Veronica Franco was a red-haired Venetian courtesan who lived from 1546-1591. Her fascinating life has been portrayed in The Honest Courtesan, a scholarly book by Margaret F. Rosenthal, who is a professor of Italian at USC. The movie Dangerous Beauty is loosely based on that book.

Let’s talk about 16th Century Venice. What a beautiful place and a dangerous, exciting time to live. Those of us who believe in reincarnation might imagine that we lived there in that time.

Venice, founded in myth by Venus rising from the sea, always featured two closely linked iconic visions of the goddess—as pure and inviolate virgin and as symbol of love and pleasure. At that time, the city of Venice was mostly associated with love and pleasure. Some historians believe that there were an astounding 11,000 prostitutes in 16th century Venice out of a total population of about 100,000 (Rosenthal finds the figure exaggerated, but even half that number would be amazing).

Essentially, a young Venetian woman who aspired to a decent lifestyle could enter a convent, marry a rich man (which required the woman to come up with a substantial dowry), or become a courtesan (essentially a high-priced prostitute). Being in love with a man she could not have in marriage, Marco Venier, and being not well suited for life as a nun, Franco became a courtesan as her mother had once been.

She acquired rich and powerful patrons, such as Dominico Venier. As a result, she achieved astounding upward mobility. She acquired an excellent education, although how she managed it is unknown. She had a successful career as a published poet. Tintoretto painted her portrait, which shows that she was quite fetching.

Women in this place and time experienced widely different lifestyles, as nuns, successful courtesans or wives of rich men. The life of a nun should be easy to imagine. Wives were cloistered creatures without education or financial independence, their life devoted entirely to home and family. Courtesans, on the other hand, could mingle freely with the rich and famous, acquire education and wealth of their own, participate in literary, political and intellectual circles, and even publish their work.

Franco was incredibly successful in this milieu; between 1570 and 1580 she edited works of various authors and published books of her poetry as well as epistolary works. She was greatly concerned with the plight of younger women who lacked dowries; her published letters often refer to their plight and her wills left money to help poor women.

Franco’s success inspired extreme jealousy from male courtiers and poets whose position and patronage she greatly threatened. A particularly venomous rival was Maffio Venier, nephew of Franco’s patron Domenico Venier and cousin of her married lover Marco, who later became a senator. Maffio repeatedly attacked Franco by name in satirical and often obscene verse. She dueled with him, by pen and by sword, effectively striking back at Maffio to defend the role of courtesans in Venetian society.

As single career women do even today, Franco struggled to raise her children; she had three sons. She suffered ruined relationships and public persecution.

In the movie’s dramatic portrayal, she endures the torture of seeing Marco marry another, followed by the dubious satisfaction of his writhing agony in seeing her so successfully position herself as the most admired and desired prostitute in Venice. Eventually the two of them find a comfortable arrangement within their limitations and they remain lifelong lovers and friends.

Franco’s erotic encounter with King Henri III of France is legendary, though exaggerated in the film version of her life. In the movie, after a delightful night of masochistic lovemaking with Franco during which she holds a sword to his throat among other indignities, Henri makes French naval power available to Venice in its war with the Turks. The king finds it rather difficult to sit down but seems extremely satisfied after his night with Veronica Franco.

In the film, the plague (and numerous other misfortunes) savages Venice from 1575-77 and many women, especially courtesans, are placed on trial by the Inquisition. The theory is that the tragedies that befell Venice resulted from its licentious lifestyle. Thus prostitutes were set up to take the fall, as women are still today blamed for the moral weaknesses of men. Franco is accused of witchcraft, since she had obviously bewitched legions of men. She makes a stirring statement on behalf of women, however, and is saved from certain death when her many clients are shamed by Marco into standing up for her.

In real life, Franco was in fact tried twice by the Inquisition in 1580 for the alleged offense of performing heretical incantations in her home. Her son’s tutor accused her of performing incantations that were designed to discover the identity of a thief and also to inspire various merchants to love her. His accusations also dwelt on her behavior as a prostitute and reflected his intense envy and desire for her. And for good measure, he accused her of eating meat on Fridays. The charge of performing heretical incantations was potentially quite serious because of the risk that she might be invoking the power of the devil.

Although Franco’s inquisitorial trials lacked the high drama ascribed to them in Dangerous Beauty, the actual events were nevertheless quite fascinating, particularly Franco’s skill in parrying a determined inquisitor. Franco’s life is truly inspiring. Lacking any money or familial influence, she capitalized on her intelligence and talent, as well as her brilliant personality, physical beauty and erotic skills. Overcoming powerful legal and literary adversaries, she attained fame as a published poet and author and became a participant in the intellectual and political events of her time. She is a historic figure worthy of our attention and admiration more than four hundred years after her death.

I wonder by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we lov'd? Were we not wean'd till then,
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?

'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
And now good morrow to our waking souls,

Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room, an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,

Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,
Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres,

Without sharp north, without declining west?
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally;
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.

~John Donne