Peach pits and syphilis

Doing women's history is hard work--mostly because we want simple and quick answers . . . fast and easy. But as a historian trying to access "facts" to make an interpretation, this can be hindered by the myriad other poor interpretations that intermingle and disturb our vision of the past. I am intrigued by most topics for which I think there is misunderstanding--of course, Joan of Arc, witch-hunts, but also women's history. What makes for accurate history, and how do we know if we've found it?  In most cases, heading to the primary source and records will make for a more accurate recovery of the past; at least, I trust the sources more than I do many modern accounts.

This was made more clear to me as we discussed the theme of women and art in class, and examined an article by Carolyn P. Murphy on Properzia d'Rossia, sculptor from Bologna and amazing peach pit carver (I may have to day trip to Florence to view this at the Pitti Palace in June--get it? . . . pits at the Pitti palace). In class we all were struck by the suggestion that she died in a "syphilitic hospital"--but in looking this over, it seems difficult to justify this assumption (more research needed of course). I would like to know more about the start of the assumption and what century/decade is responsible for it. I was able to find some materials on Properzia, though there is not too much. First, I noticed Murphy used the same reference in her 1996 dissertation  (footnote 3; http://discovery.ucl.ac.uk/1349274/1/339172_vol1.pdf. Then I read Vasari's account for evidence (thanks to Allison for pointing out the reference to her husband, also fascinating and frequently overlooked). In The Lives of the Artist, sixteenth-century artist and art historian Vasari writes that "she was buried at the Ospedale della Morte", or the Hospital of Death. Syphilis arrived in Bologna around 1495, per an article by S. Sabbatani, and ravaged the city; however, Properzia would have been about five years old at that point. The syphilis hospital was known as the Ospedale della San Giobbe, which was in existence until 1798. There were also 2 other hospitals--the hospital of life and the hospital of death. Vasari tells us she was buried at the hospital of death--and that's it. But this is hardly conclusive to anything. The Hospital of Death was where one went to die--like a hospice, if there was little money. Most would have been cared for by family before going there. I wonder if Vasari's notion that she was lovestruck may have influenced her interpretation as a sexual woman? If so, she would not be the first woman who was viewed through a gendered lens.

Here's some tips, as we head forward into research-land:

1.  Beware the book being touted as a best-seller, or retranslated and republished, and it has to do with women's history and sex. Case in point: The Birth of the Salons, the book discussed last week on the blog.  Sex sells.  To suggest that salons were dens of iniquity seems far-fetched. The problem is in the interpretation of what is a salon. If you have images of movies set in the 18th century in your head (wigs, low cut dresses, etc.), frequently set at Versailles, those are not salons; those are courts, and full of palace intrigue, of course.

2. Many books on women--such as those on the Tudor monarchy--reinterpret history incorrectly and assume that scandalous accusations must be true. This applies to many such as  Anne Boleyn, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and Elizabeth I.

3.  Beware the biography. Many biographies of women were completed before there was a strong idea of gender as a cultural construct that shapes actions and ideas. If you have biographies that go from birth to death without gender analysis, it probably does not do justice to the historical figure.

This is not all bad news. Where there is bad history, there can be good history. It takes some effort, reflection, and usually an analysis that puts women front and center.