Sapphism and the “Passionless Woman” in Shakespeare
by Gil Bohm
Gil Bohm uses they/them pronouns and are always excited to chat about history, Shakespeare, queer things, fashion, and other more controversial topics. Gil loves drawing during class, writing essays, and being an active member of the queer community.
During the 18th century, the concept of the “Passionless Woman” began to emerge in
British medical literature. The premise of the “Passionless Woman” was that women biologically
had little to no erotic desire, and men were the biologically ordained sexual beings, thereby
implying that female desire was contingent on male action. And if this was not the case, the
woman who acted out her sexual desires independent of a man was seen as disturbed. The
“Passionless Woman” would later be incorporated into the British literary imaginings of
femininity, further cementing the concept as morally right and good. The formulation of the
“Passionless Woman” reflects the predominantly male anxieties of the time about the “true”
sexual character of women. Particularly what they did in private, what they did outside of the
marital bed and, perhaps more importantly, who with.
Professor Sally O’Driscoll writes that “Fears about women’s eroticism became a fear
about women's eroticism with other women--a fear about ‘lesbianism,’” (O’Driscoll). Perhaps it
was due to this fear that the invention of the “Passionless Woman” was deployed to diminish
female sexual agency and the realities and implications of Sapphic desire. That even today
there seems to be a refusal to fully see or acknowledge specifically Sapphism (the perceived
epicenter of female sexual agency) in literature and history, points to the remnants of an
inherited presumption.
If one were to approach any a body of work or literature in hopes of uncovering evidence
of Sapphic encounters and relationships, it would not be productive to assume that the author is
operating under the notion of the “Passionless Woman.” Especially if that author conceived of
their work centuries earlier. Take Shakespeare for example. One cannot expect to find much by
applying this 18th-century construction of feminine sexuality to Shakespeare’s 16th and early
17th century works as it would render most evidence of Sapphism essentially invisible.
Unfortunately, it seems as though scholars accept the existence of gay men in
Shakespeare much more readily than they do the existence of sapphic women.
We all know the classic “maybe gay” men of Shakespeare: Mercutio, Horatio, Iago, Antonio.
They’ve been widely discussed. But where are all the “maybe gay” women?
Now that we have established that the oftentimes unconscious superimposition of 18th
century invention of the “Passionless Woman,” and all that concept entails, onto Shakespeare’s
female characters written in the late 16th and early 17th centuries obscures sapphic realities; it's
time to look at women in Shakespeare with clearer and queerer eyes.
For example, in The Winter’s Tale, Hermione and her servant Paulina’s relationship can
be read as sapphic. After Hermione being accused by her husband King Leonetes of having an
affair with his best friend, Paulina boldly peaks up for her mistress considering her social
stature:
“Good queen, my lord,
Good queen; I say good queen;
And would by combat make her good, so were I
A man, the worst about you.”
(II,3,999)
The imagery Paulina invokes is that of the champion or knight that would risk injury or
death in combat to defend a lady’s honor. Or in this context, Hermione’s fidelity. However, there
is a romantic, almost Arthurian sentiment that colors this line which cannot be ignored. It’s a
staple in any heterosexual narrative, the archetypal “knight” and the “lady,” although in this
situation the narrative becomes homosexually oriented. The fact that Paulina even goes so far
as to call King Leontes “A most unworthy and unnatural lord,” (II,3,1070) says much about how
far she is willing to go for Hermione. Accusing a king of anything is going to be a problem, but to
say that a king is unworthy of his queen is a whole other difficulty entirely. Theodora A.
Jankowski explains, “Her behavior is totally out of character for a virtuous woman. Paulina
appears as an avenging angel to demand Leontes’ immediate repentance” (Jankowski 323).
Moreover, after Hermione was put on trial and humiliated publicly, news of her son’s death
causes her to swoon. She is then carried away by Paulina, who announces her death to the
King. At the end of the play, sixteen years later, Hermione is “resurrected.” Throughout the play,
it is hinted at that Paulina is acting suspiciously and may be hiding Hermione in her own house,
taking care of her. One character, Regero remarks that he: thought [Paulina] had some great
matter there in hand, for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of
Hermione, visited that removed house” (V.ii.94–6). During these years, Jankowski theorizes “the
invisible void years of Hermione’s sojourn with Paulina as a time when she was served and
serviced – in both ordinary and erotic ways – by a woman whom she, then, similarly served and
serviced,” (Jankowski 325). While this may seem a stretch, when looking at Paulina and
Hermione’s relationship and its hidden nature, though it may be for practical purposes until
Paulina can clear her lady’s name, everything Paulina does in the play is in service of
Hermione.
One can observe how deeply Paulina cares for Hermione in her willingness to risk her
own standing in the court and how she protects Hermione for sixteen years. However, if one
looks at Hermione and Paulina’s relationship without releasing one’s imagination from the
“Passionless Woman,” all the subtleties and nuances of Sapphism will remain invisible. They
will remain “just good friends,” women with no sexual agency. Without the distortion of an 18th
century conception of female sexuality, there is a whole wonderful ensemble of Sapphic women
ready to join the classic Achillean men of Shakespeare. And the Bard never disappoints.
Photo by Lara Goetsch.
