'Sparkling ... Britain's only Italian queen is brought vividly to life' LINDA PORTER A spellbinding work of history that uncovers the inner lives and work of Maria of Modena and her 'graces', the extraordinary women who practiced art, poetry and politics within the misogyny of the Restoration court.
In 1673, fifteen-year-old Maria d'Este travelled from Italy to marry James, Duke of York, the future King of England and a man twenty-five years her senior. Thrust from a pious life on the path to become a nun, at the debauched court of Charles II she set about recreating the world she'd left behind – a world where women were highly educated, exercised power and celebrated art and artists with concentrated patronage.
The Graces resurrects the life of Maria, later Mary of Modena, and those of the extraordinary young women she surrounded herself with at the Restoration court. From Sarah Jennings, later Sarah Churchill, keen politician and 'favourite' of Queen Anne, to revered poet Anne Finch and founder of legendary literary salon Hortense Mancini, these were women who defied the conventions of their time and the forces of misogyny working against them. The era they lived through would be one of the most tumultuous England had one where parliament would invite a foreign power in the form of William of Orange to invade England, depose its king, and risk thrusting the country back into civil war. What is much less well-known is that within this world existed a world of female friendship, learning and artistic endeavour. The Graces is that story.
How do you solve the problems like Maria's? (Ok, not my best opening, but honestly not my worst, either.) Breeze Barrington looks at the life and patronage of Maria d'Este (later Mary of Modena) in her book The Graces. For the uninitiated, Mary was princess and queen after the English Restoration which followed a slight beheading and then years of no fun. But do you know who was lots of fun? Charles II! You know what they say, you always go for the exact opposite of your ex.
Barrington has a tall order with this book because there is so much going on. The author is mostly focused on resurrecting Maria and highlighting her own talents and how she raised up other women around her. However, you can't tell this story without explaining all the drama around it. There is enough backstabbing at this court to make our most terrible reality shows blush. I don't know how, but Barrington walks the tightrope of staying on message and educating about the time period without losing the reader. Specifically, though, this book is at its best when Barrington takes the time to dig into specific artworks or plays (it is clear Anne Killigrew is her favorite at least in my opinion). I love it when I can tell how passionate the author is about something and that shows through in these sections. I highly recommend it for anyone interested in the period.
(This book was provided as an advance copy by Bloomsbury Books.)
Queen Mary of Modena is usually remembered as the mother of a dubious heir. From the moment her pregnancy was announced in December 1687, mixed emotion swept through Britain. After several miscarriages and infant deaths, there was widespread joy over the prospect of a royal baby. Although Mary and James II and VII’s Catholic faith put them at odds with the majority of their subjects – and with Parliament – many people still believed in divine providence. If the king were to be blessed with a son, who would pip his Protestant sisters and facilitate a Catholic succession, it would be because God willed it. At the same time, mischief was afoot among anti-Catholic factions. As early as March 1688, James’ daughter (and Mary’s stepdaughter), Princess Anne, was casting aspersions on the pregnancy, informing her sister in Holland that ‘there may be foul play’. On the streets, pamphlets declared that the unborn child was not James’, but the papal nuncio’s.
The hysteria that followed the birth was unprecedented. While dozens of leading courtiers witnessed the arrival of James Edward Francis into the world on 10 June 1688, rumours swiftly erupted that the child was an imposter. One story claimed that Mary had birthed a girl who was then swapped for a boy; another that Mary had never been pregnant at all. The common explanation for the baby prince was that he had been smuggled into the birthing room via a warming pan, so that it merely appeared as though Mary had borne a son. In the vulnerable postpartum period, Mary had to recover from the birth amid stifling suspicion that she’d plotted to fake a son.