Phantom Borders and Nostalgia: German Women’s Associations in the Second Polish Republic after 1918*

Paula Lange

University of Vienna, Department of History

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Transformations associated with the end of World War I had an immense impact on the population of the former Prussian partition area, most of which became, in the wake of the war, the Second Polish Republic. Members of the German women’s associations, which had existed before 1918, found themselves in a new situation. As members of a national minority in the newly established Polish state, they were confronted with a reversed balance of power. Meanwhile, women’s suffrage had been introduced, opening up new political spaces of action for women. This article examines gender-related spaces of action for German women in this region after 1918 and explores the strategies and points of reference used by these women. The two examples on which it focuses, the Vaterländischer Frauenverein in Graudenz/Grudziądz and the work of feminist activist Martha Schnee in Bromberg/Bydgoszcz, are examined using the concepts of phantom borders and nostalgia.

Keywords: Second Polish Republic, German women’s associations, phantom borders, nostalgia, interwar period

Hungarian Historical Review Volume 14 Issue 3 (2025): 373-401  DOI 10.38145/2025.3.373

Introduction

Women’s activism in Central and Eastern Europe was strongly influenced by World War I and, in particular, the regime changes that came at the close of the war, with the emergence of new states after 1918. Women’s associations, many of which now belonged to the national minorities in the new states (such as the Germans in the Second Polish Republic), occupied a special position in this context. On the one hand, German women’s associations1 found themselves in a reversed position of power, since they had belonged to the national majority in most regions of the Prussian partition area of the German Empire until its collapse. On the other hand, the founding of the Second Polish Republic, the introduction of women’s suffrage in 1918, and the establishment of democratic structures opened up new political, institutional, and imagined spaces of action for them. While the position of the German minority in the Second Polish Republic has been rigorously studied,2 little attention has been paid to German women’s associations, their networks, and their spheres of influence after 1918.3 As this paper will show, broadening the perspective by including the category of gender in the study of national minorities (in addition to, for example, denomination or class) offers new insights into women’s agency in the interwar period and sheds light on the hitherto unstudied activities of women’s organizations and their networks.

In the new political, institutional, and imagined spaces of action that emerged after 1918, women’s organizations adopted strategies and types of activism that resembled prewar aspirations and efforts (e.g., organizing supra-regional network meetings), and they remained linked to their previous points of reference (e.g., the German Empire). These continuities in women’s activism in a completely new political situation will be demonstrated with two examples: the Vaterländischer Frauenverein des Roten Kreuzes (VF – Patriotic Women’s Association of the Red Cross) in Graudenz/Grudziądz and the efforts of feminist activist Martha Schnee in Bromberg/Bydgoszcz. The source material used consists mainly of records of the respective associations, as well as police files and court records. Two concepts will be used to explain the action strategies of Vaterländischer Frauenverein and Martha Schnee: the theoretical frame of phantom borders4 and the concept of nostalgia, drawing on the definitions offered by Svetlana Boym.5

The collected volume Fragmentierte Republik? Das politische Erbe der Teilungszeit in Polen 1918–1939 edited by Michael G. Müller and Kai Struve, deals with the question of how experiences in the various partitioned areas as ‘phantom borders’ affected the actions of the political elites after 1918 and how this also contributed to the political fragmentation of the Second Polish Republic. A contribution to this discussion that explicitly considers the category of gender, however, is missing. Phantom borders can be described as “former mostly political borders or territorial divisions that continue to structure space after they have been institutionally abolished.”6 Phantom borders leave behind “tangible traces of the no longer existing political body and its external borders” over different periods of time. In our case, these are the phantom borders of the German Empire respectively the Prussian partition area in the Second Polish Republic, which was founded in 1918. The concept of phantom borders enables us to highlight the features of historical regions without essentializing them or reifying their physical borders. It reminds us that what had once existed as a very real political space can persist as an imagined space, and these imagined spaces can be incorporated into a historical analysis without perpetuating imperial narratives or lending persuasive force to revisionist claims.7 This is particularly important in the case of what had been, before the war, the eastern part of the German Empire, which remained the subject of nationalist and revisionist fantasies and a highly controversial political issue after the signing of the Treaty of Versailles.

Drawing on Henri Lefebvre’s triad of space,8 three dimensions of phantom borders can be characterized: The Raumimagination (imagining of space), the Raumerfahrung (experience of space), and the Raumgestaltung (formation of space).9 The relevance of phantoms borders in the creation, interpretation, and lived experience of spaces is clearly visible in the activities of the women’s associations.

The members of the Vaterländischer Frauenverein in Grudziądz maintained symbolic ties to the defunct German Empire in order to situate themselves in space and to give meaning and consistency to their situation and existence (Raumimagination).10 Their value orientations and practices, which had emerged from their experiences of successes under the German Empire, continued to function as routines under changed circumstances in the Second Polish Republic as they continued their association’s work (Raumerfahrung).11 Phantom borders, however, are not simply metaphors for the ways in which spaces are imagined or experienced. They also shape the spaces in which they exist, for example through old and new institutional orders. Surviving legal traditions, for instance, contribute to the meaningful formation of space (Raumgestaltung).12 The German law on associations, for example, which was adopted into the new Polish legal system and only replaced in 1933, played a major role in the fate of the Vaterländischer Frauenverein.

In their “academic positioning on phantom borders in Eastern Europe,” Hannes Grandits, Béatrice von Hirschhausen, Claudia Kraft, Dietmar Müller, and Thomas Serrier point out that the three ways in which phantom borders can be understood as part of Lefebvre’s triad of space overlap.13 As Marko Zajc states, the “conceptual openness of the ‘phantom border’ concept bears the potential of its productive application.” Referring to examples in which the notion of phantom borders has been used as a fruitful theoretical concept, Zajc asks the following question: “Is this about ‘phantom borders’, or rather ‘phantom spaces’?”14

This paper explores this question by adding Svetlana Boym’s concept of nostalgia to the analysis. Boym defines nostalgia as a “longing for a home that no longer exists or has never existed. Nostalgia is a sentiment of loss and displacement, but it is also a romance with one’s own fantasy.”15 She draws a distinction between reflective and restorative nostalgia: “Reflective nostalgia thrives on algia (the longing itself) and delays the homecoming—wistfully, ironically, desperately.” The notion of restorative nostalgia, which emphasizes nostos (home) and “attempts a transhistorical reconstruction of the lost home,”16 seems very useful as a perspective from which to study the activities of the German women’s associations in the aftermath of World War I. Boym describes the creation of a “phantom homeland” as an “extreme case of nostalgia.”17 After a brief historical overview, the two examples mentioned are discussed from the perspective of the concept of phantom borders. Women’s activism in the region before and during World War I is also described to offer context and some grasp of the reference points that were used by women in their work after 1918. Finally, I link the findings of this discussion to the concept of nostalgia.

The End of World War I and the Negotiations Concerning the Borders of the New Polish State

With the collapse of the German, Habsburg, and Russian Empires and the end of World War I, new states emerged. These states saw themselves as homogeneous nation states despite the presence of considerable linguistic and confessional minorities. In 1918, 123 years after the Third Partition of Poland, which divided the land of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth among the Prussian, Habsburg, and Russian Empires, the Second Polish Republic came into being. But the proclamation of the Second Polish Republic in November 1918 did not determine the final borders of the new state. For another three years, military conflicts, armed uprisings and referendums shaped the nation-building and state-building processes of the region, which was still suffering from the consequences of the war. Industry and agriculture had collapsed, infrastructure was largely destroyed, food shortages and diseases were a common part of everyday life, and populations were dwindling because of resettlement, deportation, and civilian and military war casualties.18

The incorporation into the new Polish state of the formerly Prussian territories (the Province of Posen) and large parts of West Prussia was decided by the Treaty of Versailles. From then on, East Prussia was separated from the Weimar Republic by parts of the newly established Second Polish Republic, as the treaty guaranteed Poland access to the Baltic Sea. Danzig was placed under the supervision of the League of Nations as a Free City. In addition, referendums were to be held in parts of East Prussia and Upper Silesia, which, as an industrial region, was of great interest to both countries. The population here was able to vote as to whether to remain with the Weimar Republic or to be incorporated into the new Polish state.19 The first plebiscite in East Prussia took place on July 11, 1920, in the shadow of the Polish-Soviet war. 96.5 percent of the population voted to remain in the Weimar Republic. Only eight villages were made part of the Second Polish Republic.20

New political spaces of action

Women’s associations participated in the preparations for the plebiscites. In February 1921, for example, the main office of the Deutsch-Evangelischer Frauenbund (DEF – German Protestant Women’s Association)21 sent a letter to local Silesian groups with instructions on how to prepare for the upcoming plebiscite in Silesia. The main office asked the local groups of the association in the voting areas for increased commitment. According to the letter, the members of the DEF were

obliged to be faithful to the program of the association and to promote moral-religious, German Protestant thoughts and principles […] among the population, to stand up for German nature and German character, to strengthen national feelings and, ultimately, also to point out the responsibility of women to do their duty in the election.22

In particular, the groups in Silesia were encouraged to mobilize women to vote in favor of remaining in the Weimar Republic. To this end, members were to travel to various areas to prepare group meetings and give lectures. Although the activities of the women in the DEF were voluntary and unpaid, the speakers were to receive honoraria for their talks. This offers a clear illustration of how urgent the matter seemed to the main office.23

The statement concerning “the responsibility of women to do their duty in the election” should not be misunderstood to suggest that the DEF supported the introduction of women’s suffrage. On the contrary, the DEF continued to oppose women’s suffrage, which was introduced in the Weimar Republic and the Second Polish Republic in 1918. In 1919, women exercised universal, equal, direct, and secret suffrage for the first time in the first elections to the National Assembly. A woman’s “duty” to exercise the right to vote derived, in the mentality of the DEF, from an obligation to the homeland (not to a democratic system) and loyalty to the fatherland, which transcended politics and parties.24 As Andrea Süchting-Hänger has observed, the commitment to “Germanness” was presented as a “retreat into a politics-free space, which, however, was often linked to concrete nationalist demands and ideas.”25

The activities of DEF women in the run-up to the plebiscite offer a clear example of how women’s associations participated in (new) political spaces of action after 1918. It is worth noting that the DEF did not use a parliamentary space as a political space but continued to operate within the framework of the association’s previous activities (such as lectures, trips, etc.) in its efforts to influence the upcoming plebiscite. In this way, political activism could continue to take place in a context that the DEF defined as apolitical, since it did not refer to democracy and elections as a means of political participation but continued to use the fatherland as a point of reference. At the same time, it becomes clear that the fatherland referred to by the association no longer existed as a political state and thus constituted an imagined space.

The outcome of the plebiscite in Upper Silesia was more ambiguous than the outcome in East Prussia. On March 18, 1921, almost 60 percent of the Upper Silesian population voted to remain in the Weimar Republic. While the League of Nations, which had the final decision on the future of the area affected by the vote, was discussing the partition of Upper Silesia, the third Silesian uprising broke out on May 3, 1921. Polish insurgents pursued the annexation of Upper Silesia to the Second Polish Republic. The civil war only ended at the end of June in an armistice and influenced the final decision of the League of Nations. In October 1921, Upper Silesia was divided. The result of the vote notwithstanding, the Polish demands, which were based on economic justifications, were granted. Both the Polish and the German parts of Upper Silesia had large national minorities. The rights of both groups were affirmed, at least on paper, in the Geneva Upper Silesian Convention in May 1922.26

The emergence of the Second Polish Republic meant drastic changes for the peoples of the entire region, especially the German-speaking populations that found themselves within the political borders of the new state. They had to redefine their identity as Germans and adapt to their place as a national minority. This led to the founding of new parties and organizations to represent the interests of the Germans in the Second Polish Republic,27 but it also meant fundamental changes for the organizations which had existed before 1918. The various organizations reacted in strikingly different ways. For example, the association Frauenwohl (Women’s Welfare) in Thorn/Toruń focused on informing women about their civil rights after the introduction of women’s suffrage, which had been one of the main goals of the association. The members of the association also discussed whether the associated legal aid office should also be opened to Polish citizens after the city’s incorporation into the Second Polish Republic in 1920. Ultimately, however, the deliberations about the future of the association and the legal aid office came to nothing, because the association dissolved in September 1920, as more and more of its members simply left the city.28 In the discussion below, I offer two examples of how other associations reacted to the new situation in the immediate postwar period.

The Vaterländischer Frauenverein in Graudenz/Grudziądz

Graudenz was a town of some 30,000 inhabitants in West Prussia with a large German population. There were numerous women’s associations, including a local group of the Vaterländischer Frauenverein. The founding of the Vaterländischer Frauenverein (Patriotic Women’s Association) in 1866 was essentially based on the voluntary work of women during the Coalition Wars between 1792 and 1815. The VF was one of the first interconfessional women’s associations, the charitable work of which was primarily based on the patriotic motivations of its members.29 The association’s main tasks included nursing the wounded and sick in times of war and preparing for war in peacetime. It undertook these efforts in close cooperation with the Ministry of War. An amendment to the statutes in 1869 also brought the training of nurses in hospitals and infant homes into the focus of the association. In the event of war, the VF had to subordinate itself to the Central Committee of the German Red Cross Associations. The charitable activities of the association were financed by membership fees and donations, which often came from the state.30 Local groups with their own executive boards were subordinate to the main board as branch associations, which in turn were organized into provincial and district associations. In 1900, the thousandth branch association was founded, and according to statistics from 1909, the VF had 395,054 members.31

By joining the VF, women shifted their traditional domestic activities into a more public sphere in which membership in an association had been seen as an integral part of bourgeois social life in the German Empire. Training as a nurse enabled women to pursue gainful employment, but this profession, furthermore, also corresponded to the ideal of femininity and did not constitute a threat to men working in this field. In principle, the association saw its activities as “women’s work.”32 According to Gabriella Hauch, the activities and foundations of these “women’s associations, which were not considered political, took place in the interplay of a heteronomous and self-determined definition based on their female gender” and “seemed to be embedded in the constructed ‘nature of women’.”33 In addition to the specific opportunities it offered its members, both in terms of association activities and in the context of gainful employment, the association aimed to improve the living and working conditions of women and girls through special social facilities.

The VF viewed its activities in an apolitical context and was committed to political party neutrality. This self-image is evident from various letters and statements. In the spring of 1920, for example, the main board cancelled its participation in a protest against the occupation of the Rhineland by Black French soldiers. The protest had been launched by the Deutsch-Evangelischer Frauenverein, and it had met with the support of a broad alliance of various women’s associations. In its justification, the board stated that, “as this issue was a political one, we regret that we had to refuse to participate for fundamental reasons.” It nevertheless wished the organization “every success.”34 Contrary to the official position of the VF in this matter, eight branch associations, together with 63 other German, Dutch, Swedish and Austrian women’s associations, signed a letter of protest to the League of Nations against the occupation of the Rhineland by French forces, which was described in the letter as “schwarze Schmach” (black disgrace).35

The Vaterländischer Frauenverein in Graudenz during the war:
The “Army of the Empress”

When the German Empire entered World War I on August 1, 1914, the VF fulfilled its original purpose for the first time since 1871: to care for wounded and sick soldiers. At the request of the Ministry of War, the branch association founded in 1868 in Graudenz set up dining facilities for soldiers passing through, opened soldiers’ homes,36 and treated soldiers in military hospitals.37 VF nurses also worked in the artillery depot in the town of Graudenz.38 The VF also advertised war bonds, which were used to help finance the war.39 The VF itself benefited from financial support from the Ministry of War, the War Office, and the War Replacement and Labor Department, as it was given funds from the so-called “Kaiser Spende” (Emperor’s donation).40 In a circular letter to all branch associations, the board appealed to each individual member to financially support a foundation affiliated with the association, and it emphasized that the “greatness of the Vaterländischer Frauenverein, which can call itself the ‘Army of the Empress’ with justifiable pride, rests on the joint work of all associations, branch associations, and association members.”41

During the war, cooperation with other women’s associations also intensified. Relationships among these associations had at times been tense due to competition in the same “areas of work” and also, for example, due to confessional differences.42 Although the association officially positioned itself as interconfessional, its members were predominantly protestants. The exceptional situation during the war and the increased demands on the various women’s associations prompted the main board of the VF to urge its branch associations to foster better relations and more intense cooperation in certain areas of work with the Deutsch-Evangelischer Frauenverein,43 the Katholischer Frauenbund (Catholic German Women’s Association),44 and the Jüdischer Frauenbund (Jewish Women’s Association),45 all of which were also represented by local groups in the Prussian partition area. This intensified networking was thus a result of the war situation. The acute situation prompted the associations to set aside their differences, at least to some extent.

The period of transformation after World War I

The Vaterländische Frauenverein had to grapple with various upheavals and changes at the end of the war. These changes included the introduction of women’s suffrage. The monarchy, which had served as a strong reference and identification factor, no longer existed due to the founding of the Weimar Republic, as well as the border shifts and referendums in the former Prussian partition area, which called into question the existence of the branch associations in the affected areas.

The introduction of women’s suffrage put the VF in a complicated position, as the association rejected women’s suffrage in accordance with its statutes. The association pursued the goal of integrating women into the existing system through its charitable activities and its commitments in the event of war, and not through democratic participation in the form of women’s suffrage. From the perspective of the VF, women’s suffrage endangered the prevailing order.46 For the VF and the DEF, by exercising the right to vote, a woman was meeting a civic duty to the fatherland and not an obligation to the democratic system. The fatherland was to take precedence over politics and political parties. This meant that the association could continue to present itself as apolitical and not officially declare any party affiliation, even if it was clear from the association’s principles that members could or at least should only vote for German nationalist parties.47

After the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, the main board of the VF informed its members in July 1919 that the branch associations in the ceded territories would have to leave the organization of the Vaterländischer Frauenverein due to the treaties, which no longer permitted cross-border cooperation between branch associations. The main board expressed the hope that the members of the association would “continue to prevent and combat economic and moral hardship in their association’s territory in the spirit of the Vaterländischer Frauenverein.” To this end, the branch associations had to rename themselves and separate themselves from the main association. The newly founded association could keep the association’s assets if it pursued the “same or similar goals of the Vaterländischer Frauenverein.” These orders were passed with “bleeding hearts,” and the main board expressed its “heartfelt thanks for everything they had done for the fatherland as the Vaterländischer Frauenverein.”48

The Polish constitution granted its minorities comprehensive rights and equality before the law, and the German minority was assured that it could run its own educational and cultural institutions with permission of the use of the German language.49 After the incorporation of Graudenz (and the change of the name of the city to Grudziądz) into the Second Polish Republic in 1920, the branch association of the VF was renamed Deutscher Frauenverein für Armen- und Krankenpflege mit dem Sitz in Graudenz (DFVAK – German Women’s Association for Care of the Poor and Sick with its headquarters in Graudenz).50 The association also changed its statutes and from then on defined its purpose as the “elimination and prevention of economic and moral hardship” and the provision of “children’s schools and care for the poor and sick.” While the previous statutes had not contained any explicit requirements concerning the nationality of the members of the association, according to the new guidelines, membership was reserved for “women of German nationality of good repute.”51 The association continued to be chaired by Amanda Polski, whose husband was mayor of the town until 1920. The DFVAK was also a member of the Verband der Deutschen Frauenvereine Danzigs (Union of German Women’s Associations in Danzig), which coordinated cooperation among the individual German women’s associations.52 In this case, cross-border cooperation under one umbrella organization seemed possible. After the German associations had been compelled to cut their affiliation with their umbrella organization in the German Reich, a kind of interstice opened up with the organizations that were active in the Free City of Danzig, which was located neither in the Second Polish Republic nor in the Weimar Republic. In order to strengthen the supra-regional connection to other German associations, the DFVAK also became a member of the Deutscher Wohlfahrtsbund (German Welfare Association in Poland). The Deutscher Wohlfahrtsbund also saw itself as interdenominational and apolitical, and it endeavored to support the affiliated associations “while fully preserving their independence through mutual communication and exchange of ideas and experiences, as well as to represent the common interests with authorities, legislative bodies, and in public.“53 The DFVAK hoped that its affiliation with the Deutscher Wohlfahrtsbund would primarily help it secure financial support,54 because the organization was one of the main administrators of the funds sent to Poland from the Weimar Republic.55 This financial support was also a tool used by the Berlin government to exert political influence on the German minority in Poland.56 Apparently, the positive network experience from World War I continued to have an effect here, and even in this (renewed) crisis situation, the focus was set increasingly on cooperation rather than competition.

In spite of the fact that, as of 1920, Grudziądz was part of the Second Polish Republic, the DFVAK attempted to continue its prewar undertakings, even though its main purpose (preparing for war and providing support in the event of war) had lost all relevance and the empress no longer served as the patron saint of the association following the deposition of the German imperial couple. The continued existence of the association preserved an area of activity for German women in theory, but this became less and less relevant, as the vast majority of the German speakers of the city (some 80 percent) began to leave the city in 1920, including active members of the association.57

“Revisionist actions” – the DFVAK in court

While the DFVAK regarded itself as apolitical in the tradition of the Vaterländischer Frauenverein and continued its charitable activities, the chief of police of the Toruń district, to which Grudziądz belonged, initiated proceedings against the association. In his statement dated October 24, 1921, he accused the association of acting in a “revisionist” manner and continuing to follow the principles of the VF, even though it had changed its name and statutes. He also accused the association of cooperating with other nationalist associations, such as the Deutscher Schutzbund für Grenz- und Auslandsdeutsche (German Association for Border- and Foreign Germans), and thus of pursuing political goals in addition to its “humanist goals, which, however, are not laid down in the association’s statutes.”58 Due to alleged violations of §§ 86 and 128 of the Criminal Code, he sought to initiate criminal proceedings against the chairwoman Amanda Polski and to dissolve the association in accordance with § 2 of the Associations Act of April 19, 1908, which stipulated that an association could be dissolved if “its purpose is contrary to criminal law.”59 Here, the Prussian government’s Associations Act of 1908, which remained in force until 1933,60 was coupled with Polish criminal law.

As evidence in support of the accusations, the chief of police cited several letters and other written testimonies which showed that the association continued to receive financial support from the VF, positioned themselves as irredentists through their cooperation with the Schutzbund and the Deutscher Wohlfahrtsbund,61 and pursued the “strengthening of Germanness” as its primary purpose. The last point was not in itself an offense, but according to the law on associations, it had to be reported to the Polish authorities.62 In December 1922, the Grudziądz police refused to issue Amanda Polski a passport, which she needed to travel to the Weimar Republic.63 The DFVAK filed an appeal against its planned dissolution with the Supreme Administrative Court in Warsaw, but the appeal was rejected, meaning that the association was dissolved following a decision on November 6, 1923.64 In a survey taken in March 1924, the Department of Public Security in Toruń confirmed the decisions taken, stating that there was sufficient evidence to show that the association, in addition to its charitable purposes, also pursued goals that were hidden from the state authorities, namely the promotion of so-called Germanness in the western border areas. It allegedly did so in agreement with the leadership of the organizations in the German state and thus exerted an influence on political events, even though the statutes of the women’s association made no mention of political ambitions or orientation.65

In May 1924, the Supreme Administrative Court in Warsaw confirmed that a criminal investigation would be initiated against chairwoman Amanda Polski and other members of the DFVAK’s board.66 The judges conceded that the women would have been permitted to dedicate themselves to the “promotion of Germanness” if this had been stated as the purpose of the association in the statutes. Thus, contrary to the women’s understanding of their rights, they were allowed to represent a political cause. Their strategy of carrying out their national aspirations under the guise of charity in order to be able to use the label “apolitical” must therefore be considered a failure. It remains unclear whether the court really convicted the association of not having provided information about its “real activities” or whether this accusation was merely a pretext. With the dissolution of the association, the German women lost a sphere of action that had been reserved for them as a national minority and in which they had been able to continue their sociopolitical efforts.

Phantom borders and their influence on the DFVAK

The legal proceedings against the DFVAK show that the organization’s attempt to present itself as an apolitical association was judged differently by the Polish authorities. The DFVAK’s cooperation with other nationalist associations and its commitment to irredentism were judged as explicitly political by the organs of the Polish state. The ways in which phantom borders played roles in the interpretation, experience, and formation of space are all clear in this example. While referring to the German Empire as a point of reference and continuing their association’s work as before the war, the leading women in the organization tried to situate themselves in the newly established Second Polish Republic. Their perception of the former German Empire and the “fatherland” gave meaning to their existence despite their new position in the new country as national minority and the reversed power position in which they found themselves (Raumimagination). Their experience of this space determined their strategy, which did not change despite the altered political circumstances (Raumerfahrung). Phantom borders also played a crucial role in the formation of this space. The Polish state’s reaction to the association’s activities shows the persistence of old political traditions and, thus, borders, since the conviction was based on prewar German legislation that remained in force until 1933 (Raumgestaltung). The conviction of the association under Prussian’s Associations Act reveals the reverse power dynamic after 1918. Previously, Polish associations in particular (but not exclusively) had been convicted by the Prussian authorities and their activities had been restricted with reference to § 2 of the act.

Martha Schnee’s Activism in Bromberg

The city of Bromberg, which was one of the administrative districts of the Province of Posen (and which lies some 70 kilometers from Graudenz), also had a wide range of feminist activists and various associations aimed at improving the living conditions of women and girls. Martha Lina Ottilie Schnee was born on October 18, 1863 in Bromberg. Her father worked in the city’s land registry office. After graduating from elementary school, she attended a Protestant teachers’ training college and passed her teacher’s exam there at the age of 20. She then obtained a certificate to teach at secondary schools for girls. After working as a governess for a short time, she opened a private girls’ school in the autumn of 1888. The number of students grew to 80, so Schnee employed additional teachers at her school.67 The teachers came to Bromberg from all parts of the German Empire. Many of these young women had already gained work experience in schools in Silesia, Berlin, or even England.68 From 1905 on, the so-called “Familienschule” (family school) was also attended by boys. The student body consisted largely of Protestant children, with a few Catholic and Jewish children in each of the seven grades.69 The teachers taught subjects such as German, French, history, and Protestant religion.70 The school remained in operation until 1918.

In 1901,71 Martha Schnee became chairwoman of Frauenwohl (Women’s Welfare), an association founded in Bromberg in 1897. The association was a member of the Verband der Fortschrittlichen Frauenvereine (Federation of Progressive Women’s Associations). It campaigned for the “public representation and promotion of women’s demands.” The association saw itself as part of the progressive wing of the German women’s movement. § 1 of the association’s statutes stipulated that the promotion of women’s demands should be independent of “any political or religious party.” The association sought to achieve its aims in part by listening to and discussing lectures and by working in committees. While any woman could become a full member, men could only obtain associate membership. For an annual subscription of 4.25 Deutsche Mark, the members received the federations’ journal Die Frauenbewegung.72

The Ostdeutscher Frauentag as a supra-regional networking space

As part of the organizing committee that was established as a cooperative effort between Frauenwohl and Hilfsverein weiblicher Angestellter (Aid Association of Female Employees), Martha Schnee organized the first Ostdeutscher Frauentag (East German Women’s Day) in Bromberg in October 1903. This is one of the rather rare examples of cross-class cooperation between women’s associations, since, in contrast to Frauenwohl, the Hilfsverein weiblicher Angestellter mainly consisted of women who did wage labor. At that time, there was no superior association of east German women’s associations, but the associations were, according to Schnee, united by “the bond of belonging together at home.” The organizers saw the national and international women’s congresses that had taken place previously as a model for the first Ostdeutscher Frauentag, but they also hoped to “give the German east a certain counterweight to the west and south.” The establishment of a “closed association of East German women’s associations” was also under consideration. The focus of the Ostdeutscher Frauentag was on humanitarian and economic issues. Among the 180 visitors, representatives of different women’s associations from the Province of Posen and East- and West Prussia attended the three-day event. They represented various denominations and political views. In her opening remarks, Schnee expressed her hope that the meeting would further the goal of gender equality.73 On the last day, she emphasized the specific situation of women’s organizations in the eastern parts of the German Empire and the duties arising from this situation for women, including organizational efforts among working-class women.74 Working-class women, however, were not generally seen as equal. Here, the main focus was on paternalistic notions of “aid.” The idea of gender equality thus referred primarily to the relationship between men and women within a class, and not across classes. After the first congress in 1903, the Ostdeutscher Frauentag was held in a different city every two years, including Lissa, Culm, and Danzig. It created an important networking space for the women’s movements in the Prussian partition Area. Due to her progressive stance on various issues, Martha Schnee was considered “very radical” by chairwomen of different associations, who warned against her participation at the Ostdeutscher Frauentag.75

In February 1904, Frauenwohl established a legal aid office in the same building as Martha Schnee’s school.76 The legal aid offices, which usually had been run by an affiliated association, were then united nationally in the Rechtsschutzverband (Legal Defense Association). The guiding principles of the association were to avoid legal conflicts and resolve such conflicts out of court on the one hand while also strengthening the legal awareness of women seeking advice, increasing solidarity among women across classes, and collecting evidence through counselling for the need to reform existing legislation. Efforts to resolve disputes out of court resulted above all from the inferior position of women as enshrined in private law.77 The legal aid office’s letterhead book shows that Schnee and other members of the association provided free advice to people in need four times a month. These appointments were occasionally attended by men, but mainly by women. In July 1907, for example, a servant contacted the legal aid office because she had not received her wages. The association members then wrote a letter on her behalf to her former employer, demanding that the outstanding wages be sent to the association or directly to the woman concerned. Otherwise, “further steps” would be taken.78 On the same day, a female worker, homeless with her nine children at that time, came to seek support. Members of the association contacted the local gas company and asked it to provide accommodation for the woman and her children.79 Shortly afterwards, the legal aid office supported a woman whose husband was not paying alimony for their child and urged him to comply with this obligation.80 Unfortunately, it is not clear whether Polish-speaking people also made use of the counselling services. The statutes of Frauenwohl did not preclude this.

While the members of the association (including Schnee) usually came from an educated middle-class background, those seeking advice came from a broader spectrum of classes and were often unable to afford a lawyer and thus dependent on the free advice. The legal aid office supported those seeking advice on an individual level but also collected cases and reported them to the Rechtsschutzverband. In doing so, it provided examples of the need for legal reforms on a collective level. As Angelika Schaser notes, “What is certain, however, is that the legal protection movement developed around the turn of the century made an important contribution to political education and to the legal equality of women.”81 The legal protection office was one of the association’s spheres of activity in pursuit of its statutory goal of “promoting women’s interests.” Unfortunately, it is unclear how long the legal aid office remained open, but it probably ceased to operate after the end of World War I.82

“Can we stay here?” The efforts of German Women’s Associations
after 1918

In May 1919, Schnee founded a new organization in Bromberg, the Deutscher Frauenbund (German Women’s League), of which she served as chairwoman.83 Schnee was also a political representative of the German minority in Poland and was one of the cofounders and a board member of the Deutsche Vereinigung für Posen und Pomerellen (German Association for Poznań and Pomerelia), which had its headquarters in Bydgoszcz.84

In an undated speech at the opening of an exhibition on German craftsmanship (presumably in 1921) titled “Can we stay here?”, Schnee laid out her thoughts on the future of the German population in Bydgoszcz. The Germans had “the feeling that they had to leave: The insecurity of the legal situation here, the lack of raw materials, the rising cost of clothing, the uncertainty of the political situation are driving them out.” While she acknowledged the difficult living conditions of the Germans in Bydgoszcz, she also painted a bleak picture of the Weimar Republic, which “is no longer the Germany of 1914 either.” The country was economically on its last legs, she said, and emigration was not an option, because one would have to build a life from scratch. Economically, the German urban and rural populations in Poland were better off, so it was important to “hold out” until “Germanness had prevailed again.” After all, she insisted, “Germanness has asserted itself everywhere abroad.” Strengthening “Germanness” abroad was also an important task for German women. Schnee emphasized several times in her speech that “over there, we have no dwellings, no prospects, only the very difficult struggle for survival. Here, despite the difficulties we face, we have a home, we have at least a possibility of work, a place.” She repeatedly spoke of a “difficult transition period” that must be survived “in the duty to the German fatherland.”85

The resumption of Deutscher Frauentag in Polen

Probably in the summer of 1922, the first new incarnation of the Ostdeutscher Frauentag, now renamed the Deutscher Frauentag in Polen (German Women’s Day in Poland), was held in Bydgoszcz.86 Schnee gave one of the main lectures, in which she shared her thoughts on “German women in present-day Poland: cultural and economic work.”87 In her lecture, she referred to the Polish national women’s movement, which German women should take as an example in the context of “cultural work.” She also emphasized several times how important it was, due to the new political situation, to join forces and work together with men in all fields.88

Two years later, at the Landfrauentag (Rural Women’s Day) in Bydgoszcz, Schnee held a talk on “The German Woman in Poland.” In addition to lectures, the visitors, who had come to the event from all over Poland, were also able to see an exhibition on the subject of “domestic art.” This exhibition took place annually and was an attempt to improve the incomes of homeworkers by giving them an opportunity to sell handmade goods. The event was held as part of the efforts to reestablish a supra-regional Landfrauenbund (Rural Women’s Association). This association would be responsible primarily for dealing with economic issues faced by the German female rural population, including the creation of new “employment opportunities, sales opportunities, and sales outlets for domestic crafts.”89

In April 1924, the women’s organizations active in Bydgoszcz and the surrounding area that were dedicated to charity decided to cooperate more closely. This association of 14 organizations (including Catholic, Protestant, interdenominational and Jewish ones) met monthly from then on to “discuss questions of a cultural nature, especially women’s issues, through presentations and debates.”90 The model for this was the association of German women’s organizations in Poznań, which had been working together closely in various charity efforts for some time.91

For the city council election in the fall of 1925, the association called on its members to vote for women and to get involved in the elections.92 The members of the Deutscher Frauenbund were also involved in youth welfare, career counselling, soup kitchens, and other charitable institutions.93 The Deutscher Frauentag in Polen continued to take place annually in different cities, in part simply to offer “a meeting place for all those who know that we must stand together firmly to preserve our homeland and our culture.” This shared commitment to “Germanness” led to unprecedented cooperation among the various women’s associations, the religious affiliations of which within the women’s movement were now eclipsed by the category of nationality. This is also evident in the call for women “living in foreign nations” to “appear as a unified group” at elections. While political elections are recognized as a legitimate democratic interest of the German minorities and women were also encouraged to exercise their right to vote, it was once again clear that the commitment to the “Deutsches Volkstum” was the highest priority. Explicit gender-specific interests and the resulting voting preferences were pushed into the background in the name of “Germanness” and its defense.94

However, Martha Schnee did not consider the Germans living in Poland to be united enough:

We recognize […] the absolutely hostile attacking position against Germanness. The goal: the complete annihilation of Germanness in

Poland. In the face of this, Germanness is not yet united enough. We women must make it our mission to advocate for the unification of Germanness by all means.95

In 1928, Martha Schnee began to run the Frauenfürsorgestelle (Women’s Welfare Office) in Bydgoszcz. Women of the DEF were impressed by her work, as she provided “valuable suggestions for practical welfare work for women and children of German origin in Poland.”96 Schnee remained the chairwoman of the Deutscher Frauenbund until 1934, the year she retired from her various offices and memberships at the age of 70. She died in 1939, shortly after the outbreak of World War II. In an obituary published in Die Frau, feminist activist Gertrud Bäumer wrote of the death of the “German women’s leader in the east.”97

Phantom borders and their influence on Martha Schnee

In founding the Deutscher Frauenbund in 1919, Martha Schnee built on the experiences she had gained in her efforts to improve the lives of women and girls through association work. In her speech “Can we stay here?” the importance of phantom borders in the imagining of space becomes clear. The German Empire had fallen, and yet it still served as a reference point. The “place” itself (i.e. the territories of the newly created Second Polish Republic which had been part of the German Empire) was so symbolically charged (as suggested by Schnee’s contention that “Here, despite all the difficulties, there is a home”) that it seemed better to remain there than to emigrate to the newly founded Weimar Republic. This imagined, symbolically charged place in the Second Polish Republic thus was preferred over the real German state (Raumimagination). Parts of Schnee’s speech reveal a complete ignorance of the establishment of the Second Polish Republic and the minority protection treaties in force since January 1920, which Schnee regarded as illegitimate, since she denied the very right of the Polish state to exist. In view of the economically precarious situation of the German minority in Bydgoszcz, Schnee’s argumentation, which emphasizes the economic advantages, is surprising, especially considering the overall difficult situation of the civilian population in Poland in the immediate postwar period.98 She seems to have presented these arguments to persuade the German population to stay so that it could defend “Germanness abroad,” as she understood it.

Here, too, the experience of space played a major role. The experience of being (or at least of having been) in a position of power had such a strong effect that the actual economic and political situations were completely ignored (Raumerfahrung). Schnee sought to maintain the living conditions of the German population and their (formerly) privileged position, particularly in the economic sphere. This (imagined) living space could only survive if Germans were to stop leaving the city. This explains why Schnee was so keen to prevent them from doing so (or at least to encourage them not to do so). In the sense of phantom borders, the reintroduction of the Ostdeutscher Frauentag as the Deutscher Frauentag in Polen can be seen as an attempt to maintain existing structures of cooperation and a prewar, supra-regional networking space. This continuation is also an expression of a spatial experience that has influenced the actions of the women involved, despite the new circumstances.

Summary

The examples discussed above reveal gender-related spaces of action for the German minority in the newly created Second Polish Republic. The phantom borders of the fallen German Empire and the Prussian partition area continued to have an effect on the minds of Germans and their commitment to the preservation of “Germanness.” This was reflected in the continuing strategies of German women’s activism. We return, then, to Zajc’s question: “Is this about ‘phantom borders’, or rather ‘phantom spaces’?” Svetlana Boym’s concept of nostalgia thereby expands our perspective. Both forms of nostalgia, described by Boym, are relevant in this discussion. While the Deutscher Frauenverein für Armen- und Krankenpflege mit dem Sitz in Graudenz referred in its activism to an imagined homeland of the past, Schnee developed an imagined homeland in a(n) (utopian) future.

In the case of the Deutscher Frauenverein für Armen- und Krankenpflege mit dem Sitz in Graudenz, the renaming of the association was primarily a formal act. The adaptation of the statute offered an opportunity to create a German space of action and the cooperation with other German associations was a reaction to the changing power dynamics. Overall, however, the work of the association was shaped by a “carry on as before” mentality. The new political reality (a newly founded Polish democratic state and the resulting new participatory opportunities) was largely ignored or denied. The new borders of the Weimar Republic were rejected and the previous borders remained as a strong point of reference. While these phantom borders (i.e. the borders of the fallen German Empire) remained an important element of understandings of German national and political identity, they were especially significant in areas that were no longer geographically part of the Weimar Republic or were separated from the “fatherland.” Geographical distance from the new German state strengthened the symbolic meaning of these borders and facilitated visions of a non-existent homeland and its borders. Until the dissolution of the association in 1923, its activities had taken place in a “phantom homeland.” Commitment to the fatherland remained in place at all times, regardless of the political system or ruling parties. This phantom homeland seemed more present and “real” than actual political spaces of action, such as the very right to vote in the elections in the Second Polish Republic. In the words of Svetlana Boym, it is a typical case of nostalgia and “a longing for a home that no longer exists.”99 By constantly referring to “transhistorical reconstruction of the lost home” we see a characteristic case of restorative nostalgia.100 This kind of nostalgia is primarily backward-looking and functions perhaps first and foremost to legitimize the existence of the association and its actions in the present.

Like the DFVAK, Schnee herself sought to keep up the association work and to create networking spaces for the remaining German women’s associations in the Second Polish Republic. At the beginning of her activist career around 1900, Schnee was radically progressive; however, she had always been radically nationalistic, too. As the power position of the Germans in Bydgoszcz changed, she focused more on her nationalism, distancing herself from her progressive feminism in the meantime. Nevertheless, she remained active in the women’s movement even after 1918. She was able to use her many years of experience as chairwoman of Frauenwohl, her position as headmistress, and her commitment to strengthening cross-regional cooperation among women’s associations in the eastern part of the German Empire in her work for the German minority. While she did not leave the field of association work, she was now involved in a much more politically charged area of activity. Furthermore, her comments on the situation in the Weimar Republic and her opinion that this state was no longer “the Germany of 1914” clearly show that Schnee did not see the actual German state as a point of reference. She referred, rather, to “the German fatherland,” which no longer existed, and also to an imagined homeland in the future. Here, the fantastic side of nostalgia, as described by Boym, becomes clear: “Nostalgia […] is also a romance with one’s own fantasy.”101 Since Schnee could not accept the new political reality, she seems to have imagined a future homeland where the German population was still in a position of power, even if this envisioned homeland was geographically in Poland. This kind of nostalgia was primarily forward-looking. It sought to legitimize the aspirations of the remaining German minority and also to encourage this minority to remain despite the difficult political and economical situation. In both examples, nostalgia serves the same purpose. It fills the gap between the fallen Empire on the one hand and the Second Polish Republic on the other, which was not seen by Schnee (and many members of the German minority) as legitimate.

The extension of the concept of phantom borders to include “phantom homelands as an extreme case of nostalgia” provides a useful theoretical framework for a more nuanced understanding of the motivations and actions of women living in what was, to them, something of a “phantom space.” Further research is needed to examine how the phantom borders of the Prussian partition area, as described here, also affected Polish women’s activism after 1918.

Archival Sources

Archiv der deutschen Frauenbewegung (AddF)

NL-K-16; B-30 – Rundschreiben des Bundesvorstands an die Ortsverbände 1919–1930

NL-K-16; H-421 – Schwarze Schmach

NL-K-16; J-96 – Ortsverbände 3.2. Ortsverbände B Breslau

NL-K-16; J-98 3 – Ortsverbände 3.2. Ortsverbände B Ortsverband Bromberg

NL-K-16; J-112 3 – Ortsverbände 3.3. Ortsverbände C-D Ortsgruppe Culm

Archiwum Państwowe Bydgoszcz [State Archives in Bydgoszcz] (AP Bydgoszcz)

6/477/16/-/137 – Ojczyźniany Związek Kobiet w Grudziądzu

6/477/16/-/139 – Ojczyźniany Związek Kobiet w Grudziądzu

6/477/16/-/152 – Ojczyźniany Związek Kobiet w Grudziądzu.6/477/19/-/159 – Briefkopierbuch der Rechtsschutzstelle des Vereins “Frauenwohl” in Bromberg (Kobiece Towarzystwo Dobroczynne w Bydgoszczy)

6/477/22/-/192 – Niemiecki Związek Kobiet w Bydgoszczy

6/477/22/-/193 – Niemiecki Związek Kobiet w Bydgoszczy

6/474/0/15/490 – [Beschlagnahme bei Einzelpersonen]. Bei Fräulein Martha Schnee, Bromberg, Gdańsk 16/17, beschlagnahmte Schreiben. [Bund Deutschen Frauenvereine - rachunki, odezwy] (Niemiecki Związek Obrony Praw Mniejszości w Polsce)

6/2/0/2.2.2.61/1270 – Privatschule des Frl [Fräulein] Schräder [in] Bromberg. (Rejencja w Bydgoszczy)

6/2/0/2.2.2.61/1272 – Privatschule des Frl [Fräulein] Schräder [in] Bromberg. (Rejencja w Bydgoszczy)

6/4/0/2.1.3.4/2885 – [Stowarzyszenia niemieckie] (Urząd Wojewódzki Pomorski w Toruniu)

6/4/0/2.1.3.4/2903/2 – (Urząd Wojewódzki Pomorski w Toruniu)

Archiwum Państwowe Olsztyn [State Archives in Olsztyn] (AP Olsztyn)

42/1555/0/1/1 – Patriotyczny Związek Kobiet w Miłkach pow. giżycki (Patriotyczne związki kobiet – zbiór szczątków zespołów)

42/565/0/14/120 – Evangelischer Frauen-Verein (Sitzungen, Protokolle usw). (Kościół ewangelicki w Olsztynie - diecezja olsztyńska)

Archiwum Państwowe Toruń (AP Toruń)

69/291/0/-/3 – Frauenwohl

69/291/0/-/5 – Frauenwohl

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1. 1 An overview of the associations can be found at Statistik der Frauenorganisationen, 20–36, as well at Wyder, “Wielkopolskie działaczki,” 48–72.

2. 2 See for example Barelkowski and Schutte, Neuer Staat; Chu, German minority; Sakson, Polska.

3. 3 Süchting-Hänger, “Politisch oder vaterländisch” (However, there are only a few geographical references to the area under study here); Harvey, “Pilgrimages”; Schaser, “Engagement.”

4. 4 Hirschhausen et. al., Phantomgrenzen. The book is the first volume in a series published by the research network “Phantom Borders in East Central Europe,” which was active between 2011 and 2017.

5. 5 Boym, “Nolstalgia,” 7–18.

6. 6 Hirschhausen et. al., Phantomgrenzen, 18. All translations are mine.

7. 7 Ibid., 19–20.

8. 8 Lefebvre, “La production.”

9. 9 Hirschhausen et. al., Phantomgrenzen, 39.

10. 10 Ibid. 42.

11. 11 Müller et al., “Introduction,” 10–11.

12. 12 Hirschhausen et. al., Phantomgrenzen, 50.

13. 13 Ibid., 50.

14. 14 Zajc, “Contemporary Borders,” 302.

15. 15 Boym, “Nolstalgia,” 7.

16. 16 Ibid., 13.

17. 17 Ibid., 9–10.

18. 18 Borodziej, Geschichte Polens, 98–99.

19. 19 Ibid., 109.

20. 20 Kossert, Preußen, 143–57.

21. 21 The DEF was founded in 1899 at the Protestant Women’s Day in Kassel and was one of the three large German confessional women’s associations, along with the Katholischer Frauenbund (Catholic Women’s Association) and the Jüdischer Frauenbund (Jewish Women’s Association). It saw itself as a link between the Protestant Church and the middle-class women’s movement. Its members were mainly involved in charitable work and in the field of education for women. They founded numerous children’s homes, girls’ homes, recreation homes, workers’ homes, and later also homes for the elderly. Gerhard, Unerhört, 203–5.

22. 22 AddF, NL-K-16; J-96.

23. 23 Ibid.

24. 24 AddF, NL-K-16; B-30.

25. 25 Süchting-Hänger, “Politisch oder vaterländisch?,” 76.

26. 26 Boysen, “Zivil-militärische Beziehungen,“ 179–81.

27. 27 Lakeberg, “Das politische Leben,” 351–52.

28. 28 AP Toruń, 69/291/0/-/5.

29. 29 Süchting-Hänger, Das Gewissen der Nation, 26–36.

30. 30 AP Olsztyn, 42/1555/0/1/1.

31. 31 Statistik der Frauenorganisationen, 48–52.

32. 32 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/16/-/137.

33. 33 Hauch, “Politische Wohltätigkeit,” 202.

34. 34 AddF, NL-K-16; H-421.

35. 35 Ibid. See also Banks, “Mary Church Terrell.”

36. 36 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/16/-/137.

37. 37 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/16/-/152.

38. 38 Ibid.

39. 39 Ibid.

40. 40 Ibid.

41. 41 Ibid.

42. 42 AP Olsztyn 42/565/0/14/120.

43. 43 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/16/-/137.

44. 44 Ibid.

45. 45 Ibid.

46. 46 Süchting-Hänger, “‘Gleichgroße mut’ge Helferinnen’,” 136.

47. 47 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/16/-/137.

48. 48 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/16/-/139.

49. 49 Rumianuk, “Oblicze polityczne,” 189.

50. 50 Most of the other branch associations changed their name to Hilfsverein Deutscher Frauen. One of the aims of this change of names was to prevent Polish women from becoming members, AP Bydgoszcz, 6/4/0/2.1.3.4/2885.

51. 51 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/4/0/2.1.3.4/2885.

52. 52 Ibid.

53. 53 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/16/-/139.

54. 54 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/4/0/2.1.3.4/2885.

55. 55 Rumianuk, “Oblicze polityczne,” 190.

56. 56 Lakeberg, “Das politische Leben,” 354.

57. 57 Boysen, “Zivil-militärische Beziehungen,“ 150.

58. 58 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/4/0/2.1.3.4/2885.

59. 59 Ibid.

60. 60 Prawo o stowarzyszeniach 1932, in particular Art. 63e.

61. 61 The Wohlfahrtsbund, which can be seen as a proxy organization of the Deutschtumbund zur Wahrung der Minderheitenrechte which was banned by the Polish authorities in mid-1923, was also monitored by the Polish authorities. Hauser, “Mniejszość niemiecka,” 285 and 300.

62. 62 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/4/0/2.1.3.4/2885.

63. 63 Ibid.

64. 64 Ibid.

65. 65 Ibid.

66. 66 Ibid.

67. 67 Błażejewski et al., Bydgoski, 127–28.

68. 68 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/2/0/2.2.2.61/1270.

69. 69 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/2/0/2.2.2.61/1272.

70. 70 Ibid.

71. 71 Or 1903. The various sources offer different information.

72. 72 AP Toruń, 69/291/0/-/3.

73. 73 N.N. “Erster Ostdeutscher Frauentag in Bromberg.” Ostdeutsche Presse, 1903, no. 239.

74. 74 N.N. “Erster Ostdeutscher Frauentag in Bromberg III.” Ostdeutsche Presse, 1903, no. 241.

75. 75 AddF, NL-K-16; J-112 3.

76. 76 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/19/-/159.

77. 77 Briatte, Bevormundete Staatsbürgerinnen, 126–27.

78. 78 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/19/-/159.

79. 79 Ibid.

80. 80 Ibid.

81. 81 Schaser, “Einführung des Frauenwahlrechts,” 103.

82. 82 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/19/-/159.

83. 83 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/474/0/15/490.

84. 84 Błażejewski et al., Bydgoski, 127.

85. 85 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/474/0/15/490.

86. 86 AddF, NL-K-16; J-98 3.

87. 87 AP Bydgoszcz 6/4/0/2.1.3.4/2903/2.

88. 88 Ibid.

89. 89 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/22/-/192.

90. 90 Ibid.

91. 91 Ibid.

92. 92 Ibid.

93. 93 Ibid.

94. 94 Ibid.

95. 95 AP Bydgoszcz, 6/477/22/-/193.

96. 96 AddF, NL-K-16; J-98 3.

97. 97 Bäumer, “Das Martyrium.”

98. 98 Rumianek, Oblicze polityczne, 187–93.

99. 99 Boym, “Nostalgia,” 7.

100. 100 Ibid., 13.

101. 101 Ibid., 7.

Austro-Hungarian Women’s Activism from the Southern “Periphery” Across Ethnic Lines

Agatha Schwartz

University of Ottawa

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Hungarian Historical Review Volume 14 Issue 3 (2025): 351-372 DOI 10.38145/2025.3.351

Through the examples of Adél Nemessányi, Milica Tomić, Jelica Belović-Bernadžikovska, and Nafija Sarajlić, four women activists, public workers, and writers from the southern “peripheries” of Austria-Hungary who belonged to different ethnic groups, this paper examines the complex local, regional, and trans-regional aspects of women’s awakening and organizing in the Dual Monarchy. While none of these four women belonged to any associations that demanded political rights for women, their public work and activism, which took multiple forms, greatly contributed to the improvement of women’s public image, education, and social status in their own time, leaving an imprint on future generations. Through both the personal and professional lives of these remarkable women, we can discern connections that transgress ethnic, regional, and national boundaries and also reflect international developments in the fight for women’s rights. This ethnically varied sample of exceptionally educated women pioneers from parts of the Dual Monarchy that would later become Yugoslavia demonstrates what women were able to accomplish despite an overall conservative social environment.

Keywords: women’s rights, regional and trans-regional developments, feminism from the “periphery”

Introduction

Women’s activism in the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy was a complex phenomenon. While this activism has been relatively well studied in relation to the main centers, with by now iconic figures such as Rosa Mayreder in Vienna or Rózsa Schwimmer in Budapest, the efforts and lives of women from the “peripheries” remain lesser known, although in recent years there has been an uptake in research in this direction. Through the examples of Adél Nemessányi, Milica Tomić, Jelica Belović-Bernadžikovska, and Nafija Sarajlić, four women activists, public workers, and writers, this article argues that the definition of activism—particularly for this generation of women who lived around the time of the international First Women’s Movement and labored toward improvements in women’s social position, education, and public presence in their respective communities—must go beyond political activism understood in the narrow sense of forming political associations and demanding political rights. The contributions of women like Nemessányi, Tomić, Belović-Bernadžikovska, and Sarajlić offer a more complex picture that helps us understand the local, regional, and trans-regional facets of women’s awakening and organizing in the Dual Monarchy.

All four women were born and/or worked in the southern parts of the Monarchy which after World War I would become the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes (renamed Yugoslavia in 1929), and they belonged to different ethnic groups. Adél Nemessányi (1857–1933), an ethnic Hungarian, and Milica Tomić (1859–1944), an ethnic Serb, were both educated in various cities of the Monarchy, and they both lived and worked in Novi Sad/Újvidék1 in Vojvodina (then part of Southern Hungary). Jelica Belović-Bernadžikovska (1870–1946), an ethnic hybrid, was educated internationally and active across various regions of the Monarchy, including Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, and eventually Novi Sad. Only Nafija Sarajlić (1893–1970) was both educated and lived all her life in her native Sarajevo. Tomić and Belović-Bernadžikovska were the most connected across ethnic and national lines, both through their literary work and political activism. They were multilingual, and although they collaborated and/or corresponded with feminists and intellectuals of other nationalities and internationally, they embraced a Serbian nationalist position.2 Nemessányi and Sarajlić stayed out of the strictly defined arena of political activism. However, they both contributed in their respective locations to women’s emancipation through their work as educators and writers.

Novi Sad’s Multiethnic Early Feminist History

In a 2007 article published in the Novi Sad-based Hungarian-language periodical Létünk (Our Existence), local historian Ágnes Ózer approvingly notes the rise of an interest in studying women’s history in her city. However, she bemoans the fact that until recently, this interest had focused on Serbian women only: “Such research [Novi Sad women’s history] never delved into this question from the point of view of Novi Sad’s multiethnic, pluri-religious, and multicultural reality.”3 Thanks to Ózer’s and other feminist-minded researchers’ pioneering work in this field, the approach to women’s history in Novi Sad and in Vojvodina more generally began to shift, most notably with the publication of the 2006 volume Vajdasági magyar nők élettörténetei (Life stories of Vojvodina Hungarian Women), edited by Svenka Savić and Veronika Mitro.4 In her foreword, Gordana Stojaković acknowledges the work of mostly middle-class and some aristocratic women whose contributions to women’s emancipation in Vojvodina she deems as important as the work of organized women’s associations. “Adél Nemessányi5 was one such woman,” she writes, “the first principal of the Novi Sad Public High School for Girls and the founder of the Maria Dorothea association.”6 Since this publication, there has been a revival of research interest in the life and work of this important Hungarian Novi Sad-based early feminist.

While Nemessányi’s most important achievements regarding the advancement of women’s education are linked to Novi Sad, where she was laid to rest at the age of 76 in the tomb she shares with her parents in the Protestant section of the Futog Street cemetery,7 she was born and subsequently studied in cities further north in the then Hungarian part of the Dual Monarchy. Nemessányi was born in 1857, in Liptószentmiklós in Upper Hungary (today Liptovský Mikuláš in Slovakia). She received her education in the town of her birth and later continued studies in Pozsony (Bratislava) and Budapest. After passing her teacher’s exam in Budapest in 1876, Nemessányi moved to Székesfehérvár, to the south of Budapest, where she taught at the Girls’ School. A certificate issued about her achievements in Székesfehérvár in 1884 highly praises her work and knowledge. She is said to have been greatly respected both by her pupils and their parents, as well as the larger community, for teaching German and for founding the Youth Library.8 That very same year, then 27-year-old Nemessányi was named principal of the Novi Sad Public High School for Girls (Újvidéki Állami Polgári Leány Iskola), and she moved to the southern periphery of Hungary, where she would spend the rest of her life. According to Ózer, this Hungarian-language high school became Nemessányi’s “life achievement.”9 She was held in high esteem as principal, and the school’s reputation grew, attracting more and more girls. While in 1883–84 there were 63 pupils, by 1901–1902 their number more than tripled, reaching 221.10

Nemessányi’s skills as an educator and administrator were noted already during her lifetime by Menyhért Érdujhelyi in his monograph Újvidék története (History of Novi Sad), published in 1894 (reprinted in 2002). Érdujhelyi mentions the multiethnic student body at Nemessányi’s school, which was attended not only by Hungarian but also by a significant number of ethnic German and Serbian girls.11 He attributes the school’s popularity and success to its excellent administration. Érdujhelyi’s assessment of Nemessányi’s skills as an educator and administrator are corroborated by Vasa Stajić in his 1951 study Građa za kulturnu istoriju Novog Sada (Materials for a cultural history of Novi Sad), in which he mentions two secondary schools for girls in Novi Sad: the one run by Nemessányi and the secondary school for Serbian girls. Stajić notes that Nemessányi’s school attracted more interest. Her school functioned with only two female teachers and one class, whereas the Serbian high school had three classes, four male teachers, one female teacher, one adjunct male teacher for music, and one adjunct female teacher for French. Nevertheless, Nemessányi’s school had nearly twice the number of pupils (61 compared to 38).12 Thus, despite the higher staffing and more classes offered, the Serbian secondary school still did not attract as many pupils, likely due to the better reputation of Nemessányi’s school.

The other successful area of Nemessányi’s activities was the founding of the Novi Sad branch of the Mária Dorothea Egyesület (Maria Dorothea Association) in 1891.13 According to Érdujhelyi, the “association’s soul and president is Adél Nemessányi,”14 and it operated within her school. 15 Érdujhelyi describes the goals of the association as furthering ideas pertaining to women’s education, including women’s self-education, and raising a general interest in girls’ education through lectures and reunions. He gives 101 as the total number of members.16 The association further helped organize female teachers.17 Although not a political women’s association, it can certainly be considered a forerunner of the latter, along with other early women’s associations in Hungary that promoted women’s employment and fought for their professional and educational rights.18 For all these efforts to develop girls’ education and raise women’s social status through four decades of pedagogical work, in 1913 at a public ceremony in Újvidék, Nemessányi was awarded the Emperor’s Gold Cross of Merit, the highest recognition bestowed upon a public sector worker in the Monarchy. In his laudation, the mayor underlined that Nemessányi chose the “most difficult and bumpy career,” but that as her life’s goal she had followed “the highest calling … the care for the nation’s most precious treasure and hope,” namely, the “education of the Hungarian youth.” In her response, Nemessányi emphasized her modest and quiet ways in approaching her teaching career while extending the merit of the award to her colleagues who labored in the field of girls’ education.19

What transpires from the above exchange at Nemessányi’s award ceremony is the dominant discourse surrounding acceptable and desirable female behavior and roles in society. The link between women’s work as educators for the sake of the nation is made clear. As a matter of fact, nineteenth-century and, in some cases, already eighteenth-century feminism in Hungary and in other parts of East Central Europe often used the argument of the necessity of furthering women’s education for the benefit of the nation.20 In the case of Nemessányi, the distinguished award to honor her work in this direction is an obvious proof of appreciation and approval by the highest authorities. Nemessányi’s response corroborates the ideal of womanhood at the time: modesty and a quiet demeanor. We can assume, however, that her work and professional success required other, more “masculine” qualities as well, such as persistence and assertiveness, and that her work as an educator of girls in itself was a break with traditional feminine roles. She chose to live an independent life and became a highly successful professional in her field at a time when school principals were mostly men.

If we look at Nemessányi’s pedagogical articles, we find further evidence that she was far from simply accepting and fitting into the dominant social norms and expectations placed on a woman and a female teacher. The fact alone that she was, according to Attila Nóbik, one of the only two female teachers to publish in the Hungarian periodical Család és iskola (Family and School) already speaks volumes.21 Nóbik attributes this fact to her status as principal, which bestowed a relative level of power upon her. In her article published in Család és iskola in 1889, Nemessányi praises the advantages of public over private education with the argument that public education often has to correct what home education and upbringing fail to accomplish. At the same time, Nemessányi criticizes the shortcomings of public education and argues for better private education for children of both sexes.22

In her article “Néhány szó a tanítónő munkájáról s díjazásáról” (A few words about the work and remuneration of female teachers), which was published a year later in the periodical Felső Nép- és Polgári Iskolai Közlöny (Higher Elementary Schools’ Bulletin), Nemessányi specifically discusses the position of female teachers. She refutes some arguments put forth in an earlier article by a certain János Vécsey. The latter defended lower pay for female teachers, basing his arguments on commonly held contemporaneous stereotypes regarding female teachers’ and women’s work in general, namely, that such work was allegedly easier and that more money in a woman’s pocket would only lead to her choosing a more vain and luxurious lifestyle. In her skillfully formulated counter-arguments, Nemessányi convincingly demonstrates the exact opposite. Not only does a woman teacher spend as much time and effort on her work as her male counterpart but she also spends as much if not more time on her professional development. Being excluded from the male clubs and casinos, where male teachers can exchange ideas, female teachers have to acquire the same information and knowledge from multiple sources (which is not only more costly but also more time-consuming), such as membership in diverse professional organizations and subscriptions to various professional journals. Regarding Vécsey’s argument about the “double-dipping” of married female teachers, Nemessányi convincingly demonstrates the opposite, stating that married women in the profession are few and far between (she herself remained single). The point on which she agrees with Vécsey is that female teachers with children of their own should leave the profession, as they would not be able to respond successfully to the demands of this double burden.

Nemessányi’s attack on the gender double standards of her time becomes particularly obvious when she defends the necessity for female teachers and women more broadly to dress fashionably while still keeping necessary decorum. Striking a humorous tone, she contends that while there may be some vain younger women in the teaching profession, vanity is by no means limited to the female sex: “there are plenty of dandies among our male colleagues who pay meticulous attention to ensure that each and every piece of their clothing follow the latest fashion.”23 She goes one step further in her thinly veiled attack on the gender double standard when she dismantles the stereotype of the old-fashioned (commonly referred to as the “old maid”) female teacher who is ridiculed for her unfashionable clothes. With a touch of irony, Nemessányi acutely pinpoints that, unlike what society preaches as the desirable “modest” female behavior, in reality, the well-dressed girls attract all the attention: “the well brought-up, demure young girl may wish to ponder how much the highly praised theory diverges from practice.”24

Nóbik rightly comments that such tone in a pedagogical article by a female teacher was rather unusual for the time. The Hungarian pedagogical journals under his scrutiny lacked any sign of a struggle for the equality of female teachers. The dominant tone was one of adapting and fitting in, not one of fight. Thus Nemessányi, while leading a lifestyle that on the surface fit the mold of the appropriate behavior for a woman and female teacher, distinguished herself not only with her extraordinary accomplishments in a traditional, still very patriarchal society but also with the tone of her articles. For these reasons, Nemessányi can be called an early feminist in the overall rather conservative society of Southern Hungary in which she lived and worked for many decades.

During the same period, women of other ethnicities were also active in Novi Sad. Milica Tomić, Nemessányi’s coeval, was born in Novi Sad/Újvidék in 1859 and died there at the age of 85 in 1944. Her name is relatively well known today in the history of early Serbian feminism,25 although she still has not received her due recognition. She came from a prominent Serbian family originally from Croatia. Her father was Svetozar Miletić, a respected Serbian politician and intellectual who served as mayor of Novi Sad on two occasions. Svetozar Miletić is recognized as one of the leading figures in the Serbian nationalist fight in the Habsburg Monarchy.26 Milica thus grew up in a family where she was sensitized to the burning issues of her time, “in an atmosphere of national and political strife.”27 As the daughter of an enlightened family, she received her education in Novi Sad, Pest, and Vienna and was fluent in several languages. She became politically involved already at the age of 18 due to her father’s arrest. She was even granted an audience with Emperor Francis Joseph and facilitated her father’s release. In 1844, she married another Serbian nationalist, Jaša (Jakov) Tomić, who became the founder of the Narodna slobodoumna stranka (People’s Freethinker Party), which would later become the Radikalna stranka (Radical Party).28 He was imprisoned for six years in 1890 for a “crime of honor,” i.e. killing an earlier love interest of his wife.29 He became editor of the journal Zastava (Flag), the “most influential daily within the Serbian community in Austria-Hungary,”30 in which Milica also published some early political writings. Both Milica’s father and husband were progressive men when it came to women’s rights, and they supported women’s education and emancipation.

Tomić’s activism in relation to women’s political rights, however, took off only at the beginning of the twentieth century. While Nemessányi’s work centered around women’s education and the raising of their social status, Tomić, likely due to her early sensitization to the Serbian national question and her involvement in Serbian nationalist circles, was more focused on women’s political rights. In 1905, she founded the circle Poselo Srpkinja (Social gathering of Serbian women), later renamed Posestrima.31 This circle was closed to men. Only women could attend, which in itself was a feminist statement, namely, the creation of a “safe space” and a reading room for women. While the members performed some traditionally female activities, such as knitting, they also discussed many pertinent questions. In 1910, they had 96 members, a number that tripled to 300 by 1919 (the activities stopped during World War I). Politics was very much a part of these discussions. Posestrima put together a library that collected books and periodicals. This circle thus became an important driving force behind Serbian women’s emancipation and modernization in Vojvodina.32 Moreover, it also maintained a fond for charitable donations for the poor and the sick.33 Its profile was thus emancipatory, political, and charitable at the same time.

Tomić closely followed the fight for women’s rights in Hungary and other countries, and she became an ardent supporter of female suffrage. In 1911, she founded the progressive women’s magazine Žena (Woman) and served as its editor, becoming the first Serbian woman in such a role.34 The magazine existed until 1921 with a pause during World War I. Initially, the topics discussed concerned women’s education and their social position in Serbian society to give more and more space to discussions of women’s suffrage and political rights. In 1911, Tomić published a major article in reaction to what she called a step back rather than a step forward regarding Serbian women’s education in Vojvodina, namely the majority vote passed by the Serbian National Church Assembly (Srpski narodno-crkveni sabor)35 to cancel their financial support for Serbian girls’ secondary schools.36 This decision took immediate effect for the secondary schools in Sombor (Zombor) and Pančevo (Pancsova), but implementation was postponed for another two years for the school in Novi Sad following a petition signed by 5,000 Serbian women and presented by the Dobrotvorna Zadruga Srpkinja Novosatkinja (Novi Sad Serbian Women’s Philanthropic Association). In her criticism of this decision, Tomić lists the progress and efforts made in the past 40 years to further women’s education (citing, among other prominent promoters of such rights, her father, Svetozar Miletić), and she outlines the dominant arguments in this process that linked the necessity of women’s education to the Serbian national cause. “The question of higher education for the female youth is a question of cultural and hence also political survival and evolution of the Serbian nation.”37 With Miletić’s words, she insists on the importance of these schools to allow for the education of Serbian girls in their home country rather than sending them abroad so as to preserve their national feelings and educate them to become good Serbian patriots and defenders of their national traditions that they would pass down as mothers to their children. Despite her patriotic feelings and engagement, in other publications, Tomić was critical of the backward position of Serbian women in Hungary. She attributed this backwardness to Serbian patriarchal culture, poor hygiene in the lower classes, superstition, and other factors which, taken together, led to high mortality rates within Serbian families.38 Ultimately, however, she stayed true to Serbian national values and cautioned against a takeover by “foreign, particularly western, customs,” which would have led to a “neglect of one’s own folk tradition … one’s own nation.”39 At the same time, she was equally critical of the impact of the long Ottoman occupation on the Serbian nation, and she recommended striking a balance between these foreign influences with the ultimate goal of refining but not neglecting one’s own culture and customs.40

The magazine Žena reported regularly on women’s activism in other countries and in other parts of the Dual Monarchy in particular. By 1912, the focus became women’s suffrage. Thus the April 1, 1912 issue contained a number of short reports over several pages: one on the fight for women’s suffrage in Austria; 41 one summing up the arguments in favor of women’s suffrage by Countess Teleki (known also by her pen name, Szikra) in Budapest;42 another one about women’s fight for suffrage in Russia;43 one about Sweden;44 another one about England;45 and even one about China, where women had just acquired the right to vote.46 The report about Countess Teleki includes information about countries where this right had already been granted, citing Norway, Finland, several US states, and Australia. The same text announces the 7th Congress of the International Woman Suffrage Alliance, which would be held the following year (1913) in Budapest.47 We can see that Tomić and her editorial team were very much interested in promoting information regarding women’s voting rights in their own country, which at the time was still Hungary, as well as in other states worldwide, with an emphasis on those that had already granted such rights or were about to (such as Sweden). This focus reflects Tomić’s political ideas beyond the Serbian national cause, and can be considered a shift to a more radical feminism in Vojvodina, even if the tone in which these feminist ideas would be formulated in future articles of the journal was at times tempered so as to please a wider readership.

Two more issues of the magazine also published in 1912 (June and September) featured major articles on women’s suffrage. While the September issue praises the work of Hungarian women’s organizations, in particular the activism of the Budapest-based Feministák Egyesülete (Feminist Association), the June issue, in an article titled “On Women’s Right to Vote,” reports extensively on the visit by prominent Budapest-based feminist and leader of the Feminist Association, Rózsa (Rosa or Rosika) Schwimmer to Novi Sad as part of a large assembly organized jointly by the Serbian Radical Party, the Social-Democratic Party, and the Hungarian Independence Party.48 The meeting was held bilingually in Hungarian and Serbian. Tomić, who corresponded with Schwimmer, notes that while both the Serbian Radical Party and the Social-Democratic Party included women’s suffrage in their program, the Hungarian Independence Party failed to do so. She comments that, in this respect, the Novi Sad Serbs were more advanced than the Hungarians. The article closes with the following conclusion: “The question of women’s right to vote has become part of the agenda in every way and nothing will take it off the agenda anymore. The fact that in many countries this right has been adopted is a testimony to the direction humanity has taken.”49 This sense of enthusiasm, kindled by the hope that women in Hungary, at least some women, may soon gain the right to vote, would give way to a major disappointment a few years later. On July 16, 1918, Žena reported that the Hungarian Parliament (the last one to convene in Austria-Hungary), with a vote of 161 to 65, had struck down the proposal to extend the right to vote to a limited number of women. The tone of the article is clearly one of disillusionment.50

The end of World War I soon brought about major shifts regarding women’s political rights. With the Treaty of Trianon, Hungary lost many of its territories to the south, and Vojvodina became part of the newly created Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes. This decision had been initiated in Novi Sad on November 25, 1918 at the Great National Assembly of Serbs and other Slavs living in the Bácska, Banat, and Baranya regions of Southern Hungary. Milica Tomić was one of six women deputies to take part in this Assembly.51 However, whereas in truncated post-Trianon Hungary women were finally given the right to vote in 1920 (albeit with certain limits), the new Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes did not extend this right to its female population. Women in Yugoslavia would only gain the right to vote in 1945. We can thus see that while women’s educational rights in the Dual Monarchy had made some progress by the early twentieth century, when it comes to political rights before and after World War I, despite women’s activism across ethnic, regional, and national boundaries, decisions in this area were made as part of much larger political agendas.

While in recent years, Novi Sad has given some official recognition to Adél Nemessányi by naming a small street after her in the district of Veternik as Ulica Adel Nemešanji, Milica Tomić has yet to be granted such recognition. To date, the only mention of this great daughter of her city is a small commemorative plaque on the house where she lived.52 The online article that presents the monograph on Tomić published in 2018 states that the lack of public recognition (except in small academic and feminist circles) and the still prevailing perception that she stood in the shadow and worked under the influence of two famous men, may be due “to a certain skepticism, an incredulity that back in that time and culture, such a high degree of female individuality, such a brilliant polemical spirit and courage were at all possible.”53

Crossing Borders within the Dual Monarchy

Jelica Belović-Bernadžikovska54 was about a decade younger than Nemessányi and Tomić. Her life and work have been much more studied and recognized, with biographies and bibliographies published already during her lifetime as well as in recent years.55 She was born in 1870 in Osijek (Croatia-Slavonia) and died in 1946 in Novi Sad. Like Tomić, she too was educated in several European cities, including Zagreb, Vienna, and even Paris. Thanks to her multiethnic family background (her mother was an ethnic German and her father of Montenegrin background), she grew up speaking several languages. Both her parents were teachers, and her mother began tutoring children following her husband’s untimely death in 1875 when Jelica was only five. According to an article published in 1925, Belović-Bernadžikovska was fluent in nine languages. The same article presents her as an “embroiderer and ethnographer, an exceptionally educated lady.”56 She was a very prolific writer. In addition to 800 articles in German pertaining to feminism and women’s education, she published more than thirty books in several languages. Some of these publications appeared under pseudonyms.57 During her lifetime, she was recognized internationally as an outstanding researcher, in particular for her tireless work on collecting and preserving women’s embroidery techniques unique to the lands of the South Slavs, with an emphasis on Serbian women. Her most important publication in this area was the almanac Srpkinja: Njezin život i rad, njezin kulturni razvitak i njezina narodna umjetnost do danas (The Serbian woman: her life and work, her cultural development, and her folk art to date), published in 1913 in Sarajevo. Her reputation spread across Europe, and she received numerous accolades from professors and other intellectuals beyond Serbia, Croatia, and Bosnia-Herzegovina, i.e. Germany, France, and Italy (she was even invited to work in Rome).58 She is deemed to have “contributed a great deal to the education and cultural life of women in Bosnia Herzegovina,”59 where she moved in 1895 after having been active as a teacher in other towns of the Monarchy, i.e. Zagreb and Osijek in Croatia and Ruma in Vojvodina.60

At the time, Bosnia-Herzegovina had been under Austro-Hungarian occupation since 1878. Jelica Belović worked in Mostar, where she married Janko Bernadžikovski, an Austro-Hungarian civil servant of Polish background with whom she had two children. In Mostar she also became involved in the circle around the literary magazine Zora (Dawn), in which she published, among other works, some important articles on women’s emancipation. From Mostar she went to Sarajevo and then to Banja Luka, where she became principal of the girls’ secondary school. Belović-Bernadžikovska very much embraced the idea of Yugoslavism, i.e. the unity of Serbs and Croats. She was also friends with the Bosnian Muslims. For displaying pro-Serbian feelings, she was chastised by the Austrian authorities and forced to retire from teaching in Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1908 (another source cites 1902).61 This was one of the reasons why she sometimes used pseudonyms in her publications. The family moved to Sarajevo and later to Zagreb. In 1910, Belović-Bernadžikovska participated in the pan-Slavist congress in Prague with an exhibition of women’s embroidery from Bosnia-Herzegovina. After World War I, she moved to Novi Sad, where she taught at a co-ed school until her retirement in 1936.62 She remained in Novi Sad until her death ten years later. Among her many contacts with famous people all over Europe, she knew and/or corresponded with other early feminists from the South Slavic world, such as Slovenian-Yugoslav writer, editor, and activist Zofka Kveder; the forgotten Croatian feminist Franjka Pakšec; and Novi Sad-based Savka Subotić, one of the leading members of the Dobrotvorna zadruga Srpkinja Novosatkinja (Novi Sad Serbian Women’s Philanthropic Association).63 Her reputation as a researcher, writer, and feminist led to an invitation, in 1922, by the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom to attend their assembly in The Hague in December of that year. Apparently, she was denied permission to travel.64

Her ideas regarding women’s emancipation, judging by the articles she published on these questions, can be qualified as coming from a position of cultural feminism fused, not unlike Tomić’s more radical feminism, with nationalism. Two articles stand out in this respect, both published in the Mostar-based periodical (edited by Serbian poet Jovan Dučić) Zora in 1899, “Moderne žene” (Modern Women) and “Žena budućnosti” (The Woman of the Future).65 Both articles thematize similar issues, first and foremost the need to improve women’s education and their personal development. Women are seen as different from men but in a positive and empowering light, which was a position typical for contemporaneous cultural feminism. In “The Woman of the Future,” Belović-Bernadžikovska conveys her wish to see women become stronger and more enlightened in order to be able to face life’s battles, but ultimately mainly for the sake of offering their husbands a wiser, more educated and interesting wife who can understand matters of the world beyond her household duties. “Life is so much more different next to a woman with an educated mind and heart […] who is also interested in the bigger questions of the human race, in the public matters of the homeland, but first and foremost in the spiritual life of her nation.”66 She expresses ideas often found in the writings of feminists from the Slavic (here Serbian) nations of the Monarchy, with their aspirations for national independence (also seen in Tomić), namely, defining women and the need for their education for the sake of family and nation. Belović-Bernadžikovska also demonstrates her familiarity with developments regarding the international women’s movement when she refers to American women as “the leaders in the modern fight for women’s rights.”67 In her praise of American women as beacons who show the rest of the world “what woman can [do],”68 she selects from among all women’s associations the “mothers’ clubs,” where American “mothers meet and they deliberate on the happiness and salvation of their loved ones, of their homes, of their children.”69 Thus, in demonstrating familiarity with feminist developments in the West, Belović-Bernadžikovska is careful not to overstep the boundaries of her general position concerning women’s place in the Serbian and Bosnian society of her time as first and foremost in the service of their husbands, families, and nation.70

An Early Feminist Writer from Austrian Occupied Bosnia-Herzegovina

Of the four examples of early feminists from various regions across the southern periphery of the Dual Monarchy, Nafija Sarajlić (born Hadžikarić, 1893–1970) came from the most socially conservative background. As a young Muslim woman in Habsburg-occupied Ottoman Bosnia-Herzegovina, she was an exception in that her father, a Sarajevo-based tailor who made uniforms for the Habsburg officials, allowed his daughters to be educated, an act for which he was attacked by the townspeople (his shop was stoned).71 Sarajlić attended the Sarajevo Muslim Female School established by the Habsburg authorities in 1897. This school and others fostered the education of Muslim girls “in a province where more than eighty percent of the population was still completely illiterate”72 and where opposition to girls’ education beyond religious schools was still very strong among the Muslim elites.73 Against such public opposition, both Nafija and her four sisters graduated from the Girls’ Teacher Training School.74 Nafija Hadžikarić married the writer Šemsudin Sarajlić, who was much more conservative than her father and pressured his wife to abandon the teaching profession after only three years. For a short while, Nafija Sarajlić remained active in public life as a writer and published about 20 short stories in the Muslim newspaper Zeman and later in Biser, where her husband was also a contributor.75 However, after their eldest daughter died, she withdrew from a writing career as well. She gave in to patriarchal pressure to devote herself entirely to her family.76 She maintained one creative public outlet, however, in the privacy of her home by teaching illiterate female neighbors and tutoring children.77 Today, she is praised by critics as “a precursor of modern short prose”78 and as the “first woman prose writer in the Muslim community,”79 and she is claimed by both the literary and national history in Bosnia-Herzegovina.

Sarajlić’s short pieces are not only innovative in form. In her short prose, she broached topics such as women’s education, modernization, her own triple burden as a mother, wife, and aspiring writer, religion, and ethnic relations. Her first piece, entitled “Rastanak” (The farewell), and published when she was only 19 years old, was inspired by her experience as a teacher who tried to offer, in her spare time, additional content for her more advanced female pupils, such as ethics and reading, only to be met with reprimand by the Muslim authorities, “in front of the children.”80 In fact, what she describes in this short piece is her last day at the school, a tearful departure that, in her own words, “had been the most difficult one in my entire life.”81 What she does not say out loud to her pupils but puts down on paper is a powerful statement that can be read as an allegory for women’s fight for a more advanced education and emancipation against strong patriarchal opposition: “We are much too idealistic and the contact with the dark world defeats us. But if we are strong and if we want to serve our profession, we have to fight against the difficulties, trusting in success no matter how strong and difficult the resistance may be!”82

In another short prose from the series “Themes,” she presents an autobiographically inspired situation from the space of the home where an aspiring writer struggles to satisfy the demands of her household duties while also finding time to devote to writing, all the while seeking her writer husband’s approval. The first-person narrator manifests a remarkable assertiveness in the face of the husband’s arrogance as he rebukes her initial attempts to draw his attention to her sketches: “One can write but only when it is justified, in a professional, not a primitive way using the same old patterns like everyone else.”83 Eventually, she breaks through his wall of sexist prejudice and he reads her pieces while adding some critical comments encouraging her to continue. With one obstacle out of the way (her husband’s approval), the narrator still ends the piece on a tone of despondency, aware of the fact that not only does she lack a room of her own so necessary for the completion of creative tasks but also receives only verbal support from her husband: “I have strung together a few themes that could be expanded if I only had more leisure time, but right now, that is unattainable for me.”84 It is remarkable that Sarajlić’s words have lost nothing of their relevance for women in the twenty-first century, who, regardless of their background, still very often have to fight the same battles between double and triple burden.

Despite the difficulties and societal constraints that Sarajlić faced as an educator and aspiring writer, she succeded in contributing to a shift in women’s education outside of a narrowly confined space set by rigid religious, cultural, and gender standards. She left behind an albeit small but significant body of writing through which she further paved the way for the emerging new Muslim woman in this geographic space.

Conclusion

The above analysis of the lives and work of four women from the southern peripheries of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy allows us to draw some conclusions regarding the development of women’s social activism and creative output in this region. Despite their different ethnic and cultural backgrounds, they were united by their exceptional education and their presence as a public voice, be it via teaching, publishing, or editorial activities. Nemessányi’s path gradually took her from further north in Hungary to the south, where she became a pathbreaker as the first female principal of a Hungarian language girls’ secondary school in Novi Sad/Újvidék and the founder of the local branch of the Maria Dorothea Association. Today, her life and work are studied as that of a pioneer of women’s secondary education in Vojvodina. Milica Tomić’s educational path initially took her from the south to the north to both big centers of the Monarchy, from where she returned to her native Novi Sad to advance both women’s and the Serbian national cause as the first female editor of a women’s journal in this region. Jelica Belović-Bernadžikovska went the furthest north and west in her quest for knowledge, and she was the most internationally recognized, published, and connected, as well as the most nomadic early feminist, living between various towns along the southern periphery of the Monarchy, all the while embracing the Serbian national cause. Because of her work across borders, however, today Belović-Bernadžikovska is claimed by Serbian, Croatian, and Bosnian feminist history. Nafija Sarajlić remained geographically confined to her native Sarajevo but still exhibited a remarkable level of modernity and emancipatory awareness which, while recognized today within the context of Bosnian Muslim history, is relevant far beyond cultural and geographic boundaries.

Through the personal and professional lives of these remarkable women we can discern connections in their feminist activism that transgress ethnic, regional, and national borders. The role of magazines and women’s articles in spreading ideas regarding their educational and political rights, influenced by international developments, needs to be emphasized as well. Finally, women’s literary output and its role in furthering ideas of women’s emancipation cannot be left out of the picture. In the overall conservative social environment across this geographic area, which shaped what women were (and were not) able to do, no women’s associations with the explicit goal of demanding political rights existed at the time. Nevertheless, this ethnically varied sample of women pioneers from the parts of the Dual Monarchy that later became Yugoslavia demonstrates that a feminist awareness regarding developments in women’s advancement in East Central Europe and beyond was very much present, and that these and other women from this multiethnic and culturally complex region greatly contributed to the improvement of women’s image, education, and social status, leaving an imprint on and an important legacy for future generations.

Bibliography

Journal articles

Belović-Bernadzikowska, Jelica. Bijelo roblje [White slavery]. Koprivnica: Knjižara Vinka Vošickog, 1923.

Belović-Bernadzikovska, Jelica. “Žena budućnosti” [The woman of the future]. Zora, no. 8–9, 1899, 290–92.

“Biračko pravo ruskom ženskinju” [Russian women’s right to vote]. Žena, April 1, 1912, 248.

“Biračko pravo ženskinja u Engleskoj” [English women’s right to vote]. Žena, April 1, 1912, 248–49

“Grofica Teleki o ženskom pravu glasa” [Countess Teleki on female suffrage]. Žena, April 1, 1912, 247–48.

Nemessányi, Adél. “A magántanítás előnye” [Advantage of private tutoring]. Család és Iskola, no. 15, 1889: 172–73.

Nemessányi, Adél. “Néhány szó a tanítónő munkájáról s díjazásáról” [A few words on the work of a woman teacher and her remuneration]. Felső Nép- és Polgári Iskolai Közlöny, June 15, 1890, 278–89.

“Pobornice za žensko pravo glasa u Austriji” [Women’s rights advocates in Austria]. Žena, April 1, 1912, 247.

“Pobornice ženskog prava glasa u Kini” [Women’s rights advocates in China]. Žena, April 1, 1912, 249–50.

Tomić(a), Milica Jaše. “Naše više devojačke škole” [Our secondary schools for girls]. Žena, June 1, 1911, 367–74.

Zrnić, J. “Jelica Belović-Bernadžikovska.” Žena i svet, April 15, 1925, 9.

“Žensko pravo glasa u Švedskoj” [Women’s right to vote in Sweden]. Žena, April 1, 1912, 248.

“Žensko pravo glasa u Ugarskoj – propalo u saboru” [Women’s right to vote in Hungary –failed in Parliament]. Žena, July 16, 1918, 369.

Secondary literature

Admin. “Monografija: Milica Miletić Tomić – Pouke i polemike” [Milica Miletić Tomić – Lessons and polemics]. Portal za Urbanu Kulturu I Baštinu, March 29, 2018. Accessed August 21, 2024. https://korzoportal.com/monografija-milica-miletic-tomic-pouke-i-polemike/

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Belović-Bernadzikovska, Jelica. “Modern Women.” In Shaking the Empire, Shaking Patriarchy: The Growth of a Feminist Consciousness across the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, edited by Agatha Schwartz and Helga Thorson, 141–46. Riverside, CA: Ariadne Press, 2014.

Dojčinović, Biljana and Ivana Pantelić. “Early Modern Women Intellectuals in 19th Century Serbia: Milica Stojadinović, Draga Dejanović and Milica Tomić.” In Women Telling Nations, edited by Amelia Sanz, Francesca Scott, and Suzan van Dijk, 121–34. Leiden: Brill, 2014.

Érdujhelyi, Menyhért. Újvidék története [History of Novi Sad]. Újvidék: Agapé, 2002. Reprint of the first edition 1894.

Giomi, Fabio. “Daughters of Two Empires: Muslim Women and Public Writing in Habsburg Bosnia and Herzegovina (1878–1918).” Aspasia 9 (2015): 1–18. doi: 10.3167/asp.2015.090102

Györe, Zoltán. “Újvidék urbanisztikai és demográfiai fejlődése 1867-től 1918-ig” [Urban and demographic development of Novi Sad from 1867 to 1918]. In Fejezetek az ezeréves magyar-szerb együttélés történetéből, 170–200. Újvidék: Forum, 2020.

Hawkesworth, Celia. Voices in the Shadows: Women and Verbal Art in Serbia and Bosnia. Budapest: Central European UP, 2000.

Jelkić, Dušan. Četrdeset godina književnog rada Jelice Belović-Bernadžikovske [Forty years of literary work of Jelica Belović-Bernadžikovska]. Sarajevo: Obod, 1925.

Memija, Emina. “Medaljoni života Nafije Sarajlić” [Medallions of life by Nafija Sarajlić]. In Iz bosanske romantike; Teme / Šemsudin Sarajlić, Nafija Sarajlić, edited by Emina Memija and Fahrudin Rizvanbegović, 247–58. Sarajevo: Preporod, 1997.

Nóbik, Attila. “Feminization and Professionalization in Hungary in the Late 19th Century: Women Teachers in Professional Discourses in Educational Journals (1887–1891).” Espacio, Tiempo y Educación 4, no. 1 (2017): 1–17.

Nóbik, Attila. A pedagógia szaksajtó és a néptanítói szakmásodás a dualizmus korában [The pedagogical press and the professionalization of national teachers in the Dual Monarchy]. Szeged: Szegedi Egyetemi Kiadó, 2019.

Nóbik, Attila. “Gyermekek a dualizmus iskolái és a család hatókörében” [Children in the sphere of influence of schools and family in the Dual Monarchy]. Iskolakultúra 12, no. 3 (2002): 16–20.

Noizz. “Ljudi ne prestaju da komentarišu film Ime naroda, a ovo je priča o Milici Tomić koja je oduševila sve” [People cannot stop commenting on the film The Name of the Nation, which is a testimony to Milica Tomić, who inspired everyone]. February 28, 2021. Accessed August 10, 2024. https://noizz.rs/kultura/ko-je-bila-milica-tomic-cerka-svetozara-miletica/cz004l4

Omeragić, Merima. “The Muslim Women’s Question and the Emancipatory Potential of Nafija Sarajlić’s Literary Work in the South Slavic and European Context.” Radovi Zavoda za hrvatsku povijest 55, no. 1 (2023): 87–111.

Ózer, Ágnes. “Adalék Újvidék nőtörténetéhez” [Contributions to women’s history in Novi Sad]. Létünk 37, no. 1 (2007): 40–44.

Ózer, Ágnes. “Az újvidéki szegény sorsú nők védelmezőjéről” [On the protector of poor women in Novi Sad]. Magyar Szó Online, September 28, 2023. Accessed June 30, 2024. https://www.magyarszo.rs/vajdasag/ujvidek/a.296508/Az-ujvideki-szegeny-sorsu-nok-vedelmezojerol

Pantelić, Ivana, Jelena Milinković, and Ljubinka Škodrić. Dvadeset žena koje su obeležile XX vek u Srbiji [Twenty women who marked the 20th century in Serbia]. Beograd: NIN, 2013.

Reynolds-Cordileone, Diana. “Reinventions: Jelica Belović-Bernadzikowska’s Ethnographic Turn.” Central and Eastern European Online Library, 2019. Accessed August 22, 2024. https://www.ceeol.com/search/article-detail?id=817461

Sarajlić, Nafija. “The Farewell.” In Shaking the Empire, Shaking Patriarchy: The Growth of a Feminist Consciousness across the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, edited by Agatha Schwartz and Helga Thorson, 246–47. Riverside, CA: Ariadne Press, 2014.

Sarajlić, Nafija. “Themes.” In Shaking the Empire, Shaking Patriarchy: The Growth of a Feminist Consciousness across the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, edited by Agatha Schwartz and Helga Thorson. 248–50. Riverside, CA: Ariadne Press, 2014.

Schwartz, Agatha. Shifting Voices: Feminist Thought and Women’s Writing in Fin-de-Siècle Austria and Hungary. McGill-Queen’s UP, 2008.

Stajić, Vasa. Građa za kulturnu istoriju Novog Sada: iz magistratske arhive knj. 2 [Material on the cultural history of Novi Sad: from the city archives, vol. 2]. Novi Sad: Matica srpska, 1951.

Stojaković, Gordana. “Tények, amelyek a 19. század közepétől a 20. század közepéig meghatározták az újvidéki, a vajdasági magyar nők emancipációjáért vívottküzdelmet” [Facts defining the struggle of Novi Sad and Vojvodina Hungarian women’s emancipation from the mid-19th century to the mid-20th century]. In Vajdasági magyar nők élettörténetei, edited by Svenka Savić and Veronika Mitro, 9–16. Novi Sad – Újvidék: Futura publikacije, 2006.

Stojaković, Gordana. “Adel Nemešenji.” ŽeNSki muzej. Accessed July 10, 2024. https://zenskimuzejns.org.rs/adel-nemesenji-2/

Stojaković, Gordana, ed. Znamenite žene Novog Sada [Famous women of Novi Sad]. Vol. 1. Novi Sad: futura publikacije, 2001.

Tomić, Milica. “On Women’s Right to Vote.” In Shaking the Empire, Shaking Patriarchy: The Growth of a feminist Consciousness across the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, edited by Agatha Schwartz and Helga Thorson, 279–84. Riverside, CA: Ariadne Press, 2014.

Vojvodina uživo. “Novi Sad iz ženskog ugla: Časopis koji je bio posvećen ženama, a nastao je pre više od jednog veka” [Novi Sad from a female perspective: a magazine dedicated to women created more than a century ago]. May 12, 2024. Accessed August 14, 2024. https://vojvodinauzivo.rs/novi-sad-iz-zenskog-ugla-casopis-koji-je-bio-posvecen-zenama-a-nastao-je-pre-vise-od-jednog-veka/

Zdero, Jelica. “Belović-Bernadzikowska, Jelica (1870–1946).” In A Biographical Dictionary of Women’s Movements and Feminisms: Central, Eastern, and South Eastern Europe, 19th and 20th Centuries, edited by Francisca de Haan, Krassimira Daskalova, and Anna Loutfi, 51–53. Budapest: Central European UP, 2006.

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1. 1 Novi Sad is the Serbo-Croat name of the city, Újvidék the Hungarian. Both are still used officially today in Vojvodina.

2. 2 She is included in the Croatian encyclopedia under “Belović-Bernadzikowska, Jelica.”

3. 3 Ózer, “Adalék,” 40. All translations from non-English sources are by me.

4. 4 An earlier version of this publication came out in Serbo-Croatian in 2001.

5. 5 While different spellings of the name (Nemassányi, Nemešenji) can be encountered in various publications, the correct form can be deduced from the birth certificate published online in Stojaković, “Adel Nemešenji”: Adela Nevena Nemessányi. I therefore use this spelling throughout this article.

6. 6 Stojaković, “Tények,” 12.

7. 7 Stojaković, “Adel Nemešenji.”

8. 8 Ibid. Stojaković wrongly calculates her age in 1933 at 96.

9. 9 Ózer, “Az újvidéki.”

10. 10 Stojaković, “Adel Nemešenji.”

11. 11 Érdujhelyi, Újvidék története, 360.

12. 12 Stajić, Građa, 165. The numbers refer to a report from 1877 quoted by the author.

13. 13 On the national level, the founder of the Hungarian Maria Dorothea Association was Mrs. Gyula Sebestyén (née Ilona Stetina, 1855–1932) in 1885. According to Attila Nóbik, it became “one of the most important cultural organizations representing women’s interests.” Nóbik, “Feminization,” 8.

14. 14 Érdujhelyi, Újvidék története, 329.

15. 15 Stojaković, “Tények,” 11.

16. 16 Ibid., 330.

17. 17 Ózer, “Az újvidéki.”

18. 18 Schwartz, Shifting Voices, 20–21.

19. 19 Ibid.

20. 20 See Schwartz, Shifting Voices, 36–37; Schwartz and Thorson, Shaking the Empire.

21. 21 Nóbik, A pedagógiai szaksajtó, 58. Nóbik further notes that no church or state-run pedagogical magazines featured any woman authors. The only notable exception among those he examined was Nemzeti Nőnevelés (National Women’s Education). It was not only the sole pedagogical periodical run by a woman editor (Gyuláné Sebestyén Ilona Stetina) but it also featured a high number of female authors, reaching 40 percent by 1891 (57).

22. 22 Nemessányi, “A magántanítás előnye” quoted in Nóbik, Gyermekek, 18.

23. 23 Nemessányi, “Néhány szó," 284, quoted in Nóbik, A pedagógiai szaksajtó, 60.

24. 24 Ibid.

25. 25 In 2018, a little-noticed monograph about Tomić was published under the title Milica Miletić Tomić – Pouke i polemike, edited by Vera Kopicl (Savez feminističkih organizacija (re)konekcija, 2017). It contains a selection of Tomić’s writings published in various periodicals.

26. 26 In 1939, the city of Novi Sad erected a monument to Svetozar Miletić on the main square in front of City Hall. The monument is the work of famous Croatian-Yugoslav-American sculptor Ivan Meštrović. Grad Novi Sad, April 6, 2009. https://novisad.rs/lat/spomenik-svetozaru-mileticu.

27. 27 Dojčinović and Pantelić, “Early Modern Women,” 129.

28. 28 Schwartz and Thorson, Shaking the Empire, 72.

29. 29 Noizz, “Ljudi ne prestaju” states that the murder was the result of a shooting incident. According to Pantelić, Milinković, and Škodrić, it was death by stabbing. Dvadeset žena, 19.

30. 30 Dojčinović and Pantelić, “Early Modern Women,” 129.

31. 31 A term difficult to render in English, it is sometimes translated as “blood sister.” In Serbian culture, people can select a close friend who is not a blood relation as an elected brother or sister (“pobratim” and “posestrima”).

32. 32 Dojčinović and Pantelić, “Early Modern Women,” 130.

33. 33 Pantelić et al., Dvadeset žena, 20–21.  

34. 34 Ibid.

35. 35 These assemblies were held regularly in Karlovac near Novi Sad, and were the most important political institution of Serbs living in the Monarchy.

36. 36 Tomić(a), Milica Jaše, “Naše više devojačke škole,” 374. The form of Tomić’s name used is that of the genitive case of a woman’s family name based on her husband’s first and last name, in this case Jaša Tomić, which becomes Jaše Tomića in the genitive. This is a reflection of a deep-seated patriarchal gender structure in which the woman’s name essentially states that she is the property of her husband.

37. 37 Ibid., 371.

38. 38 Stojaković, Znamenite žene, 52.

39. 39 Dojčinović and Pantelić, “Early Modern Women,” 132.

40. 40 Ibid.

41. 41 “Pobornice za žensko pravo glasa u Austriji,” 247.

42. 42 “Grofica Teleki o ženskom pravu glasa,” 247–48.

43. 43 “Biračko pravo ruskom ženskinju,” 248.

44. 44 “Žensko pravo glasa u Švedskoj,” 248.

45. 45 “Biračko pravo ženskinja u Engleskoj,” 248–49.

46. 46 “Pobornice ženskog prava glasa u Kini,” 249–50.

47. 47 “Grofica Teleki o ženskom pravu glasa,” 247. On the Congress, see Schwartz, Shifting Voices, 55–56.

48. 48 This article was translated into English in Schwartz and Thorson, Shaking the Empire, 279–84.

49. 49 Ibid., 284.

50. 50 “Žensko pravo glasa,” 369.

51. 51 Pantelić et al., Dvadeset žena, 20. 

52. 52 Noizz, “Ljudi ne prestaju.”

53. 53 Admin, “Monografija.”

54. 54 Bernadzikovska, Bernadzikowska, and Bernadžikowski are also spellings of her name used in different sources.

55. 55 In 2023, her memoirs were published in Sarajevo, Memoari Jelice Belović Bernadžikowski, edited by Enes S. Omerović and Tomas Jacek Lis and supported by Bosnian and Polish funds.

56. 56 Zrnić, “Jelica Belović-Bernadžikovska,” 9.

57. 57 Hawkesworth, Voices, 138.

58. 58 Jelkić, Četrdeset godina, 28.

59. 59 Hawkesworth, Voices, 138.

60. 60 Zdero, “Belovic-Bernadzikowska,” 51; Jelkić, Četrdeset godina, 4.

61. 61 Jelkić, Četrdeset godina, 5; Reynolds Cordileone, “Reinventions.”

62. 62 Zdero, “Belovic-Bernadzikowska, Jelica” 53.

63. 63 In 1911, Rózsa Schwimmer invited Savka Subotić to give a lecture in Budapest, but we have no information as to whether Subotić followed up on this invitation (Schwartz and Thorson, Shaking the Empire, 72–73).

64. 64 Jelkić, Četrdeset godina, 22.

65. 65 See Schwartz and Thorson, Shaking the Empire, 88.

66. 66 Belović-Bernadzikovska, “Žena budućnosti,” 292.

67. 67 Belović-Bernadzikovska, “Modern Women,” 145.

68. 68 Ibid.

69. 69 Ibid.

70. 70 Belović-Bernadžikovska’s embracing of Serbian nationalism (despite her own hybrid ethnic heritage) is also evident from some of her later, post-Monarchy writings. In her book Bijelo roblje (White slavery), published in 1923 (thus already in Yugoslavia, and when she lived in Novi Sad), one that was inspired in part by Freud’s theories on human sexuality, she expresses negative and highly stereotypical views on Hungarian women, for example. She deems them of light morals, and because of their “hot” temperament expressed in their “passionate dancing” and in “promiscuous Hungarian operettas and songs,” she considers Serbian women’s contacts with Hungarian women in Vojvodina detrimental for the Serbian girls’ (allegedly higher) morality (50).

71. 71 Omeragić, “The Muslim Women’s Question,” 95.

72. 72 Giomi, “Daughters of Two Empires,” 5.

73. 73 Omeragić, “The Muslim Women’s Question,” 95.

74. 74 Ibid.

75. 75 Giomi, “Daughters of Two Empires,” 8.

76. 76 Omeragić, “The Muslim Women’s Question,” 103.

77. 77 Ibid., 104.

78. 78 Schwartz and Thorson, Shaking the Empire, 89.

79. 79 Isaković quoted in Hawkesworth, Voices, 256.

80. 80 Sarajlić, “The Farewell,” 246.

81. 81 Ibid., 247.

82. 82 Ibid.

83. 83 Sarajlić, “Themes,” 248.

84. 84 Ibid., 250.

Women’s History in Greece through The Ladies’ Journal of Kallirhoe Siganou-Parren:
Class, National Identity, and Reformist Activism
in the Formation of Women’s Associations (1887–1917)

Marina Bantiou

University of Peloponnese

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 Hungarian Historical Review Volume 14 Issue 3 (2025): 317-350 DOI 10.38145/2025.3.317

This paper investigates how The Ladies’ Journal (Efimeris ton Kyrion), edited by Kallirhoe Siganou-Parren between 1887 and 1917, constructed a gendered historical consciousness and mobilized national history as a vehicle for women’s civic inclusion in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Greece. Through a qualitative content and discourse analysis of selected articles from the journal’s complete digitized archive, the study examines how Parren strategically invoked historical female figures, from classical Antiquity to the Greek War of Independence and the Byzantine era, to legitimize women’s public roles within a framework of patriotic maternalism and bourgeois respectability. These representations restored women to history and actively recast historical memory as a tool for moral instruction, civic pedagogy, and reformist activism. While rooted in nationalist ideology, the journal’s narratives also reflected transnational influences through Parren’s engagement with international feminist networks and suffrage congresses. The article argues that this hybrid mode of popular historiography simultaneously enabled middle-class women’s symbolic integration into the nation and reinforced prevailing class and gender hierarchies. Ultimately, it situates The Ladies’ Journal as a formative site for the articulation of women’s associative practices and reformist discourse, while also critically assessing its role in shaping the terms and limits of female civic identity.

Keywords: women’s history in Greece, Kallirhoe Parren, Ephimeris ton Kyrion, feminist historiography, Greek women’s associations, maternalism, Greek feminist movement

Introduction

In the late nineteenth century, the rise of the middle class and Greece’s irredentist ambitions led to a redefinition of womanhood. Emphasis was placed on women’s domestic and maternal responsibilities as key to nurturing virtuous citizens, while this shift, driven by the nationalistic “Great Idea” (Megáli Idéa) extended women’s roles into the public sphere, where they became instrumental in supporting the state’s mission through activities such as fundraising and collaborating with international women’s organizations.1 Among them, Kallirhoe Siganou-Parren (1861–1940) played a catalytic role in shaping the discursive and organizational foundations of women’s reformist activism.2 Through The Ladies’ Journal (Ephimeris ton Kyrion), the first Greek periodical edited by and for women, Parren advanced a vision of civic motherhood and gendered patriotism that sought to reconcile female emancipation with dominant national ideologies. While scholars such as Angelika Psarra and Eleni Varika have examined Parren’s nationalist maternalism and her reformist approach to women’s roles,3 this article extends the discussion by analyzing how women’s historical narratives functioned as ideological instruments within her editorial strategy.

Rather than reasserting Parren’s ideological framework as such, this study offers a systematic content and discourse analysis of The Ladies’ Journal, with a focus on how its historical representations constructed a usable past that legitimated women’s participation in public life. Drawing on the complete digitized archive of the journal (1887–1917), I examine the selection, rhetoric, and thematic organization of articles published by Parren and her collaborators on historical female figures, national heroines, intellectuals, and empresses. These representations served not only to restore women to the national narrative but also to define a specific, class-bound model of female citizenship that reinforced gender hierarchies even as it proposed incremental reforms.

By contextualizing these representations within the broader social and political transformations of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Greece, this article analyzes how The Ladies’ Journal operated as a platform of reformist activism rooted in women’s networks, educational philanthropy, and international feminist exchange. Particular attention is given to the interplay between history-writing and associational culture: how the journal’s narratives about women’s pasts shaped the founding ethos of institutions such as the Union for Women’s Emancipation (Ένωση υπέρ της Χειραφετήσεως των Γυναικών) (1893), the Union of Greek Women (Ένωση των Ελληνίδων) (1896), and the Lyceum of Greek Women (Λύκειο Ελληνίδων) (1911). The goal is to reassess Parren’s contribution to Greek women’s history and illuminate the ways in which historiographical practices themselves were mobilized as instruments of activism. In this regard, the article also contributes to the broader historiography of women’s movements in Europe by situating the Greek case within the transnational networks of the period. It argues that Parren’s engagement with international congresses and suffrage alliances helped shape a model of activism that was both embedded in national narratives and transnationally informed. Yet, this model remained restricted by class, education, and cultural capital, raising critical questions about the inclusivity of early women’s organizations and the boundaries of what we define as activism.

Historical and Ideological Background

In Greece at the turn of the twentieth century, the terms “feminism” and “emancipation” carried specific meanings. “Feminism” had not yet been firmly associated with women’s rights and was often used in male philogynic discourse, while “emancipation” referred to women’s demands for economic independence through work and, to a lesser extent, political rights.4 Parren articulated a dis­tinctly Greek version of emancipation, focusing not on women’s political enfranchisement but on their empowerment through access to education and paid employment.5

The development of gender consciousness and the literary endeavors of women in nineteenth-century Greece constituted essential channels for the expression of aspirations concerning women’s emancipation and challenges to patriarchal structures, especially among educated women in the educational sector, where their writings confronted the intricacies of social relations and offered a means to assert an independent female identity.6 Educated middle-class women began to articulate a shared gender identity and common interests, leading to the emergence of feminist consciousness.7 Nationalist discourse linked gender and nation, positioning women as essential to the civilizing mission of Hellenism, and women’s education became critical in forming future citizens and teaching Hellenic virtues to “unredeemed” territories.8 To understand this linkage, it is essential to recognize a concurrent shift in the dominant educational and scientific discourses: women were no longer viewed solely through the lens of theological inferiority but rather as naturally distinct but equal to men, endowed with allegedly differentiated capabilities suited to specific social functions.

This emerging ideology, described by Varika and others as “equality in difference,” became a cornerstone of nationalist thinking.9 The doctrine of “equality in difference” framed women as biologically and emotionally distinct from men, confining them to the private sphere while assigning them a crucial yet subordinate role in nurturing male citizens to serve the nationalist aims of the Greek irredentist vision.10 Parren’s advocacy for women’s rights through The Ladies’ Journal remained embedded in this essentialist discourse, emphasizing education, work, and moral upliftment within strictly defined maternal and patriotic boundaries. Her vision did not challenge prevailing gender hierarchies but sought rather to reconfigure women’s roles to align more closely with the perceived needs of the nation.

In the late nineteenth century, although it seemed unimaginable that women’s history would become a serious scholarly pursuit in academic circles, first-wave feminists like Jenny P. d’Héricourt, Susan B. Anthony, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton asserted women’s claims to rights by writing historical accounts about women. Their work inspired Parren, who regularly attended international women’s congresses. Influenced by these pioneers, she ambitiously sought to write the “History of Woman from the Beginning of the World to Today” in 1889, a project that aimed to span various global civilizations and reflect on women’s historical roles.11 Parren endeavored to integrate Greek women into the national historical narrative. To establish a feminist discourse in Greece, Parren and her collaborators engaged in a critical reexamination of history, particularly the portrayal of women in Greek myths and historical narratives.12 They challenged the male-dominated construction of these stories, emphasizing the historical presence of strong female figures as both a source of pride for women and a vital tool for legitimizing Greek feminism within the national context.13

First-wave Greek feminists, while emphasizing their “Greekness” as a way of asserting their belonging within a distinct national community and positioning themselves as part of Greek history, maintained connections with Western feminism.14 Their involvement in national crises, especially during the 1897 Greek-Turkish war, was framed within an essentialist discourse linking women’s political participation to their alleged bio-social roles, particularly motherhood, which was redefined as a patriotic duty that justified the gradual easing of their social exclusion.15 Psarra argues that Parren’s work represented a pioneering attempt to construct a coherent women’s history in Greece, utilizing the legitimizing discourse of history to empower the modern women’s movement by framing Greek women as distinct historical agents capable of claiming their own collective identity and rights.16

By emphasizing women’s roles and contributions, the journal sought to advance a discourse on women’s rights17 and also to reframe dominant conceptions of national identity to include female experiences and perspectives. This intervention challenged prevailing historical narratives, which had long marginalized women’s contributions. Parren strategically employed historical narratives to legitimize women’s demands for social inclusion, presenting them as an integral part of the nation’s civilizational and patriotic struggles. More specifically, she used history to legitimize the women’s movement by positioning women as distinct historical agents who made their own contributions to civilization and national struggles, allowing them to demand inclusion in the national narrative and challenge traditional views of women’s immobility, thereby empowering them to fight for their rights from a stronger position.18

However, as Psarra noted, this discourse primarily addressed women of Parren’s own bourgeois class, or in other words educated, urban women whose social standing and educational capital enabled them to participate in the limited public sphere envisioned by the nationalist and reformist discourses of the era.19 Her historical representations thus did not seek to dismantle class or gender hierarchies but rather to insert a select group of women into the national narrative by appealing to maternalist and patriotic ideals.20 In this way, women were “empowered” to act from within existing structures rather than radically to transform them. Even in her later interventions, such as during the First National Women’s Conference of 1921, Parren’s appeals to women’s civic roles remained couched in essentialist and conservative terms. Moreover, her alignment with institutions such as the Lyceum of Greek Women in the interwar period further reinforced a maternalist vision of women’s contributions to the nation, one rooted in idealized motherhood and middle-class domestic virtues rather than political or social radicalism. Her approach, though pioneering in form, ultimately reinscribed gender and class hierarchies under the guise of patriotic uplift. This ideological moderation should be understood in relation to broader political shifts in Greece. The Balkan Wars (1912–1913), the National Schism (1915–1917), and the Asia Minor Catastrophe (1922) fundamentally transformed the national imaginary and created new tensions around the role of women in the civic sphere. While Parren’s 1880s–1890s activism emphasized reformist engagement rooted in education and philanthropy, by the 1920s, her alignment with the monarchy and her efforts to distance herself and her ideas from liberal and socialist feminist voices signaled a retreat into more conservative positions that prioritized cultural nationalism over political rights. Women’s rights advocates at the turn of the century, viewing political equality as a premature demand, argued that the granting of political rights should follow the securing of civil and social rights and thus refrained from explicitly articulating a claim for full political emancipation.21

To better situate Parren’s historical interventions within the broader trajectory of gender historiography in Greece, it is instructive briefly to consider the development of the field itself. In Greece, the study of “Women’s History” initially emerged in close connection with the post-1974 movement for women’s rights, which sought to reconstruct the collective memory of women’s struggles by tracing historical continuities of dissent and exploring the changing forms of gendered oppression within bourgeois society, particularly in the realms of family, education, labor, and politics.22 While early scholarship often emphasized these themes through the lens of ideological discourse and lived social realities,23 subsequent decades witnessed a significant expansion of the field. The establishment of undergraduate and postgraduate programs focused on gender history in Greek universities has facilitated the diffusion of new methodological and theoretical approaches.24 A key milestone in this evolution was the founding in 2007 of the Historians for Research in the History of Women and Gender, the Greek Committee of the International Federation for Research in Women’s History (IFRWH).25 This evolving scholarly context has reshaped the ways in which figures like Parren are interpreted, not only as national reformers but also as early agents in the construction of gendered historical consciousness.

Kallirhoe Siganou Parren and The Ladies’ Journal

Born in Crete in 1861 and later acquiring a strong educational background, Parren served as the Director of girls’ schools in Adrianople and Odessa before returning to Athens, where she married Ioannis Parren, a journalist and the founder of the Athens News Agency. This marriage immersed her in the social, political, and literary dynamics of her era, profoundly shaping her active involvement in journalism.26

The inaugural issue of this magazine was released in Athens on March 8, 1887, priced at ten cents of the drachma and with an annual subscription fee of five drachmas for domestic readers. Over time, the journal cultivated a consistent group of approximately 18 female contributors, predominantly educators, and achieved a significant readership. Parren managed to establish a successful net­­work of international collaboration and recognition among women, com­pensating for the lack of domestic acknowledgment of Greek feminists. With contributions by various intellectuals, feminists, and Greek women from the Diaspora, particularly from the United States and France, the paper gained prestige and fostered an important transnational exchange within the feminist movement.27

The journal enjoyed extensive geographical distribution, drawing female subscribers from across the independent Greek state as well as from areas within the Ottoman Empire, the Balkans, and the Aegean islands.28 According to Varika, statistics from the Ministry of Interior reveal that within the first six months of 1892, The Ladies’ Journal ranked second in circulation among weekly publications, with 5,000 copies.29 The journal included several unsigned articles authored by Parren.30 For its first two decades, it was issued weekly, transitioning to a biweekly format after 1908, and ultimately going out of circulation in November 1917, after a total of 1,106 issues had gone to press.

As noted by Varika, The Ladies’ Journal played a pivotal role in shaping Greek feminist consciousness and advancing the cause of women’s emancipation.31 It fostered collective awareness of gender equality issues and disseminated ideas in support of women’s rights, laying the foundations for the feminist movement in Greece. However, it carefully avoided demands for political rights, advocating a “moderate” form of emancipation that respected biological and social differences and emphasized women’s roles in the national and familial spheres, with Parren calling for reforms in women’s societal contributions based on a notion of patriotic motherhood.32

Parren’s contributions to the formation and expansion of women’s associations in Greece were pioneering and reflect the multifaceted approach she adopted in advancing women’s rights. In 1889, she established the first “Sunday School” (Σχολή της Κυριακής, απόρων γυναικών και κορασίδων) to address illiteracy among impoverished girls, followed by the founding of the Asylum of Saint Catherine (Άσυλο της Αγίας Αικατερίνης) in 1892, which provided shelter for young women migrating to Athens for work, and the Asylum for the Incurable in 1896.33 After attending international feminist congresses in Chicago (1893) and Paris (1896), she founded the Union for Women’s Emancipation (Ένωση υπέρ της Χειραφετήσεως των Γυναικών) and later the Union of Greek Women (Ένωση των Ελληνίδων), which played a critical role during the Greco-Turkish War.34 In 1911, she established the Lyceum of Greek Women (Λύκειο Ελληνίδων).35

Over the years, however, her engagement with the women’s question became more aligned with conservative and nationalist frameworks, reflecting a gradual moderation of her earlier positions.36 During World War I, Parren’s anti-war stance, fueled by the unprecedented violence and her royalist sympathies, led her to align with Queen Sophia’s pacifist efforts and reject the liberal Venizelist party.37 Parren’s support for the monarchy during the National Schism and her criticism of the war effort led to her exile in 1917.38 This development, however, stemmed more from her political allegiances than from the impact of her activities, and it should not be conflated with her broader social influence or with the reception of her ideas among different segments of Greek society. Nevertheless, her prolonged absence from public life had a notable impact on the continuity of The Ladies’ Journal, which was closely tied to her efforts as editor and her personal networks. The journal eventually ceased publication.

Methodology

This study adopts a qualitative methodological framework to analyze the ways in which The Ladies’ Journal constructed and deployed narratives of women’s history as tools for ideological and reformist activism. The research centers on articles authored or curated by Kallirhoe Siganou-Parren between 1887 and 1917, focusing specifically on narrative depictions of historical women, national heroines, empresses, and intellectuals. The study does not treat these depictions as objective historical reconstructions but rather as discursive interventions shaped by the ideological imperatives of gender, class, and nationalism in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Greece. The analysis is grounded in three interrelated methods: qualitative content analysis, thematic analysis, and discourse analysis. Content analysis enables a systematic examination of recurring subjects and figures within the corpus of The Ladies’ Journal, identifying the frequency, selection, and narrative positioning of historical female protagonists. Thematic analysis is used to the trace broader ideological patterns, such as civic maternalism, moral exemplarity, and patriotic motherhood that structure the journal’s historical narratives. Articles were also coded for historical period (ancient, Byzantine, modern), figure type (war heroine, intellectual, empress, philanthropist), and narrative function (commemoration, exhortation, comparison with contemporary women). Discourse analysis complements these approaches by focusing on the rhetorical strategies and linguistic framing through which Parren and her contributors shaped meaning, legitimacy, and audience reception. This combination of methods facilitates an interpretive reading of the journal’s historiographical project as both a reflection of contemporary reformist thought and an instrument of cultural politics. The empirical base of the study is the complete digitized archive of The Ladies’ Journal, which is held in Lekythos, the Institutional Repository of the University of Cyprus. The journal is housed within the digital collection “Greek Press and Diaries of the 19th and 20th Century,” compiled and digitized by the Hellenic Literary and Historical Archive. This corpus provides a continuous and comprehensive source of primary material over the journal’s 30-year run, allowing for a longitudinal analysis of shifts in tone, content, and emphasis. The study also engages with Parren’s wider activist work in women’s associations as a means of contextualizing her editorial strategy. In this regard, the analysis traces how historical narratives in the journal were directly connected to the legitimization and mobilization of associative practices. The approach taken here is thus not only historical and textual but also socio-political, attentive to the intersections between editorial production, activist discourse, and national ideology. While Parren did not write as a professional historian, her work can be read as a form of popular historiography, characterized by a moralizing tone, selective biographies, and national romanticism. Rather than dismissing this work as non-scholarly, the article situates it as a gendered and classed mode of historical production, one that sought to insert women, particularly middle-class, educated women, into the symbolic fabric of the nation.

Women’s Historical Representations and the Construction
of Female Civic Identity

From its inception in 1887, The Ladies’ Journal consistently featured articles, biographical sketches, and essays on prominent female figures drawn from Greek Antiquity, the Byzantine period, and the modern era. These portrayals were not only commemorative but also served a broader ideological function: to establish a civic genealogy of exemplary women whose lives could inspire contemporary readers and validate women’s participation in public life. Drawing on both official historical sources and oral traditions, Parren articulated a historical continuum in which women were presented as agents of national service, moral fortitude, and intellectual capacity. Through this lens, the journal contributed to the construction of female civic identity by framing women’s historical contributions as foundational to the moral and cultural development of the Greek nation.

Parren sought to integrate Greek women into the narrative of the nation’s history by highlighting the stories of significant historical female figures in the journal, employing the legitimizing discourse of history to foreground modern women’s claims and rights.39 Her portrayals emphasized traits such as patriotism, self-sacrifice, and moral leadership, aligning with contemporary ideals of “patriotic motherhood.” This didactic use of history, shaped by the conventions of popular historical writing, provided a sense of historical continuity for women’s claims to civic recognition. Importantly, her approach did not seek to dismantle existing gender norms but to reframe them. Parren asserted that traditional maternal and educational roles had intrinsic civic value and were indispensable for national regeneration. This position allowed her to advocate for women’s inclusion in civic and political life while maintaining alignment with dominant nationalist narratives.

A recurrent theme in her historical writing was the valorization of female figures from the Greek War of Independence,40 particularly the Souliot women.41 These women, who had defended their homeland against Ottoman forces in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, became a focal point in The Ladies’ Journal. In an article from March 27, 1888, Parren commemorated their courage and sacrifice, portraying them as moral exemplars for modern Greek mothers.42 By invoking the image of women such as Moscho Tzavella43 and Despo Botsi,44 who were said to have resisted Ottoman forces heroically and even to have embraced martyrdom to avoid dishonor, Parren constructed a national-historical archetype rooted in maternal virtue and patriotic sacrifice. These figures were not framed as exceptional anomalies but as proof that women had long fulfilled vital roles in moments of national crisis. Haido, another such figure, was praised not only for her bravery and skill in arms but also for the tenderness and care she showed for wounded fighters, reinforcing the dual image of the woman as both warrior and nurturer.45

As Giannati has noted, Parren’s representation of such figures constructed a soteriological vision of the female hero. The heroic woman was depicted not merely a combatant but also as a “rear guard of the army” safeguarding moral continuity and collective identity.46 Parren’s disappointment at the omission of female fighters from official historiography was explicit. “Those who wrote the history of the new Greece,” she noted, “mention scattered and carelessly some of the names of the heroines of the Greek War of Independence.”47 Through her articles, she worked to correct this omission.

The didactic purpose of these representations was further underscored by Parren’s frequent critiques of contemporary Greek women for failing to live up to these historical ideals. In the wake of the 1897 Greco-Turkish War, she lamented the perceived apathy of modern women, contrasting their disengagement with the fortitude of their predecessors.48 This rhetorical strategy functioned as both a call to action and a form of moral instruction. It encouraged readers to reclaim their civic responsibilities by emulating the patriotic virtues of historical heroines.

Beyond revolutionary heroines, The Ladies’ Journal also showcased female intellectuals and philanthropists. A notable example was the publication of the Album of Distinguished Greek Women (Λεύκωμα Εξόχων Ελληνίδων) in Athens in 1893 in Greek. This was launched by a transnational network of Greek women from the diaspora, primarily from Romania and Russia, who financed the project collectively.49 Although the exact editorial board remains unclear, the album was widely circulated. It commemorated and promoted the contributions of prominent Greek women in the fields of education, charity, and national service. It marked a shift toward more sustained biographical engagement. Parren endorsed the album enthusiastically, integrating it into the journal’s content and encouraging contributions from readers. She described it as a significant “trophy of honor” and a unifying gesture among Greek women across borders.50 Thus, the biographical project became a participatory venture that sought to democratize access to historical memory and expand the pantheon of national heroines.

The more systematic publication of women’s biographies in The Ladies’ Journal commenced in the same period, driven in large part by contributors such as Sotiria Alimperti, a Greek educator who began her career in the Ottoman Empire.51 These biographies prominently featured women who emerged from families of fighters in the Greek War of Independence or from distinguished intellectual and political lineages. They highlighted their significant contributions to social and charitable efforts, which were central to the progress of Greek society. Each portrayal highlighted these women’s moral integrity and intellectual clarity and also their unwavering patriotic spirit, a recurring theme that aligned with the broader ideology of patriotic motherhood, which sought to legitimize women’s civic participation by framing their contributions in terms of national service.52 For example, the biographies of Kyriakoula Kriezi and Maria Petrettini, published in The Ladies’ Journal by Sotiria Alimperti, emphasized their noble lineage, charitable work, and educational efforts, casting them as maternal figures whose public engagement strengthened the moral fabric of the Greek nation.53 Kyriakoula Kriezi (abt. 1805–1876), the granddaughter of Admiral Antonios Kriezis (a hero of the Greek War of Independence and later Prime Minister), was portrayed as a woman who had inherited the patriotic virtues of her family, dedicating herself to philanthropic initiatives and the moral education of young girls. Similarly, Maria Petrettini (abt. 1774–1851), a Greek-Venetian aristocrat, was known for her involvement in women’s education and benevolent institutions in Athens, where she advocated for the intellectual development of women within a framework of Christian and national values. Both figures were presented not only as exemplars of female virtue but as embodiments of the ideal of patriotic motherhood, serving the nation through moral leadership and socially sanctioned public roles.

The emphasis on biographical recovery extended to female figures from Antiquity and Byzantium, often through a romantic-nationalist lens. Sappho was portrayed not only as “the greatest lyrical poetess” but also as a symbol of creative and emotional intelligence.54 Parren emphasized Sappho’s originality and poetic genius as a means of strengthening her argument that women had historically contributed to intellectual life. Through her emphasis on Sappho’s “simplicity and grace,” alongside the “strong expression of passion,” Parren constructed a narrative that acknowledged women’s emotional and intellectual contributions, reinforcing the idea that women have always played pivotal roles in the cultural and social fabric of society.55 The article ends with the following conclusion: “The woman is equal to the man. She has no need to imitate him, because she has the same gift of originality, invention, discovery. Entering the public sphere, she will not always follow the man, but she will precede him. She will even discover new ways of salvation, which he does not even suspect.”56 This passage reflects Parren’s vision of women not merely as participants in public life but as agents of moral and intellectual renewal, a notion closely tied to the idea of women as a “civilizing force,” a theme extensively discussed by Psarra in her analysis of gendered national discourse and maternalist feminism in modern Greece.57

Aspasia, likewise, was reframed as a political and intellectual force, “the first minister of the world,” whose influence on Pericles and Athens demonstrated the capacity of women for civic leadership.58 In another passage, Parren refuted the charge against Aspasia of being a hetaira, attributing it to political hostility and misogyny, and celebrated her as a visionary who helped raise Athens to cultural preeminence.59

Parren further explored the contributions of women from the Byzantine world, with particular attention to Empresses Irene, Theodora, Athinais, and Poulcheria.60 She presented these women as moral and political leaders who shaped religious life, governed justly, and exemplified the compatibility of female virtue and authority. Through her writings, Parren emphasized their administrative acumen and moral strength, using them to counter the dominant perception of women’s historical passivity. These portrayals extended the journal’s civic pedagogy by asserting a longue durée of female leadership in the Greek historical imagination.

Eleni Georgiadou, another contributor, also examined the emancipatory roles of women in religious life, particularly abbesses and nuns who wielded significant authority within their communities.61 Georgiadou’s articles contrasted the relative freedom of women in monastic contexts with the restrictions imposed on married women, offering an implicit critique of contemporary gender norms.

At times, Parren’s portrayals adopted a mythologizing tone, particularly in her treatment of the Souliot women and the legend of the Dance of Zalongo. While she was aware of the limitations of historical documentation, she deliberately used folk memory and national myth as tools for civic instruction. Her invocation of women as “Amazons” or “guardians of the homeland” focused less on historical precision and more on symbolic resonance. In crafting these narratives, she created a form of “usable past” that linked the moral and emotional capacities of women to the health and progress of the nation.

Throughout these narrative depictions, Parren advanced a gendered civic pedagogy rooted in patriotic maternalism. Rather than advocating for abstract political equality, she argued for women’s public inclusion on the basis of their historical and moral contributions. Her historical writings functioned as a means of cultivating civic identity, transmitting national values, and legitimizing women’s social action. These efforts were not framed in opposition to national ideology but in strategic alignment with it, allowing for a gradual expansion of women’s public roles within a culturally acceptable framework.

This section thus demonstrates how Parren’s historical narratives in The Ladies’ Journal functioned not only as acts of memory restoration but also as ideological interventions. By constructing a coherent lineage of female virtue, sacrifice, and public engagement, she positioned women as rightful participants in the moral and civic life of the nation. These representations laid the groundwork for broader reformist efforts and helped shape the collective identity of Greek women as agents of social and national renewal.

History as Instrument: Sources, Narratives, and Ideological Uses
in Parren’s Writings

Kallirhoe Parren’s representations of historical female figures in The Ladies’ Journal, notably beginning with the fourth issue (March 29, 1887), which featured a biographical tribute to Laskarina Bouboulina,62 played a formative role in shaping early women’ emancipation discourse in Greece by using national history as a means of legitimizing women’s social participation. These articles commemorated individual women but also actively sought to reinscribe them into the collective memory of the Greek nation. Parren’s editorial emphasis on patriotic sacrifice, moral virtue, and civic engagement, as seen in her later portrayals of Greek heroines, established a framework of historical continuity that connected modern women’s demands to a national legacy of female courage and contribution. As Psarra and Varika have noted, Parren’s strategic use of biographical recovery was foundational to the articulation of a Greek women’s history that challenged the invisibility of women within dominant historiography while remaining aligned with nationalist ideals.63

While the primary aim of The Ladies’ Journal was to improve women’s social position by advocating for their right to education and work, especially for unmarried women or those without male protection, and by affirming their importance as mothers of the nation, Parren also used the platform to promote a broader cultural agenda. In an 1892 article, she described the journal’s ambition to engage with historical narratives by “searching through entire libraries” to uncover evidence of women’s contributions to national history, which had often been neglected in favor of male achievements.64 This editorial mission was not confined to passive recovery but constituted an active intervention in historiographical production, designed to reframe history itself as a space accessible to women’s voices. Through this strategy, she encouraged contemporary Greek women to recognize distinguished female figures of the past as role models, thereby reinforcing their civic identity and moral legitimacy within the nation’s evolving public sphere.

However, Parren’s historical methodology deserves a closer examination if we seek to determine the extent to which her portrayals were based on rigorous scholarship and grounded in primary sources or leaned more toward anecdotal retellings shaped by popular narratives. Her editorial strategy combined the authority of historical writing with the accessibility of journalistic storytelling, thus constructing a hybrid mode of popular historiography. Parren’s treatment of history in her writings exemplifies the intersection of the national and woman questions, using maternalist rhetoric to highlight women’s role in the nation.65 She presents women as central to the preservation of historical continuity, emphasizing their duty as wives, mothers, and daughters to transmit Greek language, values, and traditions to future generations. This formulation links the civilizing mission of women with the nation’s progress, all framed within a patriotic, nationalist discourse.

Parren advocated for women’s inclusion in politics. She emphasized that the nation mirrors the family, thereby encouraged women to move from the private to the public sphere. She also urged women to engage with history, suggesting that every household should have historical books on its shelves to nurture in the women of the house a sense of civic responsibility and engagement in public life.66 In this framework, the historical education of women was not just beneficial, but necessary for the wellbeing of the national polity. Parren viewed history as the most suitable reading material for women, considering it an essential tool for educating and empowering the female gender.67 She emphasized that history, particularly the history of women, was a gift for women of all ages, accessible to women of any financial means, and essential if women sought to develop intellectual and moral strength.68

Parren used both traditional historical sources, such as official histories and archival biographies, and popular narratives, including folk songs, oral traditions, and mythologized accounts, to construct a lineage of exemplary female figures whose lives could inspire and legitimize public participation among women of her time. For instance, in her portrayals of Souliot heroines, she combined historical facts with elements drawn from popular memory and patriotic lore to emphasize their bravery, maternal sacrifice, and civic virtue. Similarly, her reimagining of Aspasia and Sappho drew on both classical references and cultural myth to present them as paragons of intellectual and moral excellence, whose legacies affirmed the capacity of women to contribute meaningfully to national culture and civic life. Through these composite narratives, Parren reframed women’s historical roles not as marginal or incidental, but as central to the ethical and cultural development of the Greek nation.

Parren was well aware of the importance of grounding her narrative depictions of historical women in credible sources to lend legitimacy to her feminist arguments. She often referenced established historical works and archives to provide factual details about the women she praised. When writing about figures from the Greek War of Independence, Parren based her narratives on widely recognized historical records but also critically noted the gaps and omissions that left women’s contributions underrepresented. She drew on traditional historical texts, such as biographies and revolutionary archives, and she supplemented them with oral traditions, folk poetry, and collective memory. In doing so, she exposed the limitations of male-dominated historiography and asserted alternative forms of historical evidence. For instance, her articles on the Souliot heroines, such as Moscho Tzavella and Despo Botsi, were based on a combination of archival and oral material, songs, ballads, and local legends, highlighting the bravery and patriotism of these women even in the absence of institutional documentation.69

Parren also romanticized certain aspects of these women’s lives, casting them as symbols of patriotism and self-sacrifice. This romanticization can be seen, for example, in her vivid account of Moscho urging women to fight alongside men. Parren uses the account to attribute military leadership and tactical initiative to female figures.70 These portrayals framed historical women as idealized figures of courage, often linked to notions of maternal sacrifice and national duty. This rhetorical strategy, while powerful in mobilizing public sentiment, risked flattening historical complexity in favor of archetypal heroism.

Parren’s articles on Despo Botsi are especially illustrative of this approach.71 Marked by dramatic language and moral exemplarity, Despo is portrayed setting fire to a tower to avoid surrender, choosing death for herself and her daughters over dishonor. While this event is grounded in collective memory, Parren’s account elevated it to a parable of moral superiority. Her narrative strategy thus reflected a dual aim: to restore women to history and to construct history as a civic lesson for contemporary readers. This tendency must be understood within the broader context of nineteenth-century Greek historiography, which was closely tied to the ideological imperatives of nation-building and historical continuity.72

One of the most distinctive features of Parren’s historical methodology was her use of mythologized accounts to support her feminist narrative. Her portrayal of the Souliot women, for example, often elevated them to near-mythical status, comparing them to the Amazons. In several articles, Parren referred to the Souliot women as Amazons, emphasizing their martial valor and willingness to die for freedom.73 These classical references served not only to ennoble the acts of these women but also to legitimize women’s civic aspirations by grounding them in timeless archetypes.

In her 1888 commemorative article on the Souliot women, Parren explicitly criticized male historians for marginalizing women’s role in the national narrative: “Those who wrote the history of modern Greece mention the heroines of 1821 only in passing, as if in a footnote, while entire volumes could be filled with the deeds of those immortal women’s patriotism and bravery.”74 Parren contrasted this omission with her own aim of documenting women’s active agency, portraying them not as passive victims but as conscious patriots. Her historical women were depicted as both nurturing and militant, guardians of the homeland and moral educators of the next generation.

She further celebrated scenes of female heroism, such as Moscho distributing cartridges “like an experienced general”75 or Despo choosing martyrdom over enslavement.76 These portrayals culminated in moral appeals to her readers: “Let modern Greek mothers remember, at least on this sacred day, how dearly those heroines paid for the freedom we later-born make such use of.” By constructing such vivid portraits, Parren redefined patriotism in gendered terms, linking women’s civic identity to their capacity for sacrifice.

Parren’s use of cultural memory is also evident in her treatment of the Dance of Zalongo. Although the historical accuracy of the Zalongo episode is no longer debated and the story is now widely recognized as a nationalist myth, Parren portrays the Dance of Zalongo as the ultimate expression of maternal self-sacrifice.77 Her invocation of Zalongo exemplifies how memory, myth, and ideology converged in her writing to shape historical consciousness.

In 1893, following the publication of the aforementioned Album of Distinguished Greek Women, Parren announced a new initiative to gather biographies from her readers.78 This participatory method reflected her belief that history was a communal undertaking, not the monopoly of elite scholars. By inviting women across Greece and the diaspora to contribute, Parren constructed a decentralized archive of memory that drew on plural voices and perspectives. This collective project challenged the exclusivity of professional historiography and positioned women not only as subjects of history but also as its authors and curators.

In conclusion, Parren’s historical writings in The Ladies’ Journal employed a multifaceted strategy that combined documented history with cultural myth, scholarly research with popular tradition, and editorial authority with participatory authorship. Her approach constituted a parallel mode of historical production, one that restored women to the national narrative while reimagining the role of history itself as a vehicle for civic pedagogy and moral uplift. Her ideological use of the past did not aim at academic neutrality but at strategic alignment with broader goals of national renewal and gendered civic engagement. This instrumental vision of history, deeply rooted in didacticism, remains a defining characteristic of her contribution to Greek public memory and cultural heritage.

Networks, Associations, and International Engagement:
Women’s Social Action and National Reform

Women’s associations in nineteenth-century Greece played a crucial role in shaping national identity and promoting women’s civic inclusion. These organizations emerged alongside the establishment of girls’ schools and women’s journals, promoting education and professional opportunities for women.79 In the nineteenth century, Greek women, especially from the middle and upper classes, sought to improve their social standing through education. Yet despite the 1834 royal decree mandating primary education for both genders, female education advanced slowly, with only a small percentage of girls and women enrolled in educational institutions, as societal views valued education as a means of upward mobility for men but confined to social consumption for women. However, women began to use education to challenge their prescribed roles, assert their societal worth, and elevate their position.80 In the 1860s, female education began to function as an increasingly important foundation for collective social reform and philanthropy in Greece, for instance through the work of influential figures like Calliopi Kehaya and Sotiria Aliberti, whose efforts transformed philanthropic activities from an elite pursuit into a collective movement among middle-class women.81 Parren built on these educational and philanthropic networks to gather collaborators for her initiatives fostering women’s associations across the country, which enabled women to engage in social and cultural issues while cultivating a shared identity of collective female action against patriarchal constraints.82

The nineteenth century also saw the emergence of transnational networks of women’s reform, with which Parren sought to align. These feminist networks were international in scope, with women across Europe and North America forming a shared ideology and communities. This facilitated the exchange of ideas and support.83 The movement’s international dimension is evident in organizations like the International Council of Women and the International Woman Suffrage Alliance.84 Although the Greek case developed within a distinct national context, Parren’s strategic participation in these forums highlights the interplay between international feminist mobilization and national reformist agendas.

The ability of certain activists to afford regular travel was crucial, since travel facilitated direct engagement with international feminist networks, allowing activists to exchange ideas, strategies, and best practices. This interaction was essential for fostering solidarity among women from diverse cultural and social backgrounds, helping to unify the movement and amplify their collective voice. Activists like Parren, who could attend international women’s congresses, were able to bring valuable insights and inspiration back to their local contexts, enriching the discourse around women’s rights in Greece. By participating in these global gatherings, she engaged with leading feminists from across Europe and the United States. Through her speeches and interactions, Parren sought to challenge prevailing stereotypes, highlighting both the historical and contemporary roles of Greek women and positioning them as dynamic contributors to both national and international feminist movements.

Through these engagements, Parren used international legitimacy to strengthen the credibility of her domestic campaigns, presenting the advancement of Greek women as aligned with European civilizational standards. Parren’s attendance at the 1889 International Congress of the Rights of Women in Paris allowed her to engage with global feminist discourse, countering Western perceptions of Greek women as oppressed “Orientales”85 and providing a platform to assert the modernity and civic potential of Greek women.86 In her speech, she highlighted the significant historical contributions of Greek women, from the ancient era to the War of Independence, celebrating their role in preserving Greek identity and patriotism.87 She emphasized the active participation of women in the War of Independence, portraying figures like Moscho and the Souliot women as embodiments of strength and sacrifice.88 Parren concluded by contrasting the bravery of these historical figures with the more conventional image of Greek women, asserting their ongoing potential for progress and education.89

At the time, public education for girls in Greece was limited to the primary level, while secondary education remained the domain of private institutions, thereby excluding most girls from lower-income families. In response to these structural inequalities, Parren used the platform of the First Congress of Women’s Works and Institutions in Paris in 1889 to announce her intention to submit a proposal to the Greek Parliament.90 Her demands included equal educational opportunities for Greek women, the establishment of girls’ schools equivalent to boys’ high schools, and the founding of a Home Economics and Vocational School in Athens to support the professional training of girls, particularly those from economically disadvantaged backgrounds.91

In 1921, Parren organized the first Panhellenic Congress of Greek Women.92. Inspired by her participation in international conferences where pressing issues such as, civil and political rights, and fair labor practices were discussed, Parren was motivated to address similar societal challenges in Greece.93 The innovative philanthropic institutions she encountered during her visit to France, particularly the agricultural schools for girls, inspired her to establish similar programs in Greece, ultimately resulting in the creation of institutions like the aforementioned “Sunday School”94 and “Asylum of Saint Catherine,” which aimed to empower Greek women through education and social welfare.95

In the journal, Parren wrote on the contrast between French and Greek women of the upper class in the nineteenth century. While both groups enjoyed the privileges afforded by their social standing, Parren argued that the French women exhibited a far deeper commitment to philanthropy and social reform.96 She highlighted the extensive network of charitable organizations established and supported by French aristocrats, who actively engaged with the needs of the less fortunate. In contrast, Parren contended that Greek women of the same class lacked a similar sense of social responsibility. She criticized their superficial engagement with philanthropy, their indifference towards their national heritage, and their preference for foreign cultures. By critiquing the Hellenic elite’s detachment, Parren called for a reinvigoration of national duty among women of privilege, emphasizing their moral obligation to serve society.

In May of 1893, Parren attended the World’s Congress of Representative Women, where she was hailed as the “Aspasia of modern Greece” and the “leading figure in the Greek women’s movement.”97 In her speeches, Parren celebrated the accomplishments of Greek women throughout history and called for global support for women’s empowerment. Through her articles in The Ladies’ Journal, she shared her admiration for American society and advocated for Greece to adopt similar progressive reforms, particularly in terms of women’s education and social roles. In another speech as a delegate to the Congress, she emphasized the role of women’s associations in Greece in addressing social issues and promoting education, for instance through initiatives like the “Sunday School” and the “Asylum of Saint Catherine.”98 Following the Congress, Parren was hosted by Lydia Avery Coonley for twelve days, allowing her to observe firsthand the social organization of the United States, characterized by progressive education for children, respect for human rights, and a strong work ethic.99 From May 30, 1893 to November 27, 1894, Parren published a travelogue titled “From Athens to Chicago: Diary of a Greek Traveler” in The Ladies’ Journal. In this, she chronicled her experiences at the Congress, where through her interactions with prominent American feminists like Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, Parren gained valuable insights into women’s rights movements and developed a vision for a more equitable society for Greek women.100

After returning to Greece, Parren attempted to establish a national women’s association affiliated with the International Council of Women. However, she faced significant challenges. Greek society at the time was highly conservative, including its political, intellectual, and professional elites, and the broader social climate was unreceptive to organized feminist activism. Moreover, there were few women with whom Parren could collaborate or who might have supported affiliation with the more radical international feminist movement.101 It was only during the interwar period that distinct ideological currents, organizational pluralism, and sustained public discourse on women’s rights began to take shape in Greece.

Therefore, in 1896, Parren established the Union of Greek Women, which played a central role in mobilizing women during the 1897 Greco-Turkish War, with approximately 300 women actively participating in various wartime efforts, such as fundraising, caring for refugees, sewing uniforms, training nurses, and collaborating with foreign organizations.102 These efforts enabled women to broaden their social networks, develop new skills, and apply their existing knowledge in public service, while also fulfilling their patriotic duties within a national context.103

Parren utilized the 1897 Greco-Turkish War to promote women’s integration into the nation, formulating a discourse that legitimized women as active citizens.104 The Union also cooperated with international women’s organizations during the 1897 war, particularly engaging with English nurses who arrived in Greece.105 This collaboration exemplified the Union’s commitment to philhellenism, as they worked together to support wartime efforts, including the establishment of mobile hospitals and medical units. This cross-border cooperation demonstrated the global solidarity of women in support of Greece’s national cause. By linking women’s public activism to national emergencies, Parren strategically highlighted women’s indispensability to the civic body. The establishment of the Union of Greek Women not only benefited the nation but also laid the foundations for later organizations focused on charity, vocational training for working-class women, and the mobilization of middle and upper-class women in national uprisings, with the Union’s organizational structure, nationalistic language, and emphasis on the reformation of the Greek family and nation establishing it as the archetype of women’s collectivity in Greece, a model that remained influential over time.106

The activities of the Union were often framed in terms of national duty, echoing Parren’s portrayal of historical women as patriots. This rhetorical strategy enabled the association to appeal to a broad spectrum of Greek society by aligning women’s public roles with dominant nationalist ideals. While the association did not explicitly identify as feminist, its efforts to expand women’s education and professional opportunities reflect a broader agenda of women’s advancement within a national framework. The focus on education and social welfare, in particular, reflected Parren’s belief that women’s advancement was essential to the nation’s progress, first and foremost because women were viewed as the primary educators of future citizens. The argument was often advanced that mothers needed education to raise their children properly, especially their boys, who would grow up to become the nation’s soldiers and civic actors. This maternalist logic allowed for the redefinition of civic engagement in gendered terms, legitimizing women’s participation without challenging patriarchal hierarchies.

The Union’s activities influenced later women’s organizations, such as the Lyceum of Greek Women, which focused on preserving Greek cultural traditions.107 The Lyceum of Greek Women organized exhibitions and festivals that showcased women’s handicrafts and traditional dances, activities which contributed to the cultural construction of Greek national identity.108 However, in the interwar period, the Lyceum evolved into a highly conservative women’s association, promoting a vision of womanhood rooted in tradition and national folklore. This stance contrasted with the broader interwar feminist movement, which was notably diverse and dynamic, encompassing multiple organizations, journals, and ideological viewpoints that extended beyond cultural nationalism.

The historical narratives promoted by Parren in The Ladies’ Journal often paralleled her broader activism, including her efforts to establish women’s associations that advocated for improved access to education, employment, and political participation. While a direct causal link is difficult to establish, these narratives reflected and reinforced the ideological foundations of her reformist agenda. By constructing a historical lineage of female leadership and activism, Parren provided her readers and fellow activists with a sense of legitimacy and purpose. Her narrative depictions were not only about restoring memory but also about motivating contemporary women to act. By aligning modern women’s engagement with national history and public life, Parren framed their participation as both legitimate and necessary.

However, this strategy must be understood within a broader socio-political context that shifted significantly in the early twentieth century. The Asia Minor Catastrophe in 1922, followed by political upheaval and social transformation, contributed to the weakening of traditional nationalist narratives and allowed for the emergence of more pluralistic feminist currents. In the interwar years, the Greek women’s movement diversified, with the rise of multiple organizations and journals representing a range of ideological perspectives, from liberal reformism to more socially radical positions, thus complicating any singular alignment between nationalism and women’s rights advocacy.

Conclusions

The Ladies’ Journal, under the editorial vision of Kallirhoe Siganou-Parren, functioned as more than a vehicle for women’s literary expression or social commentary. It became an instrument for the construction of a “usable past” as part of efforts to assert women’s rights and women’s value in the civic sphere.109 Through carefully curated narratives of historical episodes and figures, the journal sought to reinscribe women into the national narrative by commemorating select female figures, heroines, intellectuals, empresses, and philanthropists as paragons of patriotic virtue, moral leadership, and maternal sacrifice. These portrayals legitimized women’s claims to civic participation and anchored their public visibility within essentialist and nationalist frameworks.

This selective historicization was not ideologically neutral. It validated certain forms of female agency, namely, those aligned with domestic virtue, philanthropy, cultural refinement, and national service, while excluding others, particularly women from working-class, rural, or marginalized backgrounds whose experiences did not conform to the moral and social expectations of the urban bourgeoisie. In this sense, The Ladies’ Journal articulated a vision of gendered citizenship that was simultaneously empowering and constraining. Women were invited to see themselves as heirs to a noble lineage of civic motherhood and patriotic self-sacrifice but only insofar as their aspirations aligned with the class-bound and ideologically acceptable norms of respectable femininity.

Parren’s historical project thus reveals the ambivalence of early feminist interventions in public memory. On the one hand, it offered an important corrective to the symbolic omission of women from the official historiography, affirming that women had always contributed to national life. On the other, it deployed history as a tool of cultural regulation, shaping the terms according to which women could be remembered and by extension, could act. Discourse analysis reveals that historical women were often described through dichotomies, for instance courageous yet tender, strong yet modest, influential yet invisible, reflecting an effort to reconcile agency with notions of proper femininity. These rhetorical choices legitimized women’s civic engagement while preserving normative ideals of womanhood rooted in morality, domesticity, and patriotic service. The “usable past” constructed in The Ladies’ Journal was thus not only inspirational but disciplinary, encoding gendered expectations even as it advocated reform.

Parren’s historiography was activist in the sense that it challenged gendered omissions and erasures, inserted women into the symbolic fabric of the nation, and mobilized the past to inspire civic engagement. Yet it also reinscribed boundaries, excluded subaltern voices, and reinforced class hierarchies. This duality complicates the legacy of The Ladies’ Journal and calls for a more layered understanding of what constitutes feminist cultural activism in contexts marked by nationalism, respectability politics, and ideological constraint.

Crucially, Parren’s historiographical strategy blurred the boundaries between journalism, biography, myth, and civic pedagogy. It embraced a hybrid mode of popular historiography that democratized historical knowledge while maintaining a gatekeeping function over who and what could be commemorated. This approach prefigured later debates in feminist historiography over the politics of recovery and the risks of idealization. By foregrounding moral exemplarity and national service as the criteria for historical inclusion, Parren constructed a narrative that inspired collective identity but limited its transformative potential. Parren’s work demonstrates that the past is never only remembered. It is actively shaped, filtered, and instrumentalized in response to the needs of the present. Parren’s vision of women’s history was a pioneering act of cultural production, but also one shaped by the ideological contours of its time. The challenge for contemporary scholarship lies in recognizing both its contributions and its exclusions and in interrogating how the construction of a “usable past” continues to influence debates over gender, memory, and civic belonging.

Bibliography

Journal articles

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Alexandridou, Maria A. [Αλεξανδρίδου, Μαρία Α.]. “Μαρία Γ. Υψηλάντου Β΄” [Maria G. Ypsilantou B]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 6, 1894.

Alimperti, Sotiria [Αλιμπέρτη, Σωτηρία]. “Κυριακούλα Α. Κριεζή Α΄” [Kyriakoula A. Kriezi A]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 13, 1894.

Alimperti, Sotiria [Αλιμπέρτη, Σωτηρία]. “Κυριακούλα Α. Κριεζή Β΄” [Kyriakoula A. Kriezi B]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 20, 1894.

Alimperti, Sotiria [Αλιμπέρτη, Σωτηρία]. “Μαργαρίτα Αλβάνα Μηνιάτη. [Margarita Alvana Miniati]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], April 9, 1895.

Alimperti, Sotiria [Αλιμπέρτη, Σωτηρία]. “Μαρία Πετρεττίνη” [Maria Petrettini]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 13, 1895.

Alimperti, Sotiria [Αλιμπέρτη, Σωτηρία]. “Φωτεινή Μαυρομιχάλη Α΄” [Foteini Mavromichali A]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], February 13, 1894.

Alimperti, Sotiria [Αλιμπέρτη, Σωτηρία]. “Φωτεινή Μαυρομιχάλη Β΄” [Foteini Mavromichali B.]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], February 20, 1894.

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Georgiadou, Eleni [Γεωργιάδου, Ελένη]. “Η χειραφέτησις των γυναικών κατά τον μεσαίωνα” [The emancipation of women during the Middle Ages]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], January 31, 1893.

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Mavrogordatou, Maria [Μαυρογορδάτου, Μαρία]. “Σαπφώ” [Sappho]. Efimeris ton Kyrion [The Ladies’ Journal], August 21, 1888.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Άγνωστοι Ηρωίδες του ‘21: Σταυριάνα, Μοδένα και Μεσολογγίτιδες” [Unknown Heroines of 1821: Stavriana, Modena, and the women of Missolonghi]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 25, 1890.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι αρχόντισαι του Βυζαντίου” [The Ladies of Byzantium]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 28, 1904.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Α΄” [The empresses of Byzantium: A]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 20, 1905.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Αθηναΐς και Πουλχερία” [The empresses of Byzantium: Athenais and Pulcheria]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 26, 1905.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Γ΄” [The empresses of Byzantium: C]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], April 3, 1905.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Η Ειρήνη” [The empresses of Byzantium: Irene]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], May 22, 1903.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Η Ειρήνη” [“The empresses of Byzantium: Irene]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], May 8, 1905.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Η Θεοδώρα: Α” [The empresses of Byzantium: Theodora: A]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], May 5, 1905.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Η Θεοδώρα: Β” [The empresses of Byzantium: Theodora: B]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], April 24, 1905.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Η Θεοδώρα: Γ” [The empresses of Byzantium: Theodora: C]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], May 1, 1905.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι Ηρωίδες Μητέρες” [The heroic mothers]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 19, 1900.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι Παρισιναί αριστοκράτιδες και αι ιδικαί μας” [The Parisian aristocrats and our own]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], August 13, 1889.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Αι Σουλιώτιδες εις το Κιούγκι” [The Souliote women at Koungi]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], October 15, 1912.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Δέσπω Μπότση” [Despo Botsi]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], February 5, 1895.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Εκ Σικάγου” [From Chicago]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], June 13, 1893.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Έκτον Έτος” [Sixth year]. Efimeris ton Kyrion [The Ladies’ Journal], March 8, 1892.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Ελένη Βάσσου” [Eleni Vassou]. Efimeris ton Kyrion [The Ladies’ Journal], March 21, 1893.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Η Ασπασία” [Aspasia]. Efimeris ton Kyrion [The Ladies’ Journal], June 15, 1910.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Η Εικοστή Πέμπτη Μαρτίου – Αι Σουλιώτιδες γυναίκες” [The twenty-fifth of March – The Souliote women]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 27, 1888.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Η ελληνίς γυνή του 19ου αιώνος, εν τη Φιλολογία εν τη ιστορία και τη φιλανθρωπία: (Λόγος απαγγελθείς υπό της κ. Καλλιρρόης Παρρέν εις το εν Παρισίοις Διεθνές Συνέδριον των γυναικείων Εργων και ιδρυμάτων, αντεπόκρισις εκ Παρισίων)” [The Greek woman of the 19th century in literature, history, and philanthropy: Speech delivered by Mrs. Kallirhoe Parren at the International Congress of Women’s Works and Institutions in Paris, Report from Paris]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], July 16, 1889.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Η σχολή της Κυριακής” [The Sunday school]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], October 18, 1889.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Η Χάιδω” [Haido]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], February 19, 1895.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Ιστορία της γυναικός: Σύγχροναι Ελληνίδες” [History of women: Contemporary Greek women]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], November 3, 1896.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Και πάλιν η Σαπφώ” [Sappho again]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], January 15–31, 1912.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Καλλιόπη Παπαλεξοπούλου” [Kalliopi Papalexopoulou]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], September 9, 1898.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Λασκαρίνα Μπουμπουλίνα” [Laskarina Bouboulina]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 29, 1887.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Λεύκωμα Εξόχων Ελληνίδων” [Album of Distinguished Greek Women]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], January 10, 1893.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Μαργιώρα Ν. Μαυρογένους: Το γένος Σκαναυή: A΄” [Margiora N. Mavrogenous: The Skanavi Lineage: A]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 19, 1895.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Μαργιώρα Ν. Μαυρογένους: Το γένος Σκαναυή: Β΄” [Margiora N. Mavrogenous: The Skanavi Lineage: B]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 26, 1895.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Μόσχω Τζαβέλλα” [Moscho Tzavella]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], March 27, 1894.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Νέαι Γιγαντομάχοι” [New Gigantomachoi]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], October 1–15, 1913.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Σαπφώ η Λεσβία και η φεμινιστική κίνησις εις τας Αθήνας κατά τον Δ΄ προ Χριστού αιώνα” [Sappho of Lesbos and the feminist movement in Athens in the 4th century BCE]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], January 1–15, 1912.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Τα εν Ελλάδι σωματεία και η εν γένει γυναίκεια δράσις” [The Greek associations and general women’s activities]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], June 13, 1893.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Τι αναγιγνώσκομεν αι Ελληνίδες” [What we Greek women read]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], December 17, 1889.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Τι ιδέαν είχον οι ξέναι περί των Ελληνίδων” [What foreign women thought of Greek women]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], July 30, 1889.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Το γυναικείον ζήτημα: Αι Σπαρτιάτιδαι και αι Αθηναίαι: Ε΄” [The woman question: The Spartan and the Athenian women: E]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], January 14, 1901.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Το Νέον Συμβόλαιον” [The new covenant]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], April 20, 1912.

Parren, Kallirhoe [Παρρέν, Καλλιρόη]. “Φωτεινή Γενναίου Κολοκοτρώνη” [Foteini Gennaou Kolokotroni]. Εφημερίς των Κυριών [The Ladies’ Journal], October 7, 1890.

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1. 1 Avdela and Psarra, “Engendering ‘Greekness’,” 69–79.

2. 2 While the terms feminism and activism are used throughout this article, they are understood in their historically specific context. During the period under discussion, these concepts were not fully developed or uniformly applied. Parren herself rarely used the term feminist before the twentieth century, and her reformist vision was often framed in terms of civic motherhood, philanthropy, and moral uplift rather than explicit political rights. Therefore, the use of these terms in this article denotes emerging discourses of women’s public engagement, rather than fully formed political ideologies.

3. 3 See e.g. Varika, “La révolte des dames”; Psarra, “Few Women Have History.”

4. 4 See Giannati, “Εφημερίς των Κυριών (1887–1917): Αναπαραστάσεις και Επαναπροσδιορισμοί,” 35, citing Psarra, “Το μυθιστόρημα της χειραφέτησης ή η ‘συνετή’ ουτοπία της Καλλιρρόης Παρρέν,” and eadem, “Μητέρα ή πολίτις.”

5. 5 Ibid.

6. 6 Varika, “Μια δημοσιογραφία στην υπηρεσία της γυναικείας φυλής,” 6–7.

7. 7 Varika, “La révolte des dames.”

8. 8 Avdela and Psarra, “Engendering ‘Greekness’,” 70.

9. 9 Varika, “La révolte des dames.”

10. 10 Papadogiannis, “Gender in modern Greek historiography,” 81.

11. 11 Des Jardins, “Women’s and Gender History,” 138.

12. 12 Poulos, Arms and the Woman, 19–48.

13. 13 Ibid.

14. 14 Psarra, “A Gift from the New World,” 151–52.

15. 15 Ibid.

16. 16 Psarra, “Few Women Have History.”

17. 17 For more on feminist discourse and national identity in Greece during late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries see Lalagianni, “Conscience Féministe et Identité Nationale”; Lalagianni, “Les Origines du Discours Féministe en Grèce”; Anastasopoulou, “Feminist Discourse and Literary Representation.”

18. 18 Psarra, “A Gift from the New World,” 151.

19. 19 Psarra, “Μητέρα ή πολίτις;.”

20. 20 Ibid.

21. 21 Samiou, “Τα πολιτικά δικαιώματα των Ελληνίδων,” 167.

22. 22 Avdela, “Η «ιστορία των γυναικών» στην Ελλάδα,” 171–73.

23. 23 Ibid.

24. 24 Livaditi, “Initiatives on Gender History in Greece.”

25. 25 Ibid.

26. 26 Giannati, “Εφημερίς των Κυριών (1887–1917): Αναπαραστάσεις και Επαναπροσδιορισμοί,” 30–31; Varika, “Μια δημοσιογραφία στην υπηρεσία της γυναικείας φυλής,” 8.

27. 27 Poulos, Arms and the Woman, 19–48.

28. 28 Giannati, “Εφημερίς των Κυριών (1887–1917): Αναπαραστάσεις και Επαναπροσδιορισμοί,” 32.

29. 29 Varika, Η εξέγερση των Κυριών, 279–88.

30. 30 For more on Kallirhoe Parren’s life and work see Psarra and Fournaraki “Callirhoe Parren”; Anastasopoulou, Η συνετή απόστολος της γυναικείας χειραφεσίας.

31. 31 Ibid.

32. 32 Avdela, “Between Duties and Rights,” 122–23.

33. 33 Giannati, “Εφημερίς των Κυριών (1887–1917): Αναπαραστάσεις και Επαναπροσδιορισμοί,” 39–42.

34. 34 Ibid.

35. 35 Avdela, Το Λύκειο των Ελληνίδων: 100 χρόνια.

36. 36 Psarra, “Μητέρα ή πολίτις.”

37. 37 Poulos, Arms and the Woman, 19–48.

38. 38 Ibid.

39. 39 Psarra, “Ο χορός του Ζαλόγγου”; Psarra, “Few Women Have History.”

40. 40 Parren, “Άγνωστοι Ηρωίδες του 21: Σταυριάνα, Μοδένα και Μεσολογγίτιδες”; Parren, “Λασκαρίνα Μπουμπουλίνα”; Parren, “Μαργιώρα Ν. Μαυρογένους. Α΄”; Parren, “Μαργιώρα Ν. Μαυρογένους B΄.”

41. 41 Parren, “Αι Σουλιώτιδες εις το Κιούγκι.”

42. 42 Parren, “Η Εικοστή Πέμπτη Μαρτίου – Αι Σουλιώτιδες γυναίκες.”

43. 43 Parren, “Μόσχω Τζαβέλλα.”; Parren, “Η Εικοστή Πέμπτη Μαρτίου – Αι Σουλιώτιδες γυναίκες.”

44. 44 Parren, “Δέσπω Μπότση.”

45. 45 Parren, “Η Χάιδω.”

46. 46 Giannati, “Εφημερίς των Κυριών (1887–1917): Όψεις και Διαπραγματεύσεις της Γυναικείας Ταυτότητας,” 151–52.

47. 47 Parren, “Η Εικοστή Πέμπτη Μαρτίου – Αι Σουλιώτιδες γυναίκες.”

48. 48 Parren, “Αι Ηρωίδες Μητέρες.”

49. 49 Parren, “Λεύκωµα Εξόχων Ελληνίδων.”

50. 50 Ibid.

51. 51 For more on Sotiria Alimperti, see Kanner, Έμφυλες κοινωνικές διεκδικήσεις από την Οθωμανική Αυτοκρατορία στην Ελλάδα και στην Τουρκία.

52. 52 Giannati, “Εφημερίς των Κυριών (1887–1917): Όψεις και Διαπραγματεύσεις της Γυναικείας Ταυτότητας,” 153. E.g. see Alimperti, “Φωτεινή Μαυροµιχάλη Α΄”; Αλιµπ+έρτη, “Φωτεινή Μαυροµιχάλη Β΄”; Alimperti, “Κυριακούλα Α. Κριεζή Α΄”; Alimperti, “Κυριακούλα Α. Κριεζή Β΄”; Alimperti, “Μαργαρίτα Αλβάνα Μηνιάτη”; Alimperti, “Μαρία Πετρεττίνη”; Alexandridou, “Μαρία Γ. Υψηλάντου Α΄”; Alexandridou, “Μαρία Γ. Υψηλάντου Β΄”; Parren, “Ελένη Βάσσου”; Parren, “Φωτεινή Γενναίου Κολοκοτρώνη”; Parren, “Καλλιόπη Παπαλεξοπούλου.”

53. 53 Alimperti, “Κυριακούλα Α. Κριεζή Α΄”; Alimperti, “Μαρία Πετρεττίνη”; Alimperti, “Κυριακούλα Α. Κριεζή Β΄.”

54. 54 Parren, “Σαπφώ η Λεσβία”; Parren, “Και πάλιν η Σαπφώ”; Mavrogordatou, “Σαπφώ.”

55. 55 Parren, “Και πάλιν η Σαπφώ.”

56. 56 Ibid.

57. 57 Psarra, “Μητέρα ή πολίτις.”

58. 58 Parren, “Η Ασπασία”; Iliopoulou, “Ασπασία.”

59. 59 Parren, “Η Ασπασία.”

60. 60 Parren, “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Η Ειρήνη”; Parren, “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Η Θεοδώρα: Α”; Parren, “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Η Θεοδώρα: Β”; Parren, “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Η Θεοδώρα: Γ”; Parren, “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Γ”; Parren, “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Αθηναϊς και Πουλχερία”; Parren, “Αι αυτοκράτειραι του Βυζαντίου: Α”; Parren, “Αι αρχόντισαι του Βυζαντίου.”

61. 61 Georgiadou, “Η χειραφέτησις των γυναικών κατά τον μεσαίωνα.”

62. 62 Parren, “Λασκαρίνα Μπουμπουλίνα.”

63. 63 Psarra, “Few Women Have History”; Varika, Η Εξέγερση των Κυριών.

64. 64 Parren, “Έκτον Έτος.”

65. 65 Coavoux, “Women authors and the writing of history in nineteenth-century Greece,” 226–27.

66. 66 Ibid.

67. 67 Parren. “Τι αναγιγνώσκομεν αι Ελληνίδες.”

68. 68 Ibid.

69. 69 Parren, “Μόσχω Τζαβέλλα”; Parren, “Δέσπω Μπότση.”

70. 70 Ibid. Parren, “Η Χάιδω”; Parren, “Αι Ηρωίδες Μητέρες”; Parren, “Αι Σουλιώτιδες εις το Κιούγκι”; Parren, “Η Εικοστή Πέμπτη Μαρτίου – Αι Σουλιώτιδες γυναίκες.”

71. 71 Parren, “Δέσπω Μπότση.”

72. 72 Plantzos, “Time and the Antique”; Gazi, “Scientific” National History.

73. 73 Parren, “Η Εικοστή Πέμπτη Μαρτίου – Αι Σουλιώτιδες γυναίκες.”

74. 74 Parren, “Η Εικοστή Πέμπτη Μαρτίου – Αι Σουλιώτιδες γυναίκες.”

75. 75 Ibid.

76. 76 Ibid.

77. 77 Psarra, “Ο χορός του Ζαλόγγου.”

78. 78 Parren, “Λεύκωµα Εξόχων Ελληνίδων.”

79. 79 Foukas, “Women teachers’ education.”

80. 80 Varika, “Subjectivité et identité de genre,” 32–35.

81. 81 Ibid., 49–50.

82. 82 Ibid.

83. 83 McFadden, Golden Cables of Sympathy.

84. 84 Sneider, “The New Suffrage History.”

85. 85 Parren, “Τι ιδέαν είχον οι ξέναι περί των Ελληνίδων.”

86. 86 Poulos, Arms and the Woman, 19–48.

87. 87 Parren, “Η ελληνίς γυνή του 19ου αιώνος.”

88. 88 Ibid.

89. 89 Ibid.

90. 90 Parren, “Η ελληνίς γυνή του 19ου αιώνος.”; Ignatiadou, “Ο Φεμινισμός της Καλλιρρόης Parren,” 23.

91. 91 Ibid.

92. 92 Anastasopoulou, Η συνετή απόστολος της γυναικείας χειραφεσίας, 260–62.

93. 93 Ignatiadou, “Ο Φεμινισμός της Καλλιρρόης Parren,” 24.

94. 94 Parren, “Η σχολή της Κυριακής.”

95. 95 Ibid.

96. 96 Parren, “Αι Παρισιναί αριστοκράτιδες.”

97. 97 Parren, “Εκ Σικάγου.”

98. 98 Parren, “Τα εν Ελλάδι σωματεία.”

99. 99 Anastasopoulou, Η συνετή απόστολος της γυναικείας χειραφεσίας, 180–83; Ignatiadou, “Ο Φεμινισμός της Καλλιρρόης Parren,” 25.

100. 100 Ignatiadou, “Ο Φεμινισμός της Καλλιρρόης Parren,” 25.

101. 101 Ibid, 26.

102. 102 Avdela and Psarra, “Engendering ‘Greekness’,” 71.

103. 103 Ibid.

104. 104 Ibid.

105. 105 Ibid.

106. 106 Ibid, 72.

107. 107 Avdela, Το Λύκειο των Ελληνίδων: 100 χρόνια.

108. 108 Ibid; Bounia, “Exhibiting Women’s Handicrafts.”

109. 109 Brooks, “On Creating a Usable Past.”

International Networks of Women’s Activism and Mobility in
East Central Europe and
South Eastern Europe, 1848–1945

Dóra Fedeles-Czeferner

ELTE Research Centre for the Humanities

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Hungarian Historical Review Volume 14 Issue 3 (2025): 311-316 DOI 10.38145/2025.3.311

Until the new millennium, historical scholarship focused primarily on women and women’s movements within national frameworks. Even in 2017, Francisca de Haan argued that “many feminist historians today continue to work within the national paradigm.”1 As she observed in 2013, however, historians have started to explore inter/transnational dimensions of the history of feminism and women’s movements, due in no small part to the rise of post-colonial and transnational perspectives in historiography since the 1980s and 1990s.2 A growing number of scholars agree with her entirely on the necessity of the inter/transnational perspectives, as feminism and women’s movements did not operate in isolation within national borders. What is indisputable is that women’s history and gender studies have undoubtedly become one of the fastest growing domains of contemporary cultural and social research, especially in Western Europe and in North America.

From the beginning of the nineteenth century, more and more transnational links were formed between individual women and different types of women’s associations.3 As Francisca de Haan again observes, the inter/transnational dimensions of the women’s movements were of key importance since this time. This internationalization can be explained partly with the congresses and other formal and informal meetings of transnational women’s associations, such as the International Council of Women (1888–, Washington, D.C.), the International Woman Suffrage Alliance (1904–, Berlin, since 1926 the International Alliance of Women), and the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (1915–, The Hague). These meetings provided not only information but also inspiration and support for the national women’s associations that took part.4

Leila J. Rupp asks the following questions in her 2010 paper, in which she examines the construction of the aforementioned international organizations and seeks the prospects and limits of internationalism: “What drew women together across the borders of nationality? Who fell within the circle of we? What did it mean to profess ties across national, ethnic, and other identities?”5 As de Haan notes, membership in this kind of international community gave activists self-assurance in their attempts to face challenges in their own countries, and it also created conditions within which it was possible for them to take their cases to international forums, as is made plainly evidence in the articles in this special issue. This way of thinking is also mirrored in the structure of the international organizations, as each had national organizations with additional local auxiliaries. In this context, de Haan also points out that these “national building blocks […] may even have strengthened the nationalization of women’s movements by encouraging women to form national organizations.”6

This special issue aims to explore women’s activism in East Central Europe (along with the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy and its successor states) and South Eastern Europe between 1848 and 1990. It investigates the history and
(inter)national networks of contacts of these regions’ women’s associations and studies the activism of their leaders through the second half of the nineteenth century until the end of the 1940s and over the rise and fall of various political regimes. The contributions transgress state borders which historically separated different activists and activisms. They adopt an interdisciplinary approach, examining the relationships among the local, national, and transnational/international dynamics of women’s activism.

Many people inaccurately still believe that feminism never existed in East Central Europe or South Eastern Europe. Consequently, a large part of writings on women’s movements and feminism focus only on the period after 1989 without examining their roots at the turn of the twentieth century. In a 2008 article, de Haan examined the historical and political factors that might explain why the study of women’s history, particularly the history of women’s movements, has been underdeveloped in this region of Europe. She also elaborated on the negative effects of this lack of attention and proposed ways to remedy the situation. Her central point was that a “lack of knowledge about past women’s movements and feminists cannot inspire and empower contemporary women and men; the complete misconception and caricatures of past and present feminists in the media and in popular discourse cannot be effectively challenged, which in turn means that these caricatures continue to be effective weapons against contemporary feminists.”7

To this day, very few sustained efforts have been made to address this lacuna in the secondary literature. The 2006 project at the CEU Gender Studies Department is unique. As a result of this project, a lexicon was published that included biographies of 150 women activists from 22 countries. The articles included sources and bibliographies. At the time of its publication, its editors were motivated by books appearing in the early 2000s the titles of which had promised overviews of the history of European women but which in point of fact passed over the Central and Eastern Europe (almost) entirely.8 The next groundbreaking volume was published at the end of 2024. It was edited by Zsófia Lóránd, Adela Hîncu, Jovana Mihajlović Trbovc, and Katarzyna Stańczak-Wiślicz. This volume contains 100 sources, which are preceded by an introduction and short biographies of the authors of these writings. It also offers a selection of the most representative texts on feminism and women’s rights in East Central Europe during the interwar period and the Cold War era.9 Thirdly, Aspasia, one of the most significant peer-reviewed journal in this field since 2007, focuses on the women’s and gender history of Central, Eastern, and South Eastern Europe. Over the course of the roughly two decades that have elapsed since its founding, it has served as a crucial platform for scholars from this region to share their work, offering discussions of diverse topics, historical periods, methodologies, and approaches. These very important initiatives are clearly not enough, however, to compensate for the persistent gaps in the secondary literature on the subject in this region. This special issue makes a significant contribution and helps to fill these gaps.

The first contribution, “Women’s History in Greece through The Ladies’ Journal of Kallirhoe Siganou-Parren: Class, National Identity, and Reformist Activism in the Formation of Women’s Associations (1887–1917)” by Marina Bantiou, analyzes how a Greek journal cultivated a gendered historical consciousness. By giving attention and discursive space to historical female figures, the journal sought to legitimize women’s public roles within the framework of patriotic maternalism. This clearly demonstrates how activism can be rooted in nationalist ideology while also reflecting transnational influences. The second article, “Austro-Hungarian Women’s Activism from the Southern ‘Periphery’ Across Ethnic Lines” by Agatha Schwartz, examines the complex local, regional, and trans-regional aspects of women’s organizing in the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. Through the lives of four activists from different ethnic groups, it demonstrates how women’s public work contributed to the improvement of their status, even when they were not directly involved in the struggle for political rights.

In the third article, “Phantom Borders and Nostalgia: German Women’s Associations in the Second Polish Republic after 1918,” Paula Lange explores German women’s associations in the Second Polish Republic. Lange reveals how these groups, which had become part of a national minority, adapted to new political realities, showing how women’s activities occurred in ever-changing social and imagined spaces. The contribution by Zsuzsa Bokor, titled “Adrift on the Periphery: The Alternative Development of Hungarian Women’s Organizations in Interwar Transylvania,” examines Hungarian women’s organizations in interwar Transylvania, revealing how these organizations developed hybrid models of emancipation. Her discussion highlights the complex interplay of gender, ethnicity, and politics in the post-Treaty of Trianon context.

In her paper “‘Terror against Women’: The Struggle of ‘Red’ Women at the Beginning of the Nazi Era: Between Invisibility and Solidarity,” Anna Veronica Pobbe focuses on the resistance efforts of “red” women at the beginning of the Nazi era. She sheds light on the often invisible solidarity among and bravery of communist women who were seen as a threat to the state. Her discussion highlights a form of activism that was not about organized political rights but about a more fundamental struggle for existence and community protection. In the last contribution, titled “The Journalistic Activity of Rosika Schwimmer from the 1890s until Her Death in a Transnational Perspective,” Dóra Fedeles-Czeferner offers an examination from a transnational perspective of the career of a prominent Hungarian feminist activist and pacifist. She examines the ways in which Schwimmer used journalism as a tool for activism and self-promotion, despite the challenges and political isolation she faced. This article highlights the importance of the press as a platform for women’s voices and the personal costs of such public work.

The six texts are interconnected in their shared focus on how women’s activism was shaped by and responded to the tumultuous political and social landscapes of East Central Europe and Southern Eastern Europe. They all move beyond a narrow (national/political) focus on suffrage to reveal a broader spectrum of women’s engagement, from journalism and social welfare to ethnic self-defense and anti-fascist resistance. Furthermore, several of the articles, particularly those by Bokor, Lange, and Schwartz, explore the critical impact of “phantom borders” and shifting national identities on women’s organizing, showing how ethnicity and nationalism were not just backdrops but integral components of the struggles for recognition and agency.

The discussions in this special issue further a more nuanced understanding of women’s activism in East Central Europe and Southern Eastern Europe. They also shed light on the ties between women’s movements and nation building projects in the often multiethnic settings of the region. This issue further suggests, as de Haan has done with her research, the importance of “decentralizing” the scholarship on the history of women’s movements and women’s activism.10 It thus seeks to encourage the more vigorous and intensive inclusion of East Central European and South Eastern European regions in this scholarship as an essential complement to the continued focus on the countries of the West. It thereby echoes the urgings made almost two decades ago by Deborah Simonton, who explained that, although post-colonial and transnational approaches took root in the 1990s, experts on the subject of women’s activism continue to wrestle with fact that the European/global perspective does not mean simply the study of shifts and events in the United Kingdom, France, and Germany. In 2006, Simonton warned that more intense inclusion of research on Northern Europe and Central Eastern Europe should be delayed no further.11 As I have noted in this introduction, progress has unquestionably been made in this area over the course of the past two decades, but historians still have a lot of work to do to make women’s history of this region internationally visible. This special issue is an important contribution to this effort. We are aware, however, that further contributions require not only sedulous research and a strong knowledge of several languages, but also the support of foreign publishers and a significant amount of funding.

Bibliography

A Biographical Dictionary of Women’s Movements and Feminism: Central, Eastern, and South Eastern Europe, 19th and 20th Centuries, edited by Francisca de Haan, Krassimira Daskalova, and Alla Loutfi. CEU Press, Budapest, 2006.

Haan, Francisca de. “On retrieving Women’s Cultural Heritage: Especially the History of Women’s Movements in Central, Eastern, and South Eastern Europe.” In Travelling Heritages: New Perspectives on Collecting, Preserving and Sharing Women’s History, edited by Saskia Wieringa, 65–78. Amsterdam: Askant, 2008.

Haan, Franciska de. “Writing Inter/Transnational History: The Case of Women’s Movements and Feminisms.” In Internationale Geschichte in Theorie und Praxis/International History in Theory and Practice, edited by Barbara Haider-Wilson, William D. Godsey, and Wolfgang Mueller, 501–36. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. 2017.

Haan, Francisca de, Margaret Allen, June Purvis, and Krassimira Daskalova, eds. Women’s Activism: Global Perspectives from the 1890s to the Present. London: Routledge, 2013.

Rupp, Leila J. “Constructing Internationalism: The Case of Transnational Women’s Organizations, 1888–1945.” In Globalizing Feminisms, 1789–1945, edited by Karen Offen, 139–52. London: Routledge, 2009.

Simonton, Deborah. The Routledge History of Women in Europe. New York: Routledge, 2006.

Texts and Contexts from the History of Feminism and Women’s Rights: East Central Europe, Second Half of the Twentieth Century. Edited by Zsófia Lóránd, Adele Hîncu, Jovana Mihajlović Trbovc, and Katarzyna Stańczak-Wiślicz. Budapest: CEU Press, 2024.

---

1. 1 Haan, “Writing Inter/Transnational History.” Rupp, “Constructing Internationalism.”

2. 2 Haan et al, Women’s Activism, 2. Papers in this volume examine “how women in a variety of contexts and at different levels since the 1890s have challenged oppressive systems and worked for social justice.” They also focus on women in movements and associations.

3. 3 Haan, “Writing Inter/Transnational History.” As de Haan, Margaret Allen, June Purvis and Krassimira Daskalova highlight in the introduction of their edited volume, “‘women’ are not a unitary category, and […] their national and transnational activism has both challenged and reproduced existing power structures and institutions.” Haan et al, Women’s Activism, 2.

4. 4 Haan, “Writing Inter/Transnational History.”

5. 5 Rupp, “Constructing Internationalism.”

6. 6 Haan, “Writing Inter/Transnational History.”

7. 7 Haan, “On retrieving.”

8. 8 Haan et al, A Biographical Dictionary.

9. 9 Lóránd et al, Texts and Contexts.

10. 10 Haan, “On retrieving,” 65–78.

11. 11 Simonton, The Routledge History, 1–14.

Oskan Erewanc‘i as a Translator from and into Latin*

Alessandro Orengo

Università di Pisa

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Hungarian Historical Review Volume 14 Issue 2 (2025): 274-291  DOI 10.38145/2025.2.274

Oskan vardapet Erewanc‘i (1614–1674) was a prominent Armenian printer, best known for producing the first printed edition of the Armenian Bible (Amsterdam, 1666–1668). He was also active as a translator both from and into Latin. Erewanc‘i translated and subsequently abridged a grammatical treatise originally composed in Latin by the Italian philosopher Tommaso Campanella (1568–1639). While the full translation survives in a few manuscripts, the abridged version was printed in 1666 by the same Amsterdam-based press that issued the Bible. In addition, Oskan contributed to a Latin translation of the shorter version of Koriwn’s Life of Maštoc‘. Although the original Life was composed in the fifth century, it also exists in a later abridged form, which served as the basis for Oskan’s translation. This paper examines Oskan’s role as a translator between Latin and Armenian, focusing on his objectives and methods.

Keywords: Oskan Erewanc‘i, Tommaso Campanella, Koriwn, Armenian language, Latin language, translations

Vardapet (Archimandrite) Oskan Łličenc‘ Erewanc‘i (1614–1674) was a significant figure in seventeenth-century Armenian culture. He is usually remembered as a printer and notably as the individual responsible for the first printed edition of the Armenian Bible. Several of his predecessors had likewise moved to Europe to pursue the same goal. Finally, the first Armenian Bible was printed in Amsterdam between 1666 and 1668.

However, Oskan was also a writer and the author of an autobiography, as well as a translator from and into Latin, although it is possible that he enlisted the help of some collaborators to this end (as I discuss in greater detail below). As part of his aforementioned edition of the Bible, Oskan translated the Book of Sirach or Ecclesiasticus and the fourth Book of Ezra from the Latin Vulgata into Armenian.¹ He was also responsible for translating and adapting the first two books of Tommaso Campanella’s (1568–1639) Grammaticalia. The latter translation, which is fairly close to the original, remained in manuscript form, but it was later abridged into a booklet for didactic purposes and printed in Amsterdam in 1666.2 Oskan also appears as the author of the Latin translation of the shorter version of Koriwn’s Life of Mesrop/Maštoc‘.

The main purpose of this paper is to describe the methodology Oskan used and the goals he pursued while translating Campanella into Armenian and Koriwn into Latin. Before addressing these topics, I offer a general presentation of his life and education.3 The latter in particular is relevant if one seeks to understand the cultural backdrop of his translation of Campanella’s work.4

Oskan was born in New Julfa, not far from Isfahan, in 1614 to a family originally from Erevan. He began his studies in his native town, but in 1634, he moved to Ēǰmiacin. Here, he met a Dominican (and thus Catholic) friar, the Italian Paolo Piromalli (1591–1667), originally from Calabria. He then spent some time in Lvov (Lviv, Lemberg), which at the time was part of the Kingdom of Poland, and later returned to Armenia. In September 1662, he left his homeland for good and moved to Europe. Once in Amsterdam, he took charge of the printing house called Sowrb Ēǰmiacin ew sowrb Sargis Zōravar (Saint Ēǰmiacin and Saint Sergius the General), which at the time belonged to his brother Awetis. The printing house prospered under his direction (or occasionally under that of his representatives) and produced many printed editions, both in Amsterdam and, in its later incarnations, in Leghorn and Marseille. Oskan himself died in Marseille on February 14, 1674.

It is worth dwelling for a moment on the aforementioned meeting between Oskan and Father Piromalli and on the latter’s presence in Armenia. These contacts had an undisputable impact on Oskan’s translation activity, or at least part of it. One of the available sources in this regard is Oskan’s autobiography, published as an appendix (Chapter 57) to Aṛak‘el Davrižec‘i’s Patmowt‘iwn (History), the first edition of which was printed in 1669 at Sowrb Ēǰmiacin ew sowrb Sargis Zōravar, then under the direction of Oskan himself.5 Below, I compare the information provided in this text, technically anonymous but certainly authored by Oskan, with the report presented by Piromalli to the Congregation de Propaganda Fide in 1637, in which Piromalli detailed his activities in Armenia between June 1634 and January 1637.6

In his autobiography, Oskan recounts that, in Ēǰmiacin, he met a Catholic clergyman named Pōłos (i.e. Paolo), Italian by origin, who was very learned if not fluent in Armenian. Oskan became a student of his and thus learned some Latin and, most importantly, grammar. He then translated this grammar into Armenian and abridged it. Later in the autobiography, Oskan again states that he began to translate the grammar he had learned from Latin into Armenian. The same information can be found in the colophon of the grammatical compendium itself, published in Amsterdam in 1666.

These events are described somewhat differently in Piromalli’s report. Piromalli states that during his stay in Armenia he held lectures about grammar in Armenian, both in accordance with the local tradition (or in other words, following the commentaries to the sixth-century Armenian version of the Technē Grammatikē, attributed to Dionysius Thrax) and using a book he had authored himself. He then adds that Oskan was one of his students.

Thus, the exact connections between Piromalli’s grammar and the one Oskan translated and abridged are not made clear in our sources, although I have formulated a hypothesis in this regard (see below).7

As for the aforementioned Tommaso Campanella (also from Calabria), he was a philosopher and author of Latin writings on grammar, dialectic, rhetoric, poetics, and historiography. These were all published in Paris in 1638 by Jean Dubray (Iohannes Du Bray) as one volume titled Philosophia rationalis. The section devoted to grammar, titled Grammaticalium libri tres,8 was written between 1619 and 16249 and initially circulated in manuscript form among Campanella’s students, for whom it had been originally composed. As the title suggests, it is organized in three books. The first concerns the parts of speech, the second touches on problems related to syntax, and the third addresses reading and writing, with an appendix on the ideal features of a future philosophical language.

It is not easy to trace the history of Oskan’s translation. In theory, it could simply be assumed that Oskan, who lived in Europe between 1638 and 1640 (or 1641) and later from 1663 until his death, got to know Campanella’s work and, finding it useful, decided to translate and later to abridge it. However, the longer Armenian translation includes some passages that seem to reflect a better Latin text than the one published in Paris. This suggests that the Armenian translation was likely based on a different model, earlier than the printed edition. In fact, the sources allow us to reconstruct the following sequence of events:

1. Tommaso Campanella gave parts of the manuscript of his Philosophia rationalis to some of his students, one of whom was Paolo Piromalli. We know this from Campanella himself, and notably from a report of his literary activity, De libris propriis et recta ratione studendi syntagma.10
2. Later, Piromalli went to Armenia as a missionary, came into contact with Oskan, and taught him Latin and grammar.
3. Around the same time (1634–1636) and in the same context, according to his own testimony, Piromalli taught grammar to some Armenian students, using among other tools a work that he himself had put together.
4. Finally, in the spring of 1639, less than a year after the Philosophia rationalis was published, Oskan sent to his friend Simēon J ̌ owłayec‘i a work on grammar which he had likely authored. J̌ owłayec‘i in turn, in a letter, offered critical remarks on this text.11

Given these details, we can surmise that Piromalli was the likely link between Campanella and Oskan. Piromalli possibly gave Oskan a manuscript version of the grammatical work by Campanella (who had been his teacher) and perhaps even collaborated on its translation by Oskan. Later, both Piromalli and Oskan could have laid claims to this translation at different times. It is also possible that Oskan later revised this version by comparing it with Campanella’s text, which had been published by then.

As mentioned above, Oskan’s Armenian version, titled K‘erakanowt‘ean Girk‘ (Books of Grammar), reproduces only the first two books of the source text. It has come down to us in two redactions: a longer, basically complete version which has never been printed and a shorter one, the abridged version mentioned by Oskan himself in his autobiography, which was printed in Amsterdam in 1666.

The longer redaction, to the best of our knowledge, survived in the following manuscripts:

A 2274 Matenadaran (the grammatical section was copied in 1658;

the manuscript was completed in 1662,

at the Owši monastery)

B 2277 Matenadaran (copied in 1659 in Ganjasar)

C 2275 Matenadaran (copied in or slightly before 1666)

D 2276 Matenadaran (copied in 1688)

E 3391 Matenadaran (seventeenth century)

F 2294 Matenadaran (eighteenth century)

T Ma XIII 80 Tübingen (perhaps seventeenth century; the text is

incomplete).

Among these witnesses, Ms A is particularly relevant because it was copied in the monastery of Owši when the monastery was headed by Oskan himself. Although Oskan did not write the codex himself, it could have been copied from an autograph or created under his direction.

Furthermore, as pointed out by Tat‘evik Manowkyan,12 a redaction that is close albeit not identical to Oskan’s longer version of the grammar is found in Ms 2295 of the Matenadaran, copied in 1683; in Ms A 81 (dated to 1688) of the Institute of Oriental Studies of the Academy of Sciences of Saint Petersburg; in Ms 1941 (seventeenth century) of the Casanatense library in Rome; and in Ms 1266 (no date) of St. James in Jerusalem. Manowkyan has highlighted notable divergences between this possibly “third redaction” and Oskan’s longer version. The differences concern the structure of the two works, their grammatical terminology, and the type of language used with a metalinguistic function (decidedly Latinized in Oskan’s version and closer to “Classical” Armenian or grabar in the third version).

Setting aside the third version, which could represent a redaction by someone other than Oskan, from now on, I address the two that are certainly associated with him. As mentioned before, while the longer version has never appeared in print,13 the shorter version was published by Oskan himself in Amsterdam in 1666. As for its source, Campanella’s work is not mentioned in the short version. Rather, Oskan simply states that he has personally translated and abridged the text. However, the longer version makes it clear that the author of the source text is “the great rhetor, T‘owmay the Italian” (mec hr·etorn T‘owmay italac‘i),14 or in other words, as I myself showed in 1991, Tommaso Campanella.15

I now focus on the longer version of the K‘erakanowt‘ean Girk‘. Although this is certainly a translation, the author occasionally adapts the text to reflect more accurately the features of “classical” Armenian. Furthermore, at times he diverges from Campanella’s text (or at least from the published version of the text) and shows his knowledge of the Armenian tradition, based on the ancient version of Dionysios Thrax and/or its commentaries. Oskan’s flexible approach to the source text is not unusual. Even the Armenian translator of Dionysios Thrax, while occasionally following his source to an extreme, was able to introduce innovations. Thus, on the one hand, he tried to reproduce his model and went so far as falsely to attribute features such as vowel length, dual forms for nouns and verbs, and grammatical gender (which exist in Greek but not in Armenian) to the variety of Armenian he was describing. On the other, he was able to propose an original classification of phonemes, different from the one he found in his source and more realistic when compared to the Armenian phonological system. Furthermore, he correctly mentioned the instrumental (which does not exist in Greek as a separate form) among the nominal cases that exist in Armenian.

Oskan, however, goes even further. First, he follows his source even when the source refers to other Latin works by Campanella, which virtually no Armenian reader would have been able to recognize, access, or read in the original.16 Second, in some cases, Oskan does not simply and unobtrusively adapt his model. Rather, he translate it faithfully, only to say immediately thereafter that the features in question do not exist in Armenian. This (rather bizarre) approach is followed consistently when the text addresses grammatical categories, as in the examples offered below.17

The first concerns the degrees of comparison of adjectives. In accordance with his source, Oskan states that there are three degrees: positive, comparative, and superlative. He then gives an example but immediately adds that the superlative is not made in Armenian through a dedicated suffix, as it is in Latin. However, in this instance, Oskan is perhaps expanding on a brief remark in Campanella’s original. In fact, after listing the three degrees of comparison, Campanella adds that the distinction, though valid in Latin, is not universal.18

However, Oskan returns to the topic towards the end of his work. After listing the different constructions of the comparative and the superlative, he adds that in Armenian there is no difference between these two degrees of the adjective, or, rather, in Armenian there is no true superlative, because the comparative can serve this function with all adjectives.

In any case, it is worth recalling that separate forms of the superlative, though artificial, are listed in previous Armenian grammatical texts from the version of Dionysios Thrax onwards.

To turn to a second example, after discussing the degrees of comparison, Oskan addresses the grammatical gender of nouns. His source, Campanella, lists seven possible genders: masculinum, foemininum, neutrum, commune, omne, promiscuum, incertum.19 While the first three are clear enough, the others require some explanation. According to Campanella, commune means that a certain noun or adjective, like, for instance, homo (person, human), which can refer to a male or female person, can be either masculine or feminine and consequently can be used with either a masculine or feminine article. Omne means that a noun or rather an adjective, such as felix (happy), can be masculine, feminine or neuter and thus can be used with the respective forms of the article. In the case of Latin, by “article,” he means the demonstrative hic, haec, hoc. Leaving behind grammatical morphology to address the physical features of the referent, Campanella calls promiscuum a noun, like passer (sparrow) or aquila (eagle), that despite having a grammatical gender can refer to both female and male animals. Finally, going back to strictly grammatical gender, he calls incertum a noun, like finis (end) that can be both masculine and feminine, maintaining the same meaning. Campanella is following here an old classification of grammatical gender that is already found in late antique and medieval reflections on Latin.

Oskan in turn reproduces Campanella’s classification as well as the same examples, only to conclude that, based on these examples and his own additions, it is evident that Armenian does not have a gender distinction for nouns. He addresses the topic again later on, while discussing the concordance between adjective and noun, and he repeats that the evidence shows that Armenian does not have nominal gender.

The situation is similar in the abridged version. While discussing the two aforementioned cases, Oskan repeats that neither the superlative degree nor grammatical gender properly belong to Armenian. However, in the shorter version, he gives a classification with only three genders: masculine, feminine, and neuter. Thus, even in a work meant for beginners, Oskan feels compelled to present the general linguistic theory he found in Campanella, while at the same time pointing out when the latter does not correctly describe Armenian.

In light of the discussion above, Oskan’s approach as a translator and adapter is somewhat puzzling, since it includes both extreme (and sometimes not terribly useful) adherence to the model and a justified renegotiation of the same. With this approach, Oskan is clearly the product of his time. As Sylvain Auroux argues, a process of grammatisation was prevalent in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. By that neologism he means that two main tools, the grammar and the dictionary, were being progressively developed in European milieux. This tendency was based on an underlying linguistic theory presupposing the existence of one universal grammar, valid for all languages and reflecting thought categories shared by all human beings. This grammar was identified with that of Latin in the broadest sense (encompassing not just the Classical language, but also the accretions it had acquired over the course of the centuries). Therefore, Latin provided both the logical and grammatical patterns to describe any language and, in many cases the necessary metalanguage. Consequently, all languages had to be made to fit these patterns. This is clearly a case of the Procrustean bed (i.e. a scheme into which something is arbitrarily forced), especially if one considers the non-European languages (Asian, African, later Amerindian) that became progressively known to Europeans and that were structurally very different from the model that supposedly needed to be used to describe them. It must be pointed out, however, that this (to our eyes) absurd methodology actually presents some advantages, at least from a didactic standpoint. In fact, learners knew from the beginning what they were supposed to be looking for and what they could expect to find in the description of any new language that they set out to master. Such is the paradigm within which, for instance, the gentlemen of Port-Royal compiled their Grammaire générale et raisonnée (Paris, 1660).20 Whenever he remarked that a certain category, though presupposed by the linguistic theory, did not exist in Armenian, Oskan was trying to resolve the conflict between general theory and actual linguistic data.

I now consider why Oskan translated such a grammatical text and why he decided to abridge it. It is worth pointing out that, before the seventeenth century,21 the Armenian grammatical tradition consisted chiefly of commentaries on the ancient translation (from Greek) of Dionysios Thrax. These commentaries had been systematized twice: once by Grigor Magistros Pahlawowni (d. 1058), who had cited and expanded upon four previous commentaries, and once by Yovhannēs Erznkacci Plowz (d. 1293), whose goal had been to create a manual that would overcome the limits of Magistros’s compilation. Yovhannēs certainly used the latter, but he integrated it with other commentaries, added his own opinions, and tried to create a coherent ensemble without repetitions or omissions.

The practice of compiling commentaries, moreover, lasted for centuries after these manuals were produced. The only exception was the work of Yovhannēs K‘ṛnec‘i (first half of the fourteenth century). As Gohar Muradyan explains in this issue, K‘ṛnec‘i had become familiar with and was influenced by the Latin grammatical tradition thanks to his close contacts with Dominican missionaries in the context of the activity of the Fratres unitores (Ełbark‘ miabanołk‘) or Unitor Brethren (referred to as such because they were in communion with the Latin church). His grammar, however, did not have much success in Armenian circles.22

Be that as it may, by the seventeenth century, the traditional way of approaching grammar was no longer able to provide the Armenians with a solid grasp of the topic, as an episode recounted by the aforementioned Ar·ak‘el Davrižec‘i seems to confirm. He says that in Lvov, around 1630, some Armenian clergymen who were considered learned by their countrymen engaged in a debate with Catholic colleagues from Europe. The latter asked the former whether the word varem, which means “to labor, cultivate” or “to conduct, drive,” was a noun or a verb, and the Armenians, taken aback, gave a random answer and were mocked by their adversaries.23

Still, the traditional approach to grammar saw significant changes only in the seventeenth century, when Armenian knowledge hubs existed in some European cities, often where Catholic institutions were also based. Notable examples were the Ambrosiana library in Milan, founded in 1609, and especially the Congregation de Propaganda Fide in Roma, founded in 1622.24 Here, chiefly for missionary purposes, dictionaries and grammars of what was then considered “Classical” Armenian (albeit described through the lens of Latin) were published.

Oskan’s activity fits within this paradigm: grammar was considered especially relevant, indeed, it was the starting point of the cursus studiorum. Piromalli’s teaching activity in this domain is further proof of the importance attributed by the Armenians to grammar, since the Italian missionary could well have decided to teach other subjects, had they seemed more pertinent. A philosophical grammar, such as Campanella’s, provided enough information for a higher course of studies and could be used for advanced students. However, printing it would not have been practical at the time, since the potential sales (or at least the potential audience) would not have outweighed the significant production costs. Thus, it continued to circulate in manuscript form, as was often the case with other books destined for a learned audience. However, there was a second potential audience, composed of children and novices who were in need of a first introduction to grammar. They were the target audience of the abridgement, which, in a little more than 100 pages, provided the basic elements thereof. In this case, the potential demand justified the costs, and the book could thus be printed.

Having discussed Oskan’s activity as a translator from Latin into Armenian, I now address his efforts as a translator in the opposite direction. As mentioned at the beginning of this paper, his name is associated with a translation of the shorter version of Koriwn’s Life of Mesrop.25 The Parisian manuscript that preserves the text (see below) reads:

Vita beati Magistri Mesrop, qui primus caracteres Armenicos invenit, composita a discipulo ipsius nomine Coriun. Ea continetur in ingenti volumine quod antiquo sermone Armenico scriptum est et in bibliothequa [sic] regia asservatur (f. 2r).

Life of the blessed teacher Mesrop, who was the first to discover the Armenian letters, composed by his own disciple called Coriun. It [i.e. the life] is contained in a substantial volume written in the ancient Armenian language and kept in the royal library.

The previous page (f. 1r) reads instead “Vita Mesropae26 ex Armenico in Latinum translata a domino Uskan Vartabiet Archiepiscopo Armeno,” (Life of Mesrop, translated from Armenian into Latin by the reverend [lit. lord] Uskan Vartabiet, Armenian archbishop). And, at the top of the same page, on the left, one finds the following: “Lacroix scripsit dictante Archiepiscopo Uscano” (Lacroix wrote it under archbishop Uscan’s dictation).

This suggests that the translation was authored by Oskan himself, who dictated it to someone else. The manuscript in question is kept at the Bibliothèque nationale de France in Paris (NAL 2083) and can be consulted online.27 The corresponding record, also available on the library’s website, dates it to the eighteenth century. If this dating is accurate, the manuscript must be a later copy of the translation rather than its autograph. The Latin text was published by Ananean in 1966.28

As for the source used by Oskan and Lacroix, it can be identified without doubt with the text contained in another Parisian manuscript, kept at the Bibliothèque nationale de France (arm. 178), which had belonged to Gilbert Gaulmin (1585–1665) and in 1668 was sold to the royal library, together with other oriental manuscripts of his.29 This codex, copied in Sebaste (Sivas) in the twelfth century, contains more than 150 lives of saints. An index of persons, written in Latin and composed by Oskan in 1669, has been added at the beginning of the manuscript. Furthermore, a marginal note clarifies that “Lacroix scripsit dictante archiepiscopo Oskano” (Lacroix wrote it under archbishop Oskan’s dictation).30 Lacroix can be identified with François Pétis de la Croix père (1622–95),31 secretary and interpreter to the king, and he was certainly the same person who set Oskan’s translation of Koriwn down in writing.

Thus, the Latin version of Koriwn’s shorter redaction, originally translated and written down by a two-person team (one dictating, the other acting as scribe), has in turn reached us only through a later copy. Thus, clearly, any divergences between the Armenian text and the Latin version could be attributed to a mistake on the translator’s part (either in understanding the Armenian or in rendering it into Latin), but also potentially to the process of textual transmission that resulted in the extant copy.

A detailed comparison of the two texts would exceed the scope of this paper (but will be the topic of a future publication). However, a few general observations can be made.

The translation is decidedly faithful to the source text. Even the word order is often the same, as the examples given below will show.32

As far as Armenian names are concerned, anthroponyms and toponyms that cannot be substituted with Latin equivalents are usually rendered phonetically inasmuch as possible: thus, Taron (277, 282) for Arm. Tarawn, Hemaiac (282) for Hmayeak. These equivalences usually reflect the phonetics of Eastern Armenian: thus, Mesrop/Mesropa (277, 278, 279, etc., as opposed to Mesrob) for Mesrop, Coriun (277, 280 as opposed to Goriun) for Koriwn, Amatuni (282, 283 as opposed to Amaduni) for Amatowni, Vardan (277, as opposed to Vartan) for Vardan. Occasionally alternative forms coexist: thus, Mamigonensis and Mamiconian (both at 282) for Arm. Mamikonean. Furthermore, the translator seems to have been aware that the grapheme <ł> was supposed to represent a lateral consonant (rather than a velar fricative, as he would have pronounced it): thus, Levond (280) for Łewond, perhaps under the influence of forms such as the French Leonce or Italian Leonzio (or even the Latin Leontius), and especially Goltn (277) for Gołt‘n. It is also worth pointing out that the digraph <sc>, not followed by a front vowel, is used to render the Armenian phoneme /š/: thus, Arscacunorum (277), a genitive plural form, to be compared with Arm. Aršakowni; Scambith (277) for Šambit‘; Vramscapuh (278) for Vr·amšapowh; Artiscat (282) for Arm. (Y)aštišat. In this last case, the mistake in the second letter of the Latin form is perhaps due to the copyist of Ms NAL 2083.

There are other mistakes, misunderstandings, and odd lexical choices in the text.

For instance, the name Eznik appears three times in the Armenian text (always in this form, or in one that presupposes it). However, the translator uses Eznac twice (279, 280) and Eznic only once (280). Although the variant Eznak is well attested in Armenian, it is not present in the source text.

Again, near the beginning of the text, the Armenian tells us that Mesrop is

Որդի Վարդանայ, ի մանկութեան աստիսս վարժեալ Հելլենացւոց դպրութեամբն (264)

Son of Vardan, in this age of infancy educated in the Greek letters.

The Latin translation reads:

Filius Vardan, in adolescentia illic est exercitatus Hellenica doctrina (277)

Son of Vardan, in (his) infancy, in that place, was educated in the Greek
letters.

The problem is that Arm. astiss is rendered by illic, which would be a better match for an adverb of place such as asti or, even better, ast. Thus, the translator seems not to have recognized the term astik‘, of which astis is the locative plural, followed here by the enclitic -s (“this”). Astik‘ is a plurale tantum meaning, among other things, “age of youth” (while the genitive mankowt‘ean means in turn “of infancy”). It is worth noting that the passage in question matches, at least semantically, the corresponding section in the longer version of Koriwn’s work (ch. 3),33 which tells us that the future inventor of the Armenian alphabet was educated in the Greek letters i mankowt‘ean tisn, that is, “in the age of infancy.” This version of the text does not use the term astik‘ but rather the formally and semantically similar tik‘ (“age”), which could explain the variant that we find in the shorter version.

Slightly later in the text, the Armenian version reads:

Յետ այնորիկ ի ծառայութիւն Աստուծոյ մարդասիրի դարձեալ, մերկանայր յինքենէ զամենայն զբաղմունս (264)

After this, having turned himself to the service of God who loves
mankind, he divested himself of all concerns.

The passage is rendered into Latin as follows:

Postea in servitutem Dei talem virum Amantis reversus exuit a se omnes sollicitudines (277)

Then, having turned himself to the service of God who loves such a man, he divested himself of all concerns.

This would be a suitable translation of the source text, even down to the word order, if not for the bizarre form, “(Dei) talem virum Amantis”, “(of God) who loves such a man” (i.e. Mesrop), which does not exactly match the more generic mardasiri, “(of God) who loves mankind.”

To conclude, let us address one more passage from the final part of the text. The Armenian version reads:

Յետ այնորիկ դէպ լինէր փոխել յաշխարհէս երանելւոյն սրբոյն Սահակայ հայրապետին Հայոց, ճշմարիտ վարուք եւ ուղղափառ հաւատով, լցեալ աւուրբք (269)

After this, it happened that the blessed saint Sahak, patriarch of the Armenians, departed this world (i.e. died), (he) of the true life and righteous faith, at an old age (or more literally, full of days).

The Latin translation reads as follows:

Postea accidit ut beatus et sanctus Patriarcha Isahac, vera vitis Armenorum, occubuerit recta fide, plenus diebus (281).

Then it happened that the blessed and saint Patriarch Isahac, true vine of the Armenians, died in the righteous faith, at an old age (rendered in the Latin in a manner that keeps the metaphor from the original, i.e., full of days).

The translator had to restructure the text, chiefly because he could not reproduce to the letter a passage that literally reads “the removing of the blessed saint Sahak from this world happened.” More striking, however, is that the Armenian čšmarit varowkc “of the true life” (that is, whose existence had been in accordance with Christian truth) becomes in Latin vera vitis “true vine.” This confusion between vita (“life”) and vitis (“vine”), which cannot be justified on the basis of the Armenian text, likely originated when the translated text was dictated to the scribe. It seems much less likely that the mistake could have occurred during the process of textual transmission.

Setting aside these considerations of Oskan’s approach to the text, one cannot help but wonder why he felt the need to translate it. As mentioned before, the Armenian source text was available in Paris, and a Latin translation would have made it accessible to a much wider public. It is also worth recalling that the protagonist of this text, Mesrop (also known as Maštoc‘), was a figure of primary importance in the Armenian cultural landscape. Traditionally considered the inventor of the Armenian alphabet,34 he was also a celebrated translator and writer in his own right. Furthermore, he was active in the first half of the fifth century AD, when Armenian literature was in its infancy and the foundations were laid for its development. Mesrop was also considered a saint by the Armenian Church. Thus, relaying his story and making his life and work accessible to a wider public meant celebrating the activities of a veritable founding father of Armenian culture.

Bibliography

Primary Sources

Ananean, Pōłos. “Oskan vardapeti latinerēn t‘argmanowt‘iwnǝ Koriwni ‘Vark‘ s. Mesropay’ hamar·ōt patmowt‘ean” [Oskan Vardapet’s Latin translation of the short history of Koriwn’s “Life of Saint Mesrop”]. Bazmavēp 124 (1966): 273–83.

Ar·ak‘el Davrižec‘i. Girk‘ patmut‘eanc‘ [Book of history]. Amsterdam: Sowrb Ēǰmiacin ew sowrb Sargis Zōravar, 1669.

Ar·ak‘el Davrižec‘i. Girk‘ patmut‘eanc‘ [Book of history]. Edited by Lena A. Xanlaryan. Yerevan: Haykakan XSH GA Hratarakč‘owt‘yown, 1990.

Bournoutian, George A., trans. The History of Vardapet Aṛak’el of Tabriz. Vol. 2. Costa Mesa: Mazda, 2006.

Brosset, Marie-Félicité. Collection d’historiens arméniens. Vol. 1. St. Pétersbourg: Imprimerie de l’Académie Impériale des Sciences, 1874 (repr., Amsterdam: Apa-Philo Press, 1979).

Campanella, Tommaso. Tutte le opere. Edited by Luigi Firpo. Verona: Mondadori, 1954.

Campanella, Tommaso. De libris propriis et recta ratione studendi syntagma. Edited by Armando Brissoni. Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino, 1996.

Kévorkian, Raymond H. Catalogue des “Incunables” Arméniens (1511/1695), ou Chronique de l’Imprimerie Arménienne. Geneva: Cramer, 1986.

Kévorkian Raymond H., and Armèn Ter-Stépanian. Manuscrits arméniens de la Bibliothèque Nationale de France : Catalogue. Avec le concours de Bernard Outtier et de Guévorg Ter-Vardanian. Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale de France/Fondation Calouste Gulbenkian, 1998.

Koriwn. “Vark‘ Mesropay vardapeti” [Life of the Vardapet Mesrop]. In Matenagirk‘ Hayoc‘/Armenian Classical Authors, vol. 1, 225–72. Antelias: Meci Tann Kilikioy Kat‘ołikosowt‘iwn, 2003.

Longo, Carlo. “Piromalli` Astandakan. La ‘Relation de’ successi’ di Fr. Paolo Piromalli OP (1637).” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 70 (2000): 337–63.

Post, Regnerus R. Romeinsche bronnen voor den kerkelijken toestand der Nederlanden onder de apostolische vicarissen 1592–1727. Vol. 2, 1651–1686. The Hague: Nijhoff, 1941.

Secondary Literature

Amatowni, Karapet. Oskan vrd. Erewanc‘i ew ir žamanakǝ. Lowsawor ēǰ mǝ ŽĒ. darow hay ekełec‘akan patmowt‘enēn [Oskan Vardapet Erewanc‘i and his time: A luminous page from the Armenian ecclesiastical history of the seventeenth century]. Venice: Mxit‘arean tparan, 1975.

Auroux, Sylvain. La revolution technologique de la grammatisation: Introduction à l’histoire des sciences du langage. Liège: Mardaga, 1994.

Cowe, S. Peter. “The Role of Priscian’s Institutiones Grammaticae in Informing Yovhannēs K‘r·nec‘i’s Innovative Account of Armenian Grammar with Regard of Terminology, Classification, and Organization with Special Focus on his Investigation of Syntax.” Revue des Études Arméniennes 39 (2020): 91–121.

De Clercq Jan, Pierre Swiggers, and Louis van Tongerloo. “The Linguistic Contribution of the Congregation De Propaganda Fide.” In Italia ed Europa nella linguistica del Rinascimento: confronti e relazioni: Atti del Convegno internazionale Ferrara, Palazzo Paradiso 20-24 marzo 1991, edited by Mirko Tavoni, Pietro U. Dini, John Flood, Aldo Gallotta, Kristian Jensen, Pierre Lardet, Hans-Josef Niederehe, and Giuliano Tamani, vol. 2, 439–58. Modena: Panini, 1996.

De Veer, Albert C. “Rome et la Bible arménienne d’Uscan d’après la correspondance de J.-B. van Neercassel.” Revue des Études Byzantines 16 (1958): 172–82.

Devrikyan, Vardan. Voskan vardapet Yerevantsi: Life and Typographic Activity. Translated from Armenian by Lilit Verdyan. Yerevan: Matenadaran, 2015.

Longo, Carlo. “Fr. Tommaso Campanella e la congregazione de Propaganda Fide.” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 68 (1998): 347–67.

Longo, Carlo. “Giovanni da Siderno OFMCAP narra le avventure di suo fratello Paolo Piromalli OP.” Laurentianum 40 (1999): 289–325.

Manowkyan, Tat‘evik. “Oskan Erevanc‘own veragrvoł k‘erakanowt‘yownə” [The grammar ascribed to Oskan Erevanc‘i]. In Oskan Erevanc‘i. Čamp‘ordowt‘yown hay tpagrowt‘yan k‘ar·owłinerov [Oskan Erevanc‘i: Journey at the crossroads of Armenian printing], 46–53. Yerevan: Matenadaran, 2016.

Orengo, Alessandro. “Tommaso Campanella in armeno: la fonte latina dei Kcerakanowtcean Girkc (Libri di grammatica) di Oskan vardapet.” Studi e Saggi Linguistici 31 (1991): 125–44.

Orengo, Alessandro. “Oskan Erewancci traduttore dei Grammaticalia di Tommaso Campanella.” Rassegna Armenisti Italiani 6 (2003): 7–11.

Orengo, Alessandro. “L’origine et la valeur des grammaires de Oskan Erewancci.” Revue des Études Arméniennes 39 (2020): 123–42.

Orengo, Alessandro. “‘Ma in armeno questo non l’abbiamo’: il confronto tra teoria linguistica generale e realtà dell’armeno nell’opera grammaticale di Oskan Erewancci.” Studi Classici e Orientali 67 (2021): 473–85.

Orengo, Alessandro. “Come e perché scrivere un’autobiografia in Armenia, nel medioevo e più tardi.” In Armenia through the Lens of Time: Multidisciplinary Studies in Honour of Theo Martens van Lint, edited by Federico Alpi, Robin Meyer, Irene Tinti, and David Zakarian, 267–75. Leiden–Boston: Brill, 2022.

Orengo, Alessandro. “Histoire des théories grammaticales en Arménie dans l’Antiquité tardive et au Moyen Âge.” In Les arts libéraux et les sciences dans l’Arménie ancienne et médiévale, edited by Valentina Calzolari, 53–83. Paris: Vrin, 2022.

Orengo, Alessandro. Aspetti della società e della cultura armene nel IV e V secolo dopo Cristo. Pisa: TEP, 2023.

Orengo, Alessandro. “Armenian and European Early Grammatical Contacts.” In Armenian Linguistics in the 21st Century, edited by Alessandro Orengo, Irene Tinti, and Robin Meyer (forthcoming).

Weitenberg, Jos J. S. “Studies in Early Armenian Lexicography: The Armenian-Latin Dictionary by M. Veyssière De La Croze.” Revue des Études Arméniennes 19 (1985): 373–429.

* I wish to thank Dr. Irene Tinti for reading and commenting on an advanced version of this paper. I am responsible, of course, for any mistakes or omissions.

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1. 1 In the Bible printed in Amsterdam, Oskan explains in great detail how he endeavoured to make the Armenian biblical text adhere to the Vulgata. The relevant parts of Oskan’s explanation are published and translated in Kévorkian, Catalogue, 51–57.

2. 2 The title of the booklet is as follows: [Oskan Erewanc‘i], K‘erakanowt‘ean Girk‘ Hamar·ōtiwk‘ cayrak‘ał arareal Yałags mankanc‘, ew noravaržic‘ krt‘owt‘e(an) [Books of grammar, abridged for the instruction of children and novices], Amsterdam, 1666.

3. 3 On Oskan’s life and work, see chiefly Amatowni, Oskan vrd. Erewanc‘i. See also Devrikyan, Voskan Vardapet Yerevantsi.

4. 4 Doubts concerning Oskan’s knowledge of Latin were raised, perhaps disingenuously, in 1668. Jean-Baptiste van Neercassel, vicar-apostolic of the United Provinces from 1662 to 1686, sent a report to the Congregation de Propaganda Fide alleging that the Armenian bishop Oskan (“Episcopus Armenus … Viscanus”) was working on a printed edition of the Bible in his own language. At first, van Neercassel mistakenly states that Oskan wanted to translate the entire Vulgata as opposed to a couple of books. More relevant for our purposes, he also says that the enterprise seemed very dangerous to him, and that he had tried without success to dissuade Oskan from pursuing it. Among the reasons for his mistrust, he cites Oskan’s allegedly imperfect knowledge of Latin as well as his shortcomings as a theologian (“praesertim cum nec Latinae linguae peritus nec magnus mihi videatur theologus”). Later in the report, he adds that Oskan had argued that he could read Latin easily enough, even though he could not speak it fluently (“cum dicat se Latinam linguam bene intelligere dum legit, quamvis eam congrue loqui nesciat”). It is difficult to say whether the vicar-apostolic was genuinely assessing Oskan’s linguistic skills or simply using his alleged deficiencies as an excuse to oppose an enterprise that he considered dangerous on other grounds. For the Latin text of the report see Post, Romeinsche bronnen, 398–99. See also de Veer, “Rome et la Bible,” 176–77. Similar doubts concerning Oskan’s imperfect knowledge of Latin were also expressed by Maturin Veyssière De La Croze (1661–1739) in a text dated 1712: see Weitenberg, “Studies in Early Armenian Lexicography,” 376, 401–2, 407–12.

5. 5 See Ar·ak‘el Davrižec‘i, Girk‘ Patmowt‘eanc‘ (1669), 629–38. For a French translation of the autobiography, see Brosset, Collection, 596–600. On the text, see also Orengo, “Come e perché.”

6. 6 The text has been published in Longo, “Piromalli,” 342–63. See also Longo, “Giovanni da Siderno” and Orengo, “Oskan Erewancci traduttore.”

7. 7 I have devoted several works to the relations between Campanella’s Grammaticalia, Oskan’s two grammars, and the one supposedly authored by Piromalli. See for instance Orengo, “Tommaso Campanella in armeno”; Orengo, “Oskan Erewancci traduttore”; Orengo, “Traduction des noms propres”; Orengo, “L’origine et la Valeur”; Orengo, “Ma in armeno.”

8. 8 The only modern reprint of this work is Campanella, Opere, which includes the Latin text and an Italian translation and detailed commentary.

9. 9 See Cronologia in Campanella, Opere, LXXXV.

10. 10 See Campanella, De libris propriis, 47. On Campanella and Piromalli’s relationship, see Longo, “Fr. Tommaso Campanella,” 347–67.

11. 11 For this letter, see Amatowni, Oskan vrd. Erewanc‘i, 279–80.

12. 12 Manowkyan, “Oskan Erevanc‘own.”

13. 13 I have been working on a critical edition for several years.

14. 14 In all manuscripts except for F, the text begins with the following words: Քերականութեանց գիրք առաջին․ Արարեալ մեծի հռետորին Թումայի իտալացւոյ․ Արտադրեալ ի հայս [ի հայս om. T] Ոսկանի Երեւանցւոյ. “First book of grammar, realized by the great rhetor T‘owmay the Italian, transferred into our Armenian (tongue) by Oskan Erewanc‘i.”

15. 15 See Orengo, “Tommaso Campanella in armeno.”

16. 16 Some of these references are listed in Orengo, “L’origine et la valeur,” 138, note 34.

17. 17 For a more detailed discussion of these examples, see Orengo, “Ma in armeno,” 477–78.

18. 18 “Et hoc apud Latinos, non in cunctis linguis,” Campanella, Opere, 476.

19. 19 Campanella, Opere, 484.

20. 20 The title of the book is as follows: [Claude Lancelot and Antoine Arnauld], Grammaire Generale et Raisonnée Contenant Les fondemens de l’art de parler; expliquez d’une maniere claire & naturelle; Les raisons de ce qui est commun à toutes les langues, & les principales differences qui s’y rencontrent; Et plusieurs remarques nouuelles sur la Langue Françoise, Paris: chez Pierre le Petit, 1660.

21. 21 For an outline of the Armenians’ approach to grammar before the seventeenth century see Orengo, “Histoire des théories.” On the following centuries see Orengo, “Armenian and European.”

22. 22 On Yovhannēs K‘ṛnec‘i’s grammar, see Cowe, “Role of Priscian’s Institutiones.”

23. 23 The event is described in chapter 29 of the History of Aṛak‘el Davrižec‘i. See Aṛak‘el Davrižec‘i, Girk‘ patmut‘eanc‘ (1990), 316 and, for an English translation, Bournoutian, History, 296; for a French translation, Brosset, Collection, 462.

24. 24 On the linguistic policies of Propaganda Fide, see De Clercq et al., “The Linguistic Contribution.”

25. 25 In the Parisian manuscript (Ms 178: see below), the text in question bears the following title: Ի յիշատակի պատմութեան վարուց երանելւոյ սուրբ վարդապետին Մեսրովբայ զոր ասացեալ է նորին աշակերտի Կորեան. “In memory of the life history of the blessed and holy vardapet Mesrovb [= Mesrop], which has been told by his disciple Koriwn” (Kévorkian and Ter-Stépanian, Manuscrits arméniens, 598). However, this title is not always present in modern editions and translations. Koriwn’s work survives in two redactions. The longer one, probably closer to the original, is attested in its entirety only by one manuscript kept at the Matenadaran in Erevan (Ms 2639), copied in Bałēš (Bitlis) between 1674–1675 and 1703, although substantial fragments are attested elsewhere. The shorter redaction is an abridgement of the longer version, with interpolations drawn from later sources. For an introduction to the topic, see Orengo, Aspetti della società, 121–29.

26. 26 The final letter (-e?) is not easy to read.

27. 27 https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b100336304.r=manuscrit%20NAL%202083?rk=21459;2, last accessed November 18, 2024.

28. 28 Ananean, “Oskan vardapeti.”

29. 29 See Kévorkian in Kévorkian and Ter-Stépanian, Manuscrits arméniens, X. In this catalogue the manuscript is described at colls. 589–604.

30. 30 Ms 178 is available online at: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b100874360#, last accessed November 18, 2024.

31. 31 On this proposed identification, see Kévorkian and Ter-Stépanian, Manuscrits arméniens, 590. It is worth pointing out that in this work (p. X) the year of Pétis de la Croix père’s death is given as 1704.

32. 32 The Armenian text was published several times. For the reader’s convenience I have used the most recent edition, included in the first volume of the Matenagirk‘ Hayoc‘ (Koriwn, “Vark‘”), even though it contains several typos. In my analysis of Oskan’s translation, I only give references to the Latin text (according to Ananean’s edition) while discussing individual anthroponyms or toponyms. However, while discussing the translation of entire sentences, I also refer to the aforementioned Armenian edition. The Latin text of the edition has been consistently compared with that of the manuscript, available online. In a few trivial cases (majuscule for minuscule, <c> for <k>, etc.), the orthography of the manuscript has been tacitly preferred and reproduced here. However, whenever the manuscript uses <u> for <v>, I opted instead for Ananean’s editorial choice.

33. 33 Koriwn, “Vark‘,” 234.

34. 34 On the earliest sources that report on the invention of the Armenian alphabet (though with differences in some of the details), see Orengo, Aspetti della società, 88–118.

From East to West: The Greek Prayer of Cyprian and its Translation into European Vernaculars

Daniel Vaucher

University of Freiburg (CH)
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Hungarian Historical Review Volume 14 Issue 2 (2025): 247-273  DOI 10.38145/2025.2.247

The Prayer of Cyprian is an exorcistic and apotropaic prayer that gained popularity in Western Europe, particularly on the Iberian Peninsula and in South America. Since the fifteenth century, it has been transmitted in numerous versions and languages. Notably, the prayer came under the scrutiny of the Inquisition due to its alleged attribution to Saint Cyprian of Antioch and the inclusion of superstitious elements. As a result, it was listed in the Index of Prohibited Books. Until now, the origins of this apotropaion have remained unexplored. This article is the first to illuminate the clear connections between the vernacular recensions and the Greek manuscripts. An examination of the manuscripts, along with their copyists and owners, further reveals that the prayer travelled from East to West during the Renaissance, was translated into Latin, and subsequently rendered into vernacular languages.

Keywords: devotional prayer, exorcism, magic, inquisition, translations

Introduction

Cyprian of Antioch, an alleged magician, bishop, and martyr who supposedly lived in the third and fourth centuries, is a notorious figure and still epitomizes the wise magician in the occult scene today. Over the centuries, numerous spells and prayers have been attributed to this enigmatic figure. This trend began in ancient times in the Greek language but reached its peak in Western and Northern Europe from the sixteenth century onwards in the various vernacular languages. This article focuses on the so-called prayer of Cyprian, originally an apotropaic prayer of protection attributed to the Antiochian saint, which included various adjurations and invocations and thus ended up on the Index of Prohibited Books.

The Spanish, Portuguese, Catalan, and Latin versions have received some attention in recent years. It is thanks to Itúrbide Díaz, Vicente, Londõno, and Smid that the prayer has become known in the various vernacular languages. However, apart from a brief note by Vicente (an observation that he did not follow up), none of the scholars mentioned recognized identical prayers in Late Byzantine Greek. This article aims to close this gap and demonstrate the undeniable connection between the Greek, Latin, and Western European prayers.

The paper contends that the Latin and vernacular versions originate in Greek models. Even if it remains impossible to trace precisely the development of these anonymous prayers, a look at the manuscripts will highlight possible paths and actors in this process. The various versions of the prayer of Cyprian offer a good example of the complex literary and material contexts of translation processes in Byzantine times and the Renaissance period.1

In the first step, the characteristics of these prayers are briefly described. In a second step, the manuscripts of the Greek prayer of Cyprian will be analyzed. Even if these sources offer only individual insights, the sum of the individual manuscripts provides a picture of a transfer from the Greek-speaking East to the Latin-speaking West. The vernacular adaptations in the West will be presented in a third step. Fourthly, the close relationship between the Greek and Western European prayers will be clearly illustrated by comparing a short passage. Fifthly, we will offer a few examples which clearly reveal that the prayer of Cyprian became one of the obsessions of the Inquisition throughout Europe.

Cyprian of Antioch and Characteristics of the Prayer of Cyprian

According to legend, Cyprian of Antioch was a famous magician who, even with his various arts and the help of the devil himself, was unable to win the love of the Christian virgin Justina.2 Recognizing his powerlessness, he finally converted to Christianity and burned his magical books and idols. He then went through the clerical offices, became a bishop, and, finally, according to legend, died a martyr’s death, together with Justina.3 Although Cyprian renounced magic with his conversion, he remained a ruler over the demons through his art of healing and exorcisms. The so-called conversio reports that “grace was his company against the demons, and he cured all suffering.”4 This understanding of Cyprian as an exorcist was reflected in pseudo-Cyprian literature. The prayer of Cyprian is intended to protect not only the person reciting it but also the bearer or even all the inhabitants of the house in which it is recited from misfortune, illness, and demons. This list already makes it clear that the prayer of Cyprian is “universalistic.” Unlike short protective formulas against specific illnesses or ailments, the prayer of Cyprian is so broadly based that it promises to work against all conceivable forms of evil.

To achieve the protective and healing effect, the reciter uses various rhetorical strategies.5 The long litanies and invocations of patron saints, martyrs, and church fathers are striking. God’s assistance is brought about by enumerating his previous acts of salvation and redemption to make him more disposed to help in the present case as well. Thus, the prayer of Cyprian is ultimately a sequence of long lists and catalogs. What is most remarkable, however, is the conversion story at the beginning of the prayer (see below). This historiola is a clear reference to Cyprian’s vita and therefore links the universalist exorcism with the legend. The mention of a “mythical situation” and its resolution should paradigmatically help the current prayer or spell. By personifying himself in the first-person singular with the figure of the mighty Cyprian, the speaker lends additional impact to his spell.6

Concerning the various contexts in which and purposes for which the manuscripts were used, we can only speculate. The manuscript tradition suggests that some manuscripts were effectively written for use, i.e. for recitation in the case of an exorcism (see below). Some other assumptions can be made. In Byzantine thought, the origin of illnesses was to be sought either in the magical actions of hostile persons (the idea of the evil eye is omnipresent in the prayer of Cyprian) or in the work of demons. Priests and other charismatic personalities could have said such prayers over the sick, in combination with consecrated water, the sign of the cross, and readings from Holy Scriptures. It is important to bear in mind that both the Byzantine and Western churches were always critical of this type of protective prayer and attempted to construct a canonized counterpart to the “private” exorcisms in the officially sanctioned liturgy. The prayer of Cyprian operates in a border area between magic and liturgy.7

Worn on the skin (folded or rolled around the neck), such a prayer can promise an apotropaic effect. For example, an Arabic version of the prayer of Cyprian was most likely worn as a talisman.8 This corresponds with the self-designation of the prayer as phylakterion.9 Moreover, the protection promised in the prayer extends even beyond the bearer. The text vows to protect the entire house and all its inhabitants. In this respect, it is also conceivable that a scroll or a small codex was kept in the house and honored accordingly.

Given the universalistic conception of the prayer, it might seem misleading to speak of an exorcism. The distinction is indeed difficult: the text can serve as a phylactery as well as an exorcism to be recited and performed. Furthermore, the boundaries are blurred when, on the one hand, God is implored for help and, on the other, the demons are addressed and invoked in direct speech.10

Greek Manuscripts

Theodor Schermann, the first editor of the Greek prayer of Cyprian, divided the few manuscripts known to him into two groups: an Antiochian group and a southern Italian group. However, the designation Antiochian is misleading, since it is based on the erroneous assumption that Cyprian of Antioch was the actual author of the prayer and that the two manuscripts of this group (V1 and B1, see below) retained the original liturgical wording. However, his critical apparatus and the more recent edition by Bilabel/Grohmann (based on Ms A1) show that there are significant textual differences between the manuscripts. It is therefore almost impossible to reconstruct an original Greek text. In the case of this type of literature, abridgements, additions, and new passages of text are to be expected.

Several additional manuscripts have come to light since Schermann and Bilabel published their texts. According to the database “Pinakes,” the Greek prayer currently has been identified in ten manuscripts.11

A1: Milano, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Cod. Ambros. A 056 sup.; written 1542, ff. 208r–221v.

A2: Milano, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Cod. Ambros. B 033 sup., fifteenth century., ff. 5r–16r.

B1: Oxford, Bodleian Library, Cod. Bodl. Barroc. 008, sixteenth century, ff. 155r–164r.

B2: Oxford, Bodleian Library, Cod. Bodl. Barroc. 221, fifteenth century, ff. 136r–138v.

M: Palermo, Biblioteca centrale della Regione siciliana “Alberto Bombace”, Cod. Panorm. III B 25; fifteenth century, ff. 41v–64r.

O: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Cod. Ott. gr. 290; sixteenth century, ff. 32v–49r.

P: Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Cod. gr. 426; written 1488, ff. 146r–156v.

V1: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Cod. Vatic. gr. 0695, fifteenth century, ff. 262v–264v.

V2: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Cod. Vat. gr. 1538; fifteenth-sixteenth centuries, ff. 94v-98v & 116r–142r.

V3: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Cod. Vat. gr. 1571; fourteenth-sixteenth centuries, ff. 52v–64r.

None of the manuscripts is older than the fifteenth century. However, the translations into Arabic and Ethiopian, the manuscripts of which date back to the fourteenth century, indicate that a Greek original can be assumed to have existed before that. Of the manuscripts mentioned, A1, A2, B2, M, P, and V1 are composite manuscripts of mixed content. B1, O, V2, and V3 are collections of prayers and exorcisms that correspond to the emerging “rituel d’exorcisme” in the West (from around the fifteenth century).12 While the former group includes manuscripts that were produced probably with a scholarly interest (the aim was to preserve and pass on the text), the latter group had a practical function. They are mostly small-format manuals that were created for use, for example, for recitation during an exorcism.13 With this assumption in mind, I will concentrate on the second group, but without completely ignoring the other manuscripts.

Manuscript O from the sixteenth century is a thin booklet of 79 folios. It contains the martyrdom of Marina of Antioch in Pisidia, followed by a series of exorcisms and prayers of protection common in the Byzantine region.14 Between the martyrdom of Marina and the prayer of Cyprian on ff. 31v and 32r there are two color illustrations, one of the martyrdom of Marina, the other showing a bearded Cyprian with a long robe and halo, holding a red book in his left hand pressed to his chest. A similar miniature of Cyprian can also be found in Cod. P, f. 146v, only here the saint has both hands outstretched towards the edge of the page, as if offering help. On f. 49v, as the signature of Cyprian’s prayer, the copyist presents himself as Ἰωάννης from Patras.15

According to the catalog, V3 is packed with leaves of various origins. Batiffol called the codex “un ramas de feuillets mss. du XVe siècle de style levantin.”16 However, one block can be identified among the various handwritings (ff. 40r–65v) that contains prayers for protection and exorcisms. This begins with a prayer by Basil for the sick, which is known from Byzantine euchologies, followed by an exorcism also attributed to Basil. It is followed by prayers and exorcisms by Saint John Chrysostom and finally the prayer of Cyprian. One scribe is probably responsible for this thematic block. The origin of this block is, as already mentioned, clearly Byzantine. The owner of the codex, Francesco Accida, was originally of Cypriot origin.17 As “Protonotario e protopapa cattolico di Messina,” he donated several manuscripts (mostly of oriental or southern Italian origin) to Pope Gregory XIII in 1583 and some to Pope Sixtus V in 1585, which thus became part of the Biblioteca Vaticana.

V2 is another small-format ritual book from the fifteenth century. It constitutes an impressive collection of magical-exorcistic texts from front to back on 287 folios to which some Latin tables were later added on ff. 1r–6r.18 The codex shows a Calabrian dialect in the headings and marginal notes, for example, when the prayer of Cyprian is said to work “per ligati di qualisiuoglia mali” (f. 117r). Interestingly, the scribe has even copied the Cyprian prayer twice here, namely in two different recensions. The texts collected in it are once again the Byzantine exorcisms mentioned above. The names of the prayers are given by Saint Basil, Saint John Chrysostom, Tryphon, Solomon, Gregory, and others. The martyrdom of Marina is also included, as in Ms O.19 On ff. 217r–229r there is also a prayer for the sick, attributed to Cyprian of Calamizzi, which allows us to assume the origin of the codex in southern Italy.20 The former owner, Cardinal Felice Centino (1562–1641), Bishop of Mileto in Calabria from 1611 to 1613, was also at home in this region. He brought the book to Rome and offered it to the Vatican library.21

Manuscript B1 from Oxford is just 15 cm in size.22 The small codex from the sixteenth century was obviously written for use. It contains mainly prayers, hymns, and exorcisms in neat script and with some decorations. We know the scholar Andreas Donos from Rhetymno in Crete (then under Venetian rule) as the copyist. His pupil was the humanist Francesco Barozzi (1537–1604), also of Cretan origin.23 Barozzi was active as a mathematician, philologist, and astronomer, and he showed an interest in prophecy as well. He published the Pronostico universale di tutto il mondo, a collection of prophecies taken from Nostradamus and other authors, and a bilingual edition of the Oracula Leonis, a prophetic text of Byzantine origin.24 Perhaps this interest in occult literature brought him into contact with the Inquisition, which kept a close eye on him and sentenced him in 1587 (see below).

Manuscript B2 also comes from the same Barozzi collection.25 Irmgard Hutter has traced the history of the codex: Soon after 1381, the manuscript belonged to Markos, the abbot of the Kosmidion monastery in Constantinople, who added scholia and other marginalia to it. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, it belonged to Johannes Ratis, and in the second half of the sixteenth century, to Francesco Barozzi or his nephew Jacopo Barozzi on Crete. Together with their collection (and with B1), it was purchased by William Herbert in 1629 and donated to the Bodleian Library.26 This codex also contains the prayer of Cyprian, but here it appears to have been added by another hand at the end of the codex.

The other composite manuscripts found in Western European libraries (and thus not specifically dedicated to exorcisms) fit the pattern outlined so far. Manuscript P, for example, from 1488 and written by a priest named Chorikarios, was purchased in Venice in 1538–1539 by a certain Jérôme Fondule for the French king and brought to Paris.27 Manuscript M from the fifteenth century can be traced to Sicily. It originally belonged to the Abbey of Saint Martino delle Scale.28

To summarize, the division of the Greek manuscripts into an Antiochian and a Southern Italian group needs to be revised on the basis of a precise textual analysis of the newly identified manuscripts. More importantly, the number of manuscripts of the late Byzantine and post-Byzantine period offer other insights. The manuscripts, their copyists, and their owners provide information about the spread of the prayer of Cyprian at the end of the Middle Ages. Greece and Constantinople, as well as Crete and Cyprus, were named as stations of transmission. This would suggest the prayer originally came from the Greek-speaking East.29 The Venetian Empire and its scholars, such as Francesco Barozzi, were prominent in ensuring the transfer of occult knowledge from East to West.30 During the flourishing Renaissance in Italy, coveted manuscripts were brought to Rome, Paris, and Oxford. The Italian south, with Calabria and Sicily, should also be mentioned. Here, we find an exciting mixture of Greek and southern Italian dialects (e.g. manuscript V2).31 In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, a transfer of Byzantine exorcisms and prayers to Western Europe took place. We now turn to this transfer.

Vernacular Adaptions

We are probably still a long way from being able to survey all the translation strands of Byzantine exorcism literature. Mention has already been made of the translations of the prayer of Cyprian into Arabic and Ethiopian in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.32 There are references to translations into Syriac and Armenian, but text editions are not yet available.33 A Slavonic recension was published by Almazov.34 The transfer of the prayer of Cyprian into the vernaculars in Western Europe has been better researched. In several publications, Vicente has demonstrated its great popularity in the recent past, both in Spain and Portugal, but also in South America.35

Here, we are more interested in the older Western European versions. These are:

a: Paris, Bibliothèque St-Geneviève (BSG) 1352, fifteenth century, ff. 1–26v.

This book of exorcisms contains Latin prayers attributed to Cyprian, Ambrose, and the Veronese bishop Zenon. Other pieces have been added in the Venetian dialect, such as a pharmaceutical recipe “a far butar fora le fature e altre cose” on f. 63v. Also of a later date is the drawing on f. 36v of a bishop performing an exorcism, probably Saint Ambrose.36 The book opens with a series of psalms, followed by the prayer of Cyprian in Latin. The localization of the manuscript to fifteenth-sixteenth century Venice fits seamlessly into the abovementioned distribution of Greek testimonies. BSG 1352 is, to my knowledge, the only extant Latin example of the prayer of Cyprian to date.37

b: Christophorus Lasterra, Liber exorcismorum adversus tempestates et daemones…, Pamplona 1631 (printed book), ff. 68v–72v.

The prayer of Cyprian begins on f. 68v, which the author claims to have translated from Latin into Spanish, even though most of the pieces in this book were kept in Latin. The bilingualism of this small-format book merits mention. The author evidently considered a “modern” Spanish version to be closer to his audience and therefore presumably of broader appeal than his Latin original. While a Latin version was aimed almost exclusively at clerics in the seventeenth century, a Spanish translation had a completely different target audience.38

c: Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Oración devotíssima de san Cipriano, traducida de latín en castellano, seventeenth century, 3ff., in-folio, Signatura RES FOL-OA-198 (BIS, 25).39

This small leaf from the Paris National Library is closely related to b. It contains the same text as Lasterra’s 1631 version but is undated.

d: Sevilla, Biblioteca de la Institución colombina: La Oratione de santo Cipriano volgare, Signatura 14-01-10 (21)

This Italian manuscript was acquired in Rome in October 1512 and has been part of the collection of Hernando Colón (Ferdinand Columbus), son of the famous navigator Cristobal Colón, ever since. Hernando Colón acquired books of all kinds throughout Europe and compiled one of the largest modern libraries in Seville.40 The ten-page text has a woodcut on the front showing Cyprian driving out demons in an episcopal hat and robe and holding a staff in his hand.

e: Barcelona, Biblioteca de Cataluña, MS. 580. Oració de Sant Cebrià contra els embruixos, Miscellània de textos en llatí i en català, ff. 155v–158r.

This manuscript from Barcelona, dated to the first half of the fifteenth century, is even older. I am not able to judge to what extent this text is related to our prayer of Cyprian.41

f: Barcelona City Archive, AHCB 16/1C. XVIII-9

Smid made known another Catalan version from 1557.42 She found this small “chap book,” which was barely larger than the palm of one’s hand, in the inquisition materials of the Barcelona City Archives. Smid showed how a hermit and healer named Jacintho García came into contact with the Inquisition in Solsona (Catalonia) in 1641. García had carried out exorcisms in his town without the permission of the church and had probably also made use of the Catalan booklet with the prayer of Cyprian (see below).

The list of these six witnesses is not intended to be exhaustive.43 But the few examples already show how the prayer of Cyprian first spread in Latin in Italy, France, and the Iberian Peninsula since the fifteenth century and was then translated into the respective vernacular languages.

The Relationship between the Vernacular Texts and the Greek Prayer

Until now, these vernacular versions have never been associated with the Greek prayer. However, their origin is undoubtedly to be found in the Byzantine East. All traces of the legend lead to the fourth and fifth centuries in the Roman east. Although the prayer of Cyprian is only loosely connected to the legend of the Antiochian bishop through the excerpt presented below, here too, the content and style point to Byzantine demonology and liturgy.44

The only connection to the legend of Cyprian is found in the first part of the prayer, when the speaker refers to his past in the first-person singular and mentions his spells before his conversion to Christianity. I reproduce this passage in several variants in Table 1 to demonstrate the clear connections among the versions.

The structure of this passage is identical in all the recensions. God is invoked with the reference that he knows the evil deeds of his servant Cyprian, with whom the person praying personifies himself. Cyprian cast these binding spells when he did not yet know the name of God, i.e. when he was still a pagan. Cyprian used his magic (or the demons he conjured) to bind the clouds so that it would no longer rain, the trees so they would no longer bear fruit, the animals so that they would no longer give birth, the women so that they would no longer conceive. The Greek version is the most detailed, with references to the vines, gardens, birds, and fish. Here we can already see a shortening in the Spanish and Catalan translations, which still retain the structure but abridge the train of thought.45

The legend of Cyprian tells of the magician’s conversion when he realizes his powerlessness in the face of the Christian faith. The paragraph in the prayer following the passage exposed in Table 1 alludes to this. Now that Cyprian knows the name of this powerful god, he asks him to free the bound forces of nature and the people and to protect them from demonic influences. The elements to be liberated are listed again in Table 2, even if in a slightly different order.

Table 2

Greek edition based on 3 manuscripts		a: Paris, BSG 1352		c: Paris, BNF RES FOL-OA-198 (BIS, 25)		f: Barcelona City Archive, AHCB 16/1C. XVIII-9
Προσπίπτω δὲ γοῦν τῇ σῇ ὀρθοτομώτητι καὶ τῷ ἁγίῳ σου ὀνόματι καὶ ἱκετεύω καὶ παρακαλῶ, ἵνα πᾶς τόπος ἢ οἶκος ἢ ἄνθρωπος ἢ ἔχων μαγίαν ἀνθρώπων ἢ δαίμονος, ὅταν ἐπαναγνωσθῇ ἡ προσευχή μου αὕτη ἐνώπιον αὐτῶν ἢ ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ αὐτοῦ, ἵνα λυθῇ ἀπὸ πάσης μαγίας καὶ φθόνου καὶ ἔριδος καὶ ὀφθαλμοῦ κακοῦ, μάλιστα ἀπὸ τὸν δοῦλον τοῦ θεοῦ ΝΝ. (…) νὰ φεύγουν οἱ δαίμονες καὶ δραπετεύσονται οἱ κακοί, τὰ νέφη δὲ πέμψουσι βροχὴν καὶ τὰ δένδρα φέρουσι καρπὸν καὶ αἱ κοιλίαι γεννῶσι καὶ αἱ μητέρες συλλήψονται, καὶ οἱ ἄνθρωποι ἀπὸ παντὸς δεσμοῦ λυθήσονται ἐν ὀνόματι τοῦ πατρὸς καὶ τοῦ υἱοῦ καὶ τοῦ ἁγίου πνεύματος...		Nunc autem domine deus meus Iesu Christe, cognovi nomen sanctum tuum et dilexi illud. (…) Etiam rogo te domine deus meus ut disvinpas (disvincas?) vincula nubium et absolvas ea et descendat pluvia supra fatiem terre: et terra det fructum suum. Et arbores dent fructus suos eorum et pariant mulieres filios suos immaculatos et sugant filii lac matrum suarum: et pisces maris dissolvantur: et animaliaque moventur in aquis: et omnia flumina et volatilia celi: et fontes et omnia que in eis sunt: et omnia vincula dissolvantur ab eis per nomen sanctum tuum et fugiant ab eis omne malum et omne periculum et spiritus invidi non permaneant apud ea nec apud homines portantes hoc scriptum. Amen.		Todas estas cosas hacía yo en el nombre del diablo y ahora, Dios y mi señor Jesucristo, conozco el tu sacratísimo nombre y ámolo, (…) y caiga la lluvia sobre la tierra, y la tierra dé su fruto y los árboles, y las mujeres paran sus hijos sin ninguna lesión, y mamen la leche de los pechos de sus madres, y desátense a su tiempo los peces del mar, y todas las animalias que andan sobre la tierra. Desátense todas las nubes del cielo y todas las otras cosas, y todos los hombres, y todas las mujeres a quienes fueren hechos los hechizos de día y de noche, todos sean desatados por el tu santo nombre. Huya todo enemigo de aquel, o de aquella que sobre sí trajere esta oración, o le fuere leída tres veces.		e per∙so ara Deu meu prech te molt per la tua sancta dilectio que rompes los nuus e tos los ligaments y enuia pluía sobre la terra, e tots los arbres donen lur fruit e los peixos de la mar sien desligats, e totes les coses que son en ella e nengun mal esperit e[n] ells no puga aturar, ni en aquells ho en aquelles que aquest scrita portaran ho legiran, ho legir faran sien desliurats de tot mal, profiten lurs persones e los lurs pensaments e los lurs fets i ferms en tot be, e tu senyor los vulles desliurar del poder del diable, e dels seus agu

Again, the close relationship among the four versions are clear, but so are the deviations and abbreviations that one would expect in translations (especially translations of popular literature).50 These sources offer examples of renderings in various target languages of an original text that has not been translated with strict adherence to syntax and narrow focus on the inclusion of every noun, adjective, or phrase, but the structure and the train of thought have nonetheless been retained. The Latin version (a) from Venice (now Paris) corresponds impressively with the Greek version, not only here but also in the rest of the prayer.

The Prayer as One of the Obsessions of the Inquisition

I have mentioned in passing the critical interest taken in the prayer by leaders of the Inquisition. It may come as a surprise that a Christian prayer dedicated to protection from illness and demons attracted so much attention from the defenders of the faith. But already in late antiquity, the church fathers preached against the use of amulets and the church councils attempted with their legislation to prevent all kinds of ritual practices in the field of magic. In this respect, not much had changed in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Many scholars of the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance showed a keen interest in magic, which led to the publication of numerous grimoires and exorcism books.51 Also, prayers, exorcisms, and magic were converging, resulting in a reciprocal influence.52 As Barberiato has observed, it was often the same individuals who practiced incantations for evil purposes and exorcisms for healing purposes.53 Moreover, the printing of books made it increasingly difficult for the church to control the proliferation of this occult literature.54 The translation of exorcisms previously intended for clerics into the vernaculars further popularized prayers and exorcisms, giving “religious freelancers” an instrument of power.55 One aim of the Inquisition was therefore to keep a tight rein on the laity who had entered into competition with the clergy and to preserve the Church monopoly on the realm of the sacramental.56

This can be seen in the trial in Solsona, Catalonia. Bernadette Smid’s archival work has brought to light the court proceedings against the hermit and healer Jacintho García, who allegedly healed the village population with prayers, holy water, candles, and incense in the first half of the seventeenth century. Together with the court documents, Smid also found the textual witness f (see above) from the year 1557. García had therefore used it for his healings, which is also reflected in the testimonies according to which the healer considered the illnesses the result of maleficium (the prayer of Cyprian being directed against this). Although there were many doctors and hospitals in Solsona, the hermit was apparently very popular: “Jacintho García acted as an intermediary, a specialist coming from outside the local society.”57 But this was also his undoing, as he lacked the Church’s permission to carry out exorcisms.58 Furthermore, the use of superstitious prayers and sacred objects reserved for the Church aroused the suspicion of the Inquisition. It is not known how the trial against García ended.

The action against illicit exorcists coincides with the action taken by the Inquisition against private, devotional prayers, especially those involving specific rituals, objects, or practices mentioned in the rubrics.59 These rubrics, placed at the beginning or the end of the prayers, attributed to the the devotional a merely mechanical and material value, promising effect simply through mechanical compliance with instructions.60 Some devotional prayers were perceived to have superstitious elements or to be associated with magical practices that the Church deemed heretical or dangerous. Thus, a prayer named confessione di Santa Maria Maddalena from the late sixteenth century says, “Whoever recites, or gets others to recite, this confession / for thirty days, for himself or for his family, / will receive contrition for every sin, / Mary Magdalene will be his defender.”61

Such a promise of protection, together with the indication of exact times and repetitions of prayer, can also be found in the prayer of Cyprian. For example, the Oración devotíssima de san Cipriano (c) has a similar rubric before the actual prayer: “This is the most holy prayer of the glorious Saint Cyprian, which was made and ordained to deliver people from evil deeds and spells, and evil eyes, and evil tongues, and for any bindings and enchantments, that all may be unbound and loosed, and for the woman in childbirth and for pestilence and foul air. This prayer is to be read three times on three Sundays, each Sunday once.”62 Here, the boundaries between magic, exorcism, and devotional literature risk being blurred. The Inquisition’s primary goal was to maintain religious orthodoxy, and anything that appeared to deviate from approved Christian doctrine or seemed to involve attempts to manipulate spiritual forces was subject to scrutiny and condemnation.

But even priests such as Cristóbal Lasterra from Navarro (b) attracted the attention of the Iberian Inquisition. Lasterra was himself a commissioner of the Holy Office and thus was entrusted with inquisitorial proceedings against dubious magical literature. In 1624, he became parish priest in San Adrián, where he remained until his death in 1638.63 His office in the Inquisition undoubtedly made him sensitive to this kind of literature, and so it remains a mystery why he himself translated and published such exorcisms together with the prayer of Cyprian in his Liber exorcismorum adversus tempestates et daemones… in 1631. Three years later, his book became the focus of the Inquisition.64

The Spanish and Portuguese Inquisition had shown an interest in this type of popular piety, the popular prayers, and the books of Hours as early as the sixteenth century.65 The first Portuguese index of forbidden books had appeared in 1551. The index issued in Spain in 1559 had already included the prayer of Cyprian, as had the Portuguese index in 1561, and finally the Roman index in 1590.66 In his investigation of the trial against Lasterra in 1634, Itúrbide Díaz emphasized why the Inquisition declared war on this type of prayer: Five Jesuits examined the text and, in a report dated December 22, 1634. They unanimously determined that the prayer was unworthy (“indigna”) and could not be attributed to Saint Cyprian under any circumstances, as it contained an anachronistic reference to the Moors, who had not existed during Cyprian’s lifetime. They pointed out that the requirement to say the prayer on three consecutive Sundays and the invocation of Saint Cyprian had a superstitious smell (“huele conocidamente a superstición”).67 Thus, the text was considered historically inaccurate and mistakenly (or deliberately falsely) attributed to Cyprian. And presumably most importantly from the perspective of the Inquisition leaders, it contained references to superstitious practices regarding prayer times and ritual repetition. There is no information in the Inquisition file about the decision that was finally made, but Itúrbide Díaz suspects that the print was probably confiscated.68

Forbidden books also brought the Cretan scholar Francesco Barozzi (the owner of the Greek manuscripts B1 and B2, see above) into the clutches of the Venetian Inquisition.69 A verdict from October 16, 1587 describes the accusations and, after initial resistance, the confessions of Barozzi. He was accused of having adhered to “the vane and pestiferous doctrine” and having taught it to his own son and his disciple.70 When his study was examined, the Inquisitors found two boxes of forbidden books and books of Hours.71 Finally, Barozzi confessed to have collected Greek and Latin magical books and to have experimented even in conjuring demons.72 The other charges and confessions are related to magical and divinatory rituals. Although the prayer of Cyprian is not mentioned anywhere in the entire sentenza, we can draw a link to the banned books. Furthermore, Barozzi was also accused of having abused sacramental items like consecrated water and oil.73 We have already seen the example of Jacintho García, who had used or abused ecclesiastically consecrated objects in his healing rituals, even though our text of the prayer of Cyprian does not prescribe the use of materia magica. Barozzi was ultimately sentenced to a fine of 100 ducats and imprisonment for an indefinite period.74

In sum, the Inquisition fought against the use of certain devotional prayers primarily because they were seen as potential vehicles for superstition, magic, and heterodox beliefs that could threaten Church authority or lead people away from the true faith. Together with the steps taken to prevent the free circulation of prayers and exorcisms, the Catholic Church also worked on standardizing its own rituals during the period of the Counterreformation, ultimately resulting in the Rituale Romanum of 1614, which standardized the practice of exorcism.75

However, the vernacular prayer of Cyprian belonged to a new era. Exorcism had emerged from the domain of the (Greek or Latin-speaking) cleric and had become accessible to everyone, just as Lasterra’s translation of the Latin prayer of Cyprian into Spanish had helped popularize a text banned by the Inquisition.76 In the same period, the famous drama by the Spanish poet Pedro Calderón de la Barca (El Mágico Prodigioso, 1637) shows how popular the legend of Cyprian had become on the Iberian Peninsula. And finally, the numerous vernacular versions from Spain, Portugal, and France in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries demonstrate that the Inquisition had only a temporary success.

Conclusions

The prayer of Cyprian in the European vernacular languages has received increased attention in recent decades. These versions originate from a Greek version presented above. It is probably impossible to reconstruct the original text today from the fifteenth-sixteenth century manuscripts. As the translations of the text of the prayer into other languages clearly show, the prayers were part of a living literature that was updated with every copy and every new translation. A comparison of the texts, however, reveals the close connections among the Greek, Latin, and Iberian versions.

The origins of the Greek prayer can no longer be precisely determined today.77 The legend of Cyprian of Antioch began to spread in the Eastern Roman Empire in the fifth century. Long exorcisms and prayers for healing similar to the prayer of Cyprian can be found in Byzantine euchologies, the oldest evidence of which is the magnificent Barberini gr. 336 from the eighth century,78 but it was not until the beginning of the second millennium that collections of exorcisms appeared in the Greek-speaking world, similar to developments a few centuries later in the Latin West.79

Humanism and the Renaissance brought the Greek prayer of Cyprian to the European West. The path that I have traced above, based on the descriptions of the manuscripts, leads from East to West, via southern Italy and Sicily, and via Venice, which at the time had extended its sphere of influence far into the Greek world, including Crete and Cyprus, and which had close contacts to Constantinople. The prayers thus offer a magnificent example of the long-term historical and literary processes of translations from the Greek East via Latin into the Western vernaculars.

In the sixteenth century, a new era began, with the translation of the already Latinized prayer into the vernacular languages. With the change in language, the prayers also underwent a popularization. They became an instrument for healers and exorcists outside the Church and thus also entered into competition with the sanctioned rites of the Church. Here, from the middle of the sixteenth century, devotional prayers as well as exorcisms were closely observed by the Church. Hence, the prayer of Cyprian was also found in the Inquisition trials.

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1. 1 The origins of the Greek prayer can no longer be precisely determined today. The legend of Cyprian of Antioch began to spread in the Eastern Roman Empire in the fifth century. Long exorcisms and prayers for healing similar to the prayer of Cyprian can be found in Byzantine euchologies, the oldest evidence of which is Ms Barberini gr. 336 from the eighth century, but it was not until the first half of the second millennium that collections of exorcisms appeared in the Greek-speaking world. The development of such collections in the Latin West has been studied by Chauve-Mahir, L’exorcisme des possédés, 313–34. The Greek tradition predates the Latin development by several centuries, see Strittmatter, “Ein griechisches Exorzismusbüchlein” and Jacob, “Un exorcisme inédit” for two earlier examples.

2. 2 On the legend, martyrdom, and the spread of the cult, see Krestan and Hermann, “Cyprianus II,” and Vaucher “Orationes Sancti Cypriani,” 25–30.

3. 3 The legend of Cyprian and Justina was mainly recorded in three source writings in Greek: the conversio, a novelistic account in which Cyprian converts to Christianity after his failed attempt to win Justina; the so-called poenitentia or confessio, an account in which Cyprian confesses in the first-person singular all his infamous deeds as a magician and idolater and hopes for forgiveness from the Church; and the martyrium, the account of the martyrdom of Cyprian and Justina. It is generally assumed that these three texts were written in Greek in the fourth and fifth centuries, see the new edition with introduction and commentary in Bailey, “Acts of Saint Cyprian.” Most later revisions are dependent on these three writings: the metaphrasis of the Byzantine empress Eudocia (ed. Bevegni, Eudocia) or the Latin Legenda aurea of Jacob de Voragine (Graesse, Legenda aurea, 632–36) are famous examples.

4. 4 “Xάρις δὲ αὐτῷ ἐπηκολούθησε κατὰ δαιμόνων, καὶ πᾶν πάθος ἰᾶτο,” Bailey, “Acts of Saint Cyprian,” 136–37.

5. 5 More detailed on the rhetorical means in the prayer of Cyprian as well as in related Greek prayers in Vaucher, “The Rhetoric of Healing.”

6. 6 On the use of historiolae in magic, see Frankfurter, “Narrating Power” and “Spell and Speech Act” with more literature. On the personification and role-plays in magic, see Chiarini, “Ἐγώ εἰμι ῾Ερμῆς,” and Vaucher, “The Performance of Healing.”

7. 7 Chauve-Mahir, L’exorcisme des possédés, 329. On the difficult demarcation of magic, ritual, and liturgy, see Sanzo, Ritual Boundaries, and Vaucher, “Gebet, Exorzismus und Magie.”

8. 8 Pap. Heidelberg PSR no. 820, Bilabel and Grohmann, “Studien zu Kyprian dem Magier.”

9. 9 The best discussion of Christian phylacteries is still de Bruyn, Making Amulets Christian.

10. 10 A clear definition and demarcation have not yet been established. It should be noted that Christian exorcisms are closely related to baptism and the confession of sins, but also to the healing of illnesses. Prayers for healing, such as those found in the Greek Euchologies, are therefore also related to the prayer of Cyprian.

11. 11 https://pinakes.irht.cnrs.fr/notices/oeuvre/15062/, last accessed February 20, 2025.

12. 12 Chauve-Mahir, L’exorcisme des possédés, 313–34.

13. 13 See Barberiato, “Magical literature,” 164 for other reasons of small-sized books, including, for instance, lower production costs and the simple fact that smaller books could be more easily and more rapidly hidden.

14. 14 Feron and Battaglini, Codices manuscripti, 157: There is a prayer for the sick attributed to Saint John Chrysostom, one attributed to Saint Gregory, a phylactery in the name of Saint Sisinnius and Sinidor, and another prayer by Saint John Chrysostom.

15. 15 Gamillscheg, Repertorium der griechischen Kopisten (= RGK) III 339. According to this, an invocation contains the name of Cyprian of Calamizzi, a Calabrian healer and saint, see Mercati, “Un santo della Calabria.” Healing prayers were also attributed to him in other manuscripts, such as the oratio in infirmos printed in Vassiliev, Anecdota Graeco-Byzantina, 323 from Cod. Vindob. philosoph. 178, f. 31; the same prayer is found in Vat. gr. 1538 (V2) and Marc. gr. App. II.163 (Pradel, Griechische und süditalienische Gebete, 20). In V1 the same prayer is attributed to Saint Chrysostom.

16. 16 Giannelli, Codices Vaticani Graeci, 167–71. Batiffol, “La Vaticane depuis Paul III,” 186, see also Mercati, Per la storia dei manoscritti greci, 96.

17. 17 Batiffol, “La Vaticane depuis Paul III,” 184.

18. 18 Giannelli, Codices Vaticani Graeci, 100–9, see also Almazov, “Chin nad besnovatym,” 4–6.

19. 19 Marina’s description of her life as a demon vanquisher fits into the corpus of exorcisms, see Drewer, “Margaret of Antioch.” We may wonder whether, in the course of a long exorcism, the Vita was also read aloud over the person fallen ill.

20. 20 See above, no. 15.

21. 21 Batiffol, “La Vaticane depuis Paul III,” 190, no. 3, quotes f.1r: Librum hunc è Mileto Romam translatum à fratre Felice Centino Ord: Minor(um) t(i)t(uli) sancti Laurentij in Pane et Perna Cardinali de Asculo nuncupato Ep(iscop)o Maceratensi Bibliothecae Vaticanae dono ipse dedit.

22. 22 Coxe, Bodleian Library, 13–15.

23. 23 Boncompagni, “Intorno alla vita,” 795–848; I was not able to consult Rose, A Venetian Patron.

24. 24 De Maria, “Francesco Barozzi,” 219–29. A wonderful splendor edition can be consulted on https://www.jstor.org/stable/community.14624194, last accessed February 19, 2025. Incidentally, the Oracula are also included in manuscript V1 together with the prayer of Cyprian, see Devreesse, Codices Vaticani, 169–72. This manuscript is notable for its drawings of wondrous animals within the Physiologus and also for its Greek-Latin bilingualism.

25. 25 Coxe, Bodleian Library, 387–89, where the prayer is attributed to Cyprian of Carthage.

26. 26 Hutter, Corpus der Byzantinischen Miniaturenhandschriften, no. 146.

27. 27 Gamillscheg and Harlfinger, Repertorium der griechischen Kopisten (RGK IIa), no. 527. Omont, Inventaire sommaire, vol. I, 46.

28. 28 Martini, Catalogo di manoscritti greci, vol. 1, 82–83.

29. 29 Davies, Grimoires, 28; Rigo, “Hermetic books.”

30. 30 Geanakoplos, Byzantine East and Latin West, 112–64; Barberiato, “Magical literature,” 161.

31. 31 Geanakoplos, Byzantine East and Latin West, 13–15 calls Calabria a “leading outpost of Byzantine influence in the West.” On Sicilian and south Italian spells, see Pradel, Griechische und süditalienische Gebete, and Schneegans, “Sizilianische Gebete.”

32. 32 Basset, Les apocryphes éthiopiens; Grohmann, “Studien zu den Cyprianusgebeten,” Bilabel and Grohmann “Studien zu Kyprian dem Magier.” An Arabic prayer from Lebanon (undated) can also be found in Tallqvist, Zwei christlich-arabische Gebete.

33. 33 Strelcyn, Prières magiques, L–LII; Macler, “Formules magiques,” esp. 28 on the manuscripts, to which should be added Sachau, Handschriften-Verzeichnisse, 589–90. On the Armenian texts s. Wingate, “The scroll of Cyprian.”

34. 34 Almazov, “Vracheval’nye molitvy,” 131–45 from Bibl. Sofia Cod. 869, ff. 187v–194v.

35. 35 Vicente, “El libro de San Cipriano,” and Vicente, “O Máxico San Cipriano.” A French version inserted in the village parish registers of Bosdarros in Southwestern France in 1790 has been reproduced by Desplat, Sorcières et Diables, 64. On the classification and circulation of related orationes, such as that of Saint Marta, see Fantini, “circolazione clandestine,” 62–63.

36. 36 Chauve-Mahir, L’exorcisme des possédés, 330 s.

37. 37 Not to be confused with the prayer of Cyprian are the Latin orationes Cypriani, which are sometimes attributed in the literature to the Antiochian saint, but which have been handed down in the corpus of writings of the Carthaginian bishop of the same name and have nothing to do with the prayer of Cyprian discussed here. See Vaucher, “Orationes Sancti Cypriani.”

38. 38 Smid, “Catalan Saint Cyprian Prayer,” 289.

39. 39 https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k851256q/f1.item.r=oracion%20devotissima%20de%20san%20cipriano

40. 40 Sherman, “Hernando Colón.”

41. 41 It is listed in the Forbidden Prayers Digital Library, https://forpral.uab.cat/prayer/oracion-de-san-cipriano/

    with reference to the catalog entry https://explora.bnc.cat/discovery/fulldisplay?context=L&vid=34CSUC_BC:VU1&search_scope=MyInst_and_CI&tab=Everything&docid=alma991002898469706717.

42. 42 Smid, “Catalan Saint Cyprian Prayer.”

43. 43 Fantini, “catalogo bibliographico,” 613 provides evidence of several mentions of the prayer of Cyprian in trial records from the Archivio del Sant’Uffizio in Modena from the years 1571-1608. The inquisitors were instructed to register the existence and titles of the forbidden texts before handing them over to be burned, see Fantini, “catalogo bibliographico,” 599–600 and Fantini, “Censura romana, 240–41.

44. 44 The prayer of Cyprian has not yet been studied in this respect, but there are numerous obvious parallels to the exorcisms of the Byzantine Euchologies; see Vaucher, “The Rhetoric of Healing” with further literature.

45. 45 However, Vicente, “O Máxico San Cipriano” (without page numbering) also knows longer versions of more recent date, which correspond more closely to the Greek original, e.g. Verdadera Oración de los Gloriosos Mártires San Cipriano y Santa Justina, acompañada de la SS. Cruz de Caravvaca. REus, imp. y Librería de Juan Grau. Barcelona, nineteenth century (pp. 10 ss. in the PDF): “Yo no sabía tu santo nombre y terrible, altísimo Dios, más ahora se que tú eres, Dios mío, Dios fuerte, Dios grande, Dios omnipotente, + que habitas en gran luz y eres loable en los siglos de los siglos. En otro tiempo no conocía yo vuestra bondad ni vuestro poder, y Vos veíais los maleficios que yo esclavo del demonio hacia mezclándome con su potestad. Ataba las nubes y no llovía sobre la haz de la tierra, y la yerba de la tierra se secaba y los árboles no daban sus frutos; y me paseaba por medio de los ganados extraviándolos y haciendo que se perdieran. Con mi gran astucia y malicia ligaba las aves del cielo y los peces del mar, y los peces no surcaban las olas del mar, y las aves no volaban por los aires; del mismo modo ligaba las mujeres embarazadas y no podían parir…”

46. 46 Bilabel and Grohmann, “Studien zu Kyprian dem Magier,” 236 ss. offers a text based on manuscript A1 that differs in many respects. For the sake of clarity, I will not reproduce it here. The motifs of the “bindings” before the conversion are at least the same, though the text has been inflated even more by insertions.

47. 47 I provide a transcription (with some assumptions) based on photographs of the manuscript. A Hungarian translation by György Bednárik can be found in Smid 2022.

48. 48 https://forpral.uab.cat/prayer/oracion-de-san-cipriano/. Last accessed February 19, 2025. The text in Lasterra, Liber exorcismorum is closely related, with some linguistic differences but identical formulations and structure.

49. 49 The Greek manuscripts are all issued to a specific name, see Schermann’s apparatus.

50. 50 See Vicente, “El libro de San Cipriano,” 18.

51. 51 Davies, Grimoires, 44–138. See Kieckhefer, Forbidden rites with further literature.

52. 52 Chauve-Mahir, L’exorcisme des possédés, 329.

53. 53 Barberiato, “Magical literature,” 159–60.

54. 54 Smid, “Catalan Saint Cyprian Prayer,” 280; Caravale, “Orazione,” 1141.

55. 55 Davies, Grimoires, 57–67.

56. 56 Martin, Witchcraft, 247; Caravale, Forbidden Prayer, 81–82; Lavenia, “Tenere i malefici.”

57. 57 Smid, “Catalan Saint Cyprian Prayer,” 303.

58. 58 See the note in witness a (BSG 1352), according to which Joachim Gillet, librarian of the abbey, received the book on June 29, 1711: “Mr l’abbé Hoüel, que je n’avois pas l’honneur de connoître, me donna ce livre dans la crainte qu’etant tresdangereux, il ne tombat en mains de personnes qui en abusassent.” https://calames.abes.fr/pub/bsg.aspx#details?id=BSGB10178. The catalog entry also states: “Le catalogue de vente de la bibliothèque de cet abbé en 1735 y atteste la présence de nombreux mss touchant à l’alchimie,” and the collection has a “goût orientalisant,” see http://elec.enc.sorbonne.fr/cataloguevente/notice141.php

59. 59 Such devotional prayers were addressed to saints asking for help or salvation, for example to Helena, Marta, Magdalena etc., see Caravale, “Orazione,” 1141.

60. 60 Caravale, Forbidden Prayer, 192.

61. 61 “Chi dirà, o farà dir questa confessione / trenta giorni per sé o per sua brigata, / d’ogni peccato haverà contrition, / la Maddalena sarà soa advocata…”; cited in Caravale, Forbidden Prayer, 193. Compare the rubric of the prayer of Cyprian in Modena anno 1600: “Questa devota oration de san Ciprian’ è bona contra maligni spiriti, fatture, incanti; chi la dirà o la farà dir tre volte…” (Fantini, “catalogo bibliographico,” 613).

62. 62 “Esta es la muy santa oración del glorioso san Cipriano, la cual fue hecha y ordenada para librar las personas de malos hechos y hechizos, y ojos malos, y malas lenguas, y para cualesquiera (sic) ligamientos y encantamientos, para que todos sean desatados y desligados, y para la mujer que está de parto y para la pestilencia y aire corrupto. La cual oración ha de ser leída tres veces en tres domingos, cada domingo una vez.” (https://forpral.uab.cat/prayer/oracion-de-san-cipriano/

63. 63 Itúrbide Díaz, “Piedad popular,” 338–39.

64. 64 Ibid., 343–44; Smid, “Catalan Saint Cyprian Prayer,” 289.

65. 65 Londõno, “Oración supersticiosa.”

66. 66 Ibid., 685; Fantini, “Censura romana,” 232. Martínez de Bujanda, Index, 516 lists several versions of Catalan and Italian Oracion de sant Cyprian, por si pequeña as well as Oratione de Santo Cipriano Volgare that circulated in the fifteenth/sixteenth centuries. See Vicente, “El libro de San Cipriano,” 15–25. On the development of the index, see Frajese, Nascita.

67. 67 Itúrbide Díaz, “Piedad popular,” 343. On the superstitious in these prayers, see Caravale, Forbidden Prayer, 191–96.

68. 68 Itúrbide Díaz, “Piedad popular,” 344.

69. 69 On the Venetian Inquisition, see Martin, Witchcraft; Barberiato, “Magical literature,” and Grendler, Roman Inquisition. On the Italian Inquisition see also Lavenia, “Tenere i malefici” and idem, “Possessione.”

70. 70 Boncompagni, Sentenza, c. 36v: “attendeui à queste vane et pestifere dottrine, ma anco ne faceui il Maestro alleuando et nutrendo li proprij figliuoli et genero et anco il suo unico discepolo…”

71. 71 Boncompagni, Sentenza, c. 36v: “libri prohibiti et con parole all’hora, et doppo non conuenienti à Gentilhuomo cristiano”; see Rigo, “Hermetic books,” 79. On the books of Hours, see Londõno, “Oración supersticiosa.”

72. 72 Boncompagni, Sentenza, c. 37r: “hauendo fatto diligente raccolta de libri stampati et manuscritti in Greco et Latino che trattauano de Varij sortilegij Negromantia et Arte Magica essercitandoti in quella facesti diuersi esperimenti scongiurationi de spiriti…”; see Martin, Witchcraft, 157.

73. 73 Boncompagni, Sentenza, c. 40r: “in diuersi esperimenti hauer abusato cose sacramentali come Aqua benedetta, Candelle benedette, stola et Camiso da sacerdote, hauuto consecrato oglio s.to benedetto et consacrati lochi et fatto Altari, genuflesso hai inuocato et riuerito con turificationi et finalmente adorati li spiriti maligni…”

74. 74 On Barozzi, see Boncompagni, “Intorno alla vita,” and Rose, A Venetian Patron.

75. 75 Roy, “The Development of the Roman Ritual,” 20 s. The literature on the history of exorcism is vast, see Young, History of Exorcism; Fontelle, L’exorcisme, or Scala, Exorzismus with further literature.

76. 76 Smid, “Catalan Saint Cyprian Prayer,” 290.

77. 77 See Vaucher, “Orationes Sancti Cypriani.”

78. 78 Parenti / Velkouska, L’Eucologio Barberini offers a full edition of the Euchologion and also the best overview of other Euchologies. On euchologies and methodology, see Rapp, “Byzantine Prayer Books,” and Rapp, “Byzantinische Gebetbücher.” Primary collections are Goar, Euchologion, and Dmitrievskii, Εὐχολόγια.

79. 79 See Strittmatter, “Ein griechisches Exorzismusbüchlein” and Jacob, “Un exorcisme inédit.” Other collections are of a later date, e.g. Vassiliev, Anecdota Graeco-Byzantina, 323–45; Almazov, “Vracheval’nye molitvy [Prayers for healing],” 367–514; Almazov, “Chin nad besnovatym” [Ritual for an Obsessed], 1–96; Pradel, Griechische und süditalienische Gebete; Delatte, Anecdota Atheniensia; Delatte, Un office byzantin d’exorcisme; Micaleff, Exorcistic Prayers. On the Latin exorcism books of the Middle Ages, see Chauve-Mahir, L’exorcisme des possédés, 313–34.