I never really fell for Shakespeare's Richard that way, though I always did love that scene with Anne (Shakespeare's portrayal of Stanley, however, still makes my blood absolutely boil - I could appreciate Evil!Richard, but how could he make Stanley into a hero? how?).
Ooh, fifteenth-century queens sounds like fun. All of Europe, or just England (which does, in all fairness, have a goodly number on offer)? This sounds like the sort of thing I really enjoyed studying at university (I had a lot of fun with an essay on medieval concepts of queenship, as illustrated by the way different chroniclers wrote about Eleanor of Aquitaine. You couldn't always find out much about Eleanor by reading them, but you sure as hell could find out what the chroniclers thought she *ought* to have been like...).
(which is probably my way of saying that if you ever want a reasonably educated layperson to read through your dissertation, I would jump at the opportunity)
(actually, it's also my way of saying that I do hope you write Elizabeth Woodville into some fiction sometime, because I'd really love to see your take on her. Or was it you who wrote that rather brilliant piece about her and Henry VII for Yuletide last year?).
Yuletide fic?? No, that wasn't me, but I definitely want to read it! I did write a piece for the femgenficathon last year about the Duchess of York, where Elizabeth makes a brief appearance, and mirabehn wrote a gorgeous Elizabeth story for me that's posted on thisengland.
I could appreciate Evil!Richard, but how could he make Stanley into a hero? how?
Oh, Stanley. Yes. There's this ballad, at least partly commissioned by the Stanley family, that casts Stanley as the hero of Bosworth Field, with super-sekrit help from Elizabeth of York -- it's actually online at the Richard III Society website and I giggled my way through it the first time. My Grand Plan, should anyone ever be crazy enough to let me direct Richard III, is to cast Stanley as a woman and claim it was all Margaret Beaufort. Which is was, all things considered.
I had a lot of fun with an essay on medieval concepts of queenship, as illustrated by the way different chroniclers wrote about Eleanor of Aquitaine. You couldn't always find out much about Eleanor by reading them, but you sure as hell could find out what the chroniclers thought she *ought* to have been like...
Oh, boy, do you! I am sticking to England for the most part, although a few others creep in as examples here and there. And that's more or less what I'm looking at -- how a lot of writers don't seem to know what to do with a politically active queen, and how they compensate for that.
I'd forgotten about that ballad - I did read it back in my mad Ricardian days (the summer between year eleven and year twelve I spent every single weekday in the state library reading and taking notes on every single book they had at 942.046 and surrounds, for a 10,000-word essay I was writing on the Titulus Regius. The ballad was one of the things I read, and I do hope I still have my notes somewhere, because I was most indignant).
Really, even with my rather patchy knowledge of the 15th century, it seems to me that between Margaret of Anjou (?), Katherine of France, and Elizabeth Woodville you have some wonderfully controversial and politically active (or at least, prone to actions with serious political consequences) English queens to work with.
Are you looking at the historical queens, then, or their literary portrayals (which is a bit of a silly question, come to think of it - the way most chroniclers write, everything is a literary portrayal, but you know what I mean, I think)?
Hee, I just sort of snickered all the way through because it was so obviously written by a Stanley adherent.
Well, Margaret of Anjou was definitely very politically active -- with Elizabeth, there's less in the way of direct evidence, but there's a lot of implication that's difficult to separate from propaganda. Katherine of France, though, had very little influence. That being said, there was this rather adorable moment I ran across in a chronicle that described Henry's coronation in France when he was still small enough to sit on his mother's lap during the procession.
I'm looking at both types of portrayals side by side, basically to show that they're drawing on the same narratives and doing different things with them. But there really is very little to choose between 'historical' and 'literary' sources in this period.
I suppose I think of Katherine as being influential indirectly, because she did go off and marry Tudor (I'm sorry, I don't recall how he actually spelled his name at that point), thus creating some interesting political problems for later...
But there really is very little to choose between 'historical' and 'literary' sources in this period.
And that right there is why I studied medieval history in the first place... I love that the chroniclers are not even trying to be objective, and that nobody expects them to be because that isn't the point of the exercise. It's all storytelling (generally with a moral thrown in - I do like the bit when one of the chroniclers is so pleased with Sibylla of Jerusalem because 'she kept her crown for her husband and her husband for herself', even though her husband was an absolute disaster as king...).
That is a good point, although what's fascinating about sixteenth-century sources in particular is that they completely subvert Katherine's influence at that point and literally change the subject to how wonderful Tudor is. All the time -- even Shakespeare does it by not mentioning Katherine or Tudor at all in any of the Henry VI plays, or in the epilogue to Henry V.
::snerk:: Yes, obey one's husband at all costs. Even if he's an awful king. I'm having a lot of fun teasing out narratives from chronicles that are obviously based on stereotypical/literary antecedents.
Sibylla's story (maybe you know it?) certainly sounds like a tale - in brief, she became queen of Jerusalem when her brother died young of leprosy, but none of the lords in Jerusalem liked her husband (he was a de Lusignan, need I say more?), and they basically forced her to annul the marriage. She made a big fuss over this, as you do, and eventually managed to make them give her a solemn oath that if she divorced Guy, she would get to choose who she married next and they would all accept him as a king.
And then she waited until the Saracens were just about at the gates and they were all getting desperate and begging her to choose a husband, and at the last possible moment she turned around and chose Guy de Lusignan to be her new husband, and they had to wear it...
As I said, he was a disaster as king, but the chronicler thought she had acted both virtuously and discreetly (of course, the chroniclers also had a bit of trouble separating the notion of personal goodness and effectiveness as a king, if I recall correctly, so in that respect they were somewhat even-handed). But it reminds me very strongly of all those fairy tales where the hero promises something which means more than he intends it to, or where the hero escapes by finding the loophole in the promise...
Ah, yes! One of my random interests is the Kingdom of Jerusalem, although I only know the crazy bits for now (Sybilla is included amongst them). Plus I've had a semi-dormant project involving the Mélusine legend, and therefore the House of Lusignan. They're a fun crowd, aren't they?
It wouldn't surprise me if there was a fairy-tale antecedent for at least part of what happened to her. A similar legend sprung up around Mary, Henry VIII's sister -- she married the rather ancient Louis XII, but extracted a promise from her brother that when he died, she could marry whoever she pleased. Which is almost certainly inaccurate -- sadly -- but a fun thought all the same.
I'd forgotten about Mary! I have run across that story, though only in novels (since she wasn't a major historical interest of mine). Hadn't thought of it as a parallel, though.
The thing with Sibylla is that when I first read it the story was so damn familiar, but I've never quite tracked down the fairy-tale or ballad I know it from (actually, my first thought at the time was that it was from myth, probably greek, because the familiarity went back to my early childhood which was when I was reading every myth or legend I could get my hands on).
All this lovely gossip about medieval people is making me want to go to the state library and read chronicles, any chronicles. Or failing that, read all my Sharon Penman books again (speaking of people who don't seem to like the de Lusignans very much).
You're right about the Lusignans, and I'm trying to figure out why, except perhaps that they were generally grasping and often incompetent...actually, I could see why people don't like them. Although Dorothy Dunnett does some interesting things with two of the later Lusignan siblings who fought over the throne of Cyprus in the late fifteenth century.
Hadn't thought of it as a parallel, though.
I only do because I'm looking for them, really. The language about women in the medieval period is fairly limited, so descriptions and tropes are recycled all the time.
I just reread The Sunne in Splendour a few weeks ago and was struck by how much the supporting characters had shaped my views of specific fifteenth-century people, and am just waiting for my Amazon gift card so I can get Devil's Brood.
Weren't the de Lusignans also rather fond of feuding and plotting and generally being underhanded murdering bastards, though? Mind you, my view of many of these characters is also shaped very much by Penman's novels, so I may be being unfair...
The Sunne in Splendour was the book that started my Richard III obsession. I don't know how many times I read it, but I do recall that in year 12 my friends used to like opening it and reading a random sentence to see if I could tell them exactly what was happening in the book at that point... and I always could... (my record was being able to extrapolate from a single word, although that word was a name, and a character who only appeared in one chapter, so that was sort of cheating really). I didn't realise Devil's Brood was out in paperback yet - maybe I'll use some of my Rudd-money to buy it, when that arrives...
Yes, the Lusignans were fond of feuding and generally irritating both the French and the English, which is rather impressive now that I think about it.
Hee, I read Sunne for the first time when I was maybe fourteen or fifteen and was hooked from the start. I still remember large sections of it -- why, o brain, can't you remember useful things? I don't know if Devil's Brood is out in paperback yet, but Amazon had a reasonable price for the hardcover, so I'm just going to pick it up now and save myself the suspense. I meant to buy it ages ago, but kept having other things I needed instead
Sadly, the main part I have memorised from Sunne is that awful blurb, which my little brother used to like reading aloud and throbbing accents to annoy me (my mother was convinced that it must be 'trash' because it had gold lettering on the front)... I wept absolute buckets over the last part of that book (especially when Anne realises she has consumption and that it is contagious, so she can't even touch Richard any more), and, actually, over most of Penman's books. Though these days, actually, I think my favourite of hers is When Christ and His Saints Slept. There's something about that one that just feels spot-on, and I do think she is very, very good at writing convincing relationships between historical characters based on the texts available.
Mercutio was my 14-year-old crush, and I still remember just about all his lines, so perhaps that is the age when the brain imprints most readily? Since then, most of the things that stuck are epigrams and epitaphs (I especially liked those of Henry II and Empress-but-not-quite-queen Matilda).
I encountered Sunne at sixteen, if I recall correctly. People I went to school with still flinch if anyone mentions Richard III in my presence (or worse, asks a question about him), because they all heard far, far, FAR too much about him at the time, and even now once I start on the topic of the Wars of the Roses I find it hard to stop...
Can I say, by the way how much I am loving this conversation? I haven't had a good gossip about the Plantagenets and their temporal compatriots in ages.
People I went to school with still flinch if anyone mentions Richard III in my presence (or worse, asks a question about him), because they all heard far, far, FAR too much about him at the time, and even now once I start on the topic of the Wars of the Roses I find it hard to stop...
::giggles:: Me too. My entire family has been forced to hear about the Wars of the Roses for years now, especially since I can justify it with my dissertation. I remember giving my father a lecture on the Princes in the Tower when we visited the Tower of London for the first time (I was sixteen). There was a lot of eye-rolling.
I am always up for geeking out over Plantagenets! :)
Was that story about Mary? I'd vaguely remembered it as being about the Empress Matilda. Now you mention it though, it does ring a bell. Oh well ... go back beyond 1800 or so and my historical knowledge gets sadly sketchy. :)
Surprise ending there for me with Richard calling the Doctor and Jack to pick up the Princes, but an effective surprise, definitely! The Doctor's reaction was just spot on. Although I have to ask: what on earth did Jack do to hide two medieval princelings in modern-day Cardiff? :)
I never really fell for Shakespeare's Richard that way, though I always did love that scene with Anne (Shakespeare's portrayal of Stanley, however, still makes my blood absolutely boil - I could appreciate Evil!Richard, but how could he make Stanley into a hero? how?).
Ooh, fifteenth-century queens sounds like fun. All of Europe, or just England (which does, in all fairness, have a goodly number on offer)? This sounds like the sort of thing I really enjoyed studying at university (I had a lot of fun with an essay on medieval concepts of queenship, as illustrated by the way different chroniclers wrote about Eleanor of Aquitaine. You couldn't always find out much about Eleanor by reading them, but you sure as hell could find out what the chroniclers thought she *ought* to have been like...).
(which is probably my way of saying that if you ever want a reasonably educated layperson to read through your dissertation, I would jump at the opportunity)
(actually, it's also my way of saying that I do hope you write Elizabeth Woodville into some fiction sometime, because I'd really love to see your take on her. Or was it you who wrote that rather brilliant piece about her and Henry VII for Yuletide last year?).
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I could appreciate Evil!Richard, but how could he make Stanley into a hero? how?
Oh, Stanley. Yes. There's this ballad, at least partly commissioned by the Stanley family, that casts Stanley as the hero of Bosworth Field, with super-sekrit help from Elizabeth of York -- it's actually online at the Richard III Society website and I giggled my way through it the first time. My Grand Plan, should anyone ever be crazy enough to let me direct Richard III, is to cast Stanley as a woman and claim it was all Margaret Beaufort. Which is was, all things considered.
I had a lot of fun with an essay on medieval concepts of queenship, as illustrated by the way different chroniclers wrote about Eleanor of Aquitaine. You couldn't always find out much about Eleanor by reading them, but you sure as hell could find out what the chroniclers thought she *ought* to have been like...
Oh, boy, do you! I am sticking to England for the most part, although a few others creep in as examples here and there. And that's more or less what I'm looking at -- how a lot of writers don't seem to know what to do with a politically active queen, and how they compensate for that.
Reply
Really, even with my rather patchy knowledge of the 15th century, it seems to me that between Margaret of Anjou (?), Katherine of France, and Elizabeth Woodville you have some wonderfully controversial and politically active (or at least, prone to actions with serious political consequences) English queens to work with.
Are you looking at the historical queens, then, or their literary portrayals (which is a bit of a silly question, come to think of it - the way most chroniclers write, everything is a literary portrayal, but you know what I mean, I think)?
Reply
Well, Margaret of Anjou was definitely very politically active -- with Elizabeth, there's less in the way of direct evidence, but there's a lot of implication that's difficult to separate from propaganda. Katherine of France, though, had very little influence. That being said, there was this rather adorable moment I ran across in a chronicle that described Henry's coronation in France when he was still small enough to sit on his mother's lap during the procession.
I'm looking at both types of portrayals side by side, basically to show that they're drawing on the same narratives and doing different things with them. But there really is very little to choose between 'historical' and 'literary' sources in this period.
Reply
But there really is very little to choose between 'historical' and 'literary' sources in this period.
And that right there is why I studied medieval history in the first place... I love that the chroniclers are not even trying to be objective, and that nobody expects them to be because that isn't the point of the exercise. It's all storytelling (generally with a moral thrown in - I do like the bit when one of the chroniclers is so pleased with Sibylla of Jerusalem because 'she kept her crown for her husband and her husband for herself', even though her husband was an absolute disaster as king...).
Reply
::snerk:: Yes, obey one's husband at all costs. Even if he's an awful king. I'm having a lot of fun teasing out narratives from chronicles that are obviously based on stereotypical/literary antecedents.
Reply
And then she waited until the Saracens were just about at the gates and they were all getting desperate and begging her to choose a husband, and at the last possible moment she turned around and chose Guy de Lusignan to be her new husband, and they had to wear it...
As I said, he was a disaster as king, but the chronicler thought she had acted both virtuously and discreetly (of course, the chroniclers also had a bit of trouble separating the notion of personal goodness and effectiveness as a king, if I recall correctly, so in that respect they were somewhat even-handed). But it reminds me very strongly of all those fairy tales where the hero promises something which means more than he intends it to, or where the hero escapes by finding the loophole in the promise...
Reply
It wouldn't surprise me if there was a fairy-tale antecedent for at least part of what happened to her. A similar legend sprung up around Mary, Henry VIII's sister -- she married the rather ancient Louis XII, but extracted a promise from her brother that when he died, she could marry whoever she pleased. Which is almost certainly inaccurate -- sadly -- but a fun thought all the same.
Reply
I'd forgotten about Mary! I have run across that story, though only in novels (since she wasn't a major historical interest of mine). Hadn't thought of it as a parallel, though.
The thing with Sibylla is that when I first read it the story was so damn familiar, but I've never quite tracked down the fairy-tale or ballad I know it from (actually, my first thought at the time was that it was from myth, probably greek, because the familiarity went back to my early childhood which was when I was reading every myth or legend I could get my hands on).
All this lovely gossip about medieval people is making me want to go to the state library and read chronicles, any chronicles. Or failing that, read all my Sharon Penman books again (speaking of people who don't seem to like the de Lusignans very much).
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Hadn't thought of it as a parallel, though.
I only do because I'm looking for them, really. The language about women in the medieval period is fairly limited, so descriptions and tropes are recycled all the time.
I just reread The Sunne in Splendour a few weeks ago and was struck by how much the supporting characters had shaped my views of specific fifteenth-century people, and am just waiting for my Amazon gift card so I can get Devil's Brood.
Reply
The Sunne in Splendour was the book that started my Richard III obsession. I don't know how many times I read it, but I do recall that in year 12 my friends used to like opening it and reading a random sentence to see if I could tell them exactly what was happening in the book at that point... and I always could... (my record was being able to extrapolate from a single word, although that word was a name, and a character who only appeared in one chapter, so that was sort of cheating really). I didn't realise Devil's Brood was out in paperback yet - maybe I'll use some of my Rudd-money to buy it, when that arrives...
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Hee, I read Sunne for the first time when I was maybe fourteen or fifteen and was hooked from the start. I still remember large sections of it -- why, o brain, can't you remember useful things? I don't know if Devil's Brood is out in paperback yet, but Amazon had a reasonable price for the hardcover, so I'm just going to pick it up now and save myself the suspense. I meant to buy it ages ago, but kept having other things I needed instead
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Mercutio was my 14-year-old crush, and I still remember just about all his lines, so perhaps that is the age when the brain imprints most readily? Since then, most of the things that stuck are epigrams and epitaphs (I especially liked those of Henry II and Empress-but-not-quite-queen Matilda).
I encountered Sunne at sixteen, if I recall correctly. People I went to school with still flinch if anyone mentions Richard III in my presence (or worse, asks a question about him), because they all heard far, far, FAR too much about him at the time, and even now once I start on the topic of the Wars of the Roses I find it hard to stop...
Can I say, by the way how much I am loving this conversation? I haven't had a good gossip about the Plantagenets and their temporal compatriots in ages.
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::giggles:: Me too. My entire family has been forced to hear about the Wars of the Roses for years now, especially since I can justify it with my dissertation. I remember giving my father a lecture on the Princes in the Tower when we visited the Tower of London for the first time (I was sixteen). There was a lot of eye-rolling.
I am always up for geeking out over Plantagenets! :)
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Surprise ending there for me with Richard calling the Doctor and Jack to pick up the Princes, but an effective surprise, definitely! The Doctor's reaction was just spot on. Although I have to ask: what on earth did Jack do to hide two medieval princelings in modern-day Cardiff? :)
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That is a very good question. I somehow don't think the Doctor ever thought to wonder. ;)
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