Edward VIII, A Soap Opera of a Reign 17/11/2009

Portrait of King Edward VIII, 1936

Edward VIII was on the throne for less than a year. It was all he needed to undermine the prestige of the Victorian monarchy. He abdicated right before World War II in favour of a sadomasochist relationship. His father, George V, had already predicted it: ‘After I am dead, the boy will ruin himself within 12 months’^[1]. He happened to be wrong, for Edward managed to do so in only eleven months. Nevertheless, nobody could imagine, back on the 28^th of January 1936, that George V ‘s burial would be the last splendorous occasion of the British Empire.

Back then, England was indisputably the world’s first nation, her immense empire spawning half of the planet. Its monarchy was universally respected and admired. But as the cortège in the procession to George’s Lying in State in Westminster Hall turned into New Palace Yard, the diamond cross on the Imperial State Crown fell from on top of the coffin, landing in the gutter.

Although the English are not particularly superstitious, it was impossible not to see it as a bad omen. If we think about it, World War II was just a few years away, which saw England losing both its spot as a top nation and its Empire. As far as the prestige of the British monarchy, it wouldn’t last as long. As George V had foreseen, Edward would destroy it in less than a year.

His funeral proceedings were surrounded by the majesty that the Royal family projected. The widow, Queen Mary, dignity flowing from her rigorous black figure; the monarch’s four dashing sons escorting the casket, impeccable in their military uniforms… They were, despite everything, like sinister characters of a Shakespearean drama: their presence can only end up in tragedy. Queen Mary, first of all, so imposing… too imposing. They say that she had never kissed her children, perhaps resenting the fact that her marriage had been a ‘hand-me-down’ affair. She had been engaged to George’s eldest brother, but when her fiancée died from syphilis, he was substituted by George.

The affection deficit in which the Royal children grew up goes far to explain their sickly character. The first born suffered from a clear sexual sadomasochist deviation, which turned him into a slave of the first woman who abused him. Bertie, who would succeed Edward as George VI, was pathologically shy, so much so that he couldn’t help stuttering every time he faced an audience. He chain-smoked and would die from lung cancer aged 56. With regards to the youngest one, Prince George, Duke of Kent, he was simply fascinated by brown shirts and swastikas; he would perish in 1942 during a mysterious flight. Rumour has it that he was headed for Sweden in order to break a deal with Hitler.

There is a last macabre detail surrounding the funeral of the virtuous, dutiful King. His death after a long-lasting illness, on the 20^th of January, had been caused by a lethal injection, an overdose of cocaine and morphine administered -supposedly, on Queen Mary’s authorisation- by the Royal doctor, Lord Dawson of Penn. It was not a case of euthanasia in order to ease a dying man’s suffering so much as the need of controlling the time of his demise: in order to be able to be announced by The Times, the respectable newspaper, it had to take place before midnight. Otherwise it would only make it on the evening newspapers, of a more yellow journalism. Reasons of state went above everything, right up to the end.

We can nowadays interpret all those circumstances as bad omens, but 30 years ago public opinion received the new reign with optimism. Edward was the image of the ‘modern’ monarch, somebody who would bring in fresh air. Aside from the small circle of people who knew him well –back then the royals’ private lives were not under the press’ scrutiny–, it made sense the British public thought that way. Edward, who was really known as David, had been a perfect Prince of Wales. Handsome, kind, lacking the stiffness of the Victorian Royalty but always dressed extremely elegantly, showing off like nobody else his military uniform or the suits which were designed for him –the Prince of Wales check– he had benefited from the development of the press: he was one of those people the camera falls in love with.

He was the most photographed person in the world, and he always came out well in pictures. Despite the fact that television did not exist yet, he appeared constantly in cinematographic news clips attending official events, competing in several sports, enjoying  himself in happy parties… He always conveyed friendliness, charisma and savoir faire. Chroniclers referred to as the man every man wanted to be and whom every woman wanted to marry, the pre-war David Beckham. One of his charms was his boyish face: he looked younger than he was. Perhaps that was the reason why the nation was unaware of the new King’s serious flaw.

He was already 42 and hadn’t married yet. The first dynastic obligation of a monarch is to ensure legitimate descendants. At the time of accessing the throne Edward should have already been married for 20 years and fathered several children. But the Prince of Wales had expressed himself as opposed to the marriage institution as in favour of enjoying the company of married women. At 23 he had taken his first official lover, Freda Birkin^[2], wife of the Right Honorable William Dudley Ward and later of the Spanish Pedro José Isidro Manuel Ricardo Mones, Marqués de Casa Maury. It was a long-lasting relationship, which started as lovers and evolved to confidantes.

In the letters the Prince used to write to Freda, which have been published, one can already detect disturbing character traits. Many of them are written in a grotesque style imitating the half-language of small children, but what their content is tremendous. The Prince of Wales wishes to die young, is afraid of going crazy and suffers from anorexia. His next adulterous relationship tied him to Lady Thelma Furness, an American socialite, amongst whose lovers was the Aga Khan. Through her he met the woman which would destroy his career, Wallis Simpson, an adventurer whose first husband had sexually educated her in a Chinese brothel. Wallis realised at first sight that the Prince was an eager masochist; she abused him and turned him into her puppet. The public was completely unaware of this. When a palace servant found Edward on his knees varnishing Wallis’ toes as if he was her lady-in-waiting, he didn’t sell the exclusive story to the tabloids, as he would nowadays. Instead he requested a leave of absence, because he couldn’t stand seeing his sovereign posing as a sexual slave. The King George V, though, was totally aware of what was going on, since he had ordered the secret service to keep an eye on Wallis.

Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson

‘I pray to God my eldest son will never marry and have children’^[1], George V even went to say, foreseeing what was to come. He turned out to be right, as Edward’s project was to marry Wallis Simpson as soon as she could divorce her second husband. The political cataclysm caused by the intentions of the new King was enormous. What Edward VIII pretended was utterly inconceivable in the British reality of the time. According to dynastic law, the simple fact of not having royal blood invalidated Wallis to marry the King. On top of that she was divorced, which automatically meant Anglican Church veto, of which Edward himself was the head. To make matters worse, she had a terrible social record.

The country’s forces, headed by Stanley Baldwin, the Prime Minister, opposed to the royal whim. It was fine if the King wanted to keep her as a lover -after all almost all were so inclined. But in order to allow the wedding to take place the King would have to give up his crown. All of this took place under secret cover, since the British press at the time had a sense of national responsibility which did not allow to publish anything like that, such was the discredit for the Crown.

On the other hand, U.S. newspapers had zoned in on what an American journalist called ‘the best story since Jesus Christ’s resurrection’. But the world was not globalised yet: the U.S. belonged to suburbia, while the British nation was blissfully oblivious. Finally, on the 3^rd of December 1936, when the abdication was clearly inevitable, the British press published the constitutional scandal. On the 11^th of December, in a castle called Fort York King Edward VIII met with his three brothers in order to resign. They signed all the necessary documents for his abdication and transfer of the Crown to poor Bertie, from then onwards George VI. After that, His Royal Highness –he was no longer His Royal Majesty– read a message to the nation through the microphones of the BBC, explaining his reasons for such an embarrassing retirement. The discourse had been written for him by Churchill, who, just for the sake of going against the grain, had supported Edward VIII. It had been 10 months and 21 days of the time period forecasted by George VI for his son to ruin his life.

'London Herald': Edward VIII Abdicates

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[1] Ziegler, Philip (1990), King Edward VIII: The Official Biography, London: Collins, p. 199, ISBN 0-002-15741-1 (Translator’s note).

[2] Born Winifred May, she was universally known by her first married name as Freda Dudley Ward. (T.’s note).

Translated from “Eduardo VIII, un reinado de culebrón”, by Luis Reyes. Published by ‘Tiempo’ on 30.01.2006. Available in http://www.historiarte.net/articulos/art021.html (last accessed 10.11.2009).

Bloody Queen 10/11/2009

Portrait of Mary Tudor, 1516

Mary Tudor (1516-1558) was the main character of one of the bloodiest periods in English history. Hammer of heretics, she re-instated Catholicism in her kingdom, prosecuting Protestants mercilessly, filling the Tower of London with prisoners and ordering the execution of hundreds of Calvinists. The atmosphere of terror and fanaticism she created earned her the nickname of ‘Bloody Mary’.

Mary Tudor, or Bloody Mary, Queen of England, was born in 1516. Her mother was Catherine of Aragon, the Spanish Catholic Kings’ daughter, and her father was the famous Henry VIII. In 1533 Henry managed to have the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, declare his marriage to Catherine null and void, causing England to plunge into a break with Rome and the creation of an Anglican Church at the following year. Mary’s parents’ divorce had two direct consequences: she lost her place in the succession line, and the court increased the pressure for her to abandon Catholicism. The latter would mean that she had to accept the fact that her parents’ marriage had taken place against God’s law. As a result, she spent her youth as a recluse, under a permanent state of vigilance and threat, defending her mother’s memory. During this period she turned to Catholicism as her only salvation, in the middle of an environment of ever-growing heresy and hostility towards her person. Without a doubt, the only thing which saved her from a physical elimination (plotted more than once by her enemies) was the sympathy of some sectors of the English aristocracy. They were not inclined to the implementation of Protestantism, but they were also fearful of the reaction of Mary’s powerful cousin Charles V.

When Henry VIII died in 1547 the crown fell upon his son, Mary’s step-brother[sic], Edward VI, under whose ruling Protestantism kept on spreading, leading to the destruction of imagery and other repressive measures taken against Catholics. This earned the young ruler Calvin’s effusive congratulations. During his reign, Mary lived in a golden reclusive state but suffering from several illnesses, which eventually became chronic ailments. Despite having been dispossessed of the title of Princess of Wales, she occupied the second place in the succession line, something she had managed to achieve three years earlier, right after having been reconciled with her father, thanks to, in part, the intervention of one of his wives, Jane Seymour, who had been Catherine of Aragon’s lady-in-waiting. When tuberculosis killed the childless Edward VI, Mary gained access to the throne. She had to face a Protestant conspiracy, but she managed to suppress it due to the popular support London’s citizens gave her.

At long last, at 37, she became Queen of England. She felt that it was time to put things back the way they should, and this went through restoring Catholicism. To start with, she did not hesitate in executing the head of the Protestant conspiracy, the Duque of Northumberland, together with two of his accomplices. A few days later she restored Latin masses, and excluded married priests. Catholic bishops had their positions restored at the expense of their Protestant counterparts -several of them were actually sent to prison. Among the latter was Cranmer, who was interned in the Tower of London, accused of having participated in the conspiracy plot.

Despite being able to carry out these changes, Mary was aware of the fact that she had to get married urgently and provide offspring if she wanted to be successful in her implementation of Catholicism and to thwart her enemies’ plans. It was the only thing she could do in order to push her Protestant step-sister Elizabeth out of the accession line completely. Nevertheless, this was not an easy task. Mary was already of an age and she had lost her youth and the beauty which, according to some, she had had in the past. Apparently, and given her preference to sweets, she had barely any teeth, although without a doubt she was in possession of other positive aspects, like an exquisite formal education and an undoubtedly resilient character forged in the face of adversity.

Mary accepted Charles V’s proposal to marry his son Philip just a month after she was crowned. Philip was 11 years her junior and recently widowed. Her powerful cousin was evidently a good catch: a young and handsome man, a perfect support in her determination to defend the throne from Protestant ambitions. All of this also coincided with the Emperor’s interests, who aimed to unite the territories of Flanders, Bourgogne and England under a common flag, so as to be able to better defend his continental possessions from French coveting. On his part, though, the young Philip was in the least interested in marrying Mary, but he agreed to it as an order being given by his father, as well as a necessary state mission: to produce an heir for the crowns of Flanders and England.

As expected, the Protestant factions firmly opposed themselves to the wedding, encouraged and supported by the French agents who were weary of what the wedding might bring about. Especially fearful of the Spaniard were all those nobles who had enriched themselves with the expropriation of ecclesiastical properties. Having said that, all their attempts at dethroning Mary failed, and several noblemen, among them the Duque of Suffolk, ended up on the gallows of the sinister Tower of London. Undoubtedly, this managed to convince the English Parliament to finally approve the wedding. Despite their agreement, matrimonial surrenders were very strict and established, among other dispositions, that were Mary to die childless, her husband lose any right to the throne. While negotiations were taking place, the Queen requested a portrait of her future husband. She was sent one signed by Titian; legend says that she fell in love with Philip upon seeing it.

The wedding finally took place in June 1554. A few weeks earlier Mary had had to suppress yet another Protestant revolt. People were not prepared to allow her to marry the ‘Demon of the South’, as the Spanish prince was known. She ordered the execution of all its leaders. It was becoming more and more obvious that as long as heresy had a place in England she would never be safe in the throne. For his part the groom, conscious both of his state role and of the hornets’ nest he was walking into, made efforts to please the English: he brought with him a million ducats in cash to give away, he drank stout, took part in a tournament in which he fell to the ground and he even managed to mumble a couple of sentences in English. His behaviour greatly pleased the English. He presented his bride with magnificent precious stones, which she wore on their wedding day. Mary was seen to be happy and the chronicles state that, after their wedding, both spouses devoted themselves intently to the task of producing the longed-for heir.

Catholicism was restored officially in November 1554. This meant going back to Roman obedience, which the English Parliament would endorse in January of the following year.  At the same time, and in order to pacify the nobility, it was announced that no expropriated lands would be reclaimed by the Catholic Church -only the assets which had gone to the Crown would be returned. Despite these concessions, Mary, feeling strengthened by her marriage, perhaps moved by revenge and determined to defend her throne, devoted herself in earnest to prosecute Protestants. After successfully achieving Parliament to restore anti-heresy laws in December of the same year, she devoted herself completely in her purifying task.

The few arrests were carried out in January 1555. The first person to be executed was canon John Rogers, a married priest, for not retracting his predicament. It was the 4th of February. John Hooper, bishop of Gloucester, followed him. Years before he had not avoided telling whoever he pleased that every single Catholic priest should be drowned. He was not drowned but burnt alive at the following month, right in front of his own Cathedral. Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, followed next. He was an example of a convert and fanatic in any situation: years earlier, behaving as the perfect Catholic, he had not hesitated to send to the stake all of those who refused the dogma of transubstantiation. After converting to Protestantism, he had done the same to all of those who stood by it. Later on Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley, bishops of Worcester and London respectively, were also sentenced for refusing to retract from their beliefs, despite being tortured. Another victim was John Philpott, archdeacon of Westminster. It goes without saying that several thousands more were imprisoned for having been found in possession of heretical writings. All of those who showed compassion or sympathy for the executed ones were arrested.

Curiously enough, Philip tried to placate the harshness of Mary’s prosecutions, in contrast to how, years later and once a king, he would behave in Flanders and Spain. Through his confessor he sent messages to Catholic bishops advising them benevolence and tolerance. His goal was to earn the sympathy of his new subjects, whether Catholic or Protestant, and an excessive repressive rigour was not in his best interests. Of all his arrangements, one was particularly significant: he managed to convince Mary to free his sister-in-law Elizabeth, who was imprisoned in the Tower of London accused of conspiracy. Months later, his pleas were decisive for her not to be imprisoned again, or for her to be pushed out of the succession line. The truth is that, despite the founded misgivings she felt towards her step-sister, Mary was incapable of refusing any petition coming from her husband, for whom she felt a blind love. Who was to tell the future Philip II that he had possibly saved the life and position in the throne of a woman who in time would become one of his most bitter enemies!

With retrospect, the Queen’s harsh treatment of Protestants cannot be understood without taking into account her enormous frustration for not being able to get pregnant. In a serious case of wishful thinking, at one point the miserable Mary was convinced that she was expecting a child: she did not menstruate, had a swollen belly, suffered from fainting spells, felt generally unwell and she could swear that she could feel the fetus move. It was even announced that the longed-for heir would be born in April 1555. She was so convinced of it that she used to spend hours sitting on the floor with her knees pressed against each other in order to help accelerate the birth, while at the same time she had her sister Elizabeth knit clothes for the future baby. But alas, the date arrived and the Queen’s belly deflated. Some Catholic fanatics, like Bonner, bishop of London, attributed the let down to a divine punishment for not having been more assertive against Protestants. Mary’s reaction to this was an immediate re-doubling of their prosecution. For years it was thought that she suffered psychological pregnancies caused by a presumed hysterical nature, but nowadays we know the true cause: she had an enormous tumor in her ovaries, which was slowly and painfully killing her. Meanwhile her husband, disillusioned by the lack of heirs and tired of a marriage of convenience, slowly started to get further away from her, finding shelter in the arms of young ladies-in-waiting. After a while, with the excuse of the Emperor’s abdication, he flew to Flanders in August 1555. This only increased the despair and sadness of a woman who found herself lonelier every day: her husband did not correspond her love, the son she so longed for did not arrive and she was surrounded by conspiratorial heretics.

When, after having been away for a year, Philip, already King of Spain, went back to England in March 1557, he only did so in order to request men and money for his war against France. Mary waited for him by the Greenwich docks, carefully made up and wearing a brand new dress for the occasion. Contrary to what her husband felt, she still believed in the possibility of having a child. She devoted herself earnestly to the task of procreation.

After spending four months with her, and having secured the help of the English, Philip II returned to Flanders in order to direct the war against France. His wife, crying a river, kissed him farewell asking him to return soon. A song has survived from such an emotional moment: ‘Gentle Prince of Spain / Come, oh, come again…’ ^[1]

They never saw each other again. Either out of desperation or madness, a few weeks later Mary sent him a messenger reassuring him she was with child. Philip II did not believe it and sent the Duke of Feria^[2] to verify that claim. The latter denied the rumour explaining that it was caused by the fact that the Queen found herself sadder and sicker by the day. She spent all day praying for the son which would never arrive and for her husband’s health, to whom she sent love letters on a daily basis, and to which he replied using cold and formal sentences. Thus, month after month, barely leaving her chamber, Mary languished. The only thing helping her soothe the aches in her body and soul was laudanum, which she took while staring ceaselessly at her beloved’s portrait next to her bed. The upsetting news of the loss of Calais at the hands of the French, the last of England’s stands in the Continent, worsened her illness. She only recovered slightly weeks before her death, coinciding with the arrival of Philip II’s confessor. He was there in order to make sure that Mary would nominate her sister Elizabeth as heiress, since the king used saw his sister-in-law as the best of the worst, and even considered the possibility of marrying her. Poor Mary thought that her husband’s arrival would follow shortly the priest’s, going through a feeble recovery for a few days, but after a while, disillusioned, she broke down again. She died in November 1558, aged 42.

All in all, from January 1555 until right before her death Mary sent to the stake to 283 Protestants, 51 of which were women. Many others who died while imprisoned. A few thousands had to go on exile and despite the fact that initially the Queen let them be, her progressive radicalization took her to send spies overseas. The orders were to murder the most prominent dissidents. Interestingly, though, despite several prelates losing their lives, not a single nobleman was executed. In fact, the vast majority of her victims were humble people who had enthusiastically or fanatically devoted themselves to the new faith, which meant that her prosecution created a deep solidarity towards the victims. Both her cruel repression, and the loss of Calais had discredited Mary and provoked, after her death, the fall of the Catholic structure she had helped re-build. England was never to be Catholic again, but the horror of the religious prosecution she created left such a deep imprint in just four years that, when she died the opposite religious prosecution caused relatively few executions: under Protestant rule since 1535, including Henry VIII’s reign, until 1679, only 379 people were executed on religious grounds, a proportionately small number if we compare it to the amount of people Mary ordered to be executed. She was given the nickname of Bloody Mary, although nowadays it only remains as a reference to the delicious cocktail based on tomato juice.

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[1] ‘The Lamentable Complaint of Queen Mary for the Unkind Departure of King Philip, in Whose Absence She Fell Sick, and Died’
The tune is ‘Crimson Velvet’. Available in http://www.archive.org/stream/earlyenglishpoet15perc/earlyenglishpoet15perc_djvu.txt

Mary doth complain;

Ladies, be jou moved
With my lamentations

And my bitter moans:
Philip King of Spain,

Whom in heart I loved,
From his royal queen

Unkindly now is gone.
Upon my bed I lie,
Sick and like to die:

Help me, ladies, to lament!
For in heart I bear,
He loves a lady dear

Better can his love content.
Oh Philip! most unkind,
Bear not such a mind,

To leave the daughter of a king:
Gentle Prince of Spain,
Come, oh come again,

And sweet content to thee I’ll bring.

(Translator’s note).

[2] Gomes III Suárez de Figueroa y Córdoba was at the time V Count of Feria (1552–1567); it was not until 1567 that he was created Duke of Feria by King Philip II of Spain (1567–1571). (T.’s note)

———- Translated from “La reina sanguinaria”, by Juan Carlos Losada. Published in El País on 16.10.2005. Available in http://www.elpais.com/articulo/portada/reina/sanguinaria/elpeputec/20051016elpepspor_9/Tes (last accessed 10.11.2009)