Anne Lister (1791-1840), owner of Shibden Hall is considered to be key to the development of the sexual language used by women who loved women (lesbians) during the nineteenth century; her diaries were instrumental in dispelling the idea that nineteenth century female friendships could not be sexual.[1] The detailed record she left of her sexual relationships highlights the ways in which sexuality was discussed during the early nineteenth century, while the discussion of her gender and sexual identities within the diary demonstrate the way the formation, and discussion, of identities during the nineteenth century occurred. The formation of gender identities and labelling of non-heteronormative identities throughout the nineteenth century is easily linked to Lister’s experience, and further demonstrates the changes made throughout the century. Furthermore, Lister’s diaries enable a comparison between the language used to describe sexuality during the early nineteenth century, and the later nineteenth century, while her sometimes ambiguous gender identity helps to demonstrate the changes in the ways differing gender identities were changed across the nineteenth century. This will demonstrate the changes in terminology used during the nineteenth century prior to the categories which were established at the end of the period.
Lister’s diaries give an insight into how the wealthy and upper classes were able to express their sexual identity, and the tools they used in order to understand their identity if it did not fit into the heteronormative standard. Using excerpts from Lister’s journals, decoded by Helena Whitbread, it is possible to demonstrate the ways in which Lister, and the women she became involved with, discussed their sexuality. However, Anna Clark argues that there was no lesbian subculture in England during the nineteenth century, implying that those Lister discusses sexuality with are unusual.[2] This might demonstrate the fact that an individual experience cannot be generalised. Furthermore, the inconsistency of terminology demonstrates one aspect of the unreliability of diaries, Lister’s use of the word ‘queer’ to describe the clitoris seems unusual especially as terms such as ‘cunt’, while seemingly cruder, are more common and have greater longevity.[3] This inconsistency demonstrates the difficulties of using diaries to trace the changes in the discussion of sexuality and gender identity as an inconsistency in terminology makes tracing these changes more difficult. However, My Secret Life was published more than forty years after Lister’s death in 1840, and was undoubtedly compiled after this date, therefore it stands to reason that there would be inconsistencies in the terminology used by these two diarists. It might further be suggested that these inconsistencies might actually demonstrate the change in the ways in which identities were expressed, thus making diaries a valuable comparative source which demonstrates an individualised change in the language used to describe sex.
The reliability of diaries as a source appears to be somewhat subjective, Rebecca Steinitz argues that the purposes of diaries can differ, resulting in different levels of reliability, for example, diaries which are intended to be publicly shared are likely to include different details to those which are only intended for personal use alone.[4] This difference in purpose makes it more likely that details have been changed in order to suit the audience, in Lister’s case it might be suggested that her diary was written for her own eyes, particularly as parts of it were written in a code. This shows that Lister’s diary is likely to be an accurate reflection of how she expressed her sexual and gender identity due to this code. However, Clark argues that Lister shared this code with Eliza Raine and Marianna Belcombe in order to write love letters, this might, then, change the reliability of Lister’s accounts of her gender and sexual identity between 1791 and 1813 while she was involved with these women, as they had the ability to read her diary.[5] Texts which the author knows may be viewed by others may not accurately reflect their identity, thus changing the way in which the discussion of gender and sexual identity is documented.
This idea of unreliability due to the access others, besides the author, have to any particular diary can be extended to not only cover the authors ‘unconventional’ identity but the identities and experiences of those the author interacted with as well. The author of My Secret Life, during the second half of the nineteenth century, for example claims he changed the names of some of those he recorded his relations with ‘to prevent giving pain to some, perhaps still living’, although he argues that the identities and experiences contained within his manuscript are largely correct.[6] It might be suggested that changing details, such as the names of those involved, means that the text no longer reflects the realities of life, or how sexual and gender identities were discussed, during the nineteenth century. However, the author of My Secret Life made an effort to vouch for the quality of his work, suggesting that this is, in fact, not the case, while those Lister mentions in her diary have not had their identities changed. This therefore demonstrates that changing some details about an experience does not change its abilities to reflect how gender and sexual identities were discussed during the nineteenth century.
There are further difficulties in using diaries as a source to trace the changes in the discussion of gender and sexual identity as it is perfectly possible that relatives and editors who received diaries erased details in order to change the public view of the author, or to prevent these texts revealing ‘unconventional’ identities. This issue appears to primarily affect relationships between women as Margaret Jackson argues that documents pertaining to relationships between women were often erased by family members in order to maintain the image of the deceased, while Lillian Faderman adds that this may partly be as a result of a heteronormative society.[7] This view is further supported by the treatment of Lister’s diary after her death, after John Lister discovered the code the late nineteenth century, it was hidden due to her discussion of her sexual identity.[8] The fact that Lister’s diary was hidden during the nineteenth century illustrates attitudes towards discussing gender and sexual identity, it seems to imply that it was acceptable to discuss sexuality in terms of preventing it, but that it was not acceptable to discuss and exploration and enjoyment of sex.
The publication of My Secret Life counters this as the person who published the text claims they only altered names, while the publication of the text itself implies that it was acceptable to discuss sexuality in a published text.[9] While it could be suggested that this demonstrates a change in attitudes towards the discussion of sexuality in a public format, it is much more likely that this illustrates which sexual identities it was acceptable to discuss in a public format. This is particularly noticeable as My Secret Life was published and sent directly to private subscribers as there was a ready audience for heterosexual, pornographic memoirs, while Lister’s texts were hidden due to the opinions of those who decoded her diaries.[10] Published diaries, such as Lister’s and My Secret Life, therefore, demonstrate the ways in which, particularly middle-class, sexual and gender identities could be discussed.
While diaries are an undoubtedly valuable source, the extent to which it is appropriate to use diaries may be debated. It might be argued that to decode and publish such private texts is a breach of privacy particularly when the author had no intention to do so. It could, to an extent, be argued that the information gained from diaries, particularly in this instance, outweighs the breach of privacy, therefore absolving the use of the source from any wrong doing. Without the use of diaries, it would be impossible to trace the discussion of gender and sexual identity, particularly non-heterosexual identities, as there is less directly published material discussing these identities; a complete study of gender and sexual identities during the nineteenth century could not be made without including all forms of identity. Steinitz supports this view as she argues that once a diary has been published it is no longer secret and can be read without breaching the authors privacy.[11] This might suggest that there may be difficulties in using an unpublished diary, although published diaries are an invaluable source to the discussion of gender and sexual identity.
In order to trace the ways in which the discussion of gender and sexual identity changed during the nineteenth century, the terminology used to describe different aspects of sexuality, as well as the labels people used to describe their sexual and gender identity. Terminology throughout the period changes, sexologists developed descriptions and labels to apply to various identities during the later nineteenth century such as ‘homosexuality’ in 1869.[12] However, Jeffrey Weeks argues that the term ‘homosexuality’ was not adopted into the English language until the 1890s, thus implying that those with non-heterosexual identities did not label themselves as ‘homosexual’.[13] Furthermore, Emily Skidmore argues that the term ‘lesbian’ was not present in the English language until the 1880s, suggesting that women such as Lister were unlikely to identify as lesbians, therefore making it inappropriate to label them as such.[14] Although it cannot be assumed that there were no terms to describe sexuality, Clark suggests that some historians have taken the view that non-heteronormative identities could not be held until sexologists invented suitable labels, however, some of Lister’s relationships were labelled as ‘romantic friendships’, suggesting that there was some development of a language to describe sexuality in the early nineteenth century.[15]
Contrary to this, it is not possible to apply twenty-first century labels to the experiences of the nineteenth century, not least because it would be damaging to the identities of individuals to apply a label to them that they did not identify with, but because, as Jackson argues, there is no fixed definition of some terms, such as lesbian, as individual experiences vary from era to era.[16] Therefore, while it is necessary to take into account the change in the language surrounding sexuality and gender during the nineteenth century, it is most important to use the labels and terminology individuals used to describe their own sexuality and gender as they develop them, rather than applying other labels to them. This can, however, cause difficulty, particularly in understanding what the author means by the terms they use, especially if the term is used for multiple purposes. Lister’s diaries are a prime example of this, Angela Steidele implies that Lister’s use of the term ‘kiss’ was used as a euphemism fairly frequently, especially within Lister’s journals, perhaps leading to some difficulty in understanding the nature of the sexual acts undertake and Steidele suggests the term ‘kiss’ was used to describe masturbation and sex.[17] However, Whitbread argues that Lister’s use of the term ‘queer’ to describe the clitoris is more unusual, she suggests that this is a derivative of ‘quim’ which appears to be a more common term.[18]
To some extent the individuality of Lister’s terminology could be due to a lack of a non-heteronormative sub-culture from which to draw upon terms, and to create a homogenous language to describe relationships between women, however, a lack of a concise terminology does not appear to have affected Lister’s identity as she spoke publicly about ‘how very much [she] preferred ladies to gentlemen’.[19] It must, however, be acknowledged that Lister’s use of terminology during the first half of the nineteenth century demonstrates the way terminology changed during the nineteenth century. Later texts such as My Secret Life use terms such as ‘cunt’, ‘quim’ and ‘spend’ rather than ‘kiss’ and ‘queer’ to describe orgasms and genitalia.[20] However, erotic literature contemporary to Lister also described the vagina as a ‘cunt’ thus supporting the idea that Lister’s terminology stems from a lack of a non-heteronormative sub-culture and a lack of awareness of heterosexual sexual culture.[21]
The lack of a non-heteronormative sub-culture during the first half of the nineteenth century appears to have affected the ways in which identities were constructed, Clark argues that Lister constructed her identity from a variety of classical sources, including Sapphic texts.[22] This construction of identity suggests that it was not necessary for there to be an non-heteronormative sub-culture, however Clark further argues Lister would not have found constructing an identity from classical texts as easy as a male counterpart as texts which portrayed a lesbian or Sapphic identity were less readily available, although Lister’s ability to develop her own language to describe her identity suggests that she was able to construct an identity.[23] The implication of this is that it is harder for a woman, or anyone identifying as a woman, especially a woman attracted to women to form an identity which was shared by others, in other words, the only readily shared identities were heterosexual or gay men. This issue appears to be particularly prominent for the transgender community as transgender men, such as James Allen, labelled as ‘female husbands’ by their contemporaries, appear to have kept their identities secret, even from those they loved.[24] This that there was no transgender sub-culture or network for transgender men to help form a homogenous identity or set of terms to describe themselves, suggesting that without a network it was harder to form a group identity.
While members of the transgender community may not have had a uniformed set of terms to describe their identity, the wider society appeared to be able to describe transgender people, particularly transgender men, most noticeably as ‘female husbands’.[25] However, this term seems to be most common in sensationalised texts such as An Authentic Narrative of the Extraordinary Career of James Allen the Female Husband suggesting that it was not a medical term. This is further supported by the lack of terminology used by Richard von Krafft-Ebing in Psychopathia Sexualis to label someone who, he says, claims they ‘feel like a woman in a man’s form’.[26] The lack of a label for the transgender identity during the nineteenth century leads to Lisa Hager’s argument that the label ‘female husband’ should not be applied to nineteenth-century transgender men as this was not a term these men identified with, nor one which was applied by medical practitioners.[27]
Labels applied to different identities are seemingly applied to multiple identities, the term ‘hermaphrodite’, for example, seems to be applied to both someone possessing both male and female genitalia, and to an identity which might also be described as ‘bisexuality’.[28] It could be argued that this cross over in language was as a result of language evolving throughout the nineteenth century, however Gambier Bolton’s ‘Photo of a human Hermaphrodite, marked A’, was copyrighted in 1894, the same year that Krafft-Ebing described ‘psycho-sexual hermaphroditism’ as ‘traces of hetero-sexual, with predominating homo-sexual, instinct.’[29] This therefore suggests that this similarity in language is not as a result of evolving language but stemming from a misconception that sexual and gender identity were inseparable. This misconception about the correlation between genitalia and sexual and gender identity could well have affected the treatment of ‘hermaphrodites’, this much is apparent from Mary Dowling’s letter to Lord Melbourne that she believed she would receive aid to help raise her ‘hermaphrodite’ child if she asked for it.[30] However, Dowling’s letter is dated 1833, perhaps suggesting that the ideas of ‘hermaphroditism’ put forward by Bolton and Krafft-Ebing were actually developed from an increased understanding of the links between genitalia, sex and gender.[31] This does show, however, that the understanding of the term ‘hermaphrodite’ to mean a person with both male and female and genitals did not change until the very end of the nineteenth century, suggesting that there was little change in the language of sexuality until the 1890s.
While it is possible to argue that Krafft-Ebing’s view on ‘hermaphrodites’ is a development from an earlier nineteenth century view point, his argument that ‘psycho-sexual hermaphrodites’ can occasionally develop both male and female genitalia as a result of their attraction to both sexes, is particularly jarring.[32] This argument appears to be almost scare-mongering the readership in order to ensure heteronormativity, it might also be suggested that ‘psycho-sexual hermaphroditism’ was described in this way in order create a condition to be treated. If this were the case, there is a direct correlation between the work of psychiatrists such as Krafft-Ebing and the criminalisation of homosexuality in 1885.[33] It could also be suggested that the view of those with a scientific education was shaped by texts such as Psychopathia Sexualis meaning that anything ranging from laws to medical treatment could be affected by Krafft-Ebing’s description of gender and sexual identities.
It appears that the treatment of venereal diseases was not necessarily affected by Krafft-Ebing’s views, particularly as the height of the CDAs was prior to the publication of Psychopathia Sexualis. This does not mean that there was not a stigma surrounding sexually transmitted infections, in fact, Lister’s account of her experience demonstrates that she believed that there was a stigma. Lister suffered from a venereal disease that Steidele believes was trichomoniasis, for three years before she told her family, while this might demonstrate that there was a stigma surrounding venereal diseases.[34] However, it is more likely that there was a stigma surrounding Lister’s sexuality rather than her illness, Lister’s decision to pretend to be married when consulting a physician about her condition not only suggests that it was acceptable for married women to catch a venereal disease from their husbands, but that to be unmarried would mean Lister either had to discuss her sexuality or create information she did not have.[35]
While this may be the case, it is unclear, what is made clear is the treatment Lister received for her venereal disease; Steidele records Lister’s treatment as a strict diet and the rubbing of mercury on her vagina and legs, which actually made her health worse.[36] Steidele further claims that mercury was a common treatment, for all kinds of sexually transmitted infections regardless of the symptoms despite the fact that mercury treatment induced bleeding.[37] This treatment seems cruel and insensitive, particularly for those who are voluntarily undergoing treatment, perhaps giving an indication as to how treatment was provided under the CDAs. Ornella Moscucci suggests that Lister’s experience was not uncommon, with the foundation of hospitals dedicated to women’s diseases during the 1840s, perhaps implying that a more uniformed treatment of sexually transmitted infections was being developed throughout this period.[38] This alongside the apparent formation of a Lock Ward, for the treatment of venereal disease, at the Royal Portsmouth, Portsea and Gosport Hospital in 1856 suggests that there was increased care for sexually transmitted infections during the nineteenth century.[39]
[1] Rebecca Jennings, A Lesbian History of Britain: Love and Sex Between Women Since 1500, (Oxford, 2007), p. 41
[2] Clark, ‘Construction of Lesbian Identity’, pp. 26-27
[3] Helena Whitbread ed. Anne Lister, No Priest but Love: The Journals of Anne Lister from 1824-1826, (Otley, 1992), p. 50 & Anonymous, My Secret Life, Vol 1-3, (Amsterdam, 1888), p. 4
[4] Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, p. 81
[5] Clark, ‘Anne Lister’s Construction of Lesbian Identity’, p. 27
[6] Anonymous, My Secret Life, p. 4-5
[7] Margaret Jackson, The Real Facts of Life: Feminism and the Politics of Sexuality c. 1850-1940, (Bristol, 1994), p. 16 & Lillian Faderman, ‘Who Hid Lesbian History’, Frontiers, A Journal of Women’s Studies, Vol 4, No 3, (1979), p. 76
[8] Clark, ‘Anne Lister’s Construction of Lesbian Identity’, p. 28
[9] Anonymous, My Secret Life, p. 3
[10] Kathleen Frederickson, ‘Victorian Pornography and the Laws of Genre’, Literature Compass, Vol 8, No 5, (2011), p. 308 & Steidele, Gentleman Jack, pp. ix-x
[11] Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, p. 81
[12] Jeffrey Weeks, Sex, Politics and Society: The Regulation of Sexuality Since 1800, (Harlow, 2012), p. 29
[13] Weeks, Sex, Politics and Society, p. 29
[14] Emily Skidmore, True Sex: The Lives of Trans Men at the Turn of the 20th Century, (New York, 2017), p. 16
[15] Clark, ‘Construction of Lesbian Identity’, p. 25 & Whitbread, No Priest but Love, p. 31
[16] Jackson, The Real Facts of Life, p. 17
[17] Steidele, Gentleman Jack, p. 33
[18] Whitbread, No Priest but Love, p. 55
[19] Clark, ‘Construction of Lesbian Identity’, p. 26 & Whitbread, I Know My Own Heart, p.76
[20] Anonymous, My Secret Life, p. 4 & 33
[21] Anonymous, The Adventures, Intrigues, and Amours of a Lady’s Maid! (London, 1822), p. 87
[22] Clark, ‘Construction of Lesbian Identity’, p. 33
[23] Clark, ‘Construction of Lesbian Identity’, p. 31
[24] Anonymous, An Authentic Narrative of the Extraordinary Career of James Allen the Female Husband, (London, 1829), p. 3
[25] Anonymous, Extraordinary Career of James Allen, p. 3
[26] Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, (London, 1894)
[27] Lisa Hager, ‘Outing the Work of Gender: Victorian Studies & Transgender Studies’ NAVSA, (2018), Unpublished Conference Paper, Forthcoming in Victorian Review 2019
[28] ‘Photo of a human Hermaphrodite, marked A’, Copy 1/416/63, TNA: PRO, Kew, ‘Photo of a human Hermaphrodite, marked B’, Copy 1/416/64, TNA: PRO, Kew & Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, pp. 222-223
[29] ‘Photo of a human Hermaphrodite, marked A’, Copy 1/416/63, TNA: PRO, Kew & Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, p. 222
[30] Mary Dowling, applying for assistance to maintain her hermaphrodite child, HO44/26/11, TNA: PRO, Kew
[31] Mary Dowling, HO44/26/11, TNA: PRO, Kew, Photo of a human Hermaphrodite, marked A’, Copy 1/416/63, TNA: PRO, Kew & Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, p. 222
[32] Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, p. 223
[33] Section 11, Criminal Law Amendment Act, 1885, pp. 68-70
[34] Steidele, Gentleman Jack, pp. 115 & 127
[35] Steidele, Gentleman Jack, pp. 126-127
[36] Steidele, Gentleman Jack, p. 127
[37] Steidele, Gentleman Jack, p. 127
[38] Moscucci, The Science of Women, p. 75
[39] The Twenty-First Annual Report of the Royal Portsmouth, Portsea and Gosport Hospital, 1867, and a List of the Subscribers, (Portsea, 1870), PH/H7/2/1/2, PHC, p. 22
The Colourful Historian 