Personal records are considered to be the foundation of historical research, and those of the relatively unknown English educational reformer, Constance Louisa Maynard (1849â1935), do not disappoint. Her archives, located at Queen Mary University of London, inspired my biography of a successful yet self-tormented woman whose Evangelical-based atonement theology shaped every aspect of her life. Indeed, Maynard adopted faith to justify her possible sexual liaisons with young college women while insisting they practice celibacy for God. She did not view her same-sex behaviour as aberrant. âSex feelingâ was after all that between a man and a woman. The true Christian âmust relinquishâ all feeling for salvation in the Hereafter.1
Maynardâs archives are more compelling for the history of female sexuality because she lived before and during radical changes in ideas about sexuality. When she learned of the new psychoanalytical theories that classified ânormalâ (heterosexual) versus âabnormalâ (all other) sexuality, the elderly Maynard still claimed her past college friendships were faith-based, even as her own self-perceptions about same-sex desire slowly evolved. Nor did she perceive her power-based interaction with students as we might today. Maynardâs life story confounds the usual activities and meanings normally attributed to late-Victorian femininity and sexuality.2
Most historians strive for objective solidly-grounded findings, but an archive as rich as Maynardâs seduces our identification with raw materials. This researcher was tempted to imagine inhabitingâeven âknowingâ â a world quite different to her own.3 Yet as Carol Mavor notes, âflirtingâ with the past âkeeps our subjects aliveâ, and our research stays âripe for further enquiryâ. In other words, we should be creative in the archive and be prepared to re-think our methods according to what we might discover. Laura Doan advises historians to critically ââlook throughâ the archives to see what is unknownâ rather than to provide answers to questions that we already know. Sally Newmanâs finding âtraces of desireâ in a single postcard, for example, culminated in her alternate reading of Victorian Vernon Leeâs same-sex past.4 This article traces my personal journey through the archive and scholarly domain to illustrate how this researcher was implicated in reconstructing Maynardâs sexual past.
Historiography on Havelock Ellisâ new theories of âsame-sex devianceâ suggests that sexology had little impact upon late-Victorian womenâs sexuality. Sex between women was inconceivable to society, and thus, their erotic relations were acclaimed as wholesome precursors to heterosexual love and marriage. The idea of romantic friendship seemed vital to Maynard. Socially ostracized as a single educational pioneer, she had âa deeply rooted hungerâ for college womenâs âloveâ.5 Even so, the nature of her bonds remains obscure because she similarly to the few other women who left records during this era, adopted a typical late-Victorian propriety about sex. Womenâs silence about same-sex acts prompted pioneering historians to assume varied stances on the contribution of romantic friendship to the history of sexuality that featured their erotic-platonic nuances.6 Current scholarship follows Judith Butlerâs and others idea of identity formation(s) as fluid, interchangeable constructs that evolve over time. Nonetheless, as Doan has recently noted, the focus on portraying sexuality as identit(ies) obfuscates sexuality as tool(s) of power, which has been excluded from studies on sexuality and lesbian history due to its connotations of female-female sexual abuse.7 Maynardâs archives, however, suggest that hierarchical-based eroticisms in female relationships were prominent in her diverse experiences as an educational pioneer.
My interpretations of Maynardâs relationships with women were inspired by recent insights of historians, Sharon Marcus, Anna Clark, and Julian Carter. Their re-interpretation of such bonds as that between friends, sisters, and mother-daughter as being a shared femininity rather than a lesbian or incestuous one, helps clarify how such forms of intimacy did not de-stabilize Victorian heteronormativity. In addition, while Victorians encouraged feminine âattributesâ of passion, piety, and altruism, their romantic friendship created opportunities for women to explore forms of desire and aggression they could not display in relation to men. Such theoretical queering of femininity helped in my analysis of Maynardâs particular same-sex experiences as an educational pioneer.8
A similar argument can be made about the fluidity of the relations between gender, sex and religion. Faith was crucial to Maynardâs understanding of her same-sex self-consciousness and her power as an educational pioneer. Yet surprisingly little scholarship has examined Victorian womenâs interconnection of faith, ambition, and desire: historians of women have tended to focus on womenâs use of faith for social demands, whereas Victorianists have placed sexology at the center of late-Victorian/Edwardian thinking about sex.9 It is only recently that such scholars as Joy Dixon, Lesley Hall, and Sue Morgan have recognized that the intermingling of discourses of sex with issues of faith was as distinct to late-Victorian womenâs experiences as it has been for individuals in all ages. Meanwhile Frederick Rodenâs and others âqueeringâ of Victorian religion reveals how some women adapted their faith to transgress a patriarchal society tolerant of female friendship.10
My initial interest in Maynardâs archives was inspired by Martha Vicinusâ allusion to Maynard in her groundbreaking work on bonds among college women. Vicinus explained college âravesâ as vital to college womenâs fight for higher education to gain independence from prescribed domesticity. A rave was largely demonstrated through pious husband-wife role playing even if it was seen by college women and society as a romantic friendship sublimated to heterosexual role-playing. Writing in 1982, Vicinus described Maynard as an emotionally naive pioneer, who âhid behind a façade of self-effacing Christianityâ rather âthan admit her powerâ.11 My own reading of Maynardâs private writing would in contrast compel me to describe her as a powerful woman who was far from emotionally passive.
I began my research on Maynard in 1997 not knowing quite what to expect. I visited the Westfield and Queen Mary Archives (as they were called then) to examine Maynardâs and other primary documents affiliated with Westfield.12 Maynardâs voluminous archives are rich in description about her upbringing and life experiences as an educational pioneer. Her small leather-bound green book and diary that she wrote faithfully from late adolescence until her death at eighty-six record multi-faceted accounts of her public and private life. Maynardâs diaries, together with her various journals, correspondence, and publications, are summarised in her autobiography for periods of her life for which no diaries exist. Still unfinished when she died, Maynard bequeathed her myriad documents to five close friends, with the request that her life story be completed. Historian Catherine B. Firth published in 1949 the sole biography on Maynard, entitled Constance Louisa Maynard: Mistress of Westfield College that focused on the Christian Maynardâs life as an educational pioneer. Writing during an era silent on sexuality, Firth was so âstart[led]â by Maynardâs passionate outpourings that she voided Maynardâs plea, âdonât forget the love dear. What I shared with others must not be hidden.â13
I found numerous passages in Maynardâs diaries that describe her feelings as an educational pioneer. Such textual evidence proved exhilarating, though I struggled to decipher Maynardâs languages of love. Archivists Anselm Nye and Lorraine Screene suggested other unpublished sources, including Maynardâs sundial diary and personal correspondence, Minutes of Council, and Westfield College Alumnae, Reminiscences and Memorabilia. Subsequent visits were for âlooking throughâ such published works as We Women: a golden hope (1913), and The Life of Dora Greenwell (1926). I also accompanied Janet Sondheimer, author of Castle Adamant (1983), to Hampstead to see the two semi-detached three-storey red brick houses that were the original Westfield until it relocated in 1891 to a stucco mansion to accommodate the increased student body. It was upon entering Maynardâs rooms at the âsecondâ Westfield that I âflirted withâ the idea of âshar[ing] with othersâ Maynardâs âtruth in loveâ.14
I turned first to Maynardâs diary (1871â1935) since it contains straightforward narratives of her social and public life. Most entries are brief and factual about an upper-middle-class woman who travelled extensively with her family to Europe or visited âEnglandâs finestâ cathedrals, museums, and âsplendidâ exhibitions that displayed such innovations as âthe electrical experimentation with wireâ. Maynard was raised by a devout mother of French Huguenot faith who âscorned the âfrivolousâ wrongdoing [dancing and drinking]â of their society. Her imperialist father also denigrated âhuman depravityâ, but workers were particularly âwretched and immoral degeneratesâ. Not surprisingly, her parentsâ class, race, and faith-based views shaped Maynardâs sense of religious and social superiority over most Victorians when she became an educational pioneer.15
The early diary introduces the reader to âthe Billâ. This was a work timetable that Maynard instituted in 18...