And your quaint honour turn to dust
\nAnd into ashes all my
lust…<\/p>\n
Andrew Marvell,
To His Coy Mistress <\/strong>c.1640s<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
Virgin<\/em> has a comparatively straightforward etymology:
it derives from the Latin
virgo <\/em>(= ‘maiden’), whence the
star-sign Virgo (apparently the sign of the shy, modest
and meticulous, with a dash of perfectionism and anxiety).
Its first sense (c.1200) is an ecclesiastical one:
‘an\u00a0unmarried or chaste maiden or women,
distinguished for piety or steadfastness in religion, and
regarded as having a special place among the members of
the Christian church on account of these
merits.’<\/p>\n
Saint Lucy, with her eyes, as
depicted in 1521<\/p><\/div>\n
There are innumerable such virgins in Christian
hagiography: Saint Ursula had an army of 11,000 virgin
handmaids who all had their heads chopped off (in a
bit of a pun-fail); Saint Cecilia (patron saint of
music) managed not only to persuade her husband to
forbear on their wedding night, but also to join the
Christian cause along with his brother, and suffer
death in consequence.<\/p>\n
Saint Lucy consecrated her virginity to God, and,
supposedly, tore her own eyes out and gave them to her
husband (who had admired them) as a kind of macabre
substitute for the marital debt. (Lesson: never admire
your girlfriend’s essential organs).<\/p>\n
And, of course, there is the arch-virgin much
mentioned in these posts \u2013 the eponymous Mary,
who gets a definition all to herself as\u00a0virgin<\/em>‘s fourth meaning.<\/p>\n
Mary’s particular achievement – the
Virgin Birth – is also considered of some
importance in these definitions for
virgin<\/em>. It presumably lies behind the
gloss ‘a female insect producing fertile
eggs<\/a> by pathenogenesis
[without the input of a male insect]’
(1883), as well as
virgin<\/em>‘s\u00a0simple equivalence
with ‘pathenogenesis’ itself
(1849) – a word with its origin in the
Greek
parthenos<\/em>, also meaning
‘virgin’ and
‘genesis’ (=
‘creation’).<\/p>\n
This – reproduction
without\u00a0fertilisation\u00a0–
though clearly associated with Mary in
Christian tradition, is also arguably the
origin of Adam, so it doesn’t have
to be have an\u00a0explicit cultural
gender-association. Indeed, there is a
Middle English citation for\u00a0virgin\u00a0<\/em>that defines it
as\u00a0‘a youth or
man who has remained in a state of
chastity’. But this is admittedly
an unusual example among the definitions
as a whole.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
A Vestal
Virgin<\/p><\/div>\n
If we go back to ancient Rome, we
meet another sense the religious
meaning of\u00a0virgin<\/em> can\u00a0have: the
very non-Christian\u00a0Vestal
Virgins<\/a>, a group of highly
respected women whose job it was
to guard the ‘sacred
fire’ and take care of the
rituals and responsibilities that
could not be dealt with by male
priests.<\/p>\n
They were so named because their
duties were primarily to Vesta,
the Roman goddess of the hearth
and family, and, in consequence,
the Vestal Virgins took on a
role as kind of symbolic
housewives to the whole of
Rome.<\/p>\n
Though they would be obliged to
remain
virginal <\/em>throughout
their time as priestesses, in
the word’s second sense
‘a woman who is or
remains in a state of
inviolate chastity’, the
vow only lasted thirty years,
at the end of which they were
free to marry (though most of
them seem not to have been all
that bothered).<\/p>\n
This all said, while these
saints and priestesses are
all very much
virgins <\/em>in the most
common sense of the word,
the ecclesiastical
meaning\u00a0does not have
to imply the sexual
inexperience they normally
connote, since
‘chastity’
simply means ‘clean,
pure’ (from the
Latin
castus<\/em>), and has
no intrinsic connection
with physical
‘intactness’,
though it is frequently
used as a synonym. In
fact, the fourth
definition for the
second primary meaning
of the word (where it
can be used to describe
things other than women)
highlights ‘purity
or freedom from
stain’ and being
‘unsullied’.<\/p>\n
If you cast your mind
back to ‘M is
for
Marriage<\/a>‘,
you may remember that
adultery
<\/em>means
‘pollution of
the marriage
bed’,
suggesting by
association that the
marriage bed was a
sacred \u2013 or
indeed
‘pure’
\u2013 space. And
indeed, marriage was
widely considered
invalid without
consummation \u2013
something Henry VIII
made much use of in
his royal
divorces <\/a>\u2013
and, in consequence,
the virtuous wife
who\u00a0dexterously\u00a0trod
the balance of Pure
Marital Sex and
Pollution of the
Marriage Bed
(whether by adultery
as we conceive it,
or by lusting after
her husband) could
be as much feted as
the unmarried
virgin
<\/em>(indeed,
more so, if she
proved herself
skilled in
housewifery and
produced equally
virtuous
children).<\/p>\n The
‘sieve
portrait’ of
Elizabeth I,
1583<\/p><\/div>\n
That said, a
curious and
related term
first cited in
1644
was\u00a0virgin
widow<\/em>,
meaning a
woman whose
husband had
died before
the marriage
could be
consummated,
and whose
status was
therefore
ambiguously
poised
between\u00a0virginity\u00a0<\/em>(in
the sense of
being
unmarried)
and\u00a0widowhood\u00a0<\/em><\/a>(being
left
behind
after the
death of a
husband).<\/p>\n
An
excellent,
though
somewhat
horrific,
example
of the
noble
wife
trope
is Lucretia<\/a>,
the
virtuous
spouse
of
Collatine,
whose
rape
by the
royal
prince
Tarquin
so
outraged
Rome
that
it led
directly
to the
establishment
of the
Roman
republic.
As a
wife,
Lucretia
is not
a
technical\u00a0virgin<\/em>,
but
she
is
(as
Shakespeare
puts
it
in
the
oft-forgotten
early
poem
The<\/strong>\u00a0Rape
of
Lucrece\u00a0<\/strong>(1594))
‘Collatine’s
fair
love,
Lucrece
the
chaste<\/em>‘.<\/p>\n
Saint\u00a0Augustine<\/a>
posits
that
‘purity
is
a
virtue
of
the
soul<\/a>‘,
and
since
body
and
soul
are
(in
this
reading)
distinct,
Lucrece
can
consummate
her
marriage
while
still
retaining
her
essential
‘bodily
sanctity’
because
she
is
free
of
polluting
lust
in
the
process.<\/p>\n
Unfortunately,
Collatine
spends
so
much
time
bragging
about
his
wife’s
chastity
to
the
bros
in
the
camp
that
he
invites
trouble:<\/span><\/p>\n
Haply
that
name
of
“chaste”
unhapp’ly
set
Shakespeare,\u00a0The
Rape
of
Lucrece<\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n
Lucretia
is
so
traumatised
by
Tarquin’s
subsequent
rape
that
she
stabs
herself
rather
than
‘live
impure’,
widely
considered
by
the
(male)
world
to
be
a
Noble
Decision.
This
led
to
her
immortalisation
in
literature
and
philosophy
as
a
perfect
wife,
but
also
prompted
Augustine
to
engage
in
some
terrible
rape
apologism
in
the
service
of
his
broader
argument
(<\/span>‘If
she\u00a0was
adulterous,
why
praise
her?
if
chaste,
why
slay
her?’).<\/span>
It
is
presumably
a
version
of
this
chastity-of-the-soul
idea
so
beloved
by
Augustine
that
lies
behind
the
story
of
Tuccia,
the
Vestal
Virgin
who
proves
her
virginity
by
carrying
water
from
the
Tiber
in
a
sieve
without
spilling
a
drop
(here
she
is
<\/a>depicted
in
1555\u00a0with
the
sieve
itself,
and
wearing
an
outfit
that
leaves
little
to
the
imagination,
chaste
or
otherwise).<\/p>\n
I
suppose
the
idea
behind
the
sieve
story
is
that
something
that
would
normally
flow
through
the
porous
surface
is
maintained
‘intact’,
perhaps
representing
the
pure
soul
within
a
porous
body.
At
any
rate,
it
became
a
key
symbol
of
virginity,
most
notably
in
the
‘Sieve
Portrait’
of
the\u00a0‘Virgin
Queen<\/a>‘
Elizabeth
I,
who
is
also
cited
in
the
Dictionary
as
a
definition
of
virgin\u00a0<\/i>in
herself.<\/p>\n
The
last
citation
given
in
the
dictionary
for
virgin<\/em>,
with
which
we
will
end,
is
from
1780,
as
‘a
fortress
or
city
that
has
never
been
taken
or
subdued’.
This
has
an
obvious
resonance
with
Lucrece,
and
the
ultimately
martial
tale
her
story
becomes
–
another
link
between\u00a0feminine
‘closedness’
and
men’s
military
convenience.<\/p>\n
It’s
hard
to
find
a
way
to
re-appropriate
any
of
these
ideas
in
a
positive
way.
But
maybe
this
transferred
definition
or
fortresses
and
cities
should
make
us
think
about
Elizabeth
I,
who
at
least
made
them
work
to
her
own
military
and
political
advantage.<\/p>\n
Like a virgin<\/h2>\n
![\"Saint](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.badreputation.org.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/05\/saint-lucy.jpg\")
<\/a>
A woman’s touch<\/h2>\n
<\/a><\/a>
Purity
is a
virtue
of the
soul<\/h2>\n
\nThe
bateless
edge
on
[Tarquin’s]
appetite<\/p>\n
\n<\/span><\/p>\n
Saints
and
sieves<\/h2>\n