Douglas Galbi – Page 31

mother-daughter domestic violence in medieval Europe

Policies and institutions addressing domestic violence are typically cesspools of anti-men gender bigotry. Portraying men as violent brutes beating their wives and children is popular, particularly among academics. Documenting women’s violence against men and children tends to be regarded today as hateful, or even worse, anti-feminist. Medieval European literature, however, didn’t harshly prohibit disfavored representations of social reality. Medieval poetry includes poignant, troubling sketches of mother-daughter conflict and mother-daughter violence.

Just as for fathers, most mothers throughout history have dearly loved their children. Despite being a virgin, Mary, the mother of Jesus, was regarded as a model Jewish-Christian mother. Jesus caused his mother heartache and said some cold words about her.[1] Nonetheless, Mary loved her child with all her heart and soul and strength. A twelfth-century poem imagined, during Jesus’s crucifixion, Mary crying out:

Spare my son, I beg you!
Crucify his mother
or nail both of us
to the cross together!
For him to die alone is wrong.
Return to the most sorrowful woman
his body, even lifeless,
so that he so humiliated,
crucified, may grow
with my kisses and embraces.
If only my grief were such
that I died in grieving!
For it is more grievous
to die without dying
than to perish quickly.
{ Nato, quaeso, parcite!
Matrem crucifigite
aut in crucis stipite
nos simul affigite!
Male solus moritur.
Reddite maestissimae
corpus vel exanime
ut sic minoratus
crescat cruciatus
osculis, amplexibus!
Utinam sic doleam,
ut dolore peream!
Nam plus est dolori
sine morte mori
quam perire citius. }[2]

Mary undoubtedly would have lamented likewise if her only daughter was being crucified.

Nonetheless, painful mother-daughter conflicts do occur. These conflicts commonly concern the daughter’s amorous affairs. Galician-Portuguese “songs about a beloved man {cantigas de amigo},” composed between 1200 and 1350, show enduring patterns of mother-daughter conflict. As a matter of family interests, mothers want to know about their daughters’ amorous affairs:

“Daughter, I’d really like to know
something about your boyfriend and you:
how it’s going, or how it’s turning out.”
“Mother, I want to tell you that
I love him and he loves me
and there’s nothing else, I’m telling you.”
{ “Filha, de grado queria saber
de voss’ amig’ e de vós ũa ren:
como vos vai ou como vos aven”
“Eu volo quero, mha madre, dizer:
quero lh’ eu ben e que-lo el a mi
e ben vos digo que non á mais i” }[3]

Mothers tend to suspect that there’s more than what their daughters are telling them. Moreover, some mothers are jealous of their daughters’ affections:

“Tell me, mother, why did you put me
in such a prison, and why did you deprive me
of being able to see my boyfriend?”
“Because, daughter, since you met him
he’s done nothing but try to steal you from me.”
{ “Dizede, madre, por que me metestes
en tal prison, e por que mi tolhestes
que non possa meu amigo veer?”
“Por que, filha, des que o vós conhocestes,
nunca punhou erg’ en mi vos tolher” }[4]

Daughters tend to respond defiantly to restrictions on them seeing their boyfriends:

By God, I beg you, mother, to tell me
what I did to you, that you should guard me
from going to San Leuter to talk with my boyfriend.
Do the worst that you can to me now,
because you won’t guard me, even though you’d like,
from going to San Leuter to talk with my boyfriend.
{ Por Deus vos rogo, madre, que mi digades
que vos mereci que mi tanto guardades
d’ ir a San Leuter falar con meu amigo
Fazede mh ora quanto mal vós poderdes,
ca non me guardaredes, pero quiserdes,
d’ ir a San Leuter falar con meu amigo }[5]

Boyfriends inevitably get embroiled in mother-daughter conflict. Putting their boyfriends at risk of grave criminal punishment, daughters sometimes urge their boyfriends to “abduct” them:

It’s been a long time, my boyfriend, that God didn’t want
me to be able to see you with my eyes,
and yet, for all that, my mother doesn’t keep
her eyes on mine, boyfriend, and since this is so,
arrange for us to leave here, by God,
and then let my mother do whatever she can!
I haven’t seen you for so long, nor could it be,
because my mother prevented it, since she was upset
by this whole thing, and still is, and has kept me
from seeing you, boyfriend, and since this is so,
arrange for us to leave here, by God,
and then let my mother do whatever she can!
Because I haven’t seen you for so long
and haven’t seen any joy since then,
because my mother prevented it, and so made sure
I wouldn’t see you, boyfriend, and since this is so,
arrange for us to leave here, by God,
and then let my mother do whatever she can!
And if you don’t arrange it very soon,
you’ll be killing yourself, boyfriend, and killing me.
{ Gran temp’ á, meu amigo, que non quis Deus
que vos veer podesse dos olhos meus,
e non pon, con tod’ esto, en mi os seus
olhos mha madr’, amig’, e, pois ést’ assi,
guisade de nos irmos, por Deus, daqui,
e faça mha madr’ o que poder des i
Non vos vi á gran tempo nen se guisou,
ca o partiu mha madre, a que pesou
daqueste preit’, e pesa, e min guardou
que vos non viss’, amig’, e, pois ést’ assi,
guisade de nos irmos, por Deus, daqui,
e faça mha madr’ o que poder des i
Que vos non vi á muito, e nulha ren
non vi des aquel tempo de nen un ben,
ca o partiu mha madre, e fez por en
que vos non viss’, amig’, e, pois ést’ assi,
guisade de nos irmos, por Deus, daqui,
e faça mha madr’ o que poder des i
E, se o non guisardes mui ced’ assi,
matades vos, amig’, e matades min }[6]

Criminal law commonly includes the serious crime of “abduction with intent to defile.” That crime is deeply rooted in anti-men gender bias in defining and punishing sexual offenses. Mother-daughter conflict thus can create grave risk of penal harm to men.

Queen Amata scolds Lavinia in Heinrich von Veldeke's Eneasroman

Mother-daughter conflict can more directly lead to domestic violence. Early in the thirteenth century, the minnesinger Neidhart sang about mother-daughter conflict over the daughter Jeute attending a dance:

“Mother dear, if you let me go there,
then I’ll dance proudly in the group
in front of all the guys, so that they’ll have to admit,
and you yourself will see,
that I don’t drag my toes on the ground.”
“Little daughter, if you go to
the one who sang the gympen gæmpel,
— he has been bragging — and if he catches sight of you,
then he’ll set his trap for you.
If you don’t stay home, then I’ll pinch you.”
“You’ll waste your pinches and beatings.
You want to make me angry today
by forbidding me to do what he’s asked of me.
I’ll help him to dance.
Today you’ll weed your garden without Jeute.”
“Get away from me now and be silent!
You tramp, if I catch you,
you’ll do a dance that you’ll regret,
and your back will be sore from it.
I’ll make sure that you give up your tramping around, you toad!”
{ “Muter min, læstu mich dar,
stolzlichen springe ich an der schar
vor den chnappen allen, daz si mir muzzen jehen,
selbe soltu sehen
daz ich uf der erde niht siffel mit der zehen.”
“Tohterlin, tustů den ganch,
du daz gympen gæmpel sanch,
der hat sich vermezzen, und werd im din ein blich,
er lege dir sinen strich.
bistu niht hie helme, dir wirt von mir ein zwich.”
“Zwiche und sleg hastu verlorn.
du wild hiwer ræiczen den zorn,
daz du mir verbiutest des er mich hat gebeten.
ich gehilf im treten,
du must hiwer ane Jeuten dinen garten ieten.”
“Strich von mir balde unde sweich.
hey strouche, und vergen ich dir den steich,
du getust ein springen daz dir ze leide wirt
und dinen rucke swirt.
ich geschaffe daz dich chrot diu ræise gar verbiert.” }[7]

Mothers shouldn’t beat their daughters. Mothers shouldn’t call their daughters tramps, whores, or toads. This vicious mother not surprisingly also demonizes the man who sings the gympen gæmpel, an erotic dance. Demonization of men’s sexuality contributes to the penal justice system vastly gender-proportionately incarcerating persons with penises.

Young women typically seek to wear clothing that attracts the male gaze. In an early thirteenth-century minnesong, Neidhart sang about one young woman who wanted to wear her fine clothes to a feast that a knight she fancied was attending. Her mother forbid her daughter to do so. The daughter responded rebelliously:

“Mother, who gave you such authority
that I must ask your permission to wear my fine clothing?
You didn’t spin a single thread of it.
Stop your fussing.
Where is the key? Open the closet at once.”
The clothing was locked in a chest
that was forced open with a stick.
Nothing worse had ever happened to the old mother.
When her daughter broke her trunk,
she held her tongue and didn’t say anything.
From there the daughter quickly took the little skirt
that was folded in many narrow pleats.
Her belt was a fine band.
The proud young woman threw her colorful ball
into Reuental’s hand.
The old woman took a big stick.
She began to beat and shove her daughter.
“That’s what you’ll get from Reuental.
His coat is ragged.
Now get out, let the devil take you today!”
{ “Muter min, wer gap dir daz ze lêhen,
daz ich iuch mîner wæte solde vlegen?
dern gespunt ir nie vadem.
læzzet ruwen solhen chradem.
Wa nu sluzzel? sliuzz ůf balde mir das gadem.”
Diu wat diu was in einem schrine versperret,
daz wart bi einem staffel ůf zezerret.
diu alte ir leider nie gesah.
do daz chint ir chisten brach,
do gesweig ir zunge, daz si niht ensprach.
Dar uz nam sî daz rochel also balde,
daz was gelegen in maniger chleinen valde.
ir gurtel was ein rime smal.
in des hant von Riwental.
warf diu stolcze maget ir gykelvehen pal.
Diu alte diu begreif einen rochen grozzen.
si begunde ir tohter bliwen unde stozzen.
“daz habe dir des von Riwental.
ruch ist im sîn uberval.
Nu var hin, daz hiut der tivel uz dir chal.” }[8]

Despite this mother projecting her domestic violence onto her daughter’s lover Reuental, the conflict isn’t fundamentally about Reuental. Their conflict is about challenging her authority. In another poem attributed to Neidhart, the mother relents and beats her daughter as she sends her off to meet Reuental:

The mother grabbed a heavy stick.
“All right, then, push off! I’m sick of you.”
She knocked her so hard that the whole house rang.
Everywhere
she gave her many swift blows
and packed her off toward Reuental.
{ Diu muoter diu krift eine kunkel swære.
“nû var hin! dû bist mir gar unmære.”
si gap ir einz, daz in dem hûse erschal;
über al
gap si ir vil starke slege schiere
und schihte sî gein Riuwental. }[9]

Mothers’ authority under gynocentrism is obfuscated. Challenging a mother’s authority makes its existence obvious. That transgression alone can be enough to prompt a violent response.

daughter shows her mature (hirsute) genitals to her medieval mother

Study of mothers and daughters in medieval German literature has put forward intricate intellectual constructions to efface these and other realistic accounts of mothers’ domestic violence against daughters. Effacing mothers’ domestic violence against daughters begins with a wholly imaginary construct: “social contexts that frequently place all women at a disadvantage.”[10] Although now authoritatively revered, no such social context has ever existed. Elite women have led lives of extraordinary privilege. Their privileged lives have depended on the vast majority of men doing dirty, strenuous, dangerous work.

Neidhart’s poems deflate men-abasing courtly love with the undeniable reality of ordinary social life. A highly influential study of mothers and daughters in medieval German literature concluding with a question:

What kinds of reading strategies has the mother-daughter relationship made meaningful for medieval German literature? [11]

If you think that the mother-daughter relationship is about making reading strategies meaningful, you should not have children.

For a realistic appreciation of gender in social history, persons should ask themselves difficult questions. What makes for a long, humane, fulfilling life? Did my father have a longer, more humane, more fulfilling life than my mother? Did my grandfather have a longer, more humane, more fulfilling life than my grandmother? To answer these questions well, it’s best to get to know well your mother and father and grandmother and grandfather. You also have to be capable of empathizing with a gender other than your own. Truthful, informed thoughts about these questions can guide changing your life and changing society.

Apparently lacking the benefit of serious thought about such questions, medieval scholarship has developed an acute gender problem. Study of mothers and daughters in medieval German literature has found “profound ambivalence” and “complex ambiguity.” A peculiar sense of profound ambivalence and complex ambiguity is evident in the overall orientation of a leading study:

the dominant medieval social order, which asserted in multiple ways the dominance of men and the subordination of women, was in fact a diffuse, contradictory, and flexible set of institutionalized power relations. What matters for my way of reading are the contradictions, the ways in which different medieval power relations and different medieval discourse amend and dispute one other. [12]

In such accounts, all is complex, ambiguous, and contradictory except “the dominance of men and the subordination of women.” Unquestioned assertion of “the dominance of men and the subordination of women” (“patriarchy”) is a precondition for participation in this discursive clique. Anti-men gender bias in penal punishment, men’s lifespan shortfall, deeply rooted violence against men and violence against men’s genitals, fundamental gender inequality in parental knowledge, men’s lack of reproductive rights, socially constructed shame in criticizing women — mere mention of such issues makes a person unclubbable in medieval scholarship and academia in general. Medieval scholarship that continues to repress and exclude meninist perspectives exemplifies a grossly hypocritical, substantively incoherent exercise of gender power. It doesn’t deserve to be studied seriously in its complex, tendentious tedium.[13]

Medieval scholarship urgently needs meninist literary criticism. Coercive control in gendered study of domestic violence shouldn’t be reproduced across medieval scholarship on mothers and daughters and other gender topics. Wise, self-respecting men students will prevent such violence against their minds and lives by not studying gender in medieval literature, or by not studying medieval literature at all. That’s a serious loss to men and women. Alienating women and men from their shared, gendered past makes them less humane.

* * * * *

Notes:

[1] Luke 2:41-51 (the boy Jesus, teaching in the Jerusalem temple, didn’t depart with his parents, causing them to search for him anxiously) and Matthew 12:46 (when told that his mother and brethren were outside the house waiting for him, Jesus declared that his mother and brethren are whoever does the will of God).

[2] Carmina Burana, 14 additional, “Earlier not knowing lamentation {Planctus ante nescia},” stanzas 8b-9b, Latin text and English translation (modified slightly) from Traill (2018). Mary similarly cried out:

Spare my child,
Death, don’t spare me!
So you would heal me
as only you can do.
My blessed one, by death
may I be parted from you,
while only, son,
you not be crucified.
{ Parcito proli,
mors, mihi noli!
Tunc mihi soli
sola mederis.
Morte, beate,
separer a te,
dummodo, nate,
non crucieris. }

“Panctus ante nescia,” stanzas 7a-7b, sourced as previously. Mary lamenting at the cross is a central figure in Byzantine laments for Jesus’s crucifixion.

[3] Johan Baveca 6, song about a beloved man {cantiga de amigo}, “Daughter, I’d really like to know {Filha, de grado queria saber}” (B 1227, V 832), stanza 1 (of 3), Galician-Portuguese text (editorial marks eliminated) from Cohen (2003), English translation (modified slightly) from Cohen (2010). Here’s this song at Galician-Portuguese Medieval Songs.

[4] Pedr’ Amigo de Sevilha 11, song about a beloved man {cantiga de amigo}, “Tell me, mother, why did you put me {Dizede, madre, por que me metestes}” (B 1218, V 823), stanza 1 (of 6), Galician-Portuguese text (editorial marks eliminated) from Cohen (2003), English translation (modified slightly) from Cohen (2010). Here’s this song at Galician-Portuguese Medieval Songs.

[5] Lopo 6, song about a beloved man {cantiga de amigo}, “By God, I beg you, mother, to tell me {Por Deus vos rogo, madre, que mi digades}” (B 1253, V 858), stanza 1-2 (of 3), Galician-Portuguese text (editorial marks eliminated) from Cohen (2003), English translation (modified slightly) from Cohen (2010). Here’s this song at Galician-Portuguese Medieval Songs.

[6] Dinis 35, song about a beloved man {cantiga de amigo}, “It’s been a long time, my boyfriend, that God didn’t want {Gran temp’ á, meu amigo, que non quis Deus}” (B 587, V 190), complete song, Galician-Portuguese text (editorial marks eliminated) from Cohen (2003), English translation (modified slightly) from Cohen (2010). Here’s this song at Galician-Portuguese Medieval Songs and at Universo Cantigas.

[7] Neidhart von Reuental, Riedegg Manuscript 23 (R23), “The hedge grows green and is as beautiful as gold {Schon als ein golt grunet der hagen},” stanzas 4-7, Middle High German text and English translation (modified slightly) from Starkey & Wenzel (2016). For an enumeration of all the late medieval Neidhart mother-daughter songs in relation to the manuscript corpus, Bennewitz (2021).

[8] Neidhart von Reuental, Riedegg Manuscript 51 (R51), “Now the frosty winter is finally over {Nu ist der chule winder gar zergangen},” stanzas 5-8, Middle High German text and English translation (modified slightly) from Starkey & Wenzel (2016).

[9] Neidhart von Reuental, Heidelberg, Cod. Pal. germ. 848 (Codex Manesse), “Listen, how the birds all sing {Losa wie die vogel aber doͤnen},” stanza 9, Middle High German text from Wikisource (alternate version) English translation (modified slightly) from Rasmussen (1997) p. 169. Riedegg Manuscript 53 (R53), which is included in Starkey & Wenzel (2016), is nearly the same poem, but lacks this concluding stanza. Note that scholarly practices in transcribing and regularizing Middle High German poems vary considerably.

[10] Rasmussen (1997) p. 222.

[11] Rasmussen (1997) p. 222. With respect to Neidhart’s poems, Rasmussen opines:

Their emphasis on peasant women’s aggression and active sexuality must be viewed not as a reflection of medieval German peasant life but as a parody of medieval aristocratic self-fashioning.

Id. p. 171. That claim seems necessary for Rasmussen’s academic self-fashioning. Persons with appreciation for women’s aggression and women’s active sexuality might well question Rasmussen’s aggressive claim about how representations of women’s aggression and women’s active sexuality “must be viewed.”

[12] Rasmussen (1997) p. 224. On “profound ambivalence” and “complex ambiguity” in Neidhart’s poems, id. p. 172. For “deep and dark ambivalence about the notion of romantic love,” id. p. 77. Romantic love is here associated with “erotic love and marriage.” Whatever romantic love actually is, Rasmussen perceives it as functioning to “reinscribe patriarchal authority by means of a new ideology of power that is founded on a hierarchy of gender and sexuality.” Id. p. 33. That’s tiresome, tendentious academic cant.

With respect to women whoring, Rasmussen described a supposed “literary convention”:

The older woman socializes the younger one by first showing her how she is sexualized (i.e., reduced to a sexual function) and then showing her how to use this cultural assumption to her material advantage.

Id. p. 189 (from chapter headed, “How a Mother Teachers Her Daughter Whoring”). This claim parallels Sanger’s nineteenth-century social science concerning women prostitutes. In this view, the poor dear has no agency as principalities, powers, world rulers, and spiritual hosts of wickedness determine “how she is sexualized (i.e., reduced to a sexual function).” Only in a wholly ideological environment could a young, aspiring whore believe an old whore teaching her such totalitarian doctrine. Woman and men’s sexuality is rooted in more than a billion years of biological evolution. Human sexuality is a central component of human personality and vitally important for creating new human beings. Nonetheless, feeling, thinking human beings cannot actually be “reduced to a sexual function.” If that reality seems common-sensical and uninteresting, scholars might discuss castration culture.

[13] Poor, Beringer & Trokhimenko (2021a) offers a sycophantic panegyric for Ramussen (1997). Lauding “Rasmussen’s path-breaking study,” it declares:

One would be hard pressed to find a person today, in 2021, particularly a scholar, who has not heard of gender and feminist studies. Its methodology and vocabulary are so familiar, so widely applied in, and so deeply interwoven with numerous disciplines from literary criticism to history, cultural studies, and art history (to say nothing of social sciences like anthropology and sociology) that it is hard to imagine a time when terms such as “gender,” “femininity,” or “masculinity” sounded innovative or even radical. This collection of essays, Gender Bonds, Gender Binds, honors Ann Marie Rasmussen, a scholar whose book, Mothers and Daughters in Medieval German Literature (1997), appeared at a time when using this vocabulary to frame the argument of a study of medieval German literature was in fact a courageous act.

Poor, Beringer & Trokhimenko (2021a) p. 1. After being a Professor of German at Duke University from 1988 and chairing the Executive Committee of the Graduate Faculty from 2010 to 2013, Rasmussen in 2015 became Professor and Diefenbacker Memorial Chair in German Literary Studies at the University of Waterloo. Whether her 1997 book was “in fact a courageous act” matters relatively little. What is unquestionably true is this: doing meninist literary criticism today is a very courageous act. More academics should strive to be courageous today.

More academics should also strive to read carefully and think critically. Consider this claim:

Mothers and Daughters did more than simply draw the reader’s attention to the plight of female characters in premodern literary texts as the victims of patriarchal society. Its innovation lay rather in the author’s willingness to examine the complexity of the workings of gender in these medieval texts.

Id. p. 1. Assuming that women characters are “victims of patriarchal society” isn’t consistent with taking seriously “the complexity of the workings of gender.” Certainly such work wasn’t the beginning of the failure of universities. But it probably contributed to lack of diversity and inclusiveness in medieval study of gender:

Rasmussen’s new approach had the effect of opening doors for many to follow in her footsteps. One cannot therefore overestimate the impact of Rasmussen’s Mothers and Daughters on medieval German studies specifically and on medieval studies generally.

Id. p. 2. All the contributors to Poor, Beringer & Trokhimeno (2021) except one apparently are women. That volume wholly excludes insights from meninist literary criticism. It exemplifies the historical development of a serious gender problem in medieval studies today.

[images] (1) Queen Amata scolds Lavinia in Heinrich von Veldeke’s Eneasroman. Detail from folio 69r of Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin, Germany, Ms. germ. fol. 282. The text scoll for Queen Amata reads, “Tell me quickly and loudly what has happened to you, you nasty piece of work {Sag mir drat uber lut waz ist dir geschehen du ubel hut}.” Lavinia’s scroll shows her response, “Lady, I am confused. I don’t know what is wrong with me {Frowe ih bin verirret ih ne waiz was mir wirret}.” Text transcription and English translation from Rasmussen (1997) p. 55. (2) Daughter shows her mature (hirsute) genitals to her mother. Detail of woodblock print from page 43/40 of Neithart Fuchs (Augsburg: Johann Schaur, about 1495), Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Digitale Bibliothek, Inc. 8° 100996. The daughter’s gesture toward her mother is similar to Carfania, a Roman senator’s well-educated wife, mooning a judge.

References:

Bennewitz, Ingrid. 2021. “Mothers and Daughters Revisited: The Mother-Daughter Songs in the Context of the Later Neidhart Tradition.” Ch. 6 (pp. 137-159) in Poor, Berninger & Trokhimenko (2021b).

Cohen, Rip. 2003. 500 Cantigas d’Amigo. Porto: Campo das Letras.

Cohen, Rip. 2010. The Cantigas d’Amigo: An English Translation. Online. 2016 edition.

Poor, Sara S., Alison L. Beringer, and Olga V. Trokhimenko. 2021a. “Introduction.” Pp. 1-23 in Poor, Berninger & Trokhimenko (2021b).

Poor, Sara S., Alison L. Beringer, and Olga V. Trokhimenko, eds. 2021b. Gender Bonds, Gender Binds: Women, Men, and Family in Middle High German Literature. Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter.

Rasmussen, Ann Marie. 1997. Mothers and Daughters in Medieval German literature. Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press.

Starkey, Kathryn and Edith Wenzel. 2016. Neidhart: selected songs from the Riedegg Manuscript (Staatsbibliothek Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin, mgf 1062). Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, Western Michigan University.

Traill, David A. 2018, ed. and trans. Carmina Burana. Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library, 48-49. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.

failure of universities began in the twelfth century

In twelfth-century Europe, the learned poet Hugh Primas and the ardently loving grammarian Serlo of Wilton were friends. Hugh teased Serlo with a grammatical epigram in the style of Serlo’s poem “A flower to the flower of flowers {Flos floris flori}.” Serlo responded wittily, perhaps insinuating about bestiality in Apuleius’s Metamorphoses in relation to Hugh’s poem “You’ve sent for a whore to come from the brothel, but until she’s prepared {Iussa lupanari meretrix exire, parari}”:

Primas to Serlo:
A scoundrel sends obscurities to a scoundrel.
Serlo in response:
No thanks be for your gift on account of “to a scoundrel.”
You who were once an ass to me, will always be an ass.
{ Primas Serloni:
Nebulo nebulas nebuloni.
Serlo e contra:
Null tui doni sit gratio pro ‘nebuloni’
Et michi, qui quondam, semper asellus eris. }[1]

Hugh didn’t complain to an assistant dean at Serlo’s university (probably Oxford or Paris) that Serlo had committed a micro-aggression against him. Perhaps Hugh wrote an even wittier or nastier epigram in response. Unfortunately, no such response has survived.

Serlo was unafraid of criticizing his peers. He chastised canons, learned men associated with cathedral schools:

Our canons owe their name to canon law,
for they serve well the caNOns, with NO attached.
{ Nostri canonici debent a canone dici,
Namque quod est canon bene servant, apposita non. }[2]

Serlo’s point was that canons should respect church canon law instead of violating it. Serlo, however, wasn’t seeking to invoke a formal penal apparatus like that which now predominately punishes persons with penises.

Serlo taught grammar, probably to persons about the age of those in high school today. He taught classic Latin hexameter verse, poetic quantities, and homonyms through earthy examples:

I love one from whose hook I’m never released.
{Unam semper amo, cuius non solvar ab hamo.}
Always avoid love, lest you lose yourself, my dear.
{Semper amore care, ne tu careas, mihi care.}
Often I say to my lady, “Say this to me: ‘Cling here to me at night.'”
{Dico frequenter here “michi dic: michi noctibus here.”}
You give me kisses full of honey; therefore I have bestowed my favors on you.
{Basia plena favi mihi das; ideo tibe favi.}
Even by constant prayer, I can’t be freed from the yoke of love.
{Expers esse iugi Veneris nequeo prece iugi.}
It’s pleasing to take my joy in such a way that my lover tastes my joy.
{Sic gaudere libet, ut amans mea gaudia libet.}
To die in love is to give oneself over to the rule of Venus.
{Est in amore mori Veneris se subdere mori.}
I say to my dear woman “stay” when I should arise in the morning.
{Care dico “mane,” cum debeo surgere mane.}
My sins make me sad, yet I deserve worse.
{Me mea merentem faciunt mala plura merentem.}
I recognize this about love: when it is recognized, I do not know myself.
{Hoc in amore noto, quod eo me nescio noto.}
You have beauty, Thais, to which I aspire more than anything else.
{Est tibi, Thay, nitor, in quem super omnia nitor.}
No one pleases a whore unless he satisfies her right hand with a gift.
{Scorto nemo placet nisi dextram munere placet.}
Serlo, like one unskilled, is taught how to take advantage of love.
{Serlo docetur uti, non doctus amoribus uti.}
The time is coming: come, my love! You will come. I have already come.
{En venit hora: veni, mea! Tu venies, ego veni.}
When you stumble after drinking wine, it’s not the wine’s fault, but yours.
{Cum post vina labes, non vini sed tua labes.}
We think it’s the sound of your foot, but it’s only you farting, you glutton.
{Credimus esse pedis strepitum, tu, turgide, pedis.}
Those turnips which you are devouring cause gas.
{Quas tu dente rapis, comes est inflacio rapis.}[3]

With such teaching, Serlo wouldn’t have survived a week within the repressive, intolerant environment of universities today.

masters meeting at the medieval university of Paris

Teaching institutions were changing significantly in twelfth-century Europe. General educations in cathedral schools and master-focused institutions gave way to large, professional universities. These universities were in major cities such as Bologna, Paris, and Oxford. Universities inculcated narrow, arcane ideology with little connection to ordinary speaking and understanding.[4] The ivory-tower intellectual provincialism of universities began in the twelfth century. Formerly canonical educational works for men such as Maximianus’s elegies, Claudian’s The Abduction of Proserpina {De raptu Proserpinae}, and Statius’s About Achilles {Achilleid} faded from teaching. Universities from the twelfth century began to contribute to the castration culture that tormented Peter Abelard and makes many men reluctant to attend universities today.

Serlo of Wilton knew the discomfort of a comfortable but personally barren environment. Settled probably in the coastal city Antibes in southern France, Serlo complained about his languishing creativity:

Just as it is bright in bright light and fine in fine air,
so human sense becomes leaden in leaden air.
A fatherland of sheep-like people disturbs my poems and me.
My work is weak, lacking in the weaving of Minerva.
Now far from Parnassus’s summit, instead of the Muses I’ve seen the Gorgon.
Having turned into stone, I make stony verses.
Now I contrive nothing as I once did. I banish my poems and myself,
so that if you were to unroll the verses, you would say mine aren’t equal to mine.
I conceal the name of the place that has given me such an omen.
I conceal it very zealously. “Why?” you ask. That I also conceal.
The issue by the signs is known, so that the state without a name is known.
{ Ut clarus clarum rarusque per aera rarum,
Sic hominis sensus denso fit in aere densus.
Patria vervecum turbat mea carmina mecum:
Est opus enerve, pinguis textura Minerve.
Jam procul a Nisa, pro Musis Gorgone visa,
In scilicem versus silicernos fabrico versus.
Nil ego sicut ego mediter, mea meque relego;
Nam metra si replices, non equa meis mea dices.
Celo loci nomen quo tale mihi datur omen.
Celo bono zelo; causam petis? Hanc quoque celo.
Rem per signa nota; sic res sine nomine nota. }[5]

Like for professors and students at a well-funded university, life was good and easy for Serlo in Antibes. He had good reasons to stay:

I delight in the leader, the people, and the land. You say “flee.” I refuse,
for having reached this pleasant place, I’ll leave only if compelled.
Fate may drive me away unwilling, but for nothing will that deed happen by my willing.
With no exceptions, no place is suitable for those who can’t be suited.
If I’m ever well-regarded, it’s here. If not here, than I’ll not be well-regarded anywhere.
{ Principe, gente, solo delector. Dic “Fuge”: nolo.
Namque locum nactus dulcem, discedo coactus:
Fors me nolentem pellet, res nulla volentem.
Nullis exceptis, locus omnis ineptus ineptis.
Non hic si nusquam, probus hic ero si probus usquam }

But the heart suffers for reasons that reason doesn’t understand:

Here however I suffer because the muse Clio doesn’t thrive here.
The poetic Muses, excluded, are not part of the custom here.
{ Hoc tamen excipio quia non viget hic ita Clio;
Excluse muse non sunt his partibus use. }

Serlo left that place. Poetic spirit is a terrible thing to waste.

Large, professionalized universities tend to crush creative, poetic spirits. That began to happen in the twelfth century. Writing then, the Archpoet, one of the greatest poets of all time, wasn’t a professor at a university. Universities excluded the critical gender grammar of Matheolus and supported other worldly abstractions like courtly love. Now universities have more stifling administrative bureaucracies and more rigidly impose oppressive ideological dogmas. The future of universities is grim unless they adapt to include masters like Serlo of Wilton and lively, earthy teaching of grammar.

If I’m pleasing to none, what could be dearer to anyone than nothing more?
This place is bounded: the end comes, so farewell.
{ Si placeo nulli, quis nullo carius ulli?
Hic locus est mete: venit explicit. Ergo valete. }[6]

University of Paris, Sorbonne, main entrance

* * * * *

Notes:

[1] Serlo of Wilton 75 (Öberg number), “Verses of Primas {Versus Primatis},” Latin text from Rigg (1992) p. 72, my English translation, benefiting from that of id. and Solan (1973). These epigrams appear among the proverbs of Serlo in Oxford, Digby 53, fol. 15, col. 2. Friend (1954) p. 86.

The second line of Serlo’s response quotes the last line of the fable Avianus 5, “About the donkey who put on a lion’s skin {De asino pelle leonis induto}.”

[2] Serlo of Wilton 74, Latin text from Rigg (1992) p. 72, my English translation, benefiting from that of id. and Solan (1973). A poem attributed to Hugh Primas and alternately to Serlo of Wilton similarly criticizes authorities’ hypocrisy:

You, canon, who makes a canon, canonized me,
and you, canon, who makes not a canon, decanonized me.
It’s reprobate to reprove the upright, whom you reprove.
Thus, by reprobating the upright, you are proven to be reprobate.
{ Canonicum qui canonice me canonicastis,
Canonicum non canonice decanonicastis.
Est reprobum reprobare probum, quem vos reprobatis,
Sic reprobos, reprobando probos, vos esse probatis. }

Latin text from Werner (1905) p. 78 (number 163), my English translation. These verses, which appear in manuscripts after Serlo’s proverbs, suggest that “Hugh and Serlo are associated together in grammar texts probably designed for use in the schools.” Friend (1954) p. 57. On the instructional context of Serlo’s proverbs, Friend (1954).

[3] Serlo of Wilton 2, “Verses about differences {Versus de differenciis},” excerpts, Latin text from Hunt (1991) vol. 3, pp. 126-31, English translation (modified slightly) from Solan (1972). Hunt’s Latin text comes from MS. Cambridge, Gonville and Caius College 136, pp. 61-5. Such verses are also called “differentiated verses {versus differentiales}.”

Serlo’s poem provides early examples of versus differentiales. Such verses later become a well-recognized form in medieval grammar education. A variety of authorities, including Christian of Lilienfield and William of Corberon, wrote such verses. Solan (1973) p. 86. Here’s an online collection of over 500 medieval versus differentiales.

[4] On the depersonalization of teachers in the development of universities, Wei (2011). Twelfth-century critics of universities emphasized the unity of knowledge, sharing learning freely and willingly, and education’s broad purposes and moral vision. John of Salisbury, particularly with his Metalogicon, was a leading critic of the nascent universities and the “Cornificians” who dominated them. For an English translation of the Metalogicon, McGarry (1955). On twelfth-century critics of universities, Ferruolo (1985).

In the middle of the twelfth century, corrupt church authorities were illegally imposing financial burdens on teachers. In a letter to King Louis VII of France, Serlo complained about being illegally forced to pay for the “right to teach {licentia docendi}” at a cathedral school in Paris:

O king, a man more than a man, prevent the destruction of the schools.
O king, more a man than a king, take control of the weapons of Pallas Athena.
Here I hide that in this, Simon, your fury Erinys reigns,
nor do I say that I am ordered to pay to teach school.
We are miserably treated: we are forced to pay and to keep quiet.
I teach by this law: I pay and refuse to be paid.
Yet in the law is written: “Whosoever of you teach,
speak the truth. When that is done, that shall be sufficient.”
Therefore I tell you, highest king, I teach openly, and I pay secretly.
But the law forbids this. I ask that I not be asked to pay.
Heir of Jove, constrain the heir of Simon so that I would not pay.
Rule me, you who rule all in the name of the king.
{ Rex, homo plus homine, studii succurre ruine;
Rex, homo plus rege, Palladis arma rege.
Hoc celo quod in his, Simon, tua regnat Erynnis,
Nec loquor istud ego: doque scolasque rego.
Tractamur misere, dare cogimur atque tacere;
Hac ego lege lego, doque darique nego.
Ast in decretis legitur: “Quicumque docetis
Verum dicatis: hoc date sitque satis.”
Ergo tibi pando, rex summe palam lego, clam do
Sed decreta vetant: hoc peto ne qua petant.
Simonis heredem, Iovis heres, comprime ne dem;
Me rege qui regis nomine cuncta regis. } 26-37

Serlo of Wilton 16, “Serlo, the least of his subjects, to the King of the French {Regi Francorum minimus sic Serlo suorum}” / “Blessed Terpsichore, whose voice rings worthy of Jove’s mouth {Felix Tersicore, que digna sonat Iouis ore},” vv. 26-37, Latin text from Friend (1954) p. 109, my Latin translation, benefiting from that of Solan (1973). Simon refers to Simon the Magician of Acts 8:9-24. Serlo probably wrote this letter between 1150 and 1170.

[5] Serlo of Wilton 24, “About his exile {De exsilio suo}” / “Just as it is bright in bright light and fine in fine air {Ut clarus clarum rarusque per aera rarum},” vv. 1-11, Latin text from Friend (1954) pp. 96-7, benefiting from that of id. and Solan (1974). The subsequent two quotes above are similarly from “De exsilio suo,” vv. 42-6 (I delight in the leader, the people, and the land…) and vv. 48-9 (Here however I suffer…).

[6] Serlo of Wilton 2, “Verses about differences {Versus de differenciis},” vv. 9, 200 in the Latin text of Hunt (1991), but the concluding couplet in the critical edition of Öberg (1965); my English translation, benefiting from that of Solan (1973).

[images] (1) Masters meeting at the medieval university of Paris. Illumination made between 1512 and 1541 by Étienne Colaud. Preserved in Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris, MS. Français 1537, folio 27v. Via Wikimedia Commons. (2) Modern entrance to the University of Paris, Sorbonne. Photograph made in 2007. Via Wikimedia Commons.

References:

Ferruolo, Stephen C. 1985. The Origins of the University: the schools of Paris and their critics, 1100-1215. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

Friend, A. C. 1954. “The Proverbs of Serlo of Wilton.” Mediaeval Studies. 16: 179-218.

Friend. A. C. 1954. “Serlo of Wilton: the early years.” Archivium Latinitatis Medii Aevii (ALMA). 24: 85–110. Alternate source.

Hunt, Tony. 1991. Teaching and Learning Latin in Thirteenth-Century England. Cambridge, UK: Brewer.

McGarry, Daniel D., trans. 1955. The Metalogicon of John of Salisbury: a twelfth-century defense of the verbal and logical arts of the trivium. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

Öberg, Jan, ed. 1965. Serlon de Wilton: Poèmes Latins. Stockholm: Almqvist och Wiksell. Table of poems.

Rigg, A. G. 1992. A History of Anglo-Latin Literature, 1066-1422. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Solan, Edward William. 1973. A Study of the Life and Works of Serlo of Wilton. Ph.D. Thesis, Language and Literature, Indiana University.

Wei, Ian P. 2011. “From Twelfth-Century Schools to Thirteenth-Century Universities: The Disappearance of Biographical and Autobiographical Representations of Scholars.” Speculum. 86 (1): 42-78.

Werner, Jakob, ed. 1905. Beiträge zur Kunde der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters. Aarau: H.H. Sauerländer.

addressing gender inequality in love must be policy priority

The massive gender protrusion in paying for dinner dates remains remarkably firm. How many women take the initiative to ask men out so as to lessen men’s gender burden of risking amorous rejection? As men painfully understand, the question is seldom asked. Sexual feudalism should have ended hundreds of years ago.

Men historically have performed arduous feats to earn women’s love. The thirteenth-century minnesinger Tannhäuser explained what he was required to do to earn his beloved woman’s love:

My lady wishes to reward
my service and my loyalty.
Let’s thank her, all with one accord,
for having been so kind to me.
I need only to cause the Rhine
to flow no more through Coblenz land
and she will grant a wish of mine.
She’d also like some grains of sand
from out the sea where sets the sun,
then she’ll give heed to my request.
She wants a star, the nearest one
will do, it need not be the best.
My love is strong,
whate’er her song
I will not think she does me wrong,
her, my own,
to God alone
and to no other is this fair lady known.
If from the moon I steal the glow,
then may I have this noble wench.
And she’ll reward me well, I know,
if ’round the world I dig a trench.
If like the eagle I might fly,
then she would welcome my advances,
that is, if none could soar so high.
Or if I broke a thousand lances
within a day, as did the sire
of Parzival to win the prize,
she’d gladly do what I desire,
‘t will cost my plenty otherwise.
My love is strong,
whate’er her song
I will not think she does me wrong,
her, my own,
to God alone
and to no other is this fair lady known.
If I the Elbe’s waters bound,
I’d be rewarded. Could I make
the Danube flow without a sound,
she’d love me well for custom’s sake.
A salamander I must bring
to her from searing fire and flame,
then she will grant me anything
that any loving knight might claim.
When I turn aside the rain
and snow, I’ve often heard her say,
and make the summer wax and wane,
then I shall have a lover’s pay.
My love is strong,
whate’er her song
I will not think she does me wrong,
her, my own,
to God alone
and to no other is this fair lady known.
{ Min frouwe diu wil lonen mir,
der ich so vil gedienet han.
des sult ir alle danken ir,
si hat so wol ze mir getan.
Si will, daz ich ir wende den Rin,
daz er für Kobelenze iht ge:
so wil si tuon den willen min.
mac ich ir bringen von dem se
Des grienes, da diu sunne get
ze reste, so wil si mich wern.
ein sterne da bi nahe stet,
des wil si von mir niht enbern.
Ich han den muot, swaz si mir tuot,
daz sol mich allez dunken guot.
si hat sich wol an mir behuot
diu reine.
sunder got al eine
so weiz die frouwen nieman, diech da meine.
Ich muoz dem manen sinen schin
benemen, sol ich si behaben.
so lonet mir diu frouwe min,
mac ich die werlt al umbe graben.
Meht ich gefliegen als ein star,
so taet diu liebe, des ich ger,
und hohe sweiben als ein ar,
und ich zemale tusent sper
Vertaete als min her Gamuret
vor Kamvoleis mit richer jost,
so taet diu frouwe mine bet.
sus muoz ich haben hohe kost.
Ich han den muot, swaz si mir tuot,
daz sol mich allez dunken guot.
si hat sich wol an mir behuot
diu reine.
sunder got al eine
so weiz die frouwen nieman, diech da meine.
Si giht, muge ich der Elbe ir fluz
benemen, so tuo si mir wol,
dar zuo der Tuonouw iren duz.
ir herze ist ganzer tugende vol.
Den salamander muoz ich ir
gebringen uz dem fiure her,
so wil diu liebe lonen mir
und tuot ze mir, des ich da ger.
Mac ich den regen und den sne
erwenden, des hoer ich si jehen,
dar zuo den sumer und den kle,
so mac mir liep von ir geschehen.
Ich han den muot, swaz si mir tuot,
daz sol mich allez dunken guot.
si hat sich wol an mir behuot
diu reine.
sunder got al eine
so weiz die frouwen nieman, diech da meine. }[1]

Just like celibate men, women who are unknown to any man should be respected. But men should not internalize as right their subservience to women. Tannhäuser’s lady is doing him wrong. Tannhäuser and his readers should recognized men’s subservience in love to women as a wrong against gender equality. They should denounce that wrong with more vigor than they denounce restrictions on schools instructing children on sexual orientation and gender identity prior to fourth grade.

Men have too seldom protested against gender inequality in love. The early thirteenth-century minnesinger Neidhart raised a rare voice of men’s protest:

I have always been fonder of women than they are of me.
It does not suit them well
that I have to pay for it.
Alas, that love does not bring shared fidelity!
This has been revealed between me and a woman
who is not so inclined towards me as I am towards her.
And so my life is wasted.
It’s unjust that love is so unbalanced.
Earlier when
love was balanced,
love did not have a single crack.
No one ask me any more about it!
It will remain chipped from today until doomsday.
{ Ich was ie den wiben holder danne si mir sin.
daz ich des enkelten sol
daz enzimt in niht ze wol.
owe, daz diu hebe niht gemeiner triuwen phligt.
des ist zwischen mir und einem weibe worden schin.
diu ist mir niht als ich ir bin.
so get mir min leben hin.
ez ist ane reht daz liebe niht geliche wigt.
do diu liebe wach
hie bevor gelicher wage,
done het diu liebe ninder chrach.
niemen mich dar umbe mere vrage:
diu hat nü scharten hinnevür unz an den lesten tach. }[2]

Apparently suffering from internalized misandry, Neidhart went on to blame men for gender inequality in love:

Who is truly at fault?
We are lacking in two things:
that we men are not chaste, nor do we use fair scales
that may be balanced equally
between heart’s desire and love.
{ der die waren schulde hat.
zweier dinge gat uns abe,
daz wir man niht cheusche sin noch rehter wage wegen,
diu geliche trage
herzenliep gein der minne. }

Why can’t men have it all — heart’s desire and love? That question deserves at least as vigorous a conversation as why women can’t have it all.

Without vigorous policies to promote gender equality for men in love, heterosexual relations will remain chilly. A medieval poet prophetically described today’s calamitous love season:

Silent are the little birds
that used to put forth songs
and make for pleasant hours
in the woods.
The ground lacks grass,
the sun shines with reluctant beams,
and the days run quickly.
All power to serve Venus
lies torpid in our hearts.
Passion has departed from our chests.
Now heat gives way to cold.
Curse winter,
you who are accustomed to enjoying
pleasant hours of spring.
In every suitable place
the delight of conversation
with the female sex
has totally vanished.
For the season that has ended
may there be everlasting honor
and offering of gratitude.
{ Nam conticent aviculae,
que solebant in nemore
cantica depromere
et voluptates gignere.
Tellus caret gramine;
sol lento micat iubare
et dies currunt propere.
Ad obsequendum Veneri
vis tota languet animi.
Fervor abest pectori;
iam cedit calor frigori.
Maledicant hiemi,
qui veris erant soliti
amoenitate perfrui.
In omni loco congruo
sermonis oblectatio
cum sexu femineo
evanuit omnimodo.
Tempori praeterito
sit decus in perpetuo
et gratiarum actio. }[3]

Can loving women and men do anything other than study medieval literature and lament?

Innovative policy initiatives can lessen gender inequality in love. The wise Greek lawmaker Solon established institutions equitably serving men’s needs. But men deserve better than state-run brothels. Men deserve better than being deprived of reproductive rights and being railroaded in anti-men sex-discriminatory family courts. Men deserve to be loved completely in the fullness of their natural being. No man should be oppressed under involuntary celibacy. No man should feel compelled to engage in abortion coercion. A society that does not support its men will not long endure.

* * * * *

Notes:

[1] Tannhäuser 10 (Codex Manesse), Middle High German text from edition of Siebert (1934) via Bibliotheca Augustana, English translation (modified slightly) from Thomas (1974). Thomas provides a diplomatic edition of the Middle High German. I’ve supplied Siebert’s text for ease of reading.

[2] Neidhart von Reuental, Riedegg Manuscript 24 (R24), “Now I mourn the flowers and the bright summertime {Nu chlach ich die blumen und die liehten sumerzit},” stanza 6, Middle High German text and English translation (modified slightly) from Starkey & Wenzel (2016). The subsequent quote above is similarly from this song, vv. 7.6-10. For some of Neidhart songs with English translations, see the lyrics to Ensemble Leones’s recording Neidhart: Minnesinger and His Vale of Tears (A) – Songs and Interludes. Here’s the Ensemble Leones’s recording of this song.

[3] Carmina Burana 3 additional, The Marner, “Long past now summer {Iam dudum aestivalia / Iam dudum estivalia},” stanzas 2-4 (of 5), Latin text and English translation (modified) from Traill (2018). This poem closely follows in theme and poetic form Walther von der Vogelweide’s “The world was radiant {Diu welt was gelf}.” Id. vol. 2, p. 722 (note).

[images] (1) The minnesinger Tannhäuser. Illustration from Codex Manesse, made between 1305 and 1315. Manuscript preserved as UB Heidelberg, Cod. Pal. germ. 848, folio 264r. Thanks to University of Hiedelberg and Wikimedia Commons. (2) Tannhäuser in the house of Venus. Painting by John Collier in 1901. Preserved as accession # SOPAG:95 in the Atkinson Art Gallery and Library (Southport, Lancashire, UK). Via Wikimedia Commons. This painting is based on Richard Wagner’s opera Tannhäuser (1845).

References:

Thomas, J. W. 1974. Tannhäuser: poet and legend, with texts and translations of his works. University of North Carolina Studies in the Germanic Languages and Literatures, no.77. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1974.

Traill, David A. 2018, ed. and trans. Carmina Burana. Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library, 48-49. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.

Straparola’s riddles in tolerant discourse of gender difference

In the relatively liberal and tolerant pre-modern period, persons of different gender told each other riddles without fear. At the oracle of Delphi in ancient Greece, a priestess (Phythia) told riddles to men and women. In ancient Israel, the Queen of Sheba tested King Solomon with riddles. Gendered Anglo-Saxon riddles have survived from the seventh century. Early in the sixteenth century, a group of aristocratic Italian women and men gathered to share stories and riddles.[1] Some of their riddles provide important perspectives on gender, yet such riddles would be harshly repressed in many places today.

Consider a riddle that Lodovica shared with her friends:

Gentle dames, I go to find
a friend to me that’s cheer and kind,
and having found it, next I’m seen
to set it straight my knees between,
and then I rouse the life that dwells
within, and soon its virtue tells
as to and fro my hand I sway,
beneath my touch sweet ardors play —
delights which might a savage move,
and make you faint through too much love.
{ Cortesi donne mie, vommi a trovare
L’amico che mi dà tanto diletto.
Ed ivi giunta, tosto me ’l fo dare,
E tra una coscia e l’altra me lo metto
Quella novella poi, che rallegrare
Tutte vi face, piglio; e inanzi e indietro
Menandola, ne manda un dolce fuore,
Che languire vi fan spesso d’amore. }[2]

Some of the women criticized Lodovica for her riddle. But they didn’t denounce her on Twitter, try to get her fired from her job, and urge that her bank account be frozen. Lodovica explained that critics of her riddle were projecting their own moral failings:

Those of you who have smutty and malign minds can only imagine things nasty and evil. It’s you who have judged my words to mean something entirely foreign to my own conception of them. This riddle of mine is intended simply to describe the viola da gamba. When a lady desires to play it and so give delight to her friends, she places it between her knees. Then, taking the bow in her right hand, she moves it to and fro so that she can draw forth from her instrument those sweet sounds that at times make us all languish in love.
{ Un mal disposto stomaco non getta fuori se non cose triste e cattive. Voi che avete il stomaco tutto disconcio, giudicate quello che non è l’intento mio. L’enimma adunque dimostra il violone, il quale la donna, per sonare e dar trastullo ad altrui, mette tra l’una coscia e l’altra; e preso il plettro con la destra mano, quello mena su e giù, onde ne uscisse un dolce suono, che d’amore fa tutti languire. }

No one should be criticized for recognizing and appreciating love.

Meninist literary critics have identified pervasive historical disparagement and brutalization of penises. Such scholars might study with suspicion Arianna’s riddle:

Rough, long, and round am I to sight,
yet ladies find in me delight.
They take me with a laughing face
and find for me a fitting place.
They handle me in knowing wise,
and put me where my business lies.
Next prick and pinch me, till I’m fain
to do their will once and again.
Now, ladies, if this thing you tell,
’tis plain to me you know it well.
{ Grande e brutto son io, grosso e rotondo,
Ed a le donne do molto diletto.
Elle m’abbracian con viso giocondo,
E fra le coscie lor mi tengon stretto.
Elle pungonmi e danno, ed io secondo
Lor voglie star convengo al mio dispetto.
Donne, se questa cosa indovinate,
Dirò ben certo che sete fatate. }

Describing men as rough tends to associate them with beasts. Rough can even insinuate rape. Arianna, however, explained that her riddle describes a form upon which women place cloth to be embroidered.

A man with fine knowledge of literary history identified a possible anti-meninist dog-whistle in a riddle. Eritrea told the riddle:

I am supple, round, and white,
a good span’s length will gauge me right.
If ladies to their service bind me,
searching and alert they’ll find me.
Give me but place, and lend a hand,
I’ll enter and I’ll take my stand.
But touch me not, on mischief bent,
or dirty fingers you’ll lament.
{ Bianca e tonda son’io, non molto dura;
Grossa, che la man m’empie, è cosa vera.
A le femine c’han grand’apertura,
Me le ficco nel corpo tutta intiera.
Minor a’ maschi fo di me misura,
E dentro a lor mi vò più assai leggiera.
E chi mi prende mi stringe pian piano,
Temendo d’inlordarsi al fin la mano. }

About what is her riddle?

“Your riddle, Lady Eritrea, can mean nothing other than giving a soul to the devil. But be careful that you don’t put the devil into Hell, because it may heat up,” said Bembo to her.
{ Il vostro enimma, signora Eritrea, altro non significa che dar l’anima al diavolo; ma vardate che non si metta il diavolo nell’inferno, perchè s’abbruscierà, disse il Bembo. }

Eritrea declared that her riddle had no such meaning. In other words, she wasn’t referring to a man’s penis as a devil that enters the gateway that nature made for procreation. Men’s penises in fact are not diabolic. According to Eritrea, her riddle concerned a tallow candle.

While gynocentric scholars have tended to marginalize concern about gynocentrism, one should recognize that a woman governed this group and that most of the story-tellers / riddlers were women. Consider the extent to which gynocentrism shaped Cateruzza’s riddle:

What thing is that we ladies prize?
Five fingers’ breadth will tell its size,
different fair nooks you find inside,
no outlet, though the gate is wide.
The first attempt will give us pain,
for free access is hard to gain.
But later it grows long and straight,
and large and small accommodates.
{ Qual cosa è tra noi donne e damigelle,
Larga non più, nè men di cinque dita;
Dentro ritien diverse e vaghe celle.
Con buona entrata, ma priva d’uscita.
Al primo entrar vi fa guardar le stelle.
Per non trovarsi libera ispedita;
Ma poi vien lunga stretta, larga e tonda,
Quanto più e meno la grossezza abonda. }[3]

This riddle explicitly begins with women’s valuations — what ladies prize. Men hear women’s valuations repeatedly. Men’s internalization of women’s valuations historically led to sexual feudalism in which men were effectively serfs. Obscuring these systemic injustices, Cateruzza stated that her riddle was about a glove.

One must be attentive to men’s voices. The man Trevisan interrupted the stream of women’s voices using a woman’s voice:

Its length and breadth shall I disclose?
Upon my lap it nestles close.
I stroke it and I hold it tight —
till all around it gives delight.
Fair ladies, is it strange to you
it does its work correct and true?
Though rapture sweet within may dwell,
’tis passive till it knows me well.
{ Un palmo e più lo toglio, e non in vano,
Ed ei col cul nel grembo mio si sede;
Io l’accareccio, e lo meno per mano,
E dò diletto a chi l’ascolta e vede.
Donne amorose, non vi paia strano,
Perchè il mistier fo con misura a fede.
E molto mi contenta il dolce suono,
Lo tengo duro fin che il mi sa buono. }[4]

The key verse is the concluding one: “’tis passive till it knows me well.” This verse challenges sexually stereotyping men as dogs. Nonetheless, Trevisan said that his riddle was about playing a lute. Lute players historically have been predominately men. Men trobairitz played their lutes to please privileged women in elite courts. Like a lute player, Trevisan used his wit to demonstrate men in their bodily being providing pleasure to women despite not being financially remunerated.

Ordinary gendered discourse, and life as well, seldom are as subtle as a riddle. Late in the twelfth century, the minnesinger Heinrich von Veldeke complained:

They’ve said it’s true, for many a year,
that women hate gray hair.
That makes it hard for me —
and a shame for them
if they prefer their lovers
clumsy rather than wise.
As much or as little as I am gray,
a feeble wit in women is what I hate.
They’d rather have
new tin than old gold.
They say they favor the young ones
because they cannot wait.
{ Man seit al fúr war
manig iar
dú wib hassen grawes har
das ist mir swar
vnd ist ir misse pris
dú lieber hat ir amis
tvmb danne wis
Dest me noch dest min
das ich gra bin
ich hasse an wiben kranken sin
das si núwes zin
nement fúr altes golt
si iehent si sin den ivngen holt
dvrh vngedolt }[5]

Men have long carried a sexual burden of performance. Men’s impotence is an epic disaster. Women who won’t wait for older men are complicit in systemic gender injustice. You should be able to solve such riddles.

* * * * *

Notes:

[1] Riddling is probably co-extensive with story-telling in most linguistic fields. The leading scholar of Italian riddles observed:

Riddling in Italy goes back to the earliest vernacular records. The oldest is written in Venetian dialect and dates back to the end of the eight or the beginning of the ninth century.

De Filippis (1947) p. 136. For more on the history of riddles in Italy, De Filippis (1948).

[2] Giovanni (Zoan) Francesco Straparola, The Pleasant Nights {Le Piacevoli Notti}, following Night 12, Story 2, Italian text from Rua (1899), English translation (modified) from Beecher (2012). The immediately subsequent quote above similarly follows Night 12, Story 2.

Le Piacevoli Notti was first published in Venice in 1550 (vol. 1, nights 1-5) and 1553 (vol. 2, nights 6-13). For a freely available online English translation (with some bowdlerization), Waters (1894). Beecher (2012) revises Waters (1984) and provides a complete translation of all the text.

Straparola’s riddles were just as influential historically as his stories. De Filippis (1947) p. 146. Nonetheless, scholars have studied Straparola’s stories much more extensively than Straparola’s riddles.

Subsequent quotes above, unless otherwise noted, are similarly from the riddles added after each of Straparola’s stories. The stories to which the riddles above are appended are, cited by night.story: 10.2 (Rough, long, and round…), 10.4 (I am supple, round, and white…), 6.3 (What thing is that…), and 13.11 (Its length and breadth…).

[3] Beecher’s text adds four additional verses:

the shape of him that does employ
his pains to work this pleasant toy.
It’s always ready to oblige
the user’s taste, whae’er the size.

Beecher (2012) vol. 2, p. 44. Corresponding verses don’t exist in Rua’s Italian text, nor in any other Italian text I’ve been able to find. Those English verses appear in Carrington’s edition (Paris, 1906) of Waters (1894).

[4] De Filippis remarked of Straparola’s riddles and their French adaptations:

Some of them are really lascivious, even if the young ladies who relate them pretend not to know it. The bagpipe, candle, glove, lock, lute, pen, stockpot, shoe, trumpet, warming-pan and several others, could all be gathered together under one heading and given a suitable name which would describe them all. This could be done with both the Italian and the French versions. The only difference between the two would be that the French list would be longer, since Larivey, not only increased the unseemliness of his Italian models by extending Straparola’s octaves into French sonnets, but added several other succulent morsels taken from other Italian sources. Indecency in riddles, however, is not an Italian monopoly.

De Filippis (1947) p. 146.

[5] Heinrich von Veldeke, minnesang 62.11, “They’ve said it’s true, for many a year {Man seit al fúr war},” Middle High German text (regularized) from the Codex Manesse, folio 31r, via Wikisource; English translation (modified slightly) from Goldin (1973) pp. 18-21. Goldin’s text has different word forms and has slightly different lineation. It’s first verse: “Men seget vorwâr nû manech jâr”. Whether Henrich wrote in Middle High German or Middle Dutch (Maaslandic) is a matter of dispute.

[images] (1) Portrait of a happy young woman, perhaps Maria de’ Medici. Excerpt from painting by Alessandro Allori. Painted about 1555. Via Wikimedia Commons. (2) Excerpt from portrait of Eleanor of Toledo. Painted by Bronzino about 1545. Via Wikimedia Commons. (3) Except from portrait of a Renaissance woman. Painted about 1585 by Scipione Pulzone. Preserved as accession # 37.605 in the The Walters Art Museum. The Walters Art Museum exemplifies public service by providing this image under a CCO license.

References:

Beecher, Donald. 2012. Giovanni Francesco Straparola. The Pleasant Nights. 2 vols. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

De Filippis, Michele. 1947. “Straparola’s Riddles.” Italica. 24 (2): 134-146.

De Filippis, Michele. 1948. The Literary Riddle in Italy to the End of the Sixteenth Century. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Goldin, Frederick. 1973. German and Italian Lyrics of the Middle Ages: an anthology and a history. Garden City, N.Y.: Anchor Press.

Rua, Giuseppe. 1899. Le piacevoli notti di M. Giovanfrancesco Straparola da Caravaggio nelle quali si contengono le favole con i loro enimmi da dieci donne e duo giovani raccontate. 2 vols. Bologna: Romagnoli-Dall’ Acqua. Alternate presentation of 1927 edition.

Waters, W.G., trans. 1894. Giovanni Francesco Straparola. The Nights. Vol. 1. Vol. 2. London: Lawrence and Bullen. Alternate presentation: vol. 1, vol. 2.

languishing for love: medieval women’s songs for beloved men

Mother, I went to see
boats on the bay,
and I’m dying of love.
Boats on the sea,
and I waited for them,
and I’m dying of love.
Boats on the bay,
and I went to wait,
and I’m dying of love.
And I waited for them
but I didn’t find him,
and I’m dying of love.
{ Foi eu, madre, veer
as barcas eno ler
e moiro me d’ amor
As barcas eno mar
e foi las aguardar
e moiro me d’ amor
As barcas eno ler
e foi las atender
e moiro me d’ amor
E foi las aguardar
e non o pud’ achar
e moiro me d’ amor }[1]

An exquisite medieval Latin love song from no later than the eleventh century tells of a woman’s longing for her beloved man. This poem poignantly expresses how much a medieval woman needed her man and wanted to be with him:

Languishing for
love of you,
I arose
at dawn
and made my way
bare-footed
through snow and
through cold,
and searched
the desolate seas
to see if I could find
sails flying in the wind,
or catch sight
of a ship’s prow.
{ Nam languens
amore tuo
consurrexi
diluculo
perrexi-
que pedes nuda
per niues et
per frigora
atque maria
rimabar mesta
si forte uentiuola
uela cernerem,
aut frontem nauis
conspicerem. }[2]

A dawn song typically tells of lovers reluctantly separating after having enjoyed a night together. In this poem, the circumstances are the opposite: the woman gets up at dawn to leave and seek sight of her beloved man. Traveling bare-footed through snow and cold figures the absence of her lover covering her and warming her. Desolate seas churn with his absence. Her yearning to see billowing sails flying in the wind and the prow of her lover’s ship indicates her desire for him to return. It’s also a beautiful figure of her appreciation for his active genitals. She wants to be his port and to encompass him.

Pergaminho Vindel (Vindel parchment): songs of Martin Codax

Galician-Portuguese “songs about a beloved man {cantigas d’amigo},” which were composed between about 1200 and 1350, commonly have a woman yearning for a beloved man out at sea. Martin Codax’s cycle of mid-thirteenth-century cantigas d’amigo shows different aspects of this motif. The woman ardently longs for her beloved man:

Waves of the sea of Vigo
have you seen my boyfriend?
Oh God, will he come soon?
Waves of the swollen sea,
have you seen my darling?
Oh God, will he come soon?
Have you seen my boyfriend,
because of whom I’m sighing?
Oh God, will he come soon?
Have you seen my darling,
for whom I feel great yearning?
Oh God, will he come soon?
{ Ondas do mar de Vigo,
se vistes meu amigo?
e ai Deus, se verrá cedo?
Ondas do mar levado,
se vistes meu amado?
e ai Deus, se verrá cedo?
Se vistes meu amigo?
o por que eu sospiro;
e ai Deus, se verrá cedo?
Se vistes meu amado?
o por que ei gran coidado;
e ai Deus, se verrá cedo? }[3]

The repetition in this poem emphasizes the woman’s longing. The following poem introduces a desired message and the woman’s mother, who historically, but not always, is a restraining character:

Here I have a message
my boyfriend is coming,
and I’ll go, mother, to Vigo.
I have a message here
my darling is coming,
and I’ll go, mother, to Vigo.
My boyfriend is coming,
and he’s safe and sound,
and I’ll go, mother, to Vigo.
My darling is coming,
and he’s sound and safe,
and I’ll go, mother, to Vigo.
{ Mandad’ ei comigo
ca ven meu amigo,
e irei, madr’, a Vigo
Comig’ ei mandado
ca ven meu amado,
e irei, madr’, a Vigo
Ca ven meu amigo
e ven san’ e vivo,
e irei, madr’, a Vigo
Ca ven meu amado
e ven viv’ e sano,
e irei, madr’, a Vigo }[4]

These stanzas alternate boyfriend and darling, so uniting those terms. The variation “safe and sound” with “sound and safe” similarly fuses terms. From the first two stanzas to the second two stanzas, the verse “my boyfriend / darling is coming” moves up from the second verse to the first verse of the stanzas. He’s coming! That’s sufficient reason for insisting, at the end of each stanza, “I’ll go, mother, to Vigo.”

The young woman went to Vigo. She was alone and afraid:

Oh God, if my boyfriend knew now
that I am all alone in Vigo?
and I’m in love.
Oh God, if my darling knew now
that I’m in Vigo all alone?
and I’m in love.
That I am all alone in Vigo,
and don’t have any guards with me,
and I’m in love.
That I’m staying in Vigo all alone
and haven’t brought any guards along,
and I’m in love.
And I don’t have any guards with me,
except my eyes, which cry for me,
and I’m in love.
And I haven’t brought any guards along,
except my eyes, which are both crying,
and I’m in love.
{ Ai Deus, se sab’ ora meu amigo
com’ eu senheira estou en Vigo?
e vou namorada
Ai Deus, se sab’ ora meu amado
com’ eu en Vigo senheira manho?
e vou namorada
Com’ eu senheira estou en Vigo
e nulhas gardas non ei comigo,
e vou namorada
Com’ eu senheira en Vigo manho
e nulhas gardas migo non trago,
e vou namorada
E nulhas gardas non ei comigo
ergas meus olhos que choran migo,
e vou namorada
E nulhas gardas migo non trago
ergas meus olhos que choran ambos,
e vou namorada }[5]

She waited and waited:

Oh waves that I came to see,
can you possibly tell me
why my boyfriend lingers without me?
Oh waves I came to ponder,
can you possibly explain
why my boyfriend lingers without me?
{ Ai ondas que eu vin veer,
se me saberedes dizer
por que tarda meu amigo sen min?
Ai ondas que eu vin mirar,
se me saberedes contar
por que tarda meu amigo sen min? }

The song cycle ends with the waves’ turmoil. Did this woman realize her ennobling love for her beloved man? That’s up to you to decide.

Men’s lives mattered to medieval women. They felt horror for men absent and dying in war. Medieval women didn’t blithely blame with fatuous pretentiousness the patriarchy for war. They recognized men’s gender-disproportionate suffering in war:

Oh Saint James, my famous patron,
lead my boyfriend here to me.
Someone’s bearing flowers across the sea
and I’ll gaze, mother, at the towers of Jaen.
Oh Saint James, patron in whom I trust,
lead my darling here to me.
Someone’s bearing flowers across the sea
and I’ll gaze, mother, at the towers of Jaen.
{ Ai Santiago, padron sabido,
vós mh adugades o meu amigo;
sobre mar ven quen frores d’ amor ten;
mirarei, madre, as torres de Geen
Ai Santiago, padron provado,
vós mh adugades o meu amado;
sobre mar ven quen frores d’ amor ten;
mirarei, madre, as torres de Geen }[7]

While yearning for her beloved man, the woman introspectively honors men’s suffering in war. Jaen is an inland Andalusian city that was the site of sieges and battles between Muslim and Christian armies. Saint James {Santiago}, whose remains have long been venerated at Santiago de Compostela, is a preeminent saint of Spain. He was known by the thirteenth century as “Saint James the Moor-Slayer {Santiago Matamoros}” and was invoked in the Spanish battle cry, “Saint James, seal Spain! {¡Santiago y cierra España!}”[8] She, however, doesn’t want Saint James to urge her beloved man into battle, but to bring him home to her.

The emblem of Saint James is a scallop shell, not a flower. The white lily {fleur-de-lis}, which became a French heraldic symbol, was a flower that Christians associated with chastity. The red rose, in contrast, symbolized Christian martyrdom.[9] Impersonally acknowledging “someone’s bearing flowers across the sea,” the woman seems to be vaguely recognizing red roses and that her beloved man might be dying in battle. Her gaze at the towers of Jaen indicates the horror of war. She prays to Saint James to bring her beloved man home to her from across the sea. Yet at the same time and looking in the opposite direction, she recognizes that he might be dead.

Poetry of women languishing in love while waiting for beloved men to return from across the sea is probably as old as Penelope of the ancient Greek Odyssey. Such poetry will arise again before the seas go dry and the rocks melt with the sun. All that’s needed is women’s love for men.[10]

* * * * *

Notes:

[1] Nuno Fernandez Torneol 5, song about a beloved man {cantiga de amigo}, “Mother, I saw sailing {Vi eu, mha madr’, andar}” (B 645, V 246) stanzas 2-5 (of 7), Galician-Portuguese text (editorial marks eliminated) from Cohen (2003), English translation (modified slightly) from Cohen (2010). Rip Cohen should be honored for his enormous sacrifice in working on cantigas de amigo and making much of his work freely available worldwide on the Internet. Here’s this song at Universo Cantigas and at Galician-Portuguese Medieval Songs. Nuno Fernandez Torneol / Nuno Fernandes Torneol was active in the beginning or middle of the thirteenth century.

All the surviving cantigas de amigo are attributed to men singers. Whether these songs reflect heard or imagined women’s voices isn’t known and matters little. In medieval Europe, women and men knew intimately each other’s voices. The cantigas de amigo are likely authentic representations of women’s voices. That’s what women and men would have most wanted to hear in naturalistic songs of love.

[2] Cambridge Songs {Carmina cantabrigiensia} 14A, “Because languishing {Nam languens},” Latin text (editorial marks elided) and English translation (modified) from Ziolkowski (1994), following Dronke (1965) pp. 275-6. This poem has survived only in the Carmina cantabrigiensia, where it was interpolated into Carmina cantabrigiensia 14 (“Modus Liebinc”) between strophes 3b and 4a. Here’s some poetic analysis of the poem leading to an alternate translation.

Dronke suggested that “Nam languens” is a Latin version of Old High German folks songs known “friend songs {winileods}.” In a capitulary issued in 789, Charlemagne forbid nuns from writing or sending winileods. Dronke also cited parallels in Tuscan ritornelli and Hispano-Arabic kharjas and declared:

It is clear that at least some of the love-songs in the eleventh-century Cambridge manuscript {Carmina cantabrigiensia} drew inspiration from a living tradition of cantigas de amigo.

Id. pp. 276-7. The Galician-Portuguese corpus of cantigas de amigo date from no earlier than the thirteenth century. Exactly what Dronke was claiming, and the evidence for his claim, isn’t clear. In any case, Latin and vernacular songs have probably always influenced each other.

[3] Martin Codax 1, song about a beloved man {cantiga de amigo}, “Waves of the sea of Vigo {Ondas do mar de Vigo}” (B 1278, N 1, V 884, C 1278), Galician-Portuguese text (editorial marks eliminated) from Cohen (2003), English translation (modified slightly) from Cohen (2010). Universo Cantigas doesn’t currently provide any songs of Martin Codax. Here’s this song at Galician-Portuguese Medieval Songs., which includes English translations by Richard Zenith for all of Martin Codax’s songs. Martin Codax / Martim Codax apparently was a Galician non-noble singer (joglar) active in the middle or third quarter of the thirteenth century.

Martin Codax’s surviving songs consist of a seven-song cycle about a woman yearning for her beloved who’s away at sea. Martin’s song cycle has survived with musical notation in the Vindel Parchment {Pergaminho Vindel}. These songs, along with songs of King Dinis of Portugal in the Sharrer Parchment {Pergaminho Sharrer}, are the only cantigas d’amigo to survive with music. Martin Codax’s songs have been studied intensively. They have also frequently been performed and recorded.

[4] Martin Codax 2, song about a beloved man {cantiga de amigo}, “Here I have a message {Mandad’ ei comigo}” (B 1279, N 2, V 885), stanzas 1-4 (of 6), Galician-Portuguese text (editorial marks eliminated) from Cohen (2003), English translation (modified slightly) from Cohen (2010). Here’s this song at Galician-Portuguese Medieval Songs.

[5] Martin Codax 4, song about a beloved man {cantiga de amigo}, “Oh God, if my boyfriend knew now {Ai Deus, se sab’ ora meu amigo}” (B 1281, N 4, V 887), Galician-Portuguese text (editorial marks eliminated) from Cohen (2003), English translation (modified slightly) from Cohen (2010). Here’s this song at the Galician-Portuguese Medieval Songs.

[6] Martin Codax 7, song about a beloved man {cantiga de amigo}, “Oh waves that I came to see {Ai ondas que eu vin veer}” (B 1284, N 7, V 890), Galician-Portuguese text (editorial marks eliminated) from Cohen (2003), English translation (modified slightly) from Cohen (2010). Here’s this song at Galician-Portuguese Medieval Songs.

[7] Pai Gomez Charinho 6, song about a beloved man {cantiga de amigo}, “Oh Saint James, my famous patron {Ai Santiago, padron sabido}” (B 843, V 429), Galician-Portuguese text (editorial marks eliminated) from Cohen (2003), English translation (modified slightly) from Cohen (2010). Here’s this song at Galician-Portuguese Medieval Songs. It’s not yet available at Universo Cantigas. Pai Gomez Charinho / Paio Gomes Charinho was a Galician man trobairitz active in the last decades of the thirteenth century.

[8] The literal meaning of the Spanish battle cry “Saint James, close Spain! {¡Santiago y cierra España!}” isn’t fully clear. The word “y” seems to me likely to be functioning as an intensifier like “et” can in medieval Latin. “Close Spain” could mean close off Spain from Muslim invaders, or it could mean close in battle with them. On “Saint James the Moor-Slayer {Santiago Matamoros},” Quinn (2011).

[9] On the Christian symbolism of the lily and the rose, see my post on Walahfrid’s gardening.

[10] Cf. Robert Burns, “A red, red rose.” Drawing upon folk tradition, Burns wrote this song in Scotland in 1794.

[images] (1) Vindel Parchment {Pergaminho Vindel}. Created between 1275 and 1299. Preserved as Pierpont Morgan Library, New York, Vindel MS M979. Via Wikimedia Commons. (2) Recording of Martin Codax’s “Waves of the sea of Vigo {Ondas do mar de Vigo}” by Orquesta de Instrumentos Autóctonos y Nuevas Tecnologías Untref (2016). Via YouTube. (3) Recording of Martin Codax’s “Here I have a message {Mandad’ ei comigo}” by Ensemble Oni Wytars (1992 or earlier). Via YouTube. (4) Recording of Pai Gomez Charinho’s “Oh Saint James, my famous patron {Ai Santiago, padron sabido}” by Ensemble Lauda (Henry Vidal, conducting) from their album Cantigas de Santuarios (2020). Via YouTube. (5) Illustration of “Saint James the Moor-Slayer {Santiago Matamoros}” in an instance of the Codex Calixtinus / pseudo-Calixtinus, Book of Saint James {Liber Sancti Jacobi} / The Pilgrim’s Guide. Detail from folio 120 of Biblioteca Universitaria de Salamanca. Manuscript 2631. Source image via Wikimedia Commons. The original Codex Calixtinus was created about 1140, It is currently preserved in the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela.

References:

Cohen, Rip. 2003. 500 Cantigas d’Amigo. Porto: Campo das Letras.

Cohen, Rip. 2010. The Cantigas d’Amigo: An English Translation. Online. Quotes are based on the 2016 edition.

Dronke, Peter. 1965. Medieval Latin and the Rise of European Love-Lyric. 2 vols. Vol. 1, Vol. 2. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Quinn, Rebecca C. 2011. “Santiago as Matamoros: Race, Class, And Limpieza de Sangre in a Sixteenth-Century Spanish Manuscript.” The Larrie and Bobbi Weil Undergraduate Research Award Documents, 1. Online.

Ziolkowski, Jan M. 1994. The Cambridge Songs (Carmina Cantabrigiensia). New York: Garland. Introduction.