Hist20052 30051 Readings Session #4

SESSION 4

Consuming (Or Not Consuming) Sex: Convents and Courtesans Readings on Convents Primary Source Readings Documents in translation from David Chambers and Brian Pullan (eds.). Venice: A Documentary History 1450-1630. Oxford: Blackwell 1992: “Splendour and Worldliness: Santi Giovanni e Paolo in the 1480s.” 198-99. “Laxity and Strict Observance: The Reform of Nunneries, 1519-21.” 199-203. “Foundation of a Magistracy Responsible for Convents, 1521.” 203-204. “Abuses in the Convent of San Zaccaria, 1518, 1585.” 204-205. “Monks, Friars and Nuns, c. 1580.” 206-208.

Secondary Source Readings Laven, Mary. Virgins of Venice: Enclosed Lives and Broken Vows in the Renaissance Convent, 22-63. London: Viking an imprint of Penguin Books, 2002. Campagnol, Isabella. “Weddings and Clothings: A Comparison.” In Forbidden Fashions: Invisible Luxuries in Early Venetian Convents, 24-50. Lubbock, Texas: Texas Tech University Press, 2014. 379

Campagnol, Isabella. “Textiles, Embroideries, and Laces in the Convent.” In Forbidden Fashions: Invisible Luxuries in Early Venetian Convents, 112-121. Lubbock, Texas: Texas Tech University Press, 2014.

Further Readings Lowe, Kate. “Power and Institutional Identity in Renaissance Venice: The Female Convents of S.M. delle Vergini and S. Zaccaria.” Collegium 2 (2007): 128-152. Evangelisti, S. “Wives, Widows and Brides of Christ: Marriage and the Convent in the Historiography of Early Modern Italy.” Historical Journal 43.1 (2000): 233-47. Lowe, Kate. “Secular Brides and convent Brides: Wedding Ceremonies in Italy During the Renaissance and Counter-Reformation.” In Marriage in Italy, edited by Trevor Dean and K. J. P Lowe, 41-66. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Radke, Gary M. “Nuns and Their Art: The Case of San Zaccaria in Renaissance Venice.” Renaissance Quarterly 54.2 (2001): 430-450. Primhak, Victoria. “Benedictine Communities in Venetian Society: The Convent of San Zaccaria.” In Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society, edited by Letizia Panizza, Oxford, 2008. Lowe, Kate. “Elections of Abbesses and Notions of Identity in Fifteenth- and Sixteenth-Century Italy, with Special Reference to Venice.” Renaissance Quarterly 54.2 (2001): 389-429. Sperling, Jutta. “Potlatch alla Veneziana: Coerced Monachizations in the Context of Patrician Intermarriage and Conspicuous Consumption.” In Convents and the Body Politic in Late Renaissance Venice, 18-71. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999. Monson, Craig A. Nuns Behaving Badly: Tales of Music, Magic, Art, and Arson in the Convents of Italy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010.

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Readings on Sex in the City Primary Source Readings, and Methodological Framing “The Defence of Morality.” In Venice: A Documentary History 1450-1630, edited by David Chambers and Brian Pullan, 121-127. Oxford: Blackwell 1992. Ruggiero, Guido. “The Sexual Environment of Renaissance Venice: An Introduction.” In The Boundaries of Eros: Sex crime and sexuality in Renaissance Venice, 3-15. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rocke, Michael. “Gender and Sexual Culture in Renaissance Italy.” In Gender and Society in Renaissance Italy, edited by J. Brown and R.C. Davis, 150-170. London and New York: Longman, 1998.

Secondary Source Readings Fortini Brown, Patricia. “A Paradise of Venus.” In Private Lives in Renaissance Venice: Art, Architecture, and the Family, 159-188. New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 2004. Clarke, Paul C. “The Business of Prostitution in Early Renaissance Venice.” Renaissance Quarterly 68 (2015): 419-64.

Further Readings: Ruggiero, Guido. “Love Bound: Andriana Savorgnan, Common Whore, Courtesan, and Noble Wife.” In Tales of Magic, Marriage, and Power at the End of the Renaissance, 24-56. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. Ruggiero, Guido. “Sodom and Venice.” In Tales of Magic, Marriage, and Power at the End of the Renaissance, 109-145. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. Robin, D. “Courtesans, Celebrity and Print Culture in Renaissance Venice.” In Italian Women and the City: Essays, edited by Janet Levarie Smarr and Daria Valentini, 35-59. Fairleigh Dickenson University Press, 2003.

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Knauer, Elfriede Regina. “Portrait of a Lady? Some Reflections on Images of Prostitutes from the Later Fifteenth Century.” Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 47 (2002): 95-117. Labalme, Patricia, H. “Sodomy and Venetian Justice in the Renaissance.” Legal History Review 52.3 (1984): 217-254. Davidson, N.S. “Sodomy in Early Modern Venice.” In Sodomy in Early Modern Europe, edited by Tom Betteridge. 65-111. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2002.

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READING 1

Religious Houses and Reform Long before the general reform of ecclesiastical discipline demanded in the mid sixteenth century by the decrees of Trent, and long before the coming of strict and dedicated new orders such as the Jesuits, Capuchins and Theatines, attempts were made to recall lax and opulent religious houses, both - male and female, to strict observance of their founders’ rules. Contrasts between the austerity of the reformed Dominicans and the classical splendours of an unreformed house find expression in the censures of the scandalized Felix Faber as he gazes on the wonders of Santi Giovanni e Paolo, the Doges ' mausoleum, in the last quarter of the fifteenth century [V.6]. Far greater bitterness could be aroused among nuns. For much of the sixteenth century slack discipline in Venetian nunneries, permitting free and easy contacts with the male admirers sometimes known as munegini, was a cause of grave concern to moralists, and the roles of the more exclusive convents as religious and as social institutions were often in conflict. As early as 1420 a Senate decree had complained that, because of the high cost to persons of standing of providing dowries to enable their daughters to obtain husbands of suitable rank, fathers were improperly compelling many of their girls to enter convents instead (Bistort 1912, p. 107). Nunneries, therefore, acted as conservatories for large numbers of women with no strong sense of religious vocation, and there may have been a tacit agreement, among all parties to these transactions, that the rules of the order would not be rigorously enforced. At intervals, however, and particularly at times of trial when it seemed especially important for the state to win divine favour by virtuous conduct, there was a call to restore discipline in the more aristocratic convents, such as the Vergini (which was attached to St Mark's and under the Doge's patronage) and San Zaccaria. Reforms were bitterly resented, both by the nuns themselves and by their relatives. V.7-10 describe the perennial problem and some of the attempts made to deal with it in the earlier and later years of the sixteenth century. They begin with the brave and unpopular endeavours of the Patriarch Antonio Contarmi in 1519-21 to reform certain convents by forcibly introducing communities of nuns vowed to strict observance of their rules. V-10 is a comprehensive discussion by a papal nuncio of the problems of the traditional male and female religious orders, such as Benedictines and conventual Franciscans, and it describes an interminable struggle on the part of would-be reformers, to separate monks, friars and nuns from the intrigues of their Venetian kinsfolk and patrons. Not all unmarried women of 383

high status, however, were bound to enter convents. They could also become pizzocare (i.e. tertiaries or members of the Third Orders of St Francis and St Dominic), who took vows of chastity, followed a rule and did good works, but lived outside the cloister. The will of Francesco Tiepolo, dated 1611 [below, VI.5], shows that a nobleman of the early seventeenth century could at least conceive of the possibility of a daughter living as a spinster in the household of her brothers, although he thought it inadvisable for her to do so. Bibliography: Paschini 1978; Zanette 1960; Giuliani 1961; Pullan 1965, pp. 135-43; Logan 1967.

6 SPLENDOUR AND WORLDLINESS: SANTI GIOVANNI E PAOLO IN THE 1480S From the Latin. Faber(1) ed. Hassler 1843-9, 425-6 Here [at Santi Giovanni e Paolo] there are always over 100 friars and many doctors. But the rule is poorly observed there and the place has not yet been reformed, and the friars live in some worldly pomp and splendour, and on festival days they sing Mass and Vespers and Compline with figured music and worldly ceremonial. Hence a great crowd of young men and women flock to these services, not to hear the divine office, but rather to listen to the music and the singing. They have two organs, and the sacristy is extensively and elaborately decorated. Several Doges of Venice are buried in the church. I have never seen more opulent tombs or more ostentatious monuments; even those of the Popes in Rome cannot equal the tombs of the Doges of Venice. For these are raised above the ground and let into the walls, and the whole surface of the wall is bedecked with different marbles and carvings and gold and silver, and decorated to excess. The images of Christ, the Blessed Virgin, the apostles and martyrs and other saints whom everybody loves are placed in the middle of the tombs, as the most important figures; but around the edge are the images of pagans, of Saturn, Janus, Jupiter, Juno, Minerva, Mars and Hercules, with emblems of their fables. I saw there in our church, on the rich tomb of a certain Doge to the right of the entrance,(2) a carving of Hercules which showed him Had in the skin of the lion which he killed, and not in a cloak, and closing in combat with the Hydra, a terrible monster which had seven heads, and when one of these was cut off another seven grew at once in its place. There are naked gladiators with swords 384

and spears in their hands and shields about their necks, but without cuirass or breastplate or helmet, and these really are idols. There are naked boys with wings on, holding the emblems of victory, or else wrestling together, and many such symbols of paganism are inserted among those of our redemption. Simple people think these are images of saints, and they honour Hercules, thinking him Samson, and Venus, mistaking her for the Magdalen, and so forth. [The Venetians] also carve upon tombs sea monsters, and the arms of the deceased, and verses recounting his achievements. 1. Felix Faber (otherwise Fabri) was a pilgrim from Ulm who embarked from Venice on journeys to the Holy Land in 1480 and 1483, the first trip proving abortive and the second successful. A member of the order of strict, reformed or ‘observant’ Dominicans, he was highly critical of the splendours of the unreformed convent of Santi Giovanni e Paolo, of its church, of its role in the Corpus Christi procession of 1483, and of its lavish hospitality to the Dominican Chapter General which he attended in 1487 (Faber ed. Hassler 1843-9, I, 105-6, and III, 434-5). By contrast, the small observant convent of San Domenico di Castello earned his respect and admiration. 2. The tomb of Doge Pietro Mocenigo (1474-6), by Pietro Lombardo.

7 LAXITY AND STRICT OBSERVANCE: THE REFORM OF NUNNERIES, 1519-21 DMS, xxviii, cols 321, 402, 407, 409; xxxi, cols 276-7 23 May 1519 Certain relatives of nuns of [Santa Maria delle] Vergini came into the Collegio to plead that these nuns did not want others to be placed there; it was enough that they be strictly enclosed and brought over to the observance. The Doge [Leonardo Loredan] dismissed them, saying that he did not want to hear them, and that the decrees of the Council of Ten should be obeyed. . . . Note that the nunnery of Sant’Anna has been divided, and after seven nuns had come from San Giovanni Laterano and had been given possession of half of it, this morning the remaining nuns, [. . . ] in number, all arrived, so that all will be living in Sant’Anna. The abbess of Sant’Anna, of the noble house of [...], together with four other nuns, wanted to join those of San Giovanni Laterano and become observants. They were accepted by the nuns of San Giovanni Laterano, who said they would have her as abbess. . . . 20 June 1519 385

This morning the Avogadori di Comun, by order of the Collegio and the Heads of the Ten, in obedience to the wishes of the Patriarch, to whom the Doge had granted all his own authority over the nunnery of the Vergini that it might be reformed, went with constables, officials and masons to that nunnery, which is the second to be enclosed. There they made a forcible entry, breaking down doors, and by walling up doorways and so on they partitioned off a section of it, i.e. the new part of the building which looks towards the Patriarch’s palace. This part they intend to give to the observant nuns of Santa Giustina, who will move into it. The nuns of the Vergini protested that they had been the victims of violence and had been cast out from their own hearths and so on, but they have to resign themselves to it. The Doge and Signoria charged Sier Alvise Barbaro, son of Sier Zaccaria, Cavalier and Procurator and Provveditor al Sal, with walling and dividing off the part of the nunnery in which the observant nuns were to be installed. . . . 25 June 1519 This morning . . . since the Doge and Signoria had heard that yesterday the nuns of the Vergini had knocked down the wall built to partition them off and permit the introduction of nuns from Santa Giustina into part of the convent, the Signoria and the Heads of the Ten sent all three Avogadori, clad in their silken robes, to that convent. Seeing what the nuns had done, they delivered a stern reprimand and sent for the Patriarch, who was at San Biagio Catoldo, intending to inspect the convent, reform it and then leave. He came and joined the Avogadori in the chapter house. There they summoned the nuns, upbraiding them for their actions. The nuns asked for pardon, saying that it was hard to be cast out from their home, and although the Patriarch was threatening to punish them he was not their superior. They left without further ado, and the builders continued the work of dividing the convent. . . 28 June 1519 This morning the Patriarch came into the Collegio and had audience there with the Heads of the Ten, the Avogadori and the Collegio, all other persons being sent outside. He complained that the nuns of the Vergini had, yesterday and throughout the night, rung bells to celebrate the arrival of a brief from the Pope 386

addressed to his legate, to the effect that the nuns were to be reformed but that no others were to be introduced into their convent. There was much discussion as to what was to be done about the matter. They noted that there was an earlier papal brief which gave faculties to the Patriarch to reform the said conventual nunneries and bring them to observance, taking what measures he chose, and it seemed to the Doge and Patriarch and to all the Collegio and the Heads of the Ten that they should not obey this second brief. . . . 21 August 1521 Four conventual abbesses came [to the Collegio], i.e. the abbess of the Vergini, of the noble house of Donado, the abbess of San Zaccaria, of the noble house of Michiel, the abbess of the Celestia, of the noble house of [... ], and the abbess of Santa Marta, of the noble house of with many kinsfolk. The reverend Patriarch was also present. . . . These ladies fell to their knees before the Doge [Antonio Grimani] and the abbess of the Vergini talked Latin and made quite a speech. Then Sier Nicolò Michiel, son of Sier Francesco, who had sisters and daughters in San Zaccaria and had sat down among the Savii agli Ordini, spoke eloquently of the cruelty shown to noble persons. Our own gentlewomen had been ruined and dispersed, and all on account of a certain Vicar General to the Patriarch, a Romagnol who had been banished from Rome with a price on his head; he had made great difficulties for these nuns, that he might rob them or have his wicked way with anyone he pleased. [Sier Nicolò] added that at San Zaccaria, where all used to be noble, there were now installed nuns of another order, following a different rule and wearing a different habit - base-born women, Greeks and plebeians to boot. What had stood for 760 years had now been taken from them, when they had spent 46,000 ducats on the church, the convent and the magnificent refectory. Santa Marta had been assigned a mere 1 1 stara of wheat and would have no wine because of the storms. He made further points so that the whole Collegio was aroused; and he concluded that, while all the nuns wished to obey the Pope’s command, the execution had gone awry, and he begged the Doge that the matter should be referred to the legate or some other prelate. The Heads of the Ten were there, and the Collegio felt very strongly, and three Savi del Consiglio vigorously supported [Sier Nicolò], i.e. the Procurator Antonio 387

Trun, Sier Francesco Foscari and the Cavalier Polo Tiepolo. So did Sier Zorzi Pisani, who said that he was procurator of Santa Croce on the Giudecca: he did not want anyone to invade these convents, and all should stay as they were, in their own places. All the kinsfolk of nuns let loose at the Vicar General, Don Octaviano of Pesaro, who was there in person, and they heaped insults upon him. Then the Patriarch spoke, saying first that, if his Vicar had misconducted himself, he should be examined and punished, and he begged the Doge and Collegio to see to it. He went on to say that, to avoid offending God by the vices practised in nunneries dedicated to God, even during Lent, or so he had heard, he had appeared in the Collegio before the late Doge, who took appropriate action in the Council of Ten with the Zonta. [The Patriarch] then caused to be read a decree of the same Council of Ten, of 4 March 1519, to the effect that nuns of San Giovanni Laterano were to be put into Sant’Anna, and so on, and that the conventual nunneries were to be reformed. The business was to be entrusted to the Patriarch and requests were to be made to Rome for papal briefs and bulls; he himself had acted accordingly and had done nothing without the permission of the Collegio with the Heads of the Ten. So no blame attached to him. He regretted that the nuns, who are forbidden to leave their convents on pain of excommunication, should have come here to the Collegio. Of the Vergini he said that the silver would have been sent away if he had not prevented it, and he had given 25 ducats to the accuser by orders of the Council of Ten, and had made the money over with his own hand. Then he said that the women of San Zaccaria were not the nuns they once were: on a visitation he had been shown a paper to the effect that a century before they had been observants. It was then their custom, one feast day, i.e. [...], to go veiled in a barge to San Raffaele, and somebody then set fire to the convent. When they returned they saw the flames, tried to enter the church, and were burnt. For the last century the nuns have been conventuals, and their misdeeds are notorious, and complaints laid against their admirers and followers [munegini] have been proved before the Avogadori and proceedings taken against two reprobates. But no action was taken against the others, who were leading figures, and these abuses have brought divine displeasure upon us. As for Santa Chiara, the most reverend Cardinal Grimani, son of the Doge and 388

protector of the order, had granted him authority over it, and things had been done quite correctly and in execution of the papal bulls and briefs. The Savi strongly criticized the Patriarch, speaking ill of his Vicar. Then Sier Michiel Trevisan, formerly Avogador, spoke, saying that his sister was abbess of San Zaccaria, and he spoke strongly against the Vicar General, asking for the bulls to be examined, so that one could see whether right had been done and the papal bull executed. After that Sier Piero Tron, a Head of the Ten, rose to say that they were plainly in agreement, for the conventuals wished to be reformed and the reverend Cardinal had undertaken to do this, though how it would be done remained to be seen. The bulls and briefs should be taken in hand and the Council of Ten with the Zonta be called one day to discuss the matter, since it was there that the business started. He was applauded by all, but when the Vicar tried to speak he was put down by the members of the Collegio.

8 FOUNDATION OF A MAGISTRACY RESPONSIBLE FOR CONVENTS, 1521 Decree of the Council of Ten and Zonta, 17 September 1521: ACPV Archivio Segreto, 32, Monasteri visite, 1452-1730. Be it determined that by the authority of this Council three most honourable gentlemen, from among the most eminent in the city, shall be chosen by scrutiny of this Council that, with the reverend Patriarch, they may hear and take note of the grievances and complaints of the conventual nuns concerning their livelihood [viver]. Where proper resources have not been allocated to the nuns for their livelihood, [these gentlemen] shall be free by majority vote to make provision that shall enable the said conventual nuns to stay in the convents and live there in a manner befitting their status and quality. They shall do the same for the observants. They shall give each of the parties, whether conventual or observant, that portion which seems suitable and honourable. All matters concerning the nuns’ livelihood shall be determined and resolved by a majority [of these gentlemen], and their decisions shall be as firmly established as if they were acts of this Council.

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No person, of any status or degree, may open his mouth to discuss these allocations once they have been made; nor may he attempt in any way to work against such allocations and decisions, or to oppose anything else in the bulls and papal briefs issued upon this matter, on pain of the displeasure of this Council and of the other more severe punishments contained in its most stringent decrees. Neither fathers nor brothers nor blood relations nor paternal nor maternal uncles either of conventual or of observant nuns, nor persons that have leases or rents of these convents, nor persons that act as their procurators, may be elected to this office. Those that are elected [to this office] are bound and obliged to examine with diligence the leases and rents made by the conventuals and observants of the convents after their reform, or even before, if they so choose. If they find that anything has been done to the detriment or prejudice of these convents, they shall have the freedom and authority to revoke or annul [these agreements] as they see fit for the benefit of the convents. Furthermore they may not rent or lease any property of the convents on behalf of conventual or observant nuns to persons who are related to those nuns, not to mention their immediate family [a persone che ad esse fossero coniuncte de parentella che se caza de capello, non intendendo pero la casada].1 1. For the meaning of casada/casata in an official document of 1533, see below, V.15.

9 ABUSES IN THE CONVENT OF SAN ZACCARIA, 1528, 1585 (a) The misconduct of nuns’ servants, 1528. From a letter of the Patriarch Hieronimo Querini to the abbess of San Zaccaria, 12 March 1528: BCV ms. Cicogna 2583, f. 48V. It has come to our ears that four servants of your convent are very bad characters, namely bawds. Two of them are now pregnant; one of these is away from the convent to give birth; and the others are still there. It is very disturbing that this matter was brought to our notice by outsiders. You, who ought to look to it, have not done your duty by warning us of this, for we wish to do everything we can to 390

cleanse your convent of this disease. For the present we charge and command you, on pain of immediate suspension from your office of abbess if you disobey our orders, to hasten to conduct prudent inquiries and to discover the truth about the said servants: their names are Antonia, who is with Madonna Isabella Michiel; Caterina, with Madonna Orsa Onoradi; Nicolosa, with Madonna Christina Bollani; and Helena, with Madonna Marieta Diedo. On finding this to be true, as we believe it must be, you shall within three days expel and banish from the convent those three who are still in it, and you shall not allow the said Antonia to return. If you do otherwise we will not only suspend you from your present office, but will also proceed to heavier penalties against you. (b) An illicit liaison between a nobleman and a nun, 1585. Alvise Michiel, Memorie pubbliche della Repubblica di Venezia: BMV ms. Ital., cl. VII, 8 11 (7299), f. 350, 17 February 1584 Venetian style. 
 There was published in the Great Council a sentence pronounced by the Provveditori sopra i Monasteri upon Ser Zuanne Dolfin, who had broken the laws concerning nuns by visiting at forbidden times and on several occasions a nun in one of the convents of this city, although he was not within the degrees of relationship permitted by the law.1 He was to be banned from the Council for six months, and to pay a fine of 300 ducats, to be distributed in accordance with the decree of the Council of Ten; and the period of his ban was to begin only when he had paid the fine of 300 ducats. The Great Council thought the sentence a very light one, since it was notorious that this gentleman had had dealings with this nun for the last twelve years and had been reproved on many occasions. She was in the convent of San Zaccaria and belonged to the noble house of Da Mula, being the daughter of Ser Nicolò; she was not a handsome woman, and her age was some thirty-six to forty years.1 his sentence, light thought it was, pleased everybody, given the stake that the city had in the nunneries, for people spoke very ill of their honour, and everyone wanted to see them reformed. 1. On 29 January of the same year the Great Council had published a decree of the Council of Ten to the effect that nuns were to receive visits only from their fathers, brothers, and paternal or maternal uncles; even cousins and other kinsmen were now to be excluded, although the previous regulations had admitted them (Michiel, Memorie, f. 345V). 391

10 MONKS, FRIARS AND NUNS, C. 1580 From the report of Alberto Bolognetti, papal nuncio in Venice 1578 -8 1 (Aldo Stella 1964, pp. 1 16 -18, 191-2). The practice of harassing certain clerics is highly detrimental to the liberty of the Church. Perhaps equally pernicious, however, are certain kinds of favour conferred upon other clergy by persons who have no business to meddle with their affairs. I refer to the protection extended by the most eminent noblemen, not just to religious houses in general, but to individuals within the cloisters, both monks and nuns. These people then begin to disobey their superiors and scorn to observe their rules, so that scandal, discord and confusion continually arise. To take the men first: it is impossible to satisfy everybody at the chapters or diets or distributions of office made by their generals, because the number of candidates exceeds the number of offices and dignities distributed by each order, and a single dissatisfied person can throw all the monasteries of a province into confusion by having prompt recourse to his supporters. They would think their honour cheapened and their reputation lost if the monk they favour failed to get what he wanted. If they cannot help him by other methods, they apply to the Collegio through friends and relatives and make a public issue of it, complaining that religious who are subjects of the Venetian state are suffering from the envy of foreigners, and that the Venetian government is not accorded as much respect as other princes. Hence, unless the nuncio were always on his guard, the measures taken by general chapters and by their distinguished protectors for the regulation of religious orders would frequently be impeded by this means. The same thing happens with nuns. Most of them are noblewomen, and they enjoy such favour and support that they make bold to oppose the wishes of their prelates. The rulers of Venice are moved to favour them, not only by ties of kinship, but perhaps also by the assistance they receive from them in pursuing the honours of the Republic. For these women, by calling upon their fathers, brothers and other close relatives, and by begging them to favour one man or another, can well help or harm them in their political dealings. So it would be very difficult to prevent the transactions made with nuns in Venice. I would like to think this 392

business legitimate and respectable, but it surely gives rise to a freedom and licence which may have most undesirable consequences. Furthermore, the favours of these noblemen have been extended to far less deserving persons, in the shape of renegade monks and friars [sfratati], and others who were living apart from their orders without permission although they kept the habit, and who, shameless as they now were, did not mind being excommunicates and irregulars. The whole state was full of these people, especially the city of Venice itself: it was deeply shocking to see a great crowd of them walking every morning and evening upon the Piazza di San Marco. When, by order of His Holiness, I tried to take measures against this abuse, it turned out that they enjoyed innumerable, far-reaching favours from various noblemen and senators whom they served, as tutors or in other capacities, before I published an edict against them. It is likely that, to win themselves a sure asylum and immunity in Venice (these are appropriate terms), they wrote with much more care and gave greater satisfaction than did other kinds of person who might have found places elsewhere. They had advanced so far as to gain control, as it were, of the city’s spiritual life, for almost all the mass-benefices [mansionerie] were in their hands, and children were learning their letters and manners from them, together with the first elements of divine worship, thus receiving to their detriment at a tender age a secret dose of that deeply polluted milk. Worst of all, although they were excommunicate and disobedient to their *ules, they still administered the most holy sacrament. Some of them celebrated in the morning, and then later in the day went off to draw magic circles and conjure up spirits to find treasure; in my time very lengthy proceedings were taken against them.1 It is true that after many entreaties, and even conflicts, we have by the grace of God overcome all the difficulties raised by the government, which at last investigated the need for this reform, agreed to it, and granted assistance against them in just the way that was required. However, the execution of this reform is still being hindered by the officers and prelates of religious orders, who on various pretexts refuse to take them in. Some of them plead poverty, others the great number of monks they have to support already; and yet others object that those whom they are asked to admit are not 393

sons of their monasteries. Others invoke the strict and blameless life appropriate to religious, saying that these people would be a great nuisance to Them, for they are besmirched by many vices and accustomed to live m freedom. Finally, others point out another danger - how grave it is I know not - by saying that these people, if readmitted to their orders, would soon take over the highest positions and become like tyrants in their monasteries, for they are bolder and more assertive and enjoy more favours than do others who have always lived a pure life in their cloisters. These arguments, however, are outweighed by the thought of the scandal which would spread from day to day if they were left in their accustomed freedom. And, incidentally, it would also be good to deal in some way with those who have been expelled from their orders for misconduct. For they cause just as much scandal, and it seems hard that they should profit by their faults and live in peace and escape punishment while others are being reformed. ... I think we can truly say that the surest way of reforming the nunneries would be the one I have mentioned twice above, when I spoke of priests taking orders and friars taking the habit: the closest attention should be paid to the inclinations of the girls who are received into convents. Someone should first ascertain whether they are inspired to immure themselves for ever out of pure devotion and the desire to be better placed to serve God, or whether they are being forced to become nuns by the fear of their fathers, who have used threats to make them consent to do so with their tongues, but not with their hearts. For their fathers cannot marry them to their equals because they are not rich enough to do so, and will not marry them to lesser men for fear of tarnishing the prestige of their families. From this root spring all the disorders in convents. For a time the malaise and suffering which the poor girls undergo on being thus imprisoned are tempered by their enjoyment of a new experience; but in the end they are made worse by the passage of time, by the burdensome duty of obedience, and, very often, by the many discomforts they suffer, which can well drive them to despair. It is hard for them to find consolation, for on the one hand their sufferings can end only with death, and on the other they are condemned for ever to this wretched existence (as they think it), through no fault of their own, and not by the malice of enemies, but rather by an impious and wicked sentence pronounced by their own fathers. For, 394

in order to make a larger portion for other daughters, who may well be inferior in spirit although more handsome in body, their fathers have chosen to deprive them, not only of that share in their property which is due to them by the law of nature and by reason of kinship, but also of any kind of comfortable and elegant life, and even of liberty itself. So they can truly say, ‘Our darkness makes another’s dawn.’ It would be most advisable, as I have said, to find a remedy for these abuses, for in them lie the origins of almost all the scandals and disorders that occur in nunneries. But it is not within the nuncio’s power to do it, or to take any other of the necessary measures. This is a most delicate matter, because the Doge has appointed three senators to take charge of the business of nuns, and they oppose all measures which could conceivably be held to conflict with the government’s wishes. 1. Bolognetti is almost certainly referring to Antonio Saldagna or Saldanha, a renegade Franciscan observant from Lisbon, described by one of his employers in Venice as a splendid writer and a most elegant humanist’. Saldagna was tried and sentenced to life imprisonment in 1579 by the Inquisition for his involvement in magical practices, and himself denounced a number of persons for secret Judaism. See Ioly Zorattini 1980-, IV (1571-80), 133 362, and V (1579), passim. See also Pullan 1983; R. Martin 1989; and below, V.22.

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READING 2

Mary Laven Virgins of Venice: Enclosed Lives and Broken Vows in the Renaissance Convent 2. Becoming a Nun A girl lies prostrate, her lips touching the stone floor. A black cloth is thrown over her, and lighted candles are placed at her feet and at her head. Up above her, the litanies are being sung. All the signs suggest that she is dead. She is a witness at her own funeral. From within her bier she accompanies the singing with tears and sobs, sacrificing all her senses to suffering and pain.1 These chilling words were written towards the middle of the seventeenth century by a nun at the Venetian convent of Sant’Anna: Elena Cassandra Tarabotti, better known by her religious name, Arcangela Tarabotti considered herself the victim of a ‘forced vocation’. Rather than being called to the religious life, she had been compelled to become a nun against her will, in accordance with the interests of her family. Her destiny had been determined by two circumstances that lay entirely beyond her control: she was the eldest of six daughters, and she was lame. Since her parents could not possibly afford to provide all their daughters with marriage dowries, they concentrated their efforts on finding good husbands for their younger daughters, who were free from physical disabilities - a strategy that also allowed the family to buy time while the all-important dowries were raised. Over three decades after her consignment to the convent, as she neared her fiftieth year, Tarabotti wrote a diatribe against the kind of treatment she had received, which she entitled Inferno Monacale (The Nun’s Hell). This anguished work bears testimony to the misery of the unwilling nun. And, highly rhetorical though the Inferno undoubtedly is, the paradoxical ‘forced vocations’ against which Tarabotti inveighed were a socio-economic fact which, centuries later, historians have not disputed. Tarabotti was one of thousands of women who - having kissed the stony 397

ground and made the irrevocable vows of poverty, chastity and obedience — passed through the doors of the nunnery never to return to the outside world. Becoming a nun was a sacrificial rite. That much was made clear by the liturgies of the ceremonies at which women took or renewed their religious vows, the rituals of clothing, profession and consecration. These were the three main events in the passage of a nun’s life, events which in some ways paralleled the progression of the laywoman from nubile adolescence through betrothal to marriage. For women who embarked on the religious life took Christ as their spiritual husband. Like secular brides, they wore robes of white. As in the marriage ceremony, the climax of profession and consecration was the placing of the ring upon the woman’s finger. Taking the nun’s right hand, the patriarch - for it was he who officiated - proclaimed: I marry you to Jesus Christ, son of the Father Almighty, your protector. Accept therefore this ring of faith as a sign from the Holy Spirit that you are called to be the wife of God. 2 But whereas the marriage of a young woman might involve a good deal of reorientation, by forcing her to recommence life at the centre of a new household and family, the nun’s vows committed her to an even sharper uprooting. ‘Forget your people, and your father’s home’ was the injunction that newly accepted novices received at their clothing. Casting off their lay-garments, the incomers allowed their hair to be cut short before taking the veil; then they made the physical transition from the public church to the enclosed convent.3 Who were these women, and what motivated them, to enter the convent? These were questions that contemporary observers answered without hesitation. Patriarch Giovanni Tiepolo, head of the Venetian church from 1619 to 1630, stated that the nuns were noblewomen, women ‘brought up and nourished with the utmost delicacy and respect’. Their confinement within the walls of the convent owed nothing to the spirit of devotion’, everything to ‘the impulse of their parents,4 Sir Henry Wotton, English ambassador to Venice had expressed the same view. In a letter of 1608, he wrote that women were being forced into convents against their will by their parents, ‘who to spare so much marriage

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money, impose commonly that life upon three daughters at least if they have five, and so in proportion’.5 By ‘marriage money’ Wotton was referring to the dowry the woman’s portion or share of her family’s fortune, which was paid to her on the occasion of her marriage.6 While the dowry was a woman’s legal right, the amount her father was prepared to pay varied according to the condition she was marrying into. An ambitious marriage alliance with potential social or political advantages for the bride’s family might be deemed worth the payment of a very large dowry. At the opposite end of the spectrum, there lay the relatively cheap option of the convent. Like other brides, nuns brought a dowry with them, but the sum required by the convent was generally small compared with that demanded in the marriage market. In return, these women were provided with an honourable and secure home until their deaths. Among the elite of Venetian society, the birth of a baby girl would always give rise to the same dilemma, maritar o monacar: would she marry or become a nun? The family’s calculations were based on the perceived marriageability of the girl (taking into account such things as her health and physical appearance), on the number of sisters she had, and on the funds available for her settlement. The final question was the most pressing, and at a time when the elite marriage market m Venice was characterized by soaring dowry inflation, few noble families could afford to marry off all their daughters. As Wotton suggested, it was the strategy of some noble fathers to parcel out their female offspring into two camps, dispatching certain daughters to the convent while concentrating their dowry expenditure on one or two others so as to secure the most impressive 'alliances for their families.7 The alarming rise in the size of noble-marriage dowries escalated at least from the beginning of the fifteenth century, and in 1420 the Venetian Senate imposed its first legal limit, capping the maximum outlay on a dowry at 1,600 ducats. Significantly, as the wording of the decree reveals, this measure was partly motivated by concern about forced vocations; because of the rising cost of marriage, fathers were finding themselves constrained ‘to imprison their daughters m convents, with due weeping and wailing’ (the Latin makes it clear that it was the daughters, not the fathers, who were distraught).8 Testifying to the ineffectiveness 399

of earlier efforts to restrict dowries, m 1505 the Senate passed another law raising the official ceiling to 3,000 ducats.9 Still the legislation failed to achieve its objective. The inflationary trend continued throughout the century, with noble dowries often exceeding 20,000 ducats. In his letter of 1608, Henry Wotton commented that ‘no gentleman’s daughter required] less for the bestowing of her than twenty-five or thirty thousand crowns m present money, which some two hundred years since was a good provision in the public treasury’.10 (At this time, a journeyman-mason could expect to earn an annual salary of around fifty ducats.) As Venetian noblemen herded their daughters into the convents, taking little notice of the children’s wishes or their spiritual vocations, they excused themselves, in Wotton’s words, with the excessive rate into which marriage portions are mounted here’. It was as if the families were unwilling players in a system that had run far beyond their control. But dowry inflation was, in reality, a man-made problem.11 It occurred as a result of two strategies consciously pursued by the Venetian nobility. The first was the age-old refusal of Venetian patricians to marry outside their caste. The second was marriage limitation, a policy designed to preserve the family fortunes from dispersal among a profusion of heirs. While noble families sought to buttress their wealth and status by securing only the most prestigious alliances for their daughters, they discouraged their sons from marrying at all. Pursuing military, political, professional or commercial careers, it was common for unmarried noblemen to live with their brothers in all-male households. In this way, the elites of early modem Venice practised birth control. 12 The tactic led to an ever decreasing number of eligible bachelors, and at the same time caused dowries to escalate, as fathers competed with one another to secure the best match for those daughters whose destiny was marriage. In a society where it was unthinkable for noblewomen to marry beneath themselves, convents served to accommodate those who .would never marry at all. The use of the convents as dumping grounds for unmarried noblewomen sat uncomfortably with the objectives of religious reform. This was a concern that preoccupied the authorities of church and state throughout the Catholic lands of Europe. For not only was the practice of forced vocations an abuse in itself, but the presence of involuntary nuns in convents was bound to lead to further cases of 400

corruption and indiscipline. The Council of Trent provided unequivocal condemnation of any person who was in any way complicit in forcing a woman to enter a convent.13 In order to ensure that candidates for the religious life came of their own free will, they were to be examined by a bishop or his deputy. The candidate for the noviciate was also to be tested on the regulations and requirements of the rule, an examination to be repeated before profession.14 Besides episcopal approval, professions had to have the blessing of the convent superiors. The Council also imposed minimum-age requirements: twelve years for the initial clothing ceremony, when the novice took the religious habit and uttered her first vows, and sixteen years for profession, when the vows were repeated and confirmed. The novice had to have been clothed for at least a year prior to her profession.15 Reformers emphasized the probationary function of the noviciate. As a further safeguard of the novice’s freedom, the Council laid down that no dowry was to be paid to the convent until the time of profession.16 In the city of Venice where, as we have seen, the elites depended 011 the convents to accommodate their unmarried daughters, one might imagine that the directives of the Council posed particular difficulties. And yet, local evidence suggests overwhelming deference to the reforms emanating from Trent, and a shared concern regarding the abuse of vocations. The attack on forced vocations received wholehearted endorsement in the constitutions and decrees published 111 1592 by Bishop Antonio Grimani. In his regulations for the admission of nuns, much of what Grimani instructed was translated directly from the Council’s rulings.17 But he also added certain strictures of his own, imposing precise limitations on kinship links within the convent and requiring a two-thirds-majority approval from the convent chapter before a candidate might be admitted to clothing or profession. The strongest indication of Grimani’s commitment to eradicating forced vocations was his raising of the minimum age of clothing. Slightly apologetically, he explained his divergence from Trent: although the Holy Council had set the minimum age for taking the nun’s habit at twelve, this did not prevent provincial authorities from establishing a higher age requirement. And so Grimani laid down his more stringent lower limit of fifteen years, to enable the girl ‘to make her judgement with greater maturity, and to express her will more freely’.18 401

But despite the church’s official stance against forced vocations, even the most committed reformers recognized the difficulty of prising the convents from their settled place in the family strategies of the Venetian nobility. Commenting in 1580 on the problem of introducing reforms to the convents of Venice, Alberto Bolognetti, the papal nuncio (literally, ‘the pope s messenger’ in the republic), observed that it was already hard enough for noblemen to persuade their daughters to enter convents; if the reforms were enacted, these same girls would refuse absolutely to take the veil. The striking thing about Bolognetti’s argument, dispatched back to his masters m Rome, was his appreciation of the dangers of interfering with the local convents. He understood that any attempt to impose strict discipline on the nuns would cause the ruin of many families, on account of the excessive dowries which nobles are accustomed to give those daughters who marry’.19 The plea for a pragmatic approach was articulated most transparently by Patriarch Giovanni Tiepolo, who urged the doge and Senate against too strict an imposition of conventual austerity. Tiepolo proposed that the dilution of traditional monastic obligations - fasting, wearing rough clothes, and sleeping on uncomfortable straw mattresses - would ameliorate the situation of involuntary nuns; they would be, ‘if not consoled, at least less miserable’. But while Tiepolo was sympathetic to the plight of women compelled to become nuns against their will, he reiterated the absolute necessity of forced vocations: If the two thousand or more noblewomen, who in this City live locked up in convents as if in a public storehouse, had been able or had wanted to dispose of themselves differently, what confusion! What damage! What disorder! What dangers! What scandals, and what terrible consequences would have been witnessed for their families and for the City! 20 Tiepolo clearly believed that, without recourse to the ‘public storehouse’ of the convents, families would unleash their wilful daughters on to society, plunging the city into chaos and anarchy. Sacrificing women to Reason of State: this was how the writer Arcangela Tarabotti viewed any such attempt to justify the practice of forced vocations.21 Her attack draws on the language of political analysis, which in the Renaissance 402

was increasingly directed towards understanding the kind of machinations for secular power that we today still call ‘Machiavellian’. The pragmatic compromises of scheming men were intolerable to this nun, herself confined within the walls of Sant’Anna as a result of their tidy social arrangements. In Tarabotti’s eyes, no relaxation of the regulations, or bestowal of material favours, could make up for the loss of liberty inflicted on involuntary nuns. Moreover, she also believed that such concessions contributed to the corruption of the convent, and were unwelcome to those with a true calling to the religious life. L’Inferno monacale, dedicated to ‘The Most Serene Republic of Venice’, challenged the authorities of church and state to dismantle the entire social edifice of the convent as storehouse for women of the elite. In Tarabotti’s impassioned analysis, for an involuntary nun the convent was at once gaol, infer no and tomb. Correspondingly, forced vocations amounted to political, spiritual and personal death. Political death, because coercion to take the veil contravened the rights and liberties of the individual. Tarabotti was disgusted at the termination of a woman’s freedom to choose her own destiny, a termination which might be effected while the baby was yet in the womb: ‘With what execrable paternal cruelty do parents consign their daughters to live in a nunnery, even before they are born?’22 As she argued in another of her polemical treatises, the Tirannia paterna (Paternal Tyranny), there was no natural reason why girls should be thus deprived of their liberties. Contrasting the humanity of animals with the bestiality of men, she observed that bears, tigers, vipers, basilisks and every crude, poisonous, and untamed beast, feed and tenderly love their offspring, making no distinction between male and female’.23 As for the unequal treatment of girls from the same family, this was just as untenable: ‘It is impossible to find a law that grants married women greater claims than nuns on the houses of their parents.’24 Angered by the imprisonment of young women against their will, Tarabotti sanctioned filial disobedience: Daughters must obey their parents in just and licit matters, not in unreasonable ones; besides which, in operations which respect the internal movement of the will, no creature is held to obey any other than the Creator. And thus the father must not and cannot marry off that daughter who wants to remain a virgin; nor is she obliged to submit to his 403

determination and force. Likewise, nor can the father compel his daughter to become a nun without the cooperation of her free will.25 Tarabotti’s stance was persuasive, but whether the right of resistance was a practical possibility for women is another matter. Set aside the economic difficulties of refusing the status quo; as Tarabotti herself vividly demonstrates, the mechanisms of deception were so well polished that the young woman or child on the point of entering a convent might be ignorant of her own will. Women who became nuns without a true vocation did not just lose their rights during this life; they jeopardized their salvation in the next, risking consignment to the everlasting inferno and spiritual death. Tarabotti believed that forced vocations profaned the house of God, and m this respect her position was shared by many Catholic reformers. Rather than increasing m virtue, nuns who are placed in convents against their will ‘become more sinful and cause offence to their unwillingly accepted Spouse’.26 Vanity and vice are perpetuated by the older nuns who, embittered by their own experience of the cloister, fail to provide a model of the true religious life. When young girls are admitted to the convent, they are instructed by these old women, who instead of enjoining them to adopt a rigorous silence, assure the girls that they can make as much noise as they like. No effort is spared in organizing balls, singing, music, masked parties and festive meals. And while they neglect to oblige the young nuns to remember to meditate upon the lives of the saints, they diligently celebrate the solemn feasts of Saint John and Saint Martin with parties and revelry, as if these festivities were unbreakable precepts.27 With such corruption and laxity pervading even the highest ranks of the monastic community, Tarabotti perceived the scandals that periodically struck the convents of Venice as inevitable. When it came to pointing the finger of blame at the fathers of unwilling nuns, she did not mince her words. Just consider this a moment, oh Ministers of Satan, that by forcing your daughters to enter convents, you are participants in all their scandalous deeds.’28 It is clear that Tarabotti viewed forced vocations as profoundly damaging to the character as well as the soul. This was the third kind of death awaiting the involuntary nun: the convent as emotional tomb. Testifying to the psychological 404

damage suffered by coerced women, she observes that ‘those who remain shut up in convents against their will, benign, silent and dear things that they are by nature, are angered and offended by the wrong which has been inflicted upon them, and become unworthy and embittered and lose their natural and proper qualities, having been denied the opportunity to act according to their general inclination’.29 Tarabotti’s own grief at having been forced to become a nun is perhaps most evident in her accounts of the ‘funereal ceremonies’ of clothing and profession: sacrificing beautiful locks of hair; making the irrevocable vows; sitting in the refectory at the celebratory meal, unable to eat. Perhaps contrary to the expectations prompted by the title, the Inferno is conspicuously not an attack on the religious life per se. Tarabotti protests from the outset that her arguments ‘are not intended to blaspheme religion, but only to oppose those fathers and other relations who violently gag their daughters’.30 Just as she condemns parents who force their daughters into nunneries, so she denounces those who stand in the way of genuine vocations. Moreover, while she despises the avarice of fathers who subject girls to the ‘extreme parsimony’ of convent life, willing sacrifice is to be applauded. In her most explicit avowal, she declares, With head bowed, I kneel down and exalt to the stars the sanctity and merit of those convents and nuns who are properly governed and who, called by heavenly inspiration in accordance with their own will, expose themselves to the sufferings of the monastic life.31 The inferno of Tarabotti’s title was the hell of the unwilling nun. Yet, while Tarabotti protested against the fate of such involuntary nuns, her sisters seem to have remained largely silent. One does not hear of women being dragged to the convent gate screaming and kicking, or of profession ceremonies being stopped short by novices refusing to utter their vows. The reluctance of Venetian women to take the veil was only alluded to indirectly, as when Alberto Bolognetti wrote of the difficulties of imposing disciplinary reforms upon the convents. A comparable comment was made by the abbess of San Biagio e Cataldo in the 1590s, as she accounted for her lenient style of government: she did not consider it appropriate to mete out stiff penances such as flagellation or fasting to her erring charges, given that ‘the girls are placed here more for safekeeping than as nuns’. And yet 405

when each of her nuns was interviewed individually by the patriarch’s vicar, and asked expressly about the circumstances of her profession, the answers were uniform: ‘I made my profession voluntarily and have always been happy.’32 We cannot take these formulaic responses at face value. The pomp and formality of a patriarchal visitation did not necessarily generate honest, open replies. Moreover, the women would have been aware that it was too late to protest against their vows; to claim that they had made their professions unwillingly would have been tantamount to admitting perjury before God. In a recent study, the historian Jutte Sperling insists that the passage of over 50 per cent of Venetian noblewomen into convents must have been the result of coercion.33 And it is certainly true that those who seek to interpret the flood of female vocations as a spiritual movement will look in vain for evidence from Venice. Likewise, arguments about the appeal of the early modern convent as a haven for female autonomy are hard to sustain in the light of restrictive reforms and in particular the imposition of compulsory enclosure, policed and regulated by male authorities. But universal coercion is a strong claim, for which the evidence is sparse. For Arcangela Tarabotti, the minimum measure of compliance needed to seal a nun’s fate was obtained by means of trickery and deceit. As she lamented, ‘all men are liars in all circumstances, but when it comes to assassinating a miserable girl, their deceptions and falsehoods are greater than ever’.34 False promises of luxury and comfort in the convent and the reassuring pledge of frequent visits from relations became transparent as soon as the first vows had been secured. Fathers received assistance in duping their daughters from older nuns inside the convent, often kinswomen.35 Thus elderly ‘aunts’ who had themselves been victims of forced vocations avenged their abuse by abusing their young relatives, ‘weaving die most fabulous yarns undreamt of by even the most famous and gifted of poets’ to persuade their nieces to take the veil. Tarabotti claimed that these women would go so far as to adorn the trees in the convent courtyards with sugared almonds and fruits, m order to con young girls into believing that the gardens of nunneries yielded sweet things.36 Also viewed as conspirators were the mothers of potential nuns, whose own lives had been favoured with the privileges of the married state, and who conferred ah 406

their affection on those daughters who would become brides.37 A set of anonymous Venetian verses from the sixteenth century constructs a dialogue between a mother and daughter who are arguing over the proposal that the girl become a nun.38 The mother concentrates on the spiritual advantages of the religious life, of serving God ‘outside the travails of the world’. But she also invokes negative arguments for the undesirability of marriage: I know from experience, if you marry you will be sorry for it, so stay out of danger, and listen to my advice.’ The daughter is unpersuaded, and begs her mother not to force her to become a nun. She feels nothing but revulsion for the religious life, as she contemplates the prospect of endless services and the continual shouting of the abbess. Furthermore, she is being courted by a handsome young man, whose attentions she would be mad to give up in order to take the veil. In a parting shot, the girl reminds her mother that, whatever she may say against it now, she herself has never been one to eschew the married life: Mother, you married 
 And when your husband died 
 You took another,
 Then a third, and a fourth.
 So don’t complain 
 If now I take a husband;
 Your advice was good,
 But you didn’t follow it yourself Like Tarabotti, the poet emphasizes the double standards and hypocrisy of those intent on pushing women into the religious life. Too bad that we cannot go back to the palaces of late Renaissance Venice to listen in on real conversations and arguments between adolescent girls and their parents. Such conversations, if they happened, may m fact have taken place in the convent parlour, for many women who became nuns had already spent the best part of their childhood within the walls ot the convent, being brought up and educated by nuns. While the notorious phenomenon of the child-nun had been countered by the decrees of Trent, the admission of boarding-girls, or educande, from the age of

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seven ensured that those who were expected to take the veil had seen little of the outside world by the time of their profession. But beyond the literary record, where do we look to find evidence of the process of deception and coercion? In the case of Venice, trial records point us in the direction of a small number of self-proclaimed ‘involuntary nuns’. These include nuns who had committed sexual transgressions and who testified that they had been forced into the convent against their will.39 A handful of women who attempted to escape from Venetian convents also claimed to have been victims of forced vocations, insisting that they put me in the convent by force’, or that ‘I have never been content in the religious life’.40 Locked m her room and held at knifepoint by her father, Suor Crestina Dolfin, who ran away from the convent of Spirito Santo in 1561, provides one of the most clear-cut cases of coercion. Besides physical threats, her father apparently obtained her compliance with flattery and inducements.41 In interpreting these tales, we need to be alert to rhetorical ploys. Some women under investigation may have claimed to have been forced into the nunnery in order to mitigate their subsequent misdeeds. Others who had taken religious vows freely and willingly had obviously grown disillusioned with the conventual life. These were circumstances in which nuns might retrospectively fashion themselves as victims of coercion. A colourful example of just how contradictory the evidence about vocations can be is provided by the case of an escapee nun named Suor Faustina, who fled San Giovanni Lateran in 1555; it was rumoured that she was pregnant.42 Faustina was the illegitimate daughter of Francesco di Polo, who made .a lengthy submission to the convent magistrates detailing the circumstances in which his daughter had entered the nunnery. According to Francesco, it was Faustina’s aunt, Suor Tadia, a nun in Treviso on the Venetian mainland, who first proposed that she should come to live with her as a boarding-girl at her convent of San Theomisto. It was never, Francesco claimed, his intention that Faustina should become a nun. Thus he was rather concerned when, from time to time, he received letters from the girl expressing her intention to take vows. Francesco responded with delaying tactics. Seeking to revive Faustina’s taste for the world, he led her to Venice at Carnival 408

time; but with weeping and wailing she begged him every day to return her to the convent. And so, several months later, seeing how fixed Faustina’s mind was, Francesco ‘was forced’ to allow his daughter to be clothed as a nun, with a conventual dowry of 200 ducats (no great sum, incidentally, at least not in comparison with the dowries demanded by convents in the city of Venice). Faustina lived devoutly at San Theomisto for several years, and went on to take the vows of profession and consecration. But things started to go wrong after the death of her aunt, an event which Faustina darkly attributed to the persecutions and spitefulness of the other nuns. She wrote to her father claiming that she could no longer stand such malign people. Francesco sought to console Faustina, but one day she received a visit from a male cousin, and decided to run away with him to the home ofa maternal aunt. Being informed of her flight, it fell to Francesco to fetch his daughter, and to arrange for her transfer to the Venetian convent of San Giovanni Lateran. Soon afterwards, she fell into the company of one of the convent employees, Francesco dalle Crosette. When, some years later, she was found in bed with that man, she and her lover fled. This is where, amid indignant splutterings, the account of Francesco di Polo ends. Thus Faustina, the girl with the unstoppable childhood vocation, ran away from the conventual life for the second time. Or, in fact, as becomes clear later on in the trial, for the third time. For, two years earlier, soon after Faustina’s arrival at San Giovanni, several of that convent’s neighbours had been disturbed in the middle of the night by a noise on the rooftop. When they opened the hatch on to the roof, they saw the nun, who began to plead with them: ‘Help me, for the love of God! If you don’t let me in, I shall throw myself off the roof. For I have been kept for six months in prison under the stairs of San Zuan [Giovanni] Lateran.’43 The neighbours were sympathetic, and the fugitive nun assured them that not only did she have somewhere to go to, but that she had a husband. This extraordinary detail, entirely absent from the father’s account, is nevertheless substantiated in the testimony of other witnesses. One nun called to give evidence tells of Faustina’s sometime betrothal to a man who was subsequently banished from Venetian territory, for what reason we do not know. Francesco dalle Crosette, when interrogated by the convent magistrates, spoke of how Faustina had been ‘taken 409

away from her husband’ by her father. Faustina herself spread the word that she had been forced to become a nun by her father and stepmother. The accounts of Faustina and her father do not tally. And there is good reason to read all the evidence with a degree of scepticism. On the one hand, Francesco di Polo was clearly protesting too much. His attentiveness to his illegitimate daughter’s wishes appears somewhat strained, even before we have heard her side of the story. On the other hand, whatever the circumstances of her vocation, Faustina was now up to her neck m misdemeanours. Her best defence was to claim that she had been forced to take the veil. If we can recover anything from the case of Faustina di Polo, it is that the usual factors of youth, innocence and family pressure contributed to the muddle of the girl’s vocation. Such cases do not bring us much closer to understanding why thousands of Venetian noblewomen of perhaps no more than average religiosity, and with little evidence of divine calling, complied m the process of becoming nuns, and spoke their vows once, twice, and three times over, ‘with their mouths if not ‘with their hearts’. Fascinating as stories like Faustina s might be, we would perhaps do better to steer clear of the exceptional examples of transgressive nuns; for the proportion of women who ran away from convents was, of course, tiny when set against all those who accepted their lot to live and die within the cloister. Let us return to the moment at which a nun took her vows. A late eighteenthcentury painting by Gabriel Bella of a noblewoman taking the veil at the Venetian convent of San Lorenzo provides an interesting contrast with Tarabotti’s accounts oi the vow-taking ceremonies. The scene is viewed from the public part of the church, and the focal point of the image is the woman kneeling before the altar while the veil is placed over her head. Behind the gilded grilles of the church, we can make out the faces of nuns watching the proceedings from within the enclosed area. In front, there are scores of musicians — men singing and playing viols — occupying six rows of pews, while the main body of the church is filled with about a hundred laypeople. These are clearly identified by their black robes as noblemen and women, accompanied by their servants. Some of the women are seated at either side of the church, but most of the congregation is milling around or

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standing in small groups. The picture conveys an atmosphere of cheerful celebration.44 Tarabotti makes no mention of such crowds of well-wishers gathered to see a nun on her way. Her description of the festivities and parties with which every convent marked the taking of religious vows reduces these events to a parody of the nun’s grief. But the ceremonies of clothing, profession and consecration were often lavish occasions, commonly involving both the convent and the nun’s family in considerable financial outlay. Convents were regularly chastised for their excessive expenditure on flour, eggs and almonds, the principal ingredients of the cakes and pastries that were the mainstay of nuns festivities. And, in a parallel move to the laws regulating marriage dowries, there were repeated efforts from both church and state to restrain the sums of money that Venetian families spent on their daughters in nunneries. According to new laws introduced in the early seventeenth century, the cost of a Venetian nun’s dowry was set and standardized at 1,000 ducats; alternatively, parents could make a commitment of sixty ducats per annum for their daughter’s lifetime. True, the conventual dowry amounted to perhaps only a twentieth of the marriage portions bestowed on a noblewoman. However, whereas a woman’s marriage dowry remained her property, to leave to her heirs or take back to her own kin after her husband’s death, the conventual dowry could never be reclaimed. A guardian might have hoped to have retained some control over the marriage portions of his female dependants, but he knew that the payments made over to a convent were lost for ever. And yet the records of convent dowries suggest that the payments continued to creep up, with families in the mid seventeenth century contracting to pay convents a lump sum of say 800 ducats, in addition to a sixty- or ninety-ducat annuity.45 The dowry was the biggest but not the only cost of becoming a nun in early modern Venice. Most noble nuns brought with them a cassa, or chest. It is the same word that is used of the marriage chest (usually called a cassone in other parts of Italy), and it refers not just to the box, but also to its contents: clothes, linen, domestic items and accessories. These were the commodities with which the noble nun furnished her cell, enabling her to recreate some of the luxuries and comforts of home life. The new nun was also allocated a sufficient amount of 411

money with which to entertain the rest of the community at her clothing, profession and consecration: fifty or sixty ducats for each of the festivities, as well as coins to give out to all the other nuns in celebration of her arrival. The trend in the provision of such extras remained steadily upward throughout the seventeenth century, and contracts demonstrate that many parents threw in an additional ‘donation’ or gift to the convent, to supplement the legally restricted dowry. Nor did the family’s financial commitment cease with the nun s admission. It was perfectly common for nuns to continue to rely on further support from their relations during their life inside the convent. The patriarchal visitors compiled lists of those nuns who received regular private incomes deriving from assets that had been given or bequeathed to them. But it is clear that these established revenues reveal only a part of the picture, and that financial assistance was more often provided on an ad hoc basis. The provision of a personal allowance and other material benefits did more than oil the passage of the aristocratic nun into the convent. Such assets were markers of status that enabled the nun to preserve her social and familial identity within the enclosed world of the nunnery. The noble nun did not sever links with her family at the gates of the convent; on the contrary, she fully expected to receive ongoing financial and emotional support from her kindred left outside. The importance of family connections was also evident within the walls of the convents; as we have seen, it was uncommon for a noble girl to enter a nunnery where there were no aunts, cousins, or sisters to welcome her. It is to the family that we must look in seeking to understand why women in Renaissance Venice accepted the convent as their destiny. Women entered the nunnery in response to family pressures. Parents selected daughters for the convent in the same way that they negotiated marriage alliances for their male and female offspring. Just as there were cases of involuntary vocations, so there were also forced marriages, and both would occasionally result in women escaping or petitioning for release from their vows. But, for the most part, nuns - like secular brides - internalized the needs of their families, and responded to the call to act in accordance with the family honour.

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The force of this call is well illustrated by a letter from the Venetian writer, Giovanni Loredan, sent in the mid seventeenth century to his niece, Laura Pasqualigo. Laura, who had apparently agreed to take the veil, was now having doubts. Loredan, a writer most famous for his libertinism and - ironically - a friend of Tarabotti’s, urged his niece to have a care for ‘the reputation of your family and for the quiet of your soul’. He went on: You are born noble, and of a most worthy family; but seeing as you do not have a dowry equal to your birth you will have either to degrade your condition or to venture into the discomforts of poverty. To stain the nobility with inferior sorts is to encounter universal contempt. To conjoin with poor fortunes is to share and multiply miseries. Marriages which are unequal m birth and equal m poverty always result in unhappiness ... But the good sense of your ladyship condemns my exhortations as superfluous. I know that upon wise deliberation you will wish to console your parents, to bring stability to your lineage, to find security for yourself, to give an example to the young, and to make known to your descendants that prudent minds do not allow themselves to be tyrannized by human considerations but by reason.46 Loredan’s coercive rhetoric is irksome to the modem reader, but there is every reason to believe that his concern with family reputation would have struck a chord with many women embarking upon the cloistered life.

Notes 1. A. Tarabotti, Inferno, p. 71. 2. G. Badoer, Ordo rimurn, p. 7. Cf. F. Vendramin, Ordo rituum, and B. Buommattei, Modo di consecrar le vergini. 3. G. Badoer, Ordo rituum p. 5. On the symbolic death signified by profession, see A. Molho, ‘“Tamquam vere mortua”’. For literary representations of the drama of the nun’s rites, see P. Aretino, Sei giornate, p. ii; D. Diderot, The Nun, p. 25;]. A. K. McNamara, Sisters in Arms, p. 537; K. O’Brien, Land of Spices, p. 7. 4. BMC, Cod. Cic. 2570, pp. 299—304 (Letter to the doge and Senate), p. 303. 5. H. Wotton, Life and Letters, vol. I, pp. 438—9 (Letter ofi4 November 1608, to Sir Thomas Edmondes). 6. S. Chojnacki, ‘Dowries’, p. 575; V. Cox, ‘The Single Self ’ pp. 532—3. For a broader discussion of women’s inheritance rights in Renaissance Italy, and especially the principle of exclusio propter dotem, see T. Kuehn, Law, Family and Women, pp. 13 and 238—41. 7. For discussion of the socio-economic factors behind female vocations in Venice, see J. C. Davis, Decline, pp. 62—7; P. Paschini, ‘I monasteri femminili’, p. 58; G. SpineUi, ‘I religlosi’, p. 194; S. Chojnacki, ‘Dowries’, p. 576; A. F. Cowan, The Urban Patriciate, p. 148; D. S. Chambers and B. Pullan, Venice, p. 192; V .J. Prirnhak, ‘Women in Religious Communities’, p. 30; V. Hunecke, ‘Kindbett’, pp. 460—61. For comparative evidence on 413

Florence see R. B. Litchfield, ‘Demographic Characteristics’, p. 203; R. Trexler, ‘Le Celi bat’; and A. Molho, ‘ "T:unquam v.::c-e morrua" p. 137. On Bologna, see C. Monson, Disembodied Voices, p. S. On Genoa, see M. Rosi, ‘Le ntonache’, pp. 67—74. 8. G. Zarri, ‘Monasteri femminili e citta’, p. 366: ‘filias in monasteriis carcerare, cum dignis lac^rirnis et plantibus ipsarum’. 9. S. Chojnacki, ‘Dowries’, p. 572. Two further Senate decrees set maximum l^imits for marital dowries at 4,000 and 5,000 ducats respectively: ASV, Senato Terra, Reg. 28, 153 5, 29 April; ibid, Reg. 37, I 551, 23 March. 10. In 1532 the diarist Marin Sanuto recorded that the contract for a high-society marriage alliance had been concluded (‘between the second daughter of Ser Hironimo Bragadin, son of the late Vetor, son- in-law of Messer Jacomo Negron, the richest Knight in Cyprus, and Lorenzo Justinian, son of Lunardo who is capitanio [one of two governors] of Verona’) with a dowry of 8,000 ducats; M. Sanuto, Diarii, LVI, col. 33. For further figures, see V.J. Prirnhak, ‘Women in Religious Communities’, p. 30; D. S. Chambers and B. Pullan, Venice, p. 223. Medioli suggests that in the first half of the seventeenth century, marriage dowries could be as high as 40,000 ducats; A. Tarabotti, Inferno, p. 113. According to S. Chojnacki, ‘Dowries’, it is difficult to gauge the relationship between rising dowries and all-round inflation (p. 573). 11. J. G. Sperling, Convents, p. 24, stresses this point. 12. G. Spinelli, ‘I religiosi’, p. 195. 13. N. Tanner, Decrees, vol. II, pp. 781—2; sessio 25, cap. XV III. The Council pronounced excommunication on anyone guilty of forcing a woman to become a nun. The see penalty was prescribed for anyone hampering the true vocation of a woman to enter a nunnery. 14. Ibid., cap. XVII. 15. Ibid., cap. XV. 16. Ibid., cap. XVI. The implications of this ruling on converse, who only took the first ‘simple’ vows, are unclear. 17. A. Grimani, Constitutioni, caps X V on clothing and X IX on profession. For comparative evidence, see E. Cattaneo, ‘Le monacazioni forzate’, pp. 164-6. He provides extensive discussion of the Regole appartenenti alle monache cavate da i concili provinciali di Milano, published by Carlo Borromeo in 1583. 18. A. Grimani, Constitutioni, cap. XV. 19. Cited in P. Paschini, ‘I monasteri femminili’, p. 58. 20. BM C, Cod. Cic. 2570, pp. 299-304 (Letter to the doge and Senate), P- 303. 21. A. Tarabotti, Inferno, p. 93: ‘Pregiudicar la multiplicita delle figliole alia Ragion di Stato.’ The concept of ragion di stato also occurs in a report of 1644, issued by the Genoese magistracy in charge of female monastic affairs. It stated, ‘Not all nuns are consecrated to their spouse by reason of vocation, but rather on account of personal interests and Reason of State’; M. Rosi, ‘Le monache’, p. 73. 22. A. Tarabotti, Inferno, p. 35. 23. Quoted in E. Zanette, Suor Arcangela, p. 93. 24. A. Tarabotti, Inferno, p. 44. 25. Ibid., p. 37. 26. Ibid., p. 35. 27. Ibid., pp. 32—3. 28. Ibid., p. 71. 29. Ibid., p. 39. 30. Ibid., p. 27. 31. Ibid., p. 93. 32. ACPV, Vis. past., misc. 1452-1730, SS. Biagio e Cataldo, 1593. 33. J. G. Sperling, Convents, p. 25. 34. A. Tarabotti, Inferno, p. 47. 35. M. Rosi, Le monache , pp. 70—71, and C. Russo, I monastery femminili, p. 60, comment on the pressure exerted by nuns to persuade girls to enter the convent. 36. A. Tarabotti, Inferno, pp. 31—2. 37. Ibid., p. 44. 38. BNM , MS it. IX —173: 6282, fos 36V—37r. 39. See for example the case of Laura Querini, discussed in my concluding chapter. Sent to the nunnery as a little girl, Laura passed her entire childhood between the convents of San Vido di Burano and San Zaccaria. 414

When the time came for her to take her religious vows, she spoke ‘with her mouth, but not with her heart’; ASV, PSM, B. 265, 1614, S. Zaccaria, fo. 9r. 40. ASV, PSM, B. 263, 1555, S. Giovanni Lateran, fo. i8v, Suor Faustina de Polo: ‘mi hanno posta per forzza in monastier’; ibid., 1566, S. Andrea, Suor Vittoria: ‘non mi ho mai contenta de star in la religion’; cf. ASV, PSM, B. 265, 1618, Convertite, testimony of Suor Maria Isabella Franceschi. 41. ASV, PSM, B. 263, 1561 [m.v.], Spirito Santo, fo. 12V. 42. ASV, PSM, B. 263, 1555, Giovanni Lateran. 43. Ibid., fo. 18v. 44. On this alternative view of the vow-taking ceremonies, see C. Mon- son, Disembodied Voices, pp. 184—5, andK.J. P. Lowe, ‘SecularBrides’. 45. ASV, Comp. Leggi, B. 288, fo. 405; Senate decree, 26july 1602. ASV, Spirito Santo, B. 1; ‘Registro dei Capitoli et altro (1534-1805)’. On dowries paid to San Lorenzo, see O. Battiston, Un piccolo regno, PP- 72- 3. 46. G. F. Loredan, Delle lettere, vol. 2, p. 201.

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3. Blood of the Republic One summer s day in 1521, Doge Antonio Grimani received a visit from an angry woman aged 106. Her name was Anzola Boldu, and she was the abbess of the Franciscan nunnery of Santa Chiara. She headed a delegation of six nuns, all noblewomen, who were accompanied by members of their families; also in attendance was a male representative from the Franciscan order. The nuns came to the doge in order to protest about the fact that the governance of Santa Chiara had been taken from them, and handed over to a group of women from the convents of Santa Croce and Santa Maria dei Miracoli. This measure was part of a programme of reforms, initiated by Patriarch Antonio Contarini, which to use a modern analogy - ‘bussed’ nuns between the model ‘observant’ convents of the city and those communities known as ‘conventuals’, which were considered lax and in need of reform. The ousted nuns claimed that they were being ill-treated under this new regime. According to Boldu, the observants gave them nothing to eat, and they were starving to death. The situation was insupportable.1 In response to Boldu’s complaints, the doge acted swiftly, immediately commissioning an inquiry into the affair, to be undertaken by the patriarch and by Cardinal Grimani, the protector of the Franciscan order in Venice. (The cardinal was, as it happened, the doge’s son.) But in the meantime the problem was snowballing. Less than three weeks after Boldu’s mission, four more abbesses set out from their convents - Santa Maria delle Vergmi, San Zaccana, Santa Maria della Celestia, and Santa Marta — destined for the ducal palace. Again, the nuns were accompanied by a host of relatives and supporters. The women threw themselves on their knees before the doge. Then the abbess of Le Vergini spoke on their behalf in Latin, ‘delivering almost an oration’. The next speech was made by Nicolo Michiel, a nobleman with daughters and sisters at San Zaccaria. He railed against the imposition of ‘nuns of a different order, rule, and habit’ upon the noblewomen of San Zaccaria, and — with little concern for accuracy - he characterized the new nuns as ‘Greeks, bastards, and plebs. Furthermore, he claimed that, in the 760 years of the convent’s history, the nuns of San Zaccaria had invested 46,000 ducats in building projects, including the 416

construction of a ‘most beautiful refectory’, all of which had now been taken away from them. The reforming enterprise of the observant nuns was perceived here as nothing less than theft.2 Throughout late summer, the protests and petitions kept rolling in. The behaviour of the ‘conventual’ nuns only served to remind the patriarch of the need for reform. He scolded the women who came to the palace for daring to step outside the walls of their convent, and pronounced excommunication upon anyone who helped to further the cause of the conventuals.3 At the Cistercian convent of La Celestia, the old community tore down a wall of the convent gram-store, in an attempt to regain control of their food supplies.4 But while the patriarch continued to lament the unruliness of the conventuals, the state authorities realized that these women had to be appeased. On 17 September, following the visit of yet another delegation of relatives to the doge and his counsellors, the decision was taken to elect ‘three honourable gentlemen’ to resolve the disputes between conventuals and observants, and to see to the fair allocation of resources between them. This was the origin of the provveditori sopra monasteri, the state magistracy that oversaw convents.5 It was an expensive and radical measure, but it worked. The rampaging nuns were at last quietened. These events are amply recorded in the diary of Mann Sanuto, the foremost political journalist of his day. Why was Sanuto so interested in the battles of warring nuns? Why, moreover, were a centenarian abbess and her followers able to capture the attention of the Venetian government, and ultimately to persuade it to act in the safeguarding of their interests? Why, in short, were nuns such a hot political issue in late Renaissance Venice? There is one answer to all these questions: social status. The conventual abbesses who objected to the reforms instituted by the patriarch came from the ancient families of the Venetian nobility, the very families that filled the republic’s governing councils, and monopolized its offices of state. The protesting nuns had extensive networks of influence outside their convents, a fact made palpable by the presence of relatives who rallied with them to the ducal palace, and further indicated by the patriarch’s threat to excommunicate anyone who assisted in the conventuals’ cause. The speeches of Nicolo Michiel, with their insulting rhetoric 417

directed against the observant nuns, reveal the extent to which the dispute was articulated in terms of class conflict. Michiel condemned the patriarch’s programme of reforms as an act of ‘cruelty used against the nobility’.6 By and large, the people of sixteenth- and seventeenth- century Europe were not encouraged to believe in social mobility. The social order was presented as being god-given and therefore fixed. Just as kings ruled over subjects, so nobles were superior to commoners, and that innate superiority was often translated directly into political power. Rank was pulled at every level of society. Merchants distinguished themselves from craftsmen by never working with their hands, and only selling goods. The distance between master craftsmen (who were permitted to run their own workshops) and journeymen (who were mere employees) was energetically maintained by the trade guilds. Within the household, the master and mistress were styled rulers of their children, servants and apprentices. But even by the standards of the time, the stratification of Venetian society was particularly rigid. Indeed, the unchanging nature of its social order was taken to be one of the factors behind its enduring political stability. While other cities in the Italian peninsula were continually afflicted by internal dissension and popular rebellions, Venice was, in the words of the nineteenth-century historian Jacob Burckhardt, ‘the city of apparent stagnation’.7 There were three tiers to the Venetian social order: nobili, cittadini and popolani. The nobility was a defined hereditari caste which, with certain tightly controlled exceptions, had been limited to some 200 clans and families since 1297. Only m 1648, when the republic was preparing for war against the Turks, was noble status put up for sale, allowing for the ennoblement of forty new families. The nobility was also quite literally the ruling class. All legitimate noblemen over the age of twenty-five sat in the Great Council (maggior consiglio), in which sovereignty was vested. Beneath the nobles, the citizens of Venice formed a secondary aristocracy. These included newcomers to the city (those who had arrived after 1297) as well as nouveaux riches. Citizens could never aspire to join the nobility, but were accorded a certain amount of influence through their monopoly of offices m the doge’s chancery, the republic’s civil service.8 Finally, the great mass of Venetians belonged to the plebeian class, encompassing prosperous artisans and shopkeepers 418

as well as the poorest members of society. Excluded from the formal channels of influence, the popolani were nevertheless renowned for their acquiescence to the state.9 At every level of the caste system, intermarriage - what anthropologists term ‘endogamy’ - was the norm. In the case of the nobility, marrying out’ had serious legal consequences. A law of 1422 excluded from office the sons of noblemen born to ‘vile’ or non-noble women, and the creation in 1506 of a Libro d’oro or ‘Golden Book’, a register of all noble marriages, served to define and preserve the purity of noble blood. But, in practice, the prevention of mesalliances depended crucially upon the existence of the nunneries. For thousands of women like Laura Pasqualigo, warned by her uncle Giovanni Loredan that to stain the nobility with inferior sorts is to encounter universal contempt’, the only viable option was to enter the convent. This was why the nobility had such a stake in the convents of Venice, and why the highest echelons of government concerned themselves with the plight of the nuns. The convent’s place in the family strategies of the Venetian nobility was suggested by the ceremonies surrounding marriage, both secular and sacred. For many young noblewomen, who had been sent to board in a convent during their childhood and teenage years, married life began on the threshold of the convent. Noble clans met to conclude marriage contracts in the parlours of convents.10 And on the eve of the wedding, flotillas of gondolas took the bride and her entourage to visit her sisters and other relatives in the local nunneries. While reformers inveighed against this mixing of secular and religious society, and prohibited nuns from touching the hand ot the bride, the impetus to involve convent women in the rituals of marriage died hard. The noble girl, about to embark on married life, wished to take leave of her relatives in the convent; the latter provided presents and hospitality to see her on her way.11 At the same time, many nuns and their relatives saw the ceremonies of clothing, profession and consecration as the occasion for a family celebration. In demographic terms, a nun’s celestial marriage was destined to bear no fruit, yet it still had a crucial role to play in the survival of the lineage. When nuns families gathered, feasted and

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exchanged gifts at the convent, they were acknowledging the significance of that institution in securing the wealth and health of the noble class. The class consciousness and exclusivity that characterized the Venetian nobility, and to a lesser extent the citizenry, were mirrored within the walls of the nunnery. Lists of names from ten convents, compiled by Patriarch Vendramin’s officials during the period 1609-18, reveal that, on average, just under three quarters of the nuns were noble. The roll-call at San Zaccaiia, the most renowned and ancient Venetian convent, was impeccably aristocratic: in 1609, of the seventy nuns who weie professed or awaiting profession precisely seventy were born of noble stock. At Santa Caterina, in 1616, the list was almost as pure - just one out of 100 choirnuns did not register a noble surname - while the proportion of noble nuns did not fall below 94 per cent at the convents of Sant’Alvise, Sant’Andrea and Spirito Santo.12 Even the more socially heterogeneous houses, in which noble nuns rubbed shoulders with women from the citizen class, retained a strong measure of exclusivity. In 1560, Patriarch Giovanni Trevisan ruled that girls who were either illegitimate or of artisan stock could not be accepted as choir- nuns. 3 On the other hand, he issued a general mandate at around the same time censoring ‘certain houses’ for refusing to accept women from the citizenry.14 Quite apart from the snobbery implicit in Trevisan’s regulations, the level of the conventual dowry - fixed from the early seventeenth century at 800-1,000 ducats - put the religious life beyond the reach of the vast majority of women. The only way for a poorer woman to enter one of Venice’s enclosed convents was for her to take the simple vows of a conversa, marking her out for a life of domestic service within the nunnery; and even the dowry of a conversa - around 300 ducats - was not negligible. In any case, the role of converse as servants to the choir-nuns strengthened rather than undermined the elite character of the convent.15 Filled from the ranks of the nobility or, failing that, from the old citizen class of merchants, notaries and secretaries, Venetian convents were microcosms of the city elite.16 And far from leaving their earthly cares behind them, nuns imported many of the social and political tensions of the lay-community into their own enclosed world. In the more aristocratic houses, nuns — supported by private 420

incomes - ate, dressed and behaved as gentlewomen, addressing one another as Signora (my lady) in preference to Suora (sister), and quarrelling over orders of precedence m the choir or dining-hall.17 The practice whereby nuns continued to use their family names, itself an indication of their desire to retain their secular identity, provides evidence of the depth of family associations within the cloisters of Venice. There were, for example, seven Foscarinis, six Querinis, five Gradenigos and five Moresinis at San Zaccaria. At Sant’Andrea de Zirada, the Balbis and the Corners headed the list; Spirito Santo was a stronghold of the Moresini clan; while there were no fewer than fourteen Contarinis at Santa Caterina.18 The convents of Renaissance Venice were powered by noble blood. When delegations of noble nuns petitioned the government, as they did m 1521, the force of their high- ranking family connections made their cause hard to ignore. By the late sixteenth century, thanks to the tightening of discipline, it would have been unthinkable for nuns of whatever station to venture outside their convent in order to harangue the authorities of the Venetian state, but written petitions from convents continued to be stamped with the mark of nobility. In 1626, the nuns of San Iseppo complained to the convent magistrates about their Calabrian confessor Veruccio, whose uncouth ways were such that many of the women considered themselves in no fit state to take communion after the priest had heard their confessions. Receiving no reply to their first letter, the nuns wrote again, and again, and again, pleading for a replacement confessor to be instated. The third letter (dated 18 April) was probably written during Holy Week, for the nuns particularly lamented that they should be deprived of the sacraments m ‘these holy days’. Marshalling their objections against the priest (who only a few years before had served as a hired thug, or bravo, and still carried a sword), the nuns appealed to the magistrates to remember their social status: ‘For we are born of the very blood of this republic, and even those who are not gentlewomen still have their souls, for which Christ came down from the heavens to this earth.’19 Unlike some of the older and richer convents in Venice, San Iseppo could not boast a pure noble pedigree; according to the records of a visitation carried out four years before those letters, just half the choir-nuns came from Venetian noble families.20 So the nuns hedged their bets, putting forward the joint claims of 421

social superiority and spiritual equality. Double-edged as the issue of nobility might have been at San Iseppo, the nuns remarks reveal a preoccupation with social class and a faith in its power to sway the authorities. But the convent magistrates hardly needed to be reminded of the noble blood that ran thick in the female religious houses of the city. Back in 1509, the diarist Girolamo Priuli - self-appointed curmudgeon to the Venetian state — had accused the government of turning a blind eye to the worst transgressions committed at the convents, claiming that those who held power were principally concerned with ‘looking after their own blood and the honour of their houses’.21 Priuli’s analysis of the situation was (characteristically) overhasty. In fact, the inextricability of the convents from the ruling class was the motive for preventing abuses as well as for ignoring them; the impetus alternately for reform and for leniency.22 Nuns’ families launched imperious protests when they considered the state’s handling of conventual discipline to be either too strict or too soft. On the one hand, they objected to the enforcement of enclosure wherever it denied them access to their daughters; on the other, they were quick to complain of any external threat to the honour of their womenfolk. Denunciations from relatives (complaining, for example, about the moral quality of convent employees) stressed familial interest, and enumerated the daughters, sisters and nieces who lived at the community in question.23 At the same time, they appealed to the broader interests of the nobility as a whole, urging the convent magistrates to take action on account of the honour and reputation of the first blood and born of this city’.24 Steeped in the blood of the ruling class, convents inevitably became involved in the political concerns of the republic. In around 1580, the pope’s nuncio Alberto Bolognetti complained of the behind-the-scenes interventions of nuns in the deals and counter-deals characteristic of Venetian politics, and especially in the pursuit of offices. According to Bolognetti, ‘these women, by calling upon their fathers, brothers and other close relatives, and by begging them to favour one man or another, can well help or harm them in their political dealings’.25 The eagerness of nuns to play a role in secular politics may, as the nuncio believed, have been motivated by the hope of obtaining favours and concessions from those in power; 422

it may also have been an end in itself. When Giovanni Tiepolo, patriarch in the 1620s and himself a member of one of Venice s most illustrious noble houses, wrote of the city’s nuns that they were ‘noblewomen, brought up and nourished with the utmost delicacy and respect’, he added, ‘Had they been of the other sex it would have fallen to them to command and govern the World.’26 Yet while laywomen were excluded from most forms of political participation in Venice, nuns were accustomed to the responsibilities of government - if not of the world, then at least of their own communities.27 Through the institution of the chapter, nuns were collectively responsible for managing the finances of their convent. It was the duty of the chapter to ensure the profitable investment of capital, and in particular of the payments of cash it received from nuns’ dowries. To this end, convents invested most commonly in property, trade (by making loans to the guilds under the supervision of the state), or livelli (private loans that avoided the prohibitions on usury, since they were released under the guise of fictional property sales). Through their investments, Venetian convents participated actively in the economy, generating wealth and employment. Although the nuns of Venice were, from the mid sixteenth century, strictly enclosed, their economic imaginations necessarily roved far beyond the convent walls. The majority of communities were in possession of extensive ‘immobile assets’, ranging from agricultural land to urban dwellings and shops. The archives of the Venetian convents, contained within the city s State Archive since the convents’ suppression under Napoleon, consist above all of documents relating to property: records of the sale or purchase of land, contracts for building work or repairs, rental agreements, and endless accounts of litigation. These documents reflect the fact that managing convent lands was a major responsibility for nuns, a challenge which could at times become a worry. The efficient and profitable administration of convent property was dependent in large part upon the business skills of the women in charge.28 In the running of their communities, nuns wielded truly exceptional power. In common with their male relatives who sat in the councils of the Venetian state, convent women held office, cast ballots, campaigned in elections, debated and made speeches. The constitutions of a Venetian convent closely paralleled the 423

structures of the Venetian state. Just as the republic was founded on a mixed constitution, consisting of a monarch (doge), aristocracy (Senate), and democracy (Great Council), so the system of conventual government rested 011 the sharing of authority between the abbess, a group of elders (‘the discreet ones’ or ‘mothers of advice’) and the chapter, which encompassed all the professed choir-nuns. In his regulations of 1592, Antonio Grimani, Bishop of Torcello, laid down in detail the precise distribution of power within this three-tier system of authority: We declare that the Abbess is empowered to despatch affairs up to the value of ten ducats, without any other counsel than that which she sees fit to take from the convent treasurer. In matters with a value often to fifty ducats, such as small outlays and deals and other similar business, she must consult her advisers. From fifty ducats upwards, she must consult first of all with the advisers, and then propose the matter to be voted on in chapter; and among these important issues, we include the concluding of tenancy agreements; sales and major purchases; changing employees and other matters of similar significance.29 Focusing on questions relating to the administration of the convent s economic resources, Grimani’s instructions were clearly designed to prevent the interests of any one individual or group from dominating in the convent. The same considerations led to regulations limiting family interests in the chapter. Nuns with personal interests in the matter to be decided upon were to be excluded temporarily from the chapter. And the decisions of the nuns, though meticulously recorded, were on no account to be divulged.30 A simple majority of votes in chapter was necessary for decisions to be passed.31 And nuns were encouraged to exercise their vote judiciously and independently. According to Grimani, although nuns should not vote until two or three years after profession (Priuli reckoned on five), they should attend the chapter and listen to the proceedings, in order to learn about the government and business of the convent, ‘lest, out of inexperience, they be persuaded to cast their votes at the behest of their relations or superiors’. Whenever a ‘very important matter’ had to be discussed, Grimani urged that it should not be sprung on the nuns without warning. Rather, they should be notified of the matter in advance, and it should be dealt with in a further meeting, a week later or as appropriate. It was the task of the treasurer or scribe to keep ‘the book of acts and decrees of the chapter’. In 424

this, the date of each meeting would be recorded, along with the names of the superior and of all the nuns present, and the resolutions and voting distributions of any ballots.32 Through their involvement in the chapter, nuns gained access to what was usually the thoroughly masculine culture of politics. This extraordinary anomaly in the gender order was at its most acute at election time, when women participated in the democratic process, electing and being elected to positions of power within the convent community. The chapter was responsible for the appointment of nuns to offices at every level of the convent hierarchy. In the apportioning of office, age was prized and, perhaps more significantly, youth was mistrusted. Prelates advised nuns to take special care in the appointment of women to serve as discrete, ascoltatrici (quite literally ‘listeners’, whose job it was to listen in on nuns’ parlour conversations with outsiders), gate-keepers and novice-mistresses. Jobs that entailed contact with the outside world — and, in particular, contact with men - required optimal discretion and chastity, such as were considered unlikely to be found in women under forty! 33 But it was not simply the preoccupations- of male ecclesiastics that ensured that older nuns enjoyed particular status. Within the convent, the privileges afforded to those women who had been in residence the longest were selfperpetuating; as with the venerable statesmen who presided over the republic, senior nuns were unlikely to divest themselves of the power that was traditionally the prerogative of age.34 While the most prominent jobs were reserved for the most senior members of the community, almost all professed nuns were allocated a particular responsibility. The appointments procedure was a regular event, since the term of office for all positions (excluding that of abbess) was limited to one or two years, a measure which aimed to prevent nuns from exercising their authority according to personal interest.35 In reality, it was rare for an office to be contested, so the chapter’s role was merely to confirm or veto a decision taken by the abbess and her advisers. The exception was the position of the abbess herself, an office which was apparently always contested, and which, from the late sixteenth century, came up for election on a triennial basis.36

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The election of the abbess or prioress of a convent was the toughest test of the institution’s political probity.37 The basic requirements for the job were simple: candidates had to be at least forty years of age, and to have been professed at least eight years previously.38 But to be elected superior of her convent, a nun required the backing of two thirds of the chapter. Extremely sensitive to the possibility of electoral corruption, the ecclesiastical authorities insisted on the nuns voting by secret ballot, under the supervision of a prelate. Voting by proxy was disallowed even for sick nuns. Speaking out against the fraudulent and partial election practices which evidently operated in some nunneries, Bishop Grimani issued the following exhortation: Let no one dare to endanger the convent by engaging in illicit and unfitting practices, whether to further herself or to favour another out of friendship, kinship, or particular interest; nor to use fraud or partiality in voting, but to allow everyone to make their decision with freedom and sincere judgement, not obfuscated by evil design, but guided and illuminated by rectitude and the grace of the Holy Spirit.39 To avoid external influences, nuns were not allowed to speak to outsiders in the run-up to an election. There was one final precaution against corruption: on no account could the ballot go ahead unless all the nuns with a vote in the chapter first had been confessed and had received communion. The instructions written by prelates like Grimani and Priuli set down the ideal of convent government. At every stage, ‘the particular interest’ of individuals and, more importantly, of families was at least frustrated, at best subdued. But just as the workings of the Venetian state were perennially distorted by the pressures of private influence and corruption, so within the convent theory and practice diverged. The interests of a convent could not be administered mechanically. Decisions had to be made, and there were bound to be external pressures from the relatives and other lay acquaintances of nuns. Nuns’ participation in the intrigues and rivalries of the Venetian republic - as described by Bolognetti - was paralleled by lay involvement in the internal politics of the convent. In particular, the election of a new abbess or prioress was liable to become the talk of the town. Two stories of electoral controversy and corruption allow us to sense the reverberations of convent politics throughout the city of Venice. 426

In early February 1533, the Dominican vicar-general, Fra Serafino, dismissed the prioress of Corpus Domini from her office two months before her term was due to expire so that the ensuing election could take place while he was present in Venice. His actions were tactless, to say the least, and called forth a storm of public indignation. How dare a Florentine fiiai (second-in-command of the Dominican order in Italy though he was) thus insult a Venetian noblewoman (the sister of Polo Trevisan, a member of the powerful Council of Ten)? But this was just the beginning of the friar’s effrontery. Having got rid of the Trevisan prioress, Fra Serafmo then attempted to manipulate the ensuing election, by violating the secrecy of the ballot; and when, in spite of his manoeuvres, the community elected Veneranda Capello, he refused to confirm her as the new superior. His rather specious argument for debarring the nuns’ chosen candidate was that, at forty-seven, Veneranda was too young to hold the office. In two subsequent elections, Capello was excluded and the other candidates involved failed to win sufficient votes for election. Following the intervention of the Council of Ten, Capello took part in yet another election and on 11 February she was legitimately re-elected. The heads of the Council of Ten awaited Fra Serafino s confirmation of the new prioress only to find that he had suddenly left Venice and taken himself off to Bologna. But the controversy continued to rage on both sides of the convent walls. Two parties had developed around the rival candidates, each commanding support throughout the city. Giacoma Torella, of citizen stock, was the favourite of the vicar-general and his local allies. Her noble opponent, Veneranda Capello, was supported by a large party of relatives ‘who made up the best part of the principal houses of the city’; members of this camp were infuriated by the fact that their kinswoman’s election had been continually blocked ‘as if she were some wretch or madwoman’.40 The papal nuncio, Girolamo Aleandro, blamed the families of nuns for the ongoing dispute: ‘The whole problem of arriving at an agreement arises from the discord and resentment and rivalry of their relations, who exist in such great numbers outside.’41 But divisions in the outside world were reflected within the convent. In November 1533, when Veneranda Capello was, at last, appointed, a clique of nuns around the unsuccessful Torella 427

responded by refusing to obey the new prioress. The papal nuncio excommunicated the rebellious nuns, but even this was insufficient to tame them; the Council of Ten took more effective action, ordering that the convent be raided and that six sisters (two professed nuns, including Torella, and four converse) be imprisoned in six different observant nunneries around the city. In the event, the threat did not have to be carried out, for relatives of the rebellious faction came to Corpus Domini and urged the nuns to manifest their obedience and humility both to the prioress and to the secular authorities. From the outbreak of the conflict to its resolution, the interests of the nuns of Corpus Domini proved to be inextricable from those of their families. As with Corpus Domini over thirty years earlier, the discord that arose at San Sepolcro in 1567 was initiated by a male superior from the nuns’ order. Once again, the crisis resulted from the removal of the community’s abbess from her post, and several attempts by local friars (in this case, Franciscans) to control the appointment of her successor. On 30 June, news reached the convent magistrates that in the convent of San Sepolcro, the nuns were in a state of great confusion and uproar, because their superior, the father confessor, a Franciscan, had arrived at the convent last Saturday and had ousted the abbess from office.42 This time there was a disciplinary pretext for the interference of the confessor in the affairs of the nunnery, for he held Suor Michaela Beltrame, abbess for the last two and a half years, responsible for the escape of a young girl named Meneghina, who had been boarding at San Sepolcro. Yet the determination of the friar to force through the election of his own preferred candidate, Suor Daria Navagier, suggests that factors besides the alleged negligence of Suor Michaela drove him to intervene. The magistrates scented trouble. Statements that have survived from the ensuing investigation indicate the fury that many nuns evinced at the conduct of their confessor. They tell of how he came to the convent, accompanied by the superior of the nearby friary, San Francesco della Vigna, and set about bullying the nuns into submission. First of all, the two friars undertook to interview all the inhabitants of the convent over a period of two days. The events of the third day are recounted sceptically by one of the nuns: 428

The confessor came with the superior of San Francesco, and made the gate-keepers open the door, and the pair of them entered, and the confessor rang the bell summoning the nuns into the chapter, and all the nuns came obediently, and then he pronounced that the abbess had been removed from her office, although this was against the will of the majority.43 The nun’s account goes on to relate how the members of the chapter, reluctant to sanction the actions of the two friars, walked out of the meeting, only to be summoned back by the bell. Many of the nuns refused to return, prompting the confessor to pursue these women, in an attempt to force them back. The friars pulled the veils off nuns who failed to comply, a gesture designed to rob the women of their status and dignity. Eventually, after much more bell-ringing, the chapter reassembled, and the father confessor announced that they were to vote openly on whether they favoured the old abbess or Suor Daria Navagier. Enraged by this travesty of their electoral system, nuns fled in a riot of flying headgear: Many of the nuns pulled their black veils from their heads, and threw them away, and they escaped upstairs, and the fathers wanted to remove their veils, and in this confusion the new abbess was elected by nine nuns who remained in the chapter.44 Another witness recalled how several votes were held before the friars got the result they desired from the rump chapter, winning finally by utterly unscrupulous means: ‘The confessor took the ballots and when he saw the name of the old abbess he withdrew it and put it under his feet . .. and this election was carried by 10 or 12 nuns out of the 60 who are m this convent.’45 The nun who reported this comically inept attempt at ballot-rigging was keenly aware of the failure of Navagier to secure an electoral mandate. Of course, Navagier had her supporters. One was Suor Franceschina Moresini, who insisted on the legitimacy of the election with a similar precision as to the division of votes. ‘And then suor Daria was made abbess, canonically,’ she claimed, for we were 50 in total and of the 50 nuns nine did not vote (some were ill; suor Michaela and the gate-keeper were excluded), and suor Daria obtained 23 votes, and thus she was elected canonically. 46 But even if Suor Franceschina’s figures are reliable, Suor Daria could only have been elected by a simple majority, not by the two-thirds majority which was generally required. 429

In common with the disputed election that had occurred at Corpus Domini, family rivalries fired the controversy at San Sepolcro. As the investigation progressed, it emerged that the old abbess, Suor Michaela, had been feuding with the Navagier family for some time. The object of their contention was the proposal of the Navagiers to construct a balcony in the church — such private investments were the equivalent of corporate sponsorship in the Renaissance, and most ecclesiastical buildings were heavily marked with monuments, altars, tombs and other showpieces of munificence. But the Navagier scheme was problematic, because the balcony under discussion was deemed to compromise the nuns’ enclosure. Suor Aurelia Pizzoni gave this account: And when suor Michaela was first made abbess, the dispute with the Navagier family regarding the balcony which they wanted to build m church was still running, and suor Michaela put an end to the matter, ensuring that the balcony was not built, because it would be possible to see into the convent from it; and this was the cause of great displeasure to suor Daria.47 The convent was split between the two abbesses. There were those who claimed that Suor Michaela had deliberately allowed the escape of Meneghena; others protested her innocence, blaming the interference of the friars for the crisis in the convent. In the words of one witness, the seventy-eight- year-old Suor Cecilia Lion: I have been in this convent for 58 years, and we have always lived m peace, and poor suor Michaela is a saint, and I believe that she will achieve miracles at her death, and she has lived with great patience, and I do not know how she survives, and the cause of every ill is the father confessor who came here, and I believe that the devil is the cause of all this. 48 Suor Eugenia Vianuola was also in no doubt as to whom to blame for the instability m the nunnery: ‘The friars are the principal cause of our discord, for it is they who put all the discords among us. 49 Furthermore, the friars, who had been at the convent for more than seventeen days, were eating the nuns out of house and home, for their allies in the nunnery provided them with capons, doves, cakes, cream, malmsey, sweet wine’. Meanwhile, all the nuns had to eat were a few beans and some rough oil — the food that the friars had spurned.50 430

While Michaela’s supporters complained at the interference of the friars, the Navagier party objected to the involvement of the convent magistrates - the embodiment of the state - on the grounds that outside authorities, and in particular laymen, should keep out of an internal affair. One nun, Suor Arcanzola Contarini, protested that the magistrates ‘arrived some days ago to carry out their investigation, creating a disturbance among us, and laymen have never before interfered in this convent, for God said “Touch not mine anointed.” ’51 Judging from the welcome afforded to Piero Navagier and Suor Arcanzola’s own relatives, Hieronimo and Vicenzo Contarini, this principle was not always upheld. A panoply of different interest groups was involved in the affairs of nunneries. Apart from the perennial interventions of nuns’ families, power-hungry friars, papal nuncios and state magistrates also pursued their differences into the territory of the convent. As we have seen, reforming prelates like Antonio Grimani and Lorenzo Priuli would later insist on the integrity of the chapter, in an attempt to isolate convents from the disruptive interventions of outside parties. Ultimately, however, from within the walls of the convent, it was the nuns who controlled the level of external influence upon their affairs. It was they who opened up channels to the outside world. And it was they who fought off interference when they so wished, invoking the constitutions of their internal government in defence of their autonomy. The myth of Venice, the city of stable government, in which a perfectly formted constitution prevented opportunities for self-interest and dissension, provides an obvious analogy for the kind of mechanical government which sixteenth-century prelates sought to impose on the city’s nunneries. The myth - classically articulated by the Venetian historian and reformer, Gasparo Contarini, in the 1520s flourished from the early sixteenth century until around 1650. From the later seventeenth century it was opposed by an anti-myth, forged principally by French critics, which presented Venice as a centre of corruption, intrigue and tyranny.52 Apologists for the Venetian republic stressed the importance of its constitutional mechanisms — the rotation of offices and the secret ballot — in rendering government impervious to corruption. Later critics scorned the notion of Venetian political integrity. They pointed out that it was in the broglio, an area of Piazza 431

San Marco which became a synonym for corruption, that the real business was done. Here, nobles bought and sold votes and plotted to further their careers at the expense of others. Their selfishness and irresponsibility were concealed beneath the cloak of the secret ballot.53 The political system shared by the Venetian state and its convents is emblematic of the centrality of nuns within civic culture. Secret ballots, records of divisions, the rotation of offices, gerontocracy, the exclusion of interested parties, and shared authority all reflected the traditions of the republic in the convent.54 But the reality of convent politics, riddled with partialities and special interests imported from the lay world, gave still clearer witness to the links that bound noble nuns to the ruling class. In the parlours of convents, nuns and their relatives dealt and schemed, pursuing their private concerns and forming factions. Even the broglio, that unofficial yet crucial aspect of the Venetian political scene, found an echo within the enclosed world of the nunnery.

Notes – Blood of the Republic 1. M. Sanuto, Diarii, X X X I, col. 162; 2 August 1521. M. P. Pedani, ‘L’osservanza imposta’. 2. M. Sanuto, Diarii, X X X I, cols 276—7; 21 August 1521. 3. Ibid., X X X I, col. 384; 10 September 1521. 4. Ibid., X X X I, cols 398-9; 13 September 1521. In an age when rebels and rioters regularly made the civic granary the focus of their protests, the nuns’ attack on the convent’s flour-store carried particular significance. 5. Ibid., X X X I, cols 423-4; 17 September 1 521; I. Griiliani, ‘Genesi’. 6. Sanuto, Diarii. X X X I, col. 276; 21 August 1521. 7. J. Burckhardt, The Civilization of the Renaissance, p. 40. 8. B. Pullan, Rich and Poor, p. 22. 9. For a discussion of the causes of popular acquiescence to the state, see E. Muir, Civic Ritual, pp. 42-4. 10. ACPV, Vis. past., misc. B, 1452—1730, SS. Biagio e Cataldo, 1593. 11. ACPV, Vis. past., Trevisan, 1560-89, Corpus Domini, 1560, order 29. On Venetian marriage rituals, see P. Labalme and L. S. White, ‘How to (and How not to) Get Married’, p. 44. 12. The figures collected by Vendramin are as follows: S. Zaccaria, 1609, 70 choir-nuns of whom 70 were noble (100%); S. Andrea, 1609, 45 choir-nuns, 43 noble (96%); SS. Rocco e Margarita, 1609, 34 choir- nuns, 18 noble (53%); Ogni Santi, 1610, 53 choir-nuns, 31 noble (58%); S. Chiara, 16 11, 40 choir-nuns, n noble (28%); Spirito Santo, 1611, 35 choir-nuns, 33 noble (94%); S. Alvise, 1612, 89 choir-nuns, 86 noble (97%); S. Lucia, 1613, 59 choir-nuns, 24 noble (41%); S. Caterina, 1616, 100 choir-nuns, 99 noble (99%); S. Iseppo, 1618, 67 choir-nuns, 35 noble (52%). The mean proportion of noble nuns within these convents is 72%. Roughly in keeping with these figures is J. G. Sperling’s estimate (Convents, pp. 26—9) for the late sixteenth century that 74% of all nuns were noble, based on information from the 1586 census about all the Venetian convents. However, her figure is even more impressive than it seems, since the census figures for the overall number of nuns include converse. My figures exclude converse, on the grounds that (i) visitation records tend not to provide their family names; (ii) converse were almost by definition non-noble. The exceptionally low proportion of noble nuns at S. Chiara in 1611 suggests that, in the 90 years that had passed since she made her protests, the fears of Anzola Boldu had been fulfilled. 13. ACPV, Vis. past., Trevisan, 1560—89, Corpus Domini, 1560, order 12.

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14. ACPV, Vis. past., Trevisan, 1560-89, fo. 2ir (undated). 15. ACPV, Vis. past., Priuli, 1592-96, S. Zaccaria, 1596, fo. 576U 16. On the elite character of convents throughout Italy and Europe, see L. Roper, Holy Household, p. 209; O. Hufton, Prospect, p. 65; M. E. Wiesner, Gender, Church and State, p. 50; C. Russo, I monasterifemmin- ili, pp. 69—71; G. Zarri, ‘Monasteri femminili e citta’, pp. 368-72; L. Fiorani, ‘Monache’, p. 70. 17. ACPV, Vis. past., Vendramin, 1609—18; S. Servolo, 1610, on the ‘vain’ and ‘indecent’ custom whereby nuns call one another ‘Signora’; ACPV, Atti patriarcali, reg. 1, fos 8r—9r; 8 April, 1591, S. Anna, detailing a dispute between two nuns regarding order of precedence. 18. These data testify to the failure of ecclesiastical measures to limit the concentration ofblood relatives in particular houses; see for example A. Grimani, Constitutioni, cap. XV. Venetian families regularly petitioned Rome for the relaxation of these rules; see permissions granted to Marietta Grimani, Lucretia Falier and Felicita Genova to enter San Maffio di Mazzorbo, where each already had two blood sisters; AS Vat., S. C. Episc. etreg., I Positiones, 1620, lett. T-V. 19. ASV, PSM, B. 267; S. Iseppo, 1626. 20. ACPV, Vis. past., Tiepolo, 1620-27, S. Iseppo, 1622; 32 of the 64 choir-nuns came from Venetian noble families. 21. G. Priuli, I diarii, IV, p. 34. 22. G. Zarri, ‘Monasteri femminili e citta’, p. 378. 23. ASV, PSM, B. 265, Celestia, 1614; B. 268, convent unknown, 1631. 24. ASV, PSM, B. 268, S. Lorenzo, 1642. 25. D. S. Chambers and B. Pullan, Venice, p. 206. 26. BM C, Cod. Cic. 2570, pp. 299-304; undated letter to the doge and Senate (p. 303). 27. Cf. L. Roper, Holy Household, p. 224. 28. Using the records of tax assessments, Sperling has pointed to the impressive gains in income and property achieved by nearly all Venetian convents during the period 1564-1769. Among those which made the most dramatic increases in their land ownership were S. Maria degli Angeli, which extended its rural holdings by 713 hectares or 276%, and S. Maffio di Murano, which acquired its entire farmland of 536 hectares after 1564. The Carmelite house of S. Teresa, founded in 1647, was remarkably quick to, develop its agricultural estates, acquiring about 500 hectares in the Verona area during the course of the seventeenth century. The highest increases in total revenues, however, came more predictably from the two oldest convents in the city ofVenice, S. Zaccaria and S. Lorenzo, whose position at the head of the wealth tables had long been secure. Apart from the general increase in real estate, another poticeable feature of the investment portfolios of the nunneries is the rise- in revenues from urban property. This widespread tale of expansion flew in the face of the state’s efforts to limit the amount of land in the hands of ecclesiastical institutions, including the tough-talking mortmain law of 1605, which attempted to end the acquisition of real estate by ecclesiastical institutions throughout the repubhc ofVenice; J. G. Sperling, Convents, pp. 200-201, 219, 224-7. 29. A. Grimani, Constitutioni, cap. X LII, fo. 41V. 30. ACPV, Vis. past., 1452-1730, SS. Biagio e Cataldo, 1593. 31. A. Grimani, Constitutioni, cap. X V I, fos i8v— I9r. 32. Ibid.; cf. ACPV, Vis. past., misc., 1452—1730, SS. Biagio e Cataldo, 1593. 33. ACPV, Vis. past., misc., 1452-1730, S. Andrea, 1596. 34. On the self-perpetuating system of rule by the old in Venice, see R. Finlay, ‘The Venetian Repubhc as Gerontocracy’. 35. ACPV, Vis. past., Priuli, 1592—6, S. Servolo, 1594, fo. i68r; the instruction to change offices annually or biennially (according to the convention of the nunnery) is reiterated throughout the visitation reports of Priuli’s patriarchate. 36. Bullarium diplomatum, VIII, pp. 404—5; Pope Gregory X III’s decree of 1583, ‘Abbatissae et aliae praefectae monasteriorum in Italia triennium tantummodo eligantur’. See ASV, Comp. Leggi, B. 288, fo. 385 ff, for a series of supplications from Venetian convents protesting at the introduction of triennial (as opposed to perpetual) abbesses. 37. On this issue, see K. J. P. Lowe, ‘Elections of Abbesses’. 38. A. Grimani, Constitutioni, cap. VI, Here, Grimani was adopting the Tridentine legislation (sessio 25, cap. VII; N. Tanner, Decrees, pp. 778- 9). 39. A. Grimani, Constitutioni, cap. VI, fo. 5r. 433

40. Nunziature, I, pp. 123—4. 41. Ibid., p. 96. 42. ASV, PSM, B. 263, 1567, S. Sepolcro, fo. rr. Although this was evidently a very full investigation, the middle section between fo. 12 and fo. 51 has been lost. 43. ASV, PSM, B. 263, 1567, S. Sepolcro, fo. 3V. 44. Ibid., fo. 4r. 45. Ibid., fo. 7r. 46. Ibid., fo. 52r. 47. Ibid., fo. 6iv—62r. 48. Ibid., fo. 65r. 49. Ibid., fo. 57V. 50. Ibid., fo. 58r. 51. Ibid., fo. 68r. The biblical reference - ‘noli tangere christos meos’ — is to 1 Chronicles 16:22. 52. For a survey of the extensive literature on the myth of Venice, see D. E. Queller, Die Venetian Patriciate, ch. I; for a lucid account of the anti-myth, see D. Wootton, ‘Ulysses Bound?’. 53. Ibid.; on the broglio, pp. 354, 357-8. 54. F. C. Lane, Venice, pp. 109-11.

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READING 3

Isabella Campagnol Forbidden Fashions: Invisible Luxuries in Early Venetian Convents Weddings and Clothings: A Comparison What kinds of preparations were made for a patrician wedding and for a monastic ceremony? And what styles and colors of dresses were Venetian brides and nunsto-be to wear? Numerous, and sometimes strikingly similar, were the steps and ceremonies that transformed a young noblewoman into either a resplendent bride, the icon of her family’s fortunes and social status, or a demure nun, who was supposed to follow the example of Saint Catherine of Alexandria, the most iconic bride ever thanks to her mystical marriage to Baby Jesus.

Brides Venetian brides wore robes of white. Centuries before the proclamation, in 1854, of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception that made white the customary color for wedding dresses,1 the novizie, or novices, as brides-to-be were called in a curious analogy with their religious counterparts, paraded themselves on their wedding day in “an immaculate white tight-fitting dress, suitable to the candor and innocence of a well-brought-up maiden.2 In the sixteenth century, according to the symbolic language of colors, white alluded to the virginity and chastity of women;3 it also marked their transition into a new status, as it did in classical times, when young Romans wore an immaculate toga upon entering adulthood, thus indicating both their willingness to accept the rights and duties that came with their roles as citizens and the pure soul with which they approached their new position.4 In Christian times the newly 435

baptized were given a white tunic as well, symbolizing their new life and their liberation from original sin. Easily soiled, white represented in Venice the color of luxury, and it was therefore reserved for the most important political and iconic figure of the government of the Republic, the doge. His white and gold robe expressed the sacrality of his role and followed a custom that had been imported from Byzantium, with which Venice consistently maintained key trading and political relationships, and where the emperor always appeared dressed in magnificent white capes, occasionally brightened by the precious shimmering of incorruptible gold threads. White was also considered equivalent to gold both in heraldry and in liturgical vestments.5 Venetian women in general were hardly ever seen around the city, their place being in the protected domestic environment, with the routine exceptions of religious ceremonies. This was even more true in the case of young women, “both Patrician and Citizens”: if they were not already in a convent to be educated, “when they, rarely, ventured out of the house, they used to cover their heads with an ample White silk veil called fazzuolo, and with it they hide their faces and chest. They do not wear but few jewels with pearls, and some simple gold necklaces. The outer dresses are for the most part rovano6 or black, made of light wool cloth, or ciambellotto7 or other similarly inexpensive fabrics, although underneath they wear colored gowns, and silk sashes called poste.”8 Given the social and diplomatic importance of patrician weddings, any single detail was carefully planned and executed. The display of luxurious clothes constituted such an essential key element of the ceremonies that, although sumptuary laws forbade the use of white clothing, temporary exemptions were routinely made for aristocratic brides, in the choice of colors and shapes and in the fabrics.9 Marin Sanudo offers us several confirmations of these exceptions. In 1517 a bride from the Grimani family, having obtained an ad personam permission for the day of the wedding, wore an “illegal” dress made “half of cloth of gold and half of white fabric.”10 Similarly, in October 1519, a bride from the Pisani family sported a “white and gold dress,”11 prompting the matter-of-fact comment of Sanudo that “everybody does whatever they want, even if it is against the law.”12 A few months later, in fact, Sanudo reports again that a bride from the 436

Foscari family was married wearing a “chequered white and gold dress, forbidden by the law, a gold chain necklace and many big pearls.13 Showy jewels, in the form of necklaces, coronets, and earrings or precious belts, were indeed characteristic accessories of bridal outfits. In the second half of the sixteenth century, the pointed waistline typical of the period was marked by the heavy colana in sbara or paternostro,14 a gold and pearl chain-belt, the extremity of which reached the hem of the dress and that symbolized the love bond and the solidity of the marital knot; often the large metal beads that finished the belt were hollow and filled with a scented paste.15 A precious pearl necklace, usually matched by pearl earrings, was another classic jewel worn by brides. It was donated by the future mother-in-law, its maximum value could have been up to four hundred ducats, and it could be worn only for ten years, starting from the day of the wedding. The characteristic Venetian-blonde hair of the brides was left loose for a year after the wedding ceremony and was enhanced by thin gold threads mixed within the hair, held in place by a small coronet. Grevembroch remembers that, on the occasion of the coronation of dogaressa Cecilia Dandolo in 1557, among the over two hundred noblewoman who composed her following were “six Brides with loose hair enriched by gold threads.�16 The opulence and style of the bridal attire was matched by the preciousness of (lie wedding trousseau. It could include dozens of gowns, lengths and lengths of laces, personal and house linens, but also jewels, furniture, and paintings that accompanied the bride to her future home. Because of their material value and the key role they played in the negotiation of the marriage, trousseaux were always meticulously detailed in the marriage contracts, and many of these lists are still preserved in Venetian archives. One example is offered by the trousseau inventory of Paulina Provisina Vignon, in which was included, besides over twenty dresses made with precious fabrics and decorated by needle-made laces and the usual linens, such valuable items as paintings in gilded frames, gilt stools, flounces of the expensive type of Venetian

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needle lace called punto in aria, a bureau desk, a spinet, precious zibeline, marten and ermine furs, and twenty rugs.17 The actual wedding consisted of a sequence of rites and ceremonies that occurred mostly during the long Carnival season, from St. Stephens Day through Mardi Gras. Marriages were usually arranged through a third party and were preceded by the formal commitment of the father to concede the hand of the daughter to the fiancé. The matrimonial edict (de futuro) was then posted in the courtyard of Palazzo Ducale, where the groom would receive the congratulations of relatives and friends. The following act was the official proclamation of the mutual consent of the betrothed couple to the wedding {de praesenti) and, later, the giving of the ring to the bride. At this point the nuptial contracts were prepared, and the amounts of the dowry and the trousseau, “le cosse per el vestir della sposa,” were minutely described. On the day of the signing the groom, dressed with the patrician vesta,18 went to the house of the bride accompanied by his male relatives. They were introduced in the portego, the large longitudinal hall that in Venetian palaces served as the banquet and music hall or ballroom. There, the magnificently dressed bride would make her appearance, accompanied by the dance master, and “after having greeted the groom and thanked the guests, she moved a few dance steps, then she danced a little more, and finally, with a nice curtsey, she left.”19 The same ritual was repeated the following day for the female members of the families; afterward, the bride would enter the gondola “outside of the felze,20 and sat on a rather raised seat entirely covered with rugs (and this is called ‘andare in trasto’). She is followed by a large number of other gondolas, and she goes to visit the nunneries where her sisters or other relatives are.”21 These customary visits were originally conceived to somehow include the nuns, still considered part of the family, in the wedding festivities. However, these visits could be rather depressing for the nuns, faced with the glamour and luxury of a lifestyle llicy could only dream about. It is not by chance that Patriarch Lorenzo Priuli, in his “Orders for Those Who Have to Talk with Nuns,” prescribes that “women need to avoid bringing novizze accompanied by other well-dressed women [to convents] because they cause great sins [probably of jealousy and envy!] and upset the souls of the nuns”” During these visits brides usually received a present from 438

their cloistered relatives; Tarabotti tells us that it happened that these embroidered gifts, on which the nuns had worked day and night, and sometimes even indebted themselves for, were superficially received, and this unenthusiastic reception was a cause of great humiliation and pain for them.23 At daybreak of the day of the religious ceremony (subarratio or desponsatio) the future couple set off from their respective homes and moved toward the church, followed by their guests. The impressive welcome committee that received the bride at her arrival at the church has been well captured in the eighteenth-century painting by Gabriel Bella titled The Wedding of a Venetian Noblewoman.24 In front of the basilica of the Madonna della Salute noblemen and ladies are lined on either side on the steps, waiting for the white-clothed bride, who is being accompanied by a magnificent procession of gondolas with the liveried gondoliers. After the religious rites, a banquet, sometimes for hundreds of guests, was held in the brides house, followed by many more on subsequent days. Finally, after all the festivities and banquets, the groom would take the bride to his house and married life would begin.

Mystical Bride, Ideal Nun: Saint Catherine of Alexandria The walls of numerous Venetian convent churches, were, regardless of the order to which they belonged, usually decorated with inspiring works of art that were supposed to motivate the nuns and point them to the right path to follow in their lives. Most suitably, many of these paintings depicted the life of Saint Catherine of Alexandria and, specifically, her mystical marriage to Baby Jesus.25 Saint Catherine of Alexandria was considered a Christian female model of virginity and culture, her cult reaching a peak during the fifteenth century. According to the legend this noble young woman fought the order of Emperor Maxentius in 305 AD to sacrifice to the idols. She bravely went to the temple and publicly attacked the emperor with remarkable eloquence, even converting the fifty orators that had been called to dispute her thesis. Eventually she suffered the torture of the dentate wheel, which became her symbolic emblem, was beheaded, and while her body was transported to Mount Sinai by some angels, she was accepted into heaven by 439

a voice that addressed her as “my beloved bride.”26 The spiritual event was narrated in the Conversio, a hagiographic text that developed into the prototype of the ceremonies of the consecration of the virgins and of monastic “marriages,” where the specific iconographic theme became an easily readable parallel with Clothing ceremonies. In these paintings the beautiful and noble young woman is almost invariably represented as an elegant and attractive Venetian bride or religious postulant, resplendent in a luxurious white silk dress. One such example, known by the informal title of “The Mystical Marriage of Saint Catherine,” is offered by the canvas that still hangs on the left wall of the presbytery of the church of the nowdemolished monastery dedicated to Saint Catherine of Alexandria Virgin and Martyr on the island of Mazzorbo, in the north lagoon. The work of art, painted around the second half of the sixteenth century by Matteo Ponzone, portrays the saint kneeling in front of Baby Jesus, accepting the ring that is in his hands. As a proper aristocratic Venetian bride, she wears a white satin dress with the fashionable pointed waist of the period, the traditional bridal pearl necklace, and leaves the lush blond hair loose. Her noble origin is indicated by the small jeweled crown, an ornament that, as confirmed by Grevembroch,27 was also typically used by Venetian brides. The entire outfit perfectly matches the one worn by Vecellio’s Sposa sposata and the one visible in Golzius’s Venetian Wedding.28 Almost identical in style, but more luxurious still, is the dress worn by Saint Catherine in another contemporary painting, similarly destined for the Venetian convent named after her. In Paolo Veronese’s Mystical Marriage of Saint Catherine, painted around 1575 for the main altar of the convent church,29 the saint is placed at the center of the composition in an innovative diagonal arrangement that focuses the attention of the viewer on her magnificent dress, made of brocaded white and blue silk. It was a fitting choice of colors since light blue, considered to represent “the sky, and among the four elements, the air,”30 was most suitable to symbolize the divine nature of the union. There are further references to bridal attire in the magnificent jewel around her neckline that is

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matched by the precious coronet on her head, the ritual pearl necklace, and, again, her long, loose blonde hair. Catherine’s dress plays a key role in yet another cycle of paintings depicting episodes of her life that used to decorate the same church. In the set of paintings by Jacopo Tintoretto and his bottega, Catherine’s gown is essential in highlighting her patrician status and her “social” role of divine bride.31 Made of white fabric brocaded in gold—a favorite combination, as we have seen, of Venetian brides—it takes center stage, worn by the saint while she pleads her case and making her shine against the darker figures around her. Even later, when Catherine has already fallen prey to her tormentors, it is still prominently placed in the foreground, as a symbolic attribute, side by side with her small crown: both objects are used to visually reinforce the emblematic references to her nobility, marriage, and martyrdom. Three paintings, three examples of how a mystical bride should look. Saint Catherine became an inspiration and a role model for the nuns of the convents, and, even before that, for the would-be nuns, who could identify with her thanks to the almost matching elegant clothes worn during their own “divine” marriages, in their own rite of passage that was the clothing.

Political and Symbolic Marriages: The Doge and the Abbesses of the Monastero delle Vergini June 14,1506, Sunday. The Doge went with ceremonial galleys to wed the Abbess of the Verzene. She is of the Badoer family and the Doge [always] comes to marry the Abbess in the year of her installation since the church is under his patronage. – Marin Sanudo, Diarii, VI, col. 353(32) A very peculiar monastic wedding ceremony took place in the Venetian monastery of Santa Maria delle Vergini after every new abbess’s election.33 It was one of the most ancient monasteries of the city, dating back to 1117, when it was founded by Doge Sebastiano Ziani, Emperor Federico Barbarossa, and Pope Alexander III, during the historic meeting in which the pope began the

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tradition of the “marriage to the sea, a ceremony that later became a part of the Venetian myth. The Emperor’s daughter, Giulia, was made abbess of the monastery and was clothed and consecrated immediately. The doge gave her possession of the convent and “married” her twice: first with a ring with the seal of St. Mark, and again with a gold and sapphire ring, starting a ritual tradition. The lavish wedding ceremony between the doge and the abbess is repeatedly illustrated in the Cronica, a fifteenth-century manuscript that narrates the history of the monastery.34 One miniature plays a particularly meaningful role in the study of Venetian dress because of how the colors identify the different characters involved in the ritual. At the center of the scene is the gold-dothed doge, seated on a throne behind which is also a precious cloth of gold; he offers the “wedding” ring to the kneeled abbess, who is covered in the characteristic and imposing white mantle of the Vergini, as are two other canonesses placed on a lower level their heads are completely covered by a matching white coif. Around the doge, and witnesses to the scene, are seven male figures, identifiable in their specific roles thanks to the colors of the patrician vesta they are wearing. In 1485, in fact, the Maggior Consiglio elaborated a precise chromatic code in order to define which colors were suitable for which occasions and public offices;35 senators, cavalieri, and avogadori were allowed to wear a crimson robe accessorized by a gold stole.36 The doges consiglieri wore a purple vesta, while bright red was reserved for members of the feared Council of Ten, the magistrates overseeing homeland security. Finally, the different shades of pavonazzo, from purple to peacock blue to dark blue, allowed it to be used on the most diverse occasions.37 In light of this it is easy to identify the male figures as, respectively, two senators or avogadori in crimson, three consiglieri in purple and two other nobles dressed in two different shades of pavonazzo. As the miniature shows, the accessories of the vesta were the bareta da vesta, a hat shaped like an upside-down pot made of black cloth and lined in black silk,38 and the becho or bechetto, a totally Venetian accessory, descendent of a much older

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headwear that evolved into a long strip of fabric, generally worn on the left shoulder and called, elsewhere, stola.39 The doge also used to visit the Vergini annually, on May 1. He first participated in a solemn Mass in the conventual church; then he went on to the parlor, where the abbess waited for him with all of the other nuns dressed in the traditional white mantle, their heads covered with the two veils reaching the waist. The abbess addressed the doge with a welcome speech and offered him a bouquet of fresh flowers with a gold handle and encased in precious Venetian laces. Other, less expensive presents were offered by the nuns to the other dignitaries.40

Sponsa Christi I went to Mazorbo with Ser Pandolfo Morexini, the councilor, and some other relatives of ours to see three young daughters of Ser Ferigo Morexini, who is his brother and my cousin, take the veil in the convent of Santa Catarina. Their names are Lodovica, Catarina, and Vitoria. Six other girls also took the veil: two from the Badoer family, a Quirini, a Zorzi, a Barozzi, and a Michiel. It was very lovely to see the ceremonies in which they were given their habits; I saw all of it, something I have never seen before. – Marin Sanudo, Diarii, 50: col. 336, May 17, 1529 The “lovely� ceremony described by Sanudo was the Clothing. It was the first step in the definitive parting of the nun from the outside world, a process that, at its most essential, consisted of two separate liturgies: the Clothing, when the girl would, for the first time, wear the religious habit of the order she was entering, and, few years later, the Profession, or the pronunciation of the perpetual vows. According to the customs of the convents, however, these steps could easily double, including such ceremonies as the acceptance into the monastery and the Consecration, also called Sagra in Venetian dialect, when the nun was given the black veil and granted the right to participate in the chapter. The path toward the celestial Groom was, therefore, marked by a sequence of events, in a cumulative process that mirrored the many steps of secular weddings. Nuns-to-be were, in fact, regarded as brides, actually future brides, of Christ, an assimilation that went back to the third century, and was in common use by the fourth century, when Saint Ambrose was already reporting similarities between the ceremonies of consecration of nuns and secular weddings.41 443

The first and most obvious equivalence between the two ceremonies lay in the fact that a woman was “entrusted” to a man to be protected by him. Inside a community a woman could achieve standing only through marriage; she needed to “belong” to a man in order to hold a respectable place in society. In monacations “the actual presence of the husband was a formality that could be dispensed with, but the notion of a husband could not.42 In either ceremony, the consent of the woman was considered crucial: both brides and nuns were, in theory, supposed to agree to embrace their new lives, but, since the decisions were in both cases made by the respective families, the concept of individual assent clearly was not a major issue. The alteration in the identity and status of the married woman was marked by the change in her name and appellative, “her identity subsumed in her marital role.”43 Then again, while wives were styled “madonna” and kept their Christian names, adding their husband’s to their father’s, nuns, instead, since they were dissolving their connections with the families of origin, were supposed to relinquish their last names and were styled “suora.” In the transition from the lay world to the cloister, nuns-to-be were also requested to renounce all secular clothing, accessories, readings, and pastimes, affectations considered inappropriate for a bride of Christ. Understandably, however, novices were rather reluctant to part with these comforts and tended to bring with them a number of forbidden or unsuitable items and habits. This quite secular attitude toward religious life was at least partially justified by the planning and festivities organized by their families for their entrance into the monastery. The families of the future nuns, in fact, stressed the equivalence between secular weddings and Clothing ceremonies, preparing their trousseaux “as if they were getting married.44 Parties, banquets, and gifts were exploited by the families as a way to transform these fatal rites into something the girls could somehow look forward to; they also constituted an opportunity to display the power of the aristocracy, thus revealing the subtle balance between the individuals, their families, the conventual institutions, and the government of the Venetian Republic. The patrician clans involved wished to publicly display their affiliations with specific institutions and to share their merits. In this light, the secular 444

elements of the conventual dowries, and of the banquets and receptions that were customarily held right after the religious liturgies, were not considered superfluous or useless. For the families concerned and for the nuns-to-be they were as important as the rites themselves because “the status of the family had to be upheld in exactly the same way as it would have been at a secular wedding.”45 Consequently, despite the fact that “divine” marriages were a more economical life-solution than secular nuptials, they did not come free of costs. Money was needed for the dowry, the food, the music, and the floral decorations, which, over the centuries, tended to become more and more magnificent, in line with the solemnity of the ceremonies. There were also the expenses for the customary trousseau, even if strictly limited to the basics, which included the fabrics for the habit and the linens and furniture needed to furnish the cell of the future nun.46 A nun’s dowry, the so-called elemosina dotale (dotal alms), was intended as a lifetime income, sufficient to provide, modestly but regularly, for the food and clothes of one person;47 after the passing of a nun, whatever remained was for the convents use. An annual pension of sixty ducats was considered sufficient: fifty for the food and ten for the dress. It was estimated that this amount would have enabled even the more modest convent to be self-sufficient: an additional four hundred ducats was allowed to be spent for monacation ceremonies. Around the late sixteenth century conventual dowries begin to increase significantly, as, at the same time, did secular dowries. Since November 24, 1593, Patriarch Lorenzo Priuli had attempted to stop the “excessive and vain expenses that up to this point had been made in banquets, presents or other that has been done for some nuns at their Clothing.”48 The position of the patriarch was supported by the action of the government that, once again, tried to prevent the increase of the dowries with a Senate decree dated July 26, 1602. The decree stated that “the expenses for the monacation ceremonies, for the conventual dowries, for the trousseaux, and for useless and completely superfluous ceremonies have become so high that it is absolutely necessary to stop these abuses and bad habits, in order to allow the families of this city to send their daughters to serve 445

God without having to spend more than is universally considered necessary and proper.”49 Nuns-to-be could not receive more than 800-1000 ducats in cash, and not more than 200-300 ducats for the chest and the trousseau; excessive decorations were forbidden, and it was permissable to spend only up to one hundred ducats for decorations and musicians for the religious liturgies.50 The concept was once again stressed by the Senate on April 15, 1610: a law was passed that defined the conventual dowry as the lifelong usufruct of sixty ducats, plus two hundred for the festivities, one hundred for the nun’s trousseau, and two hundred for the additional expenses that the convent might have to bear.51 As usual, all of these laws and promulgations did not seem to have much effect. At the beginning of the sixteenth century the nunnery chest of a wealthy novice could easily have contained such items as "a gold jewel, an embroidered veil for the hair ... six lengths of satin for hose,52 while in an unspecified year of the seventeenth century the expenses for the Clothing of Suor Laura Molin amounted to no less than one thousand ducats, of which one hundred were spent for “the first habit” alone.53 Even Carlo Goldoni in his “Canzone” for the Clothing of Maria Lippomano writes: “I hear that they send a mass of things to a novice.”54 Many archival documents confirm the custom of sending the girls into nunhood with lots of opulent goods. Some papers belonging to the corporation of the marzeri (haberdashers) testify to the fact that on the occasion of Clothing ceremonies expensive laces were sold in great quantities just outside the monasteries.55 These excessive luxuries are not substantiated, however, in the impressions and feelings recorded by Arcangela Tarabotti on the same subject.56 In the Inferno monacale she compares the disturbingly different provisions made for two sisters, one destined for marriage, the other for the cloister. For the bride, shirts made of fine Dutch linen have been prepared, trimmed by needle laces so precious that just two of them are worth the entire trousseau of her cloistered sister, whose shirts of the coarser and rougher fabrics” available were neither long enough, nor had sleeves of matching fabrics.57 Instead of the magnificent silk gowns of her luckiest sister, the cloistered young woman would wear a humble woolen habit, cover her 446

legs with coarse rossa,58 and walk in wooden clogs poorly covered in leather This more than modest apparel, a generic fist for which was usually provided by the convents themselves, arrived in “two of the most worm-eaten chests”59 that Arcangela had ever seen. Despite the shabbiness of this and similar nuns’ trousseaus, Arcangela noted that the families nonetheless often resented the cost, behaving “as if they [the nuns] should cover themselves with hair, as did the loving disciple [Mary Magdalene].”60 The stinginess of the families in providing for daughters entering religious life was a source of recurring complaints from the nuns-to-be and caused great distress. If, on the one hand, aristocratic families were bent on outdoing each other in the luxuriousness of their Clothing ceremonies, on the other hand more modest, middle-class, families tended to “forget” to provide for even the most basic needs for ceremonies following the Clothing, such as the Profession. A particularly poignant example comes from documents detailing the monacation of Laura Acerbi dated July 1715.61 In a very moving letter from Laura herself to her parents living in Calle della Testa, in the area of San Giovanni e Paolo, she begs her father piteously to provide her with the very basic items she needs for the Profession ceremony. Writes Laura: The moment of my church Profession is nearing and I am without any sort of cell furnishings or linens and in great need of these things: I also need everything from the list I already sent you for the Profession ceremony. Dear father (I pray) that you get me these things, because I feel humiliated being among the other novices and the nuns who already have everything they need, both for them and for the cell. Now that it is possible to find it at cheaper prices, please do go buy me these things, such as the walnut wood chests and also the copper things and the linens. I have found some fabric to make a pair of boccassini [veils],62 which is of good quality; that which is sold in stores for more money is of an inferior quality: So if you would ask to see it at home and buy it, I would have the boccassini made; it is necessary to hurry dear Father,, because I have just two months left before my Profession and after you have provided me with these things I will not bother you anymore. It will also be a good thing for our family, because otherwise it would seem that we are tramps, since my cell is in a far worse condition that the one of the last conversa [convent servant], despite the fact that she is so poor. You can only imagine how ashamed I am because I cannot appear alongside the other nuns. I then beg you Dear 447

Father to be good to me, and if you cannot spare some time to do this, leave it to my' brother Piero,... I cannot bring myself to believe that you no longer come to visit me; maybe it is because I keep asking you to provide me with my necessities . . but if you get me what I need, then you can come and visit me, because I really wish you would come, and I will not say anything about that. I also recommend you to remember she nine and a half ducats that have been lent to me and I beg you to forgive me and I kiss you, your most devout [daughter].63 The file contains also lists of things needed for the various festivities, of the presents that were customary for the different important positions inside the monastery, and the receipts for the items eventually received by the convent: flour, used to bake cookies (bussola), marzipans, sugarloafs, candles, and rolled-up wicks (magioli).64 Even the more modest institutions stipulated specific requirements to close the “deal” successfully. The documents detailing the expenses for the monacation of Anna Toniuti in the convent of Santi Andrea e Mauro on the island of Murano include a list stipulating that the family provide no less than fifty brazza of fabrics to be used for the veils and wimples, three black dresses with their corsets and sleeves, three pairs of stockings, three pairs of shoes, two combs, and more fabrics for the winter habit. The convent also asked for one hundred ducats after the end of the first “trial” year that could be returned if, after two years, the girl decided not to take the veil. After the Clothing, the convent asked for two hundred more ducats and, again, presents for all the nuns, along with more flour and sugar to bake the traditional sweet treats offered during Clothing receptions. A large piece of veal, four doves, and four capons were required for the ritual lunch that followed the rites.65 Food was traditionally also dispensed to the families who lived in proximity to the convents; when the custom was not met, the neighbors were utterly disappointed. After three days of trials finally the Ladies of the Vergini have elected their Prioress and the election was in favor of poor Sister Mora; therefore they will need to diminish their expenses and they already began to do so yesterday, while the people who did not have anything to drink did not rejoice.”66 The basic clothing necessities mentioned in both the Acerbi and in the Toniuti files, veils and black habits, played a key and highly symbolic role in the Clothing 448

ceremony itself, symbolizing the severity of the nuns’ daily life to come. However, oddly enough, the celebration of the “celestial” marriages of the future nuns, which should have marked their farewell to the luxuries and allurements of the world, began instead with a rather worldly and often decidedly glamorous outfit. The postulants appeared for die Clothing ceremony, starring in a procession that was visible to the public, resplendently clothed in elegant white silk dresses, the lung hair loose on their shoulders; while advancing toward the altar, they sang the psalm "Quemadmodum desiderat cervus”,67 accompanied by solemn music that was considered an essential part of the ritual and, not incidentally, constituted another dose link with secular weddings. The lavish procession became such a worldly show that Patriarch Grimani felt the need to forbid the girls from "entering] with great pomp, [wearing] silk dresses, jewelry, and pearls,”69 considering it scandalous that this “sacred and pious act” could actually be transformed into nothing more than “a vain performance.”70 The churches themselves were usually prepared in a rather ostentatious fashion;71 so pretentious and rich, really, that the Provveditori sopra Monasteri intervened, sternly reproving the excessive and theatrical decorations of the churches and forbidding the building of ad hoc choir stalls and stages for the ceremonies and the excessive use of candles.72 In a fifteenth-century manuscript that belonged to the rich Benedictine monastery of San Lorenzo is a miniature illuminated by Venetian artist Cristoforo Cortese representing the Benediction and Consecration of Virgins.73 It depicts the ideal vision the Catholic hierarchies had of the Clothing ceremony; the complete absence of the secular public and a simple tone results in a very sober and religious event. Two postulants wearing Benedictine habits and veils are kneeling in front of a bishop, who is giving one of them a ring, while a haloed figure, maybe Christ himself, is placing a crown over both of the nuns’ heads. As with secular brides, crowns and rings indicated the completion of the marriage with Christ, solemnly proclaimed by the bishop: Receive the sign of Christ over your head so he will be your husband. A similar simplicity shines through a miniature in the Benedictine ritual handbook (rituale) commissioned by the nuns of the monastery on the island of San Servolo. 449

75 The miniature represents a Clothing ceremony taking place at the grille of the convent: the postulant is again shown on her knees in front of a priest and flanked by two women in secular dress. The habit has been passed through the bars of the grille for the ritual blessing by a nun wearing the white headdress of a Benedictine novice.76 A crowd of nuns waits to welcome the new novice, and the tone of the liturgy appears to be very sober and spiritual. Two centuries later the atmosphere during the investiture ceremonies developed into a much more secular, even casual style. In Clothing of a Nun in San Lorenzo, an eighteenth-century painting by Gabriel Bella, the ceremony is represented as some sort of theatrical event. The large church, divided by the gilded grilles that separated the part dedicated to the nuns from that where the general public was admitted, is filled by scores of fashionably dressed noblemen gathered in small groups and busily chatting together, as are the ladies comfortably seated in gilded chairs. Entertainment is provided by numerous musicians, and almost nobody seems to take notice of the actual ceremony that is going on at the main altar. The novice, placed at the center of the painting, but who is clearly not at the center of the thoughts of the participants in the ritual, is already wearing the black habit and is receiving the white veil of the novice from the officiant. As the three representations document, the ritual was officiated by a bishop. The postulants were introduced to him by a priest, and then, lying facing down and entirely covered with a black veil, they pronounced their three solemn vows, affirming their wish to be chaste, poor, and to be consecrated. Embracing the altar they gravely proclaimed: “I offer myself in sacrifice as a living host.”77 What did they really think during the ceremony? Arcangela recalls that she “did not know what that really meant,”78 but she notes that the fact of lying down covered by the black cloth among “tears and sobs”79 gave her the feeling of participating in her own funeral. The bishop would then bless the habits, veils, and belts, highlighting their role as signs of contempt of the world—“spretis omnibus vanitatitubus huius mundi”80 —and ended the ceremony with the exhortation: “Get up my daughters and light your lamps, your spouse is coming, go and meet him.”81 450

Relatives and friends would then accompany the postulants in procession to the convent’s door, where they were received by the abbess and the entire monastic community. At that point, the abbess asked the expected questions, waited for the standard replies, blessed the novices, and welcomed them to the monastery: the first act was over. The effect on the postulants, now novices, was often shocking. Tarabotti remembers that she was horrified by the dark habits worn by the nuns and noticed that their sad faces made them look like they “were already dead.”82 In consideration of the highly symbolic value of dress in ancient society, the act of disrobing from the secular luxurious dress during the Clothing and donning the black tunic marked a dramatic change in the life of the novices: it signaled their renunciation and contempt for their old condition and the beginning of a new life, with a new identity and a new name. An excellent parallel is found in the story of Saint Francis of Assisi, who publicly renounced worldly riches by abandoning the refined clothes of his rich merchant family for a humble habit. In recognition of their sacrifice, novices were, in the eighteenth century, often praised and exalted in the poetic compositions dedicated to them on the day of their Clothing. For the Profession of Chiara Milesi, afterward known as Suor Giovanna, Carlo Goldoni wrote: She has changed her name 
 (changed) the gold and silk with wool cloth.
 Last year I saw her dressed 
 With a skirt made of fourteen brazzi (of fabric).83
 Now she covers herself head to toe 
 with a tunic identical (to that of the other nuns).84 Cornelia Barbaro Gritti, a Venetian noblewoman who used the nom de plume of Aurisbe Tarsense, also praised the contempt of future nun Angela Maria Renier for the vanity of worldly goods: Jewels, laces, and rich gowns 
 She does not want them anymore;
 She wore them for a short time, 
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and left them to us .. .
 How better is the wimple Instead of the toupee! How much more worthy is the tunic 
 In comparison with hoops and andriennes!85
 …
 Nuns do not worry about 
 What they wear.
 …
 Where did she leave her embroidered shoes, 
 …
 She exchanged them for clogs, 
 big, comfortable, and good for all seasons.
 Bonnets and lace cuffs, where did they go?
 She despised them and put them aside.
 She gave up everything … 
 (she who was) rich, noble and bom in a gold dress,
 She could, as many others do,
 With ribbons, laces, and jewels ornate her hair.
 …
 But Angiola scorns the luxuries, and under her feet 
 She puts gold and silver, and in humble wool 
 You see her cover her body.86 The Clothing was so charged with spiritual and psychological meaning that it was continually identified as a key moment in the life of female saints. In the frescoes of the private chapel of die Suardi family, for instance, Lorenzo Lotto represented Saint Bridget kneeling face down in front of the altar wearing a yellow dress.87 Her secular gown has been cast aside and she is waiting for the bishop to cover her head with foe just-blessed white veil- The frescoes also show tire secular point of view of the Suardi family, portrayed in their lavish outfits, who probably wished to acquire piety through their visual associations with sanctity. The plainness of the monastic habit prepared the nuns for the renunciation of private property, a characteristic trait of religious life, while its uniformity 452

expressed equality of identity among foe nuns; the rules prescribed that no nun should keep secular dresses or even consider her own foe tunic and other accessories she received at foe Clothing. Even these, m theory, were simply entrusted to her by foe nun in charge of the wardrobe and linens, as recommended by foe patriarch: "May poverty be always with her, and she never has to have, give, or receive anything without foe abbess's permission, never considering anything as her own, always being ready to deprive herself if the abbess so decides; otherwise she would be guilty of a mortal sin and considered unworthy of a holy burial.”88 Every element of their new religious “uniform” had a very specific symbolic meaning, carefully defined during the Clothing ceremony itself. According to Saint Bernard, the habit was to be worn by “the female sex ... as a sign of subjection, humility, and honesty.”89 The belt, or cingolo, described by Tarabotti as made of “coarse leather”90 and also mentioned in the Acerbi file, indicated temperance and chastity, so that “the Lord may gird the loins of my body and circumscribe the vices of my heart.”91 The tonsure, or the cutting of the hair, pointed to their renunciation of the allurements of vanity.92 Each nun of the community would take turns in cutting off a strand of foe novices’ hair, a sacrifice made out of love for their Groom, as enunciated by the officiant, who prayed “for these servants of his, who hurry to discard their hair out of love for Him.” In the anonymous painting representing the Clothing of Saint Clare it is instead her brother in religion, Saint Francis, who cuts her hair.93 Once again foe cast-aside secular dress is prominently displayed, as are the precious jewels on foe floor near foe knees of foe saint. Among them is clearly visible foe bridal pearl necklace. Head and neck were covered by a severe wimple signaling “modesty, sobriety, and continence.”94 The abbess would then place foe white veil on their heads, a veil that surrounded their bodies and protected them by hiding their charms. It was a helmet of salvation and sign of widowhood, to be worn “in memory of foe disgraceful death of your sweet groom.”95

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Finally, at foe end of foe investiture, foe abbess would sew three stitches on the wimple itself, indicating foe three days of meditation and silence prescribed for foe new nuns.96 The ceremonies were, at this point, still far from over. Following the religious rites were several receptions offered by the families of the new members of foe community. The tradition mirrored foe custom of giving numerous parties after secular weddings, and the generosity and largesse displayed during these banquets were especially meaningful: they offered the new nuns the opportunity to introduce themselves and show their economic power, supporting them in claiming their proper status inside the monastic “society.” The patriarchs tried many times to provide general guidelines and to condemn excessive luxuries during these feasts, to no avail. In 1742 Alvise Foscari condemned “the too expensive and common luxury of refreshments, drinks, and illuminations,” stressing again the prohibition “to offer any sort of refreshments and drinks from the grilles of the parlors,” such as “waters, sorbets, coffee, chocolate.”97 Among the forbidden luxuries were the gifts that new nuns, in their role of new brides, used to receive from the guests. From the fifteenth century onward, for instance, in the convent of San Zaccaria, one of the richest of the city, it was customary to place a bowl on a carpet just outside the grilles of the parlor to gather donations from the public on the day that nuns were consecrated.98 Even between abbesses it was usual to exchange presents on the occasion of a Clothing ceremony or other important days for their monasteries.99 Finally, once all the pomp and luxuries of these prolonged liturgies and festivities were over, the new nun officially entered in the monastic community. Her family could, at long last, sigh with relief since, as they used to say, once the girl was clothed, “everything was fine.”100

Notes 1. The Immaculate Conception is a Catholic dogma proclaimed by Pope Pious IX on December 8, 1854, with the bull Ineffabilis Deus-, it decrees that the Virgin Mary was immune from original sin since the moment of her conception.

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2. “Un abito candido, e bianco di tutto punto snello, et attillato, secondo apparteneva alla candidezza et innocenza di ben educata fanciulla.” VeceUio, De gli habiti antichi, 1590, cc. 126v-127r. See also Giovanni Grevembroch, Gli abiti de’ Veneziani di quasi ogni età con diligenza raccolti e dipinti nel secolo XVIII, ed. Giovanni Mariacher (Venice: Filippi, 1981), IV, no. 118. 3. Araldo, Trattato dei colori, c. 19r., cited in Davanzo Poh, Abiti antichi, 72. 4. Sara Piccolo Paci, Le vesti del peccato: Èva, Salomè e Maria Maddalena nell’arte (Milano: Ancora, 2003), 21-22. 5. See also Newton, Dress of the Venetians, 18. On the doge wearing white and gold, see Giovanni Bellini, Portrait of Doge Leonardo Loredan, 1501-4, London, National Gallery; Grevembroch, Gli abiti, 11:7, 113. Further reading: Daniele Ferrara, “Il ritratto del Doge Leonardo Loredan: Strategie dellabito tra politica e religione,” Venezia Cinquecento 2 (1991): 89-108. 6. A black with rusty red overtones. 7. Cloth originally made of camel hair, but later also with silk. It was also known under the names of camelotto, zambellotto, cambellotto. See Achille Vitali, La moda a Venezia attraverso i secoli: Lessico ragionato (Venice: Filippi, 1992): 109-11. 8. “Le giovani destinate o per Marito, oper Monastero, sì Nobili, che Cittadine ... portano in testa un velo di seta Bianca, ch’esse chiamano fazzuolo, d’assai ampia larghezza et con esso si coprono il visq e’ 1 petto. Portano in questo tempo pochi ornamenti di perle, et qualche picciola collana d’oro di poca valuta. Le sopravesti di queste sono la maggior parte di color rovano o nere, di lana leggiera, over ciambellotto o altra materia di poca valuta, benché sotto vadano vestite di colore, et vanno cinte d’uno di quei retini di seta ch’esse chiamano poste.” Vecellio, Degli habiti antichi, 101-2; Grevembroch, Gli abiti, 1:42. 9. In the Capitolare de sartoribus it is in fact specified that “che nessuna tunica femminile possa avere uno strascico lungo oltre un braccio ... eccezion fatta per la sposa che per l’abito nuziale potrà avere la coda che vorrà” (“no feminine tunic can have a train longer than a braccio,... with the exception of the bridal dress that can have a train as long as they want it”). Cited in Doretta Davanzo Poli, I mestieri della moda: Documenti (Venice: Edizioni del Gazzettino, 1984-1986), 1:139. Other exceptions were made for the visits of foreign kings and dignitaries. Participating in the festivities organized for the arrival of King Henry III of France were two hundred noblewomen all magnificently dressed in white with priceless pearls around their necks. See Grevembroch, Gli abiti, 1:137. 10. “Mezo di restagno d’oro e mezo bianco, ch’è contra la leze.” Sanudo, Diarii, XXIIII, col. 341. 11. “Vestura di raso bianco e restagno d’oro.” Ibid., col. 71. 12. Bistort, Il magistrato, 38. 13. “Vestura scachada di restagno d’oro e raso biancho, qual per le parti non si poi portar e al collo in forma di cadena, et molte grosse perle.” Sanudo, Diarii, XXIIII, col. 14. 14. Sanudo, Diarii, January 1555, XXXVII: col. 474. Vitali mentions a Senate decree dated May 5, 1541, in which the pearl necklace is described; Vitali, La moda, 146. 15. Harula Economopoulos, “Considerazioni sui ruoli dimenticati: Gli ‘Amanti’ di Paris Bordon e la figura del compare dell’anello,” Venezia Cinquecento 2, no. 3 (1992): 101. 16. “Sei Spose con capelli distesi filati d’oro.” Grevembroch, Gli abiti, 1:131. 17. IRE, DER E 182, b. 9, August 10,1666, Inventario di dote di Paulina Provisina Vignon. See Documents, no. 2, in the appendix. 18. For a detailed description of the shape, materials, and evolution of this garment, see Vitali, La moda, 414-22. 19. “Dopo aver salutato lo sposo e ringraziato i presenti faceva ‘un passo e mezzo’ poi un salterello modesto e inchinandosi con un belTinchino prendeva licenza.” Giacomo Franco, Habiti delle donne veneziane, ed. Lina Urban (1610; Venice: Centro Internazionale della Grafica, 1990), 7. 20. The cabin that covered part of the gondola. 21. "Fuori del felze, & si pone a sedere sopra un seggio alquanto rilevato, coperto per tutto di tappeti (& questo modo si chiama andare in trasto) seguendola un gran numero di altre gondole, & se ne va a visitar i monisteri delle monache, dove hanno, o sorelle, o parenti & congiunte.” Sansovino, Venetia, 149. The trasto was a bench placed outside the felze. 22. For more on this, see “Ordini a quelli che hanno a parlar con Monache.” BMC, Codice Cicogna, 2583, c. 128v, July 7,1594. 23. Medioli, Inferno, 70. 455

24. Gabriel Bella, Sposalizio di una nobil donna venetta, before 1782, Venice, Fondazione Querini Stampalia. 25. About her mystical marriage, see Gabriella Zarri, “La vita religiosa tra rinascimento e Controriforma: Sponsa Christi: Nozze mistiche e professione monastica,” in Monaca, moglie, serva, cortigiana: Vita e immagine delle donne tra rinascimento e Controriforma, ed. Sara Matthews Grieco and Sabina Berveglieri (Florence: Morgana edizioni, 2001), 118-21. 26. “Io sono la sposa di Cristo. Egli è la mia gloria, Egli è il mio amante, la mia dolcezza, il mio amore” See Jacopo Da Varagine, Legenda Aurea (Florence: Libreria Editrice Fiorentina, 1976), anastatic reprint, 788-98. 27. “The hair was held back on the top of the head by a jewelled hair band decorated by pendants and amazingly beautiful pearls.” Grevembroch, Gli abiti, II, no. 131. 28. Hendrick Golzius, from Dirck Barendszen, Matrimonio veneziano, 1584 Princeton University Art Museum, Princeton, New Jersey. 29. Circa 1575, Paolo Veronese, Venice, Gallerie dell’Accademia The painting, widely appreciated by its contemporaries and known all over Italy thanks to a 1582 engraving by Agostino Carracci, was removed from its site for safekeeping during World War I and moved to its present location. See Anton Maria Zanetti, Della Pittura Veneziana e delle opere pubbliche de' Veneziani Maestri Libri V (Venice: nella stamperia di Giambatista Albrizzi a S. Benedetto, 1771), 183. 30. “Il cielo, e ne’ quattro elementi l’aere.” Sicilo Araldo, cited in Davanzo Poh, Abiti antichi, 23. 31. Work of Jacopo Tintoretto and his bottega, dated between 1582 and 1585, Venice, Palazzo Patriarcale. 32. See also cols. 520-21 and 538-39, XLIX, col. 429. 33. For a very extensive analysis of the peculiar history and traditions of the Vergini monastery, see Kate J. P. Lowe, Nun’s Chronicles and Convent Culture in Renaissance and Counter-Reformation Italy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 34. Cronica del Monistero delle Vergini di Venetia, BMC, Ms. Correr 317, fol. 18v. 35. The colored dresses worn by the top tiers of the Venetian government were called veste segnade, and they differentiated the public officials from the rest of the aristocracy, usually dressed in black. 36. Newton, Dress of the Venetians, 12. Vitali, La moda, 425n34. 37. The color “occupied a curious position in the chromatic hierarchy of Venetian official clothing.” It could be used for half-mourning, but was also a proper mourning colour and could have different meanings depending on the circumstances in which it was used. Lodovico Dolce in his Tratto dei colori affirms that warm purple was “in those times known as Paonazzo'.’ See Newton, Dress of the Venetians, 18-19. 38. Vitali, La moda, 421. 39. Davanzo Poh, Abiti antichi, 55; Newton, Dress of the Venetians, 12-15. 40. Giustina Renier Michiel, Origine delle feste veneziane (Milano, 1829), 2:66. 41. See Kate J. P. Lowe, “Secular Brides and Convent Brides: Wedding Ceremonies in Italy during the Renaissance and Counter-Reformation,” in Marriage in Italy, 1300-1650, ed. Trevor Dean and Kate J. P. Lowe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 41. In the poetic compositions traditionally dedicated to novices on the day of their Clothing, they are constantly referred to as sposa sacra or “holy bride.” See BMC, Componimenti poetici in occasione che la nobil donna Teresa Priuli veste il sagro abito di Santo Agostino nel nobilissimo monastero di Santa Giustina prendendo il nome di Maria Cecilia (Venice, 1746); BNM, Componimenti poetici in occasione che professò la’ bito di S. Benedetto nel nobilissimo monastero di S. Zaccaria di Venezia la nobile donna Cecilia Gritti che prese il nome di Cecilia Maria (Venice: Stamp. Casali, 1784). 42. Lowe, “Secular Brides,” 44. 43. GofFen, Titian’s Women, 83. 44. “Come se andassero a nozze.” Molmenti, La storia di Venezia, 2:467. 45. Lowe, “Secular Brides,” 51. 46. IRE, DER E 182, b. 9. See Documents, no. 2, in the appendix. 47. “Ordiniamo che [i monasteri] non ricevino ... in una sol volta ima somma di danari... ma [una] annua entrata sufficiente al modesto, et regolato vitto e vestito d’una persona.” BMC, Codice Cicogna 2583, c. 127r, November 24, 1593. 48. “Spese veramente immoderate e vane che sin hora si sono fatte in banchetti, doni, o altro che a monache particolare si è dato nella solennità del vestire.” Ibid., c. 128. 49. “Sono accresciute a tanto eccesso le spese che si fanno nel monacar figliole, così nella quantità della dote, come nelle casse et in alter dispendiose instruttioni poco necessarie e del tutto superflue, che per ogni rispetto 456

devesi provvedere a questi abusi et pessime corrutele, s’ che possano egualmente le famiglie di questa Città accomodar le figliole al servizio del Signor Dio, senza essere astrette a spese maggiori di quello che ricerca il dovere ed il commodo universale.” Further reading: Bistort, Il Magistrato, 253. 50. The dowry for the converse, who served the choir nuns as maids, was considerably smaller, around three hundred ducats. See Mary Laven, Virgins of Venice: Enclosed Lives and Broken Vows in the Renaissance Convent (London: Viking, 2002), 39-48. 51. ASV, Pregadi, April 15, 1610, CL, b. 288, cc. 411r-v. 52. Quote from Victoria Primhak, “Women in Religious Communities: The Benedictine Convents of Venice, 1400-1500,” PhD diss., University of London, 1991,151. 53. ASV, Manimorte, SantAnna, pacco 6472, n. 2. 54. “Stimo più ste sante lane Che de ganzo le sotane. Tanti bezzi, no, no voggio, Che per mi se buta via In t un stuchio, in t un reloggio, In recami e biancaria: Malignase sia pur tute, Coi tabari le baute. Sento dir che a una novizza i ghe manda un arsenal; xe le cosse che fa stizza tanta roba a trar de mal. Prima gnanca che lo goda, Quel vestir va zo de moda.” “Canzone in lengua veneziana dedicata alle N.D. Contarina, Alba, ed Elena Lippomano per la vestizione della sorella Maria Teresa Serafina Lippomano.” See Geron, Carlo Goldoni, 82. 55. Doretta Davanzo Poli, “Merletto ad ago e a fuselli,” in Storia di Venezia: Temi: Parte (Roma: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1995), 2:985-1003; ASV, Arte Marzeri, b. 312.1. 56. Arcangela Tarabotti’s Clothing ceremony took place on September 8,1620. 57. “Le più grosse e ruvide tele per le camise delle sventurate che sovente non riescono di bastevole lunghezza e le maniche sono a tal’una diverse dal rimanente.” Medioli, L’Inferno monacale, 43. 58. Rossa: coarse wool cloth, generally black, but also available in other colors. See Vitali, La moda, 321. 59. “La condannata alla tomba di un chiostro è necessitata a coprirsi la gamba di rozza rassa et adatarsi al piede un zoccolo di legno malvestito di cuoio ... usano due casse delle più tarlate.” Ibid., 47. 60. “Anche questa e la misera dote viene fatta lor pesare, quasi dovessero vestirsi di capelli, come la discepola amante.” Ibid., 40-41. 61. IRE, DER E 2, b. 3. See Documents, no. 4, in the appendix. Unpublished. 62. Boccassini: veils made with fine cotton and linen fabric. See Vitali, La moda, 61. 63. IRE, DER E 2, b. 3, c. 7: “Avvicinandosi il tempo della mia professione in chiesa e non vedendomi niente di fornimenti di cella, né meno di biancheria, tenendoli in grande necessità, è anche in stesso tempo devo avere quello li ò mandato scritto nella polizza tutto per la professione. Caro sig. Padre . . . (prega) di farmi il mio bisogno che mi arosischo vedendomi tra queste religiose è mie compagne novizie che hanno tutto il suo è di cella è di robba in somma tutto quello che si ha bisogno; adesso che è il tempo della sensa che si trova più a buon marcato el vadi a comprare, come le noghere et anco li rami è telle che se ne trovano di belle è bene; per farmi delli boccassini, poi io mi ritrovo avere due pezzi di mussolo giusto à proposito per mè, è sono bona robba che alle botteghe si trova più cara è poi è debole, onde se il Comanda che si mandi à caja per vederla è comprarla mi faro ddll bocchini; bhogna melerei alla forza (laici Si* Padre mi maneba solo due mesi è giorniflìkprofessione, già quando mi averi farro tutta là mbba à dato il mio bisogno lei non averi pi da me man disturbo, i anche sari di decoro alla Casa che pare siamo fanti pitocchi per vedere che ò una cella pezo dell'Ultima Conversa con lutto che è mendica Si po l'immaginare che mi rende non poter comparire come le aiue; onde replico Caro Sig. Padre il suplico fare un boti animo, se lei non à tempo da perdere e| riei che Piero mio Éatelb con il Sig, Zìo rizzi loro che li riri di avantaggifl; non mi posso persuadere perche non mi venghì più a visitare, torse perche Li predico il bisogno mio ri parlare, Il... i comprarmi il bisogno è venghi pnre a ritrovarmi che sono tanto desiderosa, che vederi seli dirò nula; li raccomando anche li 9 ducati * mezo che ho avuto in pnrsutb è il suplico perdonarmi e abbacandola sono sua D.V.SSma.” 64. Ibid. 65. IRE, DER G 1, n. 83. See transcription in Documents, no. 5, in the appendix. Unpublished. See also the document about the monacation of Angela Minio at Le Convertite (IRE, DER G 2, no. 83) in Documents, no. 6, in the appendix. Unpublished 66. "Dopo ire giornale di esperim.ti imaim.tc jeri anno elletto la loro Badessa k Dame delle verini e lellezlonc cadette supra la Mora Sifc-ri povera e pcrcri senza volerlo minoreranno io Spese; anno già comincialo jeri sera a dar saggi di ciò, mentre il popolo die non aveva avuto da bere non gridava eh viva- Lsttcr of Elena Mocemgo Querini to her husband Andrea Querim on lune 18. 1774, in Ci vuole, pazienza: lettere dì Elena Moce.nige Queànf 1733-1738. ed. Antonio Fancdio and Mudile Cambier (Venice : Fondazione Querim StampaIla, 2008), 126. 457

67. See Ordo rituum et caeremoniarum suscipiendi habitum monialem, & emittendi professionem. Ad Venetae diocesis usum. Qllm jusiu . . . Franasa Vett- drameni Patriarchae Venetiarum, & c. Editus nunc vero curantibus sororibus Theupolis degentibus in Monasterio S. Luciae recenter typis commissus (Venice: Apud Andncam Rokti, 1694). 68. Two angels playing instruments are depicted in Veronese's Mystics! Marriage of Saint Catherine, yht another connection with secular marriages. 69. "Non debbano ... cn I rare pomposamente, nc con vestimenti di seta, nc orna menti di ori, gioie, perle" Antonio Grimani. et decreti approvati nella sinodo diocesana sopra ri retta discipline monacale raffi? L illustrissimo, Reverendissimo Monsignor Antonio Grmutni Vescovo di TorceUo. Vanno deQa N ovità dd Nostro Signore, 1592. lì giorno 7.S.&9 d'Aprilc (Venice, 1592). c. 15r. 70. Grimani, Constitution, c. 17r. 71. The Clothing in San Lorenzo, by Gabriel Bella (1789), Venice, Querini Stam- palia Museum. The painting represents a ceremony inside one of the two most important Venetian convents, where almost all the nuns came from an aristocratic lineage. 72. BNM, Provveditori sopra Monasteri, Proclama pubblicato d’ordine degl’illustrissimi, & eccellentissimi signori Provveditori sopra monasterj. In materia di spese, rinfreschi, ed apparati in occasione di vestir figlie monache (Venice: per li figlioli del qu. Z. Antonio Pinelli stampatori ducali, 1749). Dated August 24. 73. Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, A 125 ,sup. fol. 90r. See Renata Cipriani, Codici minati dellA’ mbrosiana (Vicenza: Neri Pozza, 1968), 5. 74. “Accipe signum Christi in capite tuo ut uxor eius efficiaris.” Pontificale sacrorum rituum sacrosantae romanae ecclesie (Venice: Lucantonio de Giunti, 1520), 86v. 75. Venice, BNM, Cod. Lat. Ili, 3401, fol. 2r. 76. Dizionario degli Istituti di perfezione, ed. Guerrino Pelliccia and Giancarlo Rocca (Milan: Paoline, 1975), I, cols. 1235-36. 77. “Me totam in hostiam viventem offero, & sacrifico.” Ordo rituum, 26-27. 78. Zanette, Suor Arcangelo, 85. 79. Medioli, Inferno monacale, 67. 80. So wrote Saint Clare of Assisi in her Lettere ad Agnese: La visione dello specchio, ed. Giovanni Pozzi and Beatrice Rima (Milan: Adelphi, 1999), 138. 81. “Surge Filia, & orna lampadem tuam, ecce sponsus venit, exi obviam ei.” Ordo rituum, 24. 82. Zanette, Suor Arcangelo, 26. 83. Brazzo: Venetian unit of length. It corresponds to 63.8 cm for silk fabrics and 68.2 cm for wool fabrics. See Giuseppe Boerio, Dizionario del dialetto veneziano (Torino: Bottega d’Erasmo, 1867), 99. 84. L’ha scambià nome, e l’ha scambià cussi Loro, la seda, e fin la tela in lana. Vestia l’ano passà l’ho vista mi Con quatordeze brazzi de sotana. Adesso de na tonega avalla Tuta da capo a pié la va vestia. Geron, Carlo Goldoni, 81 85. Andrienne: femmine dress typical of the first half of the eighteenth century and characterized by two pleats in the back that opened in an imposing train. See Vitali, La moda, 36-40. 86. Le zoggie, i merli, i abiti Ricchi, no la i voi più; la li ha portai pochissimo, la ne li lassa a nu ... Quanto xe meggio el bavaro Invece del toppè! Quanto vai più la tonega Dei cerchi e de l’andriè! Per le vestir le muneghe Le gh’ha un pensier de manco. Dove xè andà le scarpe recamae, La le ha da brava in zoccoli scambiae, larghi, comodi, e boni ogni stagion. Scuffie e cascade dove xele andae? La le ha trate con sprezzo in t’un canton. Tute l’ha renonzià ... ricca, nobile nata in aurea veste, potrebbe abch’essa, come tante fanno, con nastri, trine e gemme ornar la cresta. Sprezza Angiola le pompe, e sotto à piedi Tiensi l’oro e l’argento, e in umil lana Le molli membra imprigionar la vedi. Geron, Carlo Goldoni, 85-86. 87. Francesca Cortesi Bosco, Gli affreschi dell’Oratorio Suardi: Lorenzo Lotto nella crisi della riforma (Bergamo: Bolis, 1980), 106,108-10,112. 88. “La povertà le sia sempre compagna, guardandosi di non tener, dare, ne ricever giamai cosa senza licentia della R.da Abbadessa, et tenendola con licentia non stimarla però come sua propria, né affezionandosi ad essa, servendosene solamente nelle sue necessità come cosa commune del Monasterio , e con ammo sempre di privarsene quando gli fosse fatto un minimo cenno dalla R.da Abbadessa, altrimenti sarebbe in stato di peccato mortale, et come proprietaria saria indegna di sepoltura sacra in tempo di morte. ASPV, Archivio Segreto, Visite pastorali, b. 1, S. Biagio e Cataldo, October, 21,1521.

458

89. “Apostolus muliebrem sexum in signum subjectionis, humilitatis, & honestatis vlamn super caput suum ... habe praecepit.” Ordo rituum, 6. 90. “Rozza cintura di cuoio.” Medioli, LInferno monacale, 43. 91. “Accipe Cingulum super lumbos tuos ... in signum temperantiae et castitatis.” Ordo rituum, 12. See “Abito religioso,” in Dizionario degli Istituti di Perfezione, I, cols. 50-79; La sostanza dell’effimero: Gli abiti religiosi in Occidente, exhibition catalogue, ed. Giancarlo Rocca/Roma: Edizioni Paoline, 2000), 70-71. 92. Arcangela compares the nun “deprived of the locks given to her by nature” to the bride busy in taking care of her flowing hah. Medioli, L’Inferno monacale, 43. 93. Anonymous Venetian painter, Saint Clare’s Clothing, sixteenth century, Rome, Quadreria della Cassa Depositi e Prestiti. 94. “Succingat crinem tuum modestia, sobrietas, continentia.” Ordo rituum, 13. 95. “Demum turpissimae mortis tuae dulcis sposni sui memoriam hoc viduitatis inditium sepè mentis eius oculis repraesentet” Ordo rituum, 10. The covered head was in Venice symbolic of widowhood: “scufia in testa - che all’uso di questa patria nell’altre donne è un lugubre contrassegno della morte di cari mariti.” Medioli, LInferno monacale, 43. 96. “La superiora le da poscia tre ponti ad un velo ... che chiamasi sorazzetto e serve per coprirle il capo.” Zanette, Suor Arcangela, 70. 97. “Tanto in chiesa, quanto fuori ne’ parlatory, o altri luoghi, acque, sorbetti, caffè, cioccolata ed altri rinfreschi e così pure mazzetti di fiori.” Ibid. 98. Primhak, “Women in Religious Communities,” 154. 99. Victoria Primhak, “Benedictine Communities in Venetian Society,” in Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society, ed. Letizia Panizza (Oxford: European Humanities Research Centre, 2000), 92. 100. “Purché si velino, il tutto va bene.” Zanette, Suor Arcangela, 153.

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Textiles, Embroideries, and Laces in the Convent How were the days organized inside the cloister? Monastic rules stressed the need for a routine based on regular prayer and meditation cycles, interrupted only by simple meals to be taken in the convent refectory and by work in the communal workroom because every nun needed to “escape idleness as the most dangerous thing.”1 Nuns were asked to concentrate exclusively on their spiritual life, but, to make the forced enclosure bearable, most of them took up some type of work to while away the hours. Venetian monasteries were celebrated for their “nuns’ virtues in art, music, and in the making of magnificent needle works.”2 Girolamo Priuli admiringly describes some “beautiful, noble and virtuous” nuns, so skilled that not even the most talented painter “could be compared to them.”3 It was a rather innocent, time-consuming, and quite proper activity, commonly practiced also in aristocratic households, and potentially useful within conventual economy. Venetian patriarchs in their pastoral visits, while praising the usefulness of these activities, recommended that a communal workshop be created in every monastery, a place “where all the Nuns came to work according to the rules.”4 In fact, “It is a great disorder, and many evil thoughts are born from the fact that nuns do not work together in the workshop. We therefore order that all the nuns work in the communal workshop, and never in their own cells. . . . The Abbess has to organize turns between the nuns to have some of them reading some spiritual book during the hours of work.. . . The works executed in the workshop need to be approved by the Mother Superior, and only commissions coming from honest people of good name and reputation are to be accepted.” The profits from the work of the nuns had to be managed by the abbess, while an older nun was to be put in charge of receiving the commissions at the wheel and distributing the work among the nuns.5 The patriarch’s concerns were amply justified: the extraordinary needle skills of the nuns were often employed in frivolous works or to make presents used by the nuns to lure visitors to the parlors. Needlework presents were part of the nuns’ 460

strategy to maintain a strong connection with and to play a role within the city’s social fabric: by offering extravagant handmade presents they felt appreciated and in control of their fives. It was an empowering act, a way to preserve their identities, in disregard of the basic principle of conventual life, self-humiliation. Because of this, conventual authorities tried to regulate needleworking activities, and other work practices, which, however, could not be completely stopped because of their considerable financial benefit in a competitive market. Today, conventual-made textiles, lace, and embroideries can help us focus on the high value and consideration placed by contemporaries on these objects. For historians they represent a priceless tool in the investigation of the social and economic relationships between the convents and other similarly cloistered institutions and the people living in the outside world.

Lacework in Venice: A Brief Outline While embroidery and sewing had never been, in Venetian society, activities reserved only to female workers,6 laces on the contrary, have always been created exclusively by feminine hands. Lace was a matriarchal art that has for centuries tied together the fate of thousands of women belonging to the most different social classes and conditions. According to a romantic legend, the first lace was created by a talented young Venetian woman who, to prolong the life of a magnificent seaweed she received as a love token from her fiancée, applied herself to find a way to translate the intricate designs of the seaweed using only needle and thread.7 Legends aside, lace, and specifically needle lace, appeared in Venice as early as the fifteenth century,8 as a sophisticated evolution of the reticello9 embroideries worked at the time by the vast majority of the women of the city. In the luxurious halls of the palaces, in middle-class homes, in convents and charitable institutions, women of different ages spent every bit of “free” time practicing all sorts of “feminine works” in order to avoid “dangerous” moments of idleness. According to contemporary philosophers and religious thinkers, in fact, these empty moments were those in which the “weak” feminine mind was more vulnerable and could indulge in morally reprehensible thoughts. To keep women constantly busy in 461

some kind of activity was therefore deemed essential in protecting them from sin. Furthermore, aristocratic ladies needed a pastime to help them creatively spend their days, something that could not be possibly confused with actual “work,” since any kind of useful manual labor was deemed absolutely dishonorable for a noblewoman.10 The characteristic repetitiveness and relative uselessness of the needlework that filled their long hours meant that the lace was not tainted by the appearance of or social stigma of actual labor.11 During the sixteenth century the equivalency of feminine works and virtuous practices became rather ubiquitous in moral treatises and in common thinking. In 1547, Venetian writer Ludovico Dolce recommended careful supervision of the activities and games of young girls, suggesting that they be allowed to play with miniaturized household tools “so they will learn with delight the name and function of each.”12 Especially essential for their education was to learn to sew, because “knowing how to sew for a women is equivalent to knowing how to write for men.”13 Dolce’s opinion was, years later, corroborated by Agostino Valier, who in his Istruzione del modo di vivere delle donne maritate (Venice, 1560) strongly recommends domestic works as the “honest” behavior for married women.14 Time-consuming lace making was not only socially acceptable; it was also propagandized as an ennobling occupation. This belief was clearly stated in the titles and dedications of the numerous pattern books published in Venice since the early sixteenth century.15 Words such as honesty, virtue,” and “nobility” regularly appear in connection with the practice of needlecraft. The captions in these books also highlight the fact that in the execution of needlework there was the possibility of expressing the “feminine talent... to create with the needle what was with other means expressed by Poets or Painter,”16 thus transforming lacework into a muchneeded creative outlet for upper-class ladies. In fact, Venetian dames, forbidden to pursue a more formal education, resorted to engaging in “suitable” artistic activities, such as music, painting, dancing, and singing. The curriculum was always filled out with a large number of “feminine works,” ranging from spinning to weaving, from sewing to embroidering, and, of course, lace making. How did women learn these feminine arts? Lower-class children were taught basic sewing skills by their female relatives, and orphans learned needlecrafts in the 462

charitable institutions that housed them. While aristocratic girls became familiar with the needle during their school years, which, for most of them, took place in convents. For instance, Elena, the daughter of humanist Pietro Bembo, was placed in the monastery of San Zaccaria in 1542 to learn Greek, Latin, and embroidery. 17

Invisible Seamstresses Needlework was strongly encouraged by conventual authorities, but the attitude toward any sort of work inside the convent, whether was it baking, doing laundry, spinning, or weaving, related to how it benefited the common good of the monastery, not to the personal profit it generated.18 Almost all monasteries, in fact, needed the money they made from the sale of the laces and other needlework. Even in the rich and highly aristocratic convent of San Zaccaria, according to Filippo Pizzichi, chronicler of the visit of Cosimo III de’ Medici, most of the nuns were busy making laces for a French nobleman.”19 For less wealthy monasteries the profits deriving from the lacework business were essential for the survival of the convent. Many of them also augmented their incomes with some kind of approved work. For instance, the abbess of San Mauro of Burano stated in 1654 “that if I were not helped by some generous persons, and if we did not keep boarders in our convent, we certainly could not survive, and we ... also contribute some money through our work, which keeps us awake day and night in addition to our daily services.”20 In the monastery of Sant’Anna the lace-making business seemed to have had a rather well organized structure. Heading the business was Suor Arcangela Tarabotti, who, thanks to her remarkable network of important and wealthy acquaintances, was able to acquire important commissions of needle laces. From her Letters, published in Venice in 1650,21 it is possible to learn the names of some of her patrons and to read descriptions of the laces that the nuns were making for them. Arcangela corresponded with Isabetta Piccolomini Scarpi, reassuring her about her commission of a “punt’ in aria needle lace” that is driving her “crazy,”22 while in another letter she informed the Marquise Renata 463

di Cleramonte that there would be some delay in the completion of the lace she ordered because “the nuns that committed themselves to the work are either sick or have left the monastery.”23 She replied to Madame de Anò, wife of the French ambassador, that the lace she had ordered would cost “no less than sixty ducats per braccio’’ assuring her that she would supervise the diligent execution of the lace and its timely delivery.24 Monasteries also relied on other textile-related activities, definitely less ennobling and prestigious, to satisfy their need for cash, such as spinning, weaving,25 and doing laundry.26 In the documents of the Arte della Seta (Silk Corporation) are mentioned over nine hundred incannaresse, or weft-makers (reelers), all women, and among them are mentioned several nuns. Certainly more nuns than this were actually involved in the process, since in a declaration by some silk weavers to the Venetian Senate in 1529 it emerges that the preparation of the wefts was a common activity practiced in “local monasteries,”27 even in the most important ones, such as Santa Maria Maggiore, San Zaccaria, San Servolo, and Corpus Domini. In the seventeenth century several prioresses mention the role played by the nuns in the silk industry, with the exception of the nuns of San’Iseppo, located in the Castello area, who being too busy “in other activities”28 were not actively involved in the silk industry; anyhow, as they said, “every time we want to work some silk, we have as much as we can make.”29 Even the most aristocratic canonesses of Le Vergini appear to have been involved in the weaving industry. According to the account book of Marino Contarini, the owner of the Ca’ d’Oro palace, they specialized in the manufacture of gold cloth, which was considered a “noble” occupation. The book details the expenses for the marriage of his daughters, Maria and Samaritana, between 1426 and 1430, and in the description of their trousseaux is included a long list of precious items such as handkerchiefs, purses, and lengths of gold doth coming from the convents of San Salvatore and Le Vergini.30 A far simpler type of convent-made fabric was the so-called tela muneghina, nun’s cloth, a rather coarse linen or hemp fabric suitable for simple house linens. However, there were not many nuns who wished to work just for the common good of the convent. In fact, deprived of most personal property and forced to live 464

on only a modest allowance, even those nuns born to some of the richest families of Venice tried to bring in some extra income through their industriousness. The money they earned was partly used Lo provide for [heir necessities, but it also allowed them a few precious little luxuries, such as strengthening the ties with their families through extravagantly expensive gifts to relatives and friends. However, the common practice of offering costly presents was obviously and in many ways damaging for the convents and harshly opposed by the prioresses. Suor Cipriana Morosini, for instance, prioress of the convent of Sant’ Iseppo, in 1571 complained to the Provveditori sopra Monasteri that one of her nuns, Suor Deodata,31 who worked “miraculously with pearls and jewels,”32 instead of using her precious hands to help the convent’s economy, was accustomed to lavishing precious gifts on a number of friars from the Augustinian convents of Sant’ Antonio and San Salvador. The prioress appears to have been very disappointed by the fact that this nun’s talent, which could really benefit the convent, was used instead to make elegant surplices—'“more than twenty”—and other magnificent items for the friars. She declares: “I have seen her sewing handkerchiefs for them, as well as shirts, collars, hats stupendously embroidered She has been (here) for thirteen years, and she has never worked for the monastery, and everything she earned she spent it on what I already told you.”33 Despite Suor Deodata’s defense that she sewed only few simple surplices for the friars, receiving from the friars themselves the materials she needed and just a small compensation for her work, the other nuns also accused her of routinely doing work for people outside the convent: doing laundry for the friars and sending Angelo Bressan, the convent handyman, around the city to gather the materials she needed. “She sent me to buy two or three ... of silk, and also some gold thread from a woman called la Castellana ... and she gave me as much money as was needed to buy things.”34 However, once again, both the prioresses and the patriarchs found themselves unable to do much more than express disappointment with this situation. During one of his patriarchal visits to the monastery of San Daniele, Patriarch Zane remarked that, all too often, the nuns’ private time in the cells was not devoted to

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prayer, but to laboriously sewing and embroidering clothing or handkerchiefs, making laces and even doing laundry for personal gain.35 The abandon with which Suor Deodata, and many other nuns, regularly donated luxurious objects was without a doubt highly therapeutic for their self-esteem. They must have greatly enjoyed the empowering sensation to be able to donate precious things to visitors and friends, and Suor Deodata especially used her skills to achieve “self-expression and individuality through gift-giving;... making presents for the friars and for Prete Mathio gave her life a purpose.”36

Cloistered, but Secular, Seamstresses The imperative of keeping women purposefully occupied in order to avoid any possible “trouble” was also a necessity for the administrators of those numerous charitable institutions that played such an essential social role in the life of the city. Women’s hospitali were charitable refuges created in Venice at the end of the fifteenth century as safe havens where abandoned girls, young women without family protection, or other categories of destitute females were housed to safeguard them from any sort of physical or moral danger. The women housed in these institutions were the secular counterparts of the nuns, sharing a similarly secluded life, until they were either respectably married or took formal cloistral vows. Life inside these institutions was rigidly organized by prayers, meals, work, and sleep, with very little time left for recreation and socializing. As Benedetto Palmio, founder of the Casa delle Cittelle, clearly states in the rules of the Casa, “the continuous and diligent practice of obedience and needleworks at which they attend in order to provide for themselves, makes them women of worth, and banishes from this House idleness, source of every evil.”37 The hospitali relied on the teaching of needlecrafts to give their figlie, or daughters, a “morally proper” skill. A small part of the profit deriving from the sale of laces was set aside for the dowry of the women, thus ensuring a marriage, either secular or divine, and a socially secure future, while the rest was used to support the hospitals themselves. 38

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The preservation of the Registri Capitolari deU’Ospedaletto dei Derelitti has given us the opportunity to understand how the work inside this Venetian hospital, and in all probability in the others, was organized. The pay system revolved around the so-called tascha, a term that originally indicated a slit in the dress worn by the girls and women of the hospital, inside which was kept a small fabric pouch, the tascha, where the tools and thread necessary for the daily work was kept.39 The overseers assigned the work to each of the women on a daily basis, and should the task not be completed a fine or penalty was imposed. In contrast to what happened with the laces made in the convents, which were often either donated or sold directly by the nuns, the “guests” of the hospitali were not allowed to sell, much less to donate, their laces. All the laces made by them were given to the overseers, who consigned them to trusted merchants and shopkeepers who supported the mission of the hospitals. Only the governors of the hospitals could negotiate the prices with the merchants.40 Likewise, the “repenting sinners” of the monastery of Santa Maria Maddalena delle Convertite, on the island of Giudecca, could not negotiate the prices for the silk they spun; this was the duty of a few esteemed silk weavers.41 Generosity, self-affirmation, economic need: different necessities brought the women living inside the numerous Venetian cloisters to be actively involved in the making of “feminine works. The works made by the women housed in the hospitali had essentially a very practical purpose. Created thanks to a simple, but efficient, system that involved every “guest” of the hospitali, these goods were sold to contribute to the maintenance of the institution in which the women lived and through which they tried to achieve some sort of social goal (marriage or consecration) and, consequently, the hope for a relatively safe future. Conversely, for the nuns in the convents there was no hope of self-sufficiency or agency in any form since they could not change their social status through their industriousness. As a consequence, all the lace making, sewing, washing, and spinning had for them a completely different value and meaning. Through their work they made objects, such as laces, that could be sold for a significant amount of money, liberally donated, or, not at all rare, could be scandalously worn by the same nuns who made them. The nuns felt “free” to earn money, to buy or make 467

costly presents to be bartered for attention from people belonging to the outside world. They could use their time to make laces and other forbidden adornments that defied the rules of the convent. The extremely varied roles of the works made in cloistered Venetian institutions makes it very difficult to simply categorize them as “feminine works.� Correctly contextualized, they are actually psychological, social, and economic keys to penetrate the hidden world of these institutions, and to reveal the attempts by the nuns to achieve self-affirmation through their industriousness.

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Notes 1. “Sfugga ogni una l’otio come cosa pestilentissima.” ASPV, Archivio Segreto, Visite pastorali, Priuli, S. Biagio e Cataldo, October 21, 1521, cap. XI “De- gl’habiti, vita, et costumi dele Monache.” 2. Erano simili monasteri; de Venetia conventuali pubblicamente noti a tutti li forasteri che venivano a Venetia per sentire et aidire le virtude loro in l’arte musica ed etiam in vedere cose bellissime cum lo ago et la mano facte.” Giuliani, Genesi e primo secolo, 12. 3. “Monache formosissime, delichatìssime et piene de ogni virtude... quello che facevanno cum le manno sue et cum lo ago et azze, chosse veramente che pictori cum loro penello non lo sapevanno fare.” Cited in Molmenti, Storia di Venezia, 2:459. 4. ASPV, Archivio Segreto, Visite pastorali, Priuli, S. Servolo, July 4,1597, c. 164: “Si accomodi un lavoratorio commune, o nel lavoratorio della Priora, ò in quello che chiamano della Seda, dove tutte le Monache convengano à lavorare conforme alla regola.” 5. ASPV, Archivio Segreto, Visite pastorali, Priuli, S. Biagio e Cataldo, October 21, 1521: “Grande disordine, et origine di molti mali nasce dal non ridursi le moanche à lavorare nel lavoratorio commune; Però ordiniamo che tutte deb ' bano ridursi à lavorare in un commune lavoratorio, e non mai nelle celle particolari Si deputi dalla M.re Abbadessa qualche Monaca scambievolmente che legga in lavoratotio qualche libro spirituale, et usino le Monache cantare insieme qualche salmo come si fa nei Monasterij ben regolati.... Si lavorino solamente cose approvate dalle Superiori, utili per il Monasterio, per persone oneste, di buon nome et che non diano scandalo.” “At the wheel”: every monastery had a wheel that was used to pass objects, messages, sometimes even abandoned newborns from the inside of the convent to the outside without physical contact and without been seen. It was a window that had a partition rotating on a central axis: you would place the object on your side, ring a bell, and somebody from the inside would rotate the wheel to retrieve the object. 6. Tailors and embroiderers were usually men, regularly enrolled in a corporation, something that lacemakers were never allowed to do. Further reading: Grazietta Butazzi, “Le scandalose licenze de’sartori e sartore: Considerazioni sul mestiere del sarto nella Repubblica di Venezia,” in I mestieri della moda a Venezia, exhibition catalogue (Venice: Il Cavallino, 1988), 63-69; Doretta Davanzo Poli, “Dalle origini alla caduta della Repubblica,” in Doretta Davanzo Poli and Stefania Moronato, Le stoffe dei veneziani (Venice: Albrizzi, 1994), 45, 58-59. 7. The algae supposedly was Halymedia opuntia, also known as the “lace of the mermaids.” 8. Archival documents attest to the presence of laces in Venice since the second half of fourteenth century. Especially significant is a law dated 1476 that intended to limit the excessive amount spent by aristocratic families to buy “ponto in aire sì facto ad ago, come facto d’oro over d’arzento,” thus confirming the presence of elaborate needle-made laces created with gold or silver thread. See Bistort, Il Magistrato, 354. 9. The reticello was worked by pulling away some warps and wefts from a linen fabric that was subsequently embroidered using buttonhole stitches made with extra-fine linen thread. 10. No less than three dogaresse have been associated with the sponsorship of lace. In 1458 Giovanna Malipiero Dandolo supported a protective law in favor of laces, much as did, a century later, Lidia Priuli Dandolo. According to tradition, Morosina Morosini Grimani even created a lace workshop in her own palace in the Santa Fosca area. See Doretta Davanzo Poli, “Il merletto: Un’arte tutta veneziana,” in Doretta Davanzo Poli and Silvia Lunardon, Merletti: Esposizione di una selezione di antichi merletti veneziani dalle collezioni IRE (Venice: IRE, 2001), 23. 11. Margaret L. King, Le donne nel Rinascimento (Roma: Laterza, 1991), 93. 12. Lodovico Dolce, Dialogo della institution delle donne (Venice: Gabriel Goito de Ferrari, 1547), 8v-9r: “Consiglierei, che ... le si ponessero tra le mani gli strumenti di tutte le bisogne della casa, in certa picciola forma,... che esse impareranno con diletto & il nome, & l’ufficio di ciascheduno.” 13. Dolce, Dialogo, 12-12v: “Che il saper cucire a noi Donne tanto appartien, quanto a voi uomini el saper scrivere.” 14. In sixteenth-century Italy there are innumerable representations of industrious women; for instance, Anton Francesco Doni (1552) depicts a Venetian woman laboriously sewing, with a number of busy ants in the background and masculine objects neglected at her feet. 15. Among the most famous pattern books are Alessandro Paganino, II Burato, libro de recami (Venice, 1527); Nicolò Zoppino, Gli universali de i belli Recami antichi e moderni: ne i quali un pellegrino ingegno, si di uomo come di donna, potrà in questa nostra età vertuosamente eserictarsi (Venice, 1537); Mathio Pagan, L’honesto 478

essempio del vertuoso desiderio che hanno le donne di nobile ingegno, circa lo imparare i punti tagliati a fogliami, (Venezia 1550); Francesco Calepino, Splendore delle vertuose giovani: Dove si contengono molte e varie mostre a fogliami (Venice, 1563); Cesare Vecellio, Corona delle nobili et virtuose donne (Venice, 1591); Isabella Catanea Parasole, Teatro delle vertuose donne (Venice, 1593); Lucrezia Romana, Ornamento nobile per ogni gentil matrona (Venezia, 1620). The equation needlework = honor is stated also by Federigo Luigini: “The needle belongs to all women, both high and low, but where the poor find utility in these arts, the rich, noble, and beautiful lady wins honor” (“l’ago appartiene a tutte le donne, ma dove la povera ricava solo utilità da questa arte (il lavoro d’ago) la nobile e bellissima signora vi conquista anche l’onore”). Il libro della bella donna (Venice: A. Pietrasanta, 1554), 32. 16. “L’ingegno donnesco ... per far con l’ago quanto da Poeta ò Pittor mai fusse espresso” in Alessandra Mortola Mollino and Maria Teresa Binaghi Olivari, I pizzi: Moda e simbolo (Milan: Electa, 1977), 28. The artistic possibilities offered by needlework were mentioned by Venetian humanist Augurello, who, in his Latin verses, describes a certain Perulla so gifted with the needle as to be able to exactly replicate the brushwork with her stitches. See Giuseppe Pavanello, Un maestro del Quattrocento G. A. Augurello (Venice, 1905), 142. 17. Maria Pia Pedani, “Lbsservanza imposta: I monasteri femminili a Venezia nei primi anni del Cinquecento,” Archivio Veneto, ser. 5, voi. 144 (1995): 123. 18. Regarding the work in monasteries outside the Venice region, see Marina Carmignani, Ricami e merletti nelle chiese e nei monasteri di Prato dal 16. al 19. secolo: “La Tediosissima fatica”: Prato, Palazzo Pretorio, 9 marzo-8 aprile 1985. 1985 [S.I.] : Nova zincografica fiorentina, 1985. 19. Giovanni Mariacher, Il merletto veneziano (Venice, 1974), 5-6. 20. ASPV, Archivio Segreto, Visite pastorali, S. Mauro, c. 39. 21. Arcangela Tarabotti, Lettere (Venice: Guerigli, 1650). 22. “Quel merlo di punt’in aria che mi fa dar al diavolo.” Ibid., 23. 23. “Quelle Suore che si presero l’incarico di fare i lavori parte s’ammalarono e parte uscirono di monasterio.” Ibid., 219. See also Davanzo Poh, “Il merletto,” 29-30. The mention of nuns leaving the monastery probably refers to the custom of allowing nuns to briefly return home before pronouncing the solemn vows, especially to recover from an illness. Arcangela herself returned home twice before pronouncing her solemn vows in 1629. See Zanette, Suor Arcangela, 72. 24. “Ch’ella rimanga servita a pieno per quanto s’estenderà il potere del mio deboi impiego e diligenza.” Ibid., 71, 145. 25. A type of rather coarse linen or hemp cloth was known in Venice as tela muneghina, or “nuns’ cloth,” because it was originally woven in convents. See Davanzo Poh, Abiti antichi, 200. 26. ASPV, Archivio Segreto, Visite pastorali, Miscellanea, 1592-96, S. Zaccaria, 1596, fol. 576v. At San Zaccaria the convent’s laundry room became the center of social life; often, parties and banquets were held there. 27. “In molti monasterii di monache cittadine.” ASV, Senato, Terra, R. 25, c. 204v, October 26,1529, in Luca Molà, “Le donne nell’industria serica veneziana del Rinascimento,” in La seta in Italia dal Medioevo al Seicento: Dal baco al drappo, ed. Luca Molà, Reinhold C. Mueller, and Claudio Zanier (Venice: Marsilio, 2000), 424. 28. “In altri lavorieri.” ASV, Arte della Seta, b. 32, fase. 651, polizza n. 6, October 27, 1587. 29. “Ma ogni volta che volgiamo seda per lavorar ne abiamo quanto ne possiamo far.” Ibid. 30. ASV, Procuratori di S. Marco de Citra, b. 269 bis, libretto IV, 30v-31r. 31. Daughter of Pietro da Lesina, captain of a ship belonging to Hieronimo Mo- cenigo. She entered S. Iseppo in 1553. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 187 32. ASV, Provveditori sopra Monasteri, b. 263,1571, S. Iseppo, fol. 2r-v. 33. “(La ghe ha cupido)... (dei) capelli stupendissimi con recami d’oro, arzento soprarizzo, perche lei lavora miracolosamente con perle et con zogie.... Uè stata 13 anni, che la non ha mai lavoratoper el monastero, et tutto quel che ha vadagnato l’ha messo in suo uso, et speso ogni cosa in le cose che ho ditto.” ASV, Provveditori sopra Monasteri, b. 263, fase, “copia processu Sancti Josephi Venetiarum contra il Confessor et gasparo suo fratello, 13 agosto, 1571.” 34. ASV, Provveditori sopra Monasteri, b. 263, 1571, S. Iseppo, ff. 12v-13r: “La me ha dato da comprar doi o tre ... de seda, et anco dell’oro filato da una dona che se chiama la Castellana ... me dava tanti danari quato importava la robba,” fol. 19v. Whenever she washed her own clothes, she also washed the surplices of the friars. Ibid., fol. 23v. 479

35. ASPV, Archivio Segreto, Visite Pastorali, Miscellanea, 1452-1570, S. Daniel. Even the converse, or servant nuns, were forbidden to do laundry for people outside the monastery. ASPV, Archivio Segreto, Visite Pastorali, Barbarigo, S Sepolcro, December 28,1716. 36. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 193. 37. “Loccupazioni continue che hanno nei lavorieri, che fanno li uffizij dell’obe- dienza, alli quali solecitamente e con molta carità attendono per sovvenire a i bisogni e alle necessità della presente vita, fanno che diventino donne di valore, e da questa Casa bandiscano l’ozio fomento di tutti i mali.” IRE, Notatorio, ZIT B 1,73. The daily work also helped make the days seem shorter: “Siccome l’ozio fa parere i giorni troppo lunghi, così l’occupazioni scuoprono la gran brevità loro” (“since idleness make the days unbearably long, needleworks make them shorter”). IRE, ZIT A 1,109. 38. Documents from the second half of the sixteenth century show that married women of the middle/lower classes sold their needlework in order to help support their families. See Isabella Campagnol, “Laces and Documents: The Istituzioni di Ricovero e Educazione (IRE) Collections in Venice,” in Textiles and Text: Reestablishing the Links between Archival and Objects-based Research, ed. Maria Hayward and Elizabeth Kramer, post-prints from the AHRC Centre for Textile Conservation and Textile Studies Third Annual Conference,Winchester, 2006 (London: Archetype Publications, 2007), 79n6. 39. For an analysis on the regulations regarding the tascha, see Campagnol, “Laces” 77. 40. See Campagnol, “Laces,” 78-79. 41. In 1553 the Convertite obtained permission to build a spinning mill inside the monastery, since there were more than 220 women involved in the weaving activity. ASV, Senato, Terra, filza 17, fase. March 18,1553, Supplica procuratori monastero, Convertite, March 2, 1553; ibid., reply of the Provveditori di Co- mun, March 6, 1553, ibid., filza 18, fase. November 20, 1553. During the 1587 inquiry, the nuns of the convertite affirmed that they had never been without silk to spin: “Non ne sono mai mancato de lavorar de sede de ogni sorte perfin al giorno presente.” ASV, Arte della Seta, b. 651, fase. 32, polizza n. 2, October 22, 1587.

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READING 4

The Defence of Morality All the texts here deal with various forms of loose living from fornication and unnatural vice to gambling and smearing. Documents (a), (d) and (e) show that rather than attempt the impossible task of suppressing prostitution, the Venetian government preferred to isolate and control it, as a necessary evil which had to be condoned in the hope of escaping worse disorders. Official attempts to confine it to Rialto did not succeed far long. The castelletto regulated in document (a) was designed to replace another fortified brothel founded a century earlier, and now beyond repair. To judge by document (e) a major concern of legislators by the 1540s was not the common prostitute but the prosperous courtesan. Sexual ambivalence [document (b)] and homosexual practices were vehemently condemned and threatened with savage punishments; but the diarist Girolamo Priuli [document (c)] gives reasons why the law was not rigorously enforced. He was describing the mood of self-accusation which overtook the Venetians in June 1509, when they explained the catastrophic defeat of their armies at Agnadello partly as punishment for their own failure to put down luxurious, lascivious and perverted behaviour. The jurisdiction of the Council of Ten [documents (f)-(g)] extended to blasphemy as well as sodomy, and such disrespect for heavenly beings came to be treated as an equal or even greater danger to the state. A sub-commission of the Ten, the Esecutori contra la Bestemmia, was established in 1537, and the increasingly wide range of its concerns is suggested by document (g). Bibliography In general: Pullan 1971, pp. 375-94; Pavan 1980; Scarabello 1980; Labalme 1984; Ruggiero 1985; Olivieri 1985; Martini 1986; li gioco delPamore 1990. On the Esecutori contra la Bestemmia: Grendler 1977; Derosas 1980; Pullan 1983, pp. 79-85.

(a) The Rialto brothel and the regulation of prostitution, 1460 From the Latin. Extracts from regulations proposed in the Collegio by the Heads of the Sestieri and approved by the Doge and his six Councillors on 4 September 1460 (Orford 1870-2, pp. 56-9). By command of the most illustrious Signoria the Lord Heads of the Sestieri have been entrusted with the task of finding a suitable and proper place where the 481

whores [meretrices] must abide, and of making fitting arrangements for these sinful women [peccatricibus]. Hence the noble and wise Lords and Heads of Sestieri, Francesco Contarini, Marino Coco, Pietro Lombardo, Antonio Coppo and Natalin Nadal, together with Ser Andrea Gradenigo of the Criminal Court of the Forty (in place of the Head of the sestier of San Polo), faithfully executing the orders issued to them by the most illustrious Signoria, have examined all the places on the island of Rialto, and have agreed that the best solution and the least harmful to that island would be for these sinful women to abide in the houses of the noble Priamo Malipiero. They are situated in a street behind the inn called the Ox, and Don Priamo has granted them to the Heads of the Sestieri on the same terms and conditions, and at the same rent, as when the first fortified brothel [castelletus], which is now to be demolished, was built. First the Lord Heads of the Sestieri, having looked into the matter thoroughly and taken information, have determined that every sinful woman who resides in the said alley or street shall be bound to pay 6 lire per month by wav of rent for each room," and other sinful women who do not reside in that common place but do occupy vaults [voltas]18 on the island of Rialto shall be obliged to contribute to the common place or fortified brothel the sum of 3 lire per month apiece, that being the sum they used to pay towards the fortified brothel which is now to be destroyed. And the said Don Priamo shall be bound to build and provide a sufficient number of vaults or booths [apotecas]. That the said Don Priamo shall now and in the future be obliged to keep the said houses or booths in a good state of repair at his own expense, and shall further be bound to provide suitable and necessary accommodation for these sinful women. That two castellans shall be appointed to remain on guard in the said fortified brothel from the twenty-fourth hour [sunset] to the second hour of the night, lest the sinful women be molested or injured. Each castellan shall receive 3 litre per month from public funds, and shall observe all the other rules which used to apply in the fortified brothel that is now to be destroyed.

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That from henceforth no one may enter the fortified brothel bearing a knife or other weapons, upon a fine of 25 lire and one month’s imprisonment, notwithstanding any licence or permission he may have to bear arms. Item. The said Lords have ordained that from henceforth all whores of the island of Rialto must repair to the public place and to the vaults assigned to them, upon a fine of 10 lire and twenty-five lashes each. Item. They have decreed that no sinful or other women may have herself touched or have carnal knowledge of any man in the daytime in any inn, tavern or bathhouse, on pain of ten lashes and a line of 5 lire for each offence; and any keeper of an inn, tavern or bath-house who permits a woman to have herself touched on his premises during the day shall be fined 10 lire for each woman. And, since die the said whores, who make a living from their wretched condition, have been dragged by keepers of inns, taverns and bath-houses, with much confusion and inconvenience and with excessive expense, before magistrates to whom they are not subject, [the Heads of the Sestieri] have decreed that no one may constrain or compel a whore, or cause her to be so treated, save by the authority of the Heads of the Sestieri, to whom whores are and always have been subject. Item. They have ordained that no keeper of an inn, bath-house or tavern may henceforth charge any sinful woman more than 2 ducats per month for food, wine and the rent of her room, upon a fine of 50 lire to the keeper of the inn, bathhouse or tavern, who shall also forfeit the extra charge he has made, and shall have no right to claim it. . . . Item. The said Lords have decreed that these whores may not leave the island of Rialto by day or by night without the permission of the Heads of the Sestieri, save on Saturday mornings; they must not wrap themselves in cloaks, but must display the usual sign, on pain of 10 lire and ten lashes for each offence, for which they shall also forfeit the cloak. Item. They have ordained that the said whores may not remain in their place or in their vaults after the second hour of the night, in order to avoid many scandals, upon the penalties specified above. 483

Item. They have determined that from henceforth no keeper of an inn, tavern or bath-house, or any other person, may have, hold or receive any sinful woman as a pledge, nor may he give, supply, lend or pay anything on her behalf to any person upon [the security of] the said sinful woman or whore, upon pain of six months imprisonment and a fine of 100 lire each, with the forfeiture of all money or goods given, lent or supplied upon [the security of ] the said whores. Liable to a similar penalty shall be anyone who receives, has, holds or has had a pledge upon a whore, and has pledged her, and he shall also be banned from Venice and district for a year. These fines shall accrue to the Lord Heads of the Sestieri and also to the accuser, who shall be kept secret. Item. They have ordained that no sinful or other woman may presume to enter the fortified brothel or to live above the vaults unless she has first presented herself to the Lord Heads of the Sestieri and to their office, on pain of 10 lire and fifteen lashes, . . . Item. They have ordained that no whore or sinful woman may dare to enter or to live in any house, vault or room on the site where the Scuola di San Gottardo once stood, or in any other place opposite to the church of San Matteo di Rialto. If there is any vault or room close to the door of the church, then out of reverence for God and the Virgin Mary it must be walled up so that no sinful woman may occupy it, on pain of 10 lire and fifteen ashes, and of 100 lire for the proprietor who allows them to live and remain there. ‌ Since in this holy and just city there are many pimps and procurers [lenones et ruffian] and other undisciplined young men who do not care to live by their own toil and labour, but prefer to pursue the said whores and make a living from their wretched and lamentable state, [the Heads of the Sestieri] have ordained and decreed that such pimps and procurers shall not only suffer the penalties prescribed in the decree of 1423,2 which must now be observed in all respects, but shall also be banished from Venice and district for a period of two years. 1. Voltae were literally vaults or storerooms to house merchandise; in this context the word suggests a bleak, utilitarian room without windows, and perhaps expresses the notion that prostitutes were merchandise. 2. The decree prescribed for pimps and procurers a fine of 25 lire and one month’s imprisonment, followed by one year’s banishment from the island of Rialto (Ortord 1870-2, p. 39).

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(b) Sexual dissimulation condemned, 1480 From the Latin. Decree of the Council of Ten, 15 March 1480 (Orford 1870-2, p. 233). The coiffure [habitus capitis] which Venetian women have recently taken to wearing could not be more indecent in the sight of God and men, since by means of this coiffure women conceal their sex and strive to please men by pretending to be men, which is a form of sodomy; and-therefore Be it determined that by the authority of this Council the Heads of the Ten or at least two of them shall go to our Lord Patriarch and persuade him by means of the confessors and also through an edict to be published in all the parishes, to prohibit the hairstyle [gestamen capillorum] which women adopt, and which they call a ‘mushroom’ [fungus], and which hides the forehead; and to order the hair to be drawn and tied back behind the head, and the forehead and face to be made free of it, that they may be seen to be women just as God made them, as was their custom before the present corrupted age all this upon pain of excommunication. Once this commandment had been published in the churches, be it resolved, so that it may also be obeyed through the fear of temporal penalties, that if any woman is seen wearing this indecent coiffure and hairstyle her husband shall be compelled by the Heads of this Council to pay a fine of 100 ducats, which shall be given to the accuser, and both the husband and wife shall be immediately proclaimed upon the steps, as many times as may be necessary, as fearing neither God nor our own laws. If the woman concerned is unmarried, then her father or brother or any other person in whose power she lies shall be punished as well as herself. The enforcement of this decree shall be entrusted to the Heads and Inquisitors of this Council, or to another Council, upon their oath. The Lords of the Night and the Heads of the Sestieri shall be instructed that, once these edicts have been published, all whores found wearing this arrangement [sixam] of hair shall first be whipped and then have their whole heads shaved. Having been so shorn, they shall be led to the steps and there proclaimed, and their accuser shall have 25 lire from the goods of each woman, and after being 485

whipped, shorn and proclaimed they shall not be released from prison until they have paid over this money.

(c) Homosexual practices unpunished, 1509 Priuli ed. Cessi 1938, IV, 35-6. I have yet to speak of another wicked and pernicious vice, which was widely practised and highly esteemed in this city, and this was the unnatural vice called sodomy, for which, as we read in ancient writings, the great God sent down fire upon the two cities so notorious to all.1 This vice was openly practised in Venice without shame; indeed, it had become so habitual that it was more highly regarded than having to do with one’s own wife. Young Venetian nobles and citizens tricked themselves out with so many ornaments, and with garments that opened to show the chest, and with so many perfumes, that there was no indecency in the world to compare with the frippery and finery of Venetian youth and their provocative acts of luxury and venery. Truly they may be called not youths, but women. They were tolerated by their fathers and relatives although they deserved punishment; had [their elders] taken action, and forbidden this indecent clothing, this lascivious and dishonourable behaviour, this effeminacy on the part of their sons and relatives, perhaps things would have gone differently and the heavens would not have allowed such a catastrophe to fall upon us. But such was the love of fathers for their children that they were blind to their ruin, sunk and drowning as they were in this accursed vice, and they neither saw nor realized it. By the power of money these [young people] turned from men into women, and now that after this disaster money must needs be in shorter supply they will do far worse things in their desire to obtain it, for they have been brought up to expect these lascivious refinements which one cannot have without money, and they cannot resist such things. What must I say and write, wise readers, about the Venetian patricians and senators, white-bearded, advanced in years and full of wisdom, who were so sunk and drowning in this rice of Gomorrah that at their age they became passive homosexuals [patientes], and paid the young men money to satisfy them in this perversion, their own fathers and senators becoming, as has been said, the ones 486

who submit [patientes] Surely this is a wicked and abominable thing, unheard of in our own times, especially among old men. It was said that this vice on the part of the aged had come from Rome, for the prelates and other old people were given to it, and there were passive homosexuals in the papal court. Be this as it may, it was a most shameful and detestable excess, and greatly to be condemned in persons of all ages, but especially in old men, and a dreadful sin which was not to be tolerated by the heavens, much less by human courts of law. In the city of Venice there were so many decrees, laws and ordinances for the punishment of this execrable perversion that the books were full of them, and they imposed the penalty of burning on persons who committed such crimes.2 But these laws, ordinances and decrees were neither respected nor enforced, and that was because the persons responsible for their execution were themselves involved in these offences and had no heart to carry out the punishment, for they feared that the same penalty might fall upon themselves or their own children. For these reasons the thing was suppressed, and the fire which these criminals deserved was quenched and doused with water. It was true that, as it is written (I think) in earlier books, the punishment of this vice of sodomy was entrusted to the Council of Ten to arouse fear and trembling, for in the Venetian Republic nothing had greater authority, wisdom and judgement than the Council of Ten. However, the rice had now become so much a habit and so familiar to everyone, and it was so openly discussed throughout the city, that there came a time when it was so commonplace that no one said anything about it any more, and it neither deserved nor received any punishment - except for some poor wretch who had no money, no favours, no friends and no relations: justice was done on people like that, and not on those who had power and money and reputation, and yet committed far worse crimes. But I do not wish to leave this subject without assuring my most worthy readers that what I have said above, about Venetian patricians and senators implicated in this vice of Gomorrah, does not apply to everyone; for truly there are many good, pious, and righteous fathers and senators. I say it only of some of them, and I think there are very few involved in this bestial practice — which is no wonder, for even among the twelve apostles there was one bad one. 1. Genesis 19:24-25.

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2. See, for example, the Ten’s decree of 25 August 1464 (Orford 1870-2, p. 63). In the course of debate two Heads of the Ten proposed that convicted sodomites should be burned alive, but the Council decided to continue the more merciful custom of beheading them first and then burning the body.

(d)The regulation of prostitution, 1539 Decree of the Council of Ten and Zonta, 12 September 1539 (Orford 1870-2. pp. 101-2). In the last few days orders were given by the Collegia and by the Heads of this Council to the Provveditori sopra la Sanita to bar from this city many poor persons suspected of carrying the plague, who, as we had heard by letters from Milan, had been expelled from the Milanese state and from Piedmont, and it was thought that they were certain to come here. Not only did the Provveditori carry out these orders both wisely and thoroughly, but they also expelled from Venice some 4000-5000 beggars and other kinds of person who had recently come to live in this city. Many of these were sent to serve as oarsmen on the galleys, and the Provveditori gave sound instructions that no one was to beg in the city without their permission, and the beggars have now been reduced to much smaller numbers. The Provveditori have also lodged in the hospitals many children who have found shelter there. Since all these good and praiseworthy acts had been performed by the aforesaid Provveditori, they were given further orders to apply themselves to regulating the many abuses committed by the public whores who walk the streets of Venice. But, appearing before the Heads of this Council, they stated that their commission and authority did not extend to matters concerning prostitution. Now, on several occasions a number of good, fruitful, and necessary measures, to the praise of God and the honour of the city, have been suggested in this matter, to wit 1. that all whores that have come to live here in the past two years shall be expelled; 2. that whores shall not be permitted to live near churches; 3. that they shall not be allowed to go to churches at the times when these are frequented by women of good and respectable standing;

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4. that they may not keep in their service girls or serving-women aged thirty years or less; 5. that travelling female servants, until they find a place to live, may lodge only in the house of some woman of good reputation, and one such person shall be appointed in every parish, as shall seem best. When these things are done, they will not only preserve the honour of God, but will be of no little benefit to this city; and, since steps must be taken to deal with all these matters, Be it determined that, by authority of this Council, the execution of the proposals and of the five articles listed above shall be entrusted to the aforesaid Provveditori alia Sanita, who shall be entitled to take any steps that they judge necessary and appropriate in order to put them into effect, with the same authority as if they were taken by this Council.

(e) Prostitution and ostentation; the whore defined, 1543 From a Senate decree of 21 February 1542 Venetian style (Orford 1870-2, pp. 108-9). There are now excessive numbers of whores in this our city; they have put aside all modesty and shame, and go about openly in the streets and churches, and furthermore are so well dressed and adorned that on many occasions our noble and citizen women have been confused with them, the good with the bad, and not only by foreigners but also by those who live here, because there is no difference of dress. They set a bad example to women who enter and see their dwellings, and they cause no little discontent and scandal to everyone. Seeking to please the everlasting God, we must take steps to prevent these bad examples and scandals, and to curb the excessive expenditure of whores upon their own garments and upon the decoration of their houses. Be it [therefore] determined that, whilst in all respects the decrees already adopted concerning the clothing of women and the adornment of houses shall be 489

confirmed, no whore living in Venice may dress in, or wear on any part of her person, gold, silver or silk, except for her coif, which may be of pure silk; and such women may not wear necklaces [cadenelle], pearls, or rings with or without stones, either in their ears or in any other imaginable place, so that gold and silver and silk and the use of jewels of any kind shall be forbidden to them, whether at home or outside, and even outside this city. They may not keep in their houses any furnishings forbidden by law, and furthermore they may not have any furnishings of silk, or arrases, or upholstery, or bench-covers, or leathers of any kind, but only cloths of Bergamo or Brescia, and these must be plain and have no patterns [destagi] cut upon them. Those who break this rule in any respect shall forfeit the goods and pay 100 ducats for each offence. ...The term ‘whore’ [meretrice] shall be understood to refer to those women who, being unmarried, have dealings and intercourse [comertio et praticha] with one man or more. It shall also apply to those who have husbands and do not live with them, but are separated from them and have dealings [comertio] with one man or more.

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READING 5

Guido Ruggiero The Sexual Environment of Renaissance Venice: An Introduction Not surprisingly, our picture of Renaissance sexuality is confusing. Literature of the period abounds with signals seemingly at cross-purpose. The transcendent vision of love epitomized by Dante’s Vita Nuova and Divine Comedy, the formal courtesy and lighthearted adultery of Boccaccio’s Decameron, the courtly manners of Castiglione’s Perfect Courtier, the mischievous machiavellianism of Machiavelli’s Mandragola, the exploitative sensuality of Aretino’s Dialogues—each portrays a different sexual world overlaid with literary traditions and personal values that leaves one who seeks the reality of Renaissance sexuality uncertain and dissatisfied. The moralists of the period, whether working in a traditional scholastic mode or in the newer humanist one, seem to reflect more on enduring Christian values than on contemporary practice. When they occasionally do drop from eternal verities to practical daily concerns, one is struck by their vision of a world polarized between Christians living chastely in the City of God and pagans living in Sodom and Gomorrah, both somehow inhabiting our Renaissance cities and dominating them. Yet the chronicles and histories of the time show little sign of such profound sexual divisions, and we are tempted to write off these accounts as the logical extremes of a moralizing vision. Diaries, or more accurately ricordi, when they can be found, provide interesting information especially on the economics and emotions of marriage. Gregorio Dati’s businesslike recording of childbirth, wife death, and dowry price comes immediately to mind. But in his accounts of married life the countinghouse mentality that emerges may be largely a facet of the format of these ricordi, which were often little more than articulated family ledgers rather than attempts to 491

record emotional life. Moreover, a record of childbirth and dowry prices provides in the end only minimal information on the sexual life of the period—the last seldom if ever referred to in, the ricordi. Another way to develop some picture of sexuality is through the demographic records. Birth patterns, illegitimacy rates, male-female ratios, age at marriage, and age differential in marriage are all significant indicators of the parameters of sexual 'life. Most important, they provide information on a wider range of the population than do writers, moralists, or diarists, who tend to focus primarily on the higher strata of society. Unfortunately, such records reveal only indications of sexual life, not that life itself. One is forced with this material to fall back on other sources to explain what practice stood behind the data. In addition, demographic material for the Renaissance, while at times very rich as is the case of the Florentine Catasto, so ably exploited by David Herlihy and. Christiane KlapischZuber,1 is normally too spotty to be used systematically. Thus , the historian seeking to understand the sexuality of the Renaissance is faced with a good deal of information covering a wide range of different points of view, but with little apparent way to sort through their biases and prejudices to arrive at a meaningful overview. It would be satisfying to claim that this book reveals the source that will unravel the Gordian knot of Renaissance sexuality. But that would be claiming too much. Rather, by looking at the records of Venetian sex crime, we can gain a new and deeper understanding of Renaissance sexuality from a largely unexamined perspective—one that should provide a firmer basis for reevaluating Renaissance literature, moralists, and demographic patterns in terms of their relationship to sexuality. At the same time we should be able to provide a basis for a deeper understanding of the social life, the culture, and the perceptions of the Renaissance itself, for, with apologies to Michel Foucault, sexuality was not a discovery of the modem world, and with apologies to the comfortable preconceptions of many others, it was not always much as it is today. Rather, it was a complex and often contradictory set of relationships that occupied an important and changing place in human life and society. Sex crime reveals these complexities and contradictions in an interesting and concrete manner, especially in a city like Renaissance Venice. There criminality, 492

theoretically controlled by a thirteenth-century law code, the Promissione Maleficorum and its later reforms, in fact was handled much more pragmatically by members of the merchant-banker elite of the city.2 In general, legal codes seldom interfered in criminal prosecution, and this was especially true in sexual matters. It was the practice for each criminal case to be judged by a substantial number of the ruling nobility, who took into account the status of the victim and the accused as' well as' the nature of the crime. In broad outline, when a crime came to public attention, it was handled in one of three ways. First, summary justice could be meted out at the scene of the crime. This was reserved for petty offenses such as brawling or carrying arms illegally and was the responsibility of patrolling bodies such as the Cinque alla Pace, the Signori di Notte, and the Capi di Sestiere. Second, the case could be investigated by the Avogadori of the Commune'— loosely speaking, the communal attorneys—and argued- by them before one of the larger councils of state, normally the Council of Forty (known as the Forty). This large body, after hearing oral arguments and reviewing the written ones, would decide guilt and penalty', generally with little reference to law. Third, direct justice was reserved for ' the most important cases, which were handled in a flexible manner ' within one council. This was the operating procedure of the most powerful and feared Council of Ten, which dealt with conspiracy and treason and in the fifteenth century took over the prosecution of sodomy. Most sex crimes were handled by the second method. They were investigated by the Avogadori and tried before the Forty. The primary records that survive are an almost complete run of the Avogadori’s summation of their investigations in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries with a report of the Forty’s decision and action on each case. This documentation is supplemented irregularly by the rough scribal notes of testimony heard by the Avogadori. Sodomy was the principal sex crime in which this procedure was not followed. In the fourteenth century it was investigated by the Signori di Notte and tried before a small three-man court, the Giudici di Proprio. The records of these cases are much more detailed than those of the Avogadori. In the early fifteenth century jurisdiction was taken over by the Council of Ten, and because the cases were heard internally, their records are much less detailed. Over a period of two centuries and across all these councils, 493

however, the records preserve a distillation of what, was perceived to be most unacceptable in deeds labeled criminal. And, in turn, in the penalties handed down, the records show just how seriously such deeds were judged by some of the most important men in Venice. Certainly such documentation is extremely biased. Yet that very bias constitutes its unique historical value. These records reveal the values and perceptions of a Renaissance elite not through their intellectualized literature or philosophy, but directly at the level where people name the objects of their fears and aversions and attempt to control or eradicate them. In such a situation every word takes on meaning, and one is forced to work with criminal documents much as an intellectual historian pores over a text from Plato. But such an exhaustive approach pays handsome dividends for understanding society and its values. First, it allows us to reconstruct Renaissance Venice’s official vision of unacceptable sexuality in all its complexities and inner contradictions. At the same time, in setting sexual boundaries, the records speak to the society's perception of normal sexuality, often with disarming directness. As a result, a close study of such documentation for Venice should provide a significant new insight into the role and function of sexuality in one Renaissance city. Venice in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries was atypical in that, unlike most other Italian republics, it survived and flourished through the period. Taken as a whole, these two centuries, the focus of our study, might be seen from a Venetian perspective as a period of unusual success. The end of the thirteenth century found the city fraught with 'internal bickering. Its Eastern commercial empire was dangerously threatened by Genoese competition, Byzantine revival, and Hungarian expansion. Its Italian hinterland was confused with a host of flourishing communes, each potentially a problem for the city's short-distance trade and several potentially disruptive for long-distance trade connections over the Alps. By the end of the fifteenth century Venice had successfully eliminated Genoa as a competitor for Eastern trade domination and even to an extent worked out a modus vivendi with the new power in the East—the Turks. In Italy they had built a powerful mini-empire on the remains of the Carrara and Della Scala signori, which included most of the eastern lands of the rich Po plain. In 494

addition, they controlled the southern accesses to the passes over the Alps to Germany, so crucial for Venetian trade. Finally, the social tensions of the city had been largely brought under control with the establishment of a hereditary ruling group based on approximately 200 families drawn primarily from the merchantbanker aristocracy of the city. Thus, while most other republics of Italy had fallen by the wayside during this period, Venice endured and might even be said to have triumphed. There were storm clouds, of course, on her horizons. The Turks were seen as a major threat, and the continued necessity of defending an extended maritime empire put a severe financial strain on the city-a strain that at times tested not only the economic fabric of the city but" its social fabric as well. Equally troubling was the circumnavigation of Africa by Portuguese spice traders, which threatened to undermine Venetian domination of trade in this lucrative area. Recent scholarship has ably demonstrated that the immediate impact of this new spice route was perhaps more psychological than economic; but as a reflection of the successful voyages of discovery and the eventual forging of an Atlantic civilization that would move the city from the center of European civilization to the periphery, the discovery was a harbinger of change for Venice. Closer to home, following 1494 Italy was rent by the nation-state armies of Europe, leaving the city-state largely a system of the past and threatening the very existence of Venice’s mainland empire. Once again Venice survived, but after the War of the League of Cambrai, the city lived on in a much different Italy—politically, socially, and economically. Thus, in contrast to what preceded and followed, the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries might be seen as Venice’s golden age. Yet, like most golden ages it loses much of its luster on closer examination. Perhaps the' most outstanding counter to Venice’s successes were the waves of the plague that struck virtually every generation m the city from the late 1340s on. The demographic losses were extreme, sweeping away minimum of one-third and more probably one-half of the population in the first attack. This demographic catastrophe, however, was if anything merely the tip of the iceberg when one assesses the plague’s impact. Labor-hungry cities such as Venice sought to recoup their losses as quickly as possible by offering incentives to workers and 495

potential sailors to come to the city and repopulate its work force, The success of this policy meant that the devastation wrought on the family’s fabric by the mortality of the plague was exacerbated by the immigration of many young and able-bodied to the city, further breaking down the placement and disciplining force of the family in' society. This- immigration probably also had a negative impact on the male-female ratios in the urban environment. Thus, not only the mortality of the plague but also the population movement it triggered put dangerous stresses on the city’s social fabric. And, of course, behind these problems lurked the longterm impact, always more difficult to assess, of such periodic catastrophes on the psyches and personalities of those who survived. Less dramatically, but with almost equal significance for the nature of Venetian life, the city’s triumphs were largely built on military victories over tenacious rivals. In an age that' fought its wars primarily with professional armies led by famous and hence expensive captains—the condottieri—a consistent record of victory meant a continued series of financial crises for government. In turn, such a record meant an almost constant level of tensions 'arising from the need to apportion taxation if not fairly, at least effectively. Debate on the sources and methods of taxation always threatened to divide the ruling nobility into hostile factions, and the imposition of those taxes frequently exacerbated social tensions, especially among those below the nobility who felt exploited by excessive taxation. Indicative of these dangers inherent in Venice’s military victories is that virtually every major war of the period engendered a conspiracy to overthrow the state. Venice endured, helped by two crucial transitions during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The first, the serrata, or closing, of the Major Council, might actually be said to have initiated the period. Faced with declining markets and increasing competition, hostility from Genoa, and deepening internal social and political tensions, Venice initiated a set of governmental reforms in 1297-1298, which at first seemed designed merely to improve the method for electing the Major Council, Venice’s largest legislative body. By 1320, however, the effect of the serrata of the Major Council was to create a hereditary ruling group composed primarily of merchants and bankers. Members of "this nobility, as they styled themselves, sat automatically on the Major Council when they came of 496

age. In turn, most government officials were elected by the council from their number, and all governmental power came to be seen as originating there. An apparent technical change in electoral principles became, within about twenty years, a quiet revolution that left political power in the hands of a hereditary ruling group. But it was more than a political revolution, for we find as early as 1310 that membership in the Major Council was associated with social status as well. The importance of this association cannot be overstressed. There are few ' societies in which political and social status match exactly. Perhaps even in Renaissance Venice that would be claiming too much. Yet, as a result of the serrata, the social elite of Venice came to be perceived as largely contiguous to the political elite, and this helped undercut one major source of political and social tension. While other Renaissance cities would debate questions of status and power in theory and bloody deed, Venice settled down to defend a legally established hierarchy based on merchant wealth. The second transition that helped the merchant nobility survive, prosper, and adapt to changing times was a diversification of the Venetian economy perhaps best signified by the city’s expansion onto the mainland in the fifteenth century, which symbolized a break from~ the traditional trade orientation. Of course, trade was to remain a central focus of the Venetian economy and the main basis of noble wealth. But land and industry were to play an increasingly important role that diversified the city’s economic base and helped it survive m relative 'prosperity the turmoil of the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Actually, that transition was neither a quick nor an easy one for the merchant nobles of Venice to accept or implement. In a way, perhaps, their self-proclaimed noble status following the serrata aided the transition by creating an aristocratic mentality that for many nobles seemed to require landholding as well as merchant wealth. The matter has been little studied, but it is clear that the Venetian nobility was heavily involved in land transactions on the mam- land well before the state decided to move in and create a terra ferma empire. Diversification in cloth and other neo-industrial production is more difficult to explain and again little examined. Logically it might be argued that as merchant life changed in Venice from a merchant-venturing style, where males went out to sail the Mediterranean and make their fortune to 497

more of a merchant-investor style, where men stayed m Venice and invested their money in a wide range of trading ventures, it was natural for the citizens to move on and diversify their investments. Diversifying investments created a kind of insurance, which me ant that although some ventures might fail, others would succeed. But this is largely speculation. What is certain is that we already find in the fourteenth century a growing number of references to artisans and clothworkers in the city, and we find the Venetian government actively recruiting both sailors and industrial workers to swell the city's labor pool. With the expansion onto the mainland, however, this process came to a head, and the Venetian nobility found themselves with the opportunity to invest in land with greater ease and security than before and with the ability to take advantage of local markets and skills to improve the industrial and artisan base of their city. Yet the nobility largely remained merchants in both self-conception and in fact, with the result that clear conflict between merchant interests and the interests of others were usually won by the merchants. Nonetheless, Venice at the end of our period of focus was economically much more diversified than at the beginning. It may not have been richer, but it was ' better adapted to survive the turmoil that lay ahead. Similarly, although the nobility had- become a closed caste based on hereditary principles, they had learned to rule effectively and to protect their position with unusual skill. In sum, Venice in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, though beset with significant problems, weathered them and constructed a social and economic base whose strength can be gauged by the city’s unique ability to survive the challenges of the early sixteenth century. For the history of sexuality as well these changes were ' significant. A strong centralized government led by men interested in controlling ever wider aspects of urban life created an environment where, to follow the language of Foucault, even matters sexual began to fall under governmental discipline.3 This, of course, was not entirely or even primarily for moral reasons. Rather, the family and the peer group—the traditional arbiters of sexual discipline had become less and less capable of maintaining customary mores, especially at the lower social levels, in this environment of rapid economic, social, arid demographic change. But there was more, for not only did family and peers discipline sexual behavior, a 498

disciplined sexuality in turn helped to order and preserve both family and community so that there was a dialogue, to borrow Foucault’s term, between the family and its sexual norms and the community and its desire for continuity. Adultery, fornication, rape, homosexuality, and other sexual acts labeled criminal threatened the stability and order of family and community. Thus, the rulers of Venice felt obliged to prosecute the perpetrators of these acts not so much because they threatened public morals but because they undermined society’s most basic institutions of marriage and family. Not surprisingly, this potentially revolutionary situation garnered careful attention. But by carefully attending to sexual behavior that threatened marriage and family, the Venetian government transformed sexuality and redefined the boundaries between the acceptable and the Unacceptable. The normative- functions of custom and tradition, family and peers, typical of medieval society, were overlaid with a new set of laws and institutions that attempted to subject sexual behavior to legal as, well as customary control. Unfortunately, these two systems of discipline- enforceable law and customary morality—did not meld perfectly, reflecting perhaps the differential rates of change between legal thought or practice and traditional values or social structures. As a result, sexuality outside of marriage could be viewed as illicit, yet prostitution could be legalized and treated as a legitimate source of profit for noble entrepreneurs of good family. Or, in contrast, fornication could be prosecuted as a crime, yet be perceived as a typical and accepted step on the road to marriage Such seeming contradictions stem largely from an imperfect fit between the disciplining factors of law and morality in Renaissance society, which make the boundaries of Eros literally plural and, much like other historical boundaries, neither neat and fixed nor particularly exact. It may be that an un planned and largely unrecognized result of this increased concern with the boundaries' of sexuality was the gradual definition of two distinct milieus of sexuality—a licit one that hinged on marriage and childbirth and an illicit one. Both licit and illicit produced their own institutions, artifacts, languages, values, and habits thus, in a restricted sense they may be seen as diverse and at times competing cultures of sexuality within the broader cultural context of society. On the one hand we have a dominant culture of sexuality characterized by 499

marriage and childbirth; on the other, a much more inchoate and developing culture of illicit sexuality. The latter clearly was less structured in the Renaissance, and like any anticulture or shadow culture, it had much less coherence and. discipline than the recognized culture supported by custom, law, and the primary institutions of society. To a great extent its point of reference was its illicit nature, its existence outside the boundaries of accepted Eros. But being the other, the outsider, this culture, of illicit sexuality still developed its own defining characteristics, and one reason it is such a potentially rich concept is that with time it would gain a certain focus and become, a major aspect of the general civilization of the West. From the Renaissance, parallel to the family and its Christian-based culture, another culture has developed, that of the 'mistress, the prostitute, the libertine; of rape, adultery, and fornication; of words with double meaning, obscene language, and pornography; of Aretino, Madame de Chatelet, and the Marquis de Sade, of the exploitation of women and men, mad passions and gentler ones. This is not to argue that a culture of illicit sexuality was unheard of before the Renaissance or created in Venice, but rather to suggest that the specific forms of that culture which typify what might be seen as a modern Western tradition began to come together during the period and may be identified- early on in the sexual history of Venice, a city that was to become famed for its illicit pleasure. Why this culture developed, obviously, requires a broader study than the present one. Yet the case of Venice suggests, as we shall see, that it was tied closely to some of the most basic changes of the Renaissance period. At its beginnings, or at least at the point where our documentation allows us to begin looking at it closely, this culture in Renaissance Venice seems to have had little unity beyond its illicit nature and to have been moving in several different directions at once. Playing with our metaphors, we might imagine the boundaries of Eros as a series of mirrors reflecting back on licit sexuality its customs, laws, and values and thus rein forcing it; yet, when like Alice we step through the looking glass, we will find a world vaguely familiar but essentially incomprehensible until we realise that the rules and meanings of things have

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changed. To step through these looking glasses is to step into a complex culture of illicit sexuality that this work attempts to chart. Not all sex crime, however, fits neatly into this culture of illicit sexuality. To confuse the issue, some crimes, especially fornication and to a lesser degree adultery, were actually oriented toward a marital ideal that reflected the dominant sexual culture more than it rejected that culture. Even a crime like rape at times could be a step on the road to sexual and marital relationships that were acceptable to Renaissance society. Prostitution, on the other hand, was legal in certain areas of the city, was nonetheless a significant faction in that emerging culture. It educated young men though non marital sexuality and sustained many married men in extramarital sexuality. Thus, while legal in itself, it undermined legitimate sexuality, which was theoretically marriage-centred with an eye to continuing the family line. Like a large part of the culture of illicit sex, prostitution also implied an exploitative approach to sexuality, an approach or mentality we find regularly carrying over into sex crime.4 In sum, crime does not neatly define the boundaries between a culture of illicit sexuality and the recognized one just as it does not neatly delineate traditional values. In large part this is because in sexual acts boundaries are seldom neat; but it is also because people often cross the boundaries of legality in sexual matters not to thwart the dominant culture but, with a paradoxical irony, to join it. Thus we are embarking on more than an examination of legal behaviour in Renaissance Venice; we are beginning, but only beginning, a description and an analysis of a largely unstudied culture crucial in the development of the West virtually up to the present. I say ‘virtually’ because although many of the individual aspects of this culture continue to exist, it has lost much of the coherence and dynamic it was to gain in the sixteenth century and beyond as Venice became one of the pleasure capitals of the world and provided a model and ideal of illicit sexuality. The sexual changes and the transformation in the vision of women that seem to have made progress in the twentieth century may be slowly undermining the basis for a culture almost unnoticed and unheralded will be the disappearance of this culture – to speak metaphorically again, the triumph of D. H. Lawrence over De Sade. 501

In labelling what was troubling and abnormal in certain sexual acts, our documentation unwittingly is also constantly defining what was perceived as ‘normal’. Normality, of course, is a relative concept not just to a culture or a society but also to social groups within a society. What was normal for the marginal denizens of the streets to Venice and their poor brethren living at a subsistence level could be quite different from what was normal for the nobility. This documentation, obviously, speaks primarily to that latter vision. Yet the nobility of Venice had a strong hierarchical vision; thus, they often unwittingly articulated their perceptions of the differences they saw .in normality at various social levels. Also, they frequently recorded the words and deeds of the lower social strata, which provide useful clues to their perceptions and values. Finally, the prosecution of sex crime is never a one-way street. The nobility clearly predominated in determining the agenda of prosecution, but lesser men played a role as well. They were often a crucial factor in the reportage of crime. Their silence, then, could be as significant a factor in prosecution levels as the nobility’s desire for discipline or morality. In turn, a steady flow of complaints or even a “murmuring of the people" could force prosecution where noble sentiments were hesitant to proceed, as we shall see. As a result, although normality is a complex concept, we will attempt to assay its meaning for Venetian society as a whole and from the perspective of various groups within society, wherever their vision breaks from the mainstream. Because marriage in Christian morality and in Renaissance society was to a large extent the key to “normal” sexuality, a few words should be said in general about marriage as an institution in Venice. Marriage, to state the obvious, was the means by which the family maintained and extended its existence, bringing in wives to connect the family in a broader social space and producing children to continue the family over time. But marriage did much more. At the upper social levels it was a mechanism of social placement and through the dowry system a means of capital accumulation. As a form of social placement two aspects of marriage stand out. First, marriage was one of the clearest and most public measures of status that Renaissance society could provide: The social status of each family reflected upon the other. Thus, in late fourteenth-century Venice a marriage of a Tron to a 502

Morosini probably would have signaled to most observers the rising status of the Tron family. In the late fifteenth century the same marriage would have merely reinforced perceptions that the Tron family was an established and important clan. Second, marriage placed a woman in virtually the only acceptable position that society allowed her. Aside from the monastic life, and even that was questioned, there were few acceptable alternatives for a sexually mature woman. The Church, moralists, practical businessmen, and society in general agreed with unique unanimity that the place for a sexually mature woman was marriage. Thus, in a way, marriage defined the life of a woman. For men this was true as well, but in a much more abstract ' sense. A man, it might be said, built upon his family and marriage background in a society that at its upper levels still felt more, confident judging a family rather than an individual. But a woman norm ally was considered to be little else than a marriage partner. Sex crime will allow us to qualify that harsh vision a bit, but not much. As a mechanism of capital accumulation' based on the dowry, marriage was also most important for families of higher status. With dowry prices rising significantly throughout our period-in part because the cost of a dowry was an important indicator of social status – the dowry could often provide the initial impetus for the economic success of a couple. The Florentine diary of Gregorio Dati provides a suggestive example of this role of the dowry. With uncanny prescience he seems to have coordinated his business failures with his wives’ deaths, for invariably when his fortune was on the wane, a wife died to be replaced by a new one with a new dowry to carry his finances forward.5 At lower social and economic levels the dowry was less likely to capitalise adequately a couple’s marriage. If anything, the lack of capital could tend to make the dowry an obstacle to marriage. Yet even at these levels marriage had a significant economic role to play, for one crucial aspect of marriage was the uniting of the work skills of two people into one economic unit. This was especially true in the nascent cloth industry, where female labor was highly valued. But it carried across much of the artisan life of the lower classes. Frequently we find reference to women working in the trades of their husbands or on their own. Thus, at this level a wife could be an economic asset more for her working ability 503

than for the value of her dowry. As we move down the social scale, however, we find that family and clan ties did become progressively less important. A recent micro-study of lower-class family life in one Venetian parish argues persuasively that such families extend very little beyond the nuclear pairing of the couple that formed the marriage.6 This is not surprising given the pressures that the Renaissance urban environment placed on the lower-class family structure; it is logical to expect that it would be sheared to its most elemental form. In Venice demographic data are lacking for our period regarding age at the time of marriage. Florentine data suggests a pattern of men marrying at a progressively later age, moving from the mid- to the late twenties over our period, and women tending to marry in their late teens. Venetian moralists report a fairly similar pattern. For males this is supported by the tendency of Venetians to extend adolescence; there are regular references to males considered too immature for adult responsibilities because they were in their early thirties. Sex crime data, however, suggest a profile of upper-class men marrying in their late twenties or early thirties. In Venice females seemed to have married earlier than in Florence, usually shortly after they reached puberty. Marriages are reported for eleven- and twelve-year-olds, but the norm appears to have been thirteen or fourteen. Even noble women who married in their late teens were considered a bit old. This age differential of approximately fifteen years at marriage for the higher social levels played a significant role in many of the sex crimes prosecuted; it was also a factor in the culture of illicit sex, which in many areas was orientated toward male adolescents. At the lower social levels marriage ages were less clear, but the fact that in such marriages a working woman was often seen as a highly desirable partner suggests that there was less of an age gap. With a shorter adolescent period for males at lower social levels, the Florentine pattern of marriage in the late teens or early twenties for males with slightly younger females seems to have been repeated in Venice. The records of sex crime where ages are noted support these figures.7 Another important aspect of marriage is the duration of the relationship. It has become a commonplace that premodern marriages significantly differed from the modern because they were of short duration. This conclusion, however, has been 504

based largely on a priori reasoning that hinges on the short life expectancy of all individuals in the past and the high mortality rate of females in childbirth. Here, however, Venice does provide some concrete evidence that allows a test of that reasoning and creates some doubts about it. Based on records of dowry litigation after the death of one spouse, which noted when the marriage began, it can be stated that the average Venetian marriage where a dowry was exchanged in the late fourteenth century lasted more than a decade—to be exact, 13.1 years in 664 cases between 1366 and 1390. Noble marriages lasted slightly longer— 16.8 years for 112 cases; non-noble marriages slightly less time—12.4 years for 552 cases.8 Wives normally died in the early years of marriage, presumably in childbirth, or outlived their husbands as, widows. It should be noted that a relatively high rate of mortality in the early years of marriage lowers the- average length of marriage and partially masks the fact that a significant number of marriages at all social levels lasted longer than twenty years. Thus, the assumption that marriage was of brief duration in the premodern period was not entirely true in Venice, a fact that placed additional pressures on that institution. Marriage as a central institution, however, was not all-inclusive in Renaissance Venice. For males at upper social levels, family loyalties triggered by economic considerations often meant a life of bachelorhood; at lower levels more direct economic problems and high mobility rates fostered similar results. Progressively in our period upper-class families appear to have adopted a tactic of limiting mate marriages in order to limit the number of collateral branches formed in each generation. The object of this limitation was to restrict the division of the family’s patrimony. The ideal was to maintain family size both in numbers and branches by having only one male in each branch reproduce. A tricky and ultimately dangerous policy to pursue, it meant, nonetheless, that many men would spend their lives as bachelors and swell the numbers of those whose sexual lives were spent outside the accepted borders of sexuality. For women similar economic concerns meant that many would not marry, although those considerations were formalized by a more concrete institution the dowry. Required by all social levels above the very lowest, the dowry was a most effective economic control on marriage. First, a woman who could not find a dowry obviously had great trouble 505

finding a husband. In a way, if a dowry could not be raised, a proposed marriage probably would have little economic chance to survive. Sex crime, as we shall see, provided a few options to this bleak picture. With a certain symmetry death also encouraged marriage in the form of general bequests found in wills for the dowries of ‘poor but deserving girls’ and specific bequests for the dories of relatives. Such amelioratives were undercut by the few years following puberty when a woman was still considered an acceptable marriage partner. Spinsterhood tended to arrive very quickly, especially for women of higher status. To escape that fate, many women found their marriage at an even higher level as brides of Christ – that is, as nuns. Women of lesser social status occasionally followed a similar path with the aid of charity. But at those lower levels, life as a servant or prostitute was also the norm for many young women who could not marry. In fact, domestic service was at times merely a step on the way to prostitution, as servant status left young women in a singularly exposed and unprotected position. Thus, the ideal of marriage as the required place for normal sexuality was undermined by the realities of that institution itself. For economic, social, and demographic reasons marriage could not incorporate large parts of the population within the embrace of its normality. As a result, many found their sexuality beyond the boundaries of accepted behaviour. Morality, tradition, and legality helped to form those boundaries, but they did not overlap enough to create a clean break, which requires that we develop a multilevel approach to sexuality in which there are no simple determinants. And certainly no modern models of social psychology or anthropology will adequately fit the resultant complex of behaviours. Rather, this book sets out to chart of complex shifting boundaries of Eros in an effort to gain a better understanding of the perceptions and practice of sexuality in Renaissance Venice; in the process it should contribute to a deeper understanding of Renaissance society and the history of sexuality.

Notes 1. David Herlihy and Christiane Klapisch-Zuber, Les Toscans et leurs families (Paris, 1978). 2. For a more detailed analysis of this and the discussion to follow, see Guido Ruggiero, Violence in Early Renaissance Venice (New Brunswick, N.J., 1980), 1-53. Although there has been no general scholarly treatment of sexuality in Renaissance Venice, many serious works have been published that contribute to the subject. The extensive scholarship of Bartolomeo Gecchetti and Pompeo Molmenti come immediately to mind, especially Cecchetti’s “La donna nel medioevo a Venezia” in Archivio Veneto, n.s. 31 (1886): 33-69, 305-45, and 506

Molmenti’s classic, La storia di Venezia nella vita privata, 5th ed., 3 yòls. (Bergamo, 1910). Not to be overlooked for its rich if at times inaccurately transcribed collection òf documents is the volume published privately by the Count of Orford, Leggi e memorie veneta sulla prostituzione, ed. G. Batta De Lorenzi (Venice, 1870-72). More recently much interesting work has been done by Gaetano Cozzi and his students, which concentrates on the sixteenth century and beyond. For an introduction to this extensive scholarship, see Gaetano Cozzi, ed., Stato, società e giustizia nella Repubblica Veneta (see. XV-XVIII) (Rome, 1980). Two studies recently published on the period, which are both suggestive and to be treated with care, are Stanley Chojnacki, “Crime, Punishment, and the Trecento Venetian State” in Violence and Civil Disqrder in Italian Cities 1200-1500, ed. Lauro Marlines (Berkeley, Calif., 1972), 184-228, and Elisabeth Pavan, “Police des moeurs, sòciété et politique à Venise à la fin du Moyen Age,” Revue Historique 264 (1980): 244-66. See also my essay “Sexual Criminality in the Early Renaissance: Venice 1338^1358,” Journal of Social History 8 (1974-75): 18-37. 3. Discipline is a concept that has gained much in richness thanks to the controversial but stimulating work of Michel Foucault. Not all of that richness may be applied to the experience of Renaissance Venice, but as will become apparent, more of his analysis applies than one might at first suspect. Perhaps his most accessible account of discipline can be found in Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. Alan Sheridan (New York, 1977). The extensive literature that Foucault's work has engendered both pro and con cannot be reviewed here, but I would like to thank Robert Nye for his thoughtful comments on the concept of discipline and Foucault’s thought in general. 4. Yet prostitution from the perspective of the dominant sexual culture was not without its apparent benefits. It seemed to ease the impact of the custom of postponing marriage for males until they or their families' felt it was economically feasible. In a merchant city like Venice, it provided a sexual environment for many transients that did not seem to threaten directly the wives and daughters of residents. These and other apparent benefits for the dominant sexual culture, however, may have been largely undermined by the factors noted above, especially the role of prostitution in conditioning males to see their sexuality as not limited to .marriage and as essentially exploitative. 5. For the dowry in Renaissance Venice and its inflation in the fourteenth and fifteenth century, see Stanley Chojnacki, “Dowries and Kinsmen in' Early Renaissance Venice,” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 4 (1975): 571-600. Julius Kirshner and Anthony Molho, “The Dowry Fund and the Marriage Market in Early Quattrocento Florence,” Journal of Nf odern History 50 ( 1978): 403-38 and their “II Monte delle doti a Firenze dalla sua fondazione nel 1425 alla metà del sedicesimo secolo abbozzo di una ricerca,” Ricerche Storiche 4 (1980): 21-47, provide much information on the institution in Florence. See also the interesting and comparative article on Ragusa by Susan Mosher Stuard, “Dowry Increase and Increments in Wealth in Medieval Ragusa,” Journal of Economic History 41 (1981 ): 795-811. For a broader context consult John R: Goody and S. J. Tambiah, Bridewealth and Dowry (Cambridge, Mass., 1973) and Diane Owen Hughes, “From Brideprice to Dowry in 'Mediterranean Europe,” Journal of Family History 3 (1978): 262-96. 6. Dennis Romano, “S. Giacomo Dall’Orio: Parish Life in Fourteenth-Century Venice” (Ph.D. diss., Michigan State University, 1981), 124-79. 7. Herlihy and Klapisch-Zuber, Les Toscans, 204-09. For a somewhat different situation in Genoa see Diane Owen Hughes, “Urban Growth and Family Structure in Medieval Genoa,” Past and Present 66 (1975):3-28. The Venetian situation seems closer to the Florentine. A law from 1299 on sumptuary ‘ matters suggests a similar age differential at the beginning of our period. For wedding festivities males younger than' twenty and females under thirteen, unless, already married,' were not considered adult. Mary Margaret Newett, “The Sumptuary Laws of Venice in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries” in Historical Essays by Members of the Owens College Manchester, ed. T. F. Tout and James Tait (London, 1902), 261. 8. Another way of stating the same data would be to point out that after nine years more than 50 percent of all marriages in'this sample still existed. After eighteen years a quarter still existed and after twenty-seven years well over one in ten still survived. These data are taken from the records of the scribe Marino of San Gervasio found in A.S.V.; Cancelleria Inferiore, Notai, B. 114 (not foliated). They take up approximately one hundred folios of this material in two large pieces.

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READING 6

Michael Rocke Gender and Sexual Culture in Renaissance Italy Sexual and gender identities are so fundamental to our make-up that there has long been a tendency to naturalize them, to view them, that is, as an intrinsic part of our individual natures often equating gender (masculinity/femininity) with biology (male/female). Recently, however, historians, anthropologists and other scholars have challenged this perspective. On the one hand, studies in the history of sexuality and gender have begun to cast into increasingly bold relief the fact that different societies define gender and 'appropriate' forms of sexual behaviour in various ways. This has been a major field of research in recent years. In addition to the pioneering works of John Boswell and Guido Ruggiero on the history of sexuality and gender in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, Michael Rocke has emerged as one of the most creative scholars working on this dimension of Renaissance culture. Rocke's approach is a vivid example of the new cultural history. He not only explores the prescriptive language of moralists and preachers such as Bernardino 0f Siena (1380-1444) and Girolamo Savonarola (1452-98) as well as developments in law and medicine in shaping ideas about gender in Renaissance Society, he also looks to court records to examine the ways in which sexual crimes (fornication, rape, prostitution, child abuse and sodomy) were perceived and prosecuted. His essay portrays a world anxiously intent on developing clear gender definitions. The sexuality of women, especially those at the higher reaches 0f the social scale, was carefully patrolled through an emphasis on chastity and early marriage, while adult males were granted considerably more freedom. Indeed, for men at least, Renaissance culture was relatively tolerant of certain types of behaviour that, officially, constituted transgressions but which were, in fact, consistent with prevailing attitudes about femininity and masculinity. In the fifteenth century, for example, prostitution was not only tolerated but even legalized and regulated by governments. Brothels functioned, in part at least, as Safety-valves designed to protect girls of good families from the sexual appetites of adolescent and adult males.

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Rocke's most compelling illustration of the ways in which Florentines organized and understood gender, however, comes from his examination of homosexual behaviours. Renaissance culture did not categorize men or women as hetero- or homosexual in ways that only became normative in the nineteenth century. To the contrary, in the Renaissance, proper masculine behaviour was determined not by the biological sex of one's partner but by whether or not the adult male was the active, penetrating partner (which was deemed acceptable whether with a man or a woman) rather than the passive, penetrated partner (which for adult males was deemed unacceptable). Rocke, therefore, describes a gender regime radically different from our own and concludes his essay by underscoring 'the distance that separates the culture of sex and gender in Renaissance Italy from that which prevails in the modern world'. Rocke's essay, which is very slightly abridged here, originally appeared in Gender and Society in Renaissance Italy, eds Judith C. Brown and Robert C. Davis (London, 1998), 150-70. For a further elaboration of his arguments here, readers should turn first to his Forbidden Friendships: Homosexuality and Male Culture in Renaissance Florence (New York, 1996), a book that opens up a new window on male sociability and the role of sexuality in the construction of Renaissance society. Students will find intriguing comparisons and contrasts in Guido Ruggiero, The Boundaries of Eros: Sex Crime and Sexuality in Renaissance Venice (Oxford, 1985) as well as in Virginia Cox's essay 'The Single Self', which is presented in the following chapter. .. .. ..

In February 1496, friar Girolamo Savonarola, campaigning to reform the morals of Florentine society, fulminated against the sexual debauchery that, in his view, had 'ruined the world, ... corrupted men in lust, led women into indecency, and boys into sodomy and filth, and made them become like prostitutes'. His condemnation of erotic licence stemmed not merely from its immorality, but also from his conviction that the indulgence of sexual pleasures produced a dangerous confusion of gender boundaries: 'Young lads have been made into women. But that's not all: fathers are like daughters, brothers like sisters. There is no distinction between the sexes or anything else anymore'.1 Savonarola's comment reveals some central assumptions of the culture of sex and gender in Renaissance Italy. Sexual behaviour was in fact a basic component of the complex of cultural and social signifiers that distinguished individuals, beyond their belonging to one biological sex or the other, as gendered beings, as masculine 509

or feminine. His insistence on the transformative capacity of sex to make men into women, and presumably vice versa, indicates an awareness that gender identity was not a natural or fixed quality but was constructed and malleable, and as such it needed to be adequately shaped, reinforced and defended. The friar's remarks also betrayed deep anxiety about establishing and enforcing borders, not only between licit and illicit sexual comportment, but also between related virile and feminine conventions and ideals for it was in part around such confines that society was properly ordered.

Norms and ideals In this strongly patriarchal and patrilineal society, the control of women's sexual conduct and reproductive functions was accorded especially high importance. Centuries-old philosophical, medical, legal and religious discourses on sexual difference continued to sustain the notion that women were inferior in all ways to men and subject to their dominion. Medieval understanding of female biology contributed to beliefs that women were passive and receptive in their sexual nature yet possessed a powerful yearning for semen and a more ravenous sexual appetite than that of men - a view reinforced by the Judeo-Christian myth of Eve the temptress, responsible for original sin and the fall from grace. Both religious doctrine and lay society upheld chastity as the supreme virtue of women, whether as young unwed virgins, wives or widows. The purity and modesty of the donna onesta was regularly contrasted with the shamelessness and incontinence of the 'indecent' woman, embodied especially in the figure of the prostitute. The defence of female virginity before marriage and chastity there after also played an essential role in the pervasive culture of honour, a Woman's sexual behaviour largely defining both her own standing and reputation and those of her family and of the males responsible for 'governing' her. Such concerns loomed especially large for wealthy and propertied families, for whom the guarantee of paternity deter mined the transmission of patrimonies and the competition for public honour carried momentous political stakes. This obsession was aptly stated by the Florentine patrician and humanist Matteo Palmieri in his Vita Civile:

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Wives must exercise the greatest and most extraordinary guard not only against uniting with another man, but even to avoid all suspicion of such filthy wickedness. This error is the supreme disgrace to decency, it effaces honour, destroys union, renders paternity uncertain, heaps infamy on families and within them brings dissension and hatred and dissolves every relationship; she no longer deserves to be called a married woman but rather a corrupt wench, worthy only of public humiliation.2 It was in part to safeguard both their daughters' virginity and the family's honour that parents rushed their girls into marriage as soon as Possible after sexual maturity, usually between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. For the same reason, unmarriageable patrician girls were quickly made nuns and secluded within a convent. To preserve their chastity, women of middle- and upper-class families tended to be isolated in their homes, and their contacts with men were carefully controlled. Women at lower social levels, who generally lacked this powerful familial protection, had greater exposure to males and more freedom in their daily lives; for them, the conventions regarding virginity and chastity were probably somewhat less rigid. Despite religious proscriptions against all extra-marital sex, standards and expectations with regard to male sexual behaviour were generally more flexible than those applied to women. No social ideal compelled men to remain virgins before marriage or demanded fidelity of them afterward. They were supposed to obey laws against rape, adultery and other illicit acts, but lax enforcement and light penalties for many offences helped dull their dissuasive force. While men were to respect the virtue of women of honourable families, they had a large pool of slaves and servants, poor or immodest women, and prostitutes with whom they could acceptably indulge their desires. This sexual liberty was reinforced by the late age at which men normally married - from their late twenties to early thirties and by substantial rates of men who never married. Denied economic autonomy under their fathers' patriarchal rule, and forbidden significant civic roles, young men lived in a state of prolonged and powerless adolescence. These footloose bachelors were the main protagonists of the violence and sexual debauchery characteristic of Renaissance Italy. City fathers, themselves once young, viewed 511

their profligacy with some sympathy and indulgence; it also provided an excuse for barring them from the serious business of governing, since 'they say youths should not discuss public affairs, but pursue their sexual needs'.3 Masculine identity did not, however, lie only in the double standard that allowed men the sexual freedoms denied to women, but also in conventions that identified manliness solely with a dominant role in sex. In this regard, males' sexual and gendered norms were as rigid as those imposing chastity on females. Potency figured among the constitutive features of masculinity, such that a man's failure to achieve erection was grounds for annulment of his marriage or for divorce.4 The association of virility with dominance was one source of the religious ban against couples engaging in intercourse with the woman on top, an 'unnatural' position considered emblematic of woman's usurpation - or man's abdication - of males' superior status.5 Similar notions pervaded same-sex relations, in which adult men were expected to take an exclusively 'active' role in sex with adolescents, behaviour that corresponded fully with masculine ideals, while a mature man's assumption of the receptive role was abhorred as a dangerous transgression of gender norms.

Conjugal relations and religious precepts The church, the most authoritative source of moral teachings on sexual behaviour, established guidelines and norms which in principle were equally applicable to men and women. For all, sex was licit only within marriage, with the conscious aim of procreation, in prescribed times and conditions, and in a single position, with the couple facing and the man above. All intercourse outside marriage, as well as conjugal sex for mere pleasure, in forbidden positions, or in a manner that might impede generation, was condemned and prohibited. Although some late medieval theologians began to modify these tenets somewhat, sanctioning sensual pleasure as a reproductive aid and even permitting unconventional positions, the church's sexual orthodoxy remained restricted.6 How closely couples observed these prescriptions is another matter and is difficult to ascertain. That moralists continued to vehemently denounce practices such as anal intercourse that could serve contraceptive aims, and the rapid decline in wives' fertility that has been

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observed in fifteenth-century Tuscany, would suggest that many spouses disregarded the sexual guidance of their preachers and confessors.7 However its teachings on sexual conduct were received, the church played an important and perhaps more effective role in forming and transmitting notions of gender. While all were supposed to bear equal liability for their carnal acts, preachers presented sexual doctrines to the faithful in ways that carried considerably different messages for men and Women. The sermons of Bernardino of Siena to the Sienese and Florentines in the 1420s offer some pertinent illustrations.8 Bernardino's preaching on conjugal life fitted well with his culture's growing emphasis on marriage as a form of companionship between spouses who Were to treat each other with mutual love and respect.9 Regarding sex, he maintained that spouses shared responsibility for preventing each other from sinning, stressed that fidelity was a duty of wives and husbands, and reproached both for sexual failings. His teachings were embedded in a framework of values consistent with church doctrine and patrician ideals, that endorsed sexual moderation for both sexes, sustained the notion that women's frailty of reason made them more inclined than men to sin, and upheld wives' subjection to their husbands' authority. Within these traditions, however, the emphases and omissions of his remarks, or the shifts depending on the audience addressed, show some ways in which gendered assumptions framed his teachings and how ideal genders were shaped. This can be seen most clearly in Bernardino's sermons about a basic tenet of church doctrine, that is, the equality of spouses' rights and duties With regard to the 'marriage debt': while carefully observing the proper times, position, devout spirit and procreative aim of sex, husbands and wives possessed an identical right to intercourse, which their spouse was obliged, under penalty of mortal sin, to 'render' to them. Bernardino reiterated that this injunction applied indistinctly to both partners, but in developing this egalitarian theme he employed examples and lessons that revealed and reinforced assumptions about gender difference. He normally directed his remarks on rendering the debt to wives, rather than to husbands, as if he assumed that males more commonly importuned their spouses for sex, thus implicitly fortifying notions of man's 'active' nature and pressing 513

desire and of woman's 'passivity' and, ideally, her modesty.10 Sexual continence and shame were considered women's crowning virtues, and when he discussed marital sex Bernardino reminded wives to remain as chaste as possible, never allowing their spouses to see them naked, to look at their 'shameful parts', or to touch them indecently. On the few occasions he acknowledged wives' prerogative to request intercourse, he in effect disempowered them by insisting on their modesty. So as to reduce a wife's temptation to commit adultery, it was better, he claimed, that the husband anticipate her request and render his carnal obligation voluntarily, rather than for her to voice her longings. While a wife was bound to respond only if asked expressly for sex and was exonerated if her husband's signals were unclear, a husband was obliged to react to the 'smallest sign' of his wife's yearning to protect her from the indelicacy of having to express her desire.11 Although Bernardino stressed women's virtue and modesty in carnal relations, he paradoxically also placed on them a greater burden of sexual knowledge and responsibility. He began one discussion on conjugal sex by warning that ignorance of sin exculpated neither partner, but proceeded to address only the wives, mothers and nubile girls in the congregation. Girls about to marry 'had to know how to do it', and sinned if they neglected to learn; mothers who failed to impart the facts of life to their daughters committed a serious mortal sin.12 Rarely, if ever, did he encourage fathers to give their sons lessons in sex education. Accordingly, Bernardino often instructed wives about the times and conditions when they could and should legitimately refuse their husbands' requests, thereby giving them some control over the frequency and character of intercourse. Although he warned both partners about the evils of unrestrained passion and specific sins, he tended to represent husbands as more inclined to 'disorderly affections' and excessive lust, which it was wives' duty to curb and correct. He insisted that, while wives were bound to obey their husbands, this never meant yielding to sinful requests. They were to refuse especially when their spouses wanted, as he implied they often did, to engage in acts contra naturam that impeded procreation. He also warned the wife to decline if her husband had imbibed too much wine, was crazed with lust, or desired sex so frequently that it might devitalize his seed, make him lose his senses, or cause illness or death.13 514

Repeating an ancient taboo, revived vigorously in the Renaissance, he admonished women to rebuff husbands' requests for coitus during their menstrual period, which according to both popular and learned belief risked generating deformed or leprous children.14 But in Italy, he conceded, a wife had better conceal her menstruous state and quietly render the debt, because otherwise her husband would demand anal intercourse. Bernardino also instructed wives, not husbands, to assess their mates' age and their physical and spiritual condition when considering whether or how often to consent to intercourse. He more often mentioned husbands' threats to satisfy their desires elsewhere as binding wives to render the debt, a tacit acknowledgment of men's greater opportunities to pursue extra-marital relations. !t was only wives, however, whom he urged to grant consent selectively, in order to wean their husbands gradually from sex and convince them to embrace abstinence - for the church, the 'perfect state'.15

The law and the courts Distinctions in the treatment of men and women also characterized the regulation of illicit sex, both in law and in court practice. Italian governments between 1400 and 1600 took a forceful role in legislating and policing sexual behaviour. Although legal norms, judiciary systems and the enforcement of sex laws varied widely, making generalization difficult, these distinctions commonly reflected male assumptions about the sexes' different natures and the need to enforce conventional gender roles and ideals. Laws and courts were influenced by beliefs that Women's desires were more ravenous than men's, that women were more prone to sin, and that therefore their sexual behaviour had to be regulated more strictly. 'The laws presume that all women are usually bad', according to one commentator, 'because they are so full of mischief and vices that are difficult to describe'; a Belluno law of 1428 decreed that no woman over the age of twenty should be presumed to be a Virgin, unless her virtue could be convincingly proved.16 Frequently, the social status, life-cycle stage or reputed virtue of the Woman involved in illicit sex helped determine distinctions in guilt or penalties. This was especially true of rape and fornication, in which Women were usually considered 515

victims and absolved, but also of adultery or sodomy, in which women were often held criminally liable. Generally, the higher the woman's status was the greater the penalty levied on her seducer or lover, but finer distinctions were also drawn. The Florentine statutes of 1415 set a fine of 500 lire for men who had intercourse, whether consensual or forced, with a virgin, a respectable widow or a married woman, and allowed harsher punishment depending on the 'condition and quality of the person'. For the violation of women 'of lesser condition', the fine fell to 100 lire, while sex with a consenting servant or a prostitute carried no penalty at all 17 Venetian authorities levied progressively milder penalties on rapists according to whether their victims were pre-pubescent girls, wives, widows or, at the bottom of the scale, sexually mature nubile women; the severest penal ties were reserved for those who raped women of high status.18 The treatment of adultery revealed the sharpest gender discrepancies and bore the most onerous consequences for women. Despite the gender-blind injunction against extra-marital sex, in practical terms adultery was a crime of wives. Husbands' infidelity, unless with a married woman, was considered of little significance, while that of wives was deemed a most serious offence that dishonoured their spouses and undermined the conjugal bond. Courts commonly punished an adulteress more severely than her partner, and her penalty usually included the forfeiture to her husband or children of her dowry - a key commodity in the definition of a woman's honour and often her sole means of subsistence in widow hood. Sometimes adulterous husbands were also legally subject to punishment: in Venice this might mean prison or exile plus the loss of their wife's dowry. But from 1480 to 1550 not a single Venetian husband was convicted for infidelity, unlike scores of wives prosecuted from the 1360s onward.19 This gender disparity accorded fully with religious precepts. According to Bernardino, in addition to her dowry an adulteress' husband had the right to expel her from his house, yet he forbade the wife of a philandering man to abandon him under any circumstances. He once stressed the differently gendered implications of infidelity by asserting that a husband's adultery was a greater sin, since as a man he was more rational and should therefore be more devoted, but a wife's unfaithfulness

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resulted in her 'perpetual shame', for she had 'no other virtue to lose' than her sexual honour.20 Women's shame also influenced the courts' tendency to punish them with public humiliation. Floggings and mutilations were common penal ties for men too, but it appears that women convicted of sex crimes were more frequently exposed to public derision. While male adulterers were usually fined, jailed or exiled, adulteresses (besides losing their dowry) were often whipped along the streets, in various states of undress and sometimes wearing a defamatory mitre on their heads; occasionally their heads were shaved. In Pescia in 1419 an adulteress, halfnaked and wearing a 'crown of shame', was placed on a donkey and whipped through the countryside.21 In Florence between 1490 and 1515, more than half of the women convicted of sodomy with men were sentenced to a flogging or the pillory, while only a third of their partners received similar penalties; most of the men, unlike the women, were allowed to avoid the shaming by instead paying a fine. Since women's honour and reputation were more contingent than men's on community opinion, authorities tended to punish them in precisely that public fashion that would be most defamatory. Unauthorized sexual behaviour and gendered identities Social conventions, religious precepts and the policing of sex all played important roles in constructing and transmitting notions of gender ideals and of distinctions between the sexes, but so did sexual behaviour itself. The forms of sexual comportment that are best documented, however, are those that were illicit or occurred outside marriage, and it is consequently this realm of unauthorized sex that has proven most fruitful for historians seeking to throw new light on gender relations and identities in Renaissance Italy. A key figure here was the prostitute, central to the sexual culture and gender system of Renaissance Italy, both for the services she provided and for the symbolic functions she performed. Christian society had long considered prostitution a distasteful but necessary evil, a 'lesser sin' that was grudgingly tolerated to prevent greater transgressions: 'Do you see that in cities prostitutes are tolerated? This is a great evil, but if it were to be removed a great good would be eliminated, because there would be more adultery, more sodomy, which would be 517

much worse'.22 In a sexual regime that prescribed female chastity but tacitly condoned male fornication, the prostitute played the dual role of furnishing an outlet for incontinent bachelors and philandering husbands, while also diverting their desires from adolescent males and women of 'good' families, whose virtue and honour were thus safeguarded. Prostitutes and their clients were usually exempt from laws against fornication and adultery, though authorities limited the locations and visibility of their debauchery to protect the morality of upright citizens and defend the purity of civic and sacred buildings. During the Renaissance, the notion of the public utility of prostitution underwent a significant evolution, however. From the mid-1300s, governments began to abandon earlier exclusionary policies that relegated prostitutes and brothels outside the city walls and forced such women to wear identifying signs or apparel. Instead, the state became the official sponsor of urban sexual commerce, establishing municipal brothels or designated residential areas where whores could lawfully ply their trade. Dress codes and other norms intended to distinguish prostitutes were relaxed or abandoned. Some cities created magistracies to administer the bordellos or defend whores from assault and other offences, such as the 'Officers of Decency' in Florence in 1403 and the 'Protectors of the Prostitutes' in Lucca in 1534.23 By around 1500, however, this attitude of tolerance was beginning to change again, in Italy as elsewhere. The complexity of the marriage market and the steady escalation in dowries made it increasingly difficult for girls to marry. Convents thrived as patrician families discarded growing numbers of unwed daughters by banishing them to nunneries, while humbler women slid into situations of solitude and poverty that made them easy recruits to the ranks of occasional and professional whores. The spread of prostitutes from brothel areas into 'honest' neighbourhoods, together with the new phenomenon of prosperous courtesans who imitated the fashions and demeanour of patrician women, heightened concerns both about the bad example these unruly females posed to chaste women and about the blurring of social and moral distinctions between the donna onesta and the lusty meretrice. The sixteenth century consequently saw a return to a more negative assessment of the ancient sexual trade. Brothels 518

remained open, but authorities revived or tightened policies on residence or dress to stigmatize prostitutes - laws that only a few wealthy courtesans could evade by buying licences or exploiting the protection of powerful clients.24 Influenced also by religious reform movements, there was a proliferation of institutions to convert prostitutes and to prevent poor or precarious females from slipping into the profession.25 Prostitutes, whether professionals in brothels, courtesans catering to upper-class clients, or women who occasionally sold themselves, undoubtedly played an important role in men's sexual education and experience, and thus in the formation of masculine identity. This was precisely one of the criticisms levelled by Catholic reformers after the Council of Trent against the evil influence prostitution had in shaping men's sexual habits and attitudes towards women.26 In their heyday the brothels were also central institutions of male sociability, especially for young bachelors. They provided a public forum where camaraderie and erotic licence mingled with outbreaks of violence, where men tested and displayed their virility in brawls and sexual conquests. It was in the brothel, an anecdote by the Florentine humanist Poliziano suggests, that youths who were once sodomites' 'passive' boyfriends could redeem their reputations by proving their manliness with compliant whores.27 Unauthorized sex involving males and females encompassed far more than men's commerce with prostitutes, however. Legal records suggest that fornication, rape and adultery were typical features of the sexual culture, such activities hardly being discouraged by the light penalties usually levied on (male) offenders. But even the serious crimes of sex with nuns and (by the later 1400s) heterosexual sodomy were also commonplace occurrences on the rosters of carnal offences.28 Evidence on unauthorized sex tends to confirm that, for women especially, the relationship between sexual behaviour and gender was subtly but significantly shaped by their social status. This illicit realm involved men from the entire social spectrum, but the women who were implicated were - except for nuns - mainly from the class of artisans, peasants, poor labourers and shopkeepers. Women of higher status were rarely embroiled in sexual scandals or crimes, and if they were, their families had the means to conceal the disgrace, to discipline the fallen or 519

defiant woman privately, or to ensure that their assailants or lovers were severely punished. On the whole, the protective net thrown up by patrician males around their families' females effectively minimized women's perilous liaisons with men outside their kin group. Conscious of their family's status and indoctrinated from childhood that its honour depended on their chastity, genteel women probably tended to assimilate the values and gender ideology of their class, scrupulously avoiding behaviour that could defame them as much as their fathers, husbands and kinsmen.29 The morality of humbler women was perhaps no less principled, but their circumstances of hardship and work, or their lack of networks of male kin, exposed them to the flattery of dishonest or fickle seducers, to sexual molestation by employers and social superiors, and to assaults by individuals or gangs. Court records are littered with such stories: plebeian girls and women attacked while alone on country roads or in the fields, servants and apprentices exploited sexually by their masters, isolated widows and their daughters powerless to defend their homes and virtue against assailants. Moreover, whether forced or consensual, most sexual relations between socially dominant men and their servants, slaves and other disadvantaged women simply evaded any judiciary control. The abandoned offspring of such unions swelled the overflowing foundling homes of Renaissance Italian cities.30 Because the imperatives of status, property and paternity that so heavily constrained patrician women's sexual behaviour carried less force among the less wealthy, working women appear to have had their own sense of proper sexual conduct and illicit activity, implying different customs and norms from those that prevailed among the dominant classes. For both rural and urban young people of the lower classes, for instance, premarital intercourse was evidently accepted and widespread, as long as relations were initiated with an intent to marry, or at least to create a stable bond. Such romances generally came to court as fornication only when the man failed to maintain his promise of marriage and abandoned his lover, often pregnant or with a young child. The loss of virginity impaired a woman's future chances of marrying, and the tribunals to which these deflowered victims of desertion or rape turned for redress usually sought to redeem their honour and restore their marriage prospects by forcing their seducers or violators 520

to give them a dowry or, alternatively, to marry them. Prosecution of fornication often became embroiled in ambiguities about what constituted a valid marriage, since, according to the pre-Tridentine church, this required no other formalities than the partners' mutual consent. For this same reason, long-term informal unions and clandestine marriages remained unexceptional outside the upper classes well into the sixteenth century, and even women's extra-marital relations were not uncommon.31 Facilitated by the contacts that they forged with men through neighbourly ties, work and sociable occasions, these plebeian romances were sometimes the fruit of an intolerable marriage, the evasion from a violent or overbearing husband, and may have been aided by neighbours and relatives. Such affairs typically attracted judicial attention only when they exceeded bounds of discretion or when a wife actually fled with her lover, signalling the open rupture of her conjugal union.32 Studies of illicit sex have also begun to illuminate in sharp relief the problem of men's sexual abuse of children, both female and male. In Florence from 1495 to 1515, over one third of the forty-nine documented victims of convicted rapists were girls between the ages of six and twelve, and at least half were aged fourteen or under; numerous others were seduced without force or were sodomized. One man condemned in 1488 regularly picked up children begging in the market, sodomized them in his home, and then offered them to others to ravish; some of his cronies, conducted before one ten-year-old victim, were reportedly repelled by her tender age and refused to touch her, but others had no such scruples.33 In a typical year, an average of four boys aged twelve or under would also come before the courts as victims of sodomizers, often having suffered severe anal injury. In Venice, too, pre-pubescent children were common victims of sexual abuse. A Venetian law of 1500, which prohibited pimps from prostituting girls under the age of twelve, revealed that it was regular practice to offer clients girls as young as seven to nine years of age to be sodomized. The abuse of children merits further attention, for this was evidently not merely a problem of individual aberration. The frequent subjugation of impotent juveniles probably reflects a psycho sexual immaturity and aggressiveness, and an insecurity about masculine identity that had deep social, cultural and familial roots.34 521

Another prominent, if less explored, aspect of male behaviour was assaults by gangs against women or younger boys. In Florence between 1495 and 1515, nineteen out of forty-nine documented female rape victims were attacked by at least two men, and typically by three to six or more; in 1499, thirteen men abducted a married woman from her home and violated her. Many more men took part in collective ravishings (eighty-nine) than in single assaults (thirty), and among the perpetrators, patrician youths figured prominently (thirty-four of eighty-nine). Groups of men also brutally sodomized women, such as Costanza, a thirty-year-old servant sodomized and raped by fourteen youths in 1497, or Francesca, a married woman who in 1501 was anally raped by thirty assailants. Gangs attacked adolescent males as well, part of a broader context in which the sexual 'possession' of boys by groups of men, whether by force or not, was both common and deeply implicated in the fashioning of manly and social identities. The gangs that terrorized women and boys offered strength in numbers to overpower their victims and guarantee the success of their sordid ventures, but their members also gave one another psychological incentive and support, an incitement to prove their virility before their comrades as, one after the other, they humiliated their helpless prey.35 Besides reinforcing an impression of the aggressive and predatory character of masculine behaviour and identity, evidence about illicit sex can also provide glimpses of individuals who implicitly evaded or openly challenged not only the law but also prevailing gender conventions. A few mature men, as will be seen, defied masculine norms by taking the proscribed receptive role in same-sex relations. Women, by contrast, were not always passive victims but instead often assumed an assertive role in seeking to fulfil their sexual desires and in shaping their own affective experiences and sense of identity. Some enterprising nubile girls apparently engaged calculatingly in pre-marital sex, to circumvent parental objections over their choice of a spouse. In extra-marital affairs wives are commonly found taking the initiative, perhaps to relieve the monotony of a loveless union or escape the brutality of a cruel husband.36 Especially striking examples of women resisting gender and social conventions to pursue erotic pleasure and male companionship come from what is, at first glance, a most 522

unlikely source - the nunnery. Many of the women who swelled Italy's - bulging convents were deposited there, willingly or not, by genteel families unable to place them in suitable marriages; not all were prepared or willing to submit to a regime of chastity or to renounce the world. Not only were nuns often implicated in sexual scandals involving laymen or priests, but some managed to conduct quite rich sexual lives, apparently shielded by a web of complicity within and perhaps outside the convent.37 Other women confuted the submissive role assigned them in gender ideology by withstanding assailants or by denouncing abusive husbands. A distinct sense of determination and proud identity emerges from the protest that a young Florentine patrician wife, Agnoletta de' Ricci, made to her husband Ardingo, whom she publicly accused in 1497 of having repeatedly sodomized her: 'I told him that in no way did I want him to treat me like an animal, but like a woman of perfect character'.38 Such examples serve as reminders that, though the dominant ideology of gender and sexual behaviour was powerfully constraining, it was also contestable - and contested - terrain.

Same-sex relations and masculine identity Same-sex relations between males, classified as sodomy, provide an especially revealing perspective on the construction of masculine identity. Ranked among the most nefarious of carnal acts in both church doctrine and legal rhetoric, sodomy - mainly but not only sex between males - was one of the most frequently prosecuted and heavily penalized crimes in Italy between 1400 and 1600. Reputedly common across the peninsula, sodomy so alarmed the governments of Venice, Florence and Lucca that they created special judiciary commissions to prosecute it (in 1418, 1432 and 1448 respectively). Penalties and patterns of control varied, but in Florence the Office of the Night, as the magistracy there was known, unearthed an exceptionally thriving sodomitical milieu. Between 1432 and 1502 as many as 17,000 males were incriminated and some 3,000 convicted for homosexual relations. Indeed, sodomy was so common and its policing in the later fifteenth century so effective that, by the time they reached the age of forty, probably two of every three Florentine men had been officially implicated.39

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Whether this 'vice' was as pervasive elsewhere remains to be seen; nonetheless, the evidence suggests that throughout Italy same-sex relations shared similar forms, contexts and ascribed cultural meanings. Generally, homosexual behaviour had little to do with current notions of sexual orientation or identity, but was organized instead around notions of gender and life stages. For most males, same-sex sodomy was a sporadic or temporary transgression that did not preclude relations with females or imply anything about long-term inclinations.40 Some contemporaries saw connections between homoeroticism and the quality of relations between men and women. Bernardino of Siena singled out sodomites for their loathing and paltry esteem of women, while the Sienese novelliere Pietro Fortini attributed the homoerotic bent of both Florentine and Lucchese men to their universal misogyny, asserting that their 'vices are such [referring to sodomy] that they cannot bear to look at women, who they say are their enemies'. Acting in part on the belief that making public women accessible would help curtail sodomy, the governments of both Florence and Lucca promoted municipalized prostitution. This sexual equation was given a different twist by Savonarola: Florentine parents, he said, so feared the disgrace of unwed pregnant daughters that they encouraged their sons to engage instead in what they deemed the 'lesser evil' of sex with men.41 Notions of gender also shaped sex between males in more direct ways, while homosexual behaviour in tum had important implications for masculine identities - implications that were relevant for all males, whether they engaged in sodomy or not. Same-sex relations in Italy corresponded to a hierarchical pattern, very ancient in Mediterranean cultures and long-lasting throughout Europe, in which adult males took the so-called active, usually anally insertive role with 'passive' teenage boys or adolescents to the age of about eighteen or twenty. In Florence, the best-documented example, nine out of ten active partners were aged nineteen and above; mainly in their twenties and thirties, their mean age was twenty-seven. Of those who took the passive role, nine out of ten were between the ages of thirteen and twenty, with a mean age of sixteen. Reciprocal or age-reversed relations were rare, and limited to adolescence, while it was rarer still for mature

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males to have sex together. Indeed, the assumption of the receptive sexual role by adult men constituted a widely respected taboo.42 Sex between males thus always embodied oppositions - older and younger, active and passive, penetrator and penetrated. These were far from neutral distinctions, for contrasting values related to gender adhered to them, values such as dominance and submission, honour and shame, and, not least, masculine and feminine. These differences were neatly expressed in fourteenth-century Florentine laws, which blandly designated the active partner either as pollutus (morally corrupt) or as someone who committed sodomy with another, but contemptuously branded the passive as one who had dirtied or disgraced himself, or who 'willingly suffered the said crime to be inflicted upon him'.43 The gendered meaning of sexual roles, central to conceptions of same sex behaviour, emerged most vividly from denunciations accusing men and boys of sodomy. Informers commonly referred to the passive partner, and only to him, with derogatory feminine expressions and metaphors. People derided sodomized boys with the epithets bardassa, derived from an Arabic word for slave and designating a debauched boy who offered himself to men, usually for payment; puttana (whore); and cagna or cagna in gestra (bitch or bitch in heat); all evoking the common place of voracious female lust. Most often, however, informers referred to them simply as women, stating that a man kept or used a boy 'as a woman', or even 'as his wife'. What turned these boys symbolically into women was not any effeminate appearance or manner, but rather their assumption of the subordinate position in sex, which was construed in this culture as feminine. In contrast, accusers virtually never represented the 'active' partner in feminine terms, calling him at most a 'sodomite' or 'bugger'. Neither term bore overt gendered connotations other than indicating the dominant role in sex. Indeed, while passive partners were hardly ever described using these terms, both were regularly used to indicate men who sodomized women.44 Late medieval and early modem Italians evidently found it difficult to conceive of same-sex relations whether between males or females - outside the traditional gender dichotomy of masculine and feminine roles.45

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These representations suggest that the sodomite, though castigated as a criminal and a sinner, was perceived as conforming to the behaviours and values defined in this culture as masculine. As long as he observed proper conventions, a man's sexual relations with boys did not compromise his status as a 'normal' and virile male. Indeed, the act of dominating another male, even if a boy, might well have reinforced it. Since sodomizing someone did not constitute deviation from 'manly' norms, and the 'womanly' role was in effect limited to very young males, this permitted all mature men to engage in same-sex activity - as very many did without endangering their masculine identity or being relegated to a distinctive category of deviants. What was an aberration was, of course, the passive sexual role. But as this was normally restricted to the phase of physical and social immaturity, it marked only a temporary detour from a boy's progress towards manhood. In Florence, virtually all adolescent passives whose later same-sex activity is documented converted with success to a solely dominant role with teenage boys. This helps explain why passive minors usually received much lighter penalties than their companions, or, as in Florence, no punishment whatsoever, no matter how promiscuous they were. If penalties were levied, they often involved corporal punishments of the sort usually applied to women.46 This also accounts for the paramount significance attributed to the transition to sexual adulthood, with its expectations of adherence to virile conventions. For Florentine boys up to the age of eighteen or twenty, the passive role was considered more or less consonant with their status, but afterward most men carefully avoided the shame of being penetrated 'like a woman'. This was a crucial experiential and symbolic passage, and the border between passive and active, boyhood and maturity, feminine and masculine, was anxiously patrolled by both community and state. With a combination of embarrassment and derision, informers castigated the rare youth or older man who still 'let themselves be sodomized', emphasizing their dishonour and disgrace. The authorities often reinforced these concerns about proper masculine roles by punishing over-aged passives with exemplary penalties of public floggings, exorbitant fines or exile. So powerful was the aversion to older men's sexual receptivity, in particular, that when Salvi Panuzzi. a sixty-three-year-old citizen long notorious for sodomizing 526

boys, publicly admitted in 1496 that he himself had been sodomized by several youths, the Night Officers condemned him to death by burning, one of only three known capital sentences they levied in their seventy year activity. Yet while they abhorred his acts, they also feared that his execution, by rendering public his womanish 'evil ways, ... might bring shame on the entire city' and make a mockery of Florentine manhood. They therefore commuted his sentence, upon payment of a huge fine, to life imprisonment hidden away in la pazzeria, the prison ward for the insane.47 The exemplary punishments imposed on adult men for taking the 'unmanly' sexual role emphasize that individual erotic behaviour and collective gender norms and identity formed part of a seamless whole. Informers expressed concern that the passivity of older men, a disgrace to themselves, would also implicate and malign the honour - that is, the virility - of the entire male community. By defusing the potential shame of Panuzzi's execution, and by secluding this violator of manhood among the dangerously insane, the Night Officers affirmed both the public nature of gender and the commune's role in defending the ¡ conventions that helped fashion masculine identity. Such worries were hardly limited to Florence. In 1516, Venetian lawmakers, their offended sense of masculine propriety fairly bursting from their words, resolved to stamp out 'an absurd and unheard-of thing [that] has recently become known, which can in no way be tolerated, that several most wicked men of 30, 40, 50, 60 years and more have given themselves like prostitutes and public whores to be passives in such a dreadful excess'. This revelation scandalized local commentators, in part because it evoked a deep anxiety that the hierarchy of age and gender on which masculine identity was constructed risked being subverted. One nobleman was appalled that 'Fathers and Senators', men who were 'mature, full of wisdom, with white beards' the very symbols of patriarchy - would shamelessly allow youths to penetrate them, and he branded this 'truly a wicked and abhorrent thing, never before heard of in our times, especially among old men'. Equally menacing to their manly sense of self and civic image was the news that informed foreigners were now gleefully ridiculing the virility of all Venetians.48 Similar concerns about defending Florentine manhood led the government of Duke Cosimo I, in a law of 1542, to 527

single out the adult man Who dared allow himself to be sodomized by ordering his public execution by burning, 'for his own punishment and as an example to others', as 'a wicked and infamous man'.49 Perhaps more effectively than any other contemporary erotic behaviour, the samesex practices described here, with their age-, role and gender-bound conventions, underline the distance that separates the culture of sex and gender in Renaissance Italy from that which prevails in the modern Western world. Little trace, if any, can be found then of the categories that today largely define sexual experience and personae; it Was not, in other words, the biological sex of one's partners in erotic pleasures that significantly distinguished and classified individuals, but rather the extent to which their sexual behaviour conformed to culturally determined gender roles. In different but related ways, the norms and ideology of gender forcefully shaped and constrained the experience of sex for both women and men. And sexual activity, in turn, played important roles in fashioning gendered identities and – reinforcing – or sometimes challenging - traditional gender conventions. As historians and other scholars continue to explore the complex and still relatively Uncharted universe of sexual comportments, attitudes and controls throughout the rural and urban communities of the Italian peninsula, their studies promise to further enrich our understanding of the culturally specific modes of the construction of sex and gender in late medieval and early modem Italy.

Notes 1 Girolamo Savonarola, Prediche sopra Amos e Zaccaria, P. Ghiglieri (ed.) 3 vols (Rome, 1971-2), vol. I, 194, 200 (23February1496). 2 Matteo Palmieri, Vita Civile, F. Battaglia (ed.) (Bologna, 1944), 133. 3 Donato Giannotti, Opere politiche e letterarie di Donato Giannotti, F. Polidori (ed.) 2 vols (Florence, 1850), vol. I, 230. On late male marriage and sexual behaviour, see David Herlihy, 'Vieillir a Florence au Quattrocento', Anna/es, ESC 24(1969), 1346-9; Guido Ruggiero, The Boundaries of Eros: Sex Crime and Sexuality in Renaissance Venice (New York, 1985), esp. 159--62; Michael Rocke, Forbidden Friendships: Homosexuality and Male Culture in Renaissance Florence (New York, 1996), 113-32. 4 James A. Brundage, Law, Sex and Christian Society in Medieval Europe (Chicago, 1987), 512; Vern Bullough, 'On being a male in the Middle Ages', in Medieval Masculinities: Regarding Men in the Middle Ages, C. A. Lees (ed.) (Minneapolis, 1994), 41-2. 5 Natalie Davis, 'Women on top', in her Society and Culture in Early Modern France: Eig11t Essays (Stanford, 1975), 124-51. 6 Nicholas Davidson, 'Theology, nature and the law: sexual sin and sexual crime in Italy from the fourteenth to the seventeenth century', in Crime, Society and the Law in Renaissance Italy, T. Dean and K. J. P. Lowe (eds) (Cambridge, 1994), 77-85. 528

7 David Herlihy and Christiane Klapisch-Zuber, Les Toscans et leurs families: une etude du catasto florentin de 1427 (Paris, 1978), 441-2; Christiane Klapisch Zuber, 'Famille, religion et sexualite a Florence au Moyen Age', Revue de l'histoire des religions 209(1992), 381-92; Maria Serena Mazzi, Prostitute e lenont nella Firenze del Quattrocento (Milan, 1991), 55-9, 61-86. 8 Prediche volgari sul campo di Siena 1427, Carlo Delcorno (ed.) 2 vols (Milan, 1989), vol. I, 538--621 (hereafter Siena 1427); Le prediche oolgari, C. Cannarozzi (ed.) 2 vols (Pistoia, 1934), vol. I, 380-404 (hereafter Florence 1424); Le prediche volgari, C. Cannarozzi (ed.) 3 vols (Florence, 1940), vol. II, 173-90 (hereafter Florence 1425). 9 For example, Siena 1427, I, 556, 568-9; Florence 1424, I, 412; Florence 1425, II, 177. On increasingly positive evaluations of marriage, see Herlihy and Klapisch-Zuber, Les Toscans, 586-8. 10 Florence 1424, I, 381-404; Siena 1427, I, 573--603. 11 Siena 1427, 594, 617-18; Florence 1425, II, 179; Florence 1424, I, 393. 12 Siena 1427, 577-83. 13 Florence 1424, I, 388-9, 395-8; Siena 1427, I, 588-91, 593, 600, 602-3. 14 Florence 1424, I, 387-8; Siena 1427, I, 591-2. On menstruation beliefs, see Joan Cadden, Meanings of Sex Differences in the Middle Ages: Medicine, Science, an~ Culture (Cambridge, 1993), 173--6, 268; Ottavia Niccoli, '"Menstruum quasi monstruum": monstrous births and menstrual taboo in the sixteenth century', in E. Muir and G. Ruggiero (eds) Sex and Gender in Historical Perspective (Baltimore, 1990), 1-25. 15 Siena 1427, I, 592, 594-7, 600-1. 16 Brundage, Law, 492; quote from Giovanni Nevizzani, Silva nuptial is ... (Lyons, 1524), fol. 21 va (cited in ibid., 548-9). 17 Sta~uta populi et communis florentiae publica auctoritate collecta castigata et prae posita anno salutis MCCCCVI, 3 vols (Fribourg, 1778-83), vol. III, rubric 112 318. ' 18 R1;1ggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 96-108. 19 lbid., 45~9; Giovanni Scarabello, 'Devianza sessuale ed interventi di giustizia a Venezia nella prima meta del XVI secolo', in Tiziano e Venezia, exhibition catalogue (Vicenza, 1980), 79; Brundage, Law, 517-21. 20 Siena 1427, I, 557; Florence 1424, I, 413; Florence 1425, II, 178. 21 Sam1;1el K. Cohn, Jr., Women in the Streets: Sex and Power in Renaissance Italy (Baltimore, 1996), 114; see also Brundage, Law, 520; Ruggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 54-5. 22 Giordano da Pisa, Quaresimale Jiorentino 1305-1306, Carlo Delcorno (ed.) (Florence, 1974), 210. 23 Richard C. Trexler, 'Florentine prostitution in the fifteenth century: patrons and clients', in idem, The Women of Renaissance Florence (Binghamton, 1993), 31-65; Mazzi, Prostitute; John Brackett, 'The Florentine Onesta and the control of prostitution, 1403-1680', Sixteenth-century Journal 24(1993): 273-300; Elisabeth Pavan, 'Police des moeurs, societe et politique a Venise a la fin du Moyen Age', Revue historique 264(1980): 241-88; Romano Canosa and Isabella Colonnello, Storia della prostituzione in Italia dal Quattrocento alla fine de/ Settecento (Rome, 1989). 24 Trexler, 'Florentine prostitution', 60-5; Mazzi, Prostitute, 225-31, 403-7. On rising dowry values, see Anthony Molho, Marriage Alliance in Late Medieval Florence (Cambridge MA, 1994), 298-310. On the growth of monasteries and convent populations, see Richard C. Trexler, 'Celibacy in the Renaissance: the nuns of Florence', in idem, The Women of Renaissance Florence, 10-19; Judith C. Brown, 'Monache a Firenze all'inizio dell'eta moderna: un'analisi demografica', Quaderni storici 29(1994): 117-52. On courtesans, see Brackett, 'Onesta', 293-5; II gioco dell'amore: le cortigiane di Venezia dal Trecento al Settecento, exhibition cata logue (Milan, 1990). 25 Sherill Cohen, The Evolution of Women's Asylums since 1500: From Refuges for ~x-Prostitutes to Shelters for Battered Women (New Yor.k, 1992); Lu~ia ~errante, Honor regained: women in the Casa del Soccorso di San Paolo in sixteenth century Bologna', in Muir and Ruggiero, (eds) Sex and Gender, 46-72. 26 Brackett, 'Onesta', 293; Guido Ruggiero, 'Marriage, love, sex, and Renaissance civic morality', in J. G. Turner (ed.) Sexuality and Gender in Early Modern Europe: Institutions, Texts, Images (Cambridge, 1993), 25-6. 27 Angelo Poliziano, Detti piacevoli, T. Zanato (ed.) (Rome, 1983), 78, no .. 211. 28 Rocke, Forbidden Friendships, 215-16; Canosa and Colonnello, Sioria, 67-71; Ruggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 70-84, 118-20. . . . 29 For unchaste women from 'good' families, see ibid., 36-9, 55-64; and Mazzi, Prostitute, 88-96.

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30 Christiane Klapisch-Zuber, 'Women servants in Florence during the fou~ teenth and fifteenth centuries' in B. A. Hanawalt (ed.) Women and Work m Preindustrial Europe (Bloomington, 1986), 69-70; Philip G~vitt, Charity and Children in Renaissance Florence: The Ospedale degli Innocenti, 1410-1536 (Ann Arbor, 1990), 207. 31 Brundage, Law, 514-18; Ruggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 16:-44, 89-108; Sandra Cavallo and Simona Cerruti 'Female honor and the social control of repro duction in Piedmont between 1600 and 1800', in Muir and Ruggiero (eds) Sex and Gender, 73-109; Gene Brucker, Giovanni and Lusanna: Love and Marriage in Renaissance Florence (Berkeley, 1986); Daniela Lombardi, 'Intervention by church and state in marriage disputes in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Florence', in Dean and Lowe, (eds) Crime, Society and the Law in Renaissance Italy, 142-56. In Florence, unlike Venice, men condemned for fornication or rape were rarely given the option of marrying their victims, though they commonly had to provide a dowry for the unmarried ones. 32 Ruggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 45-69; Mazzi, Prostitute, 103-8. 33 ASF, OGBR 79, fols 9v-10r (8 March 1488). 34 Rocke, Forbidden Friendships, 162-3; Scarabello, 'Devianza', 80; Patricia Labalme, 'Sodomy and Venetian justice in the Renaissance', Legal History Review 52(1984): 236-7; Ruggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 95, 121-5, 149-54. 35 Rocke, Forbidden Friendships, 163, 182-9; Ruggiero, 'Marriage', 17-18; Mazzi, Prostitute, 110-12. Cases cited: ASF, OGBR 113, 78v (6 March 1499); ASF, UN 31, 65r-66v, 119v (21 February-5 April 1497); ibid. 34, 56r (26August1501). 36 Elizabeth S. Cohen, 'No longer virgins: self-presentation by young women in late Renaissance Rome', in M. Migiel and J. Schiesari (eds) Refiguring Woman: Perspectives on Gender and the Italian Renaissance (Ithaca NY, 1991), 172-4; Ruggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 16-69; Mazzi, Prostitute, 87, 103-16; Scarabello, 'Devianza', 78. 37 Ruggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 78-84; Scarabello, 'Devianza', 78-9. 38 ASF, UN 31, 44v (3 January 1497). 39 Rocke, Forbidden Friendships; Ruggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 109-45; Labalme, 'Sodomy'; Pavan, 'Police', 266-88; Canossa and Colonnello, Storia, 57-73. 40 Rocke, Forbidden Friendships, 87-132. 41 Bernardino of Siena, Florence 1425, II, 276; Siena 1427, I, 560; ibid., II, 1158, 1160, 1166; Novel/e di Pietro Fortini, T. Rughi (ed.) (Milan, 1923), 64; Girolamo Savonarola, Prediche sopra i Salmi, V. Romano (ed.) 2 vols (Rome, 1969), vol. I, 164. 42 Rocke, Forbidden Friendships, 94-7, 113-19. Passive partners in Venice appear somewhat younger than in Florence, though this may only reflect poorer reporting of age there; Ruggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 118, 121-5; Pavan, 'Police', 284. 43 R. Caggese (ed.) Statuti del/a repubblica fiorentina, 2 vols (Florence, 1910-21), vol. II, 218; ASF, PR 52, 128rv, (13 April 1365). 44 Rocke, Forbidden Friendships, 105-10. 45 Judith C. Brown, Immodest Acts: The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy (New York, 1986). 46 Rocke, Forbidden Friendships, 51-2, 61, 99-101, 214-15; Ruggiero, Boundaries of Eros, 121-4. 47 Rocke, Forbidden Friendships, 101-5. 48 Labalme, 'Sodomy', 243 n73, 251 n160; Scarabello, 'Devianza', 82. 49 L. Cantini (ed.) Legislazione toscana raccolta e il/ustrata, 32 vols (Florence, 1800-8), vol. I, 211-13.

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READING 7

Patricia Fortini-Brown A Paradise of Venus The previous two chapters have touched upon the domestic space of the Venetian wife and the hospitality of the Venetian husband. Now we turn to women and entertainment of another sort: the household arrangements of the Venetian courtesan. The frontispiece of Coryat’s Crudities, the travel account with which this book began, may serve to introduce the topic (fig. 182; cf. fig. i).1 The capital letters accompanying the little vignettes are keyed to explanatory couplets in the pages that follow, most of which were written by no less than the playwright Ben Jonson. At issue are two images in the lower right-hand corner, marked E and F, which show Thomas Coryat fleeing in a Venetian gondola as a lady leans out a window and pelts him with eggs. Turning to the couplets there is an “explication” cast in elliptical terms. The first couplet applies to the letter E: Here to his Land-Friggat hee’s ferried by Charon, He bords her, a service a hot and rare one. Or, Here to a Tutch-hole hee’s row’d by his Gondelier, That fires his Linstocke, and empties his Bandolier. In case the reader does not get the point, a gloss is provided in the margin: “That is, the beauty of her countenance, and sweet smatches of her lips did enfiarne his tongue with a divine & fierye enthusiasme, & emptyed the Bandolier of his conceipts & inventions for that time.”2 The couplet for the letter F reads: Here his Friggat shootes egs at him empty of Chickens, Because shee had made his purse empty of Chiquins, or Here shee pelts him with egges, he saith, of Rose-water; But trust him not Reader, t’was some other matter. But Ben Jonson is not finished yet, for over the pages a second set of verses amplifies the couplets. Under E it declares: A Punke here pelts him with egs. How so? For he did but kisse her, and so let her go.

531

And for F we learn: Religiously here, he bids, row from the stewes, he will expiate this sinne with converting the Jewes.3 Now who was this punke and what were the stews? The punke was a courtesan — one of the more renowned protagonists of sixteenth-century Venetian life. As to the stews, the Oxford English Dictionary states that they were “public rooms used for hot baths [and] often used for immoral purposes.”4 And turning back to Coryat’s lady, what might we see if we were able to look through that window into the room beyond? Indeed, one of the few descriptions of domestic space to be found in Coryat’s account of Venice concerns the palace of a courtesan. Praising the courtesans’ “infinite allurements,” he adds that such is the variety of the delicious objects they minister to their lovers, that they want nothing tending to delight. For when you come into wone of their Palaces (as indeed some few of the principallest of them live in very magnificent and portly buildings fit for the entertaine- ment of a great Prince) you seeme to enter into the Paradise of Venus. For their fairest roomes are most glorious and glittering to behold. . . .I have here inserted a picture of one of their nobler Cortezans, according to her Venetian habites, with my owne neare unto her, made in that forme as we saluted each other [fig. 183]. In the print, the beautiful Margarita Emiliana receives Coryat in what was probably the portego - the reception hall — shown devoid of furnishings. But Coryat observed “the walles round about being adorned with most sumptuous tapistry and gilt leather [... and also] the picture of the noble Cortezan most exquisitely drawen.”5 The lady was dressed in a damask gown trimmed with a deep gold fringe, fragrantly perfumed, and “decked with many chaines of gold and orient pearle like a second Cleopatra.” But Coryat cautions: “Though these things will at the first sight seeme unto thee most delectable allurements . . . shee will endevour to enchaunt thee partly with her melodious notes that she warbles out upon her lute, which shee fingers with as laudable a stroake as many men that are excellent professors in the noble science of Musicke; and partly with that heart-tempting 532

harmony of her voice.” He adds that she was also “a good Rhetorician, and a most elegant discourser, so that if she cannot move thee with all these foresaid delights, shee will assay thy constancy with her Rhetoricall tongue.”6 Moreover, he continues: “And to the end shee may minister unto thee the stronger temptations to come to her lure, shee will shew thee her chamber of recreation, where thou shalt see all manner of pleasing objects, as many faire painted coffers wherewith it is garnished round about, a curious milke-white canopy of needle worke, a silke quilt embrodered with gold; and generally all her bedding sweetly perfumed.” Amongst these “amiable ornaments,” most surprising to Coryat was “a picture of our Lady by her bedde side, with Christ in her armes, placed within a cristall glasse.”7

One Sort of Merchandise According to Coryat, prostitution was one of the most profitable business enterprises in Venice, ministering to a clientele that was not just local but also foreign like himself He estimated that the city, with a population of around 150,000, housed at least 20,000 courtesans, “whereof many are esteemed so loose, that they are said to open their quivers to every arrow.”8 He asked a Venetian how a Christian city could tolerate such a vice and was told that there were two rationales, one moral and the other economic: first, to avoid the greater danger that their own wives might otherwise be seduced or assaulted; and second, to profit from the taxes paid by courtesans, which were reputed to be enough to maintain a dozen galleys. Coryat’s estimate was probably a little ambitious. And it failed to distinguish between bordello prostitutes, such as the harlots in Jacopo Palma Giovane’s painting of the Prodigal Son, who were indeed available to all, and the fetching creature depicted in a print by Giacomo Franco — the courtesan who lived in her own home and chose her own lovers (figs. 184 and 185). The generic term for all such women was meretrice — a word with an ancient pedigree dating back to the Latin meretrix. The English word meretricious says it all. Up to around the middle of the fifteenth century, most of the meretrici were comparable to Palmas tavern wenches. The state recognized that they were a 533

necessary evil and attempted to confine them to certain neighborhoods in the Rialto area. Two houses were officially tolerated: the Castelletto, a state-run brothel in the parish of San Matteo di Rialto that opened in 1360 to control and protect prostitutes; and the Carampane, a private operation in the adjacent parish of San Cassiano that came under state scrutiny in 1421. Both institutions seem to have been organized in a similar manner with curfews, armed guards, and matrons who oversaw a common strongbox and distributed monies received to the women. But it was impossible to keep prostitutes from settling elsewhere, and there were troublesome concentrations in two other zones: around San Marco, where there were a large number of hospices and taverns, and in the parish of San Samuele, where the Council of Ten ordered owners of the houses where the meretrici lived to wall up the doors and windows that fronted the main street between the Grand Canal and Campo San Stefano.9 In 1490 prostitutes were banned from the taverns near the bread and fruit markets, the law specifically naming the Osteria of the Capello, the shop sign of which is clearly visible in Gentile Bellini’s Procession in Piazza San Marco of 1496 (fig. 187). The exotic array of ladies who fill the windows behind it suggests that the law, like most of those attempting to regulate public morals, was less than successful. But by that time, prostitution was diffused throughout the city. The poet Andrea Michieli, known as Strazzola, described the experience of his friend Alvise Contarmi, who had been away from the city for a long time and returned to find many landre (prostitutes) calling to him from every corner: Venice seems to me to have been made a bordello, 
 since I can not turn to any side 
 without being called with voice or spit 
 by some landra behind a little balcony [fig. 186] 
 And one promises me her “ring,” 
 the other a supply of muscat wine,
 in such a way that I find myself so befuddled. 
 That I do not know where to spend my marcello.10 Three significant developments had taken place toward the end of the fifteenth century. First, a number of meretrici began to leave the brothels and to receive 534

their clientele in their own homes. Second, a new hierarchy developed with the emergence of the courtesan, who was neither a common harlot nor a respectable woman; she was, strictly speaking, a prostitute, but one who enjoyed a special status because of exceptional beauty, charm, refinement, intellect, talent, or relationships with prominent men. And third, patrician males who once mingled with men of lower social ranks in the bordello or the tavern now socialized more often in the private homes of courtesans.11 An incident recorded by the diarist Marin Sanudo in 1500 is emblematic of the times. He wrote of a fight that involved six men, all from distinguished patrician families. One evening after dinner three young nobles had gone to the home of a certain lady called Anzola Chaga. She was already entertaining three others. A scuffle ensued and one of the intruders, named Zuan Moro, had his face slashed. Sanudo observes, “and so his face was marred, and much was spoken of it.” He adds wryly: “All of them have very beautiful women for wives.”12 Fourteen years later, the name of Anzola Chaga appears again in Sanudo’s diaries. Describing her now as an “honored and renowned meretrice,” he reports that she has died and been buried in the church of the Frari.13 A month later he records the death of a lady of similar reputation: “This morning Lucia Trivixan, who was an excellent singer, was buried at Santa Caterina. She was the consummate cortigiana of her day and was held in much esteem by musicians; all the virtuosi met at her house. She died last night and eight days from today, at Santa Caterina, the musicians will have a solemn funeral Mass and other offices said for her soul.”14 Note the use of the word cortigiana - one of its first appearances in the primary sources. Such women might live alone or with several others in what were sometimes called “scolete de donne” — little schools of ladies.15 A painting of four ladies and three gentlemen by Giovanni Cariani was once held to be a portrait of a noble family, but it is almost certainly something else (fig. 188). While the women may well be sisters, it is most unlikely that the exotically dressed men behind them are their brothers. The format is familiar from portraits, with the figures held inside a spatial envelope formed by a ledge in the foreground and a background of rich red cut-velvet draperies on one side and a window opening on to a deep landscape on the other. But the attitudes and gestures are not familial 535

and not as casual as they appear at first glance. Consider the bearded man at the right who caresses the hair of the young blonde woman in front of him with his gloved hand. Consider the same woman’s right hand. It grasps a mirror, which reflects not only her low-cut bodice but also her naked thumb, from which the glove has just been removed. And consider the woman on the left who holds her gloved hand behind her, grasping its mate. The mirror is a sign of vanity, often associated with courtesans; the squirrel on the ledge in the foreground a symbol of greed and lasciviousness; the plumed fan a sign of sensuality. The glances reveal a chain of relationships. The woman in the center observes the caress. The woman on the right - the object of the caress — looks back at her unaware. The men’s attention is all on the women. But the two women on the left ignore them, and are more interested in the viewer. Taken together the work adds up to a subtle erotic metaphor of nudity and concealment, of seduction and restraint.16 In a portrait by Palma Vecchio, the sitter has been nicknamed Violante by modern scholars, because of the two violets tucked into her bodice (fig. 189). The flowers are symbols of pleasure - the word deflower sums up their meaning - and they, like the lady, may be available to the viewer. Indeed, there is a direct appeal here to the sense of touch with a whole range of textures, all of them soft. Her hair, in slight disarray, is like spun gold. Her skin is milk white and flawless, and it seems all the more bare by contrast to the filmy camisole and the huge taffeta sleeve. And yet the woman’s status is not completely clear; her voluptuous sleeve serves as a barrier, and her steady gaze is tempered by a certain reserve.17 The use of the term cortigiana confirms the recognition of a new category of public women. Strictly speaking, of course, it simply means court lady - the female counterpart of cortigiano or courtier, which has no illicit sexual connotations. But the feminine noun cortigiana implies both availability and an elevated level of social graces. The terminology remained inconsistent. When Sanudo spoke of the beautiful Julia Lombardo in 1524 as a “somtuosa meretrize,” he was referring to this new category of courtesan.18 In all likelihood, Giorgione’s Laura was such a woman (fig. 190). As one scholar has argued compellingly, the mode of presentation is deliberately ambiguous. The key lies in Laura’s gesture and her costume. She grasps her cloak, but the direction 536

of her gesture is unclear. Is she concealing or revealing herself ? It is not clear, but the point is that she is in control. As to her costume, it is a mans outer garment, a luxurious fur-lined coat that probably belonged to her protector. That she clothes herself in his garment and displays herself to him is a metaphor for her dependence and availability. But that she has the power to deny him access is a metaphor of her independence. The visual impact of this masterpiece of subtle eroticism thus depends on ambiguity and tension. Such a woman might have one or several patrons who supported her, but the point is that she seems to have had her own choice in the matter. So what was problematic about her was not her sexual morality per se, but her autonomy and independence.19 It was troubling to some, but so attractive to others that it posed a threat to the purity of the patrician bloodline. In April 1526, two decades after Lauras portrait was painted for an admirer whose identity is now unknown, Sanudo recorded an event that had lasting repercussions: Today one heard publicly about the wedding between Ser Andrea Michiel . . . of San Canziano, a widower, and a certain Cornelia Grifo, a most beautiful and sumptuous widowed prostitute. She is rich and has been publicly kept by Ser Ziprian Malipiero, and for a while she belonged to Ser Piero da Molin dal Banco, and to others, who have given her a dowry of. . . [several?] thousand ducats. The wedding was held at the monastery of San Zuan on Tornello and has cast great shame on the Venetian patriciate.20 Sanudo knew that memories were short, and that the male offspring of such a union might well claim noble credentials twenty years hence when they came of age. Official reaction was swift. Less than two weeks later, the Council of Ten met in secret session because, Sanudo reported, “many bastards have been accorded noble status” and “the doge and ducal council are incensed.”21 To guard against the possibility that a child of the likes of a notorious whore such as Cornelia Grifo, however sumptuous she may be, might some day claim the right to sit on the Great Council, the Ten passed a new law requiring the registration of all noble marriages with the State Attorney s Office within one month of the ceremony. These would be inscribed in the Libro d’Oro, the Book of Gold of the nobility, as a permanent record of incontestable respectability. At stake was “the honor, peace,

537

and preservation” of the state, which rested on the “immaculacy and purity” of the “status and order of nobility.”22

Domestic Arrangements As to courtesans, they were considered commodities - luxury objects as it were. In 1531 Sanudo quoted from a letter written by a Venetian in Antwerp. It cited a conversation with the French ambassador, who praised the “perfection of one sort of merchandise” that he had found in Venice: “And he began to name Madonna Cornelia Grifo, Julia Lombardo, Bianca Saraton, [Elena] Balarine, and some others, but if your Lordship would have resided here for some days — being a merchant who would gladly attend to similar merchandise - I believe that you would have found some of these in abundance.”23 Accordingly, in 1535 the Tariff of whores . . . in which is noted the price and the quality of all the Courtesans of Venice was published, a satirical tract that purported to list the most famous public women of the city. Fashioned on the model of tariffs of merchandise, it portrays prostitutes as mercenary, vain, faithless, cunning, and deceitful.24 But what about that sumptuous lifestyle that Cornelia Grifo and her colleagues enjoyed, which made them such attractively packaged merchandise? What is actually known about the living arrangements of the Venetian courtesan? There is little direct visual evidence.25 One of the few surviving images that appears to show a courtesan in a domestic environment is a puzzling painting now in Berlin depicting a nude couple in a bedchamber (fig. 192). It is datable to around 1500, the period in which Giorgione’s Laura would have been painted. The locale must be Venice. The room features the classicizing architecture that began to replace the Gothic in the late fifteenth century and a characteristically Venetian built-in bed, adorned with the red and green draperies that fill the pages of Venetian inventories. The open door in the rear allows a glimpse of a palace with a cone-shaped Venetian-style chimney, a carpet suspended from a windowsill, and what appears to be a watery canal below. As with Cariani’s courtesans, the young woman is psychologically detached - absorbed in herself as she contemplates her image in à small hand mirror. The youth, seeking to possess her, restricts her movement - his left leg 538

extended in front of her, his right one behind, one hand on her breast and the other on her shoulder. She does not return his embrace. His attention is wholly on her; hers is wholly on herself. As in the painting of Laura, there is tension and ambiguity: this is a woman who is both independent and confined. It is a curious image — possibly the only one of its type. How might it be interpreted? Turning it over reveals that it is the reverse of a double-sided panel (fig. 191). Both sides are painted in oil, each by a different hand, as yet unidentified. The main side features a picture of a young man with long blond hair, wearing a coat with a fur collar similar in style to that of Laura’s, and undoubtedly a portrait. The young man’s hairstyle, physiognomy, and dress suggest a German identity. Turning back to the bedchamber on the reverse and keeping the portrait in mind, we ask again what it might signify. Several elements suggest an allegorical content: the mirror in the young woman’s hand as a sign of vanity and, as noted earlier, associated with the courtesan; the glass in the foreground as a symbol of the fragility of human life; the sprig of laurel as a symbol of immortality; die partially open door as a sign of the passage from life to death. A recent exhibition catalogue interprets the sum of these features as a memento mori - a reminder of mortality.26 But sometimes an open door is simply an open door, and the laurel branch has other possible associations — with literary or artistic genius, with victory, with the virtue of Petrarch’s Laura. And what of that explicitly Venetian interior? And the unquestionably erotic pairing of male and female? It is most unlikely that this is a marriage portrait, but could it be a record of an experience similar to that of Thomas Coryat? That the dark-haired young man is different from the blond sitter on the reverse may be precisely the point. Moralizing to be sure, ambiguous to be sure, the reverse image may be regarded not as a portrait of a specific person, but as a portrait of a phenomenon - the culture of the courtesan (neither lady nor whore), for which the city of Venice was already becoming famous. So perhaps this work provides an early glimpse of an ambiance that may fairly be called a “paradise of Venus.” And what about that term, “paradise of Venus”? It suggests that artists may well have looked to the domestic arrangements of the courtesans home to give credibility to their paintings of Venus, Danae, Leda, and 539

other mythological ladies of dubious morals. How did Venus live in Venetian art? Titians Venus of Urbino painted in the 1530s immediately comes to mind (figs. 193 and 194). But the lady’s identity and character have been a matter of considerable discussion among scholars. Is she really Venus? Is she a courtesan? Is this a marriage painting — that is, one that was intended as an allegory of conjugal love? Or is this just a pin-up - one of the first?27 As with so many paintings of beautiful young women of this period, the visual evidence is ambiguous. It has been argued that the two chests in the background are marriage chests - an unambiguous symbol of marriage, since they were always made in pairs.28 This may have been true in Florence but, as discussed earlier, Venetian inventories almost always place more than two casse or chests in the bedroom of a married couple and these chests rarely came in matched sets of two. More frequently there would be four, six, or more, all described as simile. Thus the fact that two chests are visible in Titians painting may not be particularly significant. In any case, in all likelihood there were others along the wall behind the curtain, as there are at the end of the room in a painting by the Flemish artist Lambert Sustris (figs. 195 and 196).29 He was inspired to copy Titians work about a decade later, with another sumptuous nude reclining on snowy white but rumpled sheets. Turning to the Venus argument, in each of these works, wild roses — standard attributes of Venus as goddess of love - play a prominent role. While Titian’s lady grasps a mass of them, in Sustris’s painting the blossoms are scattered seductively around her on the bed. And beyond that, looking into the background of the latter work, the young woman playing the spinet is displaying one of the talents attributed to courtesans (fig. 196). But again, the evidence is ambiguous, for respectable wives played musical instruments as well. In fact, there was little difference in luxurious appointments between the home of a wealthy courtesan and her more respectable married counterpart. In both venues the clothing would have been packed away in capacious storage chests and the walls covered with costly brocade or tapestry or gilded leather hangings. In both venues rich colors and patterned surfaces - whether of textiles, animal skins, woods, metals, or stone - would have created an environment to 540

seduce the senses of sight and touch. What differentiated the two were the activities that took place in them and the centrality of the female and not the male in the residence of the courtesan. Later in the century, several decades before Coryat would pay his respects to Margarita Emiliana, Lodewyck Toeput, a Flemish artist known in Italy as Pozzoserrato, betrayed his own familiarity with Venetian courtesan culture (fig. 197).30 Here too the walls are hung with tapestries and a spinet holds center stage. The gentlemen, in northern attire, are visitors in a Venetian house. The ladies, dressed in the latest Venetian fashions, display those social graces for which courtesans were celebrated: dancing, music, and the art of conversation. These were the skills and talents that elevated them above the level of the common prostitute. The major piece of furniture in the room, a gilded bed partly hidden under a majestic canopy of silken draperies, is pushed into the background, a subtle allusion to another form of entertainment.

Elisabetta Condulmer Is it possible to confirm the veracity of images such as these with more reliable evidence than idealized bedchambers, which were products o f artistic license, or eyewitness accounts such as Coryat’s, in which literary hyperbole played a role? A handful of inventories of household goods that can be linked convincingly to courtesans have been identified in the archives. The earliest may be that of Elisabetta Condulmer, who lived in the contrada of San Felice. We first make Elisabetta’s acquaintance in her last will and testament, written 22 August 1538. She declares: “I, Elisabetta, daughter of Hieronimo Condulmer and wife of Gabriel di Angeli, healthy by the grace of the Lord God in mind and intellect, but infirm in body, being in bed, and wishing to order my possessions, have asked the Venetian notary Angelo da Canal to come to my home.”31 She continues: uAnd for my executors of this, my will, I wish messer Francesco da Sola, mio signor, messer Camillo Michiel . . . messer Vetor Trinchavilla, physician, and messer Nicolò Cocco, who lives in the house below me.”32 This immediately begs the question why her husband is not among them, but in the next sentence, the reason becomes apparent: “I declare that Hieronimo, Bernardin, Paula, and Laura, my 541

sons and daughters, are of the said messer Francesco da Sola, mio signor [my lord]. And likewise, by my faith, I also swear that Cipriana and Condolmera, my daughters, are of the said Camillo Michiel [now also called mio signor], and that Julio, my son, is the son of messer Zuane Alvixe de Luca Varo ter.”33 We have here a woman who is married to one man — Gabriel di Angeli — still living, and has seven children by three others, also living. Two of the latter — Francesco da Sola and Camillo Michiel, both designated as mio signor — are named as executors of her will and appear to have an ongoing relationship with her. Further on the will reveals that she is pregnant with an eighth child whose paternity is not stated. To her brother, Zuan Francesco, and her cousin, Pellegrina, she leaves 2 ducats each “in sign of love.” To her cousin, Laura Fontana, she bequeaths 10 ducats and all the goods that she had lent her. Otherwise, all her worldly possessions go to her children. To her sons Hieronimo and Bernardin she leaves a house that she owns in the contrada of San Marcilian, and to her son Julio, 30 ducats. To provide for her daughters Paula, Laura, Cipriana, and Condolmera, she orders that all her other belongings — furniture, clothing, silver, rings, and jewels - be sold at the best price and the proceeds divided equally among them. It is significant that these funds are not designated for dowries, as they would be in a typical Venetian will. She further orders that her unborn child, whether male or female, should share equally in the bequest left to her daughters. 34 In less than a month, Elisabetta would die, for on 13 September the notary Angelo da Canal drew up an inventory of all the goods that remained in her home at San Felice at the time of her death.35 The executors appear to have changed somewhat. The patrician Nicolò Cocco, the gentleman downstairs, has taken charge. Vetor Trinchavilla is absent, and Camillo Michiel is replaced by the Reverend Giulio Michiel. They are joined by a certain Zuan Francesco de Torresani, who can be identified as Elisabettas Francesco da Sola. Com m only known as Francesco d’Asola, his real name was Gian Francesco Torresani. Fie was the son of Andrea Torresani, who was associated with the famous printer Aldus Manutius by marriage and by profession. Aldus had married Gian Francesco’s sister, Maria, in 1505 and lived with the Torresani family until his death in 1515. 542

Gian Francesco followed his father and brother-in-law into the printing business, and after their deaths opened a shop of his own.36 Of that more later. How did Elisabetta live? Comfortably, indeed, with her apartment comprising three chambers in addition to the portego, kitchen, and utility rooms. Let us walk with the notary through the house. Here the testimony is dry and unmediated — documentary as it were. Before the entrance to the portego there was a Flemish painting on canvas at the head of the stairs — a preface to the visual delights within. For the portego walls were covered with paintings featuring an eclectic range of subject matter. The first to attract Canals attention was a large portrait of Elisabetta herself, complete with a timpano - a frame with a curtain that could be drawn across it. A seventeenth-century print may give a sense of the overall effect (fig. 198). There was also a framed map of the world, still unusual in Venetian homes, and probably a gift from her book-printer lover (see fig. 247). There were two more portraits, one described as alia forestiera - “in the foreign manner” - and the other alia fiandrese — in the Flemish style. Canal could not identify the subject o f a second Flemish-style painting and simply described it as a man in a barrel. But that is not all. There is also a painting of Pyramis and Thisbe, which Canal did recognize, another of a woman and a nude man, yet another of a nude woman tied to a tree (possibly Andromeda), and a painting of an old man with a cage, plus eight small ink drawings on paper in metal frames. These profane works were tempered by an Adoration of the Magi and a painting of the Magdalene, the latter in the Flemish style and described, like the portrait of Elisabetta herself, as large. In sum, there were ten paintings and eight drawings.37 The number of works described as Flemish or foreign is worth noting. While at least some of these may have been imported despite protectionist legislation, they may well have been painted in Venice by immigrants from the north or by Venetian artists working in the Flemish manner.38 And how was Elisabetta’s art gallery furnished? The inventory suggests an active social life: twenty-four chairs, a pinewood dining table, and three painted banche da portego - portego benches. There were also five black strongboxes with gilded fittings and the Condulmer coat of arms, as well as a walnut credenza with a 543

broken door. The room was illuminated by a hanging lamp (a cesendelo) of brass and glass and, in all likelihood, wall sconces, although characteristically these were not listed because they were immovable. Was this room used only to receive guests in a formal manner? Probably not, for the notary also recorded “two cradles, one of walnut and one of pine.”39 These pieces were unusual furnishings for a formal room of presentation intended to impress visitors but not surprising, considering the size of Elisabetta’s family. The camera granda de madona — Elisabetta’s paradise of Venus - was the major repository of her worldly goods. Here, as in the bedroom of Coryat’s Margarita Emiliana, the artwork on the walls was sacred, not secular: a large painting of Our Lady with SS John the Baptist and Jerome and a half-length painting of a woman who, the notary observed, “appears to be Judith.” There was also a gilded birdcage with a wire enclosure of silver; a large round basket with fifty-five pieces of majolica and-other ceramics; and seventy-five pieces of glass of various sorts.40 But the room was dominated by a walnut bed with gilded columns. The bed, described as “alla cortesana” - courtesan- style - was well furnished with downfilled mattresses, coverlets, pillows, and cushions, all described as snowy white - an emphasis on pristine linens that recalls the bed of Margarita Emiliana as well as the two Venuses by Titian and Sustris. A manuscript dating to 1575 depicts a courtesans bedchamber with a bed featuring elegant fluted columns resting on lions paws and supporting a wooden tester. Furnished with a set of purple curtains, white sheets and bolsters, and at least six mattresses, it may well have been what was considered alla cortesana (fig. 199).41 As with the strongboxes in the portego, six gilded chests were decorated with the Condulmer arms. These were filled with linens and a considerable wardrobe. The Condulmer arms also appeared on a piece of wall tapestry, a little pine chest, and a straw fan. A locked walnut cabinet, or scrigno, held the household treasures: silver forks incised with the Condulmer arms; knives of Brescian iron, incised and gilded; spoons of silver and cups of silver gilt; a silver-gilt toothpick with a handle; carving knives; a bronze table bell; a small clock; and three large tassels of silk and gold. Elisabetta was also well provided with jewelry, including four crowns, two of amber and two of crystal, with strands that she would have woven into her hair for 544

special occasions. A silver casket contained four gems, all in gold settings; a cameo and a sealing ring, both with the Condulmer arms; a gold ring with an inscription; a gold medal of the Madonna of Loreto; and an envelope containing little pearls and coral pieces to make a child’s bracelet. In the kitchen, there was a second birdcage, this of walnut, another ninety- two pieces of majolica, and an abundance of pewter dinnerware and copper pots.42 In sum, Elisabetta had all the appurtenances of a noble lifestyle, complete with a number of objects inscribed with her family coat of arms - insignia of a respectable lineage (fig. 200). What did she do when she wasn’t entertaining her signori or tending to the infants who occupied the cradles in the portego Like any well-brought-up lady, she seems to have practiced needlework, for the inventory lists a spinning wheel, a good quantity of thread and yarn, and many fabric remnants. In the mezzado - a storage area on a mezzanine floor - was a prayer bench, seemingly no longer used, along with a broken arzella, an empty strongbox, also broken, and three shopping baskets.43 One of the smaller chambers held four lutes — evidence of the musical activities associated with the courtesan. A painting by Parrasio Micheli conveys the desired effect (fig. 201). Probably a portrait of an actual courtesan as Venus, accompanied by Cupid, who holds her sheet music, she plays a lute with seven strings instead of the usual eleven to thirteen, but with correctly positioned hands.44 But was Elisabetta also a rhetorician, like Coryat’s Margarita Emiliana? Most unlikely, for she was not much of a reader. Despite the fact that her signore Gian Francesco Torresani was a printer, there were, aside from a breviary, just four books in the house - three octavos and a quarto - in addition to some account books and documents relating to her property. There was little male presence revealed in the inventory. The only masculine apparel listed were three shirts of fine linen, two worked with black silk and the other with gold; and three pairs of men’s shoes, two velvet and one leather. Gian Francesco may have lived elsewhere. What else is revealed by the inventory? A pair of pine caskets were listed together, one with the Condulmer and the other with the Torresani coats of arms — evidence of a relationship with Gian Francisco Torresani that was close to a marriage, even though Elisabetta was the wife of another man. In fact, the notary 545

writes that the documents and account books in her locked scrigno were immediately handed over to Torresani, along with a leather covered box for combs, a leather bag to hold jewelry, a writing cabinet, and a walnut table with its trestles. Indeed, there is evidence that Torresani laid claim to all Elisabetta’s worldly possessions himself, including a number of items that she had lent to her sister, Ursia, a nun in the convent of Santa Caterina. These included four door curtains of scarlet cloth decorated with arms and foliage; a green and yellow striped satin cape lined with squirrel skins; a ten-piece bed ensemble of green and orange ormesino silk, described as new; and five figured spallieri wall hangings, decorated with arms with a yellow eagle who holds a lily to his breast. All this, Torresani argued, had been intended for Ursias use only during Elisabetta’s lifetime. Although the fate of Elisabetta’s daughters is unknown, as well as that of her son by Zuane Alvixe de Luca Varoter, her sons Hieronimo [Gerolamo] and Bernardin [Bernardo] were fully accepted by their father, Gian Francesco Torresani, and went on to pursue successful careers as printers and book sellers themselves.45 Who was Elisabetta Condulmer? Flow could the daughter of Girolamo Condulmer — a Venetian nobleman — end up as a courtesan? To look for clues we must go back to 1501 and the testament of Elisabetta’s father, Girolamo. Naming “Laura Fontana, my legitimate wife,” as an executor, he left the bulk of his estate to be shared and shared alike by Zuan Gabriel and Zuan Francesco, “my legitimate and natural sons from the womb of the above cited Laura” (for the Condulmer family tree, see Appendix, p. 258). There are two conditions: first, if Laura remains a widow, she should be allowed to enjoy the residue of the estate as long as she lives; and second, that his sons should give 100 gold ducats to their sister Andriana at the time of her marriage or entry into a convent. If both sons should die without male descendants, the estate should revert to his wife Laura, and after her death be passed on to Girolamo’s brothers, “the magnificent lords Bernardo and Jacopo in equal portions.”46 There is a further declaration: “in order to remove every suspicion, I say and declare that in the year 1484 in the month of March, I accepted the above-cited Laura as my legitimate wife, being present ser Giovanni Polato who was the ring 546

sponsor.”47 Now this is a most unusual attestation to find in a will and, as we shall see, Girolamo had good cause to be concerned. It may be noted that Elisabetta was not named. In all likelihood she was born during the decade after the will was written, putting her in her thirties at the time of her death, and in fact Girolamo would live another fourteen years. The tiny sum that he designated for his daughter Andrianas dowry at a time when 3,000 ducats for patrician daughters was common suggests that he was not a wealthy man. Indeed in 1508 Sanudo reported that Girolamo was convicted of selling his vote in the Great Council and deprived of all state offices for five years. The ban was rescinded a year-and-a-half later when the official who had bribed Girolamo paid a fine of 1,000 ducats.48 Condulmer was still alive in August 1514 when he made his tax declaration. He owned very little real property - only his house at San Marcilian, which was appraised at 300 ducats.49 By February 1516 he was dead and his widow, identified as “the noble lady Laura Fontana,” appeared in the State Attorney’s Office and presented Zuan Francesco Condulmer as the legitimate son of the deceased Girolamo and herself. Girolamo’s two brothers, Jacopo and Bernardo, both prominent patricians active in government affairs, attested to the truth of her declaration.50 Now twenty years old, the young Zuan Francesco saw his name inscribed in the Libro d’Oro and was allowed to sit on the Great Council. But all was not well. Moving ahead a decade to April 1526, we come once more to the marriage of the sumptuous meretrice Cornelia Grifo to a member of the nobility and to Sanudo’s report that the ensuing scandal had prompted new legislation to ensure that the offspring of such ignoble alliances would not be allowed to claim the title of nobility. As part of the reform, he wrote, the Capi (heads) of the Council of Ten had summoned thirty patrician males to appear before them to offer new proof of their noble status. The legitimacy of their births had been called into question. Among them was Zuan Francesco Condulmer.51 After two prolonged hearings, he was declared a bastard in January 1528 and his registration in the Libro d’Oro crossed out with a large X (see fig. II).52 The notation next to it on the left stated that he had failed to provide sufficient proof. His mother Laura — the primary witness — had already died, for the family 547

home at San Marcilian was then owned jointly by Zuan Francesco, a brother, Eugenio, and their sister Elisabetta.53 In July 1528, Elisabetta bought the shares of both her brothers for 200 ducats to become sole owner of the house (fig. 202).54 It is not difficult to imagine the source of her prosperity. And it may well be that her profession was one of the reasons that doubt had been cast upon the legitimacy of her brother s birth. So how did she come to pursue such a life? The judgment that Zuan Francesco was a bastard, long after their father had sworn to the propriety of his marriage, suggests that their mother’s status was questionable. Perhaps she too had lived for a time as a courtesan and the death of her husband left her without adequate financial resources to supply a reasonable dowry for her daughters. To put the purchase of the house into perspective, it should be noted that when Elisabetta made her tax declaration ten years later, she stated that it was so old and in such bad condition that she had not been able to rent it out to tenants for several years. Once she had it “honorably restored,” she planned to live in it herself.35 It should be remembered, however, that property was often described as in poor condition in such declarations in order to pay lower taxes. To Elisabetta, the perilous life of a courtesan may well have seemed preferable to her sister Ursia’s secure but austere existence in a convent. It may seem surprising that she had a husband at all, but this was a common strategy of courtesans who wished to circumvent legislation aimed at curtailing their freedom of action.56

The Abundance of Necessary Things Although Elisabetta lived well, she did not capture the attention of Marin Sanudo, and her name does not seem to appear in the Tariffa, that nasty little tract published in 1535 that purported to list the most famous public women of the city. One whose name did appear, however, was Julia Lombardo.57 Described as “sumptuous and very beautiful” and endowed with a “subtle genius,” she died in 1543. An inventory of her household goods portrays a lifestyle similar to that of Elisabetta Condulmer. She had not only two parrots, as indicated by two birdcages, but also a small dog, whose presence is revealed by a harness with eight little silver bells. And her level of education may be said to be superior — she 548

owned a picture of Dante and eighteen books as opposed to Elisabetta’s four, and a green harpsichord in contrast to Elisabetta’s lutes. As is well known, several courtesans of the next generation — most notably Veronica Franco and Gaspara Stampa - exhibited considerable musical and literary talents. Veronica, whose poetry was legendary, arranged musical evenings in her home, and Gaspara’s singing voice and proficiency with the lute were so celebrated that the composer Perissone Cambio dedicated a book of madrigals to her. Such women might be seen as poetesses and musicians who were also courtesans.58 But, as suggested by a print depicting painted leather hangings being stripped from the walls of a destitute prostitute, even a sumptuous courtesan like Julia Lombardo faced an uncertain future (fig. 203). If she managed to survive without dying in childbirth or contracting syphilis, she had to face the indignities of old age. In her tax declaration of 1542, Julia declared herself impoverished - an exaggeration belied by her death inventory - and now past “that age and all that flower that many could desire, from which came to me the abundance of necessary things.”59 In the literary arena, the Venetian poet Niccolò Franco praised a courtesans elaborate entertaining: “Not only have you revived a lost age, but you have brought it back in grand style, eliminating everything rustic and coarse. Instead of acorns, blackberries, and strawberries, you propose sumptuous platters and set elaborate tables covered with richly woven cloths appropriate for such delicate foods” (fig. 204).60 But as courtesans became more accomplished and more affluent with that “abundance of necessary things,” concern about them grew more pronounced. The writer Andrea Calmo addressed a letter to a Signora Brunella, “a lady full of jokes, deceits and traps and snares” on whom he had spent all his resources. Asking if she remembered from whom she had acquired her “paradise of delights,” he continues: “One does not [even] speak of the tapestries, the carpets, the canopies of damask, the gilded bed, the painted chests, the Brescian draperies, and kitchen pewter; no, the dresses [piled] one above the other are nothing, the pearls are smoke; the rings a small thing . . . At least have a little conscience, seeing me a naked infant, seeing me derelict, and seeing me

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impoverished.” Calmo concludes with an admonitory postscript: “However, he who spends his means luxuriating, sets himself up to go begging.”61

The Mask of Decency The high-living courtesan also attracted official attention. In 1543, the Venetian Senate declared: There are now excessive numbers of prostitutes in this our city; they have put aside all modesty and shame, and go about openly in the streets and churches, and furthermore are so well dressed and adorned that on many occasions our noble and citizen women have been confused with them, the good with the bad, and not only by foreigners but also by those who live here, because there is no difference of dress [fig. 205]. They set a bad example to women who enter and see their dwellings, and they cause no little discontent and scandal to everyone. Seeking to please the everlasting God, we must take steps to prevent these bad examples . . . and to curb the excessive expenditure of whores upon their own garments and upon the decoration of their houses.62 Accordingly, legislation was passed forbidding prostitutes from dressing in gold, silver, or silk and jewels of any kind. Nor in their houses were they to have “any furnishings of silk, or arrasses [tapestries], or upholstery, or bench-covers, or leathers of any kind, but only cloths of Bergamo or Brescia, and these must be plain and have no patterns cut upon them.”63 Sumptuary legislation had little lasting effect, however, and by the end of the century Coryat was not the only visitor to the city who would be awed by a paradise of Venus. Another Englishman, Thomas Nashe, published a picaresque travel narrative entitled The Unfortunate Traveler; or the Life o f Jack Wilton in 1594. Set in the 1530s, it was pure fiction, but contained references to historical events and was based upon observations in the present. The hero arrived in Venice, where he was immediately accosted by a well- dressed gentleman who “having half a dozen several languages in his purse, entertained us in our own tongue very paraphrastically and eloquently.” But his new-found friend turned out to be a notable practitioner in the policy of bawdry. The place whither he brought us was a pernicious courtesan’s house named Tabitha the Temptress, a wench that could set as civil a face on it as chastity’s first martyr Lucretia. What will you conceit to be in any saint’s 550

house that was there to seek? Books, pictures, beads, crucifixes — why there was a haberdasher’s shop of them in every chamber. I warrant you should not see one set of her neckercher perverted or turned awry, not a piece of a hair displaced. On her beds there was not a wrinkle of any wallowing to be found; her pillows bare out as smooth as a groaning wife’s belly; and yet she was a Turk and an infidel, and had more doings than all her neighbors besides.64 But of greater concern was the persistent problem of ambiguous or disguised identity, already decried in the Senate proclamation of 1543 cited above. Courtesans continued to make every effort to seem what they were not. For one thing, as numerous prints attest, the courtesan might attempt to pass as a respectable woman. As Pietro Aretino wrote to his mistress, the courtesan Angela Zaffetta: “Indeed, I give you the palm . . . for knowing how to put the mask of decency upon the face of lasciviousness; and hence it is, by your wisdom and discretion, you have pro- cured money and praise.”65 In 1578 the Provveditori della Sanita complained that “in the churches of this city when the holy offices are celebrated, diverse meretrici and courtesans go . . . dressed like married women and widows, doing dishonorable acts, and setting a bad example with complaints by many, and many people who do not know them believe that they are respectable women, married and of good reputation.”66 In 1598 it was lamented that prostitutes had recently taken to go out of the house often well covered with white veils of silk, a habit particular to young married ladies or nuns, noble as well as citizen, and others whom the custom of the city and their honor have reasonably been permitted to cover themselves in this manner.” Even though married, if meretrici were not living with their husbands, they were strictly forbidden to dress in this manner.67 Or a courtesan might augment her height. Although many aristocratic women wore platform shoes called pianelle, courtesans were notorious for their exaggerated stilt-like footwear. One visitor to the city remarked that some of the women there appeared to be giants (fig. 206).68 Or she might obfuscate her gender. Cross-dressing was one more weapon in the courtesans arsenal of seduction, and some wore men’s clothing - perhaps a coat, in the manner of Giorgione’s Laura or a shirt alla mascolina or even breeches 551

concealed beneath their skirts, as revealed in an “interactive” print by Pietro Bertelli (figs. 207a and b) Aretino wrote to a courtesan called La Zufolina in 1547: “Twice my good fortune has sent your fair person into that house which is mine and others - the first time as a woman dressed like a man and the next time as a man dressed like a woman. You are a man when you are chanced on from behind and a woman when seen from in front.”69 In 1578 the Council of Ten heard a complaint that courtesans and prostitutes dressed in men’s clothing and went on tour in gondolas through the canals. The cabins, closed front and back, became mobile paradises of Venus where impressionable youths were incited to engage in sodomy and other illicit activities.70 But sometimes the courtesan simply wore a mask (fig. 208). Elisabetta Condulmer’s wardrobe included ten satin masks da stravestir — to disguise oneself - three of them described as with a beard.71 Coryat would later write: “I was at one of their Play-houses where I saw a Comedie acted. ... Also their noble & famous Cortezans came to this comedy, but so disguised, that a man cannot perceive them. For they wore double maskes upon their faces, to the end they might not be seene ... [and] each of them wore a black short Taffata cloake.”72 The paradise of Venus thus had its darker shadows. A print based upon a drawing by the Flemish artist Lodewyck Toeput, called Pozzoserrato, depicts a carnival celebration next to the Grand Canal (see fig. 208). In the foreground women in masks are joined by actors of the commedia dell’arte. In the loggia to the left, a concert is in progress. A caption on the pavement asks: “if they are fleeing the light, then what may they be up to?”73

An Adverse Fate But there was also concern for the young women themselves. The beautiful and talented Veronica Franco (fig. 209) wrote to a friend to dissuade her from allowing her daughter to follow the life of a courtesan: “It is a most wretched thing... to subject one’s body and industriousness to a servitude whose very thought is most frightful ... to eat with another’s mouth, sleep with another’s eyes, move according to another’s will, obviously rushing toward the shipwreck of one’s mental abilities

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and one’s life and body; What greater misery? What riches, what comforts, what delights can possibly outweigh all this?”74 Several refuges were founded during the Counter- Reformation period to address the problem. The Casa delle Zitelle or Convertite was established in 1559 to house and educate young women who were poor, attractive, and at risk of falling into sin.75 And for those who already had, Veronica Franco herself petitioned the government in 1577 to found the Casa del Soccorso - a hospice for aged, indigent, and repentant prostitutes.76 But these were no paradises of Venus. It took another century before the Renaissance courtesan disappeared. One of the last was Paola Provesin, who died in 1638 in her apartment on Piazza San Marco. It had been rented from the procurators by the nobleman Tommaso Contarini back in 1600. He paid not only for her rent and living expenses, but also for her instruction by masters of music, painting, and poetry. The inventory made at the time of her death described rooms decorated with green and yellow flowered damask and gilded and lacquered leather, and a library of seventy-six books, including a Genealogy of the Gods.77 On the walls were thirty paintings, one described as “portraits in a concert of music” — perhaps as in a painting by Jacopo Tintoretto (fig. 210).78 Indeed, the rooms were filled with books of music and a veritable orchestra of musical instruments: a spinet and a harpsichord, both painted with fillets of gold, six theorbos described as old, and another of ivory, as well as an ivory lute, and another theorbo and another lute, each with its case, and a large harp. In her will, Paola had ordered all of her worldly possessions to be sold and the proceeds given to charity.79 Her music may have been profane, but her life was a testament to the capacity of music not only to enchant and to seduce, but also to enlighten and to elevate the soul. As Veronica Franco had written half a century earlier: “True wealth consists of peace and contentment, and the contentment of our soul is nothing else but the possession of virtue, easily recognized by its works, which in the face of all the hostile efforts of an adverse fate have the strength to give man happiness.”80

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And yet, it is all too easy to parody and stigmatize the Renaissance courtesan as Coryat and other writers did, without considering the realities of life in a highly stratified society. Marriages in affluent families were increasingly restricted to one son to limit succession - and dispersion of the patrimony - to a single line of descent; the number of daughters marrying was also limited to a few because of extravagant dowry expectations. As Cornelia, a protagonist in Moderata Fonte’s treatise, Il merito delle donne, published in 1600, asked: “How many fathers there are who do not provide for their daughters while they are alive and then finally, when they die, leave their whole estate or the greatest part of it to their sons, leaving their poor daughters to fall into all kinds of errors through no fault of their own?” Her friend Corinna agreed: “they are forced to provide for themselves by blameworthy and reprehensible means.”81 The situation was that much worse when there were few resources to begin with. A young woman with a patrician, if tarnished, birthright, like Elisabetta Condulmer, with expectations of a refined lifestyle but without the means to achieve it through a good marriage, had few options other than the convent. In all likelihood, it was her beauty, charm, and enterprise that had allowed her to attain a level of considerable comfort with “an abundance of necessary things,” and even the resources to buy out her brothers’ shares in the family home, through a series of liaisons. Most importantly, it gave her a measure of autonomy and independence — those qualities that were so intriguing and yet so threatening to the order of things in a period when a writer could propose: “in a woman one does not look for profound eloquence or subtle intelligence, or exquisite prudence or talent for living or administration of the republic or justice or anything else except chastity ... because in a woman this is worth every other excellence.”82

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Notes 1. Thomas Coryat, Coryat’s Crudities: hastily go bled up in five moneths 17 travels (London: W. Sftansby], 1611). 2. Ibid., a.i verso. 3. Ibid., a.3 verso. 4 Oxford English Dictionary Online: “stew, n.2 3. A heated room used for hot air or vapour baths: hence, a hot bath. 4. A brothel. (Developed from sense 3, on account of the frequent use of the public hot- air bath-houses for immoral purposes. Cf. BAGNIO.) a. In plural (chiefly collect.; sometimes, a quarter occupied by houses of ill fame). 5 Coryat, Coryat’s Crudities (Glasgow: James McLehose, 1905); 1:401-3. 6 Ibid., 1:405. 7 Ibid. 8 Ibid., 1:402. 9 Giovanni Scarabello, “Le signore5 della Repubblica,” in II gioco dell’amore. Le cortigiane di Venezia dal trecento al settecento (Milan: Berenice, 1990), 11—14; and Elizabeth Pavan, “Police des moeurs, société et politique à Venise à la fin du Moyen Age,” Revue His- torique 264 (1981): 241-88. See also Massimo Costantini, “Le strutture dell'ospitalità,” in Storia di Venezia dalle origini qalla caduta della Serenissima, V. Il Rinascimento Società e Economia, ed. Alberto Tenenti and Ugo Tucci (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 19 96). 10 Vittorio Rossi, “Il canzoniere inedito di Andrea Michieli detto Squarzòla o Strazzòla,” Giornale storico della letteratura italiana 26 (1895): 45: “Parmi Vinegia esser fatta un bordello, poiché girar non posso in alcun lato, duo non sia a voce o con sputo chiamato da qualche landra drieto al balconcello. E Urna mi promette il proprio anello, l'altra la banda piena di moscato in modo ch'io mi trovo si impacciato che non so dove spendermi il marcello.” Professor Linda Carroll interprets “anello,” the Italian word for ring (as in wedding ring), to be a metaphor camouflaging an obscene reference to the lady's ass. This interpretation is supported by Giuseppe Boerio, Dizionario del dialetto veneziano, 2nd ed. (Venice: Giovanni Cecchini, 1856). In “L'indice Italiano Veneto,” 9, a separately numbered section at the end of the volume, among the several definitions of “anello” is “Detto per Culo.” 11 Giovanni Scarabello, “Le signore' della Repubblica,” 15—18. 12 Marin Sanudo, I Diarii, ed. Rinaldo Fulin et al. (Venice: F. Visen- tini. 1879-1903), 3:133 (26 February 1499 m.v. = 1500): “Tutti tre hanno bellissime done per moglie, et cussi li fo vasta la faza, e si parlò assai.” 13 Ibid., 19:25 (7 September 1514): “Etiam la matina fo sepulta una honorata e nominata meretrice, pur ai Frari, chiamata Anzola Caga in calle etc.” 14 Ibid., 19:138 (16 October 1514): “In questa matina, fo sepulta a Santa Catarina Lucia Trivixan, qual cantava per excellentia. Era dona di tempo tuta coretesana, e molto nominata apresso musici, dove a caxa sua se reduceva tutte le virtù Et morite eri di note, et ozi 8 zorni si farà per li musici una solenne messa a Santa Catarina, funebre, e altri officii per l'anima sua.” Translation by Linda Carroll. 15 Giovanni Scarabello, “Le ‘signore' della Repubblica,” 15—18. 16 See Enrico Maria Dal Pozzolo, “Sotto il guanto,” Venezia Arti 8 (1994): 33-34 (29-36); Rodolfo Pallucchini and F. Rossi, Giovanni Cariani (Bergamo: Silvana, 1983), 112-13; Jane Martineau and Charles Hope, eds., The Genius of Venice 1500-1600 (London: Wiedenfeld & Nicolson, 1.983), 162; and Cathy Santore, “The Tools of Venus,” Renaissance Studies 11 (1997): 179-205. 17. See Philip Rylands, Palma Vecchio (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 97-98, 172-73. Cf. David Rosand, Titian (New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1978), 82; and Rona Goffen, Titians Women (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997), 45-106. 18 Sanudo, Diarii, 33:233 (9 May 1522). 19 Anne Christine Junkerman, “The Lady and the Laurel: Gender and Meaning in Giorgione’s Laura,” Oxford Art Journal 16 (1993): 49-58. See also Jaynie Anderson, Giorgione: the Painter of Poetic Brevity (Paris and New York: Flammarion, 1997), 208-17, 299-300. For possible portraits and other images of Venetian courtesans, see also Anne Christine Junkerman, “Bellissima Donna: An Interdisciplinary Study of Venetian Sensuous HalfLength Images of the Early Sixteenth Century” (Ph.D. diss. University of California, Berkeley, 1988); and Lynne Lawner, Lives of the Courtesans: Portraits of the Renaissance (New York: Rizzoli, 1987), 131-83.

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20 Sanudo, Diarii, 41:166 (11 April 1526), translation by Linda Carroll from Patricia H. Labalme and Laura Sanguineti White, with translations by Linda Carroll, “How to (and How Not to) Get Married in SixteenthCentury Venice,” Renaissance Quarterly 52 (1999): 64. 21 Sanudo, Diarii, 41:201, 203 (20 April 1526). 22 Stanley Chojnacki, “Marriage Regulation in Venice, 1420-1535,” in Marriage in Italy, 1300-1650, ed. Trevor Dean and K. J. Lowe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 142; and idem, “Identity and Ideology in Renaissance Venice: The Third Serrata,” in Venice Reconsidered: The History and Civilization of an Italian City-State, 1297-1797, ed. John Martin and Dennis Romano (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000), 274-77; Alexander Cowan, “Love, Honour and the Avogaria di Comun in Early Modern Venice,” Archivio Veneto Ser. 5, 179 (1995): 5-19. 23 Sanudo, Diarii, 54:421 (6 May 1531). 24 La tariffa delle puttane di Vinegia Overo Ragionamento del Forestiero e del Gentilhuomo; nel quale dinota, il prezzo e la qualità di tutte le Cortigiane di Vinegia col nome delle Ruffiane: Et Alcune Novelle piacevoli da ridere fatte da alcune di queste famose Signore a gli suoi amorosi (Venice, 1535). Cf. Cathy Santore, “Julia Lombardo, ‘Som- tuosa Meretrize’: A Portrait by Property,” Renaissance Quarterly 41 (1988): 44-83 25 See Monica Chojnacka, Working Women of Early Modern Venice (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), 22-24, 54-55, for the homes of courtesans in the late sixteenth century. 26 Bernard Aikema and Beverly Louise Brown, Renaissance Venice and the North: Crosscurrents in the Time of Bellini, Diirer and Titian (Venice: Bompiani, 1999), 234-35 (entry written by Bernard Aikema). 27 For a range of interpretations, with further bibliography, see Rona Goffen, ed., Titians “Venus of Urbino” (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); and idem, Titians Women, 146-57. 28 Ibid., 146. 29 Aikema and Brown, Renaissance Venice and the North, 532-33 (entry written by Bert W. Meijer). 30 Lawner, Lives of the Courtesans, 79. See also Bert W. Meijer, “A proposito della Vanità della ricchezza e di Ludovico Pozzoserrato,” in Toeput a Treviso: Ludovico Pozzoserrato, Lodeivijk Topeut, pittore neerlandese nella, civiltà veneta, del tardo Cinquecento, ed. Stefania Mason Rinaldi and Domenico Luciani (Asolo: Acelum Edizioni, 1988), 119; and idem, “Flemish and Dutch Artists in Venetian Workshops: The Case of Jacopo Tintoretto,” in Aikema and Brown, Renaissance Venice and the North, 142. 31 ASV, Testamenti, Notarile, Antonio de Canali, B. 209: no. 172 (22 August 1538): “Io Elisabeta fiola del q. m. Hieronimo Condolmer, et moglier de S. Gabriel dj Agnolj. Et de la contrada al presente de S. Felixe, sana per gratia de messer domenedio de lo mente et de lo intelletto, ma del corpo inferma, essendo in letto, Et volendo ordenar lj mej benj ho facto chiamar per venir miss. Anzolo da Canal nodaro veneto.” There is a copy of this document in ibid, B. 211, no. 25. (Protocolus testamentorum rogator et scriptor per q. ser. Angelum de Canali N. V. qui obijt die v i mensis Octobris mdlxxiii). 32 Ibid.: “Et per mie comissarij de questo mio testamento vogio che sia messer Francesco da Sola, mio signor, messer Camillo Michiel da S. Zuane di Furlanj, mess. Vetor Trinchavilla, medego, et mess. Nicolo Cocho che sta qua da basso de caxa mio.” 33 Ibid: “Dechiaro che Hieronimo, Bernardin, Paula, & Laura, mie Fiolj, et he, sono del ditto Mess. Francesco da Sola. Et cosj, e, per la fede mia, anchora zurigo che Cipriana et Condolmera, mie he, sono del ditto mio signor Camillo Michiel, et che Julio, mio fio, è fiol de mess. Zuane Alvixe de Luca Varo ter.” Cf. similar attestations in Veronica Franco’s will: Margaret F. Rosenthal, The Honest Courtesan: Veronica Franco, Citizen and Writer in Sixteenth-Century Venice (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 76-81. For Zuan Alvixe de Luca Varoter, see Gustav Ludwig, “Archivalische Beitràgen zur Geschichte der venezianischen Kunst,” in Italienische Forschungen 4 (Berlin 1911), 72—73, citing ASV, Notarile, Testamenti, B. 1201:403 (Antonio Marsilio), the testament of Gabriele Vendramin of 3 Jan 1547 m.v. [=1548], for which one of the witnesses is “Zuan Alvixe varotter fo de ser Lucha.” 34 ASV, Testamenti, Notarile, Antonio de Canali, B. 209: no. 172. 35 ASV, Cancelleria Inferiore, Miscellanea Notai Diversi, B. 37, n. 28 (13 Sept 1538 and 9 Feb 1540 m.v. [=1541]). 36 For Gian Francesco Torresani, see the meticulous biography by Annaclara Cataldi Palau, Gian Francesco dAsola e la tipografia Aldina: La vita, le edizionhi, la biblioteca dell Asolano (Genoa: Sagep, 1998), especially 36-50. Assuming that Gian Francesco was married, since he had sons, Cataldi Palau found no record of a marriage and was not aware of his alliance with Elisabetta Condulmer. See also BMV, MS. It. cl VII, 480 (=7785), f. 201=212, Testament of Andrea de’ Franceschi, i March 1535—1 March 1541, cited by Michel 586

Hochmann, Peintres et commanditaires à Veni.se (1740-1628) (Rome: Ecole Francaise de Rome, 1992), 11:356-58, which refers to a “ser Francesco da Sola libraro quondam ser Andrea.” 37 ASV, Cancelleria Inferiore, Miscellanea Notai Diversi, B. 37, n. 28, C. I2V. 38 See Aikema and Brown, Renaissance Venice and the North, particularly Louisa C. Matthew, “Working Abroad: Northern Artists in the Venetian Ambient”; Bernard Aikema, “The Lure of the North: Netherlandish Art in Venetian Collections”; Caterina Limentani Virdis, “Across the Alps and to the Lagoon: Northern Artists in Venice during the Sixteenth Century,” and passim. 39 ASV, Cancelleria Inferiore, Miscellanea Notai Diversi, B. 37, n. 28, c. I2v, cc. i2r—13V. 40 Ibid., cc. ir-8r. 41 Yale University, Beinecke Library MS. 457, “Mores Italiae.” Cf. Peter Thornton, The Italian Renaissance Interior 1400-1600 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1991), 138-39. 42 ASV, Cancelleria Inferiore, Miscellanea Notai Diversi, B. 37, n. 28, cc. iir-nv. 43 Ibid., c. 13V. 44 Marinella Laini, “Le cortigiane e la musica,” in II gioco delLamore Le cortigiane, di Venezia dal trecento al settecento (Milan: Berenice, 1990), 95-97, 115. See also Lawner, Lives of the Courtesans, 53. 45 Cataldi Palau, Gian Francesco d’Asola e la tipografia Aldina, 361-68. Gian Francesco also had an older son, Andrea, probably by another woman, since he is not mentioned in Elisabettas will. Cataldi Palau suggests Gerolamo was born around 1330 and Bernardo around 1332. 46 ASV, Notarile, Testamenti, b. 1229, n. 299 (not. Cristoforo Rizzo): 16 Feb. 1500 m.v. (=1301); and ibid., b. 999, n. 229 (not. Marco de Tassis): 27 Apr. 1313: (a copy made at the proving of the testament after Girolamos death). 47 Ibid. 48 Sanudo, Diarii, 7:606-7 (7 August 1308); ibid., 7:609 (13 August 1308): ibid., 7:611 (13 August 1308): and ibid., 10:31 (19 March 1310). 49 ASV, Dieci Savi alle Decime, B. 42, no. 79 (22 August 1314). 50 ASV, Avogaria di Comun, Reg. 165 (Balla d’Oro, 1498-1344), f. 113V. 51 Sanudo, Diarii, 41:241 (27 Aprii 1526): “Et in questa sera, li Capi dii Conseio di X mandano a dir per li soi fanti a quelli è stà termina che se reprovino, et li hanno quasi per non legiptimi, che damatina vengano a li Cai di x. Et sono numero 30, di quali 14 vien a Conseio et il resto non, ma ben provadi, li quali sono li infrascripti. Prima: Quelli vien a Conseio ... (a list of fourteen names follows, including Sier Zuan Francesco Condolmer qu. sier Plironimo, qu. sier Zuan Francesco.” Seven are “reprovato” at this time; two are not; kand the others (including Zuan Francesco) are postponed, since they have no notation. 52 Ibid., 43:328-29 (23 November 1526); “In questo zorno, il Serenissimo con li Consieri et Capi di X fono per provar do zentilomeni, sier Alfonxo Valier di Sier Lorenzo, et leto iterum 1 processo, la pende. Ave: . . . Item, poi il processo di sier Zuan Francesco Condolmer qu. sier Fiironimo, et aldito li testimoni, non fo expedito, la pende; and ibid., 43:670 (17 Jan 1527m.v. = 1328): “Et il Serenissimo con li Consieri et Cai di x si reduseno per provar do zentilhomeni imputati esser bastardi, quali venivano a Conseio, videlicet che la sua cosa pendeva, sier Zuan Francesco Condolmer qu. sier H iron imo qu. sier Zuan Francesco di anni. . . . Et fu preso non fusse legiptimo. Et aldito il processo de sier Zuan Marcello di sier Andrea, qu. sier Zuanne, di anni 20, fu edam lui preso che ‘1 non fusse legiptimo.” For the revocation of noble status, see ASV, Avogaria di Comun, Reg. 165, f. 113V. 53 ASV, Cancelleria Inferiore, Miscellanea Notai Diversi, B. 37, n. 28, f. 8R: “Uno sacheto de canevaza con diverse scripture tra le qual erano uno instrumento de una caxa posta in S. Marcillian nel testamento de la soprascdpta defuncta nominada. Scripto per man de S. Sabastian Pilloto sotto el 1337adi 4 avosto. Et uno instrumento de quietandoli fatta per messer Zuan Francesco Condulmer fratello di essa diffuncta per suo nome, et per nome de mess. Eugenio suo fradello. Ad essa sua sorella sotto latino 1328 adj 29 lugio per man del q. m(esser) pre Alvixe Nadal piovan di S. Boldo et nodaro de Venetia. Et altre scripture pertinente alla dieta caxa quale altramente 11011 forno viste ne notade”; and ASV, Giudici delFEsaminador, Vendizion, R. 24, f. 73 (10 August 1537). 54 ASV, Giudici dell’Esaminador, Vendizion, R. 24, f. 73 (10 August 1537). 55 ASV, Dieci Savi sopra le decime, B. 97, no. 348 (30 January 1337 m.v. [=1338]): “Per obedire alla parte prexa nel eccellentissimo Conseglio de Pregadi sotto di xi ottobrio 1537, Magnifichi Signori X. Savij sopra lo Decime in execution della questa parte, io Isabetta Condolmor fo del magnifico Ffieronimo fo de messer Zuan Francesco, denotto a vostro Ex.mo Signore esser pervenuto in mi una casa posta in la contrada de San 587

Marzilian, la qual è malissima condicionata, et è voda za anno uno o più per haver bisogno di esser renovata tutta per esser antiquissima, la qual è allo eccellentissimo nel presento officio per dare 16 sudetto de fitto, ma fina non vien fabricata, non io atrova di affilarla, non trazo essa alcuna. Et quando che la sia honestamente conza, io medesima la voglio abitare, piax- endo al nostro Signor idio.” 56 Rosenthal, The Honest Courtesan, 66; Joanne Ferraro, Marriage Wars in Late Renaissance Venice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 114. See, for example, ASV, Senato, Terra, Reg. 32, 1342-1343, c. 125, which specified that legislation restricting the behavior of prostitutes applied to those with or without husbands: “Se intendino etiam meretrice quelle che havendo marito non habitano con sui mariti, ma stano separate et habino comercio con uno over più homeni.” See also Matteo Bandello, Novelle, ed. Francesco Flora (Milan 1966), II:3i, who wrote of a custom in Venice whereby a courtesan would take six or seven lovers, “assigning to each a certain night of the week when she dines and sleeps with him. During the day she is free to entertain whomever she wishes so that her mill never lies idle and does not rust from lack of the opportunity to grind grain. . . . Each lover pays a monthly salary, and their agreement includes the provision that the courtesan is allowed to have foreigners as overnight guests.” For the practice of concubinage with a focus on the seventeenth century, see Alexander Cowan, “Patricians and Partners in Early Modern Venice,” in Medieval and Renaissance Venice, ed. Ellen E. Kittell and Thomas F. Madden (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1999), 276—93. 57 La tariffa delle puttane di Vinegia (1333): “Credo che homai la fama è in tutto C1 mondo De la Lombarda, che d’oro e terreni / Ricca si fè con la virtù del tondo. / E tutti hebbé gli spron, e tutti i freni / Di voler e tener un amatore, / Si che giovando mai non si scateni. / Fu l’origine sua da un zappatore / Che stentando e soffrendo a l’ambra et al sole / Si guadagnava il pan con suo sudore. / Venne in Vinegia, come altra suole, Scalza, e con drappo di colore de’ prati, / Raccamato di rose e di viole. / E s’altri annal di lei vi son mostrati, / Stimategli più carchi d’heresie. / Che le vane talhor teste de’ Frati. / Ch’io non vi venderei folle e bugie / Per città, per castella ne per oro, / In su ‘1 tenor de le parole mie. / Fior puossi dir la Fata del thesoro; / Ma solo per lo ingegno suo sottile, / Non per beltà che fosse in lei l’honoro. / Pur lassatela star, che fora vile / A comprar carne infracidita e vecchia / Di vacca, per cibar un huom gentile. / Dicon che venti scudi le apparecchia / L’huom che assagiar la vuole, e fanne acquisto / D ’un mal che punge più che vespe o pecchia / Importa anchor ch’aggiuntarebbe Christo, / E di ciò dimandate a Gian Manenti, / Huomo per altro acccorto et assai provisto; / Ma in lei tanto non hebbe gli occhi intenti / De l’intelletto, che potesse trarne / Le spaliere prestate e gli altri argenti.” 58 David and Ellen Rosand, “ ‘Barbara Strozzi di Santa Sofia’ and ‘II Prete Genoevese.’ On the Identity of a Portrait by Bernardo Strozzi,” in The Art Bulletin 63 (1981): 249-38. 59 Doretta Davanzo Poli, “Inventario delle cose di Giulia Leoncini, cortigiana in Venezia nel secolo xvi,” in II costume nell’età del rinascimento, ed. Dora Liscia Bemporad (Florence: Edifir, 1988), 273. See also Santore, “Julia Lombardo, ‘Somtuosa Meretrize,’ ” 44-83. 60 Niccolò Franco, Le pistole vulgari- di. M. Niccolò Franco (Venice: Gardane, 1583), f. 223v. 61 Andrea Calmo, Lettere, ed. Vittorio Rossi (Turin: Ermanno Loescher, 1888), i v :i6 , 284-86. 62 Leggi e memorie venete sulla prostituzione fino all caduta della repub- lica (Venice: Marco Visentini, a spese del Conte di Orford 1870-72), nos. 105, 108-9: ASV, Senato, Terra, Reg. 32, 1342-1343 Agosto, c. 125. English translation from David Chambers and Brian Pullan, eds., Venice: A Documentary History; 1450—1630 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992). See also Rosenthal, The Honest Courtesan, 60-61; and Brian Pullan, Rich and Poor in Renaissance Venice: The Social Institutions of a Catholic State, to 1620 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971), 375-82. 63 Leggi e memorie venete sulla prostituzione fino all caduta della repub- lica, no. 105, 108-9: ASV, Senato, Terra, Reg. 32, 1542-1543 (21 Feb. 1542 m.v.). 64 Thomas Nashe, The Unfortunate Traveler, or the Life of Jack Wilton (London: printed by T. Scarlet for C. Burby, 1594; reprint, New York: Greenberg, Publisher, 1926), 76-77. 65 Samuel Putnam, ed., The Works of Aretino (Chicago: Pascal Covici, 1926), 2:237, Letter 1, 291 (15 Dec 1537). See in particular Mary Rogers, “Fashioning Identities for the Renaissance Courtesan,” in Fashioning Identities in Renaissance Art, ed. Mary Rogers (London: Ashgate, 2000). 66 Leggi e memorie venete sulla prostituzione fino all caduta della republican no. 118, 122: ASV, Provveditori alla Sanità, Capitolare, 11, 1574—1689, c. 37 (20 December 1578). Cf. Elizabeth S. Cohen, “Seen and Known: Prostitutes in the Cityscape of Late-Sixteenth Century Rome,” Renaissance Studies 12:3 (1998): 392-409. 67 Leggi e memorie venete sulla prostituzione fino all caduta della repub- lica, no. 124, 127: ASV, Provveditori sopra le Pompe, Capitolare, 1, c. 46 (23 September 1598). 588

68 Mary Margaret Newett, ed., Canon Pietro Casolds Pilgrimage to Jerusalem in the Year 1494 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1907), 144. Cf. Coryat, Cory ads Crudities, (1905), 1:400; Il gioco dell*amore n 169—70. 69 Pietro Aretino, Letters, vi, 249, trans. Thomas Chubb, cited in Lawner, Lives of the Courtesans, 23. 70 Leggi e memorie venete sulla prostituzione fino all caduta della repub- lica, no. 117, 121-22: ASV, Consiglio de’ Dieci, Comuni Reg. 33, 1577-78, c. 167V. 71 ASV, Cancelleria Inferiore, Miscellanea Notai Diversi, B. 37, n. 28, 91-: “Duj papafigi de ormesin negro . . . Voltj rassi da stravestir, no. sette, Voltj con barba da stravestir, no. tre.” 72 Coryat, Coryats Crudities, 1:386. 73 Bert Miejer, “A proposito della Vanità della ricchezza e di Ludovico Pozzoserrato,” 115-16, in Aikema and Brown, Renaissance Venice and the North, 602 (cat.186). The caption reads: “Petrus de lode fecit; larvatae incedunt venetae, cur luce puellae? / an fugitant lucem, si bene quid laciunt? / luxuriant animi rebus plerumque secundis / divitiis aliter luxuriosus amor.” 74 Rosenthal, The Honest Courtesan, 133. 75 Monica Chojnacka, “Women, Charity and Community in Early Modern Venice: The Casa delle Zitelle,” Renaissance Quarterly 51 (1998): 68—91; and idem, Working Women of Early Modern Venice, 121-37; Pullan, Rich and Poor in Renaissance Venice, 386—91. 76 See Bernard Aikema and Dulcia Meijers, Nel regno dei poveri. Arte e storia dei grandi ospedali veneziani in età moderna 1454—1595 (Venice: IRE, 1989), 241—48; Franca Semi, Gli "Ospizi” di Veriezia (Venice: Edizioni Helvetia, 1983), 282; and Pullan, Rich and Poor in Renaissance Venice, 391-93. 77 Giuseppe Ellero, “L’oro di ricchi e di poveri nei documenti degli ospedali veneziani,” in L’oro di Venezia. Oreficerie, argenti egioelli di Venezia e delle città venete ed. Piero Pazzi (Venice: Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, 1996), 76, citing IRE, Derelitti, E 182, 6 (4 August 1638); see also Der. E. 182-85. 78 See Erasmus Weddingen, “Jacopo Tintoretto und die Musik,” Artibus et Historiae 10 (1984): 67-119. 79 Ibid. 80 Rosenthal, The Honest Courtesan, 139. 81 Cited by Virginia Cox, “The Single Self: Feminist Thought and the Marriage Market in Early Modern Venice,” Renaissance Quarterly 48:3 (1995), 544. See Moderata Fonte (Modesta Pozzo), The Worth of Women: Wherein Is Clearly Revealed Their Nobility and Their Superiority to Men, ed. and trans. Virginia Cox (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997). 82 Lodovico Dolce, Dialogo della institution delle donne (Venice, 1543), cited by Junkerman, “The Lady and the Laurel,” 49.

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READING 8

Paula C. Clarke The Business of Prostitution in Early Renaissance Venice Between 1360 and 1460 the Venetian government established a system of legalized prostitution under the supervision of government officials and confined, in theory, to a limited area of the city. The authorities also attempted to concentrate the management of licit brothels in the hands of women, who thereby emerged as the effective entrepreneurs of the sex trade. This article describes the organization of Venetian prostitution in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries and the relations among government officials, brothel-keepers, and prostitutes. It illustrates the mechanisms of debt and credit used in the sex trade, which often kept the prostitutes subservient to the brothelkeepers and to their other creditors. An effort is made to assess the degree to which sex workers might become integrated into local society and to suggest the general trends in Venetian policy toward prostitution into the sixteenth century.

Introduction During the past few decades, under the stimulus of a growing interest in the history of gender and sexuality, considerable attention has been paid to the history of prostitution. Consequently, a growing body of information is now available regarding the regulation of the sex trade in Europe in the late Middle Ages and Renaissance, the restrictions governing the lives of prostitutes, and prostitutes’ often successful efforts to evade control. However, this increased knowledge has not led to uniformity of opinion among historians about the place of prostitutes in the society of their day or the effects prostitution had on the lives of the women involved. Rather, scholars seem to share the ambivalence that characterized attitudes toward the sex trade throughout Christian Europe during the medieval and early modern periods. Ecclesiastics from the time of Saint Augustine condemned prostitution as sinful while also insisting it was necessary in order to protect decent women from men’s uncontrollable carnal passions and to avoid 590

worse sins such as sodomy, adultery, rape, and incest. From the late Middle Ages into at least the sixteenth century, European authorities often applied such ideas by legalizing prostitution even while they hedged it round with spatial and temporal restrictions designed to keep its sinful aspects and baneful influence away from the general public. Modern historians seem to reflect these conflicting views on prostitution. Some stress that it was regarded as morally reprehensible, and that prostitutes were defined as fallen women who needed to be contained, controlled, and distinguished from respectable women by particular signs. From this point of view, prostitution and its practitioners were stigmatized and marginalized from respectable society. On the other hand, historians have also emphasized that prostitution was generally accepted in late medieval and early modern society, and that it was a widespread phenomenon, pursued sporadically even by women who were not professionals in the field. Sex workers, it is argued, might establish relatively normal relations with those around them, and, even if they defied the controls imposed on them, little action was taken unless they seriously disturbed their neighbors. Therefore, these historians feel, prostitutes were not really marginalized and stigmatized but rather integrated to a surprising degree into the society around them.4 In this second interpretation, economic considerations have an important part to play, as prostitution could provide women with a better income than did other forms of work available to them. Their earnings allowed sex workers to hire servants, make purchases, and, potentially, become valued customers of local shopkeepers and artisans. Thus, money could counteract the moral stigma normally attached to the sex trade and allow the more successful prostitutes or courtesans to gain a higher socioeconomic status than that attainable by poor but respectable women. Ultimately, then, according to this kind of argument, prostitution might be a good option for women in that it could open the way to a higher income and a better life, despite all the moral strictures surrounding the profession. This basic question of whether prostitution was a permanent stigma or a work option like any other and a vehicle toward social betterment will underlie the 591

discussion that follows. Here prostitution is examined within one particular context — that of Venice between 1360 and 1460. During that period the sex trade became legalized within the city, although it was in theory limited to a single brothel area and conducted under government supervision. This obviously involved some marginalization and considerable control over prostitutes’ activities, but it also gave sex workers a legitimate role and place in local society. Moreover, the Venetian system favored women as the official brothel-keepers of the city, enabling them to make money licitly in the sex trade and to become its effective entrepreneurs. It is, therefore, possible to evaluate the consequences of this particular organization of prostitution not just on the prostitutes, but also on the brothel-keepers, or “matrons.”6 Although precise statistics are, as usual, lacking, some sense can be gained of these women’s relative poverty or wealth, economic and social integration, and the degree to which they could use their work to construct a life for themselves. To carry out this analysis, first a description will be given of the circumstances in which Venetian prostitution was conducted in the late fourteenth and first half of the fifteenth centuries. Several authors have dealt rather generally with this subject, but more information and greater precision will be offered here to provide the context in which sex workers operated.7 Then a closer look will be taken at the activities of both matrons and prostitutes during the first century of their legal presence in Venice.

Prostitution in the First Castelletto, 1360-1460 During the later Middle Ages, Venice followed a pattern similar to many other European towns: urban authorities moved from repressing prostitution, to attempting to contain it spatially, to, finally, setting up municipal brothels where the sex trade could be conducted legally. In Venice, legislation of the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries was geared toward outlawing at least the public manifestations of commercialized sex. Venetians were required to expel prostitutes and pimps from their property, and keepers of inns and taverns were prohibited from allowing prostitutes to live or work on their premises.9 If these regulations by no means eliminated prostitution from the city, they probably ensured that it remained a marginal phenomenon. This policy of repression underwent a major change in 1358, however, when the Venetian government, like authorities 592

elsewhere, decided not only to legalize prostitution, but also to set up a single official brothel area regulated and supervised by public officials. Various explanations have been offered for this general shift in policy within European towns. Some historians conclude that governments simply realized that they could not eliminate prostitution and were therefore better off controlling it; others argue for an evolution toward greater intervention in private life and more control over sources of public disorder, such as the sexual desires of youth. The Black Death and its demographic effects are sometimes thought to have had an influence, in that they increased concerns about population and about nonreproductive sexual practices such as sodomy.10 Moreover, in a post-plague world where not only population, but also revenue declined dramatically, prostitution might offer a way to help fill houses vacated by plague victims and revive the depleted income of inns, taverns, and the town in general.11 The year in which prostitution was legalized in Venice — 1358, a decade after the first traumatic visit of the Black Death — suggests some connection with the famous plague. However, the government’s motives do not seem to have been directly financial, as the sex trade in Venice was initially not taxed.12 Nor was it intended to stimulate the business of tavern- and innkeepers, as prostitutes were at first prohibited from working in such establishments. Nevertheless, the decision to tolerate prostitution had an economic motivation that needs to be understood within the context of Venetians’ experiences during the decade from 1348 to 1358. After the drastic population decline occasioned by the Black Death, Venice witnessed not only the conspiracy of Marin Falier (1354-55), but also crippling wars, first with Genoa (1350-55) and then with the King of Hungary (1356-58).13 By 1358 the city was so financially exhausted that the Venetian ruling class chose to end the war with Hungary even at the cost of abandoning their territories on the Dalmatian coast and the title Duke of Dalmatia, which the doges had proudly held for centuries. That the legalization of prostitution followed the peace with Hungary by only a few months suggests that it formed part of a program to revitalize the city after a decade of plague, war, heavy taxation, and disruptions in the city’s vital international trade.

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The legislation of 1358 merely hints at the motivation behind the new policy toward prostitution, as it states that it is “necessary because of the multitude of people entering and leaving our city to find a suitable location in Venice as a dwelling-place for prostitutes.”14 This “multitude” must refer above all to the numerous foreign merchants who visited Venice for commercial purposes, suggesting that the government viewed prostitution primarily as an incentive to encourage foreign merchants to keep frequenting the city.15 Since these traders were normally resident for short periods of time, without their families, they looked for diversion in the taverns and among the women who offered company and sexual services for a fee. Making it easier for them to find such entertainment might help boost Venice’s commerce after the numerous problems the city had experienced. Such thinking on the part of Venice’s patricians would be rather similar to that of the authorities of other commercial cities, such as Bruges, where leniency toward the sex trade was connected with a desire to maximize the city’s attractiveness to foreign merchants.16 That legalizing prostitution was intended primarily to serve the merchant community is also indicated by the government’s intention, from the start, to locate the public brothels in the chief commercial area of the city, the Rialto.17 True, prostitutes had already established themselves there, attracted by the ready money of the businessmen and artisans frequenting the area and aided by the numerous inns and taverns of the district, which lent themselves to the trade, whatever the regulations might be.18 Nevertheless, that the Venetian government was prepared to locate a business generally seen as sinful and sordid in its most prestigious commercial zone, where nobles and wealthy foreign merchants regularly gathered, indicates that they had a very clear idea of the role that prostitution was to play.19 The idea of legalizing prostitution within the city may nevertheless have created some dissension within the Venetian ruling elite. In the legislation of 1358, the Great Council delegated the duty of finding an appropriate location for the public brothels to the Capisestieri, whose duties involved maintaining order in the six sestieri (districts) of the city, and who had been granted jurisdiction over prostitutes and pimps, as well as foreigners, inns, and taverns.20 However, the 594

Capi seem initially to have hesitated to carry out their task. Two years after legislation had directed them to decide where at the Rialto the municipal brothels should be established, they had still not found a suitable site; rather, they were continuing to expel the prostitutes. Consequently, in 1360, affirming once again that prostitutes were “absolutely necessary in this town,” the Great Council established a deadline for the magistrates to find an acceptable location, adding that, even if they failed to do so, the brothel area would still be created.21 Only then did the Capi finally propose an acceptable place to house the prostitutes.22 This apparent reluctance on the part of the Capisestieri most probably arose from a concern for public order at the Rialto. One of the permanent objections to prostitution was that it went hand-in-hand not only with drunkenness, gambling, and generally indecent behavior offensive to good citizens, but also with crimes of theft and violence.23 Such dangers were already evident in the period 1358-60, when prostitutes were being allowed to establish themselves permanently at the Rialto. For example, in May 1360 an investigation was held into the death of a Maffeo Granella, after he had been assaulted in a brothel at the Rialto run by a Franceschina from Murano.24 Maffeo had quarreled with one of the prostitutes and struck her, whereupon Franceschina and others had intervened. When Maffeo turned against them, there arrived on the scene Franceschina’s “familiar,” Giovanni, who lived in the brothel and evidently acted as its protector. Maffeo then attempted to escape, and an armed struggle ensued in which he was so severely wounded that he later died. One can understand why such incidents would have made the Capi reluctant to accept the presence of prostitution in the heart of the city. In fact, once they had finally agreed to do so, the first measure they took was to appoint six armed custodians to keep order and prevent fights from breaking out.25 Unfortunately, the legislation of 1358-60 does not indicate exactly where the brothel area was finally set up, but it must have been mainly in the parish of San Matteo, or San Maffeo as the Venetians called it, in the western section of the Rialto area. This parish was home to some of the more infamous inns of the city and was generally of a lower reputation than the adjoining parish of San Giovanni Elemosinario, into which the prostitution district probably extended a 595

little.26 The public brothels would therefore have been away from the immediate vicinity of the Rialto bridge and from the banks, most of the government offices, and the loggia where Venetian and foreign merchants met to exchange information and settle business deals. It would instead have been closer to the public markets that were frequented by people of every degree. This location was undoubtedly deliberately chosen in order to keep the potentially offensive business of prostitution at one remove from the more dignified commercial area. Indeed, the intention to keep prostitution in a subordinate position was already evident in the legislation of 1360, which, while permitting prostitutes to stay at the Rialto, ordered them to remain in their callicelli (side streets or alleyways), and prohibited them from soliciting in one of the major streets leading to the state-owned butcher shops. It also forbade them to wander about the city except on Saturday, which was market day in St. Mark’s Square.27 Such directives demonstrate the permanently ambivalent attitude that characterized urban policies on prostitution; even while the government was stating that prostitutes served a vital function for the city, it continued to regard them as sinners leading an immoral and offensive life that should be hidden as far as possible from the public gaze. As was also the case in other towns, the Venetians required all prostitutes to live in the designated brothel area, which they tried to close off from the neighboring sections of the city. While it is not clear what steps were taken to achieve enclosure, access was evidently permitted through a single major gate.28 This arrangement was probably the origin of the name given this district — the Castelletto, or small castle, which was applied to municipal brothels in other towns as well.29 The use of a main gate was most probably intended to enhance public security. If a crime was committed during the day, the gate could be locked and a bell rung to alert everyone present to aid in capturing the culprit.30 At night the main gate was locked, not just to prevent prostitution from expanding to other areas of the city or disturbing residents, but also because allowing the Castelletto to remain open would have increased the risk of brawls, violence, and crime conducted under cover of darkness.31 Responsibility for drawing up the initial regulations for the Castelletto was evidently entrusted to the Capisestieri, but, since their archive has almost 596

completely disappeared, the earliest rules regarding the municipal brothels have to be deduced from later references. Initially, those involved in prostitution were supposed to remain permanently within the Castelletto and, apart from Saturdays, were not permitted to leave it without the permission of the Capi.32 Such strict regulation was impossible to apply, however, and the authorities were constantly presented with the problem of prostitution’s spilling out into the rest of the Rialto and beyond.33 In 1416 the Capi seem to have accepted this reality, as they decreed that prostitutes and their ruffiane (female intermediaries) living anywhere in the city had to wear a typical symbol of prostitution — a yellow scarf — when they went about in public.34 However, according to the Senate, the women used this concession to live and ply their trade everywhere in the city. Therefore, five years later, the Senators annulled the ruling in an effort once again to limit prostitution to the Castelletto.35 This vacillating policy is typical of the approach of the Venetian authorities to the question of prostitution, as various factors made it difficult for them to maintain a consistent line. One problem was that constant interaction between the prostitutes and the officials appointed to deal with them led at times to personal bonds that undermined the officials’ willingness to enforce government regulation. The Capi’s decision of 1416, just mentioned, to allow the prostitutes to move about Venice practically at will is probably an instance in point. The degree to which patricians who served as Capi might become advocates of prostitutes’ interests is demonstrated by a case against Giacomo Davanzago, who acted as Capo for the sestiere of Santa Croce in 1398. On that occasion, he intervened in the effort of a patrician, supported by other officials, to expel two prostitutes from a house they were illegally occupying. Although no mention is made of Giacomo’s relations with these prostitutes, a real sympathy must have existed for him to intervene on their side, doing, as is stated in the case, exactly the opposite of what his office required. He and his men attacked the proprietor ofthe house and his companions with a sword, and forcibly gave the keys back to the prostitutes.36 Such behavior eventually led the Venetian government to try to prevent such relationships from developing by forbidding officials to eat, drink, or sleep with the prostitutes, or even to receive flowers or other gifts from them.37 The flowers singled out for 597

special mention were roses, which then as now possessed a romantic significance; presumably, the sex workers were deliberately cultivating amorous relations with those responsible for containing them in order to undermine the restrictions on their activities. In addition to the Capi, more important bodies, such as the Senate, were not always prepared to enforce the legislation on prostitution.38 From the start, the authorities’ approach to prostitution was pragmatic, and their subsequent policies were much influenced by financial considerations.39 The consequences of this approach are evident in their position on prostitutes’ presence in inns and taverns. Initially, prostitutes had been banned from these locales in order to maintain them as decent places where respectable people could go.40 However, prostitutes’ presence in inns and taverns was useful, as it led to more business and increased the income from the tax on retail sales of wine. Since this tax was one of the main sources of revenue for the government, the Senate decided in 1421 to revoke the original rule and permit prostitutes not only to sleep in inns and taverns, but also to gamble in them, up to a limit.41 In this ruling the Senators explicitly admitted that their motive was to increase the business of the inn- and tavern-keepers at the Rialto, and, thereby, the government’s income. Although the authorities realized the deleterious effects of allowing prostitutes to frequent taverns, they chose to set aside moral considerations in favor of fiscal interests. Subsequently, policy shifted repeatedly, depending on what prevailed — a desire to increase the income from the tax on wine sales or concern about the negative effects of permitting prostitution in the city’s inns and taverns.42 Such vacillation was encouraged by some private Venetian citizens who were happy to benefit financially from prostitution even if this meant contravening the laws. Not only did proprietors constantly rent to prostitutes outside the Castelletto, but in 1467 the nobles who owned two inns at the Rialto lobbied to have prostitutes be allowed to work in them, arguing that, without the prostitutes’ presence, they would not be able to obtain the rents necessary to pay the high taxes imposed on their properties.43 Significantly, the government accepted this argument, even while insisting that prostitutes not sit at the door or outside the taverns to attract business. Evidently, the Venetian authorities were most 598

concerned about public manifestations of immoral or obscene behavior and the effects these might have; rather hypocritically, they were happy to benefit financially from what they attempted to hide away.44 Such contradictory attitudes and policies must have contributed to undermining the limitations placed on prostitution and to ensuring that the goal of containing it was never really achieved.45 By 1423, problems regarding the enforcement (or lack of it) of the regulations surrounding prostitution led the principal Venetian judicial body, the Quarantia (Council of Forty), to issue what amounted to a new code on the subject. This legislation constitutes the first extant summary of the rules governing prostitution in Venice and provides an idea of how the trade was being conducted in the early fifteenth century.46 The new regulations included some relaxations of earlier rulings, which must have proved unenforceable. For example, while the prostitutes were still required to live in the Castelletto, they were now allowed to spend the day “alle volte de Rialto” — in other words, in certain vaults or warehouses in the Rialto area.47 The legislation specified which vaults these were and clarified that they had “always” been used by prostitutes. The authorities were therefore recognizing that prostitution had in fact never really been successfully contained within the Castelletto. Now they were prepared to accept a limited extension, possibly because the vaults used by the prostitutes were in obscure places, for example, behind some of the local inns. By specifying these premises, the authorities probably hoped to limit the further spread of prostitution beyond this customary area, which proved, as usual, impossible to achieve. These new regulations of 1423 also extended the opening hours of the Castelletto and granted the prostitutes a liberty they had probably already been enjoying — they could spend the night outside the Castelletto if they wished to sleep with a client. On the other hand, some concessions previously made to prostitutes, such as permission to sleep and gamble in inns and taverns, were revoked, and other customs that had crept in contrary to the laws were also prohibited. These included prostitutes’ or their pimps’ keeping houses outside the Rialto area and using these not only to live but to work in, thereby annoying the good citizens who wanted to “live honestly.” Similarly, it was forbidden for anyone to marry a 599

prostitute and have her continue working in the Castelletto. Marriage with a prostitute was traditionally advocated by the Church as a way to rescue these women and was not supposed to lead to effective pimping. The regulations of 1423 refer not just to the prostitutes, but also to the matrons, or the women who organized prostitution in the brothel zone. As has been seen in the case of Franceschina da Murano, such women were already operating at the Rialto prior to the creation of the Castelletto. Subsequently, the Venetian government accepted and confirmed their role; in fact, the rules of 1423 prohibited keeping prostitutes in any other way than that followed by the matrons of the Castelletto. This is not to say that male pimps disappeared from Venice. On the contrary, they are frequently mentioned, but they were not officially tolerated; increasingly severe legislation was issued against them during the fifteenth century, and they were occasionally banished temporarily from the city.48 In concentrating the management of official prostitution in the hands of women, Venice differed from other Italian towns, where men did at times direct public brothels.49 The Venetians’ position is, therefore, somewhat unusual and may be related to assumptions about proper male behavior. For example, in 1423, when the Quarantia revoked permission for prostitutes to gamble and sleep in inns and taverns, it justified this decision on the grounds that the presence of prostitutes in these locales was “a very bad and wicked thing, because, as is clear to everyone, it has made many become not only useless but even thieves, for, having consumed their own wealth illicitly lazing about with the prostitutes and gambling, they now want to live from others’ work” rather than by the sweat of their own brow.50 Evidently, then, the Venetian elite subscribed to a kind of mercantile ethic according to which men were expected to work hard, be disciplined, and make money to sustain their family and their city. Laziness and self-indulgence meant consuming rather than producing wealth and incited men toward parasitism and crimes such as theft. Relying on the earnings of prostitutes also inverted the normal gender relations, by which men should support women and not vice versa. It led to pimps’ threatening and even beating the prostitutes, which the Venetian authorities condemned; proper social order required that men should control but also protect women.51 Pimping by men must therefore have seemed to Venetian 600

authorities an inversion of acceptable male attitudes and potentially threatening to the very fabric of society. In contrast to this vision of male pimps as parasitic wastrels, the attitudes of the Venetian elite toward the prostitutes were much more nuanced. It is sometimes stated that, prior to the Reformation, only neutral terms were used to describe prostitutes, but this could hardly be the case, given the attitudes to sex propagated by Christian authorities.52 Rather, the terminology used to describe prostitutes reflected the traditional ambivalence referred to above. A sense of the immorality of the trade is evident in the term sinner, which was regularly applied to sex workers in Venetian legislation. However, at the same time, the Venetian elite manifested considerable sympathy and pity for the misery and poverty of prostitutes’ lives. In Venetian legislation prostitutes were repeatedly called “poor,” “wretched,” even “poor little prostitutes”; significant is the term Mamola by which they were generally known.53 Originally signifying a type of violet, mamola came by extension to denote a young woman, immature and inexperienced.54 Its application to prostitutes suggests that, despite their involvement in what was considered immoral work, they were viewed as young and defenseless, vulnerable to the ruses and manipulation of those around them. Repeatedly, in fact, the government stepped in to protect them from exploitation and violence. Perhaps the Venetians’ limitation of brothel-keeping to women was regarded in part as a means of protecting the prostitutes, as male brothel-keepers were sometimes seen as more exploitative and violent.55 Moreover, the Venetian authorities may have felt that matrons would more easily accept a system of government control that was intended to provide justice to all concerned, including the prostitutes. According to the rules imposed by the government, both matrons and mamole were required to register with the Capisestieri. As of 1410, the Capi exercised some control over brothels’ finances to ensure not only that the establishments’ creditors received their due, but also that the prostitutes were not cheated. The rules stipulated that the money they made was to be deposited in a locked box kept in each brothel and opened once a month in the office and in the presence of the Capi.56 These officials could then ensure that the creditors of the brothels were paid, starting with the owners of the premises and the custodians of 601

the Castelletto, after which the other creditors would receive a part of the debt due them, pro rata. Further, the Capi kept an account for every prostitute, in which both debts and credits were registered. Each could see her financial situation when she wanted. She could thus be relatively certain that the account was kept correctly and that, through her work, she would eventually be able to pay off her debts completely and become again a free woman — a goal the Venetian government evidently had at heart.57

The Matrons of the Castelletto After this sketch of Venetian regulations on prostitution, closer attention can be given to the role of women in the trade, particularly the matrons who acted as its entrepreneurs. Especially useful in this regard are the records oftwo notaries who drew up many acts for matrons and prostitutes at the Rialto. About one of these, Bernardo de Rodulfis, there is little information beyond that his office was at the Rialto and that he died in 1400.58 The second, Cecchino Alberti, is better known, as he was a grammar teacher as well as a notary and became a considerable literary figure. He wrote poetry in both Latin and Italian and belonged to various literary circles, as is clear from his exchange of verses with other writers and humanists.59 As was typical of notaries of the day, both Bernardo and Cecchino sought government posts as a source of income, and both acted as notary of the Capisestieri. Rodulfis did so for several years in the 1390s, managing to keep his job even when the Capi tried to fire him in 1397.60 Subsequently, for a period at the beginning of the fifteenth century, Cecchino acted as notary for the same officials. It is because of their connection with the Capi that both notaries drew up a relatively large number of private documents for matrons and prostitutes, sometimes doing so within the magistrates’ office. Even with this notarial documentation, however, the matrons of the Castelletto remain rather shadowy figures, as there is little information on their origins and careers before they emerge as managers of brothels. As far as it is possible to ascertain, they were normally unmarried, almost always foreign, and possessed very limited financial resources.61 Thus they resembled their prostitutes who, in Venice as elsewhere in this period, usually came from outside the city and were 602

often initially destitute.62 In fact, the matrons were probably prostitutes who had reached the age when they needed to think about alternative ways of making a living.63 If their whole experience had been in the sex trade and they did not have enough income to support themselves in any other way, their best solution was probably moving into the managerial side of the business. Nevertheless, an occasional matron does seem to have a somewhat higher standing than the norm. One of the leading brothel-keepers in Venice in the late fourteenth century was Jacoba, daughter of Muzolo de’ Baladori from Monteveglio.64 Although her nickname, Florentina, suggests a connection with Florence, her home town of Monteveglio was close to Bologna; she may have been the daughter of a dyer from Bologna who became well enough established in his adopted city to gain citizenship in 1351.65 Her claim to Venetian citizenship and her use of a surname as well as her family’s place of origin suggests that she aspired to a higher social status than the typical prostitute. As further support for this possibility, her child, Marco Baffo, bore a patrician surname and may therefore have been fathered by a Venetian nobleman.66 That the boy took his father’s name attests to a fairly serious and long-term relationship between the father and Jacoba, who was able to be relatively generous to her son. In the early 1390s she gave him a house and 400 ducats, a considerable gift for a person in her position.67 Possibly she had received these assets from Marco’s father, and was passing them on to him as a kind of inheritance. Jacoba’s experience thus seems rather similar to that of a sixteenth- century courtesan like Veronica Franco, who came from a citizen family and whose relationships included at least one patrician, who fathered a child with her.68 Jacoba, too, may initially have been a superior-level prostitute, who, however, ended her career as the matron of a public brothel. As Giovanni Scarabello has pointed out, the organization of prostitution in Venice was characterized, like so much of the city’s economy, by a mixture of public and private enterprise, with the state drawing up the general terms within which private initiatives were undertaken.69 As demonstrated above, the government established the basic rules of prostitution, but it was left to the matrons to organize the day-to-day operation of the trade. Setting up a brothel required a fairly large expenditure, and the matrons, who had little capital, relied constantly on credit. 603

However, dealing on credit was normal in commercial operations of the day, and in Venice it was relatively easy to obtain financing for a potentially profitable venture. Since prostitution clearly generated a lot of money, the matrons seem to have had little difficulty in acquiring credit not just from the shopkeepers and artisans at the Rialto, but also from the patrician elite. As will be illustrated below, their reliance on credit drew the matrons into the very active business world of the city centered at the Rialto, while it also located them within a system of debt and obligation that enabled others to profit from the sex trade as well. The matrons’ first necessity in establishing their business was to acquire suitable premises. They did this by renting housing from Venetian patricians or other wealthy families who owned property at the Rialto.70 The buildings might consist of single-floor houses or shops, or of large structures, with at least two floors and, possibly, with smaller houses or shops attached.71 As elsewhere, there was often a fairly large reception room possibly with bedrooms off it and certainly on the floor above.72 When the Castelletto was open, there might be a large number of people congregated in the reception area,73 and, while some of the clientele consisted of foreign merchants,74 perhaps more came from the artisan and worker population of the city.75 Venetian patricians seem rarely to have frequented the Castelletto, perhaps because they had access to servants, slaves, and lower- class but respectable women for their sexual adventures.76 Although there is little evidence of how the matrons furnished their brothels, they evidently recognized the importance of creating an impression of luxury and elegance. They might, for example, add a touch of class by draping the benches in their reception area with decorative covers called bancali; these cloths were often made of costly fabrics like tapestry or velvet, and were sometimes embroidered.77 Also potentially expensive were beds, the most important furnishings the matrons had to supply. Even if the matrons limited themselves to the simpler forms of beds rather than the large and complex ones with headboards and attached chests, these items, with their mattresses, cushions, sheets, and bed-coverings, would have represented a considerable capital outlay if bought.78 It is indicative of the matrons’ limited funds that they often chose not to purchase these goods, but, rather, rented the furniture and decorative articles they needed from the numerous 604

strazzaroli, or secondhand dealers, at the Rialto, some of whom, including the occasional woman, specialized in renting household goods.79 Apart from renting and furnishing their premises, the major expense of the matrons lay in clothing their prostitutes, who certainly did not possess the funds to acquire the elaborate garments considered necessary for their job. The matrons went to considerable expense to obtain elegant clothes for their mamole, undoubtedly hoping to enhance their desirability by creating around them an atmosphere of beauty and luxury. Descriptions of these clothes show how impressive they could be, as they included outfits in silk, velvet, or even in gold brocade, with pearl buttons. Belts of silver or of silk with silver fittings were as popular with prostitutes as with the rest of the Venetian population.80 Furs were an important item, as were shoes, whose beauty might call forth the erotic associations connected with the sight of women’s usually hidden feet.81 Such glamorous clothes were an attraction to the young women involved, who otherwise would never have been able to gain access to such finery, and who may have enjoyed the fantasy of imagining themselves members of wealthier social groups. The garments must have also enhanced the brothel experience for the customers, as artisans and workers did not normally have the opportunity to consort with such well-dressed women. While they probably did not mistake the prostitutes of the brothel for gentlewomen (an illusion deliberately fostered by procuresses in other circumstances), the visual and tactile impression created by these expensive clothes must have heightened the sensual pleasure provided in the Castelletto.82 The matrons sometimes acquired the expensive garments they supplied their prostitutes (or the cloth to make them) from artisans.83 More typically, they bought the clothes secondhand, from the used-clothes dealers of the Rialto.84 In this way, they probably succeeded in gaining elegant and good-quality clothing for only a fraction of its original cost. Whether buying from artisans or strazzaroli, the matrons frequently, as stated above, made their purchases on credit, and, when doing so, used techniques typical of the local money market. These included precise schedules for repayment, penalties for noncompliance, and, if the seller wanted additional security, a guarantor.85 Usually a man, the guarantor would

605

become legally responsible if the matron defaulted on the debt, as occasionally occurred.86 All these financial operations by which the matrons furnished and ran their brothels meant that they became involved in the world of petty commerce that flowed around them. They sometimes built up long-term relations with particular strazzaroli, other shopkeepers and managers of inns and taverns that they frequented or from whom they regularly bought goods. The use of credit, often long-term, led to repeated encounters, and sometimes to additional business affairs connected or not with the repayment of their debts. Sales on credit evidently extended quite easily to shopkeepers’ lending the matrons cash as well; matrons frequently admitted to debts for money as well as clothes or other goods received. As a result, matrons might accumulate large debts with the shopkeepers with whom they regularly did business. Probably typical was the relationship established by the matron Helena from Florence with a druggist, Redolfo Mazuchi, who had a shop at the Rialto in the first years of the fifteenth century. Helena had probably already transacted business of various sorts with him by 1404, when his shop was the site where she and an ex-partner drew up a settlement.87 Gradually, Helena must have been accumulating debts with Redolfo; the fact that in 1407, in his shop, she nominated a proctor to collect what she was owed in Florence, Bologna, Ferrara, Padua, and Verona (presumably the range of her business operations) may have been motivated by a need to repay him at least part of what was due. Nevertheless, it comes as something of a shock to see her, a year later, admitting that she owed him the huge sum of 1,054 ducats, equivalent at the time to the price of a large house.88 While this represents the cost of things she had purchased from him, it also included cash advanced to her and, possibly, interest charged on the growing debt. That Redolfo was prepared to let Helena accumulate such a debt without requiring more security than a personal promise to repay testifies not only to the frequency of commercial transactions between them, but also to his assessment of her potential income. He must have seen Helena and her business as a useful investment: by selling and lending to her he was creating a long-term debtor with 606

good credit, from whom he could expect to make considerable profit.89 It was presumably for this reason that he cultivated relations with Helena and other prostitutes by allowing them to use his shop as a place to conduct their business.90 Other shopkeepers at the Rialto must have felt the same way, seeing in the constant need of the matrons and mamole for cash and credit a windfall for themselves. For example, the strazzarolo Michele from Bergamo, who worked and eventually lived in the parish of San Giovanni Elemosinario, did business with various matrons. He rented beds, bench- covers, and clothes to Caterina from Bologna, while he also had dealings with Jacoba Baladori.91 In 1393, when he and Jacoba brought their accounts up to date, Jacoba agreed she owed Michele 314 ducats for clothes and other things she had purchased for her mamole and for money he had lent her.92 This too was a relatively large sum, and it is, perhaps, indicative of Jacoba’s difficulties in paying it that she almost immediately created Michele as her proctor to collect debts owed to her.93 Thereby, he could reimburse himself directly without having to rely, or put pressure, on Jacoba herself. Thus the stores of traders like Redolfo Mazuchi and Michele from Bergamo must have become regular haunts of women involved in the sex trade.94 The matrons’ involvement in the world of financial exchange further encouraged them to become businesswomen, as it accustomed them to commercial methods and alerted them to opportunities offered by the market around them. Some ventured into business operations beyond those strictly necessary for running their brothel. For example, Jacopa Baladori bought a whole collection of furnishings from beds to chests to kitchen goods from a Florentine immigrant, and sold them, together with other household goods, to the keeper of the Angel Inn at the Rialto. 95 Perhaps she had been intending to use some of these in her brothel, but had decided instead to sell them, possibly to settle a debt.96 Matrons dealt in other items as well. Helena from Florence bought a considerable quantity of cotton thread, which she may have been trading or, possibly, giving to her mamole so that they could employ their spare time in handwork.97 Such commercial operations must have provided the matrons with considerable business expertise, and allowed them to gain the confidence of the men with whom they dealt. For example, Castellano di Sigismondo, who for a while operated a tavern at the Rialto, had 607

dealings with the matron Helena from Florence and with Helena’s successor, Maddalena, called Fornaria, from Padua.98 Maddalena was the wife of Castellano’s brother Giovanni and operated an inn at the Rialto together with her husband.99 In 1419, Castellano and his brother Giovanni named Maddalena their proctor not only to collect debts, but also to sell Giovanni’s hemp and to deal in all his business affairs.100 While it was by no means unusual in Venice for men to name their wives as proctors, the brothers’ action shows they felt that Maddalena’s commercial experience had made her capable of negotiating successfully in a mercantile world dominated by men.101 The matrons’ business affairs involved them not only with shop- and innkeepers of the area, but also with Venetian patricians, from whom they borrowed money fairly frequently. The matrons could have encountered these nobles as Capisestieri, as proprietors of the premises they rented, as suppliers of goods, or even, possibly, as clients. They seem to have established similar relations of trust with the patricians as they did with shopkeepers. For if the matrons occasionally offered pawns as security, at other times they furnished their noble creditors with merely a personal promise to repay, sometimes with a schedule of repayment, but sometimes without any deadline at all.102 Once again, such dealings drew the matrons into the wider business networks of their creditors. Jacoba Baladori acted as guarantor for Nicoleto Barbadico, presumably because she owed him money; in consequence, she had to promise to pay over 300 ducats to his creditors.103 Such transactions must have introduced her to more complex financial operations. For example, one of the sums she promised to pay for Nicoleto bore interest according to the yield on letters of exchange drawn on Bruges. This was a normal method of deciding an interest rate, chosen in part because fluctuations in the exchange rates meant that the return was not fixed and, therefore, not technically usurious. However, it was a technique that a woman would usually not have occasion to encounter, much less employ. That the matrons became accustomed to local business methods is further indicated by the manner in which they formed companies to carry on their brothel business. Anna from Verona, in particular, seems to have used such associations; possibly, she had little capital or credit, and needed the contribution of a partner. 608

104 By 1392 she was operating together with Lucia “Nigra� Ziane, but the company ended in 1395, when Lucia evidently withdrew from the business.105 The quittance that Lucia issued to Anna on this occasion gives a sense of the nature of their partnership, as it refers to their company as one of mamole whom they kept at profit and loss, and to their common interest in bedrooms, beds, other furnishings, and the rent of houses. Subsequently, Anna went on to form an association with Helena from Florence, which lasted until around 1398. The two matrons then formally gave each other quittance for all the claims that might arise from their business affairs and, specifically, from their company of mamole.106 They also asserted that they had gone over and calculated their accounts together; therefore, it is possible that they were sufficiently literate and familiar with numbers to have kept their own accounts.107 Usually such companies were formed within Venice, but occasionally the matrons’ business associations extended further afield. For example, for an unspecified period Helena from Florence had an association with a Lancilotto de Belavitis de Taleto.108 The company must have operated at least between Venice and Treviso, as, when it was liquidated in 1404, Lancilotto agreed to transfer to Helena some prostitutes whom they had jointly kept in the latter town. The business had clearly had its ups and downs, for the partners had pawned some of their goods, including clothes and silver objects, with the moneylenders of Mestre. Perhaps Lancilotto had provided most of the capital for the enterprise and Helena had done much of the work, for the liquidation agreement left Helena debtor for some 733 ducats. That she could promise to pay this sum by instalments over some fourteen months suggests that she was anticipating a relatively high regular income from her brothel. While it seems clear, then, that matrons could make money from their brothels, it is frustratingly difficult to ascertain how they did so, especially in light of the financial control exercised by the government. In the case of the clients, there is no indication that the matrons charged for access to the brothel and its inmates, as sometimes occurred elsewhere.109 However, clients may have given them informal tips. It would seem likely that the matrons sold food and especially drink to their customers, which was a major source of income for brothel-keepers in 609

some localities.110 There are, in fact, references to matrons and prostitutes selling wine to their lovers or pimps, and the matrons undoubtedly attempted to do the same for their clients.111 However, the Venetian government was very careful about retail sales of wine, as has been illustrated. Selling wine was limited to tavern-keepers, and the government prohibited informal sales, such as by prostitutes, where tax was not paid; similarly, the government insisted that prostitutes drink only wine supplied by the taverns.112 Nevertheless, people did drink in the brothels, and alcohol probably added to the level of violence there. 113 It is somewhat clearer how matrons made money from their mamole. Since the prostitutes usually lived in the brothel, at least in the early years ofthe Castelletto, their food and drink were probably supplied by the matron, and they must have paid for it.114 The same was true for lodging. Legislation of 1460, which established a new Castelletto, mentioned the custom in the earlier institution for the prostitutes to pay the reasonable sum of six lire per month for a room in a brothel or three lire per month if they lived outside the Castelletto, in the nearby shops or volte.115 The matrons also must have passed on to the prostitutes the various expenses they undertook for their brothel, including their highest expenditure — the cost of the expensive clothing they purchased or rented for their mamole. The matrons may, in fact, have obtained more than they paid, as they sometimes presented these clothes to the Capisestieri for an assessment of their value. By implication, the prostitutes would be required to pay the estimated price as opposed to what the matron might actually have spent.116 All this meant that the prostitutes might find themselves in considerable debt to the matrons.117 Therefore, whatever a prostitute earned (and there is little indication as to what this was118), much of it must have gone to repay such sums, and they were forced to work for long periods simply to meet their obligations.119 The prostitutes thus became caught up in a financial system that profoundly conditioned their lives, as it forced them to continue in the sex trade, whether they liked it or not, in order to pay off their debts. Moreover, their position of dependency left them open to pressure from the matrons to disobey or circumvent the government’s rules. Matrons might cajole their mamole into giving them the 610

money they earned rather than putting it into the common chest.120 Matrons also seem to have persuaded their sex workers to borrow the money they owed them from a male friend, thereby acquiring their money without liberating the prostitute from her debt.121 The behavior of the matrons was to a degree understandable, as they undertook many personal obligations in running their brothel, and must at times have found it hard to meet these, especially with the Capi controlling the brothel’s income. On the other hand, from the prostitute’s perspective, the matron’s actions could lead to yet deeper obligations or a longer period working to pay off her debt. The dangers of this system were recognized by the Venetian government, which stepped in to try and protect the mamole. From the point of view of the Venetian authorities, the problem was that prostitutes might accumulate so much debt that they would never be able to free themselves from a life of sexual slavery. Consequently, the Quarantia limited the amount of debt a prostitute could accumulate with a matron to sixty ducats — still a sizeable sum, although it would have covered the cost of only a couple of the expensive dresses they wore.122 The authorities were also aware that many other people besides the matrons tried to make money from the prostitutes. Since tavern- and innkeepers overcharged the mamole, the Great Council fixed the amount of credit a prostitute could build up with them.123 Even the scribes of the Capi tended to blackmail the prostitutes by demanding fees every time they showed them their accounts. The government therefore decreed that a mamola should not be forced to offer the scribes more than a voluntary tip; only on the final occasion that she reviewed her account, after she had paid off her debt, did she have to pay a fixed fee, presumably as payment for their administrative services.124 The Venetian government further realized that prostitutes might be exploited by men claiming to be acting in their interests, who, by paying off a debt to a matron, supposedly liberated the mamola.125 However, the real purpose behind their action was to force the prostitute to work for the liberator in order to pay back not only the original debt, but even interest on it. If the prostitute complained, the new creditor could threaten to have her thrown into prison for debt, which would have prevented her from working and led to destitution. Consequently, the 611

prostitutes put up with the injustice and ended up being more exploited than before. The Venetian authorities attempted to stop this practice, although as a commercial elite who held financial obligations sacrosanct, they would not consider canceling a debt, even if contracted in such circumstances. Rather, they prohibited charging interest in such cases, and stipulated that the Capisestieri, as the competent body, should determine a monthly rate proportional to the prostitute’s income by which she would repay the loan.126 This decision suggests again the government’s problems in dealing with male pimps, for it indirectly recognized their existence and their right to recover an outlay made on a prostitute, despite the legislation against such informal pimping.

Relations Between Matrons and Mamole The generalized sense that prostitution could be exploited for personal gain raises the question of the relations that developed between the matrons and the young women who worked for them. What has been said so far suggests that these relationships must have been rather complex. On the one hand, merely from a financial perspective, the mamole were valuable to the brothel-keepers and therefore merited care and attention. That the matrons had probably themselves been prostitutes should also have encouraged them to understand and feel sympathy for the difficulties of the mamole’s lives. On the other hand, the matrons were making an investment in their sex workers, and there was a strong incentive to regard them in a less humane fashion, as moneymaking assets. It seems that these conflicting interests induced rather ambivalent attitudes in the matrons. At one level they were certainly anxious to protect their mamole from jealous and potentially violent clients, and did so even when it entailed reprisals against themselves.127 Further, if a prostitute really intended to leave the trade, a matron might be persuaded to cancel her debt and liberate her.128 On the other hand, there are many indications that the matrons conceived of their prostitutes above all in financial terms, almost as commodities to be bought and sold. For example, if a client/lover ran off with a prostitute, he was expected to pay off her debt to the matron, effectively buying her from her former mistress.129 Matrons might even buy women from people who had deceived or seduced them and 612

wanted to make some money by selling or pawning them to a brothel-keeper. Jacoba Baladori gave ten ducats to a man who had persuaded a woman to follow him to Venice, and, on another occasion, thirty ducats to a widow who had managed to corrupt even nuns in order to pawn them in brothels.130 In these cases, the money given was treated as a loan, with the woman serving as guarantee for its repayment, but, in practice, she would have had to work in the brothel in order to pay it off. A similarly mercenary point of view on the part of the matrons is evident in the techniques used to transfer prostitutes from one locality to another. Although some mamole might spend considerable time in one city and develop a personal clientele, moving prostitutes around was a common practice among brothelkeepers looking for new faces to keep alive the interest of their regular customers. Such practices help to account for the large proportion of foreign prostitutes found in municipal brothels of the day. In Venice, there seems to have been a lively commerce of this sort with other towns in Northern Italy, especially Treviso, and it is striking how many of these transfers involved Germans. German men and women must have acted as pimps, bringing German girls across the Alps and starting them on a peripatetic career through the Italian peninsula.131 That many of them spent time in Venice can be explained, perhaps, not only on the basis of geography, but because Venice could offer an especially large clientele of German speakers who frequented or worked in the German commercial house, the Fondaco dei Tedeschi. The methods used by matrons and other brothel-keepers to transfer their mamole are illustrated in the acts of the notary Cecchino Alberti. One of these documents recounts how the matron Helena from Florence acquired three German prostitutes from a German woman called Anne Spanga, who lived in Treviso and presumably ran a brothel there.132 The exchange was essentially monetary, and was based on the system of debts described above — one that was evidently widespread throughout the world of international prostitution. Having paid 50 ducats of the debt of 200 ducats the prostitutes owed Anne, Helena declared that she still owed Anne the remaining 150 ducats. In turn, Anne ceded the mamole to Helena with all the rights pertaining to them. The exchange comes close to a 613

purchase and the language is very similar to property transactions.133 Only incidentally is it mentioned that the prostitutes themselves consented to this exchange. On other occasions not even this consent was mentioned. For instance, late in 1406, the same Helena paid 30 ducats and pledged herself to pay another 100 ducats to Anastasia from Venice, who had moved to Pavia and undertaken management of the public brothel there.134 Helena was acquiring a mamola called Caterina, nicknamed Florina, who had been a debtor of, and “subject to,” Anastasia in Pavia. Anastasia must have returned to Venice with Caterina, intending to exchange her for someone new. Once again, the agreement was purely financial: Helena assumed Caterina’s remaining debt to Anastasia, paying a part, providing a notarized obligation to pay the rest, and presenting a suitable guarantor. In turn, Anastasia handed Caterina over to Helena, with all related rights. Although the brothel managers transferred the prostitute’s debt from one to the other, the prostitute, of course, remained ultimately responsible for its payment. This is evident in an exchange from Venice to Treviso in which the manager of a public brothel in Treviso, another German called Armanno son of Delman, acquired a prostitute from Caterina from Bologna, matron in the Venetian Castelletto.135 He paid part of the debt that the prostitute owed Caterina and obligated himselfto pay the rest within three months. However, on the same day, the prostitute declared that she owed Armanno the full sum he had paid and would pay to her ex-matron.136 That these transactions were conducted in the office of the Capisestieri, with employees of the government acting as notary and witnesses, indicates that they were a normal part of the financial system of Venetian prostitution and that government officials had no difficulty in accepting and promoting this kind of trade in human beings. Apart from essentially buying and selling young women, the matrons shared a widespread practice of using their prostitutes as guarantees or pawns. This article has already discussed men and women pawning women to matrons for even small sums of money, and the same was done by some corrupt officials who used their position as Capo for financial gain.137 It is, therefore, not surprising that the 614

matrons themselves tended to use their rights over the prostitutes and their work as guarantees in their own commercial transactions. For example, when Jacoba Baladori acted as guarantor for a purchase of spun cotton by Helena from Florence, she required Helena to provide surety that Jacoba would not end up having to pay the sum herself. Consequently, Helena promised Jacoba that she would refund whatever Jacoba might be required to pay, and offered as guarantee all her mamole or her rights over them so that Jacoba could have recourse to them to recover her money.138 In such agreements, the prostitutes were being treated not as human beings but as income-producing objects with a monetary value negotiable in the Venetian financial market. That they were used in this way, whereas other workers evidently were not, indicates the low value placed on sex workers in the social hierarchy of the day. The system of prostitution applied in the Venetian Castelletto would seem, then, to have been based on a multifaceted exploitation of the prostitutes. It enveloped them in a web of financial obligation that tied them to the trade; they were also reified by being used as pawns, forced to sell their bodies to provide money for someone to whom they were not directly obligated. Such techniques seem to have been common in medieval and early modern prostitution: they were known in fourteenth-century Florence as in sixteenth-century Augsburg and seventeenthcentury Amsterdam.139 Nevertheless, the idea of treating people as objects and in ways that forced them into sexual slavery did offend the moral or humanitarian sense of many people, and some urban governments attempted to do away with such a system. Already in 1325 the Florentines had dealt with the issue in a number of provisions intended not only to prevent humans from being used as pawns for debt, but, in particular, to protect women from being sold into prostitution.140 These regulations prohibited buying a woman or otherwise obligating her to stay in a brothel for sinful purposes. Also prohibited would have been the kind of relationship between matron and mamole that existed in Venice, as it was forbidden to use obligations stemming from loans of money or from the provision of clothes or merchandise to force a woman to prostitute herself. The situation in Florence seems, in theory, also to have been more liberal in that if a prostitute wanted to leave the business, all her financial obligations were annulled. 615

As has been shown, this might occur in Venice in practice, but exceptionally, on an ad hoc basis rather than by government decree. By comparison to the Florentines, the position of the Venetian patriciate on such issues was more complex and nuanced. As indicated above, the Venetian authorities were unwilling to undermine the fundamental principle of repayment of a debt that an individual had contracted. However, they did object to other related practices, such as charging interest on loans made to liberate prostitutes from their matrons. In 1438 the Venetian government also decided to outlaw the pawning of women in such a way as would force them into prostitution or keep them in the trade. The motives behind this decision were multiple. On the one hand, the Venetians, who prided themselves on their piety, were concerned about the religious implications of compelling women to remain in a permanent state of sin. In fact, the legislation condemned the use of prostitutes as pawns because it prevented them from leaving the trade when they wanted to, which was defined as an injury to God as well as shameful for such a religious city as Venice.141 The law further stated that such forced prostitution went contrary to Venice’s much vaunted traditions of liberty. It is well known that Venetians were proud of their city’s freedom and that liberty played an important role in the myth of Venice as an ideal city-state. However, Venetian liberty is usually associated with the claim that the city was never conquered and with its self-government along republican lines. It is, therefore, surprising to find Venetians connecting the concept of liberty with what might now be called human rights. Nevertheless, this legislation of 1438 moves in that direction, as it makes a clear correlation between the ideal of freedom and the right of women, as well as men, to choose a morally decent life. The law states that “our city has the fame of being free, and what principally accords with true liberty is that everyone, when they want to, be able to live well.”142 Liberty is thus clearly connected with the possibility of exercising moral choice and deciding to abandon sin for a virtuous life. Since pawning prostitutes prevents such a choice, it is said to constitute “the highest iniquity,” and the legislation consequently prohibits using any woman as a pawn in such a way as would force her to sell her body. Rather, from now on, it is proudly declared, such women should be free. 616

This legislation is interesting in that it suggests that the concept of liberty in Venice possessed ethical-religious as well as political implications. However, not too much should be made of it. Despite its high moral tone, the law was aimed only at women who had been unfortunate enough to have been used as pawns. It did not begin to undermine the wider system of personal debt that kept so many prostitutes committed to the brothel for many years, even when they too may have wanted to leave. One has to conclude that the Venetian sense of injustice was rather limited and was aroused to action only by extreme or particular types of exploitation.

Marginalization Versus Integration After this discussion of the practices of Venetian prostitution and contemporary attitudes to it, an effort can be made to assess the effects of this commercial system of prostitution on women’s lives and on their relations with the society around them. First, as regards the prostitutes, the position of the mamole seems similar to the rather ambiguous mixture of acceptance and disdain, marginalization and integration noted by Elizabeth Cohen as typical of prostitutes in early modern Rome.143 On the one hand, the Venetian authorities were relatively liberal in that they tried to establish reasonable and fair conditions for the prostitutes, and ensure that they received justice and protection in their work. Moreover, official regulations granted the mamole some freedom, in that they could, to a degree, choose their lovers and develop special relations with clients. The legislation also guaranteed sex workers a legitimate place in Venetian life and in the constructed space of the city. Prostitutes were legally permitted to ply their trade during the day in the Castelletto and in certain areas around it; in practice, they seem to have been able to solicit almost anywhere at the Rialto — at the market, near shops, and in open spaces. Because of government policy, their presence had to be accepted by all who frequented the zone, and prostitution must have come to be seen by many as a normal part of local life. Thus the legalization of prostitution, at one level, won the mamole some integration into local society. As illustrated above, some shop- and innkeepers welcomed their presence, and were happy to do business with them. Other groups 617

active at the Rialto seem to have reacted similarly. Clergy attached to the local churches by no means scorned prostitutes; rather, some acted on their behalf or assisted them financially. Notaries at the Rialto drew up documents for mamole just as they did for merchants and for nuns.144 If some government officials abused their powers and exploited sex workers, others became their friends and supporters, reflecting the rather benevolent attitude of the authorities as well as the personal contacts that grew out of frequent interaction. Further, the connections the prostitutes could set up with powerful individuals such as the Capisestieri brought them agency and influence, which they could use to reduce or avoid the limitations officially imposed on their activities. On the other hand, the Venetian government’s legalization of prostitution by no means canceled the stigma connected with sex work. The authorities themselves ensured that this was so by acting constantly on the assumption that prostitution was an immoral, sinful activity, to be hidden as far as possible from the sight and the knowledge of decent people. Such assumptions must have influenced the way in which others not only regarded, but also reacted to sex workers. Surviving criminal records reveal in striking terms the degree to which prostitutes were physically ill treated, suggesting once again that they were viewed as possessing little value or status.145 Moreover, prostitutes might be treated practically as objects, while exploiting the mamole seems to have been regarded as normal and was done by many of those around them, including the matrons themselves. Even the apparent acceptance of sex workers by shop- and innkeepers at the Rialto was undoubtedly based in part on a rather cynical calculation of the profit to be made from them. For the mamole, the results seem often to have been poverty and relative isolation, as might be expected for young women who were so often foreigners.146 That prostitution in Venice continued to be regarded as a degrading activity is further suggested by the apparent general assumption that the best solution for a prostitute was to abandon the trade. Government legislation was directed toward providing a means for the mamole to do this by paying off their debts and liberating themselves. Ordinary Venetians saw freeing a prostitute from sex work as a meritorious charitable act; occasionally, a bequest was left to enable a 618

prostitute to pay off her debts, find a husband, and lead a God-fearing life.147 As for the mamole themselves, their attitudes are rarely recorded, but some certainly sought an avenue of escape. As previously discussed, this might be achieved through a personal decision — the reform so often preached by ecclesiastics — that might lead to an elimination of debt and the possibility of a new start in life. A few houses for repentant prostitutes existed in Venice in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, although entering them probably implied a quasi-monastic style of life.148 Other, less formal means might also be found to escape from sex work. These often utilized relationships with men — finding someone willing either to pay off one’s debt (without imposing a worse servitude) or to provide an alternative existence that, if not actually marriage, might be close to it. An interesting example of this last possibility is provided by the agreement made in 1400 between one of Jacoba Baladori’s mamole, Margarita, called Gretola, and an immigrant from Rimini, Micheletto di Nanni.149 Micheletto was prepared to furnish Margarita with a loan of 100 ducats, at least part of which was probably intended to repay what she owed her matron Jacoba. This loan came with binding, if fairly generous, conditions, as Micheletto had evidently established a close relationship with Margarita that he wanted to turn into something more permanent. He promised not to ask for the money back provided that Margarita came to live with him, serving and obeying him and looking after his property. Only if she failed to do this or if she left him without his consent would she be required to repay the loan. At one level, he was, like others, using financial bonds to manipulate Margarita. At another, however, he was providing her with an incentive to establish a relationship resembling that of an informal marriage; his specifications of how Margarita was to behave depict her as a wife in practice if not in title. Of course, the agreement would not necessarily be permanent, and Margarita might be left with nothing if it fell apart. On the other hand, it would allow her to abandon prostitution and set up a potentially long-term relationship with someone to whom she was probably emotionally attached. Such an arrangement would, in fact, not be so different from informal unions often entered into by lower-class couples who lived together, had children, and behaved as though they were married even if they had not performed the due ceremonies.150 619

Another alternative for the prostitute who wanted, or was compelled, to change her style of life, was, of course, that of becoming a matron. In certain ways, this does not seem a bad option, for running a brothel could permit a woman to become an entrepreneur handling large sums of money and realizing sometimes substantial profits. Even if most of this money was reinvested in her business or went to pay her many creditors, a matron could achieve a sufficiently high income for a comfortable, if not a luxurious, style of life. Such an assessment is supported by the wills of two matrons, drawn up while they were still operating in the Castelletto — Jacoba Baladori and Helena from Florence.151 Both women could afford to employ servants or even to purchase slaves — an important investment when the matron was responsible for the cleanliness and maintenance of a large establishment.152 Jacoba also employed a woman to carry out business for her. 153 Both Jacoba and Helena could afford to be generous to those close to them. The former left bequests ranging from fifteen to fifty ducats to various male friends, including the notaries who had drawn up acts for her and to one of the scribes at the office of the Capisestieri.154 Helena bequeathed 100 ducats to create a dowry for the daughter of her executor. Although neither woman mentions property, which could have provided them with a permanent income, matrons were able to gain enough economic security to eventually retire from brothel life. Lucia “Nigra” Ziane seems to have done so, as did Helena herself, who, around 1416, turned over her brothel to an aspiring matron, Magdalena “Fornaria” from Padua, and moved to the nearby parish of San Cassian.155 As has been shown, the matrons’ business operations entailed interaction with patricians and merchants as well as with used-clothes dealers, innkeepers, and artisans. They were thus accepted as business partners by people of every social level; they seem to have found credit easily and must therefore have enjoyed the trust of many around them, despite what was felt to be the rather immoral nature of their activities. They seem, then, to have enjoyed a high degree of social integration. That this could extend even to devotional groups is indicated by the will of Helena from Florence, which refers to a religious confraternity, that of the Holy Apostles, with which she had formed an association.156 Located in the eponymous church in the sestiere of Cannaregio, the confraternity was one of the 620

largest in Venice that accepted female members, although it charged higher fees to those who resided outside the parish of the Santi Apostoli. Helena did not actually assert in her will that she was a member of this group, but she was close enough to it to expect that its members would attend her funeral, or might be persuaded to do so. She left them the rather large sum of ten ducats on the condition they accompanied her funeral procession and prayed to God for her soul. The sum involved, and the fact that the bequest to the confraternity was the first one listed in her will, suggests that she set considerable store by her relationship with this pious group. Presumably she saw her connection with the devotional and charitable activities of a confraternity as a way to compensate, at least in part, for a life spent engaging in or promoting activities for which she might be punished in the afterlife. In addition, she may have felt that the presence of a respected religious sodality at her funeral would supply a degree of social respectability that she might otherwise have lacked. As for the members of the confraternity, it is striking that they were prepared to accept at some level a woman who was openly running a brothel in the Castelletto and therefore directly contradicted the high standards of behavior normally demanded by devotional groups. Money may have been a factor here, as Helena could use her cash income to make significant donations to the confraternity’s activities and thereby mitigate the disdain that might have been aroused by her occupation. She may have been merely a token member or benevolent supporter of the confraternity, offering donations without participating directly in the group’s activities. Nevertheless, her bequest suggests that, perhaps through her financial resources, it was possible even for a matron of the Castelletto to benefit from the city’s confraternal life. However, while these considerations suggest a relatively high degree of social acceptance, a look at other bequests in these matrons’ wills calls for a more nuanced view. Neither Helena nor Jacoba seems, for example, to have developed very extensive social bonds. As might be expected, neither possessed much of a family. Jacoba left a slave to her beloved son, presumably Marco Baffo, but otherwise, she, like Helena, named only their adopted sons as relatives.157 Apart from a servant and this child, the only people to whom Helena was close were the family of Castellano di Sigismondo — the innkeeper with whom she had had 621

business dealings. He was named as her sole executor and the beneficiary of what was left of her goods after the other bequests had been paid. Moreover, the largest sum that Helena left was to Castellano’s daughter for her marriage. Both she and Jacoba seem, notably, to have been without the network of female associates that older women normally accumulated. Presumably, then, their careers had tended not only to dissolve family bonds, but also to isolate them personally from the social world around them, despite the business network in which they functioned. Similar conclusions arise from events surrounding the execution of the will of Jacoba Baladori, who died soon after it was drawn up. She had left seventy-five ducats (fifteen each) to the five men she nominated as her executors: two were officially resident in Bologna, another (of Lucchese origin) resided in Treviso, another was the parish priest of San Cancian, and the last the used-goods dealer, Michele from Bergamo. Although the bequest was conditional on their agreeing to handle her estate, none of them seemed eager to do so. In a series of notarized deeds, they repeatedly passed their responsibilities as executor from one to another, until a person extraneous to the group was finally named to act for the estate. While it is possible that some of the five were busy or outside Venice and therefore did not feel they could deal with the duties involved, it may well have been that they did not want to appear repeatedly in public as a representative for a woman well known as a matron in the Castelletto, or to perform such tasks as pursuing the debts owed her by her mamole. Thus, it would seem that the financial aspects of the system of prostitution established in the first Venetian Castelletto had differing effects on women’s lives. For the prostitutes, it meant relative poverty, exploitation, and, often, brutality. If they gained sufficient integration to be able to work and function in local society, they remained marginalized, spatially to a degree, but above all morally, as prostitution continued to be seen as a sinful activity that reduced the status and value of the workers involved. At best, becoming a mamola was a means of survival that could lead to a more respectable place in society, although even such a solution might not always be available or secure. For the matrons, their role in the Castelletto could have attractive economic consequences, in that they might handle large sums of money, become businesswomen of a sort, and achieve a 622

relatively comfortable style of life. They might further use their income to gain a degree of social respectability. However, it would seem that they too remained tainted by the profession they pursued, and that real social integration was difficult if not impossible for someone with continued involvement in the sex trade.

Conclusion The system of prostitution discussed here lasted, in theory, for a century, from 1360 to 1460. The Venetian authorities then decided to replace the first Castelletto with a new area of public brothels at the Rialto and at the same time they revised the regulations governing prostitution.159 The new legislation repeated some ofthe earlier rules, but it also introduced changes representing a liberalization of policy, generally in favor of the prostitutes. On the one hand, the mamole were still required to live in the Rialto area, register with the Capisestieri, and submit to their jurisdiction. They were not permitted to go outside the island of the Rialto except on Saturday morning and then had to wear their appropriate “sign.� However, the new Castelletto does not seem to have been an enclosed site as the previous one had been; rather, it was an open street, and no mention is made of a gate to separate the area from the surrounding property.160 In addition, prostitutes were allowed to live outside the Castelletto proper, not only in the traditional vaults but even in taverns, inns, and bathhouses, although they could not work in these establishments during the day or engage in gambling.161 The regulations also suggest that one of the authorities’ greatest concerns by 1460 was to protect the mamole from exploitation. Apart from the prohibition on pawning women and renewed penalties against pimps, several clauses were designed to avoid the constant danger that prostitutes would have to sell themselves merely in order to repay their debts. Credit was identified as the crucial problem here, and limitations were imposed on the practice of selling goods of all sorts to the prostitutes on credit. Innkeepers and others were forbidden to extend credit to the prostitutes at all, and no one was allowed to give them anything on credit without the permission of the Capi. Although it is nowhere stated, these restrictions in practice outlawed the methods used by the matrons of the first Castelletto, who had provided clothes and other goods on credit, and recouped 623

their outlay through the prostitutes’ work. In fact, the legislation of 1460 omits the clause requiring prostitutes to be kept only in the manner used by the matrons; it makes no mention of the matrons at all. These women, once essential in brothel organization, had evidently lost their place in the legalized sex trade.162 The creation of the second Castelletto suggests, then, that a change had occurred in the attitudes of Venetian authorities toward prostitution. By 1460 Venetians had, perhaps, become used to the presence of prostitutes in the city and were a little less anxious to enclose and restrict them. That patricians were becoming more tolerant of the sex trade is supported by the fact that a Venetian patrician not only came forward to offer his property for the new Castelletto, but also agreed to maintain it and construct more accommodation for prostitutes if necessary.163 In addition, concerns about the exploitation of the prostitutes were resulting in their gaining greater independence, in that, in theory, they were no longer under the control of a matron, while restrictions on the use of credit should have reduced their indebtedness to local artisans, shopkeepers, and innkeepers. They might, therefore, be better off, as they could keep more of their income, while they could also make more of their own decisions about the organization of their work. In the years after 1460, this more liberal attitude toward prostitution seems to have prevailed. Although government bodies intervened to correct dangerous or scandalous situations, they did little to enforce the laws regulating prostitution. At times, in deference to the interests of property owners, they even permitted prostitutes to live in areas of the city that should have been off-limits to them.164 The authorities took more vigorous action against pimps, but in such a way as helped liberate the prostitutes from the control of their supposed protectors.165 This relative toleration undoubtedly contributed to the spread of prostitution throughout the city, and to the emergence of the famous courtesans. More affluent than the ordinary prostitutes, courtesans also offered more elegant surroundings and more refined entertainment. They numbered Venetian patricians among their clients and could call on the support of their high-placed friends in order to evade the regulations imposed on them. In fact, although the government tried repeatedly from the late fifteenth century to force prostitutes back to the Rialto 624

and to limit the luxuriousness of their dress and furnishings, its efforts encountered considerable resistance.166 At one point in 1543 the authorities explicitly lamented that recent legislation against prostitutes could not be implemented because of the favor that nobles and citizens were extending to these people of “base and detestable” condition.167 Thus, in the period from the legalization of prostitution in 1358 to the sixteenth century, government policy in general tended toward an increasing, if often unofficial, toleration. Initially the authorities had expected to be able to contain the sex trade and use it for their own purposes, but too many interests, whether financial or emotional, became wrapped up with prostitution for control to be effective. In addition, the concern of the elite to secure justice for the prostitutes and to eliminate exploitation led them to permit greater freedom to sex workers — a tendency that ultimately proved difficult, indeed impossible, to reverse. The result was an expansion of the sex trade in ways that the authorities did not want but were unable to prevent. In the end, then, despite concerns about immorality and disease, sixteenth-century Venice became noted for the relative freedom it granted its sex workers, and visitors regarded its famed courtesans as one of the most noteworthy sights of the city.

Notes 1. Monographs on prostitution between the late Middle Ages and the Reformation have been produced by Rossiaud; Otis; Karras, 1996; Mazzi; Storey, 2008a. 2. On such views, see, for example, Rossiaud, 104-05. 3. Hughes; Karras, 1996; Ghirardo. 4. Rossiaud inclines to this point of view. However, it is more often expressed by historians who study prostitutes when they were not confined within special areas: for example, see Henderson, esp. 43-47. 5. In particular, Storey, 2008a, 15-16, and the general argument of her book. Pol, 61, asserts that prostitution was about the only women’s work that could command good pay, but she does not argue from this to social integration. Rather, she is very clear that even the lowest classes regarded prostitution as dishonorable and degrading: ibid., 62-66. E. Cohen, 1998, 394, offers a nuanced picture of an “uneasy but complex integration.” 6. Matrone, or matrons, was the name given to these female brothel-keepers in Venice. The same term was sometimes used elsewhere, at times with different meanings: Brackett, 286. 7. Crouzet Pavan; Scarabello, 2004 and 2006; and Ruggiero, 1985, have all discussed prostitution in Venice during the Renaissance. There is also, of course, a considerable literature on sixteenth-century Venetian courtesans. However, since these courtesans worked in different circumstances and generally possessed a higher socioeconomic status than ordinary prostitutes, what has been written about them will be cited only as it is relevant to the subject of this article. 8. This development in policy is traced most clearly by Otis, 7-39, 100-10. See also Canosa and Colonnello, 13-14. 9. Laws of 10 October 1266 and 31 August 1314 ordered property owners to expel prostitutes and pimps and forbade using one’s own home as a brothel. The former law is mentioned in legislation of 1502 in Archivio di 625

Stato di Venezia (hereafter ASV), Signori di notte al civil, busta 1 (hereafter SN al civil, b. 1), fol. 112; the second is in ASV, Maggior Consiglio, Deliberazioni (hereafter ASV, MC, Delib.), reg. 10, fol. 131r. See also Leggi e memorie, 30-31, nos. 2 and 4, a work that contains an important collection of documents probably compiled by Giovanbattista Lorenzi, an employee ofthe Marciana Library. It provides accurate transcriptions as well as the location of the original documents, which have been checked in almost all cases. Prohibitions on prostitutes’ presence in inns and taverns are in ASV, Capisestieri, Capitolare, fol. 57, capitoli CXLV-VI, which are probably of January 1340, the date of the regulations preceding and following them. All dates cited in this article are in modern style. 10. Rossiaud, 73-109, connects changing policies on prostitution not just with preoccupations about population loss, but also with evolving attitudes to sexual sin. More explicitly, Trexler argues that prostitution was legalized in Florence in order to discourage sodomy and increase marriages and the birth rate. While accepting the connection between sodomy and prostitution, Mazzi, 155-81, sees measures against both as part of a wider policy with political as well as moral implications. See also Comba, 567-75. 11. The financial advantages of permitting prostitution are stressed by Brackett; Ghirardo; Menjot. 12. Under the date 25 October 1514, Marin Sanudo notes a proposal made three days earlier that prostitutes should be taxed to finance work being done on the Arsenal. He states that the proposal was accepted and taxation of the prostitutes had begun, but he terms it a novelty and it is not clear whether this tax was continued afterward: Sanuto, 1969-70, cols. 165-66; English translation in Sanuto, 2008, 324. There does not seem to be any documentary evidence to support Sanudo’s statement. 13. On these events, see Cessi, 318-20, who also mentions efforts after the peace with Genoa to stimulate the economy by attracting foreign capital. 14. ASV, MC, Delib., reg. 19, fol. 62r, 29 June 1358: “Quia necessario propter multitudinem gentium intrantium et exeuntium civitatem nostram expedit providere de dando aliquem locum abilem in Veneciis pro habitatione peccatricum.” Also see Leggi e memorie, 31, no. 6. 15. Similarly, from 1348 the Venetian government encouraged immigration by allowing anyone who came to Venice and pursued a trade to enter the appropriate guild without any charges: Monticolo, 2:352-53; Mueller. 16. Murray, 326-43, who notes a sizeable increase in the number of brothels in the early 1350s, and attributes it to Bruges’s growing importance as a trading centre. Pol, 112-13, suggests that, although prostitution was officially illegal in Protestant Amsterdam, the urban authorities probably saw it as a necessary evil in a commercial city with so many foreigners, travelers, and sailors. 17. The legislation of 29 June 1358 specifies that the location of the brothel is to be the Rialto: ASV, MC, Delib., reg. 19, fol. 62r. Also Leggi e memorie, 31, no. 6. 18. A provision of 28 June 1340 (ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 37v) refers to women of dishonest life and pimps living in the Rialto area. Gottardo, 38, 41,61,71, gives some examples from the 1340s and 1359 of innkeepers (one a woman) fined for allowing prostitutes to spend the night in their establishments. 19. Crouzet Pavan, 244-45, suggests that the establishment of the public brothel was not only a result of growing urban regulation and control by the government over private life, but also part of a program to give greater dignity to the Rialto area by limiting the area where prostitution was permissible. 20. The Capisestieri had been created in the early fourteenth century. In 1340 their authority was extended to all those of “dishonest life” throughout the city: ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 37v. However, the Signori di notte (Lords of the Night), who were responsible for violent crime, witchcraft, attacks on property, and “buon costume” (“proper behavior”), had already been dealing with this problem: ibid., fols. 1r, 2r, 37v. The consequent overlapping of authority gave rise to frequent conflicts over jurisdiction between these two offices. 21. ASV, MC, Delib., reg. 19, fol. 73r, 14 June 1360: the prostitutes “omnino sunt necessarie in terra ista.” The Capi and the Lords of the Night were given until 1 August to find a suitable place, and, even if they had not by then, the prostitutes should still not be expelled but a place should quickly be deputed for them. Also Leggi e memorie, 32, no. 7. 22. Legislation of 15 December 1360, ASV, MC, Delib., reg. 19, fol. 75r, states that the Capi had found a suitable location. Also, Leggi e memorie, 32, no. 8. 23. On the violence connected with prostitution, see in particular Trexler, 996-1000. Sometimes the prostitutes themselves were incited to violence and were guilty of murder: ASV, Signori di notte al criminal (hereafter ASV, SN al criminal), reg. 13, fols. 12r, 28v, for two cases of 1376 and 1385. Ibid., fols. 41v and 42v, contain accusations against two men for having killed prostitutes in 1393 and 1394. 24. ASV, SN al criminal, reg. 7, fols. 82v-84v, 19-27 May 1360. 626

25. This is stated in a deliberation by the Great Council of 15 December 1360: ASV, MC, Delib., reg. 19, fol. 75r. Also Leggi e memorie, 32, no. 8. The Capi had requested that these custodians be allowed to bear arms, which was granted. 26. Cessi and Alberti, 56-57, 276-82; Scarabello, 2006, 18. The matrons who ran the brothels of the Castelletto give their parish of residence sometimes as San Matteo/Maffeo and sometimes as San Giovanni di Rialto. From his research into Francesco Foscari, who owned property in the area, Dr. Dieter Girgensohn concluded that the zone ofprostitution was on the border between the parishes of San Matteo and San Giovanni Elemosinario: Scarabello, 2006, 168n58. However, the boundaries of the brothel area changed over time. On 16 May 1396, one matron rented from the Garzoni family two shops contiguous to the Castelletto, which had earlier been part of it: Tamba, 158-59. 27. Such regulations were similar to legislation in other cities, cf. Otis, 81; Ghirardo; Canosa and Colonnello, 18-19, 22. Ghirardo, 418, points out that sites for brothels were chosen in order to ensure accessibility, invisibility, and control. 28. There is, perhaps, a parallel at Milan and Pavia, where the brothel districts were ordered to be walled in, although breaches were constantly being made in the wall: Canosa and Colonnello, 15-21. In Spain too brothel areas were often enclosed by walls: Lacarra Lanz, 268. 29. Scarabello, 2006, 20, discusses possible origins of this name; he suggests that it may also have come from the chivalric idea of the castle of love. 30. As was done when one prostitute was murdered: ASV, SN al criminal, reg. 12, fols. 18v-19r, 9 December 1390. 31. Prostitutes themselves were sometimes victims of nighttime theft. On one occasion, a vagabond used a ladder to get into prostitutes’ rooms and steal coins and silver and gilded belts: ASV, SN al criminal, reg. 12, fol. 41v, 31 December 1394. 32. The matrons of the Castelletto stated this in legal cases when there was a conflict over jurisdiction: for example, on 18 February 1418, when a Paduan brought a case against Lucia da Ravenna, matron in the Castelletto: ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 41r. Lucia insisted that the Capi had competence in the case because of their jurisdiction over her, proven by her not being allowed to leave the Castelletto without their permission. 33. During the fifteenth century there are constant references to prostitutes’ establishing themselves throughout the city, especially in the parish of San Samuele, and even in the Piazza San Marco: ASV, Senato, Deliberazioni, Misti (hereafter ASV, Sen., Misti), reg. 53, fol. 140r, 6 May 1421; Scarabello, 2006, 25-26, 28-33; Crouzet Pavan, 250-55. 34. This is mentioned in the deliberation of the Senate of 23 May 1421, ASV, Sen., Misti, reg. 52, fol. 140r; ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 42; Leggi e memorie, 35-36, no. 14. It is the first reference to prostitutes’ having to wear distinctive dress, which was presumably not necessary if they stayed within the Castelletto. The requirement was later reiterated and eventually extended to pimps: Leggi e memorie, 69, no. 58, 20 March 1486; Scarabello, 2006, 37-38. 35. Deliberation of the Senate of 23 May 1421: ASV, Sen., Misti, reg. 52, fol. 140r; ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 42; Leggi e memorie, 35-36, no. 14. It is significant that this law had to be proposed three times before being passed. On 24 December 1443, the Capi decided that the prostitutes could leave the Castelletto at other times than Saturday, but with the Capi’s permission, with their usual mantelletis (short cloaks), and once they had paid for the written authorization: ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 59v; Leggi e memorie, 46, no. 28. This is the only recorded reference to prostitutes’ wearing mantelletis, although it had clearly become customary. 36. ASV, Avogaria di Comun (hereafter ASV, AC), reg. 3645, fol. 75, 30 May 1398, mentioned also by Scarabello, 2006, 22-23. Davanzago was fined and deprived of the office of Caposestieri. 37. The prohibition on gifts, including roses, is in ASV, MC, Delib., reg, 22, fol. 120v, 18 January 1439. Later legislation of 4 September 1460 prohibited officials and servants of officials from eating, drinking, or sleeping with a prostitute in any inn, tavern, bath, or shop: ASV, Collegio, Notatorio (hereafter ASV, CN), reg. 10, fols. 11v-12r in the new numeration. Gifts of flowers were, perhaps, normally permitted to officials because they were relatively inexpensive and lasted only a short time; even the Venetian doge could receive them: Hurlburt, 20. 38. Legislation by the Senate of 6 May 1421 complained that prostitutes had invaded areas outside the Rialto, such as San Samuele, and would have required them to return to the Castelletto: ASV, Sen., Misti, reg. 53, fol. 134r; Leggi e memorie, 35, no. 13. However, it failed to gain a majority of votes. Another proposal of the same

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date that would have prohibited prostitutes outside the Rialto from having wine in their houses was similarly defeated. 39. As Crouzet Pavan, 247-48, rightly points out. 40. The prohibition of January 1340 on prostitutes’ presence in inns and taverns states that the intention is for honorable people to use these establishments and to prevent disturbances and fights: ASV, Capisestieri, Capitolare, fol. 57r. Also, Calza, 6. 41. Deliberation by the Senate of 5 May 1421 (ASV, Sen., Misti, reg. 53, fol. 132v), which states that “for the convenience and profit of the tavern-keepers and innkeepers it is permitted to the said matrons and prostitutes to stay day and night in taverns and inns at their pleasure.” Legislation of 15 July 1423 states that the decree of 1421 had also permitted these women to gamble up to ten lire dipiccoli: ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 47r. These measures are reproduced in Leggi e memorie, 34, 38, nos. 12, 18. 42. On these shifting policies, see Leggi e memorie, 42-43, nos. 22-24 with deliberations of 1436-38. Also, ASV, Consiglio di Dieci, Deliberazioni, Miste (hereafter ASV, Dieci, Miste), reg. 12, fol. 167v, 18 November 1444; and ibid., reg. 15, fol. 158v, 23 August 1458. 43. ASV, CN, reg. 11, fol. 6r, 21 July 1467; Leggi e memorie, 64, no. 50. The inns in question were the Snake and the Crown. 44. Ghirardo, 424, points out that authorities were often less concerned about prostitution itself than about prostitutes’ visibility in public spaces. 45. Similarly, Lacarra Lanz argues that the regulation of prostitution in late medieval Spain failed primarily because of collusion among prostitutes, pimps, clients, and the authorities in charge of enforcing the law. 46. ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fols. 30r-32v, 15 July 1423, repeated, in another section of the same volume, fols. 46r-48r. Also Leggi e memorie, 37-40, nos. 16-19; Calza, 11-14. 47. Volte were vaulted structures, often used for storage or to show goods. There were many of these at the Rialto, and they were often rented out, sometimes at high prices, given the demand for space there. 48. The legislation of 15 July 1423 prescribed a fine, a month in prison, and a year’s exile outside the Rialto for pimps. In 1460, the penalty of exile was increased to two years outside Venice and its district: ASV, CN, reg. 10, fol. 12v. Regulations of 20 March 1486 required pimps to wear the yellow scarf, and those of 13, 15, and 30 June 1492 reimposed exile outside Venice and its district: Leggi e memorie, 69-70, 75-76, 78, nos. 58, 68, 69, 71. 49. See Canosaand Colonnello, 24-25 (Turin), 40 (Palermo). Trexler, 992-93, demonstrates that men ran brothels in Florence; as does Mazzi, 260, 263-68. 50. ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 47r: “cossa e pessima et iniqua perho che chomo a tuti e manifesto le sta caxon de aver fatto deventar asaissimi non solamente inuteli ma anchora laronzelli perho che avendo consunta la sua fachulta inlichidi [illecitamente] nel star a poltronizar con quelle meretrixe et al zuogo se mette a voler viver de le altrui fadige.” Also, ibid., fol. 31r: “And because many incorrect youths, not wanting to live by their own sweat, daily follow the said prostitutes, living from their poverty.” Both extracts come from the legislation of 15 July 1423. Traditionally, Christian theologians had been much harsher on procurers than prostitutes, and urban authorities often followed suit: see Brundage, 392, 463. 51. The same legislation of 15 July 1423 stated that the “incorrect youths take money and other goods [from the prostitutes] and threaten them and often beat them when they don’t want to give them their money”: ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 31r. 52. Crouzet Pavan, 265, suggests that neutral terms were used to describe prostitutes in this period, but the word puttana (whore) that she cites is hardly neutral. The term sinners was frequently used in Venetian legislation, for example that of 1358: ASV, MC, Delib., reg. 19, fol. 62v; also in ASV, Cancelleria inferiore, Notai (hereafter ASV, CI, Notai, with bundle number and name of relevant notary in parentheses), b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), 3 February 1401. Scarabello, 2006, 36, discusses various names used for prostitutes in this period, although, in the documentation consulted here, the terms regularly employed are peccatrix, meretrix, and mamola. 53. Prostitutes are called “meschine” in legislation of 21 December 1438, and “poverete” in that of 18 January 1439: ASV, MC, Delib., reg. 22, fol. 120. On 28 July 1432, the Senate spoke of the “paupercularum meretricum” who would never be able to liberate themselves from “tantamiseria”: ASV, Sen., Misti, reg. 58, fol. 134v; Leggi e memorie, 41-42, no. 21. Rossiaud, 65, discusses similar ambivalent attitudes toward prostitutes; as does E. Cohen, 1991. Pol, 169, points out that brothels were often viewed as a kind of family, and the terminology matron/mamola may have had resonances of this sort. 628

54. Battaglia provides a number of connotations, including, besides those mentioned in the text, virgin and a timid and modest young woman: S. Battaglia, Grande Dizionario della lingua italiana, s.v. “mamola.” 55. Otis, 60-62, discusses the question of male versus female brothel keepers, and indicates that men were seen as more exploitative. Pol, 24-25, suggests that, in Amsterdam, women were usually the brothel-keepers not only because prostitution was women’s work and involved supervising women, but also because women were less susceptible to prostitutes’ wiles. 56. See the deliberation by the Senate of 28 July 1432, which says that, on 24 October 1410, the Capi had ordered the boxes of the matrons of the Castelletto, in which the prostitutes’ earnings were placed, to be brought to them at the beginning of each month to be opened: ASV, Sen., Misti, reg. 58, fol. 134v; Leggi e memorie, 41-42, no. 21. 57. See the regulation of 15 December 1413, ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 39r, where the prostitutes are said to “free themselves” by paying off their debt. The Senate’s deliberation of 28 July 1432 outlawed some sharp practices by the matrons so that the poor prostitutes could “free themselves” from their “misery”: ASV, Sen., Misti, reg. 58, fol. 134v. 58. As pointed out by Tamba, vii-xvi, in the preface to his edition of a register of the acts of Rodulfis. 59. On Cecchino Alberti, see in particular Comboni, 74-92, where some of his poetry is reproduced. Also, Bertanza and Dalla Santa, 223, 224, 229, 233, 270, 271, 286, 301n2. 60. Bernardo is mentioned as notary of the Capi on 22 June 1395, ASV, AC, reg. 3645, fol. 36v. The effort by the Capi to fire him is mentioned in ibid., fol. 63, 2 April 1397. 61. There were rare cases of local matrons and prostitutes: for example, Franceschina from Murano (although Murano was not technically Venice). Lucia, called Nigra, daughter of Marco Ziane or Zane, may have been Venetian. On Lucia, see Tamba, 72-74, nos. 65 and 66, and 142-44, nos. 141 and 143. Matrons might sometimes be married, as was the case of Magdalena “Fornaria” from Padua. 62. Trexler, 985-88, provides an analysis of the origins of prostitutes and protectors in Florence. Rossiaud, 45-48, 146, points out that, in the Rhone area, casual prostitutes were of local origin, but those in the municipal brothels tended to be foreigners. On prostitutes and matrons as foreigners and poor, see also Ghirardo, 405; Otis, 63-64; Roper, 1985, 8. 63. In some cases, women are described as both prostitutes and matrons at the same time, for example Lucia from Rimini (ASV, SN al criminal, reg. 9, fol. 102v), and Anna from Verona (ASV, AC, reg. 3645, fol. 6v). 64. Her full name is given in Tamba, 44-45, no. 34, 24 July 1393. She is always identified by her father’s name and no husband, living or dead, is ever mentioned. Monteveglio is a small town just west of Bologna. 65. Jacoba claimed to be a Venetian citizen: ibid. The database of grants of Venetian citizenship created by Reinhold Mueller and his students (available online at www. civesveneciarum.net) cites a Muzolo quondam Cechi as a dyer from Bologna who gained Venetian citizenship de extra on 10 April 1351, after a residence of twenty-five years. 66. There was a patrician family called Baffo, but since the same name might be used by patricians and commoners, this cannot be taken as proof of status. 67. On 16 March 1394 Marco Baffo gave quittance to Jacoba, his beloved mother, for a house and 400 ducats she had promised to give him and that he had now received: Tamba, 78, no. 72. Jacoba’s promise was redacted by Marco Rafanelli, 2 August 1392, but does not survive among that notary’s papers. Around 1409, a Marco Baffo was acting as factor in Crete for members of the patrician Balbi family: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 170 (Marco Rafanelli), 18 June 1409. 68. Rosenthal, 66. 69. Scarabello, 2006, 19. 70. Ibid., 25. A complaint from the owners of property used by prostitutes shows that the patrician Venier and Morosini families possessed much of it: legislation passed between 24 December 1443 and 13 October 1444, ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 60r; Leggi e memorie, 46-47, no. 29. 71. See the testimony in the inquiry into the death of Francesca from Bologna, a prostitute in the brothel of Caterina from Bologna: ASV, SN al criminal, reg. 11, fol. 3r, 11 January 1394. Francesca emerged from a bedroom on the upper floor and descended to the lower floor with her attacker behind her. 72. Otis, 51-54, and Rossiaud, 9, give similar descriptions of French brothels. Ghirardo, 418, points out that prostitutes in Ferrara also rented shops, into which they enticed their clients. 73. In the inquiry into the death of Francesca from Bologna, mentioned above, one witness stated that many people were present when Francesca came downstairs. 629

74. The inquest into the death of Lucia, who lived in the brothel of Jacoba Baladori, shows that Tuscans were present, as one of the witnesses recognized their accent: ASV, SN al criminal, reg. 11, fol. 4v, 11 January 1394. See also the inquest into the murder of Zanino from Florenzuola by a group of Germans who had been interested in Rosa from Marchia, a prostitute in the Castelletto; she had turned them down to go and sleep with Zanino, but they followed her and attacked her lover, killing him: ibid., reg. 10, fol. 98r, 23 December 1373. Trexler, 993-95, analyzes the clientele of the Florentine brothels, pointing out that the majority was nonFlorentine. 75. See, for example, the cases involving prostitutes in ASV, SN al criminal, reg. 13, fols. 12r, 28v, 42v: the men involved are a butcher, a tailor (working for another tailor), and a servant. In Venice, there were no regulations prohibiting married men or priests from frequenting the Castelletto, although Jews were excluded, as was usual. 76. One of the few men with a patrician surname mentioned in connection with violence in the Castelletto was Pietro Gritti, who was sentenced to decapitation for having killed a prostitute: ASV, SN al criminal, reg. 12, fols. 18v-19r, 9 December 1390. However, as Piasentini, 110n60, points out, that Gritti was described as a sailor and official (doorkeeper) in the Fondaco dei Tedeschi means that he could not have been a patrician. On Venetian patricians’ sexual involvement with lower-class women, see Ruggiero, 1980, 70-72; Ruggiero, 1985, 60-61. In Florence, too, patricians seem rarely to have frequented the public brothels: see Trexler, 994-95, although he suggests that this might be an illusion resulting from officials’ reluctance to mention them. 77. On bancali, see Schiaparelli, 195, 218-22; Thornton, 173-74, clarifies that, at the beginning of the fifteenth century, seating still consisted mainly of benches and stools rather than chairs. 78. Thornton, 111-67, provides a discussion of the various sorts of beds and their furnishings. Documents involving matrons refer to letti, which were probably simple beds, as opposed to the massive lettiera. 79. Tamba, 253-54, no. 274, 3 October 1398: Caterina da Bologna, matron in the Castelletto, confesses a debt to a strazzarolo of over seventy-six ducats for the rest owed for the rent of beds, a bancale, and a bariloto of crimson velvet lined with squirrel. A bariloto was a rather full outer garment. A woman, Veronese “a lectis” (“of the beds”), who had business affairs with several matrons, was probably renting or selling them beds. On 7 March 1399 the executors of Veronese remitted the debts owed her by Caterina da Bologna and by Anna da Verona: ibid., 272, nos. 300-01. Renting objects is mentioned as a specialty in the capitulary of the used-goods dealers: Biblioteca del Museo Correr di Venezia, Mariegole, 195, 156-57, 10 June 1584. There is a growing literature on the market for secondhand goods. On Venice, see in particular Allerston, which mentions prostitutes on 51-52. Storey, 2008a, 173-75, 193-94; and Storey, 2008b, points out that Roman prostitutes acquired clothes and furnishings from secondhand dealers. 80. On 11 October 1398, Jacoba Baladori received back some pawns she had given as security for a debt: Tamba, 256-57, no. 277. These consisted of a pellanda (an outer garment with sleeves) of black velvet with pearl buttons, another of blue silk “ad modum damaschinum” (with arabesque patterns, presumably), a silver belt worked with designs including the rays of the sun, on a crimson fabric dyed with expensive grain. Anna da Verona, another matron, owed 213 ducats to a used-clothes dealer for clothes of silk, velvet, and gold, and for woolen clothes for women, all of which she had bought from him: ibid., 163-65, no. 165, 9 June 1396. The same Anna paid twenty-four ducats for a woman’s robe of gold brocade: ibid., 169, no. 170, 4 August 1396. 81. ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), fols. 31v-32r, 4 July 1408: Margherita from Florence, living in the Castelletto, listed the money and goods that had been retained by her former matron, Margarita from Bologna, when she left the latter’s brothel in Padua. These include a fur coat, a silver belt, and a pair of shoes with ten silver buttons. Vianello, 634-35, points out that for women, covered feet and closed shoes signified chastity; therefore prostitutes were often depicted showing their feet and shoes. See, for example, the image of the Venetian courtesan in Vecellio, 198-99, 137-38. 82. On the importance of expensive clothing to create an illusion of prostitute as gentlewoman, see Varholy. In sixteenth-century Venice, too, procuresses sometimes passed off a prostitute as a gentlewoman by dressing her appropriately: Vecellio, 195. While prostitution was theoretically limited to the Castelletto, there were evidently no restrictions on prostitutes’ clothes and furnishings. However, in the sixteenth century, silk, pearls, tapestries, bancali, etc., were forbidden to prostitutes: ASV, Senato, Deliberazioni, Terra (hereafter ASV, Sen., Terra), reg. 32, fol. 147, 21 February 1543; Leggi e memorie, 108, no. 105; Calza, 36. 83. A tailor of Padua demanded fifty ducats from Caterina from Bologna, matron in the Venetian Castelletto, for two velvet pellande (robes) he had sold her: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), 12 November 1400. On 15 April 1399 Anna from Verona promised to pay the silk producer Marco Ridolfi thirty-five ducats (in installments) for silk cloth she had bought from him: Tamba, 278, no. 309. 630

84. On 13 August 1393, Jacoba Baladori stated that she had settled accounts with a secondhand dealer for the money he had lent her and for the clothes and other things received from him “for my mamole,” and that she remained his debtor for over 314 ducats: Tamba, 50-51, no. 40. 85. For example, on 15 April 1399, the matron Anna from Verona reached agreement on the payment of the thirty-five ducats she still owed the silk merchant Marco Ridolfi for silk cloth, promising to reimburse one-third by the end of May and the rest in two payments after eight and sixteen months: Tamba, 278, no. 309. When Caterina from Bologna promised to repay Michele da Bergamo the over seventy-six ducats she owed him, she agreed to pay three ducats per month and gave as guarantor Bartolomeo d’Andrea “a marchis”: ibid., 253-54, no. 274, 3 October 1398. 86. For example, a used-goods dealer, Antonio Velluti from Florence, had to take Helena from Florence to court to have her sentenced to pay him thirty-seven ducats: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 227 (Angeleto di Andreuccio), fol. 94r, 23 December 1413. 87. ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), fol. 12, 5 November 1404. 88. Ibid., fol. 32, 25 July 1408. By this time, Redolfo’s shop was in San Cassian, his parish of residence. 89. However, in the end, Redolfo had to take legal action to obtain repayment from Helena, and she was desperate enough to bribe one of the Capi to help her reach an accord with him: ASV, AC, reg. 3646, fols. 33v-34r, 17 July 1413. 90. On 26 July 1406, in Redolfo’s shop, Checha quondam Giovanni from Firenze, then living in the public brothel, confessed a debt to another prostitute: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), fol. 24. 91. Tamba, 50-51, no. 40, 13 August 1393, and 253-54, no. 274, 3 October 1398. 92. Ibid., 50-51, no. 40, 13 August 1393. 93. The next day, 14 August 1393: ibid., 51, no. 41. Jacoba instructed the notary to issue this letter of attorney as often as Michele wanted and with all the powers he requested, except selling. 94. Prostitutes also frequented other shops at the Rialto, such as those of jewelers: ASV, SN al criminal, reg. 12, fol. 76r, 2 September 1401. 95. Who was, at the time, a Florentine, Piero di Giovanni: Tamba, 74-75, no. 68, 9 February 1394. The Angel Inn was in the parish of San Maffeo and was one of those involved with prostitution: Cessi and Alberti, 286. In Rome, too, prostitutes seem to have been active in the trade in secondhand goods: Storey, 2008b. 96. On this occasion Jacoba also gave Piero a quittance for other sums he might owe her, while he issued the same sort of quittance to her: Tamba, 75-76, no. 69. 97. She bought 100 ducats worth from a member of the Garzoni family: ibid., 182-83, no. 185, 5 April 1397. This quantity of thread is much more than would be used in normal sewing operations to adjust or rework used clothing. In some localities prostitutes could pay off part of their debts to the matrons through their handwork: Roper, 1985, 6. 98. By 5 June 1411 Helena had accumulated a debt of 110 ducats with Castellano di Sigismondo, for part of which she had supplied pawns: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 36 (Giovani Campio). On 26 March 1415 she transferred to Castellano a debt owed her by another person: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 193 (Francesco de Soris), fol. 82v. 99. ASV, AC, reg. 3647, fol. 20, 24 September 1417. 100. ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), 16 August 1419. 101. Apart from the matrons, there were some other women in Venice who were active in business and in credit operations. The subject will be further discussed in my forthcoming book on women, work, and business in Renaissance Venice. 102. For example, on 13 July 1406, Caterina da Bologna confessed a debt of 100 ducats received from Girolamo and Andrea Zorzi, to be repaid at ten ducats per month: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti). She also received 200 ducats from Cristoforo Dandolo, as in two documents dated 10 July 1408: ibid. On 24 July 1393, Jacoba Baladori borrowed forty ducats from Antonio di Marco Coppo: Tamba, 44-45, no. 34. She promised to repay it in two installments by the end of the coming November. On 11 October 1398, Jacoba received from Bernardo Giustinian, executor of Lorenzo Giustinian, the pawns she had given the latter to guarantee a loan of forty ducats he had given her: ibid., 256-57, no. 277. She had repaid the loan. 103. Tamba, 81, no. 75, 18 March 1394. 104. From mid-1393 she may also have been permanently disfigured. After she gave evidence regarding a murder probably perpetrated by Giovanni de Artusio, Giovanni’s brother attacked her on the street, striking a number of blows to her face that did considerable harm: ASV, AC, reg. 3645, fol. 6v, 20 June 1393. It was, of course, normal for an attacker to try to destroy a prostitute’s looks. 631

105. The company was mentioned on 3 April 1392 in ASV, AC, reg. 3644, fol. 91. On 28 August 1395 Lucia gave Anna a quittance for everything Anna might owe her “by reason of the company of mamole of the Castelletto whom we had together at profit and loss”: Tamba, 142-43, no. 141. Lucia then created a priest in San Maffeo her procurator to collect debts owed to her: ibid., 143-44, no. 142, 1 September 1395. 106. Tamba, 262-63, no. 287, 29 November 1398. 107. They may, however, have used a system of signs comprehensible even to the illiterate, as was done in the Venetian gold-spinning industry, and which Pol, 172, mentions was used by brothel-keepers in Amsterdam. 108. See the detailed documentation in ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), fols. 11v-12v, 23 October and 5 November 1404. 109. On payments made to brothel-keepers, see Otis, 82. The regulations of 1460 that established a new Castelletto in Venice reproduced some of the earlier regulations, but no mention is made of a fee paid by clients. 110. Such as Amsterdam: see Pol, 195-99, who points out that excessive prices were charged and that clients might be robbed and cheated in various ways. 111. The deliberation by the Senate of 5 May 1421 states that matrons and prostitutes rented houses and “voltas” outside the Castelletto and sold wine there to their “bertonis,” or lovers/pimps: ASV, Sen., Misti, reg. 53, fol. 132v; ASV SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 42v; Leggi e memorie, 34, no. 12; Calza, 8-9. The difference in wealth between the matrons and prostitutes is indicated by the difference in the fine established for this misdemeanor: twenty-five lire for matrons and ten for prostitutes. Roper, 1985, 5, also mentions that brothel-keepers in Germany made money on food and drink. 112. This is stated in the legislation of 5 May 1421: ASV, Sen., Misti, reg. 53, fol. 132v; ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 42v; Leggi e memorie, 34, no. 12; Calza, 8-9. 113. For example, a man who was kept away from the prostitute he wanted in the brothel of Lucia Ziane and Anna da Verona took revenge by setting fire to the beds of their premises. He had been drinking before he committed the deed: ASV, AC, reg. 3644, fol. 91, 3 April 1392. 114. On 1 March 1418, Lucia from Ravenna, matron in the Castelletto, was sentenced to pay a debt of twentyseven ducats for meat she had purchased: ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 41r. This is a large sum and suggests that she was feeding numerous people. 115. These regulations of 4 September 1460 are in ASV, CN, reg. 10, fols. 11v-12v in the new numbering; Leggi e memorie, 56-59, no. 43; Calza, 17. There is also an abbreviated English translation in Chambers and Pullan, 120-23. A comparison can be made to the twenty-four soldi or 1.2 lire that a master carpenter would make in a day: see Lane, 177, 179. 116. The regulations of 15 July 1423 decreed that, when the matrons presented clothes to the Capi for an estimation of their value, these officials had to consult three experts before determining the value: ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 48r. 117. For example, one prostitute transferred to the matron Helena from Florence had a debt of 130 ducats: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), fol. 26r, 24 December 1406. This sum represents a little more than two years’ salary of a master carpenter working full time (calculated as 250 days per year). 118. Perhaps an idea can be gained from the rate at which prostitutes promised to repay loans. The ten ducats per month promised by Benassuta from Treviso (ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 [Cecchino Alberti], fol. 13) implies an income of well over 120 ducats per year, or more than twice the 62.5 ducats a master carpenter might expect to make annually. 119. On 1 March 1390 the presbyter Marco Cortisano promised the prostitute Jacoba from Padua that he would act as her guarantor for a debt she had contracted with the matron Lucia Ziane in 1378, twelve years earlier: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 22 (Marco Boccassino), fol. 9r. A similar system of debt existed in the brothels of Ferrara, of late medieval Spain, and of early modern Amsterdam: Ghirardo, 410; Lacarra Lanz, 269, 271-72; Pol, 171-76. 120. As stated in the Senate’s deliberation of 28 July 1432, where it is also asserted that the Capi had been breaking the rules by distributing the money as they saw fit: ASV, Sen., Misti, reg. 58, fol. 134v. 121. For example, on 3 June 1404 Caterina from Udine, prostitute in the Castelletto, promised to repay Andrea from Modrussa the forty-two ducats he had paid in her name to the matron Helena from Florence: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), fol. 9v. On 1 December 1404 Benassuta from Treviso, prostitute in the Castelletto, promised to repay the strazzarolo Lotto quondam Jacobi from Florence the 100 ducats plus change

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he had paid “for love” in her name to content Caterina from Bologna: ibid., fol.13. Prostitutes in Amsterdam also tried to get men to pay their debts: Pol, 175. 122. This limit was set in the regulations of 15 July 1423: ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fols. 30r-32v, 46r-48r; Leggi e memorie, 37-40, nos. 16-19; Calza, 11-14. 123. The maximum was five lire dipiccoli: ASV, MC, Delib., reg. 22, fol. 120v, 18 January 1439. Also Leggi e memorie, 44, no. 26; Calza, 15-16. 124. This payment had to be at least twenty soldi: ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fol. 39r, 15 December 1413. 125. Stated in the regulations of 15 July 1423: ibid., fols. 46v-47r; Leggi e memorie, 37-38, no. 17; Calza, 12-13. 126. Legislation of 15 July 1423: ASV, SN al civil, b. 1, fols. 30r-32v and 46r-48r; Leggi e memorie, 37-40, nos. 16-19; Calza, 11-14. 127. Anna from Verona and Lucia Ziane refused to allow an ex-custodian of the Castelletto to continue his relation with one of their prostitutes. In revenge, he set fire to some of the beds of the brothel, hoping to burn it down: ASV, AC, reg. 3644, fol. 91, 3 April 1392. 128. On 25 September 1403 Helena from Florence, matron in the Castelletto, agreed never to ask Domenica “Zizoleta” from Ferrara for the twenty-one ducats she still owed her, as Domenica had promised to abandon the brothel and never stay in another: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), fol. 6. If Domenica failed to keep her promise, she had to pay Helena the twenty-one ducats. 129. ASV, CI, Notai, b. 193 (Francesco de Soris), fols. 82v-83r, 26 March 1415: a man from Murano confessed a debt of forty-four ducats (the rest of fifty-nine ducats) he owed Helena from Florence for having gone off from Venice with one of her prostitutes. The regulations of 4 September 1460 prohibited anyone from taking a prostitute from Venice who owed money to a property-owner or innkeeper, on pain of paying all her debts: ASV, CN, reg. 10, fols. 11v-12r; Leggi e memorie, 56-59, no. 43, Calza, 17. 130. ASV, AC, reg. 3645, fols. 4r and 13v of the second section of the volume. Scarabello, 2006, 39-40, cites the former case and another of 3 October 1397, which involved two men pawning women in brothels in Treviso. Also see Ruggiero, 1985, 41-42. Maddalena “Fornaria” from Padua was convicted of conspiring with a husband to try and force his wife into prostitution. Since Maddalena gave clothes to both husband and wife, the case was treated as pawning of a woman: ASV, AC, reg. 3647, fol. 20, 24 September 1417. 131. Trexler, 986-87, mentions the number of German and Flemish girls in Florentine brothels in the early fifteenth century, though the number fell thereafter. The term German was, of course, a broad one that included people of the Netherlands and of various countries of Eastern Europe. 132. ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), fol. 2, 28 April 1403. 133. Ibid.: “which prostitutes the said Anne has given and ceded to the same Helena with all related rights.” 134. Ibid., fol. 26r, 24 December 1406. Helena’s guarantor was the druggist Redolfo Mazuchi, who undertook to become a principal debtor together with Helena. On Anastasia, see Canosa and Colonnello, 21. 135. ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cechino Alberti), fol. 5v, 31 July 1403. 136. Ibid., fol. 5r. 137. On 17 July 1413, Nicolo Corner was punished for his behavior while Capo: ASV, AC, reg. 3646, fol. 33v. He had taken a prostitute from a matron with the excuse that he wanted her with him while he was in Padua, and had forced the matron to accept as compensation fifty ducats rather than the sixty-two ducats the prostitute actually owed her. However, Nicolo then pawned the girl to another matron for sixty-five ducats. He had also bought gowns from strazzaroli and at auction, and sold them to matrons and prostitutes for much higher prices. 138. Tamba, 182-83, no. 185, 5 April 1397: “in addition obligating all my mamole or every right over them which I have or can have or can have in future such that you can, and have the power to, have recourse to the said mamole.” 139. For Augsburg, see Roper, 1989, 96; Roper, 1985, 6-7. Pol, 173-76, points out that a similar system ofdebt was used to transfer and pawn prostitutes in early modern Amsterdam. 140. This legislation is in Caggese, 2:100, 271-73. See also Canosa and Colonnello, 27-34. Similar legislation to prevent pawning women and forcing them into prostitution through debt existed in Seville: Perry, 149. However, it is questionable how effective such legislation was, as Mazzi, 341-46, shows prostitutes in Florence being manipulated by debt and rights over them being transferred even in the fifteenth century. 141. ASV, MC, Delib., reg. 22, fol. 120r, 21 December 1438; Leggi e memorie, 43-44, no. 25; Calza, 15. On the use of such rhetoric, see Ruggiero, 1985, 16-22, 45-49, 70-75. 142. ASV, MC, Delib., reg. 22, fol. 120r: “questa nostra citta habia fama de esser libera et alla vera liberta principalmente se convegna che tutti quando i vol possi viver bene, in che sta el vero nome de liberta.” Pol, 174, 633

shows that similar treatment of prostitutes in Amsterdam was likened to slavery and criticized as objectionable in a free country. 143. E. Cohen, 1998. 144. Acts notarized by Cechino Alberti (ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6) include documents for merchants (for example, fol. 9r, 1 May 1404, redacted in the “square where merchants gather”). He also drew up acts for various nuns. 145. Their low status is also indicated by the regularity with which whipping was included in the penalties imposed on them. The brutality of prostitutes’ lives with male pimps in Florence is discussed by Mazzi, esp. 330-40. She also comments on the way physical violence against public women was taken to be almost normal: ibid., 375-79. 146. The will of the prostitute Agnes from Ljubljana — 23 July 1405, ASV, Notarile, Testamenti (hereafter ASV, NT, with bundle number and name of relevant notary in parentheses), b. 570 (Bernardo Panza) — suggests relative social isolation as well as poverty, as the only legatees are Agnes’s fellow prostitute, or socia (companion), Margherita from Zadar, and an official at the Rialto, to whom she left a silver belt and ten ducats for his daughter’s dowry. These gifts constituted the bulk of her wealth. 147. In her will of 7 September 1415, Cristina, wife of the dyer Gratioso da Montalbano, left twenty-five ducats to help liberate a “sinner” who, because of misfortune, was in the “public house” and wanted to leave it for a better life in divine matrimony: ASV, NT, b. 336 (Antonio Dalmario), no. 2. Bequests of this sort were frequently made elsewhere, as in Ferrara: Ghirardo, 410. 148. One refuge for ex-prostitutes, in San Margherita, was founded by the Giovanni Contarini who also founded the hospital of San Giobbe: see his will of 28 January 1403 (changed to 30 August 1407), ASV, NT, b. 571 (Giorgio di Gibilino), no. 137; Ellero, 57; Gardani. For much more frequent efforts to create refuges for exprostitutes in the sixteenth century, see S. Cohen, and, for Venice, Pullan, 257-58, 376-94. 149. ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), 18 September 1400. 150. Ruggiero, 1985, 30, 153, mentions such unions among Venetians. See also Karras, 2012, 185-208. Ferrante, 212-16, describes similar agreements between masters and servant-concubines, and Romano, 105, offers an interesting example. 151. Helena’s will of 27 July 1411 is in ASV, NT, b. 1233 (Francesco de Soris), no. 196. Jacoba’s was redacted by Cecchino Alberti: ibid., b. 54, no. 5, 16 December 1400. 152. Caterina da Bologna purchased a black female slave, but she sold her six months later, reducing the price from thirty-five to thirty-four ducats: ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cechino Alberti), 19 June and 17 December 1406. 153. Jacoba refers to an Agata “who does my business,” and to whom she leaves her own bed, a slave (for four years), and financial support for the rest of her life. 154. Jacoba’s male beneficiaries included the notary Cecchino Alberti, a scribe in the office of the Capisestieri, and another man who had assisted her with many documents. Presumably her special male friend was her “familiar,” Bartolo, to whom she left twenty-five ducats. 155. ASV, CI, Notai, b. 193 (Francesco de Soris), fol. 147r, 21 July 1416: Helena, “once matron in the brothel,” now of the parish of San Cassian, gives quittance to Magdalena “Fornaria” from Padua “at present matron in that brothel” for all she owed, including some obligations she had made to Helena in the office of the Capisestieri and that she was paying through that office. 156. On this confraternity, see Ortalli, esp. 122-23, 132-33. 157. Helena left hers only fifty ducats once he reached the age of twenty, and that on condition that he behaved well. Jacoba stipulated that her adopted son was to be raised by her estate and that 400 lire (about eighty-nine ducats) were to be invested for him until he reached his majority. 158. ASV, CI, Notai, b. 6 (Cecchino Alberti), 2 January to 1 September 1401. On 18 July, three of the executors delegated their powers to a farrier from Bologna, Bartolomeo quondam Giovanni, who presumably accepted the duties. Among the powers transferred was that of collecting the late Jacoba’s debts from three of her mamole. 159. The legislation of 4 September 1460 is in ASV, CN, reg. 10, fols. 11v-12v; Leggi e memorie, 56-59, no. 43. 160. The new Castelletto is referred to as a street (“cale” or “ruga”). Prostitutes had to stop working at two hours after sunset, and custodians were to be present during the last two hours to protect them. However, there is no mention of closing the Castelletto. 161. Although it is not actually stated that prostitutes could live in taverns, inns, and bathhouses, limits are set on how much the proprietors of these establishments could charge prostitutes per month for room and board or

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for a room and use of a kitchen. Since prostitutes were not allowed to work in these public houses during the day, they must have been spending the night in them. 162. Of course, this does not mean that women stopped providing poor girls with clothes and forcing them to work as prostitutes to repay the costs. However, this practice was condemned as “diabolical” in Venetian legislation of 27 July 1542 and blamed for increasing the incidence of prostitution. It was, therefore, outlawed: ASV, Provveditori e Sopraprovveditori alla Sanita, reg. 729, fol. 7; Leggi e memorie, 105, no. 101. 163. The patrician in question was Priamo Malipiero. 164. In 1468 a scandal was created by the behavior of the clients of prostitutes living in the parish of San Samuele. Instead of completely evicting the prostitutes, the Council of Ten ordered the proprietors to wall up the doors and the lower part ofwindows giving onto the main street. In 1480 the Collegio allowed two proprietors to rent houses to prostitutes in Carampani, an area in the parish of San Cassian that had traditionally been used by prostitutes: Leggi e memorie, 65, no. 52 and 69, no. 56. Even nuns might rent their property in Carampani to prostitutes: ASV, Quattro Ministeriali, Stride e Clamori, reg. 78, fol. 99r, 3 February 1497. 165. Legislation of 13 and 15 June 1492, which expelled pimps from the city, allowed prostitutes who had received clothes and other things from pimps to keep these if they denounced the men: Leggi e memorie, 75-76, nos. 68, 69. 166. Decrees ordering all prostitutes to return to the Castelletto were issued in 1486, 1490, 1495, and 1502: Leggi e memorie, 69, no. 57; 72-73, no. 63; 81, nos. 75, 76; 90-91, no. 86. On 21 February 1543 the Senate asserted that prostitutes were so well dressed that even Venetians could not distinguish them from noblewomen. Restrictions were therefore imposed on prostitutes’ clothes and furnishings: ASV, Sen., Terra, reg. 32, fol. 147; Leggi e memorie, 108-09, no. 105. Extracts from this legislation are transcribed and translated in Rosenthal, 59-60, 67. 167. ASV, Consiglio di Dieci, Deliberazioni, Comuni, reg. 15, fols. 141v-42r, 12 April 1543: the Provveditori sopra la Sanitoa are having difficulties imposing recent legislation against prostitutes, courtesans, and other infamous people because of the “tanti favori che hano simel persone di male et pessima conditione.” Therefore, no Venetian noble or anyone else may intercede in any way for any infamous person summoned before the Provveditori. An extract from this legislation is given, with translation, in Rosenthal, 67.

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