Stephanie St. Clair – Harlem’s Queen of Numbers

by | Jun 12, 2020 | Contemporary (1914 - today), North America, USA | 0 comments

In light of the current protests going on, today’s article is about a woman who was a community organizer and activist for black rights in America during Prohibition, as well as a successful gangster/businesswoman that stood up to the Mafia and the corrupt police system. Did I mention she was an immigrant too? Making a living as a black woman wasn’t easy from the get go, but not only did she build her own business and defended it for years, but continued fighting for a better chance in life for her community as well as those who came after her. Meet Stephanie St. Clair, Harlem’s Queen of Numbers.

From what we know about Stephanie’s childhood, she was born in Le Moule, Guadeloupe on Christmas Eve 1897. Some biographers cite her year of birth as 1887 – a whole decade earlier – however the best researched source, a book by Shirley Stewart, is certain of the one I went with in the first place. However it is interesting that there would be a dispute about this as she was a well-educated woman and would have known her birthday …unless she wanted this confusion. You’ll see why that’s more than likely in a moment. 

So, Stephanie was born mixed, French and African, and grew up with her single mother who worked hard to ensure a good education for her daughter. That way she learned her native French as well as English – in reading and writing as well as speaking, although some biographers state she learned the latter only when she was already in the US. In 1911, when she was 13 years old, Stephanie left her home on a steamboat for America. Arriving in New York the same year, she initially passed through and worked as a domestic servant before returning to the US five years later. The biographies aging her a decade state she spent time in Marseilles, France, before coming to the US, however this claim has been disputed by Stewart. Stephanie herself never disputed this claim though and speaking French, had no problem passing it as truth. And doesn’t it sound glamorous? And Stephanie was all about glamour for sure.

Whichever way she went, it is certain that she eventually settled in Harlem, New York, fitting right in with the growing African-American community. Arriving just a few years before the Great Migration when millions of black people fled the confederate South to settle in more liberal cities like New York. So the city was her playground, and it didn’t take long until she had her own gang: The 40 Thieves. Her main goal was to make a bunch of money fast and coercion and scams really seemed to work. By 1923 she was able to invest $10.000 to develop a numbers racket. The start of a lucrative career. 

A short interlude to tell you about numbers rackets in case you’re as confused as I was. Other names for it are policy banking or just numbers game. It’s basically a mix of lottery, gambling and investment where the person betting had to guess three numbers to win after paying a fee to enter the draw. There were different ways on how these random numbers were “generated” and I don’t know which one Stephanie used, but the winner was determined the day after the bets were placed. While the practice was illegal, it was one of the few opportunities for the working class to invest their money and it was even more important to the African-American community. You see, at the time there were very few banks accepting black customers, so the policy banking was more or less their only investment option. While, yes, it certainly wasn’t the most honest of professions, it did provide the black community with a surprising amount of wealth and jobs. 

But back to our story. Stephanie teamed up with another famous black gangster called Bumpy Johnson and, making him her lieutenant, her business bloomed. For the next few years Madam St. Clair ruled the numbers rackets in Harlem, becoming rich herself but also giving back to the community. She paid her workers well and funded projects to help immigrants like herself to not only learn English but also give them a network and a sense of belonging. One of her main strategies was to put out newspaper ads – full-page and often with a big photo of herself attached – educating her community on their rights, advocating for voting rights and protesting police violence as well as the corrupt legal system.

You see, she was quite and extravagant person with an eccentric, opulent fashion sense and well-respected by the Harlem residents who were the first to call her Madam. Others called her Queenie. While contemporaries describe her as sophisticated and educated, she was also arrogant and known for her temper and occasionally foul mouth (in several languages!) It was that particular mix of character traits that make her story so interesting though. Like that one time she was arrested for her ads, publicized the trial and right after she was released after eight months of prison, she went to the higher ups, not only telling them how she had bribed officers but also how many of them were actually customers of hers. Many officers were fired that day. The Queen lived a lavish lifestyle and, earning an annual income of about $200.000, she amassed a small “personal fortune around $500,000 cash and [owned] several apartment houses.” She resided at 409 Edgecombe Ave in Sugar Hill, a renowned address of the Harlem Renaissance, alongside more reputable black citizens. Still she never made a secret of her occupation and nonetheless remained a major figure in her community. And she loved it. 

With the Great Depression in 1930 and the end of Prohibition two years later, the (predominantly white) Mafia in the surrounding areas saw their profits dwindle and decided that Harlem would be a pretty good addition to their turf. One mobster in particular was determined to take over Madam St. Clair’s business: Dutch Schultz, a brutal man with a violent temper who would become her arch nemesis for the years to come. And he wasn’t subtle about his entrance. He would beat up and straight up kill numbers operators who refused to pay for protection. And when Madam St. Clair refused, he started a personal vendetta against her, threatening her via phone, kidnapping and killing her men and bribing the police wherever he could. He even got her arrested at one point! She responded in the same fashion, killing his men, destroying his businesses, tipping off the police and having his property raided by the police. One such raid cost him $12 million (which would be around $172 million today!) Then she wrote about it in her newspaper ads, because that’s just how extra she was. You might think that’s a pretty stupid move, but actually she used her writings as insurance against potential attacks on her life. By recording the threats against her in the paper, everyone would know who to turn to should something happen to her. Still it was a bloody war with at least 40 people dead.

Slowly this feud pushed Queenie out of the game though. With the police’s eyes constantly on her, she had to watch her every move. In the mid-30s she turned most of the business over to Bumpy Johnson who in turn protected her. And again she used the newspaper to her advantage, this time posting ads that catalogued her activities as a defense against any criminal charges. And for that she had to keep her nose clean. Ironically it was then that the fight against Schultz finally ended …with him being shot. It was a Mafia thing and Madam St. Clair had nothing to do with the assassination whatsoever but she couldn’t miss the chance for one last taunt. It was only a small bible verse that arrived on his deathbed in the hospital via telegram: “As ye sow, so shall ye reap.” It was signed “Madam Queen of Policy.” 

But even with Dutch out of the way, Madam Queen retired from the numbers game and instead focussed all her energy on her activism. She also met and married Sufi Abdul Hamid around 1936, an eccentric activist who ran a mosque as well. He was also very anti-semitic and because of this (and the fact that he was often seen wearing a Nazi-style shirt combined with a cape and turban) he was dubbed Black Hitler by the press. Madam St. Clair and Abdul Hamid were certainly a match in regards to their eccentric characters and flamboyant fashion, as well as their fight for black rights. However their marriage was a stormy one from the start and ended abruptly in 1938 when she shot him. 

…or at him anyway. Abdul survived and went on to marry his mistress, a black fortune teller who went with the name Fu Futtam and somehow claimed to be Asian. The couple had already tried to establish quite a few businesses with Stephanie’s money and at some point she snapped. What followed was a sensational trial of Madame St. Claire vs. Abdul Hamid. 

Throughout it all she maintained that “if [she] had wanted him dead, he would be dead.” Eventually her lawyers got him to admit that his name was actually Eugene, that he wasn’t from Egypt but from Philadelphia as well as tell them all about his affair. Still, in the end Madame St. Clair was found guilty by the all-white jury and sentenced to prison. 

The duration of her stay there isn’t completely certain and ranges from 2-10 years and her trail gets a little faint afterwards. Just like with Dutch Schultz, fate seems to have had a strong dislike for those giving her trouble: just a few months into her imprisonment, Abdul Hamid died in a plane crash. After her release in the early 1940s it seems that she steered clear of criminal enterprises and once again fully focussed on her activist work. Continuing to use her newspaper ads, she publicized the discrimination against black people in her community as well as police brutality and the often illegal tactics employed in the name of justice. She kept campaigning for black voting rights and educating her peers on their civil rights until she died in 1969, quietly and still rich, shortly before turning 73. Four years earlier, in 1965, the Voting Rights Act had been passed which finally gave black people equal voting rights. 

Stephanie St. Clair was a complex and fascinating woman, shifting between gangster and community advocate as she pleased. But this duality is what makes her so interesting, we can see her motivated by a genuine wish for socio-political advancement just as easily as by the desire for riches and publicity. She was in the middle of a fight against racial inequality and she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. Her style of activism shaped future generations and shows just how creative especially marginalized groups can get when it comes to advocacy. Especially in these days her story is so important as it shows how exposing injustices and educating the community matters. It also shows that informal (and, let’s be honest, often illegal) networks are essential in organizing a successful protest against a corrupt system. So let’s learn from this incredibly smart woman and let’s make sure to continue her fight against police brutality.

image credits:

1: Photo of Stephanie St. Clair in her youth. Book cover of “Madame St-Clair, Reine de Harlem” by Raphaël Confiant – via Wikimedia Commons – Link
2: Harlem Numbers Banker Madame Stephanie St. Clair. (Courtesy of Morgan and Marvin Smith Photographic Collection, Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture New York Public Library) – via the African American Intellectual History Society – Link
3: one of Stephanie St. Clair’s newspaper ads in The Amsterdam News – via Rejected Princesses – Link
4: African-American religious and labor leader, Sufi Abdul Hamid with his wife, Harlem mob boss, Stephanie Saint-Clair, in formal dress, January 23, 1938. (Photo by Afro American Newspapers/Gado/Getty Images) – embedded – Link
5: “Stephanie St. Clair Hamid in Custody” (fair use image) – via BlackPast.org – Link

Minna Canth – Finland’s First Feminist

by | May 22, 2020 | Finland, Mid Modern Period (1750 - 1914) | 0 comments

Because it’s my Mum’s birthday, I want to honor another badass mother today. After her husband died, she raised their seven(!) kids by herself and even found time to not only manage the family store, but also fight for gender equality, writing text that were way ahead of her time. Let me introduce you to Minna Canth.

We’re in Tampere, Finland in Spring 1844 and a after their first son had died in infancy, textile worker Gustav Johnsson and his wife Ulrika were overjoyed when their daughter Ulrika Wilhelmina, or Minna for short, was born. In 1850 another boy would follow and two years later another girl. One year after her little sister was born, her father was promoted to managing a yarn store and the whole family moved to Kuopio. Even before that she had attended the school at the factory her father worked for and continued her education in her new home. The shop was so successful under her father’s management that Minna was even admitted to an upper class school! 

That meant she was able to get a much better education than most working-class women at the time, not only learning the basics of reading and writing, but also history and geography and mathematics! Besides the main language, Swedish, she also learned to speak German, French and Russian, while at home she spoke Finnish. (Back then Swedish was the official language of Finland and it wasn’t until 1923 that Finnish was recognized in the same way.) Half the day was put aside for crafts – of course, it was a women’s school – but Minna really didn’t have the patience for that, she’d much rather devour every book she could find. 

When a school to train female teachers was established in a city near her home, 19 year old Minna was among the first to apply. The Jyväskylä Teacher Seminary was the first school in Finland to make higher education accessible for women and of course Minna wanted in. And she got in. 

In 1963 she began her education as a primary school teacher and she absolutely loved it! Not only was she elated to keep learning, but she also loved the philosophy of teaching and unexpectedly enjoyed the hour of gymnastics everyday and regular outdoor activity. In her journals she wrote: “Here, even the careless, like me, are forced to take better care of their health” and the habit of daily exercise and long walks would accompany her throughout her life. Minna also found love somewhere unexpected: in her natural science teacher Johan Ferdinand Canth. And in 1965 the two of them married. Unfortunately that also meant that she wasn’t allowed to continue her education at the Teacher Seminary, as married women weren’t allowed to study at the time. 

Even though her formal years of education were over, Minna had learned a lot and began to see society – and especially the role of women within it – in a whole new light. But for now she fully immersed herself in married life, taking care of the household while her husband worked at the school and as a newspaper editor. Her joy and pride was tending to the garden where she grew vegetables that not only fed her family but also produced a bit of income at the side. Apparently Minna had inherited her father’s talent as a salesperson. But not only her garden grew, her family did too. Between 1866 and 1890 the Canths had seven children!

Somehow in 1974 Minna found the time to start writing for the newspaper her husband worked at, focussing on women’s issues. She was incredibly happy to finally have intellectual stimulation in her life again, or as she called it “spiritual nourishment.” Her articles didn’t go over with the editors however and both her and her husband had to leave the paper only two years later. They were both immediately hired by the competition though and Minna began publishing her first fiction stories. They were even collected in a book in 1878!

But the happy family life came to a screeching halt when Johan Canth died unexpectedly in July 1879, leaving Minna alone with six children and a seventh on the way. Not only was she now a widow at 35, she was also really really broke.

She knew that continuing to write only newspaper articles would not sustain a large family like hers for long, so she thought bigger and sent a play to the Finnish National Theater in Helsinki where it was enthusiastically accepted. This would lead to a lifelong partnership with the director of the institution who taught her much. Still Minna knew it would be hard staying in the big city and after her youngest daughter Lyyli was born, she sold the family home in Jyväskylä and took her children on a three-day journey back to her hometown, Kuopio.

Returning home after 17 years of absence, Minna lost no time. Her parents had opened their own draper’s shop, but her father had died shortly after and now it wasn’t doing too well. So Minna took charge. Soon she had turned business around and was earning enough to not only take care of her seven kids and the family cat, but her mother and ailing brother as well. After her brother’s death in 1884, she took over his general store as well and she seems to have had a real talent for business: in 1895 she was elected as the first woman to be a voting representative in the General Merchant Meeting. There wouldn’t be another woman of a similar rank for the next 100 years. She also greatly enjoyed the freedom her existence as a businesswoman granted her. She made enough to hire people and finally, finally she had the time to write again!

Her home in Kuopio quickly became a meeting point for intellectuals and creative to discuss new ideas and Minna established a women’s circle to discuss social issues and needed reforms. But she didn’t just keep her ideas in her home, she wrote articles focussing on social and gender inequality for different newspapers and even planned a women’s magazine for which she ended up being too busy. Even if Swedish was the official language and she did speak it well, Minna made the choice to write in Finnish. Not only the language was unusual, but her opinions were often controversial and way ahead of her time as well – her topics included the wealth divide, public education, sexual repression and morality, as well as the stigma against sick and disabled people.

Often the deeper meaning of her work was overlooked in order to criticize the imperfect but very human characters and progressive ideas; some of her works were even banned! In 1889 she started a newspaper where she translated texts from all over Europe to debate international ideas with her readers, but that too was censored after just one year. She knew that she was ahead of her time – “a woman of a completely new age,” she called it – but she never gave up trying to usher in that new age for everyone else. 

And she had her personal reasons to keep standing up to against the system. As her daughters grew older she once again realized how difficult it was for a woman to get a good education. Without further ado she hired high school boys to teach her daughters what they learned, like mathematics and Latin, in addition to their regular lessons at the girls’ school. Of course Minna didn’t just stop at that. She and some members of her women’s group saw the need for women’s education and In 1886 the first Finnish-language co-educational school in the country was established – all paid for via fundraisers! One of her daughters, Elli, followed her mother as an intellectual, even going to Switzerland for a few years to study natural medicine. I imagine that must have made Minna very happy, as she firmly believed that to achieve true gender equality, we must empower our young women, not only by educating them but also by teaching them to navigate the world outside the home without relying on a husband.

And we know that at least with Elli she did a great job in doing so for her own daughters. When Minna died in 1897, at age 53, Elli and her brother Jussi continued their mother’s businesses and they kept operating (under various names) until 1974! But Minna’s story is not completely over yet. Ten years after her death, Finland became the first European country to give women the right to vote. It is not unlikely that her writings had at least a little influence on that progress. 

image credits:

1: “Finnish author Minna Canth (1844-1897) in her youth (age 13-16)” from her biography “Monisärmäinen Minna Canth : kirjoituksia hänestä ja hänen tuotannostaan” by Liisi Huhtala, 1998 – via Wikimedia Commons – Link
2: “Finnish author Minna Canth (1844-1897) and lecturer (teacher) Johan Ferdinand Canth (1835–1879) in Jyväskylä” from the biography by Liisi Huhtala, mentioned above – via Wikimedia Commons – Link
3: “One of the first uses of photographs in Finnish newspapers – Uusi Kuvalehti, June 1891, published in Kuopio – In picture: Kuopio-based authors Minna Canth and Juhani Aho” – from the biography by Liisi Huhtala, mentioned above – via Wikimedia Commons – Link
4: “Landscape from the cathedral tower” – Kuopio between 1889 and 1893, Minna Canth’s house is the light one at the corner. Photo: Aug. Schuffert [cropped] – Link
5: “Screw game in Kanttila [Minna Canth’s house in Kuopio]” – Pictured are Hanna Levander (left), Alma Tervo, Maiju Canth and Minna Canth, between 1890 and 1896. Photographer unknown – Digitized at the Kuopio Museum of Cultural History – Link
6: “Finnish author Minna Canth (1844-1897)” – date and photographer unknown – via Wikipedia Commons – Link

Siti binti Saad – The Voice of Zanzibar

by | Feb 14, 2020 | Africa, Contemporary (1914 - today), Tanzania | 0 comments

This week’s heroine is known as the mother of East African taarab music. Starting a career as a woman over 30 in a male-dominated field held her back just as much as being from a poor family that didn’t speak the “right” language – that is to say, it didn’t hold her back at all. Her name is Siti binti Saad and this is her story.

Born in 1880 to a farmer and a potter in Fumba, Tanzania, she was first named Mtumwa – ‘slave’ – as that was where her parents came from. She grew up learning her mother’s craft and soon was sent to sell their pottery on the local markets. It was there that she first learned that her voice was an unusual gift, carrying over quite a distance. But selling pottery was all that a girl could do at that time. Being under Arab rule at the time, there was no shortage in schools, but those were reserved for boys. Encouraged by a friend who had recognized her potential, Mtumwa moved to Zanzibar in 1911 to pursue a career in music.

Her friend had taught how to accompany an instrument with her voice, but at this time it was still seen as indecent for a woman to join a band and become a musician. She was lucky however and soon after arriving in the city she met Ali Muhsin, a taarab singer whose band even played for the Sultan. He was impressed with her voice and after training her further, introduced her to his band. They must have liked her, because they immediately started organizing concerts and before she knew it, she was invited to play for the Sultan and other rich Arab families.

This might be when she got her name, or rather title. She was called ‘Siti’ (‘Lady’ by an Arab lady at one of the festivities her group played at. That title combined with the patronym ‘binti’ and her father’s name, Saadi, made up what she would be called from now on: Siti binti Saad. 

Although Siti was illiterate in Arabic and Roman script, she possessed an outstanding memory that allowed her to sing any song in any language as soon as she had listened to it a few times. Although her popularity began to rise for real when she began applying the same rhythmic and poetic structures to her native Swahili, inventing an entirely new art form. Swahili was also the language that most of the Tanzanian population spoke, as Arabic was reserved mainly for the upper classes, thus she made taarab music accessible for the lower classes as well.

Soon she had made quite a name for herself and in 1928, when she was 48 years old, her big break came. Columbia Records and His Master’s Voice, both famous record labels, had heard of her and offered a trip to their recording studio in Mumbai to record some of her songs. And not in Arabic either but Swahili (although she did do some Arabic songs as well.) Not only was she the first East African person (person, not woman!) to make commercial recordings, she was also incredibly successful, selling more than 72.000 copies in the first two years, which is a lot compared to the average of 900 in the same time. She was so popular in fact, that in the ten years that followed several recording studios would open in Zanzibar, just for her.

Her stay in India held other advantages too. There she was able to attend several concerts herself, absorbing Indian music and dance. She also met with Egyptian singer Umm Kulthum, who sang one of her favourite Arabic songs, Khaif. Inspired by all these impressions, she introduced an element of dance and mime to her performances that became known as natiki, which probably comes from the Hindu term ‘natak’ – ‘play, drama.’ Turns out she had quite a talent for drama too and her eloquence in Swahili captivated her audiences.

Siti’s career thrived and she continued to make music well into old age. In her songs she was not afraid to make political statements, opposing class oppression and the abuse of women as well as corruption and the legal system. Often she would sing about actual events and everyday life in Tanzania, including the experiences of her working class audiences – a group that she herself grew up in. Over the course of her career she produced over 250 songs and more than 150 78-rpm records, although only few original recordings remain.

On July 8, 1950 Siti binti Saad died at the age of 70. Shortly before her death, she was visited by Shaaban Robert, a famous writer and poet, who interviewed her in order to write down her biography. The book, Wasifu was Siti binti Saad (Biography of Sinti binti Saad) was released six years after her death and is still part of the Tanzanian curriculum today. Although her passing left a huge gap in taarab music, she had paved the way for other female artists after her and turned taarab into the music of her people, while majorly contributing to its international success.

That is why she is known today as the Mother of Taarab. 

You can find some of her recordings on youtube – below is one of them. Enjoy!

image credits:

1: Street in Zanzibar, 1928 – Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-R30020 / CC-BY-SA 3.0
2: Siti binti Saad and her musicians, ca. 1930 – Link
3: Siti binti Saad; cropped version of the image before – Link

Hortense Mancini – The Runaway Dutchess

by | May 17, 2018 | Early Modern Period (1500 - 1750), Europe, France, UK | 0 comments

This time I’d like to introduce you to one of my biggest history crushes: Her name is mostly mentioned in relation to her famous family and as a famous mistress, but she is so much more than that. Today’s post is about Hortense Mancini, a runaway wife who bedded kings. Are you interested yet? Because it keeps getting better. But let’s start with the beginning.

Hortense was born in Rome as the fourth of the five Mancini sisters, who were to become famous for their beauty and wit. When their mother was widowed in 1650, she sent the girls to Paris to live with their uncle Cardinal Mazarin. She hoped that his position as the king’s minister would allow her daughters to find suitable husbands. And the plan worked. The sisters were superstars at the French court, famed for their olive-skinned beauty which differed from the “standard French girl” and for their scandalous lives; either praised or despised, but definitely talked about. They even had a collective name: “The Mazarinettes” – remind you of anyone? (In the picture, Hortense is the one on the far right.)

Anyways, there were a lot of suitors. And I mean a lot. And they were respectable too. But because Hortense was her uncle’s favourite, no one seemed to be good enough for her. The cardinal had rejected a ton of suitors, among them Charles II, the exiled King of England (who funnily enough was legitimized only a few months later and was quick to reject the cardinal’s offer of Hortense’s hand and a lot of gold – hurt pride and all.) Finally in 1661, on his deathbed, Mazarin signed a marriage contract between Hortense and one of Europe’s wealthiest men: Armand Charles de La Porte de La Meilleraye. Not a good choice as it turned out.

Hortense was a cheerful girl (just look at the flower portrait on the left!), liked by everyone who met her, while Armand was a grumpy and jealous person. Also he was twice her age. Not to mention that he had that weird obsession with sex – and not in a good way. In his vast art collection, every bit of nudity was either painted over or chipped off, the teeth of his female servants were knocked out so they wouldn’t attract suitors and he tried to keep them from milking the cows (because udders are sexual, you know). Hortense was forbidden from meeting with any other men and often woken up at midnight when her husband decided to sweep her room for hidden lovers. Finally he forced her to move to the countryside with him, away from her beloved city.

Sure enough, Hortense was more than unhappy. And she decided to do something against that. And so she took a lover who was her age. Her name was Sidonie de Courcelles. Armand was shook when he found out, oh, the immorality. So he put both girls in a convent. That’ll teach them. Well, that plan kinda backfired – who would have thought? Honestly, I’m a little sorry for the nuns. The two girls were basically the Fred and George of the nunnery: they spiked the Holy Water with ink, flooded the nun’s beds and even tried to escape through the chimney. So in the end Hortense had to reluctantly return to her husband. She stayed for seven years, in which she bore four children. She did not idly take the abuse though. It was around that time when she started on her memoirs – highly unusual for women in the 17th century. Her main reason was to chronicle her husband’s behavior to have a solid case against him in court. It did not do her any good though and her attempt to divorce Armand failed.

But now she truly had enough and bolted, donning men’s clothing and leaving her children behind. A move so unusual at the time, that it attracted a lot of attention – not only from the public, spawning own magazines devoted to the topic, but also from the court. Soon the French King and her former suitor, the Duke of Savoy offered themselves as her protectors. Graciously she accepted the pension offered by the king and moved into the household of the Duke. Unfortunately he died not long after and his wife kicked her out again. Once more she was alone. Her husband had managed to freeze all of her bank accounts, including her pension from the King, which left her penniless – unless she returned to him. But that was out of the question. Enter the English ambassador. To secure his own status and maybe even improve it a little he’d like Hortense to try and replace the current mistress of Charles II. Does that name ring any bells? Right, the guy she’s supposed to seduce is the same King of England who wanted to marry her earlier, which didn’t quite end so well. Still, she was willing to give it a shot. Where else should she go anyways?

Soon she was on her way to London, pretending to be visiting her cousin there and once again dressed as a man. She travelled through Germany, having her memoirs basically published on the way. In January 1675 she arrived at the English court and by August she had been given an apartment and a generous pension by King Charles II. Less than one year later, she fully took the place of his chief mistress. It was the perfect match. They both loved lavish parties, riding and fencing. The King didn’t even mind her refusal to address him as “majesty” or her numerous affairs (playwright Aphra Behn even dedicated the introduction of one of her novellas to Hortense, turning it into a full-blown love poem.) And he liked her penchant for cross-dressing. Life could have been great.

And it was, until Hortense decided to start a relationship with Anne of Sussex. You see, generally the king didn’t care which beds she hopped into, but Anne was his daughter – an illegitimate daughter, but still. It didn’t really help that the two girls were caught in the midst of a friendly fencing match. In their nightgowns. Right in the middle of a public park. Watched (and presumably cheered on) by a group of onlookers. Immediately Anne was sent to an estate in the country, where she reportedly refused to leave her bed and just lay there, kissing a small painting of her beloved Hortense. That alone would not have tipped the King over the edge, but then Horense took the Prince of Monaco as her lover. Another royal was just too much for poor Charles II and he refused to pay her pension for a few days, but quickly relented. Hortense however had to give up her position as the King’s favourite to her predecessor in 1677. They did however remain friends until his death in 1685.

With both of her protectors dead however, Armand came back. Yep, I had hoped to never hear of him again as well. And so in 1689, he went to court, demanding his wife to return to Italy with him. But Hortense fought – and won. She was allowed to stay in England. And while her pension was reduced by the new King she kept her estate, which she turned into a salon for intellectuals and artists. In 1699, Hortense too died. It isn’t entirely sure how, but her drinking problem is mostly assumed to have been her downfall, but there are also rumors of a suicide.

One might think the story of Hortense Mancini ends here. But did you forget that Armand is still alive? Yes, even after her death, he couldn’t just let her be. He literally took her dead body with him while he travelled the country, visiting all the estates she had despised so much. It took four months until he finally allowed her to find a resting place in her uncle’s tomb. I hope she whoops his ass in the afterlife.

You can still buy her autobiography (and that of her sister)!
It’s on amazon but if you can, please support your local bookshop!

image credits:

1: “Three Nieces of Cardinal Mazarin” (detail; fltr: Marie, Olympia, and Hortense) by an unknown French artist, ca. 1660 – Link
2: presumed portait of Hortense Mancini by Jacob Ferdinand Voet, 1671 – © Hermitage Museum (ГЭ-5743) – Link
3: “Hortense Mancini, Duchess of Mazarin, as Cleopatra” by Jacob Ferdinand Voet, 17th century – © Bonhams (Lot 17) – Link
4: “Portrait of Ortensia Mancini, as Aphrodite” by Jacob Ferdinand Voet, ca. 1675 – © Christie’s (Lot 202) – Link

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