Why Read Historical Fiction Set in Sixteenth Century France? Reason #2

Yesterday, I set out to convince you why reading and writing historical fiction set in Renaissance France was a worthwhile endeavor. The first reason I offered was ESCAPE from the turbulence of our present situation. Today, I offer a second reason: RELEVANCE.

Reason #2: RELEVANCE

While reading historical novels can offer a temporary escape from the troubles of today's world, it can also serve as a means to examine issues at the forefront of our national consciousness. Despite the five hundred years that separate our two eras, today's society continues to grapple with many of the same issues that preoccupied the people of the Renaissance. In the sixteenth century, Western Europe was a world in flux, caught between a renewed appreciation of the arts and wisdom of the ancient Greeks and Romans and the new vistas offered by exploration and the expansion of trade. Although monarchy as a form of government would remain unquestioned for two more centuries, feudal society was beginning to crumble. Class boundaries were becoming more porous as court functionaries gained titles and merchants and tradespeople amassed wealth that allowed them to climb a few rungs up the social ladder. Christians called into question central tenets of the Catholic faith and the supreme authority of the Church. Women were demanding access to education and professions traditionally denied to them. The world was changing with a speed that often left people of the era breathless and unmoored--similar to the way many people feel today. 

Exploration and an expansion of foreign trade brought the people of Renaissance Europe into contact with societies vastly different from their own. Just as readers of today must weigh issues of immigration and globalization, people of sixteenth century had to expand their worldview to incorporate an entire New World and the unfamiliar peoples who inhabited it. Issues of race complicated the quest for resources, as explorers and settlers subjugated and exploited native inhabitants for their own gain. The broadening of the known world affected everything from religious to social to politico-economic thought and required the adjustment of long established systems.

1591 French map of Florida by Jacques Le Moyne de Morgues

Portrait of an African Slave Woman
by Annibale Carracci, circa 1580s

Historical fiction that deals with exploration, such as Laila Lalami's The Moor's Account (2014) and Ronald Wright's The Gold Eaters (2016), stir a reader's imagination and conscience, providing new ways to consider the issues of racism and immigration that affect twenty-first century life. 

Religious liberty was another hot topic in the sixteenth century, just as it is today. Even before Luther posted his 95 theses on the door of the Cathedral of Wittenberg in 1517 and sparked the Protestant Reformation, French Catholics had been questioning abuses by the Church and agitating for reform. The Wars of Religion broke out in 1562, as Catholic and Protestant armies vied to take control of the country. Bloody battles between the two factions continued through the remaining decades of the century; the infamous St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre, in August 1572, resulted in the death of thousands of Protestants. The carnage did not abate until 1598, when the heir to the throne, the Protestant Henri of Navarre, converted to Catholicism. Crowned king, he issued the Edict of Nantes, which granted Huguenots important rights and freedoms.

Luther's Ninety-Five Theses

St. Bartholomew's Massacre by François Dubois

Religious dissension in the sixteenth century often pitted family members, friends, and lovers against each other and caused internal turmoil as individuals were forced to choose a side and publicly defend their beliefs. Issues of individual conscience find ready parallels in today's world, where the battle is not so much between creeds but between secular and religious values. Historical novels such as Robert Merle's The Brethren (English translation, 2019) and Kate Mosse's The Burning Chambers (2018) capture these conflicts and the attention of readers interested in questions of religious liberty and freedom of conscience.

A final issue relevant to modern readers is that of women's rights. During the sixteenth century, women began to clamor for increased participation in the world of men. The right to a humanist education was championed by King François I's own sister, Marguerite de Navarre, a prolific writer, poet, and religious thinker who could hold her own in debate with the male scholars that roamed her brother's halls. Similarly, Marie de Gournay, Michel de Montaigne's adopted daughter, editor, and commentator, published The Equality of Men and Women and The Ladies' Grievance, demanding that women be educated as thoroughly as men. Writers like the poet Louise Labé and artists like the enamelist Suzanne de Court struggled to carve a place and earn respect in literary and artistic circles, while women in trades like printing and brewing endeavored to run their own enterprises.

L'Heptameron of Marguerite de Navarre

Louise Labé by Pierre Woeiriot

Suzanne de Court's signature on an enameled platter

Twenty-first century readers enmeshed in the ongoing struggle for women's rights would find historical fiction such as Jenny Diski's novel about Marie de Gournay, Apology for the Woman Writing (2008),  and Joy McCullough's novel about the painter Artemisia Gentileschi, Blood Water Paint (2018), especially pertinent.

The sixteenth century in France offers authors an abundance of situations ripe for the development of complex characters and riveting conflict. Readers of their works will be pleasantly surprised to discover how closely these engrossing stories parallel the struggles of their own lives and of society as a whole, so many centuries later.  

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Historical fiction set during the Renaissance is both entertaining and culturally relevant. Need another reason to read it? Reason #3 is just around the corner!

Woman's Work(s): The Poetry of Louise Labé

In 1555, printer Jean de Tournes of Lyon published a small volume of poetry titled, simply enough, EVVRES (WORKS). This innocuous label belied the book’s audacity, for the collection—a proto-feminist dedicatory epistle, a lengthy dialogue between Love and Folly, three elegies, and twenty-four sonnets—was the first of its kind in France: a volume of poetry written by a woman of common status and published under her own name, splashed brazenly across the frontispiece: LOUÏZE LABÉ LIONNOIZE.

How did the daughter and, later, wife of obscure Lyonnais ropemakers rise to become the premiere female poet of the French Renaissance? Few women in sixteenth-century France could read or write; far fewer could lay claim to the classical education requisite for the writing of verse. The fortunate minority with access to private tutors or convent formation belonged overwhelmingly to the noble class. Louise Labé could claim no such privilege, yet somehow she mastered not only written French, but Italian and Latin. So thoroughly did Labé assimilate the works of the ancients and those of her male peers that she transformed their tropes and techniques into a new poetic discourse, one that posited woman as the subject, rather than the object, of desire. A daring literary triumph—and one for which Louise would pay dearly for the rest of her life, with the coin of her reputation.

Labé’s direct affront to the ideals of feminine modesty and reticence made censure inevitable. In the eyes of her contemporaries, a female author was little better than a prostitute. Both put their private selves on public display, one hawking her words, the other her body. Unlike female authors of the noble class, Labé had no powerful man to vouch for her purity, and she eschewed the protection a pseudonym or posthumous publication might afford. Her participation in Lyon’s male literary circles birthed rumors of improper behavior that publication of the EVVRES appeared to validate. Vilified and disparaged as a courtesan by the general public, Labé nevertheless enjoyed the friendship and respect of her male colleagues, who praised her verse and learning in the two dozen poems of the “Hommage à Louise Labé” that rounds out the EVVRES. Now regarded as a leading figure of French poetry, Labé achieved the objective her dedicatory epistle announced: to show men how wrong they’d been to deprive women of the honor and benefit the pursuit of knowledge provided. “[L]ift[ing her head] above the spindle,” Louise Labé dared to claim a public voice for herself and for all women brave enough to speak.

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This post first appeared on the blog of P.K. Adams, author of THE GREENEST BRANCH: A Novel of Germany's First Female Physician. P.K.'s blog features guest posts about lesser-known historical women in fiction (or fictional female characters who are not royalty). 

Sixteenth Century Quote of the Week

Louise Labé in 1555, Engraving by Pierre Woeiriot (1532-1596)

"Estant le tems venu, Madamoiselle, que les severes loix des hommes n'empeschent plus les femmes de s'apliquer aux sciences et disciplines: il me semble que celles qui ont la commodité, doivent employer cette honneste liberté que notre sexe ha autre fois tant desiree, à icelles aprendre: et montrer aus hommes le tort qu'ils nous faisoient en nous privant du bien et de l'honneur qui nous en pouvoit venir: Et si quelcune parvient en tel degré que de pouvoir mettre ses concepcions par escrit, le faire songneusement et non dédaigner la gloire, et s'en parer plustot que de chaines, anneaus, et somptueus habits: lesquels ne pouvons vrayement estimer notres, que par usage. Mais l'honneur que la science nous procurera, sera entierement notre: et ne nous pourra estre oté, ne par finesse de larron, ne force d'ennemis, ne longueur du temps."

"Since the time has now come, Mademoiselle, when men’s harsh laws no longer prevent women from applying themselves to study and learning, it seems to me that those who have the means should take advantage of this well-deserved freedom — so fervently desired by our sex in the past — to pursue them, and to show men how wrong they were to deprive us of the benefit and recognition these things might have given us. And if any of us succeeds to the point where she can put her ideas down in writing, she should do it seriously and not disdain fame, but adorn herself with it, rather than with chains, rings, and lavish clothing, all of which we cannot truly consider our own except by social custom.But the honor that education brings us will be entirely our own, and cannot be taken away from us — neither by a thief’s trickery, nor by an enemy’s force, nor by the passage of time."

Louise Labé (1524-1566)

Poet, Evvres de Louize Labé Lionnoise (1555)

Dedicatory Epistle to Clémence de Bourges

Translated by Deborah Lesko Baker (2006)

Review and Giveaway: THE DARK LADY'S MASK by Mary Sharratt

Once again, Mary Sharratt captivates readers with a compelling tale of an extraordinary woman carving a place for herself in a man's world. THE DARK LADY'S MASK (available in paperback April 11) fictionalizes the life of Aemilia Bassano Lanier, the first Englishwoman to claim the title of professional poet. Lanier was also, according to many scholars, the "Dark Lady" of Shakespeare's sonnets. Sharratt's Aemilia is, however, no mute object of the male poet's desire, but a full-fledged collaborator in the writing of his comedies. In fact, it is Aemilia's education, talent, and connections that secure Shakespeare the break that leads him to fame and literary immortality, even as he serves as her "mask,"  the cover conventions of the time require her to adopt in order to shepherd her work to stage without scandal.

Masks are a constant theme in this novel of self-discovery. Aemilia's relationship with Shakespeare, important as it is, occupies only half the book's pages. The novel's early sections dramatize Aemilia's childhood, the revelation of her Jewish roots, her humanist education, and her years at court as mistress to one of England's most powerful noblemen. Once she meets Shakespeare and begins writing in earnest, Aemilia realizes that she has only ever been "a mask with nothing behind it. An empty shell. A player in a tragicomedy uttering lines written by someone else." Her creative collaboration with Shakespeare moves her ever closer to her core, but inconvenient facts about her personal situation, her family background, and her gender still require disguise. It is only in the last quarter of the book, after her relationship with Shakespeare ends and she takes refuge in the company of learned women, that Aemelia discards her masks and reveals to the world her true self.

That self is, despite years of cross-dressing in search of freedom, wholly and unapologetically female. The theme of sisterhood, a favorite of Sharratt's, finds full expression in this novel. No matter their station, the female characters all suffer at the hands of men, and only by banding together in friendship do they overcome their oppression. It is through the affection and support of like-minded women that Aemilia achieves her dream of publication, and she uses that dream to advance women's cause. Spurred by the advice she received as a child from the humanist Anne Locke--"Remember this, my dear, you must cherish your own sex"--and by the experience of deep female friendships, Aemilia pens a poetic apology in defense of women, a proto-feminist religious poem that establishes her place in the cannon of English letters.

photo credit

Drawing on her meticulous research, keen psychological insight, and deep familiarity with Shakespearean drama, Sharratt crafts an immensely readable and deeply satisfying portrait of an early modern woman who challenged boundaries and expanded the spectrum of acceptable female roles. Ironically, in Sharratt's hands Shakespeare continues to serve as Aemilia's mask--the Shakespearean angle of the story not only broadens the novel's appeal but provides some of its cleverest and most moving pages. Yet Sharratt never makes Aemilia's success dependent on her involvement with the Bard; Aemilia succeeds in spite of it. In its imaginative and emotionally convincing interweaving of the two poets' lives, THE DARK LADY'S MASK serves as an exquisite tribute to Aemilia Bassano Lanier and her courageous contribution to the world of letters.

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To celebrate the publication of the paperback edition of THE DARK LADY'S MASK, available April 11, 2017, the author has generously offered to send a free copy to one lucky reader of this review. To enter the random drawing, please comment below with the title of your favorite Shakespearean play by eleven pm PST Tuesday, April 18, 2017. Winner will be announced Friday, April 21, 2017. US residents only. Good luck!

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The author of five critically acclaimed novels, Mary Sharratt is an American who has lived in Germany and England for more than two decades. A passionate Shakespeare enthusiast, her explorations into the hidden histories of Renaissance women compelled her to write this book. She lives in Lancashire, England. Learn more about Mary's novels at her website.  

La Belle Cordière in Glass

Imagine my delight when I stumbled upon this beautiful stained glass portrait of Louise Labé, the Lyonnaise poet whose Oeuvres appeared in 1555! The panel was created by Lucien Bégule, a nineteenth century painter of stained glass who became one of Lyon's premier artists. Bégule specialized in both profane and religious windows; his glassworks on the heights of Saint-Just overlooking the city produced vitraux that decorate churches throughout France and appear in distant locations like Lausanne, Nagasaki, Cairo, and Rio de Janeiro.

Bégule's portrait of La Belle Cordière captures the Louise of Pierre Woeiriot's contemporary 1555 engraving.

The panel's design was inspired by Le Printemps, a window created in 1894 by Art nouveau designer Eugène Grasset.

Bégule met Grasset in Paris in 1885 and introduced him to the art of stained glass. The two men became close collaborators. Their representation of St. George killing the dragon won a silver medal at the 1889 Exposition universelle in Paris. The stunning Labé window, a beautiful tribute to one of Lyon's most well-known literary figures, won a gold medal at the 1900 Exposition universelle.

Bégule's window is on display in the Musée Gadagne, the history museum housed in a Renaissance edifice in the heart of Old Lyon. You can view more of Bégule's beautiful creations at this website devoted to his work.

I'm so entranced with the Belle Cordière window I've plastered it on my desktop! I wrote about Louise, the inspiration behind my first novel, here. I'm happy to have such a lovely representation of my literary heroine close at hand to inspire me.

A Novel Enterprise

Although I write novels set in sixteenth century France, the novel, as a genre, was unknown during this period. The Middle Ages had witnessed the flowering of narrative poetry--epics like the Chanson de Roland or Les quatre fils Aymon, romances like Chrétien de Troyes's Yvain ou le Chevalier au lion--and the development of the historical chronicle, such as those of Froissart, but the form of the novel--a long fictional work of prose depicting characters, settings, and events imagined by the author--would not develop until the seventeenth century.

Of course, people have always told stories, especially in pre-literate times when individuals would gather and tell tales to entertain themselves. During the Renaissance, humanist scholars began to transcribe such tales, often setting them in a mimetic framework. A prime example, which served as the model for countless other works, is Boccaccio's Decameron, composed in the early 1350's in the Italian vernacular. The frame story of the Decameron depicts ten young people taking refuge in the Italian countryside from the plague; each day, for ten days, the characters each recount a tale to while away the hours. The first example of such a structure in French is Les Cent nouvelles nouvelles, or "One Hundred New Tales" compiled by Antoine de la Sale around 1456 at the court of Philippe le Bon. Numerous noblemen contributed tales to the collection, although many are borrowed directly from Boccaccio and other Italian conteurs. These often bawdy tales give tantalizing glimpses into the lives of fifteenth-century noble and middle classes.

While the Cent nouvelles nouvelles lacks a frame story, the importance of the mimetic context grew during the sixteenth century. At mid-century, Noël du Fail, a rural aristocrat from Brittany, penned three collections of tales, Les Propos rustiques (1547), Les Baliverneries d'Eutrapel (1548) and the Contes et propos d'Eutrapel (1585). In these works, the frame story depicts in realistic detail the social milieu of the rural peasantry as well as that of the upper classes. Du Fail focuses on the linguistic habits of each group; his tales have been called "dialogue tales" because they strive to recreate the speech patterns of each social group in a conversational way. In their expanding situational context and attention to realistic detail, Du Fail's tales prefigure the larger narrative and pyschological scope of the novel.

Of course, the most well-known of the French tale collections is that of Marguerite de Navarre, L'Heptaméron, published posthumously in 1558, although it had circulated in manuscript form for years. In this collection of seventy-two tales, the interplay between the tales and the tellers is critical. Following Boccaccio's lead, Marguerite strands a group of travelers in an abbey during a torrential storm; each day, the members of the group tell tales to pass the time until the bridge is rebuilt. However, in Marguerite's collection, the characters' commentary on the tales and the relationships that blossom during the conversations that link the tales together became just as, if not more, important than the tales themselves. Marguerite develops a distinct personality for each of her tellers and manipulates their interaction with great psychological insight. Her attention to the psychology of the characters heralds the birth of the novel, which is traditionally attributed, in the French tradition, to Madame de Lafayette's La Princesse de Clèves (1678), a novel set, ironically, in the sixteenth century at the end of the reign of Henri II.

I love the fact that the first French novel is an historical one.

A Harrowing Journey, à la Sixteenth Century

Welcome to all those traveling today on the rounds of Angela Nickerson's Blogapolooza! Angela asked the thirty or so bloggers participating to recount a strange or scary travel journey. Try as I might, I could think of no harrowing journey of my own to share, so I decided to borrow one from Marguerite de Navarre . This is the opening to Marguerite's book of tales, The Heptameron (published in 1558, although composed during the 1540's). Flooded inns, washed-out bridges, drowned companions, lame horses, murderous bandits, hungry bears: it's enough to make one more than grateful for the comforts and relative safety of modern travel.

"On the 1st of September, when the baths of the Pyrenees begin to have efficacy, several persons from France, Spain and other countries were assembled at those of Cauterets, some to drink the waters, some to bathe in them, and others to be treated with mud; remedies so marvelous, that patients given over by physicians go home cured from Cauterets. [...] [A]s they were preparing to return home, there fell such excessive and extraordinary rains, that it seemed as though God had forgotten his promise to Noah that he would never again destroy the world with water. The houses of Cauterets were so flooded that it was impossible to abide in them. [...] [T]he French lords and ladies, thinking to return to Tarbes as easily as they had come from it, found the rivulets so swollen as to be scarcely fordable; and when they came to the Béarnese Gave, which was not two feet deep when they crossed it on their way to the baths, they found it so enlarged and so impetuous that they were forced to turn out of their direct course and look for bridges. These, however, being only of wood, had been carried away by the violence of the current. Some attempted to break its force by crossing it several together in one body; but they were swept away with such rapidity that the rest had no mind to follow them. They separated, therefore, either to look for another route, or because they were not of the same way of thinking...

"[A] widow of long experience, named Oisille, resolved to banish from her mind the fear of bad roads, and repair to Notre Dame de Serrance. [...] She met with no end of difficulties; but at last she arrived, after having passed through places almost impracticable, and so difficult to climb and descend, that notwithstanding her age and her weight, she was compelled to perform the greater part of the journey on foot. But the most piteous thing was that most of her servants and horses died on the way, and that she arrived with one man and one woman only at Serrance, where she was charitably received by the monks.

"There were also among the French two gentlemen who had gone to the baths rather to accompany the ladies they loved than for any need they themselves had to use the waters. These gentlemen, seeing that the company was breaking up, and that the husbands of their mistresses were taking them away, thought proper to follow them at a distance, without acquainting any one with their purpose. The two married gentlemen and their wives arrived one evening at the house of a man who was more a bandit than a peasant. The two young gentlemen lodged at a cottage hard by, and hearing a great noise about midnight they rose with their varlets, and inquired of their host what was all that tumult. The poor man, who was in a great fright, told them it was some bad lads who were come to share the booty that was in the house of their comrade the bandit. The gentlemen instantly seized their arms and hastened with their varlets to the aid of the ladies, holding it a far happier fate to die with them than to live without them. On reaching the bandit's house they found the first gate broken open and the two gentlemen and their servants defending themselves valorously; but as they were outnumbered by the bandits, and the married gentlemen were much wounded, they were beginning to give way, having already lost a great number of their servants. The two gentlemen, looking in at the windows, saw the two ladies weeping and crying so hard, that their hearts swelled with pity and love, and falling on the bandits like two enraged bears from the mountains, they laid about them with such fury, that a great number of the bandits fell, and the rest fled for safety to a place well known to them. The gentlemen having defeated these villains, the owner of the house being among the slain, and having learned that the wife was still worse than himself, despatched her after him with a sword-thrust. They then entered a room on the basement, where they found one of the married gentlemen breathing his last. The other had not been hurt, only his clothes had been pierced and his sword broken; and seeing the aid which the two had rendered him, he embraced and thanked them, and begged they would continue to stand by him, to which they assented with great good-will. After having seen the deceased buried, and consoled the wife as well as they could, they departed under the guidance of Providence, not knowing whither they were going.

"[...] They were in the saddle all day, and towards evening they descried a belfry, to which they made the best of their way, not without toil and trouble, and were humanely welcomed by the abbot and the monks. The abbey is called St. Savin's. The abbot, who was of a very good house, lodged them honorably, and on the way to their lodgings begged them to acquaint him with their adventures. After they had recounted them, he told them they were not the only persons who had been unfortunate, for there were in another room two ladies who had escaped as great a danger, or worse, inasmuch as they had encountered not men but beasts; for these poor ladies met a bear from the mountain half a league this side of Peyrchite, and fled from it with such speed that their horses dropped dead under them as they entered the abbey gates; and two of their women, who arrived long after them, reported that the bear had killed all their men-servants. The two ladies and the three gentlemen then went into the ladies' chamber, where they found them in tears, and saw they were Nomerfide and Ennasuite. They all embraced, and after mutually recounting their adventures, they began to be comforted through the sage exhortations of the abbot, counting it a great consolation to have so happily met again; and next day they heard mass with much devotion, and gave thanks to God for that he had delivered them out of such perils." (Excerpted from Walter Kelly's online English translation)

Several other of the original companions at the baths show up at the abbey, after having endured similar adventures; while waiting the twelve days necessary to construct a new bridge, the group amuses itself by telling and discussing tales of love--a most excellent activity for those inevitable dead hours that occur on every trip. If you're not one for telling tales yourself, you can read Marguerite's next time you're stuck in an airport somewhere. I assure you, lost luggage or a cancelled flight will no longer seem like a "harrowing travel adventure" when you're through.

A big thank you to Angela for inviting me to take part in her Blogapalooza. Be sure to visit her fabulous travel and book blog, Just Go!, and register for one of the three marvelous goodie bags she's giving away. You'll also find links to all the other blogs participating in the party. Please visit as many as you can and comment. I'm sure you'll be adding several of them to your blog roll.

Bon voyage!

La Bellel Rebelle

In 1555, Lyonnais publisher Jean de Tournes released a small volume of poetry titled, simply enough, OEUVRES (WORKS). The audacity of the author's byline, however, far eclipsed the book's innocuous title: LOUIZE LABE LIONNOIZE. This collection of one dialogue, three elegies and twenty-four sonnets, accompanied by twenty-four poetic "hommages" penned by other authors, was the first of its kind: a volume of poetry written by a middle-class woman and published under her own name during her lifetime. The book caused quite a stir in Lyon and changed the course of French letters forever.

A woman author, especially one from the working classes, was virtually unheard of at the time, for practical as well as moral reasons. Noblewomen composed poetry and collections of tales, but these wealthy women had the luxury of being educated by private tutors and the time to indulge their literary leanings. How did Louise Labé, daughter of a rope maker, attain her admirable command of Latin and classical literature? It is thought she attended a convent school after the death of her mother; even so, how had she convinced the sisters to teach her more than the rudiments of reading and writing, never mind allow her access to the works of the ancients? Somehow, Louise managed to educate herself and find the time to write as she fulfilled her pressing duties as the daughter of, and later wife of another, rope maker.

Receiving an education was one thing, publishing a book quite another. For a sixteenth-century woman, publishing was as scandalous an act as prostitution. The two activities were essentially the same: a female author put her private self on public display, selling her words instead of her body. Noblewomen who published could escape society's disapprobation by having a respected male vouch for their purity; no one argued when King François's sister, Marguerite de Navarre, published her poems, plays and tales. Likewise, some women authors protected themselves by concealing their identities; Marguerite de Briet published several works in the 1530's and '40's under the pseudonym Hélisenne de Crenne. A third way of validating a woman's voice was to publish her works posthumously, after her documented virtue could no longer fall into question. In 1545, the poet Maurice Scève helped publish the Rymes de Gentille et Vertueuse Dame, Pernette du Guillet soon after the death of his friend.

Louise Labé eschewed all of these protections when she published her poems in 1555. She did seek the blessing of a noble patron, but in typical iconoclastic fashion, chose a young noblewoman, fellow Lyonnaise Clémence de Bourges, rather than an established male. Louise published her poems boldly under her own name in her early thirties, while she was most definitely still alive. Unfortunately, she did pay for her audacity: for the rest of her life she was disparaged as a courtesan, especially since she seems to have carried on a long-term liaison with an Italian banker after the death of her husband. Though slandered and disdained by the general public, Louise was well respected in literary circles; she counted many well known male poets among her friends, men who praised her verse and learning. Her contribution to literary history cannot be ignored: she showed French women how to "lift their heads above the spindle" and claim their voices in the public place.

If you read French, François Rigolot published an excellent paperback edition of Louise's poetry in 1986 (Flammarion). An English translation by Annie Finch came out in 2005 (University of Chicago Press). Five of her translations can be found online here.

In a later post, I'll explain how I used Louise Labé as a model for my main character, Jollande Carlet, in The Measure of Silence.