Truth and lies

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Truth and lies



Who can we trust to tell us the truth? Read these historical accounts of early reliable sources and some tall tales.
Tower of London, unknown artist, c1700

Edward IV died in 1483, and his brother Richard of Gloucester became Protector to his two little sons - the ‘Princes of the Tower’ - aged 12 and 9.  Richard installed the boys in the Tower of London, where they were seen playing in the gardens.  While Richard persuaded Parliament that he should become king, the princes were never seen again. 

In the following century Thomas More investigated the disappearance, and wrote a very well-known book condemning Richard III for murder.  The trouble with relying on More’s account is that it’s a secondary, not a primary source.  He wasn’t there – so how could he know?  Later Shakespeare picked up the story, and also painted a villainous picture of Richard III in his play of the same title.  Perhaps Richard III’s mistake was merely to have lost the struggle to the Tudors.  The winners always re-write history to suit themselves, and paint the losers blacker than black.  A society whose members aim to repair Richard III’s reputation exists to this day.  

‘On the evening of the Feast of St George, the stonework of a certain noble gateway which the king had constructed in a most opulent fashion collapsed, as if struck by an earthquake, together with its forebuildings and outworks’.  This is the chronicler Matthew Paris, writing in his Greater Chronicle, and describing the collapse of a tower at the Tower of London.  He also included a little illustration showing the building falling into the moat.  Archaeological excavations in the moat in 1995-7 located the bottom of a tower, skewed at a most alarming angle.   In this case, it seems that Paris was proved absolutely right: his story was backed up by physical evidence.     

An imaginary dungeon

Guards take the Princess Elizabeth through ‘a strong iron door, which was unfastened and closed behind them.  The jarring of the heavy bolts, as they were shot into their sockets, resounded hollowly along the arched roof of the passage, and smote forcibly on Elizabeth’s heart […] they were now in one of those subterranean galleries, on either side of which were cells, and the clangour called forth many a dismal response […] Elizabeth descended and found herself in a torture chamber.  A dreadful spectacle met her gaze […]’

This underground dungeon existed only in W. Harrison Ainsworth’s imagination, but that doesn’t make his story any less interesting.  Rather than enlightening us about the life of Elizabeth I, though, The Tower of London: A Historical Romance demonstrates the lurid Victorian appetite for melodrama.

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