Category Archives: Elizabeth I

Early Modern Carnival!

This month, I’m proud to be hosting the Early Modern Carnivalesque here at Harlots, Harpies and Harridans. Nominations have been filtering in all month, with some really interesting posts for you.

As a huge bibliophile, I was pleased to see a number of bookish posts. Starting off with a pair of posts from Anchora on A1 pages (the page in an Early Modern book before the title page). The first post is fascinating and full of wonderful photographs of early books, including some beautiful engravings and illustrations. In a second post on the subject, Anchora-author Adam G. Hooks has some lovely owner’s marks in the form of notes and underscoring in an early seventeenth century book. The book was written by Robert Cecil (councillor to Elizabeth I and James VI & I) and was written in the wake of the Gunpowder Plot (1605). This post is also full of photographs, including some excellent examples of secretary hand from the period.

Elizabeth I's secretary hand signature

Over at Wynken de Worde, there’s a fascinating post about the arguments around digitising historic texts. There are some valuable contributions in the comments too so remember to read them! Despite my love for physical books (I am a hobby bookbinder after all), I am definitely on the side of digitisation, even if only for the accessibility. The Wynken de Worde post goes far beyond the accessibility argument and provides a highly convincing case for digitisation.

The next post, from the Folger Shakespeare Library is not only a great account of the wealth of new information old documents can provide but also features some excellent examples of digitised texts (in this case photographic reproductions), as if we needed to add further weight to the argument in favour. The deeds photographed are from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and feature some beautiful secretary hand writing.

Some of the submissions took a darker tone, in particular concerning one of the Early Modern period’s favourite forms of popular spectacle: executions. Executed Today has an interesting post on one of Henry VIII’s early executions in 1510 (before he really got into the swing of things!). Henry had acceded the previous year and won himself a big popularity boost by executing Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley. Both men were prominent councillors to Henry’s father but were also focuses for popular discontent over the old king’s taxes. Dudley tried to win Henry’s favour by writing a treatise in favour of absolute monarchy, in the hope of a pardon, but was to be disappointed. His son John would go on to become the Duke of Northumberland before meeting the same fate as his father. John’s son Robert Dudley, who became the Earl of Leicester, was Elizabeth I’s Master of the Horse and life long favourite.

Execution of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland

While poor old Edmund Dudley was beheaded on Tower Hill, our next post, over at The Chirurgeons Apprentice looks at hanging, the preferred method of execution towards the end of the Early Modern period. It features a fascinating account of a public hanging in England in 1726, written by a Frenchman and goes on to look at this rather gruesome method of execution in general.

Finally, we have a look at the Hapsbugs’ unwitting attempts to end their line through in-breeding in this post about Charles II of Spain. The Hasburgs, keen to preserve the purity of their bloodline, had an unfortunate habit of marrying their cousins. This was not immediately problematic but generation after generation, problems started to appear. Charles II (1661-1700) suffered from multiple physical and emotional disabilities which may well have been the result of centuries of inbreeding (Charles’s parents were uncle and niece which made Charles’s father also his great-uncle). His disabilities were obvious from birth and he was not expected to survive. He did and suceeded to the throne but was an ineffective king. He had no children of his own and his death in 1700, a few days short of his 39th birthday, sparked the War of the Spanish Succession (1701-14).

Charles II of Spain

I hope you’ve enjoyed this selection of recent Early Modern blogging. The next Carnival is the medieval edition and will be hosted by She-Wolf next month and the next Early Modern edition will be in November at Anchora which has been featured here. Huge thanks to Sharon of Carnivalesque for letting me host this month!

The Queen Who Survived

Portrait of Catherine Parr, 1545

Portrait of Catherine Parr, 1545

Yesterday marked the 463rd anniversary of Catherine Parr’s death. She was the last of Henry VIII’s wives, although he also predeceased Anne of Cleves. Catherine had been married twice before she became queen in 1542 and married for a fourth time, making her the most married queen of England, only six months after Henry’s death (considered indecently quick at the time).

Her fourth husband was Sir Thomas Seymour, brother to Henry’s third wife Jane. By 1547 she had been dutifully married and widowed three times and now, finally, married where she chose. She was pregnant less than a year after her marriage (although she had no children from previous marriages). Her joy was short-lived, though, as her ambitious husband pursued her step-daughter and charge, Lady Elizabeth (the future Elizabeth I). Catherine caught the two in an embrace and banished Elizabeth from her house.

On 30 August 1548, Catherine gave birth to a daughter, named Mary, at Sudeley Castle, a property given to Thomas Seymour by hi nephew Edward VI. Catherine contracted puerpal fever and died only six days after the birth. Thomas was executed for treason a little over six months later, leaving their daughter an orphan. Sadly, Mary disappears from the historical record after her second birthday and it is likely that she too died not long after.

Catherine is buried in he chapel at Sudeley Castle.

Sudeley Chapel

Catherine Parr's tomb in the chapel at Sudeley

Tomb in the chapel at Sudeley

Catherine Parr's tomb at the chapel at Sudeley

Monument closer

More courses

Painted reputed to be of Lucrezia Borgia

Lucrezia Borgia

It’s that time again already. The University of Edinburgh’s Open Studies programme for 2011-12 is available and recruitig.

This year I am teaching Harlots, Harpies and Harridans, my course on infamous women. We’ll look at various women with bad reputations, such as Isabella of France and Marie Antoinette and consider why they have the reputations they do. This is always proved to be a fun class with lots of discussion and ideas, and a few laughs along the way.

In January, I’m teaching The Tudors. The course covers the end of the Wars of the Roses and goes right through to the death of Elizabeth I in 1603. The Tudor monarchs and their intimates are always fascinating and they are particularly popular at the moment. The course will show my students that the truth is far more interesting than the Tudor fictions which abound at the moment.

On this day…

On 9 August 1588, Elizabeth I gave the following speech to her troops at Tilbury, over looking the Thames. England was braced for invasion as the Spanish Armada approached.

My loving people,

We have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit our selves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I assure you I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear, I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good-will of my subjects; and therefore I am come amongst you, as you see, at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live and die amongst you all; to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and my people, my honour and my blood, even in the dust.

I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which rather than any dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will take up arms, I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field.

I know already, for your forwardness you have deserved rewards and crowns; and We do assure you in the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid you. In the mean time, my lieutenant general shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject; not doubting but by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over those enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people.

Elizabeth I

Portrait commemorating the defeat of the Spanish Armada