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Thursday, November 16, 2023 - 21:45

The last couple of sources I'm presenting as part of the Ottoman Turkey series are not travelers' accounts, but rather texts that demonstrate that the motif of "lesbians in Ottoman Turkey" had become sufficiently established to be referenced in popular culture. In this and the next text, we get the double-whammy of Turkey and poet Sappho as touchstones for lesbian activity. These aren't the only texts that use such references--I'll be mentioning others in the upcoming podcast, including some texts that have been blogged previously.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Walsh, William. 1691. A Dialogue Concerning Women, being a Defence of the Sex. London, Printed for R. Bentley in Russel-street in Covent-Garden, and I. Tonson at the Judge’s-Head in Chancery-Lane.

This post is part of a series of primary source materials illustrating how Europeans perceived, reported, and discussed female homoeroticism in the Ottoman Empire during the 16th to early 18th centuries. I’ll give a larger context for why this is a period of interest for European interactions with a non-European, non-Christian culture that could not be dismissed easily as  not being of equal power an importance to their own. Attitudes toward, and practice of homosexuality was far from the most noteworthy difference that these reports covered, but it’s the one of interest to us within the scope of this Project. I’ll be presenting the descriptions from ambassadors, travelers, and others in chronological order of their time spent in Constantinople and other key cities, followed by some additional primary sources that show how the echos of these interactions became part of European myths about lesbianism.

William Walsh was a late 17th century English poet and critic. The work of his that piques our interest is a philosophical treatise A Dialogue Concerning Women, being a Defence of the Sex, which is dedicated to someone identified as Eugenia. The work is in the form of a debate between Misogynes (the misogynist) and Philogynes (the lover of women), with authorial asides commenting on their arguments and directly addressing the dedicatee. Unfortunately for the casual reader, it appears (based on a single image from the internet) that the voices are distinguished using italics for one, but none of the accessible texts online make this distinction. I’ve done my best to guess at distinguishing [Misogynes], [Philogynes], and [Narrator] in the excerpts below, based on content. I have bolded the text that references either lesbianism or Turkey, given that they are embedded in much more extensive quotations.

A Dialogue Concerning Women, being a Defence of the Sex was published in 1691. (London, Printed for R. Bentley in Russel-street in Covent-Garden, and I. Tonson at the Judge’s-Head in Chancery-Lane.) the text I used was sourced from the University of Michigan—Early English Books website. This text included a number of OCR glitches. I’ve cleaned up those where the intent was obvious, but there’s one Latin name where I couldn’t figure out which author was meant.

Walsh’s text is cited in Donoghue 1995.

The relevance of this text is the demonstration that a link between Sappho, lesbianism, and Turkey had become sufficiently embedded in popular culture by the late 17th century that it is presented as accepted fact in a screed (though one set up as a strawman) against learned women.


[Narrator] This Misogynes is a very rude Fellow, and I am sure your Ladyship will be of my Opinion, that his last simile was very fulsome. 'Tis a sign he hates Women; for had he convers'd with them, they wou'd have taught him better manners.

[Misogynes] But there are doubtless, you will say, Women of Understanding: Pray where are they? Is it your Prudent Woman, your good Houswife, who is plaguing all the World with her Management, and instructing every body how to feed Geese and Capons? Or is it your Politician, who is always full of Business, who carries a Secretary of State's Office in her Head, and is making her deep Observations upon every days News? Or is it your Learned Woman, who runs mad for the love of hard words, who talks a mixt Jargon, or Lingua Franca, and has spent a great deal of time to make her capable of talking Nonsense in four or five several Languages? What think you, Sir, do you not wish for your Visitant again, as the more tolerable folly of the two? Do not you think Learning and Politicks become a Woman as ill as riding astride? And had not the Duke of Brittaine reason, who thought a Woman knowing enough, when she cou'd distinguish between her Husband's Shirt and his Breeches?

[Misogynes] Do not you, in answer to these, fetch me a Sappho out of Greece; a Cornelia, the Mother of the Gracchi, out of Rome; an Anna Maria Schurman out of Holland; and think that in shewing me three Learned Women in three thousand years, you have gain'd your point; and from some few particular Instances, prov'd a general Conclusion: If I shou'd bring you half a dozen Magpies that cou'd talk, and as many Horses that cou'd dance, you wou'd not, I suppose, for all that, chuse out the one to converse with, or the other to walk a Corant.

[Misogynes] But wou'd you see 'em to their best advantage? Wou'd you have their Wit, Courage, and Conduct display'd? Take 'em upon the business of Lust. That can make Sappho witty, Aloisia Eloquent, a Country-wife Politick; That can humble Messalina's Pride to walk the Streets; can make tender Hippia endure the Incommodities of a Sea-Voyage, can support the Queen of Sheba in a Journey to Solomon, and make Thalestris search out Alexander the Great: In this particular, I must confess, we ought to submit to 'em, and with shame allow 'em the preference. I cannot reflect upon the Stories of Semiramis's lying with all the handsomest men in her Army, and putting 'em to Death afterwards; of her offering her Son the last Favour; of Messalina the Empresses prostituting her self in the publick Stews; and of Queen Ioan of Naples providing a Bath under her Window, where she might see all the lustiest young men naked, and take her choice out of 'em, without such an admiration as their Heroick Actions deserve. Sappho, as she was one of the wittiest Women that ever the World bred, so she thought with Reason it wou'd be expected she shou'd make some additions to a Science in which all Womankind had been so successful: What does she do then? Not content with our Sex, she begins Amours with her own, and teaches us a new sort of Sin, that was follow'd not only in Lucian's time, but is practis'd frequently in Turkey at this day. You cannot but be sensible, Sir, that there is no necessity of going so far for Instances of their Lewdness, and were it civil to quote the Lampoons, or write the Amours of our own Time, we might be furnish'd with Examples enow nearer home.

[Philogynes] We might tell you further, Sir, that this Modesty too often hinders 'em from making their Vertues known; That they are not of those eternal Scriblers who are continually plagueing the World with their Works; and that it is not the Vanity of getting a Name, which several of the greatest men of the World have own'd to be the Cause of their writing, that is the Cause of the Womens. Had not Sappho been so much in Love, 'tis possible we had never heard any mention of one of the greatest Wits that ever was born; had not Cicero and Quintilian given us accounts of Cornelia, and the Daughters of L•lius, and Hortensius, they had never done it themselves; had not Jane Gray been put to Death, her Vertues had never been so much taken notice of; Had not the Portugueze Nun been deserted by her Gallant, we had mist some of the most passionate Letters that these latter Ages have produc'd; and had not Anna Maria Schurman's Works been publish'd by a Friend, without her consent, we had lost the benefit of 'em. We may tell you too, that 't not only in respect of their own Sex that they are admir'd, but even of ours. That of those two Odes we have yet of Sappho, we owe one to Dionysius Halicarnassaeus, the other to Longin, the two best Criticks of Greece, who chose 'em out for Examples to their Rules, before any of the Mens; That the Epistle of Sappho to Phaon, which is esteem'd the most delicate of Ovid,'s is supposed to be taken out of her Writings. That Corinna was five times victorious over Pindar the best Lyrick Poet of our Sex. And were we here in England as forward in Printing Letters, as they are in France and Italy, we might furnish Volumes of 'em written by our own Ladies, that wou'd make all the Women-haters blush, or make all Men else blush for 'em.

[Narrator] Here, Madam, I must own to you I grew jealous, for I cou'd not imagine that Philogynes wou'd have said this, without having seen some of your Ladyships Letters.

[Philogynes] We may tell you too, that granting the equal Capacities of both Sexes, 'tis a greater wonder to find one Learned Woman, than a hundred Learned Men, considering the difference of their Educations. If you shou'd go into Greece, and, seeing the ignorance is amongst 'em at present, tell 'em their Country men were incapable of Learning, wou'd you not be very well satisfied, when they told you of the Plato's and Aristotle's of Antiquity? And that if they had not as Famous Men now, it was because they have not the same Advantages they had then? And pray why may not the Women be allow'd the same excuse? Will you by all your Laws and Customs endeavour to keep 'em ignorant, and then blame 'em for being so? And forbid all Men of Sense keeping 'em Company, as you do, and yet be angry with them for keeping Company with Fools? Consider what Time and Charge is spent to make Men fit for somewhat; Eight or Nine Years at School; Six or Seven Years at the University; Four or Five Years in Travel; and after all this, are they not almost all Fops, Clowns, Dunces, or Pedants? I know not what you think of the Women; but if they are Fools, they are Fools I am sure with less pains and less expence than we are.

[Philogynes] Upon second thoughts I hope, Sir, you will allow, that Women may have Wit and Learning; for their Courage and Conduct we may possibly say more anon. But for Heaven's sake, do not aggravate their faults always at that rate; for whatever Sappho's Life and Conversation were, there is nothing in her Writings, but what represents the most tender, and delicate passion in the World: And as for Aloisia Sigaea (I give you thanks for putting me in mind of Aloisia Sigaea, who was as remarkable for her Wit and Learning as any of the other) I am very well assur'd you do not believe that infamous Book which goes under her Name, to have been written by her; all who speak of it assure us the contrary; and that she was so far from writing it, that she never publish'd any thing; On the other side, all Historians represent her as remarkable for her Vertue, as her Learning. For the Queen of Sheba, there is no mention in Scripture of her Travelling for any thing but to be satisfied with the wisdom of Solomon; however, if you will believe she went to him, for the same reason that Thalestris did to Alexander the Great; it was no such great matter, in Countreys where it was thought no Sin, if the one had a mind to have a Child by the wisest man in the world, and the other by the bravest. After all, we must own if there are lewd Women, they endeavour to conceal their lewdness they do not brag of it, nor flye openly in the face of Religion; and if they once come to be publickly discover'd, they are render'd infamous to all the World, and their nearest Friends and Relations avoid their company: Whilst there are several Men who boast of their iniquities, value themselves upon their being thought lewd, and what is worse, find others to value 'em upon it too; nay by their incitements and encouragements to wickedness, often bring themselves to that pass, that the least part of the Sins they are to answer for, are what they have committed themselves But not a word more I beseech you of Sappho, nor her new Crime, let Lucian be forgotten for putting us in mind of it, and let it be Cloister'd up within the walls of a Turkish Seraglio; I speak not this in behalf of the Female Sex, but of our own; for if they shou'd once hear of this Argument, and fall upon us with Socrates, Plato, and all those Heroes of Antiquity, whom Plutarch and Lucian produce in defence of a like Sin in our Sex; shou'd they mention Anacreon, Tibullus, Martial, and all those Poets who have eterniz'd their Infamy in their writings; and after that shew you what progresses this Crime has made, not only in the Turk's Dominion, but even in Spain and Italy, I am sure, Sir, you wou'd wish you had said nothing of a point, that may be so severely made use of against our selves.

[Philogynes] Now tho' you are pleas'd to quote the Lampoons, yet you think as well as I that such things are not worth any bodies taking notice of; we both know there are a sort of people about this Town, who please themselves with Defamations; One of these, if they see a Man speak to a Woman, make their little signs, their politick winks, and possibly when they meet him, in their insipid way of Rallery, tax him with it: If he is angry at 'em, then he is pique'd, and afraid the Intrigue shou'd be found out; If he says nothing (as it deserves nothing) then he is out of Countenance and cannot say a word; and if he laughs at 'em (which is all the answer a man wou'd make to such stuff) then he is pleas'd with the thing; so that every way the poor Ladies Reputation suffers; and these Sparks shall not fail to blow it about Town, that there is an Amour; not that they think so of you, but that you may return the Complement, and say so of them, when they speak to any Lady themselves.

Time period: 
Place: 
Wednesday, November 15, 2023 - 20:41

After what has begun to feel like the formulaic repetition of male reports of women in Ottoman society, Lady Mary Whortley Montagu feels like a breath of fresh air. At the same time, we should also keep in mind that her accounts are in the form of letters written to friends and contacts back in England--both men and women. To what extent might she have felt constrained by cultural taboos on what women were supposed to express in writing? Is there any indication that she might have treated the material differently depending on whether her correspondent was male or female? While male authors didn't hesitate to speak openly and negatively about sex between women, Montagu expresses very positive opinions of the women she interacted with. Might that have affected how she treated the subject of sexuality? In one letter she seems to defend Ottoman women against the suspicion of sexual activity in the baths, but in another she hints strongly at feeling (or at least acknowledging) the erotic potential of the dances women performed for each other in private.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Montague, Mary Wortley. 1763. Letters of the Right Honourable Lady M—y W—y M——e: Written during her Travels in Europe, Asia, and Africa. T. Becket and P.A. DeHondt, in the Strand.

This post is part of a series of primary source materials illustrating how Europeans perceived, reported, and discussed female homoeroticism in the Ottoman Empire during the 16th to early 18th centuries. I’ll give a larger context for why this is a period of interest for European interactions with a non-European, non-Christian culture that could not be dismissed easily as  not being of equal power an importance to their own. Attitudes toward, and practice of homosexuality was far from the most noteworthy difference that these reports covered, but it’s the one of interest to us within the scope of this Project. I’ll be presenting the descriptions from ambassadors, travelers, and others in chronological order of their time spent in Constantinople and other key cities, followed by some additional primary sources that show how the echos of these interactions became part of European myths about lesbianism.

(Project Gutenberg™ Advisory: This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.)

Mary Wortley Montagu was the wife of the British ambassador to the Ottoman Empire in the early 18th century and spent two years accompanying him to Constantinople. During those travels, she corresponded regularly with a number of people, describing her experiences and observations. Much of that correspondence was later published as The Turkish Embassy Letters (initial publication title: Letters of the Right Honourable Lady M—y W—y M——e: Written during her Travels in Europe, Asia, and Africa).

Unlike the male authors of observations on Ottoman society in the 16-17th centuries, Montagu had access to segregated women’s spaces and—as a high-status guest—social access to women of the upper classes, including a visit to the women's baths. Her account does not include any salacious descriptions of overt lesbianism, though she does regularly express appreciation for the beauty and sensuality of the women she interacted with. There is, perhaps, a shift in approach between where she describes women as being entirely naked in the baths, but “there was not the least wanton smile or immodest gesture amongst them,” and a passage describing being entertained by a noblewoman whose daughters danced to entertain them. “This dance was very different from what I had seen before. Nothing could be more artful, or more proper to raise certain ideas. The tunes so soft!—the motions so languishing!—accompanied with pauses and dying eyes! half-falling back, and then recovering themselves in so artful a manner, that I am very positive, the coldest and most rigid prude upon earth, could not have looked upon them without thinking of something not to be spoke of.” The phrase “not to be spoke of” evokes the regular theme that same-sex desire is something “unspeakable” in the sense of something one is not supposed to talk about. So I don’t think it is at all a stretch to consider this passage to be directly (if obliquely) raising the question of lesbian desire and indicating that Montagu as not impervious to that desire.

I have included extensive quotations from letters describing women’s lives and experiences that Montagu had access to, in order to provide a counterpoint to the male-authored accounts from the previous century. To be clear, we should not assume that Ottoman culture was static and unchanging, and Montagu’s time in Adrianople and Constantinople was a century and a half later than Nicolay’s. But Montagu is our most accessible window on female Ottoman culture that is not by necessity filtered through several layers of male reportage. Since I’ve been adding in interesting trivia about other authors in this series, I’ll note that Montagu encountered an early version of smallpox inoculation in Turkey and helped introduce it into English practice

I’ve found conflicting information on the publication history of Montagu’s Turkish letters. Some sources claim the first published edition was in 1790, however while I was looking for online editions, Archive.org had a 3-volume set published in 1763, titled Letters of the Right Honourable Lady M—y W—y M——e: Written during her Travels in Europe, Asia, and Africa (T. Becket and P.A. DeHondt, in the Strand). (See link for the 1st volume—the others are linked to it.) Since sources note that she intended the letters to be published after her death, which was in 1762, presumably this is the earliest edition. It’s interesting to note that the collection has a preface dated 1724, half a dozen years after her return to England. I don’t know whether this indicates that she was already planning for the publication at that time. I’ve primarily used the 1790 edition available from Gutenberg.org because it’s already been transcribed and proofed, however I’ve amended one key word from the 1763 edition as discussed below. I’ve quoted fairly extensively from those letters that talk about women’s lives and experiences, as well as ones where she explicitly debunks popular beliefs about Ottoman society. Text that is in italics in the original is underlined here.

The excerpts included below are:

  • •Montagu visits a women’s batch in Adrianople
  • Montagu provides a different view of the liberty of Turkish women than many of the men do
  • Montagu is entertained by two high-status women and is greatly enamored of the beauty of the second
  • Montagu comments on other travellers’ tales
  • Montagu gets the inside story of the seraglio from a former Sultana
  • Montagu once again snipes at the tales of other travellers

This is one of the letters often quoted to contrast with the reports of male authors on women’s baths in Turkey. This occurs somewhat early in her travels before reaching Constantinople. Adrianople is modern Edirne and is located very close to the border intersection between Turkey, Bulgaria, and Greece.

LET. XXVI.

TO THE LADY ——.

Adrianople, April 1. O. S. 1717.

I AM now got into a new world, where every thing I see appears to me a change of scene; and I write to your ladyship with some content of mind, hoping, at least, that you will find the charms of novelty in my letters, and no longer reproach me, that I tell you nothing extraordinary. I won't trouble you with a relation of our tedious journey; but must not omit what I saw remarkable at Sophia, one of the most beautiful towns in the Turkish empire, and famous for its hot baths, that are resorted to both for diversion and health. I stopped here one day, on purpose to see them; and, designing to go incognito, I hired a Turkish coach. These voitures are not at all like ours, but much more convenient for the country, the heat being so great, that glasses would be very troublesome. They are made a good deal in the manner of the Dutch stage-coaches, having wooden lattices painted and gilded; the inside being also painted with baskets and nosegays of flowers, intermixed commonly with little poetical mottos. They are covered all over with scarlet cloth, lined with silk, and very often richly embroidered and fringed. This covering entirely hides the persons in them, but may be thrown back at pleasure, and thus permits the ladies to peep through the lattices. They hold four people very conveniently, seated on cushions, but not raised.

IN one of these covered waggons (sic), I went to the bagnio about ten o'clock. It was already full of women. It is built of stone, in the shape of a dome, with no windows but in the roof, which gives light enough. There were five of these domes joined together, the outmost being less than the rest, and serving only as a hall, where the portress stood at the door. Ladies of quality generally give this woman a crown or ten shillings; and I did not forget that ceremony. The next room is a very large one paved with marble, and all round it are two raised sofas of marble, one above another. There were four fountains of cold water in this room, falling first into marble basons (sic), and then running on the floor in little channels made for that purpose, which carried the streams into the next room, something less than this, with the same sort of marble sofas, but so hot with steams of sulphur proceeding from the baths joining to it, 'twas impossible to stay there with one's cloaths (sic) on. The two other domes were the hot baths, one of which had cocks of cold water turning into it, to temper it to what degree of warmth the bathers pleased to have.

I WAS in my travelling habit, which is a riding dress, and certainly appeared very extraordinary to them. Yet there was not one of them that shewed the least surprise or impertinent curiosity, but received me with all the obliging civility possible. I know no European court, where the ladies would have behaved themselves in so polite a manner to such a stranger. I believe, upon the whole, there were two hundred women, and yet none of those disdainful smiles, and satirical whispers, that never fail in our assemblies, when any body appears that is not dressed exactly in the fashion. They repeated over and over to me; "UZELLE, PEK UZELLE," which is nothing but, Charming, very Charming.—The first sofas were covered with cushions and rich carpets, on which sat the ladies; and on the second, their slaves behind them, but without any distinction of rank by their dress, all being in the state of nature, that is, in plain English, stark naked, without any beauty or defect concealed. Yet there was not the least wanton smile or immodest gesture amongst them. They walked and moved with the same majestic grace, which Milton describes our general mother with. There were many amongst them, as exactly proportioned as ever any goddess was drawn by the pencil of a Guido or Titian,—and most of their skins shiningly white, only adorned by their beautiful hair divided into many tresses, hanging on their shoulders, braided either with pearl or ribbon, perfectly representing the figures of the Graces.

I WAS here convinced of the truth of a reflection I have often made, That if it were the fashion to go naked, the face would be hardly observed. I perceived, that the ladies of the most delicate skins and finest shapes had the greatest share of my admiration, though their faces were sometimes less beautiful than those of their companions. To tell you the truth, I had wickedness enough, to wish secretly, that Mr Gervais could have been there invisible. I fancy it would have very much improved his art, to see so many fine women naked, in different postures, some in conversation, some working, others drinking coffee or sherbet, and many negligently lying on their cushions, while their slaves (generally pretty girls of seventeen or eighteen) were employed in braiding their hair in several pretty fancies. In short, 'tis the women's coffee-house, where all the news of the town is told, scandal invented, &c.—They generally take this diversion once a-week (sic), and stay there at least four or five hours, without getting cold by immediate coming out of the hot bath into the cold room, which was very surprising to me. The lady, that seemed the most considerable among them, entreated me to sit by her, and would fain have undressed me for the bath. I excused myself with some difficulty. They being however all so earnest in persuading me, I was at last forced to open my shirt, and shew them my stays; which satisfied them very well; for, I saw, they believed I was locked up in that machine, and that it was not in my own power to open it, which contrivance they attributed to my husband,—I was charmed with their civility and beauty, and should have been very glad to pass more time with them; but Mr W—— resolving to pursue his journey next morning early, I was in haste to see the ruins of Justinian's church, which did not afford me so agreeable a prospect as I had left, being little more than a heap Of stones.

ADIEU, madam, I am sure I have now entertained you with an account of such a sight as you never saw in your life, and what no book of travels could inform you of, as 'tis no less than death for a man to be found in one of these places.


Taking into account that the women Montagu is meeting and speaking of are neither the women of the sultan’s immediate household, nor women of the lower classes, we are given some rather different angles on the social and economic power of women, at least within their own households.

LET. XXIX.

TO THE COUNTESS OF ——.

Adrianople, April. 1. O. S. 1717.

AS to their morality or good conduct, I can say, like Harlequin, that 'tis just as 'tis with you; and the Turkish ladies don't commit one sin the less for not being Christians. Now, that I am a little acquainted with their ways, I cannot forbear admiring, either the exemplary discretion, or extreme stupidity of all the writers that have given accounts of them. 'Tis very easy to see, they have in reality more liberty than we have. No woman, of what rank soever, is permitted to go into the streets without two murlins, one that covers her face all but her eyes, and another, that hides the whole dress of her head, and hangs half way down her back. Their shapes are also wholely (sic) concealed, by a thing they call a serigee, which no woman of any sort appears without; this has strait sleeves, that reach to their fingers-ends, and it laps all round them, not unlike a riding-hood. In winter, 'tis of cloth; and in summer, of plain stuff or silk. You may guess then, how effectually this disguises them, so that there is no distinguishing the great lady from her slave. 'Tis impossible for the most jealous husband to know his wife, when he meets her; and no man dare touch or follow a woman in the street.

THIS perpetual masquerade gives them entire liberty of following their inclinations, without danger of discovery. The most usual method of intrigue, is, to send an appointment to the lover to meet the lady at a Jew's shop, which are as notoriously convenient as our Indian-houses; and yet, even those who don't make use of them, do not scruple to go to buy pennyworths, and tumble over rich goods, which are chiefly to be found amongst that sort of people. The great ladies seldom let their gallants know who they are; and 'tis so difficult to find it out, that they can very seldom guess at her name, whom they have corresponded with for above half a year together. You may easily imagine the number of faithful wives very small in a country where they have nothing to fear from a lover's indiscretion, since we see so many have the courage to expose themselves to that in this world, and all the threatened punishment of the next, which is never preached to the Turkish damsels. Neither have they much to apprehend from the resentment of their husbands; those ladies that are rich, having all their money in their own hands. Upon the whole, I look upon the Turkish women, as the only free people in the empire; the very divan pays respect to them; and the grand signior himself, when a bassa is executed, never violates the privileges of the haram, (or womens apartment) which remains unsearched and entire to the widow. They are queens of their slaves, whom the husband has no permission so much as to look upon, except it be an old woman or two that his lady chuses. 'Tis true, their law permits them four wives; but there is no instance of a man of quality that makes use of this liberty, or of a woman of rank that would suffer it. When a husband happens to be inconstant, (as those things will happen) he keeps his mistress in a house apart, and visits her as privately as he can, just as it is with you. Amongst all the great men here, I only know the testerdar, (i.e. a treasurer) that keeps a number of she slaves, for his own use, (that is, on his own side of the house; for a slave once given to serve a lady, is entirely at her disposal) and he is spoke of as a libertine, or what we should call a rake, and his wife won't see him, though she continues to live in his house. Thus you see, dear sister, the manners of mankind do not differ so Widely, as our voyage-writers would make us believe. Perhaps, it would be more entertaining to add a few surprising customs of my own invention; but nothing seems to me so agreeable as truth, and I believe nothing so acceptable to you. I conclude therefore with repeating the great truth of my being, Dear sister, &c.


In this next letter, we get some very detailed descriptions of being entertained within the private women’s quarters of two upper-class women. This letter includes the closest Montagu gets to discussing female same-sex desire.

LET. XXXIII.

TO THE COUNTESS OF ——.

Adrianopolis, April 18. O. S.

I WROTE to you, dear sister, and to all my other English correspondents, by the last ship, and only Heaven can tell, when I shall have another opportunity of sending to you; but I cannot forbear to write again, though perhaps my letter may ly upon my hands this two months. To confess the truth, my head is so full of my entertainment yesterday, that 'tis absolutely necessary, for my own repose, to give it some vent. Without farther preface, I will then begin my story.

I WAS invited to dine with the grand vizier's lady, and it was with a great deal of pleasure I prepared myself for an entertainment, which was never before given to any Christian. I thought I should very little satisfy her curiosity, (which I did not doubt was a considerable motive to the invitation) by going in a dress she was used to see, and therefore dressed myself in the court habit of Vienna, which is much more magnificent than ours. However, I chose to go incognito, to avoid any disputes about ceremony, and went in a Turkish coach, only attended by my woman, that held up my train, and the Greek lady, who was my interpretess. I was met at the court door by her black eunuch, who helped me out of the coach with great respect, and conducted me through several rooms, where her she-slaves, finely dressed, were ranged on each side. In the innermost, I found the lady sitting on her sofa, in a sable vest. She advanced to meet me, and presented me half a dozen of her friends, with great civility. She seemed a very good woman, near fifty years old. I was surprised to observe so little magnificence in her house, the furniture being all very moderate; and, except the habits and number of her slaves, nothing about her appeared expensive. She guessed at my thoughts, and told me she was no longer of an age to spend either her time or money in superfluities; that her whole expence was in charity, and her whole employment praying to God. There was no affectation in this speech; both she and her husband are entirely given up to devotion. He never looks upon any other woman; and, what is much more extraordinary, touches no bribes, notwithstanding the example of all his predecessors. He is so scrupulous on this point, he would not accept Mr W——'s present, till he had been assured over and over, that it was a settled perquisite Of his place, at the entrance of every ambassador. She entertained me with all kind of civility, till dinner came in, which was served, one dish at a time, to a vast number, all finely dressed after their manner, which I don't think so bad as you have perhaps heard it represented. I am a very good judge of their eating, having lived three weeks in the house of an effendi at Belgrade, who gave us very magnificent dinners, dressed by his own cooks. The first week they pleased me extremely; but, I own, I then began to grow weary of their table, and desired our own cook might add a dish or two after our manner. But I attribute this to custom, and am very much inclined to believe, that an Indian, who had never tasted of either, would prefer their cookery to ours. Their sauces are very high, all the roast very much done. They use a great deal of very rich spice. The soup is served for the last dish; and they have, at least, as great a variety of ragouts as we have. I was very sorry I could not eat of as many as the good lady would have had me, who was very earnest in serving me of every thing. The treat concluded with coffee and perfumes, which is a high mark of respect; two slaves kneeling censed my hair, clothes, and handkerchief. After this ceremony, she commanded her slaves to play and dance, which they did with their guitars in their hands, and she excused to me their want of skill, saying she took no care to accomplish them in that art.

I RETURNED her thanks, and, soon after, took my leave. I was conducted back in the same manner I entered, and would have gone straight to my own house; but the Greek lady with me, earnestly solicited me to visit the kahya's lady, saying, he was the second officer in the empire, and ought indeed to be looked upon as the first, the grand vizier having only the name, while he exercised the authority. I had found so little diversion in the vizier's haram, that I had no mind to go into another. But her importunity prevailed with me, and I am extremely glad I was so complaisant. All things here were with quite another air than at the grand vizier's; and the very house confessed the difference between an old devotee, and a young beauty. It was nicely clean and magnificent. I was met at the door by two black eunuchs, who led me through a long gallery, between two ranks of beautiful young girls, with their hair finely plaited, almost hanging to their feet, all dressed in fine light damasks, brocaded with silver. I was sorry that decency did not permit me to stop to consider them nearer. But that thought was lost upon my entrance into a large room, or rather pavilion, built round with gilded sashes, which were most of them thrown up, and the trees planted near them gave an agreeable shade, which hindered the sun from being troublesome. The jessamines and honey-suckles that twisted round their trunks, shed a soft perfume, increased by a white marble fountain playing sweet water in the lower part of the room, which fell into three or four basins, with a pleasing sound. The roof was painted with all sorts of flowers, falling out of gilded baskets, that seemed tumbling down. On a sofa, raised three steps, and covered with fine Persian carpets, sat the kahya's lady, leaning on cushions of white sattin, embroidered; and at her feet sat two young girls about twelve years old, lovely as angels, dressed perfectly rich, and almost covered with jewels. But they were hardly seen near the fair Fatima, (for that is her name) so much her beauty effaced every thing I have seen, nay, all that has been called lovely either in England or Germany. I must own, that I never saw any thing so gloriously beautiful, nor can I recollect a face that would have been taken notice of near hers. She stood up to receive me, saluting me after their fashion, putting her hand to her heart with a sweetness full of majesty, that no court breeding could ever give. She ordered cushions to be given me, and took care to place me in the corner, which is the place of honour. I confess, though the Greek lady had before given me a great opinion of her beauty, I was so struck with admiration, that I could not, for some time, speak to her, being wholly taken up in gazing. That surprising harmony of features! that charming result of the whole! that exact proportion of body! that lovely bloom of complexion unsullied by art! the unutterable enchantment of her smile!—But her eyes!—large and black, with all the soft languishment of the blue! every turn of her face discovering some new grace.

AFTER my first surprise was over, I endeavoured, by nicely examining her face, to find out some imperfection, without any fruit of my search, but my being clearly convinced of the error of that vulgar notion, that a face exactly proportioned, and perfectly beautiful, would not be agreeable; nature having done for her, with more success, what Appelles is said to have essayed, by a collection of the most exact features, to form a perfect face. Add to all this, a behaviour so full of grace and sweetness, such easy motions, with an air so majestic, yet free from stiffness or affectation, that I am persuaded, could she be suddenly transported upon the most polite throne of Europe, no body would think her other than born and bred to be a queen, though educated in a country we call barbarous. To say all in a word, our most celebrated English beauties would vanish near her.

SHE was dressed in a caftan of gold brocade, flowered with silver, very well fitted to her shape, and shewing to admiration the beauty of her bosom, only shaded by the thin gauze of her shift. Her drawers were pale pink, her waistcoat green and silver, her slippers white sattin, finely embroidered: her lovely arms adorned with bracelets of diamonds, and her broad girdle set round with diamonds; upon her head a rich Turkish handkerchief of pink and silver, her own fine black hair hanging a great length, in various tresses, and on one side of her head some bodkins of jewels. I am afraid you will accuse me of extravagance in this description. I think I have read somewhere, that women always speak in rapture when they speak of beauty, and I cannot imagine why they should not be allowed to do so. I rather think it a virtue to be able to admire without any mixture of desire or envy. The gravest writers have spoken with great warmth, of some celebrated pictures and statues. The workmanship of Heaven, certainly excels all our weak imitations, and, I think, has a much better claim to our praise. For my part, I am not ashamed to own, I took more pleasure in looking on the beauteous Fatima, than the finest piece of sculpture could have given me. She told me, the two girls at her feet were her daughters, though she appeared too young to be their mother. Her fair maids were ranged below the sofa, to the number of twenty, and put me in mind of the pictures of the ancient nymphs. I did not think all nature could have furnished such a scene of beauty. She made them a sign to play and dance. Four of them immediately began to play some soft airs on instruments, between a lute and a guitar, which they accompanied with their voices, while the others danced by turns. This dance was very different from what I had seen before. Nothing could be more artful, or more proper to raise certain ideas. The tunes so soft!—the motions so languishing!—accompanied with pauses and dying eyes! half-falling back, and then recovering themselves in so artful a manner, that I am very positive, the coldest and most rigid prude [see note] upon earth, could not have looked upon them without thinking of something not to be spoke of.—I suppose you may have read that the Turks have no music, but what is shocking to the ears; but this account is from those who never heard any but what is played in the streets, and is just as reasonable, as if a foreigner should take his ideas of English music, from the bladder and string, or the marrow-bones and cleavers. I can assure you that the music is extremely pathetic; 'tis true, I am inclined to prefer the Italian, but perhaps I am partial. I am acquainted with a Greek lady who sings better than Mrs Robinson, and is very well skilled in both, who gives the preference to the Turkish. 'Tis certain they have very fine natural voices; these were very agreeable. When the dance was over, four fair slaves came into the room, with silver censers in their hands, and perfumed the air with amber, aloes-wood, and other scents. After this, they served me coffee upon their knees, in the finest japan china, with soucoups of silver, gilt. The lovely Fatima entertained me, all this while, in the most polite agreeable manner, calling me often uzelle sultanam, or the beautiful sultana; and desiring my friendship with the best grace in the world, lamenting that she could not entertain me in my own language.

WHEN I took my leave, two maids brought in a fine silver basket of embroidered handkerchiefs; she begged I would wear the richest for her sake, and gave the others to my woman and interpretess.—I retired through the same ceremonies as before, and could not help thinking, I had been some time in Mahomet's paradise; so much was I charmed with what I had seen. I know not how the relation of it appears to you. I wish it may give you part of my pleasure; for I would have my dear sister share in all the diversions of, Yours,&c.

[Note: The 1790 edition, which is what Gutenberg.org used, has this word as “pride”, however despite what some sources indicate, this is not the earliest edition. Archive.org has volumes from a 1763 edition where the word is clearly “prude” [https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_letters-of-the-right-hon_montagu-mary-wortley-l_1763_2_0/page/n95/mode/2up] which puts a very different spin on the comment, and this appears to be the “approved” reading in modern editions, so I have substituted it.


Montagu is rather sharp in several of her letters in pointing out what she believes to be myths and errors about Turkish society. I haven’t been able to identify who the “Dumont” is that she refers to.

LET. XXXVII.

TO THE LADY ——.

Belgrade Village, June 17 O. S.

Your whole letter is full of mistakes, from one end to the other. I see you have taken your ideas of Turkey, from that worthy author Dumont, who has wrote with equal ignorance and confidence. 'Tis a particular pleasure to me here, to read the voyages to the Levant, which are generally so far removed from truth, and so full of absurdities, I am very well diverted with them. They never fail giving you an account of the women, whom, 'tis certain, they never saw, and talking very wisely of the genius of the men, into whose company they are never admitted; and very often describe mosques, which they dare not even peep into. The Turks are very proud, and will not converse with a stranger they are not assured is considerable in his own country. I speak of the men of distinction; for, as to the ordinary fellows, you may imagine what ideas their conversation can give of the general genius of the people.

….


Also in the vein of debunking information she considers to be false or misleading, Montagu had occasion to meet a former Sultana and specifically asked about several stories in circulation about practices within the Sultan’s seraglio.

LET. XXXIX.

TO THE COUNTESS OF ——.

Pera of Constantinople, March 10. O. S.

THE sultana seemed in a very good humour, and talked to me with the utmost civility. I did not omit this opportunity of learning all that I possibly could of the seraglio, which is so entirely unknown amongst us. She assured me, that the story of the sultan's throwing a handkerchief, is altogether fabulous; and the manner, upon that occasion, no other than this: He sends the kyslir aga, to signify to the lady the honour he intends her. She is immediately complimented upon it, by the others, and led to the bath, where she is perfumed and dressed in the most magnificent and becoming manner. The emperor precedes his visit by a royal present, and then comes into her apartment: neither is there any such thing as her creeping in at the bed's foot. She said, that the first he made choice of was always after the first in rank, and not the mother of the eldest son, as other writers would make us believe. Sometimes the sultan diverts himself in the company of all his ladies, who stand in a circle round him. And she confessed, they were ready to die with envy and jealousy of the happy she that he distinguished by any appearance of preference. But this seemed to me neither better nor worse than the circles in most courts, where the glance of the monarch is watched, and every smile is waited for with impatience, and envied by those who cannot obtain it.

This, you will say, is but too like the Arabian tales.—These embroidered napkins! and a jewel as large as a turkey's egg!—You forget, dear sister, those very tales were written by an author of this country, and (excepting the enchantments) are a real representation of the manners here. We travellers are in very hard circumstances: If we say nothing but what has been said before us, we are dull, and we have observed nothing. If we tell any thing new, we are laughed at as fabulous and romantic, not allowing either for the difference of ranks, which affords difference of company, or more curiosity, or the change of customs, that happen every twenty years in every country. But the truth is, people judge of travellers, exactly with the same candour, good nature, and impartiality, they judge of their neighbours upon all occasions. For my part, if I live to return amongst you, I am so well acquainted with the morals of all my dear friends and acquaintances, that I am resolved to tell them nothing at all, to avoid the imputation (which their charity would certainly incline them to) of my telling too much. But I depend upon your knowing me enough, to believe whatever I seriously assert for truth; though I give you leave to be surprised at an account so new to you. But what would you say if I told you, that I have been in a haram, where the winter apartment was wainscoted (sic) with inlaid work of mother of pearl, ivory of different colours, and olive wood, exactly like the little boxes you have seen brought Out of this country; and in whose rooms designed for summer, the walls are all crusted with japan china, the roofs gilt, and the floors spread with the finest Persian carpets? Yet there is nothing more true; such is the palace of my lovely friend, the fair Fatima, whom I was acquainted with at Adrianople. I went to visit her yesterday; and, if possible, she appeared to me handsomer than before. She met me at the door of her chamber, and, giving me her hand With the best grace in the world; You Christian ladies (said she, with a smile that made her as beautiful as an angel) have the reputation of inconstancy, and I did not expect, whatever goodness you expressed for me at Adrianople, that I should ever see you again. But I am now convinced that I have really the happiness of pleasing you; and, if you knew how I speak of you amongst our ladies, you would be assured, that you do me justice in making me your friend. She placed me in the corner of the sofa, and I spent the afternoon in her conversation, with the greatest pleasure in the world.—The sultana Hafiten is, what one Would naturally expect to find a Turkish lady, willing to oblige, but not knowing how to go about it; and 'tis easy to see, in her manner, that she has lived excluded from the world. But Fatima has all the politeness and good breeding of a court, with an air that inspires, at once, respect and tenderness; and now, that I understand her language, I find her wit as agreeable as her beauty. She is very carious after the manners of other countries, and has not the partiality for her own, so common in little minds. A Greek that I carried with me, who had never seen her before, (nor could have been admitted now, if she had not been in my train,) shewed that surprise at her beauty and manners, which is unavoidable at the first sight, and said to me in Italian,—This is no Turkish lady, she is certainly some Christian.—Fatima guessed she spoke of her, and asked what she said. I would not have told her, thinking she would have been no better pleased with the compliment, than one of our court beauties to be told she had the air of a Turk; but the Greek lady told it to her; and she smiled, saying, It is not the first time I have heard so: my mother was a Poloneze, taken at the siege of Caminiec; and my father used to rally me, saying, He believed his Christian wife had found some gallant; for that I had not the air of a Turkish girl.—I assured her, that if all the Turkish ladies were like her, it was absolute necessary to confine them from public view, for the repose of mankind; and proceeded to tell her, what a noise such a face as hers would make in London or Paris. I can't believe you, replied she agreeably; if beauty was so much valued in your country, as you say, they would never have suffered you to leave it.—Perhaps, dear sister, you laugh at my vanity in repeating this compliment; but I only do it, as I think it very well turned, and give it you as an instance of the spirit of her conversation. Her house was magnificently furnished, and very well fancied; her winter rooms being furnished with figured velvet, on gold grounds, and those for summer, with fine Indian quilting embroidered with gold. The houses of the great Turkish ladies are kept clean with as much nicety as those in Holland. This was situated in a high part of the town; and from the window of her summer apartment, we had the prospect of the sea, the islands, and the Asian mountains.—My letter is insensibly grown so long, I am ashamed of it. This is a very bad symptom. 'Tis well if I don't degenerate into a downright story-teller. It may be, our proverb, that knowledge is no burden, may be true, as to one's self but knowing too much, is very apt to make us troublesome to other people. I am, &c, &c.

 


In this final excerpt, Montagu once again tackles debunking what she considers myths about the condition of Turkish women.

LET. XLII.

TO THE COUNTESS OF ——.

I will not tell you what you may find in every author that has writ of this country. I am more inclined, out of a true female spirit of contradiction, to tell you the falsehood of a great part of what you find in authors; as, for instance, in the admirable Mr Hill, who so gravely asserts, that he saw, in Sancta Sophia, a sweating pillar, very balsamic for disordered heads. There is not the least tradition of any such matter; and I suppose it was revealed to him in vision, during his wonderful stay in the Egyptian catacombs; for I am sure he never heard of any such miracle here. 'Tis also very pleasant to observe how tenderly he and all his brethren voyage-writers lament the miserable confinement of the Turkish ladies, who are perhaps more free than any ladies in the universe, and are the only women in the world that lead a life of uninterrupted pleasure, exempt from cares; their whole time being spent in visiting, bathing, or the agreeable amusement of spending money, and inventing new fashions. A husband would be thought mad, that exacted any degree of economy from his wife, whose expences are no way limited but by her own fancy. 'Tis his business to get money, and hers to spend it: and this noble prerogative extends itself to the very meanest of the sex. Here is a fellow that carries embroidered handkerchiefs upon his back to sell. And as miserable a figure as you may suppose such a mean dealer, yet, I'll assure you, his wife scorns to wear any thing less than cloth of gold; has her ermine furs, and a very handsome set of jewels for her head. 'Tis true, they have no places but the bagnios, and these can only be seen by their own sex; however, that is a diversion they take great pleasure in.

 

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Tuesday, November 14, 2023 - 20:12

As we move towards a consideration of how certain motifs entered popular culture in western Europe, we need to start taking note of repeating anecdotes and descriptions. These anecdotes might be repeated in multiple accounts because they reflected factual observations. But they might instead represent the recycling of material by authors who wanted to add more colorful specifics to their own accounts. Given that the bulk of Tavernier's discussion of lesbianism in Ottoman culture takes the form of highly specific anecdotes that we have encountered earlier by other authors (Busbecq for the old woman who fell in love at the baths, and Bon for the cucumber story) the simplest explanation is that Taverner is recycling other authors' texts, even when he contradicts their truthfulness (as with the cucumber anecdote). Does this mean that he offers no actual independent support for the prevalence of lesbian activity? That question could be asked of many of these authors, given their lack of access to firsthand knowledge.

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Tavernier, Jean-Baptiste. 1675. Nouvelle Relation De l’intéreur Du Sérail Du Grand Seigneur Contenant Plusieurs Singularitex Qui Jusqu’icy N’ont Point esté mises En Lumiere. Translated into English by J. Phillips as: A New Relation Of The Inner-Part of The Grand Seignor’s Seraglio, Containing Several Remarkable Particulars, Never Before Expos’d To Public View bound with A Short Description of all the Kingdoms Which Encompas the Euxine and Caspian Seas, Delivered by the author after Twenty Years Travel Together with a Preface Containing Several Remarkable Observations concerning divers of the forementioned countries. 1677. R. L. and Moses Pitt.

This post is part of a series of primary source materials illustrating how Europeans perceived, reported, and discussed female homoeroticism in the Ottoman Empire during the 16th to early 18th centuries. I’ll give a larger context for why this is a period of interest for European interactions with a non-European, non-Christian culture that could not be dismissed easily as  not being of equal power an importance to their own. Attitudes toward, and practice of homosexuality was far from the most noteworthy difference that these reports covered, but it’s the one of interest to us within the scope of this Project. I’ll be presenting the descriptions from ambassadors, travelers, and others in chronological order of their time spent in Constantinople and other key cities, followed by some additional primary sources that show how the echos of these interactions became part of European myths about lesbianism.

Jean-Baptiste Tavernier was a French gem merchant and traveller in the 17th century. He traveled extensively for business to Persia and India, making six voyages between 1630-1668. At the request of King Louis XIV of France, in 1675 he wrote up his experiences as Les Six Voyages de Jean-Baptiste Tavernier. While, no doubt, much of Tavernier’s descriptions were based on first-hand experience, his Voyages includes accounts of Japan and Tongking, which he never visited personally, based on second-hand information. Among the trivia of Tavernier’s biography was the acquisition of the “Taverier Blue” diamond that at a later date (and a couple of re-cuttings) was re-named the Hope Diamond.

But our interest falls on a different publication the same year, based on the two visits he made to Constantinople during his first and sixth voyages: Nouvelle Relation De l’intéreur Du Sérail Du Grand Seigneur Contenant Plusieurs Singularitex Qui Jusqu’icy N’ont Point esté mises En Lumiere. Chez Gervais Clouzier, 1st ed. Paris, 7 February 1675. The general fascination with accounts of the Ottoman Empire can be seen in how quickly the work was translated into English by J. Phillips: A New Relation Of The Inner-Part of The Grand Seignor’s Seraglio, Containing Several Remarkable Particulars, Never Before Expos’d To Public View bound with A Short Description of all the Kingdoms Which Encompas the Euxine and Caspian Seas, Delivered by the author after Twenty Years Travel Together with a Preface Containing Several Remarkable Observations concerning divers of the forementioned countries. 1st English Edition, R. L. and Moses Pitt, 1677. The text I used is from a 1678 reprinting of the English translation, which is available at Archive.org.

Excerpts from Tavernier’s account are discussed in Traub 2002 and Donoghue 1995 (who quotes a 1684 edition).

The excerpts included below are:

  • An explanation of the seclusion of the women of the Seraglio, including how Tavernier’s primary informational contact (a eunuch) did not himself have direct knowledge of the women’s quarters.
  • The cucumber anecdote
  • The old woman who fell in love at the baths

Tavernier provides a detailed description of the household of the Grand Seraglio, with all the various functions, officers, and activities. Within this, chapter 17 (p.619 of the Archive.org pdf) concerns the women’s quarters. He also extensively describes male homoerotic activity within the court, noting that it is regulated for those of lesser status as part of general controls on behavior. It is telling that Tavernier explains how even his primary contact for information about the Seraglio (which can refer to the entire palace, not necessarily specifically the women’s quarters) “could give me no certain information of [the women’s] quarter of it.” Which necessarily raises doubts about how accurate the information he provides can be. In this context, it’s noteworthy that the two specific references he makes to lesbian activity are echoes of anecdotes previously published by others.

I Make a Chapter by it self of the Appartment of the Women, only to entertain the Reader, with the impossibility there is, of having a perfect knowledg of it, or getting any exact account, either what the accommodations of it are; or how the Persons, who are confin’d therein, behave themselves. There is not in all Christendome any Monastery of Religious Virgins, how regular and austere soever it may be, the entrance whereof is more strictly forbidden to men, than is that of this Appartment of the Women: insomuch that my white Eunuch, who has supply'd me with so particular a description of the inner part of the Seraglio, could give me no certain information of this Quarter of it, where the Women are lodg'd. All I could get out of him, was, That the Doors of it are kept by Negro-Eunuchs, and that, besides the Grand Seignor himself, and sometimes, the Physician, in case of great necessity, there never enters any man into it, no nor Woman, besides those who live in it, and they are never permitted to go out of it, unless it be in order to their confinement in the Old Seraglio. But we must except, out of that number, the Sultanesses, and their Maids, or Ladies of Honour, whom the Grand Seignor allows, when he pleases, to come into the Gardens of the Seraglio, and whom he sometimes takes abroad with him, into the Country; yet so as that they cannot be seen by any person whatsoever. Four Negro-Eunuchs carry a kind of Pavilion, under which is the Sultaness, and the Horse upon which she is mounted, all save only the head of the horse, which is seen on the out-side of the Pavilion, the two fore-pieces of which, taking him about the Neck, are close fasten'd, above, and below.

Tavernier asserts that the “cucumber anecdote” that he relates is a myth, based on a misunderstanding of the usual method of serving fresh fruits. Given that his anecdote closely matches that in Ottaviano Bon, we have two possibilities. Either Tavernier has adapted Bon’s anecdote (only to contradict it) or the cucumber anecdote was a longstanding trope within Ottoman society (there being almost a century between Bon’s publication and Tavernier’s) that was related to curious travelers (regardless of whether it was believed within Ottoman society itself). In contrast to Bon, Tavernier unambiguously connects the cucumber anecdote to homosexuality, and suggests that both male and female homosexuality in Ottoman society are a consequence of the extreme gender segregation. Tavernier then relates the “old woman falling in love at the baths” anecdote, clearly identifying it as an old story from the time of Suleiman the Magnificent. As we first encountered this story from Busbecq, whose time in Constantinople was during the reign of Suleiman the Magnificent, either he is taking the story from Busbecq or the specific dating of the anecdote was part of its transmission to him. Although many specific details in Busbecq’s and Tavernier’s accounts match up, the two narratives are structured differently and Tavernier has fewer specifics. This could be consistent with oral transmission of a historic anecdote, but the exact relationship between the two accounts with regard to provenance cannot be known for certain.

Besides these things, which may be positively known, concerning the Appartment of the Women, in the Seraglio, it may well be imagined, that the embellishments of their Lodgings are answerable to those of the Grand Seignor, since it is the place where he passes away the most divertive part of his time. It is also not to be question'd, but that it has its Infirmary, its Baths, and the other accommodations and conveniences, that can be wish'd for. It may also be conjectur'd, That there is, in this Quarter, an observance of the same regulations, as there are in the Chambers of the Ichoglans: That some of the more ancient Maids are Mistresses over the Younger ones, and are, night and day employ'd in observing their actions, and that their unvoluntary restraint forces them to the same unseemly actions amongst themselves, as the brutish Passions of those Young Men engages them in, whenever they can find the opportunities to commit them. And this presumption has no doubt given occasion to the Fabulous Story, which is related of their being serv'd up with Cucumbers cut into pieces, and not entire, out of a ridiculous fear lest they should put them to undecent uses: they who have forg'd the Story not knowing, that it is the custome in the Levant, to cut the Fruit a-cross, into great thick slices, as I shall make it appear in the Chapter, where I treat of their Gardens. But it is not only in the Seraglio, that that abominable Vice reigns, but it is predominant also in the City of Constantinople, and in all the Provinces of the Empire, and the wicked Example of the Men, who, flighting the natural use of Woman-kind, are mutually enflam'd with a detestable love for one another, unfortunately enclines the Women to imitate them.

Of this, there was a strange instance in the time of Solyman the Magnificent. An old Woman was guilty of such an excess of extravagance, as to put on Man's Cloaths, and to give out, that she had bought a Chiaoux’s place, the better to compass her desire, of obtaining the only Daughter of a Trades-man of Constantinople, with whom she was desperately fallen in love, having made fruitless attempts, by other ways, to satisfie her infamous inclinations. The Father, not suspecting any thing of her wicked intentions, and being withal poor, grants her his Daughter, the Marriage is solemniz'd in the presence of the Cadi, and the imposture having been discover'd the very Wedding-night, the old woman was condemn'd the next day to be thrown into the Sea, there to quench the Gomorrhean Inflammations of her lewd desires. This Story is to this day related in Constantinople, and I have had it from several good hands.

These insatiable salaciousness amongst the Women, are the effects and conferences of the same inclinations in the Men; and the Turks are so much the more execrable and abominable as to this particular, the more they are permitted a plurality of Wives.

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Monday, November 13, 2023 - 07:10

Given Thomas Glover's background (born and raised in Constantinople) and his multi-lingual competence, we might expect him to have a much more thorough familiarity with Ottoman Society than some of the other authors in this series. But his accounts are more terse, high-level summaries than some of the others. Perhaps, being a "local" he didn't have the same fascination and curiosity that led some of the other authors to write more extensively. His knee-jerk distaste for the idea of lesbian sex in the bath houses may well reflect a solidly western European attitude (his father was English, after all), but we can't discount the possibility that it reflects the default male attitude towards the topic in Constantinople. As Glover (along with all the other male writers) emphasizes, it isn't as if he could have direct evidence of what women were doing in the baths, so we should conclude that the topic was "common knowledge" regardless of how accurate the details were.

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LHMP
Full citation: 

Glover, Thomas. 1610. The Muftie, Cadileschiers, Divans: Manners and attire of the Turkes. The Sultan described, and his Customes and Court. Included in George Sandys A Relation of a Journey begun Anno Dom. 1610 published in: Hakluytus Posthumus, or Purchas his Pilgrimes edited by Samuel Purchas (1625).

This post is part of a series of primary source materials illustrating how Europeans perceived, reported, and discussed female homoeroticism in the Ottoman Empire during the 16th to early 18th centuries. I’ll give a larger context for why this is a period of interest for European interactions with a non-European, non-Christian culture that could not be dismissed easily as  not being of equal power an importance to their own. Attitudes toward, and practice of homosexuality was far from the most noteworthy difference that these reports covered, but it’s the one of interest to us within the scope of this Project. I’ll be presenting the descriptions from ambassadors, travelers, and others in chronological order of their time spent in Constantinople and other key cities, followed by some additional primary sources that show how the echos of these interactions became part of European myths about lesbianism.

Thomas Glover was born in Constantinople to an English father and Polish mother and was raised there, being fluent in Turkish, Greek, Italian, and Polish (as well as English). He served as secretary to two successive English ambassadors to Constantinople before being installed as ambassador himself in 1606. He was recalled to London in 1611 under something of a cloud, perhaps due to interceding in Moldavian royal politics, but evidently it blew over. The Wikipedia entry on him is scanty and doesn’t mention his writings.

Glover’s text is included  in volume II of Purchas His Pilgrimes, published 1625, as an inclusion in an account dated 1610 by George Sandys. Glover’s text is titled, The Muftie, Cadileschiers, Divans: Manners and attire of the Turkes. The Sultan described, and his Customes and Court. Sandys’ text is an account of his travels through Europe and the Middle East beginning in 1610. Assuming the inclusion of Glover’s text in conjunction with Sandys’ is due to Sandys having acquired Glover’s description during his travels, this happened in 1610 based on an internal reference in Glover’s text. But without additional research, I can’t be certain that the conjunction of these two texts isn’t an editorial decision by Purchas. On the other hand, given that The Muftie… is a sort of “introduction to Ottoman government and society” it might well be the sort of thing written to help a visiting English traveler. (Purchas His Pilgrimes is an extensive four-volume collection of travel writing, edited by Samuel Purchas and titled Hakluytus Posthumus, or Purchas his Pilgrimes. The reference to Hakluyt points to Richard Hakluyt's Principal Navigations and Purchas’s collection was partly based on manuscripts left by Hakluyt, who had died in 1616. My text is taken from a copy of Purchas at Archive.org where it appears in volume 8, Chapter X (p.304ff).

There is a second text by Glover in the same volume titled, The Journey of Edward Barton Esquire, her Majesties Ambassador with the Grand Signior, otherwise called the Great Turke, in Constantinople, Sultan Mahumet Chan. Written by Sir Thomas Glover then Secretarie to the Ambassador, and since employed in that Honourable Function by his Majestie, to Sultan Achmet, which concerns an extensive description of travel logistics when the English ambassador accompanied the Sultan to the siege of Agria (modern Eger in Hungary) in 1596.

Glover’s text is briefly excerpted in Traub 2002.

The excerpts included below are:

  • A brief excerpt regarding the seclusion of women
  • A description of the baths

As usual, I’ll begin with an excerpt in which Glover describes the seclusion of Turkish women, casting doubt on whether any of his subsequent descriptions of women’s appearance and behavior can truly be considered “eyewitness.”

Yet give they no entertaynment unto one another, nor come there any into their houses but upon speciall occasion, and those but into the publike parts thereof; their women being never seene but by the Nurses and Eunuches which attend on them. Yea, so jealous they are, that their Sonnes when they come to growth are separated from them.

In describing households and women, Glover includes many details that don’t jibe well with the idea that men are not allowed to see women who are not their wives, such as women’s rituals with a bride before marriage, the appearance of women, their cosmetics, and their clothing. Glover’s description of the baths is a bit ambiguous with regard to gender, since he mixes in both male and female bathing practices. When he describes “unnatural and filthy lust” it isn’t clear whether he’s referring to both male and female practices, but with the specification “yea, women with women” he clearly indicates the latter at least.

They never stirre forth, but (and then alwayes in troupes) to pray at the graves, and to the publike Bannias: which for excellency of buildings are next to their Mosques. But having in part alreadie described some of their formes, I will treate of their use…. The men take them up in the morning, and in the afternoone the women. … The men are attended upon by men, and the women by women; in the outermost roome they put off their clothes, and having Aprons of stayned linnen tyed about their wastes, then entring the Baths to what degree of heate that they please, (for severall roomes, and severall parts of them are of severall temperatures, as is the water let in by cocks to wash the sweat and filth of the bodie) the servitors wash them, rub them, stretch out their joynts, and cleanse their skins with a piece of rough Grogeram; which done, they shave the heads and bodies of men, or take away the haire with a composition of Rusma (a minerall of Cyprus) and unsleakt Lime; who returning to the place where they left their clothes, are dryed with fresh linnen; and for all this they pay not above three or foure Aspers: so little, in that endued with revenues by their Founders. But the women, doe anoint their bodies with an oyntment made of the earth of Chios, which maketh the skin soft, white, and shining; extending that on the face, and freeing it from wrinkles. Much unnaturall and filthie lust is said to bee committed daily in the remote closets of the darkesome Bannias: yea, women with women; a thing uncredible, if former times had not given thereunto both detection and punishment. They have generally the sweetest children that ever I saw; partly proceeding from their frequent bathings, and affected cleanlinesse. As wee beare ours in our armes, so they doe theirs astride on their shoulders.

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Sunday, November 12, 2023 - 09:34

In my opinion, Ottaviano Bon represents the last of the male-authored accounts that appear to be solidly "original" as opposed to potentially recycling the material of previous authors. He also introduces the second motif that gets repeated by other authors: the cucumber anecdote. But overall, his descriptions are vague and ambiguous with regard to whether he's describing lesbian relations among Ottoman women, as opposed to unauthorized self-stimulation. (If a valuable attribute of young women in the sarail is the physical attributes of virginity, self-stimulation involving penetration is enough to be considered "wantonness" or "beastly uncleanness" within patriarchal society.)

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Bon, Ottaviano. 1587. Descrizione del serraglio del Gransignore. Translated by Robert Withers (1625) as The Grand Signiors Serraglio, published in: Hakluytus Posthumus, or Purchas his Pilgrimes edited by Samuel Purchas.

This post is part of a series of primary source materials illustrating how Europeans perceived, reported, and discussed female homoeroticism in the Ottoman Empire during the 16th to early 18th centuries. I’ll give a larger context for why this is a period of interest for European interactions with a non-European, non-Christian culture that could not be dismissed easily as  not being of equal power an importance to their own. Attitudes toward, and practice of homosexuality was far from the most noteworthy difference that these reports covered, but it’s the one of interest to us within the scope of this Project. I’ll be presenting the descriptions from ambassadors, travelers, and others in chronological order of their time spent in Constantinople and other key cities, followed by some additional primary sources that show how the echos of these interactions became part of European myths about lesbianism.

Ottaviano Bon belonged to an aristocratic family in Venice and was active as a diplomat. I’m having trouble finding a clear biography of him through online sources. He has no English Wikipedia entry, and the Italian Wikipedia entry is brief and sketchy. A biography included in David Thomas and John Chesworth’s Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History states that his “political career began in 1577, and he progressed through a series of positions of increasing importance, before beginning his diplomatic career in 1601 with his election as ambassador to Spain. In April 1604, he  was elected to one of Venice’s most sensitive and important diplomatic postings, bailo, in Istanbul, a position he held until early 1609.”

But the text we’re interested in apparently dates earlier than his official mission, and Thomas and Chesworth note, “Another product of his time in Istanbul, the Descrizione del serraglio del Gransignore, is a rare first-person description of the sultan’s seraglio based on a surreptitious personal visit Bon arranged.” Traub (2002) indicates that the Descrizione was originally a “confidential document” written in 1587, and Thomas and Chesworth indicate it was first published (in Italian) around 1606. Very soon after, an English translation by Robert Withers appeared as The Grand Signiors Serraglio (with no attribution to Bon), which was published in 1625 as part of an extensive four-volume collection of travel writing, edited by Samuel Purchas and titled Hakluytus Posthumus, or Purchas his Pilgrimes. The reference to Hakluyt points to Richard Hakluyt's Principal Navigations and Purchas’s collection was partly based on manuscripts left by Hakluyt, who had died in 1616. My text is taken from a copy of Purchas at Archive.org.

In addition to Traub 2002, this text is discussed in a previous LHMP entry covering Murray 1997.

Bon wrote extensively on the sarail (serraglio) that housed the women of the sultan’s court. The excerpts included below that specifically reference lesbian desire are:

  • A vague reference to “wantonness”
  • A discussion of punishments followed by the “cucumber anecdote”

As noted above, there is a vast amount of text discussing the women of the court, their organization, their activities, their physical environment, and so on. This excerpt concerns young women who are servants of the court, rather than the sultanas and the sultan’s concubines. The reference to the desire to “keep the young wenches form wantonnesses” is decidedly vague, but given the emphasis made previously to the exclusion of any men other than eunuchs from this part of the palace, one must assume that the “wantonness” in question is with other women. The comparison to nuns is interesting, given the convents often had similar concerns about what young women in homo-social environments might get up to. As usual, we cannot simultaneously accept Bon's depiction of the extreme seclusion of the women of the sarail and the notion that he was writing from personal observation of the sarail and its inhabitants.

[Withers p.339] Now in the Womens lodgings, they live just as the Nunnes doe in their great Monasteries; for, these Virgins have very large Roomes to live in, and their Bed-chambers will hold almost a hundred of them a piece: they sleepe upon Sofaes, which are built long wise on both sides of the Roome, so that there is a large space in the midst for to walke in. Their Beds are very course and hard, and by every ten Virgins there lies an old woman: and all the night long there are many lights burning, so that one may see very plainely throughout the whole Roome; which doth both keepe the young Wenches from wantonnesses, and serve upon any occasion which may happen in the night.

I included the initial part of this next quote about execution by being “tied and put into a sack and in the night cast into the sea” because of the resonances with Busbecq’s description of being “packed away and drowned in the deep.” But it’s likely pure coincidence that Bon puts this in conjunction with an anecdote about being concerned that the women might use certain vegetables for “wanton” purposes. This is not a clear reference to lesbianism and is framed as being due to the unavailability of men for sexual satisfaction. In European references to dildoes during a similar era, their use isn’t necessarily perceived as indicating lesbianism, even when a female partner is involved. (Some day I will do a podcast on the history of dildoes and the contexts in which they do and do not intersect with lesbian themes.)

[Withers p.347] The Women of the Serraglio, are punished for their Punishments of faults very severely, and extreamely beaten by their Overseers : and if they prove disobedient, incorrigible and insolent, they are by the Kings order and expresse commandment, turned out and sent into the old Serraglio, as being rejected and cast off, and most part of that they have is taken from them. But if they shall be found culpable for Witchcraft : or any such hainous offence, then are they tyed and put into a Sacke, and in the Night cast into the Sea : so that by all meanes it behooveth them to bee very obedient, and containe themselves within the bounds of honestie and modestie, if they meane to come to a good end. Now it is not lawfull for any one to bring ought in unto them, with which they may commit the deeds of beastly uncleannesse ; so that if they have a will to eate Cucumbers, Gourds, or such like meates, they are sent in unto them sliced, to deprive them of the meanes of playing the wantons ; for, they all being young, lustie, and lascivious Wenches, and wanting the societie of Men (which would better instruct them) are doubtlesse of themselves inclined to that which is naught, and will be possest with unchast thoughts.

 

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Saturday, November 11, 2023 - 15:28

The second item in my "Europeans talk about lesbianism in the Ottoman Empire" series introduces a topic that I'll come back to repeatedly and discuss in the upcoming podcast. For all that we have this variety of 16-17th century "travelers' tales" that make some reference to lesbian desire in women's spaces in Ottoman society, we should be skeptical about the independence of these reports. That isn't to say that we should be skeptical about the existence of female same-sex desire in Ottoman society, but only that we need to be aware that it is being presented in these accounts at least at third hand, if not more. Further, the attitudes toward lesbian desire embedded in these reports are filtered through European Christian attitudes that are far more sex-negative than those of Islamicate society, and don't take account of the nuances of attitudes toward same-sex activity within that society. So: substantial grains of salt are warranted, as well as an understanding that this mini-series that I'm presenting can be best understood as providing background for why Europeans became fixated on the idea that lesbianism was a "Turkish thing" in subsequent centuries.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

de Busbecq, Ogier Ghiselin. 1581. Itinera Constantinopolitanum et Amasianum (Journey to Constantinople and Amasya. Translated into English 1694 as: Four Epistles of A.G. Busbequius, Concerning His Embassy Into Turkey. Being Remarks Upon the Religion, Customs Riches, Strength and Government of that People. As Also a Description of Their Chief Cities, and Places of Trade and Commerce. Reprinted in 1744 as: Travels into Turkey: Containing the Most Accurate Account of the Turks, and Neighbouring Nations, Their Manners, Customs, Religion, Superstition, Policy, Riches, Coins, &c.

This post is part of a series of primary source materials illustrating how Europeans perceived, reported, and discussed female homoeroticism in the Ottoman Empire during the 16th to early 18th centuries. I’ll give a larger context for why this is a period of interest for European interactions with a non-European, non-Christian culture that could not be dismissed easily as  not being of equal power an importance to their own. Attitudes toward, and practice of homosexuality was far from the most noteworthy difference that these reports covered, but it’s the one of interest to us within the scope of this Project. I’ll be presenting the descriptions from ambassadors, travelers, and others in chronological order of their time spent in Constantinople and other key cities, followed by some additional primary sources that show how the echos of these interactions became part of European myths about lesbianism.

( Project Gutenberg™ Advisory: This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.)

The Flemish scholar Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq was named an ambassador to the Ottoman Empire by the Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand I. From around 1554 through 1562 he was in Constantinople, primarily to negotiate a border treaty. But Busbecq was deeply interested in manuscripts, in natural history, and in describing his experiences in an extensive correspondence with friends, which he later collected and published. Purely as a side note, Busbecq is also said to have been the person who introduced tulips into the Low Countries.

Busbecq’s Turcicae epistolae was originally published in Latin in 1581 under the title Itinera Constantinopolitanum et Amasianum (Journey to Constantinople and Amasya, presumably the Amasya in modern Turkey though there are are locations named Amasia in modern Armenia), later as  as Turcicae epistolae (Turkish Letters). An English translation appeared in 1694 under the title Four Epistles of A.G. Busbequius, Concerning His Embassy Into Turkey. Being Remarks Upon the Religion, Customs Riches, Strength and Government of that People. As Also a Description of Their Chief Cities, and Places of Trade and Commerce (See Google Books entry.) The version I used was published in 1744 under the title Travels into Turkey: Containing the Most Accurate Account of the Turks, and Neighbouring Nations, Their Manners, Customs, Religion, Superstition, Policy, Riches, Coins, &c.  (both these English titles are actually much longer) which is available from Project Gutenberg. Although I wasn’t able to find a text of the 1694 English translation online, I was able to compare the first pages of the 1694 and 1744 editions, which are identical except for some variation in punctuation. So I am assuming the this holds for the entire text.

Excerpts form Busbecq are discussed in the following publications previously covered by the Lesbian Historic Motif Project: Andreadis 2001, Donoghue 1996, Murray 1997, Norton (website),  Traub 2002 (who cites: Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq, The Life and Letters of Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq, eds. Charles Thorton Foster and F.H. Blackburne Daniell (London: Kegan Paul, 1881) pp.228-29. Also available at Project Gutenberg. This is an entirely different translation than the 1694 and 1744 editions.

The excerpts included below are:

  • The seclusion of women
  • Lesbian desire in the public baths
  • Anecdote of an old woman who fell in love with a girl at the bath

In addition to the general topic of lesbian desire in the sarail or at the women’s baths, there are two specific anecdotes that recur in multiple Early Modern sources. One is the “old woman who falls in love”, for which Busbecq is the earliest known source, and which subsequently appears in Tavernier and then in Satan’s Harvest Home. The other is the “cucumber anecdote” which we will first see in Ottaviano Bon (to be covered next), which is also repeated by Tavernier. The repetition of specific anecdotes emphasizes that these authors are not necessarily (or perhaps often) reporting from personal observation, but are gathering up material from other sources for their reports. Those other sources may, in some cases, be men they interacted with in Constantinople. But given the unlikelihood that any of these European men had direct knowledge of women’s lives in Ottoman Turkey, some level of filtering must always be assumed.

These reports frequently emphasize this last point: the male authors did not have direct access to the lives of respectable women. Though Busbecq’s description here is somewhat in conflict with the second quotation in claiming that “no person living, either male or female…shall ever have leave to see them” and then describing how women of all sorts gather together at the baths.

[P.144-145] I preceed then to other Matters, and shall give you an Example of the Chastity of Turkish Women. The Turks take more Pains to have their Wives modest, than any other Nation; and, therefore, they ordinarily keep them close up at home, and hardly suffer them to see the Sun; but if any necessity calls them abroad, they go so hooded and veil’d, as if they were Hobgoblins or Ghosts. ’Tis true, they can see Men through their Veils or Hoods, but no part of their Bodies is open to Man’s View; for they have this Tradition among them, that it is impossible for a Man to look on a Woman, especially if she be young and handsome, without desiring to enjoy her; and by that Desire the Mind is excited, and therefore they keep them all covered. Their own Brothers have Liberty to see them; but their Husband’s Brothers have not the same Permission. The nobler and richer sort, when they marry, do it with this Condition, that their Wives shall never set a Foot out of Door; and no Person living, either Male or Female, be the Cause what it will, shall ever have leave to see them; no, not their nearest Alliance in Blood, except only the Father and Mother, who, at Easter, (their Bairam) are permitted to see their Daughter; and, in lieu of this Strictness, if the Wife have Parents of the better sort, and she bring her Husband a large Dowry, the Husband, on his part promiseth, that he will never have any Concubines, but will keep to her alone.

After a much briefer description of the women’s baths than Nicolay provided, Busbecq offers a detailed anecdote concerning desire between women and its possible consequences. There is a possible implication that the reason the woman was punished so harshly was not for lesbian acts, as such, but for the gender masquerade and creating a public scandal. And, of course, there’s the implication that if the girl had been a consenting participant, perhaps no one would ever have known about it.

[Pp.145-147] The great Men also have Baths at their own Houses, wherein they and their Women do wash; but the meaner sort use public Baths.

A Turk hates bodily Filthiness and Nastiness, worse than Soul-Defilement; and, therefore, they wash very often, and they never ease themselves, by going to Stool, but they carry Water with them for their Posteriors. But ordinarily the Women bathe by themselves, Bond and Free together; so that you shall many times see young Maids, exceeding beautiful, gathered from all Parts of the World, exposed Naked to the view of other Women, who thereupon fall in Love with them, as young Men do with us, at the sight of Virgins.

By this you may guess, what the strict Watch over Females comes to, and that it is not enough to avoid the Company of an adulterous Man, for the Females burn in Love one towards another; and the Pandaresses to such refined Loves are the Baths; and, therefore, some Turks will deny their Wives the use of their public Baths, but they cannot do it altogether, because their Law allows them. But these Offences happen among the ordinary sort; the richer sort of Persons have Baths at home, as I told you before.

It happened one time, that at the public Baths for Women, an old Woman fell in Love with a Girl, the Daughter of a poor Man, a Citizen of Constantinople; and, when neither by wooing nor flattering her, she could obtain that of her which her mad Affection aim’d at, she attempted to perform an Exploit almost incredible; she feign’d herself to be a Man, changed her Habit, hired an House near the Maid’s Father, and pretended she was one of the Chiauxes of the Grand Seignior; and thus, by reason of his Neighbourhood, she insinuated herself into the Man’s Acquaintance, and after some time, acquaints him with the desire of his Daughter. In short, he being a Man in such a prosperous Condition, the Matter was agreed on, a Portion was settled, such as they were able to give, and a Day appointed for the Marriage; when the Ceremonies were over, and this doughty Bridegroom went into the Bride-chamber to his Spouse; after some Discourse, and plucking off her Headgeer, she was found to be a Woman. Whereupon the Maid runs out, and calls up her Parents, who soon found that they had married her, not to a Man, but a Woman: Whereupon, they carried the supposed Man, the next day, to the General of the Janizaries, who, in the Absence of the Grand Seignior, was Governor of the City. When she was brought before him, he chide her soundly for her beastly Love; what, says he, are you not asham’d, an old Beldam as you are, to attempt so notorious a Bestiality, and so filthy a Fact?

Away, Sir, says she! You do not know the Force of Love, and God grant you never may. At this absurd Reply, the Governor could scarce forbear Laughter, but commanded her, presently, to be pack’d away and drown’d in the Deep; such was the unfortunate Issue of her wild Amours. For you must know, that the Turks make no noise when secret Offences are committed by them, that they may not open the Mouths of Scandal and Reproach; but open and manifest ones they punish most severely.

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Tuesday, November 7, 2023 - 20:50

I've had a project on my to-do list to put together a podcast on Early Modern European perceptions of lesbianism in the Ottoman Empire. And as preparation, I wanted to do a deep dive into the source material on this topic. So this is the first in a series of primary source posts to that end. (I'll try to get all the source material posted before the podcast goes up.) One of the curious aspects of this topic is to see how much of the "travelers' tales" genre turns out to be recycled material from previous publications. I'll probably do a specific post on that topic to lay out the connections, once the source material is up.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

de Nicolay, Nicolas. 1567. Quatre premiers livres des navigations. Translated by T. Washinton (1585) as The Navigations, Peregrinations, and Voyages, Made into Turkie. Collected in: Osborne, Thomas. 1745. Collection of Voyages and Travels…, vol. 1. London: Thomas Osborne of Gray’s-Inn.

This post is part of a series of primary source materials illustrating how Europeans perceived, reported, and discussed female homoeroticism in the Ottoman Empire during the 16th to early 18th centuries. I’ll give a larger context for why this is a period of interest for European interactions with a non-European, non-Christian culture that could not be dismissed easily as  not being of equal power an importance to their own. Attitudes toward, and practice of homosexuality was far from the most noteworthy difference that these reports covered, but it’s the one of interest to us within the scope of this Project. I’ll be presenting the descriptions from ambassadors, travelers, and others in chronological order of their time spent in Constantinople and other key cities, followed by some additional primary sources that show how the echos of these interactions became part of European myths about lesbianism.

Nicolas de Nicolay was a Frenchman who served in various diplomatic roles in the mid 16th century, including escorting the young Mary Queen of Scots to France for her marriage to the Dauphin, and accompanying the French ambassador to Suleiman the Magnificent (know to European courts as “The Great Turk”) in Constantinople. On this journey, one of his roles was to make an extensive survey of the lands and peoples he encountered, which was published in French in 1567 as  Quatre premiers livres des navigations (First Four Books of Navigations), and translated into English by T. Washington the younger in 1585 as The Navigations, Peregrinations, and Voyages, Made into Turkie.

The text that I use is taken from the following publication (accessed through Archive.org). Due to the very poor quality of the optical recognition text provided at Archive.org, I transcribed these excepts directly from the pdf images.

Osborne, Thomas. 1745. Collection of Voyages and Travels…, vol. 1. London: Thomas Osborne of Gray’s-Inn.

This—as the title indicates—is a collection of various travelers’ accounts, in 2 volumes, comprising a total of 42 separate texts. Nicolay’s account is in volume 1, part 10 and is divided into 4 sections with numbered chapters.

Nicolay’s references to female homoeroticism have been quoted or referenced in the following publications previously covered by the LHMP: Traub 2002, Loughlin 2014, Andreadis 2001.

The excerpts included below are:

  • A reference in chapter 19 pointing out Nicolay’s lack of direct access to women’s culture
  • An excerpt from an extensive discussion from chapter 21 about men’s public baths and their practices
  • The entirety of chapter 22 which describes the women’s baths and their practices

The initial focus of Nicolay’s work is on the palace and Suleiman’s household. The private women’s quarters of this palace are called the “Sarail” (possibly a more familiar term in the form “seraglio”) which housed not only the sultan’s wives and concubines, as well as their female attendants, but also the sultan’s female relatives (mother, unmarried sisters and daughters). The chapter describing the Sarail goes into much detail about the seclusion of these women from male contact with the exception of the Black eunuchs who formed their interface with the world. Later, Nicolay speaks of the situation of other women who, while still being secluded from casual contact with men, moved about the city more freely (within limits). But in understanding the position of women in Ottoman society, this physical segregation should not be read as a lack of social and political power. Various authors comment on how much economic and social power (some) women had within their marriages.

In Ch. XIX, Nicolay explains how he befriended one of the eunuchs of the Sarail who provided him with information and experiences. For example, when Nicolay wanted to see what the women of the Sarail wore, the eunuch supplied two “public Turkish women” (this may mean prostitutes?) dressed in “very rich apparel”. I.e., Nicolay had no direct access to the high status women of the palace, so even his understanding of their dress was mediated through a sort of “fashion show” modeled by women whose social status would not be damaged by being seen by him. Keep this in mind when reading anything Nicolay says about women’s lives: he is necessarily reporting at second or third hand.

Although the description of the men’s baths includes extensive details of massages and bodily care, there is no mention of homoerotic activity, although elsewhere there are references to rampant sodomy among the Turks. Whereas the discussion of women washing and doing bodily care for each other in the baths is sexualized. Nicolay would, of course, have had no direct access to knowing what goes on in the women’s baths. So one must wonder not only how he got his information, but how and why that source may have shaped the information.

Ch. XXI discusses the institution of the public baths in general, but from context this is clearly the men’s baths.

…tapestry of Turky, upon which they uncloath themselves, leaving their garments in sure keeping of the Capsaire; and such as will bathe themselves, after they have covered their privy members with a great blue linen cloth which is given unto them, do first go into the Tepidarie to make themselves sweat, and frm thence they enter into another great place of the bath, being much higher, and the ceiling thereof made clear with divers windows, to the intent to shew the brighter in the midst whereof is also a most magnificent fountain…[you lay yourself on a marble table on your belly] and then one of these graet lubbers, after they have well pulled and stretched your arms, as well before as behind, in such sort that he will make your bones to crack, and well rubbed the soles of your feet, mounteth upon your back, and so with his feet slideth up and down upon you, and upon your reins, as if he would bruise them in pieces; and then again maketh you to turn on your back, pulling and removing your joints, as before is said, and nevertheless without doing unto you any harm at all, but on the contrary doth so comfort your sinews, and strengtheneth your members, that ye shall be after it a great deal more fresh, lively, and better disposed: [more interesting details of personal care] … Now it is to be noted, that all nations, of what faith or religion soever they be, are all alike, and indifferently received and entreated for their money in these baths; but above all others, the Turks, Moors, and generally all the Mahumatised, frequent thither oftenest, as well for their voluptuous pleasure, as bodily health, and principally for the observing of their law, which commandeth that no Musselmen shall enter into their mosquest without they be first well washed and purified, these brutish Barbarians esteeming of the outward washing, and not that which inwardly toucheth the soul.  …

The following is the entirety of  chapter XXII. Some paragraph breaks have been added (that were not in the original) to improve readability.

Of the women of Turky going unto the baths, and of their apparel, and manner of cleanness.

The Turks wives, by ordinary customs, and ancient observation, which they reserve of the old custom of Asia and Greece, do delight at all times to haunt the baths, as well for the continauance of their health, as beautifying of their persons, which is not to be reputed as spoken of the women of base estate or condition, but likewise of the great and notable dames, which ordinarily do frequent the baths two or three times in the week, not the publick, but their private baths, which for the most part they have very fair within their houses or Sarails; but such as are of the meaner degree, go unto them at least once in the week, if by others they will be esteemed not infamed, or scarce honest.

And notwithstanding they will not gladly fail to go thither, for two several occasions, the one being for the observation of their Mahumetical law, which, as before I have said, forbiddeth them not to make their prayers within the mosques, except first their bodies be washed and purified, notwithstanding that few women do enter into the same mosques, but such as are dames of great reputation and authority; the other and principal reason is, to have good occasion and honest excuse to go abroad out of their houses, within the which they are continually closed up, from the great jealousy of their husbands, or rather for the observing of the antient custom of their ancestors, which after that sort kept their wives and daughters closed up in the backsides of their houses, which they call Ginaises; so that the Turky women being shut up, without permission to go abroad, nor to appear in the streets openly, except it be going to the baths, whereto they nevertheless go with their faces covered, to bring their jealous husbands out of suspicion, which continually keep them so under subjection, and closed in;

and oftentimes, under colour of going to the baths, they resort to other places, where they think good to accomplish their pleasure, and come home again in good time, without the knowledge or perceiving of their husbands, wherein they fear nothing at all, for that to those baths no men do frequent so long as the women are there;

and there are also certain women which do serve and attend on such women as come thither without any waiting-maids; and likewise that sometimes they do go ten or twelve of them together, and sometimes more in a company, as well Turks as Grecians, and do familiarly wash one another, whereby it cometh to pass, that amonst the women of Levan, there is very great amity proceding only thro’ the frequentation and resort to the bathes: yea and sometimes become so fervently in love the one of the other, as if it were with men, in such sort, that perceiving some maiden or woman of excellent beauty they will not cease until they have found means to bathe with them, and to handle and grope them every where at their pleasures, so full are they of luxuriousness and feminine wantonness: even as in times past were the Tribades, of the number whereof was Sapho the Lesbian, which transferred the love wherewith she pursued an hundred women or maidens, upon her only friend Phaon.

And therefore, considering the reasons aforesaid, to wit, the cleansing of their bodies, health, superstition, liberty to go abroad, and lascivious voluptuousness, it is not to be marvelled at, that these baths are so accustomably frequented by the Turks, and that likewise the women of estate do so gladly go thither in the morning betimes, for to remain there until dinner-time, being accompanied with one or two slaves, the one bearing on her head a vessel of brass, made after the fashion of a small bucket to draw water; and within the same is a fine and long smock of cotton tissed, besides amother smock, breeches, and other like linen, with a drug called Rusma, which being putuerised [possibly an error for "pulverised"?] and tempered in water, they rub upon all the parts of the body where they will have the hairs to go off, which incontinently with the sweat do fall off. This vessel thus garnished is borne, being covered with a rich pavilion of velvet or crimson satten, set with gold and silver, and hanged with tassels of silk and gold.

The other slave, if there be two of them, carrieth a fine coverlet with a fair pillow-beer, and in such order the slaves do go behind their mistresses, which under their gowns are cloathed with a fine linen smock, by them called Barami. Now being come to the place of bathing, the coverlet is spread abroad, upon the which they uncloath themselves, and lay down their garments and jewels; for their preparation and order is such, that going to the baths, whether they be Turks or Christians, the better to be liked the one of the other, they set forth themselves with their richest apparel, and most precious tablets; and being thus uncloathed upon the carpet, they turn the vessel with the mouth downwards, and the bottom upwards, for to sit the more easily; and then the slaves, the one on the one side, and the other on the other side, do wash and rub the body until it doth suffice; and then they go to repose themselves in a small chamber, being indifferently hot. In which mean space, and during this repast, the slaves do wash one another.

And after they have thus remained in the baths and hot chambers so long as it doth please them, the slaves do again lay up the smocks and other linen into the vessel, and so, following their mistress, do return homewards, after that she hath paid until the mistress of the bath such sum as men do pay, and as before I have recited.

 

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Saturday, November 4, 2023 - 18:57

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 272 - On the Shelf for November 2023 - Transcript

(Originally aired 2023/11/04 - listen here)

Welcome to On the Shelf for November 2023.

Trying to think of some clever way to start off the podcast. All of my clever is dried up at the moment. My schedules are all a bit off-kilter and that’s even before we adjust back to Standard Time here tonight. The podcast is just one small part of it, but swapping the fiction episode from September to October means that I’ve just done three episodes in three weeks and I can’t for the life of me remember how I used to do that all the time.

I was updating the episode planning spreadsheet the other day and penciling in some special episodes in the next few years for anniversaries. A year from now we should be airing episode 300, so I’ll have to come up with something special for that. The next round number will be a two-fer, when we hit our 10 year anniversary of the podcast almost exactly at episode 350. I’m not sure I want to predict that far out, since I’ll have been retired for over a year by that point and I intend to have rearranged my life significantly.

I do have some solid goals for the podcast. I’d like to complete enough of the trope episodes and other thematic shows to have material towards a book. That was my initial plan, you know: to put together a resource book on lesbian history for people who wanted to write historical fiction. The idea I had back in the ‘80s when I first started thinking about it was rather different from what I envision now, but I’d still like to turn my research into something less ephemeral than a podcast. Plus, get back to writing my own fiction, of course. I never meant to spend so long between books. But for the podcast, it would be a nice round number to make it to ten years of podcasting. Ten years is a very long time in podcasting.

Restarting my library adventures last month has broken a logjam and I’ve been back several times since then, pulling articles from sources that aren’t online. I’ll probably do a serious bit of journal downloads when I take some vacation time after Thanksgiving and can go to the library at a time when staff are available to help. But in the mean time I have about 30 articles on my iPad, ready for highlighting. When looking at my article folders, I’m also reminded that I’ve been gathering materials for a special topic on European perceptions of lesbianism in the Ottoman Empire, which will involve presentations of some primary sources, catching up on relevant publications, and then a podcast episode. No end of ideas, just short on time!

Publications on the Blog

In the past month, the blog finished up the relevant articles in The Cambridge History of Gay and Lesbian Literature. Specifically, the chapters on same-sex friendship in the 19th century, African-American writing, and the decadent era, but skipping over the purely 20th century chapters. I also blogged an article “The Female Rake: Gender, Libertinism, and Enlightenment” by Kathleen Wilson, as background for the tropes episode on rakes, though the article wasn’t as pertinent to the podcast as I’d hoped.

Book Shopping!

Several books that I’d ordered came in this month. You may remember that back in July I mentioned a Librivox audio collection of early queer-themed short fiction. Most of the sapphic stories included in it can be found in the collection Two Friends and Other Nineteenth-Century Lesbian Stories by American Women Writers, edited by Susan Koppelman. When shopping for something else, that book popped up and I realized that I didn’t actually own a copy. Well, now I do.

On that same shopping kick, when I was plugging in titles of books on my “want list” to see if I could find used copies, I ordered a copy of Margaret Goldsmith’s Christina of Sweden: A Psychological Biography. Now, this book was published in 1935 and the citation and attribution standards are…not what I prefer. But it was cited elsewhere as including a number of anecdotes about Queen Christina’s sapphic hijinks in Paris (after her abdication from the throne of Sweden), and it was cheap enough to be worth an impulse.

The article on African-American writing in the Cambridge History pointed me to Farah Jasmine Griffin’s Beloved Sisters and Loving Friends: Letters from Rebecca Primus of Royal Oak, Maryland, and Addie Brown of Hartford, Connecticut, 1854-1868. You may recall that one of the first episodes of this podcast was about Rebecca Primus and Addie Brown, but at the time I was basing it on a journal article. I didn’t know that there was a whole book about the couple. Well, now I own it.

The last two books aren’t relevant to the Project, but I always like to toss in the rest of my shopping so you can get a broader picture of my life. Another “stumbled across” item is Phyllis Kinney’s treatise Welsh Traditional Music. Welsh history is one of my other loves besides queer history, and someday I plan to merge the two in my fiction. And lastly I got a copy of Stephanie Forshee’s book for young readers, Hidden Gems: Margaret Getchell LaForge, which is a biography of my great-great-grandmother and her time as an executive at Macy’s department store. Stephanie Forshee is working on a series of biographies of pioneering American businesswomen, and I was delighted to help her research with information from our family archives.

Recent Lesbian/Sapphic Historical Fiction

Lots of new and recent sapphic historical fiction this month. I don’t usually buy quite so many books while putting together the new and recent releases segment, but the tally ended up at 8 books. I have no idea when I’ll get the time to read all of them, given how far behind I already am on fiction. But it’s great to stumble across so many intriguing titles. Now if only I didn’t have to work quite so hard to confirm that they fall in the sapphic category!

Several thematic clusters emerged this month. We’ll start off with some mystery series.

Jennifer Ashley’s Kat Holloway historic mystery series includes a lesbian couple as side characters, but in The Price of Lemon Cake (Kat Holloway #6.5) from JA/AG Publishing, that couple gets to be the protagonists. The main mystery series is published by Berkley, but this and another side-story are put out directly by the author.

When Kat Holloway approaches Lady Bobby Perry and Judith Townsend to help her discover what a young aristo is getting up to in a gentleman’s club, Bobby quickly accepts, coaxing a promise of Mrs. Holloway’s stupendous lemon cake in return.

But the investigation quickly turns into more than a simple spy mission, forcing Judith to confront a painful part her past. Both Judith and Bobby must bring their own unique skills to help Kat solve the tricky and dangerous problem.

Next up we have two mystery series that I only stumbled across when the third book in the series came out last month. We’ll start with the Mary Grey Mysteries, by Winnie Frolik from NineStar Press.

In book 1, The Illhenny Murders:

District Nurse Mary Grey saves the life of young architect, Anthony West, when he is involved a car wreck, only for West to tell her it was no accident. Someone tried to kill him. Mary is skeptical at first, but when West dies, she’s determined to investigate the matter. More blood is spilled, and Mary becomes embroiled in a tangled web of intrigue and murder as she joins forces with exiled Jewish German detective Franz Shaefer. And on top of everything else, Mary finds herself dangerously attracted to Anthony’s beautiful and unattainable sister Harriet.

The hopes that cover copy raises for our protagonist are confirmed in the second volume, Death at Bayard Lodge.

When district nurse Mary Grey and her lover Harriet accept an invitation to visit the latter’s godmother in the beautiful Lake District, they’re hoping for a relaxing outing. But from the very start, they find themselves pulled into a web of intrigue, resentments, deceit, and violent passions.

Young newlywed Rachel Florry is found on the lawn with her skull smashed in and there’s no shortage of suspects. From the girl whose fiancée Rachel stole, to a sinister vagrant, to Rachel’s own mystery lover.

Mary calls on her old friend and partner, private detective Franz Shaefer to come down to Bayard Lodge and help solve the case. But as they unearth buried secrets and hidden agendas, they themselves are at risk.

Since the first time this series turned up in my search was volume 3, you may see from the cover copy for A Swing of the Axe that I wasn’t at all sure why my keywords had turned it up.

When Mary Grey learns that her old colleague from nursing school has been viciously killed, she and private detective Franz Schaefer immediately rush up North.

They soon discover that before she died, the nurse in question had written to Scotland Yard, alerting them to a suspected crime.

In a village full of secrets, which one was worth killing for?

The next series also had me searching out reviews to see if the somewhat coy description carried through in content. But I was able to contact the author with my questions and she confirmed that the characters were based on a relative of hers who had a “very close female friend” and that the ambiguity of the cover copy intentionally reflected the discretion with which they had to live their lives. This is the Winslow and Fitzgerald Investigations Mystery series by Cherie O’Boyle.

A Preposterous Alibi (volume 1):

It is the spring of 1928 in San Francisco, an especially unruly city and a place where no one seems to care if the body of an unknown prostitute is unceremoniously dumped in a dark Chinatown alley. No one, that is, until young companions and amateur sleuths Evelyn Winslow and Flora Fitzgerald learn about the death from their housemate, Wu Chin Jaing.

The longer the garishly-dressed body remains in the alley, the angrier the women become at the injustice. Join in as Evelyn, Flora, and Jaing bring their quick wits, strong wills, and brave hearts to bear on the puzzle of the identity of both the victim and her killer.

An Unforeseen Motive (volume 2):

It’s the summer of 1932, an era rife with the challenges of keeping body and soul together even for companions Evelyn Winslow and Flora Fitzgerald. On summer break from teaching, the young sleuths accept a much-needed commission to investigate labor unrest roiling in the fruit orchards of the San Francisco East Bay. They’ve hardly started when a worker is brutally slain.

Evelyn uncovers the means of death, but too many have the opportunity. And possible motives for committing the murder remain a confusing mystery, leaving Evelyn and Flora on their own and in no small danger as they try to work out the puzzle together.

And finally, By Indelicate Means (volume 3):

Death by bludgeoning becomes the most telling clue in BY INDELICATE MEANS. As Evelyn, Flora, Jaing, and their young police officer friend Andrew become more skillful at investigating the seamier side of life in San Francisco by 1933, more crimes come to light, destitute children seek their help, and the mysterious disappearance of an infant even comes under their scrutiny. Finding the common thread challenges their fearless and adventurous natures and sends them into deeper dangers. Then the first body is found…

The next coincidental theme this month is cross-time stories, and especially the sort of story that historian Linda Garber calls a “romance of the archives,” such as Charlotte and Me by Carol Leyland.

Alice Hargreaves finds herself alone, divorced and lost since the discovery of her wife's infidelity. Smarting and scared after her first lesbian romance ended so badly, she begins anew, in a run-down house in York.

During her house renovations, she discovers old love and the possibility of future love with her striking, charming and helpful neighbour Charlie.

Inspired by the lesbian love letters she discovers in a hidden metal box under the floorboards, Alice finds hope. Their secrets, revealed in their historic writings, mirror the love and loss in Alice’s own life, and give her courage to move on.

A similar archival framing story presents a fictionalized biography of poet Christina Rossetti in The Rossetti Diaries by Kathleen Williams Renk from Bedazzled Ink

Historian Maggie Winegarden decides she needs to spend some time away from her partner Bethany, who is upset over Maggie's desire to be a painter. Maggie visits the seaside town of Hastings and while in St. Clement's Church discovers that poet Christina Rossetti and artist Elizabeth "Lizzie" Siddal had been frequent visitors to Hastings and the church. Agatha, the church caretaker, shows Maggie a chest of papers in the catacombs that the vicar said belonged to Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

Maggie discovers the papers are actually the lost diaries of Christina and Lizzie. She learns that Christina's and Lizzie's lives are intertwined beyond being sisters-in-law, that they become intimate friends and establish a community of women artists and poets, a Pre-Raphaelite Sisterhood in Lizzie's ancestral home, Hope Hall.

Maggie is joined by Bethany and Agatha in the quest to solve the mystery of how the diaries were buried in the St. Clement's Church catacombs and uncover surprising revelations on the origins of Christina's most famous poem "Goblin Market."

Wrapped in a modern-day mystery, The Rossetti Diaries is a historical re-imagining that explores the indomitable artistic aspirations and achievements of the poet Christina Rossetti and the artist Elizabeth Siddal.

And last in this group is a straightforward time-travel novel. This is the fourth novel in Harmke Buursma’s “Magical Bookshop” series from Illusive Press. It looks like each book can stand alone, although the third book in the series has strong overlap in characters and events with Anne Through Time.

After the sudden passing of her father, Anne Blakeley discovers that her family is on the verge of financial ruin. Though Anne dreams of a different future, she is determined to marry for her family's sake. With finances dwindling fast and a debt collector requesting a final payment, Anne has no choice but to accept help from her friend Beth Easton for one final season in London to find a suitor.

However, a chance meeting with Willa Balfour, the daughter of a marquis, pulls Anne and Beth into a scheme to rid Willa of an unwanted suitor, an Irish duke invited by her father. Thankfully, the marquis seems distracted by the appearance of Melinda, a time traveler and owner of a magical bookshop.

Despite needing to find a suitor, Anne starts questioning her burgeoning feelings towards Willa Balfour. Anne is torn between familial duty and her own heart when Melinda proposes the offer of a lifetime to Anne and Willa.

The pitch for this next book calls it “Heartstopper meets A Knight’s Tale” (meaning the comic medieval-ish movie), so be certain you’re looking for some madcap anachronistic humor if you read Gwen and Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher from Wednesday Books.

It’s been hundreds of years since King Arthur’s reign. His descendant, Arthur, a future Lord and general gadabout, has been betrothed to Gwendoline, the quick-witted, short-tempered princess of England, since birth. The only thing they can agree on is that they despise each other. They’re forced to spend the summer together at Camelot in the run up to their nuptials, and within 24 hours, Gwen has discovered Arthur kissing a boy and Arthur has gone digging for Gwen's childhood diary and found confessions about her crush on the kingdom's only lady knight, Bridget Leclair. Realizing they might make better allies than enemies, they make a reluctant pact to cover for each other, and as things heat up at the annual royal tournament, Gwen is swept off her feet by her knight and Arthur takes an interest in Gwen's royal brother. Gwen and Art Are Not in Love is chock full of sword-fighting, found family, and romantic shenanigans destined to make readers fall in love.

Another accidental theme this month is fictionalized biographies. We previously mentioned Christina Rossetti, and now we get a 19th century civic leader in Richmond, Virginia in Mary's Grace by John Musgrove from Quarter Mile Press. The cover copy is rather scanty, but check on the Wikipedia article for the subject, Grace Arents [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grace_Arents] and the linked article on her uncle Lewis Ginter, who is the subject of another fictional biography by John Musgrove, you can see why these subjects are so intriguing for a queer author.

Grace Arents, the niece of Lewis Ginter, built a new life in the twentieth century based on philanthropy, community involvement, and the help of her closest friend, Mary Garland Smith. The two women transformed the educational landscape of Richmond and found love in the process.

Despite the title, this next book doesn’t seem like a light-hearted holiday themed romance: My Christmas Gift to You: Forbidden Love by Julia C. Oliver.

It’s time to stop living a lie…

For years, Lady Dinna Lundon has secretly loved the same woman––her best friend, Chriss Rochosh, now Baroness Perterson. But five years ago, they were mere green girls, and Dinna was too scared to risk losing Chriss’ friendship if she told her how she felt. But when Dinna’s parents found out about her preference for women, her insanely controlling mother arranges a marriage to squelch any disparaging rumors that would hurt the family name. Dinna, however, has no intention of––or interest in–– men and escapes to China where she invents a faux husband and makes a large fortune shipping rare artifacts around the world. She has everything a woman could want…except love.

It's time to admit the truth…

Lady Chriss’ life took a much different path. Depressed by the loss of her best friend, and admittedly as curious about men as she was about women, she agreed to an arranged marriage to a much older man. He was kind––something she’d never known from her selfish parents––showing her a world of finer things. But too soon, a fatal illness took him, leaving her with a newborn daughter and an inheritance her parents would do anything to attain––even kidnapping or murder. They put in motion a plan to force her to marry her own cousin, then have her declared insane, so the three can split her money. With her daughter literally held as a hostage to make her go through with the marriage, Chriss writes to her old friend for help.

Time is running out…

Dinna immediately books passage for home, and with her money and connections, she knows she can save Chriss, whether her friend returns her love or not. But greed knows no boundaries and when Chriss and her child are abducted, Dinna must save the woman she wants to spend the rest of her life with…if she’s not too late.

Other Books of Interest

I have one book in the “other books of interest” category this month. Like many stories set in the American Civil War, this one involves crossing gender, and without clear indications of how the character understands herself, I don’t want to apply a sapphic label on my own. The book is: The Grass Widow by D.A. Chadwick.

In 1861 Bethel Erwin joins the Confederate army as Private Tandy Scott to escape the dreary life of a woman in the hills. She signs up for the 2nd Tennessee Infantry along with her younger brother and cousin. Bethel's medical skills earn her a promotion to assistant surgeon when she later deserts the CSA to join the Union army. After the bloody battle of Shiloh, Bethel and her brother, George, come to the aid of a young widow in Corinth and their lives are changed forever.

What Am I Reading?

So what am I reading? The only novel I actually completed is the audiobook of Ann Leckie’s science fiction novel Translation State. This is set in her Imperial Radch universe and has a very twisty non-linear plot with a solidly upbeat found-family-type ending. Just my cup of tea, but I’ll note that if you had trouble getting into her Ancillary trilogy, this is more of the same.

The main reason I haven’t finished anything else is because I then started the audiobook of Nicola Griffith’s Menewood, the sequel to Hild. Clocking in at nearly 29 hours listening time, it’ll be a while before I give a report on it.

Miscellaneous

Usually I’d try to have an interview with the author of last episode’s story in this show, but things didn’t sort themselves out in time, so we’re aiming to have that interview with B. Pladek next month.

And don’t forget, we’ll be opening for submissions for next year’s fiction series in January. Check the website for details and tell all your friends!


Show Notes

Your monthly roundup of history, news, and the field of sapphic historical fiction.

In this episode we talk about:

Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online

Links to Heather Online

Major category: 
LHMP
Monday, October 30, 2023 - 20:36

While this article is interesting in its own right, it wasn't the article on this topic I hoped to find. And I'm not entirely certain that "female rake" is the most appropriate way to categorize Con Phillips. She certainly appears to have had libertine leanings, and stands outside the ideals of English womanhood of the day. But I envision the role of "rake" as involving a bit less financial dependence on one's amours.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Wilson, Kathleen. 2004. “The Female Rake: Gender, Libertinism, and Enlightenment” in Peter Cryle & Lisa O’Connell (eds.) Libertine Enlightenment: Sex, Liberty, and License in the Eighteenth-century. Palgrave, Basingstoke. pp.99-111.

I was excited to read Kathleen Wilson’s article, “The Female Rake”, but in the end it disappoints me. Rather than taking a broad look at the concept of women as rakes, it focuses on a biography of a specific individual, combined with a compare-and-contrast treatment of the active sexuality of women in English society with attitudes towards female sexuality in colonial and non-European settings. [Note: I’d be disappointed that it doesn’t touch on female rakes with same-sex interests except that that was too much to hope for in the first place.]

Wilson starts by emphasizing the gender differences in attitudes towards male and female rakes, with the male rake producing fascination for the concept of unlimited pursuit of sexual gratification, while the female rake is the object, sometimes of admiration, but more often embarrassment or disgust.

The focus of the article is courtesan Teresia Constantia Phillips, known as “Con” Phillips. Wilson considers male libertines to represent a “bourgeois appropriation of aristocratic sexual privilege” rather than rakishness being a behavior prevalent primarily among the aristocracy. In which case, female libertines are doubly transgressing, both in gender and class, in appropriating the right to an unrestrained sexuality. At a time when the concept of women being inherently sexually restrained was developing, the courtesan represented an “unnatural” woman who did not adhere to expectations. But in contrast, the sexually unrestrained indigenous women that English travelers were encountering around the world, provided an argument that open and independent sexuality was a feature of the class of women who were considered most “natural”.

We know as much as we do about Con Phillips because, in addition to being fashionable and extravagant, she was witty and literate, and produced her own autobiography: An Apology for the Conduct of Mrs. T. C. Phillips, not only to raise money during a time of financial constraint, but also to blackmail the Earl of Chesterfield, a former lover, into providing her an income.

The biography presents a different image from the licentious courtesan by invoking tropes from fiction and stage drama to present herself as the victim of rapacious men who drove her into the demimonde by seduction and mistreatment. Phillips’ career wound through London, Paris, Amsterdam, Boston, and Spanish Town, as she worked her way through several marriages and a number of less formal liaisons. And even-handed view of her relationships identifies exploitation on both sides, as men loved and left her while she, at times, drove them near to madness with her refusal to allow her behavior to be controlled.

Throughout it all, in Phillips biography, she gives the impression of not particularly liking men very much, describing them as a “perfidious sex” and, claiming that “all they purpose is to make women instrumental to their vanities, and subject to the gratification of their grosser appetites.”

In return, Phillips hounded her former lovers for financial support, and succeeded to some extent in turning their avoidance of scandal into income. Eventually, she emigrated to Jamaica, where she gained the reputation of a “black widow” for marrying, and then burying a series of rich husbands. [Note: one difference between male and female rakes becomes clear in this biography. The image of the male rake did not include living off his mistresses.]

Phillips’ biography depicts her as being a saint, ashamed of her lack of sexual self-control, but also angry about the double standards for sexual behavior that condemned women, but not men, for extramarital affairs. She depicted herself as more virtuous than the men she railed against, but also as being set apart from women as a class, claiming in one place, “I am no woman” and denigrating other women for going along with the misogyny of the times. She claimed the right to take up her own cause in courts of law and in the press, in ways that went against the expectations not only for a woman, but also for a commoner, who was attacking male members of the aristocracy.

All this was occurring at a time when conservative forces in society were working to associate female sexuality and female luxury with foreignness, and especially with Frenchness. All things that were thought to be undermining the martial spirit and masculine virtue that Englishman should be embodying. She was depicted as something of a sexual vampire, consuming the essential energies of the men she partnered, and thereby weakening the state.

The remainder of the article compares attitudes towards and reactions to Phillips’ life with descriptions and reactions to the very different sexual mores of women encountered in the South Pacific and other regions, who challenged English notions of appropriate female restraint in sexuality.

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Saturday, October 28, 2023 - 07:00

[Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 271 – The Salt Price by B. Pladek - transcript

(Originally aired 2023/10/28 - listen here)

We have a delightful story for you in this episode. The timing is a bit irregular—we should have had the fiction episode last month, but…well, things happen. History is a complex web. The events that seem prominent in the history books are accompanied by all manner of struggles and movements, their details shaping the larger events in small, inexorable ways. Who can tell what moves someone to act? A burdensome tax? A sense of loyalty to a place or a person?  In the early 18th century, in France, the trade in sea salt was one small piece on the game board. But it’s the one we consider today.

The author, B. Pladek is associate professor of literature at Marquette University. His debut novel, Dry Land, about a forester in WWI who gains the mysterious power to grow plants, was published by University of Wisconsin Press just last month. You can find him on twitter @bpladek or on his website, bpladek.net. In the early eighteenth century his ancestors on his mom's side were exiled from France for (inept) salt-smuggling.

author photo of B. Pladek

Our narrator today is Jasmine Arch, who has narrated several stories for the Lesbian Historic Motif Project’s fiction series. In addition to her linguistic skills, I always feel that Jasmine does an excellent job with somewhat otherworldly stories.

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.


The Salt Price

By B. Pladek

 

Once in the days of the ancién regime, when the salt tax still starved the people, and armed taxmen beat each copse for smugglers up and down the Loire, a woman contracted a faery to run salt.

The lowlands of Guérande were salt country then. Each morning as the sun brushed the mist from the yellow reeds, the paludiers walked the dykes between the drying pools, plugging the sluices that fed seawater through the canals. Later, when the sun had burnt the water to brackish sludge, they raked green bay salt from the pools’ bottoms. At night the women skimmed flakes of fleur de sel from the waves.

Corentine had raked the faery in at dusk. Or perhaps she had simply appeared atop Corentine’s heap of green bay salt. Whichever it was, as Corentine watched the faery had risen, a tall woman, green and glossy as a beetle. They gazed at one another, wondering, until Corentine said,

“A faery. What are you doing in our king-forsaken Guérande?”

The faery’s voice had a whirr to it, like wings. “I am here to contract my magic to a human. Do you require magic?”

Corentine glanced over her shoulder, then opened the satchel at her side, revealing a half-minot of fleur de sel. In a low voice she said, “Perhaps. I must give this to a fisherman in La Baule tonight, for passage up the Loire. Can you conceal it?”

The faery’s dark eyes did not blink. But she took the satchel. Raising it, she shook the salt into the air, and as its flakes fell they shingled together until she held a soft white cloak. This she gave to Corentine.

Corentine drew the salt cloak through her fingers. “It’s like ermine,” she whispered, “as if I were a lady again.” She had been, once, before the Regent had claimed her estates and reduced her to raking salt. Donning the cloak, she asked, “But what will you wear? A marquise cannot walk unaccompanied.”

The faery looked startled. But in an instant she fashioned herself a second cloak from the green bay salt. Its drape hugged her hard shoulders, framing the knot of muscle where wings met nape. She did not look dangerous, but neither did she look quite safe.

For a moment Corentine stared at her, the color rising in her cheeks. Then she stammered, “Lovely. But you’ll need to raise a glamor when we reach town. Can you do that?”

Watching Corentine flush, the faery’s eyes had a question in them. But she only nodded.

That night in La Baule, the gabelous—the Regent’s taxmen, all Parisians—were drinking. On the clay streets bordering the quays they searched for contraband salt. They harassed the paludiers returning from the marshes, groped the breasts and bustles of the women, and drove rapiers into farmers’ bales of flax. Any smugglers they uncovered were shackled and bound for La Rochelle. There they would face trial and be sent to the galleys, or the gallows, or the Gaspé in Nouvelle France. The smugglers continued anyway. They had to, to eat.

But to the marquise who drifted by in a cloak of ermine, her guard beside her, the taxmen merely bowed. Nor did they notice when the marquise and her companion returned, cloakless, from the seafront. The local Bretons noticed, but said nothing. They knew that Corentine, once Lady Corentine de Cornouaille, was in league with the Marquis de Pontcallec, at work up the Loire raising funds for a coup against the Regency.

At home in La Croisic, Corentine and the faery greeted her grey-haired husband. “We strolled straight through La Baule, Sebastién, and the gabelous saw nothing. With this faery’s help we’ll have enough for the Marquis by Christmas. We must make a contract with her.”

Sebastién balked. “Don’t you know the stories? Faeries can’t be trusted.”

Corentine knew the stories: help from Faerie never came free. But she looked at the faery, her face limned by the kitchen firelight, and thought she would rather risk her debt than the Regent’s.

Touching the faery’s shoulder, she asked, “What are your terms?”

But the faery only looked at her, her hair a dark knife on her cheeks.

“I’ll have no part of this foolishness,” said Sebastién. “Braid your own noose, woman.” He grumbled off to the loft. It was the usual end to their arguments, having married late, and cordially, and not for love.

The faery watched Sebastién depart, then turned to Corentine, who tried to raise a smile.

“What should I call you?” she asked. “All evening you haven’t said your name.”

The faery’s wings shifted uneasily beneath their carapace. “Faeries of my—history—have lost their names.”

“Lost? How—” But the faery’s face flinched, and Corentine stopped. “Would you choose one, then, for me to call you? We have plenty: Lisenn, Trifin, Naig…”

“Trifin I like.” The faery cocked her head at Corentine. “You are fighting your Crown?”

“Our Regent. He taxes us to starvation, claims our estates, turns our old nobility into paupers.” Corentine’s voice soured with anger. “With the funds I raise, we’ll depose him.”

“And for this, you would pay my price?”

“I would do anything to rid our coast of a tyrant.”

In the faery’s dark eyes, something kindled. She looked at Corentine, as if for the first time. “Then I accept.”


A Breton saying runs, everything bad asks to be salted. On Guérande’s poor soil life was thin, and its people used salt to render it palatable.

In those days smuggling ran strong as the tides that drove their daily bulk up and down the Loire. On its waters salt flowed from Guérande to Paris in the north, Lyon in the south. As the border between the tax zones, the river hid caches, rendezvous, and punts of sympathetic fishermen. Its wet banks bristled with gabelous—more every year, since the Regent had determined to put the arrogant Bretons in their place.

The Bretons, for their part, refused to abandon their pride, even if that meant sacrificing a portion of their diminished income. Each month the paludiers saved a minot of salt for smugglers like Corentine and Sebastién, who disguised it to pass up the river to Nantes and the Marquis.

At first, Trifin merely aided these plans. When Corentine sewed a false rump beneath her skirts, Trifin charmed it so that any groping gabelous might feel its salt as flesh. When Corentine lined barrels of cod with excess bay salt, Trifin drew a magic barrier to preserve its taste.

With more sous coming in each month, Corentine sewed Trifin a cloak. “A real one this time,” she explained to Trifin, who despite the rumors of faery avarice had seemed unmoved by coin. “Try it,” she urged, smoothing the drape against Trifin’s shoulders. “It’s yours.”

Trifin stared at her. “You were a lady. Ladies do not give their servants presents.”

“I’m a smuggler, not a lady,” Corentine retorted. “And you’re not a servant. You’re my business partner. Aren’t I paying you—well, something? Come, try it on.”

Trifin ran the heavy fabric through her fingers. Corentine had left wide slits in its bodice for her wings. She slipped it on. In the small mirror over the mantel, she caught her reflection, and Corentine’s face behind her. Their eyes met, and Corentine looked quickly away.

“It suits you,” said Corentine, reddening. “More than a dress would, I thought. Was I right?”

Trifin turned, watching the fabric swirl behind her. With a sudden movement she reached to her side, as if to draw a sword, though her hands came up empty. Then she looked at Corentine, and flushed. “You were,” she said.


In La Baule, the marquise and her guard became a frequent sight. They strolled the streets arm-in-arm, Corentine proud and round-shouldered, Trifin vigilant beneath her glamor.

But one day as they entered the town square, Trifin jerked as if fettered. A hasty gallows had been erected on the mud. Around it, the people of La Baule clustered grim-faced. Upon it, three of the local brigands swung. A shrill gabelous was proclaiming in Parisian:

“Remember, salt fraud betrays the Crown!”

Behind him on the ground, two chained women stood with puffed faces. They were newly widowed, and bound as king’s virgins for Nouvelle France.

“There is no quarter for traitors,” the gabelous finished. “Respect the gabelle, my good Bretons, and keep faith with your king.”

Regent,” the crowd hissed.

Trifin was trembling so violently she nearly dropped her glamor. Frightened, Corentine took her elbow and drew her away. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Trifin did not hear, but wrapped her hands about her neck. Her fingers rubbed her nape, where the joints of her wings met beneath her glamor. “No quarter for traitors,” she said. “No—bargains? Exchanges? Is that how it is, here?”

Corentine unlaced her fingers, and held them. “Not for Bretons, no. But it’s either smuggle or starve.” She looked down, and her voice softened. “I’m sorry for drawing you into it. I thought you knew what happened to traitors. Is Faerie so different?”

Trifin looked away, and did not answer. Beneath her glamor a muscle jumped in her jaw.

Corentine swallowed. They stood there for a moment, hands linked, Trifin’s shudder running up Corentine’s arms.

“Well, no matter,” Corentine said at last. She threaded her arm in Trifin’s. “Come on. Let’s go home.”


As spring stretched into summer and sun drank the pools down to their salt beds, Corentine’s plans grew bolder. Trifin exchanged the down of Corentine’s grey goose for fleur de sel, and Corentine carried him to market. Corentine rode behind Trifin astride a sparkling green-grey mare to Bourgneuf, her arms tight on Trifin’s waist. Together they poled a punt up the canal to Guérande-ville, past stationed gabelous who wondered at their cages of flaking white doves.

Between salt runs, Corentine stitched Trifin clothes, for the delight that lit her face at each gift: an embroidered waistcoat, long jacket, fine lace jabot. At dusk they sat together in the front room, planning, while Sebastién dozed in the kitchen. Sometimes Trifin took the broomhandle and performed graceful maneuvers as Corentine clapped, dreaming of how she might look with a sabre. Sometimes—often—they danced.

After one such evening, Trifin collapsed panting in a chair, and Corentine sank to the floor beside, to rest her head on Trifin’s knee.

Gazing down at her, Trifin’s face clouded. She said softly, “Remember, we are business partners. My work comes at a price.”

Corentine flinched against her knee. “Of course. I would never cheat you, Tri. I know the magic won’t let you tell me what the price is. But you can be sure I’ll pay you what’s required, when the time comes.”

Trifin looked away. “I know,” she said.


Among the paludiers of Guérande it became known that Corentine employed a faery, for they were proud of their onetime marquise and the trouble she caused the Regent. As the summer wore on, she began to receive as much contraband as the brigands, whose ranks had been thinned by the spring arrests. Her neighbors left pots of salt on her doorstep, with requests to disguise it as canola hay or fly it magically to Nantes. At length the kitchen was so piled with saltkegs that Sebastién had to wiggle over them to reach his grousing corner.

“How much longer do you think you can hide this?” he asked Corentine. “That faery is too great a risk.”

Corentine snapped, “She’s helped us run more salt than we could have in a year. A bit more and the Marquis will have enough to recruit a militia. And we’ve got some good runs planned. Right, Trifin?”

At the table Trifin put a hand to her neck, the jabot Corentine had embroidered. She did not look up as she nodded.

One week later, a covered barge drifted saillessly up the Loire. Beneath its flapping cover, huge blocks of green and white marble sweated in the heat. Corentine and Trifin lounged together in the prow. Trifin, half asleep below the gunwale, had let her glamor slip.

On the banks, poplar stands alternated with reedy slips on which bored gabelous played cards. The August day was hot, the taxmen drowsy. Corentine prayed they would remain so.

But as they floated by a listless pier of gabelous, a young man at its edge leapt up pointing. “How is that barge moving?” he cried. “It has no sails!”

Trifin threw up her glamor a second too late. “A faery!” the taxman screeched. His groggy fellows stood. “Rifles! Rifles!”

“Get down!” cried Corentine. But Trifin had risen, lifting her arms. Like dark shears her carapaced wings snicked free. Before them, a wound opened in the summer’s day from which a night cold rushed, glinting darkness.

On the pier, flintlocks snapped.

Corentine hurled herself on Trifin—“Tri, down!”—only to watch the prow and its faery tip into the cold wound. The whole barge slid through as if down a dark throat. Behind it, summer closed like a mouth.

Her body still shielding Trifin, Corentine looked up. The barge was gliding down a river dark and polished as obsidian. Trees of black glass tinkled overhead. Below her, she could feel Trifin trembling.

When the faery stood, Corentine gasped. A metal collar bound her throat, chained to clamps that locked her wings shut. “Now you see my history,” Trifin said.

“Tri,” Corentine began, but the faery pressed a hand to her mouth.

“Don’t call me anything. I can’t have a name here. Quickly, we have little time. If we find a tributary back to your world before the Queen’s guards catch us, we can reappear on the Loire five miles upstream of those gabelous.”

“But those chains—”

Trifin’s eyes were hard. “Humans aren’t the only creatures with corrupt monarchs.”

While Corentine was still gaping, Trifin reached below the barge’s tarp and handed her a pole. “My magic does not work here. We have to steer.” 

They guided the barge downstream in silence. Little night-beetles ticked in the ebony reeds. No moon shone, but silver creases of starlight marked the boat’s wake in the inky water. In the prow Trifin poled painfully.

Watching her elbows brush her wing’s chains, Corentine began, “To free yourself, what do you need—”

“The tributary,” said Trifin.

She pointed to where an arm of dark water looped off the main course. Light spilled down it like carelessly thrown straw. Puffing, Corentine and Trifin steered the barge over. The channel was short, and its reedy cul de sac framed a wobbly square of sun, a window into summer just large enough for the barge.

Before it was a guard. 

“You have brought your human here, captain traitor?” he asked. On buzzing wings he hovered just over the water, his beetle’s horn nodding with amusement. “Do you hope to win her trust so? A strange choice.” He grinned. “Most humans do not recall Faerie fondly.”

“Let us pass, lieutenant,” Trifin growled. “I’m a Queen’s convict, bound by her laws.”

The guard laughed, then spat at Trifin’s feet. “I always did think the Queen let you rebels off too lightly. Bargains with traitors—fah! And just because she found it amusing.” He paused, and his pale eyes flickered over Corentine. “Though you have found yourself a pretty human. You always did do well for yourself, captain…”

Trifin’s shoulders stiffened. She glanced back, and raising her pole like a staff, stepped between Corentine and the guard.

He raised his eyebrows. “Or perhaps our Queen is wise. Your freedom will hurt you more than I thought. Imagine her face when—”

Trifin snarled and sprung forward, sweeping her pole up to hook the guard’s horn. With a great hollow crack she wrenched his head aside, hauling him out of the air. As he fell howling, his fingers locked on Trifin’s chains, dragging her after him. Together they crashed into the reeds. The dark water gagged the cry from Trifin’s mouth.

Corentine fell to her knees. “Tri!” she screamed. She drove her pole at the guard’s shelled neck. At the third blow his fingers jerked, and Trifin surfaced choking. Her bound hands scrabbled for the pole. Levering it beneath the faery’s body, Corentine flung her out and onto the barge. Trifin grabbed the pole and swept it down to deal a fourth blow to the guard’s submerged face.

She kicked Corentine the second pole. “Push!”

Snatching it, Corentine plunged it deep in the marsh below the stern. She hove. At the prow Trifin flipped her pole into the water and hove, too. The barge wallowed towards the sunlight. Below, the guard’s clawed hands scrabbled at the hull. Resurfacing for an instant, he spat at Trifin, “Enjoy your chains, beetle! Humans never forgive—”

With rage Trifin cracked her pole against his nose. He gurgled under.

Beside her, Corentine gave a final push. The barge lurched clacking past the reeds and fell through, into summer. Behind it, night closed like a mouth.

On the Loire, noon laid a white haze on the water.

Trifin dropped her pole and collapsed, blank-faced, in the prow. Her dark wings trembled, still free in this world.

Kneeling, Corentine wrapped the faery in her arms. She held her for a long time, but Trifin did not stop shaking. Finally Corentine pulled back and cupped her chin in one hand. “You saved us,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

Trifin did not reply.

Corentine brushed the hair from her bowed face and tried to meet her eyes. “What did he mean, ‘traitor?”

“The Faerie Queen.” Trifin’s voice was dull. “She is like your Regent, a tyrant. I was her captain, until I—we—rebelled. We lost. I will always wear chains there, until I pay her price.”

“So you can buy back your freedom? Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Faerie is not like your world.” Trifin jerked away from Corentine’s touch. Her voice shook. “Our coin is trickery. Our laws are magic. Our contracts are binding.”

“And you can’t tell me anything more.”

This time Trifin made no answer. Instead she lifted Corentine’s hands, and, after pressing them hard for a moment, replaced them on the deck. Corentine could not make her meet her eyes. Leaning forward, she folded Trifin again in her arms.

They clung together for a long time, shivering, though the August sun was hot.


If Corentine’s schemes now grew more desperate, they also grew more careful. All the paludiers of Guérande sought her for their traffic: she had promises to keep. She grew haunted and silent. Trifin, too, drifted between rooms like a green ghost, and would answer no questions, about Faerie or otherwise.

As autumn fell and the saltkegs mounted in the kitchen, Corentine turned her thoughts to Paris. One last run there could secure the funds they needed; it lay in the Grande Gabelle, where the tax was heaviest and the profit greatest, and which could be reached by sea around Normandy. Corentine looked at the barrels of fleur de sel, white as wings. “Sails,” she murmured.

Three weeks later, as the first apples were falling, a chasse-marée slipped from the port at La Baule. Instead of fresh herring, its hold was stuffed with salt cod. Its sails were brilliant white. On its deck Corentine stood, and Trifin in her glamor, and Sebastién, coaxed from his kitchen corner to serve as mock merchant. Two hired sailors fussed with the rigging.

“I can’t believe I’ve consented to this madness, and I still don’t trust that faery,” Sebastién said, watching Trifin steady the salt-sails.

Corentine stepped beside her and took her hand. “I do.”

Trifin winced. To the question in Corentine’s eyes she said nothing.

Over the next week they followed the carbotage routes up the coast, sails flapping in the autumn gusts. Corentine sang Breton harvest songs in the prow. The hired sailors joined her, proud to assist the woman who had so roundly conned the Regent. Sebastién grumbled.

Though the chasse-marée was small, Trifin avoided them all. Nor did she break her silence, even for Corentine.

When at last they put into Le Havre at the Seine’s mouth, two gabelous boarded to shake down the cod. Wrenching open each barrel, they waggled a sample fish over a small scale to ensure it had not been packed in extra salt. Over their heads, the white sails flaked.

“Your cargo is legal,” one at last told Sebastién. “But I can’t understand why you sailed from La Baule just for salt cod. This is a swift little chasse-marée, and your fish will keep. Why such speed?”

Sebastién frowned at Corentine. “My reasons are my own.” 

Behind them, Trifin stood. Her eyes were hollow.

“Not one woman, but two?” added the gabelous, noticing her. “This is strange business, my friend. Let’s have another look at your hold.”

Trifin raised her arms.

Above, the sails stilled. Wind knocked them together like old plaster. Where they touched, a dry shuffle like rubbing chalk drifted down the air.

Corentine looked up, and her heart seized.

Trifin dropped her arms.

The sails burst. Like glaciers their shrouds split, calving white bergs that the wind punched to dust and then let fall in gouts, hundreds of minots of sparkling fleur de sel, an avalanche, drowning the deck in warm snow.

When Corentine had choked her way from beneath the drifts, she saw Trifin standing, arms limp, watching her.

“I’m so sorry,” Trifin whispered as the gabelous clapped Corentine in irons. Her voice broke. “It was the price.”

A dagger at her back, Corentine let herself be led ashore beside Sebastién and the stunned sailors.

Behind her Trifin held out her wrists to be manacled, as if the chains belonged there, as if she deserved nothing else.


In the prison at Le Havre, Sebastién raged. “She’s a faery! What did you expect?”

“Be quiet!” Corentine barked from across the dirt-floored aisle.

“I asked you to dismiss her and you never listened. But did I forbid you? No. I gave you your freedom, and you let a faery’s beauty fool you into—”

“Be quiet!” Corentine yelled again. Her voice cracked with tears.

“Now we’ll all hang for your foolishness,” Sebastién finished bitterly. “For choosing that faery over our lives, and your own good sense.”

“Please,” Corentine repeated, her voice wilting, “be quiet.”

One cell over, Trifin crouched, her face pressed to her knees. Corentine could not look at her.

In those days the prisons overflowed with salt-runners, so to make room they were brought quickly to trial. Not a week had passed when Corentine, Trifin, Sebastién, and their hired sailors stood before a weary provost who had already seen ten cases that morning and would see another ten before day’s end. Behind the dock, armed gabelous guarded the bay where Le Havre’s townsfolk crowded to cheer the smugglers.

“The crime is salt fraud,” said the provost over their noise, “in the form of false sails sewn from fleur de sel.” His voice remained level through this statement. He was an old provost, and had seen stranger. “What have you to say in your defense?”

Though he addressed Sebastién, it was Corentine who stepped forward.

Sebastién hissed, “What are you doing?”

In her eyes where pride had once floated, something harder and darker had crystallized. “Paying the price,” Corentine said. She turned to the provost.

“Honored prévôt,” she began, “I confess: for the purpose of fraud, I had my—my maid spin sails of sea salt, and did so without my husband’s consent. He did not know the true purpose of our trip to Le Havre.” Sebastién’s eyebrows rose, though he said nothing. Behind the dock, the crowd whispered. “Nor did the sailors whom I hired. All thought we had come to deliver salt cod. You should let them go free, for my maid deceived them.” Corentine risked a look at Trifin, who stood below her in the stand, head hanging. Her voice sharpened. “She deceived me as well.”

“How so?” asked the provost.

Corentine opened her mouth several times, then closed it. Flakes of salt trickled down her scalp. Across her mind darkness passed, and the memory of firm shoulders under chained wings; and those same shoulders, elegant in a linen cloak; or warm beneath her hands, dancing; or in her arms, trembling at the shout, no quarter for traitors.

The provost waved his hand. “Never mind. We’ll return to it later.” He straightened to address the room, one eye on the crowd jeering him from behind the dock. “This woman has confessed to salt fraud and exonerated her spouse and hired sailors. I believe her that they are guiltless. Bailli, remove them.”

The bailiff, his kerchief yellow with sweat, hustled Sebastién and the sailors out of the room. The crowd gave a few soft cheers. Sebastién struggled to glance back, though not too hard.

Resumed the provost, “Now, as to what to do with you and your—”

“Maid, prévôt.”

“Your maid.” He leveled his eyes at her. “I am not uninformed, Lady Corentine de Cornouaille. Of your activities, and those of your upstart Breton Marquis. Nor am I uninformed as to their origin.” He glanced at Trifin. “Word has reached me that your—activities—escalated after the arrival of a peasant woman who is not what she seems. Whether a noble in disguise or something stranger I do not know, but it is clear she is the leader in these ventures.” He looked back to Corentine. “You say she deceived even you. You had estates once, Lady Cornouaille. Our Regent is merciful, and rewards loyalty. Reveal this traitor and her plots, and you will walk free on your own land again.”

A murmur rippled the gathered crowd. Corentine stared at the provost. “But what will happen to her?”

“You know the penalties for treachery.”

Behind the dock, the murmurs ebbed. Into the falling silence rang a small chill sound. Corentine turned to look again at Trifin. Her manacled hands covered her face, and she was shaking. The iron gave small cries as the cuffs hit.

As the silence lengthened, Trifin grew aware of its spread around her. She raised her head. Salt lines streaked her cheeks.

“Well, Lady Cornouaille?” asked the provost irritably. “Will you buy your freedom today, or won’t you?”

Trifin met Corentine’s eyes. She nodded, once, as if giving permission. Then she looked down.

Through the darkness of Corentine’s mind flared a small, bright image like a flame—her cheek on a knee, and a promise.

She drew a deep breath.

“Honored prévôt, I don’t doubt our Regent’s mercy,” Corentine began. The crowd hissed. “But surely the Parisian families working my land now would advance their claims against mine. And as our Regent is also a just leader”—more hisses—“he must acknowledge those claims. Further, honored prévôt, you’ve seen fit to part me from my husband. My maid and I are two healthy women of childbearing age. I say it would be a pity to hang us when Nouvelle France needs wives. Surely our merciful Regent would agree?”

The provost frowned. “You plead transportation, for the both of you?”

“Yes, prévôt.”

“So you refuse to condemn your maid, and forgive her deceptions?” His eyes were sharp.

Corentine met them. “I do, prévôt.”

The provost leaned back in his chair. “Mercy is a virtue, in states and in persons,” he said in a tight voice. He addressed neither Corentine nor Trifin, but the whispering crowd. “If a smuggler can be merciful, so too can our Regent.” Sitting up, he straightened his papers and dipped his pen. “Lady Corentine and her, ah, maid: I sentence you to a life’s exile. You go as king’s virgins, to find husbands and yield children for the glory of Nouvelle France. Vive le roi.”

Vive le vrai roi, the crowd replied.

From a dark elsewhere, there came the sigh of falling chains.


One month later, seventy years before the ancién regime would end in blood, the Marquis de Pontcallec’s conspiracy to overthrow the Regency failed, and he too ended in blood on a scaffold at Nantes. Those conspirators who did not swing beside him were exiled, alongside their salt smugglers, to Nouvelle France. They shipped at La Rochelle aboard an airless frigate in October. Despite quays bristling with grenadiers, crowds cheered the smugglers from the shore as the ship sailed.

Belowdecks the mood was more somber. In Ville-Marie where they were bound, the smugglers could choose either military service or indenture. Passage took two months; lice crawled already beneath them in the straw.

Corentine and the faery, whose name was not Trifin, sat on a keg of salt-pork near the bow. Together they gazed out a porthole towards the grey waves.

Behind them, in the dark shadow of our world that is Faerie, the faery’s wings stretched.

“You know you don’t have to come with me,” Corentine said. “Ville-Marie is cold, and the work will be hard. I understand if you want to return to Faerie. You’re free now.”

“Because you forgave me even though I betrayed you,” the faery said softly. “That was what the magic demanded, but you did it yourself.” She touched Corentine’s sleeve, the prisoner’s rough hemp. “I’m in your debt.”  

Corentine took her hands. “You don’t owe me anything.”

 The faery smiled. “Then take this as a gift—one failed rebel to another.” She cupped Corentine’s chin in her hands. And drawing her gently forward, she kissed her.

Corentine flushed; then laughed; then bent her forehead against the faery’s. “Well, then.”

Above the hold, muffled thumps on the deck signaled sails being loosed. The ship bucked as the wind caught the canvas.

Far away in Nouvelle France, snow was already falling. But behind in Guérande, the last dry summer wind was raking across the salt pools, blowing white fleur de sel like lace from the waves.


Show Notes

This quarter’s fiction episode presents “The Salt Price” by B. Pladek, narrated by Jasmine Arch.

Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online

Links to Heather Online

Links to B. Pladek Online

Major category: 
LHMP

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