Margaret's literary patronage has some protofeminist accents. She preferred manuscripts to printed books, possessing not only the oldest illustrated manuscript of Boccaccio's Famous Women but also an extensive acquaintance with the works of Christine de Pizan. Margaret eventually acquired five works by her and purchased a second copy of the City of Ladies in 1511. During a meeting with Henry VIII of England in 1513, she also received a six-panel tapestry illustrating scenes from the City of Ladies. Her first court historiographer, Lemaire des Belges, composed a poetic “crown” for her that included a comparison to her politically illustrious namesake, Margaret of Denmark. Lemaire's poetic license twisted the Scandinavian Margaret into a legitimate heiress to both Denmark and Norway; he also claimed she had released a captured Swedish king with “singular moderation,” whereas she had actually made him resign his throne through six years of close confinement.4
The most novel treatise dedicated to Margaret of Austria was undoubtedly Henry Cornelius Agrippa's paradoxical argument that reversed conventional wisdom by asserting that women were superior to men. It was composed in Franche-Comté (part of her lands) in 1509 and eventually published twenty years later in another part, Antwerp. Like most Renaissance discussions of women's general capacities, the treatise pays minimal attention (two paragraphs) to the role of women in politics and uses only examples from antiquity, except for an unnamed Maid who was recently commemorated by a statue at Orléans. After praising the biblical Deborah, Agrippa simply noted that the infamous biblical queen Athaliah “was sovereign for seven years in Jerusalem,” and his next sentence notes that Semiramis governed for forty years. Margaret rewarded him with an appointment as court historiographer, a position which required him to compose her funeral oration a year later.5
A Female Warrior
After Margaret's death, Charles returned to the Low Countries to reorganize its government before entrusting it to his widowed sister Mary of Hungary. Her political talents had impressed observers in Hungary; before the fatal battle of Mohacs (1526) that cost her husband his kingdom and his life, a royal official had remarked, “I wish that … the queen would become the king; the fate of the homeland would then be better.”6 In 1527, one month after a rival candidate had been crowned as king of Hungary, Mary helped engineer her brother Ferdinand's election by arranging a rival election. Four years later, her other brother, Charles, named her to succeed her aunt and foster mother as regent of the Low Countries.
Europe's two earliest long-serving female regents, Margaret of Austria and Mary of Hungary, offer an interesting set of comparisons and contrasts. Both of them governed as childless widows, and each supervised a young niece who eventually occupied her position. On the other hand, it was already something of a commonplace in the sixteenth century that the first “governed the Low Countries with sweetness and the other with rigor.” Charles V employed both women but seemed far more comfortable with his younger sister than with his aunt. Over time, the emperor increasingly asked Mary for advice about matters outside the Low Countries and let her govern there even when he was physically present. Erasmus, who knew both regents well, considered Mary of Hungary the greatest woman of her time, and his assessment is generally confirmed by high esteem from Venetian diplomats. Anyone wishing to understand the achievements of women rulers in Renaissance Europe must study the record of this early Low Countries Iron Lady, as the Dutch feminist Monika Triest calls her.
Although the second major female regent of the Netherlands served uninterruptedly across a longer period than her predecessor, enjoyed even greater legal authority, and managed an even larger block of territories after 1543, only recently has Mary of Hungary begun to come into sharper focus, primarily through various international conferences about her, the proceedings of which have appeared in the Netherlands (1993), Hungary (2006), Germany (2007), and Belgium (2008). For various reasons, Mary has been neglected both politically and architecturally. Margaret's state correspondence was published in the nineteenth century, while Mary's, which is far more voluminous, began to appear in print only in 2009. Both of Margaret's principal buildings, her new palace at Mechelen and her magnificent tomb in her Savoyard dowry lands (now in France), have survived with minor changes. Mary, however, had wretched luck. Both her new palace at Binche, the scene of internationally famous festivities in 1549, and her elegant new hunting lodge, Mariemont, were destroyed by the French within a decade after she built them. Even her new village named Mariembourg was overrun by the French in 1554 and renamed for their king (after Mary's death the Habsburgs recovered it and restored her name, which it still bears).7
Mary of Hungary kept herself well informed about contemporary religious and intellectual issues, while getting much outdoor exercise. During the period between her widowhood and her regency she studied scripture intensively, including works by Martin Luther. Like her grandmother Mary of Burgundy, she greatly enjoyed hunting with falcons imported from Prussia; during her regency, Mary of Hungary acquired no fewer than 191 of these. In order to hunt more effectively, Mary not only rode like a man (mannelijke jageres) but even named herself chief huntsman (grand veneur) of the Duchy of Brabant in 1544, personally supervising 23 people and 76 dogs. Brantôme considered her “a little mannish” (un peu homasse) and assures readers that “she made war well, sometimes through her lieutenants, sometimes in person, always on horseback, like an Amazon.” Mary also took a close interest in military architecture: in 1546 she became Europe's first female ruler to create a fortified town designed by Italian military engineers.8
Less dazzling than her predecessor at cultural self-promotion, Mary of Hungary nonetheless compiled an impressive record as a patron of art, music, and literature. In the 1520s her court composer arranged a polyphonic setting for one of Luther's German Psalms. In 1529 Erasmus dedicated a treatise on Christian widowhood (De Vidua Christiana) to her; Mary's library held eight titles by him, including his complete works. Between 1532 and 1535 she paid for at least seven portraits of herself in a style resembling Margaret's official portrait, but not until 1548 did she sit for what became her favorite portrait, painted by Titian at Augsburg. However, the second major female regent of the Netherlands also commissioned a life-size bronze statue of herself from a famous Italian artist, Leone Leoni. Not completed until 1555, it is the only known contemporary sculpture of any female ruler of Renaissance Europe; this antique art form was normally reserved for heroes and warriors. To any viewer aware of Mary's extensive involvement in military affairs, her hood—a prerequisite for depicting sixteenth-century widows—suggests a warrior's helmet.9
Weighed down by the burdens of government, especially wrangles over financing her brother's interminable wars, Mary of Hungary finally resigned in 1555. She timed her departure to coincide with her brother's abdication and justified it with an eloquent memorandum. Charles was reluctant to see her go, and forty-five years later the Estates-General of the Habsburg Netherlands would nostalgically recall the “good old days” of her regency. In her farewell address Mary insisted that “the more experience I have, the more I realize that I am unable to accomplish my task properly. Whoever acts as regent for a ruler,” she explained, “must have more understanding of affairs than the person who governs on his own account” because “a regent has to account not only to God but also to his sovereign and his sovereign's subjects.” Mary boasted, “I have often done more than was fitting for my position and vocation as a woman, from eagerness to serve you … as well as possible.” But no woman, regardless of rank, ever received as much respect as a man. Mary continued, “Even if I possessed all the aptitudes necessary to govern well (and I am far from doing so), experience has taught me that a woman is not suited to this purpose, neither in peacetime nor even less in time of war.” War was especially frustrating because she lacked the authority to make decisions: “as a woman, I was compelled to leave the conduct of the war to others.” Thus she could never claim credit when Habsburg armies performed well but became a convenient scapego
at whenever things went badly. Everyone in Renaissance Europe knew that war posed the ultimate limitation on a woman's ability to command men, but only this exceptionally tough, hard-working female regent ever bothered to make the point so explicitly for posterity.10
Seeing a younger generation acquiring power in the Low Countries, Mary protested, “I would not wish to rule over such people, even if I were a man and sufficiently capable” and begged to accompany Charles to Spain so that “I would be able to withdraw from all affairs of government.” He granted her wish. But even after her retirement, Charles constantly leaned on his sister's advice, including her opinions about governing Spain. This habit provoked howls of protest from Spain's regent, Mary's young niece Juana. “The character of the Queen of Hungary is such,” she warned her brother Philip II, “that she will not be content with offering advice but will wish to command, and the authority given to me to govern cannot suffer such a change. … I would rather retire and renounce the Spanish regency.”11
Three years after leaving office, Mary of Hungary received a glowing funeral eulogy that reverses her necessarily pessimistic letter of resignation. Delivered at Brussels in the presence of Philip II by François Richardot (Cardinal Granvelle's vicar for his bishopric of Arras), it was soon printed by Plantin.12 “Divine favor,” it began, “was not given to men alone, but also to women. God has so honored this sex that they have sometimes … surpassed the virtues of men of their time … in the government of states [estats publics].” Citing Deborah “and several others celebrated in both sacred and profane scripture,” Richardot admitted that such women were rare, but some could be found in every age; and “the pearl and Phoenix of Ladies of this age” was undoubtedly the dowager queen of Hungary.
The middle part of the eulogy profiled a remarkable female ruler at work. “As for public affairs and government,” Richardot began, “Mary gave very clear proof of a rare felicity of mind, facility of apprehension, and dexterity of advice, showing energy and vivacity in all things: in her speech, her opinions, and her judgment.” As a newly appointed regent, she devoted incredible energy and diligence to understanding public affairs in the Low Countries: “In a short time, she learned and understood all the special features even better than those who had been managing such business. This was one of the most admirable things about her: that among so many different public matters, whether finance, appointments, wages, tributes, customs, legal or judicial privileges, offices, treaties, and infinite other matters, there were no points or articles which she did not know and recall, as if she understood the complete anatomy of the state [République].” Consequently, “no matter what the business at hand, there was no man in her Council who could better debate the pros and cons, nor come to a better-informed decision, through which she gained a reputation throughout Europe of having the most alert mind and the greatest understanding of statecraft of any person alive in her time. Thus,” he continued, “this virtuous princess had often been the adviser of her advisers, and like an oracle for state business, seeing far in advance what was going to happen next.” Moreover, “beyond the particular government of her country, she advised the Emperor by correspondence about numberless matters involving the friends and servants of the House of Austria, and even about any notable and important matters affecting all of Christendom.” Richardot praised Mary's meticulous administration of justice, “giving the most and best remedies to all inconveniences and with the least possible burden to the poor people,” despite “often very difficult times and very urgent perplexities.” Like the biblical Deborah, “she fulfilled the role of Judge, Governor, and Captain.” He praised even her conduct in military affairs, in which “she did everything possible which her sex permitted.”13
This eloquent requiem for a female ruler was printed by the famous house of Plantin just as John Knox's scurrilous diatribe on the “Monstrous Regiment of Women” appeared in anonymous obscurity. Neither treatise was reprinted or translated.
Young and Old Female Regents in Iberia
Between 1554 and 1562 two other Habsburg princesses governed Spain and Portugal, at this time the only European kingdoms with overseas empires, for five years apiece. They were closely related by marriage as well as by blood, being mother-in-law and daughter-in-law as well as aunt and niece. One was remarkably young, ruling on behalf of an absent father and then of an absent brother nine years older than herself; the other was remarkably old, ruling on behalf of a young grandson (the son of the other regent). When the younger woman retired in 1559, she was less than half as old as her aunt had been when she started her regency in 1557.
When the English marriage was forced on him in 1554, Philip II persuaded his father to appoint his newly widowed youngest sister, Juana, as his replacement in Spain, and he confirmed her next year after Charles's abdication. Juana was only eighteen in January 1554, when the Spanish ambassador to Portugal, who attended her three weeks later in childbirth, proposed returning her to Spain “in order to dedicate her to tasks of government.” Her widowed aunt and great-aunt had begun their regencies in their midtwenties, but Juana's father had ruled the Low Countries at fourteen, and her brother had become regent of Spain at sixteen. Juana's character—"so energetic in her decisions that she even expressed regret at not being born male,” noted a Venetian ambassador—seems remarkable even among Habsburg princesses. “Much testimony,” says her biographer Antonio Villacorta Baños-Garcia, “confirms that she filled her responsibilities with rigor, resolution, and authority, including bursts of arrogance.”14 Spaniards know her as the founder of a famous Madrid convent, but Juana probably deserves to be remembered primarily as Europe's first and only female Jesuit.
Juana's powers resembled those of previous Spanish regencies; Philip ordered his sister to hear Mass in public, to maintain a regular schedule for hearing petitions, and to pay close attention to guarding Spain's borders. Unsolicited praise for her rule came early. In August 1554 a Jesuit told Loyola that she “proceeded with more care and wisdom in fulfilling governmental obligations than seems possible for a woman her age” a month later the president of her council assured the emperor that “the Most Serene Princess undertakes business with such prudence and consideration that Your Majesty will never repent of having entrusted her with governing these kingdoms.” Considerable legislation was passed, including a new censorship code. Juana's regency also experienced serious problems. After the loss of a fortress in North Africa in 1556, its commander was returned to Spain and beheaded in her capital on her orders. A state bankruptcy in 1557 created endless wrangling with her brother. In 1558 Protestant heretics were discovered in both the capital and the largest city, leading to a spectacular auto de fe over which she presided in 1559.15
Juana's spiritual adviser was Francis Borgia, a high-ranking nobleman and future saint who had secretly joined the Jesuits in 1546. Before she became regent, he mediated her request to be associated with a recently established order whose founder had asked the papacy in 1547 to “liberate the Company forever from having women under its obedience.” The candidate Borgia proposed to Loyola under the code name Mateo Sanchez posed huge risks but offered equally huge advantages. On January 1, 1555, after consulting five senior colleagues, Loyola told Borgia that the rules had been bent in order to accommodate her request through a secret papal bull that enabled her to take three of the four Jesuit vows. Some of the exceptions and secrecy employed when Borgia himself had joined were repeated; “in no way,” Loyola insisted, “is it suitable that she make a formal profession” because “it cannot go on record that such a person has been admitted.” Two days later Loyola wrote to Juana, announcing that the request of an unnamed person (herself) had been approved, “although there was no small difficulty in this business.” She repaid him by establishing the Jesuits in Aragon over stiff local opposition; but in 1556 she also ordered Loyola not to send Borgia to England and another Spanish Jesuit to Rome “because these two fathers cannot travel abroad without my express permission.”16
Juana retired in 1559 when her brother returned from the Netherlands. Although Brantôme, who met Juana in retirement, believed she had left government so young “more from spite than from any great piety,” she now refused to discuss either remarriage or political assignments. Juana's portraits—most notably, those depicting her relationship to dogs—changed remarkably between her regency and her retirement. In 1557 she sat for the first authoritarian portrait of a female ruler; Alonso Sánchez Coello copied a setting from one of Titian's most famous portraits of her father to depict this young secret Jesuit standing alongside a hunting dog. Five years later, after her retirement, Coello's studio again painted her, but this time Juana is seated and holding a lap-dog.17 After 1559 Juana concentrated on one great project: constructing a Franciscan convent on the site of her birthplace. Her most important cultural legacy remains the convent she founded, the Descalzas Reales, which is still a tourist attraction in Madrid. Like her brother, who built his own apartments within his great palace at the Escorial, Juana lived in a part of the convent building. Like male Jesuits, she neither wore conventional monastic garments nor practiced reclusion. She died at the age of thirty-eight.
“Although for kings there are better realms than Portugal,” her older sister remarked before Juana's marriage to Portugal's crown prince in 1553, “I believe that for Queens it is the best of all, because nowhere else do they enjoy so much authority in government or are so respected and obeyed.” She was describing the situation of their aunt Catalina, the youngest daughter of Juana the Mad. Born after her father's death, Catalina had been raised at Tordesillas during her mother's forced confinement and had been married in 1525 to the king of Portugal.
The Rise of Female Kings in Europe, 1300-1800 Page 13