Angelica Rieger, Trobairitz. Der Beitrag der Frau in der altokzitanischen höfischen Lyrik. Gesamtkorpus. Tübingen, Max Niemeyer, 1981.

Marirì Martinengo, Las trovadoras. Poetisas del amor cortés. (Textos provenzales con traducción castellana), trans. by María-Milagros Rivera Garretas and Ana Mañeru Méndez, Madrid, horas y HORAS, 1997.

The troubadour or trobairitz that we call Anonymous 2, because her name has not been conserved, relates, in the form of a dialogue between a married lady and a single girl, a crisis in a love story between that lady and a gentleman, who has been abandoned by her because of his offensive behaviour. The girl intercedes on his behalf.

“Let us speak quietly, lady, so that nobody hears us;
Now you say that he has erred towards you
And in order to please you he surrenders
His humble heart to your proud one
I want you to tell me, lady,
What you might do to not feel compassion
Because he breathes a thousand anguished breaths a day;
You do not deign to forgive him with just one.

If he wants me to give him back my love, young maid
He must needs be courteous and brave
Sincere and humble, entering into contest with nobody,
And being kind to all;
Because I am not pleased by a man who is wicked and proud
Through whom my value might fall or diminish,
But rather sincere and faithful, discrete and enamoured:
If he wishes me to be merciful to him, let him listen to me.”

“Süau parlem, domna, qu’om no.us entenda,
ara digatz, que forfaitz es vas vos,
mais que per far vostres plazers se renda,
son cor umil contra.l vostr’ ergulhos.
Vuelh que.m digatz, domna, per cals razos
poiretz estar que merces non vo’n prenda,
que mil sospirs ne fa.l jorn angoissos,
don per un sol no.l denhatz far esmenda.

Si m’amor vol, na donzela, que renda,
ben li er obs que sia gais e pros,
francs et umils, qu’ab nulh om no.s contenda
e a cascun sia de bel respos;
qu’a me non tanh om fel ni ergulhos
per que mon pretz dechaja ni dissenda,
mas francs e fis, celans et amoros,
s’el vol que.l don lezer que mi entenda.”

There are two critical editions of La Cité des Dames:

Monica Lange, Livre de la cité des dames: Kritische Text-edition auf Grund der sieben überlieferten “manuscrits originaux” des Textes, PhD thesis, University of Hamburg, 1974.

Maureen C. Curnow, The Livre de la Cité des Dames by Christine de Pisan: A Critical Edition, 2 vols., PhD thesis, Vanderbildt University, 1975, (based on the manuscript at the Bibliothèque Nationale of Paris, ms. fr. 607, the oldest, dated at 1407), [“Dissertation Abstracts International”, 36 (1975-1976) 4536-4537ª].

Many manuscripts of this work have been conserved (around 25); there is one that is autographed, revised by Christine around 1410, which belonged to Isabel of Baviera (London, British Library, ms. Harley 4431).

Pizan, Cristina de, La Ciudad de las Damas, text and trans. by Marie-José Lemarchand, Madrid, Siruela, 1995.

Christine de Pisan explains how one afternoon, tired of studying, she started to read a book she had been lent, thinking that it would distract her. It was a book criticising women. She left it because her mother called her to dinner; the next day, reflecting on this and many other misogynistic books, she became aware that, reading them, she recognised more authority in those writers than in her feminine experience.

“Sitting in my study, completely surrounded by the most disparate books, as is my custom, since the study of the liberal arts is a habit that governs my life, I found myself mentally tired, after having reflected on the ideas of various authors. I raised my eyes from the text and decided to leave the difficult books to entertain myself with reading some poet. Being in this state of mind, a certain strange tract fell into my hands, which was not mine but rather one that someone had lent to me. I opened it then and saw that it had as a title The Lamentations of Mateolo. It made me smile, because, although I had not read it, I knew that this book was famous for discussing respect towards women. I thought that leafing through its pages might amuse me a little, but I had not got very far in my reading when my good mother called me to the table, because it was time for dinner. I left my reading immediately, with the intention of postponing it until the next day. When I returned to my study in the morning, as I usually do, I remembered that I had to read the book by Mateolo. I got somewhat into the text but, as it seemed to me that the subject was not very pleasant for those who do not enjoy falsity and did not contribute at all to the cultivation of moral qualities, in the light also of the ugliness of style and argumentation, after looking over it here and there, I went to read the end and I left it in order to return to a more serious and fruitful kind of study. Although this book has no authority at all, its reading left me, however, perturbed and sunk in a profound perplexity. I asked myself what the reasons could be that lead so many men, clergymen and laymen, to vituperate against women, criticising them whether it be in the spoken word or in writings and treatises. It is not that it is a question of one man or two, it is not even a question of that Mateolo, who will never be held to be of much worth because his treaty goes no further than ridicule, but rather that there is no text that is exempt from misogyny. On the contrary, philosophers, poets, moralists, all –and the list would be too long- seem to speak with the same voice in order to arrive at the conclusion that woman, bad in essence and nature, always leans towards vice. Going back over all these things in my mind, I, who have been born a woman, started to examine my character and my conduct and also that of many other women that I have had the opportunity to know, both princesses and great ladies and also women of an average and modest condition, who saw fit to confide in me their most intimate thoughts. I put my mind to deciding, in all conscience, if the testimony gathered together by so many enlightened males could be mistaken. But, whichever way I looked at it, consuming the ideas like someone peeling back a piece of fruit, I was not able to understand nor admit as well founded the judgement of men on the nature and conduct of women. At the same time, however, I insisted in accusing them because I thought that it would be very improbable that so many illustrious men, so many doctors of such profound understanding and universal discernment –it seems to me that all of them must have enjoyed such faculties- had been able to expound in such an incisive way and in so many works that it was almost impossible to find a moralising text, whoever the author might be, without coming across, before reaching the end, some paragraph or chapter that accused or spoke with despising about women. This sole argument was enough to bring me to the conclusion that all of that had to be true, even if my mind, in its ingenuity and ignorance, could not manage to recognise these great defects that I myself shared with no doubt with other women. Thus had I come to trust more in the judgement of the other than in what I felt and knew in my being as a woman.”

Teresa de Cartagena,Arboleda de los enfermos y Admiraçión operum Dey, ed. by Lewis J. Hutton, Madrid 1967. [Anejos del “Boletín de la Real Academia Española” XVI].

Teresa de Cartagena had just published the book Arboleda de los enfermos. Some of the men and women humanists of her circle accuse her of plagiarism saying, with pretended admiration, that a woman could not have written a work like that. She defends herself by writing, at the request and petition of her friend Juana de Mendoza, another book, entitled Admiración de las obras de Dios, in which she argues that women have been given, through grace, their own divine and, men, theirs. This book is the first known of written in Castilian by a woman participating in the Querelle des Femmes.

“Introduction

I am often given to understand, virtuous lady, that some of the reasonable males and, also, discrete females marvel or have marvelled at a treatise which, with the divine grace leading my weak feminine understanding, was written by my hand. And as it is a small work, of little substance, I am astonished. And it cannot be believed that the reasonable males tend to want to marvel at such a little thing; but, if their marvelling is true, it seems that my insult is not in doubt, since they do not manifest this admiration for the deservingness of the writing but rather for the defect of its author or composer; as we see through experience that when a person of simple and crude understanding says a word that seems to us of sense: we are astonished by it, not because what they have said is worthy of admiration but rather because the very being of that person is so censurable and low and held in such little esteem that we do not expect anything good of them. And, because of this, when it happens, through the mercy of God, that these simple and crude people say or do something that, although it is not altogether good, is uncommon, we are greatly astonished because of the afore-mentioned relationship. And it is due to the same relationship that I certainly believe that the reasonable males have marvelled at the treatise I made: not because it contains things that are very good or worthy of admiration but rather because my own being and just desert with the adverse fortune and growing illnesses speak against me and incite all to admire themselves in saying: “How can there be any good in a person in whom so much bad resides?” And from this it has followed that the work that is feminine and of little substance, that is worthy of reproach amongst common men, with much reason would be made worthy of admiration in the approval of the singular and great men, since the prudent one does not marvel without cause when he sees that the fool knows how to speak. And let those who want say that the said admiration is praise, to me it seems an insult; and, of my own will, I prefer to be offered injurious insults than futile praises, since neither the insult can hurt me nor the futile praise benefit me. Since I do not want to usurp the other’s glory nor do I wish to flee from my own insult. But there is another thing that I should not consent to, since truth does not consent to it: it seems to be that not only do the prudent marvel at the fore-mentioned treatise, but that some of them even are unable to believe that it is true that I have done such good; that in me less is supposed, but in the mercy of God greater good is found. And as they say to me, virtuous lady, that the cited volume of papers in draft-form has reached the attention of Mr Gómez Manrique and your own, I do not know if the doubts that surround the treatise have been presented before your discretion. And, although the good work, which before the subject of the sovereign truth is true and certain, is not very damaged if held as doubtful – like this one- in the reception and judgement of human men; that can destroy and does destroy the substance of the writing; and even appears to take away in great measure the benefit and grace given to me by God. In any case, in honour and glory of this sovereign and liberal Lord, of whose mercy the earth is full, I, who am a small piece of earth, dare to present before your great discretion this that in mine, small and weak, is before you now.”

“Introduçión

Muchas vezes me es hecho entender, virtuosa señora, que algunos de los prudentes varones e asy mesmo henbras discretas se maravillan o han maravillado de vn tratado que, la graçia divina administrando mi flaco mugeril entendimiento, mi mano escriuió. E como sea vna obra pequeña, de poca sustançia, estoy maravillada. E no se crea que los prudentes varones se ynclinasen a quererse marauillar de tan poca cosa, p[er]o sy su marauillar es çierto, bien paresçe que mi denuesto non es dubdoso, ca manifiesto no se faze esta admiraçión por meritoria de la escritura, mas por defecto de la abtora o conponedora della, como vemos por esperençia quando alguna persona de synple e rudo entendimiento dize alguna palabra que nos paresca algund tanto sentida: maravillámonos dello(s), no porque su dicho sea digno de admiraçión mas porque el mismo ser de aquella persona es asy reprovado e baxo e tenido en tal estima que no esperamos della cosa que buena sea. E por esto quando acaesçe por la misericordia de Dios que tales personas sinples e r[u]d[a]s dize[n] o haze[n] alguna(s) cosa(s), avnque no sea del todo buena, (e) sy no comunal, maravillámonos mucho por el respecto ya dicho. E por el mesmo respecto creo çiertamente que se ayan maravillado los prudentes varones del tractado que yo hize, y no porque en él se contenga cosa muy buena ni digna de admiraçión, mas porque mi propio ser e justo meresçimiento con la adversa fortuna e acresçentadas pasyones dan bozes contra mí e llaman a todos que se maravillen diziendo: ‘¿Cómo en persona que tantos males asyentan puede aver algund bien?’ E de aquí se ha seguido que la obra mugeril e de poca sustançia que dina [es] de reprehensyón entre los onbres comunes, (e) con mucha razón sería fecha dina de admiraçión en el acatamiento de los singulares e grandes omes, ca no syn causa se maravilla el prudente quando vehe que el nesçio sabe hablar. E diga quien quisyere que esta ya dicha admiraçión es loor, que a mí denuesto me paresçe(r) e, por la mi voluntad, antes se me ofrescan injuriosos denuestos me paresçe que no vanos loores; ca ni me puede dañar la injuria nin aprovechar el vano loor. Asy que yo no quiero vsurpar la gloria ajena ni deseo huyr del propio denuesto. Pero ay otra cosa que [no] devo consyntir, pues la verdad non la consyente, ca paresçe ser no solamente se maravillan los prudentes del tractado ya dicho, mas avn algunos no pueden creer que yo hisyese tanto bien ser verdad: que en mí menos es de lo que se presume, pero en la misericordia de Dios mayores bienes se hallan. E porque me dizen, virtuosa señora, que el ya dicho bolumen de papeles bor[r]ados aya venido a la noticia del señor Gómez Manrique e vuestra, no sé sy la dubda, a bueltas del tractado, se presentó a vuestra discreçión. E como quier que la buena obra que antel subjeto de la soberana Verdad es verdadera e çierta, non enpeçe mucho si nel acatamiento e juizio de los onbres vmanos es avida por dubdosa, como ésta, puede estragar e estraga la sustançia de la escritura, e avn paresçe evacuar muy mucho el benefiçio e graçia que Dios me hizo. Por ende, a onor y gloria deste soberano e liberal Señor de cuya misericordia es llena la tierra, e yo, que soy un pequeño pedaço de tierra, atréuome presentar a vuestra grand discreçión esto que a la mía pequeña e flaca por agora se ofresçe.”

The History that is written has, in general, the intention of relating and interpreting human experience in time. In time, the human creature that is the protagonist and that lives through history does not present itself as an abstract being or person, but rather as a woman or a man; because the human creature is sexed, always and everywhere.

That in the world, there are and there are only women and men, little girls and little boys, we learn upon learning to speak. On teaching us to speak –that is, on teaching us the mother tongue-, the mother teaches us to refer to little girls in the feminine and to little boys in the masculine. Perceiving the fact of sexual difference, we learn to observe and appreciate history as a whole, given that the world is enriched by the interpretations and free expressions of being woman and being man: a human and irreducible, human quality, which marks everything.

However, when we read a scientific work of History, we see that its author or its authoress almost never speaks in feminine and in masculine but rather in neutral: in that supposedly universal neutral that feminism, so strongly and so rightly denounced and which the positivism of the nineteenth century has imposed as scientific language. They are works of history that do not register –separating themselves thus from the mother tongue learned in infancy- the fundamental historical fact which is that history is made and lived through by women and men. Because of this their books have titles such as Medieval Man or The Philosophy of Man or The Indian Men of the Caribbean or The Little Boy in Renaissance Literature.

They do not do so out of a matter of economy of language nor lack of space, since generally they are works that extend themselves in all kind of details of only moderate interest, but rather because of a political question: from Humanism and the Renaissance, the culture that is called western has persistently hounded the free expressions of the difference of being woman in history; trying, on the other hand, against all evidence of the senses, to make the neutral language include women as well. But, as by chance the neutral language is not neutral but rather coincides with masculine language, when a woman reader approaches a scientific work of history with the hope of knowing something about her past, the opaqueness is total. In it, women do not see themselves because masculine language deprives us of our own infinite.

There is, then, today, between history and scientific books of history, between life and historiography, a fundamental disconnection, a hole though which many things escape: so many, that more and more people prefer to read a historical novel rather than an essay in order to know an episode of the past. The disconnection consists in the fact that the foundation of living history is the relationships of the sexes, and, on the other hand, the foundation of the scientific works of history is the actions of a supposedly universal neutral man: a strange man, who is, in reality, neither man nor woman.

However, outside the places governed by scientific positivism, women have always written history taking into account the free sense of their being woman. They have done so above all in the amongst-women, be this in the convents and monasteries, in the institutions of canonesses, in the world of the beguines and beatas, in the feminine courts of royalty, of the nobility and of the bourgeoisie, in feminist groups, in dual relationships embarked upon and sustained in any place and time, in the cultural, educational foundations or feminine politics, etc. The texts of the troubadour Anonymous 2, of Christine de Pisan and of Teresa de Cartagena, are a few examples of it.

In their tales of lived histories, they wrote in feminine in order to refer to women and in masculine to refer to men. With this political gesture expressed in language, they left open to both women and men their own infinite dimension, an infinite dimension in which freedom is possible.

To say that each sex has its own infinite means to understand that in the world there existtwo infinites, the feminine and the masculine. This clashes with the present day custom of taking for granted, without thinking much about it, that the infinite is only one, as God is only one or only one the peak or only one the president or the principle of thought or of being. And yet, the cosmogony of feudal Europe was formed around two creating principles, each one of which was understood as being of cosmic reach. These creating principles were the feminine principle and the masculine principle. This way of seeing the world expressed itself, for example, in a theory which is called the the doctrine of the two infinites. This doctrine said that in the world there are two infinites, which are: the primary material or materia prima and God. The primary material is the feminine creative principle, God is the masculine creative principle.

This theory, attached to life in its sexuation, was persecuted from the thirteenth century by the catholic ecclesiastical hierarchy, which used for it the scholastic, the universities, torture and the death penalty.

Some women made of themselves, however, the depositaries of the memory of the doctrine of the two infinites and, in different ways according to their historical circumstances, they remembered it in their writings throughout the following centuries, until the present-day.

With the objective of perceiving the up-to-date nature of the theory or doctrine of the two infinites, it could be interesting to read and discuss a fragment of the novel of Clarice Lispectorentitled Cerca del corazón salvaje (1944)), in which she relives the memory of the primary material as the feminine creative principle of cosmic reach. Because the theory of the two infinites helps to unravel an enigma of the politics of our time, an enigma that is expressed with the metaphor of the “glass ceiling”. The glass ceiling appears when a woman cannot achieve something –something that she desires- because it happens that she is not a man: something –being a man- that she could not, in substance, become, although she may emulate it or seem it. In a politics that coincides with the theory of the two infinites, there is no glass ceiling, given that neither the woman is understood as the measure of the man, nor is the man understood as the measure of the woman: she would have her own infinite, he, his.