The Merry Monarch's Wife (39 page)

Bibliography

Aubrey, William Hickman Smith
The National and Domestic History of England

Bryant, Arthur
King Charles II

Burnet, Bishop
History of His Own Time

Clark, Sir George
The Later Stuarts 1660–1714

Cunningham, Peter
The Story of Nell Gwyn

Dasent, Arthur Irin
The Private Life of Charles II

Evelyn, John
Diaries of Evelyn Pepys, Clarendon and Other Contemporary Writers

Green, Mary Anne Everett
Lives of the Princesses of England

Guizot, M. (translated by Robert Black)
History of France

Hume, David
History of England

Loth, David
Royal Charles, Ruler and Rake

Lyon, Rev. C.J.
Personal History of Charles II

Macaulay, Lord
The History of England

Montague, F.C.
Political History of England

Nicoll, Allardyce
A History of English Drama
(1660–1700)

Pepys, Samuel
Diary and Correspondence
Edited by Wheatley, Henry B.

Senior, Dorothy
The Gay King

Stevens, Sir Leslie and Lee, Sir Sidney
The Dictionary of National Biography

Strickland, Agnes
Lives of the Queens of England

Wade, John
British History

Reader's Group Guide

ABOUT THIS BOOK

CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA
was raised during a tumultuous time in Portugal. Although her father was called King Juan IV, the Pope (due to pressure from Spain) refused to recognize him as anything other than a duke. Looking for an advantageous political alliance, Catherine's mother, Donna Luiza, sets her sights on the English throne. Even when Oliver Cromwell takes power in England, Donna Luiza does not lose hope in marrying Catherine to the young Prince Charles, and when Charles is restored to England's throne, marriage negotiations begin immediately.

Catherine's marriage, like so many royal marriages, is arranged out of strategy, yet Catherine and Charles begin their lives happily together. As a Catholic, she is not trusted by the people—they believe she will convert Charles, just as his brother James had been converted by their mother. Catherine spends her marriage as Queen in name, yet is sadly unable to keep her merry husband King in her bed. Her inability to produce an heir, despite the fact that all of Charles's mistresses have healthy boys, sets the people of England and the court strongly against her. Charles, however, remains faithful to Catherine by never divorcing her, not even to legitimize at least one of his “bastard” sons.

Outliving her husband and witnessing the brief reign of James II before the co-regents, William and Mary, overthrow the Catholic king, Catherine returns to Portugal as her life comes full circle.

The questions in this guide are intended as a framework for your group's discussion of
The Merry Monarch's Wife
.

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

1. Religion plays an important part in this novel. There is very little tension between Charles and Catherine over religion, yet Catherine's Catholicism matters deeply to the people of England. Why was religion so important?

2. Charles has many children out of wedlock, the most famous being James Crofts, the Duke of Monmouth. Why is Charles so indulgent of Jemmy? Do you believe that he was behind any of the plots to murder Charles? Why does Charles never legitimize him?

3. While still in Portugal, Donna Maria tells Catherine on The Long Betrothal “The King cannot come here and you cannot go into a strange country as an unmarried woman.” If this was the case, how was it that Catherine went to England unmarried?

4. Charles says to Catherine at the beginning of their marriage, “You are completely unworldly. You reason like a child.” (The Awakening) Is this true? How does Catherine change by the end of the novel?

5. Charles famously dislikes conflict. On Queen in Danger Catherine states, “I knew how he hated trouble, how his great desire was to live a life of comfort and pleasure.” Do you believe that this is the reason he stayed married to Catherine, or did he really love her?

6. Donna Luiza's advice to Catherine regarding Lady Castlemaine is simple: “You should treat her as though she does not exist.” Does Catherine follow her mother's advice? What would you do in that situation?

7. Buckingham says to Catherine: “You have at least one good and faithful servant—your noble Master of Horse. I'll warrant he is always ready at hand to give good service to his mistress.” (The Master of Horse) After this statement, Edward Montague is dismissed from his service as Master of Horse. Were you surprised by this, as Catherine was? Does it seem fair that Charles is allowed his mistresses yet Catherine cannot have a male friend?

8. Frances Stuart was a chaste and innocent girl who loved to play the house of cards game. What, if anything, do you think this game signifies?

9. Charles is referred to as “merry” throughout the novel. What does that word mean to you? Do you think Plaidy portrays him as a “merry monarch”?

10. Charles had two mistresses who were both important at the same time in his life, Louise de Keroualle and Nell Gwynne. Discuss their differences and similarities.

11. Who was Captain Blood? Discuss his plot to steal the Crown Jewels. Why did Charles find this so amusing?

12. Discuss the importance of having an heir. Catherine was dismayed when she was unable to have a healthy child, and it further tarnished her reputation with the people of England. Lady Castlemaine, Nell Gwynne, Louise de Keroualle, and Lucy Walter all had sons. How would you feel if you were Catherine? What would you do in her situation?

13. Why was James unable to keep the throne? Do you believe he would have had the people's love, support, and protection had he been Protestant?

14. After the kindness that Catherine shows Mary as a young girl, how did you feel about the way Mary treated Catherine when she and William take the throne? Lord Feversham says, “Queen Mary is very angry…. She says a closer watch should be kept on you because she doubts your loyalty to King William and herself.” (William and Mary)

15. There is a quote from Charles that begins the book and then appears in the last chapter:

But when I consider the truth of her heart

Such an innocent passion, so kind, without art

I fear I have wronged her, and hope she may be

So full of true love to be jealous of me

O then 'tis I think no joys are above

The pleasures of love.

Do you think this was written for Catherine? Discuss.

An Excerpt from
THE QUEEN'S DEVOTION

EARLY DAYS

THERE HAVE BEEN TWO PEOPLE IN MY LIFE WHOM I HAVE
loved beyond all others, and it has always weighed heavily upon me that I was called upon to decide between them and, in choosing one, I betrayed the other. I did what my heart, my faith, my sense of duty dictated, and ever since I have suffered from the torment of knowing of the pain I inflicted and from which I myself will suffer to the end of my days.

I want to go right back to the beginning, to project myself into the past, to see it more clearly than I could when it was happening. I want to ask myself: what should I have done?

I was born in St. James's Palace at a time when my birth was of little interest to any except my parents, for a most significant event was taking place. My uncle, King Charles, recently restored to his throne after more than ten years' exile, was about to marry the Infanta of Portugal—an event which generated great excitement and expectation throughout the country. In any case, I was only a girl, and fifteen months after my birth, a boy was born to my parents, a fact which robbed my birth of any importance it might have had.

In the beginning the world was a wonderful place; the days were full of sunshine; I was surrounded by people who loved me and, being cherished by all, I was led to believe that the world had been created for my pleasure.

The best times of all were when my parents visited us. Everyone was so respectful to them that I quickly realized how important they were. My mother would take me up into her arms. She was like a big soft cushion into which I could sink with a feeling of cozy security. She would caress me, murmur words of love to me, and pop a sweetmeat into my mouth and show me in a hundred ways how much she loved me. But the most important of all was my father. When he came into the nursery crying: “Where is my little daughter? Where is the Lady Mary?” I would stagger or toddle and later run to him, and he would pick me up and set me on his shoulder so that I could look down on everything from my lofty perch. I loved all those around me but no one so much as I loved my father.

Once I heard someone say: “The Duke loves the little Mary beyond all others.”

I never forgot that and I used to say it to myself when I was in my bed alone. I would listen for his coming; and often in later years, when I was haunted by memories of the fate which had overtaken him, I would recall those days and, sickened with doubts and self-reproaches, I would contemplate the part I had played in his tragedy.

How often then did I sigh for those days of my youthful innocence, when I thought the world a beautiful place in which I should be happy forever.

When he visited us he would not let me out of his sight. I remember an occasion when he even received some of his officers to discuss some naval matter and he kept me there with him. He was Lord High Admiral of England then and I remember his seating me on the table while he talked to them; and, to please him, I know now, the men commented on the extraordinary intelligence, vitality and charm of his daughter—and how delighted he was.

Sometimes it is difficult to know whether I really remember certain incidents from those days or whether they were talked of so frequently that I convince myself I do.

There is a miniature of me painted by Nechscher, a Flemish artist of whom my father thought highly. I am holding a black rabbit. They told me how my father used to join us at the sittings and watch me fondly while the artist was working. In my mind's eye I can see him clearly, but was I really aware of him at the time?

There are some days which I do remember and I can be certain of this. I was nearly three years old. It was cold, for it was the month of February. I knew something important was taking place. Snatches of overheard conversations came to me.

“I hope the Duke and Duchess will get what they want this time.”

“Well, I don't know. The boys are sickly and I reckon he wouldn't change the Lady Mary for all the boys in Christendom.”

When my father came to see me, after the usual rapturous greeting, he said: “You will be happy to hear, my daughter, that you have a little sister.”

I remember my bewilderment. A little sister? I already had a little brother. There were always nurses around him and he did not mean a great deal to me.

“She will join you here,” went on my father, “and you will love her, dearly.”

“You love her?” I asked.

I must have shown my father that I feared she might supplant me in his affections, for he gave me a smile of immediate understanding.

“I love her,” he said. “But whoever came, it would always be the Lady Mary who had first place in my heart.”

Excitement followed. Young as I was, I was to stand as sponsor for my sister; and Anne Scot, the Duchess of Buccleugh, was to be the other. Later I learned that this honor had been bestowed on her because she had recently married my cousin Jemmy, who had become the Duke of Monmouth.

I certainly remember that occasion well. It was presided over by Gilbert Sheldon, who was the Archbishop of Canterbury at the time, a very stern and formidable man of whom I should have been very much in awe but for the presence of my powerful father who would never be stern with me, or allow anyone else to be.

The new baby was christened Anne, after our mother, and in due course she joined the nursery at Twickenham.

         

THE HOUSE IN TWICKENHAM
belonged to my grandfather—my mother's father, the Earl of Clarendon. He was a very important man, I realized, though I saw him rarely. There was another grandfather, whose name was always spoken in hushed whispers because he was dead, and when I was very young indeed I knew there had been something very shocking about his death.

Some people called him The Martyr. Later I learned that he had been king and that wicked men had cut off his head. I shivered every time I rode past that spot in Whitehall where they had performed this dreadful deed.

I was growing very fond of the new baby. My sister Anne was a placid child. She rarely cried and smiled readily. She was always eager for her food and everyone was delighted because of this. I was with her a great deal, and thought of her as my baby. She seemed to like me to sit near her cradle. She gripped my finger in her dimpled hand so tightly when I held it out to her and I found that endearing.

And then suddenly the peace of Twickenham was shattered. There was commotion everywhere; people were running back and forth, all talking at once. I had to find out what was wrong.

Then I heard that one of the maids had been found dead in her bed. There was no mystery as to how this had happened. It seemed they had thought we were safe at Twickenham, but the dreaded plague which had been sweeping through London had reached us here.

“The Plague!” Those words were on everybody's lips.

My parents arrived. I was caught up in my father's arms. Anne and my brother were examined by our mother. My father did the same to me.

“Praise be to God!” he cried. “Mary is well. And Anne and the boy?”

“All is well,” said my mother.

“There is no time to be lost. We must leave at once.”

The next thing I remember is riding away from Twickenham and on to York.

         

I WAS HAPPY IN YORK.
The time sped by. We saw our parents more often there, although my father was absent now and then for long spells which seemed intolerable. The Fleet was at that time stationed on the East Coast and he was often with it.

There was war as well as plague. We knew little of that in York until we heard of the glorious victories not only off the coast of Lowestoft but also at Solebay.

These names sent a glow of pride in me for years after because my father was always mentioned in connection with them. He had been in charge of the Fleet which had beaten our wicked enemies, the Dutch. I loved to hear of his successes. I only regretted that he had to go so far away from us to do these wonderful deeds.

I heard one of the attendants say: “These victories will bring a little comfort, and the Lord knows, we need it in these terrible times.”

I had heard only a little of the scourge which was sweeping through the country and devastating the capital. All it meant to me was that we had had to leave in a hurry for York, where I saw more of my parents than I had in Twickenham. It was only after that I heard accounts of the red crosses on the doors with the words “God have Mercy on us,” which meant that there was plague in the house. I did not hear until much later of the macabre death carts which roamed the streets, and the dismal cry of “Bring out your dead,” and how the bodies which were piled into those carts were taken to pits outside the city walls where they were hastily buried.

It was much later when I heard of the terrible tragedy which had followed the plague year, when London faced another monumental catastrophe and was almost completely destroyed by fire.

And when I did hear in lurid detail of the horrors of those burning buildings, of weeping, homeless people, of the crafts on the river into which they crowded with as many of their belongings as they could hope to save, my thoughts were dominated by two men, the brothers who had gone out unceremoniously into the streets, wigless, short sleeves rolled up, sweat streaming from their faces while they gave instructions and supervised the blowing up of buildings to make gaps and so stop the fire spreading further. For those two men were the King and my father, his brother, the Duke of York.

He was a hero, my clever, wonderful father. He had saved the country from the Dutch at Lowestoft and Solebay as he had helped to save London from that all-consuming fire.

Of course, I learned all this later. In the meantime I was kept in my cocoon of safety.

The memories of York were of days of great happiness, broken only by occasional clouds when my father disappeared for a while. Then I heard that his absences would be even longer, because the King had summoned him to attend Parliament, which was now held in Oxford, because of the state of the capital.

Then my dismay was great, but he consoled me by saying he would come to see me whenever he could.

“When you are older, I will tell you all about it,” he said. “Now all you have to do is wait and as soon as I am free I shall be here to see my little Lady Mary.”

“I will come with you to Oxford,” I said hopefully.

“Ah! What a pleasure that would be!” he replied, smiling. “But, alas, there is no place for little girls in the King's Parliament. But one day…soon…we shall all be together…your little brother, your little sister, your mother…the whole family of York.”

It was a long time before we were.

And so I was growing up. There were times when I was vaguely aware of trouble. My grandfather Clarendon suddenly disappeared from the scene. We had never seen a great deal of him, but it seemed strange when his name ceased to be mentioned. I knew he had been very important and Lord Chancellor and a friend of the King and my father, having been with them when they were in exile. He was my mother's father, so it seemed strange that we should stop speaking of him.

I did hear someone say that he was lucky to have escaped to exile before he lost his head. There was enough against him to bring about his downfall, and his continual carping at the King's way of life meant that even that long-suffering monarch was eager to be rid of him.

I was bemused by these scraps of gossip which I tried hard to understand. I had one grandfather who had lost his head; and here was another who, it appeared, had escaped in time before being deprived of his.

I knew my mother was deeply affected by his departure and I believed my father was, too.

But when they were with us, they were always their affectionate selves. I think my sister Anne was my mother's favorite, though Anne did not resemble her at all except in looks. I had heard it said: “The Lady Mary is Stuart from head to toe. The Lady Anne is a Hyde.” I was tall and at that age slender, dark-haired with rather long almond-shaped eyes. Anne was always plump; her hair was light brown with a reddish tinge in it. I was pale; she was rosy. She would have been very pretty but for a slight deformity of the eyes. Her lids were contracted a little which gave her a rather vague look. It had affected her sight in some way.

Anne was very good-natured, rarely cross and fundamentally lazy. She did not like trouble of any sort and, in her sunny, good-natured way, she made a very good job of avoiding it. When she was tired of doing something, and as we grew older that particularly meant lessons, she made the excuse that her eyes hurt.

We were very happy together in those days. She laughed at me for wanting to learn about everything.

“You do it, sister,” she would say, “and then you can tell me all about it.”

I quickly realized that my mother was reckoned to be clever. It was true that she often decided what was to be done. My father used to say: “You are right, of course, my dear.” She was very friendly with a great number of the serious people at court. I had heard the King refer to her as “my serious-minded, clever sister-in-law.” I was rather surprised that she should have doted so fondly on Anne, who had little to say and refused to learn. Their only common interest seemed to be their love of sweet foods. Many times I had seen them sitting close, a dish of sweetmeats between them, and they would be eating all the time.

There was an occasion when the physicians pointed out that my sister was growing unhealthily fat and could damage her health if she did not give up the habit of consuming sweetmeats at every opportunity.

My mother was frightened. Perhaps she blamed herself for allowing her daughter to share her own weakness. In any case, Anne was sent away for a while with one of my mother's ladies. She was to be watchful of what Anne ate and my mother could trust her friends to keep a sharper eye on my sister in a different house than in her own, for there she suspected that her friends would give way to her pleadings for more of the sweetmeats she loved so much.