive and old-fashioned. The notion that there exists a distinct category of "TI-omen"lies at the foundation of feminism, but it has now proven to be a cracked foundation. Thanks to Denise Riley, Judith Butler, and the lived criticlues of transgender and transsexual people, the old confidence that "TI-omen" can be clearly identified by bodily characteristics no longer stands. Thanks to Audre Lorde, Elizabeth Spelman, Chandra Talpade Mohanty, and the ongoing critiques of lvomen marginalized in the dominant discourses of feminism, the old confidence that "women" constitute a transcendent sisterhood that someho~Ibridges such differences as class, race, religion, sexuality, and world region also no longer stands.ll As Jee Yeun Lee recently put it, "These days, whenever someone says the word 'TI-omen'to me, my mind goes blank. TlVhat 'TI-omen'?T~Vllatis this 'TI-omen'thing you are talking about? Does that mean me? Does that mean my mother, my roommates, the white lvoman next door, the checkout clerk at the supermarket, my aunts in Korea, half the TI-orld'spopulation?"" There is, in other words, no stable subject-no coherent thing called "~vornen"-at the heart of either feminism or feminist histol7. Yet, as Tori1 Moi has refreshingly argued, "we do not have to believe that the word '~vornan'al~vayscarries h e a y metaphysical baggage. I :' Feminists continue to talk about "women," and I will do the

-

same throughout this book. My reasons are threefold. First, the epistemological arguments of Riley, Butler, and others might be compelling, but they have limited practical resonance. As Riley herself has noted, it is perfectly feasible to acknowledge that "wornen" do not really exist "while maintaining a politics 'as if they existed'-since the TI-orldbehaves as if they unambiguously did."l1 In other words, "~vomen"is a slippery concept in theory, but in practice it usually acts as a stable category-for its time and place-that can critically determine a person's life chances. This practical categorization of "~vomen"matters today, and it has mattered in the past; it is therefore a proper subject of feminist thought and feminist history. Please note my caveat "for its time and place"; the catego17 "~vomen"does not have a practical meaning that transcends all other categorizations, but it does have practical meanings in specific contexts. Second, in dealing with the differences that fracture the category "~vomen,"I find usefill Mary Alla!nard's distinction bet~veenuniver-

10

Chapter 2

salizing (~vhichsuppresses differences) and generalizing (~vhichseeks patterns among differences). The former is to be avoided; the latter is critical to both the feminist project and historical ~vriting.~" Third, to my mind, differences among women present not insurmountable obstacles but instead strategic opportunities. Rather than building ~vallsbetween women, the articulation of difference is leading to greater understanding, better coalitions, and a stronger unified-but not unitary-category of "~vomen.""' Feminism also does not dictate, as some people sometimes believe, that there is anything inherently "womanly" about women. Some feminisms have argued that women are more moral than men, or more maternal, or more pacific. Others have so emphasized rictirnization that it can seem a basic female trait. But these are branches of feminism, not the main trunk. Feminism's chief observation about women is also its motivating force: TI-omen'srelative disadvantage vish i s men. Almost every girl born today will face more constraints and restrictions than will be encountered by a boy TI-hois born today into the sanw social circu?~zsta~zcc.s as that g r l . As a feminist, I consider this a lvrong that should be righted. The disadvantages that lvornen today face vary considerably, especially by class, race, religion, sexuality, and world region, yet, despite these variations, the general characteristic of female disadvantage remains. This disadrantage does not, however, cast TI-omenas hapless victims. IlVomen's histol? has shown, again and again, that wornen hare not been merely passive victims of sexual inequality; wornen hare also colluded in, undermined, sul~ived,and sometimes even benefited from the presence of patriarchy. Benefited from patriarchy? Certainly. In fifteenth-century Europe, an elite woman like Christine de Pizan was able to increase the coin in her purse by employing lvomen instead of men because, as one medieval handbook advised, "a lvoman will ~vorkfor much less money than a man ~vouldtake."'; In most societies today, well-off wornen do the same, paying other TI-omenlow wages to clean their houses, ~vatch their children, and paint their n a i l s . l V l ~ e r eis no doubt in my mind-or, I think, the minds of most other feminists-that the oppression of lvomen can have endured so long and in so many places only thanks, in part, to women's collusion in the oppression of lvomen.

Some feminists have sometimes been inattentive to other social inequalities, such as those created br class, race, religion, sexual it^, and

Feminist Historr and Tlbmen's Historr

11

world region, but this inattention is no rnore inherent to ferninism than rnaternalisrn and rictirnization are inherent to "~vornen."Of course, when someone speaks as a feminist, she or he is speaking from the conviction that women's lives could and should be improved, but this does not preclude similar convictions against racism, class privilege, heterosexism, and the like. Indeed, compared to proponents of other liberation ideologies, feminists usually hare been and still are relatively attentive to inequalities created by such other factors as class and race. If you doubt this, I invite you to compare, for example, the treatment of class in any TI-omen'shistonjournal to the treatment of gender in any labor histon journal. As Gisela Bock advised in the late 1980s, feminist historians have worked long and hard to see the relation of gender to other sociocultural relations as a matter not of "competition" (does class matter rnore than gender?) but instead of as "one constituent factor of all other relations." I" F ~ \ f ~ s ~ As SnDf MES Yes, some feminists hare sometimes blamed men, as men, for lvomen's plight, but most feminists recognize that sexual inequalities are not solely rooted in male antipathy. Few feminists "hate men." Feminism's central insight that women are generally disadvantaged does not thereby mean that wornen and men cannot interact in happy, fulfilling, and meaningfill ~vays.Of course they can. But as Sally Alexander and Barbara Taylor put it long ago, "all this loving and needing and solidarising [does not mean] there is no general structure of sexual antagonism."'" Although it has thus far proven difficult to convince many men that feminism is in their interests too, I emphaticallr believe this is the case. So, too, does an ever-growing group of ferninist historians-mostly men, but also some women-~vho are subjecting masculinity to historical study. For just one example, Michael Roper's work on the psychic and emotional lives of male managers in twentieth-century Britain is explicitly framed by the feminist need to better understand the "glass ceiling" against ~vhichlvornen in business still so often bump."

Irestern feminism once reflected o n l ~the circumstances of nomen in the TZ'est, particularlr in its espousal of an individualist ethic that ill-suited some lvomen in other ~vorldregions. As a result, some

12

Chapter 2

people who have supported feminist goals have esche~vedthe label "feminist" and preferred such other terms as "~vornen'srights" or "~vornanist."~~ Yet feminisrn did not originate in the West, nor has it been a Western phenomenon of little resonance for women in other parts of the TI-orld;as h t o i n e t t e Burton has emphasized so concisely, lvomen in early t~ventieth-centuryIndia, Iran, Turkey, Egypt, Japan, China, and Latin America lvere advocating for ~vornen'srights just as lvere suffi-agists in Europe and the United States.'" All these feminisms were and are not the same, but all share the core conviction that women, like men, should be able to realize fully their humanity. Even though feminism has been unfairly stereotyped as a single sort of Tll'estern, individualistic feminism, women's rights advocates worldvide have continued to claim the terrn as their olvn and put it to their olvn uses. For example, in Afghanistan, the Revolutionary Association of the M'omen of Afghanistan (RAIIKA) not only courageously fights but also readily labels its founder a "feminist," for TI-omen'srights and in Africa, more and more activists are embracing a feminism of their own making. Some ~vomen'srights organizations-the U.S.based l'fL2DRE, ~vhich ~vorks~vith sister organizations in Latin America, the Caribbean, "Vi-ica, and the Middle East, is one example-still usually avoid the term "feminist." '" But feminism has never been a Il'estern-only phenomenon and is not so today. Instead, its worldwide impact is evident evenm-here: in the presence of omen fi-orn ninety-five countries at the 2002 Tllbmen's Tllbrld Congress in Uganda, in the thriving United Nations Development Fund for M'omen (USIFEM), in the ratification by 162 nations of the Convention to Eliminate A11 Forms of Discrimination against 11'omell (CEDAkV),and in the proliferation of feminist NGOs. Ferninism itself has a fi-aught histo17 that is, at once, admirable and abominable. Feminists have sometimes heroically tackled male supremacy, speaking strongly in the face of ridicule and hostility. But feminists have also sometimes horribly linked their own struggles to the elitist, imperialist, racist, and heterosexist agendas of their day, as, for example, did some nineteenth-centul? white feminists in the United States and their middle-class counterparts in Britain ~ v h o objected to the extension of suffi-age to black and working-class men, respectively. Today, feminisrn boasts a myriad of contemporary meanal are ings and movements, of TI-hichthe two most f ~ ~ n d a m e n tdivides long-standing. The first distinguishes between those TI-hoseek equality with men (and hence an eventual erasure of sexual difference) and those ~ v h oseek to maintain sexual difference but establish equity between the s e x e s . ' T h e second distinguishes between feminist I

Ferninist Histon. and Jlbmen's Histon.

13

thought and feminist activism, a divide that has broadened in recent decades as acadernic feminisrn has drifted mvay fi-om its activist moorings. But these two divides are just two of many, for the ferninism on TI-hichfeminist historians draw is an extraordinarily rich, yaried, and contested tradition. For Barbara Smith, feminism is "the political theory and practice to free nll lvomen; lvomen of color, ~vorking-class women, poor women, disabled lvomen, Je~vishwomen, lesbians, old wornen-as well as ~vhite,econornically privileged, heterosexual women. L&lytl~ing less than this vision of total freedom is not feminism, but merely female self-aggrandizement.""' For Joan Scott, feminism is "a site ~I-here differences conflict and coalesce, where common interests are articulated and contested, ~vhereidentities achieve ternporary stability-~vhere politics and history are made."" For Charlotte Bunch, ferninism is "an entire ~vorldvie~vor gestalt, not just a laundl? list of 'TI-omen'sissues.' "" None would recognize herself in caricatures of feminism as essentialiring TI-omen,or ignoring other social inequalities, or hating men, or bewailing TI-omen'svictimization, or addressing only Tll'estern concerns, and all root their ferninism, as I do, in ad-r~ocacj011 behalf of the full humanitj of zuonzen. We might argue about how to best accomplish that advocacy and ~vhere it might lead us, but at a fundamental level, feminism really might be as simple as that.

Feminist History, Women's Histoi-y, Gender Histo17 All historians of women are not ipso facto feminist historians. Illlen Il'iilliam O'Neill published his histol? of U.S. feminism in 1969, for example, he forthrightly denied any feminist sympathies. "I have avoided the question of whether or not wornen ought to have full parity ~vithmen," he lvrote, opining that "since we do not know what genuine equality ~vouldmean in practice, its desirability cannot fairly In the 1980s, modern European TI-omen'shistol? was be as~essed."~" briefly rocked by a controversy over purported feminist "betrayals" of and "threats" to TI-omen'shis tor^."^' ,&ld in 1996, Helen Jewel1 sought to distance herself fi-om ferninism in her survey of women in medieval England, claiming that it ~vouldbe a mistake to start "frorn a rnodern feminist perspective which may not be transferable to the Middle Ages.":" Such explicit disavo~l-alsof feminism are not common in the writing of ~vomen'shistory, but others have sought to distance themselves from feminism in more subtle ways. As Joan Scott has noted, for example, the shift in the 1980s fi-om "~vomen" to "gender" was fueled in part by a search for "political acceptability."

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Because "gender" had an apolitical cast, it was often preferred to the ... , rnore threatening "~vornen. " This remains true today. Bernard Capp, reacting in 2004 to a feminist critique of his Tl'hen Gossips ,\Ieet, recently averred that he prefers "gender history" for the supposed "plurality of perspectives" that it allo~l-s.:':' This discomfort with ferninism partly springs fi-orn our profession's discomfort ~vitho~vningany political perspectives at all. Some historians aspire (naively, in my vie~v)to reaching god's-eye truths about the past, and some worry (unnecessarily, in my view) that politically inspired scholarship imposes a "pattern ready-made" on the past.:" Histo17 is not, of course, simply "the past," and historians are not, of course, unbiased reporters or god-like observers ~ v h osimply reveal the past "as it really was." This "positivist" aspiration has s e l ~ e drnore to disguise than to suppress the politics of historians."%,211recovery of the past entails interpretation, so that no matter how assiduously a historian might seek to let the past speak, he or she unavoidably speaks alongside the historical record. Few historians today embrace pure positivism, but it lingers in our profession's continued discornfort with the mingling of history and politics. Today, mainstream political approaches are readily cast as apolitical history, ~vhereashistories associated with such liberation movements as feminism are caricatured as ahistorical politics. It raises few eyebrows, for example, that the changing political culture of the United States has dramatically recast the 1492 voyage of Columbus; the heroic epic that I learned as a schoolchild in the 1930s is nolv rightly told in the more sober light of the derastation that European contact brought to Native Americans. But many eyebro~l-sare still raised over feminist history, because of the enduring assumption that historians inspired by feminism "distort the evidence and the conclusions to support modern feminist ideology.""" Let me be clear in response: feminist history does not entail distorting evidence and twisting conclusions. As a feminist historian, I respect the possibilities and limitations of my sources; I strive to approach the dead and different people of the Middle Ages with what Ruth Roach Pierson has called "epistemic humility"; and I ~vould never manipulate my research findings to suit any conclusions readymade."' Yet I am, like all historians, rnore than a reporter of facts ne~l-lvdiscovered; I am also an interpreter of the facts as I see them. 41y work necessarily reflects my feminist politics,just as the interpretations of all historians reflect their political views: that is, feminist politics informs the questions that fi-arne my research (for example, encouraging me to turn to history for insights into ~vhywornen today

Ferninist History and Jlbmen's History

15

are generally paid less than men) ; it shapes sorne of the methods ~vith which I approach my archival work (for example, teaching me to be more alvare of differences among the women I encounter in my documents); and it inspires, too, some of the implications I draw from my conclusions (for example, suggesting to me that TI-omen'spersistent economic disadvantages might be integral to patriarchies, past and present). Feminist historians might be more forthright about their politics than are other historians, but this political-one might call it "moral"-dimension is as old as the profession itself. Almost two thousand years ago Tacitus taught that the first duty of historians was to help people remember "virtuous actions" and to abhor "evil words and deeds.""To accomplish this, historians must exercise judgment (~vhatis virtuous? ~vhatis evil?).These judgments will differ, of course, with the politics and subjectivities of historians. As Adrienne Rich has put it, "Feminist history . . . is, indeed, as the department chairmen and the deans of liberal arts suspect, political. So, of course, is the histol? of white men, as told by themselves, political, having to do with the retention of po~ver.""!'Some historians embrace the politics of history and others shun it, but ~vhetherwe like it or not, history is ahvays and already inflected by politics. This political edginess is one of history's greatest attractions, inspiring countless generations to try to learn from the past in order to build better futures. This is the hope of feminist histol?, too. If lve may relax, as I think lve should, about the politics of feminist history, what, then, about its subject ??zntte,? "Ferninist history" (history informed by feminist politics) is sometimes taken to mean the "history of feminism" (histol? of the people, movements, and ideas that have sought to improve TI-omen'slives); the two are best kept distinct."Felninist history is not strictly equivalent to ~vomen'shistory. After all, as we have just seen, there are sorne historians of wornen who reject the ferninist label. The t~voare tied by a strong recursive link, since so many readers assume that any study of women is ipso facto feminist, but the link can be undone either by explicit authorial disavo~l-a1(as above) or by more subtle historical practices (TI-hichI will explore more fully belo~v).There are also some ferninist historians who ~vorkon topics unrelated to wornen, gender, and sexuality. Gabrielle Spiegel, for example, is certainly a ferninist, but her published work has focused mostly on histol?-writing, both in the Middle Ages and today. Similarly, Karen Halttunen is a feminist TI-hosework on the intellectual life and culture of the nineteenth-centul? United States ranges far fi-orn "~vomen'shistory." I arn grateful to Spiegel, Halttunen, and others who take their feminist politics into more tra-

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Chapter 2

ditional areas of historical inquiry, for it ~vouldbe foolish and counterproductive to confine feminist approaches to ~vomen'shistory alone. Yet I focus here on feminist history within the field to ~vhichit has given birth and shape: the histon of TI-omen. Nancy Hewitt has recently introduced me to the initials IlVGH, a handy stand-in for "~vornen'sand gender history." I have been tempted to use these initials throughout this book, for in ~vriting about ~vornen'shistory I mean to include gender history. The relation between TI-omen'shisto17 and gender histo17 is long, complex, and fraught, but the two share much more than the small distinctions that divide them. Before feminism, "gender" was a humble grammatical term that signified nothing more than an inflection-masculine, ferninine, or neuter-given certain nouns and pronouns in some languages. "Sex" meant the categories of male and female, but it also, rather a~vk~vardly, denoted sexual activity. Because gender provided a more polite (that is, less tinged by sexuality) signifier of differences between TI-omenand men, feminists began in the 1970s to replace "sex" with "gender"-so that the "sexual division of labor" becarne the "gender division of labor" and "sexual differences" becarne "gender differences." As a lawyer writing briefs for the U.S. Supreme Court, R~lthBader Ginsburg began to use "gender" when a secretal7 advised her, "I'm typing all these briefs and articles for you and the word sex, sex, sex, is on every page. Don't you know those nine men [on the Supreme Court], they hear that word and their first association is not the ~vordyou want them to be thinking? Why don't you use the word 'gender'? It is a grammatical term and it will ward off distracting association^."^' In much the same way and at about the same time, "gender" also began to signal a more professionally acceptable approach to history. I took advantage of this myself, defending a dissertation in women's history in 1981 but using "gender" in its title because it seemed likely to be more palatable to my examiners. By that time, "sex" and "gender" had also begun to develop entirely different connotations among feminists, especially feminists in the academy: "sex" indicating biological differences between wornen and men, and "gender" indicating the ways in which societies elaborate on those biological differences. Hence, a baby girl was understood to be of the female .s~x,but her pink attire indicated her female gelendel-. This definition of gender as "a social catego17 imposed on a sexed body" has both defined contemporary feminism and troubled it."" ,Intifeminists hate the distinction; see, for example, a papal letter of 2004 ~vhichemphatically reaffirmed the preeminent importance of

Ferninist Histon. and Jlbmen's Histon.

17

biological distinctions between wornen and men, asserting that a focus on the social construction of such differences undermines farnilies, heterosexuality, the authority of the Bible, and Catholic But some feminists now question the distinction, too, arguing that it to biological absolutes by implying that human gives too much ~I-eight bodies always provide two sexes clearly distinguished by genitalia, chromosomes, or other somatic markers. They can point to cases of indeterminate "sex" at birth when physicians and parents make social decisions about the sex/gender of an infant-social decisions that are then surgically imposed on the infant's body. They can also point to the indeterminacy of "sex" in the history of the Tll'est, especially as seen in Thomas Laqueur's exploration of h o ~ van ancient understanding of a one-sex human body (~vornenand men sharing a single type of body) has been replaced by a rnodern vie~vof human bodies differentiated into two sexes." Thus, even "sex" itself is "gender"; all distinctions bet~veenfernale and rnale are created; and ferninist usage has begun to circle back to the early days of the 1970s ~vhen one term signified much the same as the other, except that now both terms signify socially constructed differences of female and male. I t ' What a muddle! One solution might be to revert to "sex" alone. "Gender" has proven difficult to translate into many languages; until the 1980s, feminists managed to differentiate between biological and social constructions TI-ithoutthe aid of "gender"; and the term has never firmly taken hold except in the English-speaking TI-orld.liBut because sex/gender clearly differentiates aspects thought to be biological fi-orn those tlzoz~ghtto be social, it still has practical ~ s e . ~ T rmore en important, feminist historians simply cannot do without "gender," because the terrn has taken on a life of its own ~vithinour field. Tll'hen the journal Gender and Histoq lvas launched in 1989, its editors stressed the new journal's feminist stance, its firm commitment to "the recovery of wornen's past experiences," and its interest in "addressing men and masculinity as well as TI-omenand femininity." '" This expansion of the field of vision to include men, masculinity, and relations between TI-omenand men was not entirely new (very few TI-omen'shistorians had ever studied women in isolation from men), but it was newly emphasized. The editors also spoke about gender as a "symbolic system," an insight that drew on the theoretical inspiration of Joan Scott. In an immensely influential article published in the mid-1980s, Scott argued that feminists should more fi-orn looking at the causes of the social construction of gender to the meanings of gender, particularly gender's use as a metaphor in human relations

18

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and activities. Arguing that gender is a "primary lvay of signifying relationships of power," Scott sought to bring women (or really, gender) into traditionally male areas of history. Because, for example, women rarely TI-ieldedpolitical power in Western societies, political history had remained largely untouched by the history of TI-omen; but, Scott argued, gender was present in the rationales, languages, and discussions of politics, even if women themselves were not. To Scott's mind, this discourse-based approach promised to transform history, for it subjected a11 historical subjects-not just TI-omen-to gender analysis."' Scott was also influential, a few years later, in Denise Riley's epistemological assault on the coherence of the term "~vornan,"and a few years after that, Scott herself arglled that "experience" has no material foundation and is instead constructed through language.i1 Scott's advocacy of gender history represented the f~~lfillment in feminist history of the literalr turn in the late twentieth century. Her vision of feminist histo17 argued that we no longer needed to examine just women's lives or even just the social construction of female and male; we could look everyvhere-even at such traditionally prestigious and "male" historical subjects as politics, intellectual discourse, and economics-for gender used as a "primary way of signifying relationships of power." In the 1940s, Jack Hexter had excused the absence of women from history by asserting that omen lvere simply not in the places that mattered, that "through no conspiracy of historians, the College of Cardinals, the Consistory of Geneva, the Parliament of England, and the expeditions of Columbus, Yasco de Gama, and Drake have been pretty much stag affairs."" Scott's formulation offered us a much-needed response; even if lvomen were not present on these occasions, gender was."" The turn to gender history has terrifically enhanced the field of ~vomen'shistory, particularly by encouraging us to explore the construction and contestation behind many seemingly "natural" ideas about women and men. Thanks to our focus on the play of gender, women's history now boasts entirely new areas of inquiq: the study of gender as performance; the examination of the many genders that fi-acture the bi-gender paradigm of female and male; the tracing of gender's polver in discourse generally; the history of masculinities. h d gender history's greater focus on nze(~7zi7zg.shas also yielded rich harvests. S a n Enstad's study of working-class ~vomen'spopular culture in the early twentieth-century United States, for example, has sho~vnhow both contemporaries then and historians since have mistaken "wornen ~vithpretty hats for wornen with empty heads." Ens-

Feminist History and Jlbmen's History

19

tad's work has restored political meaning to seemingly fi-ivolous consumer behaviors, a lesson as usefill in negotiating the world today as it is for understanding past ~vorlds." Today, the relation of "gender history" to "TI-omen'shistory" is exceedingly raried. In Britain, "gender histol?" can still retain, for a scholar like Bernard Capp, a pleasant whiff of political disengagement fi-orn feminism. In Japan, "gender history" has quite the opposite resonance, signifying a more explicitly feminist approach to traditional historiograpl~y.~~ In the United States, "gender history" is strongly associated wit11 Scott's cultural turn and is even seen by some as entirely superceding an old-fashioned and out-of-date "women's hi~tory.""~ Yet in terms of global connections, women's history still rules the day; of the thirty-t~vonational committees associated ~vith the International Federation for Research in Tllbmen's History, only one (STI-edishIlVomen and Gender Historians) uses "gender" in its self-description." To my mind, the best relation between the two emphasizes what they share more than what might differentiate them. Yes, some women's history is distinct fi-om gender history, and yes, some gender history is not women's history, but the overlap is very, very strong; although many of us might choose to differentiate ourselves as "historians of TI-omen"or "gender historians," I think most of us are reasonably comfortable TI-it11the identity of "women's and gender historians." I likr the shorthand M'GH, but it ~vouldprove an inelegant style to use throughout this book, as ~vouldthe ~vordier "~vomen'sand gender history." So I ask you to understand "~vomen's history" in this book as broadly including gender history. "IlVomen's history'' works best for thinking about feminist histol? across national divides; it has a stronger feminist connotation, at least in the English context fi-orn which it arose; and it has the advantage of priority, of being a sort of mother-not a single mother, but a co-parenting mother-of gender history, the history of masculinities, and the histom of sexualities.

The Politics of Mbmen's History Today In the 1970s, feminist historians in the United States and else~vhere built the academic practice of women's history while working within a largely male profession, most of TI-hosemembers were either nonfeminists or antifeminists. In this hostile environment, feminists demanded not just that the profession accommodate more TI-omen more fully but also that wornen's history be integrated into mainstream history." Just as few historians then ~velcomeda feminist poli-

20

Chapter 2

tics that challenged the fundamental presumptions of their private lives, so fe~v~velcoinedan approach to history that criticized their profession and sought to transform it. Yet this little-~velcoined~vornen's histo17 has won the day. IlVe might argue about TI-hetheror not ~vomen's histo17 has f~llly"arrived," but it is undeniably established as a permanent part of the historical profession in the United States and some other parts of the ~vorld.Ho~vhas this happened? Ho~vhas a ferninist project won such a large place in nonfeininist academia? At least part of the answer is that the feminism of TI-omen'shiston has been diluted and muted. Academic success has walked hand-in-hand with political co-optation. This dilution is partly a natural consequence of a nelv movement gi-owing older and, indeed, maturing. Feminist history has changed fi-orn its early days when issues were starkly clear, agendas were and most everyone was "on message" into a field straig11tfor~1-ard, that is more subtle, but also more fractured, complex, and co-opted."' Fair enough. Also fair enough is the relocation of our feminist energies fi-om corninunities to universities. Many feminist historians share the often unanticipated, sometimes distressing, and nevertheless ineluctable experience of ~vatchingpersonal energies seep away fi-om community-based activism and pour into university-centered labors. Feminist successes are themselves partly to blame. As more students have studied feminist topics, as more universities have sought to improve the status of Tvoinen, and as more Tvoinen have entered the professoriate, those ferninists lucky enough to possess secure appointments are mentoring more students, serving on more committees, writing more tenure letters, and running more interference on more complaints of harassi~~ent and "chilly clii~~ate."'~~' The rightward turn of the United States has also recluired that ferninists there respond publicly to well-filnded attacks on affirmative action, feminist studies, academic fi-eedoin, and even publicly funded education per se." Let no one doubt that there is good feminist work-good, old-fashioned feminist activism-being done in the halls of academe. Good feminist work is being done in women's histoi7, too, but the force of feininisrn in the field seems to be slo~vlywaning, perhaps particularly in the context I kno~vbest-that is, among women's historians who ~voi-kin the United States, albeit not necessarily in U.S. histoi7. As TI-omen'shisto17 has gained institutional sanction in the United States, some of us have succumbed to pressures to produce studies that are palatable to our nonfeminist colleagues-studies that avoid hard ferninist questions and that appear more mainstream. '2nd as feminism itself has matured, changed, and survived media assault,

Feminist History and Jlbmen's History

21

some of us have turned away fi-orn explicit feminism. I arn not alone in sensing this shift alvay fi-orn feminism, but it is a harsh charge to make against fellow historians of women and a charge that is difficult to prove ~vithoutad hominem examples. One less personal symptom of the trend is the langnagr of women's history, as it has been and now is practiced. Tll'hen women's history lvas a nascent and marginalized activity, its founding mothers wrote fi-eely and often about patriarchy and ~vomen'soppression. In 1975 Gerda Lerner lvrote straightforTI-ardlv: For most of historical time. xyoman is oppressed not through her reproductiye sexuality-that is, through the need of society to assign most of a ~voman's adult lifespan to tasks of child-bearing and child-rearing-but through the devaluing of such acti~itiesby Inen as they institute organized society. T\-omen are oppressed also through sexual exploitation, as manifested in the rape of women of the conquered group by the Tictors, the rape of women of subordinate classes by the masters, in the millennia of organized prostitution, and in the constant pressure on single women to make lnarriage and family service their main career. T\-ornen as a group are oppressed through the denial to them of access to educational opportunities on an equality with Inen and. finally, through the denial to then-for longer than to any other group-of political representation and power in government."'

By the 1980s we were already speaking less forthrightly than this, replacing "oppression of ~vomen"and its implication of male agency with the more neutral "subordination of ~vomen."This shift was subtle and even unconscious, much like the turn in the 1970s fi-om "sex" to "gender," but Lerner herself characteristically examined her own changing lexicon. In 1986, she reported that she preferred "subordination of TI-omen"to "oppression of women" because the latter term, in her view, problematically implies male agency, an absence of female complicity, and "the consciousness of the subject group that they have been ~vronged."I'm not convinced by her arguments, but neither my preference for "oppression" nor hers for "subordination" carries much weight today. Instead, both have almost disappeared in favor of still milder terms, ones that do not even specify which sex (or gender) is disadvantaged: terms like "gender hierarchy," "gender inequality," and "gender imbalance." These are the sorts of phrases that predominate, for example, in articles published from 2001 through 2004 in the three major English-language women's history periodicals-Jonrncrl of I/tbl?zen ts Hi.story, Gr7zdrr a77d Histo~y,and Womr7z ts Hi.story Revirw. When I surveyed these articles, I began by looking for the keyvord "patriarchy" and its derivative^."^ In the 1970s and 1980s, historians of wornen 'I:'

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Chapter 2

readily talked about "patriarchy"; today, it is barely ~vhispered.Of the nearly three hundred articles in my surrey, not one title directs readers' attention to~vard"patriarchy," "patriarchal," or any other rariant forms. Not one. Seventeen abstracts use such terms, but usually for description, not analysis-that is, the authors note, in passing, that patriarchal values prevailed in \files, or rural areas, or the antebellurn U.S. South. In several of these cases, "patriarchy" refers only to its restricted meaning of fatherly authority over ~vires,children, and other domestic dependents. Only two abstracts promise direct, analytical engagement with patriarchy: Joanne Wright's investigation of Hobbes's attack on the "theory of patriarchalism" and Laura Go~ving's argument that "cornpetitire relations bet~veenwornen [~vere] filnctional to patriarchal order."""Tlllat about the possibility that the authors in my sulley pay attention to patriarchy but just do not use the word? I found that only one in four abstracts alludes (in even the slightest ways) to the truncated opportunities for TI-omenthat are at the root of feminist politics. Of this minority, most simply take this inequality as a given; fe~vtreat it as a matter worthy of investigation; and almost all characterize "patriarchy/~vornen'soppression/~vomen's subordination" in much more genial and inoffensive terms. Some use phrases that obf~lscateTI-hois adrantaged over ~vhom(for example, "gender order" and "gender hierarchy"), and others use terms that so emphasize difference as to eclipse inequality (for example, "gender differences" and "fault lines of gender"). \Ye once often talked frankly about patriarchy and ~vornen'soppression; we now tend to talk smoothly about gender hierarchies and gender differences. As our language has shifted, so, too, has our thinking. Some of our best historians of lvomen continue to publish hard-hitting feminist analyses. No one could reasonably complain, for example, that Any Richlin's articles fail to bring feminist concerns to bear on Roman sources, or that Ruth Karras's study of medieval masculinity is inattentive to the feminist implications of the subject, or that Julie Hardwick's examination of notaries ignores the everyday work of patriarchy among the families of early modern Santes, or that Dorothy Sue Cobble's book on "labor feminism" does not rewrite how lve can think about recent U.S. feminism."" I have chosen these fe~v examples from among many possibilities, for many TI-omen'shistorians certainly continue to publish self-conscious, politically engaged feminist work. But as others before me have noted, women's history seems to be losing its feminist edge: deferring unnecessarily to male authority, dwelling overmuch on biographies of unusual lvomen, tak-

Feminist Histon. and Jlbmen's Histon.

23

ing a sharp cultural turn alvay frorn social and material considerations, attending more to diversity than to the power differentials, and allying with a history of masculinity that is developing in surprisingly problematic lvays. I do not ~vishto repeat here ~vhatothers have already said or to dwell on these difficulties, but it seems useful briefly to revie~veach concern. Since the 1990s, Catherine Hall, Kathleen Canning,Judith Sewton, and others have commented on a tendency in some TI-omen'shisto17 to defer to male authorities and overlook the earlier intellectual work of feminist scholars." As Hall put it in a review of books by Riley and Scott, "some of the insights attributed to post-structuralist theorists have been thought in other ways by feminists. We did not need poststructuralism to develop gender as a catego17 of analysis-rather it emerged out of years of ~vorkboth ~vithtexts and in consciousness raising groups.""9ostmodernists have been singled out for criticism; but I think this practice extends as well to many sorts of theoretically inflected ~vomen'shistory. Within certain academic contexts, this citational strategy makes good sense: it reflects the male-ness of traditional philosophy, psychoanalytic theory, and historical epistemology; it emulates a standard rhetorical strategy of building arguments on the authoritative statements of "great men"; it builds fi-om high theory drawn on philosophical premises (for example, Jacques Derrida on difference) rather than middle-range theory drawn more on empirical insight (for example, bell hooks, Alice Walker, Valerie Amos, and Pratibha Parmar); and it might even encourage more faculty to read such articles, assign thern in classes, and cite them."" But these practices of reference are nevertheless problematic: they obscure the accomplishments of female scholars; they defer to men whose works either ignored wornen (for example, Michel Foucault) or problematically considered women (for example, Jacques Lacan); and they reinforce the age-old assumption that abstract intellectual work is the work of men. No one is objecting to the just recognition of men's important contributions to feminist history. Medieval ~vomen's history, for example, owes a great debt to the advocacy of David Herlihy in the 1960s and to the insights since of such historians as Stanley Chojnacki and Jeremy Goldberg; their work is quite rightly cited by feminist medievalists all the time."' But let us beware of the ~zeedl~,s.s evocation of male authority and consequent suppression of female authority. IlVomen's history should enhance, not diminish, the intellectual reach of feminist s ~ h o l a r s h i p . ~ ~ Our recent s~vingto~vardbiography also raises nelv challenges. In the 1970s, feminist historians, armed with the then-dominant methods of social history, eschewed the study of great women and sought

24

Chapter 2

to understand, as best we could, the daily constraints and choices of ordinary wornen in past times. Inspired by Natalie Zelnon Davis, ~vho urged us in 1976 to move "frorn Women Worthies to a worthier craft," we worked wit11 intransigent documents-tax lists, court records, censuses, business accounts, and the like-to reconstruct the ordinary lives of peasant wornen in medieval Europe, working wornen in early modern tolvns, and lvomen of the nineteenth-century working classes. " By the 1980s, some of us, discouraged by the tedious and table-ridden tendencies of social history, were turning to the new genres of collective biography and microhistory, and Davis's own Rrtririz ofl\lartiiz Griel-ie, published in 1983, was one critical inspirat i ~ n . Since '~ then, lve have moved confidently back to the possibilities of biographical approaches; again, Davis herself exemplifies the trend, by offering Il'o?lzen oil the ~\.largzns in 1993, a study of three seventeenth-century women-a merchant, a nun, and a naturalist." Sow, in U.S. TI-omen'shistory, as Gerda Lerner has recently counted, about one-fourth of all books, articles, and dissertations are adopting a biographical approach.'Biography is no longer a genre confined to elite lives alone-as Laurel Ulrich Thatcher's Tlze ~\.Gdzui$e's Tale illustrates-but it is especially suited to privileged, articulate people who left archives deemed worthy of preservation."' Are we in danger of tilting TI-omen'shisto17 too far back toward women TI-orthies? A similar challenge is posed by the cultural turn in TI-omen'shistory, especially by our efforts to unpack the complex meanings of gender.;; Many of us are nolv focusing more on representations of past lives than on lived experiences, more on the performative creation of gender rules than on the effects of male power, and more (in this context, too) on TI-ell-documentedoutstanding individuals than ordinary people. Both published studies and dissertations nolv regularly detail for us, on the one hand, how newspapers, advertisements, plays, films, music, poems, and other media have constructed, represented, and manipulated gender, and, on the other hand, how various individuals and groups have understood, changed, and transgressed gender rules. These studies have shifted women's history alvay fi-orn concrete, accessible histories and toward analyses that can be abstract in both subject matter and exposition. The hard lives of lvomen in the past; the material forces that shaped and constrained women's activities; the ways that TI-omencoped wit11 challenges and obstacles-all these things sometimes disappear from our histories of the contradictory and contested meanings of gender. And as with biography, our reliance on cultural texts necessarily refocuses our interests either on those privileged few who have left articulate

Feminist History and Jlbmen's History

25

remains or on a recent past accessible through oral histories or modern media. Many feminist histories inspired by the cultural turn combine scholarly excellence and political engagement. Gail Bederman's study of manliness and civilization, for example, forces us to think in new ways about the close partnership of racism and sexism.": But in sheer quantity, they could be s~vampingwomen's history."' Tll'hen Joan Scott issued her clarion call for gender analysis, she located the "radical potential of women's history" as lying in the complementary study of both gender constructions aizd~vomen'sexperiences."' This is certainly the best way fonvard. I also share the concerns of Linda Gordon and Lise Yogel that current feminist approaches sometimes promote "an uncritical discourse of pluralism, a celebration of diversity."" There is absolutely no doubt that attention to differences among lvornen is promoting better, more subtle, and richer TI-omen'shistory." By unpacking the differences elided bv the umbrella term "~vomen,"we are seeing - old subjects in new ways; Jane Mangan's examination of indigenous, African, and Spanish wornen in the markets of colonial Potosi is one recent example."Vl'e are also adding such factors as sexuality, religion, marital status, and ~vorldregion to the original trinity of "race, class, and gender"; thus, for example, never-married women have come into the foreground thanks to Elizabeth Heineman's study of twentieth-century Germany and Amy Froide's work on early modern England." '2nd lve are edging our ~vayto~vardagain recognizing the ties that bind wornen, despite differences; Sancy He~vitt'srecent Sorither17Discotnfort, a study of the shifting, self-conscious, and strategic identities of Latin, Anglo, and Black women in Tampa a hundred years ago is one outstanding example."' But difference-talk still sometimes filnctions as an end in itself, a celebration of diversity that urges us more to respect difference than to resist the inequalities that can arise fi-om it. '2nd while lve must certainly continue to examine differences among TI-omen and the ways in which some women have oppressed other women, we also must not stop examining the ways in TI-hichmen-as-a-group have oppressed women-as-a-group. As wit11 the cultural turn, a Dotlz/(~izdapproach works best here; as exemplified by Deborah Gray Tll'hite's study of the class, racial, and gender d!narnics of black women's associations in the t~ventieth-centuryUnited States, feminist history works best when it juggles both differences among women oizd differences between women and men. s'i Last, the histol? of masculinity has, thus far, proven a mixed blessi n s It has the potential to be one of the most radical offshoots of feminist history, applying to past times the feminist premise that

26

Chapter 2

maleness and masculinity are changeable, contested, and, quite sirnply, constructed. Men, too, have a gender, and the history of masculinity, a virtually unexplored terrain before 1990, has since developed into an innorative field in which feminists-both female and malecast inquiring gazes on male identities, male anxieties, and the ideological bases of male polver. Yet, as Toby Ditz has recently ti-aced ~vith humor and care, this new men's historr is too often "occluding Tvoinen and downplaying men's polvei- over women." Men's history tells us that masculinities have been complex, fraught, diverse, and ever-fragile, but in its inattention to men's gendered power over women, it often "risks replicating the oppressive omissions of conventional history." Interestingly enough, Ditz's solution-that men's history should be pursued within a foundational understanding that "the gender order pivots on men's access to 1vo1nen"-seeks to redeem the postmodernism at the heart of gender histon with a hefty dose of anthropological s t r u c t ~ ~ r a l i s Imhope . ~ ~ we will see more such histories in the future. Some of these ~vorrisornetrends in ~voinen'shistory reflect the growing pains of a field that is more cro~vded,rnore diverse, and rnore engaged in rnore historical endeavors than it once ~vas."The burgeoning market for materials on women is partly met by popular products that uncritically celebrate TI-omen'spast; in my own field, for example, lavish wall calendars picturing medieval TI-omenappear annually, and books like Uppit' Ilb?lzelz of ,\Iedie-r~nl Times have sold so ~vellthat lve can nolv also buy Outl-ageous Ilb?lze?zo f t h e L\Iiddle Ages, as well as new volumes for uppity and outrageous TI-omenin other places and times. On a much more academic level, enthusiasm for ~vomen's histo17 is met in part by important projects of recovei7-that is, again using medieval wornen as my example, published texts of saints' lives, editions of ~vornen's~vritings,descriptive biographies of female saints, queens, and heroines, and densely empirical histories of individual nunneries or religious orders. These books offer exceedingly usef~ll information about medieral women, but their purpose is to recover that information, not to tackle difficult questions about the sexual dynamics of power within medieval society. h d ~voinen'shistory has so diversified that a lot of relevant ~voi-kis not in "~voinen'shistory" per se. Kate Haulinan has recently found, for example, that although few dissertations in U. S. histo17 are focusing specifically on "women's history," almost TI-o-thirds include some consideration of men, women, and gender."" think we can fairly expect to find more feminist influence in the former than in the latter. Our efforts on behalf of another undoubted feminist objective-

Ferninist Histon. and Jlbmen's Histon.

27

that is, integrating lvornen, gender, and sexuality into traditional historical fields-have also diverted us a bit fi-om foundational feminist questions. The challenges of "mainstrearning" women's history have been historiographic as well as historical-that is, focused on influencing debates in histol? as well as the content of history. In the 1970s Joan Kelly urged us to write ~vornen'shistory with an eye to transforming the foundational practices-description, periodization, and explanation-of history.!"' '2nd in the 1980s, Louise Tilly reminded us that we need to be able to answer colleagues when they ask such questions as, "Sow that I know that women were participants in the French Revolution, what difference does it make?"'" Textbooks have been the focus of much feminist mainstrearning, and I ~villlater (Chapter 7) describe what my olvn ventures in this regard suggest about the challenges and cornpromises of improving the surveys that introduce so many students to histol?. Feminist mainstreaming happens through research, too. For example, Caroline Bynum's examination in Holj Feast a72d Holj Fast of the spiritual practices of female saints, especially as they pertained to food, fasting, and eating, is firmly situated within the traditions of women's history.!" Moreover, like Joan Brumberg's Fasting Girls, it offers a historical perspective on the eating disorders among young women that so trouble the contemporary IlVest.":' But Bynum's book is more than this, for written with authority, based on deep research, and argued with verve, it has also re-visioned and re-invigorated a traditional field. No one can nolv fairly ask, "Sow that I kno~vthat female mystics often undertook pious fasting, what difference does it make in the history of medieval religion?" Among other things, it makes the difference that we now see "the body" as not opposed to "the soul" in medieral religious practice but instead profoundly intertwined ~vithit; in Bynum's words, medieval ascetics "~verenot rebelling against or torturing their flesh out of guilt over its capabilities so much as using the possibilities of its f ~ d sensual l and affective range to soar ever closer to God."'" Packed with such insights, Holj Fea.st a72d Holj Fa.st is 110~1required reading for any student of medieral religion. An array of other women's history books are now equally essential in their allied fields. For just one more example, I doubt that anyone can now study the expansion of railroads in the nineteenth-century United States without taking into account Any Richter's Homr 0 7 2 the Rail,s and Barbara Young Il'elke's Reca.stingAl?ze1-ica7zLibrrtj, which both place gender front and center in their stories of how this technology changed a nation."" S o t surprisingly, ~vomen'shistory in this mainstreaming mode rarely focuses on the oppression of lvornen. I do not mean to imply

28

Chapter 2

that Bynum, Richter, M'elke, and others naively assume that the lvornen they study were not oppressed, for they most certainly recognize this fact. Yet because they take women's oppression as a given, they neither analyze the dynamics of male power nor critique it, and their ~vorkscan sometimes thereby almost disguise it. l'fainstreaming works best, to my mind, as a supplementa,y tactic for ferninist history, not as its main strategy. Yes, we should contribute, as Tilly put it, "to general questions already on the historical agenda," but we should not do so at the expense of marginalizing issues integral to ~vornen'shistory."" After all, most historical fields are male-centered and male-defined; if we uncritically accept their questions as our questions, we ignore l'fary Beard's vise caution against taking man as the measure of historical significance.'" h d in any case, a well-nurtured feminist historiography is a critical element in building a ~vomen'shistory that can meet other historical fields on level ground. Mllat most sustains ~0111en's history, in short, is a historiography of its own. Fortunately, we have such a historiography, and it now shapes our field around two issues in particular. Since the 1980s Joan Scott's advocacy of the study of gender as a "primary way of signifying relationships of power" has galranized many historians of women, and so, too, has the study of difference in ~vomen'shistory deepened our field, especially complicating our understandings of relationships among women. But we need a third pole supporting the broad tent of ferninist historiography, for it is appropriate that ferninist history should work also to historicize the thorny problem of TI-omen's oppression. The study of patriarchy is surely a native ground of ferninist history, a subject to be analyzed and unpacked, not ignored or taken as an obvious fact. I do not propose that historians of wornen stop liaising ~vithother fields of history, or cut short their searches for the many meanings of gender, or quit studying the historical intersections of race, class, gender, and other related factors. But these inquiries are best accompanied, as I will argue more fully in Chapter 4, by a return to the feminist heartland of critiquing and opposing the oppression of women. Wlzj crnd lzoru 1za.s tlzr oppr-e.ssio7z of ruonze7z rndnr-rd for so long crnd in so man1 dffrrr7zt 1zi.stor-ircrl.srtti7zgs?I hope we ~villmore fillly incorporate this question into the historiography of women's history as it develops in the twenty-first century. As Bonnie Smith has shown so derastatingly well, the profession of history is inherently hostile to feminist approaches. When history took root in nineteenth-century universities, it lvas built on a dismissal of so-called amateur history associated particularly with women writers, and it celebrated both masculine conquest in the archives and manly

Feminist Histon. and Jlbmen's Histon.

29

dispassion in historical writing. The practices of history have changed a great deal since Leopold von Ranke described unread documents as "so many princesses, possibly beautifill, all under a curse and needing to be saved." But, as Smith notes, our discipline even today retains a masculinist ethic in which "talk about the oppression of wornen by men" inevitably sounds "minor, amateurish, overernotional, and uncritical."!'VM'hen historians of lvomen began to challenge the history establishment in the 1970s, especially in the United States and Great Britain, the clarity of our outsider status helped 11s negotiate this silencing of ferninist talk. It lvas scarcely a surprise, then, if the gatekeepers of academic history ridiculed, dismissed, and ignored our voices. But as we have established a place within the sanctums of history, we have muted our feminist voices. In a discipline in TI-hichany talk about patriarchy sounds "minor, amateurish, overernotional, and uncritical," we are often choosing to talk about other things. Our discussions of these other things have contributed to the feminist project in substantive and valuable ~vays.The feminist project in TI-omen'shistory is enriched by archive hounds who sniff out hitherto ignored information about the lives of wornen in the past; it is extended by mainstreamers who bring women and feminist analyses into the discourses of other historical fields; it is deepened by gender historians who analyze the po~verfillplay of genders in the past; and it is strengthened by those who trace how the catego17 "TI-omen"has been both fi-actured and constructed by difference. Thus, in an ironic twist, even our avoidance of talk that might strike colleagues as "minor, amateurish, overernotional, and uncritical" has had positive feminist effect, for it has helped us establish an institutional place for wornen's history within a hostile discipline. In making our voices heard ~vithinthe broader conversation of history, ~vornen'shistory has calmed down, behaved, crnd been rewarded. I would like to hear more feminist talk in ~vomen'shistory, to hear our voices more raised, more angry, and more often speaking about how the past can inforrn the politics of feminism. But if wornen's history speaks in these ways, will other feminists hear it? Women's histo17 has largely lost its feminist audiences, partly because of changes in feminist movements, partly because of the publishing malaise of academic history generally (the production of piles of print that only a few dozen people read), and partly because too many feminists in other academic disciplines have no time for histol~.Feminist activists and scholars, once so steeped in history, have lost interest in the past. It is to the implications of this eroded historical vision ~vithinferninism that I now turn.

C1mf)ter 3

Who's Afraid of the Distant Past?

In 1979,Judy Chicago premiered TlzeDinner Partj, an exhibition of a grand banqueting hall that celebrated women of the past. I'isitors to the first showing in San Francisco walked on a floor of porcelain tiles inscribed with the names of 999 great lvornen fi-orn history; in the center of the floor, they found a triangular table ~vithplace settings for 39 diners; and at each place-setting, they could examine a celebration in ceramic and cloth of a woman from the past; starting with Primordial Goddess, these place settings took visitors, in a steadily ascending incline, through Hypatia, Eleanor of Xquitaine, and Sojourner Truth to Virginia Ilbolf and Georgia O'Keeffe. As Christine de Pizan had done in Tlze Book of the City o f l a d i e s , Chicago's exhibition celebrated great women of the past, this time in porcelain, cloth, ceramic, and paint. ,&ld like Christine de Pizan, Judy Chicago's historical vision lvas a long one; the 13 settings on the first side of the table moved visitors fi-om prehistory through the classical era; the second side began with Marcella, an influential early Christian who died c. 410, and ended wit11 the learned Anna ran Schurman (d. 1678); and the last 13 settings covered the three most recent centuries, ending with the then still-living O'Keeffe. The project, TI-hichbegan in 1974 and involved more than t~vohundred artists, subsequently toured on three continents. It was, for its time, a hugely influential and wellpublicized feminist cultural event that sought, in Judy Chicago's ~vords,to "tell women's history through ~vornen'scrafts. "l Today, women's histo17 reaches many more people in the United States than ever before, particularly through the well-organized efforts of the National Women's Histo17 Project (NM'HP), which promotes attention to ~vornen'shistory, especially in secondary schools and especially during klarch, officially designated by the U.S. Congress as IlVomen's History klonth. Each year, the SIlVHP produces a poster that, like the works of Christine de Pizan and Judy Chicago, offers up specific women worthies for admiration. The women celebrated in recent renditions of these SI1WP posters are a remarkably

Tll'ho's Xti-aid of the Distant Past?

31

contemporary bunch. Of the 11 wornen featured in 2003, the rnost "historical" died in 1964 (Rachel Carson) and rnost of the rest were still living. In 2004, 8 women, all living, were singled out for attention. And in 2005, the occasion of its twenty-fifth anniversary, the NM'HP produced a poster detailing 143 former honorees, of ~vhom126 had lived in the twentieth century and 46 were still alive. Only 17 had died before 1900, and not a single honoree had died before 1800. Even by the standards of the relatively truncated history of the United States, the ~vomen'shistol? of these posters is remarkably foreshortened. The contrast between the deep historical \ision of TI2r Dinnrr Tabk and the shallow vision of the SIlVHP posters is the subject of this chapter. It is a contrast that reflects my olvn lived experience, watching women's history swing to~vardthe present during the last thirty years. But the contrast can also be demonstrated by hard facts and figures. In the 1970s, TI-henI was a young feminist, the distant past was integral to the ways in which we critiqued the present day and envisioned a better f~lture.When I walked into the Toronto IlVomen's Bookstore, conveniently located mid~vaybet~veenthe university where I studied and the feminist cooperative ~vhereI lived, I found on its shelves a feminist scholarship in which long-past eras-the l'fiddle Ages, the ancient Mediterranean, even prehistoric hunting and gathering societies-were critical parts of the enterprise. Think, for example, of Witches, lll.lidruives, a72d L Y ~ i r , ~published e~, in 1973, a history of TI-omen healers by Barbara Ehrenreich and Deidre English that began in fourteenth-century Europe, segued easily to the American medical profession, and concluded with seven points for feminist revision of the contemporary health system. Or think of Joan Kelly's electrifying 1977 essay that posed the question "Was there a Renaissance for women?" that has been subsequently repeated for many other eras of history.' Tll'hen I began to read the n e ~ journals v for feminist scholarship that first appeared in the University of Toronto library in the 1970s, I found there, too, that the distant past was downright central. In the first four years of Signs: A Joun-n7al ofI/tbnzen i72 C~iltun-ecrnd Sorietj (197.3 through 19781, I read four articles on premodern topics (that , articles on the early modern era is, anything before 1500 c ~ )four (that is, 1500-1800), and seven articles that stretched across multiple eras. The nineteenth and twentieth centuries were not neglectedthey merited twenty-three articles-but modern history was well balanced by early modern, premodern, and transhistorical perspectives.:' I also took pleasure in the "Lkchives" section of Signs, a treasure trove of primary sources that stretched as far back, in those first years, as Hippocrates. '2nd when I started going to the Berkshire Conferences

32

Chapter 3

Tojz cs bj

P I (1

Slodei n (c. 1800-pr e ~ e n t ) Earlr modein (c. 1300-1800) Pi elnode i n (before 1300) Total

CTenderand Histor\

Journal of I\- omen'^ Histoir

I2hmen.s H~stor~ Re1 lev Totals

74

81

96

25 1

8i

14

8

8

30

4

2

1

-

11

I

2

92

91

105

288

100

PPIc o ~ f a g r

Korr: This count focllsrd on resrarch arriclrs: rrporrs on archirrs. forums. mrmorials. and other such niiscellariea lvere excluded. .Also excluded were serer1 articles xvllose cllronological srrerp drfied caregorization. If an article rrenly spannrd two eras. I placed it ill the earlier one.

on the History of Women, I found that they too had more papers than I could possibly hear about ancient and medieral women. No more. Today, Sig7z.sis a fatter journal than in the 1970s but one with many fewer pages for history and virtually none for history before the modern era. In 2004, not a single historical article was included in the four issues of Signs; in 2003, three historical articles made the cut, two on suffrage and one on Q~lakersin the eighteenth centuq; and in 2001 and 2002, six historical articles were published, all on the twentieth century. The "Xrchires" section itself is long gone; after sporadic appearances in the 1990s, it disappeared after 1998. The Berkshire Conferences have gotten bigger, too, but the proportional space they offer to papers on the distant past has fallen dramatically in the last two decades. l'foreover, although since 1989 lve hare had English-language journals devoted entirely to research on women's histojy (as opposed to the wornen's studiesjournals that began in the 1970s), these TI-omen'shisto17 journals publish shockingly little history of a past more distant than two hundred years. As Table 1 sho~l-s,in the first four years of the twenty-first centuq, the three major English-language journals in women's history-Gender and Hi.story, Jorirnal of I/tbnzen's Hi.sto~y,and Woments Hi.story Reviere have published 29.3 articles of which 7-yes, 7-deal ~l-ith~vomen's histo17 before 1.300. The situation is actually even more acute than these data sho~t;for the modern history represented in the first rolv is mostly conten~pora)yhistory: the t~ventiethcentury alone accounts for well over half of all articles.

Tll'ho's Xti-aid of the Distant Past?

33

This march to~vardthe present in women's history has not been created by a lack of research or teaching about the world before 1500-indeed, quite the contrary. In the early 1970s, there ~verejust a dozen or so scholars in North America publishing on premodern women; today, there are hundreds of professional historians in the United States and Canada who ~vorkon lvornen in prernodern times and places-especially the ancient Mediterranean and the medieval Tll'est, but also prernodern China, Japan, and India, the early h e r i cas, and Africa before European contact. For example, the Society for Medieval Feminist Scholarship today boasts more than a thousand members TI-or1d~1-ide, produces a twice-yearly journal (lll.Ldieucrl Feminist F o r u ? ~ )and , nurtures a variety of online bibliographic resources, including the spectacular Feminae: Medieval Tllbmen and Gender Index ( h t t p : / / ~ \ ~ \ ~ v . h a v e r f o r d . e d l l / l i b r a l y / 1 - e f e 1 - e n c e / n f i / mfi.htm1). The study of TI-omenin early eras of human history is flourishing, but not TI-ithin~vomen'shisto17 generally, where it is now outside the mainstream of TI-hatmatters. In the 1970s, there was not a great deal of prernodern ~vornen'shistory being written, but that little bit was rely much part of the broad and inclusive new field of women's history. Today, premodern women's history is a flourishing field, but little known to modernists. In many venues, "TI-omen's history" has effectively come to mean "nineteenth- and twentiethcentury TI-omen'shistol7."" In this chapter, I explore how lve hare reached this troubling circumstance and why lve need to more beyond it. As a medievalist, I ~1-ou1d of course be delighted if more feminists read more medieval histon, but my point is not merely ego driven. I believe that modern histon is impoverished by inattention to the premodern past and that feminism is impoverished by an inattention to history. By broadening our temporal horizons, we can produce both better feminist history and better feminist theory.

Don't Know Much about History I lvas introduced to history by teachers who believed that their work ended at the point ~vhenliving memoly begins. But since Tllbrld Tllhr 11, many historians hare felt differently, and nolv the twentieth century-most of it well TI-ithinliving memory-has become thr major field of historical research, both in women's histon specifically and in histon more generally. The historians' past, for better or for worse, is now as recent as yesterday. This shift to~vardthe present has not yet occasioned much self-reflection among historians, and its causes are

34

Chapter 3

doubtless more complex that I can corer here. But in the interest of opening a discussion among feminist historians, I ~villoffer sorne figures and suggest sorne causes. "Old Europe." In a quintessentially U.S. statement, Donald Rumsfeld thus characterized France and Germany in the midst of the international debate in 2003 that preceded the Bush administration's aggression against Iraq. To Rumsfeld and many others in the United States, "old" is inherently bad and "ne~v"is inherently good. In part, the presentism of U.S. culture stems from the simple fact that most U.S. histol? is, after all, modern histol?. In part, ho~l-ever, it also grows from a resentf~llsense that most history before 1776 harkens back to a tradition-bound, elitist, European past, a past that has been properly replaced by the dynamism of U.S. democracy and multiculturalism. any history before 1800 seems largely irrelevant, as In this ~vorldrie~v, epitomized in Henry Ford's famous statement, "History is more or less bunk . . . the only history that is TI-ortha tinker's damn is the history we make today. "" This presentist rie~vmight be quintessentially U.S., but it is not uniquely so. In the same year that Rumsfeld coined "Old Europe," Charles Clarke, then British education secretary, reportedly opined, "I don't mind there being some medievalists around for ornamental purposes, but there is no reason for the state to pay for them."' Yet Clarke's comment circulated in a different cultural milieu from that of Rumsfeld. Few in the United States were bothered by the "old" of Old Europe, ~vhereasClarke's slur generated a filror in the British press, prompting a not quite believable denial and eventually a strong statement of support for medieyal studies. British and other national cultures might be edging toward presentism, but the move is especially strong in the United States. Since it is within the United States that feminist scholarship has particularly flourished in the past thirty years, I therefore posit as the first likely culprit in the tilt toward the present of women's histo17 the ahistoricism of my own national culture. A second suspect is rather more surprising: the historical profession itself, not just ~vithinthe United States but also internationally. For members of a profession devoted to the study of the past, historians are nolv remarkably uninterested in most of it. M'hen historians worldwide congregate even five years at the meeting of the Comite International des Sciences Historiques/International Committee of Historical Sciences (CISH), we mostly discuss the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. We do the same in the United States at the annual meetings of the American Historical Association (AHA). As

Tll'ho's Xti-aid of the Distant Past?

CISH C O I ~ P I ( J I ~ ( ( J 12005)

Topics 6) r ~ a

+

hIodein (c. 1800 ) Ear 1 1 7 moder n(c. 1500-1800) Pielnodern (hefoie 1300) Total

75% (216) 10% (31) 13% (40) 287

35

AHA C O I ~ ~ P I ~ I ~ C C 12005)

73 57 (445) 18.3% (109) 6.3% (38) 392

Note: The CISH data are taken frorii the orililie program (http://1t~ov.cislls~lie~-2003 .orgi) as posted in F e b r n a l ~2005: I counted paprrs in rhr rhrre caregorirs of round tables, niajor tllenies, and specialized theriies. The .AH,% data, taken froni the printed prograrii, include sessions of affiliated societies but exclude rioliresearch sessiolis drroted to sl~chmarrrrs as prdagogy and professional derrlopmrnr. I counted only papers ~vllosetitles (or session context) indicated their chroliological coverage, arid if a paprr rqually spannrd two eras. I placed it in the rarlirr one.

Table 2 sho~l-s, TI-henwe gather in these venues to talk about history, we mostly talk about the histol? of the past two hundred years." History's own lack of historical depth is relatively new. As Lynn Hunt has noted, "history" in the United States and Europe little more than a century ago was mainly alzcielzt history."' It is only in the last few decades that t~ventieth-centuryhistory, once "consigned to the province of journalism," has entered the historical mainstream and taken it by storm. In Hunt's view, the new hegemony of what she calls "short-term histol?" is especially linked to identity politics. Perhaps so, although I suspect that the information explosion (and hence, the explosion in primary sources), the decline of secondary training in classical languages, and the challenges of writing global, rather than national, histories have also contributed to the trend. Even as individuals, many historians tend to creep toward the present, perhaps because ever-better sources beckon us to more fol~vardin time; my olvn research started out firmly rooted in the early fourteenth century but has nolv ranged as far for~vardas the late sixteenth century. In any case, it seems likely that a second cause of the relentless modernity of women's histol? might be, quite simply, the relentless modernity of the practice of histol? in general. I hesitate to blame the victim, but ancient and medieval historians might constitute a third collective culprit, for those of 11s who work in these earlier eras hare some~vhatdetached ourselves fi-orn the historical discourses that now largely exclude us. Ancient historians long ago withdrew into the discrete, interdisciplinal? world of classics, a TI-ithdra~l-a1 so complete that it is now rare to find historians of Greece and Rome in history departments (at least, in the United States, Canada, and Britain); they reside instead in departments of classics. In

36

Chapter 3

the United States, the major annual meeting of classicists-the conference of the American Philological Association-has long clashed ~viththe annual meeting of the American Historical Association, thereby ensuring that ancient historians must annually decide whether they are classicists or historians. Enclave-building in medieval history lags just a bit behind. l'fedieval historians are still usually housed in history departments, but their intellectual energies often lie in cross-appointments to medieval studies programs and in the many conferences and journals that allow medieralists to speak to no one but themselves. I think it is fair to say, for example, that most medieralists in the United States think more about publishing in Speculu?lz than in the A?lzericn?zHistoricnl Reviezu.ll This interdisciplinary bent explains how ancient and medieval ~vomen'shistory can be flourishing but nevertheless eclipsed within women's history generally: studies of TI-omenbefore 1500 are mostly shared in conferences, journals, and books TI-hoseintended audiences are classicists or medieralists, not historians. Make no mistake: there are considerable benefits to the interdisciplinary and multidisciplinary ~vorkof classics and medieval studies. Their graduate programs provide vital technical training, often not othel71-iseavailable, in such matters as philology, languages, and codicolog?, and their journals are willing to publish extended technical discussions that ~1-ou1d not find an audience in histon-only periodicals. It immeasurably enriches ancient and medieval history that its practitioners talk so much with scholars of ancient and medieval literature, art, philosophy, and archaeology. But it is regrettable when ancient and medieval historians therefore communicate less with historians of more modern centuries, neither submitting articles to history journals nor offering papers at broadly conceived "history" conferences. It is also ~vorrisomethat these premodern enclaves seern to have created a segregation that is dangerously comfortable to both sides. Many classicists and medieralists, eager to be freed from the supposed taint of modern concerns, are content to ~1-ithdra1v into their interdisciplinal? encampments. Many modernists, tired of a distant past that seems rnore "a site of pedantry and antiquarianism" than one of stimulating inquiry, are content to be fi-eed fi-orn sustained contact with colleagues they regard as elitist, effete, and outof-touch.' ? If I am right that these three factors-a presentist culture, especially in the United States; history's tilt ~OTI-ard modernity; and the partial segregation of ancient and medieval historians-are encouraging a rnore contemporary approach to history, they still cannot

Tll'ho's Xti-aid of the Distant Past?

AHA

FRTTX

37

Br~kshz~c

C I S H C o ~ i f ~ t ( > ~ i ( (C~O I ~ ~ ~ ~ I P I ~C Co P~ l f i i ~ ~ ~ C i rO~I ~ ~ P I P I ~ ( P

Topics 6) r ~ a hIodel n (c. 1800-pr esent) Eal 11 lnodel n (c. 1500-1800) Pi elnodern (before 1300) Total

12005)

12005)

12003)

12005)

73%

i5%

80% (183)

88% (521)

10%

18.5%

11% (26)

9% (51)

13%

6.5%

9% (21)

3% (16)

287

392

230

388

Uotr. Fol fllll CISH and IEIdata rre Tablr 2 Tlle conntr fol thr IFRIYH and Be1kslln e colifeelelices exclude liorilesealch papel s arid papel s vllose cli~oriolog.~cal contrnt could not be d e t r ~ m ~ n e111d t~tleol The pressure on wives to consent to such sales could be immense; one case from 1289 tells us of a wife TI-hoconsented "crying in court" (larril?zrntemin plena hnli?lzoto)." In most cases, a ~vife'sassets lvere so absolutely her husband's that they lvere forfeited if he misbehaved. Thus, for example, when the lords of Pelharn in Sussex ~vishedto punish Henry Clifford in the 1440s for his "rarious offenses, trespasses, and rebellions," they confiscated sixty acres that his wife Joan had inherited from her TI-heehvrightfather.'YAs a new wife, a TI-omancustomarily brought critical resources to the household economy created by her marriage, and in the years that follo~ved,her labor ~vouldcritically support it, but the household's resources belonged, in the final analysis, to her husband alone. Any wife could find, as did @ens at Cross TI-howent to the court of Brigstock in 1315, that she could not sell land TI-ithout her husband's cooperation because, as the court put it, "a wife's sale is nothing in the absence of her husband. "'!' One legal loophole eased the cowerture of wives in England, but

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only for a few. In London and some other tolvns, married lvomen lvere permitted, if formally registered asfe?lz?lzessoles, to trade independently of their husbands-that is, to trade as if they lvere unmarried (.sole).Fenznze .sole status did not alter the household economy per se because, although it allo~l-edwives to work independently, it so separated a wife's work fi-orn the household headed by her husband that she could not draw on its assets. X wife who traded as a fem?lzesole, therefore, had some autonomy, but since her capital and assets lvere limited, she doubtless found it difficult to compete effectively with married men who were supported by the labor of wives and children; she also might have been disadrantaged in relation to single~l-omen and ~vido~vs, as they were relatively rnore fi-ee of family responsibilities. Moreover, the actual effects of this custorn are hard to assess. It lvas confined to urban areas and, indeed, to only some urban areas; towns such as Shrewsbury and Salisbul7 apparently offered no such It was applied inconsistently and messily option to married TI-omen.'5" in courts; in London, for example, some records sho~lwives, designated as femmes soles, nevertheless acting in concert with their husbands (acting, in other words, asfem~lzescou-r~ertes). It was not universally ~velcornedby lvomen, for some wives clearly chose not to acquire fenznze sok status. And, finally, it seems to have been most important as a means not of freeing women from the legal coverage of marriage but instead of freeing husbands from the debts of their TI-ives.The custom seems primarily to have benefited men." Even at the time of death, the distribution of resources ~vithinthe household economy was inequitable. The situation was strikingly different for men and women. Bereaved husbands usually retained full control of all household resources, for the death of a wife usually did not precipitate dissolution of the household economy. Bereaved ~vives,ho~vever,faced a much rnore difficult situation, for the death of a husband effectively dissolved the household economy; his death, not hers, was the impetus for resources to be dispersed, at least in part, to the next generation. In a few localities, TI-ido~vs were able to claim f ~ d control l of household resources, but most were able to retain only one-half or one-third. The customs of London were rnore generous than those of many towns, but even there, a nelv ~vido~v could claim only the following: (a) the marital house for as long as she lived or until she remarried, (b) one-third of the land and tenements of the household, and (c) one-third of the household's movable goods and chattels."' IlVorse yet, there was a difference between claiming a widow's portion and actually getting it, as heirs, creditors, and others commonly obstructed, delayed, and fi-ustrated widows'

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rights. This was so common that London courts developed a special "~vritof do~ver"~vhereby~vido~vs could sue to recover withheld properties. Only about half such suits were even partly s~lccessfill.""London's customs were not everywhere emulated, but the fundamental premise-that the household economy remained intact if a ~vifedied but dissolved ~vitha husband's death-never ~vavered,and many new widows therefore faced not only bereavement but also impoverishment.':' Some parents, of course, generously provided for their daughters as well as their sons, some husbands lvent to court to give their ~vives joint title to household properties, and some ~ ~ - i d oacceded ~vs fully to u t mitigation lvas not their husbands' workshops and g o ~ d s . ~ Bsuch the rule, and, to paraphrase John Stuart Mill, we should judge the household economy not by the behavior of good men (who often ease the force of patriarchal institutions) but rather by the behavior of bad men (~vhooften exploit such institutions to their fullest extent) .3Wence, lve cannot ignore the fact that medieval English laws and customs permitted husbands to deny their wives control over both their capital resources and their labor. Tll'ith a good husband and a happy marriage, a woman could achieve a satisfying working life. But such personal egalitarianism-~vhen or even if it existedwas shado~vedby inequality, for the husband's power remained in reserve, not fully yielded. With an indifferent husband or an abusive marriage, a lvoman could find herself a sort of servant to her husband or even cast aside altogether. TlVe can rarely glimpse such miseries in recourse only for medieval sources, but ecclesiastical courts-a women of some TI-ealth-offer a fe~vexamples. There, such women as Matilda Trippes of the Canterbury diocese in 1373 had to seek court orders to force their husbands to provide thern with the basic necessities of life.':' In both conceptualization and practice, the household economy was the husbnnd's household economy. The household economy, then, was never a site of rough and ready equality for women; instead, it lvas shot through with sexual inequality-from its basis as a social foundation of a patriarchal society, to its sexual division of household labor and its inequitable distribution of material resources. Hence, although historians have repeatedly described the household economy as a "partnership" of husband and wife, this description masks practical inequality beneath a rhetoric of mutuality; we tend to interpret "partners" as equals (as in "dornestic partnerships"), but only if we understand partnerships as unequal-as containing both senior and junior partners-can the TI-ordbe properly applied to medieral households. Daughters worked as hard as sons, but they took much less than their brothers fi-om

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their household economies; ~vivesworked as hard as their husbands, but their tasks were ancillary and their control of family ~vealthlvas strictly abrogated; ~vido~vs worked as hard as ~vido~vers, but they alone faced massive insecurity, as their household resources began to be dispersed to the next generation. Most medieral women lived and ~vorked~vithinsome variation of a household economy, but at every point in their lives, final control over the resources of that household econorny rested in the hands of m e n . " V o r lvomen, the medieval household economy was not an egalitarian refuge that capitalism and industrialism someho~Icruelly undermined.

Female Occupations S o r lvas the broader econorny a refilge for medieval lvomen. In England, "women's work" was limited, modest, and remarkably stable across the transition from a medieral economv to a modern one. Comparisons of TI-omen'soccupations across the centuries are difficult to draw: extant sources vary widely; occupational designations shifted; and of course, economic contexts also changed. Let me cornpare, ho~vever,t~vounusual "snapshots" of ~vornen'soccupations, one from the late fourteenth century and another three centuries later.:"' Because the fourteenth-centul7 data apply to single~l-omenand widows only, I will focus on this subset of omen in both times. 41y first snapshot is drmvn fi-orn the 1381 poll tax for the London suburb of South~vark;my second fi-om Peter Earle's tabulations for all of London (including South~vark)between 1695 and 1725. Table 4 matches as closely as possible the occupations of the late fourteenth century to the broad categories used by Earle for the early eighteenth century. X comparison of this nature is fraught ~vith difficulty. ,Ire fourteenth-century senants fillly comparable to domestic senants in 17003 Can a fourteenth-century suburb (and a poor suburb, at that) be fairly compared to a seventeenth-centul? metropolis? Should glovers and girdlers be regrouped with manufacturers? Yet if we pass over these conundrums and look at general patterns, some striking similarities emerge. First, note the basic stability in the occupational structure. Some occupations attracted remarkably similar proportions of single female ~vorkers-especially domestic senice, but also laundering, making clothes, and victualing. Others raried, but in ways that suggest either changing economic structures in the London region (for example, the decline in textile manufacture) or problems of categorization (for example, shopkeeping, as opposed to ha~vkingand carrying). Second, consider that most not-married ~vornen-in 1381

Dornestic senice Making/mending clothes

Ha\\.king/car rring Textile manufacture

hlisc. senices Misc. manufacture

Sell-ants: 62 Dressmalzers: 11 Tailors: 1 Cappers: 2 Girdler: 1 Lacemalzer: 1 Glorer: 1 Slidwife: 1 Barber: 1 12'ashenvomen: 6 Upholdsters: 3 Bi-el\-ers:3 Cooks: 2 Ostlers: 2 Tapsters: 2 Baker: 1 Garlicmonger: 1 Fisherman: 1 Fruitier: 1 Hucksters: 21 Fishbearer: 1 Spinsters: 2 1 Kempsters: 2 Dyer: 1 Fuller: 1 Gardener: 1 Skinners: 3 Shoemaker: 1 Saddler: 1 Carpenter: 1

Sollrcfs: T h e Kational 2k-cl~ires. PRO. El79 184190, and Pfrer Earle. "Thf Female Labor Market ill Lolidori ill the Late Sereriteelith arid Early Eigllteeritll Centuries," Ecotio~iiic.II;.\totj RPY';P?IL 2nd ser.. 42 (1989). 928-59. Note: I Irave excluded not-riiarried lvoriieli ill the 1381 poll tax lvllose occupatiolis were riot specified.

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as ~vellas 1700-~vorked in either service or the textile and clothing trades. In both 1381 and 1700, two of every five wornen found employment in service and a third ~vorkedin textile or clothing manufacturing. Third, note the absence of certain high-status and highincome occupations in both periods. In neither 1381 nor 1700 were single~vornenand ~vido~vs able to find employnent in long-distance trade, professional occupations, or civil eni ice.^" These data, difficult as they are to compare across the centuries, present two f~lrtherinterpretive challenges. First, they report on the occupations of only never-married or ~vido~ved women. IlVl~atabout married TI-omen?Mllen wives sought to supplement their household economies with paid labor, they found employment in the same occupations as not-married lvomen (~viththe important exception of domestic service, which often required residence at the place of employment). In late fourteenth-century HOTI-denshire, for example, poll tax assessors took the unusual step of recording the occupations of many wives, and their lists show that married TI-omenmost frequently worked in victualing, especially brewing. In Bristol in the 1330s, the main nondomestic trade of wives lvas the making or mending of c1othes.l' In late seventeenth-century London, Earle's figures show that wives worked most frequently in clothing manufacture, charring and laundering, victualing, and nursing." With the exception of domestic service, wives differed from single~vomenand TI-ido~vs not in the occupations they pursued as much as in the more intermittent nature of their ~vork;~vives,even more than lvomen of other marital statuses, were eternal amateurs.':' Second, these data report only on the experiences of TI-omenin London and its suburbs, atypical places in the fourteenth century as ~vellas the seventeenth century. Tll'hat about lvomen elsewhere in England? Information fi-om other localities-such as Oxford, Bristol, Exeter, and Ho~vdenshire-sllg~ststhe same trends: more lvomen worked in service than in any other sector of the economy; after service, textiles and clothing manufacturing attracted considerable numbers of women; very few women worked in high-status trades or wrapping up their occupations; and most of these fe~vlvere ~vido~vs husbands' b ~ s i n e s s e sIn . ~ this ~ sense, it is quite misleading to state, as one medieval historian has done, that ~vomen'soccupations constituted the "medieral equivalent of the Yellow Pages."l5 Most women found work in very limited sectors of the economy, and they were conspicuously absent from a large number of high-status occupations. Moreover, ~vhereverwornen worked-whether as domestic servants, seamstresses, launderers, or bre~vsters-their "~vornen'swork"

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had certain defining characteristics. It tended to be low-skilled; it usually yielded low remuneration in terms of either wages or profits; it was regarded with lo~vesteem; it lvas ~vorkthat combined easily ~vith a wide variety of other tasks or remunerative work. These characteristics are numbingly echoed in studies of ~vomen'swork in medieval and early modern England: in my study of early fourteenth-century rigs stock; in Mal-yanne Ko~valeski'sstudy of late fourteenth-century Exeter; in Diane Hutton's study of Shre~vsbul-yin the same century; in P. J. P. Goldberg's study of fifteenth-century York; in Sue Tli-ight's study of early modern Salisbury in M a n Prior's study of early modern Oxford; inJane Mllittle's study of rural TI-omen'swork between 1450 and 1630; in Peter Earle's study of London c. 1700." 1% matter ~vhat the actual occupations of wornen, they tended to ~vorkin lo~v-skilled, low-status, lo~v-paidjobs, and they also tended to be intermittent TI-orkers,jumping from job to job or juggling several tasks at once. This was true in 13.30; it remained true in 1700. h d , although - this stretches beyond my chronological scope, it was true in 18.30, too."

Guilds Guilds have seemed to promise the best chance of finding medieval English~vomenengaged in high-status, TI-ell-remuneratedwork. The term "guild" had wide uses in the Middle Ages and was applied to many sorts of associations, religious and political, as well as economic; I ~villhere focus on craft and trade guilds, also kno~vnas mjsteries or 07-tes or mPtie7-s. Women's access to guilds and guild-supervised work has been a keystone of descriptions of a great transition between medieval times (~I-hensuch access was supposedly extensive) and modern times (when access supposedly waned). Guilds wield little clout in the cities of today's European Union, but they lvere once central to urban life. By forming guilds, people engaged in the same trade or craft-that is, all TI-oolmerchants, all shoemakers, or all butchers-cooperated wit11 each other to their mutual economic, social, and religious benefit. As a rule, only skilled TI-orkersorganized guilds, and they were thus able to enjoy monopolistic control over their specialty, since only members could, in theory, engage in the trade or craft supervised by that guild. Although guilds included all members of a trade or craft, they were not egalitarian. Only the l?zcr.ster-sof a guild could maintain TI-orkshops, hire apprentices and other workers, and participate in guild politics and decisions. Tllbmen were sometimes guild mistresses, but most mistresses acceded to this role as widows and never, as we will see,

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~vieldedpolvers equivalent to those of masters. Subject to the control of masters (and sornetirnes mistresses) were t~votiers of workers: trained ~vageworkerscalled jourlzej?~zelzor journejzuomen, and apprentices indentured to be trained by a master (or mistress) for a set period of years. The main purpose of merchant or craft guilds was economic (they provided training for apprentices, regulated wages, set prices, and stipulated trade practices and quality), but they also took on social filnctions (such as sponsoring annual feasts), pursued pious activities (buqing the dead and participating in religious festivities), distributed charity (especially by caring for the families of dead members), and accrued political clout (guild membership was often a prerequisite to civic enfi-anchisernent). Guilds wielded all these powers in many European cities for centuries; merchant guilds lvere organized first, usually in the t~velfthand thirteenth centuries, and craft guilds followed, usually within a few generations. In English cities and towns, guilds flourished from the thirteenth through - the seventeenth centuries and in some cases survive even today, mainly as social institl~tions.~" In a movernent so vides spread, diversity lvas the rule-among guilds, bet~veencities and regions, and, of course, over time. This diversity makes it difficult to generalize about the complex and varied story of women's relationships to this important form of urban association.'" Yet it is fair to say that two contra17 pressures shaped women's place in guilds. On the one hand, the exigencies of the household economy required some accornrnodation of wornen ~vithinguilds. Most crafts and trades in medieral English towns operated out of household workshops in which materials were processed, goods were produced, and commodities were sold. Because ~vomen'swork was a critical part of these household workshops, guilds often had to recognize wornen in some way. On the other hand, guilds fostered companionship and protected privilege, creating ~vhatSheilagh Ogilvie has recently characterized as a form of "social capital.""' This companionship and privilege was largely a male prerogative, for it was mostly men who feasted and drank together, wore common guild liven at public f~lnctions, benefited fi-orn guild charity, controlled guild governance, received training under guild aegis, and profited fi-orn guild monopolies. Balancing these t~vopressures, guilds fi-om their earliest days both accommodated TI-omenand restricted them. This balancing act was continuous and delicate, but it has been flattened in many histories of TI-omen'swork into a single tilt of the scales across the centuries-that is, into an argument that lvomen once enjoyed a good access to guilds that slowly declined after 1500.

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As Bridget Hill put it in 1993, "From the late fifteenth century urban guilds began systematically to attack women as ~vorkerseither by marginalizing their participation in guilds or by totally excluding them, by caref~lllydefining the restricted area of work in TI-hichwomen were allowed, and by barring women from e n t n to certain trades."" Other historians have described "gradual exclusion," "mounting restrictions," "the ouster of wornen," and even an "onslaught."" Claims such as these are supported by five buttresses-ordinances that excluded women, evidence about female apprenticeships, mentions of the "sisters" of guilds, the presence of 1vido~1-ed mistresses TI-ithinguilds, and the existence of some exclusively female guilds. All have crumbling foundations. It is an easy matter to cite ordinances that excluded wornen fi-om guild-supervised ~vork,but the newness and effectiveness of such ordinances is more a matter of opinion than hard proof. Since, for example, the weavers guild of Bristol in 1461 ordered its members not to employ their wives, daughters, or female semants in weaving, then, as the thinking goes, those wives, daughters, and female servants 77zust have been doing such ~vorkbefore 1461 and were not doing it thereafter.""Yet guild ordinances of this sort provide iffy evidence of decline. First, proclamations restricting women's work in guilds can be found in even centul? between 1300 and 1700 (and beyond), so they might indicate more an ongoing antipathy toward TI-omen'scontinuing work than any new development. Second, like all ordinances, these reflect more intent than effect; indeed, one reason why ordinances repeat over many centuries might be that they so inadequately regulated women's informal work in guild-supervised trades. Third, these ordinances especially seem to proliferate in later centuries simply because more records are extant for later periods; in other ~vords, their greater numbers after 1300 are, at least in part, an archival artifact. And fourth, as several historians have noted, at least some of these ordinances seem to address short-term responses to economic crises and cannot, therefore, be placed within any story of long-term decline in female ~j-ork.~' It is also often claimed that female apprenticeships-and hence, the ability of young lvomen to pursue a professional life under guild aegis-declined ~vithmodernity. The argument rests largely on numbers. Caroline Barron has suggested that in medieval London "there were quite large numbers of unmarried girl apprentices" and that these numbers are a stark contrast to the late sixteenth century when "among 8000 apprentice enrollments not one was a ~uoman."" But, in fact, lve know about relatively few female apprentices in late medie-

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val London and relatively rnore later. Indeed, if lve relied on numbers alone (~vhichlve should not), lve would see expansion rather than contraction: Stephanie Hovland has the best figures for the later Middle Ages; working with the mayor's court of London, she found five female apprentices between 1300 and 1350, sixteen between 1351 and 1400, and t~venty-threefi-orn 1401 to 1430. Compare these figures to what Nancy Xdarnson found in the apprentice lists of the twelve great companies for Elizabethan London: seventy-three fernale apprentices."' The significance of numbers like these lies not in any trends they but instead in the impossibility of arguing from them. In might sho~1this instance, as in so many others, the incomparability of records is a problern that plagues numerical comparisons across the medievalrnodern divide: nurnbers derived fi-om the mayor's court simply tell a different s t o n from numbers derived from guild records. h o t h e r problem arises from different or incomplete sampling. In contrast to Xdamson, Yivien Brodsky Elliott found no female apprentices in the records of fifteen London cornpanies bet~veen1370 and 1640, and her negative finding is often cited, by Barron and others." Either Elliott's companies must not have encompassed the t~velveexamined by Adamson or she missed ~vhatXdamson found, especially in the records of the Haberdashers.'YX third problem is simply one of scale: documented female apprenticeships in London are so few and far bet~veen-five here, nineteen there-that statistically significant conclusions cannot be derived fi-orn them. '2nd a fourth problern rests in substantive changes that numbers can obscure. In some times and places, "apprenticeship" for girls was a system of fostering poor female orphans, not a system of craft training; as a result, rises and falls in nurnbers of female apprentices can sometimes tell 11s rnore about orphans and poor relief than about women in guilds. Xs Derek Keene has noted, even as early as the fourteenth century "it is possible that with women apprenticeship served more as a means of retaining cheap and relatively unskilled labour than as a way of passing on skill,".YI The numbers do tell 11s one thing, ho~vever:in both medieval and apprenticed, but boys early rnodern London, girls were occasio~zall~ lvere ~-~guln,-lj apprenticed. l'foreover, what we know of the experiences of those relatively few female apprentices before 1500 does not encourage optimistic interpretations. Hovland has recently shown that female apprenticeship in late medieval London followed similar legal forms but was othenvise distinctive fi-orn male apprenticeship: many fe~vergirls lvere apprenticed (perhaps one girl for every ten

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boys); girls were apprenticed mostly in textile crafts in ~vhich"the end-product lvas not necessarily managed by the producer"; and no female apprentice is kno~vnto have taken up the City's fl-eedorn at the end of her term, although this was common for males.'i0What Hovland found in London is generally true e1se~1-herein England and, indeed, on the Continent. Unmarried girls were sometimes apprenticed under guild aegis, but their numbers were exceedingly modest compared ~viththose of men; they tended to predominate in textile trades; and the end of their apprenticeships did not lead to guild or civic enfranchisement. Apprenticeship-TI-lletller in medieval or early modern to~l-ns-seldom entailed for women what it offered for men; it was rarely a route to recognized status as a skilled artisan. Guild references to "brothers and sisters" have also led historians to assume that the structures of guilds were sexually egalitarian. As Lucy Toulmin Smith put it in the introduction to her edition of guild records, "Scarcely five out of five hundred were not formed equally References to "brothers and sisters" are of men and of ~vornen.""~ not quite as common as this, and they especially proliferate in parish guilds, organizations that were devoted to piety, not trade or craft.'>' In distinct and perhaps telling contrast to parish guilds, the records of craft guilds refer more often to brothers only. kloreover, the presence of sisters in a guild's records is not an automatic sign of sexual egalitarianism. I have examined the relative roles of lvornen and men in one such medieval guild, the Bre~vers'guild of London, during the three decades (1418-38) when a clerk kept exceptionally detailed At the time, most records about the guild's personnel and busine~s.'~:' London guilds tolerated no sisters at all; this was true of the Grocers in 1383, the Coopers in 1439-40, and the Tll'eavers in 1456." The Brewers seern to have forthrightly ~velcornedwornen, who constituted one-third of the guild's membership fi-om 1418 to 1423. Many TI-omen-both brewsters TI-hoproduced ale and hucksters TI-hosold it-opted not to belong to the guild, but significant numbers of sisters paid twelve pence annually, just as did brothers. Severtheless, the sisters of the Bre~vers'guild lvere not like its brothers. l'fost sisters joined the guild because they lvere married to guildsmen; they attended guild feasts and other communal occasions in reduced numbers; few wore the liven of the guild, the hoods or gowns worn by nearly all male members at f ~ ~ n e r a lguild s, f~lnctions, and civic events; and none at all participated in the governance of the guild. ,Ill told, the sisters of the Bre~vers'guild were in the guild but not fillly part of it; they might best be described as working members

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rather than corporate members. Participating in reduced numbers in some aspects of guild life and fillly excluded fi-orn others, these Bre~vers' sisters represent a best-case scenario for wornen in late medieval guilds; after all, their guild was one of the few in London to accommodate sisters at all. In this relatively open circumstance, TI-omenassociated with the guild to the extent necessary to follow their trade, but they did not fillly partake of the rituals and customs through which the guild defined and asserted its collective identity. This best-case scenario reveals, then, the practical limits of what it could mean to be a guild sister.'>' M l a t , then, about 1vido~1-s, who enjoyed the most extensive guild privileges of all women? In the interest of maintaining the workshop of a deceased guildsman, guilds often allo~ved~vido~vs to supervise ~vorkshops,employ apprentices and other ~vorkers,and participate in selected religious and social activities. In many guilds, in fact, the o n l ~ female members-the onlv "sisters"-were 1vido~1-s. But even ~ ~ - i d o ~ v s were restricted members of guilds. As Keene's study of tanners' widrarely maintained o~vsin London before 1350 clearly shows, ~vido~vs their husbands' businesses for long, and they were primarily vie~ved as "vessels for the transmission of resources fi-orn one generation of male practitioners of the craft to the next.""" This was the intent of their dying husbands, as expressed in their TI-ills,and it was guild policy, too. Widows were not enfranchised TI-ithinguilds; they customarily did not participate fully in guild society and ceremony; they could sometimes lose their privileges on remarriage; and their numbers within guilds were always small.t1i The resolute maleness of guilds was ameliorated by a few guilds for women alone. Most TI-omen'swork was considered either too lowskilled or too low-status to merit a guild, so the majority of urban ~vomen-who worked as domestic senants, petty retailers, spinsters, prostitutes, and the like-~vere never recognized as skilled, much less organized into guilds.'": Of the few women's occupations that were then considered to be skilled, most failed to organize into guilds. Medieral mid^^-ives apparently never tried to organize themselves or even develop a licensing system; eventually, civic authorities imposed organization on them."" The fernale silk~vorkersof medieval London lvere both skilled and numerous, but they, too, never formally organized; by the time a guild finally took shape in the seventeenth century, the craft was controlled by men."' But a few exceptional female guilds existed in Rouen, Paris, Cologne, and Niirdlingen. All these fernale guilds supel~isedtextile work, such as silk spinning, ribbon making, embroidering, and fashioning women's clothes. In these

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guilds, wornen exercised considerable economic competence: they maintained craft secrets, trained apprentices, determined prices and quality, hired journe!~vomen, and guarded their monopolistic privileges. To some extent, their "powers over their craft were real."" Yet almost all these female guilds were subjected to exceptional external supervision, usually by men who served as governors. In any case, these female guilds were exceptional, indeed rare; none have been found, for example, in medieval England." '2nd since some femaleonly guilds flourished well into the eighteenth century, their presence manifestly cannot support a thesis of decline after c. 1500.':' Ogilvie has recently commented that "most historians of women's work have in recent years come to a clear-sighted recognition that there lvas no 'pre-capitalist' golden age ~vithinthe guild fi-arne~vork." She might be broadly correct, but historians of lvomen nevertheless persist, as Ogilvie's own examples show, in telling a story of "constraints placed on females by early modern guilds."" We have, in other words, kept the storyline but made it more subtle: medieval guilds were not golden, but they lvere still more hospitable to wornen than guilds after 1500 or so. We need, in my riel\; to question this narrative more thoroughly. Our evidence suggests neither a massive nor a subtle tilt of the scales against TI-omen;it suggests instead that, for guilds, TI-omen'slabor TI-ithinthe household TI-orkshopwas in constant tension wit11 the male community at the heart of every guild.

Wages There is a different sort of tension in my final index of TI-omen'swork: TI-omen'swages across the medieval and modern divide. Although only a minority of lvornen worked for lvages during these centuries, the sums they earned provide unusually precise measures of the perceived and real value of ~vomen's~vork.Our very earliest records of remunerated work show clearly that women's work was already poorly ralued. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the fcrmnli employed on manorial estates were mostly males, and the few tasks designated for females lvere unskilled and poorly paid. These patterns continued into the fourteenth century and beyond.'"~fedieval England was no promised land for ~vage-earninglvornen. But historians have long believed that it was just that, at least in the late fourteenth century when TI-orkerswere few and wages high, in the wake of the 1348-49 plague TI-hichkilled at least one-third and possibly as much as one-half of England's population. As long ago as the 1880s,James Thorold Rogers asserted that ~vomen'sunskilled work

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"~vasequally ~vellpaid ~viththat of men" during the subsequent golden age of laborers when even unskilled workers could negotiate good lvages. In the 1930s, William Beveridge just as confidently pronounced that the "principle of equal pay as between men and TI-omen for the same work was . . . accepted and put into practice more than 600 years [ago]." '2nd in the 1980s, Simon Penn concluded fi-om his study of harvesters in the late fourteenth century that "it is clear that lvhatever the actual task involved, the women lvkre being paid at the same rate as men."xi Not so. This appearance of wage equity-from records that show, for example, both TI-omenand men receiving 4d. a day for reapingobscures how wages were differentiated by age and ability as ~vellas sex. Relying less on anecdotal evidence and rnore on carefill quantitative analysis, Sandy Bardsley has recently established that there was, indeed, some sexual parity in late fourteenth-centul~wages, for "the highest-paid female wage-earners . . . might have sometimes earned as much as the 10~1-est-paid male TI-orkers."" But she has also sho~vn that a fernale paid as much as a male was, rnore often than not, a healthy full-gro~vnlvoman paid as much as a young boy or a disabled man. Moreover, Bardsley's analysis of an usually detailed lvage list for 1363-64 demonstrated that female harvesters earned on average 71 percent of the wages paid to male harvesters. She also found that the labor shortages that fo1lo~1-ed the denstation of plague in 1348-49, probably did not narrolv the lvage gap, for wornen in the 1330s lvere earning about the same. S o r did the easing of labor shortages by the fifteenth centul? much alter the wage gap: Mavis Mate and L. R. Poos have found similar ratios in their analyses of data from fifteenthcentul? Sussex and Essex, respectively.'Y;Ul told, a "convincing case" has now been made that wornen's wages in late medieval England lvere about three-quarters the wages paid to men.7!' Clearly, then, ~vomen'swages do not support a tale of medieval by modern "bad times," especially in light of "good times" fo1lo~1-ed statistics showing a wage gap of '7.5 percent in 2002. But it ~1-ou1d be wrong to think that the wage gap has barely budged between 1400 and 2000. Tllbmen's lvages have sometimes responded, in limited ~vays,to market forces. Thus, for example, Penelope Lane's recent figures for the eighteenth century suggest that lvornen were often then paid only one-half the wages of men, although some women received wages in the 75 percent range.soIt is fair to say, ho~vever,that ever since a wage-earning sector emerged in the Middle Ages, the lvage gap has fluctuated within a fairly stable range, ~vithlvornen paid

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about one-half to three-quarters the wages of men: this was true of female laborers in the early fourteenth century; of female hamesters in the early fifteenth century; of female reapers and other workers in the eighteenth century; of female agricultural workers in the nineteenth century; and of women working in the modern wage market.s' There is little that the economy of a fourteenth-century M'estminster manor shares with a M'estminster business today, but in both, women's wages fell significantly short of the wages earned by men. Medieval employers were apparently as keen as modern employers to exploit this fact to cut costs. The author of a thirteenth-century treatise on estate management advised hiring a lvornan for certain tasks because she could be relied on to work "for much less money than a man would take. ''*? This historic lvage inequity cannot be rationalized out of existence. Some historians, relying on neoclassical economic theory, are now asserting that ~vomen'slower wages reasonably reflected their lower productivity. Joyce Burnette has explained women's lo~verproductivity more in social terms (less education, less skill, poorer nutrition) and John Hatcher more in biological terms (less strength, more family distractions), but both agree that ~vomen'slower wages reflect not unfair sex discrimination but simply sex differentiation.":' In their view, women have rightly earned less because their work has been less valuable to employers. But as Lane has meticulously shown in her recent study, such arguments inadequately account for the wage gap. Lane has analyzed all the arguments that seek to justify the wage gap-that stronger men are more productive than weaker lvomen, that men spend more hours at ~vorkthan lvomen distracted by dornestic duties, that wages paid in kind quite properly give more food to men than to lvornen, and that women are less skilled than men-and she has found each lacking in explanatory power. Lane has thereby demonstrated that wornen's wages were not market-rate lvages but were instead based on an expectation that a woman should earn onehalf to three-quarters of a man's wage for the same work. She concludes-and I agree-that women's wages certainly fluctuated in response to labor shortages, occupational alternatives, and other economic forces, but that women were usually paid a wage that relied more on custom than on the market.s1In TI-omen'swages, gender ideologies trump economic forces. As a result, the lvage gap, which seems to have a history as old as wage work itself, long antedates modernity.

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Qualifications and Implications In the histon of English TI-omen'swork between 13.30 and 1700, then, we may fairlf conclude that there was no great divide between a precapitalist medieval golden age and a capitalist modern age of growing inactivity and exploitation. This does not mean that the history of ~vomen'swork in medieval England is a story of "unalloyed gloom and r e p r e s ~ i o n . " ~ Y emedieral s, English~vomenfaced considerable economic obstacles, but most managed to support themselves and their families, many were likely satisfied by helpmeet roles and the social approval they received as "good~vives,"and some, fortunate in situation, family, or personality, were even able to prosper. But these circumstances-many obstacles, much coping and satisfaction, some prosperity-seern to have been not much different in 1330 than in 1700. Changes occurred during these centuries, to be sure: the household economy lost its effectiveness in some economic sectors; women left some occupations and took up others; guilds became generally more exclusive; female lvage earners competed more or less effectively for good wages; capitalized businesses began to emerge in, for example, brewing and moneylending, and these businesses were run almost exclusively by men. Yet, using the terms I outlined in the preceding chapter, these were, for lvomen, changc.~,not tr(~lzsformntions. Many of the changes that occurred were of cluite short duration. For example, economic theory, backed by some evidence, suggests that the labor shortages of the decades that followed the Black Death improved the lot of wage-earning lvomen. During the underpopulated late fourteenth century, lvage differentials bet~veenunskilled and skilled laborers narro~l-ed considerably, and since ~vomen'swork lvas generally unskilled ~vork,~vornen's~vages-together ~vithlvages paid unskilled men-gained ground on skilled wages. The wage gap per se did not narrow much or at all, but because unskilled 1vage~1-orkers had better bargaining polver, lvornen benefited along ~vithmen. For another example, many guild ordinances against ~vomen'swork seem to have been prompted by hard times and to have been enforced, if at all, only briefly. Hence, such ordinances were common in London during the difficult years of the 1.340s; they are rare before and rare tl~ereafter.~" Changes such as these are important, for, among other things, they indicate both the vulnerability of female workers and the economic usefulness of their occupational adaptability. We need to study shifts such as these in more detail, but we also need to remember that they proved to be ephemeral.

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Mo1eorel, eren the most posltlr e shlfts affected only a small mlnol~tyof Itomen Most of oul eudence fol an llnplorernent In the ~volkof wornen aftel the 1348-49 plague, fol example, lng oppoltun~t~es ~ m o l \ e sruag~~(~t7zz7zg nomen or nomen In u~Da7zlocales Yet relatlr ell fen people (and e\en feller nomen than men) no1 ked fol nages In the late1 Allddle Ages, and 1elatn ely few people llr ed In towns and cltles "And er en In the best of ell cumstances, only a few wornen I\ el e able to take advantage of the new opportunities that were potentially theirs. For example, Goldberg has argued that women found in early fifteenth-century York an expanding and favorable economy, partly basing his argument on a rise in female admissions to the freedom of the city; he found cause for optirnisrn in the fact that almost half (45 percent) of the lvomen admitted to York's fi-eedom in the later Middle Ages were admitted in the three decades fi-orn 1414 to 1444. Fair enough, but few women actually acquired civic enfranchisement between 1414 and 1444: fifty-two women, to be precise, in a population of well over 10,000, and in a city in which literally thousands of men gained the fi-eedom during the same decades and thousands of women still ~vorkedin lower-paid female jobs." Even genuine changes sometimes had very limited effect. Finally, these ephemeral and limited changes must also be placed within a context of enduring continuities in the experiences of TI-omenworkers. Most women-in 1350 as well as 1700-sought to support themselves and their families through a variety of lo~v-skilled, low-status, and lo~v-paidoccupations. In the ~vorldof pre-industrial England, all people, men as well as women, worked hard, long, and in difficult circumstances, but the working status of women was consistently lower than that of their brothers and husbands: they received less training, they ~vorkedat less desirable tasks, they enjoyed less occupational stability, they had ~veakerwork identities, and they received lo~ver~vages."TThislvas as true in the best of times as in the worst of times. We need to collect more information about how TI-omen'swork and wages shifted within this frame^^-ork of economic subordination, but the framework remained: there was no transformation. In one sense, my argument ~viththose ~ v h oposit a great transition in women's ~vorkis a perceptual one. Some scholars look at the "glass" of TI-omen'seconomic activity in late medieval England and see it as half f~lll;I see the same "glass" but it looks half empty to me. Our disagreement is, ho~vever,more substantial than this. Scholars who ~vork~vithina paradigm of great transformation see women's work within an entirely different fi-ame~vork,a fi-ame~vorkthat best

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accornrnodates not small and temporary changes but instead dramatic transformation. This fi-ame~vorkmakes most historians comfortable, for it fits ~vell~vithour standard story of a modern Europe that arises, utterly transformed, from the ashes of the Middle Ages. It also suits liberal feminism well, for it implies that a golden age for ~vomen-part of the relatively recent past of the M'est-can be easily recovered in the filture ~vithoutmajor structural changes. '2nd it suits socialist feminism just as well, for it also suggests that capitalism is the main villain in women's subordination. T~Vithinthis ever-adaptable frame~vork,the Middle hges-a time when household economies firmly subordinated TI-omenunder the authority of their husbands, ~vhenwomen's work lvas characteristically low-status, low-skilled, and low-paid, ~ v h e nguilds poorly accornrnodated wornen ~vorkers,and ~vhenwomen ~vorkedfor lvages far belo~vthose paid to men-is misremembered as a "golden age," a "paradise," or even just a time of "independent authority" TI-hichearly modern TI-omen"lost." Medieval TI-omen'swork was no paradise, nor, for that matter, an inferno; it lvas instead, in some broad respects, remarkably similar to ~vomen'swork today. This continuity is one of history's challenges for ferninist theorists and activists. In the United States today, the wage gap is about the same as in Britain-that is, TI-omenearn about threequarters the wages of men, although precise ratios rary, especially by region, race, and education level. The main feminist group working on this issue, the National Committee on Pay Equity, begins its historical understanding of the lvage gap in a predictably truncated fashion, going no further back than 1932.'"' As a result, SCPE feminists see steady progress, citing on their website an improvement from .39 cents on the dollar earned by men in 1963 to about 76 cents today. If they ~vouldlook further down the "long cool corridors of the past," SCPE feminists ~vouldsee their short-term data in a different light."' It seems quite possible that U.S. ~vomen'slvages have improved in recent decades only within the range of fluctuation-a wage gap of has long been characteristic of the one-half to three-fourths-that 107z.g~~~ dnr-ie of European history. Placed inside the frame of a 11'estern patriarchal equilibrium, this looks more like movement within a firm but flexible range than substantive breakthrough."' If so, ~vhatare the best ferninist tactics for narrowing the gap even filrther so that lvornen's wages move closer to parity? After all, the history I have reviewed here suggests that the wage gap is more a matter of ideology than economics or law. A wage gap that has flourished in manors, guilds, factories, and offices, in monarchies as well as democracies, and in both economic booms and economic busts seems unlikely to yield I

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much ground to the nelv union policies, new employer guidelines, or new national la~vs. Continuity challenges feminist historians as much as it challenges feminist activists. TlVe have seen here how history's seductive tale of the advent of modernity obscures strong and sure continuities in women's work across the centuries. If ~ v elook critically at other aspects of ~vornen'shistory-family relations, patterns of marriage and fertility, political participation, religious life, and so on-we will discern similar ties that bind medieval and modern TI-omen.The tale of a great divide between that medieval age and this modern world is beguiling, but it is more fiction than fact. As the next chapter shows, unpacking that fiction in ~vomen'shistory does more than yield continuities, for looking into the deep past can help 11s to see modern times in new ways, too. It will show how the particular challenges of studying lesbians in the Middle Ages has yielded a concept-lesbianlike-that can help explode the heteronormativity of women's histom, modern as well as medieval.

C1mf)ter 6

The L-Word in Women's History

In the early 1990s when I first began talking about the L-word in ~0111en's histol?, some people expected me to be speaking about "liberal." With the 2004 debut in the United States of the lesbian soap opera The L Tl'ol-dl, ~vhatlvas once obscure is nolv likely much clearer. By "L-~vord,"I mean to evoke the lesbians and lesbianisms that are so often effaced in the writing of women's history. This effacement is a long-standing part of Il'estern culture, which, in the words of Judith Brown, has adopted an "almost active willingness to disbelieve" in fernale same-sex love.' It is also, alas, a part of ferninist scholarship and ferninist history. In an article first published in 1977 and much reprinted since, Adrienne Rich urged feminist scholars to cease reading, writing, and teaching from what she later called "a perspective of unexamined heterocentricity.'" Yet more than a quarter century later, ~vomen'shistory still skips lightly over the presence of lesbians and the possibilities of lesbian experience. The problem is not lesbian history; it is doing just fine, thank you, ~vithconference sessions, articles, and books galore exploring aspects of same-sex love among women in the past. The problem is women's histol?, within TI-hichlesbianism remains a tricky subject and sometimes an unspeakable one. Simply put, ~vornen'shistory has a lesbian problem. In making this charge, I do not mean to efface the advances of the last fe~vdecades. The recent renaissance of lesbian history is an outgrowth, in part, of the safe haven women's history has provided by opening its journals and conferences to work on ~vomen'ssame-sex relations in past times. In 2001-4, the three main English-language women's history journals published a dozen or so articles on lesbians or lesbian-related topics, and at the 2003 meeting of the Berkshire Conference more than two dozen papers did the same; TI-hetherthis is "enough" or not, I do not know, but it is certainly something.:' Lesbians ns l~sbia~zs-separated out, segregated, different-have become an accepted and integral part of TI-omen'shistol?, readily included, especially ~vhenthey were in-your-face, well-documented, self-naming

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lesbians. But-and this is the crux of the problem addressed in this chapter-women's historians regularly overlook lesbian possibilities that are more subtle, obscure, or a~vk~vard. l'fost of us still see the past in heteronormative terms, closeting our thinking by failing to consider that the dead women we study might have been other than heterosexuals, other than ~vives,mothers, and lovers of men. This problem-I could, in a spirit of playfillness, call it a lack of "gaydar"-pervades all fields of ~vomen'shistory, including my olvn. One feminist historian has characterized the lives of medieval nuns as "distorted and unhappy," because she saw them as forced to choose between the joys of heterosexual intercourse and motherhood, on the one hand, and a life of learning and contemplation, on the other. For Gerda Lerner, nuns were to be pitied for giving up the self-evident joys of heterosexual sex and m o t h e r h ~ o dAnother .~ ferninist historian has produced an impassioned histol? of female monasticism, a histon that elides the evidence-as discussed by h n Matter and others-of intense emotional and homoerotic relations between medieval nuns. For Jo Ann McSamara, the celibacy of medieval nuns seems to have been threatened only by men.%d a third ferninist historian has written about peasant wornen in the Middle Ages as if they were all heterosexual maidens, wives, or ~1-ido1vs. For myself, when I studied peasant women, the marriage-defined roles of not-yet-wed daughter, married wife, and bereaved ~vido~lloomed deceptively large." These are examples enough, for I wish in this chapter to explore not the problem but instead a solution to it: the concept of "lesbianlike. "'I came to this solution in a circuitous way, while contemplating the curious fact that gay and lesbian studies, particularly of periods before 1800, abound wit11 insightf~llanalyses of texts produced by the po~verfilland privileged, but are relatively poor in scholarship about the ordinary lives of average people. Gratified by the rich insights yielded by intellectual, cultural, and literary studies of same-sex love, I aspired to complement these with more complete understandings of the same-sex relations of people TI-howere more real than imagined and more ordinary than extraordinary.Vor example, I was delighted to read about h o ~ vmedieval theologians conceptualized (or failed to conceptualize) same-sex relations bet~veenwornen; about ho~vmedieval nuns might have expressed same-sex desire in their kissing of images of Christ's TI-ound;about how a lesbian character might have lurked in a thirteenth-century romance with a crossdressed heroine; and about how a fourteenth-century Parisian play explored the meanings of accidental marriage bet~veent~vo~vomen." But I ~vantedmore. I wanted to know about the actual practices and

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lives of ordinary wornen-the more than 90 percent of medieval ~vomen-who never met a theologian, contemplated Christ's ~vound, heard a romance, or smv a Parisian play. I knew from the beginning that my desire for a social histol? of lesbians, especially medieral ones, was perverse. Before the twentieth century, sexual minorities are hard to find, and they can be traced most often in records of legal or religious persecution, records ~vhose terse, sad entries compete poorly ~viththe rich and illuminating writings of philosophers, monks, diarists, and novelists. Lesbian histories are, of course, even more challenging to construct than the histories of male homosexuals, for even fewer documents tell of past lesbians among either privileged or ordinary folk. Women lvrote less; their ~vritingssul~ivedless ~vell(Sappho's ~vorksare the classic example); and they lvere less likely than men to come to the attention of civic or religious authorities. For more recent times, it is certainly easier to locate lesbians of ordinal? circumstances-think, for example, of the love shared by Xddie Brown and Rebecca Primus in late nineteenthcentury Hartford (Connecticut) or the culture of lesbian bars in the mid-twentieth-century U.S. cities of Buffalo and San Francisco.'" But even recent lesbian history abounds with lvornen who lvere ~vealthier, better educated, more POTI-erful,and more articulate than most: Anne Lister, Radclyffe Hall, Gertrude Stein, 41. Carey Thomas, Eleanor Roosevelt, Rita Mae Brown. As to medieval lesbians, they are almost impossible to find. \Ye have information about lesbian practices in the writings of theologians and canonists, in some suggestive literary texts, and even in a few artistic representations, but if we want to write about actual TI-omen~vhom extant sources explicitly associate with same-sex genital contact, we have fifteen wornen for the entire medieval millennium: all but one fi-orn the fifteenth century, and all of thern either imprisoned, banished, or executed for their activities.ll This is material for only a -r~e,y modest social histol?. I sought to solve this problem by broadening my perspective to include women TI-hoseexperiences were what I have chosen to call "lesbian-like": lvomen ~vhoselives might have particularly offered opportunities for same-sex love; women ~vhoresisted norms of ferninine behavior based on heterosexual marriage; women ~ v h olived in circumstances that allowed them to nurture and support other women (to paraphrase Blanche Il'iiesen Cook's famous formulation) .I2I first coined the term "lesbian-like" in a paper presented in 1990; Martha Yicinus adopted it to good effect in an article published in 1994; and it is nolv being used by such other historians as "Uison

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Oram and Laura Go~ving.~" Thus far, ho~vever,the terrn has been deployed mostly within lesbian history, and I believe its greatest potential lies ~vithinwomen's history, where it can purge our historical vision of heternormativity and challenge us to acknowledge some past behaviors that are related to modern lesbianism. Today, many historians of women pause at the L-word threshold. Tll'e agonize "Was she or wasn't she?" We fi-et about applying our contemporary term "lesbian" to wornen long dead. We pause over the difference between sexual identities and sexual acts. "Lesbian-like" can get us over the threshold, out of the master's house, and into possible TI-orldsthat we have heretofore seldom been able to see.

Searching for Lesbians It is no accident that "lesbian-like" has emerged from a quest for l?zedirutll lesbians, a quest that epitomizes the queer turn in gay and lesbian studies.' ' Responding to the sparse evidence for actual lesbian practices, medievalists have mostly adopted intellectual or cultural approaches, not social history. The intellectual approach has focused on why lesbianism was so underplayed-compared to male hornosexuality-in the literatures of the Middle Ages. Most medieral physicians discussed male homosexuality much more fully than lesbianism; most authors of penitentials (handbooks designed to guide priests in assigning penance during confession) either ignored lesbianism or rated it a lesser sin than male homosexuality; and most theologians similarly either overlooked or trivialized same-sex relations between TI-omen.To John Boswell, lesbian practice was so relatively untroubling because it left bloodlines undisturbed; since same-sex intimacy bet~veenwornen neither produced bastards nor introduced false heirs into lineages, it was relatively unproblernatic.lTo Jacqueline Murray, the phallocentric sexuality of the Middle Ages best explains its obf~lscationof lesbian activity; as long as TI-omen-loving women did not use dildoes or other devices that seemingly mimicked penises, their same-sex relations were not seen by many medieral writers as being fully sexual.l"o Harry Kuster and Raymond Cormier, sperm loom larger than phalluses; Kuster and Corrnier suggest that in the "spermatic economy" of medieval understandings of sex, little harm was done in same-sex relations between TI-omen,since no sperm was spilled." To Joan Cadden, lesbian invisibility is part of the subordinate place of all women in the Middle Ages; seen as lesser, more passive, and secondary players in reproduction, lvomen were easily overlooked by rnost physicians and natural philosophers.18

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These explanations are plausible, intriguing, and not mutually exclusive. But they too often construe a small number of ~vritersas representing broad medieval realities, reconstructing medieval attitudes about same-sex love between TI-omenmostly from the ideas of clerics-that is, the most male and most sexually anxious segment of medieval society. The obsel~ationsand speculations of this clerical minority are certainly impressive, but their ~vorldvie~v too often becomes, in modern interpretations, the medieval ~vorldvie~v."' I arn delighted to know what medieral theologians, canonists, and physicians thought about lesbianism, but their thoughts represent their sex, their education, their class privilege, and their professional contexts, as ~vellas their time. In this sense, I arn sympathetic with Catharine L~facKinnon'scomment that in most histories of sexuality "the silence of the silenced is filled by the speech of those who have it and the fact of the silence is f ~ r g o t t e n . " ~ " Still, in comparing how medieral theologians, physicians, canonists, and other authors treated male homosexuality and lesbianism, this intellectual approach has usefully delineated differences between elite perceptions of male same-sex relations, on the one hand, and female same-sex relations, on the other. To these medieval writers, same-sex love between women seemed less sexual than male homosexuality; it more often prompted explanations based on purported physical deformities; it was doubly perverse for positing love not only of the snnw sex but also of the lesser sex; and if it resulted in marriage resistance, it could be profoundly disruptive." Among these authors, same-sex relations between women and between men in the Middle Ages were not entirely unrelated, but they were certainly distinct. remind us that when a medieral These elite understandings usef~~lly lvoman had sex ~vithanother woman she did so ~vithinphysical, social, - . familial, sexual, and gendered contexts quite different fi-orn those of a medieval man who had sex ~vithanother man." Literal? and cultural scholars have also responded in creative ways to the virtual absence of actual TI-omenfrom the sources of medieral lesbianisms.':' In their provocative readings of medieval texts, these critics have found homoerotic possibilities not only in the medieval media mentioned earlier but also in the music of the t~velfth-century polymath Hildegarde of Bingen; in the piety of the mystic Had~vijch of Brabant; in the admonitions of the anonvmous author of Holy lll.lcridenlzecrd, a treatise for the guidance of holy virgins; in the ravings of the would-be mystic Margery Kempe; and even in the crossdressing of Joan of Although these analyses offer insightful commentaries on how lve might better imagine the sexual mentalities

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of the l'fiddle Ages, even the best of them can give me pause. As literary criticism, these readings reach plausible conclusions, but as guides to social history, they are considerably less convincing. To begin with, many of these readings draw on mystical texts, texts that were profoundly obscure at the time of their composition and are profoundly hard to interpret today. As Ulrike Tll'iethaus has suggested, the obscurity of these texts vzight have allo~vedfemale mystics to express and still mask same-sex desires.'But the obscurity of these texts might also encourage modern scholars to read desires into them that would have been foreign to their authors: fascinating readings, in other TI-ords,rather than historically plausible ones. Caroline Brnum, ~vhoseopinions have considerable authority in studies of mysticism, female spirituality, and conceptions of the body, has resisted lesbian readings of such texts, arguing that lve too readily sexualize medieval somatic experiences and expressions. Others, such as Karma Lochrie, vehemently disagree, arguing that Bynum resolutely sees maternity TI-heresame-sex affections might, in fact, have been at play."' The debate on this issue has onlyjust begun, but in the meantime, those who are, like myself, interested in actual people and plausible behaviors might best respond with caution to literary readings of same-sex expressions in mystical texts. In other cases, I have been more impressed by the cleverness of modern critics than I am by the historicity of their arguments. It is great fun, for example, to read Lochrie's impressive exploration of the artistic, literary, and linguistic ties between Christ's ~voundand female genitalia, and to speculate, therefore, that the kissing of images of Christ's wound by medieval nuns someho~vparalleled lesbian oral sex. Even Lochrie, ~OTI-ever, does not claim that any medieval nun who contemplated Christ's ~voundever, in fact, lvas really thinking about the last night's tumble in bed with a sister nun." Tll'ithin the traditions of literary scholarship, readings such as Lochrie's can stand on their own, properly appreciated for their caref~ll and insightful explication of interpretive possibilities. These readings also have a power of their own, helping us to explode medieral taxonomies that might have obscured or overlooked relationships bet~veen~vomen.'Vetthey speak less directly about the historical issues that concern me-about the possibilities of same-sex love between actual women in the Middle Ages. "Lesbian-like" seeks to move beyond elite understandings of lesbian relations and intriguing but not fully historicized readings that interrupt, redirect, or even queer canonical texts. In complementing these intellectual and cultural approaches with social historical study,

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it also replaces paucity-the brief notices of the fifteen women ~ v h o found themselves in legal trouble for same-sex relations in the l'fiddle Ages-~vith plentitude. Tll'hat lesbian-like does for medieval ~vornen's histol?, it can do for ~vomen'shistory more broadly, too. There might always be only a few women in past eras for whom we can be reasonably confident about same-sex genital contact, but these need not be the only lvomen whose stories are relevant to lesbian history, and relevant, as ~vell,to a women's history that is more open to lesbian possibilities.

Lesbian-Like It may seern crazy to create yet another piece ofjargon and to link to it a troubled term like "lesbian." After all, no one today is really sure what "lesbian" means. Are lesbians born or made? Do lesbians delight in sex wit11 women only or can the term encompass those who enjoy sex with men as well as women? What defines lesbian sexgenital contact, "bosorn sex," or an even more amorphous "erotic in fernale terms"?" And, indeed, might sexual practice be less determinative of lesbianisrn than desire for wornen, pl-i?lzn)y love for women (as in "~voman-identifiedwoman") , or even political commitment to women (especially as manifested in resistance to "compulsory heterosexuality") ? Lesbian theorists offer us debate on these questions, not firm agreement, and this definitional fluidity has been a source of both anxiety and flexibility. Nevertheless, the ever-changing contemporary meanings of "lesbian" have often been belied by a persistent assumption of a core lesbian identity, especially TI-henused in such expressions as "she came out as a lesbian." This invocation of identity is both affirrning and embarrassing. To me, it still speaks powerfully about the revelation of self I felt ~vhenI first had sex ~vithanother wornan in 1973, but it also now seems unduly naive, simple, and maybe even silly. Still worse, it can work to obf~lscatecritical differences. Do rarious sorts of TI-omen who love TI-omen-femmes and hutches, lesbian feminists and lipstick lesbians, vanilla lesbians and sexual radicals, American lesbians and Jarnaican lesbians, rich lesbians and poor ones, fifteen-year-old lesbians and fifty-five-year-old lesbians, Xi-ican American lesbians and Asian American lesbians, and perhaps most challenging of all, transgender lesbians-really share enough to fit comfortably under the rubric "lesbian"? These are troubles enough, but, for historians, "lesbian" is also troubled by its apparent contemporaneity. To many scholars, the use

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of "lesbian" to describe lvornen before the late nineteenth century reeks of ahistoricism, and especially of the naive search for past heroines plucked out of historical context and reclaimed for contemporary uses. For some (mostly premodernists), it is important to preserve the past from present concerns. For others (mostly modernists), it is important to preselle the distinctiveness of modernity, especially as represented by a pseudo-Foucauldian paradigm that restricts sexual identities and, indeed, sexuality itself to the modern era."" Strange bedfel1o~1-s-traditional premodernists and lesbian/gay/ queer theorists-and their coalition is po~l-erf~ll enough to encourage many scholars to abandon "lesbian" in favor of terms less laden with contemporary identities, such as "hornoerotic" or "same-sex relations." Indeed, the refilsal to apply the terrn "lesbian" to historical subjects often serves to affirrn an author's historical professionalism, offering a strategic seal-of-approval that is especially important for scholars working on marginalized topics.:" This concession is both unnecessary and counterproductive. To begin with, "lesbian" has considerable antiquity, and its use by historians accords ~vellwith long-accepted professional practices. More than a thousand years ago, the Byzantine commentator A-ethas associated "lesbian" TI-it11same-sex relations between TI-omen.By equating L ~ b i a TI-it11 i t~-ibad~,s and Izrtairist~-iai,Arethas indicated that, to at least one person in the tenth century, the term "lesbian" roughly signified ~vhatit roughly signifies today."' It might have meant much the same to the poet Louise Lab6 who, in mid-sixteenthIn English, the century France, wrote about "l'amour Le~bienne."'~'~ first uses of "lesbian" to denote same-sex relations between TI-omen date as early as the 1 7 3 0 ~ . Unlike '~' "gay" or "queer," then, "lesbian" has deep historical roots. Yet even ~vithoutthese roots, "lesbian" can, with due care, apply just as ~vellto the past as do many other terms that have recent origins or meanings. In historical ~vriting,it is common practice to use modern words to investigate past times; for example, "feudalism" and "courtly love," both inventions of the nineteenth century, are firmly enshrined within the discourses of medieyal studies.""d it is not uncommon to find thatJakob Fugger was a "capitalist" (long before Adarn Smith and Karl Marx), that Thomas Aquinas was "Catholic" (although he lived several centuries before Catholicism took on its post-Reformation meaning), or that the Black Prince prepared for "kingship" (even though it was kingship of a different sort from that anticipated today by Charles Windsor). Historians well know that part of our task is to assess the changing meanings of ~vords over time and to weigh differences as well as similarities in their uses.

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We should t1-y to allow the same historical range, with the same cornparative cautions, for "lesbian." Indeed, to do other~visedoes more harrn than good. First, the ref~lsalto use "lesbian" defers to homophobia and thereby promotes heteronormative misconceptions of the past. To some people, "lesbian" is a more upsetting word than "capitalist," "Catholic," or "king," and it can seem rude or slanderous to suggest that wornen such as Margery Kelnpe or Hildegarde of Bingen had feelings or experiences that we might associate wit11 modern lesbianisms. This homophobic anxiety works on many levels, some articulated and others unacknowledged. Its main effect is bad history, history driven by heteronormative imperatives. For example, our modern sexual regime of dividing lvomen according to sex of lovers-and thereby labeling them as lesbian, heterosexual, bisexual, queer, or ~vhateverdoes not seem to work well for the European Middle Xges. Penitentials suggest that medieval theologians thought in terms of a wide range of sexual activities, among TI-hichchoosing a lover of the same sex was only one of many possible sexual sins. Romances suggest that aristocratic husbands ~vorriedmost that their ~vivesmight produce illegitimate heirs and less that their wives might love others or, indeed, might sexually play with lovers in nonreproductive ways. h d a wide variety of sources indicate that medieral people identified themselves less by any sexual practice and more by other criteria~villfulor repentant sinner; householder or dependent; serf, fi-ee, or ~vell-born;Christian or Jew. Insofar as there were sexual identities in the Middle Xges, the best articulated might have been those of the celibate and the virginal.:">These are important and profound differences that separate the TI-orldof medieral Europe from our world today, but they disappear in history-~vritingthat eschews lesbian possibilities and seeks out heterosexuality as pervasive, natural, and ideal."' Second, a refusal to apply "lesbian" to the distant past stabilizes things that are better kept in a state of productive in~tability.'~"~ there such a stable entity as a modern lesbian? Clearly not. Was there such a stable meaning to "lesbian" in any past time? Probably not. should play ~viththese instabilities and learn fi-om them, not reify one in order to deny relationship ~viththe other. For example, medieval sexual regimes look very different fi-orn our own, but our information is, as yet, preliminary and even contradictory. Some scholars are finding that medieral people operated on a one-sex ~ystem;'~" others that medieval people embraced a TI-o-sex binary that rigidly separated male and ferna1e;"'and still others that medieval people played readily with ideas about intermediate genders or third sexes.41The Il'e

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meaning of this variety-~vhether an artifact of sources or historians, or an accurate reflection of medieval ideologies-is not yet clear. We need rnore reading, rnore research, and more speculation before lve can sort out even the most basic aspects of medieral sexual practices. In these circumstances, it TI-ouldbe counterproductive to create a tidy discrimination between the abundance of modern lesbianisms and what lve still have to learn about medieval sexualities. In short, one of our first steps to~vardunderstanding the antecedents of modern sexual identities must be to examine how well and how poorly our modern ideas of "lesbians" and "heterosexual TI-omen"and "bisexuals" and "queers" work for the past. If we avoid these terms altogether, we will only create a pure, inviolable, and irrelevant past: a fetish instead of a history. In her recent study of early modern lesbianism, ITalerieTra-allb opted to italicize "lesbian" and "lesbianism" for almost five hundred pages in order to remind her readers of "their epistemological inadequacy, psychological coarseness, and historical ~ o n t i n g e n c y . " 'I~appreciate her hesitations, but ultimately any noun is similarly inadequate, coarse, and contingent. "House~vife"is, like "lesbian," a modern identity ~vhose meanings cannot be readily transposed fi-om the t~venty-firstcentury to the fifteenth. But we trust historians of 11ouse1vifel-yand domesticity to manage the differences. Since no word has transparent meaning, now or in the past, surely we need not single out "lesbian" as a word that must be proscribed or even merely italicized. In any case, I am suggesting not the use of "lesbian," but instead the use of "lesbian-like," a hyphenated construction that both names "lesbian" and destabilizes it.": The "lesbian" in "lesbian-like" articulates the often-unnamed, forcing historians TI-11omight prefer otherwise to deal with their own heteronormative assumptions and ~viththe possibilities of lesbian expressions in the past. Yet at the same time as the terrn forthrightly names the unnamed, the "like" in "lesbianlike" decenters "lesbian," introducing into historical research a productive uncertainty born of likeness and resemblance, not identity. It allows us to expand lesbian possibilities beyond a narrow and quite unworkable focus on lvomen who engaged in certifiable same-sex genital contact (a certification hard to achieve even for many contemporary women), and to incorporate lvomen ~vho,regardless of their sexual pleasures, lived in ways that offer affinities TI-it11modern lesbians-such as sexual rebels, gender rebels, marriage-resisters, crossdressers, single~vomen,and TI-omenwho found special sustenance in female ~vorldsof love and "Lesbian-like" allo~vsa social historian like myself to explore affin-

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ities that are broadly sociological-affinities related to social conduct, marital status, living arrangements, and other behaviors that might be traced in the archives of past societies. I ~vouldtherefore like to play wit11 the implications of naming as lesbian-like a range of practices that impinge on our own modern-and very rariable-ideas about lesbianism. If wornen had genital sex with other wornen, regardless of their marital or religious status, let us consider that their behavior lvas lesbian-like. If women's primary emotions lvere directed toward other TI-omen,regardless of their own sexual practices, perhaps their affection was lesbian-like. If TI-omenlived in single-sex communities, their life circumstances might be usefully conceptualized as lesbian-like. If lvomen resisted marriage or, indeed, just did not marry, whatever the reason, their singleness can be seen as lesbianlike. If lvomen dressed as men, ~vhetherin response to saintly voices, in order to study, in pursuit of certain careers, or to travel with male lovers, their cross-dressing was arguably lesbian-like. And if TI-omen worked as prostitutes or other~l-iseflouted norms of sexual propriety, lve might see their deviance as lesbian-like. Unlike Adrienne Rich, I do not want to label all woman-identified experience-fi-orn maternal nurturance and lesbian sadomasochism to the esprit de corps of an abortion rights march-on a lesbian continuum. The essence of Rich's continuum is "primary intensity between and among TI-omen,"an intensity that involves both "sharing of a rich inner life" and "bonding against male tyranny.".l' Some behaviors that I would identify as lesbian-like-such as singlenesswere not necessarily based in the female bonding at the center of Rich's analysis. To my mind, a singlewoman in a sixteenth-century European town, regardless of her emotional life, lived in ways relevant to lesbian history: she tended to be poor, in part because her household lvas not supported by the better earning power of men; she was viewed by her neighbors with sorne suspicion and concern; she could expect to be tolerated, ifshe was well-behaved in other respects. This single~l-omanmight have shared neither an emotional life nor any political commitment TI-it11other women, but her life circumstances lvere, in sorne respects, lesbian-like. Yet I also do not lvant to privilege sexual behaviors in defining lesbians past or present; I agree with Martha Yicinus that much lesbian history-and women's history, too-is "excessively concerned with kno~l-ing-for-sure"about se?cutll contact between women. Many lesbian-like behaviors-such as the deep attachments formed between sorne medieval nuns-were not necessarily sexual in expression. I do not want to wash sexuality out of lesbian-like, but same-sex relations "I

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are not a sine qua non of lesbianisrn (as the debates of lesbian theorists make clear), and if lve treat lesbianism as rooted in sexuality, lve create very limited social histories, as I have rehearsed above for the Middle Ages. In thinking about both "lesbian" and "lesbian-like," sexual behavior is certainly important, but it need not be defining. I arn hesitant to restrict the purvie~vof "lesbian-like," for, as Greta Christina has argued so well, patrolling the borders of any loaded terrn is a divisive and elitist b ~ s i n e s sBut . ~ ~I am also cognizant of the risk of "lesbian-lite," and I hope we might use "lesbian-like" playf~llly and wisely. Obviously, "lesbian-like" can be extended to ridiculous dimensions, by arguing, for example, that since some modern lesbians wear sandals, all sandal-wearers in past times lvere lesbian-like.48 Let 11s stick to essentials that ~villallo~vus, first, to construct histories that have meaning for sexual minorities today, and second, to avoid heteronormativity in our writing of ~vomen'shistory. I will not define those essentials, for to do so ~vouldbe as pointless as trying to secure the meaning of "lesbian" or "sexual minorities" or even, indeed, ''history ~vithmeaning." We stand on shifting sands, but lve need not lose our balance. Obviously, "lesbian-like" also will overlook some lesbians in past times, particularly those ~ v h oconformed to social norms. And ob\iously, "lesbian-like" speaks more about circumstance than choice; some singlewomen in early Europe willfully determined to avoid marriage, but most found themselves unmarried thanks to poor luck, family circumstances, religious imperatives, or plain poverty. Let us appreciate the sociological uses of "lesbian-like" ~vithoutendo~ving it with motirational meanings. To my mind, "lesbian-like" offers not an endless set of possibilities but a set that is multidimensional, allowing any one of several criteria to call forth "lesbian-like" as an analytical tool. In playing ~viththe possibilities of "lesbian-like," I arn more comfortable applying it to practices than to person%for most lvomen ~vhomI might label "lesbianlike" seem to have engaged in some lesbian-like behaviors (such as living in single-sex communities) but not others (such as indulging in sexual relations with other women) . But perhaps we will eventually come to decide that ~ v ecall call some of these lvomen "lesbian-like"maybe, for example, those whose behaviors evoked several criteria at once. Certainly, I ~vouldthink that a woman who never married and shared an emotionally rich life with another TI-omanmight safely be considered "lesbian-like" as cr p~~xoiz. But, then again, if I consider the case of Sarah and Elizabeth Delany-two never-married African American sisters ~vellknown in the United States not only for a memoir of their life together but also for the play and movie produced

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frorn it-they strike me as lesbian-like in their Deha71zo);not their persolzs."' Again, the sands shift; again, vise play is necessall..

Possibilities In the earliest rears of the fifteenth century, a young wornan-~ve do not kno~vher name-disguised herself as a man and studied at the University of I(1-ako~v. Although her story has many literary antecedents, Michael Shank has argued effectively for its plausible historicity. This student maintained her male identity for two years, and TI-hen discovered, she was more marveled at than punished. Like most other discovered female cross-dressers in the Middle Ages, she lvas admired and re~vardedfor improving herself through a male persona: she became the abbess of a nearby monastel-y.""Tll'e have only two words reputedly spoken by this young cross-dresser, and they explain her decision to take on a male persona in clear and nonsexual terms. When asked why she had deceived everyone, she replied, "amore Studii" ("for love of learning") .51 This young wornan never, as far as we know, had sex ~vithanother lvoman, but her lesbian-like cross-dressing desel~esconsideration in women's histol?." After all, she lived as a man for two years in one of the least priyate of all-male environments. The account of her deception notes that she did not frequent the baths (where male students ~vouldhave gone in search of prostitutes as well as cleanliness), but it tells 11s that she lived in a student hostel, that she attended lectures regularly, and that she got on well wit11 her fellow students. In other words, she likely shared beds wit11 men, disrobed in the presence of managed, through all men, urinated in their company, and someho~lthis, to conceal her breasts, her menstrual blood, her genitalia. To be sure, the Krako~vstudent had some important assistance in her deception: she moved to I(1-akow fi-om northwest Poland, thereby ensuring that she was unknown to anyone in the city; her parents had died, thereby freeing her from familial supervision; and she had a small inheritance, thereby giving her some financial independence. Still, if she could pass as a man in what lvas one of the most male and most sociable of medieval surroundings, other medieval lvomenmotivated by love of women rather than love of learning-might have managed to do the same. The medieval world was much less private than our own, but there were many more private surroundings than a student hostel. The story of the Krako~vstudent can, in other TI-ords, help historians of medieval women think outside the heteronormatire box. After all, her story describes a society that tolerated female

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cross-dressers who "improved" themselves by becoming men; it reminds 11s that some medieval women found themselves-through migration to cities, parental death, or both-relatively fi-ee of familial control; and it even encourages us to consider the possibility that medieval households could readily accommodate-in their much more private circumstances than those provided by student hostelsmarried couples in ~vhichthe one partner was a cross-dressed wornan. At about the same time that this unnamed k-ako~vstudent lvas first donning men's clothing, Laurence, the sixteen-year-old wife of Colin Poitevin, sought from her prison cell a pardon from the French crown. She told a story of how, some two years earlier in her small tolvn of Bleury (near Chartres), she had been seduced by Jehanne, wife of Perrin Goula. The two had ~valkedout to the fields together one August morning, and Jehanne had promised to Laurence that "if you will be my sweetheart, I will do you much good." As Laurence tells it, she suspected nothing evil, acquiesced, and suddenly found herself thro~l-nonto a haystack and mounted "as a man does a woman." Orgasrn followed, certainly for Jehanne, but perhaps also for Laurence, ~ v h oenjoyed herself enough to desire further encounters. In subsequent days and ~veeks,Laurence and Jehanne had sex together in Laurence's home, in the lineyards outside their village, and even near the communal fountain. But eventually, the affair ended-and violently so, when Laurence's efforts to terminate the relationship caused Jehanne to attack her. (Perhaps this attack, not the sexual relationship per se, first brought the matter before the authorities; many TI-omenprosecuted for same-sex relations were guilty of other antisocial offenses, suggesting that we ~1-ou1d not know of their .s~xncrl behaviors but for their .socialmisconduct.)"'Jehanne's fate is unknown; Laurence ended up in prison fi-omwhence came the document that tells her version of their encounters." To us today, the behavior of both wornen is readily labeled lesbian-like, for this explicit s t o n of sexual relations can make them seem much more resolutely "lesbian" than, for example, the cross-dressing of the serious-and seemingly celibate-student of Krako~l-. Yet even such clearcut cases of same-sex relations are not transparent. Laurence cast her plea for clemency in terms as familiar as they were successfill; she lvas a good wornan, regretfill of her sin, and a victirn of an unnatural aggressor. Al1o~1-edto return home, reputation secured, after six months in prison, Laurence had indulged in a behavior wit11 affinities to modern lesbianisms, but it TI-ouldbe crude to identify her as a "lesbian" or even as a lesbian-like person; she had clearly, however, engaged in lesbian-like beha-r~iors.

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X fe~vdecades before Laurence and Jehanne first dallied in the fields outside Bleury, the city of Montpellier rnerged its two convents of ex-prostitutes, probably because, in the ~vakeof the bubonic plague of 1347-49, both houses had fewer inmates than before. The regulations of one of these communities suggest that it served, as Leah Otis has put it, "a social more than a religious purpose." The sisters lvere not cloistered; they performed modest religious duties; and they could, for all practical purposes, leave TI-heneverthey wished. Their house was directed by city officers who sought to encourage orderly behavior among some of the more disorderly inhabitants of klontpellier, but it also s e l ~ e dthe purposes of the women themselves, charitably sustaining some prostitutes in old age, sheltering others who were truly repentant, and providing a transition for still others as they moved fi-omwork as prostitutes to work as ~vives."The prostitutes and ex-prostitutes of hlontpellier were lesbian-like not only in their transgressive sexual practices but also in theirjoint living, whether in a citysponsored brothel or a city-sponsored convent. The "historical sisterhood" bet~veenprostitution and lesbianism has been explored for modern times, particularly in a vide-ranging essay by Joan Nestle, but it seems to have escaped the recognition of historians of premodern Europe."Bernadette Brooten has let pass ~vithlittle comment the semantic association of hetail-o (Greek for "courtesan") with hetoiristrio (a word used by Plato and others for same-sex fernale love) ."John has dismissed as a "convenient derogation" a twelfth-century BOSTI-ell monk's description of same-sex female relations as an innatul-okmprostitutio~zem."5,2ndin their excellent books on medieval prostitution, neither Leah Otis nor Ruth Karras has been able to explore the relationship bet~veenfemale sex ~vorkand female same-sex relations."" At the same time that the ex-prostitutes of Montpellier were settling in Ferrara amalgamated her into their newly rnerged houses, a ~vido~v dowry funds with contributions from other women and purchased a substantial property. Bernardina Sedazzari's intention, she claimed, lvas to establish a female monastery that ~vouldfall, as required by the ecclesiastical hierarchy, under the supervision of a male order. But, in fact, it is likely that Sedazzari never intended to submit her cornmunity to ecclesiastical control. As kla1-y McLaughlin has put it, Sedazzari preferred "autonomy to authority," cagily preserving the independence of her foundation for nearly two decades and governing about a dozen companions in a regular regime of religious devotions, good ~vorks,and common living. Tll'hen Sedazzari died, she named one of those companions, Lucia hlascheroni, as her "universal heir," having extracted fi-om her a sworn promise to maintain the community as it

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then existed. For more than t~vodecades, Mascheroni observed this promise with "obsessive fidelity.""Sedazzari was a strong-willed woman, a pious lvoman, a wornan experienced in both monastic life and marriage, and a woman who in midlife made a lesbian-like decision to avoid the governance of men-either that of the ecclesiastical hierarchy or that of a second husband. Sedazzari expressed her hopes for her community in pious terms, and we have no reason to doubt the sincerity of her words. But in an age that celebrated female chastit5 piety might also have been the medium through which resistance to marriage could be most acceptably-and most effectivelyexpressed. The distinction between piety-as-motivation and piety-asexplanation might have often blurred in the minds of lvomen who avoided marriage, but as Sedazzari's story suggests, it merits filrther study, not least because so many ~vomen-10 percent and more in some areas-opted for religious life. For Sedazzari and many others, piety provided not only a way to avoid remarriage but also a method of sidestepping ecclesiastical control (that is, male control) of her holy household. The Europe of Krakow's crossed-dressed student, Laurence and Jehanne, the prostitutes of klontpellier, and Bernardina Sedazzari also accommodated many adult 1ay1-omen-several millions of themwho never married men. Unlike nuns and other TI-omenreligious, these 1ay1-omenlived in the secular world, seeking work, shelter, and companionship as "single~l-omen,"the English term by which they were known fi-orn the fourteenth century. In England in 1377, almost one-third of all adult layvomen lvere single; in Florence fifty years later, singlewomen accounted for about one-fifth of lvomen; and in Zurich fifty years after that, nearly half of all wornen had never taken a husband."l Many of these wornen eventually married, for especially in northern and lvestern parts of Europe, traditions of late marriage left many lvornen single ~vellinto their t~venties.Some singlewornen, however, never married, and in late medieral England and perhaps e1se~1-here,these lifelong singlewomen accounted for about 10 percent of the adult female population. Illlatever their sexual or affective practices, these singlewomen-both those who never married and those TI-110 eventually did; both those TI-hochose to avoid marriage and those TI-hosought it ~vithoutsuccess-were lesbian-like in their never-married state." Singlewomen lived without the social approbation attached to wifehood; most lived without the support offered by the greater earning power of a male; and some lived independently,

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an anomalous state among people ~vhosometimes thought, "Ifhen a lvoman thinks alone. she thinks e ~ i l . " ~ '

The Past and the Present As these five examples sho~t;"lesbian-like" replaces a mere handful of women prosecuted for same-sex contact ~vitha plenitude of nelv possibilities for medieval women's history. It offers this same plentitude to women's histo17 more generally. I read modern TI-omen'shist o n because it helps me to think in new ways about medieval ~vomen's histol7, and as I argued in Chapter 3, I think that modern historians can similarly profit by reading more ~videlyabout ancient, medieval, and early modern wornen. "Lesbian-like" is an example; the idea arose fi-om the peculiar challenges of medieval scholarship, but it has much wider uses. "Lesbian-like" is not a perfect term: it adds newjargon to our field; it is as impossible as "lesbian" to define precisely; it highlights deviance more than conformity; it stresses circumstances over motivations; and if overused, it might even create a lesbian history that lacks lesbians (however defined). Yet "lesbian-like" offers t~vocritical advantages. First, it adds nuance to behaviors that we might too readily identify as lesbian, for the experiences of women like Laurence and Jehanne are surely more lesbian-like than lesbian. Second, it adds many sorts of behaviors to the historical study of lesbianisms: cross-dressing; pious autonomy fi-om male control; singleness; monastic same-sex community; prostitution; un-remarried TI-ido~l-hood. Each of these practices shares affinities TI-it11contemporan lesbianisms, and insofar as lesbian history, like all history, plays TI-it11the interplay bet~veenpast and present, these lesbian-like behaviors are arguably as important as sexual practices. The sexual pleasures and legal difficulties of Laurence and Jehanne are notable parts of lesbian histol7, but so, too, might be the appropriation of male prerogatives by the Krakow student; so, too, the sexual disorder of klontpellier's prostitutes; so, too, Bernardina Sedazzari's resistance to male authority in either marriage or monasticism; so, too, the social and economic marginality of medieval single~vomen.These possibilities matter in both lesbian history and women's history. If we strategically appropriate all these sorts of behaviors under the rubric of "lesbian-like," lesbian history looks very different. Again, the Middle Ages are a good example. The approaches of intellectual historians and cultural critics have suggested that the Middle Ages lvere either indifferent toward lesbian practice or hostile to it. A social

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history that includes not only Laurence and Jehanne but also the k-akow student, the Montpellier prostitutes, the community founded by Bernardini Sedazzari, and the never-married women of medieval Europe draws a different picture. Social approral of manly TI-omen; tolerated regulation of prostitutes; religious practices that accommodated considerable fernale autonomy and fernale community; a world that abounded with single~vomen,young as well as old. All these suggest that, although medieval elites were coldly dismissive of lesbian practices, medieral society might have been, in fact, filled with possibilities for lesbian expression. More importantly, whether we end up ~l-ith histories of lesbianisms that stress hostility or possibility, "lesbian-like" facilitates the development of histories that modern lesbians, gays, bisexuals, and queers rightly seek fi-om the past. This search has parallels in the social histories of other minorities; it is rooted deeply TI-ithinthe feminism at the heart of TI-omen'shistol?; and it reflects the emancipaton possibilities of all histon. "Lesbian-like" speaks to this modern need for a usable past, for ~vhatMargaret Hunt has called the "cautious kinship" that can link our many lives with the histories of those long dead."" This cautious kinship is most emphatically not identity, for even the most lesbian-like women in the past are unlike most modern lesbians. Consider, for example, how Valerie Traub has differentiated early modern tribades-assumed to be highly sexed and possessed of large, capable-of-penetration clitorises-fi-orn modern lesbians: How is the tribade ~ i o like t a contemporary lPsbi(llil . . . L?.sbi(l~i.stoday are not assumed to be marked by anatomical de~iation.(Such marking, rather, is reserved for a discourse of intersexuality.) Their erotic practices are not assumed primarily to take the form of vaginal penetration. (Quite the conis Kor are lP.sbia~is trary oral sex is widely assurned to be "what l ~ s b i n ~do.") belieTed to be more lustful than heterosexual women. (h-en within the IPSb i n ~ icommunity, jokes about "lesbian bed death" abound.) Nost irnportantly, according to the logic of modern homophobia, lesbians hate (or fear) men; in contrast, according to the Renaissance psychornorpholo~of the clitoris, the tribade enacted that sincerest form of flattery emulation."'

Rather than seeking identity, lesbian-like allo~vs11s to imagine in plausible ways the opportunities for same-sex love that actual lvomen once encountered, and to do so without asserting a crude correlation between our varied experiences today and the raried lives of those long dead. It moves beyond what Traub has called the "melancholy of lesbian identification" with the past, allowing recognition TI-ithout identification, difference ~vithoutobfilscation, and mourning without melan~holy."~ In the process, of course, we become able to under-

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stand ourselves better, for it is through exploring likeness, resemblance, and difference ~vithpast times that lve can better understand the fi-aught interplay of identity and nonidentity in lesbian, queer, and even, indeed, heteronormative communities today. For women's history, the stakes are different. History is notjust, of course, about understanding the present through the past; it is also about understanding those who lived before us-and understanding thern in respectfill ~vaysthat take fill1 account of past historical circumstances. Do we understand the Krakow cross-dresser (TI-holoved learning, not women), or medieval prostitutes (whose sexual disorder might have often sprung from poverty, not desire), or medieral nuns (often celibate and solitary), or never-married serving~vornen(most of ~vhommight have eagerly sought marriage) if we think of some of their behaviors as lesbian-like? Certainly, many of these wornen ~vould not have recognized themselves as lesbian-like in any ~vay.'~' Certainly, their lives included intellectual, religious, social, and economic conterns that cannot be reduced to a matter of sexual object choice.'is '2nd just as certainly, ~vornen'shistory can benefit fi-om pondering the lesbian-like possibilities of their histories. Consider, for just one example, the single~vomenwhose nevermarried state has prompted me to incorporate them under the rubric of lesbian-like. S o doubt, many single~vomennever had sex with other women, but "lesbian-like" can nevertheless help us understand their lives more fully. Singlewomen have usually been seen through a heteronormative lens-and therefore seen as pathetic, sex-less, and lonely failures in a game of heterosexual courtship and marriage. If we use lesbian-like to put aside this distorting lens, we can discover that, although single~vomenmight have often been economically deprived, their lives were not devoid of either sexual possibility or emotional richness. Many single~vomenlvere sexually active, and since procreative sex was problematic for the not-married, singlewomen might have particularly engaged in forms of sexual pleasure that easily accommodated partners of either sex. Similarly, although single~vomenlived ~vithouthusbands and (often) children, their emotional lives could be quite full-and wornan-identified. Some lived together in ~vhatdemographers have dubbed "spinster clusters"; many others congregated in neighborhoods in ~vhichnot-married women predominated; most worked in occupations-as serants, spinsters, lacemakers, laborers, or hucksters-that brought them into daily contact with more TI-omenthan men; and many had close female relatives and fi-iends ~vith~vhornthey shared life's sorrolvs and joys."" If we do not use "lesbian-like" to see single~vomenin new ways-if

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we do not do thereby startle ourselves out of our olvn heterosexist assumptions-we might continue to interpret their lives as "distorted and unhappy.""' In this sense, "lesbian-like" is shock therapy for practices in TI-omen'shistory-modern as well as medieval-that not only have long overlooked lesbian possibilities but also have resolutely, albeit often subtly, defined "~vomen" as "heterosexual ~volnen. "Lesbian-like" will not yield real-life lesbians in past times; it ~vill not help us identify every past instance of same-sex relations; it will not address motiyation as much as situation; it will not resolve the definitional dilemmas that both plague and enrich the term "lesbian"; and if used as a blunt instrument, it will produce blunt results. But if used in playfill, ~tise,and carefill ~vays,"lesbian-like" can address difficult problems that now confi-ont lesbian historians, on the one hand, and TI-omen'shistorians, on the other. In helping us imagine possibilities and plausibilities that have hitherto been closed off from lesbian histol?, "lesbian-like" can expand the purview and evidence of lesbian history. '2nd in encouraging us to see past societies in more complex ~vays,"lesbian-like" can promote the ~vritingof feminist histories that are less hindered by heteronormatire blinders, sexist ideologies, or modernist assumptions. As a new way of thinking about the past, "lesbian-like" can both enrich lesbian history and reform women's histolr.

C1mf)t~r7

T h e Master a n d the Mistress

M'hen women's history began to take root in the 1970s, history departments in the United States and Europe were places where men cornrnuned ~vithone another about the histories of other men, most of them ~vell-born,Christian, and of European descent. These stag affairs are blessedly rare these days. More lvornen and more people of diverse races, faiths, and social origins now populate histol? departments, and in at least some contexts, the practices of history now broadly consider women as well as men, poor as well as rich, and the fill1 diversity of the human past. But the practices of history today are unavoidably tainted, even in the best of circumstances, by the masculinist foundations of our craft. M'hen professional history began to emerge in nineteenth-century Europe, it took shape as a discipline of empirically minded men TI-hodefined themselves in opposition to an older, more popular history often authored by lvornen. Some hundred and fifty years later, what constitutes ''history" still draws on the nationalist and imperialist visions of the nineteenth-century European elite, as well as on the assumption that histol?-writing is properly the work of men. As Bonnie Smith and others have traced this legacy, the ideal of the male historian who transcends his own histon-writing remains so compelling that "while we see po~verfillhistorians as men, lve also see only truth, pure intelligence, and compelling explanation." In other ~vords,some voices in history are heard more readily than others. Although ferninist historians might think that we "need only work harder for the truth to appear," it is difficult for our voices to prevail in a historical discourse still tuned to "the fascinating self of the male historian, as thr authority on the past."' History as a sign of masculinity troubles the project of feminist hist o n on many fronts, but this chapter focuses on two especially important hurdles: first, the challenge of mainstreaming women's histon into our discipline's master narratives, those teleological tales born of Victorian enthusiasm for change, progress, politics, high culture, and the deeds of great men; and second, the challenge of teaching a ferni-

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nist history that boldly considers continuity as ~vellas change, patriarchy as well as agency, and the distant past as well as more recent times. Both of these tasks speak to the pedagogical work of feminist historians, taking us into the college classrooms where lve teach students to think more deeply about past times, history-writing, and feminism. Both also speak to the critical role of feminist historians in bridging the generational gaps that trouble-and have long troubled-the feminist project. As Gerda Lerner has traced so well, feminist thought in Europe before the nineteenth century lvas afflicted by repeated failures of generational transmission, so that each woman's critiques of patriarchal power "sank soundlessly into the sea" and each subsequent wornan "had to argue as though no woman before her had ever thought or ~vritten."' Generational fissures have likewise plagued feminist activism during the last century. In the 1920s, after the achievement of ~vomen'ssuffi-age in many parts of the Tll'est, younger women spurned first-~vave,older feminists as "old, unattractive, manless" malcontents TI-hoseviews were "unmodern and unappealing."" In the United States and Europe today something similar is happening, wit11 many young women eschewing second-wave feminism as uncool and anti-youth; as the singer Bjork, daughter of a feminist and product of a hippie commune, recently conceded, "I might become a feminist in my old age."' Other young women, rariously identified as "third-TI-ave" feminists or "postfeminists," embrace a feminism of assertive femininity, personal empo~verment,and aggressive contemporaneity." Generational challenge is, of course, inevitable and productive, but feminist paralysis in the face of such challenge is neither. In feminist classrooms, students and teachers can speak more effectively across the generations-the dead and the living, the older and the younger-to better facilitate the transmission, criticism, understanding, and respect that ~villsustain feminist struggle into f~lturegenerations.

Master narratives are the common stock of history, the stories lve all know. As a historian of late medieval TI-omen,for example, I might share precious little intellectual community with someone ~ v h o researches the dynastic struggles of the seventh-century l'ferovingians or someone else TI-hosescholarly beat is the Christianization of Scandinavia at the turn of the first millennium, but all three of us share a common story about the decline of the Roman Ernpire in the West,

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the establishment of Carolingian hegemony, the rise of papal monarchy, the "renaissance" of the t~velfthcentury, and a host of other ~vaymarksin the rnaster narrative of medieval history. This grand r k i t gives medieral historians a common ground in TI-hichwe root our specific research projects and across TI-hichwe take our students even semester. X rnaster narrative is, in short, what everyone must kno~v about a specific historical period, whether medieval history, U.S. history, Chinese history, or the history of European imperialism. '2nd what evenone must know is v e n predictable, because master narratives usually build their stories around politics, high culture, and elite men, telling a tale of steady progress, even if a few breakdowns and detours have to be accommodated. From the earliest days of second-~vavefeminism, historians of lvomen have tussled ~viththe vexed relationship bet~veenthese dorninating master narratives and the new findings of feminist history. "Tussled" is too kind a word; in fact, feminist historians have repeatedly cr.sstlnltrd history's master narratives, demanding that they be transformed in the light of feminist scholarship, and cluickly so. In 1973, Lerner called for a new type of "universal history," which she described as "a history of the dialectic, the tensions between the two cultures, male and female."'>A year later, Joan Kelly had no doubt that TI-omen'shiston had "shaken the conceptual foundations of historical study," and in the next year, she rattled those foundations even more when she suggested, in her essay on lvomen in the European Renaissance, that women's history might invert the malefocused master narrative.' By the 1990s, we were assaulting not just the content of master narratives but also its very genre. Elsa Barkley Brown argued that the narrative style of 11istol~-~vriting-reminiscent of the recurring and dominating theme of a classical music scorehad to be replaced by a nelv style that ~vouldevoke the polyrhythms of jazz, allo~vingdiversity and difference ~vithoutdomination.\hd Gianna Pomata, worried by the "temptation of universality, so insidiously lurking in the textbook format," argued against any synthesizing narratives at all and in favor of ~vhatshe called "particular" history." The rnaster narratives that have so attracted feminist critique haunt all forms of historical writing, but textbooks are their natural genre. We can all be thankful, of course, that textbooks are not the sum total of histon. I came to lo\e histon through no\els, not textbooks, and it Itas research, not textbook reading, that turned 1117 fascination into a career. I cannot today lead a textbook (even mr own) without fighting sleep, and I srmpathize with Catherine Morland's bemusernent,

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in ,Yortha~zgerAbbey, that historians ~vouldgo to "so much trouble in filling great volumes only for the torment of little boys and girls."'" But textbooks are a necessary evil in history teaching, particularly for introductory courses (in TI-hichstudents need to learn the "basic story," or master narrative) and perhaps particularly in public universities in the United States, where large class sizes and heavy teaching loads virtually compel assignment of a textbook. Year after year, teachers shake their heads in fi-ustration, students groan in boredom, and textbooks are still assigned. Hate them we might, but we also have to concede their power, especially their power over how TI-omen are remembered in history. IlVe can lecture on women, we can add supplementary readings on wornen, and lve can encourage special pro-jects on lvomen, but if the textbook ignores wornen, all these efforts are swimming upstream. As students obediently slog through their textbooks, they take heart from one self-evident truth: "if it's not in the textbook, it's not important."" Yet, despite concerted feminist critique over the last three decades, textbooks-and the master narratives they convey-remain remarkably unchanged. Perhaps this is because feminists have asked too much, too quickly. I lvas entirely sympathetic with Pornata's suggestion that we abandon textbooks altogether, until I remembered my first chilling lessons in Latin, at the hands of a teacher TI-110 thought grammar books were oppressive and students should learn Latin as Roman toddlers once did-by using the language. After an utterly demoralizing year of Latinate babbling, I lvas probably the happiest student ever to encounter Frederic I~Vl~eelock's masterly and rulebound Latin textbook. Pomata's approach has some intellectual justification and considerable political appeal, but it is simply impractical. Perhaps, too, some responsibility for the endurance of old master narratives ~vithinnelv textbooks rests with the economics of textbook production in which publishers, seeking a return on investment, ask authors to produce standard narratives against TI-hichteachers can then weave their own interpretations. "Standard" is the operative TI-ordhere. As scholars, we tend to like quirky, cutting-edge, and provocative history, but as teachers, we often prefer textbooks that offer more conventional ~visdomsthan nelv hypotheses. \Ye kno~vlve can teach the new hypotheses and tell the quirky stories ourselves; we want the textbook to deliver the broad outline that even we find too tedious to lecture through. h d perhaps some of the endurance of master narratives in the face of feminist critique must be attributed to sheer resistance and antifeminism. Many textbooks nolv aspire to expanded coverage on lvornen and gender, but some explicitly eschew

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such emendation. Thus, Denys Hay reported in his revised textbook on late medieval Europe that he had rejected pressure fi-orn his publisher to include more material on lvornen, proudly noting, "I arn sure that Longman ~vouldhave been happy if I had contrived a chapter on feminine developments (other than the female religious with ~vhomI occasionally spend a fe~vlines) in the later middle ages. But I have a feeling that this historical mode is passing."12 Tll'hatever the causes, the lack of progress is clear. Textbooks in medieral histo17 are one good example. Between 2002 and 2004, five major textbooks were published in Sort11 America for use in college classrooms, three entirely new creations and two revised editions, including one of which I am the co-a11thor.l",Ill but one prornise-on the cover, in the preface, or in both locations-to offer updated coverage on lvomen and gender in the l'fiddle Ages. But they promise more than they deliver. First, at the core of each of these textbooks rests a master narrative: teachers and students begin with "Il'estern Europe before the Barbarian Invasions," then consider "The German Invasions and the Break-Up of the Roman Empire," then move on to the "Rise of the Papacy," "The Conflict between Gregory 1'11 and Henry n:" "The Development of France," and "England in the Middle Ages" until everything gets neatly wrapped up with "The Italian Cities States and the Renaissance." These drearily familiar categories could be titles from any just-published textbook, but they are, in fact, chapter titles from James H a l ~ e yRobinson's textbook of 1903, the Ur-textbook of the master narrative of medieval history, as it lvas and is taught in Sort11 America. The story has changed in bits and pieces since 1903-all textbooks now, for example, include sections on Byzantium and Islam-but Robinson's master narrative of the slow development of the institutions of Church and state has endured for more than a century ~vithremarkably little change.14 Second, although feminists have long derided inadequate "compensatol7" revisions that merely add a few TI-omenworthies to a maledriven narrative, these twenty-first-century textbooks have not even managed to compensate very much-that is, they contain remarkably fe~vwomen worthies. Only five medieval women are mentioned in all five of these textbooks: Dhuoda (c. 810-50), Joan of A-c (c. 141231), Catherine of Siena (1347-80), Christine de Pizan (1364-1430), and the I'irgin Man. Three decades of feminist critique, and we still have just five women firmly placed in the master narrative of Europe's medieval millennium, at least as it is told in North America. One lvoman was more iconic than historical, and not one wielded power in the classic political mode beloved of master narratives. T~volvere

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authors (Dhuoda and Christine de Pizan), and the other three were divinely empowered and are remembered, interestingly enough, largely because of their influence over more powerful males: Joan of Arc and Charles 1'11; Catherine of Siena and the popes Gregon XI and Urban 1'1; the 1'irgin M a n and God. In theon, the master narrative's love of high politics should have created space for at least some of the many medieval lvomen who ruled by virtue of birth or position-the Empress Irene (c. 730-803), l'fatilda of Tuscany (1046111.3), Eleanor of Aquitaine (c. 1122-1204), Margaret of Denmark (1353-1412), Isabella of Castile (14.31-1504), to name a few. These empresses, duchesses, and queens are mentioned in some of the textbooks, but not all five-that is, none has yet achieved the "mustmention" status of the hundreds of men mentioned in all these textbooks. To judge by this "must-mention" measure, Jean de l'feun (d. 130.3), author of the most misogynist parts of the thirteenth-century Rol?zcrnr~of the Rose and featured in all five textbooks, is a more important figure in medieral history than Hildegard of Bingen (10981179), abbess, prophet, advisor of popes and kings, composer, and author of dozens of theological, mystical, homiletic, scientific, and hagiographic manuscripts, who is mentioned in only four. Third, many other incorporations of TI-omenin these textbooks constitute what Carol Berkin has aptly called "dangerous courtesies."lTThey acknowledge TI-omen'spresence but in ways that leave the master narrative uncontaminated by substantive female presence. Thus, for example, in rnost of these medieval textbooks, students the expelearn about early monasticism as a male phenomenon, ~l-ith riences of women tacked on as an afterthought. This presentation dutifully replicates the profound maleness of the early medieval Church as depicted in the original master narrative, but it does not reflect ~vhatwe nolv know about the deep involvement of women in monasticism fi-orn its earliest days. The documentary record tells us of female hermits, of monastic rules for female houses, of schools and scriptol-icl (or writing centers) in female monasteries, even of missiona n nuns, such as Leoba, who in the eighth centul? answered St. Boniface's call to Saxony. In rnost aspects of medieval monasticism, it is no stretch at all for authors to write about "monks and nuns," but rnost textbooks, even in the twenty-first century, still tell students about "monks" and then dutifully add "there were also women . . . " I c i X master narrative of male action, precious few TI-omenworthies, many dangerous courtesies. All told, we can safely say that when the master takes a mistress in medieval history textbooks, he chooses very carefully, he prefers lvomen who empower, inspire, or amuse him,

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and he keeps his mistress on the side, safely tucked alvay fi-om the manly business of real life. These enduring problems are not peculiar to the rnaster narrative of medieval history. In the 1990s, Satioiznl History Staizdal-~1.yfor the teaching of TI-orldhisto17 and U.S. histol? were published, revised, and republished in the United States. Some thirty professional organizations, thousands of history teachers, and dozens of professional historians-including such historians of lvomen as Deborah Gray M'hite, Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham, and Joan Scottparticipated in the project, TI-hichrepresents, according to its own literature, "the best historical research and the finest teaching practice in history education that this country has to offer."" This best and finest includes shockingly little material on lvomen, even in the world history component, a relatively new area of historical ~vriting~vhose rnaster narrative is not only young but also less inflected by nationalism. By Barbara Moss's estimate, TI-omenand ~vomen'shistory account for about .3 percent of the recommended teaching program in TI-orld histol? (nearly 6 percent in the original 1994 recommendations but less than that in their 1996 revisions) .l"Tllbmen of European descent predominate in this tiny group, and although references to wornen vary ~vithchronological units, lvornen are most before students' eyes in the earliest era (before 4000 B . c . E . ) and least present in the twentieth century. World history is a young master narrative, and it has come of age in the late t~ventieth-centul?United States, where many historians are comfortably familiar ~vithboth feminist scholarship and ~vomen'shistory. But this master, too, prefers a submissive and quiet mistress. If our previous critiques have failed so grievously to effect real change, what new feminist tactics might T I - O better? ~ ~ Lisa Bite1 has confi-onted the master narrative of medieval history and counseled its ~vholesalerejection. In her view, the chronological nonsynchronization of women's history ~viththe master narrative precludes any hope of egalitarian union."'Joan Scott has confronted the master narrative of the LYatio~7alStaizdal-ds and advised historians of TI-omento work harder. In her view, feminists hitherto have insufficiently rethought, reconceptualized, and re~vrittenthe general narratives of history.'" I have a different idea. No matter h o ~ vpolitically appealing, purist stances such as these-reject master narratives or transform themhave proven ineffective in the last thirty-odd years. Feminists might, indeed, be able to reject or transform master narratives in the long term, but in the meantime, generations of students are getting their ~vomen'shistory in tiny portions, on the side. For the rnediurn term, therefore, let 11s approach the problem in strategic and pragmatic

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ways: let 11s accept the polver of the master narrative but give him a new sort of mistress. I recently had occasion to do just this ~vhenI revised the late C. Il'arren Hollister's textbook ~\l~dievcrl En7-ope: A Short History for a new edition.'' The publisher did not want me to replace Hollister's text-a widely used, much loved, and traditional retelling of medieval histol-y-with a demastered version. My charge was merely to update the book by adding more social history and more women's history. In other TI-ords,I agreed to undertake an approach regularly ridiculed in feminist critiques of the master narrative's reaction to ~vomen'shistory: I agreed to add wornen and stir. To my delight (and relief), I found that "add and stir" produced more than a cosmetic touch-up; it changed ~vhathad been a relentlessly masculine story into a tale of t~vosexes." For example, thanks in large part to feminist research during the last three decades, it is no longer a stretch to add indi\idual wornen to master narratives. Nurnerous "~vornenworthies" can nolv be substantively placed at many steps in the mad march from Rome to the Renaissance. How could women be included in the investiture controversy that pitted male popes against male emperors? Matilda of Tuscany (1056-111.3) does just fine. It was at her castle at Canossa that emperor Henry I\.' (r. 1056-1106) and pope Gregory 1'11 (r. 1073-8.3) met, and it was her disputed legacy after 1115 that further soured relations between papacy and empire. How about the Sorman conquest of England in 1066? Emma of Normandy (c. 985-1032)daughter of a Sorlnan duke, ~vifeof t~voEnglish kings, and mother of t~vomore-is the central fulcrum that explains h o ~ va Sorrnan duke could claim an English crown. M'hat about the expansion and Christianization of Europe? What Jane Schulenburg has dubbed "dornestic prose1ytization"-that is, the marriages of Christian wornen to pagan kings who subsequently converted-provides a broad theme well suited to master narratives: the fifth-century marriage of Clothilde and Clovis (conversion of the Franks), the union of Bertha and Ethelbert in the sixth century (conversion of the English), the tenth-century marriage of Anna and I'ladimir (conversion of the Rus), the fourteenth-century marriage of Jadwiga and Jagiello (conversion of the Lithuanians), and many otl~ers."~ In all these cases and many others, adding TI-omenand stirring has the ironic effect of actually ivzpl-o-r~ingthe master narrative, according to its olvn terms. Thus, for example, Emma of Normandy is not just a woman added to salve my feminist conscience; she is the explanatory

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pivot of the messy story of the English royal succession in the mideleventh century, a story that has simply made less sense without her. Feminist principles of gender neutrality in language and style also make it exceedingly easy to humanize the masculine bent of textbooks. This is partly a simple matter of remembering the presence of lvomen ~vithinrnaster narratives-nameless lvornen who were simply tlzert, part of the story fi-orn beginning to end. Thus, as lve have just seen, lvornen can be searnlessly included in the history of monasticism by the straightfor~l-ard-and historically accurate-device of replacing "monks" TI-it11"monks and nuns." Similarly, women can also be reintegrated into the history of medieval manors and villages by using language that makes it clear that there lvere ladies of manors, as ~vell as lords, and that peasants were female as well as male. Master narratives can also be easily ~vashedof their pervasive masculinity-that is, the assumption that all authors, readers, and subjects are men. In the nineteenth century, Leopold von Ranke and his colleagues so thoroughly understood histo17 as a male enterprise that they even saw an archive, as Ranke once put it, as "an absolute virgin. I long for the moment I shall have access to her . . . whether she is pretty or not."21l'fodern textbooks often do much the same, creating a common cause-one perhaps designed to ease the pain of textbook reading-of male author, male audience, and male subject. My favorite instance of this male solidarity involves both ahistoricism and acrobatics: a textbook description of medieval advice on birth control as "all one must do to prevent a lvornan fi-om conceiving is to bind her head TI-it11a red ribbon during intercourse."" This TI-ould,of course, have required considerable agility on the part of a male lover, but more to the point, the "one" is gendered male whereas the proper actor, as in most matters related to birth control, lvas, of course, a lvoman; it was a lvornan who needed to bind her head ~vitha red ribbon. In such simple but subtle lvays, textbooks can now be easily rewritten to humanize what was once a resolutely male alliance of author, audience, and historical actors. It is harder, but not impossible, to incorporate into master narratives the topics and findings of ~vornen'shistory per se. We ~villneed more rethinking and reconceptualizing before we can, as Scott has advised, re~vriternaster narratives to incorporate studies of changing patriarchal regimes, or changes and continuities in gender rules, or more attention to the play of differences among all people, including women. But other subjects of feminist inquiry can be easily woven into rnaster narratives. I found, for example, that the attention of students was easily dra~vnto the particular prominence of wornen in

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medieval slavery, or to the different wages paid to wornen and men, or to the effect of educational expansion in the central Middle Ages on wornen, or to the particular importance of lvornen as patrons of vernacular literatures. Changes such as these are practical, effective, cr77d limited. They recognize the power of master narratives but infuse them ~vithrnore coverage of lvornen. They leave the master narrative intact, unchallenged, and, indeed, even strengthened, but they also ~vashout its masculinity and enhance women's place. Given the current state of our textbooks-a grand total of five must-mention women in the narrative of medieral history, and a whopping .3 percent devoted to women in the U.S. ,Y(~tioizalStc~ndal-clsfor world history-these practical compromises are our best bet for getting better textbooks (and, indeed, better lectures) into our classrooms quickly. I suggest that lve strategically ask master narratives to work with a "mistress" more common in premodern than modern uses of the term-that is, a woman married to the master, busy with productive work and household management, important, appreciated, and even authoritative in some contexts, but usually working to support the rnore primary occupation of her husband. Some historians look at such medieval households and see "partnerships"; to me, they seem at best riizrqucrl partnerships. Yet many medieval women seem to have considered this junior partnership a good option, a patriarchal bargain that offered them economic security, productive work, social approbation, authority over children, servants, and apprentices, and perhaps even loveall these, in return for a helpmeet's role. Given the enduring power of master narratives, TI-hichseem able, like so many other forms of patriarchal power, to shift a bit, adjust here and there, and endure untransformed, I have come to think that an equivalent bargain in history textbooks-a sort of artisanal marriage between women's history and master narratives-is not a bad deal either. It is certainly the best deal we can get, for no~v."~

History without Apology "We don't much re~nernber."'~ If master narratives present one challenge to feminist historians, an equally awesome challenge is the offhand rejection of history by postfeminists. As we saw in Chapter 3, this rejection has academic as well as popular roots; in TI-omen'sstudies classrooms today, history has little place, and historians, especially historians of the distant past, are characterized as self-indulgent, ~vhirnsical, unproductive, and even nonfeminist.'VM'hat possible relevance

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can the distant past offer to teachers and students in today's feminist classrooms? Quite a lot. By looking back ~viththeir students into the distant past, teachers can find rich examples of history-writing and historical debate; unusual opportunities for exploring the meanings of difference, past as well as present; fertile ground for illuminating ideologies of gender; and a plethora of subjects that ~villenliven classrooms and enlighten students. I will take as my example the hard case of the European Middle Ages, ~vhichstudents often imagine (~$1-ongly) as a time when one faith reigned supreme, all people knew their place, and nothing ever changed. Students generally fall into one of two camps on the subject of medieral TI-omen-imagining them as hopelessly oppressed or ~vonderfilllyfi-ee-but in either case, they generally agree that the lives of medieval lvornen are utterly foreign to the feminist challenges of our olvn day. This was not always so. IlVl~enfeminists first began to organize in late nineteenth-century Europe, they looked to the Middle Ages for information about pressing contemporary issues: TI-omen'swork; ~vomen'seducation; ~vomen'sstatus under the law; ~vomen'sparticipation in political life. Turning toward the l'fiddle Ages at precisely the moment when history lvas establishing itself as a professional discipline, these medievalists produced many of the earliest works of feminist history. In reconstructing the early development of ~vomen's histol?, we often look no f~lrtherthan the 1970s and the early work of such scholars as Gerda Lerner and Joan Kelly, or we adventurously trek as far back as Mary Beard's Tl'oman as Force in Histo,? (1946).'!' But feminist historians-many of them medievalists-were active, articulate, and appreciated from the 1890s on. In that decade, Florence Buckstaff peppered her exposition of the legal rights of married lvomen in Anglo-Saxon England ~viththe arch observation that "the sexes are not eclual" in her contemporary America, Mary Bateson suggested that St. Colurnban was "a wornan-hater" in her study of medieval monasticism, and Elizabeth Dixon attacked the "modern view that good industrial training and anything above a bare subsistence wage are unnecessary . . . and superfluous for working women" in her study of crafts~vomenin thirteenth-century Paris."" For early feminists, the study of the Middle Ages provided a highly relevant past, a platform for feminist advocacy, a n d a relatively accessible profe~sion.'~' Through much of the twentieth century TI-omenwere coldly received in most academic disciplines, but women repeatedly proved their historical professionalism at the hot forge of medieval history. Some succeeded within the highest level of academia, as did Eileen

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Po~ver,~ v h otook a professorship at the London School of Economics in 1931; Helen Cam, ~ v h odid the same at Harvard in 1948 (Harvard's first fernale professor); and Nellie Seilson, who became the first female president of the American Historical Association in 1943. Many others relied on sex-segregated training and employment, especially at Bryn Mmvr College and l'fount Holyoke College, where generations of young women lvere inspired to take up careers in medieval studies. As Linda Kerber noted in a recent retrospective on graduate training in the 196Os, her courses in United States histol? lacked any attention to women, a deplorable situation that "TI-ouldhave been less true had we been m e d i e ~ a l i s t s "S o wonder, then, that even at the end of the twentieth century, women were more active in medieval scholarship than in most other branches of acade~nia.'~ Feminist medievalists remain just as numerous and active today, boasting an association, a journal, and several bibliographic and research collaborations.':' Feminist teachers and students must not forget this past-both the distant past of medieval ~vomen'shistory and the more recent past of feminist scholarship on the l'fiddle Ages. Expensively trained in longdead languages, feminist medievalists study a region with an exceptionally troubled history of racism and colonialism, and they even tend to focus, within Europe, on a tiny minority of rich, literate, and powerful people. They are also peculiarly handicapped, for feminist medievalistss must approach a distant past through incomplete and intransigent sources that lvere, with fe~vexceptions, created and preserved by men. Yet despite these obstacles and partly because of them, investigations of the Middle Ages are critical to feminist scholarshipand especially, as I hope to show here, to feminist teaching.

Simply because of its longevity, the feminist study of the Middle Ages offers unique opportunities to teach students the histol? of feminist histon-writing. For more than a hundred years, feminist medieralists have brought their own generation's concerns to the study of medieval lvomen. It is no accident, for example, that Annie Abrarn published an article on medieval women's work when many of her fellow English~vomenwere entering the TI-orkforceduring IlVorld Il'ar I. Nor is it an accident that she then reached the encouraging conclusion that medieval TI-omenwere "persons of strong character and undeniable business acti~ity.""~ Her article is just one example of how the relatively long historiography of medieval ~vomen'shistory can pro-

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vide students ~vithshort, clear, and unforgettable lessons about the historical positioning of feminist historians themselves. Medieval ~vornen'shistory also exemplifies for students the enduring power of foundational visions TI-ithin feminist history-and, indeed, within all history. In 1926, Eileen Power crafted ~vhathas become a master (mistress?) narrative for medieval women's history in a short article that offered a compelling, albeit fla~ved,conceptualization of the history of medieval wornen. Power focused her essay on the relative position of women vis-5-vis men, raising a question-how might we best assess the status of medieval TI-omen?-that teachers and students ponder even today. In her answer, Power stressed three points that still arise in today's classrooms. First, she balanced theory against practice, arguing not only that medieval ideas about wornen lvere distinct fi-om the everyday experiences of lvornen but also that these ideas were so confusingly self-contradictory that they must have had little real effect on everyday life. Second, Power faorably judged the overall status of medieval women. She recognized that medieral lvomen faced some serious problems-a culture rife ~vithmisogyny, a legal system based on assumptions of female inferiority, and a social structure that invested men ~vithconsiderable polver over ~vornen's lives. But arguing that the true position of medieral TI-omen"was one neither of inferiority nor of superiority, but of a certain rough-andready equality," Power positively assessed medieral gender roles, constructing an image of the Middle Ages as a time that, if not golden for lvornen, lvas nevertheless very good indeed. Third, Po~verfocused on class as thr critical marker of differences among medieval women. Ignoring matters of religious difference and devoting only a few paragraphs to single~l-omen, ~l-ido~l-s, and nuns, P~TI-er's essay implicitly ecluated "medieval wornen" with "Christian ~vives."The bulk of her essay lvas devoted to studying these Christian ~vives~vithinthree discrete social classes: feudal ladies, bourgeoises, and peasants."" Today, teachers and students can read almost any textbook on medieral women and find therein the enduring force of Power's historical imagination. Most modern descriptions of medieval women begin, as her essay did, ~vithmedieval theories about wornan and female nature. Tll'hether called "the heritage of ideas," "the mold for ~vomen,"or "the origins of medieval attitudes," these introductions seek, as Power did long ago, to understand both the internal ambiguities of medieral gender ideologies and their social meanings. Similarly, most studies of medieval women echo POTI-er'supbeat assessment of ~vomen'slot in the Middle Ages. As Margaret Wade Labarge put it, medieval wornen might have been viewed "as subordi-

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nate and inferior by medieval men . . . but they lvere neither invisible, inaudible, nor ~lnimportant.""~ And most textbooks categorize the subject of medieval lvornen, as Power did, primarily according to class and, to a lesser degree, marital status or religious faith: feudal ladies compared to townswomen and peasant wives; all these compared to those ~ v h otook holy vo~vs;and perhaps some brief comparisons ~vith Te~vishand, more rarely, Islamic wornen. In the textbooks and classrooms in which medieval wornen are studied today, they can still be seen, as Power saw them in 1926, as living in a Christian world that was fraught with ideological ambiralence about the female sex, filled wit11 practical opportunity for female action, and fractured by profound divisions of class. Tllbmen's history has its gralzcls lskits, too. As a relatively mature field of ~vornen'shistory, the study of medieval wornen is also rich with historiographical debates that can enliven feminist classrooms. My students are especially taken with arguments about whether, TI-hen,and how the status of women changed during the medieval millennium. This is a ticklish and difficult topic for any era, much less one as remote as the European l'fiddle Ages. Yet despite the uncertainties of assessing "status" and the ideological fi-eight of the process, the desire to trace advances and declines in the status of ~I-omen over time persists among both students and teachers. The Middle Ages-far distant, much studied, and long in durationprovides an excellent case study for confronting this pedagogical challenge head-on. "Change for the worse" is so common a theme in medieval lvomen's histo17 that a teacher can stand at almost any historical marker and find a negative trend. The centralizing reforms of Charlemagne, c. 800: bad for women. The Norman invasion of 1066: bad for TI-omen. The nelv monastic orders of the t~velfthcentury: bad for women. The gro~vthof humanism in the fourteenth century bad for lvomen. The rapid development of capitalism in the fifteenth century: bad for women. Although "change for the TI-orse"has been found in almost e v e n century in the medieral millennium, it has been most fully elaborated for the central Middle Ages (1000-1300). As developed particularly in studies by Jo Ann l'fcSamara and Susan l'fosher Stuard, the eleventh and twelfth centuries have been figured as a time of "gender crisis" when an old ideology of gender si?~zil(~lsi[~ was usurped by a new Other historians, building on the pioni d e o l o g ~of gender diffeel-enr~.:.:": eering work of David Herlihy, have pointed to rarious ways in TI-hich the shifting boundaries of public and prirate during the central Middle Ages also ~vorkedto the disadvantage of lvomen. For example, early feudalism, with its reliance on private polver and household-

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based administration, offered considerable scope to elite lvomen ~vho could participate, in their capacity as ~vives,in the day-to-day affairs of feudal governance. But in the central Middle Ages, as monarchs began to assert control over localities, as bureaucrats began to replace ad hoc administrators, and as formal institutions began to supplant the informal arrangements of the household, the informal household-based polver of feudal lvomen ~vaned.~!' These histories of "change for the ~vorse"work ~vellin the classroom. On the one hand, they conform to expectations, providing the sort of cl~ronologicalchange students expect from history and offering usef~llexamples of how shifting boundaries of "public" and "private" can shape the experiences of lvomen. On the other hand, they upset expectations in pedagogically useful ~vays,suggesting that the history of wornen is not a history of steady improvement, that a good period for men can be a bad period for women (the twelfth century is conventionally seen, after all, as the apogee of medieral civilization, the so-called "high" Middle Ages), and that some medieval TI-omen lvere not as utterly subject to men as most students seem to assume. l'fost usefillly of all, these histories provide examples of historians-indebate, for despite the pedagogical usefillness of the "change-for-theworse" perspective, it is a highly contested interpretation; it does not jive well, for example, with my own hypothesis of patriarchal equilibrium. The Norman conquest provides students wit11 perhaps the best example of how historians have differently interpreted the fate of lvomen in a time of historical trauma and transition: women's lot falling under the burden of the Norman yoke; or women taking on newly roles as intermediaries between conquered Anglo-Saxons po~verf~ll and triumphant Sormans; or perhaps, as Pauline Stafford has cautioned, ~vomen'spolver, always limited, merely ~vaningin some areas as it ~vaxedin others.""

Because of its distance from our own time, the medieval millennium offers students unique opportunities for exploring the critical matter of differences among lvornen. The feminist trinity of "race, class, and gender" is nolv often expanded to accornrnodate such other differences as sexuality, religion, and ~vorldregion; medieral history expands our understandings of difference even more. In part, it does so simply by its distance, for chronolog~creates difference, too-not utter alterity, but subtle differences. Students rightly recognize parts of themselves in medieval people, but they also find that the medieval

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past is profound, compelling, and rich ~vithmeaning for feminist understandings of what "difference" really means (especially since the difference-of-time has relatively less resonance in modern life than such differences as race, class, and gender). Students also profit from interrogating the distinctive fissures that created many different sorts of "medieval lvornen." ,\Iarital status critically shaped the lives of women in the Middle Ages. X surprisingly high proportion of wornen in sorne parts of late medieval Europe passed their entire lives as never-married singlewomen; others married so young they spent all their adult years as wives; still others lost their husbands so early that their lives were mostly shaped by TI-idowhood;and, of course, some women passed slo~vlythrough all three stages. Each stage presented women ~vithsharply different opportunities and restrictions, so much so that students can profitably debate whether singlewomen, wives, and 1vido~1-s might be best conceptualized as different genders. Rrligion,s statu.s created another essential difference, and it cut along many lines: Christian, kf~lslim,or Jew, to be sure; but also 1ay1-omen, professed nuns, or pious mystics; and orthodox Christians as opposed to heretics. Legal stc~tussimilarly caned deep divides among wornen, especially differentiating fi-ee, serf, and slave. Ethnicitj mattered as ~I-ell,for the various peoples who settled Europe brought with them raried customs and laws. Srxnal .statns also carried weight, so much so that medieral municipalities sought to segregate prostitutes from other wornen by prescribing special dress, special accommodations, and special behaviors. And region shaped wornen's lives, especially since the frequency and age of female marriage differed dramatically in southern and northern Europe, by the fourteenth century, if not before." None of these categories is specific to the Middle Ages, but it is medieval scholarship-and the teaching of its findings in feminist classrooms-that can especially help students to explode the conventional catalog of "race, class, and gender" and to engage more fully wit11 the many fractures that run across the catego17 "TI-oman." Medieval histo17 also illustrates for students how the study of difference can be haunted, as discussed in Chapter 4, by assumptions that combine "difference" ~vith"~vornen'sstatus" to assess civilizations. Frorn the nineteenth century, medieval historians have often sought, almost as a matter of course, to identify sorne wornen as better off than others and, hence, to ralue some medieval civilizations over others. So, for example, the status of women on the peripheries of Europe was long the subject of mythic valorization, although recent scholarship has now effectively demolished Irish and Sorse claims to medieval pasts of gender e q ~ a l i t y .'2nd ~ ' so, for another example, the

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study of medieval heresies was long dominated by the Protestantaffirming assumption that lvomen flocked to such sects because they lvere more wornan-fi-iendly than the misogynous medieval church. Yet, as historians have now shown for the heresies of Catharism and Lollardy, these rosy assessments have no historical basis. Women were no more numerous arnong heretics than among the general population; heretical practices tended, not surprisingly, to reproduce mainstream gender hierarchies; and heretical theologies did not offer women liberation from traditional Christian teachings. I': In the classroom, these medieval examples of the subtle allure of difference-asranking provide fertile ground for forthright discussions. Once students recognize-in the safe arena of the distant past-the pernicious values that can be attached to such analyses, they are better prepared to criticize this practice in others and avoid it themselves. Medieval histol? also offers students a safe distance from which to explore the complex ways in TI-hichideologies about women and gender mark boundaries between peoples. In the central Middle Ages, Christian communities began to expand their territorial influence (as for example, in the so-called "Reconquest" of Iberia), and they also began to harass some who lived arnong them, especiallyJe~vs,prostitutes, male homosexuals, heretics, and lepers. In these early days of colonization and persecution, gender shaped constructions of "otherness" in ways that strongly resonate wit11 modern students. In medieval Iberia, for example, boundaries between Christians, Je~vs, and Muslirns were partly maintained by prohibitions against intergroup sexual relations. Similar in some respects to U.S. laws against miscegenation, medieval prohibitions nevertheless operated on a different register from modern anxieties: all medieral groups-Jewish and l~fuslirnminorities as ~vellas the Christian majority-agreed on the importance of preventing intergroup sexual contact; medieval prohibitions exhibited few anxieties about any "racial impurity" that might result from children born of such unions; and intergroup sexual unions accomplished through prostitution were a particular focus of concern. I" In medieral French epic, for another example, Muslim princesses were regularly depicted as falling in love with Christian knights and converting to Christianity in tales that evoke modern parallels with Western exoticization and cornmodification of nonWestern TI-omen.But they, too, have special medieral twists: most epics "whiten" Saracen TI-omen,depicting them as epitomes of Frankish standards of beauty, not as women made desirable by their physical otherness; they create Saracen heroines who threaten established norms of fernale behavior by rejecting their families, mocking men,

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and committing adultery; and most importantly, these stories use women to legitimate the profits of military victory." A ' third example-the feminization of slavery in medieval Europe-can strike modern students with particular force. Compared to both ancient and modern Europeans, medieyal people relied relatively little on slavery, yet as Susan l'fosher Stuard has sho~vn,this "medieval traffic in slaves was ovel~vhelminglya traffic in women." On the fi-ontiers of Europe, female slaves lvere easily obtained fi-orn ethnic or religious groups different from those of slave-owners, supplying Dalmatian TI-omento labor in Italian households, Celtic women for the Norse who settled Iceland, and kf~lslimwomen for the Christians of Iberia. Medieval records leave no doubt about a matter often elided in modern accounts of slavery-that is, that these wornen lvere valued not only for their productive labor but also as sexual and reproductive TI-orkers. Ii Differences among "medie~alTI-omen"cut many ways: Christian, Jewish, or Muslim; feudal, bourgeois, or peasant; free, serf, or slave; orthodox Christians or heretics; nuns or laywornen; singlewornen, wives, or ~vido~vs; Celts, Norse, Franks, Saxons, or Latins; northern European or southern European; young, middle-aged, or old. These divisions were real and important to medieyal women, but they also illustrate for students how differences can be ovel~alued,especially if TI-omen'slives are divided along one axis alone. After all, a peasant woman was notjust a peasant-she lvas also young or old; married or not; orthodox Christian, Christian heretic, or Je~v;northern or southern European. Medie~alhistory also suggests that TI-omen'scommon experiences might have sometimes smoothed over differences that mattered more to men. A feudal lord could not guide a plow and a plowman could not fight fi-orn horseback, but feudal ladies, urban good~vives,and poor countryvornen could all spin, ~vielda needle, care for children, and prepare a meal. Peasant women spun fi-om need and noble ladies for leisure, but each regarded the distaff and spindle with a familiarity that would have eluded a knight confronted TI-it11a plow or a p1o~1-man TI-it11a ~varhorse.Thus, medieyal women's history can help students to appreciate not only the extent of the differences that fi-actured the category "~vornan"but also the limits of their meanings.

Because medieval Europe is so far removed fi-orn our olvn time, it can also offer an effective example-both clear and unthreatening in its

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distance-of the profound polvers and troubling inconsistencies of gender ideologies. To begin with, medieval history itself exemplifies the powerfill ways in ~vhichgender is implicated in ho~vwe imagine the past. 41y students tend to assume that the Middle Ages epitomize woman hating: jealous husbands who clasped chastity belts on their ~vivesbefore heading off on crusade; brutal knights who, like the lord in the movie Braveheart, claimed the virginity of young brides on their estates; and young women ~ v h olvere driven, like Pope Joan, to crossdress in order to attend school. No medieval chastity belts survive, and those found in European museums are modern creations attributed to an imagined medieval past. The myth of the "right of the first night" is a similar concoction of heated postmedieval imaginations. '2nd the story of Pope Joan, ~ v h osupposedly ruled in the ninth century, arose as an antifeminist legend in the thirteenth c e n t l ~ r y . ~ V t might be disappointing to students that these are myths rather than histol~,but, crs fcrbl-iccrtion.~,these stories show the importance of gender in modern constructions of the medieral past. For many modern people, nothing better illustrates the barbarity of medieval society than its supposedly brutal treatment of wornen. Medieval thought about lvornen lvas shot through with ambivalence and contradiction, but medieval people were not, of course, unique in this regard. Many medieral ideas about gender grew from ancient traditions, and the core ambivalence of medieral gender ideolog~still flourishes in modern ti~nes.~" But medieval gender rules do provide exceptionally good examples of the deeply fi-aught nature of Tll'estern ideas about women. Defamed and defended, attacked and praised, caricatured as Eve and venerated as the Virgin, medieval women were both fully human and profoundly other."' In classroom teaching, medieval ideologies of gender can be useful precisely because it is so difficult for modern students to unpack their own contemporary gender rules. What students sometimes have difficulty seeing in our olvn culture, they can more readily perceive in the distant past. The I'irgin Man-a fascinating topic for many students-provides an excellent example of slippery gender ideologies. Medieval Christians salv Mary simultaneously as the bride of Christ nlzd his mother; as a young mother ~vithchild and the grieving mother of a crucified son; as the embodied throne for a child Christ held in her lap and his regal consort." This multivalent model presented real women with deeply ambiralent possibilities. Man's virginity provided holy TI-omen with the Middle Age's most fully articulated sexual identity, but holy virgins were both ~vashedof their gender and derided because of it. Insofar as virginity made a wornan admirable, it also made her not-

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woman, a virago who had triumphed over the base sexual urges characteristic of her sex. Yet this triumphant virginity never entirely degendered a lvoman, for many priests and monks regarded even the most devout nuns as burdensome threats to male chastity. As Saint Francis himself put it when he opposed the affiliation of nuns to his Franciscan order, "God has taken our wives fi-orn us, and now Satan has given 11s sisters." S u n s might have been pure in their virginity and masculine in their self-restraint, but they lvere not thereby freed-as the I'irgin was-from their tempting, feminine sexuality." For ordinary wives and mothers, Man's intercessory role was just as challenging to emulate as her virginity. Cast as a petitioner to her son on behalf of the needy, the sinfill, and the damned, the I'irgin sirnultaneously held power and lacked it. Although intercession was the Virgin's special forte, it lvas also attributed to other female saints and expected of ordinary women. Poets praised wives who wisely counseled their husbands, priests urged wives to use their "persuasive voices" to guide their husbands toward piety, and everyone expected queens to translate their ~vifelyinfluence into practical power. For medieval lvomen, this ideal of gentle persuasion lvas difficult to achieve in practice, for it required a deft balance of humility, shrewdness, and sagacity; no wonder that some women were maligned for ovel71-eening influence and others as malcontented shrews. Yet, no matter how challenging the role, medieral TI-omen-Virgin Mother, queen, or humble wife-~vere expected to exercise polver through the circuitous and challenging route of influencing men."" The ambiralence of medieral gender ideologies extended to the misog~nyfor TI-hichmedieval Europe is rightly famous. Students react wit11 justified horror to medieral misogynous texts, and it is easy to channel this horror into discussions about the meanings of medieval misogyny and its rnodern analogs. Nurtured by clerical celibates and strengthened by the ancient ideal of an ascetic philosophical life, medieral misog~nyattacked marriage (misogamy) almost as often as it maligned TI-omen."Thus cloaked in deep ambiralence toward marriage and family, medieral misogyny was also strongly inflected by humor, genre, and tradition. It d r e ~ von a remarkably small number of texts and authors, and it follo~vedquite predictable forms, usually listing examples of evil lvomen, relying on satirical caricatures, polemicizing against marriage, or spouting first-person complaints. In its antipathy to~l-ard marriage, its humor, and its repetitive forms, medieral misog~nyis not that far removed, as students quickly grasp, from some forms of rnodern misogyny, particularly jokes of the "ball and chain" variety.

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Students also benefit fi-orn reviewing scholarly debates about the meanings of medieval misogyny. To some medievalists, the rich literary traditions of misogyny suggest that it should be understood as a literary game, a forum in TI-hichauthors could "show off their literary paces." In this view, misog~nywas "a way of speaking about TI-omen as distinct fi-orn doing something to lvornen."" Yet other medievalists have objected to this interpretation, pointing out that lvornen actually suffered as a result of these misogynous ideas. Because women lvere perceived as naturally greedy, oversexed, and ~1ntrust~1-orthy, medieval people preferred to buy their ale and beer from male brewers rather than female bre~l-sters.And because medieral people believed that all lvomen used sex in order to gain money, position, and advantage, the prostitute was seen, as Ruth Karras has put it, as "simply the market-oriented version of a rnore general phenomenon."" ""Sicks and stones can break my bones but TI-ordscan never hurt me." If students bring this assumption to feminist complaints about contemporary advertising and entertainment, debates about medieval misog~ny ~villhelp them to think again.

Even before some postfeminists decided that they did not want to remember the past, students were arriving in history classes with rnore dread than enthusiasm. As historians and as feminists, we cannot surrender to this history-hating, no matter how entrenched it seems among twenty-first-cent~lrystudents and no matter how many of our colleagues in TI-omen'sstudies also embrace a persistent presentism. It is our particular responsibility to keep the past-not just the recent past but also rnore distant times-alive in feminist classrooms and in dialogue ~viththe present. This task is not as difficult as it might seem. After all, as publishers and toy manufacturers kno~v well, modern children spend many happy hours imagining medieral worlds of brave ladies, bold knights, saintly maids, and wily monks. To judge from the themes of recent movies-Robin Hood: Priizre o~TI~ZPUM The Stoly ofJoaiz ofArc (1999), (1991), Era-r~ehenrt (1995), The ~\.Iessenge,:. not to mention the Lord of the Riizgs trilogy (2001-3)-medieval fantasies thrive ~vellbeyond childhood. As children grow older, however, they too often discard these youthf~llpleasures in a deluded notion that the distant past is a childish preoccupation. If we fight effectively against this TI-rong-headedidea, the rich historical imaginations of children can mature into study, discussion, and learning. One part of this task is transforming h o ~ vstudents approach the

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past. In nurseries, medieval worlds are places of fantasy and daydream, strange ~vorldsfar removed fi-orn children's olvn lives. History and fantasy-Richard the Lionhearted and Buzz Lightyear-are much the same in playrooms, because both are, to a child, not now and not me. In schools, students develop a relationship to histon that emphasizes their lineal connectedness to past lives, a connectedness that fosters patriotism, civic pride, and a sense of national genealogy. Thus, students in U.S. high schools customarily study the histories of both nation and state, thereby learning to understand themselves as the descendants of founding fathers (and sometimes mothers). Seither of these relationships to histoq-histon-as-fantasy and histonas-descent-~vork productively in feminist classrooms; we must instead ask our students to approach history as a desk-bound sort of time travel. The history of medieval lvomen is not a ~vondrousdaydream, nor is it a foundational histon from TI-hichall modern TI-omen descend; instead, it is a histon that offers students new perspectives, new ways of seeing, new understandings, and new comparisons to their olvn lives. A U.S. student ~ v h otravels to China acquires these things; so, too, do U.S. and Chinese students ~ v h ostudy the history of medieval wornen. By studying past ~vorlds,these students see their own worlds in new ways. L l o t l ~ epart r of our task is to startle students with the revelations of this time travel, offering them a histon that is as fascinating as it is productive. This is nolv easily done, thanks to the perspicacious questions and hard research of feminist medievalists into topics of immediate relevance to today's students. Students can now examine the culture of rape among the feudal aristocracy;" the somatic piety of female mystics, especially as manifested by such extreme fasting that some historians compare it to modern anorexia;" the wars in which medieval women might have sought to practice birth control and induce abortions;"!' the working lives of lvomen in both tolvn and countl~;"" the rule of early medieral abbesses over monasteries that contained monks as well as nuns; the veneration of virginity in the Middle Ages;'>'the proscriptions, perceptions, and practices of lesbian sexuality;"' the nature of motherhood in a ~vorld~vheremany children died young and many others left home at young ages;6"the construction of masculinity in medieval cultures;"4the accepted place d gender of prostitution in medieral towns and canon l a ~ v ; ' ~ a nthe transgressions of TI-omenwho cross-dressed as men and men who cross-dressed as T I - ~ ~ ~ I I . ~ ~ Some might see these as trendy topics; I see thern as histories that speak directly to students, offering nelv ways of thinking about issues

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~vith~vhichthey struggle daily. For example, matters of religion and spirituality pervade modern campuses and so, too, do eating disorders; both can be revealingly brought into classrooms through the study of female spirituality in medieral Christianity. As Caroline Walker Bynum has explored so caref~llly,Christian women in late medieval centuries often expressed their faith through extreme acts of bodily self-denial, especially fasting. In Bynum's riel\; these acts, horrifying as they are to modern readers, speak to the creative and positive ways in TI-hichfemale Christian mystics then approached their God. Yet other historians take a less sanguine view, arguing that the extreme self-abnegation of these women illustrates the active misogyny of the medieval Church or even mental illness. My students are fascinated by the stories of these women and eager to debate ~vhether their asceticisrn should be seen as positive expressions of female piety, sad proof of female oppression, or merely evidence of individual patholog: (especially anorexia nervosa). As part of this debate, they think historically (interpreting the writings of medieval mystics), comparatively (placing this specific case against broader histories of lvomen in established religions), and contemporarily (reconsidering their own ideas about faith and food) .'I' IlVe also must not forget to share in our classrooms the pleasures that first drew us toward histol:. For me, those pleasures began with fiction but moved quickly to biography, and if the history sections of bookstores are any guide, biography remains today the most popular of historical genres. I have expressed concerns in Chapter 2 about how our current turn toward biography can favor privileged, articulate women, but there is no denying that biographies are a terrific teaching tool. Medieval Europe, for example, produced numerous extraordinary lvomen ~vhose~vell-documentedlives allow students to explore the do~vn-to-earthrealities behind abstract historical generalizations: wornen such as Heloise of the Paraclete, lover of Peter Abelard and revered abbess;""leanor of Xquitaine, duchess in her own right, wife of two kings, and mother of two more;"" Christine de Pizan, the first woman in Europe to support herself by writing and-as students can debate-perhaps Europe's first feminist;;" Hildegard of Bingen, abbess, polymath, and ~isionary;'~ Joan of A-c, peasant girl, mystic, and ~varrior;;' Christina of St. Trond (c. 1130-1224), kno~vn as "mil-crbilis" in the Middle Ages and just as astonishing to students today;7:' Margel: Kempe (c. 1373-1438), author of the first autobiography in E n g l i ~ h .These ;~ biographical forays also critically encourage students to understand medieval lvomen on their own terms, even if those terms initially seern foreign, abstract, and even downright odd.

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In a process of simultaneous identification and differentiation, students learn that ~vhatmight seern peculiar to 11s was practical, possible, or perhaps even pleasurable to medieval lvornen. In other ~vords, they more f~lllygrasp, through biography, the dffir-inces that distinguish medieval women from ourselves. I hare focused here on the European Middle Ages, but it is just one example of how the teaching of the history of wornen before 1800 can effectively draw students alvay fi-om contemporary self-absorption in the disand to~l-ardtough intellectual issues. The histol? of ~I-omen tant past teaches students about the sources, traditions, and controversies of feminist history-writing; it raises hard questions-about relations bet~veenlvomen and men, about differences among people, and about the possibility of human equality-that are of pressing interest to all feminists; and it asks students to think critically about the complex TI-orkingsof ideology, culture, and religion, both in the past and today. In feminist classrooms, the distant past encourages students to critique modern assumptions, to see feminist issues in a longer view, and to ackno~vledgethe powerful differences between ourselves and those long dead. "What does history disclose but marks of inferiority, and how few women have emancipated themselves from the galling yoke of sovereign man?" Thus complained Mary I~~ollstonecraft in 1792.'So, too, complain some students today, easily tired by histories that seemingly harp on women's victimization and men's offense. Their tiredness divides feminist generations: older TI-omenwho argue, as did Jane Fonda in a recent intel~ie~l-, "patriarchy is very much alive and well, and we have to do something about it," and younger women (in this case Fonda's interrie~ver,Ernrna Brockes) ~ v h ocounter that "the word patriarchy is an anachronism-that, while no one ~voulddeny inequality exists, lots of women would bridle at the suggestion they are victims of a patriarchal system.""' The ~vomen'shistol? advocated in this book-attentive to the deep past and alive to continuities and patriarchal equilibriums-can reinvigorate the feminist politics of our field. But it can also exasperate some-especially younger wornen and especially students-to ~vhornit seems both debilitating and depressing. Feminist teachers must turn this exasperation into conversation. Students do not respond well to being lectured about patriarchy, but they do jump at opportunities to tackle patriarchy as an as-yet-developing concept and a still-to-be-solved historical problem. If asked to define patriarchy and study its history, they teach themselves that

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patriarchy is not the blunt instrument they had assumed, not a cornrnittee of ~vhite-hairedmen, not a set system, and not a lvar of men against wornen. They also come to see that the things that most trouble them about the term-that "patriarchy" seems to imply that men are to blame and that women are universal victims-are not inherent to the concept. In these ~vays,they reclaim "patriarchy" as a usable concept instead of a discarded bugbear. l~fuchthe same is true of the "marks of inferiority" that can so predominate in women's history. It would be nice, I suppose, to teach a women's history filled with woman-affirming heroines, and it can be difficult, I well know, to teach a history that dwells on constraint, disappointment, and frustration. But a light touch helps considerably, as does a steady focus on many ~vaysin ~vhichlvornen maneuvered ~vithinpatriarchy, benefited fi-orn patriarchy, and critiqued patriarchy. In these ways, students can grasp the full challenge of feminist struggles, as well the personal challenges which they, both TI-omenand men, will inevitably confront in the world beyond campuses and classrooms. Like all historians, I seek to equip my students ~vithnew information and better skills, and like all feminists, I seek to empower my students as ~vell.I hope my former students will recall, ~vhenthey face disappointments and troubles later in life, that their problems have histories and are not, therefore, personal failings. I also hope they will always think more deeply about feminist issues, and in this regard, I can do no better than quote the classicist A n y Richlin, reflecting on parallels in rnasculinist rhetoric, Roman and modern: "So what do lve do ~viththe idea that such narratives have been operating to silence women for over two thousand years? I always tell my students that you have to know what yo~l'refacing before you can fix it . . . I think it is important to keep faith with history-and then keep on working.""

C l ~ a f ~8t ~ r

Conclusion: For Whom Are We Doing Feminist History?

Like most historians, I feel more cornfortable thinking about the past than speculating on the filture. This book began with recollections of my first encounters ~vithwornen's history in the 1970s, and it has built its argument around both histon per se (especially medieval histol?) and the history of feminist history-writing in the last thirty years. I know how to do the past; doing the f~ltureis much harder. But if you have come this far ~vithme, you kno~vthat this book is not about nostalgia or melancholy; it is about assessing what lve have done right, where lve have gone off track, and ho~vlve might do better. I have been inspired throughout by Barbara Christian's question, posed in the late 1980s to feminist literary critics and evoked here in the title of this conclusion.

The f~nzlnisr?~ of feminist h i s t o i ~ Universities are feminist battlegrounds that understandably divert historians of wornen and gender away fi-orn such in-the-street feminist issues as economic equity, reproductive rights, and domestic violence and to~vardmore internal, academic issues. Thus, we seek to integrate TI-omen'sexperiences into mainstream histon, to hire more TI-omen faculty, to ensure that our campuses are safer, to create curricula that speak to the interests of a11 students, and to improve the status of women on our campuses. These are important, indeed crucial, issues that rightly absorb our energies. But they are not sufficient. As ferninist historians, we are obliged to juggle t~voagendas: first, to eradicate the misogynistic traditions of academia in their many, entrenched forms, and second, to explain to feminists more generally-from our privileged position as researchers and teachers-how histon can help us understand wornen's oppression and work toward its final eradication.

134

Chapter 8

\Ye historians ~villbetter serve our feminist allies if we fi-arne our studies around feminist questions, ~vriteessays and books in clear prose, and, perhaps most important of all, dare to see our specific historical work within larger frames. The epistemological crises of the late t~ventiethcentury have made us timid about claims to knowledge, but we can still suggest and think ~vithoutnaively claiming to kno~v for certain. Similarly, although we should certainly eschew universal statements that suppress difference, lve can still seek patterns and elucidate comparisons through the more supple frameworks of generalization. I have disagreed above with Joan Scott's comment that "simply comparing data about TI-omendid not get us very far,"? and I also disagree with Sara Evans's declaration that "clearly we all understand that generalizations about women are going to be very hard to come by in the future and probably are not worth the effort."" In my view, feminist histo17 will not be worth the effort if we do not compare and generalize. If we retreat into detailed histories ralued for their specificity alone we might find a safe harbor in terms of knowledge claims and attention to difference, but we will have rendered women's and gender history innocuous within the discipline and irrelevant to the political imperatives of feminism. As I look to the future, I hope more of us will take the risk of setting our work within larger intellectual and political contexts. Feminism is an inherently plural noun, for feminist approaches are always diverse and multiple. Diverse and multiple, too, are feminist approaches to the history of wornen and gender. But it is time for historians of women and gender to regain our feminist indignation and to reorient our history around the straightfonvard feminist conviction that TI-omenshould share human opportunities equally with men. That conviction rightly carries 11s in many directions-especially into the many other inequalities that limit human lives, male as ~vell as female-but awareness of women's illegitimate subordination to men rests at feminism's core. In the last few decades, TI-omen'sand gender history has too often settled comfortably into approaches that are professionally safe and unduly timid about the sexual inequities at the heart of feminist critique. To my mind, our history should be less safe and more offensive.

The I z l ~ t oof~ feminist ~ history We live in presentist times, and feminist histo17 is especially harmed by it. My data have suggested that feminist historians collectively suffer fi-orn an acutely bad case of temporal truncation, and this is an

Conclusion

155

affliction that feminism can ill afford, given the tenacity of the historical problems it poses. Even more than most other historical fields, feminist history needs the distant past. I believe as firmly today as I did in the 1970s that histol? has unique and critical contributions to offer to the feminist struggle, but those contributions cannot derive solely fi-orn a history of wornen and gender since 1800. \Ye must look filrther back, attend to continuity as ~vellas change, and take better advantage of the perspectives that only temporal distance (and difference) can offer. I hope we will also take as our brief the challenge of leading our feminist colleagues in other disciplines away from the intellectual abyss of relentless contemporaneity. We need to remind those who might prefer not to remember.

Patriarchy In the 1970s, feminist historians spoke easily and readily about patriarchy; today, we do not. have been encouraged to mute our voices by two contrary but po~verfulforces: on the one hand, the practices of a historical discipline in ~vhich,as lve have already seen, study of wornen's oppression is characterized as "minor, amateurish, overemotional, and uncritical," and on the other hand, the aversion of postfeminists to any hint of complaint about systematic sexual inequalities.Tl~eseare po~l-erf~ll disincentives, but we must not give way before them. Patriarchy talk might be unfashionable in some circles, but it is essential to the filture of feminism, essential to historical research on women and gender, and essential in our teaching. We still have many things to learn about patriarchal power in the past as well as the present, but one thing is certain: sexual equality will not be advanced by wishing alvay patriarchy, trivializing its effects, or ignoring it in feminist classrooms. Il'e

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Notes

1. Feminist history is most firmly entrenched in the United States a n d the but it is recognized else~j-here,too. For a n oven-ie~vof the national and institutional contexts of the development of the field as of 1990, ~ i ' s I ~ i t ~ t . ~ i ( ~ tPi op )~:ir(I~~ l~ r t i ied. ~ ~ sKaren . Offen. Ruth see Tli.iti~igT l ' o ~ ~ c ~Histo)!: Roach Pierson. and Jane Rendall (Basingstoke: hlacmillan, 1991). esp. xxiixxvii. 2. As cited in ;2nne Clark Bartlett, "Defining the Terms: Postferninism as a n Ideology of Cool," Jlcdic-c~alFc~izi~~ist Fo~.rr~iz 34 (Fall 2002): 25-29, at 28. 3. In 1970s Toronto, I learned not only about feminism and history but also about constructi~ecriticism that facilitates change and gro~j-th.I hope c l z ~the Chnllcnge ofFrniinis~izfalls within that posthat Histo)> ;lfc/tters:P c ~ t ~ . i a ~ .c111d itive tradition, and if so, much credit is d u e to the constructi~ecritiques of colleagues and friends. I will not repeat here my gratitude to those xvl~ose cornrnents enriched the original articles that inform some parts of \\.hat foll o w . but I would like to acknowledge my debt to Sandy Bardsley, Laura Goxving, Cynthia Herrup. Nancy Henitt. Ruth Karras, Patricia Skinner, a n d h l a r t l ~ aVicinus, 1\.11o critically read this nexv book-length formulation; the final book is much better for their generous a d ~ i c e although , they d o not, of course, bear any responsibility for the arguments herein. I also thank the research assistants I\-110 haye made my work so much easier: Dana Brinson, Bethany Keenan, Kristina Lorusso, Jennifer Tl'alcoff, a n d Janelle Tl'erner. 4. For permission to dra~j-o n my past writings, I thank Indiana Uni~ersity Press, for "C:onfronting Cbntinuity." Jocr1.1in1of T l ' o ~ t c:r~ ~Hi.rtot! i 9:3 (1997): 73-94; the ;2merican Historical ;2ssociation for dlpdi~ilnlT l h ~ ~ c ip~ di I o d ~ t .P~pi t ~ .spprtiilp (Ti-ashington. D.C;.: AHA, 2000); and the University of Texas Press, for " 'Lesbian-Like' and the Social History of Lesbianisms," Jocr1.1in1of t l i ~ Hi.rtoty of Scuzic~litj9:1/2 (2000) : 1-24. Sly other relevant essays are "Tlhmen's History h Study in Change a n d Continuity," I'lbnirn's Histo)> R r ~ ~ i r i2c ! (1993): 173-84; "Medievalism and Feminism," S@ccrrlzini:A Jorrr11c11o f Afcdic-c~alStrrdirs 68 (1993): 309-31; "Medieval TVomen, Modern TVomen: Across the Great Divide," in Crrltrrrr c111dHisto,?, 1350-1600: Esscl~s011E~lglishConi~izrrnitirs,Idcntitips, c11ir1Tli.iti~ig,ed. David Xers (London: Harvester Ti-heatsl~eaf,1992), 147-73, ~\.itha revised version in FP)~ei~iists R ~ i l i s i o ~Histo)?. i ed. Ann-Louise Shapiro (Nexv Bruns~\.ick.A-.J.: Rutgers University Press. 1994). 47-72; "Femi) . Histo)! 1 (1989): 231-72. nism and History." C k ~ i r l ~c11ir1 3. I borron. this phrase from C:arolyn Dinshaxv. C;?tti~igr J I ~ ( l i ~ i ~S ~( ~x el :r n l i t i ~ s c111d Coninizinitics, P1.r- clnd P o s t n i o d r ~ .(Durham, ~~ N.C.: Duke Uni~ersityPress, 1999), ~ v h oherself toolz it from a comment in the 1994 m o ~ i ePrrlj Fiction.

Notes to Pages 7-9

159

A~izr~.ica Yorlz: Grossman, 1976); Joan Scott a n d Louise Tilly, 1Tbnio1, (Ne\\.York: Holt. Rinehart, and 1'Vinston, 1978). Tlbtlr, n~idFn;n,~tih 3. Krista Co~vmanand Louise XJaclzson, "Time," in A Co~lcisrC o ~ i z j ! I a ~ ~ i o ~ ~ ed. Mary Eagleton (Oxford: Blackwell, 2003), 32-32, at 36. t o F ~ ~ t t i ~ iTli~oty. ist For E ~ a n s ' scomment, see Anne Firor Scott e t al., "12'omen's History in the A-exv Millennium: X C:om-ersation across Three 'Generations': Part 2." Jorrt.1ic11 (1999): 199-220, at 213. of1Tb~izr11's H i s f o ) 11.2 ~ 6. For international over~ie\\.sof the field. see Teresa -1. hleade and h1en-y E. 12'iesner-Hanks, eds., A Conij!Ia~lio~l to Golrlrr Histo7;y (Oxford: Blach\-ell, 2004); Karen Offen. Ruth Roach Pierson, a n d Jane Rendall. eds.. Tli.iti~ig I ~ i t ~ t ' ~ i c l t i oP?;n,:sp~cti-o~s ~inl (Basingstoke: hlacmillan, 1991);Jay T l b ~ t t>~ Histo17: ~i Kleinberg, eds.. Rpt;n,.i~-0i~ig T l b ~ t>~Hi.stoty: ~i Clic~ligiligP~tr(ptioli.sof flip ROIPof n ~ i dSociptj (Oxford: Berg. 1988). T h e figure of seventy U.S. T l b ~ t t ~i ~~Politics i graduate programs was g i ~ e nby Gerda Lerner in her "12'omen among the Professors of History: T h e Story of a Process of Transformation," in Tbicrs of T'T'onio~H i s f o ~ . i c ~Tlzc ~ ~ sPrrso~lcll, : the Politicc~l,thr P~~ofcssional, ed. Eileen Boris a n d Nupur Chaudhuri (Bloomington: Indiana Uni~ersityPress, 1999), 1-10, a t 7. T h e International Federation for Research in 12'omen's History was founded in 1987; their I\-ebsite is at http://1\7\7\-.ifr~\-h.com.T h e three journals are Grr~dcra ~ l dH i s f o ~ ypublished , by an Anglo-American editorial team; Tlzr Jozirnal of T'T'onicn's H i s f o ) ~based , entirely in the United States; a n d the T l b ~ t t>~ Hi.stoty ~i R P ~ I ~based B . ( I ~in. the UK. 7. Mhmen's history also is especially \\.ell institutionalized in the Netherlands. from xvl~enceis produced. among other things. the Virtual Library in I\-omen's History (11ttp://~\~\~\:iisg.nl/~1'3v1~~o1nei~sl1isto1-y) and the E I I I . O ~ P ( I I ~ See Maria Grever, " 'Pivoting the Center': Mhmen's Jocrt.1ic11of T l b ~ t t>~ Strrdirs. ~i History as a C:ompulsory Examination Sul~jectin all Dutch Secondary Schools (11ic1Hi.sto;n,y3:l (1991): 65-80. and Mal-jan Sch\\.egin 1990 and 1991," Ck~id~;n,. Inan and Mineke Bosch, "The Future of I\-omen's History T h e Dutch Perspective," Gcnrlrl. c111rlHisto7;y 3:2 (1991): 129-36. I must confess that I am often struck by the relatiye c~kcnccof I\-omen's history courses in many nonU.S. uni~ersities;loolz, for example at the intercollegiate offerings at the University of London (l~ttp://~~~~~v.l~istory.ac.ul~Hi.rtoty ~/ 16:2 (2001): 10-29, at 21. 17. C)n translation difficulties. see Bock. "Mhmen's History." 10; Gisela Boclz, "Challenging Dichotomies: Perspecti~eso n 12hmen.s History," in l'l'riti ~ l gI'lb~nrn'sHisto~y,ed. Offen et al., 1-23; a n d Moi, "1111at is a 12hman)" 3-6

Notes to Pages 17-20

163

(Sloi also discusses the I\-ays in ~\-llicllour contemporary sex/gender distinction can cause us to misread "sex" in the x~ritingsof earlier feminists). 48. I am grateful to Ruth Karras for this critical point. . c ~ ~ i c ll : l (1989): 1-6, at 1. I 49. "I'Vhy Gender a n d History?" C ; ~ ~ i c l ~ ~ Histo17 should disclose that I was o n the editorial collecti~ethat developed this statement. 30. Joan Tl'allach Scott, "Gender: X Useful Category of Historical Analy~~i R~71iuil9 1 5 (1986) and subsesis," first published in the A ~ t c ~ t i c cHistot.icc11 quently revised for her Gcndo. ( I I I ~the Politics o f H i s t o ~ y(New h r l z : Columbia University Press, 1988, rev. ed. in 1999). 28-32, quote at 44. I cite pages from the 1988 version. 31. Riley, A I II~Tliclt ,\;?II~P?;Joan MBllach Scott, "The Evidence of Experience." C~.iticnlI~iqrrity17 (1991): 773-97. 32. In his re vie^\- of Mary Beard's 1~Tb~iza11 (1s (I Fo1.c~ill Histo7j in the ,\bic~ Ibrli Ti~izrs,17 March 1946: 3 , as cited in Johanna ,Ilberti, Gr~ldcrand tlzr Historia11 (London: Longman, 2002), 8. 33. Scott's formulation also generated intense debate. O n e good starting point in the debate is Martin Bunzl, "The Construction of History," Jozi~.nal of l~lb~ncn's Histo~y9:3 (1997) : 119-31, a n d Judith P. Zinsser, " 'Sluch More is at Stake Here . . .': h Response to 'The Construction of History,'" jorr1.1101of I~T'o~ncn's Histo7j 9:3 (1997): 132-39. To get a sense of the passionate feelings o n both sides. see Joan Hoff. "Gender as a Postmodern Chtegory of ParalyP I ~ RP71i~.(~r 3:2 (1994): 149-68, a n d debate thereafter in llh~tcsis,'' I ~ ~ I I :r ~Hi.rtoty 9-30. I agree nith Ellen DuBois's sentiment: ?,iS Hi.rtoty R P ~ I ~5:l P I I(1996): I "As far as I arn concerned. the xYoman versus gender debate among historians is done. it is old news. it is not worth worrying about, it has happened, a n d it is over. Mhmen's history \\.as not \\.ashed away by the rise of gender history. So I accept x ~ o m e n ' shistory a n d gender history as compatible." A-ancy Cott et al.. "Considering the State of U.S. Mhmen's History." Jorr1.1in1 of1Ib~izr11's Histo7j 15.1 (2003): 145-63, at 131. 34. Nan Enstad, Ladirs o f L n b o ~ ;Girls ofAd7~cntzi1.r:l'lb~kingI'Tb~nrn,Popzila~. Yoi-lz: C o l u n Crrltrr~.e,and Labor Politics at thr Trrr~lof the Tic~cntirthCr~ltroj(Ne~jbia L-ni~ersityPress, 1999), 5. 33. For Japan, see Hirolzo Nagano, "The Unique Relationship between Tlhmen's History and Gender History in Japan: In Search of Direction for the Future," a paper given at the International Federation for Research in Tlhmen's History subconference at the 20th International Congress of Historical Studies in Sydney, ;2ustralia. in July 2003 and available online at the IFRI'VH website at l~ttp://~\~o~.ifrx~l~.corn. 36. This \\.as, for example. the vie\\. expressed by Kathleen Canning in the discussion that follo~\.edher talk "The Practice of Gender History Meanings. hlethods, and hletanarratives," at Duke University. March 4. 2004. 3 /. T h e full list is available at http://~o~~\~.ifr~\~h.cor~~/natioi~al-corll~n tees.htm. 38. For the United States, this st017 is told in Hilda A. Smith et al., A HisCozincil for 1Ib~izr11 in thr Histo~icalP ~ ~ o f e s s i o ~ ~ - C o ~ ~ f e ~ ~ r ~ to)> of tlzr Coo~cli~lati~lg Grozip on 1~Tb~izr11's Histo7j (Brooklyn, N.Y.: CCIVHP-CGTVH, 1994). 39. Although I look back here only to the "early days" of the 19iOs, the professional d e ~ e l o p m e n tof I\-omen's history extends back into the nineteenth century. See Julie DesJardins, l'lb~nrnand the Historical E ~ l t o p r i s ri n h

164

Notes to Pages 20-23

A~izo.ica (Chapel Hill: Uni~ersityof North Carolina Press, 2003), a n d Jane ~~i c11ir1flipA c a d ~ ~ t(hladison: ij University of T\-isChance, ed.. T l ' o ~ t i dI~di~-clali.rtr consin Press, 2003). 60. A-ancy Hexyitt, "The Glass Toxyer: Half Full or Half Empty?" in Tcllri~ig Histo7j as A c f i ~ ~ i sed. ~ n Jim , DOT\-nsa n d JenBnck thr Acadr~izj!Histo,? ofAcfi-c~is~n, nifer hlanion (Ye\\. York: Routledge, 2004), 93-102. 61. At the University of Carolina at Chapel Hill, for example, faculty have spent countless hours in recent years defending History and T\-ornen's Studies from spurious but I\-ell-publicized attacks by the John T2'illiam Pope Center for Higher Education Policy. See also the story of a n orchestrated right-lying attack o n Glenda Gilmore after she \\.rote a n op-ed in the Yale carnpus paper opposing the U.S. invasion of Iraq: Glenda Gilmore, "The Most Ckaven Abdication of Democratic Principles: O n the U.S. -Ittack in Back fhr Acadr~izj,ed. Downs and Slanion, 113-24. Iraq," in Tc/lii~lg 62. "The Challenge of Tl'omen's History," lecture delivered in August 1977 a n d printed in Gerda Lerner, Tlzc Jlccjo~ifjFir~dsIts Pclsf: Plncing 1Tb~izr11 ill Histo)> (Oxford L-ni~ersityPress, New York, 1979), 171. 63. Gerda Lerner, Tlzr C~.rafionof P(~fria,.clzj( N e ~ \Yorlz: Oxford University Press, 1986), 233-35. To my mind, the use of "oppression" applies an intellectual discipline that forces us to confront matters we might othenj-ise set aside. First, "oppression" expresses our consciousness that historical relations bet\\.een the sexes xyere harrnful to xyornen. 110 rnatter 1~11atthe consciousness of the \\.omen themselves might have been. Second. "oppression" creates rnore conceptual space for the analysis of subjects that we might prefer to ignore-evil intent o n the part of men, suffering o n the part of \\.omen, hatred between the sexes, and the like. 61. I included 293 substantive articles, but I excluded sorne forums, archival reports, book reviews. a n d sirnilar miscellanea. I looked at all titles and abstracts. and I scanned or read specific articles, as necessary. -1l1out a dozen of the articles counted in the sun-ey did not provide abstracts. 65. Joanne H. TVright, "Going against the Grain: Hobbes' Case for OrigiHisto,? 14:l (2002): 123-48 at nal Maternal Dominion," [ozi~.nalof 1Tb~izr11's 123; Laura Gowing, "The Haunting of Susan La)-: Sen-ants and Mistresses in Se~enteenth-Cent? England," Gcndr,. c111dH i s f o ~ 14:2 j (2002): 183-201, abstract at i ~ . 66. Amy Richlin, "The Ethnographer's Dilemma and the Dream of a Lost Golden Age," in Fr~ninistTlzco~ja ~ l dthe Clc~ssics,ed. Nancy Sorkin Rabino~j-itz and ;Zmy Richlin (A-en. Yor-k: Routledge. 1993), 272-303, and "Holy Putting t: the hlan in Rornan Put the Rornan in Romance," in Tallri~igC k ~ i d ~Plrblic I ~ t i a g ~Ps ,~ ~ s o ~Ji oc ilrl ~ . ~ i ~ c11ir1 j . r , Political C~.itiqirps,ed. Nancy Hewitt, Jean CI'Barr. a n d Nancy Rosebaugh (Chapel Hill: University of A-orth Ckrolina Press, 1996), 11-35; Ruth Mazo Karras. Fto~tiBoj.r to d I ~ ~ i : F o t . ~ t i c ~ of,JIc~.rcirli~iitj tio~is i~i University of Pennsylvania Press. 2003); Lot? LJI~cli~-c~al E I I I . O (Philadelphia: ~P Julie Hardwick. Tli? P~.clctic?of Pc~t~.ic~t.clij: C ; P I ~ ( ~aP~Ii.dt l i ~Po1itic:r of Hoir.r~liold A r r f h o ~ i fill j E n r b Jlodcrn Frclncc (University Park, Pa.: Pennsylvania State Uni1Tb1k~ e r s i t yPress, 1998); Dorothy Sue Cobble Tlzc Othrr 1Tb1ncn's Jlo-c~r~izo~t: j!~lc~cr Jrrsficr a n d Social Riglzts ill Jlodcrn A~nrrica (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Uni~ersityPress, 2004). 67. Catherine Hall, "Politics, Post-Structuralism a n d Feminist History," Gcr~dcra ~ l dHisto7j 3:2 (1991): 204-10; Kathleen Canning, "Feminist History

Notes to Pages 23-25

165

after the Linguistic Turn: Historicizing Discourse and Experience," Sig~ls:A Joir1.1ic11of I l ' o ~ ~ii~~Crrltrrw i~ i c11ir1Sociptj 19:2 (1994): 368-101; Judith Newton. "A Feminist Scholarship You Can Bring Hoine to Dad?" Jozi~.nalof I'lb~izrn's Histo17 2:3 (1991): 102-08. 68. Hall, "Politics," 209. Similarly, Mary Slaynard has noted of Liz Stanley and Sue 1'Vise. B ~ ~ n l r i ~Out: i g . F~~tti~ii.rt Co~iscioir.r~irr.r c11ir1F ~ ~ ~ i i ~R ir ir s~ tc ~ ~ ,(Loncli don: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1983), "Long before post-structuralism and post-modernism appeared on the feminist scene, they were suggesting that terins such as '~vomen'sexperience', 'feminist research' and 'feminist analysis' were constructed rather than essential categories, as were also categories that ferninisrn is predicated upon, namely 'xvornan' and 'man.' " hlaynard, "Beyond the Big Three," 263-66. 69. I take the distinction betxveen high and middle-range theory from Maynard, "Beyond the Big Three," 276, I\-110herself was dra~j-ingon the I\-orlz of Robert Slerton. My examples are borro~j-edfrom Hall, "Politics," 209. 70. David Herlihy, I'lb~izr~~, Fc/nii(?.,and Socirtj in ;Ilrdir7~(11 Ezi~.ope:Hisfo~ical Essc/js, 1978-1991 (Providence, R.I.: Berghahn Boolzs, 1995); Stanley Chojnaclzi, 1Tbnicn a ~ l dJ l r n in R o ~ a i s s c ~ ~T'olicr: ~ c e Tic~rh~e Essc/js 011 P(lt~.icicl~lSocietj (Baltimore, Sld.: Johns Hopkins L-ni~ersityPress, 2000); P. J. P. Goldberg, I'l'onicn, I'lbrli, a ~ l dLife Cjclr in a Aledic-c~alE C O I I O I'l'onicn T ~ : ill York and Ib~lishirr, c. 1300-1520 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992). 71. See, in this regard, Berenice -1.Carroll, "The Politics of C)riginality ~i 2:2 I\-omen and the Class System of the Intellect," Jorr1.1ic11of T l h ~ t i'r~ Hi.rto~y (1990): 136-63. 72. A-atalie Zernon Davis, " 'T\hmen's History' in Transition: The European Chse," F?~tii~iist Strrdi~s3:3/4 (1976): 83-103. reprinted in F ~ ~ ~ i i ~ c11ir1 iis~ti Histo17, ed. Joan 1'Vallach Scott (Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1996), 79105, at 93. 73. Natalie Zernon Davis, Tli? R ~ t r r ~ofLJIcl~.ti~i .~i C;~~PI.IF (Chmbridge, hlass.: Han-ard University Press, 1983). 74. Natalie Zemon Davis, I'lb~izr~~ 011 tlzr Alcogins: Tlzrrc Se7~enter11fh-Cr11frr1~ Mass.: Han-ard University Press, 1995). See also Kathleen L Z ~ J (Cambridge, CS Berry, "The Ne~j-Historical Synthesis: 12hinen's Biography," Jozi1.na1 of 1Tb~izel's his to)^ 1:3 (1990): 73-103; a forum on biography in Grrldcr and H i s f o )2:l ~ (1990): 17-78; Barbara Caine, "Feminist Biogi-ap11y and Feminist History," I'l'onicn's his to);^ Re-c~iero3:2 (1992): 247-62; Nell In-in Painter, "12'riting BioH i s f o 9:2 ~ ~ (1997): 154-63. graphies of 12'omen," Jozi~.nalof1Tb~izo1's 75. Gerda Lerner, "U.S. Mhmen's History Past. Present. and Future." J o r r ~ ~ ~ i 16:4 (2001): 10-27. ,in1 of I l ' o ~ ~>iHi.rto~y i b . Laurel Ulrich Thatcher. A ,JIid.c~lfp:rTell?: Tlip Lifii o f d I c ~ ~ . t l B i cn~l l n ~ d , , 812 (A-exv Yor-k: Knopf, 1990). Bcl.rPd 0 1 ) lip).D i n ~ y 1787-1 i i . For an early discussion of the feminist implications of the cultural turn. see Sonra Rose et al.. "I\-ornen's Histon~/Gender Histon,: Is Ferninist Historr~L o ~ i n gIt7 C:rrtical Edge;" Jorr~~inl of I l ' o ~ ~>i Htrto11 ~ ~ i 5:l (1993): 89128. 78. Gail Bedelman, ; ~ ~ ~ O I ~cltld Z I ICCZS ~S J I ~ I ZA( ICzilfzi1(11 ~ I ~ I I Hzsfo17 of G C I I ~ C I ( I I I ~ Race I I I the Cillfrd Statrs, 1880-191 7 (Chicago : Unirei-sit\ of Chicago Pless, 1993). 79. Lerner, "U.S. 12hinen's Histolr ." 80. Scott, G r ~ l d ra) ~ l dthe Polztlcs ofHzsfo17,27. h

.

hh

166

Notes to Pages 25-27

81. Linda Gordon, "The Trouble I\-it11Difference," Dissrr~f(Spring 1991): 41-17, at 46; Lise Yogel, "Telling Tales: Historians of Our 0 x ~ nLives," J o r r ~ r ~ a of l I~lbnicn'sHisto,? 2:3 (1991): 89-101. 82. Compare, for example. Eileen Boris and Peter Bardaglio's "The TI-ailsformation of Patriarchy" (1983) to its m u c h improved r e ~ i s i o n"Gender, Race. a n d Class" (1987). Eileen Boris and Peter Bardaglio. "The TI-ansformation of Patriarchy: T h e Historic Role of the State," in Fc/~izilics,Politics, and Plrblic Polic~.ed. Irene Diamond and Mary Lyndon Shanley (Ye\\. Yo'-k: Longman, 1983), 70-93. Eileen Boris a n d Peter Bardaglio, "Gender, Race, a n d Class: T h e Impact of the State o n the Family a n d the Econorny, 1790-1913," in Fc~~tiilips cl~irlIl'o)/?,ed. Naorni Gerstel and Harriet Engel Gross (Philadelphia: Ternple University Press. 1987). 132-51. 83. Jane E. hlangan, T).c~cli~ig Ro1p.r: C;?~idpt;Etli~iicitj,cl~irlt l i ~c'thn~iEco~io~tij ill Colo~lialPofosi (Durham, N.C.: Dulze University Press, 2003). 84. Elizabeth D. Heineman, l ~ l 7 ~I)iffo.rncr 1t Docs (1 Hzisbn~ld;Ifc/krY I ~ l b ~ i z r ~ ~ a ~ l d; I f ( ~ ~ i Stcltzis f a l in ,\ilzi and Posfroa~.Grrniclnj (Berlzeley Uni~ersityof California Press, 1999); Amy 11. Froide, I\Te7~~r ;If(l~.rird:LSi~~ff(C700~i~e~~ irl E(LT(?.dfodrr~l Eng1011d (Oxford: Oxford Uni~ersityPress, 2005). I)isco~izfo~.f: I~lb~izrn's Acti-c~is~iz ill T(lni@a, Flo~.idn, 85. Nancy He~j-itt,Sorrthn.~~ 1880s-1920s (Urbana, Ill.: Uni~ersityof Illinois Press, 2001). 86. Deborah Gray I l l ~ i t e ,Too Hrcl-c~y(1 Load: Black l~l'onicnin I)efcnsr of Tlze~~is(~lrlrr,1894-1 994 (A- ex^ Yo'-k: A-orton. 1999). 87. Toby L. Ditz. "The N e x ~Men's History a n d the Peculiar ;Zl~senceof Gendered Pox~er:Some Remedies from Early Xrnerican Gender History," C k ~ i d (11icl ~ ) . Hi.rto)y 16:l (2004): 1-36, quotes at 2. 7, 11. 88. I \\.elcome this broadening of ferninist history. but I h o p e lye \\.ill not thereby dilute the field. I11 her most recent statement o n ferninist history, Scott constructs a ferninist history that is characterized by desire. restless inquiry. critical spirit. and a "radical refusal to settle do\\.n." I doubt that anyone can read her essay without wanting to join Scott as a "double agent" in the "passionate pursuit of the not-yet-lzno~j-n"and informed by "an active, future-oriented feminist critical desire." But in characterizing feminist history as "the constant undoing of corn-entional ~visdom"a n d the "latest pursuit of what has not yet been thought," Scott runs t h e risk of washing women-and the central problem of women's subordination to men-out of feminist history. Joan 11: Scott, "Feminism's History," jozi1.na1 ofl~lbnirn'sHisto)> 16:2 (2004): 10-29. For quotes, see 21, 24-26. 89. Kate Haulman, "Roorn in Back: Before a n d beyond the A-ation in 1\hmen's and Gender History," Jorr1.1in1of l l h ~ t i'r~ Histo)! ~i 15:l (2003): 16771. at 169-70. 90. See particularly Kelly's "The Social Relations of the Sexes: Methodological Implications of Mhmen's History." first published in 1976 a n d ~i, n ~ i dTIi~oty(C:hicago: University of Chicago reprinted in Kelly. l l h ~ t i ~Histo)!, Press, 1984), 1-18. 91. Louise Tilly, "Gender, Tl'omen's History, a n d Social History," Social Sciolcc Histo)> 13:4 (1989): 439-62. 92. Caroline 12'allzer Bynum, H o b Feast and H o b Fclst: Tlzc Rcligiozis Sign/$cclncr of Food to Jlrdir-c~cllI'lb~izrr~(Berlzeley: L-ni~ersityof California Press, 1987). For examples in U.S. history, see Elizabeth Faue's colnments in Scott et al., "12'omen's Histon- in the New Slillenniun," 203.

Sotes to Pages 27-34

167

93. JoanJacobs Brumberg, F(1sfi11gGi~ls:Tlzr Enicrgrncr ofAno~.cuicl,\b~-c~osclas n LJIorlp~.~i Dispnsp (Chmbridge, Mass.: Hall-ard University Press, 1988). Bynurn argues that medieval saints were not suffering froin anorexia nervosa; for n Universuch an interpretation, see Rudolph )I. Bell, H o h A ~ i o i ~ x i(Chicago: sity of Chicago Press, 1983). 91. Bynurn, H o h F ( ~ ~ . r295. t. Libcrc~:Gr~ldr,;Rncc, Lnro, a ~ l d 95. Barbara b u n g 12'elke, Rrcastir~gA~izr~.ican tlir Rni11,ond R r ~ ~ o l ~ t i1865-1 o ~ i , 920 (Chrnbridge: Chmbridge University Press, 2001); Amy Richter, Ho~izron thr Rails: 1Tb~izo1,thr RaiO.oad, a ~ l dtlzr Risr ofPrrblic Do~rcrrtic.itj(Chapel Hill: University of Korth Carolina Press. 2003). 96. Tilly, "Gender," 439. (1.5 nFoi.rr i ~ Hi.rtoiy i (1946; reprint. Ne~\.York: 97. Mary Ritter Beard, Tl'o~tin~i Collier Boolzs, 1971). ofHi.rtoiy: LJIr~i,T l ' o ~ t i ~(11ir1 ~ i , Hi.rtoiirc11Pir1c.tic.p 98. Bonnie Smith. Tli? C;r~irlr~. (Cambridge, Mass.: Han-ard University Press, 1998), at 116 and 69.

I thank C:ynthia Herrup. hlary Dockray-Miller. a n d hlaryanne Ko\\.aleski for their early comments o n this chapter, as well as those ~ \ - h ocoininented o n a related presentation at the ;2ugust 2003 meeting of the International Federation for Research in 12'omen's History (Belfast). 1. Press release frorn the Brooklvn Museum of Art. April 23, 2002. -1vailable online nt http.//~~~~~~.bioolil~nn~use~uin.olg/piess/2002. 2 Bar bar a Ehr enr erch and Dell dre English. Tlitrlit r, r J I t d ~ ~ ~ nt i~~i rd~ ~, ( I I S ( S A Hlsto)? of TTb~izr~l Hcalos (1973), Joan Kelh, "Did 12'oinen H a ~ en Renaist 111 1977 a n d reprinted 111 her Tlh~rtr~i, Htsto11, (11ir1Tlirsance;" f i r ~published 017 (Chicnqo. Unir el sit\ of Chicaqo Pless, 1984), 19-50. 3. T h e first issues of F'~rti~ii.rtStrrdirr were considerably less accornrnodating to premodern topics: in 1972-73, there I\-ere nine articles o n the modern era, o n e early modern. and o n e medieval. T h e focus was, however. less contemporary than it ~ v o u l dbecome; of the nine modern articles, all focused o n the nineteenth century to some extent. and only two extended substantively into the twentieth century. 4. At the Fifth Berkshire C;onference o n the History of Mhmen in 1981. 110 sessions (74 percent) dealt ~\-iththe nineteenth and t~\-entiethcenturies, 1 4 (13 percent) xvere focused o n the early rnodern era. and another 1 4 (13 percent) discussed premodern histol?. This was the first Berkshire Conference I attended and the earliest for \\.hich I have a program, but I have been reliably inforined by Jo Ann SIcNainai-a that at all the early Eel-lzsl~ireConferl a n d another ences, every time slot had one session devoted to m e d i e ~ a topics to ancient topics. In rnaking these calculations, I excluded sorne sessions that I\-ere impossible to categorize chronologically as well as others that dealt with theoretical or methodological issues. 3. For a similar assessment of U.S. history specifically, see Kate Haulman, "Roorn in Back: Before and beyond the Nation in I\-omen's and Gender History,"Jorrr~lcll of 1Tbnicn's H i s f o ~ ly3 : l (2003): 167-71. 6. Interl-ien. in C1iicclg.o Tiibrr~ir.hlay 23. 1916. 7. T h e stor? broke in the Grrcl~clianand other British inedia o n May 10,

168

Notes to Pages 35-39

2003; I haye taken the quote from the online Gziardicl~larticle by Jeevan T'asagar and Rebecca Smithers. Along similar lines. a Chnadian hlP in 2000 characterized as "a personal past-time and [of] no benefit to Canadian taxpayers" research in the fine arts, classics, philosopl~y,anthropology, rnodern literatures, and medieval studies. Ted Illlite, as quoted in Rosemary Drage Hale, "Brilliant C:onstellations: History in the Presence of the No\\.," Jorr1.11n1of ~ I I P Histo,? o f Srxzic~lif~ 10:2 (2001): 167-72, at 171. 8. These proportions seem fairly settled. In 2000. 71 percent of the papers early modat the CISH conference dealt with modern topics, 16 percent ~\-ith ern, and 10 percent \\.it11 pre-1500 topics. -It the 2003 meeting of the ;ZHX. the proportions were 78 percent modern. 13 percent early modern, and 9 percent pre-1500. 9. CXSH offers the best opportunity to assess history practices globally the American Historical hssociation offers the same for the United States (the main alternative-the Organization of American Historians-focuses on U.S. history, so its conference program is ipso facto tilted to^\-ard modernity). Proportions will certainly vary for other historical societies, and I invite readers to undertake similar counts for meetings ~\-hich they attend. I checked a fe~\others: (a) at the 2005 meeting of the Canadian Historical Association, there were only a half-dozen or so pre-1800 presentations among more than two hundred papers; (b) at the 2005 meeting of the Xnglo-LlmericanConference of Historians, organized annually by the Institute of Historical Research in London, rnore than half the papers xyere modern. one-third early modern; the rest pre-1500 (by far the best balanced chronological spread); (c) at the 2005 meeting of the Korth -1merican Conference of British Studies. txyothirds of the papers \\.ere modern, one-third early modern, and none pre1500. 10. Lynn Hunt. "Against Presentism," P P t ~ s ~ ~ ~ rMay t i 7 ~ 2002. ~ s . Available online at: 11ttp://~\~\~~.11istorians.org/pe1-spectives/issues/2002/0205/0205 prel.cfn1. 11. Sprcrrlrr~nis the journal of the Medieval Academy of America. For the history of the journal's title and its curious encounters with feminism, see my "Sledievalism and Feminism," Speczilrr~n:A jozirncll of Jlrdir-c~cllSfzidirs 68 (1993): 309-31. 12. For a trenchant discussion of such enclaves within medie~alstudies, see Lee Patterson, "On the Slargin: Postmodernism, Ironic History, and Sledie~alStudies," Spcczilrr~iz65 (1990): 87-108, quote from 87. 13. These proportions also seem fairly settled. At the 2002 Berkshire Conference. the proportions were as follows: 85 percent modern, 9 percent early modern. 6 percent pre-1500. ofPnt~.ic~t.rIi~ (A-ex~ Yo'ork: Oxford University 11. Gerda Lerner, TIIPCt.c.c~tio~~ Press, 1986). P1~11i.rto1y: 7171~C I I I I I I ~ I P Past II~P~~ 15. Cynthia Eller. TI,? ,JIyth ofLJIntt~ic~t.c.l~nl 71b11't C;i~vT ~ ~ I I I P CII I F r r t ~ i t(Boston: ~ Beacon Press, 2000). See also Lauren E. Talalay, "A Feminist Boomerang: The Great Goddess of Greelz Prehistory," Gcr~dcrand Histo7;y 6:2 (1994): 165-83. 16. Jennifer Slanion, "Calling all Liberals: Connecting Feminist Theol?, his to);^ ofAcfi?~isn/, Hisfo~j hcti~ism,and History," in Tclki~lgBacli the Acadc~iz~! as Acfi?~isn/, ed. Jim DOT\-ns and Jennifer Slanion (New h r k Routledge, 2004), 145-59, at 155.

Notes to Pages 39-43

169

17. Jane 0 . Ne~\-man,"The Present and O u r Past: Simone de Beamoir, Descartes. and Presentisrn in the Historiography of Feminism," in Tlbttc'~, > Strrdirs 011 Its OZJII, ed. Robyn Tl'iegman (2002), 141-76, quotes from 145 and 148. Only ten years earlier. ;2ntoinette Burton offered a quite different vie\\. of the place of history as "virtually indispensable to feminist theorists" in "'History Is No\\.: Ferninist Theory a n d the Production of Historical Femi1 : l (1992): 25-39, at 25. Burton's essay is also n i s m ~ , "I~l'otncn'sHistot? Rr?~iri(~ useful for correcting a vision of ferninism that sees only the I'Vestern pastI\-lletller since 1945 o1- earlier-as relevant to the history of feminism. 18. Ne~\.man,"The Present," 144. 19. Haulman, "Roorn in Back." 168. 20. These figures derive fr-orn a study of the titles and abstracts of 293 substantive articles published in the Jocrt.1/(11of T ~ ~ I I ~ P'r I Hi.rto~y, , C ~ c d ~c11ic1 t ' Histo)!. a n d I ' T ~ T I ~Histot? ~ I I ' s Rr?~iric~ in 2001, 2002, 2003, and 2004. I excluded some forums, archival reports, book reyie~vs,a n d similar miscellanea. About a dozen of the articles counted in the sul-rey did not proyide abstracts. 21. Gerda Lerner's sun-ey of recent I\-ork in U.S. ~vomen'shistory similarly reyealed that 13 percent of books focused o n race a n d etllnicity, 23 per cent of dissertations, a n d 27 percent of articles. Gerda Lerner, "U.S. IVomen's History Past, Present, a n d Future,"~[orrr~~tI( of 1Tbtncn's Histo);y 16:4 (2004): 10-27. 22. Joanne Meyero~\-itz,"Sexual Geography a n d Gender Economy: T h e Furnished Roorn Districts of C;hicago. 1890-1930." C ; P I / ~ ~ (I .I I / ~Hi.rtoty 2 (1990): 274-96. and her T l b ~ ~ cAdt.ift: ~ ~ c I l c d ~ p ~ ~ / dTlbg~ ~ l c t E ~ I . I / it/ P I Cliicclgo, ~ 1880-1 930 (Chicago: University of C;hicago Press. 1988); Jean ;2llman, "Rounding Up Spinsters: Gender Chaos and Unmarried T\hmen in C:olonial -Isante," Jocr~.~/nl of ;lf,.icn~c Histo~y37 (1996): 195-214; Janice E. Stockard. Dnrrgl/t(~~:r of tl/p C n ~ / t oD~ltn: ~ / dIn~.~,iclg~ P c ~ t t ~ tn~cd . ~ / sEco~/ottcicSttatc~gi~r it/ Socrth Cl/i~/cl,1560-1 930 (Stanford. Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1989), 70-89 (chapter o n "Becorning a Sxvorn Spinster"); Laurel L. Cornell. "I'Vhy -Ire qfF(1~1zilyHisto)> 9 (1984): 326-39. There No Spinsters inJapan?"~[orrr~~c~l 23. T h e American Historical Association publishes annual analyses ofjobs in history but does not break "Europe" down into temporally defined fields. In any case, riel\- appointments are a poor guide to these trends, as numbers of new positions must be compared to retirements a n d resignations. Robert TOT\-nsendof the American Historical Association is currently I\-orlzing o n an analysis of faculty specialties as listed in the AHA Directory of History Departments oyer the last thirty years; this analysis will giye us firm figures about xvhich fields are groxving or contracting in the United States. 24. I cannot use the xvornen's history journals to trace these trade-offs because the ernphasis 011 history that is rnore global a n d rnore attuned to difference was well underway by the tirne they started in the late 1980s. For I~ example. it \\.as not until the fifth issue (2:2) of the Jorr1.1cc11of T ~ ~ I I ~'r PHi.rtoty that the editors published an article focused o n an ethnic or racial majority in the I\-est. T h e nurnbers for articles, revie\\. essays. and reports in Sig~c.rin 1973-78 are as follo~vs:modern Tl'est, 18; early modern Tl'est, 4; premodern Tl'est, 4; transhistorical IVest 5; non-Tl'estern, 7 (2 transhistorical, 5 modern); global, 0. T h e numbers for 2001-4 are: modern IVest, 5; early modern IVest, 1; premodern Tl'est, 0; transhistorical IVest, 0; non-Tl'estern, 2; global, 1. 25. Hunt, "Against Presentism," 1. 26. For example, the UK's Quality Assurance Agency for Higher Educa-

170

Notes to Pages 43-45

tion opens its statement about history thus: "Tl'e take it as self-evident that lzno~\-ledgeand understanding of the human past is of incalculable d u e to both the individual and the society at large, and that the first object of education in History is to enable this is be to acquired." I thanlz Laura Gowing for directing me to this resource, available at http://~\~\~\-.qaa.a~.11lz/acaden1ic infrasti-uctui-e/benc11~nai-1z/honours/histoi-y.asp. 27. Perhaps the rnajor source for this myth is Philippe Aries, G~itrr~.irr of Lifii, trans. Robert Baldick (published in Cliildlioorl: A Social Histo17 ofFr111ii1~ French in 1960; Nen. York: \Tiltage Books. 1962). Among the many rebuttals of this thesis, see Barbara A. Hanawalt, G1.07oi1lg ill ;Ifedic-c~alLondo~l:Tlzr York: Oxford University Press, 1993); E ~ $ r ~ i o ~ofc cClzildhood in H i s f o ~ y(Ne~jJarnes -1. Schultz. Tli? fiionll~dgc.of Cliildliood i ~ ti l i ~C ; ~ . I . ILJIirldl~ I ~ ~ I ~ Agp.r, 11001350 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995); and Lorraine C;. httreed, "From Pearl Maiden to TOT\-el-Princes: TOT\-ardsa Ne~j-History of S l e d i e ~ a Childhood," l Jozi~.nalof ;Ifrdic7~alHisto~y9 (1983): 43-58. 28. See Lawrence Stone. Tli? F a ~ ~ i i l SPX, j , a ~ i ddIa~.t.iagc.i ~ Ei ~ i g l n ~ i d1700, 1800 (A- ex^ York: Harper and Roll; 1977) for the myth; for the contrary viex~. see, for example, Christopher Brooke, The Jledic-c~alIdra of;lfc/r~.ic~gr (Ne~jh i - k : Oxford LTni~ei-sityPress, 1989), a n d the summary rebuttal in Peter Fleming, F a ~ ~ i i lr11ir1 j Hoirs~liolrl i ~ iLJIc.di~rlalE~igln~irl(New York: Palgrave. cool), 33-59. 29. John 11. Riddle, Co~~frc~cr$fion clnd Abortio~lf,.o~iz the A~lcient1Tb1ld to the Rrnclisscl~lce (Cambridge, Mass.: Han-ard University Press, 1992), a n d Peter Biller, "Birth Control in the T2'est in the Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth C;enturies." Past a ~ i dP ~ ~ . r c94 . ~ i t(1982): 3-26. 30. Ruth Mazo Karras, "Prostitution a n d the Question of Sexual Identity in Sledieval Europe," Jozirncll of T~T'o~izr~~'s Histo);y 11 (1999): 139-77, a n d responses 178-98. See also Ruth Slazo Karras o n chastity as a sexual identity in her S ~ x r r a l i ti~~ ,JIpr1i~r~r~l i EIII.OIIB: Doi~igrr~ito0tlic.t:~(Ye\\. York: Routledge. 2003), 28-58. 31. Gerda Lerner, Tlzr Creatio~lo ~ ~ i z i ~Consciorrs~less: ~isf FI.OTIZ the Afiddlr Agrs to Eiglztrrn-Sr-c~olfj(Ne~jYork: Oxford L-ni~ersityPress, 1993), a n d Beatrice Gottlieb. "The Problem of Ferninisrn in the Fifteenth Century," in T l ' o ~ ~ofi ~ ~ i tlic. I\Ic.di~i~a/Tl'o).ld, ed. Julius Kirshner a n d Suzanne F. M t m p l e (Oxford: Black\-ell, 1985), 337-64. 32. T ' T ~ T I z Histo)> ~ I I ' s Rr7~irici11:4 a n d 12:l. 33. Jorr1.1ia1of T l ' o ~ ~> i Hi.rto~y, ~~i 13:4, at 6; C;c.~irlc.~. a ~ i dHisto17. 13:3. at 440. O n e article begins in the 1780s before focusing o n the Napoleonic era: Steven D. Kale. "Ti-omen, Salons. and the State in the -Utermath of the French Re~olution,"Jozi~.nalof1Tb~izr11's Histo)> 13:4 (2002): 54-80. 34. T h e phrase " p a s s i ~ ecitizen" was coined by G. K. Schmelzeisen, as quoted in Martha C;. Hox~ell."C;itizenship a n d Gender: Ti-ornen's Political Status in Northern hledieval Cities," in T l h ~ t c ~r11ir1 ~ i Po7ilc.1.i ~ flip i LJIiddlc.A g ~ s , ed. Slary Erler and SIar)-anne Ko~raleski(Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1988), 37-60, at 40. 33. Kif ;Zugustine-Adam, " 'She C:onsents Implicitly': Tihmen's Citizenship, Marriage, a n d Liberal Political Theory in Late-A-ineteenth- and EarlyTI\-entieth-Century Argentina," Jorrr11c11of 1Tb~izol'sH i s f o ~ 13:4 j (2004): 8-30; Brigitte Studer, "Citizenship as Contingent National Belonging: Married

CP

Notes to Pages 45-31

171

Tl'omen a n d Foreigners in TI\-entieth-Centuv Switzerland," trans. Kate Sturge, Gr~ldcra ~ l dHisto)> 13:3 (2001): 622-33. 36. Studer. "C:itizenship." 623. 37. HOT\-ell,"Citizenship." 38. Two articles deal with the political influence of well-born I\-omen, but both focus o n public institutions-salons (Kale, "12'omen, Salons, a n d t h e State") or the press (James N. hlcCord, "Tarning the Fernale Politician in Early-A-ineteentll-C:ent~~ry England: Joli~i Bcrll versus Lady Jersey." Jorrt.1ic11of > Hi.stoty 13:4 [2002]: 31-33). 1lb111~1i 39. Barbara J. Harris, "12'omen and Politics in Early Tudor England," Tlzr l~lb~izrn, 1450Historicc~lJozi~.ncrl33:2 (1990): 239-81, and E~lglishA~.isfoc-c~fic 1750: ,JI(~t.ting~ n ~ i dFa~ttih,Pt.oI)pt.t~o ~ i dC(IIWI:S (A- ex^ Yo'ork: Oxford University Press. 2002). 40. Kale, "12'omen, Salons," 35. 41. Lerner, Crccltio~lofFrniinist Co~~sciozisnrss. 42. Laura E. A-ym hlayl~all,"The Rhetorics of Slavery and C;itizenship: Suffragist Discourse and C;anonical Texts in Britain. 1880-1914," Ck1ir1~1. c11ir1Hi.5to)> 1 3 3 (2001): 481-97, at 485. 43. Sarah Hanley has developed this argument in numerous articles. See especially "Social Sites of Political Practice in France: Lax~suits,C;ivil Rights, a n d the Separation of Po\\.ers in Dornestic a n d State Government, 15001800," Anicriccl~lHistoricc~lRr-c~irro102:l (1997): 27-52, and "Engendering the State: Family Formation and State Building in Early Modern France," Fre~lch Historicc~lStzidics 16:l (1989): 4-27, 44. Mary Maynard, "Beyond the 'Big Three': T h e Development of Feminist Theory in the 1990s." I ~ ~ I I I:sPHisto17 I~ RBYI~B.(I~ 4:3 (1995): 259-81, at 273. 43. Florence Gris~j-oldBuckstaff, "Slarried 12'omen's Property in AngloSaxon and La~j-,"A n r ~ a l softhe A~izr~.ican Acadc~iz~ ofPoIificc11and 233-64, at 264. Socicll S C ~ ~ I 4I C(1893-94): P.~ 46. Joan Scott. "Ferninism's History," Jocrt.1ic11of T ~ ' ~ I I I PHi.stot7 I ~ ' s 16:2 (2004): 10-29, at 24. 47. Charlotte Bunch, "Not by Degrees: Feminist Theory and Education," in L B ( I I . IO~U~ IIIlilj: . ~ ~ E.s.sq.s i ~ F~~tci~ii.st i E(lcrc(ltioli, ed. C:harlotte Bunch a n d Sandra Pollack (TI- mansbu burg, N.Y.: C;rossing Press. 1983), 248-60, at 231-53. 48. For a recent summation of the challenges and possibilities of comparaer Ckt: tive history. see Deborah Cohen. "C;omparative History B ~ ~ yBe\\.are." I I I ~ Histot.icn1 I ~ I~i.stitcrtpBcrll?ti~i29 (2001): 23-33. 49. See the A-C;PE's website at http://xl~\~\..pay-equity.oq. 30. Claudia Goldin, C i ~ d e r s f a ~ ~the d i Gr~ldcr ~ ~ g Gc@ (Ne~jYorlz: Oxford University Press, 1990), 211-17. 31. A-e\\.man, "The Present," 144. A-ex~manxYas describing attitudes toward any history before the 1960s; I suggest that the older the histor?. the more it might be so labeled. 32. Karma Lochrie, H c f o ~ o s ~ ~ ~ c ~Fe~nalr ~ c ~ s i cScuzic~lifj s: 1I7zo1 ,\h~.niaI l ~ l ' o 'ts ~ ~ (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2005). 33. C;aroline I\-alker Bynum, Holy Fmst c11ir1Holj Fast: Tlip R~1igiocr.sS i g ~ i ~ j ccl~lcc of Food to Jlcdic-c~alI~lbnicn (Berlzeley: University of California Press, 1987).

172

Notes to Pages 31-37

54. E. Jnne Bmns, Bod\fc~l/i 1T'lzol 1Tb~izr11Sjrclk Z I I O l d F ~ r n c hLltr,cltzi~r(Pl111~ h P l e s ~ 1993) . adelphla. Unnel S I ~ Tof P e n n ~ anla O I I P)ost~tzit~on clnd Scxzic~l~tj 1n ;lfrdzc-c~al 55. Rut11 Slazo I(nllns, C O I ~ T I Z1Tb~izr11 . E ~ ~ g l n ~(Aexv i r l Yo1 k. Clxfold U n n e r s ~ t lP l e s ~ 1996) c queens, 56. The1 e is n lnlge a n d gi oning litelntui e o n nlistoci a t ~ \\omen, and the ~ n s t ~ t u t ~ofo qnu e e n s h ~ pSome par tlculalh u ~ e f u tl~ t l e sare John PalQ Z ~ C C I(Nev I S ~ ZYoili. ~ St. Slnltin's Pless, 1993), hlnlion F. sons, ed., Jlcd~r-c~c~l Faclngel, "A Stud\ of h l e d l e ~ a lQ u e e n ~ h l p .Capetlan France 987-1237," Stzidzcs Z I I ; \ I C ~ I C Zcold J ( I ~R C I I ~ I Z S S C Hzsto17 I I I C C5 (1968). 3-47, L o u s e Olga Fi adenbulg. e d . Tlb~tcoin ~ i dSo71o(cg1itl(Edinburgh. E d ~ n b u l g hU n n e r s l t ~Pr e ~ 7 . s hcade1992), The1 esa 11. Yann, ed., Qzicrns, Rrgr~lfs,c111dP o f r ~ l f a f r(Dallas. m a . 1993); Pauline Staffold. Q U W I E~tc~tcn I c101r1Qrrcoi Erlctli Qrrcois111l1n11d TTbn~cn'sPo(r1r) zn Elr~~cnth-Crnfro? Engla~ld(Oxfoid. Blncli~\ell,1997), Slaijolie I B S S Qlrw~iC O I I S OQI ~l r,( ( ~rJIotlio, i ( I I I ~Ln(11 of t 1 1 ~ C h b n a l l . Tlw E I ~ ~ ~ I\I(~t~ld(~ English (Oxfold. Blncli\\ell, 1992), hlni gal e t Honell, E1cc111o)of P)o-c~o~cc IOI T l i o t ( ~ ~ ~ t l ~ - C E ~ i~gi lt nl ~r(Oxfold. ~ ~d Blackxvell, 1998);Jennlfer C' Qlr~(lis11el1 IVnld, Englzsh ,\hblcroon~cn Z I I fhr L a f r ) JIzddlc Ages (London. Longmnn, 1992), Xllchael I( J o n e ~and hlalcolrn G Undelr\ood, T l ~ cKe~lgkdIot11~1Lndl L J I ( ~ ~ g c ~ r )cf Brazifo~t,Cozi~~frss ofRzchn~ondclnd D o b j (Cnmblidge. Camhi ~ d g eU n ~elsltr Pr e ~ s 1992) , ; Pegg I ( L l ~ sIrclbtl , t l i ~Q u ( p ~ iLlfc n11d T ~ I I I (1 B Se\ e d ; Phlladelof Penns\lrnn~nPi ess, 2004). p h ~ nU . n ~elsltr r 57 Hoxvell, " C l t ~ z e n ~ hand ~ p Gender." 47 58 Jud\ C'h~cago,T l ~ cD ~ I ~ PI n~ ~Bt lI(Galden Clt\, U Y . l n c h o l book^, 1979), 18.

1. Jalzob Bachofen, Jlothrr-Riglzf (1861); see A f ~ f h Rrligion, , c111d J l o f h o . ~ ~ i . Ralph hlanheim (Princeton. N.J.: Riglit: Spl~rtpdTli.iti11gso f J .J. E c ~ r l ~ o ftrans. Princeton Uni~ersityPress, 1967). Friedrich Engels, Tlzc 01.igi11softhr Fconi(?., P I . ~ ~ IP(II. O ~ ~B I B I011d . ~ J ,t11' S t ( l t ~(1884); see English translation (A-exv Yo'-k: Pathfinder Press, 1972). Gerda Lerner, Tlzr Crration of Pc~f~.ic~~.clzj (New h r l z : Oxford University Press, 1986). c111d O f h o . 1~T7r,-iti~~gs (Cambridge: C a ~ n b r i d g e 2. Robert Filmer, Pc~f~.ic~~.chn university Press. 1991); the introduction by Johann P. Sornmerville lays out Filmer's intellectual antecedents. ~ ~ ~ (A-en. Yo'-k: Norton. 1976). 57. 3. Adrienne Rich. C ) f T l h ~ e i cEOI.II 4. hllan G. Johnson, Tlzc Gcndr~.EInof:I ' I I ~ ~ IOro.Pc~t~ic~rchal J ~ ~ ~ I I ~ L C ~ C I Crev. J, ed. (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2003). 3. In a footnote. Johnson further elaborates o n "male pri~ilege"by noting that " [ p l r i ~ i l e g erefers to any unearned advantage that is available to m e ~ n b e r sof a social category r\.hile being systematically denied to others." Pc/friarclzj (Oxford: Blachvell, 1990), 20. 5. Sylvia IValby, Tlzro~iii~lg 6. For o n e study of the different patriarchal investments of men. see Stanley Chojnacki, "Subaltern Patriarchs: Patrician Bachelors in Renaissance Yenice," in r J I ~ ( l i p i 1\Insrlrli01iti~s: ~(~l Rpgclldi~lgr J I ~ ill ~ i t 1 1I\Iidrll~ ~ Agri.5, ed. Clare -1. Lees (Minneapolis: Uni~ersityof Slinnesota Press, 1994), 73-90. 7. Shelley Feldman, "Exploring Theories of Patriarchy X Perspective i n Czi1trr1.c c111d from Contemporary Bangladesh," Signs: A~lorrrncllof 1'T'o~izr11

Notes to Pages 57-60

173

Socirc~26:4 (2001): 1097-1127; Tahera ,lftah, "Negotiating wit11 Patriarchy South Asian Muslirn Mhmen and the -1ppeal to Sir Syed ;Zllmed Khan." Tlh~tcol 's H i s f o ~Rc-c~icic! j 1 3 4 1 (2003): 73-97. A ~ t c ~ ~ . i cc11ir1 a ~ i sflip Po1itic:r 8. Michele hlitchell, Riglit~orrsPt.ol,clgcltio~i:-tf,.icc~~i (Chapel Hill: Uniyersity of North Carolina ofRncia1 Drsfiny qffo.Rrco~~st~.zicfion Press. 2001). 11. Mitchell's use of "patriarchy" drax~son the dornestic definition. 9. Chandra Talpade Mohanty. " 'Under I\-estern Eyes' Revisited: Ferninist Solidarity through Anticapitalist Struggles," Sig-11s:A Jozi1.na1 of1Tb~izr11 ill Crrltrr~.c~ c11ir1Soci(~ty28:2 (2002): 499-335, at 503. 10. Ida Blorn. "Global Mhmen's History: Clrganizing Principles and Cross'r Histot!: I ~ i t ~ ~ ' ~ i a t Pi oP~Ii:a~l I I B ~ ~ ~ ~ I B S . C:ultural Understandings," in Tliiti~igTl'o~tc~~i ed. Karen Clffen, Ruth Roach Pierson, and Jane Rendall (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1991), 135-49. 11. Zillah Eisenstein, Tlzc Radical Frrtrrrc of Libr~.c~l Fr~izinisni Yorlz: Longman, 1981); Heidi Hartmann, "Capitalism, Patriarchy, and Job Segregation by Sex," Signs: A Jorrr11c11of 1Tbnicn in Crrlfrrrc a ~ l dSociety 1:3, part 2 (1976): 137-70, and "The Unhappy Marriage of Marxism and Feminism: To~rardsa ed. Lydia Sargent (LonMore Progressiye Union," in 1Tbnicn a ~ l dRc~~olzifion, don: Pluto Press, 1981), 1-42, and critiques in the rest of the volume. Pclt~iclrclzy. 12. IYalby, Tlzco~.izi~~g 13. Patricia Hill Collins, Blacl? F?~tei~iistTliorrglit ( N e x ~York: Routledge. 1990). 11. Sylvia MBlby might be right in arguing that "patriarchy is never the only rnode in a society but always exists in articulation wit11 another, such as capitalism." See Pnt~.icl~.cliy at Tlb~/r:Patt~iat~cliala~icl Capitalist Rplatio~isi ~ i (C:ambridge: Polity Press, 1986), 50. Yet \\.e can only establish the E~tcploy~tc~~it systems nit11 n.hic11 patriarchy articulates through historical and comparative study. ill the 15. John Tosh, Tlzc Prrrsziit of Histo)j: Ainis, Alcfhods, a ~ l d,fir0 I)ircctio~~s Sfrrdj of H i s f o ) j (London: Longman, 1991), 236. Tosh is hard o n the concept of patriarchy, but all his objections could he equally leveled at the study of "gender," of which Tosh approyes. Illlat Tosh says about "gender" on 286, I I\-ould say about "patriarchy": "Gender is nol\- something to he explained, instead of being involzed as a ready-made explanation for everything else." 16. This sense that the study of patriarchy is equivalent to the study of Inen was expressed by Carroll Smith-Rosenherg in 1980 ~vllenshe reported that "an exclusive emphasis on rnale oppression of xYornen had transformed rne into a historian of men." See "Politics and C;ulture in Mhmen's History X Symposium," F~~tei~ii.rt Strrdirr 6:1 (1980): 26-64. at 61. In C;~~icl~t. fiiot, 1-3. Johnson talks about patriarchy "as a code nwrd for 'men."' d ~ ~flip i r Hi.rtoty ~ 17. Margaret J. )I. Ezell. Tli? Patt.ic~t.ch> T17ilfii:L i t ~ ~ . n t y E i ~ i(11ic1 (C:hapel Hill: University of Korth C;arolina Press, 1988), 163. oftlipFc~~tcily 18. See, for example. ;2nna Clark's study of an ideology that linked ~ u l n e r ability to rape with movement in public, in 1Tbnicn's Silr~lcr,Jlcn's TSolrncc: Srxzic11Assclrrlt it1 Eng-lclt~d,1770-1845 (London: Pandora, 1987). 19. Deniz Kandiyoti, "Bargaining wit11 Patriarchy," Gr~ldrra ~ l dSocictj 2:3 (1988): 274-90, at 285. 20. See, for example, Feldman, "Exploring Theories of Patriarchy." 21. Eisenstein, Radical Fzifrrrc, 21.

174

Notes to Pages 60-63

22. La~n-enceStone, "The Use and Abuse of History," Tlzr ,\Pic! Rrpziblic, May 2, 1994. 31-37, at 34. 23. See, for example, t~\-osets of exchanges: (1) Sheila ROT\-botham,"The Trouble \\.ith 'Patriarchy'." and reply by Sally -1lexander and Barbara Taylor, "In Defence of 'Patriarchy'," from 1979, reprinted in Peoplr's Histo7;y c111d Socialist Tli~oty.ed. Raphael Sarnuel (London: Routledge. 1981). 364-73; (2) Bridget Hill, "12'omen's History A Study in Change, Continuity, or Standing Still?" T l h ~ t t'r~ Hi.rtoty ~i RP71i~.(~r 2:l (1993): 3-22, and reply by Judith )I. Bennett, "12'omen's History h Study in Continuity and Change," 1Tb1ncn's H i s f o ~ j RP71i~7il2:2 (1993): 173-81. 21. Deborah b l e n z e , Tlip Fitst I~iclrrst~ialT l h ~ t i c ~(Nexv ~ i York: Oxford University Press. 1993), 181; Deborah Sirnonton, A Hi.rtoty ofErr).ol,~cl~i T l b ~ t i>~ ~ i Tlbt/?, 1700 to t l i ~P)?.r~~it (London: Routledge. 1998). 261; see also Daryl )I. Hafter, ed., Err~.opran1Tb1nrn c111dP~.ei~~dzistrial C~.clft(Bloomington: Indiana Uniyersity Press, 1993). 25. In recent years, the dynamic and productive tension between continuity and change has been discussed by some historians of women. See, for examples, the Hill-Bennett exchange cited aboye in 11.23; Amanda Uckery, "Golden Age to Separate Spheres? h Reriel\- of the Categories and Chronolo c qof Tlhmen's History," Hisfo1ical~[orr1.11a(36 (1993): 383-414, and response ofT'Ib~izr~~'s Hisby Leonore Dayidoff, "Gender and the 'Great Diyide,'~[orrr~~c~l to17 15:l (2003): 12-27; Parnela Sharpe. "C:ontinuity and Change: I\-omen's History and Econornic History in Britain." Eco~io~tiic Hi.rtoty Rp71im~2nd ser.. t of C ~ i d p t ' T: l h ~ t t ~,lIp~i, ~ i , c11ir1 48 (1995): 353-69; Steve J. Stern. Tli? S w ~ Hi.rto)y (C:hapel Hill: University of North C;arolina Press, Po7ilP).i ~ Li n t ~Colo~iic~l LII~xic.o 1993), 320-41. 26. I use "~vaysof seeing" advisedly. for I think that history-as-transfomtion rnight \\.ell \\.ield a paradigmatic force over the field of \\.omen's history. Rp-clolrrtio~is,2nd ed. (C:hicago: See Thornas S. I(uh11, Tlip St).irctrr).c.ofScip~ittj?c. Uniyersity of Chicago Press, 1970). 27. Kelly's essays T\-ereposthumously reprinted in \Tbn/cn, Histo);y, clnd Tlzeo1j (Chicago: Uniyersity of Chicago Press, 1984), and I use this edition of her work. See "The Social Relations of the Sexes: Methodological Implications of 12hmen.s History," 1-18, quote from 2. See also "Did Tlhlnen Have a Renaissance?" 19-50. I ~vouldlike to aclzno~j-ledgethe difficult slipperiness of the concept of the "status of T\-omen,"which I nevertheless consider to be essential for the project of historicizing patriarchy. For Kelly's definitions of ~vomen's status, see pp. 2 and 20. 28. Sandra E. Greene, "-1 Perspective frorn African 1'Vomen's History: C;omment o n 'Confronting C:ontinuity'." Jorr1.1ia1 of T l ' o ~ t i:r~ ~Hi.rtoty i 9:3 (1997): 85-101, at 98. 29. Valerie TI-a-aub, Tlip R ~ ~ i a i . r . r aof ~ iL~sbicl~iis~ti c~ i ~ Ec1t.1~ i 1\Ioc1~).1iE ~ i g l a ~ i d (C:arnbridge: C:ambridge University Press. 2002). 331. 30. In addition to the xvork of Valenze and Sirnonton (on the Industrial Reyolution) and Kelly (on the Renaissance) cited aboye, see, for example, Jo Ann McNamara, "TVomen and Power through the Family Revisited," in Gcndcri~lgthr ; I l c ~ s t o ~ , \ h ~ ~ r a1Tb1ncn f i ~ ~ c : clnd Poic~crin the Jliddlr Agrs, ed. Ma17 C. Erler and M a l ~ a n n eKo~raleski(Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2003), 17-31; Susan Calm, I11drrst7j of Dr-c~ofion:The T x ~ n s f o r ~ n c ~ tofi o T'Ib~izr~~'s ,~ T'lb~Ii York: Col~unbiaUniversity Press, 1987); Lyndal ill E~lglnnd,1500-1660 (Ne~\-

Notes to Pages 63-64

175

Roper, Tlzc Holy Hozisrhold: I~Tb~izrn clnrl Jlorals in Refor~izc~fion Azigsbrrrg (Oxford: C:larendon Press, 1989);Joan B. Landes, l l h ~ t i c11ir1 ~ ~ i t l i Plrblic ~ S ~ I I ~ Ii .~' ti l i Agr~ ~ o f f h c Frr~lchRr7~olrrtio11(Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1988); Richard Stites. "Mhmen a n d the Revolutionary Process in Russia." in B'co~tti~igTi'.ribl~: , Renate Bridenthal, Susan Sloshel- Stuard, a n d I~T'o~ncnin Ezi~.o$rc~nH i s f o ) ~ed. Merry E. 1'Viesner, 3rd ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1998), 417-437. 31. Tl'alby, Tlzrorizing Pc~f~.ic~~.clzj. For examples of assessments that avoid judgments of "better" or "x~orse,"see Elizabeth A. Clark. "Devil's Gate\\.ay a n d Bride of Christ: 12'omen in the Early Christian 12'orld," in her Ascrtic Pirtj n ~ i dT l ' o ~ t isFclitli: ~~i Ersnj.r i ~ Lot? i A ~ i c i p ~Cli~.i.rtic~~iitj it (Lewiston. N.Y.: E. Mellen Press. 1986). 23-60, a n d Julia )I. H. Smith, "Did I\-omen Have a Transformation of the Roman Mhrldl" C;~~iclp~. c11ir1Hi.rtoty 12:3 (2000): 532-71. See also ;2nthony Fletcher's attempt to trace changing forrns of patriarchy in his C k ~ i 1500-1800 ( N e ~ Hayen, \Conn.: Yale Unido; Scu a ~ l dS z i b o ~ c l i ~ ~ ain t i Er~glar~d o~~ versity Press, 1993). 32. Karen Offen, "A Comparative European Perspectiye: Colnment o n 'Confronting Continuity'," Jozi1.na1 of l~lb~ncn's Histo~y9:3 (1997): 105-18, at 105-6. Of course, the yery concept of "modernity" is built o n highly questionable assumptions about a radical break in European history with a premodern past. See, for example, Lee Patterson, "On the Margin: Postmodernism, Ironic History, a n d Medieval Studies," S$rcrrIrrn/ 65 (1990): 87-108. 33. T h e actual rnornent of putative transformation is perhaps clearest in English history \\.here the Korman conquest has been seen as a critical turning point (for the \\.one) for \\.omen. See Florence G. Buckstaff. "hlarried T\hmen's Property in -1nglo-Saxon a n d -1nglo-A-orman La\\.." A1i1ic11.rof t l i ~ A1ti~t.irc11iA ~ n c l ~of~ tPoliticc~l i~ n ~ i dSocicll S r i ~ ~ 4i c(1893-94): ~ 233-64; Doris Mary Stenton, Tli? E~igli.r/iTl'o~tin~i i~H i i s t o ~ y (London: Allen a n d Un\\.in, 1957); Betty Bandel, "The English C:hroniclers' -1ttitude tox~ardMhmen," Jozi~.nalofthr H i s f o ofIdcas ~~ 16 (1935): 113-18; and Christine Fell, with Cecily Clark a n d Elizabeth Tl'illiams, I~T'o~ncnin A11g1o-Sou011E~lglnnrlclnrl the I ~ n p a c of f 1066 (London: British Museum Publications, 1984). For dissent, see Anne Klinck "Anglo-Saxon 12'omen a n d the Law," Jozirnal of Afrrlir-c~cllHisto);y 8 (1982): 107-21, and Pauline Stafford, "12'omen and the Norman Conquest," T x ~ ~ ~ s a c tofi othr ~ ~Rojal s Hisforicc~lSocictj, 6th ser., 4 (1994): 221-49. 34. Jo Ann McNalnai-a a n d Suzanne Tl'emple, "The Pol\-el- of 12'omen through the Family in Sledieval Europe, 300-1100," in 1Ib~izo1arid Poic~o.in flip rJIiddl~Agp.r, ed. Mary Erler and Mar)-anne Kox~aleski(;2thens: University of Georgia Press. 1988), 83-101, quote frorn 90; David Herlihy, "Life Expectancies for I\-ornen in Medieval Society," in Tlip Rolp of Tl'o~tin~i i ~ flip i dIicldlp Agur, ed. Rosrnarie Thee More\\.edge (Albany: State University of A-ex~York Press. 1973): 1-22. quote frorn 16. For rnore recent formulations that trace a transformation in gender relations in the central hliddle -1ges. see Susan Stuard. "The Dorninion of Gender: I\-ornen's Fortunes in the High Middle Ages," in Bcco~ni~lg TSsiblc, ed. Bridenthal et al., 129-30; Jo Ann S1cNamara, "The H e ~ . r e ~ ~ j . cT~hgec Restructuring of the Gender System, 1030-1150," in Jlrrlir-c~cllAfc~sczili~~itics: R c g c ~ ~ d Ale11 i ~ ~ gill the Jliddlr Ages, ed. Clare A. Lees (Slinneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994), 3-29, and "12'omen a n d Power through the Family Revisited." 35. T h e two major textboolzs in modern European I\-omen's history both

176

Notes to Pages 65-67

emphasize change 0x1- continuity. Slei-1-y E. TViesner's I~lbn~cn a ~ l dGr~ldrrin Ent.1~d I o d P ~ Err~.ol,p, .~l 2nd ed. (Chrnbridge: C;ambridge University Press. 2000) adopts a nonchronological approach and regularly weighs evidence of continuity but invariably determines that some degree of transformation in \\.omen's status had occurred. T h e very title of Bonnie G. Smith's C h a ~ l g i ~Li-c~rs: lg (Lexington. hlass.: D. C;. Heath. 1989) l l ' o ~ t i ~ Ei~ u~t o p ~ n ~Hi.rtoty l . r i ~ i c1700 ~ speaks to its emphasis o n change. Gianna Pomata's critique of I\-omen's history textbooks has d\\.elt o n the problerns ferninist historians face that "[stem] from tlle historiographic tradition itself: from its periodizations, categories. narrative plots. and the way these resist the introduction of wornen into our field of vision." Gianna Pornata. "History, Particular and Universal: O n Reading Sorne Recent Mhmen's History Textbooks," Fp~tii~list Strrdirr 19 (1993): 7-30. quote frorn 10-11. O n e textbook has emphasized continuity Bonnie S. Anderson and Judith P. Zinsser, A Histo)> of Tlzci~.07011: I~T"OTIZCIIill to the P ~ , r s o (New ~t Yoi-lz: Harper and ROT\-,1988). Yet tlle Ero.o$rfron~P~.rhisto~> emphasis o n continuity in A Histo,> of Tlzci~.O Z J I has I been much criticized; Pomata, for example, noted that it was "o~ersimplified" a n d "profoundly nonhistorical" (see Pomata, "History," 41). In a similar way, a sun-ey of women in early modern Europe-Ohven Hufton's Tlzc P~.os$cct befo~.rHer: A Histo,> of I~lbnlrnill 1~T%str1.11 Eziro$e, I: 1500-1800 (London: HarperCollins, 1995)-has also been criticized for its emphasis o n continuity. See Lynn 1 T i ~ t i ~Book .r R~7li8711. Decenlber- 13, 1996. 11. a n d Anthony H u n t , Lvp71Yo)/? Fletcher, TiltipsLitplaty S u p l ~ l ~ ~ December t i ~ ~ ~ t . 13. 1995, 8. 36. Elizabeth Gould Davis, TI,? Fit:rt SP?; (Nexv Yor-k: Putnam. 1971); Bar: bara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English. lli'tcl~rr,dlidnlirlrr, r11ir1S u ~ s ~As Histo17 (Detroit: Black and Red. 1973). o f l l h ~ t i Hpnlpts ~~i 37. - I n underlying tension still divides "popular" a n d rnore "professional" histories of xvornen. T h e study of xvornen in religion provides a good example. C)n the o n e hand. many ferninists are trying to reconstruct or create woman-centered religions, and their efforts have driven a vibrant m o ~ e m e n t in goddess-focused spiritualities. O n the other h a n d , many other feminists seek to reinterpret existing traditions-especially Jewish a n d Christian-to better accolnlnodate gender equality, and their efforts haye re~italizedthe practices of many traditional religions. Both groups include feminists trained are self-taught, but it is strilzand employed in academia, as I\-ell as those ~\-llo ing llo~\-rarely the t ~ v ointeract. Moreover, ~j-llen"professional" scholars of religion comment o n "popular" trends, their comments are studiously respectful. carefully unengaged, a n d slightly dismissive. See. for example, Rosemary Radford Ruether. "The Ferninist Critique in Religious Studies." Socr~irli~ig:r 64 (1981): 388-402. and C;aroline T\-alker Bynum, "Introduction: of,5j1tiT h e Complexity of Symbols." in C ~ I I n~~ l~dR~~ lI i .g i o ~0i 1: 1 t l i ~Co~tipl~xitj bols. ed. C;aroline T\-alker Bynum, Stevan Harrell, and Paula Richrnan (Boston: Beacon Press. 1986). 1-20. 38. Kelly, "Social Relations." 4. 39. Louise Tilly, "Gender, Tl'omen's History, a n d Social History," Social Sciolce Histo)> 13:4 (1989): 439-462. 40. G. R. Elton, Tlzr Tzidor Rc-c~olzitionill Go-c~o.n~izr~~t: Adnlinistrati7~eChar~grs ill the Rcigr~of hen);^ TTII (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1933). 41. Patterson, "On the Margin," esp. 93-93. See also chapters 5 and 6 in of;Ifedic-c~al Litr~.c/tzirr(Madihis ,\'egoticlting the Pclst: Tlzr Histo1.ica1Cildrntcl~ldi~lg

Notes to Pages 67-72

177

son: University of Tl'isconsin Press, 1987). David Xers, Conlnlzi~~ify, G o l d r ~ arld ; I~ldirlidunlIdp~ltity:E~igli.rhTli.iti11g 1360-1430 (London: Routledge. 1988). quote from 17. Tli? Fcl~tiil~, P~.op42. Xlan hlacfarlane. TIIP01.igi1i.rofE1igIis11I11di7liclrrc1lis111: o.tj, a ~ l dSocial Txlnsitio~l(Oxford: Blaclz~vell,1978). For one critique, see Step h e n T\-hite a n d Richard Yann, "The Invention of English Individualism: Xlan Slacfarlane and the Slodernization of Pre-Modern England," Social Histo17 8 (1983): 313-63. 43. For examples, see Christopher Dyer, Jl(11iing (I Li-c~ingin the Afiddle Ages: T I I PP'opl~ o f B ~ . i t n i ~850-1720 i, (Kexv Haven, Cbnn.: M l e University Press, n ~ i dI1.c.ln11c1,1050-1530: Eco~io~tiy c11ir1Soci2002). and Richard Britnell. B~itcli~l ?ty (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). 41. D. C;. Coleman, TI,? Eco~io~tiy o f E ~ i g l n ~ l 1450-1 d, 770 (London: Oxford University Press, 1977), 91. 45. See particularly Bonnie Smith, "Gender and Historical Understandhis to);^ i n Anlericcl: Schools, Cziltzirrs, ( I I I ~Politics, ed. Lloyd ing," in Lcc~~.ning lXramei-, Donald Reid, a n d T2'illiam L. Barney (Slinneapolis: L-ni~ersityof Minnesota Press, 1994), 107-19; "Gender and the Practices of Scientific History T h e Seminar and Archival Research in the Nineteenth Century," Anlrri100 (1993): 1150-76; a n d Tlzc Gcndr~.of Histo7;y: Afe11, cc111H i s f o ~ ~ i cRr-c~ieic! al I ~ l ' o n ~ oarld ~ , Hisfo1.icc11Prclcficc (Cambridge, Slass.: Harvard L-ni~ersityPress, 1998). P t l i ~Pn.rt (New York: St. Martin's. 46. Peter Burke. TI,? R ~ ~ l n i s . r c lS~Pl cI ~I J of 1970). 47. For a n early response to the seerning "timelessness" of \\.omen's history, see - I n n D. Gordon. Mari Jo Buhle. and A-ancy Schrorn Dye, "The Problern of Mhmen's History." in L i b ~ ~ . ( ~ Tt i~~ ~i gN I S~Hist017: I I Tli~01~ticc11 011dC~iticcll Erscly.r. ed. Berenice A. Chrroll (Urbana: University of Illinois Press. 1976), 13-92, 48. For black feminism, see especially Patricia Hill Collins, Blclcli Fr~izirlist (Boston: Tlzorrglzf: fi~oic~lrdgr,Consciorrs~lcss, arld thr Politics of E~iz@oic~rr~izoIt L-nwin Hyman, 1990). Collins rightly emphasizes that an ongoing dialectic between oppression and acti~ismrenders the matrix of domination "responsive to human agency" (237). h good guide to other sorts of felninislns is Rosemarie Tong, F e ~ i z i ~ ~Tlzoziglzf: isf A A1o1.r C o ~ i z @ ~ ~ e h Ir ~ ~ fs~i ~. o~dcz i c 2nd t i o ~ ~ed. , (Boulder, Colo.: Tl'est~iexj-Press, 1998). 49. For an example of a n interpretation influenced by liberal feminism, see Caroline Barron, "The 'Golden Age' of T\-omen in Medieval London," in l\IPdi~71c~1 T ~ ~ I I I P ill I I Soiit11~1.1l E ~ ~ g l c ~ Reading ~icl, Medieval Studies 13 (1989): 3358. For an example of an interpretation influenced by socialist feminism, see C:ahn. I1iclrrst17ofD~71otio11. 30. C:arolyn Steedman, "La thkorie qui n ' e n est pas u n e , or T'V11y Clio Doesn't Care." in F~~tti~li.rt.r RPilisio~lHisto)!., ed. ;Znn-Louise Shapiro (Nexv Bruns~\.ick,N.J.: Rutgers University Press. 1991). 73-91, quote from 77. 31. Caroline Tl'alker Bynum, "T2'omen's Stories, Tlhmen's Symbols: X Cri's of Liminality," in her F r a g ~ i z o ~ t c ~( fI iI oI ~~ ~ tique of T'ictor T ~ ~ r n e rTheory R r d r ~ i z p f i oEssc~js ~ ~ : 011 Gcndr~.( I I I ~ the Hrrnlan Body ill ; I f e d i c ~ ~Rcligiorl al (NexjYoi-lz: Zone Boolzs, 1991), 27-51. B y n u n herself explicitly eschews any broader implications of her specific obsen-ations. I thank Robert Stein for drawing this essay to my attention.

-

178

Notes to Pages 72-81

52. Am\ Holh~\ood,"Inside Out. Beatlice of Nnzaietl~and he1 Haglogla5n11itsn ~ i dtlio11I~itotl~~ototr, ed C'atherrne \I pher." rn CTo~irlocrlIhlcos LJIorl~~onl ania Pi ess, 1999), 78-98. Sloonel , Philadelphia. Unirelsit\ of P e n n s ~ h 1 1 , tlic Ili.st, 53 Georges Dub\. "The C'ourth Model." In A H ~ s t o tof~ Tlh~tco~i \ol. 2. Szlrncrs of thr JIzddle Ages, ed. Chlistinne Klapisch-Zubel (1990, Fiench ed., Cktmbridge, hlass.: Hall-ard University Press. 1992). 230-66. quote fr-orn 266. 51. C)lx~enHufton. "Mhmen in History: Early Modern Europe," P(l.rt n ~ i d Presr~lf101 (1983): 123-41, quote from 126. 55. Susan Staves, I\I(l~.t.i~~(l T l h ~ t ~)ro ~Sopn).(lto i PtoI~c>t.tj i ~ E~igllcl~irl, i 1660-1833 (C:arnbridge. hlass.: Hall-ard University Press. 1990);Vickery. "Golden Age." 56. I arn grateful to Sandy Bardsley for suggesting the terrn "patriarchal equilibriurn." I discuss brex~ingrnore fully in my A/(: Boot; cl~irlEtF.c~lstot:r i~i Engloud: 1Tb1ncn's I'Tbrk ill a Clza~lgingLTbrlrl, 1300-1600 (New h r k : Oxford Uniyersity Press, 1996). C r ~ l f r o (London: j 57. Alice Clark, I'Tbrlii~lgLife of I'Tb~nrnill the Sr-c~r~lfrcnth Routledge, 1919), 230. 58. Maijorie SIcIntosh has recently talzen issue with this assessment, arguing that married bre~j-stersin the later Middle Ages enjoyed "unusual economic and social autonomy"; see her I'T'o~kingI~T'o~izo~ ill E~lglishSocicfj, 1300-1620 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 181. I am troubled by much of her evidence and not persuaded by her position. hlcIntosh and I agree that bre\\.ing \\.as relatively good work arnong the options available to medieval \\.omen, that xyomen frorn many social strata engaged in cornrnercial brexying, that the success of a married brexyster relied on her "husband's backing" (86; see also 39), and that this by-industry xyas one in xyhich many xyomen contributed to household incorne. These characteristics do not. to my mind. translate into an unusual "degree of independent authority held by sorne late medieval \\.ornenMthat \\.as then lost (253). See Chapter 3 for further comments on McIntosh's boolz. 59. I haye taken the phrase "descent from paradise," from Cahn, Inrlzist~j 9. ofDr7~otio11, 60. Offen, "Comparatiye European Perspective," 110-12, quote from 111. The dangers of such assumptions are perhaps best illustrated in Offen's cornlnent that children today "take the same amount of time to mature physically" as in the past. As has been documented repeatedly, the age of Inenarche has declined in the Tl'est during the last century. 61. Elsa Barkley Brox~n."Polyrhythms and Improvization: Lessons for l\hmen's History," Histot! Il'ot/?.rliopJorrt,~i(lI31 (1991): 83-90. 62. Greene, "-1 Perspective," 101-2. 63. For institutions, see Raymond l'Villiams. kko~\'.clotds: A Tbcnbuln~! of Crrltrr1.c.(11id Soriotj (London: Fontana. 1976). 169. In the case of brewsters. I found that alrnost all patriarchal institutions sell-ed other purposes that were not patriarchal in intention or effect. but one of their effects xyas to assist in the maintenance of a patriarchal equilibrium. In a similar way, I I\-ould argue that the U.S. militan- before desegregation in the late 1940s was a racist institution because it helped to maintain-racial asymmetry. 64. Sharpe, "Continuity and Change," and Stafford "l2'omen and the Norman Conquest." 63. For anthropology, see the discussion of anthropological debates in

Sotes to Pages 82-83

179

DuBois e t al., F C T I Z Z Scholco~hzp, II~S~ 91-101, a n d foi one example, Kaien Sacks, S I S ~ B I Sn ~ i dllirltr (Ti-e~tport.Conn . Greenxvood Press, 1979) For example7 fiom social and political theoir, see T2'albr's summnir of cuiient theoiies in Pntticcttli~nt Ilh~lr,5-49. and Johnson, C21irlo fiiot For lrterature. Tee the suro n the i d e o l o g ~of nomen's oppiession in DuBois e t nl., Ier of scl~olnisl~ip fi~tic~iirt 5tlioln1slicp. 101-13

1. For the medieval data, see Sandy Bardsley. "Mhmen's T\hrk Reconsidered: Gender and Tl'age Differentiation in Late Medieval England," Post a ~ l d 3-29. See also John Hatcher. "Debate: Mhmen's T\-ork P I P S ~165 I ~ (1999): ~ Reconsidered: Gender and T2'age Differentiation in Late Sledieval England," Past cc~irlP I ~ S 173 B I ~(2001): ~ 191-98. and Bardsley, "Reply," P(c.rt cc~irlP I F . ~ P I ~ ~ 173 (2001): 199-202. For contemporary Britain, see T2'endy Olsen and Sylvia T\-alby. "Modelling Gender Pay Gaps," Equal Opportunities C;ommission T\-orking Paper Series 17 (2001): esp. 8-11 (available online at xon\..eoc.org .ulz) . 2. Part-payment in kind \\.as in decline by the late fourteenth century because workers preferred cash wages; ne~ertheless,the quality of the food xvas improving. and xvorkers often received rnore food than they could have t h e m s e l ~ e sconsumed. I lzno~vof n o studies-or sources-that distinguish the food offered to fernale and rnale xvorkers. See C;hristopher Dyer. E71~tyl(cyLijp in Jlrdir7~cclEngland (London: Halnhledon Press, 1994), 77-99, 183-6. 3. Jacob Burckhardt, Tlip Cii~iliz(ctio~i of tli? R ~ ~ i ( c i s . r ni~~i Italy ri ~ (1860). 3rd. ed. (Oxford: Phaidon 1995), 87. 4. Lee Patterson, " O n the hlargin: Postmodernism. Ironic History, a n d Medieval Studies," Sprczilrr~iz65 (1990): 87-108. 3. For a summary. see Janet Thornas, "Mhmen and Capitalism: Oppression or Emancipation? X Revie~vArticle," Co~nparccti-c~r Sfrrdirs ill Socirfy and Histo17 30:3 (1988): 334-19. 6. Martha C. Howell, l ~ l b ~ n c nP,~ . o d z i c f i o and ~ ~ , Pcct~.icc~.clzj ill Late Afrdir-c~ccl Citips (C:hicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986); hlerry E. T'Viesner, l l h ~ l r i ~ i g I~T'o~ncnill Ro~aisscc~~ce G o . ~ i z a ~ ~ j Brunsxj-iclz N.J.: Rutgers Uni~ersityPress, 1986); C:aroline Barron. "The 'Golden Age' of T\hmen in hledieval Lonin Sozifho.n E~lglccnd,Reading Sledieval Studies 13 d o n , " Jlrdir-c~alI~T'o~izo~ (1989): 33-38. and further cornrnents in l\Ipdi~7~(~1 L o ~ i ( l o ~lli'rlo.c~ls, i 1300-1400 (London: Halnhledon Press, 1994), xiv; P. J. P. Goldberg, I'Tb~nrn,I~TbrIi,a ~ l d E C O I ~ O Il Il ~bJ~: t i ~i ~~ Yotlr i n ~ i dIht/rslii~.c: c. 1300-1720 Lifp 0;yc.l~i ~ (1i l\Ip(li~.cl(~l (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992); Joan Kelly, "Did T2hmen Have a Renaisn , to)^ a ~ l dTlzco)~(Chicago: Unisance?," 1977 essay reprinted in her l ~ l b ~ n chis versity of Chicago Press. 1981), 19-51; hlargaret King, "Book-Lined Cells: Tlhlnen and Humanism in the Early Italian Renaissance," in Beyond Tlzrir Srx: Lpnt.~iprll l h ~ t i of ~ ~flip i Eutop?n~iPart. ed. Patricia H. Labalme (Ken. York: Ken. Yoi-lz University Press, 1984), 66-90, and, with Albert Rahil Jr., ed., Her I~n~ncccirlntp H n ~ i d(Binghampton N.Y.; Center for Medieval and Early Renaissance a ~ l d fhr English Rrnaisscc~lce Studies, 1983); Linda 12'oodbridge, l'T'o~izr~~ (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1984); C:atherine Belsey. Tli? Subj~ctof T~.ccgedj(London: Slethuen, 1985); Katharina M. T2'ilson a n d Elizabeth 11.

180

Notes to Pages 84-85

SIalio~\slzi,ll\klicd lTS-c~rsclnd tlzr IT'ocs ofAlco~zagc,(,llban\. State U n ~elsit\ r of Yew Yo1 k Pr e ~ s.)1990 7. h l ~ c eClailz, l l b ~ k z n gL z j of Ilbnicn zn the Sr~~cntcrnth Crntro) (1919. i p t L o n d o n Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1982); Kellr, "Dld 12omen H a ~ ea Renaissance;", Fi~edlichEngels, Tlzr O I Z ~ ZofI Ifhr S Fcl~izzl),P)i-c~clfr P)ope)f),cltld tlip \tat( (1884) 8. Annie A l b l a n ~"Tlhmen , Tiadels In S l e d ~ e ~London," al Econoniic[orr~~iaI 26 ( 1 9 1 6 ) 276-83; hlallan K Dale. "The London S ~ l k x ~ o m eofn the FlfHisf011 RCIJZC(IJ 4 (1933). 324-25, Eileen Panel, teenth Centulr ," Eco~io~izic "The Po~ltlonof 12omen." 111 Tlip Lpg(lc\ oftlic dItdrl1~A g ~ r e. d C' G Clump and E F Jacob (C)xford Clalendon P r e ~ s 1926), , 401-33, at 110 9 Bar r on, "Golden Ige"; Petel Fr anklln. "Peasant T\-~do\\s'' L ~ b eal t ~ o n ' and Rernar r lage before the Black Death," Eeo~io~titc Htrton R B ~ I I B 2nd ( I ~Tel . 39 (1986). 186-204, Goldbeig, Ilbnicn, ITb~li,Balbala A.Hana~\alt,"Peasant 12hmen.s C o n t i ~ b u t ~ oton the Home Economr In Late hledieral England," In ITb~izr~i cl~id1Tb)li in P~rzndrrsf)ial Ezi)opc, ed. B. A. H a n a ~ \ a l (Bloomington. t Indiana U n n e i s i t ~Piess, 1986), 3-19, S ~ m o nA. C. Penn, "Female Tl'ageen1nel s in Late Foul teenth-Centuir England," Ag~zcrrlfrr~cll Hzsto)? R C Z J Z 37 CI~ u and F~fteenth(1987). 1-14, Ka\. E. Lace\, "12'omen and 12'011~In F o ~ teenth Centuir London," In l l b ~ i z r ~cl~id i 1Ib)k i1i P)c-It~dzist~zcll E n g l a ~ i d ,ed. Lindser Challes and Loinn Duffin (London. Cioon Helm, 1985), 24-82. Darid Hel11111 has poslted a s~mllarhdr arnatlc and negatn e tr ans~tlonbut ha7 dated ~t n high Xllddle I g e ~;)Tee 0 1 1 ~ i ( I\Irrl~cbit(l l l l b ~ t i o in ~ i dIlbilr rnuch ear 11el ( ~ the I I I I (r\e\\ Yo1 k. hIcGr a\\-H111, 1990) For a challenge to t h ~ ~ c h o r u ~ see . C'hr17 Xllddleton, "12omen's Laboul and the T ~ a n ~ l t ~too Plen Indu~trlalC'apltal~sm,"In l l h ~ t t cl~irl ~ ~ i Ilhilr. e d Charles and Duffin. 181-206 10 Roller ta Harnllton. Tlip L t b ~ i n t t o ~ofi l l h ~ t t ~A~ i\trrdj of Pnt~tcliclij nlid C(lpttnltr~tt( L o n d o n George Allen and L 11\\1n, 1978); Blldget H111, l l h ~ t i ~ ~ i , i ~i tli-Cc ~i trr11 E ~ i g l n ~ i(C).ifol d d. Blackwell. ll'oil,, nlid Sc \cia1 Pollttcr t ~ Etglitcc 1989), K. D. 11. Snell, A ~ i n a l so f f h r Labo)z~igPool (Camblidge. Camhiidge UnlTeisitr Pless, 1985), 270-319, S11chael Rohelts, "Siclzles and Sc~thes.Tlhmen's 12'oili and Slen's Tl'ollz at H a n e s t T ~ m e , "Hisf011 IT'o~kshop[oroncll 7 (1979). 3-29, and "S~clilesand Scr thes Rer ~ s ~ t eHal7 d . est Tl'olli, 12'ages, and S\mholic Sleanings," in l l b ~ i z r ~ITb)k, i, clnd llbgrs zn Engla~id,1600-1850, ed. Penelope Lane, Neil Raren, and K. D. hl. Snell (12'oodbi1dge, Suffollz. B o ~ d e l l2004), , 68-101,TK T h n a ~ t e s"12hmen , In the hlailzet place. Oxfoidshile, c. 1690-1800," Alzdland Hisf011 9 (1984). 23-42, hlaigalet Geolge, "Fl or11 'Good\\lfe' to 'Xl~stle s ~ ' The . TI ansfor matlon of the Fernale In Boul~ ( 1 9 7 3 ) 152-77; S u ~ a nCahn, I~irlrrstnof geols Cultule." Sccoicc cl~irlS o e t ~ t37 , (Yew D ~ i ~ o t t o TI/? ~ i T i n ~ i s f O ~ ~ t t ( l tofl o ~l li' o ~ t i ~ ~llbil, i ' r t ~ Ei ~ i g l n ~ i d1700-1660 t ~e s ~ 1987), . at 9 Fol a rnol e nuanced Tie\\. Tee Yo1 k. Colurnbla L n11e l s ~ PI Pamela Sharpe, "Introduct~on,"In Ilb~ttoiS llbil, Tlip E~igltrhE\11citoicc, 1650-1914 ( L o n d o n A n o l d . 1998). 1-20 Fol olljectlons. see B a l d ~ l e r , " 1 2 o m e n ' ~12olk Reconsidered"; Judlth hI Bennett. " 'Hlstolr that Stands St~ll'.12'omen's Tlhili In the Euiopean Past," Frniinzst Stzidzcs 14 (1988). 26983, and "Sled~eral12hmen, Slodeln 12hmen. Xcloss the Gieat Dnide," in Crrlfroc and Hzsto)), 1350-1600 E s s c ~ so1i E~iglishCo~iz~izzi~iitirs, Idcntitirs, clnd l l i i f i ~ i ged. , D a \ ~ dh e i s , (London. Hairestel 12'heatsheaf, 1992), 147-175, Slalranne Ko~\alesli~, "Tlhmen's Tlhili in a Slailiet Tonn. Exetei In the Late Foulteenth C e n t ~ u r , "in ITb~izr~ia ~ i dl l b ~ l i2 1 1 P ~ e z ~ i d r r ~ t )Ezi~ope, z c ~ l ed. Hana-

Notes to Pages 85-87

181

Tjnlt, 145-64, hla~isSlate, Ilb~izr~l in ; I l r d z c ~ ~ a l E ~ ~ gSoczctj l i s h (Cnmblidge. Cnmblidge Unnelsit\ Pless, 1999). 11 \laljor ~e heniston hlcIntos11. Tlh~lroigTl'o~tcc~i e ~ E~iglesli i Soce~t~, 13001620 (Cninbl idge. Cninbi idge Unn el sit\ Pi ess, 2005), 232. As hIcIntosh notes on 20, the boolz "ielies h e n ~ i h "on eqmtl c o ~ u petitions t fiom 1470. Of the five market centers that also feature in the study, t~\-ohave archiyes that begin in the 1280s, but the records of the other three start in 1362. 1379. and 1382; this rnakes it difficult to prove the earlier part of McIntosh's thesis that women bet\\.een 1330 and 1500 took "a Inore active and independent part in the public economy than before or after" (40). 12. McIntosh, I'l'orlii~~g I~l'o~izo~, 232. SIcIntosh's evidence of substantive change is thin, usually relying on either assertion or unconvincing evidence. For an example of an undocumented assertion of transformation, see the discussion of iinport/export trade, 125; for anecdotal e~idence,see the discussion of baking, 184; for overlooked e ~ i d e n c e ,see 133, T\-here Nancy ;2damson's finding of seventy-three apprentices in Elizabethan records, available in print since 1992, is not mentioned; for misconstrued evidence, see also 135 (both male and female apprentices disappear from the main source-the London mayor's court-after c. 1450 because of changes in recording customs) and 158 (I do not argue. as said there, that opposition .. to brewsters "became Inore heated across the later fifteenth and sixteenth centuries"). McIntosh scarcely considers the evidence noT\-available on ~\-omen's wages and the status of ~vomenin craft guilds. 13. Eileen POT\-el-, "The Position of TVomen," in Tlzr Legc/cy of the Jliddlr ; I p s , ed. C:rump and Jacob, 401-33. at 410; Hanawalt. "Peasant T\-ornen's C:ontribution," in T l ' o ~ ~c11ir1 i ~ ~Tlh~/r i i ~Pi t ~ i ~ i c l r r s t ~ ~ i c ~ ed. l E i ~Hanawalt, t o ~ ~ ~ , 3-19; E11g1(1nd,46; Louise Hill, I'lb~nrn,I'lbrli, a ~ l dSrurral Politics ill Eiglztcr~~fh-Colfzi~j Tilly and Joan Scott, 1Tb~izo1,I'lbrli, a11dFconi(?.New Yorlz: Holt, Rinehart and T\-inston. 1978), 230. 14. Olivia Harris. "Households as Natural Units," in Of,JIc~t,~.ing~ c11ir1t l i ~ JI(~rlirt,ed. Kate Young et al., 2nd ed. (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1984), 136-35; Rayna Rapp et al., "Examining Family History," Fr~ninistStzido i ~ i ~ Reassessing the ips 3 (1979): 174-200; Tessie P. Liu. " L B P c ~ t t Y ~ ~ i.\Ic~giqrrc Po\\.er of T\-ornen in Peasant Households in Nineteenth-C;entur)- France," Gr~ldrra ~ l dHisto)> 6:l (1994): 13-36. 13. Medieval notions of ,f(~~n/ilia easily embraced such persons, but our "farnily" does not. Richard Smith has noted from the 1377 poll tax listings that about 13 percent of rural households had servants. that 20-33 percent of urban households included sell-ants, and that these figures underestimate the presence of sen-ants because the poll taxes did not list persons under age fourteen and underlisted females. See Smith, "Geographical Di~ersityin the Resort to Marriage in Late hledieval Europe: Mhrk. Reputation. and Unmarried Fernales in the Household Formation Systems of Northern and Southern Europe," in I ~ l b ~ i zisa (1~ ~I'lbrfhy I'l'iglzf: I'lb~izr~~ in English Socirc~,c. 1200-1500, ed. P. J. P. Goldberg (Stroud: Alan Sutton, 1992), 16-59, 35-36. Basing her estimate on a Inore extensive set of records. klal-yanne Ko\\.aleski found that at least 40 percent of households in Exeter in 1377 had sell-ants. See Ko~raleski,Locc~lAlcokcfs ( I I I ~Regior~alT~.c~dc in Jlrdir7~c11 Eurfrr (New Yorlz: Cambridge Uniyersity Press, 1993), 168. These "snapshot" estimates suggest, of

182

Notes to Pages 87-89

course, that eyen more households ~vouldhaye been incorporating sexants over time. ofDrrtics ill ;Ifco.riage, called 16. Edmund Tilney, A Brirfnnd Pleasc~ntDiscozi~sr t i oo f F ~ 1 i i s 1 i i (1571). as quoted in Susan Xmussen, A I ~ Otdpt~dSocir f j : Gr~ldr,.clnd Clclss in En,.(?. d1odr1.11Engla~ld(Oxford: Black\-ell, 1988), 4341. I have modernized the punctuation. 17. "Ballad of a Tyrannical Husband," in Rrliqziiar Antiqrrar, vol. 2, ed. Thomas T'Vright and Jarnes C). Hallix~ell(London: J. R. Smith. 1845). 196-99. 18. Stcltzitrs of thr R r a l ~ n ,vol. 1 (London: Record Commission, 1810), 379-80. 19. Ko\\.aleski, "Mhmen's T\-ork in a Market To\\.n," 137-58. 20. L. F. Salzman, E~iglisliI1ir1rrst1.i~~ of t l i ~dIirlcl1~Agp.r (Oxford: C:larendon Press, 1923). 328-29. See. for example. the Southx~arkpoll tax for 1381: The National ,lrchi~es,PRO, E l i 9 184/30. The tendency to record only the occupations of husbands continues well into the modem era: see Peter H. Lindert, "English Occupations, 1670-1811," Jozi1.11a1ofEcono~nicHisto,> 40 (1980): 691-92; Paul Glennie, "Disti~~grrishing Jlrn's Txldrs": Occzipc~tio~~c~l Sorrrcrs clnd 1)rbatrs ,for Pre-Colsrrs E n g l n ~ l d ,Historical Geography Research Series 23 (1990): esp. 12-13. 21. Kathryn Kelley Staples is completing a dissertation at the Uniyersity of Minnesota on the inheritance of daughters in medieval London; her data suggest that daughters did receive considerable assets frorn their parents. but not as rnuch as did sons. 22. Richard hI. Smith, "Cbping nit11 Uncertainty: Mhmen's Tenure of ~ i~i Customary Land in England, c. 1370-1130." in E ~ i t ~ ) p ~n ~. ii sdI1idirlirlrrc11.r Fiftpp~itli-Cp~itiity E~iglc~licl, ed. Jennifer Kermode (Stroud: Alan Sutton. 1991), 43-67, at 19. 23. Derek Keene, Srrt-ocy ofrJI~clipi~c~l Tlj:~ieIi~.rt~~. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). 387. Keene found that 18 percent of property holders were women, of ~vhomsome 40 percent had acquired their land by inheritance. Despite the limitations that comerture imposed on lnarried women, a fe~\heiresses continued to hold their properties in their own right, but most did not. 24. Sian Eleri Jones, "Keeping Her in the Family 12'omen and Gender in Southampton, c. 1400-1600" (Pl1.D. diss., Uniyersity of Southampton, 1997), 142-32. 25. Tlzr Treatise on thr Laro c111d Czisto~izsof fhr Rrcll~iz of E~lglclnd C o ~ n ~ i z o n l ~ Cnllpd C;ln~irlill, ed. G. D. G. Hall (London, Nelson, 1965). book 6, no. 3. p. 60. 26. Richard Smith, "T\hmen's Property Rights under C;ustornary La\\.: Sorne Developments in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth C:enturies," T~.c~~i.rc~ctio1i.r of tlip Rojcll Hi.rtoticc11Sociptj. 5th ser.. 36 (1986): 165-94. and "C:oping \\.it11 Uncertainty." Smith also notes an increase in "conjoint tenures" (that is, land held jointly by a husband and x~ife)by the early fifteenth century, although the social meanings of this legal shift are hard to assess (see especially his comments on 63 in "Coping with Uncertainty" and 166 in "T2hmen's Property Rights"). In assessing the social meanings of legal changes to married women's property rights, Susan Staves's comment that "the same struggles appear to be repeated oyer and over again with only minor yariations in ~ocabulal?" provides an important caution; see her ;lfc~~.rird 1Tb1ncn's

Notes to Pages 89-92

183

Scparcltc Property ill England, 1660-1833 (Cambridge, Slass.: Han-ard Uni~ersity Press. 1990). 229. , ill J l c / n o ~ i c his ~ l to)^ (Oxford: Clarendon 27. Ada Elizabeth L e ~ e t t Sfrrdics Press. 1938). 333. The transaction went ahead despite the wife's tear-stained consent but was voided ~j-llena jury intervened. 28. Mavis Mate. Dnirglit(~ts,Tli'il~.r(11ir1Tli'rlo.c~rs tlic. B1nc.k D ( ~ ~ t lTi l:b ~ ~ i (i >~ ~i i Szissrg 1350-1535 (12'oodbridge: Boydell Press, 1998), 78-79, Record Office, Montagu C;ollection, Box X364B. 29. Kor-tl~arllptoi~sl~ire court for 20/3/1315. The jurors stated "-c~r~ldicio illn r~rrllarst dr ziro1~cill n b ~ ~ ~ i~~irlt.iti t i r ~ .rrri." Marjorie hlcIntosh has recently explored the legal maneuvers t h a t j ~ t i ~ tc.oiri1~t.t~ ip status offered to h~tsbandsand wives, concluding that "fernme couverte status rnust have had sorne relative advantages in practice"; see McIntosh. "The Benefits and Dran.11acks of Fernrne Sole Status in England, 1300-1630," jozi1.na1 ofBritish Sfrrdirs 4 4 3 (2003): 410-39, at 430. I agree. X woman could accrue a ~arietyof legal, social, and personal benefits from marriage, but in economic terms, it is hard to construe frninic cozi-c~r~.fr status in a positive light. 30. Diane Hutton, "T2'omen in Fourteenth Century Sllre~j-sbury,"in T'l'onicn arid 1Tbrk ill P ~ - l ~ ~ d r r s f r E11g1(1nd, ial ed. Charles and Duffin, 83-99, at 86; Sue Tvright, " 'Cllurmaids, llus~\?-fsand huclzsters': The Employment of Tlhlnen in T~tdorand Stuart Salisbury," in T'lb~izr~~ and 1Tb1k, ed. Charles and Duffin. 100-121, at 107. 31. See especially McIntosh, "The Benefits and Dran.backs of Fernrne Sole Status." See also Kay Lacey. "Ti-omen and Mhrk in Fourteenth and Fifteenth Century London." T l ' o ~ t i ~r11ir1 ~ i Tlbt/?, ed. Charles and Duffin, 21-82. esp. 11-45; Barron, "Golden .Zge," esp. 39-10; Mary Bateson. ed.. Bot.orrg/i Cu.52 vols.. Selden Society 18 (London: B. Quaritch, 1901). esp. 222-28. and to~~i.r, 21 (London: B. Quaritch, 1906), c-cxv, 102-29. 111 the sur-viving Mayor Court Bills for London. several cases involved xvomen, noted as trading as f p ~ ~ i ~ ~ i ~ . r soles, ~ v h owere nevertheless impleaded ~j-itlltheir husbands. See, for examples, Corporation of London Record Office, Mayor Court Bills 1/123, 3/210, 3/373, 3/377. 1 would like to thank Caroline Barron for directing me to this source. Bateson notes that husbands joined their ~vivesin such cases in London "for conformity"; see Bororrglz Czistonis, 2: c x i ~ . 32. If there were no children of the marriage, a ~\-ido~\got half the lands and tenements and half the movable goods and chattels. 33. Caroline M. Barron and Anne F. Sutton, eds., Jlrdir7~c1lL o ~ l d o n1TSdoic~s, 1300-1 500 (London: Harnbledon Press. 1994), x?-ii-xxi. 31. See Louise Mirrer. ed.. [ p o l , ,]ITHrrsbn~id.rD ~ n t l i :Tli'r1o.cll.r i ~ ti l i ~Litptrl(Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. trrw.r r11ir1Hi.rtoti~.rofdI~di~-clnlEut.ol,p 1992), and Sue Sheridan T'Valker. ed.. T17ij??n~irlTli'do.c~li ~ LJI~rli~-clnl i E~igln~irl (Ann Arbor: University of hlichigan Press, 1993). 35. On flexibilities \\.ithill couverture specifically, see Amy Louise Erickson. "C:overture and Capitalism." Histo17 Tlh~/rsliol,Jocr1.1~159:l(2005): 1-16, 36. John Stuart Mill, Tlzc Szibjcctio~lof 1Tb~izo1(1869), esp. chap. 11. 37. R. H. Helmholz, Af(l~.riagrLifigclfion in ;Ifcdic-c~alE n g l a ~ l d(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), 102. 38. I have treated the household economy in a static fashion in order to demonstrate that it neyer offered an ideal situation for I\-omen-in either medieval or early modem Europe. The full histo17 of its development and

184

Notes to Pages 92-95

evolution are beyond the purposes of this chapter. Maxine Berg has raised substantial doubts about the supposedly negative effects of the decline of the household economy o n women's I\-ork. See "Tlhmen's I2'orlz, Mechanization, and the Early Phases of Industrialization in England," in 01iTl'ot/?:Hi.rtoticc11, ed. R. E. Pal11 (Oxford: Blaclz~vell, Con/@arclfi-c~c c111rl Tlzro~~cfical ,l@@~.oc~chcs, 1988), 61-91, See also Carole Shammas. A Hi.rtoty ofHoirs~liolclC ; O ~ I P I . I i~~I Ii I P I ~ ~ Uni~ersityof Virginia Press, 2002). A~izoica(Cl~arlottes~ille: 39. Jeremy Goldberg has characterized this cornparison as "deeply flawed" o n three counts, all of ~ \ - l ~ iIcackno~vledged l~ from my first use of it in 1992 and. again. in my discussion here: the comparison of Southxvark and London; the focus 011 single\\.ornen a n d \\.ido\\.s (although Goldberg mentions only singlexvornen); and the long tirne span. See P. J. P. Goldberg, d l ~ d i r A Socicll Hi.rtoty, 1270-1750 (London: Arnold. 2001), 216. In light rlcllE~igln~id: of Goldberg's comments, I I\-ould like to emphasize two points. First, these two snapshots are not arbitrarily chosen; despite the challenges of their cornparison, they remain the best data for a long-term colnparison of female occupations over these centuries that anyone has been able to locate. Seco n d , I use these snapshots in ways appropriate to their fla~j-s-that is, I look for general trends, not precise patterns. 40. In the South~rarlzpoll tax, for example, numerous skilled occupations were identified with men alone, including spicer, ~ i n t n e r goldsmith, , marshal, armiger. weaver, cooper, and smith. 11. ";2ssessment Roll of the Poll-Tax for Ho\\.densl~ire.etc. in the Second Year of the Reign of King Richard I1 (1379) ." Y o ~ l ? s / A~~clin~ologicc~l ii~~ n ~ i dT o p gtr1pliicc1lJoirt~1ic119 (1886): 129-61; Peter Flerning, T l b ~ t i i~~~Liic ~ t ~ d I ~ d i ~Bti.r-clnl tol. Bristol Branch of the Historical ;2ssociation Local History Pamphlets 103 (2001): 10. 12. Peter Earle, "The Fernale Labor Market in London in the Late SevenHisto17 Rp71i~.(1< 2nd ser.. T2 teenth and Early Eighteenth C:enturies," Eco~io~tiic (1989): 328-53. 43. Ko~valeslzi,"I2'omen's Tlhrk," 156-58. 44. For Oxford, see the transcription of the 1381 poll tax in O ~ f o r dCitj I)oczin/cnts, 1268-1665, ed. J. E. Thorold Rogers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1891). For Howdenshire, see "Assessment Roll." For Bristol, see Fleming, 1Tb~izr11 in Bristol. For Exeter, see Ko~valeslzi,"I2'omen's Tlhrk." 45. Goldberg, "Female Labour, Sen-ice, and Marriage in the Late AledieNorth," ,\hrfho.n Histo,? 22 (1986): 18-38, at 30. ~ a Urban l 16. Bennett, T l b ~ t i ~i ~~ iflip i l\I~di~71(11 E~igli.rliCoir1itt7.ricl~;Ko\\.aleski, "I\-omen's I\-ork"; Hutton, "I\-ornen"; Goldberg. "Female Labor, Service"; Sue I'Vright, "Churmaids"; Mary Prior, "Mhmen a n d the Urban Economy i S o c i ~ t j ,1700-1800. ed. Mary Prior Oxford. 1300-1800." in T l ' o ~ t i ~i ~ E~iglisli (London: hlethuen. 1983), 93-117; Carole Shammas. "The I\-orld Mhmen Knexv: Mhmen I\-orkers in the North of England during the Late Seventeenth C;entury." in TI,? Tl'ot.ld ofTli'1lin111P P I ~ed. I ~ ,R. Dunn (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986), 99-1 13;Jane Illlittle, "House~vivesa n d Sexants in Rural England, 1440-1650: E ~ i d e n c eof I2'omen's I2'orlz from Probate Documents," Txlnsactio~lsof thr Rojc11Historicc~lSocictj 6th series, 15 (2005): 31-74; Earle, "Female Labor Marlzet." 47. Earle compared his data to the 1851 census, noting that "the general structure of occupations is very similar" in both periods, that the top four

Notes to Pages 96-97

185

employments of women remained unchanged, a n d that "there is certainly little evidence of a narrox~ingof x~ornen'semployment opportunities as a result of the industrial revolution"; see "Female Labour Marlzet," 341-42. 48. T h e literature o n guilds is vast a n d often contentious. X gener a1 ~ ' ntroduction can be found in Steyen A. Epstein, 1Tbgr Lnbo~.c111dGziilds ill Jlcdic-c~al Hill: University of North C;arolina Press. 1991). For English E i i i o I ~(Chapel ~ AII l i h n ~ l materials specifically, start x\-ith Heather Swanson, ;Ifcdic-c~alA~~tisa~~s: Class i ~ Lot?). i l\Idic)rlal E~iglCl~id (Oxford: Blackx~ell,1989). and "The Illusion of Economic Structure: Craft Guilds in Late Medieval English TOT\-ns,"Past a ~ i dP i ~ . w ~121 i t (1988): 29-48; Gervase Rosser. "Crafts. Guilds, a n d the A-egotiation of T\-ork in the hledieval To\\.n," Past a ~ i dPi.rr?~it154 (1997): 3-31. Classic studies include George Un\\.in, Tli? Gi1cl.r a ~ i dCo)til~n~ii~.r of L o ~ i d o ~ i (London: George ;Zllen and Un\\.in. 1938); Stella EL-amer. Tli? E~iglisliCirlft Gilds (Nexj- h r l z : Columbia L-niyersity Press, 1927); Charles Gross, Tlzr Gild Jlcrcha~lf(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1890);Joshua Toulmin Smith and Lucy Toulmin Smith, eds., English Gilds, Early English Text Society 40 (London: Oxford University Press, 1870). 49. T h e literature o n I\-omen and guilds was s ~ u i ~ e y eindJudith M. Bennett a n d Maryanne Koxj-aleslzi, "Crafts, Gilds, a n d Tlhmen in t h e Sliddle Ages: Fifty Years after Slarian K. Dale," Signs: A Jorrr11c11of1Tbnio1 in Crrlfrrrc a11d Socictj 1 4 (1989): 474-88. Among studies published since 1989, see especially Caroline Barron. "The Education and Training of Girls in Fifteenth-C;entur)London," in Corr).ts, Coii~iti~s, c11ir1t l i ~Cal,itcll i ~ ti l i ~Lat~~'dIidcllc) =Ips.ed. Diana E. S. Dunn (Stroud: Sutton, 1996), 139-33. at 144; Ingrid Batori, "Frauen in Handel u n d Hand\\.erk in der Reichsstadt A-ordlingen in1 15. u n d 16. Jahrhundert," in F I . ( I I I ~i I~I (1~1. i Stij~idc)gc)s~ll.r~liCIft. ed. Barbara \hgel a n d Ulrike T\-eckel (Hamburg: R. &-amer, 1991). 27-47; CXcile Bi.ghin. "Donneuses d'ouvrages, apprenties e t salari6es aux XIVe et XVe sickles dans les soci6ti.s urbaines languedociennes." Clio 3 (1996) : 31-34; Ilana EL-ausman Ben-Amos, "12hmen Apprentices in the Trades and Crafts of Early Slodern Bristol," C ~ I I f i ~ l z i i [and ~ Chnnge 6:2 (1991): 227-52; Carol L. Loats, "Gender, Guilds, and Tlhrlz Identity: Perspectiyes from Sixteenth-Century Paris," F~.cnchHisforicc~l Sfrrdirs 20:l (1997): 13-54; Simone Roux, "Les Felnlnes dans les Metiers Parisiens: XIIIe-XT'e siilcle," Clio 3 (1996): 13-30; Slargret Tl'ensky, "Frauen in1 Handwerk," Eziro$?i'ischr Tcch~likini J l i f f r l n l f o ; 800-1400, ed. Utz Lindgren (Berlin: Gehr. Slann, 1996), 509-18. 30. Sheilagh Ogilvie, "Hex\- Does Social Capital Affect Tl'omen? Guilds and C:omrnunities in Early hlodern Germany." ;l~tic)i.icc~~i Hi.rtoi.ica1 Rp-oi~7il109:2 (2004): 323-39. 31. Bridget Hill. "T\hmen's History: -1Study in Change. Continuity. o r ~i Rc)r~i~.(~r 2:l (1993): 5-22. at 14-13. Standing Still?" T l b ~ t i>~ Hi.rto)y 32. Merry E. T\-iesner. "Guilds, Male Bonding, a n d Mhmen's Mhrk in Early hlodern Germany," C k ~ i d ~(11ic1 i . Histo)? 1:2 (1989): 123-37, at 127; Herlihy. 0I1~ir1 l\Iuli~b~.ic~, 179; Maria R. Boes, "'Dishonourable Youth. Guilds, a n d the Changed Tl'orld T'ie~vof Sex, Illegitimacy, a n d 12'omen in Late-SixteenthCentury Germany," Co~lti~lrrityc111d Char~ge18:3 (2003): 343-73, a t 332; Katrina Honeyman a n d Jordan Goodman, "Tlhmen's Tl'orlz, Gender Conj flict, a n d Labour Slarlzets in Europe, 1500-1900," Econoniic H i s f o ~ Rc-c~irro 4 4 4 (1991): 608-28, at 611. 33. Francis B. Biclzley, ed., Tlzr Liftlr Red Book o f Bristol, 2 (Bristol: 12: C.

186

Notes to Pages 97-99

Hemmons, 1900), 127-28. For an example of an argument based entirely on rlIl!li~bt?fl, 177-79. ordinances. see Herlihy. O~IBI.(I 54. For the short-term purposes of such ordinances, see Tl'i-ight, "Churmaids." 106, and Steven Rappaport, Tlh1.1rls.c~litlii~i Tl'ot.1d.r: Stt.crc.trr~~.r ofLij2 i ~ i Siufcolth-Crnfroj L o n d o ~ l (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 38-39. 55. Barron, "Golden Age," 46 and 48. 56. Stephanie Hovland, "Girls as Apprentices in Later hledieval London," paper presented at Harlaxton conference (2004). I thanlz Stephanie Hovland for giving rne a copy of this paper and alloxving rne to cite it. r\~ancyXdamson, "Urban Families: The Social Context of the London Elite, 1300-1603" (P11.D. diss.. University of Toronto, 1983), 243-30. 57. Vivien Brodsky Elliott. "Single Mhmen in the London Marriage Market: Age, Status, and Mobility, 1598-1619," in Jlco-~.ic~gr arid Socictj: Stzidics i n thr Socicll Histo)> o f ;lfc~~.riage, ed R. B. Outlnraite (London: Europa, 1981), 81100, at 91. See, for other cites of this data, Ilana Krausman Ben-Amos, Adolcsccrlcc a ~ l dI'ozifh i n E n r h J1odr1.n E ~ l g l n n d(Nexj-Hayen, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1994), 133, and McIntosh, 1Tb1king T'Tb~izr~l, 135 (mistakenly citing BenAmos as the source). 58. Unfortunately, Adamson does not list all se~entythreeapprentices, but I haye checked her references to seyeral specific cases. ,llthougl~the references are fla\\.ed (she rniscites the Haberdasher's freeman's register instead of their apprentice binding books). the cases do exist (in Guildhall Library. )IS 13860/1 and 2). 59. Derek Keene. "Tanners' T\-id0n.s. 1300-1350." in ,lI~rli~.c~c~l Lo~idoliTli'rlonl.r, 1300-1500, ed. Caroline hl. Barron and ;2nne F. Sutton (London: Hambledon, 1994), 1-28. at 4. Hovland found that virtually all the girl apprentices mentioned in the London Letter Books \\.ere orphans: seventeen of nineteen girls. as cornpared to thirty-nine of ninety-six boys. She found more equivalent ratios in the plea rolls and mayor's bills: t~voof txj-entyfive girl apprentices and thirty of 237 boys. The changeable meaning of apprenticeship for girls can confound attempts to trace secular trends. See, for example, BenAmos, Adolrsco~cc,133-53. 60. Hovland, "Girls as Xpprentices." 61. Toulmin Smith, English Gilds, xxx. 62. The distinction betxj-een parish guilds (also lzno~vnas "fraternities" and "confraternities") and craft guilds was not always firm, as some craft guilds ernerged from parish guilds and alrnost all craft guilds incorporated sorne of the religious practices of parish guilds. See Elspeth Yeale, "The 'Great Txvelve': hlistery and Fraternity in Thirteenth-C;entury London," Hi.5to1.ic.01R ~ . r ~ r ~ t64 . r I i(1991): 237-63. It has been recently argued not only that parish guilds xvere "markedly feminine" but also that. because these religious associations afforded medieval to\\.nspeople informal venues in \\.hich to negotiate work. craft, and trade, therefore "the strong fernale presence in most fraternities gave women, no less than men, opportunities to present themselves as credit-~vorthyand to benefit from the material resources of these societies." See Caroline M. Barron, "The Parish Fraternities of Aledieyal London," Tlzc Clzzi~.chi n PI-Rcfo~.~izafionSocirfy, ed. Caroline M . Barron and Christopher Harper-Bill (12'oodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell, 1983), 13-37, at 30; and Gel~aseRosser, "Tlhrlzers' Associations in English Medieval Towns," in

Sotes to Pages 99-100

187

Lrs JIPtir~sazi J l o j r ~ lAgr, ed. Pascal Lamhrechts and Jean-Pierre Sosson (Louvain-la-Neme: Uni~ersiti.Catholique d e Lomain, 1994), 283-305, at 291. k t it seems lilzely to me that parish guilds-as much sites of "social capital" as the craft guilds examined by Ogil~ie-might haye disadvantaged women in equivalent Trays. Virginia Bainhridge has suggested, for example, that in Cambridge "these organizations might have been rather like the gentlemen's or x~orkingmen's clubs \\.hich still exist today; rnale clannish affairs x~ithladies in attendance only on high days or holidays. at feasts and funerals." See Bainbridge. Gi1d.r i ~ iflip L J 1 ~ ( l i ~ C,'oii~itty.ri(l~: ~l(~l Sorial ( 1 1 ~Rpligiolrs 1 O'Iia~ig~ i ~ iO'a~reb~idgcshirc,c. 1350-1558 (Rochester, N.Y.: Boydell, 1996), 47. For the male tilt of fraternities on the Continent, see especially Giovanna Casagrande, "12hmen in Confraternities between the Middle Ages and the Modern Age: Research in L-mbria," Co~~ficlto.nifcls 5:2 (1994): 3-13; and Nicholas Terpstra, "Tl'omen in the Brotherhood: Gender, Class, and Politics in Renaissance Bolognese C:onfraternities," R P ~ i ( l i s s ( l ~ (11i(1 i r ~ R ~ o ~ ~ ~ r e a t i o ~ i / R ~ ~ ~t i(~iss(~~ [email protected]~26:3 (1990) : 193-212. There xyere. ho\\.ever. parish guilds for xYomen alone, and these have been discussed extensively 11)- Katherine French: "Mhmen in the Late hledieval English Parish," in C;~~irlpt.i~ig flipLJl(~.rt~t.L\kt,~?,,.ntiiv: l l b ~ t i ~(11i(1 ~ i P O Y I ~iB~I .flip i LJliddl~= I p s . ed. hlary C;. Erler and hlaryanne Ko~raleski(Ithaca N.Y.: Cornell Uni~ersityPress, 2003), 156-73; "Slaidens' Lights and Tl'ives' Stores: 12'omen's Parish Guilds in Late Medieval England," Sivtccr~thC r ~ ~ f r r ~ ~ J o 29 r r r(1998): ~ ~ c ~ l 399-425; and "'To free them from binding': 12'omen in the Late Sledie~alEnglish Parish," jorrr11c11of I~~toclisciplinc~~y his to)^ 27 (1997): 387-412. 63. Guildhall Library. hlS 5440. 64. Q ~ ~ a r t e r a glists e are rare for late medieval London. For the Grocers. see John -1. Kingdon. Facri~reil~ of t l i ~ F i ~ :Tblrr~rcp rt of t l i ~dlr. A t r l i i ~ ~ofs flip I l h ~ of tlip Citj of L o ~ i d o ~A.D. i , 1347-1463 (London: Rich.rliipjrl C o ~ t i p a ~ofi j Gtoc.c.~:r ard Clay, 1886), 45-47, For the Coopers, see Guildhall Library, MS 5614a. For the Tl'ea~ers,see Frances Consitt, Tlzr Londo~l l~T%a?~o.s' C o ~ n p a ~vol. ~j, 1 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1933), 90. By the sixteenth century, extant quarterage lists are common; for the minimal im-ol~ementof women in guilds at that time, see Rappaport, l~lbrlds,36-42. 65. For rnore on xYornen in the Brex~ers'guild of London, see Judith )I. Bennett. "T\hmen and hlen in the Brex~ers'Gild of London, c. 1420," in Tlip Salt of Co~rc~rco~i L f p : I~irli-clidunlitja ~ i dClioic.(~i ~ ti l i ~l\I(~di~71(11 To~il~i, Colr~ittysi(lp, a ~ i dCliii~.cli,ed. Edwin B. DeT\-indt (Kalarnazoo, hlich.: hledieval Institute Press. 1995), 181-232, and =I/(: Ewt; a ~ i dE ~ ? n l . r t ~i ~~sE~igln~irl: i T l b ~ t i ~ l~l hi s~ / r in a Clzcl~lgingI~TbrId,1300-1600 (New Yoi-lz: Oxford University Press, 1996), 60-76. 66. Keene, "Tanners' 12'ido~j-s,"26. 67. Rappaport has found, for example. that women (mostly widows) constituted less than 2 percent of those ~ 1 1 0engaged apprentices in sixteenthcentury London; l~lb~.lds, 41. Tl'ido~vsconstituted some 5 percent of the membership of York's Balzers' and 12'eavei-s' guilds, c.1560-1700; see Diane Tl'illen, "Guildsx~omenin the City of York. 1560-1700," Tli? Hi.rtot.ia~i46 (1984): 204-18. 68. For the prevalence of this type of I\-orlz in m e d i e d English to~j-ns,see Rodney Hilton. "I\-ornen Traders in hledieval England," in C1ns.r Co~ijTic.tc11ir1 the Crisis of Fczidalis~iz (London: Hamhledon, 1985), 205-15; Ko~j-aleslzi, "12hmen's Tl'ork." See also Judith Bro~vn'stheories about the Florentine sex-

188

Notes to Pages 100-102

ual d i ~ i s i o nof labor (T\-l~ich placed T\-omenin less-skilled occupations), in "A T\hman's Place T\-as in the Horne: Mhmen's T\-ork in Renaissance Tuscany," in Rcroriting the Rr~lclissa~lcr, ed. Margaret Ferguson, Maureen Quilligan, a n d Nancy J. Vickers (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), 206-21. 69. Monica Green, "Tlhmen's Medical Practice a n d Health Care in Medieval Europe." Sig~i.r:A Jocr1.1en1of T ~ ~ I I I P iI ~I eCultcrt~c111r1SociPtj 1 4 2 (1989): 43173, at 449-50. 70. For the silk~\.orkersof London. see Marian K. Dale. "The London Silkwomen of the Fifteenth Century," Econo~nicHisto);y Rc-c~icro4 (1933): 324-33; Kay Lacey, "The Production of 'Karroxv T\-are' by Silk~\.ornenin Fourteenth and Fifteenth Century England," >xtil~ Histo17 18:2 (1987): 187-204; f i l t e r B. Stem, "The Trade, Ah-tor Mistery of Silk Throxvers of the City of London in the Seventeenth C:entury," TIIPGlrildlenll L J l i s c . p l l nl ~: 6~ ~(1956): 23-30. 71. HOT\-ell,1Tb~izo1,Prodrrcfion, clnd Pc/friarclzj, 130. 72. T h e only suggestion of a female guild in England (and a T\-ealzone at that) is a set of ordinances enacted by Southampton for its female ~voolpaclzers in 1303. See typescript available from the Southampton City , l r c h i ~ e sof text f o u n d in the Second Book of Remembrance, SC2/1/4 f. 2 6 ~ - 8 r T . he ordinances are discussed in Jones, "Keeping Her in the Family," 115-23. 73. These guilds are discussed in detail in Bennett and Ko~raleski,"Crafts, Gilds, and T2hmen," 18-20. For their postmedieval histories, see especially Daryl hI. Hafter. "Fernale Masters in the Ribbonmaking Guild of EighteenthHi.rtoticc11 Stcrclip.r 20:l (1997): 1-14; Claire C;ro~\.ston. Century Rouen," Ft~~eclc TI,? S ~ n ~ t c s t ~ ~of. r sOld ~ . rR ~ g i ~ ~ c ~ F t r1675-1 ~ ~ i c c :791 (Durham, N.C;.: Duke University Press. 2001); Cynthia Maria Truant, "Parisian Guildsxvomen and the (Sexual) Politics of Privilege: Defending their Patrimonies in Print." in C;oi~ig I I Plrbli.rlci~igi ~ Ecl1.1~ i d1od~1.11 FI.(III(.P, ed. Elizabeth C:. GoldPlrblic: I ~ ~ I I I Pc11cc1 smith and Dena Goodman (Ithaca. N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1995). 4661. a n d "La rnaitrise d ' u n e identite? Corporations feminines 3. Paris aux ST'IIe e t ST7IIe siilcles," Clio 3 (1996): 35-69. 74. O g i l ~ i e ,"Social Capital," 343. For a n example of a recent goldenhued interpretation, see Boes, "Dishonourable Youth," 352. 75. M. M. Postan, Tlzc Fc/~izzilzis:The Estcltc lab ore^. in thr XUfh and XlIIflz Crnv 2 (1934); Chris Sliddleton, tzirirs, Economic History R e ~ i e ~Supplements "The Familiar Fate of the Famulae: Gender Di~isionsin the History of T2'age Labour," in 011I'l'orli: Histo1.icc11, Co~nparati-c~c and Tlzco1.rticc11,lp@roc~chcs,ed. R. E. Pal11 (Oxford: Blachvell, 1988), 21-47. 76. Jarnes E. Thorold Rogers, Six G1et1r1.i~~ of Il'o~/~' n ~ e dTlbgr~.r(A-e~vYo'ork: G. P. Putnam, 1881). 329; Lord Beveridge, "Mtstminster T\-ages in the Manorial Era," Eco~eo~~cic. Hi.rto~yR ~ i l i ~ i 2nd i : ser.. 8 (1953): 18-33. at 34; Simon Penn. "Female T\-age-Earners in Late Fourteenth-Century England," Agt~iccrltcr~~c~l . ( I ~ 1-14. at 9. Hi.rtoty R P ~ I ~35B (1987): / /. Bardsley, "Mhmen's T\hrk Reconsidered." 14. 78. Mate. Dncrglit~ts,Ili:71rr, n ~ e dTli'rloiil.~,33-58; L. R. Poos. A Rlrtal Soc.i~tj qftcr the Blacli 11~0th:Esscx, 1350-1525 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 217. 79. John Hatcher, "Tlhmen's T2hi-lz Reconsidered," 191. 80. Penelope Lane, "A Customary or Slarket T2'age- Tlhmen a n d TVork in the East Midlands, c. 1700-1840," in I'lb~izr~~, I'lb~Iia ~ l dI~l?~gcsin England, ed. Lane, et al., 102-18.

--

Notes to Pages 103-108

189

81. For apt data, see Deborah Simonton, A Histo);y of Err~.opran 1Tb1nrn's (London: Routledge, 1998), 35. Tlb~lr:1700 to tlw P~.c~sp~it . 011 Estcltc 82. Dorothea Oscl~inslzy,ed., 1Tblfo. of He-rcnlc~clnd 0 t h ~ )Trrcltiscs d l n ~ ~ c ~ gc11ir1 ~ ~Accorr~iti~ig ~ i ~ ~ i t (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 427. 83. Joyce Burnette, "An Im-estigation of the Female-Male 12'age Gap durtiic R ~ i l i ~ i30:2 i l (1997): ing the Industrial Revolution in Britain." E c o ~ ~ o ~ Hi.rto~y 237-81; Hatcher, "12'omen's Tlhrk Reconsidered." C:ustornary or Market MBgel" 81. Lane, "-1 85. Fleming, 1Tbnlcn ill B~istol,21. 86. Rappaport. Tlh~.lcls,38-39. See also Sue 1'Vright's observation that the 1461 Bristol weavers' order against the I\-orlzof omen was followed two years later by an ordinance urging xyornen to nwrk in support of their husbands; "Chui-maids," 106. 87. O u r estimates about the numbers of wage-earning persons in the late medieval population are expanding, but e x n our highest estimates indicate that only a minority of persons were so engaged; perhaps as rnuch as onethird of the populace I\-orlzed for wages at least occasionally. Only a minority of these \\.ageworkers would have been wornen. perhaps one in every four (or fe~\-el-). See Simon A. C. Penn a n d Christopher Dyer, "12'ages and Earnings in Late hledieval England: Evidence fr-orn the Enforcement of the Labor La\\.s." E c o ~ ~ o ~ iHisto)> zic Rc-c~icic!,2nd ser., 43 (1990): 336-76. Similarly, our estimates of the urban population, although also gro\\.ing, still suggest a largely rural population; perhaps as many as one in six persons lived in to\\.ns. See C:hristopller Dyer, "The Past, the Present a n d the Future in m e d i e ~ a rural l history," Rrr~.nlHi.rto17 1 (1990): 17. See also Paul Bairoch. "Urbanization a n d the Economy of Preindustrial Societies: T h e Findings of TI\-o Decades of ofErr~.oppc~~i E c o ~ ~ o ~ tHisto17 iic 18 (1989): 239-90. Research." Joir1.11c11 88. Goldberg, "Female Labour, Sen-ice," 33. Goldberg estimates that the population of Yor-k in 1377 xyas perhaps 12.000 and that sustained gro\\.th did not occur until the middle of the next century "Slortality," 49-50. Between 1400 and 1149, 1,870 persons xyere admitted to the fr-eedorn of Yor-k: see E. Histo,> ofthr Cozi~lficso f E ~ ~ f f ( c Citj ~~~d: Miller, "Sledieval York," in Tlzr TScfo~ic~ ofYo~lr,ed. P. hl. Tillott (London: Oxford University Press, 1 9 6 l ) , 86. 89. Barron, in "Golden Age," n. 76, dismisses blealz assessments of ~vomen's xyork status by noting that "\\.orking conditions xyere rarely golden for men in the middle ages." 90. For figures cited here, see the NCPE website. http://xony.pay-equity .org/index.html. 91. -1my Richlin. "Holy Putting the Man in Rornan Put the Rornan in Romance," in Tc11lii11gGcndr~,:Prrblic I~izclgrs,P r n o n a l ~ [ o r r ~ . ~clnd ~ e ~ sPoliticcll , Crifiqurs, ed. Nancy Hewitt, Jean O'Barr, and Nancy Rosehaugh (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. 1996). 14-33. at 14. 92. O n e telling suggestion of patriarchal equilibrium at ~\-oi-kmight be that, as the KCPE reports, the wage gap has peaked at 77 percent (in 2002) a n d is nol\- narrowing (76 percent in 2004).

1. Judrth C. Bro\\n. I ~ ~ c ~ ~ c oActs c l ~ s Tlip t L f p o f n L ~ s b t n ~S ri r ~ ioi R p ~ ~ c l i s s n ~ ~ c ? \ Oxfold Unir e r s i t ~Press, 1986), 9. Ruth Ynnita has similalh I f a h ( N e ~ Yoi-lz:

190

Notes to Pages 108-109

colnlnented o n the tendency of South Asian scholars to "ignore materials o n I ~ i d i ( S(IIIIP~: same-sex love or to interpret thern as l~eterosexual."See Qrrw~.i~ig I I I ~Eroticis~n ill I ~ I ~ ~Czi1tro.r ( I I I ( I I I ~ Societj Yorlz: Routledge, Srx L O ~ J( C 2002), xxir: 2. Adrienne Rich, "Compulsol? Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence," ~i 13:3 (2003): 1977. reprinted xvit11 1980 forexvord in Jorr1.1in1of T l h ~ t c'r~ Hi.rtoty lesbianism is obscured within femiat 11. For a more recent account of llo~\Gender Closet: Lesbian Disapnist scholarship, see C;hesl~ireC:all~oun."Tl~e Stzidics 21:l (1993): 7-34, pearance under the Sign 'Tlhmen,' " Fr~izir~ist 3. My nurnbers are vague because sorne articles or papers were difficult to categorize. I rnust confess that I expected to find rnore coverage of lesbian topics in these venues than I did (less than 5 percent in both instances). But the problern these low nurnbers suggest-that is, a n exceedingly s~tinllsafe hayen for lesbian topics within I\-omen's llistory-is not my subject here. 4. Gerda Lerner, The Crrcltion o f F c ~ i z i ~ ~Consciorrs~lcss isf (New h r k Oxford Uni~ersityPress, 1993), 179. This phrase is applied to female ~vritersbefore the mid-nineteenth century, a group that implicitly includes the medieval nuns and mystics discussed earlier in the book. Lerner also describes mediein terms of "sacrifices" (65) and "insecurity, siclzness" (83). O n ~ a mystics l p. 30, she concludes that the single, cloistered, or I\-idowed status of many learned id omen suggests that women were "forced to choose between the life of a xvoman and the life of the mind." 5. Jo Ann Kay McNamara, S i s t ~ t i: ~ =i I I . I ~Cntliolir ~.S: L\-rr~i~tlitorrgli TTO 'OJIill~~i1iic1 (C;ambridge, Mass.: Hall-ard University Press. 1996). hlcr\-arnara speaks briefly about ernotional attachments between wornen o n pp. 76 and 113, and she cursorily mentions medieval fears of same-sex attractions betxveen xvornen o n pp. 1 4 1 a n d 380. As best I can tell, these are hlcr\-arnara's only considerations of the possibility of ernotional and/or sexual intirnacy betxveen medieval nuns. For a fuller vie\\., see ;2nn Matter. "hly Sister. hly Spouse: T\hmanIdentified TVomen in S l e d i e ~ a Christianity," l Jorrr~lcllofFr~ninistSfrrdirs in Rcli's see gio11 2:2 (1986): 81-93. For material published since M ~ ~ a m a r abook, especially Karma Lochrie, "Mystical Acts, Queer Tendencies," in C o ~ ~ s t ~ . r r c f i ~ ~ g ;Ifcdic-c~alSrxrrcllif~,ed. Karma Lochrie e t al. (Slinneapolis: Uni~ersityof Slinnesota Press, 1997), 180-200; Susan Scllibanoff, "Hildegarde of Bingen and Ricllardis of Stade: T h e Discourse of Desire," in Sa~izrSrx L O ~ J( C I I I ~U C S Z I Y an1ong I'lb~izr~~ ill the Afiddlr Agrs, ed. Francesca Canad6 Sautman and Pamela Slleingorn (New York: P a l g r a ~ e 2001), , 49-84; Rosemary Drage Hale, "Brilliant C:onstellations: History in the Presence of the No\\.." Jorr1.1in1oftlipHistot! 10:2 (2001): 167-72. ofS~xrrcllit~ 6. Judith M. Bennett. Tl'o~tcp~i i ~ flip i d k ~ d i ~ r lE~iglish nl Coir~it~!sid~: C k ~ i d ~n t~. i d Horr.rpliold i ~ Bt.igstoclr i b(lf01~flip Plngrrp (Nexv York: Oxford University Press, 1986). 7. For discussions about the obfuscation of lesbianism xvithin other b r a n c l ~ e sof \\.omen's history. see hlattie Udora Richardson. "No More Secrets, No Slore Lies: Afi-icanAmerican History a n d Compulsory HeterosexHisto)> 13:3 (2003): 63-76, and Jennifer Slanion, uality," Jozi1.na1 of I'lb~izr~~'s "Calling All Liberals: Connecting Feminist Theory, Activism, and History," H i s f o ~ jof Acti7~is~iz, Hisforj (1s A c t i ~ ~ i s ~ed. n , Jim in Tc/liing Bnck the Acc~dr~izj! DOT\-nsand Jennifer Slanion ( N e ~ \Yoi-lz: Routledge, 2004), 143-39. 8. hckno~\-ledgingthe fantasy of "reality" (see Joan Scott, "The E ~ i d e n c e

Notes to Pages 109-1 10

191

of Experience," C ~ i f i c aInqzii7j l 17 [1991]: 773-97) does not, I think, reduce history to fiction; historians can still seek out the "actual" and "plausible." In this regard, I am indebted to Charles Zita, ~ v h ointroduced me to Greg Dening's distinction bet\\.een the possibilities of "actuality" and the reduc(Melbourne: tionism of "reality." See especially Greg Dening, Pr~fo~o,.liza~~crs hlelbourne University Press, 1996). 60. 9. Jacqueline Murray, "Twice Marginal a n d Twice Im-isible: Lesbians in the Middle Ages," in Hn~idbool?ofLJl~cli~-clnl S~xrrcllit~. ed. \.'ern L. Bullough and James A.Brundage ( N e ~ jYorlz: Garland, 1996), 191-223; Karma Lochrie, "Mystical -1cts"; Kathleen hl. Blurnreich. "Lesbian Desire in the Old French R o ~ t c c ~d~~ Si i l ~ ~ i c . A~.t/irr~.ic~~in ~," 7:2 (1997): 17-62; Robert L. A. Clark and Claire Sponsler. "Queer Play: T h e Cultural Mhrk of C;rossdressing in Medieval Drama," L V ~LitP).clty ~l Histo17 28:2 (1997): 319-14. 10. Karen \: Hansen, " 'No Kissrs is Like Youres': An Erotic Friendship bet~j-eenT ~ v oLIfrican-A4merican12'omen during the Mid-Nineteenth Cenj (1995): 133-82; Elizabeth Laporsky Kennedy tury," Gr~ldcra r ~ dH i s f o ~ 7:2 a n d Madeline D. Davis, Boots ofLeotho; Slippers of Gold: Tlzc Histo~yo f a Lrsbicl~l Coninirrnify ( N e w b r k : Routledge, 1993); Nan ,llamilla Boyd, I~T'idrOpen Toron: A H i s f o ~ jof Qzirrr Sat1 F~.c~ncisco to 1 9 6 5 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). 11. Unlike historians of more modern eras ~ v h ocan find information about the same-sex relations of ordinary xvomen in letters. diaries, and other personal memorabilia or even through oral intemien.~.medievalists must rely o n crirninal accusations. These allow us to see lesbians in scripted contexts that emphasize deviance, disorder, and danger and that usually portray o n e xvornan as "normal" and the other as "abnormal" (the former asserts her innocence by accusing the latter of unnatural aggression toward her). There are precious fexv of even these. CASE 1: Bertolina. nicknamed Guercia. accused in the civic court of Bologna in 1293 of courting \\.omen ~\.itha silk dildo (7~irilissctc); she was banished. See Carol Lansing, "Donna con Donna? X 1295 Inquest into Female Sodomy," Stzidics ill Afrdic~~c11 clnd Rrnclissancr Histo)>, 3rd ser., 2 (2005): 109-22. CASES 2-3: t~\-oomen cited in a French royal register of 1405. See Joan Cadden, dfrcl~li~lgs ofScuDiffrre~~cc ill fhr Jliddlr Ages: Jlcdicinr, Scir~lcr,clnd Crrltrrrr (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 224, a n d Edith J. Benlzo~,"The Erased Lesbian: Sodomy a n d the Legal Ti-adition in Medieval Europe," in Snnir-Sex L O ~ Jc111d C I)cs~I.c,ed. Sautman a n d Sheingorn, 101-23. CASES 4-3: t~\-owomen charged with a ice against nature xvl~ichis called sodorny" in Rott~\.eilin 1114. See Helrnut Puff. "Localizing Sodorny T h e 'Priest and Sodomite' in Pre-Reformation Germany and S\\.itzerland," Jocr1.1in1oftlip Hi.rto~yofSmcrnlitj 8:2 (1997): 163-95, at 182-83. CASE 6: a reputed lesbian droxvned in Speier in 1477. See Louis Crompton. "The Myth of Lesbian Impunity Capital La\\.s from 1270 to 1791." Jocrt.1ic11of 6:1/2 (1980-81): 11-23. at 17. and Helmut Puff, "Fernale SodHo~tco.r~xrrc~litj o m y T h e Trial of Katherina Hetzeldorfer (1477) ." Jocr1.1in1o f d l ~ d i ~ r l n l~ i d s seven women executed in E n r h J1odo.n Sfrrdics 30 (2000): 41-61. c a s ~ 7-13: Bruges in 1482-83. See Marc Boone, "State Pol\-el-and Illicit Sexuality T h e Persecution of Sodomy in Late S l e d i e ~ a Bruges," l jorrr11c11of Jlrdir7~c11H i s f o ~ j 22:2 (1996): 135-33, at 131, n. 62 (Boone also cites some early sixteenthcentury cases). CASES 14-15: t~\-oomen who I\-ere ':joined together like a man a n d a woman" ( - c ~ s a b arn~ ~?)no coo,.liznioo~lbrcr o,.lizrrgge~jin San SebastiAn

Notes to Pages 110-1 12

192

(Spain) in 1497; one was executed by being hung by her feet. This case was posted to the Gay-Lesbian Medieval Studies listserl-e o n behalf of Jesds Angel SolGrzano by Paul Halsall in October 2000. I have been unable to checlz the reference: Ah-cl~ivo de la Real ;Zudiencia y Chancilleria d e Talladolid, SRE, legajo 181. Given these mere fifteen cases, it is n o surprise that medievalists regularly forage beyond 1500 for rnore instances, using especially the early se~enteenth-centurycase of the nun Benedetta Carlini discussed in Bro~j-n, I ~ ~ i ~ ~ i oActs. d ~ . But r t even absorb in^ "earl17 modern" into "medieval" does not much help the problem, as feTvOdocuiented instances of lesbian b e l ~ a ~ i o r surl-ive before the nineteenth century. See, for example. the relative paucity of fernale same-sex relations prosecuted in eighteenth-century -1msterdam: Theo Tan der hleer, "Tribades o n Trial: Fernale Same-Sex Offenders in Late Eighteenth-C;enturyXmsterdam." Jorrt.1ic11oftlip Hi.rtoty ofSPxcrcllitj 1:3 (1991): 424-45. 12. Blanche Tl'iesen Coolz, "The Historical Denial of Lesbianism," Radical Histo~yRr-c~irro20 (1979): 60-65. 13. Martha\'icinus, "Lesbian History All Theory and No Facts or All Facts a n d No Theory?" Rndiccll Histo);y Rer~iero60 (1994): 37-75; Alison Oram, "'Friends', Feminists and Sexual Outla~j-s:Lesbianism and British History," in Sfrc~iglztSfrrdirs Jlodl$rd: Lrsbicl~l111fr1-c~rnfions in thr Accldr~nj,ed. Gabriele Griffin and Son? hnderlnahr (London: Cassell, 1997), 168-83; Laura GOT\-ing, "Lesbians and Their Like in Early hlodern Europe." forthcorning from Thames and Hudson in C;clj Histot! oftlip Tlh~.lrl,ed. Robert Xldrich. 14. T h e development of queer studies is beyond the scope of this chapter, as is its cornplex relationship to lesbian/gay studies. (2~1eerstudies partakes of the cultural and theoretical turn of acadernic inquiry in the 1990s. In sorne venues today. "queer" is just a nexv narne for "lesbian/gay" or LGBTQ (Lesbian, Gay. Bisexual, TI-ansgender. a n d Queer) studies; in other contexts, s t r o n ~contrasts are drawn between the two-that nueer studies are ahistorical a n d lesbian/gay studies too materialist; that queer studies are so broad as to efface sexual practices and that lesbian/gay studies are too mired in identity politics; that queer studies are relentlessly male-focused a n d that lesbian studies are too se~aratist.I consider it most ~ r o d u c t i ~toefocus o n their shared project of interrogating the heteronormati~ityof scholarship a n d lzno~j-ledge.For examples of queer studies in medieval scl~olarsl~ip, see Qzicr~.i ~ l gthe Jliddle Ages, ed. Glenn Burger and S t e ~ e nF. a u g e r (Slinneapolis: Uni~ e r s i t yof Slinnesota Press, 2001); Anna Kloso~vsliaRoberts, Qzicrr Lo-c~rin tlzr LJIiddl~ = I p s (Yen. Yor-k: Palgrave hlacmillan, 2005) ; and Carolyn Dinshaxl; Cktt i q l\IPdi~71(l1:cS~,'irr(~liti~.r (11/(1C o ~ i ~ i c r ~ i iPI?t i ~ .(/lid ~ , Post~~io(lB~.~i (Durham, N.C;.: Duke University Press. 1999). c ' ~ / i o ~i /~s Pi I F I I ~ ~ (E~IPI II .. OI ~(A-exv ~ P York: Villard 15. John Bos~\.ell.Sn~~ir-Spx Books. 1994). xxvii-xxx. 16. -1s Murray phrases it o n p. 199 of "Tnice Marginal," for medieval people. " [slexual activity nithout a penis xvas difficult to imagine." 17. Harry J. a s t e r and Raymond J. Cormier, "Old T'ie~j-sa n d Ne~jTrends: O b s e l ~ a t i o n so n the Problem of Homosexuality in the Middle Ages," Stzidi ;Ifedic-c~ali, ser. 3, 25 (1984): 587-610, esp. 600-601, 609. 18. Joan Cadden, Jleanings of Srx, 224. 19. Hence, for example, Jacqueline Murray writes about "the devaluation of physical relations across m e d i e ~ a lsociety" ("T~viceMarginal," 206). This 0

Notes to Page 112

193

was perhaps true for theologians, philosophers, and other clerics, hut it was certainly ~ i o true t for ordinary medieval people-peasants, laborers. artisans. merchants-~vhose appreciation of physical relations is manifestly clear in their bawdy tales and songs. For just two exarnples of such alternative discourses, see two songs copied into the colnlnonplace hook of a n Oxford stud e n t in the fifteenth century, "Led I the Dance a hlidsurnmer's Day" a n d "All this Day I haye Sought," both printed in Richard Leighton Greene, Tlzc En1.1yE~iglishCn~.olr,2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press: 1977), items 153 and 432 respecti~ely. 20. Catharine hlacKinnon. "Does Sexuality Have a History?" in Discocr~srr ofS~xrrc~lity: FI.OIII A ~ i . r t o t to l ~ AIDS, ed. Dornna C:. Stanton (;2nn Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1992), 117-36 at 121. 21. Bernadette J. Brooten has similarly o b s e n e d that the "highly gendered, social arrangements" of same-sex l o w in ancient Rome distinguished male homosexuality and lesbianism. See her Lo-c~rbrfrorol 1Ib~izr11: E n r k Chrisficln Rrsponscs to Fc~izalcHoniorroticisni (Chicago: Uni~ersityof Chicago Press, 1996), at 14. For the greater physicality of elite understandings of lesbianism, see Helen Rodmite Lemay, "12'illiam of Saliceto o n Human Sexuality," TSafor 12 (1981): 165-81, at 178-79; for latter versions of the same, see Katharine Park, "The Redisco~eryof the Clitoris: French Medicine a n d the Tribade, 1570-1620," in The Body ill Pc~rts:Fc/nfc~sicsof Co,;Do~.cc~lifj ill Ec~1.l~ J1odr1.11 E U I O I I ed. ~ . David Hillman and Carla hlazzio (Ken. York: Routledge, 1997). 170-93. a n d Ernrna Donoghue, "Imagined More than Mhmen: Lesbians as ~i Rprli~ril2:2 (1993): 199-216. There is some Hermaphrodites. l l h ~ t c'r~ Hi.rto~y evidence that the bodies of male homosexuals were occasionally also seen as marked by their acts. See Steven F. Kruger, "Racial/Religious a n d Sexual Queerness in the hliddle Ages," r J I p ( l i ~ i F ~ (~~~l ~ l i ~Li iV. s~t r ~ ~16 ~ l(Fall ~ t t ~1993): ~. 32-36. esp. 34 (to me. his evidence suggests physical rel-ulsion o n the part of medieval commentators, not a n attribution of physical deformity to male homosexuals); Joan Cadden, "Sciences/Silences: T h e Natures a n d Languages of 'Sodomy' in Peter of h h a n o ' s P~.oblr~izafa Commentary," in C ~ I I of Sodo~izyill sfrzicti~lgAfrdicr~c~l Scurralitj, 40-37; Mark D. Jordan, Tlzc In-c~r~lfion C h ~ i s f i a nTlzcology (Chicago: L-ni~ersityof Chicago Press, 1997), esp. 114-33. See also Joseph Ziegler, "Sexuality and the Sexual Organs in Latin Physiognomy Texts," Sfrrdirs in Afcdic-c~al~ L I Rr~lc~issa~lcr I ~ Histo);y, 3rd ser., 2 (2003): 83-108. 22. As Judith Butler has made Tery clear, it I\-ould he a mistake to o ~ e r l o o k matters of gender difference \\.hen studying sexuality. See her "-+gainst Proper C)l~jects."r l i f f i ~ ~ ~ i cAr Jocr1.1in1 r: ofFP111i1iistCultcr~.c~l Stcrrli?s 6:2/3 (1994): 1-26. 23. Not surprisingly. sorne critics have ~\.orkedjust as hard to erase the lesbian possibilities of medieval texts. See, for example, ;2ngelica Rieger's argum e n t that Bieris d e Romans. author of a love song addressed to another xvornan, \\.as not. in fact. expressing same-sex desire. Angelica Rieger, "1'Vas Bieris de Romans Lesbian? Tlhmen's Relations with Each Other in the TVorld of the Troubadours," in The Tbicr o f f h r Trobairitz: Pr~~sprcti-c~rs on I~Tb~izrnTrozibadorrn, ed. 12'illiam D. Paden (Philadelphia: Uni~ersityof Pennsylvania Press, 1989), 73-94, Because of the heteronormati~ityof modern scholarship and the homophobia of some modern scholars, almost all citations to lesbian or gay practices can, of course, be interpreted out of existence-and d o n e so in

194

Notes to Pages 112-115

ways that suit academic culture particularly I\-ell. For a brief critique of Rieger's argument. see Francesca C:anade Sautrnan a n d Parnela Sheingorn. "Introduction: Charting the Field," in S n ~ n rSru L O ~ J C ed. , Sautman a n d r~sirr: Sheingorn, 1-49, at 30-31. See also Karma Lochrie, H ~ t ~ ~ . o . r ~ ~ / c tF~.i.,t/nl~ Srxrralit~1T7ze11,\h~.~izaII~l'osn't(Slinneapolis: Uni~ersityof Slinnesota Press, 2003). 24. Bruce Holsinger, "The Flesh of the T'oice: Embodiment a n d the Hornoerotics of Devotion in the M ~ ~ s of i c Hildegarde of Bingen (10981179)," Sig-11s:A Jorrr11c11of1Tb1ncn ill Czi1fzi1.ca ~ l dSocictj 19:l (1993): 92-123; Matter, "My Sister, My Spouse"; Ulrike T'Viethaus, "Fernale Homoerotic Disn~/C d ;PI/~PIS course and Religion in Medieval Germanic C:ulture," in D~'jj?~t.c.~ic~ i ~ ri J I p ( l i ~ ~Soriptj ~ ( ~ l (11i(1C ; l / l t l / ~ed. ~ , Sharon Farrner a n d Carol Pasternak (Minneapolis: University of hlinnesota Press, 2003). 288-322; Mary ;Znne C;ampbell, "Redefining Holy Slaidenhead: Virginity a n d Lesbianism in Late Sledieval England," Afrdir7~cllFr~izi~lisf A\b70slcffo~1 3 (1992) : 14-15; Kathy L a ~ e z z o"Sobs , and Sighs between Tlhmen: T h e Holnoerotics of Compassion in Tlzc Book of;lfco;qr~yEIc~iz$c," in P~.c~izodrr~~ Srxzic~lifics,ed. Louise Fradenburg a n d Carla Freccero York: Routledge, 1996), 173-98; Susan Crane, c~l arid Ea1.1y "Clothing and Gender Definition: Joan of A h c , " ~ [ o r r r ~of~ Jlcdir-c~c~l d1odr1.11Sfrrdirs 26:2 (1996) : 297-320. 25. Tl'iethaus, "Female Homoerotic Discourse." ut Holj F ~ n s tn ~ / d 26. This maternal interpretation runs t h r o ~ ~ g h o Bynurn's ofFood to l\k~di~7~(~1 I ~ ~ ) N / P(Berkeley I/ UniverHohFn.rt: TI/?R~ligiorrsSig~il$c.n~/c.~ sity of C;alifornia Press, 1987), but see also her explicit staternent in F I . ( I ~ I I / ~ I ~ ~ C I R~ligio~l t i o ~ n/ ~ / Rd P ( ~ P I I / ~E.rs(~j.r ~ ~ o I o1/ / : C;PI/(~PI, n ~ / dt / / (H1/11/(11/ ~ Bod! ; I / LJI~(li(~7~(~l (A-ex~York: Zone, 1992), 86. For Karma Lochrie's critique, see "Mystical Acts" and "Desiring Foucault." Jorr1.1in1o f d I ~ d i ~ - c lc11/(1 n l E n t f ~LJIorl~~.~i Studips 27:l (1997): 3-16. 27. Lochrie, "Mystical ;2cts." In public discussion at the 1998 conference o n the Queer Sliddle Ages, Lochrie indicated her willingness to entertain the possibility that m e d i e ~ a lnuns did, in fact, ~ e n e i - a t eChrist's I\-ound in ways that spoke to their own same-sex desires a n d actions. 28. Karma Lochrie, bet^\-een Tl'omen," in Tlzr Ca~izb~.idge C O T I ~ $ ~ ItoI I ~ ~ I I Afrdir7~cll1Tb1nrn's 1T7riti~lg-,ed. Carolyn Dinsha~\-a n d David T2'allace (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni~ersityPress, 2003), 70-90. See also Lochrie's critique of my original formulation of "lesbian-like": "Doing Lesbians 'HistoryLike' " in the SSHAIA ,\bic~slrfte; n.s. 2 (Spring 2001): 2. (SSHSIA is the acronym for the Society for the Study of Homosexuality in the hliddle -1ges.) 29. For "bosom sex." see Hansen, "No I(i.rsrr." For the "erotic in fernale terms," see Rich. "C;ompulsory Heterosexuality." 28 (in 2003 reprint). For an interesting examination of n.110 defines lesbianism, see Donna Penn. "The Meanings of Lesbianism in Post-T\-ar America." C ; p ~ / nd ~ ~/ Histo17 d. 3:2 (1991): 190-204. 30. T\-e need n o longer stumble o n a distinction between sex acts (premodern) a n d sexual identities (modern). Even David Halperin-perhaps the most fervent of social constructionists-now agrees that there were, indeed, sexual idr~lfifics before the nineteenth centul?; our job is to try to understand the very different constituents of these past sexual identities. See David Halperin, "Forgetting Foucault: Xcts, Identities, a n d the History of Sexuality," Rc$rrsrntatio~~s 63 (1998): 93-120, r e ~ i s e das chapter 1 in H070 To110 flze H i s f o ~ y

Notes to Pages 115-116

195

ofHon~osrxzic~Iif~ (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002). This project is l ~o ~ how, vs brilliantly illustrated by Xnna Clarlz's essay o n Xnne Lister ~ \ - l ~ iscl ~ long before sexologists like Havelock Ellis or Richard von EL-afft-Ebingcould haye provided her wit11 a ready-made identity, Anne Lister fashioned o n e for herself, from her "inherent desires," from her "material circumstances," a n d from the "cultural representations" available to her. See Xnna Clarlz, "Xnne Lister's C:onstruction of Lesbian Identity," Jorr~.,inlo f t 1 1Histo17 ~ ofS~xrrnlitj 7:l (1996): 23-50, at 27. 31. For an example. see Hansen, "Ko Ki.r.rps." 173. 32. Bernadette Brooten, Lo-c~rbrfrorcn 1Tbnlcn, 5. For the original modern reference, see hlbio Cesare Cassio, "Post-Classical hi.cs(rliu.i," The Clnssicc~l Qrrnt.tp~.1y,n.s., 33:l (1983): 296-97. Scholars debate -h-ethas's precise meaning-he might. for example, have used "lesbian" more as a n eponym than as a classification-but the link between "lesbian" and "female same-sex relations" seems clear. 33. Louise Labe. O~rrrlt~s ro~tipl@t~.r. ed. Enzo Giudici (Geneva: Droz, 1991). 129 (Elegie I, 1. 13). 34. Emma Donoghue, Passior~s bcfic~crn1Tbnlrn: British Lrsbiar~ Crrlfrr~.c, 1668-1801 (London: Scarlet Press, 1993), 3. 33. hledievalists rnurrnur continuously about both terms but cannot d o xvithout them. See Elizabeth A. R. Bro\\.n. "The T>uanny of a C;onstruct: Feudalism and Historians of Sledieval Europe," Anlrriccln Hisfo~icalRr-c~irro79:4 (1974): 1063-88. 36. See especially Ruth Mazo Karras, Scuzialitj ill fhr Jliddlr Agrs: Doir~gz i ~ ~ t o g Otl~pts(London: Routledge. 2005). 28-38; also Lisa I\-eston, " Q ~ ~ e e r i nVirlnl Fot.rr~rc36 (2003): 22-24. a n d Jo Ann McA-arnara, ginity." L J l ~ d i ~ r F~~rti~li.rt "Chastity as a Third Gender in the History a n d Hc/giog~.c/j!~Izj of Gregol? of Tours," in Tlzc I'Tb~ldof G~.cgo);yof Torrn, ed. Kathleen Slitchell and Ian 12hod (Leiden: Brill, 2002). 199-210. For an alternative viexv of medieval sexualities. see Glenn Burger. \\.11o proposes that they developed around masculinity. o n t h e o n e h a n d , a n d feminine, effeminate, a n d sodomitical, o n the other: Glenn Burger, Clzazicr~.'~ Qzicr~.,\hfio~l (Slinneapolis: University of Slinnesota Press. 2003), xviii. And yet another alternative has been proposed by Francesca Sautman and Pamela Sheingorn-that xvhereas there may have been n o sexual identities in the Sliddle Ages, there was certainly sexual consciousness or self-perception; see Snnlr Sru Lor~e,12-13. 37. They could disappear. as \\.ell. in history-xvriting that seeks out lesbianism as pervasive. natural, and ideal. Although little ink has been spilt o n the heteronormativity of \\.omen's history. entire ink\\.ells have been thro\\.n over its equivalent in gay and lesbian histo17-that is, in the dispute between socalled essentialists and constructionists. For a measured commentary o n this debate. see John Bosxvell, "C:oncepts, Experience, and Sexuality." d$f21~11c.~s: A Jorrt.~ir~l ofF~~rti~li.rt Crrltrr~alStrrrlirr 2:l (1990): 67-87. 38. Along similar lines, Eye Kosofsky Sedg~viclzhas argued against the assumption "that 'homosexuality as we c o n c e i ~ eof it today' itself comprises a coherent definitional field rather than a space of overlapping, contradictory, and conflictual definitional forces." See Epist~~tiologr oftlip Clo.r~t(Berkeley University of California Press, 1990), 45. 39. Carol J. Clover, "Regardless of Sex: Slen, 12hmen, and Power in Early

Northern Europe," in S t z i d ~ i ~Afrdic~~c11 ~g 11b~izr11, ed. Nancy F. Partner (Cambridge, Slass.: Medieval Academy of America, 1993), 61-87. 10. Cadden, Tli? d1~11ii1igr of SPXD ~ ~ P I F Iesp. ~ C 221-27. P, 41. E. Jane Burns, "Refashioning Courtly Love: Lancelot as Ladies' Man c f i ~ ~ g Srurralif~,ed. Lochrie et al., 111-34. or Lady/Man?" in C o ~ ~ s t ~ . r r Afedic-c~al See also Cary J. Nederlnan andJacqui True, "The Third Sex: The Idea of the Hermaphrodite in Tn.elft11-Century Europe." Jorr1.1in1oftlip Hi.rtoty ofS~?;cr(llit~ 6:4 (1996): 497-317. 12. Valerie T I - ~ L I ~ Tlip I , R ~ ~ i n i . r . r nof~ iLc B ~ S ~ ~ ( I Ii ~ E(lt.1~ ~i S N I~ \ I o ( ~ PEI .~Ii~g l n ~ i d (Cambridge: Cambridge L-ni~ersityPress, 2002), 16. 43. I am grateful to Sarah Ferber for explicating for me the useful instabilities of this term. 11. Carol Smith-Rosenberg, "The Fernale Mhrld of Love and Ritual: Relations between 12hmen in Nineteenth-Century America," as reprinted in her 1)isordrrb Condzicf: T'isio~~s of Goldrr ill 1icfo1.ic111 Anirrica Yoi-lz: Oxford University Press, 1983), 33-76. 15. Rich, "C;ompulsory Heterosexuality." 46. T'icinus, "Lesbian History," 37. 47. Greta Christina, "Loaded Tlhrds," Poniosruzials: C h a l l o ~ g i ~dsszinip~g tio1i.r nbocrt C k ~ i d ~n t~. i dS ~ x c r n l i t ed. ~ , Carol (2~1eenand Lawrence Schimel (San Francisco: C:leis Press, 1997), 29-33. 48. I am grateful to Dayid Halperin for this example. Paul Halsall offered me another: lesbian potlucks, ~\-llicllmight lead us, ad absurdum, to characterize church potlucks as lesbian-lilze. 19. Sarah L. Delaney and -1. Elizabeth Delaney, H(li1i1ig Ocr trS(1~:T / ~ P D ~ I ( I I ~ J 100 YPCII.S (Ye\\. York: Delta, 1993). hIy example is deliberately proSi.~t~~.~'Fi.'i):rt ~ o c a t i ~Ie am . not accusing the Delany sisters of incest, nor am I suggesting that they were lesbians. I am suggesting, ho~vever,that in both their singleness and their emotional partnership, the Delany sisters behaved in ~\.aysthat offer affinities xvith certain modern lesbian behaviors and that are, therefore, lesbian-lilze. 50. The exception to positive treatment is, of course, Joan of , k c , once she fell into the hands of the English. Yet since she cross-dressed but never hid her fernale sex. she is an exception in other xvays. too. 51. Michael Shanlz, "A Female L-ni~ersityStudent in Late Medieval &aof Ilb~izrr~in Czilfzirr c111dSocirty 12:2 (1987): 373-80. lzo~v,"Sig~ls:A~lorrr~lcll Shank notes that this rnight just be a literary tale. but h e also adduces good evidence to suggest its historicity. 52. Unlike modern historians n.110 have readily linked cross-dressing ~\.ith homosexual or lesbian practices, most medievalists have rejected or a ~ o i d e d this linlz. \'ern Bullough argues ~igorouslyagainst a link between cross-dressing and homosexual practices in "Cross Dressing and Gender Role Changes in the Middle -1ges." in Bullough and Brundage, Hn~idbool?,223-42. Valerie R. Hotchkiss, Clothrs Afclkc the J l a n : Fe~ncllrC~.ossI)rrssi~lgin Jledic-c~alErrrope h r l z : Garland, 1996), similarly underplays lesbian possibilities (see her brief discussion, 113-11). For a different vie\\., see Crane. "C:lothing." 53. See, for examples, van der Meer. "Tribades on Trial." esp. 439. and the case of Catharine Linclz (guilty of religious inconstancy as well as samesex relations) as reported in Brigitte Erilzsson, "A Lesbian Execution in Ger-

Notes to Pages 121-126

197

manr, 1721: T h e Trial Recolds," [ozi)nc~lo f H o n ~ o s c r z i c ~ I 6:1/2 zt~ (1980-81): 27-40. 34. The exceipted text can be found In Chailes d u Flesne d u Cange, Glos, 3.663-64. T T "hermara~crr~rc ~ r c ~ r l ~t t a e~?fj~rca( ~ L a t o ~ ~ t ( (Palls. ~ t ~ r D ~ d o t l844), phlod~tus."I am giateful to Ph~llipeRosenbeig fol 111s help In leading t h ~ s text I h a ~ enot c o n ~ u l t e dthe full letter (found 111 I r c h n e ~Uat~onalesd e Fiance, JJ 160.112) but hare i e l ~ e don Benlio1's summair in "Elased Lesb ~ a n" 35. Leah L l d ~ aOtis, P ~ o ~ f z f r r f111 z o;\Iedze~~c~l ~~ SOCIC~\Tlze Hzsfo17 o f c / r ~C7bc01 I~lstctrrtto~l( 1 1 L a ~ i g r r ~ d o(Ch~cago. c L ~ I T ~ of I TC'h~cago I ~ ~ PreTT. 1985), eTp 73-75 36. Joan Nestle. A Rrrtt.ict~1Cocr~itty(Ithaca, K.Y.: Firebrand Books. 1987), 137-77. 37. Brooten, Lo-c~cbcticlcrn 1Tb~izo1,4-5. 38. Bos~j-ell,Snnlr-Sex I ' I I ~ ~ Ixxix, I S , n. 31. OII Prostitzitior~ arid Sruzialit~i n A f c d i c ~ ~ a l 39. Ruth Karras, C O I ~ T I ZI~T'o~izo~: E ~ l g I c ~ n(Ne~jd York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 183, n. 9, reports that she has found one "shred of e ~ i d e n c e "linking prostitution and lesbianism, but she dismisses it as a clerical error o n 173, n. 67. Both Otis (Prosfitrrfionill Jlcdic-c~alSocircy) and Karras discuss h o prostitution ~ was socially tolerated, in part, because of anxieties about male same-sex relations. 60. Mary Martin McLaughlin. "Creating and Recreating C:ornmunities of T\-omen: The Case of Corpus Dornini, Ferrara, 1406-1452." Sig~i.r:A Joir1.11al of I l ' o ~ r c ~ill~ iCu1tirt.c.( L I I ~S~o c i ~ t j1 4 2 (1989): 293-320. 61. For these and other demographic estimates of the presence of singlexyornen. see Mar)-anne Ko\\.aleski, "Singlex~ornenin Medieval and Early Modern Europe: The Demographic Perspective," in S i ~ ~ g I ~ n l o i~~r tic ~l ~E~iI I~I . O ~ P ( L I ~ Past, 1270-1500. ed. Judith hI. Bennett and Amy hI. Froide (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), 38-81 and 323-44. 62. As Margaret Hunt has noted, ho~j-eyer,marriage did not preclude lesbian relations; see "The Sapphic Strain: English Lesbians in the Long Eighed. Bennett and Froide, 270-96. teenth Century," in Si~~glcroonlcn, 63. I haye taken this quote from a reprint of the 1928 translation of a handbook for witch hunting, written in 1486 by Heinrich Kramer andJacob Sprenger: T h e ;lfc/llczis ;Ifc/lcficc~~~zi~iz, trans. Montague S~unmei-s Yorlz: D o ~ e rPublications, 1971), 43. The Latin reads: Jlrrlicr crrnl solc~cogifc/f, nlc~lc~ cogifelf. 64. Margaret Hunt. "-Uterword," in Qrrw~.i~lg t l i ~R P I I ( L ~ S . ~ Ced. I I IJonathan CP, Goldberg (Durham, N.C;.: Duke University Press. 1994), 33-77. at 372. Lesbian history is replete with attempts to connect to the past while recognizing that such connections \\.ill be incomplete. fragile. and contingent. Thus, Carolyn Dinshaw has sought to create an "affective history" that moves bet\\.een the poles of "mimetic identification \\.ith the past or blanket alteritism"; see Dimha\\.. Cktti~igl\I~di~7~(~1, 24. Valerie TI-aub has similarly urged us to search for a past that is neither "a mirror image of oursel~es"nor "utterly alien"; see Traub, Rcnaissc~ncc,32. 65. Traub, R r ~ l c ~ i s s a ~ l220, c r , italics in original. 66. Ibid., 350. 67. For discussions of this issue in another context, see Leila J. Rupp, Imagine Sly Surprise': 12'omen's Relationships in Slid-T~ventieth-Ce11t~ury ' 6

6

198

Notes to Pages 126-130

America," reprinted in H i d d o / ,fro~izH i s f o ~ j Rcclainling : fhr Goy a r ~ dLrsbiar~ P(l.rt. ed. Martin Duberman, Martha Vicinus. and George C;hauncey Jr. (Nex~ h r l z : New American Library, 1989), 393-410; Estelle B. Freedman, "'The Burning of Letters C;ontinues': Elusive Identities and the Historical Chnstruction of Sexuality," Jozi~.nalof 1Tbnlcn's Histo,? 9:4 (1998): 181-200. Self-identification is. of course, important, but it is not determinative; see. for example, John Bos~j-ell'sr e ~ i s e dposition in "Re~olutions,L-ni~ersals,and Sexual Categories." in H i r l d ~ ~ i f , . oHi.rto~y, ~ti Duberman et al., 17-36, at 35. The terrn "lesbian-like" provides a good compromise between respecting the selfidentifications of such \\.omen and rejecting their o\\.11 hornophobic, elitist. and racist ideas about I\-hat a "lesbian" was. 68. For a fascinating example of lesbian sexuality understood as incidental by the I\-omen so involved, see Elizabeth Lapo~slzyKennedy, " 'But Tl'e 12huld Never Talk about It': The Structures of Lesbian Discretion in South Dakota, 1928-1933," in I117~cnti11g Lcsbiar~Crrlfrrrc in Anlrriccl, ed. Ellen L e ~ i n(Boston: Beacon Press, 1996). 15-39. 69. Bennett and Froide, eds., S i ~ ~ g l e i c ~ o ~and i z o ~Amy , M . Froide, ,Ye-c~r~.;lfco~ (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ~.ip(l:S ~ I I ~ I B ~ ~ill I OECII.~I. I ~ I Br IJ I o ( l ~ ~E~lgI(l~i(l .~i 2003). 70. Lerner, C ~ ~ n t i ofFp~tii~li.rt o~i Co~i.rciorr.r~i~s.r. 179. 71. Calhoun, "Gender Closet."

1. Bonnie G. Smith. TI,? C;'~idp~.of Hi.rto~y:~ I ' I I T, ~ ~ I I I P I c111rl I , Histo~.icnlP~.nc. tire (Cambridge, Slass.: Han-ard LTni~ersityPress, 1998), 238-39, italics in original. See also Billie hlelman. "Gender. History and hlernory The Invention of 12'omen's Past in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries," Histo17 cl~irld1~1rco1y 3:l (1993): 3-41; Nicholas B. Dirks, "History as a Sign of the Slodern," Prrblic Czi1fzi1.c2:2 (1990): 23-32. 2. Gerda Lerner, Tlip C ~ ~ n t i of o ~F~.i.,tii~~i.rt l Co~~sciorrs~i~.rs: FI'OIII t 1 1LJIiddl~ ~ Agur to Eig1zfrr11-Sc-c~r~~fy (Ne~jh r l z : Oxford L-ni~ersityPress, 1993), 220, 166. 3. Leila Rupp, "Is Ferninism the Province of Old (or Middle Aged) H i s f o ~12:4 j (2001): 164-73, at 170. 12hmen?" Jozi~.nalof 1Tb~izr11's 4. Interl-ien. by Liz Hoggard in T l ~ pO ~ S B I - Ohlarch ~ I ; 13. 2005. Available online at http://obse~~ei-.g~1ardian.co.~11z/i-e~ie~v/stoi-y/0,6903,1436296,0 .html. 5. See, especially, Stacy Gillis and Rebecca Munford, "Genealogies and Generations: The Politics and Praxis of Third 1'Vave Feminism," T l ' o ~ t i>~Hi.5~i to)> Rr7~iriO13:2 (2004): 165-82. 6. Gerda Lerner, "Placing 12'omen in History Definitions and Challenges." in Tli? dI(ljo~.ityFi1lr1.r Its Pnst (r\-e\\. York: Oxford University Press, 1979), 145-59, quotes at 159. First published in F e ~ n i ~ ~Sfrrdirs isf 3:l-2 (Fall 1973): 3-14. 7. Joan Kelly, "The Social Relation of the Sexes: Methodological Implications of I\-ornen's History." Sig~i.r:A Jorr1.1in1of T ~ ~ I I I P iI I~ Crrltrrw i n ~ l dSoci~ty1:4 (Summer 1976): 809-23; the version used here was reprinted in her T'lbnlrn, University of Chicago Press. 1984), 1-18. quote Hi.rtoly, n ~ l dT I I B O(Chicago: I~ at 1. See 19-30 for "Did Tlhmen Haye a Renaissance," first published in

Notes to Pages 130-137

199

Brco~izir~g TSsiblc: 1Ib~izo1i n Eziropcan Histo,?, ed. Renate Bridenthal and Claudia Koonz (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977). 8. Elsa Barlzley Bro~vn,"Polyrl~ytl~msa n d Improvization: Lessons for I\-omen's History," Hi.rtoty llbtlr.rliopJocrt.~ir~I 31 (1991): 83-90. 9. Gianna Pomata, "Histor?, Particular and Universal: O n Reading Some Recent I\-omen's History Textbooks." Fp;c.,tei~iist Strrrlirr 19:l (1993): 7-50. 10. Jane Ahusten,,\hrtlza~lgr~.Abbrj,chap. 14 in vol. 1. 11. Mary Beth Norton. "Rethinking -1merican History Textbooks," in Lcc~,.~ling his to);^ ill Anicriccl: Schools, Cziltzirrs, a11d Politics, ed. Lloyd Kramer, Donald Reid. and I\-illiarn L. Barney (hlinneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. 1994), 23-33. at 29. 12. Denys Hay. Eu;c.,.opP i ~ tli~Foert~t~~1itli i ~ l ~ i d F i f t ~ l iC~litrrt.i~.r, tli 2nd ed. (London: Longman, 1989), xii. 13. C. 12'arren Hollister a n d Judith 11. Bennett, Afrdic7~alErrropr: A Short Histo)>, 9th ed. (Boston: SIcGra~v-Hill,2002); Barbara H. Rosen~vein,A Short his to);^ of the Jliddlc Agrs (Peterborough, Ontario: Bi-oachie~vPress, 2002); Clifford R. Baclzman, Tlzr I~lbrldsofJlrdir7~c~l E z i ~ . o p(Nexj-York: Oxford University Press, 2003); 12'illiam R. Cook and Ronald B. Herzman, Tlzr Jlcdir-c~c~l I'lbrld T'icic!: A I I I~ltrodrrction,2nd ed. (Nexj- York: Oxford University Press, 2004); Jo Ann H. Sloran Cruz a n d Richard Gerberding, ;\Irdir7~(~1 I~lbrlds:' i r l Int~.odzictio~l to A f r d i c ~ ~Histo,?, c~l 300-1492 (Boston: Houghton Slifflin, 2004). 14. For more o n this particular master narrative. see Lester K. Little, "Cypress Beams. Kufic Script, and Cut Stone: Rebuilding the hlaster Narrative of European History." Sppccrlrr,re 79 (2004) : 909-28. 13. Carol Berkin, "'Dangerous Courtesies' Assault 1'Vomen's History," C I i t o ~ i i c ol ~f H i g l i ~ ~ ' E d u c r ~ t38:16 i o ~ i (December 11. 1991): -144. 16. Cook and Herzman. d I ~ d i ~ - c lIlh1.1rl nl Ti'p-c~c 131. 17. See their website at http://ncl~s.ucla.edu/g~~ide.html. 18. Barbara -1. hloss. "Getting O u r Feet M t t : 1,Vomen of Color a n d the National Stc~ndn~cls for 12'orld History," [orrr~lc~l of I~lb~izrn's Histo,> 9:3 (1997): 143-53. This essay xj-as part of a general forum found o n 140-76. 19. I am relying here o n Lester Little's description of Bitel's unpublished assertion of the "impossibility of teaching a medieval feminist history." See Little, "Cypress Beams," 917. See also Lisa Bitel, I'lbnirn ill Earlj Afrdir7~c~l Ezi~.opc,400-1 100 (Cambridge: Calnbridge University Press, 2002). 20. Joan 12: Scott, "Comment o n 'Tlhmen's History and the ,\i~tio~lc~I Histo)> Stc~ndn~cls," Jozirncll of 1Ibnio1'sHisto,? 9:3 (1997): 172-76. 21. Tlle critical revisions occurred bet\\.een the 8th (1998) and 9th (2002) editions; a 10th (2005) edition is noxv available. T h e 9th edition is included among the five textbooks sumeyed in this chapter. 22. Medieval textbooks are rarely reviexved. so I arn afraid that this assessment is mine alone. 23. Jane Schulenl~urg,Fo~g~tferl of TIipit.SBX:F~;c.,ter~l~ So~ictitj~ l ~ Sociptj, id co. 500-1 100 (Chicago: University of C;hicago Press, 1998), 176-209. 24. Bonnie G. Smith, "Gender and Historical Understanding," in Lra,.n, Kramer, e t al., 107-19, at 109. irlg his to);^ i n A ~ i z r ~ i c aed. 25. C. 12'arren Hollister, Afrdic7~alEziropc: A Short Histo,?, 8th ed. (Boston: McGra~v-Hill,1998), 296. Hollister does not giye a source for the a h i c e , so I haye been unable to check the authorial perspectiye of the original. 26. O n e short-lived U.S. project toolz a tack not far different from the one

200

Notes to Pages 137-141

I a d ~ o c a t ehere: in the early 1980s, FIPSE (Fund for the I m p r o ~ e m e n of t PostSecondary Education) produced packets to help teachers integrate wornen in their teaching of sumey courses in history. These packets guided my first efforts at ferninist teaching, as they did for many others at the time. 27. As cited in Anne Clarlz Bartlett, "Defining the Terms: Postfeminism as an I d e o l o p of C:ool," dIPdi~7~c~lF~;c',tti~iistFo;c',~1/~~i 34 (Fall 2002): 23-29, at 28. For further comments o n the truncated historical vision of today's students, see Susan K. Freeman e t al.. "Perspectives o n Teaching T\hmen's History V1en.s ~~al Hisfo~j from the Classroom, the Library, a n d the I n t e r n e t , " ~ [ o r r ~ . ofl~lb~izrn's 16:2 (2004): 143-76. 28. Jane 0 . Newman. "The Present and O u r Past: Sirnone de Beauvoir. Descartes. and Presentisrn in the Historiography of Feminism," in T l ' o ~ ~>i ~ ~ i Stirdips 01, its On11i.ed. Robyn T'Viegman (Durham. A-.C:.: Duke University Press, 2002), 141-73. 29. See above for the early influence of Lerner a n d Kelly. Slary Ritter ( I S Fo1.c~in H i s f o ~ jA : Stzidy in T~.c/ditio~ls clnd Rccllitirs (New York: Beard, l'lb~nc~n Slacmillan, 1946). 30. Florence Gris~j-oldBuclzstaff, "Married T2'omen's Property in AngloLa\-," A n r ~ a l sof the A~izr~.iccln Accldelny ofPolifical clnd Saxon and Socic11Sciolccs 4 (1893-94): 233-64, quote from 263; SIai-y Bateson, "History of the Double Slonasteries," T~.clnsclcfionsoftlzr Royc11Histo~icalSocirfy, n.s., 1 3 (1899): 137-98. quote fi-orn 150; Elizabeth Dixon. "C:raftsn.ornen in the Livre iic (1893): 209-28. at 227. des Wtiers." E c o ~ i o ~ ~Joir1.1ic115 31. For more o n early fernale medievalists. see Jane Chance, ed., I ~ ~ I I ~ P I ~ r J I p ( l i ~ ~ ~(/lid ( ~ l flip i ~ t=Ie(~(l~;c',tiy ~ (Madison: University of T\-isconsin Press, 2005). 32. Linda Kerber. " O n the Importance of Taking Notes ( a n d Keeping Thern) ," in Voicps o f l l h ~ t i Histo;c',.icl~i.r: ~~i TI/(>P~;c',:ro~icll, t l i Politic.c~l, ~ t l i P;c',.of~.rsio~icll, ~ ed. Eileen Boris a n d A-upur C;haudhuri (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999), 45-60. at 43. 33. Judith 11. Bennett, "Sledie~alismand Feminism," Spcczilrr~iz68 (1993): 309-31, at 312. l Scholarship produces the ;\Irdir7~(11 34. T h e Society for S l e d i e ~ a Feminist F c ~ i z i ~ ~Fo~.rr~iz i s f a n d cooperates with the electronic discussion group medfem1 a n d the online bibliographic resource Fr~izinc~c(http://l\7\7\-.hayel-foi-d.edu/libi-ai~/i-efei-ence/n~sc11a1~s/n~fi/n~fi.11t~nl). 35. A.h b r a m , "Tlhmen Traders in S l e d i e ~ a London," l Tlzr E c o n o ~ n i c ~ [ o z i ~ ~ r1a126 (1916): 276-85, quote at 285. 36. Power, "Position of T\-omen," quote at 410. ii 37. Margaret T\-ade Labarge. A S11ic111Soir~irloftlip T;c',.cr~~il,~t: l l h ~ t i i~~~LJI~rlir7 ~ 1 L$P 1 (Boston: Beacon Press, 1986), 238. 38. Jo ;Znn McA-amara. "The HP;c',.;c',~~lf~.clg~: T h e Restructuring of the Gender System. 1030-1150," in l\Ip(li~~l(~l r J I ( ~ ~ e l / l i ~ i i tR~gcl;c',.rli~ig i~.r: r J I ~ i~~i ti l i ~rJIiddl~ =Ips. ed. Clare -1. Lees (Minneapolis: University of hlinnesota Press, 1994), 3-29. quote fi-orn 13; see also McA-amara's "Mhmen and Pox~erthrough the Family Re~isited,"in G c n d o i ~ l gfhr ;Ifc/sto.,\h1.rafi7~c: I ~ l b ~ i zar~~l~dPoroo. in fhr ;IfiddlrAgcs, ed. SIai-y C. Erler and M a l ~ a n n eKo~j-aleslzi(Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Uni~ersityPress, 2003), 17-31, Susan Mosher Stuard, "The Dominion of ~g Gender, or H o ~ vTVomen Fared in the High Sliddle Ages," in B c c o ~ i z i ~Tisiblr: , Renate Bridenthal et al. (Boston: Houghton 1Ib1ncn in Errropca~l H i s f o ~ jed. Slifflin, 1998), 129-30.

Notes to Pages 142-144

201

39. David Herlihy, "Land, Family, a n d Tl'omen in Continental Europe, 701-1200." T~.rlditio18 (1962): 89-120. Marion F. Facinger. "A Study of Medieval Queenship: Capetian France, 987-1237," Strrdirs ill Jlcdir-c~cll( I I I ~ Rp~irlissn~ic.? Hi.rtoty 3 (1968): 3-17. Jo Ann hlcNarnara and Suzanne Mtmple, "The Power of T2'omen through the Family in Sledieval Europe, 500-1100," i ~ tli' i dlirldl~=Ips. ed. Mary Erler and hlaryanne Ko~\.aleski in l l h ~ t i n~~~iidPo.c~lp~. (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1988), 83-101. This article can also he found in Fp~tti~ii.rt Stirdips 1 (1973): 126-41. and Clios Co~i.rc.ioir.r~irr.r Rni.rpd: A?71l C I Lois I , Banner (New Yoi-lz: Harper and Perspecfir~es011 flze Histo);y of ~ I ~ T I Zed. Ron., 1974), 103-18; see also hlcNarnara's 2003 retrospective in "Mhmen and Po\\.er through the Farnily Revisited." Jane Tibbetts Schulenburg. "Fernale Sanctity Public and Private Roles. ca. 500-1100," in l l h ~ t i n~ ~ ii dPo7i1~1. i ~ flip i dlidrll~Agps. ed. Erler a n d Kowaleski. 102-23. 40. Pauline Stafford, "T2hmen and the Norman Conquest," T x ~ ~ ~ s a c tofi o ~ ~ s fhr Roy11Hisfo~icalSocircy, 3rd ser., 4 (1994): 221-30. 41. T h e research o n regional differences is summarized in SIar)-anne Ko~raleski,single^\-omen in Sledieval and Early Slodern Europe: T h e Demographic Perspective," in Judith M. Bennett and Amy 11. Froide, eds., SinglrPclsf, 1250-1800 (Philadelphia: Uni~ersityof Pennsylvania ic~onirnin fhr Eziropra~~ Press, 1998), 38-81. En,.(?. Ircla~ld 42. Lisa M. Bitel, L a ~ l dof l~l'onicn:T(11rs of Sru a ~ l dGr~~dcr,f,.o~iz (Ithaca, A-.Y.: Cornell University Press. 1996); Jenny Jochens. l l ' o ~ t i ~i ~ iOlrl N.Y.: C;ornell University Press. 1993). L V o ~ S. ~opr i ~ (Ithaca, t~ 43. Richard ;211els and Ellen Harrison, "The Participation of Mhmen in c ~ n l 41 (1979): 215-31; Peter Biller. Languedocian Catharism." d I ~ d i r ~ ~ -Strrrlirr "The C;ornmon T\-ornan in the T\-estern C:hurch in the Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth C;enturies." in l l h ~ t i ~i ~ flip i Clirr~.cli.ed. Ti-. J. Sheils and Diana Tihod (Oxford: Blackx~ell.1990), 127-57, a n d his "C:athars a n d Material T\-omen," in dI(~diprln1TIi~ologyn ~ i dt l i ~LVntirtr~lBorlj. ed. Peter Biller and Alastail- J. Minnis, York Studies in Theology and the Natural Body 1 (1997): 61107; Shannon McSheffrey, Gcndr~.and Hrrrsy: I'lbnirn and Ale11 ill Lollard Coninirrnifirs, 1420-1530 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1993). For a brief summary of McSheffrey's argument that works I\-ell with students, see her "T2'omen and Lollardy X Reassessment," C a ~ ~ c ~ d i a ~ ~ ~ [ o r r r ~ ~ c o f H i s f o ~ 26 y (1991): 199-223. 44. Recent studies of the gro~vthof persecutions in the central Middle Ages recognize that prostitutes I\-ere harassed alongside other minorities a n d also stress holy often majority groups irnagined rampant sexual deviance arnong reviled "others," but they generally ignore or do\\.nplay gender. Fex~ scholars have yet linked the increasing virulence of m i s o p n o u s ideas among C:hristians nit11 expanding discourses against other groups, and even as magisterial a book as Robert Bartlett's study of medieval colonization is rnuch weakened by its inattention to gender; Robert Bartlett, Tlip dlnlri~igofErrt.011~: Co~iqrr?.rt,Colo~iizr~tio~i, r11ir1Cultir~.r~l Clin~igr: 950-1370 (Harmondsworth: Penof (I Perscczifi~~g Socirtj: Poroo. guin, 1993). See also R. I. Moore, Tlzr For~izafior~ ( I I I ~Dr-c~iancrin 1lhfr1.nEzi~.opr, 950-1250 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987); Jeffrey Richards, Scu, Dissidr~lcra ~ l dDn~iznc~fion: Alinoritj G~.orrpsin fhr Jliddlr Ages (London: Routledge, 1991). For studies that have begun to address issues of gender, see Louise Slirrer, I ~ l b ~ i zjcros, r ~ ~ , a ~ l dJlzisli~izsin thr Trxts of Rcco~lqrrcstCnstilc (Ann University of Slichigan Press, 1996);

202

Notes to Pages 144-147

Joan b u n g Gregg, ed., I)c-c!ils, \Tbnicn, a11dJcic~s:Rrflrctio~lsof tlzr Other in Jlcdic7 ~ 1 1SP~.~tco~i Sto~.i~.r (Albany State University of N e x ~York Press, 1997), rnore useful for its texts than for its analysis; Dayid Nirenberg, Co~iz~izrrr~itirs of 170(Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Unil p ~ i cPpi:r~cl/tio~i ~: ofI\Ii~ioiYti?s i ~ til i l\Iidrll~Agc.s ~ yersity Press, 1996). 15. A-irenberg, Co~tc~tccr~iiti~.r of V i o l ~ ~ iesp. c ~ , 129-63; see also his "C:onversion, Sex, and Segregation: Jews and Christians in Sledieyal Spain," A ~ i z o i c a ~ ~ Hi.rtoiicc11Rp-oi~7il107:4 (2002): 1063-93. For \\.omen in C;astilian society. see Heath Dillard, I)arrg/zfr~sof thr Rcco~lqzirst: 1Tbnicn ill Castilian Toron Socicfj, 1100-1300 (C:arnbridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), a n d Mirrer, Tl'o~tc~~i, J m r , c11ir1dIu.rli~tcs. 16. Sharon Kinoshita, "The Politics of Cburtly Love: L n P~.i.rpD ' O I U I and I~~ the C:onversion of the Saracen Q ~ ~ e e n .Ro~tcc~~iic " R~ili~7il 86 (1995): 265-87; Sarah Kay, "Contesting 'Romance Influence': T h e Poetics of the Gift," Co~izpa~.c~fi-c~c Lifo.clfzirr Sfzidics 32 (1995): 320-41; Jacqueline d e Tl'eeyer, Shcbn's ~ French Lifr1.I)c~rrg/ztos:T'l'lzitcni~~g and I ) e ~ n o n t i n gthr Sarclcol T ~ l b ~ i zilla ~Afcdic-c~al Yorlz: Garland, 1998); Slirrer, T~l'o~izo~, Jcros, c111dAfrrslinis, 17-30 atrrrr (Mirrer also discusses Christian representations of Jewish women, 31-44). 47. Susan Sloshel- Stuard, "Ancillary Evidence for the Decline of Medieval Slayer)-," Pclsf c111d Prrsrnf 149 (1995): 3-28. See also Rut11 Slazo Karras, "Desire, Descendants, a n d Dominance: Slayer)-, t h e Exchange of Tlhmen, a n d Masculine Pox~er,"in TI,? Tl'o~/rof Tl'oi/r: S(~i-oitcrd~, S1(171~iy, (11i(1Lnboi. i ~ i rJIp(li~iE ~ (~~i lg l n ~ i ed. d . -Illen J. Frantzen and Douglas hloffat (C;lasgo\\.: Cruithne Press, 1991), 16-29. 18. -1lain Boureau. TI,(>L o ~ d ' rFiist L\-iglit: Tlip ,JI~tli of t l i ~Dmit d ( ~Cuis.rclgp, trans. Lydia G. C:ochrane (Chicago: University of C;hicago Press, 1998). Donna T\holfolk Cross's novel P o p Jon11 ( N e x ~York: C;ro\\.n. 1996) includes a historical postscript that purports to prove that the story has a basis in truth, as does a nen. book by Peter Stanford. Tli? Sli(.-Pop~(London: T'Villiarn Heineman, 1998). Do not be fooled; the story is a myth and a n antifeminist one at that. See hlain Boureau, Tlzr J l j f h ofPopr Jocln, trans Lydia G. Cochrane (Chicago: Llniyersity of Chicago Press, 2001), a n d T'alerie R. Hotchlziss, Clothrs I I : C~.ossUrrssi~lgill Jlcdic-c~alEziropc (Ne~jYorlz: Garland Pub;If(lkr tlzr ~ ~ ( IFc~izalc lishing, 1991), 69-82. I know of n o modern account that unpacks the myth of chastity belts, but I also lzno~j-of n o chastity belts that can be dated earlier than the sixteenth century. 49. An excellent summary of early Christian attitudes is Elizabeth A. Clark, "Devil's Gatexyay and Brides of Christ: Mhmen in the Early C;hristian T\-orld." in Asc~ticPi@ n ~ i dTl'o~tc~~i >F(~ith(Lewiston. A-.Y.: E. Mellen, 1986), 23-60. 50. For a fascinating exploration of medieval i d e o l o ~as it pertained to \\.omen a n d gender, see Dyan Elliot, F(11lp1i Bodips: Pollutio~i,SPxcrnlitj, n ~ i d Dp~tco~iologr i ~ flip i LJIidrll~Agps (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998). For a study that links certain representations of gender to specific literal? genres. see Sirnon Gaunt, Ck~idpi.n ~ i dC;PIIIP i ~ ri J I ~ ( l i ~ i F1~1ic1i l(~l L i t ~ ~ . ~ l t c r i ~ (Cambridge: Cambridge L-niyersity Press, 1995). 51. See especially Marina T2'arner, A1o11cofAl1 Hr~.Scu:Tlzr Afytlz and the Czilt o f f h c 1Srgi11;11(11?(New York: Knopf, 1976), a n d Jaroslay Pelilzan, Afcoj throziglz thr Ccntzi~ics:Hr~.Plc~cc ill thr Histo)> of Crr1frr1.c(New Hayen, Conn.: Yale L-niversity Press, 1996). 52. There is a vast literature o n medieval nuns, but see especiallyJane Tib-

Notes to Pages 147-149

203

betts Schulenbmg, Fo~getjrlof the21 Srr Fe~naleSnncfztj and Soclrf), ca 500-1100 (C'h~cago.L 1 1 1 el ~ T I ~ T of C'h~cagoPr e ~ s 1998); . Bruce L Venar de, Tl'o~tic11 'r J l o n a s f z c ~ s ~( L~IzI ~Jlrdlr7~c~l Soczctj ,\'rrnnozes ln F ~ c ~ n cac~ l dE ~ l g I ( ~ n d890-1215 , (Ithaca, U Y . C'olnell Unnersltl P l e s ~ 1997); . Jo Ann I(a\ \lcr\amala, 5trtos Cafholzc,\ii~ls fh~orrglzT7oo ; \ I Z ~ ~ ~ I(Camblidge, IIIICI Slnss.. H a n n l d L-nlln AITIZS \elTlt\ P l e v . 1996); Penelope D J o h n ~ o n Eqrrnl , oi dlo~lnrtlcP ~ o f ~ s r t oRt11~i 211 ; l f r d 1 ~ 7 ~ FICIIICC ( ~ 1 (Chicago. L - n ~ ~ e l sof ~ t Chlcngo r Piess, 1991), gzorrs TTb~izr~l hlarlhn Cllna. T11c Co~iooltcl~irltlic Co~ti~ticr~ict~ III L n t ~ rJIc(l~c7~(~1E~~gln~irl F~~tinlc r~e 1350-1540 (12hodblidge, Suffollz. Bordell Jlonasfr~zcs211 f l ~ e I ) ~ o c ofL\'o~'iozch, PreTT, 1998) Fol Saint F l a n c ~ ~obserlatlon. 's Tee Shularn~thShahal, T ~ I P l ~ (London. \lethuen. 1983), Forr~tl~ Ertntc A H ~ s t o ~ofj Tl'o~tiol01t11c L J I ~ d dAgcs 36 3 3 Shar 011 Fa1 me1 . "Per w a ~ en Volce~.C'lel leal Images of h l e d l e ~a1 61 (1986). 317-43. Fol discussion about the nntme of \\omTl'nes," Spcczilzi~~z en's pone1 in the Sliddle Ages, see Ellel a n d Ko~\nleslii,eds., TT'o~~zrn a~ld , ~ t sequel, s Gcndo211gthr A f c ~ s f ,\i~,)c~tl-c~r. r~ Poror, 211 the Jllddlr l i g e ~and 34. Foi mlsognmr, see I(nt11aiinn hl. Tl'llson and Elizabeth 11. hlnlio~\slzi, TT3lilicd TTi7~csand the TT'ocs of A f c o ~ ~ a gJllsog(~nlorrs r L z t o a t z i ~ r f ~ o[rr-c~olal n~ to Chnrrco (Albnn\. State LTnireisit\ of Nel\ h l l i Pless, 1990). 33. Xlcmn Blamlles, ed., TT'o~lzc~~l I)efc~nled( L I I ~ Defoldrd A I I A ~ l t h o l o g of ~ Edztrd Trrts (Oxfoid. Clnlendon Pless, 1992), quote fiom 12. R. H o ~ \ a i d Bloch. "\led~e\al\ l l ~ o g \ n \." R ~ ~ I I ( S P I20 ~ ~(1987). ( ~ ~ I 1-24, O I I Squote from 22, s genelated heated debate See lesponseT n 15 B l o c h ' ~argument In t h ~ eTsa\ b\ elght fernlnl~ts c h o l a l ~111 rJIc(1~c7~(11 Fc I ~ ~ I I LVc\i(~j~lctt~~ ~ I S ~ 6 (December 1988). 7 ( S p r ~ n g1989). 2-15; and Bloch's leTponTe 111 dIcr11toc~lfi~tioltstLV~\i(~rrlcttc~ 8-12 H I oplnlons ~ \\ere somewhat rnodelated In h ~ late1 s d l ~ d l ~ oLn Jl I ~ s o g ? ~ ~ ~ n ~ i dtlic I I I O1itto11 ~ of Tli rtc I ~i Ro~ticl~ltccLOOP(Cihlcago. Unn er ~ l t \of C'hlcago P r e ~ s 1991) . 36 Fol b l e w ~ t e rTee ~ . Judlth \I Bennett, Alp, EPO, n ~ l dE ~ ~ n l r t Io IsE~ ~ i g l n ~ i d TT'onlcn's TTb)li ln a Chnngulg TTb)ld ( N e ~h\ l l i . Oxfoid LTnireisit\ Pless, 1996), 124-44. Foi plostitutes, see Ruth Slnzo Kailns, C ~ T I ~ TTb~izr~l T I ~ ~ I PI ~ o ~ f z f r r f z o ~ ~ ( L I I ~Scrzial~tjzn Jledzc-c~al Engla~ld( N e ~'Ibilz. j Oxfold L-n~reisitrPiess, 1996), quote fiom 141. 37. Foi students, nn especlnlh accessible ai t ~ c l e1s Kathlrn Glmdnl, "C11ii.tien d e Tlores, G i a t ~ a n and , the Sledleral Romance of Sexual Yiolence," S I ~ IAI [orr~~lal ~ of TTb~izr~l 211 Crrlfroc and SoczcQ I 7 (1992). 358-85. See also TTizf211gR ( L111~; \ I C ~ Z C ZF JI CCII~I LCz~f e ~ c ~ f r o e Knthlrn G i a ~ d a lRa7~lshlng;If(~ldcns , ~ tP~e n n ~ anla ~ h P l e s ~ 1991), , a n d -2nna n ~ i dLnc~r (Phlladelphla. L n n e l ~ of Roller ts, e d , T I ~ ~ P I ngnoirt I ~ P T l h ~ t i ~oi~ Li J I ~ r l ~ ~R o nlts l (Galnen llle. Unner ~ l t \ of Flor Ida Pr e ~ s 1998) . , Fmrt cl~irlHoh Fort T l i R ~ ~ l ~ g ~ o c51g1i1j'rr 38 Carollne I\-alker B ~ n u m Ho11 ~ of C'allfolnla PleTT, cn~icc of Food to dlcd~crlcllTl'o~tiol (Ber k e l e ~ .L 1 1 1 elTlt\ 1987) Fol a b l ~ e fsurnrnalr that narks \\ell In the c l a ~ ~ l o o m see . B~nurn, "Fast. Feast. and F l e ~ h .T h e Rellglous S~gnlficanceof Food to \ l e d ~ e \ a l Tl'omen," R r p ~ c s o ~ t a t z o11 ~ ~(1983). s 1-16. Rudolph 11. Bell, Hol) A ~ l o ) r r l c ~ (Ch~cngo.LTnir el sit\ of Chicngo Pless, 1983). 39. John hl. Rlddle, C o ~ l f ) c ~ c c p fand ~ o nAbo)fzon ~ I O T I Zthe A~lclrntTTb11d to thr Rrnalssc~~lcc (Cnmblldge, hlass.. Hnlr a i d L-nneis~t\Pless, 1992), and E-c~c's ~I ~~ 1 1 1 the TT"rst (Cambiidge, hlnss.. Hr)bs A Hlsto)) of C o n f ~ c ~ c e p~ f ~L oI Abo7tzon H a n n l d LTnirelsit\ Pless, 1997). Foi class1oom use, ti\ t111s nl ticle br Riddle.

204

Notes to Pages 149-130

"Oinl Contlnceptlr es and Enill-Telm ,Ah01 t~fncientsd m lng Class~cnlhntlqultl and the hllddle I g e ~ . "Part cl~irlPtrroit 132 (1991) 3-32 60. See essals in Balbnlnh. Hnnn~jnlt,ed., TTb~izola ~ l dTTb~li2 1 1 P ~ c z ~ ~ d r r s f ~ ~ a l Indlana Unn er s ~ t lPI e v . 1986). and Llndse~C ' l ~ a l l e ~ E l ~ t o I ~(Bloornlngton r and Loinn Duffin, eds., T T ~ T I Z P I Iand TTb)k zn P ~ e - I ~ ~ d r r ~E~lgl(lr~d t ~ z ( l l (London. CAroomHelm. 1983) hI\ blograpl~lcal~ t u dof~a peaTant woman alw 1\01k~ nell. A ;lfrdzc~~al L z j C C C Z ~PZP( LI I I ~ ( Lof~B~lgstock, CI c 1297-1344 (SlcGia~\-Hill, 1998) 61. Foi both "double monastei~es"and \iiginitT, see n. 32. 62 Fol an OT e n lew that gene1 ates r lgor O U T claw oorn dlscusslon. ~ e Jace quellne \lur r a\, "Tx~lce\la1 glnal and Tx~lceInr l~lble.Lesl~lansIn the \ l ~ d d l e Ages," 111 H(l~irlboolrof LJIrrl~ronl\ra,l/(ll~t\, ed \.'ern L Bullough and J a r n e ~I Blundage ( A e x ~Yolk. Galland, 1996). 191-223 For an lntroduct~onto Chulc11 effoits to iegulate sexual b e h a ~ l o isee , James A.Blundage, Lnro, Srr, (Ch~cngo.LTnirelsltl of Chicago Piess, a ~ l dCh~lsfzclnSoortj zn ;Ifrdzc-c~alErr~opr 1987). 63. Clallssn 11: Xtlzinson, Tlzc Oldrst Tbcatzon C h ~ l s f z a n;Ifofhohood zn the (Ithnca, N.Y.. Coinell Unlr el sit\ Pi ess, 1991), Ann Slnlie RnsmusA f ~ d d l Ages r sen, Jlothos and Daziglzfr~s2 1 1 ; l f r d 1 ~ 7 ~GCITIZCIII (~1 L Z ~ C I ( L(Slincuse, ~ Z ~ I C N.Y.. Snncuse Unirei sit1 Piess, 1997),John Cai 1n1Pnlsons and B o n n ~ eTlleelel, eds., ;Ifedzc-c~al Jlotholng (Nev 'I'oilz. Gailnnd P u b l ~ s h ~ n 1996). g, Lois H u n e ~ c u t t ' s a1 tlcle 111 Par sons and Tllleelel'~collectlon 1\01k~ pal t~cular11 well ~ \ l t hstudents, "Pu1111c L n e ~ Prlrate . Ties. Rolal h l o t h e l ~In England and Scotland, 1070-1201," 293-31 1 6 1 Ruth \laze hallas, P I ~ I Bo\r I I to d l r ~ iPot~ticltto~is of LJI(lrcrrl~~i~h oi Lntr rJIc(1~c7~(11 E U I O(Phlladelph~a. ~ ~ Unn el S I ~ Tof P e n n ~ \ lanla r Press, 2003); Lees, ed , d l r d ~ r o n dlnrt l irloiltcc r; Jeffi e\ Jel orne C'ohen and B o n n ~ eT271eele1, e d ,~ Bcto~tcoigLJInlr 1 1 , tlic dl~drllrAgrr (Yew Yolk. Garland. 1997); D hI Hadlel, e d , L J I n r c i r l ~ ~ i( I~, hdlcrl~cocllE u t o l , ~( L o n d o n Longman, 1999); Jacqueline Slullal, ed., Co~~jlzctcd I d r ~ ~ f z f zclr~d r s ;Ifrrlfzplr ; ~ ~ ( L S C Z ~ ~;1fr11 Z I I 211 I ~ fhr Z C;lfrdze7~(~1 S j Galland, 1999). TTbsf ( N e ~Yoilz. T T ~ T I Z Len11 P I I , L ~ d i aOtis, P ~ o s f z f r r t zn ~ o;lfrdze7~(~1 ~~ Soczef\ 65. Kailns, COTIZTIZOII i t ~La~lgrrrdoc o~~ (Chicago. Unnelsitl of ChiTlzc H1sfo17of ( L I Z C i b a ~ lI ~ ~ s t ~ t z ln cago Pless, 1983). Foi students, fev tlungs ale as g i l p p ~ n gns the case of n ti a n s estlte ~ plostitute ~ 1 1 o~joilzedIn London and Oxfoi d. see Rut11 hlazo Kallas and D n ~ l dLolenzo Bold, " 'Ut Cum S l u l ~ e i e ' X . hlnle Tinns~estite ed. LouPlostitute in Fouiteenth-Centuir London," in P ) e ~ n o d o nS~azi(~Izfze~, lse Fl adenbulg and Calla Fl eccer o (London. Routledge. 1996). 101-16 66 \.'ale1 ~e R Hotchkl~s,Clotlits dlnlrc tlic d l n ~ i \.';el n L Bullough. "C'l o s ~ D r e w n g and Gender Role Change 111 the \llddle I g e ~ . "111 H(l~irlboolrof ,JIrrllc71(11 Sra,l/(ll~t\.e d Bullough and Brundage, 223-T2 In add~tlonto the case of the tl an71 eTtlte plostltute c ~ t e da b o e. ~ an excellent caTe fol use 111 the clas7loom can be found 111 hllchael H Shank, "A Fernale U n n e r s ~ t lStudent In Late hled~eralkrakow," 111 \trtos n ~ i dTl'ot1,c 1s 1 1 , tlic LJI~drllrAgcs, ed Judlth \I Bennett et a1. (Ch~cngo.L - n n e l s ~ tof ~ Chicago Pless, 1989), 190-97 (also in S Z ~ I I'ISJ O Z ~ I I Iof C ITIT " O I ~ C I I 211 Cziltzi)~cold Soczetj 12 [1987]. 373-80). See also Rudolf hl. Delilzei and Lotte C. Tan d e Pol, Tlzc T)adzfzonofFe~~zalc T)cl~~s-c~cst~sn/ 211 E(I)(?A f o d r ) Ezi~opr ~~ (London. hlncmillan, 1989). 67. E l n u n , H o b Frclst a11dH o b Fast, and he1 "Fast, Feast, and Flesh", Bell, Holj AIIO)CXZ(L Fo1 pi imair somces, see especlalh El~zabethA.Petloff, ed.,

Notes to Pages 130-131

203

Jlrdir-c~c~l 1Tbnio1's T i s i o n c ~ ~Litcratrrrr j Yorlz: Oxford University Press, 1986), and Elnilie Zum Brunn and Georgette Epiney-Burgard, eds., 1Tb~izo1 (New York: Paragon House, 1989). dI~.rtic:ri ~ Ji I ~ d i p ~ lEu~.op? nl c~ndHrloisr (Hal-monds~j-orth: 68. Betty Radice, ed., Tlzr Lcftrn of dbclc~~cl Penguin, 1974); Barbara Ne~j-man,"Authority, Authenticity, and the Repression of Heloise,"~[orrr~~c~l of Jlrdir7~c~l c~ndRrnc~issancrSfrrdirs 22 (1992): 121-37. 69. For a brief ovemiexl; see Elizabeth -1R. . Broxvn. "Eleanor of Xquitaine: Parent, Queen. and Duchess," in E l ~ c ~ ~ i o ~ . o f ; l q i r i Pt n( i~~t it ~o :n~ i~ i dPoliticin~i,ed. I\-illiam M: Kibler (Austin: University of Texas Press. 1976). 9-31, but there are many book-length studies of I\-hich t h e best is probably Douglas D. R. Owen, Elrc~norofdqrrifainr: Qzicrr~c~ndLeger~d(Oxford: Blaclz~vell,1993). For ofAqcritni~i~: A Biogstudents. the liveliest biography is Marion Meade. Elpn~iot. I . ( L ~ , / / J(Nexv York: Penguin, 1977), b u t it interprets Eleanor in sorne\\.hat anachronistic ways. Amy Kelly, Elrcl~lorofAqrrifc~inc~ L I the I ~ Forrr Kings (Cambridge, Mass.: Han-ard L-ni~ersityPress, 1930), is nolj- old but responsible for the argurnent that places Eleanor at the center of the development of courtly love. 70. T h e best biography is Charity Cannon Tl'illard, Christi~lcdr PiicL~l:Hrr 'l'orlz: Persea Books, 1984). For the issue of Christine d e Lifr a ~ l dI'l'o~lis(Ne~jPizan's ferninisrn ( a n d an article that \\.arks very \\.ell nit11 students), see Beatrice Gottlieb, "The Problern of Ferninisrn in the Fifteenth C;entury." in I'l'onio~of thr Afrdir-c~c~l I'l'orld, ed. Julius Kirshner a n d Suzanne F. Tl'emple (Oxford: Blachj-ell, 1983), 337-64. 71. Sabina Flanagan, Hildegc~~cl of Bingen: A TSsiona~yLifr, 2nd ed. (London: Routledge, 1998); Barbara Ke\\.man. Tbiw oftlip Li-cli~igLight: H i l r l ~ g n ~ofd B i ~ i g p ~ni~ i d/ i p t . Il'o1.1rl (Berkeley: University of C;alifornia Press, 1998). Among the many editions of the many writings of Hildegard of Bingen, her edited letters might be most accessible: Tlzr L c t f r ~ of s Hildegcocl of Bi11gr11,~ o l s 1. and 2, trans. Joseph L. Baird a n d Radd K. Ehrmann (Ne\\.York: Oxford University Press. 1994 and 1998). 72. See especially Marina IVarner, ~ O ~ LofA1.c: I I Tlzr I~izagrofFrnic~1rHrroisni (New York: Vintage, 1981), and Ri.gine Pernoud, Joarl o f A ~ . c B : j Herself a r ~ d H?I.Tli't~irrsrr(r\-e\\.York: Stein a n d Day. 1982); set into a narrative format, this latter text provides documents fr-orn the many trials of Joan of Arc. For I\-omen I\-arriors, see Megan SIcLaughlin, "The Tlhman Tl'arrior: Gender, Tl'arfare, and Society in S l e d i e ~ a lEurope," 1Tbnicn's Sfrrdirs 17 (1990): 193209 (students respond \\.ell to this article). and Helen A-icholson, "Mhmen o n the Third Crusade." Jorr1.1in1ofl\IPdi~71(~1 Histot7 23 (1997): 335-49. See also brief comments in Jonathan Riley-Smith. Tli? F i a t Ct,crsc~d~~:r, 1095-1131 (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni~ersityPress, 1997). 73. Thomas d e Cantimpri., Tlzr Life of CIz~.isfi~lc~ of S f . Tro~ld,trans. Margot H. King (Saskatoon: Peregrina, 1983). 71. For Margery Kempe. the rnost straightfor\\.ard historical study is Clarissa 12: Atkinson, Absfic a ~ l dPilg~ini:Tlzr Booli a r ~ dthr 1Tb1.ld of ;Ifco;qr~yKe~izjr (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Uni~ersityPress, 1983), and an accessible edition of her biography is Tlip Boo/? ofdI(~1g.c.17 K~~tcpc:trans. B. -1. 1'Vindeatt (Harmonds\\.orth, U.K.: Penguin, 1983). 75. Mary 1Vollstonecraft, A TSndicc~tio~l of the Riglzfs of 1Tb~izc~11, ed. Sliriam Brody (1792: London: Penguin, 2004), 46-47.

206

Notes to Pages 151-135

76. I n t e l ~ i e ~inj - the G2 section of Tlzr G r r a ~ d i c ~April n, 4, 2003, a~ailable online at: h t t p : / / ~ \ ~ \ ~ \ . . g ~ ~ a r d i a n . c o . ~ ~ k / . 77. Amy Richlin, ''HOT\-Putting the Alan in Roman Put the Roman in Romance." in Tnllri~igC;?~idpt.:Public. I~lcclgus,P ~ ~ s o ~Jorr~.~i(y.s, icll n ~ i dPoliticnl C1.iJean O'Barr, and Nancy Rosehaugh (Chapel Hill, tiqrrrs, ed. Nancy He~j-itt, N.C.: University of North Carolina Press. 1996). 14-33. at 31.

1. Barbara Christian, "The Race for Theory," 1986 essay reprinted in Tlzr L\i~trr~Fc11ir1C o ~ i t ~ ?ofl\Ii~io).itj ;t Uisc.orr~:s~, ed. -1dbul R. Janhlohamed and David Lloyd York: Oxford Uni~ersityPress, 1990), 37-49, at 47. Christian asked her readers to consider "for xyhorn are lye doing 1~11atlye are doing when we do literary criticism." She continued, "The ans~j-el-to that question determines what orientation we take in our work. the language we use, the purposes for I\-l1ic11 it is intended." 2. Joan Scott. "Feminism's Histor)-,"Jorr~.~inl of T l b ~ t i>~Histot! ~i 16:2 (2004): 10-29, at 24. 3. Anne Firor Scott. Sara Evans et al.. "Ti-omen's History in the r\-e\\. Millennium: h Comersation across Three Generations, Part 2," Jozirncll of I'Tb~izP I / )s his to^! 11:2 (1999): 199-220. at 213. 4. Bonnie Smith, Tli? Ck~idpt.ofHistoty: l\I~li, T ~ ~ I I I B (11ic1 I ~ , Hist01.ic.01Pt.~lc.tic~ (Cambridge, Mass.: Hal~ai-dUni~ersityPress, 1998), 69.

"iblani, I\riri~e,84-85, 139 I\danisori, Naric~,98, 186 r i 38 I\els, D a ~ l d67 , I l r x a n d e ~Salh 7 11 Illman Jean 40 .Imrrican Historical Association (A=%). 34-33, 199. 1G8 1111.8-9. 169 11.29 '4 II/PI;