Secret of the Virgin Queen

Growing up Catholic meant that I immediately associated the words “Virgin” and “Queen” with Mary, Mother of God, but anyone who has read some British history would associate the same words with Elizabeth I and the image of a strong face, paled by heavy white makeup, set in an elaborate costume, wig and jeweled finery befitting a great monarch.

Over the years I have seen different representations of the same Queen in film: Bette Davis (1955), Glenda Jackson (1971), Helen Mirren (2005), and Cate Blanchett (1998 and 2007). The makeup and production design were a marvel. Somehow, the image of Elizabeth I reminded me of the venerated 16th-century ivory image of Nuestra Señora del Rosario, better known as “La Naval de Manila” or even “La Japonesa,” celebrated with novena and procession each year in October.

The secret of Elizabeth I, the Virgin Queen, is the urban legend that she was actually a man; that in 1588, when she rallied her troops at Tilbury against the Spanish Armada and declared, “I know I have the body of a weak, feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England, too,” she was speaking literally, not in metaphor.

Elizabeth I was unmarried and had no children. She had favorites in her court but no physical lovers. It is said that nobody but her governess had ever seen her naked. And here we have all the pros and cons through primary sources. One contemporary source reported that Elizabeth I could not bear children and could not produce an heir to the throne. Another source, a spy planted by the Spanish King, reported that she was a normal woman with a regular habit—meaning she was menstruating—and she was, in principle, fertile.

The main source for this engaging historical question is the concluding essay, titled “The Bisley Boy,” in a book of nonfiction, “Famous Impostors.” The book was published in 1910 by Bram Stoker, more famous as the author of the novel “Dracula” which was first published in 1897 and which has since spawned many representations of the vampire in the past century. Stoker followed up what in his time was an urban legend about a body of a small girl discovered in the Cotswolds wearing fine Tudor clothing embellished with gems.

Stoker wrote:

“The Tradition is that the little Princess Elizabeth, during her childhood, was sent away with her governess for a change of air to Bisley where the strong sweet air of the Cotswold Hills would brace her up. The healthy qualities of the place were known to her father and many others of those around her. Whilst she was at Overcourt, word was sent to her governess that the King was coming to see his little daughter; but shortly before the time fixed, and whilst his arrival was expected at any hour, a frightening catastrophe happened. The child, who had been ailing in a new way, however, developed acute fever, and before steps could be taken even to arrange for her proper attendance and nursing, she died. The governess feared to tell her father—Henry VIII had the sort of temper that did not make for the happiness of those around him. In her despair she, having hidden the body, rushed off to the village to try to find some other child whose body could be substituted for that of the dead princess so that the evil disclosure of the sad fact might be delayed till after His Majesty’s departure.

“Throughout the little village and its surroundings was to be found no girl child of an age reasonably suitable for the purpose required. More than ever distracted, for time was flying by, she determined to take the greater risk of a boy substitute—if a boy could be found. Happily for the poor woman’s safety, for her very life now hung in the balance, this venture was easy enough to begin. There was a boy available, and just such a boy as would suit the special purpose for which he was required—a boy well known to the governess, for the little princess had taken a fancy to him and had lately been accustomed to play with him. Moreover, he was a pretty boy, as might have been expected from the circumstance of the little Lady Elizabeth having chosen him as her playmate. He was close at hand and available. So he was clothed in the dress of the dead child, they being of about equal stature; and when the King’s fore-rider appeared the poor overwrought governess was able to breathe freely.

“The visit passed off successfully. Henry suspected nothing; as the whole thing had happened so swiftly, there had been no antecedent anxiety. Elizabeth had been brought up in such dread of her father that he had not, at the rare intervals of his seeing her, been accustomed to any affectionate effusiveness on her part; and in his hurried visit he had no time for baseless conjecture.”

Stoker says this switch happened sometime in 1543 or 1544 and that the red-haired boy who impersonated the Princess and future Queen was named Neville. Naturally, historians have demolished Stoker’s arguments and evidence over the past century and it seems so improbable that Henry VIII would not have seen through the ruse. How could the pretty boy sustain the act when changes in his voice and physique took place in adulthood? The Bisley Boy story, unbelievable as it is, has turned out to be more engaging than history and truth. It has taken on a life of its own, just as Dracula has developed so differently from that created by Stoker in 1897.

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