strong medieval women: Sibylla of Acerra & Constance of Hauteville

Sibylla of Acerra leading conspiracy against Henry VI

In contrast to gender stereotypes, strong, independent, highly privileged women have governed men throughout history. These women were accustomed to having men do whatever they wished. They understood that men were willing to die fighting on their behalf. They boldly criticized their husbands. With great social sophistication, they used their tears as the ultimate weapon.

When Constance of Hauteville’s husband became King of Germany and the Holy Roman Empire, she became the Holy Roman Empress. In order to uphold her claim to Sicily, her husband engaged in war against Sibylla of Acerra’s husband, who had usurped the crown of Sicily in 1189. Sending Empress Constance away from the fierce men-on-men violence over nominal rule of Sicily, her husband commanded one of his leading men, “Always do what my bride wishes {Facturus semper quod mea nupta velit}.”[1] He probably followed that rule himself.

As many women do, Empress Constance understood that her life was worth more than that of many men. Besieged in Salerno, she opened a window and addressed the attackers:

Hear what my words intend.
At least while we speak, hold back your missiles and your hands.
I will speak few words, but they have great weight.
O people of great faith and wisdom tested to the heights,
you know who I am and who I have been, and that is why I make my complaint to you.

If I {sic} am allowed to battle, I still have knights and gold.
I counsel everyone to return to his home.
I have Conrad at Capua, Diepold at Rocca D’Arce;
the one will do his duty as knight, the other lead the commanders.
Darius, as the messenger told me, burns Ebolian fields here
and there shears the Theatine sheep.
But those people of pure faith seek to do my will in the midst of warfare,
willingly prepared to die for me

{ Audite, quid mea verba velint.
Saltim dum loquimur, compescite tela manusque.
Pauca loquar, multo pondere verba tamen.
Gens magne fidei, rationis summa probate,
Que sim, que fuerim, nostis, et inde queror.

Si pugnare licet, superest michi miles et aurum:
In propriam redeat, consulo, quisque domum.
Est michi Corradus Capue, Dipoldus in Archi:
Hic pars milicie, dux erit ille ducum.
Darius Eboleos, ut ait michi nuncius, agros
Hac cremat, hac radit ille Thetinus oves.
Gens pure fidei mediis exquirit in armis
Velle meum, pro me sponte parata mori }

The angry people ignored her lofty words. Many men died in the subsequent fighting. Queen Sibylla’s forces eventually captured Empress Constance.

Queen Sibylla’s husband lacked appreciation for his wife’s sexual preferences and her independent lifestyle. He sent to her the captive Empress Constance, surely their most valuable prisoner. He wrote to Queen Sibylla:

This woman is the noble heir of Roger, the first king.
Her husband causes every land to tremble.
I send her to you, sweet love, my very dearest consort,
for you to keep safely, with a watchful heart.
Be a companion and a keeper, a hostess and an enemy.
Never let her be anywhere without you, if you are wise.
Be in the same house, the same bed at night;
do not let her speak to anyone without you.
One drinking vessel must convey delicacies to both of you.
Now be willing to be greater, now equal, now less.

{ Hec est Rogerii protoregis nobilis heres,
Illius est uxor, qui quatit omne solum.
Hanc ego, dulcis amor, mea prebeatissima consors,
Servandam vigili pectore mitto tibi.
Sis comes et custos et ei sis ospes et hostis;
Hanc nunquam sine te, si sapis, esse sinas.
Una domus vobis, unum de nocte cubile,
Quam cuiquam sine te ne patiare loqui.
Deliciosa duas communicet una parabsis.
Nunc maior, nunc par, nunc minor esse velis. }

Generally speaking, a self-respecting husband doesn’t send his wife a woman to be her bed-mate, especially if that woman is an enemy.[2] Queen Sibylla harshly disparaged her husband’s judgment:

What are you doing, oh demented one? Did you send me a companion or an enemy?

You take bad advice about the causes of your too-grievous infirmities.
A sickness from the stomach overflows into an idle head.
How badly you give medicine to the other limbs
if you ignore the head!
If the head sickens, can the other limbs be well?
Unless you pull off the head, the other limbs will be wasted.

{ Quid facis, o demens? Comitem misistis an hostem?

Quas nimis ipse doles, causis male consulis egris:
In caput a stomacho morbus habundat iners.
Quam male dispensas aliis medicamina menbris,
Si caput ignoras.
Si caput egrotet, valeant et cetera membra?
Ni caput abradas, cetera menbra ruent. }

Queen Sibylla thus indirectly suggested killing Empress Constance. Her husband immediately sought to appease his wife:

My dear wife and partner of chaste love,
the message you sent me has strength.

{ Cara michi coniunx et casti fedus amoris,
Quam michi misisti, pagina robur habet. }

Queen Sibylla’s message unquestionably did have strength, especially in relation to her husband’s courtly self-abasement and yes-dearism.[3]

When medieval women’s words weren’t sufficient to govern men, women could turn to their ultimate weapon: tears. After many men, including her husband and her son, died fighting for her, Queen Sibylla was in a desperate position. She decided to surrender to Empress Constance’s husband:

Therefore, I will do what is safe; I will surrender and pray for pardon,
pouring out tears before the feet of Caesar.
Sobs, tears, groans, sighs, weeping,
these will be my husband and my children and my brother;
they will fight for me, they will plead with the lord for me,
my tears will do more for me than my spears.
Pity can do more than a thousand times a thousand Roman citizens.
Caesar will be won more easily by prayers than by spears.

{ Ergo, quod est tutum, veniam summissa precabor,
Effundens lacrimas Cesaris ante pedes.
Singultus, lacrime, gemitus, suspiria, fletus,
Hec vir et hec proles, hec michi frater erunt.
Pro me pugnabunt pro me dominumque rogabunt,
Plus facient lacrime, quam mea tela, michi.
Plus poterit pietas quam milia mille Quiritum,
Plus prece quam telis Cesar habendus erit. }

Women’s tears are astonishingly powerful tools. Queen Sibylla wasn’t killed, as many other men were. She was arrested and held captive with her daughters. When Empress Constance’s husband died, Sibylla was set free. She resumed her privileged life and arranged for her eldest daughter to marry a French count.[4]

Male privilege is a recently constructed myth. Gynocentrism has been reality for millennia.

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Notes:

[1] Pietro da Eboli, Liber ad Honorem Augusti {Book in Honor of Augustus} l. 413 (Sec. 15), Latin text and English translation from Hood (2012) pp. 144-5. The Latin text has survived in one manuscript, Codex 120 II in Bürgerbibliothek Bern {Berne Municipal Library}. A good-quality Latin text of Liber ad Honorem Augusti is freely available online: part I, part II, part III, part IV.

Pietro da Eboli {Peter of Eboli / Petrus de Ebulo} wrote Liber ad Honorem Augusti  about 1196. Pietro was a learned scholar, perhaps a physician, who came from the town of Eboli near Salerno in Italy. He is also thought to have authored De balneis Puteolanis {On the baths of Puteoli}. Little else is known about him. Hood (2012) pp. 6-9.

Sibylla of Acerra’s husband was Tancred of Hauteville, who was Count of Lecce. Sibylla of Acerra became Queen of Sicily when her husband became King of Sicily in 1189. Constance of Hauteville’s husband was Henry VI of Hohenstaufen. Constance of Hauteville became the Holy Roman Empress when her husband became the Holy Roman Emperor in 1191.

All the subsequent quotes are from Hood’s Latin text and English translation of Liber ad Honorem Augusti. I have made some minor changes to the English translation for clarity. The quotes above are (cited by line number in Hood’s Latin text): ll. 586-90, 605-12 “Hear what my words intend…”; ll. 875-84, “This woman is the noble heir…”; 897, 907-12, “what are you doing, o demented one?…”; 915-6, “My dear wife…”; ll. 1293-1300, “Therefore, I will do what is safe….”

[2] Pietro da Eboli strongly disparaged Sibylla of Acerra’s husband:

Behold the old monster, crime of nature, untimely birth;
Behold, the ape is crowned, repulsive man.

Instead of Jove a half-man, instead of great Ceasar a dwarf
you receive as sceptered ruler!

Nature, your laughing-stock is reigning now, that foul ape-thing,
that man in the likeness of an aborted corpse!

He is poor in morals and in life, not refuted by his Fame,
and he has little masculinity and a short body.

{ Ecce vetus monstrum, nature crimen aborsum;
Ecce coronatur simia, turpis homo!

Pro Iove semivirum, magno pro Cesare nanum
Suscipis in sceptrum!

Ridiculum, natura, tuum: res, simia, turpis,
Regnat, abortivi corporis instar homo.

Moribus et vite pauper, nec fama repugnat,
Et modicas vires et breve corpus habet. }

Liber ad Honorem Augusti ll. 184-5, 198-9, 234-5, 242-3. Pietro da Eboli captioned a painting of Tancred being crowned with “The ape made king {Simia factus Rex}.”

Pietro didn’t use the diminutive name Tancredulus to disparage Tancred. He used the term Tancredulus to caption a painting showing a woman displaying Tancred when he was a baby: “This woman displays little Tancred {Hec ostendit Tancredulum}.” Hood (2016) pp. 116-7. That’s not a disparaging use of Tancredulus. Scholars have continued to propagate the misunderstanding that Pietro disparaged Tancred as Tancredulus. See, e.g. McDougall (2016) p. 209. This mistake seems to go back at least to the 1911 Encyclopaedia Britannica entry for Tancred. Pietro in a variety of ways did express contempt for Tancred’s small stature. See above quote.

[3] Tancred “{comes} across as a slightly henpecked husband.” Hood (2012) p. 230.

[4] The fate of Sibylla’s son William III may have been much worse. While the leading modern study has concluded that William III wasn’t physically mutilated, a variety of medieval sources indicated that he was blinded as punishment for his mother and father’s usurpation. Roger of Hovedon stated that “King William, son of King Tancred, was blinded and castrated {Willelmum regem, filium Tankredi regis, excecavit et ementulavit}.”Chronica, 171, as quoted in Hood (2012) p. 536. Other medieval sources similarly reported castration. Id. n. 585. Castration culture has deep historical roots. Castration was a recognized, practiced punishment of men in medieval Europe.

[image] Sibylla of Acerra leading conspiracy against Henry VI in favor of her son William III, from Liber ad honorem Augusti 136r, reproduced in black-and-white and described in Hood (2012) p. 294-5. Color image via Wikimedia Commons.

References:

Hood, Gwenyth, ed. and trans. 2012. Pietro da Eboli. Book in honor of Augustus (Liber ad honorem Augusti). Tempe, Ariz: Published by ACMRS (Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies).

McDougall, Sara. 2016. Royal bastards: the birth of illegitimacy, 800-1230. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

bird-brains engage in scholarly debate: The Owl and the Nightingale

withdrawn owl

The Owl and the Nightingale, a Middle English poem dating probably to about 1200, provides under-appreciated insight into the social positions of women and men. An owl and a nightingale throughout the poem debate widely their relative merits as birds. Both birds are “unanimous in their sympathy for women both inside and outside of marriage.” The birds are “extravagantly partisan” in support of women; they engage in “patent partisanship for women.”[1] Modern scholars of medieval literature have been united in praise for the The Owl and the Nightingale. But lacking the deep literary self-consciousness of medieval poets, modern scholars haven’t understood what they are praising.

The Owl and the Nightingale mocks shallow and pretentious scholarly thought about why men commit adultery. Regarding husbands’ sexual fidelity to their wives, the nightingale declared:

It seems to me quite stark and shocking
how any man, for any cause of behaving,
could turn his heart to the life
of doing it with another man’s wife.
For it’s either one of two things —
a claim for a third no man can bring.
Either her lord is very worthy,
or he’s feeble, and of all good empty.

{ Wundere me þungþ wel starc and stor,
Hu eni mon so eauar for,
Þat e his heorte mi3te driue
To do hit to oþers mannes wiue.
For oþer hit is of twam þinge,
Ne mai þat þridde no man bringe:
Oþar þe lauerd is wel aht,
Oþer aswunde, and nis naht. } [2]

That’s formally pretentious, yet utterly ridiculous reasoning. All men are fully human beings. All men potentially are very good men. In reality, not all men are either very good or very bad. Most men are somewhere in between. Most benefit from sympathetic support in their struggles to realize their inner goodness. Polarizing men’s persons demeans men’s potential.

Strong incentives for men to commit adultery can easily be recognized, yet are scarcely discussed. Some husbands have emotionally and physically abusive wives. Some husbands suffer within a sexless marriage. Moreover, sexless marriage is more prevalent in modern marriages in which wives feel no obligation to have sex with their husbands. In addition, long-standing, unjust, and absurd paternity and “child support” laws create huge financial incentives for men to have sex with married women who aren’t their own wives. Under the “four seas” common-law doctrine of legally imposed cuckolding, a woman’s husband, not her lover, is required to support financially any children that she produces through adultery. Reproductive choice is today a holy and sacrosanct principle, but only for women, to their own harm. Thus men seeking to avoid state-imposed, forced financial fatherhood have a strong incentive to commit adultery with married women. The nightingale, with her relatively intelligent bird brain, probably knew that.

The nightingale forthrightly recognized castration culture as controlling men’s sexuality. The nightingale explained:

No man with wisdom will seek to plan,
if the husband’s an honorable and worthy man,
in any way for his wife to do him shame.
For he himself should fear harm and blame,
and fear losing that which hangs below —
no longer able to join where his desires go.

{ 3ef he is wurþful and aht man,
nele no man, þat wisdom can
hure of is wiue do him schame,
For he mai him adrede grame,
An þat he forleose þat þer hongeþ,
Þat him eft þarto no3t ne longeþ }

According to the nightingale, an “honorable and worthy” husband would castrate an adulterer. That’s vicious sexual violence against a man. It’s also historically plausible. In contrast to dominant myths, punishment for adultery throughout history has been biased against men and harshly administered to men. Regardless of their personal circumstances, men not afraid of being castrated aren’t supported with excuses for committing adultery:

And though he not have such fear,
it is iniquity and folly dear,
to wrong a good man in his bed
and seduce the wife to whom he’s wed.

{ An þah he þat no3t ne adrede,
Hit is unri3t and gret sothede
To misdon one gode manne,
An his ibedde from him spanne. }

Seduction is socially constructed as a crime that men commit against women. The woman is innocent of having agency, and sex is the man’s fault.

Socially constructed sexual disgust also controls men’s sexuality. The nightingale illustrated the practice:

If her lord is physically unable,
with little to offer in bed and at table,
how might there be any love
when such a churl’s body has laid on hers from above?
How would any love there be nigh
when such a man is groping her thigh?

And if the lord is a wretch,
what pleasure from her could you fetch?
If you think about with whom she lies,
you might with disgust your pleasure buy.
I don’t know how any man of standing then
Could seek to visit her again.
If he thinks about in whose place he lay,
then all his love would go away.

{ 3ef hire lauerd is forwurde,
An unorne at bedde and at borde,
Hu mi3te þar beo eni luue
Wanne a swuch cheorles buc hire ley buue?
Hu mai þar eni luue beo
Þar swuch man gropeþ hire þeo?

An 3ef þe lauerd is a wercche,
Hwuch este mi3tistu þar uecche?
3if þu biþenchest hwo hire ofligge
Þu mi3t mid wlate þe este bugge.
Ich not hu mai eni freoman
For hire sechen after þan;
3ef he biþencþ bi hwan he lai
Al mai þe luue gan awai. }

Few men other than those with a cuckolding fetish enjoy imagining another man groping their beloved’s thigh and having sex with her. Men typically address this problem by disengaging their minds when seeking sex. Thus many structurally oppressed men throughout history have possessed the capability of resorting to female prostitutes. While, if feasible, most men would prefer to marry a debt-free virgin without tattoos, men personally are able to adjust to the reality of the women available to them.

Socially constructed sexual disgust controls men through status attacks on men. Men, for good evolutionary reasons, care about their social status relative to other men. The nightingale implicitly asserted that a man’s status depends on the status of all men who had sex with a woman with whom he’s having sex. That’s not necessarily so. The sexual status-shaming of men depends upon social acceptance of the status claims intended for that work. Under gynocentrism, society accepts those status claims and relatively strictly controls men’s sexuality.

Gynocentric society readily justifies women committing adultery. As always, sex is men’s fault:

A young girl knows not what such is,
her young blood leads her amiss;
and some foolish man entices her to it
by all the means that he might intuit.
He comes and goes, demanding and begging,
and stands next to her, then by her sitting,
yearning for her often and for long.
What can the child do other than go wrong?
She didn’t understand what it was
and therefore thought to try what a woman does,
and to know indeed what be the game
that makes such a wild creature tame.

{ An 3unling not hwat swuch þing is,
His 3unge blod hit dra3eþ amis,
An sum sot mon hit tihþ þarto
Mid alle þan þat he mai do:
He comeþ and fareþ and beod and bid,
An heo bistant and ouersid,
An hi sehþ ilome and longe.
Hwat mai þat chil þah hit misfonge?
Hit nuste neauer hwat hit was,
Forþi hit þohte fondi þas,
An wite iwis hwuch beo þe gome
Þat of so wilde makeþ tome. }

In gynocentric literature, men have been figured sexually as dogs, pigs, hawks, and wolves, among other wild creatures. Men’s very genitals are commonly likened to lethal weapons.[3] Women, in contrast, are imagined to tame, civilize, and ennoble men. Women at the same time are absolved of sexual responsibility as if they were children.

The “patent partisanship for women” in The Owl and the Nightingale provides a comic burlesque of gynocentric society. Modern scholars deeply invested in gynocentrism have failed to understand it. One concluded:

the poet makes us highly aware, not only of the importance of the marital system for women, but also of its inadequacies — and in particular, of the potential dire consequences for women whom marriage did not protect. [4]

Did marriage protect men? What explains the reality of family law today? Even now with gender equality being professed as having utmost importance, almost no one cares about men. About the year 1200, The Owl and the Nightingale laughed poetically at that fundamental injustice.

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Notes:

[1] Cartlidge (1997) pp. 162, 177, 199. Cartlidge argues that the poem may date to as late as the 1270s. Id. p. 160. But see Millet (2003), note to l. 729. An influential review of early Middle English literature declared, “all students of mediæval literature … have united in praise of The Owl and the Nightingale.” Wilson (1968) p. 149, quoted in Cartlidge (1997) p. 160.

The Owl and the Nightingale has survived in two manuscripts: London, British Library, MS Cotton Caligula A.ix (C), ff. 233ra-246ra, and Oxford, Jesus College MS 29 (J), ff. 156ra-168vb. Both of these manuscripts apparently date to the second half of the thirteenth century. The Owl and the Nightingale is “one of the earliest substantial texts to be written in Middle English.”

The Owl and Nightingale has probably attracted more scholarly attention than any other Middle English text outside of Chaucer’s works. Scholars have not, however, considered The Owl and Nightingale with respect to men’s gender-distinctive challenges. While The Owl and the Nightingale directly addresses the beastialization of men’s sexuality and castration culture, scholars have largely ignored those significant aspects of the poem.

[2] The Owl and the Nightingale, ll. 1473-80, Middle English text from Stanley (1972), my English translation with help from the translations of Eggers (1955), Gardner (1971), Cartlidge (2001), and Millett (2003). The Middle English text of Atkins (1922) is also freely available online. Subsequent quotes above from The Owl and the Nightingale are similarly sourced. They are (cited by line number in Stanley’s text): 1481-6, No man with wisdom…; 1487-90, And though he not have such fear…; 1491-6, 1503-10, If her lord is physically unable…; 1433-44, A young girl knows not what such is….

[3] In The Owl and the Nightingale, the owl describes men’s sexual passion using the beastly figure of stinging. Yet her description shows some sympathy for the sexual madness that men suffer:

In summer peasant men go mad
cramping and contorting themselves more than a tad,
yet to love this is not due,
but to the mad rush that runs him through.
For when his deed he has done,
all his boldness is lost and gone.
Once he has stung under her gown,
his love lasts no longer and goes down.

{ A sumere chorles awedeþ
And uorcrempeþ and uorbredeþ.
Hit nis for luue noþeles,
Ac is þe chorles wode res;
Vor wane he haueþ ido his dede
Ifallen is al his boldhede;
Habbe he istunge under gore
Ne last his luue no leng more. }

ll. 509-16. Cartlidge commented, “The Owl’s perspective is implicitly gendered — it is male sexuality which she finds so offensive.” Cartlidge (2001) p. 60, explanatory notes to 509-16. That comment seems to me to miss the poem’s critical perspective on demonizing men for their sexuality.

[4] Cartlidge (1997) p. 199. Cartlidge also invokes the antimeninist cliché of the “silence of women.” Id. p. 198. Even medieval peasants would have guffawed in contempt for modern scholarly claims about the silence of women. Gardner at least recognized generally that The Owl and the Nightingale is a “comic burlesque.” Gardner (1971) p. 267.

[image] Owl withdrawn into tree. Excerpt from an image provided under a CCO Public Domain license by Max Pixel.

References:

Atkins, J. W. H, ed. 1922. The Owl and the Nightingale: edited with introduction, texts, notes. Cambridge: University Press.

Cartlidge, Neil. 1997. Medieval marriage: literary approaches, 1100-1300. Cambridge, England: D.S. Brewer.

Cartlidge, Neil, ed. and trans. 2001. The owl and the nightingale: text and translation. Exeter: University of Exeter Press.

Eggers, Graydon, trans. 1955. The Owl and the Nightingale. Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press.

Gardner, John. 1971. The Alliterative Morte Arthure: The Owl and the Nightingale:  and Five Other Middle English Poems in a Modernized Version with Comments on the Poems and Notes. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press.

Millett, Bella, trans. 2003. “The Owl and the Nightingale: Text and Translation.” Wessex Parallel WebTexts (freely available online).

Stanley, Eric Gerald, ed. 1972 (new edition; originally published 1960). The Owl and the Nightingale. Manchester: Manchester University Press.

Wilson, R. M. 1968 (3rd edition; first published in 1939). Early Middle English Literature. London: Methuen & Co.

musa iocosa: vital medieval poetic medicine for pedestalizing women

In response to Dante Alighieri’s Beatrice-pedestalizing Vita Nuova, Giovanni Boccaccio offered the public the powerful poetic medicine of his Corbaccio. Unfortunately, from medieval times to the present, poetry challenging men’s pedestalization of women has largely been relegated to obscurity within gynocentric society. That hurts women by denying women’s humanity. To better serve women, men must collect and study marginalized poetic works celebrating women’s humanity.

caricature of medieval descriptions of female beauty

Men by nature have a propensity to pedestalize women and to imagine that women are like angels. Women’s beauty so overwhelms and transforms men’s minds that they perceive superhuman marvels. The Fair Maid of Ribblesdale, a Middle English poem from no later than the first half of the fourteenth century, exemplifies the problem. The poem begins with a man’s desperate fantasy:

If I were to ride through Ribblesdale
to choose among wild women,
and have whichever one I wanted,
I would find the fairest one
who was ever made of blood and bone —
the one best with the bold in bed.
Like a sunbeam, her face is radiant,
in every land she shines brightly,
by all accounts, as someone told me.
This lily is lovely and slender,
with pink and rose richly intermingled.
A gold thread holds her hair.

{ Most I ryden by Rybbesdale
Wilde wymmen forte wale,
Ant welde wuch Ich wolde,
Founde were the feyrest on,
That ever wes mad of blod ant bon,
In boure best with bolde.
Ase sonnebem, hire bleo ys briht —
In uche londe heo leometh liht,
Thourh tale, as mon me tolde.
The lylie lossum is ant long,
With riche rose ant rode among,
A fyldor fax to folde. } [1]

The poetic persona’s interest in a woman is reasonable but rather narrow — he wants a wild woman who is beautiful and good in bed. Yet the poem concludes with an image of Christian salvation:

He might say Christ favors him
who can at night near her lie —
Heaven he would have here!

{ He myhte sayen that Crist hym seye
That myhte nyhtes neh hyre leye —
Hevene he hevede here! }

The poet imagines his beloved woman to be like an angel. That’s ridiculous. In medieval Christian understanding, a way to Heaven was a full conjugal partnership. That’s not possible for a man to have with an angel.

Even in the twelfth century, the woman-angel was already recognized as conventional in men’s poetry. One twelfth-century poet sought inspiration for something different:

Muse of mirth, come, inspire in your bard songs,
so that I who subsist on novelty may compose.
A maiden too dignified, noble and praised —
how very worthy of love she must be, splendid and dignified.
She glitters with brightness, shines with a face honored,
her hair is truly black-colored.

{ Musa iocosa veni, mihi carmina suggere vati
Fingere quo possim subsisto qui novitati!
Virgo decora nimis, laudabilis et generosa,
Quam peramabilis, atque decora sit, et speciosa!
Hec fulgore micat, facie prefulget honora,
Eius cesaries est certe nigricolora! } [2]

The novelty here is subtle. Men in medieval Europe typically imagined a beautiful woman as having blonde hair. This beautiful woman had black hair. The characterization “too dignified {decora nimis}” foreshadows a subsequent poetic development. But from these lines, the poet continued in the manner of men pedestalizing women:

Her wide brow shines bright with great splendor,
her eyes beneath it are arranged with ardent luster,
her jaws are radiant with resplendent tawny color,
her symmetrical nose deserves no little honor,
her red, plump lips are always redolent with odor,
honeyed speech drips from her mouth as from an orator,
and her speech is full of love, nothing else whatsoever,
her mind is not weighed down with any dolor,
her neck sparkles, her throat is even whiter,
her breast gleams with a treasure even brighter,
her arms are resplendent, splendid with whiteness’s flower,
palm, hand, and fingers are of a milk-white manner,
no woman could shine in bodily beauty better.

{ Libera frons splendet, multo preclara decore,
Lumina sub qua sunt vehementi compta nitore
Maxille radiant fulvo splendente colore
Equalis nasus non parvo dignus honore
Carnea labra rubent redolentia semper odore
Sermonisque favus distillat ab illius ore
Eius et est sermo solummodo plenus amore
Est et mens eius nullo detempta merore
Prerutilat collum cum gutture candidiore
Emicat et pectus thesauro fulgidiore
Brachia prefulgent, candoris fulgida flore
Palma, manus, digiti sunt lactis candida more
Corporis in specie cunctis nitet hec meliore }

From a medieval European perspective, the only explicitly unusual aspect of this description is that the woman had “tawny-colored jaws {maxille … fulvo colore}” rather than white cheeks with a blush of rose. At the same time, the poetic laudatory description seems rather stilted. The final seven verses of this descriptio defy convention and swerve to speak radically of the woman’s humanity:

But what to say of a more praiseworthy matter,
when none may speak of that cause which is nobler,
that hidden area about which the pure are shyer,
here are hips, with something even lovelier —
legs below, filled with great vigor —
that which is never weary with any amount of subduing labor,
supporting the joined legs are feet without any foot-odor.

{ Sed quid dicemus de re laudabiliore
Cum nequeat dici de causa nobiliore
Que latet absconse casto precincta pudore
Hic asstant coxe cum re peramabiliore
Crura quibus subsunt, magno repleta vigore
Que siquidem nullo lassantur victa labore
Cuncta pedes portant, fulgentes absque pedore. }

These lines celebrate the woman’s lovely and vigorous sexual capability while recognizing that she, like a man, is a human being with feet that could smell, even though this woman’s feet don’t. More generally, the concluding reference to foot odor {pedes … absque pedore} ridicules men’s idealistic pedestalizing of women.

In our more doctrinaire and repressive age, challenging the pedestalization of woman is scarcely permitted.[3] Marginalized medieval Latin literature can contribute to desperately needed liberation. Women will not be men’s equals until men stop looking up to women.

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Read more:

Notes:

[1] “Most I ryden by Rybbesdale,” stanza 1, Middle English text and translation (adapted) from Fein (2014). The subsequent quote above is the last three lines of the poem (ll. 82-4), sourced similarly. The adapted translation benefited from the glosses for the textually inferior version at Harvard’s Geoffrey Chaucer Website.

The poem is best not read literally. Despite its description of the women (descriptio), the line “by all accounts, as someone told me” indicates that the poetic voice hasn’t actually seen the woman. Fein’s introduction to the poem declares, “Its distinctive feature is hyperbole.” The poem is also a travesty of the pretenses of courtly love. Ransom (1985) p. 56. In deifying an ordinary flesh-and-blood woman of Ribbesdale, it’s “a superb example of medieval irony.” Jauss (1983) p. 293. The woman of Ribbesdale is like Eve, the flesh-and-blood woman made from Adam’s rib. She isn’t like the extraordinary Mary, the first and preeminent Christian disciple.

[2] “Musa iocosa veni, mihi carmina suggere vati,” ll. 1-6, Latin text from Dronke (1965) vol. 2, pp. 450-1, my English translation, benefiting from that of id. pp. 452-3. Subsequent quotes above provide the rest of the poem and are similarly sourced. Dronke’s translation seems to me to bring out courtliness and obscure earthiness. Dronke dated the poem to the twelfth century. Id. p. 450. The poem has survived in Bodleian Library (Oxford), MS. Codices Latinos et miscellaneos Laudianos complectens 25, folio 3r.

Descriptions of feminine beauty in medieval literature had a rigid structure of description proceeding from the top of the head downward. Ziolkowski observed:

already by the end of the twelfth century rhetoricians were issuing explicit statements on how passe the tableaux of beautiful women had become.

Ziolkowski (1984) p. 4. Medieval literature also developed descriptions of ugly women and men. For a review, id.

[3] A notable exception is the J. Geils Band’s hit song “Centerfold,” released in 1981. The revelatory verse:

Years go by I’m lookin’ through
A girly magazine
And there’s my homeroom angel
On the pages in between

Compared to the medieval Latin poem “Musa iocosa veni, mihi carmina suggere vati,” “Centerfold” is a rather crude song. It’s less humane and lacks a truly critical perspective on dominant gynocentric culture.

[image] Caricature of medieval descriptions of feminine beauty. Illustration (across from p. 25) in The extravagant shepherd, or, The history of the shepherd Lysis: an anti-romance. London: Printed by T. Newcomb for Thomas Heath, 1654. That book is an English translation of the French book Berger Extravagant by Charles Sorel. Image *FC6.So683.Eg653da, Houghton Library, Harvard University, with added slight cropping and increase in color contrast. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

References:

Dronke, Peter. 1965. Medieval Latin and the rise of European love-lyric. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Fein, Susanna Greer, ed. and trans. 2014. “Most I ryden by Rybbesdale.” The Complete Harley 2253 Manuscript, Volume 2, Art. 34 (Booklet 5).

Jauss, David. 1983. “The ironic use of medieval poetic conventions in ‘The Fair Maid of Ribblesdale.’” Neophilologus. 67 (2): 293-304.

Ransom, Daniel R. 1985. Poets at play: irony and parody in the Harley lyrics. Norman, Okla: Pilgrim Books.

Ziolkowski, Jan M. 1984. “Avatars of Ugliness in Medieval Literature.” The Modern Language Review. 79 (1): 1-20.