Contessina de' Medici from Medici
When I finally settled down to watch all three seasons of Medici, I was hoping that at least one of the female characters would prove interesting enough to justify one of these monthly posts. And thankfully there was: Contessina de’ Bardi, who becomes the matriarch of the powerful de’ Medici family through her marriage to its eldest son Cosimo.
Female characters in period dramas always interest me: how they’re depicted, what their storylines involve, and how they negotiate the restrictive standards of the time. There’s often a self-consciousness (especially in male writers) about how modern expectations might influence how audiences perceive these women. Does anyone really want to watch a perfectly submissive doormat who acquiesces completely to her father and then her husband?
Should these women anachronistically rail against the patriarchal injustices surrounding them? Should they quietly accept them? Should they push back in subtle or overt ways? Should they be self-aware about the obstacles they face? How much agency and power should they command?
As much as I enjoyed watching Contessina ride her horse into the Signoria to speak in her husband’s defense, it’s obviously not something that a woman of her standing in that period would have ever gotten away with. But it’s also really cool, so it feels counterproductive to complain about it. Where do we draw the line between respecting the role women played in the distant past, and allowing them the autonomy to be active participants in the modern stories we’re actually watching?
It’s a tricky balance, but I feel that Contessina achieved it more effectively than any of the other featured female characters. Lucrezia is a valued wife and mother, Clarice is the conscience and helpmate of her husband, the likes of Caterina Sforza and Ippolita Sforza are allowed a certain degree of political acumen, but Contessina is easily the most self-possessed and authoritative.
Where other women are soft and feminine, she’s hard and intellectual. Her Character Establishing Moment involves her confronting two desperate men trying to break into her home to steal gold; she coolly informs them that money is only to be found at the mint (after removing her valuable earrings, of course). Even as she’s strong-armed into marriage by her father, she tries to meet the situation on her own terms, clinging to her sense of dignity with all her strength.
There is plenty of bittersweetness to her life story: she was romantically attached to another man before her father arranges her wedding to Cosimo, and at one point she says that her husband didn’t really warm up to her until after she gave birth to a son (makes you wonder what would have happened had she had a girl). She grits her teeth and endures the indignity of Cosimo bringing his mistress into her home, though struggles more with the unfairness of him blaming her for saving his life when he had already resigned himself to a martyr’s death.
She definitely gives Cosimo more chances than he deserves, but then – what choice does she have? None but to embrace the role of devoted wife/mother that society has assigned to her, even though you can tell it doesn’t fit her particularly well. But she’s nothing if not self-aware, clearly articulating what’s expected of her, how she can achieve it, and demanding respect for her loyalty and duty.
Men in period dramas have a way of ignoring the sacrifices that their women are making, and though Cosimo finally gets something resembling a clue as to how amazing and valuable his wife is, most of Contessina’s pain and suffering remains private – as would have been the case with essentially every single woman throughout history. She may not get the respect she deserves from the people around her, but she definitely does from the audience.
