“Fait à mes heures de loisir”: Women’s Private Libraries as Spaces of Learning and Knowledge Production

Abstract

The Duchesses Elisabeth Sophie Marie (1683–1767) and Philippine Charlotte of Brunswick- Wolfenbüttel (1716–1801) both owned substantial collections of several thousand books. Elisabeth’s library primarily contained theological literature, including 1200 Bibles and a unique collection of texts by Martin Luther, which she used to compose theological pamphlets. In addition, she granted access to her collection to selected scholars who, in turn, used the holdings for their research. Although more diversified, Philippine Charlotte’s library functioned as a similar meeting place for scholars of the region and beyond. Moreover, her papers offer an insight into the interaction between her book use and the writing that she did in her free time. In contrast to the usage practices of the neighbouring ducal library, Philippine Charlotte was free to consult the books she wanted in the privacy of her chambers for as long as she wanted to and, most importantly, without fear of being judged. It is certain that, in both cases, the privacy of the library gave the women the freedom to pursue intellectual interests, which were hard to combine with their public role as Duchesses. The fact that both women expanded their libraries considerably after becoming widows only supports the observation that private and “leisure” time could take more space. Based on these findings, this chapter argues that women’s learning and knowledge production in the early modern period both benefitted from and, in many cases, needed privacy.

Not much is left of the papers of Philippine Charlotte (1716–1801), Duchess of Brunswick-Lüneburg, except two boxes of seemingly random documents.¹ The hotchpotch includes descriptions of festivities, poems, book excerpts, and short texts gifted to her by her children. Most remarkable are her writings, which disclose the duchess’s main areas of interest and her reading preferences. The engagement with philosophical and historical content was a favourite pastime. But it is not only the contents of the writings which are remarkable. Especially one little detail is incredibly revealing of the significance of these writings for Philippine Charlotte’s everyday life: she dated her works with the apposition “made in my leisure time” (“fait à mes heures de loisir”), justifying her activity by marking it as her private amusement.² The clarification must have been vital to her and shows how she made a clear difference between her official duties and her private life, following the Encyclopédie’s definition of “loisir” as the empty time beyond all obligations, which can be spent guided only by one’s taste.³ For Philippine Charlotte, learning and knowledge production clearly belonged to this realm, which was far away from idleness. She did so following her time’s ideals, which claimed that education needed the freedom of time. In this sense, claiming your own leisure time was an act of gaining independence, of conscious emancipation from the constraints that duty inflicted on the Duchess.⁴

According to these observations, I argue how the availability of this leisure time and the private spaces in which it could take place enhanced the making of knowledge and how especially women’s learning and participation in scholarly discourse needed privacy. I will do this by using the example of the private library, which I will consider not only as a repository for knowledge but as an instrument for learning and “an institution actively engaged in the production of knowledge.”⁵ By doing so, I consider a wide variety of knowledge practices that allow us to shift the focus away from the big names of intellectual history towards the diversity of practices ‘from the margins.’⁶ In the first part, I will review the use of the term private library, which is widely adopted in historical research but only rarely discussed in depth. In a second step, I will introduce the libraries of the two Duchesses. Both the aforementioned Philippine Charlotte as well as one of her predecessors, Elisabeth Sophie Marie, owned substantial book collections, which can serve as examples for my arguments. The third subchapter is dedicated to their concrete book use as well as practices of reading and knowledge production. Finally, I will give an outlook on further research, giving impulses for book collection studies that go beyond the individual and their reading practices towards a holistic view of the collections and their functions.

The Ducal Libraries: Private Collections?

The library that is known today as the Herzog August Library (HAB) was one of the most renowned book collections in seventeenth-century Europe. After Duke August’s death, his successors soon lost interest in taking care of what was sometimes referred to as the “eighth world wonder.”⁷ Not only was maintenance too expensive, but they also preferred investing money in their personal book collections instead of the “great library,” as they called it. Most of the members of the ducal family owned a substantial amount of books. The majority of these collections were bequeathed to the Wolfenbüttel library after the death of their original owners. The volumes constitute the bulk of today’s historical eighteenth-century collection.⁸ Together with the books came the individual manuscript catalogues, inventory lists and personal papers of the collectors, which allow us to reconstruct the collections in great detail.⁹ The documents draw a multifaceted picture of book use: the volumes were consulted for personal learning, they were employed in the children’s education, they were placed at the disposal of others, and, of course, they were read for pleasure.¹⁰

Book history and library studies usually employ the term private libraries when talking about these personal collections. Referring to German-speaking research, Wolfgang Adam characterised private libraries as the result of individual (or group) initiative in a non-institutionalised context. The composition of these collections is essentially shaped by the taste and preferences of their owners. Adam explicitly specifies that the use of the term private in this context only refers to the Latin connotation of privatus, relating to the fact that the collection is a separate unit.¹¹ This notion corresponds to early modern source terms, which do not use the word private but seem to denote this separation in different ways: in contemporary catalogues, we find the term Handbibliothek or Kabinettbibliothek. In these cases, the privacy Adam describes is primarily a spatial dimension, which seems to fit the situation at an early modern court, where the libraries were situated in their owner’s apartments, separated from the official court libraries.¹² Another notion found in the research literature is the idea of private ownership as opposed to a ‘public’ and institutional use of books, meaning that they were available as a common good. This perception is also mirrored in the Oeconomus prudens by Franz Philipp Florin: princes should have a library for the “whole land’s good use,” and beside the “big library,” they often have a “Hand-Bibliotec.”¹³ This usually relates to the libraries’ funding, as people bought books with their own capital, making them “private property.”¹⁴ Beyond that, much research has been done on early modern private libraries that implicitly transcend these early modern definitions of “private” without actually engaging with the terminology.

In many cases, today’s notions of privacy play a considerable role in the evaluation of libraries. This is especially noticeable in the case of female-owned book collections. Private libraries usually help reconstruct their owners’ biographies, showing their collection and reading preferences, apparently revealing inner constitutions.¹⁵ On the other hand, some research reject the idea of a private sphere at an early modern court altogether, making the public library the default mode for court libraries, whatever their owners.¹⁶ Considering the set of problems concerning the public/private divide, both approaches can best be described as unsatisfactory. Without the claim of presenting a nostrum, this chapter wants to enhance the critical discussion on private libraries and their role in the production of knowledge at early modern courts by proposing a praxeological approach, focusing on book use and personal interactions with libraries.¹⁷ Drawing upon the specific cases of two Duchesses from the principality of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, such an approach can disclose the different heuristic zones in which the women operated and enable us to ask: what was private in their private libraries?

Elisabeth Sophie Marie and Philippine Charlotte of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel

The collections of the Duchesses Elisabeth Sophie Marie (1683–1767) and Philippine Charlotte (1716–1801) of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel combined consist of 9000 volumes, which for the most part remain at the Herzog August Library until today.¹⁸ The collections are a real treasure trove, enabling us to observe the women’s collecting practices, reading habits, and knowledge production, which have been severely neglected in collection studies for many years.¹⁹

The first collections I want to consider belonged to Elisabeth Sophie Marie, the daughter of the Duke of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Norburg and Bibiana von Promnitz.²⁰ After her parents’ early death, she was brought up at her custodian’s court in Wolfenbüttel. Therefore, it is safe to say that, although not much is known about her upbringing and education, she was at least closely surrounded by books and scholarship for most of her childhood. In 1701 she married Adolf August, heir to the throne of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Plön, who died already in 1704. She took over as regent for her infant son. Only two years later, her son died at the age of four. Elisabeth Sophie Marie lost all her official duties at court and was left with no security. The marriage to her much older cousin, August Wilhelm of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel in 1710 was a way to gain at least some financial stability. But the Wolfenbüttel family’s hopes to produce an heir through this alliance remained unfulfilled. The marriage was childless, and after August Wilhelm’s death in 1731, the members of a junior branch of the family became the new rulers. Elisabeth Sophie Marie was allowed to stay in her residence in Brunswick and was mostly discharged from her obligations, which is why she could pursue her own interests for a long time. Elisabeth died in 1767, surviving her husband for 36 years.

As a widow, Elisabeth Sophie Marie started a collection of 1200 Bibles which she displayed in her apartments and which she bequeathed to the Wolfenbüttel library two years before she died.²¹ Until then, they were her private property, financed by her fortune. In Wolfenbüttel, a separate cabinet was set up for the collection, decorated with the duchess’s portrait and an inscription.²² Still today, the Bibles form a separate collection and are exhibited in their own Bibelsaal. Additionally, Elisabeth Sophie Marie owned many non-biblical books that were probably arranged as a separate collection, forming the actual Bibliotheca Sophiniana. These books only arrived in Wolfenbüttel after her death and were soon integrated into the general holdings. Even though these collections are such an essential part of today’s Herzog August Library holdings, they have never been examined systematically. Beyond seeing the Bibles as a statement of Elisabeth’s strict Lutheran faith, neither the collector’s motivation has been questioned, nor the logistical or financial aspects have been discussed. It is inscrutable how one of the largest and most significant Bible collections in the German-speaking lands has widely been ignored by researchers over the past 300 years.

The second ducal library that serves as an example is the one of Philippine Charlotte. She was born in 1716 as the fourth daughter of Frederick William I of Prussia and his wife Sophia Dorothea of Hannover and thus the sister of the future Frederick II of Prussia, known as Frederick the Great.²³ Like her brother and many of her other siblings, Philippine Charlotte quickly developed a particular interest in music and reading. At the age of 17, she married Karl, who was to become the ruling prince of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel in 1735. Together they had thirteen children. In 1753 the court moved from Wolfenbüttel to its new residence, Brunswick, where Philippine Charlotte lived until her husband died in 1780. She then moved—accompanied by her books—to a smaller house in Brunswick, which allowed her to stay close to her family and enjoy the city’s comfort until she died in 1801. Philippine Charlotte declared in her will that her books and her library’s furnishing “with no exception” were to go to the Wolfenbüttel library.²⁴ This shows clearly that the books were her private property. We know that substantial parts of the collection stem from a personal inheritance,²⁵ some of the books were gifts.²⁶ But the majority of the books were probably acquired with her own money, although evidence for the funding is lacking. Compared to Elisabeth Sophie Marie’s collecting practices, Philippine Charlotte’s book collections were at least selectively considered by researchers over the past years.²⁷ Still, a profound and systematic examination of the 4000 volumes the duchess assembled throughout her life is lacking. The books of this impressive collection remain widely untouched in the Herzog August Library’s stacks, all the while holding great surprises for book historians.

The Duchesses’ Book Use and Knowledge Production

What the duchesses had in common, other than their status, was their substantial book ownership as well as their intense engagement with their collection. Although their main collecting focus was very different, both libraries ended up at the Herzog August Library. Moreover, accompanying papers like manuscript catalogues and personal writings found their way into the library’s archives, which makes the collections compared to other female-owned libraries exceptionally well documented. All of these sources become witnesses for practices of collecting, classifying, reading, compiling, taking notes, organising, learning, and writing—in short, their book use and practices of knowledge-making.

As described above, Elisabeth Sophie Marie’s collection was essentially split. Her famous Bible collection had a public scope. Not only would she guide her visitors through her “treasure”, as she expressed it, but she also advertised her Bibles. In the Lutheran tradition, the Duchess was convinced that true faith could only be discovered through the study of the original Word and built her collection with this epistemological purpose in mind. Hence, she decided to have a complete catalogue of the collection published and a series of “historical-critical news” about a few hundred selected Bibles.²⁸ These publications were to serve the scholarly community and the advancement of exegesis and theology. In 1752, the scholarly journal Göttingische Zeitung von Gelehrten Sachen praised the collection, saying “that until now the whole world has not seen the like of it.”²⁹ The fact that her collection was an essential go-to for visiting scholars from the region and beyond is also documented in her guest book.³⁰ As we can conclude from a series of book dedications, the books were not only admired during the visits, but quite a few scholars used the unique holdings for their knowledge production. One example of a publication that was prepared with the help of Elisabeth’s collection is Johann Karl Koken’s (1715–1773) new German Bible edition from 1750, for which the editor collated the different Bible texts that he could find in the collection.³¹

Not many written records relating to the Bible collection exist. The library archives hold an annotated copy of the printed Bible catalogue, which lists the Bible collections’ acquisitions as far as the twentieth century.³² This is a fantastic source for analysing growth and loss, but it only gives scarce insights into Elisabeth Sophie Marie’s collecting practices. Luckily, most of the Bibles still exist at the Herzog August Library today and can be examined physically, holding wonderful surprises like original autographs by Martin Luther or annotations by former owners. It becomes clear that the duchess was a trophy hunter, looking for exceptional pieces and spared no expense to pursue her goal of assembling a unique collection. But the collection was not only of high material value; for Elisabeth Sophie Marie, it had a significant spiritual value as well. In this sense, the most telling evidence of her relationship to her collection is a poem she wrote about her Bibles: Elisabeth states that whoever chose “god’s words as treasures” could not be richer; no thief can ever steal them. God’s words will always belong to her, even after her death, when they still fortify her.³³ Elisabeth, therefore, established a very personal relationship with her books that guaranteed a direct path to God.

The non-biblical part of Elisabeth Sophie Marie’s book collection was probably mainly for personal use; we know that they were kept as a separate entity. In this sense, it is more critical to an analysis of private practices of knowledge-making. Unfortunately, not many sources give insight into Elisabeth’s concrete collecting and working practices; the library archives do not hold personal documents. However, we have an incomplete manuscript catalogue of the collection that was written after the books came to Wolfenbüttel and which lists only the folio and quart volumes.³⁴ Still, it allows us to reconstruct the library at least in parts and identify the physical presence of Elisabeth’s books in today’s holdings. Besides, we were able to gain knowledge about the physical properties of the collected volumes. That facilitated a thorough autopsy of the Herzog August Library stacks, which so far revealed a few hundred more volumes that have been part of the Bibliotheca Sophiniana.

Furthermore, we can assume that the duchess used her literature for her writings. Already in 1714, she published a comparison of Tridentine and Lutheran doctrine, commenting on the dogmata with Bible passages.³⁵ The topic still occupied her in 1750 when she wrote a new treaty on Catholic doctrine, making fair use of her theological literature, citing from books that she owned.³⁶ Both publications show how the Duchess used the knowledge she gained from her books to contextualise her own faith, demonstrating an understanding of opposite beliefs and actively engaging with them. Her library can thus be understood as a window into an otherwise foreign world, which she used to better understand herself and those surrounding her. That way, she followed the Advis of Gabriel Naudé, who sees in the library a chance to gain knowledge in all arts and sciences to “deliver oneself from the servitude and slavery of certain opinions.”³⁷

Taking a close look at the actual book copies, we can find small hints on book use. In some sporadic cases, Elisabeth indicated the reading dates on the end paper. These show different reading speeds: for some books, she took months; others were read in only a few days. The Duchess also read a book twice in a very short interval. For the vast majority of her books, she had them bound according to her own taste in leather or vellum. Usually, she added her bookplate, decidedly marking ownership (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1

Exlibris of Elisabeth Sophie Marie © Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel http://diglib.hab.de/drucke/th-2235/start.htm?image=00002 [21.12.2022]

In some cases, she compiled miscellanies for specific topics: A compelling case is the Konvolut von Pietistica, for which she combined 29 texts of pietist content and had them bound.³⁸ Some of these texts were very rare, being controversial pamphlets belonging to the realm of dissident literature and thus hard to find in other libraries. Such literature was better kept away from curious eyes, as the risk of misinterpretation and consequent judgement was omnipresent, especially for a public figure. Besides theological literature, Elisabeth had quite a significant amount of Oeconomica, books that concerned administration, agriculture, and the so-called Hausväter literature. We can assume that she used these books for her continuing education, seeing as she was known to be a gifted administrator. During her husband’s government, Elisabeth had a particular influence on financial politics. After his death, she managed her allodial lands with success, becoming financially independent.³⁹ In this sense, the book might be seen not only as a spiritual investment but also an economic investment in her worldly existence.

Philippine Charlotte’s book collection had a different objective. Although she was in close contact with many scholars of the time whom she invited into her library—some professors from the famous Collegium Carolinum visited frequently—she would buy books essentially for her personal needs.⁴⁰ With her guests, she would discuss current scientific and cultural topics, making her library a place for sociability. Much like Elisabeth Sophie Marie, Philippine Charlotte would personalise her books, binding them in brown leather and marking her ownership by a supralibros with her initials (Fig. 2).

Fig. 2

Supralibros of Philippine Charlotte © Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel http://diglib.hab.de/drucke/te-389/start.htm [21.12.2022]

The first sources that report on her substantial book collection are dated to 1754 when the court moved from Wolfenbüttel to Brunswick and she had a catalogue made for the new set up.⁴¹ Considering this very practical application field, we can imagine that the catalogue served both as an inventory and a finding aid for the book’s new location. That is one example of how catalogues and their structures were often the results of very practical problems; the order of knowledge was situational. The catalogue, which documents about 2000 books between 1754 and 1764, was written by Georg Septimus Andreas von Praun (1701–1786), who from 1751 onwards was the main librarian of the ducal library in Wolfenbüttel. He had a close relationship with the ducal family and Philippine Charlotte, but it is unclear if he had an official function taking care of her book collection. Although it might have been him who came up with the classification system, we can be sure that Philippine Charlotte was involved in every single step concerning the organisation and contents of her library and took care of many things herself.⁴² In any case, the catalogue is a witness of the great care with which Philippine Charlotte ordered her librarian to document the collection. Together, they made efforts to combine optical criteria with systematic criteria, making the library both a place one would want to spend time in and a knowledge resource. The catalogues combine specifications about the book’s location and classifications. The entries show the exact shelf positions of every book that was chosen for the new set-up. She also had thematic and alphabetic indices to ensure that users easily find what they are looking for or even discover new literature that fits their interests. Besides these finding aids, additional information is bound in the catalogue volume. For example, it includes a letter to Philippine Charlotte’s book agent and a sketch of the bookcases that were specially made for the library. Altogether, the documents draw a picture of the significance the books—and also their dedicated room—had in Philippine Charlotte’s life. Two later catalogues that count a total of 4000 books were made after her husband’s death in 1780 and probably mirror the new arrangement in her widow’s seat.⁴³ Although they are not systematically evaluated yet, they show acquisition strategies and a certain shift of emphasis. One detail seems especially interesting: Philippine Charlotte‘s first catalogue does not contain a single entry of a book in German. The later catalogues list a few, among them 22 works by Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, at that time librarian in Wolfenbüttel. That corresponds to her increased interest in German-language belles lettres, a topic that also occupied her on a more theoretical level.⁴⁴ Even more revealing to her interests than acquisitions are the books themselves. Philippine Charlotte not only invested much time in the design and arrangement of her books; she also spent her free time reading and writing. As we know from her letters, Philippine Charlotte’s books were an essential part of her everyday life, and she attributed an important influence on her physical and mental well-being to them. She would read for personal edification, especially later in life “to keep her mind from rusting.”⁴⁵ Similar to Elisabeth, she, therefore, considered the library as a personal sanctuary. Her books and papers combined give insight into the interaction between her book use and her writing, as I indicated already at the beginning of the chapter. She left substantial marks in many volumes, mostly by underlining relevant passages. Philippine Charlotte’s selected underlining demonstrates how she used her books to extract information relevant to her and her intellectual world. Sometimes, she chose just a few sentences; other times, she marked whole passages. If we compare the books she read intensely to the notes she left in her papers, we can see that she first underlined the things that seemed important to her and, in a second step, summed them up in a structured way. Sometimes her notes are just one page long, but for the history of the French kings, she wrote close to fifty pages.⁴⁶ In Philippine Charlotte’s case, we have many witnesses for her eagerness to learn and educate herself. She would not only write short essays on different topics, but she also used her library to look up unknown terms and definitions. Her papers contain lists of philosophical, geometrical, and anatomical vocabulary that she produced, most likely to fill knowledge gaps. In this context, her interest in the reproductive system is perhaps most insightful: her glossary contains the terms vagina, testicles, and sperm. Perhaps the library’s private space was what allowed her to read up on topics that had been neglected in her formal education. What is more, many of Philippine Charlotte’s efforts can be understood as strategies to gain better self-knowledge, which included an understanding of her own body, mind and soul—topics that frequently return in her writings and correspondence.⁴⁷

Private Knowledge Spaces: Concluding Remarks

Research on the libraries of the Wolfenbüttel Duchesses is still in an early stage. Maybe due to gender biases, their knowledge production and contribution to scholarship were mostly overlooked or downplayed with terms such as ‘dilettante’ or ‘amateurism’—contrasting them to professionals and experts. Although the term private library has frequently been used to describe the Duchesses’ and their family members’ libraries, the spaces have never been systematically analysed with a specific heuristic concept in mind. It is evident that the Duchesses’ libraries correspond to Wolfgang Adam’s definition of a private library. They were segregated and specifically dedicated spaces as well as an integral part of their own households. However, I would argue that the term private can be used in a more specific way in these cases.

On the one hand, it seems that the question of funding is an essential one. In contrast to the Wolfenbüttel library, both Duchesses’ books were their personal property and not funded by official budgets. Like with other personal objects such as jewellery, they were free to dispose of the books in whatever way they wanted. With their respective decisions to hand the books down to the Wolfenbüttel library, they initiated the transformation of private property into publicly available holdings. Indeed, using the Wolfenbüttel library, which was very close to the castle Philippine Charlotte lived in for almost twenty years, was apparently not a favoured option. Book ownership seems to have been an essential advantage for women. In contrast to borrowing or consulting books at the public Wolfenbüttel library, private books could be used in accordance with personal needs: highlighting, adding marginalia or taking notes was only possible in one’s own copies. Moreover, the Duchesses were free to consult their books whenever and for how long they wanted, reading passages repeatedly or looking up words. These practices were favourable to the women’s learning, making the possession of books an essential element of their knowledge production.

Even though the Duchesses both opened their libraries to a selected public, they were used as retreats. Elisabeth Sophie Marie and Philippine Charlotte invited private guests; they designed the spaces to their own needs and bought the books according to their personal taste. Especially the analysis of the women’s book use reveals how they perceived their libraries as informal spaces. As pointed out at the very beginning of the chapter, Philippine Charlotte would spend her free time—unbothered by official representational duties—with her books. The women did not only use their libraries for their purely intellectual or spiritual advancement but were eager for practical, i.e. medical or economic knowledge, which complemented their formal education and might not have been freely available elsewhere. We can safely assume that the availability of private space and leisure time was an essential intensifier for the women’s possibility to participate in public discourse.

Moreover, we have seen that the books had a part in their edification, their well-being, and, finally, their physical and mental health, for both Duchesses. Looking at their respective age, using their collections as a cure against “rustiness” seems to have been very successful. Besides, gaining and producing self-knowledge was a central function of the libraries. The book collections were part of a Selbstbildungsprozess⁴⁸ in a double sense: They were part of the women’s self-education as well as their emancipative subjectification. The concept of privacy at court and its relationship to the public is currently widely discussed; twilight zones must be frequently supposed. Still, I would argue that the libraries were spaces of privacy, where the duchesses could be alone and were able to write, read, and think unobserved—or to receive visitors and talk freely to them. It is probably not a coincidence that both women expanded their libraries considerably after becoming widows and making the libraries central spaces of their new residences. For the Duchesses, it was precisely this realm of informality and privacy that allowed them to pursue their intellectual interests, which were hard to combine with their public roles.

Based on the two case studies’ preliminary findings, three aspects seem to be especially promising for future research on private libraries and practices of knowledge-making. Firstly, although the two examples presented here represent two substantial collections, similar female libraries existed in significant numbers. These libraries are quite often well known in terms of their contents, reading preferences, and critical areas of interest have been identified. That is an essential first step but cannot be a substitute for an analysis of collecting practices and book use. Reading traces like underlining or notes, in particular, give essential insights into these women’s learning. Extensive comparative research, for both protestant and catholic areas, is needed to get a complete picture of female strategies of participation in a knowledge society. Secondly, the basic definition of a private library is concerned with a spatial dimension. In that sense, it will be necessary to ask further questions about the libraries’ locations inside the princely apartments and the furnishing. Moreover, it seems necessary to evaluate who had physical access to these spaces. This is particularly important if we are to understand the intimacy of the spaces provided to the Duchesses. This brings me to the third aspect. Even though books and bodies do not seem to have much in common at first glance, the Duchesses’ handling of their books has an immediate physical dimension. For now, Elisabeth and Philippine Charlotte give us only small impressions on how to think corporality, book collections and (self-)knowledge practices together, opening up additional dimensions of the private library. Especially Philippine Charlotte’s interest in anatomical knowledge leaves us wondering if the women needed private spaces to learn and produce knowledge about their own bodies or indeed other specific female knowledge—with the well-known result that it is hard to find in sources and has therefore been ignored by researchers for too long. If this is the case, the examples of the two private libraries show that it is worth being persistent. If we assemble enough pieces of the puzzle, however small they are, we will gain a better look at the whole picture.