Continuing my parade of shameless self-shilling when I answer an old question:

• Did medieval women writers face opposition based on gender?

[1/2]

This is a great question!

There are cases where powerful political/ecclesiastical officials approved and even encouraged women writers. There are cases where powerful officials persecuted women writers and even burned them at the stake. And there are cases where powerful officials approved women writers and other powerful officials persecuted them and burned them at the stake.

Honestly, the more I study medieval women (especially medieval religious women), the harder it is to pick out patterns in terms of opposition to writers based on gender. For example: Marguerite Porete is the first example that comes to mind whenever one thinks about persecution. She and her book, the fantastically-named Mirror of Simple Souls, were both burned at the stake for heresy in 1310.

But then you remember that a Franciscan friar named Guiard of Cressonessart was charged and would have been condemned alongside Marguerite (nb: it is proper to use women writers' surnames if they are known, but "Porete" is a diminutive nickname meaning 'leek', not a surname). Unlike her, however, he recanted and was sentenced to perpetual imprisonment in a monastery instead. And Sean Field has recently argued that Marguerite's condemnation was as much political and theological. Oh, yeah, and Marguerite had won the approval of three different high-powered Church officials for the Mirror before she was arrested.

Or let's take the case of Cistercian abbess Beatrijs of Nazareth compared with beguine (kind of like a nun, but not enclosed in a formal convent) Mechthild of Magdeburg, both from the thirteenth century. Both of them wrote "mystical" treatises in their vernacular, which describe the relationship of the soul with God in sometimes breathtakingly erotic terms.

Both women also had their texts "translated" into Latin by men, and by translated, we mean adapted, altered, had parts shifted around, rewritten. TBeatrijs of Nazareth used metaphorical language of the soul feeling like, experiencing sensations as if physical. Her male hagiographer, promoting her potential sainthood, turned the description into actual events affecting her physical body. Her relationship with Christ moves several steps more explicit in terms of erotic and even sexual undertones.

Mechthild also used metaphorical language of the soul to describe her unions with Christ. Her anonymous clerical (ergo male) translators removed the most erotic parts as they reworked her text in order to protect the reputation of the author.

Right.

Nevertheless, it remains the case that there are just hopelessly fewer known women writers than known male writers from Latin medieval Europe. So: was there opposition to women writing based on gender? Yes, but it was systemic.

The first point to clarify is indeed education. Throughout the Middle Ages, the primary locus of education was the Church, in particular, monasteries. There are exceptions towards the end of the Middle Ages--roughly from Mechthild's time on forward--but these are very, very rare overall. In the Middle Ages, monastic schools tried to be limited to students who would go on to become novice nuns or monks/friars and take vows in their community. The other path for men from the late twelfth century onwards, grammar school in preparation for university, was absolutely closed to women.

This pitched women into a world where writing almost exclusively meant religious. That, in turn, was a particular wrinkle for women because of canon law: women (non-clergy) are not allowed to preach and teach religion (interpret the Bible) in public. That rule was extended to writing.

Now, nuns did a substantial amount of writing...for their own communities. Original texts as well as anthologies of excerpts and outright copies of existing texts. They were active in sending letters to other women's convents. But we're talking about public writing here.

The first layer of opposition to women writers based on gender, therefore, was money. On average, women's convents were substantially poorer than men's. The difference grew even greater over the course of the Middle Ages. Men could become priests--by 1100 or so, monks are basically all ordained. Therefore, they could earn money performing Masses for aristocrats seeking prayers for themselves and their families in purgatory or in preparation for it. Women could and did earn money where they could, especially embroidering vestments and altar cloths for wealthy churches, but it was never sufficient.

Money is important here because materials to produce permanent writing were expensive. And with internal documents to compose, parchment was at an absolute premium.

[cont'd below]

Someone posted a question the other day about how the Islamic world reacted to the Fourth Crusade, but it looks like the question was deleted. It was a really interesting topic though, and I had some information about it though so I’ll post it here!

Firstly, everyone knew that the target of the crusade was supposed to be Egypt. The Ayyubid sultan of Egypt, al-Adil, was certainly quite aware of the situation. We don’t know his specific thoughts, but

"it is plausible to assume that al-Adil did consider the Latin conquest of Constantinople to be a dangerous development" (Benjamin Z. Kedar, “The Fourth Crusade's second front', in Angeliki E. Laiou, ed., Urbs Capta: The Fourth Crusade and its Consequences, pg. 103)

The Fourth Crusade is pretty complex but the important stuff here mostly takes place in 1203. The crusade had been diverted to Constantinople because the emperor, Isaac II, had been deposed, and Isaac’s son had recruited the crusaders to help him restore Isaac to the throne, which they did in the spring of 1203. So at that point they still believed they were there simply to help Isaac, who was then supposed to help them pay Venice for the ships they were using for the crusade, and then help them continue on toward Egypt. According to one of the leaders of the crusade, Hugh, Count of Saint-Pol:

"...envoys were sent ahead on his part [the emperor] and our own to the sultan of Babylon [i.e., Egypt], the impious invader and occupier of the Holy Land." (Alfred Andrea, ed., Contemporary Sources for the Fourth Crusade (Brill, 2000), pg. 200-201)

Of course they never showed up in Egypt at all - things went sideways in Constantinople and the crusaders ended up overthrowing the Empire and sacking the city. But in 1203-1204, the Egyptians and the crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem were both still expecting them to show up eventually. King Aimery of Jerusalem took the opportunity to attack the Nile delta with a fleet of ships, and al-Adil invaded Aimery’s territory. Aimery wasn’t able to regain Jerusalem itself (which had been lost to al-Adil’s brother Saladin in 1187), but he did take back Sidon, Ramla, and Nazareth, among other things. Aimery and al-Adil made a seven-year truce in September 1204.

Meanwhile, in Anatolia, the Seljuk Sultanate of Rum was also keeping an eye on things in Constantinople.

Right around the time the crusaders sent their ambassadors to Egypt in 1203, they received a request for help from the Seljuk Kay Khusraw, who had been deposed as the sultan of Rum by his brother. He had actually been living in Constantinople since being deposed, and he thought the crusaders and Byzantines might be able to help him out:

“‘Lords,’ said the sultan, ‘there is something I want to ask for you. I have a brother younger than myself who has taken from me by treason my land and seigniory of Konia, of which I was lord and of which I am the rightful heir. If you will help me recover my land and seigniory, I will give you right plentifully of my wealth, and will have myself baptized a Christian and all those who hold of me, if I can have again my seigniory with your help.’ And the barons answered that they would take counsel on it. So word was sent to the doge of Venice [Enrico Dandolo] and to the marquis [Boniface of Montferrat] and all the high barons, and they assembled in a great council, and finally it was their decision that they would not do what he sultan asked of them. And when they came from their council they answered the sultan that they could not what he asked of them, because they had still to get their reward from the emperor, and it would be dangerous to leave Constantinople, as things were then, and they dared not leave it. When the sultan heard this, he was very angry and went away again.” (Robert of Clari, The Conquest of Constantinople, trans. Edgar Holmes McNeal (Columbia University Press, 1936), pg. 78-79)

Eventually Kay Khusraw defeated his brother on his own (but then he was killed in battle with the Byzantines in 1211).

So, down in Egypt and the crusader states, the Egyptian sultan was somewhat concerned, and there was a bit of warfare between Egypt and Jerusalem while they were waiting for the crusade to get there. In Anatolia, the Seljuks were aware of what was happening in Constantinople, but they were more concerned with warring against each other over who was the rightful sultan.

In the long run, the reaction from the Muslim world was that it was far easier for the Seljuks (and their successors, the Ottomans) in Anatolia to take over the entire Byzantine Empire and large parts of Europe, since the crusaders had successfully dismantled the Empire and it never really recovered. It took another 250 years for Constantinople to fall to the Ottomans, but would they have been able to do it at all if the Fourth Crusade hadn’t happened? Or would it have just taken slightly longer? The Ottomans didn't really look back to 1204 as a turning point though, since they weren't around until the 14th century.

And as always, the best recent history of the Fourth Crusade in general is Jonathan Phillips, The Fourth Crusade and the Sack of Constantinople (Pimlico Press, 2005).

Week 92

 

On July 6^th 1919 major incidents (if you are interested in the actual incidents, I am not covering them this week! - just some set up) occurred in Fiume between Italian and French troops – the culmination of a series of episodes of friction which had become more apparent, and often crossed into violent manifestations, during the final stages of the preparations for the German Treaty, which had been signed on June 28^th 1919 with the Italian matters still (culpably, according to the Italian public sentiment) unsettled, in no little part (according to the "national" press) because of the Allied (and French especially) obstinate indifference to the Italian cause. If the deterioration of the relations between Italy and her Allies had followed, at least in the public eye, the diplomatic crisis of April 1919 with the consequent temporary withdrawal of the Italian delegation from the Peace Conference, the relations between Italy and France had begun to sour already at the end of October 1918.

Despite a well established tradition of enmity between the two neighbors – with notable peaks during the late XIX Century, around the matter of Tunis, the incidents of Aigues-Mortes, and various lesser episodes influenced by the more energetic approach to foreign affairs assumed by both nations – a sentiment of ideal familiarity had persisted in forms of cultural and social, if not political, affinity. Many of the forces which had supported the Italian intervention had appealed in their campaign to these sentiments (with the exception, perhaps, of the Nationalists, whose initial favor had gone to the Triple Alliance), to the need to take part to the defence of those ideals of liberty and progress embodied by the cause of France and Belgium against the militaristic imperialism of the Central Empires.

This lasting campaign in favor of the cause of the Entente, the eventual adhesion (at least in abstract) to Wilson's democratic principles, the collocation of the Italian intervention on an ambiguous middle ground between Salandra's most unfortunate "sacred egoism" and the aspirations to a social and political renovation; all contributed to make the apparent disregard for the Italian struggle more striking and difficult to hide. Not that the Italian government of V.E. Orlando was especially effective in this regard, oscillating between painting a much too idyllic picture of the relation between Italy and Her Allies, and tolerating the increasingly incendiary tones of the nationalist and national press. The idea of the British and French "ingratitude" became somewhat commonplace – and to some extent a genuine sentiment, especially when the Italian public was faced with the apparent French support to the Yugoslav aspirations, to the presence of "French-Serbian" troops from the Eastern Army, and the reconstitution of a Yugoslav army occurring under (technical) supervision of a French inter-Allied command, with the inclusion also of elements formerly employed on the Italian front (consider the inaccurate rumor – ambassador Bonin to Sonnino, November 11^th 1919 – that Field-Marshal Borojevic was going to be appointed as Chief of Staff of the Yugoslav army). Such evidences appeared to confirm the traditional strategic fear of the Italian Navy – that the French wanted to establish not only a financial but a military presence in the Adriatic sea as well, if not directly, by proxy of the Yugoslav army and fleet.

In addition to these practical concerns – in which the traditional anti-French formation of many officers of the Italian Navy played nonetheless a role, but which was also based on concrete elements of French "on the ground" opposition to the Italian action that were impossible to overlook – there were psychological ones as well. The new Yugoslavs were, in the Italian public mind, a central force of their Austro-Hungarian neighbor, more so than Czechs or Hungarians – and Italian contemporary monographs on the Adriatic question had a tendency to remember the reactionary action of the Croat forces during the 1848-49 revolutions. As I mentioned before, it would be vastly incorrect to see in Fiume another Verdun or another "Versailles" – such exaggerations belong to the nationalist pamphlets – but those exaggerations were built on the ground of a genuine discomfort to the sight of a rising neighbor, which appeared quite unfriendly and belligerent. As Orlando confessed to the Council of Four in April, "to the Italians le Croate was the same as le Boche to the French", and it was impossible to understand how Italy's Allies could regard them as friends rather than former enemies; but similar concerns were shared quite liberally; for instance (November 14^th 1918) the Italian Ambassador to London, Imperiali had replied to Balfour, who urged a friendly solution between Italians and Yugoslavs, that Italy was looking forward to it as well but it was a difficult matter, since the Croats especially had been "the whip used by the Austrian government against the Italians".

This sentiment – which was in good part reciprocated – had the unfortunate consequence of translating readily into the public sphere, where every minor incident found a large echoing chamber (thanks also to the various nationalist press outlets – keen on pointing out the iniquities of everyone else), from where it reverberated into the administrative and military ranks, coming to exert its influence on administrative and political decisions. Furthermore, rather than expressing itself through substantial disagreements, it often translated into a myriad of almost inconsequential episodes, the ultimate effect of which was similar to that of sand piling up in the machinery of the Balkanic peace.

Of the many episodes, not the most significant but nonetheless characteristic of a certain general pettiness, is one narrated by delegate S. Crespi in his memoirs. At the end of May, the Italian specialist of financial matters had at last secured Orlando's approval for an evening reception at the Edouard VII – a much needed event, after the Italian delegates had "repeatedly enjoyed the invitations from the other delegations" and especially a previous one by Lord Cecil, which was to "take place with a certain solemnity", two hundred and fifty invitations sent out and Orlando himself doing the honors.

In the evening, decorators had begun to set up the main hall […] They had found the flags of all allied and associated States attending the conference and arranged them on the walls creating a wonderful effect. But one journalist noticed that among the flags there was also the Serbian one, and made an infernal scene, objecting that we should not receive Serbians, now Yugoslavs, let alone expose their flags. He was joined by other journalists and, in my absence, they sent a delegation to Sonnino who, without informing me […] ordered for the Serbian flags to be immediately removed.

Back to the Hotel at 23.00 I found the decorators, who were of course French, standing there, their arms crossed, with the Serbian flags laying on the ground and an empty space on the wall. It's a most unpleasant incident, which could have negative consequence due to the amount of noise made around it. But to cut it short and avoid for the thing to become news, I order to remove all the flags of the lesser powers and for the hall to be decorated with those of the five major ones alone. I'll tell them that we weren't able to find all the flags. […]

On the following day (June 1^st 1919) Crespi went to Orlando, to exchange his views on the matter.

I remind him that the this evening reception has been agreed with Sonnino and him, and that he had recommended with me to make it a solemn circumstance, as well as promising to intervene and to make a speech. I remind him that in the submission of the treaty to our enemies there was an implicit recognition of the Serbian, Croat and Slovene Kingdom as an Allied Power, and that an insult to the Serbian flag is in striking contrast with all the attempts for a conciliation he has put so much effort into during these last days [those were the days of the "Tardieu plan" – which was in good measure Crespi's creation and was likely already falling apart at the time – which gives some context for Orlando's irritation and disregard for the issue]. If we didn't want to receive the Yugoslavs, then we should not have arranged a reception; it is not possible to extend an invitation to the Supreme Council and exclude a member nation without insulting the whole Council. […] After breakfast Orlando sends for me […] he tells me he won't attend this evening and that there will be no speeches. It's a slap. I tell him back that if he didn't like a reception he should have told me; his presence had been announced […] As for the speeches, it's impossible to forbid them; I'll limit myself to a few words but I can't keep our colleagues from speaking. He insists; and I can't object. But I am incredibly vexed. What happened? […]