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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2025-11-20 02:24:42 -0800 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2025-11-20 02:24:42 -0800 |
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diff --git a/77276-h/77276-h.htm b/77276-h/77276-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..06a378e --- /dev/null +++ b/77276-h/77276-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,29566 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="UTF-8"> +<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> +<title>Sex Variant Women in Literature | Project Gutenberg</title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <!-- TITLE="Sex Variant Women in Literature" --> + <!-- AUTHOR="Jeannette H. Foster" --> + <!-- LANGUAGE="en" --> + <!-- PUBLISHER="Vantage Press, New York" --> + <!-- DATE="1956" --> + <!-- COVER="images/cover.jpg" --> + +<style> + +body { margin-left:15%; margin-right:15%; } + +div.frontmatter { } +div.frontmatter h1.title { text-indent:0; text-align:center; margin-top:1em; + margin-bottom:1em; } +div.frontmatter .subt { text-indent:0; text-align:center; margin-bottom:1em; + font-variant:small-caps; } +div.frontmatter .aut { text-indent:0; text-align:center; margin-bottom:4em; } +div.frontmatter .aut .line1{ font-style:italic; } +div.frontmatter .pub { text-indent:0; text-align:center; } +div.frontmatter .pub .line2{ font-size:0.8em; } +div.frontmatter .impressum { margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; max-width:18em; } +div.frontmatter .run { text-indent:0; padding-top:4em; margin-bottom:2em; + font-size:0.8em; } +div.frontmatter .cop { text-indent:0; text-align:left; margin-bottom:1em; + font-size:0.8em; } + +div.chapter{ page-break-before:always; } +h2 { text-indent:0; text-align:center; margin-top:3em; margin-bottom:1em; } +h3 { text-indent:0; text-align:center; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:1em; } +h4 { text-indent:0; text-align:center; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; } +div.chapter h2 { margin-top:0; padding-top:3em; } +h2.chapter .line1 { font-size:0.8em; } +h3.section { font-style:italic; } +h3.section.blank { visibility:hidden; font-size:0; line-height:0; } +.keep-nu-html-checker-happy { /* ;) */ } + +p { margin:0; text-align:justify; text-indent:1em; } +p.first { text-indent:0; } +p.noindent { text-indent:0; } +p.isection { text-indent:0; margin-top:2em; } +p.sign { margin-top:0.5em; text-indent:0; text-align:right; margin-right:1em; } +div.excerpt{ margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:1em; } + +.tb { text-indent:0; text-align:center; margin:1em; } +hr { border:0; border-top:1px solid black; text-align:center; margin:1em; } +hr.tb { margin-left:45%; width:10%; } + +/* TOC table */ +div.table { text-align:center; } +table { margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; border-collapse:collapse; } +table td { padding-left:0em; padding-right:0em; vertical-align:top; text-align:left; + text-indent:0; } +table.toc td { font-size:0.8em; } +table.toc td.col1 { text-align:left; } +table.toc td.col2 { text-align:left; font-style:italic; } +table.toc td.col_page { padding-left:1em; text-align:right; } +table.toc tr.m td { padding-top:1em; } +table.toc tr.h td { padding-top:1em; } +table.toc tr.h td.col1 { text-align:right; padding-right:0.5em; } +table.toc tr.h td.col2 { font-style:normal; font-variant:small-caps; } +table.toc tr.i td.col2 { padding-left:3em; } + +/* spans */ +.smallcaps { font-variant:small-caps; } +.underline { text-decoration:underline; } +.hidden { display:none; } + +/* poetry */ +div.poem-container { text-align:center; } +div.poem-container div.poem { display:inline-block; } +div.stanza { text-align:left; text-indent:0; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; } +.stanza .verse { text-align:left; text-indent:-2em; margin-left:2em; } +.stanza .verse1 { text-align:left; text-indent:-2em; margin-left:3em; } +.stanza .verse2 { text-align:left; text-indent:-2em; margin-left:4em; } +.stanza .verse11{ text-align:left; text-indent:-2em; margin-left:13em; } + +/* notes */ +div.notes p { text-indent:0; text-align:left; font-size:0.8em; } +div.notes p.note { font-style:italic; font-size:1em; margin-bottom:1em; } +div.notes p.hdr { font-style:italic; } +div.notes p.shdr { font-style:italic; } +div.notes p.footnote { margin-left:3em; text-indent:-2em; } + +/* bibliography */ +div.biblio p { text-indent:0; text-align:left; font-size:0.8em; } +div.biblio p.hdr { text-align:center; font-style:italic; font-size:1em; margin-top:1em; } +div.biblio p.biblio { margin-left:3em; text-indent:-2em; } + +/* index */ +div.index p.index { text-indent:-2em; margin-left:2em; font-size:0.8em; } +div.index p.index.newletter { margin-top:1em; } + +a:link { text-decoration: none; color: rgb(10%,30%,60%); } +a:visited { text-decoration: none; color: rgb(10%,30%,60%); } +a:hover { text-decoration: underline; } +a:active { text-decoration: underline; } + +/* Transcriber's note */ +.trnote { font-size:0.8em; line-height:1.2em; background-color: #ccc; + color: #000; border: black 1px dotted; margin: 2em; padding: 1em; + page-break-before:always; margin-top:3em; } +.trnote p { text-indent:0; margin-bottom:1em; } +.trnote ul { margin-left: 0; padding-left: 0; } +.trnote li { text-align: left; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 1em; } +.trnote ul li { list-style-type: square; } +.trnote .transnote { text-indent:0; text-align:center; font-weight:bold; } + +/* page numbers */ +a[title].pagenum { position: absolute; right: 1%; } +a[title].pagenum:after { content: attr(title); color: gray; background-color: inherit; + letter-spacing: 0; text-indent: 0; text-align: right; font-style: normal; + font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: x-small; + border: 1px solid silver; padding: 1px 4px 1px 4px; + display: inline; } + +body.x-ebookmaker { margin-left:0; margin-right:0; } + .x-ebookmaker div.poem-container div.poem { display:block; margin-left:2em; } + .x-ebookmaker a.pagenum { display:none; } + .x-ebookmaker a.pagenum:after { display:none; } + .x-ebookmaker .trnote { margin:0; } + +</style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77276 ***</div> + +<div class="frontmatter chapter"> +<h1 class="title"> +Sex Variant Women +in Literature +</h1> + +<p class="subt"> +A Historical and Quantitative Survey +</p> + +<p class="aut"> +<span class="line1">by</span><br> +<span class="line2">JEANNETTE H. FOSTER, <span class="smallcaps">Ph.D.</span></span> +</p> + +<p class="pub"> +<span class="line1">VANTAGE PRESS · NEW YORK</span><br> +<span class="line2">WASHINGTON · HOLLYWOOD · TORONTO</span> +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="frontmatter chapter"> + <div class="impressum"> +<p class="run"> +FIRST EDITION +</p> + +<p class="cop"> +<em>All rights reserved, including the right of +reproduction in whole or in part in any form.</em> +Copyright, 1956, by Jeannette Howard Foster. +Published by Vantage Press, Inc. +120 West 31st Street, New York 1, N.Y. +Manufactured in the United States of America +</p> + +<p class="cop"> +Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 56-9038 +</p> + + </div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="intro" id="chapter-0-1"> +<a id="page-iii" class="pagenum" title="iii"></a> +FOREWORD +</h2> + +</div> + +<p class="first"> +The germ from which this book has grown was implanted nearly forty +years ago when a student council voted one spring afternoon to dismiss +two girls from a college dormitory unless they altered their +habits. To one junior council member several features of the council +session made it memorable. It was an unscheduled meeting and was +convened quietly so as to render it secret. The absence of freshman +and sophomore members indicated a “morals case,” for in those days +the younger students were thus sheltered from evil intelligence. Most +striking of all was the utter incomprehensibility of the issue at stake. +</p> + +<p> +The bewildered junior was herself younger than her peers, and +outside the realm of books was ignorant to a degree incredible today. +She had understood the earlier expulsion of a girl who stayed out all +night, for after all one had simply accepted from childhood that such +conduct was disreputable. But why should locking themselves into +their room together lay two students open to rigorous discipline? +To her private humiliation, everyone else appeared to know. The +business was dispatched with embarrassed speed and by blind allusion +rather than open statement. Her relief was great when opinion +favored probation for the brief remainder of the year. For she could +not have cast her vote for expulsion without understanding the cause. +</p> + +<p> +She left the meeting with her mortifying ignorance undisclosed; +but it rankled. She had never before been the most stupid in any +group. And her curiosity was aroused. The two culprits were to her +among the least attractive girls in college both physically and temperamentally. +How could they be so obsessed with one another as to lock +themselves in their room together at every opportunity? She was +determined to learn. She went to the college library where day after +day she had passed the row of worn tan volumes labeled <em>Studies in +the Psychology of Sex</em> without once having the impulse to look inside. +Now she explored tables of contents with the same slight nausea +that had accompanied initial zoology laboratory dissection. Thus she +met Havelock Ellis.[<a class="footnote" href="#F-1">1</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Within her subsequent twenty-one years in women’s dormitories +as student or faculty member she had reason many times to be glad of +<a id="page-iv" class="pagenum" title="iv"></a> +all the study she was moved to undertake then and later, for it enabled +her to help in averting more than one minor tragedy and +to conduct her own life with some measure of wisdom. At first her +study was confined to scientific and factual works; but as these sometimes +cited pertinent belles lettres its scope gradually widened to +include the latter. And, finally, because science and fact were so well +listed in the bibliographic tools for specialists, and literature so +sporadically or not at all, her investigation came to focus in the area +of imaginative writing. The once-perplexed junior is the present +writer, and what follows is a product of her extended search. +</p> + +<p class="sign"> +J. H. F. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="intro" id="chapter-0-2"> +<a id="page-v" class="pagenum" title="v"></a> +PREFACE +</h2> + +</div> + +<p class="first"> +For more than a century there has been a tendency to worship science +as a key to knowledge and understanding. This preoccupation has +served to determine the limits of potential knowledge. Science has +created new problems almost as rapidly as it has solved old ones. +</p> + +<p> +History records the phenomena of human life. It depends upon +biographical data which are notoriously biased. Virtue or viciousness +of character varies with the prejudice of the biographer. Most of what +is told us in the realm of sexual behavior has been colored by, or has +been a reaction to, social, moral, and religious convention. +</p> + +<p> +Science proceeds by dissecting reality into its component parts. It +has become so preoccupied with the study of these parts that it has +failed to grasp the whole. Moreover, it is dependent upon knowledge +which can be verified only through the use of the senses, with the +result that its adherents have grown sceptical of philosophical and +literary evaluations. Its study of elements and forces has led to +abstractions, to a greater knowledge of unrealities. +</p> + +<p> +In the realm of the sex variant, popular prejudice has reached and +maintained its maximum height. The sex variant has always been with +us and probably always will be. He has been thus classified, partly +because of the arbitrary designations <em>male</em> and <em>female</em>. As I have +shown in <em>All the Sexes</em>, there are any number of possible gradations +of human behavior—from that of a theoretical masculine to that of a +theoretical feminine being. +</p> + +<p> +A particular person is always a complex of masculinity and +femininity. Sex variants commonly are conspicuous through the exhibition +of characteristics usually associated with the opposite sex. But +science continues to recognize the fiction of male and female and has +thrown little light on the problem. +</p> + +<p> +The present work, <span class="smallcaps">Sex Variant Women in Literature</span>, is a unique +undertaking. The author was troubled in her student days by her lack +of knowledge regarding female homosexuality. The need for understanding +has resulted in a long search for evidence in literature, a +field with which she was familiar. She has come to believe that imaginative +<a id="page-vi" class="pagenum" title="vi"></a> +as well as scientific writing is a mirror of human sexual +behavior which should be given serious attention. +</p> + +<p> +Some readers may question the propriety or the motives in associating +the personal lives of authors with their writings. Poetry +loses some of its charm through the suggestion that it might be an +expression of the writer’s sexual maladjustment. But as a matter of +fact it is beginning to seem that all imaginative writings are attempts +to find libidinous satisfaction in fantasy. Science may never be able to +support this impression by its laborious methods of securing evidence, +but the author’s review of the literature of twenty centuries leaves +little doubt of its validity. +</p> + +<p> +In <span class="smallcaps">Sex Variant Women in Literature</span> the author has called attention +to lesbian tendencies wherever she has found them. She has +made no attempt to estimate what proportion of imaginative writing +may be the work of lesbians. She has not confined herself to literary +classics but has accepted the fact that human beings reveal themselves +in whatever they read and write. Sexual variance shows itself in so +many different ways that all types of imaginative writings have to be +studied if we are to understand human motivations and behavior. +</p> + +<p class="sign"> +<span class="smallcaps">George W. Henry</span>, M.D. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="intro" id="chapter-0-3"> +<a id="page-vii" class="pagenum" title="vii"></a> +ACKNOWLEDGMENTS +</h2> + +</div> + +<p class="first"> +For help in pursuing this study the author owes many debts of +gratitude, first to friends who added chance-read titles to the +bibliography; especially to those who had no basic interest in the +subject. An even heavier debt is due all the librarians who made +available rare or restricted material, negotiated interlibrary loans, +or merely rendered much ordinary service. Staffs of the following institutions +deserve special thanks: the Union Catalogs of the Library +of Congress and the Philadelphia Bibliographic Center; the libraries +of Bryn Mawr College, the University of Chicago, Emory University, +Indiana University, the University of Pennsylvania, Princeton University, +Swarthmore College, and Yale University; the medical libraries of +Emory University Hospital, the New York Academy of Medicine, and +the Philadelphia College of Physicians; the public libraries of Chicago, +New York City, and Philadelphia; and the Library of Congress. +</p> + +<p> +Particular mention is due the special library of the Institute for +Sex Research at Indiana University, of which the author was librarian +for four years (1948-1952). It should be made clear that the present +study is unrelated to that of the Institute, does not reflect its views, +and has not been approved by members of its staff. The librarian’s +function was cataloguing, not sex research, and almost all of the material +considered here was seen elsewhere. Nevertheless, acquaintance +with what may be the largest extant library related to sex served +to reassure the author that she had overlooked no important area of +the field she wished to study. Gratitude is thus due also to the +Institute and its Director, the late Dr. A. C. Kinsey. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="toc" id="chapter-0-4"> +<a id="page-ix" class="pagenum" title="ix"></a> +CONTENTS +</h2> + +</div> + +<div class="table"> +<table class="toc"> +<tbody> + <tr class="m"> + <td class="col1" colspan="2">Foreword</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-iii">iii</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="m"> + <td class="col1" colspan="2">Preface</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-v">v</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="m"> + <td class="col1" colspan="2">Acknowledgments</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-vii">vii</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="m"> + <td class="col1" colspan="2">Introduction</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-11">11</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="h"> + <td class="col1">I.</td> + <td class="col2">The Ancient Record</td> + <td class="col_page"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Sappho and Ruth</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-17">17</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Mythology in Classical Authors</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-24">24</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Later Classical Literature</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-27">27</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="h"> + <td class="col1">II.</td> + <td class="col2">From the Dark Ages to the Age of Reason</td> + <td class="col_page"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Introduction</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-30">30</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Medieval and Renaissance Fiction</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-33">33</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">The Borderline of Reality</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-39">39</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Neo-Classical Aridity</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-43">43</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="h"> + <td class="col1">III.</td> + <td class="col2">From the Romantics to the Moderns</td> + <td class="col_page"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Introduction</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-51">51</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Precursors of Modern Fiction</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-54">54</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">The Novel Before 1870</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-60">60</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Evidence from Poets</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-72">72</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="h"> + <td class="col1">IV.</td> + <td class="col2">Later Nineteenth Century</td> + <td class="col_page"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Fertility in France</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-81">81</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Shadow of Feminism</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-91">91</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Fin de Siècle</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-99">99</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Summary</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-114">114</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="h"> + <td class="col1"><a id="page-x" class="pagenum" title="x"></a>V.</td> + <td class="col2">Conjectural Retrospect</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-116">116</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Louise Labé</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-117">117</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Charlotte Charke</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-120">120</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">“The Ladies of Llangollen”</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-122">122</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Karoline von Günderode</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-124">124</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">George Sand</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-127">127</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Emily Brontë</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-129">129</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">George Eliot</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-135">135</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Margaret Fuller</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-136">136</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Adah Isaacs Menken</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-138">138</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">“Michael Field”</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-141">141</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Emily Dickinson</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-145">145</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="h"> + <td class="col1">VI.</td> + <td class="col2">Twentieth Century</td> + <td class="col_page"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Introduction</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-149">149</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Poetry—French</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-154">154</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="i"> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">—German</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-174">174</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="i"> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">—English</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-177">177</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="h"> + <td class="col1">VII.</td> + <td class="col2">Fiction in France</td> + <td class="col_page"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Before 1914</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-193">193</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Post-War Trends</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-204">204</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="h"> + <td class="col1">VIII.</td> + <td class="col2">Fiction in Germany</td> + <td class="col_page"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Before 1914</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-218">218</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Post-War Gleanings</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-229">229</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="h"> + <td class="col1">IX.</td> + <td class="col2">Fiction in English</td> + <td class="col_page"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Introduction</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-240">240</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">The Age of Innocence</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-243">243</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Sophistication and Dispute</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-255">255</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Post-War Crescendo</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-269">269</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">First Peak: 1928</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-279">279</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="h"> + <td class="col1">X.</td> + <td class="col2">Fiction in English (continued)</td> + <td class="col_page"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Sequel to Censorship</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-288">288</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">The Worm’s Turning</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-307">307</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Above Reproach</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-314">314</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Another War’s Shadow</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-324">324</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"> </td> + <td class="col2">Second Crescendo</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-328">328</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="m"> + <td class="col1" colspan="2">Conclusion</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-342">342</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="m"> + <td class="col1" colspan="2">Notes</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-355">355</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="m"> + <td class="col1" colspan="2">Bibliographies</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-362">362</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="m"> + <td class="col1" colspan="2">Index</td> + <td class="col_page"><a href="#page-396">396</a></td> + </tr> +</tbody> +</table> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="intro" id="chapter-0-5"> +<a id="page-11" class="pagenum" title="11"></a> +INTRODUCTION +</h2> + +</div> + +<p class="first"> +This study is concerned with certain types of emotional reaction +among women as these appear in literature. Its primary +aim is neither psychiatric nor critical; that is, it does not pretend +to solve the problems described nor to pass conventional judgment +on the literature examined, though rudiments of aesthetic and +psychological evaluation will inevitably be included. Its purpose is +to trace historically the quantity and temper of imaginative writing +on its chosen subject from earliest times to the present day, on +the assumption that what has been written and read for pleasure is a +fair index of popular interest and social attitude from one century +to another. +</p> + +<p> +Since new viewpoints and methods of study are constantly altering +our sex vocabulary, some preliminary definitions seem advisable. +First, what is meant by <em>sex variant</em>? The term was selected because +it is not as yet rigidly defined nor charged with controversial +overtones. Intrinsically, <em>variant</em> means no more than differing from +a chosen standard, and in the field of sex experience the standard +generally accepted is adequate heterosexual adjustment. But even this +phrase lacks precision. Lawyer, clergyman, physician, psychoanalyst, +biologist, sociologist, each will interpret it from his particular viewpoint. +The meaning a layman meets oftenest in the literature of +our western Christian culture is happy marriage and parenthood, +but this is nearer to the churchman’s and sociologist’s ideal than to +the working compromise by which average citizens worry along. +Perhaps the highest practical common denominator is a heterosexual +union agreeable to both its parties and not detrimental to them, to +the society in which they live, or to the continuance of the race. +</p> + +<p> +Possible deviations from this standard are many, but the present +study will stay within the limits set by a work of 1941 entitled +<em>Sex Variants</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#I-1">1</a>] which was devoted to persons having emotional experience +with others of their own sex. Under this head the author included +<a id="page-12" class="pagenum" title="12"></a> +homosexuals, a term which he confined to those having only +such experience; bisexuals, capable of enjoying relations with both +sexes; and narcissists, attracted to both but able to achieve satisfaction +with neither. The author of this work, Dr. G. W. Henry, was, +as his terminology indicates, a psychiatrist. His case histories provided +very complete personal data, his volumes dealt with both +men and women, and he included only those who had engaged in +overt sexual activity. By contrast, the present study is not strictly +oriented to any professional school of thought. It is limited to relations +between women, and “relations” is substituted for “experience” by +intent. Because of the comparative sex reticence prevailing in our +culture, few details of sexual action are reported in nonscientific +writing, and in the peculiarly discredited field of sex variance authors +often avoid even implying action. For this reason scientists tend to +disparage studies based on literature, but where women are concerned +a lack of specific detail is not too serious. Current scientific work, +notably that of Dr. A. C. Kinsey,[<a class="footnote" href="#I-2">2</a>] has established the fact that women +as a whole engage in much less sex activity than men. But in spite of, +or perhaps because of, this relative infrequency of “outlet,” passionate +emotion more often plays a dominant role in their lives. +</p> + +<p> +Not all women recognize a sexual factor in their subjective emotional +relations, particularly in the intrasexual field so heavily +shadowed by social disapproval. Still they often exhibit indirect +responses which have all the intensity of physical passion and which +quite as basically affect the pattern of their lives. Hence this study +includes not only women who are conscious of passion for their own +sex, with or without overt expression, but also those who are merely +obsessively attached to other women over a longer period or at a +more mature age than is commonly expected. If “commonly expected” +is another nebulous phrase, a species of pooled judgment +is available to clarify it. During the past few decades—that is, since +Freudian concepts have become a part of the common background—most +works on sex guidance have taken some account of homosexuality. +These agree in general that passionate attachments during +puberty and early adolescence may lie within the norm, but if occurring +later they constitute variance. Without here debating the absolute +validity of this opinion, one may borrow it as a working criterion. +</p> + +<p> +As to women who habitually wear men’s clothing or even for a +part of their lives pass for men, such transvestism is not in itself +<a id="page-13" class="pagenum" title="13"></a> +variant. To be sure, many psychoanalysts consider it indicative of +latent homosexuality, but to bring a woman properly within the +scope of this study her transvestism must be accompanied by some +evidence of fondness for her own sex. And, of course, mere sex disguise +arising from pressure of circumstance, a favorite device for plot-complication +from ballads to modern films, has no significance here. +</p> + +<p> +With the meaning of <em>variance</em> clarified, the more familiar terms +<em>homosexual</em> and <em>lesbian</em> need attention. In popular usage the latter +implies overt sexual expression and so it will be used only where +such implication is intended. <em>Homosexual</em> is more ambiguous. Still in +good scientific standing, it ordinarily has not Dr. Henry’s restricted +meaning, but is more nearly synonymous with his <em>variant</em>. For this +reason and also because as a noun it is most often applied to men, +it will be employed here only when needed to relieve verbal monotony. +</p> + +<p> +To conclude the business of definition, the word <em>literature</em> has, +of course, two common meanings: belles-lettres, and factual material +relative to a given subject. Here it is used in the former, or, more +accurately, not in the latter sense; that is, the impressive bulk of +scientific writing on sex variance will receive only cursory attention, +to provide background for the matter of primary interest. This latter +comprises mainly fiction, drama and poetry, and might best be termed +simply <em>imaginative writing</em>, since many works to be discussed can +boast but little belletristic worth. Even such inferior items, however, +are important in reflecting attitudes and providing quantitative evidence +of interest. +</p> + +<p> +Only a few excursions into the field of biography and memoirs +will be undertaken. Though such works are frequently classed as +belles-lettres, they suffer from too many limitations to provide a +profitable hunting ground. Those claiming factual accuracy are seldom +frank enough about sexual matters to be useful, a condition +which applies to virtually all reputable efforts since the development +of scholarly historical method in the early nineteenth century. As +to items written largely for sensational appeal, months of research +would be required in each separate case to winnow the sparse truth +from chaff which might prove explosive if offered as seriously related +to fact. Biographies will be examined, then, only if their subjects +produced ambiguous or enigmatic literary works possible of clarification +by reference to their lives; or if they were the subject of fictional +works which represented them as variants; or even (very rarely) if +<a id="page-14" class="pagenum" title="14"></a> +persistent rumor or circumstantial evidence strongly suggests variance. +Most of these will be treated in a separate section specifically labeled +conjectural. +</p> + +<p> +For each variant woman considered, as many as possible of the +following points will be noted: physical appearance and temperament, +with particular regard to “masculine” attributes; emotional +history, including any suggestion of etiology for variance; social reactions +to the variant expressed or implied within her milieu; and the +author’s personal attitude. Only occasionally are all these data found +together in any single work, but from the aggregate written within +a given period enough can be gleaned to reflect trends in sentiment +from one generation to another. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +The ideal scope of any study pretending to offer a quantitative +picture would be complete coverage of its chosen field, but realistic +considerations limit such an undertaking. Oriental literature, for +example, though cited by a number of scientific writers on variance, +is too unavailable in translation to receive more than passing mention. +The same is true of certain areas in western European belles-lettres, for +only such as have appeared in English, French and German, or have +been adequately reviewed in these languages, are of avail to the +present writer. Even within such limits, of course, completeness is a +goal as elusive as the rainbow’s end. First there is the difficulty of +learning about pertinent items. Scientific material on sex variance has +been recorded adequately in bibliographies, indexes and abstracts in +the fields of psychology and medicine. Imaginative writing has +not been similarly covered. Almost the only systematic listing +was that attempted early in this century in a journal of varying title +and frequency published in Berlin and edited by Magnus Hirschfeld: +<em>Jahrbuch für sexuelle Zwischenstufen</em> (etc.), sponsored by the +<a id="corr-2"></a>Wissenschaftlich-humanitäres Komitee, 1899-1921. There, under +the heading “Bibliographie der homosexuellen Belletristik,” European +titles were assembled for the years 1899-1917, with a scattering of +retrospective items; however, even for current German material the +list was not exhaustive. +</p> + +<p> +As to the nonscientific bibliographies and indexes, the material +listed under such sexual headings as appear in them is largely +factual or controversial, not imaginative writing. Book reviews sometimes +offer helpful leads, but variant works are all too often ignored +<a id="page-15" class="pagenum" title="15"></a> +altogether, or are treated with such squeamishness or caution as to +obscure their sexual significance. And, though extensive discussions +or notes of pertinent material occasionally appear in factual works, +beginning roughly with Krafft-Ebing’s <em>Psychopathia Sexualis</em> (1886) +and coming down to Donald Corey’s <em>The Homosexual in America</em> +(1952), such windfalls are sporadic and disconnected. In short, however +thoroughly a student may comb bibliographic sources, he will +still happen by pure chance upon enough items not mentioned there +to end with the certainty of others still undiscovered. He can only +hope, then, that better informed readers will hasten to attack his shortcomings +and fill his lacunae. +</p> + +<p> +Another difficulty is gaining access to titles of which record has +been found. No class of printed matter except outright pornography +has suffered more critical neglect, exclusion from libraries, or omission +from collected works than variant belles-lettres. Even items by recognized +masters, such as Henry James’s <em>The Bostonians</em> and Maupassant’s +“Paul’s Mistress,” have been omitted from inclusive editions +issued by reputable publishers. When owned by libraries such titles +are often catalogued obscurely, or impounded in special collections +almost inaccessible to the public, or they have been “lost”—most +probably stolen—and not replaced. Of Catulle Mendès’s <em>Méphistophéla</em>, +for example, which ran to half a dozen printings in French and +as many in English between 1890 and 1910, only four copies are recorded +in the United States among the nearly fifteen million entries +in the Library of Congress Union Catalog. +</p> + +<p> +Despite such handicaps, however, persistent search eventually +reaches a point where the majority of new references prove duplicates +of older discoveries, and the jealous pursuit of new volumes +produces diminishing returns in that the items when located prove +of only trifling significance. Thus, while the degree of completeness +attained is not that of the statistician, it is believed sufficient to +provide a reliable historical overview. +</p> + +<p> +Along with completeness another ideal in work of this sort is to +include nothing which has not been seen at first hand, but because +of the difficulties just outlined some inaccessible works have been +admitted when reviews or other records clearly indicate their importance +and offer an adequate account of their content. For works +well known and easily available in English, such as the poetry of +Sappho or Gautier’s <em>Mademoiselle de Maupin</em>, a minimum of résumé +<a id="page-16" class="pagenum" title="16"></a> +will ordinarily be given, but in the case of scarce items, even when +inferior, a fuller account will be necessary to render any discussion +of them intelligible. +</p> + +<p> +A final note on punctuation should be included here. Direct quotation +from original texts in any language, or from published translations +of foreign works, will be indicated by the customary signs. The +present writer’s own translations of foreign material will be enclosed +in <em>single</em> quotation marks. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-6"> +<a id="page-17" class="pagenum" title="17"></a> +<span class="line1">CHAPTER I.</span><br> +<span class="line2">THE ANCIENT RECORD</span> +</h2> + +</div> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-6-1"> +Sappho and Ruth +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +It is natural to begin a study of sex variant women with Sappho, +Greek lyric poet of the early sixth century <span class="smallcaps">B.C.</span>, whose name and that +of her native island, Lesbos, have supplied our popular vocabulary +with its terms for female homosexuality. Plato, who lived only two +centuries later and probably knew her work almost completely, pronounced +her the Tenth Muse, and, happily, the high quality of her +verse led classical writers to quote it freely. For what with the hazards +of time and later prejudice, the twelve thousand lines she is believed +to have written are now lost save for these quoted excerpts and some +fragments on papyri salvaged during modern excavations in Egypt. +The few hundred surviving lines consist largely of lyrics addressed +to girls, among them the famous “Ode” which has been pronounced +the most economical description of passion to be found in literature. +These verses will be considered presently. +</p> + +<p> +An amazing quantity has been written about Sappho, translating +and re-translating her poetry, eulogizing her poetic genius, and +arguing hotly about her emotional life. An exhaustive bibliography +would fill yet another volume. The ultimate source upon which all +the rest is based may be consulted in the Loeb Classical Library’s +<em>Lyra Graeca</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#1-1">1</a>] where J. M. Edmonds gives (with translations) the text +of all that is known of her poems, taking into account the latest +archaeological findings, as well as every significant allusion to Sappho +in classical literature from Plato to Suidas—some seventy references +by more than forty authors. A more popular volume is that from the +Peter Pauper Press (1948)[<a class="footnote" href="#1-2">2</a>] in which an anonymous compiler has +assembled for each of Sappho’s poems and fragments the two or +three soundest prose translations along with metrical versions by well-known +English poets. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-18" class="pagenum" title="18"></a> +As is universally the case with persons so far removed in time, few +details of the poet’s life are established beyond question. The most +comprehensive biographical effort to date is Arthur Weigall’s <em>Sappho +of Lesbos, Her Life and Times</em> (1932),[<a class="footnote" href="#1-3">3</a>] to which its author brings +a wide knowledge of classical languages, history and geography. Although +perhaps too conjectural in parts to satisfy the rigid scholar, +this can be recommended for its careful documentation and its impartiality +with regard to Sappho’s emotional temperament. +</p> + +<p> +The best-authenticated facts seem to be that the poet was a small +dark woman sometimes referred to as “ill-favored,” but endowed +with sufficient grace and personal charm to inspire in several fellow +countrymen and poets a passion which she did not reciprocate. She +was of distinguished family and lived in a time of acute political +strife. She suffered exile twice during her early years: once from +Mitylene to the interior of the island of Lesbos, the second time to +Sicily. Weigall believes she was already well-known as a poet before +her Sicilian sojourn, and suggests that she may have spent her several +years on the island in Sybaris, where she acquired something of that +city’s brilliant sophistication. He places in this period also her marriage, +probably of short duration, and the birth of her daughter +Kleis to whom she was devoted throughout her life. After her return +to Mitylene in her middle twenties she seems to have had constantly +about her an ever-changing circle of younger women to whom she +taught the verse-writing, music, and dancing which constituted a +well-born girl’s preparation for marriage. Some of these pupils or +protégées may have lived in her house; it is known they came from +neighboring islands and mainland to be taught by her. +</p> + +<p> +The incident most often connected with her name is her leap to +death from the cliffs of Leucadia for unrequited love of a young +ferryman, Phaon. Certain references in her work and that of others, +however, indicate that she died peacefully at home at a relatively +advanced age. In fact, modern scholars are inclined to pronounce +the whole Phaon anecdote legendary; but since it persisted for a +couple of millennia, Weigall attempts to demonstrate at least its +possible truth. The tenacity with which the story has survived is undoubtedly +due to Ovid’s incorporating it in his <em>Heroides</em> or Epistles +of Heroines (15: “Sappho to Phaon”),[<a class="footnote" href="#1-4">4</a>] since, thanks to his romantic +qualities, he was the most popular of all classical authors for several +centuries after the Revival of Learning. Ovid’s epistle, though sympathetically +written, represents Sappho as an aging and heartbroken +woman deserted by her handsome young lover and still consumed by +passion for him “as by a grass fire.” Ridiculed by friends, reproached +<a id="page-19" class="pagenum" title="19"></a> +by her brother for such despondency while she still has a living +daughter, desperate over her waning charms, she can think only +of suicide; and all this plaint she pours out in a letter to the man +who has left her without even a farewell. The lament shows less +restraint than any of Sappho’s known verse, for fervent though that +often is, it never lacks dignity. There is always the chance, of course, +that Ovid had access to poems now wholly lost and never mentioned +elsewhere; it is certain that during the centuries immediately following +her death Sappho was the subject of some dramatic works (possibly +satiric) of which we now know only the author’s names, but +which Ovid may have known. +</p> + +<p> +Wherever responsibility lies, there was certainly a legend subsequent +to Ovid’s day that two Sapphos had flourished in Lesbos, one +the great poet and the other a courtesan of undisciplined habits. +Weigall believes this tale was motivated by rumors of heterosexual +irregularities, and was invented by her well-wishers to clear her name +of their shadow. But one must consider also that during the period +of this myth’s crystallization homosexuality in either sex was no +longer tolerated as it had been (within limits) in the earlier Greek +period. In Rome its practice among women was associated only with +courtesans; thus it may equally well have been rumors of lesbian +irregularity which gave rise to the conviction that she must have been +a courtesan. +</p> + +<p> +When one turns from personal conjecture about Sappho to the +text of her work, one is left with no possible doubt about her variant +tastes. Consider, for instance, the “Ode” mentioned above: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +It is to be a god, methinks, to sit before you and listen close +by to the sweet accents and winning laughter which have made +the heart in my breast beat fast, I warrant you. When I look +on you, Brocheo, my speech comes short or fails me quite, I +am tongue-tied; in a moment a delicate fire has overrun my +flesh, my eyes grow dim and my ears ring, the sweat runs +down me and a trembling takes me altogether, till I am as green +and pale as grass, and death itself seems not very far away ...[<a class="footnote" href="#1-5">5</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Few of her other poems equal this in intensity, and the textual evidences +that its object was a woman (the gender of the name Brocheo +being for a time in doubt) are meager enough so that during the +years when homosexuality was a heinous offense scholars could translate +it as addressed to a man without too great a strain on intellectual +integrity. Discovery of the Oxyrinchus papyri, however, (so called +<a id="page-20" class="pagenum" title="20"></a> +from the Egyptian town where they were disinterred), added so much +variant material to that already preserved in quotations that it +rendered honest doubt of her variance impossible. In the many poems +and fragments addressed to girls her ardor is evoked oftenest by maidenhood, +its moving aspect not virginity so much as physical grace and +delicacy and a certain light freedom of spirit. In one fragment, indeed, +she describes herself as “eternally maiden” at heart. +</p> + +<p> +There is no comparable evidence with regard to her feeling for +men. Once, to be sure, in attempting to hearten a girl on the eve <a id="corr-3"></a>of +her wedding, she says: “That night was sweet enough to me, neither +have you, dear maid, anything to fear ...”[<a class="footnote" href="#1-6">6</a>] Again she writes to a +man: “But if you love me, choose yourself a younger wife; for I +cannot submit to live with one that is younger than I.”[<a class="footnote" href="#1-7">7</a>] And finally: +“If my paps could still give suck and my womb were able to bear +children, then would I come to another marriage bed with unfaltering +feet; but nay, age now maketh a thousand wrinkles to go +upon my flesh, and Love is in no haste to fly to me with his gift of +pain ...”[<a class="footnote" href="#1-8">8</a>] (The complaint: “Sweet mother, I truly cannot weave +my web; for I am overwhelmed through Aphrodite with love of +a slender youth,” cannot be counted as significant, for it was rendered +by one translator even before the Oxyrinchus discoveries as +ending: “a slender maiden.”)[<a class="footnote" href="#1-9">9</a>] These are the total count of verses +referring to heterosexual love, and there is nothing in them to match +the “delicate fire” of the “Hymn to Aphrodite” imploring the goddess +to soften the heart of a girl; or of the “Ode” quoted above; of the +verses to Anactoria and Gongyla and the five poems to Atthis; or +of the numerous fragments that glow with vivid delight in the beauty +and love of girls. Significant too is the poem addressed to these girls +in her old age. She laments her fading charms more bitterly even +than in Ovid’s fictitious epistle, and ends: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +But I, be it known, love soft living, and for me brightness and +beauty belong to the desire of the sunlight [are as necessary to +me as light] and therefore I shall not crawl away to my lair till +needs must be, but shall continue loved and loving with you. +And now it is enough that I have your love, nor would I +pray for more.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-10">10</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Thus on internal evidence it appears that despite marriage and +motherhood, opportunities for a second match, and much writing +of conventional hymeneal verses, her lifelong preference was for +women. Nor does the meager quantity of surviving verse disqualify +<a id="page-21" class="pagenum" title="21"></a> +such an assumption. A great part of it consists of quotations chosen +by forty classical authorities on poetic style, who can scarcely be +suspected of mass preference for variant subject matter. The remainder +(barring one seventh century manuscript) comes from +papyri which had been used to reinforce mummy-casings.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-11">11</a>] Altogether, +no sounder random sampling could well be devised. +</p> + +<p> +We have seen that during the later classical period Sappho was +suspected of having been a courtesan, which in those times may also +have implied lesbian activity. Just when lesbianism became the +main charge against her has not been determined. To be sure, a heavy +weight of disrepute fell upon her with the establishment of the +Christian church, and led to the burning of her work more than +once. This was ordered first about 380 <span class="smallcaps">A.D.</span> by Gregory Nazianzen +as the result of an earlier church father having pronounced her a +<em>gynaion pornikon erotomanes</em>—lewd nymphomaniac—but the phrase +does not necessarily imply lesbian excess. Subsequently Scaliger states +that her books were burned in 1073 at both Rome and Constantinople, +without specifying the reason.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-12">12</a>] As this date falls shortly after that +on which the church had reimposed strict celibacy upon its clergy, +it may be that society had been made sensitive to homosexual activity +among celibates and turned its suspicion upon her also. But this last +surmise defies proof. +</p> + +<p> +The lesbian controversy became bitter only in the nineteenth +century when homosexuality was a heated issue both in the English-speaking +countries and on the continent, and Sappho’s champions +felt impelled to prove her innocence. The sole outcome of the +voluminous quarrel is certainty that the issue can never be finally +resolved without the unearthing of fresh evidence. There is no +specific mention of active lesbianism in her verse. By way of implication +there are two or three references to her girls as her own or each +other’s <em>hetaerae</em>, which, since it was the common term for <em>courtesan</em>, +might be taken to connote physical intimacy. She also mentions more +than once the “pure and beautiful things” they all did together, an +emphasis which Weigall feels may imply that in her day rumor ran +otherwise. But her defenders judge these and a few more tenuous +allusions insufficient to support the charge against her. More definite is +Maximus of Tyre’s statement, made without animus, that three girls +(whom he names) were to Sappho what Alcibiades and others were to +Socrates;[<a class="footnote" href="#1-13">13</a>] then there is the epithet <em>mascula Sappho</em> used by Horace,[<a class="footnote" href="#1-14">14</a>] +and last, a reference in Ovid’s “Epistle” to “a hundred others +[feminine] whom I have loved not without evil imputation.” Certain +translators of Ovid, however, omit the <em>not</em>, thus completely reversing +<a id="page-22" class="pagenum" title="22"></a> +the sense of the phrase; thus neither reading carries any real weight.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-15">15</a>] +</p> + +<p> +It was not until 1909 that so considerable an author as Rainer +Maria Rilke ventured to exalt Sappho’s loves (without discussing +their nature) as nearer the ‘divine intention’ than heterosexual +passion, which he pronounced a ‘temporal interruption’ in the +evolution of ideal human relations. Taking Ovid’s “Epistle” as a +virtual translation from some vanished poem of Sappho’s, Rilke suggests +that the original was a lament not for some actual lover, but +for the nonexistent man who could satisfy her after her less sensual +experience with girls.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-16">16</a>] +</p> + +<p> +With this century’s increasing tolerance of all sorts of sexual freedom, +prejudice has softened to a relatively untroubled acceptance +of Sappho’s probable lesbianism, and to an effort to understand, rather +than defend, such behavior. Weigall suggests that one description +of her “tiny little body” implies underdevelopment and unfitness for +easy childbearing, circumstances which psychiatrists consider likely +to induce avoidance of heterosexual relations and motherhood. And +Freudians might stress her devotion to her eldest brother, Charaxus. +In two surviving poems she attacks him so harshly for marrying a +beautiful Alexandrian courtesan, whose freedom he had purchased +at great cost, that her vitriolic lines to him and the epithet “black +she-dog” for his wife suggest acute jealousy as well as contempt.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-17">17</a>] +</p> + +<p> +All this conjecture, like last century’s battles, proves little save +the impossibility of objective judgment until new evidence appears. +In accordance with the temper of our own time, we may leave it +that Sappho was certainly variant, and, quite probably, what modern +authorities term bisexual. She experienced marriage and motherhood, +and may even have enjoyed other heterosexual relationships, +but passion for her own sex inspired most of her poems, to judge from +the surviving fragments. Furthermore these poems have been called +by some critics the greatest love lyrics ever penned. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Though the work of Sappho provides a natural introduction, +chronological precedence must be granted to the biblical Book of +Ruth, written perhaps a few centuries earlier and describing events +that antedated King David by three generations. This great short +story, long acclaimed as a masterpiece of narrative art, is the first +of a thin line of delicate portrayals, by authors seemingly blind to +their full significance, of an attachment which, however innocent, is +nevertheless still basically variant. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly as an “anonymous but exact description of love” there +are few passages in literature to rival Ruth’s appeal to Naomi beginning +<a id="page-23" class="pagenum" title="23"></a> +“Entreat me not to leave thee ...” To quote it is surely unnecessary, +but let anyone who learned it in childhood, who has +never subsequently considered it in the light of primitive tribal +custom, reread it for the force of Ruth’s willingness to abandon not +only her native soil and her own family but even her God and her +hope of burial with her ancestors. The emotional significance of +this passage is reinforced by three others in the story. Ruth and +Orpah had been married “about ten years” at the time of their +widowhood and of Naomi’s decision to return to Israel, so that Ruth +was then at least in her twenties, and her devotion cannot be counted +the clinging of a bereaved adolescent to her bridegroom’s mother. +Orpah, moreover, remained in Moab without more than formal +protest, and with apparently every prospect of finding a second husband +there. +</p> + +<p> +Then when Boaz welcomed Ruth among his gleaners because “it +hath fully been shewed me, all that thou hast done unto thy mother-in-law,” +the girl replied, “Let me find grace in thy sight, my lord, for +that thou ... hast spoken to the heart of thy handmaiden.”[<a class="footnote" href="#1-18">18</a>] And, +finally, when by carrying out implicitly Naomi’s clever scheme Ruth +was taken as a wife and bore Boaz a son, “The women said to Naomi +... he shall be unto thee a restorer of life and a nourisher of thine old +age; for thy daughter-in-law, which loveth thee, which is better to +thee than seven sons, hath borne him.”[<a class="footnote" href="#1-19">19</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Viewed without prejudice, this is a masterly portrait of a somewhat +passive young woman, twice playing the heterosexual role with +success, but dominated by another love at least as compelling as that +for the men she successively married. H. M. and Nora K. Chadwick in +their <em>Growth of Literature</em> point out that “it gives the impression +of being written primarily for feminine circles,”[<a class="footnote" href="#1-20">20</a>] and by comparison +with many treatments of the variant theme it might well also have +been written <em>by</em> a woman. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +After Sappho’s poetry and this one Hebrew prose masterpiece, +little that is pertinent to our subject remains from the half dozen +centuries preceding the Christian era. That male homosexuality was, +within limits, an approved pattern in Greek life, and that it occurred +in Rome whether approved or not, especially under the later emperors, +are now accepted facts. About its prevalence among women +less is known. From Plato and Euripides to Ovid, women as individual +personalities did not often figure in well-known classical writing, +and of women writers, though Mary Beard enumerates references to +an impressive number,[<a class="footnote" href="#1-21">21</a>] most traces have vanished. A few fragments, +<a id="page-24" class="pagenum" title="24"></a> +however, and a few allusions to works never recovered, indicate that +female variance existed. +</p> + +<p> +Plutarch, for instance, tells us that Spartan girls under Lycurgan +law received the same athletic training as boys and were encouraged +in the same emotional expression.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-22">22</a>] Havelock Ellis (without citing +his source) mentions Miletus along with Lesbos as favorable to +female homosexuality.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-23">23</a>] The <em>Greek Anthology</em> includes some variant +epigrams of Nossis from the lower Italian town of Locris, an imitator +of Sappho, “one dear to the muses and equal to her.” From the same +source we have Asclepiades’ epigram on the beautiful Dorcion who +wore boy’s garments and “with the chlamys clearly revealing her +naked thigh would flash the fire of love from her eyes,”[<a class="footnote" href="#1-24">24</a>] but this +may have been merely a device to attract male attention since the +costume described here was that of the <em>ephebi</em>—male homosexuals. +Elsewhere both Ovid and Appolodorus recount that Caenis of +Thessaly, having given herself to Poseidon, begged that in return she +be changed into a man.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-25">25</a>] These last two, indicating nothing more +specific than transvestism and dissatisfaction with a female role, are +not too significant. Equally outside our scope because in the category +of erotica, but written and illustrated by women, are lost manuals +on erotic techniques of all sorts written respectively by Elephantis and +Philaenis. The illustrations from the latter’s work are said to have +been widely copied in the bedroom art of contemporary sophisticates.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-26">26</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Weigall suggests that two of Sappho’s protégées, like her, celebrated +love for women in their verses.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-27">27</a>] One is the Gyrinno to whom she +was particularly attached, who died at nineteen. Weigall identifies +her fairly plausibly with Erinna, a known poet from the island of +Telos near Rhodes, whose work was highly regarded in her day, +although only one poem of hers is known by name and all but a +few lines are lost. These lines, however, lament the death of a loved +girl, Baucis. The other poet, more certainly identified, is Damophyla +of Pamphilia, who is known to have stayed with Sappho and to have +written love poems and hymns to Artemis in imitation of her great +model’s verse. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-6-2"> +Mythology in Classical Authors +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Secondary evidence that interest in female variance continued +through the period is found in the myths as recounted by Greek +and Latin writers at the beginning of the Christian era, though +details of these stories are probably more characteristic of the writers’ +own times than of earlier centuries. One finds as much variety in +<a id="page-25" class="pagenum" title="25"></a> +different authors’ treatment as is found between Malory’s and +Tennyson’s versions of the Arthurian legends. From any great compilation +such as the <em>Mythology of All Nations</em> or Fraser’s <em>Golden +Bough</em> one learns that in all the interrelated Mediterranean mythologies +there was at least one goddess among whose attributes were +one or more of the following: virginity, aversion to male sexual approach, +some masculinity in dress or interests (such as warfare or the +hunt), intense fondness for maiden devotees, and a strict requirement +of maidenhood in the latter. One finds also persistent legends of +Amazons, exclusively female groups who suffered men only for +procreative ends and made active war against the other sex[<a class="footnote" href="#1-28">28</a>] (cf. a +random news note, April 1951, of a precisely similar legend from an +island off the coast of Japan).[<a class="footnote" href="#1-29">29</a>] It is impossible to date the origin of +these myths or to secure historical substantiation of the mores they +reflect. But anthropologists assure us that female homosexuality is +known in most primitive societies (e.g., there is a North American +Indian legend of physical intimacy between two women which resulted +in an amorphous birth),[<a class="footnote" href="#1-30">30</a>] and it seems likely that variant detail +was current in early oral tradition but was omitted by writers to whom +such phenomena was antipathetic, or eliminated by later censorship. +</p> + +<p> +A comparison of the later classical writers supports this view. In +Book XI of Vergil’s <em>Aeneid</em> one of the vivid personalities is Camilla, +leader of a cavalry troop which figures brilliantly in the military +action and of whose members many, if not at all, were women. Of her +favorite comrade-in-arms, Camilla says only that she was like a sister +to her. The goddess Diana is described as loving Camilla long and +intensely, and, when the latter is slain by a sly and unheroic man, +Diana lends her own bow and arrows to another protégé, Opis, so +that this demigoddess may avenge the favorite’s death. But there is +no mention of intimacy between the goddess and either Opis or +Camilla. +</p> + +<p> +Similarly the conscientious chronicler Apollodorus reports between +Artemis and her nymph, Callisto, a great fondness terminated by the +girl’s lapse from virginity;[<a class="footnote" href="#1-31">31</a>] and Iphigenia, whom Artemis rescued +from the altar upon which her father was about to sacrifice her, was +equally cherished.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-32">32</a>] Of Athene and her boon companion, Pallas, he +tells us that in their girlhood they were so equally matched in the +practice of arms that Zeus felt obliged one day to interpose his aegis +between them lest his daughter be slain. As a result, Athene’s thrust +killed Pallas, whereupon, overcome by grief, Athene herself fashioned +a wooden statue of her friend, wrapped it in the aegis, set it up +beside that of Zeus, and honored it as she did his image. Hence her +<a id="page-26" class="pagenum" title="26"></a> +later epithet, Pallas-Athene.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-33">33</a>] Apollodorus later illustrates Athene’s +antipathy to the male by the Hephaestus story.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-34">34</a>] But with all these +suggestive incidents he never mentions active variance in the goddess. +</p> + +<p> +Ovid, on the other hand, offers two reports of variance. That it +was not a personal obsession with him is proved by his treatment +of those devotees of Diana, Atalanta and Daphne. Though the latter +was so averse to the male that she prayed to be free of the beauty +which made gods and men pursue her and was transmuted into a +laurel tree,[<a class="footnote" href="#1-35">35</a>] no woman enters her story. The same is true of Atalanta,[<a class="footnote" href="#1-36">36</a>] +“maidenly for a boy, boyish for a maiden,” her plainly dressed +hair “caught up in one knot,” and a bow and quiver part of her +usual costume. The story is well-known of her evading marriage by +challenging all suitors to a footrace in which defeat meant death, +but in the end she finally succumbed to the youth who secured Venus’s +aid against her. +</p> + +<p> +Concerning Callisto, however, of whom Apollodorus’s account is +so bare, Ovid is much more specific.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-37">37</a>] Jove, smitten with the charms +of the young huntress, knows that the sure means of approaching her +is to assume his daughter Diana’s form. Thus disguised he says, +“Dear maid, best loved of all my followers, where hast thou been +hunting today?” and then “he kissed her lips, not modestly nor as +a maiden kisses.” With neither protest nor surprise Callisto begins +to recount her doings, and not until “he broke in upon her story +with an embrace and by this outrage betrayed himself” does she +recognize that her lover is not the goddess. When the results of +Jove’s attentions become evident—amusingly enough Diana, the virgin, +is the last to recognize the signs—the girl, though blameless, is +expelled forever from the goddess’s train. +</p> + +<p> +Then there is Ovid’s idyl of Iphis and Ianthe.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-38">38</a>] Iphis’s mother, +while carrying her child, is warned by the father that if she bears +a girl it will be subjected to death by exposure. Consequently she +manages to conceal the child’s sex and raise it as a boy, giving it the +name Iphis “which was of common gender.” From infancy, Iphis +is the inseparable companion of a neighbor’s child, Ianthe, and by +the time the two reach marriageable age, a little over thirteen, they +are passionately in love. The two fathers have long since arranged a +marriage. Iphis and her mother exhaust every pretext for delaying +the ceremony, to the sorrow and anger of everyone else, for even +Ianthe does not know her beloved’s true sex. Iphis spends long days +lamenting the cruelty of Nature, which “surely never before has cursed +a living creature with a love so monstrous.” Conscience bids her “do +only what is lawful” and confine her love strictly “within a woman’s +<a id="page-27" class="pagenum" title="27"></a> +right.” She and her mother pray frantically to Isis for aid, to the end +that when the wedding day can finally no longer be postponed Iphis +is transformed at the altar into a boy, her voice deepening, her color +darkening, and her body growing in muscular firmness. (As treated +later by Antonius Liberalis[<a class="footnote" href="#1-39">39</a>] the heroine of this same plot is the +mother, and the suspense centers wholly about her escaping her +husband’s wrath, the daughter being of only incidental interest.) +</p> + +<p> +In yet another of the <em>Metamorphoses</em> Ovid describes the birth +of Hermaphroditus,[<a class="footnote" href="#1-40">40</a>] thus indicating that he was much interested +in all variant phenomena, but from the quoted passage concerning +Iphis’s pangs of conscience about expressing her love, it would seem +that his approval of overt lesbianism was not unqualified. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-6-3"> +Later Classical Literature +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +All the remaining variant tales in Latin literature deal with courtesans. +Probably the best known is Juvenal’s scathing sixth <em>Satire</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#1-41">41</a>] +generally thought to have been directed against the empress Messalina, +who figures in the text as Saufeia. It describes orgiastic rites in +honor of the Bona Dea during which women of the highest social +rank vie with prostitutes in erotic skill and endurance, with Saufeia +bearing off the palm. The performance ends with a frantic search for +men, since lesbianism alone cannot satisfy the participants. +</p> + +<p> +With a much lighter touch Martial in the course of his <em>Epigrams</em> +describes unflatteringly two women who on his evidence would +modernly be classed as hermaphrodites. One, Bassa,[<a class="footnote" href="#1-42">42</a>] has gained an +irreproachable reputation by admitting no men to her house as either +lovers or servants, but the initiated know that with her feminine +domestic staff she practices every license. The other, Philaenis, the +erotic writer mentioned earlier, exceeds men in her prowess with +women, and also takes the active part in sodomy with boys.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-43">43</a>] Although +Dioscorides has denied in his epitaph in the <em>Greek Anthology</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#1-44">44</a>] that +she wrote the “obscene book” attributed to her, +Martial’s repeated references throughout the <em>Epigrams</em> suggest that +enough smoke hung over her in his day to justify the suspicion of fire. +The specific sexual exercise implied by both Juvenal and Martial is +tribadism, and there is mention in Juvenal as elsewhere of the <em>olisbos</em> +employed by women less well equipped for a male role than Bassa and +Philaenis. Both authors purported to describe actual persons and +conditions immediately preceding the Christian era. +</p> + +<p> +A couple of centuries later we find fictional contributions from +the minor Greek authors, Lucian and Alciphron, both of whom +claimed to be writing about a period nearer that of Plato. Though +<a id="page-28" class="pagenum" title="28"></a> +doubtless they had at hand more literature from the century in question +than has been available since, a glance at historical fiction from +medieval romance to modern novel will remind us that the life pictured +is probably much nearer to that of their own time. +</p> + +<p> +Lucian, in his <em>Dialogues of Hetaerae</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#1-45">45</a>] presents a tale told to her +lover by a flute-girl hired as entertainer by two wealthy lesbians, one +a Corinthian. After the banquet the hostesses persuade Leana to +stay and share their bed, sleeping between them. The Corinthian removes +a feminine wig to display close-cropped hair, and vaunts +her ability to give amatory satisfaction. Physically she is entirely +feminine, but she protests that “in my feelings and passions I am +altogether a man.” Leana admits <a id="corr-4"></a>to have received proof of this, but +when pressed for detail by her lover she says, “Now you want to +know too much. It was rather nasty business. No, by the Goddess! +I won’t tell you any more.” She has already gone far enough, however, +to imply tribadism and to hint at cunnilingus. +</p> + +<p> +In a later <em>Dialogue</em>, a lover accuses his mistress of having slept the +previous night with another man. He says that stealing to her chamber +to surprise her, he hoped the companion he found there was +only her maid, but his exploring hand discovered a cropped head. +She replies that it was her girl friend whose hair has been cut because +of illness and who hides her disfigurement by day with a wig. The +gentleman apparently takes no exception to this explanation, though +whether the lover was maid or girl friend, the implication is obvious. +Lucian’s own attitude may or may not be that of the male lover of +women in his <em>Amores</em>.[<a class="footnote" href="#1-46">46</a>] In the course of a long debate with a pederast +on the relative merits of the two modes of sexual experience, the +champion of heterosexual love says: “If it is becoming for men to have +intercourse with men, then for the future let women have it with +women ... girding themselves with their infamous instruments of +lust ... in a word, let our wanton tribades reign unchecked.” +</p> + +<p> +As to Alciphron, in his <em>Letters from Town and Country</em> (2:12)[<a class="footnote" href="#1-47">47</a>] +he describes a day-long picnic to which a courtesan has invited her +friends at her lover’s villa. After a meal of oysters and lettuce, “the +sort Aphrodite is said to love,” the guests pair off, a few with their +male lovers, the rest with women partners “of random choice,” and +drift away into surrounding thickets. Whether the feminine coupling +is from preference or <em>faute de mieux</em> is not made exactly clear. The +author neither expresses nor implies any judgment on the activity +portrayed. +</p> + +<p> +That gleanings should be so comparatively meager from a full +millennium is scarcely surprising in the light of later history. After +<a id="page-29" class="pagenum" title="29"></a> +the collapse of Roman power, repeated waves of barbarian invasion, +famine, and plague reduced both social organization and literature +to only what could be salvaged in the growing Christian monasteries. +As the spoken language drifted into dialects of unlettered +vernacular, churchmen clung to Latin as the medium of communication, +but they withheld classical belles-lettres from laymen for +many centuries and undoubtedly winnowed and expurgated it. Deeply +ingrained in Christian morality were several factors making for +obliteration of anything sympathetic to female variance. One was +general asceticism, a natural reaction from Roman excesses during +the later Empire. Another was the animus against all homosexuality +which Christianity inherited from Hebrew mores. A third was the intolerance +toward women in any sexual role, largely chargeable to the +strong anti-feminine bias of St. Paul. +</p> + +<p> +From the surviving classical records of variance the policy of later +censors is easy to deduce. Ovid’s tales stop short of objectionable +detail and in any event include only mythical characters. Juvenal +and Martial are vitriolic or contemptuous, Lucian and Alciphron +are talking of courtesans. Sappho survives only in such fragments as +were embedded in otherwise valued treatises. Any sympathetic treatments +of lesbian love have been eradicated. +</p> + +<p> +Even in the few scattering survivals, however, we find a great +variety of persons: goddess, empress, great literary artist, wealthy +sophisticate, courtesan, and bucolic adolescent. Their experience +ranges from depraved exhibitionism through proud assumption of +masculinity or unashamed feminine passion, to naïve and troubled +innocence (or in the case of Ruth to devotion unconscious of its own +deeper significance.) All of these types of personality and experience +recur often in later literature, in such guises that it is sometimes +difficult to be sure whether they are grounded in observation +of universal human behavior, or in admiring imitation of ancient +models. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-7"> +<a id="page-30" class="pagenum" title="30"></a> +<span class="line1">CHAPTER II.</span><br> +<span class="line2">FROM THE DARK AGES TO THE AGE OF REASON</span> +</h2> + +</div> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-7-1"> +Introduction +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +That no variant material remains from the ten centuries following +Alciphron is hardly surprising, since so little record of any sort has +survived. An oral literature of heroic tales and folk humor must have +flourished throughout the Middle Ages; narratives in the earliest +vernacular manuscripts bear many marks of such ancestry. But if +anything was written down before the eleventh century it doubtless +shared the fate of Charlemagne’s collection of Frankish tales, which +were destroyed by his son, Louis the Pious, because of their pagan +character. +</p> + +<p> +By the twelfth century written literature was increasing rapidly, +and early in the thirteenth we find incorporated in a medieval romance +the first known variant episode since Alciphron’s light-hearted +and bawdy tale. Its appearance did not, however, herald any sustained +use of variance as a literary theme, and to appreciate its significance +and that of the few subsequent examples prior to the +eighteenth century, one needs for background some over-all view of +the status of woman in medieval society. To put it briefly, woman +was regarded in two antithetical lights: as angel and as devil. We +have already noted that from the outset Christian theology saw her as +responsible for the fall of man and, therefore, as the root of all sexual +evil. This derogatory opinion was reinforced after the third century by +infiltrations from the dualistic religion of Persia. Manicheism divided +the universe into God’s divine and incorporeal kingdom of light and +the souls of men, and a realm of darkness comprising the material +world and men’s bodies, the province of the Devil. Since woman’s +reproductive function bound her closer to the flesh than man was +bound, her burden of original sin was so much the greater. In the +later Middle Ages serious philosophical debate arose as to whether +<a id="page-31" class="pagenum" title="31"></a> +she was a complete human being possessed of a soul, or merely a +breeder for the superior race of men. +</p> + +<p> +If today such views seem incredible, they gain reality when one +remembers the outbreaks of witchcraft from the fourteenth to seventeenth +centuries and the dreadful measures taken to suppress witches +as followers of Satan. Modern psychologists tend to diagnose those +epidemics as hysteria on the part of the bewitched and of the culprits +themselves, who frequently confessed to intimacy with the Devil. +Certain historians of the occult, however, offer convincing evidence +that organized witchcraft was a survival from ancient fertility cults +widespread in Europe, of Druidic or even earlier origin; cults which +had worshipped a god in the semblance of an animal—most often +a goat—and whose rites, as in all known fertility cults, were sexual.[<a class="footnote" href="#2-1">1</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Records of witches’ trials show that leaders of covens and more +especially of the great orgiastic sabbaths appeared as “black men,” +usually equipped with horns, tails and hooves, and that their followers +credited them with supernatural powers and literally worshipped +them as legates of a god or as the god himself. The animal disguise +so exactly fitted the medieval concepts of Satan that Christian +heretic-hunters quite naturally equated witchcraft with devil worship, +recorded it as such, and reacted accordingly. No apologia for +witchcraft is intended by this suggestion. If one grants “wise women” +a knowledge of poisonous herbs and of rudimentary hypnosis, and +also, as midwives, the opportunity to procure the bodies of stillborn +infants for their horrid magic-working concoctions, the ugliest charges +against them become plausible. Then, too, there is little doubt that +sexual licence of all sorts was common at the quarterly sabbaths if +not at all smaller gatherings. It is particularly noteworthy that the +male leaders of these festivals had female partners, supposedly for +the benefit of the few attending warlocks; but the record of at least +one trial states that the celebrants “usually” consorted with leaders of +the opposite sex,[<a class="footnote" href="#2-2">2</a>] an indication that at times they must have consorted +with their own. And from secondary sources one learns that +witches generally were credited with “masculine” sexual tastes and +habits. Thus, homosexual practices, in themselves anathema, were +associated also with witchcraft, the blackest of all possible heresies. +</p> + +<p> +In sharp contrast to this negative view of woman there existed +at the same time a cult of woman-worship first articulated by the +Provençal troubadours and later immortalized by Dante. It celebrated +the ennobling and exalting influence of love for a pure woman, who, +since she had transcended both common human frailty and the special +aptitude of her sex for evil, deserved a twofold reverence. In its +<a id="page-32" class="pagenum" title="32"></a> +religious aspect this worship centered about the Virgin Mary and +found expression in the naïvely human legends which grew up about +her.[<a class="footnote" href="#2-3">3</a>] As her invariable championship of the underdog, man or +woman, innocent or guilty, appears to be merely an apotheosis of +the maternal instinct, these legends do not concern us here. +</p> + +<p> +On the secular side, adoration of woman flowered in the convention +of courtly love, that concept of passionate devotion without +overt reward which seems more often to have been celebrated +in the breach than in the observance. From this idealistic code of +sexual relations stemmed the copious literature of medieval romance, +and indeed of subsequent romantic fiction, in all of which the parallel +worship of purity and of overwhelming passion provides the basic +conflict. And until the eighteenth century, romantic fiction was the +almost exclusive vehicle—at least on the reputable level—for variant +incident, which therefore remained technically beyond reproach. +</p> + +<p> +Taken together, then, the two contradictory views of woman just +outlined provide, as it were, a philosophical portrait of her as she +appeared to the later Middle Ages. There is also a practical picture +more difficult to delineate because less was written about it at the +time. Its early background in particular is obscure, since so very +little is known about women during the Dark Ages. Some anthropologists +hold that among Germanic peoples women were highly regarded; +monogamy was the universal practice even before the advent +of Christianity; women fought beside men in emergency; and +certainly the Teutonic Valkyrie are a match for the Amazons of +ancient Greece. Other social historians point out that the earliest +epics, sagas, and <em>chansons de geste</em> celebrate only the valor of men +whose deeds insured the survival of their folk-groups, and in these +tales women play negligible roles. It is known, too, that under feudalism +in some parts of Europe women were treated as little more than +adjuncts to the land holdings they inherited, and were promised +in marriage by male relatives, sometimes when scarcely out of the +cradle, with the sole end of cementing politically profitable jointures +of territory.[<a class="footnote" href="#2-4">4</a>] Whatever the truth may be—and it is certain that no +single truth can hold for so heterogeneous a geographic and temporal +span as Europe in the Dark Ages—we come to relatively stable +ground only with the crusades and the transition from feudalism to +chivalry. +</p> + +<p> +For perhaps a dozen generations from the eleventh through the +thirteenth centuries many men of all classes were drawn off on ever-widening +military campaigns, civil or religious. Thus, the management +of affairs at home devolved to some extent upon women. Of +<a id="page-33" class="pagenum" title="33"></a> +the effect on lower-class women we know little that is specific, though +the hysteria of witchcraft suggests one result of numerical imbalance +between the sexes on that level. On the upper social levels +history tells us that many women managed their lords’ estates, dispensed +justice, marshalled armed forces when necessary, and sometimes +even led those forces against rival lords—a circumstance commoner +in Italy and southern France than in regions farther north. +Consequently, these women acquired considerable learning. Hitherto +even literacy had not been too common among laymen aside from +those destined for very high positions, but it is probable that during +the twelfth and thirteenth centuries women were better educated than +men of the same class, the latter being engaged in more strenuous +pursuits. It is known that women were in charge of hospitals during +this period, and a few rose to the status of lecturers in Italian +universities.[<a class="footnote" href="#2-5">5</a>] +</p> + +<p> +The long period of men’s absences and women’s widening responsibility +resulted, as always under such circumstances, in a certain +feminization of social outlook, evident in the burgeoning of courtly +love. Today statistical reading studies show that sex is a prime factor +in determining reading interests and that romantic fiction is predominantly +a feminine taste.[<a class="footnote" href="#2-6">6</a>] Historic evidence of these facts can +be seen in the rapid spread of chivalric romance between the twelfth +and fourteenth centuries. +</p> + +<p> +The earliest romances written down in the twelfth century were +comparatively simple and direct, showing close relation to the epics +and <em>chansons de geste</em> which preceded them. Subsequently, partly +because crusaders brought home oriental tales of intricacy and sophistication +exceeding any style current in Europe, plots incorporated +magical and fantastic elements and developed greater elaboration. Still +later, after the revival of classical learning in the early renaissance, +pastorals developed in rough imitation of Latin models, but with plot +structure nearer that of their medieval narrative sources. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-7-2"> +Medieval and Renaissance Fiction +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +The first romance mentioned by students of this genre as containing +anything relevant to sex variance is <em>Huon of Bordeaux</em>, which +appeared in French about 1220. (It has been consulted by the present +writer only in the English translation of Lord Berners, first printed +in 1543.) The tale was basically a derivative from the Charlemagne +cycle or “Matter of France,” and the first part, though incorporating +fantasy in the person of Oberon, King of the Fairies, runs fairly true +<a id="page-34" class="pagenum" title="34"></a> +to its source. But like many popular stories it acquired sequels, and +when the action reaches the third generation we find Huon’s granddaughter, +Ide, serving among the Holy Roman Emperor’s forces in +the guise of a knight, a feministic touch alien to the original epic. +</p> + +<p> +In recognition of her prowess Ide is given the Emperor’s daughter +in marriage, and cannot refuse the honor without dangerous offense +to her overlord. The princess Olive is in love with her fiancé. Ide’s +own emotions are not described—one of the author’s subtle devices +for exploiting a piquant situation without involving his heroine in +moral obliquity. Another is his weaving of an inescapable net of +circumstance in preliminary chapters to prevent Ide’s either fleeing +as a lone knight errant or returning to her father’s domains in her +feminine role—the one course meant disgraceful death, the other involvement +in incest. So the reader is free to follow with good conscience +Ide’s submission to the marriage ceremony, her pretence of +illness as excuse for inadequacy on the bridal night, and the unelaborated +account of her attempt to satisfy her bride with “clyppynge +and kyssynge” throughout the eight days of the wedding feast. When +this technique is pursued for another week, however, the bride’s +bitter grief forces Ide to confess her sex, and the confession, carried +to the Emperor by an eavesdropping page, results in his decreeing +that Ide be burned, “for he sayd he wold not suffre suche boggery +to be used.” The fire is actually kindled before Ide’s frantic prayers +to God and the Virgin save her (as Ovid’s Iphis was saved at the +altar) by miraculous transformation into a man. Beyond a doubt +considerable physical intimacy is implied here, though none so +specific as in Martial or Lucian. And it appears that death was not +an excessive penalty for such intimacy if wilfully indulged in, though +again the mores reflected must be taken as a hybrid between those +of the tenth century, in which the story was laid, and the thirteenth, +in which it was written down. +</p> + +<p> +It is possible that this sequel to <em>Huon</em> owed something to a collection +of oriental tales which doubtless entered Europe during the +period of the crusades, though they were not published until the +sixteenth century and are believed to have been rewritten at that +time (as <em>La Fleur Lascive Orientale</em>).[<a class="footnote" href="#2-7">7</a>] One of these, “The Princess +Amany,” recounts the adventure of a daughter of the “emperor” +of Tartary. Converted to Islam by a highly educated nurse, Amany +avoids marriage to a “pagan” by flight in male clothing. During her +wanderings, she has a liaison with a “farmer’s” wife, and then rescues +the Indian princess, Dorrat, from violation by slaying her abductor. +For half a year she supports herself and the lady, who does not know +her sex, by her prowess in hunting and marauding. Having arrived +<a id="page-35" class="pagenum" title="35"></a> +in India, the two marry at the emperor’s decree. Up to this point, +only Dorrat has been emotionally involved, Amany being still half in +love with the Tartar prince from whom she fled on religious grounds. +But when Dorrat, disillusioned on her bridal night, attempts suicide, +Amany becomes physically excited in the course of the struggle to +save her, and the two live in complete marital intimacy for a month. +Then the Tartar prince, now converted, appears and marries them +both (happy Islam!), whereupon both ladies discover that they prefer +the embraces of a man to each other’s. Even an elementary acquaintance +with oriental literature will suggest that this tale is a hybrid +well cross-fertilized with Christian chivalry, upon which it may +have left its reciprocal traces. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +An Italian renaissance example of female sex variance appears +in Ariosto’s <em>Orlando Furioso</em> (1531). Ariosto’s predecessor, Boiardo, +in treating the same Roland material, cast as heroine the completely +feminine Angelica, but Ariosto gave the lead to Bradamante, a young +Amazon in full armor whose exploits equalled and sometimes exceeded +those of the male knights. Indeed, Ariosto’s version has been +cited as feministic because of her prominence in the plot.[<a class="footnote" href="#2-8">8</a>] We need +consider only Canto 25, which tells how Bradamante while suffering +from a head wound is shorn of her hair, and thereafter is universally +mistaken for her twin brother. Sleeping one day in the forest she is +discovered by “young Flordespine of Spain,” whose instant infatuation +is so violent that Bradamante is wakened by a passionate kiss. Since +in the chivalric code “cravenhood it were, befitting man of straw” +not to respond, she at once confesses her sex. The disclosure has no +effect upon the young princess’ ardor. Taking Bradamante home, +Flordespine showers her with rich woman’s apparel and gifts, and +laments all day—in almost the very words of Ovid’s Iphis—that she +should be cursed with a love the like of which she has never met +“mid mankind or herd.” Bradamante feels no answering attraction, +but nothing indicates that either girl considers this love to be sinful. +It is merely “unnatural.” +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">The ladies had one common bed that night,</p> + <p class="verse">Their bed the same but different their repose.</p> + <p class="verse">One sleeps, one moans and weeps in piteous plight</p> + <p class="verse">Because her wild desire more fiercely glows.</p> + <p class="verse">And on her wearied lids should slumber light,</p> + <p class="verse">All is deceitful that brief dreaming shows:</p> + <p class="verse2">To her it seems as if relenting heaven</p> + <p class="verse2">A better sex to Bradamante has given.[<a class="footnote" href="#2-9">9</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a id="page-36" class="pagenum" title="36"></a> +In the morning Bradamante quickly departs, to relieve a misery she +cannot assuage. +</p> + +<p> +And now follows an interesting inversion of the theme. When +Bradamante recounts her adventure at home, her twin brother, recognizing +in Flordespine a beauty whom he has long admired but has had +no chance to approach, makes off in secret in his sister’s knightly +trappings and seeks the Spanish castle in her place. The princess +welcomes him with rapture, again supplies woman’s dress, and only +at night discovers his sex, which the boy, still posing as his sister, +attributes to a timely bit of magic. The two live together for several +weeks before the truth is learned by anyone else. +</p> + +<p> +Comparison of this treatment with that in <em>Huon of Bordeaux</em> +points up the literary and social changes which have intervened. +Nothing could testify more clearly to the altered role of religion than +the absence of moral judgment and the sex change through benevolent +magic instead of divine intervention. This and the verbal echo of +Ovid throughout Flordespine’s long lament (only partially quoted +above) show to what extent the Revival of Learning had bred +familiarity with classical word and temper. There is also here a +greater psychological subtlety, natural to growing humanism. Though +Flordespine’s passion is roused by her mistaking Bradamante for a +man and satisfied only by sex-reversal, her initial emotion is unaltered +by her enlightenment, and the brother whom she accepts is so feminine +in both appearance and action that an entire household is +deceived for weeks. Thus the Spanish princess exhibits definite psychological +variance. It is interesting that the knightly Bradamante +remains unmoved throughout and that Flordespine, the petite, impulsive, +eminently feminine member of the pair, takes the initiative +in the whole business. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Philip Sidney’s pastoral <em>Arcadia</em>, circulated among friends in +1580 though not published till a decade later, shows a similar relation +to both medieval and classical sources. Here, as in the second part +of Ariosto’s episode, the hero masquerades as an Amazon, in order +to gain access to a princess whose family is living in pastoral seclusion +for political reasons. The heroine’s father is completely taken in and +himself conceives a passion for the handsome stranger. His wife, +several decades his junior, is only briefly deceived but holds her peace +because she is similarly smitten. Thanks to the separate jealous machinations +of these two, all the hero’s efforts to reveal his secret to his +love are balked, but within a few weeks his passion has communicated +itself to the girl. And now we have the moral scruples which +<a id="page-37" class="pagenum" title="37"></a> +regularly distinguish English from continental literature. They are +given vividly in Sidney’s own words: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +O me, unfortunate wretch (sayd she) what poysonous heates +be these, which thus torment me?... O you Stars judge +rightly of me, & if I have with wicked intent made myself +a pray to fancie, or if by any idle lustes I framed my harte fit +for such an impression, then let this plague dayly increase in +me, till my name bee odious to womankind ... No, no, you +cannot help me: Sinne must be the mother, and shame the +daughter of my affection. And yet these be but childish objections +... it is the impossibilitie that dooth torment me: +for, unlawfull desires are punished after the effect of enjoying, +but impossible desires are punished by the desire itself ... +And yet ... what do I, sillie wench, knowe what Love hath +prepared for me? Doo I not see my mother, as well, at least +as furiouslie as my selfe, love Zelmane? And should I be wiser +than my mother? Either she sees a possibilitie in that which +I think impossible, or else impossible loves neede not misbecome +me. And doo I not see Zelmane (who dothe not thinke +a thought which is not first wayed by wisdom and virtue) +doth not she vouchsafe to love me with like ardor? I see it, +her eyes depose it to be true; what then? And if she can love +poore me, shall I thinke scorne to love such a woman as +Zelmane? Away then all vaine examinations of why and how. +Thou lovest me, excellent Zelmane, and I love thee: And with +that, embrasing the very grounde whereon she lay, she said +to her selfe (for even to her selfe she was ashamed to speake +it out in words) O my Zelmane, governe and direct me: for I +am wholy given over to thee.[<a class="footnote" href="#2-10">10</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +There could scarcely be a more economical record of how girls were +taught to regard homosexual passion in sixteenth century England; +of the heroine’s ignorance that any satisfaction of the desire was +possible; and of her blameless rectitude, for she has both her mother +and her idol as examples, and the reader knows that she is under +the spell of legitimate sex attraction. That Sidney’s own moral attitude +was not necessarily his heroine’s is suggested only in his wording of an +oracle’s prophecy to her father earlier: “Thy youngest shall with +nature’s bliss embrace An <em>uncouth</em> love, which <em>nature</em> hateth most” +[author’s italics.] Still, he was careful that Zelmane’s secret should become +<a id="page-38" class="pagenum" title="38"></a> +known to the princess before the pair had opportunity for so +much as a kiss. +</p> + +<p> +The <em>Arcadia</em> is cited in Iwan Bloch’s <em>Sex Life in England</em> as the +first instance of lesbian love in English literature, but Bloch bases his +claim on a night the princess and her sister spent together. He does +not mention that they were sisters; however, it is not the kinship +which invalidates his statement. It is true that the text reads: “... +there cherishing one another with deere, though chaste embracements, +with sweet, though cold kisses; it might seem that Love was come +to play him there without darte; or that weerie of his owne fires, +he was there to refresh himselfe betweene their sweete-breathing +lippes.” But the reason for their embrace was that both were suffering +from hopeless loves, and, too shy to share confidences even by +candlelight, had agreed that “they might talke better as they lay +together.” Bloch, however, makes his point from the statement that +“they impoverished their cloathes to inriche their bed, which for that +night might well scorne the shrine of Venus,” interpreting this to +mean that they made elaborate preparation for a night of love, however +cold and chaste Sidney claimed it to be.[<a class="footnote" href="#2-11">11</a>] The proper sense of +the elaborate Elizabethan conceit is, of course, simply that they released +their own loveliness from their garments and laid themselves +on the bed which was thus more “inriched” than a shrine bearing +an image of Venus herself. +</p> + +<p> +A French pastoral making use of the same theme is d’Urfé’s +<em>Astrée</em>, published serially between 1607 and 1620. This vast work, +running to some 5500 pages, has not been examined, but Maurice +Magendie’s <em>L’Astrée d’Honoré D’Urfé</em> gives an adequate notion of +its significant points. Laid in Merovingian times, it is bound anachronistically +by the strictest rules of courtly love, which made a +lady’s lightest word law for her lover. Thus, once banished by his +offended lady’s decree, the hero Céladon may not re-enter her presence +without specific summons. After a volume of misadventure he contrives +to return by impersonating Alexis, daughter of a Druid priest +whose casuistry reconciles him to this evasion of Astrée’s orders. Since +Astrée has long mourned him as dead she is unlikely to summon +him, but until she does, “Alexis” cannot reveal his identity. Her new +friend’s phenomenal resemblance to her lost lover provokes in Astrée +an infatuation which, however well accounted for, is our first example +since classical times of a woman’s passion without scruple for one +believed from the outset to be of her own sex. +</p> + +<p> +For a time the Druid manages to prevent too great an intimacy +between his “daughter” and Astrée, but when the two are guests at +<a id="page-39" class="pagenum" title="39"></a> +the same castle and share a room, the hero cannot resist taking +some advantage of his opportunity, his only concern being dread of +his lady’s reaction to these liberties when she is finally enlightened. +This eventuality is postponed by enemy attack and a long embroilment +during which “Alexis” fights as a heroic Amazon, saves Astrée’s +life, is wounded, and is finally spirited away by the Druid to recover +without danger of disclosure. When the revelation finally occurs, +Astrée is indeed outraged—but note the reason: people will believe +she merely pretended to be duped in order to excuse her own complaisances, +and ‘in Forez a woman does not trifle thus with her honor.’ +She bids Céladon die in expiation for his crime. “‘De quelle mort +vous plait-il que je perisse?’ gémit Céladon écrasé. ‘N’importe, +pourvu que tu meures!’ Et il s’enfuit pour la satisfaire.”[<a class="footnote" href="#2-12">12</a>] The Druid +intervenes by proposing a pilgrimage to a shrine of Diana whose +lions and unicorns slay the guilty but spare the pure. These heraldic +guardians are transmitted into statues as the pair approach, thus testifying +to the young lovers’ technical chastity. As everything short of the +ultimate intimacy has pretty clearly occurred, it would appear that +in France of the early seventeenth century, as in sixteenth century +Italy, such relations between women were not regarded too harshly. +Nevertheless, both this pastoral and Sidney’s portray the “far away +and long ago,” not the authors’ own period, and d’Urfé’s tale is +obviously more than a little satiric. Evidence will appear later that +with regard to contemporary phenomena judgment is generally less +lenient. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-7-3"> +The Borderline of Reality +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +The five examples described above are all from the field of romance, +in which no further variant flora have been detected until the +early nineteenth century. Indeed, the whole field of fiction was +largely fallow during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. From +the renaissance on, thanks to a growing classical influence and the +weakening of churchly prejudice, drama of actable length gradually +supplanted long formless narrative. But the drama, too, yields a thin +harvest during these centuries. In romantic plays sex disguise was +fairly common, but it produced no variant situations comparable +to those cited from romance and pastoral. Action on the public +stage, of course, cannot go as far as in the printed volume; furthermore, +theatre audiences included lower class spectators more apt to be +shocked by homosexual implication than educated readers with +classical literary background. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-40" class="pagenum" title="40"></a> +Let us look, for example, at the two most significant masquerading +women in Shakespeare’s plays. Viola in <em>Twelfth Night</em> is an unconvincing +man, afraid of the sight of her own sword, and her scenes +with Olivia never even skirt the anomalous, their interest centering +on her verbal agility. In <em>As You Like It</em> Rosalind is much more boyish +in appearance and temperament, and Celia’s devotion to her is +marked. Following her cousin headlong into banishment, Celia reminds +her harsh parent that: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">... we still have slept together,</p> + <p class="verse">Rose at an instant, learn’d, play’d, sat together,</p> + <p class="verse">And wheresoe’er we went, like Juno’s swans,</p> + <p class="verse">Still we went coupled and inseparable.</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Also LeBeau tells Orlando that Rosalind has been “detained by her +usurping uncle To keep his daughter company; whose loves Are +dearer than the natural bond of sisters.” These passages suggest an +intensity in Celia’s attachment which the effeminate Frenchman is +quick to notice, but no further word or action in the play reinforces +them. Celia’s infatuation at sight for Oliver, though it does not, like +Rosalind’s for Orlando, blossom before the spectator’s eyes, is no less +whole-hearted, and if passion is implied at all between the girls it is +that early adolescent sort readily supplanted by the first heterosexual +attraction. The other women of Shakespeare frequently cited as unfeminine, +Beatrice and Katherine, express antipathy to men, marriage, +and male domination but exhibit no interest whatever in women. +</p> + +<p> +Two realistic plays of the early seventeenth century which have as +their heroines real persons, one a known lesbian and the other suspected, +are of special interest because no hint of variance appears +in either drama. Middleton and Dekker’s <em>Roaring Girl</em> (1611) was +built around Mary Frith, a transvestist of the London underworld +commonly called “Moll Cutpurse,” who was about twenty-five when +the play was written. She is portrayed as hearty, fearless and clever, +a walking lexicon of thieves’ cant and free tavern songs, but of blameless +character—the sworn enemy of injustice, oppression and double-dealing +in underworld and gentry alike. She befriends honest lovers +of any class but makes short work of men who approach her; she +would like to see all women “manned but never pandered,” and she +burns to right women’s wrongs in general. Asked when she will marry, +her impudent rhymed answer adds up to “Never!” In short, she is a +kind of sexless and feministic Robin Hood. +</p> + +<p> +In their epilogue the authors say that some will: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> +<a id="page-41" class="pagenum" title="41"></a> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Wonder that a creature of her being</p> + <p class="verse">Should be the subject of a poet, seeing</p> + <p class="verse">In the world’s eye none weighs so light: others look</p> + <p class="verse">For all those base tricks published in a book</p> + <p class="verse">Foul as the brains they flowed from, of cutpurses,</p> + <p class="verse">Of nips and foists, nasty obscene discourses</p> + <p class="verse">As full of lies as empty of worth and wit,</p> + <p class="verse">For any honest ear and eye unfit.</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Their reference is undoubtedly to <em>A Booke called the Madde Prancks +of Merry Moll of the Bankside, with her Walks in Man’s Apparel +and to what Purpose. Written by John Day</em>, which was entered in +the Stationers’ Register for August 1610. All copies of this document +were so thoroughly eliminated by her friends that scholars have even +questioned whether it was ever printed, and a <em>Life and Death of Mrs. +Mary Frith</em> surviving from 1662, the year after her death, is somewhat +less harsh. An editorial note to the 1885 edition of the play,[<a class="footnote" href="#2-13">13</a>] +drawing on this biography and other sources, tells us that she was +a shoemaker’s daughter who from childhood would run only with +boys, “taking many a bang and blow,” and that she had a lifelong +aversion to women’s occupations and to children. Against family +opposition she educated herself far above her station, but in the end +apparently found no outlet for her capacities except in the underworld, +where even her bitterest detractors admit her masculine daring +and success as “highwayman,” forger, and fence. Havelock Ellis, in his +introduction to another edition of the play and in his Studies in the +<em>Psychology of Sex</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#2-14">14</a>] quotes the 1662 biography as saying that “No +man can say or affirm that she ever had a sweetheart or any such fond +thing to dally with her,” a mastiff being the only living thing she +cared for. Ellis adds that though nothing is said of homosexual practices, +“we see clearly here what may be termed the homosexual +diathesis.” +</p> + +<p> +The second play is <em>La Monja Alférez</em> (1626) by Juan Pérez de +Montalban, a literary disciple of Lope de Vega, and is included in +a volume by Fitz-Maurice Kelly entitled <em>The Nun Ensign</em>. It gives +a partial picture of the known life of Catalina de Erauso, a Basque +woman who was alive at the time of its publication, and like <em>The +Roaring Girl</em>, it was probably written to whitewash the heroine’s +reputation. Here also the heroine is a transvestist, but one who actually +passes for a military man, the mainspring of the plot being her exposure +by her brother, a fellow officer. One Doña Ana is represented +as being infatuated to the point of presenting her beloved with her +<a id="page-42" class="pagenum" title="42"></a> +girdle, but the gesture is symbolic only. “Guzlan” evades the issue +by pleading a vow of <em>castidad</em>, a term less exclusively feminine than +its English equivalent, and the two are never alone together or involved +in more than acceptable verbal exchange. The play can +scarcely have been a dramatic success, consisting as it does largely +of long retrospective speeches by other characters which review Catalina’s +past adventures and constitute her apologia. It is not known +to have been produced more than once, at a critical period in her +fortunes when it must have been badly needed. +</p> + +<p> +Erauso’s full history as given in Kelly’s volume is compiled from +an autobiography included <em>in toto</em>, certain “Relaciones” fairly well established +as originating with Erauso herself, and references in the <em>De’ +Viaggi ...</em> of Pietro della Valle. Relegated by her family to the +life of a nun, which she found intolerable, though three of her sisters +took their vows, the girl escaped from her convent in 1607 at the age +of about fifteen by contriving men’s garments from the stuff of her +religious habit. Subsequently she shipped to South America, where for +some time she lived by her wits and her sword. Later, to escape a +prison sentence she joined the army, was promoted for bravery to +the rank of ensign, and was entrusted with at least one special +mission. For some ten to fifteen years she went unexposed and unrecognized +even by her brother, under whom she served for a time +in Peru. In 1622, however, he became suspicious, and assigned her to +perilous duty, as a result of which wounds brought her so near death +that she confessed her sex to a bishop, and her military career was +naturally at an end. The alternative life as a nun was now more +distasteful to her than ever, and within a year she sailed for Spain +to obtain proof that she had never taken the final vows, and, if +possible, to secure a pension from Philip III on the strength of +her military service. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this time that <em>La Monja Alférez</em> was written and presented, +and perhaps partly through its sympathetic influence she had +success in both her undertakings and was furthermore granted permission +by Pope Urban VIII to continue wearing men’s clothes, +though not to practice further deception about her true sex. Her +European visit was thus somewhat in the nature of a triumph, though +her family still refused to recognize her. Accordingly she returned to +South America, became a wealthy owner of horses and mules, and +was still thriving in the business of carrier when she died in her late +fifties. +</p> + +<p> +Of her love life not too much is given, but it is all significant. +At one point she tells of taking refuge, when wounded, with a halfbreed +<a id="page-43" class="pagenum" title="43"></a> +Indian woman, a widow, who wished to keep her on as son-in-law. +The daughter, however, “was very black and ugly as the +devil, the very opposite of my taste, which has always been for +pretty faces.”[<a class="footnote" href="#2-15">15</a>] From this situation she quite simply ran away, as +from a number of similar ones; but where the ladies were agreeable +to her she postponed flight till the ultimate moment. While serving +under her brother she even sometimes accompanied him to his mistress’ +house, but when she took to going there on her own he became +so jealous—believing her a man, of course—that he had her transferred +to a distant post. +</p> + +<p> +Before joining the army she worked for a time as bookkeeper to +a wealthy merchant in Lima, in whose house she also boarded, and +she was dismissed in less than a year for “sporting and frolicking” +with his wife’s two unmarried sisters, “one especially whom I preferred.” +One day while she was “in the parlour, combing my hair, +lolling my head in her lap and tickling her ankles,” the employer +observed the play “through a grating” and sent her packing.[<a class="footnote" href="#2-16">16</a>] The +inferred activities are fairly unmistakable, but since she was believed +to be a man, we can deduce nothing from the incident about local +attitudes towards homosexuality. +</p> + +<p> +A well-documented passage in the “Relaciones” tells us that after +her return from Europe she was entrusted, by a couple in Vera Cruz +who knew her to be a woman, with the responsibility of escorting +their daughter to Mexico where the girl was to be married. Thus it is +clear that her earlier emotional adventures had been well concealed. +But during the journey “she became jealously attached to her charge, +resented her young friend’s subsequent marriage, and in a letter +of incomparable arrogance challenged the girl’s husband to a duel” +because he forbade her the house. Friends managed to prevent the +meeting, and it was after this that she “sheathed her rapier and set +about earning an unromantic living as a carrier.” She must have +been in her late forties at the time of this episode. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-7-4"> +Neo-Classical Aridity +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Because so little variant material appears in reputable imaginative +writing between 1650 and 1800 we must turn elsewhere for evidence +that variance nevertheless flourished. For reasons mentioned earlier, +biography and memoirs are not generally within our scope, but in the +sixteenth to eighteenth centuries the chief aim of such writing was +narrative interest, and certainly Brantôme, Casanova and the rest are +read and enjoyed now in somewhat the same way as is Proust’s autobiographical +<a id="page-44" class="pagenum" title="44"></a> +fiction of the present century. As has been said, even historians +grant that a very fair general impression of the writers’ periods +can be gained from these spontaneous records. +</p> + +<p> +The wide and colorful canvas of Brantôme testifies that court +morals under the later Valois were free in every respect. At several +points in the <em>Lives of Gallant Ladies</em> (1665) he implies that lesbian +attachments were taken for granted in his time, and in Section 15 +of his first Discourse he raises the question whether husbands are +cuckolded when their wives engage in “the love that is called <em>donna +con donna.</em>”[<a class="footnote" href="#2-17">17</a>] He also doubts whether the point has ever been raised +before, living as he did three centuries before divorce was commonplace +and lesbian activity actionable as one form of alienation of affection. +The cases he cites are almost all bisexual, for though he has heard +of women who would have nothing to do with men, these do not seem +to have been celebrated for variance either. He says it was useless to +seek one young girl in marriage because her “friend” would never let +her go; but the friend, who was providing bed and board, was a married +woman. Indeed, he maintains that husbands regarded such affairs +lightly, since these could not lead to embarrassing questions about the +paternity of offspring. With characteristic wit he manages to include +among his anecdotes every possible means of satisfaction between +women, impermissible of translation today outside a medical treatise. +He maintains throughout that women come in the end to acknowledge +the inadequacy of all such means, “for after all nothing is the +equal of a man.” +</p> + +<p> +Anthony Hamilton in his <em>Memoirs of the Comte de Grammont</em> +(1713) gives an amusing account of the rivalry between the Earl +of Rochester and Miss Hobart, a maid of honor to the Duchess of +York, for the affections of the rather stupid young court beauty, Miss +Anne Temple. However, at the English court even under Charles +II such affairs were not taken so lightly. When, after a long siege, the +patient Hobart attempted to embrace her favorite, the girl screamed, +other waiting women came running, and “this was sufficient to disgrace +Miss Hobart at court and totally ruin her reputation in +London.”[<a class="footnote" href="#2-18">18</a>] +</p> + +<p> +These affairs occurred in high society, but Montaigne—or perhaps +his secretary, who is said to have written the <em>Voyage in Italy</em> (1581)—writing +in the same period as Brantôme, describes the case of a +young weaver, one of a group of six or seven transvestists engaged in +that trade, who courted several women in towns near her own and +was finally hanged for effecting a marriage with one of them. The +union endured happily for half a year, however, before the offender +<a id="page-45" class="pagenum" title="45"></a> +was recognized and exposed by someone from her own village. This +is interesting evidence of contrast in sexual mores at different social +levels, for the country in this case was Italy, and Brantôme and others +claim that homosexuality was rife there, particularly in the courts of +Naples and Sicily. +</p> + +<p> +What may be called a middle-class allusion appears in the memoirs +of the Comte de Tilly (1800) when he tells of being drawn in as +second in a duel by two young men in an inn at Chartres who wished +to settle a quarrel at once. The matter involves a girl whom both had +known intimately and one had promised by signed agreement to +marry within the year, come what might. The prospective bridegroom +learned that “the treacherous Julie was acquainted with a lady of this +town who was suspected of having habits once much in vogue in +Lesbos and which to the shame of our time have made alarming +progress even in the provinces,” and accused the other man of having +known this when he foisted Julie off on him. Without denying the +charge, the accused says to de Tilly: “I confess this sort of rivalry gives +me no ill humor, on the contrary it amuses me, and I am so lacking +in morals as to laugh at it.”[<a class="footnote" href="#2-19">19</a>] Several other examples of lesbian +activity, some of them involving nuns, are to be found <em>passim</em> in +Casanova’s memoirs. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +From the viewpoint of mere numerical count the richest field for +the gleaner of variant incident would be that literature—not quite +reputable from the English reader’s viewpoint—which is farthest removed +from the romantic. In romance, sexual attraction is an experience +so personal and subjective that true lovers can be satisfied only +with one another, and separation or an extraneous attraction on the +part of either constitutes tragedy. Woman’s role often transcends that +of man because any lapse on her part entrains personal and social +consequences of extreme gravity. That is, the romantic viewpoint is +relatively feminine. +</p> + +<p> +In the other type of narrative, sometimes erroneously classed with +realism, the sexual act is all-important, enjoyable with any adequate +partner since sensual pleasure eclipses all subjective factors. Here a +woman may be an enthusiastic and carefree playmate, a coy jade to be +taken by trickery, or an aggressive, even sadistic, snarer of the hapless +male. Her one requisite is a sexual appetite to equal her partner’s, +and she is apparently immune to physical, and indifferent to social, +consequences. In short, the outlook here is masculine. If the percentage +of women authors is low in all areas of literature, in this one +it reaches the vanishing point. Not even Margaret of Navarre nor +<a id="page-46" class="pagenum" title="46"></a> +Aphra Behn, famed as they are for a free approach, go all the way +with their brother writers. +</p> + +<p> +The ultimate limit of male-oriented literature is pornography, +with which this study will not be concerned beyond defining it as +writing of which the primary intent is sexual arousal. The category is +difficult of sharp delineation for an English-reading audience, since +relatively unseasoned readers may attribute pornographic intent to +works which the more “sophisticated” continental takes in his stride +and admits to the realm of legitimate belles-lettres. This is particularly +true of that early French and Italian material which was written with +wit, style, and care to avoid coarse terminology, and which is more +properly termed erotic or <em>galant</em>. To account adequately for such +racial or national inconsistencies in sexual tolerance is impossible +here. Undoubtedly an earlier familiarity with classical literature in +Italy and southern France, as well as a readier exposure there to +oriental influences, had something to do with continental lenience. +</p> + +<p> +Historians of erotic literature trace the genre ultimately to two +hypothetical sources. One is a group of Greek tales called Milesian +which originated about the sixth or seventh century B.C., satirizing +religion as well as sex. They were particularly scurrilous in their +portrayal of women. The other source is oriental literature, since in +both Hindu and Islamic philosophy the inferior status of woman +tends to depersonalize sexual relations. Whatever its origin, erotic +literature has flourished steadily in modern Europe from the earliest +renaissance to the present day, and has been produced by authors +of literary repute—Boccaccio, Poggio, Aretino in Italy; and, in +France, LaSalle, Rabelais, Venette, not to mention a score of lesser +names in both countries. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries +it developed in France into the style called <em>galant</em>, somewhat less +lusty and more verbally subtle than earlier works but nonetheless +very free. In this class the names most familiar to English readers are +probably Restif de la Bretonne and Casanova. +</p> + +<p> +Naturally all erotic works concentrate mainly upon heterosexual +activity, but intrasexual episodes, particularly among women, are +not uncommon. The women involved are never wholly, or even +primarily, homosexual. An innocent girl may be initiated by one +more experienced into the mysteries of giving pleasure to men. Ladies +of quality may experiment with one another to alleviate boredom, +or prostitutes amuse themselves in idle intervals. Nuns may console +each other for lack of opportunity with priests, though the latter are +usually also available. All these contacts are the fruit of propinquity +rather than personal devotion, and the sexual play often involves more +<a id="page-47" class="pagenum" title="47"></a> +than two participants. In short, even these lesbian anecdotes are +presented from the male viewpoint. +</p> + +<p> +Erotic works involving religious celibates have been much more +a continental than an English product. Such works always had as +their secondary and sometimes as their primary aim, the discrediting +of the Roman church, and may have begun in the Middle Ages after +Gregory VII (1015-1085) first stringently imposed celibacy on the +clergy. (It will be recalled that Sappho’s works were burned by the +Church in 1073.) With the growth of rationalism in the seventeenth +and eighteenth centuries anti-clerical erotic writing increased in +volume, and once the French Revolution had broken the hold of +Catholicism in France, tales about the cloistered orders degenerated +there into almost unalloyed pornography. In England, where Roman +church and monasticism had been crushed by Henry VIII, the anti-clerical +category of erotica did not flourish; in the Puritan-influenced +American colonies it seems never to have taken root at all. Perhaps +as a corollary of this religious conservatism, homosexual works were +equally rare. Of the continental writers named above only Boccaccio +and Rabelais are generally acceptable to English readers, possibly +because of the absence of homosexuality from their works. +</p> + +<p> +Even after the Restoration in England the natural anti-Puritan +outburst of risqué drama and picaresque novel went no farther than +heterosexual freedom. The only variant literary traces of the court’s +sojourn in France are Anthony Hamilton’s lesbian anecdote cited +above, and a vicious poetic satire written anonymously in 1732. It +was actually penned by Sir William King, principal of St. Mary’s +Hall at Oxford, and was directed against a female relative who had +done him out of a fortune. He describes the lady as one endowed +with some of the attributes of a witch and addicted to indecencies +with a titled woman friend who figured as her “familiar.” The occult +details Sir William seems to have incorporated not only to render his +picture more repulsive, but to supply etiology for his subject’s homosexual +bent, which apparently he did not care to import gratuitously. +England has little else to contribute to the early variant record save an +incident or two included in stereotyped histories of prostitutes, and +some rather juvenile whipping stories laid in boarding schools or in +households dominated by sadistic step-mothers or governesses, and +even in these lesbian activity is infrequent. +</p> + +<p> +French literature, meanwhile, moved in quite the other direction, +undoubtedly following tendencies at court. At the end of the sixteenth +century Henry III was widely reputed to be homosexual. A +generation later Louis XIII, ailing and neurotic, vacillated between +<a id="page-48" class="pagenum" title="48"></a> +a few feminine and several masculine favorites, and is said, by some +French biographers, to have made little distinction among them. The +house of Orléans was also generally credited with homosexual proclivities +in both the male and the female lines. On the feminine side, too, +we have Christina of Sweden’s lengthy visit in France during the emotionally +disturbed period of her life (1670-1680) following her abdication. +It has been suggested that she brought about Monaldeschi’s +murder at Versailles because the “thick packet of letters” in his +possession contained damning evidence of her now almost unquestioned +lesbian habits. A century later Marie Antoinette’s relations +with Lamballe, Polignac and others of her court ladies were the +subject of numerous scurrilous pamphlets, and although the details +must be largely discounted as political mudslinging, any wide reading +of serious biographical studies shows the underlying charges to be +quite plausible. +</p> + +<p> +For whatever reason, as the Bourbon dynasty grew in power and +extravagance and under Louis XV the great courtesans enjoyed high +social standing, freedom among women even loosely connected with +court circles became quite fashionable. By the middle of the +eighteenth century several houses of pleasure were elite institutions. +Private theatres were maintained by certain noblemen for the presentation +of highly censorable drama, and the best-known actresses +and courtesans—often synonymous—were credited with constant lesbian +activity in memoirs of the gossip-column type. From better +authenticated sources we know that numerous frivolous private societies +sprang up, and at least one of them was composed of “Anandrynes” +or lesbian women. The <em>galant</em> narratives, of which the +eighteenth century produced a rich crop, included frequent lesbian +episodes, and for the first time in many decades the variant interest +sometimes predominated over the heterosexual. +</p> + +<p> +As one example of such writing, let us glance at a comparatively +inoffensive survival from the period just before the Revolution. It +is taken from <em>L’Espion Anglais</em> (1777-1778), eleven rambling volumes +probably from several pens. In imitation of the more reputable journalistic +correspondence of the time, this work is cast in the form +of letters from “Milord All’eye” in Paris to his friend “Milord All’ear” +in London. Mayeur de Saint-Paul is credited with the authorship of +three very long letters[<a class="footnote" href="#2-20">20</a>] recording the career of a young girl from +the provinces who runs away to Paris, finds a place in the most elite +<em>maison</em> of the day, and is there groomed for the service of a prominent +lesbian actress. The latter’s luxurious maisonette, which is secluded +in a wooded park, is described in detail, as are the stages of the girl’s +<a id="page-49" class="pagenum" title="49"></a> +initiation into the erotic services of her mistress and into a large +lesbian cult whose temple is located within the grounds. Action and +setting are portrayed with some art and the narrative seldom becomes +indelicately specific. Unhappily for the lesbian, the girl’s personal +maid, who lives outside the grounds, gives her male lover an eloquent +account of her young mistress’s charms. By masquerading as a delivery +girl from a modiste’s shop the boy insinuates himself into the +actress’s paradise, converts the lavishly-kept prisoner to the superior +delights of <em>jouissance</em> with him, and brings about her expulsion +by her outraged lesbian lover. This rococo gem was said to be based +upon actual persons and circumstances of the decade in which it was +written. +</p> + +<p> +As a kind of last gasp of the <em>galant</em> school’s attempt to conform +to later standards of acceptability one may cite the work of Felicité +de Choiseul-Meuse, an author of uncertain identity who produced a +number of racy novels just after 1800. Her <em>Julie, ou J’ai Sauvé ma +Rose</em> (1807) is a lushly romantic tale in which, as its title suggests, +a professional flirt contrives to be all but seduced by every type of +lover from timorous stripling to middle-aged man-about-town, and +in every sort of setting from her own boudoir to a Gothic cavern +where she is held by a kidnaper. Throughout the story she is attracted +by lovely women, but she becomes involved with one only in the +final chapter. A woman of boyish type seems to have captivated +the man Julie really loves, and, by way of revenge on both, Julie +seduces her rival, who proves to be an already active lesbian. She +finds this dalliance pleasanter than anything thus far experienced with +men, and as it does not constitute defloration, she ends by marrying +happily the original lover who advised her in adolescence that +women’s power over men consists in never sacrificing their technical +virginity. +</p> + +<p> +Erotic writing did not, of course, cease with the end of the +eighteenth century. But what may be called the <em>galant</em> way of life +suffered a sharp check with the French Revolution. Not only the +divine right of kings but the allied privilege of court circles to be a +law unto themselves was eclipsed for a number of decades. In all +countries and at all times the possessors of enormous wealth have enjoyed +considerable independence of public opinion, but literature +celebrating such independence in the sexual sphere tended to bifurcate +after 1800 into problem novels whose tone was condemnatory, +and an underground stream of pornography unacceptable for open +publication. However unavailable the latter material may have been +to the growing number of middle-class readers, rumors of its existence +<a id="page-50" class="pagenum" title="50"></a> +doubtless filtered into the general consciousness. Bisexual pornography +continued to be written throughout the nineteenth century, +some of it fairly high in quality and attributed to authors of renown, +and the recurrence of lesbian activity in this subterranean stream may +well have contributed to the disrepute of variance of all sorts during +that century and the first years of the present one. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-8"> +<a id="page-51" class="pagenum" title="51"></a> +<span class="line1">CHAPTER III.</span><br> +<span class="line2">FROM THE ROMANTICS TO THE MODERNS</span> +</h2> + +</div> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-8-1"> +Introduction +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Imaginative works featuring variant women have thus far been +few, widely separated in time, and for the most part written with +literary intent only. Thus, it has sufficed to present them with +slight orientation in literary history. During the nineteenth century +such items averaged better than three per decade and the majority +were novels, a form particularly apt to reflect drifts of contemporary +thought and even to be written for ulterior ends. If even tenuous +patterns are to be traced in this mass of material it will be necessary +to sketch as background the general trends of interest from which the +novels grew. +</p> + +<p> +Probably the most significant feature of the decades just following +the French Revolution was the rapid spread of democratic efforts +toward political, economic and educational betterment of the common +man. This was reflected slowly in variant literature, and then +only indirectly as it multiplied readers, writers, and subjects of relatively +modest social status. Outside the field of social reform the +same revolutionary sentiment appeared under such different guises +as the Romantic Movement in literature and a scientific rather than +a philosophic attack upon the problems of human personality. +</p> + +<p> +Most closely allied to practical politics was the Woman’s Movement. +The eighteenth-century French rationalists who championed the +rights of man included women in their thesis; however, for various +historical and psychological reasons their own countrywomen never +as a whole embraced the feminist cause. In England and America, +on the other hand, where the property rights of women or their +inability to vote on such humanitarian issues as abolition of slavery +were sore points, feminists embarked upon a battle for legal equality +which ran on into the present century. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-52" class="pagenum" title="52"></a> +The Romantic Movement in literature represented a swing away +from eighteenth century rationalism toward the glorifying of emotional +experience. Whereas the sexual licence in pre-Revolutionary +France had reflected a <em>galant</em> indifference to moral standards, the new +and more general claim to emotional freedom was a matter of philosophic +principle. However unsatisfactory from a pragmatic viewpoint +the lives of such men as Rousseau and Shelley may have been, these +“mad idealists” were acting upon conviction. The keynote of romanticism +was, as always, the exaltation of Love and of every individual’s +right to follow its dictates, a theme which figured prominently +in nineteenth century literature and which still persists in popular +fiction and films. While this philosophic tolerance did not extend +to homosexual love, it enabled the subject to be treated seriously in +other than underground erotic literature. +</p> + +<p> +Yet another aspect of the rebellion against hitherto revered authority +was the extension of scientific method to the study of human +consciousness. Ever since the renaissance, science had been advancing +steadily in physical fields. Its practical applications had produced the +Industrial Revolution, and its unfettered intellectual attitude had +helped, via the French Encyclopedists, to sow the seeds of political +revolution. During the late eighteenth century students of geology, +biology, and human anatomy were accumulating the evolutionary +data so dramatically systematized in 1859 by Darwin. At the same time +scientific travelers, observing primitive societies, assembled the raw +materials of what later became anthropology. Finally at the beginning +of the nineteenth century a few pioneers, defying heavy odds of religious +and popular prejudice, began to explore the relation of mind +to body. In Germany laboratory experiment was concentrated on the +neurological bases of sensory experience. In France medical aspects +of the problem took precedence, focussing on mental aberration, and +by the 1860s Charcot, best known for his therapeutic use of hypnotism, +had founded the first great neurological clinic. +</p> + +<p> +As to the objective study of homosexuality, nothing which could +be called scientific by modern standards was attempted until the last +third of the century, but the phenomenon was noted extensively in +the pre-anthropological records mentioned above, and a considerable +group of studies on human hermaphrodites antedated 1850.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-1">1</a>] A single +descriptive article on homosexuality appeared as early as 1791, when +a German periodical, <em>Magazin für Erfahrungsseelenkunde</em>, published +the biographies of two men who “manifested an enthusiastic love for +persons of their own sex,” and one of whom attributed his predilection +<a id="page-53" class="pagenum" title="53"></a> +to childhood experiences at home and at school. For the next +fifty years the only pertinent contributions seem to have been some +articles on “the Scythian madness” (male homosexuality) in the +ancient Greeks. Then, in 1852, a Dr. Casper published in his +<em>Vierteljahrsschrift</em> a number of comments on contemporaneous pederasty,[<a class="footnote" href="#3-2">2</a>] +and a few years later he brought out a volume of male case +histories under the title <em>Klinische Novellen</em>. During the following +two decades Karl Ulrichs (writing under the pseudonym Numa +Numantius) produced upward of a dozen pamphlets, controversial +rather than scientific, which defended male homosexuality as hereditary +and therefore not justly subject to legal penalty. All these +studies, it should be noted, dealt exclusively with men. +</p> + +<p> +What is considered the first essentially scientific publication, however, +was a clinical report in 1870 on a female homosexual patient +by a German physician, Westphal, after which similar descriptive +case studies multiplied rapidly. In 1886 Krafft-Ebing brought out his +lengthy <em>Psychopathia Sexualis</em>, a large section of which was devoted +to “contrary sexual feeling,” and before the end of the century Albert +Moll, Havelock Ellis, and Magnus Hirschfeld produced even more +extensive treatises.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-3">3</a>] Although all these later studies included female +cases, women still did not receive much emphasis. A Spaniard, Casán, +was apparently the only writer to treat women exclusively. (His +volume, listed in the U.S. Surgeon General’s Catalog as <em>El Amor +Lesbio</em>, 1896, has not been available for examination.) +</p> + +<p> +The mounting stress upon an objective approach to psychological +phenomena had its effect on alert literary minds. (It was not +restricted, of course, to sex or variance). Balzac was the first to embark +deliberately upon a “naturalistic” study of human experience, and +although literary critics observe that his plots are often based on more +or less abstract concepts, none deny that his individual characters show +the fruit of minute observation. By 1857 Flaubert also was maintaining +that “it is time to give it (literary art) the precision of the +sciences by means of a pitiless method,”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-4">4</a>] and later in the century +Zola pointed out that his own practice, as well as his theories set +forth in <em>Le Roman Experimental</em>, were “based upon the application +of experimental science to physiology as developed in the writings +of Dr. Claude Bernard.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-5">5</a>] Each of these three major novelists contributed +to the understanding of female variance, and the same +spirit can be detected in the fiction of several lesser writers who +attacked the subject. +</p> + +<p> +Even in the many cases where direct connection cannot be demonstrated +<a id="page-54" class="pagenum" title="54"></a> +between scientific thought and the imaginative writing +under consideration, there is a perceptible correlation from decade +to decade between quantitative developments in both fields. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-8-2"> +Precursors of Modern Fiction +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +The transition from <em>galant</em> writing of the eighteenth century to +modern fiction with its psychological preoccupation and its elevation +of women’s roles to a position of romantic importance could hardly +be better exemplified than by Diderot’s <em>La Religieuse</em>. Superficially, +this novel appears to be a typical pre-revolutionary anti-clerical effort. +As it was undertaken in 1760, only a year after the second suppression +of its author’s major project, <em>L’Encyclopédie</em>, it is tempting to imagine +that the Jesuits’ share in that act of censorship may have been the +immediate spur to its inception. Actually <em>La Religieuse</em> broke new +ground, for Diderot’s preoccupation was not so much the religious +shortcomings of the convents depicted, as the morbid physical and +psychological effects of celibacy upon women, especially when this +way of life was not freely elected but enforced by church and family. +</p> + +<p> +The tale was first conceived as a practical joke on an impressionable +philanthropist, the Marquis de Croismare, who in 1757 had +exercised his influence in behalf of a nun seeking release from her +vows. Not even personally acquainted with the young woman, he +engaged legal aid for her but had no success, and she was forced +to remain in her convent. A few years later, when she was unobtrusively +transferred to another religious house, Diderot, Grimm, +and other friends of de Croismare’s conceived the idea of pretending +that she had escaped, and Diderot forged a series of letters in which +she appealed to her former benefactor for some means of support +in a place where her religious “persecutors” could not find her. The +victim of the hoax was so moved by it that he offered her (by mail) +a position as companion to his daughter, and the perpetrators were +forced to fabricate an account of her sudden death. It was not +till eight years later that the marquis learned the truth, and “was +able to laugh at the incident over which he had earlier wept.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-6">6</a>] +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Diderot had invented a complete autobiography +supposedly written by the girl during her last illness, and though +this was not completed in time to become a part of the deception, +it so engaged its author’s interest that he continued to work on the +whole story intermittently for a couple of decades. It was pretty +certainly finished by 1780, but was not published until 1796, when +it appeared in its present form, along with the account of its composition. +<a id="page-55" class="pagenum" title="55"></a> +Written as her own artless journal, it gives the story of an +illegitimate girl forced into convent life by a guilt-ridden mother +and her suspicious husband. The victim resists her fate with extraordinary +intelligence and ingenuity, but her struggles are futile, +and she is merely transferred from one religious house to another, +each exemplifying some pathological aspect of conventual sex-repression. +Under the best abbess she meets nothing worse than a +rather hysterical exaggeration of piety with slight variant overtones; +in the second institution she encounters outright sadism, and in the +third rampant homosexuality. +</p> + +<p> +The Superior in this last house is an overt lesbian, and her efforts +to seduce the girl occupy nearly a third of Diderot’s whole volume. +The young nun, steadfast in her desire for freedom—and marriage, +though she has not yet known love—remains almost wholly blind to +the meaning of the other’s blandishments and of her own partial +response to them. The Superior is described as vain, frivolous, flighty, +and wholly without religious feeling. The scenes in her quarters +where her favorites gossip, fawn on her, and compete for her favors +are more in the spirit of <em>galant</em> eighteenth century canvases than +that of a religious house. Ellis says that for the Superior “Diderot +found a model in the Abbess of Chelles, a daughter of the Regent +(Philippe of Orleans, brother of Louis XIV) and thus a member of +a family which for several generations showed a marked tendency +to inversion.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-7">7</a>] Wherever Diderot gathered his material, his picture +of fevered intrigue, jealousy, skilled seduction, and finally of the +frustrated Superior’s decline into acute neurosis, is unparalleled +in fiction before the present century. Indeed, for clinical accuracy of +detail it had no equal until Westphal’s scientific case study of a +homosexual woman was published in 1870. Thus it stands as a landmark +in the literature of female sex variance. +</p> + +<p> +Equally a landmark, though of a very different sort, is Mary +Wollstonecraft’s <em>Mary, a Fiction</em>, which since it appeared in 1788, +actually antedated Diderot’s from the viewpoint of open publication. +It is the first novel on female variance to be written by a woman, +and its significance is augmented by its being an English work, +written before its author’s lengthy sojourn in France at the beginning +of the Revolution. The writer of this now forgotten volume (only +a handful of copies are extant here or abroad) is more generally +remembered for her <em>Vindication of the Rights of Women</em> (1798), +for her liaison in Paris during the Revolution with Gilbert Imlay, +an American soldier of fortune, and for her later and comparatively +unromantic marriage to William Godwin. In their recent <em>Modern +<a id="page-56" class="pagenum" title="56"></a> +Woman, the Lost Sex</em>.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-8">8</a>] Lundberg and Farnham devote much space +to establishing the <em>Vindication</em> as the germ of all subsequent rebellion +of women against their normal social and biological roles. +But though Wollstonecraft strongly defended the right of women to +the individual liberty which was being generally claimed for all +men, an impartial review of feminism hardly appears to justify so +complete an assignment of responsibility to this single work. +</p> + +<p> +The authors of <em>Modern Woman</em> have done an excellent job of +analyzing the unhappy home environment and early experiences that +made Wollstonecraft a champion of her sex and a mordant critic +of male dominance. They pass over, as not germane to their theme, +one major factor in her life, her consuming attachment to Fanny +Blood, a young woman slightly Mary’s senior, which began when +the latter was about fifteen and continued until Fanny’s death twelve +years later. Of this attachment William Godwin in his <em>Memoirs</em> +says that it was “so fervent as ... to have constituted the ruling +passion in her mind.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-9">9</a>] +</p> + +<p> +This friendship is the theme of <em>Mary</em>, though the fictional version +is less moving and significant than the known facts on which it +was based. As biographers and critics are agreed that Wollstonecraft +had little creative imagination and drew for all her fiction with almost +embarrassing literalness upon her own experience, a parallel analysis +of the tale and its source incidents will be enlightening. The fictional +“Mary” is the child of wealth, with a single brother and an ailing +mother sentimentally addicted to novel reading. In reality, Mary +was the second of six children of a violent drunken father and a +masochistically submissive mother. The family was so impoverished +that from childhood Mary was acquainted with the bitterest contriving, +and in late adolescence faced earning her own living, a +problem not easily solved in her time for a woman above the +servant class. +</p> + +<p> +The father in the novel, dangerous when in his cups and given +freely to wenching, is the only accurate family portrait aside from +the heroine herself. That “tenderness and compassion” for the +ill-treated mother became “the governing propensity in her heart +through life” was as true of the real as of the fictional Mary. As a +mere child Wollstonecraft had often slept on the landing outside +her mother’s door so that her father should not misuse his wife +when drunk. Ann, the beloved friend in the novel, lives, as did +Fanny Blood, in wretched poverty and suffers from unrequited +love for a man who has trifled with her affections. Thus “Mary’s” +passionate devotion to Ann is not returned in kind, and she is +<a id="page-57" class="pagenum" title="57"></a> +“often hurt by involuntary indifference.” Rushing to Ann with +glowing delight and seeing no answering emotion in her friend’s +face, “Mary would check her warm greeting and seem of chilling +insensibility.” Then, perceiving her friend’s hurt surprise, she forces +a contrite and disciplined warmth. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the death of both mother and brother, “Mary” submits +to her mother’s dying wish and to pressure from her father, and +marries a boy who is joint heir to the family property. Her only +thought is of providing a stable home for Ann. Without the marriage’s +being consummated—the mere approach of the husband sickens +“Mary”—the weak and egocentric boy embarks on the conventional +Grand Tour of the continent to complete his education, and Ann +moves in as “Mary’s” companion. “Before she enjoyed Ann’s constant +society she imagined it would have made her completely happy; +she was disappointed, and yet knew not what to complain of.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-10">10</a>] +At her father’s death her husband proposes to return, but the +thought of him still makes her ill. “There was no previous attachment +to give rise to her revulsion. Her friendship with Ann had +occupied her whole heart and resembled a passion.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-11">11</a>] +</p> + +<p> +This husband, so pallid a figment, was extraneous to the real +Mary’s experience. Actually she and a sister had launched a school +for young girls, for which she had had superficial preparation as a +governess, in order to provide a home for Fanny. The latter had +once expressed a wish to live with Mary, but after much procrastination +and one brief trial of life with the two struggling sisters, +she returned to her own wretched home. Presently she married her +vacillating suitor, whom in fact Mary had brought to terms with +a few privately delivered home truths—quite simply that Fanny’s +incipient tuberculosis was due to his long indecision. After achieving +this selfless end Mary fell ill, for the second time in her life, the +first having followed her mother’s death five years earlier. +</p> + +<p> +In the novel Ann, unmarried and ailing, is taken to Lisbon +by “Mary,” and dies there despite the beneficial change of climate. +In reality it was her husband’s business which took Fanny there, +and pregnancy which aggravated her pulmonary weakness. Gravely +ill, she sent a desperate appeal to Mary, who threw over her teaching, +borrowed ruinously to finance the journey, and even so, arrived in +Lisbon only a few hours before Fanny’s confinement and a few +days before her death. +</p> + +<p> +The <em>Fiction</em> was written subsequent not only to that loss but +to Mary’s first efforts at journalism and her resulting encounter +with the artist Henry Fuseli. Almost at once she loved Fuseli +<a id="page-58" class="pagenum" title="58"></a> +passionately. He, however, was married, and his wife quite naturally +vetoed Mary’s incredibly naïve proposal to become one of the household. +The girl, now twenty-six, believed her own passion to be purely +“platonic.” One biographer of Fuseli reports her as saying to him, +“If I thought my passion criminal I would conquer it or die in the +attempt, for immodesty in my eyes is ugliness.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-12">12</a>] In the <em>Fiction</em> +“Henry” figures as an ailing violinist met in Lisbon during Ann’s +last illness and loved later in maternal fashion, but made inaccessible +by Mary’s own married state. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +He told her that the tenderest father could not more +anxiously interest himself in the fate of a darling child +than he did in hers ... He had called her “My child!” ... +His child, what an association of ideas. If I had had such a +father! She could not dwell on the thoughts, the wishes which +obtruded themselves. Her mind was unhinged, and passion +unperceived filled her whole soul.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-13">13</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Another speech of “Henry’s” is significant in the Ann-“Mary” +relationship: “I would give the world for a picture with the expression +I have seen in your face when you have been supporting your +friend [in your arms].”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-14">14</a>] As to the final relation of “Mary” to her +husband, after her return to England she faints at the sight of +him, and finally, demanding her freedom, retires to the country where +she devotes herself to good works and waits for death, in which she +will be reunited with Ann, and “where there is neither marrying nor +giving in marriage.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-15">15</a>] +</p> + +<p> +This whole cathartic outpouring raises interesting questions as +to the author’s own understanding of its emotional significance. It +was published anonymously, but her own name and that of Henry +appear unchanged, their relations in the tale, as in life, being beyond +question blameless. So were “Mary’s” with Ann on the surface, though +the author states openly that “Mary always slept with Ann, who was +subject to terrifying dreams.” Yet she substituted “Ann” for Fanny, +even though the latter had passed beyond the possible reach of +slander. Was she perhaps aware of criticism directed against their +relationship? Mary had, at twenty, been governess to the children +of Lady Kingsborough in Ireland, and was dismissed because the +children grew too fond of her.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-16">16</a>] The fourteen-year-old daughter in +particular was so attached as to become ill during a brief separation +from Mary. In a letter preserved in Godwin’s <em>Memoirs</em>, Mary refers +to the pleasure she derived from the girl’s “innocent caresses,” an +<a id="page-59" class="pagenum" title="59"></a> +odd adjective had Mary not been aware of possible caresses between +women that were otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +The answer seems to lie in two passages, one from the <em>Rights +of Women</em> in which she refers to physical love as “perhaps the most +evanescent of all passions,” and the other in a letter to Imlay +written after it was all too plain that his infatuation had burned +out: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Ah, my friend! You do not know the ineffable delight, the +exquisite pleasure, which arises from the unison of affection +and desire, when the whole soul and senses are abandoned +to a lively imagination that renders every emotion delicate +and rapturous. Yes; these are emotions over which satiety +has no power and the recollection of which even disappointment +cannot disenchant, but they do not exist without self-denial. +These emotions, more or less strong, appear to me to +be the distinctive characteristics of genius, the foundation of +taste, and of that exquisite relish for the beauties of nature, +of which the common herd of eaters and drinkers and child-begetters +certainly have no idea. You will smile at an observation +that has just occurred to me: I consider those minds as +the most strong and original whose imagination acts as the +stimulus to their senses.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-17">17</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Here is a summing up of the wisdom gained from three love +affairs, two physically unfulfilled, the third disillusioning. The +passage also foreshadows her relations with Godwin, whose own +description of their courtship runs as follows: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +The partiality which we conceive for each other ... +grew with equal advances in the mind of each.... One sex +did not take the priority which long established custom has +awarded it, nor the other overstep that delicacy which is +so severely imposed. I am not conscious that either party +can assume to have been the agent or the patient, the toil +spreader or the prey, in the affair.... It was friendship melting +into love.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-18">18</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In Mary’s eyes, Fuseli, Fanny, and she herself evidently bore +some of the stigmata of genius. Imlay, business man, extrovert, casual +adventurer, impetuous lover, was of “the common herd of child-begetters.” +Hers is definitely the feminine romantic ideal of the +<a id="page-60" class="pagenum" title="60"></a> +subjective aspects of Love outweighing the physical to a point where +the sex of the partner is less important than his personality. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, we have in the last dozen years of the eighteenth century +two novels which sounded the keynotes of much that has followed. +Diderot analyzed an overtly homosexual woman and pronounced +her wholly pathological and destructive, even though he assigned +much of the responsibility for her divagations to the environment +in which her entire life was spent. Wollstonecraft’s novel idealized +an innocent variant relationship as the highest form of emotional +experience. Numerous variations on both these themes appear in the +succeeding century and a half. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-8-3"> +The Novel Before 1870 +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +For the first three-quarters of the nineteenth century variant fiction +was so nearly an exclusive product of France that traces appearing +elsewhere may be left for separate consideration. The first pertinent +French item was a typical Romantic Period novel of indifferent +literary quality, Philip Cuisin’s <em>Clémentine, Orpheline et Androgyne</em> +(1819). As its title indicates, intersexual anatomy is responsible for +the heroine’s variant personality, which is used merely as mainspring +for a plot of the wildest extravagance. <em>Clémentine</em> is a beautiful child +of unknown antecedents cast ashore near Carcassone as sole survivor +of a shipwreck. With the approach of puberty her ambiguous sex +makes her the object of so much superstitious hostility among +the peasants of the neighborhood that she is sent by her wealthy +protector to a physician in Cadiz who is glad of the chance to observe +such an anomaly. +</p> + +<p> +A child’s unawareness of her own peculiarity had betrayed her to +the peasants of Carcassone. Shocked into neurotic prudery she +manages in Cadiz to avoid suspicion though not curiosity on the +part of the physician’s daughter, who becomes strongly attached +to her and is hurt by her refusal of the easy intimacy common +among growing girls. Clémentine canalizes her waxing male eroticism +into strenuous physical exercise and becomes a proficient fencer. This +unfeminine skill and her habit of going about occasionally in men’s +clothing produce violent infatuation in a bold young woman of the +neighborhood who believes her to be a man, and who plays thereafter +the role of villain in the piece. Because of this woman’s advances, +Clémentine is forced to leave her second home in Cadiz and is +subsequently involved in a series of stormy adventures. She is too +feminine to live out her life disguised as a man, too relentlessly +<a id="page-61" class="pagenum" title="61"></a> +pursued by her evil adorer to settle down as an independent woman +and win a man she has come to love. An interim in a convent, +where she takes refuge from the law after killing a man in a duel, +naturally only produces fresh complications. Here she, herself, is +passionately drawn to the urbane Superior who cherishes her, and +a novice is similarly attracted to her; but she resists all temptations +(and they are many) to give way to her feelings. At last obstacles +are overcome according to the best romantic pattern—she marries +her male beloved, who understands and accepts her anomaly, encourages +her to fence and hunt with him, and enjoys her love, +which has “la force réuni des deux sexes.” The author must have +read the contemporary literature on hermaphroditism, but was evidently +shy of attributing his heroine’s passionate intensity to her +anomaly after once he had her settled as a married woman, and so lays +it in part to prenatal influence. Her mother, we are told, had during +pregnancy been very friendly with a Persian ambassador to the +French court, and had been “saturated” with his oriental tales. +Thus, the daughter was predestined to love “avec l’exaltation d’une +Persane.” +</p> + +<p> +The second and slightly more artistic French narrative is a +two-volume novel by Henri de Latouche entitled <em>Fragoletta</em> (1829), +which is concerned primarily with the Napoleonic wars and anti-British +propaganda. Emotional interest centers about the hero’s +love for the title figure, whom he first meets as a boyish girl +of fourteen, daring, brilliant, and free of coquetry. Her Sicilian +guardian, knowing himself pursued by political assassins, implores +d’Hauteville to marry and care for Fragoletta, but d’Hauteville feels +that his love for her has roused no response save lively friendship +and so waits for her emotions to mature. On the guardian’s death +he becomes her protector until the misfortunes of war separate +them. Later he hears she has returned to her native Austria from +which she was removed as an infant. +</p> + +<p> +She writes him of discovering there a twin brother, Adriani, who +eventually visits d’Hauteville in his Paris home and falls in love +with his sister, an untouched innocent a year Adriani’s senior. Sent as +a spy to Naples, d’Hauteville sees Fragoletta there at a court ball +given by Queen Caroline, at which Lady Hamilton is a guest. He +hears that Adriani is a spy on the English-Neapolitan side, but +because of the need for concealing his own identity he can neither +reveal himself to Fragoletta nor penetrate the mystery of her presence +among the English and her brother’s treasonous activity. +</p> + +<p> +He then learns from a frantic letter from his sister that Adriani +<a id="page-62" class="pagenum" title="62"></a> +has seduced her and that she no longer wishes to live. Her mother +also has fallen gravely ill of the shock. D’Hauteville pursues the +boy to Paris only to find him gone again and his sister on her deathbed. +Subsequently, he tracks the traitor-seducer back to Naples and +challenges him to a duel. Fragoletta, still in Naples, begs him not +to expose himself to certain capture by the enemy merely in order +to avenge “un tort exagéré ou peut-être imaginaire,” implying that +only his sister’s naïvete led her to believe herself ravished. D’Hauteville +persists in duelling, however, and overcomes his opponent +without effort. Adriani retreats almost without resistance over the +edge of a cliff and falls to death in the sea below with a feminine +cry which reveals to d’Hauteville that Fragoletta and her twin are +one. The reader is left in doubt whether Fragoletta was, like Clémentine, +a hermaphrodite, or (as seems more probable) was simply +an exclusively lesbian woman. (Similarly the Chevalier d’Eon moved +in international diplomatic circles alternately as man and woman, his +true sex being known only upon his death in 1810.) In the course of +the story the author incorporates a scene between Queen Caroline and +Emma Hamilton which takes place in the former’s sunken marble +bath. The queen first plays the part of lady’s maid in disrobing her +beautiful friend, and later indulges in erotic play until the two drowse +off in one another’s arms in the warm pool. Latouche may have intended +this lax court background to account for Fragoletta’s transformation +from a rather engaging tomboy into an active lesbian. +</p> + +<p> +Far superior from a literary viewpoint to either of these novels +was Balzac’s first venture in the intersexual field, <em>Seraphitus-Seraphita</em> +(1834). The heroine of this tale has been mentioned by Natalie +Clifford Barney, a twentieth century writer of lesbian verse, as one +of those androgynes who lend rarity to the Human Comedy.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-19">19</a>] +But Seraphita was not, like Clémentine, a physical anomaly. The novel +of which she is the title figure is a lengthy excursion into Swedenborgian +philosophy, and the girl is raised in an undiluted atmosphere +of that particular mysticism. The result is a sexless and wholly +ascetic personality. To the man who loves her she seems the perfect +woman. To a younger girl whom she leads in fearless ascents of +rocky heights above the fjords and who loves her equally, she seems +the perfect man, although there is never any mystery about her +true sex. With neither man nor girl does she exchange even the +most innocent of physical caresses. After her early death the girl +and the man marry one another, their common half-mystical worship +of her constituting a stronger bond than exists between ordinary +lovers. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-63" class="pagenum" title="63"></a> +In the following year Balzac published his much better-known +novel, <em>The Girl with the Golden Eyes</em>, a romantic tale involving +an overt lesbian, though the latter enters the story only at the +end, the main theme being her effect upon her passive victim. The +story describes the conquest, by the very flower of Byronic heroes, +of a mysterious beauty sequestered in a Paris mansion with all the +vigilance surrounding a caliph’s harem. Once reached by the hero, +the golden-eyed girl proves a paradox of virginity and voluptuous +sophistication until a <em>lapsus linguae</em> betrays that it is a lesbian of +enormous wealth who has initiated her sexually and kept her hidden +from the world of men. This woman, returning from an absence +which made the adventure possible, at once detects the girl’s infidelity +and, in a jealous and sadistic frenzy, kills her. She then +discovers that her rival is her own half-brother and almost physical +twin (they were both illegitimate, their father but one step removed +from royalty), and, consequently, it was his resemblance to her that +made his fatal conquest of the girl so easy. +</p> + +<p> +In the extravagance of the plot and the description of the hero, +which occupies a good quarter of the tale, one might suspect satire +upon the Byronism which was sweeping Europe, except for the +romantic seriousness of the whole. Another long interpolated essay +is an arraignment, mordant in brilliance, of the cruelty, stupidity, and +license of Parisian life, in which one detects echoes from Rousseau: +in such an “unnatural” milieu excesses of evil are only to be +expected. Such romantic social philosophy concerned Balzac here +more than the psychology of either woman. That the golden-eyed +girl, sold by her mother at the age of twelve and a passive partner +throughout, should first learn complete love from the hero, is barely +credible. That after a decade in which she has suffered neither +physical nor nervous ill-health she should be so instantly changed +as to prefer death to her former life might be questioned by the +modern psychologist. The lesbian Marquise is hardly better accounted +for. Her cool purchase and long imprisonment of the girl, +whose physical beauty is the only tie suggested between them, make +poor preparation for her heartbreak and sudden desire for convent +life because she has lost “that which seemed the infinite.” Possibly +her half-Spanish, half-royal blood are intended to account for both +her lesbianism and her vagaries of temperament, for gossip credited +the Spanish ruling dynasty as well as the house of Orléans with +tendencies toward homosexuality. +</p> + +<p> +In <em>Cousin Bette</em> (1846), Balzac, with a realism in sharp contrast +to both his earlier tales and in keeping with literary trends of the +<a id="page-64" class="pagenum" title="64"></a> +intervening dozen years, presents rather casually the half-realized +infatuation of the thwarted spinster, Bette, for Madame Marneffe, the +human instrument she employs to satisfy her much stronger passion +for revenge upon the family who have humiliated her. Valérie Marneffe, +who “spent her days upon a sofa, turning the lantern of her +detective spirit on the obscurest depths of souls, sentiments and +intrigues ... had discovered the true nature of this ardent creature +burning with wasted passion, and meant to attach her to herself.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-20">20</a>] +Both women have had lovers, Bette having striven in vain to hold a +Polish artist several years her junior. But “in this new affection she +had found food ... far more satisfying than her insane passion for +Wenceslas, who had always been cold to her.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-21">21</a>] Little of physical +intimacy is implied between the two women beyond frequent kisses, +and since Balzac is not particularly reticent about such details, it is +not safe to assume any such relation as existed in <em>The Girl with the +Golden Eyes</em>. But later in the book he speaks of such attachments +as “the strongest emotion known, that of a woman for a woman.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-22">22</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Thus, the faithful observer of the Human Comedy presented three +contrasting types of emotional variance and offered three distinct +explanations of it. In the first, intellectual conditioning was the +causal factor; in the second, a possible inheritance of temperament +plus the certain freedom for self-indulgence provided by limitless +wealth; and in the third, poverty of both circumstance and emotional +opportunity. The resulting experiences also show the writer’s imaginative +range. The first seraphic heroine is as innocent and passionless +as the biblical Ruth. The Spanish Marquise is violent to the point +of melodrama. The warped spinster is confused and groping in +expression as well as feeling. +</p> + +<p> +In the same year that <em>The Girl with the Golden Eyes</em> appeared, +Gautier published <em>Mlle de Maupin</em>. The former enjoyed a few +months’ priority, but Gautier’s volume had been promised to the +publisher a year before its appearance, and as the two men’s long +friendship began only with Balzac’s reading of the younger man’s +story,[<a class="footnote" href="#3-23">23</a>] there is no question of influence in either direction. +</p> + +<p> +From the standpoint of modern psychology Gautier’s is the +more careful and complete study. Indeed, having humor, vitality, +and a tolerant bisexual attitude, it is probably the most generally +popular of all variant “classics.” In it an orphaned heiress dons men’s +clothes and sets out to discover how men live when uninhibited +by the presence of ladies. In the course of her adventures Maupin +is loved by a young man of poetic temperament who has had +mistresses but found them physically satisfying only, and by a +<a id="page-65" class="pagenum" title="65"></a> +young woman of good social standing who has been one of those +mistresses. Maupin also has with her for a time a young girl +disguised as a page whom she has rescued from exploitation by an +old rake and on whom she lavishes a devotion both erotic and +maternal. The young man suffers from believing his passion abnormal +until he learns Maupin’s true sex, but then recognizes that for the +first time he has found complete love because he has so many +more tastes in common with this girl than with his previous feminine +paramours. +</p> + +<p> +As to the young woman, her passion survives the revelation of +Maupin’s sex, her persistent caresses prove as exciting as the man’s, +and Maupin finishes by spending half the final night depicted with +each of them and by riding off in the morning with markedly +unfeminine detachment. Physically, we have for the first time in +modern fiction the explicit description of a type which has since +become associated with homosexual tendencies in women—the tall, +wide shouldered, slim hipped figure endowed with perfect grace +and with great skill in riding and fencing. Temperamentally we +have Maupin’s own description of herself as “of a third sex, one +that has as yet no name above or below.” As a girl she was “six +months older but six years less romantic” than her bosom friend, +for whom her friendship had “all the characteristics of a passion,” +but for years she “burned in her little skin like a chestnut on the +stove” to satisfy what is described as an intellectual curiosity about +the lives of men away from women and their real attitude toward +women.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-24">24</a>] It is this unemotional detachment which Gautier emphasizes +as peculiarly masculine. +</p> + +<p> +Scattered through the story is a quantity of very canny analysis +of intersexual characteristics, and though the tale is supposedly based +upon the life of a seventeenth-century actress, it departs so far +from the known facts about her that it must stand as a monument +to the author’s psychological acumen alone. Since he wrote it at +the age of twenty-four, one cannot escape the suspicion that it was +drawn from personal or at least close secondhand acquaintance +with George Sand, so newly come to Paris in her male costume and +so prominent in literary circles at that moment. It certainly marks +a long step forward in the serious study of a variant personality. +(The actual history of Madeleine Maupin d’Aubigny,[<a class="footnote" href="#3-25">25</a>] late seventeenth-century +singer and actress, is perhaps worth attention because +of its contrast to Gautier’s artistic modification. As a young woman +Maupin came to Paris from the provinces determined upon a stage +career, and married her vocal teacher, d’Aubigny, who was connected +<a id="page-66" class="pagenum" title="66"></a> +with the Opera and who got her the position upon which she was set. +The marriage was apparently a mere strategic move on her part and +was short-lived. A tall woman, and a fencer of extraordinary ability, +Mme. d’Aubigny frequently played young men’s parts, and soon took +to wearing men’s costume off as well as on the stage. One of her +diversions was roaming the streets at night and provoking men to +cross swords with her for the pleasure of worsting them. She inspired +passion in many young women, one of whom, a girl of good family, +ran away with her when her repeated embroilments forced her to +leave Paris. The girl’s parents overtook the eloping couple and put +their daughter into a convent at Avignon. +</p> + +<p> +Being apparently infatuated herself, Maupin resumed woman’s +dress and gained entry to the convent as a novice for the purpose of +manoeuvering her friend’s escape. The means which presented themselves +were macabre enough. A nun died and was buried within +the convent enclosure; Maupin exhumed the body, put it in her +friend’s bed, and set fire to the cell; during the resulting confusion +the two young women escaped. But their subsequent precarious +vagabondage apparently cured the girl of her taste for bohemian +freedom and for Maupin; she returned to her parents. Maupin’s +later career was comparatively seamy and unromantic.) +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +In 1851 Lamartine included in <em>Nouvelles Confidences</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#3-26">26</a>] an innocent +infatuation between two adolescent girls which is reminiscent +of Wollstonecraft’s Mary and Balzac’s <em>Seraphita</em>. (Though a reference +in Havelock Ellis seems to place Regina among Lamartine’s poetic +works, it is actually prose. His statement that here the theme is treated +with “more or less boldness”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-27">27</a>] also appears unjustified.) Although +the initial attachment between the heroine, Regina, and her school +friend, Clothilde, might be considered “normal,” since it occurs +between the ages of fourteen and seventeen, its later effects compel +attention. The two girls, thrown together in a declining Roman convent +school where supervision is lax, contrive regularly to spend +their nights together. Lamartine describes their hours of long talk +and tenderness with such skill and delicacy that one can doubt +neither the basic innocence of both girls nor the ultimate passion +in their embraces. +</p> + +<p> +During their years together Clothilde talks so much of a twin +brother Saluse that Regina falls half in love with him vicariously, +but at seventeen she is married unwillingly to a titled dotard. In the +same year Clothilde’s mother dies, and Clothilde does not long survive +this double loss of her only parent and beloved friend. At Clothilde’s +<a id="page-67" class="pagenum" title="67"></a> +grave Regina and Saluse meet and fall in love at sight. Their passion +runs a stormy but blameless course, which leads eventually to +Regina’s seeking formal release from her marriage. While she +is away from Rome her petition is granted by the church, but only +on condition of Saluse’s permanent exile from the city. Saluse +decides in her absence on exile for her sake rather than on elopement +and public scandal. On learning of his decision the girl cries +out that he who would sacrifice love to conscience cannot be the +brother of Clothilde. ‘At Clothilde’s tomb it was not she I found +again, it was a phantom.... He had her features but not her +heart.’[<a class="footnote" href="#3-28">28</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Lamartine’s effort to explain the girls’ passionate friendship is +interesting if seemingly somewhat confused. Primarily, like Diderot, +he lays responsibility upon the convent environment, where not +only are women segregated but every aspect of their life—music, incense, +pageantry, solitude and idleness—inflames the ‘imagination,’ +while the feeble pretense at education includes nothing to stimulate +or discipline the intellect. Such life produces ‘veritable orientals, +fit only for the harem.’ The specific occasion of their emotional involvement, +however, he says, is Regina’s identification of Clothilde +with the unknown brother of whom the latter talks so eloquently. +‘I should never have believed in this phenomenon, which reflects +and thus redoubles the beloved object, I should have taken it for +the imaginative creation of poets, had I not seen it with my own +eyes in the spirit of Regina.’[<a class="footnote" href="#3-29">29</a>] This seems a rather feeble attempt to +gloss over any homosexual implication, for Clothilde, though more +intellectual and less passionate than Regina, is in no way masculine. +And, in the end, it was precisely the masculine element in Saluse’s +sacrifice of their love which repelled Regina. It was a man’s decision +and not a woman’s, ‘of the head and not the heart.’ Lamartine’s +treatment here of the variant theme gains added interest from the +fact that earlier, in <em>Jocelyn</em>, he had sailed perilously close to the +implication of male variance. In this story, popular enough to supply +the libretto for Godard’s opera, a hermit priest becomes so attached +to the “boy” left in his charge that he suffers agonies of conscience +before discovering that his ward is a disguised girl. Evidently the +whole matter of possible intrasexual attraction held a kind of +fascination for Lamartine, though he treated it with a reserve more +Victorian than French. +</p> + +<p> +Toward the end of this decade (1858) a novel appeared, <em>La Sapho</em>, +cited by Lewandowski in <em>Das Sexualproblem ...</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#3-30">30</a>] as definitely +lesbian, and of added interest in that it was written by a woman, +<a id="page-68" class="pagenum" title="68"></a> +Céleste Venard comtesse de Chabrillan; but unhappily this has not +been available for examination. +</p> + +<p> +At the beginning of the following decade (1862) Flaubert published +<em>Salammbo</em>, of which Krafft-Ebing says that the author made +his heroine homosexual.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-31">31</a>] If this is true at all by modern standards +the condition is latent and of short duration, but because of the +expressed judgment of so prominent an early authority on sex variance +the story will be examined in some detail. It will also be interesting +to see with what “pitiless method” Flaubert dissects the emotional +economy of an inhibited girl. To be sure Salammbo’s adolescent +devotion to the virgin moon-goddess Tanit (comparable to the Greek +Astarte and the Roman Diana, and allied also to the Roman Bona +Dea) verges upon passion, but it is so described as to suggest the +sexual overtones in any ecstatic religious experience rather than +to imply a variant element. +</p> + +<p> +Daughter of Hamilcar of Carthage, Salammbo grows up in a +time of such peril that she is raised in solitary seclusion; her only +companions are an aged nurse and the eunuch who is chief priest +in the temple of Tanit. She would like to become a “devotee,” but +Hamilcar designs a politically profitable marriage for her, and +forbids her initiation into the inner mysteries of the cult (which +would involve ritual defloration, though Flaubert does not mention +this fact). +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +She had grown up in abstinence, in fastings and purifications, +always surrounded by exquisite and solemn things, +her body saturated with perfumes and her soul with prayers.... +Of obscene symbols she knew nothing ... (she) worshipped +the Goddess in her sidereal aspect. +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +She says to the priest: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +It is a spirit that drives me to this love of mine.... +[The other gods] are all too far away, too high, too insensible; +while She—I feel her as a part of my life, she fills my soul.... +I am devoured with eagerness to see her body. +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This may seem suggestive, but she denies physical interest when +under the fires of spring and the full moon, she cries out to her +nurse: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Sometimes gusts of heat seem to rise from the depths of +my being.... Voices call me ... fire rises in my breast; +<a id="page-69" class="pagenum" title="69"></a> +it stifles me, I feel that I am dying ... it is a caress folding +about me and I feel crushed.... Oh! that I might lose +myself in the night mists ... that I could <em>leave my body</em> +[author’s italics] and be but a breath, a ray, then float up +to thee, O Mother [Tanit].[<a class="footnote" href="#3-32">32</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Her nurse, wise in the signs of physical ripening, does not take +this for religious ecstasy. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +“‘You must choose a husband from the sons of the Elders, +since it was [your father’s] wish,’ she says. ‘Your sorrow will +vanish in the arms of a man.’ ‘Why?’ asked the young girl. +All the men she had seen had horrified her with their wild +bestial laughter and their coarse limbs.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-33">33</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +These men are her father’s barbarian mercenaries, and Flaubert’s +picture of their drunken orgy after victory would revolt a stronger +spirit than that of a sheltered girl. Her first direct encounter is with +Matho the Libyan, “his great mouth agape, his necklet of silver +moons tangled in the hairs on his chest.” Crazed with passion for +her, he steals the Zaimph [sacred veil of Tanit] from the temple as +a love charm, breaks into Salammbo’s chambers at midnight, and +attempts to ravish and abduct her. Naturally terrified, she summons +aid in time to save herself, but she does not understand what it is +he wants of her. Later she tells him: “Your words I did not understand, +but I knew you wished to drag me toward something horrible, +to the bottom of some abyss....”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-34">34</a>] +</p> + +<p> +The story then centers around her personal conflict between her +desire to retrieve the Zaimph and her horror of the barbarian who has +fled the city without returning it. Finally, under religious compulsion +to save Carthage by regaining its sacred talisman, she makes her +way to the Libyan’s tent. She has been instructed by the high priest +to resist Matho in no way, and consequently she submits to his +embrace. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Salammbo, who was accustomed to eunuchs, yielded to +amazement at the strength of this man.... A feeling of +lassitude overpowered her ... all the time she felt that she +was in the grip of some doom, that she had reached a +supreme and irrevocable moment.... Some power from +within and at the same time above her, a command from the +gods, forced her to yield to it; she was borne up as on clouds, +and fell back swooning.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-35">35</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a id="page-70" class="pagenum" title="70"></a> +But on being questioned subsequently by her father as to what +occurred, she is evasive. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Salammbo told no more, perhaps through shame, or else +because in her extreme ingenuousness she attached but little +importance to the soldier’s embraces.... Then she examined +the Zaimph and when she had well considered it, she was +surprised to find that she did not experience that ecstasy which +she had once pictured to herself. Her dream was accomplished; +yet she was melancholy.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-36">36</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Although she does not see Matho again and feels only hatred for him +“... the anguish from which she formerly suffered had left her, and a +strange calm possessed her. Her eyes were not so restless, and shone +with limpid fire.... She did not keep such long or such rigid fasts +now.... In spite of her hatred of him, she would have liked to see +Matho again.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-37">37</a>] +</p> + +<p> +This is a master’s account of the effect of physical release on an unawakened +girl. +</p> + +<p> +Considerably later Salammbo is married, according to her father’s +plan, to the effete prince, Narr’ Havas. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +He wore a flower-painted robe fringed with gold at the +hem; his braided hair was caught up at his ears by two +arrows of silver.... As she watched him, she was wrapped +about with a host of vague thoughts. This young man with +his gentle voice and woman’s figure charmed her by the +grace of his person and seemed like an elder sister sent by +the Baalim to protect her. She did not understand how this +young man could ever become her master. The thought of +Matho came to her and she could not resist the desire to +learn what had become of him.... Although she prayed +every day to Tanit for Matho’s death, her horror of the +Libyan was growing less. She was confusedly aware that there +was something almost like religion in the hatred [sic] with +which he had persecuted her, and she wished to see in Narr’ +Havas a reflection, as it were, of a violence which still bemused +her.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-38">38</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +These two passages indicate quite the opposite of homosexual emotion. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-71" class="pagenum" title="71"></a> +When, after months of carnage, Matho is taken captive and +literally torn to pieces by the people of Carthage, Salammbo is +witness to his terrible death. Instead of sharing in the shrieking +triumph of the populace, she “could once more see him in his +tent, clasping his arms about her waist, stammering gentle words. +She thirsted to feel and hear those things again and was at the +point of screaming aloud.” And when Matho “fell back and moved +no more,” Salammbo also collapsed into unconsciousness from which +she never recovered. The concluding words of the book are: “So +died Hamilcar’s daughter, because she had touched the mantle +of Tanit.” Flaubert’s novel carries symbolic overtones not apparent +in brief summary, and since Tanit was allied to the Roman Bona +Dea, goddess of sexual fulfillment and fertility, her Zaimph doubtless +represents heterosexual passion. Salammbo, conditioned to asceticism +throughout her early life, dies of the unresolved conflict +between these two dominating drives. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +A minor novel which Krafft-Ebing mentions as also “mainly +lesbian in theme”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-39">39</a>] may shed some light on what he intended by +the term. It is Ernest Feydeau’s <em>La Comtesse de Chalis</em> (1867), in +which a dashing Parisian beauty neglects her children and tubercular +husband for a spectacular career in <em>le haut monde</em>. An idealistic +and infatuated professor of the new <em>Ecole Normale</em>, who is keenly +aware of belonging to a lower social class, ruins himself financially +in his attempt to maintain a place in the countess’s world. The +story, told by him, is chiefly concerned with his efforts to save her +from the frivolous and corrupt life of her circle. Her evil genius +is a fabulously wealthy Prince Titiane, diseased and depraved at +twenty-one, whom she repeatedly promises to dismiss from her life +but to whose influence she continuously succumbs. She goes gradually +from bad to worse, and ends by consorting <em>à trois</em> with him and one +of the city’s celebrated courtesans, his long-time mistress; however, +this situation develops only in the last pages of a lengthy volume. +The Prince is described throughout as so effeminate in appearance, +dress, and appurtenances that it would be easy to imagine him a +woman in disguise, but there is no textual support for such an inference. +Late in the story it develops that it is solely his use of the whip +which binds the countess to him, and that this flagellation is without +sexual sequel, since Titiane is impotent. +</p> + +<p> +Aside from being unusually tall and arrogant, the countess has +no masculine attributes whatever, either physical or psychological, +and it is never she who wields the lash. Her dominant motive is an +<a id="page-72" class="pagenum" title="72"></a> +egotistic compulsion to be the most dazzling figure in Paris. Since +the fantastic young Croesus, Titiane, is the arbiter of social destinies +in her particular world, she is slavishly submissive to him. Her +interest in the courtesan, though it is charged with emotion throughout, +appears to be the obsession of an ambitious woman with the +techniques of a serious rival, and the emotion is predominantly +jealousy. Her final indulgence in sexual promiscuity results from +her determination to be outdone by that rival in no field whatsoever. +Analyzed by a modern psychiatrist, the countess would be diagnosed +as a complete narcissist, unable to care the slightest for anyone +but herself. +</p> + +<p> +Consideration of these two novels suggests that to Krafft-Ebing +any failure of feminine heterosexual adjustment was included in +that “contrary sexual feeling” which was equated throughout his +later study with active homosexuality. As we have seen, modern +psychoanalysts consider narcissism and homosexuality as closely related +in etiology; yet it is confusing to have the more specific term +applied to experiences which, like Salammbo’s and the countess’s, +include relations with men and none with their own sex. “Mainly +lesbian in theme” <em>La Comtesse de Chalis</em> certainly is not. +</p> + +<p> +The fact that in a contemporary novel considered later, Feydeau’s +<em>La Comtesse</em> was bracketed with Gautier’s <em>Mlle Maupin</em> and Balzac’s +<em>Girl with the Golden Eyes</em> may also have contributed to Krafft-Ebing’s +thinking it more “lesbian” than it is. Indeed, the modern investigator +sometimes suspects that scientific writers had not read all of the +belletristic titles they referred to but were satisfied to rely on the +word of others with respect to them. Another detail which might +have strengthened an impression of similarity to Balzac is Feydeau’s +denunciation of <em>le haut monde</em> in imitation of Balzac’s earlier +indictment of metropolitan life in general. The new element in +Feydeau is acute class consciousness in his condemnation of the +“idle rich.” However second-rate from an artistic standpoint <em>La +Comtesse de Chalis</em> may be, it is a remarkably exact contemporary +record of “the mixture of splendor and misery ... the sense of +uneasy satiety, of restless torpor, of indefinable dread” described by +the modern Albert Guérard as prevailing in the late Second +Empire.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-40">40</a>] +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-8-4"> +Evidence from Poets +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Although fiction made up so preponderant a part of variant writing +in the nineteenth century, poetry also made a sizable contribution. +<a id="page-73" class="pagenum" title="73"></a> +In 1816, Coleridge, who with Wordsworth is generally thought of as +initiating the Romantic Period in England, published two parts +of a narrative poem, <em>Christabel</em>, which was never finished. All college +students of literature know that eerie fragment of medieval romance +with its occult overtones. +</p> + +<p> +Christabel, the innocent heroine whose betrothed is “far away” +on a knightly quest, steals out from her father’s castle at midnight to +pray for her lover beneath a giant oak hung with mistletoe—a test +of maidenly courage in the face of both natural and occult darkness, +for oak and mistletoe still retain pre-Christian connotations. In the +moonlit wood she finds a distressed lady, Geraldine, who tells a +story of kidnaping and violence designed to win her sympathy. +As she helps the fainting lady into the castle certain signs forebode +evil to a reader acquainted with demonic lore: Geraldine’s eyes gleam +in the dark like an animal’s, she is so faint that she requires +Christabel’s aid in crossing the sill, and once she is inside a mastiff +moans in its sleep and embers on the hearth shoot out tongues of +flame. +</p> + +<p> +In Christabel’s maiden chamber while the two are disrobing +Geraldine (and she alone) sees the “spectre” of Christabel’s dead +mother come to guard her child, and bids the hovering spirit be off. +Though she has shown fear at sight of a carven angel in the room +and has made poor work of feigning prayer, Geraldine still has +power to prevent Christabel’s seeing the vision or being warned, +and presently the two lie down together “in appropriate medieval +nudity.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-41">41</a>] With fascinated loathing Christabel notes that Geraldine’s +“breast and side” are those of a withered hag; still she is powerless +to resist the other’s spell, and in Geraldine’s arms she falls into +a trance. +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">With open eyes (ah woe is me!)</p> + <p class="verse">Asleep and dreaming fearfully,</p> + <p class="verse">Fearfully dreaming, yet, I wis,</p> + <p class="verse">Dreaming that alone, which is—</p> + <p class="verse">O sorrow and shame! Can this be she</p> + <p class="verse">The lady [Christabel] who knelt at the old oak tree?</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Afterward “Her limbs relax, her countenance Grows sad and soft,” +and in her sleep she both smiles and weeps, while Geraldine “Seems +to slumber still and mild As a mother with her child.” +</p> + +<p> +In the morning Christabel wakes to find her guest already +clothed, but “fairer yet and yet more fair!” for now her shriveled +<a id="page-74" class="pagenum" title="74"></a> +bosom has the fullness of a young woman’s, a subtle allusion to +the widespread folk superstition that sexual contact with innocent +youth heals sickness and restores old age. Christabel is troubled +by “such perplexity of mind As dreams too lively leave behind,” +and delivers her morning greeting in “low faltering tones.” “Sure +I have sinned!” she feels, but is uncertain precisely how, and prays +merely that “He who on the cross did groan Might wash away her +sins unknown.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-42">42</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Roy Basler, in his <em>Sex, Symbolism and Psychology in Literature</em>, +devotes a long chapter[<a class="footnote" href="#3-41">41</a>] to the poem which is recommended to the +reader for its minute analysis of Coleridge’s skill in handling the +whole episode. As he points out, it is “too realistic psychologically +... for one to avoid an erotic implication.” The remainder of the +poem contains nothing further of variant significance. The spell +of Geraldine’s touch has made it impossible for Christabel to give +her father anything beyond the simplest objective account of how +the woman came there, and the action merely prepares for later +events never written. +</p> + +<p> +Of the content of these three projected “books” we have only +a brief account by Dr. James Gilman, with whom Coleridge lived +later while undergoing treatment for his addiction to opium. The +relevant points follow: Complications force Geraldine to abandon +her feminine form and to assume that of Christabel’s absent lover. In +this guise she woos the girl and gains the father’s consent to a +marriage, even though Christabel is filled with inexplicable loathing +for her at the altar. Had Coleridge carried through this outlined +narrative, he could scarcely, as Basler says, “have avoided even +more harrowing suggestions of a sexual nature” in Geraldine’s +disguised courtship. Significant of her sexual duality are repeated +references to her height and her arrogant bearing. +</p> + +<p> +Basler points out that after 1801, Coleridge’s moral reputation +was precarious because of his opium habit, and that “no man ever +feared calumny more keenly.” Although the poet began <em>Christabel</em> +and had the entire plot worked out at that time, he published +none of it for fifteen years. When it finally appeared, the <em>Edinburgh +Review</em> attacked it with “charges of obscenity” and “implications +of personal turpitude,” while “parodies and vulgar continuations of +the poem made the most of leering improbabilities.” The dread of +further personal attack discouraged Coleridge from completing the +work, and no other English poet seems to have approached the +subject of variance for nearly a half century. +</p> + +<p> +The next poem that appeared in England, however—Christina +<a id="page-75" class="pagenum" title="75"></a> +Rossetti’s <em>Goblin Market</em>, written in 1859—is so akin to <em>Christabel</em> +in its overtones of folk magic and so alien to the temporally intervening +French poetry on variant themes that it is best to examine +it here. It is generally regarded as variant or even lesbian, but the +vivid narrative is too symbolic for precise sexual interpretation. On +the surface it recounts that two sisters, Laura and Lizzie, as they +stroll at dusk are daily tempted by “goblin men” to buy the most +luscious of ripe fruits. Though knowing the fruits to be forbidden, +Laura succumbs, pays with a curl of her golden hair (having no +money), and partakes alone, Lizzie having fled. “She sucked their +fruit globes fair or red ... sucked and sucked and sucked ... +until her tongue was sore....” After this indulgence she can no +longer see or hear the goblins, and wastes away with pining for +their delicacies. +</p> + +<p> +When she seems “knocking at Death’s door,” Lizzie, aware that +another girl in like case has recently died, goes to purchase fruit +for her sister with honest coin. The goblins refuse her money and +use every means to force their wares between her own lips, but she +resists and returns so dripping with crushed fruit that she is hopeful +of bringing some satisfaction to her sister. Laura kisses her hungrily, +but more in gratitude for the dreadful risk she has run than in +greed for what lingers “in dimples of her chin.” Indeed, the fruit +now scorches Laura’s lips and is wormwood on her tongue, so that +from loathing she is seized with violent convulsion and falls unconscious. +In the morning she awakes cured, and Lizzie suffers no +ill effects at all. +</p> + +<p> +As a translation of voluptuous experience into decorous terms +the poem cannot be equaled, but any attempt at literal reconstruction +of the experience bogs down in the symbolic details. Certain points +however are implicit in the text: Laura’s experience is a complete +sexual release which it needs no acquaintance with Freud to recognize +as oral-erotic. All the goblins are male, but they are grotesque, +repulsive, more animal than human save for their ability to hawk +their wares, and these irresistible wares take the shapes of ripe +cherries, peaches, plums, melons, “figs that fill the mouth”—in short, +the whole catalog of age-old symbols for female charms. Although +the sisters are described as “Sleeping in their curtained bed Cheek +to cheek and breast to breast,” there is no more incestuous lesbian +implication here than in Sidney’s <em>Arcadia</em>. These embraces are plainly +symbols of the innocence from which Laura lapses and to which +she returns by virtue of Lizzie’s steadfast purity. Perhaps the only +safe inference is that Laura’s “fall” is solitary, even subjectively induced +<a id="page-76" class="pagenum" title="76"></a> +(psychiatric records prove fantasy to be an adequate agent). +Her subsequent neurotic inhibition is the product of guilt, and ends +in a releasing hysteric convulsion somehow brought about by Lizzie’s +ministrations. +</p> + +<p> +This mundane analysis of an exquisite work of art does reveal its +author’s emotional pattern. It is known that Miss Rossetti had a +somewhat cloistered life, largely spent in the company of a mother +to whom she was intensely devoted and a sister who later became +an Anglican nun, all three women being almost fanatically devout. +She was twice passionately in love with men, but refused them +both on the grounds of religious incompatibility. The first of these +episodes occurred when she was barely seventeen. The man, a recent +convert to Catholicism, returned to the Church of England when +he discovered that Christina would not marry a papist, but later +reverted to Rome, and the whole affair seems to have constituted a +two-year span of acute emotional disturbance in the girl’s life. +(She subsequently fainted upon meeting him unexpectedly in the +street.) It may well have been that any man’s ability to switch +religious camps so readily under the stress of passion produced a +reaction to the whole business of sex such as we find in <em>Goblin +Market</em>, which was written when its author was nearing thirty. +Tragically enough, her lifelong ascetic repression broke during her +last illness in a protracted delirium which revealed at what cost it +had been maintained. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +France was as always more tolerant of sexual latitude in literature +than England, but even there the open-mindedness which made <em>Mlle +de Maupin</em> acceptable in 1835 was not constant. Since it is impossible +to give in short compass any account of the alternating waves of +liberalism and conservative reaction that swayed public opinion +there during the middle decades of the century, it must suffice to +note that Charles Baudelaire published his <em>Fleurs du Mal</em> during an +interim of clerical dominance, and in consequence the volume was +condemned by the <em>Tribunal Correctionnel</em> in August 1857. As early +as 1846 the publisher Levy had announced on advertising pages of +other works a forthcoming title by Baudelaire, <em>Les Lesbiennes</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#3-43">43</a>] +which never appeared as such, probably because the title was too +daring. Only three poems in the <em>Fleurs</em> touch upon lesbianism, but +the longest of these was one of the six which were ordered removed +from the volume and which were not publicly printed again until +1911. +</p> + +<p> +This poem, “Femmes Damnées, I,” some twenty-six quatrains in +<a id="page-77" class="pagenum" title="77"></a> +length, describes rather explicitly the conquest of a feminine and +passive young girl, half reluctant because still dreaming of heterosexual +love, by a more aggressive feminine partner who decries the +physical brutality and spiritual incompatibility of any male lover. +In “Femmes Damnées, II” the poet watches a band of lesbians at +a shore resort behaving much as any uninhibited heterosexual group +might do, and accords them more than even his customary despairing +compassion. Such love as theirs is doomed to go unsated, and they +themselves, he says, will pass progressively to drink and drugs and +“loveless loves that know no pity.” And yet in “Lesbos” he holds +Sappho guilty of a “crime of the spirit” when, faithless to her own +earlier teaching and practice, she “flung the dark roses of her love +sublime To a vain churl (Phaon.)”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-44">44</a>] (Note: “Lesbos” had appeared +in 1850 in an anthology, <em>Les Poètes de l’Amour</em>, published by +Lemerre. It was omitted from the 1858 edition of that volume, but +reappeared in the edition of 1865.)[<a class="footnote" href="#3-45">45</a>] The Catholic Baudelaire was +essentially a mystic, not a romantic with that faith in Love which +had been the gospel of the preceding decades. Obsessed as he was +by the failure of all passion to satisfy the human craving for perfection, +it is natural that homosexual passion, inevitably “unassuageable, +sterile and outcast,” should seem to him the essence of pitiable +futility. This negative judgment, however, is not given in terms +of conventional morality. +</p> + +<p> +Within a decade the wave of conservatism had so far receded +that Paul Verlaine’s <em>Les Amies, Scènes d’Amour Sapphique</em> (1867), +though published in Brussels for safety, apparently encountered in +France no harsher judgment than a comment in the <em>Bulletin +Trimestriel</em> that they were by a poet of the school of M. Leconte +de Lisle, and were “fort singuliers.”[<a class="footnote" href="#3-46">46</a>] The slim sheaf of sixteen pages +contained six poems, subsequently included in his volume <em>Parallèlement</em>, +which described lesbian love and its overt expression more +explicitly than Baudelaire’s condemned verses, or indeed than any +other non-erotic work up to that time. The “Pensionnaires” are +sisters in the middle teens, the younger of whom still ‘smiles with +innocence’ despite the elder’s far from innocent ministrations. The +pair in “Sur le Balcon,” dreaming only of the love between women, +are ‘a strange couple, pitied by other heterosexual couples.’ “Printemps” +and “Eté” reproduce the situation in Baudelaire’s “Femmes +Damnées, I” except that here the younger and more innocent girl +is neither reluctant nor apprehensive. In “Per Amica Silentia” the +poet applies for the first time the adjective “esseulées”—solitary, +left alone—to those who ‘in these unhappy times’ are set apart +<a id="page-78" class="pagenum" title="78"></a> +by “le glorieux stigmate,” thus foreshadowing the social isolation +lamented sixty years later in the <em>Well of Loneliness</em>, but indicating +by the adjective “glorieux” that his sentiment, unlike Baudelaire’s, +is one of championship. In the final “Sappho” he describes the poet, +hollow-eyed, pacing a cold shore, restless as a she-wolf, weeping and +tearing her hair over Phaon’s indifference until finally she plunges +into the sea in despair at the contrast between her present state +and the ‘young glory of her early loves.’[<a class="footnote" href="#3-47">47</a>] It is more than likely +that it was from this poem that Rilke derived his interpretation of +Sappho’s “Lament” heretofore mentioned. +</p> + +<p> +During the preceding year (1866) there had appeared in England +Swinburne’s <em>Poems and Ballads: First Series</em>, which raised an outcry +on several counts—its general “paganism,” its evidence of French +influence (particularly that of Baudelaire), and its scattering of +poems with a homosexual tinge. Swinburne had, in his youth, been +intimate with the much older Sir Richard Burton, famous translator +of the <em>Arabian Nights</em> and author of an appendix on that “sotadic +zone” in the Mediterranean region which in his opinion favored the +development of homosexual tendencies. Later Swinburne fell under +the influence of Richard Monckton-Milnes, famous for a library of +variant erotica. As both of these friendships were matters of common +knowledge, when <em>Poems and Ballads</em> appeared, attention focussed +naturally on such poems as “Erotion,” “Hermaphroditus,” “Fragoletta,” +“Hesperia,” and the fairly numerous group with a lesbian +coloring, though none of these were explicit or described a realistic +contemporary situation in the manner of Verlaine. +</p> + +<p> +“Anactoria” is a ten-page plaint from Sappho to a girl who no +longer reciprocates her love, but it differs little from Swinburne’s +many laments celebrating all love as pain. The “Sapphics” describe +life on Mitylene, “place whence all gods fled ... full of fruitless +women and music only.” A half dozen stanzas scattered through +other poems—notably “Dolores,” “Faustine,” and “Masque of Queen +Bersabe”—echo the same note. Swinburne’s attitude is unsympathetic, +colder even than Baudelaire’s and more scornful, with emphasis +always upon the barrenness of lesbian love, as might be expected +from a poet who occasionally made almost a fetish of baby-worship. +</p> + +<p> +All of the longer biographies of Swinburne give some account +of a projected narrative in mixed prose and verse upon which he +worked intermittently between 1864 and 1867 but never finished. +What remains of manuscript and galley proof is now in the British +Museum, after a half-century in the possession of the notorious +rare-book dealer and literary forger, Thomas Wise. It was finally +<a id="page-79" class="pagenum" title="79"></a> +edited and given private publication in 1952 by Langdon Hughes, an +idolatrous admirer of Swinburne, for whom it held the promise of +becoming, if completed, one of the greater English novels. Unhappily, +neither the scant surviving text nor Mr. Hughes’s overwhelming +volume of annotation and championship convey to the +reader much of that promise or of the author’s projected intent. As +Swinburne himself gave it no title it is generally known by the +suggestive name of its central figure: <em>Lesbia Brandon</em>. Georges +Lafourcade, in his scholarly two-volume study of Swinburne, suggests +that this character was drawn from Jane Faulkner,[<a class="footnote" href="#3-48">48</a>] daughter of +one of the poet’s friends, who also inspired “The Triumph of Time” +(fifteen pages of bitter reproach for failure to love him and save him +from other fateful loves). For this dark, spirited young girl he +seems to have nursed briefly his only “normal” passion; she responded +to his half-hysterical romantic proposal with a helpless burst of +laughter, and it needed but the one touch of ridicule to snuff +out the hardly lighted spark.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-49">49</a>] Lafourcade believes that Jane herself +“avait quelque chose d’anormal,” and certainly the description of +Lesbia is suggestive: dark, heavy-lidded, taciturn, Byronically proud, +with a pathological hatred of men. When, on her deathbed, she is +tenderly embraced by the man who adores her she shows only +“mad repugnance, blind absolute horror.” In her youth she had +loved a governess and threatened suicide when the woman talked +of marrying. Later she was an enthusiastic student of Sappho and +wrote many love poems from the masculine viewpoint. +</p> + +<p> +The emotional life of the hero, Hubert, up to the time of his +meeting with Lesbia is said to be a quite frank parallel of Swinburne’s +own. The critical first encounter occurs while Hubert is dressed as +a girl, and this disguise is responsible for Lesbia’s immediate interest. +Their subsequent relations are not developed in the portions of the +story that Swinburne committed to paper, nor is much of Lesbia’s +experience save her eventual slow suicide by opium, in an atmosphere +heavily fragrant with flowers and eau de cologne. Among the disconnected +residual fragments are two: “Turris Iburnea” and “La +Bohème Dédorée,” in which the poet presents Leonora Harley, a +beautiful but vulgar and stupid demi-mondaine. This character +was said to be drawn directly from Adah Isaacs Menken, who was +also the original of his “Dolores”—a fifteen page description of an +insatiable nymphomaniac. There is reason, as will appear later, to +believe that Menken’s temperament included a variant strain. That +Swinburne intended to make use of this in his plot is strongly suggested +by the following: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<a id="page-80" class="pagenum" title="80"></a> +<p class="noindent"> +Over their evening Leonora Harley guided with the due +graces of her professional art [that of courtesan]. It was not +her fault if she could not help asking her young friend +[Hubert] when he had last met a dark beauty: she had seen +him once with Lesbia.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-50">50</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Further evidence that he planned to incorporate a lesbian element +in the story is found in his correspondence of 1866, where he boasted +that having won an undeservedly scandalous reputation because +of that element in <em>Poems and Ballads</em>, he meant to live up to it in his +current effort, which would give his countrymen real cause for Philistine +horror.[<a class="footnote" href="#3-51">51</a>] +</p> + +<p> +It is known that Swinburne was still at work on the manuscript +in 1867 when his meeting with Mazzini deflected his interests into +new channels. After the years of political discipleship which produced +<em>Songs Before Sunrise</em>, he returned to the interrupted narrative. +Following that, its history becomes confused. Certain passages in +the hands of his publishers reached the stage of galley proof but +became mixed with proofs of other incomplete work. Sections of +manuscript entrusted to his good friend, Watts-Dunton, were “mislaid,” +and the poet’s repeated pleas and complaints never stimulated +him to find them. Though Langdon Hughes finds Watts-Dunton +guilty of criminal rascality,[52] one cannot help wondering whether +all this apparent carelessness may not have been well-meant discretion. +</p> + +<p> +The text as it now stands is almost wholly in prose, and the +few songs it contains have, like “The Triumph of Time” and +“Dolores,” been published among Swinburne’s other poems. Nothing +in it is at all daring; there is nothing to account for Lesbia’s variance, +nor any indication of how far the relations between her and Leonora +would have gone. But it is clear that Swinburne, like his hero, +worshipped the repressed, intense and melancholy Lesbia, and +despised Leonora, the bisexual wanton. A reasonable conjecture is +that Lesbia’s early passions had been innocent; that even though +despising Leonora she was unable to resist the other’s seduction; +and that self-contempt motivated her suicide—a plot allowing plenty +of latitude for the author’s intent to shock the British reading +public. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-9"> +<a id="page-81" class="pagenum" title="81"></a> +<span class="line1">CHAPTER IV.</span><br> +<span class="line2">THE LATER NINETEENTH CENTURY</span> +</h2> + +</div> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-9-1"> +Fertility in France +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +The sultry uneasiness in French society recorded by Feydeau in +1867 soon broke in the storm of the Franco-Prussian war, which +ended monarchy in France. As is usual in time of war, all fiction +concerned with emotional subtleties dwindled, and the years from +1870 to 1880 produced comparatively few variant items. One, however, +was significant in being the first novel to attack lesbianism as a +moral and medical problem. It was Adolphe Belot’s <em>Mlle Giraud, +Ma Femme</em>, and it began in 1870 as a serial in the newspaper +<em>Le Figaro</em>. Westphal’s clinical report on a lesbian woman had appeared +in Germany early in the year, and it seems probable that +Belot capitalized at once on the interest it aroused in medical +circles, turning out instalments with journalistic facility, for he +produced popular novels by the dozen. Westphal had concluded that +his patient’s compulsive homosexuality was not an isolated +pathological streak in an otherwise sound nature, but a general +state related to manic-depressive insanity (“<em>sogenannte folie circulaire</em>”), +and Belot mentions early in his novel the sad difference +between the French casualness with regard to lesbianism and the +serious concern prevalent in Germany, although he does not enlarge +upon the latter. +</p> + +<p> +The serial was stopped “in the interests of morality,” but it +soon appeared in book form and ran to several editions (printings) +before 1880.[<a class="footnote" href="#4-1">1</a>] All Belot’s novels exploited sex, the boldest requiring +anonymous private printing, so that he was experienced in skirting +the limits of acceptability. When the serial version was censored +he had only to delete or alter condemned passages, amplify the virtuous +tone of the unpublished portion (there is a moral harangue interpolated +<a id="page-82" class="pagenum" title="82"></a> +baldly in the middle of the book) and profit by the publicity +which censorship always provides. +</p> + +<p> +<em>Mlle Giraud</em> follows the course of a man’s marriage to a girl who +stubbornly refuses to consummate the union. Adrien has been warned +against marrying Paule by a young matron of his acquaintance, but +since Mme. Blangy will give him no reason for her warning, he +ignores it. After several months he suspects this woman, still his +wife’s inseparable companion, of being a blind for some illicit affair +of Paule’s. He tracks the two to an apartment which he examines +in their absence and finds to be a lush love-nest, with some details +reminiscent of the boudoir of the <em>Girl with the Golden Eyes</em>. Among +other things, he finds there that volume, along with Diderot’s +<em>La Religieuse</em>, Gautier’s <em>Maupin</em>, and “Feydeau’s latest, <em>La Comtesse +de Chalis</em>.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrien’s life as a civil engineer has kept him out of Paris for +some years and left him so unaware of homosexuality among respectable +women that none of these suggestive details arouses his +suspicion. It is only upon his meeting M. Blangy, separated for +several years from his wife, that Adrien learns of the lesbian relationship +between the two women. The two husbands institute a joint +campaign to separate their wives, but it is too late. For the few +months Adrien has spent in travel to escape insupportable domestic +tension, Paule has been free for the first time in her life to indulge +her tastes as freely as she likes, and her health has been gravely +affected. During the collapse which follows upon Adrien’s taking +her to North Africa, Paule cries out one day against the wickedness +of segregation in boarding schools where loneliness drives girls to +emotional dependence upon their own sex. ‘I believe it is not so +often men who ruin women,’ she says. ‘It is women who ruin each +other.’[<a class="footnote" href="#4-2">2</a>] +</p> + +<p> +At this her husband begins to regard her as morally ill rather +than depraved, and his new sympathy brings her to the verge of +normal passion for him. But at this crucial moment, Paule’s recapture +by Mme. Blangy destroys all possibility of subsequent adjustment. +The conflict ends with Paule’s complete subjection by her lesbian +friend and her death from meningitis, supposedly the direct result +of sexual excess. Adrien, learning later that Mme. Blangy has begun +the conquest of another girl, manages under the guise of accident +to drown the seductress. M. Blangy, who guesses the truth, tells +him he has done the world a service in removing “cette reptile,” and +the author leaves little doubt that he himself agrees. +</p> + +<p> +Neither girl shows any sign of masculinity except that Paule’s +<a id="page-83" class="pagenum" title="83"></a> +voice is unusually low and penetrating. Mme. Blangy, the aggressor, +is the essence of flighty femininity. But Paule shows a ripeness of +figure unusual in an unmarried girl, which Adrien naïvely takes +for promise of unawakened <em>volupté</em>, and both exhibit a cool and +intelligent competence in dealing with practical details of their +secret liaison which is overmature for their years. The cause of both +girls’ abnormality is the time-worn segregation in boarding school, +Mme. Blangy’s having begun earlier in her life than Paule’s. +</p> + +<p> +Heterosexual frigidity as a direct result, however, makes its +pioneer literary appearance in this novel. To the majority of variant +women thus far encountered, heterosexual experience was also attributed, +and of the handful to which it was not, only five—Mary +Frith, Wollstonecraft’s Mary, Lesbia Brandon, and one each in +the poems of Baudelaire and Verlaine—have expressed antipathy to +the male. Even in these cases revulsion was presented as a part of +what Ellis calls the “homosexual diathesis,” not as the result of +previous lesbian activity. Although the present writer has not encountered +earlier scientific authority for Belot’s claim, his was not +a mind likely to originate such an idea. His attributing meningitis +to sexual excess was derived from contemporary medical theory, +and it is probable that his holding homosexuality responsible for +heterosexual failure was similarly grounded. Certainly the thesis was +too popular with moralists and educators of the next half century +to have stemmed from the passing comment of a minor novelist. +</p> + +<p> +During the decade in which <em>Mlle Giraud</em> was the outstanding +variant title, Barbey d’Aurevilly, nearing the end of a long career, +published <em>Les Diaboliques</em>, and in one of these short stories, “The +Crimson Curtain” there is a rather boyish girl, the pink of propriety +when under the eye of her guardians, but unfemininely bold and +aggressive with a male boarder in their house. Since none of her +hidden sophistication is attributed to homosexual experience, and +as the macabre end of the tale is her death from heart failure during +a night of unrestrained heterosexual activity, the only implication +seems to be that women with masculine traits are also “masculine” +in the intensity of their sexual endowment, an idea previously +hinted in Cuisin’s <em>Clémentine</em>. The notion has reappeared more +modernly in ordinary as well as variant fiction, but in the 1870’s it +would have run counter to growing scientific opinion that male +secondary characteristics in women implied homosexuality. +</p> + +<p> +In the course of the same years Zola’s literary torrent was beginning +to flow, and it is known that many of his novels, notably those +treating of metropolitan life in Rome, London and Paris, include +<a id="page-84" class="pagenum" title="84"></a> +incidental sketches of variant women. No pretense can be made +here to having read or even skimmed his entire output, but <em>La Curée</em> +(1874) may be cited as a sample appearing during the decade in +question. The significant figures are a pair of wealthy young married +women who appear intermittently among the numerous background +figures who are regularly referred to as “the inseparables” by their +friends, and by the author, and who are strongly reminiscent in +both appearance and behavior of Mlle Giraud and Mme. Blangy. +As with the latter pair, their friendship is said to have begun in +boarding school and to have continued uninterrupted by their respective +marriages, but it has no dramatic outcome nor any important +significance to the plot. +</p> + +<p> +As was said in introducing the nineteenth century, the last two +decades saw a sharp increase in all sorts of writing on variance. In +the scientific field the great names were Krafft-Ebing, Moll, Ellis, +and Hirschfeld, the last three being crusaders for official leniency and +general tolerance on the grounds that homosexuality is inborn and +therefore should not be penalized. There was much talk of an +“intermediate sex,” whose condition was referred to as “inversion” +(Ellis’s term). The term <em>perversion</em> was confined to those who +were able to find heterosexual satisfaction and whose homosexual +activities were therefore judged to be willful and unjustified. This +hereditary view did not gain popular currency until late in the +century, but as it spread, the controversy it engendered began to +be reflected in fiction. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +With 1880 the steady stream of variant fiction began to flow, +starting with Zola’s <em>Nana</em>. In this well-known life history of a +courtesan the reader will recall the gradual progress of the robustly +heterosexual heroine from revulsion against an affair between her +friend, Satin, and Mme. Robert and against the lesbian society of +the fat Laure’s cafe, through indifferent tolerance of such activity, +to her own final active relations with Satin which end only at the +latter’s death. (This premature death carries a faint implication +that Satin’s long sustained lesbianism was less healthy than Nana’s +predominantly heterosexual life). All the stages of Nana’s habituation +to homosexuality are presented with the same naturalism which +marks Zola’s portrayal of her other affairs, and there can be little +doubt that his material was drawn from direct observation of the +Paris underworld. +</p> + +<p> +The physical types described at Laure’s cafe are noteworthy. The +majority are women in their forties or over, obese and repulsive, +<a id="page-85" class="pagenum" title="85"></a> +whose outcropping of masculine tendencies might thus seem to be a +biological result of menopause. A few hoydenish younger women +appear, but only one of them is a transvestist. None of their relationships +is distinguished by love or constancy. Even Mme. Robert’s +superficially generous attempts to hold Satin by supporting her +seem motivated largely by jealousy. While Zola’s attitude is not +one of approval, the lesbian episodes are presented with less harshness +than several of the heterosexual affairs in Nana’s career, and they +entrain no tragic consequences to compare with the suicides and +utter demoralization resulting from the latter. In the particular +segment of Paris society portrayed, that of the high grade prostitute or +courtesan, lesbianism is not only tolerated—Nana’s titled lovers are +well aware of her relations with Satin—but taken for granted. Evidently +those cafés already flourished which were to be celebrated later on +the canvases of Toulouse-Lautrec and in occasional cynical verses +by Donnay. +</p> + +<p> +In <em>Pot-bouille</em> (1883) Zola included two minor lesbian episodes +at a respectable middle-class level. One involves the adolescent +daughter of a mother so “particular” that the child is tutored at +home for fear of evil influences at school. No account is taken, +however, of the family servant, from whom the girl undertakes to +learn ‘what happens when you are married.’[<a class="footnote" href="#4-3">3</a>] The lessons are +given in the daughter’s room after the family has retired, and are +apparently adequate. The second episode occurs between two young +wives, each of whom has been drawn into a liaison with the same +irresistible bachelor living in their apartment building. One of them, +on the point of being caught by her husband before regaining her +own apartment, takes refuge with the woman who has been her +predecessor in the young rake’s affections. Strangers till now, though +curious about one another, the two women become much excited +by their mutual exchange of unhappy confidences. It is three in the +morning, and neither is fully clothed. They conclude by giving +one another what comfort they can.[<a class="footnote" href="#4-4">4</a>] +</p> + +<p> +In 1881 “Paul’s Mistress” was published in de Maupassant’s +volume entitled <em>La Maison Tellier</em> and has appeared subsequently in +only three editions in either French or English. (The English translations +are very poor.) One of his lengthier short stories, it presents +the tragedy of a boy of very good family, intelligent and sensitive, +lost in infatuation for “a small thin brunette with a stride like a +grasshopper’s.” At a riverside amusement park the couple encounters +four women (two in men’s clothes) who are hailed by the holiday +crowd with enthusiastic shouts of “Lesbos! Lesbos!” That Paul +<a id="page-86" class="pagenum" title="86"></a> +is revolted infuriates his companion, and in the course of the ensuing +quarrel the boy faces the hitherto unacknowledged fact that he and +Madeleine have nothing in common but their passion. Over his +protests they return in the evening to dance in the pavilion, and +his partner soon slips off with one of the transvestists. After an +hour of fevered search the boy comes upon the two in a thicket, +and in a frenzy of revulsion escapes unnoticed and throws himself +into the river. When some hours later his body is recovered Madeleine +weeps copiously, but then goes home with the lesbian, “her head on +Pauline’s shoulder, as though it had found refuge there in a closer +and more intimate affection.” +</p> + +<p> +Here, as in <em>Nana</em>, homosexuality is pictured at the prostitute’s +level, but an additional causal factor is suggested in Madeleine’s +boyish build and gait. (One of the women in trousers, however, is +described with corrosive accuracy as fat-hipped.) De Maupassant’s +judgment is quite clear. The exquisite beauty of the countryside, +evoked with all his genius for description, is presented as the symbol +of Paul’s spirit, the strident vulgarity of the dance hall as that +of Madeleine’s. Every phrase of this sustained contrast points up the +tragedy of fineness destroyed by depravity. Socially significant again +is the comparative tolerance of lesbianism and transvestism among +the respectable resort population. The two lesbian couples, living +in a riverside cottage and entertaining so noisily that their neighbors +protest to the police, are “investigated” with stupid solemnity. +However, there is no more serious result than “a voluminous report +of their innocence.” This caricature of official action produces only +hearty laughter among the other cottagers. (Bernard Talmey, however, +quotes a less complaisant report by Fiaux to the Municipal +Council of Paris in 1887 on lesbian prostitution.)[<a class="footnote" href="#4-5">5</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Another short story in which lesbian action plays some part is +Dubut de Laforest’s “Mlle Tantale” (1884),[<a class="footnote" href="#4-6">6</a>] one of a group of +psychological novelettes comparable to Casper’s <em>Klinische Novellen</em> +of thirty years earlier in that the author gleaned his material from +his friend Charcot’s clinic. Mary Folkestone, the “Mlle Tantale” +of the title, and the illegitimate daughter of a dancer, has, throughout +childhood, been the witness of too many intimate scenes between +her mother and the latter’s lovers to feel anything but loathing +for sex. As an adolescent she is revolted even when her friend Camilla +opens her blouse on a hot day; at the same time she is so aroused by +the sight of the other girl’s breasts that she falls ill. The story +outlines her lifelong struggle to overcome her inhibitions. Following +<a id="page-87" class="pagenum" title="87"></a> +a first experiment with her maid’s lover, which disgusts her, she +tries a second with an artist who is her social equal. Although this +is less repellent, she finds no complete satisfaction. She then enters +upon a liaison with Camilla who, after experience with men as +disillusioning as her own, has become a lesbian. This effort, too, +is a failure. Finally, neurotic from lack of emotional outlet she +resorts to aphrodisiacs and dies of their excessive use; not, however, +until the first scorned lover has found her in time to receive a +contrite dying kiss. This ending indicates a belief in heterosexual +passion, however unromantic, as the remedy for sex-engendered +neurosis, and reminds one that Freud began as a pupil of Charcot. +</p> + +<p> +Paul Bourget’s <em>Crime d’Amour</em> (1886) will be touched on in +passing only because Havelock Ellis mentions it as “dealing with +the (lesbian) theme,” but actually it offers only half a dozen lines +on the subject. The night before becoming the lover of a good +friend’s wife, the hero reviews his very full amatory past. This +reminiscence occurs early in the book and the cynicism about women +which it reflects is an important factor in the story. The following +quotation, however, gives the entire lesbian passage: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +On the mantlepiece between the likenesses of two dead +friends he kept an enigmatic portrait representing two women, +the head of one resting on the shoulder of the other. It was +the constant living reminder of a terrible story—the bitterest +faithlessness he had ever endured. He had been cynical or +artificial enough to laugh over it earlier with the two +heroines, but he had laughed with death in his heart.[<a class="footnote" href="#4-7">7</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +No further reference is made to the women, nor is there the slightest +implication that this affair is more responsible for his disillusionment +than his many others, some of which are recounted at length. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +In contrast to the comparative realism of the last five authors +stand such imaginative flights as those which follow. The first +was the <em>Monsieur Vénus</em> of Rachilde (Marguérite Eymery Vallette), +published in Brussels in 1884. According to André David,[<a class="footnote" href="#4-8">8</a>] the book +was condemned, all available copies confiscated and the author +heavily fined. Living in Paris, however, she was happily outside +Belgian jurisdiction—the chief reason why so many daring French +titles of the late century bore Brussels imprints. A year later the +novel was brought out in Paris with some deletions and a preface +<a id="page-88" class="pagenum" title="88"></a> +by Maurice Barrès, and only this second version has been accessible +for study. +</p> + +<p> +It is the story of a wealthy orphaned girl, ward of an ascetic +aunt who but for the necessity of raising her niece would have taken +the veil. At the age of twenty-five Raoule encounters an effeminate +man of the working class a year her junior to whom she is hopelessly +attracted. Her pride is stung by her weakness, and to avoid accepting +Jacques as an equal she virtually buys him and subsequently maintains +him in luxury. By degrees she forces him to wear feminine +clothing and play the woman’s part, to which he proves readily +adaptable after an initial rebellion. She herself assumes the masculine +costume and role. Jacques’ avaricious older sister is at first agreeable +to his being kept, but when she discovers the real nature of the +relationship she uses the threat of exposure to force a marriage which +appears to her even more advantageous. This plebeian match estranges +the aunt and most of Raoule’s own world, leaving a handsome military +man, a former suitor of the girl’s, as the couple’s only frequent +visitor. But so completely has the husband become effeminized that +presently he makes advances to the officer. A duel ensues which the +jealous Raoule urges the latter to carry through to the death. After +the loss of her faithless love she has a wax figure of him enshrined +in the room that had been their “temple of delight,” and she continues +to visit it in secret. +</p> + +<p> +In a significant early conversation with her military suitor, Raoule +tells him that she is at last in love. “Sapho!” he cries. “Continue, +Monsieur Vénérande, mon cher ami!” But she hotly denies the +charge. Her intelligence and pride preclude that amusement of +boarding-school girls and prostitutes. In Sappho such love may have +had dignity because it was her invention, a new thing, but mere +imitation is shameful weakness. She herself will also splendidly +create a new vice. She then tells of meeting Jacques, with whom she +fell in love as with Beauty. “She said ‘Beauty’ because she was +unable to say ‘<em>Woman</em>.’”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-9">9</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Jacques is described elsewhere as a dazzling Titian blonde, well-fleshed +in breast and hips, only his voice, hands, and coarse hair +betraying his sex. Raoule herself is taller than he, a handsome +brunette with level brows and a boyish figure. On the occasions +when she ventures out in men’s clothes her own sex is never +suspected. That the method of satisfaction employed between the +two is the kiss, and that only in its usual manifestation, is made +unequivocally clear. Late in the story Jacques discovers that impotence +has resulted. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-89" class="pagenum" title="89"></a> +Rachilde accounts with care for her heroine’s behavior pattern. +Throughout Raoule’s childhood the aunt had harped upon the +vileness of physical passion. At the same time the girl’s emotional +endowment was such that the mere reading of an erotic book +threw her into a violent fever. Hence, both the compulsive experimenting +with many lovers and the frigidity which prevented satisfaction. +Raoule herself lays the blame for the latter squarely upon her +lovers, whom she has taken as she has read books, in order to learn +what passion is. But men, she says, offer a woman either brutality +or weakness, never the one aphrodisiac—Love—which might teach +her real passion. And to become the slave of mere sensation is unthinkable. +If one is merely to indulge one’s senses, then to preserve +self-respect one must remain, like a man, indifferent to the experience +and master of oneself. +</p> + +<p> +Barrès, in his preface, says that Rachilde was only twenty when +she wrote the tale, a well-bred and innocent girl with nothing but +wishful dreaming from which to spin her fantastic plot. He singles +out pride as the chief handicap of both heroine and author, pride +which cannot endure domination of any sort by a man. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +To what mysterious cult are they pledged, these men and +women whom love of self draws one to another [of their own +sex]?... One sees with alarm men losing their taste for +women, as Monsieur Vénus displays hatred of male traits.... +It is <em>la maladie du siècle</em> ... it smells of death.[<a class="footnote" href="#4-10">10</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +What he naturally dared not say more plainly is that the tale gives +clear evidence of severely repressed homosexual inclinations on the +author’s part. +</p> + +<p> +Additional, though less marked, evidence of her bias appears in +Rachilde’s second novel, <em>Madame Adonis</em>, which came out in Paris +in 1886 without serious moralistic repercussions. From a literary +viewpoint it shows some advance in maturity, being fairly free of +florid description, vague philosophy, and erotic purple patches. There +is even a touch of satire in the delineation of a miserly provincial +woman lumber-dealer and her despotic persecution of her son and +his Parisian wife, as well as in the Dickensian portrait of the girl’s +alcoholic father. But although comparative realism makes it more convincing, +the plot is hardly less bizarre than that of <em>Monsieur Vénus</em>. +It details the havoc wrought upon the young couple by a picturesque +individual who first in the guise of a romantic artist woos the wife, +and later as a <em>galante</em> and domineering woman captivates the man. +<a id="page-90" class="pagenum" title="90"></a> +Continuing to pose alternately as twin brother or sister, this person +convinces each of the young people that the other is unfaithful, and +so manages to consummate affairs with both. Only when, goaded +too far, the jealous husband surprises and kills his wife’s lover, do they +learn that only one person is involved—a woman. She has deceived +the wife as to her sex by artificial means. No etiology is suggested +for the woman’s sexual dualism beyond her rebellion, like that of +Raoule de Vénérande, against a feminine role. Light is shed upon +the author by the tingling vitality of her descriptions of the central +figure in the male role as compared with her parallel pictures of +the same character as a woman, and also by the love scenes between +the woman and the young wife. These are more convincing than the +conquest of the man which is motivated largely by vindictive +arrogance. +</p> + +<p> +Seasoned readers of biography will not be surprised to learn that +beyond her marriage in 1899 to Alfred Vallette, then editor of +the <em>Mercure de France</em>, few facts about Rachilde’s own emotional +life are available. André David compares her personality to that of +the Chevalier d’Eon, famous diplomat and transvestist of the eighteenth +century, whose sex was an enigma to all Europe not finally +solved until his death; Ernest Boyd refers to her assumption of men’s +clothing in her teens when she came to Paris and was befriended by +Sarah Bernhardt;[<a class="footnote" href="#4-11">11</a>] but neither alludes to homosexuality. David does +mention, however, her long and close friendship with Verlaine, +whose homosexual connection with Arthur Rimbaud was a scandal in +the late nineteenth century. +</p> + +<p> +Rachilde continued for several decades to produce novels, in +some of which lesbian women made brief appearances too slight +to consider here. Her one later sustained treatment of homosexuality, +(which ran serially in the <em>Mercure de France</em> as <em>Les Factices</em> and was +published in book form as <em>Les Hors Natures</em><a id="corr-23"></a>) dealt with men.<a id="corr-24"></a> In the +reviews of fiction which she contributed to her husband’s periodical +from 1896 to the 1930s, she maintained the same attitude of superiority +to female variance expressed by her own Raoule de Vénérande, but +she regularly included lesbian novels in her review list and seldom +failed to indicate their theme. Thus she provided an index of sorts +to such fiction over a period of nearly forty years. When, during the +1890s, criticism was leveled at the <em>Mercure</em> for its consistent noting +of fictional “decadence,” Vallette replied in a sharp editorial that +theirs was the only periodical whose reviews gave anything resembling +an honest picture of contemporary writing.[<a class="footnote" href="#4-12">12</a>] +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-9-2"> +<a id="page-91" class="pagenum" title="91"></a> +The Shadow of Feminism +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +In Rachilde’s two novels just considered, women’s deliberate +adoption of male attire and outlook figures for the first time in half +a century; that is, since the appearance of <em>Fragoletta</em> and <em>Mademoiselle +de Maupin</em>. No significant rebellion against the feminine role is +evident in Zola’s or even Maupassant’s references to transvestism +among prostitutes nor in other variant French fiction before 1890. +In other countries, however, what is now termed the masculine protest +was receiving considerable attention. Oliver Wendell Holmes and +Henry James in America, Olive Schreiner in South Africa, and August +Strindberg in Sweden all contributed observations, even though the +phenomenon appears in their work under widely differing guises and +sometimes is only tenuously related to variance. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Holmes, versatile contributor to both medicine and letters, +would today undoubtedly have been a psychiatrist. Throughout his +life he was preoccupied with intersexual personality in women, and +he explored it at least tentatively in each of his three novels: <em>Elsie +Venner</em> (1859), <em>The Guardian Angel</em> (1867), and <em>A Mortal Antipathy</em> +(1885). Of these a modern psychiatrist, Dr. Clarence Oberndorf, +has observed: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +The theory of bisexuality and the importance of bisexual +components in influencing the character of individuals is more +than implied in each one of his abnormal personalities. The +masculine traits in childhood of both Elsie Venner and Myrtle +Hazard [in <em>The Guardian Angel</em>], something of a tomboy, are +unmistakable. The bisexual theme becomes even clearer in +<em>A Mortal Antipathy</em>, where Holmes repeatedly contrasts the +femininity of Euthemia Tower with the masculinity of Lurida +Vincent, and it is apparent that he has but little sympathy +with the latter.[<a class="footnote" href="#4-13">13</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Strictly speaking, Elsie Venner alone deserves the adjective +“abnormal.” Her eccentricity is due to her mother’s having suffered +a rattlesnake bite during late pregnancy of which she died shortly +after giving birth to her child. The girl grows up unafraid of rattlers +if not immune to their poison (there is no account of her being +bitten), and possessing something of the reptile’s power to hypnotize +a sensitive individual with her steady ophidian gaze. As a result she +is shunned by her mates, and develops a solitary and arrogant +<a id="page-92" class="pagenum" title="92"></a> +personality. She is a fearless mountain climber and not infrequently +spends the night on dangerous and snake-infested rocky slopes above +her home. During adolescence she exhibits for a teacher in the +select female academy she attends “a special fancy” so intense it +frightens the woman. On the girl’s side the obsession seems more +a desire to test her power than love. The reaction of the overworked +and half-hysterical teacher is one of terrified revulsion until Elsie in +her last illness calls upon her to act as nurse and companion. Elsie’s +only feeling of normal warmth is directed toward a young male instructor +to whom she virtually offers herself, but he, too, is unable +to respond as she desires, and she dies as an apparent result of +subduing the innate drive to overpower those she loves. +</p> + +<p> +Myrtle Hazard in <em>The Guardian Angel</em> was born in the tropics +and lived her early years amid a luxury not only of natural beauty +but of parental love and adulation from native servants. The strength +and self-assurance thus bred enable her when orphaned to survive the +efforts of a couple of puritanic aunts to break her spirit. At fifteen, +precociously mature in both mind and body, she crops her hair, dons +boy’s clothes, and runs off to return to India where she spent the +few remembered years of happy childhood. The accident which foils +her plan wins her new friends, among them a young man whom +she eventually marries. Although in appearance and behavior she +is the most masculine of Holmes’s heroines, variance plays the least +part in her history. Her “best friend,” the only person for whom +she leaves any word upon running away, is merely the bosom companion +natural to an adolescent, and there is no hint of passion +in Myrtle’s feeling for the girl. +</p> + +<p> +As for Lurida Vincent in <em>A Mortal Antipathy</em>, despite Dr. Oberndorf’s +emphasis on her masculinity, she is physically fragile, underdeveloped, +and anything but boyish. We see her only in boarding +school and learn nothing of her antecedents or early history. The +factors conditioning her against a feminine role are that she is +plain and unappealing to men and abnormally brilliant. Her only +masculinity consists in a resolute ambition to best her male acquaintances +in intellectual achievement. Envious of her schoolmates’ +charm and athletic prowess, she reacts by becoming the school +prodigy and an ardent feminist. Jealously, and with unconscious +passion, she adores Euthemia Tower, who returns her fondness with +marked moderation and common sense. Euthemia is obviously more +Holmes’s ideal of womanhood than a convincing individual. She is +beautiful with the wholesome beauty of youth, modest, warm-hearted, +<a id="page-93" class="pagenum" title="93"></a> +and admirably well-balanced. She is also the school’s champion +athlete, strong enough to carry an unconscious young man, whom +she later marries, from a burning house without assistance. +</p> + +<p> +From these novels one gathers that the good doctor was partial +to women who were physically not much inferior to men, but he +firmly believed that such equality did not breed masculine emotions. +His scientific acumen had made him aware of passionate attachments +between women[<a class="footnote" href="#4-14">14</a>] (a secondary character in <em>The Guardian Angel</em> +is so devoted to her mother that the latter says, “I should think +you were in love with me, my darling, if you were not my daughter”), +but such attachments appear to concern him so little that one +wonders if he was even aware of their ultimate potentialities. +</p> + +<p> +The same question arises in reading Thomas Hardy’s earliest +novel, <em>Desperate Remedies</em> (1871), even though some early chapters +give more details of a variant episode than anything in Holmes. +Circumstances force the well-born Cytherea at eighteen into service as +a lady’s maid, and Miss Aldclyffe, a spinster of forty-six, employs her +despite her frank admission of inexperience wholly from infatuation +with her beauty and physical grace. Since both women are headstrong +and mercurial, Cytherea’s term as servant lasts a matter of +mere hours, but its stormy ending promotes her to the status of +companion and (ultimately) partial heiress of her mistress’s fortune. +This transition occurs during their single night together, in the +course of which the older woman learns that the girl is already +in love with a man and does her best to turn her adored against him +and all of his sex. Miss Aldclyffe is a “tall ... finely built woman of +spare though not angular proportions,”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-14a">14a</a>] but her aversion to men +is the result of early seduction and desertion and not innate, and her +passion for Cytherea, half-maternal, stems from years of emotional +starvation. The girl, though also strong-willed and independent, is +wholly feminine and quite unable to satisfy her mistress’s pleas for +some warmth of response to her caresses. +</p> + +<p> +Although <em>Desperate Remedies</em> shows some immaturity in its Victorian +elaboration of plot, its grasp of character foreshadows the +mastery Hardy was later to attain, and an already developed ironic +detachment saves the night incident from being either mawkish or +offensive to British readers. Nothing in it betrays the least awareness +of lesbian possibilities on the part of either Miss Aldclyffe or her +author, nor is there any conscious feminism in her disparagement of +men. Actually, she at once sets about contriving to marry Cytherea +to a man of her own choice—her unacknowledged illegitimate son. +<a id="page-94" class="pagenum" title="94"></a> +The variant episode is thus brief and incidental, but it is significant +in having no known antecedent in British fiction save Wollstonecraft’s +<em>Mary</em> published nearly a century earlier.[<a class="footnote" href="#4-15">15</a>] +</p> + +<p> +The feminist theme so uncongenial to Holmes’s taste had been +presented with passionate sympathy two years earlier in Olive +Schreiner’s <em>Story of an African Farm</em>. This novel is reminiscent of +<em>Mary, a Fiction</em>, both in its championship of women and its naïvely +autobiographical pattern. The similarity is due, however, only to the +authors’ comparable life circumstances and not to any possible influence, +for by 1880 when Schreiner was writing, Wollstonecraft’s +volume was rare even in England, and Schreiner had not then left +the Transvaal. She brought her manuscript to London in 1882 and +it was published in 1883. <em>The Story of an African Farm</em> is a sensitive +girl’s outcry against the masculine violence and brutality of a frontier +society, and its heroine is obviously a self-portrait of the author. +Lyndall (Schreiner <em>mère’s</em> maiden name) has been turned against +men by the villainy or contemptible weakness of the only specimens +of the sex in her lonely milieu, and equally turned against passion in +women by her coarse and callous aunt’s susceptibility to it. Snared +later by her own emotions, she revolts against her lover’s domination, +refuses marriage, bears his child secretly and alone, and falls fatally +ill in consequence. An effeminate boy, long in love with her, traces +her to her hiding place, disguises himself as a woman, and without +revealing his identity nurses her until her death. +</p> + +<p> +All her life, at least on the conscious level, Lyndall has sought +“something nobler, stronger than I, before which I can kneel down.” +Religion, the obvious answer to her need, has been spoiled for her by +the pitiable weakness of the one man she has known who professed +it. Her lover is stronger than she but signally lacking in the nobility +she craves. Her only help, and subconsciously her only real love, is +her own fearless strength. At one point she is reduced to crying: +“Why am I so alone, so hard, so cold? Will nothing free me from +myself?” But on two other occasions, notably the deathbed scene +where she communes with her own image in a mirror,[<a class="footnote" href="#4-16">16</a>] her naïve and +passionate narcissism reveals itself so clearly and is so lovingly transcribed +as to betray it as the author’s own. (One cannot help wondering +whether Barrès had read the <em>African Farm</em> before writing his +preface to <em>Monsieur Vénus</em> in 1885.) Schreiner’s heroine is drawn to +no individual woman save herself, but she is an impassioned +champion of the whole female sex as well as a hater-of-men. The novel +is filled with revolt against the subjugation of women and their +limited opportunities for individual development. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-95" class="pagenum" title="95"></a> +Henry James’s early novel, <em>The Bostonians</em>, published in 1885, +stands in sharp contrast. This story ran as a serial in <em>Century Magazine</em>. +Before it was finished Richard Watson Gilder, the editor, wrote +James that “he had never published anything so unpopular.” The +novel came out as a book a year later but met with no warmer reception, +and was not subsequently reissued until 1945, being omitted even +from the twenty-nine volume Scribner edition of James’ <em>Novels and +Tales</em> in 1923. Philip Rahv in the preface of the 1945 edition of <em>The +Bostonians</em> indicates several reasons for its unpopularity, but says that +undoubtedly the “most disquieting” was its keen analysis of “the +emotional economy of the Lesbian woman.”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-17">17</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Because of James’s subtlety his work suffers more than most from +condensation, but as the text of the novel is now readily available, +its nearly four hundred pages can be reduced here to the barest +skeleton. In essence, the plot is the eternal triangle. At its apex is +Verena Tarrant, ultra-feminine, passive and suggestible, whose antecedents +bear witness to James’s interest in recently published theories +of heredity. The rivals for possession of her are Olive Chancellor, +Boston intellectual and feminist spinster a decade her senior, and the +latter’s cousin from Mississippi, a young man who has come out of +the Civil War on the losing side with something of the present day’s +critical pessimism toward modern society. Olive sees in the girl, who +has inherited a spell-binding oratorical gift, a powerful potential ally +for the Woman’s Movement to which she herself is devoted. Subconsciously, +however, her motivation is a love-at-first-sight quite as +passionate as that of her male cousin. Olive manages virtually to adopt +Verena and by degrees to estrange her from her family and her previous +suitors. Olive’s cousin, Basil Ransom, is not so easily disposed +of, so she must finally resort to exacting a promise from the girl that +she will not marry. For several years the two women are wholly +absorbed in their feminist efforts, traveling in Europe where they +meet the prominent leaders of the movement, and studying intensively. +Olive’s emphasis is always upon the wrongs women have suffered +at the hands of men. +</p> + +<p> +Olive is increasingly obsessed by her love for Verena. Of Verena, +James says: “Her share in the union, ... was no longer passive, purely +appreciative; it was passionate too, and it put forth a beautiful +energy.”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-18">18</a>] At last Verena is ready for public appearance, and invites +Basil to her first lecture, since he has been forbidden his cousin’s +house in Boston. He takes the opportunity to talk long and seriously +to her about herself, Olive’s influence, and his own love for her. He +tells her that what the times need is not more feminization but less, +<a id="page-96" class="pagenum" title="96"></a> +that “it’s a ... hysterical, chattering ... age of false delicacy and +exaggerated solicitudes and coddled sensibilities.... The masculine +character, the ability to dare and endure, to know and yet not fear +reality ... is what I want to preserve.”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-19">19</a>] He tells her, too, that she +has allowed Olive to imprison her in “a false thin shell” of devotion +to feminism, when actually she has a genius for giving herself, not to +a cause, but to normal life with a man. The girl is so moved that she +dares not see him again and cannot hide her disturbance from Olive. +The story then records a rapidly accelerating struggle between the +man and the older woman for possession of the girl. The climax +comes on the night of Verena’s great Boston debut, when, just before +speaking before an audience of thousands, she falls ill in the dressing +room from inner emotional conflict. Basil attempts to reach her; +Olive, beside herself, tries to keep him out; but Verena is aware of +his presence and of her own accord chooses him in preference to +public triumph and a potentially brilliant career. +</p> + +<p> +As to the precise nature of the relationship between the two +women, no more is specified than a good deal of quiet kissing and +holding of hands, more symbolic than passionate except for a general +“tremulousness.” At one point the following appears: “It was a very +peculiar thing, their friendship: it had elements which made it +probably as complete as any (between women) that had ever +existed.”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-20">20</a>] This is included as part of a mental soliloquy of Verena’s, +and so Rahv, who comments on the “prescience with which [James] +analyzed ... the lesbian woman,” may possibly be justified in adding +that “one cannot be sure that James understood her precisely as +such.”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-21">21</a>] Had Verena’s rumination above been presented as James’s +own, there could be no doubt of its significance, for he had spent +a year in Paris during the 1870’s, had known Flaubert, Maupassant +and Zola, and could not have escaped awareness of all emotional +potentialities between women. It is interesting that he was careful +not to speak in the role of author, nor to venture recording any +comparable fragment of the strongly variant Olive’s stream of +consciousness. +</p> + +<p> +The last novel dealing with feminism, violent in its condemnation +of the Movement and also of female variance, is Strindberg’s <em>Confession +of a Fool</em>. This story is now known to be a thinly veiled report +of the author’s relations with his first wife, Siri von Essen, Baroness +Wrangel, whom he married in 1877. It was written in 1887-1888 as +an <em>apologia pro vita sua</em> intended for publication after his projected +suicide. When he decided instead to live and divorce his wife, he kept +the manuscript sealed for five years, until public sentiment aroused by +<a id="page-97" class="pagenum" title="97"></a> +the circumstances of the divorce led him to publish it “in self defense.” +In view of the fact that his second marriage in 1893 was +followed a year later by his second divorce and a third matrimonial +venture in 1901 came to a similar end in 1904, the <em>Confession</em> provides +a valuable document on the psychology of the unhappy misogynist, +but scarcely an unbiased portrait of the wife. +</p> + +<p> +The hero of the story, Axel, is a bookish introvert with what +today would be termed an obvious mother fixation. He falls in love +with the wife of an officer, his friend, partly from pity because her +husband is involved in a flirtation with her sophisticated young +cousin; the Baroness Marie, however, is rather less concerned about +the affair than Axel. “I’m in love with the little cat myself,” she says +early in their acquaintance. Like Belot’s Adrien, Axel is not warned. +In the idealism of first love he searches the art books in his library +for a likeness of his beloved. She is a goddess—not Venus, definitely +not Juno, not even Minerva, but Diana, “more boy than girl,” who +never forgave Actaeon for seeing her nude. Axel is naïvely enraptured +by this seeming evidence of his love’s purity. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Marie leaves her husband for a stage career, living with +Axel rather incidentally and marrying him only upon discovery that +she is pregnant. It appears later, however, that the child is the +Baron’s, conceived after their formal divorce. After a masquerade for +which she has dressed as a man, Marie is caught fondling a servant +girl. To Axel’s reproaches she retorts that his suspicions are groundless +and vile, as are police reports and medical treatises which term +“vicious” all caresses of any warmth. The birth of a second child—Axel’s, +this time—briefly relaxes domestic tension; however, Marie +soon farms the child out to a nurse, installs an actress friend in a +neighboring apartment, and creates a scandal by caressing her new +love in public, though still protesting innocence. +</p> + +<p> +The lengthy plot continues to oscillate between brief periods of +marital peace during Marie’s pregnancies, and tempests over her +increasingly scandalous connections with women. Most of these are +with Marie’s countrywomen, artists, and other bohemians who dress +and act as much like men as possible, make love openly to one +another, and “wallow in the lowest depths.” Many are militant +suffragists, and all are devoted to the cause. Once Axel reaches the +point of wanting to drown his wife, but he spares her for the sake of +their children. Most of the action thus far has occurred in Paris or +in Swiss resorts. There follows an interlude in Germany, “land of +militarism where the patriarchate is still in full force.” There no +one will listen to talk of women’s rights, and, for the first time, +<a id="page-98" class="pagenum" title="98"></a> +Marie is out of public life; consequently, Axel flourishes. Even his +voice, “which had grown thin from everlastingly speaking in soothing +tones to a woman, regained its former volume.”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-22">22</a>] When his wife +rages against his new dominance he reflects that he has always known +it was the weakling in him, “the page, the lap-dog, her child” that +she loved. He now makes an effort to leave her, but is helplessly +bound by his masochistic passion. This sign of dependence softens her +for a few months. Then Marie is caught caressing the adolescent +daughters of guests, and the rupture is final. +</p> + +<p> +Axel, intellectually concerned as to the cause of her aberration, +tries to discover whether Marie had been a prostitute before her first +marriage, but all evidence is negative. He does learn, however, that +her lesbian habits and those of the Paris circle with whom she had +most conspicuously misbehaved were common knowledge to everyone +else. He finally decides to leave her and “to write the story of this +woman, the true representative of this age of the unsexed.” The novel +was published in Berlin in 1893, two years after his divorce from Siri +von Essen, but “in a corrupt and mutilated text, so crude in its +language that it was suppressed.”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-23">23</a>] The first authorized edition appeared +in Sweden in 1912 after the author’s death. +</p> + +<p> +Before leaving Strindberg it will be interesting to return parenthetically +for a moment to <em>Mlle Tantale</em>, since the modern analyst +Dr. Clarence Offenbacher has suggested that it may have given +Strindberg the plot of a much better known work, his drama <em>Miss +Julie</em>.[<a class="footnote" href="#4-24">24</a>] To be sure the two have in common the unrewarding liaison +of a girl with a man who is her social inferior, in Julie’s case a +groom. But in personality and in conditioning circumstances Julie +differs sharply from Mary Folkestone. Julie is the daughter of a +domineering feminist who, in her effort to equalize the sexes, assigns +the labor on her estate to men or women with complete disregard of +its customary division between them. Quite unlike Mary’s parent, +the sensual courtesan, Julie’s mother scorns passion. She gives her +senses rein as rarely as possible and then merely for the purpose +of nervous catharsis. Julie also is wilfully self-contained, taking the +groom in a callous spirit like her mother’s. +</p> + +<p> +Offenbacher points out that Strindberg was in Paris in the 1880s +and probably knew of both Dubut de Laforest and Charcot. It is even +more likely that he was aware of women like Rachilde and the more +notorious Mme. Jeanne Dieulafoy, lifelong transvestist and author +who was made a member of the Legion of Honor about 1890. At the +beginning of the Franco-Prussian war, Dieulafoy was a girl of nineteen, +convent bred, who had just married and who fought beside her +<a id="page-99" class="pagenum" title="99"></a> +husband during the siege of Paris wearing men’s clothes, “to which +she was long accustomed.”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-25">25</a>] Subsequently, she accompanied him on +archeological expeditions to Egypt, Morocco and Persia. To her +grief she was unable to have children, but she devoted herself to +those of her friends, and she and her husband for a time conducted +a private school in which they educated the girls to be independent +and fearless, the boys to show gentleness and consideration. This +training they believed, doubtless from their own experience, would +lead to better adjustment in marriage. +</p> + +<p> +Since at the time of writing <em>Miss Julie</em> Strindberg was deep in the +stormiest phase of his quarrel with Siri von Essen, he would have +been more sensitive to masculine women than to clinical literature. No +model for Julie’s mother could have been readier to hand than this +virile ex-soldier, archeologist, and “progressive” educator. <em>Miss Julie</em> +may well be Strindberg’s dark prediction as to the results of child-training +by such a woman. The fact that there is no trace of variance +in <em>Miss Julie</em> seems another reason for questioning whether it derived +from <em>Mlle Tantale</em>. Strindberg was so exercised over that issue at the +moment that he would not have missed a chance to attack it openly +unless his models were actual persons and might conceivably be +recognized. +</p> + +<p> +The central figures of the more or less feministic novels considered +above are not marked by unanimous sexual antipathy to the male. +A number of them had husbands or lovers and bore children. Their +common feature is rebellion against the domestic role imposed upon +them in nineteenth-century society, and often their variance is +merely one aspect of that rebellion. In contrast, the novels that follow +have variance per se as their predominant theme, and the authors’ +attitudes toward variance are equally disapproving. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-9-3"> +Fin de Siècle +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Dubut de Laforest’s second approach to the subject appeared in +<em>La Femme d’Affaires</em> (1890), a vertical section of Paris life as sensational +as was <em>Mlle Tantale</em> in the field of individual psychology. +The title figure is a grasping Jewess, and her contrast to her Catholic +daughter-in-law (almost the only irreproachable character in the +book) would reward a student of religious and racial prejudice; +however, neither of these women is directly concerned in the variant +action. The latter involves a self-centered musical comedy star, bisexually +promiscuous, and a lesbian amazon, Faustine, who supports +her when necessary. Faustine, we learn, was expelled from a school at +<a id="page-100" class="pagenum" title="100"></a> +fifteen for corrupting its dormitory, and her subsequent excesses with +a governess contributed to the latter’s early death from tuberculosis +(cf. <em>Mlle Giraud</em>). She then tried a couple of husbands, and at the +time of this tale’s action she still experiments with men—which is +inexplicable since she never ceases to loathe heterosexual experience. +She is violently jealous of her actress friend, especially of the latter’s +connection with a fantastic titled Englishman who has turned circus +clown. During an ether ‘drunk,’ Faustine surprises the two together +and cuts out the woman’s tongue, thus destroying “the instrument of +love.” No etiology is suggested for her variance except her amazonian +build. The unsavory trio are apparently incorporated in the novel +to illustrate the types to whom the Business Woman will rent apartments +at sufficient profit, but the author devotes more space to them +than such reason requires. It was more probably his own literary +profits due to sensationalism that he had an eye on. His is the most +specific reference thus far to the techniques of lesbian activity, a +detail doubtless reflecting his clinical connections, and one seldom +repeated in openly published literature. +</p> + +<p> +More concentrated upon variance is Catulle Mendès’ <em>Méphistophéla</em> +(1890), mentioned earlier for its long popularity and its present +rarity. It is also notable for the immense detail of the lesbian life +history presented in its more than five hundred pages. It must have +escaped the censor in its day because of its heavily moralistic tone +and its literary style. Mendès, like Flaubert and Maupassant—though +artistically far from their equal—was more subtle than naturalistic, +and veiled his lurid facts in generalities that might glitter or smoulder +but were unlikely to put specific notions in a reader’s head. +</p> + +<p> +Its prologue gives a sinister sketch of a drug addict in the act of a +self-injection of morphine—a reassuring indication that no matter +how she may appear to flourish in the course of the tale, she will +come to no good end. Wealthy and proud as the heroine of <em>Monsieur +Vénus</em>, modish as the Comtesse de Chalis, she has the debauched +remnants of beauty; however, her lack of natural brows and lashes +implies syphilis. She takes morphine to blot out some abysmal horror +which has left its scar upon her. The author then unfolds the heredity +and the erotic career which have brought her to her present pass. +</p> + +<p> +Sophie is the child of a bisexually promiscuous dancer by a Russian +nobleman who laments his mistress’s pregnancy because his ‘rotten +and accursed line’ should never be perpetuated. He dies almost immediately +and the dancer, now fabulously wealthy, takes a house in +Fontainebleau and raises Sophie in strict respectability. But even in +childhood Sophie becomes so attached to a neighbor’s daughter, +<a id="page-101" class="pagenum" title="101"></a> +Emmaline, that a temporary separation brings on hysterical convulsions, +dangerous fever and somnambulism. The two children have +‘played at marriage,’ a game of innocent embraces which brought +vague shame to the other child, but seemed natural and acceptable to +Sophie. With the approach of puberty the game is discontinued. +During adolescence Sophie’s powerful but still unconscious sex drive +leads her into emotional excesses, first in connection with confirmation, +and later in the study of music and poetry. Through all these +storms she sweeps the passive Emmaline along with hypnotic intensity, +and the two girls are sometimes brought to the verge of fainting +through unrelieved excitement. Recognizing the danger signals, +Sophie’s mother arranges her daughter’s early marriage to Emmaline’s +brother. Sophie, still physically ignorant, is so delighted at not +losing her friend that she accepts the arrangement without question. +</p> + +<p> +The disillusionment of her wedding night drives her to an attempt +to leap out the window, which her husband prevents. However, as +soon as he is asleep she flees to Emmaline. Awakened by marital +initiation to the significance of her feelings for her friend, she kisses +the sleeping girl’s breast. The husband who has been searching for +her, surprises her in the act, reviles her, and beats her senseless. +</p> + +<p> +Her brother’s brutality moves Emmaline to run away with Sophie, +but in a cottage where they spend an idyllic week she is unwilling to +accept the caresses the other girl now consciously burns to bestow. +When circumstances finally overcome Emmaline’s reluctance, she does +not share Sophie’s transports. Somewhat repelled, and afraid for her +reputation, she slips away and returns home. Sophie is left broken-hearted +by her desertion. She realizes that she has failed Emmaline +exactly as her own husband has failed with her, and she determines +to find out how one woman can satisfy another. +</p> + +<p> +Hiding in Paris from her husband, she allows herself to be +initiated by a lesbian show girl, Magalo, with whom she lives for +some time, physically captivated but hating herself for inconstancy to +Emmaline. The discovery that she is pregnant as a result of her +wedding night brings her to the verge of suicide. She loathes the very +thought of maternity; when her child is born, she consigns it to an +orphanage without a qualm. Her partner, Magalo, is shocked and +hurt, being genuinely in love with her and having envisioned a life +<em>en famille</em> for them and the child. Sophie turns against Magalo in +distaste because of the girl’s interest in motherhood. Upon her +mother’s death, Sophie, left enormously wealthy, makes plans to recapture +Emmaline. She is confident that she can now both support +her and adequately fill the role of husband. In Fontainebleau, however, +<a id="page-102" class="pagenum" title="102"></a> +she learns that Emmaline has married, her family has dispersed, +and her whereabouts are unknown. Once again, heartbroken, she +returns to Paris. +</p> + +<p> +Now she establishes a smart ménage and acquires an enormous +lesbian following. Under her spell, actresses, artists and women of +title neglect careers, male lovers, and husbands. She is known as ‘a +giver of incomparable joys, violent and sophisticated, deliciously and +frightfully inventive.’[<a class="footnote" href="#4-26">26</a>] Into this spectacular brilliance breaks Magalo, +destitute, broken, and ill. In a scene of deathbed repentance the girl, +claiming guidance from Heaven, implores Sophie to give up her +empty and miserable life and return to her husband and child. There +can be no other happiness on earth. ‘We both have had a demon in +us,’ she says, ‘but for you it is not too late.’ +</p> + +<p> +Sophie’s response is to go directly from Magalo’s funeral to an +orgiastic lesbian banquet where she glories in her role of presiding +goddess (or demon). With this defiance, a third stage in her disintegration +begins. Her liaisons, always loveless, now fail to give even +sensual satisfaction, and she knows only boredom, relieved less and +less frequently by flashes of desire. Haunted by memories of her only +real love, she ferrets out Emmaline’s whereabouts in the hope that +even a brief encounter may rekindle her own jaded emotions. +</p> + +<p> +In seeking to discover how she can reach Emmaline alone, she +finds herself one evening spying through an open window upon a +family scene centering about Emmaline’s four children. The two +men, father and uncle (the latter her own husband) are fatuously +devoted to them. Emmaline has become wholly maternal, plump and +placid. The climax occurs when Emmaline offers the youngest, an +infant of six months, her breast. Revolted to nausea, Sophie plunges +away through the darkness with demonic laughter. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +‘Now Emmaline was no longer worthy of her passion. Was +her own life wrong? Must one be like such clods to be happy? +Should she have had four children? ... No! She repudiated +such spineless notions. She was what she was. She thrust from +her her old dream of Emmaline’s breast, she jeered at Emmaline’s +bovine happiness.’[<a class="footnote" href="#4-27">27</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This further repudiation of maternity heralds the final stage of +her degeneration, a round of infamous adventures stimulated by +drink and drugs. ‘Unwilling to believe there could be so little +pleasure in vice, she chose to think she simply had not learned +enough,’ and she frequents the most debauched Paris haunts, no +<a id="page-103" class="pagenum" title="103"></a> +longer bothering to select her partners, but seizing indifferently on +servants and waitresses, to whom she becomes an object of terror. At +last, suffering from hallucinations, largely of sexual odors, she consults +a physician. His first advice is marriage; however, when he learns +that she has already tried that and even borne a child, he advocates +as a last therapeutic experiment the actual practice of motherhood. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly she fetches her sixteen-year-old daughter from the +convent orphanage. The girl is graceless and unappealing and on +sight awakens no sentiment but boredom. But while watching her +asleep and half-clothed, Sophie is stirred by violent desire. And now +in real horror of herself she leads the girl to the gate of Emmaline’s +house where she can find her father and a true home, and entreats her +to enter it and stay there. The book closes with an epilogue almost the +literal duplicate of the prologue, for now the reader knows from +what nightmare the doomed woman was seeking to escape when she +plied her hypodermic needle. +</p> + +<p> +Marred though it is by excess in length, incident and style, this +novel holds interest because of its effort to present a complete life +history and to account for its lesbian element. The chief trouble is +excess in this respect also. While the “morne demon” possessing +“Méphistophéla” seems at the outset an hereditary syphilitic taint, +the author says at one point: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +‘Why, if a scientist today diagnoses hysteria from the same +symptoms that for Bodin [Attorney to Henri III and author of +<em>Démonomanie des Sorciers</em>, 1580] proved demonic possession, +should not current neuroses be, under other names, simply the +old spells used by sorcerers? If divine grace is present in the +bread and wine [of the sacrament], why not diabolic malice in +opium, hashish, morphine? He who takes alcohol imbibes +Satan. An emetic is an exorcist.’[<a class="footnote" href="#4-28">28</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This could be sailing close to a biochemical explanation of psychopathology, +or, employed by Mendès who was at least a nominal +Catholic, it could indicate a half-serious suspicion of supernatural +influence. +</p> + +<p> +At another point he distinguishes between relatively harmless and +“serious” homosexual activity. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +‘Rejected lovers, deceived wives, may console one another +and forget to mention it to their confessors. Brilliant young +belles dizzy with champagne and dancing may fall into each +<a id="page-104" class="pagenum" title="104"></a> +others’ arms as they undress at dawn. Prostitutes may seek the +tender love they have never known, or consolation for men’s +brutality. Only the conscious, cool, deliberate players of man’s +role are courting damnation.’[<a class="footnote" href="#4-29">29</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +There is no indication of heredity bearing the burden here. Indeed, +Mendès seems to absolve his heroine from responsibility for +her actions up to the time of her desertion by Emmaline and her +escape to Paris; that is, so long as she is physically innocent and +motivated by love. But from that point on, each step in her downward +course results from a deliberate refusal of motherhood, the final one +involving repudiation of even her early love for Emmaline. Interesting +to a modern analyst would be her obsession with Emmaline’s breast, +which had a parallel in Mlle Tantale’s reaction to her friend Camilla. +</p> + +<p> +Josephin Peladan, author of <em>La Gynandre</em> (1891) states differently +the same thesis: there is no such thing as lesbian Love, it is simply one +of the sexual vices. This novel is one in a long series designed to +expose all these vices under the heading <em>La Décadence Latine</em>, which +unless checked, he says, forebodes the end of French civilization. (He +also proclaims the volume to be in part a satire on current lesbian +fiction.) The hero of the tale, a young intellectual known merely as +Tammuz, is, like his author, both Catholic and Rosicrucian, his +mission the conversion of Lesbos to a constructive worship of Eros. +The only other male protagonist is a novelist, Nergal. These names +are derived from Assyrian-Babylonian mythology and represent sun +gods and the generative principle, in opposition to all the female +lunar divinities. +</p> + +<p> +A prologue incorporates the two men’s rapid survey of previous +literature on female variance, from classical references through Catholic +confessors’ manuals to Balzac, Gautier, and Baudelaire. Sappho’s +influence, Tammuz decides, operated in so segregated a community +of girls as to engender the cathartic intrasexual play common in such +environments. In short, ‘Lesbos is the story of a pagan convent.’ The +Catholic literature, of course, supports the thesis that lesbianism is +merely ‘female sodomy.’ So also do belletristic works from Brantôme +to Diderot. <em>The Girl with the Golden Eyes</em> is pronounced Balzac’s +weakest effort because it represents lesbian passion as a motivating +force for murder. Gautier gives them momentary pause, because <em>Mlle +de Maupin</em> records lesbian activity between two women of high +social status; however, it is the Catholic Baudelaire who offers them +the most convincing evidence that the lesbian experience may approach +real passion. Tammuz claims that such error merely foreshadowed +<a id="page-105" class="pagenum" title="105"></a> +Baudelaire’s mental collapse. After this formidable spearhead +of symbolism and avowed moral purpose, the novel presents, +with only faint satire, a cross-section of contemporary female variance. +Interestingly enough, it claims that the vice had become general in +Parisian society only within the previous decade, but it does not +attempt to account for that sudden burgeoning. +</p> + +<p> +Tammuz, an impoverished nobleman enabled by a windfall to +spend a year studying life and love in Paris, is first introduced to the +Orchids. This group is no more than a salon, its hostess a woman +architect nearing forty. Her circle comprises a dozen idle young +women, some married, ranging from a wide-eyed orphan of seventeen +who has been “taken” in her lonely innocence by the first man +who showed her any attention, to a beauty who worships her own +dazzling skin far too much to risk its damage by male caresses. The +presiding spirit, Aril, is sufficiently the diplomat to make each of her +protégées feel valued and to avoid tension by playing no favorites. +Tammuz is unable to discern much real passion among the group +for either Aril or one another, and no lesbian activity save as +outsiders stimulate it. A seductive actress-courtesan may strike a +momentary spark, or curious provincial women in Paris for a brief +fling may provoke some of the girls to exhibitionistic petting, but all +soon lapse again into emotional indolence. Their common need is +mainly companionship and freedom from the male aggression from +which all have suffered in one fashion or another. Aril’s need is scope +for her powers of domination. +</p> + +<p> +That the whole business is rather a pose is apparent in the +women’s adoption of picturesque nicknames—not masculine—and is +further attested to by the confession of a senior member. While protesting +her own and the group’s willingness to die for Aril, she makes +clear to the young man that all of them are more thrilled by his +masculine interest than by anything happening among themselves. +</p> + +<p> +Tammuz’s next field for study is the Royal Maupins, a fencing +club housed and headed by a deserter from the Orchids too masculine +to submit to Aril’s dominance. Whereas the Orchids were all passive-feminine, +even though one or two were tall, small-breasted and narrow-hipped, +the Maupins consciously affect masculinity, in their +nicknames, and in wearing fencing hose and men’s silk shirts +exclusively in the privacy of their quarters. Here the prime favorite +is not the hostess and nominal leader but “the Chevalier,” a woman +who has avoided overt expression of all emotion, variant or normal, +and whose “purity” Orchids and Maupins alike hold in such reverence +that they forbear trying to win her from it. She shows an +<a id="page-106" class="pagenum" title="106"></a> +immediate predilection for the young man whose self-mastery in the +pursuit of an ideal equals her own, and this semi-defection from the +lesbian cause wakes violent jealousy among the pettier Maupins. A +trio of them provokes Tammuz to a match with their most skilled +fencer, fitting his opponent with a plastron beneath her tunic and +substituting untipped blades for regulation foils. Their apparent +plot is to kill him in the guise of accident. But the young man divines +the trick, makes the sign of the cross with his blade, and contrives +to break off the tip of it in his opponent’s concealed guard, escaping +with a superficial wound. The exposure of the trick results in the +expulsion of the offending trio and in the Chevalier’s betrayal of an +overmastering love for him. Although he feels an equal attraction, he +goes his way. He diagnoses the Maupins as poseurs whose prototype +is the swashbuckling male adolescent, still encumbered by feminine +weaknesses while lacking the male virtues of intelligence and impersonality. +</p> + +<p> +His further “studies” in Paris lead him to a bathing club where +the sexual play of “socialites” is indistinguishable from that of +courtesans, and to the dressing rooms and studios of actresses and +artists where similar behavior is even more brazenly manifested. Along +the way he accumulates male gossip in the best clubs and sensational +stories from the yellow journals, all of which he holds heavily +responsible for nurturing the legend and cult of Lesbos. +</p> + +<p> +There remains a famous lesbian group secluded in a chateau on +the coast of Normandy to which he makes an unannounced visit. +Here the leader is a Russian princess, whose name has become a byword +for lesbian excess—possibly a satiric imitation of Méphistophéla. +Tammuz finds the Princess Simzerla a proud but pathetic stripling of +thirty whose excursions into vice have been, like Méphistophéla’s, a +sterile quest for some satisfying love. Knowing all the gossip about +her before leaving Paris, he offers his sympathetic and seemingly +clairvoyant analysis of it to the princess while she is disguised as her +own brother and unaware that he knows her identity. This kindly +understanding, the first she has ever met, leads her—with time out for +a quick change into feminine costume—straight into his arms. Tammuz, +as always, has sufficient control to treat her as a sister, for he has +decided that the way to ‘save Lesbos’ is not by converting any single +individual to heterosexual passion, not even the notorious archetype, +Simzerla, but by completely foregoing that physical victory against +which most of them have rebelled. If he gives himself to one, his +imaginative hold on all the rest is lost. +</p> + +<p> +He finds Simzerla’s group more mature and diversified than those +<a id="page-107" class="pagenum" title="107"></a> +previously encountered, most of them near thirty and fugitives from +Parisian notoriety. He spends some weeks studying them individually +and collectively, leading them into such literary and philosophical +discussion as they are capable of, and spying for passionate attachments. +He is unable to discover that more than one couple indulges +in any physical expression, and that is rather anemic. Furthermore, +in the course of their group effort to write a lesbian drama he obtains +final evidence to support what he has felt throughout his study (and, +one might add, before he began): women have no powers of impersonal +or abstract thought nor any creative intellectual capacity. It is +he who contributes as much of the drama as is written. +</p> + +<p> +His final observation is made aboard the yacht of a Swedish-American +transvestist known as the Phantom Princess, though she has +acquired the actual name of Limerick from a British [sic!] peer, her +deserted husband. Rumor has credited her with maintaining a floating +‘Lesbos’ to equal Simzerla’s, but Tammuz finds it no more than a +luxury craft of masculine simplicity manned by a hard-bitten male +crew. “La Fantôme” has experimented with both men and women +more lustily than Simzerla, and is completely disillusioned about the +existence of Love. Weary of sensual indulgence, she now permits +herself no more than occasional voyeurism, having her crew bring +aboard waterfront women for orgies which she observes from the +captain’s bridge. +</p> + +<p> +Because she is the most masculine of all the women he has +encountered, Tammuz enjoys more intellectual companionship with +her than with the others. He finds her capable of understanding his +concept of woman’s proper role in the scheme of things—that of Frea, +goddess of fertility. She is quite in accord with his refusal to deify +Love aside from its procreative aspect, and shares his unreadiness to +sacrifice an impersonal quest or even personal liberty on the altar of +Romance. +</p> + +<p> +Informed early by one of the Maupins that many women’s inability +to respond to men is due to the ugliness of modern male garb, +Tammuz has assumed on occasion a more graceful costume—modified +Directoire—and with the Princesse Fantôme he dresses in gray silk +fencer’s hose and a jacket of violet velvet. She reciprocates by appearing +at dinner in an evening gown of ivory moiré, above which her +white shoulders, deeply tanned face and cropped hair create a +ludicrous effect. Tammuz, however, is touched by this effort at +refeminization, and before long the two are enjoying a passionate +interlude against that grandest of all settings, the open sea. +</p> + +<p> +The inevitable sequel is La Fantôme’s holding him captive aboard +<a id="page-108" class="pagenum" title="108"></a> +the yacht in obedience to a newborn feminine hunger for permanence, +and only a providential near-shipwreck frees him. Her desire is that +they die in each other’s arms; his, that he be spared to pursue his +mission against Lesbos, and their escape from death can be attributed +only to supernatural intervention in his behalf. +</p> + +<p> +He now returns to Paris, and in completing his study of Lesbos he +accumulates as it were the dregs of naturalistic data—lesbian sadism, +gross exhibitionism, the gift to his mistress by an infatuated nobleman +of his fifteen-year-old daughter, an excursion into lesbian prostitution +on the part of a countess in order to earn a fortune for her beloved +who is a “regular” prostitute. As his money and his time run out, +Tammuz, as was foreseen, is convinced that his findings prove his +initial thesis: lesbianism is not a distinct psychological entity but +merely one of the sins of the flesh. Its causes are numerous—comparative +frigidity, feministic rebellion, defiance of undeserved social opprobrium, +cynicism about all love. And productive of, or augmenting, +all these is the brutality or carelessness of men, their indifference to +individual personality in their approach to women. Tammuz knows +that by virtue of his sexless sympathy he could have had any one of +the scores of lesbians he has studied. Believing, then, that he has +achieved a <a id="corr-28"></a>far-reaching psychological victory, he risks clinching it by +a ruse which, as he himself observes, ‘would make the angels of +orthodoxy hide their eyes with their snowy wings.’ In short, he stages +a celebration of the rites of Eros, on the grounds that the proper +cure for emotional aberration is not orthodox denial of the flesh but +pragmatic trial of the normal. +</p> + +<p> +With the aid of Nergal, who knows his Paris, Tammuz invites an +attractive (and eligible!) male partner for each of his lesbian semi-converts, +and amid a classical decor complete with Roman dining +couches and phallic decorations, he treats the company to a banquet +accompanied by aphrodisiac wines and incense. Then extinguishing +the lights he leaves nature to take its course. Peladan fails to record +the percentage of error in this quantitative experiment. (But at least +one sadistic lesbian survives to figure in <em>La Vertu Suprême</em>.) +</p> + +<p> +Easy as it is to ridicule Peladan’s second-rate symbolism and +although his <em>reportage</em> may not be dependable, there is much psychological +soundness in his analysis of lesbian types, however melodramatic +the personal histories he fabricates to account for them (and +perhaps also to forestall attempts to identify their originals). The +composite personality of Tammuz and Nergal is sound—the idealistic, +somewhat effeminate man such as variant women are often drawn +to. And in <em>L’Androgyne</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#4-30">30</a>] the complementary study, in his “épopée,” +<a id="page-109" class="pagenum" title="109"></a> +of homosexual tendencies during male adolescence, he shows sympathy +with the very type he scorned the Maupins for imitating, so +long as it is a passing stage in male development. Just as evolutionary +ideas were in the air long before Darwin systematized them, so the +theory of emotional maturing now attributed to Freud was antedated +in literature. +</p> + +<p> +Even after discounting Peladan’s and Mendès’ Catholic bias +and their romantic extravagance, their canvases give evidence to +widespread lesbianism in <em>fin de siècle</em> Paris, and echoes of it and of +the crop of fiction it bred must have been far reaching. Amusing proof +of this fact is at hand in a light-hearted farce written in 1892 by two +Americans, Archibald Gunter and Fergus Redmond, entitled <em>A +Florida Enchantment</em>. A transvestist tale, it involves no real intrasexual +experience (in this respect harking back to medieval and +renaissance romances), but its intent must have been unmistakable +burlesque of such novels as Rachilde’s and Peladan’s. In Part I, +“The Metamorphosis of Miss Lillian Travers,” the heroine discovers +that her fiancé is dallying with a ripe widow, and at about the same +time she acquires four seeds from an African “tree of sexual change.” +Since the casket containing these is a relic from a slave-trading grandfather +long dead, there is no chance of replenishing the supply. Embittered +by her lover’s faithlessness, Lillian decides to move from the +category of deceived woman into the obviously happier one of +philandering man. To gain an ally in the venture she persuades her +negro maid to join her in swallowing a seed, and both become +sexually male, though to all ordinary appearances they are still +women. +</p> + +<p> +Part II, “The Boyhood of Lilly Travers,” recounts the hilarious +and salacious adventures of the two ‘trans-sexists,’ to coin the only +appropriate term. Lilly’s young cousin Bessie falls in love with her, +as does also the widow hitherto involved with her fiancé. Lilly wholeheartedly +reciprocates Bessie’s love, but the cousins’ bedroom scenes +are kept at the level of farce and never go the implied lengths of +Ariosto’s or d’Urfé’s in similar circumstances. At one point Lilly attends +a ball where she dances exclusively with women, apparently +without incurring social criticism—a detail which, if as realistically +accurate as the rest of the winter resort setting, gives evidence of +American naïveté in the 1890s. The negro maid’s adventures are +naturally somewhat more rabelaisian than those of her mistress but +stop short of being censorable. +</p> + +<p> +Part III, “The Wonderful Adventures of Mr. Lawrence Talbot,” +presents Lilly’s life after she has managed to assume male garb and +<a id="page-110" class="pagenum" title="110"></a> +name. The former fiancé suspects Lawrence of having murdered his +cousin Lilly for her fortune, and challenges him to <a id="corr-29"></a>a duel intended to +be fatal. To protect himself Lawrence forces the man to swallow the +third magic seed, whereupon he becomes a grotesquely masculine +woman, just as Lawrence is a beautiful and beardless youth. Now +Lawrence and Bessie marry and set out for Europe, but the unhappy +ex-fiancé pursues them, threatens Lawrence with exposure, and points +out that Bessie, on learning the truth, will certainly swallow the +fourth seed in order to learn the delights of being a man, and will +thus be lost forever as a wife. The only solution is to present the +villain with the means of regaining his manhood, so that he can get +the widow, who is still infatuated with Lawrence, out of his way +by marrying her. There is no evidence that this jolly bit of satire +(discovered quite accidentally by the present writer) was reviewed or +otherwise noted either at home or abroad, nor did it deserve to be +from a literary viewpoint. It is worthy of mention here, however, as +showing that America was aware of variant fiction other than that +of Henry James. +</p> + +<p> +To return once more to France, during 1896 the <em>Mercure de +France</em> carried serially Remy de Gourmont’s <em>Le Songe d’une Femme</em>, +a work of higher quality than any since James’s <em>The Bostonians</em>. In +the form of correspondence among some dozen persons it presents an +exhaustive analysis of what constitutes a satisfactory sexual relationship. +The central figures are a sensitive intellectual, Paul; a simple, +sensuous, and radiantly happy Annette; and a fascinating but physically +inhibited Claude whose emotional pattern closely resembles that +of Mlle Tantale without being similarly accounted for. Claude is +married and has also experimented sexually with an artist for whom +she posed in the nude, but she has never achieved satisfaction. She +exerts an irresistible charm over women but has found relations +with them equally unrewarding. For a time she falls under the spell +of Annette’s open-hearted warmth, but Annette scorns lesbianism +as childish. Claude dreams of a perfect love which will be more than +fleshly, and for a time she is hopeful of realizing her ideal with Paul. +During what might be called a probationary period she holds him +captive by giving him “all her thoughts,” and permitting generous +caresses without complete surrender. Paul has cherished a similar +dream and has found Annette too exclusively sensual. In the end, +however, he abandons Claude for the simple and more “natural” +woman. Claude, he finds, can bring happiness to no one, not even +herself. The implication is that for anyone who seeks romantic perfection +all love must end in failure—a direct echo from Baudelaire. De +<a id="page-111" class="pagenum" title="111"></a> +Gourmont’s title pronounces such an ideal typically feminine: a +woman’s dream. +</p> + +<p> +The last important negative item before 1900 was Henry James’s +“The Turn of the Screw” (1898). If his delineation in 1885 of the +Bostonian Olive Chancellor was moderate enough to leave critics +dubious whether he intended her as a lesbian, there is nothing +ambiguous in his later story. In one of his letters, James himself +says that his intention was to give “the impression of ... the most +infernal imaginable evil and danger.”[<a class="footnote" href="#4-31">31</a>] In this novelette, an innocent +young governess goes to a remote English country estate to take charge +of two orphans, a boy of ten and a girl of eight. The children’s +precocious beauty and charm strike her at once as more than normal, +and apprehension dawns with her learning that the boy has been +expelled from his school for reasons carefully evaded in the letter +of dismissal. +</p> + +<p> +Soon she has glimpses about the grounds of a repellently attractive +man and an equally sinister woman, who prove to be apparitions +visible only to herself. From a reluctant housekeeper she extracts that +the man, a former groom now dead, had “had his way” with any +woman in the household or neighborhood that he chose, and that the +female spectre, in life her predecessor as governess, had departed +pregnant by him and died in London of an abortion. These indelicate +facts James characteristically conveys by indirection, never by the +bald word. Both these personalities had been evilly intimate with +the children. +</p> + +<p> +Discovering that her awareness and antagonism can hold the +spectres at bay, the governess devotes herself to protecting the children +from them. She soon learns to her horror, however, that the +little girl not only sees the dark woman but exerts self-control and +histrionic talents beyond the capacity of most adults in order to +conceal the fact. The boy becomes genuinely devoted to the governess +and tries to cooperate in resisting the male ghost, but, always +fragile, he succumbs to the emotional conflict and dies of a heart +attack. The little girl, more completely dominated—might an affectionate +man have weakened the spell for her as a woman did for +the boy?—realizes now that only she and the governess can see the +apparitions. With precocious acumen she accuses the governess of +insanity, sensing that a child’s word will stand against that of a +potentially hysterical spinster, and achieves her enemy’s removal. +</p> + +<p> +This is the first literary appearance of lesbian corruption of a +child by an adult, and is probably attributable to the increasing +publication of clinical case studies, for the theme has recurred at +<a id="page-112" class="pagenum" title="112"></a> +least twice in the subsequent half-century. James’s aversion can be +explained on a number of counts. Where in <em>The Bostonians</em> he +studied well-bred women, his antagonists here are debauched members +of a lower class. Then, too, it is known that he had abandoned +an original plan of taking up permanent residence in Paris because +he found the atmosphere there morally uncongenial, and he had +settled in England, which had been rocked only three years earlier +by the scandalous trial of Oscar Wilde for homosexuality. It is conceivable +that a desire to deny unequivocally any sympathy with that +phenomenon helped to motivate <em>The Turn of the Screw</em>. +</p> + +<p> +The final French writer of importance to treat of lesbianism before +the turn of the century was Pierre Louÿs, who wrote more in the +spirit (though not the style) of Gautier, Verlaine or Zola than in +that of his contemporary anti-lesbian crusaders. His <em>Chansons de +Bilitis</em> (1894) and <em>Aphrodite</em> (1896) purported to be the fruit, +respectively, of translation and intensive classical research, and to +give accurate pictures of life in early Greece and Alexandria. Classicists +promptly exploded his claim and accused him of sensational +exaggeration; nevertheless the two works enjoyed enormous popularity +at the time and have since been reissued every few years in +English as well as French. The <em>Songs of Bilitis</em>, in free verse reminiscent +of the Greek Anthology, pictures the life of a girl from her +bucolic childhood in Pamphilia, through young womanhood on the +isle of Lesbos, to her end as a prosperous courtesan in Cyprus. In her +teens she bears a child but leaves it behind without a qualm when +adventure leads her on. The emotional highlight of her roving +existence is the period in Mitylene, during which she loves and +marries another girl with whom she lives happily and faithfully for +a decade. However spurious their Hellenism, the poetic quality of the +<em>Chansons</em> is high, and they have been repeatedly imitated and translated +in English, German, Swedish, and Czech. One German translation +of twenty-four of the songs was made by Richard Dehmel, a +poet in his own right. +</p> + +<p> +In <em>Aphrodite</em> lesbianism is only incidental, but still it recurs +throughout, including the daily ministrations of a slave girl to a +courtesan mistress who accepts them as she does her bath or food; +the courtesan’s intermittent play with a pair of younger flute-girls; +and the flute-girls’ marriage, like that of Bilitis, in which they find +solace for the depravities they must see and endure as paid entertainers. +That Louÿs was aware of every possible sort of lesbian +activity is evident, but confining his attention as he does to courtesans, +he adds little to an understanding of variant relationships among +<a id="page-113" class="pagenum" title="113"></a> +other classes of women. It is the taller and stronger of his pairs who +always plays the male role, and the only other suggestion of etiology +is the excessive worship of female beauty, dominant in the cults of +Isis or Aphrodite. It was in this respect particularly that he was +accused of distorting historic fact. As Louÿs pictures this worship, it +is closely related to feminine narcissism. +</p> + +<p> +Louÿs’s <em>Adventures of King Pausole</em> published at the turn of the +century is a rollicking tale, supposedly contemporary, but wholly +fanciful in setting. One of its characters preaches the saving grace +of healthy promiscuity as opposed to the prudish constraints of +romantic love. Wholesome citizens, he says, come from the slums +where children run loose. Strictness in raising the young, breeds +maladjustment and neurasthenia. Voluntary exclusive devotion to +one individual leads to the madness of an Orestes, the tragic end of +a Marguerite, or the suicides of Romeo and Juliet. +</p> + +<p> +The lesbian pattern in his fantastic design is woven about Mirabelle, +a danseuse reminiscent in physique and temperament of +Maupin. She easily captivates the kings’ daughter, Aline, for, although +the royal Pausole himself has a harem of 365 women, he has +kept his child as secluded as Salammbo. Brought to his senses by +Aline’s “elopement” with Mirabelle, and by several adventures he +has while searching for the pair, the king embraces the doctrine of +freedom for the young to the extent of smiling on Aline’s marriage +(at fifteen) to a page who speedily converts her to the joys of +heterosexual love. The dancer happily encounters a young noblewoman +who, like herself, has known men but has dreamed of a +woman partner, and their union apparently becomes permanent. +Thus, Louÿs compromises between the promiscuity advocated by his +spokesman in the book and the current romantic ideal. +</p> + +<p> +In the factual literature on homosexuality one finds ambiguous +allusions to more variance in French fiction between 1880 and 1895 +than it has been feasible to pursue, but considering the returns on +those verified it is unlikely that any important lesbian works even of +low quality have gone undetected. In 1896 Rachilde’s signed reviews +began in the <em>Mercure de France</em> and a little later the first bibliography +of belles-lettres in Hirschfeld’s <em>Jahrbuch</em> listed a few retrospective +titles along with current notes. These two systematic sources show that +perhaps a dozen minor French novels appearing during the last half +dozen years of the century (none were available for examination), +dealt with variance to some extent. Such titles as <em>Mlle Wladimir</em>, +<em>Mon Mari</em> and <em>Satana</em> indicate close imitation of such earlier successes +as <em>Mlle Giraud</em> and <em>Méphistophéla</em>. The majority seem to have +<a id="page-114" class="pagenum" title="114"></a> +made at least a pretense of condemning lesbianism, but Rachilde +remarked acidly in reviewing one of them (Jane de La Vaudère’s +<em>Les Demi-Sexes</em>, the theme of which was ovariotomy undergone by +women sufficiently eager for masculinity) that she wished novelists +would stop peddling sensationalism under the guise of medical instruction +or moral preachment.[<a class="footnote" href="#4-32">32</a>] The cheery insouciance of <em>King +Pausole</em> was clearly an innovation and marked the beginning of a +new period. As for the few novels published in Germany before +1900, since they were the first of their kind they will be left for +consideration with twentieth-century material from which they are +indistinguishable. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-9-4"> +Summary +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Before leaving the nineteenth century a brief summary of its +variant writing will be illuminating. That a preponderance of the +material was in French will not surprise English readers, who have +long recognized the comparative frankness of France in matters of +sex, at least until our own last decade or so. In view of the quantity +and variety of attention devoted to the subject, however, the proportion +of sympathetic treatment is low. Of the more than a dozen +authors who took overt lesbianism as a major theme, seven—Coleridge, +Baudelaire, Belot, Mendès, Peladan, Strindberg, and Gourmont—condemned +it explicitly, though with differing degrees of severity. +Seven others—Latouche, Balzac in <em>The Girl with the Golden Eyes</em>, +Rossetti, Swinburne in <em>Lesbia Brandon</em>, Maupassant, Rachilde in +<em>Mme. Adonis</em>, and James in <em>The Turn of the Screw</em>—made lesbian +affairs responsible for murder, suicide and ruin, and so implied +equally strong condemnation. Only three were tolerant, and of these +Louÿs, for all his championing of sexual freedom generally, hurried +Aline in <em>King Pausole</em> into a heterosexual match at fifteen, and depicted +Bilitis as promiscuous from puberty to death save for her lesbian +interlude. Gautier was sympathetic to a single lesbian experience +but predicted an unhappy future for Maupin. Verlaine alone, himself +homosexual, let his portraits stand without comment. The several +authors who included minor lesbian episodes pictured them as +involving gravely maladjusted women or as the pastime of prostitutes +and other questionable characters. +</p> + +<p> +Of the four novelists who used variance as a major theme but +avoided or denied lesbian implications, James in <em>The Bostonians</em> +considered it a menace to society, Lamartine showed it as contributing +to failure in heterosexual adjustment, Balzac in <em>Seraphitus-Seraphita</em> +<a id="page-115" class="pagenum" title="115"></a> +made it a mystic apprenticeship for marriage, and only Wollstonecraft +exalted it above experience with men. +</p> + +<p> +Quite as notable as this limited sympathy for variance is the +frequency of heterosexual action. Some eighty primary and as many +or more secondary characters are involved in the total of variant +scenes, and of these only half a dozen indubitably never knew men. +(For a number of the minor figures definite evidence is lacking, but +indications are that they belonged in the bisexual group.) To be +sure, several women had involuntary and/or distasteful experience +with men, but the majority eventually found such experience preferable +to variant relations. +</p> + +<p> +When it is noted in conclusion that the proportion of male to +female authors is even larger than that of French to English, one +cannot avoid inferring some causal relation between the fact and the +statistics above. This impression is confirmed by noting that the four +feminine writers, Wollstonecraft, Schreiner, Rossetti and Rachilde, +pictured no successful heterosexual relations. “Mary” refuses to consummate +her marriage; Lyndall commits slow suicide to escape hers; +Raoule achieves a fantastic evasion, and Mme. Adonis takes the man +of the couple she captivates in a spirit of vindictive sadism. The +hypothesis of a very natural sex bias with regard to feminine variance +will be amply supported in studying twentieth-century authors. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-10"> +<a id="page-116" class="pagenum" title="116"></a> +<span class="line1">CHAPTER V.</span><br> +<span class="line2">CONJECTURAL RETROSPECT</span> +</h2> + +</div> + +<p class="first"> +Four women among thirty-odd nineteenth-century authors dealing +with variance may seem a meager fraction until one recalls that Mary +Wollstonecraft was the first of her sex to appear in this record since +Sappho. What accounts for this dearth of feminine authorship? Since +the renaissance, many women have been published; factual literature +attests that female variance has always existed to a greater or less +extent; and surely it is a subject in which, if any, one would expect +women to show more interest than men. But thus far, only one +literary attitude toward variance has enjoyed freedom from censure: +disapproval, whether it was conveyed by satire, exhortation, or tragic +example. +</p> + +<p> +To such derogatory expression it is natural enough that few +women should contribute. Equally obvious are the factors inhibiting +feminine expressions of sympathy. For one thing, women have suffered +too many critical handicaps on the score of their sex alone to +embark lightly upon a venture which lays men of established repute +open to attack. More important, a man writing tolerantly of female +variance can be accused of nothing worse than tolerance, but a +woman is at once suspected of being variant herself, which to the +man-in-the-street is tantamount to being lesbian in the most damning +sense of the term. This is not mere armchair theorizing. Havelock +Ellis in his volume on sexual inversion observes that women poets +of his day who had contributed variant histories to his record regularly +changed the gender of pronouns in love lyrics destined for publication, +in order to conceal the homosexual inspiration of their verses. +And the present writer has amusingly enough been viewed askance +by certain librarians after demanding from their “restricted” cases +novels no more questionable than those of Radclyffe Hall. If this +was the state of affairs well into the twentieth century, a time presently +to be shown more tolerant of variance perhaps than any since +the classical period, how much more stringent must have been the +<a id="page-117" class="pagenum" title="117"></a> +need for caution when to be suspect incurred moral opprobrium and +complete social ostracism? +</p> + +<p> +It seems certain, then, that there have been women of variant +inclination through the centuries who also possessed literary gifts, +and it is probable that exhaustive research would reveal traces of +variance in a surprising number of feminine authors from the +renaissance on. The purpose of the following chapter is to consider +those few whose lives most readily yield suggestive hints, and to +correlate such hints with corresponding traces, however carefully +masked, in their writing. +</p> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-1" title="Louise Labé"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>Louise Labé.</b> The first promising subject is Louise Labé, lyric +poet of the early sixteenth century and one of a group of brilliant +young women who brought considerable distinction upon their native +city of Lyons. Until the middle of the last century the best biographical +encyclopedias stated as fact that in 1542 she took active part in +the Dauphin’s siege of Perpignan and acquitted herself so well that +she was thereafter nicknamed “le capitaine Loys.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-1-1">1</a>] With advances in +historical method, the authenticity of this episode has been questioned +(though never flatly disproved), the alternate probability being that +she took the part of a knight in a tournament celebrating the same +victory. In either event, her horsemanship and conduct of arms are +described as masterly. +</p> + +<p> +Scholars have expended much effort in attempting to identify the +persons to whom her passionate lyrics were addressed. Internal evidence +favors the assumption that she had a number of lovers; +yet, even the critics who find this idea acceptable have not managed +to identify more than one, her fellow poet Olivier de Magny. Several +other leading questions also remain unanswered. Why, in view of +Labé’s marked poetic gift, does so slim a volume of her verse remain, +in comparison to her surviving prose, which is excellent but of lower +vitality? And what was the cause of her quarrel with Clémence de +Bourges, a younger woman poet to whom she dedicated a volume +published in 1555, and, in that dedication, proclaimed as being more +gifted and showing brighter promise than herself? +</p> + +<p> +Her biography, like those of many nonpolitical figures so far +removed in time, is not rich in documented detail. It is known that +she was born about 1520, the daughter of a wealthy cordage merchant. +Despite her middle-class status, as a girl she studied music, +Greek, Latin and Spanish, and seems also to have known Italian well, +especially the work of Ariosto. In 1542—that is, in her twenties, late +for those days—she married Ennemond Perrin, another cordage +<a id="page-118" class="pagenum" title="118"></a> +merchant and a friend of her father’s. Her husband was twenty years +her senior and the marriage was childless; however, it endured for +more than a quarter of a century, and on his death Perrin left her +all his property. Both father and husband being men of wealth, +Labé had a large house with pleasant gardens which became a rendezvous +for poets and artists. Her liaison with de Magny apparently +stirred no scandal, but ‘so brilliant a position naturally excited +envy,’ and she was rather spitefully nicknamed “La Belle Cordelière.” +After her husband’s death in 1565, the noblewoman of Lyons set +upon “la petite bourgeoise” for having eclipsed them intellectually +and socially, and during the brief year before her own death Labé +was accused of being “livrée à toutes sortes de désordres.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-1-2">2</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Until the time of her marriage Labé was certainly skilled and +active in all the arts of an <em>homme de guerre</em>. Even later (about +1547) when Diane de Poitiers accompanied Henry II on a visit to +Lyons, Louise seems to have been one of the moving spirits, if not +the organizer, of a fête honoring the favorite, in which young women +of the town assumed the costume of Diana the Huntress and exhibited +their skill with bow and dart. (It is interesting to find Brantôme +alluding to this event in passing, though he mentions no names and +no precise date.)[<a class="footnote" href="#5-1-3">3</a>] +</p> + +<p> +In her thirties Labé rebelled against the limitations of feminine +education, proclaiming that women should study all the “sciences” +pursued by men, and in the letter of dedication to her friend which +prefaced her volume in 1555 she begs them to ‘lift their spirits a +little above their bobbins and distaffs.’[<a class="footnote" href="#5-1-4">4</a>] Shortly after the publication +of this work she was estranged from Clémence de Bourges by the +aforementioned “éclatante” quarrel of uncertain origin, though until +then ‘their union was cited as one rare between two women.’[<a class="footnote" href="#5-1-5">5</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Apparently no one has suggested that she may have been homosexual. +But in her “Elégie I,” we find the following: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Encor Phébus, ami des Lauriers vers ...</p> + <p class="verse">Chanter me fait ...</p> + <p class="verse">Il m’a donné la lyre, qui les vers</p> + <p class="verse">Souloit chanter de l’amour Lesbienne ...[<a class="footnote" href="#5-1-6">6</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +If in sixteenth century France the final adjective carried its present +meaning, and there seems no evidence to the contrary, this passage +is certainly suggestive. In “Elégie III,” a kind of apologia for a life +of emotional <em>Sturm und Drang</em>, she says she was only sixteen when +she first suffered a devastatingly tragic love, but that she had already +loved deeply twice before. She implores her townswomen as they +read of her ‘amorous pains, regrets and tears’ not to condemn that +<a id="page-119" class="pagenum" title="119"></a> +“erreur de ma folle jeunesse—Si c’est erreur....”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-1-7">7</a>] This confession has +disturbed some critics profoundly because it seems to imply that she +must have been a courtesan. +</p> + +<p> +Only a few of her lyrics reveal the sex of the person to whom they +were addressed, an evasion more difficult in an inflected language +than in English, and among those which do not betray it is the +group that is acclaimed by critics as most distinguished by sincerity, +frankness, and ‘an amazing freshness compared to her contemporaries.’[<a class="footnote" href="#5-1-8">8</a>] +The descriptive touches in some of these sonnets, moreover, +picture a loved one of more delicate beauty and a passion of less +harsh and painful violence than the others. The assumption that she +was a lesbian would explain her precocious passions and the number, +variety, and anonymity of these later flames better than the hotly +disputed courtesan theory, although she was undoubtedly bisexual +and very ardent—“tous ses gouts furent des passions,” says one biographer. +It would also explain the many, although comparatively +unimpassioned, tributes written to her by male poets, for artists +incline to be more tolerant of sex variance than the public at large, +and they may possibly have gone on record in her favor because she +suffered from social persecution. +</p> + +<p> +And finally, lesbianism would account for her estrangement from +her younger friend, “of noble family and spotless reputation,” as +well as any of the other theories advanced to that end. Until late in +the nineteenth century a legend persisted that in the same year that +Labé’s volume was published Clémence submitted verses of her own +to her friend for criticism, but the latter instead of giving it +“enleva a Clémence son amant,”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-1-9">9</a>] and it was suggested that Clémence’s +death within the year was chargeable to this blow. This tale was +fairly well discredited in 1877 by the Dutch scholar Boy;[<a class="footnote" href="#5-1-10">10</a>] however, +nothing plausible has replaced it. +</p> + +<p> +Let us consider the case if that rare union <em>was</em> a passionate one. +With the older woman married and famous, the younger formally +engaged (as Clémence was), their friendship would excite little +comment. If the married woman had also had as lover the most distinguished +poet of the period, and if, as there is reason to believe, +Clémence had married at twenty, and lost a husband, they would be +even safer from suspicion. Then Labé publishes the volume of poems +described above. She dedicates it to Clémence in a letter lauding the +girl’s poetic promise to the skies and deploring a married woman’s +humdrum life. If, as commonly happens, identities were inferred at +the time for the subjects of Labé’s verses, Clémence’s “noble family,” +and her fiancé as well, may have frowned on further intimacy between +<a id="page-120" class="pagenum" title="120"></a> +the girl and the devoted friend who seemed so little in favor +of her marrying. +</p> + +<p> +Clémence might still, however, submit her own work for a more +practiced writer’s criticism. What happened? Despite the fact that +scholars have unhappily been unable to trace de Bourges’ volume, +several conjectures are legitimate. Did it contain impassioned verses +to the fiancé which stirred Labé to reckless jealousy? Were there +cryptic love poems to Labé herself which convinced her that marriage +would be unhappy for her beloved protégée? In either case she might +have enlightened the young man as to the nature of her relation to +Clémence. Unhandsome behavior, but no more so than the legendary +stealing of the lover for herself (which Boy believes did not occur). +There is a kindlier alternative: she merely warned Clémence that +certain poems would be identified as written to her; the less +experienced girl, suspecting her of literary jealousy, published them +anyway; Labé’s apprehensions proved correct, and the result separated +the lovers. But such involved psychology belongs more to the +twentieth century than to the sixteenth. All this is conjecture, to be +sure, but no more implausible than the several conflicting theories +already advanced by Labé scholars. Furthermore, it has the advantage, +conclusive with experimental scientists, of providing answers +to more questions than any other single hypothesis. +</p> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-2" title="Charlotte Charke"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>Charlotte Charke.</b> A sadly different life story is recorded in the +autobiography written nearly two centuries later by Charlotte Charke, +daughter of the erratic actor and playwright, Colley Cibber. (An +account of that irresponsible egomaniac’s family life would shed light +on his youngest child’s temperament and fate, but cannot be included +here.) Though Havelock Ellis expresses uncertainty that Charlotte +was actually homosexual,[<a class="footnote" href="#5-2-1">1</a>] there are elements in her adventures +which more than compare with significant passages in the lives of +Mary Frith and Catalina Erauso. Like these two women, Charke was +a transvestist, and at several points in her story she mentions connections +with women which promise definite significance had they +been expanded. But at the time of writing she was forty-five, unable +to get work, and more than half-starving in a bare single room near +a refuse dump in London. Survival depended on her standing well +with her readers—her tale appeared in weekly installments—and on +her hope of reconciliation with her father, who had long refused aid. +Hence her narrative is so full of discreet elision as to be sometimes +incoherent or even contradictory. This is particularly evident in regard +to her “wearing breeches,” one of the sorest points between her +<a id="page-121" class="pagenum" title="121"></a> +and her family, and also to all her personal relations except her early +and unhappy marriage. +</p> + +<p> +Her history is a veritable psychiatric case study. Born when her +mother (the actress Jane Shore) was forty-five, she was the youngest +of a dozen children and the object of violent jealousy among her +elder siblings because of the mother’s favoritism. Charlotte, on her +part, was intensely devoted to her mother as long as the latter lived. +Precociously brilliant, she was sent to boarding school at eight and +within two or three years was crammed with three languages, music, +dancing, and geography, all of which she later pronounced useless in +aiding a woman to earn her keep. From the age of five she was given +to donning boy’s clothes and engaging in the most daring and +original exploits, sometimes to the point of grave danger. These +make enthralling reading but are not pertinent here. At sixteen she +married a worthless bandleader in her father’s theatre—the Drury +Lane—and had a daughter within the year; but even before the +child’s birth her husband was “running with a plurality of common +wretches [women] that were to be had for half a crown,”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-2-2">2</a>] and at the +end of the year the two separated. Her trenchant comment on her +marital relations is that both she and her husband “ought rather have +been sent to school than to church, in regard to any qualification on +either side towards rendering the marriage state comfortable to one +another.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-2-3">3</a>] +</p> + +<p> +She made her debut as an actress shortly before her marriage and +continued on the London stage for perhaps two years after her +separation, taking men’s parts at least half the time. Then apparently +she went on the boards in her father’s favorite role and one he had +made famous, Lord Foppington in <em>The Careless Husband</em>. Perhaps +this fact led Cibber to cut off financial support and to spoil her +chances with all London producers. More likely it was her travesty +of his acting that enraged him, for his vanity was morbid and she +inherited his wicked and heartless wit. As long as her mother lived +she was sure of some funds, but death soon closed that channel and +she was driven to a variety of shifts that would have been tragic had +she been capable of taking anything very tragically. These experiences, +too, are diverting, but only the most significant can be touched on +here. For a time she ran a grocer shop in London, living meanwhile +with a young widow who lent her money for her business. Later, +when arrested for debt, she was saved by contributions from women, +once from a Mrs. Elizabeth Careless whose name suggests her profession, +and again from “all the ladies who kept coffee houses in and +about Covent Garden ... for the relief of poor Sir Charles, as they +<a id="page-122" class="pagenum" title="122"></a> +were pleased to stile me.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-2-4">4</a>] Twice women lost their hearts to her and +she was forced to reveal her sex, but her mere word was not sufficient. +In the first case we are not told how she managed to be convincing. +In the second, she was working as a waiter, and her inamorata came +to Charlotte’s room to give her the lie, saying she “could never have +made advances to one of her own sect [sic].” When Charlotte asked +if she was sure she “understood what she meant,” it led to a physical +brawl so violent as to cost Charlotte her position. +</p> + +<p> +Intermittently she acted in the provinces with strolling companies +of low calibre and continually bankrupt, and for a long time she and +another actress stayed together through thick and thin, the friend +caring for her during three years of “nervous fever and lowness of +spirits.” At one point she lets slip that this woman passed in a tight +place as “Mrs. Brown,” and since “Mr. Brown” was the name Charlotte +took whenever she needed an alias, it may be that they lived +outside the theatre as man and wife. Finally, they abandoned acting +for a time at Chepstow in Wales because Charlotte “met with many +friends,” particularly another widow who lent her considerable sums +of money, and a younger woman who gave her the use of “a very +handsome house with a large garden, near three quarters acre of +ground” which had just been inherited. The latter also wrote her +“very friendly letters” when she went on short trips. At that time, she +attempted to run a bake-shop, still with her faithful friend the +actress, who she says now stayed on “only out of sincere friendship +and an uncommon easiness of temper,” a suggestion that might well +imply a more cogent previous reason. As was said, none of these +passages mentions variance, but taken all together and in conjunction +with the dark mystery she makes of her first experience in men’s +clothes,[<a class="footnote" href="#5-2-5">5</a>] as well as her family’s relentless disowning of her, they +make a picture which seems to justify her inclusion in a conjectural +record. +</p> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-3" title="“The Ladies of Llangollen”"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>“The Ladies of Llangollen.”</b> Charke’s history brings us to the +late eighteenth century, a period when the Age of Reason had passed +its peak and the deifying of emotion which characterized the Romantic +Period was beginning to appear. Blanche Hardy, in a biography of +the Princess de Lamballe, says: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +It was the age of great friendships: girls and even grown +women carried the miniature of another woman about with +them in a locket, bracelet or other ornament, would draw it +out occasionally when in company, gaze fondly upon it, and +<a id="page-123" class="pagenum" title="123"></a> +press it to their lips; wrote long and loverlike letters to the +beloved object, awaited her coming ardently, and wept storms +of tears at her departure.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-3-1">1</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +One such passionate friendship was born in Ireland, though the +parties to it are universally known as “the Ladies of Llangollen,” the +picturesque valley in Wales where they spent the greater part of their +lives. The journal kept for forty years by the elder of the two is now +all that survives of their writing, though references to them in the +work of friends suggest that both wrote some nature essays and verses. +The younger was something of an artist as well. Both Lady Eleanor +Butler and Sarah Ponsonby came of titled families. They met first +at a school in Kilkenny, probably when Eleanor was nearing twenty +and Sarah entering her teens, for there seems to have been about +seven or eight years’ difference in their ages. Their friendship apparently +flourished for nearly a decade before Eleanor’s harsh and +prudish mother tried to force the boyish young woman into either a +distasteful marriage or a convent. Sarah’s mother, a second wife, had +died in the girl’s infancy. After a third wife increased the already +large family, Sarah lived with a cousin whose husband made advances +which were disgusting and gravely disturbing to the adolescent girl. +Her older and more independent friend, given to wearing men’s +clothes, proposed an “elopement,” but the two were without resources, +and after spending several nights in a barn they were apprehended +and brought back in disgrace. Sarah at once fell gravely ill. Eleanor +was forbidden to see her, and Sarah’s cousin accused Eleanor of +having +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +a debauched mind, with no ingredients for friendship which +ought to be founded on virtue, whereas hers every day more +and more ... was acting in direct opposition to it, as well as to +the interest, happiness and reputation of one she professed +to love.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-3-2">2</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This cousin also attempted to keep Sarah from receiving Eleanor’s +long letters, which she said only aggravated the girl’s illness. +</p> + +<p> +The romantic pair had an ally, however, in a servant, Mary +Caryll, known as “Molly the Bruiser” because of her marked masculinity. +With this girl’s help, Eleanor was hidden in Sarah’s bedroom +closet for several days, whereupon the latter promptly recovered, and +as soon as she was well enough the pair staged a rebellion—they simply +refused to live any longer at home or apart from one another. Both +<a id="page-124" class="pagenum" title="124"></a> +families being by now worn down, the girls were given a small +allowance and invited to remove themselves permanently from the +neighborhood. They managed to get as far as Wales, and, once +established, they sent back for Molly, who remained their servant +until her death many years later. +</p> + +<p> +Though “poor as church mice,” the two women were radiantly +happy, and “of a personality so powerful” that they were known as +the Platonists. “Their retreat became a kind of court at which all the +great ones of their time presented themselves. Wordsworth, DeQuincey, +Scott, the Duke of Wellington and Mme. de Genlis were among their +guests,”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-3-3">3</a>] and they had a half century of idyllic happiness before they +died, Eleanor in 1829 and Sarah in 1831. The journal which Eleanor +Butler kept from 1788 until her death records the placid course of +their mutual existence, detailing financial stress lightly borne, small +village tensions faced with equanimity, and again and again “a day +of sweetly enjoyed retirement.” +</p> + +<p> +On the precise nature of the relation between them the journal is +naturally reticent. The modern French analyst of all feminine emotions, +Colette, devotes better than twenty pages to it in <em>Ces Plaisirs</em>, +and epitomizes neatly the distinguishing feature of all such attachments. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +‘It is not sensuality that ensures the fidelity of two women +but a kind of blood kinship.... I have written kinship where +I should have said identity. Their close resemblance guarantees +similarity in <em>volupté</em>. The lover takes courage in her certainty +of caressing a body whose secrets she knows, whose preferences +her own body has taught her.’[<a class="footnote" href="#5-3-4">4</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +If English readers of Eleanor’s journal want to see in a single +mention of “our bed” an impure significance, says Colette, then let +them. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +‘What is purity? Why is it “pure” to stroke a cheek but not +a breast? Yes, yes, the breast responds. But what of it, if above +it the lover merely dreams? “It is the victim who is almost +always responsible in emotional crimes,” says an old magistrate. +How one would like to have the journal of Sarah Ponsonby, +the younger girl! Eleanor Butler was the practical one, the +possessor, the male. Sarah Ponsonby was the <em>woman</em>.’[<a class="footnote" href="#5-3-5">5</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-4" title="Karoline von Günderode"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>Karoline von Günderode.</b> During the same years that saw these +willing exiles living out their rapturous idyll, a very different life was +<a id="page-125" class="pagenum" title="125"></a> +swept along on the tide of romantic <em>Sturm und Drang</em> in Germany. +Karoline von Günderode was still unborn when the Ladies of Llangollen +settled in their Welsh elysium, and suicide ended her quarter-century +of life two decades before their death. Outside her native land +this distinguished young romantic poet is most likely to be remembered +through her brief connection with Bettina Brentano von Arnim, +sister of the poet Clemens Brentano and the “child” of <em>Goethe’s +Briefwechsel mit einem Kind</em>. The mercurial and precocious Bettina +was undoubtedly a very remarkable young person, but scholarly research +has proved her published correspondence with Goethe to be +largely spurious, and even the superficial reader can detect signs of +<em>post facto</em> interpolation in her letter to Goethe’s mother describing +Günderode’s death and the two girls’ previous relationship.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-4-1">1</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Equally copious expansion is evident in the correspondence with +Günderode,[<a class="footnote" href="#5-4-2">2</a>] a really remarkable volume of philosophy, poetry, and +romantic “sensibility” made human, however, by the small ordinary +preoccupations of the two very busy young women. Nine-tenths of +the volume is occupied by Bettina’s own letters, supposedly written +during a number of brief absences when she was a guest at various +country estates. Had these voluminous outpourings actually been +penned under such circumstances the girl would have had no time +for meals or sleep, let alone the normal social exigencies of house-party +life. +</p> + +<p> +Karoline von Günderode was one of several daughters of a moderately +affluent widow, who spent the latter part of her short life in +a “Kloster” (not a religious house but a dignified retreat for well-born +spinsters such as has been charmingly pictured by “Isak Dinesen” +in <em>Seven Gothic Tales</em>). She was, by all accounts, an interesting mixture +of emotional mysticism and sceptical “masculine” intellect, and +both are reflected in her poems.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-4-3">3</a>] At least one of these, “Wandel und +Treue,” suggests that there is no certainty save that all is uncertain, +no ultimate Truth because life and universe alike are in constant flux +and inexpressible in terms of any constant pattern. It might almost +have been written today rather than a century and a half ago. +</p> + +<p> +The context in which the poem is quoted shows that it grew out +of long-sustained discussions between her and Bettina on the nature +of love. It is cast in the form of a dialogue between Violetta, who +embodies Bettina’s championship of romantic constancy, and Narziss, +who represents Günderode’s own viewpoint. The latter holds that +love, like all else, is subject to change; therefore, one should not +attempt to fix it upon a single person or thing, but should love only +Love and follow its dictates wherever it leads. The amount of stress +<a id="page-126" class="pagenum" title="126"></a> +laid upon this composition by Bettina, who compiled and inflated the +correspondence for publication, suggests an effort to throw upon the +other woman all responsibility for any inconstancy which ensued. +</p> + +<p> +The sixty-page biography of Günderode in Ersch and Gruber’s +<em>Allgemeine Encyclopädie der Wissenschaften und Künste</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#5-4-4">4</a>] records +several variant attachments in her life. Previous to her acquaintance +with Bettina she enjoyed a very close friendship with Frau Karoline +von Barkhaus, to whom she wrote oftener than weekly in the warmest +terms, and in one of the quoted letters she mentions that ‘a room is +ready where we will sleep together when you come.’ Another woman, +Frau Susanna Maria von Heyden, mentioned as her most intimate +friend, fell heir to Günderode’s portrait and two paintings of the +scene of the unhappy girl’s death. She ‘never recovered from her +grief over her unlucky friend, and lived secluded from the world +in joyless solitude.’ +</p> + +<p> +As to the relationship with Bettina, their correspondence shows it +to have been warmly emotional as well as intellectual. Bettina wrote +at length to Madame Goethe of Günderode’s extreme sensitiveness +and intensity, describing the latter’s pallor the first time that Bettina +kissed her on the mouth, and generally betraying awareness of unpleasant +gossip and eagerness to deflect it from herself.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-4-5">5</a>] The facts of +the case seem to be that, like Labé and Clémence de Bourges, the two +girls had a serious quarrel, and Günderode’s suicide followed closely +enough upon it to create some unpleasantness for the survivor. Here, +too, the cause of the quarrel was a man, and editors of Günderode’s +poems and letters claim that it was the tragic end of this romance +with him which led the poet to take her own life. The man involved +had, while fairly young, married a widow thirteen years his senior, +who had several children. When he and Günderode found themselves +deeply in love, the wife, with “<a id="corr-36"></a>sterbender Güte,” agreed to release +him, but under emotional stress the already tubercular young man +suffered a serious hemorrhage, and since he was not yet free it was +the wife who nursed him back to health. In penitent gratitude he +swore that if he lived he would never leave her, and he kept his vow. +This version of Günderode’s tragedy is offered by the conventional +biographies.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-4-6">6</a>] +</p> + +<p> +In Bettina’s letters and elsewhere, however, the story survives of +the man’s being a fellow guest of hers at one of the house parties +which spacious living and difficult travel fostered in the eighteenth +century. Full of his love for Günderode, he paid much attention to a +child in the house who reminded him of his beloved, and in Bettina’s +presence he called the little girl “his Karoline” (her name was +<a id="page-127" class="pagenum" title="127"></a> +Sophie) and caressed and kissed her. The fiery Bettina, furious that +he ‘used expressions in speaking of Günderode as if he had a right +to her love,’ told him off roundly, and this contretemps apparently +led to some difficulty between him and Günderode—the only reasonable +explanation being that Bettina must also have talked as if <em>she</em> +“had a right to her love.” +</p> + +<p> +The quarrel between the two young women followed, and one +summer evening a few weeks later Günderode strolled unobtrusively +to the bank of her favorite stream and there shot herself. It is not +suggested that any overt scandal occurred, or that the quarrel with +Bettina was the immediate cause of this act. Günderode’s poetry is +minor-keyed and full of a romantic preoccupation with early death. +But certainly something in the relation between the two girls was +a contributing factor. And that variant inferences are not far-fetched +is evidenced by a German lesbian novel of 1919,[<a class="footnote" href="#5-4-7">7</a>] in which the memory +of Günderode is worshipped with passion by a brilliantly educated +lesbian, while Bettina is the object of jealous hatred. The +author of this tale (of which more later) is known to have had access +to much German material not available to the present writer, which +apparently supported the lesbian inference. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Only a few years after Günderode’s death a tragedy in Edinburgh +was directly attributed to homosexual scandal. Two mistresses of a +private school, Marianne Woods and Jane Pirie, were accused of +tribadism by Dame Helen Cumming Gordon on the evidence of a +young relative (or ward) who was a pupil in the school. The young +women brought suit for slander and after a long and bitter battle +apparently won their case, but their reputations were damaged to +the extent of ruining their educational enterprise. It is upon the +court record of their trial that Lillian Hellman based her Broadway +success of 1934, <em>The Children’s Hour</em>, and their story will receive +further attention when that drama is considered under twentieth-century +literature. +</p> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-5" title="George Sand"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>George Sand.</b> In France the spectacular figure of George Sand +invites attention, both because of her adoption of male costume +in the 1830s, and because critics are agreed as to the pronounced +masculinity of her always semi-autobiographical heroines. She wrote +nothing to be classed as variant, but special note is due her <em>Gabriel-Gabrielle</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#5-5-1">1</a>] +the title an obvious echo of Balzac’s <em>Seraphitus-Seraphita</em>, +which antedated it by only five years. Sand’s title-character is definitely +<a id="page-128" class="pagenum" title="128"></a> +an intersexual, but the author avoids variant emotion and concentrates +upon psychological ambiguity. Gabriel, an orphan, is not only +raised as a boy, but by a somewhat strained device is made to believe +that she actually is one until she attains her majority. Learning at +this point that the deception has been contrived by her grandfather, +to secure for his branch of the family a fortune which can be +inherited only through the male line, she sets out to find her defrauded +male cousin and make restitution. The two fall in love, +marry secretly, and live abroad in the hope of avoiding family +interference. Their effort is futile, and after much tragic misunderstanding +and dangerous intrigue, Gabrielle is finally set upon and +killed by her grandfather’s hirelings during one of the periods when +she is again, as during her youth, posing as a man. +</p> + +<p> +The most pertinent passage describes a masked ball which +Gabrielle attends dressed for the first time as a woman. The cousin, +who still believes her a man, speaks recklessly of how easily he +could love “her.” Her reply is: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +“This sort of entertainment should be morally frowned +upon. It all goes to excite impure ideas, the whole purpose +is to shake our composure. The joke has gone too far. I am +going to take off this costume and never put it on again.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-5-2">2</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Later she implores him not to duel with a fellow-reveller who +has insulted her, as when it is known that she is “really a man +it would be ridiculous. And who knows? Wicked minds could even +find in it matter for odious interpretation.” Her cousin replies: +“That’s true. May my honor and reputation for courage perish, rather +than that flower of innocence which graces your name. I will turn +it all off as a jest.” +</p> + +<p> +As it is common knowledge that, though never a compulsive +transvestist, George Sand wore men’s clothes as frequently as women’s +from her girlhood in Nohant until she approached middle age, her +treatment of this incident is rather surprising. But this, and her +careful avoidance of so much as the mention of female homosexuality, +carry a suggestion of the caution observed by all potentially suspected +variants. The circumstances of Aurore Dudevant’s childhood and +puberty were enough, in all conscience, to produce any or all of +the aberrations in a psychoanalyst’s manual. Her heterosexual affairs +were so numerous, open, and dramatic that few students have looked +for other emotional incidents in her life. By her own statement, +however, she never achieved complete satisfaction with any of the +<a id="page-129" class="pagenum" title="129"></a> +men she loved,[<a class="footnote" href="#5-5-3">3</a>] and there are a number of suggestive incidents which +crop up in one after another of her biographies. +</p> + +<p> +During her last year in a convent school in Paris—at about +seventeen, that is—she suffered what in modern parlance would be +called a violent “crush” on an Irish schoolmate. In the 1830s she +was “for a long time ... fascinated by the great romantic actress +of the day, Dorval.... Dumas and Vigny loved her (Dorval), and +she had been Musset’s last mistress. George had seen much of her +in those years, so much that Vigny had become jealous of their +intimacy.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-5-4">4</a>] (André Maurois quotes a letter in which Vigny refers +to Sand viciously as “that Lesbian.”)[<a class="footnote" href="#5-5-5">5</a>] Many years later, after Dorval’s +death, Sand took over the responsibility for her children. During +Sand’s sojourn in Switzerland in the middle 1830s she met Mme. +d’Agoult—known to literature as Daniel Stern—and was so strongly +attracted that she entertained her new friend at Nohant for several +months after their return to France. Subsequently the two lived +but a few doors apart in Paris and for some time held a joint salon. +Still later she experienced a friendship of similar intensity with +Pauline Garcia, Malibran’s sister and a noted singer. Even after +Garcia had married Viardot, Sand continued to see so much of her +that Mme. Viardot was generally referred to as “Mme. Sand’s friend” +first, “the great singer” second. +</p> + +<p> +Given Sand’s passionate temperament and her lack of restraint, it +seems reasonable to assume that she had several variant experiences, +which were overshadowed in the public eye by her more dramatic +heterosexual ones, and about which she preserved discreet silence +in her writing. It may be argued that such silence is out of character +with her fictional volubility about her other affairs. But the noted +men of her day with whom she became involved had little to fear +from her advertising their relations with her. For her own reputation +she was apparently not much concerned, being a true and courageous +child of the period; however, she may well have felt consideration +for women whom she loved and who had more to lose. Possibly her +variant attachments were <em>not</em> physical liaisons; nevertheless, if she +had presented them fictionally in their true intensity, because of her +other notorious experiences it is unlikely that they would be credited +with innocence. +</p> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-6" title="Emily Brontë"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>Emily Brontë.</b> In England an even more complete discretion was +guarded by the enigmatic Emily Brontë. All four of the Brontës +wrote with talent which in Charlotte and Emily approached genius; +yet their lives as children of a poor clergyman in a remote country +<a id="page-130" class="pagenum" title="130"></a> +village were almost empty of outward event. Emily’s was barren +even of a love affair, a paradox to critics in view of the emotional +power in her writing. In the century since their deaths, some hundred +critical and biographical studies have attempted to solve the Brontës’ +riddle. In Charlotte’s case the task is relatively simple, since her +letters reveal without much reticence two passionate attachments, +one to Ellen Nussey, an early school friend, and the second to +Constantin Héger, master of the school in Brussels where she twice +stayed briefly, as student and as teacher. The first love was of such +intensity that E. F. Benson, in his biography of Charlotte, frankly +pronounces it homosexual, though he is quick to add that considering +the frequency of such experience among adolescents of both sexes, +it should be regarded as more normal than otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +It is true that this friendship began in the years between fourteen +and sixteen when Charlotte and Ellen were together in boarding +school, but it seemed to grow rather than diminish over the subsequent +decade, until Charlotte was writing to Ellen in her twenties +of “trembling all over with excitement after reading your note.” +In 1836, when she was twenty-one, Charlotte wrote: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Ellen, I wish I could live with you always, I begin to cling +to you more fondly than I ever did. If we had a cottage +and a competency of our own I do think we might love until +Death without being dependent on any third person for +happiness. +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +And again in the next year: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Why are we so divided? Ellen, it must be because we are +in danger of loving each other too well—because of losing +sight of the Creator in idolatry of the creature.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-6-1">1</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +From the very openness of these transports it must be obvious +that the relationship was an innocent one, and indeed that she +herself was ignorant of any other possibility. Moreover, all the +fire went out of it as soon as she had met and fallen in love with +M. Héger. +</p> + +<p> +Emily’s case is more complex; consequently, all manner of solutions +have been advanced for the puzzle she presents, from a most secretly +hidden liaison of the ordinary sort to an incestuous relation with +her brother Branwell. The most illuminating suggestions from +the viewpoint of the present study are found in Romer Wilson’s +<a id="page-131" class="pagenum" title="131"></a> +<em>All Alone</em> and in Virginia Moore’s <em>The Life and Eager Death of +Emily Brontë</em>. Miss Wilson analyzes in Emily what she terms the +“Dark Hero ideal,” a male alter ego which she very plausibly claims +to be the most significant feature of Emily’s personality, and of +which she shows Heathcliff in <em>Wuthering Heights</em> to be a projection. +Employing a different approach, Miss Moore assembles objective +testimony that from earliest childhood Emily was boyish in appearance, +temperament and behavior, and suggests that many of her +lyrics were inspired by a person of her own sex.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-6-2">2</a>] In Emily’s own +day, of course, <em>Wuthering Heights</em> was the one novel published by +the pseudonymous “Bells” whose feminine authorship critics longest +refused to credit, and Moore’s chapter advancing the theory of +Emily’s variance is very convincing. Adverse critics have attacked +Moore’s soundness on the score of her misreading the title of a +poem in the British Museum Brontë manuscript; however, all the +Brontë handwriting is virtually illegible, and Moore was the first +to study the document. In her zeal to consider all conceivable +evidence for a man in Emily’s life, she read as “Louis Parensell” +a title shown later to be inserted in Charlotte’s hand and deciphered +as “Love’s Farewell,” but at least her exhaustive search for records +of Mr. Parensell has reduced the likelihood of any subsequent +scholar’s unearthing evidence of a lover. +</p> + +<p> +Surprisingly enough, Moore failed to capitalize on one important +episode in Emily’s life—the girl’s reaction at fifteen to her first +meeting with Charlotte’s bosom friend, Ellen Nussey. At the time +of Ellen’s first house-visit to the Brontë’s she was, on the evidence +of a surviving portrait, a bewitchingly pretty and very feminine +young woman. Thus the adolescent Emily, who had had opportunity +of meeting virtually no one outside her family, was thrown into +contact with an older girl of great physical appeal and one patently +capable of variant emotion. The house was small, and sleeping +arrangements involved Emily’s sharing a bedroom with Charlotte +and her guest. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +But Emily had sensibilities too delicate to intrude on +bosom friends. While Charlotte and Ellen whispered far into +the night, she bundled up and went and slept in the little +cubby over the peat room with Tabby the servant.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-6-3">3</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +One day Charlotte was ill and unable to entertain her guest. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +But to their surprise, Emily, whose dislike of strangers +<a id="page-132" class="pagenum" title="132"></a> +had always been violent, volunteered for that office. On their +return from the moors Charlotte was nervous. “How did Emily +behave?” she asked eagerly as soon as she could get Ellen +aside. “Why, Emily had been very, very nice,” said Ellen +in surprise.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-6-3">3</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Later in her life Ellen described Emily as maddeningly unsociable, +but as having “a brilliant and very appealing sudden gaze when +she allowed her eyes to be seen.” +</p> + +<p> +Immediately upon Ellen’s departure, Emily suffered an attack +of erysipelas so severe that her arm had to be lanced, “accompanied—unromantically—by +liver complaint.” The indication that her general +health was not good Moore considers puzzling. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Though living next to the pollution of an ancient graveyard +and exposed to the unhealthy environment of Cowan’s Bridge +[the original of the dreadful boarding school in Charlotte’s +<em>Jane Eyre</em>] she had remained hale and strong from the age +of five to the age of fifteen.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-6-4">4</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In view of modern psychosomatic theory, this illness is highly +revealing, for skin and gall bladder complaints are recognized +symptoms of emotional tension or disturbance. It seems fairly evident +that Emily was strongly (even if perhaps unconsciously) drawn to +Ellen Nussey. Under the circumstances the latter’s visit would have +been a period of intense stimulation and strain. At the withdrawal +of the exciting presence the nervous reaction was equally intense, +and her body registered a deprivation which her proud and independent +spirit would not willingly have admitted to consciousness. +</p> + +<p> +There is also internal evidence of variance to be gleaned from +Emily’s poetry, despite the angry insistence of one critic that +“Emily Brontë’s own voice turns to nonsense the hundreds of pages +of biography based on [such] subjective interpretation.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-6-5">5</a>] The critic +is Fannie Ratchford, whose separate volume, <em>The Brontës’ Web of +Childhood</em>, skillfully reconstructs the two sequences of remarkable +legend composed during adolescence by Charlotte and Branwell, +and Emily and Anne respectively. But in her impatience with subjectivity +Mrs. Ratchford goes to the other extreme of regarding +these creations as spontaneously generated and quite unrelated to +the lives of their creators. Thus, her discovery that cryptic initials +heading Emily’s most “masculine” poems stand for male characters +<a id="page-133" class="pagenum" title="133"></a> +in the Gondal epic leads her to the outburst quoted above. Yet +she herself points out that the poems in question were composed +over a period of twelve years, and that “lack of agreement between +chronology of composition and story sequence shows that they +were not written as progressive plot incidents but were merely the +poetic expression of scenes ... and emotions familiar to her inner +vision....” Ratchford also admits that “only a small percent of +the poems carry headings, and [these] ... raise as many problems +as they solve. Varying sets of initials appear for the same character ... +G. S. in one poem is a boy, in another a woman.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-6-6">6</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Thus it seems probable that Emily’s lyrics sprang from her +own experience, and that the confused initials represent an effort +to incorporate them into some whole which would not betray their +intimacy. (In the end she achieved her catharsis in prose through +<em>Wuthering Heights</em>.) For lyric poetry is the most personal of all +modes of expression, and Emily was morbidly reticent. All Brontë +scholars know the story of Charlotte’s “accidental” reading in 1845 +of her sister’s jealously guarded manuscript, and of the violent +quarrel which followed. In Charlotte’s own moderate words: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +My sister Emily was not a person ... on the recesses of +whose mind and feelings even those nearest and dearest to +her could with impunity intrude. It took hours to reconcile +her to the discovery I had made, and days to persuade her +that such poems merited publication.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-6-7">7</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +It is certain that many poems, along with many letters, were sacrificed +to Emily’s passion for privacy. +</p> + +<p> +The most enigmatic chapter in Emily’s history covers the years +from 1835 through 1838. All critics agree on the evidence of her +poetry that during this time she underwent the major emotional +experience of her life, one which gave rise to poems of nightmare, +guilt, tragic separation and desire for death, and one which also +contained the seeds of the mutually destructive love of Catherine +and Heathcliff in <em>Wuthering Heights</em>, written nearly a decade later. +Emily’s correspondence from this period has been lost or destroyed, +Charlotte’s few surviving letters have undergone cutting on her part +which leaves them barren, and one must infer pointed expurgation. +The precise dating of Emily’s poems written before 1839 might help +solve the mystery, but for such precision scholars have striven in vain. +The latest and best established chronology, that of Hatfield, will be +accepted here. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-134" class="pagenum" title="134"></a> +It is known that for three months in late 1835 Emily was a pupil +at Roe Head, a boarding school where Charlotte was engaged as +teacher. Her speedy withdrawal was laid to Charlotte’s concern for +her health; and as her poems before that date indicate that she could +not be happy away from the moors and could not endure any sort +of constraint, she may well have been literally sick for the freedom +of home. Upon her return there, Anne went to Roe Head in her +place, and Emily was left in Haworth with Branwell, who must have +been sad enough company. He had just failed neurotically in his +intention to study at the Royal Academy and was spending his time as +a drunken idler at the village tavern. It is because so few poems and +so few letters to or from her absent sisters remain from this interim +that the hypothesis of a questionable relationship between brother +and sister has grown up, and of course, Emily’s rapid decline and +death within a year of Branwell’s in 1847 lends some support to the +theory. But her poetry bearing the date of 1836 is emotionally thin +and immature, and critics are agreed that the major change in it +dates from the following year. +</p> + +<p> +The single external event in her life at that time was a teaching +engagement at Law Hill, of which all that is known certainly is that +it continued for at least six months during 1837. Some scholars hold +that it began in the fall of 1836, others that it continued well into +1838. There are traces of evidence to support both contentions, but +whether it lasted six months or sixteen, it was, beyond question, +Emily’s longest absence from Haworth till then. Following Hatfield’s +dating of her poems, one can trace first the impact of new scenes +(February 1837), nostalgia for the moors, and a wish to “be healthful +still and turn away from passion’s call.” Then in sequence (how +rapid one cannot say) come abysmal self-distrust; nightmare; +melancholy; the agony of separation (November, 1837); more +desperate melancholy (through 1838); and finally in late October +and early November, 1838, two poems of passionate and bitter +reproach to a faithless feminine love: “I knew not ’twas so dire a +crime To say the word adieu,” and “Light up thy halls—and think +not of me!” Whatever experience produced these intense, immediate +and certainly autobiographical outcries must have occurred during +a period when, as a letter to Charlotte testifies, her boarding-school +responsibilities absorbed her from six in the morning until sometimes +eleven at night, and where supervision would have made association +with a man impossible. In view of her earlier quick withdrawal from +Roe Head, the fact that she endured such conditions for even six +months is remarkable. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-135" class="pagenum" title="135"></a> +It is reasonable to imagine that at Law Hill she met and fell +ardently in love with another woman—whether teaching colleague or +senior student—and that the emotion was sufficiently mutual for +Emily to envision some such lasting companionship as Charlotte +dreamed of with Ellen Nussey. (Indeed, Moore’s emphasis upon the +beauty, intellectual and social capacities, and personal charm of +Miss Elizabeth Patchett, the school’s forty-four-year-old headmistress, +suggests the possibility of Emily’s superior having lit the flame reflected +in her verse.) The pattern of such dormitory dramas, whoever +the actors, is fairly constant. One young woman is aglow with excitement +and an often illusory sense of complete rapport; the other +is flattered and genuinely responsive until the emotional voltage runs +too high. Then withdrawal follows on the one side, hurt and misunderstanding +on the other. Whether Emily encountered Victorian +admonition from a colleague, or the news from some charming +young creature (as she toyed with her new ring) that <em>she</em> was about +to enter love’s <em>real</em> province, it is certain that Emily felt herself +“betrayed.” Actually, this proud woman of twenty or twenty-one, in +the grip of authentic passion, must have been brought to see her +feeling through other eyes as something between a juvenile <em>Schwarm</em> +and that horror the very name of which Saint Paul forbade to be +uttered. It is probable that she became at once either physically or +nervously ill and perhaps left the school<a id="corr-42"></a> (inexplicable in the middle +of a term), hiding jealously the reason for her going, and blotting +it from all records. (Interestingly enough Moore tells us that Miss +Patchett married a local vicar “shortly after Emily’s departure from +Law Hill.” Was it her halls that were lit, and for her wedding, in +November 1838?)[8] +</p> + +<p> +A blow like this—the realization that the only love of which +she seemed capable was regarded by the world as either frivolous or +sinful—would explain her subsequent melancholy and her stubborn +refusal to enter again into any personal relationship. It also colored +her memories of Law Hill so that a decade later she used details +of the buildings and environs to describe Wuthering Heights farm, +the setting in which, as the dark-spirited Heathcliff, she finally +wrought vicarious revenge upon a vain and inconstant Cathy. +</p> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-7" title="George Eliot"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>George Eliot.</b> The eye in search of variance inevitably turns +next to the George in England who had not yet assumed her +masculine cognomen—Mary Ann Evans. This novelist was undoubtedly +masculine in many ways, both physically and psychologically; which +of these traits were inborn and which bred of the childhood adoration +<a id="page-136" class="pagenum" title="136"></a> +of father and brother so vividly reflected in <em>Mill on the Floss</em>, it is +impossible to say. But George Eliot’s masculinity does not seem to +have affected her emotional life. There are, to be sure, a handful +of very close women friends cited in the Hansons’ recent biography:[<a class="footnote" href="#5-7-1">1</a>] +Sara Hennell, near her own age and, like her, rather masculine; +Mary Sibree, the first young girl she tutored; and later Bessie Parkes +and Barbara Leigh Taylor, young feminists a half dozen years +or more her junior. All of these are mentioned as parties to friendships +which were briefly more or less emotional on one side or both. +But even so, two considerations exclude their subject from a list +of variant women until more evidence is at hand. The concern +felt by two of the girls’ families about Mary Ann Evans’s influence was +caused not at all by her emotional temperament but by her religious +unorthodoxy. Furthermore, nothing in George Eliot’s work reflects +any interest in emotional connections between women or even an +awareness of them. Her life, as soon as she was freed from enslavement +to her invalid father, was a succession of excitements +involving men, men who captivated her emotions regardless of +whether they were married or (like Herbert Spencer) incapable +of passion. She was that case so disheartening to the hereditary +theorist—an extremely mannish woman not obsessed with women +but with men. +</p> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-8" title="Margaret Fuller"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>Margaret Fuller.</b> The life of an American contemporary of +George Sand and Emily Brontë offers similar suggestions of variance, +while her surviving work is almost equally empty of it. Margaret +Fuller, New England transcendentalist, feminist, and journalist, is +remembered for her <em>Woman in the Nineteenth Century</em>, which +played a part in this country comparable to Wollstonecraft’s <em>Vindication</em> +in England; for her editing of the short-lived <em>Dial</em>, and for her +work at home and abroad on the staff of Horace Greeley’s <em>New York +Tribune</em>. She is also remembered for her friendships with Emerson +and Carlyle and her efforts to familiarize her countrymen with Italian +and German literature, especially the work of Goethe. She is thought +to have been the model for Holmes’ Lurida Vincent and for the +Zenobia of Hawthorne’s <em>Blythedale Romance</em>. Catherine Anthony, in +one of the first “psychoanalytic” biographies of this century,[<a class="footnote" href="#5-8-1">1</a>] reveals +the rigorous asceticism and intellectual forcing imposed upon her +during childhood by that puritan idealist, Timothy Fuller, and +argues for a father fixation as the key to her later emotional life. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until the age of thirty-four that she experienced her +<a id="page-137" class="pagenum" title="137"></a> +first romantic love for a man, the German Jew James Nathan, whom +she met during her first year in New York. When he expressed +passion for her, she was deeply disturbed, even shocked, and he +soon returned to Europe, partly, it is thought, to escape from her +stubbornly “platonic” hold upon him. Four years later in Italy +she lived for a season with the Marchesa d’Ossoli, whom she married +secretly after discovering that she was pregnant, as Wollstonecraft +had done in the case of Godwin. Versions of both these heterosexual +experiences were permitted to survive by Emerson, William Ellery +Channing, and James Freeman Clarke, who edited her <em>Memoirs</em>, +but, says Mason Wade in a later biography, “These friends of +Margaret, in their regard for her memory, inked out, scissored or +pasted over a third of the never-to-be-duplicated mass of material they +had before them.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-8-2">2</a>] +</p> + +<p> +The first thirty-four of her fifty years were not, however, emotionally +empty. At the age of thirteen she fell deeply in love with an +Englishwoman visiting in Cambridge, the first member of a more +cosmopolitan society than she had before encountered. When after a +few months her adored departed she fell into melancholy, was unable +to eat, and declined so much in health that her father packed her off +to a boarding school to find companionship of her own age. She was +far too precocious and self-absorbed to be popular with the girls, and +her chief interest was in a sympathetic teacher with whom, as with +her English idol, she afterwards corresponded for years. Family cares +and financial stress after her father’s death apparently filled her late +teens and early twenties to the exclusion of personal contacts, and no +emotional record survives from the year when she taught in Bronson +Alcott’s school. At the end of a succeeding period as headmistress of a +school in Providence, however, she parted from the boys without +emotion, but the girls, whose adoration had been precious to her, all +wept at losing her and she wept with them. (Most of these incidents +were not expurgated from her <em>Memoirs</em>.) +</p> + +<p> +Her next five years, between the ages of twenty-nine and thirty-four, +were devoted to her famous “Conversations,” hybrids between +a French salon and a modern seminar. For a course of these two-hour +sessions held in the homes of the participants her fee was twenty +dollars, in a day when tickets to as many lyceum lectures cost only +two; still her group never numbered less than thirty. Her intellectual +brilliance and the magnetism she exerted upon her exclusively +feminine audiences have become legendary, and it is quite evident +from the various accounts of them that a strong emotional rapport +<a id="page-138" class="pagenum" title="138"></a> +with women contributed to her success. It is notable that the evening +course given one winter to a mixed group which included many +distinguished intellectual men was a comparative failure. +</p> + +<p> +Considering her emotional inhibitions as shown in her affair +with Nathan, and, more particularly, in view of the rigorous prudery +of Boston at the time, it is unlikely that any of her numerous +feminine attachments reached the point of overt expression. But the +student of variance must forever regret the loss of those confessional +passages obliterated by the three moral vigilantes who edited them. +</p> + +<p> +The only other episode of possible variant significance in her +life (aside from her translating a part of the work of Günderode) +was the effort she made to meet George Sand when she reached +Europe in 1846. The famous woman was for a month or so away +from Paris, and after her return she failed to answer Margaret’s note +begging an interview. After a week of silence Margaret “took her +courage into her hands” and risked a call. A servant’s error in reporting +her name might even then have sent her away disappointed, but +she persisted, and finally reached Sand in person. Writing to a friend +about the encounter, she says: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Our eyes met. I shall never forget her look at that moment.... +Her face is very little like the portraits, but much finer; +the upper part of the forehead and eyes are beautiful, the +lower strong and masculine, expressive of a hardy temperament +and strong passions, but not in the least coarse.... What +fixed my attention was the expression of <em>goodness</em>, nobleness, +and power that pervaded the whole.... As our eyes met +she said, “C’est vous,” and held out her hand. I took it and +went into her little study.... I loved, shall always love her.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-8-3">3</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Though pressed for time, Sand kept her for the greater part of the day +and talked freely to her. Afterwards Margaret decided that despite her +hostess’s constant smoking, and the fact that she had undoubtedly +had “something of the bacchante in her life,” she had never liked any +woman better than she liked George Sand. +</p> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-9" title="Adah Isaacs Menken"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>Adah Isaacs Menken.</b> The difference in emotional climate +between puritan Boston and exotic New Orleans could not be +better illustrated than by setting against Margaret Fuller’s life that +of the actress, dancer, poet and adventuress who attained fame as +Adah Isaacs Menken. Encyclopedias are monotonously insistent that +she was born Dolores Adios Fuertes, daughter of a Spanish Jew. +<a id="page-139" class="pagenum" title="139"></a> +Various other sources, among them the preface to an 1890 edition +of her poems,[<a class="footnote" href="#5-9-1">1</a>] claim that she was Adelaide McCord, daughter of a +storekeeper in a small Louisiana town. The truth is perhaps obscured +forever by what another authority describes as “her own habit of +romancing about herself and her origin.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-9-2">2</a>] Thus some of the following +picturesque details offered by Clement Wood should doubtless be +liberally salted, but many are demonstrably true. +</p> + +<p> +Although, like Margaret Fuller, Menken was precocious enough +to be translating the <em>Iliad</em> at twelve, she was also dancing in the +New Orleans Opera House, and by the age of fourteen “she was +a woman, whose sensitive beauty was the pride of the town.” By +the time she was twenty she had the following adventures to her +credit: marriage at sixteen to “a nobody whose very name has +vanished,” who abused and abandoned her; a season of dancing +which made her the darling of the Tacón Theatre in Havana; a +tour with an amateur theatrical company in Texas, followed by her +founding a newspaper in the town of Liberty; being captured by +Indians, and rescued by white rangers. A year after the first publication +of Walt Whitman’s <em>Leaves of Grass</em> she brought out a volume, +<em>Memoirs</em> (or <em>Memories</em> [?] now lost) which is said to have “received +the placid fervor it deserved.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-9-3">3</a>] +</p> + +<p> +A few months before she was twenty-one she married a musician +in Galveston, Alexander Isaacs Menken, adopted his faith and his +name, and retained both to the end of her short but crowded career, +though this included several later marriages. She subsequently returned +to the stage and toured the south, part of the time in Edwin +Booth’s company. In Cincinnati she paused long enough to study +sculpture, and became the leading contributor to the <em>Cincinnati +Israelite</em>. Her article on Baron Rothschild’s admission to parliament +won her his epithet of “inspired Deborah of her adopted race.” +Moving north to Dayton, she took up military drill and was elected +captain in the Life Guards. Here she met a pugilist, John Heenan, +known as the Benicia Boy, whom she married a year later in New +York, but, like her first unlucky choice, he was brutal, and she +subsequently tried matrimony with the humorist known as Orpheus +C. Kerr, and again with “one John Barclay.” Menken died, Kerr she +divorced, but in what manner she freed herself of her other mates +is uncertain. +</p> + +<p> +Her success as an actress seems to have been moderate until in +New York in 1861 she accepted the part of Mazeppa in a dramatization +of Byron’s melodramatic poem. This male part involved being +bound to the back of a fiery Arab steed, feet in his <a id="corr-44"></a>mane, head +<a id="page-140" class="pagenum" title="140"></a> +hanging from his crupper, and “she glittered in this role from +Albany to London, Paris and Vienna.” In Europe she enjoyed social +and literary, as well as dramatic, success. “Nobility and royalty paid +court to her; the aristocracy of art thronged to her salon.” She was +the intimate friend of Gautier, Dumas, Charles Reade, Swinburne, +and Dickens, and in 1868 dedicated to the last of these her second +volume of poems, <em>Infelicia</em>.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-9-4">4</a>] Within a few months of its publication +she fell ill and died at the age of thirty-three. +</p> + +<p> +Menken’s place in the present study is due to James Gibbons +Huneker’s comment in <em>Steeplejack</em>: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +The grave of Ida [sic] Isaacs Menken, poet, actress ... +greatest of Mazeppas, is there [Père La Chaise cemetery in +Paris].... Her letters to Hattie Tyng Griswold, published after +the death of the notorious and unhappy woman, revealed +another side of her temperament. Extracts were printed in +the newspapers. She was a Mazeppa doubled by a Sappho. Her +slender volume of verse entitled “Infelice” was credited to +Swinburne, but that is nonsense. The poet of Anactoria, while +he sympathized with Lesbian ladies, never wrote bad poetry.... +A strikingly handsome woman according to the report +of her day, her figure being the “envy of sculptors.” ... A +tormented, morbid soul, a virile soul in a feminine body....[<a class="footnote" href="#5-9-5">5</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Upon examination, the volume <em>Infelicia</em> reveals no more obvious +lesbianism than do the poems of Brontë or Labé. Its impersonal +poems, pleas for the Jews or for industrially exploited women, explain +the interest of Dickens and Reade, champions of social reform. +The tragic desperation in most of the love lyrics suggests, along with +her twice marrying sadistic men and her success as the victimized +Mazeppa, a strain of masochism which may account for her appeal +for Swinburne (who was not, craving Huneker’s pardon, too sympathetic +to lesbian ladies, but who was obsessed by pain). Three +poems, however, are obviously addressed to women. “Dying” and +“Answer Me” allude to soft and tender hands, warm bosoms. “A +Memory; To a Dead Woman” says: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Too late we met. The burning brain,</p> + <p class="verse">The aching heart alone can tell</p> + <p class="verse">How filled our souls with death and pain</p> + <p class="verse">When came the last sad word, Farewell![<a class="footnote" href="#5-9-6">6</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a id="page-141" class="pagenum" title="141"></a> +In “The Release,” a subjective autobiographical fragment, she says: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Wherefore was that poor soul of all the host so wounded?</p> + <p class="verse">It struggled bravely ...</p> + <p class="verse">Can it be this captive soul was a changeling, and battled ... in a body not its own?[<a class="footnote" href="#5-9-7">7</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +These poems to, or about, women come nearest to serenity and +peace of any in the volume. The rest reproach men for their cruelty +to the women who bear their children, or, like “Resurgam,” they +represent the author as dead though still beautiful, crowned with +flowers, and fêted—her spirit murdered by the man she loved.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-9-8">8</a>] +</p> + +<p> +As to the Hattie Tyng Griswold mentioned by Huneker, she is +listed in Frances Willard’s <em>Woman of the Century</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#5-9-9">9</a>] as a successful +Wisconsin journalist and a friend of Violet Paget, the British art +critic and philosopher, who wrote under the name Vernon Lee. No +record seems to exist of her connection with Menken outside the +newspaper articles mentioned by Huneker, which have not been +consulted here. As in the case of Sand and Wollstonecraft, interest +in Menken’s spectacular career has diverted attention from possible +variant experience, but it appears to be precisely such stormy and +passionate spirits who turn to women for the happiness they are +unable to find with any number of men. It is interesting that Clement +Wood should say, in contradiction to Huneker, that she deserved +as much poetic acclaim as Whitman, but “was a woman, with a +softer voice.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-9-10">10</a>] The volume alluded to, <em>Memoirs</em>, has not been seen +by the present writer, but honest critical judgment compels some +qualification of Wood’s praise in view of the known <em>Infelicia</em>, though +there are many pages in the latter which are not “bad” poetry. +</p> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-10" title="“Michael Field”"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>“Michael Field.”</b> Another “poet” in the present group is +Michael Field, pseudonym of two late-Victorian Englishwomen, +Katherine Bradley and Edith Cooper. They were aunt and niece, +but actually they were much closer than this relationship indicates, +for when Edith’s mother was left an invalid after the birth of a +second child, Katherine and her mother moved in to care for the +family, and Katherine assumed complete responsibility for the +three-year-old Edith. Katherine was then seventeen and had studied +at Newnham and in Paris, where she had been in love with the +older brother of a French friend. This man died, and the loss is +reflected faintly in her first published poetry a decade later. There +<a id="page-142" class="pagenum" title="142"></a> +is no indication of any other heterosexual interest on either woman’s +part throughout their lives. +</p> + +<p> +By the time Edith had reached late adolescence and Katherine +was approaching thirty, their relation had become one of adult +equality, and they were active together in university life in Bristol, +though apparently more in debating, woman’s suffrage, and anti-vivesection +societies than in formal university courses. In 1881, when +one was thirty-three and the other nineteen, they published jointly +a first book of verse, “by Arrand and Isla Leigh,” which received +little critical comment. It was two years later that they hit upon +the pseudonym of Michael Field, and when <em>Callirrhoë and Fair +Rosamund</em> appeared in 1883 it was hailed as the work of a new +and promising talent. They published, in all, eleven volumes of +verse and nineteen or twenty poetic dramas, mostly on classical or +historical themes; but, as Sturge Moore says in the introduction +to their joint memoirs, <em>Works and Days</em>: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +“After the first flush of acclamation their work was treated +with ever-increasing coldness by the literary world, and there +is no doubt that the discovery that Michael Field was no +avatar ... but two women, was partly responsible.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-10-1">1</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The handful of volumes which have been available for inspection +seem far from works of genius; nevertheless, the poems have as +much freshness and lyric charm as those of many other minor +writers who are repeatedly included in anthologies. The plays, +though they exhibit careful historical scholarship, are weighted with +moral or feministic message and seem artificial and heavy. The one +that reached the stage in their own day was an immediate failure. +</p> + +<p> +There is evidence in the luxurious format of their privately +printed volumes, and in the description of the house in Richmond +where they lived after Mr. Cooper’s death, that they were blessed +with ample means, and beyond doubt their thirty-five years of adult +life together were happier than the lives of most Victorian spinsters. +They cultivated the acquaintance of all the surviving nineteenth-century +poets, and derived much excitement from moderate friendships +with the aging Browning and Meredith. But the Victorian +era as a whole was disinclined to honor two “Platonists” as the +previous century had done, and their closest friends were a pair of +Royal Academy artists, Charles Ricketts and Charles Shannon, who +lived together near them in a relationship evidently comparable to +their own. That they did not escape disapprobation is indicated +<a id="page-143" class="pagenum" title="143"></a> +indirectly in several of the entries in <em>Works and Days</em>. When they +first recognized Ricketts and Shannon at an art exhibition they +hesitated long before speaking, uncertain how such a gesture might +be received, even though Ricketts had designed the cover for one +of their recent volumes. After attending another “private view” +one Sunday afternoon in 1889, Katherine made much in their +journal of being greeted by Fairfax Murray. “We recognized that +he was proud to manifest to the world that we were his friends.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-10-2">2</a>] +And in connection with one of their volumes of verse, <em>Long Ago</em> +(1889), based on fragments from Sappho, Katherine told Browning +that “we meant to do no more harm than George Herbert, when he +took a text from Holy Writ and wrote a hymn thereon.” The harm +they were accused of having done is not mentioned. +</p> + +<p> +The relation between the two women is more difficult to analyze +than any so far encountered. Some time before the publication of +their first volume of poems they were moved to a step best described +in a later poem of Katherine’s: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">It was deep April, and the morn</p> + <p class="verse1">Shakespeare was born.</p> + <p class="verse">My love and I took hands and swore</p> + <p class="verse1">Against the world, to be</p> + <p class="verse">Poets and lovers evermore.</p> + <p class="verse">To laugh and dream on Lethe’s shore,</p> + <p class="verse">To sing to Charon in his boat,</p> + <p class="verse">Heartening the timid souls afloat;</p> + <p class="verse">Of judgment never to take heed,</p> + <p class="verse">But to those fast-locked souls to speed</p> + <p class="verse">Who never from Apollo fled,</p> + <p class="verse">Who spent no hours with the dead;</p> + <p class="verse1">Continually</p> + <p class="verse">With them to dwell,</p> + <p class="verse">Indifferent to heaven and hell.[<a class="footnote" href="#5-10-3">3</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This, along with certain other poems (notably the “Third Book +of Songs” in <em>Underneath the Bough</em>), leaves no possible doubt about +the intensity or the variance of their mutual emotion. Not even +Colette, however, could assign a masculine or a feminine role to one +or the other. Sir William Rothenstein, in his preface to <em>Works and +Days</em>, describes “Michael” (Katherine) as “stout, emphatic, splendid +and adventurous in talk;” “Field” (Edith) as “wan and wistful, +gentler in manner, but equally eminent in the quick give and take +<a id="page-144" class="pagenum" title="144"></a> +of ideas.”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-10-4">4</a>] A good photograph of the two women shows Edith’s +features to be of a decidedly boyish cast and her hair short. In the +memoirs the two use a wealth of nicknames, masculine, feminine or +neuter, and either may refer to the other by the male pronoun. It +seems as though they tried to think of themselves as a single bisexual +personality, and in one place Katherine says of the Brownings: “These +two poets, man and wife, wrote alone; each wrote, but did not bless +and quicken one another at their work; <em>we are closer married</em> [italics +hers].”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-10-5">5</a>] +</p> + +<p> +They exhibit consciousness of the physical possibilities between +women more frankly than any other writers except for the portrayal +of fictional characters. This is particularly striking in Edith’s account +of an attack of scarlet fever she suffered while they were travelling +in Germany. Katherine fought an entire hospital staff in order to +occupy a room with her, and Edith writes later: “I have my love +close to me.... Looking across at Sim’s little bed I realize she is +a goddess, hidden in her hair—Venus. Yet I cannot reach her.... +I grow wilder for pleasure and madder against the ugly Mädchen”[<a class="footnote" href="#5-10-6">6</a>] +(the nurse who kept her in bed). Yet when another nurse, middle-aged, +becomes infatuated and annoys her with constant caresses, +she says: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +My experiences with Nurse are painful—she is under the +possession of terrible fleshly love she does not conceive as +such, and as such I will not receive it. Oh, why will Anteros +make one cynical by always peering over the beauty of every +love—why must his fatality haunt us?[<a class="footnote" href="#5-10-7">7</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Much later in their lives, Edith, whose health was never robust, +failed steadily, learned she had cancer, and turned to the Church of +Rome. Katherine followed her into that church more slowly and, +one infers, partly to reassure the younger convert that they would +never be separated here or hereafter, just as she concealed the fact +that she also was suffering from the same dread ailment as long +as Edith lived, in order to spare her added vicarious pain. This +religious move resulted from the influence of a brilliant Jesuit, +who had made their acquaintance through enthusiasm for the mystic +exaltation of their verse. There is no hint of struggle, change of habit +or attitude, or anything resembling “repentance” in either woman, +and this fact, along with the “Anteros” allusion above, suggests +<a id="page-145" class="pagenum" title="145"></a> +that the two had achieved some sort of limitation upon expressing +their love which satisfied their stringent Victorian consciences. +</p> + +<p> +Probably the complete manuscript of <em>Works and Days</em> included +other psychological and philosophical discussion of such relationships, +and perhaps also more details of the poets themselves, +for Sturge Moore mentions having reduced the text considerably in +the interests of good taste, and of omitting matter likely to be of +little interest to later students of literature. Unfortunately, biographers +and literary historians often prune material of foremost interest +to students of emotional psychology. +</p> + +<h3 class="section blank" id="subchap-0-10-11" title="Emily Dickinson"> +<span class="keep-nu-html-checker-happy"> </span> +</h3> + +<p class="isection"> +<b>Emily Dickinson.</b> If Emily Brontë was for a century a British +enigma, Emily Dickinson has for almost as long been New England’s +“little sphinx.” Many who do not know her poems will have heard +of her self-cloistration at thirty in the family house in Amherst, her +wearing only white thereafter, and her habit of communicating even +with old friends through the open door of a room in which she +remained stubbornly invisible. Favoring the growth of such legends +are a life as empty of outward event as the earlier Emily’s, poems +with a higher emotional charge and no fictional disguises, and a +history of publication mysteriously complicated by family feud. Some +critics have observed that in nineteenth century New England recluses +and eccentrics were not uncommon, particularly among old maids +and old bachelors who sometimes worked at becoming “characters.” +Some have elucidated in detail the family quarrel between surviving +sister and sister-in-law which blocked publication. But none have +dared to pretend that Emily’s life was absolutely normal. +</p> + +<p> +A tragic love affair has been the natural hypothesis, and search +for clues has produced an embarrassment of possible candidates. All +Emily’s letters resemble her poems enough in economy and intensity +so that despite her own elision and the subsequent editing many +still approach love letters in effect. On their internal and some +external evidence, she seems to have felt real warmth for a number +of men with whom she enjoyed intellectual communion, from her +near-contemporary George Gould in the late 1840s to Judge Otis Lord, +her father’s friend, eighteen years her senior, in her later life. To +each of a half-dozen potential candidates, one biographer or another +has assigned responsibility for the heartbreak in her poetry and +her willful seclusion. But in every case, objective support is meager, +and the necessary assumptions have reflected the theorist’s predilections +quite as much as his subject’s. +</p> + +<p> +As the quantity of poetry and correspondence in print has increased, +<a id="page-146" class="pagenum" title="146"></a> +however, the different editors’ versions of some duplicate +material have invited comparison, and from this and much peripheral +research Rebecca Patterson has suggested in <em>The Riddle of Emily +Dickinson</em> (1951) a pattern of departure from the norm which +brings its subject within the range of the present study. Mrs. Patterson +presents the integrated results of three separate investigations. +First, she has studied Emily’s life story exhaustively: the puritan +background in Amherst; emotional tensions in the family circle +(Emily’s father, whom she both loved and inwardly defied, forbade +at least one marriage and tried to prevent her writing); Emily’s +feelings, convincingly diagnosed as ambivalent, toward the men +who captured her interest; and her sometimes more absorbing attachments +to certain women. Second, Mrs. Patterson has compiled +the objective and emotional biography of Kate Scott Anthon of +Cooperstown, New York. This tall, striking, and passionate woman +she shows to have been the product of a relatively cosmopolitan +milieu, to have been emotionally attracted to women from adolescence +in boarding school to ripe old age on the continent (despite a couple +of satisfying if short-lived marriages), and to have met and violently +loved Emily Dickinson when both young women were about twenty-nine. +Third, she has collated all available versions of Emily’s poems +and letters (in some of which the sex and number of pronouns +were altered or lines omitted by the poet herself or censoring editors), +and has re-established chronology which was either deliberately +falsified or wishfully confused by the editors to support the legend of +a male lover. However unpopular Mrs. Patterson’s hypothesis of a +variant passion for Kate Anthon may be, it partly explains the +erratic behavior of both the poet herself and her surviving relatives +as motivated by fear of scandal. (Sue Gilbert Dickinson in particular, +whom Emily’s sister Lavinia branded a procrastinator and obstructionist +in the matter of publication, had her reasons.) +</p> + +<p> +From minutely assembled external evidence as well as careful interpretation +of poems and letters, Mrs. Patterson reconstructs the +following emotional history. During late adolescence Emily was +passionately attached to Sue Gilbert, afterward her sister-in-law, +a girl who had similarly attracted Kate Scott during their boarding +school days. But Sue herself was cold in both relationships, and left +Emily wholly unaware of the true nature of her emotion. A decade +later, Kate Scott Anthon appeared, the widow of a loved first husband +who had died after only two years of married life. Kate was beautiful, +socially and emotionally mature, hungry for love, and much taken +with Emily at sight. The two women’s association was not protracted, +<a id="page-147" class="pagenum" title="147"></a> +probably amounting in all to less than two months; however, it was +highly concentrated during Kate’s semi-annual visits over a period +of two years to Sue Gilbert Dickinson who lived next door to Emily. +</p> + +<p> +The contact begun in March 1859 flowered then and during +August of that year into an intense mutual absorption. Emily even +showed Kate the poetry of which her own family still knew nothing. +This flowering included some demonstrativeness, apparently Emily’s +first congenial experience of caresses, and therefore an electrifying +revelation. In March 1860, during Kate’s third visit to Sue, Emily’s +sister Lavinia was absent from home, and the two young women spent +a night together. This experience enlightened Emily as to at least the +nature of passion (a lesson of which many Victorian spinsters died +ignorant), but to Kate’s desire for complete intimacy, Emily reacted +with shock and withdrawal. Kate knew herself well enough to be +aware that she could not continue a close association on Emily’s +puritanic terms, and she avoided visiting Sue again for more than a +year, though for a time she continued to correspond with Emily. The +latter was too inexperienced to understand quite what had happened, +and for six months she continued to be—as she had been since first +meeting Kate—happier and more out-going in her personal relationships +and correspondence than ever before or after. +</p> + +<p> +Then, at the beginning of 1861, Kate ceased to reply to Emily’s +letters, of which only three have been published and probably few +more survived. Kate was not silent from indifference; Mrs. Patterson +assembles sound evidence that she too suffered bitterly. But +she was apparently convinced that their relation had reached an +impasse, and by April 1861 Emily’s pain and veiled reproach so +troubled her that she wrote terminating their connection. This month +marked the beginning of Emily’s withdrawal from social contacts. +She refused particularly to see anyone who might mention Kate’s +name, for fear of her own reaction if she heard it spoken. Meanwhile, +Kate had turned for comfort to her friend, Gertrude Vanderbilt, +wife of a New York judge and some six years her senior, on whom +she evidently could depend for complete understanding. Mrs. Vanderbilt +seems to have offered sane advice—which may even have preceded +Kate’s final letter to Emily—and some religious consolation. +When in the fall of 1861 Kate felt constrained to visit Sue Dickinson, +knowing that to sever the connection without reason would arouse +awkward conjecture, she played safe by bringing Mrs. Vanderbilt +with her. To the still uncomprehending Emily, this effective preclusion +of private interviews was a bitter final blow. +</p> + +<p> +All this, it must be admitted, is a fairly detailed reconstruction +<a id="page-148" class="pagenum" title="148"></a> +of events for which proof positive can never be produced. But it +did not deserve the wholesale damnation which critics accorded Mrs. +Patterson’s volume when it appeared. Other biographers had noted +the meticulous omission of any descriptive detail in Emily’s love +poems which could give a clue to the beloved’s identity or personality. +The present writer, still little acquainted with Dickinson (to +her shame be it said) when <em>Bolts of Melody</em> appeared in 1945, was +assured by several lovers of Emily’s poetry, on the internal evidence +in that volume, that the poet belonged in this study. Let us grant, +then, that Emily may in her early life have felt “idealistically amorous” +(as one critic phrases it) toward certain young men, notably Gould +and Newton, with whom her associations came to nothing. (Both died +quite young, which might partially account for Emily’s concern +with death.) She also probably fell in love with the Reverend +Charles Wadsworth whom she met in Philadelphia in 1854. (This +has the vote of Mark Van Doren, specialist in historical research.) But +she saw Wadsworth no more than three times again, probably only +twice, and then only for a few hours. In her late twenties—a dangerous +age for emotional spinsters—she met the first woman whose mind +matched her own. She was off guard precisely because her new friend +was a woman; but Kate Anthon had virtually a man’s emotional +approach. An explosive result was almost inevitable. Mrs. Patterson’s +demonstration of how closely a new out-going happiness in poems and +letters paralleled Emily’s meeting with Kate Anthon, how exactly +the beginning of her period of “agony” coincided with Kate’s withdrawal, +is too apt to be dismissed as absurdly biased special pleading. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-11"> +<a id="page-149" class="pagenum" title="149"></a> +<span class="line1">CHAPTER VI.</span><br> +<span class="line2">TWENTIETH CENTURY</span> +</h2> + +</div> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-11-1"> +Introduction +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +The early twentieth century has already been cited as relatively +tolerant of homosexuality. To the extent that it prevailed, this +tolerance was due to popular acceptance of hereditary theory. We +have noted Karl Ulrichs’ defense of male homosexuals in the 1860’s +on the ground that their proclivities were innate. Within the next +three or four decades, scores of case studies, current and historical, +were accumulated to support or to oppose this claim. On the one +hand there were exclusively homosexual histories of persons whose +physical traits approached those of the other sex. On the other +were records of homosexuals cured by hypnosis in the clinics of +Charcot and Magnan. The majority of cases fell between these two +extremes. Many were bisexual. Many persons reporting obsessive +homosexuality were somatically normal. Following the lead of the +biological sciences, students of the problem attempted to classify +homosexuals. The subjects were variously divided into “true” or +born and “pseudo-” or elective; “masculine” and “feminine” in +general appearance; active and passive in the sexual role; homosexual +and bisexual. But the determining data were less objective than is +desirable for close classification. And although each dichotomy was +independently more or less sound, there was little correlation among +the logically related groups from the several divisions. +</p> + +<p> +The resulting confusion seems now to argue against, rather than +for, the claim of somatic causation of variance. But at the time +the recent or current publications of Darwin, Mendel and Galton +provided rich soil for the cultivation of any hereditary theory; so +the men best remembered today for their work on homosexuality are +Krafft-Ebing, Moll and Hirschfeld in Germany, and in England +Symonds, Ellis and Carpenter, all of them strongly inclined toward +<a id="page-150" class="pagenum" title="150"></a> +a hereditary explanation of the phenomenon. By 1900 most of +these men’s contributions to the subject were in print and widely +disseminated, so that in scientific and intellectual circles there was +much talk of an intermediate sex whose condition was referred to +as <em>inversion</em>—Ellis’s term, as noted earlier. +</p> + +<p> +The effect on homosexuals was naturally pronounced. From +being generally regarded as moral lepers they felt themselves restored +to human dignity, as biological sports, perhaps, and in a distinct +minority, but no more reprehensible than albinos or color-blind +people. Many were encouraged to write, many other authors took +a more liberal view of them, and the public began to accept the +new outlook in literature. Tolerance was by no means general, +however, even in the great metropolitan centers where for years +a certain degree of it had obtained. In the medical profession negative +opinion was strong, and, of course, conservatives in all fields battled +against the new “demoralizing” influence as long and bitterly as +their predecessors had against Darwinian evolution. +</p> + +<p> +Geographic infiltration of tolerance was markedly uneven. France, +where interest if not sympathy was already widespread, was comparatively +hospitable to the new attitude. Germany, despite its being +the birthplace of the hereditary viewpoint, was somewhat less so. +Sentiment there might have developed more favorably if, in 1906, +military interests had not used the charge of homosexuality as a +weapon against Philip von Eulenberg, whose pacific influence on +the Kaiser they wished to eliminate.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-1">1</a>] Even so, the effects of the Eulenberg +affair were not so sweeping as those of the Oscar Wilde case +in England a decade earlier. +</p> + +<p> +A retrospective glance at England shows that during the 1880’s +the publisher, Vizetelly, had managed to get into circulation a +million copies of current French fiction before legal battles with +the censor impoverished him, and, also, that a number of major +critics had supported his efforts.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-2">2</a>] All were fighting for greater general +liberality in matters of sex, but after the Wilde scandal in 1895, +the public reacted strongly against homosexual activity. Havelock +Ellis had to publish his volume on sexual inversion (1896) in +Germany, and even there its appearance was not welcomed; consequently, +his other <em>Studies in the Psychology of Sex</em> came out in +America a decade before England would permit their publication. +</p> + +<p> +America was the scene of no dramatic inhibiting episodes; however, +our intellectual isolation retarded awareness of relaxing +European attitudes towards inversion until Freud’s influence had +also been felt. While the wave of tolerance was spreading slowly +<a id="page-151" class="pagenum" title="151"></a> +from its continental origins, a counterforce was growing there. +Sigmund Freud had begun his work with Breuer and Charcot before +1890 and was a practicing psychoanalyst by the turn of the century. +The year 1905 saw the publication of his first important treatise; and +in 1909 G. Stanley Hall, psychiatrist, and president of Clark University, +invited Freud to lecture at a conference in celebration of +that institution’s twentieth anniversary. +</p> + +<p> +Almost immediately the foundations of the hereditary theory +were threatened. For Freud’s thesis, as no one needs reminding in +this generation, was that the human personality passes through +several phases of sexual development, beginning in earliest infancy, +and reaching maturity only with complete heterosexual experience. +All individuals, he said, are potentially bisexual. In some, the +homosexual component becomes conscious and active, and unless +this phase gives way with the passing of adolescence to the heterosexual, +the personality remains arrested and immature. Such an +arrest constitutes neurosis, whether or not it becomes troublesome +enough to demand psychiatric attention. +</p> + +<p> +As is obvious, this view contradicts the hereditary theory at +several important points. It holds that the homosexual is not born, +but made by conditioning factors in his early life, chiefly family relations +before he is five years of age. He can usually overcome his +neurosis if he earnestly wishes, at least with the aid of psychiatry; +therefore, he may be considered more or less responsible for his +state if he persists in it. Furthermore, the bisexual is nearer to +maturity than the homosexual. This conclusion is particularly opposed +to the tenets of the Ellis-Hirschfeld school, which classed +frigidity to the opposite sex as a mark of “true,” that is, innate and +blameless, homosexuals. The battle between the hereditary and the +Freudian theories can be detected in a good deal of twentieth-century +variant fiction. +</p> + +<p> +The pendulum swung again toward physical causation with the +development of endocrinology, which at first held the individual’s +glandular endowment responsible for his sexual inclinations. This +science began as a branch of general physiology, and acquired major +sexual importance only with Steinach’s and Voronoff’s famous experiments +in rejuvenation through graft of sex glands or other +reinforcement of sex hormones. In the variant field, endocrinologists +were first concerned with glandular influence on secondary sex +characteristics—breast development, hair distribution, vocal register, +et cetera. Thus, during the 1920s and 1930s a number of physicians +were attempting to cure homosexuals by dosing them with hormones +<a id="page-152" class="pagenum" title="152"></a> +which reinforced their biological sex and tended to decrease variant +traits. These experiments enjoyed some publicity in medical literature +but had only limited success. In the meantime, disciples of Freud +were bringing in evidence that psychological disturbances alter +endocrine balance. The final compromise is the current school of +psychosomatic medicine. +</p> + +<p> +To bring scientific opinion on homosexuality up to date, attention +must be given to four further attacks upon the problem. Most closely +in line with early search for physical causation are accumulations of +exact somatic measurements by such different agents as the so-called +Harvard group in their <em>Explorations in Personality—a clinical ... +study of fifty men of college age</em> (only a partial publication of their +findings), and G. W. Henry in his <em>Sex Variants</em>. Neither of these +studies has, so far as published material indicates, established significant +correlations between homosexuality and any somatic factor +or group of factors measured. +</p> + +<p> +A statistical study limited to genetics was made in Germany +during World War II by Theodor Lang.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-3">3</a>] On the ground that the +offspring of a large group of parents should by the law of probability +be equally divided between the two sexes, he made a statistical count +of the siblings of several thousand homosexual men. He found a +greater proportion of males among these than among siblings of +a control group of heterosexuals. From this he argued that the +homosexuals, though somatically male, possessed more than the +average number of female genes, their brothers having in the +aggregate more of the male determinants. Like all such studies this has +been attacked on the grounds of its statistical soundness, but it +has not been discredited. More conclusive in the same field is J. F. +Kallman’s study of twins, <em>Heredity in Health and Mental Disorder</em> +(1953). Dr. Kallman compared, among other things, the incidence of +homosexuality in identical and non-identical twins. Identical twins +showed an enormously larger percent of similar sexual behavior than +the latter, and his evidence is conclusive that “a genetically oriented +‘imbalance’ theory ... can no longer be regarded as an implausible +explanation for certain groups of ... homosexuals.”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-4">4</a>] +</p> + +<p> +In the psychoanalytic field such dissenters from the so-called +pan-sexualism of Freud as Jung, Adler, Horney and others have +assembled evidence that sex is not always the prime cause of neurosis. +Freud found it to be so, they say, because in his day social taboo +made it the most common cause of insupportable tension. Now that +sexual standards are less rigid (thanks in part to Freud’s work), other +factors such as the thwarting of the ego or long-continued insecurity +<a id="page-153" class="pagenum" title="153"></a> +appear of almost equal importance. To account for the homosexual, +these later psychoanalysts suggest such causal factors as early social +humiliation resulting in withdrawal from heterosexual competition, +acute anxiety with regard to childbearing, or reluctance to assume +responsibility for a family. Still regarding homosexuality as a neurosis, +that is, an abnormal way of escaping an untenable situation, they +leave unanswered the question as to what predisposes an individual +to the choice of this particular solution of his difficulties.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-5">5</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Most publicized of this century’s contributions are undoubtedly +the monumental statistical studies of sex behavior by the biologist +A. C. Kinsey, which have shown homosexual experience to be more +prevalent than hitherto claimed even by Ellis or Hirschfeld. Insofar +as Kinsey attacks causes, he is with the Freudians in holding that all +individuals are potentially bisexual, but there the agreement ceases. +Kinsey’s contention is that the human sex drive will find outlet +according to its strength in a given individual, and that its satisfaction +via the same sex is due to the sensitivity of erogenous zones to any +adequate stimuli. This explains satisfactorily the behavior of bisexuals +and of homosexuals whose opportunities are largely confined to their +own sex, but to account for those who are frigid to the other sex +Kinsey is obliged to admit the importance of subjective factors. +</p> + +<p> +This brief survey indicates how much the social attitude toward +variance has relaxed since the days of Belot and Peladan. Today +the sternest counsellors of youth—outside perhaps a few religious +groups—no longer talk of homosexuality in terms of depravity and +corruption. And the psychiatrist’s charge of arrested development +weighs comparatively lightly upon such variants as are fairly well +adjusted to their condition. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Factors other than the scientific have also affected this century’s +output of literature dealing with variant women. Until the beginning +of World War I, the Woman’s Movement figured sporadically in +fiction, but not in variant novels after 1900. As a force in practical +politics, however,—sometimes, as in England, a very noisy one—it had +by the end of the war won the suffrage battle throughout much of +the western world. Even where this end was not achieved, the movement +widened women’s educational and occupational opportunities, +and thus tended to multiply the total number of feminine authors. +Next, the war opened a number of men’s jobs to women, increased +their financial and personal independence, and encouraged tendencies +toward masculine simplicity in dress. It also brought about that +relaxation of sexual standards in general for which the 1920s have +<a id="page-154" class="pagenum" title="154"></a> +become notorious. Taken together, these alterations in women’s status +are held by some social historians to have increased female variance. +Certainly what may be called a first peak in variant literature was +reached between 1925 and 1935. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, it is not surprising to discover that during the first third +of the present century, literary titles dealing with variant women +averaged more than one per year, that at least half were written by +women, and that a majority were more favorable to variance than +otherwise. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-11-2"> +Poetry—French +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Since the discussion of conjecturally variant women closed with +a consideration of lyric poetry, the same literary thread will be +traced first in the twentieth-century pattern. More than a dozen +poets have celebrated love between women, three-quarters of them +feminine and all but two sympathetic. The earliest were two expatriates +who adopted Paris as their residence and wrote almost +exclusively in French. +</p> + +<p> +The lesser, from a literary viewpoint, was Natalie Clifford +Barney, an American with New York and Bar Harbor background +who was able to live independently in Paris and to maintain her +own yacht. Born in 1877, she had by the late nineties made contact +with Pierre Louÿs, and she introduced to him her British-American +friend, Pauline Tarn. Both young women were enthusiastic about +Louÿs’s <em>Songs of Bilitis</em>, and seeing in him ‘the champion of the +young girls of the future,’ they submitted manuscripts for his judgment. +They found him more inclined to admire “<em>jeux latins et +voluptés grecques</em>” than the “exaggerated preoccupations” of <em>femmes +damnées</em> whose sense of sin he suspected of giving an edge to their +passions. He pronounced Barney’s novel, <em>Lettres à Une Connue</em>, +unsuited for publication because of its outmoded poetic diction, but +concerning Tarn’s verses, which he praised, he afterward wrote +to Barney: ‘You must write your story and hers. It is the indispensable +first chapter to your complete romance.’[<a class="footnote" href="#6-6">6</a>] The implication of some +previous emotional connection between the two is supported by +evidence in the poetry of both. +</p> + +<p> +Barney was a Maupin type, with ‘a fencer’s grace noticeable in +an all-too-feminine Paris; moonlight-blonde hair, blue eyes with a +glint of steel, made to observe and not (like most women’s) to be +gazed into; white gowns and a cape of ermine’—a composite description +<a id="page-155" class="pagenum" title="155"></a> +from later articles by her fellow authors “Aurel” and Lucie +Delarue-Mardrus, quoted by Barney herself in her <em>Aventures de +l’Esprit</em>.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-7">7</a>] In the garden of her luxurious Paris residence she built a +Temple of Friendship and welcomed there many of the literary +personalities of the day, evidently in conscious imitation of certain +esoteric groups of the eighteenth century. Though many men were +admitted, it was recognized that this was an Amazonian cult +dedicated primarily to women. In her Chart of the Realm of Friendship +she placed Remy de Gourmont first and Renée Vivien (Pauline +Tarn) second. +</p> + +<p> +Barney’s literary output was comparatively meager, perhaps because +she did not care to publish too tangible evidence of her emotional +bent. The complete record of publication is as follows: +<em>Quelques Sonnets et Portraits de Femmes</em> (1900), described by critics +as sensuous poems of restrained passion; <em>The Woman who Lives with +Me</em>—possibly a version in English of the novel Louÿs criticized—listed +without date as a “roman abrégé, hors commerce”; <em>Cinq Petits +Dialogues Grecs</em>, printed in the periodical <em>La Plume</em>, 1901; <em>The City +of the Flowers</em>, “poème avec enlumières, à un seul exemplaire”; +<em>Actes et Entr’actes</em>, 1910; <em>Poèmes—Autres Alliances</em>, 1920; <em>Pensées +d’une Amazone</em>, and <em>Aventures de l’Esprit</em>, 1929, both in prose. +</p> + +<p> +She is probably best remembered in French letters for having +inspired two volumes by Remy de Gourmont, <em>Lettres à l’Amazone</em>, +essays which first ran serially in the <em>Mercure de France</em> and were +translated into English by Richard Aldington (1931), and <em>Lettres +Intimes à l’Amazone</em>, 1927.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-8">8</a>] The first volume, comparatively impersonal, +includes considerable analysis of Barney’s temperament, +which has ‘the superiority of a profoundly pagan spirit, determined +to obey Nature only in so far as it gives its consent.’ This, Gourmont +says, is ‘so different from ... Christian morality that ... some +courage is needed to express it so openly and so strongly.’ He defines +as “chaste” any action prompted by Love rather than by what +Verlaine calls ‘the obscene mechanism,’ and observes that women, +who feel passion only when they love, are spared men’s bondage to +‘that tyrant, sexual need.’ He says that l’Amazone sets out to conquer +without coquetry or any other passive or impulsive feminine motivation, +and he judges her self-willed and egotistic.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-9">9</a>] Both he and the +feminine commentators mentioned above, picture Barney as merciless +in her intellectual judgments, wanting in tenderness, impatient of +men, and scornful of all who abandon themselves to their emotions. +</p> + +<p> +Despite Gourmont’s analytic clarity, in the <em>Lettres Intimes</em> we +<a id="page-156" class="pagenum" title="156"></a> +find the spontaneous record of what he terms “une amitié violente,” +springing from Barney’s being not only “une amie mais un ami.” +His volume includes a good bit of his own verse, “des poésies sapphiques” +about two women of ancient Greece written earlier but +not previously published, and several poems to Barney herself, whom +he describes as “un page et une femme ... Natalie qui aimes tes +soeurs et tes pareilles, Plus que toi même, et plus que tout, l’Amour +... Natalie préférant bure et cuire à la soie, Natalie souriante au +bord de la géhenne.”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-10">10</a>] +</p> + +<p> +His friendship with Barney began in 1910 and drifted along less +and less satisfactorily for three years. By 1913 Gourmont betrays +continual distress because she is so often absent, traveling with “une +amie” and leaving no address, since most of the time, she and the +friend are on the yacht he had helped her to procure. He owns to a +resentment which surprises him, and implies that had he been able to +divine her temperament at the outset he would not have permitted +himself to become so involved. Yet we have here a close copy of +the situation he himself had analyzed so clearly a dozen years before +in <em>Un Songe de Femme</em>. There could be no stronger testimonial +to the truth of Proust’s later contention that each individual follows +repeatedly a compulsive emotional pattern, and does not profit by +experience. Nor could there be a better picture of the difficulty +the two sexes experience in mutual comprehension, even when both +parties are psychologically so close to the intersexual borderline and +have so many interests in common. +</p> + +<p> +Barney’s <em>Aventures de l’Esprit</em> record primarily her association +with the more or less notable literary figures of her day, and the +judgments expressed are clear-headed and relatively merciless. <em>Actes +et Entr’actes</em>, the only other volume available for examination, consists +of four poetic dramas ranging from twenty-five to seventy pages +each, and a dozen or so lyrics. One of the dramas, “Equivoque,” was +presented in her garden in 1906 with the film star, Marguérite Moréno, +in the leading role of Sappho. It represents Sappho’s death as resulting +not from love of Phaon but from the loss of a beloved girl, Timas, +who marries Phaon but subsequently, disgusted by her wedding night +and overwhelmed by nostalgia for her great earlier love, follows +Sappho to death in the sea. +</p> + +<p> +Two of the lyrics, “Virelai Nouveau” and “Filles,” represent the +poet as following young <em>filles de joie</em> on their twilight strolls and +taking a man’s sensual pleasure in their consciously seductive beauty, +but the enjoyment is detached, that of the <em>voyeur</em> only. “Couple,” +<a id="page-157" class="pagenum" title="157"></a> +however, explicitly champions variance in its description of a loving +pair: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Se tenant par la taille—ainsi que deux bouleaux</p> + <p class="verse">Reliés par leurs branches—</p> + <p class="verse">Elles vont, ondulant leurs têtes et leurs hanches ...</p> + <p class="verse">Elles tachent de fuir l’été, son corps doré</p> + <p class="verse">Versant, comme une essence ...</p> + <p class="verse">Sa mâle adolescence.</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +(Compare Peladan’s Tammuz the sun god.) +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Il leur fait peur ...</p> + <p class="verse">Et la brune qui parle á sa blonde compagne ...</p> + <p class="verse">Est-elle la dryade au long corps maigrelet</p> + <p class="verse">Qu’emprisonnant l’écorce</p> + <p class="verse">Et qui garde d’instinct la crainte de la force,</p> + <p class="verse">De la brutale force?</p> + <p class="verse">Elles sont dans la nuit ainsi qu’au seuil d’un temple,</p> + <p class="verse">D’un mystérieux temple ...</p> + <p class="verse">Si quelque homme, épiant ce couple insidieux,</p> + <p class="verse">De son mépris le couvre ...</p> + <p class="verse">Qu’il sache que tout don de beauté plaît aux dieux;</p> + <p class="verse">Que les lois ordinaires</p> + <p class="verse">Ne peuvent s’appliquer á ces noces lunaires ...</p> + <p class="verse">Elles ont, d’un élan plus divin qu’animal</p> + <p class="verse">Dans les vastes silences</p> + <p class="verse">Joint avec des baisers leurs ressemblances,</p> + <p class="verse">Toutes leur ressemblances.</p> + <p class="verse">Et par delà la terre, et le bien, et le mal,</p> + <p class="verse">Elles vont, diaphanes</p> + <p class="verse">Et troublantes, et ceux qui les jugent profanes</p> + <p class="verse">Sont eux-mêmes profanes.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-11">11</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In three short “Paroles de Maîtresses” she depicts well the misery +of a woman awaiting passively the pleasure of a male lover. In a +dozen “Paroles d’Amants,” she pictures and rejoices in a man’s more +active pursuit, even though painful, of the dream and illusion of +love, “sublime, immense et limité.” +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Je ne regrette rien, ni son bien ni son mal.</p> +<a id="page-158" class="pagenum" title="158"></a> + <p class="verse">Sa douleur m’est utile et son mal nécessaire ...</p> + <p class="verse11">... Je n’ai peur</p> + <p class="verse">Que de ne plus souffrir ...[<a class="footnote" href="#6-12">12</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Te Deum” expresses the same satisfaction: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Tes yeus cernés de noir</p> + <p class="verse">Et ta face plus pâle</p> + <p class="verse">Que n’est pâle le soir,</p> + <p class="verse">Et ma bouche—pétale</p> + <p class="verse">Entr’ouvert, frais piment</p> + <p class="verse">Trop rouge—un peu brutale,</p> + <p class="verse">Disent étrangement</p> + <p class="verse">A la bonne Déesse</p> + <p class="verse">Des féminins amants</p> + <p class="verse">Et des males maîtresses</p> + <p class="verse">Une long remerciement.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-13">13</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +A “Quatrain” sums up the debit side of her resolute assumption +of masculinity: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Je ressemble à ces rois qui vivent séparés</p> + <p class="verse">De la vie, et malgré leurs plaisirs, misérables</p> + <p class="verse">Et seuls, tendant en vain leurs bras lourds et parés</p> + <p class="verse">Vers quelque pauvre joie humaine et désirable.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-14">14</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +There remain a group of poems addressed to Renée Vivien, published +after the latter’s death, which will be mentioned later. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Of greater literary importance is Renée Vivien, whose poetry +has been pronounced most perfect in form of any French verse +written in the first quarter of the century, and this quality is the +more remarkable in that her native language was not French but +English. As she died at thirty-two, its quantity also deserves mention, +for her collected poems run to five hundred pages; besides she +produced two volumes of “prose-poems” which a decade later would +have been called free verse, a prose satire, and an autobiographical +novel. In addition she and a friend collaborated on a number of +similar volumes of verse and personal narrative under the pseudonym +of Paule Riversdale. As originally published her work appeared in +this order: <em>Études et Préludes</em>, 1901; <em>Cendres et Poussières</em>, 1902; +<em>Evocations</em>, <em>Sappho</em>, and <em>La Vénus des Aveugles</em>, 1903; <em>Kitharèdes</em>, +<a id="page-159" class="pagenum" title="159"></a> +1904; <em>A l’Heure des Mains Joints</em>, 1906; <em>Sillages</em> and <em>Flambeaux +Éteints</em>, 1908; and posthumously in 1910, <em>Dans un Coin de Violettes</em>, +<em>Le Vent des Vaisseaux</em>, and <em>Haillons</em>. Prose-poems: <em>Brumes de Fjords</em>, +1902, and <em>Du Vert au Violet</em>, 1903; <em>La Dame à la Louve</em> (a collection +of short stories), <em>Le Christ</em>, <em>Aphrodite et M. Pépin</em> (satire), and +<em>Une Femme M’Apparut</em>, (novel), 1904. +</p> + +<p> +Vivien was more openly lesbian than any woman so far encountered, +but the few selections and biographical notes found +in anthologies are careful to conceal this fact, and since further +text and comment are not readily available in this country, she +will be discussed here at some length. Almost the only sustained +account of her personal life is included in a critical volume by her +good friend André Germain; however, as it was published in 1917 +when most of the persons concerned were still living, it omitted all +personal names and many details of the poet’s troubled history. Her +publisher and friend, Edward Sansot, has attested that all her work +was autobiographical in its inspiration, and so from internal evidence +and scattered fact it is possible to supplement Germain’s picture. +</p> + +<p> +She was born (1877) Pauline Tarn, daughter of a Michigan +heiress and an English gentleman of a Kentish family distinguished in +law and the church. The girl was born in Hawaii and spent her first +dozen years in travel, in French and German schools, and in Paris. +From the fragmentary accounts one infers a background to equal +any of Henry James’s pictures of international marriage and difficult +childhood. Between twelve and sixteen she was happy for a time +with another English girl housed in the same Paris <em>hôtel</em>, whom she +met through the intimacy of their respective governesses. Violet +Shilleto was already a precocious mystic whose concern with “the +meaning of life” made a lasting impression on her young companion. +No shadow seems to have fallen on their passionate friendship before +Pauline was removed to England at sixteen. +</p> + +<p> +There for several years Pauline underwent conventional preparations +for debut and marriage, including presentation in the Queen’s +drawing room. On this occasion she is described as a tall slim girl +with delicate features, a luminous halo of fair hair, and eyes of +“brun doré,” which court gown lent her the air of a “princesse de +légende.”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-15">15</a>] But the demure exterior concealed rebellion. She was +still nostalgic for Paris and Violet. The stuffy formality of social +life in Chislehurst smothered her. Above all she was revolted by +“coquetry” and the prospect of marriage. All this she poured out in +letters to Violet, and the interception of certain of these produced +<a id="page-160" class="pagenum" title="160"></a> +an uproar of which Germain says that her later poem, “Sous la +Rafale,” is not an exaggerated picture: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">De la nuit chaotique un cri d’horreur s’exhale.</p> + <p class="verse">Venez, nous errerons tous trois sous la rafale ...</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">L’éclair nous épouvante et la nuit nous désole ...</p> + <p class="verse">O vieux Lear, comme toi je suis errant et folle,</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Et ceux de ma famille et ceux de mes amis</p> + <p class="verse">M’ont repoussée avec les outrages vomis.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Comme toi, Dante, épris d’une douleur hautaine,</p> + <p class="verse">Je suis une exilée au coeur gonflé de haine ...[<a class="footnote" href="#6-16">16</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +According to Germain’s implications and evidence in her poetry, +her relations with Violet, like those of Lamartine’s Regina with +Clothilde, were essentially innocent. But if her letters matched her +subsequent verses to Violet in loving eloquence, they would scarcely +have sounded innocent to conventional Britons in whose ears the +Wilde scandal still reverberated. It is certainly from this same +experience that “Le Pilori” grew, for the two poems are unique among +her collected verse: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Pendant longtemps, je fus clouée au pilori,</p> + <p class="verse">Et les femmes, voyant que je souffrais, ont ri.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Puis, des hommes ont pris dans leurs mains une boue</p> + <p class="verse">Qui vint éclabousser mes tempes et ma joue ...</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">J’ai senti la colère et l’horreur m’envahir.</p> + <p class="verse">Silencieusement, j’appris à les haïr.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Les insultes cinglaient comme fouets d’ortie,</p> + <p class="verse">Lorsqu’ils m’ont détachée enfin, je suis partie.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Je suis partie au gré des vents. Et depuis lors</p> + <p class="verse">Mon visage est pareil à la face des morts.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-17">17</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Whatever actually happened, peace seems to have ensued only with +her attaining her majority and returning to Paris, where she lived +alone save for a formal companion. She was obviously wealthy in her +<a id="page-161" class="pagenum" title="161"></a> +own right, for within a few years she acquired residences in Paris, +Nice, and Mitylene, the first of which became legendary for its treasures +of antique and oriental art, and to the end of her days she was an +inveterate traveler. +</p> + +<p> +At the outset of Pauline’s Parisian life, drunk with her new +freedom and the means to enjoy it, she found her old friend Violet +too serious for her mood, and some sort of “puerile” misunderstanding +occurred. Through Violet, however, she had met a ‘fellow-exile and +nascent poet’ who was undoubtedly Natalie Clifford Barney. Her +new friend introduced her to Sappho, as yet unknown to her. Until +now, says Germain, she had been a <em>jeune fille</em>, ‘doubly unawakened +either as poet or as woman.’ The new contact proved +a double revelation, as well it might. Here was a beautiful sophisticate +whose poetic gifts and interests, worldly resources, and emotional +tastes matched her own; here, too, at last, was the great classical +poet who glorified those tastes. In order to know Sappho better she +set herself to learn Greek, and in her ‘passionate fervor’ mastered +it “avec une facilité qui stupéfiait ses professeurs.” She and Barney +lived together, and it must have been during these years between +1898 and 1900 that she acquired the villa above Mitylene where +intermittently “for months at a time she attempted to recapture the +golden age of Sappho.”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-18">18</a>] We know from Gourmont’s account that +both young women were writing poetry, and as soon as she considered +publication (possibly even earlier) Pauline adopted the +new name under which thereafter she lived as well as wrote—Renée +Vivien, suggesting a radiant rebirth. +</p> + +<p> +Two poems published in the same volume with those already +quoted convey her exaltation at this time better than any account +of them can do. One was “Ainsi Je Parlerai:” +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Si le Seigneur penchait son front sur mon trépas</p> + <p class="verse">Je lui dirais: O Christ, je ne te connais pas.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Seigneur, ta stricte loi ne fut jamais la mienne,</p> + <p class="verse">Et je vécus ainsi qu’un simple païenne ...</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Le monde était autour de moi, tel un jardin.</p> + <p class="verse">Je buvais l’aube claire et le soir cristallin.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Le soleil me ceignait de ses plus vives flammes,</p> + <p class="verse">Et l’amour m’incline vers la beauté des femmes ...</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> +<a id="page-162" class="pagenum" title="162"></a> + <p class="verse">Pardonne-moi, qui fus une simple païenne!</p> + <p class="verse">Laisse-moi retourner vers la splendeur ancienne</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Et, puisque enfin l’instant éternel est venu,</p> + <p class="verse">Rejoindre celles-là qui t’ont point connu.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-19">19</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Far from being the mere defiant sacrilege this seemed to some +readers, it was the confession of a new faith to replace the one in +whose name England had damned her. In its entirety, much too long +to quote, the poem is also an apologia for her first love so slandered +by her “persecutors.” She elaborated her creed in “Psappha Revit,” +among whose fourteen quatrains appear such lines as these: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Celles que nous aimons ont méprisé les hommes ...</p> + <p class="verse">Et nous pouvons ...</p> + <p class="verse">Être tout à la fois des amants et des soeurs.</p> + <p class="verse">Le désir est en nous moins fort que la tendresse ...</p> + <p class="verse">Et nos maîtresses ne sauraient nous décevoir,</p> + <p class="verse">Puisque c’est l’infini que nous aimons en elles ...</p> + <p class="verse">Nos jours sans impudeur, sans crainte ni remords</p> + <p class="verse">Se déroulent, ainsi que de larges accords,</p> + <p class="verse">Et nous aimons, comme on aimait à Mitylène.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-20">20</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Of this faith from then on she was the dedicated priestess. +</p> + +<p> +Inevitably her attainment of the Golden Age was imperfect. +Her poems are full of evidence that from the start her second love +was not too happy, as exemplified by the following: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> +<h4 class="hdr"> +Nocturne +</h4> + + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">J’adore la langueur de ta lèvre charnelle</p> + <p class="verse">Où persiste le pli des baisers d’autrefois.</p> + <p class="verse1">Ta démarche ensorcelle,</p> + <p class="verse">Et la perversité calme de ta prunelle</p> + <p class="verse">A pris au ciel du nord ses bleus traîtres et froids ...</p> + <p class="verse">Sous ta robe, qui glisse en un frôlement d’aile</p> + <p class="verse">Je devine <a id="corr-55"></a>ton corps—les lys ardents des seins,</p> + <p class="verse1">L’or blême de l’aisselle,</p> + <p class="verse">Les flancs doux et fleuris, les jambes d’Immortelle,</p> + <p class="verse">Le velouté du ventre et la rondeur des reins ...[<a class="footnote" href="#6-21">21</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +<h4 class="hdr"> +<a id="page-163" class="pagenum" title="163"></a> +Sonnet +</h4> + + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">... Tes lèvres ont pleuré leurs rythmiques douleurs</p> + <p class="verse">Dans un refrain mêlé de sanglots et de pauses.</p> + <p class="verse">Et la langueur des lits, la paix des portes closes,</p> + <p class="verse">Entourent nos désirs et nos âpres pâleurs ...</p> + <p class="verse">Tes yeux bleus aigus d’acier et de cristal</p> + <p class="verse">S’entr’ouvrent froidement, ternis comme un métal ...[<a class="footnote" href="#6-22">22</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +<h4 class="hdr"> +La Fleur du Sorbier +</h4> + + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">... Le couchant qui blêmit et rougit tour à tour,</p> + <p class="verse">La campagne morbide et l’heure de tristesse</p> + <p class="verse">Semblant nous reprocher d’avoir, o ma Maîtresse,</p> + <p class="verse">Accompli sans désir les gestes de l’amour ...</p> + <p class="verse">Ton regard sans lueurs paraît agoniser ...</p> + <p class="verse">Une phalène, errant dans le jardin, se pose</p> + <p class="verse">Sur la fleur du sorbier, d’un or pâlement rose</p> + <p class="verse">Comme la fleur secrète où j’ai mis mon baiser ...[<a class="footnote" href="#6-23">23</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +These carry no record of “désir moins fort que la tendresse,” +nor indeed of tenderness at all in the poet’s cold blonde partner. But +it is not difficult to understand the two girls’ basic incompatibility. +Barney’s refusal of self-surrender, her contempt for abandon in +others, were aspects of a resolute masculinity. Vivien, by nature +feminine and romantic, needed to give herself wholly and to be +cherished in return. An apparently love-starved childhood and +an antipathy to everything male sharpened her hunger for a feminine +response. Nothing less than the initial experience of passion, induced +by beauty and blessed by Sappho, could have bound her to Barney +at all. +</p> + +<p> +In 1900 the spell that held her was broken by tragedy. Early +in that year Violet Shilleto fell into acute depression, “finding her +intellectual mysticism empty” and doubtless also wounded by the +loss of the intimate friendship, and in the autumn she secretly joined +the Catholic church. Whether spiritual conflict undermined her +health or whether incipient tuberculosis precipitated the religious +crisis, she fell ill and was ordered to winter in Cannes. Vivien promised +to visit her there, but was too deeply entangled in her own affairs +to sense the gravity of the other girl’s condition. She seems instead +to have made a trip to America. When at last she responded to an +<a id="page-164" class="pagenum" title="164"></a> +urgent summons, it was too late—her friend was dead before Vivien +reached her. +</p> + +<p> +Vivien’s grief and remorse were shattering. The fact that Violet +was given a “cold” Anglican funeral and interred beneath a church +in the Avenue de l’Alma instead of under clean earth and sky increased +the poet’s agony, and “for a long time she spent hours each +day at dusk” in the subterranean gloom beside Violet’s grave. This +state of affairs quite naturally moved Barney, who was nothing if +not proud, to accuse her of being more in love with Love than with +reality, and to depart for a protracted stay in the States. Thus Vivien +was left doubly deserted, and from this period stem many poems in +her early volumes. In <em>Cendres et Poussières</em> (1902) we find “Devant la +Mort d’une Amie Véritablement Aimée”: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Ils me disent, tandis que je sanglote encore:</p> + <p class="verse">“Dans l’ombre du sépulcre où sa grace pâlit</p> + <p class="verse">Elle goûte la paix passagère du lit,</p> + <p class="verse">Les ténèbres au front, et dans les yeux l’aurore ...</p> + <p class="verse">Dans une aube d’avril qui vient avec lenteur</p> + <p class="verse">Elle refleurira, violette mystique.”</p> + <p class="verse">Moi, j’écoute parmi les temples de la mort ...</p> + <p class="verse">J’écoute, mais le vent des espaces emporte</p> + <p class="verse">L’audacieux espoir des infinis sereins.</p> + <p class="verse">Je sais qu’elle n’est plus dans l’heure que j’étreins,</p> + <p class="verse">L’heure unique et certaine, et moi, je la crois morte.</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +And in <em>Études et Préludes</em> (1901): +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">J’attends, o Bien-Aimée! o vierge dont le front</p> + <p class="verse">Illumine le soir de pompe et d’allégresse ...</p> + <p class="verse">Notre lit sera plein de fleurs qui frémiront ...</p> + <p class="verse">Et la paix des autels se remplira de flammes;</p> + <p class="verse">Les larmes, les parfums et les épithalames,</p> + <p class="verse">Les prières et l’encens monteront jusqu’à nous.</p> + <p class="verse">Malgré le jour levé, nous dormirons encore</p> + <p class="verse">Du sommeil léthargique où gisent les époux,</p> + <p class="verse">Et notre longue nuit ne craindra plus l’aurore.</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In <em>Evocations</em> (1903) she is proclaiming a “Victoire Funèbre:” +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Dans le mystique soir d’avril j’ai triomphé.</p> + <p class="verse">J’ai crié d’une voix de victoire: Elle est morte ...</p> +<a id="page-165" class="pagenum" title="165"></a> + <p class="verse">—Quel sourire de paix sur tes lèvres muettes,</p> + <p class="verse1">O soeur des violettes!</p> + <p class="verse">J’ai brûlé de baisers des pieds blancs de la Mort</p> + <p class="verse">Car elle t’épargna la souillure et l’empreinte,</p> + <p class="verse">L’angoisse de désir, les affres de l’étreinte,</p> + <p class="verse">Les ardeurs de vouloir, l’âpreté de l’effort.</p> + <p class="verse">—L’amour s’est éloigné de tes lèvres muettes,</p> + <p class="verse1">O soeur des violettes![<a class="footnote" href="#6-24">24</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The contrast between these devoted elegies and the poems to her +second love is striking, and one is aware of a revolt against passion +<em>per se</em>. For the first time the poet voices a longing for death which +recurred with increasing frequency in her later work. +</p> + +<p> +Completely sobered by her double loss, Vivien seems to have spent +some part of 1901 in Scotland with her family. On her return to Paris +she leased the large residence which had housed her and Violet +during their early association, and made it her permanent home. +Here she must have worked on the three volumes which appeared in +1902 and on the translation of Sappho which was among those of +1903. This last and <em>Kitharèdes</em> (renderings into French of all fragments +from the Greek Anthology written by or about women) were +lauded by critics both as translations and as poetry, the only adverse +comment being that they were so much wordier than the originals. +What she apparently attempted, however, was to expand fragments +into plausible wholes, as many other translators have done before and +since (cf. especially Marion Mills Miller). +</p> + +<p> +The year 1902, says Germain, was probably the calmest of her +life. She was suffering from disillusion as to her own powers of emotional +constancy, and believed that the serious loves of her life lay +behind her. If in mid-twentieth century this sounds adolescent in a +young woman of twenty-five, one must remember that in the English-speaking +countries the emotional ideal popularly given lip service at +the turn of the century was still “One Great Love in a Life.” For a +year she strove for emotional quiescence, but there are signs even in +<em>Evocations</em> (1902) of encounter with a new personality: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> +<h4 class="hdr"> +Sonnet +</h4> + + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Ta royale jeunesse a la mélancolie</p> + <p class="verse">Du Nord où le brouillard efface les couleurs.</p> + <p class="verse">Tu mêles la discorde et le désir aux pleurs,</p> + <p class="verse">Grave comme Hamlet, pâle comme Ophélie ...</p> + <p class="verse">Mon coeur déconcerté se trouble quand je vois</p> +<a id="page-166" class="pagenum" title="166"></a> + <p class="verse">Ton front pensif de prince et tes yeux bleus de vierge,</p> + <p class="verse">Tantôt l’Un tantôt l’Autre, et les Deux à la fois.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-25">25</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +<h4 class="hdr"> +Twilight +</h4> + + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Les clartés de la nuit, les ténèbres du jour</p> + <p class="verse">Out la complexité de mon étrange amour ...</p> + <p class="verse">L’ambigu de ton corps s’alambique et s’affine</p> + <p class="verse">Dans son ardeur stérile et sa grace androgyne ...</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In <em>La Vénus des Aveugles</em> (1903) “La Perverse Ophélie” and “Sonnet +à une Enfant” are addressed to the same person, and they show +Vivien struggling to spare both the other girl and herself the fevers +of such an alliance as her second had been. This volume also reflects +a more bitter struggle which would have remained an enigma except +for Germain’s discreet sketch of what occurred during 1903. He +describes the new beloved as endowed with a cameo profile, a keen if +‘exclusively practical’ intelligence, and a temperament in every +respect different from Vivien’s. It is clear that he did not like the +girl, and he attributes to her much of the suffering and catastrophe +in Vivien’s later life, although he grants that the poet produced the +greater part of her published work under the stimulus of the new +association. She was, in fact, the Hélène de Zuylen de Nievelt who +collaborated in the “Paule Riversdale” volumes, and to her (in part) +Vivien dedicated several original volumes and her collected poems of +1909. No biographical data are discoverable, but the Hamlet and +Ophelia references above, and the fact that <em>Brumes de Fjords</em> (1902), +the first volume dedicated to her, was announced as translated from +the Norwegian, suggest that she was from Northern Europe. (Her +name, of course, sounds Dutch.) A difference in the dedicatory initials +between 1902 and 1909 suggests that the girl may have married in +the interval. +</p> + +<p> +In 1903, Vivien was apparently just entering with delicacy and +caution upon this new emotional adventure when Barney reappeared +on the scene. Like all women who know themselves weak, says +Germain, ‘Renée armed herself with a strong resolution’ not to see +her old love. But Barney was not one to be “congédiée” at another’s +pleasure. When Vivien, at the end of her endurance, left Paris and +took refuge in her villa at Mitylene, wanting only peace, she was +run to earth even there. (This may, of course, be a euphemistic +version of the episode. It is not impossible that Vivien went to Greece +by secret pre-arrangement with Barney.) In any case some weeks of +renewed intimacy ensued of which <em>La Vénus des Aveugles</em> reflects the +<a id="page-167" class="pagenum" title="167"></a> +bitter and poisoned entrancement. To her tormentor Vivien writes, +among much in the same key: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> +<h4 class="hdr"> +Sonnet +</h4> + + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Tes cheveux irréels, aux reflets clairs et froids</p> + <p class="verse">Out de pâles lueurs des matités blondes;</p> + <p class="verse">Tes regards ont l’azur des éthers et des ondes.</p> + <p class="verse">Pourtant je ne sais plus, au sein des nuits profondes</p> + <p class="verse">Te contempler avec l’extase d’autrefois ...</p> + <p class="verse">Je vis—comme l’on voit une fleur qui se fane—</p> + <p class="verse">Sur ta bouche, pareille aux aurores d’été,</p> + <p class="verse">Un sourire flétri de vieille courtisane.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-24">24</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +<h4 class="hdr"> +Cri +</h4> + + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">... Vers l’heure où follement dansent les lucioles,</p> + <p class="verse">L’heure où brilla à nos yeux le désir du moment,</p> + <p class="verse">Tu me redis en vain les flatteuses paroles—</p> + <p class="verse">Je te hais et je t’aime, abominablement.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-25">25</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Full reaction came with return to Paris and to Violet’s grave: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> +<h4 class="hdr"> +La Nuit Latente +</h4> + + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">La luxure unique et multiple</p> + <p class="verse1">Se mire à mon miroir ...</p> + <p class="verse">Ma visage de clown me navre.</p> + <p class="verse">Je cherche ton lit de cadavre</p> + <p class="verse">Ainsi que le calme d’un havre,</p> + <p class="verse1">O mon beau Désespoir! ...</p> + <p class="verse">Mon âme, que l’angoisse exalte,</p> + <p class="verse">Vient, en pleurant, faire une halte</p> + <p class="verse">Devant des parois de basalte</p> + <p class="verse1">Aux bleus de viaduc ...</p> + <p class="verse">Et, lasse de la beauté fourbe,</p> + <p class="verse">De la joie où l’esprit s’embourbe,</p> + <p class="verse">Je me détourne et je me courbe</p> + <p class="verse1">Sur ton vitreux néant.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-26">26</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Other poems in the same volume make it evident that at this time +she longed for the courage to kill herself, and in reverie dwelt upon +the death of both her current loves. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-168" class="pagenum" title="168"></a> +By 1904 she had apparently freed herself of the old entanglement +and yielded to the inevitable ripening of the new. <em>A L’Heure des +Mains Jointes</em>, published in 1906 but reflecting this emotional period, +opens with the idealistic title poem: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">J’ai puérilisé mon coeur dans l’innocence</p> + <p class="verse">De notre amour, éveil de calice enchantée ...</p> + <p class="verse">Ma douce! je t’adore avec simplicité ...</p> + <p class="verse">Tes cheveux et ta voix et tes bras m’ont guérie.</p> + <p class="verse">J’ai dépouillé la crainte et le furtif soupçon</p> + <p class="verse">Et l’artificiel et la bizarrerie.</p> + <p class="verse">J’ai abrité ainsi mon coeur de malade guérie</p> + <p class="verse">Sous le toit amical de la bonne maison ...</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This poem and many others in the volume have, indeed, a new +simplicity, occasionally sacrificing to it something of her earlier verbal +magic. They evoke the image of a soft-spoken, light-footed pale girl +with tawny hair who turns to her for comfort and peace as well as +reciprocating them. One sees, too, a garden above Nice, surrounded +by pines and full of pale iris, for Vivien carried symbolism into daily +life—violets for the first love, lotus and tiger lilies for the second, iris +for the third. The love celebrated here seems complete and happy, +combining passion with companionship, and it was during 1904 that +Vivien tried to link her friend’s life to hers even in authorship with +the “Paule Riversdale” experiment. From this year come three volumes +under Vivien’s name and three or four of joint authorship, +justifying Germain’s statement that this alliance was fruitful. +</p> + +<p> +But the collaborative prose-poems, narratives, and verses were not +well received. Of “Riversdale’s” <em>Echos et Reflets</em> the reviewer of +poetry for the <em>Mercure de France</em> said merely, ‘Renée Vivien is no +longer alone in evoking the glorious and tragic shade of Sappho.’ On +<em>L’Etre Double</em>, one pseudonymous narrative, Rachilde’s total comment +was: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt " lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> +<p class="noindent noindent"> +Que de vers! Et que d’histoires japonaises. Le roman, peu +chose du reste, un amour de femmes, est complètement noyé +par ce déluge de citations. Trop de vers! trop de fleurs! trop +de lucioles, trop de poissons bleus![<a class="footnote" href="#6-27">27</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent noindent"> +Vivien’s own autobiographical tale, <em>Une Femme M’Apparut</em>, fared +thus: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt " lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> +<p class="noindent noindent"> +... Le texte est du même ordre avec ... le vieux style dit +<a id="page-169" class="pagenum" title="169"></a> +décadent, mort hier, déjà horriblement pourri, et la pluie des +androgynes, y compris la Saint-Jean-de Vinci. Tout cela sent +l’héroïne de <em>La Passade</em> de Willy, qui se tenterait de se faire +prendre au sérieux.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-28">28</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent noindent"> +The last comment is particularly interesting inasmuch as Willy (the +novelist Henri Gauthier-Villars, of whom more later) had called the +heroine of <em>La Passade</em> “Mona Dupont de Nyewelt,” a name too like +Hélène’s to be a matter of chance, considering his notorious penchant +for including real persons in his fiction. He described her as a <em>gamine</em> +given to roaming the streets of Montmartre at night and tossing +pebbles through fanlights for sheer deviltry—altogether, far from innocent. +</p> + +<p> +It may have been the critical cold douche of 1904 that kept +Vivien silent during 1905 and restricted her output during 1906 and +1907 to a single volume per year, but it was more probably unhappiness. +The drift of her personal life is not difficult to discover from +poems in <em>Sillages</em> and <em>Flambeaux Éteints</em> of 1908. “Malédiction sur +un Jardin” bids the flowers fade, since her love no longer cares to +walk among them. “Vêtue” begs the beloved not to discard a gown, +but +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Garde-moi, parfumée ainsi qu’une momie</p> + <p class="verse">Ta robe des beaux jours passées, o mon amie!</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Amata” voices that ultimate plea of the desperate woman which +tougher spirits always take for hypocrisy: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Dis, que veux-tu de moi qui t’aime, o mon souci!</p> + <p class="verse">Et comment retenir ton caprice de femme?</p> + <p class="verse">... Ton vouloir est mon voeu, ton désir est ma loi,</p> + <p class="verse">Et si quelque étrangère apparaît plus aimable</p> + <p class="verse">A tes regards changeants, prends-la, réjouis-toi!</p> + <p class="verse">Moi même dresserai le lit doux et la table ...</p> + <p class="verse">Je mets entre tes doigts insouciants mon sort,</p> + <p class="verse">O toi, douceur finale, o toi, douleur suprême.</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +That this time the defection was not hers, that she had at last attained +to her own ideal of self-effacing constancy, seems to have saved Vivien +from bitterness. Only one later poem is tinged with it, “Terreur du +Mensonge,” in which her resentment is not for the defection itself but +for the lie which sought to conceal it. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-170" class="pagenum" title="170"></a> +Was this lie perhaps responsible for the gender of “prends-<em>la</em>” +above? For as was suggested earlier, the “ambiguë” Hélène may have +married before the end of 1908. It is certain that, in that year, Vivien +prepared the edition of her collected poems which she dedicated to +her friend under the new initials. It is also known that she made an +unprecedented visit to her family in England, and soon afterward +attempted suicide with laudanum. One biographical note[<a class="footnote" href="#6-29">29</a>] mentions +that during her last year she was suffering from “Basedow’s disease” +(exophthalmic goitre), and such an affliction might seriously depress +a hellenic worshipper of physical beauty. But it seems hardly adequate +to have made her seek death, without the added burden of emotional +despair. +</p> + +<p> +Her later poems record increasing misery and loneliness, restless +travel, “loveless loves” and premonition of death. From the three +posthumous volumes come such titles as “Solitude Nocturne,” “Résurrection +Mauvaise,” “Déroute,” “Vieillesse Commence,” “Détrônée,” +and “Cyprès de Purgatoire.” Short quotations will suffice to convey +their tone: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">L’amour dont je subis l’abominable loi</p> + <p class="verse">M’attire vers ce que je crains le plus, vers toi![<a class="footnote" href="#6-30">30</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +or: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Les êtres de la nuit et les êtres du jour</p> + <p class="verse">Ont longtemps partagé mon âme, tour à tour ...</p> + <p class="verse">Les êtres de la nuit sont faibles et charmantes ...</p> + <p class="verse">On ne boit qu’un baiser décevant sur leur bouche...</p> + <p class="verse">Et leur amour n’est qu’un mensonge de la nuit ...[<a class="footnote" href="#6-31">31</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +or: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Le monde inhospitable est pareil à l’auberge</p> + <p class="verse">Où l’on vit mal, tout est mal, on dort mal.</p> + <p class="verse">Et pendant que le cri des femmes se prolonge,</p> + <p class="verse">Je cherche le Palais Impossible du Songe.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-32">32</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The Dream here was not, of course, such as comes with sleep, but that +illusion of Love which she had pursued all her life. The final volume, +<em>Haillons</em>, is filled with cries of pain and horror, of foreseeing the +end and wanting it to come swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +The known facts of her last year are gleaned from Colette’s <em>Ces +Plaisirs</em> and from news notes following her death. She was living alone +in her Paris residence, an “Arabian Nights dream” of luxury crowded +with the trophies of her travels. Colette conveys vividly the macabre +effect of rooms hung with gloomy colors and inadequately lighted by +<a id="page-171" class="pagenum" title="171"></a> +brown tapers; the exotic flowers and food and drink; and the unpredictable +eccentricity of the hostess, dressed always in diaphanous black +or violet, who might walk out in the middle of a dinner in response +to mysterious summons from a nameless “Friend.” This figure was +so anonymous and so capriciously tyrannous that Colette surmises she +may have been the figment of an imagination already clouded by +intemperate habits. It is known that the unhappy poet was drinking +to excess, an indulgence particularly dangerous in view of her thyroid +imbalance. +</p> + +<p> +A few weeks before her death she was to appear in a tableau as +Lady Jane Grey on the executioner’s scaffold, and wishing to enhance +her effectiveness as the tragic heroine, Vivien put herself through a +punishing regime of violent exercise, little food, and much alcohol. She +made a brilliant appearance, but fainted on the stage and was carried +home to bed. Soon afterwards, as the result of further drinking to +escape black depression, she strangled while attempting to eat and +was quickly stricken with pneumonia.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-33">33</a>] +</p> + +<p> +It was at this point that, with the utmost secrecy, she joined the +Church of Rome, as Violet Shilleto had done before her. Colette’s +matter-of-fact surmise is that a dour and disapproving elderly maid +was responsible for summoning a priest while her mistress was delirious, +and Natalie Clifford Barney in the longest of her memorial +poems to the dead girl agrees with Colette in implying external +pressure: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Et pourtant ils ont pris ton âme splénétique</p> + <p class="verse">Aux décevants espoirs du dogme catholique,</p> + <p class="verse">Voulant ouvrir tes yeux avides de repos</p> + <p class="verse">A leur éternité—mais tes yeux se clos ...</p> + <p class="verse">Tes esprits affaiblis, ils purent te changer,</p> + <p class="verse">Mais l’oeuvre de ta vie est là pour te venger ...[<a class="footnote" href="#6-34">34</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +But the consensus of popular opinion was that this was a deathbed +repentance inspired by sheer panic. +</p> + +<p> +It is possible, however, to trace in life and work hints which acquit +the poet of mere faint-hearted apostasy from her devout paganism. +The first is her friend Violet’s similar step, marked upon her ineradicably +by her own remorse. Then there are the many “violette” +poems celebrating the beauty and innocence of that first love, which +were written steadily, except during the brief happy period of her +third affair. There is also the parallel theme of guilt when her ideal of +love was violated, as during her second liaison and her last reckless +<a id="page-172" class="pagenum" title="172"></a> +extravagances. There are even one or two tenuous religious allusions +in late poems—“Chapelle,” “Chapelle de Marine,” “Dura Lex Sed +Lex,” and there is <em>Le Christ, Aphrodite et M. Pépin</em>, a bitter prose +satire on an age of scientific materialism which was giving only lip +service to its deity. But more significant is Germain’s report of what +was to him the most amazing aspect of her conversion—it was the +concept of Mary the Virgin which drew her to the Roman Church. +How little after all even her close friends comprehended the basic +motivation of her life: a compulsive seeking for maternal tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +To understand the odd finale to her story one must return to a +phase of her life so far neglected—her many contacts with artistic and +literary men of her day. The critics Charles, Droin, and Germain were +her personal friends, Sansot, LeDantec and Brun her staunch allies. +Her collector’s interests had gained her the friendship of Ledrain, +curator of oriental antiquities in the Louvre, and her passion for +music—she was an accomplished interpreter of Chopin—had won that +of Gauthier-Villars, music critic as well as novelist, and of Saloman +Reinach. One must also return to the second portion of Barney’s +already partially quoted memorial poem: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Ils ont caché ton corps sous une pierre</p> + <p class="verse">Chrétienne, ton squelette émiette sa poussière</p> + <p class="verse">Très respectablement dans un tombeau banal,</p> + <p class="verse">Anonyme, et couvert du bloc familiale.</p> + <p class="verse">Et craignant pour leur nom ce scandale: la Gloire,</p> + <p class="verse">Ils offrent leur dernière insulte à ta mémoire ...</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Ils” were her relatives, and it is true that she was buried at Passy +beneath a slab bearing for identification only her father’s name, John +Tarn. Immediately upon her death the quick-witted and practical +Reinach, foreseeing attempts on the part of church, family and even +some friends to suppress evidence of her emotional history, took possession +of letters and unpublished manuscripts and deposited them in +the Bibliothèque Nationale, with the stipulation that they should not +be made public until after the year 2000 A.D.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-35">35</a>] It will, therefore, rest +with another generation to compile the definitive record of her +work and her essentially tragic life. +</p> + +<p> +Some years later in <em>Notes and Queries</em> Reinach wrote the following +informal tribute in response to an inquiry: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +I could quote from those volumes at least two hundred +verses which rank among the finest specimens of French poetry. +<a id="page-173" class="pagenum" title="173"></a> +... I am aware that there are some objectionable elements in +her books, and wish that they should not be dwelt upon; but +her genius—for genius she had—is the more extraordinary as +she wrote in a language not her own. I feel sure she will be +famous some day, and think it desirable that we should try to +know more about her before it gets too late.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-36">36</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +All the critics who grant her this superlative poetic quality agree that +she has received nothing approaching her due recognition because of +the lesbian element in her work. In view of the small number of +persons in any generation who are tolerant of such love, it may be +that she will never receive it. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +There remains little to mention in the way of variant French +poetry, though occasionally some isolated chance-encountered fragment—like +a sonnet to Hermaphroditus by Marguérite Yourcenar—stimulates +a fruitless search for more of an author’s verse. The +<em>Mercure de France</em> reported in 1902 Henry Rigal’s <em>Sur le Mode +Sapphique</em>, of which Pierre Quillard’s review says that it was prefaced +by a quotation from Pierre Louÿs: ‘When a loving pair is composed +of two women, then it is perfect.’[<a class="footnote" href="#6-37">37</a>] The slim volume was made up of +a dozen brief episodes laid in a dimly distant Ionic island setting, +and recounted in antiphonal stanzas the love between Chrysea and +Mnais. It was apparently a close imitation of Louÿs’s <em>Songs of +Bilitis</em>, with Mnais in the more masculine role. It ends with a shepherd +lad catching Chrysea’s eye one evening and piquing her imagination +by dreams of “a stronger and better love.” Were it not for the +title, says Quillard, one could well believe the amorous dialogue one +between a girl and an <em>éphèbe</em>—an effeminate man. +</p> + +<p> +The only other woman poet sufficiently variant to attract critical +comment was Paule Reuss, noted by Clarissa Cooper in her <em>Women +Poets of the Twentieth Century in France</em>. Reuss’s volume <em>Le Génie +de L’Amour</em> (1935) was dedicated to her fellow poet Anna de Noailles, +and is said “to breathe a pure idealistic love like that of Dante for +Beatrice.” Cooper’s only quotation is: +</p> + +<div lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Vous demandez d’aller vous voir!</p> + <p class="verse">Mais serait-ce quitter ce soir</p> + <p class="verse">Vos mains jointes dans la mienne?</p> + <p class="verse">Sera-ce vous quitter au matin?</p> + <p class="verse">J’ôterai ma robe blanche;</p> + <p class="verse">Au clair de lune de la lampe,</p> +<a id="page-174" class="pagenum" title="174"></a> + <p class="verse">Sera-ce toi vers moi qui te penches?</p> + <p class="verse">Je passerai dans les sentiers</p> + <p class="verse">Déjà connus ou oubliés</p> + <p class="verse">Et je dirai: Madame! alors</p> + <p class="verse">Que j’avais dit mon trésor![<a class="footnote" href="#6-38">38</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This suggests a proud and ironic restraint to equal Natalie Clifford +Barney’s. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-11-3"> +Poetry—German +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +The first contemporary variant poetry in German was probably an +item cited in Hirschfeld’s <em>Jahrbuch</em> simply as: Plehn. <em>Lesbiacorum +Liber</em>. 1896. As it is not listed in the German publishers’ catalog +during the 1890s, it must have appeared in a periodical or as a part +of some longer volume. The only possible author is a Marianne +Plehn who produced a long monograph on geology during the +same decade. Her interest in a field cultivated chiefly by men supports +the assumption that her literary outlook was also masculine, +and her rather labored Latin adjective would imply that her “Book +of Lesbians” celebrated women of similar temperament. +</p> + +<p> +In 1898 considerable notoriety attended the publication of <em>Auf +Kypros</em> by Marie Madeleine (Baroness von Puttkamer), an author +included by a later literary historian among “exponents ... of the +right to unrestrained sexual freedom even if perverse,” and described +as “so brazenly pornographic [an adjective which the critic employed +freely] that the less said the better.”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-39">39</a>] The volume was later privately +reissued in a de luxe edition with color plates by nine or ten established +contemporary artists.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-40">40</a>] Though most of the poems in <em>Auf +Kypros</em> are heterosexual, six or seven match Renée Vivien’s in lesbian +frankness, e.g. “Vergib” and “Greisenworte.” “Sappho” too much +resembles other imitations of that poet’s most passionate ode or +Louÿs’ <em>Songs of Bilitis</em> to need special attention. Another, almost +flippant in tone, is from a group entitled “Aus dem Tagebuch einer +Demi-Vierge,” and sketches with great economy what is evidently a +tranvestist episode. The speaker has given her “Kätzerl” sweets, +liqueurs, cigarettes (“natürlich Kyriazi Frères!”)—and kisses—and has +kept up her “strenges incognito” so successfully that her Puss really +believes her a Man-About-Town. Only the American “Götze” on the +end-table (surely Billikin) grins wickedly to hear the impostor repeatedly +promise the frustrated girl ‘Everything!!—next time!’ +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-175" class="pagenum" title="175"></a> +The remaining three lesbian poems express tragic regret for +initiating a younger girl. “Vagabunden” is a prophetic warning: +</p> + +<div lang="de" xml:lang="de"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Verlassen wirst du Haus und Herd</p> + <p class="verse1">um meiner <a id="corr-74"></a>Augen dunklen Schein.</p> + <p class="verse">Du wirst verachtet und entehrt</p> + <p class="verse1">und wie ein Bettler wirst du sein ...</p> + <p class="verse">Und um uns <a id="corr-75"></a>her ist Hass und Hohn,</p> + <p class="verse1">und alle werden uns verdammen,</p> + <p class="verse1">und alle Pfaffen werden droh’n</p> + <p class="verse1">mit Strafen und mit Höllenflammen.</p> + <p class="verse">Wir sind verflucht für alle Zeit!</p> + <p class="verse1">und wirst doch Haus und Herd verlassen</p> + <p class="verse1">um meiner Augen Müdigkeit.</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Crucifixa” pictures the innocence of a young girl before her initiation +and her plight afterward: +</p> + +<div lang="de" xml:lang="de"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Ich sah an einem hohen Marterpfahle</p> + <p class="verse">an einem dunklen Kreuz dich festgebunden.</p> + <p class="verse">Es glänzten meiner Küsse Sündenmale</p> + <p class="verse">auf deinem weissen Leib wie Purpurwunden ...</p> + <p class="verse">Ich gab dir von dem Gift das in mir ist;</p> + <p class="verse">ich gab dir meiner Leidenschaften Stärke,</p> + <p class="verse">und nun, da du so ganz <a id="corr-78"></a>entlodert bist,</p> + <p class="verse">graut meiner Seele vor dem eignen Werke.</p> + <p class="verse">Ich möchte knie’n vor einem der Altäre</p> + <p class="verse">die ich zerschlug in frevelhaftem Wagen—</p> + <p class="verse">Madonna mit dem Augen der Hetäre,</p> + <p class="verse">ich selber habe dich ans Kreuz geschlagen!</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +And a later untitled poem goes even farther, in wishing the beloved +dead rather than as she has become: +</p> + +<div lang="de" xml:lang="de"> + <div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Ich wollte, es läge kühl und blass</p> + <p class="verse">dein geschändeter Leib unterm Kirchhofsgras,</p> + <p class="verse">erlöst von Schmerzen und Sünd’,</p> + <p class="verse">und fleckenlos wärst du auf’s Neue—</p> + <p class="verse">ein Lilie im Morgenwind.</p> + </div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +One cannot help wondering whether Vivien, who knew German well +<a id="page-176" class="pagenum" title="176"></a> +and doubtless read these poems at about the time she was writing her +own impassioned elegies to Violet, may not have felt their influence. +</p> + +<p> +During the 1890s the picturesque vagabond, Peter Hille, was +roaming the country with his scribbled manuscripts in the pockets +of his shabby jacket. He was so indifferent to publication that nothing +was printed until after his death in 1904, when his friends assembled +his <em>Collected Works</em>. Of these, the first volume is made up of poems, +among them a long rhapsodic biography of Sappho,[<a class="footnote" href="#6-41">41</a>] representing +her as devoted wholly to Beauty. She worships nature, women, and +particularly youth as embodiments of beauty, and wants to remain +young and free herself, leaving only her poems as offspring. But Hille +hears premonitory echoes of “the thunder of Jove”—passion—which +will presently overcome her. Therefore, his picture is that of an emotional +adolescent; it evades her variant loves and stops short of her +marriage, her childbearing, and of her hypothetical passion for Phaon. +Among the prose “Aphorisms” in his second volume Hille includes +a severe indictment of current lesbianism,[<a class="footnote" href="#6-42">42</a>] which he considers as +depraved as any other illicit passion. He says that only women so +dedicated to spiritual beauty as to forego all physical expression are +entitled to call themselves disciples of Sappho. Thus he is a precursor +of Rilke, who similarly idealized her emotional experience as nearer +the “divine intent” even than happy heterosexual love. In short, both +men are basically ascetic. +</p> + +<p> +In the same year that Hille’s work appeared in print a lesser +lyrist, Ernst Stadler, then only twenty, published in <em>Das Magazin für +Literatur</em> a poetic drama, “Freundinnen.”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-43">43</a>] It presents the culmination +of an ardent friendship between Sylvia and Bianca, one fifteen, +the other eighteen, in their mutual awareness of passion under the +spell of a full summer moon, but it does not have specific lesbian +implications. +</p> + +<p> +A second woman poet, more restrained than Madeleine, is Toni +Schwabe, whose <em>Komm kühle Nacht</em> appeared in 1909. Its first group +of “Lieder” celebrates the loss of a male lover remembered with +bitterness, for his ruthless passion threatened the girl’s life and +destroyed her love. The poet sees ahead no feminine happiness, no +home or children—a brief cradle song speaks of a child abandoned to +others’ care while the singer roams the world, a slave to desire—but +only ‘a mad riot of roses and dancing’ and the brief ecstasy that comes +with night and dies at dawn. (Dowson’s <em>Cynara</em>, written in the +nineties, “I have ... gone with the wind, Flung roses, roses, riotously +with the throng Dancing ...” comes inevitably to mind.) +</p> + +<p> +A later group of sonnets are like Louise Labé’s in concealing the +<a id="page-177" class="pagenum" title="177"></a> +sex of the beloved, but are aggressive and masculine in mood. A “Lied +der Bilitis an Mnasidika” borrows the most fervent of Louÿs’s lesbian +episodes, and some pages of “Translations from the Danish,” said to +be of Schwabe’s own composition, begin with two “Songs to Lenore.” +The first poem in “Die Stadt mit lichten Türmen” is a dream in +which a young count bears the singer into a beech wood and tries +futilely to possess her, never divining that only her ‘smiling pity’ +prevents her from dealing him a death blow. Probably the most +typical mood of the whole volume is represented in “Nie traf ich +einen,” in which she says that +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +‘no one has ever curbed me with the bridle of love. Where I +was weaker I refused myself altogether.... I have caressed only +those who craved my love and wanted my violence, and them +I have contrived to satisfy and to make dependent upon me. +Me—me alone no one can succor, for though I have known +every kind of love, no one has ever truly possessed me, made +me surrender.’[<a class="footnote" href="#6-44">44</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This is exactly the mood of Rachilde’s and Schreiner’s heroines and +of Barney’s poems. +</p> + +<p> +Only one variant poet has been traced in Germany subsequent to +World War I, a woman who wrote under the pseudonym of Iris Ira. +Her volume, <em>Lesbos</em> (1930), consists of free renderings of Sappho’s +and Anacreon’s surviving fragments, and a similar rendering of the +<em>Songs of Bilitis</em>, complete with introductory narrative. (Richard +Dehmel had translated in the 1890s only two dozen of its prose-poems.) +A translator’s preface to the volume pleads the necessity of +maintaining mood rather than literal accuracy, but while the verse +displays skill and grace, its tone throughout is more charming than +passionate. And passion, of course, was the very essence of Louÿs’s +own work. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-11-4"> +Poetry—English +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Poets in English offer nothing as explicitly lesbian as the work of +Vivien or Madeleine, and they seldom equal Barney or <a id="corr-82"></a>Schwabe in +frankness of implication. Indeed, last century’s “thick veil of ellipse +and metaphor”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-45">45</a>] still shrouds most of our feminine variant lyrists, +and even where it has thinned, critics in general have either failed +or refused to penetrate it. Consequently some readers may incline to +skepticism concerning already familiar material cited below, but in +<a id="page-178" class="pagenum" title="178"></a> +that case they are urged to re-examine it with open mind, not in +anthologies but in the authors’ original context, and not for overt +lesbianism but for clearly variant significance. +</p> + +<p> +In America, Amy Lowell was the first poet to venture at all openly +upon variant ground. She was born three years earlier than Vivien +and Barney, the granddaughter of James Russell Lowell and sister +of a president of Harvard. In spite of this formidably respectable +heritage, she did not escape to Paris but lived out her life in the +family mansion in Brookline, though she did create within it her +own particular haven. As surely as Renée Vivien felt herself born in +the wrong era, Miss Lowell was born in the wrong flesh for a worshipper +of female beauty. Even in her adolescent journals she +bemoans the excessive weight which robbed her of appeal. Living +too early for endocrinology to aid her, she tried rigid dieting, but +succeeded only in doing permanent damage to her health. Something +of a tomboy in her younger days, as she matured she adopted also the +male psychological role. Clement Wood has documented for her +as thoroughly as did Moore and Wilson for Emily Brontë this consistent +assumption of masculinity, and the reader must be referred to +the final chapter of his biography for detailed evidence. He lists there +all Lowell’s poems written from a male viewpoint, but for the +present purpose only such require mention as are love lyrics addressed +to women and spoken as if by the poet in her own person, not +through the lips of a fictitious man. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lowell published nothing until 1912, when she was nearly +thirty, but then in <em>A Dome of Many-Colored Glass</em> she included a +number of variant verses. “Hora Stellatrix,” for instance, contains +the following lines: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">’Tis night and spring, Sweetheart, and spring!</p> + <p class="verse">Starfire lights your heart’s blossoming.</p> + <p class="verse">In the intimate dark there’s never an ear ...</p> + <p class="verse">So give; ripe fruit must shrivel and fall.</p> + <p class="verse">As you are mine, Sweetheart, give all!</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The poem entitled “Dipsa” is virtually an epithalamium fifty lines in +length, among them: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">I wonder can it really be that you</p> + <p class="verse">And I are here alone, and that the night</p> + <p class="verse">Is full of hours, and all the world asleep,</p> + <p class="verse">And none to call to you to come away;</p> +<a id="page-179" class="pagenum" title="179"></a> + <p class="verse">For you have given all yourself to me,</p> + <p class="verse">Making me gentle by your willingness.</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +There is also a sequence of nine sonnets in slightly less specific vein,[<a class="footnote" href="#6-46">46</a>] +as plainly written to a woman, and as plainly spoken by the +poet herself. +</p> + +<p> +In <em>Sword Blades and Poppy Seeds</em> (1914) five of the last poems—“Blue +Scarf,” “White Green,” “Aubade,” “A Lady,” and “In a +Garden”—are written to women and are full of passionate imagery. In +<em>Pictures of the Floating World</em> (1919) there is a sixty-page sequence, +“Planes of Personality: Two Speak Together,” more extensive and +unmistakably variant than anything found elsewhere in Lowell. In +the first poem, “Vernal Equinox,” one finds: “Why are you not here +to overpower me with your tense and urgent love?” The second is the +often quoted “The Letter,” empty of variant suggestion when lifted +from its context, but ending: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against</p> + <p class="verse">The want of you;</p> + <p class="verse">Of squeezing it into little ink drops</p> + <p class="verse">And posting it.</p> + <p class="verse">And I scald alone here under the fire</p> + <p class="verse">Of the great moon.</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In her final volume, <em>What’s O’Clock</em>, there are thirty pages beginning +with “Twenty-four Hokku on a Modern Theme” and ending with +“Onlooker,” which are comparable with, though less passionate than, +the sequence above. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte Mew, a woman who by date of birth (1870) should +precede Miss Lowell, took her own life in 1928. Virginia Moore +describes her as definitely variant.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-47">47</a>] Unhappily for literature she +destroyed all traces of that fact even more carefully than did Emily +Brontë or Emily Dickinson—so completely that we have of her work +only two thin volumes, scarcely fifty poems in all. This meager remainder +is of high enough quality to gain her inclusion in the +<em>Dictionary of National Biography</em> and in virtually every anthology +of twentieth-century poetry. It does not, however, include a single +poem of which one can say “this is more variant than otherwise,” +though two or three (especially “The Farmer’s Wife”) are poignantly +successful in expressing a man’s emotional viewpoint. Several (e.g., +“Madeleine in Church”) show a deep religious conviction of sin, and +doubtless this, as well as a passion for privacy, led her to the wholesale +<a id="page-180" class="pagenum" title="180"></a> +winnowing which critics, being unaware of her emotional bent, +laid to rigorous self-criticism of an aesthetic sort. Certainly if what +she destroyed was at all comparable to what remains, there has been +no more tragic literary, as well as personal, suicide since Chatterton. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Writing undoubtedly at the same time as Amy Lowell, for she was +born in the same year, was Rose O’Neill. This woman is likely to be +recalled today as the creator of the Kewpies, those coy cherubs which +became a national fad early in the century, rather than as a serious +artist and writer. Nevertheless, she was poet, novelist, and illustrator, +the income from her juvenile and humorous works enabling her to +pursue her deeper interests. Her claim to inclusion here rests on her +single volume of serious verse, which was not published until 1922. +Of it, Clement Wood says in his <em>Poets of America</em>: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Her poetry will lose a certain Puritan following because of +her cryptic frankness on the theme of love. She does not write +this across the sky; neither does she, as is the convention, make +this creep into a hole and draw the hole in after it. It is here, +in a few poems; those who are not offended by this note in +the masters since the Greeks, will not be offended by it here.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-48">48</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Its title, taken from Shakespeare’s most debated sonnet, is <em>The +Master Mistress</em>, and the title poem hymns “a lovely monster ... +seeming two in one, With dreadful beauty doomed,” but the subsequent +references to variance are comparatively few and almost equally +vague. Only a dozen poems among some two hundred are unmistakably +variant—ten written “To Kallista” (that notation appearing as +subtitle); “Lee: A Portrait,” and “A Dream of Sappho.” None but +the last alludes vividly to any physical expression of love, but all are +passionate, and many are specific in their praise of feminine beauty. +The third poem in the volume reads: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">The sonnet begs me like a bridegroom,</p> + <p class="verse1">“Come within.”</p> + <p class="verse">“This palace! Not for me, the desert-born!”</p> + <p class="verse">I turn me, as from some too lordly sin,</p> + <p class="verse">And like a singing Hagar, pause and pass—</p> + <p class="verse">To lift for night’s sweet thieves my restless horn</p> + <p class="verse">In broken rhythms of the windy grass.</p> + <p class="verse">I will not be the measure-pacing bride,</p> + <p class="verse">But where the flutes come faintly,</p> +<a id="page-181" class="pagenum" title="181"></a> + <p class="verse1">Sing outside.</p> + <p class="verse">Like drifting sand my love doth drift and change—</p> + <p class="verse">I strangely sing because my love is strange.</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +From the lot of these variant poems the reader retains half-realized +images of two different loves, one a delicate and feminine personality, +“ceaselessly weeping,” the other: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Mimic, dancer, cavalier,</p> + <p class="verse">Silky hand the proud horse loves to fear;</p> + <p class="verse">Sailor and adventurer ...</p> + <p class="verse">She who lingers, loves, and goes alone.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-49">49</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Though verses spoken through the lips of a fictitious man are much +less frequent than in Amy Lowell’s work, two such poems occur. And +there are many to which a Celtic titanism—fancies of removing mountains +or seizing the moon and stars for toys—lends a definitely masculine +tone. Such phrases as “in your princely fashion” and “fitting for +you who feast upon fierce things” indicate, moreover, that the poet +glories in the masculinity of one of her woman-loves. +</p> + +<p> +Since this volume, whose quality Wood compares to that of the +Elizabethan Thomas Campion, is far superior to even the best of +O’Neill’s prose, the same question arises as in the case of Louise Labé: +how is it that from so articulate a writer, one who rhymed as she +breathed, we have no greater quantity of surviving verse? The answer +may well be the same, in view of her history. +</p> + +<p> +She was born in Pennsylvania, but lived in no state long enough +to call it her own. Her father was a bookseller of more literary than +practical gifts, and there is little doubt that the swarming, hilarious +and penniless family in her first novel[<a class="footnote" href="#6-50">50</a>] is based on her own background. +From infancy the gifted child was destined for a stage +career, but it was discovered early that she was too high-strung to +endure public appearances. She then chose illustrating as her métier, +and although self-taught, was already selling drawings in her early +teens. From Omaha, where she attended a convent day school, she +went alone at fifteen to New York to seek a better market for her +work, and lived there in another convent until her marriage three +years later. When her husband died, she was twenty-three and already +an established illustrator and the financial mainstay of her family. +</p> + +<p> +The humorous magazine <em>Puck</em> soon became her chief outlet. She +joined its staff, and in 1902 married its editor, Harry Leon Wilson, +later famous as author of <em>Ruggles of Red Gap</em> and <em>Merton of the +<a id="page-182" class="pagenum" title="182"></a> +Movies</em>. In 1904 O’Neill published <em>The Loves of Edwy</em>, which like +two of her three subsequent novels, is written in the first person +and from a man’s viewpoint. It is significant that the narrator of +this story spends his life in fruitless love of the bewitching heroine, +a term in jail for an altruistic forgery being the somewhat strained +device which deters him from marrying. The girl, who has returned +his love since adolescence, finally accepts another man, but a total +psychological block prevents her consummating the marriage. +</p> + +<p> +In 1905 Wilson met Booth Tarkington and the two at once +became intimate, going to winter on Capri at Elihu Vedder’s +“beautiful, unbelievable villa,” and there collaborating on <em>The +Man From Home</em>. O’Neill studied art in Rome and Paris from +1905 to 1907, and twice exhibited in the Paris Salon. She and her +husband apparently did not return to America until 1912, living in +the interim in their own Villa Narcissus on Capri, which is mentioned +as one of her several residences later. Upon her return to the States +she was separated from Wilson, and thereafter lived in the Ozarks, +in Connecticut, and in New York on Washington Square, where +she became a close friend (as was Millay) of Elinor Wylie. In 1929 +and 1930 she produced her last novels, <em>The Goblin Woman</em> and +<em>Garda</em>, in the latter of which the heroine and a twin brother, +Narcissus, are “the two parts of a single whole,” she, the pagan and +undisciplined body; he, the sensitive poetic soul. In her first two +novels (the second was a whimsical mystery) the central feminine +figure embodied soul and conscience, the man being the pagan +spirit. +</p> + +<p> +One gains in the end the picture of a dual personality, whose +loves may well have changed like the drifting sand, and who made +her most profound effort toward sincerity in <em>The Master Mistress</em>. +It is known that Capri early in the century was the home of an +international homosexual colony, and O’Neill could scarcely have +lived there for several years without being drawn into the circle, +at least superficially. But her early religious training would have +made it difficult for her to freely embrace or champion its way of +life. Embodied in her novels are many charming light love lyrics, +written by male characters to their loves, and in all probability +her private notebooks contained a good bit of more personal variant +poetry which will never be made public. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +In 1906, at the age of thirteen, “E. Vincent Millay,” as she then +signed herself, saw her first verses printed in the young writers’ section +of <em>St. Nicholas Magazine</em>, and four years later her farewell poem—seventeen +was the age limit for the “League”—won the year’s +<a id="page-183" class="pagenum" title="183"></a> +cash prize. Entitled “Friends,”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-51">51</a>] this poem presents in two neatly +balanced stanzas the incompatible temperaments of an adolescent +boy and girl. The girl’s rejection of the senseless brutality of football +was the poet’s own, as the hatred of all cruelty in her later work +attests. The girl’s occupation—embroidery—was unlikely to have +been that of young “Vincent,” who enjoyed a boy’s outdoor activities +as well as a boy’s name. +</p> + +<p> +From her debut in <em>St. Nicholas</em> to the end of her life, virtually +all of Millay’s work appeared first in periodicals, so that for tracing +its chronology Yost’s bibliography of 1937 is invaluable. From this +we know that “Interim,” her first poem of variant significance, was +written in 1912 along with the better known “Renascence.” “Interim” +is a threnody which at least two critics[<a class="footnote" href="#6-52">52</a>] have meticulously insisted is +the product of pure imagination, since no one intimately known to +the poet had died when she wrote it. It is possible, however, to +suffer tragic loss through separation, especially when young, and +every homely and poignant detail of “Interim” speaks of immediate +experience. One passage near the middle needs particular attention: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse2">... That day you picked the first sweet pea—</p> + <p class="verse">I know, you held it up for me to see</p> + <p class="verse">And flushed because I looked not at the flower</p> + <p class="verse">But at your face; and when behind my look</p> + <p class="verse">You saw such unmistakable intent</p> + <p class="verse">You laughed and brushed your flower against my lips</p> + <p class="verse">(You were the fairest thing God ever made</p> + <p class="verse">I think). And then your hands above my heart</p> + <p class="verse">Drew down its stem into a fastening</p> + <p class="verse">And while your head was bent I kissed your hair.</p> + <p class="verse">I wonder if you knew ...</p> + <p class="verse2">... If only God</p> + <p class="verse">Had let us love—and show the world the way!</p> + <p class="verse">Strange cancellings must ink th’eternal books</p> + <p class="verse">When love-crossed-out will bring the answer right![<a class="footnote" href="#6-53">53</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The experience described here obviously involved another woman, +and remained unconsummated. Like Hille and Rilke, the poet feels +such love to be potentially the most perfect in the world; but, unlike +them, she sees perfection only in completion, not in abstinence. +Furthermore, the last two quoted lines have a kind of classroom echo, +as of discipline by some harsher agent than the deity of “God’s +World.” +</p> + +<p> +When Millay submitted this poem along with “Renascence” for +<a id="page-184" class="pagenum" title="184"></a> +inclusion in <em>The Lyric Year</em> she herself so much preferred “Interim” +that she ventured to plead by mail for its inclusion.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-54">54</a>] As it is +inferior to “Renascence” in both profundity and restraint, her +preference argues that it had been written too recently for her to +gain perspective upon it. She was twenty at the time, three years +out of high school, and living in a small Maine town of rather +limited intellectual and personal opportunities, according to her +sister Kathleen’s later picture of it in <em>Against the Wall</em>. It is also +clear from all her poetry and her correspondence that hers was a +highly emotional temperament. All this suggests that for a considerable +time in her late teens Millay was completely absorbed in a +passionate variant attachment, which then suffered some abrupt +termination. Out of her grief grew “Interim” and a number of +other laments which trickled into print throughout the next two +or three years. Examination of her first published volume (<em>Renascence</em>, +1917) shows that save for “God’s World” and “Afternoon on a +Hill,” the whole collection sounds a note of personal loss and +melancholy. +</p> + +<p> +During her years at Vassar (1913-1917, her twenty-first to twenty-fifth) +she admitted an attachment to another fair delicate girl, at +least to the extent of her own “Memorial to D.C. (Vassar College, +1918),” which appeared in the volume <em>Second April</em>. Death actually +terminated this friendship, but the group of “little elegies” assembled +under the title above are merely slight and graceful by comparison +with “Interim” and its aftermaths. It is probable that certain later +laments, such as “Song of a Second April” and “To One Who +Might Have Borne a Message,” were truer expressions of this later +loss. A third woman is pictured in a sonnet in <em>The Harp Weaver</em>: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Love is not blind. I see with single eye</p> + <p class="verse">Your ugliness and other women’s grace.</p> + <p class="verse">I know the imperfections of your face—</p> + <p class="verse">The eyes too wide apart, the brow too high</p> + <p class="verse">For beauty. Learned from earliest youth am I</p> + <p class="verse">In loveliness, and cannot so erase</p> + <p class="verse">Its letters from my mind, that I may trace</p> + <p class="verse">You faultless, I must love until I die....[<a class="footnote" href="#6-55">55</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This is less passionate than many of her love lyrics, and it alone +among them speaks of lifelong constancy. It might have been written +to the poet’s mother, to whom, as her letters testify, she was ardently +devoted. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-185" class="pagenum" title="185"></a> +That variant emotion was at least an intermittent preoccupation +with Millay until she was thirty is evident from examination of +her total work before 1923, the year of her marriage. There are a +number of sonnets and other verses in which the sex of the subject +is uncertain, if not deliberately concealed, but which do not have +the tone of those specifically written to men. Then there is her +poetic drama, <em>The Lamp and The Bell</em>, written during a sojourn +in Paris soon after graduation from Vassar, and presented at the +college in 1921. Its theme is an undying devotion between two +young women, and Elizabeth Atkins’s description of it is so delightful +that it must be borrowed: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +The kingdom of Fiori is Poughkeepsie-on-the-Hudson, and +college students and faculty keep looking straight through +their Italian veils, very much as Elizabethan Londoners keep +lifting their masks in Shakespeare’s Illyria and Verona and +Messina. +</p> + +<p> +The theme is that one of burning concern in any girls’ +school—the theme of friendship; and the play takes up their +endless arguments as to whether it will last. Octavia, the +very mildly wicked stepmother in the play, supposedly a +queen but essentially a dean of women, avers that the friendship +of the princess and her own daughter is not healthy and +will not last. Of course the girls prove her wrong. The princess, +without a murmur, gives up her lover to her friend; and long +afterwards she consents to violation by her most loathed +enemy, in order to be permitted to reach her friend as she +lies dying. +</p> + +<p> +The theme is surely Elizabethan. From Lyly to Beaumont +and Fletcher, Elizabethan literature is filled with asseverations +that friendship is a stronger thing than sexual love.... +The only novelty is that this twentieth century play deals +with the friendship of women instead of men....[<a class="footnote" href="#6-56">56</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Friendship, however, is much too cool a description for the love +between the princesses. The relation is passionate, though as always +in her variant verse Millay avoids any implication of physical intimacy. +</p> + +<p> +By the time that this drama was written, however, Millay also had +published a number of lyrics of heterosexual inspiration. Indeed, +among the conventionally minded she had gained a quite shocking +reputation on the strength of them, for they antedated the now +<a id="page-186" class="pagenum" title="186"></a> +notorious Twenties. Many of them are flippant or bitter in comparison +to those inspired by women, and they flaunt inconstancy and +promiscuity. See for instance the sonnets “Oh think not I am faithful +to a vow,” “I shall forget you presently, my dear,”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-57">57</a>] “What lips my +lips have kissed ... I have forgotten,” and “I being born a woman....”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-58">58</a>] +In short, these betray conscious striving toward a masculine +sexual standard to match that of her partners. They remind one that +“Vincent” had concealed her sex at the date of her first publication. +A critic, citing in an adult review the “phenomenal” quality of a +<em>St. Nicholas</em> entry Millay wrote at fourteen, confessed uncertainty +whether the poem was written by a boy or a girl.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-59">59</a>] Fellow poets +reading “Renascence” thought it a man’s work, and a Barnard +professor during her brief months there (repairing entrance requirement +deficiencies for Vassar) pronounced “Interim” to be written in +the character of a man.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-60">60</a>] The same viewpoint marks her libretto +for Deems Taylor’s opera, <em>The King’s Henchman</em>. +</p> + +<p> +After her marriage in 1923 all of Millay’s published verse was +marked by greater emotional reticence, and if she wrote privately +anything comparable to her earlier variant lyrics the chances are +against its ever being made public. (There has been no providential +Reinach to salvage her reliques for posterity, and it is rumored that +censorship is being exercised. Letters have been admitted to the +published volume of her correspondence which imply some early +heterosexual indiscretion, while all variant traces have been eradicated +save a proper name or two[<a class="footnote" href="#6-61">61</a>] in connection with which the published +implications are unrevealing. To the student of variance, however, +they are significant.) The one notable exception to this general +reticence is <em>Fatal Interview</em> (1930), of which Atkins said in 1936 +that she, herself, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +must be the first post-Victorian critic on record to state in +cold print ... that a still breathing married woman, name +and dates given, has written a poem of extra-marital passion, +not as a literary exercise in purple penmanship, but as an +honest record of immediate experience.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-62">62</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The experience did not occur very close to the date of the volume’s +publication, however, for many readers will remember individual +sonnets coming out in this or that magazine over a considerable +number of years, and not in the order in which they finally stand. +The majority might, as far as verbal evidence goes, have been +written to a person of either sex, and they differ so sharply among +<a id="page-187" class="pagenum" title="187"></a> +themselves that even allowing for the poet’s mercurial temperament +and the gamut of emotion she wished to record, one sometimes feels +they cannot all have been inspired by the same individual. It may be +brash to suggest that they could have grown out of more than one +experience, and that the fifty-two were merely assembled into one +matchless tracing of the birth, growth and decline of human passion. +But one of them, numbered XXI, demands special attention: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Gone in good sooth you are: not even in dream</p> + <p class="verse">You come. As if the strictures of the light,</p> + <p class="verse">Laid on our glances to their disesteem,</p> + <p class="verse">Extended even to shadows and the night;</p> + <p class="verse">Extended even beyond that drowsy sill</p> + <p class="verse">Along whose galleries, open to the skies</p> + <p class="verse">All maskers move unchallenged and at will,</p> + <p class="verse">Visor in hand and hooded to the eyes.</p> + <p class="verse">To that pavilion the green sea in flood</p> + <p class="verse">Curves in, and the slow dancers dance in foam;</p> + <p class="verse">I find again the pink camellia-bud</p> + <p class="verse">On the wide step, beside a silver comb—</p> + <p class="verse">But it is scentless; up the marble stair</p> + <p class="verse">I mount with pain, knowing you are not there.</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This verse was originally written either to a woman and fitted later +into the artistic pattern of the whole, or the man who inspired it +could appear (without incongruity in the dreamer’s mind) to have +lost a masquer’s accessories—pink camellia-bud and silver comb—which +are scarcely masculine. Was he one whom a woman’s costume +would have become? Did the dreamer at times secretly wish him +a woman? Or was this sonnet (and just possibly others in the sequence +also) written specifically to a woman? +</p> + +<p> +It has been the critical fashion for some time to discount Millay’s +literary importance because of the sharp decline in the quality +of her work after <em>The Buck in the Snow</em>. Her “Epitaph for the +Race of Man” in that volume may be seen almost as her own +poetic abdication. An artist whose gods were Life and Beauty and +whose devil was Cruelty may well have found herself paralyzed +by the horror of global and total war. If one predicates also the +burden of a dual emotional nature, one half of which was in later +years censored by the other—for no mature modern of her intelligence +would lightly court the charge of arrested adolescence, no daughter +of New England would willingly display what her generation considered +<a id="page-188" class="pagenum" title="188"></a> +emotional deformity—one has supplementary explanation +of her creative paralysis. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Not all of this country’s variant poetry has been written by +women; at least two men have contributed narrative verse. Edgar Lee +Masters’s <em>Domesday Book</em> (1929) follows Browning’s <em>Ring and the +Book</em> in that it begins with a girl’s death and traces the history +which led up to it, through the memories of far more than Browning’s +dozen persons. In the end Elenor Murray is seen as a woman +too passionate and open-hearted to live peacefully or to end her +days in happiness. Within a decade she gave herself lavishly to +several men but was self-defeating in her very generosity, and finally +ended her life because her efforts to meet her lovers’ need only +brought suffering to others as well as herself. +</p> + +<p> +One of the earlier reminiscences in the book comes from Alma +Bell, a high-school teacher who knew Elenor at seventeen and loved +her deeply. Recognizing the dangers ahead for one so susceptible +to passion, she attempted to help the girl “to ripen to a rich +maturity” unscathed. She had success in warding off certain unsavory +male advances, but not in avoiding emotional involvement herself, +since, as she observes, few persons are wholly either masculine or +feminine in spirit. +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse2">... the flesh’s explanation</p> + <p class="verse">Is not important, nor to tell whence comes</p> + <p class="verse">A love in the heart—the thing is love at last ...</p> + <p class="verse">My love for Elenor Murray never had</p> + <p class="verse">Other expression than the look of eyes,</p> + <p class="verse">The spiritual thrill of listening to her voice,</p> + <p class="verse">A hand to clasp, kiss upon the lips at best,</p> + <p class="verse">Better to find her soul, as Plato says.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-63">63</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Despite this conscientious restraint the town became aware of the +intimacy, and Alma Bell was forced to resign her position and leave +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse2">... under a cloud</p> + <p class="verse">Because of love for Elenor Murray, yet</p> + <p class="verse">Not lawless love, I write now to make clear.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-64">64</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The exceptional small town coroner, tolerant and philosophical, +who elicits the stories which compose the pattern, is an evident +mouthpiece for the poet himself. His final estimate of the girl’s +character is one of human dignity and largeness of spirit surpassing +<a id="page-189" class="pagenum" title="189"></a> +that of her calumniators and even her lovers and friends. But the +early suspicion of lesbianism cast one of the shadows which reached +beyond the limits of her little Midwestern community and augmented +the difficulties of her later life. +</p> + +<p> +The single protesting voice in American poetry is that of George +Stirling, whose <em>Strange Waters</em> is a brief narrative related to the +work of Robinson Jeffers in both its Pacific coast setting and in +grimness of theme. To a childless, but quite happy, poet and his +Irish wife are sent the latter’s eighteen-year-old twin nieces. They +are the children of her much older brother, to whom she has alluded +only once during her married life proclaiming him a monster. +His deathbed letter implies some ironic justice in their being left +to her. They are fiery-haired beauties, abnormally reticent except +with one another, and their mutual devotion is marked. The more +boyish twin exhibits a brilliant intellect which fascinates the poet, +but he intuitively senses something amiss, and listens at the door of +the bedroom where they sleep together. To his horror he hears +evidence of active lesbianism, and in the morning he accuses them +openly. Refusing to answer him, the two set out for their usual +day-long roaming on cliffs and shore. However, they do not return. +When their bodies are washed in from the Pacific, one proves to be +a boy. The subtle implication is that they are the incestuous offspring +of the poet’s wife and her brother. Their relation, then, is +not variant, but it gives Stirling opportunity to pass upon lesbianism +a judgment quite as black as upon incest, for which in this case a +hereditary etiology is implied. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +From England the variant contribution is even thinner and more +evasive than from America. Richard Aldington’s <em>Loves of Myrrhine +and Konallis</em> (1926) is yet another derivative from Louÿs’s <em>Songs of +Bilitis</em>. Its pair are the young goat-girl, Konallis, and the prosperous +courtesan, Myrrhine, who bids her maid close her doors to male +lovers, “for this is a sharper love.”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-65">65</a>] The tenuous drama progresses +through white nights, bacchic revels, momentary unfaithfulness, and +philosophic communing, and ends with Myrrhine’s death and Konallis’s +subsequent marriage. Though graced with felicitous phrasing +and vivid evocation of passionate mood, it is the weakest of the +echoes from Louÿs’s original because the least direct in presentation +of its theme. +</p> + +<p> +Victoria Sackville-West’s <em>King’s Daughter</em> (1930) is very different +but even more cryptic. Its echoes are wholly English and recall the +Elizabethan lyrists from one of whom the poet is descended. The +scant two-dozen pages, full of country images sharp and delicate as +<a id="page-190" class="pagenum" title="190"></a> +frost, conjure up the spirit—seldom the physical presence—of an +elusive coquette and of the proud speaker, who +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Although the blackness of her heart torment</p> + <p class="verse">Me and her whiteness make me turbulent,[<a class="footnote" href="#6-66">66</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +will commit neither pleas nor actions to paper. One early line disclaims +intimacy: “How shall I haunt her separate sleep?” The only +others nearly as explicit are: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Estranged from all, and rapt, I only ask</p> + <p class="verse">To be alone when I am not with you.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-67">67</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +It is not until reaching the final poem, “Envoi,” that the poet +indicates that anything has actually occurred outside of her haunted +imagination. +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">The catkin from the hazel swung</p> + <p class="verse">When you and I and March were young ...</p> + <p class="verse">The harvest moon rose round and red</p> + <p class="verse">When habit came and wonder fled ...</p> + <p class="verse">Snow lay on hedgerows of December</p> + <p class="verse">Then, when we could no more remember.</p> + <p class="verse">But the green flush was on the larch</p> + <p class="verse">When other loves we found in March.[<a class="footnote" href="#6-68">68</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Here, for a moment, is the flavor of Millay, but not the intensity, +and to give evidence that the whole volume breathes subjective +passion one would need to quote it entirely, which is scarcely +practicable. The most vivid of the poems is also one of the best +known: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Cygnet and barnacle goose</p> + <p class="verse">Follow her when she passes</p> + <p class="verse">Barefoot through daisied grasses.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Briars blown straying and loose</p> + <p class="verse">Catch at her as she goes</p> + <p class="verse">Down the path between woodbine and rose.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Seeking to follow and hold her,</p> + <p class="verse">The silly birds and the thorn.</p> + <p class="verse">But her laughter is merry with scorn.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> +<a id="page-191" class="pagenum" title="191"></a> + <p class="verse">What would she say if I told her</p> + <p class="verse">That the goose, and the swan,</p> + <p class="verse">And the thorn, and my spirit, were one?[<a class="footnote" href="#6-69">69</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +A negative note, barely audible, is sounded in the <em>Scrapbook</em> of +Katherine Mansfield, published by her husband, Middleton Murry, +in 1940, a dozen years after her death. The poem is dated 1919, and +entitled “Friendship.” +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">When we were charming Backfisch</p> + <p class="verse1">With curls and velvet bows</p> + <p class="verse">We shared a charming kitten</p> + <p class="verse1">With tiny velvet toes.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">It was so gay and playful;</p> + <p class="verse1">It flew like a woolly ball</p> + <p class="verse">From my lap to your shoulder—</p> + <p class="verse1">And oh, it was so small,</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">So warm and so obedient,</p> + <p class="verse1">If we cried: “That’s enough!”</p> + <p class="verse">It lay and slept between us,</p> + <p class="verse1">A purring ball of fluff.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">But now that I am thirty</p> + <p class="verse1">And she is thirty-one,</p> + <p class="verse">I shudder to discover</p> + <p class="verse1">How wild our cat has run.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">It’s bigger than a tiger,</p> + <p class="verse1">Its eyes are jets of flame,</p> + <p class="verse">Its claws are gleaming daggers;</p> + <p class="verse1">Could it have once been tame?</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">Take it away; I’m frightened!</p> + <p class="verse1">But she, with placid brow,</p> + <p class="verse">Cries: “This is our Kitty-witty!</p> + <p class="verse1">Why don’t you love her now?”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-70">70</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Obviously Mansfield, unlike Millay, did not see perfection in the +fulfillment of variant love. Or at least not in this particular fulfillment. +Passages scattered through the <em>Scrapbook</em> and the more +reticent <em>Journal</em> (1928) reveal a compulsive and abject devotion in +<a id="page-192" class="pagenum" title="192"></a> +the lifelong friend alluded to in the poem above. (See, for example, +“Toothache Sunday” in the <em>Scrapbook</em>.) The intensity of her friend’s +emotion troubled Mansfield, who sometimes felt herself “a callous +brute” to be unable to return it in kind or to make its possessor +happy. “I don’t know why I always shrink ever so faintly from her +touch. I could not kiss her lips.”[<a class="footnote" href="#6-71">71</a>] But, however innocent of expression, +the relationship was a problem she could never discuss +with her husband, and she felt that it cast a permanent, if faint, +shadow between her and “J.” (Murry). +</p> + +<p> +(From the recent sympathetic biography of Mansfield by her +fellow New Zealander, Antony Alpers, several supplementary impressions +emerge: 1) Ida Baker (“L.M.”) was never abject, but +rather a dedicated priestess most happy to be elected and given a +direction in life. 2) It was not her shadow which fell between +Mansfield and Murry so much as the former’s compulsion to write. +Katherine repeatedly blamed Murry’s self-absorption for the difficulties +in their relations (Nelia Gardner White takes the same view in +her novelized biography <em>Daughter of Time</em>, 1941) but surely her own +was quite as marked. 3) While she was in Queen’s College, London, +between fourteen and seventeen, there seems to have been some +talk of her “unwholesome” friendships. Alpers uses the plural, but +discusses only her domination of Ida Baker, unless her wooing of +her feminine cousin Sidney Payne for a couple of years was also +suspect. According to Alpers this courtship proceeded largely by +letter, one of which he quotes to refute the charge. 4) From the +picture of her two unhappy marriages (the first almost farcical) +and her obviously ambivalent feeling for Ida Baker, it seems that +she was a person unable to give herself completely to either man +or woman. Was this because of her obsession with writing, or was +that relentless creative urge the result rather than the cause of +some deeper emotional block?) +</p> + +<p> +The most notable feature of all these twentieth century lyrics +is the women’s relatively articulate confession of variant interests. +Before 1900 only “Michael Field” and Matilda Betham-Edwards +(to be mentioned later) admitted inclination toward their own sex. +Now the Catholic O’Neill, the New England Lowell and Millay, +the British Sackville-West reveal it without apology. Schwabe and +Madeleine offer their testimony still more openly, and Barney and +Vivien, with the independence of expatriates and women of fortune +able to create their own milieu, proclaim it not only in writing but +in their lives. Indeed Vivien at least promises in any long view of +western literature to figure as a minor Sappho, the greater part of her +work dedicated to this limited but seemingly imperishable theme. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-12"> +<a id="page-193" class="pagenum" title="193"></a> +<span class="line1">CHAPTER VII.</span><br> +<span class="line2">FICTION IN FRANCE</span> +</h2> + +</div> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-12-1"> +Before 1914 +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +If variant poetry burgeoned suddenly with the turn of the present +century, new developments in fiction were equally apparent. Between +1900 and 1950, novels with female variance as either a central or +a major theme averaged more than two per year. A rather larger +additional group used variance as a minor motif or in a telling +incident or two. Of this generous crop a good half was the work +of English and American authors; an equal proportion was written +by women; and although active championship of lesbianism or +variance was comparatively rare, better than half the fictional presentations +were either sympathetic or neutral. These counts are based +upon a hundred-odd volumes available for examination, plus an +additional score or so of unequivocal reviews. +</p> + +<p> +The new century’s characteristic changes were least evident in +France, where for a couple of decades variant fiction had appeared +in quantity, and where at least two or three women (Rachilde, Jane +de LaVaudère, Camille Pert) had contributed. We have seen that +Pierre Louÿs between 1896 and 1901 even struck a new note of +cheerful insouciance, but his <em>Aphrodite</em> and <em>Bilitis</em> pictured courtesans +of the classical era, and the adventures of his three girls in <em>King +Pausole</em> were set in a zany fantasy well removed from reality. +</p> + +<p> +From reviews and publishers’ records we know that during the +century’s first decade fully as many inferior lesbian novels appeared +as in the one preceding, a few of which will be mentioned later. +The outstanding work, however, was that done by the couple signing +themselves Colette-Willy, who opened a new era by portraying their +own times with both frankness and sympathy. Willy was the established +music critic and light novelist Henry Gauthier-Villars. Sidonie +Gabrielle Colette has since been recognized as the foremost French +woman writer of her time, but in 1900 she was merely a piquant +<a id="page-194" class="pagenum" title="194"></a> +personality who, a decade earlier, at seventeen, had come to Paris +from the provinces and married Gauthier-Villars. Consequently, when +<em>Claudine à L’Ecole</em> appeared (1900), it was taken to be mainly a +work of Willy based upon his wife’s girlhood experiences. Critics +have since established that it and its three successors, <em>Claudine à Paris</em> +(1901), <em>Claudine en Ménage</em> (1902) and <em>Claudine s’en Va</em> (1903) +were less his than Colette’s own, and the fifth volume, <em>La Retraite +Sentimentale</em> (1907) was recognized at the time of its appearance +as hers, since by then she had separated from her husband. The first +four of the series have been translated as <em>Claudine at School</em>, <em>Young +Lady of Paris</em>, <em>The Indulgent Husband</em>, and <em>Innocent Wife</em>, and +are fairly well-known. +</p> + +<p> +This series presents the emotional history of the delightful Claudine +between the ages of fifteen and thirty, and incidentally incorporates +the authors’ opinions upon many sorts of sexual relation. Claudine +appears first as a day pupil in a provincial public school somewhere +in the mountainous <em>départements</em> of southern France. Motherless, she +is brought up after a fashion by a father so absorbed in his studies +as to approach a caricature of the absent-minded professor, and by +a free-tongued servant comparable to Proust’s Françoise. She grows +up a tomboy, free to climb trees, to roam alone over the wooded +hills about her small town, and to read at will in her father’s +uncensored library. +</p> + +<p> +Her emotional development begins with an attraction appropriate +to her years (fifteen) but uncommonly intense, to a pretty assistant +mistress, Mademoiselle Aimée. With Claudine’s wily arrangement +to be tutored in English at home, this affair promises to develop +richly, but it is interrupted when the headmistress, a domineering +redhead, also contracts a passion for her assistant. Knowing on which +side her bread is buttered, Aimée abandons Claudine, to become +the pampered darling of her superior. Two or three of the “big +girls” understand perfectly what is going on, and Claudine even +eavesdrops one day upon an intimate moment enjoyed by the two +women in their dormitory quarters while their classes run wild +in the schoolrooms below. Later, the headmistress implies to Claudine +that had she not from the outset shown antagonism, her affection +might have been bestowed on her rather than on the somewhat insipid +junior mistress. +</p> + +<p> +In the course of the year, Claudine discovers that she is becoming +attractive to men, notably the school’s visiting physician, a “wolf” at +whom she laughs although he has an irritating power to move her. +He uses his political influence to the end of enjoying Aimée’s +<a id="page-195" class="pagenum" title="195"></a> +favors, an affair to which the older mistress appears indifferent, her +jealousy being reserved for feminine rivals. A second diversion develops +when Aimée’s young sister, Luce, enters at mid-term as a +charity pupil and is badly neglected by the two mistresses. A year +Claudine’s junior, this thin green-eyed youngster becomes her adoring +slave, constantly manoeuvering for caresses, but receiving only blows, +which she appears to find almost as satisfying. To herself, Claudine +admits that, were the girl anyone but a sister to the fickle Aimée, +the affair might go farther. +</p> + +<p> +At the graduation dance—a neat bit of satire on provincial +entertainment—Claudine is much sought after by local and visiting +swains, and analyzes afterward why she found their attentions so +unsatisfactory. She contemplates what she wants of love: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +I terribly needed Someone, and was humiliated by this lack, +and because I could not give anything to anyone I did not +love and know through and through—a dream which will +never come true, eh?[<a class="footnote" href="#7-1">1</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This précis of the feminine ideal marks the beginning of Colette’s +since-famous dissection of women’s emotional psychology. +</p> + +<p> +The second volume carries Claudine through the year—her +seventeenth—which her father decides must be spent in Paris, +ostensibly in the interests of his scientific work, but actually with +an eye to widening her circle of acquaintance. Sick with nostalgia +for her native Montigny and loathing every aspect of her urban +imprisonment, Claudine succumbs to a long illness which has two +important results. Her hair must be cropped, and her contacts are +confined to her father’s older sister and the latter’s grandson, a +pretty creature of her own age as effeminate as she is boyish. Very +nearly disliking Marcel, Claudine still feels a physical attraction +much like that which drew her to Luce. But Marcel’s emotions are +absorbed in an affair with a male schoolmate—an affair which has +made trouble for both boys at their Lycée and evoked the wrath +and contempt of Marcel’s father. Evasive about his own experiences, +Marcel is avidly curious about Claudine’s relations with Luce (pride +prevents her mentioning Aimée). It is Marcel who sees the modish +possibilities in Claudine’s cropped head, and takes her to an English +tailor to be outfitted <em>en garçonne</em>, a style eminently suited to her +both physically and psychologically. +</p> + +<p> +During her illness Claudine has heard from Luce that her situation +at the school has become intolerable and she is ready for desperate +<a id="page-196" class="pagenum" title="196"></a> +measures. Presently she meets Luce on a Paris street dressed more +smartly than she is herself, and learns that the girl, who had sought +help from an uncle (a gross sixty-year-old widower), is now being +lavishly kept by him. Nevertheless, Luce manages to have a boy-friend +from the Beaux-Arts on the side, and is also eager to resume relations +with Claudine. The latter, too, feels the earlier attraction, but realizes +she cannot tolerate intimacy with a little <em>grue</em> who is living with her +own uncle. With humorous honesty she admits to herself that despite +having “read everything—and understood it” before she was sixteen, +when it comes to “real life” she is nothing but “an ordinary good +girl.” +</p> + +<p> +In the course of her acquaintance with the pretty Marcel she +meets Renaud, the latter’s widowed father, and is drawn to him +despite his intolerance of his son’s homosexual affair. She thinks +he is just the man she would have chosen for a father—urbane and +witty, but with sombre emotional depths. Soon she is in love with +him. The man, twenty years her senior, struggles against a reciprocal +attraction, but Claudine’s headlong infatuation wins, and the book +ends with their engagement. +</p> + +<p> +The first section of <em>Claudine en Ménage</em> analyzes with skill her +as yet incomplete marital adjustment. She resents the memory +of her elaborate wedding and her husband’s continuing mixture of +fatherly indulgence and experienced sensuality which shames her +adoring naïveté. The couple have spent a year in continental travel +uncongenial to the Montigny tomboy, and as she settles in Renaud’s +Paris apartment she is homesick for her native province and rebellious +against the routine of sophisticated entertaining her husband wishes +to resume. +</p> + +<p> +Accepting life on his terms with what grace she can, she presently +meets Rezi, a seductive Austrian, wife of a retired English officer, and +soon they are mutually infatuated. Their emotion can find no outlet +because the colonel’s jealous surveillance and the unremitting social +activity in her own household afford them no privacy. After a period +of increasingly painful frustration Claudine appeals to her husband +for aid. Renaud has all along shown the same excited interest in this +affair that his son exhibited in her relations with Luce, and he +readily agrees to find the pair a private haven. He insists, however, +on retaining the key to their “nest” himself and on escorting them +to it whenever they wish to go there. This complaisance bordering +on voyeurism offends Claudine, who is at heart wounded by his +lack of jealousy. Gradually she realizes that what she feels for Rezi +is mere infatuation. She suspects that her partner has been intimate +<a id="page-197" class="pagenum" title="197"></a> +with other women about whom she is evasive, and she even finds +reason to wonder whether before her marriage Renaud and Rezi +might not have had an affair. Her brooding discontent increases +during three weeks of illness when she can keep watch on neither +husband nor friend, and comes to a head on the day when she pays +a surprise visit to the “nest” and finds the two there together. In +a fury of jealousy and disillusionment she goes home to Montigny. +</p> + +<p> +There, healed by springtime in the country, she owns that she +is still as much in love with Renaud as his letters show him to be +with her. She finally writes him that he has been too indulgent, +too like a doting father. ‘I wanted Rezi and you gave her to me +like a bonbon. You should have explained that there are sweets +one cannot eat without becoming ill.’[<a class="footnote" href="#7-2">2</a>] She tells him that if they +are to be happy she must be more his equal as he must be more her +master. Life seems to her so much more sane and wholesome in the +country that she is determined to stay there, and she hopes he +will consent to make his permanent home there as well. When +business or even pleasure call him to Paris, she will let him go, +knowing that when he returns it will be from genuine inclination. +The volume closes with this ultimatum without disclosing Renaud’s +response. +</p> + +<p> +In <em>Claudine s’en Va</em> the viewpoint shifts to that of a very different +young married woman, but Claudine, moving in and out of the +picture, is still a dominant influence in the story. Its central figure, +Annie, is a submissive creature who has been married four years +to Alain, an autocratic cousin whom she has adored slavishly since +childhood. While he is absent on a protracted business trip Annie +discovers herself—her uninfluenced personality is very different from +her husband’s, and her married life has been a one-sided affair never +affording her real satisfaction. The latter revelation is the fruit of +long talks with Claudine, whose own marriage, now radiantly successful, +becomes for Annie the embodiment of what mutual love +should be. Her husband has forbidden her to associate with Renaud +and Claudine, whom he considers too “fast” to be a good influence, +but Annie learns that the sister to whose care he has entrusted her +is involved in a sordid affair with an alcoholic journalist and that +Alain himself has, since their marriage, carried on a long liaison +with a woman who has always disgusted her. This painful enlightenment +comes during a hectic season at an international spa. She turns +more and more to the bohemian but wholesome Claudine, who +convinces her that a middle course is possible between the looseness +into which she has been so quickly plunged and the rigid conventionality +<a id="page-198" class="pagenum" title="198"></a> +of her former life. As their intimacy grows it becomes apparent +that Claudine is strongly drawn to her but is as strongly self-disciplined. +At one point when they have been exchanging confidences +and Annie rests her head on Claudine’s shoulder, hungry for tenderness, +Claudine springs up crying “Not too far! In another instant I +would—and I’ve promised Renaud——”[<a class="footnote" href="#7-3">3</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Annie finally feels that further life with her husband is impossible, +and she prepares to leave on a secret quest for emotional +orientation before his return. In bidding her goodbye and godspeed, +Claudine confesses that she could easily have become emotionally +involved, but dared not risk a second experience like the one with +Rezi. She must abide by her promise to her husband, even though +because of the different circumstances, she, herself, can see no +harm in giving what comfort she might to the suffering Annie. Her +final words are almost mystical—a confession of faith in Love as +something precious enough to seek at all costs, and when found, to +preserve at any price. +</p> + +<p> +<em>La Retraite Sentimentale</em>, appearing in 1907 after Colette’s divorce +from Willy, carries Claudine’s story to its conclusion. At the outset +Renaud is in a Swiss sanitorium, exhausted by the hectic pace at +which he has lived, and Claudine is with the now-divorced Annie +on the latter’s Burgundian estate, in order to spare Renaud the +jealous concern her life alone in Paris might occasion. The potential +attraction between Annie and herself is dormant, and Claudine, +wretchedly lonely without her husband, amuses herself by drawing +from her companion a full account of her <em>Wanderjahr</em>. She learns +that Annie has run the gamut of sexual experiment with men in +search of her romantic ideal, but has gained nothing beyond +momentary appeasement. More unwilling than ever to risk a further +barren experience with Annie, Claudine yields to a fantastic impulse. +Her woman-shy stepson, Marcel, arrives for a visit just as Annie +feels impelled to set out on another sexual quest, and Claudine +throws the two together in the hope that each may solve the other’s +problem. The tragi-farcical outcome suggests that this episode may +have been plotted during Colette’s collaboration with Willy, for +it echoes the most cynical note of the earlier volumes. +</p> + +<p> +The concluding portion of <em>La Retraite Sentimentale</em> shows +Claudine, now thirty and widowed, once more entrenched in her +beloved country house in Montigny. Her father and the old servant +have died, and she is alone with her cherished dogs and cats, still +faithful in spirit to Renaud, and filled with tolerant pity for the +restless Parisians (Annie among them) who often motor down to +<a id="page-199" class="pagenum" title="199"></a> +see her. This final volume has no place in a study of female variance +save for its picture of Claudine’s resolute refusal in maturity to +become involved with Annie. +</p> + +<p> +As has been said, all of the volumes are now recognized as chiefly +the work of Colette, and also as more autobiographical than could +be admitted at the time of their composition. They may, therefore, +be trusted as giving a fairly accurate picture of a certain group of +Parisian literati at the turn of the century. There is something of +Willy in the idealized Renaud and also in the caricatured Maugis, +alcoholic music critic and paramour of Annie’s sister-in-law. Judging +Willy’s attitude from that found in his independent fiction, the +complaisance of Renaud toward his wife’s lesbian liaison was less +improbable than certain contemporary critics—Rachilde among them—felt +it to be. From passing references in Colette’s much later volume +of personal reminiscences, <em>Ces Plaisirs</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#7-4">4</a>] it would appear that the +group in which she moved during her early married years—that is, the +middle and late Nineties—were tolerant of male as well as female +homosexuality, and Marcel’s affairs were probably drawn from life. +Colette’s divorce after twelve years of marriage, however, is said to +have been due to heterosexual irregularities on her husband’s part. +A second marriage in 1914 to Henri de Jouvenel, by whom she had +a daughter, seems to have brought her a more settled happiness. +But it should be noted that Stella Browne, in a psychological study +of some women authors with homosexual tendencies,[<a class="footnote" href="#7-5">5</a>] mentions +Colette as having been involved herself before 1914 in two powerful +variant attachments, one with the film star, Marguérite Moréno, +whom she met while she was earning her living on the stage between +her two marriages, and the other with an unnamed foreign noblewoman. +Character sketches of both these women, naturally drawn +with great discretion, appear in <em>Ces Plaisirs</em>. From them one gathers +that Colette’s relations with Moréno were intimate, but “the +Chevalier” (the nickname perhaps an echo from Peladan’s chaste +lady) is presented as a romantic idealist unwilling or unable to cross +the boundaries of physical intimacy with anyone. +</p> + +<p> +To return to Claudine, she has some masculine secondary characteristics—she +is proud of her boyish height and acrobatic abilities—and +a personality in which unfeminine traits were emphasized +by her freedom and independence while young. But she never +rebels against the feminine role. She is also proud of her beautiful +hair and eyes, and she never abandons skirts even on her strenuous +cross-country rambles. She enjoys her power to attract men, though +she scorns flirtation and breaks an umbrella on a boulevardier who +<a id="page-200" class="pagenum" title="200"></a> +risks the traditional continental pinch. Her reaction to the women +who attract her is definitely male—primarily physical, roused by +beauty and passivity, and manifesting itself in a desire to conquer +and dominate. It contrasts sharply with the clinging adoration of +Luce, Aimée, and Annie. It is most often stirred, after the initial +“crush” on Aimée, by girls younger than herself, those who recall +her own youth or the masochistic devotion of young Luce. This is +particularly stressed in the early pages of <em>Claudine en Ménage</em>, +when, taking Renaud on a visit to her old school, she finds there +a handful of delicious adolescents spending their holidays in the +dormitory, and plays recklessly with them. It appears again in +<em>Claudine s’en Va</em>, when she encounters at the spa an impudent +comedienne so much like herself a few years earlier as to provoke +universal comment on the resemblance. This young woman, Polaire, +was a real not a fictional character who had acted in a dramatic +version of <em>Claudine à Paris</em> in 1903, and who appears in the story +under her own name, as do various other contemporary personalities +in the course of the five volumes. (A particularly malicious sketch +of Mme. Dieulafoy, whose opera <em>Sémiramis</em> had just been presented, +figures in <em>Claudine s’en Va</em> in a letter from the music critic Maugis.)[<a class="footnote" href="#7-6">6</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Taken together, the five <em>Claudine</em> novels present a complete +sexual philosophy. It is Claudine’s progressive maturing under the +influence of Renaud which weans her away from her variant leanings, +but the influence is not one-sided. As their marital relationship +deepens and mellows, Renaud is led to “love Love,” to be, as Claudine +puts it, more “chaste,” less fond of sensual virtuosity “<em>qui s’aide d’une +combinaison de miroirs ... et de mots fait pour le chuchotement +et qu’on se force à crier à haute voix, tout crus</em>.”[<a class="footnote" href="#7-7">7</a>] In short, he has +acquired a more feminine outlook. Here, in brief, is the distilled +wisdom of the woman pronounced a genius in portraying the nuances +of feminine psychology. Lesbian attractions are legitimate but they +belong to youth. Mature love is neither uninhibited sophistication +nor romantic idealism, but a mutual devotion in whose interest +each sex must sacrifice something and must attempt to acquire some +part of the other’s outlook. It has taken four decades of Freud +and his successors to produce the almost identical wisdom which +appears in all the better marriage manuals one reads today. One +might say that although France did not contribute so much as +Germany and England to the scientific study of sex, her long years +of frank attention to it from the personal and literary angles bore +fruit before the scientists’ harvest. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-201" class="pagenum" title="201"></a> +The <em>Claudine</em> series spanned seven years, but they were not +the only works of their genre to appear in France. In the matter +of public acclaim, perhaps the most important item was an opera, +<em>Astarte</em>, presented by the Académie Nationale de Musique on February +15, 1901, with a score by Xavier Leroux, which critics characterized +as Wagnerian, and a five-act libretto by Louis de Gramont. (It is +cited in Martens’s <em>Book of Operas</em> as <em>Omphale</em>, and was apparently +composed in 1891, though there is no record of a dramatic performance +before 1901.) The libretto has not been available, and +the following account is drawn from the review by Breville in the +<em>Mercure de France</em> for April 1901, and the summary in Hirschfeld’s +<em>Jahrbuch</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#7-8">8</a>] of an article in <em>Le Temps</em> for February 20, by Pierre +Lalo. The drama combines two episodes from the mythological cycle +of Hercules: his bewitched assumption of woman’s dress and his +death caused by the shirt of Nessus. Hercules is represented as going +to Lydia to stamp out the infamous lesbian cult of Astarte by slaying +Omphale, its high priestess. Instead, he is reduced by her seduction +to abject slavery, forgetting all his previous triumphs and the purpose +of his quest. Shedding his warlike accoutrements and ‘using the skin +of the Nemean lion for a bedside carpet,’ he watches with fascination +a lesbian ceremony which Breville pronounces one of the most +beautiful ballets ever presented on the stage, ‘consecrated not so +much to those <em>amours animales</em> of which Verlaine speaks as to the +harmonious disposition of groups and colors,’ its erotic climax being +veiled in ‘suddenly imposed shadows.’ +</p> + +<p> +At the ballet’s end Hercules is willing to abjure Vesta, adopt the +religion of Astarte, and enter into the marriage with Omphale urged +by the high priest. But Omphale, at last enamoured of a man, +demurs because she knows that the sequel to the nuptials must be the +sacrifice of Hercules on Astarte’s altar. At this point, the maiden +Iole appears bringing the miraculous tunic of Nessus from Hercules’s +wife, Dejanira. This tunic supposedly will save him from the power +of Astarte and rekindle the flame of legitimate love. The charms of +Iole so transcend those of Hercules in the eyes of Omphale that she +offers to release him and his warriors if she may keep the girl. +Hercules, “toujours naïf,” accepts the bargain, dons the tunic, and +bursts into flame, igniting temple and palace as well. Omphale, undisturbed +either by his dying cries or the general conflagration, +embarks for Lesbos with the enraptured Iole amid the ritual chants +and dancing of all the women. +</p> + +<p> +Breville, who finds Leroux’s score worthy of serious attention, is +<a id="page-202" class="pagenum" title="202"></a> +fairly scornful of Gramont’s book. Here, he says, Hercules is not a +mythical hero but a robust swashbuckler who stalks about like the +professional wrestler paid to let an amateur win the bout. Amorous +psychology, he feels, has given way to mere physiology; Omphale’s +sudden preference for Iole is unconvincing, and moralists have +no real case against a work which ends in barren triumph for the +purely sensual. Despite this negative judgment the opera must have +survived at least from February till April, which suggests that +Breville’s opinion was prejudiced. +</p> + +<p> +In the same year a popular star of music hall and demi-monde, +Liane de Pougy, published a novel, <em>Idylle Saphique</em>. Rachilde in the +<em>Mercure</em> pronounced it well-written but omitted comment on its +theme, evidently thinking the title sufficiently obvious. She confined +herself to lamenting that the author seemed on her way to becoming +a respectable woman (<em>honnête</em>), ‘and what is worse, a bluestocking.’[<a class="footnote" href="#7-9">9</a>] +The <em>Jahrbuch</em>, which repeatedly deplored the French tendency to +regard homosexuality as an experience possible for anyone, rather +than the innate tendency which that journal’s sponsors championed, +considered the <em>Idylle</em> psychologically sound, and gave an extensive +résumé of the plot,[<a class="footnote" href="#7-10">10</a>] which seems representative enough of the +sensational variant novels of the time to merit review here. Annhine +de Lys, famous Parisian <em>courtisane</em>, differs from most of her class +in dreaming of a great love. Her profitable life with a millionaire +or two has sickened her of both luxury and sex, so that when a +twenty-year-old American falls in love with her she is moved by +the girl’s intense worship. She herself has hitherto avoided ‘lesbian +degeneracy,’ and continues to resist it in its completeness, having +been warned by a colleague that it wrecks the nerves. +</p> + +<p> +Florence, the American, is engaged to a fellow countryman, who, +like Claudine’s husband, has not objected to several variant experiments +on her part, but of her passion for Annhine he is jealous for +the first time. He purchases Annhine’s favors at a fabulous price, +thinking thus to disgust his fiancée with her adored, but instead +she turns against him. When a previous love of Florence’s, realizing +that she too has lost the girl, stabs herself in the presence of the +current pair, Annhine falls ill from shock and leaves Paris. But +some months in Italy and Spain and a romantic interlude with a +young man do not serve to eradicate her memories of Florence, and +the two are finally reunited. Annhine sells her Paris mansion because +it has been the scene of professional liaisons which now seem +shameful to her, and she and Florence plan a “marriage” and a future +of constancy and happiness. But the other courtesan’s prediction +<a id="page-203" class="pagenum" title="203"></a> +proves correct: Annhine suffers a breakdown, and Florence plans +to marry the ever-devoted American suitor in order to support her +love. Annhine, knowing herself doomed, begs the girl to enter +the marriage seriously and give up lesbian practices, but after her +death Florence merely cancels her engagement a second time and +goes her way alone. Interestingly enough, the reviewer in the +<em>Jahrbuch</em> finds the suitor a wholly incredible character, and believes +only an American could be so casually tolerant. Yet the review +of <em>Claudine en Ménage</em> follows immediately in the same number of +the journal, with no editorial comment on the parallel situations +in the two. +</p> + +<p> +In the following year (1902) a novel of less artistry voiced +strong disapproval of lesbianism. Charles Montfont’s <em>Journal d’une +Saphiste</em> is an autobiography which follows Aline from her first +boarding school initiation at the age of ten into her middle twenties. +Her second love, beginning in adolescence, is for the delicate and +feminine Mirette, an orphan who spends vacations in her home. +Since Aline is motherless and her father without suspicion, the two +girls enjoy a protracted affair until the father arranges a marriage +for Aline. Her husband, alerted by her docile frigidity and by +watching her with her friend, tells her she must choose between +them. She chooses Mirette. Her father dies financially ruined, and as +her ex-husband will understandably enough contribute nothing to +her support, she is obliged to keep herself and her love by selling +herself secretly to one of her husband’s friends. Mirette senses the +truth, and, already weakened by passionate excesses, dies in raving +delirium. Aline ends her diary with an exhortation: ‘Women, seek +only the love that all mankind honors, the healthy and honorable, +because fertile, love of men,’ and leaves the document to a friend +as a warning to all girls and schoolmistresses against ‘the extravagant +madness of lesbian love.’ The implication is that she then commits +suicide. The entire book, while using moral tags at beginning and +end to placate the censor, is written with detail bordering on +pornography, and Mirette’s death is as much medical nonsense as +was Annhine’s mentioned above, or Mlle Giraud’s from meningitis. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +As was said earlier, the dozen years before World War I produced +as many variant novels of diverse quality as appeared in the 1890s. +These ranged from Morel’s <em>Sapho de Lesbos</em> and Fauré’s <em>La Derniere +Journée de Sapho</em>, both of which whitewashed their classical heroine; +through Willy’s <em>La Môme Picrate</em>, in which the lesbian motif is +incidental, and de Régnier’s <em>L’Amour et le Plaisir</em>, a clever imitation +<a id="page-204" class="pagenum" title="204"></a> +of eighteenth century farce; to LePage’s <em>Les Fausse Vierges</em> and +Hoche’s <em>Le Vice Mortel</em>, melodramas holding lesbianism responsible +for murder and suicide in improbable circumstances.[<a class="footnote" href="#7-11">11</a>] The only +novel to rate serious consideration in both the <em>Mercure</em> and the +<em>Jahrbuch</em> was Daniel Borys’s <em>Carlotta Noll, Amoureuse et Femme de +Lettres</em> (1905).[<a class="footnote" href="#7-12">12</a>] In this book, the heroine’s passion for a famous +male literary colleague is supplanted by infatuation for the homosexual +Myrtil, who lures her into active lesbianism and introduces +her to the fatal habit of inhaling ether as well. (Annie in <em>Claudine +s’en Va</em> had a similar fondness for chloroform. <em>Sic transeunt</em> modes +in drugs!) When Carlotta is finally abandoned by Myrtil she suffers +general paralysis and ends in an institution. The book’s chief claim +to critical attention seems to have been its prose style, which notably +resembled that of Louÿs. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-12-2"> +Post-War Trends +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +War, as always, checked the flow of fiction on any exotic themes. +But Marcel Proust in his invalid’s ivory tower was steadily working +on <em>À La Recherche du Temps Perdu</em>, which emerged intermittently +from 1918 to 1926. (<em>Swann’s Way</em> had appeared in 1913, but it and +<em>The Guermantes Way</em> are least pertinent to the present study, +variance in the latter being confined to the male liaisons of the Baron +Charlus.) One of the major factors in Proust’s long narrative is +the lesbianism of its narrator’s mistress, Albertine. This is strongly +foreshadowed in <em>Within a Budding Grove</em>; its development provides +much of the narrative suspense in <em>The Captive</em>, and it reaches a +climax in <em>The Sweet Cheat Gone</em>. Proust weaves the lesbian strand +skillfully through his complex but controlled pattern. A sadistic +episode between Mlle Vintueil and a friend figures briefly in the +Combray-childhood section of Marcel’s history (which in the completed +cycle precedes <em>Swann’s Way</em>), but this ties into the later +pattern when Marcel learns that Albertine had, during adolescence, +been associated with this pair of women.[<a class="footnote" href="#7-13">13</a>] Then comes Marcel’s +obsession with the group of bold and athletic girls at the seaside +resort of Balbec and his final fixation upon Albertine who was one of +them;[<a class="footnote" href="#7-14">14</a>] his temporary separation from her while he is absorbed +with the Duchesse de Guermantes and his military cousin, Robert; +his later living with Albertine alone in the family town house and +attempting to cut her off from all her previous feminine associates +save the trusted Andrée,[<a class="footnote" href="#7-15">15</a>] whom he later ironically discovers to have +been her lover;[<a class="footnote" href="#7-16">16</a>] and his final awareness that even his first love, +<a id="page-205" class="pagenum" title="205"></a> +Gilberte Swann, was associated with a nameless girl transvestist +whom he had imagined to be a boy; and that Gilberte had also +known Albertine’s circle.[<a class="footnote" href="#7-17">17</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Critics are now agreed that the tapestry of female variance +which Proust wove with such art was in part a transposition of the +male homosexuality he did not dare to treat so openly. Perceptive +readers detected this at once. Colette in <em>Ces Plaisirs</em> pronounced his +lesbians unconvincing little monsters, and Natalie Clifford Barney +in <em>Aventures de L’Esprit</em> writes of warning him when his early +volumes appeared of the difficulty of translating the experience of +one sex into terms of the other.[<a class="footnote" href="#7-18">18</a>] Even quite naïve readers of his +work in English have been sceptical of Albertine’s freedom to visit +Marcel in his hotel room late at night whenever he sent the servant +Françoise to fetch her, and one could cite many similar inconsistencies +with any known code of etiquette for “respectable” and marriageable +girls in France or elsewhere. Thus Proust’s whole lesbian canvas is +in part invalidated as a social document. But still the types he +portrays, their various interconnections, and most of their psychology, +ring perfectly true for any group of young female sophisticates. He +was certainly well acquainted with many variants of both sexes, and +one need discount his feminine data very little. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +In 1922 Romain Rolland, already famous for his greatest novel, +<em>Jean Christophe</em>, published <em>Annette and Sylvie</em>, the first volume of +his second series, <em>A Soul Enchanted</em>. As <em>Jean Christophe</em> was the +life story of a man, so the later novel presents the emotional history +of a passionate woman, with her ultimate fulfillment in motherhood +and devotion to a son. The first episode is an attachment between the +heroine, Annette, and her illegitimate half-sister, Sylvie. The former +is the daughter of a puritanic and intellectual wife, the latter of a +less cultivated but more charming mistress. The progress of the +girls’ intimacy after both are orphaned in their twenties is unfolded +with keen insight into their contrasting natures, one serious and +violent, the other self-contained and gracefully wise. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Sylvie’s affection was perfectly unrestrained, laughing, +gamin-like, impudent, but at bottom extremely sensible.... +In Annette there dwelt a strange demon of love ... she +suppressed it ... for she was afraid of it; her instinct told +her that others would not understand it....[<a class="footnote" href="#7-19">19</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The two are drawn to one another with an intensity which Annette +<a id="page-206" class="pagenum" title="206"></a> +does not suspect as unusual. Just before its climax their love is +endangered by the passing infatuation of both girls for a summer-resort +Adonis, for Sylvie a mere flirtation, stimulated largely by rivalry, +but for Annette a dangerous flare of passion alight for the first +time in her twenty-five years. Up to this point the girls’ devotion +has expressed itself only in constant companionship, endless confidences, +and free but innocent caresses. In Annette’s town house +they have occupied adjoining rooms. Occasionally Sylvie, a light +sleeper, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +... would get up and go over to the bed where Annette lay +prostrate, with the sheets thrust up in a mountain by her +crossed knees; and ... would fascinatedly watch the dull, +heavy but strangely passionate face of the sleeper who was +drowning in the ocean of her dreams.... She wanted to +waken her abruptly and put her arms about her neck. “Wolf, +are you there?” But she was too sure the wolf was there +to try the experiment. Less pure and more normal than her +elder sister, she played with fire, but she was not burned +by it.[<a class="footnote" href="#7-20">20</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +After Annette’s stormy introduction to heterosexual passion, however—(“That +is love?... I don’t want any more. I’m not made +for it!”)—they spend some weeks together, and now +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +they were ruminating on their fever, their transports ... all +that they had acquired and learned from each other during +the preceding days. For this time they had given themselves +completely, eager to take all and give all.[<a class="footnote" href="#7-21">21</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Their passion fights its way successfully through the phase of their +desiring to dominate and possess one another: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Their intimacy became so necessary to them that they +wondered how they had ever done without it ... but the +two little Rivières felt another, stronger need, that went +deeper, to the very sources of their being: the need of independence.[<a class="footnote" href="#7-22">22</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The episode ends with Sylvie set up as a modiste, and Annette +returning to social life in the intellectual circles her father had +frequented, the two seeing one another less and less often. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-207" class="pagenum" title="207"></a> +The second portion of the book records Annette’s experience +with a highly eligible and attractive man whom she loves deeply. +He and his family, however, hold the conventional view that a wife +should be completely absorbed into her husband’s life and milieu, +and as this threatens her independence she breaks the engagement, +though she is so moved by her lover’s desolation that she gives +herself to him before parting. Unable to yield completely either to +man or woman, she would today be branded as a narcissist by +psychoanalysts, but in the 1920s a major artist could still present +with sympathy such a quest for individual integrity. +</p> + +<p> +Written in the same year and treating the same theme more +obliquely was Victor Margueritte’s <em>La Garçonne</em> (issued in a considerably +expurgated English translation in 1923 as <em>The Bachelor Girl</em>).[<a class="footnote" href="#7-23">23</a>] +Monique Lerbier, a true child of her decade, gives herself to her +fiancé a fortnight before her wedding, not only in token of loving +trust but in an effort to be more his equal in experience and courage. +Then almost on the eve of the ceremony she learns that she is merely +a pawn in a business deal between her father and Lucien, and also +that her fiancé has not given up a mistress of long standing nor does +he intend to do so. Outraged, she breaks with both him and her +family, launches herself as a decorator, and after some years of +struggle achieves conspicuous success. Along with her business career +she leads a complicated personal life with three or four lovers, one +of them a woman, and only after much travail attains emotional +stability and a happy marriage. Among the omissions from the +English translation are the most explicit heterosexual scenes and all +homosexual passages. +</p> + +<p> +In the original French version the latter are of considerable +importance. The first involves Monique and her chum Elizabeth, +both sixteen. “Zabeth” has adored Monique for three years without +daring to reveal her desires, which Monique for her part has never +suspected. Then on a sweltering afternoon the girls slip off their +blouses—one is reminded of Mlle Tantale—and fall to comparing +breasts. Now Monique senses her friend’s excitement and responds, +and only a chance interruption prevents her immediate initiation +into the life of the senses. Nearly a decade later, when Monique has +plunged feverishly into the bohemian life of Paris in the effort to +forget Lucien, she and Zabeth (now married) participate in a +fashionable opium party and at last consummate their long-deferred +caresses.[<a class="footnote" href="#7-24">24</a>] Monique’s important lesbian affair, however, involves a +music-hall star who is still bewitching at fifty, with whom she enjoys +some months’ intimacy. It is this woman’s tactful and knowing +<a id="page-208" class="pagenum" title="208"></a> +advances which release her emotions from the ice in which the +wreck of her engagement has frozen them. The two often dance +together in public, are recognized at once as intimate by the male +and female homosexuals who throng the dancing clubs, and suffer +neither personally nor professionally from the association. It fades +to a predictable end when Monique discovers that men no longer +repel her. Both women then return to heterosexual associations.[<a class="footnote" href="#7-25">25</a>] +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +As in pre-war years, during this third decade variant novels of +all qualities swarmed from the presses: Proust’s <em>Sodome et Gomorrhe</em> +(1921-22), <em>La Prisonnière</em> (1924), and <em>Albertine Disparue</em> (1925); +in 1925 also, Jacques Lacretelle’s <em>La Bonifas</em> and Edward Bourdet’s +<em>La Prisonnière</em>; and scattered over the same and later years, a shower +from the pen of one Charles-Etienne (an inferior disciple of Willy), +and a blast from Max DesVignons as hypocritical as Montfort’s and +La Vaudère’s prototypes of twenty years earlier. +</p> + +<p> +Lacretelle’s novel, translated into English as <em>Marie Bonifas</em> in +1927, is worth special note. Its central figure is a motherless child +of four or five, stocky and ugly, when her father settles in the decaying +Picard hamlet of Vermont. Once thriving, the town has declined +into a dreary aggregate of men like the retired Major Bonifas, +unmarriageable girls, and acid gossips who spy upon each other +behind half-closed shutters. This country backwater, so different +from the urban setting of most variant fiction, is Marie’s lifelong +home. The story covers the half century preceding World War I. +</p> + +<p> +Brought up roughly by her hard drinking parent and an ill-tempered +servant, Marie’s life is uneventful until a gentle country +girl replaces the old shrew and becomes at once mother, playmate, +and tutor. Marie blossoms as her adoring satellite, experiencing +(as early as her tenth year) a sensation she thinks of as “melting” +when Reine caresses her. She develops an antipathy to her father’s +drunken coarseness, and resents both his attentions to Reine and +the bold admiration of soldiers and country louts whom the girl +attracts. This childhood idyll has a shocking end when Reine, +pregnant by the Major, throws herself from a window and dies +within a few hours. The curses of her peasant mother convey the +essence of the tragedy, though no understanding of its details, to +the terrified and prostrated child. A stronger conditioning against +men could hardly be devised. +</p> + +<p> +In the boarding school to which her father consigns her for the +next half dozen years Marie develops her second passion for the +older girl appointed as her “shepherdess.” She remains at school +<a id="page-209" class="pagenum" title="209"></a> +during vacations in order to wander the halls and garden paths +she has walked with Geneviève; she violently hates the latter’s fiancé; +and for another of Geneviève’s young charges she conceives such +jealousy that she attacks and beats her rival and is consequently +expelled. The following years from sixteen to nineteen she spends +in a progressive school near the Swiss frontier. Its principal, a +Parisian, has studied at Lausanne and taught abroad, and her advanced +practice is to allow her girls complete freedom outside the +classroom. Marie’s delight is carpentry in a shop where she spends +all the hours not given to outdoor sports with her English, American +and Scandinavian mates. Conscious now of her masculine build and +lack of charm, she cultivates cynical indifference to romance, but +her instinct rejects the feminism preached by the headmistress and +her friends. Marie’s brief visits to her father are boresome, and it +is only at his death that she realizes the loss of her one tie on earth. +</p> + +<p> +Nostalgia recalls her to Vermont, where she establishes herself +as mistress of the house, refuses the attentions of the physician who +attended her father, and attempts to become a part of the town’s +life. But although the soft femininity of a local aesthete makes a +certain appeal, she is impatient of the woman’s affectations, and she +has too many traits in common with a dowager philanthropist to +make that old aristocrat congenial. Because of her financial contributions +to a charity school, however, Marie is at least tolerated, +and she puts her carpentry to good use in renovating the school’s +quarters unassisted. +</p> + +<p> +Claire, the sewing mistress of the new school, a penniless, timorous +and fragile young woman of twenty, appeals instantly to Marie’s +emotions. Within a matter of weeks they are inseparable. Marie +frightens off a tentative suitor of Claire’s in a fashion which sows +the seeds of town gossip. When Claire succumbs to pneumonia +Marie nurses her through the illness and later takes the girl into +her house as companion. As Marie herself has by now refused a +second proposal, slander runs rife. The isolation in which the +two live is delightful to Marie, but it palls upon Claire so much +that when a previous swain returns from his regiment she welcomes +him. Marie is seized with a jealousy she cannot conceal. The man +taunts her with her reputation, but since she is innocent, even +ignorant of its implications, her reaction is merely one of defiance. +</p> + +<p> +When Claire contracts tuberculosis, Marie takes her to the +Mediterranean coast and acts as housekeeper and nurse to her socially-inferior +beloved. Far from being grateful, the girl puts her benefactrice +<a id="page-210" class="pagenum" title="210"></a> +through some bitter hours, although she does soften before +dying. Returning alone to Vermont, Marie discovers that her eccentric +benevolence has only fed the ugly legends about her until the +girl’s death is credited to their intimacy, and she is completely +ostracized. She responds with contempt, buying strong tobacco +at the village shop, riding astride as no other Vermont woman has +ever done, and laughing in the faces of those who cut her. This +blatant defiance ultimately provokes retaliation from the town’s +riff-raff, friends of Claire’s soldier-suitor, so that her property and +person are no longer safe and she is forced into complete seclusion +with only books for company. +</p> + +<p> +Now, for the first time, she learns the nature of her own difference. +She recognizes that from earliest childhood she has found men +ridiculous and revolting; that women have provided the only interest +in her life; moreover, that +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +there was a certain resemblance between all the faces that +had attracted her; it was the same shade of melancholy, the +same emotion of a disappointed soul.... Whenever she saw +on a woman’s face ... a certain regret, a yearning look ... +she felt a tug at her heart; she wanted to rise up and offer +herself as if she had been created to be the guardian of a +plant too fragile....[<a class="footnote" href="#7-26">26</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Made conscious also of possible physical intimacy between women, +and knowing herself already branded in the town’s eyes as guilty +of it, she goes through a period of acute temptation, and is restrained +from making advances to a shopgirl only by the latter’s murmuring +at a critical moment a phrase that Claire had often used. +</p> + +<p> +It is only when World War I breaks out and Vermont is invaded +by German troops that La Bonifas comes into her own. Then the +disorganized community, abandoned by its craven officials, turns +to the emerging recluse whose administrative ability, dauntless +courage, and considerable cunning save it from complete ruin. +Thereafter, Marie enjoys a position of honor. Her older enemies +have died or fled, her younger persecutors have been drawn off into +the army. Indeed, old enough by then to be the mother of the +younger troops, and having won their respect, she feels only warm +admiration for their strength. “Marie Bonifas had made her peace +with men.” She is not, however, essentially altered even by this +change in one of her basic attitudes. Her interest still centers about +young girls and women. A daughter of her one-time “shepherdess” +<a id="page-211" class="pagenum" title="211"></a> +is now her own goddaughter, and Marie frequently visits her old +school at the edge of town. The final scene in her drama occurs +at a prize-giving fête at that institution when Marie, occupying a +seat of honor, watches a dance-pageant presented by the students. +At the sight of all this young beauty costumed with the freedom +of the Twenties, and at the sound of a girl soloist rendering with +fervor the lament from Gluck’s <em>Orpheus</em>, the famous woman dissolves +in a passion of tears. It is the final irony of her life that one +sympathetic observer should whisper to another that she must be +thinking of a dead lover. +</p> + +<p> +Exclusively variant women are rare in French fiction, and this +long and careful study of one is easily the best of its sort the +country has produced. Lacretelle has neither romanticized his heroine +nor taken sides in the heredity-environment dispute. Both innate +masculine traits and early conditioning start Marie on her variant +way, and her later social persecution is due equally to her own +temperament and to the town’s spiteful prejudice. This same temperament +saves her from succumbing intellectually to feminism or to +the specious medical lore on variance which she reads. She finds +outlet for its strength only as the war provides her with a man’s +job to do. As far as simple realism and dispassionate tolerance are +concerned, <em>La Bonifas</em> has scarcely been bettered in any language. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing could offer a sharper contrast than Bourdet’s drama, +<em>La Prisonnière</em> (1925), which borrowed its title straight from Proust’s +novel of the preceding year. Within eight months of its presentation +at the Théâtre Fémina in Paris it was playing also in Berlin, Vienna, +Budapest, and New York. The germ of the play is said to have been +its author’s encounter during the war with a fellow officer who was +deliberately seeking death as escape from domestic tragedy,[<a class="footnote" href="#7-27">27</a>] and +the key character is this man’s wife, a lesbian who never appears on +the stage. The heroine is a girl of twenty whom the older woman has +captivated. As the play opens young Irene is struggling to remain +in Paris against her father’s efforts to take her with him to Rome, +where he is assigned to a diplomatic post. A widower, he has been +accompanied on other missions by his mistress, as both his daughters +know, but discretion dictates a more conventional ménage in Rome. +When in desperation Irene pleads an impending betrothal as reason +for her wishing not to leave Paris, her dictatorial parent takes matters +in hand and in short order has made the pretended excuse a reality. +So Irene must cope also with Jacques, the hitherto unsuccessful suitor +(at that time happy with a mistress who hoped one day to be his +wife). Jacques suspects that an old school friend, d’Aiguines, is +<a id="page-212" class="pagenum" title="212"></a> +Irene’s lover and the real reason for her staying in Paris, but when +he approaches the latter, now married, he learns that it is Mme. +d’Aiguines who is the object of Irene’s absorbing passion. His first +reaction is one of relief, but the unhappy husband assures him that +the case is much more serious than if it were a matter of another man. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Understand this: they are not for us.... Under cover +of friendship a woman can enter any household ... she can +poison and pillage everything before the man whose home +she destroys is even aware of what’s happening to him. When +he finally realizes ... it’s too late—he is alone! Alone in the +face of a secret alliance of two beings who understand one +another because they’re alike ... because they’re of a different +planet than he, the stranger, the enemy!... <em>Get out</em> while +you still have strength to do it![<a class="footnote" href="#7-28">28</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +At this point Irene begs Jacques to marry her or even to take +her as mistress. She has been invited on a long cruise with Mme. +d’Aiguines and knows that to go will mean her complete ruin. +Whether her adored is cruel, or whether Irene fears social ostracism, +is never clear—she merely implores her fiancé to “save” her. “It’s like +a prison to which I must return captive, despite myself.” As a result +Jacques makes her his wife, in spite of his friend’s warning and his +own recognition of the other man’s wretchedness and premature aging. +The couple spend a year away from Paris, but with their return the +struggle begins anew. Irene has been a devoted wife and has severed +all connections with her former love, but she has been able to feel +no passion for her husband, and when an appeal comes from Mme. +d’Aiguines, who is ill, Irene returns helplessly to the old bondage. +As for Jacques, he is fortunate enough to discover his former mistress +still unattached, and as she responds to his kisses he says merely, +“How beautiful!! A <em>woman</em>!” +</p> + +<p> +Despite the hints above that Irene’s captivity is purely physical +and that she would like to escape it, all her symptoms throughout +the play are those of romantic and imaginative love. Every moment +apart from her friend is misery, and the violets she constantly +receives become a romantic fetish. Bourdet has been skillful in +portraying the effect on a number of persons of the conflict engendered +in Irene by a love she feels to be guilty. But her own actual feeling +for and relation with Mme. d’Aiguines are never made clear. It is, +of course, easy to see why this play, even with such evasion of a +major psychological issue, swept the western world while the superior +<a id="page-213" class="pagenum" title="213"></a> +efforts of Rolland and Lacretelle raised only slight critical ripples. +Chiefly, it condemned lesbianism. But also Bourdet exhibited sheer +inspiration in avoiding the direct presentation of a lesbian on the +stage. For it is difficult to find an artistic middle ground between +the unconvincing monster of hack writers and a character perhaps +too sympathetic to please the strait-laced. Later his results will +be compared with other plays appearing on the American stage. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +A very few words will do justice to the inferior novels referred +to above. Charles-Etienne’s <em>Les Désexuées</em> is concerned chiefly with +male homosexuality, but a subsidiary plot is woven about Josette, +childhood companion of one of the men, who, through acting in a +lesbian drama, is drawn into an affair with the much younger ingenue. +This ‘pitiful child’ adores her brilliant colleague until Josette +gives way to passion, whereupon the girl feels she is being merely +used as emotional outlet, and leaves the cast. Subsequent volumes, +<em>Notre Dame de Lesbos</em> and <em>Léon dit Léonie</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#7-29">29</a>] include liaisons between +Josette and women attracted to her by her success in the dramatic +role of Sappho, as well as a variety of other lesbians’ affairs. <em>La Bouche +Fardée</em> centers about Gisèle, who enjoys a brief affair with her uncle +and is pursued by both his son and his daughter, but her secret +love is the nephew Claude, like herself an orphan, whom her uncle +has brought home from Jamaica and to whom he is closely bound. +In the end it appears that Claude is actually a girl, and she and +Gisèle have one ecstatic night together, (though both are under +suspicion of having murdered the uncle), before Claude is forced +to flee back to the West Indies alone. Gisèle drifts through subsequent +volumes picturesquely inconsolable. The situation here constitutes +a triumph for lesbianism—a girl with satisfactory heterosexual experience +still prefers to all other men the one who proves a woman +in disguise. Of <em>Inassouvie</em> the main figure is a dominating woman +ruthlessly bent upon an operatic career. Idol of the day school +where she teaches singing, she holds “orgies” in her luxurious +apartment with favorite pupils. The one girl who genuinely loves +her is a fifteen-year-old with a tragic family background. The violence +of this child’s affair with Adriane wrecks her fragile health, whereupon +her brother and a friend use stolen snapshots of an orgy to +break up Adriane’s engagement and injure her musical career. In the +end, however, Adriane triumphs by trapping the two boys in a +situation which compromises them as homosexuals, and she also +takes violent revenge upon the elderly fiancé and his son who have +repudiated her. In temperament she is related to Rachilde’s masculine +<a id="page-214" class="pagenum" title="214"></a> +heroines, and even more closely to the central figure of James Gibbons +Huneker’s <em>Painted Veils</em>, first privately printed in English seven +years earlier. The variety of Charles-Etienne’s lesbians and their +experiences are reminiscent of Peladan, but he pretends to no high +purpose, and indeed, the echoes in his work from known predecessors +(Rachilde, Willy etc.) are sufficient to make one suspect synthetic +inspiration from still others less familiar. +</p> + +<p> +The nadir of quality was touched in Des Vignon’s <em>Plaisirs +Troublants</em>, which like <em>Le Journal d’une Saphiste</em> pretended to attack +lesbianism while including more scandalous detail than novels +which tolerated it. This tale pictures the encounter in their middle-twenties +of two friends who have known each other in public school, +without dormitory intimacies. The more masculine is happily married, +save that her husband is too absorbed in business to satisfy her. +The other is a typist and the mistress of one of her employers whom +she hopes to marry. The chance meeting ignites an infatuation which +circumstances allow to flame for a week unchecked, and the consequences +are disastrous. Erotic reveries leave Marceline unable to work +and estrange her from her lover. Germaine is roused to make such +excessive sexual demands on her husband and her maid that both fall +ill. Marceline dies of tuberculosis; Germaine is saved by a cliterectomy +and then childbearing. The ostensible theme of the book is the +criminal waste in any sexual exercise save for the purpose of procreation, +but the author’s real interest, quite as obviously as Montfort’s, is +in sales, not reform. +</p> + +<p> +This wave of homosexual fiction during the Twenties was heavy +enough that a new periodical, <em>Marges</em>, circulated a questionnaire on +the subject in 1926, soliciting ‘a certain number’ of current authors’ +opinions on the social significance and moral effects of the abundant +crop. If such established writers as Proust, Rolland and Colette were +approached, they failed to reply. The thirty-odd answers varied +from a Catholic’s terse quotation of St. Paul: “Let not the word +be spoken among you,” to essays of several pages defending homosexuality +as a recognized segment of human experience and a +legitimate subject for literature. Everything from war, Freud, and +athletics to decadence, avarice, and original sin, was blamed for the +fictional epidemic. Suggested methods of combating it ranged from +ignoring variant fiction in all review sheets to imprisoning and +whipping its authors or committing them to asylums. The summarizing +editor, throwing up his hands, suggested that some other +magazine might like to attack the prevalence of heterosexual activity +in current literature and devise some means of combating that![<a class="footnote" href="#7-30">30</a>] +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-215" class="pagenum" title="215"></a> +While chance and not the <em>Marges’</em> effort was probably responsible, +review sheets actually did soon feature less variant fiction than before. +For reasons quite unrelated to the dispute, Rachilde retired from +the staff of the <em>Mercure de France</em> and Hirschfeld’s <em>Jahrbuch</em> died, +both before the end of the decade, and no equally serviceable records +of variant titles replaced them. Therefore, most of the dozen French +novels of the 1930s cited here or there as significant must pass +without comment, since neither the volumes themselves nor adequate +notes upon them have been accessible. Since the end of World War I +much French fiction has appeared in English translation almost +simultaneously with its home publication, and such titles will be +left for consideration along with our own contemporary products. +Two titles, however, must be mentioned here, for one, Suzanne +Roland-Manuel’s <em>Le Trille du Diable</em>, has not been translated, and +the other, André Gide’s <em>Geneviève</em>, though published in France in +1936, did not come out in English until 1950. +</p> + +<p> +In 1929 Gide’s <em>School for Wives</em> showed the effect upon a submissive +but intelligent girl of a love match with a man incapable of +the least selflessness or intellectual honesty. A first sequel, <em>Robert</em> +(1930), presented the husband’s view of the marriage and of his +own undeserved suffering. The second, <em>Geneviève</em>, gave the daughter’s +autobiography through adolescence. Geneviève begins her story at +about fifteen with her infatuation for a schoolmate. Sara is the +daughter of an artist and aspires to a stage career for which she +appears well fitted. Geneviève’s father sharply opposes the friendship +because of Sara’s bohemian background. Her mother, as always, stands +between her daughter and her husband’s dictatorial harshness, although +her own approval of Sara’s influence is not unqualified. Sara +herself is emotionally unmoved, enjoying chiefly her domination of +Geneviève and another girl whom she includes in a “secret society,” +bound by distinctly feministic vows. The affair reaches its climax when +Sara’s father exhibits a nude study, the face concealed by a hand +mirror, for which the journals announce that his daughter was the +model. Geneviève’s already half-wakened senses catch fire from this +revelation of her beloved’s beauty, and she becomes ill with excitement +and fury when her younger brother steals from her a magazine +reproduction of the canvas. +</p> + +<p> +Both mother and father are for once agreed that the association +with Sara must be terminated, and Geneviève is withdrawn from +her school and tutored by friends of the family. In the woman tutor +she takes an intellectual interest only, for she is too closely bound +to her mother to feel emotion for another woman of the same age. +<a id="page-216" class="pagenum" title="216"></a> +Her reaction to the man, a married physician, is more complex. She +is not conscious of sexual attraction, is in fact repelled by the idea of +sex and marriage, largely from observing her parents’ experience. She +has also absorbed from Sara (an illegitimate child) a contempt for the +conventions. As a feministic declaration of independence—on the conscious +level—she asks her mentor to give her a child by him which +will then be wholly hers to bring up. The good doctor, recognizing +the immaturity and relative impersonality of her feeling for him, +contrives to remain detached, fatherly, and helpful. Geneviève’s +mother confesses to her later that she herself at a particularly trying +stage of her unhappy marriage, was for a time in love with the doctor, +and one infers the profundity of the daughter’s identification with her +from the fact that the girl subconsciously turned to the same man. +</p> + +<p> +Roland-Manuel’s <em>Le Trille du Diable</em> (1946) is reminiscent of +Lacretelle’s <em>La Bonifas</em> in that its setting is a declining village and +its heroine’s history is traced from about 1870 until after the first +World War. But Florence Benoit, unlike Marie Bonifas, is a ruthless +egotist who never serves anyone’s interest but her own. Spoiled +daughter of a pretentious speculator, she anticipates wealth and a +brilliant marriage as her due, and when M. Benoit dies impoverished +she makes life a veritable hell for her mother and younger brother. +She then steals a mediocre but kindly man from his fiancée and +leads him much the same sort of life, later attempting also to dominate +and possess her only child, a son sufficiently like her to defy her +in the end. +</p> + +<p> +Her earliest conquest is Augustine Virot, daughter of her father’s +bookkeeper, a tall not too attractive girl with whom her association +is innocent until after their hearing a charity concert in the neighboring +city of Santerre. On this occasion Florence, then about fourteen, +conceives a romantic infatuation for the violinist Soline, largely under +the spell of his spectacularly brilliant encore, <em>Le Trille du Diable</em>. +Although Florence does not see Soline again until she is past middle +age, she nurses an undying passion for him which leads her into all +manner of absurdities and against which all subsequent emotion +seems pallid. As the title of the novel indicates, the author intends +the meretricious musical number and its aftermath to epitomize an +unwholesome flight from reality. +</p> + +<p> +For several years after this fateful concert the two girls divert +themselves by enacting love scenes between Florence and Soline, the +latter impersonated by Augustine. Their caresses, progressively more +intimate, finally become so necessary to both that, when Augustine +enters normal school in Santerre, Florence fabricates excuses for visiting +<a id="page-217" class="pagenum" title="217"></a> +her there every week. To achieve privacy for their clandestine +meetings she also invents elaborate lies which enable them to engage +a succession of cheap hotel rooms for the afternoon, and so to play +out their erotic ‘Soline’ improvisations without hindrance. The game +loses interest for Florence as soon as she begins her conscienceless +gamble for a husband, but she cannot let Augustine escape her, and +she spoils the unhappy girl’s first engagement to a rather passive man +by writing him slanderous anonymous letters, the same device as +she has already employed to capture her own husband. +</p> + +<p> +As for Augustine, the early playing of a male role plus the +humiliation of her engagement’s unexplained ending turn her from +any thought of marriage until middle age, when after a dreary stretch +of elementary teaching, she finally accepts, <em>faute de mieux</em>, one of the +town’s eccentrics at whom she had laughed as a girl. +</p> + +<p> +As has been stated, the three or four subsequent variant French +titles, all of which appeared in English within a year after their +original publication, will be discussed with fiction in English. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-13"> +<a id="page-218" class="pagenum" title="218"></a> +<span class="line1">CHAPTER VIII.</span><br> +<span class="line2">FICTION IN GERMANY</span> +</h2> + +</div> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-13-1"> +Before 1914 +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Insofar as secondhand information is to be trusted, it appears that +female variance figured but twice in German fiction before the late +1890s. Lewandowski’s <em>Das Sexualproblem in der modernen Literatur und +Kunst ... seit 1800</em> lists Johannes Flach’s <em>Sappho: Griechische Novelle</em> +(1886) under the heading of homosexual literature without further +comment. The <em>Jahrbuch</em> during 1907 cited a passage from a romantic +novel of the 1820’s, Ernst Wagner’s <em>Isidora</em>, which describes the same +sort of innocent play between a princess and her maid-in-waiting +as Lamartine pictured in “Regina,” with the difference that the +bond between Wagner’s two girls appears wholly physical.[<a class="footnote" href="#8-1">1</a>] As Lewandowski’s +criterion for inclusion seems to have been overt sexual +action, he may have omitted subtler studies of variance; and Hirschfeld’s +frankly biased journal was not too much concerned with discreditable +bisexual records. Therefore it is possible that nineteenth-century +German novels comparable to Balzac’s <em>Seraphitus-Seraphita</em> +or <em>Cousine Bette</em> were passed over as negligible. But when one recalls +the emptiness of the record in English during the same period, and +remembers that in the matter of feminine mores Germany resembled +Victorian England rather than France, any exhaustive reading of +German fiction promises rewards incommensurate with the labor +involved. +</p> + +<p> +Interest in female variance was, however, already alive when +Hirschfeld’s efforts in 1896 began to encourage its literary expression, +as evidenced by the sudden outburst of fiction as well as poetry during +the following decade. In 1897, Gabriele Reuter, a writer of ability, +published a novel of autobiographical pattern, <em>Aus guter Familie</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#8-2">2</a>] +which included among its heroine’s early experiences a variant, +<a id="page-219" class="pagenum" title="219"></a> +possibly lesbian, attachment—the <em>Jahrbuch’s</em> note does not specify. +In 1900 Elisabeth Dauthendey produced <em>Vom neuen Weib und seiner +Sittlichkeit</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#8-3">3</a>] semi-narrative sketches like Colette’s in <em>Ces Plaisirs</em>. +The “New Woman’s” ideal is a life of quiet intimacy with other +women, free of the “brutal” relations with men which dull appreciation +of more delicate emotional nuances. An interlude with a tribade, a +‘confident, wise, almost manly’ individual, at first promises fulfillment +of all the writer’s hopes. But a few amorous nights force her to recognize +that, like a man, this woman cannot distinguish between crude sex +and love. In the same year von Seydlitz used a case history from the +1840s—possibly from the same source as Kaspar’s <em>Klinische Novellen</em>—as +the basis for <em>Pierre’s Ehe: Psychologische Probleme</em>.[<a class="footnote" href="#8-4">4</a>] Its hero +is unfortunate enough to love an odd, hard, masculine girl who finally +succumbs to his persistence, but is unable to cooperate sexually, and +presently the partners find themselves in love with the same woman. +In the course of a jealous brawl Pierre believes he has killed his +wife; he makes a successful escape into the merchant marine and +dies in Saigon without learning that he is innocent of manslaughter. +The wife, now a confirmed transvestist, lives out her life as a valet +without further emotional complication. +</p> + +<p> +In 1900 also, Alfred Meebold included a tragic variant novelette, +“Dr. Erna Redens Thorheit und Erkenntnis,”[<a class="footnote" href="#8-5">5</a>] in the volume <em>Allerhand +Volk</em>. The larger portion of the tale presents Dr. Erna’s unhappy +heterosexual affair with a fellow medical student. To recover from +her consequent depression she travels in Italy with an artist, Lucie, +who has been her particularly warm and eager confidante. The latter +is a homosexual, but she manages to conceal the nature of her +feelings until the two meet another woman, an artist long acquainted +with Lucie. In the course of a quarrel this woman reveals Lucie’s +secret. Although Dr. Erna has now recovered from her heterosexual +disappointment and exhibits a sympathetic understanding of Lucie’s +emotion, she is unable to return it in kind, and in despondency Lucie +kills herself. Dr. Erna then returns to Germany full of crusading +zeal against those who persecute homosexuals. This bears slight but +sufficient resemblance to Borys’s later <em>Carlotta Noll</em> in French to +suggest that both may have been based on a single known episode, +or that the one influenced the other. The German version, be it noted, +is by far the more sympathetic. +</p> + +<p> +In 1901 a Danish novel by O. W. Møller was translated under +the German title <em>Wer kann dafür?</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#8-6">6</a>] This traces the efforts of a +German officer’s daughter to overcome a lesbian attraction and marry +a young astronomer in the Heidelberg Observatory. She becomes +<a id="page-220" class="pagenum" title="220"></a> +deeply attached to her suitor but cannot respond physically; and so +they part, although because of her masculine temperament and interests +they are much closer in spirit than most married couples. Involving +little dramatic action, this psychological study seems to have been +of as high quality as Reuter’s <em>Aus guter Familie</em>. In contrast, August +Niemann’s <em>Zwei Frauen</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#8-7">7</a>] involves an infatuation between a married +woman and the brilliant music student whom her husband, head of +a conservatory, has accepted as a pupil despite her apprehensive +protests. The danger she foresaw materializes, and from there on +the story becomes what the reviewer calls ‘an imitation of Belot’s +<em>Mlle Giraud</em> which is hardly a credit to German letters.’ +</p> + +<p> +Much more interesting, in view of its author’s subsequent reputation, +was Jacob Wassermann’s <em>Geschichte der jungen Renate Fuchs</em> +(1900), and it is a matter of regret that this volume, though it ran +to several editions, has proved inaccessible. The <em>Jahrbuch’s</em> review +mentions a lesbian affair between two minor characters, a university +student of political economy and the daughter of ‘one of Europe’s +most famous courtesans.’[<a class="footnote" href="#8-8">8</a>] A puritanic critic later describes the heroine +herself as “wading through all manner of filth,”[<a class="footnote" href="#8-9">9</a>] but makes no reference +to homosexual experience either on her part or anyone’s else. +</p> + +<p> +The year 1903 saw the publication of three lesbian titles. In Maria +Eichhorn’s <em>Fräulein Don Juan</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#8-10">10</a>] the heroine’s strong and domineering +sensual nature is roused in adolescence by homosexual affairs, but she +later knows many men and never returns to her lesbian practices. +Maria Janitschek’s “Neue Erziehung und alte Moral”[<a class="footnote" href="#8-11">11</a>] in <em>Die neue +Eva</em> is the story of an orphan girl raised among seven foster brothers +as one of them and without much supervision, so that she is enlightened +early about matters of sex. At puberty she is abruptly +cautioned by her foster mother against looseness with men and given +a fearful picture of the fate of the unmarried mother. The resulting +emotional conflict is severe, but at sixteen, when she shares her +room and bed with a charming feminine guest, ‘at last in Agathe’s +arms Seffi found a lovely peace.’ Upon being harshly berated for this +innocent-seeming play, she defies authority. ‘It is your own upbringing +that has driven me into the arms of my friend—now leave me there!’ +</p> + +<p> +An inferior <em>Sind es Frauen?</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#8-12">12</a>] by Aimée Duc pictures a large +group of openly lesbian women in a German university town. Most +of them are past the teens and slightly reminiscent of Peladan’s +group centered about the Russian Simzerla, especially in that they +spend much time discussing all aspects of sexual psychology. Most +of them are foreigners—there seems to be a tendency in second-rate +homosexual fiction to saddle some other country than the author’s +<a id="page-221" class="pagenum" title="221"></a> +own with the origin of lesbian characters. The leader of this group +is Minotschka Fernandoff, a Russian ‘just released from three years +of marriage,’ after having discovered that in sexual relations she +needs to play the man. There is also Annie who has “escaped” +marriage after only six months, Bertha Cohn whose beloved “Fritz” +has moved in the other direction, getting engaged and finding she +prefers a male lover, and Dr. Tatjana, mature and wise in the new +medical psychology. And last, living with Minotschka, is a Polish +music student, Countess Marta Kinzey, on whose account the Russian +girl has come to Germany. The plot proceeds through a separation +between Marta and Minotschka, during which the latter resists the +advances of an actress and the former enters into a marriage of +diplomatic necessity with a man who ‘knows all about her’ and +is her husband in name only. In the end after much painful misunderstanding +the two are reunited, to find that each has been faithful +to the other. This is one of the volumes about which the <em>Jahrbuch’s</em> +reviewer was most enthusiastic from a psychological viewpoint. +</p> + +<p> +In 1901 <em>Weiberbeute</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#8-13">13</a>] was published in Budapest over the ambiguous +pseudonym, Luz Frauman, and later it was considered +worthy of a 4,000-word summary in Magnus Hirschfeld’s <em>Die Transvestiten</em>. +Here transvestism plays a significant role for the first time +since Rachilde’s novels, to the first of which this bears considerable +resemblance. As in <em>Monsieur Vénus</em>, double inversion of sexual roles +somewhat blurs the homosexual aspect; however, the period during +which both significant characters are living as women justifies its +inclusion here. Nana, an athletic but seductive girl reminiscent of +Maupin, marries from cool expedience the wealthiest and most +enslaved of her admirers. Thereby she incurs the implacable hatred +of his son, a delicate boy ‘with the face of a Japanese girl,’ who lays +an idolized mother’s death to his father’s dalliance with Nana. The +father would ship his son to Australia, but Nana offers an alternative. +She is skilled in hypnotism; she will throw the boy into a trance, +and by suggestion will eradicate all memory, not only of his hatred +but of his sex, leaving him convinced that he is a girl. ‘Conviction +is the very essence of a human being,’ she says, ‘and so shapes growth +that after this the boy’s male development will be arrested and he +will be virtually a woman.’ +</p> + +<p> +This fantastic plan is carried through, and for three years the +changeling, dressed as a girl, is Nana’s passionate adorer. In the +meantime Nana has borne her husband a son who will be his heir +unless the older boy is restored to his proper status. This dilemma +naturally troubles the father and when in addition his wife’s charming +<a id="page-222" class="pagenum" title="222"></a> +‘companion’ is demanded in marriage, he decides the mummery has +gone far enough. But he reckons without Nana. Exerting her hypnotic +powers now upon him, she moves him to shoot himself, inherits his +fortune, consigns her own son to a boarding school, and sets out upon +a world tour with her ‘girl companion.’ In love with the latter from +the outset, she now considers releasing him from the hypnotic spell +so that they can marry, but she fears a return of his former antagonism, +and, in view of her own seniority, she decides to assume the man’s +role herself. Always with the aid of hypnotism she achieves this end, +marries her stepson, and sets up a household. Presently the desire for +a child seizes the couple. Nana is for adoption but the ‘wife’ objects. +And now, as Hirschfeld says, ‘comes a climax of fantasy so grotesque +that the imagination conceiving it must really have been warped.’ +Through her convenient powers Nana induces illusory pregnancy in +the “wife,” bears the child herself, and contrives to get it into the +“mother’s” arms at the correct psychological and physical moment. +</p> + +<p> +But now an unforeseen complication develops. The “wife” hails +the son as a girl. The necessity for concealing the child’s sex from +everyone throughout its childhood puts a grave strain on Nana, but +her ingenuity is equal to the task, and the family enjoys an uncommonly +happy life for a matter of twenty years. When illness overtakes +Nana she refuses a physician, and only on her deathbed pours +out the truth to her “wife.” Though the hypnotic spell is now +broken, the latter’s mental “set” is so completely established that he +takes the story for mere delirious babbling. The author, Hirschfeld +assures us, solves the two survivors’ problem as ingeniously as he +contrived it, though it is difficult to imagine how. Aside from the +stepson’s years of subjective lesbianism before marriage, the novel’s +most noteworthy point is its presentation of hypnotism as able to +effect complete endocrine change, an exaggerated foreshadowing of +modern psychosomatic theory, and quite opposed to the then-popular +hereditary hypothesis. +</p> + +<p> +The remaining handful of minor novels before 1910 are of the +sort which invariably appear upon a theme already proved profitable. +<em>Urningsliebe</em>, by “O. Liebetreu”[<a class="footnote" href="#8-14">14</a>] is a masochistic tale of a girl who +gives herself, her strength, and her money to a succession of five +or six loves, and ends in prison serving a three year sentence for an +offense committed by the last of them, in order to save her friend’s +good name. Erich Mühsam’s <em>Psychologie der Erbtante</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#8-15">15</a>] is a half-satiric +tragedy of a masculine woman of middle age, rather like Bonifas, +who commits suicide because of a mysterious ‘unlucky love’ (supposedly +heterosexual), in order to leave all her property to the girl +<a id="page-223" class="pagenum" title="223"></a> +with whom she had no luck. ‘Theodor’ (probably Anna) Rüling’s +“Rätselhaft,”[<a class="footnote" href="#8-16">16</a>] one of three novelettes in her <em>Welcher unter Euch +ohne Sünde ist</em>, also ends with a suicide. It is the story of a girl whose +family has discovered her lesbian relations with a beloved friend +and has separated the pair. <em>Dreiunddreissig Scheusale</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#8-17">17</a>] published +first in Leningrad (then, of course, St. Petersburg), was the work +of a Russian actress, Annibal Sinowjewa. In it, a lesbian woman +has lived for some time with a younger girl in a relation so perfect +that she never doubts its permanence, and from sheer pride in her +beloved’s beauty she encourages the girl to model for a life class +of thirty-three men. The girl, as thoroughly schooled in erotic +virtuosity as was the <em>Girl with the Golden Eyes</em>, becomes the common +mistress of the artist group and never returns to her feminine +lover. (This was not the sole, or even the first, Russian notice of +feminine variance. Tolstoi had skirted it earlier in <em>Anna Karenina</em> +with the brief emotional flame lit in Kitty by Varenka, and Dostoievsky +came a step closer in <em>A Friend of the Family</em>, with the mutual +attraction between Nyelochka and her friend. Both of these incidents +occurred in late adolescence.) +</p> + +<p> +During this same decade two major artists produced a series of +works all of which are still freely available in German, and one, +at least, in English. The symbolists in France did not touch upon +female variance, unless one thinks of <em>Monsieur Vénus</em>, <em>Méphistophéla</em>, +or <em>La Gynandre</em> as distantly related to symbolism, but these two men +included the theme in spreading canvases of definitely symbolic +style. +</p> + +<p> +The first is the work of Heinrich Mann, older brother of the more +famous Thomas. His <em>Die Göttinnen</em> (1902-03) is <a id="corr-98"></a>a trilogy within whose +epic sweep he attempts to include every experience open to a woman +of his time. Its subtitle is “Die drei Romane der Herzogin von Assy: +Diana; Minerva; Venus.” But it is not under the aegis of Diana, as one +might imagine, that the countess meets lesbian experience. The first +volume (the only one available in English) is concerned with her +devotion to the cause of Freedom, not for women, but political freedom +for all oppressed people. Under the spell of Minerva in the +second book her interest is turned to the arts, including letters. +Though these two works are far from empty of dramatic emotional +episodes, it is Venus who leads the countess at last to seek every +possible form of love. After experience with several widely different +male lovers, the most satisfying of whom is a younger man who ‘thinks +like her,’ she returns to her mansion in Naples and takes ‘the one +lover not yet tried—the crowd.’ +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-224" class="pagenum" title="224"></a> +She fills her house with beautiful young people in lieu of canvases +and statues. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +‘An unbroken stream of bodies which promised pleasure +passed through her bedroom—slim delicate bodies and athletic, +well-trained ones; the yielding firmness of girls and the +delicate bones and melting flesh of children. The fisherman +from Santa Lucia followed the clubman. The warm golden +peasant girl with coarse heavy brows above her quiet eyes +left the impress of her robust figure on the cushions where +[a titled beauty] had lain; and she with her cold perfection +interrupted the convulsive ecstasy of [another girl’s] first +passion of surrender and abandon.’[<a class="footnote" href="#8-18">18</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +When this comparatively tame promiscuity palls, the countess turns +to sadism. Though never indulging actively herself, she provokes +frenzied jealousy among her own and others’ lovers, and the resulting +violence would equal, were it not merely suggested rather than +amplified, any recorded by “the divine marquis.” After all this, +by way of final experiment, the countess has staged for herself alone, +and at enormous cost, a lesbian bout between two expert performers, +girls already so spent with depravity that their flesh is ‘like a no +longer fresh glove over a masterfully sculptured hand,’ At the end +of their act they collapse, deeply unconscious, but the countess +merely gazes down at them with weary disillusion. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +‘“Is this all? Or have these sweet cheats, ripest of the lot, +withheld some final sweetness? Alas, this fruit is like all the +others. I myself shall never pluck it, and I would its taste +were already gone from my lips.”’[<a class="footnote" href="#8-19">19</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The chief significance of this episode is its serving as climax to all +that has gone before, evidently representing for the author the +ultimate depths of sexual depravity. +</p> + +<p> +The second major German author is Frank Wedekind, who, +like Balzac, presents three sharply contrasting pictures of female +variance. Comparable in innocence to <em>Seraphitus-Seraphita</em> is the +devotion in <em>Mine-ha-ha</em> (1909) of a child dancer to her ballet +mistress, a woman in the late twenties, oriental in coloring, boyish +of build, and military in the ruthlessness of her discipline. For +sheer magic in imparting the illusion of reality to fantastic circumstances +this novelette has few equals, but attention must be +confined here to its variant aspects. For a half-dozen years, between +<a id="page-225" class="pagenum" title="225"></a> +seven and fourteen, Hidalla lives only for her fortnightly ballet +lessons, and the intervening days pass in a maze of gruelling practice +and bemused reverie. The latter, however, is not sexual. When Hidalla +reaches the age—about eleven—for nightly appearance with the +ballet troupe, objective self-expression partially relieves the intensity +of her introverted emotion. As soon as she leaves the conventual +rigors of the school for life as an élite demi-mondaine her outlook +is completely altered. Although she feels no love for her wealthy +male protector, she watches—at the age of perhaps sixteen—from +his loge in the great municipal opera house while her former idol +dances starring roles, and feels only a reminiscent warmth, as much +for her own remembered obsession as for its one-time object. +</p> + +<p> +She skirts the edge of two other experiences which serve to +define the stringent ban upon lesbian intimacies in the training +school. In pre-adolescence she feels a transient tenderness for a companion, +but the latter is terrified at a half-proferred kiss during +a twilight stroll. Does Hidalla not know the penalty for “going with” +another girl? The sour and hideous servants who do the dormitory +housework are there because in their training days they “went with” +girls, thereby ruining forever their chances in that mysterious but +alluring world beyond the gates into which the school’s finished +products are released—though neither of the children has any idea +what their place in it is to be. Hidalla’s second attraction is to one +of the younger children whom she sees enter the school at seven as +she did, shy and bewildered, and (like Claudine) she feels for this +reflection of her earlier self a maternal as well as passionate love. +She is barely adolescent at the time, but the love-starved life of +these orphans whose existence is bounded by the Spartan walls of +the school makes some such overflow of the heart inevitable. The +small hours of a night that she spends crouched at the foot of the +little girl’s bed, struggling with the hunger to go closer, restrained +only by the knowledge that to do so may mean the child’s ruin, +make a scene of delicate intensity equalling any in literature. +</p> + +<p> +Wedekind’s second variant woman is the tailored and monocled +English countess slavishly bound to Lulu, central figure of his +symbolic dramas, <em>Earth Spirit</em> and <em>Pandora’s Box</em>. Lulu represents +amoral, or, one might say, purely biological Woman. She is irresistible +to the male, and knowledge of her brings brief ecstasy and lasting +devastation. But she is as much victim of the force within her as +are the men she enslaves. She is driven to murder in self-defense; +then, fleeing the law in more and more desperate circumstances, she +herself is murdered by an underworld wretch modeled upon Jack +<a id="page-226" class="pagenum" title="226"></a> +the Ripper. The English woman alone of all her lovers goes unrewarded +throughout years of abject devotion, for Lulu is too completely +Woman to feel any response save to Man. The countess not +only exhausts her fortune in the service of her beloved, but at one +point voluntarily contracts cholera so that she can enter the hospital +where Lulu is hiding from justice; thus permitting Lulu to escape +by assuming her clothing and identity. (It could be that the plot of +the later <em>Urningsliebe</em> had its germ in this devotion.) In the end, +realizing that Lulu has always wilfully used her, the countess attempts +suicide, but Lulu feels neither pity nor compunction. She tells Jack—the +man who finally kills them both—that the countess is her sister +and insane, but his sophisticated intuition suggests the truth. He +strokes the Englishwoman’s head and mutters ‘Poor creature,’ quite +the only sympathy she has ever received. It does not, however, prevent +Jack’s knifing her when she attempts to defend Lulu against him. +Just before this happens, in a solitary monologue, the countess says: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +‘I am not a man, my body has nothing in common with +those of men. Is it that I have a man’s soul? But tormented +men have small and narrow souls, and I know that is not my +case, when I have given up everything, made every sacrifice.’[<a class="footnote" href="#8-20">20</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +She resolves to leave Lulu, who, she realizes, has from the beginning +felt an uncontrollable antipathy to her. She will study law and +devote the rest of her life to fighting for the rights of women—the +implication being, of women like herself rather than the <em>Ewigweibliche</em>. +It is at this point that the apache’s knife ends her +unhappy existence. +</p> + +<p> +In 1911 Wedekind published the satiric and still more symbolic +drama, <em>Franziska: A Modern Mystery</em>, in which the primary theme +is a woman’s struggle for individual independence. The protagonist +Franziska, a girl just under twenty when the play opens, has been +irrevocably prejudiced against the traditional feminine lot by childhood +circumstances. She has also refused marriage with two men, +one a physician who assumed that her surrender to him meant abject +adoration, the other an elderly nobleman from whom she accepted +an insurance policy securing the future of any child her free life +might produce. She is bent upon living with all the independence +of a man. Opportunity offers when she meets Veit Kunz, a theatrical +manager whose sudden bursting into her drawing room out of a +thunderstorm marks him as Mephistopheles to her Faust. He sees +in her boyish bravura the possibility of exploiting her in the world +<a id="page-227" class="pagenum" title="227"></a> +of entertainment. Until lately, he says, audiences wanted women +with lovely breasts, shoulders and arms. But his hunch is that taste +is changing, and his business is to keep one jump ahead of the mode. +Interestingly enough, it is as a singer he means to feature her, +indicating a taste for feminine tenors a good decade earlier in +Europe than in the United States, where they were not fashionable +until the Twenties. +</p> + +<p> +While studying voice and posing as a man, ‘Franz’ has a tavern +affair with a young prostitute which is cut off at its zenith when the +girl is shot by a jealous lover. Her next adventure is as the husband +of a middle-class heiress, who wants, not a romantic hero, but a +respectable husband and <em>pater familias</em>. When children fail to appear, +the woman blames her husband’s fondness for a young dancer, and +threatens to kill the girl unless she lets “Franz” alone. From a scene +between Franziska and Veit Kunz, however, it appears that he and +she have been intimate for a year, and a child is on the way. Franziska +is resentful. Marriage has proved irksome because of her wife’s desire +for a family, and has limited her freedom with both sexes. A child +will be the final handicap. Kunz tells her that her wife is a much +worthier soul than she, and that motherhood will bring more maturity +than multiple adventures or his own dramatic training. However, +he says that if she persists on her chosen path, vanity, selfishness and +ambition such as hers are the drives that produce successful artists. +An enemy informs her wife that Franziska is a woman, and the +shock of the revelation causes the wife to commit suicide, setting +Franziska free. +</p> + +<p> +The third act of the drama moves to the estate of a wealthy +nobleman, amateur playwright and owner of a private theatre, who +has applied to Kunz for the services of his intriguing “male” star. +Most pertinent to the present study is an interlude in which +Franziska, in eighteenth-century man’s costume, appears to the count +in a species of symbolic vision as the wish-fulfillment of his most +secret dreams. She tells him she is neither boy nor woman, but the +ideal of all those incapable of real passion; for love of another cannot +go beyond love of self in these “Wunschlosen.” This technical description +of narcissism (along with the drastic effect upon Franziska +of early hatred of her father) shows Wedekind’s familiarity with +the then very new doctrines of psychoanalysis. +</p> + +<p> +The remaining acts show Franziska first sufficiently feminized by +early pregnancy to play the part of Delilah on the stage, and to +become infatuated and run off with the actor cast as Samson, who +treats her with rough and contemptuous masculine superiority. Veit +<a id="page-228" class="pagenum" title="228"></a> +Kunz is prostrated. At fifty he sees his lifelong conviction controverted +that happy sexual and professional association on a footing of equality +must guarantee a permanent union. His brilliant intellectual acumen +is outplayed by female biology—Woman beats the devil!—and he is +barely saved from suicide. Finally Franziska, persuaded to abandon her +career for the sake of her son’s health, is shown living in rural poverty +with him. She refuses support from either Kunz or “Samson,” each +of whom is sure her child is his, and accepts the protection of an +ascetic artist who paints her as the madonna. Here Wedekind hits +the narcissist complex dead center. It is proof against both homosexual +and heterosexual experience and only partially resolved by maternity, +since she can tolerate only a man weaker than herself and one +romantically deluded about her. +</p> + +<p> +Because of the Eulenberg scandal in 1907 literary reference to +homosexuality was checked for a time in Germany, and no doubt +only Wedekind’s established reputation and his disparaging treatment +of the theme made the theatrical production of <em>Franziska</em> possible +in 1911. By 1914 Dr. Kurt Heller was asking in the <em>Jahrbuch</em>: “Wo +bleibt der homoerotische Roman?”[<a class="footnote" href="#8-21">21</a>] He was referring to male homosexuality, +and he deprecated the moralistic tone of Thomas Mann’s +<em>Death in Venice</em>, considering it disappointing from the author of +<em>Buddenbrooks</em>. His answer to his own rhetorical question was that +no sympathetic work could clear the hurdle of state censorship, for +even a wholly “spiritual” treatment must be defined by some contrast +with the sensual. Only true literary freedom could provide incentive +for creative writing of first quality. +</p> + +<p> +Until the post-war change in government no such freedom prevailed. +In 1917 Sophie Hoechstetter’s <em>Selbstanzeige: Die letzte Flamme</em>[<a class="footnote" href="#8-22">22</a>] +had to be printed privately. When it was attacked by a reviewer in +<em>Der Tag</em>, the author defended the criticized “urnische Beanlagt” +as an essential stage in the self-comprehension which was the theme +of the whole novel. She also offered to supply the volume gratis to +any interested reader, an indication that it had been excluded from +public sale. With 1918, however, the ban was relaxed, and during +the 1920s Germany shared with the rest of the western world a period +of sexual freedom which ended only with the growing influence +of Hitler in the 1930s. Even so, post-war sentiment in the English-speaking +countries made German material unwelcome there, and the +homosexual novels and magazines which abounded in Germany for +a decade gained little circulation abroad. +</p> + +<p> +With Hitler’s ascendancy these titles were so soon obliterated +that it is difficult now to find more than the mere record in German +<a id="page-229" class="pagenum" title="229"></a> +trade bibliographies of their original publication. This is especially +true because in 1921 Hirschfeld’s <em>Jahrbuch</em> (by then a <em>Vierteljahrsschrift</em>) +ceased publication. All efforts of the Wissenschaftlich-humanitäres Komitee +for repeal of the anti-homosexual Paragraph +175 of the Prussian criminal code had failed, and the organization +was disheartened by the failure. Moreover, the fields of history and +biography had been well covered in factual articles during the twenty-two +years of the journal’s existence. And as for its function of reporting +current homosexual belles-lettres, that was abandoned even +before its own death because such literature was regularly reviewed +in ‘other journals,’ (e.g., <em>Die Freundin</em>, <em>Die Freundschaft</em>, <em>Freundschaft +und Freiheit</em>—later <em>Eros</em>—<em>Junggesellen: mit den Beiblättern +“Frauenliebe,”</em> and <em>Transvestit</em>.) These are now almost completely +lost, so that even descriptive notes on the literature in question are +not accessible today. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-13-2"> +Post-War Gleanings +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Of the few lesbian novels to reach the United States one of the +best was Anna Elisabet Weirauch’s three-volume <em>Scorpion</em>, which +appeared in Germany between 1919 and 1921. It was translated a +dozen years later in an abridged edition as two separate titles, <em>The +Scorpion</em> (1932) and <em>The Outcast</em> (1933). Though slightly inferior +in literary quality to <em>Marie Bonifas</em>, it shows equal mastery in accounting +for and tracing the full history of an exclusively variant +woman. The scene of Metta Rudloff’s childhood is a dreary city household +consisting of her ineffectual father and a spiteful puritanic +spinster aunt. Her care is entrusted to a nursery governess hired for +no sounder reason than that the child takes an instant fancy to her. +The young woman exhibits a facile affection which quickly enslaves +her little charge, but her emotions are wholly bound to a cashiered +military officer, who controls her completely and who alternately +neglects her and lives on her bounty. To supply him with funds, she +more than once pawns the Rudloff’s seldom-used family silver, employing +Metta to secure it from its cupboard and taking her along on +visits to the pawnbroker. When the misdemeanor is detected, the child +is seriously involved, and the uncomprehended scandal, plus the loss +of her beloved Fräulein, leaves a lasting scar. +</p> + +<p> +During puberty and adolescence Metta attends a public school, +but her father’s snobbery discourages friendships with her mates, +and she grows up a bored and lonely introvert. Nearing twenty, she +meets, at the home of relatives, a handsome and enigmatic woman +<a id="page-230" class="pagenum" title="230"></a> +a decade her senior and falls violently in love with her. Soon she is +spending most of her time in her new friend’s rooms in a pension, and +she is spurred for the first time to real intellectual effort in order +to keep up with Olga’s wide interests. (Among these is the life and +work of Karoline von Günderode, for whom Olga has come to feel an +almost mystic affinity which stirs Metta to jealous fury.) At the +pension Metta also meets a Dr. Petermann, musical aesthete and +cripple, who frequently plays his violin for the two young women. +</p> + +<p> +Discovering that Olga is financially embarrassed, Metta contrives +to take foreign language lessons from her, but the two spend most +of the funds so earned on concerts, opera, and long country excursions. +On one of the latter, Metta notices that they are followed +by a man. Her friend becomes distraught at the discovery and +betrays that she has suffered the same experience before. The mystified +younger girl on arriving at home is forbidden by her father to see +Olga again or to leave the house, and presently she is visited by a +psychiatrist. Under his questioning, she suddenly recalls that she +has pawned the silver, following her childhood pattern, in order to +redeem a gold cigarette case Olga was forced to sacrifice to momentary +need. This object, a gift from an earlier beloved friend of Olga’s, +is decorated with a jeweled scorpion, the zodiacal symbol of passion +and death under which Olga was born. The psychiatrist delivers +a subtle lecture on the destructive effects of emotional friendships +between women. The mysterious man, he explains, was a detective +employed by Metta’s father, who for some time has had the two +girls under surveillance, and to gain legal power over Olga, has bought +up her not-inconsiderable debts. Metta is to be sent to an uncle’s in +the country so that separation may cure her of her unhealthy infatuation. +Eventually, she is assured, she will thank her family and the +doctor for having saved her from ruin. She is forced to leave Berlin +without either explaining her departure or saying goodbye to Olga. +</p> + +<p> +At her uncle’s she sets herself one goal: to escape and return to +Olga. Before long she has so ingratiated herself with the household +that it is not too difficult to obtain money secretly from her uncle’s +desk and to reach the railroad station. In Berlin, Olga meets her, +but instead of the warm welcome Metta anticipated, she merely +remonstrates against the madness of Metta’s flight and refuses to +harbor her, knowing the girl will at once be tracked to her rooms. +After a very bad quarter-hour, however, Metta succeeds in persuading +Olga to accompany her in an impulsive flight. The two take the +next train scheduled for departure and get off at a station elected +<a id="page-231" class="pagenum" title="231"></a> +by chance. In the modest hamlet so discovered they spend a few +ecstatic days of veritable honeymoon. +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto they have exchanged no caresses—indeed, Metta has +often been deeply hurt by Olga’s show of brusque coldness. Now at +last she learns the true significance of her own feelings and of the +older girl’s previous restraint. Though Olga felt a reciprocal passion, +she has had previous difficulties because of an affair with a woman, +and she dreaded risking another such ordeal. She declares that never +again can she endure “to be stripped naked in public.” Once +enlightened, Metta determines that they shall never be separated. +Within six months she will attain her majority and be mistress of +a large maternal inheritance. She writes her father of her whereabouts +and her intentions, asking for temporary funds, but assuring Olga +that if they are refused she will raise money on her expectations. +</p> + +<p> +Her answer is a telegram from the aunt telling her that her +father has had a stroke occasioned by the shock of her “robbing” +her uncle, and that he is dying. Metta suspects a trap, but returns +to find the news true, and lives through several hideous days before +her father’s death ends the nightmare. During the subsequent night, +half-delirious from exhaustion and her aunt’s vicious reproaches, +she slips away to Olga’s rooms for solace. Here she is found at dawn by +the aunt, the wronged uncle, and detectives. She declares her intention +of never leaving her friend, but Olga, in the face of public +denunciation, fails to come to her support, merely insisting that she +is without responsibility in the whole matter. +</p> + +<p> +Confined at home and half-ill, Metta finds herself suddenly surrounded +by medical books and pamphlets on homosexuality, all +condemnatory or scandalmongering. Despite the bitter blow dealt her +love and pride by her friend’s defection, she writes Olga repeatedly, +but receives no answer. After a time, sickened by her reading and +wounded by Olga’s silence to the point of apathy, she allows herself, +under pressure from her aunt, to become engaged. The socially +noteworthy match is featured in the news, and on the eve of her +marriage she has word from Petermann of Olga’s suicide. Olga had, +of course, <a id="corr-107"></a> none of her letters, but had received many scurrilous +anonymous threats in which Metta recognizes the hand of her hated +aunt, and Olga had, moreover, been prosecuted by the Rudloff estate +which held her debts. Shocked into sudden hard maturity, Metta +sells the family house, settles an allowance on her aunt, and leaves +Berlin, her only mementos Olga’s “scorpion” cigaret case and the +revolver with which she shot herself. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-232" class="pagenum" title="232"></a> +The first German volume ends here, and the second opens in an +unspecified large city, which in all probability actually represented +another aspect of Berlin. There Metta, completely on her own, +attempts to adjust to independent life. She plunges resolutely into +solitary study, but without the incentive of discussion with Olga she +finds the effort empty. Consequently she determines to “learn by +living,” and allows herself to be drawn into a bohemian group, +several members of which room in her own pension. Among these +artists, journalists, and entertainers she finds a sexual freedom which +profoundly shocks her, but laying the shock to her hitherto sheltered +life, she refuses to withdraw, and shrugs off the half-maternal admonitions +of a “respectable” coterie in the house. She is presently involved +with a night club singer, Gisela, to whom she is drawn by learning +that the girl’s obvious physical wasting and reputed drug addiction +are the results of hopeless love for a woman. Their affair is essentially +a matter of mutual physical assuagement, each girl being still in +love with someone else. It is developed slightly more in the German +volume than in the English <em>Scorpion</em> of which it forms the second +part, but is not seriously expurgated in the latter. +</p> + +<p> +A much more vital attachment begins between Metta and a +handsome sculptress, Sophie, but is broken off by the latter because +she has lived for years with an invalid who is completely dependent +on her. This woman was Sophie’s salvation in a desperate period +of her youth, and would give up the struggle to live if she felt +herself no longer needed by her partner. Left essentially friendless +by Sophie’s withdrawal, Metta drifts into a restless quest for diversion +among the group of professional entertainers and homosexuals of +whom Gisela is one. In the course of making a round of night clubs +Metta becomes wretchedly ill from experimenting with cocaine, and +recognizing amused contempt in the eyes of attractive strangers of +the social class in which she was raised, she goes home filled with +self-loathing to employ Olga’s cherished revolver and rejoin her lost +love. She is checked by the ministrations of one of the “respectable” +older women in the house, who confesses to a deep (though entirely +innocent) affection for her, tells her she is too young to be knocking +about alone, and sends her to stay with a sister in Hamburg whose +husband is an alderman and whose daughter is a sheltered adolescent. +</p> + +<p> +In this new milieu Metta is at first terrified lest she be followed +by Gisela, but her fears prove groundless, and she is soon acting +the model young lady, though she has need to guard her allusions +to places recently frequented and uncensored books she read with +Olga. She soon discovers that the daughter of the house is, beneath +<a id="page-233" class="pagenum" title="233"></a> +a seraphic exterior, as sophisticated as any of her late associates. +The girl is carrying on an affair with a man twice her age whose +charm briefly touches even Metta. She also constantly presses Metta +to confess to lesbian tastes and experience, declaring that she “can +always recognize the type,” and doing her best to seduce Metta by +skillful caresses. This Hamburg interlude ends with a weekend trip +on which Metta is supposedly Gwen’s chaperone. The fascinating +man joins the expedition secretly, and proves a connoisseur of +liquors and an adept at clandestine contrivance. In the girls’ room, +Gwen, spurred by alcohol and the spring night, makes an unusually +insistent play for Metta, but just as the latter is about to yield, +the connecting door opens to admit the man, and she recognizes +the whole trip as “a put up job” to seduce her into a party <em>à trois</em>. +Utterly revolted, she makes a clean break with this life also, and +searches further for some emotional stability and peace. +</p> + +<p> +The third German volume (of which <em>The Outcast</em>, in English, is +a literal and complete translation) shows Metta in a mountain +town where she has made no personal contacts and has told no +one anything of herself or her past. Falling in love with the beauty +of the region, she buys land and decides to build; consequently, +she must go to Berlin for legal and architectural advice. There, +renewing connections with the crippled Petermann, she meets in +his pension a woman who reminds her strongly of Olga and who +produces almost as instantaneous an emotional impact. Metta soon +learns that this is the friend who originally gave Olga the scorpion +cigaret case, and that it was Corona who terminated the association +because she believes it is always better to end love while it is still +beautiful than to let it die. Corona has not even known of Olga’s +death until she sees the scorpion in Metta’s hands. +</p> + +<p> +Instead of returning to the mountains to watch her hitherto +thrilling new house take form, Metta lingers in Berlin in Corona’s +toils. She finds this woman less intellectual and harder than Olga, +and dislikes intensely the exhibitionistic group of lesbians, some +tailored, some merely histrionic, with whom her new flame associates. +When she finally discovers that Corona is still half-involved in an +old affair with a married woman, and is also encouraging the +advances of a Russian girl in the pension, Metta flees to her +mountains and lives quite alone in her new house, save for visits +from Petermann and another man of tragic history met at Sophie’s +before the end of that association. A passionately-anticipated visit +from Corona, which Metta hopes may result in the latter’s taking +up residence with her away from urban distractions, proves a bitter +<a id="page-234" class="pagenum" title="234"></a> +disappointment. Corona finally confesses that she is incurably restless +and empty, a huntress who is free of an actual pain of physical +need only while she is in process of snaring a new victim. She asks +the privilege of using Metta’s mountaintop as an occasional sanctuary. +Thereafter Metta settles in, not happy but at least relatively serene, +to live alone and provide temporary peace for such of her friends as +care to seek her out. +</p> + +<p> +Comparison of this novel with <em>La Bonifas</em> is interesting because, +despite their similarity in basic theme and the influence of initial +traumatic incident, they are so widely different. Even the first incidents +illustrate the difference: in <em>La Bonifas</em>, the physical violence +of suicide enacted before the child’s very eyes; in <em>The Scorpion</em>, +a psycho-social teapot-tempest involving the child only through her +cross-questioning by a children’s psychiatrist, which she meets with +passive resistance. In the one novel a female creature is endowed +with all the extroverted tastes, interests, and abilities usually considered +male. In the other the female creature is wholly feminine +save for her sexual inclinations. Accordingly, Weirauch stresses the +influence of environment. None of her lesbians are really masculine +in appearance, and only one male homosexual looks born to the +role. On the other hand, biographical vignettes are adroitly introduced +to account for almost every variant in the story, and these are even +more effective because they are not notably Freudian in pattern. +Indeed, this novel’s quality lies in its verisimilitude, an effect naturally +easier for a woman writer in this field than for a man. The inevitable +conclusion drawn from these two novels together is that +sexual variance is not so much an inborn factor in a life pattern +as it is a concomitant result of other aspects of personality and +experience. +</p> + +<p> +A second German lesbian item, <em>Die Schwester</em>, is a drama of 1924 +which in style shows the influence of Wedekind. The author, Hans +Kaltneker, takes care to present in a foreword his convictions about +homosexuality: it represents the height of egotism, the antithesis of +the Christian spirit, for to love one’s own sex is to withdraw from +the common life of humanity and imprison oneself in a futile +sterility. He doubtless felt it necessary to voice this reassurance +because in the first act of the play his attitude to the heroine appears +wholly sympathetic. The homosexual Ruth loves her young stepsister, +Lo, but controls her feelings until chance throws them together +for a night. She is subsequently cast out by her stepfather, +and his daughter is hastily married to the first available man. Ruth +then lives with a lesbian artist, whose ‘eyes and mouth were shadowed +<a id="page-235" class="pagenum" title="235"></a> +by black melancholy,’ and who tells her that lasting love is impossible +for their sort—they can gain satisfaction only through +debauchery. The two visit a homosexual tavern—presented symbolically +after the fashion of Wedekind—and Ruth chooses among the commercial +dancing partners a girl who resembles her lost stepsister. +As she is very drunk, she imagines this is her sister’s spirit, and she +“receives a message” that Lo really loves her, but advises her +to abandon her vicious way of life and devote herself to helping +other lost women. She later learns that Lo had died but a few +moments before she received this mystic communication, and takes +it for a supernatural revelation. Accordingly she becomes a nurse +in a women’s hospital for veneral disease, but her unconcealable +preference for the gentler, slim, young patients breeds antagonism, +and when she herself becomes infected she is discharged. Too ill to +work, she is violated by men and robbed even of her clothing. She +ends in a woman’s prison where her dying act is to give her one +remaining garment to an ungrateful drunken prostitute. Thus, she +is redeemed through having sacrificed herself for others. +</p> + +<p> +In 1927 Frank Theiss, in <em>Interlude</em>, employed a lesbian episode +to explain the failure of his hero’s first marriage. The wife had, at +eighteen, been “entrapped” by an older woman highly esteemed +in the community. “The enticements and snares must have been +cunningly laid, for it was always unthinkable to Kurt ... that +Sabina could have been in love with her.”[<a class="footnote" href="#8-23">23</a>] When, after six months +or so, the affair came to light, “the furious father would certainly +have called on the police authorities if any power of police or +judiciaries could have helped,” a subtle thrust at the injustice of +legal penalty for homosexual men as compared to none for women. +</p> + +<p> +The parents then married their daughter off to the first available +man, but the affair had left a scar. This was not the frigidity one +might expect. On the contrary, it was “an alert and conscious, +a more than mature ... an erotic atmosphere”[<a class="footnote" href="#8-24">24</a>] which made the +girl unusually “beguiling” to men. Still, she was not happy in her +marriage, and the explanation given is that she had been physically +awakened without knowing love. Thus, she was drawn to her +husband also without love, and their marriage was the “exchange +of a conventional form of excitement.” Once she had obtained a +divorce and married someone whose appeal for her was complete, +not merely physical, she “became another person. This voluptuous +glitter was all gone, she was just sweet and charming.”[<a class="footnote" href="#8-25">25</a>] While the +handling of the episode is somewhat hasty and superficial, the +argument it presents against pre-marital lesbian experience is more +<a id="page-236" class="pagenum" title="236"></a> +subtle and rather more convincing than many one meets in anti-variant +fiction. +</p> + +<p> +A sterner condemnation of lesbianism came from Herbert Eulenberg +in “Der Maler Rayski,” a novelette in the volume <em>Casanova’s +Letzte Abenteuer</em> (1929), in which he presents a domineering lesbian +woman of almost sadistic ruthlessness. This titled landowner has +long kept a younger cousin-companion in lesbian bondage. She +loathes men, but must have an heir to inherit her properties, and +hits upon the device of inducing her beloved to bear a child whom she +can then adopt. Since the sire must be of good stock, she selects +a contemporary artist whose qualifications please her, summons him +to paint portraits of her and her companion, and contrives to get +the latter married to him by stressing the excellence of the girl’s +financial prospects. The couple fall genuinely in love, and, under the +influence of normal love, the girl blooms from strained pallor into +perfect health and loveliness. As soon as a child is expected, however, +the older woman secures a series of such advantageous commissions +for the artist that he must be absent until after his child’s birth. +She then denies him access to the infant—what right has any man +to the child in whose begetting he has played but a momentary +part, while the woman has carried it for nine months and must +nurse it for as many more? To clinch the matter she tells him of +the long years of intimacy between herself and his wife. Now he +feels that his bride’s innocence was all pretence, and that anyone +who could have deceived him about so black a past can never +be trusted. He makes off, proudly refusing any monetary settlement +then or later, and deteriorates into a worthless drifter because of +this devastating blow to his self-respect. The two women remain +together, apparently happy, since motherhood provides the girl with +some normal interest. +</p> + +<p> +Since the film <em>Mädchen in Uniform</em> had fairly wide circulation +in this country, Christa Winsloe’s corresponding novel <em>The Child +Manuela</em> will need but a brief résumé. The motion picture was +released in 1932 and reached this country in the latter part of +the same year, but the novel did not appear even in Germany until +1933, and so must have been one of the last variant publications +launched before Nazi ascendancy wiped out homosexual literature. +Those fortunate enough to have seen this remarkably sympathetic +picture or any of several good amateur productions of the play on +the legitimate stage here are unlikely to have forgotten it. The +motherless Manuela, at fourteen, enters a boarding school for the +daughters of officers where the headmistress, herself descended from +<a id="page-237" class="pagenum" title="237"></a> +a military line, imposes barracks discipline upon her young charges. +One mistress alone contrives to preserve some human warmth despite +the severity she is obliged to maintain, and the girls worship her. +</p> + +<p> +Manuela, accustomed to maternal tenderness throughout childhood, +is made almost ill by the harsh regime until her emotions +fix themselves upon the general favorite, Fräulein von Bernberg. +It is soon evident that her feelings are more profound and violent +than the average. The mistress, moved by the pathetic and neglected +girl, befriends her and becomes warmly attached to her, even confessing +that she prefers her to the other students, but she warns +Manuela that such emotions are not countenanced among soldiers’ +daughters and admonishes her to learn self-control. The knowledge +that she is loved raises Manuela to a dizzy ecstasy which she manages +to conceal for a time. But the excitement of playing male lead in +an amateur theatrical, plus a party afterward with heavily “spiked” +punch and abandoned dancing, prove too much for her high-strung +temperament, and, slightly hysterical as well as literally drunk, she +proclaims her secret to the entire school. The relation between +pupil and teacher, though passionate, has been wholly innocent, +and Manuela is unaware of its further potentialities. The adamant +headmistress puts the worst construction on her hysterical outburst, +sentences her to solitary confinement for the remainder of the term—diplomacy +prevents her expulsion—and forbids her to see Fräulein +von Bernberg again. Now genuinely ill from shock and emotional +frustration, the girl contrives to reach her idol’s room, but the older +woman, aware of the danger to them both and afraid of her own +emotions, maintains a frigid composure. Beside herself, Manuela +climbs to the top floor of the tall school building and leaps to her +death at the foot of an open stairwell. +</p> + +<p> +This school interlude comprises only the last third of the novel, the +previous sections portraying Manuela’s development from her earliest +memories to the time of her entering the institution. The family +has moved from one army post to another, the necessity for maintaining +her father’s military prestige taking precedence over all other +family needs. The girl was first passionately devoted to her mother. +During pre-adolescence she falls in love with a public schoolmate, +Eva, who is also the choice of her older brother. Manuela spins +fantasies of being a male acrobat or dramatically winning the notice +of her adored in other ways, but it is only as Berti’s sister that she +is of interest to Eva. After her mother’s death, at thirteen, she has +a brief and stimulating friendship with a boy violinist, but it is his +mother who appeals to her emotionally and to whom she sends +<a id="page-238" class="pagenum" title="238"></a> +flowers. When the woman embraces her, she experiences the first +stirrings of unrecognized passion. Aware of her obvious blossoming, +her father’s prim housekeeper assumes it is young Fritz who has +roused her emotions, and the woman persuades her father and +aunt that she must be separated from him. Hence the boarding +school. +</p> + +<p> +Here one has an uncommonly high-strung child with a strong +mother-fixation, without friends of her own age up to the time +of her mother’s death. She often mentally assumes a boy’s role +because only men and boys seem to count in the life about her. +At puberty she is deprived of both mother and mother-substitute +and shut into a virtual military prison, the opposite of her hitherto +relatively free existence. Both the inevitable emotional explosion at +school and the careful preparation for it owe a debt to Freudian +theory. +</p> + +<p> +In a second novel, translated in 1936 as <em>Girl Alone</em>, Winsloe +includes variance only in passing. The heroine is Eva-Maria, whose +name skillfully forecasts the mixture of sensuality and romantic +mysticism in her later experience. As a struggling art student, she +first loves a handsome boy whom she does not succeed in winning. +She is next seduced by one of her instructors, an established sculptor +and Don Juan for whom she poses nude, and as an aftermath of this +bitter affair she gives herself recklessly to a stranger on a night +when otherwise she might have leaped into the river. The variant +element is introduced in the person of Fax, a tailored and gauche +fellow student with whom she shares an apartment. This girl loves +Eva passionately, but receiving no response, she is satisfied to look +after her with almost maternal solicitude. The two enjoy sundry +revels with a bohemian group including one inseparable lesbian +couple and a number of unattached homosexual women. When Fax, +though still in love with Eva, engages in a flirtation with one of +these, an alluring actress, jealousy spurs Eva toward giving Fax what +she craves. Eva waits in her roommate’s bed for her return from a +studio party, but Fax does not come home until daybreak—she has +succumbed to the actress’s blandishments—and Eva never confesses +what she had intended. Eva herself remains unmoved by genuine +passion throughout the crisis. +</p> + +<p> +This is apparently the final variant episode in German fiction +before the Nazi purge began, and three years later authors who +had dealt with the subject, however mildly, were eager only for +general oblivion of that fact. Thus far, there has been no evidence +of a subsequent variant renascence. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-239" class="pagenum" title="239"></a> +One feature of these foreign twentieth-century novels which +must strike even a casual observer is the high incidence of suicide +among variant women. Physical or mental illness is also often attributed +to lesbian practices. Both reflect the extent to which variant +fiction was based on clinical reading. Both, too, are facile means of +producing dramatic effect, and tend to placate the strait-laced by +suggesting that, though man may tolerate aberration, nature will +not. Such devices are avoided by writers of first rank—Colette, Rolland, +Proust, Lacretelle and Mann—while in Wedekind the melodramatic +is seasoned by satire. A second conspicuous motif is the struggle for +personal independence which leads women to eschew marriage and +motherhood or to achieve self-realization at the expense of family +responsibilities. This reflects the progress of the women’s movement +and the influence of Ibsen, Ellen Key and others. Discernible also is +a slight decrease in the proportion of bisexual experience, due +undoubtedly to the prevalence of hereditary theory. And last, there +appears in more than a few novels a background of shifting homosexual +groups, far above the underworld level, such as Peladan alone +pictured earlier and then only as small private closed circles. It +will be interesting to see how many of these continental features +appear in English and American fiction. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-14"> +<a id="page-240" class="pagenum" title="240"></a> +<span class="line1">CHAPTER IX.</span><br> +<span class="line2">FICTION IN ENGLISH</span> +</h2> + +</div> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-14-1"> +Introduction +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +The variant novels still to be surveyed in English number well over +a hundred. In part this surprising count reflects the general growth of +interest in sexual psychology and the increase in the number of +feminine authors, both of which trends developed slightly later in the +English-speaking countries than elsewhere. But beyond doubt it is +also due in some measure simply to the greater accessibility of material +in our own language. Book reviews in English and the indexes +locating them have multiplied enormously since 1900, and, non-committal +though reviews may be with regard to variance, a practiced +reader grows sensitive to significant evasion. Even more fruitful, of +course, is the wide, if superficial, skimming of each year’s output, +a habit which nets not only unreviewed trivia but minor variant +incidents in better novels as well. Had titles in French and German +been equally ready to hand, the score here would certainly be more +equitable. +</p> + +<p> +In rapid survey of this century’s English fiction certain rough +divisions emerge. The first fifteen years might be called the age of +innocence, in that no published work referred to overt lesbianism, +variance was not a subject of dispute, and no particular school of +psychological thought had come to the fore. After 1915 more +sophistication was apparent and variance became a controversial +issue, particularly in England where the struggle for suffrage exacerbated +any reference to women’s departure from the feminine and +domestic role. Thereafter, for a decade or so partisan shots echoed +intermittently back and forth as they had in France a quarter-century +earlier, with the difference, however, that now the attack frequently +employed the batteries of Freud. During the first of these decades +World War I exerted a perceptible influence, quickening cross-fertilization +<a id="page-241" class="pagenum" title="241"></a> +between continental and Anglo-American attitudes in general, +and, in particular, leading to the translation after 1920 of enough +French fiction so that occasionally specific influences could be detected +in our own novels. Another aftermath of war was that relaxing +of all sexual strictures which characterized the Twenties, and, in +line with the growing freedom, literary treatments of variance +multiplied rapidly, reaching a first peak in 1928. +</p> + +<p> +In that year Radclyffe Hall’s <em>Well of Loneliness</em> incurred legal +prosecution for its explicit defense of a lesbian woman.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-1">1</a>] The restrictive +effect of this action was no more than local and temporary, +and as usual in cases of censorship the long range result was wide +publicity for the banned title and for others on related themes. +Consequently, the number of novels giving attention to variance +swelled to a second peak in the middle Thirties, but the general +tone was altered. Authors were now more self-conscious. The best, if +at all sympathetic, dealt more gingerly with the delicate subject than +before the attack. The majority, of intermediate popular quality, +were careful to sound a disparaging note. And there sprang up also +for the first time in English the wave of mediocre work which always +follows profitable publication of better material in any field. Some +of these inferior tales were censorious, some defensive, but all were +so unrestrained that in this country, at least, certain pressure groups, +notably the Catholic League for Decency, were roused to crusade +for wholesale suppression. +</p> + +<p> +A less obvious influence was also at work. The “flaming youth” +of the Twenties, product of war and of general rebellion against +Victorian inhibitions, had reached a point of disillusionment with +sexual freedom, and now, as the “lost generation”, were groping toward +emotional stability. This quest for adjustment called forth a +quantity of popular psychology and sociology, stemming largely from +Freud, which deprecated irregular attachments, especially the homosexual, +and exalted marriage and family life. Thus, some decline in +variant fiction was evident before the end of the Thirties. Then, in +1939 the second World War exerted initial pressure in the same direction, +for, as always, the younger generation’s urge to perpetuate itself +before too late threw added emphasis upon heterosexual relations +and parenthood. And finally, in the publishing business, to usual +wartime handicaps was added the new military requisition of cellulose +for explosives, which resulted in an unprecedented shortage of paper +and stringent selectivity in published fiction. Altogether it was inevitable +that during the early Forties the variant literary stream +should run low. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-242" class="pagenum" title="242"></a> +It did not, however, cease entirely, and since the end of World +War II, trends in fiction suggest that variance is on its way to +becoming a recognized if not accepted segment of human experience. +The probable underlying reasons for this change are varied. One +is the usual aftermath of war. Besides regularly producing a bumper +crop of infants, war has, since the days of Sappho, swelled the +number of variants by segregating the young to some extent during +just those years when sexual interest is at its height. More conscious +effort was made to combat this tendency during World War II than +ever before, both in the armed forces and on the home front. +Preventive measures this time were as much educational as disciplinary, +so that the war generation emerged with some grounding +in “psychiatry at the fox-hole level.” One result is that among +women there was no such deliberate post-war affectation of masculinity +as occurred in the Twenties. Another is that many incipient authors +were prepared to write of variance with some balance and perspective. +</p> + +<p> +A further possible reason for the relaxing of at least the American +attitude toward variance is the publication of the Kinsey reports +on sexual behavior.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-2">2</a>] The appearance of the male volume in 1948 +encouraged the production of several serious novels featuring male +homosexuality, a subject hitherto stringently banned from English +fiction. It is not safe to say that this lifting of taboo significantly +affected the feminine picture, since female variance was never so +rigorously outlawed, and the count of pertinent titles was as large +in 1943 and 1944, for instance, as in 1949 and 1950. For this same +reason Kinsey’s second volume on the female (1953) seems unlikely +to produce an effect comparable to his first. But one fact is certain—the +inclusion of incidental variant and even lesbian episodes and +characters is on the increase in popular current fiction. +</p> + +<p> +This statement leads to consideration of a third and purely +practical reason for the increase—post-war innovations in the publishing +business. Before 1941 experiments in producing books of high +readability and low cost had not achieved financial success, but four +years of government subsidy to the end of providing the armed +forces with reading matter put the venture on a paying basis. At +present, fiction available at magazine cost and from all magazine +outlets has become a commonplace of daily life. While these paper-covered +novels were at first reprints of titles notably successful in other +editions, since 1950 a number of companies have issued originals +in the same format. Quite naturally one sure-fire selling feature on the +<a id="page-243" class="pagenum" title="243"></a> +newsstands is frankness with regard to sex, and the multiplication of +both reprints and originals dealing with female variance provides +objective evidence of interest in that subject. Another requisite for +fast sales is a not-too-exalted literary level, and the combination of +sex latitude and popular quality has alerted would-be censors. For +some years these self-appointed groups have sought to control the +paper-backed market and have here and there succeeded. Variant +titles have been conspicuous in all lists under fire from moral +vigilantes, and the current question is whether censoring agencies +will succeed in once again checking quantity circulation of such +material. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-14-2"> +The Age of Innocence +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +The last mentioned variant narrative in English was Henry +James’s novelette <em>The Turn of the Screw</em> (1898). Treating as it did +the seduction of a girl of eight by a depraved governess, it was considered +along with French titles of its decade which it resembled +more closely than did any of the novels soon to appear in English. +Of these last, none offered more contrast to French sophistication +or could more fittingly have ushered in twentieth-century fiction in +our own tongue than the innocuous tale published in 1900 by a +now-forgotten British novelist, Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler. +</p> + +<p> +Within the first quarter of <em>The Farringdons</em> Mrs. Fowler includes +a series of three passionate attachments experienced by the motherless +heroine. These occur before Elisabeth is twenty, but they are noteworthy +because of the author’s peculiar stress upon them. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +There are two things which are absolutely necessary to the +well-being of the normal feminine mind—namely, one romantic +attachment and one comfortable friendship. Elisabeth was +perfectly normal and extremely feminine, and consequently +she provided herself early with these two aids to happiness.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-3">3</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Despite this insistence on normal femininity, the object of the girl’s +comfortable friendship is a boy neighbor; that of her passionate +attachment a tall, handsome and witty Cousin Anne, a decade older +than she is. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +All the romance of Elisabeth’s nature—and there was a +great deal of it—was lavished upon Anne Farringdon.... +<a id="page-244" class="pagenum" title="244"></a> +The mere sound of Anne’s voice vibrated through the child’s +whole being, and every little trifle connected with her cousin +became a sacred relic.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-4">4</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Deep in the reading of mythology, Elisabeth sees her cousin as Diana, +builds a shrine to her in the garden, and practices a ritual of burnt +offerings before it. She also takes great interest in the Book of Ruth, +sensing “a parallelism to herself and Cousin Anne (in feeling at +least).” +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +People sometimes smile at the adoration of a young girl for +a woman, and there is no doubt but that the feeling savours +slightly of school days and bread and butter. But there is +also no doubt that a girl who has once felt it has learned +what real love is, and that is no small lesson in the book +of life.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-5">5</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This devotion occupies Elisabeth from twelve to sixteen, when +the cousin’s death plunges her into melancholy which threatens +her health. She is accordingly hurried off to boarding school, where +during the next four years she experiences a case of passionate hero-worship +for the headmistress, and a “devoted friendship” with a +schoolmate who became for a time “the very mainspring of Elisabeth’s +life. She was a beautiful girl ... and Elisabeth adored her with +the adoration ... freely given to the girl who has beauty by the +girl who has not.” Upon this girl Elisabeth lavishes +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +that passionate and thrilling friendship ... so satisfying to the +immature female soul, but which is never again experienced +by the woman who has once been taught by a man the nature +of real love.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-6">6</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The latter experience she meets at twenty. All these careful statements +indicate the author’s full awareness of the nature of variance +and her taking a deliberate stand with regard to it. Equally definite +is the implication that none of these early adorations involved physical +intimacy. +</p> + +<p> +Two years later (1902) a Canadian-American girl of twenty-one +published <em>The Story of Mary MacLane</em>, written as a journal covering +three months during her nineteenth year and purporting to be literal +autobiography. Like the comparable “Story of Opal,” printed as +<a id="page-245" class="pagenum" title="245"></a> +authentic by the <em>Atlantic Monthly</em> in 1920, but partially “debunked” +by discerning critics, it was probably laced with more than a dash +of fiction. In its day it created sufficient sensation to be burlesqued in +Weber and Field’s revue of that year, and sold well enough to allow +its author a half-dozen years in Boston and New York. +</p> + +<p> +Conspicuous in its self-revelation is undying hatred of the father +whom Mary lost at the age of eight. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Apart from feeding and clothing me ... and sending me to +school—which was no more than was due me—I cannot see +that he ever gave me a single thought. Certainly he did not +love me, for he was quite incapable of loving anyone but +himself....[<a class="footnote" href="#9-7">7</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Of her mother she says later, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +How can one bring a child into the world and not wrap it +round with a certain wondrous tenderness that will stay with +it always!... My mother has some fondness for me—for +my body because it came out of hers. That is nothing—nothing. +A hen loves its egg.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-8">8</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Mary feels herself unloved also by the rest of her family—older sister, +older and younger brothers, and stepfather—all of whom are “strictly +practical and material, seeing close human relations as the stuff of +literature, not real life....” She is herself a genius, infinitely apart +from the crude barrenness of Butte, Montana, though she owns +to keen sympathy for women there who are “outside the moral +pale.” All this, of course, is once again the “dark hero complex,” that +sense of being outcast but superior, which has since been so well +analyzed by Romer Wilson in Emily Brontë and others. For 1902, +three decades <em>before</em> the era when parents could do no right, it +was fairly strong meat. +</p> + +<p> +As for men, MacLane is certain none can ever rouse or possess her +except the Devil. “He will be incarnate, but he will not be a man.” +He will hurt her, and passion for him will free her from herself, +but it will last only three days, and “there must be no falling +in love about it.” +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +My shy and sensitive soul would be irretrievably poisoned +and polluted. The defilement of so sacred and beautiful a thing +<a id="page-246" class="pagenum" title="246"></a> +as marriage is surely the darkest evil that can come to a life. +And so everything in me that had turned toward that too +bright light would then drink deep of the lees of death.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-9">9</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +It was this devil fantasy upon which Weber and Fields seized, and +on the stage the Dark Gentleman, played by William Collier, fled +in terror before the <em>enfant terrible</em>. +</p> + +<p> +The pertinent point to which all the foregoing leads is an attachment +to a high school teacher of literature first encountered when +Mary was eighteen, “the first person on earth who ever looked at +me tenderly,” to whom she refers with adolescent sentimentality +as the “Anemone Lady.” About this woman she spins passionate +reveries, wishing they might live together high on a mountainside +away from the world. With the beginning of this friendship “I felt +a snapping of tense-drawn cords, a breaking away of flood gates—and +a strange new pain ... a convulsion and a melting within.”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-10">10</a>] +Nevertheless, caresses went no farther than “your hand in mine,” +and the association seems to have lasted but a year. Still Mary says: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Sometimes I am seized with nearer, vivider sensations +for my friend the Anemone Lady ... I feel a strange attraction +of sex. There is in me a masculine element that when I am +thinking of her arises and overshadows all the others.... So +then it is not the woman-love but the man-love set in the +mysterious sensibilities of my woman-nature. It brings me pain +and pleasure mixed.... Do you think a man is the only +creature with whom one may fall in love?[<a class="footnote" href="#9-11">11</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This pseudo-naïveté wakes a suspicion of literary influence which +is strengthened by her second volume, <em>My Friend Annabel Lee</em> (1903). +Here she proclaims her few early literary loves to have been Poe, +the juvenile books for boys of J. T. Trowbridge, and “‘Three Grains +of Corn,’ by a woman named Edwards,” and she voices acute loathing +for Archibald Clavering Gunter without citing reasons. Mathilda +Betham-Edwards was an Englishwoman who lived in France during +the late nineteenth century, and the <em>Oxford Book of Victorian Verse</em> +includes a sonnet of hers, “A Valentine: The Pansy and the Prayer +Book,” ending with the following sestet: +</p> + +<div class="poem-container"> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="verse">The while I knelt, I let a pansy glide</p> + <p class="verse">Between her grave sweet face and open book</p> + <p class="verse">And whispered as she turned with chiding look—</p> +<a id="page-247" class="pagenum" title="247"></a> + <p class="verse">“Heaven has not willed, dear heart, that aught divide</p> + <p class="verse">Love pure as ours, nor blames if thought of me</p> + <p class="verse">Come like this flower between thy God and thee.”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-12">12</a>]</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This MacLane would have loved, as she would have hated the +farcical treatment of variance in <em>A Florida Enchantment</em>, and to +assume her acquaintance with both would explain her otherwise +unaccountable singling out of these two authors alone for special +mention. Both of MacLane’s volumes betray a disingenuous effort +to present herself as a child genius springing as it were by parthenogenesis +from the intellectual wasteland of Montana. It is probable that +her reading had been more extensive and had influenced her more +than she admitted. +</p> + +<p> +As to the volume of 1903, it is not only less startling than the first +but seems more youthful. The “friend” of the title is a Japanese +statuette in which her fantasy sees “a woman of fourteen” who has +known love for a week, after which “the strong stranger went away,” +leaving life drab. Here is the Devil again, and “Annabel” is obviously +no more than Mary’s own <em>persona</em>, hard, experienced and self-contained +even before adolescence. One wonders whether MacLane may +have suffered some early traumatic experience with a man which +produced this recurrent fantasy and prompted her sympathy for +the déclassées of Butte. As for women, “Annabel” is her only admitted +friend. The volume records nothing beyond Mary’s roaming alone +in Boston, falling in love momentarily with Minnie Maddern Fiske +as the Magdalen, and adoring the Puvis de Chavannes murals in +the Public Library—those delicate wraiths so remote from reality. +Of human contacts there is no mention; she is solitary and bitterly +nostalgic for the Anemone Lady, or, rather, for their mountainside +eyrie of her own imagining. Passages in her third volume, <em>I, Mary +MacLane</em> (1917) shed some light on her actual experiences at this +time, but must await discussion in proper order because the later +volume reflects the comparative emotional sophistication which had +permeated this country in the intervening years. +</p> + +<p> +The next variant item was an historical novel by John Breckenridge +Ellis (1902), but precedence will be given to the recently +published <em>Things As They Are</em> (1951), written in 1903 by Gertrude +Stein, because of its closer similarity to MacLane’s autobiographical +volumes. This earliest effort of Miss Stein’s, written when she was +twenty-nine, is recognized as very near to her own experience by +Edmund Wilson, a long-time student of her total work.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-13">13</a>] It records +the emotional entanglements among three young American women +<a id="page-248" class="pagenum" title="248"></a> +over a period of two years, and opens on a transatlantic liner +carrying them to Europe. Adele, the central figure from whose +viewpoint the whole story is written, is oppressed by exhaustion and +“the disillusion of recent failures” in Baltimore, and as Mr. Wilson +points out, Miss Stein herself went abroad in the summer of 1902 +after having abandoned hope of a degree from Johns Hopkins where +she had pursued the medical course for five years. +</p> + +<p> +The three girls are characterized at length. Helen is +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +the American version of the English handsome girl. In her +ideal completeness she would have been unaggressively determined, +a trifle brutal and entirely impersonal; a woman +of passions but not of emotions, ... incapable of regrets,[<a class="footnote" href="#9-14">14</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +that is, definitely a masculine personality; but actually she is no more +than “a brave bluff.” Sophie is a New Englander with “the angular +body of a spinster but ... a face that would have belonged to the +decadent days of Italian greatness,” and with “the unobtrusive good +manners of a gentleman.” Events prove her, however, to be both +feminine and feline. Adele has “the freedom of movement and the +simple instinct for comfort that suggests a land of laziness and sunshine.” +Very early in the narrative she exclaims, “I always did thank +God I wasn’t born a woman,”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-15">15</a>]—this surprising statement is neither +then nor later elaborated in any way—but everything about her save +her intellect is passive to the point of inertia, and she struggles against +being drawn into the “turgid and complex world” of passionate intimacy. +</p> + +<p> +She finds it impossible, however, to remain indifferent to Helen’s +subtle courtship, which includes “fluttering” caresses as the three +lie on the deck under the stars. Her familiarity with attraction between +women is evident from some early self-searching: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +As for me is it another little indulgence of my superficial +emotions or is there any possibility of my really learning to +realize stronger feelings. If it’s the first I will call a halt +promptly.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-16">16</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +At one point Helen charges her with “middle-class morality,” to +which Adele retorts: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +I simply contend that the middle class ideal which demands +that people be affectionate, respectable, honest and content, +<a id="page-249" class="pagenum" title="249"></a> +that they avoid excitements and cultivate serenity is the ideal +that appeals to me, it is in short the ideal of affectionate family +life.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-17">17</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +But that (says Helen) means cutting passion quite out of your +scheme of things. Adele replies: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Not simple moral passions, they are distinctly of it but +really my chief point is a protest against this tendency ... to +go in for things simply for the sake of experience.... [That] +is to me both trivial and immoral. As for passion, it has no +reality for me except as two varieties, affectionate comradeship +... and physical passion in greater or less complexity ... and +against the cultivation of the latter I have an almost puritanic +horror and that includes an objection to it in any of its many +disguised forms.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-18">18</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In accordance with these principles Adele spends her summer in +Spain, happy in the mere “family” comradeship of a cousin. But +during the subsequent winter she plays a divided game. She cannot +resist going repeatedly from Baltimore to New York to see Helen, +though once there she is not only passive but resistant to the other +girl’s wooing. She even says explicitly that they have few interests in +common, but still it is she who does all the traveling to make their +growing intimacy possible, for Helen’s resources are sharply curtailed +by unsympathetic parents. +</p> + +<p> +Thus far, the third girl, Sophie, has remained surprisingly passive +in view of her long-established intimacy with Helen, but in the course +of this winter she enlightens Adele as to the precise nature of that +intimacy. Adele is so shocked that it is implied clearly that the relation +is physical and, up until then, wholly outside her own acquaintance. +Not even this revelation, however, can detach her from Helen, +although she deliberately elects a second summer abroad alone and +suffers when Helen’s letters are stopped by a visit from Sophie. During +the subsequent winter her own relations with Helen reach the stage +of physical expression, but the change is not a happy one. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Their pulses were differently timed. She could not go so fast +and Helen’s exhausted nerves could no longer wait. Adele +found herself constantly forced on by Helen’s pain. It was a +false position ... her attitude was misunderstood and Helen +interpreted her slowness as deficiency ... and the greater her +<a id="page-250" class="pagenum" title="250"></a> +affection for Helen became the more irritable became her +discontent.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-19">19</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This is trite enough to readers of modern sexual psychology as set +forth in marriage manuals. It was not trite coming from an unmarried +American girl in 1903. +</p> + +<p> +At this juncture Sophie invites Helen to accompany her on another +European trip. (As Mr. Wilson drily remarks, for the more prosperous +American college graduate, Europe was then an imperative.) +Helen accepts, and although Adele is certain that Sophie is financing +the trip she dares not put the question directly. Or perhaps she does +not want to, for Helen has urged her to spend the summer abroad +also, not with them, but within easy reach. +</p> + +<p> +And so the lover of serenity travels for her third summer as a kind +of semi-detached appendage to the other pair, and the remainder of +the action is almost as tedious and confusing to the reader as to Adele +herself. Because of the physical incompatibility so well described +above, Helen has now cooled considerably in that respect, but her +emotional dependence upon Adele increases with Sophie’s balking of +private communication between them—one more testimonial to the +soundness of “Proust’s law”: the inverse proportion between “love” +and accessibility. Because Adele, on the other hand, is now rather +more than less physically attracted, her health and peace of mind +suffer noticeably during her frustrating periods with the other two. +But she is bound not only by her genuine love for Helen but by her +confidence that the other girl really loves her. When she reads Helen’s +final desperate letter promising that she will never again allow such a +situation to develop, Adele exclaims with impatience: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Hasn’t she learned yet that things do happen and she isn’t +big enough to stave them off? Can’t she see things as they are +and not as she would make them if she were strong enough...? +I am afraid it comes very near to being a dead-lock.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-20">20</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This sentence concludes the book, to which Miss Stein originally +gave the title <em>Quod Erat Demonstrandum</em>, the implied proposition +being that such an emotional game could never be worth the candle. +The current title, chosen by the editor, throws the emphasis upon +Helen’s inability to be honest with herself or others, in contrast to +Adele’s ruthless clarity. If Adele acted against her own middle-class +convictions, it was at least without self-deception at any stage of the +game. Mr. Wilson suggests that continued preoccupation with women, +<a id="page-251" class="pagenum" title="251"></a> +and her unwillingness to abandon herself again or to write openly +about it, was responsible for the increasing obscurity of Miss Stein’s +work and the lofty emotional detachment of her viewpoint.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-20">20</a>] +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +John Breckenridge Ellis’s <em>The Holland Wolves</em>, published late in +1902, was largely in the cape-and-sword tradition of the time, but he +inserted a variant touch by making its central figure a transvestist +and treating the emotional consequences seriously. Rosamunda, +daughter of a Spanish leader in the war with the Netherlands, has +been bred in a convent where flagellation was a common practice. +When, at nineteen, she must choose between becoming a nun there +or accompanying her father to the Low Countries, she elects the latter +course. Disguised as her father’s squire, she engages in espionage and +from expediency pays court to Anna, a Dutch girl in her teens. The +latter falls deeply in love with her and abandons family and reputation +to follow her. But Rosamunda’s fancy has been caught by an +officer in the Dutch forces, to whom she confesses that she is a woman. +When he pronounces Anna no better than a camp follower, Rosamunda +challenges him to a duel, worsts him, and consequently is +cured of her passion for him. Thereafter she becomes one of the most +cruel of the inquisitionary soldiers. +</p> + +<p> +Since she has never been in love with Anna, and the latter +throughout much of the story believes her to be a man, the variant +issue is as confused as always in a romance of sex disguise. Like Gunter’s +farce, however, the tale bears witness to interest in intersexual +types even among superficial American readers, for Rosamunda has no +feminine characteristics. It also indicates the author’s belief that such +types result from environment rather than heredity. Rosamunda, +despite her Spanish coloring, is revealed at the end as Anna’s sister +(stolen from Holland in infancy), and not related at all to the +Spaniards upon whom she has modeled herself. The blood kinship +between the two girls, moreover, is evidently meant to account for +Anna’s spontaneous attraction, which after the revelation of Rosamunda’s +sex becomes a profound sisterly devotion. Readers were +thus provided with a spicy morsel but spared the slightest moral +indigestion. (If this account makes the tale seem one of mere sex +disguise, comparison with Compton Mackenzie’s <em>Sylvia Scarlett</em> of a +few decades later will make the difference apparent.) +</p> + +<p> +The first of the century’s openly published titles by a major writer +was John Masefield’s <em>Multitude and Solitude</em> (1909), its author’s least-esteemed +novel to judge from the neglect accorded it by literary +historians, libraries, and secondhand catalogs. It is true that from the +<a id="page-252" class="pagenum" title="252"></a> +standpoint of artistry it falls into two almost unrelated halves; but it +is, nevertheless, a convincing study of a young dramatist in search of +his soul—that is, of the “high and austere” character he feels essential +to a great artist. He does achieve his end via some gruelling years +with a medical unit in South Africa, but he is driven to this heroic +measure by a series of major and minor frustrations reminiscent of +the tricks of Fate in Thomas Hardy’s work. Among the major +tragedies is the death of the woman he has long loved, and this +calamity is the end of a chain of trivial mischances in which the +detonating factor is jealousy on the part of his beloved’s woman +friend. There is an artistic preliminary sounding of the variant note +early in the book when, depressed at failing to find Ottalie in her +London apartment, he stops at a café where he sees +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +a red-haired fierce little poet who sat close by reading and +eating cake. The yellow back of <em>Les Fleurs du Mal</em> was +propped against his teapot. Something of the fierceness and +passion of the Femmes Damnées ... was wreaked upon the +cake.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-21">21</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +After Ottalie is drowned while crossing to Ireland, her friend +Agatha tells the lover what he had already guessed: Ottalie’s visit to +her Irish relatives was partially the result of his not having definitely +proposed marriage. And his failure to do so was (again in part) due +to Agatha’s jealously interrupting a tête-à-tête between the lovers, +and later delaying a letter from Ottalie to him. Agatha confesses all +this during her prostration after her friend’s death. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +“I was jealous. I was wicked. I think the devil was in me.” +... He would have asked to look upon Ottalie; but he refrained +in the presence of that passion. Agatha had enough +to bear. He would not flick her jealousies.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-22">22</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +There is no suggestion that Ottalie reciprocated Agatha’s love, nor +any implication of lesbian intimacy. Ottalie’s brother, however, tells +the hero that although she loved him she thought him “too ready +to surrender to immediate and perhaps wayward emotion”—an obvious +hint at the heroine’s physical coldness or Victorian repression +in the heterosexual field. +</p> + +<p> +Two years later and half a world away the Australian woman +known to letters as Henry Handel Richardson recorded the emotional +development of an adolescent girl in <em>The Getting of Wisdom</em> +<a id="page-253" class="pagenum" title="253"></a> +(1910). At fourteen Laura is already too hard and independent to +feel close to her emotional widowed mother, and at boarding school +she is subjected to refined cruelty by her mates because she is so +“different”—partly in her precocious literary interests but most of all +in her dislike of boys. To gain face among them she invents a romance +with a curate; the exposure of this fiction brings more ridicule which +hardens her further. Her inner withdrawal becomes complete after +the expulsion of an adoring younger girl who stole in order to buy +her a keepsake. +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of her bitter isolation she is chosen as roommate by +a popular girl a few years her senior, and at once succumbs emotionally +to the first kindness and championship she has ever known. It +is clear, however, that no physical intimacy ensues—Laura kisses Evelyn +only once, and then impulsively when the latter, in a fit of pique, +remarks that all men are fools. The friendship is slowly blighted by +Laura’s passionate jealousy if the older girl goes out with men or +shows attention to other girls, a “tyranny” to which the senior will +not submit. The school gossips about this conspicuous attachment, +but without censure or apparent awareness of questionable possibilities +even on the part of the mistresses. After a brief and abortive +religious “conversion” Laura sets herself to cultivate her literary talent +by way of emotional outlet, for there are hints that she will never feel +attracted to men. The wisdom gained during this difficult adolescence +is summarized at the end by the author, who says that though the girl +returned home feeling that she “fitted no hole,” she could not yet +know that +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +just those mortals who feel cramped and unsure in the conduct +of everyday life will find themselves ... in that freer world +where no practical considerations hamper, and where the +creatures that inhabit dance to their tune.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-23">23</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +That is, in the somewhat narcissistic world which they, as writers, +create. This is a penetrating recognition of authorship as sublimation, +written as it was several decades before psychiatrists began to take +the writing fraternity apart. +</p> + +<p> +Another novel with rather stronger variant overtones appeared in +England in 1914, Ethel Sidgwick’s <em>A Lady of Leisure</em>. This pleasant +social romance had for its main theme a muted echo from the +Women’s Movement: the wealthy and idle girl’s need of a routine +occupation. Violet Ashwin, daughter of a frivolous social belle and +a Harley Street physician, is driven by a sense of utter futility to +<a id="page-254" class="pagenum" title="254"></a> +fly in the face of convention—and her mother’s prejudices—and apprentice +herself to a modiste. Her co-worker, Alice Eccles, is an +enterprising cockney who supports a neurotic mother, preferring +this burden to marriage with a suitor whom she suspects of engaging +in illegal enterprises. Alice is tall, handsome, high-spirited, and +infinitely more self-reliant than the sheltered upper-class girl, whom +at first she assists and patronizes with a kind of affectionate raillery. +Soon, however, the two are close personal friends, to the horror of +Violet’s snobbish mother. Between Violet and her father, though, a +close alliance has always existed, and he applauds both her job +and her new friendship, seeing at once the solid quality beneath +Alice’s unpolished surface. +</p> + +<p> +When Violet works herself into a collapse and is sent to the +country for the summer, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Alice longed to have news of her—but she was not going to +ask for it.... Her adoration for Violet, violently repressed, +since its torrential force made her almost ashamed, was a +thing unique, unheard of, as Miss Eccles believed, in the +world before. The revelation of woman to woman is often +just as remarkable, for all the truisms on the subject, as the +revelation of woman to man.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-24">24</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Somewhat later, Mrs. Eccles’ mental condition having become a +danger to her daughter, Dr. Ashwin copes with the mother and +engages Alice as lady’s maid to his wife, hoping that her companionship +may restore his still convalescent daughter’s interest in living. +When he tells Violet that Alice is in the house she colors visibly +and runs upstairs, “her face still pink and her heart thumping.” +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Alice dropped her hands and coloured gloriously, far more +gloriously than Violet at her best could have accomplished. +Her work slipped from her knees and she spread her splendid +arms.... [Violet] went straight to her and fell upon her +breast.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-25">25</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The only further detail mentioned is Alice’s kissing the other girl’s +hands. The friendship survives Alice’s marriage and the birth of her +first child, and she is the only person save Violet’s parents to attend +the latter’s subsequent wedding. Here, then, is an unmistakably +passionate relationship between adults—both girls are in their middle +twenties—presented with complete sympathy and approval, and encouraged +<a id="page-255" class="pagenum" title="255"></a> +by an established physician. It is, of course, quite innocent +of lesbian implications. +</p> + +<p> +Since Miss Stein’s novelette remained unpublished for half a +century, MacLane and Ellis would be America’s only representatives +in this early period but for short stories which appeared sporadically. +One of Josephine Dodge Dascom’s <em>Smith College Stories</em> (1900), “A +Case of Interference,” just skirted the variant field. A junior, +prominent because of her literary ability, enters the despised arena +of campus politics to save an unpopular gifted freshman who worships +her from leaving college. A little later the <em>Ladies’ Home +Journal</em> published a slighter college story, “The Cat and the King,” +by Jennette Lee, in which a freshman shams illness in order to +join her senior idol in the infirmary, and is extricated from ensuing +complications by a wholly sympathetic woman physician. These were +both written on an adult level. The only known variant juvenile, +<em>The Lass of the Silver Sword</em> by Mary Constance Du Bois, ran in +<em>St. Nicolas Magazine</em> during 1909 and was published in book form +later.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-26">26</a>] Centered about the adoration of a fourteen-year-old girl for +a senior of nineteen in her boarding school, it was sympathetic but +so circumspect as to lack full vitality. Catherine Wells’s “The Beautiful +House” (<em>Harper’s Magazine</em>, 1912) pictures an idyllic relation +between two adult artists, for the older and less feminine of whom +the connection ends tragically with the marriage of the younger +woman. Helen R. Hull’s “The Fire” (1918) will be discussed later +with its author’s longer narratives. +</p> + +<p> +It is noteworthy that none of this early fiction records disapproval +of variant experience on the part of either the authors or society. It is +seen as educative and beneficial during the teens, or even in the +following decade for the single woman, and it provides the only +happiness during adolescence for several girls more gifted than +their peers. If in Masefield’s novel its sequel is tragic, jealousy rather +than variance per se is responsible, and Miss Stein condemns the +experience she describes, not as lesbian, but as generally spineless +and unintelligent. In the cases (Miss Stein’s and Miss Richardson’s) +where antipathy or indifference to men is noted, women’s attraction +to their own sex is not responsible, but is rather a concomitant +product of unspecified factors. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-14-3"> +Sophistication and Dispute +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +In 1915 D. H. Lawrence, with <em>The Rainbow</em>, hit the first ringing +blow upon the anvil of controversy. As the messiah of robust heterosexual +<a id="page-256" class="pagenum" title="256"></a> +passion, Lawrence needs no introduction, and in this early +novel he attacked right and left all factors which militate against +it in modern society—unhealthy urban and industrial life, sterile +intellectuality (especially among women), and lesbianism. It is in +the final portion of his three-generation panorama that the current +representative of the Brangwyn clan, sixteen-year-old Ursula, contracts +a passion for a schoolmistress. She has just had a brief but +complete heterosexual experience, and Lawrence implies that the +tide of emotion which overflows toward Winifred Inger is little +more than an aftermath of that physical awakening. A ten-page +chapter significantly entitled “Shame” gives the history of their +affair, which reaches its first climax at Winifred’s river cottage when +the two bathe nude at night. Immediately after this episode the +girl’s one desire is to get away. Over a period of months, however, +“the two women became intimate. Their lives seemed suddenly to +fuse into one.” During the long vacation, Ursula, as always when +away from the older woman, is desolate and afire for her, but with +their reunion +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +a heavy clogged sense of deadness began to gather upon her, +from the other woman’s contact. Her female hips seemed +big and earthy, her ankles and her arms too thick.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-27">27</a>] [The last +touch is a highly original bit of anthropometry.] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Winifred, deeply in love with the younger girl, wishes to leave the +school and live with Ursula in London where they can mingle in +literary circles and participate in the Women’s Movement. Ursula +repudiates the suggestion and goes on to other heterosexual adventures, +but—possibly as a result of her lesbian experience?—she is always +too much concerned with her own emotions to become a satisfactory +partner for men. Her leaving a lover and going out to steep herself +in the light of a full moon is offered as symbolic of her narcissistic +self-absorption. +</p> + +<p> +This novel was published by the solid firm of Methuen, but +was withdrawn after a police court verdict of indecency which was +based on attacks by three or four reviewers. The charge was general, +only one (Robert Lynd) making an oblique allusion to its lesbian +aspect. Lawrence was not notified directly of the court order, and +since he had neither funds nor influence to launch a legal protest,[<a class="footnote" href="#9-28">28</a>] +this act of censorship raised few echoes in comparison with some +cases to be noted later. It did, however, postpone general circulation +<a id="page-257" class="pagenum" title="257"></a> +of the novel, and undoubtedly focussed some attention on lesbianism. +</p> + +<p> +A year later the American Henry Kitchell Webster touched briefly +but scathingly on the subject of variance in <em>The Great Adventure</em> +(1916). In this history of a marriage the girl who has looked forward +to motherhood is frustrated by the birth of twins, the implication +being that she desired merely an object upon which to project her +own personality, and the self-abnegation demanded by two young +entities, boy and girl, is beyond her. Accordingly while the children +can still be cared for by nurses, Rose leaves her home and seeks +self-realization on the stage. In the course of her first year she +takes an artist’s interest in a beautiful but inferior colleague in the +chorus of a revue, whom she coaches in diction and for whom, among +others, she designs flattering costumes. But when her Galatea becomes +infatuated with her she is disgusted. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Rose understood this better than Olga did, having had to +evade one or two “crushes” while at the University. It was a +sort of thing that went utterly against her instincts.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-29">29</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Olga’s efforts to persuade and caress her into intimacy are worse than +futile, and in retaliation for Rose’s contempt Olga spreads gossip +of an affair with the director which does Rose grave professional +injury. After some further experiment, Rose returns to her family +a more mature and humble woman. Olga is presented as a strongly +antipathetic personality, and Rose’s quest for self-expression proves +sterile and unrewarding for all concerned. Learning unselfish adjustment +in marriage is “The Great Adventure.” +</p> + +<p> +In January 1917 the first British novel appeared which was devoted +wholly to variance, and the first in English since James’s +<em>The Bostonians</em> of 1855—Clemence Dane’s <em>Regiment of Women</em>. Its +attitude is as bitter as Lawrence’s in <em>The Rainbow</em>, but any question +of influence is excluded by the author’s indication that it was +written before the latter was published. Title and initial quotation +announce the theme as “the monstrous empire of a cruel woman,” +and its four-hundred-page plot revolves about a subtle sadist, outstanding +mistress in a girls’ day school. Clare Hartill (the surname +is surely symbolic), brilliant, sardonic, and never attractive to men, +has colleagues and pupils alike well under her domination. The +other mistresses stand in awe of her superior intellect, her uncanny +success as a teacher, and her mordant tongue. The girls—she is really +interested only in the higher secondary classes—are emotionally subjugated +<a id="page-258" class="pagenum" title="258"></a> +by her alternation of warm praise and stinging raillery, +the praise intensified by “sudden brilliant smiles” and the discreet +laying on of hands. +</p> + +<p> +Clare is a woman of feverish friendships and sudden ruptures, +“unmaternal” to the core +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +and pitiless after victory: not till then did she examine the +nature thus enslaved, seldom did she find it worth the trouble +of the skirmish.... To the few that pleased her fastidious +taste she gave of her best, lavishly ... to them she was inspiration +incarnate.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-30">30</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +But her interest even in these favorites “required their physical +nearness” and died with their departure from school. Just as Clare +has reached the “dangerous age” of thirty-five a new teacher of nineteen +enters upon the scene: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +... vehement Alwynne—no schoolgirl—yet more youthful and +ingenuous than any mistress had right to be, loving with all +the discrimination of a fine mind and all the ardour of an +affectionate child. Here was no ... fleeting devotion that +must end as the schooldays ended. Here was love for Clare +at last, a widow’s cruse to last her for all time. Clare ... +relaxing all effort, settled herself to enjoy to the full the +cushioning sense of security. +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +But even so, Alwynne was “too obviously subject through her own +free impulse to entirely satisfy. Clare’s love of power had its morbid +moments, when a struggling victim pleased her.”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-31">31</a>] +</p> + +<p> +So great is the older woman’s magnetism that Alwynne, wholesome +and spirited enough to hold her own at first, does not detect the +other’s egotistical cruelty until it is exercised upon a student. This +hypersensitive child of thirteen, Louise, whose precocity approaches +genius, Clare has forced intellectually beyond her strength and +reduced emotionally to half-hysterical subservience. Alwynne’s strong +maternal instinct moves her to intervene on Louise’s behalf, and a +dangerous triangle develops. When, ill from tension, Louise fails +in an important interscholastic competition, Clare turns suddenly +hostile and excoriates her, not only for the failure, but for her +interpretation of a dramatic role rehearsed in addition to her school-room +load. Playing the tragic child Prince Arthur in <em>King John</em> has +already driven Louise past the limits of stability, and after this +<a id="page-259" class="pagenum" title="259"></a> +double humiliation at the hands of her idolized persecutor, she leaps +to death from an attic window. (This antedated by fifteen years +Winsloe’s <em>Mädchen in Uniform</em>, of which the denouement and certain +other details are so similar that some influence seems beyond +question.) +</p> + +<p> +The tragedy and its aftermath—Clare, crowding her own guilt +below the threshold of consciousness, persuades herself and Alwynne +that the latter is in part to blame—brings Alwynne to the verge +of breakdown, and so she goes on leave to relatives in the country. A +sympathetic cousin who is something of an amateur psychiatrist +gradually probes to the root of her trouble and offers an impersonal +estimate of Clare, whom he has never met and has reconstructed +solely from the girl’s still loyal accounts. His opinion gives her +pause, and subsequent encounters with Clare, so shaken by the +suicide and by Alwynne’s long absence that she lacks her usual +finesse, complete the girl’s disillusionment. She finally marries the +cousin. +</p> + +<p> +This overlong narrative carries psychological conviction but suffers +from blurred focus. Clare’s heartlessness once her victims are enthralled +supports the initial claim that sadism is its thesis, but the +spell she casts is variant passion no less intense for being subjectively +induced and never allowed expression (the one real caress in four-hundred +pages figures early in her conquest of Alwynne). This +passionate element assumes primary importance during her final +struggle against a male rival. Close to the end a woman who has +known Clare all her life tells her: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +When you allow [a girl] to attach herself passionately +to you, you are feeding and at the same time deflecting from +its natural channel the strongest impulse of her life.... +Alwynne needs a good concrete husband to love, not a +fantastic ideal that she calls friendship and clothes in your +face and figure. You are doing her a deep injury.... I tell +you, it’s vampirism. And when she is squeezed dry and flung +aside, who will the next victim be? One day you’ll grow +old. What will you do when your glamour’s gone? I tell you, +Clare Hartill, you’ll die of hunger in the end.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-32">32</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Egotism is implied here, but the main issue is variant seduction, and +Clare’s retort is a long boast as to her prowess in that line amply +justified by earlier incidents. She concludes defiantly that she and +Alwynne “suffice each other. Thank God there are some women who +<a id="page-260" class="pagenum" title="260"></a> +can do without marriage.” The reply is: “Poor Clare! Are the grapes +very sour?” +</p> + +<p> +Surprisingly, this “final triumphant insult” touches the quick. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +The insult could cut through her defenses and strike at +her very self, because it was true. Her pride agonized. She had +thought herself shrouded, invulnerable.... She sat and +shuddered at the wound dealt; ... at the arrow-tip rankling +in it still.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-33">33</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Clare’s reaction is not prepared for in advance. Moreover, this +episode is so placed and treated as to make it the supreme climax +of the plot, and the implication is clear: it is the sex starvation of +spinsterhood which produces variance, a barren substitute for married +love. If the spinster is brilliant and proud, a sadistic egotism constantly +requiring fresh victims will be a concomitant. Clare’s spinsterhood +is involuntary; she is, then, a potentially tragic figure, and the +novel would have gained in power had she been so presented +throughout. But she is shown only as momentarily pathetic, and +after such moments her recoveries are too ready and her retaliations +too mean to permit of sustained sympathy. One is left with a sense +that the author had known a Clare Hartill all too well, had emerged +hating her, and had not yet achieved the detachment necessary for +producing artistic unity. +</p> + +<p> +Later in 1917 <em>I, Mary MacLane</em> provided an autobiographical +sequel to the author’s volumes of fifteen years earlier. Like her first +book, it is an impressionistic journal of the preceding year which +includes considerable retrospective information. Once more Mary is +in Butte, convalescing from a grave illness induced by a half-dozen +hectic years in Boston and New York. She still hates men, who have +never stirred any emotion in her, and with whom in their “crude +sex-rapacity” she has been careless as no “regular woman” would +dare to be. One gathers, then, that the heartbreak from which she +has suffered for a year is not the work of a man. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +It is one thing I do not dwell upon in this book of Me. +Much of Me had nothing to do with my heart when it broke: +though I loved with all of Me ... one who lives in New York—and +I lost and lost, all the way. There was mere human +ordinariness, about which I built up a strangely sincere +temple of grace which I looked to see shed light on my +life like the eternal beauty of a Daybreak. I gave the best +<a id="page-261" class="pagenum" title="261"></a> +I knew to it, from a distance, and I lost.... All was broken +without so much as a clasp of hands.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-34">34</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +That Mary is now well aware of all potentialities between women +is clear from other comments; for example, that she “wasted” several +years in the two eastern cities on friendships (with women) from +whose ill effects she will never recover, having given too much of herself +in the “headlong newness of knowing and owning friendship after +long young loneliness.”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-35">35</a>] Elsewhere, she mentions translating Sappho, +and says: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +I am some way the Lesbian woman, ... [but] there is +no vice in my Lesbian vein, ... [though] I have lightly kissed +and been kissed by Lesbian lips. I am too personally fastidious, +too temperamentally dishonest ... to walk in direct repellent +roads of vice even in freest moods.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-36">36</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +She believes lesbianism to be subjectively induced, as against those +who consider it due to “prenatal influence.” Some women are +lesbian because they are born aggressive, some feel themselves challenged +by the limitations imposed on women, some are merely so +lonely that the first understanding person “wins a passionate adoration +the deeper for being unrealized.” She believes that all women +“except two breeds, the stupid and the narrowly feline,” have a +lesbian strain; that is, there is always some “poignant flair” of sex +in their close friendships, though all “good non-analytic creatures” +would deny it with horror. (This last suggests at least an acquaintance +with Freud.) +</p> + +<p> +She has now returned to cultivate in solitude the <em>Me</em> neglected +during her preceding distracted years. There are evidences that she +has more than dabbled in oriental philosophy and believes in reincarnation, +which, she says, gives her many buried selves to delve for—surely +Valhalla for a narcissist. Mild as this volume is in its condemnation +by comparison with the preceding two, its stress upon +the suffering and “waste” in variant friendships, and its reference to +lesbianism as “repellent vice,” align it with them as opposed to +variance. +</p> + +<p> +Such pointed attacks as those of Lawrence and Miss Dane were +bound to stimulate counterattack. The first appeared in A. T. +Fitzroy’s <em>Despised and Rejected</em> (1918), though women’s variance +was of secondary importance in a novel whose main issue was the +tragic wartime persecution of Conscientious Objectors; particularly +<a id="page-262" class="pagenum" title="262"></a> +of male homosexuals who took refuge in that camp. Because both +“Conchies” and homosexuals were anathema in 1918, the publisher +was prosecuted and fined some £160.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-37">37</a>] The author, wife of the composer +Cyril Scott, apparently weathered the storm without major +consequences, though she wrote nothing more under the same +name. +</p> + +<p> +The feminine incidents in the novel concern an actress who, at +thirteen, had adored a boarding school teacher; however, she cooled +when the latter responded, because she hated to be caressed. Her +teens included similar attractions, and she had several unpleasant +experiences with men during her years of becoming established in +the theatre. These experiences precede the opening of the story. +The action begins with amateur theatrical activities at a summer +hotel, in the course of which Antoinette falls in love with a taciturn +dark woman reminiscent of her first idol, and, on the other hand, +rouses emotional interest in an effeminate young man in the cast. +The summer interlude ends without resolving either affair. Both +amours are continued by letter, a medium which frees Antoinette of +her physical inhibitions. Thus, she learns that Dennis has previously +been much drawn to men; and on her part, she becomes so attached +to the dark Hester that she visits her in Birmingham. She is as +yet unaware of any “abnormality” in her feeling, knowing only that +Hester represents the promise of some imperative emotional release. +When she discovers that Hester has had a liaison with a man, her +love is instantly chilled, although it had reached the verge of overt +expression. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Dennis, obtaining no response from her, has become +involved with a poet in desperate circumstances for whom he feels +a maternal tenderness. From this point on, the long narrative is +concerned chiefly with its male cast, but it includes Antoinette’s +finally considering herself in love with Dennis. He has now, however, +irrevocably elected the homosexual path; he tells her that he recognized +her at first meeting as another homosexual and that that was +the reason for his instant attraction. Despite his immediate detection +of her proclivities, Antoinette is presented as feminine in both appearance +and temperament. The cause of her narcissistic failure in +either normal or variant adjustment is that throughout adolescence she +was always awaiting the charmed age of eighteen, when the thrilling +business of Real Life would begin. That is, she nursed a romantic +ideal impossible of realistic achievement (cf. Gourmont’s <em>Songe d’une +Femme</em>). At the end she complains: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<a id="page-263" class="pagenum" title="263"></a> +<p class="noindent"> +Everybody seems to think you’re abnormal because you +<em>like</em> to be.... As if being different from other people weren’t +curse enough in itself.... People judge the fine by the sensual, +of whom there are plenty also among the “normal.”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-38">38</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This is a fair enough statement of a variant argument which will +be encountered again later. +</p> + +<p> +A more oblique and much more artistic species of defense is +incorporated in Arnold Bennett’s <em>The Pretty Lady</em> (1918), of which +the main theme is the relation between a wealthy London bachelor +and a Parisian courtesan war-bound in London. Despite the outcry +the book raised among reviewers, the sexual aspects of this affair +are subordinated to the soothing effect of the French woman’s simple +and cosy subjective complaisance, in contrast to the hectic wartime +mood of the Englishwomen with whom Hoape is thrown <a id="corr-113"></a>together. One of +these, Concepçion Smith, is the daughter of a British financial +magnate who operated in Lima, and it is not wholly clear whether +her mother or merely her given name and her upbringing were +Latin-American. Orphaned at eighteen, she returned to London +and kept house for her bachelor uncle, a cabinet minister, earning +a reputation as hostess and wit. Having married for love, and lost +her husband within the first few weeks of World War I, she leaves +for Glasgow early in the story to dull her sorrow through canteen +work in a munitions plant. She is described as having a masculine +mentality, being relatively indifferent to feminine graces, and lacking +somewhat in obvious sex appeal. She is at this time about thirty. +</p> + +<p> +Her closest friend has been Lady Queenie Lechford, perhaps a +decade younger, a spoiled only child, capricious, flippant, the type +of hectic and brittle “flapper” who was to become so common a figure +in the fiction of the 1920s. That the two quarrelled bitterly over +Concepçion’s leaving London one learns only when they are reunited +late in 1916, after Concepçion has broken under the strain of overwork +and the shock of a horrifying accident to a factory girl. The two +women’s reunion is delineated with the subtlest indirect touches, but +it is clearly passionate. Of the two, Concepçion seems the more deeply +involved. Though there are hints that she herself is not uninterested +in Hoape, she tells him Queenie is in love with him and urges him +to marry the girl in spite of the considerable difference in their +ages. She would do anything in the world, she declares, to win even +a few weeks’ happiness for her young friend. Even while Hoape is +evading her suggestion, Lady Queenie, given to reckless watching +<a id="page-264" class="pagenum" title="264"></a> +of air-raids from the roof of her parents’ town house, is killed by falling +anti-aircraft shrapnel. Concepçion, with nothing now to live for, plans +suicide, but is dissuaded by Hoape’s concern for her, and one foresees +that these two will eventually marry. Bennett thus appears to diagnose +variant (possibly lesbian) connections as one phase of wartime +hysteria, induced mainly by the shortage of eligible men. Though +there is a shade of satire in his picture, there is certainly no disapproval. +</p> + +<p> +The next two novels, both American and both published in 1920, +made relatively brief but quite significant additions to variant +literature. By a count of lines, Kate Chancellor occupies little space +in Sherwood Anderson’s <em>Poor White</em>, story of a shanty-town boy’s rise +to prosperity and a good marriage. But she supplies the most vivid +thread in the pattern of his wife’s emotional development. When +Clara leaves her father’s farm for the state university she is wholly +uninformed in matters of sex. From some bungling early experience +she is wary of men, though conscious of a certain power over them. +The relatives with whom she lives while in college play little part +in her life save to repeat her father’s misunderstanding of trivial +“petting” incidents which are unsought and distasteful to her. +</p> + +<p> +Clara finds her college courses no help toward the practical conduct +of life in any field, and her one fruitful contact is with a girl +two or three years her senior who plans to study medicine. Kate +Chancellor, as masculine as her musical brother is effeminate, is quite +frank in admitting her homosexual nature (thus implied to be +innate), though she never mentions lesbianism. For three years the +girls are constantly together. Their avid discussions range through +politics, religion, and philosophy, but center most often on sex differences +in temperament, and the problem facing all women in +marriage: how to continue as individuals and not become mere +colorless stereotypes like most housewives of their acquaintance. +Kate is more drawn to Clara than to any other woman she has met, +dreads marriage for the girl, and yearns to take her along as companion +in the free and purposeful life she means to live. But she +is honest enough to admit that her own pattern is not Clara’s, and +that to bind her emotionally would only increase the groping girl’s +confusion. Her closest approach to physical expression occurs during +one of their customary walks together, when to drive some point +home she stops and takes Clara by the shoulders. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +For a moment they stood thus close together, and a +strange gentle and yet hungry look came into Kate’s eyes. +<a id="page-265" class="pagenum" title="265"></a> +It lasted only a moment and when it happened both women +were somewhat embarrassed. Kate laughed and taking hold +of Clara’s arm pulled her along the sidewalk. “Let’s walk like +the devil,” she said, “come on, let’s get up some speed.”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-39">39</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +On her return from college Clara becomes involved at once in +the business of getting married. She manages to resist her father’s +pressure toward a match profitable to him, but soon is plunged by +circumstance into marriage with the book’s main character—the union +is emotionally a premature step for both of them. Throughout this +troubled period Clara tests all that happens against her memory of +Kate’s honesty and gentleness, and on her wedding night itself, +offended by the crude “surprise party” sprung by the farm hands, +she thinks of Kate, “who had known how to love in silence.” +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Clara put her hands to her eyes as though to shut out the +scene in the room. “If I could have been with Kate this evening +I could have come to a man believing in the possible sweetness +of marriage,” she thought.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-40">40</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In the end, however, her marriage proves no worse than the average +in understanding and happiness. There have been few such sympathetic +and unexaggerated pictures of a variant woman in our +literature; and none of the others was written by a man. +</p> + +<p> +The year’s total balance of sentiment was evened by James Gibbons +Huneker’s <em>Painted Veils</em>. This picture of musical and literary New +York was so continental in its cynical frankness that it was first +issued privately, though it soon found regular publication and is +now available in paper covers. As its epilogue states, its hero Ulick is a +young man whose favorite authors are Thomas à Kempis and +Petronius, and whose experience reflects this duality of taste. Heroine +of the Petronian chapters is a dynamic girl, Easter, who rises by her +own efforts—in more fields than one—to the status of world-famed +prima donna. Early in her career she considers sources of revenue for +European study. To accept support from her lover would give the +man too much claim upon her. So her thoughts turn to a fellow student +of voice, a dilettante with whom already “an intimacy had +developed.” +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +She began thinking of Allie Wentworth and her set. Allie +was an heiress ... a masculine creature who affected a mannish +cut of clothes. She wore her hair closely cut and sported a +<a id="page-266" class="pagenum" title="266"></a> +walking stick. Her stride and bearing intrigued [Easter], +who had never seen that sort before.... Allie was always +hugging her when alone.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-41">41</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Although Allie makes relatively few appearances, it is clear that +she financed and accompanied Easter for a number of years. It is also +implied that the cause of Easter’s duel with Mary Garden in Paris +was not, as the newspapers claimed, a man. “When Allie Wentworth, +who was Easter’s second, read this in <em>Le Soir</em> she burst into laughter.” +(When the book appeared, gossip claimed that Mary Garden was +the model for Easter, and that this duel naming her as opposite was +inserted for camouflage.) +</p> + +<p> +Upon Easter’s return to New York she says to Ulick, who is +jealous of Allie: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +That girl helped me over some rough places in Europe. I +shall never give her up, never.... I love sumptuous characters. +That’s why I love to read <em>Mlle Maupin</em>. Also about that +perverse puss Satin in <em>Nana</em>. She reminds me of Allie and her +pranks—simply adorable, I tell you! Toujours fidèle.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-42">42</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Later, Easter, now the pursuer because Ulick has turned cool, follows +him to the apartment of his current mistress, a vulgar little creature +who is transported at +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +being treated as a social equal by the greatest living lady +opera singer.... Emboldened by her success Dora persuaded +Easter to go with her into the dressing room, from which +much later they emerged wearing night draperies. A queer go, +this sudden intimacy, ruminated the young man.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-43">43</a>] [A <em>queer go</em> +is a bit of <em>double entendre</em> worthy of Spanish comedy.] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Finally, there is a party in Easter’s quarters including a handful +of lesbians, one or two smoking cigars, and Allie Wentworth, whose +jealous rage is so childish that she must be publicly reproved. With +this Zolaesque portrait of a lesbian woman who is unscrupulous, +ruthless, and promiscuous, there is no need for Huneker to articulate +his opinion of variance. +</p> + +<p> +Few contrasts could be sharper than that between the continental +sophistication of Huneker and the midwestern simplicity of Helen R. +Hull. As early as 1918 she had published in <em>Century Magazine</em> a +short-story (“The Fire”) of a small-town girl’s love for the middle-aged +<a id="page-267" class="pagenum" title="267"></a> +spinster who gives her not only art lessons but her first contact +with a mellow and cultured personality—a benign reverse of the +destructive relationship in <em>Regiment of Women</em>. The innocent +friendship is broken off by the girl’s jealous mother on the grounds +that “it’s not healthy or natural for a girl to be hanging around +an old maid.” Miss Hull’s <em>Quest</em> (1922) records the effect upon a +growing girl of constant tension between her parents. As precocious +as Miss Dane’s Louise, Jean falls in love at twelve with a high-school +teacher, and simultaneously forms a feverish alliance with a classmate +considerably older and less naïve who adores the same woman. Because +the other girl is so much more accessible than the teacher, it is +the former who draws the mother’s fire here, and she terminates +the connection with a touch of melodrama which leaves her daughter +wary of variant emotion, in the same way that the family situation +has affected her with regard to heterosexual love. Jean’s subsequent +relations with men are inhibited, and her two or three very warm +friendships with girls and women during college and her early +years of teaching never approach the intensity of her first love. +</p> + +<p> +In <em>Labyrinth</em> (1923) Miss Hull attacked from a feminine angle +the problem posed in <em>The Great Adventure</em>: the frustration of a +versatile woman cut off from personal and intellectual contacts +by housework and the care of children. After a decade of marriage +Catherine returns to a challenging position which she held during +World War I, though her husband, a professor, disapproves of the +venture. A series of domestic crises plus the professor’s calculated move +from New York to a small midwestern campus finally thwart +his wife’s efforts to escape unrelieved domesticity. No variance complicates +Catherine’s problems, but through minor characters three +other emotional adjustments are presented, one involving two +women. +</p> + +<p> +The ménage of a professor whose wife is nothing but a <em>Hausfrau</em> is +dull beyond endurance for all concerned. A woman physician and +her husband appear happy, but the man privately mourns his wife’s +sacrifice of maternity to her professional career. Catherine’s younger +sister, a social worker and unmarried, has broken away from her +mother because “I can’t be babied all my life—all sorts of infantile +traits sticking to me,” and is living with an older fellow-worker. +When her sister advises marriage, she retorts: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Husband! Me? I’m fixed for life right now.... Anybody +needs someone loving ’em, smoothing ’em down, setting ’em +up, brushing off the dust ... I know a little thing or two +<a id="page-268" class="pagenum" title="268"></a> +about love. But [this way] you can do that ... through and +around whatever else you’re doing ... I know lots of women +who prefer to set up an establishment with another woman. +Then you go fifty-fifty on everything. Work and feeling +and all the rest, and no King waiting around for his humble +servant.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-44">44</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This is Miss Hull’s nearest allusion to physical intimacy, and while +not explicitly implied, neither is it repudiated. Sympathetically as the +variant pair are portrayed, they are no more romanticized than the +heterosexual couples. The older woman has been a fanatic in many +causes and a hunger-striker for suffrage, is moody and violent, and +quarrels with any critical male at sight. The younger is cool, practical, +and a bit hard. But the alliance apparently stands as good a chance +of survival as any in the book, and the author accepts it as a matter +of course. The only dissenting voice is the professor’s; he is bitter in +his animosity and contempt. +</p> + +<p> +Publishing simultaneously with Miss Hull but more nearly in the +vein of Huneker was England’s Ronald Firbank, whose delightful +absurdities began to flower with <em>Vainglory</em> in 1918. Firbank was +particularly fascinated by all aspects of homosexuality, and not one of +his brief novels is without some reference to it. To render these +allusions delicate he cultivated a frivolous obscurity, but it was no +more designed to conceal <a id="corr-117"></a>than are a dancer’s veils to hide the form +beneath. Probably the most significant in our field is <em>The Flower +Beneath the Foot</em> (1923).[<a class="footnote" href="#9-45">45</a>] Its setting is a principality the approximate +size and importance of Monaco, with a court circle madly international. +Here, as always, the lesbian glimpses are oblique, but +there are three of them. A visiting Queen Thleeanouhee of the Land +of Dates becomes so openly enamoured of the blonde and bovine +English ambassadress that the whole court fears an “incident.” A +lady in waiting in love with the Prince, after her romance is shattered +by his diplomatic marriage, flees to an adored Sister in the convent +where she was educated, dreaming of a return to earlier delights. She +is a bit chilled at being invited, as an adult now, to wield a whip. +And last, two of the queen’s ladies are becalmed for a summer +afternoon alone in a small sailboat. One (she reminds her colleagues +of Anthony Hamilton’s Miss Hobart) is a girl of “delicate sexless +silhouette, whose exotic attraction had aroused not a few heart-burnings +(and even feuds) among several of the <em>grandes dames</em> +about the court.”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-46">46</a>] Her companion is a ripe and languishing widow. +<a id="page-269" class="pagenum" title="269"></a> +The exiled count upon whom they intended to call catches sight +of their motionless craft and trains his telescope upon it. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Oh poignant moments when the heart stops still! Not since +the hours of his exile had the count’s been so arrested. Caught +in the scarlet radiance of the afterglow the becalmed boat, +for one brief and most memorable second, was his to gaze on. +In certain lands with what diplomacy falls the night.... +Those dimmer-and-dimmer twilights of the North were unknown +in Pisuerga. There Night pursues Day as if she meant +it. “Oh, why was I not <em>sooner</em>?” he murmured distractedly +aloud.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-47">47</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Needless to say, no judgments are even hinted in Firbank’s tales. +If his paired ladies are rather ridiculous, so are his pretty gentlemen +and his mixed couples young and old, his kings and social climbers +and mad old ladies. Since all life is clearly so absurd, he seems to +say, what to do save sit back (with all possible grace) and titter at +the spectacle? Edmund Wilson’s diagnosis of Gertrude Stein might +apply also in some measure to Firbank, though he did not retreat so +far into literary obscurity. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-14-4"> +Post-War Crescendo +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +These novels of Firbank’s, shot through with allusions to both +male and female homosexuality, remind one that two-thirds of the +volumes of Proust’s <em>Recherche du Temps Perdu</em> had been published +in France by 1923, and were, of course, known to many English and +American writers before being translated. It is easy to overrate the +influence of Proust, especially as both James Joyce and Dorothy +Richardson had anticipated him in “stream of consciousness” technique, +the one with <em>Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man</em> (1915), +the other with <em>Pointed Roofs</em> (1917). But in no one else of Proust’s +quality was homosexuality so integral a part of the narrative fabric. +Translations of Proust’s most significant volumes appeared in English +between 1924 and 1930. It might also be noted that Margueritte’s +<em>La Garçonne</em> was translated in 1923. +</p> + +<p> +A second increasingly important influence was that of Freud, +already discernible in <em>Regiment of Women</em> (though a good case +could be made there for Adlerian overtones also), and becoming +more and more obvious in other novels of the same calibre. A striking +<a id="page-270" class="pagenum" title="270"></a> +example was Harvey O’Higgins’ “Story of Julie Cane,” which ran +serially in <em>Harper’s Magazine</em> during 1924, and was as much a +dramatized psychiatric case-record as the earlier work of Dubut de +LaForest in France. Its main emotional themes are a virtually incestuous +devotion between the male protagonist and his mother, +and the passion of a spinster school mistress for the young heroine, +her ward. The author, who delivers a good many brief lectures along +the way, labels this last emotion thwarted maternity, but by the +time Julie has reached late adolescence he is describing Martha +Perrin’s feeling for her as follows: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +It had come to this, that Martha put herself to sleep at +night imagining that Julie was in her arms.... She kissed +the undergarments that were to touch the beloved young +body; and when she had made a dress she caressed it and +hugged it to her breast so that it might by proxy be her +arms around Julie.... When she had Julie in the sewing +room to try on the clothes she had made, her hands shook, +her heart suffocated, and she turned away and wept while +she fumbled over some pretense of taking up a tuck in the +back of the garment.... After Julie had gone she sat with +her face in her hands, her cheeks burning against her cold +fingers, her mouth aching, seeing still the dimples in Julie’s +shoulders, kissing them in her imagination and crying weakly, +starved.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-48">48</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Few passages have been so explicit since Sappho’s famous Ode, +which was less extended. +</p> + +<p> +When Julie is about to leave for college, Martha suffers complete +collapse, one symptom of her illness being that, though starving, +she cannot touch food. A new physician, in the act of taking her +pulse as Julie enters the room, at once prescribes Julie as nurse. +During the period of sickroom intimacy the two fall into each +others’ arms and have some weeks “as happy as a honeymoon,” though +O’Higgins is careful to repeat that the rapture is essentially that +of mother and daughter. If the sensations described above are +offered as maternal, one can only say that the author was convinced +of an incestuous element in all parent-child relationships. One rather +remarkable aspect of the whole is that though patently psychiatric, +the book does not express that condemnation of the emotions +described which was common to later disciples of Freud. Indeed, +<a id="page-271" class="pagenum" title="271"></a> +a physician encourages the intimacy of Julie and Martha, as did +Violet Ashwin’s father in <em>Lady of Leisure</em>, though, of course, without +advocating lesbian activity. In the situation as presented by O’Higgins, +however, some physical release would have been inevitable. +</p> + +<p> +In the same year there appeared in England a much subtler +treatment of variance in Radclyffe Hall’s early novel <em>The Unlit Lamp</em>. +Unlike her better known <em>Well of Loneliness</em>, this narrative relegates +love between women to secondary importance, its focus being the +forced martyrdom of unmarried daughters in the name of filial +duty. Joan Ogden is the one competent and unselfish member of a +neurotic family bent on maintaining social position in their country +village. Elizabeth Rodney, a dozen years older, has won a degree from +Cambridge before coming, under pressure, to keep house for a +bachelor brother in the same community. Her one interest is +tutoring Joan, whom she hopes to see achieve a college education +and some sort of life beyond small-town domesticity. Mrs. Ogden +believes herself bent upon a successful marriage for her daughter, +but her actual purpose is to hold her beloved child at any cost; +her chief weapon is hypochondria. Joan wants to become a doctor, +and Elizabeth offers to provide joint living quarters in Cambridge +and to help finance the medical course, but the two girls’ long +struggle ends with the mother victorious. Elizabeth, unable to endure +repeated frustration, leaves the town, eventually marries, and settles +in South Africa, refusing to return or to communicate with Joan. +</p> + +<p> +Beneath this drama of parental tyranny runs a strong current +of variant emotion. Mrs. Ogden is fragile, jealous, hysterical and +over-demonstrative. Both younger women are unfeminine in appearance, +cool and fearless in temperament, both affect a masculine +simplicity in dress, and Joan crops her hair decades before fashion +sanctions that mode. Elizabeth has a masculine distaste for easy +caresses and meticulously conceals the depth of her feeling, so that +Joan’s shy reciprocal emotion never finds outlet (the “unlit lamp” +is the passion Elizabeth refuses to set alight). The basic situation, then, +is a variant triangle in which the clinging and helpless mother wins +against a rival who will employ none of the tactics of seduction, +and the result is the virtual ruin of both girls’ lives. There are intimations +here of what was to become open championship of lesbian +love four years later in <em>Well of Loneliness</em>. But they are only +implicit. +</p> + +<p> +Also in 1924 Arnold Bennett contributed a short draught of his +cool common sense in <em>Elsie and the Child</em>. With customary realism +<a id="page-272" class="pagenum" title="272"></a> +and irony he presents a London physician’s household centered about +Miss Eva, aged twelve, an only child. The doctor, busy day and +night earning every advantage for his daughter, sees little of +her. His wife is a domestic perfectionist and strict disciplinarian. +The emotional center of the child’s life is Elsie, the wholesome but +rather dull servant who was hired originally because Eva (like Metta +in <em>The Scorpion</em>) took an instant fancy to her. Elsie is all heart, quick +only in her intuitions, humbly devoted to the aristocratic young +mistress whose care falls largely upon her. A crisis is precipitated +when the parents, aware of their daughter’s too-great dependence +upon Elsie, attempt to send the girl to boarding school. She is +acquainted with the headmistress, a hearty tweedy friend of her +mother’s, quite the type to captivate some schoolgirls, but not Eva. +Having shot up like a weed to Elsie’s considerable stature, the +child is all nerves, and when crossed by her mother she breaks out +with the hysterical declaration that it is not her parents but Elsie +whom she loves and from whom she will not be parted. +</p> + +<p> +Elsie realizes at once that the outcome will be the dismissal +of her and her husband. The latter, a victim of shell shock in World +War I, is a bemused introvert given to dangerous fits of temper. +It is he who turns upon Eva with the charge that her feeling for his +wife is not love, since she does not care if her stubborn whim brings +ruin on Elsie and himself. Made aware for the first time of the +problems of others, the girl gives in and goes off to school. Bennett +contrives with great skill to imply strong emotional undercurrents +in Eva’s childish demands for personal service and caresses, and +in Elsie’s doting ministrations. He also makes clear that the husband’s +violence is actually aroused not by fear of losing his place but by +jealousy, though none of the three persons involved are aware of +this. +</p> + +<p> +Concerning as it does a girl of twelve, this story might not be +classed as variant by psychologists, but one cannot help feeling that +Bennett contributed it to the rapidly swelling count of variant fiction +as testimony to his own stand in the matter. Despite Eva’s unusual +height and her susceptibility to Elsie’s spontaneous warmth, she is not +conceived as a prospective homosexual. Stimulated one summer +night by watching a sophisticated garden party from her window, +she slips down to the servants’ quarters to practice a nascent coquetry +on Joe as well as Elsie. There could hardly be a clearer statement +of Bennett’s opinion that variant emotion is as natural to puberty as +growing pains, particularly where maternal affection is wanting, but +that its natural span runs out with early adolescence. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-273" class="pagenum" title="273"></a> +In 1925 four novels dealing with variance reached the English +reading public—the translation of Rolland’s <em>Annette and Sylvie</em> and +Virginia Woolf’s <em>Mrs. Dalloway</em>, both treating it briefly and with +sympathy, Sherwood Anderson’s <em>Dark Laughter</em>, touching upon it +even more casually and with disfavor, and Naomi Royde-Smith’s +<em>Tortoiseshell Cat</em>, devoted wholly to the theme and wholly condemnatory. +Rolland’s lesbian interlude between the half-sisters +Rivière has already been described. Anderson’s heroine, a married +woman on the verge of taking a lover, recalls privately her first trip +abroad under the guidance of a couple whose sophistication she did +not suspect until on shipboard. The woman had made skillfully +veiled lesbian advances which she recognized for what they were +and resisted with equal skill. Anderson clearly condemns this deliberate +attempt at seduction, but no more severely than he condemns +the woman’s ruses to snare wealthy subjects for her portrait-painting +husband. The episode is slighter than the one in <em>Poor White</em> and of +little weight in its chief actor’s life. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Woolf’s passages are much more subtle, though most of +them, like Anderson’s, are incorporated in Clarissa Dalloway’s reminiscences +of her girlhood. Even preliminary to these, however, we +learn that Mrs. Dalloway is happy that her husband insists on her +sleeping in a separate room after an illness. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +She could not dispel a virginity preserved through childbirth +which clung to her like a sheet; ... through some +contraction of this cold spirit she had failed him again and +again. She could see what she lacked.... It was something warm +which broke up surfaces and rippled the cold contact of +man and woman, or of women together. For <em>that</em> she could +dimly perceive. She resented it, had a scruple picked up +Heaven knows where, or, as she felt, sent by Nature (who is +invariably wise); yet she could not resist sometimes yielding +to the charm of a woman, not a girl ... like a faint scent or +a violin next door. She did undoubtedly feel then what men +felt. It was a sudden revelation which one tried to check +and then yielded to, and felt the world come closer, swollen +with some astonishing significance, some pressure of rapture, +which split its thin skin and gushed and poured with an extraordinary +alleviation.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-49">49</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Her first experience of this sort came to her in her late teens or +early twenties in connection with the delightful madcap Sally Seton. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<a id="page-274" class="pagenum" title="274"></a> +<p class="noindent"> +Had that not after all been love?... At some party she +had a distinct recollection of saying to the man she was with, +“Who is <em>that</em>?” And all that evening she could not take her +eyes off Sally.... The strange thing, on looking back, was +the purity, the integrity, of her feeling for Sally. It was not +like one’s feeling for a man. It was protective on her side; +sprang from a sense of being in league together, a presentiment +of something that was bound to part them (they always spoke +of marriage as a catastrophe), which led to this chivalry.... +She could remember going cold with excitement, and doing +her hair in a kind of ecstasy ... and dressing and going +downstairs, feeling as she crossed the hall “if it were now to +die ’twere now to be most happy.” That was her feeling—all +because she was coming down to dinner in a white frock +to meet Sally Seton! +</p> + +<p> +[Sally] stood by the fireplace talking, in that beautiful +voice which made everything she said sound like a caress ... +when suddenly she said, “What a shame to sit indoors!” and +they all went out on to the terrace and walked up and down. +She and Sally fell a little behind. Then came the most +exquisite moment of her whole life passing a stone urn +with flowers in it. Sally stopped; picked a flower; kissed her +on the lips. The whole world might have turned upside +down![<a class="footnote" href="#9-50">50</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +When the men of the party (one of them in love with her) return +and make casual, half-teasing conversation, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +It was like running one’s face against a granite wall in the +darkness! It was shocking; it was horrible. Not for herself. +She felt only how Sally was being mauled already, maltreated; +she felt his hostility; his jealousy; his determination to break +their companionship. “Oh this horror!” she said to herself, +as if she had known all along that something would interrupt, +would embitter her moment of happiness.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-51">51</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +There is no further reference in the novel to Sally, and Clarissa +Dalloway lives on for us into her mid-fifties, wife and mother, never +again in such intimate touch with life, unless it is in her relation to +her daughter. For although above she has said that the charm of a +girl never moves her, her love for the eighteen-year-old Elizabeth +<a id="page-275" class="pagenum" title="275"></a> +is the most vital element in her current existence. The girl is undergoing +a spell of inexplicable devotion to a shabby, unkempt, embittered +woman tutor, for whom Mrs. Dalloway finds it difficult to +repress a burning hatred, and one realizes that this hatred is but +the obverse of the emotion she will not recognize for the beautiful +daughter so different from herself and so aloof. +</p> + +<p> +The reader will remember that in the other strand of the dual +narrative Septimus Smith, shell-shock case from World War I, fails +to regain his mental balance or to respond to his devoted wife +because he cannot admit to consciousness the love he felt for a fellow-officer +who was killed. In her preface, the author says that Smith +is intended to be Clarissa Dalloway’s “double,” and that in its +first conception the story, lacking him, ended with Mrs. Dalloway’s +death. It would seem that her contribution here to the problem of +variance is the possibility of its being a happy experience where +innocence is easy—as for a woman; but for a man too scrupulous to +accept the almost inevitable outcome in the male, it may be fatal. +</p> + +<p> +It is a radical step from <em>Mrs. Dalloway</em> to the forthright <em>Tortoiseshell +Cat</em>, in which a lesbian woman plays a sinister part. The central +figure, a motherless girl in her late twenties, is still a pristine innocent, +thanks to her exclusive devotion to a scholarly father lost a short +time before. Gillian is baffled by her worldly-wise younger sister’s +hold upon men, and by the quixotic devotion of a girl who leaves +her private school in protest when Gillian (a teacher there) is +dismissed. It is this innocence which cost her her teaching position—she +chose French poetry to read aloud on the basis of its beauty alone, +genuinely unaware of its sexual connotations—and presently it leads +her into even more serious danger. +</p> + +<p> +After her sister’s marriage, left alone in a dreary residence club +and bored with a part-time secretaryship, she meets a fellow resident, +half American and completely bohemian and fascinating. The initial +encounter is significant: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +But as V.V. came with a swift steady stride, the free rapid +movement of a woman who had been much with horses, who +had ridden from childhood, Gillian knew, with a thrill of +recognition so strange, so new to her experience that the +shock of it took away all sense of every other consideration, +that she beheld in the flesh the very image of a perfection +wrought by her own imaginings in the secret places of her +dreaming mind. This was not a beautiful creature for all +<a id="page-276" class="pagenum" title="276"></a> +the world to gape at, it was the figure—unique of its kind—for +which the shrine of her spirit had stood empty and waiting +until now.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-52">52</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +A definitely masculine figure, as the passage goes on to emphasize, and +a masterly analysis of romantic love-at-first-sight. The woman’s voice +is flat and unlovely, but Gillian, for all her musical ear, is too enthralled +to care. All that she is aware of for some time are the lavish +personal ministrations and caresses with which she is showered. +She learns without grasping the implications that V.V. has lived +with a long succession of women, many of them minor actresses. +Early in her life there was one, mentioned seldom and cryptically, +on whose account she was evidently disowned by her family and incurred +debts not yet paid. +</p> + +<p> +Before long, Gillian’s emotional preoccupation evokes remonstrance +from her sister, the once-adoring student, and the latter’s +recently acquired sculptor-husband; but to her their warnings are +absurd. The sculptor lived before his marriage with a faunlike +musician whom he loved and protected from fortune-hunting women. +This elfin Heinrich is as bewitched as Gillian by V.V.’s physical +beauty, and as V.V. has an eye to the main chance, she inveigles him +into an engagement. As soon as he becomes importunate and “boring,” +however, instinct conquers interest and she shakes him off, clinching +the matter one evening by refusing an invitation because she must +bathe Gillian and put her to bed. With a stolen key, V.V. manages to +enter the apartment where Gillian is actually bathing in a meager +British “portable” before an open fire, and attempts to embrace her. +Gillian, though excited by the caresses, fights her off in sudden horrified +realization of what their long ambiguous dalliance has been +leading to. For the first time in her life she comprehends the passion +she has observed in others, and her revulsion is violent. Heinrich, however, +reads quite another meaning into the shadow-struggle he sees +silhouetted on her drawn blind, and goes home to shoot himself. +</p> + +<p> +Gillian falls gravely ill from shock, but finally, safe in her sister’s +comfortable home, regains her balance. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +The only person who had escaped unhurt was V.V. But she +was unhurt because long ago she had been so maimed, her +soul had been so warped and stunted by the influence she +could still recall though she was too vitiated to resent it, that +nothing now would make very much difference. V.V. had +gone her own way and Gillian could not follow her. She had +<a id="page-277" class="pagenum" title="277"></a> +taken the first steps on the road down which V.V. was disappearing, +and had come back to the place where it started. +And now that road was closed.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-53">53</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +However marred it is by such expository passages and by its sudden +melodramatic suicide, the story carries more conviction than <em>Regiment +of Women</em> through coming to grips with the physical issue +and through its more sympathetic presentation of the lesbian woman. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +In 1926, drama for the first time took precedence over fiction, +of which the year’s sole example was the translation of Louis +Couperus’s <em>The Comedians</em>. This historical novel laid in the reign +of Domitian includes a pair of lesbians, the emperor’s cousin and +his wife’s niece, who frequent the inns of Rome disguised respectively +as gladiator and street wench. Life at court is such a nightmare of +intrigue and surveillance that only their mutual passion and their +secret adventures make existence tolerable. The “gladiator” is shortly +killed in a street brawl, and the other girl, though her interests +have seemed bisexual, fades into melancholia. +</p> + +<p> +As to the theatre, the international success of Bourdet’s <em>La Prisonnière</em> +has already been cited. Its New York run as <em>The Captive</em> began +in September, and its drawing power very likely led to the presentation +of two related plays later in the season. Thomas Hurlbut’s +lesbian <em>Hymn to Venus</em> opened in Atlantic City in late November +and was scheduled for further trial in Chicago before appearing on +Broadway. Its initial performance rated a single brief review in the +<em>New York Times</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#9-54">54</a>] chilly and vague, saying of the play only that +its theme was that of <em>The Captive</em> and that it ended with a suicide. +There was no indication whether the treatment was sympathetic +or otherwise, and the text of the play has not been available. It was +withdrawn after a second performance and reached neither Chicago +nor New York. +</p> + +<p> +The second effort, <em>The Drag</em> by one “Jane Mast,” made its +debut in Boston in February 1927 with Mae West among the cast. +Because, as the title indicates, it dealt with the stringently tabooed +subject of male homosexuality, it was at once suppressed, and sufficient +adverse sentiment was aroused to bring about the closing +of <em>The Captive</em> after a successful run of five months,[<a class="footnote" href="#9-55">55</a>] especially +interesting in view of the strong condemnation of lesbianism in the +French play. This official action seems to have had only local +effects, for no difficulties attended the publication in England of the +translation of Lacretelle’s <em>La Bonifas</em>, or of Rosamund Lehmann’s +<a id="page-278" class="pagenum" title="278"></a> +<em>Dusty Answer</em>, in which the middle section is a study of variance. +There were also oblique variant allusions in Mrs. Woolf’s <em>To the +Lighthouse</em> (1927). +</p> + +<p> +Lacretelle’s stout championship of Marie Bonifas needs no further +comment. <em>To the Lighthouse</em> was Mrs. Woolf’s most subtle study of +the contrast between masculine and feminine personality. Here Mrs. +Ramsey personifies the selfless unifying influence of woman’s intuition +in her dealings with an intellectual husband, a diverse brood of +six children, and a swarm of family friends of all ages and temperaments. +The individual most devoted to her is an artist of thirty-three, +who “with her little Chinese eyes and puckered up face ... +would never marry.... She was an independent little creature.”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-56">56</a>] +With masculine honesty Lily Briscoe recognizes that she is not so +much in love with Mrs. Ramsey as with the mysterious force, intuitive +and emotional, which she radiates and which Lily herself must +always lack. And so she masters her own emotions in moments when +Mrs. Ramsey is maternally tender, and quivers with uncontrollable +laughter at the older woman’s failure to understand the situation +when she urges marriage upon her. Still, nearly a decade after Mrs. +Ramsey’s death, she weeps for her loss when she returns to paint again +at the site of their earlier association, “feeling the old horror come +back—to want and want and not to have.”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-57">57</a>] +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lehmann’s <em>Dusty Answer</em>, like many first novels written +before their authors are wholly mature, was autobiographical in +structure, following its heroine from childhood to her early twenties. +Daughter of a scholarly father who tutors her at home and a frivolous +mother who lives much abroad, Judith grows up in virtual solitude, +her only acquaintances a group of children who occasionally visit an +adjoining country house. These exotic cousins, four boys and a +girl, fascinate the lonely child, who looks forward to their infrequent +appearances and does her best to achieve some personal relation +with one or the other, but they continually elude her. The object +of her secret first love is Roddy, most elusive of all; at the moment +when some mutual spark seems about to leap between them, his friend +Tony comes for a weekend, a jealous effeminate boy who at once +absorbs Roddy completely. +</p> + +<p> +During Judith’s course at Cambridge she and a very beautiful +classmate are mutually attracted and spend two rapturous but innocent +years scarcely out of one another’s sight. When Judith returns +after her last “long vac,” however, she senses a profound change +in her friend, who spent her own free time in residence making up +delinquencies. From a gossiping classmate Judith learns that Jennifer +<a id="page-279" class="pagenum" title="279"></a> +had a guest for much of the period, and that the two indulged in +“wrestling matches” on the lawn which many of the girls found in +doubtful taste. This dark Geraldine, a deep-voiced older woman of +powerful physique and personality, presently reappears. Though +Judith pointedly avoids the pair, Geraldine seeks her out and +commands her to “let Jennifer alone,” since the latter is “beginning +to find herself” and Geraldine plans to take her abroad. This scene +is a triumph of subtlety; presented from the viewpoint of the innocent +Judith, it still conveys the exact nature of Geraldine’s feeling +for and hold upon Jennifer. Judith withdraws completely, leaving +Jennifer so torn between her old love and her new passion that even +after Geraldine’s departure she cannot regain nervous stability, and +is forced to leave college. +</p> + +<p> +After a melancholy last term, Judith goes home to a single +passionate summer night with Roddy, but upon discovering that +what to her was a pledge of lasting love was to him but a casual +episode, she breaks with him forever. In the course of the next +year or so she wins from each of the remaining cousins just such +personal responses as she once craved, but these are now empty. +Her only vivid moment comes with a letter from Jennifer, incoherently +half-explaining their broken friendship (which Judith has long +since comprehended) and begging for a meeting in Cambridge. But +when Judith keeps the appointment, Jennifer fails either to appear +or to send a message, and the final flick of irony is a distant sight +of Roddy and his friend Tony strolling past in intimate absorption. +While Miss Lehmann takes artistic pains to point no moral, first +Roddy’s and then Judith’s absorption in a variant friendship seem +deterrents to happy emotional resolution through other channels. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-14-5"> +First Peak: 1928 +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +In contrast to the two preceding years, 1928 offered a harvest +as rich and varied as any single season until then: Radclyffe’s Hall’s +<em>Well of Loneliness</em>, Compton Mackenzie’s <em>Extraordinary Women</em>, +Elizabeth Bowen’s <em>The Hotel</em>, and Virginia Woolf’s <em>Orlando</em>. Not +foremost in literary rank but certainly best known is <em>The Well of +Loneliness</em>, for its censorship became a <em>cause célèbre</em> in the publishing +world. Issued in January by the solidly established firm of +Jonathan Cape, with an introduction by Havelock Ellis, the work +was reviewed favorably in reputable literary periodicals. Shortly, +however, it was attacked in the sensational London newspaper, <em>The +Express</em>, with the result that it was banned in England and its +<a id="page-280" class="pagenum" title="280"></a> +publisher sued. Forty-five leading British authors, from Lascelles +Abercrombie and Arnold Bennett to Leonard and Virginia Woolf, +signed a letter of indignant protest, and a half dozen physicians and +legal authorities volunteered to testify at the publisher’s trial, but +their testimony was not allowed.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-58">58</a>] The reason for its condemnation +while so many other variant novels were passed without action was +its explicit defense of lesbian experience. +</p> + +<p> +Although for a decade or so the novel has been freely available +in inexpensive editions, a brief summary may be offered. Stephen +Gordon, only child of solid county parents whose dearest desire is +a son, receives the name and upbringing that would have been his. +From infancy she is the image of her father, masculine in build, +mannerisms, abilities and tastes. At eight she experiences unmistakable +passion for a housemaid; throughout adolescence she +despises feminine garments and amusements; in her late teens she +rejects a first suitor, long her good friend, whose sudden amorousness +seems to her unnatural. The death of her father leaves her without +an ally and bitterly solitary. At twenty she becomes infatuated with +a new neighbor’s wife, a former American chorus girl, who plays the +coquette and accepts lavish gifts but evades caresses by pleading +her husband’s jealousy. Stephen’s discovery that a male rival has been +successful drives her to frenzy, and the American, fearful that the +girl may inform her husband of her infidelity, forestalls the possibility +by showing him Stephen’s last letter. This outpouring of naked +passion, at once passed on to her mother, leads to Stephen’s being +turned out of her home and virtually driven from England. Soon +she achieves a literary reputation of sorts, but her lack of passionate +experience proves an artistic handicap. In London and Paris she +meets both male and female homosexuals but shuns them, hating +their immediate interest in her because she hates her own “difference” +and wants only to be accepted as a normal human being. +</p> + +<p> +Then World War I gives her, along with others of her sort, +the chance to do a man’s job in an ambulance unit. She falls deeply +in love with a younger co-worker, innocent and feminine, whom she +struggles to protect from danger. After their release by the armistice, +a holiday together forces both to admit the nature of their love—an +interlude less specifically detailed than Lawrence’s lesbian passage +in <em>The Rainbow</em>, but, of course, presented with complete sympathy. +Now united, the two girls attempt to make a life for themselves in +Paris, but neither <a id="corr-120"></a>finds tolerable the bohemian existence which is +open to them, and both suffer under the slights which exclude them +from conventional society. Eventually, Stephen’s early suitor seeks +<a id="page-281" class="pagenum" title="281"></a> +them out and falls in love with Mary, who responds but will not +consider disloyalty to Stephen. The latter, realizing that Mary can +never be happy with her outside the social pale, makes the dramatic +gesture of pretending intimacy with a distinguished lesbian she +has known superficially for years. She achieves her purpose—Mary +accepts the man, and Stephen is left once more to loneliness. +</p> + +<p> +The story is more engrossing than <em>The Unlit Lamp</em> because of +swifter pace and greater intensity, but inferior in literary art, since +it is often over-emotional and occasionally lapses into bald special +pleading. Moreover, there is a blur in the explanation of Stephen’s +variance. Emphasis on her physical masculinity indicates hereditary +causes, as does her father’s early recognition of her anomaly. But +his consequent indulgence of her proclivities, and the stress laid +on both parents’ desire for a male child, hint at belief in prenatal +as well as childhood conditioning. Miss Hall’s evident purpose was +to absolve Stephen of the slightest responsibility for her temperament, +and inevitably one is reminded of Lacretelle’s <em>Marie Bonifas</em>, +translated in the preceding year but probably known to Miss Hall +in French upon its appearance in 1925. The two differ in that +Lacretelle lays Freudian stress on negative childhood conditioning, +while Miss Hall’s comparative hereditary emphasis marks her a disciple +of the older school of Ellis and Hirschfeld. Despite its shortcomings, +<em>The Well of Loneliness</em> made a heroic gesture for tolerance of lesbian +relations among persons of integrity, and the author had the satisfaction +before her death of seeing it widely accepted. +</p> + +<p> +Compton Mackenzie entered the variant lists armed with gentle +satire. <em>Extraordinary Women</em>, like Norman Douglas’s <em>South Wind</em> +to which its foreword pays respect, is laid on the island of Capri, +here called Sirene. It includes almost as many lesbian individuals +as Peladan’s <em>La Gynandre</em> of forty years earlier, and considering its +author’s Catholic affiliation, it may have been written with some +similar, though milder, intent. Every nationality is represented and +every age, from Lulu de Randan, sent vacationing with her governess +to break off a flirtation with a tradesman’s son, to a fading Roman +wife given to tearful sentimentality over the boyish young beauty +she adores. Roughly there are two generations of lesbian women, +among the older a poet who poses as a modern Sappho, a tailored +Englishwoman who has bred bulldogs and supported <em>boxeuses</em> in +Paris for a few decades, and Lulu’s Anglo-French mother. The younger +group includes a stormy and self-defeating Greek concert pianist, +an American hypochondriac, millionaire’s daughter, and the picturesque +and irresistible poseuse, Rosalba Donsante, child of the third +<a id="page-282" class="pagenum" title="282"></a> +of her Swiss mother’s five international marriages. What plot there +is centers about Rosalba and Aurora Freemantle, the Englishwoman, +who finds the girl an incarnation of the boyish ideal she has celebrated +in her lesbian verse for years. “Rory,” dreaming of permanence at +last, remodels a villa halfway up to Anasirene at reckless expense, +but her beloved is of no mind to be caged there, and leads practically +every woman in the cast a hectic chase before the curtain falls upon +her unheralded departure in pursuit of a last inamorata, leaving +poor Rory in tears in her empty paradise. +</p> + +<p> +The tale offers a potpourri of sophisticated intrigue fertilized by +idleness and wealth. Its various types are superficially convincing +enough, but they are largely unaccounted for beyond the influence +of their frivolous environment. Many of the older women have been +married at least once, and even young Lulu has narrowly missed +a heterosexual entanglement before succumbing to Rosalba’s glamorous +seduction. Few men enter upon the scene save hotel servants +and one or two twittering homosexuals and eccentrics. Rory alone +(physically as masculine as Stephen Gordon) is treated with some +gentleness as a victim of hereditary forces, although even she is more +ridiculous than appealing, and the total effect of the novel is one +of cool detachment, the report of a witty and superior observer. +</p> + +<p> +Among these outspoken narratives Miss Bowen’s quiet social +comedy, <em>The Hotel</em>, is conspicuous for a sexual reticence as absolute +as any before 1915. The hotel of her title, a conservative Riviera +establishment frequented by professors, clergymen, retired officers +and their families, provides a lively background for her understated +central drama. In this, the actors are two: a British girl of twenty +and a cosmopolitan widow twice her age with a son at school in +Germany. (The action antedates World War I.) Sydney is ostensibly +recuperating from overstudy for a recent university degree, and +acting as companion to a married cousin. Actually, as she is wretchedly +aware, her relatives have financed her holiday in the expectation +of her capturing a husband. But Sydney is wholly absorbed in +Mrs. Kerr. This exquisite worldling, of whom the other guests stand +a bit in awe, accepts the girl’s small services and gifts with just +enough warmth to keep her enslaved and the onlookers socially +envious. Malicious gossip naturally flourishes over the bridge tables, +and though it stops just short of slander, Sydney finds the association +all in all more wearing than rewarding. +</p> + +<p> +When the son arrives on holiday it is clear that he is held captive +on a similar emotional leash, and Sydney’s intelligence recognizes +<a id="page-283" class="pagenum" title="283"></a> +that their charmer is playing one against the other and battening +on their mutual jealousy. But not until, piqued at a black mood of +Sydney’s, Mrs. Kerr accuses her of playing for a passionate response, +and voices disdain for “emotions so unbalanced,” is she moved to +rebellion. The injustice of the charge, when she has all but broken +under the strain of emotional control, finally dissolves the spell. On +the rebound Sydney tries being engaged to an estimable but rather +colorless clergyman, but Mrs. Kerr’s brilliant subtlety has spoiled +her for finding happiness in a commonplace association. Her final +saddened conclusion is that the whole Hotel interlude has been a +kind of lotus-eater’s dream bred of idleness in an artificial environment, +and her only hope is that all its cloying preoccupations will +fade with return to “reality” in England. +</p> + +<p> +This study of heartless egotism may owe something to <em>Regiment +of Women</em>, but it achieves the unity and detachment which Miss +Dane’s study lacked. The problem here is simpler, of course; Mrs. +Kerr’s beauty and assurance lead to conquest without effort, and +aside from her vanity her own emotions are little involved. Of the +pair, then, Sydney alone is variant, a telling example of that protracted +adolescence which is common among the intellectually precocious. +Her attaining adult perspective without benefit of a happy +heterosexual romance marks Miss Bowen’s independence of current +Freudian theory, a point of artistry in her favor. Another is her +humorous vignette of a pair of elderly spinsters whose one-time variant +devotion has withered into querulous possessiveness. All in all, pale +aquarelle though <em>The Hotel</em> is among the year’s more positive +canvases, its quiet statement carries authority. +</p> + +<p> +Any cursory treatment of Mrs. Woolf’s <em>Orlando</em> must do it grave +injustice, but here the emotional thread must be drawn from the +rich fabric and examined as nearly as may be alone. No one yet +has analyzed <em>Orlando</em> fully, and such critics as have not slighted +it in discussing Mrs. Woolf’s work have tended to find it uneven +and confusing. Complex it is indeed, but a part of the critical confusion +has come from failure or refusal to recognize as perhaps its +main theme the relation of intersexual traits to creative ability. +It attempts in fact to sustain four parallel motifs. The most obvious +is the biography of a timeless individual who enters as a boy of +sixteen acquainted with Shakespeare and Queen Elizabeth, and is +still living in October 1928 as an English woman of thirty-six. A +second is the changing social roles of the two sexes from century to +century and their consequently shifting relations to one another. +<a id="page-284" class="pagenum" title="284"></a> +A third is the corresponding fluctuation—perhaps resultant, perhaps +only concomitant—in the emotional “Spirit of the Age” in English +literature. This is least coherently traced and may be ignored here. +The fourth and most cryptic is a parallel between the history of +Orlando and the literary and perhaps personal biography of Mrs. +Woolf’s colleague and friend, Victoria Sackville-West, more than +one of whose photographs illustrate Orlando’s later career, and whose +family estate of Knole is clearly pictured in the descriptions of +Orlando’s ancestral house. (For judicious comment on this last +motif and on Mrs. Woolf’s other variant references, the reader is +referred to David Daiches’s laudatory study of her work published +in 1942.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-59">59</a>]) +</p> + +<p> +In the sixteenth century Orlando is a budding poetic dramatist +(as was Thomas Sackville, of the family living even <a id="corr-123"></a>then at Knole). +As a debonair boy he lives the sexual life of a lusty age, and is far +from innocent when in his late teens profound passion overtakes him. +With a Russian girl-princess, niece of the ambassador from St. Petersburg, +he lives out a burning romance worthy of the period, which ends +tragically when Sasha sails for home without adieu. The Russian +girl is no innocent either; she is secretive, older than he emotionally, +though younger in years; he suspects her of dalliance with a muscovite +sailor and even, after her desertion, of being the ambassador’s +mistress rather than his niece. Though anything but masculine, she +is robust and by spells cruel in temperament; she wears Russian +trousers against the cold, and skates, rides and loves with the zest and +endurance of another boy. But her desertion has a woman’s cruelty, +and it throws Orlando presently into a state of delayed shock which +produces a seven-day trance. +</p> + +<p> +He emerges a melancholy seventeenth-century philosophic poet, +ridden by a passion for fame. Soon he is stalked by a ridiculous and +masculine Roumanian bluestocking who—perhaps because she is six-feet-two—plays +the man’s role in the game of hearts. For a moment +“Orlando heard ... far off the beating of love’s wings.” But at the +point of becoming ensnared, suddenly “it was Lust the vulture, not +Love the bird of paradise, that flopped foully and disgustingly upon +his shoulders. Hence he ran....”[<a class="footnote" href="#9-60">60</a>] +</p> + +<p> +He escapes by accepting a diplomatic post in Constantinople, +where he achieves brilliant success until a local uprising terminates +his mission. He lives in the ornate luxury befitting an emissary +of Charles II to the Sultan, and becomes “the adored of many women +and some men,” but only from a distance. In private he is still melancholy, +<a id="page-285" class="pagenum" title="285"></a> +and escapes to write poetry in the hills by day, by night to +roam the city streets, where he meets a gypsy dancer, Pepita. With +her he contracts a marriage of sorts and, rumor hints, has a trio +of offspring. This episode is sketched so briefly that one can only +guess at its significance. It cannot well have repeated the early +romance with Sasha, since she was a court lady of brilliant culture +and Pepita is a daughter of the streets. But neither can it have echoed +the passage with the Archduchess Harriet. Honest passion for an +illiterate woman does not inspire the self-loathing bred of an itch for +an otherwise hateful social and intellectual peer. Whatever it meant +to Orlando, after the uprising ends his official services, he bestows +a farewell embrace upon the gypsy and falls into his second seven-day +trance. It may be that this one registered inability to endure an +emotional impasse any longer. +</p> + +<p> +From it he awakes a woman, but Mrs. Woolf lays stress on the +fact that the change is merely one of physical sex and not at all +of temperament. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +The sound of trumpets died away and Orlando stood stark +naked. No human being since the world began has ever +looked more ravishing. His form combined in one the strength +of a man and a woman’s grace.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-61">61</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +With the gypsies (not apparently Pepita’s clan) to whom Orlando +escapes, she still lives a man’s life, for among nomads, temperament +and daily duties are much the same in both sexes. After some seasons +of successful adaptation to this barbaric simplicity, nostalgia for +England and for literary pursuits turns Orlando toward home. And +now she faces the difficult business of learning to act the lady. High +comedy attends her efforts, particularly in connection with a renewed +pursuit by her former <em>bête noire</em>, the bluestocking, who now through +a transformation corresponding to her own is an absurd and +lachrymose Roumanian nobleman. Amid the relaxed proprieties of +the eighteenth century, Orlando often roams London in man’s +dress, more at home in the honest company of daughters of joy +than in the artificial salons of her peers. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +There were many stories told at the time, as, that she +fought a duel, served on one of the King’s ships as a captain, +was seen to dance naked on a balcony, and fled with a certain +lady to the Low Countries where the lady’s husband followed +<a id="page-286" class="pagenum" title="286"></a> +them.... She enjoyed the love of both sexes ... for her sex +changed far more frequently than those who have worn only +one set of clothing can conceive.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-62">62</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The neatness with which fantasy here dodges any scandalous implications +may well account for the difficult <em>tour de force</em> which +the whole volume is. +</p> + +<p> +With the advent of Queen Victoria, a depressing social change +occurs: humankind is rigorously divided into Men, whose role is to +lead, protect, support; and Women, who must submit, be timorous, +and cling. The results, both personal and literary, Mrs. Woolf +plainly considers lamentable. Orlando’s history turns emotionally +barren and housewifely, and neither reading nor writing afford +her any relief. Though she suffers from personal loneliness and social +disapprobation, she refuses to consider marriage under such a regime. +She waits instead for the twentieth century: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +There was something definite and distinct about the age, +which reminded her of the eighteenth century, except that +there was a distinction, a desperation....[<a class="footnote" href="#9-63">63</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In this century she meets a man with the spirit of a poet—he knows +Shelley by heart—but who has also been “a soldier and a sailor and +... explored the east.” Mutual love is instantaneous, and complete +union follows swiftly upon the intuitive moment when both cry +out together: “You’re a woman, Shel!” “You’re a man, Orlando!” +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +For each was so surprised at the quickness of the other’s +sympathy, and it was to each such a revelation that a woman +could be as tolerant and free-spoken as a man, and a man as +strange and subtle as a woman, that they had to put the matter +to the proof at once.[<a class="footnote" href="#9-64">64</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The natural and happy results are marriage and a son, but not a +Victorian ménage. “Shel” is gone the greater part of the time on his +adventurous voyages, and Orlando is free to “write and write and +write” and win literary prizes. +</p> + +<p> +Clearly Mrs. Woolf felt that to be an integrated, and above all, +a creative personality, one needs freedom from the Procrustes’ bed of +sex. She was not preaching license in the name of some bohemian +deity of Bloomsbury or Greenwich Village. She was begging psychological +<a id="page-287" class="pagenum" title="287"></a> +<em>Lebensraum</em> for the creative artist. Nevertheless, the total sum +of Orlando’s experience is, beyond question, bisexual. +</p> + +<p> +Among these four novels of 1928, Mackenzie’s satire was mild +rather than sharp; Miss Bowen pictured variance as an unhappy +state but treated her variant girl with entire sympathy; and Mrs. +Woolf pled as it were in the abstract, Miss Hall in passionate particular, +for the variant, even the lesbian woman of personal integrity. +The annual balance was, therefore, on the whole positive, and it +is clear that the verdict early in the year against <em>Well of Loneliness</em> +restrained British publishers only from issuing lesbian propaganda. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-15"> +<a id="page-288" class="pagenum" title="288"></a> +<span class="line1">CHAPTER X.</span><br> +<span class="line2">FICTION IN ENGLISH (continued)</span> +</h2> + +</div> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-15-1"> +Sequel to Censorship +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Just how specifically the skirmish of censorship and its attendant +publicity affected subsequent work is difficult to say. The next few +years saw in print nothing more outspoken than translations of +Rachilde’s <em>Monsieur Vénus</em> and Colette’s <em>Claudine at School</em>. This +can probably be attributed to caution on the part of both publishers +and authors. That antagonistic voices, first largely women’s and then +men’s, swelled into a full chorus by 1933, might similarly seem a +protracted echo of official disapproval. On the other hand, some +tolerant treatments of variance were finding publication, and in 1934 +it was these which constituted eight out of that year’s ten offerings. As +to how much the rapidly augmenting flood—a total of over thirty +variant titles in six years—was attributable to 1928’s focusing of +attention on the controversial subject, how much merely to an +inevitably growing preoccupation with it, no armchair theorizing can +safely decide. But that it owed something to the former seems beyond +question. +</p> + +<p> +Among this six-years’ crop a handful of more or less negative +contributions, all by American women, probably stemmed from +Miss Lehmann’s <em>Dusty Answer</em>, whatever impetus they gained from +later developments. All were novels of boarding school or women’s +college life, all autobiographical in pattern, and none were confined +to variant experience. In the first, Wanda Fraiken Neff’s <em>We Sing +Diana</em>, the variant passages would seem a deliberate counterattack +upon <em>Well of Loneliness</em> except that the two appeared almost simultaneously +in 1928. Mrs. Neff’s heroine, an orphan brought up by a +passionless spinster, is already conditioned against heterosexual romance +by her rearing and adolescent experiences before reaching +<a id="page-289" class="pagenum" title="289"></a> +college. There, during her freshman year, Nora is an inadvertent +witness of an emotional scene between two brilliant and respected +upperclassmen. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +She was conscious of the drooping narrowness of Gwendolyn’s +shoulders, the slenderness of her neck, as she threw +herself against Minna’s bulky frame.... Nora had a sick +memory of the fungi she had studied in botany, the rank +growth, forms of life springing up in unhealthy places, feeding +on rot....[<a class="footnote" href="#10-1">1</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +And of a girl who suddenly embraces Nora, the author says: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +There was something about Emily which brought back +... her earliest childhood terror [a quite irrelevant incident +involving a cat]. She detached herself violently and avoided the +sight of Emily’s darkly flushing face.... Only instinct, like +the swift revulsion of a young animal sniffing a poisonous +weed ... held her back.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-2">2</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +(In reality the terror here is of her own response, and the whole picture, +if the author faced it honestly, is that of the potential variant +who will suffer infinitely rather than admit her own inclination.) +She, like most of her friends, can achieve no adequate relations with +men in their limited environment, and Nora herself, after a later +somewhat unconvincing fortnight’s liaison terminated by her lover’s +sudden death, drifts back via graduate study abroad to be dean in +just such a college as she left. +</p> + +<p> +A milder reaction is registered in <em>Against the Wall</em> (1929) by +Kathleen Millay, sister of Edna St. Vincent, whose variant publications +were by then several years old. The younger Millay’s theme is +mainly protest against the restricted position of women, including an +arraignment of the women’s college, which should educate its students +to be adult, but, while doing so, treats them as children. Her references +to variance are belittling. The phenomenon seems confined to +a handful of girls on the campus, one of whom is threatened with +dismissal by the student president. But the heroine, Rebecca, has +overheard during her freshman year that same president sob out +her love for a boyish upperclassman, and she now threatens the disciplinarian +with exposure unless her present harsh fiat is rescinded. +In the course of an inevitable “bull session” after this incident, Rebecca +expresses her opinion to timidly questioning fellow students. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<a id="page-290" class="pagenum" title="290"></a> +<p class="noindent"> +“Is anything that doesn’t end in—babies—abnormal, perverted?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so, if you come right down to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If there’s so much of it I don’t see why it’s abnormal.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Rebecca, “neither do I. Only like a lot of other +things, the word has come to be more important than what it +stands for. Anyway, I think most women would be more happy +with a man for a—best friend—than with a woman. What do +you think?”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-3">3</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +To this Socratic question there is a chorus of affirmatives from everyone +save a member of the suspect group who chances to be present. +</p> + +<p> +Marion Patton-Waldron’s <em>Dance on the Tortoise</em> (1930) is set in +a boarding school. A girl just out of college, feeling herself emotionally +unready for marriage, seeks greater maturity through a year of +teaching, and inauspicious though the chosen milieu might seem, she +achieves her goal. She is drawn early into emotional friendship with +a French colleague, Helene. A similar bond exists between the headmistress +and an older teacher, a pair unseparated since their college +days, and Lydia learns that they have been seen passionately kissing; +however, she shrinks from similar expression with her friend. Helene +becomes involved in an affair with a countryman which ends with +her death from induced miscarriage. It is only after this tragedy, the +precise cause of which the innocent Lydia only half-guesses, that she +wonders whether Helene might not have resisted seduction had she +herself been able to give her friend the emotional release so badly +needed. But she knows she could never have done so. In her distress +she turns to the headmistress, only to find the latter growing overfond +of her. In the end she accepts her deferred suitor eagerly: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +“These bunches of women living together, falling in love +with each other because they haven’t anyone else to fall in +love with! It’s obscene! Oh, take me away!”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-4">4</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Apparently she is alone in feeling so. Students and teachers consider +the relation between the headmistress and her friend admirable and +touching. Like those in Henry Handel Richardson’s Australian school +two decades earlier, they are not only without immediate suspicion, +but ignorant of any discreditable possibilities. This is very nearly the +last work of fiction to claim such innocence for its characters. +</p> + +<p> +In the same year Elisabeth Wilkins Thomas, in <em>Ella</em>, touched on +variance so gingerly as to be almost ambiguous. Ella knows but two +<a id="page-291" class="pagenum" title="291"></a> +real drives throughout—one a love of poetry, the other a compulsion +comparable to Mary MacLane’s “not to give up my me-ness.” In +college she derives an intellectual thrill so keen as to carry strong +emotional overtones in the philosophy classes of a casual, tailored, +and sardonic woman professor. However, their relation is confined +to the classroom. Later as a private-school teacher Ella is closely attached +to an older colleague, and though the two speak frankly of loving +one another, no passion is admitted between them. Madge has, in +her youth, been deeply attached to a younger girl whom she helped +and protected when both were students in Germany. When this ex-protégée, +now married and a mother, pays a visit to the cottage where +Madge and Ella are summering together, Ella finds herself dreading +the visit. Her dread grows with Madge’s minute, feverishly excited +preparations for her old love’s advent, and unconscious jealousy is +clearly at its root. But the young mother and her closeknit little +family barely pause for a meal, unaware, in their happy self-absorption, +of the disappointment dealt by their refusal to accept further +hospitality. Madge, long afflicted with a heart condition, has overexerted +herself in preparation, and hidden grief at its futility brings +on a fatal attack. Only the depth of Ella’s loneliness after her friend’s +death brings home to her how much of her “me-ness” has been +jeopardized in this relationship, and she determines to depend thereafter +only upon herself and the solacing beauty of poetry. Her solitary +orphaned childhood is the apparent explanation of her narcissistic +fear of personal involvement. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Lapsley’s <em>Parable of the Virgins</em> (1931) devotes rather more +space to variance than its predecessors. Its theme, like theirs, is the +failure of women’s colleges to deal adequately with the emotional +fevers bred of segregation during late adolescence. Along with a few +grave heterosexual crises—one, an abortion which its subject faces +without remorse because of the wholesome first-hand knowledge of +life she has gained—there are variant entanglements involving half a +dozen or more girls, though none of the relations are admitted to be +lesbian. Mary, antagonistic to men, is obsessed by passion for Jessica, +whom she induces to break a lukewarm engagement. Then Bob, a +boarding school product “like a nice athletic boy,” precipitates tragedy +by flirting with her adored. Mary’s furious jealousy moves an +unsympathetic dean (had the author perhaps known one like Mrs. +Neff’s “Nora”?) to separate her from Jessica by telling Mary that the +latter is her victim, fearing and hating her but unable to break the +unwholesome spell without help. In consequence, Mary hangs herself. +Jessica then collapses, and her state is so aggravated by the +<a id="page-292" class="pagenum" title="292"></a> +harshness of the college’s woman physician that an understanding +faculty member interferes and introduces a psychiatrist. Like Millay, +the author puts her own comment into the mouth of a brilliant +student: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +If the college had known more about human nature it +would ... have said to Mary, “Fight out your own salvation, +you have as much right to it as Jessica.” But the college did +not believe that, and Mary herself did not believe it.... Whatever +one may think of the [homosexual] relation ... one thing +is worse: to permit a human being to live in an atmosphere +of constant disapproval.... When the moment to resist +[suicide] came she was too weakened, too convinced that she +had sinned.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-5">5</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The second variant constellation centers about Crosby, “the college +poet,” a senior of twenty-four who has already published some +volumes of verse. (As Mrs. Lapsley’s college was Vassar, it is impossible +not to identify Crosby with Edna St. Vincent Millay.) This +histrionic aesthete has had experience with more than one man, but +her chief interest is in cultivating “crushes” to bolster her ego. Her +favorite, an idealistic freshman, is saved from grave harm by overhearing +her cruelty to one or two other victims, and emerges with +enough maturity to retain independence and yet not to hate her +fallen idol. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Turning to items outside the college category, the briefest of +1929’s comments on variance was the bitter passage in Theiss’s translated +<em>Interlude</em>, in which lesbianism is excoriated and held responsible +for the failure of its victim’s first marriage. Equally hostile was +Wyndham Lewis’s <em>Apes of God</em> (1930). In substance Lewis’s sophisticated +satire is related to those of Firbank in its concern with male +homosexuals, and his writing about them has something of Firbank’s +zany touch. But his references to a mannish middle-aged spinster are +contemptuous, and his chapter “The Lesbian Ape,” in which an +equally mannish sculptress keeps a male nude model posing until he +faints, and then stands above his prostrate six-feet-two of Greek +magnificence and leers asininely with her silly inamorata, is written +with undiluted hate.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-6">6</a>] +</p> + +<p> +In the single novel of these two years wholly devoted to variance, +Naomi Royde-Smith’s <em>The Island</em> (1929), implicit censure is more +impersonal but equally harsh, and the influence of Freud is obvious. +<a id="page-293" class="pagenum" title="293"></a> +In the same author’s <em>Tortoiseshell Cat</em>, it will be remembered, an +intellectual London girl narrowly escapes a lesbian attachment. Here +the gauche and provincial Myfanwy Hughes succumbs, with distressing +consequences. An orphan brought up by a prudish spinster aunt, +the girl at nineteen is sent to a farm in Wales for her health. Because +she is timid, awkward, and painfully shocked by talk of animal +breeding, her uncle dubs her Goosey, a nickname she later tries to +shed but never outlives. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Believing herself to be without the power to attract, she +substituted a horror of the physical triumphs of sex for a +regret that she could not hope to take her part in them.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-7">7</a>] [The +classic refusal to compete.] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In the spring a combination of sunshine and physical well-being produces +a momentary emotional release which the author equates explicitly +with mystical religious experience. The transient mood crystallizes +upon a handsome farmer riding by on a stallion, but he is +too occupied with his restive mount to give her a second glance, and +this failure to attract even when aglow with new physical awareness +plunges Goosey back into complete heterosexual frustration. +</p> + +<p> +Now all her thwarted impulses center upon a female summer +boarder from Liverpool, an egomaniac of twenty-four who poses as +petite and helpless. Goosey’s enslavement dates from her chance +glimpse of the girl nude to the waist, but their association stays +within an early-teen pattern of endless confidences and sentimental +endearments. After Almond’s departure Goosey lives only for her +letters. The country couple who saw no harm in the active friendship +regards this preoccupation as so “morbid” that they ship the girl +back to her Liverpool aunt to remove her influence from their daughter. +In the city, Almond’s snobbishness and Goosey’s jealousy of her +impending marriage separate the two for a few years, during which +Goosey loses her aunt and is driven by loneliness to consider the +suit of a widower many years her senior. She covets the prestige of +marriage, and one gathers that her physical distaste for the idea +might wane but for her occasional distant glimpses of Almond. She +has reached the point of betrothal when Almond bursts into her +life again, begging sanctuary from a cruel husband, whereupon Goosey +dismisses her suitor and arranges a future <em>à deux</em> with her adored in +the huge ugly house she has inherited. However, at the “cruel” +spouse’s first summons Almond is off again, and there follow decades +of periodic returns made only when she wishes to spite her husband +<a id="page-294" class="pagenum" title="294"></a> +or, years later, an independent daughter. Goosey’s life is spent in +waiting. +</p> + +<p> +Early in this intermittent association the two women became +intimate. For Goosey at first, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Here were no reluctances, no shame, no abashment. This +was love without conditions, maternal in tenderness, marital +in strength, but equal and unfettering.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-8">8</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +But as the relation progresses she has misgivings, never more specifically +accounted for than that “now there was something else. +They never spoke to one another about it—even at night. And in +the daytime Goosey pretended it wasn’t true.”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-9">9</a>] Soon tensions and +quarrels develop, and eventually, being left alone for long stretches, +Goosey feels occasional attractions to other women. The strongest +attraction is inspired by a new milliner from London, a charming +and competent woman who, out of pity for her outmoded rival, considers +taking Goosey into partnership. But she is regaled on all sides +with well-founded gossip of Goosey’s long “queerness,” and while +her decision is hanging fire, Almond once more appears and buys a +hat in the new shop. Goosey sees this as not only black disloyalty to +herself but as a move to captivate the new proprietress, and her +jealous hysteria alienates both women permanently. +</p> + +<p> +Now completely solitary, Goosey falls captive to a male evangelist’s +magnetism. This maladjusted celibate labors for social as well as +spiritual reform; his immediate goal is the suburb’s beautification, +which has been hampered by reactionaries. Among them, Goosey had +been one of the most stubborn, but now her religious near-conversion +wakes a sense of guilt concerning her relations with Almond, and +she resolves to give up the hideous house she has kept as a sanctuary +for her friend. She makes an appointment with the revivalist, planning +full confession and the sacrifice of her property, but before this +occurs, Almond meets the man and so ensnares him that he marries +her almost at once. Henceforth, Goosey shuts herself into her dreadful +house, willfully defying love, beauty, and goodness, and ends as a mad +old woman. +</p> + +<p> +In <em>The Tortoiseshell Cat</em> the lesbian aggressor was somewhat masculine, +and had herself been seduced when young. In <em>The Island</em> no +hereditary traits are apparent in either woman, nor has either any +variant history. Conditioning is over-labored in Goosey’s case, while +Almond is an almost incredible monster of egotism. Whereas the +<a id="page-295" class="pagenum" title="295"></a> +earlier novel created the illusion of being drawn from life, this one +smacks too strongly of a case history to come off well artistically. +</p> + +<p> +A milder but scarcely happy picture is painted in <em>That Other +Love</em> (1930) by Geoffrey Moss (on internal evidence probably a +woman). Phillida, daughter of a well-born Englishman (who dies +while she is an infant) and a joyously vulgar actress, enjoys ten +years of bohemia before her father’s relatives claim her. The widowed +aunt who then assumes her upbringing is a perfectionist and very +possessive. At sixteen, overprotected, a recluse, and too suddenly +launched in the social life of the Twenties, Phillida is violently revolted +by the advances of a professional seducer. In her panic she +clings to a cool and serene sculptress who rescues her from the drunken +party where she was molested. After some years in art school and +an abortive romance with a man old enough to be her father, she +again meets the sculptress at a seaside resort, is again drawn to her, +and wants to paint her portrait. The older woman will not permit +this until they have returned to the anonymity of London. There they +become intimate (though this is not explicitly admitted), and subsequently +live together for four years in an isolated cottage in +Normandy. +</p> + +<p> +Then Phillida becomes convinced of her need for children—“not a +man—I could never love a man as I love you”—and she determines to +marry one of her suitors, all of whom appear either naïve or indifferent +to her variant interlude. The older woman, reluctant from the +first to sacrifice her detached serenity but now as dependent on her +young companion as the girl is on her, stoically accepts the inevitable +and sets about readjusting herself to a life alone. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +In addition to the translation of Colette’s second Claudine volume +as <em>Young Lady of Paris</em> (and Mrs. Lapsley’s college story), 1931 +produced an interesting contrast: one novel of highest quality, Dorothy +Richardson’s <em>Dawn’s Left Hand</em>, and one, the first of its kind +in our immediate field, which was cheaply sensational. This last, +Sheila Donisthorpe’s <em>Loveliest of Friends</em>, may be left for discussion +with others of its ilk. Miss Richardson’s title was tenth in the dozen +comprising <em>Pilgrimage</em>, her Proustian chronicle of an English girl’s +development from childhood to maturity. This particular volume contrasts +Miriam’s two simultaneous love affairs, one with a younger +woman, one with a scientific-minded novelist-reformer, Hypo, whom +literary gossip has identified as H. G. Wells. Though chronology is +vague in this stream of consciousness record, Miriam must at this time +have reached her middle or late twenties. By virtue of education and +<a id="page-296" class="pagenum" title="296"></a> +background she moves among the Bloomsbury literati, but since she +supports herself as a dentist’s receptionist, she must live in an ordinary +London boarding house, and it is against the latter background that +the emotional drama with Amabel unfolds. This charming girl, half-Parisian, +half-Irish, is also involved in a liaison with an Englishman +of distinction. A beauty, and ultra-feminine, it is nevertheless she who +takes the initiative in the rapidly flowering friendship. The quality of +the relation is conveyed in such passages as the following: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +... the Sunday following the evening at Mrs. Bellamy’s, where +we were separated and mingling in various groups ... and +suddenly met and were filled with the same longing, to get +away and lie side by side in the darkness ... talking it all +over until sleep should come without any interval of going +off into the seclusion of our separate minds ... [then] waking +and seeing with the same eyes at the same moment ... the +wet gray roofs across the way.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-10">10</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +There is no suggestion of physical relations, and in another place +the author describes as their most intimate moments the silences in +which they were +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +suddenly and intensely aware of each other and the flow of +their wordless communion, making the smallest possible movements +of the head now this way now that, like birds in a +thicket intensely watching and listening; but without bird-anxiety.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-11">11</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +In recording the affair with Hypo, on the other hand, considerable +physical detail is given, as for example the first time the two saw +one another unclothed: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +This mutual nakedness was appeasing rather than stimulating. +And austere. His body was not beautiful. She could +find nothing to adore, no ground for response.... The manly +structure, the smooth, satiny sheen in place of her own velvety +glow was interesting as partner and foil, but not desirable.... +It had no power to stir her as often she had been stirred by +the sudden sight of him walking down a garden or entering +a room.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-12">12</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The climax of this affair occurs while Miriam is house guest of Hypo +<a id="page-297" class="pagenum" title="297"></a> +and his wife, a woman so selfless that she pretends blindness to his +infidelities because they benefit his work. Miriam wakes in the night +to find her host at her bedside, and suffers his possession in +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +an immense fathomless black darkness through which, after +an instant’s sudden descent into her clenched and rigid form, +she was now traveling alone on and on, without thought +or memory or any emotion save the strangeness of this +journeying.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-13">13</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +At another time +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +she demanded of herself whether she cared for him in the +slightest degree or for anyone or anything so much as the certainty +of being in communion with something always there, +something in which and through which people could meet and +whose absence, felt with people who did not acknowledge it, +made life at once impossible, made it a death worse than +dying.... +</p> + +<p> +There was a woman, not this thinking self who talked +with men in their own language, but one whose words could +be spoken only from the heart’s knowledge, waiting to be born +in her.... Men want recognition of their work to help them +believe in themselves.... Unless in some form they get it, +all but the very few are miserable. Women ... want recognition +of themselves ... before they can come fully to birth. +Homage for what they are and represent. +</p> + +<p> +He was incapable of homage.... It was his constricted, +biological way of seeing sex that kept him blind.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-14">14</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +So specific a contrast between the psychology of the two sexes suggests +that the whole volume may have been written as a contribution +to the current dispute over the value of variant love. During Miriam’s +total history (recorded in subsequent volumes) she loves two other +men, but without physical intimacy. Neither is conspicuously male in +appearance and both are preoccupied with subjective aspects of personal +relations. Plainly Miss Richardson, like Mrs. Woolf, feels that +between the most sharply differentiated members of the two sexes, the +biological act can be the only bond. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Richardson’s novel was sexually frank but took care to imply +the absence of physical intimacy between its variant women. In the +one acceptable sympathetic study of 1932 Naomi Mitchison employed +<a id="page-298" class="pagenum" title="298"></a> +other means of avoiding offense. “The Delicate Fire” is the title story +in a collection of short narratives of ancient Greece. Miss Mitchison, +daughter of a schoolmaster, wrote several volumes recapturing the +life of the past, possibly designed for her father’s older students, but +on an adult level with regard to historic mores. This particular tale +covers some months in the late adolescence of Brocheo, daughter of +the favorite of Sappho. Since her widowed mother cannot leave the +country estate which supports them, Brocheo is sent to an aunt in +Mitylene to be prepared for a fitting marriage. Sappho’s open quarrel +over her brother’s alliance with the courtesan, Doricha, has inclined +conservative mothers to entrust their daughters’ training to the conventional +Andromeda, but a passionate friendship between Brocheo’s +young cousin and Sappho’s daughter Kleis draws the older girl into +contact with the famous poet. The precocious Kleis analyzes as the +key to her mother’s temperament a desire to possess utterly anyone +she loves, estranging her from one after another of her beloved +friends when they marry, and making it difficult for Kleis to have +either suitors or close friends. But Brocheo senses genius in Sappho’s +intensity as compared to Andromeda’s polite talent, and becomes the +great poet’s willing pupil. The story ends discreetly with the beginning +of Brocheo’s tutelage, for some given details of a scene between +Kleis and her young friend suggest that had it continued into the +relation between Sappho and Brocheo it would have sailed in dangerous +waters. +</p> + +<p> +This was the year in which the German motion picture <em>Mädchen +in Uniform</em> was released and Weirauch’s <em>Scorpion</em> translated. (The +latter’s sequel, <em>The Outcast</em>, followed in 1933.) Except for these, 1932 +boasted only a pair of titles on a level with Miss Donisthorpe’s mentioned +above, which must wait for later consideration. After this season +in which everything published, no matter what the quality, was +relatively tolerant of variance, the pendulum swung back in 1933, +when but one of five authors had even a moderate word to say for it. +</p> + +<p> +The most nearly sympathetic was Thomas Beer, whose volume of +short stories, <em>Mrs. Egg and Other Barbarians</em>, included “Hallowe’en,” +written in 1927 but not, like the others, previously published in +magazines. In this tale the monumental but endearing Mrs. Egg, inveterate +eater of sweets and worshipper of her tall son, Adam, encounters +on Hallowe’en night the striking Bill Sloan, village tomboy, +whom she had known before her marriage and removal to New +York some years earlier. Now divorced, Bill has come back to visit +her girlhood chum, wife of a friend of Adam’s. Mrs. Egg elicits from +Adam that Jane’s husband is “out of luck nights,” and they agree that +<a id="page-299" class="pagenum" title="299"></a> +the fault lies in the girl’s upbringing—“Jane’s mama was too much of +a lady to say drawers in a King’s Daughters meetin’. I bet the darn +truth is Janie’s scared of men yet.” Anent Bill’s divorce, they recall +that +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +“Dr. Sloan raised Bill peculiar. He believed folks are just—s’perior +kind of animals. No souls or nothin’. I never can +get shocked any about sensible people’s morals.... I just +want to say this for Bill. I bet she don’t do any harm.”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-15">15</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This was written at the height of that psychological season when +parents could do no right; but Beer concedes to the hereditary camp +Bill’s height and absence of hips, and both girls’ tenor speaking +voices. Mrs. Egg is called out from her grandson’s hilarious party for +a farewell from Jane and Bill, who because they admire the wholesome +woman profoundly, want her to be first to know they are leaving—“for +good.” Jane begs Mrs. Egg to look after her husband, against +whom she has nothing save that she cannot endure marriage and +“loves someone else more.” Without protest Mrs. Egg busies herself +with lunch for the night travelers—they are driving—and sends them +off, perhaps significantly just before midnight of the witches’ holiday. +But after they have gone she can say only +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +“They’re human beings, Dammy. [But] if they’d stayed a minute +longer I’d ha’ screamed. Oh, Dammy, ain’t things +peculiar!”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-16">16</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +She is consoled by learning that Adam thinks this the only solution +for all concerned and has foreseen tragedy from the moment of Jane’s +marriage. +</p> + +<p> +The next episode, narrowly skirting the sensational level, was included +in <em>Orient Express</em> by the British Graham Greene,[<a class="footnote" href="#10-17">17</a>] who in 1933 +was writing only psychological thrillers. A lesbian journalist, after +supporting for four years a beautiful countrywoman picked up in a +cinema, realizes she is about to lose her love to a man (“How could +one hold her, with only a mouth?”) Philosophically cutting her +losses, Mabel decides to capture Carol, a dancer traveling alone on the +Express, and immediately begins to plan the redecoration of her +London apartment in honor of her new conquest. The plot develops +otherwise, however, and Mabel goes on alone. +</p> + +<p> +In <em>Entertaining the Islanders</em>, Struthers Burt’s most sophisticated +effort, he treats the modish theme less gently. After a three-year liaison +<a id="page-300" class="pagenum" title="300"></a> +with a rather hard woman journalist, the hero falls genuinely in +love during a winter in the Bahamas, and returns to New York to +break with his old flame. Even during their intimacy Marian “had +made no pretense of faithfulness,” but what frees him of any remorse +at severing the connection is his discovery that she is now involved +with a married woman, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +a small beautiful bronze young woman with square-cut yellow +hair. Taut, condensed, masterful, engraved.... Her brilliant +tawny eyes looked David up and down without interest. In +the jacket of her dark suit was a white camellia.... Marian +was nothing if not up to date, was she?[<a class="footnote" href="#10-18">18</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +He wonders how husbands put up with “childlike little ghosts.... +Children making childlike little substitutions for reality ... and +always so proud of their substitutions.”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-19">19</a>] This, of course, is close to +quotation from Freud. +</p> + +<p> +Sinclair Lewis hit even harder in <em>Ann Vickers</em>. The chief figure +in his briefly sketched tragedy, Eleanor Crevecoeur, was in an early +section of the novel devoted to the battle for suffrage, and was +humorous, fearless, and intelligent, though “looking all the time like +an anemic Bourbon princess.” Later during World War I she has +one serious liaison with a man and an exhausting list of casual affairs. +Then she meets a sleekly tailored woman executive of a department +store with a Ph.D. in psychology. Dr. Herringdean frightens off the +heterogeneous swarm of males and appropriates Eleanor for herself. +But once her prey is caught, she loses interest, turns pettily cruel, and +pursues other women. Eleanor wastes to a neurotic wraith and finally +commits suicide. The whole episode occupies only ten pages, but is +mordant and damning. +</p> + +<p> +The final blow of the year was struck by George Jean Nathan, +dramatic critic for the <em>American Statesman</em>, in a slapstick parody +offered as a critique of the current British drama. Nathan had commented +earlier (without special reference to England) on “the increasing +number of women players who are of the sexual disposition +of the Aeolian Greek colonizers,” and on their “freezing” presence +on the stage—“all their emotional scenes are dead.”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-20">20</a>] In this skit, +“Design for Loving,” (the title a jibe at Noel Coward’s <em>Design for +Living</em>), the cast includes: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Lord Derek, a hermaphrodite; his father, an onanist; his +mother, a lesbian; his sister, a flagellant; Lady Vi Twining, +<a id="page-301" class="pagenum" title="301"></a> +his sister’s friend, an auto-erotist with tribade tendencies; his +servant, a homosexual and transvestist;[<a class="footnote" href="#10-21">21</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +et cetera. Though the dialogue is so caricatured as to mar the wit, +it mentions the many one-sexed couples to be seen in any large hotel +or restaurant, and the negligible action includes “significant” glances +and caresses among the three women. Plays other than Coward’s (if +any) that might have inspired this effort have not been discovered. +</p> + +<p> +If Nathan hoped to purge the current theatre by ridicule, he was +doomed to prompt disappointment. In 1934 a translation of <em>Mädchen +in Uniform</em> adapted to the legitimate stage was produced by high-grade +amateur groups in more than one large American city and +played to crowded houses, and late in the year Lillian Hellman’s +<em>The Children’s Hour</em> began its successful run on Broadway. This +was subsequently taken over by Hollywood, and readers who saw only +the film will wonder at its inclusion here. The mainspring of the +plot was the same in both versions—the ruin of a thriving boarding +school and of the two young women who own it through vicious +slander circulated by a pupil, already a well-developed paranoiac at +the age of twelve. In the film one of the women is accused of intimacy +with her fiancé, the school physician. +</p> + +<p> +In the play as Miss Hellman wrote it the charge is lesbianism +between the two mistresses. This fabrication, fairly sophisticated for +a twelve-year-old, is the fruit in part of surreptitious reading of <em>Mlle +Maupin</em>, in part of an overheard quarrel between one of the young +women and an aunt who taunts her with jealousy of her friend’s +fiancé. The dreadful child’s garbled exaggerations galvanize her +grandmother into hasty action. Over-night the school is emptied by +horrified parents. The young women lose their suit for slander +through the cowardly flight of the aunt, their chief witness. The +younger woman breaks her engagement when she sees that her fiancé +will never be sure but that a grain of truth underlay the slander. +The other woman is tortured into realizing for the first time that +she has never cared for men, and that unadmitted passion has in +fact underlain her restrained love for her friend. Feeling irremediably +soiled, she shoots herself. As its easy Hollywood transmutation proves, +the core of this tragedy is not the persecution of variance. It is the +destruction of two blameless individuals through hysterical prejudice, +and the lesbian issue is only a super-explosive detonator of that hysteria. +But is the older woman’s suicide a tragic waste chargeable to the +social mores which made her feel so soiled? Or is it tragic merely +because she is physically innocent—that is, does Miss Hellman, like +<a id="page-302" class="pagenum" title="302"></a> +Mendès, distinguish between light and darkness here on the strength +of technicalities alone? The text provides no answer. +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the year’s offerings were fiction ranging in quality +from that of Henry Handel Richardson, Victoria Sackville-West and +Isak Dinesen to the now frequent sensational penny-catchers. Probably +most of the book of short stories, <em>The End of a Childhood</em>, which +Miss Richardson gave to the public in 1934, were written earlier. The +title group consists of fragments related to her <em>Richard Mahoney</em> +novels (1917-1929) which seem rather discards than sequels (as were +those in Galsworthy’s <em>On Forsyte ’Change</em>). Another group entitled +“Growing Pains” is more reminiscent of her <em>Getting of Wisdom</em> of +1910. Indeed, of these eight sketches, six present so integrated an +emotional sequence that although their girls bear different names +one wonders whether they are not bits from a trial flight toward another +novel centered about a woman. A noteworthy feature in all +these sketches, as also in <em>The Getting of Wisdom</em>, is the absence of a +father and the relative insignificance or incompatibility of the mother. +</p> + +<p> +In “The Bathe” a beautiful child of six is sickened by the physical +ugliness of two obese middle-aged women who strip and bathe nude, +with self-conscious tittering, on an isolated beach. Until this moment +the child has been eager for adult status, but now “oh never—never—no, +not ever now did she want to grow up.” In “Preliminary Canter” +one twelve-year-old girl adores another and is baffled and furious +when the latter “flirts” with a farm hand. “Conversation in a Pantry” +presents the uneasy efforts of a girl of fourteen to learn from one three +years older what it is one must “take care about” when out with boys. +She gets evasive answers, but they are sufficient to recall her disgust +upon first realizing that married couples sleep in the same bed. On +the other hand, as her informant speaks of her own love, “she had +never known before that Alice was so pretty, with dimples round +her mouth and her eyes all shady. Oh, could it mean that—yes, it +must: Alice simply didn’t <em>mind</em>.” “The Wrong Turning” pictures the +violent shock to another fourteen-year-old, invited to go rowing by +an interesting new schoolfellow (male), when the pair blunder on a +swimming hole where naked soldiers are indulging in harmless but +rough horseplay, and the men shout suggestively after the embarrassed +youngsters. +</p> + +<p> +“And Women Must Weep” is the aftermath of an eighteen-year-old’s +long-anticipated first ball. She has been a wallflower, and afterwards, +locked in her room, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Oh the shame of it!... not to have “taken,” to have failed +<a id="page-303" class="pagenum" title="303"></a> +to “attract the gentlemen”—this was a slur that would rest on +her all her life. And yet a small voice that wouldn’t be silenced +kept on saying “It wasn’t my <em>fault</em>!” ... She had tried her +hardest, done everything she was told to ... [but] really, +truly, right deep down in her, she hadn’t wanted “the gentlemen” +any more than they’d wanted her: she had only had to +pretend to.... She cried till she could cry no more.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-22">22</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The final and longest sketch, “Two Hanged Women,” gives as it +were the cumulative result of such experiences. The word “hanged,” +it should be noted, is merely a mild and dated Australian expletive +equivalent to the American “darned,” and is applied to a pair of +young women by a couple who find the two in their own favorite +spot for petting, but its use in the title lends a telling <em>double +entendre</em>. The older girl, nearing thirty, is tall and thin with +straight bobbed hair and a man’s gait. The other, in her middle +twenties, has been urged to marry by a dominating mother, +but is nauseated by physical contact with her beau, Fred. Even +if he sits too close she must “screw herself up” to bear it. On +the other hand, she craves the social status of a regularly courted +girl, and indulges in a brief fantasy of being escorted by the handsome +and devoted man. People are sympathetic to that, she says, +and “let us into the dark corner seats at the pictures as if we’d +a right to them. And they never laugh. Oh, I can’t <em>stick</em> being laughed +at!”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-23">23</a>] After the bitter retort, “Gawd! Why not make a song of it?” +her companion claims that it is the mother who has put these romantic +notions into her daughter’s head. Whenever the two girls +are out together the mother is furious, and “does she need to open +her mouth? Not she! She’s only got to let it hang at the corners +and you reek, you drip with guilt.”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-24">24</a>] The sketch ends with the +younger girl shuddering and crying out that she would “rather die +twice over” than submit to Fred’s passion. She clings to her friend, +who holds her in a gentle and maternal embrace. Taken all together, +these half-dozen vignettes present a most convincing etiology for +a homosexual woman. +</p> + +<p> +In Victoria Sackville-West’s <em>Dark Island</em> (1934) the reserved and +elusive Shirin, oldest child in a family best described as philistine, +cultivates defensive reticence. She desires “quietly to remain unguessed, +unknown, and thus to protect oneself from the pain of +life.” During summers on the southwest coast of England she falls in +love with a rocky island a mile offshore, tree-covered and crowned by +the romantic pile of LeBreton castle, because it seems the embodiment +<a id="page-304" class="pagenum" title="304"></a> +of her dreams of privacy. After a successful decade in London +society which includes marriage and children, she finds her life so +pointlessly harried that she escapes it by a quixotic sacrifice of +maternal ties and reputation. In her thirties she enters upon a +second marriage with Sir Venn LeBreton, owner and virtual overlord +of the island of Storn. It is largely for the sake of his island that +she marries him, for to her it is still the remote and secret sanctuary +for which she has hungered all her life. When, with the intuition of +the fiercely proud, Sir Venn divines her motive, he makes clear at +once that the property descends in the male line, wives are mere +consorts and heir-bearers, and Storn is no more hers than any +servant’s. Thus, she has merely involved herself in a barren and +humiliating life imprisonment. Soon she discovers that her husband +is at times a physical as well as a mental sadist, and her misery +reaches desperation unrelieved by the bearing of two children. +</p> + +<p> +Since her teens she has had one constant friend, Cristina, a +tall, powerful and competent woman, but their relation has been +so reserved, so impersonal, that only its persistence has raised it +above mere acquaintance. In her loneliness Shirin turns, though +without unburdening herself, to Cristina; and after his male secretary +suddenly dies, she prevails upon her husband to engage her +friend. The latter perceives at once that Shirin’s life is wretched, +but she is vouchsafed no more explanation than becomes slowly +evident to her loving eyes. More and more as time passes, however, +Shirin comes to depend upon her for just such wordless but complete +communion as that between Miriam and Amabel in <em>Dawn’s Left +Hand</em>. Sir Venn presently becomes aware of this bond, and unable +to move his wife from her determination that her friend shall stay +with her or she herself will leave, he takes Cristina sailing on a day +of squalls and returns alone with a story of her accidental drowning. +Shirin accepts this story impassively and continues to live with +him, outwardly composed but inwardly in torment. When, some +years later, he taunts her with his having deliberately eliminated +Cristina, she soon contrives his death in return by a long kiss after +she is sure that she is stricken with diphtheria. He dies and she survives, +but since Storn is now his son’s and the son is a replica of the +father, she soon declines to a willful death. +</p> + +<p> +Two points should be noted here: first, the stress laid on the +impersonality of the two women’s relationship until Shirin’s marriage +becomes a torture justifying any human solace; and second, +the ingenuity employed to contrive her ominous situation. Sir Venn +and his feudal domain are the stuff of post-Elizabethan tragedy on +<a id="page-305" class="pagenum" title="305"></a> +gothic romance, difficult of assimilation into a twentieth-century +pattern. But the island’s isolation sets it apart from the present, just +as Shirin’s withdrawn spirit separates her a little from current +reality. Thus the tenuous variant union can flower without reference +to society, and the triangular drama can be enacted beyond the +world’s reach. This latter portion of the novel is in miniature as +much of a <em>tour de force</em> as Mrs. Woolf’s <em>Orlando</em>, and the similarity +is particularly interesting in that the elusive Shirin is hauntingly +reminiscent of Clarissa Dalloway in Mrs. Woolf’s book which her own +preface proclaims to be tinged with autobiography. +</p> + +<p> +As distinguished as the work of these two British women was +<em>Seven Gothic Tales</em> (1934) by the Danish Isak Dinesen (Baroness +Karen Blixen), whose artistry in English is as remarkable as Conrad’s. +She is also adroit in maintaining a continental outlook without +offending her adopted audience, a feat she achieves by setting +her tales in a day when the Romantic Period had the freshness of +youth, and recounting them with a serene detachment which precludes +“reader participation.” No more than discreet hints of male +homosexuality lend flavor to “The Monkey,” and in “The Roads +Around Pisa” the two feminine romances contributing to the involved +plot are seen in retrospect, only one member of each pair +actually appearing in the narrative. The younger of these two +women, Agnese, is a transvestist who has traveled for a year as a +man. Her reasons are disclosed gradually. Her beloved friend, like +Lamartine’s Clothilde, was obliged to marry an elderly Croesus +though she was in love with a young cousin. Afterward, when she +occasionally slipped out to meet her love, her bosom friend, Agnese, +allayed suspicion by occupying her bed, a safe enough favor since +the husband was impotent and took his pleasure in toying with his +“lovely pet” by day; at night merely inspecting her room to know she +was there. To keep the world from guessing his humiliating secret +he required a child, and sent a surrogate of his own choosing to +effect that end one night when Agnese had taken his wife’s place. +Already indifferent to men, Agnese was goaded by this violation to +abandon the feminine role altogether and roam the country as a +Byronic gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +The very old lady whom a highroad accident leads to unburden +herself to a fellow traveler while expecting death, has, like Agnese, +been averse to men all her life, but social necessity has made her +wife, mother, and now grandmother. The fact that her daughter died +in childbirth has increased her animus against the male sex, and her +granddaughter’s marrying in the face of her prohibition has estranged +<a id="page-306" class="pagenum" title="306"></a> +them. She tells her confidant, a melancholy Hamlet, that in +her long life she has known but two passions, one for a girlhood friend +from Denmark, the other for her beautiful grandchild. She cannot +die without sending her forgiveness to the girl, and she extracts +from the young Danish listener a promise to deliver her message. +Contrary to her expectations, however, she lives, is happily reunited +with her granddaughter, and through love for the latter’s infant +son at last achieves tolerance for the opposite sex (cf. <em>Marie Bonifas</em>). +She also discovers that her Danish messenger is nephew of her first +beloved, who died a spinster. Since both these loves are recounted +by one of their actors, they do not appear on the surface to have +been lesbian, but there are certainly no implications to the contrary. +The two women, young and old, appearing in the story are both +somewhat masculine; of each pair of loving women, one never married; +and for three of the four, the early variant love seems to have +been the most vivid of their lives, surviving marriage or other liaisons. +</p> + +<p> +Another contribution from the continent was the translation of +Colette’s <em>Claudine s’en Va</em> as <em>The Innocent Wife</em>. Properly it is fourth +in its series, but it lacks the outright lesbian element of the third, +which awaited publication in the following year. All the Claudine +novels, it should be noted, were issued in the United States, while +England risked no sympathetic treatments more overt than those of +Geoffrey Moss, the two Richardsons, and Miss Sackville-West. +</p> + +<p> +The remainder of the year’s crop were also American, two of +good quality. One was Anthony Thorne’s heartening idyll, <em>Delay in +the Sun</em>, in which forty-eight hours’ suspension of bus service in +Spain resolves a variety of emotional conflicts in its English passengers’ +lives. The variant couple are mannish Jean Porteous, daughter +of a titled British family and a rebel against the social existence +expected of her, and Betty Sale-Jones, blonde, helpless and fluttering, +from “the plastery gentility of Kensington.” Thus far their common +bond has been the determination to escape family strictures and +win personal freedom. They are merely good companions with +some tentative notions of sharing a flat in London on returning from +their trip. Then their visit to an empty bull ring moves Jean to +mimic with startling verisimilitude the Spanish performers both +have seen. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +In the hot Spanish sunlight she played at bull fighting +for the sake of a pretty girl in a yellow dress who sat in the +<em>barrera</em>. Playing together, they mocked a dangerous game. +And dangerously they entered a secret world in which they +had so great a need of each other.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-25">25</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a id="page-307" class="pagenum" title="307"></a> +Later in the moonlight they visit the flower-drenched public gardens +and lie on the warm grass, “fingers still linked as they lay looking +upwards into the sparkling sky.” When they come back to lights and +crowds they fall paralyzingly shy and dare not share their common +room and bed. After a restless night apart, each comes to much the +same conclusion: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +What had happened to them last night was something +beyond their control. Then let this strange force follow its +own law—let it part them forever or join them forever. It was +something too big for their reason, and too delicate.... Of +no use to fight, reason, or wonder.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-26">26</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +And it is without further resolution of their problem that they let +the suddenly-restored bus service carry them away from the scene +of their inarticulate romance. The author has cannily left each +reader to supply what sequel best satisfies his own philosophy, but +the lingering mood is distinctly one of warm tolerance and sympathy +rather than disapproval. +</p> + +<p> +In <em>After Such Pleasures</em>, on the other hand, Dorothy Parker +grazes the surface of variance with flippant malice. The final story, +“Glory in the Daytime,” sketches the tentative advances of a New +York sophisticate to a newly arrived and naïve little wife with a +passion for stage celebrities. Using the long-famed Lily Wynton as +bait, the Gothamite invites the provincial to tea—to the disgust of the +latter’s husband, who always refers to the predatory Hallie as +“Hank” and declares that all “those women” make him sick. Starry-eyed +with anticipation, little Mrs. Murdock finds her hostess alone, +clad in trousers and silk shirt. She is welcomed with a long kiss and +the admonition, “Don’t tell Lily!” But the famous star on arrival +proves to be middle-aged, withered, and brassy-haired. She is already +too drunk to follow the conversation, demands brandy, and soon +dozes off. Mrs. Murdock leaves in sad disillusion, with a new appreciation +of her astringent mate, only to find that he has gone out in +a temper for the first time to pursue his own ends. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-15-2"> +The Worm’s Turning +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Since the total count of variant titles in 1934, including the sensational +items not yet touched upon, mounted to ten, it is not +surprising that some public reaction should set in. It will be even +less so after a rapid consideration of those omitted trivia, of which +within as many years some half-dozen accumulated. Because the first +<a id="page-308" class="pagenum" title="308"></a> +was a fairly obvious rebuttal of <em>Well of Loneliness</em>, it deserves more +attention than some others. It was <em>Loveliest of Friends</em> (1931) by +Sheila Donisthorpe, who was reputedly an English actress with a +number of other romances to her credit, but its verbal idiom is not +British and it was published only in New York. +</p> + +<p> +Written with intense sentimentality, it pictures the ruin of +Audrey, introduced as the happy wife of a doting but pedestrian +husband whose hobby of gentleman-farming takes him often out of +London. The couple’s intimate life is described in some detail as +ideal, yet Audrey is given to playing Chopin in the dusk to relieve +her unspent emotion. Presently she is assiduously courted by boyish, +impudent and exquisitely-tailored Kim, similarly blessed with a +husband who dotes upon her and allows her every freedom. Kim’s +showers of gifts and passionate telephone calls intoxicate the inexperienced +Audrey. Although the first attempted caress and Kim’s +confession that she is a lover of women are profoundly shocking, +Audrey soon succumbs without reservation. Then she discovers that +there is a former beloved for whose daily letters Kim watches avidly; +next, she learns that several of her own London circle have been +loved and discarded by Kim; finally, a current rival is flaunted to +rouse her jealousy. This cheap blonde American flirt is a transparent +copy of the ex-chorus girl in <em>Well of Loneliness</em>, just as a vivid +phrase applied to Kim—“a head so fiercely alive it seemed delicately +to light the air around it”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-27">27</a>]—is lifted verbatim from the description +of Jennifer in Miss Lehmann’s <em>Dusty Answer</em>. +</p> + +<p> +Audrey spends several delirious weeks at a shore resort with +Kim (described in detail) of an intensity impossible to support for +long, and when immediately afterward the blonde recaptures Kim +by the classic device of parading a rival—a repulsive caricature of the +mannish and profane lesbian—Audrey’s overstrained nerves give way. +A period in a sanatorium restores her temporarily, but, back in +London again, she is helpless against her passion. After melodramatic +incidents involving all four women, Audrey attempts suicide, and +failing to achieve her end, she leaves home and husband to wander, +derelict and outcast, for the rest of her days. Close to the end the +author breaks out in vituperation against +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +those who clamor for recognition of the sinister group who +practice ... these sadistic habits ... crooked, twisted freaks +of Nature who stagnate in dark and muddy waters, and are so +choked with the weeds of viciousness and selfish lust that, +drained of all pity, they regard their victims as mere stepping +<a id="page-309" class="pagenum" title="309"></a> +stones to their further pleasure. With flower-sweet fingertips +they crush the grape of evil till it is exquisite, smooth +and luscious to the taste, stirring up subconscious responsiveness, +intensifying all that has been, all that follows, leaving +their prey gibbering, writhing, sex-sodden shadows of their +former selves, conscious of only one desire in mind and body, +which, ever festering, ever destroying, slowly saps them of +health and sanity.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-28">28</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This effusion is an obvious retort to Miss Hall’s relatively controlled +plea for tolerance at the end of <em>Well of Loneliness</em>, and the volume +gives every evidence of being written hastily to profit by whatever +conservative reaction there was against the sympathy aroused among +the literati by Miss Hall’s effort. +</p> + +<p> +The next exhibit was from the pen of the American Tiffany +Thayer, writer of near-erotica, and comprises one chapter in his +<em>Thirteen Women</em> (1932). A fragile beauty in whom puritanic sex-repression +has induced tuberculosis is quickly cured by an affair +with her Denver physician’s lesbian wife. The two have in common +a hatred of men. The younger believes their love unique and +blessedly free of the uncleanness of sex, and when, back in New +York, she is bawdily enlightened by an old schoolmate who is now a +vaudeville performer, she wastes swiftly to the death her abortive +romance postponed. +</p> + +<p> +Of the same calibre was <em>The Establishment of Madame Antonia</em> +(1932) by one Leyla Georgie, comprising life sketches of the inmates +of Hamburg’s most élite bordello, and supposedly recorded by one +of the group. Nearly all the women are titled or from the top level +of European society, but have been reduced by malign chance. The +variant pair are a Russian princess and a new recruit whom she +protects and cherishes. Discovering that though her protégée loves +her, she is unable to return her passion, the princess introduces the +girl to a nobleman who marries her. Natacha then commits suicide. +The whole volume is little more than a romanticizing of earlier +foreign erotica which celebrated more fleshly relations among prostitutes. +</p> + +<p> +The title of Idabel Williams’s <em>Hellcat</em> (1934) accurately describes +its heroine, who expends her efforts only on such persons as she can +steal from someone else or can live upon without sacrifice on her part. +One of the latter is a lesbian whom she scorns as long as men are +handy, but whose hospitality she finally exploits for a long season, +keeping her victim in a constant fever by pretending an innocence +<a id="page-310" class="pagenum" title="310"></a> +which sees in lesbians only fit subjects for police court or madhouse. +</p> + +<p> +Gerald Foster’s <em>Strange Marriage</em> (1934) deserves an extra word +because here transvestism basically affects the plot for the first time +since the fantastic German <em>Weiberbeute</em> of 1906. A girl, expelled +from college just before graduation, hides out in a lonely beach +shack until she can go home without revealing her disgrace. Shingled +and accustomed to trousers she lives as a boy for safety, but finds +that even boys are not safe from the lifeguard who seeks her out at +night. He is, however, delighted on discovering her real sex. His +masterful possession of her, outrages her pride, but her body registers +traitorous complaisance. In a fury of rebellion against a woman’s +double disadvantage, she resolves to live as a man. By putting the +width of the continent between her and her past life she contrives +to get a college degree on the west coast and a job in a law office, continuing +her studies at night. When the senior partner’s daughter falls +in love with her she reciprocates with warmth, marries the girl (who +is innocent to a degree), and lives as her husband for several years. +Then the coincidental reappearance of the beach guard not only +makes her apprehensive of recognition but revives the response +he was the first to stir. A quick disappearance leaves her wife an +apparent widow, and she marries the man. The bisexual experience +here seems more indebted to earlier French trivia than to current +psychological theory, which taxes unwilling defloration with negative +rather than happy heterosexual results. +</p> + +<p> +As Lilyan Brock’s <em>Queer Patterns</em> (1935) has been revived in two +different paperbound editions since 1950 and is thus easily available, +a short description will suffice. A musical-comedy star tries marriage +to one of those perfect husbands so useful in accentuating indelible +variant leanings. She comes fully to life, however, only under the +hands of a dynamic woman director of serious drama, with whom +she enjoys two perfect years before gossip obliges them to part or +face professional ruin. A long illness induced by the separation and by +a subsequent wealthy husband’s drug-crazed violence provides opportunity +for a trained nurse to fall in love with her. The nurse is driven +to suicide from jealousy of the other woman. The drug-addict husband +finally strangles the star. This is offered as an example of ineradicable +inborn variance. +</p> + +<p> +Quite the most melodramatic of the lot was <em>Male and Female</em> +by Jack Woodford (1935), in which a girl about to be married +realizes that her comparative physical coolness to her fiancé stems +from a hitherto unadmitted attraction to a girl friend. The latter, +a brooding introvert afflicted with frequent migraine, is quite aware +<a id="page-311" class="pagenum" title="311"></a> +of her own feelings, and thrusts herself between the pair, after they +marry, with incredible temerity. The young couple have a stormy +year which would have wrecked their union—since the wife prefers +feminine gentleness to masculine “brutality” in lovemaking—but for +their occasional periods of ecstasy when the interloper is laid low by +her chronic ailment. It finally appears that this “friend” is virtually a +witch (a fictional throwback of a full millennium). In modern terms, +she exercises some hypnotic power over the wife even at great distances. +Since, however, she is not evil at heart, she finally commits +suicide in a burning house by way of ending her own unhappiness +and effectively terminating her fateful influence. +</p> + +<p> +Virtually the last item of this sort from the point of date was +Gawen Brownrigg’s <em>Star Against Star</em> (1936), pretending to British +authorship, but, like <em>Loveliest of Friends</em>, written in American +idiom. It apes <em>Well of Loneliness</em> closely in its dependence upon +inheritance and childhood conditioning, but in this case Dorcas +resembles a hot-blooded mother who has had many male lovers and +who virtually seduces her own daughter at the age of nine or ten. +A year in a Swiss boarding school when she is sixteen ends with the +expulsion of Dorcas and her bisexual American roommate for lesbian +intimacy. Two efforts at affairs with men leave Dorcas cold, and from +one man she parts because he speaks with contempt of “Lezzies.” +Later, in Paris, she meets a beautiful novelist already renowned +at twenty-six, and within twenty-four hours the infatuated pair achieve +complete intimacy. They return to live for a time in England; however, +they encounter at once the same social disapprobation they +had met among the British contingent even on the <em>rive gauche</em>. +A literary critic warns Dorcas, moreover, that she will be jealous +of Consuelo’s work, and that emotional release may have an adverse +effect upon the latter’s creative powers—an interesting inversion of +Miss Hall’s attributing Stephen Gordon’s sterility to lack of such +release. Both predictions prove all too accurate, and the union goes +completely on the rocks within a matter of months. Worthless as +it is artistically, the novel stresses a detail previously hinted only +in <em>That Other Love</em>: it is the younger girl who disrupts an older +woman’s well adjusted and successful life. Also evil fruit from even +completely happy physical expression is at odds with the Freudian +theory which the author elsewhere makes show of accepting. +</p> + +<p> +The final pair of tales have been left until last because of their +direct bearing on censorship efforts which got under way during +1934 and 1935. One was <em>Love Like a Shadow</em>, which, although written +under the name of Lois Lodge, exhibits many of the characteristics of +<a id="page-312" class="pagenum" title="312"></a> +male authorship listed earlier in discussing erotic writing. Of the college +in which it begins, it reports “bull sessions” of crass vulgarity, raw +petting parties and assignations after dances, and lesbian alliances +kept only slightly undercover. In a New York residence club a burgeoning +lesbian coterie includes a cigar-smoking physician who spouts +variant biology and philosophy at every chance, a feminist poet with +two girls—children under ten—whom she has already started on the +path to Lesbos, and a variety of free-living artists, entertainers, and +Park Avenue sensation-seekers. The heroine, Jean, is antagonistic +towards men because of her father’s flaunted infidelities; another +girl, because she was raped at twelve by her uncle. Jean is an idealist +in search of a lasting alliance, but her first love (a college roommate) +marries to scotch “queer” gossip in a midwestern home +town; and her second proves compulsively promiscuous to the point +of seducing Jean’s teen-age sister. Jean finally becomes the wife of +her millionaire employer “in name only” because his fifteen-year-old +daughter needs a mother, but she finds her stepdaughter already +bisexually experienced, and the two are soon united in the +Great Love of both their lives—approximately the fourth affair for +each. The father conveniently dies (of extra-marital excesses) and +leaves the pair free to roam the world at will and live happily +ever after. This précis suggests but feebly the hundred-proof distillate +of promiscuity, exhibitionism, hard drinking, wild lesbian +propagandizing, and bad poetry which comprises the original. +</p> + +<p> +Cut from the same cloth was <em>Mardigras Madness</em> (1934) by Davis +Dresser, a gentleman revealed by the Library of Congress catalog +as writing under six pseudonyms, one of them feminine. It is a racy +tale of Barbara from the country, whose aunt is a prude and whose +“steady” is too puritanic to satisfy her ardent needs. The Mardigras +season, which she spends with a girl friend in New Orleans, +is a salacious riot including a midnight ritual orgy worthy of Peladan, +but the variant episode occurs during the day when masquers roam +the streets at will. She and her friend are picked up by two women, +a tall harlequin, and a shingled pirate who says, “I’ll take you +captive—before some nasty man beats me to it.” The women call +each other Frankie and Johnny, and even before the party reaches +their modest apartment Barbara senses a mystery, “an indefinable +<em>something</em> which set them apart from anyone she had ever known.”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-29">29</a>] +In the apartment alcohol flows freely, and since Barbara has never +before tasted so much as wine, her confused exaltation discreetly blurs +her impressions of first a “sentimentality” which vaguely bothers +her, then a crescendo of caresses until “the world faded into blackness +<a id="page-313" class="pagenum" title="313"></a> +under Frankie’s soothing touch.”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-30">30</a>] The whole incident occupies +a half-dozen pages. +</p> + +<p> +This title had a significant publishing history. In 1938 the same +firm issued <em>One Reckless Night</em> by Peter Shelley, one of Dresser’s +many tags. Except that in this later volume the heroine and her +friend bear different names, its text is that of the 1934 narrative +verbatim, save for one alteration and a scant two percent deletions. +The latter comprise vivid and specific bits of heterosexual detail. +But the important change is the transmutation of the lesbians into +a pair of men, “a striking couple, both extremely tall, and they carried +their costumes with a swagger.”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-31">31</a>] They pick the girls up in a +magnificent foreign roadster, the scene of the drinking party is a +patio of corresponding grandeur, and as the heroine lapses from +consciousness she dreams that it is her fiancé who possesses her. The +obvious purpose of both versions, as of <em>Love Like a Shadow</em> and the +same grade of purely heterosexual writing, is to convince the callow +reader that “everybody’s doing it, it’s smart in the Big Cities.” No +matter how much one may deplore censorship in principle, one can +hardly deny its justice in such cases as these. Actually, the second +version of Dresser’s tale is no better than the first in moral impact, +and the fact that the only change in plot required to make it +acceptable for publication was the alteration of the lesbian episode, +throws light upon the chief target of the snipers. +</p> + +<p> +To be sure, variant fiction was not alone in its flamboyance, nor +was it alone under attack. The heterosexual frankness in works of high +quality during the twenties had been followed by lesser and lesser +efforts, and finally by pseudonymous volumes such as <em>Naked Escape</em>, +<em>Innocent Adulteress</em>, and <em>Born to be Bad</em>. Male homosexuality, as +well, was represented in a handful of dubious volumes culminating in +<em>Scarlet Pansy</em>. Non-fiction also took advantage of the open market +with hastily penned volumes on sexual psychology and perversions, +and revivals or new translations of Krafft-Ebing, Stekel, and lesser +lights of the preceding half-century. A crop of short-lived presses—“Eugenic,” +“Anthropological” and “Physicians”—sprang up to profit +by the open season. Reaction was inevitable. Since earlier battles +to prevent publication had, as we have seen, been lost in this +country, censoring groups now trained their guns upon sales agencies +wherever they had sufficient influence. In one city a single sale of a +blacklisted item might lay a bookseller open to prosecution and +seizure of all contraband stock. In another, supplying a title specifically +requested by a patron might be safe, but having the same +volume visible even on inconspicuous shelves within the shop was +<a id="page-314" class="pagenum" title="314"></a> +penalized. In a third it might be that no restrictions were imposed, +as for example Atlantic City, where the excursionist from +Boston or Philadelphia was apt to find all the books banished from +his own city lavishly displayed in boardwalk windows. This uneven +but increasing restraint was soon sufficient to make the production +of sensational items a gamble instead of a sure profit; the fly-by-night +presses withered as suddenly as they had grown, and what little +trash was issued had to seek vanity publishing. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-15-3"> +Above Reproach +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +Variant fiction of quality, however, suffered no very great check. +In 1935, for instance, this country saw the publication of two sympathetic +translations, Christa Winsloe’s <em>Girl Alone</em> and Colette’s +<em>The Indulgent Husband</em>, and also of Gale Wilhelm’s <em>We Too Are +Drifting</em>. This last was a brief first novel by a young woman pictured +frankly on the dust jacket as shingled and tailored, who was a +stylistic disciple of Ernest Hemingway (by then a major influence). +Her prose had a lean economy worthy of her master, and the +grudging acclaim her novel received would certainly have been +warmer and more voluminous except for her subject. +</p> + +<p> +Her central figure is Jan Morale, an artist of thirty whose +woodcuts have already merited a one-man showing. Jan’s childhood +was pinched and sordid; the brother who always hid behind her skirts +ended by being hanged; and she herself might have starved as a +printer’s devil but for a helping hand from the established sculptor +Kletkin. He would like to marry her, but recognizes that no man +can hope to possess her. For she is the model for his prize-winning +<em>Hermaphroditus</em>, and is more convincingly masculine in temperament +than even Miss Hall’s Stephen Gordon. The disgraced brother +was her twin, and effeminate, which implies heredity as the cause +of her variance. At the opening of the story Jan is entangled with a +society beauty who has raised marital deception to a fine art in the +interests of her predatory lesbian habits. Jan has been no more than +physically captivated; she is already restive, and tension increases +when she falls romantically in love with the serene innocence of +Victoria, just out of college and living with her conventional suburban +family. Jan’s meticulous restraint in refusing to sweep the younger +girl off her feet, and the slow development of their complete intimacy, +are presented delicately but without evasion. The relationship survives +the married woman’s jealous efforts to destroy it and persists for a +time, but with increasing strain. For Jan holds to a lifelong rule +<a id="page-315" class="pagenum" title="315"></a> +against intruding her bohemian eccentricity upon conventional households, +and Victoria finds frequent absences hard to explain at home. +Victoria is an only child not only loved but loving, with all the pliant +passivity of Verena Tarrant in <em>The Bostonians</em>. In her placid life the +need for evasion or struggle has never before arisen, and they are alien +to her now. Therefore the two girls’ long-nursed plans for a holiday +together go down before a suddenly projected family trip. Jan, furtively +hidden, must watch a transcontinental train pull out bearing +her beloved, accompanied by her parents and the “nice boy” they +wish her to marry. Here again, as in <em>Star Against Star</em>, the older and +well-established woman is the one to suffer from a consuming intimacy. +</p> + +<p> +The British contribution of the year was a brief section of +Francis Brett Young’s <em>White Ladies</em>, in which the now familiar pattern +of <em>Regiment of Women</em> is discernible. Bella, descended from +two generations of independent and passionate women and virtually +orphaned, is sent to boarding school at sixteen because she is too +much the tomboy to be manageable by her grandparents or the mistresses +of her private day-school. The “first passionate devotion of +her life” for a music mistress she outgrows upon discovering that +the woman is a facile sentimentalist, but she falls at once into “instinctive +adoration” of a crisp and ironic headmistress, who seems +the antithesis of her former love. On closer acquaintance the contained +Miss Cash reveals a “protean” range of mood, from childlike +gaiety to “spiritual incandescence,” but her astringent scorn of +admitted love preserves Bella’s illusion of emotional detachment +through five years as pupil, teacher and secretary-companion. Then +Miss Cash offers hysterical opposition to Bella’s associating with +men, and this brings the girl to see her at last as +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +a faded middle aged woman of imperious and uncertain temper, +pathetically nursing an illusion of emancipated youth +and freedom and daring in what was really the arid life of +a confirmed old maid.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-32">32</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Later, in the company of a man she loves, Bella meets Miss Cash on +the street with another worshipful young girl and recognizes a +sinister element in these consuming attachments. When the man +observes that though the schoolmistress has the face of an old woman +she still moves like a girl, Bella replies that she is ageless because +she is a vampire, living on young blood. Neither of the women here +appears at all masculine, though Miss Cash is a feminist and a man-hater +<a id="page-316" class="pagenum" title="316"></a> +and Bella has a man’s practical intelligence and drive. Bella’s +loves are substitutes for family ties, and the older woman is again +the egotist in need of constant adulation. +</p> + +<p> +In 1936 Rosamond Lehmann skimmed variance fleetingly in +<em>Weather in the Streets</em> with a dialogue between a divorcee of boyish +appearance and her one-time schoolmate who plainly has suspicions +about the cause of her marital difficulties;[<a class="footnote" href="#10-33">33</a>] the suspicions are, however, +unfounded. Marcia Davenport gave her prima donna in <em>Of +Lena Geyer</em> just such a faithful adorer as Allie Wentworth in Huneker’s +satiric <em>Painted Veils</em>, but she is careful to specify that though +gossip attributed a lesbian color to the relationship it was actually +blameless.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-34">34</a>] (One suspects that there may have been living models +for both authors’ couples of singer and satellite in the New York +musical world of the early century.) +</p> + +<p> +The year’s most important item was the British edition (the +American followed in 1937) of <em>Nightwood</em> by Djuna Barnes, a young +American of the Paris group of expatriates following more or less +in the literary footsteps of Gertrude Stein and James Joyce. Fortunately +Miss Barnes’s work is intelligible without a key, her kinship +being perhaps closer with T. S. Eliot, who wrote the preface for this, +her first full-length narrative. On initial reading, the first hundred +pages of <em>Nightwood</em> may seem only a crowded canvas of figures +romantic in their eccentricity and linked by little save Left Bank +geography. Gradually one perceives that their dual axis is a pair of +young women, one an American. Nora Flood owns a decaying +homestead near enough New York to be crowded, whenever she is +there, with the gifted bohemians her hospitality welcomes. The scene +of <em>Nightwood</em>, however, is mainly Paris, where Nora acts as publicity +agent for a small circus. Of the enigmatic Robin Vote, who moves +through the story in a kind of somnambulism, one learns little save +that sometimes she breaks absently into fragments of debased song +in any of a half-dozen languages, and exhibits a compulsive lesbian +promiscuity, the two together suggesting a dubious background. At +twenty she drifts into marriage with a wealthy Jew, but childbirth +wakes her violently to the knowledge that neither marriage nor +motherhood is tolerable to her. +</p> + +<p> +She and Nora are drawn to one another on sight, wander about +the continent happily together, and settle for some years in Paris. +But Robin is increasingly involved in transient contacts, though she +suffers them without volition and is happy only on return to Nora. +Then a fading and greedy widow captures and attempts to hold her, +and Robin is so torn between her two emotional poles that her +<a id="page-317" class="pagenum" title="317"></a> +always precarious stability is destroyed. The occasion of Nora’s first +meeting her was a circus performance from which the girl fled in +inarticulate panic because the animals were magnetically drawn to +her side of their cages, and a lioness stretched paws through the bars +and fixed her “with brimming eyes of love.” The book ends with +Nora’s tracing Robin’s final headlong flight from Paris to her own +American country place, where she finds the deranged girl engaged +in poetically beautiful but spine-chilling play with Nora’s great dog. +The volume <em>in toto</em> is a tragic prose poem of the lost—all those whose +sole métier is instinct and emotion, misfit and outcast in a culture +whose law is social regimentation. +</p> + +<p> +Perceptibly related in style, although far inferior in artistry, is +Helen Anderson’s <em>Pity for Women</em> (1937). In this story, an over-sensitive +motherless girl attempts to make her way alone in New +York, living in a residence club more sinister in its inbred hysteria +than any woman’s college dormitory. The hysterical manifestations +are not only variance but the reckless struggles of older girls to capture +men. The “blind dates” to which Ann submits, the drinking and +promiscuity and aftermaths of abortion and suicide which she sees +among her housemates, so sicken her that when she acquires a roommate +to assuage her loneliness, she clings to the cool and serene +Elizabeth as a savior. The two girls enjoy a period of innocent friendship +precious to both, but it is jeopardized when an older woman +galvanizes Elizabeth into passionate tension. This imperious Judith +soon brings Ann also under her spell. She then drops the more contained +Elizabeth, and takes Ann as her housemate outside the club. +This move estranges the two girls and also terminates a promising +acquaintance between Ann and the one man whose company she +has been able to enjoy. +</p> + +<p> +There is at first the usual period of honeymoon ecstasy between +the two housemates but then bit by bit Ann pieces together Judith’s +crowded history, one only to have been expected, but prostrating to +the naïve Ann. She is particularly shaken by the story of Judith’s +dearest love, a girl as young as herself, whose marriage for the sake +of a child drove Judith to attempt suicide. She also suffers from +their social isolation, which is complete save for Judith’s still adoring +older friends. No new contacts on Ann’s part are permitted. From an +agony of jealousy Ann wastes so alarmingly that Judith, to reassure +her, goes through a species of marriage ceremony, using the familiar +passage from the <em>Book of Ruth</em>. But this gesture is worse than futile. +Ann’s state has been induced not by need of permanence but by +unconscious terror of it, which warred with her passion. As she feels +<a id="page-318" class="pagenum" title="318"></a> +the fetters closing, her mind gives way. Of the three women depicted, +Judith is an innate homosexual and the two younger girls are diverted +from normal orbits by contact with her. Elizabeth has stamina enough +to regain her balance, although had she remained Judith’s choice +the outcome must have been dubious. The immature and unstable +Ann is wrecked beyond hope of recovery. +</p> + +<p> +After these two studies, ultra-modern in manner and somewhat +morbid in substance, to read Elisabeth Craigin’s <em>Either is Love</em> (1937) +is to step back into another century. The almost expository narrative +moves against a background in which horses still provide the means +of transportation, and there is little to indicate that it is not the +discreetly disguised autobiography which it claims to be. Indeed +its prose style suggests an already established reputation in fields of +non-fiction. It covers a decade in the life of its author, beginning with +her late twenties. An employee of the federal government, she is +singled out by a younger colleague who shows her the small attentions +normally proffered by a man. As the acquaintance develops, its +emotional tone disturbs Elisabeth, who recognizes it as what would +ordinarily be called “falling in love.” (However, as she explains, in +the United States at that time the only available literature on psychology +was written by William James; Krafft-Ebing and Havelock +Ellis were barely heard of, and even the feminism of Olive Schreiner +and Ellen Key was “only for the very emancipated.”) For two years +the pair struggle against circumstance, the need for secrecy, and +their own increasing passion. To the young Rachel, the experience +of variant (if not lesbian) love is not wholly new. Heretofore her +friends have been attracted by her boyishness, but now Elisabeth is +averse to any travesty of a heterosexual relation. Theirs must be +an honest love between two women. Finally some months together +abroad give them a typical interlude of complete and perfect union. +</p> + +<p> +Then family complications separate them, and the brief periods +they can snatch together are fevered by the effort to crowd too +much ardor into too little time. During a long stretch with the +width of the Atlantic between them, Rachel falls back into her +youthful pattern of responding to the dynamic reaction she involuntarily +rouses in other women. This infidelity to what is still +her great love induces loss of faith in herself, and finally she suffers so +acute a sense of guilt that she turns against all physical expression +and follows the lead of a new friend (a mystic enamored of self-abnegation) +into the church. Elisabeth could have foregone intimacy +if that was required to preserve their friendship; but Rachel’s +<a id="page-319" class="pagenum" title="319"></a> +retroactive conviction that their whole association was wrong seems +to her sheer sacrilege. She feels that the Rachel known to her is dead, +and a decade passes before she is able to enter upon another emotional +relationship. +</p> + +<p> +This second love is heterosexual, and the other half of the volume +records its course, terminating in marriage. The two experiences, +though different in detail, are subjectively identical and quite justify +the title, <em>Either is Love</em>. The author’s final comment upon variance +is well-considered enough to warrant quotation: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +I do not even now understand the expression “sinful” as +I hear it in connection with love between women.... I should +think sin was something that did harm in some form, to +other people or, of course, to oneself.... Lust demoralizes +both participants.... Married life does not preclude it, +God knows, and there are great numbers of extra-marital +forms. I can understand how lust might develop between +women, and if that exists it is deplorable enough. But because +incest occurs, is all family life vicious? Because there are +brothels, is all sexual life unclean? A so-called Lesbian alliance +can be of the most rarified purity, and those who do not believe +it are merely judging in ignorance of the facts.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-35">35</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This special pleading, more philosophic than Miss Hall’s, is so much +of a piece with the rest of the text that it is not obtrusive, and the +volume raised no outcry in our press. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, in the same year the imported French film <em>Club de +Femmes</em>, its story by Jacques Deval, was drastically cut for New York +showing. The review in <em>Time</em> said: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Manhattan censors promptly spotted Sapphic overtones ... +in the character played by beauteous Else Argall, Deval’s wife. +Censorship deleted her best scene, which shows her successfully +fighting the urge to join the girl of her desire.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-36">36</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +This latter is the central figure, who is seduced by a man and bears +his illegitimate child. “Considered fit for Manhattan cinema-goers was +the shot in which [the lesbian] poisons the procuress telephone operator.” +If, as Ernst and Lindey claim in <em>The Censor Marches On</em>, the +deletion of the “best” scene left an implication that the lesbian yielded +to her desires, then as revived in 1948 the film must have been +<a id="page-320" class="pagenum" title="320"></a> +still further cut (as indeed a certain incoherence suggests), for all +that it then showed was the older woman’s maternal solicitude for the +naïve newcomer. +</p> + +<p> +In 1938 the important contributions came from Gale Wilhelm and +Kay Boyle. To be sure, Dorothy Baker in <em>Young Man with a Horn</em> +hinted, in passing, at an alliance between a light-skinned Harlem +beauty and the white graduate student who later proves so unsatisfactory +a wife to the hero. Ernest Hemingway also, in “Sea Change,” +one of the briefest pieces in <em>The Fifth Column and the First Forty-nine +Stories</em>, shows a lesbian interlude breaking in upon a satisfactory +heterosexual affair. The man tells his errant partner, “It’s a vice.” +The girl, promising to return to him, denies the charge. “We’re made +up of all sorts of things. You’ve known that. You’ve used it well +enough.” But neither of these treatments was very important, and +there seem not to have been others. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Wilhelm’s second novelette, <em>Torchlight to Valhalla</em>, resembles +her first in length and style, but differs in that both its girls are +masculine in little more than attire, and variant largely through conditioning. +The older is even more closely bound to her father than +was Gillian in <em>The Tortoiseshell Cat</em>. In her desperate loneliness after +his death, she yields to a young musician (male) who seems an ideal +partner, but finds herself frozen and shamed by the experiment. The +younger girl has been forced since the age of fifteen to assume a +man’s responsibility for herself and her once distinguished aunt, now +a bemused alcoholic. The two girls immediately find in one another +the answer to their needs and achieve a union which promises lasting +happiness. There is nothing here like Jan’s bohemian existence in <em>We +Too Are Drifting</em> or her barren entanglement with the married +woman. Despite these seeming efforts to placate the prejudiced, Miss +Wilhelm’s second title fared no better at the hands of reviewers than +her first. +</p> + +<p> +Kay Boyle, then another of the American literary expatriates in +France, was already a writer of established reputation when she +entered the variant field in 1938 with two titles. Earlier, in <em>Gentlemen, +I Address You Privately</em> there had been hints of male homosexuality. +Incorporated in <em>Monday Night</em> there is a much more explicit +lesbian episode, seen in part through the eyes of an eight-year-old +boy whose father is serving a life sentence for a crime of +which he is innocent. The rather pathetic wife and mother enjoys +a summer interlude with a <em>soi-disant</em> Russian princess, fugitive from +the Revolution of 1917. This Baya, world-vagabond, automobile racer +<a id="page-321" class="pagenum" title="321"></a> +and aviator, even masquerades on occasion in the father’s World +War I uniform, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +the visored cap ... tipped on the side of her head, even the +boots seeming to fit exactly, and the crop stuck under her armpit, +and the face small, tough and reckless ... “His uniform, +his wife, his kid, the life he can’t live handed me like a +present,” she said scarcely aloud, the casual rakish smile neat +as a boy’s.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-37">37</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Then the other woman shows interest in a man, and after some +stubborn haunting of the apartment, Baya slams out, “banging the +hall-door behind her so that the pictures jumped on the walls.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Boyle’s second narrative, “The Bridegroom’s Body,” did +not appear in book form until 1940 when it was included in the +volume <em>The Crazy Hunter</em>, but the <em>Southern Quarterly</em> printed it +in 1938. Here Lady Glourie, thirty-five but emotionally naïve as a +child, is mistress of an isolated manor with a swannery dating from +the sixteenth century, and wife to a man whose only interest is sport. +He and his cronies spend their days with rod and gun and their +nights in carousal from which she is excluded, so that she feels herself +isolated in a world of men given over to nothing but killing. When +illness in the swanherd’s family makes it necessary to import a nurse, +Lady Glourie anticipates the company of another woman with pathetic +eagerness. The arrival of a young and beautiful Irish girl is a +blow, the more bitter because Lord Glourie is instantly smitten. There +is also a handsome farmer on the place, reputed to be irresistible to +women; so when Lady Glourie learns that Miss Cafferty is given to +long walks by night as well as by day she infers the worst. The Irish +girl’s shyly professed admiration for herself she takes as a studied +attempt at ingratiation. +</p> + +<p> +It is the swans’ mating season and the perennial battle is on +between old warriors and young cobs. On a night when the nurse is +neither in her room nor with her patient, Lady Glourie is called from +her bed to deal with a battle to the death between a young “bridegroom” +and the fiercest of the old cobs. Thinking she may be in time +to save the young swan, she wades out waist deep to the rescue and +narrowly escapes dangerous attack by the old one. She emerges from +the icy water with the dead swan to find Miss Cafferty there, softly +hysterical, pouring out a torrent of endearment. She learns that from +the first the girl has been interested in her alone, fighting off the men +<a id="page-322" class="pagenum" title="322"></a> +because she too hates their predatory cruelty. Her long walks she has +taken +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +“to think about you here, alone where there might be something +left of you ... some mark of you on the ground. I +couldn’t sleep in the room, I couldn’t bear closing the door +after I’d left you.... I’ve walked the country alone ... talking +out loud to you night and day, asking you to give me everything +I haven’t, peace and strength and that look in your +eyes ... one hint of what it is you have that nobody else has, +just one weapon to fight the others ...”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-38">38</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Lady Glourie quiets her, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +but these were things she had heard once or once imagined.... +She stood waiting, scarcely breathing, waiting for the words +to start again. The chill she had not yet felt on her flesh +entered her heart for the instant that the words abandoned +this anonymous but exact description of love.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-39">39</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +When the girl does speak again it is to beg Lady Glourie to come +away with her, escape from the manor, continue to “lend me what +you can spare.” The surcharged moment is interrupted by the noisy +arrival of Lord Glourie with a lantern, demanding “What’s up?” and +annoyed to find them both drenched to the skin. “Lady Glourie +looked down at her own strange flesh and suddenly she began shaking +with the cold.” Here the narrative ends, and as in <em>Delay in the Sun</em>, +the reader must supply for himself the ultimate outcome. +</p> + +<p> +Nineteen-thirty-nine saw the publication of two dissimilar novels, +the American and anonymous <em>Diana</em>,[<a class="footnote" href="#10-40">40</a>] and <em>Promise of Love</em> by a +new English author, Mary Renault. Of the latter, the main theme +is the struggle of a nurse and a laboratory pathologist to work out +satisfactory heterosexual relations against the odds of hospital discipline +and of their individual homosexual interests. Vivian closely +resembles a brother of uncommon charm, irresistible to both sexes +but disinclined to take his relations with either seriously. Thus Mic, +who has enjoyed a transient intimacy with the brother and seen his +interest fade, is wary of allowing Vivian any hold upon him. She, +for her part, is being gracefully courted by a fellow nurse, tall, +tailored and debonair, and there are discreet intimations of her +momentarily succumbing. One of the factors inclining Vivian toward +Mic is Colonna’s sudden and much deeper attachment to a new +<a id="page-323" class="pagenum" title="323"></a> +supervisor of nurses, and the completeness of this connection and +the perilous professional risks it entails are left in no doubt. Vivian’s +growing intimacy with Mic narrowly escapes disaster when, in a spirit +of deviltry, she dresses in men’s clothes and gets the abrupt and +brutal reaction the experiment invites. In the end, the two weather +all storms and marry. The supervisor also accepts a male suitor, and +Colonna is left to face the fact that as she grows older her Maupin +pose will be less becoming and her conquests fewer. +</p> + +<p> +<em>Diana</em> is an autobiography almost of the “true confession” type, +though it carried a preface by Dr. Victor Robinson endorsing at least +its subjective authenticity. Diana grows up the only girl in a household +of brothers and she is very close to her father until his death. +When in early adolescence she falls in love with a high school chum +and recognizes her feelings as those of a boy, her reaction is one of +shame not alleviated by an older brother’s introducing her to the +works of Havelock Ellis. In college she avoids friendships with women +and evades one girl’s advances by pretending ignorance. Delighted to +find the attentions of a male graduate student acceptable, she is engaged +to him for a couple of years, but an unsuccessful trial of intimacy +eliminates marriage from her future plans. +</p> + +<p> +During a year of study abroad, initiation by another American +girl shows her where her fulfillment lies; this contact, however, is +broken at once by the reappearance of an earlier flame of her new +friend. Wounded and angry, Diana is ripe for a less sophisticated +alliance with a girl who is shocked by lesbianism and refuses to +recognize anything of it in their love. When intimacy finally develops, +it is not too satisfactory, since Jane’s scruples preclude any intelligent +effort on her part to meet Diana’s needs. Nevertheless, the two attempt +for a year to live together after their return to the States. In the +women’s college where Diana teaches, their rooming off-campus stirs +so much gossip that for the next year Diana must choose between +Jane and her position. +</p> + +<p> +Diana’s second conscientious effort, in a coeducational college, to +become interested in men is unsuccessful. Somewhat later she finds +a young woman graduate student with whom she achieves happiness +after a period of meticulous restraint reminiscent of <em>We Too Are +Drifting</em>. Suspense is supplied by Leslie’s mother’s denouncing the pair +and disowning her daughter, and by the reappearance of Jane, who +attempts to capture Leslie out of wanton spite. Diana and Leslie are +so eminently suited to one another, however, that they finally come +through even more closely united. This narrative is certainly no +literary masterpiece, and perhaps its strongest point is Diana’s honest +<a id="page-324" class="pagenum" title="324"></a> +analysis along the way of the arguments against, rather than for, her +chosen way of life. Since homosexuals need not fear pregnancy or +assume responsibility for a home and family, they are free to make +and break connections lightly.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-41">41</a>] Only true sympathy, loyalty, and +dedication to their unions can restrain them from snatching at facile +satisfaction, and human nature being what it is, no lesbian alliance +has more strength than the weaker of its two partners. These observations +are not particularly original, of course, having often enough +been demonstrated by example in a half century’s fiction. Even the +precepts themselves had appeared by 1939 in a good many hortatory +manuals of sex psychology. Heretofore, however, they were voiced +by strenuous opponents of homosexual intimacy. For a defender to +present them with cool logic, and, in spite of them, to justify the +calculated risk, marks an advance in psychological perspective since +Radclyffe Hall’s wholly emotional plea for tolerance a decade earlier. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-15-4"> +Another War’s Shadow +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +For the next three years the preoccupations of war—plus the +paper shortage—crowded variant fiction almost completely from the +market, and even after readers and publishers once more hit a modified +stride, the bulk of such fiction remained condemnatory for the +rest of the decade. Angela DuMaurier’s <em>The Little Less</em> (1941) reports +effects as devastating as those in <em>The Island</em> from a long variant +enslavement, even though in this case there is no physical intimacy. +Toward the end of the book a spasm of lesbian debauchery marks +one woman’s repudiation of her Catholic faith in defiance of a deity +who permitted her child to die. The orgy is followed by her suicide. +In Fanny Hurst’s <em>Lonely Parade</em> (1942), the picturesque trio of +bachelor girls are solaced by mutual devotion of a variant cast, though +never actually lesbian; but their unwedded lives are not especially +happy. +</p> + +<p> +The inexplicable burst of five titles in 1943 was largely damning, +the minority report being Dorothy Cowlin’s in <em>Winter Solstice</em>, a +thinly disguised case history of a paralytic whose eight years’ invalidism, +of hysterical origin, is cured by a sudden emotional interest +in a woman aviator. The relationship is brief and innocent, and is +followed by marriage for both women. Craig Rice used the lesbian +advances of an eccentric heiress to a Greenwich Village “poet” as a +neat red herring in her murder mystery <em>Having a Wonderful Crime</em>, +in which the heiress is the victim. In Jane Bowles’s <em>Two Serious +Ladies</em>, an inhibited Brooklyn housewife finds her first experience outside +<a id="page-325" class="pagenum" title="325"></a> +the States so inebriating that she defies her husband and lingers +in the prostitutes’ quarters of Colon, determined to “learn all the +things she didn’t know,” even though she realizes they will not make +her happy. +</p> + +<p> +On a level to be taken seriously, Arthur Koestler in <em>Arrival and +Departure</em> conveyed, through his hero’s contact with a woman psychoanalyst, +his estimate of both the good and the bad in an all-tolerant +psychiatric viewpoint. Peter, heroic political refugee shattered by his +ordeal in the hands of the enemy, is taken in and cared for in a +neutral European city by his countrywoman, Dr. Bolgar. He falls in +love and has a restoring liaison with a young girl who frequents the +doctor’s apartment, and he plans to follow Odette to the United +States when a passport can be secured. His relapse into neurosis +upon her leaving him without notice or farewell Dr. Bolgar repairs +by a swift and skillful analysis of his lifelong martyr complex. +Chance, however, reveals to Peter that the doctor is Odette’s real +love and he but a passing fancy. So, instead of following the girl, he +returns to his perilous but “real” underground activities. The doctor +is described as tall, full-blown, and masterful; Odette, as childishly +slender, with a “boyish” unpainted mouth. In the end, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Above all he felt a sadness ... and pity for Odette, with her +vacant look, her slimness and vulnerability—Odette the victim, +drowned in the carnivorous flower’s embrace.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-42">42</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Certainly best-known of the year’s titles is Dorothy Baker’s <em>Trio</em>, +on which a play was based, since its stage history virtually duplicated +that of <em>The Captive</em> seventeen years earlier. Its opening in Philadelphia +was well attended and reviewed, and the play ran on Broadway +for a little more than a month before being closed through pressure +from a combination of religious interests. One of the <em>New Yorker</em> +staff interviewed various signers of the petition for its withdrawal, +and found that several had neither seen the play nor read the novel +from which it was made before lending their names to the protest. +</p> + +<p> +The story presents the struggle between a Frenchwoman on an +American university faculty and a young art photographer for +possession of a girl who is departmental assistant to the former. +Pauline Maury has just published a brilliant study of the <em>fin de +siècle</em> French decadents, notably Verlaine and Rimbaud. Like them, +she is an advocate of exploring the limits of sensibility under all +possible stimuli from alcohol to sexual passion, with veiled hints at +drugs and flagellation, but naturally this aspect of her life is well +<a id="page-326" class="pagenum" title="326"></a> +concealed. The girl Janet, at first a passionate intellectual and emotional +devotee, has been reduced by intimacy with Pauline to the +limit of stability when a whirlwind courtship by Ray Mackenzie and +a wholesome heterosexual liaison with him save her from further +exploitation. Though Ray reacts with blind rage and contempt to her +confession of her past relations with Pauline, there is at least a chance +that he will come around enough to marry her when he has cooled. +The defeated and frustrated Frenchwoman shoots herself. +</p> + +<p> +This is the essence of the drama, artistically in need of no accessories, +but probably to avoid elaboration of its morbid emotional +elements Mrs. Baker added an offense more permissible of stress. +The substance of Pauline’s monograph was stolen from the dissertation +of a married friend to whose premature death her own relations +with the woman contributed, and the widowed husband retaliates +by exposing her plagiarism. This disgrace provides adequate +motivation for the suicide which makes so effective a dramatic climax, +but it lessens the power of the whole. Pauline as a self-defeating +decadent is an unsavory but convincing personality. With the added +onus of literary theft she too nearly degenerates into mere villain. +Of this century’s four widely circulated dramas, then—<em>The Captive</em>, +<em>Mädchen in Uniform</em>, <em>The Children’s Hour</em>, and <em>Trio</em>—only the +German film succeeded in being good theatre without blurring in +some way the variant theme. +</p> + +<p> +Two passing references in 1944 were Erskine Caldwell’s single +flippant paragraph in <em>Tragic Ground</em>: a bartender’s account of +discovering his wife at play in the back room of her beauty salon +with two of her young patrons,[<a class="footnote" href="#10-43">43</a>] and Jean Stafford’s vignette in +<em>Boston Adventure</em> of a Back Bay dowager who fawns upon each +season’s debutantes without once suspecting her own motivation. +The heroine, however, bearing scars still unhealed from her childhood +under the spell of a neurotic mother now in a sanatorium, +is literally sickened by the woman’s fulsome caresses.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-44">44</a>] +</p> + +<p> +In 1945 Nora Lofts inserted in her historical novel <em>Jassy</em> a disparaging +middle section, “Complaint from Lesbia,” involving a triangle +of two middle-aged school mistresses and the romanticized +title figure, then a kitchen maid of thirteen. From girlhood the now-widowed +Mrs. Twysdale has worshipped her intellectual cousin, +Katherine, and in youth chose as husband the suitor who most +resembled her. The two women have jogged along undramatically +enough for twenty years in their joint school enterprise when the +advent of the remarkable Jassy moves Katherine to unadmitted passion +<a id="page-327" class="pagenum" title="327"></a> +and Mrs. Twysdale to vengeful jealousy. It is the precocious +Jassy herself, now a favored student through Katherine’s efforts, who +at fifteen accepts unjust dismissal without protest because she recognizes +that Katherine will ultimately be better off keeping her lifelong +business partner. Here Mrs. Twysdale, pettily feminine and feline, +is alone identified with “Lesbia,” (semantically unrelated to Catullus), +while the other two exhibit traits implied by Miss Lofts to be +masculine. +</p> + +<p> +In the same year Mary Renault in <em>The Middle Mist</em> provided a +tonic relief with a variant portrait as piquant as any since <em>Mlle de +Maupin</em>. Leo (christened Leonora) can, at twenty-five, be mistaken +for a teen-age boy even by her own sister after a long separation. She +makes a good living by writing “westerns,” lives on a houseboat +within commuting distance of London, and avoids situations requiring +feminine costume. For seven years she has maintained a comfortable +domestic ménage with a nurse who once saved her life. +Neither girl’s single brief experiment with a man was happy, and +both find their common life wholly satisfying. Still they do not +avoid the company of men, and a good part of the story is concerned +with the growth of Leo’s friendship with a fellow author into a +love which leads finally to marriage. Her difficult choice between +her two very real loves, determined largely by her desire for children, +is movingly presented. +</p> + +<p> +Her initial attempt at masculine independence was occasioned +by intolerable friction between her parents, and her own temperament +made it a success. When her younger sister, kept feminine and +helpless by a doting mother, follows Leo’s pattern of flight, she simply +presents herself on Leo’s doorstep and stays for a long season without +realistic thought of who is paying for her keep. Her own adolescent +means of escape from family tension has been a steady diet of cheap +fiction, and she can see her future only in its sugary terms. When +real heartbreak ends a stupid little romance built on nothing more +than wishful dreaming, she creeps back to the parental nest, where +one imagines her withering into bathetic spinsterhood, haunting +rental libraries in search of more stories with happy endings. The +parallel development of the two sisters’ lives constitutes a strong +argument in favor of lesbian intimacy as against inhibited Victorian +romancing. One of the most vivid features of <em>The Middle Mist</em> is its +humor, a quality hitherto conspicuously lacking in variant fiction. +(Gautier, Gunter, Bennett and Mackenzie are the exceptions.) +Leo’s taking a conceited young doctor down a notch by flirting +<a id="page-328" class="pagenum" title="328"></a> +successfully with the nurse he brings to a party and then neglects for +other women would be hilarious in any setting. In a variant novel it +gleams as an unmatched gem. +</p> + +<h3 class="section" id="subchap-0-15-5"> +Second Crescendo +</h3> + +<p class="first"> +The end of the war produced no such immediate effect on variant +fiction as did the beginning, but gradually quantity increased with +the accelerating speed of a geometric progression. Consequently, +many of the thirty-odd novels which appeared from 1946 through +1954—all still relatively accessible—must receive short shrift. Brief +and disparaging variant or lesbian passages were included in Remarque’s +<em>Arch of Triumph</em> (1945 in English), Edmund Wilson’s +<em>Memoirs of Hecate County</em> (1946), Felix Forrest’s <em>Carola</em> (1948), +Philip Wylie’s <em>Opus 21</em> (1949) and <em>Disappearance</em> (1951), Theodora +Keogh’s <em>Meg</em> (1950), Robert Wilder’s <em>Wait for Tomorrow</em> (1952), +Joan Henry’s <em>Women in Prison</em> (1952) and Maurice Druon’s <em>Rise of +Simon Lachaume</em> (1951; in English, 1952). Characters varied from +prostitutes to socialites; action, from sentimental philandering to +a jealous knifing. +</p> + +<p> +Longer derogatory treatments were presented by an equal number +of authors. In 1946 Jean Paul Sartre’s <em>No Exit</em> (a translation of <em>Huis +Clos</em>, 1945) had a brief but unchallenged run in New York. Its +three characters, impounded in a small room in hell, are: a cowardly +political traitor who has also heaped every humiliation on a devoted +wife; a woman who has broken several men for her own amusement +and killed her unwanted child; and a manhating lesbian who has +stolen her cousin’s wife and then talked her victim into a joint +suicide pact. Since the lesbian’s sins seem less heinous than those +of the other two, her emotional anomaly must be viewed as evening +the balance. +</p> + +<p> +Christopher LaFarge’s <em>The Sudden Guest</em> (1946) is concerned with +a colossal egotist who closes her doors against victims of a New +England hurricane. Desperation emboldens them to enter despite +her, but she is untouched by their several stark tragedies. Only one +handsome and cultured woman is welcome, for reasons half snobbish, +half emotional. This Mrs. Cleever has with her an infant son, but is +indifferent to his welfare because of her grief at the drowning of +his nursemaid, with whom she was obviously infatuated. The last +waifs to arrive are a low-class boy and a girl of fifteen whom he has +saved from drowning and carries naked in his arms. Galvanized from +her stupor, Mrs. Cleever snatches the beautiful figure from him and, +<a id="page-329" class="pagenum" title="329"></a> +unassisted, carries the girl off to her room. Later the spinster-hostess +finds the two sleeping nude in each other’s arms, and this alone +has the power to move her—but only to jealousy and self-pity for her +own loneliness. +</p> + +<p> +Three comparatively mediocre works of 1947 were equally severe. +George Willis’s <em>Little Boy Blues</em> recounts the machinations of a +lesbian to achieve marriage and motherhood as a “front” to protect +her reputation and as a means of securing her future. She then +deserts her victim and uses the child as a financial hold upon him +while pursuing her own inclinations, until he is goaded into killing +her. Ethel Wilson in <em>Hetty Dorval</em> pictures the near-capture of a +Canadian girl of eighteen by a courtesan on vacation from her +profession and posing as a respectable woman in Vancouver. In +<em>Not Now but NOW</em>, Mary F. K. Fisher’s chief figure is a woman as +ageless as Orlando and a ruthless egomaniac in all eras and settings. +It is in a small Ohio town during the Twenties that she involves a +college girl in a lesbian scandal. +</p> + +<p> +The title figure in James Ronald’s <em>The Angry Woman</em> (1948) +externally resembles Sinclair Lewis’s Dr. Herringdean, and, like her, +is a successful business executive. Her hold upon Fern Oliphant dates +from a bedridden year in the latter’s teens and continues till her +suicide a decade later. Lesley uses every means to increase Fern’s +dependence upon her, and tries first to prevent and then to break +up a marriage arranged by the girl’s mother. Unlike Lewis’s unalloyed +monster, however, this woman insists she has never been a lesbian. +Her own marriage failed on its first night (cf. the French <em>Méphistophéla</em>), +and her passion for the girl has also gone unfulfilled. She +sees her own fondness as the only truly maternal devotion Fern has +ever known. To everyone else it wears the aspect of subjective +cannibalism. +</p> + +<p> +A more complex case appears in Margaret Landon’s <em>Never Dies +the Dream</em> (1949). But for its expressed horror of variant passion +this novel would belong among the favorable studies, for its mainspring +is a love as constructive and as delicately presented as that +in the <em>Book of Ruth</em>. Like its author’s now famous <em>Anna and the +King of Siam</em>, it is laid in Siam, but in this work the heroine is an +unmarried American missionary. India gives sanctuary in her mission +school to a countrywoman a decade her junior, widow of a Siamese +of high rank, because the girl is in danger of violence from her +husband’s relatives and of sexual molestation by a European. When +India isolates herself with the girl to nurse her through an attack +of typhoid, she is accused by a rival mission teacher of being +<a id="page-330" class="pagenum" title="330"></a> +“enamored” of her patient. Agonized soul-searching forces her to +admit she feels Angela to be “bone of her bone, flesh of her flesh,” +but she can find nothing blameworthy in her love. The maternal +element is further stressed when Angela, upon returning to America, +leaves her most treasured possession as a parting gift to “my mother-in-love.” +It should be admitted that passion of any sort is regarded +darkly in the volume—quite justifiably in view of its uglier recorded +manifestations—but one can only regret an astigmatism which sees +so vividly the beauty of a selfless passion (for its incandescent intensity +is undeniably passionate) and is still blind to its essential +nature. +</p> + +<p> +Hugh Wheeler’s <em>The Crippled Muse</em> (1952) does not condemn +lesbianism per se so much as one of the personalities involved. This +is another sparkling comedy of Capri. The three figures significant +here are all Americans. Liz Lewis is a wealthy and domineering shrew +of apparently innate masculinity, whose record as a finishing school +teacher was as technically immaculate as Clare Hartill’s in <em>Regiment +of Women</em>, until her dismissal at perhaps thirty. This was occasioned +by the conspicuous infatuation of a student in her late teens after +the girl was violently orphaned. At the time of this story these two +have lived together for a decade and the younger, Loretta, is more +than tired of the arrangement; yet she stays because she feels +responsible for their plight. A sympathetic young professor induces +her to break away and marry him. He is not shocked by her history +but is hotly antagonistic to the woman who has so long exploited her +sense of guilt to hold her captive. (Incidentally, Liz had used +Christina Rossetti’s <em>Goblin Market</em> in her original capture of Loretta +by stressing their parallelism—unconvincing—to Lizzie and Laura). +</p> + +<p> +Less tolerance of lesbianism marks Sara Harris’s <em>The Wayward +Ones</em> (1952), a social worker’s study of homosexuality in a reform +school. Termed “the racket” by the adolescent inmates, it at first +terrifies and repels a sixteen-year-old girl committed to the institution +for unmarried motherhood. She sees, however, that the pairing of +“moms” and “pops” brings solace and a sense of belonging to many +of the girls involved, and that the authorities make no effort to +check the practice, to which they remain questionably blind. When +at last she “marries” one of the “pops” to gain protection from an +unbalanced housemate who has attempted to kill her, her assumption +of the new status marks the beginning of rapid deterioration. She +becomes a ruthless liar and schemer, and makes plans to become +a “call girl” for both men and women when she is released from the +school. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="page-331" class="pagenum" title="331"></a> +Perhaps the most virulent attack was launched by Simon Eisner in +<em>Naked Storm</em>, another paper-backed original of the same year. A +predatory woman novelist, on the eve of departing for California, +first seduces a young art student whom she leaves ill with self-loathing. +On the transcontinental train she repeats the experiment +with an older woman, who is highly intelligent but emotionally +starved. This woman is also courted by a shy and unhappy man, but +his rival’s expert sophistication rapidly reduces his chances. At this +point an ex-war correspondent decides to play <em>deus ex machina</em>. +Moved by savage hatred of all lesbians and this arrogant specimen +in particular, he takes advantage of a sixty-below-zero blizzard +which stalls the train for some thirty hours in the Donner Pass, +goads the self-sufficient lesbian into going out into the night for +snow to ice her liquor, and furthermore, manages so to confuse her +that she loses her bearings in the arctic blackness and freezes to +death. The author plainly enjoys this dénouement as much as Belot +enjoyed killing off Mme. Blangy. +</p> + +<p> +The latest condemnation is incorporated in <em>Strange Sisters</em> (1954), +a pot-boiling murder story by a writer who calls himself “Fletcher +Flora.” Opening with the knifing of a man by a girl who has led +him to embrace her but then finds her sexual revulsion unconquerable, +it flashes back to the causes of her inhibition. The earliest +was childhood idolatry of the more or less innocently seductive aunt +who raised her (cf. the mother-daughter relation in <em>Star Against Star</em>). +The second was deliberate seduction by a women’s college instructor +when the girl was a lonely and maladjusted freshman; the third a +repetition with a department store personnel manager as agent. +Each of these older women, in increasing degrees, was interested +only in her own emotional needs and not at all in her victim’s +welfare. The girl ends with complete mental breakdown and suicide. +</p> + +<p> +All these condemnatory treatments were balanced by as many +mildly or strongly sympathetic studies. The briefest of these are +two short stories, one “Orestes” in Rhys Davies’s <em>A Trip to London</em> +(1946), in which a lesbian waitress frees a middle-aged bachelor +from his paralyzing mother fixation precisely because her attitude +toward him is so free of feminine seduction. The other is Isabel +Bolton’s “Ruth and Irma” (1947), a reminiscent and gently ironic +sketch of an infatuated pair of girls roaming the Riviera during +the Twenties, which lays their histrionics directly to their saturation +with that decade’s fiction. A more important role is assigned to +lesbianism in Lucie Marchal’s prize-winning French novel of 1948 +translated in 1949 as <em>The Mesh</em>, a Freudian study of a domineering +<a id="page-332" class="pagenum" title="332"></a> +woman’s influence on the lives of her son and daughter. The son’s +marriage to a timid widow proves a fruitless gesture of defiance. The +daughter, always jealous of the mother’s preference for her brother, +is gradually liberated from her own fixation by an increasing interest +in the pitiful and helpless young wife. In the end her protective +impulses become passionate and she takes the girl away to live +with her. It is plain, however, that she, like her mother, will soon +tyrannize over her captive as stringently as she herself has been +dominated. +</p> + +<p> +Another paper-backed original was <em>Women’s Barracks</em> (1950) by +Toreska Torres (according to <em>Publishers Weekly</em> the pseudonym +of an established author). This purports to be a description of life +in the London headquarters for women recruits of the Free French +forces; however, it is not a translation. An important thread in the +meandering plot is the love of a shy girl of seventeen for a much +older woman, wholesome and maternal though vulgar, who has +consoled herself while married to a “pansy” by intimacies with both +men and women. One or two completely lesbian couples in the house +refuse to recognize Claude as one of themselves—“She’s a pervert, +a curiosity seeker.” Nevertheless her influence on Ursula is beneficent. +Soon the girl turns to men, the lesbian interlude having cracked +the shell of her naïve reserve and matured her for other experience. +</p> + +<p> +Easily the eeriest of all references to variance is Shirley Jackson’s +in her remarkable study of late adolescence, <em>Hangsaman</em> (1951). +Here a girl, as precariously balanced as Ann in <em>Pity for Women</em>, is +inhibited by a father fixation, and driven farther from normal experience +by a cryptically-described incident, perhaps actual assault, but +more likely only heavy petting, by an older man at a cocktail party in +her own home. In a “progressive” college, quite unsupervised, she +becomes more and more solitary and withdrawn until her sudden +friendship with an ideally sympathetic girl companion. This alter +ego, whose allure she finally recognizes as physical and fights off, +proves actually to be only the other half of her own split personality. +In other words, the drama in <em>Hangsaman</em> is that of an abnormally +sensitive girl’s narrow escape from schizophrenia. +</p> + +<p> +In the same year Whit and Hallie Burnett included in <em>Sextet: +Six Story Discoveries</em> John Eichrodt’s “Nadia Devereux,” which +its author describes as a feminine “parody” of Thomas Mann’s <em>Death +in Venice</em>. It need not, then, be further discussed than to say that +it treats understandingly the secret infatuation of an internationally-renowned +woman lecturer on international law for an exquisite +girl on the clerical staff of the United Nations. Like its model, it +<a id="page-333" class="pagenum" title="333"></a> +follows the older woman’s gradual disintegration and death from +the violence of her inhibited yet undisciplined passion. +</p> + +<p> +Appearing also in 1951 was a sensational trifle reminiscent of the +worst of the 1930s, <em>Strange Fires</em> by Jack Woodford. This is a sexual +riot with lesbian action prominent, in which, as in <em>Love Like a +Shadow</em>, one girl is essentially “monogamous” in spirit. Rhoda and +her finishing-school roommate, both initiated by their physical education +teacher, “marry” one another and are briefly happy. But the +discovery that her partner and Miss Pat are continuing their relation +wounds Rhoda deeply, and their taking her to an “orgy” in a +Park Avenue socialite’s apartment completes her disillusion. She +finally marries a man (implying that she is still “normal”), and the +two other young women continue in a mutually free alliance. +</p> + +<p> +A sympathetic treatment which bows to orthodox standards +by ending tragically is presented in <em>Spring Fire</em> (1952), paper-backed +original by Vin Packer, admitted pseudonym of an established male +author. Here a lonely boyish co-ed in a midwestern university is +willingly seduced by her sorority-house roommate and finds the lesbian +relation a happy one as long as it remains secret. It is the seducer, +neurotic daughter of a promiscuous widow, who feels guilt and +carries on simultaneously an excessive affair with a man to prove +herself normal. The unsophisticated Mitch is urged to do likewise, +but she cannot follow through her two squeamish efforts, and she +reacts with loathing to drunken violation by a fraternity man. When +suspicion of lesbianism falls on the two girls the neurotic accuses +her victim of having been the seducer. Mitch is expelled from the +sorority, and only the understanding dean of girls and the college +physician avert disaster. In his naturalistic picture of campus sex +life in general the author treats the lesbian aspect with comparative +sympathy and attributes its destructive effects to the neurotic girl’s +sense of guilt. This is induced by her mother’s influence and ripens +into a full-blown psychosis. She ends in a mental institution. +</p> + +<p> +Two much happier episodes were featured in novels of 1952. In +Fay Adams’s paper-backed original, <em>Appointment in Paris</em>, an American +orphan in her teens is matured sufficiently to weaken a spinster +aunt’s dominance through her intimacy with a wholesome, if irresponsible, +French courtesan living in a neighboring apartment. +She then enjoys a liaison with a Frenchman and later happily marries +an American. Both men know her history. May Sarton’s infinitely +superior novel, <em>A Shower of Summer Days</em>, includes the brief infatuation +of an American girl, half-through college, for her Anglo-Irish +aunt. Sent abroad by her mother to terminate an undesirable +<a id="page-334" class="pagenum" title="334"></a> +romance at home, she at first truculently resists her aunt’s overtures +and her own impulses toward friendliness. The aunt, once a great +beauty, childless, and still bound to her husband by mutual passion +which has survived two decades of marriage, is an irresistible personality +and comes to exert great influence on the girl. As with +Lily Briscoe in <em>To the Lighthouse</em>, it is partly the relation between +wife and husband which fascinates the girl; however, her emotions +crystallize upon the woman. Her aunt recognizes the unmistakable +signs of passion, and far from being shocked, even wishes it were +possible for her to respond. By the end of the summer the girl is +cured, not only of her callow heterosexual obsession, but of the +variant love also, and emerges with adult appreciation of what +married love can be. +</p> + +<p> +There remain a half-dozen novels in which variance plays so +large a part that they should not be ticked off too briefly. The first +is <em>Ladders to Fire</em> (1946) by Anaïs Nin, a stylistic disciple (in some +measure) of Gertrude Stein. There is a minimum of action, the +work being not so much a plotted narrative as a series of character +analyses in poetic prose. The author states her theme in a prologue: +woman’s struggle to understand her own nature. Hitherto, she says, +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Action and creation, for woman, was ... an imitation of +man. In this imitation ... she lost contact with her nature +and her relation to man. Man appears only partially in this +volume, because for the woman at war with herself he can +only appear thus.... Woman at war with herself has not +yet been related to man, only to the child in man, being +capable only of maternity.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-45">45</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Of such “incomplete” women there are five in the novel. One, a +cinema star with heterosexual experience, is still subjectively imprisoned +within herself. A second, Lillian, is successively involved +with three others. This woman drifts on the current of conventional +existence into marriage and motherhood without once finding emotional +fulfillment for her passionate temperament. Her first true +outlet is her friendship with Djuna, whose difficult youth has disciplined +and matured her but left no time or strength for emotional +experience. Each personality finds its complement in the other, and +their relationship is fruitful for a time, but it achieves no expression +because in Lillian “sensuality was paralyzed.... She was impaled +on a rigid pole of puritanism.” Soon Lillian becomes so jealous of +<a id="page-335" class="pagenum" title="335"></a> +any woman Djuna looks at that the friendship perishes of its own +intensity. At one point Djuna sees that +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +she wants something of me that only a man can give her.... +She has lost her ways of communicating with man. She is +doing it through me.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-46">46</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +The association with Djuna so alters Lillian’s perspective that +she separates from her family and finds a man sufficiently immature +to call out her maternal instincts. She humors and bears with him +through all manner of vicissitudes, including his many transient affairs +with other women. Cured now of her fear of sensuality, she plays the +man with one of his flames whose influence she fears may be lasting, +in order to distract her rival’s attention from him. She succeeds only +too well, and must finally terminate the affair to free herself of a +second emotional dependent. +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Once again she had worn the man’s costume ... to protect +a core of love. [The man] had not made her woman, but +the husband and mother of his weakness.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-47">47</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +To one of his later fancies, a woman who “lived according to her +caprices” and, like a man, refused to be “in bondage to the one,” +Lillian falls captive also, again, as with Djuna, loving in the other +the opposite of all she is herself. This affair reaches physical completeness; +even so, it does not bring the pair the unity both crave. +Instead it makes them aware that they are lovers of the same man, +and their one night together, though more satisfying than either +has known with him, ends in a jealous quarrel. Thus the author +diagnoses four degrees of emotional incompleteness: lowest is the +inability to escape from self; next, the capacity for subjective but not +overt abandon; third, the power only to imitate man’s role, whether +with man or woman; and last, freedom to play the woman but only +with another woman. Just this relative rating of maturity appears +original with Miss Nin. +</p> + +<p> +A little later Josephine Tey, who with Dorothy Sayers and Ngaio +Marsh raised British psychological mysteries to the level of serious +fiction, made variance the key to two successive plots. In <em>Miss Pym +Disposes</em> (1948) the title figure goes as visiting lecturer to a college +of physical education where a formerly worshipped school friend is +principal. Her interest is caught at once by an inseparable pair of +<a id="page-336" class="pagenum" title="336"></a> +seniors who lead their class, of whom an older foreign classmate +says: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +That David and Jonathan relationship—it is a very happy +one, no doubt, but it <em>excludes</em> so much. <em>Nice</em>, of course, quite +irreproachable. But normal, no.[<a class="footnote" href="#10-48">48</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Beau,” tall, beautiful and boyish, is the headstrong darling of +wealthy parents. Mary is a reserved and sensitive introvert, only +child of a struggling country physician. She is the logical recipient of +the best position open for the following year, but the principal +arbitrarily assigns the post to a fawning satellite of her own. +</p> + +<p> +While practicing for a gymnastic exhibit, this favored candidate +is fatally injured by the collapse of some heavy apparatus. Police investigation +indicates accidental death, but a bit of circumstantial +evidence discovered by Miss Pym points to Mary as being responsible +for the accident. Her knowledge of Mary precludes such an idea, so +she calls Mary in for an explanation. This interview is a masterpiece +of reticent indirection. However, Miss Pym gets a seeming admission +of guilt—though she is assured that death was never conceived as +a possibility—and a promise that Mary will spend her life in self-sacrificing +atonement. Since a conviction of manslaughter would +not only destroy Mary but shatter her friend, her family, and the +school, Miss Pym shoulders the heavy responsibility for keeping +her secret and so becomes an accessory after the fact. +</p> + +<p> +A bit later she discovers that it was not Mary but “Beau” who had +tampered with the apparatus, and “Beau” is apparently little disturbed +by the dire consequences. Mary has therefore sacrificed her life plans +to save her friend. But she terminates the friendship. Murder or +sudden death resulting from variance is not new in fiction. Miss +Pym’s and her author’s circumventing its melodramatic consequences +is distinctly original. +</p> + +<p> +The same author’s <em>To Love and Be Wise</em> (1950) again connects +variant passion with murder, although this time the crime is unachieved. +A disturbingly beautiful young American, Leslie Searle, inveigles +his way into a literary household near London for the +announced purpose of meeting England’s best-loved radio broadcaster. +Almost everyone in the book—and the cast is large—finds this +young man irresistible, but they also sense that he is, in some way, +uncanny. To one, he recalls certain milder legends of demonology; +another is certain that “he must have been something very wicked in +<a id="page-337" class="pagenum" title="337"></a> +ancient Greece.”[<a class="footnote" href="#10-49">49</a>] His presence breeds complications in both household +and community. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly Searle disappears, and Scotland Yard suspects murder. +In the end it turns out that the young Searle is a woman, who for +years has lived intermittently as a man, and for many of those +years nursed an obsessive passion for her cousin, a British actress +whom she saw only sporadically. The latter, once a fiancée of the +broadcaster, committed suicide after he jilted her, and Leslie has +come to England with a well-laid plan for eliminating him in revenge. +In the course of her association with his friends, however, and +in particular with one who had opportunity to know her cousin +better than she did, she discovers that her adored idol was largely a +figment of her own imagination, the real woman having been ruthless +and destructive. +</p> + +<p> +In consequence, Leslie has abandoned her purpose, and merely +escaped into her alternate feminine role. Despite the intuitive questions +Leslie Searle raises in everyone’s mind (somewhat overstressed +in aid of the plot), she is presented as a wholly sympathetic character, +and can take her place with the medieval Ide and Mlle de Maupin +as a successful transvestist and charmer. It is Miss Tey’s engaging +Inspector who brings home to her the basic immaturity of her +protracted disguise, and, one infers, converts her to a more adult +pattern of life. +</p> + +<p> +In the year between Miss Tey’s two volumes an anonymous <em>Olivia</em> +(1949) was so reminiscent in style of <em>Either Is Love</em> as almost to +suggest identical authorship. It too is an autobiographical record +of experience long past, that of a Victorian adolescent suddenly +transplanted to a finishing school on the outskirts of Paris. The +Gallic freedom and gaiety of her new life release the girl’s nascent +emotions, and she falls deeply in love with one of the two French +headmistresses. The book’s value lies in the fidelity and vividness +with which it pictures this first innocent passion. Narrative interest +is supplied by tension between the two mistresses, who have lived +happily together for fifteen years until a scheming newcomer on the +staff turns one against the other for her own ends. Mlle Julie, +Olivia’s beloved, has always had favorites among the students whom +Mlle Cara has somewhat resented, but only now, while Olivia is +Julie’s chosen, does Cara’s jealousy reach the point of hysteria. After +an accumulation of petty grievances magnified by the newcomer, +Cara dies of a overdose of sedative almost certainly self-administered. +Beside her deathbed Julie cries out, “She is the only one I have ever +<a id="page-338" class="pagenum" title="338"></a> +loved!”—a cry prostrating to Olivia, who has had reason to believe +herself also cherished. Later Julie provides some comfort by telling +the girl that she has always been “victorious” over the emotional +temptations presented by students, but that now she wishes she +had yielded. This shows her cry to have meant that with Cara alone +she was physically intimate. She predicts that Olivia will not be +victorious under similar circumstances, and as at the outset of the +story Olivia has said, “I don’t pretend that this experience was not +succeeded by others ... but at that time I was innocent,” it is +obvious that Mlle Julie’s understanding of her nature was accurate. +</p> + +<p> +A less innocent adolescent record written by Françoise Mallet, +a married woman of twenty, was published in Paris (1951) as <em>Le +Rempart des Béguines</em>, in New York (1952) as <em>The Illusionist</em>, and +in paper-covers (1953) as <em>The Loving and Daring</em>. This evidence of +wide popularity makes it necessary to say little here save that it +describes the initiation of a French girl of fifteen by her father’s +mistress, a Russian woman twenty years older with a certain masculine +hardness sometimes approaching sadism. The latter is captivated by +Helene’s resemblance to a young English girl whom she once +adored and whose defection left an unhealed wound. As long +as Tamara is independent and masculine, Helene is her slave, cutting +school, deceiving her father, even reluctantly accompanying her +adored to a lesbian night club. Then Tamara becomes Helene’s +stepmother, and, relaxing at last under the influence of security, +she becomes much more feminine. Consequently, Helene ceases to +worship and looks forward to taking the dominant role herself, her +weapon the lesbian relationship which her preoccupied father has +believed merely an innocent “good influence.” Though the experience +is hardly constructive <em>in toto</em>, both Helene and her author consider +it beneficial inasmuch as it brings the lonely adolescent out of a +phase of erotic reverie into wholesome contact with reality, and so +has a maturing effect. +</p> + +<p> +A last sensational and ill-written item of the penny-dreadful type +was Carol Hales’s <em>Wind Woman</em> (1953). Here a psychoanalyst treats +incipient neurosis induced in a young composer by her passion +for a woman who will permit no caresses, and her resultant frustrated +longing for an ideal lesbian relationship. In Laurel’s history, as +revealed to Dr. Frances Garner, the author heaps Pelion upon Ossa +in the matter of anti-male conditioning, not without purpose. For +in the end the beautiful young analyst proves more than understanding; +she makes no effort either to dispel her patient’s prejudice +or to terminate her transference, and on the final page of the +<a id="page-339" class="pagenum" title="339"></a> +volume she comes as near to open proposal of intimacy as an author +could risk without being sued by the psychiatric profession. +</p> + +<p> +The final tale to be considered, Claire Morgan’s <em>The Price of +Salt</em> (1951), while occasionally understated, still gives a convincing +account of love between a married woman approaching thirty and +a girl a decade younger. At eight Therese was consigned to an +orphanage when her widowed mother remarried; she has since +felt more alone than a true orphan. Ambitious to become a stage +designer, she earns her keep in New York by temporary jobs and +studies art at night. When the book opens, she is involved in a +physically complete but unsatisfactory affair with a male art student +whom she will not marry. She has had other male attention, and +refuses a second offer of marriage before the story closes. Carol Aird +is in process of divorcing an incompatible husband (and his domineering +family), and negotiations are dragging over the custody of a +seven-year-old daughter now with his family. The two women meet +in a department store where Therese is employed as a seasonal “extra,” +and across an unromantic toy counter they are smitten with an +infatuation as sudden as Gillian’s in <em>Tortoiseshell Cat</em>. The older +woman’s reaction is less obvious, but within a day or two she has +taken the girl to lunch and invited her to spend Christmas in her +suburban house. Presently she suggests a motor trip to her family +home on the west coast. Therese without hesitation closes the doors +on her own life and accompanies her. +</p> + +<p> +Intimacy develops perhaps a week after they set out and a month +after their first encounter. Another week of happiness ensues before +they discover a detective trailing them. Through pique at her leaving +him, Carol’s husband is bent on evidence which will give him full +custody of the child. Even so, in their new intoxication the two +women find amusement at first in eluding their shadow, and make +a game of searching each new room for recording devices. When Carol +finally attempts to buy the detective off, she is told that several +incriminating records have already been sent to New York and that +she had best get back to protect her interests. Promising to return +in a fortnight, she leaves Therese in South Dakota to wait for her. +But Carol’s return is repeatedly postponed, and she finally writes +that in order to see anything of her child hereafter she must promise +to break with Therese entirely. She begs the girl to give her up and +start afresh. “I would be underestimating you to think you could +not.” +</p> + +<p> +In reaction to the shock, Therese feels not only abandoned but +betrayed, as though Carol’s picking her up and dropping her had +<a id="page-340" class="pagenum" title="340"></a> +been a coldly deliberate game. Stunned and adrift she stops to +work for a time in Chicago until circumstances necessitate her return +to New York. She means not to see Carol again, and though news +that Carol has been ill moves her, it does not weaken her resolve. +Her immediate efforts toward employment in stage designing now +meet with prompt, if modest, success, for even her brief association +with the more cultured woman has increased her savoir-faire, and +the emotional experience has given her self-confidence such as none +of her contacts with men had ever done. She finally goes to an +unavoidable meeting with Carol, dreading the strain but unafraid of +yielding, and even when she learns that Carol has repudiated her +husband’s humiliating list of conditions and thus forfeited all hold +upon her child, Therese still refuses her offer of a shared apartment. +</p> + +<p> +Therese has placed a design for a stage set and is on her way +to a theatrical cocktail party to celebrate. She meets a British actress +there in whose eyes she sees a swift flash of interest comparable to her +own reaction on meeting Carol. Invited at once by the star to +an ensuing private party she accepts, feeling herself now quite able +to handle any foreseeable developments. But in the moment of its +birth this new sense of adequacy precipitates its own sequel. Knowing +herself no longer helplessly subject to Carol, she feels free to rejoin +her at will. She slips away without a word to her potential conquest +and returns to her early love. +</p> + +<p> +Featuring as it does two women who have both had heterosexual +experience, and ultimately bringing them through many more tensions +than are indicated here, this narrative offers as strong an argument +for the validity of variant love as <em>Diana</em>. In a letter to Therese +after a legal session, Carol summarizes the essence of the argument: +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +The rapport between two men or two women can be +absolute and perfect, as it can never be between man and +woman, and perhaps some people want just this, as others +want that more shifting and uncertain thing that happens +between men and women. It was implied yesterday that my +present course would bring me to the depths of human vice +and degradation.... It is true, if I were to go on like this +and be spied upon, attacked, never possessing one person +long enough so that the knowledge of the person ... [could +be more than superficial]—that is degradation. Or to live +against one’s grain, that is degeneration....[<a class="footnote" href="#10-50">50</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a id="page-341" class="pagenum" title="341"></a> +This takes no account of the Freudian charge of immaturity against +the easier unisexual rapport, and its failure to do so cannot be laid +in this day and time to ignorance of Freud. It has rather the sound +of indifference, if not defiance. +</p> + +<p> +The majority of favorable treatments of variance since the beginning +of World War II have been little concerned with avoiding +overt lesbianism, just as other fiction over an even longer period has +been tolerant of a certain amount of heterosexual freedom. This fact, +along with the rapid quantitative increase of variance in current +fiction, may point, as has been suggested, to its gradual acceptance as +a legitimate area of human experience. On the other hand it is precisely +toward such casual acceptance that censoring groups have +directed their fire. Prize-winning or widely acclaimed works with +foreign settings such as <em>The Mesh</em> and <em>The Illusionist</em> have not been +heavily attacked; neither have condemnatory treatments even of such +low calibre as <em>Naked Storm</em> and the reprint of <em>Queer Patterns</em>. But +blacklists have lumped <em>Spring Fire</em>, <em>Appointment in Paris</em>, and +<em>Women’s Barracks</em> with the heterosexual excesses of Mickey Spillane +for censure (justified, if at all, only in the case of the first book), and +these titles seem to have been withdrawn from sales-racks. Even if +the pendulum swings back to greater conservatism, however, as it has +done periodically in the course of literary history, its new position +will not be identical with any earlier one. The overworked metaphor +of spiral progress may apply here as to all other historical trends. To +those who have witnessed changing attitudes toward homosexuality +since 1900, it is a matter of regret that the ultimate swing of the new +cycle must extend beyond our ken. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="conclusion" id="chapter-0-16"> +<a id="page-342" class="pagenum" title="342"></a> +CONCLUSION +</h2> + +</div> + +<p class="first"> +Periodic fluctuations in quantity, substance and style of variant +writing have already been summarized in the sections sketching its +history. It is now time to review certain more subjective aspects of the +long record. For example, does variant literature lend support to +hereditary theories of variance? At first glance, one recurrent physical +type seems to do so: the woman fitted by nature to play the man. +Tall, long of limb, narrow-hipped, wide-shouldered, direct-eyed, this +figure has persisted from the dim era in which the Greeks conceived +Artemis to 1950 when an Englishwoman created Leslie Searle. But +the figure appears also in many settings other than variant literature. +We meet it in the pages of romance and on the walls of galleries, on +the silver screen and in élite advertisements. And, of course, many +knights-errant, courtiers, dandies, athletes, matinée idols and swift-shooting +cowboys are built on a similar pattern. Here the militant +feminist will observe bitterly that in this man’s world even our +ideal of beauty is male. But the figure is not so much male as +intermediate, and above all youthful. Many of the attributes catalogued +above are those of adolescence just arrived at adult stature. +In combination with adult savoir-faire they are appealing enough +in the young man whose advantage is merely aesthetic. In a young +woman, for whom the statistical norm of height and strength falls +short of her brother’s, they represent also superiority to her own +kind in power and, therefore, in independence. +</p> + +<p> +Because this type so captivates the general imagination, its appearances +in variant literature are impressive out of proportion to their +frequency. A complete count, from the valiant Ide to the undaunted +Leo or Leslie, numbers roughly a score, and when one has subtracted +those like Bradamante and Rosalind to whom lesbianism was never +really attributed, the tally is reduced to a round dozen—hardly three +percent of the variant total. Among the remainder, of whom a good +many played a comparatively positive emotional role, no marked type +recurs often enough to have any significance. A few figures are stocky +and strong, but others may cast “a shadow thin as a blade;” some are +voluptuously feminine. Nor does any one physical trait—except possibly +<a id="page-343" class="pagenum" title="343"></a> +height—accompany variance with any regularity. In fact, beyond +the skeletal proportions already noted, the only somatic attributes +mentioned in describing boyish women (and these not often) are +deep voices and underdeveloped breasts. Other unfeminine details +such as a striding gait or a brusque address, though they may owe +something to hip articulation or vocal register, are usually mere +mannerisms; that is, they are imitative rather than inborn. Of +course these fictional data will not support conclusions as valid as +those based on scientific observation, since beside the license natural +to creative writing one must allow also for the reluctance of disapproving +authors to provide their <em>mauvais sujets</em> with any hereditary +excuses. Still, the long procession comprises variants individually +convincing enough to give weight to their physical diversity. It is +clear that the majority of variant or lesbian women observed by the +writing fraternity are not masculine in physique. +</p> + +<p> +Does sexual behavior, then, fall into patterns which might argue +for some uniformities in endocrine balance? Again, it is impossible +to classify the majority honestly, even by the simplest divisions into +active and passive, homosexual and bisexual, and feel confident that +the operative factors are innate. One may separate those whose +passion is masculine in violence from the cool, the gentle, the maternally +tender; but among the last may fall such conspicuously +masculine figures as Stephen Gordon and Jan Morale. Or the aggressive +Maupins or Leos may prove bisexual, the gentle Mettas and Miss +Caffertys immutably set upon their own kind, and a petite and delicate +Flordespine or Almond may be bold in her sexual advances. It +is, however, possible to detect certain rough patterns not in physique +or in sex behavior but in psychological attitude. There are masterful +spirits who need to prove themselves the equal of any man, or to +dominate rather than follow. There are rebels and lone wolves who +defy authority or public opinion and are usually jealously possessive +of the few they love. There are the more detached egotists and narcissists +who see others only in terms of their own advantage and abandon +themselves to no one. There are the shy and clinging who crave +protection. And there are the maternal types, forgetful of self and +eager to cherish and support. +</p> + +<p> +If not heredity, what explanation does literature offer for these +variants? Sometimes none. <a id="corr-133"></a>Lyric poets in particular simply register +their sentiments and leave readers to search elsewhere for explanations +of the enigma. In a different fashion the same is true in unsympathetic +narratives, and those where interest lies in plot alone. In these +cases, too, variants are presented, as it were, Minerva-born, but are +<a id="page-344" class="pagenum" title="344"></a> +assumed to be a recognized type sure to generate dramatic tensions. +Usually, however, as in more conventional fiction, authors supply +some personal history for main characters and often directly or +implicitly hold it responsible for their anomalies. This last is, of +course, especially noticeable in recent years since the spread of +Freudian psychology. Even where no notion of causality seems to +exist in the author’s mind, the same sort of background may recur +in more than one narrative. Thus it is possible to identify a number +of conditions, some fairly universal, some characteristic of their +period, which appear repeatedly as antecedents or accompaniments +of variance. +</p> + +<p> +Of the universal class the most prevalent factor is some degree +of negative reaction to men. In psychiatric casebooks this is often +the result of sexual violation in childhood or adolescence, or of the +witnessing of intercourse at an early age, which is almost equally +traumatic. But such experiences and their sequelae of neurotic +antipathy are rare in fiction. There a less compulsive aversion may +result from rough or undesired caresses, or from their antithesis, +pointed physical repudiation. Or it may grow from social neglect or +slighting by men, or from deliberate indoctrination by a puritanic +guardian. It may also stem indirectly from conjugal discord at home +or elsewhere, through observation of a hated man’s unfaithfulness +or cruelty, a beloved woman’s frigidity or suffering. +</p> + +<p> +The next most frequent causal factor comprises a large and varied +constellation of troubled family relations. Among our hundreds of +variant women, those who enjoyed the sort of family life that social +psychologists now exhort all parents to provide could be counted +on one hand. Even those living with both parents on any terms would +not multiply the number many times. Most often, the mother is +found wanting in some way; indeed, the percentage of outright +motherless girls is impressive. But, it may well be asked, what about +the number in ordinary fiction? In novels of psychological cast dealing +with the vicissitudes of young unmarried women the count is certainly +high. The margin in favor of variant novels is further narrowed when +one considers that few of these are literary masterpieces, and that +minor fiction has, from its beginnings, capitalized heavily on the +orphaned or motherless heroine. The reasons are obvious: a girl thus +deprived can be a sympathetic character despite unconventional conduct; +this conduct affords the reader escape-through-identification; and +the author is guilty of no profanation of the revered mother image. +Nevertheless, after all these allowances are duly made, a lack of +<a id="page-345" class="pagenum" title="345"></a> +maternal tenderness and understanding bulks large among influences +leading to variant behavior. +</p> + +<p> +The comparable lack of a father is seldom stressed. Paternal +harshness appears rather oftener than the same trait in the mother, +and the father is also sometimes a party to general parental indifference +or neglect, but by and large the variant girl actively mistreated +by either or both parents is fairly rare. A father fixation, on the +other hand, though infrequent, is significant when it does occur, and +Balzac’s Seraphita bears witness that it is not confined to the Freudian +twentieth century. The badgering of a lone girl by a parental surrogate—stepmother, +relative or guardian—is featured now and then, +as in <em>The Scorpion</em>, but this sympathy-begging device is less overworked +in variant than in other minor fiction. The influence of +siblings in producing either sexual fixation or aversion is negligible, +unless their conspicuous absence is significant, for a considerable +number of variant girls are presented as actually or virtually “only” +children. +</p> + +<p> +All this wide variety of subjective situations apparently contributes +to the equally diverse range of variant experiences; yet none +in the two lists is so consistently paired as to establish certainty +of explicit cause and effect. In fact, more than one family factor +and a measure of sex antagonism often occur simultaneously or successively +in the same narrative. +</p> + +<p> +In addition to subjective influences there remains the category +of external circumstances which encourage variance. And while +the psychological situations remain fairly constant from one period +to another, environmental factors vary considerably with time. The +more strictly convention limits a woman’s activities, the more certain +is her mere overstepping its bounds to produce significant results. +From medieval times through the nineteenth century, to wear men’s +clothing was taboo. Therefore, when Clémentine or Fragoletta assumed +man’s dress, grave emotional consequences were inevitable. +Today the donning of slacks or hunting costume produces little +emotional impact. Similarly in nineteenth-century France or early +twentieth-century England, when modesty forbade revealing the +feminine body, a glimpse of uncovered breasts might stir a woman +to passion, or Proust’s Albertine and her friend might enjoy a half-hour’s +dalliance in a beach cabin because they had undressed together. +Today, when beach, pool and gymnasium showers are +communal affairs, their dressing-cubicles are unlikely to be the scene +of tender passages. Furthermore, in days when woman’s sphere was +<a id="page-346" class="pagenum" title="346"></a> +definitely the home, girls who claimed independence outside it +exerted a strong imaginative appeal. Artists, actresses or mere bachelor +girls attracted one another as strongly as they fascinated more +sheltered women. But how many such “bohemians” have aroused +general excitement since the 1920s? Few, certainly, in fiction. +</p> + +<p> +One objective setting, however, has for decades remained basically +constant as a hotbed of variance—those institutions which restrict +young women to the company of their own sex. Until well into the +nineteenth century, convents or convent schools were the segregating +agency. After 1850, secular boarding schools took over the role, without +the occasional compensating outlet of religious emotion. With +the spread of higher education in our own times, women’s colleges +joined the list, and the latest additions have been reform schools, +military barracks, sorority houses and metropolitan residence clubs. +The results of a cloistered existence, then, might seem to argue +for environment as a cause of variance just as strongly as recurrence +of the “Maupin” type argued for heredity. But we have already +seen that when many women wear men’s clothes at one time or +another, the effect of even the most boyish is less pronounced than it +used to be. As for environment, excepting disciplinary and military +quarters, twentieth-century cloisters allow their residents so much +more freedom than their predecessors that variant or lesbian developments +within them can no longer be laid wholly to pressure of circumstance. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, it appears that literary testimony from a score of centuries +confirms the current psychiatric verdict: variance is one possible +solution of pressing emotional problems; but arrival at this particular +solution depends upon so many variables that as yet no certain +predictive formula has been derived. +</p> + +<p> +An aspect of the current scene not yet duly recognized in literature +is the relation of variant experience to gainful employment. In the +heyday of feminism a good deal of concern was voiced by anti-feminists +lest women’s financial and social independence might breed +lesbianism on a grand scale. But a comparison of French fiction from +1870 to 1900, when women were still dependent, with the English and +American record since World War I suggests that the fear was +unjustified. The issue at stake in our own time is not the influence +of earning upon variance but the reverse effect of variance on a +woman’s capacity to hold a paid position. Before 1900 it was normal +for the unmarried girl or the estranged wife to be supported by +her parents or her long-suffering husband. For the last fifty years +more and more women have been obliged to earn their own livings +<a id="page-347" class="pagenum" title="347"></a> +in ordinary unromantic jobs, and to this trend fiction has not done +full justice. To be sure, creative license has always allowed the +freedom of an independent income to more persons than are so +favored in everyday life. It is true also that in recent variant novels +a good many occupations have at least made an appearance. We have +met actresses, modiste’s assistants, novelists, interior decorators, social +workers, a number of teachers, a trio of nurses, a department store +executive and a minor clerk, and several girls employed in business +offices. But in general these positions have served only as realistic +backdrops for action which did not impinge upon them. In less +than half a dozen cases has variance interfered with earning capacity. +It gravely affected the actresses in <em>Queer Patterns</em>; the schoolmistresses +in <em>The Children’s Hour</em>; a college instructor in <em>Diana</em>; and it constituted +a serious risk for nurses in <em>Promise of Love</em> and government +employees in <em>Either is Love</em>. This meagre proportion, especially at +the level of mere risk, does not reflect “things as they are” according +to factual evidence in psychiatric literature, and the failure of +variant fiction to come to grips with this aspect of reality is a count +against it. It is also a waste of one fertile potential source of dramatic +tension. +</p> + +<p> +There remains a final ticklish question which leads straight into +controversial territory, but to which a wide range of possible answers +must be considered: why are variant belles-lettres so generally ignored? +When so much has been written on the theme, why has it been +slighted in library collections, histories of literature, and bibliographic +records? One immediate answer will be that it is generally inferior, +which is to a certain extent true; but it is not inferior to a deal of +ordinary literature which has not been so slighted, notably that by +the same authors who have produced variant titles. According to their +generation or to their more considered convictions, different persons +will explain this comparative neglect by claiming that variance is +immoral, or abnormal, or the concern of an eccentric few and of no +importance or interest to humanity at large. None of these claims can +be summarily dismissed as negligible. +</p> + +<p> +Without going deeply into what the term “abnormal” connotes +in different intellectual fields, it may be stated categorically that many +psychiatrists no longer regard ordinary homosexual experience as +pathological. Nor is the phenomenon too remote even from a statistical +norm. In addition to literary evidence, anthropology and uncensored +history and biography indicate that homosexuality has +existed if not flourished in all times and places; and Dr. Kinsey’s +quantitative studies show that twenty-eight percent of women now +<a id="page-348" class="pagenum" title="348"></a> +living have experienced “sexual arousal” by their own kind at some +time in their lives. Only rarely in either literature or life are women +who have known this experience distinguishable from their fellows, +and many who are perceptibly masculine in physique and temperament +have never known it. Variants, then, are fairly numerous, not +“abnormal” in an alienist’s sense of the term, and not perceptibly +eccentric. +</p> + +<p> +The moral charge is less simply disposed of because it is so +generally and often so unthinkingly advanced. It should be stated +at once that in this discussion the morality of a course of action +is referred to its effect upon the actor and his social group, as +social anthropologists believe it was referred originally in the shaping +of moral codes now regarded in some quarters as absolute. It should +also be said, and underlined, that marriage and motherhood, despite +the frequent failure of the one and the heavy burdens imposed on +women by the other, appear more ultimately satisfying to the +majority of women than other emotional experiences, and are certainly +more beneficial to society. They are therefore the goals toward +which personal and social effort should be directed, and obstacles +to their success should be minimized. To what extent is variance +such an obstacle and how pernicious is it in other respects? +</p> + +<p> +Since human survival depends upon childbearing, if any large +number of women should substitute homosexual relations for marriage +and motherhood, the long range results would be socially deleterious. +But heterosexual and maternal drives seem an effective guarantee +against any such eventuality, and as long as numerous groups are +advocating birth control as a check to overpopulation, this sociological +argument against variance operates only in the realm of pure abstraction. +As to conventional strictures upon all sex activity save legitimate +intercourse, their apparent function is to curtail the social dangers +of heterosexual license. Since even the most active lesbianism cannot +be the cause of illegitimate offspring or of abortion, there is no +valid case against variance on this score. A more practical argument +stems from the now generally admitted psychological bearing of +early upon later sexual experience. A number of marriage counselors, +for instance, maintain that extensive pre-marital petting and homosexual +activity are handicaps to later marital adjustment, and are +therefore harmful to the young. So far as is known this claim has +not been unquestionably validated by quantitative evidence, and +certain authorities pronounce it a rationalization of unadmitted prejudice, +but it must be recognized as the consensus of a good many +popular advisors. For married women also, of course, lesbian relations +<a id="page-349" class="pagenum" title="349"></a> +or merely a consuming variant passion can prove as detrimental +to marital happiness as similar heterosexual infidelities. On the other +hand, for women deterred from marrying by lack of opportunity, +financial or family burdens, inadequate sex appeal, or invincible +disinclination, variant attachments may provide the sole chance for +the experience of passionate love, and some psychiatrists consider such +fulfillment preferable to lifelong deprivation. +</p> + +<p> +Clearly, then, variance is not, like sadism for example, a limited +aberration consistently destructive per se. It seems more nearly a +lesser category of emotional experience parallel to the heterosexual +and capable of as much variety. If governed by the standards of +moderation, integrity, and mutual consideration which should prevail +in all passionate relationships, it should not be harmful oftener than +heterosexual passion. But in actual experience utopian conditions +seldom prevail. We have heard from “Diana” some reasons why variant +passion, unregulated by any legal or social codes of its own, is apt +to be irresponsible and impermanent. Working against it also is the +negative influence of sweeping social condemnation. Most neuroses +among variant women have resulted from the conflict between their +impulses and feelings of anxiety, guilt, or even sin. Thus the forces +which would control variance are often responsible for making it a +destructive experience. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Here actually is an important reason for such inferiority as +variant literature exhibits. The age-long prejudice against variance, +deriving as it does from religious taboo, retains something of the +hysteria which motivated witch-burning and inquisition. For this +reason the whole subject is surrounded by a surcharged atmosphere to +which no sensitive mind is impervious. Even the best authors are +scarcely able to free their work of all controversial overtones, and +partisanship in creative writing has never made for artistry. As we +have seen, lesser writers on both sides of the issue may descend to outright +zealotry. Fervent antagonists choose variants who would be hateful +without emotional irregularity, and who, with it, become monsters, +usually the more dangerous for being picturesque to the eye or +otherwise seductive. Negative writing of better quality presents less-sinister +characters, but manipulates circumstances to the end that +variant experience shall always prove disastrous. In <em>Mme. Adonis</em> +and <em>Die Schwester</em> the relatively sympathetic title figures meet +violent death; in <em>Méphistophéla</em>, <em>The Island</em>, <em>The Captive</em>, and <em>Pity +for Women</em>, they end in madness or severe neurosis. In minor French +tales of the last century, variant couples destroy one another by excessive +<a id="page-350" class="pagenum" title="350"></a> +physical indulgence, and in virtually all censorious novels they +bring much harm or suffering to those with whom they are associated. +</p> + +<p> +Frank champions of variance are guilty of parallel artistic offenses. +Some make society the villain and variants its romanticized victims, +and become shrill in denunciation of the one and defense of the +other. Even <em>Diana</em> and <em>Either is Love</em>, temperate as they are in tone, +would be artistically disqualified by their inclusion of outright +argument even were they more excellent than they are. The subtler +defenders are also no better than their opponents. Fearing public +opinion too much to betray unqualified sympathy, they, too, strain +circumstance to prevent their appealing characters from enjoying +happiness. Granted that in life popular prejudice makes the chance +of happiness precarious, case studies and other factual records show +no such proportion of suicide and tragedy as do tolerant variant +novels of the minor sort. Even writers of power sometimes fall into +similar tragic exaggeration, as for example Miss Sackville-West in +<em>Dark Island</em> or Masefield in <em>Multitude and Solitude</em>. +</p> + +<p> +There are, however, a fair number of works guilty of no gross +shortcomings, and a few of outstanding excellence. When their +authors’ total output merits serious literary study, critics as far as +possible ignore those titles in which variance figures. Where no +inclusive critical appraisals of an author are made, reviewers of +individual variant works are apt to exercise less restraint, praising +them grudgingly for their manner but deprecating their matter with +disapproval, regret, or—what is worse—ironic or patronizing superiority. +It has already been remarked that sympathetic literary treatments +of variance are seldom written by men. Now the parallel +circumstance must be noted—most literary criticism and the majority +of book reviews are masculine work. It is only natural that men +should react negatively to writing so oblivious of their own kind as is +much variant literature. And this reaction must not be viewed as +mere prejudice; its roots go deeper. Statistical studies of the reading +done by some 20,000 persons have established the fact that the prime +factor affecting reading interests, more basic than education, occupation +or age, is sex.[<a class="footnote" href="#Co-1">1</a>] The personality inventories constructed by +psychologists and derived from probably even more numerous observations +show that sex also determines many other interests and attitudes.[<a class="footnote" href="#Co-2">2</a>] +Thus men and women live to a certain extent in different +subjective worlds—a fact recently dramatized by Philip Wylie in +<em>Disappearance</em>. +</p> + +<p> +With regard to variant literature, this means that men, who pass +some nine-tenths of the judgments upon it, are attempting to +<a id="page-351" class="pagenum" title="351"></a> +evaluate a realm of experience in which first-hand knowledge is impossible +to them. Naturally, they do best in rating variant material +written by men, and next best with unsympathetic works by women. +Some few project themselves with comparative success into tolerant +studies by women whose mental idiom and emotional outlook is +somewhat masculine. Djuna Barnes, Henry Handel Richardson, Mary +Renault, and even Gail Wilhelm in her first novel, fared rather +well at the hands of reviewers. In contrast, pertinent titles by Rosamond +Lehmann, Elizabeth Bowen, Dorothy Richardson, Helen Anderson, +Anaïs Nin and Kay Boyle, were either slighted or treated with +unjustified harshness considering the admitted quality of their +authors’ other work. “Thin,” “nebulous,” “unconvincing,” “insignificant,” +“futile,” “overwrought,” and “hysterical” were among the +evaluative terms applied to these titles by male reviewers.[<a class="footnote" href="#Co-3">3</a>] Women +on the other hand had much to say in their favor, the most significant +and frequent comment being that they were peculiarly sensitive and +accurate in emotional interpretation. +</p> + +<p> +Neither group of critics should be labeled “right” and the other +“wrong.” To most women and to such men as are endowed with +unusual imaginative sensibility, perceptive and well-written variant +works will always seem good literature. And they <em>are</em> good by the +established canons of truth to experience, sound character analysis, +artistic structure, convincing background, vivid objective detail, and +beauty of expression. To most men and—for a different reason—some +women, such works will seem bad in varying degrees from non-essential +to intolerable. They <em>are</em> bad, then, in that they lack universality +of appeal. For the same reason much non-variant fiction +written by men—work predominantly objective in plot and violent in +action, full of casual and unimaginative sex activity—is uninteresting +or distasteful to the majority of women, though it too may fulfill +the other requirements of good literature. +</p> + +<p> +Variant fiction is of course not alone among feminine efforts in +being disparaged by the opposite sex. The battle over the quality of +feminine writing is old; to do it full justice would require a small +volume in itself. But a brief comment is required to conclude this +long discussion. Male critics (who comprise better than nine-tenths of +the whole) can be roughly divided into three schools of opinion. The +least charitable maintain that women lack creative power in all +artistic fields because nature has designated them for biological +creation alone. (Otto Weininger[<a class="footnote" href="#Co-4">4</a>] is the extreme example of this +school, but he is not alone in his opinions.) The largest group make +the point that women’s artistic efforts are almost exclusively imitative +<a id="page-352" class="pagenum" title="352"></a> +rather than original, and, without investigating reasons, they argue +that this fact demonstrates patent creative inferiority. A few—Nathaniel +Hawthorne was among the first—feel that +</p> + +<div class="excerpt"> +<p class="noindent"> +Generally women write like emasculated men and are only +to be distinguished from men by greater feebleness and folly; +but when they throw off [imitative] restraints ... and come +before the public stark naked as it were—then their books +are sure to possess character and value.[<a class="footnote" href="#Co-5">5</a>] +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +Hawthorne did not, however, live up to his convictions; he gave +up writing fiction in the 1850s and fled the country because it was +full of “damned scribbling females.” The average quality of the +scribbling perhaps justified his flight, but his apostasy was symbolic +of his sex. +</p> + +<p> +The women who began in the mid-nineteenth century to write +like women were writing also largely <em>for</em> women, and on a level +to be printed in newspapers and in the newly born “home” magazines. +They wrote from the limited conventional experience that was known +to them and their numerous audience; sentimental religious exaltation +and dreams of romantic love supplied the only emotional color in +their lives. The common lot of marriage brought mainly domestic +drudgery and constant childbearing, with the loss of so many children +that even the universal experience of the death of a child lost its keen +edge. Had such lives been presented with the austere truth to experience +demanded of good literature, the results would have been read no +more widely than are starkly realistic novels at any time. And most +of those women authors needed to earn money. Thus, feminine fiction +concentrated upon blameless romantic passion, took wild liberties +with reality, and was altogether unrelated to art. But it sold in the +hundreds of thousands, and it set a style in popular feminine narrative +which has altered in detail from decade to decade but has +not yet gone out. Until well after 1900 few women authors rose +above this level save those who more or less successfully imitated +men, and chiefly such men as Dickens and Trollope. This sentimental +tide has always been completely alien to men, both as individuals +and as critics, and it has done much to solidify the majority male +opinion that women are not creative artists. Even those men who +achieve some intellectual appreciation of the best feminine writing +find that, in general, they, like Hawthorne, cannot accept it completely. +One might say that, beginning with Dorothy Richardson +and Katherine Mansfield, women have attempted to raise essentially +<a id="page-353" class="pagenum" title="353"></a> +feminine writing to a level of absolute quality. No pretense will be +made here to trace this growing trend, or to separate the more from +the less “feminine” authors. The trend has run to more and more +subjective content, as is evident in such current authors as Shirley +Jackson and Jean Stafford. +</p> + +<p> +Variance is, of course, more than any other subject, exclusively +feminine. Had it not suffered the handicap of taboo, probably more +literature of high quality would have grown up around it. Indeed, had +such inhibited spirits as Emily Brontë, Emily Dickinson and Rose +O’Neill, to mention only the most obvious, been less paralyzed emotionally, +they might have had richer experience from which to write as +well as more courage to write about it. This is not a plea for the cultivation +of either homosexual experience or variant literature. It is +simply a suggestion that if those women who are irremediably so constituted, +and who happen also to be artists, were less shackled, the +world’s literature might be by that slight degree the richer. Before +that comes to pass, of course, two changes must occur: public opinion +in general must come closer to the most lenient psychiatric evaluation +of variance. And men must become aware of the unconscious prejudice +in their literary evaluation of all, and particularly of variant, feminine +writing. If they cannot surmount this prejudice, they should leave the +variant field to feminine critics. Also, more women should enter the +field of literary criticism. +</p> + +<p class="tb"> +* * * +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +To conclude: we have seen that feminine variance has persisted in +human experience since the beginning of literary records. It has +repeatedly aroused sufficient interest to be the subject of literature, +some of it good enough to have survived through many centuries +against all odds. The odds have been of two very different sorts—religious +taboo and masculine distaste. The first operated stringently +from the beginning of the Christian era to the Renaissance, and is +not yet dead. The second was apparent in classical times and has +been especially evident whenever the neo-classical spirit prevailed, +for that spirit exalts objective and intellectual experience, stresses the +physical aspects of sex, and is contemptuous of subjective emotional +preoccupation. In Romantic periods when emotion was glorified—that +is, when essentially feminine values prevailed—variant literature +has at least comparatively flourished. In our own day the ancient +religious taboo has weakened and psychiatric values have to some +extent been substituted. Now immaturity rather than sin is the socio-ethical +argument against variance. To each age its own new wisdom +seems a social panacea more cogent than all that have gone before, +<a id="page-354" class="pagenum" title="354"></a> +but none has ushered in Utopia. Momentarily, however, we have +attained—or at least it seems to us that we have attained—to somewhat +more tolerance than the elder moralists. If variance is to be +always with us, calm acceptance of that fact may become as prevalent +as the recognition of human evolution has come to be. And since +variant literary expression appears equally persistent, it may conceivably +become a narrow but similarly recognized field, permitted to +come to fruition according to its own laws, and to contribute the best +of which it is capable to the total sum of world literature. +</p> + +<div class="notes"> +<a id="page-355" class="pagenum" title="355"></a> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="appendix" id="chapter-0-17"> +NOTES +</h2> + +</div> + +<p class="note"> +Notes refer to items in the bibliography by letter and number only. +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +Foreword +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="F-1"> +1. An earlier edition of <a class="biblio" href="#C-72">C 72</a> +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +Introduction +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="I-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#C-111">C 111</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="I-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#C-153">C 153</a>, <a class="biblio" href="#C-154">C 154</a> +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +I. Ancient Record +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#A-250">A 250</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#A-251">A 251</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#B-199">B 199</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#A-213">A 213</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-5"> +5. <a class="biblio" href="#A-251">A 251</a>:15 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-6"> +6. <a class="biblio" href="#A-250">A 250</a> & <a class="biblio" href="#B-199">B 199</a>, notes +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-7"> +7. <a class="biblio" href="#A-251">A 251</a>:67 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-8"> +8. <em>ibid.</em>:39 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-9"> +9. <em>ibid.</em>:97, 3 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-10"> +10. <em>ibid.</em>:90 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-11"> +11. <a class="biblio" href="#A-250">A 250</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-12"> +12. <a class="biblio" href="#B-174">B 174</a>:134; <a class="biblio" href="#B-199">B 199</a>:319 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-13"> +13. <a class="biblio" href="#A-250">A 250</a>:155 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-14"> +14. <em>ibid.</em>:166 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-15"> +15. <em>ibid.</em>:155 & note +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-16"> +16. <a class="biblio" href="#B-173">B 173</a>:209 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-17"> +17. <a class="biblio" href="#A-251">A 251</a>:30 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-18"> +18. <a class="biblio" href="#A-28">A 28</a>:209, note 2; <a class="biblio" href="#A-28a">A 28a</a>:235, note 1 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-19"> +19. <a class="biblio" href="#A-28">A 28</a>:210; <a class="biblio" href="#A-28a">A 28a</a>:236 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-20"> +20. <a class="biblio" href="#B-39">B 39</a> v.2:665 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-21"> +21. <a class="biblio" href="#B-18">B 18</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-22"> +22. <a class="biblio" href="#B-162">B 162</a> v.1:101 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-23"> +23. <a class="biblio" href="#C-72">C 72</a> v.1 pt.4:197 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-24"> +24. <a class="biblio" href="#A-7">A 7</a> v.2 (VII):718; v.4 (XII):365 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-25"> +25. <a class="biblio" href="#A-8">A 8</a> v.2:151; <a class="biblio" href="#C-72">C 72</a> v.2 pt.2:41 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-26"> +26. <a class="biblio" href="#B-69">B 69</a> v.2 Chap. 6 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-27"> +27. <a class="biblio" href="#B-199">B 199</a>:108, 109 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-28"> +28. <a class="biblio" href="#A-8">A 8</a> v.1:203 & <a class="biblio" href="#B-65">B 65</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-29"> +29. Bloomington, Ind., newspaper +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-30"> +30. <a class="biblio" href="#C-192">C 192</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-31"> +31. <a class="biblio" href="#A-8">A 8</a> v.1:395 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-32"> +32. <em>ibid.</em> v.2:191-93 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-33"> +33. <em>ibid.</em> v.2:41 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-34"> +34. <em>ibid.</em> v.2:89 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-35"> +35. <a class="biblio" href="#A-214">A 214</a> v.l:35-41 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-36"> +36. <em>ibid.</em> v.2:107-13 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-37"> +37. <em>ibid.</em> v.1:91-92 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-38"> +38. <em>ibid.</em> v.2:51-60 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-39"> +39. <em>ibid.</em> v.2:60, note +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-40"> +40. <em>ibid.</em> v.1:199-205 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-41"> +41. <a class="biblio" href="#A-140">A 140</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-42"> +42. <a class="biblio" href="#A-183">A 183</a>: I. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-43"> +43. <em>ibid.</em>:VII +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-44"> +44. <a class="biblio" href="#A-7">A 7</a> v.2:11, 345, 450 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-45"> +45. <a class="biblio" href="#A-171">A 171</a> v.1 (V): 100-05 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-46"> +46. <em>ibid.</em> (XII): 130-42 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="1-47"> +47. <a class="biblio" href="#A-2">A 2</a>:192 +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +II. Dark ages to Age of Reason +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#B-148">B 148</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-2"> +2. <em>ibid.</em> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-3"> +<a id="page-356" class="pagenum" title="356"></a> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#B-97">B 97</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#B-119">B 119</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-5"> +5. <a class="biblio" href="#B-18">B 18</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-6"> +6. <a class="biblio" href="#B-71">B 71</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-7"> +7. <a class="biblio" href="#A-211x">A 211x</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-8"> +8. <a class="biblio" href="#B-76">B 76</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-9"> +9. <a class="biblio" href="#A-9">A 9</a> v.2:9 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-10"> +10. <a class="biblio" href="#A-261">A 261</a>:174-75 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-11"> +11. <a class="biblio" href="#B-27">B 27</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-12"> +12. <a class="biblio" href="#A-280">A 280</a>:35 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-13"> +13. <a class="biblio" href="#A-191a">A 191a</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-14"> +14. <a class="biblio" href="#A-191">A 191</a>; <a class="biblio" href="#C-72">C 72</a> v.1 pt.4:245 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-15"> +15. <a class="biblio" href="#A-96">A 96</a>:47 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-16"> +16. <em>ibid.</em>:29 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-17"> +17. <a class="biblio" href="#A-37">A 37</a>:128 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-18"> +18. <a class="biblio" href="#A-117">A 117</a> v.2:89 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-19"> +19. <a class="biblio" href="#A-277">A 277</a>:145 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="2-20"> +20. <a class="biblio" href="#A-187">A 187</a> +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +III. Romantic to modern +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#C-220">C 220</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#C-72">C 72</a> v.1 pt.4:66-67 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#C-213">C 213</a>; <a class="biblio" href="#C-72">C 72</a> v.l pt.4 1896 ed.; <a class="biblio" href="#C-119">C 119</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#B-74">B 74</a>:21 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-5"> +5. <em>ibid.</em>:16 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-6"> +6. <a class="biblio" href="#A-74">A 74</a> pref. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-7"> +7. <a class="biblio" href="#C-72">C 72</a> v.1 pt.4:199 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-8"> +8. <a class="biblio" href="#B-134">B 134</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-9"> +9. <a class="biblio" href="#B-82">B 82</a>:18 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-10"> +10. <a class="biblio" href="#A-310">A 310</a>:44 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-11"> +11. <em>ibid.</em>; 51 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-12"> +12. <a class="biblio" href="#B-192">B 192</a>:120 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-13"> +13. <a class="biblio" href="#A-310">A 310</a>:97 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-14"> +14. <em>ibid.</em>:76 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-15"> +15. <em>ibid.</em>:187 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-16"> +16. <a class="biblio" href="#B-160">B 160</a>:82, 88 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-17"> +17. <em>ibid.</em>:232 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-18"> +18. <em>ibid.</em>:313 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-19"> +19. <a class="biblio" href="#A-20">A 20</a>:23 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-20"> +20. <a class="biblio" href="#A-14">A 14</a>:110 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-21"> +21. <em>ibid.</em>:164 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-22"> +22. <em>ibid.</em>:425 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-23"> +23. <a class="biblio" href="#B-185">B 185</a>:11 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-24"> +24. <a class="biblio" href="#A-107">A 107</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-25"> +25. <a class="biblio" href="#B-47">B 47</a> v.1:52-61 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-26"> +26. <a class="biblio" href="#A-150">A 150</a> v.2 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-27"> +27. <a class="biblio" href="#C-72">C 72</a> v.1 pt.4:200 p. 415, notes 28-51 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-28"> +28. <a class="biblio" href="#A-150">A 150</a> v.2:223 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-29"> +29. <em>ibid.</em>:166 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-30"> +30. <a class="biblio" href="#B-127">B 127</a> Chap. 6 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-31"> +31. <a class="biblio" href="#C-158">C 158</a>:396 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-32"> +32. <a class="biblio" href="#A-98">A 98</a>:46-47 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-33"> +33. <em>ibid.</em>:47 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-34"> +34. <em>ibid.</em>:204 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-35"> +35. <em>ibid.</em>: 205 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-36"> +36. <em>ibid.</em>:209 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-37"> +37. <em>ibid.</em>:244 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-38"> +38. <em>ibid.</em>:273 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-39"> +39. <a class="biblio" href="#C-158">C 158</a>:396 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-40"> +40. <a class="biblio" href="#B-90">B 90</a>:147 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-41"> +41. <a class="biblio" href="#B-16">B 16</a>:24-51 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-42"> +42. <a class="biblio" href="#A-50">A 50</a>:85-86 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-43"> +43. <a class="biblio" href="#B-185">B 185</a>:249-303 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-44"> +44. <a class="biblio" href="#A-22">A 22</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-45"> +45. <a class="biblio" href="#B-185">B 185</a> loc. cit. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-46"> +46. <a class="biblio" href="#B-8">B 8</a>:42 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-47"> +47. <a class="biblio" href="#A-281">A 281</a>:121-22 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-48"> +48. <a class="biblio" href="#B-120">B 120</a> v.1:307 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-49"> +49. <a class="biblio" href="#B-210">B 210</a>:238 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-50"> +50. <a class="biblio" href="#A-269">A 269</a>:115 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="3-51"> +51. <em>ibid.</em>:164 +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +IV. Later 19 Century +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#B-78">B 78</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#A-25">A 25</a>:242 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#A-319">A 319</a>:356 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-4"> +4. <em>ibid.</em>:376 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-5"> +5. <a class="biblio" href="#C-269">C 269</a>:285 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-6"> +6. See <a class="biblio" href="#B-155">B 155</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-7"> +7. <a class="biblio" href="#A-32a">A 32a</a>:37 (nothing further in French language edition) +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-8"> +8. <a class="biblio" href="#B-56">B 56</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-9"> +<a id="page-357" class="pagenum" title="357"></a> +9. <a class="biblio" href="#A-230a">A 230a</a>:91 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-10"> +10. <a class="biblio" href="#A-230">A 230</a>:xvi +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-11"> +11. <a class="biblio" href="#A-230a">A 230a</a>:9 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-12"> +12. <a class="biblio" href="#B-141">B 141</a> v.5, 1892 mai +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-13"> +13. <a class="biblio" href="#B-153">B 153</a>:221ff. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-14"> +14. <em>ibid.</em>: footnotes on pp. 42, 84, 145-46, 170, 217 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-14a"> +14a. <a class="biblio" href="#A-118">A 118</a>:58 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-15"> +15. <a class="biblio" href="#B-160">B 160</a>:128 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-16"> +16. <a class="biblio" href="#A-256">A 256</a>:351-52; see also <a class="biblio" href="#A-256x">A 256x</a>:202 for a young married woman’s reverie of being a man. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-17"> +17. <a class="biblio" href="#A-137">A 137</a>:vi, ix +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-18"> +18. <em>ibid.</em>:144 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-19"> +19. <em>ibid.</em>:283 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-20"> +20. <em>ibid.</em>:325 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-21"> +21. <em>ibid.</em>:ix +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-22"> +22. <a class="biblio" href="#A-267">A 267</a>:301 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-23"> +23. <em>ibid.</em>: pref. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-24"> +24. <a class="biblio" href="#B-155">B 155</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-25"> +25. <a class="biblio" href="#B-165">B 165</a>:v-ix +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-26"> +26. <a class="biblio" href="#A-189">A 189</a>:348 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-27"> +27. <em>ibid.</em>:488 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-28"> +28. <em>ibid.</em>:12 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-29"> +29. <em>ibid.</em>:6-9 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-30"> +30. Paris, E. Dentu, 1890 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-31"> +31. <a class="biblio" href="#B-34">B 34</a>:150; <a class="biblio" href="#B-108">B 108</a> v.1:301 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="4-32"> +32. <a class="biblio" href="#B-141">B 141</a> v.23:523, 1897 +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +V. Conjectural interlude +</p> + +<p class="shdr"> +Labé +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-1-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#B-64">B 64</a> v.41:72; <a class="biblio" href="#B-152">B 152</a> v.28:347-49 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-1-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#B-152">B 152</a> loc. cit. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-1-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#A-37">A 37</a>:205 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-1-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#A-146a">A 146a</a>: dedication +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-1-5"> +5. See note 1. above +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-1-6"> +6. <a class="biblio" href="#A-146a">A 146a</a>: 78 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-1-7"> +7. <em>ibid.</em>:87 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-1-8"> +8. <em>ibid.</em>: introd. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-1-9"> +9. <a class="biblio" href="#B-152">B 152</a> v.7:82-83 (<em>Bourges</em>) +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-1-10"> +10. <a class="biblio" href="#A-146">A 146</a> v.2 +</p> + +<p class="shdr"> +Charke +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-2-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#C-72">C 72</a> v.1 pt.4:245 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-2-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#A-45">A 45</a>:77 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-2-3"> +3. <em>ibid.</em>:52 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-2-4"> +4. <em>ibid.</em>:90 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-2-5"> +5. <em>ibid.</em>:80-89, 139 +</p> + +<p class="shdr"> +Llangollen +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-3-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#B-95">B 95</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-3-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#A-24">A 24</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-3-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#B-145">B 145</a>:22-27 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-3-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#A-51">A 51</a>:155, 161 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-3-5"> +5. <em>ibid.</em>:177 +</p> + +<p class="shdr"> +Günderode +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-4-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#A-10">A 10</a>:1-67 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-4-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#A-11">A 11</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-4-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#A-113">A 113</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-4-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#B-64">B 64</a> v.97:167-231 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-4-5"> +5. See note 1. above +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-4-6"> +6. <a class="biblio" href="#A-11">A 11</a>; <a class="biblio" href="#A-113">A 113</a>, biog. introd. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-4-7"> +7. <a class="biblio" href="#A-298">A 298</a> v.1.; <a class="biblio" href="#A-298a">A 298a</a>. +</p> + +<p class="shdr"> +Sand +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-5-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#A-249">A 249</a> v.13:187-373 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-5-2"> +2. <em>ibid.</em>:267-68 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-5-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#B-196">B 196</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-5-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#B-181">B 181</a>:244 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-5-5"> +5. <a class="biblio" href="#B-138">B 138</a>:163 +</p> + +<p class="shdr"> +Brontë +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-6-1"> +1. B 20x:42 (both quotations) +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-6-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#B-144">B 144</a> Chap. 20 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-6-3"> +3. <em>ibid.</em>:84 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-6-4"> +4. <em>ibid.</em>:86 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-6-5"> +5. <em>ibid.</em>:89 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-6-6"> +6. <a class="biblio" href="#B-168">B 168</a>: pref. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-6-7"> +7. <em>ibid.</em>:255-56 +</p> + +<p class="shdr"> +Eliot +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-7-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#B-94">B 94</a> +</p> + +<p class="shdr"> +Fuller +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-8-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#B-3">B 3</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-8-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#B-197">B 197</a>:xv +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-8-3"> +3. <em>ibid.</em>:196 +</p> + +<p class="shdr"> +<a id="page-358" class="pagenum" title="358"></a> +Menken +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-9-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#B-212">B 212</a> Chap. 4 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-9-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#B-115">B 115</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-9-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#B-212">B 212</a>:57 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-9-4"> +4. <em>ibid.</em>:58 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-9-5"> +5. <a class="biblio" href="#B-107">B 107</a> v.1:278 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-9-6"> +6. <a class="biblio" href="#A-190">A 190</a>:75-76 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-9-7"> +7. <em>ibid.</em>:28 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-9-8"> +8. <em>ibid.</em>:13 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-9-9"> +9. <a class="biblio" href="#B-203">B 203</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-9-10"> +10. <a class="biblio" href="#B-212">B 212</a>:65 +</p> + +<p class="shdr"> +Field +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-10-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#A-92">A 92</a>:xvi +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-10-2"> +2. <em>ibid.</em>:27 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-10-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#A-91">A 91</a>:50 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-10-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#A-92">A 92</a>:ix +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-10-5"> +5. <em>ibid.</em>:16 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-10-6"> +6. <em>ibid.</em>:57 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="5-10-7"> +7. <em>ibid.</em>:63 +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +VI. 20 Century. Int. & Poetry +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#C-123">C 123</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#B-74">B 74</a>:16 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#C-164">C 164</a> - <a class="biblio" href="#C-175">C 175</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#C-146">C 146</a>:119 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-5"> +5. See especially <a class="biblio" href="#C-276">C 276</a>, the best available brief résumé of the current psychoanalytic opinion on homosexuality +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-6"> +6. <a class="biblio" href="#A-20">A 20</a>:22-26 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-7"> +7. <em>ibid.</em>:176ff. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-8"> +8. <a class="biblio" href="#B-86">B 86</a> no. 4 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-9"> +9. <em>ibid.</em> no. 8 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-10"> +10. <a class="biblio" href="#B-85">B 85</a> Dec. 12 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-11"> +11. <a class="biblio" href="#A-19">A 19</a>:10ff: In these quotations and some later ones from poetry, line indentations and stanza divisions have been disregarded for economy. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-12"> +12. <em>ibid.</em>:108 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-13"> +13. <em>ibid.</em>:19 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-14"> +14. <em>ibid.</em>:111 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-15"> +15. <a class="biblio" href="#B-79">B 79</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-16"> +16. <a class="biblio" href="#A-283">A 283</a> v.2:78-80 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-17"> +17. <em>ibid.</em>:112 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-18"> +18. <a class="biblio" href="#B-48">B 48</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-19"> +19. <a class="biblio" href="#A-283">A 283</a> v.2:52-55 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-20"> +20. <em>ibid.</em>:50 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-21"> +21. <em>ibid.</em> v.1:38-39 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-22"> +22. <em>ibid.</em>:36 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-23"> +23. <em>ibid.</em>:87-88 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-24"> +24. <em>ibid.</em>:31 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-25"> +25. <em>ibid.</em>:32 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-26"> +26. <em>ibid.</em>:195 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-27"> +27. <a class="biblio" href="#B-141">B 141</a> v.49, mars. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-28"> +28. <em>ibid.</em> v.50, avril. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-29"> +29. <em>ibid.</em> v.89:181-82 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-30"> +30. <a class="biblio" href="#A-283">A 283</a> v.2:219 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-31"> +31. <em>ibid.</em>:189 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-32"> +32. <em>ibid.</em>:230 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-33"> +33. <a class="biblio" href="#B-141">B 141</a> v.89:181-82 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-34"> +34. <a class="biblio" href="#A-19">A 19</a>:235 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-35"> +35. <a class="biblio" href="#A-20">A 20</a>; <a class="biblio" href="#B-49">B 49</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-36"> +36. B 151x v.9:488 (Je.20, 1914) +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-37"> +37. <a class="biblio" href="#A-240">A 240</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-38"> +38. <a class="biblio" href="#B-49">B 49</a>:249 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-39"> +39. <a class="biblio" href="#B-25">B 25</a> Chap. 13 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-40"> +40. <a class="biblio" href="#A-176">A 176</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-41"> +41. <a class="biblio" href="#A-122">A 122</a> v. 1:7-27 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-42"> +42. <em>ibid.</em> v.2:176-80 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-43"> +43. <a class="biblio" href="#A-263">A 263</a>, from <a class="biblio" href="#B-101">B 101</a> v.5 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-44"> +44. <a class="biblio" href="#A-257">A 257</a>:53 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-45"> +45. <a class="biblio" href="#B-74">B 74</a>:46; from W. L. George, Literary chapters, 1918, p. 127 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-46"> +46. <a class="biblio" href="#A-167">A 167</a>:97-105 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-47"> +47. <a class="biblio" href="#B-144">B 144</a>:189-90 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-48"> +48. <a class="biblio" href="#B-212">B 212</a>:288 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-49"> +49. <a class="biblio" href="#A-212">A 212</a>:114 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-50"> +50. The Loves of Edwy +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-51"> +51. <a class="biblio" href="#B-217">B 217</a>:60 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-52"> +52. Harold Cook (<a class="biblio" href="#B-217">B 217</a> introd.) and Elizabeth Atkins (<a class="biblio" href="#B-10">B 10</a>:34 footnote & 242) +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-53"> +<a id="page-359" class="pagenum" title="359"></a> +53. <a class="biblio" href="#A-197">A 197</a>:20-21 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-54"> +54. <a class="biblio" href="#A-196">A 196</a>:17 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-55"> +55. <a class="biblio" href="#A-194">A 194</a>:55 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-56"> +56. <a class="biblio" href="#B-10">B 10</a>:37-38 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-57"> +57. <a class="biblio" href="#A-193">A 193</a>:38, 39; <a class="biblio" href="#A-194">A 194</a>:70, 71 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-58"> +58. <a class="biblio" href="#A-194">A 194</a>:70, 71 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-59"> +59. <a class="biblio" href="#A-196">A 196</a>:20 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-60"> +60. <em>ibid.</em>:42 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-61"> +61. Djuna Barnes & Natalie C. Barney. See <a class="biblio" href="#A-196">A 196</a>:index +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-62"> +62. <a class="biblio" href="#B-10">B 10</a>:200 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-63"> +63. <a class="biblio" href="#A-185">A 185</a>:52-53 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-64"> +64. <em>ibid.</em>:54 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-65"> +65. <a class="biblio" href="#A-3">A 3</a>:21 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-66"> +66. <a class="biblio" href="#A-248">A 248</a>:24 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-67"> +67. <em>ibid.</em>:9 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-68"> +68. <em>ibid.</em>:29 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-69"> +69. <em>ibid.</em>:5 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-70"> +70. <a class="biblio" href="#A-179">A 179</a>:142-43 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="6-71"> +71. <em>ibid.</em>: 17-18 +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +VII. Fiction in France +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#A-52a">A 52a</a>:289 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#A-54">A 54</a>:220 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#A-55">A 55</a> Chap. 18, end. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#A-51">A 51</a>:185-218 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-5"> +5. <a class="biblio" href="#B-35">B 35</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-6"> +6. <a class="biblio" href="#A-55a">A 55a</a>:244-50 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-7"> +7. <a class="biblio" href="#A-56">A 56</a>:117 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-8"> +8. <a class="biblio" href="#B-141">B 141</a> v.38:229-34; <a class="biblio" href="#B-101">B 101</a> v.3:439 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-9"> +9. <a class="biblio" href="#B-141">B 141</a> v.40:781-82 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-10"> +10. <a class="biblio" href="#B-101">B 101</a> v.5:1120 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-11"> +11. <a class="biblio" href="#B-141">B 141</a> v.45-50, var. pag. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-12"> +12. <a class="biblio" href="#B-141">B 141</a> v.55:254; <a class="biblio" href="#B-101">B 101</a> v.9:584 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-13"> +13. <a class="biblio" href="#A-227">A 227</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-14"> +14. <a class="biblio" href="#A-228">A 228</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-15"> +15. <a class="biblio" href="#A-222">A 222</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-16"> +16. <a class="biblio" href="#A-227">A 227</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-17"> +17. <a class="biblio" href="#A-225">A 225</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-18"> +18. <a class="biblio" href="#A-20">A 20</a>:74; <a class="biblio" href="#A-51">A 51</a>:186 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-19"> +19. <a class="biblio" href="#A-242">A 242</a>:155 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-20"> +20. <em>ibid.</em>:102 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-21"> +21. <em>ibid.</em>:153 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-22"> +22. <em>ibid.</em>:164-65 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-23"> +23. <a class="biblio" href="#A-182">A 182</a>:22-23 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-24"> +24. <em>ibid.</em>:191-97 passim +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-25"> +25. <em>ibid.</em>:128-144 passim +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-26"> +26. <a class="biblio" href="#A-148">A 148</a>:201 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-27"> +27. <a class="biblio" href="#A-31">A 31</a>:x +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-28"> +28. <em>ibid.</em>:149-50 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-29"> +29. Seen only via advertising résumés in C.-E.’s other novels, back pages. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="7-30"> +30. <a class="biblio" href="#B-136">B 136</a> v.35:176-213 +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +VIII. Fiction in Germany +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#A-292">A 292</a> v.5:285-87 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#B-101">B 101</a> v.2:41ff +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-3"> +3. <em>ibid.</em> v.3:431 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-4"> +4. <em>ibid.</em> v.3:462 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-5"> +5. <em>ibid.</em> v.3:449 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-6"> +6. <em>ibid.</em> v.5:1115 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-7"> +7. <em>ibid.</em> v.3:453? +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-8"> +8. <em>ibid.</em> v.3:489 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-9"> +9. <a class="biblio" href="#B-25">B 25</a> Chap. 13 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-10"> +10. <a class="biblio" href="#B-101">B 101</a> v.5:1080 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-11"> +11. <em>ibid.</em> v.5:1106 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-12"> +12. <em>ibid.</em> v.5:1070 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-13"> +13. <a class="biblio" href="#C-121">C 121</a>:171-79 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-14"> +14. <a class="biblio" href="#B-101">B 101</a> v.7:885 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-15"> +15. <em>ibid.</em> v.9:606 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-16"> +16. <em>ibid.</em> v.9:613 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-17"> +17. <a class="biblio" href="#B-144x">B 144x</a>:317 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-18"> +18. <a class="biblio" href="#A-178">A 178</a>:222 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-19"> +19. <em>ibid.</em>:229 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-20"> +20. <a class="biblio" href="#A-295">A 295</a>:188 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-21"> +21. <a class="biblio" href="#B-98">B 98</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-22"> +22. <a class="biblio" href="#B-101">B 101</a> v.17:129 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-23"> +23. <a class="biblio" href="#A-274">A 274</a>:10 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-24"> +24. <em>ibid.</em>:11 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="8-25"> +<a id="page-360" class="pagenum" title="360"></a> +25. <em>ibid.</em>:11-12 +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +IX. Fiction in English (1) +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#A-116">A 116</a>:pref. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-2"> +2. <a class="biblio" href="#C-153">C 153</a>, 154 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#A-102">A 102</a>:12 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-4"> +4. <em>ibid.</em>:13 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-5"> +5. <em>ibid.</em>:14 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-6"> +6. <em>ibid.</em>:56-57 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-7"> +7. <a class="biblio" href="#A-175">A 175</a>:6 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-8"> +8. <em>ibid.</em>:288 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-9"> +9. <em>ibid.</em>:269-70 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-10"> +10. <em>ibid.</em>:135 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-11"> +11. <em>ibid.</em>:182 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-12"> +12. <a class="biblio" href="#A-215">A 215</a>:833 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-13"> +13. <a class="biblio" href="#B-204">B 204</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-14"> +14. <a class="biblio" href="#A-256">A 256</a>:4 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-15"> +15. <em>ibid.</em>:7 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-16"> +16. <em>ibid.</em>:13 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-17"> +17. <em>ibid.</em>:8 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-18"> +18. <em>ibid.</em>:9 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-19"> +19. <em>ibid.</em>:57 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-20"> +20. <em>ibid.</em>:88 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-21"> +21. <a class="biblio" href="#A-184">A 184</a>:79 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-22"> +22. <em>ibid.</em>:108 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-23"> +23. <a class="biblio" href="#A-239">A 239</a>:271 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-24"> +24. <a class="biblio" href="#A-260">A 260</a>:262 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-25"> +25. <em>ibid.</em>:390 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-26"> +26. Publ. in book form by Century +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-27"> +27. <a class="biblio" href="#A-155">A 155</a>:324 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-28"> +28. <a class="biblio" href="#B-143">B 143</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-29"> +29. <a class="biblio" href="#A-294">A 294</a>:334 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-30"> +30. <a class="biblio" href="#A-61">A 61</a>:37-38 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-31"> +31. <em>ibid.</em>:37 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-32"> +32. <em>ibid.</em>:402-03 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-33"> +33. <em>ibid.</em>:407 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-34"> +34. <a class="biblio" href="#A-173">A 173</a>:267-68 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-35"> +35. <em>ibid.</em>:37 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-36"> +36. <em>ibid.</em>:276-81 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-37"> +37. <a class="biblio" href="#A-97">A 97</a>:22, footnote +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-38"> +38. <em>ibid.</em>:348 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-39"> +39. <a class="biblio" href="#A-6">A 6</a>:304 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-40"> +40. <em>ibid.</em>:305 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-41"> +41. <a class="biblio" href="#A-131">A 131</a>:69-70 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-42"> +42. <em>ibid.</em>:268 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-43"> +43. <em>ibid.</em>:290-91 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-44"> +44. <a class="biblio" href="#A-129">A 129</a>:320-21, 149 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-45"> +45. <a class="biblio" href="#A-98">A 98</a>:125-256 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-46"> +46. <em>ibid.</em>:148 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-47"> +47. <em>ibid.</em>:222 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-48"> +48. <a class="biblio" href="#A-210">A 210</a>:198 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-49"> +49. <a class="biblio" href="#A-311">A 311</a>:46-47 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-50"> +50. <em>ibid.</em>:48, 50-52 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-51"> +51. <em>ibid.</em>:53 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-52"> +52. <a class="biblio" href="#A-245">A 245</a>:139-40 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-53"> +53. <em>ibid.</em>:287 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-54"> +54. <a class="biblio" href="#B-63">B 63</a>:64 and New York Times, Sun. Nov. 7, 1926, VIII:10, col. 1 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-55"> +55. New York Times Feb. 1, 1927, p. 3, col. 6 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-56"> +56. <a class="biblio" href="#A-313">A 313</a>:29 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-57"> +57. <em>ibid.</em>:300 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-58"> +58. <a class="biblio" href="#A-116">A 116</a>:pref. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-59"> +59. <a class="biblio" href="#B-54">B 54</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-60"> +60. <a class="biblio" href="#A-312">A 312</a>:117-18 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-61"> +61. <em>ibid.</em>:138 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-62"> +62. <em>ibid.</em>:221-22 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-63"> +63. <em>ibid.</em>:298 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="9-64"> +64. <em>ibid.</em>:258 +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +X. Fiction in English (2) +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-1"> +1. <a class="biblio" href="#A-207">A 207</a>:63 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-2"> +2. <em>ibid.</em>:64 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-3"> +3. <a class="biblio" href="#A-199">A 199</a>:348-44 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#A-218">A 218</a>:266 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-5"> +5. <a class="biblio" href="#A-152">A 152</a>:333 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-6"> +6. <a class="biblio" href="#A-160">A 160</a>:221-36 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-7"> +7. <a class="biblio" href="#A-244">A 244</a>:24 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-8"> +8. <em>ibid.</em>:158 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-9"> +9. <em>ibid.</em>:167 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-10"> +10. <a class="biblio" href="#A-237">A 237</a>:243 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-11"> +11. <em>ibid.</em>:245 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-12"> +<a id="page-361" class="pagenum" title="361"></a> +12. <em>ibid.</em>:231-32 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-13"> +13. <em>ibid.</em>:257 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-14"> +14. <em>ibid.</em>:230-31 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-15"> +15. <a class="biblio" href="#A-23">A 23</a>:49 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-16"> +16. <em>ibid.</em>:58 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-17"> +17. British edition: Stamboul Train, late 1932 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-18"> +18. <a class="biblio" href="#A-42">A 42</a>:382 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-19"> +19. <em>ibid.</em>:380-81 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-20"> +20. Nov. 1932 p. 2 col. 4. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-21"> +21. <a class="biblio" href="#A-206">A 206</a>:2 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-22"> +22. <a class="biblio" href="#A-238">A 238</a>:132-33 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-23"> +23. <em>ibid.</em>:137 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-24"> +24. <em>ibid.</em>:138 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-25"> +25. <a class="biblio" href="#A-276">A 276</a>:162 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-26"> +26. <em>ibid.</em>:230 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-27"> +27. <a class="biblio" href="#A-76">A 76</a>:32; <a class="biblio" href="#A-157">A 157</a>:125 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-28"> +28. <a class="biblio" href="#A-76">A 76</a>:234 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-29"> +29. <a class="biblio" href="#A-78">A 78</a>:74 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-30"> +30. <em>ibid.</em>:82-83 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-31"> +31. <a class="biblio" href="#A-78a">A 78a</a>:72; cf. also p. 79-80 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-32"> +32. <a class="biblio" href="#A-316">A 316</a>:107 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-33"> +33. <a class="biblio" href="#A-158">A 158</a>:112-14; cf. also p. 38 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-34"> +34. <a class="biblio" href="#A-64">A 64</a>:208, 219 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-35"> +35. <a class="biblio" href="#A-59">A 59</a>:147 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-36"> +36. Time Mag. Oct. 25, 1937:26-28 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-37"> +37. <a class="biblio" href="#A-36">A 36</a>:203, 205 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-38"> +38. <a class="biblio" href="#A-35">A 35</a>:203 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-39"> +39. <em>ibid.</em>:204 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-40"> +40. <a class="biblio" href="#A-104">A 104</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-41"> +41. e.g. <em>ibid.</em>:196-97 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-42"> +42. <a class="biblio" href="#A-144">A 144</a>:156 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-43"> +43. <a class="biblio" href="#A-43">A 43</a>:92 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-44"> +44. <a class="biblio" href="#A-264">A 264</a>:320, 396 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-45"> +45. <a class="biblio" href="#A-209">A 209</a>:[7] +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-46"> +46. <em>ibid.</em>:107 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-47"> +47. <em>ibid.</em>:136 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-48"> +48. <a class="biblio" href="#A-271">A 271</a>:24 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-49"> +49. <a class="biblio" href="#A-272">A 272</a>:23 +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="10-50"> +50. <a class="biblio" href="#A-203">A 203</a>:246 +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +Conclusion +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="Co-1"> +1. e.g. <a class="biblio" href="#B-71">B 71</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="Co-2"> +2. See <a class="biblio" href="#C-105">C 105</a>, <a class="biblio" href="#C-139">C 139</a>, <a class="biblio" href="#C-207">C 207</a>, <a class="biblio" href="#C-254">C 254</a>, <a class="biblio" href="#C-255">C 255</a>, <a class="biblio" href="#C-257">C 257</a>, <a class="biblio" href="#C-273">C 273</a>, <a class="biblio" href="#C-287">C 287</a>, <a class="biblio" href="#C-300">C 300</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="Co-3"> +3. Cf. excerpts in Book Review Digest for any title in <em>A</em> list. +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="Co-4"> +4. <a class="biblio" href="#C-284">C 284</a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote" id="Co-5"> +5. <a class="biblio" href="#B-158">B 158</a>:111 +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="biblio"> +<a id="page-362" class="pagenum" title="362"></a> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="appendix" id="chapter-0-18"> +BIBLIOGRAPHIES +</h2> + +</div> + +<p class="first"> +* An asterisk indicates titles of which only a review, an abstract, or a +précis was seen. +</p> + +<p> +<em>List A</em>: Primary belletristic titles, in some cases including biographical +or critical material. The editions listed are those used in the study. +Original dates of publication or composition appear in the text. +</p> + +<p> +<em>List B</em>: Bibliographic, biographical, critical and historical references, +including psychiatric studies of specific authors or titles. +</p> + +<p> +<em>List C</em>: Medical, psychological, psychiatric and psychoanalytic background +reading, with special reference to etiology (e.g., in studies of +exclusively male subjects.) +</p> + +<p class="hdr"> +A. PRIMARY MATERIAL +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-1"> +1. <span class="smallcaps">Adams, Fay.</span> Appointment in Paris. N. Y., Fawcett, 1952. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-2"> +2. <span class="smallcaps">Alciphron.</span> Letters from town and country. (tr. F. A. Wright) +Lond., Routledge, n.d. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-3"> +3. <span class="smallcaps">Aldington, Richard.</span> The loves of Myrrhine and Konallis. Chic., +Pascal Covici, 1926. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-4"> +4. <span class="smallcaps">Anderson, Helen.</span> Pity for women. N. Y., Doubleday, 1937. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-5"> +5. <span class="smallcaps">Anderson, Sherwood.</span> Dark laughter. N. Y., Boni & Liveright, +1925. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-6"> +6. ——. Poor white. N. Y., B. W. <a id="corr-139"></a>Huebsch, 1920. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-7"> +7. <span class="smallcaps">Anthologia graeca.</span> (tr. R. W. Paton) N. Y., Putnam, 1915-26. +5v. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-8"> +8. <span class="smallcaps">Apollodorus.</span> The library. (tr. J. G. Fraser) Cambridge, Mass., +Harvard Univ. Press, 1946, 2v. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-9"> +9. <span class="smallcaps">Ariosto, Ludovico.</span> Orlando furioso. (tr. W. S. Rose) Lond., +Bell, 1907. v. 2. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-10"> +10. <span class="smallcaps">Arnim, Elisabeth von.</span> Goethe’s correspondence with a child. +Bost., Ticknor & Fields, 1859. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-11"> +11. ——. Die Günderode. (Sämmtliche Werke, bd. 2) Berlin, +Propylaenverlag, 1920. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-12"> +12. <span class="smallcaps">Baker, Dorothy.</span> Trio. Bost., Houghton, 1943. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-13"> +13. ——. Young man with a horn. N. Y., New American Library, +1953. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-14"> +14. <span class="smallcaps">Balzac, Honoré de.</span> Cousin Betty. (tr. James Waring) Bost., +Dana Estes, 1901. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-15"> +<a id="page-363" class="pagenum" title="363"></a> +15. ——. Seraphita. Lond., Dent, 1897. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-16"> +16. ——. The girl with the golden eyes. (tr. Ernest Dowson) [N. Y.], +DeLuxe Editions, 1931. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-17"> +17. <span class="smallcaps">Barbey d’Aurevilly, Jules.</span> Les diaboliques. Paris, Dentu, 1874. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-18"> +18. <span class="smallcaps">Barnes, Djuna.</span> Nightwood. N. Y., Harcourt, 1937. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-19"> +19. <span class="smallcaps">Barney, Natalie Clifford.</span> Actes et entr’actes. Paris, Sensot, +1909. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-20"> +20. ——. Aventures de l’esprit. Paris, Emile-Paul, 1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-21"> +21. <span class="smallcaps">Baudelaire, Charles.</span> Prose and poetry. (tr. Arthur Symons). +N. Y., Boni, 1926. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-22"> +22. ——. Les fleurs du mal. (tr. George Dillon and Edna St. Vincent +Millay) N. Y., Harper, 1936. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-23"> +23. <span class="smallcaps">Beer, Thomas.</span> Mrs. Egg and other barbarians. N. Y., Knopf, +1933. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-24"> +24. <span class="smallcaps">Bell, Mrs. G. H.</span>, ed. The Hamwood papers of the ladies of +Llangollen and Caroline Hamilton. Lond., Macmillan, 1930. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-25"> +25. <span class="smallcaps">Belot, Adolphe.</span> Mlle Giraud, ma femme. Paris, Dentu, 1870. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-26"> +26. <span class="smallcaps">Bennett, Arnold.</span> Elsie and the child. N. Y., Doran, 1924. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-27"> +27. ——. The pretty lady. N. Y., Doran, 1918. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-28"> +28. <span class="smallcaps">Bible.</span> Revised version. Oxford, University Press, 1891. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-28a"> +28a. ——. American standard version. N. Y., Nelson, 1901. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-29"> +29. <span class="smallcaps">Bolton, Isabel.</span> Ruth and Irma. New Yorker 23:21-24. Jan. 26, +1947. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-30"> +30. *<span class="smallcaps">Borys, Daniel.</span> Carlotta Noll. Paris, Albin Michel, 1905. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-31"> +31. <span class="smallcaps">Bourdet, Edward.</span> The captive. (tr. Arthur Hornblow, jr.) +N. Y., Brentano, 1927. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-32"> +32. <span class="smallcaps">Bourget, Paul C. J.</span> Un crime d’amour. Paris, Lemerre, 1886. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-32a"> +32a. ——. A love crime. Paris, Société des Beaux Arts, 1905. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-33"> +33. <span class="smallcaps">Bowen, Elizabeth.</span> The hotel. N. Y., MacVeigh, 1928. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-34"> +34. <span class="smallcaps">Bowles, Jane.</span> Two serious ladies. N. Y., Knopf, 1943. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-35"> +35. <span class="smallcaps">Boyle, Kay.</span> The bridegroom’s body. (In: The crazy hunter. +N. Y., Harcourt, 1940) +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-36"> +36. ——. 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Y., Macmillan, 1919. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-169"> +169. ——. Sword blades and poppy seeds. Bost., Houghton, 1914. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-170"> +170. ——. What’s o’clock. Bost., Houghton, 1925. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-171"> +171. <span class="smallcaps">Lucian.</span> (tr. C. Jacobitz) v. 1, The ass, Dialogues of the courtesans, +and The amores. Athens, Athenian Society, 1895. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-172"> +172. <span class="smallcaps">Mackenzie, Compton.</span> Extraordinary women. Lond., Secker, +1932. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-173"> +173. <span class="smallcaps">MacLane, Mary.</span> I, Mary MacLane. N. Y., Stokes, 1917. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-174"> +174. ——. My friend Annabel Lee. Chic., Stone, 1903. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-175"> +175. ——. The story of Mary MacLane; by herself. Chic., Stone, 1902. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-176"> +176. <span class="smallcaps">Madeleine, Marie.</span> Auf Kypros. Berlin, Vita, n.d. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-177"> +177. <span class="smallcaps">Mallet, Françoise.</span> The illusionist. (tr. Herma Briffault) N. Y., +Farrar, 1952. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-178"> +178. <span class="smallcaps">Mann, Heinrich.</span> Die Göttinnen: <em>Venus</em>. Berlin, Zsolnay, 1925. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-179"> +179. <span class="smallcaps">Mansfield, Katherine.</span> The scrapbook ... N. Y., Knopf, 1940. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-180"> +180. ——. Journal. N. Y., Knopf, 1928. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-181"> +181. <span class="smallcaps">Marchal, Lucie.</span> The mesh. (tr. Virgilia Peterson) N. Y., Appleton, +1949. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-182"> +182. <span class="smallcaps">Margueritte, Victor.</span> La garçonne. Paris, Flammarion, 1922. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-182a"> +182a. ——. The bachelor girl. Lond., A. M. Philpot, 1924. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-183"> +183. <span class="smallcaps">Martial.</span> Epigrams. (tr. W. C. Aker) Lond., Heinemann, 1930, +2v. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-184"> +184. <span class="smallcaps">Masefield, John.</span> Multitude and solitude. N. Y., Macmillan, +1925. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-185"> +185. <span class="smallcaps">Masters, Edgar Lee.</span> Domesday book. N. Y., Macmillan, 1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-186"> +186. <span class="smallcaps">Maupassant, Guy de.</span> La femme de Paul. (In: La maison Tellier. +Paris, Ollendorff, 1899.) +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-186a"> +186a. ——. Paul’s mistress. (In: Works of ... Aldus de luxe ed. +N. Y., National Library, 1909. v. 4.) +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-187"> +187. [<span class="smallcaps">Mayeur de St. Paul</span>?] Confessions d’une jeune fille; Suite; +Suite et fin. (In: [Mairobert, M. F. P. de? et al.] L’espion +anglais. Lond., n. publ., 1784. t. 10.) +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-188"> +188. *<span class="smallcaps">Meebold, Alfred.</span> Dr. Erna Redens Thorheit und Erkenntnis. +(In: Allerhand Volk. Berlin, Vita, 1900.) +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-189"> +189. <span class="smallcaps">Mendes, Catulle.</span> Méphistophéla. Paris, Dentu, 1890. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-190"> +190. <span class="smallcaps">Menken, Ada Isaacs.</span> Infelicia. Phila., Lippincott, 1875. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-191"> +191. <span class="smallcaps">Middleton, Thomas and Dekker, Thomas.</span> The roaring girl. +Lond., Vizetelly, 1890. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-191a"> +191a. ——. Ibid. (In: Works. A. H. Bullen, ed. Lond., Nimmo, 1885-86. +v. 4.) +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-192"> +192. <span class="smallcaps">Millay, Edna St. Vincent.</span> Fatal interview. N. Y., Harper, 1931. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-193"> +<a id="page-369" class="pagenum" title="369"></a> +193. ——. A few figs from thistles. N. Y., Harper, 1922. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-194"> +194. ——. The harp-weaver and other poems. N. Y., Harper, 1923. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-195"> +195. ——. The lamp and the bell. N. Y., Harper, 1921. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-196"> +196. ——. Letters. (Alan Ross Macdougall, ed.) N. Y., Harper, 1952. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-197"> +197. ——. Renascence. N. Y., Kennerly, 1924. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-198"> +198. ——. Second April. N. Y., Kennerly, 1924. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-199"> +199. <span class="smallcaps">Millay, Kathleen.</span> Against the wall. N. Y., Macaulay, 1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-200"> +200. <span class="smallcaps">Mitchison, Naomi.</span> The delicate fire. N. Y., Harcourt, 1932. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-201"> +201. *<span class="smallcaps">Møller, O. W.</span> Wer kann dafür? (tr. from Danish, Richard +Meienreis) Leipzig, Spohr, 1901. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-202"> +202. <span class="smallcaps">Montfort, Charles.</span> Le journal d’une saphiste. Paris, Offenstadt, +1902. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-203"> +203. <span class="smallcaps">Morgan, Claire.</span> The price of salt. N. Y., Coward-McCann, +1952. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-204"> +204. <span class="smallcaps">Moss, Geoffrey.</span> That other love. N. Y., Doubleday, 1930. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-205"> +205. *<span class="smallcaps">Mühsam, Erich.</span> Die Psychologie der Erbtante. Zurich, Schmidt, +1905. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-206"> +206. <span class="smallcaps">Nathan, George Jean.</span> Design for loving. American Spectator +1:2-3, April 1933. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-207"> +207. <span class="smallcaps">Neff, Wanda Fraiken.</span> We sing Diana. Bost., Houghton, 1928. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-208"> +208. *<span class="smallcaps">Niemann, August.</span> Zwei Frauen. Dresden, Pierson, 1901. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-209"> +209. <span class="smallcaps">Nin, Anaïs.</span> Ladders to fire. N. Y., Dutton, 1924. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-210"> +210. <span class="smallcaps">O’Higgins, Harvey.</span> Julie Cane. N. Y., Harper, 1924. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-211"> +211. <span class="smallcaps">Olivia.</span> [Dorothy Bussy] Olivia. N. Y., William Sloane, 1949. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-211x"> +211x. Oriental stories. (La fleur lascive orientale) ... trans. from +Arabian ... (etc.) Athens, priv. print., 1893. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-212"> +212. <span class="smallcaps">O’Neill, Rose.</span> The master-mistress. N. Y., Knopf, 1922. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-213"> +213. <span class="smallcaps">Ovid.</span> Heroides and Amores. (tr. Grant Showerman) Lond., +Heinemann, 1931. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-214"> +214. ——. Metamorphoses. (tr. Frank Justus Miller) Lond., Heinemann, +1946. 2v. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-215"> +215. Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. (A. T. Quiller-Couch, ed.) +Oxford, University Press, 1912. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-216"> +216. <span class="smallcaps">Packer, Vin.</span> Spring fire. N. Y., Fawcett, 1952. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-217"> +217. <span class="smallcaps">Parker, Dorothy.</span> After such pleasures. N. Y., Viking, 1934. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-218"> +218. <span class="smallcaps">Patton [Waldron], Marion.</span> Dance on the tortoise. N. Y., Dial, +1930. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-219"> +219. <span class="smallcaps">Peladan, Josephin.</span> La gynandre. Paris, Dentu, 1891. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-220"> +220. ——. La vertu suprême. Paris, Flammarion, 1900. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-221"> +221. *<span class="smallcaps">Pougy, Liane de.</span> Idylle saphique. Paris, Librairie de la Plume, +1901. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-222"> +222. <span class="smallcaps">Proust, Marcel.</span> The captive. (tr. C. K. Scott-Moncrieff) N. Y., +Modern Library, 1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-223"> +223. ——. Cities of the plain (tr. ibid.) N. Y., Modern Library, 1930. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-224"> +224. ——. The Guermantes way. (tr. ibid.) N. Y., Modern Library, +1925. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-225"> +<a id="page-370" class="pagenum" title="370"></a> +225. ——. The past recaptured. (tr. F. A. Blossom) N. Y., +Boni, 1932. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-226"> +226. ——. Swann’s way. (tr. C. K. Scott-Moncrieff) N. Y., Modern +Library, 1928. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-227"> +227. ——. The sweet cheat gone. (tr. ibid.) N. Y., Boni, 1930. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-228"> +228. ——. Within a budding grove. (tr. ibid.) N. Y., Modern Library, +1924. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-229"> +229. <span class="smallcaps">Rachilde.</span> [Marguérite Eymery Vallette]. Madame Adonis. Paris, +Ferenczi, 1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-230"> +230. ——. Monsieur Vénus. (Maurice Barrès, ed.) Paris, Felix Brossier, +1889. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-230a"> +230a. ——. Monsieur Vénus. (tr. Madeleine Boyd, Maurice Barrès, +pref.) N. Y., Covici, Friede, 1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-231"> +231. <span class="smallcaps">Remarque, Erich.</span> Arch of triumph. N. Y., Appleton, 1945. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-232"> +232. <span class="smallcaps">Renault, Mary.</span> The middle mist. N. Y., Morrow, 1945. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-233"> +233. ——. Promise of love. N. Y., Morrow, 1939. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-234"> +234. *<span class="smallcaps">Reuss, Paule.</span> Le génie de l’amour. Paris, Oeuvres Représentatives, +1935. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-235"> +235. *<span class="smallcaps">Reuter, Gabriele.</span> Aus guter Familie. Berlin, 1897. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-236"> +236. <span class="smallcaps">Rice, Craig.</span> Having wonderful crime. N. Y., Simon & Schuster, +1943. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-237"> +237. <span class="smallcaps">Richardson, Dorothy.</span> Dawn’s left hand. N. Y., Knopf, n.d. +(In: Pilgrimage, v. 4). +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-238"> +238. <span class="smallcaps">Richardson, Henry Handel.</span> The end of a childhood ... Lond., +Heinemann, 1934. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-239"> +239. ——. The getting of wisdom. N. Y., Duffield, 1910. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-240"> +240. *<span class="smallcaps">Rigal, Henry.</span> Sur le mode saphique. Paris, Mercure de France, +1902. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-241"> +241. <span class="smallcaps">Roland-Manuel, Suzanne.</span> Le trille du diable. Paris, Deux +Rives, 1946. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-242"> +242. <span class="smallcaps">Rolland, Romain.</span> Annette and Sylvie. (tr. B. R. Redman) +N. Y., Holt, 1935. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-243"> +243. <span class="smallcaps">Ronald, James.</span> The angry woman. N. Y., Bantam, 1950. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-243x"> +243x. <span class="smallcaps">Rossetti, Christina.</span> Goblin Market (In: Stephens, James, et +al., ed. Victorian and later English poets. N. Y., American +Book Co., 1937.) +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-244"> +244. <span class="smallcaps">Royde-Smith, Naomi.</span> The island. N. Y., Harper, 1930. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-245"> +245. ——. The tortoiseshell cat. N. Y., Boni, 1925. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="A-246"> +246. *<span class="smallcaps">Rüling, Theodor.</span> Rätselhaft. (In: Welcher unter Euch ohne +Sünde ist. 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SCIENTIFIC AND PSYCHIATRIC MATERIAL +</p> + +<p> +(Exclusively male studies included for references to etiology) +</p> + +<p> +*—seen only in abstract. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-1"> +1. <span class="smallcaps">Adler, Alfred.</span> Das Problem der Homosexualität. Leipzig, +Hirzel, 1930. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-2"> +2. ——. Zum Thema: sexuelle Perversionen. Int. Ztschr. individ. +Psychol. 10:401-409, 1932. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-3"> +3. <span class="smallcaps">Allen, Clifford.</span> The sexual perversions and abnormalities. +Lond., Oxford, 1940. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-4"> +4. <span class="smallcaps">Allen, F. H.</span> Homosexuality in relation to the problem of +human differences. Amer. J. Orthopsychiat. 10:129-36, 1940. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-5"> +5. <span class="smallcaps">Allport, Gordon.</span> Personality: a psychological interpretation. +N. Y., Holt, 1937. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-6"> +6. “Anomaly.” The invert and his social adjustment. Balto., Williams +& Wilkins, 1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-7"> +7. <span class="smallcaps">Back, Georg.</span> Sexuelle Verirrungen des Menschen und der +Natur. Berlin, Standard, 1910. 2v. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-8"> +8. <span class="smallcaps">Barahal, H. S.</span> Constitutional factors in male homosexuals. +Psychiat. Q. 13:391-400, 1939. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-9"> +9. *——. Testosterone in psychotic male homosexuals. Psychiat. +Q. 14:319-29, 1940. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-10"> +<a id="page-383" class="pagenum" title="383"></a> +10. <span class="smallcaps">Baur, Julius.</span> Homosexuality as an endocrinological, psychological +and genetic problem. J. Crim. Psychopathol. 2:188-97, +1940. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-11"> +11. <span class="smallcaps">Bender, Lauretta & Paster, Samuel.</span> Homosexual trends in +children. Amer. J. Orthopsychiat. 10:730-44, 1941. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-12"> +12. <span class="smallcaps">Benedek, Therese.</span> Psychosexual functions in women. N. Y., +Ronald, 1952. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-13"> +13. —— <span class="smallcaps">& Rubenstein, Boris.</span> The sexual cycle in women ... +National Research Council, 1942. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-14"> +14. <span class="smallcaps">Bergler, Edmund.</span> The basic neurosis ... N. Y., Grune & Stratton, +1949. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-15"> +15. ——. Eight prerequisites for psychoanalytic treatment of homosexuality. +Psychoan. Rev. 31:353-86, 1944. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-16"> +16. ——. Lesbianism, facts and fiction. Marr.... Hyg. 1:197-202, +1948. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-17"> +17. ——. Neurotic counterfeit sex ... N. Y., Grune & Stratton, +1951. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-18"> +18. ——. The present situation in genetic investigation of homosexuality. +Marr. Hyg. 4:16-29, 1937. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-19"> +19. ——. The respective importance of reality and fantasy in the +genesis of female homosexuality. J. Crim. Psychopathol. 5:27-48, +1943. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-20"> +20. ——. The writer and psychoanalysis. N. Y., Doubleday, 1950. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-21"> +21. *——. Kinsey’s myth of female sexuality. N. Y., Grune & Stratton, +1954. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-22"> +22. <span class="smallcaps">Besterman, Theodore.</span> Men versus women: a study of sexual +relations. Lond., Methuen, 1934. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-23"> +23. <span class="smallcaps">Blanchard, Phyllis & Manasses, Carolyn.</span> New girls for old. +N. Y., Macaulay, 1930. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-24"> +24. <span class="smallcaps">Bloch, Iwan.</span> Anthropological studies in the strange sexual +practices of all races in all ages ... N. Y., Anthropological +Press, 1933. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-25"> +25. <span class="smallcaps">Bloch, Iwan.</span> Der Ursprung der Syphilis. Jena, G. Fischer, 1911. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-26"> +26. <span class="smallcaps">Bonaparte, Marie.</span> Female sexuality. N. Y., International Universities +Press, 1953. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-27"> +27. <span class="smallcaps">Bourget, Paul.</span> Physiologie de l’amour moderne. Paris, Crès, +1918. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-28"> +28. <span class="smallcaps">Brachfeld, Oliver.</span> Sexuelle Lebensschwerigkeiten. Int. Ztschr. +individ. Psychol. 8:142-151, 1930. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-29"> +29. <span class="smallcaps">Brierley, Marjorie.</span> Specific determinants in feminine development. +Int. J. Psychoanal. 17:163-80, 1936. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-30"> +30. <span class="smallcaps">Brill, A. A.</span> Homoerotism and paranoia. Amer. J. Psychiat. +13:957-74, 1934. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-31"> +31. ——. Sexual manifestations in neurotic and psychotic symptoms. +Psychiat. Q. 14:9-16, 1940. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-32"> +<a id="page-384" class="pagenum" title="384"></a> +32. <span class="smallcaps">Brody, M. W.</span> Analysis of the psychosexual development of the +female, with special reference to homosexuality. Psychoan. +Rev. 30:47-58, 1943. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-33"> +33. <span class="smallcaps">Bromley, Dorothy D. & Britten, Florence E.</span> Youth and sex: +a study of 1300 college students. N. Y., Harper, 1938. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-34"> +34. <span class="smallcaps">Broster, L. H.</span> et al. The adrenal cortex and intersexuality. +Lond., Chapman, 1938. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-35"> +35. <span class="smallcaps">Browne, F. W. Stella.</span> Studies in feminine inversion. J. 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Intermediate types among primitive folk. N. Y., Kennerly, +1914. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-43"> +43. ——. Love’s coming of age. N. Y., Kennerly, 1911. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-44"> +44. *<span class="smallcaps">Casan, V. S.</span> El amor lesbio. ed. 8. Barcelona, 1896. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-45"> +45. <span class="smallcaps">Case, Irene & Sherman, Mandel.</span> The factor of personal attachment +in homosexuality. Psychoan. Rev. 13:32-37, 1925. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-46"> +46. <span class="smallcaps">Cawadias, A. P.</span> Hermaphroditos: the human intersex. Lond., +Heinemann, 1943. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-47"> +47. <span class="smallcaps">Chesser, Eustace.</span> Sexual behavior, normal and abnormal. +N. Y., Roy, 1949. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-48"> +48. <span class="smallcaps">Chideckel, Maurice.</span> Female sex perversions ... N. 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Practitioner 141:280-87, 1938. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-55"> +55. <span class="smallcaps">Dauthendey, Elisabeth.</span> Die urnische Frage und die Frau. +Jahrb. sex. Zwisch. 8:285-99, 1906. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-56"> +<a id="page-385" class="pagenum" title="385"></a> +56. <span class="smallcaps">Davis, Katherine B.</span> Factors in the sex life of 2,200 women. +N. Y., Harper, 1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-57"> +57. ——. The periodicity of sex desire. Amer. J. Obstet. & Gyn. +14:345-60, 1927. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-58"> +58. <span class="smallcaps">Deutsch, Helene.</span> Homosexuality in women. Psychoan. Q. +1:484-510, 1932. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-59"> +59. ——. Psychology of women. v. 1. N. Y., Grune & Stratton, 1944. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-60"> +60. <span class="smallcaps">Devereux, George.</span> Institutionalized homosexuality of the Mojave +Indians. Human Biol. 9:498-527, 1937. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-61"> +61. —— <span class="smallcaps">& Moos, M. C.</span> Social structure of prisons and the organic +tensions. J. Crim. Psychopathol. 4:306-24, 1942. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-62"> +62. <span class="smallcaps">Dickinson, R. L. & Beam, Lura.</span> One thousand marriages: a +study of sex adjustment. Balto., Williams & Wilkins, 1931. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-63"> +63. ——. The single woman: a medical study in sex education. +Balto., Williams & Wilkins, 1934. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-64"> +64. <span class="smallcaps">Dicks, G. H. & Childers, A. T.</span> Social transformation of a boy +who lived his first fourteen years as a girl. J. Psychol. 18:125-30, +1944. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-65"> +65. <span class="smallcaps">Dunbar, Flanders.</span> Emotions and bodily changes. N. Y., Columbia +Univ. Press, 1938. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-66"> +66. ——. Mind and body: psychosomatic medicine. N. Y., Random, +1947. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-67"> +67. <span class="smallcaps">East, W. N.</span> Sexual offenders. (In: Mental abnormality and +crime. Lond., Macmillan, 1944. Ch. 9.) +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-68"> +68. <span class="smallcaps">Eliasberg, W.</span> The closeup of psychosexual gratification. J. +Nerv. & Ment. Disease. 99:179-196, 1944. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-69"> +69. <span class="smallcaps">Ellis, Albert.</span> Sexual psychology of the human hermaphrodite. +Psychosom. Med. 7:108-25, 1945. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-70"> +70. ——. The folklore of sex. N. Y., Boni, 1951. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-71"> +71. <span class="smallcaps">Ellis, Havelock.</span> Sexual inversion in women. Alienist & Neurologist +16:141-58, 1895. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-72"> +72. ——. Studies in the psychology of sex. N. Y., Random, 7v. in +2, 1940. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-73"> +73. <span class="smallcaps">Fenichel, Otto.</span> Outline of clinical psychology. N. Y., Norton, +1934. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-74"> +74. ——. The psychology of transvestism. Int. J. Psychoan. 11:211-27, +1930. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-75"> +75. <span class="smallcaps">Féré, C. S.</span> Social and esoteric studies of sexual degeneration in +mankind and in animals. N. Y., Anthropological Press, 1932. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-76"> +76. <span class="smallcaps">Fielding, William J.</span> Sex and the love life. N. Y., Dodd, 1927. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-77"> +77. <span class="smallcaps">Finesinger, J. E.</span> et al. Clinical, psychiatric and psychoanalytic +study of a case of male pseudohermaphroditism. Amer. J. Obstet. +& Gynec. 44:310-17, 1942. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-78"> +78. <span class="smallcaps">Flugel, J. C.</span> A hundred years of psychology. N. Y., Macmillan, +1933. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-79"> +<a id="page-386" class="pagenum" title="386"></a> +79. <span class="smallcaps">Ford, C. A.</span> Homosexual practices of institutionalized females. +J. Abnorm. Psych. 23:442-48, 1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-80"> +80. <span class="smallcaps">Ford, C. S. & Beach, Frank A.</span> Patterns of sexual behavior. N. Y., +Harper, 1951. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-81"> +81. <span class="smallcaps">Forel, A. H.</span> The sexual question. N. Y., Medical Art Agency, +1922. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-82"> +82. <span class="smallcaps">Freud, Sigmund.</span> The basic writings of.... N. Y., Modern +Library, 1938. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-83"> +83. ——. Certain neurotic mechanisms in jealousy, paranoia, and +homosexuality. Int. J. Psychoan. 4:1-10, 1923. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-84"> +84. ——. Psychogenesis of a case of female homosexuality. Int. J. +Psychoan. 1:125, 1920. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-85"> +85. <span class="smallcaps">Friedmann, A.</span> Beitrag zur pädagogischen Menschenkenntnis. Int. +Ztschr. individ. Psychol. 7:129-43, 1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-86"> +86. *<span class="smallcaps">Fromm, Erika & Elonen, Anna.</span> Projective techniques in the +study of a case of female homosexuality. J. Project. Tech. +15:185-230, 1951. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-87"> +87. <span class="smallcaps">Gallichan, Walter.</span> The great unmarried. N. Y., Stokes, 1916. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-88"> +88. ——. The poison of prudery; an historical survey. Bost., Stratford, +1929. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-89"> +89. <span class="smallcaps">Gates, R. R.</span> Human genetics. N. Y., Macmillan, 1946. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-90"> +90. *<span class="smallcaps">Geise, Hans.</span> Zur Psychopathologie der homosexuellen Partnerwahl. +Jahrb. Psychol. Psychother. 1:223-25, 1953. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-91"> +91. <span class="smallcaps">Gilbert, J. A.</span> Homosexuality and its treatment. J. Nerv. & +Ment. Dis. 52:297-322, 1920. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-92"> +92. <span class="smallcaps">Goldschmidt, R.</span> Intersexualität und menschliches Zwittertum. +Deutsch. med. Woch. 30:1288-92, 1931. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-93"> +93. <span class="smallcaps">Grant, V. W.</span> A major problem of human sexuality. J. Soc. +Psychol. 28:79-101, 1948. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-94"> +94. ——. Preface to a psychology of sexual attachment. J. Soc. +Psychol. 33:187-208, 1951. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-95"> +95. <span class="smallcaps">Greenspan, Herbert & Campbell, J. D.</span> The homosexual as a +personality. Amer. J. Psychiat. 101:682-89, 1945. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-96"> +96. <span class="smallcaps">Groves, Ernest.</span> Marriage. N. 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Masculine and feminine: biological and cultural aspects. +Psychiatry 7:257-296, 1944. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-303"> +303. ——. Mind, medicine and man. N. Y., Harcourt, 1943. +</p> + +<p class="biblio" id="C-304"> +304. *<span class="smallcaps">Zimmerlein, K.</span> Verschämte “lesbische” Liebe als Brandstiftmotiv. +Krim. Monatsch. 7:112-113, 1933. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="index"> +<a id="page-396" class="pagenum" title="396"></a> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="appendix" id="chapter-0-19"> +INDEX +</h2> + +</div> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A l’Heure des Mains Jointes</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-168">168</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Abercrombie, Lascelles, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Actes et Entr’actes</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-156">156</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Adams, Fay, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Adler, Alfred, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Aeneid</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>After Such Pleasures</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-307">307</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Against the Wall</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-184">184</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-289">289</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-290">290</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Albertine Disparue</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Alciphron, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-29">29</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-38">38</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Aldington, Richard, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Alighieri, Dante<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Dante Alighieri +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>All Alone; the Life of Emily Brontë</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-131">131</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Allerhand Volk</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Alpers, Anthony, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +amazons, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-32">32</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-39">39</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Les Amies</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>El Amor Lesbio</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Amores</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>L’Amour et le Plaisir</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Anna and the King of Siam</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Anderson, Helen, <a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Anderson, Sherwood, <a class="index" href="#page-264">264</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-265">265</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>L’Androgyne</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Angry Woman</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Ann Vickers</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Anna Karenina</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Annette and Sylvie</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Anthon, Kate Scott, <a class="index" href="#page-146">146</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-148">148</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Anthony, Catherine, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +anthropology, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-52">52</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-347">347</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +anti-feminism, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-95">95</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-256">256</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +antipathy to men, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-76">76</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-79">79</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-89">89</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-210">210</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-236">236</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-244">244</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-246">246</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-297">297</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-321">321</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Apes of God</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Aphrodite</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-193">193</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Apollodorus, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Appointment in Paris</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Arcadia, The Countess of Pembroke’s</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-38">38</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Arch of Triumph</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Aretino, Pietro, <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ariosto, Ludovico, <a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-117">117</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Arnim, Elisabeth von, <a class="index" href="#page-125">125</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Arrival and Departure</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>As You Like It</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Astarte</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Astrée</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-38">38</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-39">39</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Atalanta</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Athene, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Atkins, Elizabeth, <a class="index" href="#page-185">185</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Aubigny, Madeleine de Maupin d’, <a class="index" href="#page-65">65</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Auf Kypros</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Aurel,” <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Aus guter Familie</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +author’s disapproval<br> +explicit, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-73">73</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-80">80</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-191">191</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-226">226</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-249">249</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-276">276</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a><br> +implied, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-63">63</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-75">75</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-80">80</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-95">95</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-111">111</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-227">227</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-236">236</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-241">241</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-256">256</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-260">260</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-291">291</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-293">293</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-294">294</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-301">301</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-307">307</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-397" class="pagenum" title="397"></a> +author’s tolerance<br> +explicit, <a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-59">59</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-193">193</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-210">210</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-254">254</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-263">263</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-286">286</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a><br> +implied, <a class="index" href="#page-21">21</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-39">39</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-49">49</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-50">50</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-65">65</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-67">67</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-89">89</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-188">188</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-190">190</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-249">249</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-250">250</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-263">263</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-265">265</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-267">267</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-272">272</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-274">274</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-283">283</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-291">291</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-303">303</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-304">304</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-307">307</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-321">321</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-334">334</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-339">339</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-340">340</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Aventures de l’Esprit</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-156">156</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Les Aventures du Roi Pausole</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-193">193</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +<em>The Bachelor Girl</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bacon, Josephine Dascom<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Dascom (Bacon), Josephine Dodge +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Baker, Dorothy, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Baker, Ida, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Balzac, Honoré de, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-72">72</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-345">345</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Barnes, Djuna, (<a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a>, note 61), <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Barbey, d’Aurevilly, Jules, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Barney, Natalie Clifford, <a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-154">154</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-161">161</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-163">163</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-164">164</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-166">166</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-171">171</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>, (<a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a>, note 61), <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Barrès, Maurice, <a class="index" href="#page-88">88</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-89">89</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Basler, Roy, <a class="index" href="#page-74">74</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Baudelaire, Charles, <a class="index" href="#page-76">76</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-105">105</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Beard, Mary, <a class="index" href="#page-23">23</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Beautiful House,” <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Beer, Thomas, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Belot, Adolphe, <a class="index" href="#page-81">81</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-97">97</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bennett, Arnold, <a class="index" href="#page-263">263</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-264">264</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-272">272</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Benson, E. F., <a class="index" href="#page-130">130</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bernard, Dr. Claude, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Betham, Edwards, Mathilda, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-246">246</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +bisexuality<br> +defined, <a class="index" href="#page-11">11</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a><br> +men preferred, <a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-49">49</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-106">106</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-227">227</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-256">256</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a><br> +no preference, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-45">45</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-49">49</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-151">151</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-153">153</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-180">180</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-286">286</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-296">296</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a><br> +women preferred, <a class="index" href="#page-19">19</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-21">21</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-122">122</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-212">212</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-339">339</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Blixen, Baroness Karen<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Dinesen, Isak +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bloch, Iwan, <a class="index" href="#page-38">38</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Blood, Fanny, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-59">59</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Blythedale Romance</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Boccaccio, Giovanni, <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bodin, Charles, <a class="index" href="#page-103">103</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Boiardo, Matteo, <a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bolton, Isabel, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Bolts of Melody</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-148">148</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bona Dea, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-71">71</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Bonifas</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Book Review Digest</em>, (<a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a>, note 3) +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Borys, Daniel, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Boston Adventure</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Bostonians</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-95">95</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Bouche Fardée</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bourdet, Edouard, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bourges, Clémence de, <a class="index" href="#page-117">117</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-118">118</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-119">119</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-126">126</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-398" class="pagenum" title="398"></a> +Bourget, Paul, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bowen, Elizabeth, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-283">283</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-287">287</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bowles, Jane, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Boyd, Ernest, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Boy, Charles, <a class="index" href="#page-119">119</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Boyle, Kay, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Bradley, Katherine, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-145">145</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Brantôme, Pierre de Bourdeille de, <a class="index" href="#page-43">43</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-118">118</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Brentano, Bettina<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Arnim, Elisabeth von +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Breuer, J., <a class="index" href="#page-151">151</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Breville, Pierre de, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Bridegroom’s Body,” <a class="index" href="#page-321">321</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Brock, Lilyan, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Brontë, Anne, <a class="index" href="#page-132">132</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-134">134</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Brontë, Branwell, <a class="index" href="#page-130">130</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-132">132</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-134">134</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Brontë, Charlotte, <a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-130">130</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-131">131</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-132">132</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-133">133</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-134">134</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-135">135</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Brontë, Emily, <a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-135">135</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-179">179</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-245">245</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-353">353</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Brontës’ Web of Childhood</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-132">132</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-133">133</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-188">188</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Browne, Stella, <a class="index" href="#page-199">199</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Browning, Robert, <a class="index" href="#page-142">142</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-143">143</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-144">144</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-188">188</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Brownrigg, Gawen, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Brumes de Fjords</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-166">166</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Brun, Charles, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Buck in the Snow</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-187">187</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Burnett, Hallie and Whit, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Burt, Struthers, <a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Burton, Sir Richard, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Butler, Lady Eleanor, <a class="index" href="#page-123">123</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-124">124</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Caldwell, Erskine, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Callisto, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Camilla, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Cape, Jonathan, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Capri, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Captive</em> (Bourdet), <a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Captive</em> (Proust), <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Careless Husband</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-121">121</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Carlotta, Noll</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Carola</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Carpenter, Edward, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Caryll, Mary, <a class="index" href="#page-123">123</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Casan, V. S., <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Casanova de Seingalt, Giacomo, <a class="index" href="#page-43">43</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-45">45</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Casanovas letztes Abenteuer</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-236">236</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Casper, J. L., <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Cat and the King,” <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Catholic League for Decency, <a class="index" href="#page-241">241</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Cendres et Poussières</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-164">164</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Censor Marches On</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +censorship, <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-21">21</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-29">29</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-76">76</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-81">81</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-150">150</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-241">241</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-243">243</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-256">256</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-262">262</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-265">265</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-313">313</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Century Magazine</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Ces Plaisirs</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-124">124</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-170">170</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-199">199</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Chabrillan, Célèste Venard de, <a class="index" href="#page-68">68</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Chadwick, H. M. and Nora K., <a class="index" href="#page-23">23</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Channing, W. H., <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Charcot, Jean, <a class="index" href="#page-52">52</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-151">151</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Charke, Charlotte, <a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-122">122</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Charlemagne, <a class="index" href="#page-30">30</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-33">33</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Charles, Emile, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Charles-Etienne, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Child Manuela</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-236">236</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-238">238</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Children’s Hour</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-301">301</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-347">347</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Choiseul-Meuse, Félicité de, <a class="index" href="#page-49">49</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Le Christ, Aphrodite et M. Pépin</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Christabel,” <a class="index" href="#page-73">73</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-74">74</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-75">75</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Christina, Queen of Sweden, <a class="index" href="#page-48">48</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Cibber, Colley, <a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-121">121</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Cinq Petits Dialogues Grecs</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The City of Flowers</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Clarke, James Freeman, <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Claudine à l’Ecole</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-195">195</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Claudine à Paris</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-195">195</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-196">196</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Claudine at School</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-195">195</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Claudine en Ménage</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-196">196</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-197">197</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-399" class="pagenum" title="399"></a> +<em>Claudine S’en Va</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-197">197</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-198">198</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Clémentine, Orpheline et Androgyne</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Club de Femmes</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, <a class="index" href="#page-73">73</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Colette, Sidonie Gabrielle, <a class="index" href="#page-124">124</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-143">143</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-170">170</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-171">171</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-193">193</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-239">239</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Comedians</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Comtesse de Chalis</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-71">71</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-72">72</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Confession of a Fool</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Cooper, Clarissa, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Cooper, Edith, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-145">145</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Corey, Donald W., <a class="index" href="#page-14">14</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Couperus, Louis, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +courtesans and prostitutes, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-245">245</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +courtly love, <a class="index" href="#page-31">31</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-32">32</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Cousin Betty</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-63">63</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Coward, Noel, <a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Cowlin, Dorothy, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Craigin, Elisabeth, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Crazy Hunter</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-321">321</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Un Crime d’Amour</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Crimson Curtain,” <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Crippled Muse</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Cuisin, P., <a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Curée</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Cynara,” <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +<em>La Dame à la Louve</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Damophyla, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Dance on the Tortoise</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-290">290</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dane, Clemence, <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-260">260</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Dans un Coin de Violettes</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dante Alighieri, <a class="index" href="#page-31">31</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Dark Island</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-303">303</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-350">350</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Dark Laughter</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Darwin, Charles, <a class="index" href="#page-52">52</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dascom (Bacon), Josephine Dodge, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Daughter of Time</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dauthendey, Elisabeth, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Davenport, Marcia, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +David, André, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Davies, Rhys, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Dawn’s Left Hand</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-297">297</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-304">304</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +death<br> +of variant, <a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-171">171</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a><br> +of others, <a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-89">89</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-164">164</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-336">336</a><br> +from sexual excess, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Death in Venice</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dehmel, Richard, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dekker, Thomas, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Delarue-Mardrus, Lucie, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Delay in the Sun</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-307">307</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Delicate Fire</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Les Demi-Sexes</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Dernière Journée de Sapho</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Les Désexuées</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Design for Living</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Design for Loving,” <a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-301">301</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Desperate Remedies</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Despised and Rejected</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-263">263</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +DesVignons, Max, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Deval, Jacques, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Les Diaboliques</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Dialogues of the Courtesans</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Diana, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-97">97</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-244">244</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Diana</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-340">340</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-347">347</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-350">350</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Diane de Poitiers, <a class="index" href="#page-118">118</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dickens, Charles, <a class="index" href="#page-140">140</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dickinson, Emily, <a class="index" href="#page-145">145</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-148">148</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-179">179</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-353">353</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Diderot, Denis, <a class="index" href="#page-54">54</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dieulafoy, Mme. Jeanne, <a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dinesen, Isak, <a class="index" href="#page-125">125</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dioscorides, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Disappearance</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-350">350</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Dome of Many-Colored Glass</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Domesday Book</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-188">188</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-400" class="pagenum" title="400"></a> +Donisthorpe, Sheila, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +dormitory segregation, <a class="index" href="#page-54">54</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-67">67</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-197">197</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-225">225</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-237">237</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-238">238</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-262">262</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-275">275</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dorval, Marie, <a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dostoevsky, Feodor, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Douglas, Norman, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dowson, Ernest, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Drag</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +dramas, <a class="index" href="#page-39">39</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-42">42</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-48">48</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-156">156</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-185">185</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-225">225</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-237">237</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-301">301</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Dreiunddreissig Scheusale</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dresser, Davis, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-313">313</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Droin, Alfred, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +drugs, <a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-79">79</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-102">102</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Druon, Maurice, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Du Vert au Violet</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Du Bois, Mary Constance, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dubut de Laforest, J. J., <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Duc, Aimée, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Dudevant, Aurore<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Sand, George +</p> + +<p class="index"> +DuMaurier, Angela, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Dusty Answer</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +<em>Earth Spirit (Erdgeist)</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-225">225</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Echos et Reflets</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-168">168</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Edmonds, J. M., <a class="index" href="#page-17">17</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +egotism, <a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-260">260</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-283">283</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-294">294</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Eichhorn, Maria, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Eichrodt, John, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Eisner, Simon, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Either is Love</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-347">347</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-350">350</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Eliot, George, <a class="index" href="#page-135">135</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Eliot, T. S., <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Ella</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-290">290</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-291">291</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ellis, Havelock, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-116">116</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-150">150</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-153">153</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ellis, John Breckenridge, <a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Elsie and the Child</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-272">272</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Elsie Venner</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Emerson, R. W., <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +emotional aggression, <a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-43">43</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-95">95</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-103">103</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-206">206</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-226">226</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-227">227</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-236">236</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-296">296</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-343">343</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The End of a Childhood</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-303">303</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +endocrinology, <a class="index" href="#page-151">151</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-343">343</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Entertaining the Islanders</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Eon, Chevalier d’, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Epigrams</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Erauso, Catalina, <a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-43">43</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Erdgeist</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-225">225</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Erinna, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Dr. Erna Redens Thorheit und Erkentnis,” <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ernst, Morris, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +erotica, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-49">49</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-54">54</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>L’Espion Anglais</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-48">48</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-49">49</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Essen, Siri von, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Establishment of Madame Antonia</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +etiology (explicit), <a class="index" href="#page-22">22</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-67">67</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-89">89</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-121">121</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-128">128</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-226">226</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-230">230</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-237">237</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-238">238</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-260">260</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-262">262</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-264">264</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-267">267</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-294">294</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-339">339</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-343">343</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-346">346</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>L’Être Double</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-168">168</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Études et Préludes</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-164">164</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Eulenberg, Herbert, <a class="index" href="#page-236">236</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Eulenberg, Philip von, <a class="index" href="#page-150">150</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Evans, Mary Ann<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Eliot, George +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Evocations</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-164">164</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-165">165</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Explorations in Personality</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Extraordinary Women</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-283">283</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +<a id="page-401" class="pagenum" title="401"></a> +<em>Les Factices</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +family tension, <a class="index" href="#page-22">22</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-42">42</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-97">97</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-101">101</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-123">123</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-128">128</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-146">146</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-160">160</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-227">227</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-231">231</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-245">245</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-267">267</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-303">303</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-304">304</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-321">321</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-339">339</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Farnham, Marynia, <a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Farringdons</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-243">243</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-244">244</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Fatal Interview</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-187">187</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +father<br> +lacking, <a class="index" href="#page-18">18</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-125">125</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a><br> +loved, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-254">254</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-275">275</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a><br> +unsympathetic, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-68">68</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-121">121</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-227">227</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-245">245</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Fauré, Gabriel, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Les Fausses Vierges</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +feminism, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-240">240</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Femme d’Affaires</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“La Femme de Paul,” <a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Une Femme M’Apparut</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-168">168</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Femmes Damnées,” <a class="index" href="#page-76">76</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Feydeau, Ernest, <a class="index" href="#page-71">71</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-72">72</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-81">81</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Field, Michael,” <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-145">145</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Fifth Column and the First Forty-Nine Stories</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Le Figaro</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-81">81</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Firbank, Ronald, <a class="index" href="#page-268">268</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Fire,” <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-267">267</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Fisher, Mary F. Kennedy, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Fiske, Minnie Maddern, <a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Fitz-Maurice Kelly, James, <a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-43">43</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Fitzroy (Scott), A. T., <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-263">263</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Flach, Johannes, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Flambeaux, Éteints</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-169">169</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Flaubert, Gustave, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-68">68</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-71">71</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Fleur Lascive Orientale</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Les Fleurs du Mal</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-76">76</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Flora, Fletcher, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Florida Enchantment</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-111">111</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Flower Beneath the Foot,” <a class="index" href="#page-268">268</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Forrest, Felix, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Foster, Gerald, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Fowler, Ellen Thorneycroft, <a class="index" href="#page-243">243</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-244">244</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Fragoletta</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Franziska</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-226">226</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Fräulein Don Juan</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Frauman, Luz, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Fraser, Sir James, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Frederics, Diana, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Freud, Sigmund, <a class="index" href="#page-12">12</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-22">22</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-151">151</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-153">153</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-227">227</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-233">233</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-240">240</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-241">241</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-344">344</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Die Freundin</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Freundinnen: Lyrisches Spiel,” <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Friend of the Family</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +frigidity, <a class="index" href="#page-57">57</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-81">81</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-212">212</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-262">262</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-297">297</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Frith, Mary, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Fuller, Margaret, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-138">138</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-139">139</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Fuseli, Henry, <a class="index" href="#page-57">57</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-58">58</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-59">59</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +<em>Gabriel-Gabrielle</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-128">128</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Galton, Sir Francis, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Garcia, Pauline, <a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Garçonne</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Garda</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Garden, Mary, <a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gauthier-Villars, Henri, <a class="index" href="#page-169">169</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-193">193</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-198">198</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-199">199</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gautier, Théophile, <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-65">65</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-72">72</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-140">140</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Geneviève</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Le Génie de l’Amour</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Gentlemen, I Address You Privately</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Georgie, Leyla, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Germain, André, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-160">160</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-161">161</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-165">165</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-166">166</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Geschichte der jungen Renate Fuchs</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Getting of Wisdom</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-402" class="pagenum" title="402"></a> +Gide, André, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gilbert (Dickinson), Sue, <a class="index" href="#page-146">146</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-147">147</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gilder, Richard Watson, <a class="index" href="#page-95">95</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gilman, Dr. James, <a class="index" href="#page-74">74</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Girl Alone</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-238">238</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Girl with the Golden Eyes</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-63">63</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-72">72</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Glory in the Daytime,” <a class="index" href="#page-307">307</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Goblin Market</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-75">75</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-76">76</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Goblin Woman</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Godwin, William, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-58">58</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-59">59</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Goethe’s Briefwechsel mit einem Kind</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-125">125</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Golden Bough</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Gondal Poems</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-133">133</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gordon, Dame Helen Cumming, <a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Die Göttinnen: Diana; Minerva</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Die Göttinnen: Venus</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gourmont, Rémy de, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-111">111</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-156">156</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-161">161</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-262">262</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Grammont, Memoirs of the Count de</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gramont, Louis de, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-212">212</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Great Adventure</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-267">267</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Greek Anthology</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Greene, Graham, <a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gregory VII, Pope, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gregory, Nazianzen, <a class="index" href="#page-21">21</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Griswold, Hattie Tyng, <a class="index" href="#page-140">140</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Guardian Angel</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Guérard, Albert, <a class="index" href="#page-72">72</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Guérmantes Way</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Günderode, Karoline von, <a class="index" href="#page-124">124</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-138">138</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-230">230</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Gunter, Archibald Clavering, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-246">246</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Gynandre</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +<em>Haillons</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-170">170</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hales, Carol, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hall, G. Stanley, <a class="index" href="#page-151">151</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hall, Radclyffe, <a class="index" href="#page-116">116</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-241">241</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-287">287</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Hallowe’en,” <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hamilton, Anthony, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-268">268</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hamilton, Emma, <a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Hangsaman</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hanson, Elizabeth and Lawrence, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hardy, Blanche C., <a class="index" href="#page-122">122</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hardy, Thomas, <a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Harp Weaver and Other Poems</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-184">184</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Harper’s Magazine</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Harris, Sara, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Harvard Psychological Clinic, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hatfield, C. W., <a class="index" href="#page-133">133</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-134">134</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Having Wonderful Crime</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hawthorne, Nathaniel, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-352">352</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Hellcat</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Heller, Kurt, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hellman, Lillian, <a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-301">301</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hemingway, Ernest, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Henry III of France, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Henry, G. W., <a class="index" href="#page-12">12</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Henry, Joan, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +heredity, <a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-209">209</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-239">239</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-343">343</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Heredity in Health and Mental Disorder</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +hermaphroditism, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-52">52</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Heroides</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-18">18</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Hetty Dorval</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hille, Peter, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-183">183</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hirschfeld, Magnus, <a class="index" href="#page-14">14</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-153">153</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hitler, Adolf, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hoche, Jules, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hoechstetter, Sophie, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Holland Wolves</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Holmes, Dr. Oliver Wendell, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“homoerotische Roman, Wo bleibt der ...?”, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Homosexual in America</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-14">14</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +homosexual “marriage,” <a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-122">122</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-123">123</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-403" class="pagenum" title="403"></a> +homosexuality (only), <a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-43">43</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-154">154</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-169">169</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-239">239</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-245">245</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-246">246</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-248">248</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-250">250</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-263">263</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-293">293</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-294">294</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Horace, <a class="index" href="#page-21">21</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Horney, Dr. Karen, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Les Hors Nature</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Hotel</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-283">283</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hughes, Langdon, <a class="index" href="#page-79">79</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Huis Clos</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hull, Helen R., <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-268">268</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Huneker, James Gibbons, <a class="index" href="#page-140">140</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-265">265</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-268">268</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Huon of Bordeaux</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hurlbut, Thomas, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Hurst, Fannie, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Hymn to Venus</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +hypnotism, <a class="index" href="#page-52">52</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +<em>I, Mary MacLane</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-260">260</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Idylle Saphique</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Illusionist</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Imlay, Gilbert, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-59">59</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Inassouvie</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Indulgent Husband</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-196">196</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-197">197</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Infelicia</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-140">140</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Innocent Wife</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-197">197</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-198">198</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Interim,” <a class="index" href="#page-183">183</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-184">184</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Interlude</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Iphis and Ianthe,” <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ira, Iris, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Isidora</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Island</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-294">294</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Jackson, Shirley, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-353">353</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Jahrbuch für sexuelle Zwischenstufen</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-14">14</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +James, Henry, <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-95">95</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-111">111</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-243">243</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Janitschek, Maria, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Jassy</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Jean Christophe</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Jocelyn</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-67">67</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Le Journal d’une Saphiste</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Jouvenel, Henry de, <a class="index" href="#page-199">199</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Joyce, James, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Julie Cane, The Story of,” <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Julie, ou J’ai Sauvé ma Rose</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-49">49</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Jung, Karl, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Juvenal, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-29">29</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Kallman, I. F., <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Kaltneker, Hans, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Kelly, James Fitz-Maurice<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Fitz-Maurice Kelly, James +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Keogh, Theodora, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +King, Sir William, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>King’s Daughter</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-191">191</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The King’s Henchman</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Kinsey, A. C., <a class="index" href="#page-12">12</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-153">153</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-242">242</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-347">347</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Les Kitharèdes</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-165">165</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Klinische Novellen</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Koestler, Arthur, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Komm kühle Nacht</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Krafft-Ebing, Richard von, <a class="index" href="#page-14">14</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-71">71</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-72">72</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-313">313</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Labé, Louise, <a class="index" href="#page-117">117</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-126">126</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-181">181</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Labyrinth</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-267">267</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-268">268</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lacretelle, Jacques, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-239">239</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Ladders to Fire</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-334">334</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-335">335</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Ladies’ Home Journal</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Lady of Leisure</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +LaFarge, Christopher, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lafourcade, Georges, <a class="index" href="#page-79">79</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lalo, Pierre, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lamartine, A. M. L. de, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-67">67</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-160">160</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lamballe, Louise, Princesse de, <a class="index" href="#page-48">48</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-122">122</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Lamp and the Bell</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-185">185</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Landon, Margaret, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lang, Theodor, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-404" class="pagenum" title="404"></a> +Lapsley (Guest), Mary, <a class="index" href="#page-291">291</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +LaSalle, Antoine de, <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Lass of the Silver Sword</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Latouche, Henri de, <a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +La Vaudère, Jane de, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-193">193</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lawrence, D. H., <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Leaves of Grass</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-139">139</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +LeDantec, Yves, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ledrain, Eugene, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lee, Jennette, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lee, Vernon, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lehmann, Rosamond, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Leigh, Arrand and Isla<br> +<em>see</em><br> +“Michael Field” +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Lena Geyer, Of</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Léon dit Léonie</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +LePage, Francis, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Leroux, Xavier, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Lesbia Brandon</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-79">79</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-80">80</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Lesbiacorum Liber</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lesbianism<br> +defined, <a class="index" href="#page-13">13</a><br> +explicit, in author’s milieu, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-49">49</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-63">63</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-65">65</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-101">101</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-103">103</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-196">196</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-217">217</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-238">238</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-241">241</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-249">249</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-250">250</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-256">256</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-265">265</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-313">313</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a><br> +explicit, elsewhere, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-73">73</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-268">268</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-285">285</a><br> +implied, <a class="index" href="#page-17">17</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-22">22</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-38">38</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-42">42</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-43">43</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-75">75</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-79">79</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-95">95</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-97">97</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-111">111</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-122">122</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-125">125</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-126">126</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-140">140</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-157">157</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-179">179</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-212">212</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-263">263</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-268">268</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-276">276</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-286">286</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-293">293</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-294">294</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-296">296</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Lesbos,” <a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Lesbos: Gedichte</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Letters from Town and Country</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Lettres à l’Amazone</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Lettres à une Connue</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-154">154</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Lettres Intimes à l’Amazone</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lewandowski, Herbert, <a class="index" href="#page-67">67</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lewis, Sinclair, <a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lewis, Wyndham, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Liebetreu, O., <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Life and Eager Death of Emily Brontë</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-181">181</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lindey, Alexander, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Little Boy Blues</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Little Less</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Lives of Fair and Gallant Ladies</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Llangollen, The Ladies of,” <a class="index" href="#page-122">122</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-124">124</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-125">125</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lodge, Lois, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lofts, Nora, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Lonely Parade</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Long Ago</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-143">143</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Louis XIII of France, <a class="index" href="#page-48">48</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Louis XV of France, <a class="index" href="#page-48">48</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Louÿs, Pierre, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-154">154</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-193">193</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Love Crime</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Love Like a Shadow</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-313">313</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Loveliest of Friends</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Loves of Edwy</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Loves of Myrrhine and Konallis</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Loving and Daring</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lowell, Amy, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-179">179</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-180">180</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-181">181</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lucian, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-29">29</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Lundberg, Ferdinand, <a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Lyra Graeca</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-17">17</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Lyric Year</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-184">184</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +McIntosh, Elizabeth<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Tey, Josephine +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-405" class="pagenum" title="405"></a> +Mackenzie, Compton, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +MacLane, Mary, <a class="index" href="#page-244">244</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-260">260</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Madame Adonis</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-89">89</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mädchen in Uniform</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-236">236</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-237">237</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-259">259</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-301">301</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Madeleine, Marie, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mademoiselle de Maupin</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-72">72</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-76">76</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-301">301</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-346">346</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mlle Giraud, Ma Femme</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-81">81</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Mademoiselle Tantale,” <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mlle Vladimir, Mon Mari</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Magazin für Erfahrungsseelenkunde</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-52">52</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Magendie, Maurice, <a class="index" href="#page-38">38</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Magnan, Valentin, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Magny, Olivier de, <a class="index" href="#page-117">117</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-118">118</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Maison Tellier</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Male and Female</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +male homosexuality, <a class="index" href="#page-23">23</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-52">52</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-195">195</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-199">199</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-242">242</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-262">262</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-275">275</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +male sexual attitudes, <a class="index" href="#page-45">45</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-105">105</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-156">156</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-297">297</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-335">335</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-350">350</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-353">353</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Der Maler Rayski,” <a class="index" href="#page-236">236</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mallet, Françoise, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Manicheism, <a class="index" href="#page-30">30</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mann, Heinrich, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-239">239</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mann, Thomas, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mansfield, Katherine, <a class="index" href="#page-191">191</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-352">352</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Marchal, Lucie, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mardigras Madness</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-313">313</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Marges</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Marguerite, Victor, <a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Marie Antoinette, <a class="index" href="#page-48">48</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Marie Bonifas</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Martial, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-29">29</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mary; a Fiction</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mary, The Virgin, <a class="index" href="#page-32">32</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +masculine attributes<br> +somatic, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-65">65</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-88">88</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-105">105</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-131">131</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-154">154</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-166">166</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-199">199</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-227">227</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-268">268</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-336">336</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-342">342</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-343">343</a><br> +other, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-105">105</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-131">131</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-154">154</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-156">156</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-227">227</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-263">263</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-336">336</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-342">342</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-343">343</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +masculine habits, tastes, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-31">31</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-65">65</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-88">88</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-105">105</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-117">117</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-118">118</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-139">139</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-210">210</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-246">246</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“masculine protest,” <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-43">43</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-118">118</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-242">242</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Masefield, John, <a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mast, Jane, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Master Mistress</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-180">180</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Masters, Edgar Lee, <a class="index" href="#page-188">188</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Maupassant, Guy de, <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Maurois, André, <a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Maximus of Tyre, <a class="index" href="#page-21">21</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mayeur de St. Paul, <a class="index" href="#page-48">48</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-49">49</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mazeppa</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-139">139</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Meebold, Alfred, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Meg</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Memoirs of Hecate County</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mendel, Gregor, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mendès, Catulle, <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Menken, Adah Isaacs, <a class="index" href="#page-79">79</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-138">138</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Méphistophéla</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mercure de France</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-168">168</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Mesh</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Messalina, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Metamorphoses</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mew, Charlotte, <a class="index" href="#page-179">179</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Middle Mist</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Middleton, Thomas, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Milesian Tales,” <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Millay, Edna St. Vincent, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-188">188</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-190">190</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-191">191</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-406" class="pagenum" title="406"></a> +Millay, Kathleen, <a class="index" href="#page-184">184</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-289">289</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-290">290</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Miller, Marion Mills, <a class="index" href="#page-165">165</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mine-ha-ha</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-225">225</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Miss Julie</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Miss Pym Disposes</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-335">335</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-336">336</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mrs. Dalloway</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-275">275</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mrs. Egg and Other Barbarians</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mitchison, Naomi, <a class="index" href="#page-297">297</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Modern Woman, the Lost Sex</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Moll, Albert, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Møller, O., <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Molly the Bruiser,” <a class="index" href="#page-123">123</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Môme Picrate</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Monckton-Miles, Richard, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Monday Night</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-321">321</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Monja Alférez</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-42">42</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Monsieur Vénus</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-89">89</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Montaigne, Michel de, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Montfort, Charles, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Moore, Virginia, <a class="index" href="#page-121">121</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-132">132</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-135">135</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-179">179</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Morel, Maurice, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Moréno, Marguérite, <a class="index" href="#page-156">156</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-199">199</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Morgan, Claire, <a class="index" href="#page-339">339</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Mortal Antipathy</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Moss, Geoffrey, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +mother<br> +lacking, <a class="index" href="#page-68">68</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-73">73</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-130">130</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-258">258</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-264">264</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-275">275</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a><br> +loved, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-37">37</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-121">121</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-130">130</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-184">184</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-237">237</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a><br> +unsympathetic, <a class="index" href="#page-63">63</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-89">89</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-245">245</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-254">254</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-267">267</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-272">272</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-339">339</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Mühsam, Erich, <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Multitude and Solitude</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-350">350</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +murder<br> +by variant, <a class="index" href="#page-63">63</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-336">336</a> (planned)<br> +of variant, <a class="index" href="#page-63">63</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> (attempted), <a class="index" href="#page-226">226</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Murry, John Middleton, <a class="index" href="#page-191">191</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>My Friend Annabel Lee</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-246">246</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +mythology, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-29">29</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-244">244</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Mythology of All Nations</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +“Nadia Devereux,” <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Naked Storm</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Nana</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +narcissism, <a class="index" href="#page-11">11</a> (defined), <a class="index" href="#page-72">72</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-89">89</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-262">262</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Nathan, George Jean, <a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-301">301</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Nathan, James, <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Neff, Wanda Fraiken, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-289">289</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-291">291</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Neue Erziehung und alte Moral,” <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Die neue Eva</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +neurosis, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-103">103</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-111">111</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-259">259</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Never Dies the Dream</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>New York Times</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The New Yorker</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Niemann, August, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Nievelt, Hélène de Zuylen de, <a class="index" href="#page-166">166</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Nightwood</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Nin, Anaïs, <a class="index" href="#page-334">334</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-335">335</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>No Exit</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Noailles, Anna de, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Not Now but NOW</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Notes and Queries</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Notre Dame de Lesbos</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Nouvelles Confidences</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Nun-Ensign</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-43">43</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Nussey, Ellen, <a class="index" href="#page-130">130</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-131">131</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-132">132</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-135">135</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Oberndorf, Dr. Clarence, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Of Lena Geyer</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +O’Higgins, Harvey, <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Olivia</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Omphale</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>One Reckless Night</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-313">313</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +O’Neill, Rose, <a class="index" href="#page-180">180</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-353">353</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Opus <a class="index" href="#page-21">21</a></em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Orestes,” <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-407" class="pagenum" title="407"></a> +<em>Orient Express</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +oriental literature, <a class="index" href="#page-12">12</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-33">33</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Orlando</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-283">283</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-287">287</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Orlando Furioso</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Orleans, House of, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +orphan, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-49">49</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-88">88</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-111">111</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-293">293</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ossoli, Marchesa d’<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Fuller, Margaret +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Outcast</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-233">233</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ovid, <a class="index" href="#page-18">18</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-19">19</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-20">20</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-21">21</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-23">23</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Oxyrinchus papyri, <a class="index" href="#page-19">19</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-20">20</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Packer, Vin, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Paget, Violet<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Lee, Vernon +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Painted Veils</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-265">265</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Pandora’s Box</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-225">225</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Pansy and the Prayer Book,” <a class="index" href="#page-246">246</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Parable of the Virgins</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-291">291</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Parallèlement</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Parker, Dorothy, <a class="index" href="#page-307">307</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Parrish, Mary F. K.<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Fisher, M. F. K. +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Passade</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-169">169</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Past Recaptured</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Patchett, Elizabeth, <a class="index" href="#page-135">135</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Patterson, Rebecca, <a class="index" href="#page-146">146</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-148">148</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Patton (Waldron), Marion, <a class="index" href="#page-290">290</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Paul’s Mistress,” <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Peladan, Josephin, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-157">157</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-239">239</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Pensées d’une Amazone</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Pérez de Montalban, Juan</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Perrin, Ennemond, <a class="index" href="#page-117">117</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-118">118</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +personal attitudes<br> +ascetic, <a class="index" href="#page-88">88</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-297">297</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a><br> +puritanic, <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-238">238</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-293">293</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-299">299</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-334">334</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Philaenis, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Pictures of the Floating World</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-179">179</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Pilgrimage</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Pierre’s Ehe</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Pirie, Jane, <a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Pity for Women</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Plaisirs Troublants</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Plato, <a class="index" href="#page-17">17</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-23">23</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Plehn, Marianne, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Plutarch, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Poèmes—Autres Alliances</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Poems and Ballads, I.</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-80">80</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Poets of America</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-180">180</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Poggio, G. F., <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Pointed Roofs</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Polaire, <a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Polignac, Princesse de, <a class="index" href="#page-48">48</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ponsonby, Sarah, <a class="index" href="#page-123">123</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-124">124</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Poor White</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-264">264</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-265">265</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +pornography, <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-50">50</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Pot-Bouille</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Pougy, Liane de, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Pretty Lady</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-263">263</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-264">264</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Price of Salt</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-339">339</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Princess Amany,” <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Prisonnière</em> (Bourdet), <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Prisonnière</em> (Proust), <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Promise of Love</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-347">347</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Proust, Marcel, <a class="index" href="#page-43">43</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-156">156</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-239">239</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-250">250</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-345">345</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +psychiatric theory (except Freud), <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-153">153</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-230">230</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-259">259</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-346">346</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Die Psychologie der Erbtante</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Psychopathia Sexualis</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-14">14</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +psychosis (insanity), <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-294">294</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-408" class="pagenum" title="408"></a> +psychosomatic theory, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Publishers’ Weekly</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Puck</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-181">181</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Puttkamer, Baroness von<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Madeleine, Marie +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Puvis de Chavannes, <a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +<em>Queer Patterns</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-347">347</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Quelques Sonnets et Portraits de Femmes</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Quest</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-267">267</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Quillard, Pierre, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Rabelais, François, <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rachilde, <a class="index" href="#page-87">87</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-115">115</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-168">168</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-193">193</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-199">199</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rahv, Philip, <a class="index" href="#page-95">95</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Rainbow</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ratchford, Fannie, <a class="index" href="#page-132">132</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-133">133</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Rätselhaft,” <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Reade, Charles, <a class="index" href="#page-140">140</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Real Adventure</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Recherche de Temps Perdu</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Redmond, Fergus, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Regiment of Women</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-260">260</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-267">267</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-283">283</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Regina,” <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-67">67</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-160">160</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Régnier, Henri de, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Reinach, Saloman, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +religious attitudes, <a class="index" href="#page-29">29</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-30">30</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-105">105</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-241">241</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Religieuse</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-54">54</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Remarque, Erich, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Le Rempart des Béguines</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Renascence</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-183">183</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-184">184</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Renault, Mary, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rétif de la Bretonne, <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Retraite Sentimentale</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-198">198</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-199">199</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Reuss, Paule, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Reuter, Gabriele, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rice, Craig, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Richardson, Dorothy, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-297">297</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-352">352</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Richardson, Henry Handel, <a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-303">303</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ricketts, Charles, <a class="index" href="#page-142">142</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-143">143</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Riddle of Emily Dickinson</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-146">146</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-148">148</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rigal, Henry, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rilke, Rainer Maria, <a class="index" href="#page-22">22</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-183">183</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rimbaud, Arthur, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Ring and the Book</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-188">188</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Rise of Simon Lachaume</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Riversdale, Paule, <a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-166">166</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-168">168</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Roads Around Pisa,” <a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Roaring Girl</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Robert</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Robinson, Dr. Victor, <a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Roland-Manuel, Suzanne, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-217">217</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rolland, Romain, <a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-239">239</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Le Roman Expérimental</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +romantic attitudes, <a class="index" href="#page-33">33</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-45">45</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-52">52</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-59">59</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-106">106</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-122">122</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-125">125</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-162">162</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-163">163</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-195">195</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-198">198</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-212">212</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-236">236</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-275">275</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-322">322</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-339">339</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Ronald, James, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rossetti, Christina, <a class="index" href="#page-75">75</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-76">76</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-115">115</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rothenstein, Sir William, <a class="index" href="#page-143">143</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rousseau, J. J., <a class="index" href="#page-52">52</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Royde-Smith, Naomi, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-275">275</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-294">294</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Rüling, Theodor, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Ruth, The Book of</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-22">22</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-23">23</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-29">29</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“Ruth and Irma,” <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Sackville, Thomas, <a class="index" href="#page-284">284</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Sackville-West, Victoria, <a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-191">191</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-284">284</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-303">303</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-409" class="pagenum" title="409"></a> +<em>St. Nicholas Magazine</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-183">183</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sálammbô</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-68">68</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-71">71</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Sand, George, <a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-138">138</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Sansot, Edward, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Sapho</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-67">67</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sapho de Lesbos</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Sappho, <a class="index" href="#page-15">15</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-17">17</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-22">22</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-23">23</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-29">29</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-79">79</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-116">116</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-156">156</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-165">165</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-242">242</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sappho</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sappho: Greichische Novelle</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sappho of Lesbos: Her Life and Times</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-18">18</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-19">19</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Sarton, May, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-334">334</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Sartre, Jean Paul, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Satana</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-113">113</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Scaliger, <a class="index" href="#page-21">21</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The School for Wives</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Schreiner, Olive, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-115">115</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-318">318</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Schwabe, Toni, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Die Schwester</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +scientific attitudes, <a class="index" href="#page-51">51</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-54">54</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-153">153</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-241">241</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-242">242</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-347">347</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Scorpion</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-233">233</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-272">272</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-345">345</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Scott, Mrs. Cyril<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Fitzroy (Scott), A. T. +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Scrapbook</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-191">191</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Second April</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-184">184</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Selbstanzeige</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Seraphitus-Seraphita</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Seven Gothic Tales</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-125">125</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +sex-change, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-74">74</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-284">284</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-286">286</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +sex disguise, <a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sex Life in England</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-38">38</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +sex manuals, <a class="index" href="#page-12">12</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sex, Symbolism and Psychology in Literature</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-74">74</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sex variants</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-11">11</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-12">12</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-152">152</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sextet</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +sexual excesses, <a class="index" href="#page-27">27</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-31">31</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-102">102</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-103">103</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-350">350</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Das Sexualproblem in der modernen Literatur ... seit 1800</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-67">67</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +sexual trauma<br> +physical, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-105">105</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-297">297</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-312">312</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a><br> +subjective, <a class="index" href="#page-123">123</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-262">262</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Seydlitz, R. von, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Shakespeare, William, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-180">180</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Shannon, Charles, <a class="index" href="#page-142">142</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-143">143</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Shelley, Peter, <a class="index" href="#page-313">313</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Shilleto, Violet, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-165">165</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-167">167</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-171">171</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Shower of Summer Days</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-334">334</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Sidgwick, Ethel, <a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Sidney, Sir Philip, <a class="index" href="#page-36">36</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-38">38</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-39">39</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sillages</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-169">169</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sind Es Frauen?</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Sinowjewa, Annibal, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Der Skorpion</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Smith College Stories</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +social disapproval<br> +explicit, <a class="index" href="#page-19">19</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-28">28</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-37">37</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-74">74</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-76">76</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-81">81</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-89">89</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-123">123</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-150">150</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-175">175</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-188">188</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-202">202</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-209">209</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-210">210</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-225">225</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-230">230</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-237">237</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-241">241</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-256">256</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-339">339</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-340">340</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-346">346</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-347">347</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-348">348</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-349">349</a><br> +implied, <a class="index" href="#page-80">80</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-82">82</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-117">117</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-135">135</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-142">142</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-143">143</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-160">160</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-161">161</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-183">183</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-211">211</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-212">212</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-274">274</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-282">282</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-301">301</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-303">303</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +social tolerance<br> +explicit, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-84">84</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-104">104</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-124">124</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-172">172</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-193">193</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-200">200</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-214">214</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-242">242</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a><br> +implied, <a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-39">39</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-45">45</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-65">65</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-207">207</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-213">213</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-238">238</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-242">242</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-243">243</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-266">266</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-290">290</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-334">334</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-410" class="pagenum" title="410"></a> +<em>Sodome et Gomorrhe</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-208">208</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Le Songe d’une Femme</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-110">110</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-111">111</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-156">156</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-262">262</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Songs of Bilitis</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-193">193</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Soul Enchanted</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-205">205</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>South Wind</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Southern Quarterly</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-321">321</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Spring Fire</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Stadler, Ernst, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Stafford, Jean, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-353">353</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Star Against Star</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Steeplejack</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-140">140</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Stein, Gertrude</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-334">334</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Steinach, Eugen, <a class="index" href="#page-151">151</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Stern, Daniel, <a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Stirling, George, <a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Story of an African Farm</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Story of Julie Cane,” <a class="index" href="#page-270">270</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Story of Mary MacLane</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-244">244</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“The Story of Opal,” <a class="index" href="#page-244">244</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Strange Fires</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Strange Marriage</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Strange Sisters</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Strange Waters</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-189">189</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Strindberg, August, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-99">99</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Studies in the Psychology of Sex</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-41">41</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-150">150</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Sturge Moore, D. C. and T., <a class="index" href="#page-142">142</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-145">145</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Sudden Guest</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +suicide<br> +of variant, <a class="index" href="#page-79">79</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-115">115</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-179">179</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-203">203</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-230">230</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-237">237</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-259">259</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-300">300</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a><br> +attempted, <a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-101">101</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-170">170</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-226">226</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a><br> +of another, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-227">227</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-276">276</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-317">317</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sur le Mode Saphique</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Swann’s Way</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Sweet Cheat Gone</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Swinburne, A. C., <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-80">80</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-140">140</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sword Blades and Poppy Seeds</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-179">179</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Sylvia Scarlett</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Symonds, John Addington, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +<em>Der Tag</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Talmey, Bernard, <a class="index" href="#page-86">86</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Tarkington, Booth, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Tarn, Pauline<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Vivien, Renée +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Taylor, Deems, <a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Le Temps</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Tey, Josephine, <a class="index" href="#page-335">335</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>That Other Love</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Thayer, Tiffany, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Theiss, Frank, <a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Things As They Are</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Thirteen Women</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Thomas, Elisabeth W., <a class="index" href="#page-290">290</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-291">291</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Thompson, Dr. Clara, (<a class="index" href="#page-153">153</a>, note 5) +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Thorne, Anthony, <a class="index" href="#page-306">306</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-307">307</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Tilly, Alexandre de, <a class="index" href="#page-45">45</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Time Magazine</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>To Love and Be Wise</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-336">336</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>To the Lighthouse</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-334">334</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Toast</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Tolstoi, L. N., <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Torchlight to Valhalla</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Torres, Toreska, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Tortoiseshell Cat</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-275">275</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-277">277</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-293">293</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-294">294</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-339">339</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Tragic Ground</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +transvestism<br> +defined, <a class="index" href="#page-12">12</a><br> +no deception, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-88">88</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-105">105</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-117">117</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-118">118</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-128">128</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a><br> +sex deception, <a class="index" href="#page-26">26</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-34">34</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-37">37</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-42">42</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-64">64</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-65">65</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-122">122</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-251">251</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-336">336</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Die Transvestiten</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-411" class="pagenum" title="411"></a> +<em>Le Trille du Diable</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-216">216</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-217">217</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Trio</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-326">326</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Trip to London</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-331">331</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Trowbridge, J. T., <a class="index" href="#page-246">246</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Turn of the Screw</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-111">111</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-243">243</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Twelfth Night</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Two Serious Ladies</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Ulrichs, Karl, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-149">149</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Underneath the Bough</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-143">143</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Unlit Lamp</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Urfé, Honoré d’, <a class="index" href="#page-38">38</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-39">39</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-109">109</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Urningsliebe</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-226">226</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +<em>Vainglory</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-268">268</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Valkyrie, <a class="index" href="#page-32">32</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Valle, Pietro della, <a class="index" href="#page-42">42</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Vallette, Alfred, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Vallette, Marguérite Eymery<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Rachilde +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Vanderbilt, Mrs. Gertrude, <a class="index" href="#page-147">147</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Van Doren, Mark, <a class="index" href="#page-148">148</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +variance (not lesbianism)<br> +defined, <a class="index" href="#page-12">12</a><br> +explicit, <a class="index" href="#page-35">35</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-37">37</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-61">61</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-92">92</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-95">95</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-100">100</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-101">101</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-122">122</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-124">124</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-128">128</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-130">130</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-140">140</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-145">145</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-176">176</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-183">183</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-185">185</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-188">188</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-215">215</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-225">225</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-226">226</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-237">237</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-238">238</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-243">243</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-244">244</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-246">246</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-252">252</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-254">254</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-261">261</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-262">262</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-263">263</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-264">264</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-267">267</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-272">272</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-274">274</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-276">276</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-302">302</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-303">303</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-319">319</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-336">336</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-337">337</a><br> +implied, <a class="index" href="#page-40">40</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-117">117</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-120">120</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-125">125</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-133">133</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-135">135</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-138">138</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-146">146</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-147">147</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-180">180</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-181">181</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-187">187</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-191">191</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-283">283</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-304">304</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-321">321</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-327">327</a><br> +unrealized<br> +by variant, <a class="index" href="#page-22">22</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-23">23</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-59">59</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-62">62</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-93">93</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-132">132</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-321">321</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a><br> +by author, <a class="index" href="#page-22">22</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-23">23</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Vassar College, <a class="index" href="#page-184">184</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-186">186</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-292">292</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Vedder, Elihu, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Venette, Nicolas de, <a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Le Vent des Vaisseaux</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-159">159</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Vénus des Aveugles</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-166">166</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Vergil, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Verlaine, Paul, <a class="index" href="#page-77">77</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-90">90</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-114">114</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-201">201</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-325">325</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>La Vertu Suprême</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-108">108</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Le Vice Mortel</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Vigny, Alfred de, <a class="index" href="#page-129">129</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>A Vindication of the Rights of Women</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-59">59</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +The Virgin Mary<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Mary, Virgin +</p> + +<p class="index"> +virginity, <a class="index" href="#page-25">25</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-39">39</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-44">44</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Vivien, Renée, <a class="index" href="#page-154">154</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-158">158</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-174">174</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-175">175</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-177">177</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Vizetelly, H. R., <a class="index" href="#page-150">150</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Vom Neuen Weib</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Voronoff, Serge, <a class="index" href="#page-151">151</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Wade, Mason, <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wagner, Ernst, <a class="index" href="#page-218">218</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Wait for Tomorrow</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wassermann, Jacob, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Watts-Dunton, Theodore, <a class="index" href="#page-80">80</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Wayward Ones</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>We Sing Diana</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-289">289</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>We Too Are Drifting</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-323">323</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Weather in the Streets</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Weber, Joseph and Fields, Lew, <a class="index" href="#page-245">245</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-246">246</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Webster, H. K., <a class="index" href="#page-257">257</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wedekind, Frank, <a class="index" href="#page-224">224</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-235">235</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-239">239</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Weiberbeute</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-221">221</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-222">222</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Weigall, Arthur, <a class="index" href="#page-18">18</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-19">19</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-21">21</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-22">22</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-24">24</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Weininger, Otto, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Weirauch, Anna Elisabet, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-234">234</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-298">298</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Welcher unter Euch ohne Sünde Ist</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-223">223</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<a id="page-412" class="pagenum" title="412"></a> +<em>The Well of Loneliness</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-241">241</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-271">271</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-281">281</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-287">287</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-288">288</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-308">308</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wells, Catherine, <a class="index" href="#page-255">255</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wells, H. G., <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Wer Kann Dafür?</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-219">219</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Westphal, C. von, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-81">81</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>What’s O’Clock?</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-179">179</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wheeler, Hugh C., <a class="index" href="#page-330">330</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +White, Nelia Gardner, <a class="index" href="#page-192">192</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>White Ladies</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Whitman, Walt, <a class="index" href="#page-139">139</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wilde, Oscar, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-150">150</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-160">160</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wilder, Robert, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wilhelm, Gale, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-351">351</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Willard, Frances, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Williams, Idabel, <a class="index" href="#page-309">309</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Willis, George, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Willy<br> +<em>see</em><br> +Gauthier-Villars, Henri +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wilson, Edmund, <a class="index" href="#page-247">247</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-248">248</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-250">250</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-269">269</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wilson, Ethel Davis, <a class="index" href="#page-329">329</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wilson, Harry Leon, <a class="index" href="#page-181">181</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wilson, Romer, <a class="index" href="#page-130">130</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-131">131</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-245">245</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Wind Woman</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-338">338</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Winsloe, Christa, <a class="index" href="#page-236">236</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-238">238</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-259">259</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-314">314</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Winter Solstice</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-324">324</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wise, Thomas, <a class="index" href="#page-78">78</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wissenschaftlich-humanitäres Komitee, <a class="index" href="#page-14">14</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-229">229</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +witchcraft, <a class="index" href="#page-31">31</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-33">33</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-47">47</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-73">73</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-74">74</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Within a Budding Grove</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-204">204</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +“<em>Wo bleibt der homoerotische Roman?”</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-228">228</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wollstonecraft, Mary, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-60">60</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-66">66</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-115">115</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-116">116</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-137">137</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Woman in the Nineteenth Century</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-136">136</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Woman of the Century</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>The Woman who Lives with Me</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-155">155</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +women, attitudes toward, <a class="index" href="#page-23">23</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-30">30</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-32">32</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-45">45</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-46">46</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-153">153</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-154">154</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-350">350</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-352">352</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Women’s Movement</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-51">51</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-55">55</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-56">56</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-94">94</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-95">95</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-98">98</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-153">153</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-239">239</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-253">253</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Women in Prison</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Women Poets of the Twentieth Century in France</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Women’s Barracks</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-332">332</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-341">341</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wood, Clement, <a class="index" href="#page-139">139</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-141">141</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-178">178</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-180">180</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-181">181</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Woodford, Jack, <a class="index" href="#page-310">310</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-311">311</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-333">333</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Woods, Marianne, <a class="index" href="#page-127">127</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Woolf, Leonard, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Woolf, Virginia, <a class="index" href="#page-273">273</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-275">275</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-278">278</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-279">279</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-280">280</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-283">283</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-287">287</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-297">297</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-305">305</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Works and Days</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-142">142</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-143">143</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-145">145</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Wuthering Heights</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-131">131</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-133">133</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wylie, Elinor, <a class="index" href="#page-182">182</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Wylie, Philip, <a class="index" href="#page-328">328</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-350">350</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Yost, Karl, <a class="index" href="#page-183">183</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Young, Francis Brett, <a class="index" href="#page-315">315</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-316">316</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Young Ladies of Paris</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-194">194</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-295">295</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Young Man with a Horn</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-320">320</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +Yourcenar, Marguérite, <a class="index" href="#page-173">173</a> +</p> + +<p class="newletter index"> +Zola, Emile, <a class="index" href="#page-53">53</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-83">83</a>-<a class="index" href="#page-85">85</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-91">91</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-96">96</a>, <a class="index" href="#page-112">112</a> +</p> + +<p class="index"> +<em>Zwei Frauen</em>, <a class="index" href="#page-220">220</a> +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="trnote chapter"> +<p class="transnote"> +Transcriber’s Notes +</p> + +<p> +Two footnotes cannot be found in the NOTES section: [52] in <em>Chapter III</em> and +[8] in <em>Chapter V, Emily Brontë</em>. Likewise, two literature references are not +in the BIBLIOGRAPHIES section: <em>B 151x</em> and <em>B 20x</em>. +</p> + +<p> +The original spelling was mostly preserved. +A few obvious typographical errors were silently corrected. +All other changes are shown here (before/after): +</p> + + + +<ul> + +<li> + (multiple cases)<br> +... <span class="underline">Humanitären Wissenschaftliche Komittee</span>, 1899-1921. There, under ...<br> +... <a href="#corr-2"><span class="underline">Wissenschaftlich-humanitäres Komitee</span></a>, 1899-1921. There, under ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... men. Once, to be sure, in attempting to hearten a girl on the eve <span class="underline">of of</span> ...<br> +... men. Once, to be sure, in attempting to hearten a girl on the eve <a href="#corr-3"><span class="underline">of</span></a> ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... altogether a man.” Leana admits have received proof of this, but ...<br> +... altogether a man.” Leana admits <a href="#corr-4"><span class="underline">to</span></a> have received proof of this, but ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... published in book form as Les Hors Natures dealt with men.<span class="underline">)</span> In the ...<br> +... published in book form as Les Hors Natures<a href="#corr-23"><span class="underline">)</span></a> dealt with men.<a href="#corr-24"></a> In the ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... achieved a <span class="underline">fear-reaching</span> psychological victory, he risks clinching it by ...<br> +... achieved a <a href="#corr-28"><span class="underline">far-reaching</span></a> psychological victory, he risks clinching it by ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... cousin Lilly for her fortune, and challenges him to duel intended to ...<br> +... cousin Lilly for her fortune, and challenges him to <a href="#corr-29"><span class="underline">a</span></a> duel intended to ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... deeply in love, the wife, with “<span class="underline">sterbende Gute</span>,” agreed to release ...<br> +... deeply in love, the wife, with “<a href="#corr-36"><span class="underline">sterbender Güte</span></a>,” agreed to release ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... nervously ill and perhaps left the school<span class="underline">,</span> (inexplicable in the middle ...<br> +... nervously ill and perhaps left the school<a href="#corr-42"> </a> (inexplicable in the middle ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... bound to the back of a fiery Arab steed, feet in his <span class="underline">name</span>, head ...<br> +... bound to the back of a fiery Arab steed, feet in his <a href="#corr-44"><span class="underline">mane</span></a>, head ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... Je devine <span class="underline">tons</span> corps—les lys ardents des seins, ...<br> +... Je devine <a href="#corr-55"><span class="underline">ton</span></a> corps—les lys ardents des seins, ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... um meiner dunklen Schein. ...<br> +... um meiner <a href="#corr-74"><span class="underline">Augen</span></a> dunklen Schein. ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... Und um uns <span class="underline">hier</span> ist Hass und Hohn, ...<br> +... Und um uns <a href="#corr-75"><span class="underline">her</span></a> ist Hass und Hohn, ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... und nun, da du so ganz <span class="underline">erlodert</span> bist, ...<br> +... und nun, da du so ganz <a href="#corr-78"><span class="underline">entlodert</span></a> bist, ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... Vivien or Madeleine, and they seldom equal Barney or <span class="underline">Schwäbe</span> in ...<br> +... Vivien or Madeleine, and they seldom equal Barney or <a href="#corr-82"><span class="underline">Schwabe</span></a> in ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... famous Thomas. His Die Göttinnen (1902-03) is trilogy within whose ...<br> +... famous Thomas. His Die Göttinnen (1902-03) is <a href="#corr-98"><span class="underline">a</span></a> trilogy within whose ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... of course, <a href="#corr-107"><span class="underline">had</span></a> none of her letters, but had received many scurrilous ...<br> +... of course, none of her letters, but had received many scurrilous ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... mood of the Englishwomen with whom Hoape is thrown . One of ...<br> +... mood of the Englishwomen with whom Hoape is thrown <a href="#corr-113"><span class="underline">together</span></a>. One of ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... more designed to conceal <span class="underline">that</span> are a dancer’s veils to hide the form ...<br> +... more designed to conceal <a href="#corr-117"><span class="underline">than</span></a> are a dancer’s veils to hide the form ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... Paris, but neither <span class="underline">find</span> tolerable the bohemian existence which is ...<br> +... Paris, but neither <a href="#corr-120"><span class="underline">finds</span></a> tolerable the bohemian existence which is ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... (as was Thomas Sackville, of the family living even <span class="underline">than</span> at Knole). ...<br> +... (as was Thomas Sackville, of the family living even <a href="#corr-123"><span class="underline">then</span></a> at Knole). ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... variants? Sometimes none. <span class="underline">Lyrics</span> poets in particular simply register ...<br> +... variants? Sometimes none. <a href="#corr-133"><span class="underline">Lyric</span></a> poets in particular simply register ...<br> +</li> + +<li> +... 6. ——. Poor white. N. Y., B. W. <span class="underline">Heubsch</span>, 1920. ...<br> +... 6. ——. Poor white. N. Y., B. W. <a href="#corr-139"><span class="underline">Huebsch</span></a>, 1920. ...<br> +</li> +</ul> +</div> + + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77276 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/77276-h/images/cover.jpg b/77276-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fe16fb2 --- /dev/null +++ b/77276-h/images/cover.jpg |
