Wielding Scandal, Dressed in Fire
A Pride Tribute to Julie d'Aubigny a.k.a La Maupin
*Alt text: Oil painting depicting a woman in long black skirt and cream blouse, reclining on a velvet sofa with her rapier balanced on her lap, her eyes sparkling challenging the viewer with a knowing smile.*
Greetings, Darling—
Whether you are already a sergeant-at-arms or are just joining us in this rising Rebellion of American Ideals, I welcome you. You’ve found a place where we hope—loudly, love—freely, and feel with every fiber of our being. Here, you have value not because of what you do, but because you are simply you. And that is enough.
Now then, Defenders, let us turn our attention to the climate of this Pride. The air feels different. Perhaps you've felt it too.
The flags are still waving, yes. The parades still march. But there is a frost in the wind, a muttering in the shadows. More laws have been passed to restrict how we love, how we live, and who we are allowed to be. Fear has slithered back into our libraries, our bathrooms, our school boards, our stages.
But Pride was never about safety. It was never meant to be palatable.
It was, from the very first breath, a rebellion.
And there is no better time than now to remember one who lived, fought, sang, and seduced her way through life with no regard for permission: Julie d'Aubigny, better known to some as La Maupin.
(For our American readers: “La Maupin” roughly translates to “Mrs. Maupin” and comes from her husband’s name, Sieur de Maupin. Though the marriage was short-lived, the name—and her legend—stuck.)
She lived in the 17th century, a time well before our flags, before our parades, before our hashtags. And still, she was the very embodiment of pride. She lived as though she had already seen the future—and decided it was worth defying the present.
The Making of La Maupin
Julie d’Aubigny was born in 1673 in France, the daughter of Gaston d’Aubigny, a master swordsman in the court of King Louis XIV. From a young age, she trained not in embroidery but in fencing, learning to duel with deadly grace. Her earliest lessons came alongside noble boys of the court—boys who would grow into officers, and one girl who would grow into a legend.
By her teens, she had run off with her fencing teacher, Séranne, crossed the countryside performing duels for coin—while dressing in the clothes of a man, and seduced her way through convent walls to rescue a young woman she loved. That same convent, history tells us, she set on fire in the process.
As one does.
She was charged with kidnapping, arson, and desecration of a convent.
She was seventeen.
Julie fled to Marseille, where she began singing in taverns and theaters under the name La Maupin. Her talent soon propelled her to the Paris Opéra, where she became a celebrated soprano—singing on the royal stage while still fighting duels outside it. At one point, she fought and wounded three noblemen in a single night after kissing a woman at a royal ball. She was briefly sentenced to death. The King pardoned her—reportedly at the request of her admirers at court.
She returned to the Opéra, where she sang for over a decade, earning ovations not only for her voice but for her unapologetic life. Her performances were known for their power, her costumes often cut daringly masculine, her backstage affairs legendary. She was said to have duelled at least ten men to defend her lovers’ honor—and her own.
A Life Lived Loud
In every way that mattered, La Maupin lived as though she owed the world nothing—not her silence, not her shame, not her conformity. Her lovers were many and genderless. Her enemies were disarmed or destroyed. Her art was both weapon and sanctuary.
She once reportedly told a man who insulted her: “I require no man’s permission to exist. If that offends you, you may try your sword. I’ll gladly demonstrate my right.” Though the attribution is debated, the sentiment echoes through every detail of her life.
She was, quite literally, a queer woman who carried both a sword and a stage presence with equal mastery. Her defiance wasn’t just personal—it was political, even if the language for such politics didn’t exist yet.
She gathered people—duelists, artists, dreamers, and deviants—and built community from the fringes. In salons and backstages, she made space for those who refused to fit the mold. She didn’t just break rules; she lit a torch for others to follow.
Today, we wear rainbows. She wore breeches and rouge. We hold hands in public. She held steel beneath her bodice. We go to Pride. She was Pride before the world knew how to name it.
The Pride Before the Parade
La Maupin's story reminds us that Pride was never about convenience or comfort. It was forged in fire—like that which consumed her convent, like her spirit.
When some whisper that Pride is over, that the time for celebration has passed, we answer with stories like hers.
We answer with flamboyance, with audacity, with the quiet knowledge that we have always been here. Before the flags. Before the glitter. Before the world began to watch.
Julie d’Aubigny was not granted Pride Month. She made one anyway.
She didn’t attend rallies; she was a riot in heels and lace.
She didn’t ask to be accepted. She dared to be undeniable.
She died young, perhaps in her early 30s. Too often is it true that those lights which shine brightest, also burn the fastest. Her legend, however, lived on in hushed gossip, in forbidden biographies, in whispered awe. And now, in prideful remembrance.
Final Word – Pride Endures
This Pride may feel colder, darker, more threatened than those that came before. But seasons change.
Winter only buries the roots—it does not kill the tree.
Julie d’Aubigny lived as if the future already belonged to her. And in a way, it did. Because today, we read her story not as relic, but as road map. Her fire still burns in every trans kid who refuses to shrink. In every drag queen reading in defiance. In every lover who dares to hold hands in hostile streets.
Pride is not a trend. It is a tradition. One we built—the LGBTQ+ community, here in America and across the seas. Icons like La Maupin paved the way by living boldly and with no regrets. Public servants and caretakers like Harvey Milk and Marsha P. Johnson built the framework by which we honor those heroes. But that is what it is—
A monument made of memory. And of love.
Emily Dickinson reminds us in many of her poems that in love, we glimpse a kind of immortality. Pride is rebellion, yes. Resistance, too. But it is also a construct made of love.
Love for each other.
Love in remembrance—of Julie, Harvey, Marsha.
And above all: Love of self.
In a world that tells us that simply for being homosexual or gender non-conforming, you are less than—
it is a radical act to love yourself anyway.
The climate may feel colder, but Pride is a construct we built—to celebrate, to remember. And while the outward manifestations may seem dimmer this year, that fire lit by love still burns brightly in hearts across the world.
That fire, dear friends, they can never take—unless we hand it over.
Until our next bold move,
~Lady LiberTea✨🫖
⚔️ Take Up the Torch: This Weekend's Bold Moves
Pride wasn’t gifted to us—it was forged in fire by those who dared to live out loud. Julie d’Aubigny didn't wait for permission. Neither should we.
Here are three ways to honor her legacy and fuel our fight:
1. Share the Flame
📜 Share this piece—or any story that speaks to your soul.
Tell someone about La Maupin. Whisper her legend into the ears of the curious. Share the truth that we didn’t always have Pride. We built it. And we can reforge it—no matter the season.
🔗 Share the article on X (Twitter)
🔗 Post it to Facebook
2. Protect Queer Stories in Schools
🖋️ Right now, bans on queer books and history are sweeping the country. Join the resistance:
Support organizations like PEN America fighting back against censorship in schools and libraries.
🔗 Defend the Freedom to Read →
3. Stand with Trans Youth
🛡️ La Maupin lived as she pleased in a world that didn’t want her to. Trans youth today face bathroom bans, sports exclusions, and healthcare attacks. You can help protect them.
🔗 Donate or get involved with the Transgender Law Center →
🔗 Support mutual aid efforts via Trans Justice Funding Project →
Pride is not a parade—it’s a promise.
Let’s make it loud. Let’s make it last.
Let’s make our next bold move.
— In Courage and Light,
~Lady LiberTea✨🫖
Fabulous!! Thank you for sharing her outrageous life. 💪💜
The Neo-Cons have already stolen more than enough. We must not give them our joy, and they cannot take Our Pride. It burns in spite of everything that tells us we should not be.
https://kwinterslatinxpoet.substack.com/p/joy?r=5bvu75