The cultural expectations restraining women of the renaissance formed a structure heavily supported by literary works enjoying contemporary popularity. Among these were Virgil’s Aneid, a classic highly influential at the time, and Castiglione’s The Book of the Courtier, an immensely popular study of manners in which a great deal of discussion is devoted to proper female comportment. The Aneid narrates to the reader the tragic fall of the love-struck Queen Dido of Carthage from her former position of power and grace. The ambivalently related tale of the proud and noble Amazonian warrior, Camilla, follows much later, detailing her courage and ferocity in battle as well as sharp criticism of her faults. The Courtier, for its part, purports to take place under the authority of women, and involves the explicit discussion of what constitutes noble and respectable female behavior. In both of these works, oblique appearances contrast with other and more subtle stories within. Abstract and symbolic references also carry easily overlooked implications regarding their objects, which are not necessarily at all positive.
Queen Dido makes an impressive entry into the pages of the Aneid. With an authoritative ambience, which is quite suited to her role as a decisive leader, she sweeps into the temple of Juno trailed by loyal followers. The description of her vitality and splendor flows smoothly out of discussion of Aeneas’ examinations of artwork representing Penthesilia, the gallant Amazonian warrior who fought for love of Hector during the Trojan War. Given the undisputed heroism and virtue of the latter, this association speaks well for the bearing of the queen and the respect accorded her by her subjects. Dido is, in fact, described as a glorious apparition resembling the hunting goddess Diana in her beauty and strength, in her powerful leadership, and in the joy onlookers drew from the mere sight of her. She, though a woman, carries the sole responsibility of ruling over Carthage. She wields this authority under a quite public light, acclaimed as a ruler not only by those who are her own but also with sincerity by Aeneas and his Trojans. She further stands, at the moment of her meeting the Trojan captain, as a great city-builder, having pulled herself up to this from a desperate beginning, a near escape from her enemies with only a few loyal followers remaining to her. After beginning with little more than the land that she had cleverly enclosed with strips of bullhide, she brought her kingdom up to the point that the shipwrecked men of Troy wondered at the marvelous buildings, the busy roads and fields, and the system of laws and government that had been established, let alone the magnificent temple of Juno and all the art it contained. From all this it would seem the Aneid endorses the concept of a woman having great potential as a ruler unrestrained by any male supervision. Dido’s past, however, is overshadowed by the events that follow.
No reservations are voiced regarding a woman being the agent of all this prosperity, but this stage has barely been set before the reader of the Aneid begins to witness the queen’s downfall. It is granted from the outset that Dido had the power of a goddess ranged against her, but even so, a clear negative message regarding her strength of character is presented. Besides reflecting badly upon her as an individual, it also conveys an impression on women as a whole, Dido being the epic’s most prominent female character. This appears in the images and metaphors used in discussion of her feelings for Aeneas, in the results of these feelings, and in the great attention given the queen’s judgment and emotional state which often comes without a clear link being drawn to the interference of malevolent deities. The first incident which gives one pause regarding her good judgment actually occurs immediately after the introduction of Aeneas, in which Dido, amazingly, says to this man (whom she has met a matter of moments ago) that she would be pleased to divide her authority over Carthage equally with him. She even goes so far as to declare, “This city I build is yours[1].” Soon after, when playing with Amor, disguised as Aeneas’ little son Ascanius, at dinner, the queen is described as “burning” with admiration and tenderness for the boy’s beauty and for the presents which Aeneas has given her out of the artifacts remaining of Troy. Though she is under the influence of the son of Venus here, this mention of burning with passion becomes a warning signal when one recalls the emphasis placed by Virgil and his contemporaries upon action based upon rational, ordered thought, as opposed to that rooted in flights of passion and emotion. She turns away from the Roman virtue of “piety” (the masculine nature: order and control of mind, emotions, and actions) and towards the mortal sin of “furor,” which represents untamed nature, chaos, and unrestrained passion, and is usually associated with the female psyche. Nothing of the tale Aeneas relates, of the misfortunes of himself and his company, truly merits the level of praise she lavishes upon him. For that matter, that which he has told her of himself, she has accepted so trustingly that one is reminded of the Trojans’ being deceived by the Greeks’ Horse. Again the good judgment of Dido becomes questionable as she allows herself, in stereotypical female fashion, to be led by her emotions. In book IV of the Aneid, many more frightening signs appear. References to fire abound, a particularly damning line reading, “Unlucky Dido, burning, in her madness[2],” which is quite clear in its setting her in opposition to the virtue of traditional Roman piety. She is also constantly likened to a wounded doe, such being a creature without reason and overcome by its pain; also an image which fits into and reinforces the concept of feminine emotional and mental weakness. Worst of all is the discovery that all of her attention becomes devoted to Aeneas, her responsibilities quite forgotten. “Towers, half-built, rose no farther; men no longer trained in arms or toiled to make harbors and battlements impregnable. Projects were broken off...[3]” These are images to make a good Roman recoil in horror, and the fact that this catastrophe occurs due to a female ruler being swept away by emotions and “furor” does not speak well for the strength of women as a whole. It speaks ill of her stability as a ruler that within such a brief period after meeting Aeneas, she became so outrageously entranced by him as to make herself and her nation so vulnerable. In fact, much later in the Aneid, when Father Latinus quits his throne, his having “dropped the reins of rule over the state[4]” is not seen as being at all responsible or pious, yet this is what Dido effectively does. Next her virtue is made dubious, as one sees her begin a physical relationship with Aeneas. Those who prize unending loyalty in women, such as the characters of Castiglione’s Courtier, were aghast at this, not so much for the extramarital aspect as for the perceived betrayal by Dido of her husband’s memory; and another stone was laid in the literary image of women as being fickle in their devotion, easily taken up in whirlwind affections. Her action and subsequent behavior toward Aeneas was further unwise due to the hostility it engendered among her rejected suitors, the kings of surrounding peoples. It is when one of these appeals to Jupiter that Mercury is sent to influence Aeneas to take his leave of Carthage. Dido, learning of Aeneas’ intended departure, becomes more and more a character of furor, as “Furious, at her wits’ end, she traversed the whole city, all aflame with rage, like a Bacchante driven wild[5].” One may contrast this with the proper, pious, way in which Aeneas had controlled himself, concealing the anguish in his heart when he brightly encouraged his men following their shipwreck at Carthage. A contrast in the mind of the reader, of male versus female, is inevitably drawn. Again, one comes away with the image of woman being controlled by emotion; man controlling his emotions. The unrestrained rage and grief with which she confronts him, bare of restraint or dignity, only adds to this. At last, sizing up her situation, she takes the “honorable” path of suicide in order to exit with some dignity; yet at this time, the damage to her image is already done. Indeed, even as she commits this final act, it is not in a pious state of mind, but one still furious and unbalanced, and every description of her appearance and behavior then adds to this picture.
It is not until one has nearly reached the end of the Aneid that attention is paid another female character who is not either a goddess or a sibyl. Not nearly so significant a player in the story as Dido, Camilla the Amazon is still fascinating as a portrayal of another nonconventional woman. Penthesilia’s warrior nature met approval because of the cause for which she exercised it, namely, adoring devotion to a man (Hector). Camilla, however, a warrior who does not fight because of any man, becomes the object of a description which criticizes her even while it recounts her prowess in battle. Turnus, when she chooses his side, to fight with him against the Trojan invaders, calls her “glory of Italy[6],” and she is also termed “divine,” yet when it comes to descriptions of her in action, all focus is upon her savagery, the supposed disadvantages of her opponents, the details of their wounds, and the dramas of their deaths, and their emotions. They are generally characterized as innocent, unsuspecting victims of a vicious hunter. She is a glorious, invincible figure, of intense beauty and superhuman strength, regarded almost as an alien creature until her own death makes her again appear vulnerable. While still dealing death on all sides with cleverness and ease, she is characterized, by the contrast between her description and that of her enemies, as a foreign, not quite human, being, while the humanity of her victims is emphasized. From this, and from her constant association with Diana and the nymphs, she is distanced from normal women. She retains a femininity of the same measure as they, not that of a mortal female. The story of a woman accomplishing Camilla’s feats in battle against great male warriors seems revolutionary until one notices that this separation defuses the threat to the status quo by removing her humanity; what she is capable of no longer becomes a serious reflection upon other women.
A book of manners and not merely a pure narrative, Castiglione’s Courtier deals more directly with questions regarding proper female etiquette and behavior, as well as making some explorations of their psychology. Naturally, a great deal of Castiglione’s thoughts as to how women should relate to authority appear in the words he places in his characters’ mouths. The misogynist contingent is given a belligerent voice, but in the discussions, a relatively liberal faction emerges in a much better light. The statements made in this almost Socratic dialogue regarding the nature of women make the Courtier seem remarkably progressive in many respects. Yet from the narrative portion of his book appear many additional ideas, assertions, and implications as to the nature of women whose messages are generally both more insidious and less positive.
The book begins on a somewhat ambiguous note, as Castiglione describes and justifies the freedom and intimacy with which men and women at the Court of Urbino interacted and spoke. The fact that he speaks so highly of these women, praising their merits while he elaborates on how much intelligence, harmony, and mutual respect was shown, is positive enough. Nevertheless, there is a hint of concern beneath this, in his motivation to try to hard to prove that such a situation is acceptable. The situation is not presented as that which should be normal, but rather that which is a remarkable exception, needing to brush Heaven in its perfection in order to be considered decent. The women of the court are described in excellent terms; Emilia Pia was so witty and had such good judgement “she seemed to be in command of all[7].” And the Duchess “influenced those around her… tempered us all to her own character and quality[8].” These qualities are incongruous in the light of what follows, as the women of the court show no inclination to exercise the talents they have been credited with. Emilia Pia must be coaxed to begin the evening’s discussions, and when she reluctantly speaks, it is only to delegate authority to others, suggesting they offer their preferences of which game to play. All is subject to the approval of the Duchess, as she is actually the highest ranking person at court, after her invalid husband, yet her authority does not carry weight. It is unquestionably in her power to guide the events of the evening, and in a measure, she does. Yet the manner in which she exercises her authority, and the obliging attitude with which it is accepted is reminiscent of a child who is permitted to give commands to adults; it only has power because of their good humor, and they remain those who are truly in control. She steps in from time to time to gently guide events with coy verbal taps, accepted with kindness by the men in her company. In fact, she actually prevents women from assuming a more active role; when another lady is about to take a turn to speak, the Duchess imposes silence upon her and bids men speak instead. This is sharply reminiscent of women who, in a sexist environment, contribute to each other’s repression. This is the beginning of a pattern in the Courtier, of women being characterized as passive. Even when misogynists voice quite hostile ideas about women, it is not the women themselves who respond with refutations or even protests, but rather other male guests who rise to defend them. Thus women are objectified, even if they are permitted individuality and freedom enough to be the charming and witty people whom the Duchess and Emilia Pia supposedly are. Progressive ideas which are brought forth in the third book of the Courtier do not truly combat this, not only because of a shortfall in what is said, but also because of this behavior of women themselves. They act out the stereotypes which have been attributed to them in the past and present, they passively remain mute, not defending themselves with rational or witty arguments, and when at last they do react, it is like unreasoning, “furor” filled figures, as when they break the circle in which all had been seated, in order to rush at Signor Gaspare and pretend to beat him for having assailed the worth of women. The scene is compared to the mad and unreasoning frenzy of the Bacchantes, which is reminiscent of the “furor” of Dido. This is unfortunate, since much as the Romans abhorred furor and revered piety, a similar attitude prevailed in this time as well. A further bad sign is women’s having broken the circle that had existed; the circle was an image of beauty and perfection, a concept which is actually stated later in Book Four.
The third book of the Courtier is dedicated to the discussion of the proper characteristics of an ideal court lady. As such, it is only reasonable that, as one of the men says, women should participate in the discussion. They do not, however, do so to any significant degree, their contributions merely consisting of prompting men to speak or plying them with an occasional question. Although the court lady is to have many characteristics which would be respected even in modern times, and though the men speak of examples of women who possessed unusually masculine skills or spirit, she is primarily a very dependent figure. Her existence is contingent upon the Courtier’s, and the common theme running through all her mannerisms, all her abilities, and all her virtues, is one of complementing those of the ideal Courtier. She is given opportunities for education, for sports, and for playing music, and it is decreed vital that she be quick witted and a good judge of character and temperament, yet little in her is genuinely very progressive. It is stated boldly from the beginning that she is to avoid resembling a man, and the ways stated in which it is unfit for a woman to do so are primarily in those which would involve her being physically and psychologically powerful, such as in playing energetic sports, performing on forceful instruments, or having other than a sweet and pliant nature. It is also baldly asserted that “good looks are more important to her than to the Courtier, for much is lacking to a woman who lacks beauty[9],” and greater caution in her behavior towards others is frequently recommended. In brief, the inequality for which she must prepare herself is far reaching. It is also regarded as naturally suitable, sometimes as an axiom, other times on the grounds that “a woman lacks a man’s resources when it comes to defending herself[10].”
An example of inequality within the structure of the book itself is the obsessive attention paid to the question of female chastity. Half of Book Three is devoted to love and chastity, and references to chastity are sprinkled throughout the rest of the book as well. In Book Three, the Magnifico goes into great lengths in explaining the sorts of conversational errors which a woman must avoid in order to prevent her chastity from coming under suspicion. Such range from being too withdrawn, for “it might easily be thought that she was pretending to be straitlaced simply to hide something[11],” to being overly familiar in her behavior with others. When the question of the worth of women comes up, under challenge by misogynist speakers, the matter of chastity is always central. The Magnifico therefore sets about defending women primarily by relating tale after tale of heroic chastity by ancient and contemporary women, most of these stories involving their having endured ghastly violence rather than be dishonored by loss of chastity. Male chastity is discussed, but less in the light of its being a great virtue in itself, but more in the sense of proving men capable of the same strength in this regard as women. The loyalty of women in love must be defended by more stories of heroically devoted women; the assumption being that that of men may be taken for granted. An exception to these patterns of female virtue being discussed is the tale of the women of Chios, who are praised for their heroism at arms, but emphasis is placed more upon their having influenced their men to courage. Queen Isabella is the only other example of a woman being praised for more progressive virtues, as she is lauded for her wisdom and her abilities as a leader and a politician. Nevertheless, although the strength with which she waged war for the recovery of Spain, the respect with which she was obeyed, the efficiency of her government, and the justice with which she wielded her authority are all discussed, her chastity inevitably is also a major issue.
In the end, the Courtier, though advancing many favorable ideas regarding women, and pointing out many of their virtues, hardly demonstrates subversive intent regarding the gender hierarchy of the time. Its choice of virtues to emphasize, and the type of woman it advances as the ideal, simply do not challenge the existing order. The accomplishment for which it deserves praise is the more modest one of combating sheer misogyny, as it opposes eloquently the idea that women are intrinsically flawed, or lacking in virtue or intelligence, and that “where a man’s intellect can penetrate, so along with it can a woman’s[12].” However, in order to accomplish this, it actually uses sexism as a means, for it advances as being appropriate a tremendous distinction between male and female behavior as an alternative to regarding women as being inferior for not being sufficiently manlike. Thus while it attacks the greater evil, it buttresses the lesser one.
These literary words of influence during the Renaissance are thus seen to carry messages regarding women which are only superficially positive. The two present views of women with different implications, yet a similar conclusion of feminine subjection to masculine stability and strength. The Aneid is not explicitly misogynistic, yet presents such a view by the implications and symbolic representations that are sprinkled within its stories of women, as well as by the scarcity of female characters. The Courtier takes a more didactic approach in its prescriptions for feminine behavior, while making its position stronger by the fleeting images of female behavior that occur during its discussions. Hence the Aneid’s approach is primarily inductive, the reader being given questionable incidents of female behavior or highly alienating descriptions of such, while the Courtier tends to reason deductively from principles which are backed by stories which conform to the arguments being made. The two taken together overlap in such a way as to cover both general means by which Renaissance society was saturated with justifications for the status of its women.
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