Mary I – Royal History Geeks

Let’s be honest: lockdown sucks! But it does mean there’s more time for reading. Over the next couple of weeks, I will review 10 books which all Royal History Geeks should add to their reading list.

“Divorced, beheaded, died. Divorced, beheaded, survived.”

That’s about the sum of Tudor history I picked up at school. Against the backdrop of a blackboard, a cold classroom and an uninspired teacher, the history of England seemed about as exciting as a wet weekend in Brighton.

But years later I would learn the truth. That I was lucky enough to inhabit an island brimming with a history of drama that even fiction writers would be unable to fabricate. A big part of that realisation begun when, before a long train journey, I purchased a copy of the intrepid ‘Six Wives’ by David Starkey.

Starkey – as many will know – has an academic background. The book is dense with research. But there is not a dry paragraph in this 795-page epic. I have read three collective biographies of the six Tudor Queens. Starkey’s is the most readable. Combining wit and a touch of sass with well-formed sentences and colourful language, the book is as gripping as a thriller.

The early pages follow Katherine of Aragon as she sets sail for a new life in England and marriage to Arthur, Prince of Wales. It takes us through her destitute widowhood and her ultimate triumph upon marriage to the 18-year-old Henry VIII. We explores her active role in government and regency of England before her marriage is doomed by a failure to produce a son, a prickling of the King’s conscience and the rise of Anne Boleyn.

The King’s ‘great matter’ (the divorce of Katherine and marriage to Anne) dominates the next section of the book. Henry’s second Queen emerges as a wily and aggressive manipulator. But Starkey is not without sympathy. He is clear that she is not guilty of the crimes she loses her head for. And, unlike some historians, he is not prepared to let Henry off the hook.

Jane Seymour emerges. Jane Seymour gives birth. Jane Seymour dies. Anne of Cleves and Katherine Howard both give the reader an interesting interlude. The book concludes with Katherine Parr, the canny reformer who published books, kept her head and briefly ruled England.

Starkey has shown great wisdom in the tome’s structure. Implicitly he accepts that each Queen is not equal in significance. Jane Seymour’s legacy is essentially confined to one act of childbirth. Anne of Cleves and Katherine Howard are marginal in their impact. The intellectual Starkey holds a torch for blue stocking Katherine Parr. But it is Katherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn who shaped the character of Henry, his actions as king and the fate of the nation. Together they claim 73% of the book’s content.

Starkey is surely right to devote the bulk of the book to the first two Queen’s. But as a result, the rest of the reigns feel a little like a flash in the pan. But then, this is probably how they felt to contemporaries.

Because of the strong narrative, colourful language and modern colloquialisms, Starkey’s work has attracted criticism from other academics. No doubt some of it is valid – though we must be mindful of the presence of the green-eyed monster. But it is through writing in this accessible and compelling manner that Starkey and others have rescued the stories of Henry’s wives from the doldrums of the classroom. They have inspired documentaries, historical fiction and other popular biographies.

These women played their part in shaping our history. Thanks to books like ‘Six Wives’, a popular appreciation of their significance continues to grow.

Six Wives, the Queens of Henry VIII, is available from Amazon.

However, please consider supporting your local book seller. If you are based in the UK, search for your local book seller at the Book Seller Associations website.

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Unlike my teenage self, I’m not too quick to defend Henry VIII. I used to – perhaps somewhat precociously – try and convince my history teacher that his savage treatment of his wives could be justified by his fear of a ‘war of the roses relapse.’ While I don’t discount this argument entirely, I no longer believe it provides the late king with a blank cheque of justification.

So when it comes to his divorce of Catherine of Aragon, I tend to side with the wronged woman. As I’ve blogged recently, I believe her when she says she entered her marriage to Henry a virgin, the crux of his case to obtain a divorce.

Catherine went to her grave maintaining that she remained both Henry’s true wife and the Queen of England. This has often been deemed to be a sure sign of her grit, determination and noble perseverance. I believe it was all of those things. But it was also a radical display of pride.

I doubt there’s anything Catherine could have done to save herself, but the question I’m really interested in is – could she have cast her pride aside in the interest of saving her only child?

Let’s recap for a minute. Henry and Catherine had just one child who survived infancy, the Princess Mary. Mary, every inch her mother’s daughter, swung firmly behind Catherine and, perhaps in part because of her defiance, was declared illegitimate and unable to inherit once Henry had split from Rome and obtained his divorce.

Mary was robbed of her royal status, separated from Catherine and eventually made to serve her infant sister Elizabeth. She was alienated and demeaned.

The trauma caused the teenager to develop health problems that lasted the rest of her life.

Catherine would ‘commend Mary’ to Henry with her dying breath, but could she actually have done more to protect her?

Let me explain.

There was probably no circumstance in which Henry would rest until he was rid of his first wife, but the humbling of Mary did not have to automatically follow. When couples had their marriages annulled, it was possible that the children of the union could retain their legitimacy if it was deemed that their parents had married in ‘good faith.’ This wasn’t just a theoretical exemption; in 1527, Henry VIII’s sister Margaret had divorced the Earl of Angus and their daughter, the English-resident Lady Margaret Douglas, experienced no change in status. It was a scenario fresh on the Tudor consciousness.

Of course, I cannot prove that Henry would have been prepared to give any ground and it’s certainly conceivable that Anne Boleyn would not have been able to tolerate Mary remaining in the line of succession. But when the King wanted rid of wife number 4 (Anne of Cleves), he showed he was prepared to give her a good deal so long as he ultimately got what he wanted.

Could Catherine not have sensed which way the wind was blowing and entered negotiations? Perhaps she could have looked past her own pride and made her daughter’s legitimacy a condition of her ‘going quietly.’ Mary would still have been displaced in the succession by the birth of children to Anne, but she would have been spared the stain of bastardy and able to maintain her status as a Princess. She would not have been publicly disgraced.

None of this changes that fact that I still believe Catherine was the injured party and Henry was fundamentally to blame for the cruel treatment of Mary. But Catherine is not free from guilt. A parent’s job, both in Tudor times as it is now, is to forsake their own happiness in order to do everything possible for their child. Catherine’s high pride blinded her from her maternal duties and Mary would live with the consequences for the rest of her life.

Okay geeks…what do you think? Have I been way to harsh on Catherine? Have I over-estimated Henry’s capacity to compromise? Would Mary have ever been satisfied with this deal? I want to know what YOU think!

Royal History Geeks

Lockdown must-reads #5: Six Wives, by David Starkey

Could Catherine of Aragon have saved her daughter from illegitimacy?