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Elizabeth I, lovely and powerful, ruled Britannia for 45 years … alone. What was the story with Miss On-her-own, never-let-a-man-fight-her-for-her-throne*? What was behind her choice to remain single? Theories have abounded for centuries.

Theory 1: She saw how well marriage worked out for her mother and stepmothers. Anne Boleyn was so crazy about Henry VIII she lost her head over him. Jane Seymour was simply dying to be Henry’s wife. Anne of Cleves was out-and-out unfriended (for a while). Kitty Howard? Separated from the few brain cells she had in no time.  

Theory 2: Being a wife had to equal being a mom, and that wasn’t always ideal. It killed Jane Seymour, and was a common cause of death for young women at that time. Plus, a male child would immediately upstage the queen, males being superior and all. Liz was not about to take that lying down, for her ego as well as for her security on the throne.

Theory 3: Marrying a foreign gent was a potential political minefield, in the 16th century religious climate. Liz kept her religious preferences to herself, and putting a preference out there by marrying a Protestant (Reformer) or a Catholic would unwisely open up a can of worms.

Theory 4: Marrying any gent meant he would have a leg up on her (again, males being superior and all). As you could imagine, that was not an option for our ginger lady.

Theory 5: The right guy never came along. Well, many people believe that the closest that Liz came to The One was Robert Dudley. He was already married, though, so that was terribly inconvenient. Even if he weren’t, see Theories 1, 2, and 4.

* apologies to Kelly Clarkson

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While the Elizabethan era is all about, well, Queen Elizabeth I, we can certainly say that William Shakespeare is nearly synonymous with the time period as well.  The prolific playwright from Stratford-upon-Avon showed up on the London theatre radar in the 1590s, and acted in his own plays quite often. Ironically, while we quote the man endlessly and praise him for such masterpieces as “Othello,” “Macbeth,” “The Merchant of Venice, ” and ”Romeo and Juliet,” he basically plagarized the majority of his plots and ideas from others.  

Shakespeare was a not-so-subtle part of the Tudor propaganda machine (and for good reason, because to insult the queen and her gang would have meant curtains for Will). In his productions, monarchs were chosen by God, Catholics were portrayed negatively, and Liz I’s ancestors were a force to be reckoned with and respected. After the queen’s death, Will kept the beat alive with “Henry VIII.” Unfortunately, it was during a 1613 performance of this play that a special effect lit fire to the Globe Theatre and burned the whole thing down.  

We often envision Richard III as an evil hunchback because the Bard painted him as such. But there is no proof he was deformed in any way. And remember that Liz’s grandpa, Henry VII, saved the day by killing the king and taking the crown for his own, something Will wove into Elizabethan theatre as well. Nothing like your enemy reduced to pathetically bleating “my kingdom for a horse!” to make your own dynasty shine like a new penny.

By the late 1500s, England was in its glory at last. Shakespeare kept the country on its newly-mounted pedestal by buttering up the queen, having fun with the language, and making fun of foreigners. England’s Golden Age and all its hoopla certainly starred the Virgin Queen above all, but was in a way brought to you by William Shakespeare.

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When young Elizabeth I picked 15 January 1559 as her coronation date, she did so on the advice of an astrologer, who claimed it would ensure a long reign. Long indeed: Her reign lasted 45 years, ending at her death, 407 years ago on this date.

About a month before her death, her rheumatism had been acting up in a big way. Her last public appearance came at this time. After that, it was all downhill. Her BFF, the Countess of Nottingham, died and Liz was grieving her terribly. Then the poor queen’s joints were so swollen from rheumatism that her coronation ring had to be sawed off her finger. To her, this symbolized the end of her reign.

By March, she had a fever and ulcers swelled in her throat which eventually segued into pneumonia or bronchitis. On top of everything, she was extremely depressed and simply could not sleep. And one week before her death, she was emaciated and often silent.

T-minus-24-hours or so, the childless queen mimed a crown above her head with her fingers, letting her advisors know she wanted to be succeeded by James VI of Scotland. He was Mary Queen of Scots’ son and had been the king in Scotland already for 36 years. Talk about tenure!

Anyway, Liz knew her time was just around the corner so she asked for the Archbishop to pray at her bedside on that rainy night. Surely, she was comforted at his confidence that, “though she had been long a great queen here on earth,” she’d “soon yield an account of her stewardship to the King of Kings.” She died just before 3:00 a.m. the following morning, ending an era of tremendous drama and accomplishment, the Golden Age of England.

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A painting of Liz I hanging in the National Portrait Gallery has revealed a secret after almost 400 years. Instead of the typical posy, the queen originally was holding something more sinister. What was it, and what was its meaning?

Update: Another interesting article about it here, with a better close-up shot.

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Such went the [kind-of confusing] traditional way of announcing that the former monarch had kicked it, making way for a new era with a new gal on the throne. And so it was on the 17th of November in 1558 when Mary I lost her battle with something that is assumed to have been a stomach tumor, and her half-sister Elizabeth grabbed the reins for what would be the next 45 years.

At that time, she was a tall and slim 25-year-old girl, lounging under an oak tree at Hatfield House, where she’d been living. The royal courtiers arrived from London on their horses to give her the news that she was now the queen. She responded in Latin (why? Because she could!), quoting the 118th Psalm, ”It is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes.” Humble and yet commanding from the very beginning.

Our ginger queen was formally crowned at Westminster Abbey on this date, January 15, in 1559. Why on this specific date? She’d consulted an astrologer, who advised her that her reign would be “glorious and prosperous” should her ceremony take place on the 15th of January. Looks like there’s something to those stars after all, doesn’t it?

Anyway, Elizabeth wanted her coronation ceremony to be an over-the-top affair, as grand as possible, to bang it into the people’s heads that she really was the legitimate queen. Because if you think about it, it was a miracle that she became queen at all. Her own father wasn’t even supposed to be king; he only stepped in when his older brother Arthur died. Her half-brother Edward (king for six years) died as a teenager, then poor Lady Jane Grey (queen for nine days) lost her head over her shaky claim to the throne, and finally there had been Mary, queen for five years.

But on that snow-covered January day, the woman who was arguably England’s greatest monarch donned an awesome gold and crimson velvet number, trimmed in ermine, and accepted her crown. Long lived the queen indeed.

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Elizabeth I and Mary I: Half-sisters as well as total enemies (in their adult lives, anyway). Protestant vs. Catholic, and daughter of “that whore, Anne Boleyn” vs. daughter of “the ex-queen, a.k.a. not my mother, Catherine of Aragon.” As years progressed, the schism between these two ladies widened and widened.

So wouldn’t they be thrilled to know they’d be rubbing elbows in death?  For some reason, the girls are buried in the same magnificent tomb in Westminster Abbey. There is an eerie but beautiful aisle on the north side of the Lady Chapel, which asks for silence with little “Shhhh” signs posted on the walls. Within these walls lay the remains of James I’s little daughters, and supposedly those of the Princes in the Tower, Edward V and Richard.

And in a large monument nearby, Elizabeth’s coffin is plopped on top of her half-sister Mary’s. Only Liz’s striking figure is commemorated on the effigy. Mary seems to be an afterthought (although at her funeral in 1558, the new queen Elizabeth provided for every pomp and circumstance). But a plaque tells us she’s in there, so who am I to argue?  It reads, “ ”Partners both in throne and grave, here rest two sisters, Elizabeth and Mary, in the hope of the Resurrection.” Let’s hope they’re getting on better in the Afterlife!

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Just like a lot of people, Elizabeth I had in-law trouble. Specifically, her brother-in-law, Philip II of Spain. Phil had been  [grudgingly] married to her half-sister, Mary I, and now he was seriously getting on Liz’s last nerve. Sure, he was hot and stylish and had tons of power in Europe (Spain was the most powerful country in the world at that time). But he was also a bit of a jerk and only stayed married to Mary to further increase his power. He couldn’t have cared less about her and didn’t even try to have a happy marriage.

When Mary died and Elizabeth took the throne, Philip thought he could just swoop in and marry the new queen but Liz shot him down the way she eventually shot every other suitor down. He high-tailed it back to Spain and kept the peace with England for a while, but of course only for political reasons.

 He kept hoping England would sway back toward Catholicism (remember that Catholic vs. Protestant was a huge deal at that time) but his hopes were dashed for good when the Catholic Mary, Queen of Scots was executed by Elizabeth’s people in 1587. Yep, that’ll do it. At that point, his to-do list went something like this:

1. Get rid of Elizabeth
2. Make it hip once more to be Catholic in England

Phil sent his ships (“the Spanish Armada,” which simply means “the Spanish Navy”) up against the English Navy in the Spring of 1588. But in just a few short months, the Spanish were defeated not only by the English ships but also by disease and by horrible weather conditions. There was a little Ice Age going on and the weather on the ocean was very hard to take, especially if you were accustomed to sunny Spain.

Score one for Elizabeth and Protestantism! Not so much for jerky and power-mad Phil.

She’d been chilling under a lovely oak tree on the property when gentlemen from the court came galloping along on their horses to deliver this life-changing announcement. Her response? “This is the Lord’s doing, and it is wondrous in our eyes!” (Kind of more eloquent than “Yes, We Can!”)  

This gorgeous house is in the county of Hertfordshire (Herts, for short), in the southeast of England just above London. It has an extensive maze garden, a restaurant, a gift shop, and reportedly a few ghosts as well. It’s currently closed for tours for the winter, but will reopen in 2010 from April to September.

UK schools can take their students to Hatfield for an educational Living History program, details here!  (PDF file)

Nothin’ doing.  She’s reportedly still among us. Several of her old haunts are now her current…well, haunts. When the Bubonic plague raced through London in 1563, Elizabeth and her court made for Windsor Castle. Visitors from London were not welcome; in fact, Liz called for a quickie gallows set-up at Windsor and executed them. Nice. Anyway, she’s the visitor these days (often in the Royal Library section or at the window in the Dean’s Cloister), always decked out in a black lace shawl and gown.  

When young Elizabeth got word that she was the new queen of England, she’d been staying at her childhood home, Hatfield House. She doesn’t seem to have gotten word that she’s dead because she’s been seen hanging around Hatfield.

As queen, her favorite home was Richmond Palace and it was also there where she breathed her last. Much of the palace is gone today, but busy Liz has been spotted in the surviving gateway. Who says you can’t go home?