Katharina Henot – The Postmaster Who Was Burned As A Witch

by | Apr 4, 2018 | Early Modern Period (1500 - 1750), Europe, Germany | 2 comments

Today I’d like you to meet Katharina Henot, Germany’s first female postmaster who was burned as a witch for economic and political reasons.

But let’s start at the beginning. She was born around 1570/80 to a wealthy family in Cologne (a city I live really close to by the way, it’s a local lady this time!), her mother coming from Dutch nobility. The family valued education and so most of her many siblings ended up with intellectual work, often in the church and one of her sisters joined the local convent. Originally being a silk merchant, father Henot managed to secure the job of reorganizing the country’s postal system, with Katharina and her husband (this is the only time her husband is mentioned anywhere) assisting him. Due to father Henot’s ambitious character however, his “supervisor” quickly got rid of him as soon as the job was done in 1603.

But the Henots fought. They fought for more than 20 years.

And finally, in 1623, they succeeded. Father Henot was reinstalled as postmaster of the city of Cologne. He had however reached the ripe age of 91 by that time, so Katharina took over (I suspect that her husband had died by that time). When he died two years later, the family was terrified to lose their licence again. And so they hid his passing, going as far as forging signatures when needed. For three months they managed, then they were found out. And her father’s adversary from before grabbed the opportunity. With plans to establish a central postal system, which would render the individual towns’ postmasters obsolete, he tried to take Katharina’s post from her. But she didn’t want to hear anything about it. And she went to court. Again.

And that’s when the rumours started. Nuns of the convent nearby (where not only her sister but also her daugher resided) reported being possessed, with Katharina being the one who had bewitched them. And even though she had always been giving generously to the church, her being a witch was soon the talk of the town. (This seems particularly odd to me because the nuns surely must have known her, being religious and having family members in the convent, but on with the story…)

You might have guessed it, Katharina did not take it silently. She wrote a letter to the archbishop, rejecting the accusations and urging him to inspect the circumstances at the convent. If he wouldn’t do that, she hoped that he would at least allow her to be judged by the clerical high court instead of the worldly one, which would most likely result in a mild punishment if she showed regret. These hopes were not to be fulfilled. Despite her knowing the archbishop personally and having lent him a big sum of money some time ago, he decided that her case was one for the worldly court – thus practically sealing her fate already.

Slowly running out of ideas, Katharina still did not give up. In consultation with her defense lawyer and supported by her brother, they planned a purgation process, which would basically allow her to swear herself free from the accusations (no, I don’t quite get that either). The formalities however took forever – apparently no one wanted to solve the situation quickly and above all, positively.

While still waiting for her purgation, Katharina was formally charged with witchcraft in early 1627. Two days later, she was arrested. Against regulations, she was denied medical aid, visitors and a proper defense in court. Her knowledge about law was dismissed, she wasn’t even told the exact charges. Her brother tried to have her released on bail, but was denied.

But even then Katharina did not break. Despite being crippled from torture and sick from the conditions in prison, she would not confess. She even managed to get out two letters to her brother, written with her left hand as her right had been paralyzed due to the torture. These letters chronicled her experiences in prison and once more declared her innocence, naming witnesses who could attest her. There was no answer.

On May 19, 1627 Katharina Henot was sentenced to death.

The accusations were “harmful magic, resulting in the death of five people, harmful magic in nature, feeding dispute, magical practices, divination (specifically with a divination rod) and sex with the devil.” These were backed by nothing more than the purportedly possessed nuns, the widespread rumors about her, the formal charge made by another nun and lastly the “confession” extracted from another alleged witch. A quick execution was pressed. And so, on the same day, she was hanged as a witch and her body burned (a little more merciful than the straight up burning).

This whole farce of a court is especially interesting: usually a witch could not be sentenced to death until she confessed – which was usually achieved with torture but since Katharina never confessed, this whole process is so wrong. She even declared her innocence one last time on the way to the execution site for heaven’s sake.

Her brother Hartger seemed to have had the same line of thought, as he chose to resign from his religious duties and asked for the trial records. His request granted at first, he ended up with only a few pages which did not give any new indication. The reasons why he was denied access to the papers are unknown, as is the true reason behind this odd witch hunt – the records did not survive the tooth of time.

It doesn’t end all bad though:

Many hundred years after her death, she is not forgotten in the city: her statue adorns Cologne’s town hall (1st picture: created by one of her descendants, Marianne Lüdicke, in 1988) and a street as well as a school are named in her honor. There’s even a movie (2nd picture: still from the movie “Die Hexe von Köln” from 1989 with Marita Breuer playing Katharina)!

But most importantly, in 2011 Katharina’s descendents achieved her official rehabilitation (and that of 37 other falsely convicted “witches,” male and female) – unfortunately almost 400 years to late. Still, I imagine she would appreciate it.

image credits:

statue: © Raimond Spekking / CC BY-SA 4.0 – via Wikimedia Commons
movie still: “Die Hexe von Köln,” 1989 – TV Spielfilm archive

Osh-Tisch and The-Other-Magpie – The Women Who Fought at the Rosebud

by | Apr 4, 2018 | Mid Modern Period (1750 - 1914), North America, USA | 0 comments

I would like to introduce you to two badass ladies of the Crow Tribe: Osh-Tisch and The-Other-Magpie who fought at the Battle of the Rosebud!

A little preface: Osh-Tisch was baté (also badé or boté), which is the Crow word for Two Spirit. This term describes the third gender, recognized in most Native American societies. Two Spirits fulfill the duties of the opposite gender they are assigned, or often the duties of both genders. Baté specifically refers to male-bodied people, that live as women. This is why I will be using female pronouns referring to Osh-Tisch, as the members of her tribe do.

So let’s get started: Enter Osh-Tisch, baté of the Crow Nation. And not just any baté, but one of their leaders, described as a regal personality. In this highly regarded role, she lived separate from the main area and took on a number of roles including artist, medicine woman and shaman. As a skilled craftswoman who made intricate leather goods and large tipis, she earned the right to construct the buffalo-skin lodge of the tribe’s Chief Iron Bull. However, on the day she earned her name, translating to “Finds Them And Kills Them,” she showed what a ferocious warrior she was as well.

The sources on The-Other-Magpie are a little less extensive. It is known that she was an unmarried woman, pretty and wild. Her brother had been killed by the Lakota not long ago and she wanted revenge.

At the Battle of the Rosebud, the Crow fought in a coalition led by the US Army against the Lakota and Cheyenne.

During the battle, Bull-Snake, a Crow warrior was wounded and fell off his horse. In a second, Osh-Tisch lept from her horse and faced the charging Lakota (who did of course notice their advantage). Hefting her rifle, she fired shot after shot at the approaching enemy, reloading as fast as her fingers allowed it, defending her fallen comrade.

Meanwhile, The-Other-Magpie decided it was on her to help and began to ride towards the Lakota, screaming from the top of her lungs. She did not have a gun. Or bow and arrows. The-Other-Magpie had a stick. A coup stick to be precise.

What is a coup stick you ask? There was this tradition among Native warriors to ride into battle unarmed but with a decorative stick. The goal was, to hit as many people as possible with it without dying – so, kind of the most dangerous game of tag ever. The more people you hit, the more you were allowed to decorate your stick and it would become quite fancy indeed.

The-Other-Magpie’s stick was not fancy. It had a single tiny feather on it.

So, there was The-Other-Magpie, charging the Lakota, wildly waving her coup stick, spitting at them while screaming “My spit is my arrows!” – and there was Osh-Tisch, standing over the fallen warrior, shooting bullet after bullet at their enemies.

Believe it or not, The-Other-Magpie did land a hit on a (presumably pretty confused) Lakota warrior and a second later he fell down dead, hit by one of Osh-Tisch’s bullets. Horrified by this mad but seemingly supernatural warrior woman, the Lakota scattered and The-Other-Magpie took the fallen’s scalp. Riding into the village, she cut it up and distributed it amongst the men so they would have more scalps to dance with in the post-battle ceremonies. It was one of 10 scalps taken by the Crow that day.

This story would most likely have been forgotten, if not for Pretty-Shield, medicine woman of the Crow who, while recounting details from this battle, told of her. You can find her original account here, if you are interested.

Now the story starts to get a little sad, so feel free to just stop reading here if you want (I’d totally understand that.)

In the following years, the Crow were confined to reservations and government agents and missionaries began to visit, starting the oppression of Two Spirits and anything apart from the very screwed morals of the time. In the late 1890s, Osh-Tisch and the other baté were imprisoned, forced to cut their hair and wear men’s clothing by an agent named Briskow. The Crow however were not okay with this at all and their protests had Briskow fired. Sadly however, the gender oppression was not over at all and many Two Spirits assimilated to society and dressed like their assigned gender. Those who could not bear it, committed suicide or were driven into substance abuse. Unfortunately the numbers are high.

Osh-Tisch did not give up though, and continued to try and educate her contemporaries. When asked why she wore women’s clothes, she’d answer she was “inclined to be a woman, never a man.” When asked what work she did, she’d reply “All woman’s work” and proudly present an ornate dress she had made.

Besides trying to normalize who she was, she started an intertribal network of Two Spirits. They worked together, secretly communicating with each other, coordinating their efforts to make people understand and providing a support net for one another.

Sadly her efforts were not rewarded and she remains one of the few Two Spirits whose name and story has survived until today. When she died in 1929, the ancient knowledge of the baté died with her.

There is a modern movement to revive the idea and tradition of Two Spirits among the tribes, but it has been met with great resistance, even from within the tribes. Two Spirits today still face persecution and suffer from hate crimes. While it is commonly accepted that Two Spirits have existed, their role in society and especially their acceptance has been lost. It is important to remember them.

So remember Osh-Tisch, baté of the Crow, a bridge between genders, a bridge between tribes.

The picture shows her (on the left) with her wife.

image credits: found at Indian Country Media Network

Franca Viola – The Girl who Listened to her Heart

by | Apr 4, 2018 | Contemporary (1914 - today), Europe, Italy | 0 comments

I would like to start with a little warning: One of the main topics of this article is rape. I will not go into detail, but I still want you to know, so you can skip this one if you’re uncomfortable with this topic in any way.

And now let’s begin. Today’s story is set in the 1960s and its heroine is called Franca Viola, the first woman to decline a “reparation marriage” in Italy.

In rural Sicily, 1948, Franca was born and grew into a beautiful young lady. At age 15 she got engaged to Filippo Melodia, a man eight years her senior with ties to the Sicilian mafia. This relationship could not end well and indeed, soon he was arrested for theft and Franca broke up the relationship.

Two years passed. She had gotten engaged again, when Filippo showed up again. For months he tried to gain her back, going as far as stalking her and threatening her family, but she refused. Again and again. (see picture: Franca in her youth, exact date unknown)

Finally in the morning of the Second Day of Christmas in 1965, Filippo gathered a band of his buddies and dragged Franca and her little brother, who refused to let go of her, out of their home, beating up their mother in the process. The little guy was released a few hours later, but Franca was held captive and raped repeatedly for eight days.

You know, there was this thing in Italy called “La Fuitina” – the thought of it isn’t too bad: two lovers who are not allowed to be together for whatever reason decide to elope for a few days and return home, showing everyone that they had been intimate. Of course that was a big blow to the girl’s reputation and the only way to fix this wrong was, of course, for the man to marry his beloved. So a win-win for everyone. Or so you’d think.

Humans are often horrible and this practice was sometimes terribly misused. Rejected suitors or unwanted admirers would sometimes (or often, let’s be honest here) kidnap the woman they desired, relying on the practice of the so-called reparation marriage to evade prosecution. How you ask? You see, according to Article 544 of the Italian Criminal Code, sexual violence was considered an offence against morals and not against a person. Sooo, basically it was either marry their offender of be labelled a slut and live life as an old spinster, shunned by society. And that’s exactly what Filippo was relying on.

Meanwhile, Franca’s dad tried everything to get his daughter back. He started to negotiate with her kidnappers, pretending to come to terms with them, while working with the Carabinieri police all along. Finally Franca was released and the kidnappers arrested, five days before she would turn 19.

Filippo did bring the marriage offer up though. Her father asked Franca if she wanted to marry this man, and when she negated, he promised to support her with everything he had. And that’s when the trouble started for the whole family. They all stood by Franca’s decision to not only refuse the “reparation marriage” but to also prosecute her offenders. And the village hated them for it. They received death threats, they were menaced up to the point that parts of their land were burnt down. But they persisted.

And they succeeded. Despite his lawyers repeatedly trying to undermine Franca’s credibility and claiming she had agreed to the “fuitina,” Filippo was found guilty and sentenced to 11 years in prison. Well, his sentence was reduced to 10 years later and most of his partners got away. But nonetheless, this trial started a conversation about this practise and the harm it could do – and also about the horrible legal situation regarding the topic of rape.

It would however not be until 1981 that the law allowing a rapist to nullify his crime by marrying his victim was abolished. And until 1996 that rape was finally classified as a crime against a person.

Remember that Franca was engaged when shit went down? Her sweetheart stood by her throughout it all and they got married in the end, having three children. The papers went crazy with headlines like “She broke tradition: Sicilian ‘Heroine’ is wed at dawn” (Des Moines Tribune, Dec 4, 1968). The couple even got a wedding gift from Italian President Giuseppe Saragat and was invited for a private audience by Pope Paul VI. There has been a movie and a book and she is celebrated as a national icon of feminism.

Today, Franca is a grandmother living with her family in her hometown. When asked about the incident, all she says is: “It was not a courageous gesture. I only did what I felt I had to do, as any other girl would do today. I listened to my heart.”

This is her in 2015:

So, I hope you learned something new today and liked this article, even though it’s less cheerful than the ones before. Also she will be the first and presumably last living heroine in this series. I want to keep is historical. But I felt like it was still so relevant today.

image credits:

1 and 2: found at MDig, article in English on mashable
3: La Repubblica

Julie d’Aubigny – The Most Badass Lady Ever

by | Apr 4, 2018 | Early Modern Period (1500 - 1750), Europe, France | 0 comments

This total badass won at least ten duels, performed on the world’s biggest opera stage, burned down a convent and had to be pardoned by the king twice. May I present to you: Julie d’Aubigny, better known by her stage name La Maupin.

It’s actually not even 100% certain that her name was Julie, but oh well. (And the girl in the picture isn’t her either, it’s “The Fencer” by Jean Béraud (ca. 1890s) – but I think it captures her spirit very well)

Born into a quite wealthy family in 17th century France, she could have just spent her life idly enjoying the country and not moving a single finger. But that wasn’t really her thing. Or her father’s. His name was Gaston (heh) and he was the Master of the Horse for King Louis XIV (the Sun King), responsible for the training of the pages. The sword-training, mainly. So from early on she learned all the important things: fencing, riding, reading and, thanks to her mostly male environment (I couldn’t find out where her mother was – or who for that matter), also the even more important things like drinking, gambling, fistfighting and more stabbing. All of which she did in men’s clothing, a habit she would continue throughout her life.

So, her dad was a pretty hot headed guy and usually disposed of her would-be suitors by cutting them up with his sword. Julie found a loophole though, getting it on with the one guy her father couldn’t duel: his boss (not the king though). She was however far too much for him and he married her off to some calm, dull guy to calm her down a bit. That’s how she became La Maupin for short. It was her husband’s name. But oh boy, did she do the opposite of calming down.

Quite soon after the marriage she had taken a sword master as her lover. It just so happened that he was on the run for murdering his opponent in an illegal duel and she decided to leave the city with him. They made their living with fencing shows and he further trained her in the art, but soon she had surpassed him and ditched his ass, continuing her travels without him. Now her fencing shows looked somewhat like this: Julie brandishes her sword and starts singing a few songs, then challenges anyone in the audience for a duel. Whoever steps up gets to hear a humiliating song about his very person and beaten like he had never held a sword before. Sometimes the audience would even question her womanhood (as she wore men’s clothing like she had always done and of course because “a woman can’t fight like that”). To this she usually responded by tearing her shirt off. It worked.

So, after she had ditched her swordmaster lover, she became involved with a merchant’s daughter. Well, the girl’s father was not too happy about that, so he sent her off to a convent, hoping to separate the two. Yeah, right. Julie took the holy orders and joined the convent – to continue her love affair there. Soon after an elderly nun happened to die (no, Julie didn’t kill her …it seems) and La Maupin did the only logical thing: putting the body into her lover’s room, setting fire to the building, grabbing her girl and getting the fuck out of there. Three months later our heroine delivered the girl back to her parents’ doorstep – she had gotten bored again. In these three months she was charged for this lovely little adventure of convent-arson and kidnapping and actually sentenced to burn at the stake. But smart as she was, she rang up (not literally, mind you) her old paramour, her father’s boss (remember him?) who used his influence to have King Louis XIV pardon her.

(There is actually a book about her adventures and that’s where the picture on the left is from: “Mademoiselle de Maupin” by Theophile Gautier, from 1898, illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley)

With her newfound freedom, she made for Paris, singing to earn her living. Once in a tavern after one of her songs, she was insulted by a drunkard and challenged him to a duel outside. Do I need to say it? She cut him up pretty good, but they survived. The next day she felt kinda bad about it, so she visited the poor chap to see how he was doing and ended up becoming involved with him. You gotta hand it to her, getting a guy you stabbed to be your lover is not a small feat. And remarkably the two remained lifelong friends even after their romance subsided.

And all this before she was 20! What a lady! And it’s not like her wild life ended then. Nooo.

Julie made it to Paris and after being initially rejected, she became a member of the Paris Opéra, the world’s most respected opera at that time. And damn, did she cause a stir. After all, opera singers were the rock stars of the time. Her beautiful voice and androgynous beauty captivated the audience and her passionate character brought with it many admirers. That character did mean of course that she either slept or fought with most of her colleagues at one point. At one point for example, another actor was making disrespectful remarks about his female colleagues. After he had dismissed her complaint – rudely – she awaited him in a dark alley on his way home, challenging him to a duel. When he refused (on the grounds of being a coward), she beat him up with a wooden cane and stole his pocket watch and snuffbox. The next day at work she caught him complaining about a gang of thieves assaulting him and swiftly pulled out his watch and box, proving him to be a liar and a coward in front of all his coworkers.

Her opera career was interrupted when she fled to Brussels for a while, following an incident at a royal ball. She had attended dressed in her men’s attire and spent the evening courting a young woman and finally French kissing her (hehe) right there in front of everyone. Three gentlemen were particularly unhappy about that and challenged her to discuss matters outside. In the following duel she defeated all of them and returned to the party, leaving her opponents bleeding. At that time however, anti-duelling laws grew increasingly harsh, and although King Louis XIV was so amused by the whole situation that he pardoned her (for the second time), she decided to spend some time abroad until the heat had calmed down.

She did return to Paris and the opera though and for the first time entertained a lover for some longer time: the Madame la Marquise de Florensac (see picture: An anonymous print from ca. 1700 called “Mademoiselle Maupin de l’Opéra”). After her beloved’s death, Julie’s trail gets a little fuzzy. It is known that she died around 1707 from unknown causes aged about 37. As far as I could find out about her later life, her husband and her were reunited and lived together fairly peacefully in Paris. Yes, she was technically still married throughout this whole tale. Did you forget about this too? From what it seems, she sure did.

image credits:

1: “L’Escrimeuse” (The Swordswoman) by Jean Béraud, date unknown – via Wikimedia Commons
2: from “A Second Book of Fifty Drawings” by Aubrey Beardsley – via Wikimedia Commons
3: Bibliothèque nationale de France (FOL-QB-201 | FRBNF41505463)

Marianne of Orange-Nassau – A True Free Spirit

by | Apr 4, 2018 | Europe, Germany, Mid Modern Period (1750 - 1914), the Netherlands | 0 comments

Today I’d like to present to you one of my biggest personal heroines: Wilhelmina Frederika Louise Charlotte Marianne of Orange-Nassau (or Marianne for short).

Born in 1810 as Princess of the Netherlands her upbringing was already quite unusual for the time with her parents being loving and liberal. Her family’s residence was called “Het Loo,” which made me giggle.

Aged 20 (relatively late!) she was married to her cousin (not unusual), the youngest Prince of Prussia. It was quite a happy marriage at first, producing five children. The couple however was not really compatible, with her being a free spirit and him being more of military character. And when he began to entertain relations with mistresses, she was not willing to take it quietly (as was expected of her): After 14 years of marriage she demanded a divorce. She was denied however, with both the Prussian and the Dutch court trying to avoid a scandal. So she packed her bags and left.

She took her carriage and travelled Europe and her several estates, eventually falling in love with her coachman, Johannes van Rossum. When she got pregnant, she was finally allowed to separate from her husband – if only to avoid an even bigger scandal as she was not only pregnant with an illegitimate child but the father was well below her social rank as well. This was five years after she took off. 

She was now almost 40 (see picture on the right) and forbidden from entering Prussian ground for more than 24 hours at a time. This meant she was separated from her children as well as her own estates in the country. But Marianne was not one to give up.

She simply bought a castle right at the border, thus being able to visit her children regularly or have them visit her and managing her property. And she did well: her descendants became one of the richest branches of the dynasty.

Expanding her house by a gallery with about 600 artworks, she took in aspiring artists to support them and thus created a cultural and intellectual hotspot.

She also decided to raise her illegitimate son herself instead of giving him away, once again making the court wrinkle their noses. Van Rossum and her never married too – they just lived together. And she was never ashamed of it.

A woman ahead of her time, a loving mother, a badass businesswoman and always unapologetically herself.

image credits:

painting: by Jan Philip Koelman, 1846 – via Wikimedia Commons
photo: unknown – via Wikimedia Commons