History
Top 7 Most Outrageous Things Done By Stuart Monarchs
The Stuart monarchs rarely did anything quietly. Between 1603 and 1714, Britain's royal family produced civil war, an executed king, religious conspiracies, spectacular sexual scandals, secret dealings with foreign powers and a revolution that sent one monarch fleeing into exile. Charles I believed so fiercely in royal authority that he helped provoke a war against his own subjects. His son Charles II restored the monarchy with a taste for mistresses, intrigue and revenge. James II managed to lose his throne in just three years, while the family's repeated clashes over religion helped reshape the British constitution. Some of these stories are extraordinary facts. Others are scandalous rumours that have grown more colourful with every retelling. Both reveal something about the extraordinary personalities and political tensions of the Stuart age. Here are seven episodes from a dynasty that repeatedly demonstrated how dangerous, absurd and occasionally ridiculous absolute royal ambition could become.
Charles II's reputation as the Merry Monarch was thoroughly earned. He maintained numerous mistresses, acknowledged several illegitimate children and presided over a Restoration court famous for its sexual politics and spectacular lack of restraint. But the claim that he commissioned a wig made from his mistresses' pubic hair belongs firmly in the category of unverified royal gossip. There is no reliable contemporary evidence establishing that such a wig existed. That distinction matters because Charles hardly needs invented accessories to qualify as outrageous. His relationships with women including Barbara Villiers, Louise de Kérouaille and Nell Gwynn generated political rivalries, expensive royal patronage and endless public fascination. The extraordinary thing about his court wasn't simply that the king had mistresses. It was that their influence could extend into the machinery of government. The wig makes a magnificent story. The documented reality is scandalous enough.
In 1625, Charles I married Henrietta Maria of France, a Catholic princess, at a time when Protestant England regarded Catholic influence with profound suspicion. The marriage was politically explosive. Charles ruled a kingdom still haunted by memories of the Gunpowder Plot, fears of foreign Catholic intervention and bitter arguments about the authority of the Church of England. His new queen maintained her Catholic faith and household, becoming an increasingly controversial figure among the king's opponents. The marriage itself was not particularly unusual by European dynastic standards. What made it dangerous was Charles's apparent inability to understand—or willingness to disregard—how deeply his subjects distrusted Catholic influence at court. Henrietta Maria later became an important supporter of the royalist cause during the Civil Wars. Marrying a Catholic did not cause the collapse of Charles's monarchy on its own. But it became a potent symbol of the religious and political anxieties he consistently failed to manage.
In 1670, Charles II secretly agreed to one of the most astonishing diplomatic arrangements in English royal history. Under the Secret Treaty of Dover, Charles entered an agreement with Louis XIV of France that included French financial support, cooperation against the Dutch Republic and a commitment that Charles would publicly profess Catholicism. The extraordinary element was the secrecy. Charles was the ruler of an officially Protestant kingdom, yet he was negotiating a religious and strategic realignment with Europe's most powerful Catholic monarch without the knowledge of most of his own ministers, let alone Parliament. Charles did not publicly convert as the treaty envisaged. His eventual reception into Catholicism came on his deathbed in 1685. The episode is outrageous not merely because of religion, but because Charles appeared willing to trade political independence and public trust for foreign money and greater freedom from parliamentary restraint. It was royal diplomacy conducted as a spectacularly dangerous private arrangement.
James II's Catholicism was not outrageous in itself. The political crisis arose because he was a Catholic monarch ruling a predominantly Protestant political establishment, and he repeatedly challenged the laws and conventions designed to preserve that establishment. When James succeeded his brother Charles II in 1685, many hoped he would govern cautiously. Instead, he promoted Catholics to influential positions, used royal powers to suspend the operation of religious restrictions and pursued policies that convinced opponents he intended to transform the relationship between monarchy, Parliament and the Church of England. His Declaration of Indulgence offered religious toleration to Catholics and Protestant dissenters, but its use of royal authority raised serious constitutional objections. The prosecution of seven bishops who resisted his orders intensified the crisis. The birth of a Catholic male heir in 1688 transformed fears of a temporary Catholic reign into the prospect of a lasting Catholic dynasty. Within months, James had lost his throne. The extraordinary story is not that he was Catholic, but that his approach to governing helped turn religious suspicion into revolution.
Charles II managed one of the more remarkable dynastic failures in British royal history: he fathered numerous illegitimate children but left no legitimate surviving heir. His marriage to Catherine of Braganza, a Portuguese Catholic princess, produced no surviving children. Meanwhile, Charles openly acknowledged several children by his mistresses, some of whom received aristocratic titles and became ancestors of prominent British families. The religious distinction mattered enormously. An illegitimate child could enjoy wealth, influence and royal favour, but could not simply inherit the crown. With no legitimate offspring, the succession passed to Charles's younger brother James, whose Catholicism provoked fierce political opposition. The resulting Exclusion Crisis saw attempts to prevent James from inheriting the throne, exposing deep divisions over religion, monarchy and parliamentary authority. Catherine's Catholicism did not cause the couple's childlessness, and the original headline should not be read as a medical explanation. The absurdity lies elsewhere: a king celebrated for his extraordinary number of romantic relationships left the monarchy facing a succession crisis that helped destabilise the kingdom.
Charles II's revenge on Oliver Cromwell was so extravagant that death offered the former Lord Protector absolutely no protection. Cromwell had died in 1658 and received an elaborate state funeral. But after the monarchy was restored in 1660, the new regime set about punishing those held responsible for the execution of Charles I. In January 1661, Cromwell's remains were removed from Westminster Abbey. His corpse, alongside those of fellow regicides Henry Ireton and John Bradshaw, was taken to Tyburn and publicly hanged on 30 January, the anniversary of Charles I's execution. The bodies were subsequently beheaded. Cromwell's head was displayed at Westminster Hall, beginning a bizarre posthumous journey that eventually ended with its burial at Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, in 1960. This was more than personal revenge. It was a carefully staged demonstration that the restored monarchy intended to condemn the republican experiment and reassert royal legitimacy. Still, ordering the public execution of a man who had already been dead for more than two years is an almost unbeatable example of Stuart theatrical excess.
James II's departure from England in 1688 was one of the most consequential royal collapses in British history, and it came with an unexpectedly undignified medical detail. When William of Orange landed with an invading force, James initially prepared to resist. But his position rapidly deteriorated as senior officers defected, political support evaporated and even members of his own family abandoned his cause. At this critical moment, James was suffering from debilitating nosebleeds. His worsening health contributed to an atmosphere of personal and political crisis as he retreated from Salisbury towards London. But the nosebleed did not, by itself, send him fleeing to France. James's departure followed the disintegration of his military and political authority. His first escape attempt failed when he was intercepted in Kent; a subsequent attempt succeeded. The extraordinary irony is that a king who had tried to strengthen royal authority ended up abandoning his kingdom while his army fell apart around him. The nosebleeds make the story memorable. The real scandal is how completely James misjudged the loyalty of those on whom his throne depended.
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