by Jean Plaidy
But I was failing. The Pope said so. Pamphlets were being issued illegally. They condemned me. They called me a Jezebel. They said I had brought misery to my country. No man was safe from the accusations of heresy and the fire.
One of my greatest enemies was John Knox. This fanatical misogynist poured forth his hatred for my sex, and what infuriated him so much was to see a woman in control. Having hated Mary of Guise in Scotland and Catherine de' Medici in France, simply because they were women of power, he turned his attention to me. He regarded himself as the great reformer, the guardian of the people's conscience. In his opinion only papists were more to be despised than women.
He thundered forth in his pulpit, and he had only recently brought forth his First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women. It was banned in England but this did not prevent reckless people bringing it into the country.
I was indeed the Jezebel. According to my father, I had been a bastard. I had no right to the throne. God must be punishing England for her sin in allowing a woman to reign over her. He referred to my “Bloody Tyranny.”
It was then that people began to call me “Bloody Mary.”
I was deeply unhappy. People were dying for their faith, it was true. But how many more had suffered, and as cruelly, in my father's reign? Yet no one had hurled abuse at him. He had sent them to their deaths because they disagreed with him; I had done so because these victims had disagreed with God's Holy Writ. Why should I be so stigmatized when none had questioned him?
There was disaster everywhere. Calais lost, and my people and my husband deserting me. My friends were dying round me. What had I to live for? Only the child which I deceived myself into thinking I carried in my womb. I had to. It was my only reason for living.
I was ill. There was no disguising the fact. I suffered from the same fever which had attacked Reginald. He was dying. Every time a messenger came from him, I feared it was to announce his death.
News came that the Emperor Charles had died. I felt deeply depressed. I had not seen him since my childhood, but I had always felt that he was there to help me in my need. He had not always done so, I know, but it had been comforting to know that he was there…a friend.
Everything around me was changing. I wrote to Philip begging him to come to me. I knew now that the swelling in my body was due to dropsy.
Yet another disappointment, but those around me had never believed it was anything else.
I left Hampton Court for St. James's. Something told me I had not long to live.
Philip would not come to me. He was too deeply involved elsewhere. He deplored the loss of Calais. “But we shall recover it,” he wrote. He had made me name Elizabeth as my heir, for, as he pointed out, if I did so, that would avoid the possibility of civil war.
He did not say he was expecting my death, but I guessed that he was. He would have been told of my increasing infirmity…of my poor dropsical body which had succeeded twice in deluding me into thinking I was about to become a mother. He told me Reginald Pole would comfort me. Did he not know that Reginald, wandering in a shadowy world of his own, was past giving comfort to anybody?
Susan and Jane Dormer were with me. Jane was very beautiful, young and in love with the Count of Feria, who was soon to be her husband. I rejoiced with her and hoped she would know all the happiness which had been denied to me.
I had asked her not to marry until Philip came back.
Now I thought, when will that be? Dear Jane must not wait so long. I told her so. “You are fortunate,” I added. “The Count is one of the most charming men I ever met and, Jane…he loves you. That is wonderful.”
Jane turned away to hide her emotion. In the depth of her own happiness, she would understand how I had suffered from my loveless marriage.
When one knows that death is close, one looks back over one's life and sees events with a special clarity.
I have made so many mistakes. Yet I cannot see where I could have acted differently, except perhaps in my emotions, my tendency—in love only—to look upon what should have been clear to me and distort it to fit my own needs and desires. Why could I not have accepted our marriage as one of state? So many women of my kind had to do the same. I had been too old for marriage. Why did I not see that? If I had not married, everything might have been different. I would have ruled single-mindedly. I would not have been seeking to please him and so led my country into war. I should have acted on my own judgment.
Had I succeeded in the mission God had set me? I was not sure. We had returned to Rome but not very securely. I could not see into the future. I wondered what my successor would encounter. She would be ready though. Her hands were already stretching out for the crown.
Elizabeth's accession now seemed to be a certainty, and people were ready for that. They were waiting for me to die, for they believed England would be a happier place under her. It had certainly not been happy under me.
The weeks were passing. I was becoming more and more feeble. I did not see Reginald. He was too ill to come to me and I to go to him.
I heard that people were calling at Hatfield. I knew that Philip had sent orders to the Spaniards in the country to pay respectful court to Elizabeth.
So he was expecting my death… and he did not come.
It had occurred to me often that he was interested in Elizabeth. I remembered the occasion when he had hidden behind a screen that he might study her. I remembered the look in his eyes… speculative…a little lustful? I had not recognized it then, but now I knew what it meant. When I was dead…he saw himself a suitor for Elizabeth's hand.
I did not want to live. I was aware of that so strongly at that time. She had always been my rival, this vitally attractive, unpredictable sister, so much cleverer than I, always alert for her advantage. And she would succeed me. There was no question of that now.
There would be no more burnings at the stake which had made me so unpopular. Even the staunchest papists did not like them. England was determined that the Inquisition should never be allowed on its soil.
“Bloody Mary” they called me. I could hear the screams of the people as the flames licked their limbs. I could smell the pungent odor of burning human flesh. I called on God to forgive me. I had thought it was His will— and my people hated me for it. Bloody Mary! That awful epithet rang in my ears.
They blamed me, they reviled me… only Mary…Bloody Mary. Yet others had committed greater crimes. Some 300 people had been burned at the stake in my reign. Nobody blamed those who had murdered thousands in the name of the Holy Office of the Inquisition! Isabella, Ferdinand, Charles, who had buried people alive in Flanders—30,000 of them. Yet I, who was held responsible for sending 300 to the stake, was Bloody Mary.
It was small wonder that I welcomed the prospect of death. What was there for me here?
The Court was growing more and more deserted. Why stay with a woman who was almost dead?
What should I be remembered for… the cries of martyrs, smoke rising from the fires which had been lighted at their feet because they denied the faith which I had imposed on them?
I was tired of life and my people were tired of me. It was time I went.
Susan was with me, so was Jane. They would not leave me. There were other faithful women, too.
Susan tried to cheer me. But nothing would cheer me.
They brought me materials so that I could write, for thinking of the past could draw my mind from the present. Susan was not sure that that was right for me.
“Sometimes it makes you so sad,” she said.
“There are many wounds that trouble my oppressed mind,” I told her.
“And there is one which is greater than any.”
Susan said, “If the King knew you were so ill, I am sure he would come.”
“Do not let us deceive ourselves, Susan, my dear friend. If he knew how ill I was, he would do just what he is doing now, only perhaps he would renew his attention to Elizabeth. But I was not thinking of
Philip then. I was thinking of Calais. When I die, they will find Calais lying upon my heart. I lost it, Susan. I lost it because I wanted Philip. I wanted to please him… to keep him with me. Always I have suffered through my affections.”
“Not always, dear lady. You have not suffered through us who have always loved you and will do so until you die.”
I turned to Susan and embraced her. Then I took Jane into my arms and wished her all the happiness I had missed.
“And that,” I added, “is a great deal.”
They left me, and I took up my pen and wrote.
They are all going to leave the Court. To them the Queen is dead. So I shall write no more, for soon they will be at Hatfield crying, “Long live the Queen!”
William Aubrey, Smith, Hickman The National and Domestic History of England
Bagley, J.H., Henry VIII
Bigland, Eileen (Edited by), Henry VIII
Bowle, John, Henry VIII
Chamberlin, Frederick, The Private Character of Henry VIII
Erickson, Carolly, Bloody Mary
Fisher, H.A.L., Political History of England
Froude, James Anthony, The Divorce of Catherine of Aragon
Froude, James Anthony, History of England
Guizot, M. (Translated by Robert Black), History of France
Hackett, Francis, Henry VIII
Hackett, Francis, Francis the First
Hume, David, The History of England
Hume, Martin, The Wives of Henry VIII
Hume, Martin, Two England Queens and Philip
Lewis, Hilda, I am Mary Tudor
Lingard, John, History of England
Luke, Mary, Catherine of Aragon
Mattingly, Garrett, Catherine of Aragon
Pollard, A.F., Henry VIII
Pollard, A.F., Thomas Cranmer and the English Reformation under Edward VI
Prescott, H.F.M., Spanish Tudor. The Life of Bloody Mary
Prescott, William H., History of the Reign of Philip the Second
Ridley, Jasper, The Life and Times of Mary Tudor
Salzman, L.F., England in Tudor Times
Scarisbrick, J.J., Henry VIII
Smith, Lacy Baldwin, Henry VIII
Stephens, Sir Leslie, and Lee, Sir Sidney, The Dictionary of National Biography
Stone, J.M., The History of Mary I Queen of England
Strickland, Agnes, Lives of the Queens of England
Trevelyan, G.M., History of England
Wade, John, British History
Waldman, Milton, The Lady Mary
White, Beatrice, Mary Tudor
JEAN PLAIDY is the pen name of the late English author E. A. Hibbert, who also wrote under the names Philippa Carr and Victoria Holt. Born in London in 1906, Hibbert began writing in 1947 and eventually published over two hundred novels under her three pseudonyms. The Jean Plaidy books—ninety in all—are works of historical fiction about the famous and infamous women of English and European history, from medieval times to the Victorian era. Hibbert died in 1993.
WRITTEN BY ONE OF THE GRANDES DAMES OF HISTORICAL fiction, In the Shadow of the Crown is the richly compelling story of Mary Tudor, the oldest child of Henry VIII. Though born a royal princess, her life is far from easy, and her first-person account is a spellbinding storm of danger, intrigue, and dashed romantic dreams. As a mere female, Mary is caught—in the politics of succession, as Henry tosses aside countless wives in a dire quest for a son, each time endangering Mary's life from those who would claim the throne themselves; in the constantly shifting politics of Europe, as Henry repeatedly betroths Mary to the scion of his latest ally, only to call it off before any wedding takes place; and in the politics of religion, as her refusal to accept her father's new Church of England has disastrous repercussions in her own five-year reign, leaving her forever known as “Bloody Mary.” Through her eyes, we see all the telling details—the majesty, the magnificence, and the machinations—of one of England's most turbulent eras.
Questions For Discussion
1♦ Mary's motto is, “Time unveils Truth.” Why does she believe that? Does it prove to be an accurate statement? How does it become a recurring theme of the novel?
2♦ Love—for her mother, her betrothed, her siblings, her handmaids—is an enduring motif in Mary's story. Do you think she understands what love is? Does she find true love in any form?
3♦ Mary portrays her father at various times as a cruel tyrant, an incorrigible dissembler, and “a god, all-powerful and gloriously benign.” Do you think she believes each one at the time? What do you think of Henry—how he treats his daughter, his wives, and women in general? Is he a good king, even if he's not the best father? If he were ruling a country today, how might he be perceived by the world?
4 After her betrothal to the Emperor is rescinded, Mary says, “I must thrust aside sentimentality. I must cease to dream of chivalry and romance. That was not for such as I was, and oddly enough I did not wish it to be different.” Does she succeed in this effort? Why or why not? Does she really want to?
5♦ Mary says, “My heart was filled with anger—not toward him so much as toward [Anne Boleyn], the goggle-eyed whore, the woman who was his evil genius. I blamed her for all the trials which had befallen us.” Why does she lay the blame at Anne's feet instead of her father's? In doing so is she betraying her gender, or rationalizing as any child of a broken home might do?
6♦ Over and over, Mary criticizes her father for his malleable conscience, but it often seems hers is equally compliant. As she says on page 133, “I began to believe fervently that what I had done—however much it had been against my principles—was the only way in which I could have acted.” When does that cease to be a purely personal foible? What are the repercussions? Does Mary ever recognize this trait in herself?
7♦ How does Catherine of Aragon's example affect Mary's behavior? Ultimately, do you believe her mother would be proud of her? What about her surrogate mother, the Countess?
8♦ Symbolism plays a great role at court, through rituals, family members' inclusion or exclusion, even room décor. What would you say was Mary's most symbolic act? What did it signify?
9♦ Most, if not all, of what happens in Mary's life stems from the simple fact of her gender. How might things have been different if Catherine had managed to produce a son in addition to Mary? If Mary had been permitted to marry and have children at a reasonable age?
10♦ Mary's illnesses often come on at critical times. What does Plaidy lead you to believe about these spells, through Mary's own narration? If she were alive today, would her bouts be taken seriously, or would she be sent for psychiatric treatment?
11 Throughout the novel, Mary persists in believing her cousin the Emperor to be her staunch supporter, even though he repeatedly refuses to involve himself in any meaningful way in her plight. Is she just naàve, or is something bolstering her belief? Do you see parallels in her relationships with Elizabeth and Philip?
12♦ Ultimately Mary gains the throne. Is this because, as she seems to believe, she has learned to maneuver in the politics of the court, or just happenstance? What do you think of her choices as Queen? Is she making up her own mind or being manipulated? How do her advisors differ from her father's?
13♦ “Though I was a woman and they might think a man would be more suitable to rule them, I had a heart full of sympathy for my subjects and I would be a gentle and loving sovereign.” Mary says this at the beginning of her reign, but later she complains, “How many more had suffered, and as cruelly, in my father's reign?…He had sent them to their deaths because they disagreed with him; I had done so because these victims had disagreed with God's Holy Writ. Why should I be so stigmatized when none had questioned him?” Given the fact that Mary is telling her story in hindsight, what do you make of these two quotes? Was her gender a factor in the way her subjects judged her? Was her legacy deserved?
14♦ Do you see any parallels between the hunts for “heretics” in Henry's reign, an
d again in Mary's, and religious extremism in the world today? What might we learn from the Tudor era?
WHEN I LOOK BACK OVER THE FIRST TWENTY-FIVE YEARS of my life and consider the number of times I was in danger of losing it, I believe—as I have since that wonderful day when I rode into my capital city in a riding dress of purple velvet, beside me my Master of Horse, Robert Dudley, the most handsome man in England, and listened to the guns of the Tower greeting me, and saw the flowers strewn in my path—yes, I fervently believe that my destiny was to be a great queen. I swore to God then that nothing should ever stand in the way of my fulfilling it. And I have kept that vow.
I could rejoice in those early twenty-five years—and indeed all through my life have done so—because during them I learned many a bitter lesson and it has been my endeavor never to forget one of them. I was young, lacking experience in the ways of men and women; and over my defenseless head—as dangerously as it ever did over that of Damocles—hung the sword of destruction. One false step, one thoughtless word, even a smile or a frown and down would come that sword depriving me of my life.
I was not quite three years old when I had my first encounter with adversity and my fortunes changed drastically. I cannot say with truth that I remember a great deal about my mother though sometimes I fancy I do. In my mind I see the most brilliantly fascinating person I have ever known. I sense the soft touch of velvet and the rustle of silk, long perfumed dark hair and a wild sort of gaiety born of desperation. But there is one image of her which remains vividly in my mind and as long as I live I will never forget it. I am in a courtyard and my fascinating mother is holding me in her arms. At one of the windows there appears a glittering figure—large, imposing, red-bearded. It is the King and she is trying to say something to him through me. She is holding my hand and waving it at him, appealingly, desperately. For a brief second he regards us with exasperated indifference before he turns away. That actually happened. Later I discovered it took place three or four days before she was arrested and taken to the Tower. The memory of her desperation and his cruel indifference stays with me forever, and I vowed that no man should ever do to me what my father did to my mother.
