Restoration Comedy - a Reflection of Society?

by Annie Whitehead

Perhaps I should begin by defining ‘comedy’ in the theatre. Tragedies invariably centre around the main character and his psychological struggles: Macbeth with his ambition, Coriolanus with his pride. In general, comedies take a light-hearted, sometimes cynical look at the central character and the situation in which he finds himself; in short, at the man in his society. So how far was Restoration comedy a reflection of restoration Society, and how far was it a product of that Society?*

Molière 

The Restoration of 1660 heralded a new era for the English theatre. Curtailed during the civil war and the years of the Commonwealth, entertainment of this kind was once again in demand. The general consensus of opinion is that if Restoration comedy owed anything at all, it was to France, in particular to Molière, rather than to pre-war comedies (with perhaps the exception of Shadwell.)

It is natural enough to expect the returning Cavaliers to have developed a taste for French theatre during their exile. In this respect then, Restoration comedy was a product of the age. Another distinction can be found in the composition of the theatre companies. The two which dominated London were Thomas Killigrew’s King’s Company and Sir William Davenant’s Duke’s Company. For the first time, actresses played the female roles, and a great deal of the sex and sensuality to be found in Restoration comedies resulted from the introduction of women to the stage. [1]

Nell Gwyn

So who were the playwrights, and what were their aims?  This was a period when the court had a genuine influence on literature in general, and Charles II took an intelligent interest. Most of the playwrights were as well known to their audiences as the actors were, and would be on friendly terms with the like of the Duke of Newcastle, the Earl of Rochester and Sir Charles Sedley. These men wrote themselves, and would be in a position to give advice to the dramatists. Patronage played an important part in the world of the theatres and there is little doubt that the playwrights attempted to meet the demands of their patrons and their audience. Dryden was one who did not participate in the way of life he portrayed in his plays. He constantly played down to contemporary taste, and Sutherland [2] suggested that this was the reason for the startling indecency in some of his comedies. His The Kind-Keeper had to be censored before it could be performed on the stage.

William Wycherley

Etherege did not portray anything he would have been ashamed to do himself, but Wycherley viewed Society as one based on hypocrisy, although he nevertheless wrote to satisfy his audience. Shadwell's comedies were criticised by Dryden, but he had a talent for reproducing contemporary conversation. John Crowne, according to Sutherland, would have written less indecently had the audience not been so demanding. On the whole these men were member of the very Society they were holding up for ridicule. But this should not be seen as a criticism of the world in which they lived. They were projecting an image of the morality of the day and making fun of it, much as Oscar Wilde did in the 1890s.

If these men were attempting to meet the demands of their audience, it must follow that the audience enjoyed what was being offered to it. This begs the question, who went to the theatre? The theatre audience was not just an extension of the court. Theatre-going was an habitual part of day-to-day living for those of the ‘town’. Newton, John Locke, and Mr and Mrs Pepys were frequent attenders. In 1668 Samuel Pepys went to the theatre 73 times in eight months. Davenant’s innovative use of scenery and his inclination towards farce drew in a more bourgeois and less intellectually demanding audience. When the two companies merged in the 1690s farcical comedy became more popular as intellectual standards lowered.

Samuel Pepys

Audiences often contained many people who were seeing the play for a second or third time, and in general these were the fashionable people living outside the city, while quite often the London middle classes shunned the theatres as haunts of iniquity. Many among the audience attended just to be seen in public. They loved wit, cleverness and fine language.

If we are to assume that Restoration Society itself stimulated the new comic impulse, then nowhere can this be seen more clearly than in the plays themselves. The most common style was the Comedy of Intrigue, where the plot involved one or more cynical gallants who sought to seduce a number of brisk young ladies. There was also the Comedy of Humours, the purpose of which was to inculcate morality by displaying humours - caricatures of folly and vice - upon the stage.

Etherege, Wycherley, Congreve, and Farquhar built their plays on these stock formulae. Their plays were often called Social Comedies as they contained some social criticism, dealing wittily with the manner, but more often they are classed as Comedies of Manners. In The Man of Mode (Etherege) and The Way of the World (Congreve), a contrast within Society is portrayed very clearly. There are those who intelligently uphold the standards imposed, and those who are ludicrous through failing to do so. Lynch [3] defined this as the ‘unfailing identification mark’ of all Restoration comedy.

Dorset Gardens playhouse in 1673

Cowley’s Cutter of Coleman Street was too concerned with ‘low’ characters to please the Restoration audience. The returned Cavaliers perhaps expected nothing but eulogy from their playwrights. Sir Robert Howard’s The Committee (1662) was a more pleasing portrayal of middle class vulgarity, portraying two Cavaliers as person of high quality in contrast. In Etherege’s plays, his libertine attitude is expressed through the young men of fashion who are normally the heroes, and sometimes through the witty young women whom they marry. Later in the period the rake-hero gives way to the man of sense, and the influence of the female part of the audience begins to be felt, as the rake is reformed. A well-established character is the English Francophile, easily recognisable at a time when a large part of Society had spent many years in France, and when the king displayed pro-French tendencies.

A well-known and fairly typical example of Restoration comedy is Etherege’s The Man of Mode. John Dennis said of it, “Upon the first acting of this Comedy it was generally believed to be an agreeable Representation of the Person of Condition of both sexes, both in Court and Town.” [4] There is no certainty that the characters are meant to be real people. They reflect Etherege’s success in creating an image of contemporary Society which would be eagerly approved. The character Dorimant’s sexual ambition is a sustaining force in the comedy, but carries with it a threat of disorder. This is controlled in the first place by the Town which imposes its own decorum. To join a company at Lady Townley’s house, Dorimant has to resort to imposture. Character contrasts define and limit Dorimant’s role. Sir Fopling Flutter (yes, really!) provides the folly to contrast with Dorimant’s wit. Sir Fopling parodies many of Dorimant’s actions, showing their limitations and raising doubts as to their value.

Thomas Betterton played the irresistible Dorimant in 
George Etherege's Man of Mode. 

Witty conversation is the main test of social ‘fitness’. In Sir Martin Mar-All (Dryden) Millisent takes up with her husband’s servant because Sir Martin lacks wit. The finer characters inspire sympathetic laughter, but the comedies exhibit many foolish city wives, and doting and miserly city husbands who do not receive any sympathetic treatment. Supported as it was by the landed classes, Restoration drama was not at the forefront of social thinking and expressed only accepted ideas. The non-conformist mercantile community was not treated kindly.

So again, we find the dramatists meeting the demands of their patrons. The Royalist courtiers in the early years of the period remembered only too well the London Financiers’ support for the Commonwealth. Wycherley’s Alderman Gripe (Love in a Wood) was ‘seemingly precise, but a covetous, lecherous, old usurer of the City.’ Congreve, born ten years after the Restoration, continued this tradition with his Alderman Fondlewife (The Old Bachelor).

William Congreve

Naturally, Restoration comedy was not without its critics. Collier, an Anglican Stuart loyalist, believed the stage was conducive to sin. Wit came under attack; Blackmore considered it to be primarily ornamental. He saw the purpose of literature as the inculcation of religiosu and ethical principles. Both these men drew strong support from the merchant class. Most critics wanted to modify the treatment of the merchant in the theatre. [5]

These plays were not a literal copy of the life and manners of the age; the dramatists were presenting a picture of the smart set of the day not as it really was, but perhaps ridiculing how it liked to imagine itself. It is clear that this section of Society took no offence. The brilliance of the new court brought a new brilliance to the English stage. The expectations and demands of the audience were fulfilled. This audience was reacting against the Puritan days, and it saw plays which portrayed that reaction with a new carefree attitude. It saw its morality satirised, its way of life caricatured. Those who saw themselves treated unsympathetically were critical, the fashionable were enthusiastic.

Scene from Etherege's Love in a Tub

Restoration comedy was a product of its age. Playwrights were willing to satirise a Society of which they were a part. The audience was prepared to laugh at itself.

Restoration Society produced Restoration comedy, and this comedy was a reflection of that Society.


*Society with a capital S: the upper classes, essentially.
[1] Six Restoration Plays - Ed. John Harold Wilson
[2]English Literature of the Late Seventeenth Century
[3]The Social Mode of Restoration Comedy
[4] Dramatist d1734
[5] Sir Richard Blackmore - preface to Heroick (poem 1695) and Collier - ‘Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage’ 1698

Additional reading:
The Cambridge Companion to John Dryden
The Ornament of Action - Peter Holland
Comedy and Society from Congreve to Fielding - John Loftis

[All above images are in the public domain]

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Annie Whitehead is a history graduate and prize-winning author. Her first novel, To Be A Queen, is the story of Aethelflaed, daughter of Alfred the Great, who came to be known as the Lady of the Mercians. It was long-listed for the Historical Novel Society’s Indie Book of the Year 2016, and it has been awarded a B.R.A.G. Gold Medallion.

Her second novel, Alvar the Kingmaker, is a tale of intrigue, deceit, politics, love, and murder in tenth-century Mercia. It charts the career of the earl who sacrificed personal happiness to secure the throne of England for King Edgar, and, later, Aethelred the Unready. It too has just been awarded a B.R.A.G. Gold Medallion.

Most recently, she has contributed to the anthology of short stories, 1066 Turned Upside Down, in which nine authors re-imagine the events of 1066, and which has just been awarded HNS Editors’ choice and long-listed for Book of the Year 2017.

Author Page

Alvar the Kingmaker

To Be A Queen

Website

Blog

1066 Turned Upside Down

The 'Poisonous Dragonflies' of Restoration London

by Deborah Swift

Scene from The Libertine

Charles II's reign is known as the Restoration in English history. This is because Charles was restored to the throne in 1660 after the Commonwealth period during which Oliver Cromwell and his more repressive Puritan views had set the moral tone. When the King came back from exile he brought with him a Court which had taken on the laxer morals of France and was determined to impose them. Charles II himself was a womaniser and reveller, and soon he gathered a coterie of wild and dangerous young men around him.They could do almost anything they wanted and get away with it, very often under the protection of the King himself, which is why their behaviour was tolerated, even if it was outrageous or repellent by usual standards. 

The Wits

The most infamous rogues of Charles II's court were the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of Rochester. Both were members of a young group of courtiers called 'The Wits' so named because of their literary pretensions, and their reputation for quick repartee.

In this period of the seventeenth century, sandwiched between the rigours of puritanism and the later tragedies of the Plague and the Great Fire of London, the mood was one of
'a very merry, dancing, drinking, laughing, quaffing and unthinking time' (John Dryden)

The Earl of Rochester was described by John Burnet as 'a lawless and wretched mountebank; his delight was to haunt the stews, to debauch women, to write lewd songs and filthy pamphlets.'
Johnny Depp plays the Earl of Rochester in this trailer for his Biopic 'The Libertine'

Kidnap of an heiress

Rochester was banished from court and committed to the Tower of London after kidnapping an heiress. Elizabeth Malet was a wealthy young woman, and Rochester hoped she would solve his mounting debt problem with her considerable fortune. At first she was flattered and agreed to the match, but then changed her mind. Rochester ambushed her coach at Charing Cross and attempted to take her away, but the King had him pursued and arrested.

Lely, Elizabeth Malet 1667

In his diaries, Pepys describes Elizabeth Malet as the 'great beauty and fortune of the North' and notes the scandal of her kidnapping by Rochester: Apparently, she

'supped at White Hall with Mrs. Stewart, and was going home to her lodgings with her grandfather, my Lord Haly, by coach; and was at Charing Cross seized on by both horse and foot men, and forcibly taken from him, and put into a coach with six horses, and two women provided to receive her, and carried away. Upon immediate pursuit, my Lord of Rochester (for whom the King had spoke to the lady often, but with no successe) was taken at Uxbridge; but the lady is not yet heard of, and the King mighty angry, and the Lord sent to the Tower'

Even more weirdly, later in her life Elizabeth Malet relented and she and Rochester were married in 1666, and had a relatively stable marriage, with Elizabeth maintaining their country estate at Adderbury near Oxford.

Adderbury House, home of  Elizabeth Malet & the Earl of Rochester

True to form, Rochester could not remain faithful however, and continued to enjoy numerous mistresses. Charles II remained on good terms with Rochester, despite his hell-raising, because Rochester's father, the first Earl, had been a staunch supporter of the King during the Cromwell period, and had fought bravely for him in both military and political ways. Charles therefore had a debt of gratitude to his son. But also, Rochester was renowned for his wit and humour and was loved by the Court. He also used his powers of seduction to seek out possible mnistresses for the King - which put him in favour and in Charles's debt. When at home though, he was prepared to lampoon life at court;

We have a pritty witty king
Whose word no man relies on.
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.

A ring of poisonous dragonflies

Rochester and Buckingham influenced in turn a 'fast set' of impressionable men at court. These men were nicknamed by Andrew Marvell, 'The Merry Gang.' Hester Chapman in her book Great Villiers calls them 'a ring of poisonous dragonflies', which is a wonderful description as it describes how beautiful they looked, but also how dangerous they were.

Two of them, Sir Charles Sedley and Lord Buckhurst were responsible for an incident outside the Cock Tavern in Bow Street where they postured naked on a balcony and made obscene gestures to the crowd of more than a thousand people below. (Good taste prevents me from relating this incident in more detail!) Lord Buckhurst was also renowned for being one of the lovers of Nell Gwyn.

Many of The Merry Gang were also writers and playwrights of talent, involved with the new Vere Street Theatre. The theatre used to be Gibbons's tennis court, and was the home of Thomas Killigrew's company from 1660 to 1663.

Buckingham, Killigrew and Etheredge were all playwrights as was Wycherley whose work is still performed even today. Below you can see a modern production of The Country Wife, still going strong nearly four hundred years later. I sometimes draw on Wycherley's plays to give a flavour of period dialogue in my books.

A production of The County Wife by Wycherley

Sedley was a talented writer, but in 1679 during the performance of one of his plays, the theatre roof fell in, injuring him. A flattering friend remarked that the play was so good and full of fire it had blown up the theatre, but Sedley apparently said:

Nonsense! It was so heavy it brought down the house and buried the poet in his own rubbish.' 

So the Merry Gang were also renowned for their humour as well as their darker exploits. And I wonder if this is where we get the phrase to 'bring the house down'?!

Sedley is also occasionally associated with a notorious gang of rakes who called themselves Ballers and who were active between 1660 and 1670. Pepys says of them ' their mad bawdy talk did make my heart ake'. Their chief claim to fame, according to Pepys, was orgies and dancing naked at Lady Bennet's whorehouse. It was probably Sedley who wrote the Ballers' Oath on behalf of them, which is too lurid to print here!

The Man of Mode

George Etheredge's play, The Man of Mode alluded to this group of men, although Etheredge was probably the least wild of the group, earning him the nickname 'Gentle George' or 'Easy Etheredge.'  The Man of Mode is widely considered one of the best comedies of the Restoration period. Produced in 1676, its success can be attributed to the fact it satirises his well-known contemporaries. Sir Fopling Flutter was a portrait of Beau Hewitt, a famous rake, and a notorious diner-out. He undertook the management of the bath-rooms at Bath, and conducted the public balls there. The character Dorimant was a reference to Rochester, and Medley a portrait of his fellow playwright and wit Sir Charles Sedley. Even the drunken shoemaker in the play was a real character, who afterwards made his fortune on the streets of London from the publicity the play brought him.

In my book The Gilded Lily, Sedley, Buckhurst and George Etheredge all make a threatening appearance. The lives of the Merry Gang are fascinating and complex, and for those who would like to know more I can recommend the following books:

The Lives of the English Rakes by Fergus Linnane
Constant Delights:Rakes Rogues and Scandal by Graham Hopkins
Charles II and the Duke of Buckingham - David Hanrahan
A Gambling Man, Charles II and the Restoration - Jenny Uglow

Look out for more information on the Restoration Theatre from Annie Whitehead, coming soon on December 17th.

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Deborah Swift is the author of four historical novels and a teen trilogy, all available in paperback as well as ebook. Her first novel was shortlisted for the Impress Prize in the UK. You can find her on twitter @swiftstory or sample a free book by signing up for her newsletter at www.deborahswift.com

Lady Protectress: Elizabeth Bourchier Cromwell

by Lauren Gilbert

Elizabeth Bourchier
by Samuel Cooper

Even her date of birth is unclear.  Very little is actually known about the wife of Oliver Cromwell.  Her name was Elizabeth, and she was the daughter of Sir James Bourchier and Frances Crane.  Sir James was a successful London merchant in the fur and leather trades.  He was knighted in July of 1603 by James I and given a grant of arms in 1610.  Elizabeth was born in Felsted, Essex, apparently sometime in 1598, and was one of eleven children, possibly the oldest.  She is believed to have some education.  However, nothing is known of her childhood or girlhood.  For all intents and purposes, she came to life on August 22, 1620 when she married Oliver Cromwell.

There is no indication of when or how they met.  The Bourchiers and the Cromwells were both established in Essex.  There was also a family connection in that Elizabeth’s Aunt Eluzai Crane married Oliver’s Uncle Henry Cromwell.  While it seems likely that they may have met as children (being close to the same age, Oliver born April 25, 1599), it is equally possible that they met in London.  At any rate, they were married in London at St. Giles Cripplegate.  It is known that she had a dowry of 1500 pounds, but not whether their marriage was arranged or an affair of the heart.  The marriage was definitely an advantage for Cromwell, as his father-in-law’s connections in the London merchant community were politically valuable.  

Elizabeth and Oliver began their married life in Huntingdon and began having children.  However their marriage began, it appears that they developed a sincere affection for each other.  At some point later in the 1620’s, Oliver went through a period of depression and illness from which he emerged a devout  and radical Puritan. By 1628, he was Member of Parliament for Huntingdon, a position he held 1628-1629.  King Charles dissolved this Parliament and Parliament did not meet again for 11 years.

Unfortunately, the Cromwells were not successful in Huntingdon.  In 1631, Oliver ended up selling what property he had left in Huntingdon, and he and Elizabeth relocated to St. Ives. There, he rented a farm and supported his wife and children by farming, a significant reduction in status.  The farm produced chickens and sheep, generating eggs and wool which Oliver and his brother sold.  Being a small farmer’s wife cannot have been easy for Elizabeth, especially as the mother of six children (the oldest about ten). 

 This state of affairs lasted for five years, when in 1636 he inherited a house and other significant advantages (including a job as a tithe collector) in Ely from his mother’s brother. At this point, Oliver and Elizabeth had had seven children, five boys and two girls.  The youngest son, Robert, had been born and died in 1632.  Apparently, during this difficult period prior to the inheritance, no more children were born.  It is not known if there were unsuccessful pregnancies, or if there were other causes for the break in the births of children.  At any rate, Oliver and Elizabeth had two more children, both daughters in 1637 and 1638 respectively and, by the end of the 1630’s, the Cromwells had regained their position as gentry.

In 1640, the family was living in Ely.  King Charles called another Parliament and Oliver was returned to Parliament as the member for Cambridge, and the family moved to London.   This particular Parliament became known as the Short Parliament as it lasted only three weeks before the King dissolved it.  However, Parliament was called again later in the year, and Oliver was returned as member for Cambridge.  During this period, Oliver became linked to a group of members of the Houses of Lords and of Commons with a strong reform agenda.  There is no indication that Elizabeth took any sort of active role outside of the positions of wife and mother.  She was very concerned about domestic affairs, and was apparently known throughout her life for her frugality, which I would think had been hard-learned during her family’s years on the farm.

In 1642, the English Civil Wars began.  Oliver raised a troop, had success at Marston Moor, and the rest is history.  He rose to general of Parliament’s army, and seemed to have had an instinct for command despite his lack of military background.  During the war years, He wrote to Elizabeth and she to him.  Two of his letters and one of hers survive, and show their loving relationship and mutual affection.  

King Charles was captured, but would not compromise with the Parliamentarians.  King Charles escape led to the second Civil War, which resulted in his being recaptured, tried and convicted of treason.  King Charles was ultimately executed in 1649 by the Rump Parliament, an act for which Oliver bears significant responsibility (he was a dominant member of the Rump Parliament and signed the warrant).   After the execution, he led the Rump Parliament and exercised power over the short-lived Commonwealth.  Disillusioned with Parliament, he dismissed it April 20, 1653 and ultimately became Lord Protector December 16, 1653.

  As Cromwell rose in power, the family moved to different quarters, reflecting their changing status.  From lodgings adjoining Whitehall Palace, they moved into apartments in the Palace itself in the spring of 1654.  Elizabeth seems to have exercised great discretion, and stayed out of the limelight as much as possible.  There is no record that any member of her family received preferment, and comments about her simplicity and frugality as Lady Protectress would appear to indicate that she did not attempt to appear to shine in a court-like setting.   Personal taste for a simpler life and long habit could have been factors; she may also have wished to avoid any comparison to Charles I’s queen Henrietta Maria.  She did help entertain at state dinners and with the wives and daughters of various dignitaries, but apparently had no formalized role in the Protectorate.

Elizabeth Bourchier Cromwell, 
Lady Protectress of England, Scotland and Ireland 
by Robert Walker, c. 1653

The portrait of Elizabeth as Lady Protectress shows her in a formal black velvet gown with orange lining, and pearls, looking very elegant.  Her important status is clearly shown.  (It must be remembered that black was a stylish colour at the time.)   However, to my mind, it also shows a certain discretion.  There is no diadem, crown or other elaborate ornament on her head, and her hands and wrists are not overloaded with jewels.  Although no longer a simple housewife, this portrait shows Elizabeth as a woman of wealth and rank but not necessarily royalty.  I believe it is an accurate reflection of her position in England at the time: the wife of a powerful, important man who was not a king, in its way a statement as much about her husband’s position as her own.

There was great sadness following the death of daughter Elizabeth Claypole in August of 1658, which exacerbated things.  Oliver died September 3, 1658 at the age of 59 in Whitehall. He apparently suffered from malaria and urinary tract problems. He was buried with great ceremony (based on the burial of James I) at Westminster Abbey.  His daughter had been buried in Westminster Abbey already.  There is no record of how this double blow affected Elizabeth or if she attended his funeral.  She was offered an annuity and lodging in St. James’ House, and son Richard took on the Protectorate.  However, the army refused to follow Richard and his protectorate fell in the spring of 1659.  The army did propose a generous pension for Elizabeth.

 

Charles II was invited to return as King.  In April of 1660, just before the Restoration, Elizabeth left London.  She was accused of stealing jewels and other possessions belonging to the crown, charges she vigorously denied.  Her whereabouts during this time are not known; however, it appears that her letter to Charles II denying the thefts was written from Wales.  She denied having taken part in Oliver’s regime and promised her obedience as Charles’ subject.   Elizabeth was allowed to take up residence with her widowed son-in-law John Claypole at Northborough Manor in Northamptonshire.

Being out of London meant Elizabeth missed the posthumous trial of her husband, the exhumation of his body (and those of others although daughter Elizabeth’s still remains in Westminster Abbey) and the “execution” which resulted in Oliver’s mummified remains being dragged to Typburn when they hung for the day of Charles I’s death.   Elizabeth lived with her son-in-law until her death.  Like so much else about Elizabeth Bourchier Cromell, the date of her death is not clear.  She supposedly died in November of 1665, and was buried in Northborough Church November 19, 1665.  However, there is an indication that this death date is a blind, put about protect Elizabeth, and an alternative date in October of 1672 is suggested.  There is a memorial tablet at St. Andrew’s Parish Church at Northborough that shows she died in 1665.  As with so many other details of her life, the correct date of her death may never be known.

Sources include:

Find A Grave.  “Elizabeth Bourchier Cromwell.”  http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=44873970

Good Gentlewoman blog.  “Elizabeth Bourchier-Mrs. Oliver Cromwell” posted 6/9/2012. https://goodgentlewoman.wordpress.com/2012/06/09/elizabeth-bourchier-mrs-oliver-cromwell

The Cromwell Association website.  “Cromwell’s Family.”  (c) 2001-2005.  (No author or post date.)  http://www.olivercromwell.org/faqs6.htm .  The letters of Oliver and Elizabeth Cromwell mentioned in this post can also be found on the Cromwell Association site.

Westminster Abbey.  “Oliver Cromwell and Family.”  No author or post date.  http://www.westminster-abbey.org/our-history/people/oliver-cromwell

Wikipedia.  “Elizabeth Cromwell.”  Last modified 6/23/2015.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Cromwell

THE SECRET LIVES OF ROYAL WOMEN True Stories of Queens and Princesses, from the Tudors to the Windsors.  Editors of BBC HISTORY Magazine.  “Elizabeth Cromwell’s Shadowy Queen” by Simon Guerrier.  PP. 82-85.   (c) Immediate Media Company Bristol Limited, 2015.

Elizabeth Bourchier image from Wikimedia Commons: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/55/Elizabeth_Bourchier.jpg

Elizabeth Bourchier Cromwell image from Wikimedia Commons: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0d/Elizabeth_Cromwell%2C_Her_Highness_the_Protectoress.jpg/480px-Elizabeth_Cromwell%2C_Her_Highness_the_Protectoress.jpg

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Lauren Gilbert has always been an avid reader of fiction and non-fiction with a particular interest in English literature and history.  She earned a BA in English Literature and is a member of the Jane Austen Society of North America.  Her first book, HEYERWOOD: A Novel was published in 2011.  Her second, A Rational Attachment, is expected to be released later in 2015.  She lives in Florida with her husband.  Visit her website at www.lauren-gilbert.com. 

A Most Successful Bigot - of Politics & Religion in 17th Century England

by Anna Belfrage

It is easy to sit on the lofty pinnacle of hindsight and condemn people who have lived long since for being bigoted. I guess there will come a time when the people of the future will sit on their equally lofty pinnacles and laugh softly at us and our stupid mistakes – assuming of course, that there will be a future world with people to build hindsight pinnacles.

This does not mean that our ancestors weren’t bigoted. Of course, they were. But their beliefs and prejudices were the consequences of the world they lived in, which is why it makes little sense to accuse a 16th century man of being a misogynist, or bemoan the lack of strong independent female role models in the 17th century. (Although, in actual fact, there were plenty of strong women in the 17th century – as in all preceding centuries. If not, the human race would have died out long ago…)

Today’s post is about a man I don’t like. And yet, I find him fascinating – plus I can’t help but admire just how adroitly the man shifts his allegiances, managing always to stay ahead in times as tumultuous as those of the 17th century. So, with no more ado, I give you Anthony Ashley Cooper – not always likeable, but always a man true to his own interests, which, of course, is a doubtful quality at best.

Anthony Ashley Cooper

Our hero entered the world in the summer of 1621, into a comfortable life of well-to-do gentry. His father was a Sir John Cooper, but before the age of nine, our Tony was an orphan, left in the tender care of guardians. These guardians would ensure Anthony got a good, Christian education, mostly at the hands of Puritan tutors – something which would affect Anthony’s outlook on life significantly in the future.

A bright and ambitious boy, Tony matriculated at Exeter College in Oxford at the tender age of 15, but was kicked out within the year due to having “fomented a riot”. Tony was destined to go through life fomenting riots of one type or the other, so this early start should not come as a surprise – the fledgling man was merely flexing his wings.

So, no degree at Oxford, and instead Anthony was admitted to Lincoln’s Inn, there to study – unsurprisingly – the law. He was probably happy to be able to combine his studies of the temporal with further advancement of the spiritual, and was yet again exposed to Puritan beliefs, this time at the hand of two zealous chaplains.

One could see where this was leading: an intelligent, independently wealthy young man, influenced by the beliefs of the Puritans – wow, we had a Commonwealth man in the making! Except that we didn’t. At 19, young Tony married Margaret Coventry, who came with the obvious advantage of being the daughter of Thomas Coventry, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. No matter his religious preferences, young Tony had thereby entered the royal circle – a good place to be, for a man who had every intention of leaving his mark on the world.

While still a minor, Anthony was elected an MP for Tewkesbury in the Short Parliament. As the name indicates, this was a short parliament – very short, even – and when elections were called for the Long Parliament, Tony was asked not to stand. He did anyway, won the seat, but was blocked from taking it because it was suspected Antony would prove too sympathetic to the king.

Charles I - by divine right

By now, England was already sliding down that very muddy slope leading to Civil War. Charles I had his own ideas as to how to rule, most of them based on the fact that he was king by divine right and therefore had little reason to listen to Parliament. This was not an opinion appreciated by the MPs – or a majority of the landed gentry. But from a genuine desire to rein in the king to actually challenging him on the battlefield, the step was huge. And yet, in 1642, England exploded into war, with our Tony firmly in the royalist camp – despite a strong belief in Parliament as an institution. I guess at the time he believed the king would prevail…

Handsome Maurice

In 1643 he raised his own troop, fought bravely at various battles – and ended up in a major quarrel with Prince Maurice, yet another of the king’s Palatinate nephews, but (deservedly) of much less fame than handsome dashing Prince Rupert. Anthony was miffed, to say the least, and maybe this was why he defected to the Parliamentarian side in 1644. Or maybe Anthony, ever the opportunist, realised how things would end. Whatever the case, our Tony shifted allegiances for the first – but not the last – time in his life.

The Parliamentarians viewed their new recruit with some suspicion – until Anthony explained he just couldn’t stand it, how the Catholics were influencing the king. Well, every good Puritan knew just how evil the papists were, and for a man to attempt to flee their control was totally understandable. This is a first instance of what would become a tiresome chorus in Anthony’s future political life – a deep-seated fear of all those who clung to the Catholic faith.

The war ended. Anthony was probably among those who opposed the regicide of Charles I, but was savvy enough to keep his head down, which resulted in him working closely with the interregnum government. He also found time to replace his dead first wife with a new, nubile little thing named Frances Cecil, with whom he was to experience three years or so of contentment before she died in 1652, leaving him a widower with two toddlers of which only one would survive into adulthood.

Our Anthony had other matters with which to concern himself than the raising of his children. He was an up-and-coming man, forgiven the sin of once having been a royalist, and a member of the Council of State. He had the ear of Oliver Cromwell – even voted for having Cromwell acclaimed as king in 1654 – but remained a firm believer in Parliament as the cornerstone in governing England. When Cromwell showed tendencies to want to rule without Parliament – after all, Cromwell had a huge Army at his disposal – Anthony broke with Cromwell. The man, it seemed, had some backbone, as he would show over the coming years when he opposed several of Cromwell’s proposals.

Tony spent some years out in the cold. The impoverished and exiled Charles Stuart contacted him, promising all sorts of things if Anthony were to re-join the royal camp, but in 1655 only a fool would bet on Charles against Oliver – Cromwell was too powerful and capable to be overthrown by a royalist rabble.

However, Cromwell died sooner than expected. His son was a pathetic failure, and all over the country closet royalists sniffed the air and hoped for change. Ever sensitive to changing moods, Anthony therefore decided to throw his lot in with Charles Stuart – rather late in the day, one would think, seeing as this was 1660, but the new king was grateful and Anthony was created Baron Ashley – after being pardoned for his support of the English Commonwealth.

From Anthony’s perspective, the new king ascended his throne under a huge burden of gratitude towards the Parliament who had invited him to return. Expectations were therefore that Charles II would do little without consulting this august body – but Charles’ advisors had other ideas (as did Charles himself: he may have deplored some of his father’s actions, but wasn’t about to roll over and play dead at the say-so of Parliament)

Charles II - restored

Once the king was happily crowned, Anthony returned to politics with fervour – and a tendency to bite the hand that fed him. He opposed the king’s marriage to Catherine of Braganza, he opposed any policy that moved England in the direction of popish France, and out of principle he opposed anything Charles’ Lord Chancellor, the Earl of Clarendon, might propose.

He was a vociferous opponent of the Clarendon Code – the act of legislation whereby it would be forbidden to adhere to any church other than the Church of England. He even went as far as recommending that not only Protestant non-conformists, but also loyal Catholics (assuming they kept well to the background) should be excluded from penalties. The king agreed; Parliament did not.

In general, for the first few years, Charles found Anthony an able servant. But by 1666 they had their first serious falling out over Irish politics, and in 1667 they clashed again – this time over Clarendon. At the time, Clarendon was out of favour – he had failed miserably in convincing Parliament to deliver to Caesar what Caesar wanted, whether it be money or laws. Charles was angered – and sick and tired of Clarendon’s tendency to treat him as if he were a mindless boy – so he didn’t exactly protest when some of his nobles banded together in an effort to impeach Clarendon.

One would have thought Anthony would have joined the band-wagon, but instead he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in supporting the under-dog – and aggravating the king, especially in view of the fact that Anthony and Clarendon had been at loggerheads for years. Whatever the case, there was no impeachment. Instead, Clarendon was run out of the country.

In Clarendon’s place, the King now relied on the Cabal Ministry, so called because it consisted of the Lords Buckingham, Ashley, Arlington, Lauderdale and Clifford. Not that the Cabal ever really worked together – initially Anthony was in the dog-house for supporting Clarendon, while Buckingham and Arlington were busy tearing at each other.

The Cabal quickly acquired a reputation for lewdness and debauchery. Buckingham, as an example, duelled openly with the husband of his mistress (!), and, even worse, insisted his illegitimate son with said mistress be baptised in Westminster Abbey. Lauderdale was a larger than life character whose behaviour rarely conformed to what was expected of a statesman. Anthony, on the other hand, was a man who rarely gave way to private indulgences, his focus always on the one thing he truly coveted: power.

Anthony Ashley Cooper

In 1672, Anthony was created Earl of Shaftesbury and Lord Chancellor of England. He had reached his pinnacle, and an element of gratitude on his side would not have come amiss. Our Tony did not reason quite like that – he was the most capable man around, and the king was damned lucky to have him. Besides, Anthony wanted more: he wanted an England happily rid of Catholics in position of power and was irritated by the king’s less than enthusiastic reaction to this oh, so important undertaking.

The king, unfortunately in Anthony’s opinion, was married to a Catholic – a barren Catholic to boot. Even worse, Anthony was beginning to suspect that the Duke of York, Charles’ brother and heir apparent, was a closet papist. Not good, as per Anthony.

He wasn’t alone in voicing that opinion. While others proposed the king legitimise his eldest bastard son, the Duke of Monmouth, Anthony instead suggested the king divorce his useless wife and marry a fertile Protestant princess. The king’s saturnine face set in a mask of displeasure at these suggestions. Charles loved his son, but he had no intention of legitimising him, as he saw this as potentially weakening the royal position – plus he had serious doubts as to his son’s ability to rule. And as to his wife, Charles was more than aware of how hurt she was by his constant infidelities. He wasn’t about to add the humiliation of divorce to her heartaches.

Anthony retaliated by supporting the 1673 Test Act, legislation aimed at barring Catholics from holding civil or military offices in England. In brief, the Test Act required that all holders of such office take communion as per Anglian rites at least once a year.

The Duke of York did not take communion. Instead, in September of 1673, the Duke married Catholic Mary of Modena, a pretty fifteen-year-old branded “the Pope’s daughter” by the English. Suddenly, there was a real possibility that the by now openly Catholic Duke might sire a son – a Catholic son who would, in all possibility, inherit the English throne. A catastrophe in the making, in Anthony’s opinion, and for the rest of his life he dedicated a significant part of his talents and energies to attempting to stop the Duke of York from ever becoming king. Obviously, this didn’t exactly endear him to the king.

Useless Catherine...

Nor was the king all that pleased by Anthony’s insistence that he divorce his Catholic wife and remarry, which is why in 1673 he removed Anthony from the post of Lord Chancellor. He may have pulled Anthony’s claws, but not his teeth, and in 1674 an incensed Anthony gave a speech in the House of Lords, warning his peers that the 16 000 Catholics living in London were on the verge of rebellion. Not true, but the speech was well received in these anti-papist times, and the poor Catholics were forcibly expelled from London.

Anthony went further, suggesting to Parliament that any king or prince of the blood who married a Catholic was effectively committing high treason. The king was livid. The Duke of York was apoplectic. Anthony sat back and smirked, fanning the flames of bigotry in Parliament until there was serious intent of accusing the Duke of York of treason. The king prorogued Parliament to protect his brother. Charles also sacked Shaftesbury (Anthony) from all royal offices – the rift between the two was never to be healed.

In 1678, things came to a head. This was the year when that despicable creature Titus Oates rose to prominence by disclosing the Popish Plot. Not that there was any plot – Titus had made it all up – but the resulting furore created just the platform our boy Tony needed. “I will not say who started the Game, but I am sure I had the full hunting of it,” he said. He most certainly did, using Oates’ twisted inventions to purge Parliament of papists and to launch his final effort to permanently bar the Duke of York from the succession, the Exclusion Bill.

Once again, Anthony suggested the king divorce his wife and marry someone younger and fertile. Once again, Monmouth was put forward as a far more palatable heir than the Duke – merely because he was Protestant. Not that Anthony held Monmouth in high regard – he considered the young man vain and spoiled, and initially scoffed at the notion of having a bastard ascend the throne. At the same time, there was something very tempting about the idea of having a king permanently beholden to Parliament for his title – after all, should he not perform, all one had to do was to bring up the bastardy issue.

Anthony underestimated the king. In fact, most of his contemporaries committed the same mistake, failing to recognise that on some issues, this flexible king would not be moved, and these issues included the succession, his refusal to legitimise Monmouth, and his approach to his marriage – divorce was not an option.

Anthony also underestimated his companions. Not all of them wanted to be tethered to a man described by Dryden as “Restless, unfixed in principles and place”. Below Anthony’s feet, the ground began to shift, old loyalties dissolving, new ones forming. The excesses fuelled by the Popish Plot, resulting in the death of innocent men such as Oliver Plunkett, Archbishop of Ireland, were laid (justly) at Anthony’s feet.

In 1681, Anthony ended up kicking his heels in the Tower – accused of treason. The charges, however, could not be made to stick, and in 1682 he was released, but the mood of the country had changed, the Whig party to which Anthony belonged (he’d more or less founded it) challenged by the emerging Tories.

Feeling isolated and threatened – and still convinced it would be a disaster to the country to have a Catholic king – Anthony urged Monmouth and fellow conspirators to raise the flag of rebellion. The others weren’t all that keen, so instead Anthony began to toy with the idea of assassinating the king – and the Duke of York. Our hitherto intelligent – if bigoted – hero was losing it, finding little support for this radical idea. (A year or so later, in 1683, others would attempt to murder the Stuart brothers in the so called Rye House Plot, but by then Anthony was dead and no longer in a position to care about the English succession.)

By November of 1682, things were becoming sticky for our Tony, which is why he fled the country, seeking refuge in Amsterdam, where he died alone in January of 1683 after an extended illness. I don’t think all that many mourned his loss – least of all the Duke of York.

Anthony Ashley Cooper

Anthony Ashley Cooper was a crass and unsentimental character, quick to jump ship when his personal interests so required, incapable of rising above his religious prejudices. But in some things he was fanciful, such as in his belief that the souls of dead men rose through the skies to animate a distant star, forever tied to heaven’s firmament. If so, his star must be singularly dark, as red as the blood of the poor Catholics he spent a lifetime persecuting. But then, as I said in the beginning, it is easy to claim the moral high-ground from the perspective of three centuries and more. Who knows what any of us would have said or done, had we been born in a time so defined by religious tension and political instability as the 17th century?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anna Belfrage is the successful author of seven published books, all of them part of The Graham Saga. Set in 17th century Scotland, Virginia and Maryland, this is the story of Matthew Graham and his wife, Alex Lind - two people who should never have met, not when she was born three centuries after him.

Anna's books have won several awards and are available on Amazon, or wherever else good books are sold.
For more information about Anna and her books, please visit her website. If not on her website, Anna can mostly be found on her blog.

Lace and High Heels - Costume in Historical Fiction

by Deborah Swift

I spent many years as a costume designer and one of the things that was always awkward was getting the actor to understand that once they were wearing their costume, their whole movement would necessarily change.

18th century stomacher; click for more info

When writing historical fiction, a writer has to bear the same idea in mind, otherwise the clothing ceases to help the characterization. People moved differently in the past. For example, the weight and bulk of women's skirts in the seventeenth century, and even more so in Tudor times with less silk available, would make ascending and descending stairs more tricky than it is today. Running up or down stairs when the skirts have to be held out of the way, would have been more or less impossible, as there would be no hands free to hold on to the banisters. Women did not 'run', it was considered unseemly.

Bearing these considerations in mind helps to make your characters true of their period, and not just modern people in fancy dress.

Corset Busk

By the sixteenth century, corsets were a commonly worn garment among English women, and by the seventeenth century they incorporated a busk, a flat piece of wood sewn into a pocket in the front. The front of the corset was decorated by a stomacher, which was often embroidered, or covered with lace, rows of ribbon, or bows called an échelle (ladder). I once wrote in one of my books that someone 'pushed her in the stomacher' and the editor asked if 'stomacher' was a misprint. Of course the term was technically correct, but the word (quite rightly) had to come out of the novel because I'd forgotten that not all readers would understand my costume terminology!

But the stiffness of the busk would affect bending at the waist, so picking up things from the ground would be a more awkward movement than it would be for women today. 'Slumping' would also be difficult. (for example, 'She slumped'). A stomacher needed to be pinned on every time it was worn, so dressing was time-consuming. Sometimes I read lines in novels such as 'she threw on her bodice and rushed to the window,' but that is very unlikely. Upper class men and women needed servants to help them dress.

Rubens painting of Mme Fourneau in a hat

In winter, clothes were exceedingly heavy because woolen garments and furs were added for warmth, making ease of movement very difficult. Portraits do not often show this, as they were painted indoors, but diarists such as Pepys often make reference to these outdoor clothes. 'To White Hall on foot, calling at my father's to change my long black cloak for a short one (long cloaks being now quite out)' 

Running in the rain in the seventeenth century would have been a challenge for a woman, whilst she kept skirts out of puddles, the cloak fastened together, and one hand on her hat to make sure it did not blow off.

Petticoat Breeches

As for the lace and high heels - that was for the men!
By the mid- seventeenth century, loose breeches, called petticoat breeches, became very popular for men. They were large and loose, decorated with loops of ribbon hanging from the waist and around the knees. They were usually worn with a long-draped 'vest' or an over-skirt which fell just above the knee. They too were decorated with flapping lace and ribbon. I imagine loops of ribbon and lace would get caught on door knobs or other people's swords as you went! More about the odd fashion of Petticoat Breeches here.

Men also had the difficulty of walking in high heels. Shoes from the 1650's through to the 1670's tended to be square toed and longer than the foot inside them, and for men the heel was quite high, with red heels being in vogue. The heels accentuated a shapely calf, but again made speed of movement unlikely.

I have not yet read a novel where the man says, 'I must get out of these heels, they're killing me,' but it wouldn't be at all unlikely!

Boy's boot from the Bata Shoe Museum 17th C

If you are interested in period footwear, check out this great article from Collectors Weekly

So when writing it is not enough to imagine what the clothes looked like from the outside, but also the sheer reality and practicality of what it would feel like to wear them. Of course I have chosen some extreme examples, but it is not enough to just think about what things looked like. Questions I often ask myself are: How do they fasten? What do they weigh? Can the character dress herself? How does the clothing restrict her movement? What annoys her about her clothes - e.g. do the laces keep coming undone? Which parts are uncomfortable? Which parts does she change every day, and which stay the same? Do the clothes affect freedom of passage (through doors, for example)? Can the person sit down? What do the clothes tell other characters about her status? How well-worn are the clothes, and does she mend them herself?

In one of my books the wooden stomacher made it uncomfortable for the woman to sit. The physical discomfort echoed her emotional discomfort, and reference to the restrictive clothing really helped the scene.

As a writer we want to make the world feel real, not leave it as a 'story world'. Paying close attention to the clothing - the thing that is both the most intimate and the most external to the character, can add a whole new layer of  depth to your novel.

Thank you for reading!

The De Vere Family in the 17th Century

by Margaret Porter
The blood of the English de Veres, which still flows through the veins of Britain’s noble families—and some members of the present royal family—can be traced backwards in time to a Frenchman, Alberic de Vere. He accompanied William the Conqueror to England and in 1066 fought at the Battle of Hastings. Not long afterwards he was granted lands in Essex, the county most closely associated with his descendants. His grandson Aubrey, Count of Guines, was further ennobled as First Earl of Oxford by Empress Matilda when she was Queen of England. And down the centuries, through every reign, the de Veres were prominent as royal chamberlains, courtiers, and favourites.

Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford

The passage of five hundred years brings us to the 17th century and the waning days of the Seventeenth Earl—by far the most famous and illustrious member of his family. Edward de Vere was a shimmering star in Queen Elizabeth’s court, who referred to himself in his signature variously as "Oxford" or "Oxenford". For those who doubt that the genuine author of Shakespeare’s plays and poetry was a common glover’s son from Stratford, de Vere is most frequently proposed as their probable creator. He was a warrior-poet, in addition to being well-travelled, a gifted dancer, and a court officer. And, in the opinion of his wife Anne Cecil and her powerful father Lord Burghley, a terrible husband! It was his second wife, Elizabeth Trentham, who in 1593 provided an heir to his earldom.

Ten years later, at the death of his beloved Queen, Lord Oxford wrote to his brother-in-law of his grief, saying, “In this common shipwreck, mine is above all the rest.” On the accession of King James I, he asserted his hereditary claim as Lord Great Chamberlain and received from the King’s Wardrobe “forty yards of crimson velvet for the Earl’s own robes” to wear at the coronation on 25 July, 1603. Among his many duties on that date: delivering the uncrowned monarch's shirt, stockings, and underclothing to his bedchamber and dressing him for the coronation. As a perquisite, the Earl received “the bed on which the King had slept the night before the coronation and all his bedding, the coverlet, curtains, pillows, and hangings of the whole room, with the King’s nightgown.” During the coronation banquet, he presented the King's food. Oxford had but a year to enjoy his new possessions, for he died on 24 June, 1604.

Henry de Vere, 18th Earl of Oxford

His son and successor Henry was only eleven years old, the inheritor of a wasted estate. The boy's mother struggled to reclaim Hedingham, the de Veres’ ancestral castle in Essex, and other property in East Anglia. On attaining his majority he departed on a grand tour and spent five years in the Low Countries, France, and Italy. He later became Vice-Admiral of the Fleet, perhaps in order to keep him away from Parliament, where he was reportedly “one of the free-est speakers . . . .” He didn’t last long as a naval commander: disputes with the all-powerful Duke of Buckingham landed him in the Tower more than once. Like his father, he married a Cecil, but she bore him no children. He died at The Hague from a battle wound in 1625, two months after King James I, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.

Robert de Vere, 19th Earl of Oxford

As preparations began for Charles I’s coronation, Henry’s cousin Robert’s right of succession was disputed by another lord, preventing the presumptive Nineteenth Earl from taking part in the ceremony. Nearly a year later the House of Lords affirmed Robert’s status, and he took his seat in April 1626. In February of the following year his countess, Beatrice van Hemmema of Friesland, delivered their son Aubrey.

History repeated—like Edward and Henry de Vere before him, Aubrey became an earl when very young after his father fell at the Siege of Maastricht. Inheriting his title at the age of five, the Twentieth Earl of Oxford spent his childhood and early adolescence in Friesland with his mother’s family.

Aubrey de Vere, 20th Earl of Oxford

By the time Aubrey returned to England at age fourteen with his mother and sister, the de Vere properties were nearly all lost. He attended university at Oxford and began his long and rather distinguished career as a soldier—he loved a good fight on and off the battlefield and was a notorious duelist. In 1647 he took as his bride the ten-year-old heiress Anne Bayning, who brought him much-needed funds and a life interest in her Essex estates. A bright and promising future was dimmed by the execution of Charles I. Aubrey, a devoted royalist, fled to the Netherlands to join the court in exile. His estate was sequestered in 1651. Three years later he returned to England and landed in the Tower after being accused of plotting against Cromwell. This did not deter him--after his release, under the code name "Mr Waller" he participated in further royalist conspiracies and in 1659 was again imprisoned. His wife voluntarily joined him in the Tower, sickened, and died there. He was released a fortnight afterwards.

With the fall of the Commonwealth, the widower Aubrey, premiere earl of the realm, was among the six peers who invited Charles II to return to England. His good friend, the king he’d supported in exile, made him a Knight of the Garter, Lord Lieutenant of Essex, and gave him command of the regiment that was known as the “Oxford Blues.” He became a Privy Councillor and a Gentleman of the Bedchamber.

Aubrey, “the first of his Dignity in the Realm tho’ low in fortune,” was a gallant and courtly man, a gambler, and as lusty as Charles II’s other cronies—in other words, a very typical nobleman of the Restoration court. He arranged a false marriage to an actress who stirred his lust, employing one of His Majesty’s trumpeters to serve as “priest”. Despite the deception, the lady remained with him and in 1664 bore him a son. The mother referred to the boy Lord Bolbec, the courtesy title granted to an Earl of Oxford’s heir apparent, although he was the product of an unlawful marriage. Not surprisingly, the liaison didn’t last.

Aubrey proved himself a friend of the theatre in another way, by loaning out his coronation robes for a production of Shakespeare's Henry IV!

Diana Kirke by Peter Lely

His next mistress of note was the beautiful and immoral Diana Kirke, daughter of Whitehall Palace’s keeper and granddaughter of Aurelian Townsend, who composed court masques for King Charles I and Queen Henrietta Maria. When Di fell pregnant, the King offered the couple an annual pension of £2000 if they married. And so they did, in April 1673. Their first child, Charlotte, arrived not many months later.  She and her brother Charles, the true Lord Bolbec, died very young. Of the Oxfords' three surviving daughters, only one had an unblemished reputation—Lady Diana, the future First Duchess of St. Albans, who married Charles II’s son by Nell Gwyn. Lady Mary and Lady Henrietta, who were very possibly sired by Di's paramours, were as scandalous as their mother but did not succeed in marrying any of their lovers.

At James II’s accession in 1685, Aubrey was appointed Privy Councillor. At the coronation on 23 April his responsibilities were the same as when Charles II was crowned, and his wife took precedence over the other countesses. The Lord Chamberlain's instructions for the coronation clearly outline their positions: In procession of Countesses, four abreast, excepting Diana Countess of Oxford, alone….In procession of His Majesties regalia: The Sword of State in the Scabbard, born by Aubrey de Vere Earl of Oxford, Premier Earl of England, in his Robes of Estate, and Collar of the Order. 

Aubrey and James eventually fell out—the Earl refused to submit to the new King’s pro-Catholic policies and his stubborn intention to abolish the Test Act. Aubrey and his regiment supported the Protestant cause embodied in Prince William of Orange, and he welcomed the Dutch invader to England. After the accession of William and Mary, Aubrey participated in their coronation (his daughter Diana was one of the Queen’s train-bearers), and his former offices and honours were restored to him. He and the Oxford Blues fought against James II’s forces in Ireland, most notably at the Battle of the Boyne. In 1700 and and the following year he was commissioned as Speaker of the House of Lords, serving until William III revoked his privilege in September 1701.

Queen Anne was the last of the many monarchs Aubrey helped to crown. He succumbed to a serious illness in the winter of 1703 and died at his house in Downing Street, aged seventy-six. He was buried with his first wife Anne and many of his ancestors in Westminster Abbey's Chapel of St. John the Evangelist. The historic earldom of Oxford (first creation) died with him, as he had no legitimate son.

His daughter Diana, Duchess of St Albans, was a renowned beauty. Not long after her father's death, a member of the Kit-Kat club (a Whig drinking and discussion society) paid tribute to her and the de Veres' martial exploits by engraving these verses on a toasting glass:

1st Duchess of St Albans, 1694

Author's Collection

The line of Vere, so long renown’d in arms,
Concludes with luster in St. Albans’s charms;
Her conquering eyes have made their race complete,
It rose in valor, and in beauty set. 

Through Diana, the de Vere bloodline extended through her numerous offspring (eight of her nine sons survived) to the present day. Although the Beauclerks are more often described as direct descendants of King Charles II, they are equally connected to Aubrey the great 17th century courtier and his forbears. Murray de Vere Beauclerk, the current and Fourteenth Duke of St Albans, bears the name that Alberic brought to England in the 11th century, as does his eldest son, an author--and biographer of their ancestress Nell Gwyn.

Members of the royal family who carry de Vere DNA are William, Duke of Cambridge (through his mother Diana, Princess of Wales) and his son Prince George.

Sources:

The de Veres of Castle Hedingham, Verily Anderson

Manuscript letters written by Aubrey de Vere, 20th Earl of Oxford, held by the British Library

Beauclerk family papers held by the London Metropolitan Archive

A Genealogical History of the Dormant, Abeyant, Forfeited, and Extinct Peerages of the British Empire, Sir Bernard Burke

The Diary of Samuel Pepys

The Fighting Veres, Sir Clements Robert Markham

Monstrous Adversary: The Life of Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford, Alan H. Nelson

Dictionary of National Biography

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Margaret Porter, who can claim a few tiny drops of de Vere blood, is the award-winning and bestselling author of several historical fiction genres, and is also published in nonfiction and poetry. A Pledge of Better Times, the story of courtiers Lady Diana de Vere and Charles Beauclerk, 1st Duke of St. Albans, and of Diana's father Aubrey de Vere, will be available in April 2015. Margaret studied British history in the UK and the US. As historian, her areas of speciality are social, theatrical, and garden history of the 17th and 18th centuries, royal courts, and portraiture. A former actress, she gave up the stage and screen to devote herself to fiction writing, travel, and her rose gardens.

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