Martha Vicinus is Professor of Enghsh Literature and Women's Studies at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, and is an editor of Feminist Studies.
She has edited and introduced several collections of writings, notably Suffer and Be Still: Women in the Victorian Age (1972) and A Widening Sphere: Charging Roles of Victorian Women (1977). Her latest work is a collection of articles, edited with Martin Duberman and George Chauncey Jr., Hiddenfrom History, Reclaiming the Gay and Lesbian Past (1989).
Knowing her work on girls in boarding schools and her radical ideas on this topic, we traveled to Denmark, where she was on tour, to interview her.
The interview is enriched with quotes from her chapter "Women's Colleges, an Independent Intellectual Life," in Independent Women: Work and Community for Single Women 1850-1920 (1985).
It can hardly be called a disease unless it reaches a feverish and inflamed condition. Unfortunately this is nearly always brought about by the clumsy fingers of the unloving, which, in school, as well as outside, must always interfere with what they do not understand. In truth the world has always been afraid of love, and until it can be made to realize that here is the one thing that is right and beautiful in all its shapes, persecution followed by distortion is bound to carry on its work.1
Martha Vicinus: The English upper-classes have always sent their children away to school for varying lengths of time. Historians have long noted the strong homosocial bonds created among "Old Boys" from such famous public schools as Eton, Harrow and Rugby; as adults they have loyally supported each other, whether in the military, foreign service, politics, or the professions. For many Englishmen, the emotional bonds formed as children in school have remained their strongest and happiest relationships; marriage has paled in comparison with these friendships.
Traditionally, girls were sent away later and for a shorter period of time. Nevertheless it is well worth looking at boarding-school experiences as a source of information about crossgenerational love between women and girls. During the second half of the nineteenth century, reformers founded new schools which rejected the family model of an earlier age, when a small number of girls of all ages lived and studied together under the close supervision of one or two women. These new institutions were larger, divided pupils by age-specific grades, and taught an academically demanding curriculum. Older, domestic ideals continued, but the new woman teacher and the girl student were both expected to take a broader view of their responsibilities, and to combine school loyalty, public service, and study.
Within these schools we find a new kind of passionate homosocial relationship between teachers and students. A study of the elite boarding schools—those most influential in defining girls' education for late Victorian England—reveals a closed world that encompassed a heady mixture of intellectual opportunities, emotional growth, and personal development. Like the better-known boys' schools, intense homosocial bonds were the backbone of corporate life. Young adolescent girls, freed for the first time from immediate family constraints, were encouraged—within limits—to lavish their affections on an older student or teacher. The admired, unmarried teacher, sometimes herself involved in a long term relationship with another teacher, was expected to nurture the moral and emotional life of the young girl.
Often, intense friendships developed between teacher and student. Inevitable tensions also arose: the girl's mother might be jealous of the teacher, the teacher hurt by the capriciousness of the girl, and the girl herself baffled and disoriented by the conflicting emotions she had aroused both within herself and those she loved. Late Victorians viewed these friendships, whether between two students or a student and a teacher, as a natural prelude to marriage. They were a kind of education of the senses which prepared a girl for entry into heterosexual love. As one etiquette writer explained, "...perhaps not even her acceptance of a first lover is a more important era in the life of a young girl than her first serious choice of a friend."2
Marjan Sax and Sjuul Deckwitz: Your book deals with the Victorian and late Victorian era. How would you describe the attitudes towards love between women and girls during this period?
Ideas about "love" between women were certainly different from what they are nowadays. Not only were "Boston marriages" between mature unmarried adult women tolerated, but cross-age relations were an accepted part of growing up. Their danger came only from excess. Aside from the pioneering sexologists, such as Havelock Ellis, lesbianism was classified with prostitution, as a sexual deviancy that befell the lower classes. Nevertheless, if you define an emotion as valuable only as long as you don't go too far, you face the difficulty of defining what is "too far." The Victorians were often uneasy about excessively intimate relationships between middle-class women.
In my book, Independent Women, I suggested that both the girl and the teacher admired selfcontrol as a means of intensifying their love for each other. In effect, self-control became the ideal solution to the much-debated problem of emotional excess.
At the end of the nineteenth century, educated women were especially eager to prove that they were able to control their feelings, that they were not irrational. This generation of teachers, who were more educated and had chosen a career in education, wanted to prove that women were capable of using their minds and of being selfcontrolled. They were reacting against the emotionalism, the excessive maternalism, of the old style family-based schools and also against the popular notion that a woman could only think with her feelings. The girls were repeatedly encouraged to subsume their personal desires to the greater good of the school, for the cause of women's education, or for England's role as a world leader.
Emotional self-control taught you how to be a better woman. The reward was an intensification of your own feelings and a sense of becoming a better, more effective woman in the world. It was almost as if love were defined as a special treat that could not be consumed lest it be lost. Yet, by savoring one's feelings, indeed, exploring them verbally—through the exchange of letters and private conversations, that love would become even more intense, more pleasurable. There's a passage in a letter I found by the devout Evangelical, Constance Maynard, that really captures this combination of love and self-discipline, of satisfaction through the suppression of desire, that characterized the period. The "her" she is referring to is one of her students:
What was the reaction of the young girls to this kind of advice?I told her how the capacity for loving always meant the capacity for suffering, & how I should expect the utmost self-control from her; I should expect it continuously, I said, & never say "Thank you," for I belonged to the cause, the object, not the individual, & all students must be alike to me.
And then, coming closer yet, I told her that self-control was not needed for the sake of appearances only, but for our own two selves, for real love, "the best thing in the world," could be a terribly weakening power... We both agreed that a denial such as this, enforced upon a part of our nature, was a sort of genuine satisfaction to another part, to the love of order, of justice, of doing something great & public.'
The students would sometimes take the initiative. The interesting thing is that what the Victorians called a "rave" or a "pash"—for passion—began with a series of services, often secret, on the part of a student who hoped the beloved teacher would eventually reciprocate. The girl would bring her beloved flowers, clean the blackboard for her, remember her favorite books. Now, obviously, such small acts of homage were rarely sufficient to satisfy a young girl who was, in the slang of the day, "gone on" a teacher. When her feelings became more than just admiration, what would happen next?
I think we can assume that the admiration sometimes translated into something more, into sexual gestures, but we don't really know. There were relatively few opportunities for a sexual relationship. The girls were always in large dormitories, though of course that doesn't mean that a girl couldn't steal into a teacher's room. I think some of them did.
There was also a good deal of mutual surveillance among the pupils. Quite frequently, particular teachers were singled out for admiration by several girls; they would spend delicious hours discussing their favorite's clothes, mannerisms and habits: a kind of sharing of one's rave, saying "isn't she wonderful," and then they would all talk about what she wore and what she did, did she look at me, that sort of thing.
The girls openly discussed their feelings, as, I think, a way of gaining attention. By bragging about how much they were in love, they gained status among their peers, who were also in the process of discovering their erotic desires. But something was also held back, perhaps as a form of self control: the secret kiss or the special look when you gave her flowers. Falling in love, you want to tell the whole world, but you also want to keep some things to yourself.
There were also holidays, which were a setting away from school where teachers and pupils could nonetheless be together. I know of an occasional case of a girl going on vacation alone with a teacher, but she was usually part of a small group—a tour of France to improve your French or to see the cathedrals. Here too there would be group control, but common sense tells you that where there is a will, there's a way—provided both sides are willing. A lot of girls also begged their raves to write to them during the holidays, to give them advice while they were away from school and in the midst of numerous worldly temptations.
This balance between closeness and distance took other forms. Private talks between the teacher and student could offer intimacy without loss of distance. The teacher, or an older student who sometimes taught a younger girl, retained her privileged position of moral instructor. Minor sins, school infractions, and spiritual struggles could be discussed at great length, encouraging a self-examination that became fertile ground for further intimacies, confessions, and avowals to do better. Passion was transferred to a spiritual realm, which made it more accessible, more manageable, and somehow more satisfying.
In these women-girl relationships, was the distance that you are describing always maintained?
It's an interesting question, but there isn't much evidence about what would happen if the love of the younger girl was reciprocated by the older woman. Everyone then, as now, assumed that a crush was a temporary stage for the girl. She was an object of concern: not that she would become fixated on a particular teacher, but rather that she would start on the downward path to lesbianism. You know, what if they continued in that relationship into adulthood?
The teacher was always regarded as the powerful figure in the setting. But my theory is that as soon as the woman in any way capitulates, the power then moves to the younger partner. This comes about I think because the younger partner is the explorer. She is changing, moving between different worlds; she is about to enter society, and leave school behind. And, of course, any sign from the beloved teacher is a victory for the young girl; she has won because her admiration has been rewarded.
The consequences for the teacher seem more obvious. As the experienced adult, she was expected to understand the waywardness of the young, and to use her love to guide the girl during her brief infatuation. But she was clearly taking risks in opening herself to the young girl. Probably most teachers did so very rarely. A woman might already be involved with a fellow teacher, or be engaged to a man. Perhaps she enjoyed the admiration, but avoided any sexual contact. I haven't met a teacher yet who doesn't want to be admired! Whatever the case, the teacher had to be prepared for rejection, for the brutal callousness of the young.
How did the woman deal then with the attentions of the young girl?
They very often spiritualized it. Constance Maynard, whom I used as an example before, became deeply involved in the spiritual life of her favorite student, Mary Tait. Mary was an adolescent who found her life at home distasteful and boring. She hated her family obligations. Maynard wrote to her encouraging her to develop greater self-discipline, to be more self-sacrificing. Their correspondence gives a sense of moving out of the mundane into the rarefied atmosphere of spiritual strivings. just before the end of the Christmas holidays, Mary wrote back to her teacher to tell her how thrilled she was with her teacher's approval:
Maynard, the Evangelical, prayed for Mary. She carried Mary's letters with her and felt, as she described it, "a secret unaccountable gladness of heart." Mary however, began to wilt under the pressures exerted by her teacher. After Constance reprimanded her for a poor effort on her drawing class exam, Mary wrote back:You can't think how delicious it is to know you are pleased. It is awfully severe sometimes to do what is right, but I always think of you & it becomes quite easy to do it.4
Constance was heartbroken, interpreting her rejection not as stemming from the fickleness of an admittedly spoiled girl, but instead as involving the loss of a soul. Maynard then wrote in her diary:I was not aware that drawing was a subject of such extreme importance... I AM indifferent to everything except that you should not take everything I do so much to heart.5
Oh Mary, Mary, I loved you, love—do you know what that means?... Oh my child my child, are you lost to me indeed? and I was the link through which you were dimly feeling after a higher life—are you lost to that too?6
I think this is an important example of what went on in woman-girl relationships. Mary wanted to overturn the discipline of her family life. Of course, she was naturally reluctant to embrace the discipline Constance's love offered her. She escaped into her circle of adolescent friends, leaving Constance as forlorn as any rejected mother or lover. Idealized self-control and spiritual seeking could not be very satisfying to Mary, but that's precisely what Maynard was basing her emotional life on.
Now, what would happen if the girl were a disturbing force who interrupted a happy relationship?
The teachers may have encouraged self-control, but their pupils may not have obeyed! The accounts I know of that describe such a situation—a kind of classic love triangle—are all from the perspective of the young, naive girl. Then too, they date from the twentieth century, and present the situation negatively. For example, Dorothy Strachey Bussy's famous tale of a tragic adolescent crush, Olivia, written in 1933, ends in the suicide of one of the teachers and the breakup of the school. It is not clear from the text whether Olivia is the cause of the breakup between the adored headmistress and the unstable MIle. Cara, or whether she is the precipitating factor in the breakup of an already precarious relationship. The intriguing question is why Bussy distorted her actual experience at a French boarding school around the turn of the century, so as to create a tragic conclusion that did not actually occur. In the following quote, the head mistress equates victory with self-control, and defeat with starting a "forbidden" relationship.
You describe the boarding schools as a threat to the nuclear family around the turn of the century. As you wrote in your book:It has been a struggle all my life—but I have always been victorious—I was proud of my victory." And then her voice changed, broke, deepened, softened, became a murmur: I wonder now whether defeat wouldn't have been better for us all—as well as sweeter." Another long pause. She turned now and looked at me and smiled. "You, Olivia, will never be victorious, but if you are defeated"—how she looked at me! "When you are defeated"—she looked at me in a way that made my heart stand still and the blood rush to my face, to my forehead, till I seemed wrapped in flame.7
The schoolgirl-teacher friendship fell under attack for numerous reasons. It was . . . deeply threatening to the nuclear family, for it fostered a very different kind of relationship from the traditional one a girl had with her mother or a wife with her husband.
The schools failed to replicate the family atmosphere they praised because the self-control they advocated was not equivalent to the suppression of self recommended by mothers. The latter was an unconscious sacrificing of personal wishes and desires to the ambitions and goals of husbands and families. But self-control implies a conscious control of impulses that have reached awareness through an atmosphere conducive to self-examination. The result of this process was self-knowledge and self-development.
As you yourself summarize this process:
Put simply, these single-sex homoerotic friendships undercut the family. The heightened self-knowledge implied by such a relationship pointed in the direction of personal autonomy and independence, an independence that few heterosexual relationships ... could sustain.8
Were the homosocial relationships between teachers and pupils the only threatening force to the nuclear family?
We know so much about life within the walls of girls' boarding schools because they were very visible, upper-class institutions at the end of the nineteenth century. There were very few other places where women could have so much power, as rulers of an all-female world. They were a training ground for women. Of course the etiquette books that warned girls about "pashes", mentioned Sunday School teachers, aunts, cousins or friends, and later, Girl Guides. But the elite schools were supposed to be training girls to become wives of England's elite—and civic or philanthropic leaders. Thus, their potential danger as an attractive alternative to heterosexuality was taken quite seriously.
There is another aspect I want to ask about, and that is the adult woman's perspective. You wrote:
Could you also describe for us how the same attitudes might have changed, or not have changed, in the twentieth century?On the surface it might have seemed to the Victorians that adult women's homoerotic friendships were, as they have been labelled by psychoanalysts, immature. Rather, they should be seen as an effort to balance three problematic areas: sexuality, spirituality, and power. All three existed in highly disguised forms for a Victorian single woman.9
Homosocial relationships between women probably increased in the twentieth century, at least through World War II, because the number of opportunities grew dramatically. Adolescent girls were channelled into high schools, the Girl Guides, sports teams, etc. More girls and young women were spending time away from their families, in women's organizations, where they might meet an admirable older woman. Cross generational bonds were becoming more visible at the same time that women were demanding a larger public role and the new theories of Kraffit Ebing, Havelock Ellis, and Siginund Freud were being popularized.
The so-called advanced novelists of the twentieth century, like D.H. Lawrence, were subjecting the cross-age pash to a Freudian interpretation. In Lawrence's novel, The Rainbow, published in 1915, he describes the heroine's "sick" relationship with a school teacher, and her feeling of freedom when she casts the woman off, and finds a man. He even gives her a number of false heterosexual starts, as if he were trying to document the variety of sexual experience a modem woman could have before finding her real self. That is a self, however, whose deepest identity is dependent upon sexuality.
You might also say that Lawrence's negative view of the teacher-pupil relationship was a kind of discrediting of the admiration/love complex. But Lawrence wasn't alone in trying to discredit it, there was a lot of outside pressure about this, not only by novelists and psychologists, but also at a more popular level, through the press. This occurred, we must remember, during the years of the militant suffrage movement. No wonder commentators were frightened! I think that the spinster school teacher was especially powerful, but also especially vulnerable at this time—she was economically independent, and her private life did not depend upon heterosexuality. Thus, anyone trying to shore up the family and fight the demands of the suffragettes would see her as dangerous. One journalist decried the fact that the influence of mothers has been largely superseded by what he called "female celibate pedagogues."10
We have to be careful, though, not to put the whole blame on so-called "outside forces," on politics, psychoanalysis, the media, for distorting and redefining teacher-student relations. The evidence is much more conflicting than that kind of simple interpretation. Leila Rupp and Verta Taylor, for example, have done some very interesting work on the American Women's Party, a very small group that carried the feminist torch in the forties and fifties. They found in the Party's archives letters from women to the leaders of the Party using practically the same language as the nineteenth century girls in my study."
And the present?
Things are surely different now, though I assume teenagers still have crushes. But both England and the United States encourage co-educational activities from a very early age. The danger now, as these societies see it, is not premature heterosexual activity, but homosexuality. The way to insure against it is to have boys and girls together all the time. Although England was much slower than other countries to become coeducational, recreational activities became much more coeducational following World War II. And there has been the heterosexualizing of girls through advertisements, the media and a variety of popular images throughout European and American cultures. Girls don't have a period any more in which they are not relating to boys, so the homosocial surroundings are disappearing. Homosocial networks are relatively few—indeed, even the Girl Guides organization is more frightened by homosexuality than by heterosexuality. In the US, all the scouts' organizations have become coeducational. To me this is a very conscious effort to stop these relations.
I don't want to sound nostalgic, but schooling in the late nineteenth century can be seen as a historical period in which homosocial bonds could flourish in a very simplified world—and we will never return to that anymore!
Notes:
1. Martha Vicinus, Independent Women: Work and Cornmunity for Single Women 1850-1920 (London: Virago Press, 1985), p. 194.
2. Matilda Pullen, in: ibid, p. 188.
3. Ibid. p. 197.
4. Constance Maynard, unpublished diary, 1879, in ibid, p. 196.
5. Ibid. p. 196.
6. Ibid. p. 196.
7. Dorothy Strachey Bussy, Olivia (London: Hogarth Press, 1949).
8. Vicinus, op cit., p.208.
9. Ibid. p. 200.
10. Ethel Colquhoun, quoted in Vicinus, 1985, p. 206.
11. Leilaj. Rupp and Verta Taylor, Survival in the Doldrums: The American Women's Rights Movement, 1945 to the 1960s (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987)