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Copyright© E. Jane Burns, 2004
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The editor and authors wish to acknowledge those who gave permission
for use of images:
In Kathryn Starkey's chapter, Photo Rifksdienst voor het Oud-
heidkundig Bodemonderzoek, Amersfoort, The Netherlands. In Janet
Snyder's chapter, The Metropolitan Museum of Art (all rights reserved).
In Andrea Denny-Brown's chapter, Bibliotheque nationale de France,
Paris.
Why Textiles Make a Difference ................................. 1
E. JANE BURNS
How Philosophy Matters: Death, Sex, Clothes, and Boethius ....... 177
ANDREA DENNY-BROWN
of cultural imaginations, both female and male. Clothes in this sense are
seen as social sites that stage gendered identities at the intersection of
individual fantasies, social regulation, and ethical concerns. Postmodern
feminists have acknowledged the potentially subversive force that can
be exerted by articles of clothing that function, in other circumstances,
as tools of control and dominance. 4 Fashion theorists have insisted on
examining the relation between material garments and visual and
textual representations of them, understanding those representations to
be objects in their own right, while also accounting for the representa-
tional functions of clothes. 5 Feminist film theorists have shifted the
terms of the debate away from Freudian-derived voyeurism to empha-
size female spectatorship and consumerism in regard to screen fashions
and the potentially iconic function of costume independent of narrative
strategies and conventions. 6 Transnational feminists have shown how
material objects can undergo subtle but significant transformations of
value and meaning as they are shifted from one cultural context to
another. 7
No longer is fashion understood simply as unique to a culture of
capitalism that generates a privileged phenomenon of European haute
couture or as typifying modern individualism as an index of class, status,
wealth, and power, as early analysts of consumer culture Georg Simmel
and Thorstein Veblen believed. 8 We have learned, for example, that in a
psychoanalytic frame, the act of dressing can constitute a productive and
meaningful invention of the individual. 9 We can now understand the
material body as a privileged place of intersection between consciousness
and the world, where clothes make a difference in terms of touch, texture,
and movement, rather than derive their meaning from sight alone. 10 We
can also see that the process of home dressmaking holds as many
important cultural clues as museum displays of costly gowns. 11 Having
embraced Roland Barthes' s semiological analysis of fashion as a represen-
tational system and Jean Baudrillard' s postmodern concept of a "symbolic
economy" in which categories of objects "quite tyrannically induce
categories of persons," studies of dress have begun to envision a wide
range of interpretative possibilities for reading clothing and its complex
circulation. Also key in the reassessment of clothes as cultural objects is
4 E. JANE BURNS
ing the garment's status as a relic was its presumed proximity to the
deceased king' s flesh, allowing this item of dress to function literally as
a direct extension of the king' s material body. For pilgrims and Christian
believers in the French Middle Ages, this chemise was considered to be
materially as "real" as a preserved fingernail or leg might have been. 35
Saint Louis's undergarment is not then understood as a functional
covering, fully separable from the former king's body. The common
everyday chemise in this instance becomes an embodied item of dress, a
garment that, like the veronica (a true icon) is both an image and an
essence. 36 The chemise de Saint Louis is then neither a pure representation
nor purely a material object, but both at once.
Even more to the point, in an art historical context, we find represen-
tations of the Virgin's chemise that appear on small lead badges called
chemisettes distributed to medieval pilgrims who visited the site of the
Virgin's holy tunic at Chartres cathedral. Although the cathedral's key relic
is known today as the Virgin's veil, before 1712, when the reliquary was
opened and its contents revealed, pilgrims to the site understood the
reliquary to contain an especially potent chemise, the garment worn by the
Virgin both when she conceived and gave birth to the Christ child. In fact,
when the reliquary was opened in the eighteenth century, it is said to have
contained no chemise at all, but five meters of cosdy silk fabric reputed to
have come from Syria. 37 But medieval pilgrims did not know this. As
visitors to Chartres sewed the small leaden chemisettes onto their hats or
jackets, the Virgin's venerated tunic was not only copied in miniature and
carried away by pious visitors. In this instance, when pilgrims affixed the
metal badge representing the Virgin's chemise to an article of their own
clothing, the image of a garment became in turn a material item of dress
in its own right. Medieval pilgrims' bodies were literally clothed in a
material representation of clothes. 38
windows in the choir of the abbey church has been interpreted to mean
at least two things, the first being that the pieces of glass contained in
the windows were covered physically (vested) in multi-colored pig-
ments much as garments cover the body. When Panofsky translates the
phrase as "colored glass and sapphire glass," he explains further that the
glass is not superficially painted but saturated with color. 47 Second, the
abbot's description of his powerful windows has been taken to mean
that the translucent panels were "vested with" sacred symbols that
accompanied the materia saphirorum, or the jewel-like blue glass from
which they are made. Von Simpson translates the phrase as "windows
made of blue glass and invested with symbols." 48 Most significant for
our purposes is that in both interpretations, the dressing is integral to
the material ground of the windows, not separable from them. The
metaphorical clothes adorning Suger's colored windows cannot be
considered an inconsequential conspicuous cover to be removed, as
medieval moralists would have women remove excessively lavish items
of dress. Nor do these metaphorical clothes create a deceptive cover,
effectively generating a false identity of the kind that sumptuary legisla-
tion seeks to regulate and restrain.
Suger' s windows provide a particularly clear example of the way
that metaphorical invocations of medieval clothing can expand and
extend material objects or, in some cases, bodies, into the cultural
sphere. Whether the glass panels in question are imbued with material
color or are inherently garbed in symbolic meaning, that adornment
carries a substantive rather than a superficial connotation and the
vestments evoked are understood to be integral to the windows, not
detachable from them. The dressing of these windows, in both interpre-
tations cited above, relies on a paradoxical image of embodied garments,
equally dependent for their meaning on material and symbolic frames
of reference. It is well known that rhetoricians such as Geoffroy of
Vinsauf allude similarly to poetic composition as a process of" clothing"
the matter with words, embellishing and adorning the topic at hand with
artifice that replaces the natural order of things with a more pleasing,
and more substantial, arrangement of artful creation: "Let the art of
poetry ... beware lest its head with shaggy hair, its body with tattered
WHY TEXTILES MAKE A DIFFERENCE 12
The chapters that follow demonstrate varied ways in which the material
components of dress, textiles, and clothwork can be used to discuss
broad cultural issues: from questions of gender, class, and ethnicity to
religious and political concerns; from aesthetic, rhetorical, and icono-
graphic considerations to legal regulation and bequests; from questions
of labor and production to processes of consumption and display or
cross-cultural patterns of trade and exchange. In these instances, cloth,
clothing, and textiles are not simply an indication of wealth and status,
gender, or social identity. Nor do they function principally as a superfi-
cial cover indicating disguise or vainglorious consumption. These skins,
garments, and fabrics provide, rather, points of access for reading
cultural formations on a wider scale. As contributors to this volume
explore objects and processes of material culture associated with cloth,
clothing, and cloth production and the varied representations of them
in verbal and visual form, the resultant essays help expand significantly
the conceptual frames previously at our disposal for reading and inter-
preting various aspects of western medieval culture. They address the
14 E. JAKE BURNS
to reflect not illicit sexual encounter but the more pragmatic concerns
of an emerging discourse on middle class marriage.
Dyan Elliott ("Dressing and Undressing the Clergy: Rites of Ordi-
nation and Degradation") charts a different process of resymbolization
enacted through garments in the religious sphere. By shifting our focus
from the long-standing official symbolism of liturgical vestments used
to mark and maintain the ecclesiastical hierarchy of rank and orders to
the ritual process of actually dressing and undressing priests, Elliott
shows how items of male dress can chart a key change in the political
climate of the thirteenth century. As the formal Church liturgy of
undressing (degradation) publicly strips dissenters of clerical rank, it
makes them vulnerable to possible execution. Roberta L. Krueger
("Uncovering Griselda: Christine de Pizan, 'une seule chemise,' and the
Clerical Tradition") analyzes Christine de Pizan's syncopated rewriting
of the Griselda story that deletes elaborate commentaries accompanying
previous versions of the tale by Boccaccio, Petrarch, and two late-
medieval French writers. Christine's pared-down tale dramatizes not the
patience of a submissive wife emblematized in a simple shift and
Griselda's changes of clothes, but the long-standing suffering of married
women and the harsh realities of wife abuse.
In '"This Skill in a Woman Is By No Means To Be Despised':
Weaving and the Gender Division of Labor in the Middle Ages," Ruth
Karras uses cultural representations of gendered work to supplement
evidence provided by guild and tax records, showing that even after
textile production becomes waged commercial work for men in England
and France, cultural representations continue to associate women with
weaving in the domestic sphere. Symbolically, weaving remains the
appropriate and desirable province of married women in particular,
whose very virtue is attested and recorded in household clothwork.
Madeline Caviness takes us from the process of making cloth to the
possible use of cloth patterns in making stained glass windows. "Tucks
and Darts: Adjusting Patterns to Fit Figures for Stained Glass Windows
Around 1200" shows how greater attention to the use of patterns in
copying and adjusting images in stained glass windows in both England
and France can suggest that some of those key patterns might have been
16 E. JAKE BURNS
bolic Gift Giving: Clothes in English and French Wills" uses bequests of
clothing in English and Burgundian wills to question and expand the
limits of gift theory. Since these items of dress garner their most
powerful meanings when the giver is in fact absent, they reconfigure the
terms of dynamic interaction typically associated with both gift and
commodity exchange, while inserting at the same time into the gift
equation the important distinguishing feature of class status.
The chapters by Andrea Denny-Brown and Sarah Kay alert us to the
importance of accounting for the material aspects of highly abstract,
allegorical texts, whether in the Latin or Old French literary traditions.
In "How Philosophy Matters: Death, Sex, Clothes, and Boethius,"
Denny-Brown reads the allegorical figure of Philosophy in Boethius's
Consolation ofPhilosophy against the stark materiality of her torn gown,
revealing that the very garment used to figure philosophical enlighten-
ment, perfection, and purity of the male mind in this text also records
the symbolic loss of philosophical knowledge. Associating philosophy
and learning with a materiality that is explicitly feminine ultimately
unsettles the allegorical project of representing the rarefied perfection
of male philosophical thought. Kay's chapter on "Flayed Skin as objet a:
Representation and Materiality in Guillaume de Deguileville' s Pelerinage
de vie humanine" brings us full circle to the animal skins invoked by
Augustine in the example with which we began, but with a significant
twist. Drawing on Zizek's dialectical-materialist theory of representa-
tion, Kay shows how Deguileville's fourteenth-century trilogy of reli-
gious poems uses images of flayed skin and their association with
parchment and ecclesiastical writings as a guarantor of sublime immor-
tality, while also using those same skins to represent the desublimated
materiality of the mortal body. In both Boethius and Deguileville,
according to these readings, the substance of allegorical writing is more
dependent on aspects of materiality than we had previously thought.
Taken together, the essays in this volume chart a broad expanse of
medieval cultural imaginings that carry textiles, dress, and clothworkfar
beyond their common association with functional covering, unneces-
sary adornment or artificial disguise, on the one hand, and beyond their
accepted role as visible markers of class, gender, or social station, on the
18 E. JAKE BURNS
Claire Sponsler
images of the Virgin, St. John and the Trinity, for a chapel endowed by
Louis of Orleans in the church of the Celestines in Paris. The following
year, he supplied a panel with Saints Louis of France and Louis of
Toulouse for the room of the Dauphin Charles. In 1400 he provided four
large, painted cartoons for tapestries ordered by the queen and in 1406
agreed to complete a "tableau" intended to be given as a gift from Jean
de la Cloche to the Paris Parlement. 8
If Colart shows us a visual artist's involvement with fabrication,
Lydgate offers a nearly contemporary look at a verbal stylist's corre-
sponding role. Among the large body of work Lydga te produced-most
of it for royal, aristocratic or wealthy bourgeois patrons-are a number
of poems designed to accompany pictorial representations of one sort
or another-whether statues, wall hangings, tableaux, or frescoes.
Although none of the accompanying pictures has survived, so far as we
are aware, internal clues within the poems themselves point to their
connection with images as do annotations supplied by the scribe John
Shirley, who was responsible for copying and thus preserving many of
Lydgate's works. Several ofLydgate's religious works were apparently
intended to be read along with visual images. Cristes Passioun, for
example, ends by sending his poem ("Go, lytel bylle") to "Hang affore
Iesu" in the hopes that "folk that shal the see" will read "this compleynt"
(1:216-221, 113-116). 9 The Dolerous Pyte ofCrystes Passioun, which begins,
"erly on morwe, and toward nyght also, I First and last, looke on this
ffygure" (1:250-52, 1-2) and ends by stating that saying a Pater-noster,
Ave, and Creed while kneeling before this "dolorous pite" will earn
pardons (51-56), similarly suggests that the poem was intended to
accompany a visual image (a "pite," or pieta) displayed in some public
place, presumably a church. The Image of our Lady begins with a similar
command to "Beholde and se this glorious fygure, I Whiche Sent Luke
of our lady lyvynge I After her lyknes made in picture" (1:290-91, 1-3),
a picture that is later identified as resembling a painting in the church of
Santa Maria de Populo in Rome. The last stanza of On De Profundis claims
that the verses were compiled at the request ofWilliam Curteys (abbot
of Bury) so that he would be able "At his chirche to hang it on the wal"
(1:77-84, 167-68).
TEXT AND TEXTILE, LYDGATE'S TAPESTRY POEMS 25
the "devyse" -here used in the sense of plan or design-of the "steyned
halle" as well as the accompanying verses. The term "steyned halle"
seems to point to a mural rather than a tapestry, although the latter
cannot be ruled out. In any event, Bishop Reginald Pecock' s Repressor of
Over Much Blaming ofthe Clergy (ca. 1449), which refers to "A storie openly
... purtreied or peintid in the wal or in a clooth," 13 suggests that the two
representational modes overlapped (and Hammond treats tapestry- and
fresco-poems as nearly identical forms). Hammond imagines that the
verses of the Legend of St. George were recited aloud as the mural
decoration was displayed during the feast of St. George, a claim that
gains support from the headnote to the opening verses, which states:
"!pee poete first declare<j)e." The first stanza of the poem addresses "yee
folk !pat heer present be, I Wheeche of !pis story shal haue Inspeccion, I
Of Saint George yee may beholde and see" (1:145-54, 1-3). The poem
then recounts the life of Saint George, from his birth in Cappadocia,
focusing on his battle with the dragon and his martyrdom at the hands
ofDacian, but making no further reference to the mural mentioned by
Shirley's headnote and by the opening verses.
Although Hammond assumes that a number of these were tapestry
poems, only one can with any degree of certainty be given that label.
The misogynist poem Bycorne and Chychevache, that recounts the well-
known story of two monsters, one of whom is lean from a diet of
virtuous women while the other grows fat on hen-pecked wives, was,
according to Shirley's headnote, designed at the request of a London
citizen to accompany a painted or stained cloth to hang in a hall,
chamber, or parlor. 14 Shirley refers to the poem as the "deuise of a
peynted or desteyned clothe for an halle a parlour or a chaumbre I
deuysed by Iohan Lidegate at <j)e request of a wer<j)y citeseyn of London"
(2:433-38). Two of the terms Shirley uses to describe this poem call for
discussion. The Middle English Dictionary gives as one meaning of the
verb "steinen" the definition "to ornament (fabric, a garment, etc.) with
an embroidered, stenciled, or woven design or pictorial representation;
also, stencil or embroider (a figure on fabric)." Shirley's headnote could
thus be describing either a painted or a woven cloth. The term "de vis"
refers to a plan or design, or more specifically a literary composition or
TEXT AND TEXTILE, LYDGATE'S TAPESTRY POEMS 2l
for his father's house: "Mayster Thomas More in his youth deuysed in
hys fathers house in London, a goodly hangyng of fyne paynted clothe,
with nyne pageauntes, and verses ouer euery one of those pageauntes." 22
Although both the OED and MED seem to take their cue from the More
quotation and defme pageant as "a scene represented on tapestry or the
like," Edwards argues that several instances of it in Middle English
suggest that it may simply mean "picture." For example, a scribe's note
in St.John's College, Cambridge, MS 208 (H.5), refers to "vi payentis iic.
Champis, vi, iii.c. paragraffis v." in a usage that points to the six
illustrations that appear in the manuscript. Such uses, Edwards believes,
suggest that pageant in some cases was used in the late Middle English
period as a synonym for picture or illustration.
The range of usages for the word pageant points to a slippage across
representational categories that reveals how texts and textiles operated
in a performance context. The tapestry poems apparently date to the
peak of Lydgate's career as a Lancastrian propagandist and public poet
in the late 1420s and early 1430s, when he wrote a series of poems and
entertainments for royalty and substantial commoners. To this period
belong his seven mummings, short pageants or mimed plays with
commentary by a narrator or "presenter," as well as poems for the
coronation ofHenry VI in London in 1429 and for his entry into London
in 1432, after he had been crowned in France. Although their exact dates
are not known, it is likely that Lydgate also wrote his other "London"
poems during these years, including Bycorne and Chichevache and the
Legend of St. George.
It is Shirley to whom we are indebted for the texts of many of
Lydgate's performance pieces and for crucial information about their
performance contexts. Without Shirley, many of these performance
pieces-such as the mummings-would be unknown to us, as would the
cultural occasions. Shirley copied these poems into three anthologies,
compiled between the late 1420s and the late 1440s, and often includes
headings, running titles, and marginalia that describe the occasions and
audiences for which the poems were written. Margaret Connolly, in a
recent study, convincingly argues that Shirley was neither commercial
publisher nor amateur book lover, as scholars have tended to assume, but
TEXT AND TEXTILE, LYDGATE'S TAPESTRY POEMS 21
recounts how when he was fifteen years of age, he saw a crucifix" depicte
upon a wall" of a cloister with the word "vide" written beside the phrase
"Beholde my mekenesse, 0 child, and leve thy pryde" (1 :329-62, 7 44-46),
which now in old age inspires him to write a "litel dite" in remembrance
(750-753). The Debate of the Horse, Goose, and Sheep tells us it was inspired
by a wall painting the poet has recently seen ('a similitude I Ful craftily
depeyntid vpon a wall," 2:5 39-66, 18-19). Summing up the effects of the
visual from a moral perspective, On the Image of Pity comments that
"purtreture" and images were made so that "holsom storyes thus
shewyd in fygur I May rest with ws with dewe remembraunce" (1:297-
99, 37-40).
The advantage of pictorial representation over writing is described
by Pecock in his Repressor, a text envisioned as a defense of traditional
religion against Lollards and hence a somewhat reactionary document,
as being primarily speed of apprehension: that is, it might take six or
seven pages' worth of reading to "bringe into knowing or into remem-
braunce" what can be gleaned in much less time by beholding a carved
image or "a storie openli ther of purtreied or peintid in the wal or in a
clooth." Pictorial representations in Pecock's view make it possible to
absorb more "mater" and to absorb it more quickly and with less labor
than is possible through listening. Accessibility is another advantage, for
just as a man who can read, Pecock explains, can understand a long story
more easily through his own reading rather than being read aloud to by
someone else or listening to himself read aloud, so those who cannot
read will not find someone who can read aloud to them as easily as they
can find painted walls of a church or a "clooth steyned." And, finally,
images and paintings also make a stronger impression than words and
thus have more potency. 26
Pecock wrote these words around 1449, at a point when Lydgate's
career as a writer and long life alike were coming to a close, but his claims
for the virtues of the visual might reasonably be taken to apply to
Lydgate and indeed to the generation he belonged to. The dominance
of writing and print in our own era, along with the unavoidable fact that
written texts remain our best first-hand source of information about
medieval culture, has led us not only to downplay other representational
24 CLAIRE SPONSLER
Kathryn Starkey
with leather. The evidence provided by similar fmdings tells us that the
upper consisted of two such triangular pieces attached at the top by a
strap, and perhaps a buckle. 3 The fragment is damaged and worn, but
one may still discern the shape and constellation of the image embossed
into the leather. Two figures appear in high relief, sitting beneath a tree
on gothic-style chairs, gesturing toward one another. Between them is
a chessboard placed over a hexagonal well at the base of the tree. A
crowned head reflected in the water reveals the presence of an eaves-
dropper peering out of the tree above. Framing the image are two
banderoles in Low German that read: "altoes blide I so wat ic lide"
(always happy, despite how much I suffer).
Several of these pictorial elements allow us immediately to identify
the image as part of a larger iconographic tradition. Specifically, the two
figures, the tree, and the reflection of the crowned head, characterize
this as one of the most frequently reproduced scenes from the medieval
romance of Tristan. It is that memorable scene in which the adulterous
lovers, Tristan and Isolde, meet in the orchard under the spying eyes of
Isolde's husband Mark. In most versions of the story, Tristan arrives first
and sees a reflection of a man's head in the well or stream flowing
through the orchard (depending on the version). Determining that Mark
is plotting to catch the lovers in flagrante and expose their affair, Tristan
indicates to Isolde that something is amiss by not going to meet her as
she approaches. Isolde starts to look for clues to Tristan's unusual
behavior and finally notices King Mark's reflection. The lovers then
engage in impromptu doublespeak in which they bemoan the misinter-
pretation of their relationship by the court, reassure the suspicious Mark
of Isolde's faithfulness and Tristan's honor, and simultaneously avow
their undying love for one another.
The slipper fragment above is not an isolated phenomenon. Seven
fragments total, similar in shape and iconography, have been excavated
in five different towns in the Low Countries. The nature of the artifacts
is not unusual, for footwear comprises one of the largest categories of
personal objects that have come down to us from the Middle Ages. 4
These slipper fragments are intriguing, however, because of their
decoration, and specifically their use as a medium for the transmission
TRISTAN SLIPPERS 2l
of this particular image from the story ofTristan. Why were lovers from
a courtly romance mapped onto shoes? Why were these shoes so
popular? Who wore them?
This chapter examines the ways in which the symbolic and cultural
meaning of shoes overlaps with the implications of the orchard scene
depicted on them. The decorated slippers represented by these frag-
ments resonate on a number of different levels: rhetorical, textual, and
cultural. These resonances invite this examination of the leather frag-
ments, the cultural significance of shoes, the iconography of the Tristan
slippers, and the late medieval culture that produced them. I argue that
the embossed slippers reflect an appropriation of the concept of courtly
love and its reformulation as part of a developing discourse on marriage
in the late medieval urban culture of the Low Countries.
The quality of the leather, the style of decoration, and the locations in
which the fragments were excavated suggest that these slippers were
created for wear by urbanites belonging to a range of social classes. The
five towns in which the fragments were found were villages or cities in
the late medieval Low Countries of the fourteenth and fifteenth centu-
ries. Three fragments with identical iconography were excavated in
TRISTAN SLIPPERS 29
Dordrecht (fig. 2.2), and one fragment was found in each of the towns
of Mechelen (fig. 2.3), Velkenisse (fig. 2.4), Nieuwland (fig. 2.5), and
Leiden. 9 The earlier Dordrecht and Leiden fragments are dated to the
second half of the fourteenth century. 10 The Velkenisse, Mechelen, and
Nieuwland fragments are dated to 1400, the first half of the fifteenth
century, and 1450 respectively. The fragments were therefore produced
over a span of about eighty years from 1370 to 1450.
During this period, Dordrecht, Leiden, and Mechelen were partic-
ularly important political and economic centers in the Low Countries,
one of the most heavily urbanized areas of Western Europe. 11 Velken-
isse and Nieuwland were villages situated on one of the main trade
routes along the Scheldt river in the province of Zeeland. 12 The econ-
omy of these cities and villages was based on trade, and their population
was comprised primarily of wealthy burghers, merchants, traders and
artisans. The fact that the Tristan slipper fragments can be localized to
these mercantile centers suggests that the shoes were an urban phenom-
enon. Furthermore, since one of the fastest growing segments of urban
society in the late medieval Low Countries was constituted by the trade
and mercantile classes it seems likely that these "mass-produced" shoes
were created with people of these social classes in mind.
I use the term "mass-produced" because the images on the slipper
fragments were reproducible, as they were created by means of a blind-
press, a process in which the leather is first made wet and then embossed
40 KATHRYN STARKEY
with a heated metal stamp. Cordwainers then, as now, made shoes and
boots in a wide range of styles and decorated them using a variety of
techniques, including painting, decorative stitching, and perforation, by
which a leatherworker created a design by punching or cutting holes in
the leather. These decorative methods necessarily produced unique
objects, since the artists could not reproduce their work exactly. The
leatherworking process used to decorate the Tristan slippers, by con-
trast, enabled shoemakers to reproduce multiple exact copies of the
image. 13 The three identical pieces from Dordrecht were actually
embossed using the very same leather stamp. The uniformity of the
design on these slippers indicates that a single stamp was used that
contained both image and inscription. 14 Although probably still a luxury,
embossed shoes would clearly be faster and easier to make than stitched,
painted, or perforated ones. Since these shoes were easily reproduced,
they were probably less expensive, more readily available, and intended
for wider consumption than other decorated shoes.
The variation in the types ofleather used for the slippers supports the
idea that they satisfied a range of incomes. The identical fragments from
Dordrecht, for example, are from three pairs of shoes made of different
kinds ofleather: calfskin, goatskin and oxhide. The Mechelen and Nieuw-
TRISTAN SLIPPERS 41
land fragments are cowhide, the Leiden fragment is o:xhide, and the
Velkenisse fragment is calfskin. The sturdy leather used for most of the
slippers suggests that they were priced for quick sale, while the diverse
leathers used for the Dordrecht fragments implies that shoemakers cre-
ated a variety of Tristan slippers that ranged in price. Their durable leather
further suggests that these shoes were not precious keepsakes, but were
made to be worn. This impression is supported by the fact that three of
the pieces were found in heaps containing refuse, suggesting that the
slippers were discarded when worn through. The Leiden fragment even
bears evidence of substantial wear: the leather is stretched where the
outside of the wearer's foot pressed against it. 15 Although decorated,
therefore, these were practical shoes made for walking.
The wide range of shoe styles in the Middle Ages and the attention paid
to their decoration indicate that they had some cultural significance
beyond their practical use. Indeed numerous literary and cultural
references to shoes demonstrate that in many cultures they are symbols
42 KATHRYN STARKEY
In the Germanic tradition, the shoe actually had legal status in the
context of marriage or betrothal. According to the Handbuch der deut-
schen Rechtsgeschichte, shoes could traditionally be presented as part of a
legal contract of engagement-used in lieu of a ring. 17 The legal historian
Ruth Schmidt-Wiegand explains that throughout the Middle Ages and
the Early Modern period shoes were considered an established part of
the legal ceremony of betrothal. In fact, a Western European tradition
of giving shoes as part of the betrothal must have gone back at least to
the sixth century. In his hagiographical work, the Liber vitae patrum,
which contains much information about the aristocracy, Gregory of
Tours writes: "Denique dato sponsae anulo, porregit osculo, praebet
calciamentum, caelebrat sponsaliae diem festum." [Having given his
fiancee the ring, he kisses her, provides her with shoes, and celebrates
the betrothal on a feast day]. 18
Several pre-modern Germanic wedding traditions drew on shoes'
associations with marriage and betrothal. According to Sarfatij, for
example, brides and grooms in the late medieval Low Countries would
give gifts of shoes to their wedding guests. These gifts symbolized the
couple's marriage, and expressed the gratitude of the bride and groom
toward their guests. In another Early Modern Germanic wedding
tradition, young bachelors at a wedding would attempt to steal the
bride's shoe. This shoe would then be held as a prize, auctioned, and the
bride would have to buy it back. 19
Shoes also appear occasionally as symbols of marriage and sexuality
in literary texts. 20 Similar to Cinderella are more localized German tales
in which we find the slipper motif as part of the ritual of betrothal. In
Konig Rother, for example, a Middle High German bridal quest narrative
composed around 1160, the protagonist of the story wins his bride by
enticing her with two exquisite shoes. In the poem, King Rother presents
TRISTAN SLIPPERS 42
himself under an assumed name as a warrior in exile at the court ofhis
enemy King Constantine. So many wonderful stories about him are
related at court that the princess desires to meet him and sends her maid-
in-waiting to fetch the visitor. He declines to come, sending two shoes
in his stead, one silver and one gold. Realizing that they both fit the same
foot, the princess sends for him to bring the shoes' mates. He comes to
her chamber posing as a messenger and she places her foot in his lap to
be fitted. Once in this intimate and compromising position, the hero
Rother reveals his identity. The princess agrees to marry him, allows
him to abduct her and they quickly consummate their marriage. A
similar scene, perhaps copied from Konig Rother, appears in the thir-
teenth century Thidrekssaga, a Norse version of the story of Dietrich of
Bern, which was probably translated from a Middle High German
source. In the Thidrekssaga, the hero Dietrich pulls the princess onto his
lap to fit the shoe on her foot, an interaction that is clearly sexually
compromising. In these stories, as in Cinderella, the shoe is used as an
object of exchange between a man and a woman, and the fitting of the
shoe is part of the betrothal.
Although clearly associated with marriage, it is questionable that
the shoes in these stories were still perceived as legal symbols. 21 First,
the fitting of the shoe takes place in private; it is no longer a public
ceremony. Second, these scenes are laced with sexuality and eroticism:
they take place in the bedchamber, and they involve significant bodily
contact between the hero and the lady. Finally, rather than rely on the
shoe motif alone to connote to the audience that a marriage agreement
has taken place, the characters in these scenes explicitly discuss the plans
of abduction. The shoes are thus combined with other symbols, actions,
and words to make clear that the two protagonists have reached an
agreement, although these scenes do not portray a betrothal in the
formal sense. While they may have lost their legal potency in the
marriage exchange, the shoes in these scenes have taken on broader
associations with sexuality and desire.
Why shoes? Scholars have interpreted the tradition of giving bridal
shoes in various ways. Schmidt-Wiegand, for example, argues that
stepping into new shoes symbolized adoption into a new family. 22 The
44 KATHRYN STARKEY
literary historian Winkelman has suggested that the tradition arose from
an earlier practice of subjects giving their lords shoes or other articles of
clothing as a sign of subservience and gratitude. 23 In the Bible, shoes
appear as a symbol of property and particularly inheritance. 24 These
symbolic uses of shoes are not mutually exclusive and may all inform
the giving of shoes in the context of marriage. An extensive study of the
symbolic meaning of shoes is unfortunately beyond the scope of this
chapter, but the general association of shoes with sexuality and marriage
provides an important context for the Tristan slippers.
[I raised a falcon for myself for over a year, as I had tamed him just
as I wanted him, and had decorated his feathers in gold, he took off
to the heights and flew to another country.]
Like many ofKiirenberg's poems, this one tells the story of a lamenting
lady who has been deserted by her beloved. The appearance of the falcon
on the slipper, a detail that is not part of the Tristan story, contributes to
framing the scene of the lovers as a courtly interaction within a literary
context.
The chessboard, too, is not part of the orchard scene in the text, but
it is a motif broadly associated with sexuality and courtly love. 37 Chess
is generally portrayed as an aristocratic game in the high Middle Ages,
and it appears as an allegorical motif in courtly romances and treatises
to denote or symbolize strategies of courtly love. Moreover, lovers
frequently play chess to while away their time in the courtly romances
of the thirteenth century and later. Winkelman has demonstrated that
the chessboard frequently appears in visual representations of the
enclosed garden of love, another popular medieval motir_3 8 But, as
Michael Camille shows, the game of chess is more broadly associated
with courtly love in the visual arts and often appears as an allegory for
the rules and strategies used by the lovers. 39
Gottfried von StraJ3burg draws on this association of chess with the
strategies of lovers in the fateful episode in which Mark's cupbearer
Marjodo discovers Tristan and Isolde's love affair. In Gottfried's version
of Tristan the chessboard is used to conceal the lovers, albeit unsuccess-
fully. One evening, Tristan sneaks away from his bed to meet Isolde.
Unknowingly, he is pursued by Marjodo, Mark's cupbearer who wakes
up, misses his roommate, and follows Tristan's tracks to Isolde's bed-
chamber. When Tristan arrives in his lover's bedchamber, Isolde's
handmaid Brangane blocks the light using a chessboard (13,505-7). Due
to the chessboard, Marjodo is unable to see and must feel his way along
the hall to Isolde's chamber where he overhears the lovers, thus
discovering their affair (13,584-13,595).
The chessboard and the falcon frame the orchard scene portrayed
on the slippers as a scene of courtly love. While this aesthetic and
TRISTAN SLIPPERS 4l
aristocratic ideal of courtly love seems at odds with the medium of
simple sturdy slippers on which it appears, the discrepancy may be
explained if we regard these slippers as a form of social as well as material
appropriation. The banderoles, support the idea that this scene of
courtly love has been appropriated and eventually reinterpreted by and
for the bourgeois urban society of the Low Countries.
Isolde makes Tristan aware of her husband Mark in the tree above by
pointing out the fish in the fountain, and thus drawing his attention to
the eavesdropper's reflection. 40 The banderoles read: "triestra siedi I
niet d[a]t viselkiin" [Tristan, don't you see the little fish?]. The name
"triestra" that appears in the utterance on the banderole and the direct
reference to a plot development connect this image inextricably with
the story of Tristan. Word and image thus combine to create a dynamic
self-referential scene of interaction between the two lovers. The visual
narrative refers directly to the text and is thus dependent on knowledge
of the story. The specific utterance draws attention not to the ideal of
courtly love, but to the deception of Mark and the success of the lovers
at hiding their affair.
The banderoles on the Velkenisse fragment are a little more
puzzling. They read "entruer nicht I mich wundert" [Don't be sad I I
wonder (I am surprised)], and represent perhaps part of the impromptu
dialogue between Tristan and Isolde. Similar to the Mechelen fragment,
then, these utterances do not refer to a larger concept that can be 'read'
without recourse to a text. Instead, these utterances seem to draw
specifically on the story of Tristan, and refer directly to this scene of
eavesdropping and deception in the text. One needs to know the story
in order to understand the point of reference. The later images on the
Mechelen and Velkenisse fragments thus portray tableaus that, on the
one hand, are more dependent on the textual tradition of the story, and
on the other, function independently as visual narratives that emphasize
the lovers' restraint and their efforts to maintain their honor by keeping
their love private. 41
Whether the words on the banderoles function independently or
whether they are dependent on the scene depicted, they can be regarded
as an additional symbolic representation that modifies or accompanies
the image. The banderoles on the earlier fragments frame the image in
terms of courtly love, while the later fragments present the lovers in the
context of restraint and deception. This variation may reflect the
processes of appropriation by the rising urban middle classes. If so, then
the banderoles bear testimony to the dynamic processes of appropria-
tion and adaptation. Indeed, if we look at the Middle Dutch urban
TRISTAN SLIPPERS 49
literature composed contemporaneously to the slippers, we notice
certain trends that correspond to this implied shift in the banderoles
from a courtly ideal to a coherent visual and pragmatic narrative dealing
with deception for the sake of discretion.
Herman Pleij has argued that urban literature of the late medieval Low
Countries "played an active role in forming, defending and propagating
what came to be called typical middle-class virtues." 42 Authors reworked
courtly epics to give their protagonists traits that were considered
desirable by the wealthy burghers. Pleij identifies these merchant-class
ideals as usefulness, practicality, industriousness, eagerness to learn,
thrift, cleverness, individualism, opportunism, moderation, reason,
modesty, and self-control. 43 As Ingebord Glier has argued, even the late
medieval minnereden take on a particular pragmatic character in their
Dutch reworkings. 44
Scholars have argued that the story of Tristan was ill-suited to these
new urban ideals. Indeed, there is very little manuscript evidence of
Tristan reception in the Low Countries. 45 Frits van Oostrom sees this as
a self-conscious rejection of the Tristan-material by Middle Dutch
authors in favor of more moderate and ethical stories with stronger
didactic underpinnings. 46 The notion of courtly love that incorporates
sexuality, illicit love, adultery, passion, and pain is at odds with the
pragmatic and ethical concerns of Middle Dutch urban literature. But
while the Tristan text may have been perceived as too problematic to
reproduce in its entirety, the slippers bear testimony to widespread
knowledge of the story and suggest a reinterpretation of the tale that
would appeal to a pragmatic urban middle class public.
One well known literary reference to Tristan, roughly contemporary
with the Velkenisse and Mechelen fragments, offers us some insight into
the presentation of the orchard scene on the later slipper fragments. This
reference is found in a treatise on love composed by Dire Potter (ca. 1370-
1428), a civil servant and diplomat in the service of the Count ofHolland. 47
50 KATHRYN STARKEY
[And after she had seen the king, she asked Tristram to come closer
and showed him where the fish were swimming. He looked and
realized that the king sat in the tree.]
This particular version of the story is not widely attested. Indeed, apart
from Potter's Der Minnen Loep, there is no textual evidence of this version
of the story. Only a single extant medieval artifact, in addition to the
Mechelen fragment, portrays a visual representation of this version. It
is a carved wooden comb from the middle Rhein region dated to the
first half of the fifteenth century, and thus contemporary to Der Minnen
Loep and the later shoes. 51 The references to the fishes on the shoes and
in Potter's treatise may provide evidence for a particular Low Country
reception of the story. More importantly for understanding the shoes,
however, the scene presents us with a concrete situation and a solution,
instead of an abstract ideal. This version of the story detracts from the
notion of an ideal love and focuses instead on Isolde's cleverness in
eluding the unsympathetic eavesdropper.
52 KATHRYN STARKEY
Conclusions
Dyan Elliott
Aaron and his sons priests in glory and beauty, stipulating that they
should exercise all sacred functions in this dress. According to Durandus,
sacerdotal garb was but a continuation of this practice. 4 Durand us will
further dignify clerical costume with reference to the young Virgin
Mary's early occupation of weaving during her residency in the temple,
as depicted in the apocrypha. 5 Moreover, even as the priest's traffic with
the sacred suspended his vestments in a kind of time warp, the clothes
themselves were similarly set apart, reserved solely for ritual purposes.
By the mid-third century, the cleric is forbidden to wear his vestments
for every day use. 6 Durandus will, in turn, begin his discussion of clerical
costume with the words: "Sacred vestments ought not to be employed
in daily use for it ought to be noted that just as we perform a literal
change ofhabit, we should do likewise in the spirit." 7
Durandus presents the superpellicium, or surplice (essentially a kind
of undergarment), as the basic article of clothing which distinguishes the
cleric and provides the foundation for the subsequent accretion of
clerical costume. 8 Each grade of the clergy received distinctive objects
or articles of clothing through which they could be identified. There
were seven grades ofthe clergy in all. 9 The various ranks of the minor
orders (offices which Durandus referred to as "not sacred") 10 received
items associated with their various responsibilities: the porter, his keys;
the lector and exorcist, their respective books; and the acolyte, a candle
holder (with the candle extinguished) and an empty pitcher for wine. In
contrast with this exclusive focus on objects, it is significant that the
various ranks of the major orders were all characterized by the assump-
tion of distinctive clothes-more clearly marking the candidate's
entrance upon a new life. Moreover, in addition to being the recipient
of various implements betokening the respective ministry of each, such
as the chalice or patena, the subdeacon received the amice, a maniple
(manipulus-a piece of material looped over the left arm, probably
initially intended as a towel), and a tunic. The deacon received a white
stole, draped over the left shoulder to form a cross, and a dalmatic
(dalmatica), a calf-length garment with sleeves. The priest was, in turn,
clothed in the amice, a cincture or girdle, stole, maniple, and an over
garment called a planeta, or chasuble. 11 At the peak of this hierarchy was
58 DYAN ELLIOTT
the bishop, who shared six pieces of clothing in common with the priest:
an amice, alb, girdle, stole, maniple, and chasuble. Additionally, the
bishop was dressed in special silk stockings or buskins, sandals, a tunic,
a dalmatic, gloves, a sudarium (basically, a cloth for perspiration), a thin
strip of white wool known as a pallium, and a mitre. His costume was
completed by the addition of the ring which married him to his see, and
a pastoral staff. 12 All ranks ofthe higher clergy were also entitled to wear
an ornamental outer garment on special occasions, referred to as a
pluviale or cope. 13
The foregoing description makes it clear that clerical orders are
constructed like a kind of palimpsest. Lower orders are contained by the
higher-a pattern that is emphasized when, in the event that different
ranks are being ordained on the same occasion, the bishop performing
the ordination begins with the lowest ofthe minor orders and works his
way up. Standing at the pinnacle of the major orders, the bishop is
presented as encompassing the lesser orders-something in the way of
those painted Russian dolls that open to reveal smaller ones inside. This
image is especially sustained by his manner of dress. Thus Durandus
explains that the priest does not wear the distinctive dalmatic of the
deacon since this might restrict his arms. "The bishop, however, wears
the dalmatic [of the deacon] and the tunic [of the subdeacon] and all the
ornaments to show that he possesses all the orders perfectly, just as it is
he who confers them on others." 14
If originally clothing became sanctified through use by the clergy,
this topos is reversed by the actual rites of ordination whereby it is
demonstrated very literally that "clothes make the man" a cleric. Thus
in the case where several subdeacons are being ordained simultaneously,
but there is only one tunic to go around, Durandus instructs that the
garment be put on the shoulders of each and then removed. Like the
water in baptism or the material elements in other sacraments, clothing
was a symbolic correlative representing the invisible grace bestowed in
the course of ordination. It rendered the spiritual conferral of sacred
orders tangible and visible. In his general remarks on the making of any
cleric, regardless of rank, Durandus describes how the candidate, freshly
shaven and tonsured, kneels before the altar in his surplice signifying, in
DRESSING AND UNDRESSING THE CLERGY 59
the bishop's words, that "the Lord dresses (induat) you as a new man,
who, according to God, was created in justice and sanctity of the truth."
The bishop himself, standing in for God, puts the garment over the
shoulders of each of the candidates: "and let him do this until the last is
completely dressed (induatur) by him," Durandus instructs. 15
In the high Middle Ages, the emphasis on the eucharist and the cult
of the suffering Christ accentuated the priest's position in loco Christi,
and this was reflected in the way in which his vestments were inter-
preted. Durand us ends each ofhis detailed expositions on the symbolism
behind individual items of the priest's vestments with a Christological
comparison. Hence, the alb is the white robe that Herod imposed on
Christ to mock him; the girdle represents Pilate's scourge; the stole is
the band that bound Christ to the column; the maniple, the cord by
which Christ was constrained by the Jews; and the chasuble, the purple
vestment in which Christ was dressed by the soldiers. 16 Nor do the
Christological implications of clothing end with the priest, but they are
even, by extension, applied to the altar, which likewise functions as
Christ's surrogate. The corporals, the fabric covering the altar, thus
represent the flesh of Christ's humanity born of earth, which is repre-
sented by Mary, but which after many tribulations reaches the whiteness
and joy of the resurrection. 17 The rapport fostered between priest and
altar through their vestments is further reflected in Durandus' citation
of the Council of Toledo, in which an afflicted priest is warned against
expressing his distress by dressing the altar in a lugubrious style or
adorning it with thorns. 18
Because ordination consisted of a very literal and painstaking
dressing of the priest, the rite was potentially reenacted every time the
cleric dressed himself, not only for the divine offices but even for more
mundane purposes. Private devotions developed which helped to sanc-
tify these personal reenactments. Thus a Carolingian ordo missae (ca. 809)
proffers little prayers to be said by the priest as he dressed himself:
"When you put on your shoes, say: 'let my feet be shod in preparation
for the evangelical peace.' ... When you dress yourself say: 'dress me in
the cuirass offaith and the helmet of the hope of salvation.' When you
put on your belt, say: 'Bind the genitals of my mind, and circumcise
60 DYAN ELLIOTT
he was unless he receive the grades that he lost in front of the altar from
the hand of the bishop." 24
What the priest had lost were literally the clothes off his back. The
degradation of a cleric was a rite of undressing-a sense conveyed in the
modern term "defrocking." The rite, an exacting reversal of the proce-
dures observed for ordination, was probably borrowed from parallel
demotions effected in the military. Thus Boniface VIII would tacitly
acknowledge this indebtedness by remarking on the appropriateness of
this association for the soldiers of Christ. 25 Similarly, in his canonistic
work Speculum iudicale, Durandus notes that the motives directing a
military degradation are not always expressed, but nevertheless recom-
mends that an offending cleric be informed of the reasons for his
disgrace. 26 But whether derivative or indigenous to clerical culture, the
rite itself created a powerful spectacle, slowly delineating the different
degrees of demotion. Thus in the words of William of Auvergne "the
church intends to show manifestly that no dignity or power remains to
him, just as not one of his clerical vestments remains." 27
Although in the early Middle Ages there was general agreement
about the basic contours of the rite, local custom frequently was at
variance over specifics. In 886, the Council ofNimes degraded two bishops
by first stripping them of their vestments, breaking their pastoral staffs
over their heads, and then removing their episcopal rings. 28 The Council
of Limoges of 1031 degraded a priest to deacon in the following manner:
"[the bishop] should order [the cleric] first to be dressed in all his sacerdotal
garments, then with his own hand, he should take away the maniple, then
the chasuble, then he should fold the stole back from the middle of his
neck and put it between his shoulders." 29 In other words, the priest's stole
was now folded in the cruciform manner befitting the diaconate. The
above passage also articulates what seemed to be the covert starting point
for all such rites: a mandatory dressing or investment of the cleric as
preparatory for the ritual divestment. Thus dressing himself for his ritual
humiliation, the offending cleric privately reenacted the investiture asso-
ciated with the ceremony of ordination for the last time. The presiding
bishop, now standing in the place of God the judge versus God the creator
of the new man, would then strip him of his signs of office one by one.
62 DYAN ELLIOTT
deemed a heretic. 44 The fear of such a disgrace for the papacy caused
Clement to condone Philip's aggression against the Knights Templar,
all of whom were arrested and charged with heresy. This eventuated in
the forced confession of many, followed by a series of degradations and
burnings. 45 Furthermore, the schism in the Franciscan Order led to the
harsh repression of Spiritual Franciscans under John XXII. A number of
the friars were executed. 46
But in addition to these public scandals, there were the more
routine, but deeply shaming, encounters with priests who were either
heretics or sympathized with heretics. Inquisitional records of the period
are punctuated with reports of such individuals. The latter category is,
from a certain perspective, the most worrisome of the two since it
articulates an orthodox resistance to the measures taken against heresy
by orthodox critics. Thus in late thirteenth-century Bologna, the rector
Jacob of the church of St. Thomas del Mercato was called before the
inquisition for confessing, absolving, and administering penance and last
rites to Rosaflora, considered a relapsed heretic, seemingly so he could
accord her a Christian burial. 47 In early fourteenth-century Narbonne,
the priest, Bernard Pirotus, twice officiated at a general office for martyrs
on behalf of some sympathizers of the Spiritual Franciscans who were
burned as heretics. 48 The list of such unsung heroes could go on and on,
and no one knew this better than the inquisitors. Any cleric charged with
such an offense, who subsequenty repented, would be forced to wear
the yellow cross of the penitent heretic, a sartorial symbol that was
already of sufficient embarrassment to the church hierarchy. 49
Degradation would be reserved for the unrepentant, heretically
inclined priest, and this is the context in which we encounter the ritual
of degradation in Bernard Cui's Practica. Under the telling rubric The
form of sentence for imprisoning and degrading those who oppose the office of
the inquisition in favor and defense ofpeople condemned for heresy, Bernard
recounts the memorable trial of a friar who was, in modern parlance,
what we might consider a conscientious objector. The brother in
question was accused of preaching against the inquisition, arguing that
the proceedings against the accused were elaborate fictions. The
accused, who were tortured, imprisoned, and forced to confess, were,
66 DYAN ELLIOTT
according to his lights, true Catholics. His sermons encouraged the laity
to resist the inquisitors, a message which was apparently heeded. Thus
the community in question, which had formerly cooperated with the
inquisitors, was now bent on resistance, and staged a number of
uprisings. Exiled heretics returned; those condemned or awaiting trial
were released from prison. From Gui' s perspective, the ensuing damage
was immense. The brother in question was imprisoned for not one, but
many years. Still unrepentant, however, he was condemned as a heretic
and degraded. 50 The rite of degradation immediately follows this
account. The effect is truly chilling: "To the priest, on the removal of his
chasuble: 'we take away your sacerdotal vestment and deprive you of
sacerdotal honor.' On the removal of the stole: 'we take away your
sacerdotal orarium or stole, representing the sweet yoke of God which
you despised to carry and the stole ofinnocence you scorned to observe.'
To the deacon, for the dalmatic: 'we take away from you the dalmatic, the
ornament of the diaconal office, since you would not wear it as the
garment ofhappiness and the vestment of salvation."' 51 And so the cleric
continues to descend through the ranks.
The instance of the dissenting friar must have been particularly
galling since the individual in question was a member of the Domini-
cans, as was Bernard-the order from which the majority of inquisitors
was drawn. But this episode was far from unique. Gui was only too well
aware of the havoc wreaked by Bernard Delicieux who led the people
of Albi in a revolt against the inquisitors in 1302, a revolt that Gui, acting
as inquisitor at the time, witnessed personally. 52 After a career of
resistance that spanned some twenty years, Bernard Delicieux was
eventually tried and degraded by the inquisition in 1319. According to
the sentence, he was to be "immediately and actually degraded in the
form handed down by law, and every clerical honor, habit and privilege
stripped from him, and also after he was thus degraded, [he was led] to
the prison assigned to him ... in which assuredly he should do penance
in iron chains on the bread of sorrow and the water of perpetual anguish
for the things he did." 53
As grim as this sentence sounds, Bernard at least escaped with his
life. Moreover, his judges even reserved the right to mitigate his penalty
DRESSING AND UNDRESSING THE CLERGY 6l
for good behavior. But this verdict was by no means assured for such an
offense in this period. Traditionally clerics were the exclusive responsi-
bility of the ecclesiastical tribunals, and were thus exempt from the death
penalty. The quarrel between Henry II and Thomas Becket, prompted
by Becket's resistance to releasing degraded clerics to the secular arm,
shows the extent to which this privilege of forum was jealously guarded
well into the twelfth century. 5 4 And yet in 1184, Lucius III adopted the
policy of handing clerics accused ofheresy over to the secular arm. 55 So
it was the crisis over heresy that constituted the turning point. In the
early Middle Ages, degradation usually resulted from usurpation or, in
the eleventh century, simony-offenses that, however heinous, could
arguably be easily redressed, while still sparing the offenders' lives. An
unrepentant heretic was different. Heresy was believed to be a disease
of the soul, capable of destroying not only the individual heretic's
prospects for salvation but ofinfecting others as well. 56 The heretic must
be stripped of his pretences, exposing the fetid skin of his false belief.
Gratian cites Jerome, saying: "the putrid flesh should be cut off, and the
scabby beasts repelled from the sheepfold." 57 And, as indicated by the
many degradations and executions of the later Middle Ages alluded to
above, this hybrid of surgical-pastoral justice could now theoretically be
leveled against the entire clergy.
This change in attitude is registered in Durandus's directions for
degradation, which go further than all previous efforts to remove the
cleric's sacrality so that he could be executed like any other layperson.
After the ritualistic stripping of the cleric, not only does Durandus raise
the possibility of clerical tonsure being effaced by shaving, paralleling
Boniface VIII's contemporaneous decretal, but he goes one step further,
requiring that the hands of the degraded priest be scraped with a knife
or piece of glass, symbolically removing his holy unction altogether.
This latter addition in particular cuts the Gordian knot, providing a
visual resolution to the quarrel over whether or not holy orders were
truly indelible-a controversy that was by no means resolved in theo-
logical circles. The symbolic scraping away of the unction negates any
possible appeal to clerical privilege of forum. "And after [the bishop]
stripped [the offender] ofhis clerical habit and dressed him in lay clothes,
68 DYAN ELLIOTT
we despoil and remove and strip you from every honor and clerical
privilege.' Thus he should pronounce and relinquish him to the secular
power, as is permitted." 61
The complementarity of the rites of ordination and degradation thus
comes into sharp focus in this period. The legalistic insertion of an explicit
reference to clerical privilege in the act of dressing the priest now clearly
anticipates the possibility of degradation, the undressing of the priest. Of
course, this parallelism was always covertly implied. But the appearance
of a formal liturgy of degradation indicates that the church had reached a
critical juncture in which the desire for an unchallenged prerogative to
strip dissenters of their clerical rank outweighed the shame that had
traditionally dictated the reticence over articulating such a rite. The
appearance of the ceremony of undressing was coextensive with the right
to execute. No vestments remain to disguise this naked fact.
Uncovering Griselda
Christine de Pizan, "une seule chemise,"
and the Clerical Tradition:
Boccaccio, Petrarch, Philippe de Mezieres
and the Menagier de Paris
Roberta L. Krueger
tale and other versions will reveal. Eschewing the rhetorical frameworks
favored by her predecessors, Christine strips the tale to its core to highlight
the tyranny of many husbands and to underscore bitter truths about the
lives of married women. It is precisely the bare nature of the story and the
unapologetic voice of the narrator that constitute Christine's originality
in retelling Griselda's story. Christine omits clerical discourse about an
ideal but "impossible" woman and recasts her heroine as a sadly plausible
exemplum of the suffering women face in marriage at the hands of abusive
husbands. As Maureen Quilligan has put it, Christine's Griselda is not "an
exception" but rather an extreme exemplum "of the constancy and
fortitude necessary for any woman successfully to negotiate the demands
attendant upon being a wife." 7 Even as Christine refrains from commen-
tary, her unadorned tale works against abusive men in the Cite and extols
the wives who submit to and oppose them. Although briefer than its
source, Gliselidis is one of the longest exempla in the Cite des Dames. It is
prominently poised in the middle of the central book, from which position
it heralds a sequence of longer tales, including three drawn from the
Decameron. Just as Gliselidis refrains from speaking and wears a simple
shift, "une seule chemise," to demonstrate her virtue, so Christine eschews
commentary and tells a simple tale to dramatize the suffering and
constancy of married women.
Christine's silence about and "uncovering" of Griselda counters the
heroine's presentation by Boccaccio, Petrarch, and two late medieval
French writers, Philippe de Mezieres and the Menagier de Paris. Kevin
Brownlee has observed that the provocative nature of the tale ensures
that "virtually every version frames the narrative with interpretive
commentary." 8 At the crux of the critical problem, as Carolyn Dinshaw
has remarked for Chaucer's Clerk's Tale, is Walter's abusive treatment
of his wife and, by extension, the literary interpretation of a woman. 9
From Boccaccio onward, narrators express dismay at Gualtieri's cruelty
and attempt to distance themselves from it; at the same that they admire
Griselda's virtue, they express doubt that her patience is possible or that
her obedience can be imitated. Such rhetorical embellishment, which
parallels the heroine's re-investiture in rich costume as an obedient wife,
cloaks Griselda in clerical discourse covering up a story of marital abuse.
l4 ROBERTA L. KRUEGER
The authorial" cover-up" of the suffering wife begins with the tale's
first appearance in European literature, in the last story of Boccaccio' s
Decameron (X, 10), when the narrator Dioneo concludes with a series of
parting shots that seem to invite, if not provoke, further commentary.
First, he offers a reading that seems to celebrate inner worth over socially
ascribed nobility: "godlike spirits" may be found in "poor homes," just
as "those more suited to ruling pigs than to ruling over men" are found
in palaces. 10 Yet, in his next breath, he doubts that anyone like the
heroine might exist beyond the tale. "Who besides Griselda could have
endured the severe and unheard-of trials that Gualtieri imposed upon
her and remained with a not only tearless but happy face?" (681 ). Finally,
shifting to a more cynical register, Dioneo complains that Gualtieri
deserves to have met the kind of woman who, when sent out of her
house in a chemise, would "warm her wool" or rub her pelt-"scuotere
il pelliccione" against another man in exchange for "una bella roba." 11
His explicit act of reclothing strips away the notion of Griselda as a
virtuous being in her "camicia" (shift) and replaces it with an image of
a coarse woman who manipulates her body to procure "una bella roba."
Ann Jones and Peter Stallybrass argue that the intent of Dioneo's
fmal remark is "not to denigrate the woman but to mock the tyrannical
rule ofGualtieri." 12 It is true that Dioneo speaks no ill of Griselda. But
if "the woman" herself is not calumniated, the remark is one that speaks
ill of "women," for Dioneo implies that no other wife would endure
such cruel treatment so patiently and that "the kind of woman" who
seeks 'bella roba" is more common than one-of-a-kind Griselda. Dio-
neo's remarks problematize both Griselda's exemplarity and her verac-
ity-her ability to stand as a model for women or as an example of the
behavior of "real" women.
Dioneo's barb also inaugurates a tradition of moral commentary
about Griselda. Petrarch, Philippe, and the Menagier all refashion the
story of Griselda, modifYing the events that accompany her sartorial
transformations and intensifYing her humility and obedience. With each
retelling, the wife's submission is accompanied by commentary that
reflects not only upon the tale but also upon its transmission by earlier
clerks. As the Griselda story travels within late medieval culture, its
UNCOVERING GRISELDA C5
French a story told by "son especial amy," Francis Petrarch, in the last
extended exemplum of the Book IV (and last) of Le Livre de la vertu du
sacrement de mariage (ca. 1385?). Philippe both transmits and recasts his
friend's allegorical interpretation. He promotes the story primarily as an
exemplum of wifely devotion, yet explains that it is also an example of
the soul's love for Christ. Philippe's dedicatee and primary audience is
Jehanne de Castillon, whose marriage to the notorious Pierre de Craon,
a convicted thief and murder, may have given her a reason to seek solace
in such books, as editor Joan Williamson has suggested. 23 Yet even as
Philippe holds Griseldis up as a model for wives, he underscores her
extraordinary nature and the "impossibility" of her example. In the
Prologue and throughout the tale he seeks to "emerveiller les lisans"
[astound readers] with the pathos of her tale. 24 He characterizes Grisel-
dis's trials as "vraye martyre" [true martyrdom] that could only be borne
with Christ's love. Although married ladies would find it "impossible"
to follow her example "ala lettre" (357, 1. 15)-just as those who aim
the crossbow don't always hit the target-Philippe thinks they should
force themselves ["efforcier"] to do so (p. 357; 1. 20); they can measure
their qualities and shortcomings by looking into Griselda's "biau mirror"
[beautiful mirror]. Those who find the story so difficult or impossible
that they doubt its truth are referred to its source, Philippe's special
friend Petrarch, who is a "tres devot et vray Catholique" (p. 358). By
describing Griseldis as an extraordinary "mirror" whose story seems too
difficult and too impossible to be true, Philippe elevates his heroine
above the lives of his readers, who must force themselves to do as well
for fear of missing the mark.
Within his tale, among other transformations, Philippe heightens
Griseldis's submission as wife. Her oath of obedience before the wed-
ding is even more obsequious than in Petrarch: She protests that she is
unworthy not only to be his wife, but even his slave or servant, "ta povre
ancelle" (p. 363, 1. 13). The costume Gualtieri bestows is more ornate
than in the source-"perles et pierres precieuses et ce sanz nombre"
[innumerable pearls and precious gems]-so much so that "n'esoit pas
merveille se elle estoit honteuse et esbahie" [it was no wonder that she
was ashamed and astonished] (p. 363, 1. 30) When Griseldis dissimulates
t8 ROBERTA L. KRUEGER
her feelings as her son is sent off to be killed, Philippe invites "roynes,
princesses et marquises" to listen to her response (p. 368, 1. 11), which
he deems "merveilleuse et non pareille" [marvelous and without equal]
(p. 368, 1. 26). Griseldis explains, as she did in Petrarch, that when she
traded in her "povres robes" for Gualtieri, she submitted completely to
his will. To illustrate Griseldis's obedience even more dramatically,
Philippe adds a new detail to the scene ofher repudiation and disrobing:
she turns to the retinue that has accompanied her to her father's house,
thanks them, and urges them to remain loyal to their lord, Gualtieri (p.
372, ll. 30-33).
As the story draws to an end, Philippe deepens the reader's sense of
the heroine's debasement by reminding us repeatedly, in the text and
rubrics, that she bears great humility under a "povre cote." 25 Philippe
amplifies the scene in which Griseldis prepares the house for Philippe's
second marriage by sweeping with "vilz instrumens" [base tools] (p. 374,
ll. 16-23). The narrator marvels, and invites his female readers to marvel,
at just such moments of virtuous abjection: "Que diray je plus pour
toutes les dames du monde esmerveillier?" [What more can I say to
astonish all the women in the world?] (p. 374, 1. 24).
As he recasts a Christian allegory into a "beautiful mirror" for
married ladies, Philippe creates a heroine who shines brightest when she
is most debased. Carolyn Collette has recently noted that Griseldis's
abasement in the sweeping scene is so "painful" that critics shrink from
analyzing it; she argues that Philippe underscores the public nature of
this moment, which is in keeping with his development elsewhere of
Griseldis's role as a "public mediatrix." 26 It is true that Philippe earlier
praises Griseldis for her role in public governance and that he clearly
admires her actions here. But Griseldis' swilling acceptance oflow status
makes her example all the more "merveilleux" [amazing] for high-born
ladies, who would find her behavior "impossible" to imitate, even as
they are enjoined to be astonished by it.
When the Menagier de Paris incorporates Philippe's version of this
"astonishing" story of conjugal submission into the book he composes
for his young bride (ca. 1393), he seems to lead clerical commentary in
a new direction by roundly denouncing Griseldis's debasement. Speak-
UNCOVERING GRISELDA 7'9
ing directly to the wife in the Epilogue, the Menagier exclaims that he
would never demand "telle obeissance" of her (of the sort that Gualtieri
did ofGriseldis), since he is no "marquis" and she is not a "bergere," and
assures her that he would never "faire tels assaulz ne essaiz" [make such
assaults or test]. 27 Yet even as he apologizes for the tale's "trop grant
crualte" [excessive cruelty] and doubts that it is true, he says he ought
not "correct" or change the original: since others have heard this story,
his wife should know it and be able to talk about it, too. The narrator
distances himself from his "cruel" source, professing more moderate,
reasonable authority, yet proposes to transmit his material faithfully.
Within the tale, despite his professed sympathy, the Menagier
continues the clerical tradition of covering up Griseldis's suffering and
justifYing her abasement. He offers a new twist on the Petrarchan
allegory that further normalizes spouse abuse. He explains that the
Roman poet translated the tale to persuade women to endure patiently
their husbands' treatment not only out of conjugal love but also because
God, the Church and Reason wished them to be "obeissans" (p. 230,
emphasis mine).
Indeed, the Menagier stresses Griseldis's wifely obedience even
more pointedly than his predecessors; her story heads a series of exempla
of "obeissance" and "desobeissance" that expressly illustrate docile and
intransigent wives (Chapter I, vi). 28 Within Griselda's tale and in the
supporting exempla, the Menagier displays signs of harshness that
flagrantly contradict indulgence expressed elsewhere, as Ueltschi has
noted generally. 29 Although he claims that he has not "corrected" his
source, he makes several changes that heighten Griseldis's servility. His
description of Griseldis preparing the household for her former hus-
band's new wife (her own daughter), as Ferrier has noted, portrays her
as "the efficient mistress of a large household" and describes in particular
her care for the household linens (p. 79); 30 like a good bourgeoise, this
Griseldis has mastered the home-making arts that the book promotes.
Most remarkably, when Griseldis is repudiated, the Menagier amplifies
Griseldis' swords of support for her husband, a speech sketched out first
in Philippe de Mezieres, as we have seen. 31 After Gautier has forced her
to hand over her two children to be killed and has banished her from
80 ROBERTA L. KRUEGER
their home so that he can remarry, Griseldis stands at her father's door
and "sweetly and humbly" tells her people that they should not say,
think or believe that her husband had done her any wrong and that they
should loyally love and serve their husbands as the means to gain the
greatest renown (pp. 220-22, lines 654-71 ). With this remarkable speech,
unique to this version, Griseldis repeats her earlier vow of obedience
and emphatically endorses Gualtieri's behavior. The Menagier's narra-
tive presentation thus contradicts his dismay, in the Epilogue, at Gualt-
ieri's harsh treatment of his wife. Rather than mitigate Gualtieri's
brutality, the Menagier portrays a more perfectly submissive and self-
consciously exemplary wife, who exonerates her husband, accepts his
harsh rule as the norm, and generalizes her own previous vow of
obedience as a rule for all wives.
Irony, allegory, exemplification, disclaimer, and contradiction:
Such is the rhetorical wardrobe that traveled with Griselda as her tale
circulated in late medieval Europe. Christine may not have known
Griselda in all her guises, but she cannot have been unaware of the
clerical embellishments that dressed up the patient wife. Although her
direct source is Philippe's Livre de la vertu du sacrement de mariage/ 2
Christine would surely have known Boccaccio's tale since she draws
other tales from the Decameron, and she may well have known the
Menagier de Paris. In contrast to authors who refashioned Griselda by
cloaking her in moral commentary that allegorized her virtue or
questioned her utility as an example, Christine strips away rhetorical
trappings to create a forceful heroine who is "true," a prime example in
her powerful "proof' of women's constancy, an essential building block
in her fortress against misogynistic attack, La Cite des Dames. Christine
corrects those clerks who idealize or doubt Griselda and subtly trans-
forms the exemplum and its metacritical frame.
Christine's Gliselidis is not a female exemplum "translated"
between male clerics, ostensibly for women's benefit; hers is rather a
tale exchanged between women to chastise men who misinterpret
women-specifically, as Droiture says, "pour contredire par exem-
ples" [to protest through exempla] those who say that women are
"fraisles" [weak] (p. 344). In Book II, Droiture [Rectitude] refutes a
UNCOVERING GRISELDA 81
tale fleshes out complaints about the harsh realities of marriage for
women that resound throughout the Cite. In one of the book's first
substantive counter-attacks, Reason reminds Christine that Matheolus's
antifeminist stance on marriage in the Lamentations, whose reading
launched the author into total despair, runs completely counter to
reality. No husband exists who would endure the abuse that clerks
attribute to women; experience proves that real marriage is the opposite
of what men say; "c' est chose clere et prouvee par 1' experience que le
contraire est vray" (p. 48). Throughout Book II, Christine and Droiture
continue to discuss the "real" nature of marriage, in terms that prepare
readers for Gliselidis. Droiture reminds Christine that books blaming
women for the state of marriage were not written by women (pp. 252-
54) and claims that women would write the story differently. She
compares the "durete" many women endure from their husbands to the
treatment of Saracen slaves: And ask Christine how many "bonnes
preudes femmes" endure "dures bateures, sanz cause et sans raison"
[hard beatings, without cause or reason] and submit to nasty, injurious
servitude and mistreatment and without protestation (p. 254); she
complains that women and children die ofhunger while husbands cruise
the taverns. When Droiture asks "Am I lying?," Christine sadly confirms
that she has seen many wives so abused: "Certes, Dame, si ay fait
maintes, dont grant pitie avoie" (p. 254) [Indeed, my lady, I have seen
many, whom I have greatly pitied]. As Droiture points out, Christine's
own experience disproves the antifeminist accusation that women rule
men; in reality, men have mastery over their wives and not wives
mastery over their husbands, who would never endure such authority
(p. 25 4). As her readers witness, Gaultieri wields just such" autorite" over
Gliselidis.
As Chapters XIV through XXX of Book II produce exempla of good
wives throughout history, Christine continues to bear witness through
her experience, confirming that the loyal, long-suffering and loving
wives of history still exist: "Certes, Dame ... me souvient avoir veu
femmes semblables" (p. 272) [Indeed, Lady, I recall having seen many
such women]. She recalls "maintes autres femmes" [many other
women] in her day who loved their husbands perfectly (p. 276) and
UNCOVERING GRISELDA 85
others who stood by their husbands in sickness (p. 278). In her most
chilling testimony, Christine describes wives she hesitates to name for
fear of displeasing them (or perhaps endangering them?), wives whose
husbands are so depraved that their in-laws wish them dead and yet
those wives continue to endure beatings, deprivation, poverty and
slavery out ofloyalty. These are things seen every day, Christine says,
yet everyone overlooks them (p. 278).
Such accounts of spouse abuse, which intensify throughout Book
II, prepare readers for Gliselidis. Christine neither protests that Gualtieri
is too harsh to be true nor claims that Gliselidis's patience is inimitable.
She does not seek to tell an "extraordinary" example at which readers
will marvel, as does Philippe. Her lack of disclaimer suggests Gliselidis' s
story is sadly true, like the abusive marriages of Christine's contempo-
raries, "maintes bonnes preudfemmes" [many good worthy women]
whose mistreatment Christine observes around her every day. Far from
suggesting that women as virtuous as Griselda cannot be found, much
less emulated (as do, each in his way, Boccaccio, Petrarch, Philippe and
the Menagier), Christine implies that marriages as difficult as Gliselidis's
exist in Christine's own day.
On the thematic level, Gliselidis's tale strongly denounces tyranni-
cal husbands and "contradicts" the charge that women are weak. On a
metacriticallevel, it also forcefully contributes to Christine's plan to
"contredire" [protest] misogyny-a project announced in the Prologue
and repeatedly throughout Books I and II-by demonstrating the virtues
of restraint, dissimulation offeeling, and waiting for the right moment
to utter well-chosen words. To understand fully the force of Gliselidis' s
protest, we need to consider her actions as the first in a trilogy of stories
about unjustly accused wives who respond forcefully to their mistreat-
ment. As we recall, Gliselidis' tale is followed by that of Florence of
Rome (from Gautier de Coincy's Miracles de Nostre Dames) in Chapter
LI, and ofBernabo's wife, Sagurat (from the Decameron), in Chapter LII.
Critics have noted that Christine underscores faithless, cruel husbands
and constant wives as she reworks her sources and links these three
women. 37 Her creation of a trilogy of strong, constant wives highlights
the ways women respond to marital abuse with patience, but also with
86 ROBERTA L. KRUEGER
3 n all the various divisions oflabor along gender lines in the history
of the western world, one set of connections appears with great
consistency: the association of women with the maintenance of the
household through feeding and clothing its members. This is some-
times termed reproductive, as opposed to productive, labor. These
connections appear in distinctive ways in the Middle Ages. When
households began to acquire their food and clothing on the market
rather than producing it themselves-a shift connected with the urban-
ization of the central Middle Ages-this changed the significance of this
work for medieval understandings of gender. It seems to have changed
the significance of textile work less, however, than victualling. As
changing economic conditions and technological developments altered
the production and distribution of cloth so that men took it over on a
90 RUTH MAZO KARRAS
not simply the case, she explains, that women were the leading produc-
ers in the brewing industry and men then displaced them.
Rather, the status of the industry, not the status of women's labor,
changed. As long as profits were low and the business not especially
prestigious, women could participate, but when the industry became
more lucrative, men took over. Bennett looks to cultural representations
of women's brewing work to show how, contemporary with and
following this shift, women who brewed were treated as immoral and
sexually suspect. 2 These representations were part of the way the
patriarchal system enforced the exclusion of women. As Bennett also
recognizes, however, exclusion might not apply equally to all women;
work done within the context of a marriage could be less suspect than
single women's work.
Weaving (which in England and elsewhere in northwestern
Europe generally meant weaving in wool) followed the same general
trajectory during the high to later Middle Ages as did brewing: as the
industry became more capitalized and industrialized, it also came
under the control of men. Yet women continued to weave (as they
continued to brew) and, unlike brewsters, women who wove did not
come in for the same degree of opprobrium. Weaving continued to be
a respectable craft for a woman, indeed an index of feminine virtue.
The question of which is the prime mover in changing women's
work-economic change, technological innovation, or cultural valu-
ation of the work-cannot, perhaps, be answered. All three certainly
played a role.
Today, despite the prominence of men as designers, the vast major-
ity of workers in the textile and clothing industries world-wide-many
of them in Third W odd countries and earning very low wages-are
women, and in those cultures in which individual households still
produce their own clothing, it is women who do that work. Spinning has
been the female job par excellence-the phrase "distaff side" for the
female side of the family or household comes from a tool used to hold
wool or tow for spinning; an unmarried woman is a spinster; and the
invention that began the Industrial Revolution bears a woman's name,
the spinning jenny (named, according to various legends, for the daugh-
92 RUTH MAZO KARRAS
ter or wife of the inventor). For much of history, however, women did
many other textile tasks besides spinning, including weaving.
The connection of women with textile production, especially in
wool, goes back to antiquity. Homer depicts queens as weaving within
their households. 3 Greek myth shows women, including the goddess
Athena, as weavers. Some literary accounts of marriages show the bride
weaving a coverlet for the marriage bed. 4 In classical Athens, women
collectively wove a new peplos (tunic-like garment) each year for the
statue of Athena Parthenos. 5 Xenophon's normative account of house-
hold management, the Oeconomicus, presents one of the main duties of
the Athenian matron as the preparation and weaving of wool into cloth
(or, at least, supervision of the slaves in cloth production). 6 This last
example introduces a feature that is characteristic of cultural represen-
tations of weaving throughout the Middle Ages as well as antiquity.
Those women for whom weaving and other aspects of textile produc-
tion is central, in terms of the construction of feminine virtue, are not
necessarily the women who actually did most of the textile production.
The latter are likely to have been slaves or servants-in the later Middle
Ages, wage laborers-while the former were aristocrats, since textile
production was connected with ideals of aristocratic femininity. The
former were also married women responsible for production within
their households.
In ancient Rome, too, the connection of textile production with
virtue appeared. The epitaph for an aristocratic wife-"she worked
wool" -emphasized that instead of gallivanting about, taking lovers,
attending parties, being concerned with her dress and toilette, she was
engaged in productive labor on behalf of her family. Augustus set the
women of his household to spin and weave in order to improve their
virtue. 7 These women were not doing this work for the economic
benefit of the family. This was not a level of society in which all hands
needed to be employed in order to maintain a level of subsistence.
Rather, it was for moral reasons that these women were engaged in cloth
work rather than relying on slaves.
In Rome, cloth was produced on an industrial basis also, mainly by
female slaves; under Diocletian the imperial cloth works were a punish-
"THIS SKILL IN A WOMAN IS BY NO MEANS TO BE DESPISED" 92
ment for many male and female criminals, including Christians. But
there is evidence from both Greece and Rome of free women working
in weaving workshops too. This work was not done exclusively by
women, and the sources do not permit us to know whether it was done
mainly by them, but they were certainly significantly involved. On the
household level, however, spinning and weaving were considered
women's work and in fact shameful for free men. This proto-industrial
production by slaves or women under other forms of servitude contin-
ued during the early Middle Ages. Saints' lives give us many glimpses of
women weaving in the home, but there were also large gynaecea on
many estates, where woolen cloth was produced on an industrial scale
to meet the needs of the elite (who also exacted rents in cloth). Women
participated in all steps of the clothmaking process, including dyeing. 8
By the central Middle Ages the picture has changed somewhat.
Clothmaking was still considered an important skill for a noble girl.
Many literary references speak of sewing and embroidery, but there are
enough that deal with weaving to indicate that this was a skill women
were expected to have, at least in theory. 9 The French chansons de toile,
whether or not they were ever sung by women while they worked,
indicate that needlework was considered the feminine aristocratic pas-
time par excellence, but they speak once again mainly of sewing or
spinning rather than weaving. 10
If we turn to the practical side-the production of wool and other
cloth for actual use rather than for the preservation of aristocratic virtue-
we find that in the central Middle Ages more of it was migrating to towns.
It is often impossible to know who was actually doing the work before the
thirteenth century when guild records and other documents, like Etienne
Boileau's Livre des metiers or English manorial and tax records, begin to
appear, but it is clear that in northwestern Europe men were becoming
prominent. 11 Where the ninth-century Utrecht Psalter, for example,
showed women weaving, the early thirteenth-century De Natura Rerum of
Alexander Neckham gave a man as the prime example of textor (weaver),
although he had a textrix (the feminine form) assisting him. 12
David Herlihy suggests a list of factors that led to many tasks once
performed by women being taken over by men by the end of the Middle
94 RUTH MAZO KARRAS
John of Garland speaks of textrices who weave only silk. 20 Women span,
but they did not weave, dye, full, or finish the woolen cloth. 21
The exclusion of women was not universal. Maryanne Kowaleski
has identified women cloth merchants as well as weavers in Exeter,
another provincial town, and Jeremy Goldberg suggests that the textile
industry was much more woman-dominated in the north of England
than in the south, and provides a number of examples of women
weavers from fourteenth-century English poll tax evidence. 22 The life of
Lidwina of Schiedam shows us a picture of a widow who establishes a
weaving workshop and sells cloth. 23 But this again is a small town
without a strong guild organization. In areas on the fringes of Europe,
like Iceland, women continued to produce most of the cloth, even for
international trade. Women householders and their servants produced
for the market. By the fifteenth century spinning and weaving had
become somewhat professionalized in that some women were expected
to do them full time; elite women supervised low-paid workers. 24
Even where weaving and other processes of woolen clothmaking
were under the monopoly control of male-dominated guilds, women
might participate. 25 Weavers' workshops were in their homes; they
hired wage labor but they also used the labor of family members. Only
a few workshop owners were women-mainly widows of weavers-
but some of the wage laborers may have been. A Bristol ordinance of
1461 complained that "divers persons of Weuers Crafte of the seid
Towne ofBristowe puttyn, occupien and hiren ther wyfes, doughtours
and maidens, some to weue in ther own lombes and some to hire them
to wirche with othour persons of the seid Crafte." No weavers in future
were to set their wives and daughters to work, although the prohibition
did not apply to those living at the time of the ordinance. 26 In York, an
ordinance of 1400 prohibited women "of whatever status or condition"
from weaving unless they had been properly trained, "because of the
ruin of the cloths for sale, and the prejudice to our craft," unless she is
"well learned and sufficiently approved" to do the work. 27 Both these
ordinances indicate that skilled women were present and participated,
but also that there was resentment of their involvement in commercial
weaving.
"THIS SKILL IN A WOMAN IS BY NO MEANS TO BE DESPISED" 9l
The late Middle Ages, then, was a time when commercial weaving
was under the control of men. A number of possible explanations arise.
Certainly economic change played a role. With the development of
woolen cloth production on an industrial scale, particularly in Flanders
and Italy and later in England, economies of scale arose, forcing small
producers out of the market. The drapers or cloth merchants did not
establish factories in the modem sense; production was still decentralized
to that degree. But they did establish a division oflabor in which each step
in the production process was carried out by different people. Masters in
each of these different crafts, even the more prestigious ones like weavers
and dyers, might be themselves somewhat proletarianized by the late
Middle Ages. They were not independent producers in the sense of
working for themselves; they were subcontractors for the drapers. But
neither were they simply wage laborers. They owned their means of
production, the loom, and hired wages laborers themselves. Their pro-
duction might be organized on the basis of a household workshop, but it
was not just the conjugal family unit that composed that household.
Master weavers hired journeymen weavers, who were all men.
The pattern that Bennett has identified in the brewing industry
appears in weaving as well. By the late Middle Ages, clothmaking was
big business. The cloth trade was incorporated into large-scale trading
systems whose networks reached beyond western Europe. In order for
such a large-scale trade to develop the product had to be standardized,
and the guilds enforced quality standards as well as their monopoly on
production.
The new technology of weaving also provided reasons for the
exclusion of women from the craft. The horizontal loom required a
good deal of physical strength. Women did other sorts of heavy physical
labor, however, and certainly some women would have had the requi-
site strength and some men would not. More to the point, the horizontal
loom required a different sort of division oflabor. The horizontal loom
was more efficient than the warp-weighted one, producing perhaps
three to five times as much per hour, and required proportionally more
spinners to keep it supplied. 28 This led to a division of labor that was
clear both in terms of the structure of a workshop and in prestige as well.
98 RUTH MAZO KARRAS
Again, both Gaia Cyrillia and the Virgin are married women responsible
for clothing their families.
Classical stories about virtuous women as weavers also continued
into the late medieval period. Penelope at her loom was a favorite. In
her story, weaving demonstrates marital chastity under the most
extreme of circumstances. Boccaccio cites her "untarnished honor and
undefiled purity," which she preserved by asking for a delay of remar-
riage "until she could finish weaving the cloth that she had begun in
accord with queenly custom." She unwove it at night "with feminine
cunning." 45 Boccaccio apparently felt he had to offer some explanation
of why Penelope was weaving-that royal women (in her day, presum-
ably) did-but it was nevertheless diligent and a sign of chastity and even
holiness. "Feminine cunning" was permissible in the service of marital
fidelity.
Boccaccio also discusses Arachne, "an Asian woman of the common
people," who according to some "was the most skillful weaver of her
time and so adept at it that she did with her fingers, thread, shuttle, and
other tools of weaving what a painter does with his brush." Boccaccio
adds, "This skill in a woman is by no means to be despised," implying
perhaps that it was hardly typical, but also that it is highly desirable. 46
Arachne's weaving, of course, led to a worse end than did Penelope's,
perhaps in part because it did not serve the ends of marriage and family.
In the twelfth-century French version of Ovid's Philomela (who
told in a tapestry the story ofhow her brother-in-law had raped her, then
cut out her tongue), weaving becomes a central way in which women
speak. A quintessentially feminine medium allows the Old French
Philomena to communicate with her sister. The Old French author
changes his Ovidian model to depict a peasant woman, set to guard
Philomena, who helps her in her weaving task, illustrating a cross-class
cooperation of women. The story of Philomena does not, of course,
reflect a social practice of women communicating with one another by
means of tapestries, but it does underscore how weaving is a feminine
mode, and it also continues into the Middle Ages the connection of a
woven coverlet with marriage. Philomena weaves a cortine, a "bed
curtain," the sort of cloth she might have used in her marriage had she
"THIS SKILL IN A WOMAN IS BY NO MEANS TO BE DESPISED" 102
Madeline H. Caviness
3 tis well known to everyone who studies medieval stained glass that
the standard way to design and execute a window was to draw the full-
size cartoon on a sized tabletop. This process was described by a
monastic author who dubbed himself "Theophilus" in the twelfth
century, and the only extant tabletop with a window design is in the
Cathedral of Gerona, where it was used more than once in the four-
teenth century. 1 Such designs showed very clearly the matrix of lead
cames that were to join the pieces of colored glass, so that the glasses
could be marked for cutting, or even cut, on the rigid working surface.
They also showed sufficient detail-drapery folds, facial features, leaf
veins-to guide the draughtsmen who were to paint these features on
the glass. The Gerona table demonstrates the versatility of this kind of
pattern, in that the architectural canopy was repeated in at least two
lights, whereas the figures under it were changed; this was easily done
by whiting out part of the design and drawing new elements. Colors
1 06 MADELI'JE H. CAVINESS
were noted by letters, and these too could be changed. When the glaziers
had finished with this tabletop, they abandoned it in the eaves of the
cathedral. The question raised in this paper is what might they have done
if they had wished to make replicas of this window at another site?
Transporting large panels is not impossible, but it would be costly. I am
looking for a portable intermediary that could be used to generate the
new setting-table design. 2
A report given in 1972 included some new observations on there-
use of patterns in the early thirteenth-century glazing of the cathedrals
at Canterbury (England) and Sens (France). 3 Now the computer has
revolutionized the working methods for analysis of patterns, and hence
the range of conclusions that are possible. 4 At least for a series of more-
or-less life- size figures made for the clerestory (upper) windows of three
widely dispersed buildings around 1200, it has been possible to settle the
question of the material used as a carrier. Paper of that size was not yet
available, so the candidates were wood panels, parchment, or cloth. This
chapter explores how patterns were adapted to different window sizes
and proportions, and concludes that cloth was being used in ways that
are very well known to seamstresses.
In The Early Stained Glass of Canterbury Cathedral I published photo-
graphs of six ornamental window borders, in each case pairing a design
in Canterbury with one in the ambulatory of Sens Cathedral. 5 Further-
more, I had observed that the iron armatures that control the panel
composition of the Saint Eustache window in Sens, and the first window
from the east on the north side of the Trinity Chapel in Canterbury,
shared the same geometric design. It was apparent to me that this
geometry had been invented for the Romanesque round-arched open-
ing at Sens, since the circular irons that delineated groups of figural
panels fit these openings perfectly 6 Such geometric compositions of
course are easily transmitted by small drawings on parchment. As for
the borders, the observation that they are exact replicas one of the other,
and that therefore the glass painters made full-size patterns of some sort,
did not depend on simple measurements, but on rubbings of the lead
cames that hold the colored glasses, and notations on the colors used.
Now, with the use of a computer, the colors can be added to the scanned
TUCKS AND DARTS 107
another viable candidate, as we will see in the case of a series oflarge figural
panels, and it had some distinct advantages over parchment and wood.
The stained glass made for the clerestory windows of the Abbey
Church of Saint-Remi of Reims, for the Premonstratensian Church of
Braine, and for the Abbey and Cathedral Church of Canterbury were
the subject of my book The Sumptuous Arts at the Royal Abbeys in Reims
and Braine, published in 1990. 12 I proposed on the basis of visual
similarities that a single atelier supplied glass for all three sites. Each
time, the members of this atelier had to make large seated figures-
almost life-size-to install in pairs, one above the other, in the clerestory
lancets. At least one border design is repeated at Reims and at Canter-
bury, and a few other pairs are quite close to each other, but there are
very important gaps in our knowledge of this aspect of the design: For
Saint-Remi it is not even possible to associate specific figures and borders
because so much of the glass changed places before the modern period. 13
And until now, the precise relationship between the figures of the Reims-
Braine-Canterbury group has remained elusive.
An atelier may be defmed as a group of artisans who shared patterns,
including some full-size models. I had argued that such a group worked
in the following sequence: Detailed study of the choir clerestory of Saint-
Remi, constructed and glazed about 1180-82, revealed that several
cartoons had been successively adapted, beginning from the first bay to
have been constructed, the westernmost on the north side. 14 Groups of
figures are almost identical in their lead matrix (which corresponds to
the cut-lines on the tabletop), but sometimes the glass painters had
adapted their big drawings to redesign a head, or to add an attribute such
as a crown. They treated these triple-light window compositions as a
unit, so that figures in the smaller lateral lights were paired parentheti-
cally, their heads turned toward the center. The colors in each such pair
are identical, as are the outlines of the rest of the body and legs; only the
heads were redesigned. 15 The figures in the larger central light of each
triplet are repeated in the opposite window across the choir, but with
changed colors. 16 For the lower figures in all these lights-the archbish-
ops ofReims-it was possible to check the accuracy of the photographs
taken for the Monuments Historiques on a scale of one-tenth against
TUCKS AND DARTS 109
measurements and rubbings I made from the outer sill of the windows.
This made it possible to trace a series of adaptations to one cartoon in
some detail. 17 For the upper figures, of prophets and apostles, a steplad-
der placed on the sill gave only limited access. The need to make
rubbings in order to trace design changes placed a limit on archaeolog-
ical methods before the advent of computer scanning.
Similar methods had indicated that the French atelier had arrived
in Canterbury about 1190 to1200 (in any case before 1207) to execute at
least one pair of large figures, Naashon and Amminadab, for the
clerestory of the presbytery. 18 Not only the figure design and style of
painting, but also the quality of the glass is different from that associated
with the English-looking work produced for the windows that had been
glazed since about 1180. And the style of these two figures appears rather
close to the ones made in Reims about a decade earlier.
Study of the ancestors of Christ made for the clerestory of Saint-
Yved ofBraine, of which the provenance offour figures installed in the
nineteenth century in the choir clerestory of the Cathedral of Soissons
is the most certain, presented the same problems of access as the choir
windows of Saint-Remi. Even with the hydraulic ladder of the Soissons
fire department, I could only reach the feet of the second figure from
the bottom. Panels preserved elsewhere, in various collections in the
United States, were easier to rub, but these dismembered figures are
more heavily restored-only one remains intact. 19 Yet photographs of
the figures in Soissons on a 1:10 scale and measurements taken on the
sills of Braine suggested a reconstruction of the clerestory composition
for Braine in photo-montage, with two ancestors of Christ superposed
in each, as they are at Canterbury. 20 Beyond the closeness in style
(system of folds, facial types, bodily proportions, and hand gestures), it
still remained to discern the exact relationship between Reims and
Braine designs. Given the date based on documents for the completion
of construction at Braine, before 1208 (or even 1204), and the opinion
of Anne Prache that the work had begun sometime around 1190 to 1195,
the stained glass of the clerestory should date about 1195 to 1205 I 8. 21
Either in parallel with the glazing campaigns at Braine and at
Canterbury, or slightly later, the atelier designed a double tier of seated
11 0 MADELI'JE H. CAVINESS
figures for the clerestory of the nave of Saint-Remi in Reims. For these
kings and abbots or archbishops I originally used the same methods
(rubbings, measurements, and photographs) to demonstrate that certain
cartoons had been reused up to seven times within the series, in a rather
monotonous manner. 22 Taken with the style and the building chronol-
ogy, this indicates a later date than the choir glass, perhaps during the
abbacy of Simon (1181-1198) who is known for having decorated this
part of the church, or even a bit later. 23 In that case too, losses, distorting
repairs and restorations to the glass, and the almost complete recon-
struction of the walls following World War I, necessitated the use of
photo-montage to envisage the original appearance ofthese windows. 24
Although I could easily make rubbings of the glass from the aisle roof
on the north side, the roof on the south side was steeper and less secure.
The task was possible, but it was rudely interrupted by the town police,
called out by a nervous parish priest, and I very much regretted not to
have profited from a masons' scaffold that had been in place a decade
earlier!
To that point, it had become clear that a Remois atelier had been in
the habit of re-using cartoons several times within each of four series of
large figures (Reims choir, Canterbury, Braine, Reims nave), but in each
case the procedure could have been to adapt the design on the setting
table, as we know was done in Gerona. But re-examination of the rather
random assortment of rubbings from all four series suggested that the
same designs had been adapted at different sites. Nonetheless, I was very
circumspect in print, "There are numerous cases in which a superposi-
tion of rubbings made from figures of different sizes belonging to
different sites indicates significant coincidences in some contours, such
as the outline of a leg or shoulder; it is as if existing cartoons were being
freely adapted to changes in scale, or as if the draughtsman's arm
repeated the same gestural stroke by habit." 25
The computer study confirmed these suspicions, and supports an
evolution of design from the choir of Saint-Remi. These results were
obtained on a Macintosh personal computer with a scanner and Adobe
photoshop. Each photograph was scanned with a ruler, so that figures
of different sizes could be adjusted accurately on the same scale. The
TUCKS AND DARTS 1 11
6.1a King David, detail, Reims, Abbey Church 6.1b Bust of Abiud, from Braine, Abbey
of Saint-Remi, retrochoir clerestory (window Church of Saint-Yved, clerestory (now in
N.!Vb); contours marked in white were also New York, The Metropolitan Museum of
used in the pattern for Abiud at Braine. Art, Medieval Department, accession no.
14.47).
black and white photographs are too detailed to be read clearly if they
are superimposed in photoshop, even if they are given transparency.
Instead, I traced selected lead lines in color onto a separate layer that
could then be moved over another photograph-much as one might by
making a tracing on transparent paper. This method demonstrated three
kinds of re-use of a pattern: the exact repetition of the main lines of the
composition, adaptation to a different size, or selection of certain
elements only; at least one example of each type will be illustrated here.
As an example of the first type, the main contours of the panel with
the head and shoulders of King David, in the fourth bay from the east
on the north side of the retrochoir of Saint-Remi, correspond very
closely with those of the upper part of Abiud from Braine (figs. 6.1 a and
6.lb ). 26 Not only do the outlines of their haloes, shoulders, collars, and
faces coincide, but also the edging filets to the pointed panels, as shown
on the illustration of Abiud. In fact, the head of the lancet in Braine is a
replica of those of the central openings in the choir of Saint-Remi, in the
position of the iron armature that defmes the panel, and even in the
template that served the stonemasons to resolve the pointed arch. The
system of rectangular panes aligned horizontally in the blue grounds is
not modular, but the top of the throne behind Abiud does coincide with
the bottom of the inscription for David, and the bands with lettering
11 2 MADELI'JE H. CAVINESS
6.2a Micheas, Reims, saint-Remi, retrochoir 6.2b Amminadab, reversed, from Braine,
clerestory (window N.!Va); contours in white Saint-Yved, clerestory (now in Soissons,
match or approximate those used at Braine for Cathedral of Saint-Gervais et Saint-Protais,
Amminadab, in reverse except for the head. apse clerestory, Window 103); the pattern
for Micheas was let out with two pieces.
central lights in Saint-Remi are slightly taller than those made for the
regular single lancets ofBraine, so the cartoon would have to be adapted.
The pair oflaterallancets that flank the central ones of the type with
King David in Saint-Remi are shorter and narrower. Each figure that fills
them is composed of two instead of three panels of glass, mounted on
the horizontal bars of the armature (as in figs. 6.2a and 6.2b). Yet the
overall dimensions of these lateral figures are close enough to those at
Braine for the cartoons to be adapted for reuse. The design for one of
the ancestors of Christ from Braine, Amminadab, corresponds to that of
David's companion Micheas, but it has been reversed except for the head
(figs. 6.2a and 6.2b ). 28 They are identical in the basic outlines of haloes,
heads, faces, and necks, shoulders and upper arms, left shins, and the rise
of the footstools. But the cartoon had to be lengthened a few inches, and
this was done by letting in a horizontal strip at the figure's waist level,
essentially adding to the top of the lower glazing panel of Micheas. The
forearm positions were redrawn to disguise this, but Amminadab's left
hand and arm are none the less oddly disproportionate because the hand
has to reach down to the drapery fold that Micheas held effortlessly by
resting his right hand on his knee. Amminadab' s right leg was inexplica-
bly shortened, and it was thinned down by using a drapery fold in the
Remois design as a contour. This indicates that the cartoon was marked
for painted detail as well as for cutting the glass. A throne back for
Amminadab helps to fill the wider window opening; its definition
coincides with the limit of the blue ground behind Micheas. Ammi-
nadab's throne and footstool are extended to the left in the lower panel
for the same reason.
The cartoon for Micheas also served, but in the same sense this time,
for N aashon in Canterbury (figs. 6.3a and 6.3b ). The horizontal armature
falls in the same place, and the template for the window head at
Canterbury was adjusted to approximate that of the lateral lights in
Saint-Remi. The overall dimensions for the figure had to be reduced,
however, because of a shorter window and a wider ornamental border
at Canterbury. Not only was a horizontal tuck taken out of the waist of
Micheas, but his robe was shortened by removing a false hem! In his
upper part, a dart taken in the center altered the angle of the upper arms,
114 MADELI'JE H. CAVINESS
6.3a Micheas, Reirns, Saint-Rerni, retrochoit 6.3b Naashon, Canterbury, Christ Church
clerestory; two tucks and a dart reduced the Cathedral, from the Trinity Chapel clere-
contours for Naashon at Canterbury. story, window N.X.
6.4a Amminadab, Canterbury, Christ Church 6.4b Frankish king, Reims, Saint-Remi,
Cathedral, from the trinity Chapel clerestory nave clerestory (window N.XXIV).
(window N.X); a tuck and dart reduced the
contours for a king in Reims.
6.5a Amminadab, Canterbury; a dart and a tuck 6.5b Obed, Canterbury, Christ Church
reduced the head and arch for Obed; four other Cathedral, from Trinity Chapel clerestory
clusters oflines were also reused, but the pattern (window N. VIII); a piece was let in
was probably cut up. between the hands to adapt the pattern
from Amminadab.
The supple folds that describe the left leg of Naashon follow the
Remois model quite faithfully, and in general this refined execution that
presents volume and space is much closer to that of Micheas than are the
figures from Braine (figs 6.3a and 6.3b ). Is that an indication that the French
atelier worked in Canterbury earlier than I had anticipated-for instance
about 1182, which is not impossible for the construction of this bay? Such
a conclusion has to be seriously entertained, although the companion
figure to Naashon is very closely related to the design for a figure made
for the nave of Saint-Remi sometime between 1195 and 1200.
TUCKS AND DARTS 1 1l
Naashon's companion, Amminadab, in Canterbury shares several
contours with one of the Frankish kings made for the clerestory lancets
of Saint-Remi (figs. 6.4a and 6.4b ). 30 The basic outlines coincide, except
that the shins of the king have been shortened by a horizontal tuck and
the angle of his left upper arm is adjusted, as is the width of the throne
back. The odd-looking gesture of the king' s left hand results from a dart
taken in the chest of Amminadab that eliminated his foreshortened
forearm. And this time it is the Remois figure that grasps a fold in his
mantle instead of making the speaking gesture of the Canterbury figure.
In general, the execution of this series in Reims is much coarser than the
figure paintings done for Canterbury, or even Braine. It looks very much
as if the design for Canterbury's Amminadab (itself probably derived,
like that of its companion, from a figure in the retrochoir ofSaint-Remi)
returned to Reims with the glaziers who adapted it for the nave
window. 31
The ancestors painted for the windows further east in the Trinity
Chapel at Canterbury are much smaller than Naashon and Amminadab.
Inexplicably, despite the lancet shape recently imported form France,
the designer decided to fill each window with varied geometric frames
such as lozenges or quatrefoils, thus drastically reducing the size of the
seated figures placed in them. Nonetheless, the pattern for Amminadab
was adapted for his small neighbor, Obed (figs. 6.5a and 6.5b). This time
only isolated elements could be reused, so the close relationship is
almost imperceptible. A triangular insert has separated the hands and
changed the angles of the shoulders, but Obed is otherwise much
thinner. His face and hands appear disproportionately large, especially
since the abdominal area is reduced in height (his left knee raised up to
his hand). A changed color scheme completes the camouflage. The only
immediate sign that we are dealing with the same painter is the very
distinctive rendering of the frowning face and the sinews of the hand. 32
Following these observations, we are in a better position to decide
what carrier the glass designers had used. What is required is a material
that is reversible, pliable so that it could be taken in or let out to change
the size of the design, and that eventually lent itself to stitching together
an assemblage of parts. My one-time professional engagement with
11 8 MADELI'JE H. CAVINESS
Sarah-Grace Heller
all, let alone in their entirety. 10 I propose here to pose some questions
and assemble a body of evidence to encourage further inquiry. The
available legal and poetic texts point to the conclusion that a fashion
system was established in the thirteenth century in several areas of
western Europe.
Precedents for European sumptuary regulation existed in a number
of ancient cultures, some of which were known in medieval times
through the Bible and the compilations of Roman Law, and which
provided models for later legislation. 11 After the decline of the Roman
Empire, secular regulation experienced a brief revival in theW est at the
Carolingian court, 12 only to disappear again for several centuries. From
late antiquity into the Middle Ages, the Church promulgated reminders
to the clergy on such matters as keeping tonsure and dressing soberly
and distinctly from laypersons. Ecclesiastical dress pronouncements
began to become more specific in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,
evidence of broader availability of styles and increased possibility of
consumption open to prelates, clerics, and other religious. 13 The church
may have provided secular governments with some models of fre-
quency and philosophy for sumptuary legislation with these decrees.
They were repeated regularly and altered as needed by provincial
councils, as statutes would likewise be reviewed and repeated by secular
governments. Statements about the luxurious habits of laypersons are
conspicuously absent from church decrees previous to the twelfth
century, as Catherine Kovesi Killerby observes. 14 With the twelfth
century, however, preachers of the church as well as secular legislators
began to pay attention to lay dress, across the cities of the west. There
was consternation over men's hair styles and hem lengths in the late
eleventh and twelfth centuries. 15 In the later twelfth century, concern
was directed at hem decoration and use of furs. In 1157, Genoa's first
law code banned the use of sable furs worth more than 40 soldi to trim
hems. Although a simple proscription, and one omitted from the code's
revisions of 1161, this decree marks the beginning of European sumptu-
ary law development. 16 In 1188 French King Philip Augustus, along with
other leaders on the crusade, ordered clerks and laymen in the armies
to forego vair (two-toned fur), squirrel, and sable, "scarlet" woolens, and
124 SARAH-GRACE HELLER
tion in the many vibrant towns of Italy is just emerging, thanks to the
work of Catherine Kovesi Killerby. 27 In this revised context, the French
laws appear less as the model for Europe. On the contrary, they are
posterior to the first wave oflegislation, arriving fully in the middle of a
flowering of regulation that seems to have spread through the western
Mediterranean in the thirteenth century. France was undeniably an
important region in the Middle Ages, as in later centuries, but French
medieval dress has probably received disproportionately more attention
than other regions, exaggerating the importance of the French laws for
the larger historical context.
Some histories of French costume have mentioned legislation from
Provence and Languedoc, generally without recognizing the unique
status of those regions in the thirteenth century. It is therefore both
desirable and necessary to take some time here to begin, at least, to
assemble a picture of the Occitan sumptuary situation, which has not
yet been studied as a product of its own unique position. What follows
is a working list of regulation in thirteenth-century Occitania, most of
which calls for further investigation. As mentioned above, the church's
1195 council in Montpellier extended its prescriptions to include the
dress of laypersons as well as clerics, threatening temporal lords with
excommunication if they did not enforce vestimentary sobriety among
their subjects. The moral tone of this legislation reflects the spirit of
reform embodied on one hand in the formation of the Franciscan order,
on another in the persecuted Cathars' ideals, namely evangelical sim-
plicity and renunciation of worldly finery. Sumptuary controls were
imposed on laypersons as penitence by church councils during the
Albigensian crusade. 28 After the defeats at Beziers, Carcassonne, and
Termes, Count Raymond VI ofToulouse met papallega tes inN arbonne
to negotiate in january, 1211. The Chanson de la croisade albigeoise 29
reports that the pope ordered the count and his vassals to return to their
lands, send away their soldiers, and cease protecting heretics and jews;
additionally, among other things, they must fast six days a week, cease
to collect tolls, pay the appointed clerical peacekeepers an annual fine,
give up usury, and "Ni ja draps de paratge poichas no vestiran, I Mas
capas grossas brunas, que mais lor duraran (they shall not wear noble
12 6 SARAH-GRACE HELLER
fabrics, but rather cloaks of rough "brunette" wool, which will last them
longer, 60.16-17)." Beyond giving their lands to the conquering crusad-
ers, the Church dispossessed the offending Languedociens by stripping
them of their visual noblesse, as well as taxing them so heavily that they
could not outfit themselves anew. The moral and economic mortifica-
tion of the region by the crusade was felt long after the campaigns ended.
By the later thirteenth century, other legislation appears. In 1273,
the municipal consular government of Montpellier restricted the use
of silk and a variety of precious stones for ladies of the town. 30 In 1274
or 1275 the consul ofMontauban listed certain furs, silks, and garments
dyed purple as items which both men and women were forbidden to
wear in the streets. 31 The municipal statutes of Arles, compiled
between 1162 and 1202, forbade prostitutes to wear veils, and autho-
rized honest women to snatch them off if they saw them. 32 Fran<;ois
Bousgarbies reports regulation in Cahors in 1288. 33 Archivist Jules
Quicherat relates that in 1276 the consul of Marseille regulated prices
on heavily ornamented hoods and cloaks lined with cendal and other
silks; in 1298 the consul of Narbonne passed a law against laced
sorquanie outer dresses that allowed the pleated and embroidered
under-chemises to show. 34
The Occitan consular legislative activity of this time resembles to
some degree that of Italy, where each individual town debated and
legislated as it saw fit, rather than being regulated as a larger, united
region, by a king. This reflects the unique situation of the Midi at this
time. As Linda Paterson observes, if regions are defined by political
boundaries, then Occitania did not exist. In many ways it had closer ties
to Catalonia than France. 35 To the west, the English still laid claim to
the Aquitaine; towards the Alps there was influence from Italy and the
Empire. Parts of the area were coming under French domination, due
to annexation following the Albigensian crusade. For Montpellier in the
early thirteenth century, the bishop's quarter was French-ruled, while
the rest of the town was governed by the lenient Peter II of Aragon, who
was heavily indebted to the burghers and permitted them an exception-
ally emancipated consulate 36 Michel Roquebert has argued that the
region identified with France more than any other and that it held a place
LIMITING YARDAGE AND CHANGES OF CLOTHES 127
fregiis"); with trains ("Quod nulla fancella possit deferre pannos train-
antes"); and with women's robes (meaning full sets of clothes) involving
high yardages of woolens:
Et nulla mulier cuiusque conditionis vel stature sit possit mictere ultra
xviij brachios panni scarleti intra gonnellam et guamachiam; et si faceret
tolam robbam scilicet gonnellam, guarnachiam el mantellum, possil
mictere xxiiij brachios dicti scarleti et non plus; et hoc idem fiat et
observetur de quodlibet panno francisco ... 40
The edicts ofPhilip the Bold in 1279limited the number of new sets
of clothing and their fabric prices according to rank and income, and
then prohibited furs for bourgeois men and women with less than 1,000
pounds in personal net worth, forbidding gold spurs and horse tack to
them entirely .
. . . nus ne dux, ne cuens, ne prelaz, ne bers, ne autres, soit clers soit lais,
ne puisse faire ne avoir en un anz plus de iiij paires de robes vaires, ne dont
I' aune de Paris conte plus de xxx s. de tournois, se il n' avoit plus de vij mile
livrees de terre a tournois, et cil n' en pourrait avoir que v au plus ... 41
[... no one, neither duke nor count nor prelate nor baron nor others,
whether cleric or layman, may have more than 4 sets of vair-lined clothes
in a year, nor any of such cloth that costs more than 30 tournois sous for
the Parisian aune, if he does not have more than 7,000 tournois pounds of
land revenue, and this man may not have more than 5 sets of clothes ... 1
Squires were only allowed two new robes, unless they had 4,000 pounds
a year, in which case they were allowed four. An item some paragraphs
LIMITING YARDAGE AND CHANGES OF CLOTHES 129
later stated that the same would be true for women, whatever their
social rank, unless she, her father, or her husband had 5,000 pounds or
more a year, in which case she could add five new sets of clothes to her
wardrobe.
All three passages attempt to limit fabric consumption and display,
that much can be said. In Montpellier, women would be allowed a subtle
display of silk, but not an ostentatious one. Wool was apparently
considered more acceptable-less showy, less sinful, or perhaps less
damaging to the economy. Siena, in contrast, limits luxurious French
woolens like the richly dyed and fulled scarlet, attempting to do so by
rationing yardage (which angered both the Sienese women and the
tailors who were held to account for infractions-they protested in 1300
that not all fabrics were the same width, and not all women's girths were
identical). 42 Were these protectionist policies? It seems unlikely for
Montpellier, which was a distribution center for silks through this
period, although it was perhaps "domestically protectionist," keeping
the wives out of the warehouses. It is hard to know whether this might
have been a response to a particular event, or even a repression of
particular individuals, as might have been true on this sort of municipal
level. The French laws also attempt to limit fabric consumption, but
focus on the variable of price rather than fiber, fmish, or yardage. Each
legislative body, whether on the level of the French kingdom or the
Italian or Proven<;al town, experiments with controlling a different set
of variables, though possibly to the same effect: limitations were made
clear where they had not been sufficiently clear before.
Sumptuary laws operate in a tight zone between economic neces-
sity and economic excess, between what is socially expeditious or
delightful as dictated by secular society, and the restricting, simplifying,
renouncing voice of moral conservatism, in this case most clearly
articulated by the Church. Fashion is a creative force because it con-
stantly and paradoxically feeds on both desire to consume and the
condemnation of consumption. It is implicit in these laws that consump-
tion was expected of citizens of all three zones, and that that consump-
tion was legible to the community. The laws offer a kind of grammar,
explaining a language that everyone already speaks but where there are
120 SARAH-GRACE HELLER
a way of coping with a new social reality, that of constant desire for
consumption. The emergence of these laws in the thirteenth century
marks the emergence of a society beginning to organize itself to make
constant consumption a possibility: by producing and importing a
constant supply of available goods, by seeking to create available
personal spending money, and by engaging in discourses that signaled
what-and what not-to consume, which is to say, defining "fashions."
One also wonders why women were singled out for so much
attention, especially in the Midi. In fourteenth- and fifteenth-century
Italy, the expense of increasing dowries (famously enunciated in Dante's
nostalgia for the time before fathers feared the birth of daughters,
Paradiso XV) led to attempts at controls, as Chojnacki, Hughes, and
others have suggested, 47 but in the thirteenth century such expense had
not yet reached those exaggerated proportions. An explanation that
might be truer for the earlier period might be found in Chojnacki's
theory for fifteenth-century Venice, that women's increasing sartorial
splendor was the result of their lack of productive economic or political
outlets, leaving them only things like dress to satisfy the need for self-
expression and for the use of their wealth. Hughes has linked the rise of
cloth production of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries and the shift to
an ideology of patrilineal descent in the same period, arguing that wives
became outsiders in a system that attempted to limit claims on family
resources. There was a need to incorporate the wife visually into the
family unit while limiting her control ofwealth. 48 That women's dress
could become a canvas for forms of social identity controlled by men
does seem clear, particularly in laws such as those ofMontpellier, which
demand that husbands control very specific details of their spouses'
consumption.
There are several occasions in Occitan literature when women are
represented as suffering from sumptuary restrictions. There, their fem-
ininity has a kind of symbolic resonance. Early in the Chanson de la
croisade albigeoise, the very utterance of the word 'war' was said to
unleash the horrors of" ... manta rica dona, mota bela piuzela ... I que
anc no lor remas ni mantels ni gonela" [many a great lady, many a
beautiful girl who no longer has a cloak or a gown to her name, 5.12-
12 2 SARAH-GRACE HELLER
13]. The campaign left many dispossessed widows and orphans, without
a doubt. It also effectively widowed and orphaned the region. The
unclothed femininity of the women evoked by the poem reflects the
vulnerability the entire culture felt in subsequent years. Why would
municipalities deliberately reduce women to this state, after the wars
had done it by violence? Compare the thirteenth-century poem "Ab greu
cossire," by a poet whose gender remains unclear, P. Basc. 49 In it a
feminine narrator bemoans the loss of her fine clothes: " ... 1' apostoli
de Roma I volgra fezes cremar I qui nos fay desfrezar" [may the pope
in Rome burn alive the one who strips us of ornaments, 13-15]. She says
she can no longer wear her white chemise richly embroidered with silk
in bright colors and gold and silver (60-65), twice repeating the refrain,
"-Lassa!-non l'aus portar" [Alas! I dare not wear it, 59, 64]. Linda
Paterson reads it as a straightforward reaction to sumptuary laws of the
Albigensian crusade. Others, such as E. Jane Burns, have focused on it
as a more general expression of women's relation to clothes, or to the
male-dominated society. 50 It certainly suggests that sumptuary regula-
tion caused dismay and anxiety on the part of those regulated, beyond
being the result of anxiety on the part of those regulating.
When attempting to put French sumptuary law into context, a
number of writers have turned to the lengthy sartorial descriptions,
grooming advice and satirical sermons of the Roman de la Rose, whose
continuation by Jean de Meun and initial success is roughly contempo-
rary with the laws of Philip III and IV. 51 This work was adapted and
imitated throughout Europe, setting a fashion for allegorical dream
quests for love, among other things. A short Occitan verse allegory in
this genre, "Lai on cobra," relates the narrator Peire Guillem's meeting
with the God of Love and his lady on route to Toulouse. 52 Like the Rose,
it features amplified description of the figures' dress (48-58, 107-113), and
particularly oftheir horses and harness (59-87, 115-125), something the
Rose merely alludes to on occasion (1113-16). There is evidence of a
shared taste on the part of authors and audiences for extended descrip-
tions of ostentatious fantasy apparel. In describing the horse tack, the
author conveys an idea of the geography of splendor he imagines in his
world. He locates the great riches of the world in the kingdom of France,
LIMITING YARDAGE AND CHANGES OF CLOTHES 188
which he puts on par with the emperor's court in Germany, and notes
that they pale in comparison to Persia: "Lo fre ni-l peitral ses doptansa
I Comprar no poiria-1 rei de Fransa, I E que lhi valgues 1' emperaire; I
Car tot lo tesaur del rei Daire I Valo doas peiras que i so" [Without a
doubt, the king of France could never afford the reins and the chest
harness, nor could the emperor; for the two stones decorating them
were worth all the treasure of king Darius, 77-81]. Adding a fourth
dimension, he observes that the lady's harness was worth more than all
the wealth of Castile and the five kingdoms of Spain combined ( 115-117).
The Occitan author appreciates description of splendid stones and
textiles, but must imagine the wealth to afford it outside his own region.
One might draw a parallel to the sumptuary situation around him:
Montpellier dealt in silks, but could not permit its citizens to keep them.
Occitania was a crossroads for riches, but those riches were destined for
elsewhere.
In contrast, the Rose is adapted into the Tuscan vernacular by a poet
who reduces its 22,000 encyclopedic and digressive lines to a sonnet series
of around 3,248 lines. As Robert Pogue Harrison has observed, this
technique offers a far clearer linear trajectory for the lover, 53 but it
eliminates nearly all the amplified passages full of sumptuary detail: the
wall, the garden, the God of Love's grooming advice, Ami's tale of the
Jealous Husband who fumes over his wife's wardrobe, the Old Woman's
advice on beauty, Pygmalion's dressing of his statue in his wish to bring
her to life. Two key exceptions are the episodes with Richeza, or Wealth
(sonnets 74-75, 85), and False Seeming (sonnets 79-140), which follow the
Rose quite closely. The passages that the author chooses to follow faithfully
signal the Italian adapter's aversion to worldly display and ostentatious
spending. Richeza, showing the lover the quick path to a lady's heart by
the path of Folle Largesse, or unrestrained generosity, is a figure to be
rejected: She leads lovers to financial ruin and despair. Sumptuary laws
represent an authoritative curb to fo!le largesse, offering an official demar-
cation line, showing where social spending can be cut off and considered
sufficient. Falsembiante is a critique of religious hypocrisy: The character
puts on the clothing of humility, only to seek to confess the rich while
openly neglecting the poor. Like Faux Semblant in the Rose, Falsembiante
124 SARAH-GRACE HELLER
Kathleen Ashley
ghe "social life of things" (or material culture) has become the subject
of intense study and theorization during the past twenty years. Material
culture is studied to discover "the beliefs-the values, ideas, attitudes and
assumptions-of a particular community or society at a given time. The
underlying premise is that human-made objects reflect, consciously or
unconsciously, directly or indirectly, the beliefs of the individuals who
commissioned, fabricated, purchased, or used them and, by extension, the
beliefs of the larger society to which these individuals belonged." 1 As the
most literal form of "material culture," cloth and clothing have been the
focus of widespread interdisciplinary interest that encompasses not just
fabric objects but also their representation in visual and verbal texts. 2
Arjun Appadurai in his pioneering volume on material culture, The
Social Life ofThings, makes the point that even if "from a theoretical point
of view human actors encode things with significance, from a method-
12 8 KATHLEEN ASHLEY
ity" -on a par with other goods owned by the testator. Clothing is
primarily an object of value to be passed on with other items of
household or farm wealth. In the Lincoln husbandmen wills, for exam-
ple, clothing is typically listed in the same sentence with cows and lambs
and horses. John Stele ofEvedon making his last will and testament on
19 June 1532 (#39) gives land and "cowes" to various ecclesiastic
institutions and their representatives, then "oxene," "kye," "bullocks,"
"marys withowt folys," "lammes" and "schepe" as well as crops to a long
list of friends and family members. His few items of clothing -"my
white petycote" or "my russyt cote"-are named in this series of
donations with no marker that they fall into any special category. He
gives to "my brother William my sored horse and my best cote" as if the
coat and the horse are equivalent goods.
One might argue that the clothing's value as material and functional
object is foregrounded in this working class economy, although that is
not to say that either the horse or the best coat lacked sentimental value
to John Stele and his brother William. As a written document, however,
the will does not make explicit the type of valuation placed on the
clothing, and the presentational format implies an equivalence between
the coat and the horse. Only occasionally is the significance of the gift
indicated, as when John Wadeslay, a husbandman, says (#154) that "all
my rayment that longys to my body be equally dyvyded emongeste all
my seyde children" -placing clothing in the same intimate bodily
kinship category with his children. Even where there is no explicit
comment, most of the wills by the less affluent do give their personal
clothing to family members, in some cases specifying clothing that
belonged to a dead spouse. Such comments alert us to the implicit role
of clothing gifts in acknowledging kinship ties and sustaining intimate
relationships, but it does seem that, no matter whom the recipient, the
clothing retains its importance as economic object.
The amount and kind of clothing given in the Lincoln wills indicate
clearly the rural working class status of most of these testators. Almost
all of those who give clothing include an item made of"russyt" -a coarse
woolen homespun cloth often reddish brown in color. It was largely
worn by country folk. 15 Many of these testators also gave clothing made
MATERIAL AND SYMBOLIC GIFT-GIVING 141
procession. Like many of the affluent and pious testators, the aforemen-
tioned Richard Hyckes of Boston (#283, Lincoln Wills) scripted the
spectacle of his funeral, including black clothing for family members.
Hyckes leaves "a black gowne at my buryall day" to 'John Reenalde my
sun-in-lawe, Alice hys wyffe,Jasper, Christopher, Melcher and Fredesw-
yde my children, every one ofthem." 20
Most commonly, clothing is given as alms to poor strangers, who
will then form part of the public funeral procession. 21 Anne Grozelier,
the widow from Avallon, wants thirteen indigent women to carry
lighted torches around her tomb during the service; each is to be dressed
in white clothing (Beaune Ms. 9Z ff. 7-8). Ayme de Beaumont ofChalon
wants twelve torchbearers, whose black clothing he will pay for (Macon
archives E 1315).John Baret of Bury St. Edmunds, a rich clothier, makes
provision in his 1463 will for five men to be clothed in black, in honor
of] esus' s five wounds, and five women to be clothed in white, in honor
of Our Lady's five joys, all to attend his interment carrying wax torches.
In addition, he makes provision for "my executoures, my kynrede, my
frendys, and my servauntes" to have "gownys ofblak" for the occasion,
while the various clergymen involved should have either black gowns
or white and gold vestments. The total of funeral gown gifts specified
in the document must run to several dozen-presumably not a problem
for a man ofhis wealth and profession, but also an indication of Baret's
desire to display both his piety and his prominence in what Gail Gibson
calls "funeral theater." 22 The funeral scripts of these two bourgeois
testators are surpassed by Sir Thomas Gresham, a London knight who
called in his will for an even more extravagant display of charity: "To
one hundred powre men eache of them a good blacke gowen of six
shillings eight pence the yarde. To one hundread powre women one
hundreathe blacke gowens of six shillings eight pence the yarde, for to
bringe me to my grave. 23 In the most elite wills-those of the most
aristocratic and wealthy-gifts of clothing thus become an identifiable
metonym for the giver's social status.
What is notable about the personal clothing described in elite wills
is the obvious luxury of the fabrics and elaboration of design. One of the
few Lincoln wills by a more affluent urban testator is that of Richard
144 KATHLEEN ASHLEY
Janet Snyder
9.1The upper body of the center figure of the right jamb of the
right portal at Chartres Cathedral. (RRZ)
ghe fine cloak from which the Italian Norman Bohemond fashioned
Crusaders' badges was most likely an Islamic textile and his action of
marking his warriors with arm bands follows the Islamic fashion. Similar
decorative bands adorn sleeves and skirts of column-figures installed in
church portal programs in northern France between the 1140s and the
1160s, linking them to the Islamic/Crusader mode of dress (see figure
9.1). This essay will address the appropriation of arm bands along with
other borrowed elements of Islamic dress and textiles. More than the
whim of fashion was involved in this appropriation: Although it is
CLOTH FROM THE PROMISED LAND 149
unlikely that Europeans could read the inscribed bands or fully grasp the
concept that objects associated with the caliph brought blessings, they
could observe the material success of the califs followers. 2 The putting-
on of the arm bands characteristic of the dress of the Islamic ruler's
coterie seems to suggest that a parallel status might be assumed by the
Europeans similarly attired. For success in the Holy Land, Christian
warriors had been promised eternal salvation, but for some of them,
their exploits brought temporal power as well, giving them titles and
property in the Levant. Decorative arm bands applied to sleeves of
Europeans during the twelfth century serve as multivalent signs of
success.
Although at the time the textiles produced in northern Europe
primarily comprised flaxen and woolen stuffs, courtly clothing in north-
ern France during the twelfth century was made of silk as well as linen
and wool, and it was decorated with metallic thread, pearls, and precious
jewels. The silks, worsteds, and compound cloths represented among
the archaeological textile fmds provide tangible evidence that during the
Middle Ages these other fabrics were available. These could only have
been used in northern European clothing and furnishings if they had
been imported. The range of archaeological finds indicates that an active
international trade in fabrics took place in the twelfth century. At that
time, the courtly dress of the French did not include entire foreign
costumes or souvenir outfits. Among the elite of northern France from
the 1130s through the 1160s, the fashionable dress-pleated, fitted,
body-revealing clothing with bejeweled borders-was constructed at
home in European styles using imported textiles and borrowed fashion-
able details. Just as the ancient Romans decorated the Pantheon with
marble imported from the ends of the empire to emphasize the reach of
their power, the exotic fabric employed in northern courtly clothing was
imported from the Mediterranean basin and the Levant in order to
deliver strong messages about Europeans' power and influence abroad.
The Cairo I Fustat Geniza documents testify that during the Middle
Ages, the textile trade was such big business that only professional
merchants specializing in the international commercial handling oflarge
quantities of textiles engaged in such commerce. 3 The Jewish overseas
1 50 JANET SNYDER
traders whose records were preserved in the Geniza also handled great
quantities of dyestuffs and materials coming from practically all parts of
the trading world: the Far East, India, Yemen, Egypt, Palestine, Syria,
Sicily, Spain, Tunisia and Morocco. 4 The Geniza records trade of a
fabulously fine white linen produced only in Iran at the Rahban canal as
a result of the canal's water chemical content. The royal treasury
controlled the sale and required stamps to transport the bales of fabric. 5
Textile-weaving and embroidery workshops, known as Dar al-Tiraz
or Dar al-Kiswa, were maintained as a standard part of the Islamic
communities from Afghanistan to Spain from the seventh century until
about the thirteenth century. 6 Fine textiles resonated their sources so that
fabric and dress carried broad geographical and cultural implications for
European audiences. 7 Silk, cotton, and cotton-linen blends came from the
Middle East and the Far East; gauze originated in Gaza, damask in
Damascus; silk and linen, sharb, 8 and inscribed and tapestried tiraz came
from Egypt. In the Middle Ages, Egypt had the reputation as the "land of
linen," with the very finest linens produced along the Lower Nile. 9
The twin cities Cairo I Fustat, the capital of Egypt, formed the
terminus and distribution center for economic exchange between two
principal areas of medieval maritime commerce, the Mediterranean and
the India trade. The jewish traders who went to China and India by sea
kept records that indicate that threads, fabrics, and clothing exceeded all
other categories of commerce in both general and luxury goods. Silk and
flax were by far the most commonly shipped fibers. 10 The Fustat
merchants from Old Cairo dealt with Syrian silks, Egyptian linens and
fostians, 11 and they shipped dyestuffs, cotton fibers, and flax. The prices
of silks indicate they were of varying qualities; the heavyweight relic
wrappings that have survived in European treasuries are the most
expensive and of highest quality and heaviest weight.
When silk cloth is made from the extremely thin and long filaments
taken from the inner rounds of silkworn cocoons, minuscule pleating of
the silk is possible in dress construction. Finely-woven silk cloth retains
an airy volume disproportionate to its weight. The abundant mulberry
leaves required for silk worm cultivation restricted the zone of silk
production to the warm, temperate regions where mulberry trees can
CLOTH FROM THE PROMISED LAND 1 51
one piece, like a small letter "t," the shape being produced without
requiring the cloth to be cut. Decorative bands of contrasting color were
applied to the tunics, either over the shoulder like Roman clavi or at the
ends of the sleeves and hem. A second method of Near Eastern tunic
construction involved three pieces of fabric: two smaller rectangles (for
sleeves) were attached to the sides of a central, rectangular panel from
front hem to back hem with a central hole to allow the tunic to be slipped
over the head. A tunic constructed in this way required less time and
skill on the part of the weavers, and might even be composed of pieces
of cloth cut from a larger piece. As a result of the sleeves having been
added to the central panel, the shoulder seams dropped to rest upon the
upper arms. In the Fa timid period (969-1171) tiraz bands were placed on
CLOTH FROM THE PROMISED LAND 152
9.3 The third column-figure from the left on the left jamb of the left
portal of the west fa~ade at Chartres Cathedral. (LL3)
the same passionate Norman who had made Crusaders' badges of silk
and who subsequently became prince of Antioch. 25 It is highly likely that
other textiles from the East must have figured prominently in this
sumptuous wedding hosted by Countess Adele of Blois-Champagne. 26
This festive occasion foreshadowed the prominent representation of
imported textiles in the sculpture that was installed as part of the
cathedral's remodeled Royal Portal thirty years later.
The very fme extant eleventh- and twelfth-century textiles from
Islamic tiraz described above correspond in weight and quality to textiles
represented in twelfth-century French sculpture. 27 Recognizable charac-
teristics of textiles, reproduced by artist-masons working in stone, make
it possible to identify the fictional fabric, even in damaged sculpture. For
example, the characteristic folds of linen smocked into sharply pointed
creases reveals fine linen used in the Chartrain woman's bodice while the
miniscule pleats ofher skirt into her waistband recall the character oflight
silk or wool challis (see figure 9.3). The very fine limestone 28 employed
for church portal sculpture in northern France during the twelfth century
has retained details characteristic ofspecific textiles despite damage caused
by war, vandalism, and environmental factors. It is therefore possible to
evaluate the represented textiles and dress as constituent features of the
iconography of these particular sculpture programs and as representations
of contemporaneous ideals of dress.
Significantly for our purposes, two fragments ofEgypto-Arabic tiraz
in the Metropolitan Museum of Art have tapestry designs particularly
close to the predominant border patterns represented in northern
French sculpture (see figures 9.4 and 9.5). The circled pearls enclosed by
lines, the bands of diamond lozenges, and the diaper grids of diamonds
in these textiles are among the most common motifs used by artist-
masons on sculpted necklines, hemlines, cuffs, belts, arm bands, thigh
bands, and cloak borders in northern French column-figure sculpture.
It is striking to observe that no column figure duplicates another, even
among those recognizably produced by the same hand.
While Fatimid Egyptian tiraz produced fine linen cloth with
inserted silk tapestry bands, 29 Islamic Spain was the leading silk producer
in the medieval period. 30 The popularity of Eastern textiles in Europe at
1 56 JANET SNYDER
9.5 Portion of a garment. Blue linen with tapestry bands in tan and black
silk. Egypto-Arabic. Twelfth century. The Metropolitan Museum of
Art. Rogers Fund, 1927.(27.170.64)
such as the Mantle of Roger II help to explain his abduction of the skilled
artisans. 38 The Norman conquest and occupation of Sicily provided
greater access to Islamic silks for northern European courtly consumers.
Northern Europeans were not alone in their appropriation of Islamic
textile design motifs. Marble intarsia floors run like a series of carpets up
the nave of San Minato al Monte in Florence39 in a design echoed in the
Spanish woven silk with addorsed and regardant griffins in roundels now
in The Cloisters Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 40
The clothing depicted on northern French column-figure sculpture
documents both the use of fine imported cloth for courtly dress and the
European appropriation of the Islamic practice of applying bands of
decoration to garments in the twelfth century. Mid-twelfth century
column-figures in courtly dress indicate the pilgrims, crusaders, and
businessmen returning from the Middle East brought with them Near
Eastern tunic patterns that incorporated the "dropped shoulder" sleeve
design with upper-arm tiraz bands. The floral and geometric bands like
tiraz placed on the right arm and thigh of the column-figures may
anticipate the benefits or blessings associated with tiraz wearers in the
Near East or may function as the sign of the crusading warrior-pilgrim.
During the first half of the twelfth century, Europeans appropriated
other features ofislamic clothing construction. Decorative borders were
applied along the wrist cuffs of men's sleeves and the forearm seams
were left unsewn nearly up to the elbow: for example, on the center
figure of the right jamb of the right portal at Chartres Cathedral (see
figure 9.1). Compare the Chartrain crowned column-figure with the
large terracotta Islamic 'princely figures' at the Metropolitan Museum
of Art. Two large terracotta figures at the Metropolitan and another in
the collection of the Musee du Louvre wear sleeves with upper-arm tiraz
bands, applied borders at the wrists and open forearm seams 41 (see figure
9.6). A sleeve structure employing a cuffborder and an open forearm
seam would free the hand from the bulk of a hanging sleeve cuff seen
on other column-figures, allowing the wearer to participate in the kind
of civilized life that so dazzled European visitors to the Islamic lands such
as writing, riding a horse, or grasping a knife. The knee-length coats of
these Islamic noblemen differ from European dress of the period in that
CLOTH FROM THE PROMISED LAND 159
9.7 The three column-figures on the right jamb of the right portal of
the west (Royal) portal of the Chartres Cathedral. (RRl, RR2, RR3)
9.9 'fhe thigh of the centerfigure on the left jamb of the south lateral
portal at Bourges Cathedral. (LZ)
the meaning of the luxurious textiles they brought home. In this way
silk, fine linen, woolen, and compound fabrics were imported into
northern Europe to be used in clothing or furnishings. At once a complex
major change appears to have occurred: Exclusively European clothing
was transformed by the new materials used, metamorphosing the
owners and wearers of sumptuous imported materials through an
association with princely and Sacred Personages from the Holy Land to
the East. The distinctive character of these textiles was readily apparent
and could be reproduced as fictional clothing in sculpted stone. Rather
1 64 JANET SNYDER
Sharon Kinoshita
[Then she placed on the altar a green paille, the likes of which no one
had seen, and a great embroidered chasuble all embroidered in pure
gold. It was well known that Morgan Ia Fay had made it in Val
Perilleus. She had taken great care over it. It was of gold Almeria silk.
The fairy hadn't at all made it to be a chasuble to sing mass in, but
wanted to give itto herloverto make a rich garment out o[ Through
a clever scheme, Guenevere, wife of the powerful King Arthur, got
it through Emperor Gassa. She had a chasuble made from it, and had
kept it in her chapel for a long time, for it was good and beautiful.
When Enide left her, she gave her this chasuble; in truth, it was worth
more than a hundred silver marks.]
"paile d'Aumarie" is used for the banners borne into battle by Guielin
(1. 1368) and by King Louis of France in Le Siege de Barbastre; and "soies
d' Aumarie" festoon the streets of Saint-Quentin to welcome home the
countess of Vermandois's long-lost son. 2 In the scene quoted above,
Enide's pious donation illustrates the historical practice of converting
silks "used for secular purposes in the first instance" to liturgical use,
even as the chasuble's fabulous history attests to the sense of wonder
produced by such soies d'Aumarie. 3
In Old French literature, E. Jane Burns writes, costly foreign fabrics
are "visual maps" pointing to sites that provided the sumptuous goods
that marked "elite social status." 4 In this essay, I take the fascination
Almerian silks exerted on the feudal imaginary as a point of entry into
material histories of interconfessional contact and exchange in the medi-
eval Mediterranean. 5 For unlike Byzantine silks, the soies d'Aumarie found
in church treasuries and noble wardrobes throughout the West had to
cross a religious and cultural divide between La tin Europe and the Islamic
world. In recent years, medieval historians, art historians, and literary
critics have elucidated the complexity of Christian, Muslim, and Jewish
interactions in the high middle ages. Yet the perception of a Latin Europe
arrayed in perpetual conflict against the Muslim world has had a long-half
life, particularly in work focused on Christian (mis)representations of
Islam. 6 It is true, as recent studies usefully remind us, that in the middle
ages religion, not race, functioned as a primary marker of identity and
difference. 7 Yet this distinction itself runs the risk of being too quickly
reified into the optic through which to view the totality of medieval
history. The treasured place accorded silks like Enide' s in vernacular
French culture squares poorly with the assumption that medieval Chris-
tian-Muslim relations during this age of crusades were exclusively, or even
predominantly, conflictual. Following the routes that brought soie
d'Aumarie to Latin Europe allows us to reimagine the denizens of the
medieval Mediterranean not (only) as Christians and Muslims, but as
kings, courtiers, diplomats, mercenaries, and merchants, whose experi-
ences, travels, and affinities often crossed confessional lines. Once we
relinquish the a priori assumption of a civilizational standoff, there
emerges a multifacted history of interaction and exchange.
168 SHARON KINOSHITA
II
Both Almeria and the silks it produced belonged to the larger "Mediter-
ranean society" reconstructed in such remarkable detail by historian S.
D. Goitein from the accidental archive of the Cairo Geniza. 28 In the
eleventh and twelfth centuries, the Mediterranean was a space of
"relatively free trade" pervaded by "a spirit of tolerance and liberalism."
On both its northern and southern shores, the activity of "a vigorous
merchant class ... created an atmosphere of unity despite the constant
wars and political upheavals." Journeys-even regular seasonal com-
mutes-from Almeria to Alexandria or from Marseilles to the Levant
were a common experience. From Tunisia to Egypt, Latin Europeans
came to buy pepper, cinnamon, ginger, brazilwood, alum, flax, indigo,
and other commodities in numbers great enough to affect market
prices. 29 In this medieval Mediterranean, textiles were the major com-
modity and the major industry, with silk the most important of all.
Geniza records document at least 12 different varieties, distinguished by
quality, technique, and place of origin. Bundled into ten-pound units, a
standard grade silk (whose price remained stable ca. 1030-1150) was used
like cash: as payment for debts incurred in the India trade, as stipends to
needy relatives, and as capital investments; "everyone, in addition to his
substantial business, dabbled in silk." Goitein adds: "To conclude from
their writings, the Geniza people must have devoted a considerable part
of their lives to discussing which kind of silk to choose for which garment
and for which occasion." 30
1 72 SHARON KINOSHITA
In Latin Europe, the prestige attached to gifts of fme silks had been set
in the early middle ages by the ceremonial robes Byzantine emperors
sent to the barbarian kings of the West. 32 In medieval Iberia, such gifts
were used to cement cross-confessional alliances. 33 And in the literary
imagination, the distribution of silk was figured as part of a tributary
economy of munificent excess, as in the Roman d'Alexandre (ca. 1180),
where "pailes d'Aumarie" and "siglatons d'Espaigne" (162) figure among
the Antiochene diaspers, Byzantine samites, Russian furs, Arabian
horses, Syrian mules, and Hungarian palfreys that Alexander's mother
Olympias distributes to her favorites. 34
From the tenth through twelfth centuries, silks and other luxury
objects-carved ivory panels and caskets, nielloed boxes, bronze zoo-
morphic statues, rock crystal vases-circulated around the Mediterra-
nean in what art historian Oleg Grabar has called a "shared culture of
objects." 35 As art historian Eva Hoffman explains:
The motifs characterizing this shared culture of objects were already old
in the eleventh century. The circular designs giving pallia rotata their
name appear ca. 700 on silks from Baghdad, Iran, Alexandria, and
Byzantium. 37 The figures they contain are even older, derived from the
ancient Near East, transmitted through Alexander's empire and its
successor states to Byzantium and Sassanian Persia, and disseminated
by the spread of Islam in the seventh and eighth centuries. The mirror-
imaged animals flanking a tree oflife, for example, derive from ancient
Mesopotamia, while the "lion strangler" on the dalmatic of San Ber-
nardo Calvo has been identified as Gilgamesh. 38 Images of the princely
life (like the falconer on the Saint Lazarus and Thomas Becket silks) were
first articulated as a cycle under the Umayyad caliphs of Baghdad. They
came to constitute a "vast koine of artistic themes," an international style
whose courtly motifs could cross confessional boundaries in ways
religious iconography could not. 39 Portable treasures like ivory boxes,
rock crystal vases, metal statuettes, lusterware ceramics, and, of course,
fme silks circulated from one end of the Mediterranean to the other,
spreading techniques and designs so freely as to render modern attempts
to identify the provenance of any particular object difficult, if not
irrelevant. 40 Around the Mediterranean, the "patronage and the posses-
sion" of such objects became a "sign of sovereignty." 41 Highly suscepti-
ble of imitation and appropriation, these portable treasures became
emblematic of the princely life they both enabled and depicted.
In this perspective, it is not hard to imagine that for the feudal
princes of Latin Europe, to possess and display Almerian silks was to
share in the wealth and sophistication of the Mediterranean cultures that
produced them. By the twelfth century, the power exerted by the
ceremonial culture of the Mediterranean may be gauged by the central
role it played in the foundation of the Norman kingdom of Sicily. When
the upstart count Roger II assumed the title ofking in 1130, he adopted
an iconography not from the Capetian or Ottonian north but from the
ceremonial courts of Constantinople and Cairo. His strategic appropri-
174 SHARON KINOSHITA
s' en aloit en tere de Sarrasins pour gaangnier" [heading for Saracen lands
for profit] (237-38) docks in the port of Almeria. IdentifYing themselves by
neither "nationality" nor religion but by profession-"Marceant somes"
[We are merchants]-the sailors secure the sultan's good will by giving
him the daughter of the count of Pontieu as a present, a gesture which
evokes the slave trade so central to Mediterranean commerce in general
and Genoese commerce in particular. 54 Swept into a world where identi-
ties prove fluid and negotiable, the count's daughter abandons her faith
and learns fluent" sarrasinois" (1. 286), becoming sultana of Almeria before
(re )converting to Christianity and returning, triumphant, to the family and
society that had expelled her. Like Blancheflor before her, she is revalued
by her transit through the Mediterranean.
Conclusions
Andrea Denny-Brown
own imminent mortal absence. Henry Chadwick has pointed out that
prison clothing during this period was marked with a theta for thanatos
to symbolize the death penalty and thus the possibility that Boethius
himself (au thor and protagonist) was wearing a theta. 2 7 This worldly sign
of looming death is echoed by Philosophy's soiled appearance, which
Boethius likens to dramatic, smoke-grimed masks (fumosas imagines).
Such masks of deceased male ancestors were hung in the atrium of a
Roman house, where they accumulated soot from the hearth fire. 28 As
static images of ancestors, they were fundamental symbols of lineage
and power, but when worn they played a greater and livelier role in
memory and mourning: The masks were the unifying symbol of Roman
funeral rituals. Worn by carefully-chosen mourners in funeral proces-
sions, the imagines were the central feature of a ritualized performance
of impermanence and lamentation, one that both celebrated the indi-
vidual character and virtues of the deceased and dramatized a communal
sense of history and past greatness. 29
The imagines and the funeral processions that exhibited them were
also at the center of power struggles over public display of material
wealth and the public performance of mourning. Such funerary conspic-
uous consumption was, for example, a special concern of early sumptu-
ary laws of Greece and Rome, and by the early Empire the imagines were
generally associated with ostentatious displays of wealth. 30 As well, the
combined theatricality and powerful symbolic ancestry of the masks
encouraged their association with deceit and disguise. 31 For example,
the image of the fumosas imagines was specifically used by Cicero to
target those who acquired unearned political achievements. 32 In this
context the masks recall a more dignified past in which leaders earned
their respect and homage, yet in so doing they also magnify the
unmerited position and power of such leaders' progeny. Philosophy's
association with these masks can thus be seen both as a dramatic and
dignified prefiguring of Boethius' s death and as a representation of his
empty material aspirations.
Moreover, the sumptuary laws governing these funeral processions
were especially concerned with the conspicuous display of mourning
women, who were restricted from wearing more than three funeral
1 84 ANDREA DENNY-BROWN
'After that the mobs of Epicureans and Stoics and the others did all they
could to seize for themselves the inheritance of wisdom that he left. As
part of their plunder they tried to carry me off, but I fought and struggled,
and in the fight the robe was torn which I had woven with my own hands.
They tore off little pieces from it and went away in the fond belief that
they had obtained the whole of Philosophy. The sight of traces of my
clothing on them gained them the reputation among the ignorant ofbeing
my familiars, and as a result many of them became corrupted by the
ignorance of the uninitiated mobd 6
HOW PHILOSOPHY MATTERS 185
Since Irigaray feminist theorists have been aware of the 'feminine gap'
in philosophical discourse. 5° And yet in Philosophy's torn garment we
have a material gap that seems both to underscore the absence of the
feminine in philosophical discourse (Philosophy's overall hermeneutic
project in the Consolation is undoubtedly masculine), and at the same
time to locate the feminine as a material loss or gap in the body. Images
of sartorial penetration were part of a wider exegetical tradition that
troped the acquisition of secret knowledge, truth, and revelation as the
unveiling of the female body and its sexual 'secrets'. Perhaps the best
example of this is the popular passage from Macrobius's Commentary on
HOW PHILOSOPHY MATTERS 189
V. Conclusion
Sarah Kay
embarks on human life as a pilgrim bound for the Heavenly City but
encounters a series of temptations on its way. In Deguileville, the encoun-
ters are with the seven deadly sins, all of them personified as nightmarish
elderly women. The pilgrim succumbs to each in turn, despite being
periodically admonished to resist by two attractive female companions,
Reason [Raison] and the Grace of God [Grace Dieu]. Indeed, he is such a
hopeless case that rescue from "the Sea of theW orld" comes only when
he embarks on the "Ship of Religion" identified as the monastic life. The
poem ends when the terrifying figure of Death appears to him, and he
awakes in a panic from his dream.
The gruesome fascination exerted by this work amply bears out
Lacan's remark that "whatever some may think in certain milieux, you
would be wrong to think that the religious authors aren't a good read." 5
Deguileville's didactic impulse translates into a series of surreal images
among which those that involve flaying vividly articulate the anxiety
about mortality and salvation that is his overriding theme. Detraction,
daughter of Envy [Envie], wants to eat the pilgrim alive, strip the flesh
from his bones with her teeth, and flay the skin from his back ["je te
mangeraija touz vis. I Jete rungeraijusqu'aus os I et te trairai lapel du
dos," 8526-28]. From the monstrous body of Covetousness [Couvoitise]
there spurt a series ofhands of which the first flays everything it can seize
["j' escorche tout sans rien laissier," 9462], enabling Couvoitise to suck
out the flesh from her victim's skin like a spider devouring a fly. The
smith Tribulation hammers on her victims' bodies and then uses their
flayed skins for aprons (12051-67). Such images present the flayed body
as horribly and defmitively dead, its lifeless skin left behind as the detritus
of its destruction.
Other personifications, however, like Charity [Carite] with her
script or Study [Estude] with her parchment, link the theme of flayed
skin to that of writing. These references to inset documents, many of
them attributed with a divine origin, serve, as Helen Philips has pointed
out, to enshrine the permanence of the Church's doctrine amid the
violence and confusion of life's pilgrimage. 6 As the stuff of which the
parchment page is made, skin provides an enduring support for the
moralist's message and thus a tangible expression of the hopes of eternal
FLAYED SKIN AS OBJET A 1 95
life which the text, in its content, promotes. Once stripped and cleansed
of mortal flesh, flayed skin can be conceptually detached from the life
that once was and serve, instead, as a means to immortality.
Yet parchment can also act as an inarticulate witness to the death from
which its manufacture results. It is still always possible to discern on the
surface of its leaves which is the hair side and which the flesh side of the
dead animal from which it has been stripped, and sometimes an individual
folio may be further scarred by death: a hole where the skin has torn and
been written around; a hole whose edges have been sewn together, so that
it looks like a stitched wound; the red outline of veins, or the spectral traces
of bones. 7 Michael Camille has pointed out that one of the characteristics
of illumination in Deguileville manuscripts is their tendency to leave large
areas of the parchment bare, as opposed to filling it with decorative detail
or dense color. For example, the artist responsible for MS BNF fr. 828
"leaves the bare vellum behind the figures and does not depend on color
at all." 8 Especially fascinating to Camille is another manuscript (BNF fr.
823 ), the painter of which regularly allows large areas of emptiness to form
part of the composition, giving rise to what Camille calls "his usual
ambiguities and vacant spaces." 9 Camille calls this artist "the Master of
Death" in tribute to the image from the end of the poem (fol. 94) in which
the figure of Death, armed with her scythe, looms over the pilgrim who
lies on his bed, half covered by a sheet as ifby a shroud. Camille comments
on the deathly quality of this miniature, where icy blue, gray and white
prevail. 10 I would add that the pilgrim already looks like dead skin, his face
under the sheet the same clammy tone not only as the figure of Death,
but as the parchment page outside the frame.
This capacity of skin in the Pelerinage de vie humaine to equivocate
between irrevocable death and eternal life is the problematic which the
rest of this chapter explores.
kind with which medieval scholarship has recently been much preoccu-
pied and which has typically centered on references to clothing as a
means whereby a work may draw attention to its own status as a cultural
representation.
Of course, the analogy of clothing misleads ifit is taken as suggesting
that language covers "reality" as garments do the body, as if this reality
could be revealed in all its nakedness, like a body that was both hidden
underneath, and yet made socially legible by, its linguistic garb. Lacan's
anecdote of the rivalry between the painters Zeuxis and Parrhosios
exposes the naivete of this view. Zeuxis has painted grapes so realistic
that birds swoop down to peck at them, but he loses the competition to
Parrhosios who has "painted on the wall a veil so lifelike that Zeuxis,
turning towards him said, Well, and show us what you have painted behind
it.»~ 2 Lacan's point is that the veil of representation is responsible for
instilling belief in a pre-existing reality that is capable of being unveiled,
a belief he clearly stigmatizes as misguided.
E. Jane Burns has likewise recently challenged the assumption that
some "natural" body of truth lies within the cultural fabulation of dress.
Arguing for a continuum of social covering that extends from the
masculine pole of shining armor to the feminine one of gleaming skin,
she coins the oxymoronic terms "sartorial body" and "social skin" to
disclose the aporia lurking within the very idea of "undressing." There
is no truly undressed body since, beneath their garments, courtly
characters are always already socially clothed (theirs is a "sartorial
body"); conversely, their clothes are so inextricably bound up in their
"nature" as to form part of it (constituting a "social skin"). 13 The liminal
nature of skin, which has an interface both with the external world and
with whatever we conceive as lying inside it, lends it to this process of
infinite regress, since it is always possible for skin to be imagined as an
"outside" and thus as containing a further "inside" within it, which
would then become an "outside" in its turn, and so on, ad infinitum. 14
From a psychoanalytic standpoint, the account of skin that is being
invoked here belongs in the domain of the "imaginary"; that is, it is a
phenomenon associated with the ego rather than with the subject in the
unconscious, and as such to be theoretically distinguished from both the
FLAYED SKIN AS OBJET A 19l
"symbolic" and the "real" (even if, in practice, it remains entangled with
them). Indeed, the ego has been seen by psychoanalyst Didier Anzieu as
enveloped and defined by skin to such an extent that he proposes
identifying the ego as a skin. Anzieu explains his thinking as follows: "By
Skin Ego, I mean a mental image of which the Ego of the child makes
use during the early phases of its development to represent itself as an
Ego containing psychical contents, on the basis of its experience of the
surface of the body." 15
Two consequences flow from this identification of the skin ego as
imaginary. First, as an imaginary construct the skin ego is sexually
undifferentiated. The imaginary body is a delusory mirror-image, indif-
ferent with regard to sex; in the imaginary, for example, the mother is
endowed with a phallus in the same way as the father. Burns's insight
that there is no sexual difference in the "sartorial body" is entirely
consonant with this imaginary relation. Second, the skin ego is an idealist
construct; that is, it is assembled from thoughts and ideas. Thus, says
Anzieu, the child is able to acquire its own skin ego "by a dual process
ofinteriorization: (a) of the interface [between the child and the mother],
which becomes a psychical envelope containing psychical contents
(whence the constitution[ ... ] of an apparatus for dealing with thoughts);
(b) of the mothering environment which becomes the inner world of
thoughts, images and emotions." 16 Similarly, the "sartorial body" in
courtly texts is the product of thought (indeed, of ideology) about
identity and gender. Clothes and/ or skin are being valued for their role
in generating and sustaining mental images, and it is this, precisely,
which makes them into figures of representation. Like Parrhosios' s veil,
they stand for the imaginative operations of the text, their capacity to
create belief in a material reality, which, however, is precisely what is
excluded from the idealizing process.
This does not mean, of course, that this process is not grounded in
any material support. On the contrary, Anzieu stresses that the biolog-
ical nature of skin is what enables it to support the perceptual envelope
around the ego. 17 Analogously, the role of clothing as mediator between
a biological body and its social inscription is the condition of possibility
for the "sartorial body." That is why, as Burns puts it, there is a
1 98 SARAH KAY
I have said that one of the ways Deguileville's poem draws attention to
its capacity for spiritual instruction is by the many references within it
to written documents. A striking example is the figure of Estude, one of
the personifications of the monastic way oflife whom the pilgrim meets
with on the Ship of Religion. This young woman is first encountered
holding out a parchment sheet on which are pieces of food:
[and she feeds the soul and nourishes it so that it does not starve. She
fills the heart, not the belly, with her sweet, good food.]
202 SARAH KAY
This food, we discover, is Holy Scripture and the dish which bears it is
a "vaissel fait de parchemin" (12834) that cannot spill its contents:
this case, skin is overtly associated with violence, not with teaching or
reflection. True, Tribulation does have written documents ["commis-
sions"], one from God and the other from Satan, which come into effect
according to the moral demeanor of her victim. But the unlucky or
unworthy ones are tortured and pay for their faults by yielding up their
skin to her, as she says:
[I make him pay for it with his skin, and by the shame I inflict on him, for
from the rind and skin here in front, on my apron, you can see whom I
persecute and whom I intend to torment.]
The word couenne, which designates the rind on pork, shocks with its
emphasis on the flayed corpse as dead meat. Being flayed by Tribulation
may convey moral meaning, but it also points to the radical dead end of
meaning. If man's object-skin is no different from an animal's, then, like
an animal, he dies outside the realm of meaning, irrevocably consigned
to the silent world of matter.
Deguileville's poem lays claim to the sublime in the way it overlays the
skin of an irredeemably dead animal with an allegedly living doctrine of
eternal salvation. But it also "desublimates" by the way it objectifies skin,
especially that of the pilgrim himself when the various sins threaten to
strip it away or suck the flesh from off it.
I earlier likened Burns's "sartorial body" or "social skin" to Anzieu's
concept of the "skin ego" as similarly belonging in an egoic, imaginary
FLAYED SKIN AS OBJET A 205
1. See especially the methodology issue of Fashion Theory 2.4 (1988); Stella Bruzzi
and Pamela Church Gibson, eds. Fashion Cultures: The01ies, Explorations, and
Analysis (London: Routledge, 2000); Fred Davis, Fashion, Culture, and Identity
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999); Shari Ben stock and Suzanne Ferriss,
eds., On Fashion (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1994); Elizabeth
Wilson, Adorned in Dreams: Fashion and Modernity (Berkeley: University of Califor-
nia Press, 1987);Jane Gaines and Charlotte Herzog, eds., Fabrications: Costume and
the Female Body (New York: Routledge, 1988). I understand "social bodies" as
Elizabeth Grosz uses the term to refer to the body as "the political, social and
cultural object par excellence, not a product of a raw, passive nature that is
civilized, overlaid, polished by culture." Rather the social body is "a cultural
interweaving and production of nature," Volatile Bodies: Toward a Corporeal
Feminism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), p. 18.
2. See Tori! Moi, Simone de Beau voir: The Making ofan Intellectual Woman (Cambridge,
England: Basil Blackwell, 1994), pp. 191-92.
3. Valerie Steele, 'A Museum of Fashion Is More than a Clothes Bag," Fashion
Theory: The journal of Dress, Body, and Culture 2.4 (1988); Fiona Anderson,
"Museums as Fashion Media," in Fashion Cultures, pp. 371-89.
4. Elizabeth Wilson, "These New Components of the Spectacle: Fashion and
Postmodernsim," in Postmodernism and Society, ed. Roy Boyne and Ali Rattansi
(New York: St. Martin's Press, 1990), pp. 209-36; and her "Fashion and the
Postmodern Body," in Chic Thrills: A Fashion Reader, ed. Juliet Ash and Elizabeth
Wilson (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), pp. 3-16; Jennifer Craik,
The Face ofFasltion: Cultural Studies in Fashion (London: Routledge, 1994).
5. Valerie Steele, 'A Museum of Fashion," 327; and Fiona Anderson, "Museums as
Fashion Media," p. 376.
6. Stella Bruzzi, Undressing Cinema: Clothing and Identity in the Movies (London:
Routledge, 1997); Sarah Berry, Screen Style: Fashion and Femininity in 1930s
Hollywood (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000);Jackie Stacey, Star
Gazing: Hollywood Cinema and Female Spectators hip (London: Routledge, 1994).
7. Wendy Chapkis and Cynthia Enloe, Of Common Cloth: Women in the Global Textile
Industry (Amsterdam, the Netherlands: Transnational Institute, 1983).
8. Thorstein Veblen, Theory of the Leisure Class (New York: Macmillan, 1899) and
(~eorg Simmel, "Fashion," 1904, repr. in the American journal ofSociology 62 (1957):
541-58.
9. Eugenie Lemoine-Luccioni, La Robe: Essai psychanalytique sur le vi'tement (Paris:
Seuil, 1983).
208 NOTES TO INTRODUCTION
10. Iris Marion Young, "Women Recovering Our Clothes," in Throwing Like a Girl:
Essays in Philosophical and Social Theory (Bloomington: Indiana University Press,
1990), pp. 177-88. On Merleau-Ponty and film theory see Vivian Sobchack, The
Address of the Eye: A Phenomenology of Film Experience (Princeton, N]: Princeton
University Press, 1992).
II. Clare Lomas,"'] Know Nothing About Fashion: There's No Point in Interviewing
Me': The Use and Value of Oral History to the Fashion Historian," in Fashion
Cultures, pp. 363-70.
12. Roland Barthes, The Fashion System, trans. Matthew Ward and Donald Howard
(New York: Hill and Wang, 1983);Jean Baudrillard, "The System of Objects," in
jean Baudrillard: Selected Writings, ed. Mark Poster (Stanford, CA: Stanford Univer-
sity Press, 1988), pp. 16-17; Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans.
Richard Nice (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1977); Maurice
Merleau-Ponty, The Phenomenology of Perception, trans. Colin Smith (New York:
Humanities Press, 1962) and his The Visible and the Invisible, trans. Alphonso Lingis
(Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1968).
13. "Introduction: Commodities and the Politics ofValue," in The Social Lifo ofThings:
Commodities in Cultural Perspective, ed. Arjun Appadurai (Cambridge, England:
Cambridge University Press, 1986), pp. 3-13.
14. Hildi Hendrickson, ed. Clothing and Diffirence: Embodied Identities in Colonial and
Post-Colonial Africa (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1996), p. 2. See also
Deborah james, '"!Dress in This Fashion': Transformations in Sotho Dress and
Women's Lives in Sekhukhuneland Village, South Africa" in Hendrickson, ed.
Clothing and Difference, pp. 34-65, esp. p. 34; and Igor Kopytoff's argument that
objects are created culturally and cognitively and thus move in and out of being
"mere commodities," "The Cultural Biography of Things: Commoditization as
Process," in The Social Life of Things, ed. Arjun Appadurai, pp. 64-91.
15. "Interpreted, Circulating, Interpreting: The Three Dimensions of the Clothing
Object," in The Socialness of Things: Essays on the Socio-semiotics of Objects, ed.
Stephen Harold Riggins (Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 1994).
16. 'Historiographie du vetement; un bilan," in Le Vi'tement: Histoire, archeologie, et
symbolique vestimentaires au moyen dge, ed. Michel Pastoureau (Paris: Le Leopard
d'Or, 1989), p. 28.
17. Roberta Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture: The Archaeology of Religious Women
(London: Routledge, 1994), p. 15. On the reading of medieval texts as cultural
objects see Claire Sponsler, "Medieval Ethnography: Fieldwork in the Medieval
Past" Assays 7 (1992): 1-30.
18. Nancy K. Miller, "The Text's Heroine: The Feminist Critic and Her Fictions,"
Diacritics (summer, 1982): 53; Naomi Schor, "Dreaming Dissymmetry: Barthes,
Foucault, and Sexual Di±lerence," in Men in Feminism, ed. Alice Jardine and Paul
Smith (New York: Routledge, 1987), p. 110; Luce Irigaray, Sexes et parentes (Paris:
Edition de Minuit, 1987), p. 126, my translation ("Mais l'un [le feminin] est reduit
aune marque, un masque inapproprie, un vetement impute").
19. 'House and Home: Feminist Variations on a Theme," in Gender Struggles: Practical
Approaches to Contemporary Feminism, ed. Constance L. Mui and julien S. Murphy
(Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2002), p. 333.
20. On wool, John H. Munro, "The Medieval Scarlet and the Economics of Sartorial
Splendor"; Hidetoshi Hoshino, "The Rise of the Florentine Woollen Industry in
the Fourteenth Century"; and his "The Woollen Industry in Catalonia in the
Later Middle Ages" all inN. B. Harte and K. G. Panting, eds., Cloth and Clothing
in Medieval Europe: Essays in Honor of Professor E. 1\1. Carus-Wilson (London:
Heinemann Educational Books, 1983), pp. 13-70, 184-204; 205-29 respectively;
Eileen Power, The Wool Trade in English Medieval History (London: Oxford
NOTES TO INTRODUCTION 209
University Press, 1941 ); A. R. Bridbury, Medieval English Clothmaking: An Economic
Survey (London: Heinemann Educational, 1982); Guy De Poerck, La Draperie
medievale en Flandres et en Artois: Technique et terminologie, 3 vols. (Bruges: De
Tempel, 1951). On linen ,Jane Schneider, "Rumpelstiltskin's Bargain: Folklore and
the Merchant Capitalist Intensi±lcation of Linen Manufacture in Early Modern
Europe," in Cloth and Human Experience, ed. Annette B. Weiner and Jane
Schneider (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1989), pp. 177-213; and
John Horner, The Linen Trade of Europe During the Spinning Wheel Period (Belfast:
M'Caw, Stevenson, and Orr, 1920). On cotton, Maureen Fennell Mazzaoui, The
Italian Cotton Industry in the Later Middle Ages 1100-1600 (Cambridge, England:
Cambridge University Press, 1981) and Franco Borlandi, "Futainiers et Futaines
en Italie au Moyen Age," in Eventail de l'histoire vivante: hommage a Lucien Febvre
vol. 2 (Paris: A. Colin, 1953), pp. 133-40. On silk, Florence Lewis May, Silk Textiles
of Spain (Eighth- Fifteenth Centuries) (New York: Hispanic Society of America,
1957); Robert Lopez, "The Silk Industry in the Byzantine Empire," in Byzantium
and the World Around It: Economic and Institutional Relations (London: Variorium,
1978), pp. 594-662; Anna Muthesius, "The Byzantine Silk Industry: Lopez and
Beyond," journal of Medieval History 19 (1993): 1-67; and Byzantine Silk Weaving:
A.D. 400-A.D. 1200 (Vienna: Verlag Faesbinder, 1997); David Jacoby, "Silk in
Western Byzantium Before the Fourth Crusade," in Trade, Commodities and
Shipping in the Medieval Mediterranean, ed. David Jacoby (Brookfield, VT: Vari-
orum, 1997), pp. 452-500. On Cloth production more generally, Dominique
Cardon, La Drape1ie au Moyen Age: essor d'une grande industrie europeene (Paris:
CNRS, 1999); Irena Turnau, 'The Organization of the European Textile Industry
from the Thirteenth to the Eighteenth Century," journal of European Economic
History 17 (1988): 583-602; Walter Endrei, L'Evolution des techniques dufilage et du
tissage du moyen dge a la revolution industrielle, trans. Joseph Takacs (The Hague:
Mouton, 1968). On embroidery, Kay Staniland, Medieval Craftsmen: Embroiderers
(London: British Museum Press, 1991). On dyeing, Dominique Cardon and
Gaetan du Chatenet, Guides des teintures naturelles (Neufchatel-Paris: Delachaux et
Nestlie, 1990). On clothing detail adapted from the eastern Mediterranean,
Veronika Gervers, "Medieval Garments in the Mediterranean World," in Cloth
and Clothing in Medieval Europe, pp. 279-315; Janet Snyder, "The Regal Significance
of the Dalmatic: The Robes of le sacre as Represented in Sculpture of Northern
Mid-Twelfth-Century France, in Robes and Honor: The Medieval World ofinvestiture,
ed. Stewart Gordon (New York: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 291-304.
21. Elizabeth Chapin, Les Villes des foires de Champagne: Des origines au debut du XIVe
siecle (Paris: Champion, 1937); Robert-Henri Bautier, Sur l'histoire economique de la
Francemedievale (Brookfield, VT: Variorium, 1991); Henri Dubois, "Le commerce
et les toires au temps de Philippe Auguste, in La France de Philippe Auguste: Le
Temps des mutalions, ed. Robert-Henri Bautier (Paris: CNRS, 1982), pp. 689-709;
Kathryn L. Reyerson, "Medieval Silks in Montpellier: The Silk Market ca. 1250-
ca. 1350," journal of European Economic History 11.1 (1982): 117-140; and her "Le
Role de Montpellier dans le commerce des draps de Iaine avant 1350," Annales du
Midi 94 (1982): 17-40; Maurice Lombard, Les Textiles dans le monde musulman, 7e-
12e siecles. Etudes d'economie medievale, vol. 3 (Paris: Mouton, 1978).
22. Jules Quicherat describes French clothing from its earliest appearance to the
Revolution, L'Histoire du costume en France depuis les temps les plus recules jusqu'a la
fin du XVIIIe siecle (Paris: Hachette, 1877); Eugene-Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc and
Camille Enlart extend Quicherat's inventories to situate French costume within
broader contexts: Viollet-le-Duc writes a dictionary of medieval costume and
architecture, "Vetement, bijoux de corps, objets de toilette," Dictionnaire raisonne
du mobilier franrais de l'epoque carolingienne a la Renaissance, vols. 3-4 (Paris: A.
21 0 NOTES TO INTRODUCTION
Morel, 1872-73), and Enlart catalogues medieval dress among other decorative
arts, Camille Enlart, "Le Costume," Manuel d'archeologie fran,aise, vol. 3 (Paris:
Picard, 1916). Germain Demay catalogues clothing that appears on seals in Le
Costume au moyen age d'apres les sceaux (Paris: Librairie de D. Dumoulin, 1880);
Adrien Harmand provides a detailed account of men's garments in the late
Middle Ages in jeanne d'Arc, ses costumes, son armure: Essai de reconstitution (Paris:
Librairie Ernest Leroux, 1929); S. Grandjean treats women's dress in Le Costume
feminin en France depuis le milieu du XIIe siixle jusqu'a la mort de Charles VI (1150-
1422), thesis, L'Ecole des Chartes, 1941; Herbert Norris charts the development
of medieval costume principally in England, Medieval Costume and Fashion (1927
repr. Mineola, New York: Dover Publications, 1999). For art historical studies see
Joan Evans, Dress in Mediaeval France (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952); Stella Mary
Newton, Fashion in the Age of the Black Prince (Suffolk, England: Boydell Press,
1981); Margaret Scott, History of Dress Series: Late Gothic Europe 1400-1500 (Lon-
don: Mills and Boon, 1980) and A Visual History of Costume (London: Batsford,
1986); Mary Houston, Medieval Costume in England and France, 13th, 14th and 15th
Centuries (London: Adam and Charles Black, 1950). See historians Fernand
Braude!, "Les costumes et la mode," in Civilisation materielle et capitalisme (Paris:
A. Colin), pp. 271-90; and Jacques LeGoff, La Civilisation de !'Occident medieval
(Paris: Arthaud, 1977). Fran<;:oise Piponnier combines archaeological, historical,
and anthropological approaches, Costume et vie sociale: LaCour d'Anjou au XIV-XV
siecles (The Hague: Mouton, 1970). Elizabeth Crowfoot, Frances Pritchard, and
Kay Staniland record medieval finds from excavations in London in Textiles and
Clothing (London: HMSO, 1992). Useful overviews are provided in Le Vi'tement:
Histoire, archeologie, et symbolique vestimentaires au moyen age, ed. Michel Pas-
toureau; and by Fran<;oise Piponnier and Perrine Mane, Dress in the Middle Ages,
trans. Caroline Beamish (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997).
23. Sec Roberta L. Krueger, "Nouvelles chases: Social Instability and the Problem of
Fashion in the Livre du Chevalier de la Tour Landr)l the Menagier de Paris, and
Christine de Pisan's Livre des Trois Vertus," in Medieval Conduct, ed. Kathleen
Ashley and Robert A. Clark (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001),
pp. 49-85; and her "Jntergeneric Combination and the Anxiety of Gender in Le
Livre du Chevalier de la Tour Landry pour l'enseignement de ses .filles," Esprit createur 33
(1993): 61-72; Danielle Regnier-Bohler, "Un Traite pour les filles d'Eve: l'ecriture
et le temps dans le Livre du Chevalier de la Tour Landry pour l' enseig~tement de ses
.filles ," in Education, apprentissages, initiation au Moyen Age (Montpellier: Centre de
recherche interdisciplinaire sur la societe et l'imaginaire au Moyen Age, 1993), pp.
449-67. On sumptuary law see Alan Hunt, Governance of the Consuming Passions: A
History of Sumptuary Law (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1996); Diane Owen
Hughes, "Regulating Women's Fashion," in A History ofWomen in the West, vol. 2,
Silences of the Middle Ages, ed. Christiane Klapisch-Zuber (Cambridge, MA:
Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1992), pp. 136-58 and her "Sumptuary
Law and Social Relations in Renaissance Italy," in Disputes and Settlements: Law and
Human Relations in the West, ed. John Bossy (Cambridge, England: Cambridge
University Press, 1983), pp. 69-100; Claire Sponsler, "Fashioned Subjectivity and
the Regulation of Difference" in her Drama and Resistance: Bodies, Goods, and
Theatricality in Late Medieval England (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,
1997), pp. 1-23, and the chapter by Sarah-Grace Heller in this volume.
24. On the complexities of dressing and crossdressing see James A. Schultz, "Bodies
That Don't Matter: Heterosexuality Before Heterosexuality in Gottfried's
Tristan," in Constructing Medieval Sexuality, ed. Karma Lochrie, Peggy McCracken,
and James A. Schultz (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), pp. 91-
110; Keith Busby, "'Plus acesmez qu'une popine': Male Cross-Dressing in Medi-
NOTES TO INTRODUCTION 211
eva! French Narrative,'' in Gender Transgressions: Crossing the Normative Barrier in
Old French Literature, ed. KarenJ Taylor (New York: Garland, 1988), pp. 45-59; 49;
Susan Crane, "Clothing and Gender Definition: Joan of Arc," Journal of Medieval
and Early Modern Studies 26.2 (1996): 297-320; Susan Schibanoft~ "True Lies:
Transvestism and Idolatry in the Trial of Joan of Arc," in Fresh Verdicts on Joan of
Arc, ed. Bonnie Wheeler and Charles T Wood (New York: Garland, 1996), pp. 31-
60; Valerie Hotchkiss, Clothes Make the Man: Female Cross-dressing in Medieval
Europe (New York: Garland, 1996); Roberta L Krueger, "Women Readers and the
Politics of Gender in the Roman de Silence," in her Women Readers and the Ideology
of Gender in Old French Verse Romance (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University
Press, 1993), pp. 118-24; Peggy McCracken, "The Boy Who Was a Girl: Reading
Gender in the Roman de Silence," Romanic Review 85.4 (1994): 517-46; Simon
Gaunt, "The Significance of Silence," Paragraph 13.2 (1990): 202-16; essays by
Lorraine Kochanske Stock, Elizabeth A Waters, Kathleen M. Blumreich, and
Erin E Labbie in Regina Psaki, elL Le Roman de Silence, Arthuriana 7.2 (1997);
essays by Robert S. Sturges, Robert L A. Clark, Robert Omar Khan, Lynne
Dahmen, and Christopher Callahan in Regina Psaki, ed. Le Roman de Silence,
Arthuriana 12.1 (2002); Lorraine Koschanske Stock, '"Arms and the (Wo)man' in
Medieval Romance: The Gendered Arming of Female Warriors in the Roman
d'Eneas and Heldris's Roman de Silence," Arthuriana 5.4 (1995): 56-83; Karma
Lochrie, Covert Operations: The Medieval Uses ofSecrecy (Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press, 1999), pp. 213-19; Claire Sponsler, "Outlaw Masculinities:
Drag, Blackkface, and Late Medieval Laboring-Class Festivities," and Ad Putter,
"Transvestite Knights in Medieval Life and Literature," both in Becoming Male in
the Middle Ages, ed. Jeffrey Jerome Cohen and Bonnie Wheeler (New York:
Garland, 2000), pp. 321-47 and 279-302 respectively; David Townsend, "Sex and
the Single Amazon in Twelfth-Century Latin Epic," in The Tongue of the Fathers:
Gender and Ideology in Twelfth-Century Latin (Philadelphia: University of Pennsyl-
vania Press, 1998), pp. 136-55; E. Jane Burns "Denaturalizing Sex: Women and
Men on a Gendered Sartorial Continuum," in Courtly Love Undressed: Reading
Through Clothes in Medieval French Culture (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylva-
nia Press, 2002), pp. 119-78. On literary representations of embroidery see Nancy
A. Jones, "The Uses of Embroidery in the Romances of Jean Renart: History,
Gender, Textuality," in Jean Renart and the Art of Romance: Essays on Guillaume de
Dole, ed. Nancy Vine Durling (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1997), pp.
13-44; on the linings of garments, Caroline ]ewers, "Fabric and Fabrication: Lyric
and Narrative in Jean Renart's Roman de laRose," Speculum 71.4 (1996): 906-24; on
underwear, E. Jane Burns, "Ladies Don't Wear Braies: Underwear and Outerwear
in the French Prose Lancelot," in the Lancelot-Grail Cycle: Text and Transformations,
ed. William W. Kibler (Austin: University of Texas, Press, 1994), pp. 152-74; on
clothing and courtly love, E. Jane Burns, Courtly Love Undressed; on eroticism,
Kathy Krause, "The Material Erotic: The Clothed and Unclothed Female Body in
the Roman de la violette," in Material Culture and Cultural Materia/isms in the Middle
Ages and Renaissance, ed. Curtis Perry (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2001), pp. 17-
40; on the economic and cultural implications of costume, Sarah-Grace Heller,
"Fashioning a Woman: The Vernacular Pygmalion in the Roman de la Rose,"
Medievalia et Humanistica, New Series number 27 (Totowa, N]: Roman and
Littlefield, 2000), pp. 1-25. Two important early studies that paved the way for
later analyses are: Frans;ois Rigolot, 'Valeur figurative du vetement dans le Tristan
de Beroul," Cahiers de civilisation mfdievale 10.3-4 (1967): 447-53, and Eunice
Rathbone Goddard, Women's Costume in French Texts of the Eleventh and Twelfth
Centuries (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1927).
212 NOTES TO INTRODUCTION
25. See, for example, historians such as Dyan Elliott, "Dress as Mediator Between
Inner and Outer Self: The Pious Matron of the High and Later Middle Ages,"
Medieval Studies 53 (1991): 279-308; Michael Moore, "The King's New Clothes:
Royal and Episcopal Regalia in the Frankish Empire," in Robes and Honor, ed.
Stewart Gordon, pp. 95-135; and Bonnie Effros, "The Symbolic Significance of
Clothing for the Dead," in her Caringfor Body and Soul: Burial and the Afterlife in the
Merovingian World (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992),
pp. 13-39; medieval art historians such as Annemarie Weyl Carr, "Threads of
Authority: The Virgin Mary's Veil in the Middle Ages"; Desiree Koslin, "The
Robe of Simplicity: Initiation, Robing, and Veiling of Nuns in the Middle Ages";
and Janet Snyder, 'The Regal Significance of the Dalmatic," all in Robes and Honor,
pp. 60-93,255-74, and 291-304 respectively; and literary critics such as "Sara Sturm
Maddox and Donald Maddox, 'Description in Medieval Narrative: Vestimentary
Coherence in Chretien's Erec et Enide," Medeoevo Romanzo 9 (1984): 51-64. On
heraldry see Michel Pastoureau, Figures et couleurs: Etudes sur Ia symbolique et Ia
sensibilite medievales (Paris: Leopard d'Or, 1986), and his Traite heraldique, 3rd ed.
(Paris: Picard, 1997).
26. Robes and Honor (New York: Palgrave, 2001); Peiformance of Self (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002). Encountering Medieval Textiles and Dress,
ed. Janet Snyder and Desiree Koslin (New York: Palgrave, St. Martin's Press,
2003).
27. Philadelphia, PA: University ofPennsylvania Press, 2002.
28. See especially Bumke's chapter on "Material Culture" in his Couray Culture, trans.
Thomas Dunlap (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), pp. 128-52; and
the array of essays in Pastoureau's Le Vetement. For a recent study of Renaissance
clothing see Ann Rosalind Jones and Peter Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing and the
Materials ofMemory (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2000).
29. Herbert L. Kessler, Spiritual Seeing: Picturing God's Invisibility in Medieval Art
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2000), p. 187. On the fall into
clothes see R. Howard Bloch, Medieval Misogyny and the Invention of Western
Romantic Love (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), pp. 41-43.
30. Kessler, Spiritual Seeing, p. 188.
31. See, for example, Lancelot in Chretien de Troyes, Le Chevalier de la charrete, ed.
Mario Roques (Paris: Champion, 1970), vv. 1213-42; La Mort le Roi Artu, ed. Jean
Frappier (Paris: Champion, 1964), p. 71; Lancelot: Roman en prose du XIIIe siecle, ed.
Alexandra Micha (Paris: Champion, 1978-83), 7:374; Lanval's ladylove in Les Lais
de Marie de France, ed. Jean Rychner (Paris: Champion, 1973), vv. 99-100; and
further, Cesarius of Heisterbach's story of a repentant mother dressed "only in
her shift," Devils, Women, and jews: Reflections on the Other in Medieval Sermon
Stories, ed. Joan Young Gregg (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1997),
p. 135. For a fuller discussion see E. Jane Burns, "Ladies Don't Wear Braies," in
The Lancelot-Grail Cycle: Texts and Transformations, ed. William W. Kibler, pp. 152-
74.
32. "Guigemar," Les La is de Marie de France, vv. 139-41.
33. Ne m' an mostra Amors adons I Fors que la cache et les penons, 1 Carla fleche ert
ala coivre mise:/ C'est li bliauz et la chemise,/ Don la pucele estoit vestue [my
emphasis; At the time, love showed me only the notch and the feathers because
the arrow was placed in the quiver, that is, inside the tunic and chemise the maiden
was wearing], Chretien de Troyes, Cliges, ed. Alexandre Micha (Paris: Champion,
1957), ll. 845-49. For a fuller discussion of this scene see E.Jane Burns, Courtly Love
Undressed, pp. 164-67.
34. The inscription reads: "C' est la chemise de mons. St. Lays jadix Roy de Fran[ ce]
et n'y a que une manche. N." A lab report dated August 1970, identifies the
NOTES TO INTRODUCTION 212
1. Eleanor P Hammond, "Two Tapestry Poems by Lydgate: The Life of St. George
and the Falls of Seven Princes,"" Englische Studien 43 (1910-11): 10-26; 10.
2. For the history of medieval tapestry, see Achille Jubinal, Recherches sur !'usage et
l'origine des tapisseries a personnages depuis l'antiquite jusqu'au XVIe siecle (Paris:
Challamel et Cie., 1840);Jean Lestocquoy, Deux siecles de l'histoire de la tapisserie,
1300-1500 (Arras: Commission departementale des monuments historiques du
pas-de-Calais, 1978); and Roger A. d'Hulst, Flemish Tapestries From the Fifteenth to
the Eighteenth Century, trans. Frances]. Stillman (New York: Universe, 1967).
3. Both examples are cited in the Middle English Dictionary under "steinen," defini-
tion 3.a.
4. Charles Kightly, '"The Hangings About the Hall': An Overview of Textile Wall
Hangings in Late Medieval York, 1394-1505," Medieval Textiles 28 (June, 2001): 3-
6.
5. William Caxton, Blanchardyn and Eglantine, ed. Leon Kellner, EETS es 58 (Lon-
don, 1890), p. 14.
6. These examples are cited by Hammond, 'Two Tapestry Poems," p. 22.
7. For the inventory of Gloucester's goods, which were seized in his castle ofPleshy,
in Essex, in 1397, see Viscount Dillon and W H. St.John Hope, "Inventory of the
Goods and Chattels Belonging to Thomas, Duke of Gloucester," The Archaeolog-
ical]ournal 54 (1897): 275-308. The inventory lists 15 items under the heading
'Draps de Arras," that is, wall hangings; their subjects include scenes from
romances and histories, such as the battle of Gawain and Lancelot, the siege of
Jerusalem, the story of St. George, and Judith and Holofernes, as well as religious
scenes such as the nati;ities ofJesus and Mary.
8. Patrick M. De Winter, "'Colan de La on," Grove Encyclopedia ofArt Online (http://
www.groveart.com).
9. Unless otherwise specified, all quotations from Lydgate's poetry come from the
two-volume edition by Henry N. MacCracken, The Minor Poems ofjohn Lydgate, 2
vols., EETS es 107 and os 192 (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner, 1911-1934),
and will be cited by volume, page, and line numbers.
10. The Dance ofDeath has been edited by Florence Warren, The Dance ofDeatlt, EETS
os 181 (London: Oxford University Press, 1931).
11. John Stow, A Survey of London (John Wolfe, 1598), p. 264.
12. The Legend of St. George exists in three manuscripts; the version in Shirley's
anthology Trinity College Cambridge MS R.3.20 contains Shirley's headnote.
13. Reginald Pecock, The Repressor of Over Much Blaming of the Clergy, ed. Churchill
Babington, 2 vols., (London, 1860), 1:212.
14. Of the four manuscripts in which Bycorne and Chychevache survives, only Shirley's
Trinity College R.3.20 identifies it as a poem intended for a wall hanging. BL MS
Harley 2251 omits the headnote; MS Trin Coli R.3.19 omits the headnote and
headings before stanzas, but includes the following running titles across the top:
'"<jle couronne of disguysinges contrived by Daun Iohan Lidegate. <jle maner of
straunge desguysinges, <jle gyse of a mummynge"( 2:433-38).
15. Hammond, "Two Tapestry Poems," 21.
16. Hammond, "Two Tapestry Poems," 22.
17. See Trinity College, Cambridge, MS R.3.21, folio 278b.
18. Hammond, "Two Tapestry Poems," 22.
19. Glynne Wickham, Early English Stages 1300-1600, 3 vols. (London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1959), 3:125.
NOTES TO CHAPTER TWO 215
20. In his biography of Lydgate, Walter F. Schirmer draws attention to the connec-
tions between the mummings, the pictorial poems such as Bycorne and Chychev-
ache, and tableaux such as Of the Sodein Fal of Princes, while noting their atl!nities
with other art forms such as mystery plays and polemical poems; see his john
Lydgate: A Study in the Culture of the Fifteenth Century, trans. Ann E. Keep (London:
Methuen, 1961), p. 100.
21. Lawrence M. Clopper, Drama, Play, and Game: English Festive Culture in the Medieval
and Early Modern Period (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), p. 130.
22. A. S. G. Edwards, "Middle English Pageant 'Picture'?" Notes and Queries 237 (1992):
25-26, quoting More's text from the facsimile of the 1557 Rastell edition,
introduced by K. J. Wilson (London, 1978), which was probably composed near
the beginning of the first decade of the sixteenth century.
23. Margaret Connolly, john Shirley: Book Production and the Noble Household in
Fifteenth-Century England (Aldershot, England: Ashgate, 1998), p. 191.
24. For Shirley's biography, see Connolly, john Shirley, pp. 15-63. For Lydgate's
connection to Warwick, see Derek Pearsall, john Lydgate (London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1970), pp. 160-71.
25. The Brut, ed. Friedrich W. D. Brie, 2 vols., BETS os 131 and 136 (London: Kegan
Paul, Trench, and Triibner, 1906-08), 2:426.
26. Pecock, Repressor, pp. 212-213.
1. The photographs in figures 2.1-2.5 are courtesy of the Rijksdienst voor het
Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek, Amersfoort, the Netherlands.
2. For the details of this description I draw on the authoritative study of these
fragments by Herbert Sarfatij, "Tristan op vrijersvoeten? Een bijzonder vesi-
erungsmotief op Laat-Middeleeuws schoisel uit de Lage Landen," in Ad fontes:
Opstellen aangeboden aan prof dr. C. van de Kieft ter gelegenheid van zijn aftchied als
hoogleraar in de middeleeuwse geschiedenis aan de Universiteit van Amsterdam (Amster-
dam: Verloren, 1984) p. 43 [371-400].
3. See Sarfatij, "Tristan" for a description and photograph of an ahnost complete
slipper excavated in the province or Reimerswaal. See also Johan H. Winkelman,
"Over de Minnespreuken op Recentelijk Ontdekte Tristan-Schoentjes," Amster-
damer Beitriige zur iilteren Germanistik 43-4 (1995): 553-560. The fragments average
15 em in length and 6.6 em in height. The leather is about 2 mm thick.
4. Olaf Goubitz, "Eight Exceptional Medieval Shoes from the Netherlands," in
Proceedings of the State Service for Archeological Investigations in the Netherlands.
Berichten van de Rijksdienst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek, vol. 42 (Amers-
foort, the Netherlands: Rijksdienst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek,
1996-7), pp. 425-455. According to Goubitz, 90 percent of the medieval leather
artifacts excavated in the Low Countries are footwear. Between the years 1969
and 1985 some 15,000 shoes or parts of shoes were found in Dordrecht alone. In
terms of attire, shoes were probably more expendable than any other item.
Goubitz mentions accounts informing us that people of the mercantile classes in
this period may have bought two outfits of clothing every four years, but, he adds,
they probably went through at least two pairs of shoes each year. Shoes were
worn and probably discarded when worn through.
5. For the most extensive bibliography on footwear of the Middle Ages, see the
website by I. Marc Carlson entitled: "Footwear of the Middle Ages: An On-going
216 NOTES TO CHAPTER TWO
51. The banderoles on the comb read as follows: Isolde: "tristram gardee de dire
vilane porIa pisson de Ia fonteine"; Tristan: "dame ie voroi per rna foi qui fV ave
nos monsignor le roi"; Marke: "de dev sot il con dana qui dementi Ia dame loial."
For a photograph of the comb, see Fouquet, "Die Baumgartenszene," p. 367. See
also Ott, "Katalog," 164-65 and Gertrud Blaschitz, "Schrifi: aufObjekten" in Die
Verschriftlichung der Welt: Bild, Text und Zahl in der Kultur des Mittelalters und der
friihen Neuzeit, ed. Horst Wenzel, et a!. (Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum,
2002), pp. 167-70 [145-179]. The comb is currently held in Bamberg at the
Museum des historischen Vereins.
1. Janet Mayo, A History of Ecclesiastical Dress (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1984),
pp. 11-12.
2. Hrabanus Maurus, De clericorum institutione 1.15, Patrologia Latinae (hereafter PL)
107, col. 306. Note that Hrabanus in fact uses an alternative term for the more
common am ictus: the superhumerale.
3. See Cyrille Vogel and Reinhard Elze, eds., Le Pontifical Romano-Germanique du
dixieme sifcle 40.79-82, Studi e testi, 226 (Vatican: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana,
1963), 1:152-54.
4. The key passages cited byDurandus are in Ex. 28, 31, 35, 40; Eccli. 47. In Rationale
divinorum officiorum 3.1.2, ed. A. Davril and T. M. Thibodeau, CCL, 140:178; cf
idem, Le Pontifical romain au moyen-ilge, Le Pontifical de Guillaume Durand 2.9 ed.
Michel Andrieu, Studi e testi , 88 (Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana,
1940), 3:520-21. Note, however, that Durandus remarks that certain heretics
complain that there is no authorization tor such robes in the New Testament
(Rationale 3.1.14, 140:183).
5. Durandus, Rationale 3.1.2, 140:178; idem, Pontifical romain 2.10.2, p. 521. Various
theorists further ransacked Scripture for new analogies. For example, Philip of
Harvengt draws a comparison between the priest in his two layered clerical tunic
and figures such as the good wife from Proverbs (Prov. 31) and John the Baptist
(Luke 3; De institutione clericorum tractatus VI 1.20, PL 203, col. 690).
6. Mayo, History, p. 15.
7. Durandus, Rationale 3.1, proemium, 140:177; cf. 3.1.2, 140:178.
8. Durandus, Pontifical romain 1.3. 7, p. 33 7.
9. Some authorities, such as Hugh ofAmiens, made much of the clergy's sevenfold
nature, attempting to associate it with other celebrated sequences of sacred
sevens. See Jan Michael Joncas, "A Skein of Sacred Sevens: Hugh of Amiens on
Orders and Ordination," in Medieval Liturgy: A Book of Essays, ed. Lizette Larson-
Miller (New York: Garland, 1997), pp. 85-120.
10. Durandus, Pontifical romain 1.5.1, p. 338.
11. Durandus, Pontifical romain 1.11.12-19, pp. 356-58 (subdeacon); 1.12.12-13,17, p.
362 (deacon); 1.13.2, 10, 11, pp. 364, 368, 370 (priest).
12. Durandus, Pontifical romain 1.14.1, p. 374; 1.14.8, p. 376. Not all of these items are
employed in the ordination proper. It became customary to receive the pallium
in Rome from the pope himself. The pope might give the pallium to an ordinary
bishop, but it was usually reserved tor the metropolitan. See Durandus's list in
Rationale 3.1.3, 140:178.
2 20 NOTES TO CHAPTER THREE
13. Durandus, Rationale 3.1.12, 140:182. Elsewhere, Durandus remarks that the cope
is worn on the ordination of the bishop by the archpresbyter, archdeacon, and the
candidate himself(Pontifical romain, 1.14.1-2, p. 388).
14. Durandus, Rationale 3.11.4, 140:205.
15. Durandus, Pontifical romain 1.3. 5, p. 33 7. On the superpellicium, see idem, Rationale
3.1.10, 140:181-2.
16. Durandus, Rationale 3.3.5, 140:188; 3.4.6, 140:190; 3.5,8, 140:192; 3.6.5, 130:194;
3.7.5, 140:196.
17. Durandus, Rationale 1.2.12, 140:33.
18. Ourandus, Rationale 1.2.13, 140:34; cf. C.2 q.4 c.13.
19. D. A. Wilmart, ed., Precum Libelli Quattvor Aevi Karolini (Rome: Ephemerides
liturgicae, 1949), p. 49. I would like to thank jonathan Black tor this reference.
20. See E. Vacandard, ''Deposition et degradation des clercs," Dictionnaire de theologie
catholique (Paris: Letouzey, 1925-), cols. 451-65; R. Genestal, Le Privilegiumfori en
France du Decret de Gratien ala fin du XIVe siecle, vol. 2, Le Privilege en matiere penale
(Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1924), see bk. 1, on degradation. Note that until the twelfth
century, there was no formal distinction between deposition and degradation
(Vacandard, "Deposition," col. 461). For exceptions in the early church, see col.
455. Also note that Durandus alleges that this stigma can be removed by the pope
(Pontifical romain 3.7.25, p. 608).
21. Louis Salter, Les Reordinations: Etude sur le sacrement de l'ordre, 2d ed. (Paris: Victor
Lecoffre and]. Gabalda, 1907), pp. 231-36.
22. Saltet, Les Reordinations, p. 354.
23. William of Auvergne, De sacramento ordinis c. 7, 8, in Opera omnia (1674; repr.
Paris: A. Pralard, Frankfurt am Main: Minerva, 1963), 1:539-40. See Salter, Les
Reordinations, pp. 356-58.
24. See Toledo IV, ann. 633, G. D. Mansi, ed., Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima
collectio (Paris: H. Welter, 1901-1927), vol. 10, col. 627, no. 28. This passage was
reiterated by Gratian (C.ll q.3 c.65). But note that Gratian's own position on
reordinations was far from decisive (Saltet, Les Reordinations, pp. 291-96).
25. Vl.5.9.2. See Vancandard, "Deposition," col. 456; Marc Dykmans, "Le rite de Ia
degradation des clercs," appendix in Le Pontifical romain revise au XVe siecle (Rome:
Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1985), p. 165.
26. Durandus, Speculum iudicale (Lyon, 1498-1500), bk. 3, ad De accusatione, no. 4
(unpaginated).
27. William of Auvergne, De sacramento ordinis c. 7, 1:539.
28. Nimes, ann. 886, Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum, vol. 18, col. 46. See Roger
Reynolds, "Rites of Separation and Reconciliation in the Early Middle Ages," in
Segni e riti nella chiesa altomedievale occidentale, Settimane di studio del Centro
Italiano eli Studi sull'alto medioevo, 33 (Spoleto: Sede del Centro, 1987), 1:421.
For other instances, see Dykmans, "Le rite," pp. 159-60.
29. Limoges, ann. 1031, Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum, vol. 19, col. 540.
30. This is the reason given by Liudprand of Cremona, Antapodosis 1.30, in Opera
omnia, CCCM, 156 (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 1998), p. 23. But also see the
summary ofFormosus's rehabilitation which claims he was guilty of perjury and
lay communion. This council, thought to be held in Ravenna in 898, is dated 904
in Rome, in Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum, vol. 18, col. 221. On the controversy
regarding whether there were actually one or two such councils, see J. Duhr, "Le
concile de Ravenne en 898: La rehabilitation du Pape Formose," Recherches de
sciencereligieuse 22 (1932): 541-79.
31. The council of rehabilitation will claim that this was the work of treasure seekers,
however (Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum, vol. 18, col. 225, c. 9).
NOTES TO CHAPTER THREE 221
32. On this fresco, see]. Duhr, "Humble vestige d'un grand espoir," Recherches de
science religiense 42(1954): 361-87; Horace Mann, The Lives of the Popes in the Early
Middle Ages (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1925), 4:47.
33. H. Leclercq, Histoire des conciles (Paris: Letouzey et Ane, 1911), 4,2:712.
34. Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum, vol. 18, cols. 223-25, c. 2, 3, 4, 8, 2. Only one cleric, a
certain Bonosus of Narni, seems to have resisted (col. 222). Leclercq, Histoire,
4,2:715-18. On the issue surrounding the reordination of those originally or-
dained by Formosus, see Saltet, Les Reordinations, pp. 152-56.
35. See Andre Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, trans. Jean Birrell (Cam-
bridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 147-55.
36. Auxilius, In defensionem sacrae ordinationis papae Formosi 1.1 0, in Auxilius und
Vulgarius, ed. Ernst Diimmler (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1866), p. 71. On Auxilius' etlorts,
see Saltet, "Les Depositions," pp. 156-60.
37. This is according to an anonymous Beneventan author of the tenth century, as
cited by Mann, Lives of the Popes, 4:82.
38. Auxilius, In defensionem 1.11, p. 72.
39. Liudprand, Antapodosis 1.31, p. 24.
40. Durandus, Pontifical romain 3.7.22-27, pp. 607-9. In his concluding remarks, he
further refers the reader to the section in his Speculum iudicale mentioned above.
41. Vl.5.9.2. See Dykmans, "Le rite," pp. 165-66; Cenestal, Le Privilegium, 2:59-63.
42. Dykrnans, "Le rite," pp. 166-67, 172-73.
43. Dykrnans, "Le rite," p. 171.
44. See Bernard Cui's prescriptions for sentences on posthumous condemnations in
Practica inquisitionis hereticae 3.1, ed. Celestin Douais (Paris: Alphonse Picard,
1886), p. 85.
4 5. Malcolm Lambert, Medieval Heresy: Popular Movements from the Gregorian Reform to
the Reformation, 2nd edn. (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1977), pp. 180-81; Bernard Cui
gives the forms for such a condemnation in Practica 3.27-28, pp. 123-26.
46. Lambert, Medieval Heresy, pp. 207 ti
47. See Acta S. Officii Bononie: ab anna 1291 nsque ad annum 1310, ed. Lorenzo Paolini
and Raniero Orioli (Rome: Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo, 1982-4),
Jacobus, rector of St. Thomas del Mercato, 1:37-40. I discuss such cases at greater
length in Proving Woman: Female Spirituality and Inquisitional Culture in the Later
Middle Ages (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004).
48. Bernard Pirotas ofLodeve, Doat Collection, Bibliotheque Nationale, vol. 28, fol.
25v.
49. For sentencing and the bestowal of crosses, see Cui, Practica 3.1, p. 84.
50. Cui, Practica 3.20, pp. 111-15.
51. Cui, Practica 3.21. p. 117-19.
52. See Alan FriecUander's, The Hammer of the Inquisitors: Brother Bernard Delicieux and
the Struggle Against the Inquisition in Fourteenth-Century France (Leiden, the Nether-
lands: Brill, 2000).
53. Alan Friedlander, ed., Processus Bernardi Delitiosi: The Trial of Fr. Bernard Delicieux,
3 September-S December 1319 (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1996),
p. 211; cf the account of the actual degradation in Carcassonne (p. 212). See
Friedlander's discussion of the trial in The Hammer of the Inquisitors, pp. 258ft:
54. See Cenestal's discussion of this quarrel in Le Privilegium, 2:95-114.
55. See Vacandard, "Les depositions," cols. 462-63; Cenestal, Le Privilegium, 2:137-53.
56. See R. I. Moore, The Formation of a Persecuting Society (Oxford: Basil Blackwell,
1987), pp. 62-64.
57. C.24 q.3 c.16. Note that Cratian anticipated the papal decree that unrepentant
clerics be delivered to the secular arm (C.1 q.1 c.30 dpc; see Cenestal, Le
Privilegium, 2:7).
222 NOTES TO CHAPTER FOUR
58. Durandus, Ponfical romain 3.7.22-23, p. 608; cf. idem, Speculum 3.4, De accusatione,
in which he again stresses the publicity of the ceremony. See Dykrnans, "Le rite,"
p. 163.
59. See Dykrnans' edition of the ritual contained in the sixteenth-century Pontificale
romanus, in "Le rite," text no. 2, 10.2, p. 184. Dykrnans notes, however, that the
rite may be no older than the fourteenth-century rite (p. 174).
60. Durandus, Pontifical romain 1.3 .9, p. 33 7.
61. Durandus, Pontificale romain, appendix, 4, pp. 681-2, nos. 9-10.
1. The following editions of versions of Griselda have been consulted and will be
cited, as appropriate: Boccaccio, "Decameron (X, 10), 1350," ed. Jean-Luc Nardone
in L'Histoire de Griselda: une fomme exemplaire dans les litteratures europeennes, ed.
Jean-Luc Nardone and Henri Lamarque, vol. 1 (Toulouse: Presses Universitaires
de Mirail, 2000), pp. 29-57; in English, Giovanni Boccaccio, The Decameron, trans.
Mark Musa and Peter Bondanella (New York: W W Norton, 1982), pp. 672-81;
Petrarch, "De oboedentia et fide uxoria, in Seniles (XVII, 3), 1373," ed. Henri
Lamarque in L'Histoire de Griselda, pp. 59-104; in English, Francis Petrarch, Sen
XVII 3 in Letters of Old Age "Rerum Senilium Libri" I-XVIII, trans. Aldo S. Bernardo,
Saul Levin, and Rita A. Bernardo, vol. 2 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1992), pp. 65 5-68; Philippe de Mezieres, Le Livre de la vertu du
sacrement de mariage, ed.Joan B. Williamson (Washington, D.C.: Catholic Univer-
sity of America Press, 1993), pp. 356-77; English translations of Philippe are my
own. Le Mesnagier de Paris, ed. Georgina E. Brereton and Janet M. Ferrier, trans.
Karin Ueltschi (Paris: Librairie Generale Fran~aise, 1994), pp. 192-232; English
translations my own. For the French anonymous translation, Le Livre de Griseldis,
ed.]. Burke Severs in]. Burke Severs, The Literary Relationships of Chaucer's Clerk's
Tale (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1942; repr. Hamden, CT: Archon
Book, The Shoe String Press, 1972), pp. 255-89. For the dramatic version, L'Estoire
de Griseldis, ed. Barbara M. Craig (Lawrence, KA: University of Kansas Press,
1954). For Christine's version, Maureen Cheney Curnow's dissertation on Chris-
tine de Pizan remains a valuable source of information and analysis, "The Livre de
la Cite des Dames of Christine de Pizan: A Critical Edition" (Ph.D. dissertation:
Vanderbilt, 1975); the Gliselidis story occurs in Pt. IV, pp. 900-10. The most recent
edition of Christine's work is La Citta delle Dame, ed. Earl Jeffrey Richards and
trans. Patrizia Caraffi, (Milan: Luni Editrice, 1998), pp. 346-56; page references
will be to Richard's edition and English translations are my own.
2. For discussion of Griselda's European transformations, see Nardone and Lama-
rque, L'Histoire de Griselda and for the Griselda legend in medieval France, see Elie
Golenistcheff-Koutouzotl; L'Histoire de Griseldis en France au XIVe et au XVe siecle
(Paris: Droz, 1933).
3. Ann Rosalind Jones and Peter Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing and the Materials of
Memory (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 220.
4. An astute analysis of rhetorical embellishment, the heroine's clothing, and gender
ethics in Chaucer's Clerk's Tale is provided by Carolyn Dinshaw, "Griselda
Translated" chapter 5 of Chaucer's Sexual Poetics (Madison, WI: The University of
Wisconsin Press, 1989), pp. 132-55; on Petrarch's "correction" of Boccaccio's
stripping of Griselda and the subsequent problematization of the nude heroine in
Renaissance marriage chests, see Cristelle L. Baskins, "Griselda, or the Renais-
NOTES TO CHAPTER FOUR 222
sance Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelor in Tuscan Cassone Painting," Stanford
Italian Review 10 (1992): 153-75;Jones and Stallybrass further discuss how Petrach
"refashions" Boccaccio's Griselda by effacing "the violence and the sexualization
of Boccaccio's version" in Renaissance Clothing, p. 222. Susan Crane analyzes
Griselda's reclothing as social performance in Chaucer in The Performance of Self:
Ritual, Clothing, and Identity During the Hundred Years War (Philadelphia: Universi-
ty of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), pp. 29-38; see also Kristine Gilmartin, '1\.rray in
the Clerk's Tale," The Chaucer Review, 13.3 (1979): 234-46. Although Chaucer's
Clerk's Tale and its frame have provoked arguably the liveliest discussion about
authorial strategies and this text pre-dates the Cite des Dames, it is unlikely that
Christine knew it. Comparison of Chaucer's and Christine's interpretative refash-
ioning is beyond the scope of this study.
5. See, for example, Marueen Quilligan, The Allegory of Female Authority: Christine de
Pizan's Cite des Dames (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991), pp. 165-67 and
Renate Blumenfeld-Kosinski, "Christine de Pizan and the Misogynistic Tradi-
tion," Romanic Review 81.2 (1990): 291. Quilligan in particular notes Christine's
distinctive treatment of the tale as compared to her male predecessors. Most
recently, l'atrizia CarafE notes that Griselidis assumes new significance as she is
recontextualized within the Cite; Patrizia Caraffi, "Jntroduzione," in Christine de
Pizan, La Cite des Dames, ed. Richards and Caraffi, p.22 and Patrizia Caraffi,
"Silence des femmes et cruaute des hommes: Christine de Pizan et Boccaccio,"
Contexts and Continuities: Proceedings of the IVth International Colloquium on Chris-
tine de Pizan (Glasgow 21-27 july 2000), Published in Honor ofLiliane Dulac, ed. Angus
J Kennedy, Rosalind Brown Grant, and Liliane Dulac (Glasgow: University of
Glasgow Press, 2002), pp. 175-86.
6. For example, GolenistcheffKjoutouzoff devoted only a few pages to Christine's
version, L'Histoire de Griseldis en France, pp. 126-30; it is not included in Nardone
and Lamargue, eds. L'Histoire de Griseldis.
7. Quilligan, The Allegory of Female Authority, p. 167.
8. Kevin Brownlee, "Commentary and the Rhetoric of Exemplarity: Griseldis in
Petrarch, Philippe de Mezieres, and the Estoire," South Atlantic Quarterly 91, 4
(1992): 867.
9. Dinshaw, Chaucer's Sexual Poetics, pp. 132-33.
10. Decameron, trans. Musa and Bondanella, p. 681.
11. Decameron, ed. Nardone, p. 56.
12. Jones and Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing, p. 228.
13. Jones and Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing, p. 223. See also Robin Kirkpatrick,
'The Griselda Story in Boccaccio, Petrarch, and Chaucer," in Chaucer and the
Italian Trecento, ed. Piero Boitani (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University
Press, 1983), pp. 231-48.
14. See Dinshaw, Chaucer's Sexual Poetics, p. 133.
15. Petrarch, ''De oboedentia," ed. Lamarque, p. 68.
16. See Jones and Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing, p. 222.
17. Baskins, "Griselda," p. 159;Jones and Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing, pp. 221-23.
18. Petrarch, Sen XVII, 3, in Letters of Old Age, trans. Bernardo, Levin and Bernardo, p.
660.
19. Jones and Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing, p. 223.
20. On the medieval husband's gift of clothing to the bride, which symbolizes her
entrance into a new family and which remains his property; see Christiane
Klapisch-Zuber, "Le Complexe de Griselda: Dots et Dons de Mariage au Quattro-
cento," Melanges de L'Ecole fran~aise de Rome 94 (1982): 7-43.
21. Jones and Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing, p. 220.
224 NOTES TO CHAPTER FOUR
22. Petrarch, "De oboedentia," ed. Lamarque, p. 98 and Sen XVII, 4, trans. Bernardo,
Levin and Bernardo, p. 670.
23. Joan B. Williamson, "La premiere traduction fran~aise de l'histoire de Griselidis
de Petrarque: pour quiet pour quai fut-elle taite?" in Amour, mariage et transgres-
sions au Moyen Age. Actes du Colloque du Centre d'Etudes Medievales de l'Universite de
Picardie, mars 1983. Gbppinger Arbeiten sur Germanistick, No. 420 (Goppingen:
Kummerle Verlag, 1984), pp. 447-56 and "Philippe de Meziere's Book for Married
Ladies: A Book from the Entourage of the Court of Charles VI," in The Spirit of
the Court: Selected Proceedings of the Fourth Congress of the International Courtly
Literature Society (Toronto 1983 ), ed. Glyn S. Burgess, Robert A. Taylor et al.
(Woodbridge, UK: D. S. Brewer, 1983), pp. 393-408.
24. Philippe de Mezieres, Le Livre de la vertu du sacrement de mariage, ed. Williamson,
p. 356, 1. 7; English translations of citations from this edition are mine. On the
insistence on Griseldis as "marvelous" in Philippe's authorial commentary, see
Brownlee, "Commentary," p. 871. Brownlee also argues that Philippe "criticizes
the behavior and motivation ofWalter," p. 871, more than Petrarch.
25. "Povre cote" appears in the Livre de la vertu du sacrement de mariage, p. 373, 1. 6; p.
374, 1. 7 (with "povre habit); "en habit de tres povre ancelle" p. 374, 1. 21; "povre
robe" p. 374, 1. 32; "povres dras" p. 376, 1. 32.
26. Carolyn Collette, "Chaucer and the French Tradition Revisited: Philippe de
Mezieres and the Good Wife," in Medieval Women: Text and Contexts in Late
Medieval Britain: Essays for Felicity Riddy, ed. Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Rosalyn
Voaden, Arlyn Diamond et al. (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2000), p. 165.
Collette notes that earlier Philippe emphasizes her management of the state as
well as the household.
27. Le Mesnagier de Paris, ed. Ueltschi, p. 232. Translations of citations from this
edition are mine.
28. See Janet M. Ferrier, "Seulement pour vous endoctriner: The Author's Use of
Exempla in Le Menagier de Paris," Medium Aevum 48 (1979): 77-89.
29. Ueltschi, ed. Le Mesnagier de Paris, p. 10.
30. Ferrier, "Seulement pour vous endoctriner," 79.
31. The addition of this speech has been noted by Ferrier and others. Ferrier, calls it
"a little sermon" and takes brief notice of it; Ferrier, "Seulement pour vous
endoctriner," p. 78. I wish to emphasize its importance in a text where few
changes to the original have been made.
32. As noted by Golentischeft~Koutouzoff, I:Histoire de Griselda, pp. 126-29. See also
La Cite des Dames, ed. Curnow, vol. 1, pp. 156-60.
33. The contemporary chronology is noted by Brown-Grant, Christine de Pizan and
the Moral Defense of Women: Reading Beyond Gender (Cambridge, England: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1999), p. 165 who cites Glynnis M. Cropp, "Les person-
nages feminins tires de l'histoire de la France dans Le Livre de la Cite des Dames," in
Une femme de lettres au Moyen Age: Etudes autour de Christine de Pizan, ed. Liliane
Dulac et Bernard Ribemont (Orleans: Paradigme, 1995), pp. 195-208.
34. See Caraftl, "Introduzione," La Cite des Dames, ed. Richards, p. 22.
35. For Christine's version of the speech, see La Cite des Dames, ed. Richards, p. 350;
tor Philippe's more obsequious speech, see Le Livre de la vertu du sacrement de
mariage, ed. Williamson, p. 371.
36. Cite des Dames, ed. Richards, 354; Le Livre de la vertu du sacrement de mariage, ed.
Williamson, p. 375. See Quilligan's discussion, The Allegory of Female Authority, p.
166.
37. For other perspectives on Christine's rewriting ofBoccaccio in these stories, see
Patricia A. Philippy, "Establishing Authority: Boccaccio's De Claris Mulieribus and
Christine de Pizan's Le Livre de Ia Cite des Dames," Romanic Review 77. 3 (1986), 167-
NOTES TO CHAPTER FIVE 225
93; Kevin Browlee, "Christine de Pizan's Canonical Authors: The Special Case of
Boccaccio," Comparative Literature Studies 32.2 (1995): 244-61; Caraffi, "Silence des
femmes."
38. On Christine's ethical stance against the defamation of women and her sapiential
writing, see Helen Solterer, The Master and Minerva: Disputing Women in French
Medieval Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), pp. 151-75.
39. Brownlee, "Christine de Pizan's Canonical Authors," pp. 251-52.
40. On women's manipulation of speech and dress in the Livre des Trois Vertus, Liliane
Dulac, "The Representation and Functions of Feminine Speech in Christine de
Pizan's Livre des Trois Vertus," in Reinterpreting Christine de Pizan, ed. Earl Jeffrey
Richards (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1992), pp. 13-22 and my "Nouvelles
chases: Social Instability and the Problem of Fashion in the Livre du Chevalier de la
Tour Landry, the Menagier de Paris, and Christine de Pizan's Livre des Trois Vertus,"
in Medieval Conduct, ed. Kathleen Ashley and Robert L. A. Clark (Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press), pp. 48-85.
41. On women's positive construction of social honor in Trois Vertus, see Brown-
Grant, Christine de Pizan and the Moral Defence ofWomen, pp. 175-214, especially pp.
200-1.
1. For this debate, see Judith M. Bennett, '"History that Stands Still': Women's Work
in the European Past," Feminist Studies 14 (1986): 269-83; Bridget Hill, "Women's
History: A Study in Change, Continuity or Standing Still?" Women's History
Review 2 (1993): 5-23; Martha Howell, Women, Production, and Patriarchy in Late
Medieval Cities (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986).
2. Judith M. Bennett, Ale, Beer, and Brewsters in England: Women's Work in a Changing
World, 1300-1600 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996).
3. Sarah B. Pomeroy, Goddesses, Whores, Wives, and Slaves: Women in Classical
Antiquity (New York: Shocken, 1975), p. 30.
4. John Scheid and Jesper Svenbro, The Craft of Zeus: Myths of Weaving and Fabric,
trans. Carol Volk (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), p. 68.
5. Elizabeth Wayland Barber, Women's Work: The First 20,000 Years (New York: W. W.
Norton, 1994), pp. 281-2.
6. 7:35, excerpted in Women's Lifo in Greece and Rome: A Source Book in Translation, ed.
Mary P. Lefkowitz and Maureen Fant, 2nd ed. (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1992), p. 200.
7. Pomeroy, Goddesses, p. 199.
8. David Herlihy, Opera Muliebria: Women and Work in Medieval Europe (New York:
McGraw-Hill, 1990), pp. 77-91.
9. On embroidery see Nancy A. Jones, "The Uses of Embroidery in the Romances
of Jean Renart: Gender, History, Textuality," in Nancy Vine Durling, ed., jean
Renart and the Art ofRomance: Essays on Guillaume de Dole (Gainesville: Universi-
ty of Florida Press, 1997), pp. 13-44.
10. On the chanson de toile, see E. Jane Burns, Courtly Love Undressed: Reading Through
Clothes in Medieval French Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 2002), Chapter 3.
11. Rene de Lespinasse and Fran<;ois Bonnardot, ed., Le livre des metiers d'Etienne
Boileau (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1879).
226 NOTES TO CHAPTER FIVE
12. Alexander Neckam, De Naturis rerum, ch. 171, ed. Thomas Wright, Rerum
Britannicam Medii Aevi Scriptores 34 (London: Longman, Green, Longman, Rob-
erts & Green, 1863), p. 281.
13. Herlihy, Opera Muliebria, pp. 185-91.
14. Arsene Darmesteter and D.S. Blondheim, Les gloses fran~aises dans les commenwires
talmudiques de Raschi (Paris: Champion, 1929), no. 1089, 1:150.
15. A. R. Bridbury, Medieval English Cloth making: An Economic Survey (London: Heine-
mann, 1982), pp. 1-3.
16. Dominique Cardon, La. Draperie au Moyen Age: Essor d'une grande industrie eu-
ropccnnc (Paris: CNRS, 1999), p. 545.
17. Herlihy, Opera Muliebria, pp. 96-97, 147-48.
18. Howell, Women, Production, pp. 124-33; Herlihy, Opera Muliebria, pp. 147-48;
Maryanne Kowaleski and Judith M. Bennett, "Crafts, Gilds, and Women in the
Middle Ages: Fifty Years After Marian K. Dale," Signs: journal of Women in Culture
and Society 14 (1989): 474-501.
19. Heather Swanson, Medieval Artisans: An Urban Class in Late Medieval England
(Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989), p. 31.
20. Kathryn L. Reyerson, "Women in Business in Medieval Montpellier," in Women
and Work in Preindustrial Europe, ed. Barbara A. Hanawalt (Bloomington: Indiana
University Press, 1986), pp. 21-22; Kay Lacey, "The Production of'Narrow Ware'
by Silkwomen in Fourteenth and Fifteenth Century England," Textile History 18
(1981): 187-204; John of Garland, Dictionarius, in A Volume of Vocabularies, ed.
Thomas Wright (Liverpool: D. Marples and Co., 1882), pp. 134-35.
21. Howell, Women, Production, pp. 70-75, shows that women in Leiden did not weave
or full, although some were actually cloth merchants.
22. Maryanne Kowaleski, "Women's Work in a Market Town: Exeter in the Late
Fourteenth Century," in Hanawalt, Women and Work, pp. 152-53 (the women
merchants were widows of merchants); P. J. P. Goldberg, Women, Work, and Lift
Cycle in a Medieval Economy: Women in York and Yorkshire c. 1300-1520 (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1992), pp. 82-157, esp. pp. 120-21, noting that women tended to
be in the lowest -skilled and lowest -paid branches of the textile trade.
23. Wakefield examples listed in J. W. Walker, Wakefield: Its History and People, 3rd
edition (Wakefield: S. R. Publishers Ltd., 1966), 2:386-88.Johannes Brugman, Vita
posterior beatae Lidwinae virgin is, 2:4, AASS vol. 11 p. 323 and ff.
24. Jenny Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press,
1995), pp. 134-60, esp. p. 139; Helgi Porlaksson, '1\.rbeidskvinnens, sarlig vever-
skens, oknomiske stilling pa Island I middelalderen," in Kvinnans ekonomiska
stiillning under nordisk medeltid, ed. Hedda Gunneng and Birgit Strand (Lindome,
Sweden: Kompendiet, 1981), pp. 50-65; Nanna Damsholt, "The Role oflcelandic
Women in the Sagas and in the Production of Homespun Cloth," Scandinavian
journal ofHistory 9 (1984): 81-87.
25. I use the term "woolen" here not in the technical sense, which distinguishes
between "woolen" and "worsted" cloth although both are made of wool fiber,
but simply to indicate the fiber content, as opposed to linen or silk.
26. Little Red Book ofBristol, ed. Francis Bickley (Bristol: W. Crofton Hemmons, 1900),
2:127-28.
27. York Memorandum Book, ed. Maud Sellers, Surtees Society 120 (Durham, England:
Andrews & Co., 1912), 1:243.
28. Walter Endrei, L'Evolution des techniques du filage et du tissa.ge du Moyen Age a Ia
revolution industrielle, trans. Joseph Takacs (Paris: Mouton, 1968), p. 38; Cardon,
La Dra.perie, pp. 265-67.
29. Bennett, Ale, Beer, and Brewsters, pp. 122-44.
30. John of Garland, Dictionarius, p. 135.
NOTES TO CHAPTER FIVE 227
31. Ruth Mazo Karras, Common Women: Prostitution and Sexuality in Medieval England
(New York: Oxford, 1996), p. 54.
32. Karras, Common Women, p. 39; Peter Schuster, Das Frauenhaus: Stiidtische Bordelle
in Deutschland (1350-1600) (Paderborn, Germany: Ferdinand Schoningh, 1992), p.
109.
33. Fols 60r, 166v, 193r, in Michael Camille, Mirror in Parchment: The Luttrell Psalter and
the Making of Medieval England (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), pp.
299-300, 219, 221.
34. Geoffrey Chaucer, Canterbury Tales, "General Prologue," ll. 446-47, Riverside
Chaucer, ed. Larry Benson (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987), p. 30.
35. William Langland, Piers Plowman: The B Version, ed. George Kane and E. Talbot
Donaldson (London: Athlone Press, 1988), 5:213-16, p. 319.
36. Christine de Pisan, Le Livre des Trois Vertus, 2:10, ed. Charity Cannon Willard and
Eric Hicks (Paris: Champion, 1989), p. 156.
37. Quoted in Merry E. Wiesner, "Spinsters and Seamstresses: Women in Cloth and
Clothing Production," in Rewriting the Renaissance: The Discourses of Sexual
Difference in Early Modern Europe, ed. Margaret W Ferguson, Maureen Quilligan,
and Nancy]. Vickers (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), p. 191.
38. Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, pp. 159-60; Damsholt, "Role," p. 84.
39. Brennu-Njals saga, 157, in Islendinga siigur, vol. 1, ed. Bragi Halld6rsson, J6n
Torfason, Sverrir T6masson, and Ornulfur Thorsson (Reykjavik: Svart a hvitu,
1987), pp. 341-42;Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, pp. 136-39.
40. The manuscript was destroyed during World War I, but had been photographed
before that time. Cardon, La Draperie, fig. 131.
41. Gert Kreytenberg, "The Sculptures of the Fourteenth Century," in Cristina
Acidini Luchinari, ed., The Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, trans.
Anthony Brierly (Florence: Cassa eli Risparmio di Firenze, 1994), 2:73-156, fig. 19.
42. Cardon, La Draperic, fig. 126.
43. Dennis A. Chevalley, Der Dom zu Augsburg(Munich: R. Oldenbourg Verlag, 1995),
p. 139, fig. 242; Robert L. Wyss, "Die Handarbeiten der Maria: Eine Ikonogra-
phische Studie unter Berticksichtigung der Textilentechniken," in Artes Minores,
ed. Michael Stettler and Mechthild Lemberg (Bern: Stampfli & Cie., 1973), pp.
114-55, pis. 1-5, 18-22.
44. Wyss, "Die Handarbeiten," p. 177.
45. Giovanni Boccaccio, Famous Women, ed. and trans. Virginia Brown (Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), pp. 158-61.
46. Boccaccio, Famous Women, pp. 138-81. The translation of the last phrase is mine
rather than Brown's, as it is the skill rather than the woman that is not to be
despised.
47. E. Jane Burns, Bodytalk: When Women Speak in Old French Literature (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 1993), pp. 116-50 discusses the Old French text.
The story is known in other versions and vernaculars as well; the French version
has been used here because Burns's analysis is helpful.
48. Geoffrey Chaucer, The Legend of Good Women, 11. 2351-53, in Riverside Chaucer; p.
626.
49. Francesca Bray, Technology and Gender: Fabrics of Power in Late Imperial China
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), pp. 183-272.
50. G. R. Owst, Literature and Pulpit in Medieval England (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1933), p. 291, on the history of this saying.
51. Ruth Mazo Karras, From Boys to Men: Formations of Masculinity in Late Medieval
Europe (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), pp. 109-50.
52. Barbara Hanawalt, The Ties that Bound: Peasant Families in Medieval England (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1986), p. 149.
228 NOTES TO CHAPTER SIX
laws of the time regulate either courtisans or any specific garment styles. Vertot
mentions an "arret de Parlement" with similar wording, but dated 1420 and
renewed in 1446. "Memoire sur l'etablissement des lois somptuaires," pp. 462-
463.
21. Besides Fabretti, some scholars who have emphasized the French "law" of 1229
as a key starting point in the history of sumptuary legislation include Rainey,
"Sumptuary Legislation in Renaissance Florence," p. 42; Kovesi K.illerby, Sumptu-
ary Law, p. 24; Hughes, "Sumptuary Law and Social Relations," p. 73; as well as
the often franco-centric histories of luxury such as Baudrillart, Histoire du luxe,
vol. 3, p. 168; Kraemer-Raine, Le luxe et les lois somptuaires au moyen-age, pp. 33-34;
Giraudias, Etude historique sur les lois somptuaires, p. 52.
22. H. Duples-Augier, "Ordonnance somptuaire inedite de Philippe le Hardi,"
Bibliotheque de !'Ecole des Chartes 3.5 (1854): 176-81; Jourdan, Decrusy, and !sam-
bert, Recueil general des anciennes lois fran~aises, depuis l' an 420 jusqu'a la revolution
de 1789, 29 vols. (Paris: Belin-le-Prieur, 1821-1823), vol. 2, p. 669 (noting a 1283
"ordonnance sur le luxe," whose text was apparently lost); and pp. 697-700.
23. 'A Thirteenth-Century Castilian Sumptuary Law," Business History Review 37.1-2
(1963): 98-100.
24. Gustavo de Matos Sequeira, "Le costume defendu," in Actes du ler Congres
international d'histoire de costume, 1952 (Venice: 1955), pp. 64-68.
25. Kovesi K.illerby, Sumptuary Law, p. 24; G. Del Giudice, "Una legge suntuaria
inedita del 1290: Commento storico-critico," Atti dell'accademia pontaniana 16.2
(1886): 84-86.
26. Rainey, "Sumptuary Legislation in Renaissance Florence," pp. 44-46.
27. Kovesi Killerby, Sumptuary Law, pp. 24-40, and passim; see her bibliography.
28. Fore;ille, Latran I, II, III et IV, p. 243.
29. Eugene Marrin-Chabot, ed., La Chanson de la croisade albigeoise (Paris: Librairie
Generale Fran~aise, 1989).
30. La Societe archeologique de Montpellier, Thalamus Parvus, Le Petit Thalamus de
Montpellier (Montpellier:Jean Martel Aine, 1840), pp. 144-46. See also Reyerson,
"Medieval Silks in Montpellier," pp. 117-18, n. 2.
31. Mentioned in Fran~ois Boucher, 20,000 Years ofFashion (New York: Abrams, 1987),
p. 179, who dates them at 1274 and 1291, without citation. Annie Latlorgue, ed.,
Inventaire des titres et documens de !'Hostel de Ville de la cite royale de Montauban
(Montauban: Les Amis des Archives de Tarn-et-Garonne, 1983) lists "reglementz
sur les habits des hommes et des femmes" for 1275 in the book of "Sermens," p.
44. The document has apparently not been published.
32. Charles Giraud, Essai sur l'histoire de droit fran~ais, (Paris: Videcoq, 1846), pp. 205-
6; Leah Otis, Prostitution in Medieval Society: The History of an Urban Institution in
Languedoc (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985), pp. 16, 67.
33. Fran<;:ois Bousgarbies, Du luxe ftminin: de quelques uns de ses probli:mes et quelques uns
de ses consequences en droit (Toulouse: G. Mollat, 1914), p. 140.
34. Jules Quicherat, Histoire de costume en France (Paris: Hachette, 1877), pp. 186-87.
35. Linda M. Paterson, The World of the Troubadours: Medieval Occitan Society, c. 1100-
c. 1300 (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 1-8.
36. Jacqueline Caille, "Urban Expansion in Languedoc from the Eleventh to the
Fourteenth Century: The Example of Narbonne and Montpellier," in Urban and
Rural Communities in Medieval France: Provence and Languedoc, 1000-1500, ed.
Kathryn Reyerson and John Drendel (Leiden: Brill, 1998), pp. 67-68.
37. Michel Roquebert, L'Epopee cathare (vols. 1-4, Toulouse: Privat, 1970-89; vol. 5,
Paris: Perrin, 1998).
38. La Societe archeologique de Montpellier, Le Petit Thalamus de Montpellier, p. 146.
NOTES TO CHAPTER EIGHT 288
39. La Societe archeologique de Montpellier, Le Petit Thalamus de Montpellier, pp. 144-
45.
40. Curzio Mazzi, '1\.lcune leggi suntuarie senesi," Archivio storico italiano ser. 4.5
(1880): 134-36.
41. Duples-Augier, "Ordonnance somptuaire inedite," pp. 176-81.
42. Mazzi, '1\.lcune leggi suntuarie senesi," 139.
43. For example Kraemer-Raine, Le luxe et les lois somptuaires, pp. 31-34.
44. Hughes, "Sumptuary Law and Social Relations," p. 73, and passim; Fabretti,
"Vestire degli uomini e delle donne," pp. 151-54; Kovesi Killerby, Sumptuary Law,
pp. 24-25.
45. Kovesi Killerby Sumptuary Law, pp. 61-110, esp. 62.
46. Kovesi Killerby, Sumptuary Law, p. 41.
47. Chojnacki, "The Power of Love: Wives and Husbands in Late Medieval Venice,"
p. 131; Hughes, "Regulating Women's Fashion," pp. 140-44; Kovesi Killerby,
Sumptuary Law, pp. 54-60.
48. Hughes, "Regulating Women's Fashion," p. 140.
49. Angelica Rieger, Trobairitz: Der Beitrag der Frau in der altokzitanischen ItO.fischen
Lyrik. Edition des Gesamtkorpus (Ttibingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1991), pp. 691-
95.
50. Paterson, World of the Troubadours, p. 264; E. Jane Burns, Courtly Love Undressed:
Reading Through Clothes in Medieval French Culture (Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press, 2002), pp. 59-62, 75-77.
51. Felix Lecoy, ed., Le Roman de Ia Rose, 3 vols. (Paris: H. Champion, 1965-70). For
readings of the poem with regard to sumptuary laws, see Sarah-Grace Heller,
"Fashioning a Woman: The Vernacular Pygmalion in the Roman de la Rose,"
Medievalia et Humanistica 27 (2000): 1-18, and "Light as Glamour: The Lumines-
cent Ideal of Beauty in the Roman de laRose," Speculum 76 (2001): 934-59; Burns,
Courtly Love Undressed, pp. 44-51.
52. Suzanne Mejean-Thiolier and Marie-Fran~oise Notz-Grob, eds., Nouvelles cour-
toises occitanes etfran~aises (Paris: Libraire Generale Fran~aise, 1997), pp. 354-83.
53. Richard Pogue Harrison, "The Bare Essential: The Landscape of Il Fiore," in
Rethinking the Romance of the Rose, ed. Kevin Brownlee and Sylvia Huot (Philadel-
phia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992), pp. 289-303.
54. See above, pp. [8-9]; Mazzi, '1\.lcune leggi suntuarie senesi," pp. 134-36.
55. Gerard Genot and Paul Larivaille, eds. and trans., Novellino (Paris: 10/18, 1988),
pp. 56-57.
1. Jules David Prawn, "The Truth of Material Culture: History or Fiction" from
History from Things: Essays on Material Culture, ed. Steven Lubar and W David
Kingery (Washington D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993), p. 1.
2. Por a useful overview of theories of clothing as social practice, see Le Vi'tement:
Histoire, archeologie et symbolique vestimentaires au Moyen Age, ed. Michel Pas-
toureau (Paris: Cahiers du Leopard d'Or, 1989), especially the introductory essay,
"Historiographie du vetement: Un bilan," by Odile Blanc (pp. 7-33). See also the
collection, The Fabrics of Culture: The Anthropology of Clothing and Adornment, ed.
Justine M. Cardwell and Ronald A. Schwarz (The Hague: Mouton, 1979),
especially the introductory survey, 'The Language of Personal Adornment," by
Mary Ellen Roach and joanne Bubolz Eicher, pp. 7-21. A number of recent works
224 NOTES TO CHAPTER EIGHT
jewelry, and clocks, but intimate items of apparel. ... These gifts introduce a
highly individual element into an event where much property was passing
according to the concern of family strategy or prescription. One's clothes
continued one's person" (p. 31). Davis calls women, "specialists in this kind of
gift" that represents intimate relationships.
20. Lincoln Wills, p. 197.
21. See the discussion of processions, including funeral processions, in my Introduc-
tion, 'The Moving Subjects of Processional Performance" in Moving Subjects:
Processional PeJformance in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, ed. Kathleen Ashley
and Wim Husken (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2001), pp. 7-34, especially pp. 11-12. On
the black garb of those accompanying the body in procession, see Phillis
Cunnington and Catherine Lucas, Costume for Births, Marriages and Deaths (New
York: Barnes and Noble, 1972), pp. 182-92.
22. Wills from Bury St. Edmunds, pp. 16-18,42; see also the analysis of Baret and his will
by Gail Gibson, The Theater of Devotion: East Anglian Drama and Society in the Late
Middle Ages (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), pp. 72-79.
23. Wills from Doctors' Commons, p. 58.
24. Cunnington, p. 26, describes an early sixteenth-century male"s "'gown" as "worn
over the doublet or jerkin," 'broad-shouldered and loose, made with ample folds
falling from a fitting yoke. It was open down the front." Gowns were usually
'"lined and faced with rich materials or fur" (p. 30).
25. See, ±or example, Mary Douglas and Baron Isherwood, The World of Goods (New
York: Basic Books, 1979). Consumption is defined as "a use of material posses-
sions that is beyond commerce and free within the law." Thus, "consumption is
the very arena in which culture is fought over and licked into shape" (p. 57).
'"Goods ... are ritual adjuncts; consumption is a ritual process whose primary
function is to make sense of the inchoate flux of events" (p. 65).
26. On English sumptuary law, see Frances E. Baldwin, Sumptuary Legislation and
Personal Regulation in England (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press,
1926).
27. Wills from Doctors' Commons, pp. 6-7. On the vogue for luxury furs, see Fran<;:oise
Piponnier and Perrine Mane, Dress in the Middle Ages, trans. Caroline Beamish
(New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997), pp. 73-74. They note that a taste
±or dark furs, especially sable and black lamb, arrived in Europe at the end of the
fourteenth century. 'Awndelettes" of precious metal may be aiguillettes, which
were ornamental shoulder knots.
28. The chappe was a mantle with a long train used for ceremonial occasions,
according to Joan Evans, Dress in Mediaeval France, p. 44.
29. Wills from Doctors' Commons, p. 17. Felicity Heal and Clive Holmes, in fact, note
that be±ore the Reformation it was "clothing to be made into vestments that
predominated in physical bequests to churches-velvet gowns from gentry
wardrobes were constantly being reworked for the benefit oflocal priests." After
the Reformation, clothing gifts declined; now "plate was one of the few meaning-
ful donations from the gentry to the church fabric." The Gentry in England and
Wales 1500-1700 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1994), p. 341.
30. Clive Burgess notes that perpetual chantries of the very rich have been well
scrutinized, but the foundations by the commercial classes of the fifteenth
century have been less studied, "Strategies for Eternity: Perpetual Chantry
Foundation in Late Medieval Bristol," in Religious Beliefand Ecclesiastical Careers in
Late Medieval England, ed. Christopher Harper-Bill (Woodbridge, England: Boy-
dell Press, 1991), pp.1-32.
31. Michael M. Sheehan, C.S.B., "English Wills and the Records of Ecclesiastical and
Civil Jurisdictions," journal ofMedievalHistory 14 (1988): 3.
NOTES TO CHAPTER NINE 287
The preparation of this essay was supported in part through a West Virginia
Humanities Council Fellowship, 2002.
1. Gesta Francorum etAliorum Hierosolimitanorum: The Deeds oftlte Franks and the Other
Pilgrims to jerusalem, ed. R. Hill (London: Thomas Nelson and Sons, Ltd., 1962),
pp. iiii, 7.
2. Paula Sanders, "Robes of Honor in Fatimid Egypt," in Robes and Honor: The
Medieval World of Investiture, ed. Stewart Gordon (New York: Palgrave, 2001), pp.
225-26. During the Abbasid period (750-1258) Egyptian chroniclers used a term
referring to the robe of honor bestowed by the calit; khil' a, as a shorthand tor the
appointment to office.
3. The Fustat Geniza includes records ofjewish international traders from the ninth
to fifteenth centuries. In medieval Hebrew, geniza designates "a repository of
discarded writings ... writings bearing the name of God, after having served their
purpose, should not be destroyed ... but should be put aside in a special room."
S. D. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society; The jewish Communities of the Arab World as
Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza. 2 vols. (Berkeley: University of
California, 1967-1993), 1:1.
4. The hub of the Mediterranean was the Islamic principality which comprised
Tunisia and Sicily; it is represented in the Geniza documents mainly, but not
exclusively, by (a!-) Qayrawan, the inland capital of Tunisia, and its seaport al-
Mahdiyya, and by Palermo, the capital and northern seaport of Sicily, and other
ports of that island. The backbone of the India trade was formed by three centers:
Qus and other towns in Upper Egypt, to which one traveled from Cairo on the
Nile; 'Aydhab and other ports on the Sudanese coast, which were reached from
Qus by crossing the desert; and, above all, Aden in South Arabia. Goitein, A
Mediterranean Society, 1:32.
5. M. Lombard, Etudes d' economie medievale, III, Les textiles dans le monde musulman du
VIle au XIIe siecle. (Paris: Mouton, 1978), p. 55.
6. The word tiraz may indicate embroidery, woven cloth, arm bands, or the textile
workshop. "During the first centuries of Islam it was Egypt that was most
renowned for its textiles, its tiraz, and for several centuries it continued to supply
the caliphate with the cloth for the so-called robes of honor. By extension, the
word tiraz was applied also to the arm bands or brassards of gold thread
decorated with calligraphy that are seen in many Arabic miniatures and that were
conferred on worthy individuals along with the robes of honor. Brocades were
abundantly used for garments, curtains, hangings, and cushions" Alexandre
Papadopoulo, Islam and Muslim Art (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1979), p. 190.
Archaeological excavations of Egyptian graves, undertaken in response to
widespread grave-robbing in the 1930s, noted underneath linen tiraz there were
at times layers of silk funerary wrappings which disintegrated when hanclled by
the excavators. "While tiraz textiles as we know them are characterized by linen
or cotton fabrics with woven or embroidered inscriptions and/ or decorative
bands, the court registers of the Fatimids tor example tell us about sumptuous
and colorful silk garments, gold-woven turbans and jeweled dresses, none of
which seem to have survived or have just not been identified." Jochen A. Sokoly
"Between Life and Death: The Funerary Context of Tiraz Textiles," Islamische
Textilkunst des Mittelalters: Aktuelle Probleme. (Riggisberg, Switzerland: Abegg-
Stiftung, 1997), p. 71.
7. For example, a fundamental distinction was drawn between European cloth and
goods from the Mediterranean basin as in the mention of a royal garment made
228 NOTES TO CHAPTER NINE
of a garment. Blue linen with tapestry bands in tan and black silk. Egypto-Arabic.
XII century The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Rogers Fund, 1927. (27.170.64).
30. Lombard, Etudes, p. 96. "Spain was another point of contact between the Muslims
and Christians. In addition to regular trade, regional politics encouraged the
exchange of gilts among Islamic rulers and Christian princes. In A.D. 9971387
A.H., after a military victory, the Muslim minister, Mansur, rewarded Christian
princes and the Muslims who supported him with 2285 pieces of various kinds of
tiraz silk, 21 pieces of sea wool, 2 robes perfumed with ambergris, 11 pieces of
scarlet cloth, 15 of striped stuff, 7 carpets of brocade, 2 garments of Roman
(Rumi) brocade and 2 marten furs. These items remind us of the Islamic silks
tound in Christian Spain, like the figured silk with Arabic inscriptions found in the
tomb of Bishop Gurb of Barcelona and the Islamic silks used tor Christian liturgy"
Xinru Liu, Silk and Religion, p. 176.
31. The Burgo de Osma silk is also known as "the Baghdad silk." Andalusia, ca.
1100, silk and gilt membrane threads, 17 3 I 4 x 19 5 I 8 in. (45 x 50 em), now
in The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (33.371). Daniel Walker, "Fragment
of a Textile," The Art of Medieval Spain, A.D. 500-1200 (New York, NY: Metropol-
itan Museum of Art, 1993), pp.lOS-9.
32. Baker, Islamic Textiles, p. 61.
33. For mulham, silk-cotton compound textiles, see jean-Michel Tuchscherer, "Woven
Textiles," in M. Calano and L. Salmon, eds., French Textiles from the Middle Ages
Through the Second Empire (Hartford, CT: Wadsworth Antheneum, 1985), p. 17.
34. An eleventh-century fragment from Central Asia now in the Cleveland Museum
of Art (1993.139) has ecru silk warps and cotton foundation wefts laid beside
silver supplementary wefts. James C. Y. Watt and Anne E. Wardwell, When Silk
Was Gold: Central Asian and Chinese Textiles (New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc.),
pp. 50-51.
35. Goitcin, A Mediterranean Society, 1:102.
36. Roger II was the Norman King of the Two Sicilies. See Marielle Martiniani-Reber,
Lyon, musee historique des tissus. Soieries sassanides, coptes et byzantines Ve -XI e siecles
(Paris: Ministere de la Culture et de la Communication, 1986), p. 371.
37. Dressed like a Byzantine emperor, Roger II is pictured in a mosaic at The Church
of the Martorana in Palermo while similar mosaics of William II are on the
crossing piers ofMonreale Cathedral.
38. William Tronzo, "The Mantle of Roger II of Sicily," in Robes and Honor, pp. 241-53.
Part of the coronation regalia of the Holy Roman Emperor, the Mantle of Roger
II is now in the Treasury of the Kunsthistoriisches Museum in Vienna. See the
Insignia of the Holy Roman Empire, in Marie Schuette and Sigrid Muller-Christens-
en, A Pictorial History of Embroidery, trans. Donald King (New York: Frederick A.
Praeger, 1963), illus. 60-62 (coronation manteau); illus. 65-66 (dalmatic); illus. 67,
69, 71 (alb); illus. 68, 70 (gloves).
39. See especially "Rampant dragons and lions" ca. 1207, in Bruno Santi, San Miniato
al Monte (Florence: Becocci, 1999), p. 21.
40. Woven silk, with addorsed and regardant griffins in roundels, Western Mediterranean
(Spanish?) or East Iranian (?), late thirteenth- through early fourteenth century,
Lampas weave, silk, and gilt parchment over cotton yarn: 69 1 I 4" x 3 8 1 I 4 in.
(175.9 x 97.2 em), The Cloisters Collection, 1984 (1984.344) in Mirror of the
Medieval World, ed. William D. Wixom (New York, NY: The Metropolitan
Museum of Art, 1999), pp. 112-14.
41. Figure, ca. 1200; Seljuq, Iranian; Attributed to Iran. Painted stucco; H. 57 in. (144.8
em), Max. W 19 112 in. (49.5 em), Max. Diam. 9 112 in. (24.1 em) Gift of Mr. and
Mrs. Lester Wolte, 1967 (67.119) The Metropolitan Museum of Art, (also
57.51.18) (figure 9.6). See also Figure in stucco from Rhages, Abbasid period (Persia),
NOTES TO CHAPTER NINE 241
twelfth-thirteenth centuries. The Louvre, pictured in R. Huyghe, Larousse Ency-
clopedia ofByzantine and Medieval Art (New York: Larousse, 1958), illus. 232, 288.
42. See figure 9.2. For other examples seeM. Yoshida, In Search ofPersian Pottery (New
York: Weatherhill, 1972), fig. 7; J. Allan and C. Roberts, eds., Syria and Iran: Three
Studies in Medieval Ceramics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), figures A1,
A2,A3.
43. See also, for example, in the British Museum, the patterned band decorating the
upper-sleeve of Cadmus on the Bronze ["Hansa"] bowl engraved with mythological
scenes. Probably German. Twelfth century. Found in June 1824 in the River Severn
between Tewkesbury and Gloucester. In the center, King Cadmus of Thebes,
inventor of the Greek alphabet; medallions show the birth and Labors of
Hercules. M&LA 1921,3-25, 1.
44. For the drawing of Saint-Denis RL3, see Paris, Bibliotheque nationale, MS Fr
15634, fol. 76.
45. For Saint-Benigne, see Dom Urbain Plancher, Histoire generale et particuliere de
Bourgogne (Dijon: 1739, repr., Paris: Editions du Palais Royal, 1974), p. 503.
Patterns appear on all column-figure sculpture at Etampes, at Saint Germain-des-
Pres: L3 (see Johannes Mabillon, Annales Ordinis S. Benedicti, [Paris 1703-39] 2:
169), at Notre-Dame, Paris: L1 (see Dom Bernard de Montfaucon, Les Monuments
de Monarchic Fran{oise, qui comprennent l'Histoire de France [Paris, 1729], 1: Plate 7),
Chartres: LLl, LLZ, RR1, Angers: LZ, Vermenton: R, Saint Denis: RL3. See the
so-called oriental silk colobium in a pattern similar to the Burgo de Osma silk (as
inn. 31) Janice Mann, "Majestat Batll6," The Art of Medieval Spain, A.D. 500-1200
(New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1993), pp. 322-23.
46. Four historiated capitals in the church at Saujon (southwest of Saintes, France),
twelfth century.
47. Fountainhead in Griffin Form, Egypt, eleventh century, Cast bronze with incised
decoration, ca. 39" h., Camposanto Museum, Pisa. Marilyn Jenkins, '1\.1-Andalus:
Crucible of the Mediterranean," The Art of Medieval Spain, A.D. 500-1200 (New
York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1993), p. 81. My thanks to C. T. Little for this
observation. See also Reliefwith the Adoration ofthe Magi. Northern Spain, first half
oftwelfth century, Whalebone, The Victoria and Albert Museum, London (142-
1866), in Charles T. Little, "Relief with the Adoration of the Magi," The Art of
Medieval Spain, p. 287. In addition to the decorative bands bordering all of her
garments, there are pearled stripes in the skirt of the enthroned Virgin similar to
the tiraz fabrics offigures 9.4 and 9.5.
48. 'The so-called Marwan silk with its aligned rows of 'Sasanian pearl' roundels is
indeed a tiraz. Its embroidered Kufic legend in split-stem-stitch names the place
of production as Ifriqiya, a region outside Umayyad control during the caliphate
of Marwan I (684-85), so the Marwan given as Commander of the Faithful (a
caliphal title) in the inscription was presumably Marwan II (744-50). The second
fragment in the Textile Museum, Washington, D.C. (inv.no. 73.524), also refers to
Marwan but this has a very different structure, of wool worked in a fine-toothed
tapestry weave with z-spun weft and z-plied warp. These weave details suggest it
was made in the eastern Islamic lands (Kuhne! and Bellinger, 1952)," Baker,
Islamic Textiles, p. 57.
49. For a discussion of carving methods, see Vibeke Olson, "Oh Master, You are
Wonderful! The Problem ofLabor in the Ornamental Sculpture of the Chartres
Royal Portal," AVISTA Forum journal 13.1 (2003): 6-13; and Janet Snyder, "Written
in Stone: The Impact of the Properties of Quarried Stone on the Design of
Medieval Sculpture," AVISTA Forum]ournal13.1 (2003): 1-5.
242 NOTES TO CHAPTER TEN
50. For a concise discussion of the cloth trade at the Fairs of Champagne, see E. Jane
Burns, Courtly Lave Undressed, Reading through Clothes in Medieval French Culture
(Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), pp. 190-91.
A grant from the Institute for Humanities Research at UC Santa Cruz aided in the
preparation of this paper. My thanks to Brian Catlos, Will Crooke, Carla Freccero,
Virginia Jansen, and Karen Mathews for advice of various kinds.
1. This passage occurs in an interpolation unique to BN 794, attributed to the scribe
Guiot of Provins. Chretien de Troyes, Erec et En ide, ed. Mario Roques (Paris:
Champion, 1976), p. xlix.
2. La Prise de Cordres et de Sebille: Chanson de geste du XIIe siecle, ed. Ovide Densusianu
(Paris: Firmin Didot, 1896), 1. 732; Raoul de Cambrai, ed. and trans. Sarah Kay
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), 11. 7998, 8003; Le Siege de Barbastre, ed. Bernard
Guidot (Paris: Champion, 2000), 11. 1368, 4297-4300. The Old French term "paile,"
frequently used to designate silk, derives from the Latin "pallium"-an ecclesias-
tical mantle worn by archbishops and, by extension, the precious material out of
which it is made.
3. Anna Muthesius, Studies in Byzantine and Islamic Silk Weaving (London: Pindar
Press, 1995) p. 142. On silk chasubles, seep. 122.
4. E. Jane Burns, Courtly Love Undressed: Reading Through Clothes in Medieval French
Culture (Philadelphia: University ofPennsylvania Press, 2002), chapter 6. My tocus
on silks from Islamic Almeria complements Burns' study of eastern, Islamic and
particularly Byzantine, silks, pp. 182-97.
5. "Imaginary" here and in my title translates the French imaginaire, the term used
by Jacques Le Goff in his study of medieval mentalities, L'Imaginaire medievale
(Paris: Gallimard, 1985). See also Evelyne Patlagean, "L'Histoire de l'imaginaire"
in La Nouvelle Histoire, ed. Jacques Le Goff (Paris: Retz CEPL, 1978; repr. Editions
Complexe, 1988), pp. 307-34.
6. Edward W Said, Orienta/ism (New York: Random House, 1978). In Saracens: Islam
in the Medieval European Imagination (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002),
John V. Tolan traces permutations in the medieval textual tradition.
7. See Robert Bartlett, "Medieval and Modern Concepts of Race and Ethnicity,"
journal ofMedieval and Early Modern Studies 31:1 (2001): 39-56.
8. R. B. Serjeant, Islamic Textiles: Material for a History up to the Mongol Conquest
(Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1972), p. 165.
9. Serjeant, Islamic Textiles, p. 170, quoting tram the Book of Roger, written by the
Muslim geographer al-Idrisi for King Roger II of Sicily (of whom more below) in
the mid-twelfth century.
10. May, Silk Textiles of Spain: Eighth to Fifteenth Century (New York: Hispanic Society
of America, 1957), p. 12; Aye d'Avignon: chanson de geste anonyme, ed. S.]. Borg,
Textes Litteraires Fran<;:ais (Geneva: Droz, 1967), I. 916; and Le Roman d'Eneas, ed.
and trans. Aime Petit (Paris: Livre de Poche, 1997), 1. 4099.
11. On the shroud of Saint Lazarus, the falconer roundels alternate with roundels
containing a sphinx. Les Andalousies: de Damas aCordoue (Paris: Institut du Monde
Arabe, 2000), pp. 136-37. The inscription "al-Muzaffar" on the falconer's belt, an
honorific title granted to the C6rdoban vizier 1\.bd al-Malik, dates the silk to 1007-
1008. Eva Baer, "The Suaire de St. Lazare: An Early Datable Hispano-Islamic
Embroidery," Oriental Art 13 (1967): 36-37 [36-48]. An inscription on the Becket
'JOTES TO CHAPTER TEN 242
chasuble says it was made in Almeria in A.H. 510 (1116). Annabelle Simon-Cahn,
"The Permo Chasuble of St. Thomas Becket and Hispano-Mauresque Cosmolog-
ical Silks: Some Speculations on the Adaptive Reuse of Textiles," Muqarnas 10
(1993), 1 [1-5].
12. For the Durham silk, see Muthesius, Byzanline and Islamic Silk Weaving, pp. 89-93.
The other examples are from Cristina Partearroyo, '1\Jmoravid and Almohad
Textiles," inAl-Andalus: The Art ofislamic Spain, ed.Jerrilynn D. Dodds (New York:
Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992), pp. 106-7 [105-13].
13. Partearroyo, "Textiles," pp. 105-6. This list exemplifies the heterogeneity of
modern nomenclature, which might identifY a silk by the saint or prelate \vith
whom it has been associated, the site where it was uncovered, or a distinctive
motif or design.
14. Provins was the site of one ofthe great trade fairs of Champagne, as well as the
home of Guiot de Provins, presumed author of the interpolation recounting
Enide's donation. The chasuble's association with the abbey of Saint Jacques
suggests a possible link to the Santiago pilgrimage
15. Though Edmund Rich, archbishop of Canterbury, died in 1241, the silk is dated
to the twelfth century on stylistic grounds. Dame! Walker, "Chasuble of Saint
Edmund," in The Art of Medieval Spain, A.D. 500-1200 (New York: Metropolitan
Museum of Art, 1993), p. 107. For a technical description oflampas weave, see
Scott, Book of Silk (London: Thames and Hudson, 1933), pp. 101, 238.
16. RobertS. Lopez, "Mohammed and Charlemagne: A Revision," Speculum 18:1
(1943): 37 [14-38].
17. According to tradition, the two pieces found wrapping the relics of Santa Librada
in Siguenza were taken during Alfonso VII of Castile's conquest of Almeria (of
which more below). Similarly, the "Lion Stranger," part of the dalmatic of San
Bernardo Calvo, bishop of Vich (in Catalonia), is thought to have been taken
during James I of Aragon's conquest of Valencia (1238). Partcarroyo, '1\lmoravid
and Almohad Textiles," in Al-Andalus, p. 107.
18. R. A. Fletcher, "Reconquest and Crusade in Spain c. 1050-1150," Transactions of
the Royal Historical Society, Fifth Series, 37 (1987): 35-36.
19. For a literary representation of such an alliance, see Sharon Kinoshita, "Fraterniz-
ing with the Enemy: The Crusader Imaginary in Raoul de Cambrai," In L'Epopee
mfdievale: Actes du XVe Congres International de Ia Societe Rencesvals. Vol. 2 (Poitiers:
Centre d'Etudes Superieures de Civilisation Medievale, 2002), pp. 695-703. For an
inverse example, see Brian A. Catlos, '"Mahomet Abenadalill': A Muslim Merce-
nary in the Service of the Kings of Aragon (1290-1291)," in In and Around the
Medieval Crown of Aragon: Studies in Honor of Proftssor Elena Lourie, ed. Harvey
Hames (Leiden, the Netherlands: Brill, forthcoming).
20. Joseph F. O'Callaghan, A History ofMedieval Spain (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University
Press, 1975), p. 127; R. B. Serjeant, Islamic Textiles, p. 169.
21. On the marginalization of the Iberian peninsula in "postcolonial medievalism,"
see Kathleen Biddick, "Coming Out of Exile: Dante on the Orient Express" in The
Postcolonial Middle Ages, ed. Jeffrey Jerome Cohen (New York: Palgrave, 2000), p.
16, n49 [35-52], and Bruce Holsinger, "Medieval Studies, Postcolonial Studies, and
the Genealogies of Critique," Speculum 77 (2002): 1202-03 [1195-1227].
22. Ebles was a Champenois noble who took part in the campaign Pope Gregory VII
called against Spanish Muslims. His sister Felicie married King Sancho (1063-
1094) of Aragon, making him the maternal uncle of kings Peter I and Alfonso the
Battler. Rotrou of Perche (in Normandy), who served in Alfonso's Ebro valley
campaigns, was another nephew, son ofEbles's sister Beatrice. Marcelin Defour-
neaux, Les Franrais en Espagne aux XIe et XIIe siecles (Paris: Presses Universitaires de
France, 1949).
244 NOTES TO CHAPTER TEN
24. I take the concept of the lady and magician from Amy Richlin, who uses the
metaphor to discuss feminist studies regarding Ovid and rape. Richlin, "Reading
Ovid's Rapes," in Pornography and Representation in Greece and Rome, ed. Amy
Richlin (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), pp. 158-79.
25. Boethius, Consouuion, l.pr.l. I alter Watts's translation in light of O'Donnell's
interpretation of.firmosas imagines.
26. See for example Boethius, The Consolation ofPhilosophy, trans. P G. Walsh (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1999), p. 116 n3. See also Courcelle, La Consolation, pp.17-28, and
Henry Chadwick, Boethius: The Consolations of Music, Logic, Theology, and Philoso-
phy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), pp. 225-26.
27. According to the Carolingian philosopher Prudentius ofTroyes. See Chadwick,
"Theta on Philosophy's Dress in Boethius," Medium Aevum 49.2 (1980):175-79;
and Chadwick, Boethius, pp. 225-26.
28. O'Donnell's notes to Consolatio, l.pr.l.
29. Harriet I. Flower, Ancestor Masks and Aristocratic Power in Roman Culture (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1996), esp. pp. 32-59.
30. Flower, Ancestor Masks, pp. 115-26.
31. As in Ovid's Amores 1.8.65-66. Qtd. in Flower, Ancestor Masks, p. 301.
32. See Cicero, In Pisonem I. Qtd. in Flower, Ancestor Masks, pp. 286-87.
33. Flower, Ancestor Masks, p. 119. On the lasting legislation associating women,
ti.merals, and conspicuous consumption, see Alan Hunt, Governance ofthe Consum-
ing Passions (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1996), esp. pp. 18-19,393.
34. See Margaret Alexiou, The Ritual of Lament in Greek Tradition (Cambridge,
England: Cambridge University Press, 1974), esp. p. 21.
35. Boethius, Consolation, l.pr.l.
36. Boethius, Consolation, l.pr.3.
37. 'Raptus,' in Jan Frederik Niermeyer, Mediae Latinitatis lexicon minus (New York: E.
]. Brill, 1993), and R.E. Latham, Revised Medieval Latin Wordlist from British and
Irish Sources (London: Oxford University Press, 1965).
38. See, for example, MS New York, Pierpont Morgan Library 222, to!. Ir, fol.4r; and
MSS Paris, B.N. fran~ais 1098, fol.2v, and B.N. lat. 6643, fol.24r. Courcelle, La
Consolation, pp. 90-99, esp. plates 52-58. In the sixteenth century, however,
representations of Philosophy revert back to eleventh-century iconography
Courcelle, La Consolation, p. 96.
39. See above n38. Courcelle, La Consolation, pp. 92-3.
40. Judith Butler, "Introduction," in Bodies that Matter (New York: Routledge, 1993),
p. 15.
41. Paxson, Poetics, pp. 173-4.
42. "Boeces establist et represente soi en partie de homme trouble et tourmente et
demene par passions sensibles et establist Philosophie en partie de homme eleve
et ensuivant les biens entendibles." V. L. Dedeck-H§ry, "Boethius' De Consolatione
by Jean de Meun," in Medieval Studies 14 (1952):171 [165-275]. 'Homme' in this
passage can obviously be read as a gender biased form of 'human'; since
Philosophy is presented here as a distinct part ofBoethius, however, I believe that
her masculine identification suggests connotations beyond grammatical gender.
43. Kay, "Women's Body," in Framing Medieval Bodies, p. 226.
44. Boethius, Consolation, l.pr.l.
45. Unfortunately, the significance of this "imperishable material" is too complex to
treat properly within the confines of this article. On the tradition see Boethius,
Consolation, trans. Walsh, p. 116 n.3. See n.26 above.
46. 'Materia,' in Lewis and Short.
47. See Elizabeth Spelman, "Woman as Body: Ancient and Contemporary Views,"
Feminist Studies 8.1 (1982):109-31.
NOTES TO CHAPTER TWELVE 249
48. On the unchangeable chora, see Plato's Timaeus in Plato: The Collected Dialogues,
ed. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, N]: Princeton University
Press, 1961), esp. paragraph 50c. See also Butler, "Bodies that Matter," in Bodies,
pp. 27-55.
49. Butler, "Bodies that Matter," in Bodies, pp. 49, 50.
50. Luce Irigaray, "La Mysterique," Speculum ofthe Other Woman, trans. Gillian C. Gill
(Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1985), p. 192.
51. Macrobius, Commentary on the Dream of Scipio, trans. William Harris Stahl (New
York: Columbia University Press, 1990), pp. 86-87.
52. For example, in l.m.Z and l.pr.4.
53. As in Cicero's De NaturaDeorum 3, 22, 55. 'Natura,' in Lewis and Short.
54. Macrobius, Commentary, pp. 86-87.
55. Karma Lochrie, "Don't Ask, Don't Tell: Murderous Plots and Medieval Secrets,"
in Premodern Sexualities, ed. Louise Fradenburg and Carla Freccero (New York:
Routledge, 1996), p. 143. See also Lochrie, "Men's Ways of Knowing: The Secret
of Secrets and the Secrets of Women," in Covert Operations: The Medieval Uses of
Secrecy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), pp. 93-134.
56. Hunt, Governance, pp. 246-48. The stripping of prostitutes was also a common
punishment, a type of literal enactment of her performance of the state of
undress (Hunt, pp. 243-45). See also Leah Lydia Otis, Prostitution in Medieval
Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985), pp. 21, 67. In addition, in the
late Middle Ages, the terms 'public women' and 'lost girls' further underscored
the association of prostitutes with openness and loss. See Otis, Prostitution, p. 50.
57. Thomas A. McGinn. Prostitution, Sexnality, and the Law in Ancient Rome (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 156-71,208-11. See also Jane F. Gardner,
Women in Roman Law and Roman Society (Bloomington: Indiana University Press,
1986), pp. 129, 251-52. The cross-dressed prostitute reappears in medieval sump-
tuary laws. See Otis, Prostitution, p. 80.
58. Lochrie, 'Don't Ask," Premodern Sexnalities, p. 143.
59. See Danielle Jacquart and Claude Thomasset, Sexuality and Medicine in the Middle
Ages, trans. Matthew Adamson (Princeton, N]: Princeton University Press, 1988),
pp. 23-24.
1. See most importantly E. Jane Burns, Courtly Love Undressed: Reading Through
Clothes in Medieval French Culture (Philadelphia: University of Penn Press, 2002). A
fine study which writers on mainstream literature might overlook is Jean-Charles
Huchet, "Le Roman mis a nu:]aufre," Litterature 74 (1989): 91-99.
2. The theme of flaying remains relatively unstudied in medieval literature, but see
W R. ]. Barron, 'The Penalties tor Treason in Medieval Life and Literature,"
journal ofMedieval History 7 (1981 ): 187-202 and, on the iconography of Cambyses,
Hugo van der Velden, "Cambyses tor Example: The Origins and Function of an
exemplum iustitiae in Netherlandish Art of the Fifteenth, Sixteenth, and Seven-
teenth Centuries," Simiolus 23 (1995): 5-39. I intend to pursue research in this area.
3. ]. ]. Sttirzinger, ed., Le Pi:lerinage de vie humaine de Guillaume de Deguileville,
(London: Nichols, 1893). All quotations and references are from this edition. The
subsequent volumes in the trilogy are Le Nlerinage de I'a me and Le Pi:lerinage ]esu
Christ. Deguileville's name is spelled in a variety of ways and I follow the editor's
usage.
250 NOTES TO CHAPTER TWELVE
4. The second version remains unpublished, but was translated/ adapted by Lyd-
gate. Deguileville's other best-known reader is Chaucer, whose ABC poem to the
Virgin is imitated from the Pderinage de vie humaine. On the manuscripts, see
Michael Camille, The Illustrated Manuscripts of Guillaume de Deguileville's "Nleri-
nages," 1330-1426, Ph.D. thesis (Cambridge University, 1985) and Master of Death:
the Lifeless Art of Pierre Remiet, Illuminator (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press,
1996 ). On Chaucer as reader of Deguileville, see Helen Phillips, "Chaucer and Degui-
leville: The ABC in context," Medium Aevum 62.1(1993 ): 1-19.
5. Jacques Lacan, The Seminar ofjacques Lacan, ed. Jacques-Alain Miller, Book VII,
The Ethics of Psychoanalysis 1959-60, trans. Dennis Porter (London: Routledge,
1992), p. 83.
6. Phillips, "Chaucer and Deguileville," pp. 2, 10.
7. See C. de Hamel, Scribes and Illuminators (London: British Museum Press, 1992),
pp. 13-15; Gerhard Moog, "Haute und Pelle zur Pergamentherstellung. Eine
Betrachtung histologische Merkmale ," in Pergament. Geschichte, Struktur, Restauri-
erung, Herstellung, ed. Peter Ruck (Sigmaringen: Jan Thorbecke Verlag, 1991), pp.
171-81.
8. The Illustrated Manuscripts, p. 192. Analogously, BNF fr. 12465 has a "muddy
colour and bare vellum backgrounds still showing the ruling beneath," indicating
that its owner "sought instruction rather than delight" (The Illustrated Manu-
scripts, p. 119).
9. Master of Death, p. 91.
10. Master of Death, p. 135
11. The concept of suture, developed in film studies, designates a short circuiting
between levels in such a way as to expose the artificiality of their separation in the
first place. In this way, it points towards a previously occluded universality. See
Slavoj Zizek, "Da Capo Senza Fine," in Judith Butler, Ernesto Laclau, and Slavoj
Zizek, ContingenC)\ Hegemony, Universality: Contemporary Dialogues on the Left
(London: Verso, 2000), pp. 237-38 [pp. 213-62].
12. The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psycho-analysis, trans. Alan Sheridan, Introduc-
tion by David Macey (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1994), p. 103.
13. Courtly Love Undressed, for example pp. 12, 14, 22,24-26.
14. Jean Pepin, "Saint Augustin et le symbolisme neoplatonicien de Ia veture," in
Augustinus Magister. Congres international augustinien, Paris, 21-24 septembre 1954
(Paris: Etudes Augsutiniennes, 1955), 1:293-306, shows that this process of regress
is already present in Augustine's conception of the body as the clothing of the
soul, since that clothing is always already double.
15. Didier Anzieu, The Skin Ego, trans. Chris Turner (New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press, 1989), p. 40. Previously, Anzieu has explained that "[t]he development of a
Skin Ego is a response to the need tor a narcissistic envelope and guarantees the
psychical apparatus a sure and continuous sense of basic well-being" (p. 39).
Anzieu, initially a student of Lacan, dissociated himself from him and attached
himself instead to the English school of post-Kleinian object-relations theorists.
16. The Skin Ego, p. 63.
17. The Skin Ego, p. 9.
18. Courtly Love Undressed, p. 13.
19. "Philology and its Discontents," in The Future ofthe Middle Ages: Medieval Literature
in the 1990s, ed. William D. Paden (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1994),
p.117[pp.113-41].
20. Keith Busby, Codex and Context: Reading Old French Verse Narrative in Manuscript
(Amsterdam & New York: Rodopi, 2002).
21. For this discussion of the commodity in the first chapter of Marx's Capital, see
Slavoj ZiZek, The Sublime Object of Ideology (London: Verso, 1989), pp. 11-28.
NOTES TO CHAPTER TWELVE 251
22. Louise Fradenburg, '"So that we may speak of them': Enjoying the Middle Ages,"
New Literary History 28.2 (1997), p. 218 [205-30]; Sarah Kay; 'Analytical Survey 3:
The 'New Philology,"' New Medieval Literatures 3 (2000), pp. 316-20 [295-326].
23. What tallows arises from my Slavoj Zizek. A Critical Introduction (Cambridge,
England: Polity, 2003). See in particular pp. 31-33, and, for Zizek's account of
representation, p. 72. The Zizekian text on which I draw most heavily in this
present essay is The Indivisible Remainder: An Essay on Schelling and Related Matters
(London: Verso, 1996).
24. Jacques Lacan, Ecrits (Paris: Seuil, 1966), p. 835.
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respectively, New York, Pierpoint Morgan M 772; Munich Bayrisches Staatsbiblio-
thek, Cod. Gall. 30; and BNF fr. 1818. This last is the one used as base by
Stiirzinger for his edition.
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Kathleen Ashley is Professor of English at the University of Southern Maine. She has
research interests in medieval and early modern cultures generally, and is currently
pursing a project in the Burgundian archives on urban bourgeois families.
Madeline Harrison Caviness is Mary Richardson Professor and Professor of Art History
at Tufts University. Among her numerous books and articles are: Medieval Art in the West
and its Audience (Aldershot, England: Variorum reprints, 2001); Visualizing Women in the
Middle Ages: Sight, Spectacle and Scopic Economy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 2001), and Reconfiguring Medieval Art: Diffrrence, Margins, Boundaries (Medford, MA:
Tufts University electronic book, 2001: http: I I nils.lib.tufts.edul Caviness).
Dyan Elliott is Professor ofHistory and Adjunct Professor ofReligious Studies at Indiana
University. She is the author of Spiritual Marriage: Sexual Abstinence in Medieval Wedlock
(1993), Fallen Bodies: Pollution, Sexuality, and Demonology in the Middle Ages (1999), and
Proving Woman: Female Spirituality and Inquisitional Culture in the Late Middle Ages (2004).
Ruth Mazo Karras is Professor of History at the University of Minnesota. She is the
author of From Boys to Men: Formations of Masculinity in Late Medieval Europe; Common
Women: Prostitution and Sexuality in Medieval England; and articles on medieval gender and
sexuality.
2 74 AUTHOR BIOGRAPHIES
Sarah Kay is Professor of French and Occitan Literature at the University of Cambridge,
UK. Her most recent books are Courtly Contradictions: The Emergence of the Literary Object
in the Twelfth Century (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001) and Ziiek: A Critical
Introduction (Cambridge: Polity, 2003). She is currently working on late medieval didactic
literature in French.
Sharon Kinoshita teaches medieval French and World Literature and Cultural Studies
at the University of California, Santa Cruz. She is completing a book on French literary
representations of cultural contact.
Janet Snyder is Associate Professor in the Division of Art at West Virginia University and
she lectures regularly at the Cloisters of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Her publica-
tions have addressed the limestone used for sculpture during the mid-twelfth century in
north central France, and the representation of contemporary textiles and dress in that
sculpture.
Claire Sponsler teaches in the English Department at the University oflowa. She is the
author of Drama and Resistance (Minnesota) and editor of East of West: Crosscultural
Peiformance and the Staging ofDifference (Palgrave).
clavi, 152
clergy, 15, 18, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 63, 65, fair, 164, 175
67, 68, 69, 123, 143, 145, 164, 169 falcon, 45, 46, 47, 52
cloak, 126, 131, 147, 148, 155, 174 Fatimid, 152, 154, 155, 157, 162, 168, 172
commerce, 135, 149, 150, 151, 172, 176 feet, 14, 59, 62, 94, 109. See aLso foot,
Constantinople, 173 footvvear
cope, 58, 169 feminine, 2, 5, 17, 88, 90, 91, 92, 93, 98, 99,
Coptic, 151 100,101, 102,103, 104, 131,132, 177,
Cordoba, 169 178,179,184,186, 18~ 188,189,190,
Corinth, 157 191, 196
coronation, 25, 30, 174 feminist,Z, 3,4, 5, 14, 18, 72, 84, 87, 99,188
cotton, 141, 150, 156 feudal, 16, 167, 173
court, 6, 21, 36, 43, 45, 52, 75, 86, 123, 124, finger, 9, 62, 102
133, 135, 168, 172, 173 Flanders, 97, 175
courtly, 6, 10, 11, 14, 20, 37, 45, 46, 47, 48, flax, 149, 150, 151, 171
49, 52, 149, 158, 164, 173, 196, 19~ fleece, 100, 151
205 floral, 154, 158, 159
crimson, 144 foot, 41, 43. See aLso feet, footvvear
crovvned, 30, 36, 75,108,157,158,203 footvvear, 36. See also feet, foot
crusade, 2, 123, 125, 126, 132, 135, 154, Freud, Sigmund, 3
158, 164, 167, 170 funeral, 122, 124, 142, 143, 145, 183, 184
cuff, 151, 155, 158 fur, 104, 123, 126, 127, 128, 144, 172
curtain, 102 Fustat, 149, 150, 151
hat, 9, 181 Latin, 16, 17, 18, 19, 56, 75, 167, 168, 170,
head, 36, 61, 101, 108, 111, 113, 152 171, 172, 174, 176
hem, 99, 113, 123, 152, 162, 182, 185 law, 50, 56, 64, 66, 68, 122, 123, 124, 125,
hemp, 100 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134,
Herod, 59, 161 135, 136, 144, 183, 190
hip, 162 leather, 14, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 47, 52,
holes, 35, 40, 152, 186, 190, 195 203
Holy Land, 149, 162, 163, 164 legal, 1, 6, 13, 16, 18, 42, 43, 122, 123, 142,
honor,22,32,36,48,50,52,53,64,66,69, 146
102, 13~ 143, 153, 16~ 174 legs, 9, 108, 110, 113, 116, 162
horse, 122, 128, 132, 140, 158, 172 Leiden, 35, 39, 41, 45, 47
Hungarian, 172 Levant,Z, 134,149,154,156,171
linen, 5, 8, 16, 79, 95, 107, 118, 149, 150,
husband,27,36,44,48, 71, 72, 73, 76, 79,
151, 154, 155, 163
80, 81, 82, 84, 85, 86, 99,100, 127,129,
lion, 168, 169, 173, 174
131, 133, 135, 141, 145
London,25,26,30,31,32,95,99,138,143
loom, 94, 97, 101, 102, 103, 104, 151, 154
Iberia, 16, 168, 174, 156, 169, 170, 172,
lord, 44, 78, 125, 154
174, 175
loros, 157
ikat, 154
love,6, 14,36,37,38,44,45,46,47,48,49,
India, 150, 171
50, 51, 52, 53, 76, 77, 79, 80, 81, 84,
indigo, 171
132, 134, 135, 177
Iran, 150, 173
Low Countries, 2, 14, 36, 37, 38, 39, 42, 47,
Iraq, 151
49,50,51,53
Irigaray, Luce, 5, 177, 188
Isfahan, 168
Maghreb, 175
Islamic, 2, 16, 148, 149, 150, 151, 153, 154,
maniple, 57, 58, 59, 61
155, 156, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 164,
marriage, 14, 15, 18, 23, 37, 38, 42, ,43, 44,
167, 170, 172, 173, 175, 176
50,51,52,53,73,75,76,77,78,81,82,
Italian,60,121,127,129,130,133,134,148
83,84,85,88,91,92,102,104,154,165
Italy, 2, 16, 97, 121,122,124,125, 126,127,
Marseille, 126, 171, 175
131, 134, 135, 175
masculine, 103, 186, 188, 190, 191, 196
mask, 5, 182, 183
Jerusalem, 124, 154 Mediterranean, 6, 16, 18, 95, 125,149,150,
jewelry, 10, 12, 71, 141, 142, 144, 149 151,157, 167,168, 170, 171,172, 173,
Jewish, 10, 59, 94, 125, 149, 150, 167 174, 175, 176
journey, 164, 171, 175 merchant,31, 39,49,52,96,97, 121,134,
Jurjan, 168 135, 149, 150, 167, 168, 169, 171, 173,
174, 175, 176
king, 8, 21, 32, 36, 42, 43, 51,101, 110,111, Mesopotamia, 173
113, 117, 123,124, 126,133, 134,166, metal, 9, 40, 127, 130, 141, 149, 162, 173
167, 169, 172, 173, 175 minister, 56, 154
knight, 65,135,143,147,202 monk, 20,63, 169,193
kufic, 159, 160, 162, 168 Montpellier, 124, 125, 126, 127, 129, 130,
131, 133
Lacan,Jacques, 194,196,199,200 moral, 33, 50, 51, 52, 68, 74, 75, 80, 86, 92,
lady, 21, 24, 43, 46, 75, 77, 78, 82, 84, 86, 125,126,129,130,180,200,202,204
88, 100, 126, 131, 132, 133, 135, 143, Morocco, 150, 171
181 motit~38,42,43,44,46, 154,155,158,173,
lampas, 168, 169 174
2 78 INDEX
painting, 12, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, Saujon, 162
28,29,33,40,44,58,95,105,109,113, scarlet, 123, 128, 129, 135
117,118,154,159,160,174,196 seam, 127, 152, 153, 158
Palermo, 157, 174 serpent, 180
sex, 17, 95, 124, 197
Palestine, 150
sharb, 150
Paris, 8, 21, 23, 24, 25, 60, 73, 78, 80, 82,
shawl, 184
95, 98, 128, 161
sheep,67, 151,203
pattern, 13, 15, 52, 58, 97,105, 106,107,
shoes, 5, 14,37,38,39,40, 41,42,43,44,
108, 111, 117,118, 119,122, 151,154,
50, 51, 52, 53, 59, 145
155, 158, 160, 162, 168, 185
shoulder, 57, 58, 59, 61, 110, 111, 113, 117,
peacock, 168
147, 152, 153, 158, 160
pearls, 77, 127, 149, 155, 174
Sicily, 16, 124, 150,151, 157, 158, 173,174
peasant, 71, 102, 104
silk, 5, 9, 16, 32, 58, 95, 96, 100, 103, 104,
Persia, 6, 133, 173
118, 121, 126, 127, 129, 130, 132, 133,
pilgrim, 9, 154, 158, 194, 195, 201,202,
144, 149, 150, 151, 154, 155, 156, 157,
203,204
158,163, 165,166, 167, 168,169, 170,
Pisa, 124, 162
171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176
pleat, 126, 149, 150, 151, 155
silver, 43, 127, 132, 135, 144, 165, 166
Portugal, 124
skirt, 148, 155, 162
priest, 15, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 63, 64, 65, 66, slave, 44, 77, 84, 92, 93, 175, 176
67, 68,69, 110,145
sleeve, 8, 151, 153, 158, 160, 161
Provence, 121, 122, 125, 135 Spain, 124, 133, 150, 151, 155, 156, 157,
purple, 59, 126, 144, 168, 170 172, 175
Pyrenees, 173 Islamic Spain, 155, 175
Muslim Spain, 2, 16, 18
queen,24,32,92, 168 spinning, 91, 92, 93, 95,96, 98, 99, 100, 101,
104, 151
Rahban, 150 spinster, 91, 99, 100
red, 107, 141, 168, 174, 195 stemma, 157
relic,9, 150,168,169,170 stole, 57, 58, 59, 61, 66
religion, 33, 146, 167, 176, 194,201 surplice, 57, 58, 68
religious, 1, 6, 8, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 20, 21, Syria, 9, 150, 156,172
24, 123, 133, 145, 167, 169, 173, 193,
194, 198 tapestry, 14, 19,20,21, 22,23,24,25,26,
ritual, 6, 15, 42, 56, 57, 60, 61, 63, 64, 65, 27,28,29,30,31,32,34,44, 102,103,
6~ 139,168,183,184,189 150, 153, 154, 155, 162
INDEX 2 79