Saturday, April 07, 2012

The First Wife, The First Queen.

**I have read every book and watched every movie/series out there on English and French history esp the periods between 14th and 18th centuries! as to Tudor history, I'm obsessed with it!! This was written by hand on the back of a shopping bag just after I saw a hoarding for 'The Tudors' TV series! The idea was to write on behalf of all the 6 queens, however that moment passed by so quickly, I will probably have to wait until I am next gripped by the ghosts!**


Dear Holy Father,
I am to die today. I know it. I can feel it. My body has given up. My spirit is giving up. My mind is a refuse-heap of memories. Mostly of Mary. My daughter. My darling child. I have not seen her for years, it seems like ages. The King refuses to grant mercy. I hear, he is growing tired of that whore. I know that somewhere he still loves him. I have been his wife for almost two decades. His wife and Queen of England. Even now. They call me the Queen of Hearts. Yet, they, my beautiful people, know not that my heart is broken. Stamped all over. Anne gloats in my misery and she hesitates no more to say that she wished I would die. Yes, die I will, but with me a part of England dies too. And a part of Henry. I know. She has yet to bear him a son. There have been so many after Elizabeth, yet none survive. In a way, Anne and I share the same fate. That of dying heir-less. But at least I have people praying for me, sympathising with me, trying to help me in the little ways they can. They say, on their coronation day, there were no crowds. No shouts of 'Long live the Queen', nor flowers strewn from windows and roofs. None like the body of people thronging to have a glimpse of me, to ask for my blessing, to pray for me. But it takes a lot more to be a true Queen, a lot more than flirting and seducing and fucking. It takes courage. They say, Henry lies no more with her. They also say, that she is called the King;s Whore. This then is God's doing. The Lord, God, knows I was wronged. Yet, it is not in my nature to curse her, nor to wish for revenge. It is all in His hands. I wish the King would just come to see me, once, only once, just for a moment and kiss me on the forehead. Even if he did not speak to me, even if he stood at a distance, even if he did nothing, just stood there. I have loved him truly and rightfully, as a true wife should. Yet he detests me. He declared Mary a bastard. And all because of Anne. A common wench. Did I not say to him, I would recognize her a Mistress and even put her children in line for the throne? Did I not say to him, that I would let him spend every hour of the day with her, as long as I was still on the Throne next to him. As long as at Mass, they took my name with his? But what blinded him so much? He annulled my marriage to him. He says his conscience cannot comprehend the fact that he actually married his brother's wife, that he committed such a grievous sin? After almost two decades of being husband and wife, of sharing the same bed, of parenting the same child, he says to me - 'You are no more my Queen'? He insults the Pope by breaking away from His Flock and creating his own church. Is this not a sin, then? He has erred. He has been tricked. He had just wandered off the right path. But why will he not see reason? He says there is none. I was shooed off the palace without a farewell by him. I was so repulsive to him that he chose to get it done in his absence. My people howled in grief to see me go. They fell on their knees and begged me to not go. But how could I stay there one moment longer, when their King had forsaken me? And yet, I forgive him. In my heart of hearts, I forgive him. He has and will always be 'My Henry, My King, My Lord'. There was a time when he would untangle himself out of her arms and come running to me, when he heard I was unwell. Just that was a comfort in itself. The thought. The act of him still being worried enough to enquire about my health. For I am the mother of his child. And yet what is it now that has made him turn his face away from me? He will not grant the expenses of my household, he will not wear the shirts I sew for him, he will not attend the Mass I have organised in his name. And he refuses to see me in my final hour? The only solace I have is I will be gone from this world as his Queen, as his lawful Wife, as the True Queen of England. That is the only solace. And forgive him, I still do. Amen.


Reference: Henry VIII and Catherine D'Aragon.

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