Green Woman Montaigne

Hypatia, Inc.
Women's Writing and the Early Modern Genre Wars

Author(s): KAREN GREEN
Source: Hypatia, Vol. 28, No. 3 (SUMMER 2013), pp. 499-515
Published by: Wiley on behalf of Hypatia, Inc.
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Women's Writing and the Early Modern
Genre Wars
KAREN GREEN
This paper explores two phases of the early modern genre wars. The first was fought by
Marie de Goumay, in her "Preface" to Montaigne's Essays, on behalf of her adoptive father
and in defense of his naked and masculine prose. The second was fought half a century later
by Nicholas Boileau in opposition to Goumay's feminizing successor, Madeleine de Scudery.
In this debate Goumay's position is egalitarian, whereas Scudery's approximates to a femi
nism of difference. It is claimed that both female protagonists in this early debate occlude the
female body. The far more sexually explicit prose of Mary Delarivier Manley is then used to
raise the question: is it genre, or is it, rather, the very nature of erotic sexuality, that makes
it so difficult for women to masterfully expose themselves as authoritative subjects?
Introduction
In recent decades a number of theorists have postulated a connection between gender

and genre. It has been suggested that some genres, such as philosophical writing, are
gendered masculine, thus excluding women (Lloyd 1984). Philosophy may be
masculine; by contrast, the novel is apparently feminine (Dahany 1991). It has fur
ther been suggested that women writers have adopted genres not generally recognized
as vehicles for philosophy, resulting in their exclusion from the philosophical canon
(Gardner 2000, 1-15; Weiss 2009, 56-78). The connection is not new; scholars have
shown that an earlier debate over genre and gender took place during the seven
teenth century at the very inception of the modern novel (Beasley 1990; Dejean
1997).
My primary aim in this paper is quite modest. It is to explore one moment in this
earlier debate, found in the contrasting aspirations of Marie de Gournay and Made
leine de Scudery. A conclusion and a question nevertheless suggest themselves as a
result of this exploration. The conclusion is perhaps not surprising; the tension
between feminisms of equality and feminisms of difference constitutes a perennial
Hypatia vol. 28, no. 3 (Summer 2013) © by Hypatia, Inc.
500 Hypatia
problem for women seeking to be recognized as authoritative contributors in the

business of cultural self-representation. The question emerges from considering an
assumption shared by these two early contributors to the debate on genre and gender,
and the challenge implicitly posed to it by the English satirist Mary Delarivier Man
ley. Is it genre, or is it, rather, the very nature of erotic sexuality, that makes it so
difficult for women to masterfully expose themselves as authoritative subjects?
My thoughts on this question were stimulated when, in attempting to unveil the
history of women's engagement with philosophy, I become acquainted with the works
of Marie de Gournay (1565-1645). In coming to know her, it was impossible to
ignore her "adoptive father" Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592). Nor could I help
remarking the following passage, in which the philosopher is revealed in all his
manly nakedness. Montaigne, writing on the cusp of the demise of the medieval
compiler and at the dawn of the philosopher as individual consciousness, declaims in
his introduction to the reader of his Essays: "Here, drawn from life, you will read of
my defects and my native form so far as respect for social convention allows: for had
1 found myself among those peoples who are said still to live under the sweet liberty
of Nature's primal laws, I can assure you that I would most willingly have portrayed
myself whole, and wholly naked" (Montaigne 1991, l).1 We can suppose, however,
that it was not the imagined body of the philosopher that so forcefully attracted the
nineteen-year-old Marie de Gournay when his Essays fell into her lap in distant
Poitou. Rather, we must assume it was his mind, or so her own self-portrait would
suggest, when thirty years later she offered to the public her own collection of essays
under the title L'Ombre de la Demoiselle de Gournay, explaining her choice of title
thus:
After all, could I have valued this Book any less than by calling it,
Shadow; being myself its mother, no more than the shadow of a
dream, by that other ancient and divine sentence? So for its nothing
ness I'm right to call it, Shadow: without adding that it is neverthe
less both my shadow and image, in as much as it is the reflection of
my spirit, mistress-work of my being. (Gournay 2002b, 1:570, n. 4)2
In opposition to the unashamed bodily exposure of her adoptive father, Gournay

apparently offers us the equivocal shadow of an immaterial soul. Yet by a presumptive
iteration of the Platonic trope, her all too familiar evocation of the humility topos is
transformed into a demand for recognition to eternity, and exclaims a Platonic spirit
seeking to be remembered in the future. Her passage continues by evoking her device
of a young pine, which might be thought to presage future favor, but, she demurs, it
is merely a reaction against the disfavor that she feels in her time, and that forces
her to look forward to future centuries for recognition.
Yet although she coyly hides her bodily being and offers us only the reflection of
her soul, in various places in her collection of essays Gournay also enters the lists in
order to defend her adoptive father's openness, lack of modesty, honest self-revela
tion, freedom in dissecting love [liberte d'anatomiser l'Amour], and prose style
(Gournay 2002b, 1:291). In the longer versions of her introduction to the Essays, first
Karen Green 501
published in 1595, repressed, then subsequently reinstated in 1617, and in her essays
on poetry, Gournay also participates in the first skirmishes of an early modern genre
war, in which disputes over style, metaphor, and appropriate speech come to take on
a distinctively gendered aspect.3
Looking back to the dawn of the "modern" age, this early conflict over genre and
gender anticipates contemporary discussions. The issue has looped and repeated, refig
uring its tropes and repeating its anxieties. The bulk of this paper is concerned with
two phases of the early modern genre wars. Gournay fought the first phase on two
fronts: on behalf of her adoptive father in defense of his immodest and honest prose,
and also in defense of the established field of renaissance letters to which she aspired
to contribute. The second phase was fought half a century later against Gournay's
feminizing successor, Madeleine de Scudery and her imitators, in opposition to a soft
and effeminate modernism, to which Gournay had been opposed. Both phases of this
war are remembered by only a few scholars, yet the dilemmas that are transferred
from gender to genre in these early debates are echoed and reconfigured in modern
debates that rarely acknowledge these precursors.
There is no doubt that Marie de Gournay loved, was excited by, embraced, and
celebrated the unadorned openness of the mind of Michel de Montaigne that she
found in his rambling essays. Her appreciation of him set her apart from her provin
cial neighbors (Montaigne 1958, 2:383; 1991, 752). Having arranged to meet her
hero, and having worked with him on the revision of his essays, she was entrusted by
his wife with the task of editing the Essays after his death, a project to which she
dedicated a great deal of her life.4 Her commitment to her "adoptive father" was
undoubtedly sincere. Yet it was also inseparable from the fact that his support was
necessary to ground her own desire for intellectual authority. She has, indeed, been
accused of having exploited her role as editor in the service of that aspiration. We
read at the end of Montaigne's essay "Of Presumption":
I have been delighted to declare in several places the hopes I place in

my adopted daughter Marie de Gournay, who is loved by me with
more than a fatherly love and included in my solitary retirement as
one of the better parts of my being. She is the only person in the
world I have regard for. If youth is any omen her soul will be capable
of great things one day—among other things of that most perfect hal
lowed loving-friendship to which (so we read) her sex has yet been
unable to aspire. (Montaigne 1991, 751-52)5
This passage has aroused considerable speculation. There are those who assert that,
overreaching her duty as editor, Gournay presumed to insert it into the Essays. More
over, this clearly late addition to them so closely reflects the aspirations of her soul
that the accusation is not without plausibility. Nevertheless, it equally may have been
the old man himself who penned these words (Maskell 1978a; 1978b; Glidden 1996).
From our point of view it hardly matters. For the presumptuous passage lays claim to
an egalitarian friendship—a friendship between souls capable of great things—that
Gournay hoped to attain (Cholakian 1995; 1996; Deslauriers 2008). It places
502 Hypatia
Gournay in a relationship to Montaigne equivalent to that which he enjoyed with

La Boetie, and thus raises her above the rest of the feminine sex, of whom he had
said, in "On Friendship," that they "are in truth not normally capable of responding
to such familiarity and mutual confidence as sustain that holy bond of friendship, nor
do their souls seem firm enough to withstand the clasp of a knot so lasting and so
tightly drawn.... There is no example yet of women attaining to it and by the
common agreement of the Ancient schools of philosophy she is excluded from it"
(Montaigne 1991, 210).6 She calls her own discourse on friendship "That great spirits
and good people necessarily seek those they resemble" [Que par necessite les grands
esprits et les gens de bien cherchent leurs semblables], thus linking her claim to
friendship with Montaigne to her claim to resemble him in greatness of soul
(Gournay 2002b, 1:890-900).
It is the importance of this exceptional friendship to her own self-image that lies
behind Gournay's spirited defense of Montaigne's style, Latin neologisms, and
complex metaphors—and the honest self-exposure that led some to accuse him of
immodesty. For her status, her claim to be included among the higher beings, and
not dismissed as part of the vulgar crowd, depends both on the correctness of her
recognition of his worth and on his endorsement of her as worthy of his intellectual
friendship. Thus his status, the quality of his prose, and the unassailability of his vir
tue become necessary to her own being, which rests on his recognition and proffered
friendship. In defending her adopted father she is defending herself, and increasingly
as the century progressed, she is defending her goal of being recognized, in virtue of
her erudition, as the equal of her friend and adopted father, Montaigne.
Among the essays in Gournay's Advis (as she called later editions of her Ombre),
which develop themes first broached in her introduction to Montaigne's Essays, it is,
not surprisingly, the "Defense of Poetry and the Language of Poets" [Deffence de la
Poesie et du langage des Poetes] that is most concerned with matters of genre and
gender. In the 1641 edition of the Advis, Gournay dedicated the much expanded
version of this three-part treatise, the first version of which dates from 1619, to Marie
de Bruneau, Madame des Loges (1585-1641).
It is worth pausing a moment over the significance of this dedication, for in
choosing Madame des Loges as the dedicatee of her work, Gournay was attempting
to position it strategically at the center of literary society, and to bring it to the
attention of members of a salon in which the debate to which she was contributing
was a live issue. In her dedication she makes it clear that she expects her work to be
attacked by those who frequent this salon, but she appeals to the generous protection
of Madame des Loges who "in a time of need would deign to give a favorable place
in her bed to its mother" (Gournay 2002b, 1:1082),7 and who she hopes will equally
protect her humble work. Mme. des Loges was mistress of a literary salon, which,
while it did not model itself on the Academie Fran$aise—as did that of Charlotte
des Ursins, Mme. d'Auchy (1570-1646)—was nevertheless less gallant and worldly
than the famous "chambre bleue" of Mme. de Rambouillet (Timmermans 1993, 71—
84). At one of its meetings during 1625, the Premieres Lettres of Jean-Louis Guez de
Balzac (1595-1654) (Balzac 1933) were subjected to critical evaluation, and both
Karen Green 503
positive and negative opinions were expressed. Unlike Mme. d'Auchy, who earned
Guez de Balzac's scorn for her pedantry, devotion to obscure philosophy, and lack of
modesty, Mme. des Loges was praised by him for her modesty, the clarity of her
speech, and her taste. Nevertheless, in her salon, literature was not appreciated
merely as entertainment, but was also the subject of intense debate. Gournay could
therefore hope that her own contribution, critical of Balzac, Francois de Malherbe
(1555-1628), and Claude Fauvre de Vaugelas (1585-1650), as well as other
proponents of contemporary ideas concerning appropriate style, would receive serious
consideration by members of the salon.
In her essay Gournay shows herself to be a trenchant critic of all the prescriptions
of the modern style favored by Balzac, Malherbe, and Vaugelas.8 She rejects
Malherbe's criticisms of metaphor, his disdain of archaism, and his requirement that
grammatical rules not be broken. More than anything else she scorns the idea that,
rather than following the stylistic prescriptions of those who are well educated and
widely read, one should write nothing that would offend the ear of a court lady, sug
gesting that these defenders of the modern style wish to make everyone submit to
"baby-doll teachers" [paidagoguesses poupines] (Gournay 2002b, 1:1123).
Gournay's own writing stands as a testament to her rejection of this modern style.
Complex, rich with classical allusions, vivid metaphors, and new forms, such as the
acerbic "paidagoguesses poupines," it demands a patient reader steeped in the classical
tradition.9 Having dedicated herself to pursuing the approbation of men, and having
aspired to be included within the tradition of masculine excellence, it must have
appeared to her a perverse betrayal to find modern men determined to submit them
selves to the judgment of courtly women—women who, she undoubtedly felt,
belonged to that vulgar crowd who were incapable of judging for themselves true
greatness (Gournay 2002b, 1:275—76). Yet despite, or perhaps because of, the rhetori
cal complexity of her renaissance prose, it is arguable that she failed to achieve the
greatness to which she aspired. No doubt she is right when she laments in her
"Ladies, Complaint" [Grief des femmes] that she is excluded from greatness because
she is of that sex to which greatness is denied and in whom wisdom is a crime
(Gournay 2002b, 1:1074—75). But this is only half the story. In aspiring to masculine
friendship and dressing herself in the garb of erudite men, she often seems to try too
hard. Her thought lacks the freshness and honesty of Montaigne's musings. The com
bined demands of modesty and authority require that she deny her bodily being.
Unlike her hero Montaigne, she is incapable of revealing herself quite naked. Indeed,
she can only occlude her troublesome body and offer us the shadow of a shadowy sex
less soul.
It is true that history has treated her most unfairly, and she certainly does not
deserve the ridicule that was meted out to her by men such as one of Montaigne's
twentieth-century editors, Maurice Rat, who suggested that: "With her old maid's
enthusiasm and white hair, Mile, de Gournay, who made the mistake of living too
long, appeared rather ridiculous to the regulars at the hotel Rambouillet; she had
always been a pedant, but she had become terribly so, and her peevish or aggressive
attitude did great damage to her 'father'" (Montaigne 1958, l:xiii).10 In this passage
504 Hypatia
we can clearly see that the prejudice about which Gournay complained in 1641—
according to which a beard is essential in order to be taken seriously, and guarantees
its wearer the right to disdain the beardless half of the population—was still alive
and well in 1958 (Gournay 2002a, 103; 2002b, 1:1077). Yet at the same time, there
is a small element of truth in Rat's assessment. Gournay's situation prevents her from
manifesting the engagingly self-confident, immodest openness of her father. Her self
deprecation can be trying, her complaints, while perfectly justified, grating.
Gournay, though she takes much from earlier pro-women texts of the "querelle
des femmes," is one of the first women to explicitly frame a defense of women using
the phrase "equality of the sexes." But, like a later generation of egalitarian feminists,
she also frames her feminism as an escape from the feminine condition into an equal
ity with men, whose cultural superiority she does not question. Thus her general
orientation and situation seems to parallel that of twentieth-century feminists, like
Simone de Beauvoir, who were criticized by a younger generation for having accepted
masculine values and effaced sexual difference (Seigffied 1984; 1985; Grosz 1990). In
France, Luce Irigaray suggested in a discussion of Beauvoir's influence that the
egalitarians, who argued for the neutralization of sexual difference, were inviting "a
genocide" (Irigaray 1985a; 1985b; 1991; 1993). In the English-speaking world the
more moderate claim that standards of human excellence often implicitly take the
male to be the norm was proposed by a number of commentators, among the most
influential of whom were Carol Gilligan, Genevieve Lloyd, and Carole Pateman
(Lloyd 1979; Gilligan 1980; Lloyd 1984; Pateman 1988). This critical phase of differ
ence feminism was complemented by a constructive phase in which various feminine
traits were revalued (Noddings 1984; Ruddick 1990; 1992; Held 1995; 1999).
Arguably, the critique leveled against Beauvoir was somewhat unfair (Miller 2000).
Nevertheless, Gournay, at least, seems quite unaware of the fact that, in wishing to
be an exceptional woman who is deemed Montaigne's equal, she is implicitly endors
ing the general devaluation of the feminine.
If Gournay seems to presage modern feminists of equality, her younger contempo
rary Madeleine de Scudery anticipates the reaction to be found in modern feminists
of difference. This may be contested, since there is nothing radical or "subversive" in
her attitudes. Yet she clearly advocates different virtues for the sexes and does this in
a way that does not deem "feminine" characteristics inferior. At least implicitly, she
shows an awareness of the critique of sameness that characterizes the first phase of dif
ference feminism, and although her positive notions of female excellence differ in
important respects from contemporary versions, they are like them in emphasizing the
connection between women and love. Her praise of tenderness, which involves con
sideration of others and emotional sensitivity, resonates with the later ethics of care.
The positive evaluation that Scudery places on feminine attributes emerges in many
of her works and is associated with an ideal of conversational exchange and salon
sociability, which continued to flourish into the eighteenth century, and which some
theorists have deemed egalitarian. Daniel Gordon, for instance, calls her position "aris
tocratic feminism" and attributes an "apolitical but egalitarian flavor" to her concept of
conversational politeness (Gordon 1994, 109). Dena Goodman, whose focus is on a
Karen Green 505
somewhat later period, has claimed that salon sociability "was based on the reciprocal
exchange of conversation among equals" (Goodman 1994, 5). Insofar as these writers
are correct to perceive a form of egalitarianism in the conversational ideals of women
like Scudery—some of their claims have been challenged (Lilti 2005a, 2005b)—this is
an egalitarianism that nevertheless accepts contrasting ideals of male and female excel
lence while at the same time revalorizing the feminine attributes of modesty, concern
for others, tenderness, and reciprocity, as against such masculine attributes as pride,
ambition, insensitivity, and domination (Broad and Green 2009, 189-98).
Stylistically, Scudery is all ease and entertainment. Her novels are conversational
and gallant, her metaphors common, her language that of the worldly habituees of
Mme. de Rambouillet's salon. She renounces the attempt to become an erudite equal
of scholarly men, and puts in its place the attainment of a feminine culture, which
masks its erudition in favor of an easy sociability. Speaking through the fictional
Sapho in the novel Artamene, ou le grand Cyrus, she agrees with Guez de Balzac that
pedantry in a woman shows particularly bad taste. In the tenth volume of this work,
she sets out in the person of Sapho a model of feminine excellence, which is devel
oped further in the person of Clelie, in her novel of that name. Sapho, who has a
natural talent for verse and is famed for her wit, nevertheless does not seek renown
(Scudery and Scudery 1972, 10:381). Her modesty contrasts with the self-importance
of Damophile, a caricature of the educated lady, who confirms the prejudice that a
woman cannot be learned without being ridiculous, and whose description may have
been modeled on Mme. d'Auchy, or even partly on Gournay (375). Damophile is
everything that Sapho is not: pushy, pedantic, and self-obsessed.
First, she had five or six masters always in tow, the least learned of
which, I believe, taught her astrology; she wrote constantly to men of
science and could not bring herself to speak with the uneducated.
You would always find fifteen or twenty books on her table, and if
you walked into her room when she was alone, you always found her
holding one. I've been told—and it's true—that there were many
more books to be seen in her study than she had read, whereas at
Sapho's one saw far fewer books than she had read. Damophile
always used big words that she pronounced haughtily in a solemn
tone, even though she talked of trifles; Sapho, by contrast, used
ordinary words to say the most admirable things. Moreover, thinking
that learning was incompatible with household affairs, Damophile
didn't deign to involve herself in domestic matters, whereas Sapho
took care to be informed about even the smallest detail. And Damo
phile didn't only talk like a book; she also talked constantly about
books, citing authors no one had ever heard of in everyday conversa
tion as if she were discoursing in public at some renowned university.
(Scudery 2003, 22-23)11
Sapho, by contrast with Damophile, though naturally brilliant, never abandons her
feminine modesty, good taste, and gallant courtly manners.
506 Hypatia
As already admitted, there is much to distinguish Scudery from twentieth-century

feminists of difference. Her characterization of feminine virtue, in particular, is quite
different. She is innocent of Freud, and does not suggest, as some have, that reason
itself is a value that is problematically masculine. But, like some of her twentieth
century sisters, she is suspicious of women who aspire to equality with erudite men,
and articulately defends a conception of excellence for women that is different from
that which she thinks should be pursued by men.
Scudery does not aim at the higher "masculine" friendship to which Goumay
aspired. She puts in its place a gallant and tender friendship, which has its most
famous exposition in the Carte de Tendre from Clelie (Scudery 2001, 179). She is
happy to accept sexual difference, and although she does not characterize the positive
qualities of women in quite the same way as the 1980s feminists of difference, her
aim is clearly to encourage women to value themselves as women. In her early
Harangues of the Most Illustrious Women she suggests that women are in some ways
superior to men.
For consider, Erinna, the almost universal order that one may observe
among all the animals who inhabit woods and caves: you will see that
those who are born with strength and courage are often not very
skilled and not very clever, and the weak ordinarily have a stronger
instinct and are more reasonable than those to whom Nature has
given other advantages. You may well conclude, following this pat
tern, that since Nature has given more strength and courage to men
than to women, she must also have given us more wit and more
judgement. (Scudery 2004, 86-95)12
In Clelie she puts a slightly different slant on the same idea, rejecting masculine
ambition and suggesting that it is easier to achieve feminine rather than masculine
excellence, for a woman requires no more than "a little agreeableness, a modest wit,
and plenty of modesty, to be an honorable woman; while, by contrast, to be a truly
honorable man a thousand natural and acquired good qualities are required" (Scudery
2001, 323).13
Having recognized the implicit self-hatred in the learned lady's desire to be the
equal of a man, or perhaps having simply succumbed to the forces of contemporary
social pressure in opposition to immodest, learned women, Scudery develops an ideal
woman who is well educated but at the same time content to be a woman. She is
sensitive, intelligent, and perceptive without being overbearing. She is a tender friend
to those who warrant it, and an object of love, who ultimately governs through love.
In some guises she shuns marriage as slavery, but in others she will marry a tender
lover who knows how to govern himself, win her esteem, and serve her faithfully.
She develops this feminine ideal in the "modern" genre of the epic novel, full of con
versations that are concerned with love, friendship, appropriate behavior, and the
nature of sociability. But though she had worked so hard to promote the feminine,
Scudery's style and her image of a nonconfronting, modest but intelligent woman,
living in a civilized social sphere where men devoted themselves to love, soon
Karen Green 507
became the subject of satire as biting as Balzac's condemnation of the pedantic

learned women. Or perhaps more accurately, the male correlate of Scudery's sociable
woman, the gallant man, whose actions are both sexually pure and governed by love,
was derided as an effeminate monstrosity. Once again the status of women became
embroiled in a debate over genre, style, and the nature of literary excellence.
At the beginning of the seventeenth century the moderns had been innovators; by
the late 1680s they were in the ascendant. Charles Perrault, in his Parallele des anciens
et des modernes en ce qui regarde les arts et les sciences, could claim the superiority of the
moderns over the ancients (Perrault 1688-97; Beasley 1990; Dejean 1997). But Nich
olas Boileau was soon to take up cudgels in defense of the ancients (Boileau-Despeaux
1960, 4:12-54). In attacking the moderns and that quintessentially modern genre, the
novel, he could not help but attack one of its most successful proponents, Madeleine
de Scudery, who had made the novel a vehicle for the promotion of civilized manners,
gallant friendship, and the doctrine that to achieve true glory was to be governed by a
secret reciprocal love (Scudery 1684, 2:553-93; 2002, 174—81).
Boileau's Les Heros du roman is not a particularly sophisticated work, but it
expresses very clearly his disgust at Scudery's novels, which turn the heroes of ancient
history, whether Cyrus or Brutus, into lovelorn gallants who do nothing but sigh over
their beloveds. These beloveds are ideal, witty, but virtuous paragons, who, rather
improbably, are serially abducted without, in general, ever being violated. Much of
Boileau's critique of the novel, as developed by Scudery and her contemporaries,
stems from its lack of vraisemblance. He objects to the fact that ancients are given
modern manners and turned into effeminate fops. He has a point. Scudery's heroes
are ideal seventeenth-century courtiers as she imagines them, and far from truthful
representations of the ancient warriors after whom they are named. At the same time
Boileau's attack assumes a particular answer to the question, "what is the novel?"
Scudery does not write novels simply to describe, but rather to prescribe what male
manners ought to be in a mixed society where men and women are friends. For her,
the novel is a modern epic, a fable designed to form and correct manners (Scudery
and Scudery 2003, 1:78).
Boileau's critique was part of a wider war, a battle between the ancients and mod
erns that was to continue into another phase in which a further woman, Anne
Lefevre Dacier (1647-1720) took up Boileau's critique of the effeminate modern
novel (Dacier 1711, l:v; Dejean 1997, 96-101). Her defense of the ancients and
criticisms of modern style were soon transported to England, where among other
translations of her work, her introduction to the Iliad was printed in English as the
Introduction to an English rendition of the poem (Ozell, Broom, and Oldisworth
1714). It has been argued that this later phase of the "battle" cemented the works of
the ancients as appropriate fare for the education of youth, leading to French litera
ture—and particularly to the novel—being excluded from official accounts of
national culture (Dejean 1997, 133-39). Yet no matter how successful these and
others were in fostering the developments that consigned the novel to the realm of
frivolous sentimentality—as nonserious women's literature to be read for entertain
ment, but not discussed as philosophy—there is a sense in which they do not get to
508 Hypatia
the heart of the problem with this feminizing fantasy. For despite the unfairness of
Boileau's dismissal—given the undoubted sophistication of Scudery's discussion of
friendship, her modernity in aspiring to reciprocal tender friendship between the
sexes, and her social perceptiveness—like Gournay, Scudery is forced to occlude the
body.
This is recognized, at least in England, by one of a new breed of authors who
abandon the high morality of Scudery and replace romance with "secret histories,"
which in some respects return to the claimed vraisemblance of Marguerite of Navarre's
Heptameron (Navarre 1966; 1984). An example can be found in the writing of the
English Mary Delarivier Manley (16687—1724), who was influenced in her choice of
genre by Marie-Catherine d'Aulnoy (1650-1705), and in her sexual "warmth" by
Aphra Behn (1640-1689), and who abandons feminine modesty and audaciously
inserts sex into the problematic of sexual difference (Carnell 2008, 5, 12, 77, 82,
109-10). Scudery, although she re-evaluates the feminine, depicts a modest feminin
ity that cannot express sexual desire. Her heroines are painfully aware that for them
to declare their love is to run the risk of devaluing themselves. Her heroes must be
sensitive to the danger that they pose to their beloved's reputation. In her novels,
sex and the body are occluded in favor of a tender but ultimately incorporeal love.
The scandal novel The Secret History of Queen Zara was until recently attributed
to Manley, but is probably in fact the work of Joseph Browne (Browne 1705; Manley
1971; Downie 2004; Carnell 2008, 137—45). It begins with a translation of an essay
on the novel by Jean Baptiste Morvan de Bellegarde, which characterizes the differ
ence between the early epic novels such as Scudery's and the later "histories." This
essay on style shows how the genre of "secret history," which Manley adopted, was
understood by her contemporaries as an advance to the improbable romances
confected by Scudery and others. The essay opposes long-winded "romance" and
favors "histories," which don't depart in their plots and characters from that which is
probable. In particular it deems the extraordinary virtues, prowess, and sexual conti
nence of Scudery's characters to be unnatural. It would, it says,
in no wise be probable that a Young Woman fondly beloved by a

Man of great Merit, and for whom she had Reciprocal Tenderness,
finding herself at all Times alone with him in Places which favour'd
their Loves, cou'd always resist his Addresses; there are too Nice
Occasions; and an Author wou'd not enough observe good Sense, if
he therein exposed his Heroins; 'tis a Fault which Authors of
Romances commit in every Page. (Browne 1705, "To the Reader";
Bellegarde 1705, 47-48)
Unlike Scudery, Manley does not depict unrealistic relationships between the sexes.
Her women, as well as her men, feel sexual passion. She suggests, for instance, that
even Anne Dacier, the one woman among her contemporaries who had most suc
cessfully adopted the mantel of intellectual men's erudite equal, could not escape
sexuality.
Karen Green 509
The Adventures of Rivella, the autobiographical novel in which Manley recounts

her life history through the mouthpiece Sir Charles Lovemore, begins with a conver
sation between Lovemore and the Chevalier d'Aumont, in which Manley slyly
compares herself with Dacier (Manley 1714, 2-A\ 1971). Lovemore, taking the
standard position that intellect in a woman unsexes her, says of Dacier, "her Qualifi
cations are of the Sort that strike the Mind, in which the Sense of Love can have
but little Part." D'Aumont disagrees, claiming that, "in what relates to Women; there
is no being pleas'd in their Conversation without a Mixture of the Sex which will
still be mingling it self in all we say." He claims that even Dacier has made romantic
conquests by virtue of her intellect. Manley is surely here implicitly criticizing Dacier
for having faulted modern authors because they made love central to their romances.
According to Dacier, "love after having debauch'd our Manners, has corrupted our
Wit" (Ozell, Broom, and Oldisworth 1714, 1:3). Manley, who also accused her erudite
erstwhile friend, Catharine Trotter Cockburn, of being less chaste than she
pretended, believes that the truth about sex and ambition should be dealt with realis
tically, even if in doing so she goes beyond the bounds of modesty.14 Lovemore goes
on to assert that Manley has treated of love better than any of the moderns. He then
reminds the reader of some of her most successful erotic scenes, in which, among
other things, she exposes female sexual desire. Manley, one can argue, goes even
further than Montaigne in "anatomizing" love and sexual self-disclosure. In doing so
she challenges the sexual double standard, claiming through her mouthpiece Love
more that "If she had been a Man, she had been without Fault," and later extolling
her genius with regard to the passion of love "That it would have been a Fault in her
not to have been Faulty" (Manley 1714, 7, 120).
I have argued that the two examples from the seventeenth century with which we
began foreshadow two tendencies within twentieth-century feminism. In one, which
seems naturally to come first, women accept the dominant male evaluation of genre
and gender and seek inclusion, equality, and the effacement of difference. In the
other, women challenge the dominant male evaluation of genre and gender, accept
difference, and seek to positively re-evaluate feminine characteristics. But in each of
these early manifestations of the tension between equality and difference, the authors
occlude bodily difference and succumb to the social bonds of feminine modesty. Man
ley, whose reputation had already been lost because she had been enticed as a teen
ager into a bigamous marriage, attempted to break those bonds. Her attempt offers an
interesting early example of the danger that besets the female philosopher when she
paints herself from life, exposing her defects and native form, showing herself whole
and wholly naked. For sexual openness in a woman lends itself to abasement and can
be read as an invitation to sexual objectification.
The debate over genre offers us but the shadow of a shadow. It is merely a projec
tion of the conflict over gender, and gender itself is but a shadow of sex. Montaigne
could stand proud in his manly nakedness, "anatomize love," expose to the public his
occasional, embarrassing "softness," as well as his amorous conquests, and scoff at
those women who claimed to be too pure for sexual desire (Montaigne 1958, 3:89;
1991, 979).15 But neither Gournay nor Scudery felt that they had this liberty. How
510 Hypatia
could a woman expose all her faults? How could she portray herself whole and wholly
naked without transforming herself into that very bodily object of desire to which
the male gaze would confine her? Gournay pursued one path of fantasy and aspired to
be recognized as a masculine soul. Scudery adopted another path of fantasy and
fantasized a feminine love that would govern the bodies and souls of men without
degenerating into sex. Manley exposed both these as fantasies and attempted to speak
"honestly," ripping the veil from female bodily desire.
None of these early attempts to attain the status of an authoritative subject was
entirely successful. Neither Gournay nor Scudery came to terms with bodily differ
ence, but the "honest" Manley faced a different problem. She is read as the author of
licentious "scandal" narratives, which endorse the sexualization of women, titillate a
male readership, and debase women. As English women moved to reconstruct the
female author as a modest purveyor of social virtues, women such as Clara Reeve,
who wrote The Progress of Romance, preferred, as far as possible, to pass over her in
silence (Reeve 1785; Clarke 2004, 97-98). Following Reeve, Anna Laetitia Barbauld
also denied her a place in the history of the English novel because of her lack of
propriety (McCarthy and Kraft 2002). Manley's attempt to mix an honest evocation
of women's embodied sexuality with serious political critique is ultimately swamped
by the libidinal pleasure that her descriptions evoke. She does not forget the body,
but wittingly or unwittingly reveals the problematic character of bodily difference.
One can aspire to reciprocity but sex intervenes. A woman cannot, without great
difficulty, satisfy her desire for a man entirely against the man's will. A man can
satisfy his desire simply by using a woman's body. A woman cannot but see that one
strategy for manipulating a man's will is through the allure of her body. As Manley
suggests, the reality is that when friendship between the sexes blossoms, the body
intervenes. For men, "there is no being pleas'd in [women's] Conversation without a
Mixture of the Sex" (Manley 1714, 3). Montaigne left in his essays the trace of his
desire for Gournay. Following this trace a recent biographer has surmised an improba
ble secret affair between Montaigne and his "adopted daughter" (Fogel 2004, 47-51).
Michele Fogel cannot read their relationship without surmising an undercurrent of
lust. Sexual difference recasts the communion of souls as the consummation of an
older man's desire. Gournay, however, never spoke of her desire. Such a desire to be
the physical object of desire conflicts with her higher aspiration to be an equal friend.
In aspiring to equality she unsexed herself.
Scudery tried to retain desire and feminine difference. A woman should remain a
woman and negotiate the seas of gallant love. A man should learn tender friendship
and even tender love. He should enslave himself to the will and reputation of his
beloved and transform her yielding into the pinnacle of her conquest. But Boileau is
surely right. Scudery's heroes are not men. They are women in masculine guise, for
whom sex is surrender. Nor are her heroines women, for they never feel the passion
ate desire that in fact engenders sexual surrender.
It is arguable that Manley's attempt to reveal the true anatomy of sex failed in
a different way, for it descends into sexual titillation. Yet her response to Dacier
and Scudery suggests why the tension between the desire for equality and the need
Karen Green 511
to appreciate difference will remain perennial in women's aspirations to philosophi

cal subjectivity. Honest self-revelation must express sexual difference. But it is sex
ual difference that makes egalitarian friendship between the sexes so difficult to
obtain. Despite the acknowledged differences between this problematic as it pre
sented itself in the seventeenth century, and its modern manifestations, it is worth
while remembering this earlier debate, both for the traces that it left in later
attitudes, and for the alternative light that it throws on the recent rift between
feminists of equality and those of difference when one sees it as the transfigured
repetition of an earlier opposition.
Notes
1. "Mes defauts s'y liront au vif, et ma forme na'ifve, autant que la reverence publique
me l'a permis. Que si j'eusse este entre ces nations qu'on diet vivre encore sous la douce
liberte des premieres loix de nature, je t'asseure que je m'y fusse tres-volontiers peint tout
entier, et tout nud" (Montaigne 1958, 1:1).
2. "A quel plus bas prix, apres tout, pouvois-je mettre ce Livre par ma propre sen
tence, que de le qualifier, Ombre; n'estant moy-mesme sa mere, que l'ombre d'un songe,
par cette autre sentence antique et Divine? J'ay done raison de le nommer Ombre par
sa neantise: sans adjouster qu'il est d'ailleurs encore mon ombre et mon image, d'autant
qu'il exprime la figure de mon esprit, maitresse piece de mon estre."
3. For a discussion of the history of Goumay's preface, see Franchetti 1996; McKin
ley 1996. Editions of the various prefaces by Gournay can be found in Montaigne Studies 8
(1996). See also Bauschatz 1986; Horowitz 1986; Desan 1995.
4- For Gournay's biography, see Ilsley 1963; Fogel 2004; and the introductions in
Gournay 2002b.
5. "J'ay pris plaisir a publier en plusiers lieux l'esperance que j'ay de Marie de
Gournay le Jars, ma fille d'alliance, et certes aymee de moy beaucoup plus que paternelle
ment, et enveloppee en ma retraitte et solitude, comme l'une des meilleures parties de mon
propre estre. Je ne regarde plus qu'elle au monde. Si l'adolescence peut donner presage,
cette ame sera quelque jour capable des plus belles choses, et entre autres de la perfection
de cette tressainte amitie ou nous ne lisons point que son sexe ait peu monter encores"
(Montaigne 1958, 2:383).
6. "leur ame ne semble assez ferme pour soustenir l'estreinte d'un nceud si presse et si
durable" and "ce sexe par nul exemple n'y est encore peu arriver, et par le commun con
sentement des scholes anciennes en est rejette" (Montaigne 1958, 1:201-02).
7. "vous daigneriez en un besoin donner favourablement place dans vostre lict a
sa mere."
8. For an account of these prescriptions, see Brunot 1891.

9. For a discussion of some of her forceful gendered metaphors, see Bauschatz 1995.
10. "Avec son enthousiasme de vieille fille a cheveux blancs, Mile de Gournay, qui
eut le tort de vivre trop longtemps, paraissait un peu ridicule aux habitues de l'hotel
Rambouillet; ... elle avait toujours ete pedante, mais elle l'etait devenue terriblement, et
son attitude agressive ou grognon nuisait fort a son 'pere.'"
512 Hypatia
11. "Premierement elle avoit to

enseignoit je pense l'Astrologie: e
profession de science: elle ne po
rien: on voyoit toujours sur sa T
qu'un quand on arrivoit dans sa
pouvoit dire sans mensonge, qu
avoit leu: et qu'on en voyoit bie
phile ne disoit que de grands mo
qu'elle ne dist que de petites chos
dinaires, pour en dire d'admirabl
compatir avec les affaires de sa
pour Sapho elle se donnoit la pe
sgavoir commander a propos, ju
ment parle en style de Livre, mai
de difficulte de citer les Autheur
elle enseignoit publiquement da
1972, 10:350-51).
12. "Car considerez Erinne cet
animaux, qui vivent dans les boi
avec de la force & du coeur, sont
bles pour 1'ordinaire, ont un insti
qui la Nature, a donne d'autres adv
ant donne plus de force & plus d
avoit donne, & plus d'esprit, &plu
13. "qu'un peu d'agrement, qu
faire une honnete femme; oil au c
grande qualites, naturelles ou acq
14. For an account of Manley's
Trotter only dissimulated chasti
15. For a discussion of the vari
taigne's writing, see Wilkin 2008
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Hypatia, Inc.

Women's Writing and the Early Modern Genre Wars

In recent decades a number of theorists have postulated a connection between gender

Hypatia vol. 28, no. 3 (Summer 2013) © by Hypatia, Inc.

problem for women seeking to be recognized as authoritative contributors in the

In opposition to the unashamed bodily exposure of her adoptive father, Gournay

I have been delighted to declare in several places the hopes I place in

Gournay in a relationship to Montaigne equivalent to that which he enjoyed with

As already admitted, there is much to distinguish Scudery from twentieth-century

became the subject of satire as biting as Balzac's condemnation of the pedantic

in no wise be probable that a Young Woman fondly beloved by a

The Adventures of Rivella, the autobiographical novel in which Manley recounts

to appreciate difference will remain perennial in women's aspirations to philosophi

8. For an account of these prescriptions, see Brunot 1891.

11. "Premierement elle avoit to

Balzac, Jean-Louis Guez de. 1933

Bellegarde, (Jean Baptiste Morvan

Navarre, Marguerite de. 1966. Hepta

Scudery, Madeleine de. 1684. Conversations nouvelles sur divers suje

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