Marie de France – Short Story on Courtly Love

I, Marie de France, am here to write about a tale of love. This is not the easy kind of optimistic love harped about by lovesick maidens, but the kind that has a sorrowful and bittersweet ending. Now, whoever wishes to lend an ear: I tell this tale so that others may learn of both foolishness and true love.

There once lived a young maiden named Emilia, who, although having the appearance and heart of a true noble, was unfortunately constrained by her societal standing at birth. Her father, desperate to build a family legacy, arranged her marriage to a wealthy Lord, a much older man of stern demeanor with great riches and land. As women of her time must do, Emilia submitted without a complaint to the arrangement.

On the Lord’s grand estate lived the knight Sir James, a man of great honor and discipline. Much like Emilia, he too was tied to a life which was not his own choice. He came from a wealthy and politically influential family with a widowed mother who, in fear of the Lord evicting her in absence of her late husband, forbade him to journey far from her. Sir James was dutifully loyal to his family and stayed by his mother’s side despite a restless longing to find love.

On a bright spring afternoon, when the trees were beginning to flower, Emilia was wandering her husband’s estate to escape his constant controlling demeanor. On this same afternoon, the knight was in search of his family’s hound; earlier that morning, it had taken off after a stray animal. Happening to cross paths in a newly blooming field, their exchange was brief yet stirred a deep, unignorable warmth in their hearts. When you have taken vows to another, one must admit that it is foolish to fall in love elsewhere. At first, the pair fought to restrain their desires. Emilia kept herself locked inside the home, conversing only with her husband and confiding only in her most trusted maids. Sir James returned to his mother and, taking it upon himself to act as dutifully as ever, did not often leave her side. But alas, the knight was unable to bear the strings pulling at his honorable heart and could not leave his memory of Emilia behind. In a desperate act, he returned to where they met, which was now in full bloom with colorful flowers. He carved a message into a thick tree trunk, hoping she might return to the field and discover his request for her to visit his home.

As he hoped, Emilia could also not resist her desire. Praying she might see the knight again, she soon returned to the field. Upon discovering his message, she felt a confliction of joy and wariness; she felt blessed that he shared her sentimental feelings but knew her husband was growing suspicious of her changed demeanor. Unbeknownst to her, he had assigned a servant to watch Emilia; having followed her to the field, the servant also found Sir James’ message. The Lord was furious and, swearing he would uncover who her secret lover was, followed his wife the next night. As he followed her into the field, hidden by dusk, the Lord spotted the carved message. He burst out of the shadows with fierce accusations, demanding that she reveal who her lover was. Emilia painfully understood that, although she had not yet sinned upon her husband, James would suffer immensely if she revealed his name—but how else could she protect herself from her husband’s wrath?

Looking up at the Lord, Emilia sorrowfully said, “My dear, punish me as you see fit, but I have truthfully not partaken in any physical act which would offend you. I therefore cannot betray the one who has sparked warmth in my heart, for his feelings do not put any harm on you.”

The Lord was blind with rage and ordered the entire field be burned, believing he could scorch her infidelity just as easily as the flames would consume the carving on the tree. Refusing to give up so easily, the huge tree smoldered only briefly before flames fizzled out into smoke. The field’s flowers were scorched, but the message on the trunk remained clear. Filled with frustration, the Lord dragged Emilia away with a promise that he would never let her out of the home again.

Sir James, still hopeful at his lover’s arrival to his home, was struck with grief when news came of the Lord’s wrath on his imprisoned wife. James’ mother, fearful of the Lord’s anger, forbade him from attempting to visit Emilia. Remaining steadfast, the knight was determined to display a final act of love; while he could not directly speak to his lover, he carried water from a nearby stream and tended to the scorched field. As days went on, colorful flowers began to sprout beneath the ashes. Bright green vines snaked up the tall tree, covering the Lord’s attempted carnage. He was unsure if she would ever see his display of affection, but Emilia continuously gazed upon the field from a high window of her home; marveling at the recovery of the blossoms, she felt that their forbidden love inevitably continued to bloom.

Thus ends my tale. Let all who hear it believe that true love cannot be forced away. Even when constrained by society, two people’s intertwined hearts hold the power for strength and passion. Yet we learn how foolish it may be; a woman will be punished for seeking what her heart desires.

Year Published: 1160

Margery Kempe – Diary Entry

Oh, blessed be our Lord, what joy is in my soul! The seas and roads rush past, but my joyous heart remains fixed in Jerusalem, specifically upon that hill of sorrow, Mount Calvary. Since I was brought away from that holy place, I have scarcely been myself, and I marvel that my fellow pilgrims suffer my presence at all, for my weeping has become a spring that cannot be stopped. The salt spray of the Mediterranean is a bitterness that I barely notice, for the tears streaming down my face are far more consuming to me. My white clothes are perpetually damp, whether from the sweat of the hot Italian paths or the ceaseless moisture from my eyes. I am a spectacle, a damp, loud nuisance in the eyes of everyone who travels with me, and yet, I would not trade this wretched, crying existence for the greatest earthly comfort.

Before Jerusalem, I thought I knew what love was. I thought my devotion was sufficient when I wore my lavish clothes and spoke of Christ, but now I know that it was merely vanity shrouded in good intent. That Margery was a creature of the world, concerned with her appearance, with the success of her small enterprises, and with fitting herself into the rigid mold of what is respected womanhood. I remember the fevered desire I had to impress others, the shame when my brewing failed, the endless, trivial arguments with my dear, poor husband, John. All those matters, once mountains of worry to me, have now shrunk to dust.

But at Calvary, when I saw with my mind the nails driven into His precious hands and feet, and His mother standing by - ah, the intensity of that moment shattered all the old structure of my life. I had gone to the Holy Land seeking relics and spiritual status, but I received something far greater: a revelation of His suffering so immediate and terrible that it felt as if I were there myself, a witness to the very moment His spirit passed. It was a physical breaking of the heart, a wrenching, painful mercy! I wept so hard, as if Jesus were dying before me then and there.

The folk I travel with, they do not seem to see the truth that I do. They only see a woman who sobs in public, whose tears ruin their food, and whose loud cries interrupt their performative prayers. They whisper behind my back. They say that I am a hypocrite, mad, or that my tears are merely feigned sickness to seek attention from others. Brother Daniel, the quietest of the whole lot, spoke to me only yesterday, his voice tight with impatience, saying “Margery, if your devotion is truly from God, it would be ordered and silent, not this racket which distracts and annoys all good Christians.” They pray for my silence, and some even threaten to leave me alone in some foreign town, yet their judgement and hatred does not wound me as deeply as it once did.

And truly, the cruelty I suffer comes not from strangers, but from my own Christian brethren. When they threatened to leave me, they also refused to share their provisions or offer me even the smallest comfort when I was ill, exhausted, and had given away my resources. It is a sorrowful irony, but during this long journey, when I was sometimes so weak I could barely move, it was often the Saracens, the very people they call “enemies of Christ,” who showed me the most humanity. They gave me food and helped me back to health, moved perhaps by pity for such a weeping, broken woman. This difference wounds me deeply - that those who profess God’s charity would abandon me, while those who know not His name show mercy. It is a terrible sign of how shallow the faith of many pilgrims truly is.

The suffering that they impose on me is a small price to pay for the great love that I have found in God. Their suspicion is but a dark shadow cast in the brightness of God’s favor. My former self would have raged at their scorn, would have pleaded and justified myself until my voice was gone. Now, I can only pity them, and pray that they too may one day experience a visitation from God that overrides everything.

How different I am now from the Margery who sailed away from England! That woman was obsessed with her brewers’ business, with what people thought of her appearance, with fine silk purses, and with demanding things from her beloved husband. I traded goods and worry over money. The memory of that worldly pride fills me with shame. Now, I care only for penance (always by way of a priest) and for the blessed vision of Christ that fills my mind. Calvary was my true baptism, the place where the old, vain self was drowned in sorrow and the new, weeping Margery was born. I was a pilgrim seeking forgiveness; I return a soul completely dedicated to God, purified by the sight of His passion. This journey was not merely a trip; it was a total reversal of my previous existence, and every painful step and every harsh word endured since then only confirms that I have passed over from the life of the human world into the life of the Holy Spirit. May He grant me grace to never look back, and may He stead my soul until the day that I might meet Him again.

Year Published: 1414

Julian of Norwich – Diary Entry

Tonight I’m bursting at the seams with all that I have been shown. My hand still shakes as I write this down. It’s been more than twenty years since the Showing, but the sight of that little thing, that tiny hazelnut that holds everything that God ever made, is clearer than the stone of my wall.

How is it that I, just a simple woman stuck in this cell, am the one to be shown this deep truth? The priests out there are still preaching of the fire and brimstone, telling everyone to be terrified of God’s anger. It’s like they seek to scare the people half to death! But my truth, the one God has shown me, has no anger in it, only love, steady, joyous love. He is like our best, most loving Mother, wrapping us tight in her arms and making sure we are safe.

This is the big, beautiful secret that Jesus entrusted me with; that Jesus is not just our Lord but also our Mother, feeding us and working tirelessly for us. This isn’t something I read about in one of those dusty old books; it is a living breathing idea God breathed right into my soul. But if I speak of it too loudly, I will be in trouble. There are good men in this Church, but they are so jumpy right now - they see Lollardy and heresy in every single thing that doesn’t sound exactly like what they learned in school.

The dearest part of this whole vision is seeing Jesus in the role of our Mother. He is the true Mother, who never suffers from fatigue, only endless patience. Just as a mother gives birth and then tenderly nourishes her child, Christ gave birth to us in His suffering on the cross and now feeds us with the blessed Sacrament - His own self. He watches over us in our quiet hours, ready to pick us up when we stumble. I feel His tenderness like a cloak, and this profound, gentle connection to our Lord is something the stern scholars of the day simply cannot or will not comprehend. It is too soft, too domestic, for those suspicious churchmen.

I spent all day yesterday talking with Father Stephen, and it was absolutely exhausting. It’s like I put on a performance. I have to be so careful with these things. While I talk often about God’s love, I have to constantly tie it back to Christ’s suffering and what the Holy Church already teaches. I have to keep saying, over and over, that I am just a foolish little thing, unworthy of these great comforts, and that my vision was just for me to feel better. I tell them that I am only repeating their doctrines, just with better lighting, I suppose. It’s a ridiculous tightrope that I balance on - I have this perfect, priceless truth, but I have to pretend that it’s just a common belief or idea, or they will accuse me of stealing and burning the stone and maybe me along with it. 

The thing that really wore me out was having to go over that ridiculous “story” of my sickness, again. I had to make sure my voice was steady and serious and “claim” that I had prayed for three specific gifts: a clear view of Christ’s passion, a terrible illness to bring me closer to God, and to have 3 wounds. 

This little lie - that I actually asked for the sickness and the vision - it’s what keeps those crazy suspicious churchmen from dragging me out of here. They don’t believe God would give me these gift for free. They only trust visions that are earned through formal prayer and suffering, like Margery’s terrible child birth. That makes it safe and true, in their eyes. It it completely absurd!

My kindest Savior, who is nothing but absolute goodness, just poured His comfort into my soul when I was just a terrified girl on my deathbed. There is no merit, no asking, just Jesus’ pure love. But if I told them that He gave me this knowledge freely, an unmerited gift, a spontaneous visit, they would surely panic. They would think that I am a dangerous fanatic, spewing terrible unapproved theology. It is this forced humility, this theatrical request for suffering to keep the authorities happy and my cell door locked, that steals the joy right out of my heart. I have to pretend the vision was a reward for my suffering instead of the boundless, sheer overflow of God’s joyful heart.

But I’ll keep doing it. I will keep my head lowered. I will keep swearing that I am nothing. I will put every certain truth that I have been told inside this Church’s locked box. Because if I don’t, how is my simple, honest message that all shall be well ever going to survive? My little life doesn’t matter, but this truth does tremendously. I will be as quiet and humble as they demand, as submissive as this scary age requires, if it means that this truthful message gets out safely. I pray God understands why I have to play their little game. It is only because I love His truth so much.

Year Published: 1415

Eleanor of Aquitaine – Diary Entry

            Hey, diary. I’ve never tried this before, but here we go! I feel like no one ever really hears my thoughts, only my titles and mindless rumors. I’m the “queen,” the “mother of kings,” but I’m also a troublemaker and a very dangerous woman. People claim I carry sooo much pride, with just too much ambition for a mere female, regardless of anything I was born into. They think that because I wear a crown, you know, I live with endless freedom and make crazy, raunchy decisions, regardless of the consequences. But I know that basically 100% of the time, my life is shaped by what a woman is “supposed” to be, and what I’m painted to be. I may hold some power, but even I am held in right in place. I feel like I carry the weight of the world but am held to the expectations of a silent wife.

Most people expect a certain soft and motherly nature from me, but I barely raised my children with my own two hands. I mean, it’s not completely unusual for a woman of my rank. I guess it’s just simply how things are done. Wet-nurses fed them, clerks taught them, and the knights even prepared my sons for war. I was supposed to give birth, recover, and then hand the child to others who basically shaped them into who they are today. Sometimes I wonder if people think a mother is only useful for making more heirs... I know Louis VII did! I love my children, but I see them less often than people might imagine. We’re separated by travel and politics more than our own personal choice. I never see my whole family at once, ohhh would that be rich. It feels strange to say, but most mothers like me spend more time sending letters about their children than actually even speaking to them. I wish things could change… maybe then people would stop complaining about my own complaining.

People sure do love to judge me for that. They whisper that I abandoned my daughters with Louis when our marriage ended, but honestly what was I supposed to do? They were raised just as any princess should’ve and had been! I still sometimes think about how little control I had (and still have). Even as a mother, I didn’t own the right to keep my daughters by my side.

Sometimes I think people forget that queens are vulnerable too. When Henry and I argue it goes straight to gossip. When I support my sons in rebellion I get called a scheming traitor! A mother who sides with her children is described as dangerous. A father who does the same is strong, and oh so very smart. It sucks to know the same actions are regarded so differently just because I’m a woman. Yes, I’ve been angry with Henry, and yes, I wanted my sons to have the best titles they could. But Henry held power close to himself, and quite selfishly at that, even when the boys were old enough to rule themselves. I will always support my sons, and for that, I face the consequences. You know, being locked away? Not so fun. A king can wage a war on his sons. I don’t see them being punished. Instead, I stay locked away. And for what?

People think I’m just sooo scandalous. They claim that I turned Aquitaine into some flirtatious place that reflects me in all my sin. I know stories have grown and twisted every which way, and I can’t stop it. What I can do though, is tell the truth of how it felt to be those rumors. I was judged so much worse than Henry ever was, even though he made so many mistakes. At least I have the guts to be bold! What could I do to satisfy the world? Honestly, probably nothing.

All us women must appear loyal and submissive, even when we are just as intellectually capable as men. When I used my power, people claim that I overstep. Like in what world does that make sense? No one considers that maybe I, and so many other women, am simply doing my best inside the walls built around us.

I know how people see us women. “Were made for marriage, alliances, and children.” Well, I disagree. Why do our feelings matter less than the heirs we produce and the peace we can create by being married off? I’m so angry, even I’ve learned to hide it (you know, somewhat). Mothers do love their children, even if we can’t raise them every day. It’s not like any of that is up to choice anyway. 

It's not like anyone’s reading my diary, but I wish someone could understand how heavy the weight of these expectations can be. I may have been born into a slightly better life than most, but I’m still a woman in the same world as all the others. I wish I could raise my children myself, and not for politics, for comfort. I wish I could marry who I love, and that every choice I made didn’t backfire like I just threatened the state of the whole entire world.

Maybe this diary thing will be therapeutic for me, I don’t really know. But for now, I’m just Eleanor. I’m technically locked away physically, but I’m really locked away mentally too.

Written: 1181

Preist – Speaking on Clerical Antifeminism

Readers of this forum, whether you be scholars, townsfolk, or clerics as myself, may my words contribute to your understanding of the Church’s desire to uphold holy order and fight against clerical impurities.

From female whispers and gossip to angry proclamations in the town marketplaces, townsfolk have questioned why the Church has removed women from positions of power and sacramental authority. Certain layfolk, perhaps influenced by their respect for the deep devotion to Christ that their wives and daughters portray, have asked whether our doctrines are a biased intervention by male authority. And I, being a humble priest who upholds piety, feel compelled to clarify God’s intent in the matter through the teachings of St. Paul the Apostle.

The verse of 1 Timothy 2:12 states clearly, “I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.” St. Paul has clarified this to be indicative of the woman’s separation from preaching in the Church. Several clerics who emphasize the necessity of purifying reform remind us that Paul taught not from social customs, but divine revelation; he perceived the danger which arises when the proper order is overturned. Just as Christ is the head of man, man is then the physically superior head of woman. The Church must reflect this natural hierarchy in its ministries. During our goal of cleansing the Church from corruption and impurity, Paul’s teachings aid us well as justification for preserving holiness. For if those who preach fall into sin, the layfolk are in danger of corruption by an impure role model!

Still, there are societal outbursts: “Do women not possess piousness? Do we not witness their devotion in tending the sick, praying in the chapels, and sustaining their households?” Indeed, no one denies these virtues! I have witnessed the generosity and piousness of a woman exceed that of the men surrounding her. However, the proper order given by God is not to be overturned by our respect for many women’s great devotion. As goes the story of Genesis, Eve was the creature who tempted Adam and brought sin upon us all. While Christ has since redeemed all of mankind, women remain tainted as temptresses with the sins of Eve. Many of the clergy have been seduced by the workings of a woman who tears down their purity into pits of sin. We must acknowledge that clerical purity is of utmost importance. The current ecclesiastical reforms of our day warn that if we ignore the tale of Genesis, we risk returning to the sin which Christ rescued us from.

Let me clarify that I intend not to belittle the devotional works of women. Despite my discussion in how women’s inherently sinful nature would bring destruction of purity if allowed to preach, their quiet contributions uphold the values of the Church. Women instill piousness in the town’s children, serve as caregivers and aid the underprivileged, and maintain peace within the home. Furthermore, highly respectable are the holy nuns, widows, virgins, anchoresses, ascetics, and many more who possess such a spiritual passion that even high clerics are amazed. Admiration of their devotion must not tempt us into turning our backs on what St. Paul has clarified to be God’s will; holiness alone does not give the right to ecclesiastical authority! It is no small burden on reformers to enforce teachings which cause societal outbursts, but the Church is not fashioned by our preferences. The Church is ordered by God’s will and the interpretations of holy scripture. To abandon Paul’s interpretations simply because society misunderstands their basis is a danger to purity.

And yet I do fear that Paul’s words have often been used not as protection for clerical purity, but as a weapon against women. Some clerics speak of women with disdain, depicting them all as venomous and cruel creatures of sin rather than fellow devoted Christians. Proper reform must be based in purity, not contempt; we must not cite St. Paul to diminish all women but rather act in accordance to preserve right order. Therefore, I write not to silence women’s voices, but to clarify their place within the Church as depicted by God. The Church’s exclusion of women from preaching and authority is not a judgement of their worth or piousness, but a preservation of holy order and purity.

May all who read this be clarified in the teachings of St. Paul and the intentions of the reforming Church. As a humble priest of modest knowledge, I desire deeper and purer reverence for God by all of mankind.

Date Published: 1311

Wife of Bath – Advice Column

Dame Alyson’s Counsel: A Stellar Advice Column for Medieval Maidens Young and Old.

By Alyson of Bath, Wife, Weaver, and Well-Traveled Authority on Men
 
Dear goodwives, maidens, widows, and any woman who hath ever had to suffer the foolishness of
men, I, Alyson of Bath—she who hath buried five husbands and outlived all their nonsense—bring thee counsel drawn from long experience, sharp wit, and a purse well-lined by marital diplomacy.

On Governing Thy Husband (for his own good, of course)
 

Good sister, if thou wouldst have peace in thy household, seek first sovereignty in thy marriage. A man loveth nothing more than thinking himself master—so let him think it, while thou rulest with soft words and sharper wit. Should he grumble that thou art “too bold,” remember: A woman who speaks her mind saveth herself the trouble of speaking it twice. Do not work hard to win their love, but have them wholly in thy hand. Do not care to please them, unless it were for your own profit and pleasure. Cruelly scold them, accuse them wrongfully, so that they may be eager to appease you with riches, land, and gifts. Govern them well, and they will praise thy beauty and allow thy the pleasure of passage abroad. 

On Pleasure and Other Holy Matters
 

Some will tell thee that desire is a sin, that a woman must be meek as a dormouse and silent as the grave. Those people are usually men who fear a woman who knows herself.
Hear my wisdom:

Advice is no commandment! If God had commanded maidenhood, then he had condemned marriage along with it. True, the apostle was a virgin, Holy men and saints alike adopt virginity as commandment. 
Nay, it is up to thy own judgement as maidens. Yes, virginity bestows purity and perfection, but perfection precedes me. Bestow your instruments of pleasure as you please, and love each other well.
God gave us our bodies not only for bearing children but for delight as well. Why else would He shape us so comely? Why else are men so eager to preach to us, yet quicker still to follow us to the bedchamber? Take pleasure boldly, and shame not thine own nature. A merry woman keeps a merry house.

On Age and Beauty
 

Think not that youth alone commandeth admiration. I, Alyson, have gathered husbands with gray in my hair and laugh lines round my eyes—and they all treasured me dearly (albeit sometimes by force of persuasion).
 

Let no maid mock thy years. A seasoned woman knoweth both her worth and how to collect payment for it.

On Sorrow, Gossip, and the World’s Judgment
 

The world will chatter, as sparrows do, every time a woman lifts her voice or makes her choice. Pay it no heed. For every finger pointed at thee, three point back at the speaker, and all three belong to a fool. 

Live boldly, sister. Let thy life be thine own tale—not one told for thee by jealous tongues.

On Managing Many Husbands (if thou art so fortunate)
 

For those who, like myself, find that one man cannot bear the weight of all their virtues:
Remember that each husband requireth a different craft. With a soft man, be gentle. With a stubborn man, be cunning. With any man, keep the keys to the strongbox.

Rotate thine affections wisely. Variety, after all, is the spice that keepeth a widow rich.

God commanded us to grow fruitful and multiply, and made no mention of numeric value. Alas, why should men speak evil of maidens who marry multiple men? Listen women, when your husband is gone from the world, go forth and have many more, without shame or hesitance.
And Lastly, On Womanhood Itself
 

Heed my warning, always be prepared for the future! Set avenues for thy future success, allow thy eyes to wander and seek husbands for the future, God forbid thy current spouse passes. As my dear mother said, every wise woman knows to look out for herself, most importantly. 

Be thou wife, widow, or maiden, know this truth:
A woman who obeyeth blindly liveth half a life—but a woman who leadeth liveth fully.

Go forth, my sisters, with courage, cleverness, and a tongue sharp enough to keep any husband in good order.

Signed with much worldly experience,
Alyson of Bath

Who shall give thee more advice, free of charge, shouldst thou need it.

Year Published: 1395

 

Eleanor of Aquitaine – Gossip Column

           You know, just about anyone in the courts of France or England loves a good story if it involves a woman (especially one with power). In terms of girl bosses in Medieval Europe, Eleanor of Aquitaine has been the center of attentions for years, and sometimes I wonder if people talk more about her reputation rather than her actual actions. If you listen to the rumors alone, Eleanor seems to be wild, stubborn, too bold, and heavily with men. But if you look closer, you start to notice something pretty interesting… maybe all this gossip tells us more about how medieval people viewed women as a whole, rather than Eleanor herself.

Let’s start all the way at the beginning, when she married King Louis VII of France. Some argue that she hated him from the beginning, that he was too boring and even too religious, other people claim they were “fine” until things fell apart later. It’s funny how the story can take a complete 180 depending on who tells it. I’ve even heard claims that she rode off to the Second Crusade like some fearless Amazon, enjoying the adventure more than her role as queen, which seems a little outlandish. Some say she only went to give Louis a son. Everyone has a different story, but people always point out how bold she was, how she didn’t act like the quiet or “obedient” wife people expected. SO MYSOGYNISTIC, RIGHT!!! It’s almost like medieval writers wanted to make sure no one forgot she had opinions (especially the kind her husband didn’t like).

And here comes the scandal everyone lovesssss to talk about… her rumored affair with Raymond of Antioch. Did she betray Louis? Did she sleep with her own uncle? The person who started this rumor probably believed what everyone else was saying. I guess we’ll never truly know, but the rumor spread anyway. The story of Eleanor and Raymond seems to stick because it makes her ohhh sooo passionate, reckless, and completely led by desire. Typical woman, right? It doesn't even matter that we don't know if really it happened. The rumor alone was enough, just as many were at that time. I’d say it’s a pretty good example of how medieval gossip could hurt a woman’s reputation more than facts could ever help her, even when credible.

After her marriage to Louis ended, people said she got rid of him, or he got rid of her, or they agreed to separate. People can’t even seem to agree on that. But everyone remembers what came next! She married Henry II of England only two months later. Eleanor, this is NOT good for your rep–help yourself out please. Suddenly she was the wife who could not be controlled. Some historians claim she still held power, serving as Henry’s regent when he was away; most reduce her to a wife sent away to Aquitaine so Henry could do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted without her around (if you know what I mean…). Even when talking about all of her many professional accomplishments, so many people and stories bring things back to her marriage, not her politics. If that doesn’t show how often women's roles were described through men and not through their own work, I’m not sure what does!

And here we go again… the rebellion of 1173-74. Did Eleanor help her sons rise against Henry? And did she do it out of revenge for his affair with Rosamund Clifford? Some say yes, some say she was angry he controlled her lands. I’ve even heard someone say her involvement was just a rumor spread by others. It feels like people wanted the rebellion to sound like a reality TV show instead of politics. A queen who calls out and disagrees with her husband is one thing, but a queen acting like a scheming mother that her sons as weapons, is a story medieval audiences could totally latch on to.

The stories go on and on, but what do they really tell us? Writers, new and old, tend to discuss Eleanor’s legacy with a variety of emotions. Some are excited, and some rely heavily on their judgments. They talk so much about her relationships with men, rather than giving credit to her leadership. They repeat so many rumors even when they admit they can’t prove if they’re true. Whether it was her supposed affairs or “scheming,” people seem to remember Eleanor easiest when she is connected to some sort of a scandal. It feels like women during that time were easier to talk about as lovers and problems than as rulers or actual thinkers. Maybe she knew that, because she worked through all this just protect her family and land. Even when people tried to lock her away, she returned right back to her political roles. Eleanor had to move through a world where stories about her mattered as much as her actions.

In the end, the rumor may be more famous than the truth, but I guess it’s all up to your interpretation. What do you think? Was she really as scandalous as some say, or was she just painted that way?