The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire
by Leslie P. Peirce
This month’s Book of the Month is a classic: The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire by Leslie P. Peirce (Oxford University Press, 1993). In this excellent text, Peirce presents a nuanced understanding of the Ottoman harem and its dynastic politics for a western audience.
The Imperial Harem
To start, Peirce explains what the imperial harem was and what it decidedly was not. Orientalist assumptions have profoundly colored how westerners understood the harem, painting sexually lurid pictures. In fact, the harem was not especially sexual but was rather the place where the sultan’s family (his mother, consorts, children, and many, many slave servants) resided. Peirce emphasizes that part of this misunderstanding has come from modern western ideas of public vs private space (something which many historians of queenship are not doubt familiar). While the harem had restricted access, it was a space of power. Even the sultan was generally secluded; Peirce helps readers visualize this by describing how power in the Ottoman world was a function of outer to inner, rather than down to up as in many western places. The closer one moved inward, to the sultan, the greater that person’s power.
In order to understand the vital role women played in Ottoman sovereignty, Peirce next explains the dynasty’s reproductive strategies and succession practices. Although the first couple of Ottoman rulers made dynastic marriages, that practice quickly came to a halt as the family increased their power. As the premier dynasty in the region, the Ottomans had no need for legitimation through alliances. The trade-off of outside family alliances was not seen as worth the high-status brides. Consequently, the dynasty turned to reproduction through slave concubines, initially following a one mother-one son policy, which was broken in the 1500s. Because the Ottoman dynasty was of such high status, concubines who birthed sons were retroactively ennobled. This enabled these mothers to serve as part of the ruling dynasty.
Initially, when a prince reached his majority (late teens), he was sent to rule in a provincial city. His mother went with him, and was his main protector and one of his main advisors. This was a high-stakes duty because the dynasty practiced widespread fratricide until the end of the sixteenth century. The Ottoman dynasty as a whole was always regarded as more important than any individual, which sometimes led to fathers executing sons who threatened (or were thought to threaten) the father’s rule. A mother whose son did not became sultan was likely to lose her son to strangulation. In the generations after Süleyman (known as “the Magnificent” in the west), the pattern of father-son succession changed to that of seniority: the eldest male in the dynasty succeeded. A number of elements caused this transition, but the main causes were the ending of princely careers (the princes did not go to the provinces by stayed in the palace), the cessation of fratricide, the sedentarization of the dynasty as offensive war slowed, and the succession of several young sultans. These were all interrelated. When a young sultan who had not proven his reproductive capacity succeeded, it was unwise to execute his brothers and risk the extinction of the dynasty. With the princes remaining in the palace, they were not permitted to reproduce and thereby achieve full adulthood, which meant by around 1600 and beyond, every sultan was of unproven reproductive capacity. Fratricide was also more difficult for the populace to accept when it happened in Istanbul, in prominent view (one sultan was buried with his nineteen underage sons, killed by their elder half-brother). With a series of unproven sultans, the queen mother – valide sultan – became the glue that held the Ottoman dynasty together.
Peirce explains how the power of early sultans’ favorites, such as Hurrem the favorite of Süleyman, ultimately led to an increase in the power the valide sultan exercised in the 1600s. This power became institutionalized, and was reflected in the massive public works that queen mothers undertook and the huge stipends they received. Since valide sultans were beyond their sexual years (even if they were physically able, they were seen as socially past that stage of life), they were held in higher esteem and possessed greater power and influence than the sultan’s concubines. With the changed mode of succession, the “the relationship between mother and son … became the fundamental dynastic bond, in terms not only of its political utility … but also its public celebration” (229). The valide sultan represented the elder generation and so was the head of the dynastic family. She might even be called on to sanction the deposition of one sultan and his replacement by another Ottoman, again emphasizing how sovereignty was vested in the family as a whole. Her role was particularly important during the early 1600s when a series of youthful and incompetent sultans ruled, but waned over time. Her official role could not infringe on sultanic authority.
Peirce’s work excellently showcases how the early-modern Ottoman state relied on a family model of rule, although the sultan was obviously supreme. The valide sultan’s role was not a corruption of sovereignty but a necessary part of dynastic rule. The book also details how princesses, through their marriages to high-ranking officials, helped their mothers form blocs of power that could ultimately benefit their brothers. In the Ottoman system, “the principal tension within the dynastic family was generational competition for power” (285). As the family elder, the valide sultan had a vital role, although she could not obstruct the sultan’s exercise of power.
Playing Their Part: Vice-Regal Consorts of New South Wales 1788-2019
edited by Joy Hughes, Carol Liston and Christine Wright
Playing Their Part: Vice-Regal Consorts of New South Wales 1788-2019 was edited by Joy Hughes, Carol Liston, and Christine Wright (Royal Australian Historical Society, 2020). You can purchase a digital copy of the fascinating, beautiful, and affordable book here. This book gives a fascinating look into the lives of the women and men who represented the British Monarchy in New South Wales. Although the Governor of New South Wales was an official posting, the role of consort was a required, albeit unofficial, one. Governors who did not have spouses would have a daughter or sister fill the role.
The vice-regal consorts were supposed to set social standards and to be above reproach. It was mainly a social role: the consort was to attend social functions, support charities, and not be overtly political. The consorts played a vital role in ensuring the success of the vice-regal governors, and several of the consorts were instrumental in advancing their spouse’s careers. For instance, the first governor, Phillip, owed a great deal to his two wives, who helped him to advance socially. Other consorts served as secretaries to their husbands, and one, Anna Josepha King (consort 1800-1806) was even known as Queen Josepha (page 31) because she was so helpful to and influential over her husband.
Nearly all of the consorts engaged in traditional feminine patronage, supporting orphans, schools for underprivileged girls, mother and infant health, and later, the Girl Guides. Generally, their social welfare work endeared them to the New South Wales population, although there might still be criticisms in the newspapers about who and how they entertained. The biography of Nea, Lady Robinson (consort 1872-1879), highlights how she was a social success overall, yet was still subtly criticized for not doing “enough to raise standards in social life” (91).
Many of the consorts kept personal diaries and sent many letters, which served as valuable sources for these biographies. A number of the consorts really come alive on the page through these personal anecdotes. Lady Woodward’s comment that she moved around so much she learned she could not plant a lettuce and then eat it (172) was one of many amusing and lively comments in the book. Newspapers also served as a major source for the book, which provided valuable insight into how the media portrayed and perceived the various consorts. While the papers often praised the vice-regal consorts, frequently commenting on their fashion (not much has changed!), the papers would also critique.
Of particular interest is Margaret, Countess of Jersey (consort 1891-1893). Her involvement in the conservative party organization the Primrose League and her role as founding president of the Victoria League “places Lady Jersey as one of the leading imperialists in Edwardian Britain” (106). Her biography highlights some of the ways that aristocratic women promoted imperialism and also reminds readers that women had a vital role to play in enacting British power. While women were disadvantaged in some respects (such as their lack of the vote, which the Countess supported), elite British women also upheld the hierarchies from which they benefited.
The biographies are also microcosms of societal changes. Many of the earlier governors and consorts were gentry, followed by several members of the high nobility. Later, there were many servicemen, until the 1990s, when Governor Samuels was appointed, the first lawyer and Jewish governor. His wife Jacqueline, was an actor who had had a long career in both the arts and at universities. The Samuelses were followed by Sir Nicholas Michael Shehadie, the first male consort, and Governor Professor Marie Bashir. Since 1946, the vice-regal families have been Australian, indicating recognition of the power and prestige of Australia itself.
The book is full of fascinating little facts, such as that Elizabeth Northcott, who served as consort to her father when her mother was ill, was required to curtsy to him when they met in the morning (168)! Grandchildren had to curtsy to their grandfather governor as well (173). Lady Rawson kept a pet kangaroo and some parrots (125).* These biographies also highlight how mobile people were during the colonial era. Many of the consorts had traveled with their spouses around the world, from posts in Canada, South Africa, and India, among others.
Finally, the book has many great images and photographs. Sketches and photographs chronicle the changing face of Government House, while images of many of the consorts provide an intimate touch. For anyone interested in the colonial government of New South Wales, this book will prove invaluable. It is also accessible for people with a general interest in monarchical studies, given that one does not have to be an expert in Australian history to enjoy the biographies. Overall, this book provides a great look into how monarchies showcase their power through “offshoot” (if you will) monarchies.
*This reader was surprised Lady Rawson was the only consort specifically mentioned as keeping a kangaroo as a pet. If I were a vice-regal consort, my number-one goal would be to have at least one pet kangaroo!
Loyalty to the Monarchy in Late Medieval and Early Modern Britain, c.1400-1688
edited by Matthew Ward and Matthew Hefferan
Loyalty to the Monarchy in Late Medieval and Early Modern Britain, c.1400-1688 was edited by Matthew Ward and Matthew Hefferan (Palgrave Macmillan, 2020). Matthew Ward graciously summarized the book for interested readers. Thank you, Matthew! This sounds like a fantastic collection!
The book explores the place of loyalty in the relationship between the monarchy and their subjects in late medieval and early modern Britain. It focuses on a period in which political and religious upheaval tested the bonds of loyalty between ruler and ruled. The era also witnessed changes in how loyalty was developed and expressed. The first section focuses on royal propaganda and expressions of loyalty from the gentry and nobility under the Yorkist and early Tudor monarchs, as well as the fifteenth-century Scottish monarchy. The chapters illustrate late-medieval conceptions of loyalty, exploring how they manifested themselves and how they persisted and developed into early modernity. Loyalty to the later Tudors and early Stuarts is scrutinised in the second section, gauging the growing level of dissent in the build-up to the British Civil Wars of the seventeenth century. The final section dissects the role that the concept of loyalty played during and after the Civil Wars, looking at how divergent groups navigated this turbulent period and examining the ways in which loyalty could be used as a means of surviving the upheaval.
Four chapters deal with the issue of propaganda and royal attempts to foster loyalty among their subjects. The first of these, by Emma Levitt, considers the importance of tournaments in allowing the first Yorkist king, Edward IV, to cultivate friendship and personal loyalty among the English nobility following his usurpation of the crown. Wesley Corrêa’s chapter focuses on royal propaganda under the Yorkist and early Tudor monarchies and suggests that propaganda was not, at this time, a one-way flow of information, but rather a dialogue in which the crown used the channels of information available to it to promote itself and court the people for approval, legitimacy, taxation and loyalty. Likewise, Michael A. Heimos uses two important legal cases from the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries to examine what the common law concept of ‘allegiance’ reveals about the way in which contemporaries understood and discussed the loyalty that each subject owed to the monarchy. Finally, Janet Dickinson examines how Elizabeth I was able to use the concept of courtly love to foster loyalty among her nobles, some of whom had difficulty reconciling their Catholic faith with their allegiance to Protestant England.
On the other side of the coin, many of the chapters in this volume are concerned with the way in which the subjects of British monarchs expressed their loyalty. Callum Watson offers a valuable re-reading of Blind Harry’s fifteenth-century poem The Wallace to argue that, rather than being a subversive text written in support of those dissatisfied with King James III of Scotland’s rule, the poem was intended to encourage those with grievances against the king to cling to those values for which the king was supposed to stand, even when the king failed to embody those values himself. Other chapters explore how loyalty to the monarchy was demonstrated for less idealistic reasons, and more in the self-interest of the person or community professing loyalty. Simon Lambe uses the Paulet family of Somerset as a case study to demonstrate how expressions of loyalty to the monarchy could be used by a gentry family in the hope of receiving royal patronage in the form of land and office, especially as religious reforms gained pace in the 1530s. Similarly, Valerie Schutte uses the previously untapped evidence of book dedications during Henry VIII’s reign to show how the sixteenth-century nobility used dedications to profess loyalty to the king in the hope of receiving royal favour and influence as they navigated a new religious and political landscape. John Pagan, meanwhile, explores how the royal colony of Virginia sought to use the reciprocal relationship of loyalty and protection with the king of England to avoid a parliamentary tax that the colonists found unduly burdensome, but were ultimately unsuccessful in the face of the British monarchy’s unwillingness to use grievance petitions as vehicles for questioning imperial policies formulated by the king and parliament. Finally, James Harris investigates how ‘repeated testimonies of duty and affection’ were used in Cornwall and southwest Wales to reaffirm loyalty to the crown following the restoration of the monarchy in the second half of the seventeenth century.
A number of chapters in this volume are, by contrast, interested in disloyalty, dissent and subversion. Jamie Gianoutsos examines how religious persecution in the seventeenth century tested the boundaries of loyalty to the English monarchy. Focusing on the persecution of three key puritan protestors, John Bastwick, Henry Burton and William Prynne, Gianoutsos argues that these men adopted a mixture of religious polemic, historical exempla and gendered language to successfully justify disobedience to the English Church. Religious division was not the only cause of dissent in the seventeenth century. The reign of Charles I, and the Civil Wars which it encompassed, was also divisive. This is reflected in the chapter by Richard Bullock, which assesses how sheriffs in the East Midlands found their loyalties divided between the king and their local community when Charles I sought alternative sources of revenue to parliamentary subsidies and the enhanced use of prerogative rights. Edward Legon, meanwhile, examines how disloyalty to the crown continued even after the Restoration in 1660, often with dangerous consequences for those involved. Nevertheless, despite the opportunities for dissent that the Civil Wars presented, others remained loyal to the British monarchy. This included, as Andrew Lind’s chapter demonstrates, a number of Scottish Royalists who, despite the dangers that support of the crown presented for them, remained steadfast in their deep-rooted belief that good subjects owed loyalty to the king.
The Power of Kings
Paul Kleber Monod
This month’s Book of the Month is an often-cited classic for Kingship studies which celebrates its 20th anniversary this year: Paul Monod’s The Power of Kings. Monarchy and Religion in Europe, 1589-1715 saw the light of bookshops in 1999, published by Yale University Press. It still remains influential reading for researchers of royal studies, and it definitely draws the eye with its cover image of Philippe de Champaigne’s painting of Le Vœu de Louis XIII’ (1638).
Paul Kléber Monod (Hepburn Professor of History at Middlebury College (Vermont) was inspired to write this book, according to his acknowledgements, by intense discussions with Linda Colley and David Cannadine in the late 1980s. He refers to the immense struggle of going outside one’s usual geographical range (Monod is an expert on British history, but included an astounishing range of European courts and national historiography in his work). One of the reviews by Teofilo F. Ruiz in the American Historical Review in December 2000 applauded Monod for aiming high and succeeding, and was sure that this book will be cited and discussed for many years to come. Ruiz was right about that – when I first began reading for my PhD in 2009 (10 years later), this was one of the books still forming current debates about monarchy, culture, state formation, and – of course – religion and sanctity. So, what makes The Power of Kings a modern classic work for royal studies?
One aspect is certainly the consequent (and quite early) use of visual and ceremonial sources – in addition to textual sources like publications, parliamentary debates, or private documents, Monod really looks closely at images, esp. paintings and artwork commissioned by monarchs, and at the performance of ceremonies. This approach works well both for royal as well as for church history. He identifies the long seventeenth century as a time of transformation from a sacred to a secularized legitimation of monarchy, both with over-emphasis (by monarchs and courts) of royal sacralization and broader scepticism of this by their audience.
Another aspect is probably the masterful spinning of a narrative encompassing most of European courts, incl. Russia and Poland-Lithuania, and, even more impressive, several research fields. Aside from royal studies and kingship studies, Monod included research on state formation and nationalisation, political thought, church history, and theology into his book.
Although details presented in the book, and even the overall argument and contextualisation, can be – and have been – criticised (see this review and the author’s response), the book in its entirety still inspires and stimulates, not least of all because it was one of the first books on political authority, once again taking religious feelings serious.
What are your experiences with The Power of Kings? Did it inspire your research, or do you think, it is just not current anymore? Let us know what you think in the comments below, or on Facebook.
Counsel and Command in Early Modern English Thought
by Joanne Paul
This month the RSJ Blog is delighted to feature Counsel and Command in Early Modern English Thought by Joanne Paul.
book available here
Joanne’s book takes up the issue of counsel in early modern England. As her introduction expertly lays out, counsel is tricky: if counsel is required, it diminishes the monarch’s sovereignty but if counsel is optional, it becomes essentially useless.
The book argues for three things:
it provides an account of the move from the monarchy of counsel to modern notions of sovereignty, making the argument that the paradoxes inherent in the discourse of counsel prompt this transition. Second, it contributes to an understanding of the boundaries of this change, in particular the division between public and private that is essential to modern ideas of politics. … Thus, third, this study contributes a new perspective on the development of modern ‘political science’, by tracing the moves from moral philosophising to historical knowledge to the observation of contemporary affairs in the writings about the counsellor (4).
The first chapter, on the humanist counsellor, focuses on the writings of Erasmus, More and Castiglione. These works grapple with ideas about princely education, too, and the balance between instruction and counsel. The second chapter investigates what humanists said about the timing of giving counsel. Erasmus and More largely argued for silence until the opportune moment, while a younger generation of writers, such as Thomas Starkey and Thomas Elyot, disagreed. They wanted counsel to be more public and institutionalized. Although these humanists disagreed on when a counsellor should speak up, they all agreed that rulers needed to listen to counsel.
Chapter three looks at Machiavellian counsel in England. Machiavelli argued it was better for the ruler to be good and capable than his counsellors to be. In addition, he thought counsellors would probably be selfish and should be kept in check. The ruler needed to command and dominate his counsellors, a contrast with humanist arguments. Exploring eight related aspects of Machiavellian counsel, this chapter expertly contrasts it with humanist perspectives that saw counsel in more positive terms.
Chapter four looks at the acceptance of Machiavellian ideas even by those opposed to his work. Prudence in the political sphere is separated from morality. Politics becomes morally flexible or even amoral, and counsellors are not expected to keep a ruler from being a tyrant by cultivating the monarch’s virtue. Chapter five, “Late Tudor Counsellors,” focuses on how these new ideas, coupled with “weak” monarchs (children and women) led to increased institutionalization of counsel as represented by Parliament and the Privy Council. Humanist texts promoted the idea that child and female monarchs would be in particular need of advice, but Machiavellian ideas suggested individual, selfish counsellors could and would exploit these monarchs for their own gain. This tension helped to change the way counsel operated.
Chapter six looks at “Reason of State,” wherein knowledge of the contemporary world, rather than virtue, is the main qualification for a counsellor. The chapter argues the Stuart monarchs preferred this idea because it helped them to re-assert monarchical power after the “weak” (and so exceptionally counsel-needing) late Tudor rulers. The counsellor is further subordinated to the monarch because he transmits information rather than guidance on morally-correct governance.
Chapter seven looks at some of the counsel-related problems faced by James VI/I and Charles I. While both kings saw counsel as subordinate to their authority, they relied on personal favorites as counsellors. On the other side, theorists and politicians saw Parliament as the best choice of counsel, contending that Parliament’s self-interest was the state’s interest. Another aspect of the English Civil War is the fight over counsel. Through investigation of the writings of theorists such as Thomas Hobbs, the chapter argues that ideas about counsel fade away in the later 1600s as discourses of sovereignty come to the fore.
This fascinating book gives insight not only into the political thought of early modern England, but also offers ideas on why and how political discourse has changed over time.
The blog also caught up with Joanne to ask her a few questions:
RSJ Blog: How did you get the idea for the book?
Joanne: This book emerged out of my PhD, which I completed under the supervisor of Professor Quentin Skinner at Queen Mary, University of London. From my undergraduate onwards I had been interested in what we might think of as the ‘middle men’ in the Tudor court, as well as in the writings of the time which theorised about their role. The Tudor political discourse thought a lot about these intermediaries, who sat between ‘the people’ and ‘the ruler’. When I first sat down with Professor Skinner, we discussed that two ways in which we might explore these figures and the writings about them: (a) work on ambassadors and themes of representation or (b) work on counsellors and themes of rhetoric. I chose the latter. This was largely because almost every political text of the time, especially in England, devotes significant attention to the role of ‘the counsellor’, and yet there was no book-length study of the topic. I focused particularly on the relationship between ‘counsel’ (giving advice) and ‘command’ (giving orders): a relationship which thinkers have been contemplating since Homer and which reached a head (as it were) during the English Civil War. The ‘paradox’ is fairly straightforward: if your advice isn’t obligatory and can be ignored, what is the point in giving it (especially when it might come at great cost)? On the other hand: if it is obligatory, then it isn’t advice. In either case, counsel becomes less important than command. The working out of this paradox shapes much of the political thinking of Tudor and Stuart England, defining events such as the Break with Rome and the Civil War and sweeping up figures such as Thomas More, Elizabeth I and Charles I.
Joanne: Fortunately, much of what I was looking at is available in print form, and some in modern editions (such as Utopia, The Prince, Leviathan, etc). Those that have not been printed since the Early Modern Period can be found on online resources such as Early English Books Online. It is difficult to read any political tract of the age without coming across the figure of the counsellor (and most were written by counsellors themselves and offered as advice!). For those looking at the inner workings of counsel itself, which is not something I devoted much time to in this book but is work that needs doing, State Papers Online is a fantastic repository of letters offered by counsellors (formal and informal) to those they advised (not always their monarch). Most calendars of papers (for instance those on British History Online) also give a good impression of the type of advice given, how it was framed, the rhetorical devises used, and so on. But I do think it is difficult to understand such sources without understanding the widely-held and circulated ideas about these matters. There were essentially guidebooks about how to give advice, based on the texts about rhetoric taught in schools. I think we can wander astray if we do not understand the intellectual framework in which these counsellors were consciously and unconsciously operating.
Portraying Pregnancy: From Holbein to Social Media
This month, the Royal Studies Journal blog is featuring a book that accompanies an exhibit at the The Foundling Museum. Both the book and the exhibit are entitled “Portraying Pregnancy: From Holbein to Social Media” and were curated by Karen Hearn. The exhibit runs until 23 August 2020 and tickets can be purchased here.
As Karen explained to the blog: “The book and exhibition are the first ever to focus on portraits of pregnant women in British art over a 500-year period. Although up to the early 20th century many women spent most of their adult years being pregnant, their pregnancies are seldom made apparent in surviving portraits. Portraying Pregnancy considers the different ways in which (from the late Middle Ages onwards) a sitter’s pregnancy was, or was not, visibly represented to the viewer, and how the social mores and preoccupations of different periods have impacted the ways in which pregnant women have been depicted.
The book addresses a number of British royal women, including Anne Boleyn, Mary I, Elizabeth I, Anna of Denmark, Henrietta Maria, and Charlotte Augusta, Princess of Wales. The book is extensively illustrated with painted portraits, drawings, miniatures, prints, photographs, sculpture, textiles and objects.
Both the book and the exhibition offer a new lens through which to look at history and art history, by rethinking the context in which portraits of women were made in the past.”
The book contains 60 high-quality illustrations, making it a fantastic accompaniment to the exhibit or a substitute for those of us who are unable to visit The Foundling Museum. The book can be purchased here or through The Foundling Museum when purchasing exhibit tickets.
Queenship in Medieval Europe
by Theresa Earenfight
This month’s book of the month is Queenship in Medieval Europe by Theresa Earenfight (Palgrave Macmillan, 2013). Although a recent work, this book is already a go-to text for students and scholars alike.
The introduction is especially valuable for scholars of queenship who are seeking a theoretical framework. Earenfight highlights the plural nature of monarchy, and persuasively argues that queens were an integral part of rulership.
The four chronological chapters cover the years 300-1500. The first chapter focuses on 300-700 and details the birth of medieval queenship out of Roman, Germanic, and Christian antecedents. What developed was neither quite Roman or Germanic, but indebted to both. Christianity loomed large, with piety, sometimes even sanctity, being expected of queens. The second chapter, spanning 700-1100, examines the transformation of the king’s wife into a queen, with a special focus on coronation. Chapter three, covering 1100-1350, looks at queenship within the matrix of family power. Queens linked their natal and marital realms, making them vital partners. In addition, the increased bureaucracy of royal government did not mean queens were sidelined in favor of functionaries, but rather could use bureaucrats to help them manage their own lands and wealth. The fourth chapter, from 1350-1500, is about changing queenship during years of crisis (such as the Wars of the Roses in England). Queens played valuable roles in dynastic continuity (or lack thereof), as well as in cultural patronage. The fifth and final chapter sums up medieval queenship and briefly explores the differences in the practices of queenship between the medieval and early modern era.
Throughout the book, Earenfight maintains a broad chronological scope. Byzantine empresses, Scandinavian queens, and rulers from Kievan Rus appear alongside queens from France, England, Castile, and Aragon. The chapters have a well-marked conclusion section, as well as suggestions for further research. This makes the book ideal to use in a course on medieval queenship or to give to students who want to conduct independent research. The bibliography is extensive, and Earenfight has a larger one available online, at Queens in the Middle Ages.
The King’s Two Genders
by Cynthia Herrup
In November, the RSJ blog highlighted Ernst Kantorowicz’s magisterial The King’s Two Bodies. This month we feature one of the many excellent pieces of scholarship that build on Kantorowicz’s work.
Cynthia Herrup’s “The King’s Two Genders” was originally delivered at the North American Conference on British Studies in October 2005. It was later published in The Journal of British Studies 45 (July 2006): 493-510.
In her article, Herrup does not retread Kantorowicz’s work so much as use his concept of the dual monarchial body to explore other avenues. Herrup focuses her article on Tudor-Stuart England and argues “that it might also have been functional for rulers to inhabit an artificial body that was gendered neither exclusively male nor female, but both” (Herrup, 496).
To support this argument, Herrup develops four main points. First, she discusses language: The terms king and prince were used for male and female monarchs. She then turns to the concept of tyranny and its associations with femininity. The tyrant allowed womanly characteristics to predominate and lacked much-needed masculine self-control. Third, the existence of multiple female monarchs and the excellent scholarship devoted to them has shown how successful women rulers embodied both masculine and feminine identities. But, Herrup contends, we must also look at how male kings had to embody both genders. Fourth, scholars must look at how monarchs exercised their right to pardon the guilty; rulers had to walk a fine line between overly-masculine harshness and overly-feminine pity. All rulers needed to exercise mercy, but they had to find balance so it did not undermine their authority or make them seem too effeminate.
Herrup ends her article with an acknowledgement that more detailed research needs to be done to better support her argument that early-modern English monarchs had two genders, but she has provided a fantastic starting place for scholars interested in further exploring gender and monarchy. Herrup’s concept of the monarch, male or female, needing to embody both male and female can be used in a variety of different chronological or geographical contexts. The king’s two genders is a fascinating, clearly-presented concept that encourages fruitful research in royal studies.
The RSJ Blog even had a chance to ask Cynthia (Professor Emerita of History and John R. Hubbard Chair in British History Emerita at the University of Southern California) a few questions about this article.
RSJ Blog: How did you come up with the idea of the king’s two genders? What were you working on that inspired you to develop this concept?
Cynthia: As I was researching material for a project on pardons, I discovered that political commentators were quicker to see pardoning as a dangerous prerogative than as a reassuring safeguard, and the danger was presented as gendered. One official even praised Elizabeth I’s attitude as manly and James I’s as effeminate. That got me thinking about why pardoning was a threat, why monarchs were advised to hold it so closely, and what these ideas meant for the definition of proper rule. The two genders was my result.
RSJ Blog: The concept of the king’s two genders seems to work well for medieval and early modern England, but your article suggests this balance might have become more difficult as the realm grew larger and more diverse. How so?
Cynthia: I think that personal monarchy itself gets increasingly problematic as government becomes more diverse geographically and culturally. Moreover, as real power shifts to a prime minister and ideological political parties, the monarch becomes less important and as that happens, their personal qualities and style become less relevant. So distance and impersonal government change what people expect from their ruler and at the same time they change the ruler’s ability to hinder or help subjects individually. Monarchs remain powerful officials but are less often expected to shape government in their own image.
RSJ Blog: Any early-modern English monarchs that you think were especially unsuccessful at balancing the king’s two genders?
Cynthia: Charles I is an easy target for ‘unsuccessful’ but he does seem to have been exceptionally tone deaf. He seems never to have understood that success in monarchy means being both reliable and adaptable.
RSJ Blog: Thank you for speaking with us!
Full citation:
Herrup, Cynthia. “The King’s Two Genders.” Journal of British Studies 45 (July 2006): 493-510.
The Proclamations of the Tudor Queen
Frederic A. Youngs, Jr
This is another classic, The Proclamations of the Tudor Queens by Frederic A. Youngs, Jr (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976). Our sincerest thanks go to Valerie Schutte, who has authored this guest post for us. For more of Valerie’s work, please visit her website about Tudor Queens.
Frederic A. Youngs’s study, The Proclamations of the Tudor Queens, may be 44 years old, but it contains many ideas that still ring true for studying England’s first two regnant queens. He takes royal proclamations as the jumping point for comparing the two queens, as only one decade earlier, Paul F. Hughes and James F. Larkin produced their three-volume set of Tudor Royal Proclamations (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1964, 1969), offering transcriptions of the proclamations of all five Tudor monarchs. Youngs builds upon Hughes’s and Larkin’s work by offering analysis of the proclamations issued during Mary’s and Elizabeth’s reign, while in the same year, Rudolph W. Heinze did the same for the proclamations of Henry VII, Henry VIII, and Edward VI, in The Proclamations of the Tudor Kings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976).
Youngs shows that royal proclamations were important because they had the ability to reach a wide audience, being both printed and hung in public spaces, as well as read aloud for the illiterate. They were also temporary and limited, so as not to interfere with Parliamentary legislation. Both Mary and Elizabeth issued royal proclamations in response to crises and disorder, as well as to assist with the interim religious settlements until their first Parliaments met. Both queens also issued royal proclamations on dissident books which challenged official policy, although Elizabeth issued several more as she had to deal with both Catholic and Protestant dissent. Primarily, they used the proclamations as temporary legislation or to notify the public of some new government administration.
For the Tudor queens, often proclamations were issued to protect their personal honor, not from personal interest; Henry VIII left behind personally corrected draft proclamations while neither queen did. Rather, Mary and Elizabeth’s proclamations were more about public policy. During Mary’s reign, she and her Privy Council issued 64 royal proclamations, while during Elizabeth’s reign she and her Council issued 382. Comparisons of these proclamations show that Mary used proclamations to explain changes in religion and justify her decisions, such as to marry Philip, while Elizabeth did not give her opinions to the masses. Youngs repeatedly emphasizes that proclamations were meant to deal with issues in the short term, until Parliament could enact permanent law or the specific issue at hand was handled.
In three sections, Youngs shows how proclamations were used to deal with matters of security, social and economic interest, and religious settlement and dissent. For security purposes, both queens issued proclamations in response to rebellions and to keep the peace in various localities. For economic management, Mary and Elizabeth issued a total of 225 proclamations on topics ranging from coinage to wages to market regulation; both queens had to address the wool trade in regards to their current foreign relations. Youngs points out that one of earliest and most pressing matters for both queens was the religious settlement. He writes, “although the permanent settlements at which they arrived were diametrically opposed, the half-sisters experienced the identical need to preserve order and to prevent religious contention, and thus there was a great similarity between the interim settlements: they regulated preaching, controlled the press, forbade plays which touched on religion and matters of state, and provided instruction on doctrine (183).” All of this was done using proclamations.
Unsurprisingly, with Elizabeth’s reign being 40 years longer than Mary’s, there are many more proclamations and evidence on which Youngs draws upon. But he does make a valiant effort to compare and incorporate both queens in all sections of his book. It reinforces how both queens faced similar challenges and rebellions which required royal response. For example, Youngs spends a whole chapter demonstrating how religious opposition in both reigns was greatly fostered through print; dissenting books caused continual problems. Yet, both regimes used similar tactics against dissent. A Marian statute against seditious books was reissued and applied in Elizabeth’s first Parliament, and again in 1581.
What is so remarkable about Youngs’s study is that in his comparison he does not find either queen wanting in her abilities as monarch, nor use one queen as a foil to bolster the other. He straight-forwardly explores the proclamations issued by each queen, which were often done to address an immediate threat, and explains how each queen similarly used proclamations often to the same effect, relying upon the precedent and tradition of their father. He also remarks upon instances when Elizabeth followed the precedent of Mary regarding the issuance or subject matter of a specific proclamation. For example, in 1553, Mary issued a proclamation to enforce nine previous statutes. Similarly, in 1561, Elizabeth ordered that thirteen of her statutes be enforced. Refreshingly, he finds many similarities among the proclamations, but does not do so at the expense of Mary. Youngs’s book truly seems ahead of its time in exploring aspects of governance that Mary demonstrated for Elizabeth and should be given its due as seminal to the study of the Tudor queens.
Marie Antoinette: The Portrait of an Average Woman
by Stefan Zweig (1881 – 1942)
The book was first published in 1932 under the title: Marie Antoinette: Bildnis eines mittleren Charakters
cover of the Viking Press first edition, 1933
Marie Antoinette was born in Vienna in 1755 as archduchess Maria Antonia Josepha Johanna of Habsburg-Lothringen, daughter to Maria Theresia and Emperor Francis I. In 1770, she was married to the French Dauphin and future king Louis XVI, to manifest a political liaison that had been vigorously pursued by both countries to form a coalition against Prussia. In his book, Zweig focuses on the woman who was queen and on the judgment that she faced by her contemporaries. Tried by the Revolutionary Tribunal, Marie Antoinette was convicted, sentenced to death and eventually executed by the Guillotine in 1793.
It is not easy to rate this book from the viewpoint of a historian. Zweig’s biography has reached great popularity, not only for its topic but also for its masterful language. It is well researched especially on the level of personal correspondence between the featured personages. The book, albeit not the work of a historian, has had a considerable influence on historical fiction and scientific writing ever since.
Zweig was a novelist with a PhD in philosophy, known for his analytical character studies, regularly submitting his personages to a thorough psychological analysis. He is famous for the melancholic atmosphere of his works and his tragic protagonists trapped between humanity and human cruelty. His work shows a man not only in search for himself but with a deep insight into the world around him and a need to grasp the changes of said world that left him in a deep shock, expatriated from his beloved homeland and that eventually contributed to his suicide. He remains without question one of the most accomplished writers of modern Austrian literature.
Stefan Zweig’s biographies are therefore rather a work of literature than scientific analysis. They reflect Zweig’s subjective interpretations but pay tribute to his deep knowledge of human nature.
Among them, Marie Antoinette is particularly interesting in retrospect of Zweig’s own connection to monarchic Austria. As a Jew growing up in the Austrian-Hungarian Empire, he was very skeptical of the political changes after its downfall and developed a nostalgic view of the old world where the Emperor had held his protective hand over the cultural and ethnical variety.
Already the title catches the eye and gives food for thought. When Zweig describes Marie Antoinette as an average woman, he does not attribute her overly negative character traits. In his narration, she is not unintelligent, hypocritical, ill-natured or overly condescending. Zweig simply stretches the fact that she was unprepared and by nature of her character also unfitting for the responsibilities that should arise from the economic and political circumstances within France.
Zweig does not hide Marie Antoinette’s personal shortcomings but describes her in all the authenticity of her character. She is not a studious character, trying to avoid her more tedious duties wherever she can, charming her way out of them. According to Zweig, she lacks the perseverance for more responsible endeavors. She is described as a woman caught between a carefree, fun-loving and slightly irresponsible child and the role as queen, the importance of which she never really cared to grasp. She is lost in the court intrigues, thrown into the lion’s den at the age of fifteen, not knowing who to trust and eventually relying on the wrong people who would abuse her friendship and ruin her reputation in the public eye. In that way, Zweig shows Marie Antoinette as a political pawn, forced into a role that, because of her personality, she was unfit to fulfill, yet by no fault of her own. He does not judge Marie Antoinette in the light of history, he merely analyzes her character and actions within the world and the circumstances surrounding her, very much like in a play.
Unlike many biographers before him and some after him, Zweig does not try to hide the relationship between Marie Antoinette and Graf Fersen or describe it as an innocent friendship. He fully grants the queen who is trapped in a marriage of political convenience her right to a fulfilling love life. Zweig is appalled at the insinuation that Marie Antoinette should be accused of having tried to conceal the relationship out of fear and false sanctimoniousness. She, who had never been a coward and never allowed any convention to break her will.
According to Zweig, Marie Antoinette’s greatest mistake largely contributing to her downfall was that she mingled into politics without understanding it or being interested in it. She merely did it to distribute favors, to satisfy her courtiers and perhaps, like in a childish game, to prove to them as well as to herself the power and influence she held over her husband.
Zweig implies that as a female royal consort, Marie Antoinette did not achieve the extraordinary. She did not guide her husband in a way that might have prevented the revolution. Yet, it was the revolution that brought this fact more to light than anything else. After all, so Zweig, Maria Theresia did not want her daughter to mingle into public affairs. If criticism would arise, Maria Theresia would have preferred for it not to fall upon her daughter but on some minister, who could be held accountable.
Zweig portrays the queen as the maker of her own fate but stresses that she is mostly a victim of circumstances. Those circumstances were beyond her control and understanding and to a certain extend also beyond her care. Yet, in her darkest hour, when she is personally attacked and under scrutiny, she shows her strength and dignity. Zweig does not fail to mention that even certain members of royalty used that opportunity to settle a personal account with Marie Antoinette.
In this moment, Zweig portrays her more as a queen than ever stating that beside all her shortcomings, she possessed incredible courage. The revolutionary trial against her is a sham, attempting to frame Marie Antoinette in the most appalling manner. Yet, she proves her wit and escapes all judicial subtlety and calculation. When she is asked by the judge if she regrets that the right of the people have cost her son the throne, she responds that she would never regret anything for her son if it served his country. Zweig salutes Marie Antoinette for not opening herself to the attack while at the same time emphasizing her son’s birthright and the role of the Monarchy by calling France “his” country. This scene gives an interesting insight into Zweig’s own state of mind. This is perhaps less a proof to reveal Zweig as monarchist but rather shows his disgust with the French Revolution and his refusal to see it as a glorious event. He underlines the cruelty of public opinion that shamed the royal family with the worst kind of propaganda. Zweig might have written those passages reflecting upon his own experiences with the power of such vilification over the public mind.
Zweig, although far from calling Marie Antoinette an exemplary queen, does not judge her in the retrospective of post-monarchist democratic politics. He focuses on his portrayal of a woman faced with the inhumanity of her judgment and her judges. In that sense, Zweig stays true to one of his leading topics. In doing so, he naturally becomes apologetic of Marie Antoinette and somehow glorifies her image.
Zweig is undoubtedly subjective but he looks at the historical background from a point of view that is in itself fascinating and worth reflecting upon. He wrote the biography on Marie Antoinette in 1932, about 140 years after her death but within this comparatively short time, the world had seen incredible changes. Stefan Zweig uses Marie Antoinette for his own reminiscence of a past that was to him irrevocably lost, while facing a future he was not looking forward to. The comparison of the terror of the French Revolution with the terror that was yet to come in Zweig’s own country and that he partly anticipated, shows his inner turmoil. As such, the novel is in some way equally a testimony to Zweig’s own time which creates an interesting multifaceted nature.
Zweig has been criticized for writing a pamphlet of redemption, portraying the queen as a victim of her circumstances, giving future writers a justification for a similar romantic notion culminating in publicized fiction like the film by Sophia Ford Coppola.
A historian might consider himself an apt critic of such work but it might also lead him to reflect upon his own scientific judgement. Finally, critical observations aside, the writing itself is nothing but superb and clearly shows Zweig’s mastery of the German language which makes the book a pleasure to read.
Queenship and Power-Series
This month, we’re celebrating an incredible book series in our feature “Book of the Month”: The book series Queenship and Power (Palgrave Macmillan) celebrates its 10th birthday this year! Time to look a bit deeper into the series, and commemorate the books and research. The Royal Studies Journal Blog was lucky enough to get the chance for a chat with Carole Levin and Charles Beem, the editors of the series.
RSJ Blog: Thanks Carole and Charles for giving us the chance for some discussion of your book series. And congrats for your 10th anniversary! Already 56 books are published – that is amazing, and really brought research on queens and queenship forward. Could you please start by telling us a bit more about the time 10 years ago? How did you come up with the idea, and what were your first experiences?
Carole: The idea for the series was mine and I knew that for something like what I envisioned, I was to work collaboratively. I had read The Lionness Roared for Palgrave and thought it was wonderful and when I met Charles I knew he was the one with whom I wanted to co-edit the series. It was a brilliant decision. Working with Charles has been just wonderful and the series has been more than I could have imagined at the time.
Charles: I was thrilled to have been asked to do this series with such a distinguished scholar as Carole, whose work I had long admired. The series proposal itself was the first of many collaboration between us as we conceptualized the mission and scope of the series. The project had a longer gestation with Carole, who knew so many junior scholars getting ready to publish their first books. I really had no expectations, and I do not think either of us had any inkling of how successful the series would be. One lucky break was the ability to work with our first acquisition editor, Christopher Chappell, for over five years, which allowed us to get a feel for working with the editorial and production staff at Palgrave.
Shelfie No. 1 – starting of slowly (full disclosure: this is Cathleen’s collection)
RSJ Blog: Can you tell us a bit more about the books published in the series? I also noted that a book from 2003 – so 15 years ago – is actually listed as part of the series. What is up with Carole’s, Debra Barrett-Graves‘, and Jo Eldridge Carney’s book on High and Mighty Queens of Early Modern England?
Carole: Well, obviously I had been working on queens for a long time before the series – why I had the idea for the series – so our editor at Palgrave suggested that when the book came out in paperback it be part of our series. I was delighted to have it included.
Charles: Palgrave had a few titles in their catalogue that had been published in hardback that were perfect for the series, which also included Sharon Jansen’s The monstrous Regiment of Women. So we acquired these and issued them in the series as trade paperbacks, to much success I might add. The Lioness Roared also, which was first published in 2006, was reissued in paper as the first title in the series. 
RSJ Blog: Charles, The Lioness Roared, the first „official“ book of the series was your monograph on the British queens throughout the centuries. In addition to inspiring much research going on right now, it is also a particularly longue durée study. How did you treat the challenges of this? Also, Carole and Charles, how was your experience with Charles as author and book series editor?
Charles: My dissertation advisors tried very strongly to talk me out of this project. As an M.A, student, I wrote a history of English boy kings for my thesis, and was already intrigued by the possibilities of the long durée approach. The big challenge for me was mastering a number of historiographies, a process which greatly aided me as an instructor of British history.
Carole: The book had been accepted for publication before the series so it was great to have it also start off the series. Charles had since done a number of other books for the series and I have always been so pleased to have him do so as his writing and editing are exemplary.
Getting more serious with queenship studies with Shelfie No. 2
RSJ Blog: While the book series has a focus on English, or British, queens and queenship, and especially the great Elizabeth I has been covered intensely, e.g. her writing, her Italian and foreign letters, her death and her life, her foreign relations, and – the newest – Elizabeth seen through French Valois eyes, the book series covers also lots of other European and some non-European queens. Was this something you pushed for, and encouraged scholars to look into it, or more of the other way round?
Carole: When I first thought of the series I wanted it to cover as widely as possible both chronology and geographic range. And as an Elizabeth I scholar I am delighted with the great works we have published that have had to do with her, I am equally thrilled by the range we do have in the series and would love to have even more. So yes, we are encouraging scholars to do excellent work in all fields of queenship studies.
Charles: From the first, we conceptualized this series as global in perspective, although we anticipated that scholars of English and European queenship would be drawn to the series, which is in fact what happened. I would love to be able to publish works on Asiatic and African queens, as well as queens of the ancient and classical world.
And Shelfie No. 3 proves that you might need more than one shelf for the series!
RSJ Blog: What I really enjoy about the book series is the mixture between young scholars just starting out, and established voices adding to this research field. Can you tell us a bit more about how you approach prospective authors and editors?
Carole: I really love this about the series also! So Charles and I both talk to many scholars at conferences and really encourage young scholars to work with us so we can help them produce really fine work. And we are also so proud of the major scholars in the field who publish with us.
Charles: Carole has an enviable network of scholars that literally stretches around the globe, and wherever she is, she always has time for a pitch. I have endeavored to follow in her footsteps, making time at conferences to chat with graduate students. Many of the conversations Carole and I have had over the years with graduate students and junior scholars were the catalyst for many books published in our series.
Shelfie No. 4: if the books don’t even fit in a picture anymore, it can only be one
queenship scholar whose collection is shown here…
(excluding the collections of Carole and Charles)
RSJ Blog: One last question: what are your plans for the future? Especially regarding the book series, but also your other projects?
Carole: Well, Charles and I are definitely planning to continue publishing a range of great projects in the series. And we are both continuing our various scholarly projects that deal with queenship. I am doing some projects on Queen Elizabeth and Boudicca – an essay on the topic is forthcoming in Estelle Paranque’s collection Remembering Queens and Kings. I am continuing to work on my creative projects as well and so is Charles.
Charles: I am wrapping up revision for my next book Queenship in Early Modern Europe. I also have an essay on royal minorities in an upcoming edited volume on queenship and Game of Thrones, to be published late in 2019. Also next year I will begin the process of looking for scholars to contribute to a volume on ancient and classical queenship.
RSJ Blog: These are great news! Especially, since we can now hope to get more performances on Kings & Queens conferences like 2018 in Winchester! And everybody reading this, and working either on African or Asian queens, or ancient and classical queenship: you know who to contact!
If you admired the shelfies of diverse royal studies network members of their books from the series, and think, you also want to add to this visual celebration: send us your shelfies with the books from the queenship and power series (no, library books don’t count; only the ones you really own)
Kantorowicz: The King’s Two Bodies (1957)
by Ernst Hartwig Kantorowicz
There are some books which become so influential that there is just no getting around them. For researchers of royal studies and premodern political thought Ernst H. Kantorowicz’s book The King’s Two Bodies is one of them.
Even if you’ve never read it, you certainly have heard about it, and maybe also used the main argument in your own work!
What is the main argument of this book? Kantorowicz starts with a legal discussion under Elizabeth I’s rule about the lease of some lands under Edward VI who was still a child at the time in question. Kantorowicz uses Edmund Plowden’s Commentaries in which it is argued that a king has two bodies: a natural one (body natural) which still might be a minor, but also as king a political body (body politic) which is freed from all mortal and natural defects. Whenever the king acts with his body politic, no restrictions of his body natural are in force.
From this starting point, Kantorowics looks further back in time and traces the idea of a monarch having two bodies, and how this influenced political theory and thought. His work was so influential that not only is it still used today, but a range of researchers used this concept and expanded it. Martin Wrede discovered a third body of the king – the memoria – in his article on Königsmord, Tyrannentod. Wie man sich der drei Körper des Königs entledigt – oder es zumindest versucht (16.-18. Jahrhundert) (2013). Regina Schulte explored in an edited volume the two (or more) bodies of the queen in Der Körper der Königin. Geschlecht und Herrschaft in der höfischen Welt (2002). Quentin Skinner explored this topic in his Kantorowicz Lecture in Frankfurt/Main in May 2011 which can be read in the (only) German book Die drei Körper des Staates (2012). David A. Warner in his article on Rituals, Kingship and Rebellion in Medieval Germany (2010) again draws from this basic argument (thanks to Penny Nash (Sydney) for adding this!)
Royal Studies scholars also use this book still today – I usually use a German copy provided by my library from 1990 (and just as a sidenote – it is remarkable that an English book from 1957 by a German emigrant – Kantorowicz taught in Heidelberg and Frankfurt before going into exile in 1939 – was only translated into German in 1990)
© 1990, dtv
Ernst H. Kantorowicz:
Die zwei Körper des Königs.
Eine Studie zur politischen Theologie des Mittelalters
Michael Evans (Delta College / Central Michigan University) uses it in his courses: “I set my students Kantorowicz’s classic The Kings Two Bodies as part of a graduate class on the historiography of the western Middle Ages. I required some very intensive reading from them; usually a book a week, plus one or two articles. Given its length, we devoted two weeks to The King’s Two Bodies. (Thinking this was generous timeline, I told a colleague who responded ‘you made them read that tome in only two weeks?!’). My students were a little intimidated by the length of the book and the density of some of the prose (we held a ‘find the most verbose paragraph’ competition to keep up morale), but were intrigued both by Kantorowicz’s life story and by his ideas. We used Kantor’s Inventing the Middle Ages as an accompanying text, and challenging Cantor’s myth of the ‘Nazi’ Kantorowicz was interesting, helped by Conrad Leyser’s introduction and William Chester Jordan’s preface to the Princeton edition, and by Robert Lerner’s recent biography of EK. Students were intrigued by the core idea of the ‘two bodies’, leading to some intriguing questions: ‘what about the queen’s body?’; ‘What about a regnant queen? Does she occupy the king’s body?’; ‘What if a regnant queen is pregnant with a future king? How many king’s bodies are present?’ and so on. A focus on ‘body history’ was also valuable when we later discussed Caroline Walker’s Bynum’s Holy Feat, Holy Fast, with its focus on women’s body, and bodies in a very different context. Sixty years after its publication, the ideas in The King’s Two Bodies still resonate with today’s students.“
Milinda Banerjee (Kolkata, Munich) was deeply inspired by this work for his own work on Colonial India: “I used Kantorowicz to think about similar ideas about body politic, linking kingship and nationhood (national community imagined as the body of a sacred king; but also more subaltern/peasant imaginaries of body politic), in late 19th/20th c. Indian political thought. Also used him to understand Indian ultra-left Naxalite/’Maoist’ discourses in the 1960s-70s about a Communist sovereign (Alexei Yurchak’s Kantorowicz-inspired work on Lenin was very inspiring here). I also loved Kantorowciz’s Laudes Regiae; In The Mortal God, I discuss the Indian national anthem as an acclamation to a sacred God-King (written by Rabindranath Tagore as an anticolonial response to George V’s visit to India).”
Did the King’s Two Bodies influence your work? Share with us your experiences, stories, and show us your copy of the book! You’ll find us on Facebook in the Royal Studies Group or email us under royalstudiesblog@gmail.com.
Her Father’s Daughter: Gender, Power, and Religion in the Early Spanish Kingdoms
by Lucy K. Pick
Dr. Lucy K. Pick’s book Her Father’s Daughter: Gender, Power, and Religion in the Early Spanish Kingdoms was the winner of the 2019 Royal Studies Journal and the University of Winchester Book Prize. Congratulations to Dr Pick for writing such a wonderful book and winning the prize. Her Father’s Daughter is the RSJ Blog’s Book of the Month for January 2020.
Her Father’s Daughter focuses on the royal daughters of the kingdom of León-Castilla and the ways in which their extensive personal property and status as consecrated virgins gave them power. These women were part of a corporate monarchy in which the king was one player in a network of power relationships. These royal daughters, who then became royal sisters to kings, were fiercely loyal to their natal families, although sometimes they used their power to benefit one brother at the expense of another. When it came to competing brothers, such as Sancho II, Alfonso VI, and García (sons of Fernando I), the support of their royal sisters Urraca and Elvira Fernández could make or break a monarch.
Chapter One, “Visigothic Inheritance, Asturian Monarchy,” lays the foundation. First, it explores Visigothic inheritance laws that required all daughters and sons to inherit equally from both parents. In the early medieval period in northern Spain, a more matrilineal system dominated (in contrast to Romanized, patrilineal succession systems elsewhere), which made women key players in the relationships of her husband, sons, and brothers. Pick argues that early Asturian royal succession reflects this matrilineal system: the founder, Pelayo, was king because he was his sister’s brother. Later Pelayo’s son was king because he was the brother of his sister (Ermesinda), but when Pelayo’s son died, Ermesinda’s husband became king rather than his nephews. Ermesinda’s husband, however, came from a patrilineal system, which then competed with the matrilineal succession practices. In 785, one of the royal daughters, Adosinda, became a consecrated virgin, and from then until c.1100, royal daughters generally did not marry. This did not leave the daughters powerless, however. In fact, refusing to marry off their daughters/sisters reflected a position of strength for the kings of León-Castilla. It emphasized their superior status because the kings would marry “down,” with local noblewomen, but would not reciprocate. This allowed the kings to have hostages for the good behavior of their nobles, but to not put themselves in the same vulnerable position. And rather like with the emirs of Al-Andalus, their ability “to keep their daughters back in the midst of the pressure to make a reciprocal exchange affirmed their authority and difference from their rivals” (Pick, 57). The king’s daughters retained their high rank, and their consecrated status gave them additional cache and power.
Chapter Two, “Virgins and Martyrs,” looks at the religious status of the royal daughters. Pick argues that these women were not abbesses of individual monasteries, but consecrated virgins who were dominae of numerous religious foundations. This status permitted them to wield the power of virginity (akin to martyrdom for women) without breaking any rules against claustration and poverty. Pick notes in this chapter that the reign of Alfonso VI saw the introduction of outside religious influences, especially from Cluny, which weakened the position of secular, consecrated virgins.
Chapter Three, “Networks of Property, Networks of Power,” examines a few cast studies of property transactions made by royal daughters/sisters. Pick argues that these property transfers were about creating relationships, just as much as they were about land changing hands. Pick does a masterful close reading of several charters to show how women such as Urraca (sister of Alfonso VI) built alliances with other elite women through the transfer of properties between these women and to monasteries. When Urraca had her allies confirm her gifts of property to a monastery, and then had her brother Alfonso VI do so as well, Urraca was binding her supporters into a relationship with Alfonso as well. Urraca’s property transfers were thus acts of power that did not need her brother’s approval, but had her brother sign on as a way to strengthen his hand. Since royal daughter’s inherited substantial property from both parents, as required by Visigothic law, these women were often in a position of their brothers needing them rather than the other way around. The substantial property independently held by royal sisters could be used to help their natal family form alliances and outmaneuver noble opponents.
Chapter 4, “Memory, Gift, and Death,” focuses on how royal daughters were instrumental in memorializing their families. Daughters would give gifts that remembered their families, such as properties to religious foundations in exchange for prayers. Royal women might also donate liturgical objects. This became increasingly common in León-Castilla as the influence of Cluny encouraged the saying of masses rather than just prayers. Given that masses needed to be conducted by men, this could limit the involvement of women in the commemoration of their families. By donating the liturgical vessels for the mass, women could remain involved and use this as a supplemental, rather than a replacement, to their duties as custodians of family memory.
The conclusion, “Looking Forward, Looking Beyond,” discusses how Alfonso VI changed things by marrying off his daughters to form alliances. This brought León-Castilla in line with other contemporary rulers, but it meant royal daughters would have a different relationship with their brothers. Pick’s conclusion also notes that León-Castilla was not unique in having royal women remain unmarried and fill religious roles; similar behavior appears in imperial Germany and early medieval England. However, this practice seems to have extended longer in León-Castilla, generating more records and making it easier for historians to track.
Pick’s book provides a fresh look at early medieval monarchy, emphasizing the corporate nature of medieval rule. She also explores an under-studied aspect of royal women’s power: the daughter and sister rather than the wife and mother. This excellent study will be influential for years to come and gives all scholars of monarchy insights to contemplate and carry into their own work.
Recently, the RSJ blog chatted with Dr Pick about her great book!
RSJ: How did you get the idea for the book?
Lucy: The first germ of an idea came in a class with my doctoral adviser, Jocelyn Hillgarth. I was studying the tenth-century monastic cartulary of Sahagún, and I was astounded to see how many women were involved in its documents. That was the origin of an article on royal daughter Elvira Ramírez who ruled for her nephew, my first foray into the subject. As I continued to study, I realized that powerful royal sisters and daughters were normal, not exceptional, and I realized I needed to examine them as a group, to understand why that might be the case.
RSJ: Your book makes extensive use of Spanish archives. Are there any you would particularly recommend as a starting place for beginning researchers? Any that are especially user friendly?
Lucy: I have experienced extraordinary kindness and generosity from Spanish archivists and librarians who have welcomed me as a foreigner studying their history, though it is true that ecclesiastical archives and libraries can be idiosyncratic, with shorter hours than state repositories like the Biblioteca Nacional and Archivo Histórico Nacional, both in Madrid. There is nothing like being handed a thousand-year-old manuscript, like Queen Sancha’s prayer book in the university library in Salamanca, or the copy of Isidore’s Etymologies she had made for her son in El Escorial. When I went to the archive in the cathedral of Túy to look at the original parchment of Urraca Fernández’s gift to that see the document I discuss at length in the book, I learned that the canon archivist was also the priest of the church outside the town that had been the cathedral built after Urraca’s gift. He took myself and my husband there to see it, and it was amazing to see the eleventh-century building. Most cathedrals that old were later rebuilt and rebuilt again, but when they decided to rebuild in Túy, they chose a different site, leaving this building intact. We even went down into the crypt where there were Roman-era rooftiles from the original dwelling. So I urge beginning researchers to be brave – you don’t know what you will discover, but it will be an adventure.
RSJ: We are fascinated by your wonderful examination of matrilineal succession, which is something you don’t hear about as much. How is matrilineal succession different from matriarchy? In a less patriarchal society, could matrilineal succession mean succession from mother to daughter rather than father to daughter’s husband or maternal uncle to nephew?
Lucy: Most matriarchies will be matrilineal, but not all matrilineal societies are matriarchal. Identifying matriarchy versus patriarchy is in part a subjective value judgement about how power works in a given society, while matrilineality and matrilocality (when the dwelling place of married couples is connected to the wife’s family rather than the husband’s) are determined by more objective criteria. I have learned a lot from the anthropologists, whose area of expertise this is. I know some identify, for instance, the BriBri people of Costa Rica and the Khasi of India as groups that are matrilineal, matrilocal and also matriarchal, and inheritance from mother to daughter places a role in this.
RSJ: Would unmarried royal women be able to exercise such power without being consecrated virgins? The consecration was probably necessary to ensure that outsiders believed that these women remained virgins?
Lucy: Consecration and the status of virginity that went along with it took them out of the marriage economy and have them a sacral status that enhanced their authority. One question is the status of the immensely powerful royal daughter Sancha Raimúndez who lived in the twelfth-century. I don’t think we have any evidence of her being consecrated, but she remained unmarried. Janna Bianchini is working on her right now, and we will have to wait and see what she discovers.
RSJ: In your research, were you able to form an opinion on why Urraca and Elvira supported their brother Alfonso VI over their other brothers? Were they supporting the brother most likely to win or might more personal issues have been at play? Do the documents even allow for such speculation? You have also written a historical fiction novel, Pilgrimage. What was different when writing a novel? Was anything similar?
Lucy: I’m going to answer these two questions together, because, as you’ll see, they fit together well. I think writing fiction has made me a better and more interesting writer. My fiction is heavily informed by my research, though it is liberating not to have to footnote everything and I can present hypotheses about how things were that I cannot put into academic writing. The main difference is that writing fiction makes you realize how many realities of everyday life academic historians don’t consider. The two genres do bleed into each other, however. While I was writing this book, I was also working on a novel about the epic hero El Cid and his wife, who lived at the time of Urraca and Alfonso VI until I decided I had to put off finishing the novel until the academic book was done because I was afraid of making things up. In the novel, Urraca’s preference for Alfonso VI is personal. In real life, I think we can say as a fact that the choice was made as much by their parents, who gave their eldest son the smaller and less well-situated kingdom of Castilla, and gave León, a larger kingdom with more opportunity to Alfonso, as by the two sisters. Was that simply because Sancho, the eldest, got his father’s inheritance, while Alfonso got his mother’s? Or was there some partiality involved? That’s why we need novelists.
RSJ: What are your current projects or plans? We look forward to more of your brilliant work!
Lucy: I did finish the novel, so I am looking for an agent and publisher for that. I am returning to earlier work on Jews and Christians, and researching an early Latin translation of Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed. And I am at the beginning of a big project on the lives of women saints and how they were used among communities of woman religious which will connect the Leonese court I describe in this book with Ottonian royal women and religious houses.
Royal Studies Journal 