The Tragedy of Mariam

Cary writes the introduction in the third person, dedicating it to herself as well as the goddess Diana. She spells her last name Carye—one of many unique spellings encountered in this play, which is written in Jacobean English. The Jacobean period (1603-1625, named for King James I) immediately followed the Elizabethan period, and the language of the two ages is essentially identical; although the invention of the printing press in the 15th century had begun to standardize spellings, the process would take several centuries to complete.

Diana, to whom Cary dedicates the play, is the Roman goddess of light (or, by implication, insight), the hunt, and animals both wild and domesticated. She is also the goddess of virginity and young maidens, fertility, and childbirth. In Hebrew, the name Diana means “rebellious.” Likewise, the goddess Diana (also known by the Greek name Artemis) is the only pagan god mentioned in the Christian Bible, and the clergy often demonized folk beliefs that glorified her divine abilities. It is therefore likely that Cary is equating her writing of the play with the rebellious actions—unsanctioned by male gods—of the goddess Diana.

There are several potential implications of Cary’s contrasting the light of the sun, Phoebus, with the light of the moon, Diana. First, Antipater is the son of King Herod by his disavowed first wife, Doris. Thus, the sun is lighting the way for the illegitimate heir of Herod to succeed, while Cary’s subtle light reveals the underlying, unspoken truth: that Mariam and her children are the true heirs. Second, the reference to the moon recalls the many ways women are traditionally connected to it (e.g., menses, and the tide-like sway women’s machinations have over the decisions of men). Third, Cary is proclaiming that the secondary light—the moon, the ways of women—is her true light.

Some commentators interpret Cary’s reference in the dedication to a “first” and “second” to mean that she wrote an earlier version of the play. While a prior version is a possibility, the themes, tone, and ideas of the extant drama pertain closely to her experiences and worldview, and they mirror the references throughout the dedication to two different lights. She therefore may simply be playing on the duality she describes in the dedication, saying she has written a play using the moonlight (a feminine view) rather than sunlight (a masculine view). She is likely making a statement about her life as well—namely, that the play’s “light” reveals experiences about womanhood that she does not show or discuss in the man’s world of her daily life.

The Argument serves as a “voice-over” introduction meant to acquaint readers and patrons with the historical facts surrounding the execution of Queen Mariam. This is the only part of the play that is in verse, which makes it somewhat easier to read and comprehend. Cary’s recounting is in virtual agreement with current historical records of these events. She correctly identifies Herod as an Edomite—a near relative of the Hebrew nation, but not Jewish or of royal blood. He intended his marriage to Mariam to shore up his lineage and that of his heirs, although it was the Roman Empire that named Herod King of the Jews. His assault on Mariam’s bloodline did not end with the deaths of her grandfather and brother; Herod eventually executed her mother and her two sons, who were his own children.

Finally, it’s important to note that Cary’s list of the characters in the play, whom she calls the Dramatis Personae, contains several inconsistencies and mistakes. Antipater, both historically and in the play, is actually the son of Doris and not Salome, as is stated in the list. The butler is not a messenger, but Salome’s servant. There are also variations in the spelling of Babus and the name of the Arabian prince, which is properly spelled “Silleus.”