Heather Rose Jones's Blog, page 113

A Tale of Women at Tournaments

Monday, November 6, 2017 - 07:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Project

This description of a group of flamboyantly-dressed women "crashing" a medieval tournament and setting tongues wagging can't help but send my imagination racing. Think of what a great opening for a movie it would make! It's the sort of image that feels anachronistically modern...except that it was recorded as an actual event in a historical chronicle. And though there may have been some interpretation and exaggeration in the telling, there's no reason to doubt that the essential facts are true. Who were these women? Why did they show up at the tournament in masculine dress? Whose clothing was it? Husbands' or brothers'? Was it planned or spontaneous? Did they try to participate in the tournament itself? If so, did they succeed? What happened afterward? Was "matrimonial restraint" reimposed on them or did the experience change their view of themselves and what they were capable of?

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMP







LHMP #159 Knighton 1995 Knighton’s Chronicle 1337-1396






About LHMP

Full citation: 

Knighton, Henry. 1995. Knighton’s Chronicle 1337-1396. Edited and translated by G.H. Martin. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ISBN 0-19-820-503-1

Publication summary: 

Latin text and modern translation of a historic chronicle of the 14th century.

I don’t usually include primary texts in this project, in part because there’s more value in reading the interpretations of historians (of which I am only an amateur) and in part because the selection and excerpting of relevant sections is itself an interpretation process, which I am hesitant to perform. But in this case the relevant excerpt is short enough to include in its entirety. So I’ve included both the original Latin (for fun) and Martin’s translation.

Martin suggests that the claim that these cross-dressing women appeared at multiple tournaments was most likely a generalization from a single noteworthy event. The claim that they were rained out every time they appeared supports this suggestion, as it seems an unlikely coincidence (excluding the possibility of actual divine displeasure). Martin also suggests that a previous editor is mistaken in locating the tournament in Berwick (a location I included in my previous discussion of this event). The chronicle did discuss a tournament in Berwick in an earlier entry, but this specific description doesn’t indicate a location.

Nota de dominabus in hastiludiis. Illis diebus ortus est rumor et in gens clamor in populo eo quod ubi hastiludia prosequebantur, quasi in quolibet loco dominarum cohors affuit, quasi comes interludii in diuerso et mirabili apparatu uirili, ad numerum quandoque quasi .xl. quandoque .l. dominarum, de speciosioribus et pulcrioribus, non melioribus tocius regni, in tunicis partitis scilicet una parte / de una secta, et altera de alia secta, cum capuciis breuibus et liripiis ad modum cordarum circa capud aduolutis, et 3onis argento uel auro bene circumstipatis in extransuerso uentris sub umbilico habentes cultellos quos daggerios wlgaliter dicunt, in powchiis desuper impositis. Et sic procedebant in electis dextrariis uel aliis equis bene comptis de loco ad locum hastiludiorum. Et tali modo expendebant et deuastabant bona sua, et corpora sua ludibriis et scurilosis lasciuiis uexitabant, ut rumor populi personabat. 

Et sic nec Deum uerebantur, nec uerecundam populi uocem erubescebant, laxato matrimonialis pudicie freno. Nec hii quos sequebantur animaduertebant quantam graciam et prefulgidam expedicionem Deus, omnium bonorum largitor Anglorum milicie contulerat, contra omnes inimicos undecunque eis aduersantes et quali priuilegio triumphalis uictorie in omni loco illos pretulerat. Sed Deus in hiis sicud in cunctis aliis affuit mirabili remedio, eorum dissipando dissolucionem. Nam loca et tempora ad hec uana assignata, imbrium resolucione tonitrui et fulguris coruscacione, et uariarum tempestatum mirabili uentilacione preocupauit. 

A tale of women at tournaments. In those days a rumor arose and great excitement amongst the people because, when tournaments were held, at almost every place a troop of ladies would appear, as though they were a company of players, dressed in men's clothes of striking richness and variety, to the number of forty or sometimes fifty such damsels, all very eye-catching and beautiful, though hardly of the kingdom's better sort. They were dressed in parti-colored tunics, of one color on one side and a different one on the other, with short hoods, and liripipes wound about their heads like strings, with belts of gold and silver clasped about them, and even with the kind of knives commonly called daggers slung low across their bellies, in pouches. And thus they paraded themselves at tournaments on fine chargers and other well-arrayed horses, and consumed and spent their substance, and wantonly and with disgraceful lubricity displayed their bodies, as the rumor ran. 

And thus, neither fearing God nor abashed by the voice of popular outrage, they slipped the traces of matrimonial restraint. Nor did those whom they accompanied consider what grace and outstanding blessings God, the fount of all good things, had bestowed upon English knighthood in all its successful encounters with its enemies, and what exceptional triumphs of victory He had allowed them everywhere. But God in this as in all things had a marvelous remedy to dispel their wantonness, for at the times and places appointed for those vanities He visited cloudbursts, and thunder and flashing lightning, and tempests of astonishing violence upon them.

Time period: 14th cPlace: EnglandMisc tags: cross-dressingcross-gender roles/behaviormartial activity







View comments (2)

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast Episode 15d - Female Knights in Shining Armor

Saturday, October 28, 2017 - 07:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 15d - Female Knights in Shining Armor - Transcript

(Originally aired 2017/10/28 - listen here)

Does your heart thrill at the image of a woman dressed in shining armor, striding out onto the tournament field to engage in combat for the honor of a fair lady? OK, I confess that there was a time during my long years in the Society for Creative Anachronism that I had a secret hankering to be either one or the other of those figures. It was never to be alas.

But in this episode, I’d like to take a look at the motif of women knights in shining armor in medieval and Renaissance Europe, especially when their stories introduce homoerotic elements. This is a much narrower topic than simply that of women in combat in general.  For example, I won’t be talking about pre-medieval warrior-woman figures such as those in early German and Norse sagas, or the many women who passed as men to engage in combat in armies starting from the Renaissance onward. Nor will I be looking at classical stories of the Amazons--though Amazons are going to come up in a bit. This episode is going to be focused specifically on the image of medieval chivalry, on tournaments and quests and King Arthur and all that sort of thing, including how they were portrayed in Renaissance literature.

Jeanne d’Arc

One of the women that comes to mind first when you mention medieval women in armor is the 15th century French heroine Joan of Arc. From very early in her divinely-inspired campaign to support the French crown against the English, Joan wore men’s clothing and armor openly as a symbol that she was leading an army. When she gave testimony in her eventual trial, she argued that wearing men’s clothing was an order given her by God--that she wasn’t trying to become a man, but simply that it was what you wore when you were in combat. Joan carried a sword but testified that in battle she only carried her banner, so that she wouldn’t kill anyone herself. But it’s clear that her physical presentation was important in gaining the support and loyalty of the military forces she meant to lead. Her adoption of male dress also ended up being one of the lynchpins of the English accusations that led to her execution. There was little else they could pin on her, other than being a member of an enemy army.

Order of the Hatchet

In the middle ages, women were involved in most aspects of warfare, purely from necessity, though rarely in an officially recognized fashion. Men had their tournaments and Chivalric orders like the Garter and the Golden Fleece. But on at least one occasion, the valor of women fighting in defense of their city was so outstanding that it was recognized officially. In the mid 12th century in Spain, during the ongoing struggle between Islamic and Christian forces for the control of Iberia, the women of the city of Tortosa took up arms to withstand an attack when troop movements had left the city otherwise undefended. Taking up axes and any other weapons they found to hand, they held off the attackers successfully and with such valor that Count Berengeur who was leading the Christian forces created the Order of the Hatchet to honor them and bestowed it on the women who had fought. This wasn’t purely a symbolic honor, for it came with an exception from taxes, with the right to take precedence over the men of the town in public ceremonies, and the right to style themselves as Knights.

The Tournament Ladies of Berwick

Many social rules were relaxed or abandoned entirely in wartime, and if the women of Tortosa were knighted after the fact for their valor, it didn’t set a general precedent that opened up opportunities for others. But sometimes women don’t wait for permission to cross gender boundaries. A story is given from the 14th century history called Knighton’s Chronicle of a group of women dressing as men to take part in tournaments in Berwick on the Scottish border in 1348.

Tournaments served many purposes: as pageantry, as an opportunity to gather the nobility together for state business, as well as a chance to evaluate the equipment and battle-readiness of the king’s vassals. It also had a touch of the purpose that is more prominent in chivalric literature: as a grand sporting event where there were prizes and fame to be won. The tournaments being held in this time and place were a mixture of those purposes. In the chronicle, the event is titled “A Tale of Women at Tournaments.” The original text is in Latin and this is a modern translation.

“In those days a rumour arose and great excitement amongst the people because, when tournaments were held, at almost every place a troop of ladies would appear, as though they were a company of players, dressed in men's clothes of striking richness and variety, to the number of forty or sometimes fifty such damsels, all very eye-catching and beautiful, though hardly of the kingdom's better sort. They were dressed in parti-coloured tunics, of one colour on one side and a different one on the other, with short hoods, and liripipes wound about their heads like strings, with belts of gold and silver clasped about them, and even with the kind of knives commonly called daggers slung low across their bellies, in pouches. And thus they paraded themselves at tournaments on fine chargers and other well-arrayed horses, and consumed and spent their substance, and wantonly and with disgraceful lubricity displayed their bodies, as the rumour ran. And thus, neither fearing God nor abashed by the voice of popular outrage, they slipped the traces of matrimonial restraint.”

It isn’t clear from the description that the ladies put on armor and participated in the combats themselves, as opposed to simply showing up and parading around. But just imagine the ladies riding on their chargers, with bright garments, swaggering around with daggers at their belts! The chronicler claims that God displayed his displeasure at their antics by sending a thunderstorm, but we’re talking about the British Isles here, so rain isn’t exactly unexpected.

A Tournament of women

In literature, women might participate in knightly tournaments with--if not approval--at least somewhat more admiration and tolerance. A 13th century German story opens in a community where the men have all gone off to negotiate a peace treaty with an invading force, and in their absence, the women decide to hold a tournament. They take on the clothing, armor, and heraldry of their absent men-folk as a means of doing them honor. Some of the women dissent, arguing that they should stick to feminine forms of honor, but those in favor of the challenge hold the day and many valiant deeds of arms are performed.

When the men return, they praise the women for this event, though evidently they get teased for it by men in other regions. One impoverished young woman who participated had no male relatives to honor. So she competed using the name of a famous knight. When he learns of this and comes to investigate the story, he’s so impressed by her that he gives her money for her dowry. (Note how this diverges from fairy-tale expectations--he doesn’t outright marry the girl, but rather he gives her the means to establish her own future.

The women’s adoption of armor and chivalric activities in this story is temporary and overt, with no intent to pass as men. And it is for the specific purpose of engaging in a masculine activity (that is, jousting). One might see it as a limited form of dressing for the job. These limitations may have muted the transgressive power of the activity, allowing the men to see it as praiseworthy rather than threatening.

Yde and Olive

The medieval French romance of Yde and Olive is probably my favorite story of the genre. The central motifs trace back to the classical Greek story of Iphis and Ianthe, as told by Ovid, but the details and the framing story belong solidly to medieval chivalric romance. The story exists in several variants that differ in how the plot is resolved at the end, but since the resolution is kind of disappointing for someone looking for a proto-lesbian love story, I’ll gloss over that part for now.

Like many other medieval romances, the tale of Yde and Olive is part of a long, epic genealogical tale that tells of many generations of heroes and kings. But the part we need to know is that Yde’s mother, who was the most beautiful woman in the world, died at her birth. Yde grows to so resemble her mother that her father develops an incestuous desire for her and to escape him, she runs away and disguises herself as a man.

And, in taking on the disguise, Yde acquires the abilities and mannerisms of a young nobleman. In various adventures, Yde gains a reputation as a valiant knight. She is the sole survivor of a company of the German army in battle with Spanish troops. She successfully defends herself against a band of robbers, assaulting them with coarse language that is in direct contrast with the text continuing to identify her as a beautiful damsel. And when she arrives at Rome to find the King of Rome under siege, she defeats his enemies, resulting in being offered the hand of his daughter Olive in marriage.

Yde offers some protest, largely centered on her own apparent lower social status (although remember that she’s actually a king’s daughter herself), but eventually she capitulates with only a lingering anxiety about how she will successfully perform as a husband. Olive is at first persuaded to wait to consummate the marriage, but eventually Yde confesses her true sex. Olive is willing to go along with the masquerade with various degrees of acceptance or enthusiasm depending on the version of the story you’re reading. I’ll leave the two of them suspended at this point in the story, with the valiant knight Yde being rewarded with the hand of the princess who loves her...because the stories go in various peculiar directions after that. Some day I’ll come back and do an entire episode about Yde and Olive.

Given the context and motivations of Yde's cross-dressing, and the prowess she brings to male-coded activities, it is clear that the presumed relationship between sex and gender is decoupled for most of the story. Unlike in Ovid’s story of Iphis or the story of Silence, which I’ll get to in a moment, Yde is not raised in a male role. It isn't until she is of marriageable age and the specter of incest emerges that this behavioral transformation occurs. Before that, Yde is described in conventional terms for female beauty, but with an emphasis on aspects of her youth (for example, slim hips and barely-developed breasts) that will help enable her male disguise.

One interesting feature of the conventions of medieval romance that adds a twist to stories like this is that the physical ideal of the noble (male) hero is framed in fairly androgynous terms. The ideal heroic knight is young, fair-faced, beardless, tall, slender, and well-shaped in the limbs. Thus, although characters like Yde are given masculine prowess and bravery when they put on armor, there is no need for them to change their physical appearance to be consistent with the ideal knight.

After Yde changes clothing, now her entire psychology, behavior, and abilities shift toward the masculine. Clothing makes her a man. She also follows the standard masculine quest motif: exile from the land of her birth, apprenticeship in martial accomplishments, a rise to prominence, and success in courtship. Yde is automatically brave and skilled in battle--perhaps due to her noble (rather than male) birth--but simultaneously she performs some female-coded behaviors such as mercy (but again, perhaps these acts are coded as noble rather than female). Given the structure of the story, it cannot escape attributing to Yde physical prowess, but this is balanced by continually reminding the reader of her underlying sex by means of feminine reference (calling her demoiselle, pucelle, and other grammatically female descriptions).

This literary depiction perhaps glosses over the physical difficulties of someone raised as a woman who takes up masculine physical activities. But we can compare this with the real-life biographies of women in the early modern period who passed as men in physically demanding roles and were not considered suspect based on their ability to perform them.

The Romance of Silence

In contrast, the romance of Silence--that’s her name, “Silence”--depicts a character identified as female at birth but raised in a masculine social role of a count’s son, skilled in arms and the courtly arts of a knight. But rather than taking for granted a woman’s ability to perform these things simply by virtue of putting on the right uniform for it, one of the major themes of this story is the competing forces of nature and nurture in shaping a person. This is, in fact, played out by personifying Nature and Nurture as speaking characters in the story who show up and hold debates in Silence’s presence at crucial points in the narrative.

Here we have Nature taking delight at Silence’s birth in how she has created the most beautiful girl that ever lived.

Then Nature says, "I would be sorry if anything were lacking." Then with her thumb she forms the space between the two eyes beautifully, and quickly makes the whole face, and traces a well-turned visage and colors it most beautifully. Nature says, "This will be my girl!" The more she applies color to the face, the more the girl's beauty will be enhanced, and the color on her cheeks deepened. She designs the mouth, makes the opening small, and forms the lips to match, places the teeth well and forms the chin--you will never see a more beautiful face. And then she makes a long white neck, and forms the curve of the shoulders along with it. And she makes the arms very straight, the hands small, the fingers long, the bosom well-turned, slender sides; neither serf nor freeman ever saw better. And she makes the hips rounded, the thighs soft and shapely. Nature makes the legs straight, and feet and toes in proportion. Why should I go on like this? You'll probably think it's all a dream. But never, in truth lived a more beautiful creature in this world, nor was anything more lovely ever born.

But the king has passed a decree saying that women aren’t allowed to inherit, so Silence’s parents conceal her sex and raise her as a son. Nature isn’t very happy about this and lets the reader know it.

When Nature realized that they had tricked and deceived her by turning her work into the opposite of what she had turned out, you can imagine how disturbed she was and how much she wanted revenge upon them for changing her daughter into a son, and how much she despised their plan. Oh yes! You can be sure of that right now! "They have insulted me," said Nature, "by acting as if the work of Nurture were superior to mine! By God, by God! We'll see about that!”

But Silence is taken off and raised in isolation, given the schooling necessary for her future. The original text plays with gender regularly in the references, sometimes calling Silence “she” sometimes “he” depending on context. And as the original text is in French, there are other linguistic markers of gender that are brought into play. It should also be noted that the ways in which this medieval text tackles the issue of gender identity is rather different than what’s considered polite in modern society, where phrases like “the he’s a she beneath the clothes” could be considered offensive. But note also that although Silence spends much of the story choosing to move through the world as a man, in the end she chooses to return to living as a woman.

When the child was old enough to understand he was a girl, his father sat down to reason with him and explain the circumstances which had led them to conceal his identity this way. "If, dear son, King Evan knew what we are doing with you, your share of our earthly possessions would be very small indeed. For the king, dear son, disinherited all the women of England on account of the death of two counts in a battle they fought over twin heiresses they had married. Dear sweet precious son, we are not doing this for ourselves, but for you. Now, son, you know the whole situation. As you cherish honor, you will continue to conceal yourself from everyone." And he replied very sweetly, briefly, as befits a well-bred child, "Don't worry the least little bit. So help me God, I will do it. I will conceal myself from everyone."

...

In order to build up his endurance and teach him to ride, the seneschal took him through woods and streams, which were plentiful in the countryside. He took him out often in the scorching heat, in order to make a man of him. He was so used to men's usage and had so rejected women's ways that little was lacking for him to be a man. Whatever one could see was certainly male! But there's more to this than meets the eye--the he's a she beneath the clothes. ... And by the time he was in his twelfth year, none was his master any more. When they practiced wrestling, jousting or skirmishing, he alone made all his peers tremble.

So here, in contrast to Yde, we see the belief that masculine virtues and abilities are something that must be taught, but yet that a female body is still able to excel at. Silence’s adventures begin when she has the encounter in the woods with Nature and Nurture resulting in something of a crisis of identity. Nature berates her for abandoning all the gifts of beauty and grace she had been given and urges her to return to life as a woman. Nurture plays up the consequences of the misogynistic world Silence has been born into arguing to go on living as a man. And now the personification of Reason comes along with the persuasive argument.

“Believe what I say, friend Silence, and forbear! Fortify your heart, for if Nature, who is now pressing you so hard, takes it from you, believe me, you will never train for knighthood afterwards. You will lose your horse and chariot. Do not think the king will go back on his word and acknowledge you as rightful heir, when he finds out your true nature. Reason stayed with him for so long and admonished him so severely that Silence understood very well he had listened to bad advice ever to think of doing away with his good old ways to take up female habits. Then he began to consider the pastimes of a woman's chamber--which he had often heard about--and weighed in his heart of hearts all female customs against his current way of life, and saw, in short, that a man's life was much better than that of a woman. "Indeed," he said, "it would be too bad to step down when I'm on top. If I'm on top, why should I step down? Now I am honored and valiant. No I'm not, upon my word-I'm a disgrace if I want to be one of the women. I was trying to make life easy for myself, but I have a mouth too hard for kisses, and arms too rough for embraces. One could easily make a fool of me in any game played under the covers, for I'm a young man, not a girl. I don't want to lose my high position; I don't want to exchange it for a lesser, and I don't want to prove my father a liar. I would rather have God strike me dead! Whatever Nature may do, I will never betray the secret!"

These thoughts may undermine our sympathies for Silence a trifle, since she seems to have bought into the idea that women live a lesser life and are less perfect beings. But although modern retellings of female knights aren’t always so blatant about it, there’s often a strong streak of “not like the other girls” to the martial heroines. We haven’t entirely risen above the idea that women’s lives in history are simply less interesting and less virtuous than masculine lives, and therefore that historical lesbian fiction requires at least one woman to play a masculine role to make the story worth telling.

In any event, having decided to keep to her masculine role, Silence goes out into the world to have adventures. She becomes both a minstrel and a knight, fights valiantly for the king of France, then arrives in the royal court of England--before the king whose proclamation about women inheriting started this whole thing--and wins great fame there as well. Her plans only start to fall apart when the queen falls in lust with her and makes sexual advances. They kiss: the queen passionately and Silence trying to maintain a chaste response. The reason Silence gives for rejecting the advances is that it would be treachery against the king, though it is also noted that Silence wasn’t interested in responding due to her “nature”. That is, her erotic responses are heterosexual regardless of her outward appearance. The rest of the story goes into some unfortunate tropes about the spurned queen wanting revenge. Unlike the story of Yde and Olive, there is no self-aware same-sex desire here, only something that comes uncomfortably close to transgender panic. Another topic that might be worth examining on its own in a future show.

Renaissance Amazons

Somewhere between the depictions of women putting on armor as women and women in male disguise are the various Amazon characters in medieval and Renaissance chivalric literature. The role of the Amazon is a woman whose nature is to take up arms and participate in battle, not in male disguise, but fulfilling a role that those around her often assume to be exclusively male. Because of this assumption, it’s a regular motif for a woman to fall in love with an Amazon believing her to be a man. What makes the story more interesting is those times in which the romantic desire survives knowledge of the Amazon’s sex. Given the conventions of the literature, we are assured that this desire is vain and futile in the end.

In Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso we find the story of the Amazon Bradamant (and her convenient twin brother Ricciardetto). Ricciardetto is accosted and mistaken for his sister for, as he notes, “we two are so alike (for we were born on the same day) that who is which, our parents cannot say.” This resemblance is enhanced by Bradamant having had her hair cut short as part of treatment for a head wound. The man who accosted Ricciardetto asks him to expand on this.

And thus he did: "My sister, not long since,
Was riding through these woods, unhelmeted:
And, overtaken by some Saracens,
By one of them was wounded in the head.
A passing hermit, using his good sense,
Observing how extensively she bled,
Cut off her golden hair; then on she rode,
Close-cropped as any man, about the wood.

"Thus wandering, she reached a shady fount.
Her wound had weakened her, so she drew rein,
And when she had descended from her mount
She pulled her helmet off and on the green
Young grass soon fell asleep. I'll now recount
The most delightful tale that's ever been:
Out hunting with her friends that very day,
Fair Fiordispina chanced to pass that way.

"She saw my sister as she rested there,
In armour fully clad, save for her face;
A sword was at her side, where women wear
A distaff; as she views the manly grace
Of one she takes to be a cavalier,
Her heart is vanquished, and to join the chase
She first invites her, then contrives ere long
To separate her from the merry throng.

"My sister understood the maid believed
She was a man, and it was evident
Such burning love could never be relieved
By her. 'Better' (so ran her argument)
'This damsel should at once be undeceived
Than she should think me so indifferent.
Better a woman I should prove, and kind,
Than seem a man for love so disinclined.'

Now if Bradamant had returned her love, the story might have taken an entirely different direction. But not feeling the same emotion in return, she figures it’s better to straighten things out promptly.

“Alone with her, where no one could surprise
Them in that leafy, solitary nook,
Her anguished soul reflected in her eyes,
The damsel then began to show with look
And words and gestures and with ardent sighs
Her passion for my sister, whom she took
To be a man; she pales, then, blushing red,
She steals a kiss, so greatly she's misled.

"And this was right, for base it were and weak,
And worthy of a statue, not a man,
When such a lovely maid her love should speak,
So sweet and melting in her languid pain,
To sit inertly by, as mild and meek
As a young owl by day; so she began
To tell the maid she was a woman, not
A manly cavalier as she had thought;

This revelation does not have the desired effect. As the poem notes, “no spark of love is quenched.” And Fiordespina reflects,

"That face on this account is no less fair;
That glance, that grace of manner are the same.
The damsel's heart does not return from where
It sunned itself in the beloved beam
Of those entrancing eyes; seeing her wear
That manly armour which has earned such fame,
Her longing may be yet fulfilled, she thinks,
Then sighs and into deepest sorrow sinks.

Fiordespina, then does what any sensible lovelorn maiden would do: she promptly invites the object of her desire to her house, gives her fresh clothes to wear, and takes her to her bed. Well, maybe that’s not the sensible thing to do after all.

"They lay together in the selfsame bed,
But not the same repose; for while one sleeps,
The other groans and, still uncomforted,
With longing is on fire, the more she weeps;
And if she slumbers, by her dreams she's led
To Fancy's realm, where promises Love keeps,
Where Fate's decrees fond lovers do not vex,
And where her Bradamante has changed sex.

...

"As when a sick man with a raging thirst,
If he should fall asleep, will toss and turn
And, with his lips as fevered as at first,
Will dream of drinking deep at beck or burn,
So in her dreams, when grief has done its worst,
Her longings gain the boon for which they yearn;
But on awaking, with her hand she gropes,
And finds once more that vain are all her hopes.

...

"The day arrived when more reluctant yet
Fair Fiordispina from her couch arose,
For Bradamante said, with feigned regret,
She must depart (from this impasse she knows
There is no other exit than retreat).
The damsel offers her before she goes
A Spanish horse, with trappings all of gold,
A surcoat also, broidered gay and bold.

The motif of an Amazon inspiring a woman’s desire that outlasts the revelation of her sex also appears in Spencer’s Faerie Queen, regarding the Amazon Britomart and the lady Amoret. Now, Britomart in theory has a boyfriend, Artegal, and she is the embodiment of honor and chastity. On the tournament field, everyone takes her for a male knight. Her chivalry and prowess is unparalleled. But after the tournament when it’s time to take off armor...

And eke that straunger knight emongst the rest;
Was for like need enforst to disaray:
Tho whenas vailed was her loftie crest,
Her golden locks, that were in tramels gay
Vpbounden, did them selues adowne display,
And reached vnto her heeles; like sunny beames,
That in a cloud their light did long time stay,
Their vapour faded, shew their golden gleames,
And through the persant aire shoote forth their azure streames.

She also dofte her heauy haberieon,
Which the faire feature of her limbs did hyde,
And her well plighted frock, which she did won

T o tucke about her short, when she did ryde,
She low let fall, that flowd from her lanck syde
Downe to her foot, with carelesse modestee.

T hen of them all she plainly was espyde,
To be a woman wight, vnwist to bee,
The fairest woman wight, that euer eye did see.

Many many verses later, Britomart--her identity concealed--finds herself in the position of jousting for the honor and liberty of the lady Amoret. It’s one of these rather anti-feminist situations where the victor gets the lady and the most the lady can hope for is the least awful result. But fortunately for her, Britomart is victorious!

With that her glistring helmet she vnlaced;
Which doft, her golden lockes, that were vp bound
Still in a knot, vnto her heeles downe traced,
And like a silken veile in compasse round
About her backe and all her bodie wound;
Like as the shining skie in summers night,
What time the dayes with scorching heat abound,
Is creasted all with lines of firie light,
That it prodigious seemes in common peoples sight.

Such when those Knights and Ladies all about
Beheld her, all were with amazement smit,
And euery one gan grow in secret dout
Of this and that, according to each wit:
Some thought that some enchantment faygned it;
Some, that Bellona in that warlike wise
To them appear'd, with shield and armour fit;
Some, that it was a maske of strange disguise:
So diuersely each one did sundrie doubts deuise.

But that young Knight, which through her gentle deed
Was to that goodly fellowship restor'd,
Ten thousand thankes did yeeld her for her meed,
And doubly ouercommen, her ador'd:
So did they all their former strife accord;
And eke fayre Amoret now freed from feare,
More franke affection did to her afford,
And to her bed, which she was wont forbeare,
Now freely drew, and found right safe assurance theare.

Where all that night they of their loues did treat,
And hard aduentures twixt themselues alone,
That each the other gan with passion great,
And griefull pittie priuately bemone.
The morow next so soone as Titan shone,
They both vprose, and to their waies them dight:
Long wandred they, yet neuer met with none,
That to their willes could them direct aright,
Or to them tydings tell, that mote their harts delight.

Once again, we get a rather ambiguously erotic scene in which the damsel shares her bed with her adored Amazon warrior. The text plays with the relative transgressions of Amoret flirting with a strange man versus flirting with a woman. The “frank affections” and the passions they bemoan with each other are passed off as platonic and the shared sympathy of two women who are, in theory, both trying to find their missing boyfriends.

Amadis of Gaule

 

One feature of these Amazon tales is that there is no condemnation for the women who fall in love with them. It is considered right and proper that chivalric prowess should earn the reward of love. This is addressed directly in a similar incident in the French romance of Amadis of Gaule and its later Spanish elaborations. Here the cross-dressing female knight assures the lady who loves her that she wishes she could properly return that love and that the lady is clearly worthy of being so loved. It was only the limitations of the medieval imagination that settled for their mutual declarations being framed as platonic. But we, as authors, are not so limited. And in these true--and literary--stories of female knights, we can find inspiration for imagining a different ending to the tale.

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMPpodcasttranscript

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast 15b: Interview with Caren Werlinger

Friday, October 13, 2017 - 19:40

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

One of the peculiarities of the podcast is that although the episodes go live on Saturday...that's "Saturday" in South Africa where our fearless leader Sheena lives. Usually it makes for this awkward moment of "do I post the blog the day before?" but since I'm going to be out of the house all day tomorrow, it's a plus this time.

This month's author guest is Caren Werlinger, whose historical stories are often framed by a connection--either mystical or via objects--with a character in modern times. Listen to her talk about how she develops those connections with the past.

And remember that you can find links to all the past episodes of the Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast (and to the transcripts, as I get them up) on the Index Page.

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMPpodcast

The Uncanny Valley of Fictional Representation

Sunday, October 15, 2017 - 19:00

bookreview.jpg

(If you’re unfamiliar with the phrase “the uncanny valley” in visual representation, this Wikipedia article is a useful start, especially the section on computer animation.)

I had something of an epiphany the other day when reading Nalo Hopkinson’s The Salt Roads and following discussions online about a recent lesbian romance novel and contemplating other books in my past that have poked at me in uncomfortable ways around the issue of representation. Representation in books is something of a hot topic these days-- the idea that everyone has a right to see the many facets of their own identity represented in the fiction they read, complicated by the nearly infinite number of intersectional combinations those identities can create.

My epiphany is this: sometimes I take more joy in a book that comes nowhere near to representing my own specific identities as long as it clearly shows a world in which I could exist. That is, where the individual points of representation are distributed widely enough across the spectrum of the possible that I can find myself in the interstices. Sometimes this can be more satisfying than a book that comes much closer to representing my own specific intersections and yet erases the possibility of some essential aspect.

The world represented in The Salt Roads is one in which it is an assumed and given fact that women have connections with other women. That those connections will be of widely varying types. And that those types will include a range of romantic, sensual, and erotic connections. The Salt Roads is a book that makes me feel like I exist somewhere within that world even though I have very little in common with the protagonists on the basis of culture, ethnicity, economic status, and life story. It isn’t that the characters represent me--none of them come close to representing my own romantic and sexual experiences--but that the world has a place for me within it.

What do I contrast this with? Books where women live lives of isolation. (Or where women don’t exist as multi-dimensional human beings at all.) Where all their key relationships are to men. Or where women are unremarkably exclusively heterosexual in every emotion and action without ever straying from that path. Books where every single character is driven by motivations that I find incomprehensible, with no indication that other possible motivations exist.

You might think that, as a lesbian, I would find a great deal of inclusion and representation within the field of lesbian fiction, but here’s where the other part of my epiphany kicks in. Contemporary lesbian romance--and that’s the core prototype and dominant market presence in the lesbian fiction industry--depicts a world in which women experience a fairly narrow range of types of relationships, interactions, and expectations. There is, as a rule, an expectation that there will be certain types of attraction, that relationships will progress according to certain types of scripts, and that the eventual goal is taken from a specific set of outcomes.

I can hear people saying, “But wait! There’s an incredibly wide variety of personality types and relationship shapes and plot arcs within lesbian romance,” but that comes from looking from inside that set of expectations. You aren’t comparing it to the possibility of what could be. It’s a bit like being a white American and looking at an entire literary genre and seeing all the diversity in it but failing to notice that all the protagonists are white Americans. Or, for a more frivolous comparison, it’s like being excited about the enormous variety of offerings from See’s Candies and failing to notice that they all have chocolate in common. No they don’t! you protest. There’s that one item in the Nuts & Chews box that’s just peanuts in nougat. I’m sure there’s at least one choice that doesn’t have chocolate. My case rests. You aren't thinking about the existence of fresh peaches. Or tomatoes. Or roast beef. You're still thinking in terms of chocolate and not-quite-but-almost-chocolate.

The discussion that was the other half of the inspiration for these thoughts revolves around a recent contemporary lesbian romance novel with the “shocking revolutionary twist” that one of the protagonists is asexual. Now I think it’s a lovely idea to have asexual protagonists in books, though setting them in a formulaic romance may undermine the point a bit for the reading public. I haven’t read the specific book itself, so I’m not talking about whether the topic was handled well or badly in that specific instance. I may or may not read it--I’m not sure I’d enjoy a novel that treats asexuality as an “afterschool special” educational project, given that contemporary romance isn’t really my thing in the first place.

But what struck me was the significant number of readers within the lesbian fiction community whose response was along the lines of, “Wow, this is fascinating, I never knew that such a thing as asexuality existed! I don’t know any asexual lesbians! This introduces me to people and ideas that I’d never encountered before! Thank you for educating me on this topic! Nobody’s ever written about it before.” (Hint: Yes, people have written novels with asexual and aromantic protagonists before. Please don’t erase their existence.)

Let’s get one thing out of the way. Of course you already knew that asexual lesbians existed. You’ve met them, both online and in real life. You just called them “frigid” or “sexually hung-up” or “full of internalized homophobia” or "repressed" or “emotionally unavailable” or any of the other popular labels for people whose erotic response is radically different from yours.

And the people saying this--that they didn’t know asexual lesbians existed--are saying it in online social spaces where people like me have been participating all along. It means that they’ve never seen me. They’ve never actually listened to any of the things I’ve said in those online communities around the topic of representations of desire and sexuality in fiction. I don’t exist for them. It means that every time I’ve interacted with them, they’ve pasted a picture on top of my existence that’s something other than who I am and interacted with that, because they literally didn’t believe that I existed.

And that’s what I mean by books that create worlds that I could exist in. If an author of lesbian fiction literally doesn’t know that asexuality is a possible thing, they certainly aren’t going to write fictional worlds that represent it, or that have a space in which it could exist. That part of the map of human territory won’t be an empty space labeled “here be sea serpents and mermaids” there won’t even be an empty space on the map it could be penciled into.

The third book I’d like to bring into this discussion is Ellen Kushner’s The Privilege of the Sword. I’ve previously spilled a fair amount of ink over how that book was an emotional flash-point for me, because it came so close to being the perfect book for my emotional core...and then it veered sideways and was a perfect book for someone who was not quite me. Reviewing my reaction in the context of the current topic, I think one of the places where it failed me that I hadn’t been able to articulate properly, is that the female same-sex relations that I’d seen represented in the world of Riverside were fairly narrow in scope--in part because of the relatively small number of examples. Riverside is a world where it seems like half of the men have been in some sort of romantic or sexual relationship with another man, but whatever the author’s intent, we don’t see a similar normalization of women’s relationships. For that matter, we don’t see a full range of women’s relationships at all. To quote my post-review analysis:

“There’s a point in Katherine’s sexual explorations with Marcus where a point is made about ‘having sex with your best friend’ and I think that was when it hit me that The Privilege of the Sword doesn’t seem to show women having serious, genuine friendships with other women. Men have deep and binding friendships with men. Men and women can have genuine friendships as well as relationships based on desire or familial bonds. But women’s friendships are shown as being contingent (“do our husbands get along?”) or as play-acting (Katherine and Artemisia) or as part of power jockeying (the two actresses).”

Here was an excellently-written story of a daring, resourceful, and passionate young woman, and it existed in a world where women don’t seem to have genuine friendships with each other--much less enduring passionate feelings for each other. It came so close to hitting my personal target and then denied the existence of things that are at the core of my being. (Note: the Riverside serial Tremontaine has been a bit better about representing a variety of women’s interpersonal and same-sex romantic interactions.)

So if you’ve ever wondered why my reading habits and my reviews don’t align on a simple “lesbian books good, non-lesbian books less good” axis, it’s because I’m not only a lesbian, and all the other parts of who I am are just as important to me as that one. In the aggregate, they are more important. I’m not interested in reading and praising lesbian novels that nevertheless leave me feeling like an alien from another planet whose existence the author doesn’t quite believe in.

Major category: ThinkingTags: PhilosophyReviews: Books

Book Review: The Salt Roads by Nalo Hopkinson

Wednesday, October 11, 2017 - 07:00

The Salt Roads is a beautiful, brutal, crystalline and ambiguous novel tracing the lives of three women of the African diaspora and one mystical spirit. The principal characters are: Mer, an enslaved woman who is a healer and worker on a sugar cane plantation on Saint Domingue during the early stages of the slave rebellion of the late 18th century; Jeanne Duval, the Creole mistress of 19th century French decadent poet Charles Baudelaire; and Thaïs (or Meritet) a sex worker in early Christian-era Alexandria, who in this story inadvertently becomes Saint Mary of Egypt (combining the legends of two early desert saints). They are tied together in this story not only in sharing a cultural and racial heritage, and by the experience of not having ownership over their own bodies--whether in a formal sense in the case of Thaïs and Mer, or due to economic necessity, in the case of Jeanne. But they also share the hosting of an entity--call her a goddess perhaps, although it takes a while for her to come (back?) to that understanding of herself--who shares their experiences and can sometimes guide or control their actions, using the imagery of a Vodou deity riding them (although I don’t think that word is used). Thaïs and Mer are open to understanding these visits as a religious experience, though Jeanne seems largely unaware of her guest.

But that’s just the bare bones of the structure. I would say that this novel defies plot summarization--it doesn’t have that kind of arc, being unmoored in time with the sequence of scenes for each of the three human characters being interleaved across the ages representing how their spirit guest experiences them, moving back and forth as she’s able. And she has her own quest of discovery and self-awareness whose goal is the making of those connections across time. I call this a “brutal” novel and it’s one where the concept of “happy ending” has no meaning, except to the extent that each individual may succeed in making choices that she won’t regret and taking what measure of autonomy over her life that she’s able to grasp.

The prose and exposition is the sort that delights me, where the reader is plunged into an unfamiliar world and acquainted with it through the immediate experiences of the characters. Though, to be fair, I’m not going to discount the usefulness of having at least a passing familiarity with the history of Saint Dominque, with the French decadent poets, and with early Christian hagiography. It’s a novel that rewards coming to it with a broad historical literacy and it won’t hold your hand if you don’t meet it halfway.

One thing I always appreciate in stories that are woman-centered like this is the easy and unremarkable inclusion of the wide variety of affectional and erotic bonds that women can have with each other, even while participating in the obligatory heterosexuality of the dominant culture. All three women have a rich variety of bonds with other women that include, without not necessarily focusing on, romantic and sensual relations. (I had something of an epiphany with regards to this element in the context of representation in fiction that is going to turn into a separate essay.)

 

The Salt Roads is a deep and powerful story about surviving and thriving and connecting with personal and cultural roots (the essence of the quest that the unifying divine spirit comes to understand). It explores exciting structural territory and narrative rhythms, not only in the non-temporality, but in the use of interleaved voices and shifts of mode. This book left me thoroughly satisfied as a reading experience.

Major category: ReviewsTags: Reviews: Books

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast Episode 15a - Transcript

Monday, October 9, 2017 - 20:31

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

The Lesbian Historic Motif Project - Episode 15a - On the Shelf

(Originally aired 2017/10/07)

Welcome to On the Shelf for October 2017.

When I recorded last month’s On the Shelf, the new expanded format hadn’t actually gone live yet. So I’m still working with the format and getting a sense of what listeners would like to hear.

The September blog entries for the Lesbian Historic Motif Project were supposed to all tie in with the theme of Boston and Boston marriages, but when I scoured my bookshelves I only came up with two publications that were relevant. One was a museum exhibition catalog on the history of LGBTQ Boston. I loved browsing through it and seeing all the photographs we have of 19th century female couples that we know to have been in romantic life partnerships. Each photo is a story waiting to be explored. I also covered a book that looks at some modern lesbian relationships through the lens of the concept of the Boston Marriage, although interpreting that term specifically as an asexual romantic relationship.

I filled in the rest of September and continue on into October with books relating to September’s week 4 episode on documentary evidence for lesbian sexual techniques in the European middle ages and Renaissance. This included a collection of penitential manuals (books providing guidance for confessors on how to classify sinful acts), as well as several general works on sexuality in the middle ages. While these books typically have much more information on male homosexuality than female topics, it’s exciting to have some solid new publications bringing together the state of the historical research.

Ruth Karras’ Sexuality in Medieval Europe is a very accessible introductory text on the subject. Tom Linkinen’s Same-sex Sexuality in Later Medieval English Culture is heavily focused on men and looks at ways that popular attitudes toward same-sex relationships were created and reflected in popular culture, as well as how accusations of sodomy were used for political purposes. I haven’t finalized the rest of the books for October yet, but since I plan another medieval topic for the end of the month I’ll probably be sticking to relatively early material. Possibilities include the collections Premodern Sexualities edited by Louise Fradenburg and Carla Freccero, The Lesbian Premodern edited by Noreen Giffney, Michelle M. Sauer, and Diane Watt, and Valerie Traub’s monograph Thinking Sex with the Early Moderns, for which I suspect the relevant material will largely be a rehash of her book The Renaissance of Lesbianism in Early Modern England.

The October essay is planned to continue the medieval theme with a discussion of cross-dressed female knights in medieval literature. Cross-dressing was always a context in which accidental love between women was a possibility. And while the ways it was acted out didn’t always have happy endings, they always provide inspiration for possible new stories.

This month’s author guest will be Caren Werlinger who often uses connections between the present and the past to frame her historic stories, either via the discovery of historic documents about past relationships or involving psychic connections across the centuries.

I have two questions for the Ask Sappho segment this month.

The first is from an anonymous listener who says, “This isn’t really a historic question, but a question about the podcast. I’m used to podcasts including credits for the music at the beginning and end of the show. I was wondering why you didn’t include that information.”

The answer makes me a little bit self-conscious, though maybe not in the way you’d think. People who listened to last week’s show may already guess. You see, the simplest way to deal with broadcast rights for intro music was to use something I wrote and performed myself. The excerpts that frame this podcast are from a piece I call “Planxty Oncia” which I wrote as a wedding present for some friends. It used to be a habit of mine to always write harp tunes for wedding presents. I don’t mention that specifically in the show credits because it felt too much like showing off, not because I was using someone else’s work without credit!

The second Ask Sappho question is from Amy Herman-Pall, who is very active on the facebook groups for the Lesbian Talk Show and the Lesbian Review. She asks: “I've heard vague stories and rumors about rulers who have been lesbians, for example Queen Christina of Sweden. What is the response of the people they rule to this? I'd love to know what the reactions of not only the common people were, but also of those courtiers and advisors that surrounded her.”

Now, that’s a great question with some surprising answers.

We can’t always know for certain whether the rumors about a historic individual having homosexual relations were true, or if they were only put about for political purposes. And if they were true, they would certainly be likely to be used by political enemies. But it’s important to keep in mind that cultures in history didn’t necessarily have the same very black and white attitudes towards homosexuality that modern cultures do. There are ways in which 20th century attitudes towards lesbians and gay men are the anomaly, and the rest of history, before and after, are a lot fuzzier.

Rulers in history almost never married for love. So it was often the case that a monarch’s lovers would have as much or more power than their legal spouse. This was the case no matter what gender they were. And while the language used about them might be sexually charged, what people were worried about was influence.

Take for example, English royal politics of the early 14th century. King Edward the Second married Isabella, affectionately known as “the she-wolf of France” which tells you something about how she was viewed. Edward had a sequence of close male friends that it was rumored were his lovers. Those men were hated--and eventually killed--by the English barons--not so much because of the rumored homosexual relationships, but because they had enormous influence over King Edward’s decisions and influenced him to make some very bad ones. Queen Isabella, in turn, turned on her husband the king, and took as an ally and lover Roger Mortimer. Together they overthrew and--according to rumor--murdered King Edward. But Mortimer in turn was executed by Isabella’s son King Edward the Third in large part for the influence he’d gained through being Isabella’s lover.

So the point here is that being the non-spousal lover of a monarch could attract you a lot of negative attention if it was felt that you were abusing that influence, regardless of sexuality and gender.

Another thing to keep in mind is that close emotional relationships between people of the same sex were not necessarily inherently suspect before the 20th century. In fact, to a large extent it was expected that your close emotional relationships would be with same-sex friends, not with the person you were married to.

So it can be hard to disentangle whether people took issue with a monarch’s same-sex lover because of the sexual aspect, or because they would have had issues with anyone who was perceived to have undue influence. That said, let’s look at some of the cases where lesbianism was brought up as an issue.

Queen Christina of Sweden lived in the mid 17th century and was the only surviving child of King Gustav the Second. She succeeded to the throne at age 6 and began ruling in her own right at age 18. She was renowned for her intelligence, education, and scholarship, being nicknamed the “Minerva of the North”. She founded the oldest newspaper still in continuous publication in Europe. She was a notable patroness of scholars and philosophers such as René Descartes. But most troublesome to her staunchly Lutheran people and ministers, as early as nine years old, she began a flirtation with...Catholicism.

Christina never married. She recorded in her autobiography that she felt "an insurmountable distaste for marriage." When pressured, she told her advisors, “I do not intend to give you reasons, [I am] simply not suited to marriage.”

She had a close intimate friendship with one of her ladies in waiting, Ebba Sparre. Even after Christina left Sweden--and we’ll get to that in a moment--she wrote passionate love letters to Ebba Sparre, saying she would always love her. She introduced Ebba to an ambassador as her bed-fellow. And while I don’t want to discount the likelihood that the two were lovers, it’s important to keep in mind that using romantic language and sharing a bed were things that same-sex romantic friends were expected to do in the 17th century. It’s not that these things weren’t romantic, or weren’t erotic, but that they were normal. And being normal, these practices would not have attracted negative attention by themselves.

Having a female favorite would not have been an issue for Queen Christina on its own. Nor would the accusations of wasteful spending have been an issue on their own. But her deep attraction to Catholicism was incompatible with keeping the crown of Lutheran Sweden, and in 1654, when she was 27 years old and had been queen for 22 years, she abdicated in favor of her cousin and left Sweden forever.

Christina left Sweden, traveling in disguise for safety, wearing men’s clothing and assuming the name Count Dohna. At the end of the year, she officially converted to Catholicism. Her religious advisors in Sweden had been Spanish, and the Spanish court made plans to welcome her as a visitor in triumph. But Christina envisioned herself as mediator in the hostilities between Spain and France and to get to Spain, she had to travel through France first. She never did make it to Spain.

In terms of gender roles, the French court viewed her as something of a curiosity. One of the noble ladies of the French court described Christina as “masculine” saying of her presence at the opera that she "surprised me very much – applauding the parts which pleased her, taking God to witness, throwing herself back in her chair, crossing her legs, resting them on the arms of her chair, and assuming other postures... She was in all respects a most extraordinary creature." Rumors of Christina’s lesbianism abounded in France. But there’s an interesting contrast in Spain.

When they could boast of having inspired Christina to convert, and looked forward to her lending her influence on their side in the conflict with France, Spanish writers and diplomatic correspondence had nothing but praise for her. When she threw her lot in with France, suddenly her morals were called into question--but in heterosexual terms. She was accused of having had illicit affairs with various men, and even of having had a secret pregnancy from one of them.

It wasn’t that people in Spain were unaware of Christina’s reputation with women. In a satirical play, a character named Christerna de Suevia (that is, Christina of Sweden) who was clearly intended to represent her, was given a maid named Lesbia and depicted as agreeing to enter into a same-sex marriage with the sister of her political rival.

Given Christina’s very complicated life history, it’s hard to untangle the question of how people would have reacted to her romantic relationships with women in the absence of other factors. Her own people seem to have approved of almost everything she did except for the whole Catholicism thing. Her contacts in Spain where on her cheering squad up to the point where she threw them over for France. She had powerful friends in France, like Cardinal Mazarin (of the Musketteers fame) and although people in Paris thought her energetic and forthright ways were a bit uncultured, the only thing that really got their noses out of joint was when she murdered a popular diplomat who was part of her household. She had both friends and enemies in Rome, but since the friends included multiple cardinals and a pope, it seems that whatever they thought of her personal life, it wasn’t a deal-breaker.

As a comparison, let’s look at three other royal figures.

In the early 15th century, Queen Catalina of Lancaster, who was serving as co-regent of Castile for her young son, had a close friend and advisor named Leonor López de Córdoba. Leonor was not a member of the aristocracy but rose in the world largely due to the patronage of a wealthy aunt. She appears in the historic record as a close confidante and advisor of the queen, beset by personal enemies that included the other co-regent, the queen’s brother in law. These enemies felt Leonor had undue influence over the queen due to the love and trust the queen had for her.

But Leonor’s precipitous fall from favor, resulting in exile from the court, wasn’t due to her political enemies but appears to have been driven by a more personal rival. Inés de Torres came to the court as Leonor’s protege but seems to have supplanted her in the queen’s affections. The break up was rapid and stormy, with Queen Catalina making violent threats to keep Leonor away from her.

Queen Catalina’s court featured a group of strong, capable women who had close personal bonds with each other. Leonor did not in any way stand out as an unusual personality in this context, nor were the previous expressions of affection between her and the queen unusual in this context. The position of personal advisor to royalty was an established role, and one that was a magnet for accusations of undue influence and favoritism. It was also a role that regularly attracted accusations of sexual impropriety. Queen Catalina’s son, when he was later grown up, had a relationship with a male personal advisor that led to accusations of sodomy. The recorded references to Leonor never raised similar sexual accusations. Given that lack of evidence was rarely a bar to accusing your enemies of anything that might stick, one likely interpretation is that no one considered a sexual relationship between the women to be something that anyone would care about.

Such accusations were made against the personal favorites of Queen Anne of England in the 18th century. Anne inherited a very complicated political legacy and I’m going to skip over it entirely to cut to the chase. When she was a child of six, the future Queen Anne met Sarah Jennings, later to become Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough, who for most of her life would be her closest friend and most influential advisor. Sarah was a little older when they met, around eleven years old. But Sarah was not Anne’s only childhood crush--there are regular records throughout her early adulthood of her passionate feelings for women in her circles. And we should remember that Anne grew up among the sexual license of the Restoration court, where sexual affairs between women were no secret.

By the time Anne came to the throne thirty years later, Sarah not only had enormous influence with the queen, but had become so knowledgeable and canny about the structures of government and how to wield political power that she was the go-to person for anyone with requests to the queen. She was a powerful friend and a dangerous enemy. When her husband, the Duke of Marlborough came to head the government, it was largely due to Sarah’s influence, intelligence, and energy. And it should be noted that whatever the nature of Sarah’s relationship with Anne, she was equally devoted to her husband and his career.

Anne’s devotion to Sarah was equally strong, and at various times before she became queen, she risked a great deal to keep Sarah with her as friend and advisor. After Anne’s coronation, Sarah was appointed to a number of offices of political, economic, and symbolic importance, while similar honors were heaped upon the Duke of Marlborough, and more gifts of land and offices followed. Anne and Sarah had affectionate pet names that they’d called each other since childhood and continued to use them in private. Anne cherished the knowledge that Sarah would always tell her exactly what she thought and never offer her false flattery.

But speaking truth to queens is a delicate matter, and Anne found herself wanting more in the way of support and friendship and less in the way of lobbying and being ordered around. They had a falling out over differing support of political parties and grew gradually apart as Sarah spent more and more time away from Queen Anne’s side. This left an opening for Abigail Masham, who was a cousin of Sarah’s who had introduced her to the court. Abigail was kind, flattering, and attentive to the queen--all the things that Sarah was not. Sarah’s intense jealousy of Abigail became tangled up with their political differences. And here comes the possibly unexpected part of the story.

When Queen Anne refused outright to dismiss Abigail from her service, Sarah accused them of having a lesbian affair. But the Marlborough’s influence was taking an irrevocable downward turn at this point. Soon Anne was refusing to see or speak to Sarah at all. But let’s get back to that accusation. Is Sarah’s accusation that Anne and Abigail were having a lesbian affair proof that Sarah’s relationship with her was not sexual? Or does it mean that Sarah was well aware of the truth that Anne’s interests in women were more than platonic, but thought that she was safe from a similar accusation? Was it simply the worst thing Sarah could think of to say, in the heat of what can only be called a messy break-up? Can we take it seriously as a homophobic accusation when sparked by what is certainly alienation of affections by the other woman?

Let’s step back and look at this in the context of the original question: when a queen had romantic and most likely erotic relationships with other women, what did the people around her think about it and what did they do about it? It is, perhaps, telling that for all the enemies that Sarah Churchill made in her career, although the possibility that she and the queen were lovers must certainly have crossed people’s minds, the accusation does not appear to have been used as a weapon against either of them. The only context in which an overt charge of lesbianism is made is from a jilted and brokenhearted favorite against a woman who had originally been her protege and had supplanted her in the queen’s affections.

But let’s take note of another aspect of this tangle. All of the women involved were also married to men. Anne failed to produce an heir, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Sarah had several children. Whatever the nature of the relationship between them it coexisted with the personal relationships that their society expected them to enter into. So we come to another consideration: people may be more indifferent to a queen’s affairs with women if they don’t get in the way of her royal obligations. And yet, recall that Queen Christina outright refused to marry and explicitly told people she wasn’t suited for marriage. So there’s that.

The last queen I’d like to consider is one who was publicly accused of lesbian relations, and where it was part of a much larger wave of hostility against her. And this is Queen Marie Antoinette of France. Again, there is an enormous social, political, and economic background to the issue that transcends one woman’s possible sexuality. We can be certain that the French Revolution wasn’t fought over who Marie Antoinette was sleeping with. But among the accusations that she was lavishly spendthrift, was indifferent to the plight of the French poor, and that she used her political influence to benefit foreign powers, there were also accusations that Marie and her favored ladies in waiting were involved in secret societies to engage in lesbian orgies.

The image of the secret lesbian sex club had been growing in French popular culture for some time and in some ways it stood in for a general anxiety about secret societies such as the Masons and political clubs that eventually led to revolution, combined with the growing motif of lesbian sex as the ultimate in decadent pornographic entertainment. Let us be clear: it is highly unlikely that Queen Marie Antoinette was part of a secret lesbian sex club. It’s actually unlikely that such clubs existed outside male imagination. And it’s nearly impossible to untangle whether any of Marie Antoinette’s intense friendships with her closest female courtiers were also sexual. But at the time and in the context of French civic unrest, it was an accusation that was made and that had the power to intensify the personal hatred that many felt for the unpopular queen.

So what’s the overall answer to the question of how people reacted to having a queen who had sexual relations with women? It’s not a question we can answer in that form, because of the lack of solid evidence in most cases that they were having sexual relations with women. But we can say that when the possibility of lesbian sex was raised in royal contexts, the sex itself was never a primary issue. There were issues of the amount of political influence that court favorites (of any gender) might have, and how they might abuse it. And there were issues of competition among the close friends and advisors to royalty for those positions of access. Sometimes the issue of sex was employed as a weapon in those contexts, but not as a primary issue. Rather as an additional tool to be used.

Queen Catalina of Castille was not attacked on sexual grounds, despite the jealous rivalries of her female favorites. Queen Christina of Sweden was considered odd for many reasons, but the rumors of her female lovers were fairly quiet, and they had nothing to do with her voluntary relinquishment of the throne. Sarah Churchill, in a fit of jealous anger, accused her rival of having a sexual relationship with Queen Anne, but it had no effect on Anne’s reign or her continuing affection for Abigail Masham. And the accusations of lesbianism against Queen Marie Antoinette were a consequence of the pre-existing hatred for her, not a cause of that hatred. If you were a queen, and you ruled well, and your people were content, and you secured the succession to the crown, it doesn’t appear that anyone gave a damn about whether you had a woman in your bed. That peculiar focus on people’s sex lives belongs largely to the medicalized model of sexuality that starts around the beginning of the 20th century.

There are links to some relevant publications in the show notes, though I’ve pulled this explanation from a lot of different sources.

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMPpodcast

The Other Side of Gender Passing

Monday, October 9, 2017 - 07:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Project

I included this article despite being only tenuously related to the Project's focus because it forms an interesting contrast and counterpoint to cases of women cross-dressing and passing as men. Of particular interest are the differences in economic opportunities and in what aspects of the case were of concern to the courts. More generally, it provides insight into the differences between modern and medieval approaches to gender and sexuality. Much like the historic examples of women passing as men, it raises the question of how culturally constructed the concept of transgender identity is, as opposed to other framings of the motivations for acting in the world with a different gender performance than the one your culture expects from someone with your body. The historic imbalances in the economic and legal opportunities for men versus women mean that the economic and legal motivations for taking up a different gender role are not identical for male and female roles. It is particularly unexpected, in the case of John/Eleanor Rykener, that the surface explanation for Eleanor's existence was economic: the dubious financial attractions of sex work and working as an embroiderer. And yet the testimony that Rykener engaged in sexual relations with women, as a man, and not for economic gain argue against interpreting their behavior as a simple case of being a proto-transgender woman. People's lives are, of course, complex and contradictory, and this one point isn't definitive proof of anything, but such points are all we have when searching for understanding. 

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMP







LHMP #155 Karras & Boyd 1996 ’Ut cum Muliere’ - A Male Transvestite Prostitute in Fourteenth-Century London






About LHMP

Full citation: 

Karras, Ruth Mazo & David Lorenzo Boyd. 1996. “’Ut cum Muliere’ - A Male Transvestite Prostitute in Fourteenth-Century London” in Premodern Sexualities ed. by Louise Fradenburg & Carla Freccero. Routledge, New York. ISBN 0-415-91258-X

Publication summary: 

 

This is a collection of papers looking at issues in the historiography of sexuality, that is: how to study sexuality in historic contexts with consideration of the theoretical frameworks being used. In general, the approach is to dismantle the concepts of universals and essences, by which “history” has been used to define and persecute “others.” The papers are very theory-focused around how the study of the “other” points out the narrow and distorted picture of history in the mainstream tradition. One feature that these papers challenge is a clear dichotomy between a pre-modern understanding of sexuality as “acts” versus a modern understanding as “identity”. The papers cover not only queer sexuality by a broader variety of sexualized themes in history.  As usual with general collections like this, I’ve selected the papers that speak to lesbian-like themes, but in this case I’ve included on with a male focus that provides an interesting counterpoint on issues of gender identity.

Karras & Boyd 1996 “’Ut cum Muliere’ - A Male Transvestite Prostitute in Fourteenth-Century London”

This case is drawn from a legal document that is almost unique in medieval England in providing a description of male same-sex activity in a context of male cross-dressing. The legal focus emphasizes the importance of gender, and not sexual behavior or sexual “identity” in the context of medieval law.

John (alias Eleanor) Rykener was apprehended in 1394 for committing an act of prostitution with a man while wearing female clothing. Rykener testified to working as a prostitute as well as an embroidress (a female profession that he engaged in while passing as a woman). He named two women who had initiated him into the trade of prostitution and taught him how to dress. He testified that he was paid to have sex with men and that he also had sex with women (when in male clothing) but not for money. [Note: I am following the original article in using male pronouns for Rykener.]

It isn’t clear that there was ever a formal legal proceeding against him. Sexual crimes were in the purview of the church and what would have been the relevant church records for that place and time have not survived. The original investigation seems to have been under the umbrella of public disorder. Prostitution was a civil crime, but gender transgression seems to have been the main concern.

The article considers how Rykener would have been viewed or would have identified in both medieval and modern terms. Did the medieval authorities consider Rykener a sodomite? Or did they evaluate his case as that of a woman? There are differing frameworks of identity versus activity involved. Medieval law treated sodomy as a criminal act rather than recognizing a homosexual orientation. But prostitution was considered a status crime. That is, the law didn’t view a woman as engaging in prostitution but rather as "being" a prostitute.

Could Rykener have been viewed as having this identity, that of being a prostitute? Prostitute was an inherently female-gendered status. To be considered a prostitute Rykener would have needed to be considered a type of woman.

Conversely, although Rykener admitted to engaging in sexual acts with men, the words “sodomite” or “sodomy” do not appear in the record, although related language such as “detestable sin” and the like do. As noted above, sodomy was evaluated as a specific act, not as a status. And discussions of the moral concerns around sodomy indicate that those concerns were not necessarily for the act itself, but for how it affected the gender status of the participant. Men were supposed to be “active” and women “passive”. For a man to be a passive participant in sex with another man was to disrupt the stability of gender categories.

When men had sex with Rykener, the act is described as “as with a woman”, whereas when Rykener had sex with women, it was “as a man.” Rykener’s gender identity was defined by the role he played in specific acts. But that gender wasn’t solely defined in relation to the gender of his sexual partner, but also by the act of dressing as a woman (or a man) and behaving as one. That is, Rykener was not condemned as a sodomite because he was not having sex with men as a man, but as a woman.

The article includes a full transcription of the legal record (in translation from the Latin original).

Time period: 14th cPlace: EnglandMisc tags: cross-dressingcross-gender roles/behaviorgender disguise m>fprostitutesEvent / person: John (Eleanor) Rykener







View comments (0)

LHMPodcast 15a: On the Shelf for October 2017

Saturday, October 7, 2017 - 12:20

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

The October "On the Shelf" episode is up at the Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast. In addition to listing the books covered by the blog in the past and forthcoming month, and anouncing this month's author guest (Caren Werlinger), there's an Ask Sappho segment about how rulers with lesbian relationships were viewed in history. The transcript for this episode will go up tomorrow.

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMPpodcast

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast Episode 14e - Transcript

Saturday, September 30, 2017 - 19:21

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 14e - The Highwaywoman Special

(Originally aired 2017/09/30)

[First two verses of “The Highwayman” by Alfred J. Noyes, music by Phil Ochs, pronouns adjusted]

Outlaws have been a staple of popular stories as far back as recorded literature. Specific types of outlaw arise out of the society of the times. Laws restricting the hunting of game created poachers. The age of merchant ships crossing the seas spawned pirates. The concentration of cash in banks gave rise to bank robbers. And the establishment of regular coaching routes to carry passengers and commerce on fixed schedules were the temptation that gave rise to highwaymen.

In England, the great era of mythic highwaymen began around the 17th century and continued into the early 19th. The majority of real life highwaymen were male, of course. But a few highwaywomen made their way into song and story and the pages of history as well. Some examples in literature may have simply been an opportunity to turn gender tropes on their head, but throughout early modern history, there have been many women who found the economic temptations of male professions sufficient to trade skirts for trousers.

Not all depictions of literary highwaywomen were particularly feminist in spirit, though. The earliest known highwaywoman ballad, “The Female Highway Hector” from the 17th century, is more of a cautionary tale. After a long series of successful robberies against various stereotyped victims, she tries to rob a “real” highwayman and is defeated and sexually assaulted.

Here’s the beginning of the ballad. The original broadsheet suggests singing it to a tune called “The Rant” and I’ve used a tune with that name that is believed to be the one that was originally used.

The Female Highway Hector

You gallants of every station

Give ear to a frollicksome song

The like was ne’er seen in this nation

‘Twas done by a female so young.

She bought her a mare and a bridle

A saddle and pistols also

She resolved she would not be idle

So upon the pad she did go.

She clothed herself in great splendor

For breeches and sword she had on

Her body appear’d very slender

She show’d like a pretty young man.

And then like a padder so witty

She mounted with speed on her mare

She left all her friends in the city

And steered her course towards the Ware.

We’ll leave her story there, as the rest of the ballad is not edifying.

Real life highwaywomen--those for which we have solid evidence--were rarely romantic figures. But then, neither were most male highwaymen.

Legal records of prosecutions of women for this crime seem to have been rare, though not unheard of. Joan Bracey was hanged in Nottingham in the later 17th century for highway robbery, as was Ann Meders, hanged at Tyburn. Both met their ends at a relatively young age, not surprisingly. Both began their careers in partnership with male companions, as did Nan Hereford, who managed to carry on the profession for six years after her husband was hanged before meeting her own end.

Legend is more likely to view highwaymen--and women--as romantic figures. The early years of the profession corresponded with the political struggles in England between the Cavaliers and the Roundheads during the English Civil War and the dashing cavalier turned highwayman was a staple of popular culture.

Katherine Ferrers was a 17th century Englishwoman whom legend holds to have been the “Wicked Lady”, a notorious female highwayman. Katherine became an heiress at age six, during a period when her family was swept up in conflicts between the Royalist supporters of King Charles I and the forces of Parliament. Katherine’s family were Royalists and financial difficulties related to this state inspired them to marry Katherine off at age 14, after which most of her inherited property was sold off. She died at age 26, shortly after the return of King Charles II to the throne. For the last couple years of her life, her husband had been in prison for participating in an uprising. This much is fact.

Legend holds that--like a number of impoverished Royalists--she turned her hand to highway robbery to support herself during her husband’s imprisonment. Legend further holds that, after being shot during a robbery she died of her wounds, being discovered wearing men’s clothing. In this case, legend is unlikely to hold any truth. There are no mentions of Katherine’s supposed exploits in any of the sensational histories of famous highwaymen published in the 18th century. The first mention of her supposed exploits seems to be in the mid 19th century, but the image of a beautiful and daring woman taking to the highway has been irresistible to authors and filmmakers, and The Wicked Lady has been the subject of several novels and films, as well as inspiring ghost stories associated with her residence.

Within the context of this podcast, it must be admitted that--like most legends and ballads of cross-dressing women, the tales of female highwaymen from the 17th and 18th centuries remain steadfastly heterosexual. One notable exception is Mary Frith, known as Moll Cutpurse, a real woman living around 1600 who was notorious for dressing in men’s clothes and rumored to be sexually interested in both men and women. Contemporary records portrayed Moll Cutpurse as a thief, a fence, and a pimp but an early 18th century writer who produced a history of famous highwaymen, decided she also needed to be given a brief fictional career of highway robbery.

A much more cheerful (though still solidly heterosexual) story is told in a ballad titled “Sovay” or “The Female Highwayman” which was collected in the late 19th century, at a time when highwaymen had long since disappeared. This one is worth performing in full as it introduces a motif particularly popular in modern female highwayman fiction.

Sovay, or The Female Highwayman

Sovay, Sovay, all on a day,

She dressed herself in man's array,

With a sword and pistol all by her side,

To meet her true love

To meet her true love away did ride.

She met her true love all on the plain,

And when she saw him she bid him stand,

'Stand and deliver, kind sir,' she said,

Or else this moment

Or else this moment I’ll shoot you dead.'

Oh, when she'd robbed him of all his store,

She says, 'Kind sir, there is one thing more,

A diamond ring which I know you have,

Deliver that,

Deliver that, your sweet life to save.'

'That diamond ring a token is,

That ring I’ll keep, my life I’ll lose;'

She being tender hearted just like a dove,

She rode away

She rode away from her own true love.

Next morning in the garden green,

O like true lovers they were seen;

He saw his watch hanging by her clothes,

Which made him flush

Which made him flush like a red rose.

'What makes you flush at so silly a thing,

I fain would have had your diamond ring,

‘And if you had given me the ring,’ she said,

I’d have pulled the trigger

I’d have pulled the trigger, I’d have shot you dead.’

In the oldest version of the ballad, Sovay only tells her love that demanding the ring was a test, but I rather like the stronger version that I performed. But remember this trope of stealing a love token, because it’s going to come up again.

The era of the rise of highwaymen was also an era when popular media was fascinated with gender disguises and the possibility of accidental homoerotic encounters with women disguised as men. Denise Walen’s extensive study of female cross-dressing in early modern drama doesn’t seem to include any examples where the disguised woman has a homoerotic encounter while acting as a highwayman, but it’s exactly the sort of plot one might find in that context.

Lesbian historical romance, on the other hand, has latched on to the motif of the cross-dressing female highwayman as an excellent way to combine swashbuckling, gender play, and the possibility of accidentally falling in love with a woman who was forbidden to you both by gender and profession.

Within this sub-genre, the motif of the stolen trinket that provides an excuse for further contact almost seems a requirement. In fact, we can lay out a formula for the standard lesbian highwaywoman romance: a respectable young woman (though one with a yearning for something beyond her foreseeable fate on the marriage market) is one of the victims of a highwayman’s robbery, protesting the loss of a piece of jewelry that has deep sentimental meaning. The highwayman, in a change of heart, returns the jewelry prompting (or encouraging) an inexplicable attraction between the two, and the highwayman is (eventually) revealed to be a woman who took to an outlaw life due to a tragic backstory. They, of course, fall in love, struggle with the personal, social, and legal barriers to their relationship, and eventually work their way through to a happy ending.

Here are five stories about female highwaymen finding love and redemption in the arms of another woman.

* * *

Rebeccah and the Highwayman by Barbara Davies (Bedazzled Ink, 2008)

I loved the solid historic grounding in Barbara Davies’ Rebeccah and the Highwayman. At the beginning of the 18th century, in the time of Queen Anne, Rebeccah Dutton has a series of encounters with the mysterious highwayman Blue-Eyed Nick, but the secret that “Nick” is actually a woman proves dangerous as both women are drawn together again and again.

The meaningful keepsake in this story is Rebeccah’s family signet ring, which she is allowed to keep in the initial encounter. They are reunited when Kate--in the guise of Blue-Eyed Nick--is wounded in the course of rescuing Rebeccah, who must then conceal the highwaywoman during her recovery. Kate has a brush with the gallows, but we know it will come off well--after all, this isn’t a Sarah Waters novel! I particularly liked the novel’s use of the relationship between Queen Anne and Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough (who is conveniently Rebeccah’s distant cousin) to convey understandings and attitudes towards women’s romantic relationships at the time. The story is solidly written with only occasional historical info-dumps. Kate’s eventual change of profession was delightfully true to the times. Unlike several of the books discussed in this show, the erotic content draws the curtain after passionate kissing, though more is clearly implied. This is an excellent book for those who want both good writing and good history.

The Locket and the Flintlock by Rebecca S Buck (Bold Strokes Books, 2012)

Rebecca S. Buck’s The Locket and the Flintlock takes a Regency era setting and draws on the motifs of that genre as well as the standard highwayman tropes of a stolen sentimental keepsake (as one might guess from the title) and a highwaywoman with a tragic backstory, a heart of gold, and a drive for social and economic justice. A few days after her dead mother’s locket has been taken during a daring highway robbery, Lucia Foxe recognizes the thieves riding past from her bedroom window and sets out after them, bareback on her favorite mare, to retrieve the keepsake in the middle of the night. And there lies one of the major flaws of this work: almost all the characters do something important that breaks my willingness to believe in the story. But if you can overlook plot holes and inconsistencies, it’s a rollicking adventure with a lot of angsty self-examination and the level of steaminess one tends to expect from a Bold Strokes book.

Daring and Decorum by Lawrence Hogue (Supposed Crimes, 2017)

Except for one issue, which I’ll get to in a moment, I loved Lawrence Hogue’s Daring and Decorum. Set in 18th century England, Elizabeth Collington longs for something beyond the life of a respectable vicar’s daughter. Then one day she encounters a highwayman who steals her mother’s necklace...and a kiss. The encounter stirs feelings that must be kept secret, and an even greater secret is that the highwayman is a woman. The book’s strength is its solid worldbuilding and the deliberation with which it builds the relationship between the two female protagonists, making both their attraction and the obstacles to it believable and solidly grounded in the social history of the times. Unlike many stories that plunge the women directly into a relationship, Daring and Decorum provides a realistic pacing for the relationship, though this may cause some readers to find it slow. I loved Hogue’s writing. He has a solid grasp of the flavor of early 19th century novels without resulting in any stilted awkwardness of language. The one thing that got the book off on the wrong foot for me was a mild sexual assault in the opening scene. Nothing more than groping, but I’m not fond of the message that women will, of course, get turned on by assault as long as it’s by the person who ends up being the love interest. It wasn’t enough to put me off the book entirely, but I think the story could have worked just as well with a different opening.

The Mask of the Highwaywoman by Niamh Murphy (self-published, 2017)

In The Mask of the Highwaywoman by Niamh Murphy, Evelyn Thackeray is traveling to visit friends in advance of her upcoming marriage to a business associate of her widowed father when a band of highwaymen--and one highwaywoman--stops the coach she’s traveling in. Robbed of her money and a locket that Evelyn risked the anger of the highwaymen to try to keep, she’s now stranded penniless in a village. She offers to work at an inn in exchange for a room for the night...and then Bess, the highwaywoman, climbs through her window there, out of the darkness.

The story uses the standard collection of highwaywoman tropes: the soft-hearted thief, the keepsake stolen and then returned as an excuse to meet again, the sudden inexplicable attraction to an outlaw. And it tries to add in a layer of off-balance, constantly shifting loyalties and triple-crosses, but never quite sticks the landing in terms of believability. The plot consists of a non-stop sequence of chases, kidnappings, and escapes, punctuated by emotional confrontations and betrayals. I found it hard to sympathize with either Evelyn or Bess, and the question of how a highwaywoman successfully retires from a life of crime felt glossed over a bit too easily. But if non-stop action is your thing, check it out.

Behind the Mask by Kim Larabee (Alyson Books, 1989 out of print)

What is a single young woman in the Regency era to do if she must support a household? In Kim Larabee’s Behind the Mask, as an alternative to setting one’s cap for a handsome man with a title or a fortune, our hero Maddie Elverton turns to highway robbery. But her double life threatens to unravel when she encounters Allie Sifton, at first as a victim of her robbery, and then as a partner in her secret. There is a theft and return of jewelry, though not of the usual sentimental keepsake.

This story is largely a light-hearted romp, filled with exquisite writing, and leavened by a small amount of peril from the dogged pursuit by Lt. Bridgewater, who has set his sights on taking the highwayman in hand. Larabee is mistress of the language and conventions of the Regency romance, and turns the usual tropes of the genre on their head to bring Allie and Maddie together for their happily ever after. I highly recommend this book if you can find a copy, however unfortunately it is out of print.

* * *

There are plenty of ideas left to tackle in the female highwayman genre. England isn’t the only possible setting and the field is wide open for a plot that starts out with something other than the theft of a sentimental keepsake.

I’ll take what may be unfair advantage to note that I included a brief highway robbery scene in my novelette “The Mazarinette and the Musketeer”, set in the late 17th century where the crime is planned to cover up the retrieval of sensitive state documents. There is, of course, also a damsel in distress to rescue. There’s a link to the free story in the show notes.

Whether your heroines meet over the theft of a sentimental locket or rob Roundheads in support of King Charles, whether they run off together to enjoy their life of crime or eventually settle down in the guise of lady companions, it’s hard to beat a highwaywoman for swashbuckling adventure!

 

[Final verse of “The Highwayman” by Noyes & Ochs]

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMPpodcast

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast Episode 14d - Transcript

Saturday, September 23, 2017 - 18:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 14d - What did Medieval Lesbians Do in Bed?

(Originally aired 2017/09/23)

You might guess from the title of this episode that this one is definitely not safe for work, though you’re going to get far more technical details than racy erotica. But be aware that we’re going to talk about sex today. A lot.

At first thought, it might seem silly to ask, “how did medieval European lesbians have sex?” I mean, you just do what comes naturally, right? I’ve noticed in my interviews with authors of historic lesbian fiction that when it comes to what characters do in bed together, most people shrug and say, “I use my imagination.”

But especially when you move away from the tab A and slot B basics of heterosexual reproduction, sexual activity is a complex and culture-specific activity. Did you ever have the experience as an adolescent of taking a peak in a book like The Joy of Sex and thinking, “Wait...do people actually do that?” Imagination isn’t always an accurate guide.

The mechanics of sexual pleasure are not necessarily obvious, and although many people succeed in re-inventing favorite techniques on their own, there’s a large cultural component in the behavior, the logistics, and the associated equipment. To say nothing of how people thought about what they were doing. People learn sexual techniques in many ways: from lovers, from popular culture, from gossip, from jokes, from observation. Keep in mind that different ages have different concepts of personal privacy, and medieval people learned a great deal about sex from seeing it performed in front of them.

All these factors come into play even for marginalized sexual subcultures. In the early 18th century, when Catharina Linken was on trial for passing as a man, marrying a woman, and having sexual relations with her, she testified that she knew of other women who had done the same and thought there wasn’t anything wrong with it. A 17th century French manual for priests taking confession from their female parishioners told them to ask whether something lewd took place with other girls or women, and if so, who they learned it from or may have taught it to.

Although today’s podcast covers an earlier era, we can expect that there may have been similar networks of information--that women who desired women knew of others who felt the same, and so learned how to act on those desires.

But conversely, we can’t assume that specific sexual acts and techniques are either universal or obvious. When writing historical fiction about lesbian characters, it can be just as important to consider what types of sex your characters might have been familiar with as to consider what clothes they might have worn or what food they might have eaten.

So where can we find evidence on this question? After all nobody was writing sex manuals in the Middle Ages were they?

Well, perhaps they were. There were actually some interesting sex manuals written in the Islamic world during the Middle Ages, although that won’t be covered in this particular podcast.

One source of information for how people were having sex--or at least how people thought other people were having sex--are lists of what sexual activities were prohibited. Starting in the early Christian era, religious authorities began drawing up penitential manuals to help priests when taking confessions. These penitentials would provide lists of possible sins, including details of minor variations that might make the sin greater or lesser, along with the penances that should be assigned for them.

During much of the medieval period, the Catholic church was the primary institution concerned with sexual transgressions in Europe. Secular law codes only came into the picture later. But that doesn’t mean that people weren’t brought into court for reasons related to same-sex relationships, and even when the specific sex acts aren’t the charge, they may be discussed as part of the evidence.

While penitential manuals listed what was prohibited, trial records documented what people were accused of. Whether or not the specific accusations were true, they represent what the “common knowledge” was at the time. What people imagined that their neighbors might be doing. That common knowledge was just as available to women contemplating sex with each other as it was to busybodies who wanted to restrict what they were doing. In fact, as time went by, the penitential manuals started getting more and more vague, noting that a confessor should avoid giving people ideas by asking questions that were too specific.

Of course, laws and trial records distort the historic record in many ways. If an act isn’t considered to be sex unless it resembles heterosexual intercourse, then all manner of activities may fly under the radar and fail to be mentioned. Official records have a rather prurient interest in the use of penetrative sex toys and other activities that seem to mimic heterosexual sex. It’s likely that this focus reflected the activities that made male authorities most anxious, rather than the ones that were necessarily most common among women.

Beyond that, there are mentions of tribadism--of women lying on top of each other and rubbing vulvas together--as well as mentions of manual stimulation. Kissing and general references to fondling are common, but references to oral sex are rare. Not unheard-of, but rare. Does this mean that medieval European women weren’t practicing oral sex? It’s hard to say. We have clear evidence that women in Classical Rome were accused of doing so, but that doesn’t mean that it was practiced continuously.

Let’s take a look at the specific references that we can find. Although I want to focus on the medieval period in Europe, I’m going to extend coverage though the Renaissance and cut things off around 1600. It’ll be a chronological tour, though it would be just as interesting to compare different countries. I’m also focusing specifically on Christian Europe which, as we all know, had some very decided hang-ups around sex. During the same era, the Islamic world provides some interesting and more sex-positive information, which I may tackle in a future podcast.

pre 10th

Saint Augustine’s instructions to nuns in the 5th century acknowledged the potential for lesbian sex but in non-specific terms. “The love between you, however, ought not to be earthly but spiritual, for the things which shameless women do even to other women in low jokes and games are to be avoided, not only by widows and chaste handmaids of Christ, living under a holy rule of life, but also entirely by married women and maidens destined for marriage.”

A similar rule for cloistered women written by Donatus in the 7th century dances around the potential for sex acts. He addresses it via more public behaviors. He is concerned “that none take the hand of another or call each other ‘little girl’ It is forbidden lest any take the hand of another for delight or stand or walk around or sit together.” And the rules for sleeping arrangements suggest that privacy and easy access to naked bodies were considered too tempting. Nuns should each sleep in a separate bed in groups with a light burning in the chamber. They should sleep clothed, with their dresses belted.

While penitential manuals begin addressing the topic of lesbian sex as early as the 7th century, the specific acts aren’t described in detail. Theodore of Tarsus says, “If a woman practices vice with a woman, she shall do penance for three years. If she practices solitary vice, she shall do penance for the same period.” In context, it’s clear that vice is referring to sex, but in what form?

The 8th century English penitential of Saint Bede offers specific imagery, specifying “If nuns [have sex] with a nun, using an instrument, seven years’ penance.” Vague references to an instrument or similar language can always be understood to mean a dildo.

In the 9th century, the Frankish writer Hincmar of Reims expands on this theme, writing of such women, "They do not put flesh to flesh as in the fleshly genital member of one into the body of the other, since nature precludes this, but they do transform the use of that part of their body into an unnatural one: it is said that they use instruments of diabolical operations to excite desire.”

So we see women being condemned for calling each other by endearments and walking hand in hand, and for employing dildos for sexual enjoyment. But what about something between those extremes?

11th

Alongside religious and legal attitudes toward sex, there is a long tradition of medical writing that was often more open-minded. That open-mindedness may in some cases be directly related to standing apart from Christian religious traditions. The Persian physician Avicenna, writing in the 11th century, explained an accepted theory that women’s sexual pleasure was essential for their health, as well as being required for the successful conception of children. This idea is part of the humoral theory of medicine that was popular throughout Europe at the time. Although Avicenna noted that “rubbing among other women” was one way to address this need, he discouraged the practice. This sort of therapeutic stimulation fell out of favor in later medieval medical manuals, but appears again in the Renaissance.

12th

The 12th century German abbess Hildegard of Bingen had her own rather passionate attachments to fellow nuns, but seems to have made a distinction between even very intense spiritual love and sexual activity. She wrote that “a woman who takes up devilish ways and plays a male role in coupling with another woman is most vile in my sight, and so is she who subjects herself to such a one.” Hildegard’s description reflects the active-passive model of sex that prevailed in the middle ages. In context, it might suggest penetrative sex, but it could simply frame one woman as the pursuer and the other as pursued.

How well does the penitential literature describe how nuns expressed erotic desire for each other? Not well at all if you go by a 12th century German poem addressed by one nun to her absent beloved, in which she recalls “the kisses you gave me, and how with tender words you caressed my little breasts”.

It’s possible that kisses and caresses were not typically perceived as sexual between women. The 12th century French theologian Allan of Lille wrote a treatise De Planctu Naturae “Nature’s Complaint” that personifies Nature in relation to God and specifically attacks homosexuality as against nature. And yet illustrated editions of this work depict pairs of female allegorical figures in passionate physical embraces and kisses with only positive implications. The images may even be described in the text literally as “nuptial embraces”, that is, a formal action representing marriage. So while it’s possible that these artistic images were given a pass on their passion for being mere symbols, it’s also possible that this sort of sensuality was not considered to be sexual in a forbidden sense.

Elsewhere, embraces, kisses, and formalized gestures such as one lover holding the other’s chin (a gesture called a chin-chuck or chucking under the chin), are used as clear symbols of an implied sexual relationship. An entire series of illustrated Bibles of the 13th and 14th centuries show female and male pairs of lovers (clearly labeled as “sodomites”) lying together (fully clothed), kissing, with their arms around each other, and touching each other’s chin in the chin-chuck gesture. These gestures, and in particular touching or holding the lover’s chin, were part of a formalized artistic vocabulary of erotic activity. We see such signs again in illustrated versions of Ovid’s tale of Callisto created in the same era. The nymph Callisto is being kissed and embraced and touched on the chin by Diana (who is actually Zeus in disguise) and then, later, Callisto turns up pregnant.

So it seems reasonable to add kissing and embracing to the set of activities that were recognized as directly related to sexual activity, whether or not they were categorized as sex acts in and of themselves.

The English monk Aelred of Rievalux tackled this question directly in the 12th century when contemplating distinctions between spiritual and carnal friendship. He concludes that kissing on the lips can either be a spiritual act or a sexual one. Aelred included same sex relations in this concern, for in a treatise aimed at anchorites, he warns that a woman can be inflamed with passion for another woman. Female religious recluses were warned against “playing games of tickle” with female companions, which suggests another activity that may have balanced on the edge of sexuality.

13th

In the 13th century, Thomas Aquinas expressed similar concern about the erotic potential of these non-genital actions, asking “May there be mortal sin in caresses and kisses?” He answers that kisses and embraces can be innocent, but if done for the sake of pleasure then they can be sinful, that is, sexual.

In this same era, changes to procedures for accusation and evidence in the courts created a greater scope for the prosecution of private sexual activity on the basis of rumor or suspicion alone.  Now we begin to see a new category of evidence for women’s sexual activities: the accusations of their neighbors.

In the late 13th century, an Italian woman named Bertolina, was tried in Bologna for sodomy with other women. An anonymous accuser claimed that she was publicly known as a sodomite and that she had “conducted herself lustfully with women” using a sexual instrument made of silk to satisfy her lovers. The accusation seems to have been inspired by personal enmity, and Bertolina doesn’t seem to have made any secret of her activities. One witness, named Ugolino, told a story of how he’d heard some men serenading someone near his house, and he went out to ask if they’d serenade his own lady-love, Dolzebone. The singers said they’d been hired by Bertolina, but she said they could take the other job and went along with them to Dolzebone’s house, asking Ugolino, “Are you interested in her?” It turned out that Bertolina was another longtime suitor of the lady in question. When Ugolino scoffed at her, “How can you be interested in women?” Bertolina pulled out her silken dildo and said she knew how to satisfy them.

15th

When lesbian sex came to the attention of the law, most commonly it involved some trespass on male prerogatives, and especially the use of a dildo or involving male disguise. But one early 15th century French couple that I discussed in the very first episode of this podcast, were described simply as “climbing on top of each other, as a man does on a woman,” suggesting that the activity may have been closer to tribadism. Their ongoing relationship was consensual and they thought there was nothing wrong in what they were doing, but when their breakup turned violent the law got involved.

The more common situation in which the law got involved is seen in cases like a Spanish couple where a woman was passing as a man and twice married women, but was later convicted of sodomy for using a dildo for sex with them.

The details in the German trial of Katherina Hetzeldorder in the later 15th century shows a woman imitating the worst of male sexual aggression, but also has one of the most detailed descriptions of sexual activity found in medieval records. One woman testified that Katherina had “deflowered her and had made love to her over two years.” Another asserted that Katherina had “grabbed her just like a man” … “with hugging and kissing she behaved exactly like a man with women.” The most detailed testimony in the trial concerned how Katherina used an artificial penis both in her gender disguise and as a sexual aid. “She made an instrument with a red piece of leather, at the front filled with cotton, and a wooden stick stuck into it, and made a hole through the wooden stick, put a string through, and tied it round; and therewith she had her roguery with the two women….” Katherina’s sexual repertoire also included manual stimulation. One partner described how “she did it at first with one finger, thereafter with two, and then with three, and at last with the piece of wood that she held between her legs as she confessed before.”

So we have evidence that women were using digital stimulation for everyday pleasure as well as it being recommended as a medical treatment. Avicenna’s somewhat hesitant suggestions on that topic return in medical manuals by Italian physicians such as Antonio Guaynerio and Giovanni da Gradi, who recommended a treatment for sexual frustration under the name “suffocation of the womb.” A midwife should apply an ointment to the mouth of a woman’s vulva and rub it in using her finger in a circular motion both around and inside the vulva until the woman expelled the seed that was being retained. That is, until she came to orgasm.

16th

It’s curious that so little of the medieval material talks about the simple act of sexual rubbing, when so much of the vocabulary for lesbians focused on this activity. Whether it’s the Greek tribade, the Latin fricatrix, the English rubster, or the Arabic suĥaqiyya, meaning “grinder,” the linguistic assumption was that lesbian sex could be defined as rubbing. In the 16th century, professional literature about sex joined the image of rubbing genitals with the medical rediscovery of the clitoris and invented the idea that lesbian desire either was caused by, or would result in, an enlarged clitoris that was capable of penetrative sex all by itself. It’s pretty clear that this medical focus on the clitoris is due to its being considered an analog of the penis. And therefore people who assumed there could be no sexual pleasure without a penis, saw it as a focus for female sexual pleasure. It was true, but the logic was wrong.

There were still harsh legal penalties for sex between women involving dildos, and we still find trial records making reference to them in Spain and France. But now we start hearing stories of women who could perform sexually as if they were men using their own anatomy. Although this possibility is within the range of natural anatomical variation, the trope of it being common was largely a male fantasy.

As England had no tradition of prosecuting women for same-sex activity, medical literature is one of the few types of sources we have for what 16th century women may have been doing there. The medical fascination with the connection between tribadism and enlargement of the clitoris by writers such as Helkiah Crooke suggests that this was considered one popular sexual activity. But as I mentioned earlier, the medical theory of humoral balance included a belief that the “emission of seed”--that is to say, orgasm--could restore health to an abstinent woman. Sexual frustration even had its own name--“green sickness”--and some doctors prescribed treatment by the hand of a skilled midwife using a medicinal ointment. Though this wouldn’t have been considered a sexual act, it may have provided women a context for pleasure with official sanction.

There may have been any number of contexts in which women found excuses or reasons for why their sexual activities with each other were acceptable, or even desirable. One of the more extreme cases was that Benedetta Carlini, the abbess of a convent at Pescia, Italy in the early 17th century--which I’m including outside my date range because of the details. Benedetta may have been emotionally disturbed--possibly including hallucinations. And the relationship she had with the nun who provided testimony definitely involves some questionable consent, although it’s also true that the nun had a strong motivation for claiming to have been unwilling and admitted to having experienced sexual satisfaction.

Benedetta made a number of outrageous claims. She claimed to have received stigmata--that is, wounds in imitation of the wounds of Christ. She claimed to have had visions of divine figures and conversations with them, and to be the embodiment of an angel named Splendidiello. Benedetta was originally being investigated for the possibility that her experiences were holy and miraculous--a topic the church took seriously and was interested in either confirming or denying. Only as the testimony came out at great length did the sexual topics appear.

The nun who reported Benedetta’s activities was originally assigned to be her companion, to sleep with her and assist her during her episodes of hallucination and self-injury. (The stigmata were eventually proven to be self-inflicted.) As the holy nature of Benedetta’s experiences began to unravel, the nun who was her companion testified in detail to a sexual relationship.

Benedetta’s relationship with the nun began with kissing and putting her face between the other woman’s breasts and kissing them. Benedetta would lie on top of her and “stir herself on top of her so much that both of them corrupted themselves”. Benedetta grasped the other woman’s hand and placed it on her genitals, with a finger inside her, and then “holding it there she stirred herself so much that she corrupted herself.” I should note that “corrupted herself” in this context is an unambiguous reference to orgasm. Then Benedetta would perform a similar act to bring the nun to orgasm.

Benedetta’s explanation was that the angel Splenditello was acting through her, causing her to kiss the other woman and to fondle her breasts, and perform the other actions. On other occasions, the voice speaking through her presented itself as Jesus and told the nun that what they were doing was not a sin.

Although the context of these activities can hardly be viewed as a healthy, loving romantic relationship, the details provide us with a wealth of information about what sexual techniques 16th century nuns either learned from others or came up with on their own. And given this wealth of detail, it may be meaningful that there is no description of oral sex inciuded.

There was an understanding and expectation that women in convents--who may have been sent there with no particular religious vocation--might find solace and enjoyment in close personal relationships with each other. Even as penitential manuals grew more vague in their specifics, sets of rules for convents began to address secondary behaviors that were considered to lead to “special friendships” or to provide the opportunity for sin.

Spanish convent rules in the 16th century forbade nuns to sleep in the same bed or to be alone together behind closed doors. Special scrutiny was given to nuns who were seen hugging or “joining their faces together” (one wonders why they didn’t simply say “kissing” so perhaps something more specific was meant here).

When secular female couples came under the scrutiny of the courts, the traditional concern for the use of dildos was still present and punished harshly, sometimes with death, especially if gender disguise were involved. A woman in Valencia escaped the death penalty on a technicality despite passing as a man, marrying a woman, and enjoying sexual relations with her using an artificial penis made of lambskin. “Lambskin” was sometimes the term used for a condom made from a sheep’s intestines, so it’s possible that she was using a stuffed condom as a sex toy.

A much wider range of erotic activities are discussed that received non-lethal penalties when punished. Inés de Santa Cruz and Catalina Ledesma enjoyed a long-term, if stormy, domestic partnership “eating at the same table and sleeping in the same bed” that was public knowledge among their families and neighbors. Gossip presented at their trial included the results of eavesdropping where they were heard panting and grunting and making comments like, “Does that feel good?” as well as pillow talk. The sexual acts they admitted to included rubbing vulvas together and manual stimulation. They provided inconsistent testimony regarding the use of a dildo and there’s a sense that they may have been trying to include that item simply because the court expected them to.

The French writer Pierre de Bourdeille, better known by his title, Brantôme wrote a sensational book titled The Lives of Fair and Gallant Ladies that includes a number of homoerotic encounters between women, though the specifics may owe more to the male imagination than the female repertoire. Along with the usual descriptions of tribadism and the use of dildos attached using straps, he describes tongue-kissing, calling it “kissing in the manner of pigeons” that is, with the mouth open and the tongue in the mouth.

Summary

I would never treat the period from the 8th through 16th centuries as a single unified culture. The frequency with which particular techniques are mentioned varies over time, though in part this is due to changes in what the people making the records were most concerned about. There are some clear regional differences to be found in sexual behavior once you have enough data to look for them. But when you summarize the evidence for the types of sexual and erotic activities women enjoyed in Christian Europe in the middle ages and Renaissance, the same items are mentioned throughout this period and the same items are absent.

One category of activity that is notably absent is oral stimulation of the genitals, although this is a behavior that is clearly documented during Classical Roman times as well as after the Renaissance.

The activities that women did enjoy that were either considered to be sexual or that were clearly associated with erotic relationships include: kissing, in some cases including tongue-kissing, embracing, fondling of the breasts, tickling, the use of verbal endearments, hand-holding, chucking under the chin, sleeping in the same bed, lying on top of one another either clothed or naked and rubbing the genitals together, use of a dildo, manual stimulation and penetration with fingers.

Some of these activities could also be engaged in publicly without being considered sexual: including kissing, embracing, and sharing a bed.

 

So now you have a better idea about what your fictional medieval and Renaissance lesbians might have been up to.

 

* * * End of Transcript * * *

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMPpodcast