LHMP #499 Lanser 2002 Bluestocking Sapphism and the Economies of Desire

This article examines the question “were the Bluestockings queer?” Also the converse “were Bluestocking and ‘lesbian’ mutually contradictory?” On the Bluestocking side, Lanser places 5 women generally considered the movers and shakers: Elizabeth Robinson Montagu, Elizabeth Carter, Catherine Talbot, Hester Mulso Chapone, and Sarah Robinson Scott. The Bluestockings weren’t a clearly defined group and membership was sometimes assigned from outside, rather than being a self-identification—a process in which historians have participated. (The article goes into some of the complexities of how either their contemporaries or historians have sorted out the question.) When it comes to a question of how scholars have considered the potential queerness of Bluestockings, the same reflex towards protection that the Bluestockings themselves exhibited can come into play, with scholars arguing that the close friendships among Bluestocking women cannot be considered sapphic as they did not avoid friendships with men, their friendships were not exclusive, and that the sometimes passionate language they used toward each other was simply the ordinary way women expressed themselves at the time.

Lanser points out that in the 18th century a distinction was beginning to appear between “chaste female intimacies” and problematic relationships, and that the Bluestockings used stereotypes of class and gender to keep their own friendships within the “acceptable” group. What Lanser challenges is whether that line of acceptability is aligned with a line between sapphic and non-sapphic, or whether we can identify evidence for a middle space where relationships could be primary and potentially erotic while still being treated as within acceptable bounds.

As examples, Lanser offers the relationship between Sarah Scott and Barbara Montagu that was acknowledged as significant by their contemporaries. The question of whether it could have been erotic runs up against the “extraordinary evidence” fallacy. If a similar relationship had existed between a man and woman, it would be assumed to have a sexual component even without a shred of evidence, but between two women, positive evidence is demanded. Positive evidence for sexual relationships is rarely forthcoming for any historic individuals, aside from pregnancy. Anne Lister is an incredibly rare exception in the candidness (and survival) of her diaries. Even Butler and Ponsonby—considered by their contemporaries to have been a married couple—left no positive evidence of a sexual relationship, despite recording that they shared a bed their entire lives. When looking for sapphic relationships in history, Lanser argues, we need to stop expecting or demanding proof of sex.

If that standard is adopted—i.e., that a range of erotic possibilities always exist—then we can more equitably compare how Bluestockings managed their potentially erotic relationships with both men and women. When compared to the generality of women of their era, most of the Bluestockings were clearly more invested in primary relationships with women than the average woman was, or than they were invested in relationships with men. And for those Bluestockings where this wasn’t the case, as with Hester Chapone, we can compare how Chapone wrote about her female friendships compared to how other, more-invested Bluestockings wrote. Lanser goes into some detail making these comparisons and identifies systematic differences in intensity and tone.

Focusing specifically on Sarah Scott and Barbara Montagu, she notes their long cohabitation, combined finances, and perhaps most tellingly, cautionary letters from Elizabeth Montagu alluding to a different female couple, saying “those sorts of reports hurt us all…one cannot have men intimates and at this rate the women are more scandalous…I cannot think what [the female couple] can mean by making such a parade of their affection.” (Somewhat confusingly, Elizabeth Montagu is Sarah Scott’s sister and is not closely related in any way to Barbara Montagu, as far as I can tell.) So there was clearly an awareness that the public affection between two women could reclassify their relationship as suspect. Other references in Scott’s correspondence suggest an active managing of how people perceived their relationship, and Lanser suggests that the avoidance of a degree of verbal and physical affection between the protagonists of Scott’s Millenium Hall that would have been expected and normal between women of that era may be another sign of overcompensating out of concern for how her own relationship might be perceived.

Bluestocking friendships were performed in a variety of ways. The one between Elizabeth Montagu and Elizabeth Carter played out through letters and temporary visits, not cohabitation, and appears to have received less scrutiny, despite the intensity of emotion that Montagu’s letters convey. Carter, on the other hand, recorded her “passion” (using that word) for writer Catherine Talbot, and their letters expressed deep frustration with their inability to spend more time together.

Examining the language in these several correspondences, Lanser identifies several strategies they used to manage the expression of their desires. A significant method was to create an imagined time and place when they could be together—a reality often frustrated by finances and family obligations. There is also an emphasis on “signs and tokens” of the relationship—ways of connecting through shared objects (including the letters themselves, but also keepsakes) or shared parallel activities (such as reading the same book). The third method is a displacement of bodily connection from pleasure to distress. The letters rarely express appreciation or desire for the other’s physical body, but frequently reference shared or empathized pain and illness.

What is solidly absent from the correspondence of these women is any sort of longing or regret for men in their lives (and several were, at some point, married). Well before meeting Talbot, Carter expressed a disinclination—indeed a horror—for ever marrying. And she had repeated close attachments to women throughout her life, complaining when she “loses” them to marriage. After they had become a couple, Talbot would tease her about “falling in love” with other women.

In conclusion, Lanser suggests (referencing another article of hers, that I have now moved up in the queue) that the reputation Bluestockings had for virtue and propriety, rather than being in conflict with sapphic desires, could have been over compensation—performing conservatism in order to deflect suspicion from the ways in which they departed from acceptable behavior.