Introduction to The Gentlewomans Companion
First published in 1673, The Gentlewomans Companion stands at an important crossroads in twentieth-century interpretations of seventeenth-century texts. In its discussion of female education and behavior, the Companion is an integral part of an ongoing debate about the place of women within society's institutions of learning. In its mission to provide "all Young Ladies, Gentlewomen, and all Maidens whatever" access to information on conduct, fitting female models, speech, fashion, recreation, fine cooking, and medical remedies, the Companion is a key text in the inclusion of women as professional writers in the print community. In its inaccurate identification as Hannah Wolley's compilation of her own work, the Companion is an excellent example of the conflicts faced by women as writers in the seventeenth-century world of print and plagiarism. The anonymous author states in the dedication of the work that the "great Design" of the Companion is to present "our Sex a Compleat Directory"-and that is exactly what follows. Reappearing after at least two later printings in 1675 and 1682, the complete directory enjoyed enormous success, in part because the name of Hannah Wolley, known as one of the first professional women writers, appeared on the title page. Although Wolley was not given the chance-as she had hoped she would be-to produce a collection of her own works in a single edition, the Companion nonetheless includes several documents that can be traced to Wolley's own voice. For this reason, the text is a valuable contribution to the growing corpus of Renaissance women's writing and should be studied as a text that encapsulates the gender conflicts of not only the seventeenth century, but also those still persisting today. Any approach to the Companion, however, must take into consideration the authorship of the text and the problems it poses for modern-day interpretations of Renaissance writings. Beginning with Elaine Hobby's evidence for the false authorship of the text, this introduction will then comment on what that authorship reveals about the nature of the print culture and the function of literary texts as property. At this point, it is also necessary to provide a biographical background of Wolley, as well as emphasize the persistence of the false biography printed in the Companion in today's scholarship. Lastly, this study will look at the place of the Companion within the Renaissance discourse on female education and, finally, the role of advice books as alternative forms of literature that are often overlooked in studies of seventeenth-century contributions to women's writing.
The Authorship of The Gentlewomans Companion
The author of The Gentlewomans Companion, in a chapter entitled "What Recreations and Pleasures are most fitting and proper for young Gentlewomen," asks: "Why should ye seek that in many which you may find in one? The Sun, whilst in our Hemisphere needs no other light but its own to illuminate the World. One Book may serve for a Library. The reading of few Books, is not to be less knowing, but to be the less troubled." The statement is an essential one, for it not only describes the author's perspective on education and reading, but also contributes a fitting description of the structure of the Companion. Simply put, the work is a compilation of writings taken from a number of sources, brought together to provide female readers with a definitive edition they can consult on any occasion. More importantly, the argument that "[o]ne Book may serve for a Library" also provides justification for the Companion's problematic | | ii authorship. Despite the work's title page, which boasts that Hannah Wolley is the undisputed author of The Gentlewomans Companion, the work does not belong in Wolley's impressive corpus of advice books, cooking guides, conduct literature, and medical references. In fact, until Elaine Hobby's important discovery, published in Virtue of Necessity: English Women'' Writing, 1646-1688 (1988), Wolley has been misidentified as the Companion's author for over three centuries. To prove her theory of the authorship of The Gentlewomans Companion, Hobby studies the chronology of Wolley's writing, as well as analyzes the text's language and style.
In the dedicatory poem in the beginning of A Supplement to The Queen-like Closet, first published in 1674, Wolley makes a serious accusation-she has been falsely attributed with the authorship of a recent, unnamed work of writing.1
Unto my self, who have been much abus'd
By a late printed Book, my Name there us'd:
I was far distant when they printed it,
Therefore that Book to own I think not fit.
To boast, to brag, tell stories in my praise,
That's not the way (I know) my Fame to raise.
Nor shall I borrow any Pen or Wit
(Innocence will hide what faults I do commit.) (ll.23-30)
Although Wolley resists naming the book and the accused printer, her reference to The Gentlewomans Companion is rather clear. On one hand, her mention of "a late printed Book" points to the Companion because, published only one year before A Supplement, it is the only work to appear under Wolley's name since 1670, when A Queen-like Closet was published. Wolley does, in fact, make mention of A Queen-like Closet in the beginning of her poem, citing it as the last work "I sent unto your view" (l.1). The poem also indicates that the mysterious book employs a style that Wolley considers boasting, and she resents the author's attempts to build her reputation through immodest language. Indeed, the Companion contains lines that emphasize Wolley's merits, often with excess. These lines appear in "A Short Account of the life and abilities of the Authoress of this Book," where the author begins by justifying the included biography.2 The opening is a conventional one, but the bitter tone that emerges is uncharacteristic of Wolley. "I would not presume to trouble you with any passages of my life," the author writes, "were it not in obedience to a Person of Honour, who engag'd me so to do if for no other reason than to stop the mouths of such who may be so maliciously censorious as to believe I pretend what I cannot perform" (5). Throughout the text that follows, the author repeatedly refers to "my extraordinary parts" and countless domestic skills, languages, musical instruments, and other tasks that she has mastered since the age of fourteen. As well as indicating the style of the Companion and that of Wolley's usual style are not compatible, the biography also presents an inaccurate chronology, which Hobby discusses at length.
As Hobby points out, Wolley mentions elsewhere in the supplement that she is fifty-two years old, thus placing her birth in 1622 (counting back from the date of Wolley's writing of the supplement, which was most like 1673) (166). With a 1622 date of birth, Wolley was most likely married to her first husband, Benjamin Wolley at the age of twenty-four in 1646. These figures, however, do not fit with the biography included in The Gentlewomans Companion. | | iii Hobby does not go into detail with the contradictions raised with her findings, so it is necessary to turn to the biography for a look at the signs of its falsification. When she was fifteen, the author writes, Wolley "was intrusted to keep a little School, and was the sole Mistress thereof" (6). What is notable about this beginning is that, according to the biography, Wolley has already mastered Italian, singing, dancing, and several musical instruments, and thus, after just two years, she is employed by a "Noble Lady in the Kingdom" who "was infinitely pleas'd" with the author's learning (6). Wolley, forced to find work as a schoolmistress at the age of fifteen and admittedly not considering "how I might improve my time to the best advantage" until the age of fourteen, would have to be a prodigy in foreign language and the arts to reach the point of mastery the author describes here. The time spent in the noble lady's home is not provided, but Wolley's accomplishments during this stay--she was governess, learned the arts of preserving and cookery, and became acquainted with the court--suggest that her stay was not a short one. After the death of the lady, Wolley allegedly moved to another lady's home, where she was governess, stewardess, scribe, and secretary for seven years. Already, then, Wolley's age is, at the very least, twenty-four years old. Though the biography is suspicious in its depiction of her early life, then, proof of false authorship demands more substantial evidence. This is provided in the last paragraph of the biography, where the author states that the "hand of the Almighty hath exercised me in all manner of Afflictions, by death of Parents when very young, by loss of Husband, Children, Friends, Estate, very much sickness, by which I was disenabled from my Employment" (7). While Wolley's first husband did die in 1661 and her second husband died one year after the publication of the Companion in 1673, we know of at least one of Wolley's children who lived after 1674, for she cites a son in A Supplement. Hobby's interpretation of the last paragraph of the false biography is both humorous and insightful: "[Wolley's] story ends with the sad reflection that everyone she loves, including her husband, friends and children are dead" (174). "This silly account," Hobby continues, "turns Hannah Wolley into a romance heroine, discounting the problems created by her imperfect education and the financial insecurity of her existence" (174).
The biographical account of Wolley is not the only section of the Companion that points to falsified authorship, but, along with A Supplement, it provides the strongest evidence. Guesses as to who the true author of the first parts of the Companion can only be speculative, but Hobby feels that a number of passages suggest that the writer is male. To prove this, Hobby turns to the first paragraph of "The Introduction," where the author discusses society's neglect of female education. This passage is referred to by every scholarly work that mentions Wolley, and it is usually cited as support for Wolley's inclusion in the debate about female education. Because the section is the most famous of Wolley's alleged writings, and in order to provide a framework for Hobby's assumption, it is worth citing the entire first paragraph:
In this introduction, Hobby observes, the author is "indeed progressive" in his argument for increased opportunities in female education. Hobby states, however, that "like other male defences of the excellence of woman," the author goes on to cite the expected list of women who were scholarly yet infamous in virtue. Hobby's main evidence, however, surfaces when she compares the use of first person in this paragraph to the author's slip into second person later on in the introduction. From the author's beginning conclusion that "we are debar'd from the knowledg of Humane Learning," the language undergoes a subtle change to remark, near the end, that readers should "Look then to your own actions, these must inform [your children]: Without you, they cannot perish; with you they may"(4). This shift, Hobby feels, in addition to the author's comments on education--particularly on knowledge of Latin--proves that the writer is an educated male who is revealed by his own language. "His phrases are elaborate," she states, "often verging on the preposterous," which she feels is demonstrated in his use of the phrase "efflux from the same eternal immensity" (174). Overall, Hobby's conclusion is highly probable, but the textual evidence is questionable. A shift from a first-person narrative to a second-person one may indicate the author's detachment from the female gender, or it may merely mark a rhetorical strategy to bring female readers into the text with inclusion and then, once the groundwork is set, begin the actual task of giving advice. The author could in fact be adopting a persona. The author's comments on Latin may point to a classical education, or they could be opinions overheard in conversation, or perhaps the author has been exposed elsewhere. The best evidence for identifying the author as male, I think, lies in the fact that, as Hobby earlier points out, the writer is most likely an employee of Dorman Newman, and the probability of that employee being male is rather high. Pointing to shifts in person and passing references to aspects of education usually attributed to a male classical background may support the argument, but such ventures are not always the most productive way to enter the text.
In addition to The Gentlewomans Companion, Wolley is also inaccurately cited as the author of The Compleat Servant-Maid (1677) and The Accomplish'd Ladies Delight (1675). Although Wolley most likely did not survive to see the publication of the latter two writings, her reaction to the Companion is recorded in the A Supplement to The Queen-like Closet, and later in The Ladies Directory Wolley states that she intended to compile materials for her own collection. "One of her particular complaints," Hobby finds, "is that Newman was selling the text for two shillings and sixpence, when the original had been a much cheaper affair, only one shilling" (172). While Wolley is upset that her name has been attached to a document without her consent, she is also angered that the work is sold at a price that would make it inaccessible to many members of the readership she targeted beginning with The Queen-like Closet in 1670 (168).
Overall, Elaine Hobby's findings are important ones for both the scholarship of seventeenth-century women's writing and for studies of the genre of advice books. Seventy years before Hobby began work on her Virtues of Necessity, however, another scholar voiced suspicion of Wolley's authorship of the Companion. Ada Wallas, author of Before the Bluestockings (1929), a study of "the position of educated Englishwomen from the Restoration to the end of the first third of the eighteenth century," includes the most substantial section on Wolley to date. In her chapter on "Hannah Woolley: A Self-Supporting Woman of the Seventeenth Century," Wallas states that Wolley's contribution to twentieth-century readers' | | v understanding of the "diet, the table-manners, and the social customs of people of quality in the time of the Protectorate and Restoration" is essential (19). More important, however, "is the autobiographical material contained in the Supplement to the second edition of The Queen-like Closet and in The Gentlewoman's Companion" (20). These two documents, Wallas finds, allows one to reconstruct the life of Hannah Wolley. For the next few pages, Wallas relates the biographical information provided in the biography of the Companion, failing to mention the statement in the dedication of A Supplement where Wolley remarks that a "late printed Book, my Name there us'd" has been recently printed (l.24). Unlike Hobby, Wallas locates Wolley's date of birth in 1623, and she cites the 1675 edition of the Companion as the first one, apparently unaware of the earlier, 1673 version. Wallas's account, however, does indicate an awareness of the biography's fantastic content. Although Wolley is evidently in possession of a great deal of knowledge of academic and artistic subjects, she quickly abandons those skills in pursuit of more domestic directions. Wallas observes that "[t]his seems to indicate that book-learning may have held a subordinate place in the time-table of her school" (22). Wallas's most insightful observation, however, follows her account of Wolley's biography. Here, Wallas pays closer attention to the complaints raised in A Supplement, though she does not place as much weight on the false attribution of the work as Hobby does in her 1988 study.
Wallas begins her explanation of the odd publishing history of the Companion by stating that the "confused state of the law of copyright in the seventeenth century seems a few years afterwards to have enabled a Mr. Dorman Newman to treat [Wolley] as unscrupulous theatre-managers are now sometimes accused of treating dramatic authors" (30). According to Wallas, Wolley was aware of Newman's plans to compile a collection of her works, and that he actually arranged for the popular author to write a "combined cookery-book and treatise on social behavior" (30). In Wolley's absence, however, Dorman allegedly handed the manuscript to an employee for revision, and the proofs were sent to Wolley for approval. Wallas does not cite her source, but finds that Wolley was unhappy with the revisions, at which time Dorman arranged a new monetary arrangement in which Wolley would be allowed to correct the new version for payment, apparently in exchange for her permission to use her name on the title page (30). According to Wallas, Dorman neglected to honor his payment agreement and, in addition, the Companion was published with a false portrait. Hobby also recognizes the portrait as an inaccurate one, and both scholars discover that the face belongs to Sarah Gilly 3 (Hobby 173, Wallas 30). Wallas concludes with an observation about the Companion's inconsistent style, though it is unclear if the scholar's interpretation is based on the text or the information she discovers about the work's authorship:
Wallas ends her discussion of Wolley's biography and questionable authorship by observing that, like Hobby, she can pinpoint no definite date of death. While Hobby locates Wolley's death sometime, presumably, before the publications of the second edition of The Gentlewomans Companion (1675) and The Accomplish'd Ladies Delight (1675), Wallas speculates that Wolley may have been alive in 1684 when The Queen-like Closet saw its fifth edition (Hobby 167, | | vi Wallas 32). Wallas's miscalculation is due to her assumption that the 1675 edition of the Companion is the first one, when it is actually the second. Wallas does make a point that Hobby is not aware of, however, when she discovers that The Gentlewomans Companion appears in 1711 under a new name, The Complete Gentlewoman (32).
It is tempting to analyze the Companion's problematic authorship against the backdrop of twentieth-century notions of plagiarism. To do so, however, would be to ignore the fact that Renaissance ideas about plagiarism deserve special attention, as well as to ignore the important issue of property as it is raised in both seventeenth-century literature as a whole and in the anonymous Companion. In Playwrights and Plagiarists in Early Modern England: Gender, Authorship, Literary Property, Laura J. Rosenthal discusses plagiarism within the context of the professionalization of literature as a profitable business. "This period," she finds, "defined authorship not just through a material economy of literary property, but through the symbolic economies of social and cultural capital" (3). Plagiarism, then, "functioned more as a cultural category defining the borders between texts and policing the accumulation of cultural capital" (3). In other words, plagiarism was-and still often is-an issue closely aligned with problems of subjectivity and gender (3). Wolley and the compiler of the Companion wrote during an era of economic transition for the business of writing and, significantly, the business of writing opened spaces for women's authorship. Rosenthal believes that "[f]or both genders, professional writing raised the suspicion of transgressive appropriation, and public spaces themselves were seen as intensifying the danger of plagiarism" (31).
Wolley is herself accused of crossing the boundaries of public, printed spaces in her writing. Wallas points out, for example, that "Hannah Woolley made no claim that all her writings on the domestic arts were original" (32). As evidence, Wallas cites the author's statement in the beginning of the dedication "To all Young Ladies, Gentlewomen, and all Maidens whatever":
Of course, the author's statement here cannot be used as evidence of Wolley's borrowing practices, but it does indicate that the author takes a casual approach to the adoption of others' texts for the work at hand. The author's casualness, however, is in striking contrast to Wolley's actual reaction to the "borrowing" of her own words and, more importantly, of her own name, for an unauthorized compilation. Gender is not at the center of the author's use of the anonymous The Queens Closet (1661), Robert May's The Accomplish't Cooke, or the Art and Mystery of Cookery (1660), William Sermon's The Ladies Companion, or The English Midwife (1671), and Francis Hawkin's translation of Youths Behaviour (1663). Even though the author borrows from these sources, the names of the writers are not emphasized. Wolley's name, however, is arguably the center point of the work, which is suggested not only by the appearance of her name on both the title page and following the dedication, but also by the long included biography. In contrast, the dedicatory poem of A Supplement ends with a modest "H.W." In this | | vii poem, it is also interesting that Wolley writes her line with emphasis on the name, and not the book: "By a late printed Book, my Name there us'd" (l.24). Wolley is clearly not as angry about the unauthorized publication of a collection of her works as much as she is about the attachment of her name to a text that does not meet the high standards of her writing. Issues and problems of gender in the compiler's use of Wolley's work and name, however, may be more closely linked to the rights of women writers in the seventeenth century.
Wolley's concern for the use of her name emphasizes the important issue of authorship during an era of increased literacy, advancing technology, and expanded print cultures. In The Imprint of Gender: Authorship and Publication in the English Renaissance, Wendy Wall finds that "authorship bears the mark of things unauthorized" (346). "In the case of Renaissance authorship," she continues, "what is 'unauthorized' is an unwieldy and curious mass that includes manuscript coterie texts and unstable courtly pageants as well as more expected cultural staples of unruly women and transvestite prodigals" (346). In Wall's reading, then, advice and conduct literature, as genres that often encourage the development of female communities, are parts of an immense body of literature that is not authorized in the same way that, say, a work of poetry may be. While there are exceptions to every rule, Wall's point is an important one to keep in mind when studying the advice genre, in part because the physical make-up of the book is often an essential part of its reception. Wall explains, for example, that the question of authorship is "complicated by the contradictory politics of print that are played out in the physical features of the book, the gendered rhetoric that attends to those features, and the strange overlay of sexual and social authorizations into the domain of literary textuality" (345). One could argue, for instance, that the concept of "borrowing" is more acceptable to readers of works like the Companion because the very physical make-up of an advice book is a somewhat cluttered one. In 261 pages, the Companion lectures on topics ranging from ballroom dancing to the preparation of a "Pig Roasted with the Hair on" and how to cure bad breath.4 The book's structure and highly advertised address to women, then, can be used to support stereotypes of women and, more specifically-women writers-as unable to produce works that progress in the logical, polished manner of stereotypical fine literature.
Wolley's attention to the preserving, canning, and cooking of food provides another interesting gateway into a discussion of property and commodification in the Companion. Rosenthal draws an odd yet striking analogy, for example, between virtue and food: "But while the circulation of virtue to make another person good is impossible, the circulation of food to make another fat is comprehensible" (17). She continues to ask, "Is literary property, then, like virtue in that it adheres to the person and could not possibly add to another's stock of symbolic capital, or is it like food, easily circulated and converted to material capital?" (17). Rosenthal's question highlights two concerns that are applicable to a discussion of the Companion: first, it asks if Wolley's name, as the name of an author, ceases to be her own name after she publishes a number of texts, becoming instead a public name up for grabs by compilers, plagiarists, and imitators. Though the situation of the Companion differs from other more clear-cut examples of plagiarism, it nonetheless suggests that Wolley's name can add to another's stock of symbolic capital. Second, Rosenthal's comparison of literary property and food points to an interesting relationship between the two crafts. During the seventeenth-century, both the art of writing and the art of cooking experienced a move toward the business world. When the market of print reached a new level of efficiency and could publish more pamphlets, advice books, conduct | | viii books, miscellanies, and companions, writers like Wolley were introduced to new career opportunities. Domestic expertise in the areas of cooking, needlepoint, conduct, letter-writing, fashion, cosmetics, and medicine could be assembled in print form for the benefit of a large audience of both female and male readers. At the same time, such publications threatened men and women who specialized in these tasks, because information that was once learned only after a long career of practice could be communicated and learned by all literate members of society. Rosenthal finds, for example, that "the reconceptualization of food as a commodity challenged the traditional perspective of the farmer" (24). "The seventeenth century," she summarizes, "saw both the emergence of food as a commodity like any other as well as vigorous debates over this transition by economists and moralists" (24). Ironically, then, domestic occupations open to seventeenth-century women were being threatened by a print culture that opened up new opportunities for women writers. In her reference to Hannah Wolley, Moira Ferguson points to this very issue as justification for Wolley's importance as a writer. Wolley, she writes, "wrote a form of training manual for women in the domestic arts at a time when jobs were disappearing" (3). Importantly, Ferguson states, Wolley's "encyclopaedic handbooks" are addressed to women in service jobs as well as middle-class women, thus setting her work apart from other female authors of the time like Bathsua Makin (13).
The audience of the Companion and Wolley's true works is essential, for it is here that we begin to note the importance that the advice book genre held in seventeenth-century society and literature. Ferguson seems comfortable with Wolley's double audience, while other critics either emphasize one readership or express concern over the writer's ambiguity. Deirdre Raftery, writing in Women and Learning in English Writing, 1600-1900, believes that writers like Wolley "proposed schools and colleges catering for an intellectual rather than a vocational education," and this emphasis on middle- and upper-class women's education "reflects concern at the paucity of provision" (30).5 On one hand, the Companion does repeatedly speak directly to "ladies," revealing that the Companion is directed toward literature readers of the middle and upper classes. The Companion also includes sections like "Of a young Gentlewomans deportment to her Governess and Servants in the Family," but the table of contents also notably includes specific individual sections dedicated specifically "To Nursery-Maids in Noble Familes" and "in London or elsewhere," as well as chapters "To Cook-maids," "Laundry-maids," "Dairy-maids," "House-maids," and "Scullery-maids." Hobby cites Wolley's third publication, The Queen-like Closet (1670), as indicative of the writer's double audience. This third publication, Hobby feels, is "divided over the problem of which class it is addressing" because while, on one hand, Wolley discusses party food of the upper classes, she also directs the third part of the Closet to servants (169). "Her more likely pupils, of course," Hobby writes, "are not servants themselves, but their mistresses who, in becoming more leisured, might be losing the traditional female skills of running the household" (Hobby 171). "She seeks, indeed, to professionalize housework, or to turn it into a recognised trade, offering a seven-year training in some ways comparable to the seven-year apprenticeship that Robert May and other men took to become cooks" (171). Another view of the "problematic" audience of the Companion and Wolley's Closet--and one not mentioned in current scholarship--is that it marks one of the most important characteristics of the genres of advice writing and cookery. While Wolley's upper-class audience may overlook those sections addressed to their employees, women hired as service workers no doubt paid close attention not only to the chapters dedicated to them, but also | | ix to the beginning sections of the work that outline proper conduct and education for "ladies and gentlewomen." Although literacy amongst the working class was still relatively low, advice literature gave women of that class access to literature that not only provided recipes and cleaning suggestions, but that also included arguments for the improved education of the female sex. It is impossible to measure the impact that advice literature had on members of the working classes, but the content and wide target audience of works like the Companion repeatedly reached readers in a way that poetry, fiction, and other forms of prose could not.
Hannah Wolley: Her Life and Works
The "spurious biography" that appears in the anonymous Companion is the basis for the majority of the few modern Wolley biographies. In her otherwise outstanding book, Raftery adopts the facts of the constructed life of Wolley (spelled "Woolley" in her text), but Raftery does admit that information about the author is incomplete. Apparently basing her knowledge of Wolley's life on "The Short Account" that appears in the beginning of the Companion, Raftery calculates Wolley's birth year as 1623, just one year off from Hobby's calculation (37). According to Raftery, Wolley was orphaned at age fourteen and, adopting the language of the account, became "mistress of her own little school" at the age of fifteen (37). Unfamiliar with Hobby's findings, Raftery inaccurately attributes the Companion to Wolley, stating that it is here that Wolley "boldly states that she believed that female ignorance was the result of male conspiracy" (37).
To set the record straight, Hobby provides a new biography, which she compiles after an impressive close reading of small hints throughout the corpus of Wolley's true texts and from county histories and death notices. From these readings, Hobby discovers that Wolley's date of birth is most likely 1622, and that from 1639 to 1646 Wolley worked as a servant for an unnamed woman, during which time she learned about medical remedies and recipes (166). In 1646 Hobby married Benjamin Wolley, who was the master of the Newport Grammar School where Hobby put into practice those skills of "physick" which she acquired earlier. Hobby does not cite where she obtains the information, but she states that Wolley and her husband moved from Newport to Hackney, where the couple started another school (166). Benjamin Wolley died on August 1661, as indicated in the Victoria County History, and interestingly Hannah Wolley publishes her first book, The Ladies Directory, just one month before her husband's death (166). Hobby speculates that the husband's death must have followed an illness, for Hannah most likely began publishing to provide an alternative income and to look ahead to her future as a single parent of four children (166). By the time of her first husband's death, Wolley had earned a reputation as a successful physician, despite her amateur experience and the volatile environment for female medics. "From the beginning," Hobby writes, "she used her books as an advertisement for her prowess, both preparing the way for her forthcoming publications and inviting her readers to consult her in person if they required further instruction" (167). Ironically, Hobby points out, Wolley's first title page warns readers to beware of counterfeits (167). Wolley remarried in 1666, but her second husband, Francis Chaloner, died within a decade later around 1674 (166). Wolley's own date of death is unknown, "but since she raised no public protest at T.P.s making free with her work in 1675 in The Accomplish'd Ladies Delight, it is possible that she did not live to see it appear"(Hobby 167). | | x
According to Hobby, Wolley is the first woman to earn an income from writing and publishing cookery and medical-remedy books (166). Author of The Ladies Directory (1661 and 1662), The Cooks Guide (1664), The Queen-like Closet (1670, 1672, 1675-6, 1681, 1684), The Ladies Delight (1672), and A Supplement To The Queen-like Closet (1674, 1681, 1684), Wolley's corpus is impressive in its scope and intention. Her goal, as each of these works proves, is to achieve no less than educate every female member of society in nearly every area of life imaginable, be it domestic, recreational, romantic, or academic. Wolley's first book, The Ladies Directory, was first printed in July of 1661 and includes "fanciful instructions for candying and for creating court perfumes" (Hobby 167). Even on the title page, Wolley demonstrates her keen entrepreneurial skills, boasting that she is a former cook for Charles I and other noble figures. Hobby states that Wolley's earliest book is typical of the cookbooks of the late seventeenth century, as evidenced by the author's style, "fanciful instructions," and fantastic medical remedies (167). Hobby points out that Wolley intended The Cooks Guide, first printed in 1664, to be sold with The Ladies Directory, for Wolley states in her address to the reader that she has "joined both the books in one that they may pass as one" (qtd. in Hobby 167). Importantly, Wolley also follows the literary conventions of her day and dedicates her cookbook to members of the nobility--Lady Anne Wroth and her daughter Mary. Her failure to "evoke noble protection" in the first book, Hobby observes, "was due only to modesty" (168). The evolution of Wolley's writing, then, is already in progress. As well as learn the ropes of modesty tropes, Wolley also practices self-effacement as was already familiar to readers of Aemilia Lanyer and Katherine Philips.
The Queen-like Closet was published in 1670, and is largely an expansion of the content of her two previous works. "Her presentation of her material," Hobby points out, "shows her confidence in the act of writing, and her sense of the role of author, to be expanding" (168). Hobby concludes her summaries of Wolley's true works with a look at A Supplement to the Queen-like Closet, printed in 1674 and particularly important because it provides the main support for the false authorship of The Gentlewomans Companion. Like the compiled Companion, the supplement offers advice on letter writing, as well as contains discussions of needlework, handwriting, grammar, and household activities.
A look at the evolution of Wolley's writing proves that Renaissance scholars--and all readers in general--would benefit from additional studies of Wolley as a writer, an educator, and an activist. Her low-key goal in The Ladies Directory--to provide information on preserving and candying, is a stark contrast to the confidence of A Supplement, where Wolley even offers advice on writing and communication. During the course of her career, Wolley picks up the literary conventions of her time and successfully applies them so that, by the 1670s, her name is so well-known it is "borrowed" by a publisher who seeks additional profit for his printing business. As Hobby states, Wolley's body of work proves that she "has progressed a long way from her initial recipe books made up of long, rambling sentences, to being able to advise and adjudicate about the correct language to use for various purposes" (172).
Locating the Companion in Seventeenth-Century Women's Education and Literature
Raftery writes in Women and Learning in English Writing, 1600-1900 that during the Renaissance, "the debate about the education of women inherited a set of arguments, supported by classical and biblical exempla, that promoted the idea that a woman's education should equip her for nothing more than the duties of a virtuous wife and mother" (16). "The education of | | xi women," she continues, "was associated with the private sphere, while the education of men was associated with preparation for public life" (16). Because the Companion is sometimes cited as an important document in the argument for female education yet, in its broader content, is an advice book on domestic duties, it emerges as the embodiment of the conflict Raftery here refers to.
In a later section of her book, Raftery cites Wolley, alongside other women writers like Bathsua Makin and Mary Astell, as a reformer of female education. Raftery, evidently unfamiliar with Elaine Hobby's findings, inaccurately attributes Wolley with The Gentlewomans Companion, but her comments are still applicable here. She states, for example, that the title of the Companion is misleading: it is not a "revolutionary feminist tract" (30). Writers of works like the Companion, Raftery continues, "sought to secure recognition from society that women could and ought to engage in learning, but they did not dispute contemporary beliefs that woman was man's helpmate and that her 'sphere' was the home" (30). Raftery also finds that by becoming learned, Renaissance women "ceased to be women," for education "was seen to compromise a woman's femininity" (17). It is interesting to look from Raftery's statement to the Companion, where the author takes great pains to include sections on both women's education and sections on fashion, cosmetics, recreation, and public behavior. Raftery points out that publications like the Companion are a consequence of this conflict between femininity and learning, but she believes that this "substantial corpus of print culture . . . limited female learning to training for the domestic sphere" (17). Raftery's observation is an important one, but Wolley's work and the compiled Companion of course serve a function that extends past domestic training. Generically, the conventions of advice literature are hinged on the writer's argument for female education and acknowledgment of the "feminine role" in the private sphere (Beilin 266). "But each recognizes that to write," Elaine Beilin points out in Redeeming Eve: Women Writers of the English Renaissance, "brings her public notice, particularly as she assumes the authority of a preacher" (266). The role of the advice writer-and particularly of the "loving mother" woman writer who speaks to parents about the education and conduct of their children-is both a "safe persona" and a persona that "highlights the conflict between the private and public status" (266). The Companion exhibits both of these characteristics, for while it includes sections that give motherly advice, it also fits into a more public role as an argument for female education.
Importantly, the increased provision of education for women encouraged an increase in literacy and, in turn, an increase in the number of women writing for public audiences. It was at this time, between 1670 and 1720, "that a number of important publications written by women appeared, in which arguments for female education were articulated" (31). Wolley, then, stands at the front edge of a surge in female publications, marking her as one of the first professional women writers in English history. The advice books of Hannah Wolley's generation, as a whole, are situated at the beginning of a newly charged debate in early Modern English writing. While earlier books promoted the "synthetic view of woman," mid- to late-seventeenth century writings passionately disputed notions of female intellectual inferiority (Raftery 33). The "pioneer" of women's education, as Raftery identifies her, is Mary Astell, who in the introduction to her A Serious Proposal to the Ladies for the Advancement of their True and Greatest Interest (1694) states:
Here, Astell suggests that her female readers place less emphasis on physical beauty and instead turn to the improvement of their intellect. To do this, however, Astell admits that changes must occur in her society's approach to the education of women, and educational institutions must open their doors to those ladies and gentlewomen who, when given the opportunity, will "surpass the Men as much in Vertue and Ingenuity, as you do in Beauty" (1). Until formal education opens its doors to women, however, Astell argues that women must learn the craft of self-education: "One wou'd therefore almost think, that the wise disposer of all things, foreseeing how unjustly Women are denied opportunities of improvement from without, has therefore by way of compensation endow'd them with greater propensions of Vertue and a natural goodness of Temper within" (5).
A second significant name in the reformation of women's education--and a name mentioned in the Companion--is Anna Maria van Schurman of Utrecht.6 Raftery cites Schurman as the first woman to debate female education, and Elaine Hobby also points to the Dutch scholar as one of the first women to make a case for formalized female learning (33, 198). Schurman's Disertatio, de Ingenii Muliebris ad Doctrinam, et Meliores Litteras Aptitudine, published in Holland in 1641, was first translated into English as The Learned Maid, or Whether a Maid may be a Scholar in 1659 (Raftery 33). Schurman's syllogistic argument "proves exhaustively women's need of, and right to, an education in grammar, logic and rhetoric on lines identical to those of the male grammar schools and universities" (Hobby 198). The difficulty of writing about women's education as Schurman approached it, however, was how to promote female worth but still maintain the important traits of modesty, virtue, and femininity. Unlike male defenders of women's rights like Cornelius Agrippa, women like Schurman could not justify their writing by appealing to courtly love conventions of a lady's defense (Hobby 199). Referenced in the Companion, the writings of Cornelius Agrippa are also at the center of seventeenth-century arguments for increased opportunities in female education and influential in the genre of the advice book.7 The citation of well-known advocates of women in the Companion, Hobby remarks, is typical of male defenses of women, and the author-identified by Hobby as a man-"is not unreserved in his promotion of equality" (173).
Beginning in the late seventeenth century and continuing into the eighteenth century, women saw a shift in the English economy of the middle and merchant classes, so that more middle-class women could hire a domestic staff and, therefore, were allowed more time to dedicate to occupation and education (Raftery 43). To address this new demand, printers and publishers began producing a large number of advice books, conduct literature, magazines, miscellanies, mother's manuals, and midwifery information. While many of these publications were designed for entertainment purposes, most were directed to women with more serious interests. Scientific information, Raftery finds, enjoyed immense popularity in the seventeenth century, particularly works like Elizabeth Carter's translation of Sir Isaac Newton's Philosophy explained for the Use of the Ladies (1739) and Priscilla Wakefield's An Introduction to Botany (1760) (44). Female readers, diaries, and almanacs could also be found on women's coffee tables and found increased popularity in the mid-eighteenth century when such publications like the Female Spectator would feature monthly readings on a variety of crucial issues. | | xiii
More than any other genre, mother's manuals and advice books enjoyed enormous success during the seventeenth century. The popularity of this body of literature, Kristen Poole points out in "'The fittest closet for all goodness': Authorial Strategies in Jacobean Mothers' Manuals" "invites us to reconsider the perception and reception of women's writing in Jacobean England" (69). At the root of the genre's popularity, she explains, is its "highly unusual" presentation--it "overtly commands and instructs" (69, 70). Poole here focuses on the meaning behind the candidly authoritative female voice of advice literature, which she feels may challenge our tendencies to see the public and private spheres as inherently separate. To explore the issue of the public and private, Poole looks to the genre's apparent definition of the word "home": "defining 'home' (the private) became a way of defining 'not home' (the public)" (71). Conduct literature, she concludes, thus not only "aimed at defining the proper role of gentlewomen" and "the social place and function of domesticity," but also strove to define what was meant by the word "public" (71). As mothers, Poole also adds, these female writers emphasized the "duality of their private and public roles" (71). Hannah Wolley pushes this duality even further, it seems, by taking on not only the roles of mother and writer, but by also adopting the roles of teacher, tutor, wife, former cook for Charles I, midwife, apothecary, musician, and poet.
It is fitting to begin reading The Gentlewomans Companion with Poole's comments about the thin line between the private and public spheres in the foreground, for they provide a context within which to approach not only the genre of advice writing, but also the text's problematic history. Before entering the text, however, a statement of gratitude is in order for Elaine Hobby, whose research, as this introduction has attempted to capture, has opened up a large discussion of authorship, authority, and literary property in seventeenth-century English women's writing. The Companion also provides an effective model for the advice genre in its double audience, diverse subject matter, and portrayal of the conflicting-yet often compatible-issues of female education reformation and domestic training. Fittingly, the author of the Companion states in a chapter "Of Speech and Complement" that "[t]he Eye entertains it self not with more Objects than the Invention furnisheth the Tongue with Subjects; and as without Speech, no Society can subsist" (14). The Gentlewomans Companion definitely provides the subjects-it is now up to readers to decide what can be done with them.
The Gentlewomans Companion: Textual Explanation and Notes
As is common practice, I have revised the letter 's' in The Gentlewomans Companion, which in the 1673 manuscript, available on microfilm copy from the English Short Title Catalogue, appears as the conventional ["long s"]. I have also left contractions, punctuation, and capitalization as they appear in the original, for two reasons: first, the Companion is highly readable in its current form; more importantly, the preservation of the original style of the manuscript allows scholars to compare The Gentlewomans Companion to texts that are confirmed as works by Hannah Wolley. Because the authorship of the Companion is still questionable and future scholars may wish to pursue the question of authorship and gender in seventeenth-century advice and conduct literature, the edited text must be as close to the original as possible. The only spelling variation in the text occurs with the word 'virtue," which often appears in its alternative form as 'vertue.' While italics in the 1673 edition are confined to proper names, places, languages (as in French, Italian, Greek, and English), and quotations, a | | xiv look at the later 1675 edition reveals a substantially more indulgent use of italics for emphasis. As editors Kate Chedgzoy, Melanie Osborne, and Suzanne Trill point out in the textual editing explanation to Lay by Your Needles Ladies, Take the Pen: Writing Women in England, 1500-1700, choosing to change italics to fit twentieth-century standards "means that the modern editor is placing yet another layer of interpretation upon the text and is preventing modern readers from making their own decisions about its significance (or lack of it)" (22). Overall, however, the Companion is very consistent in its use of letters and words that tend to vary in seventeenth-century texts. There are no instances where a 'v' is used for a 'u', for example, nor has the manuscript been damaged in any way that would obscure sections of the text. The Companion also differs from many of its contemporaries in that paragraphs are relatively short, so I have not added any alteration in paragraph breaks.
Because the edited sections of The Gentlewomans Companion included in this project are meant to benefit undergraduates, beginning Renaissance students, graduate students, and scholars who need additional information and sources for their research, I have annotated a great number of words and passages throughout the text. Obscure or dated words are defined using the Oxford English Dictionary, and background information is provided for classical references. In many cases, these references were found with the aid of The Concise Oxford Companion to Classical Literature. In instances where another source has been consulted, the citation is provided. A few references are still unidentified, such as the author's mention of D. Heylin, whose name does not appear in any available directory of English or French writers nor in the ESTC (11). Edesia is also obscure--the only information I could find on this model of female behavior is provided in the attached footnote (3). Other identified women who demand a more rigorous search are the "seven Milesian Virgins," and the "Lacedemonian wives" (21, 22, 23). While portraits of these historical, mythical, or fictional figures would add to the argument that is put forth in the Companion, no meaning is lost without them. Other names that have been uncovered are often misspelled in the text, so it is possible that future searches may discover references under alternative spellings. Additional information has been provided, however, for titles, phrases, or themes within the Companion that may lead curious readers to additional areas of study. Several sources have been consulted for these explanations, so citations that refer to the bibliography that appears at the end of the document are provided in the individual notes.
Only one additional issue needed to be confronted in the editing of The Gentlewomans Companion--what to include. The original manuscript is 261 pages, most of which consists of recipes and medical remedies. The complete table of contents is provided in its regular position in the beginning of the manuscript, so that readers have the opportunity to view the overall arrangement of the text and the immensity of the compilation. Perhaps the most helpful approach to an explanation of choices of selection is to proceed through the text, identifying the guiding factors in each decision.
The first three sections of the Companion--"To all Young Ladies, Gentlewomen, and all Maidens whatever," "The Introduction," and "A Short Account of the life and abilities of the Authoress of this Book"--are the original beginning sections of the text. The dedication is significant not only because it identifies the intended audience of the work, but also because it provides essential information on the texts that are "borrowed" by the author to compile the Companion. The section on "What qualifications best become and are most suitable to a Gentlewoman" sets the stage for the author's approach to the audience, as well as cites a number of issues essential to the Companion's argument for advancements in female education, as does the following chapter "Of a Gentlewomans civil Behaviour to all sorts of people in all places." | | xv The next four sections, all concerned with the physical presentation of gentlewomen, illustrate the conflict cited in the introduction between education and femininity, in addition to including several passages that are worth noting for their wit and humor. At this point, readers turn to "The Gentlewomans Mirrour, or Patterns for the imitation of such famous Women who have been emminent in Piety and Learning," which places great emphasis on the relationship between scholarship and chastity. This section also serves as a lengthy catalog of important historical female figures. The last section in the advice genre is "Of Marriage, and the duty of a Wife to her Husband," which highlights Kristen Poole's argument about the role of the public and private and, in addition, addresses the issue of authority. The last included chapters are part of a much longer compilation of medical remedies, of which I provide the introduction and a few examples. This section--as well as the many recipes in the Companion that I regret are not included here--is a rich area for further study. In the "Observations of Physick and Chyrurgery," for instance, the author puts forth a lecture on hygiene that is essential to the history of the health care practice, proving that the Companion's worth extends outside of the field of literature and into fields that could greatly benefit from additional historical sources.
The Gentlewomans Companion: Works Cited
Astell, Mary. A Serious Proposal to the Ladies for the Advancement of their True and Greatest Interest (1694). New York: Source Book Press, 1970.
Chedgzoy, Kate, Melanie Osborne, and Suzanne Trill, eds. Lay By Your Needles Ladies, Take the Pen: Writing Women in England, 1500-1700. London and New York: Arnold, 1997.
Ferguson, Moira, ed. First Feminists : British Women Writers, 1578-1799. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985.
Hobby, Elaine. Virtue of Necessity: English Women's Writing, 1646-1688. London: Virago Press, 1988.
Poole, Kristen. ""'The fittest closet for all goodness': Authorial Strategies of Jacobean Mothers' Manuals."" Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900. 35 (1995): 69-88.
Raftery, Deirdre. Women and Learning in English Writing, 1600-1900. Portland: Four Courts Press, 1997.
Rosenthal, Laura J. Playwrights and Plagiarists in Early Modern England: Gender, Authorship, Literary Property. Ithaca and London: Cornell UP, 1996.
Wall, Wendy. The Imprint of Gender: Authorship and Publication in the English Renaissance. Ithaca and London: Cornell UP, 1993.
Wallas, Ada. Before the Bluestockings. London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd, 1929.
1. A copy of Wolley's introductory remarks to A Supplement to The Queen-like Closet is available in Appendix A.
2. "A Short Account" is included in this edited copy of selected sections of the Companion. For references to this and other included sections, I will refer to the page numbers as they appear in the following text.
3. A copy of this portrait is reproduced in Appendix B.
4. These topics appear as chapter headings in the Companion's table of contents, located in this version in its original position at the beginning of the text.
5. Raftery is apparently unfamiliar with Hobby's findings, thus in her observations she refers to Wolley as the author of the Companion.
6. pg. 8.
7. pg. 8.