To celebrate International Women’s Day, Katie Crowther explores the life of Frances Mary Richardson Currer (1785-1861), a bibliophile and book collector, known for her extensive literary and intellectual accomplishments.
Katie is part of a Culture& funded project, and has been working as a Researcher / Curator with us here at Scarborough Museums and Galleries.
Frances Mary Richardson Currer was an early donor of fossils, minerals, and books to the Rotunda Museum. Though the Victorian scientific world largely excluded women, Currer broke through barriers and was highly respected, especially for her book collection. Despite her accomplishments, Currer chose to remain private and deliberately kept herself out of the spotlight. Currer shaped her own story as one of quiet achievement rather than public fame.
A woman in a man’s world
Frances Currer was born in 1785 at Eshton Hall in Eshton, North Yorkshire. Her father’s sole heir, she inherited his several estates and collections of rare books, minerals, and fossils. This was not a passive inheritance. She developed it into an exemplary collection and deserves to be recognised in her own right. This collection is especially impressive because the nineteenth-century scientific world was extremely male-dominated. Women’s participation in clubs such as the Yorkshire Philosophical Society was treated with resistance, and many women struggled to breakthrough their strict participation rules. Most women were barred from attending lectures or participating in activities. In spite of these hurdles, Frances Currer managed to overcome these barriers and became a well-known name in this world.
A great collector
Currer was famous in her day for her book collection. The bibliographer Thomas Frognall Dibdin for example, said her collection was one of the best in the country. Their extended correspondence suggests a close and professional relationship. Dibdin was a big fan of Currer and, in a letter dated 1837, praised her generosity: “She has a heart as big as St Paul’s Dome and as warm as Volcanic lava, but this is acted upon strangely and capriciously at times.” With Dibdin, Currer keenly engaged in discussions of book prices, sellers, binding methods, and negotiated deals. She bartered with other collectors and expertly moved through this intellectual world. Currer’s collecting went beyond the typical feminine hobbies that were expected of women in the nineteenth century.
Beyond books
Outside of book collecting, Currer was also greatly involved in geology. In one letter, she apologised to Dibdin for ending abruptly because of “fossils to pack for a museum in our neighbourhood” – likely referring to the Rotunda. Currer was also an early member of other national scientific societies such as Paleontographical Society, joining just a year after its foundation. Here she continued to expand her collection of shells, fossils, and prints. This further solidified her position in the scientific community.
Forgotten or never there?
In spite of these achievements, Currer is noticeably absent from nineteenth-century accounts. Currer was clearly involved in leading intellectual circles, but her contributions have been forgotten. This oversight appears to be by Currer’s own design. She was a deeply private person who shied away from fame. When Dibdin requested that she feature in one of his publications, she refused, writing, “I must be silent … I hope you will exclude me – it would be unpleasant to me.” Two years earlier, she also rejected the idea of being the only woman included in his Bibliomania, writing, “it would not be pleasant for me to be in the gallery – the only Lady – so very conspicuous!”
Curating her own story
Currer’s choice to remain out of the spotlight is not a sign of weakness but rather a reflection of her values. Currer moved in a world where women were often pushed aside. In her own way, she resisted this push by embracing a life of quiet achievement. Currer’s story sheds light on the difficulties that existed between gender expectations and intellectual engagement. Her absence from the historical record is less a result of society’s failure to recognise her and, instead, a reminder of how Frances Currer carefully constructed her own story.