The following podcast contains some adult language and themes. Listener discretion is advised.
Welcome to the Literature Lady Podcast! I’m Dr. Janet Bartholomew. This podcast is dedicated to telling the stories of badass women in history and literature.
Today’s episode focuses on women’s love and desire, both hetero and lesbian, in the early modern period and is broken up into three parts. These are stories of some badass ladies in history that you may have never heard about. The first tale takes place in England. The second tale takes us to the Republic of Siena, now in the Tuscany region of Italy, where a woman named finds a passionate yet unique love outside of her marriage. Finally, I will talk to a special guest, who will join us for the last portion of the show and help us navigate some modern courtship rituals. Are you ready? Let’s do this.
Part One: Love at First Book
Lucy Apsley was no ordinary 17th century Englishwoman. She was a genius.
As the daughter of Sir Allen Apsley, the Lieutenant of the Tower of London, she was afforded a rather amazing education. The dry nurse they hired was French, so Lucy was bilingual as soon as she could speak. Lucy learned to read as a toddler and was reading fluently by the age of four. She had what we might describe today as an eidetic memory. She was known to be able to memorize large sermons verbatim after only hearing them once.
Luckily for Lucy, her parents took her budding genius seriously. By the age of seven, Lucy had eight tutors at her disposal, teaching her not only languages and writing, but also the skills gentlewomen were expected to master, namely music, dancing, and needlework.
And Lucy fucking hated it.
Her mother was not pleased with her precocious child who preferred the learning of languages to domestic graces, and for her own good, sometimes Lucy was barred from her books. As if this would somehow stop her from reading. She confesses in her autobiographical writing that she would steal books from elsewhere and hide so she could continue feeding her brilliant mind.
It wasn’t long before her father hired a tutor to teach Lucy Latin. She quickly outstripped her older brothers in her studies. Like many child geniuses, Lucy preferred the company of adults to younger children, so it was no surprise that Lucy quickly honed her sharp wit and fell into the reading of love poems and witty songs her mother’s friends would bring her. If given the choice of chatting with people or immersing herself in her books, however, Lucy chose books. It wasn’t long until Lucy was writing her own poems and kept herself entertained and out from underfoot. She grew from being a beautiful, intelligent child to a brilliant young woman, quiet and reserved in nature, but admired by those in her circle.
And thus was Lucy’s life: a house bustling with many siblings, her mother’s friends weaving their way in and out of dinners at their estate, a steady stream of gentlemen visiting her father and bringing news from abroad to further entertain the curious mind of this genius lady who had no idea that, outside of her home in London, a young man had been living a very different life of his own in Nottingham.
A few years before Lucy was born, a boy named John was born into the very wealthy and noble Hutchinson family, but unlike Lucy’s picturesque life, his was fraught with tragedy from the start. His mother died when he was young, and as an infant he barely survived a terrible carriage accident on his way to be raised by a relative. Unlike Lucy’s nurse who taught her much in her youngest years, John’s nurse wasn’t as well-educated, and so his education was average from the start but befitting his station as a young gentleman. Several illnesses and deaths occurred around young John, so he was moved from place to place, attending a variety of schools as he grew up.
Even as a child, John’s family had their hopes pinned on his marrying well, and so young ladies were continually thrown in his path with the pressure from his father and relatives to make a good match. The first girl his family intended for him tragically died, and as he grew up, other attempts were made to introduce him to well-connected girls that might capture his attention. You would think a young man who was constantly fawned over by the prettiest, wealthiest young ladies in England would have loved this rock star lifestyle. But to be frank, John was really just...bored.
These girls, you see, were all the same to him. Like many young ladies of the early modern period, they had been groomed to capture a good husband, and John was tired of the artifice and predictable conversations. He was by no means an introvert like Lucy, but he preferred the company of real friends to the constant parade of noble families he was supposed to entertain while their eligible daughters vied for his attention. He preferred hunting, fencing, music, and dancing to the tedious evenings engaged in courtly banter with girls talking endlessly about banal topics like the weather and their needlework.
So John decided to escape.
He left Lincoln’s Inn, where the study of law bored him, and planned to travel a bit. But where? The spring was coming to a close, perfect for a journey. His music instructor recommended he travel to Richmond, where the royal court was staying at the time. Richmond was an excellent place for hunting and finding entertainment with the prince and his entourage in town.
It didn’t take long for the dashing young John Hutchinson to make new friends. As a student of music, he found himself drawn into the company of other musicians who were there to perform for the King. Musicians, by nature, needed an audience, and it was at one of these gatherings that John met Lucy’s father and adorable little sister Barbara. Barbara, you see, was still a child and was staying with her father as Lucy was travelling at the time with her mother.
Like most little kids, Barbara was excited to have an audience, so she would seek out John and show him the latest song she learned on the lute or a new dance that she had just mastered. He got along well with Sir Apsley too, so it wasn’t uncommon for John to walk Barbara home if they met by chance so Sir Apsley could stay out with his friends.
John walked Barbara home one day, and she asked if he would like a sweetmeat before he left. What Barbara didn’t tell him, however, was that these sweetmeats weren’t hers. They belonged to Lucy, and while Lucy was away traveling with her mother, Barbara had been sneaking into her sister’s closet to swipe the treats. When John was brought into Lucy’s room to get the snack, he couldn’t help but look around him. And that’s when he saw them: several volumes of Latin texts.
He asked Barbara about the books and was amazed to hear that they belonged to Lucy. A girl who read Latin? His heart leapt. This was new. It was exciting.
It was love at first book.
John was now on a mission to find out more about this young lady who read Latin. Barbara told him how studious and reserved Lucy was, but his heart sank when he heard why Lucy was not at home.
She had gone with her mother to broker the marriage between herself and another young man. John was crushed, and marveled at what he was feeling. Could he already be in love? With someone he hadn’t even met?
John couldn’t stop thinking about this mysterious girl. She seemed to haunt him. For instance, one day he attended a gathering where young men and women were singing. After one such song, people started asking to hear the song that was written as a response. A piece of paper was produced with the lyrics. When John read them, he was amazed by their cleverness. He inquired after the author of this witty piece. The answer surprised him. It was none other than Lucy. The lyric was beyond anything he thought a woman could ever write. He HAD to meet this girl!
His friends, however, warned him about Lucy. She didn’t like hanging out with people, guys especially. The young men told John that she was beautiful and witty, but didn’t care much for courtship. She was strong-willed and chased her own desires rather than socialize amongst the young men and women at court. Don’t bother, they said.
But to John, Lucy sounded PERFECT.
Which is why, when a servant appeared one night during a dinner John was enjoying with Sir Apsley and informed the house that Lucy had been married, John’s face suddenly went pale. He sunk into a deep depression. His greatest love affair was over before it even started.
A few days later, Lucy and her mother came home. It just so happened that John was dining at the Apsley house when Lucy barged in. She was a mess. Her riding habit was crumbled and askew. She was covered in mud and dirt from the ride. Her hair was a tangled nest. She honestly didn’t give a fuck about how she looked as she walked right into the dinner party.
John thought she was the most beautiful thing had ever seen.
She paused to meet his gaze, then walked through the throng of guests indifferently, disappearing into her chambers. He didn’t care if she were married. He had to at least talk to her.
By chance, John ran into Lucy the next day and inquired after her marriage. Lucy grinned. Her mother decided to play a trick on her father and sent the servant ahead with false news of her nuptials; there had been no marriage. She was free. John’s pulse quickened. He was not too late after all.
Lucy was polite to John, but she kept him at a distance at first. You see, John wasn’t the only one being pressured into marriage. Lately Lucy had been introduced to several young men by her family, with the hopes that she would soon be a bride, much to Lucy’s dismay. While Lucy was an obedient daughter, when it came to marriage she refused to be pressured into a loveless union by her family. Many men had been put before her, and she had refused them all. She was tired of the mind-numbing entertaining she was expected to do. The last thing she wanted was a guy she would be obliged to be nice to for the sake of her family.
It took some time, but after several weeks John was able to prove that he wasn’t like other men. He was genuinely interested in what she had to say rather than the ritual exchange of pleasantries. He loved her veracious literary appetite, and slowly she was coaxed out of her shell to find, for once, a man truly captivated by who she was as a human being and not just as an heiress and potential mother of noble children.
Of course, as John was one of the most eligible bachelors in town, and Lucy had many gentlemen admirers, plots hatched by others to break up the pair. Jealous young men tried to convince John of Lucy’s indifference, and several young ladies did their best to draw his attention to Lucy’s disheveled appearance. However, John had long grown immune to courtly manipulations. He only wanted her. Lucy. The genius with the Latin books who didn’t give a damn about what people thought of her.
The marriage date was set, and both families busied themselves preparing for that day. But our fairy tale doesn’t end here, for the tragedy that had followed John from infancy would follow him to the alter.
The day of their wedding, before Lucy could make it to the church, she fell ill. Incredibly ill. She had a fever and was put to bed immediately. After a few days of the mysterious illness, John watched in horror as bright red spots began to cover his beloved’s face. Lucy had contracted the deadly disease of smallpox. If by some miracle she survived, she would be horribly scarred.
It wasn’t too late for John to back out of the marriage. It wouldn’t be the first time an engagement was cancelled due to unforeseen illness. As if on cue, John’s father informed him that he had already arranged a new match with a girl from another fine family. Any man would have cut his losses and married someone else in the face of so much uncertainty.
But John wasn’t any man. And Lucy wasn’t just any woman. She was strong and fierce. Virtuous but innately curious. Intelligent and devoted to the one and only man who loved her for who she was. John defied his family, who was urging him to marry another, and insisted that the only person he would ever marry was Lucy.
Miraculously, Lucy didn’t die. On July 3rd, 1638, as soon as Lucy was able to get out of bed, John married her, smallpox and all, to the horrified looks of those in attendance. He loved her, body and soul, and refused to leave her side. After four long months, Lucy regained her strength and together they lived a life that Lucy herself could only describe in the following passage:
“There is only this to be recorded, that never was there a passion more ardent and less idolatrous; he loved her better than his life, with inexpressible tenderness and kindness, had a most high obliging esteem of her, yet still considered honour, religion and duty above her, nor ever suffered the intrusion of such a dotage as should blind him from marking her imperfections, which he looked upon with such an indulgent eye as did not abate his love and esteem of her, while it augmented his care to blot out all those spots which might make her appear less worthy of that respect he paid her. [..] ‘Twas not her face he loved, her honour and her virtue were his mistresses [...].”
By the end of her life, John and Lucy had nine children, and Lucy continued writing, translating Latin texts into English, writing poetry including her epic “Order and Disorder,” composing theological tracts, and finally writing a biography of her husband, Colonel John Hutchinson, in which she describes her incredible life and thus securing her place amongst the most badass women in early modern history.
Part Two: The Goddess and the Fortress
In many ways, Laudomia Forteguerri was a typical 16th century gentlewoman. She did her daughterly duty and married a man that helped her family’s fortune. By 1539, she and Guilio di Alessandro Colombini had three kids. Laudomia ran in the most elite and powerful circles in the Republic of Siena. She was well educated and literate, which was a luxury afforded to only a select number of women at the time, and was well known for her incredible wit and beautiful love poetry.
Her sonnets weren’t written to her husband, however. The love of her life wasn’t him. Or any man, actually.
It was Margaret of Austria. Yeah, You heard me. A woman.
Sometime around 1536 Laudomia met Margaret, the illegitimate daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, and instantly there was a connection. Margaret stopped by Siena during her travels, and after their first meeting the two women kept in touch, reuniting at least once more in Siena after a few years absence. Margaret journeyed through Siena each time on her way to marry, first to Alessandro de Medici, the Duke of Florence, who was assassinated the year after their marriage, and then to Ottovio Fornese, Duke of Parma, a mere 14 year old boy.
Needless to say, Margaret wasn’t doing well in the marriage department. In fact, records indicate that she was rather indifferent to her husbands. She even refused to consummate her marriage with her second husband for several years, and when she finally did and provided him with an heir in 1545, she left him entirely.
Like Laudomia, Margaret was very well educated. She was a polyglot and a great lover of books. It was no wonder that the two fell in love at first sight. The attraction was electric and their love so well known throughout Italy that it became a muse for many authors in the Renaissance. Along with the resurgence of Greek and Latin studies came a new infatuation with Sappho, the poetess of Lesbos, which is where we get the word “lesbian.” The poetry of Sappho was all the rage in the early modern period, and the same-sex love and desire she demonstrated in her works was venerated by many scholars. In Laudomia and Margaret, a new Sapphic love was born and thus celebrated in literary circles.
The question of whether Laudomia and Margaret were lovers or just merely in love in the Platonic sense is a matter of debate today just as it was in Italy at the time. On one hand, the purity of love between two women that transcended sexual attraction was praised as a virtuous ideal; on the other hand, the “tribadism” of two women who were sexually attracted was condemned as a sin. Laudomia and Margaret revealed much about their authors; some condemned their love while others praised it as a pinnacle of heavenly communion between two souls. We are told Laudomia and Margaret met “many times” during Margaret’s visits to Siena, and while parted the two women wrote letters to one another.
Not much remains of their correspondence, but five sonnets written by Laudomia to Margaret survive. The poems are full of pining and longing. She likens her beloved to the sun, and refers to Margaret as “her goddess” and an “immortal woman,” angelic and heavenly. Laudomia expresses her anguish at being parted from her love and finds herself filled with “woe” at the prospect of being torn from her side.
Their letters and these poems, however, are seemingly intimate. And in a time when tribadism was looked down upon, how exactly did so many people find out about the love Laudomia and Margaret shared?
What would have normally remained a private affair between two ladies became a very, very public, thanks to a third person: Alessandro Piccolomini.
You see, Alessandro had a bit of a crush on Laudomia. Okay, not a crush. More like an infatuation. He was in love! But she had no interest in him, and he didn’t press the issue. She was married, you see, and also shared a special relationship with Margaret. So where did he fit into her life? The answer: Anywhere he could.
The first indication that Alessandro was head-over-heals with the bright Laudomia was with the publication of The Sphere of the World and On the Fixed Stars (1539) in Italian. In this astronomical text, Alessandro claims to have overheard Laudomia speaking to another lady, complaining that she wasn’t able to study the stars. So what’s a man to do? Write a book for her, of course.
Alessandro just couldn’t stop singing her praises. In 1541, he gave a lecture in Padua where he gushed about Laudomia’s poetry, specifically drawing attention to Laudomia’s love for Margaret. According to Alessandro, there was nothing sexual about the love Laudomia bore Margaret, but rather, it was a transcendent love between two women. That said, when the two women met, he claimed a certain “fire” burned within the hearts of Margaret and Laudomia. It was love. It was passion. It was purely philosophical because heaven forbid two women actually be sexually attracted to one another. Perhaps it was merely his wishful thinking.
Poor Alessandro kept singing Laudomia’s praises to anyone who would listen, and continued to try to court her favor. In 1539, when Laudomia had her third child, a son, Alessandro wrote a philosophical book for him on being a gentleman and citizen. He waited in the wings patiently, supporting Laudomia in every way he could, until, finally, one fateful day in 1542, Laudomia’s husband died. She was free to wed again! Alessandro was over the moon. Now was his chance! With Laudomia a widow, and her love for Margaret being platonic, surely he would be able to win her hand!
Alas, his great love was completely unrequited, and when Laudomia decided to remarry in 1544 to a man from the most powerful family in Siena, his dreams were crushed, and he soon gave up his fruitless quest to win her heart.
His wouldn’t be the only heart broken, however. It was some time around then that it seems the affair between Laudomia and Margaret ended, as there is no evidence of further correspondence after about 1540. And then, the unthinkable happened.
In the 1550s, Florence wanted to take over the Republic of Siena, and their war effort was headed by the Medicis, the same family Margaret had initially married into, who was backed by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, Margaret’s very own father. Laudomia was from the most powerful families in Siena, and had just married into the ruling family in 1544. By 1554, Siena was under siege. The two women’s worlds were officially at war.
So what does a badass woman do with a broken heart and a war looming on her front lawn?
She fucking gets to work, that’s what.
Most of the men of Siena were fighting at the frontlines, dead, or wounded, leaving the women of Siena nearly defenseless. The city of Siena itself was up against an impossibly sized army. Laudomia, however, wasn’t going to let that stop her from trying to save the city. The men, after all, were busy.
Hitching up her skirts, Laudomia led up THREE THOUSAND women to the battlements, according to one source. They wore the colors of the city and carried picks and shovels. When they got to the edge of the city, they got to work. Hundreds of women worked together to build up the fortifications. Together they built the impressive Fortino Delle Donne, the Women’s Fort. You heard me. WOMEN BUILT A WHOLE FREAKING FORT under the direction of skilled masons. It was pretty badass.
Sadly, however, it wasn’t enough. The Republic of Siena fell in 1555 and surrendered to the Medicis and the Holy Roman Empire. We know nothing about Laudomia’s fate after 1555; scholars assume her life was lost in the war. But you can still go to see the ruins of the fort Laudomia and the other women built to keep out the army of men.
Part Three: The Bard as Your Wingman
Just like in the past, badass women today experience love and loss, but what do we do if we find ourselves single?
I went to St. Louis to meet up with Professor Harpy at a restaurant to find out. Professor Harpy and I have known each other for years, which is why, when I found a website full of Shakespeare pick-up lines, I simply had to try them out on her.
Literature Lady: Hey.
Professor Harpy: Yes.
Literature Lady: “Have you ever seen a beast with two backs?”
Professor Harpy: [laughs]
Literature Lady: “Want to help me make one?”
Professor Harpy: [laughs] Oh my god... these for real?
Literature Lady: No. He (Shakespeare) didn’t write all these.
Professor Harpy: Well, I know. But that’s from Othello. That one’s from Othello.
Literature Lady: Yeah. Wait wait wait. “Hey Baby...can Ophelia up?”
Professor Harpy: [laughs and slaps table] That’s pretty brazen of you. I know we showered naked together but...
Literature Lady: OPHELIA. Get it? [laughs]
Professor Harpy: [laughs] Oh that’s terrible!
Literature Lady: That’s not the worst yet. Hold on. “But soft! What light through yonder trouser breaks?”
Professor Harpy: Uh uh. [shakes head] Uh uh. Okay, that’s saying something...like you might have a tiny...you know...
Literature Lady: Oh. That’s true. Now, let’s see. That one was too bad.
Professor Harpy: Wait. Those are my trousers. Why would I be wearing trousers?
Literature Lady: Okay. Here’s another one. “I’d like for you to please go out with me.”
Professor Harpy: [snickers]
Literature Lady: “So tell me...have you ever been picked up in iambic pentameter before?”
Professor Harpy: [laughs] I can say...I can honestly say I have not.
Literature Lady: Well now you can say you have!
Professor Harpy: Now I can say I have.
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: I have now!
Literature Lady: [laughs][breathless] I can hardly say these. [in a low voice] “I’ll chronicle your virtues.”
Professor Harpy: Mm hm. Oh no. Oh no.
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: It’s gotta be a really short list.
Literature Lady: Oh no. I...I went through hundreds and these [laughs] are the best. [pause] You’re welcome.
Professor Harpy: Thank you. I feel so honored.
Literature Lady: Wait wait wait...
Professor Harpy: They’re so awkward!
Literature Lady: “My heart it pines...as my trousers tent.”
[both laugh]
Professor Harpy: Oh my god! [laughs] Oh...
Literature Lady: “Is this my dagger I see before me or am I merely happy to cast eyes upon thy beauty?”
Professor Harpy: [laughs] It’s the...it’s the eyebrow waggle that you’re doing also. [laughs]
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: Oh my god.
Literature Lady: These would be even funnier if we were drinking right now. [laughs]
Professor Harpy: I know. I feel as though this could be something if these were used at the MLA conference.
Literature Lady: [gasp] I’m going to the MLA!
Professor Harpy: You should use these and see what happens.
Literature Lady: [gasp] I could go around and ask people these, and then that would blow all my chances of getting a job...oh wait...it actually might improve it!
Professor Harpy: It might improve it!
Literature Lady: ‘Cause what happens at the MLA...
[both together] STAYS AT THE MLA! [hysterical laughter]
Professor Harpy: Oh my god...oh...my...god...
Literature Lady: Oh my gosh. Okay. I will...I will do one last one. “If I whispered in thine ear that though hast the body of beauty unknown but to the heavens, wouldst thou hold it against me?”
Professor Harpy: Uh uh.
Literature Lady: Eh? Eh?
Professor Harpy: Uh uh. That’s probably the best one. That’s probably the best one.
Literature Lady: Yeah. I didn’t think it was too bad.
Professor Harpy: That one’s pretty good. That one...that one’s awfully...
Literature Lady: I would chuckle but then tell you to go away. But I would chuckle.
Professor Harpy: Yeah. I would say, “Gee...I’d be bored and you’d be confused.”
Literature Lady: Do you have any pick up lines that men have tried on you that were pretty bad?
Professor Harpy: I did, but they were not like this.
Literature Lady: Oh.
Professor Harpy: They were not like this. It was when I was in Texas and I was at some kind of, like, shit- kicker bar.
Literature Lady: Yes.
Professor Harpy: And I was up there getting drinks. And this very old cowboy—not even good looking...not like your Sam Eliott kind of way.
Literature Lady: Uh huh.
Professor Harpy: This man was, like, missing some teeth a kind of way.
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: And he was from East Texas, which is, like, a totally different kind of Texas.
Literature Lady: Uh huh.
Professor Harpy: And he walked up and he goes, [in a deep Southern accent] “Hey there, little lady. You look like you’ve been dipped in purdy sowce.”
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: I just stared at him. And I was like, “Yeah...I gotta go.” I just walked away. And all I could think of is, “wait...what is purdy sowce?” Not “pretty.” Purdy. P-U-R-D-Y sowce. Not “sauce.” SOWce.
Literature Lady: [laughs] Your yankee ways are showing.
Professor Harpy: [laughs] My yankee ways were all “I gotta go.” I mean, that was my response. “I gotta go.” I just walked away. And everyone was all, “Where are the drinks?” ... “They’re up there next to that guy. Someone else can go get them.”
Literature Lady: Yeah. So, my worst one. I was in college, and I went to a costume party. And I was dressed like Lara Croft. So I had, like, midriff-y [shirt], you know, and really super tight leather.
Professor Harpy: Yeah.
Literature Lady: And a guy dressed as a bishop or a priest or something, he walks up, and he goes, “You look like a sinner. Why don’t you get down on your knees and do some penance for me.”
Professor Harpy: [gasp] That’s terrible!
Literature Lady: To which I wittily replied, “No thanks!” and walked away.
Professor Harpy: [laughs] You’re like, “Mmm...I’m good, thank you. I’m good, thanks.”
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: No, my mom...I think I told you this...My dad, on their first date, to my mom said, “I’m Christopher Columbus. Let me explore your world.”
Literature Lady: [gasp] No!
[both laugh]
Professor Harpy: Oh, my mom said, “I might have smallpox.”
Literature Lady: [bigger gasp] YOU’RE KIDDING! [laughs]
Professor Harpy: [laughs]
Literature Lady: She was a nurse from the beginning, wasn’t she?
Professor Harpy: She was like, “You never know, I might have smallpox!” And he was like, “Oooo...daaaaaamn!” But clearly something worked.
Literature Lady: I was going to say but it worked and you’re here. [laughs]
Professor Harpy: Yeah. They’ve been married 55 years. Don’t use that, though, on anyone. Oh my god. Yeah.
Literature Lady: [laughs] That’s awesome.
Professor Harpy: Yeah. Mmhm. Mmhm.
Literature Lady: Alright, well, we’re going to do this podcast.
Professor Harpy: Alright, good. Good good. I’m glad; we need to do this podcast.
Literature Lady: Yay! Thanks.
Professor Harpy: You’re welcome.
Credits
Thank you for listening to the Literature Lady Podcast. You can follow me on Twitter @Literature_Lady or email me at literatureladyonline@gmail.com. Our music, the anonymously written “My Lady Carey’s Dompe” from 1524, was beautifully performed by Jon Sayles. A special thanks goes out to Professor Harpy for graciously enduring my bad pickup lines. You can follow her on Twitter at @Professor_Harpy.
If you are interested in learning more about Lucy Hutchinson and Laudomia Forteguerri or would like to know my sources for this show, please stay tuned for the bibliography.
For Lucy’s story, I used her book Memoirs of the Life of Colonel Hutchinson. You can find the 1822 edition of this for free on Google Books, but I recommend the Everyman edition because of their easy to use chronology and contextual endnotes. Bartleby.com has an etext of the 1679 publication of her Order and Disorder that is freely available. Lucy’s On the Principles of the Christian Religion can be found for free on Google Books. Her poetry is widely anthologized.
I first came across Laudomia Forteguerri’s story in Diana Robin’s book Salons, the Presses, and the Counter-Reformation in Sixteenth Century Italy published by the University of Chicago Press. I’m indebted to Konrad Eisenbichler for his book The Sword and the Pen: Women Politics and Poetry in Sixteenth Century Siena published by the University of Notre Dame Press. I also consulted Same Sex Desire in the English Renaissance: A Sourcebook of Texts, 1470-1650, which is edited by Kenneth Borris and published by CRC Press. For more information on Laudomia and other badass women like her, check out Same Sex Desire Among Women in the Middle Ages, edited by Francesca Canad`e Sautman and Pamela Sheingorn published by Palgrave.
And for those of you still single and looking for true love, you might try your own luck with some Shakespeare Pick-Up Lines, which can be found on Pickupline.net.
Thank you for listening to the first episode of the Literature Lady podcast. I’m Dr. Janet Bartholomew. Take care!
Welcome to the Literature Lady Podcast! I’m Dr. Janet Bartholomew. This podcast is dedicated to telling the stories of badass women in history and literature.
Today’s episode focuses on women’s love and desire, both hetero and lesbian, in the early modern period and is broken up into three parts. These are stories of some badass ladies in history that you may have never heard about. The first tale takes place in England. The second tale takes us to the Republic of Siena, now in the Tuscany region of Italy, where a woman named finds a passionate yet unique love outside of her marriage. Finally, I will talk to a special guest, who will join us for the last portion of the show and help us navigate some modern courtship rituals. Are you ready? Let’s do this.
Part One: Love at First Book
Lucy Apsley was no ordinary 17th century Englishwoman. She was a genius.
As the daughter of Sir Allen Apsley, the Lieutenant of the Tower of London, she was afforded a rather amazing education. The dry nurse they hired was French, so Lucy was bilingual as soon as she could speak. Lucy learned to read as a toddler and was reading fluently by the age of four. She had what we might describe today as an eidetic memory. She was known to be able to memorize large sermons verbatim after only hearing them once.
Luckily for Lucy, her parents took her budding genius seriously. By the age of seven, Lucy had eight tutors at her disposal, teaching her not only languages and writing, but also the skills gentlewomen were expected to master, namely music, dancing, and needlework.
And Lucy fucking hated it.
Her mother was not pleased with her precocious child who preferred the learning of languages to domestic graces, and for her own good, sometimes Lucy was barred from her books. As if this would somehow stop her from reading. She confesses in her autobiographical writing that she would steal books from elsewhere and hide so she could continue feeding her brilliant mind.
It wasn’t long before her father hired a tutor to teach Lucy Latin. She quickly outstripped her older brothers in her studies. Like many child geniuses, Lucy preferred the company of adults to younger children, so it was no surprise that Lucy quickly honed her sharp wit and fell into the reading of love poems and witty songs her mother’s friends would bring her. If given the choice of chatting with people or immersing herself in her books, however, Lucy chose books. It wasn’t long until Lucy was writing her own poems and kept herself entertained and out from underfoot. She grew from being a beautiful, intelligent child to a brilliant young woman, quiet and reserved in nature, but admired by those in her circle.
And thus was Lucy’s life: a house bustling with many siblings, her mother’s friends weaving their way in and out of dinners at their estate, a steady stream of gentlemen visiting her father and bringing news from abroad to further entertain the curious mind of this genius lady who had no idea that, outside of her home in London, a young man had been living a very different life of his own in Nottingham.
A few years before Lucy was born, a boy named John was born into the very wealthy and noble Hutchinson family, but unlike Lucy’s picturesque life, his was fraught with tragedy from the start. His mother died when he was young, and as an infant he barely survived a terrible carriage accident on his way to be raised by a relative. Unlike Lucy’s nurse who taught her much in her youngest years, John’s nurse wasn’t as well-educated, and so his education was average from the start but befitting his station as a young gentleman. Several illnesses and deaths occurred around young John, so he was moved from place to place, attending a variety of schools as he grew up.
Even as a child, John’s family had their hopes pinned on his marrying well, and so young ladies were continually thrown in his path with the pressure from his father and relatives to make a good match. The first girl his family intended for him tragically died, and as he grew up, other attempts were made to introduce him to well-connected girls that might capture his attention. You would think a young man who was constantly fawned over by the prettiest, wealthiest young ladies in England would have loved this rock star lifestyle. But to be frank, John was really just...bored.
These girls, you see, were all the same to him. Like many young ladies of the early modern period, they had been groomed to capture a good husband, and John was tired of the artifice and predictable conversations. He was by no means an introvert like Lucy, but he preferred the company of real friends to the constant parade of noble families he was supposed to entertain while their eligible daughters vied for his attention. He preferred hunting, fencing, music, and dancing to the tedious evenings engaged in courtly banter with girls talking endlessly about banal topics like the weather and their needlework.
So John decided to escape.
He left Lincoln’s Inn, where the study of law bored him, and planned to travel a bit. But where? The spring was coming to a close, perfect for a journey. His music instructor recommended he travel to Richmond, where the royal court was staying at the time. Richmond was an excellent place for hunting and finding entertainment with the prince and his entourage in town.
It didn’t take long for the dashing young John Hutchinson to make new friends. As a student of music, he found himself drawn into the company of other musicians who were there to perform for the King. Musicians, by nature, needed an audience, and it was at one of these gatherings that John met Lucy’s father and adorable little sister Barbara. Barbara, you see, was still a child and was staying with her father as Lucy was travelling at the time with her mother.
Like most little kids, Barbara was excited to have an audience, so she would seek out John and show him the latest song she learned on the lute or a new dance that she had just mastered. He got along well with Sir Apsley too, so it wasn’t uncommon for John to walk Barbara home if they met by chance so Sir Apsley could stay out with his friends.
John walked Barbara home one day, and she asked if he would like a sweetmeat before he left. What Barbara didn’t tell him, however, was that these sweetmeats weren’t hers. They belonged to Lucy, and while Lucy was away traveling with her mother, Barbara had been sneaking into her sister’s closet to swipe the treats. When John was brought into Lucy’s room to get the snack, he couldn’t help but look around him. And that’s when he saw them: several volumes of Latin texts.
He asked Barbara about the books and was amazed to hear that they belonged to Lucy. A girl who read Latin? His heart leapt. This was new. It was exciting.
It was love at first book.
John was now on a mission to find out more about this young lady who read Latin. Barbara told him how studious and reserved Lucy was, but his heart sank when he heard why Lucy was not at home.
She had gone with her mother to broker the marriage between herself and another young man. John was crushed, and marveled at what he was feeling. Could he already be in love? With someone he hadn’t even met?
John couldn’t stop thinking about this mysterious girl. She seemed to haunt him. For instance, one day he attended a gathering where young men and women were singing. After one such song, people started asking to hear the song that was written as a response. A piece of paper was produced with the lyrics. When John read them, he was amazed by their cleverness. He inquired after the author of this witty piece. The answer surprised him. It was none other than Lucy. The lyric was beyond anything he thought a woman could ever write. He HAD to meet this girl!
His friends, however, warned him about Lucy. She didn’t like hanging out with people, guys especially. The young men told John that she was beautiful and witty, but didn’t care much for courtship. She was strong-willed and chased her own desires rather than socialize amongst the young men and women at court. Don’t bother, they said.
But to John, Lucy sounded PERFECT.
Which is why, when a servant appeared one night during a dinner John was enjoying with Sir Apsley and informed the house that Lucy had been married, John’s face suddenly went pale. He sunk into a deep depression. His greatest love affair was over before it even started.
A few days later, Lucy and her mother came home. It just so happened that John was dining at the Apsley house when Lucy barged in. She was a mess. Her riding habit was crumbled and askew. She was covered in mud and dirt from the ride. Her hair was a tangled nest. She honestly didn’t give a fuck about how she looked as she walked right into the dinner party.
John thought she was the most beautiful thing had ever seen.
She paused to meet his gaze, then walked through the throng of guests indifferently, disappearing into her chambers. He didn’t care if she were married. He had to at least talk to her.
By chance, John ran into Lucy the next day and inquired after her marriage. Lucy grinned. Her mother decided to play a trick on her father and sent the servant ahead with false news of her nuptials; there had been no marriage. She was free. John’s pulse quickened. He was not too late after all.
Lucy was polite to John, but she kept him at a distance at first. You see, John wasn’t the only one being pressured into marriage. Lately Lucy had been introduced to several young men by her family, with the hopes that she would soon be a bride, much to Lucy’s dismay. While Lucy was an obedient daughter, when it came to marriage she refused to be pressured into a loveless union by her family. Many men had been put before her, and she had refused them all. She was tired of the mind-numbing entertaining she was expected to do. The last thing she wanted was a guy she would be obliged to be nice to for the sake of her family.
It took some time, but after several weeks John was able to prove that he wasn’t like other men. He was genuinely interested in what she had to say rather than the ritual exchange of pleasantries. He loved her veracious literary appetite, and slowly she was coaxed out of her shell to find, for once, a man truly captivated by who she was as a human being and not just as an heiress and potential mother of noble children.
Of course, as John was one of the most eligible bachelors in town, and Lucy had many gentlemen admirers, plots hatched by others to break up the pair. Jealous young men tried to convince John of Lucy’s indifference, and several young ladies did their best to draw his attention to Lucy’s disheveled appearance. However, John had long grown immune to courtly manipulations. He only wanted her. Lucy. The genius with the Latin books who didn’t give a damn about what people thought of her.
The marriage date was set, and both families busied themselves preparing for that day. But our fairy tale doesn’t end here, for the tragedy that had followed John from infancy would follow him to the alter.
The day of their wedding, before Lucy could make it to the church, she fell ill. Incredibly ill. She had a fever and was put to bed immediately. After a few days of the mysterious illness, John watched in horror as bright red spots began to cover his beloved’s face. Lucy had contracted the deadly disease of smallpox. If by some miracle she survived, she would be horribly scarred.
It wasn’t too late for John to back out of the marriage. It wouldn’t be the first time an engagement was cancelled due to unforeseen illness. As if on cue, John’s father informed him that he had already arranged a new match with a girl from another fine family. Any man would have cut his losses and married someone else in the face of so much uncertainty.
But John wasn’t any man. And Lucy wasn’t just any woman. She was strong and fierce. Virtuous but innately curious. Intelligent and devoted to the one and only man who loved her for who she was. John defied his family, who was urging him to marry another, and insisted that the only person he would ever marry was Lucy.
Miraculously, Lucy didn’t die. On July 3rd, 1638, as soon as Lucy was able to get out of bed, John married her, smallpox and all, to the horrified looks of those in attendance. He loved her, body and soul, and refused to leave her side. After four long months, Lucy regained her strength and together they lived a life that Lucy herself could only describe in the following passage:
“There is only this to be recorded, that never was there a passion more ardent and less idolatrous; he loved her better than his life, with inexpressible tenderness and kindness, had a most high obliging esteem of her, yet still considered honour, religion and duty above her, nor ever suffered the intrusion of such a dotage as should blind him from marking her imperfections, which he looked upon with such an indulgent eye as did not abate his love and esteem of her, while it augmented his care to blot out all those spots which might make her appear less worthy of that respect he paid her. [..] ‘Twas not her face he loved, her honour and her virtue were his mistresses [...].”
By the end of her life, John and Lucy had nine children, and Lucy continued writing, translating Latin texts into English, writing poetry including her epic “Order and Disorder,” composing theological tracts, and finally writing a biography of her husband, Colonel John Hutchinson, in which she describes her incredible life and thus securing her place amongst the most badass women in early modern history.
Part Two: The Goddess and the Fortress
In many ways, Laudomia Forteguerri was a typical 16th century gentlewoman. She did her daughterly duty and married a man that helped her family’s fortune. By 1539, she and Guilio di Alessandro Colombini had three kids. Laudomia ran in the most elite and powerful circles in the Republic of Siena. She was well educated and literate, which was a luxury afforded to only a select number of women at the time, and was well known for her incredible wit and beautiful love poetry.
Her sonnets weren’t written to her husband, however. The love of her life wasn’t him. Or any man, actually.
It was Margaret of Austria. Yeah, You heard me. A woman.
Sometime around 1536 Laudomia met Margaret, the illegitimate daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, and instantly there was a connection. Margaret stopped by Siena during her travels, and after their first meeting the two women kept in touch, reuniting at least once more in Siena after a few years absence. Margaret journeyed through Siena each time on her way to marry, first to Alessandro de Medici, the Duke of Florence, who was assassinated the year after their marriage, and then to Ottovio Fornese, Duke of Parma, a mere 14 year old boy.
Needless to say, Margaret wasn’t doing well in the marriage department. In fact, records indicate that she was rather indifferent to her husbands. She even refused to consummate her marriage with her second husband for several years, and when she finally did and provided him with an heir in 1545, she left him entirely.
Like Laudomia, Margaret was very well educated. She was a polyglot and a great lover of books. It was no wonder that the two fell in love at first sight. The attraction was electric and their love so well known throughout Italy that it became a muse for many authors in the Renaissance. Along with the resurgence of Greek and Latin studies came a new infatuation with Sappho, the poetess of Lesbos, which is where we get the word “lesbian.” The poetry of Sappho was all the rage in the early modern period, and the same-sex love and desire she demonstrated in her works was venerated by many scholars. In Laudomia and Margaret, a new Sapphic love was born and thus celebrated in literary circles.
The question of whether Laudomia and Margaret were lovers or just merely in love in the Platonic sense is a matter of debate today just as it was in Italy at the time. On one hand, the purity of love between two women that transcended sexual attraction was praised as a virtuous ideal; on the other hand, the “tribadism” of two women who were sexually attracted was condemned as a sin. Laudomia and Margaret revealed much about their authors; some condemned their love while others praised it as a pinnacle of heavenly communion between two souls. We are told Laudomia and Margaret met “many times” during Margaret’s visits to Siena, and while parted the two women wrote letters to one another.
Not much remains of their correspondence, but five sonnets written by Laudomia to Margaret survive. The poems are full of pining and longing. She likens her beloved to the sun, and refers to Margaret as “her goddess” and an “immortal woman,” angelic and heavenly. Laudomia expresses her anguish at being parted from her love and finds herself filled with “woe” at the prospect of being torn from her side.
Their letters and these poems, however, are seemingly intimate. And in a time when tribadism was looked down upon, how exactly did so many people find out about the love Laudomia and Margaret shared?
What would have normally remained a private affair between two ladies became a very, very public, thanks to a third person: Alessandro Piccolomini.
You see, Alessandro had a bit of a crush on Laudomia. Okay, not a crush. More like an infatuation. He was in love! But she had no interest in him, and he didn’t press the issue. She was married, you see, and also shared a special relationship with Margaret. So where did he fit into her life? The answer: Anywhere he could.
The first indication that Alessandro was head-over-heals with the bright Laudomia was with the publication of The Sphere of the World and On the Fixed Stars (1539) in Italian. In this astronomical text, Alessandro claims to have overheard Laudomia speaking to another lady, complaining that she wasn’t able to study the stars. So what’s a man to do? Write a book for her, of course.
Alessandro just couldn’t stop singing her praises. In 1541, he gave a lecture in Padua where he gushed about Laudomia’s poetry, specifically drawing attention to Laudomia’s love for Margaret. According to Alessandro, there was nothing sexual about the love Laudomia bore Margaret, but rather, it was a transcendent love between two women. That said, when the two women met, he claimed a certain “fire” burned within the hearts of Margaret and Laudomia. It was love. It was passion. It was purely philosophical because heaven forbid two women actually be sexually attracted to one another. Perhaps it was merely his wishful thinking.
Poor Alessandro kept singing Laudomia’s praises to anyone who would listen, and continued to try to court her favor. In 1539, when Laudomia had her third child, a son, Alessandro wrote a philosophical book for him on being a gentleman and citizen. He waited in the wings patiently, supporting Laudomia in every way he could, until, finally, one fateful day in 1542, Laudomia’s husband died. She was free to wed again! Alessandro was over the moon. Now was his chance! With Laudomia a widow, and her love for Margaret being platonic, surely he would be able to win her hand!
Alas, his great love was completely unrequited, and when Laudomia decided to remarry in 1544 to a man from the most powerful family in Siena, his dreams were crushed, and he soon gave up his fruitless quest to win her heart.
His wouldn’t be the only heart broken, however. It was some time around then that it seems the affair between Laudomia and Margaret ended, as there is no evidence of further correspondence after about 1540. And then, the unthinkable happened.
In the 1550s, Florence wanted to take over the Republic of Siena, and their war effort was headed by the Medicis, the same family Margaret had initially married into, who was backed by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, Margaret’s very own father. Laudomia was from the most powerful families in Siena, and had just married into the ruling family in 1544. By 1554, Siena was under siege. The two women’s worlds were officially at war.
So what does a badass woman do with a broken heart and a war looming on her front lawn?
She fucking gets to work, that’s what.
Most of the men of Siena were fighting at the frontlines, dead, or wounded, leaving the women of Siena nearly defenseless. The city of Siena itself was up against an impossibly sized army. Laudomia, however, wasn’t going to let that stop her from trying to save the city. The men, after all, were busy.
Hitching up her skirts, Laudomia led up THREE THOUSAND women to the battlements, according to one source. They wore the colors of the city and carried picks and shovels. When they got to the edge of the city, they got to work. Hundreds of women worked together to build up the fortifications. Together they built the impressive Fortino Delle Donne, the Women’s Fort. You heard me. WOMEN BUILT A WHOLE FREAKING FORT under the direction of skilled masons. It was pretty badass.
Sadly, however, it wasn’t enough. The Republic of Siena fell in 1555 and surrendered to the Medicis and the Holy Roman Empire. We know nothing about Laudomia’s fate after 1555; scholars assume her life was lost in the war. But you can still go to see the ruins of the fort Laudomia and the other women built to keep out the army of men.
Part Three: The Bard as Your Wingman
Just like in the past, badass women today experience love and loss, but what do we do if we find ourselves single?
I went to St. Louis to meet up with Professor Harpy at a restaurant to find out. Professor Harpy and I have known each other for years, which is why, when I found a website full of Shakespeare pick-up lines, I simply had to try them out on her.
Literature Lady: Hey.
Professor Harpy: Yes.
Literature Lady: “Have you ever seen a beast with two backs?”
Professor Harpy: [laughs]
Literature Lady: “Want to help me make one?”
Professor Harpy: [laughs] Oh my god... these for real?
Literature Lady: No. He (Shakespeare) didn’t write all these.
Professor Harpy: Well, I know. But that’s from Othello. That one’s from Othello.
Literature Lady: Yeah. Wait wait wait. “Hey Baby...can Ophelia up?”
Professor Harpy: [laughs and slaps table] That’s pretty brazen of you. I know we showered naked together but...
Literature Lady: OPHELIA. Get it? [laughs]
Professor Harpy: [laughs] Oh that’s terrible!
Literature Lady: That’s not the worst yet. Hold on. “But soft! What light through yonder trouser breaks?”
Professor Harpy: Uh uh. [shakes head] Uh uh. Okay, that’s saying something...like you might have a tiny...you know...
Literature Lady: Oh. That’s true. Now, let’s see. That one was too bad.
Professor Harpy: Wait. Those are my trousers. Why would I be wearing trousers?
Literature Lady: Okay. Here’s another one. “I’d like for you to please go out with me.”
Professor Harpy: [snickers]
Literature Lady: “So tell me...have you ever been picked up in iambic pentameter before?”
Professor Harpy: [laughs] I can say...I can honestly say I have not.
Literature Lady: Well now you can say you have!
Professor Harpy: Now I can say I have.
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: I have now!
Literature Lady: [laughs][breathless] I can hardly say these. [in a low voice] “I’ll chronicle your virtues.”
Professor Harpy: Mm hm. Oh no. Oh no.
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: It’s gotta be a really short list.
Literature Lady: Oh no. I...I went through hundreds and these [laughs] are the best. [pause] You’re welcome.
Professor Harpy: Thank you. I feel so honored.
Literature Lady: Wait wait wait...
Professor Harpy: They’re so awkward!
Literature Lady: “My heart it pines...as my trousers tent.”
[both laugh]
Professor Harpy: Oh my god! [laughs] Oh...
Literature Lady: “Is this my dagger I see before me or am I merely happy to cast eyes upon thy beauty?”
Professor Harpy: [laughs] It’s the...it’s the eyebrow waggle that you’re doing also. [laughs]
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: Oh my god.
Literature Lady: These would be even funnier if we were drinking right now. [laughs]
Professor Harpy: I know. I feel as though this could be something if these were used at the MLA conference.
Literature Lady: [gasp] I’m going to the MLA!
Professor Harpy: You should use these and see what happens.
Literature Lady: [gasp] I could go around and ask people these, and then that would blow all my chances of getting a job...oh wait...it actually might improve it!
Professor Harpy: It might improve it!
Literature Lady: ‘Cause what happens at the MLA...
[both together] STAYS AT THE MLA! [hysterical laughter]
Professor Harpy: Oh my god...oh...my...god...
Literature Lady: Oh my gosh. Okay. I will...I will do one last one. “If I whispered in thine ear that though hast the body of beauty unknown but to the heavens, wouldst thou hold it against me?”
Professor Harpy: Uh uh.
Literature Lady: Eh? Eh?
Professor Harpy: Uh uh. That’s probably the best one. That’s probably the best one.
Literature Lady: Yeah. I didn’t think it was too bad.
Professor Harpy: That one’s pretty good. That one...that one’s awfully...
Literature Lady: I would chuckle but then tell you to go away. But I would chuckle.
Professor Harpy: Yeah. I would say, “Gee...I’d be bored and you’d be confused.”
Literature Lady: Do you have any pick up lines that men have tried on you that were pretty bad?
Professor Harpy: I did, but they were not like this.
Literature Lady: Oh.
Professor Harpy: They were not like this. It was when I was in Texas and I was at some kind of, like, shit- kicker bar.
Literature Lady: Yes.
Professor Harpy: And I was up there getting drinks. And this very old cowboy—not even good looking...not like your Sam Eliott kind of way.
Literature Lady: Uh huh.
Professor Harpy: This man was, like, missing some teeth a kind of way.
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: And he was from East Texas, which is, like, a totally different kind of Texas.
Literature Lady: Uh huh.
Professor Harpy: And he walked up and he goes, [in a deep Southern accent] “Hey there, little lady. You look like you’ve been dipped in purdy sowce.”
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: I just stared at him. And I was like, “Yeah...I gotta go.” I just walked away. And all I could think of is, “wait...what is purdy sowce?” Not “pretty.” Purdy. P-U-R-D-Y sowce. Not “sauce.” SOWce.
Literature Lady: [laughs] Your yankee ways are showing.
Professor Harpy: [laughs] My yankee ways were all “I gotta go.” I mean, that was my response. “I gotta go.” I just walked away. And everyone was all, “Where are the drinks?” ... “They’re up there next to that guy. Someone else can go get them.”
Literature Lady: Yeah. So, my worst one. I was in college, and I went to a costume party. And I was dressed like Lara Croft. So I had, like, midriff-y [shirt], you know, and really super tight leather.
Professor Harpy: Yeah.
Literature Lady: And a guy dressed as a bishop or a priest or something, he walks up, and he goes, “You look like a sinner. Why don’t you get down on your knees and do some penance for me.”
Professor Harpy: [gasp] That’s terrible!
Literature Lady: To which I wittily replied, “No thanks!” and walked away.
Professor Harpy: [laughs] You’re like, “Mmm...I’m good, thank you. I’m good, thanks.”
Literature Lady: [laughs]
Professor Harpy: No, my mom...I think I told you this...My dad, on their first date, to my mom said, “I’m Christopher Columbus. Let me explore your world.”
Literature Lady: [gasp] No!
[both laugh]
Professor Harpy: Oh, my mom said, “I might have smallpox.”
Literature Lady: [bigger gasp] YOU’RE KIDDING! [laughs]
Professor Harpy: [laughs]
Literature Lady: She was a nurse from the beginning, wasn’t she?
Professor Harpy: She was like, “You never know, I might have smallpox!” And he was like, “Oooo...daaaaaamn!” But clearly something worked.
Literature Lady: I was going to say but it worked and you’re here. [laughs]
Professor Harpy: Yeah. They’ve been married 55 years. Don’t use that, though, on anyone. Oh my god. Yeah.
Literature Lady: [laughs] That’s awesome.
Professor Harpy: Yeah. Mmhm. Mmhm.
Literature Lady: Alright, well, we’re going to do this podcast.
Professor Harpy: Alright, good. Good good. I’m glad; we need to do this podcast.
Literature Lady: Yay! Thanks.
Professor Harpy: You’re welcome.
Credits
Thank you for listening to the Literature Lady Podcast. You can follow me on Twitter @Literature_Lady or email me at literatureladyonline@gmail.com. Our music, the anonymously written “My Lady Carey’s Dompe” from 1524, was beautifully performed by Jon Sayles. A special thanks goes out to Professor Harpy for graciously enduring my bad pickup lines. You can follow her on Twitter at @Professor_Harpy.
If you are interested in learning more about Lucy Hutchinson and Laudomia Forteguerri or would like to know my sources for this show, please stay tuned for the bibliography.
For Lucy’s story, I used her book Memoirs of the Life of Colonel Hutchinson. You can find the 1822 edition of this for free on Google Books, but I recommend the Everyman edition because of their easy to use chronology and contextual endnotes. Bartleby.com has an etext of the 1679 publication of her Order and Disorder that is freely available. Lucy’s On the Principles of the Christian Religion can be found for free on Google Books. Her poetry is widely anthologized.
I first came across Laudomia Forteguerri’s story in Diana Robin’s book Salons, the Presses, and the Counter-Reformation in Sixteenth Century Italy published by the University of Chicago Press. I’m indebted to Konrad Eisenbichler for his book The Sword and the Pen: Women Politics and Poetry in Sixteenth Century Siena published by the University of Notre Dame Press. I also consulted Same Sex Desire in the English Renaissance: A Sourcebook of Texts, 1470-1650, which is edited by Kenneth Borris and published by CRC Press. For more information on Laudomia and other badass women like her, check out Same Sex Desire Among Women in the Middle Ages, edited by Francesca Canad`e Sautman and Pamela Sheingorn published by Palgrave.
And for those of you still single and looking for true love, you might try your own luck with some Shakespeare Pick-Up Lines, which can be found on Pickupline.net.
Thank you for listening to the first episode of the Literature Lady podcast. I’m Dr. Janet Bartholomew. Take care!
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