On the one hand, Charles II filled his court with frivolity. He played, danced, and allowed his spaniel dogs to soil the palace. He and his brother, the Duke of York, loved the theatre, and supported their own troupes. Charles II allowed women on stage.
On the other hand, Charles II inherited a land filled with restless and bitter malcontents whose very existence had shattered at the fall of the Commonwealth. Rarely opening up to anyone, Charles did not trust easily. He expected attempts on his life or efforts to overthrow his monarchy.
During the rule of Cromwell, John Thurloe was the head of espionage. As Secretary of State under Cromwell, he sent out spies to cull the plots from within the Protectorate’s government. His spy network was extensive. He also employed men—and women—who were, on the surface, stalwart royalists. His spies could be located in every English county, overseas (i.e., in Charles II’s exiled court), in the Americas, and the far Indies.
Thurloe compiled lists, sent spies into enemy camps, and had men tortured and killed. One such fellow, Samuel Morland, an assistant to Thurloe under Cromwell, confessed to having witnessed a man being “trepanned to death” at Thurloe’s word. (A trepan, according to Dictionary.com was “a tool for cutting shallow holes by removing a core.”) Not a nice way to go.
Thurloe orchestrated the Sir Richard Willis Plot, wherein the king and duke were intended to be lured out of exile to a meeting on the Sussex coast. Once the brothers disembarked, they would be instantly murdered. Thankfully, we know this plot failed.
Commonwealth spies infiltrated homes, churches, and businesses to destroy the enemy, and under Charles II’s rule, his government did the same. Their goal was to destroy nonconformists, or “fanaticks”. Depending on who was in power, plots were a part of political life.
After the Restoration, Thurloe was dismissed, but not executed, for crimes against the monarchy. He was released in exchange for valuable Commonwealth government documents.
During the king’s exile, Sir Edward Nicholas held the position of Secretary of State, but he was old, nearly age 70. Within two years of the Restoration, Charles II replaced him with Sir Henry Bennet, who took charge of the Crown’s espionage.
Joseph Williamson worked for Bennet as the undersecretary. Williamson was born for this work. He took the bull by the horns and enhanced the processes Thurloe had begun. Williamson built a brilliant spy network. He enlisted informers who, for money, turned on their associates. He used grocers, doctors, and surgeons, anyone who would inform him of persons against the king. Informants were everywhere. He obtained ambassadorial letters and had them opened and searched for underhanded deceit. He had men overseas watching for any plots.
His tools were numerous. He loved ciphers and cipher keys. Doctor John Wallis was an expert in this who worked under both Thurloe and Bennet. The man could crack a code in nothing flat.
Williamson, known as Mr. Lee in the underworld, used London’s Grand Letter Office for ciphered messages to pass back and forth between the undersecretary’s office and his informants and spies. He expected to be kept apprised by ciphered letters, passed through the post office, at the end of each day.
Under Thurloe’s stint as Secretary of State during the Commonwealth, the secret service received £800 per year. Under Bennet, the money doubled. Most of the annual budget was spent on spies and keeping them alive.
For more reading on spies and espionage during the reign of King Charles II, see my novel Of Carrion Feathers which is set in London, 1662.
Desperate Measures in 17th Century Medicine
by Deborah Swift
In the 17th century if you were ill, it was much more dangerous to employ a physician than to use your local herbalist. The richer you were, the more likely you were to die if you became ill. Not from the disease, but from the treatment! When Charles II became ill, and the best doctors in the country were summoned, a courtier was heard to say, “It is dangerous to have two doctors, to have fifteen is fatal.”
No wonder, as the physicians immediately took 16 ounces of blood from him. An emetic of antimony followed, and then a Spirit of Blackthorn purgative, and then a white vitriol enema. The king’s head was shaved and blistered and plasters applied to his feet. Is it any wonder he died? The same fate awaited poor George Washington, who was bled of about half the blood in his body before he finally begged to be left alone in peace to pass away, which he promptly did.
Fortunately, most poor people could not afford the expensive attentions of a physician and relied on a local herbalist or cunning woman to administer plant remedies. Plant remedies were much gentler than any treatment offered by a physician, and so the patient had a much better chance of recovery.
Many of the herbal remedies were from common plants such as nettles which were used to combat anaemia and as a blood tonic. Modern research has shown they are rich in iron. Nettles were not only used as a pot herb in spring, but also they could be used to make rope. The fibres were widely used in weaving, producing a flax-like cloth more durable than linen. It was also used as a hair lotion and produced a good yellow dye. The local village herbalist was skilled in all aspects of plant lore.
When I was researching the lady’s slipper plant I discovered it had been over-collected in the 17th century because of its use as a nervine or sedative. I also discovered that if taken with alcohol the plant could induce numbness and hallucinations—a very unpleasant cocktail altogether.
But you’ll have to read my book The Lady’s Slipper to find out what happened to Sir Geoffrey Fisk when he used the herb to try to cure his eczema.
The lady’s slipper
Government and virtues ~ A most gallant herb of Venus, now sadly declined. A decoction is effectual to temper and sedate the blood, and allay hot fits of agues, canker rash and all scrophulous and scorbutic habits of the body. The root drank in wine, is its chief strength, to be applied either inwardly or outwardly, for all the griefs aforesaid. There is a syrup made hereof excellent for soothing restlessness of the limbs, hence oft times goes by the name of Nerve Root.
Vices ~ Be wary of this herb, for surfeit of it calls forth visions, fancies and melancholy. Take it not with strong liquor. If giddiness, sickness of the stomache, dullness of the senses ensue, or drowsiness withal ending in deep sleep, straightway desist. In women and children, safer it being tied to the pit of the stomache, by a piece of white ribband round the neck.
Superstitions and Bodily Health
by Diane Scott Lewis
Before modern medicine, lay people and some physicians held the belief that transferring the ailment to another object could cure you of disease. Since antiquity and well into the eighteenth century, people believed that men reflected aspects of the natural world. It was a dominant strategy that explained the mysteries beyond the ken of the science of the day.
A man in the late seventeenth century, Somerset, claimed that his brother was cured of a rupture by being passed through a slit cut in a young ash tree three times on three Monday mornings before dawn. When the tree was later cut down, his brother grew ill again.
To cure jaundice, you took the patient’s urine, mixed it with ashes, and made three equal balls. These were put before a fire, and when they dried out, the disease left and the patient was cured.
In Devon, to cure the quartan ague, you baked the patient’s urine into a cake then fed the cake to a dog who would take on the disease.
Even Richard Wiseman—a Barber Surgeon—who wrote Chirurgicall Treatises during the time of Charles II, believed that to remove warts you rubbed them with a slice of beef, then buried the beef.
Color, as well, played a part in how health was viewed. “Yellow” remedies were used to cure jaundice: saffron, celandine with yellow flowers, turmeric, and lemon rind. John Wesley, who wrote Primitive Physick in the mid-eighteenth century, suggested that sufferers of this illness wear celandine leaves under
their feet.
Health was also governed by astrological explanations. Manuals intended for physicians and apothecaries included this “otherwordly” advice. Nicholas Culpeper detailed which herbs were presided over by which planets in his famous health text Culpeper’s Complete Herbal. For example, if a headache was caused by the actions of Venus, then fleabane (an herb of Mars) would cure the malady.
However, the Vox Stellarum, the most popular almanac in the eighteenth century, took a more moderate view: “Men may be inclin’d but not compell’d to do good or evil by the influence of the stars.” Yet this same almanac, in 1740, listed which diseases were prevalent in certain months—a vestigial form of astrological medicine.
Thank goodness more enlightened physicians, such as brothers William (a leading anatomist and renown obstetrician) and John Hunter (one of the most distinguished scientists and surgeons of his day) in the eighteenth century, came along to bring medical thinking into the modern world. Though superstition among the lay people remained….
Source
Fissell, Mary E. Patients, Power, and the Poor in Eighteenth Century Bristol. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991.
The Death of King Charles II
by Katherine Pym
First a little about him….
King Charles II lived a life full of sex and sport. During his youth, he learned to keep his own counsel. He was kind-natured, only allowing his need for revenge against a few of the regicides. Cromwell was one of these, even though already dead and buried.
Charles took a long time to come to a state decision. He’d put it off with a wave of his hand and play with one of his women. He loved Cavalier King Charles spaniels, as they’re now known, and always had several romping in his private chambers, soiling the floors so that no one could walk across the room in a straight line.
Even though he reigned in a Protestant country, while on the run in 1651 after his defeat at the Battle of Worcester, Charles was protected (at their peril) by Catholics. For a few hours, Charles hid in a priest hole, very snug and claustrophobic, while Parliament men searched for him. By the end of his trek through England and into exile, Charles had gained a high regard for Catholics and Catholicism.
But I digress.
While Charles reigned, he did not confide in many. He was considered an enigma by both his contemporaries and those today who study him. He had a kind heart. His nature made people comfortable. They confided in him and wanted to be near him. But when Charles wanted to be alone or was tired of the subject, he’d pull out his watch. Those who knew of this would quickly state their business, for soon their king would walk away.
Charles loved reading (not political or religious). He initiated great strides within the theatre sector, and he enjoyed science.
In 1660, he approved a charter for The Royal Society. The group of great minds, Isaac Newton for one, met at Gresham College in London City. Experiments took place there, including draining the veins of a dog into the veins of another dog. The results amazed those curious people.
So, we come to his death….
“He fell sick of a tertian fever,” but the official cause of death is: Uraemia (Dictionary.com definition—“a condition resulting from the retention in the blood of constituents normally excreted in the urine.”), chronic nephritis. Syphilis.
On the evening of February 1, 1685, Charles went to bed with a sore foot. By early morning, he was very ill with fever. His physician, Sir Edmund King, tended to his foot whilst a barber shaved his head. Suddenly, the king suffered an apoplexy. His physician immediately drew sixteen ounces of blood. Sir Edmund took a big risk and could have been charged with treason. The protocol was to get permission from the Privy Council prior to a bloodletting.
For several days, Charles was tormented by his physicians. As a private man, this must have been difficult. Surrounded by more physicians than could comfortably fit into the chamber, he lay in agony while these men attempted to remove the “toxic humours” from his body.
He was bled and purged. Cantharides plasters were stuck to his bald pate; these caused blistering. They attached plasters of spurge to his feet, then applied red-hot irons to his skin. Besides the large number of physicians crowding around his bed, His Royal Highness’ bedchamber was filled to the walls with spectators (family members and state officials).
They gave the poor king,
enemas of rock salt and syrup of buckthorn, and ‘orange infusion of metals in white wine’. The king was treated with a horrific cabinet of potions: white hellebore root; Peruvian bark; white vitriol of peony water; distillation of cowslip flowers; sal ammoniac; julep of black cherry water (an antispasmodic); oriental bezoar stone from the stomach of a goat and boiled spirits from a human skull.
After days of this, he apologized for taking so long to die, then added, “I have suffered much more than you can imagine.”
Finally, on February 6, 1685, “the exhausted king, his body raw and aching with the burns and inflammation caused by his treatment, was given heart tonics, to no avail. He lapsed into a coma and died at noon on February 7.”
His death is considered by historians as “iatrogenic regicide”.
Source
Lamont-Brown, Raymond. Royal Poxes & Potions: The Lives of Court Physicians, Surgeons & Apothecaries. Sutton Pub Limited, 2003.
Sarah and the Queen
by Teresa Thomas Bohannon
Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, was one of the most outstanding women of her era. Among the most prominent figures in the Court of Queen Anne, she had a vast influence on the politics of her day. Her name is associated with great statesmen and generals. She occupied the highest social position of any woman in England after that of the royal family. She had the ear and the confidence of the Queen. The greatest offices were virtually at her disposal. Around her we may cluster the leading characters and events of the age of Queen Anne.
The future Duchess of Marlborough was born Sarah Jennings in 1660. At age twelve Sarah was befriended by the Duchess of York, Mary Beatrice Eleanora, Princess of Modena (an adopted daughter of Louis XIV), who married James, brother of Charles II. Sarah was thus introduced to the Duke of York’s circle and became the playmate of Princess Anne.
Therein, Sarah, beautiful, bright, and witty, became acquainted with John Churchill, a colonel of the army and a gentleman of the bedchamber to the Duke of York. He was twenty-three years of age, a fine-looking and gallant soldier, who had distinguished himself at the siege of Tangier and was known in battle as the “handsome Englishman.” He had irresistibly pleasing manners, remarkable energy, and a coolness of judgment that was seldom known to err. Sarah and John were married in 1678.
In 1685 Charles II died and was succeeded by his brother, the Duke of York, as James II. The new King rewarded his favorite, Colonel Churchill, with a Scotch peerage and the command of a regiment of guards. James’ two daughters, the princesses Mary and Anne, now became great personages. But from mutual jealousy they did not live together very harmoniously. Meanwhile, Anne and her childhood playmate Sarah (now Lady Churchill) remained very close.
Princess Anne was weak and generally uninteresting. But she was inordinately attached to Lady Churchill, who held a high post of honor and emolument in her household and gradually acquired an absolute ascendency over the mind of the Princess, who could not live happily without her companionship and services.
Lady Churchill was at this time remarkably striking in her appearance, with a clear complexion, regular features, majestic figure, and beautiful hair which was dressed without powder. She also had great power of conversation, was frank, outspoken, and amusing, but without much tact. The Princess wrote to her sometimes four times a day, always in the strain of humility, and seemed utterly dependent upon her.
Anne was averse to reading, spending her time at cards and frivolous pleasures. She wa
s fond of etiquette, and exacting in trifles. She was praised for her piety, which would appear however to have been formal and technical. She was placid, phlegmatic, and had no conversational gifts. She played tolerably on the guitar, loved the chase, and rode with the hounds until disabled by the gout, which was brought about by the pleasures of the table.
In 1683, Anne married Prince George of Denmark, and by him had thirteen children, not one of whom survived her; most of them died in infancy.
Then in 1701, Princess Anne, at age thirty-seven, quietly ascended the throne and all eyes were at once turned to her boon companion’s husband, on whom the weight of public affairs rested. Churchill was now fifty-three, active, wise, well-poised, experienced, and generally popular in spite of his ambition. He had been a moderate Tory, but as he was the advocate of war measures, he now became one of the leaders of the Whig party. Indeed, he was at this time the foremost man in England, on account of his great talents as a statesman and diplomatist as well as a general, and for the ascendancy of his wife over the mind of the Queen.
But the real ruler of the land, on the accession of Anne, was the favored wife of Marlborough. If ever a subject stood on the very pinnacle of greatness, it was she. All the foreign ambassadors flattered her and paid court to her. The greatest nobles solicited or bought of her the lucrative offices in the gift of the Crown.
She was the dispenser of court favors, as Mesdames de Maintenon and Pompadour were in France. She was the admiration of gifted circles, in which she reigned as a queen of society. Poets sang her praises and extolled her beauty; statesmen craved her influence. Nothing took place at court to which she was not privy. She was the mainspring of all political cabals and intrigues; even the Queen treated her with deference, as well as loaded her with gifts, and Godolphin, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, consulted her on affairs of State.
Castles, Customs, and Kings: True Tales by English Historical Fiction Authors Page 35
