Giovanni Villani, in his chronicle, reports that, in 1117, Pisa and Florence formed a military alliance. Pisa asked for protection against Lucca, while their troops were busy in Mallorca besieging a Saracen stronghold (Figure 4.1).1 The safeguard from Lucca meant a Florentine military presence right at the doorstep of their neighbors, the problematic nature of which did not escape the attention of the author. Villani explains at length the measures taken by the Florentine army to avoid any potential attack on women in Pisa while their men were away.

Presumably not long after his arrival in Rome, Raphael drew a figure of Lucretia (Figure 7.1).1 The drawing is a telling example of the transformation of her reception. After 1500, the Roman heroine of freedom and chastity became a pin-up model.2 Raphael skillfully anticipates the requirements of the genre. Her torn attire follows the curves of her body, and a dysfunctional fold underscores her genitalia. Her hair is tied but slightly disheveled. The theatrical gesture of the left arm conveniently reveals her bare breast. The dagger in her right-hand changes into an overt phallic reference from a mortal instrument. Lucretia has just been raped and her suicide is imminent, yet the painter opts for a voyeuristic presentation of her body. The narrative context and physical signs of violence are retained inasmuch as they support this sanitized scenario.

The general matrix of medieval misogyny was based on women’s corporeal and moral inferiority as opposed to men, and found its ultimate biblical justification in the second version of the Creation (Genesis 2:18–23).1 After shaping [formavit] Adam from the slime of earth, God constructs [aedificavit] Eve from Adam’s rib, and she becomes bone of his bones, flesh of his flesh. Despite the existence of the first version (Genesis 1:27), where God creates [creavit] man and woman at the same time and to his image, the second version will position the female from the beginning as a bodily derivate of the male. This inferiority acquires further moral dimension with the Fall (Genesis 3:1–7): the serpent approaches Eve, who will eat from the forbidden fruit and give it to Adam. The female is the one who is responsible for the hardships and sufferings of earthly existence, because of her proneness to transgression and deceit. The widespread dissemination of this second version to all strata of society continued to maintain and reinforce negative stereotypical attitudes toward women in the Middle Ages and beyond.

An overview of representations in church decoration, legal texts, romances, chronicles, and political allegories – notwithstanding the differences of these contexts – can help us to recognize additional patterns. On one end of the spectrum, we find the question of religious imagery. In Last Judgement scenes naked female (and male) figures are represented in large numbers. Physical aggression against the human body is explicit and, in this respect, women suffer violence comparable to sodomites. The use of force is endorsed. Although the imagery is intended to denounce lustful acts, the paintings themselves effectively promote sex crimes. This subversive scenario can lead to the sanitization of the violent encounter between women and their tormentors (missing in the case of sodomites). The two political allegories in Padua and Siena mark the other end of the spectrum. I would like to believe that Giotto di Bondone’s Injustice comes closest to a universal denunciation of rape. Here the display of the naked female victim reinforces the explicit rendering of sexual aggression. The scene is carefully contextualized, which discards sanitizing readings. The radicalism of this fresco is striking even compared to Ambrogio Lorenzetti’s War, where, instead of nudity, an equally general denunciation relies on the indicators of bridal status and abduction. Because of its reference to marriage, Lorenzetti’s work is closer to patriarchal structures than Giotto’s. Nevertheless, these two allegories constitute the pinnacle of visualizing civic political thought in the epoch and sketch the utopia of a rape-free society.

Images of rape in late-medieval and early renaissance Italy belong to the broader question of sexual violence and societal responses to it. Both aspects are significant: These representations equally relate to the reality of rape and collective ideological responses to it. On the one hand, what people do to each other defines who they are. Collective behavioral norms and patterns establish the boundaries of day-to-day interactions and organize life in a community. They also turn people into particular versions of themselves. If they allow, condone, or perform sexual violation of others, this makes them members of a rape-prone society and potential rapists. Similarly, an ideal rape-free society could be defined by the complete eradication of any sexual act under coercion. This opposition seems to offer an unambiguous distinction between communities based on consensual and nonconsensual sexuality.

In the Middle Ages, the dismemberment of Agrippina, Emperor Nero’s mother, was not simply a gruesome family affair, but it had links to the emerging practice of dissection and the anatomical difference between the sexes. According to classical authors, after an unsuccessful assassination attempt involving a self-sinking boat, Agrippina was slayed by Anicetus upon Nero’s orders.1 In Roman History, Cassius Dio added that Agrippina opened her dress and asked Anicetus to strike at her womb “for this bore Nero.”2 Nero wished to see her corpse to verify the death, “so he laid bare her body, looked her all over and inspected her wounds.”3 The emperor examining the wound of the womb is transformed in the Middle Ages into the image of the ruler ordering the dissection of the female body.4 Jacobus de Voragine described such episode in the Golden Legend (c. 1260).5 Jean de Meun, in his continuation to The Romance of the Rose (c. 1275), wrote that Nero “had his mother dismembered so that he might see the place where he was conceived.”6 Jean de Meun is documented between 1265 and 1269 in Bologna, where post-mortem medical examination was practiced from the thirteenth century onward.7 Giovanni Boccaccio reports the story at length, including the wound of the womb, and mentions that in some sources “after her death Nero inspected the corpse, criticizing some parts of her body and praising others.”8

A copy of the Ancient History until Caesar today in the Vatican includes an early depiction of the Rape of the Sabine Women, a violent event from the early history of Rome (more on this in Section 6.2).1 It was probably produced in Genoa or Naples around 1300. The scene is placed in front of a classicizing colonnade with slender columns and depressed arches, potentially an allusion to the antique historical setting. The imagery is minimalist and remains two-dimensional, and compositional decisions limit the exposition of gender-related violence. Altogether there are five pairs of women and men equally distributed under the arches of the colonnade (Figure 6.1). The coifs, hats, and robes of men, together with the circlets and dresses of women, transposes the event into an aristocratic–patrician milieu: We witness what noblemen do to noblewomen. The image has a strong symmetrical structure: The same compositions are repeated on the sides, around the central image. There appears to be a sort of amplification of the gestures. On the flanks, the Roman aggressor embraces the shoulders of the Sabine victim and perhaps touches her breasts. The women here raise their arms with the palms turned towards the outside, which may indicate acceptance.2 One would even be tempted to say that they smile – the approach is welcomed. Quite the opposite, in the inner couplets the men clearly hold the women’s wrists, which signals coercion and use of force. In the center the female victim is embraced, the hands of Romulus (?), with a golden hat, rest on her back and caress her chin. She does not reciprocate the gesture, and this may express her rejection of the imposed intimacy. In any case, the image shows a mixture of negative and positive reactions to the abduction. It displays the major question of the illustrations that accompany romances: Whether or not the female protagonists consented to their capture and the ensuing sexual intercourse? The stories of Helen of Troy, the Sabine women, or Lucretia all revolve around this central issue. Produced primarily for the aristocratic and financial elite in Italy, these French texts and their imagery provide an important backdrop to the communal condemnation of sexual violence and point toward the emergence of erotized representation after 1400.

We will turn now to two symbolic images: The allegory of Injustice in the Arena Chapel (Padua) by Giotto di Bondone (1303–1305) and the allegory of War in the Palazzo Pubblico (Siena) by Ambrogio Lorenzetti (1338–1339). They are major milestones in the visualization of rape in European art, condemnatory representations intended for a public audience. Despite the extensive secondary literature on these sites, the representations of sexual violence have never been examined or compared to each other, even in specialist studies. They can potentially reconfigure our views of wartime rape before modernity.