Mary I is rarely allowed her proper title. She is either Mary Tudor, as if we cannot admit we ever had a Catholic Queen, or the ‘Bloody Mary’ of Whig history. Here she is, at last, Mary I, but in a biography that calls to mind the girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead. Where it is good it is very, very good, and where it is bad it is…just that.
Having John Edwards as the biographer of Mary I was an imaginative choice for Yale’s ‘monarchy’ series. He is an expert on the Spanish Inquisition, and has written a study of Mary’s maternal grandparents Ferdinand and Isabella. Edwards has set her life within its European context better than any of her biographers thus far. It is therefore worth persisting through those parts of Mary’s life that appear to hold little interest for him.
Edwards opens not with Mary’s birth but with that of her mother, Katherine of Aragon. He gives space not only to describing Mary’s childhood education, but also the background of her Christianised Jewish tutor Juan Luis Vives. More conventionally he writes, at time movingly, about Mary’s relationship with her father, Henry VIII. This is especially true of 1536 when Henry forced Mary, on pain of death, to accept that she was the bastard product of an incestuous union, and he the Pope in England.
The ‘curl’ in this biography appears with the reign of Mary’s half brother Edward VI. The startling assertion that a King who died aged fifteen had spent the last ‘years of his life’ working to exclude his ‘step-sisters’ from the succession could be a slip of the pen. But it looks lazy when we are told Edward VI’s chosen successor, Lady Jane Grey, is known as ‘the nine days wonder’. Only Eric Ives’s biography of Jane links her to that phrase. Ives believes Jane was the rightful Queen, and that the sobriquet by which she is remembered, the ‘nine days Queen’, trivialises her reign as a ‘nine days wonder’.
Edwards goes on to describe Jane on the day she was proclaimed, July 10th 1553, dressed in Tudor green. He associates this with the writings of the papal official Giovanni Francesco Commendone. In fact it come from a different Italian source quoted in Richard Davey’s 1909 biography of Jane. I have argued elsewhere it is a fraud created to supply a physical description of Jane, something history has otherwise denied us. What was described in 1553 was Jane’s mother Frances, (Henry VIII’s niece, described by Edwards as his great niece) carrying her train.
Edwards has fallen for another of my personal bugbears: the sexist myth that Jane was a victim of Frances’s cruelty. The sixteenth century offers only two pieces of ‘evidence’ to support this. Both were written years after the events they describe and are contradicted by evidence that is either contemporary, or nearly so. As with the creation of ‘Bloody Mary’, Frances’s cruelty is part of a later, largely Whig tradition, in which Frances is the Wicked Queen to Jane’s Snow White. In reality Frances was obliged to sacrifice her place in line of succession for her daughter, as Margaret Beaufort did for Henry VII.
‘All looked sweet for the new Protestant Queen’, Edwards tells us in a phrase that could turn a delicate stomach. But things soon go wrong for Jane, if not in the way Edwards describes. He claims that on July 18th, the penultimate day of Jane’s reign, her own Council announced rewards for the capture of her father in law and general, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. This would be remarkable if true. But Edwards has got confused with the announcements of Mary’s unofficial Council. Few historians are going to produce a book without mistakes. I certainly haven’t. But my trust in Edwards was left dented by such errors. He describes it as ‘intriguing’ that Sir Henry Dudley, who conspired with the French against Queen Mary in 1556, was, the following year, in the English army that Mary’s husband, Philip of Spain, took to the continent. Has Edwards confused him with Northumberland’s youngest son, Lord Henry Dudley, destined to die on that campaign? His presence would not be intriguing at all. Philip had long since encouraged Mary to pardon Lord Henry and his brothers for their roles in 1553.
With Mary’s reign underway there is, however, a great deal to enjoy and learn from Edwards. If he repeats old myths about Jane, he confronts many of those that persist about Mary. Far from being the backward looking, vengeful, politically inept woman of tradition, Mary is revealed as decisive, astute, pragmatic and – at first – both merciful and populist. There is no evading Mary’s responsibility for the burnings of Protestants after 1555. It is however, explained in its historical and contemporary context. I was fascinated by Edwards’ revelation of Spanish influence on the burnings and by his sketch of what was happening in Europe. Pope Paul IV had declared Mary’s husband Philip a heretic just as increasing numbers were being burned for heresy under their auspices in England.
Philip is rarely fleshed out in biographies of Mary. He is here. Many of the Spanish documents for this period are lost, but Edwards is brilliant with what material there is. Indeed I wish Edwards had written a dual biography of Mary and Philip as King and Queen of England. As it is this an often interesting, but flawed portrait of the woman who remains our most controversial Queen.