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This is an iHeart podcast. Nobleblood is proudly sponsored by Amica Insurance. As Amica says, empathy is our best policy. From listening to your insurance needs to following up after a claim, Amica provides coverage with care and compassion. Because as a mutual insurer, Amica is built for its customers and prioritizes use you. Isn't that the way insurance should be? At Amica, your peace of mind matters. Visit amica.com and get a quote Today the first published volume of work from Margaret Cavendish, Poems and fancies in 1653, introduced readers to an author who didn't settle for one subject or style. The the volume features poems about atoms, arguments for the existence of fairies, and conversations between man and nature. Amongst these varied pieces, one can also find a short essay titled To All Writing Ladies. In that essay, Cavendish argues that history is composed of ages defined by men's children changing desires. There are ages of peace, ages of war, ages of many gods, ages of atheism, ages of learning, ages of ignorance. Throughout these ages, Margaret explains, there are times when women rise to prominence, whether they be heroines, prophets, rulers or scholars. For brief periods of time, then women, she argues, can define an era. And if it be an age when the effeminate spirits rule, Cavendish writes, let us take the advantage and make the best of our time, for fear their reign should not last long. To that same effect, Cavendish writes, let us strive to build us tombs while we live, followed by a couplet that though our bodies die, our names may live to After Memory. 1653's poems and fancies would be the first of many tombs Margaret built herself while she was living. If you recall the ending of our last episode, readers of Poems were met with a title page loudly declaring that the book was written by the Right Honorable the Lady Margaret, Countess of Newcastle. Some editions even featured a bold etching of Margaret as a classical statue, standing in between Apollo and Athena. Margaret's writing would never be so groundbreaking as to define an era or earn a spot among the classics. But simply by putting her own name on a work of fiction, Margaret Cavendish solidified her place in history as a trailblazer. A quote from a friend is included in the introduction to Poems. You are not only the first English poet of your sex, but the first that ever wrote this way. When the then Countess released Poems and Fancies, Only an estimated 1.3% of total English publications were were openly written by women. And naturally, we don't even have the statistics for women who may have been writing anonymously, although some certainly did. 1.3% then is small and mostly made up of works offering religious and maternal advice. From 1650 to 1660, religious texts made up around 61% of all published writing by women. Literature, including poetry and plays, made up only 0.016%. Trailblazers are, as we know, not always well regarded in their time. There's a quote from one of Margaret's contemporaries, Dorothy Osborne, known posthumously for her collection of letters. In one such correspondence, Osborne wrote, they say poems and fancies tis 10 times more extravagant than her dress. And once Osborne got her hands on a copy, she declared that I have seen it and am satisfied that there are many soberer people in Bedlam. Osbourne was not alone in her perception of Cavendish. After all. Her nickname of the Crazy Duchess persists to this day, immortalized by Virginia Woolf in A Room of One's own. Was Cavendish truly as crazy as they say? In her own view, at least, it's a bit more complex. I am not covetous, but as ambitious as ever. Any of my sex was, is or can be, which is the cause, though that I cannot be Henry V or Charles ii, Yet I will endeavor to be Margaret I. I'm Dana Schwartz, and this is noble blood. When we last left Margaret, she had discovered her passion for writing under the tutelage of her husband William, and her brother in law, Charles. Before she could publish poems, however, she would have to make an unexpected trip back to her home country, following years abroad. In November 1651, she locked her writings up in a trunk as though they had been buried in a grave, and left them behind in Antwerp with her husband William. That fall, the Cavendishes had learned that Charles estates were sequestered by Parliament, while William's previously seized estates were being sold to fund war in Ireland. In order to regain possession or entitlements, the deemed delinquent had to appear in front of the newly established rump Parliament, more specifically, their alliteratively named Committee for Compounding. The Cavendishes at this point were so broke that that William recognized the necessity of the journey. But he himself could not join his brother, as setting foot on English soil would have been a death sentence for him. Thus, it was up to Charles and Margaret to travel home in frugal style to try to reclaim what they could. Margaret, with her debilitating separation and social anxiety, certainly would not have left her husband's side if she didn't think the situation was so dire. After all, she had an important role to play. As William's wife. She was entitled to one fifth of the proceeds from his sold estates, which would have aided considerably in relieving the family's debt. Unfortunately for the couple, they would never see the promised payout. Margaret was so anxious to appear in court that her only living brother, John Lucas, had to speak to the committee on her behalf. Margaret listened quietly while they ruled that because she had married William since he became a delinquent, she was owed nothing. For Charles Part, he managed to regain some of his estates, but he paid such hefty fines in the process that he had to sell some of the land that he had just won back. While Margaret's mission was ultimately unsuccessful, there were still bright spots to be found in London. For one thing, she was reunited with her family for the first time in many years. They were smaller in number by this point. Margaret's brothers Charles and Thomas, her mother and one of her sisters had all died while Margaret was abroad. But her brother John and her beloved sister Catherine were alive and well in London. If you recall, it was Catherine who Margaret intensely feared losing. So to see her again must have felt like a miracle. Margaret was also able to meet some of William's sons and daughters for the first time, who all remained in London after their father's still self imposed exile. This was also the period in which Margaret was introduced to London's royalist intellectual circles. She frequented the salons of composer Henry Lawes, who welcomed the contributions of women, including Marlott's contemporary, the poet Catherine Phillips. In these groups, work was typically circulated as unpublished manuscripts, which would later sometimes be published posthumously. Margaret was one of the select few who chose to officially publish her work in her lifetime. Her publication was also notably, not an independent venture. She worked with Martin and Allstree, a small but not unimportant press who would go on to become the official booksellers to the Royal Society. What drove her to take this step through that few others, let alone women, often took, we don't quite know. In the introduction to Poems and Fancies, Margaret explains the driving force behind her writing and defends her right to publish said writing. But she doesn't detail her thought process about the in between. As we discussed last time, Margaret found the practice of writing eased her anxiety and her sadness like nothing else. And indeed, she was living in a specifically unsettling time. Though she reunited with some of her family in London, she was without her husband, in a country that did not look the same after eight years abroad. I was from my lord, she writes in the preface to Poems, meaning she was away from her husband and knowing him to be in great wants and myself in the same condition to divert them, I wrote to turn the stream. When she says wants, she could be referring to their longing for each other, but also their financial struggles. In that way, that line could be suggesting that publishing her work was an economic venture. Margaret certainly couldn't have hoped to make a living off her writing. After all, men of the era capable of such were few and far between. But even a small prophet could have helped to turn the stream, if not the tides. When it came to defending herself, Margaret dedicated poems in part to all noble and worthy ladies. In this short letter, she shares her I imagine I shall be censured by my own sex, and men will cast a smile of scorn upon my book because they think thereby. Women encroach too. She implores her fellow women to stand up for her and knows them to be capable of it, for I know women's tongues are as sharp as two edged swords, and wound as much when they are angered. After all, in Margaret's mind, she was doing no harm. The world may wonder at my confidence. How dare I put out a book, especially in these censorious times? Why should I be ashamed or afraid where no evil is? Her publication was not only audacious in its very existence, but also in its content. Most notably, the first poem, A World Made by Atoms, describes exactly what its title implies, the creation of our world as a scientific process with no mention of God. It may seem counterintuitive coming from a woman who was a royalist and believed in the divine right of kings, but much of Margaret's early philosophy is considered Epicurean atomism, which was bold enough to garner accusations of atheism. In Margaret's work, the World's Olio, she goes so far as to say, it is better to be an atheist than a superstitious man, for in atheism there is humanity and civility towards man to man. But superstition regards no humanity. Margaret would later reassure readers. Pray, account me not an atheist, but believe as I do in God Almighty. In typical Margaret fashion, her thoughts on her own work flip between shyly modest and brazenly ambitious. Spare your severe censures, she calls on the reader, I, having not so many years of experience as will make me a garland to crown my head only I have had so much time as to gather a little posy to stick upon my breast. In the same introduction, she claims, my ambition is such as I would either be a world or nothing. Margaret's journey to being a world would take some time, but her next step would be to travel across our world once again. In February 1653, just weeks after Poem's publication, she prepared to cross the channel and return to her husband williams son side. While she had found prosperous royalist circles, her home country was still a hostile place for those loyal to the dead. King Charles, her brother in law, was meant to make the journey with her, but he fell ill and was advised against traveling for the time being. In order to leave England, Parliament was requiring travelers to swear an oath of allegiance known as the Engagement. I do declare and promise it read, that I will be true and faithful to the Commonwealth of England as it is now established without a King or House of Lords. You can imagine this would have been a real indignity for Margaret if she had to swear it. The catch was that only men had to take this oath. Women were of course assumed to be so politically ignorant that that there was no need for such declarations. On March 2, the council issued permission for Lady Newcastle and servants to go out of England without having taking of the engagement pressed upon her, as William had done in the early days of their courtship. William wrote Margaret many poems of longing during those 15 months spent apart and many poems of passion upon their reunion. Our tongues thought much when lips did touch, they should not meet, softly reads one written after his wife's return to Antwerp. The couple's childlessness then cannot be attributed to a lack of trying. As for Margaret, she continued working on her second prose collection, Philosophical Fancies, a series of essays originally intended to be included in Poems. With soon to be two publications under her belt now, Margaret showed no signs of slowing down. Her next step was to establish herself as a literary figure in Europe. With William's help, Margaret sent out copies of Poems and Fancies and Philosophical Fancies to prominent courtiers and intellectuals. Many of these celebrated figures sent messages of praise, but much of that praise comes across as too flattering. Veering into the insincere. She was, after all, still a noblewoman, as Margaret often referred to her writings as her children. One royalist scholar played on her own idea, advising her to go on. Then most honorable madam, bless the world with these noble infants of your brain. Margaret's most honest compliment may have come from a criticism. The English courtier and author, Sir Edward Hyde argued that since Margaret was unskilled in any but our mother tongue and lacked a formal education, she could not have written a book with so many terms of art and such expressions proper to all science. In his denouncement, Hyde evidently put forth the idea that Margaret's work was not only good, but too good. In response, the epilogue to Philosophical Fancies includes a rebuttal. I hear that my first book was thought to be none of mine own. Margaret argues she is too honest as not to steal another's work, nor so vainglorious as to strain to build up a fame upon the ground of another man's wit. This would be a recurring battle throughout Margaret's career. Anatomists, philosophers and writers of all kind would accuse Margaret of lying about her education level or passing off someone else's work as her own. Margaret or William would write a defense in response, rinse and repeat. As Margaret began to work on her next publication, the words Olio the Cavendish family faced a major loss. The illness that had kept Charles in London turned out to be deadly. He died in early 1654, never having made it back to Antwerp. Both Margaret and William were devastated. In her memoir, Margaret later wrote that she would quote laments the loss so long as I live, going on to describe her brother in law and tutor as nobly generous, wisely valiant, naturally civil, honestly kind, truly loving, virtuously temperate. Maybe now is a good time to mention the rumor that Charles and Margaret had an affair. There's no concrete proof here, but a series of angry poems written by William after the couple's reunion, with titles like Love's Changeable Heart and Love's Perjury suggest a potential discovery of infidelity. And then there are Margaret's own published words in Poems. A letter dedicated to Charles reads, and though I am your slave being manacled with chains of obligation, yet my chains feel softer than silk, and my bondage is pleasanter than freedom because I am bound to yourself, who are a person so full of generosity kinky. Margaret often writes of marriage as a form of slavery for women, so it's possible she was speaking of their legal bondage as brother and sister in law, or they were having an affair. We'll likely never know for certain. Somewhat ironically, the portion of Charles estates that he was able to reclaim before his death had boosted the Cavendish fortune significantly. They were not clear of their debts, but they no longer had to pinch pennies on day to day expenses and could even afford, albeit slightly irresponsibly, to spend on luxuries. Margaret published three more works while they were in Antwerp, the World's Olio and the Philosophical and physical opinions in 1655 and nature's pictures in 1656. Four years later, after spending nearly her entire adulthood as an expat, Margaret moved back to her home country, she would reside in England for the rest of her life. 1660 was, of course, also the year Charles II made his grand return home re establishing the monarchy. William, so thrilled at the prospect of returning to his homeland and serving the king he had actually tutored when he was a boy, sailed for England even before the royal entourage did. In Margaret's autobiography, she quotes his reaction upon finally seeing the spirit of smoke of London on the horizon. I have been 16 years asleep and am not thoroughly awake yet. Margaret, however, did not hear those words firsthand. William's departure for England was so rushed, in fact, that Margaret had to stay behind as a security for his debts. As Margaret biographer Francesca Peacock phrases it, this situation was another classic Cavendish contradiction. It was a role that required independence. She had to organize the transport of all their possessions to England, deal with the magistrates of Antwerp and secure another loan to pay off those remaining bills. But at the same time, Margaret was quite literally being used as collateral, a pawn for his debts. In her own words, Margaret expresses no displeasure at this turn of events. Despite her repeated opinion of marriage as a financial deal for men and bondage for women. For all of her historically overlooked positive qualities, Margaret was also inherently contradictory and often myopic in her otherwise progressive positions. We cannot forget, after all, the influence of her royalist politics on her thinking. For example, in sociable letters, she writes that the disturbance in this country, referring pretty casually to the civil war, hath made no breach of friendship betwixt women. For though there hath been a civil war in the kingdom and a general war amongst the men, yet there hath been none amongst the women. Margaret, naturally, did not know any parliamentary women who might disagree. It's a line of thinking that still echoes today when feminist talking points fail to consider other social metrics. Margaret was alone for about three months following William's departure for London. With the couple's affairs sorted, the proud Royalist boarded a Dutch warship and set sail herself for England. Sea journeys and their unpredictable, potentially destroyed, destructive outcomes are a major recurring motif in Margaret's work. In comparison to her near death experience. Departing England by boat when she was a teenager, her return trip was nothing but smooth sailing. Life in London was not as easy. William, once again officially the Marquis of Newcastle upon Tyne, is expected a prestigious court appointment for his service to the late Charles I and the young Charles ii. By the time of Margaret's arrival, however, no such appointment had come. William was eventually appointed to some conciliatory but ultimately powerless positions. Fed up, he respectfully took his leave from court to retire to his country estate for the first time. Time Margaret was to see Welbeck, where once upon a time William and Charles curated their intellectual circle, later deemed the Welbeck Academy. The estate was not the jewel it had once been. In place of accommodations designed for royalty and famed scholars were now, in Margaret's words, but some few old feather beds and all those spoiled fit for no use. Much like the estate, the Cavendish family situation was in disorder. Margaret was not quite given the evil stepmother treatment, but some of William's children and longtime employees considered her influence on him too powerful. While they may have been misplacing their frustrations, William was in fact giving them a number of reasons to worry. Now back in England, the marquess finally settled the jointure, or the portion of his estate that would be left to Margaret in the event that he died before her. That normally would have been finalized upon their marriage. Margaret was set to have an annuity of £1,125 as well as possession of the manors, Chesterfield, Woodthorpe and William's favorite Bolsover Castle. In later years, he would add another home and more land to that already generous arrangement. Henry, William's youngest son and heir, following the deaths of his uncle and older brother, feared that there would be no land left for his own children or for the continuation of the male line and family name. Considering that William was 30 years his wife's senior, Henry understandably saw the jointure as a pretty sure thing. This wasn't the only concern. Margaret's dearest friend had married a Dutch businessman named Francis Topp during their exile abroad. William was evidently so impressed by Topp that he replaced Welbeck's long term steward, Andrew Clayton, with that new acquaintance. Clayton blamed his displacement on Margaret and teamed up with an unhappy tenant of William's to turn the marquess against his wife. They wrote an unsigned letter in which they blamed William's diminished respect at court on Margaret and went even further as to accuse her of committing adultery with Top. All of that sitcom esque scheming was ultimately for naught. William saw through their ruse quite clearly. Margaret was but of course still publishing through the drama, her first collection of plays published with the mouthful of a title. Plays, written by the thrice noble, illustrious and excellent princess, was printed in 1662. Notably, it was also Margaret's first book printed by a woman, the widow of the printer Thomas Warren. Alice took over her husband's business after he passed, and from 1666 onwards, almost all of Margaret's works were published by Anne Maxwell, the widow of David Maxwell, who had inherited and managed her late husband's rather large business on her own. At this point, Margaret was still a crazy countess, but she was about to become the crazy duchess history would remember her as. In 1664, William was finally rewarded by his old pupil and friend. On June 7, he received a letter from Charles II reading, I am resolved to grant your request. Send me therefore word what title you desire to have, or whether you will choose to keep your old and leave the rest to me. I am glad you enjoy your health, for I love you very well. William was to be made a duke, the highest rank of English nobility below the monarch. It would take a year to make things official, but in 1655, Margaret and William traveled to London for a small ceremony, where they were officially recognized as the Duke and Duchess of Newcastle on Tyne. In 1666, William sold one of his country estates to buy back Newcastle House, the family home in London. In 1667, the couple moved in and found themselves in the heart of the city's social scene. The King visited their home and the couple visited court to meet his queen for the first time. They hosted fellow aristocrats and intellectuals, including many of Margaret's philosophical correspondence. The writer John Evelyn visited Margaret several times a week, delighted by her extraordinary fanciful habit, garb and discourse. John Evelyn's wife did not share his good opinion. Never did I see, she wrote, a woman so full of herself, so amazingly vain and ambitious. Margaret's reputation, both positive and negative, was growing by the day. Some of her rising notoriety was of her own doing. Evelyn's wife goes on to say that Cavendish took occasion to cite her own pieces, line and page, in such a book and to tell the adventures of some of her nymphs. Margaret wanted to be a serious philosopher, and beyond that, she wanted to be a world. Accounts from the social season of 1667 make it clear she had achieved something close to celebrity status and was recognizable enough to be regularly surrounded on the street. 1666 saw the publication of her most famous work, the Blazing World, which we discussed in the introduction of last week's episode. Margaret's recognizability, however, did have a little bit more to do with her fashion than with her writing. To get an idea of what exactly was so daring about Margaret's clothing, a letter from a young man who saw Margaret Cavendish at the premiere of William's play the Humorous Lovers describes her as having her breasts all laid out to view and accessorized with scarlet trimmed nipples. Fashionable cleavage was not uncommon in the period, but Margaret was taking things further than socially accepted. But her style was not without purpose. Like her work, she was seeking to emulate the Greco Roman classics. Margaret also had a strong preference for black patches or mouche, which were typically worn to cover blemishes and make the complexion look lighter by contrast. And she fancied accessories usually associated with the masculine, including certain styles of hats and vests. Her rise in status culminated in a visit to the prestigious, exclusive Royal society, established in 1660. Margaret had actually originally been highly critical of the Society's approach to science, which she viewed as hubristic. Though her visit was arranged by a friend, there is no doubt a large portion of the Society was unhappy with her presence there. Not only was she a woman, the Royal Society would not elect a female fellow for three more centuries, but she was the most gossiped about woman in London, after all, the crazy duchess. She arrived at the Royal Society late in a gilded carriage and wearing a dress with a train, which, as described by one spectator, took up half a road. At least she had to be literally carried inside by her maids of honor, like she was at the Met Gala. She was roughly a decade ahead of her time with a dress of that style. But even more unusual was her decision to pair the gown with a masculine white, wide, brimmed hat. In all her extravagance, Margaret walked the halls of the Royal Society, listening and learning about their ongoing experiments. Margaret's presence in the Royal Society was an experiment in its own way. As she observed their work, the men observed her. The woman who proudly called herself a philosopher, wanted to be an empress in fiction at least, dressed like a performer and was also so shy that she hardly spoke. Through all her contradictions. Her greatest desire was to be amongst the greats, to have her name on everyone's lips. She knew that she was not the most talented or educated writer, but she would reach for it nonetheless. As the character of the Empress says in in the Blazing World, she would rather die in the adventure of noble achievements than live in obscurity and sluggish serenity. Margaret's time as a London socialite was grand, but I imagine, given her social anxiety, she felt some relief when the couple returned to the country following that busy summer. Her focus at this point became editing and translating her older works for reissues. In 1668, she published what would be her final volume of her new work, Plays Never before printed. In the early 1670s, Margaret returned to conducting her own scientific experiments, as she had once done with her brother in law, Charles. Though she seemed a source of perpetual motion. Margaret Cavendish died suddenly on December 15, 1673. At 50 years old, she had already published more than a dozen original works. We don't know how she died, but we do know William would constantly remind her to be mindful of her health and fought to pull her away from her writing to exercise. In an absolutely delightful retort, she once wrote, the motions of my mind hinders the active exercises of my body, for should I dance or run, or walk apace, I should dance my thoughts out of measure, run my fancies out of breath, and tread out the feet of my numbers. William, who outlived his wife after all, assembled a posthumous collection in his wife's honor, Letters and Poems in Honor of the incomparable Princess Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle, which was published just months before he died in 1676. Margaret's greatest desire to be a world or nothing was born out of a fear of becoming obsolete. The desire for fame proceeds from a doubt of being an afterthought. Throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, Margaret's work was not forgotten, but the subject of repeated criticism and mockery. In 1844's memoirs of eminent Englishwomen, Louisa Stuart Costello bitingly writes, in almost every age there has been some such self esteemed phoenix whose harmless conceit does but little injury, but is nevertheless a general annoyance, except to the tradesmen she employs to print and bind the countless volumes with which she delights to adorn her own library. Tell us how you really feel. Louisa Cavendish had become, as Woolf put it in a room of one's own, a bogey to frighten clever young girls with a cautionary tale. Seagirls. If you try to write, you might become like the crazy duchess. In more recent years of scholarship, however, Margaret's contributions in natural philosophy and fiction have been canonically acknowledged. She might be the giant cucumber. Woolf described her as crushing her floral contemporaries in the garden of good taste. But you can't deny that a cucumber takes up space. Margaret was buried in the joint tomb William had purchased at Westminster Abbey. He could never have imagined his wife, 30 years his junior, would be laid to rest inside before he. The monument in which the couple now lay side by side can still be seen at the abbey today. Visitors will see the couple, elaborately sculpted in ceremonial dress, lying peacefully next to each other. If they look closely, they can see a book and an ink pot in Margaret's left hand. Look even closer and they'll read the inscription below, telling them that here lies a wise, witty and learned lady which many of her books. Do well, testify. Decide for yourself. That's the story of Margaret Cavendish. But keep listening after a brief sponsor break to hear a little reminder about one of her forebears. Summer is winding down and I'm taking this opportunity to refresh my wardrobe with staple pieces for the season ahead. I am long out of school, but something about it almost being fall makes me go into like, back to school shopping mode. 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Elevate your fall wardrobe essentials with quince. Go to quince.com noble for free shipping on your order and 365 day returns. That's Q U I N C-E.com noble to get free shipping and 365 day returns. Quint.com noble in our earlier episode on Lady Mary Roth, the first English woman to publish fiction under her own name, we mentioned that it would take 440 years for another English woman to do the same. This woman was, of course, Margaret Cavendish. What Margaret had feared had happened to Mary. Mary was shunned by society after her prose fiction. Urania's 1621 release shocked the English court. One detractor, Edward Denny, infamously called her a hermaphrodite in show and indeed a monster in a scathing poem. In the preface to 1664's Sociable Letters, Margaret Cavendish quotes the final couplet from Denny's poem To Work O the works leave idle books alone, for wise and worthier women have writ none. Noble Blood is A production of iHeartRadio and Grim and Mild from Erin Manke Nobleblood is hosted by me, Dana Schwartz, with additional writing and research by Hannah Johnston, Hannah Zwick, Courtney Sender, Amy Hite and Julia Milani. The show is edited and produced by Jesse Funk, with supervising producer Rima Il Kayali and executive producers Aaron Menke, Trevor Young, and Matt Frederick. For more podcasts from iHeartRadio, visit the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite SA Noble Blood is proudly sponsored by Amica Insurance. As Amica says, empathy is our best policy. From listening to your insurance needs to following up after a claim, Amica provides coverage with care and compassion because as a mutual insurer, Amica is built for its customers and prioritizes you. Isn't that the way insurance should be? Amica At Amica, your peace of mind matters. Visit amica.com and get a quote today. This is an iHeart podcast.