When the U.S. Postal Service issues a stamp tomorrow to honor Anna Julia Cooper, she’ll be remembered, rightly, as a remarkable woman. Born into slavery around 1858 in North Carolina, Cooper earned a degree in mathematics but also taught Latin and Greek. As principal of the nation’s best public high school for black children, she fought for high educational standards and prepared her students for top universities. In essays and lectures, she addressed racism, the concerns of black women, and other issues of the day. When women’s rights groups turned out to be white women’s rights groups, she started her own.
But Anna Julia Cooper was also a Charlemagne buff—and an inspiration to exhausted grad students everywhere.
From 1911 to 1913, Cooper spent summers studying French literature and history in Paris. In 1914—at the tender age of 56—she enrolled in the Department of Romance Languages at Columbia University with plans to earn her doctorate. Scholars of medieval French literature were clamoring for an accessible version of the epic Le Pèlerinage de Charlemagne to replace a hard-to-find German edition, and Cooper gave them one, but Columbia didn’t grant her a degree. As a widow raising her dead brother’s five children while holding down a full-time job as a teacher and principal in Washington, D.C., she couldn’t fulfill the one-year residency requirement.
In response, Cooper sought out a university with no such requirement. The Sorbonne accepted her credits but her work on the Pèlerinage didn’t meet their dissertation requirements, so Cooper wrote a second dissertation. In 1925, she earned a Ph.D. from the Sorbonne and found a Parisian publisher for her edition and facing-page translation of Le Pèlerinage de Charlemagne. She was 66 years old.
Cooper’s Pèlerinage was never published in America. When she offered the book and all its proceeds to her alma mater, Oberlin, the school hemmed and hawed—and then nervously declined. Even so, the book was the standard edition and translation for decades, American libraries and language departments sought it out, and several pages were included in an anthology of medieval French literature reprinted as recently as the 1960s.
Beyond its manageable size, it’s not clear what drew Cooper to the Charlemagne project she cheekily called her “homework,” but few American teachers have so aptly encouraged students, then or now, through indefatigable example. Cooper, who lived to be 105, understood the pedigree of that tradition:
Being always eager to carry out your wishes faithfully, I have sent back to you this dear pupil of mine as you asked. Please look after him well until, if God so wills, I come to you myself. Do not let him wander about unoccupied or take to drink. Give him pupils, and give strict instructions that he is to teach properly. I know he has learned well. I hope he will do well, for the success of my pupils is my reward with God.
Alcuin wrote that. It’s a Carolingian sentiment, but one that Cooper, a proper medievalist, could easily endorse.
9 thoughts on ““Ran down, and the lady said it…””
[Disclosure: I help USPS research the subjects that appear on stamps, but I didn’t work on this one.]
Thanks for this.
Seconded: this is a lovely and trenchant post.
I had never heard of her before, but now feel that her story being memorialized on a stamp has been long overdue. Thank you for this post.
Thanks, Jeff. Wonderful post.
But confess now; is there a ghost of Alcuin who whispers to you at night while you sleep, guiding you to these odd but factual Carlemagne threads that connect the modern world to medievalism?
John: I wish! If that were true, I’d be far more prolific. In this case, I have a coworker to thank.
Thanks, Jeff. Great post.
Hey, thanks for the inspiration! I started taking Latin courses at 50 and feared I was to old to get anywhere. But maybe like Cooper I am only at the half-way mark!
(Loved your book, by the way I even got a friend to read it (she also loved it) but I’m sorry to say I lent her my copy instead of encouraging her to buy her own.)