6
Gender and Medieval Art1
It is only in the last three decades that gender has come to be used as a historical perspective, in the context of research into history.2 In theory, to reveal the effect of gender as a historical category, interactions between men and women should be analyzed; however, since the biggest gaps in our knowledge relate to the activities of women, it is on this area that gender studies has tended to focus.3 Moreover, in the last 30 years the questions posed have been reformulated and the methodological approaches have multiplied.4 Research often takes women’s history as its subject, uses gender as a category of analysis, and adopts a feminist viewpoint according to location.5 However, these three components do not have to occur simultaneously and do not necessarily even belong together; where researchers in gender studies have questioned the bipolar gender model, they have actually moved away from the decidedly feminist stance.6
Art historical gender studies have up until now concentrated largely on the modern age, and the theoretical system and conceptual tools have been developed in relation to the art of this later period.7 It is no mean task to transfer this to a medieval framework and, at the same time, to furnish a historical interpretation which corresponds to the actual relationship between women and art in the various periods of the Middle Ages.8 It must be emphasized that gender, as well as the perception of “male” and “female,” are just as dependent on the historical period as are most other aspects of life, and hence should be interpreted in their historical context.
There are several reasons for the fact that gender studies has looked askance at medieval art. Not only did the established discipline of medieval studies long resist considering gender as an analytical perspective,9 but the sparse source material extant from the Middle Ages only served to reinforce this reluctance. Artistic activities in general were poorly recorded and the lives of women, unless they were of noble birth, were barely acknowledged – or were even deliberately excluded from mention – by medieval authors.10
The investigation of the relationship between women and art in the Middle Ages is additionally complicated by the fact that the art historian needs not only to be thoroughly familiar with the actual works of art, but also to have a clear picture of the general mentality prevalent at that time with regard to women, and of their legal, social, economic, religious, and cultural status. For this, it is absolutely essential to study the contemporary sources, which are, however, seldom available in translation, and often not even in printed form. Thus, so as to be able properly to analyze the role of women in medieval art, art history needs, even more than modern theories and methods, to turn to the questions being asked and the results obtained in related disciplines. The subject requires scholars to be ready and willing to work in an interdisciplinary mode, sometimes even to the extent of undertaking primary research in another discipline, since, even though, for example, gender studies in history is relatively advanced, it is still far from supplying all of the results needed to write the history of women and art in the central centuries of the Middle Ages. There is, for example, a dearth of biographies of the famous women of this period written from the consistent perspective of gender (Eleanor of Aquitaine11 and Blanche of Castile12 are prominent examples) as well as of monographs on some of the fundamental works of art connected with women – such as the Hortus Deliciarum from Hohenbourg Abbey in Alsace.13
Primary place in what we now like to call art historical gender studies was initially accorded to the search for forgotten women artists pursued within the framework of traditional art history.14 However, subsequent works by women authors adopting a radically feminist position have gone far beyond these initial steps. They realized that evaluating female artists from the traditional art historical viewpoint meant that they could never occupy any place other than outsider, at best. It therefore became necessary radically to question the concept of artistic greatness as defined by men, as well as the established canon for teaching this in universities.15 Researchers studying both male and female artists were required to pay more attention to the social environment in which men and women lived and worked,16 and to show how women managed, in the midst of a world where all the major decisions were taken by men, to create a situation in which they were able to develop their artistic and intellectual abilities and to become artists themselves or to exert some influence, be it active or passive, upon art.
The question as to whether or not it is worthwhile researching women artists from the Middle Ages is debatable, since so little information about them is available (as indeed is also the case for male artists). The starting point of research on medieval women artists was a now famous lecture by Dorothy Miner entitled “Anastaise and Her Sisters,” which is still a main source for most authors writing on the subject. Her examples serve to demonstrate that both religious and secular women were involved in the production of books during the Middle Ages.
Among the women artists of the twelfth century, some researchers count two of the great names of the day: Hildegard of Bingen (1098–1196) and Herrad of Landsberg, Abbess of Hohenbourg/Mount St Odile in Alsace (1117–97). Their status as artists is, however, the subject of much contention and I will therefore discuss them separately in the next section.17 Even if the involvement of these two prominent abbesses in the manufacture of books went unnoticed, the transcription and illustration of books were certainly among those artistic activities in which women participated in large numbers throughout the entire Middle Ages. Women manifested considerable self-confidence in this area, and in certain cases, such as the painter and scribe Guda in a Frankfurt Homiliary, this is expressed in both word and image.18
It seems fair to assume that the self-image, relatively well documented, of scribes and illuminators can be transposed to women artists in other fields. Along with book production, it was in the textile arts that women were most frequently active; but in this area there is a lack of written source material, so that very little can be directly deduced about the self-awareness of an embroiderer or a weaver – although their work was often greatly appreciated by highly placed patrons (for example, Mabel of Bury St Edmunds at the court of Henry III of England, 1216–72).19
The best-known embroidery of the Middle Ages, the Bayeux Tapestry (fig. 6-1), made shortly after the Battle of Hastings in 1066, has also been linked to women. However, there is no mention of the tapestry in any contemporary source (the first reference is in 147820), and the identity of the person who commissioned it as well as of the place where it was made have been the subject of controversy since the eighteenth century. Nowadays, the predominant view is that the tapestry was made in England (probably at St Augustine’s, Canterbury) and that it was designed by a monk who was familiar with the manuscript illuminations at Canterbury. The romantic notion that it was Queen Mathilda and her ladies who embroidered the tapestry has long been refuted; it is nowadays thought that Bishop Odo of Bayeux, the half-brother of William the Conqueror, commissioned the work – but how far women actually participated in the embroidering is still under debate.21
Apart from those working on books or textiles, only a very small number of women can be identified as artists in other fields. In the Paris tax lists, there is mention of female glass-painters and glass-makers,22 and several women are listed as working in the building trade, termed maçonne or charpentière (the female forms of mason and carpenter). Women on the building sites, however, mostly constituted an unskilled and poorly paid part of the workforce and as such can hardly be regarded as having assumed an artistic role.23 Their lack of mobility was, furthermore, a barrier to their participation in the monumental arts; hence it is hardly surprising to discover that the sculptress Sabina von Steinbach was in fact a figment of the imagination of a sixteenth-century chronicler.24
FIGURE 6-1 Mourning woman at the deathbed of King Edward the Confessor, Bayeux Tapestry, after 1066. Bayeux: Musée de la tapisserie.
Finally, we must ask why art history up until now has treated women artists as, at the best, marginal. From the time of the Renaissance and above all from the nineteenth century onwards, when art history became established as an academic discipline, those arts involved in the production of books and textiles have been attributed a lowly status in comparison with the “high” arts of painting, monumental sculpture, and architecture. The patrons of art in the Middle Ages, however, recognized no such modern idea of hierarchy.25 The goldwork of the vasa sacra and reliquaries, the precious textiles for use in the decoration of churches and altars or as liturgical vestments, stained glass, and beautifully presented books were all prized above painting as such (which was also out-ranked by sculpture as the traditional medium of the cult image). It is therefore an anachronism on the part of modern art historians to treat these medieval precious art objects as marginal works of inferior artistic value.26 If the hierarchy of the arts that was prevalent in the eleventh to thirteenth centuries is taken seriously, then the artistic work of women at that time accordingly assumes central importance.
Hildegard of Bingen and Herrad of Hohenbourg
Three illustrated manuscripts of works by Hildegard are known: two of these date from the thirteenth century, the third is a copy of the twelfth-century Rupertsberg Liber Scivias. This manuscript was perhaps produced in the lifetime of the authoress, and possibly even in the convent at Rupertsberg itself; however the original disappeared during World War II, and now only a copy is available for study.
The question of Hildegard of Bingen’s role in the illustration of her manuscripts is highly contentious, and today splits academic circles into two factions.27 Saurma-Jeltsch and Suzuki give priority to the text:28 in their opinion, Hildegard made notes on what she had seen and heard in her visions and had these transcribed, and then, based on these descriptions, professional illustrators created the images. Caviness, however, ascribes to Hildegard a distinct artistic role, assuming that she provided the illustrators with detailed sketches on which to base their work.29 The dating of the manuscript is essential to the validation of either hypothesis, but this too is open to debate. Most authors do agree that the Liber Scivias of Rupertsberg was created during Hildegard’s lifetime, but the exact dates advanced vary between 1160 and 1181. Saurma-Jeltsch comes down categorically on the side of the later date. Whereas Caviness considers the illustrations as a direct representation of Hildegard’s mystical experiences, Saurma-Jeltsch sees them as an interpretation of these experiences based on the text. Caviness, on the contrary, interprets the illustrations as Hildegard’s own intellectual and artistic expression, and associates their unusual character with the aura typical of migraine. Hildegard, however, described her visions as an intellectual achievement, as defined by St Augustine.30 A more finely differentiated idea of Hildegard’s part in the creation of the texts and illustrations is given recently. Hildegard presents herself in both the prologue and the author’s portrait as a divinely inspired author, by making allusion to the images of Moses, Gregory the Great, St John and the Sybils.31 In this interpretation, text and images are copies of the divine exemplar, and so the two mediums can be deemed equally valuable, being nourished by the same source.
The Hortus Deliciarum, in which Herrad compiled the theological knowledge of her time, presents similar problems. Like the Liber Scivias, it is unique and no longer available in the original. The Hortus was destroyed in 1870 and partially reconstructed in 1979 based on copies of the text and the images made in the nineteenth century.32 As is the case for Hildegard, the role of Herrad in the creation of the illustrations is disputed. While the occasional author refers to Herrad without prevarication as the artist,33 others regard her primarily as the compiler of the texts.34 Up until now it has only been possible to link the copies of the original miniatures with some of the stained glass in Strasbourg Cathedral, and with a parchment flabellum in the British Library.35 Since the stained glass would hardly have been made anywhere other than Strasbourg itself, it can be concluded that the painters of the images in the Hortus were also active in northern Alsace. Therefore, the possibility should be considered that Herrad may well have been able to call in illuminators (from Strasbourg?) to carry out the commission. To sum it up, it is questionable whether Hildegard and Herrad can properly be called artists – unless the term is redefined for the Middle Ages to contain the idea that the mental conception of a work of art is just as much an artistic activity as is its material execution.
For some time now it has been evident that, because of the available sources, research on medieval women patrons would probably be more fruitful. This has indeed been verified in many case-studies,36 but there have been few wide-reaching surveys of female patronage which would allow an analysis of trends and patterns. Two exceptions are the book by Loveday Lewes Gee, which researches a group of English women patrons in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; and an extensive article by Madeline Caviness devoted to the period from the eleventh to the early fourteenth century.37 These two texts present a very different picture of the opportunities open to female patrons. While Gee is convinced that women, given the will, the necessary network of relationships, and the corresponding financial means, could express their own ideas through their commissions, Caviness regards these women’s choices as extremely limited.38
The biographies of women like the German queens Anna (d.1281; fig. 6-2) and Elisabeth (d.1313; fig. 6-3), consorts of the two first kings of the Hapsburg Dynasty,39 as well as Eleanor of Aquitaine (d.1204),40 Blanche of Castile (d.1252),41 or Marguerite of Burgundy (d.1308),42 to name but a few, provide abundant material for the study of female patronage. I will limit my observations to only one aspect of the subject, which was heavily shaped by gender – namely, the responsibilities of medieval noblewomen for the preparation of the tombs for deceased relatives, and for the donations made in memory of the dead.43 Fasting, the giving of alms, prayer, and the donation of masses for the deceased were already mentioned by the chronicler Thietmar von Merseburg (975–1018) as being among a woman’s duties, and those belonging to the social elite were obliged to emulate this ideal to a high degree. With the consent of husband or son, they endowed monasteries, where the religious communities were placed under obligation to remember and pray for the souls of the deceased family members. Women who belonged to the higher social classes disposed of enough wealth to enable them to bestow rich gifts on these institutions: Eleanor’s stained glass, which she donated for the central window at Poitiers Cathedral, is but one example of this (fig. 6-4).44
FIGURE 6-2 Tomb of Queen Anna, Basel Cathedral, c.1280. © Basler Denkmalpflege, Sammlung Münsterphoto. Photo: J. Koch, c.1893.
FIGURE 6-3 Elisabeth of Carinthia, Queen of Germany († 1313), 1555 after a stained-glass panel of c.1360. Vienna: Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, cod. 8614*, fol. 233r. Photo: Bildarchiv Österreichische Nationalbibliothek.
Moreover, the female patrons nearly always wanted to secure a home for themselves in widowhood and prepare their own burial place. With the exception of Queen Anna, who was buried in Basel Cathedral (fig. 6-2),45 all of the ladies mentioned above chose as their resting place institutions which they had themselves founded or endowed. The German queen Elisabeth was interred in the crypt of the abbey church at Königsfelden in 1316 (fig. 6-3).46 Eleanor of Aquitaine chose to be buried in Fontevrault Abbey at the side of her husband and her son.47 Blanche of Castile established the tradition of double burial in the French royal family, by deciding on the abbey which she had founded at Maubuisson near Pontoise for the burial of her body, and Lys Abbey, near Melun, as the resting place for her heart.48 She entrusted both institutions to Cistercian nuns. Marguerite of Burgundy had her tomb prepared in the hospital at Tonnerre, founded in 1293.49
FIGURE 6-4 Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II with their children as donors of a stained-glass window, stained glass, Poitiers Cathedral, c.1165. Paris: UMR 8150 – Centre André Chastel. Photo: Karine Boulanger.
The women mentioned above were involved, often intensively, in the planning and construction of their monasteries. It was, for example, in all probability Blanche of Castile who chose as builders for the monasteries of Lys and Maubuisson the team who had previously worked on the abbey of Royaumont.50 Gee, too, was able to demonstrate that women patrons were actively involved in the choice of craftsmen.51 On the other hand, the style of a building does not necessarily permit an easy interpretation of the wishes of the benefactor. Precisely the institutions mentioned here, such as Maubuisson, Lys, or the hospital at Tonnerre, offer few concrete stylistic details which would enable them to be associated with any specific model.
The express wishes of female patrons are often no easier to determine with regard to the visual arts. Eleanor of Aquitaine survived both her husband and her son Richard the Lionheart. It would seem reasonable to assume that the Queen would have arranged a suitable monument for her relatives in the nuns’ choir of the church. However, the dating and status of preservation of the funeral effigies is still open to dispute.52 Nevertheless, the late dating of the tombs to 1220 should be reconsidered in the light of the particular responsibilities of women toward their dead. Moreover, in contrast to the effigies of her husband and son, the effigy of Eleanor depicts her with eyes open, reading a book. Could this mean that she was still alive when she commissioned the three tomb effigies? Feminist art historians are in the habit of underscoring her self-representation in the reading of the book. This motif has been entirely restored with the help of a drawing in the Gaignières collection.53
FIGURE 6-5 Portrait of a queen, stained glass, Tonnerre Hospital, c.1295. Paris: UMR 8150: Centre André Chastel, Inventory No. 14. Photo: Françoise Gatouillat.
The tombs of Blanche of Castile and Marguerite of Burgundy were destroyed in the turmoil of the French Revolution.54 The patrons of the monastery of Königsfelden, Queens Elisabeth and Agnes, found their final resting place there, in the crypt under a simple sarcophagus, void of images, which served as the focus for the ceremonies in memory of the deceased members of the Hapsburg family.55 The treasury records and the few remaining textiles from this period afford but a glimpse of the pomp and magnificence of these memorial services.56 In Königsfelden and in Tonnerre (fig. 6-5), some of the original stained glass has survived.57 However, neither glazing scheme incorporates any specifically female theme: in Königsfelden the accent is placed on general aspects of piety, and in both locations the royal status of the founders is given pre-eminence. This observation can in fact be regarded as a generalization when considering the wishes of patrons in the Middle Ages: both men and women perceived themselves primarily as members of a certain social class, and only in second place as representatives of their gender;58 their attitudes and behavior were therefore shaped accordingly.
The Role of Women in the Use of Devotional Images
In the changing spirituality of the monasticism of the eleventh and twelfth centuries can be found the roots of what has been dismissively labeled “popular piety.” A characteristic of this was the use of devotional images, primarily by the laity, which stood in marked contrast to the austere Cistercian proscription of images. The phenomenon was perceived as resulting from the decline of the monasticism of the High Middle Ages and, because of its permeation by the vernacular, as the opposite of “high” Latin culture. A strict differentiation was made between this popular piety and the devoutness of the elite. Jeffrey Hamburger, in the closing chapter of his masterly study on the Rothschild Canticles (created for a woman in c.1300) considered anew this idea, which had long been accepted by art historians and specialists in religious history alike.59 He actually presents no less than a new, positively oriented history of the use of devotional images in the late Middle Ages; and he demonstrates how, in particular, the communities of nuns in the Rhineland made a significant contribution to this field.60 Nevertheless, women alone could not have been totally responsible for the change in attitude to images, for, as nuns, the care of their souls was dependent on men, who alone were authorized to administer the sacraments. Hamburger therefore stresses that the way in which women related to images and to their use must be studied within this framework, assuming thereby the cooperation between the nuns and their spiritual advisors.61
Men wrote books for women to use as guidance in their devotional practices from the eleventh century onwards. Anselm of Canterbury composed his prayers for Matilda of Tuscany (1046–1115).62 Mention should also be made of the richly illustrated psalter, made in the monks’ scriptorium at St Albans, for the use of the anchoress Christina of Markyate (Albani Psalter: St Godehard’s at Hildesheim).63 However, Hamburger emphasizes that these women were not merely passive recipients of the manuscripts, but took an active part in the transcription of the texts and the creation of the illustrations. In the case of the Rothschild Canticles, he was able to show that the compiler incorporated German texts64 that were so unusual that they can only have been included at the express wish of the German-speaking owner. Her influence also extended to the illustrations, which are informed by the metaphorical language of the mystics.65
A close connection between the images created for female mystics and the visions they experienced has long been noted in research.66 Since authors have, however, assumed that the definitive spirituality of the Middle Ages was predicated upon a standard without images, as ordained by St Bernard of Clairvaux, the role which images played in visions has necessarily been evaluated as negative. Thus, most authors have judged these women on a criterion which has been devised by modern research but which for the women themselves was completely irrelevant. They in fact deliberately shaped their visions with the aid of real pictures. In the same way, they made use of accepted, familiar biblical and liturgical metaphors to describe their mystical experiences in writing. Without this picturesque language, they would not have been able to communicate their experiences in a comprehensible manner. Gertrude of Helfta quoted Christ himself as the authority for this, when she had him say in a vision that sensual devotional experience should not be disparaged, because only through such experience can the human soul apprehend invisible truths.67
Although Jeffrey Hamburger’s research focuses on the period after 1300, he does address the beginnings of the development of the use of devotional images by women in one important study.68 Until the thirteenth century, the psalter was the usual prayer book of the nuns and of the laity.69 The first psalters to include a series of full-page miniatures (mostly of the life of Christ) at the front originated in England around 1050. To the early examples of this type can be counted the psalter of Christina of Markyate (c.1120/30) mentioned above. At almost the same time, the first illustrated prayer books were produced; they display an even closer connection between prayer and image than do the psalters, by presenting an illustration on the facing page to one or more texts. In the first half of the twelfth century, the copious illustration of a prayer book was such an innovation that the compiler of the St Albans Psalter found it necessary to include one of Gregory the Great’s letters, in which he justifies the use of images.70
In analyzing the justification of the use of images in monastic circles, Hamburger identifies two relevant groups: nuns and male novices.71 Whereas the latter abandoned the use of images in their devotional practices after a certain time, the women remained permanently attached to devotional imagery. Medieval theologians explained this continued need for the support of images in their devotions as resulting from the more sensual and corporeal nature of women, which rendered them incapable of intellectual prowess. Hamburger’s observations based on the Rothschild Canticles are proof that the use of images from the twelfth, perhaps even the eleventh, century onwards by the confessors and the spiritual advisors in the context of the cura monialium, or pastoral care, of nuns, corresponded to a real demand on the part of the women and was not simply forced upon them.72 This positive reception of imagery by the nuns and their position between the clerics and laity predestined them for mediation between the two, so that their devotional practices based on images passed into general use by the thirteenth century at the latest.73 Women were therefore in large part responsible for the promotion of works of visual art to the status of objects which were greatly treasured as helping the soul in its efforts to find the way to God.
Monastic Architecture for Women
Right up until most recent times, female monastic buildings have scarcely been noticed by art historians, much less researched.74 Almost all of the large-scale surveys of monastic architecture have ignored the existence of nunneries;75 a comprehensive study of the architectural context in which nuns lived and prayed is therefore absolutely essential and well overdue. The general neglect of the history of female monasticism probably also partially explains the fact that, over time, the physical vestiges of these institutions have more or less disappeared. Nevertheless, the few remaining examples furnish enough architectural evidence to evoke a vivid picture of the life of the devout female members of the various orders. If the archives of the convents which have not disappeared are added to this, there is ample scope for future research.76
The master builder of the Middle Ages was confronted with a fundamental problem when planning the construction of either a double or female monastery, in that he had strictly to separate several groups of inhabitants or users: the male and female occupants of the monastery in the first case, the nuns and their male spiritual advisors within the cura monialium in the second.77 Similarly, the buildings for the lay sisters and for the employees, as well as the agricultural buildings, had to be completely separate from the nuns’ living area. Furthermore, the observance of enclosure became more and more strict between the years 1100–1300 (it was made obligatory in 1298), and necessitated adaptations in the arrangement of spaces within the convents.78
For the founding of a women’s monastery, the patron would generally obtain the consent of the bishop of the diocese. The endowment would have to contain provision for a priest or a community of monks for the cura monialium, and the charter would usually grant visiting rights to the bishop or his representative. This illustrates how the female convents, even though usually founded by women, had nevertheless in many respects to fit in with, and submit to, a structure defined by men; which in turn explains why the church and convent buildings of female monasteries were generally influenced by the architectural forms prevalent among the male orders. They were, however, nearly always built in a simplified form. The reason for this often lies in the smaller endowments made to female monasteries, but even the exceptions to this rule constituted by the institutions funded by highly placed patrons did not usually deviate from the ideal of simplicity. This is clearly illustrated by a previously mentioned group of Cistercian monasteries, male and female, which were founded under the patronage of Blanche of Castile and St Louis: whereas the abbey church of Royaumont, a male institution, adopts the kind of construction typical of the Gothic cathedrals, the female abbeys of Maubuisson and Lys are much simpler. However, an evaluation of these edifices based solely on their architectural style would be mistaken, for Maubuisson, as the burial place of the Queen, was of more importance than the much larger and more magnificent construction at Royaumont, which was founded to house the tombs of the royal children who had died prematurely.79
The layout of monastery buildings for women and the structure of their churches differed by order and by region. Often it had to accommodate a complicated topography, or perhaps to incorporate an already existing church, as was the case for the convent of Wienhausen and for the nunnery at St Peter’s in Salzburg.80 Roberta Gilchrist emphasizes the greater flexibility of the plans for female as opposed to male monasteries; often, not even the classical arrangement around a cloister is in evidence.81
In convent churches, the disposition and furnishing of the liturgical spaces posed a particular problem. Since many of these churches have now either completely lost their furnishings and fittings, or indeed stand only in ruin, the original form and position of the nuns’ choir is often difficult to determine. The builders working for the religious orders came up with many, often highly individual, solutions for its location.82 Cistercian convents in the Germanspeaking regions often had churches built to a single-vessel plan, with a simple choir, and a gallery with stalls at the west end. This model was also adopted by the mendicant orders, although it never became compulsory.83 In France, for example, the nuns’ choir was almost always placed on the same level as the liturgical choir.84
While some valuable individual studies of the churches in female monasteries have been made, little research has been undertaken on the convent buildings in which the women lived. These buildings, far more so than the churches, have been altered in the course of time, so that uncovering their original layout would probably be difficult. On the other hand, recent research confirms that bringing together clues and facts in this area can greatly contribute to our understanding of medieval convent life.85
The Female Image in Romanesque and Gothic Art
In studying the art of the Middle Ages, the question soon arises as to what image of woman is conveyed in the visual arts of the period.86 It should of course be borne in mind that these portrayals do not represent reality, but rather convey the ideals and norms of the age.87 These in turn were primarily determined from a theological, and hence male, viewpoint, since the vast majority of the depictions of women originated in a religious context. Moreover, medieval images are rarely socially representative, their subject matter being heavily informed by the culture of the upper classes. The most important function of these images was to provide an appropriate role model for women. Research into medieval female image has led to two diametrically opposed conclusions: Frugoni and Caviness form a fairly negative impression of women’s position,88 whereas McKitterick and Goetz tend to the positive.89 A more finely differentiated idea of what Romanesque and Gothic images reveal about women would need further study, taking into account the changes in the status of women throughout the Middle Ages.90
Numerous portrayals of women have survived in the funerary arts or as donor or owner portraits. The oldest extant figural tombs date back to the eleventh century,91 and among them can be found monuments for female founders, for example, the abbesses of Quedlinburg from c.1100.92 A comprehensive study of women’s tombs from the eleventh to the thirteenth century, identifying their particular features and examining the differences in comparison to men’s tombs of the same era, has yet to be made.93 In addition to the religious theme of hope that the soul would be judged worthy of joining the just, the images on the tombs primarily denote the women’s worldly position.
Extant works of art designed for secular use, from which we could gain an insight into the female image outside of religion, are also few and far between for the period from 1100 to 1300. The most important is probably the previously mentioned Bayeux Tapestry. The latter can however be taken as evidence that society at that time accorded women a purely marginal role in public life: of the 626 figures depicted, a mere four are women (fig. 6-1).94 A much more useful group of pictures of women on non-religious objects is constituted by personal seals.95 On the seals the women were nearly always pictured standing, and easily identified as female by their physical characteristics. Abbesses in general, queens, and empresses in the Holy Roman Empire were depicted with the symbols of their office.96
The concepts of vision and “the gaze” are of great importance in the visual arts. With regard to women, both had negative connotations from a medieval viewpoint, for, particularly in the relationship between the sexes, they were considered dangerous.97 A woman was not supposed to attract a man’s attention with provocative glances; she should on the contrary be completely invisible to male eyes. The proscription, on moral grounds, of looking is in contradiction to all of the guidance on devotional practice given to the women by their spiritual supervisors.98 They were advised to imagine the Life of Christ and the saints in both mental and actual images. Thus, in a religious context, vision and looking could only have had positive connotations. This view is confirmed in the writings of St Bonaventura, who ascribed positive qualities to the faculty of sight when it fostered pious sentiments. Hence women visionaries were no longer inclined to accept the gaze as a male privilege.99
Recently, the idea of scopophilia has been associated with the images of female martyrs, to postulate that the depicted torture of these sensual virgins actually fulfilled hidden sexual longings. However, this view fails to take into account the internalized piety of the eleventh century and later, which demanded affective participation in the sufferings of Christ and the martyrs. Also, if these images of the torture of holy maidens really did serve to satisfy the sado-erotic desires of clerics, this would have to be authenticated by the medieval sources, over and above any explanation based on Freudian theory.100 From what has been said until now, it seems to me that the interpretation of these images as stimuli for empathy, or as souvenirs of personal experience, is more convincing,101 particularly in those pictures, created for women, in which the expression of the compassio, or affective compassion, constituted a central element.
An overview of gender and art in the Romanesque and Gothic periods clearly reveals that art historical research from the perspective of gender has already yielded some initial findings, but that, given the wide scope of the subject, there are still many gaps in our knowledge. Scholars interested in women’s and gender history must therefore base a large part of their work on older research and try their best to reinterpret the information appropriately. Other researchers are attempting to integrate the material from the three central centuries of the Middle Ages into a highly intellectual theoretical framework and in this way to extract new understanding from the images. Both of these approaches are legitimate, but the results generated can only be regarded as credible if they withstand comparison with the original sources. The content and import of these set clearly defined limits to gender–oriented interpretation.
1 I thank Anne Christine George for her excellent translation.
2 Goetz, Moderne Mediaevistik, pp. 318–29; Gouma-Peterson and Mathew, “The Feminist Critique,” pp. 326–57; and Ruby, “Feminismus,” pp. 17–28.
3 Duby and Perrot, Histoire des femmes en occident; Goetz, Frauen im frühen; Wiesner-Hanks, Gender in History.
4 Söntgen, Rahmen, pp. 7–23.
5 Goetz, Moderne Mediaevistik, p. 320.
6 Ruby, “Feminismus,” p. 26.
7 Parker and Pollock, Old Mistresses. See also the essays in Speculum 68 (1993) pp. 305–471.
8 Caviness, Visualizing Women.
9 Speculum 68 (1993), pp. 309–31.
10 Morrison, History as a Visual Art, pp. 154–95.
11 Owen, Eleanor of Aquitaine.
12 Sivéry, Blanche de Castille.
13 Green et al., Hortus Deliciarum, was published when gender studies was still in its infancy. For a summary, see Evans, “Herrad,” pp. 358–9.
14 Gouma-Peterson and Mathews, “The Feminist Critique,” p. 350.
15 Pollock, “Women and Art History,” pp. 307–16.
16 Nochlin, “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” pp. 480–510.
17 Havice, “Approaching Medieval Women,” pp. 366–7.
18 Graf, Bildnisse, pp. 50–60.
19 Parker, Subversive Stitch, pp. 48–9.
20 Brown, The Bayeux Tapestry.
21 Weyl Carr, “Women as Artists,” p. 6.
22 Lillich, “Gothic Glaziers,” pp. 72–92.
23 Schöller, “Frauenarbeit,” pp. 305–20.
24 Geyer, “Le mythe d’Erwin de Steinbach.” Pollock, “Women and Art History,” p. 308, and Havice, “Women and the Production of Art,” pp. 72–5, claim, on the contrary, that Sabina was a legendary medieval artist. However Havice, in “Approaching Medieval Women,” p. 372, corrects her earlier assumption.
25 [On patronage, see chapter 9 by Caskey in this volume (ed.).]
26 For a medieval Paragone, see Theophilus, The Various Arts, pp. 37 and 61–4. [In regard to Romanesque manuscript illumination and the sumptuous arts, see chapters 17 and 22 by Cohen and Buettner, respectively, in this volume (ed.).]
27 Caviness, “Hildegard of Bingen”; Heerlein, “Hildegard von Bingen.”
28 Saurma-Jeltsch, Die Miniaturen, pp. 12–15; Suzuki, Bildgewordene Visionen, pp. 222–5.
29 Caviness, “Hildegard as Designer,” pp. 29–62, and “Gender Symbolism.”
30 Graf, Bildnisse, pp. 101–9.
31 Ibid., pp. 92–189.
32 See note 13 above.
33 McGuire, “Two Twelfth Century Women,” pp. 97–105.
34 Most recent: Griffiths, “Nuns’ Memories,” pp. 132–49, and “Herrad of Hohenbourg,” pp. 221–43.
35 Beyer et al., Les vitraux de la cathédrale Notre-Dame de Strasbourg, pp. 25–31, 48–51, 125–8; Cahn, Romanesque Manuscripts, pp. 180–1.
36 Lord, Royal French Patronage, pp. 56–65 (Royal Female Patronage); Caviness, “Anchoress,” p. 107.
37 Gee, Women; Caviness, “Anchoress,” pp. 105–54.
38 Caviness, “Anchoress,” p. 107.
39 New material on the German queens is to be found in Fößel, Die Königin.
40 Owen, Eleanor of Aquitaine.
41 Sivéry, Blanche de Castille; see also Gajewsky-Kennedy, “Recherches,” pp. 223–54.
42 Lillich, The Queen of Sicily, pp. 68–74.
43 Althoff, Adels und Königsfamilien, pp. 133–78; Fößel, Die Königin, pp. 222–49; Nelson, “Medieval Queenship.”
44 Caviness, “Anchoress,” pp. 128–31.
45 Grütter, “Das Grabmal.”
46 Kurmann-Schwarz, “Die Sorge.”
47 Bienvenu, “Aliénor d’Aquitaine et Fontevraud.”
48 Gajewsky-Kennedy, “Recherches.”
49 Lillich, The Queen of Sicily, pp. 68–75, 110–12.
50 Gajewsky-Kennedy, “Recherches,” p. 241.
51 Gee, Women, pp. 93–108.
52 Sauerländer and Kroos, Gotische Skulptur, pp. 130–1; Prunet and de Maupeou, “Présentation des Gisants,” pp. 51–67 (with Bibliography).
53 Mérimée: “Le haut du corps est tellement endommagé qu’il est difficile de juger sa position”: see Prunet and de Maupeou, p. 63.
54 Erlande-Brandenburg, “Le tombeau”; Gajewsky-Kennedy, “Recherches,” pp. 223–54; Lillich, The Queen of Sicily, p. 112, note 21.
55 Kurmann-Schwarz, “Die Sorge,” pp. 17–18.
56 Marti, “Königin Agnes.”
57 Kurmann-Schwarz, Glasmalerei; Lillich, The Queen of Sicily, pp. 77–95.
58 Goetz, Moderne Mediaevistik, p. 329.
59 Hamburger, Rothschild Canticles, pp. 155–67.
60 Hamburger, The Visual and the Visionary, pp. 111–48.
61 Hamburger, Rothschild Canticles, p. 164; Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast.
62 Hamburger, Rothschild Canticles, p. 160, and “Liber Precum,” p. 220; Carrasco, “Imagery,” pp. 75–6.
63 Pächt et al., The Saint Albans Psalter; Hamburger, Rothschild Canticles, p. 160; Caviness, “Anchoress,” pp. 107–13; Hamburger, “Liber Precum,” pp. 228–30; Carrasco, “Imagery,” pp. 67–80.
64 Hamburger, Rothschild Canticles, pp. 99–100, 161.
65 Ibid., pp. 105–17.
66 Hamburger, The Visual and the Visionary, pp. 111–48.
67 Hamburger, Rothschild Canticles, pp. 165–6.
68 Ibid., pp. 149–95.
69 Oliver, Gothic Manuscript Illumination, pp. 29–119.
70 Pächt et al., The Saint Albans Psalter, pp. 137–8; Carrasco, “Imagery,” p. 71. [On Gregory the Great and image theory, see chapter 7 by Kessler in this volume (ed.).]
71 Hamburger, “Liber Precum,” p. 232.
72 Hamburger, Rothschild Canticles, pp. 164–5.
73 Southern, Saint Anselm and His Biographers, p. 37.
74 Bruzelius and Berman, “Monastic Architecture,” pp. 73–5.
75 For example, Braunfels, Monasteries of Western Europe.
76 Venarde, Women’s Monasticism and Medieval Society.
77 Hamburger, The Visual and the Visionary, pp. 44–57.
78 Concerning legislation on enclosure, see: Huyghe, La Clôture; Tibbetts Schulenburg, “Strict Active Enclosure”; Johnson, “La Théorie de la clôture.”
79 Gajewsky-Kennedy, “Recherches,” pp. 223–54.
80 Hamburger, The Visual and the Visionary, pp. 44–57.
81 Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture, pp. 92–127.
82 Bruzelius, “Hearing is Believing,” pp. 83–91.
83 Descoeudres, “Mittelalterliche Dominikanerinnenkirchen,” pp. 39–77.
84 Simmons, “The Abbey Church,” pp. 99–107.
85 Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture, pp. 128–69.
86 Caviness, Visualizing Women; Havice, “Approaching Medieval Women,” pp. 347–59.
87 Goetz, Frauen im frühen, pp. 284–5.
88 Frugoni, “La Femme imaginée,” in Duby and Perrot, Histoire des femmes en occident, pp. 357–437; Caviness, “Anchoress,” pp. 105–8.
89 McKitterick, “Women in the Ottonian Church”; Goetz, Frauen im frühen, pp. 281–323.
90 See contributions in Duby and Perrot, Histoire des femmes en occident.
91 Schubert, Die ältesten Personen-Denkmäler, pp. 4–8.
92 Ibid., pp. 9–13; Havice, “Approaching,” pp. 345–7, 355.
93 Gee, Women, pp. 109–22.
94 Morrison, History as a Visual Art, pp. 164–71.
95 Bedos-Rezak, “Medieval Women,” pp. 1–36.
96 Fößel, Die Königin, Ill. 11.
97 Caviness, Visualizing Women, pp. 18–44. [On vision, see chapter 2 by Hahn in this volume (ed.).]
98 Hamburger, Rothschild Canticles, p. 167.
99 Ibid., p. 163.
100 Caviness, Visualizing Women, pp. 84–124.
101 Stones, “Nipples, Entrails,” pp. 47–64, and Le Livre d’images; Braem, Das Andachtsbuch.
Gert Althoff, Adels und Königsfamilien im Spiegel ihrer Memorialüberlieferung. Studien zum Totengedenken der Billunger und Ottonen, Münstersche Mittelalterschriften 47 (München, 1984).
Brigitte Bedos-Rezak, “Medieval Women in French Sigillographic Sources,” in Joel T. Rosenthal, Medieval Women and the Sources of Medieval History (Athens and London, 1990), pp. 1–36.
Victor Beyer, Christiane Wild-Block, and Fridtjof Zschokke, Les Vitraux de la cathédrale Notre-Dame de Strasbourg, Corpus Vitrearum France 9–1, Département du Bas-Rhin 1 (Paris, 1986).
Jean-Marc Bienvenu, “Aliénor d’Aquitaine et Fontevraud,” Cahiers de Civilisation médiévale 29 (1986), pp. 15–27.
Andreas Braem, Das Andachtsbuch der Marie de Gavre, Paris, Ms. nouv. acq. fr. 16521. Buchmalerei in der Diözese Cambrai im letzten Viertel des 13. Jahrhunderts (Wiesbaden, 1997).
Wolfgang Braunfels, Monasteries of Western Europe: The Architecture of the Orders (London, 1972).
Shirley Ann Brown, The Bayeux Tapestry. History and Bibliography (Woodbridge, 1988).
Caroline Bruzelius, “Hearing is Believing: Clarissan Architecture, ca.1213–1340,” Gesta 31 (1992), pp. 83–91.
Caroline Bruzelius and Constance H. Berman, “Monastic Architecture for Women, Introduction,” Gesta 31 (1992), pp. 73–5.
Caroline Walker Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast, The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London, 1987).
Walter Cahn, Romanesque Manuscripts. The Twelfth Century, vol. 2 (London, 1996).
Magdalena E. Carrasco, “The Imagery of the Magdalen in Christina of Markyate’s Psalter (Saint Albans Psalter),” Gesta 38 (1999), pp. 67–80.
Madeline H. Caviness, “Anchoress, Abbess, and Queen: Donors and Patrons or Intercessors and Matrons?” in June Hall McCash, ed., The Cultural Patronage of Medieval Women (Athens and London, 1996), pp. 105–54.
——, “Gender Symbolism and Text Image Relationships: Hildegard of Bingen’s Scivias,” in Art in the Medieval West and Its Audience (Aldershot and Burlington, 2001), pp. 71–111.
——, “Hildegard,” in Delia Gaze, ed., A Concise Dictionary of Women Artists (London and Chicago, 2001), pp. 363–7.
——, “Hildegard of Bingen: Some Recent Books,” Speculum 77 (2002), pp. 113–120.
——, “Hildegard as Designer of the Illustrations to Her Work,” in Charles Burnett and Peter Dronke, eds., Hildegard of Bingen. The Context of her Thought and Art (London, 1998), pp. 29–62.
——, Visualizing Women in the Middle Ages. Sight, Spectacle, and Scopic Economy (Philadelphia, 2001).
Whitney Chadwick, “The Middle Ages,” Women, Art and Society, 2nd edn. (London, 1966).
Georges Descoeudres, “Mittelalterliche Dominikanerinnenkirchen in der Zentra- und Nordostschweiz,” Mitteilungen des Historischen Vereins des Kantos Schwyz 81 (1989), pp. 39–77.
George Duby and Michèle Perrot, Histoire des femmes en occident 2, Le Moyen Age, ed. Christiane Klapisch-Zuber (Paris, 1991).
Alain Erlande-Brandenburg, “Le Tombeau de coeur de Blanche de Castille à l’abbaye de Lys,” Art et architecture à Melun au Moyen Age (Paris, 2000), pp. 255–7.
Michael Evans, “Herrad, Abbess of Hohenbourg,” in Delia Gaze, ed., A Concise Dictionary of Women Artists (London and Chicago, 2001), pp. 358–9.
Amalie Fößel, Die Königin im mittelalterlichen Reich, Herrschaftsausübung, Herrschaftsrechte, Handslungsspielräume (Stuttgart, 2000).
Alexandra Gajewsky-Kennedy, “Recherches sur l’architecture cistercienne et le pouvoir royal. Blanche de Castille et la construction de l’abbaye de Lys,” Art et Architecture à Melun au Moyen Age, Actes du colloque d’histoire de l’art et d’archéologie tenu à Melun, ed. Yves Gallet (Paris, 2000), pp. 223–54.
Loveday Lewes Gee, Women, Art and Patronage from Henry III to Edward III, 1216–1377 (Woodbridge, 2002).
Marie-Jeanne Geyer, “Le Mythe d’Erwin de Steinbach,” in Roland Recht, ed., Les Bâtiseurs des cathédrales (Strasbourg, 1989), pp. 322–9.
Roberta Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture. The Archaeology of Religious Women (London and New York, 1994).
Hans-Werner Goetz, Frauen im frühen Mittelalter. Frauenbild und Frauenleben im Frankenreich (Weimar, Köln, and Wien, 1995).
——, Moderne Mediaevistik. Stand und Perspektiven der Mittelalterforschung (Darmstadt, 1999).
Thalia Gouma-Peterson and Patricia Mathew, “The Feminist Critique of Art History,” Art Bulletin 69 (1987), pp. 326–57.
Katrin Graf, Bildnisse schreibender Frauen im Mittelalter 9. bis Anfang 13. Jahrhundert (Basel, 2002).
Rosalie Green, Michael Evans, Christine Bischoff, and Michael Curschmann, eds., Herrad von Hohenburg, Hortus Deliciarum, 2 vols., Reconstruction and Commentary (London, 1979).
Fiona Griffiths, “Nuns’ Memories or Missing History in Alsace (c.1200): Herrad of Hohenbourg’s Garden of Delights,” in Elisabeth van Houts, ed., Medieval Memories. Men, Women and the Past 700–1300 (Harlow, 2001), pp. 132–49.
——, “Herrad of Hohenbourg: A Synthesis of Learning in the Garden of Delights,” in Constant J. Mews, ed., Listen Daughter. The Speculum Virginum and the Formation of Religious Women in the Middle Ages (New York, 2001), pp. 221–43.
Daniel Grütter, “Das Grabmal der Königin Anna von Habsburg im Basler Münster,” Kunst und Architektur in der Schweiz 53 (2002), pp. 60–3.
Jeffrey F. Hamburger, “A Liber Precum in Sélestat and the Development of the Illuminated Prayer Book in Germany,” Art Bulletin 73 (1991), pp. 209–36 (reprinted in The Visual and the Visionary, under the title “Before the Book of Hours: The Development of the Illustrated Prayer Book in Germany,” pp. 149–95).
——, The Rothschild Canticles. Art and Mysticism in Flanders and the Rhineland circa 1300 (New Haven and London, 1990).
——, The Visual and the Visionary. Art and Female Spirituality in Late Medieval Germany (New York, 1998).
Christine Havice, “Approaching Medieval Women Through Medieval Art,” in Linda E. Mitchell, ed., Women in Medieval Western European Culture (New York and London, 1999), pp. 345–73.
——, “Women and the Production of Art in the Middle Ages: The Significance of Context,” in Natalie Harris Bluestone, ed., Double Vision. Perspectives on Gender and the Visual Arts (London and Toronto, 1995), pp. 67–94.
Karin Heerlein, “Hildegard von Bingen (1098–1179). Erträge des Jubiläumsjahres,” Kunstchronik 53 (2000), pp. 549–60.
Gérard Huyghe, La Clôture des moniales des origines à la fin du XIIIe siècle. Etude historique et juridique (Roubaix, 1944).
Penelope D. Johnson, “La Théorie de la clôture et l’activité réelle des moniales françaises du XIe au XIIIe siècle,” in Les Religieuses dans le cloître et dans le monde (Saint-Etienne, 1994), pp. 491–505.
Brigitte Kurmann-Schwarz, “Die Sorge um die Memoria. Das Habsburger Grab in Königsfelden im Lichte seiner Bildausstattung,” Kunst und Architektur in der Schweiz 50 (1999), pp. 12–23.
——, Glasmalerei im Kanton Aargau, Bd. 1, Königsfelden – Zofingen – Staufberg (Aarau, 2002).
Meredith P. Lillich, “Gothic Glaziers: Monks, Jews, Taxpayers, Bretons, Women,” Journal of Glass Studies 27 (1985), pp. 72–92.
——, The Queen of Sicily and Gothic Stained Glass in Mussy and Tonnerre, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society 88, Part 3 (Philadelphia, 1998).
Carla Lord, Royal French Patronage of Art in the Fourteenth Century. An Annotated Bibliography (Boston, 1988).
Susan Marti, “Königin Agnes und ihre Geschenke – Zeugnisse, Zuschreibungen und Legenden,” Kunst und Architektur in der Schweiz 47 (1996), pp. 169–80.
Thérèse McGuire, “Two Twelfth Century Women and their Books,” in Lesley Smith and Jane H. M. Taylor, eds., Women and the Book. Assessing the Visual Evidence (London and Toronto, 1996), pp. 97–105.
Rosamond McKitterick, “Women in the Ottonian Church: An Iconographic Perspective,” in W. J. Sheils and Diana Wood, eds., Women in the Church. Studies in Church History (Oxford, 1990), pp. 79–100.
Dorothy Miner, Anastaise and Her Sisters. Women Artists of the Middle Ages, Walters Art Gallery (Baltimore, 1974).
Karl F. Morrison, History as a Visual Art in the Twelfth-Century Renaissance (Princeton, 1990).
Janet L. Nelson, “Medieval Queenship,” in Linda E. Mitchell, ed., Women in Medieval Western European Culture (New York and London, 1999), pp. 179–207.
Linda Nochlin, “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” in Vivian Gornick and Barbara Moran, eds., Women in Sexist Society. Studies in Power and Powerlessness (New York, 1971), pp. 480–510.
Judith H. Oliver, Gothic Manuscript Illumination in the Diocese of Liège (c.1250–c.1330), 2 vols. (Leuven, 1988).
D. D. R. Owen, Eleanor of Aquitaine. Queen and Legend (Malden, 1993).
Otto Pächt, Charles Reginald Dodwell, and Francis Wormald, The Saint Albans Psalter (London, 1960).
Rozsika Parker, The Subversive Stitch: Embroidery and the Making of the Feminine (London, 1984).
Rozsika Parker and Griselda Pollock, Old Mistresses. Women, Art and Ideology (London, 1981).
Griselda Pollock, “Women and Art History,” Dictionary of Art 33 (1996), pp. 307–16.
Pierre Prunet and Catherine de Maupeou, “Présentation des Gisants des Plantagenêts, abbaye de Fontevraud,” Monumental (1993–2), pp. 51–67.
Sigrid Ruby, “Feminismus und Geschlechterdiffenrenzforschung,” Kunsthistorische Arbeitsblätter (2003), pp. 17–28.
Willibald Sauerländer and Renate Kroos, Gotische Skulptur in Frankreich 1140–1270 (München, 1970).
Lieselotte Saurma-Jeltsch, Die Miniaturen im “Liber Scivias” der Hildegard von Bingen: Die Wucht der Vision und die Ordnung der Bilder (Wiesbaden, 1998).
Wolfgang Schöller, “Frauenarbeit in der mittelalterlichen Bauwirtschaft,” Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 76 (1994), pp. 305–20.
Ernst Schubert, Die ältesten Personen-Denkmäler des Mittelalters in Sachsen, Sitzungsberichte der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig, Philologischhistorische Klasse 136 (Leipzig and Stuttgart, 1999).
——, “Inschrift und Darstellung auf Quedlinburger Äbtissinnengrabsteinen des 12.und 13. Jahrhunderts,” Deutsche Inschriften, Vorträge und Berichte, Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Mainz, Abhandlungen der Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse (Mainz and Stuttgart, 1987), pp. 131–51.
Lorraine N. Simmons, “The Abbey Church at Fontevraud in the Later Twelfth Century: Anxiety, Authority and Architecture in the Female Spiritual Life,” Gesta 31 (1992), pp. 99–107.
Gérard Sivéry, Blanche de Castille (Paris, 1990).
Beate Söntgen (ed.), Den Rahmen wechseln. Von Kunstgeschichte zur feministischen Kulturwissenschaft (Berlin, 1996).
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——, “Nipples, Entrails, Severed Heads, and Skin: Devotional Images for Madame Marie,” in Image and Belief. Studies in Celebration of the Eightieth Anniversary of the Index of Christian Art, ed. Colum Hourihane (Princeton, 1999), pp. 47–64.
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