Heather Rose Jones's Blog, page 89

The Building Blocks of Identity

Monday, March 11, 2019 - 07:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Project

I sometimes make joking reference to the "industry of Anne Lister studies" but it's hard to exaggerate the value of Lister's candid diaries for disrupting theory-based understandings of 18-19th century female homosexuality. We need to be careful not to assume that Lister's experience is universal, nor to treat it as unique. Many women, no doubt, wrote candid private diaries and correspondence that may have expressed their negotiation of homoerotic desires. Vast amounts of women's private writing have been deliberately destroyed by their families after death "to preserve their privacy and reputation." We know for a fact that Lister's diaries came close to being destroyed at various points in their transmission. And, as noted in this article, we know for a fact that Lister was deliberately dishonest in her public presentation with regard to same-sex desires.

But conversely, we see Lister considering and choosing amoung a variety of possible understandings of her own life and desires. And we shouldn't assume that all women would have had the same understandings and made the same choices in how they modeled their lives. If anything, the individual agency in constructing a self-identity that Clark examines here--and the absense of "official" public models for that identity--argues for the likelihood that women who desired women would have had a variety of understandings and identities.

I sometimes get nervous about the "Lister Studies Industry" and the way that modern pop culture has fixated on specific aspects of her performance and re-framed them in modern terms. (For example, I've encountered Lister fans interpreting her "masculine dress" as meaning she wore trousers, even though it's clear from the diaries themselves that this was not the case.) Surely one of the lessons of the treasure that is Lister's diaries is that we need to enjoy the complex contradictory variety that is historic lesbian experience, rather than trying to envision women in the past as being exactly like us.

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMP







LHMP #238 Clark 1996 Anne Lister's construction of lesbian identity





About LHMP

Full citation: 

Clark, Anna. 1996. "Anne Lister's construction of lesbian identity", Journal of the History of Sexuality, 7(1), pp. 23-50.

Clark presents the early 19th century example of Anne Lister, not only as a fairly unambiguous example of lesbian identity--despite never using that term for herself--but as an illustration of the function of representation and agency in the history of sexuality. A contradiction of sorts to the social constructionist position that sexual identities are shaped or even determined by the surrounding societal discourse, rather than by the personal experience of desire.

The 19th century paradigm of “passionate friendship” between women encompassed emotional bonds and romantic expression but--as described by modern scholars--was considered to be unable of conceiving of sexual desire, much less acting on that desire. Under this paradigm, it is posited that early 19th century women could not develop a “lesbian identity” because no such concept existed for them to claim.

The social constructionist position is strongly associated with Michel Foucault, who held that until the late 19th century, a man who engaged in sex with men was regarded as sinful or criminal but was not considered to have a “homosexual” personality. Rather, that the ability to identify such a man (or to identify oneself) as “homosexual” was only possible after sexologists and psychiatrists invented the concept. And that the idea of homosexual identity was only then adopted by men and women whose desires aligned with those psychological models. Having an articulatable identity then made it possible for homosexual men and women to develop subcultures centered around their sexual orientation. This model made little or no allowance for individual agency in the development of identity.

The Foucaultian model has been eroded in recent decades, in part because more extensive historic research has contradicted the chronologies it relied on. Subcultures of homosexual men have been extensively documented in the 18th and 19th centuries in Europe, and sources such as Anne Lister’s diaries clearly show that women could be aware of the sexual nature of their desire for women and were acting on those desires. Extensive studies by Vicinus, Castle, Trumbach, Moore, and Donaghue regarding 18th century cultures point out that people in general--not just the women involved--could conceive of lesbian desire and recognize social roles associated with it.

An alternate theory from social construction is “sexual scripts”, in which sexual desires are learned rather than innate. This idea has problems in eras when homosexual desires or activity are strongly stigmatized. What is the attraction of adopting a negative script? It also suggests that homosexual desires could not be experienced in a vacuum--that they could only be acquired by encounters with those already familiar with the “script”. In contradiction to this are examples of isolated individuals who express a self-recognized same-sex desire without such a social context.

In the case of Anne Lister, although there is some evidence for lesbian subcultures among entertainers and sex workers in 18-19th century Paris, there is no similar evidence in England. So Lister could not have been “socialized” into a familiarity with lesbian desire, even by rumor. In England, Sapphic references seem to have been largely confined to sophisticated cosmopolitan intellectual circles. Circles that Lister encountered only after she had recognized and identified her own orientation.

Lister requires an understanding of sexual identity that allows for individual agency in constructing the self. Clark traces this act of construction based on three elements: her recognition of her own experiences and desires, her material circumstances, and the cultural representations she had available. For this, we have the abundant evidence of her detailed and candid diaries. One feature of Lister’s diaries was the use of a cipher code based on Greek  that enabled her to record explicit details of her relationships. She shared the code with some of her romantic correspondents.

Lister’s social and economic circumstances both enabled and restricted her expression of desire. Having recognized her interest in women in the context of a boarding school romance, she made an early decision not to marry. Family circumstances offered her the wealth necessary to avoid marriage. This was not entirely a matter of passive luck. Lister’s financial savvy was one motive for her being named the heir of her aunt and uncle (who were siblings, not spouses) rather than the property going to her father. But until that inheritance was realized, she didn’t have the financial standing to support a life partner in appropriate style. This threw obstacles in the way of several of her initial romances when her lovers succumbed to the pressure to marry for financial security. Lister did, eventually, find a life partner once she had obtained financial stability and control over her inheritance.

Lister’s records indicate that she was well aware of the variety of sexual morality that prevailed, not only in the upper levels of British society, but among her neighbors and peers. She also shows an awareness of the limits of tolerance and the need for discretion, while revealing an awareness of the transgressive nature of her own desires. She shows an awareness of the need to play multiple roles and to accept the contradictions between public and private identity.

That public identity, however, was constrained in the available roles for women at her time. Having declined that of wife and mother, she explored the possibility of the role of “passionate friendship,” including a visit to the famous “Ladies of Llangollen” who exemplified the role. But her commentary on that visit suggests that she viewed passionate friendship as not allowing for the sexual aspect that she enjoyed with her lovers (even when speculating that the Ladies themselves had a sexual relationship). Lister also explored a public role that adopted masculine motifs, particularly in the style of her clothing and accessories, as well as her vigorous physical behavior.

Another source of identity construction came from sparse references to sex between women that could be found in classical literature, such as Martial and Juvenal, as well as the more plentiful references to male homosexuality. Lister’s education included Latin and French, making this material linguistically accessible to her, though obtaining the publications required significant effort. She documents her interest in tracking down references to Sappho’s sexual interests, either through her work or allusions by other classical writers. The layers of misogyny and bowdlerism present in the material required substantial work to interpret, via a sort of double vision, consuming the negative treatment of lesbian desire and transforming it into a recognition of the existence of her own identity. Lister’s diary also traces how she tried to reconcile this identity with conventional religious (Anglican) attitudes toward sexuality. In this area, she developed a personalized morality that enabled her to use forms of religious experience (such as formalizing her relationships with women by taking the sacrament together) without considering her behavior to be uniquely in conflict with traditional moral principles.

Lister negotiated a similar ambivalence to Romantic literature, indulging in the power of authors such as Byron to offer intense emotional experiences, while recognizing that trying to follow their example in her own relationships “got her into scrapes.” But as with the classical authors, she simultaneously identified with writers like Rousseau while needing to sidestep his misogyny and negative attitude toward homosexuality. Lister used oblique references to these authors as coded overtures to women she was interested in, lending them books of poetry to observe their responses. Her diary follows in detail how she sounded out the nature of the relationship between the learned Miss Pickford and her good friend Miss Threlfall, while pretending to the former that her own relationships did not “go beyond...friendship.” A deceit that she directly acknowledges in a related entry.

In addition to these external sources that informed Lister’s construction of identity, the work of negotiating and articulating it often came in her interactions and discussions with other women. She developed covert and coded overtures that would enable her to determine the other women’s desires and attitudes before making any irrevocable confession. Included in this was her practice of discussing her interest in one woman with her other friends and lovers, while playing coy about her true desires.

[Note: It strikes me as highly relevant for interpreting the writings of Lister’s contemporaries that she records herself as publicly denying the possibility of sex between women, and denying the substance of her own desires as part of her negotiations with women she was considering as lovers. With Lister, we have the contradiction of her private commentary and the details of her sexual relationships. But perhaps we shouldn’t be so quick to accept as literal truth similar public protestations from women who did not leave private records. Just because a woman of that era says she can't imagine what two women would do in bed together can't be taken as proof that she wasn't doing those "unimaginable" things herself.]

Lister synthesized her understanding of her own sexuality into a belief that it was “natural” and perhaps even biological. Not in the sense of considering herself to have an underlying masculine physiology, but in the sense of concluding that male and female sexual biology was far more similar than was generally believed, and therefore there was no biological argument for a greater “naturalness” of sexual response to one sex over another. In this context, she had a fascination for androgyny.

Lister’s own pursuit of androgyny and performative masculinity encompassed both projecting “masculine” roles on her female lovers (calling her first lover “husband”) and later adopting masculine style jackets (in part, as an economic gesture to opt out of the pursuit of feminine fashionability) and viewing her active pursuit of potential partners as reflecting a masculine social role. She notes that she models herself on being “gentlemanly” rather than “masculine”, but also sometimes expresses the experience of sexual desire as being masculine in nature. She envisions the desire for women as partaking of some sort of inherent masculinity, without expressing any desire to be a man. Masculinity represented her desire for women and for the male privilege that would enable her to live the life she envisioned with one particular woman. This imagined male privilege does not seem to have been expressed in sexual performance. Although Lister preferred to take an active role in sex there are no indications that she used a dildo or in other ways enacted a masculine role in bed.

It’s clear from the various references to dress that Lister did not cross-dress completely. She wore specific male-coded garments, but always in combination with skirts. There are a couple of references in the diaries to fantasizing about passing as a man, but she rejects it as an option, not only because it would have meant leaving behind her comfortable position as a respectable heiress, but because the rules of homosociality would then bar her from the ordinary company of women, which she greatly enjoys. “It would not have done at all. I...should have been shut out from ladies’ society.”

During Lister’s lifetime, the blurring of gender boundaries created an anxiety expressed in caricatures of dandies in corsets and “female sailor boys”. But there was not a strong social stereotype linking overt female cross-dressing with lesbian desire. The multitude of stories of passing women and “female husbands” most often presented them as heterosexual, using flirtation or “fraudulent” marriage only as a part of the disguise and not an expression of sexuality or gender identity. Only on the stage were there allusions to the potential for overtly cross-dressing actresses to attract the desire of female spectators, though this was always accompanied by the opinion that this desire could not be fulfilled due to the absence of a penis between the couple.

In this context, Lister’s adoption of specific masculine signifiers, both in dress and behavior (her style of walking was noted as “masculine”) was viewed as threatening to convention and provoked hostile reactions from men, including the use of the probably derogatory nickname “Gentleman Jack”. But her economic position gave her some share in masculine privilege and her political activity seems to have wavered between feminist ideals and a more reflexive conservatism of the landowning gentry.

When Lister finally achieved her domestic ideal of an equal intellectual and economic partnership with a neighboring heiress, another Anne (Walker), it isn’t clear exactly what they both understood as the nature of their relationship. It had a sexual component, though Walker seems to have been uneasy about that aspect. It had a romantic component, though Lister at one point suggests that she was playing a romantic part to secure Walker’s affection rather than entirely expressing her true feelings. They lived and traveled together for a number of years, cut short by Lister’s death of a fever while traveling in the Caucasus.

In summary, Lister’s testimony in her diaries makes it clear that she didn’t adopt an existing sapphic role, despite there being at least scattered references to such a concept in contemporary society. Rather it was something she constructed from bits and pieces--from literature and her own experience--and negotiated covertly, being constantly aware of the need for discretion. She did not inherit the libertine understanding and philosophy of the 18th century, but looked for her identity in classical and Romantic literature. Her identity was, to some extent, compartmentalized between the private and public spheres, and she regularly recorded the duplicity she used to maintain the distinction. She was familiar with the concept of passionate friendship but didn’t consider the role to fit her own desires. She used masculine performance to express her sexual desires and longing for male social power, but rejected the idea of having an underlying male gender identity. She can’t be considered to have participated in a lesbian subculture, but did establish a personal network of women with same-sex desires that was surprisingly extensive. One of the bars to turning this network into a subculture was Lister’s chronic use of deception and mendacity to maintain the upper hand in her relationships and dodge the public scrutiny that she feared would put them in jeopardy. In part, this was a facet of Lister’s unique personality, but in part it was a reflection of the social realities of her time.

Time period: 19th cPlace: EnglandMisc tags: cross-gender roles/behaviorfemale head of householdhomosocial environments/communitiesclass issueseconomic independenceemotional /romantic bonds between womenromantic friendshipsex between womensexual/romantic desireEvent / person: Diaries (Anne Lister)







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The tale of Dhat al-Himma available online

Thursday, February 7, 2019 - 07:21

The Lesbian Historic Motif Project

One of the articles I covered last year was a study by Remke Kruk on the genre of "warrior women" epics in medieval Arabic litterature. In that 1998 piece, Kruk laments the lack of accessible translations of this fascinating corpus. This morning, my Twitter feed included a pointer to a freely-downloadable article studying and presenting a translation of on episode in the life of Dhat al-Himma, the central figure in the material Kruk discussed (although not the character that was the specific focus on the article). I'll be adding this new article to my to-do list, but if you're interested, you can check it out for yourself.

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMP

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast Episode 33a - The 100th Episode - Where My Heart Goes

Saturday, April 6, 2019 - 07:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 33a - The 100th Episode - Where My Heart Goes - transcript

(Originally aired 2019/04/06 - listen here)

I ran through a lot of ideas about what to air for the Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast’s 100th episode. The fact that it’s episode number 100 isn’t obvious from how I label the shows. For the first year, I did one show per month, and when I switched to a weekly format, it was convenient to keep the numbering by month and use the letters to distinguish the individual shows, so I could keep track of the different episode types more easily. So you may have to trust me on the math.

As I say, I ran through a lot of ideas about content. In the end, I circled back to the reason why I started doing the Project in the first place: as research and inspiration for my own historical fiction with lesbian characters. It isn’t quite the case that all my published fiction falls in that category--in fact, I’ve published only two stories that are set solidly in history with no fantastic elements of any type, though a lot more that include fantasy elements. But the research I do for the blog and podcast always harks back to my long list of historic story ideas, and the more research I do, the more inspiration I get.

So today, to celebrate having kept this show up through 100 episodes, I’d like to share one of those stories with you.

“Where My Heart Goes” was originally published in the collection Through the Hourglass edited by Sacchi Green and Patty G. Henderson. It was inspired by the real historical figures of Margaret Duchess of Parma, the bastard daughter of Emperor Charles V, who married into two of the most prominent families of 16th century Italy, and later in life served as Governor of the Netherlands, and by Laudomia Forteguerri of Siena, an intellectual and poet, who wrote a series of sonnets dedicated to Margaret, and disappeared from history after participating in the unsuccessful defense of Siena against the Holy Roman Empire and its allies. Their contemporaries praised the love and devotion the two women had for each other, and held it up as a model of female friendship. Later writers suggested that their friendship had not been limited to platonic ideals. The truth is hidden in silences and lost correspondence. My version of the story is one that can be fit into those silences and absences. If you want to know more about the historic facts, check out the podcast I did on the topic.

But for now, this is a possible truth, a possible history, a story that could have happened in those spaces and silences.

This recording is released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International Public License. You may share it in the full original form but you may not sell it, you may not transcribe it, and you may not adapt it.

* * *

WHERE MY HEART GOES

by Heather Rose Jones

Copyright © 2015

 

Siena had fallen. The news spread quickly along the roads to Florence, to Milan, to Venice. It came to me in Parma on a pale spring morning with the clatter of a messenger’s hoofbeats in the courtyard. After I paid and dismissed him, I hurried across the piazza to the cathedral to pray, clutching the pendant with Laudomia’s portrait between my hands as if it were a holy relic. Mother of God, let her be safe; let her be alive. It had been nine years since we had spoken or written. Nine long years of my own making—I could admit that now. It was like the stain of sin on my soul that she might have died without forgiving me. Now all that was left to me was to wait and pray, but the only words that came to my lips were from that last poem she wrote for me: May it not please God that I should ever live without my treasure! Ah cruel fortune, will you not arrange for my body to go where my heart goes? And I remembered when we first met, twenty-two years before.

* * *

I never believed Laudomia Forteguerri when she called me goddess and praised my beauty. I knew what I was. I always remembered how they spoke of me as a girl in the Low Countries when I was still “the little bastard”, before my father the emperor recognized me and betrothed me to a Medici and I became Madama. After that it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been hunchbacked or squint-eyed—though I wasn’t. I was only very plain, with a bit too much of my father’s lip and chin for beauty.

I never believed her when she said I was beautiful, but I believed her when she said she loved me, though I never knew why. It was easy to know why I loved Laudomia—everyone loved Laudomia. I loved her from that first day I saw her on the hot dusty road winding out of Siena as we passed Villa Olivia.

We should never have met. Rebellious Siena had not hung banners in my honor as so many towns had done on the road winding down from Verona through Mantua and on to Florence. I was tired—not tired of the gifts and fine gowns and being made much of. I was tired of sitting stiffly for hours before a crowd of strangers who spoke a tongue I couldn’t understand. I was tired of the constant presence of my betrothed: a man whose mercurial temper frightened me, though he always spoke me fair. Florence—that queen of cities that I would next enter as a bride—had welcomed me with cheers and song and endless banquets…and sidelong looks of pity, and whispers and glances toward my future husband that were filled equally of hate and fear. But he had stayed behind in Florence and now I was only tired. I saw no other fate before me. I was eleven years old.

* * *

We were still five days from Rome. Siena had fallen out of sight behind us among the winding hills when a splintering crack was followed by men’s shouts and women’s screams. The first wagon of our cavalcade had lost a wheel and driven a second off the road into a ditch. Madame de Lannoy drew aside the curtains of my traveling chair and said, “You needn’t fear, there’s nothing lost. But it will be some hours to repair the wheel and they need to unload the wagons to set them right. Would Madama like to take the air?”

I liked Madame de Lannoy, who had been set to teach me what I would need to know as Duchess of Florence—and even more as the emperor’s daughter. But a question from her was to be thought of as a command, and so I stepped down from my chair and looked to see where we had stopped. Just above the road stood a red-roofed villa, like many I’d seen dotting the hills all through Tuscany. Low walls spilled down towards the road showing glimpses of tall junipers and close-clipped laurel trees. In the stillness of the noonday heat, once the uproar of the accident had faded, I could hear the sound of music and laughter from the gardens beyond. And when the men in charge of the wagons returned from the villa in company with a wheelwright and smith to survey the damage, they were followed by a small crowd of bright-gowned ladies, peeking curiously through the side gate from the gardens.

I still remember how Laudomia looked to me then: tall and elegant, her dark hair braided up with pearls and her eyes bright with laughter. Only seven years older than me, but so assured! She spoke quickly with Madame de Lannoy in Italian—which I still stumbled to understand—then turned to me and opened her arms with a smile as bright and inviting as a statue of the Madonna. Madame de Lannoy said, “The Signora Forteguerri has invited you to take your ease while the wagon is repaired.”

Some said it was only one more move on the chessboard—that knowing who I was, Laudomia had calculated what my friendship might some day be worth. That was a lie. Every moment of that brief visit is burned in memory. They sat me on a chair beside the fountain, with my ladies and Madame de Lannoy standing by to make certain of the proprieties. Three girls were singing to the strains of a lute while another pair danced. Laudomia made me a garland of roses with her own hands and then a garland of poetry with her own mouth. And when two men began a jesting debate on the movements of the spheres, Laudomia bade them speak only Latin so that I might understand.

I had stepped outside the world into a garden of delights as only a painter could imagine, where no time passed and no cares could reach us. But all comes to an end, and at last my chamberlain came to tell us that the wagons were ready. I needed no prompting from Madame de Lannoy to give my thanks for their hospitality and welcome. And before Madame could think to protest, Laudomia had bent to kiss my cheek and said, “Write to me and I will send you the little verse I made for you.” From that moment my heart found a second home in Siena, wherever my body might lie.

She was beautiful—of course she was beautiful. But it was her soul I loved: that bright soul that burned like the Tuscan sun. And because of that, I believed her when she said she loved me too.

The Sienese villa faded like a dream when we arrived in Rome. But the pomp and splendor was left behind when we arrived at Naples. I became a girl again, with tutors and lessons and endless study. When I was set to learn to write in the Italian tongue, I asked Madame, “Would it not be proper for me to write to Signora Forteguerri to thank her for her kindness to me?” And Madame consented.

Castel Pizzofalcone, Naples, 18 August 1533—My most esteemed Signora Forteguerri, I hope you will not laugh at the mistakes in my writing. The time I spent in your garden made me very happy. I beg you please to send the poem you made for me as you promised. Your friend, Margaret of Austria.

* * *

I did not see Laudomia again for five long years. Can one fall in love only through the written page? She sent me that first poem, followed by others. I read them to myself in moments when I was alone. I knew the words by heart before my Italian had mastered their meanings. I never wrote to Laudomia about important things. My letters would be read by many eyes before they reached her. I didn’t tell her of my hopes when His Holiness died and it seemed the Medici marriage might be forgotten.

Castel Pizzofalcone, Naples, 2 December 1534—To the noble and wise Signora Forteguerri, It gave me great joy to hear of the birth of your daughter. I have sent with this letter a set of coral beads for her and hope that you will accept them. I have been reading the book you sent me of the Marchesa di Pescara’s poetry but I think that yours is better.

I said nothing when my father the emperor came to Naples or of the whispers that he would now marry me to the new pope’s grandson. I pretended not to hear the rumors that my betrothed Alessandro had murdered his cousin.

Castel Pizzofalcone, Naples, 15 June 1535—My most honored friend Signora Forteguerri, I thank you for the new verses you sent. It pains me to think that there is nothing I can write in return that would give proper recompense. As my own talents are so small, I send instead this small volume of Erasmus who, like me, comes to you from far to the north.

* * *

There was no need to tell her when I was wed to Alessandro de’ Medici, so I only described the beautiful red velvet zimarra I wore when I entered the gates of Florence at midnight with rows of blazing torches lining the roads, and how kind all the people were, and what they served at my wedding banquet. I didn’t tell her how one by one those around me were replaced by Alessandro’s creatures.

Palazzo Ottaviano, Florence, 28 October, 1535—My beloved friend Signora Forteguerri, I write to ask your advice on what may seem to you a small matter. Monsignore Giuliani has asked to dedicate a volume of poems to me. They tell me I should permit it to be polite, but I do not think he is a very good poet. It may be that you have spoiled me for any other verses than yours. What would you advise? I wish that I could ask Madame de Lannoy but she has returned to Naples. I long to have my friends about me and wish that I could see your face once more.

* * *

There were no letters to Laudomia in the confusion after Alessandro was murdered. She would not have expected that. I didn’t tell her how Cosimo de’ Medici kept me safe until my father the emperor removed my household to Prato and I could breathe again.

Palazzo Datini, Prato, 4 August, 1537—My dearest friend Signora Forteguerri, I have given thanks to God that you are again safely delivered of a daughter. We are settled comfortably here though we have not the elegant refinements of Florence. If you know of a musician who could lighten my days, I beg you will send him here. I long to see you again. We ride out hunting in the hills above the town and I sometimes wish to turn my horse’s head south and not to stop until I come to Siena. If only I could join you in your garden I think my heart could be at rest.

It was not Alessandro’s death that weighed on my heart but the question of my next marriage. An ordinary widow might use the black veil to turn away men’s eyes and thoughts but I could never be ordinary. There was a new Farnese pope, and popes have ambitious families. Once again, I was to be the bridge to Rome and this time the choice fell on Ottavio Farnese, the Holy Father’s grandson.

Palazzo Datini, Prato, 10 October, 1538—My beloved friend Signore Forteguerri, I am summoned to Rome at last. My noble cousin Cosimo de’ Medici will come to fetch me and I have begged him, as a sign of the affection he holds for me, that we might break our journey in Siena. Letters cannot take the place of your beloved face which I hold in memory as if it had been yesterday. Please write to tell me that I may come. There is so much I cannot write in these pages that I long to say to you.

* * *

She had not changed in my eyes—I think she could never change. And if I had still been a girl of eleven in her mind, I saw that fall away as she greeted me on the steps of the villa and quickly discarded the stiffness of Madama for the warmth of mia amica. Angelic beauty would not delight me more, she had written me, and she made me believe it. Villa Olivia was given into my hands for my stay, and I in turn sat Laudomia at my right hand and her husband at my left.

After that first day, we left formality behind. The olive-dotted hillside called to my restless spirit and we climbed up above the formal garden into the orchards. My ladies trailed behind and we settled on a marble bench with the entire countryside spread before us.

“You’re too young for widow’s black,” Laudomia laughed and twitched my skirts aside to sit as closely as clothing would allow. “Sixteen is far too soon to leave gaiety behind. Do you mourn Alessandro so deeply?”

“I rejoiced when I heard he was dead,” I said. Here there was no one to overhear. No need for anything but truth. “Alessandro was a monster and Ottavio is a brutish boy. If a black veil would keep all suitors at bay, I could pretend to a broken heart. But I am an emperor’s daughter, no one cares for my heart.”

“I care.” Laudomia took up my hand and pressed it to her lips. “You are the sun that graces these poor hills.”

I didn’t believe her, but I believed the longing that stirred within me. Words didn’t matter. I only knew that she had no reason to say them except for love. My answer stumbled in confusion, uncertain what I desired. And then my ladies finally came in sight on the path, panting from the slope and looking affronted that I had outpaced them. The moment passed.

“How old were you when you were married,” I asked Laudomia.

“Scarce seventeen.”

“And are you happy?” I knew it wasn’t a question one should ask. I had never looked to marriage for happiness.

“Marriage suits me,” Laudomia said, but that was no true answer. “I love my children and my husband is kind.” There was an empty space within her reply and she searched my face for something to fill it. I didn’t know what I might give and so I stood and we retraced the path back to the villa.

Laudomia’s friends came to Villa Olivia the next day. Like bees they descended on the garden: poets and philosophers, musicians and artists, learned men and beautiful ladies. Though the year was beginning to turn, we filled the space around the fountain with couches and cushions, and tables spilling over with fruit, and braziers to keep the hint of chill away. There was wine and witty conversation, games of chess and dancing. Laudomia sat at my side again and held her cup for me to drink and slipped sweet grapes and comfitted cherries between my lips until we giggled like girls. This was what I’d tried to build at Prato. Perhaps I would succeed in Rome.

“They’ve come in your honor,” Laudomia whispered behind her hand. I knew better: they came to bask in Laudomia’s sun. And like the sun, she bade them bloom and they obeyed.

“A poem!” one man entreated her. “We must have a poem from our Muse!”

“And which muse shall you have?” Laudomia answered playfully. “Shall I be Clio and recite histories for you?”

“It is for you to choose,” he replied with a bow.

“Then I shall be the tenth Muse for you—my own translation.” She turned to me and I felt her hand shake as she passed me the winecup. “I think he is a great man—like to God—who sits beside you.” She held my gaze and I felt her words like fingers on my skin. “Meeting you, I cannot speak, or see, or hear—I tremble and turn pale.”

And I, too, trembled.

Later, when the twilight turned to true night and the gardens turned chill, when the dishes had been cleared from the tables and the braziers were being put out one by one, Laudomia took my hand and said, “I have one more poem to offer you tonight, if I may?”

She led me to my chamber and our ladies unlaced our gowns and laid them aside and saw that the sheets were warmed and scented before retiring. Then she whispered verses closely in my ear—I know well that you left heaven only to show me divine things—and made poetry of her hands and lips playing across my skin, with even the finest linen of our camisias too great a barrier to allow.

The wind was chill the next day and we made our garden in the hall with dancing and playful debates. At night she came to me again and taught my tongue new words. All thoughts of Rome and Popes and marriages left me for days at a time. But time was a serpent in our garden. Too soon I was driven out of paradise.

“Write to me,” I begged as they repacked the wagons and the men of my escort crowded the courtyard on restless steeds. “Write to me in Rome and remind me that you love me.”

“I will tell the whole world I love you,” Laudomia whispered. “And when you are acclaimed the queen of Rome, do not forget your poor friend who longs for you.”

* * *

Villa Madama, Rome, 6 June 1539—Carissima Laudomia, It is a fine thing, I find, to be the first lady of Rome. Ottavio troubles me not at all and I trouble him even less. The Farneses are not well loved here and the people of Rome find it no fault in me to hold them at a distance. My father the emperor has named me Duchess of Camerino and Penne and given the governorship of Abruzzo into my hands. I am finally able to begin to order my life as I see fit. Your friend the painter Franzetti presented himself to me and I have set him to work on the frescos we discussed. In a year the gardens here will be worthy of the guests I hope will fill them. In everything I do, my dearest wish is to honor what you have seen in me.

Laudomia was true to her word. She wrote poems for me openly now, her passion couched in the ordinary praise of princes. Flow, ancient Tiber, and reflect the image of a brighter truer sun!

Villa Madama, Rome, 10 January, 1540—To my beloved Laudomia, I send the portrait you requested by this messenger. I would not have delayed so long except for the need to find a worthy artist. Would that I could send myself! In summer when I travel to Camerino, I will pass your way.

* * *

Villa Madama, Rome, 23 November, 1540—Mia Carissima Laudomia, I beg you will pay no mind to the news you have heard and will visit me here as you have planned. The Farneses have been badgering me about that silly boy Ottavio, but my father the emperor is pleased, I think, that I keep him dangling. I keep the golden chain with your portrait always close to my heart, but the image will be a poor substitute if I cannot have the substance.

And Laudomia came as promised. I held a great banquet in honor of the astronomer Piccolomini who had dedicated his books to her, but it was truly to honor Laudomia herself. The people of Rome smiled to see us ride out together and called us inseparabile. It was a golden season—but seasons turn.

* * *

Villa Olivia, Siena, 1 March, 1542—My beloved friend Marguerita who allows me the joy to call her so, When I heard of the terrible news from Algiers, the one consolation that remained to me was to think that now we would both be widows together. I rejoice to know the rumors were mistaken and you are not doubly bereft of husband and father. You may not think it, but life can be hard for a woman left alone and I at least have the comfort of my children. I pray for your continued health and that you may find some small space in your life to think of me. If you are able, I pray your steps will bring you to Siena soon. I know not when I may find myself in Rome again.

* * *

It was the next year before I was able to answer her plea. The gardens at Villa Olivia seemed to be in mourning themselves, the paths sodden with dead leaves and the branches bare, though it was only the late winter that made it so. We sat in her chamber with only a few ladies in attendance, listening to a mournful air. Laudomia was full of somber silences and I knew nothing of the cause until I asked what I hoped would lift her heart.

“Join me in Rome,” I urged. “Your life is your own now; share it with me.”

She shook her head. “My darling Ghita, it is impossible.”

I took her hand and warmed it against my cheek. “Nothing is impossible. Your daughters are married, your son is in the care of his grandfather, what is there left to keep you here? Who could need you as much as I do?”

“Marguerita, there is talk.”

And what of that, I thought, but she laid a finger across my lips.

“They say you are bewitched—that enemies of the Farneses have made unholy bargains to keep you and Ottavio apart. They look for a place to lay the blame…and we have made no secret of our love. For now the world holds us blameless: you are famed for holding yourself chaste from men and my love is praised as pure and noble. But what would they say if I came to you in Rome now?”

All my protests were in vain.

“Marguerita, you must be wise. Silence the whispers. Give your husband a child. It is long past time. And I…I will marry again. It is the only way.”

That night when we were alone I wasted the precious hours in rage and lamentation but she would not be moved.

* * *

In time it becomes a sickness, I think—the desire to turn every step into a bargain. All my life I had been bargained away to others and I learned to set my own price. I gave myself to Ottavio and gained nothing except a swelling belly. I paid my debt twice over, with twin sons quitting me of what I owed my husband. Should I not be rewarded with more? The Duchy of Milan was, perhaps, too much to ask. My father the emperor had turned his heart elsewhere. So I asked for something smaller. And I stumbled, not in the asking, but in writing to Laudomia before that gift too was denied.

Villa Madama, Rome, 24 February 1546—My dearest and most beloved friend, Soon, if my plans prosper, there will be no distance between us. My father is pleased to hear of my sons and I have asked him, in return, to grant me the governorship of Siena…

I had not thought what it might mean to her, beyond a chance to be together. I had not understood that every drop of blood within her veins was of the Noveschis, the founders of the Sienese republic who still clutched tightly to the dream of freedom. Laudomia’s reply cut like an icy wind.

Villa Olivia, Siena, 3 March, 1546—To her grace the Duchess of Camerino, Is my home no more than another pawn upon your chessboard? Come to Siena as friend and guest or not at all.

 Perhaps she should have made allowance. Perhaps I should have begged forgiveness. Perhaps and perhaps: the matter lay uncrossable between us, like the Alps in winter, for nine years. For nine years I neither saw nor heard from Laudomia, not when one of my sons died, not when I was finally confirmed as Duchess of Parma, not when we both found ourselves besieged by enemies.

* * *

All of Italy was suspended between the Empire and France like a bone between two dogs. But the bones had teeth. Siena was not the only city to cast their lot with France, and for that my father the emperor unleashed the Medicis who hungered to extend their reach south. And my foolish husband, thinking I could stay the worst if it came, made secret treaties with France that earned him only empty promises. We, too, had a greedy neighbor, and my father gave Gonzaga license to lay siege.

I thought of Laudomia throughout that ordeal, hearing how she had lent all her wealth to build fortifications, and had led a thousand women of Siena in defense of the city. The months dragged on and Gonzaga fumed outside the walls of Parma while my father gave him orders to let wagons through that I should not starve. I thought how Laudomia knew no such mercy and wondered if she went hungry. When the tide turned once more and Gonzaga was ordered back to his kennel, I wrote in secret to the leader of the forces outside Siena.

Palazzo del Vescovo, Parma, 13 June, 1554—To my beloved friend, Cosimo de’ Medici, Duke of Florence, It has been long years since I knew your kindness in those dark months after Alessandro was murdered, but I have never forgotten. I beg you, if there remains anything in your heart of the love you felt for me, to show mercy to one I hold more dear than life itself. Within the walls of Siena there is a lady of grace and beauty and more perfection than can be imagined. Her name is Laudomia Forteguerri…

* * *

Siena had fallen and I waited, hardly daring to hope. The news came at last as I walked in the garden on a warm day in April. The walls shut out everything but the twittering of sparrows. When the messenger was announced I thought it must once more be news from Ghent where Ottavio had gone to make peace with my father. But then I saw the man wore Medici livery and my heart stopped.

“Madama,” he said, bowing deeply and holding out a sealed letter. “My lord the Duke of Florence sends greetings.”

My fingers trembled so that I could scarcely break the seal. I scanned the first few lines, passing over the empty salutations. For the sake of our friendship, I send you a gift that I found within the walls after the surrender. I read no further. “Where?” I demanded.

“In the wagon,” he said. “Madama, there are conditions. You should read it all.”

But I had picked up my skirts, heedless of dignity, and ran through the corridors to the courtyard to pull aside the curtains from the back of the wagon that stood there. Do not think that I would not have recognized her. I would have known her at the ends of the earth or the depths of hell. But I think she had been very near to the latter. The hand she reached to me was gaunt. I could feel every bone and when I helped her from the wagon only my arms kept her from stumbling. I buried my face in the hollow of her neck and could only sob, “Holy Mother of God be praised,” over and over again.

* * *

There were conditions.

“I am exiled from Siena,” Laudomia said as I plied her with comfits and fresh oranges and every dainty thing she had forgotten could exist on the face of this earth. “From Tuscany—from any place the Medici hold sway. I should have been imprisoned, he said. To make an example. But then he asked if I would swear to accept exile, and he brought me out of the city in secret at night and set me in a wagon…”

I took her hand and stroked it. “And your husband?”

She shrugged. “He fled to Montalcino with the others. Hope maintains them, but I think France will do so no longer.” Laudomia looked up at me, her hollow eyes full of uncertainty. “What is to become of me?”

I had asked the same question for myself so often in the dark of night, praying for guidance. Would she be willing to follow my path? “We are reconciled with my father once more, for the moment. He has traded peace in Parma for the custody of my son. I have been told to make ready to bring Alexander to him in Brussels. I have thought—” This I had not yet spoken to any mortal soul. “I have thought to remain in the Low Countries. God knows I cannot even see my own fate, but will you share it with me?”

She smiled, a thin smile like the winter sun striving against clouds.

* * *

A year passed before we set out: a cavalcade to rival the one that had brought me to Italy twenty years before. This time I shared my traveling chair, not with the stiff and formal Madame de Lannoy but with the lady of my chamber. As the roofs of Parma disappeared behind us I said, “There is a garden at the palace of Coudenberg, walled in with hedges of yew and eglantine. In the spring the paths are lined with crocus and hyacinth. The scent of apple-blossom from the orchards drifts through the air like angel song. In the summer, it will be filled with music and poetry. Will it please you, do you think?”

Laudomia nestled closely against me. Her arm curved about my waist and her lips brushed my neck as she whispered, “My heart goes there; it gives me joy to follow.”

Major category: LHMPPublications: Where My Heart GoesTags: LHMPpodcast2019 Fiction SeriesWhere My Heart Goes

Announcing the LHMP 2019 Fiction Line-up

Tuesday, February 5, 2019 - 07:09

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

I'm happy to announce the 2019 fiction line-up for the podcast! I haven't sorted out the appearance schedule yet, but in alphabetical order of story title, we have:

"Alphabet of Signs" by Ursula Whitcher, a flash piece set in Carolingian France
"The Black Handkerchief" by Gwen Katz, love and political uprisings in late 19th century Russia
"By Her Pen She Conquers" by Catherine Lundoff, the tale of an aspiring playwright in Regency-era London
"Jade Generals" by Ursula Whitcher, another flash piece, this time in Heian Japan
"The Mermaid" by Kathleen Jowitt, salvaging shipwrecks in in 18th century can turn up unexpected treasure

I'll be running the two flash pieces in the same episode.

I'm always looking for narrators who are comfortable with specific cultural settings. If you've done professional narration--or have access to the equipment and would like to give it a try--contact me about providing a sample. My preference is for a "storytelling" style with a certain amount of expressiveness and with the character voices distinguished (but not a fully "acted" performance). This is a paid gig.

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMPpodcast2019 Fiction Series

When Sex Became Science

Monday, February 4, 2019 - 07:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Project

One of the consequences of lining up a set of all relevant articles from a single source is that I end up covering articles that are marginal to my personal interests--and keep in mind that this project is largely diven by what I personally find interesting. (If people want me to focus on things I find boring, they'd have to pay me a lot of money to do so.) In the case of the Journal of the History of Sexuality this means a group of articles about the field of sexology, as it developed in the late 19th century. (Once the topics move into the early 20th century, I consider myself authorized to skip them, since that's how I set up the focus of the Project.)

In the next several blogs, expect some of my impatience and frustration with "sexology" to leak out around the edges. Expecially when it comes to the misogyny that was embedded in the history of the field. But even more than impatience with the field of sexology itself, I'm frustrated by how often people today will repeat the myth that the sexologiests "invented" homosexuality. While there are narrow and rigid definitions by which that claim might be considered true, in the popular imagination it gets interpreted as meaning that same-sex love didn't really exist before the late 19th century. That there were no women who loved women or men who loved men, there were just some random physical practices and some conventional social performances that wishful thinking tries to associate with modern homosexual identities.

If there's only one message I hope to spread via this blog, it is that taking that sort of narrow definition requires a fairly willful erasure of the earlier evidence for ways of being that have clear connections to modern queer identities of all types. So bear with me for a few weeks while I tick the sexology articles off the list. Then we can get back to the fun stuff again.

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMP







LHMP #233 Bauer 2009 Theorizing Female Inversion





About LHMP

Full citation: 

Bauer, Heiki. 2009. “Theorizing Female Inversion: Sexology, Discipline, and Gender at the Fin de Siècle” in Journal of the History of Sexuality 18:1 pp.84-102

Bauer examines the discourse around female homosexuality at the turn of the 20th century in the context of the discipline of “sexology”, i.e., the supposedly scientific study of sexual desire and expression. Bauer points out that the dominant Foucaultian approach to historical understandings of sexuality has in many ways marginalized issues of gender, centering the male experience as the default. How does this gendering of sexual theory affect the ways in which sexuality is understood and studied? Rather than focusing on questions of sexual identity, this article looks at how the field of sexology developed, and on the concept of “sexual inversion” as applied differently to men’s and women’s experience.

The concept and term “sexual inversion” begins appearing in psychological literature in the 1870s in Germany and somewhat later in French and English literature. The basic concept is understanding same-sex sexuality as a disorder of gender identity (an “inversion” of gender norms). To understand how this affected the field of sexology, one must study the concepts and metaphors that were invoked by this language. Focusing on the last decades of the 19th century, Bauer shows how the discourse around male “inversion” was tied to issues of sexual identity and sexual practice, and politicized with respect to the emerging ideas about the state. In contrast, ideas about female “inversion” focused on social rather than sexual difference, and on the idea of distinct and separate roles for women, and women in society.

Misogynist reactions to the feminist ideas emerging in the late 19th century highlighted the concept of the “mannish” woman (under the rubric “The New Woman”). Feminists picked up a version of that concept, framing a type of affirmative female masculinity that marginalized same-sex sexuality.

Envisioning homosexuality in terms of gender “inversion” relies on a concept of fixed, binary gender roles that can be reversed (and can be identified as being reversed). But much of the early sexological literature focused solely on male subjects, treating women as an afterthought, if at all. This overlooked the interrelationship of female inversion with feminist principles and the place that masculinity held within that context.

Further, the developing discourse around male homosexuality included the participation of male homosexuals themselves, who had a stake in shaping how the field developed. In contrast, female homosexuals initially participated as passive subjects (topics of study) and not as participants in the emerging philosophical debate. Thus, studies of women who self-identified as “inverts” tend to focus on a later period (especially post-WWI Europe).

The concept of “sexual inversion” referred to a range of behaviors that intersected with, but was not congruent with, homosexuality. Later theorists note that this interplay of topics has sometimes divided the field between historical surveys of behavior and identity that sidestep theorizing, and theoretical models that fail to align with historic realities. Others argue that rather than critiquing the inadequacy of sexological categorization, the very idea of classification should be critiqued. Existing histories of sexuality that derive from male-focused theories often miss gendered gaps in the historic record, as when phenomena that are identified as “new developments” from a male perspective can be found at earlier periods within a female context.

One approach to address these gaps is to study the types of sexual knowledge that were in circulation at different historic periods. Another approach (which Bauer takes) is to examine how the structuring of debate around sexuality works to marginalize women’s experiences and especially women’s same-sex experiences. While sexological literature about female inverts focused on sexual intercourse (or the desire for it), it had little place for the “feminist” invert who used masculinity to critique cultural metaphors for gender.

The next section of the article discusses the interplay between theories of male sexual inversion and the political context of modern nation formation and how both masculinity and femininity were conceptualized in that process. Socio-political concepts themselves were gendered, with cultural or linguistic nationality being viewed as feminine while male sexuality was associated with statehood and political nationalism. Within this context, women who had sex with women were both legally invisible and not a threat to the concept of statehood that was under debate.

There follows an in-depth discussion of the work of Krafft-Ebing and how it distinguished psycho/physiological “inversion” from same-sex sexual activity. Krafft-Ebing argued for a parallel understanding of male and female sexual functions as part of his logical arguments against criminalizing sex between men, in the process undermining the previous idea that women were not capable of committing “real” sexual acts together. Part of his argument was that, given that men's and women’s same-sex acts are equivalent, and given that women have been engaging in same-sex acts throughout history, but that women’s same-sex acts have typically not been criminalized, then men’s same-sex acts should not be criminalized either. [Note: I’m vastly oversimplifying my understanding of the argument here.] However this argument overlooks the significant social and legal differences in the treatment of men and women throughout history (never mind the differences in their sexual practices).

Women began participating more in the theorization of sex in the first decade of the 20th century (see, e.g., the German novel Sind es Frauen? (Are They Women?)). These women’s voices treated the subject of gender and sexuality with more fluidity and as more intertwined with feminism than men had. In the period between the two World Wars, the image of the “mannish” New Woman (as exemplified in Radclyffe Hall’s novel The Well of Loneliness) became the popular model for female homosexuality. But in embracing the concept of a gender binary that could be reversed, in some ways this image marginalized same-sex desire, turning it into a pseudo-heterosexuality. As a political strategy, it was unsuccessful (some argue) precisely because it was associated with anti-feminist stereotypes. (Feminists had been subject to political attacks on the basis of being “mannish” since well before this era.)

Time period: 19th c20th cPlace: GermanyFranceEnglandMisc tags: medical treatisescross-gender roles/behaviorEvent / person: Are These Women? A Novel of the Third Sex (Sind es Frauen?) (Aimée Duc)The Well of Loneliness (Radclyffe Hall)Psychopathia Sexualis (Richard von Krafft-Ebing)







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Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast Episode 31c - Reprise: Ordinary Women

Saturday, February 16, 2019 - 07:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 31c - Reprise: Ordinary Women - transcript

(Originally aired 2019/02/16 - listen here)

I’m sure that some of my listeners are fanatic enough to go back and listen to all the previous episodes. But for those who are only lately come to the Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast, every once in a while I’ll reprise one of the earlier episodes that I think new listeners might enjoy. OK, so really this is a way of filling in an episode when my interview schedule has a gap in it.

The following show, “Ordinary Women,” was the very first episode of the Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast, originally airing in August 2016. I think it still stands as a good introduction to some of the very ordinary women who loved women in times past. I hope you enjoy it.

[Sponsor Break]

* * *

Let’s start this series with some ordinary women. Nobody special: they weren’t scandalous aristocrats or dashing adventurers or women who set out to transgress the rules of society. All they did was love each other. Perhaps not wisely, perhaps not always well.

In southern Germany, almost on the border with Switzerland, there is a town called Mösskirch. It has relatively few claims to fame: a composer, a philosopher, a painter whose name hasn’t survived, some talented brewers. In the 16th century, it was the residence of the Counts of Zimmern. But we aren’t concerned with any of them. We’re interested in a different 16th century resident, a servant-girl named Greta, who came to the attention of history in 1514 because she kept falling in love with girls.

Much of the solid historic evidence we have from medieval Europe about women who loved women is rather depressing, because the authorities only tended to pay attention to them when they’d stepped so far outside acceptable behavior that drastic penalties were invoked. But Greta’s story--as much as we know of it--is happier.

It is recorded that she loved young women and pursued them romantically as if she were behaving like a man. There’s no mention that Greta was masculine in any way other than falling in love with women--no indication that she dressed as a man, or tried to take on a masculine occupation, or that she made love to them using an artificial device. Those were the sorts of things that could draw harsh consequences. In fact, the only concern her neighbors seem to have had was to make sure that she really was a woman.

The concern wasn’t that she might have been a man disguising himself as a woman--that would have been a roundabout way to court girls! No, the problem was that her neighbors thought she might have been a hermaphrodite--something halfway between man and woman--and that this might be the reason why she felt erotic desires for women.

The idea of hermaphrodites as understood in that era is one of those odd social inventions. It probably derived in part from trying to understand intersex persons, who might have anatomy that seemed to be part male and part female. But it also derived from an inability to imagine anything other than heterosexual desire. So if a person who appeared female fell in love with or desired a woman, then that person must actually be a man.

The idea of hermaphrodites also overlaps with transgender history. Some historic individuals used the social belief in hermaphrodites as a legal tool to gain recognition as a different gender than the one they were assigned at birth. Some even succeeded.

But all that is a side-note to Greta’s story. The midwives of Mösskirch examined Greta and proclaimed that she was “a true proper woman”. And as far as we know, that was an end of it. There is no mention of any legal charge against her. No mention of any consequences. And so we are free to imagine Greta von Mösskirch flirting with other girls at the market fair, perhaps saving her money to buy a hair ribbon as a gift in hopes of being thanked with a kiss.

The second example has a less happy end, though it’s likely that the women only came to the attention of the authorities because of a domestic dispute.

Our story happens at the very beginning of the 15th century in France. To set the stage, this is about a decade before the birth of Joan of Arc. In fact we’re concerned with another French peasant woman named Jehanne. Jehanne was married, as one was, but it seems that at some point she had discovered the entirely different joys of making love to women. She was friends with another married woman named Laurence. One day they were walking out to the fields together when Jehanne ventured a proposition, “If you will be my sweetheart, I will do you much good.”

Laurence may have been a bit naive, or perhaps she’d never had the occasion to consider the question of whether enjoying a roll in the hay with a woman would be a sin--a literal roll in the hay, as the testimony indicates. She told people later that she didn’t think there was anything evil in it, and presumably Jehanne’s offer sounded like a bit of fun. They made their way to a convenient haystack and Jehanne lay on top of her and made love to her. The end results were satisfying enough that the two continued to meet for erotic encounters: at Laurence’s house, in the vineyards outside the village, or near the village fountain.

But eventually things soured. We don’t know whether Laurence started to get nervous about what they were doing, or if one of their husbands started asking questions, or perhaps it was just one of those things.

One night, when Jehanne came to Laurence’s house, Laurence told her she didn’t desire her any more. Jehanne, let us say, took the breakup badly. She attacked Laurence with a knife and then ran away.

Although the records don’t say so in as many words, it’s likely that this attack and the consequences of it are the only reason their relationship came to the attention of the authorities. In fact, the record skips entirely over any original accusation or trial and brings us in when Laurence is appealing for a pardon on the basis that the relationship was all Jehanne’s fault.

People are people, no matter what the century. And if society and the law imagines forbidden sexual relationships to involve an aggressor and a naive victim, then there will always be a temptation to throw one’s partner under the bus when push comes to shove. Laurence’s appeal was successful and she was pardoned. This is no small matter, given that the original sentence might well have been execution. There is no word in the record about Jehanne’s fate. It would be nice to fantasize that she ran away entirely, changed her name, got ahold of her anger management issues, and found happiness in some other woman’s arms eventually. It probably isn’t the way to bet, but we’re free to dream.

Links

The historic records concerning Greta von Mösskirch and Jehanne and Laurence are discussed in detail in the following publications.

Benkov, Edith. “The Erased Lesbian: Sodomy and the Legal Tradition in Medieval Europe” in Same Sex Love and Desire Among Women in the Middle Ages. ed. by Francesca Canadé Sautman & Pamela Sheingorn. Palgrave, New York, 2001.
Puff, Helmut. 2000. "Female Sodomy: The Trial of Katherina Hetzeldorfer (1477)" in Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies: 30:1, 41-61.
Major category: LHMPTags: LHMPpodcast

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast Episode 31b - 10 Lesbian Historical Books and Movies I Loved in 2018

Saturday, February 9, 2019 - 07:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 31b - 10 Lesbian Historical Books and Movies I Loved in 2018 - transcript

(Originally aired 2019/02/09 - listen here)

Maybe I’m a bit late to the gate for a favorite things of 2018 list, but it can take me a while to ponder my choices. This is a list of books--both fiction and non-fiction--and movies relating to lesbian history that I enjoyed in 2018. I’m not claiming that this is any sort of “best of” list. How could it be? I can only talk about the things that I had the time and opportunity to enjoy. And it’s very specifically chosen from things that I read or saw in 2018, not things that came out in 2018. I always feel sorry for authors whose books come out in December when people draw up lists based on year of release! Some of these works came out decades ago and I only picked them up to read in the last year. And I confess that for the non-fiction I focused on whole books rather than individual journal articles.

I thought a bit about how to organize this list and finally decided that chronology of topic would be the most arbitrary and therefore the most fair.

1. Roman Homosexuality by Craig A. Williams form Oxford University Press. I read this for the blog when I was doing a series of posts on publications covering sexuality in classical Rome. For quite some time I’ve been trying to get my head around scholarly explanations of how ancient Romans thought about gender and sexuality and why the modern categories of heterosexual and homosexual don’t really make sense in that context. Too often those explanations end up feeling like an erasure of non-normative sexuality. Williams was the first author who presented the material in a way that finally made sense to me. I still think he has some blind spots in terms of women’s sexuality. Like many male academics, he doesn’t try very hard to work past the male-dominated documentary sources to consider that women in the society he’s studying just might have understood their lives differently from what men said about them. But for the most part, he not only does a good job, but he presents the material in an evenhanded and non-judgmental way.

2. My next favorite thing covers a broad swath of time, so I’m arbitrarily placing it second. The collection of articles The Lesbian Premodern, edited by Noreen Giffney, Michelle M. Sauer, and Diane Watt includes articles covering specific topics from the medieval and early modern period, but also a number of theoretical articles about the study of lesbian history--what it means and how it can be done. I really enjoyed reading about scholars who are thinking and talking about many of the same issues that inspired the Lesbian Historic Motif Project, even though they’re looking at them from an entirely different angle. What does it mean to look for lesbians in the past? How does the search for identity both inspire and interfere with academic goals? How do philosophical conflicts among scholars affect what types of history get studied, and how? I found a lot of parallels in this collection between approaches to the study of lesbian history and considerations in the writing of lesbian historical fiction. And it gave me a lot of food for thought.

3. My next favorite item in chronology is...The Favourite, the recent movie about England’s Queen Anne and the rivalry between two of her courtiers for her affection and influence in the early 18th century. I took full advantage of this topic to do a show about Queen Anne within the historic context (https://www.alpennia.com/blog/lesbian-historic-motif-podcast-episode-29d...), a review of the movie with two reviewers, and then another show about the satirical writings of one of her contemporaries (https://www.alpennia.com/blog/lesbian-historic-motif-podcast-episode-30d...) who envisioned a secret lesbian society in a satirical fantasy. The reign of Queen Anne isn’t a particularly popular time for setting historical fiction. It’s not the wild and lascivious Restoration or that novelist’s favorite, the Regency or Georgian era. But maybe people will be inspired by this movie to take a closer look.

4. Number four in my chronology is the first of the several fictional works I enjoyed in 2018. With a late 18th century setting, Alyssa Cole’s novella “That Could Be Enough” set a high benchmark for lesbian historical fiction. Her characters not only reflect a possible early American understanding of women who love women, but very specifically the experiences of women of color in post-Revolutionary America.

5. The fictional works in this list all fall in a fairly tight time period, with number 5 being Emma Donoghue’s Life Mask, about the aristocratic sculptor Anne Damer during an extended period around 1800. This can’t really be classified as a lesbian historical romance--much more like a historical novel in which the main character has a lesbian romance. I haven’t written my full review of this book yet, but it falls in that genre of novels where the historical details are the focus and the personal stories are the medium through which we experience them. The sapphic happy ending is a long time coming in the book, and the reader will learn a vast amount about the details of English politics in the mean time. Probably much more than the average reader is interested in. But I have a great fondness for novels that help ground me in the details of history though the lives of the people participating in them. I learned most of my English chronology from authors like Jean Plaidy and Norah Lofts. Emma Donoghue writes in that same vein but focusing on women who loved women.

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6.  In sixth place comes an entry into one of my favorite genres: the Regency Romance. The Covert Captain by Jeannelle M. Ferreira has gender disguise, desperate pining, veterans of Waterloo with post-traumatic stress, and lots of historically supported love between women. One of my aspirations is to write a lesbian Regency in the tradition of Georgette Heyer, but until I write my own, I’m happy to feast on contributions such as The Covert Captain.

7. Real-life Regency-era women didn’t fall far behind fiction in terms of whacked-out adventure and romance. The book Mary Diana Dods: A Gentleman and a Scholar by Betty T. Bennett reads almost like an academic mystery novel, tracing the research that led Bennett from trying to pin down a couple of minor footnotes in her book about Mary Shelley, to discovering a story of mystery, gender disguise, literary pseudonyms, and marriage between two women that has the added excitement of intersecting the life of writer Mary Shelley. If anyone ever tells you that the plot of your lesbian historical romance is implausible, you can probably rest assured that it’s far more believable than the real life story of Mary Diana Dods.

8. Some people will try to tell you that the 19th century was full of passionate but sexless Romantic Friendships. Women who wrote sappy letters to each other full of elegant and overblown endearments, but who were far too much of proper ladies to engage in anything so vulgar as sex. But when you read candid biographies of women like actress Charlotte Cushman, such as the book When Romeo was a Woman: Charlotte Cushman and her Circle of Female SpectatorsI by Lisa Merrill, it takes a lot of willful denial to conclude that these were not romantic relationships in every sense of the word. Cushman not only enjoyed a series of romantic relationships with women drawn from feminist and artistic circles, but she was a wildly successful actress, especially in “breeches parts” such as Romeo, who attracted adoring female fans, and was the center of a community of artistic women, in London, Boston, and Rome whose careers she promoted through her network of social and political connections. Cushman had her faults. It’s hard not to be a little squicked at how she arranged for one of her girlfriends to marry her nephew so they could have an excuse to be close to each other without making her long-term female partner jealous. But just as with Dods, she led a life that you’d have to tone down a little to write plausible fiction.

9. Returning to actual fiction, the late 19th century era of decadent artists and self-consciously transgressive sexuality is the setting for Molly Tanzer’s historic fantasy Creatures of Will and Temper, inspired by a reimagining of Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Grey. I loved how this tale wove together demonology, the aesthetic movement, and the maddening and loving relationship between two sisters. And it has a very delicious lesbian romance threaded through it that feels very true to the setting while never taking over the plot.

10. The question of where “history” ends and the current era begins is always tricky. I remember the events that inspired the movie Battle of the Sexes, based on the publicity-spectacle tennis match between champion Bille Jean King and has-been performative sexist Bobby Riggs. But the movie clearly treats the event as a period piece, so we’ll consider it a historical movie. One focus of the film that was less well known at the time of the massively publicized match was King’s on-going affair with Marilyn Barnett, depicted in the film as the team hairdresser. While the movie does the usual Hollywood condensation and rearrangement of the historic facts for dramatic effect. And, in my opinion, is far too kind to professional asshole Bobby Riggs, it does a good job of presenting the conflicts and joys of being a high-profile woman of the 1970s who is coming to grips with being in love with a woman.

11. No list of ten favorite things would be complete without cheating and adding in an extra. There are novels about the future that have all the feel of history--though sometimes a history we hope never happens. Claire O’Dell’s A Study in Honor is that sort of book, depicting a near-future America that feels entirely too plausible in its dystopic vision, through the eyes of a black lesbian army surgeon, trying to come back from a disabling injury, and her unexpected and eccentric housemate who is clearly engaged in dangerous espionage activities. Inspired as a reimagining of Sherlock Holmes, this thriller is the first in a series that thrusts two very different women into an uneasy partnership.

So that’s my year in lesbian history. I’m looking forward to what 2019 brings. Follow the blog and podcast and try to guess what will make my favorites list next year!

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMPpodcast

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast Episode 31a - On the Shelf for February 2019

Saturday, February 2, 2019 - 09:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 31a - On the Shelf for February 2019 - Transcript

Note: Enough story submissions came in on the very last day that I will be doing the fiction series this year.

(Originally aired 2019/02/02 - listen here)

Welcome to On the Shelf for February 2019.

All sorts of fun things are coming up on the horizon for the podcast. I have three interviews scheduled to record and another five in discussions. When I have them in hand, I’ll let you know who and when, but I don’t like to jinx things before the recording happens.

One big thing I’ve started on, relating to the interview shows, is that I’m commissioning transcripts of all the past interviews and will eventually work up to getting the interview transcripts up fairly soon after they air.

At the moment, I don’t have any interviews in the can for this month, so you’ll get more surprise content--which is another way of saying, I’ll see what I can come up with on the fly. Maybe I’ll do a list of some of my favorite lesbian historical movies. There are more of them out there than you might think! If you’re a fan of historical fiction and would love to come on the show to talk about some of your favorite books, drop me an email and we can set something up.

By the time this show airs, the submissions period for the 2019 fiction series will have closed. But at the time I’m recording this, I honestly have no idea whether I’ll have enough submissions to actually run the series this year. Maybe I’ll get a ton of stories submitted in the last couple days; maybe just the couple that people have said they’re planning to send in. Maybe I’ll get enough great stories to fill the series. Maybe I won’t By the time you hear this, you’ll already know the answer, if you read the blog. I confess I’d expected there to be more interest and enthusiasm in the second year. No matter how things go with this year’s series, I don’t think I’ll be doing it again in 2020, which is a shame because I’d hoped to provide a new venue for publishing lesbian historical short fiction. But a publishing venue doesn’t do much good if no one sends their work in for consideration.

Publications on the Blog

On the blog I’ve been continuing to work through some thematic groups of articles from the Journal of the History of Sexuality, with a few other random items. January focused on articles covering 16th and 17th century topics, including a fascinating study of a gender-queer person in colonial Virginia that sheds light on how ordinary people understood gender identity and sexuality. In February, I’m tackling a collection of articles about the late 19th century field of sexology and the supposed “invention” of homosexuality by psychologists. I confess it’s an era and a topic that makes me impatient because too often that particular era in the medicalization of sexuality and gender identity gets misinterpreted as demonstrating that there was no such thing as same-sex love before people like Krafft-Ebing wrote their books about it. So if a bit of my impatience shows through in my summaries, you’ll understand why.

Book Shopping!

The only new book purchase for the blog this month was my very own copy of Delarivier Manley’s The New Atalantis, in support of last week’s podcast with readings from the text. What did you think of Manley’s depiction--satiric though it may have been--of a secret sapphic society in early 18th century England?

Essay

For this month’s podcast essay, I think I’m ready to begin tackling the delicate topic of the historic intersection of themes of female homoeroticism and trans-masculinity. It’s a complicated and broad subject. For this first installment I’ll be tackling some basic approaches to unpacking our cultural assumptions about gender and sexuality categories so we can think and talk about historic categories in an open-minded way. Lesbian historical fiction has a bit of an unfortunate history of erasing or ignoring trans possibilities, in large part because we’re wedded to concepts of gender and sexuality that are rooted in our specific cultural context. To address the issues around trans-masculinity in lesbian historicals in a meaningful way, we need to take a close look at the historic relationship between how people in the past understood gender and how they understood sexual orientation. I’m going to have a lot of fun in this first essay, although with a very serious purpose, because I’m going to start by taking you on a tour through the semantics of prepositions--the topic of my doctoral dissertation.

Recent Lesbian Historical Fiction

And now for the new and recent releases of lesbian-relevant historical fiction! The first few books all have a prominent element of fantasy in their history.

Running Wild by Laurel Clarke (published through Amazon Digital) is subtitled “A Steamy Lesbian Romance in Ancient Greece” so you can probably assume you get what it says on the label. Here’s the blurb:

In ancient Greece, women don't leave the homes of their male relatives. They don't become physicians, and they CERTAINLY don't fall for other women. But Melitta is breaking all the rules. She didn't set out to get thrown out of her brother's house or meet a troop of naughty naiads. She definitely never expected to befriend Ris, a half-naiad half-human woman who has a bad habit of not wearing clothes. And now Ris just won't get out of her head. All Melitta ever wanted was a career as a village doctor and a normal life. But things are changing. Now, the only thing she seems to want is... Ris.

Breaking Mae's Curse self-published by Amy DeMeritt may have only tangential historical content. It’s hard to tell from the blurb.

What happens when a lesbian samurai refuses to marry the king? He kills her lover and then orders his sorceress to curse her to immortality as a five-inch-tall woman, of course. Fast forward almost 600 years. Mae’s plan to try to meet a beautiful woman backfires and instead she befriends a young IT nerd who is all too excited to try to help her break her curse – which requires a woman to fall in love with her. Can a five-inch tall lesbian samurai find love? Can Mae’s curse be broken? Or will the enemies of her past come back to destroy everything?

Souls of Viridian by Ayin Weaver from NovelWeaver Press sounds like the sort of cross-time/parallel lives story that pops up regularly in lesbian fiction.

Souls of Viridian is a tale of love and courage, a journey of possibilities, and a dream of expansive horizons. A 15th century Italian child of a secret healer, a young Parisian woman and her father at the dawn of revolutionary France, a lesbian artist and her partner living in 21st century America, a modern middle-aged widow searching for answers after her husband’s death, and an apparition from an other-worldly dimension—what could they possibly have in common? What could it all mean? Widow Rachel Padini wants answers, especially as dreams and hallucinations of an odd child plague her life. Artist Rita Kerner wants answers too—to unlock the mystery of the strange portraits she paints. But they don’t know each other. Nor do they know what they have in common—or what fantastical phenomenon awaits them if they meet.

A Harvest of Sisters self-published by Emma Bawden sounds like an interesting slice-of-life story set in early 20th century England.

On holiday with her parents in Cornwall, sixteen year old Jessica Bradley, falls in love with Elizabeth Trescothick, during the summer of 1931. Through the remains of the decade, she experiences loss and love, gives birth to a daughter, eventually finding happiness, a life long partner, and becoming part of a group of women, who form an art school in London, before WW2. A story of independent women with a vision of equality and a refusal to commit to convention.

The Arrival of Lady Suthmeer self-published by Connie Valientis is a bite-sized novelette with a nebulously 18th or 19th century setting. I’ve reviewed it on my blog if you’re interested.

All Lavina wants is to quietly marry a man who will allow her to continue her current affair with the beautiful Lady Georgia Suthmeer. But with Lady Suthmeer herself objecting to any marriage, and with Lady Suthmeer’s husband pursuing Lavina for himself, it’s easier said than done. Can Lavina balance the men and women in her life, or will she end up losing her reputation–or worse, her lover?

The Plan by Kim Pritekel from Sapphire Books sounds like a classic tale of girls from opposite sides of the tracks.

As the dark days of the Dust Bowl came to an end, the midsection of the United States tried to rebuild and revitalize. In the small, dusty farming town of, Brooke View, Colorado, teenager, Eleanor Landry and her mother were dealing with her father, a self-appointment fire and brimstone preacher to his congregation of two. A plan to survive. As the dark era of the robber baron comes to an end, giants of industry and innovation emerged with fabulous fortunes manifested in the mansions that dotted the landscape across the country. Lysette Landon, the teen daughter of the wealthiest family in Brooke View, was everything a good, proper girl of privilege should be. Only problem was, she wasn’t dreaming of finding a young man to raise a family with. A plan to be free. One look, one touch, all plans are off.  Secrets deeper and darker than the grave would bring Eleanor and Lysette together, their families connected by a web of lies and broken promises. A plan to escape.  Be careful because, life has other plans…

Acts of Contrition is the 4th book in the Passing Rites saga by Elena Graf from Purple Hand Press. Be aware that this series has some intense content, including depictions of rape and sexual violence, as well the aftermath of war.

World War II has finally come to an end and Berlin has fallen. Nearly everything Margarethe, chief of staff of St. Hilde's Hospital and head of the aristocratic Stahle family, has sworn to protect has been lost. After being brutally abused by occupying Russian soldiers in her own hospital, Margarethe must rely on the kindness of her friends to survive. Fortunately, the American Army has brought her former protégé, Dr. Sarah Weber, back to Berlin. As Margarethe confronts painful events that occurred during the war, she must learn both to forgive and be forgiven.  This is the fourth novel in the Passing Rites Series, which follows the aristocratic Stahle family through the 20th century. Set in Berlin during the aftermath of World War II, Acts of Contrition shows how survivors struggled with their guilt over the events of the war. It tells the story of how rape, crushing personal losses and grief can bring someone to the brink and how friendship and love can bring her back.

Manifold Press is putting out a Valentine’s anthology, Rainbow Bouquet, with a range of stories of queer love in the past, present, and future. At this time, I don’t know what the extent of the lesbian content might be. At some point this year I’ll be doing an interview with the new editor of Manifold Press to talk about her plans and vision for the publishing house.

Figuring by Maria Popova from Pantheon is a non-fiction book with a description that reads almost like a historic novel, and so might be of interest to my listeners.

Figuring explores the complexities of love and the human search for truth and meaning through the interconnected lives of several historical figures across four centuries—beginning with the astronomer Johannes Kepler, who discovered the laws of planetary motion, and ending with the marine biologist and author Rachel Carson, who catalyzed the environmental movement.  Stretching between these figures is a cast of artists, writers, and scientists—mostly women, mostly queer—whose public contribution have risen out of their unclassifiable and often heartbreaking private relationships to change the way we understand, experience, and appreciate the universe. Among them are the astronomer Maria Mitchell, who paved the way for women in science; the sculptor Harriet Hosmer, who did the same in art; the journalist and literary critic Margaret Fuller, who sparked the feminist movement; and the poet Emily Dickinson. Emanating from these lives are larger questions about the measure of a good life and what it means to leave a lasting mark of betterment on an imperfect world: Are achievement and acclaim enough for happiness? Is genius? Is love? Weaving through the narrative is a set of peripheral figures—Ralph Waldo Emerson, Charles Darwin, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Herman Melville, Frederick Douglass, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Walt Whitman—and a tapestry of themes spanning music, feminism, the history of science, the rise and decline of religion, and how the intersection of astronomy, poetry, and Transcendentalist philosophy fomented the environmental movement.

If you know of any forthcoming lesbian-relevant historical fiction, including historic fantasy and similar genres, drop the podcast a note to make sure we have a chance to include it.

Ask Sappho

I’d love to continue doing the “Ask Sappho” bit in this show, to answer questions or explore topics that are too brief for a show of their own. But it only happens if people send me questions or requests. If you like what you hear on this show, drop us a note and let us know. And get your personally-tailored information on lesbian history and historic literature.

* * *

Books Mentioned

Running Wild: A Steamy Lesbian Romance in Ancient Greece by Laurel Clarke (Amazon Digital)
Breaking Mae's Curse by Amy DeMeritt (self-published)
Souls of Viridian by Ayin Weaver (NovelWeaver Press)
A Harvest of Sisters by Emma Bawden (self-published)
The Arrival of Lady Suthmeer by Connie Valientis (self-published)
The Plan by Kim Pritekel (Sapphire Books)
Acts of Contrition (Passing Rites 4) by Elena Graf (Purple Hand Press)
Rainbow Bouquet by various authors (Manifold Press)
Figuring by Maria Popova (Pantheon)
Major category: LHMPTags: LHMPpodcast

Review: The Arrival of Lady Suthmeer by Connie Valientis

Tuesday, January 22, 2019 - 19:24

The Arrival of Lady Suthmeer is a historical romp, with the light-hearted tone intruded on by brief bits of sexual importuning and violence. Lavinia juggles her passionate desire for the married Lady Suthmeer, the unwanted interest of Lord Suthmeer, the sad necessity for a woman to marry, and the awkward surprise that her betrothed expects to defend her reputation. The solution includes some unexpected twists and a very historically accurate acceptance of open relationships (at least, open when it comes to having a same-sex lover on the side) that may not fit some readers’ definitions of “happily ever after.”

The subtitle proclaims the work “a novella”, but it’s quite short--much more in novelette territory by word-count. It’s competently written, although I kept wishing for a more solid sense of time and place. Place is clearly England, but none of the spaces in which the story plays out feel anchored by concrete details, and the protagonist’s domestic arrangements are implausible for her apparent class and status. I still have no idea when the story is supposed to be taking place. From the passing details, it could be anywhere in the 18th or 19th centuries. (At first I thought the ca. 1790 cover image gave us a clue, but the back cover image is more 1870s so who knows?) Erotic content dominates the first part of the story and the plot revolves entirely around sorting out the various interpersonal relationships.

So don’t go into this looking for a solidly historically grounded story, or for eloquent prose, but it’s entertaining enough for an afternoon’s reading.

Major category: ReviewsTags: Reviews: Books

No one expects...the jokes write themselves

Monday, January 28, 2019 - 07:00

The Lesbian Historic Motif Project

As I mention in the discussion below, given how very little information this article has relating to women's same-sex relations, one might wonder why I bothered to include it. And the answer is, because often negative information is as important to understanding the context of people's lives in history as the positive information is. We often have an impression that women in sexual relationships were in constant danger of persecution and repression. That they must have lived in constant fear of discovery and the consequences thereof. But once you sift through the data in this article (and it's packed full of numbers and pie charts and trend graphs), the take-home message is that in the entire kingdom of Aragon in Spain, for the century and a half when the Spanish Inquisition was most fixated on the sexual lives of ordinary people, only one (1) female couple is recorded as being tried by the Inquisition for the offense of sodomy. And they were punished by exile and being forbidden to live together, not by death or even imprisonment. (Though exile was nothing to sneeze at.) While this data doesn't address how this compared with attention from the secular courts, and while it doesn't give us a baseline for how many women engaged in acts that might have been considered sodomy, we can make some reasonable extrapolations and suggest that legal prosecution of women solely for engaging in same-sex acts was not a major risk factor.

So when you're imagining the lives of your fictional characters and thinking of setting them in 16-17th century Spain, maybe--just maybe--the Inquisition isn't something that needs to be a constant threat looming over their lives. In fact, coming to the notice of the Inquisition must might be more historically inaccurate than otherwise.

Major category: LHMPTags: LHMP







LHMP #232 Fernandez 1997 The Repression of Sexual Behavior by the Aragonese Inquisition





About LHMP

Full citation: 

Fernandez, André. 1997. “The Repression of Sexual Behavior by the Aragonese Inquisition between 1560 and 1700” in Journal of the History of Sexuality 7:4 pp.469-501

This is a data-heavy examination of cases under the Spanish Inquisition for sexual-related offenses during a critical period from the mid 16th century to the end of the 17th century. There is very little in the article that speaks directly to sexual activity between women, but it provides a context for attitudes and risks during that period.

The question being addressed is why there was a significant increase in the prosecution of sexual offenses in the Kingdom of Aragon beginning around 1560, and how and why that focus tapered off over the course of the 17th century. The official focus of the Inquisition was on eradicating heresy, but in the mid 16th century that focus expanded to overlap with the jurisdiction of episcopal and royal courts with regard to four categories of sexual offense that were considered to represent not simply moral offenses, but offenses against the natural order or against the sacraments. These four categories were solicitation, bigamy, sodomy, and bestiality.

The documentary record shows the court working its way through the process of categorizing offenses under these headings, and determining their relative gravity and appropriate penalties. Simple fornication (i.e., extramarital sex between a man and a woman) was a moral and legal offense but did not come under the scrutiny of the Inquisition under ordinary circumstances and so is not included in this data (although far more common).

A great deal of the article is taken up with detailed discussions of data trends, categories, and statistics, of which I’ll only hit the highlights. Overall, this increased focus on sexual offenses ran from 1560 through around 1620, then tapered off  steadily until the end of the 17th century when the Inquisition functionally lost interest in the topic.

Of the four categories, the only one of relevance to the LHMP is sodomy, and even there the overwhelming majority of the cases involve relations between men. Out of 1829 cases included in the data overall, 691 (38%) fell in the category of sodomy. But of those, only 8 cases involved women, with 7 of them concerning sodomy in the context of a male-female relationship. Only one case (keep in mind, this is in the entire kingdom or Aragon in the course of nearly a century and a half) involved a female couple. The case occurred in 1656, the women were unmarried, and (if I’m reading the article correctly) the sentence was banishment from their home city for 8 years and being forbidden from cohabiting.

While this may seem like a small tidbit on which to include this article in the Project, it provides a context for other previous mentions of the prosecution of female couples within the authority of the Spanish Inquisition. Clearly the overall risk of coming to their attention, or of receiving a significant punishment, was low, despite the fearsome reputation of the organization.

Time period: 16th c17th cPlace: SpainMisc tags: court casefemale sodomy







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