The Execution of Lady Jane Grey by Paul Delaroche

Lady Jane Grey was well and truly dumped on by those around her. I mean, we might not like the way we get treated at work, we might not like it when somebody stands us up at the cinema, but that’s just peanuts compared to what Jane had to put up with.

This is one of my favourite paintings. I know it’s a morbid offering. Not the sort of thing you’d give house room to, but I love it all the same. Look at the tenderness of Sir John Brydge’s hand as it guides her to the block. There is real emotion in this painting that (so far) I’ve not been able to touch with my writing.

Look at the figures to the left, unable to watch but unwilling to leave. Mistress Tilney dazed, looking out into space. The executioner in silly tights, keeping his mind only on the block for which he would be aiming.


Click to enlarge.

"Then the hangman kneeled down, and asked her forgiveness, whom she gave most willingly. Then he willed her to stand upon the straw: which doing, she saw the block. Then she said, 'I pray you dispatch me quickly.' Then she kneeled down, saying, 'Will you take it off before I lay me down?' and the hangman answered her, 'No, madame.' She tied the kercher about her eyes; then feeling for the block said, 'What shall I do? Where is it?' One of the standers-by guiding her thereto, she laid her head down upon the block, and stretched forth her body and said: 'Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit!' And so she ended."

It was all about politics. Jane was the daughter of The Protestant Duke of Suffolk, and she was well known and popular in court. She was also the great grand-daughter of Henry VIII, which gave her royal blood.

She married the son of the Duke of Northumberland, who saw the wedding as a perfect chance to see his family line on the Throne. Northumberland had a lot of power and influence in the Royal Court, having acted as regent to the King for a number of years.

With the death of the Protestant Edward VI, Northumberland hatched a cunning plan. Using his power and influence, he gained support amongst the Protestant members of Court that Jane to be Queen. She was said to have fainted when told the news, and been reluctant to accept. But at sixteen years old, in Tudor times, I imagine you did as you were told.

She took the throne for a total of nine days. It didn’t take long before she and her husband, Lord Feckenham (I kid you not) were locked up in The Tower.

Being the rightful heir to the throne, Mary I’s power and influence was rather more substantial than Jane’s scheming father in law’s. (Mary was Edward VI’s sister, and the oldest of Henry VIII’s daughters.) Despite willingly relinquishing the Crown, Jane was tried for treason. During her arrest, she wrote a letter to Mary, explaining that she’d been well and truly shat on by the scheming courtiers and asking for clemency, and her execution was put on hold.

And that’s when her father stepped in to really mess things up. If you’ve ever been embarrassed by your parents dancing at the disco, you’re not even close to imagining how Jane must have felt when she found out that her father (the Duke of Suffolk, remember?) had led a rebellion against the Queen.

Mary had a wedding coming up. The Catholic Phillip II of Spain was ready to be her husband, but only on the condition that she deal with the matter of troublesome Protestant Dukes trying their best to knock down her castles.

On the morning of February 12th 1554, Jane saw her husband being dragged away, and his body being carted out soon later. By lunchtime, she too was executed. And that was that.

It’s not a remarkable story compared to half of what went on in those days. But for me, the immediacy of the painting keeps the story alive. Like many works of its time, this painting by Paul Delaroche isn’t exactly historically accurate. All the documents I’ve read say that the execution took place outdoors. And nobody who had their head chopped off would ever have had their hair down. (Or be wearing a white dress, I imagine!) But for me, the painting’s a lesson in morality rather than history. There’s something sinister and desperately tragic in the way the hands of the Sir John seem so compassionate. The gentle touch of authority that leads a young girl to her death.

To most of the people who see this at the National Gallery, It’s a painting of a tragic seventeen year old girl. But to me it’s a painting of a good man who did nothing.