I've noticed that very few people in my life give a rat's ass about Mary Queen of Scots. Or Lady Jane Grey. Or Edwards I through VIII for that matter. I have a stupendous love in my life at the moment but he doesn't care one lick about any European royalty, past or present. Why do I care so much about the British Royal Family? Why do I find myself lying awake at night perplexed about the sexual orientation of Richard the Lionheart? Or babbling liberally to strangers about the complexities of accession after Henry VIII? I just adore it all and simply can't get enough.
When asked to attend the play "Mary Stuart" currently on Broadway by the one person in my life who may care as much about this rubbish as myself (she happens to have written an incredible but hard to find book on a related topic called "Industry of Devotion"), I jumped at the chance. I am not, I repeat not, a theater enthusiast. Goofy would be how I might describe most plays I've seen. The subject matter was certainly something that interested me, though, and the play was getting great reviews.
Seeing this play, originally penned by Schiller, was also a great excuse to finally read a biography of this one of many Mary's in English history, to wit: "Mary Queen of Scots: Politics, Passion and a Kingdom Lost" by Jenny Wormald. Besides the kick-ass title, I was drawn to this particular book based on the excellent reviews it was getting on Amazon and that everyone seemed to agree this was a less romanticized version of the tragic monarch's life. Thus commenced my early June of politics, passion and plays.
The book:
Really very good. Great, in fact. The life and reign of Mary Stuart (aka Queen of Scots) is a fascinating story that deserves dramatization on the cable networks as much as that of Henry VIII (sexism on Showtime is a post for another time, though). She was Queen of Scotland by the second week of her life. Her mother, Marie de Guise, was a powerhouse and political tactician that ran Scotland as regent for almost two decades. Mary spent most of her youth in France and, thanks to her mother's political expertise, married the heir to the French throne (the Dauphin if you're snooty), Francis II. Two years after Francis ascended to the throne (when his father, King Henri, was killed by a lance that pierced him through the eye!), during which time Mary Stuart was Queen of France and Scotland and laid claim to the English throne, poor Francis became ill and died. He was only 17 at the time and very sickly (something to do with undescended testicles! I swear! I'm not making this up!). Upon returning to Scotland, no longer Queen of France, Mary began what was to be a pathetic and lackluster reign. She didn't care about Scotland or being its Queen. Mary was just another Francophile who, for some reason, insisted she was entitled the throne of England.
The story gets pretty complex from there (cousins and uncles and illegitimate siblings screwing each other over for a little power and religious oppression). Suffice is to say that Mary had her second husband killed and then married the guy who executed the murderous plot. She then proceeded to plot against Elizabeth I from prison and was, probably justifiably, beheaded for it. It really doesn't get more powerfully dramatic than the ill-fated and misguided life of Mary Stuart. The only consolation to this waste of a monarch, is that her son, James I, went on to rule both England and Scotland - a unified rule that has, much to the chagrin of most Scots, lasted ever since. Jenny Wormald tells this tale impeccably and I could not tear my thoughts away from 16th century Britain for the duration of the read.
The play:
If you like drama and yelling in British accents then you'd love this play. It was pouring rain on the stage. Inside the theater! The costumes were incredible. What I wouldn't give to strap myself into one of those Elizabethan gowns (just for a minute). As suspected, however, there was little historical explanation of the circumstances and Mary Stuart was, as usual, painted as a martyr and Elizabeth as a tortured and crabby bitch. Oh well, it was quite entertaining anyway and the production (rain, costumes, acting, etc.) was incredible. Although, I'll never understand why plays and movies and the like become alternate versions of reality when the truth, be it the life of Elizabeth or Henry or Ann Boleyn or Mary Stuart, was dramatic enough.