Boys in Drag

I recently found an old photo album of my husband as a young boy where in almost every picture he was dressed like Little Lord Fauntleroy on his way to a tea party. (Really...I would love to show just one picture but he would KILL me.) We all have some pretty scary childhood pictures lurking in our dust filled closets. Some day, our ancestors just might stumble upon these treasures and wonder why 70s jump suits are uncomfortably wedged into our bottoms or debate the aesthetic value of elbow pads.  Wait….Here comes the history part.

Consider the above 17^th century painting showing Charles I's children. On the left is the Prince of Wales, (later King Charles II), on the right is his sister Princess Mary and the pretty girl in the middle is the Duke of York (later King James II).  Why were boys and girls dressed identically? First, imagine the odds of your child surviving as only 1 in 3. Now imagine having lost several children already to anything as simple as a bad flu. With such high mortality rates, you might start to think of your child as gender neutral….sort of like a fern, or a pet rock, or a chia pet that has yet to grow hair. Boys were typically not viewed as male until they were allowed to wear pants or “breached” at about the age of seven.

Boys in dresses also echoed medical beliefs of the time. During the eighteenth century, philosophers like Rousseau preached on the importance of children having free movement in their dress. Since under-ware had yet to be invented, dresses let young lads air out their bits and were therefore more salubrious to their development. (Rousseau actually might have been on to something since we now know that those tighty whities can lower sperm count.)

Dresses were also more functional. Those easy zippers and convenient snaps had not been invented yet.  If you have ever had to wrestle a toddler to the ground and change a dirty diaper, then you might start wishing your boy wore a dress too.

Another reason for the lack of gender distinction was based on the superstition that clothing a precious boy in a dress would trick the grim reaper into thinking he was a useless girl. I guess the devil was welcome to the girls.

Ever wonder why boys wear blue and girls pink? Stay tuned for the answer...

Wear a wig? I would rather keep my head

Congratulations to Kary...Winner of the Royal Affairs wigged out giveaway. Only two people got the question right. So here was my very scientific process for choosing a winner - I asked my husband to pick a number between 1 and 2. He picked 2. voila. my winner. The winner just needs to email me your mailing address - info@CarlynBeccia.com

Answer: All wore wigs...except George Washington

1. Marguerite de Valois was born with the Medici dark hair in an era when women went to great lengths to dye their hair blond. Marguerite’s blond wig became so vital to her beauty regime that she only employed blond page boys. The boys would grow their hair long and then cut their hair to be donated to the queen’s coiffure.

2. Towards the end of her reign, Elizabeth I wore wigs to disguise her thinning hair. She owned more than 80 wigs including some blond wigs.

3. Mary Queen of Scots wore an auburn wig. If you got this one wrong, don’t feel bad. Most people living in the 16th century did not know she wore a wig until her executioner was left holding on to her wig instead of her head.

4. Louis XIII wore wigs, called perruques, in his early twenties to cover up his prematurely thinning hair. Out of respect, his courtiers followed suit and the age of wig wearing aristocrats became the norm.

5. In Louis XIV’s early reign he was very proud of his thick, dark mane. Unfortunately, he began to lose his hair later in his reign. He employed 40 wig makers at the court of Versailles during the golden age of wig wearing.

6. Charles II was blessed with great rocker hair and proudly displayed his long, dark locks in the big headed styles of the time. But later when his hair began to thin, he also succumbed to the wig wearing cognoscenti. Charles was even rumored to have had a wig made from the pubic hair of his mistresses.

7. Marie Antoinette preferred her towering hair dos to be created with her own hair. Unfortunately, she began to lose her hair after child birth and was forced to substitute false hair.

8. George III started his reign au natural with his own hair pulled back in a queue (Shown above. Tied back in a pony tail with a ribbon). The wig makers feared that the king’s choice to wear his own locks would put them out of business if others were to copy the king’s example. In response to this fear, they petitioned the king to insist all gentlemen be properly wigged. The petition was viewed as so ludicrous that the guild of wooden leg makers petitioned the king to insist everyone wear a wooden leg.

Later in life, George sported a brown wig that became known as the ‘brown George.’


9. It was probably unfair of me to include George Washington. First, no one's hair should do that naturally (although he did powder it). Second, he certainly was not royalty....which is why he would have never worn a wig. He vociferously supported the ideals of the French Revolution, and preferring to keep his head, was very careful not to copy the styles of headless kings and queens in an age when Americans wanted nothing to do with a monarchy. So like George III, he also wore his own hair in a queue. Poor George probably had enough problems trying to keep his fake teeth in his mouth without the hassles of wearing a wig.

Wigs/false hair are definitely back in vogue today. I am pretty certain that half of Hollywood is wearing fake hair and its only a matter of time before we see kids asking for hair extensions for Christmas. (Don't I sound like one of those crotchety, old bitties that doesn't understand fashion trends? Don't answer that.)

Everyone have a Happy Thanksgiving and wear those hair pieces with pride!

Sources and Further Reading:
Images from the Lewis Walpole Library
Sherrow, Victoria. The Encyclopedia of Hair: A Cultural History,Westport, Conn. : Greenwood Press, 2006.
Bryer, Robin. The history of hair : fashion and fantasy down the ages, London : Philip Wilson ; Wappinger Falls, N.Y. : Distributed in the USA and Canada by Antique Collectors' Club, 2000.
Corson, Richard. Fashions in Hair, London : P. Owen, 1980.

The sexiest drink in history: Coffee

Satan’s drink
Take away my morning coffee and I start to resemble Nick Nolte after his drug arrest.  It is undeniably addictive. Still controversial. And oh so delicious. Coffee originated in Ethiopia in the 9th century, but it didn’t become popular in Europe until 1600. That's when the trouble started. Believing it to be "Satan's drink", Pope Clement VIII’s priests petitioned him to ban coffee, but Clement took one sip and declared, “Why, this Satan’s drink is so delicious.” (1) Thereafter, Clement christened coffee as the drink of choice and Europeans fell in love with their java.


Coffee Contraceptives
But despite the pope’s endorsement, coffee continued to have its detractors. A German scholar visited Persia in 1637 and found that the people used it as a contraceptive. He concluded that they couldn’t possibly be wrong and preached against the consumption of coffee.

By the late 17th century, coffee houses in England had become increasingly popular places for men to gather amongst fellow coffee lovers and debate the hottest issues. Now, instead of spending their time whoring about in their local tavern, men were gossiping, reading, daintily sipping and acting like…well, girls. Their wives decided to put a stop to these effeminate, caffeine-induced gatherings. In 1674, they petitioned Charles II to close coffee houses down arguing that it caused impotence. In a pamphlet titled The Women’s Petition against Coffee they presented their case against the “Excessive use of that Newfangled, Abominable, Heathenish Liquor called COFFEE.” King Charles II (who had never been a coffee lover) agreed and closed them down. But you know what happens when people suddenly don't get thier coffee....they get positively rabid. Soon, an outcry from the public forced Charles to reopen the coffee houses and coffee drinking continued.

By the 18th century, the coffee debate swung to the opposite end of the sexual debate. In 1771, a French doctor named Bienville preached that coffee caused nymphomania. He further argued that coffee paired with romantic novels was a recipe for hysteria. A typical scene at Starbucks would have been a breeding ground for the crazies.*

So who was right? Does coffee rev up your sex drive and ability to conceive or does it squelch a man’s fertility faster than wearing a tight pair of briefs on a long bike ride?

Scroll down for answer....






This really never gets old...





at least not for me....





a few more scrolls....





It turns out that those desperate housewives and the Persians were not as crazy as we might think. Although coffee won’t necessarily make a man love needlepoint or cry over Beaches, recent research does show that coffee, wine and nuts contain chemical called phytoestrogens which lowers male fertility and mimics the female sex hormone oestrogen. So if you are trying to conceive then I guess you might want to lay off the bean.

*Actually, come to think about it...there are a lot of crazy, homeless people at Starbucks. Why don't they go home and drink their coffee?

(1) Pendergrast p. 8

Sources and Further Reading:Pendergrast, Mark. Uncommon Grounds, The History of Coffee and How it Transformed Our World, Jackson, TN: Basic Books, 2000.
Lee Allen, Stewart. The Devil's Cup: A History of the World According to Coffee, New York, NY: Ballantine Books, 2003.
The Women’s Petition against Coffee
How beer, wine, coffee and nuts can ALL 'lower a man's fertility'

Interview with Author, Susan Holloway Scott

First, could you tell readers a little about your background and how you got started writing historical fiction?

I graduated from Brown University with a degree in art history. At Brown I learned the magic of working with primary sources, of being able to reach back through centuries of opinions to squirrel out the truth about the past. I loved art history and still do, but didn’t want to make a career of it, and so I went into public relations (which was excellent training for writing fiction.)

I wrote my first book in a sleep-deprived frenzy while on maternity leave with my daughter. Miraculously, the book sold, and I wrote historical romances under the name Miranda Jarrett, setting books everywhere from colonial America to northern Africa and Naples during the Napoleonic Wars. But over time, the market’s focus shrank, with less and less interest in the history behind the story. Fortunately, the historical novel market was growing, and I was able to shift to that with Duchess in 2006. I’m much happier now: I’m a total history-nerd and love to wallow in my research, and I can let my historically based characters tell their stories without worrying about always having romance’s required happily-ever-after –– the famous HEA.

You have written over 40 historical novels and novellas with over 3 million copies in print. This means you are either pushing 80 or are a seriously fast writer. (I am guessing from your picture, that it is the latter.) What were some of the challenges in writing The French Mistress?

Actually, I’m 360 years old with a really good photographer, and I’m writing about the Restoration Court from my own recollections. Nah….but I do write fast. I think it comes from having begun to write seriously while my kids were still babies. I was also working a full-time day job, and I learned to make every writing-and-research-minute count.

There were in fact some genuine challenges with The French Mistress. First, of course, was the fact that many of the original sources about her were in French, and 17th century French at that. Next was Louise herself. An outsider at the English Court, she trusted very few people beyond Charles, and seems to have had virtually no friends. Most of what was written about her by the English was critical, snide, or downright bitchy, with no one defending her or her actions. I had to sift through all of this, sensing what felt false and what was likely real, trying to “find” Louise as a real woman.

I know everyone says this about historical fiction but….the historical details were so vivid in The French Mistress. I started to have dreams that I was back in the English court being pursued by Charles II. (Thankfully, my husband never reads this blog) Could you share some of your research tips?

Oh, I know what you mean about Charles! As one of my readers noted, the man must have had powerful mojo.

If a writer likes to research (which I do), then it’s very tempting to share every cool little fact you’ve discovered. Tempting, and disastrous for your poor reader: even with fact-based fiction, readers are reading your book for the story and the characters. If they only wanted a history lesson, they would be reading non-fiction. So I always try to use those facts to see everything firmly through my protagonist’s eyes. No one living in Whitehall Palace in 1672 is going to stop what they’re doing to list how many looking glasses there are in their bedchamber or the manufacturer’s name. But Louise would have noted proudly how well the new looking glasses she’d just had installed (French workmanship, you know) reflected the afternoon light, or how she realized she could see into the next room without being seen, or worry if Charles would like them, or suspect she’d paid for them with a bribe from a foreign ambassador. If the cool fact doesn’t contribute to the story (or, to use the dreaded writing term, if it’s only an “info-dump”), then out it goes.

The French Mistress is set in one of the most dramatic periods in English history when heads still decorated the Tower Bridge and Charles had to constantly manipulate court factions. Could you describe some of the politics of the Restoration period and personality traits that kept Charles from becoming another despotic ruler?

For a king, Charles spent most of his reign walking the most unsteady of tightropes. He never forgot that his father had been beheaded by the same people who had welcomed him back to the throne, and he was always painfully aware of just how fickle that welcome might prove. He was also something of a pauper as royalty went, with much of his wealth lost during the Civil Wars. He was dependent on Parliament for his personal spending money as well as the money for any projects he wished to pursue, whether repairs to Windsor Castle or a new war on the Dutch. Parliament in turn tried their best to exert their collective will over Charles, refusing to agree to some of his more radical plans (such as expanding religious tolerance to all faiths, a long-standing desire of Charles’s that Parliament insisted on squashing), and Charles would counter by dissolving their session, and sending the members home to the country. In the meantime, Charles was marinating his own independence by secretly accepting large subsidies from his French cousin, Louis XIV. Though his conscience was often uneasy in private, he was for the most part publicly easy-going and agreeable, and for it he was much-loved by the general populace.

Your main character, Louise de Keroualle, experiences the contrast between the French and English courts. Unlike the French court under Louis XIV, Charles doesn’t waste time surrounding himself with mirrors. What were the major differences between these cousins? What were some similarities?

As first cousins, Charles and Louis were close in age and appearance. Both were tall, athletic, and full of restless energy, and both favored their Italian grandmother, Marie de’Medici, with dark hair and eyes. Both Charles and Louis witnessed the worst side of their subjects as children: Charles was made a fatherless exile during the Civil Wars, while Louis was forced to flee Paris with his mother during the Fronde.

Louis responded by making himself into an unapproachable demi-god, putting as much distance as he could from his people in his great palace at Versailles. He was aloof and distant, surrounding himself in elaborate protocol and rigidly observed rituals that proscribed his day. Charles, on the other hand, was affable and approachable, literally embraced his subjects of every rank, walking freely among them in London, feeding the ducks in the park at their side, and attending public theaters and taverns for amusement. His Court was bawdy and free-wheeling, much as he was himself.

The cousins were intensely competitive with each other, always watching what the other was doing in everything from diplomatic allies to the latest fashion in breeches, even to the beauty and “quality” of their mistresses. The response to each king’s death tells the whole story: when Louis died, an ancient, bitter king, the country rejoiced, relieved to finally be free of his rigid rule, but when Charles died, his people were said to have wept in the streets as if they’d lost a father, with heartfelt, public mourning that continued for weeks.

Throughout the novel, you illustrate the tenuous peace that existed between France and England. In The French Mistress, Louise plays the baby-faced, Bond Girl (minus the weaponry) sent from France to entice the English king. With loyalty being so important to Charles, do you think he ever suspected her motives?

Charles was known to be an excellent judge of character. It’s clear that he understood exactly what Louis was doing by sending the lady he’d admired to join the Queen of England’s household. No one was particularly fooled. He accepted her for what she was. My guess is that Charles was sufficiently enchanted by Louise not to refuse her as a “gift”, but that he was careful never to let her know anything truly important to pass along to Louis. As the years went by, she became a kind of quasi-diplomat herself, acting as a liaison between the two kings. Many courtiers were appalled by this arrangement, but it seemed to suit the parties involved well enough, and continued until Charles’s death.

Before writing about Louise de Keroualle, you also wrote about two of Charles’ previous mistresses – Nell Gwyn and Barbara Castlemaine. Charles really seemed to vary his taste in woman. If we were to play shrink, which mistress do you think was the best-suited companion for such an energetic ruler? Would one woman have ever met all his needs?

Wow, can you imagine being privy to all of Charles’s innermost thoughts and desires?

Ahem. Being a king, Charles was free to indulge his tastes in all their variety in a way that none of his (probably envious) subjects could. What sets Charles apart from true libertines was that he genuinely liked women for themselves, not just as conquests.
Historian Antonia Fraser suggests that Charles’s three most prominent mistresses each offered different things to Charles at different times in his life. Barbara was the uninhibited wild-child of his early reign, appealing to him as a sexual adventuress. Nell’s saucy wit made her a kind of court jester, delighting Charles as she dared to skewer the stuffier members of his Court. Nell was also his “country lass”, happily fishing and skinny-dipping with him at Windsor. Louise became the perfect bonne femme of his later years, representing not only the hospitality but also the French opulence and elegance that he’d always envied in his cousin Louis’s court.
And, of course, if we’re playing shrink, Charles’s mother was a French princess who always conversed with him in that language –– which may also explain some of Louise’s appeal for him.

We have some Raucous Royals readers who are big fans of Showtime’s The Tudors. When I was reading The French Mistress, I kept thinking how Charles’ bedroom romps would make for one steamy mini-series. Personally, I think Charles was so darn sexy because he could be the bad boy one minute, but kind-hearted and jovial the next. He is sort of like a mysterious Johnny Depp with a dash of George Clooney goofiness. If Showtime came knocking on your door, what present-day actor do you think could play Charles?

That’s a really tough question for me. I always form such strong notions in my head of how my characters look that it’s almost impossible for me to switch them out into modern actors and actresses. I’d probably suggest casting some unknowns in the roles. Charles would be a challenge: the actor would have to be physically imposing (Charles was over six feet tall), yet not traditionally handsome, with charm, mystery, goofiness (as you noted; Charles did have a wickedly playful sense of humor), and melancholy, too. Anyone else have a suggestion?

Many thanks to Carlyn for having me here as a guest!

Susan, thank you for taking the time to talk about your background and new novel. This month, one lucky newsletter subscriber will win a copy of The French Mistress. See links below to order your copy.

Raucous Royal of the Month: Charles II

Welcome to our guest blogger, author Susan Holloway Scott. Take it away Susan....

Meet the “Merrie Monarch”: King Charles II
By Susan Holloway Scott

Tired of the Tudors? Had enough of Henry? Do I have another English king for you! Charles II (1630-1685)was a monarch so intriguing, so charming, and so historically hot that he doesn’t need Jonathan Rhys Meyers to boost his reputation.

Like all heirs to thrones, Charles II was welcomed into the world with fireworks and ringing church bells. He had an idyllic childhood, even for a royal prince: his father, Charles I, was an unusually devoted father, his mother adored him, and he’d six brothers and sisters to round out the close-knit family. There were trips to the menagerie at the Tower of London, portraits painted by Sir Anthony van Dyck, (shown below) and junkets on the Thames on the gilded royal barge.

But while Charles I was an excellent father, he was a miserable king. Hopelessly out of touch with his people, he tried to force an absolute monarchy on an unwilling Parliament. A long and bitter Civil War began in 1642, ending eventually in the trial and beheading of Charles I in 1649. In his place, a conservative army general, Oliver Cromwell, was made Lord Protector to rule with Parliament.

The nineteen-year-old Charles barely escaped to the Continent. Though nominally now Charles II, he was a king without a throne or a country, and perhaps more importantly, without any money. His mother and his younger brothers and sisters were scattered about various royal courts, poor relations that wore out their welcome. Charles himself became a wandering pauper-king in exile, his circumstances so straitened that he wore darned stockings, gave away his beloved dogs, and could only afford to dine on meat once a week.

Back in England, life under the Puritans was equally grim. In an effort to “purify” the country of its excesses, almost everything that was fun was outlawed by Parliament. Maypoles were burned, music, dancing, and theater forbidden, bright-colored clothing became illegal, and holidays scratched from the calendar. Church-going was about all that was permitted, and the Puritans made sure there wasn’t a scrap of pleasure there, either, smashing centuries-old stained-glass windows and forbidding music.

But by the time of Cromwell’s death in 1659, the English had become thoroughly weary of their Puritan Parliament. In retrospect a king didn’t seem so bad at all, and Charles was invited back. His return to the English throne gave his reign its name –– the “Restoration” –– and he was greeted with wild rejoicing and celebrations.

Riding into London on a white horse on his thirtieth birthday in 1660, Charles dazzled his people like a modern Hollywood star. He was tall (6’2”), dark, and handsome, lean and athletic and full of boundless energy. He wasn’t fair-haired-English-handsome, but favored his Italian grandmother, Marie de’Medici, with heavy-lidded, dark eyes, a sensual mouth, and long, black, curling hair. He was intelligent and well-spoken with a dry wit, and his own sufferings made him peculiarly sympathetic to his people, with a genuine kindness rare in kings. He had an appealing air of melancholy; in best RAUCOUS ROYALS tradition, the king known to posterity as the “Merrie Monarch” was in fact not very merry by nature (who can blame him?), but he surrounded himself with outrageously amusing friends that ensured his court was THE place to be.

That wasn’t all. Unlike most vengeance-crazed monarchs, Charles generously pardoned everyone except the men who’d signed his father’s death warrant, resulting in a country-wide sigh of relief. He brought back music, dancing, flirting, Christmas, and Maypoles. He reopened the theatres, and for the first time in English history, permitted actresses on the stage. He loved pretty women, fast horses, and dogs of every description. After a decade of Puritan dreariness, once again everyone began to dress to impress, and big-time partying was back in fashion. Was it any wonder that Charles was instantly, wildly popular?

And why not? While his cousin across the Channel, Louis XIV of France, kept himself aloof and distant in his grand palace at Versailles, Charles was always in the thick of things. He appreciated London all the more for having been exiled from it, and with a freedom that would horrify Secret Service agents today, he enjoyed the city like any other Londoner, and was infinitely accessible, even to his most humble people.

Every morning he rose early and walked briskly through St. James’s Park with his dogs (the King Charles spaniels so popular now are named after him) and any one who could keep pace with his long legs. He attended the theater as often as he could, cheering and jeering and buying over-priced fruit from the orange girls along with everyone else. He fed the ducks and swans in the park. He regularly swam naked in the Thames, even in the winter, and didn’t care who watched.

As one of his friends and part-time poet John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (yes, the same Rochester played by Johnny Depp in the movie Libertine) noted with approval: “Nor are [the king’s] high desires above his strength/His scepter and his p**** are of a length.”


When London was devastated by the Great Fire in 1666, Charles didn’t simply do the 17th century version of a fly-over to survey the damage: he joined the bucket brigades, fighting the fires himself. His intellectual curiosity led him to keep a scientific “closet” in the palace for puttering about with chemicals and curiosities like two-headed snakes. An excellent horseman, he would ride in races with the professional jockeys at Newmarket, and often win from his skill and daring, not because he was the king. Afterwards he would drink with the jockeys and grooms, enjoying being a regular guy. Following a formal court reception, he’d shed the silk and ermine, change into plain clothes, and go carousing in low-rent rum shops and brothels with friends, often not coming home to the palace until nearly dawn.

Ah, the brothels. For while Charles didn’t swear, smoke, or drink or eat to excess (unlike Henry VIII, he remained flat-bellied and athletic until his death), he did have one enormous vice: he loved, loved, loved women, and women loved him. Though he often made fun of his own appearance, he was by all reports incredibly attractive to the opposite sex. From high-born ladies to lowly milkmaids, women of every rank found him pretty near irresistible. It wasn’t just that he was king, either, or a matter of royal conquest by that good-sized scepter. Charles genuinely liked women, particularly clever, amusing women who could entertain them with their wit as well as in his bed, and they clearly returned the favor many times over. Many, many, many times.

No one knows the exact number of women Charles had sex with in his lifetime. It was not uncommon for him to call upon one mistress in the afternoon, visit his queen’s bed in the evening, frolic with another mistress after that, and then wind up the night at a brothel. The man famously required almost no sleep. In addition to his wife and queen, Catherine of Braganza, (shown left) he kept three main mistresses over the course of his reign: Barbara Villiers Palmer, Duchess of Cleveland (shown right), a hot-tempered, passionate lady that he’d first met in exile; Nell Gwyn, (shown below left) a common-born actress who entertained him with her impertinent wit; and Louise de Keroualle, Duchess of Portsmouth, (shown below right) a luscious French-born virgin sent as a gift (and a spy) to Charles by his cousin Louis XIV. These were the women rewarded with titles, houses, estates, incomes, and jewels, and political power. There were far more who only received the pleasure of the royal person, and perhaps a coin or two besides.

Unlike Henry VIII, Charles never sent any of his lovers to the chopping-block. Instead he managed the rare trick of remaining friends with his mistresses even after they’d ceased their mistress-ly obligations, and all of them evidently stayed in love with him. (Both Nell Gwyn and Louise de Keroualle remained faithful to his memory, for neither took another lover after his death –– though Louise outlived him by 50 years.) Even his homely little queen loved Charles dearly despite his raging infidelities, and though he was repeatedly urged to set her aside when she proved barren (shades of Henry!) he refused to shame her with a royal divorce.

The greatest irony of Charles’s reign is that while he sired fourteen natural children (!) that he acknowledged with titles, his queen never bore him a legitimate son and heir. While most of the noble families of Britain today can count Charles as an ancestor (Diana, Princess of Wales, Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, and Sarah, Duchess of York are only a few of his descendents) at his death in 1684, Charles’s crown passed to his incompetent brother James, and the Glorious Revolution of 1688 followed soon after.

Of course Charles wasn’t perfect. He was often at odds with his Parliaments. His relative poverty as a king led him accept secret subsidies from the French, and his attempts at wars on the Continent were costly and unproductive. His Roman Catholic leanings were worrisome for the nominal head of the Anglican Church. His constant need for activity and his wandering inattention to detail would today probably be diagnosed as some form of ADD; his contemporaries simply called him lazy. Later historians, particularly the Victorians, were so repulsed by his promiscuity that they overlook his other qualities, and wrote instead of him “lolling idle” on his throne.

But to the people he ruled, Charles was their much-loved and very human king, and at his death the country was plunged into grief-stricken despair. If there had been political approval ratings in the 17th century, Charles’s would have been off the charts. He unified a country torn by civil war, restored its economy, and placed England firmly on the world stage. What’s a mistress or two compared to that?

Susan Holloway Scott freely admits to having spent way too much time in the company of Charles II, who appears in all four of her historical novels. Her next book, The French Mistress, features both Charles and his mistress Louise de Keroualle, and will be released in July. Susan will return next month to dish more on Charles, Louise, and the other royal mistresses – and to give away a copy of The French Mistress.

Her website: http://www.susanhollowayscott.com/

Creepy Rumor of the Month

All posts this month will be of an undeniably diabolical nature. Let’s start with a creepy art rumor featuring James Scott, the Duke of Monmouth.

Monmouth was the illegitimate son of Charles II and his mistress, Lucy Walter. One thing that Monmouth seemed to inherit from the Merry Monarch was his affability and vivacity. The public adored Monmouth from the start. Pepys writes of him:

The Duke of Monmouth is the most skittish leaping gallant that ever I saw, always in action, vaulting or leaping, or clambering. ¹

By all accounts, Charles adored this pretty youth too and recognized Monmouth as his son, but not his heir. Monmouth became his father’s constant companion and the two “leaped” and “clambered” their way through hunts and royal progresses. In 1643, Charles made Monmouth a duke at the age of 14. Monmouth served in the English fleet two years later and his courage and valor were marked by Duke of York, the Lord High Admiral of the Fleet. Monmouth had everything going for him – military honors, good looks, effortless charm and most importantly, the love of a king. This love afforded Monmouth a glittering life and all the spoils of a royal birth… but not the prestige of a crown.

Perhaps it was this love that also emboldened Monmouth to feel he had every right to the crown after his father's death. He certainly had popular public support and the right religion. Thus, Monmouth might have had a far less ignominious end to his playboy life if the silly twit had not decided to head a protestant rebellion to seize the throne from his uncle, James II. The sometimes tyrannical James just couldn’t have his brother’s bastard children running around causing religious unrest. So Monmouth found himself on the chopping block on July 15th, 1685 with executioner John Ketch’s shiny ax above his head. It took 7 tries to get the job done*

It might have been by stroke 7 that everyone realized they had forgotten something. No one had a portrait of Monmouth. As an artist, I can tell you it is really difficult to capture someone’s likeness from memory. So what do you do when you don’t have your live model? You use a dead one! Rumor has it that the court surgeon got out his sewing kit and stitched poor Monmouth's hacked, bloody head right back on the body so he could pose for his “official” portrait. At least this is the story that the Yeoman of the Guards will tell you on the Tower of London’s official tour.

Should we believe them? The Yeoman live and breathe English history. They are wearing the funny hats, marked with the royal crest and all look like credible witnesses of the past. So it must be true. Right? Let’s first trace this rumor.

The unsettling painting shown here is believed to be the origin of this rumor. Clearly you can see the subject is having a bad day. He might even be missing a head. The painting’s date is unknown. The artist is unknown and even the subject is labeled as an “unknown man.” Stylistically, the painting’s somber, dark shadows mimic the same techniques of Sir Peter Lely, Principal Painter to Charles II.

Although this death portrait is less than flattering, it is important to keep in mind that Monmouth was a real stud. Male beauty was even more revered then female beauty in the 17th century and anyone possessing such godlike features would have had artists knocking at their door. And artists did line up to paint Monmouth. We have several accounts of Monmouth sitting for some of the most popular artists of his day.

Sir Peter Lely painted Monmouth on at least two occasions. One painting depicts James at the sweet age of 15 accompanied by a lamb, but the original is lost. An engraving reproduced by Blooteling can be seen to the right here. Two other engravings taken from Lely paintings can be found at the National Portrait Gallery depicting an older Monmouth. Both engravings portray a young, handsome man in full classical regalia.

Monmouth also sat for the German artist Sir Godfrey Kneller when Monmouth invited him to England in 1674. The painting is dated in 1678…seven years before his death.

According to the NPG records today, Monmouth is associated with at least 35 portraits. All these paintings and not one was done during his life? Highly unlikely. I suspect instead that most of Monmouth’s portraits were destroyed after his death with only copies remaining.

Another reason why I don’t believe this rumor is because I don’t think Charles would really forget to take an official likeness to a son he adored. Remember that Charles had no legitimate heirs. Monmouth was the closest thing to a son that Charles would ever get. All that time father/son bonding over hunting and chasing ladies and Charles never stopped to say, “hey my painter is in town. Why don’t you sit for him.”

And if the court really wanted to remember Monmouth at the time of his death then they would have at least had a death mask made after his execution. A death mask is a plaster, wax or metal casting of the deceased’s face. The molds were used to create an exact likeness of the deceased and could in turn be used to create more molds so everyone could keep an effigy of Monmouth on their mantle. Artists also often used these death masks to create subsequent portraits. An example of a famous, English death mask used in portraiture is of Oliver Cromwell taken just 7 years before Monmouth’s execution (shown here).

Death masks needed to be completed in the first 48 hours after the person’s death or things got a little hairy. When the body decomposes the features start to sag making it difficult for the molding to get a true likeness. So it is possible that during all the ruckus, everyone forgot to get Monmouth’s death mask done in the allotted time. It’s also possible that James did not want to revere the image of a man who one could argue died as a martyr for the Protestant faith.

But why would the Yeoman perpetuate such a ridiculous rumor when there are clearly portraits of Monmouth portraying his likeness before his death and the customs of the time contradict such forgetful actions? History is fascinating enough without these embellishments. I listened to the same Yeoman who told the Monmouth tale also tell a bored 8 year old in the front row that Anne Boleyn had six fingers. He said we knew this for a scientific fact because when her body was dug up they found an… extra digit. This story certainly got the boy’s attention and I hate to be the party wrecker, but this is simply not true. Anne’s body was exhumed in 1877 and she had only 5 lovely fingers.

Now I have nothing against the Yeoman, but if you had to stand around in a tower watching the same darn crows that never leave and telling the same stories over and over again…wouldn’t you start to play with the facts too? With so many tourists coming through those gates I can imagine how this rumor could get legs.

Let’s put an end to it here and let Monmouth and his decapitated head rest in peace.

Stay tuned for more scary posts this month and my artsy critique of the best and the worst death masks throughout history.

* No one really knows what was Ketch’s problem but let’s just say he might have picked the wrong profession.

Sources and Notes:
1: Pepys (p. 329)

Fea, Allan. King Monmouth: Being a History of the Career of James Scott "The Protestant Duke" 1649-1685, J. Lane, 1902.
Maud Reid Nepean, Evelyn. On the Left of a Throne: A Personal Study of James Duke of Monmouth, J. Lane, 1940.
Pepys, Samuel. The Diary of Samuel Pepys, New York, NY: Macmillan, 1905 - can be accessed online in Google Books.

Deadly Doctor Visit

For the past six months, I have been researching history’s strangest medical cures for my next book. People complain about doctors today, but nothing demonstrates medical malpractice better than Charles II’s royal treatment. Charles II was the fun-loving king of England best remembered for his beautiful mistresses. (He had twelve illegitimate children with his mistresses, but no legitimate heirs.) At his death, Charles had several doctors poking and prodding him in a valiant attempt to cure the Merry Monarch of kidney disease. Here was how the sick king spent his last day on earth:

A haircut and a blood donationDoctors throughout history have been overzealous in draining their patent’s blood. Bloodletting or "bleeding" was administered by cutting a vein with a lancet, drawing blood to the skin’s surface with hot cups or the perennial favorite—leeches. Doctors at the time believed that the body was made up of four humors (blood, phlegm, black bile and yellow bile.) Disease and illness caused a person’s humors to become unbalanced and bleeding could restore this balance. In Charles’s case they not only cut his skin, but also shaved his head and applied red, hot irons.

The Royal PedicureAfter losing so much blood, Charles must not have been feeling fresh. Luckily, doctors had some spare pigeon poop lying around to smear on the king’s feet. Animal feces during the 17th century were believed to have many curative properties. Have a nose bleed? No problem. Just rub some pig manure on it. I still have not found why doctors used feces in medicine. It seems like a wonderful way to get a bout of tetanus going.

17th century chicken soup for the soul
Everyone loves a nice hot bowl of chicken soup when they are feeling sick. Charles didn’t get any soup. Instead, his doctors fed him various herbs, boiled spirits from a human skull, bezoar stone, and the very poisonous antimony.

First off, you can’t imagine what antimony tastes like unless you like to lick batteries. Antimony is great as a semiconductor and is used today in batteries and cable wires. It's not so tasty as a medicinal cocktail. Why make the king eat battery acid? The answer is simple. They were trying to make him barf. Charles’s doctors believed that purging would clean out your insides. Doctors even sometimes used a device called a “stomach brush” to wash the stomach clean. (The brush looked like a toilet bowl cleaner with a wire handle.) Doctors would lower the contraption down the throat by turning the wire handle and then move it up and down like they were cleaning drainpipes. Ya, I could see how you might think that one would work. Who here has not felt a bit “dirty” after scarfing down Ben & Jerry’s? Unfortunately, instead of cleaning your insides, the brush caused internal bleeding. Ouch!

Next, spirits from a human skull was the green moss scraped off a human skull. In the 17th century, ground-up mummies were mixed into tea and used to heal bruises, fractures, migraines, epilepsy, coughs and disorders of the liver. Mummy powder was even used by artists to make their paints more vibrant. Mummy heads were especially coveted. Napoleon brought one back from Egypt for Josephine (shown here). Nothing says I love you like human remains.

Bezoar stone was a rock-like mass found in the organs of goats. It was believed to be an antidote for poison. I have seen what goats will eat and anything stuck in their guts should just stay there.

Gazuntite!
God Bless you. Sneezing can make your teeth rattle, but can also cure what ails you. Or so was the belief of Charles’s medical crew. The theory was that sneezing would correct the imbalance of humors in the brain so doctors blew hellebore up the king’s nostrils to make him sneeze. This treatment may not seem so bad unless you have smelled hellebore before. It has the distinct stench of decaying chicken.

It's good to be the king...unless you are on your death bed
Ok so let’s recap. At this point, Charles had a bad hair cut, a terrible breakfast, very little blood left, his feet stunk and worst of all….he still wasn’t dead. It took four days for the poor king to kick the bucket. Always a good sport, the king actually apologized to his doctors for taking such a long time to die.

The Guniea Pig King
I like Charles’s story because it illustrates a reoccurring theory toward medicine. The less that was known about a disease or illness…the more doctors tried out different cures. Although these cures seem ridiculous to us today, without medical experimentation doctors would have no way of knowing what worked. Today, we experiment just as much, except we do it on rats, monkeys and cancer patients.

I Feel Better with a Frog in my Throat will be due out some time in 2010. Stay tuned for more gross trivia in royal medicine...

Sources:

Wadd, William. Mems. Maxims, and Memoirs. London, UK: Oxford University, 1827.TURNER, E. S. The Astonishing History of the Medical Profession. NY, Ballantine Books: 1961.