The Book of the City of Ladies

by Christine Pizan

  I, Christine, came back to her again, saying: ‘My lady, you’re quite right. Yet I’m convinced that there will be plenty of dissenting voices raised against this very text. They’ll say that, though some women of the past or the present might be virtuous, this isn’t the case with all of them, or even the vast majority.’

  Rectitude answered, ‘It’s just not true to say that the vast majority aren’t virtuous. This is clearly proven by what I’ve said to you before: experience tells us that anyone can see for themselves, on any day of the week, how pious and full of charity and goodness women are. Not to mention the fact that it isn’t women who are responsible for all the endless crimes and atrocities that are committed in the world. It’s hardly surprising if not every single one of them is virtuous. In the whole of Nineveh, which was a very large city with a huge population, there wasn’t one good man to be found anywhere when Jonah the prophet was sent by God to destroy it if the people didn’t repent of their sins. Nor was there a single decent man living in the city of Sodom, as became clear when Lot left the place to be consumed by fire sent down from the heavens. What’s more, you shouldn’t forget that, though Jesus Christ’s company only comprised twelve men, there was still one who was evil. To think that men dare to say that all women should be virtuous or that those who aren’t should be stoned! I would ask them to take a good look at themselves and then let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Moreover, to what kind of behaviour should they themselves aspire? I tell you, the day that all men attain perfection, women will follow their example.’

  54. Christine asks Rectitude if it’s true what certain men have said about how few women are faithful in love, and Rectitude gives her reply.

  Going on to a different subject, I, Christine, spoke up once again and said, ‘My lady, let’s put such topics to one side and move on to something else. Departing a little from the kind of things we’ve been talking about up until now, I’d like to ask you a few questions. I hope you won’t mind discussing these matters that I’d like to raise with you: although the subject itself relates to the laws of nature, it does somewhat overstep the bounds of rational behaviour.’

  Rectitude’s answer was, ‘My friend, say what you like. The pupil who puts questions to his teacher in the spirit of enquiry shouldn’t be reprimanded for touching on any subject whatsoever.’

  ‘My lady, there’s a kind of natural attraction at work on earth which draws men to women and women to men. This isn’t a social law but an instinct of the flesh: stimulated by carnal desire, it makes the two sexes love each other in a wild and ardent way. Neither sex has any idea what it is that causes them to fall for each other like this, but they succumb in droves to this type of emotion, which is known as passionate love. Yet men often say that, despite all the protestations of fidelity that a woman in love may make, she not only flits from one lover to another but is also extraordinarily unfeeling, devious and false. They assert that this fickleness in women comes from their lack of moral character. Of all the various authors who have made such criticisms of women, Ovid is particularly virulent in his book, the Art of Love. Having attacked women for their lack of steadfastness in love, Ovid and all the others then go on to claim that they have written their books about the deceitful ways and sinfulness of women for the common good of all: their aim is to warn men about women’s wiles and to teach them how to avoid them, just as if women were snakes hidden in the grass. So, my dear lady, please tell me what the truth of the matter is.’

  Rectitude replied, ‘My dear Christine, as for what they say about women being underhanded, I’m not sure what more I can tell you. You yourself have tackled this issue at length, when you refuted Ovid, along with all the others, in your Letter of the God of Love and the Letters on the Romance of the Rose. However, getting back to what you said about these men’s claims to be writing for the common good, I’ll prove to you that this is definitely not the case. Here’s why: you can’t define something as being for the common good of a city, country or any other community of people, if it doesn’t contribute to the universal good of all. Women as well as men must derive equal benefit from it. Something which is done with the aim of privileging only one section of the population is called a private or an individual good, not a common good. Moreover, something which is done for the good of some but to the detriment of others is not simply a private or an individual good. In fact, it constitutes a type of injury done to one party in order to benefit the other: it thus only profits the second party at the expense of the first. Such writers don’t speak to women in order to teach them to beware the traps laid for them by men, even though it’s undeniable that men very often deceive women by their false appearances and cunning ruses. Besides, it’s beyond doubt that women count as God’s creatures and are human beings just as men are. They’re not a different race or a strange breed, which might justify their being excluded from receiving moral teachings. I can thus only conclude that if these authors were really writing for the common good, they would warn women against the snares set by men as well as advising men to watch out for women.

  ‘Let’s leave these issues for now and go back to your earlier question. What I told you before about those examples of women whose devotion endured until the day they died obviously wasn’t sufficient proof for you that, far from being as inconstant or as fickle in love as these writers maintain, the female sex is in fact extremely steadfast in matters of the heart. The first example I’ll give you is that of the noble Dido, Queen of Carthage. I’ve already described her great determination to you, though you yourself have also mentioned her elsewhere in your own writings.’

  55. On the subject of women’s constancy in love: the example of Dido, Queen of Carthage.

  ‘As I mentioned to you before, Dido, Queen of Carthage, ruled gloriously over her city and led a peaceful and happy existence until the chance arrival of Aeneas on her shores. He had fled Troy after the city had been destroyed and was the princely leader of a great host of Trojans. Having survived terrible storms and shipwrecks, his food supplies had run out and he had lost huge numbers of his men. Penniless and tired of drifting aimlessly at sea, all he wanted was to find some peace. In his search for a place to stop, he had arrived at the port of Carthage. Unwilling to come ashore without having first been given leave to do so, he sent a messenger to the queen to request her permission to bring his ships into harbour. The noble queen, who was as courteous as she was courageous, knew very well that the Trojans had the finest reputation of any nation in the world and that Aeneas was a member of the Trojan royal family. She therefore not only gave him leave to land, but even went down to the sea in person, with a company of illustrious barons, ladies and maidens, in order to greet him herself and receive him and his people with all honours. Dido then invited him back to the city and treated him with great ceremony and lavish hospitality. Why make a long story of it? Aeneas was made to feel so comfortable and pampered during his stay in Carthage that he could scarcely remember all the hardships that he had suffered. He and Dido spent so much time together that eventually Love, who is all too skilled in the art of ensnaring hearts, made them fall in love with each other.

  ‘However, as would soon become obvious, Dido was much more enamoured of Aeneas than he was of her. He gave Dido his word that he would marry no other woman but her and would love her for ever. None the less, he still abandoned her after all she had done not only to restore him to good health and to make him a rich man again but also to repair his ships and make them seaworthy once more, restocking them with provisions and loading them up with riches and treasure. All the wealth she possessed, Dido heaped on the man who had stolen her heart. Yet, unbeknownst to her, he slipped away in his ships like a thief in the night and thus repaid her most handsomely for all her hospitality! The wretched Dido was so devastated by his departure that she lost all interest in life and joy, consumed as she was by her passion for Aeneas. In the end, having uttered many regrets, she threw herself on a great pyre that she had prepar
ed beforehand. Others say that she killed herself with Aeneas’s own sword. Thus it was that the noble Queen Dido met her end, she who had been so exalted above all other women in her time.’

  56. About Medea in love.

  ‘Medea, the supremely learned daughter of the king of Colchis, bore an undying, passionate love for Jason. This Jason was a Greek knight who distinguished himself through his military prowess. He had heard that on the island of Colchis, which lay within Medea’s father’s domain, there was a marvellous ram with a golden fleece that was protected by strange enchantments. Although the task of winning this ram’s fleece seemed to be an impossible one, it had nevertheless been prophesied that a knight would one day succeed in obtaining it. Jason, who was constantly looking for ways to increase his fame, heard this story and immediately left Greece with a great army, for he was determined to prove himself in this task. On Jason’s arrival in the land of Colchis, the king told him that the magic protecting the Golden Fleece was so strong that there was no way that it could be won through the use of arms and that mere military prowess was futile. Since many knights had already died in the attempt, Jason should think twice before throwing his life away in such a swift and careless fashion. Jason replied that he wouldn’t now give up on the task, even if it meant his death. The king’s daughter, Medea, was so struck by Jason’s good looks, royal lineage and impressive reputation that she thought he would make a good match for her. In her desire to show her love for him, she resolved to save him from death, for she felt such compassion that she couldn’t bear to see a knight like him come to any harm. She thus freely engaged him in lengthy conversations and, in short, taught him various charms and spells which she knew would help him succeed in his quest for the Golden Fleece. In return, Jason promised to take no other woman but her for his wife, swearing that he would love her for evermore. However, Jason broke his word. After everything had gone just as he had planned, he left Medea for another woman. She, who would have let herself be torn limb from limb rather than play such a false trick on him, fell into utter despair. Never in her life did she experience happiness or joy again.’

  57. About Thisbe.

  ‘As you well know, in his book Metamorphoses, Ovid tells the following story. In the city of Babylon there lived two rich and noble citizens who were such close neighbours that the walls of their two houses adjoined each other. The two men each had a child, the most beautiful and delightful infants you ever saw. One of them had a son named Pyramus, and the other a daughter called Thisbe. These two children, who were innocent creatures only seven years of age, were already so devoted to each other that they were inseparable. In the mornings, they could hardly wait to get up and have breakfast in their respective houses before being allowed out to play with the other children and to spend time in each other’s company. Not a day went by when Pyramus and Thisbe weren’t to be seen busy together at their games. This went on as they grew older and, with each passing year, the flame of their passion burned ever more fiercely. Unfortunately, they spent so much time with one another that they drew attention to themselves and aroused people’s suspicions. When Thisbe’s mother heard what people were saying, she had her daughter locked in her rooms and declared in no uncertain terms that she would keep her away from Pyramus. The two children were so upset at Thisbe’s confinement that they burst into floods of tears, for it seemed to them that it was more than they could bear to be prevented from seeing each other. Yet, though they had to endure this separation for a long time, their feelings for one another were not in the least weakened or diminished by it. Indeed, despite being kept apart, their love grew all the stronger over the years until they reached the age of fifteen.

  ‘As fate would have it, Thisbe was crying alone in her room one day, her mind totally given over to thoughts of Pyramus, as she stood staring at the wall which divided the two palaces. In a tearful voice, she cried out, “O cruel stone wall, you cause me and my loved one such suffering that, if you had any compassion at all, you would crack a little so that I could at least catch a glimpse of my beloved.” No sooner had she spoken than she happened to glance down at a corner of the wall and noticed that there was indeed a crack, through which she could see the light coming from the room on the other side. She therefore picked away at this crack with the buckle of her belt, for she had no other tool to hand, working away at the wall until the buckle passed right through to where Pyramus would see it, which is exactly what happened.

  ‘Using the belt as a signal to attract each other’s attention, the two lovers managed to talk together through the crack in the wall, exchanging their bitter laments. In the end, their love proved so much for them that they made a secret pact to run away from their parents one night. They would then meet up again outside the city walls near a fountain which stood under a white mulberry tree, a spot where they had played together as children. Thisbe, whose love was the stronger, was the first to reach the appointed place. Whilst she stood waiting for her lover, she was suddenly frightened by the roar of a lion which was headed towards the fountain for a drink. As she ran to hide herself in a nearby bush, she dropped a white veil that she had been wearing. The lion found the veil and vomited on to it the remains of some animals that it had eaten. Pyramus arrived on the scene before Thisbe dared to emerge from the bush and, catching sight of the veil in the moonlight, he could see that it was covered with gore. Convinced that his beloved had been devoured, he was so distraught that he killed himself with his own sword. As he lay there dying, Thisbe came out from her hiding place and found him in this sad state. Seeing the veil that he was still clutching to his breast, she guessed what had caused this tragic accident and, in her terrible anguish, she too lost all will to live. Once she realized that there was no life left in her lover’s body, she let out great cries of grief and promptly killed herself with the same sword.’

  58. About Hero.

  ‘The young noblewoman Hero was no less enamoured of Leander than Thisbe was of Pyramus. In order to protect Hero’s good name, Leander preferred to keep their love a secret and risk his own life rather than make it obvious to all and sundry that he was seeing her. He therefore adopted the habit of visiting his lady as often as he could by sneaking out of bed when everyone else was asleep. He would then go off alone to swim across a wide stretch of sea known as the Hellespont until he reached a castle called Abydos, which lay on the opposite side. He knew that Hero would be waiting for him in the castle, watching from a window. During the dark winter months, she would hold up a burning torch in one of the windows in order to help guide his way towards her.

  ‘The two lovers used this method for their assignations for a number of years. However, Fortune grew envious of their happiness and decided to cast them down. One winter time, the sea was whipped up into huge, terrifying waves by fierce storms which lasted for many days. The two lovers became frustrated at this endless delay in being able to meet up and they cursed the wind and bad weather for not dying down. In the end, Leander could no longer contain his desire to see Hero, for he had seen her torch at the window and had taken this as a sign that she wanted him to come to her. Despite the awful danger to which he was about to expose himself, he thought that he would be guilty of faithlessness if he didn’t go. But, alas, the wretched girl was simply afraid that he might try to come over and would gladly have done everything in her power to stop him from putting himself at such risk. She had only lit the torch in case he decided to try and see her after all. Fate was against Leander that night: the minute he started to swim, he was unable to battle against the current and was swept so far out to sea that he drowned. Poor Hero, who knew in her heart of hearts that something was amiss, couldn’t stop crying. At daybreak, she went back to the window where she had stood all night, for she had been unable to sleep or even rest. When she saw the corpse of her beloved floating by on the waves, she threw herself into the sea, for she no longer had any interest in living. She thus died from loving too much, since she drowned with her arms wrapped round L
eander’s dead body.’

  59. About Ghismonda, daughter of the prince of Salerno.

  ‘In his Decameron, Boccaccio tells the story of a man called Tancredi, who was prince of Salerno. This prince had a beautiful daughter, a gracious, intelligent and refined girl by the name of Ghismonda. The father loved his daughter with such fervour that he couldn’t bear to be away from her side and was thus extremely reluctant to allow her to marry, despite the pressure on him to do so. In the end, she was given in marriage to the count of Campania. However, she didn’t remain a wife for very long because her husband died soon after they were married. Her father therefore took her back to live with him, determined not to let her marry a second time. Though she was the apple of her old father’s eye, the lady herself felt that her youth and beauty were not yet over and that she wanted to continue living life to the full. Yet she didn’t dare go against her father’s wishes despite the fact that, quite understandably, she had no wish to waste the best years of her life without a husband.