Lilibulero. The song that "rhymed King James out of three kingdoms", according to Lord Wharton who penned the lyrics. Thomas Wharton (1648-1715), 1st Marquess of Wharton, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, a famous rake and freethinker who wrote the words to Henry Purcell's famous song "Liliburlero", basically a re-arrangement of an older tune called "Quickstep".

Wharton was described as "a loose living, arrogant, Dissenter-loving, church-hating Whig". The Tories called him "the most universal villain". [And their point is what?] Certainly he knew how to enjoy himself such as the time in his youth when during a wild orgy he "disburdened" himself on a church altar in Gloucestershire. Guess he wasn't what you would call a true believer.

In 1682 Wharton and his brother reinforced the 'church-hating Whig' label when after a riotious dinner party the drunken members of the dinner party, led by the Wharton brothers, went out in search of a nocturnal adventure. After awakening a sleeping village, they broke into the church, defiled the font, broke down the pulpit, tore the Bible, rang the bells, cut the bell ropes and "committed many horrible acts".

Wharton became a great favorite of William III for reasons of politics and personality, and not coincidentally Dr. Robert Frampton, the Anglican bishop of Gloucester who took great umbrage at Wharton's antics in his church and who fined Wharton for said offences, was summarily dismissed from his bishopric by the King for alledgedly refusing to take the Oath of Allegiance to His Majesty. Whatever works.

The lyrics to Lilibulero as penned by Wharton: (and the melody line)

Ho brother Teague, dost hear de decree?
Lilli burlero, bullen a la;
Dat we shall have a new deputie,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la.

Chorus:
Lero, lero, lilli burlero,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
Lero, lero, lero lero
Lilli burlero, bullen a la

Ho, by my Soul, it is a Talbot;
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
And he will cut all de English throat
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

Though, by my soul, de English do prate,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
De law's on dere side and de divil knows what,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

But if Depense do come from de Pope
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
We'll hang Magna Carta demselves on a rope
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

And de good Talbot is now made a Lord,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
And with his brave lads he's coming aboard,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

Who all in France have taken a swear,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
Dat day will have no Protestant heir,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

O but why does he stay behind?
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
Ho, by my soul, 'tis a Protestant wind,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

Now that Tyrconnel is come ashore,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
And we shall have commissions galore.
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

And he dat will not go to Mass,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
Shall be turned out and look like an ass,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

Now, now de hereticks all will go down,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
By Christ and St. Patrick's the nation's our own,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

Dere was an old prophercy found in a bog,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
Dat our land would be ruled by an ass and a dog,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

So now dis old prophecy's coming to pass,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
For James is de dog and Tyrconnel's de ass,
Lilli burlero, bullen a la
(Chorus)

A little bit of translation on some of the words: "Brother Teague" is a general reference to an Irishman; "Talbot" and "Tyrconnel" are the same person -- family name was Talbot, peerage was Earl of Tyrconnel. Tyrconnel was James II's Irish commander in the field at the Boyne who summarily cut and run; the Protestant Wind refers to well .... the Protestant Wind that blew William's invasion fleet through the Channel.

There are a million and one explanations as to the origin and meaning of the words "lillibulero and bullen a la". Really doesn't matter. What does matter is that English and Irish Protestants took up the song as their melody during King William's reduction of Ireland. It still can raise quite a bit of ire if played in the wrong company. [Try it this year on St. Patrick's Day just for fun.]

According to Bishop Burnet (1643-1715), 'a foolish ballad was made at the time, treating the papists, and chiefly the Irish, in a very ridiculous manner, which had a burden said to be Irish words, "Lero, lero, lilliburlero", that made an impression on the army that cannot be imagined by those who saw it not. The whole army, and at last the people, both in city and country, were singing it perpetually. And perhaps never had so slight a thing so great an effect.'

Ain't that the truth.

During the month of June it became increasingly obvious that James's army would have to confront King William's army. That fact alone served to increase William's good humour. The English courtiers left behind in London would hardly have recognized their cold and rather surly monarch in the man that was traversing Ireland.

As one of the King's officers who waited on him at supper remarked, "He discours'd me most of ye time, and was extremely pleasant and cheerfull." (Hewitson 129) William was even gracious to James's trumpeter, who came to request a prisoner exchange. William inquired courteously after James's French commander -- "Comment se port M. de Lauzun?" and asked him "de lui faire ses baise-mains." (Huygens Journalen 1)

By the end of June William was gazing down into the valley of the Boyne and the tents of James's army. The King was pleased, knowing that the battle was imminent. "I am glad to see you, gentlemen," he remarked as he surveyed the scene. "If you escape me now, the fault will be mine." (Macauley 3)

What happened next has been hashed and rehashed ad nauseum. From the errant cannonball shot that tore off the shoulder of the King's coat, waistcoat and shirt, to the retreat of James's army from the Battle of the Boyne. Well guess what? It's been said enough. And that includes every odd Ulsterman and Orangeman that just can't get enough of it. It happened over 300 years ago. Get off it and move on.

Onward to the Seige of Limerick ....

On June 4, 1690, King William left London for Ireland and he was damn glad about it. His Majesty was in a great good humor at the prospect of 'being under canvas' again. Going on a military campaign was a perfect pleasure for him as "he was sure he understood that better than how to govern England." (Burnet History 4)

King Billy was relieved to leave behind the political squabbling in Parliament and the pissing, moaning and constant carping of his courtiers. And to his surprise and delight, as he traveled across England, he discovered that he was truly popular amongst the English folk at large. The trip became something of a Royal progress. At every halt women surrounded his coach, mobbing him when he got out of it and fighting to kiss his hand. (Klopp 5 339)

He landed in Ireland near Carrickfergus, north of Belfast, and when King William rode off to Belfast the whole city turned out to cheer him. He studied the countryside and found it to his liking. It was in his words "a county worth fighting for". (Royal Diary 75) But the Irish people themselves were less appealing to the eyes of those surrounding the King.

"We saw a great many poor and wretched men, women and children. They are half naked, very ugly and look unhealthy, worse than I've seen in any other country. Their houses too are unusually dirty and miserable." (Huygens Journalen 1)

What struck Huygens even more than their appearance was the fact that the people they encountered along the way all refused to describe themselves as Irish; they all claimed they were Scots who had come over and settled in Ireland. Not as insane a lie as it may sound considering they were watching yet another English army come to 'reduce' them and their homeland. Best to try and claim to be anything but Irish.

And the army that came with the English King was no small number of men. 35,000 infantry and 9000 cavalry. Half the troops were English. The rest were Dutch, German, Danish, Finnish, and a regiment of French Huguenots. And finally there were the Enniskilleners -- the Irish troops dreaded by their own countrymen worse than they dreaded the English, due to the Enniskilleners history of cruelty and ruthlessness to their own kind.

As pleasant a holiday as this was so far for the King, he stated unequivocably that he had had not come to Ireland to 'let the grass grow under his feet.' (Royal Diary 71-5)

The reduction of Ireland was about to begin.

The christening of little William Henry was the occasion for a dysfunctional family quarrel. William's mother, Mary, and his grandmother, Amalia, fought bitterly over the choice of names. Mary wanted Charles. Amalia insisted on Willem Hendrik. On January 15, 1651, the day of the christening, while everyone was waiting in the Grote Kerk in the Hague, the argument still raged. Amalia won the day but the row held up the ceremony for 2 hours and Mary was so angry she refused to attend.

Even though William's mom was a no show, the rest of the family turned up in spades. Elizabeth of Bohemia, the Winter Queen, and her children were there as well as Count Willem Frederik van Nassau-Dietz, Count Johan Maurits van Nassau-Siegen and William's aunt Louisa, Electress of Brandenburg. The Dutch and English nobility were well represented as were the envoys from foreign courts.

The Grote Kerk was draped in black mourning since little William's father, William II, was recently deceased. The church was packed, and the sermon that was preached, "Suffer little children to come unto me", was completely inaudible. So inaudible that the reverend, Tobias Tegnejus, gave up in the middle.

The Winter Queen held William, while the baptism was performed by the Reverend Herman van der Linden. The Amsterdam Regents, however, were less than pleased as they noted with fury that the christening robes were lined with royal ermine.

Immediately after the christening the shit storm over who would be William's guardian blew up with a vengeance. Mary, his mother, wanted sole custody on the basis of an unsigned and undated will of her husband, William II. She argued "It was the only honour he had left her to maintain respect for her person." (Atizema 3 567) Four months later the High Court did award custody of the child to his mother, and appointed the boy's uncle, Friedrich Wilhelm, Elector of Brandenburg, as guardian for the administration of the Prince's estates and the supervision of his education.

Despite all this it was crystal clear that the Regents of the Republic had zero intention of submitting to a Prince of Orange ever again. As a force in Dutch and European affairs, it seemed for the moment that the House of Orange was extinct.

Just wait until 1672.

Usually this blog is nothing more than colorful unrelated factoids. It's not true history. But today I am going to think out loud in historical terms as I'm trying to work through some theoretical models for my own work on the cultural transformation of the Williamite world. This is where you want to leave the room.

I've been mulling over a few things. Most particularly the state of intellectual history and the controversy that moves around the question of how to weight the effect of historical agents against the effect of overarching structure. Is either one the main force of historical change? Or is there another alternative?

The structuralists (represented by the Annales school) charge that the beliefs and behaviours of historical agents (people) are totally transcended by economies, institutions, climate, and geography. It's considered a deterministic approach and called by some, particularly Quentin Skinner, a 'grand theory'. What it does is reduce to zero the impact of individual action and particular events in shaping history. At the opposite end of the continuum are the deconstructionists who take the position that the voluntary actions of historical agents are the great catalytic factors in producing change over time. Neither works for me.

There's another model -- propounded by the 19th century Italian, Antonio Gramsci, which uses cultural hegemony to measure the process of cultural transformation. On a first read of Gramsci the temptation is to plunk him down in the voluntarist camp, as he does stress the role of individual action and thought in history and he does put forth his belief that people create their own cultural institutions. But yet his hegemonic model presents the idea that large historical blocs act in unison to dominate, or provide consent, to that domination. It's a tricky argument.

The Gramscian framework is essentially bipolar. Two poles of force and consent that must always coexist through not in equal weight. In this way he examines the relationships between culture and power, and dominance and subordination in society.

Gramsci has sometimes been aligned with those advocating Marxist philosophy but that association is erroneous. Gramsci does not advocate strict economic determinism. He takes the Marxist dialectic, loosens it and reworks the model. In addition, his definition of the notion of the state is much broader than that of Marx. It is not sheer market alone. He includes political and civil institutions through which hegemony can be exercised more effectively. Gramsci also rejects the Marxian confrontational position of capitalist vs. proletariat. For Gramsci there is no confrontation between the dominant hegemonic group and the subordinate societal group. The confrontation is demurred by the vehicle of culture. That's the key -- culture. For Gramsci, the mental life is much more than a pale reflection of the state of material life. I have to agree.

One of the key concepts is the concept of consent. And what are the components of a hegemonic culture that actually require consent from a subordinate group? As I see it those components are values, norms, perceptions, beliefs and sentiments that create the reality of institutions dedicated to the enforcement of cultural domination. But the consent of the subordinate bloc is never resolved by a simple 'yea' or 'nay'. Finding and viewing consent in an historical context is much more ambiguous. Is it explicitly verbal or is it more implicitly measured through activity? In order to get to that you have to pass through the complicated configuration of popular consciousness and contradictory consciousness.

Gramsci's contradictory consciousness springs from spontaneous philosophy. So what is that? Definitionally it is that part of the cultural meaning system which is more subjective and divorced from public discourse. But it has to be visible in some form for historians to evaluate and measure. Where it shows its face is in language itself. In this context language has to be viewed in its totality, imbued with determined notions and concepts. It is not just words grammatically devoid of content. It can also be spied through the vehicle of popular religion and folklore. Here history becomes more art than the social science demanded by either the structuralists or the voluntarists. And I think it suits Clio more.

So if you taKe the idea of spontaneous philosophy any group can create its own meaning system, transforming itself into an historical bloc focused by a world view? ALmost. The spectre of the contradictory consciousness is ever looming, forcing a war between the explicit and implicit articulation of cultural values within. This is the method whereby a group falls into the subordinate position in the culture war -- trapped by a state of contradictory consciousness within itself. That state imposes its own inaction, indecision and passivity, enabling the elite cultural group to maintain its own cultural hegemonic dominance.

This may sound like it is all or nothing, but that is not how the model works. Gramsci did not intend for the model to be inflexible. The creation of these counter-hegemonies (the subordinate culture) shows that there is an openness to his theory. Gramsci intended that the border zones between high culture and low culture be permeable rather than impenetrable. This has not always been well received by anti-elite historians who prefer to stress the autonomy of subordinate cultures in their own models.

So will it work for the Williamite transformation of culture? It's a complex bit of business, more art than science, but I think it will work. Worth at try.

Recommended Reading: "The Concept of Cultural Hegemony: Problems and Possiblites", T.J. Jackson Lears, in AHR, 1985; "The Return of the Grand Theory in the Human Sciences", Quentin Skinner, ed., 1985; "History and Criticism", Dominick LaCapra, 1985.

Party like it's 1689. [Or 1690 if you're using N.S.]

Twelfth Night celebrations at Whitehall Palace that year found King William in an unusally good mood. After a grand dinner hosted by the Duke of Shrewsbury, Queen Mary retired to Kensington with her sister, Princess Anne, to play at cards, leaving the King, the Earl of Marlborough, the Earl of Godolphin, the Earl of Selkirk, and others to their own devices. The gentlemen quickly turned the dinner party into a drunken debauch.

"In the end they all became so drunk that there was not a single one who did not lose consciousness." (Churchill I 370)

Sir C. Huygens, who was also in attendance, relates that he saw Marlborough and Selkirk staggering dead drunk. Marlborough fell asleep in the antechamber of the King's bedroom. King William, who himself had been 'recovering' in an armchair in front of the fire, was able to get to his feet, swaying like a tree in the wind and step over Marlborough who never stirred.

Incredibly the King was able to stay upright and return to Kensington with enough stamina to join the gambling party hosted by Queen Mary and Princess Anne, although his secretary, Sir C. Huygens, comments that His Majesty, 'had no inclination to do business that day.' (Huygens, Journalen I 225) [Gee, ya think?]

The party had been a great public relations success for William as the Earl of Selkirk, full of drunken praise for the King's prowess with a bottle said repeatedly,

"Qu'il avoit parle ce soir en vray Roy." [He had spoken tonight as a true King.] (Huygens Journalen I 225)

Pass the genever.

In the year of the Rampjaar (1672), the French swarmed through the Netherlands. The only real defense was to open the sluices and the dykes and flood the country in advance of the French armies. Naturally this was an onerous policy and one that was heavily resisted by the officals of the Dutch provinces.

The 22 year old Prince of Orange was adamant, and would not be dissuaded from this course of action. Two of the greatest problems were in the provinces of Friesland and Groningen. The farmers in Groningen refused to flood their threatened lands, and Groningen expected Holland to provide powder and matches for her defense, doing nothing in return.

No amount of persuasion from the Prince of Orange or his kinsman, Prince John Maurice, could move the Groningen & Friesland officials. Finally, on June 23, 1673, the Prince had had enough. He wrote to John Maurice from the Hague: [translated for the deficient amongst you -- which is a goodly number.]

"Monsieur, I have received yours of the 20th instant and have seen, with much astonishment, the insolent and impertinent resolution of these gentlemen of Friesland, which is very out of place. If you find the inundations necessary, I beg you to make them, without any regard to the said resolution, and, if Friesland officers make any difficulty to obey you in that, or in anything else, have them shot on the spot, without any form of trial, my authority being deeply engaged; I therefore beg you not to fail in this, and to be assured that I shall be always, Monsieur,

Your very affectionate cousin and servant, G. Prince d'Orange"

And with that the dykes were indeed cut.

The Reduction of Ireland. That's what it's called. Makes it sound like the latest diet craze. What it means is 'reduce' Ireland to 'submission'. And no doubt the Irish were getting damn tired of it. But it would happen yet again starting in 1689.

Why? [Well, I'll tell you.] Because the ousted James II, with backing from Louis 14, lands in Ireland with an army intent on taking first Ireland and then England. Obviously the brand spanking new King, William III, ain't gonna let that happen, so in August of 1689 he sends over his trusted friend, the 80 year old Duke of Schomberg, veteran of many continental campaigns, to deal with the Irish problem.

It's not an auspicious beginning. Never in his military career did the old marshal have troops under his command as ignorant, untrained and undisciplined as this Irish army. There were also massive frauds on the part of the Chief Commissary resulting in food that was uneatable, pikes that were so rotten they broke in the hand, lack of carts for transporting the baggage, and lack of horses to pull the carts since they had all been hired out to the local farmers. By the autumn of 1689 there is a steady stream of letters to the King complaining of the problems:

"I must tell your Majesty that if our Irish colonels were as able in war as they are to send to pillage the country, and not to pay the soldiers, your Majesty would be better served by them." (Dalrymple 2 167-87)

With the winter came even greater misfortune -- disease. At Dundalk 2000 soldiers had died of the bloody flux [dysentery]. 900 more died on the journey to the hospital at Belfast. Those who did make to Belfast fared no better. Between November 1689 and May 1690, close to 3000 died in hospital. More than half the English troops sent to fight in Ireland were dead before the spring of 1690. Schomberg wrote:

"The English nation is so delicately bred, that as soon as they are out of their own country, they die the first campaign." (Dalyrmple 2)

Seeing that the situation needed his own hand, on June 4, 1690, King William left London to venture into a disease-ridden Ireland. The opposition to his going was great for bitter political interest as well as genuine concern that he would succumb to the Irish plagues, leaving the door open for James to regain his throne.

"Some did really apprehend the air of Ireland would be fatal to so weak a constitution." (Burnet 4)

King William would surprise them all.

I've been asked to expound on the Archbishop of Canterbury's role after Queen Mary's death in convincing King William to be shed of his mistress. Okey dokey.

To set the stage. Queen Mary dies of smallpox and the King, according to the Calendar of State Papers, was 'drowning in sorrow'. (Cal. S.P. Dom. William III. July 1- Dec 31, 1695, p.301) He had been weeping hysterically during the course of her decline, and when she died he fainted dead away and the Earl of Portland had to carry him in his arms away from the deathbed. The King laid on his bed, neither speaking nor moving, and even more alarming, the constant coughing so necessary to keep his lungs clear had ceased.

Access to the King was severely restricted but one of those who was in attendance was Thomas Tenison, the Archbishop of Canterbury. William felt some relief in talking to the Archbishop about Mary, telling Tenison that "If I could believe any mortal man could be born without the contamination of sin, I would believe it of the Queen." (Royal Diary 2)

When the clergyman told the King gently, "Sire, we must repent and mend our life", William replied with a touch of his usual asperity, "Ay sir, we must mend our life, I must mend my life and you must mend yours." (Huygens Journalen 2 51) But Tenison went farther than just pious admonitions.

The story of what happened comes from Bishop Moor, one of the clergy in attendance on the sick Queen. Moor revealed that the Archbishop had taken his courage up in both hands and raised the subject of Betty Villiers, "with whom it was well known that William had been too familiar". The Archbishop rebuked the King to his face and took the freedom "to represent to him the great wrong he had done to that excellent wife by his adultery with the Lady Villiers." According to Moor, the King took the rebuke well and did not deny his behavior and promised Tenison that he "would have no more to do with her". (Whiston 1 100)

The sermon that Tenison subsequently preached to the grieving King was aimed directly at the subject of his adultery. It was called 'On Holy Resolution'. And it hit its mark.

"...when those who have been enchanted with sinful pleasures begin to think of reforming themselves, there is a great strife between the flesh and the spirit, and they are ready to think they cannot by any means get the victory, and they cry out with great anxiety and say, 'Men and brethren, what shall we do?' What shall they do? Doubtless they should encourage themselves in God, who is greater than those against them...." [Whatever.]

By orders of the King, the sermon was reprinted and distributed throughout London in a 'mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maximum culpa' kind of moment. Betty Villiers lost her place in the King's bed and was married off to a son of the late Duke of Hamilton.

And that, as they say, was that ... almost.

On this day (January 13) in 1696, at Kensington was signed

"A Warrant for a patent under the great seal of Scotland, creating Lord George Hamilton, son of the Late Duke of Hamilton, Earl of Orkney, Viscount Kirkwell and Lord Degmont [Dechmont] in that kingdom, in consideration of the services of his ancestors to the Crown, and especially of the service of the said late Duke, who was most eminently instrumental in procuring the settlement of Scotland under the King's authority. The said Lord George has maintained the traditions of his family, and given many demonstrations of his fidelity and zeal, at the battles of the Boyne and Aughrim, Steinkirk and Landau, and in the seiges of Athlone, Limerick, and Namur. " (S.P. Scotland Warrant Book 16, p.121).

So ... Lord George was rewarded for his service to the crown with a peerage. The one really big service he provided to King and county that was omitted from the Warrant was his acceptance of King William's cast-off mistress, Betty Villiers, as his wife.

As I've repeated here a couple of times, after Queen Mary's death, William bid adieu to his mistress of 15 to 17 years tenure, brought to the decision by his Calvinist guilt and the urging of the Archbishop of Canterbury. [The exact date on when the affair started is a bit murky, but even ball-parking the incept date, this was a sizeable number of years to be faithfully unfaithful with one woman.] The mechanics of her dismissal are unknown. That there was a final face-to-face with the King seems unlikely since Betty herself remarked one day that she "wondered she could never see that King after the Queen's death". (Whitson I 100)

What is known is that "My Lord George Hamilton was married on Monday last to Mrs. Villiers, ..." (Lexington Papers, Vernon to Lexington, Whitehall, 11/29/95)

So who was the husband selected for Mrs. Villiers? George Hamilton (1666-1737) was the 5th son of the Duke of Hamilton and a career soldier. He started his training under his uncle, Lord Dumbarton in the 1st Foot. BY 1692 he was a full Colonel in command of his own regiment.

His battle honors are numerous. He served at the Boyne, Aughrim, Athlone, Limerick, Steinkirk (as the head of the Royal Fusiliers), Landen (as Colonel of the 1st Foot), and the seige of Namur. It was at Namur in 1695 that he received a severe wound and was raised to the rank of Brigadier. In November of that year, at the age of 29 he married the approximately 37 year old Betty Villiers. [Her age may be plus or minus a year or two since her exact birthdate is in question.]

His career continued after King William's death as a Major-General in Queen Anne's War. Once again he was present at the major battles of this campaign -- Blenheim, Ramilles, Oudenarde -- distinguishing himself at each.

The greatest defeat of his career occured at Malplaquet, when Orkney's battalions led the assault on the French entrenchments and suffered massive losses. Some say he never really recovered from the massacre.

In 1710 Orkney is appointed Royal Governor of Virginia, a post he holds until his death in 1737, although he never set foot in the colonies. A deputy was sent to carry out the actual tedium of the Crown's business. The deputy was a fellow Scot, Alexander Spotswood.

Orkney's final appointment was as Field Marshall of all His Majesty's Forces in 1736, the first time the rank of Field Marshall came into use in Britain. He died a year later in London, three years after his wife.

Rest in peace, Lord George.

Tidbits for the month of January:(all dates N.S.)

01/23/1689: The prince [of Orange] has also ordered, that for the future no officer in his army shall sell any office or place under him, but that they shall be given to such as best deserve them: they are also required to take an oath to be faithful to him and the protestant religion.

01/08/90: The king has declared his final resolutions to goe for Ireland; for which he is making all preparations necessary; he has already agreed with the drapers for the new cloathing 15,000 men; and 6000£ worth of hay is already bought on the river Severn and ordered to be twisted and sent on board.

01/04/92: Yesterday a monstrous fish of an ell long, having the parts and shape of a dog, scarce ever known in the fresh water, was shot in the Thames, and carried to the king at Kinsington.

01/21/92: Thursday. Yesterday morning the earle of Marlborough put on the kings shirt, but before noon, on what occasion not knowne, the lord Nottingham signified the king had noe further service for him, so that he is out of all his places.

01/26/92: Tewsday. This day the king went incognito to the lords house, to hear the duke of Norfolks witnesses examined; 2 witnesses swore that they saw Germain between a pair of sheets with the duchesse: and the further debate is adjourned.

01/28/92: His majestie yesterday checkt a young lord for swearing within his hearing; telling, the court should give good examples, and reformation should begin there first, and then others would follow.

01/30/92: This morning the king signed a warrant to create general Ginkel baron of Aghrim and earle of Athlone in Ireland.

01/03/95: The king has given the countesse of Darby all the furniture of the room the queen dyed in.

His majesties upolster has orders to buy 6000 yards of black cloth for the hanging of Whitehall, Kensington, Hampton Court, and the presence chamber at Windsor; he is also to provide 400 yards of purple velvet for the kings bedding and apartment.

The princesse is to be chief mourner, and 200 old women to walk before in mourning, and to have 40s. each; the whole charge is computed at about 100,000£.

01/05/95: His majestie has promised that the late queens servants shall have their salaries paid them during his life as if she were living.

01/29/95: Saturday last, before his majestie left Richmond, he diverted himself with shooting flying on horseback, making 7 shotts all successfull.

01/04/95: Mounsieur Auverquerke is to be made an earl of this kingdom so soon as the bill passes for naturalizing his sons.

01/19/97: His majestie has declared monsieur Keppel shall be an English earl, and 'tis said will be created earl of Albemarle.

01/01/97: Monsieur Auverkirk and earl of Portland are made generalls of the English horse.

01/11/98: Ordered, that all grants of the crown made since 1696, be laid before the house.

01/14/99: Sir Walter Young, from the commissioners of the customs, presented an account of what spirits have been exported from London since the act made for distilling low wines and spirits from corn.

01/19/99: The commons sat till 6 at night debating the disbanding bill; there was a ryder prepared, but not offered, for complimenting his majesty with the Dutch guards, being 2500 men, over and above the 7000 allowed by the bill, and at last divided whither the bill should passe, or lye upon the table; for passing 221, against it 154: so it past, and was sent to the lords.

01/31/99: The lords this day read the bill for disbanding the army a third time, and past it without amendments; nor was there any division or material debate against it.

01/13/00: This day the commons read the bill for reassuming the forfeited estates in Ireland, which took up an hours time; and ordered it a 2nd reading on Thursday, when all the members of the house are ordered to be present.

01/01/01: This day the commons agreed with the committee that the earl of Portland was guilty of high crimes and misdemeanours, and voted an impeachment against him.

Recommended Reading: "A Brief Historical Relation of State Affairs from September 1678 to April 1714", Narcissus Luttrell. (6 volumes) Oxford. MDCCCLVII.

Because the air of London was so heavily polluted and because King William was asthmatic, he found out quite quickly that he could not live at Whitehall Palace. Hampton Court was an alternative, but it was too far away from the center of London to accommodate regular business.

To solve the commuting problem William bought Kinsington House from the Earl of Nottingham for 18,000 guineas. The brick villa lay at the western edge of Hyde Park and was surrounded by a pleasant country village and farmland. Sir Christopher Wren was put to work to make it fit for royal habitation by tacking pavilions onto its four corners. The 2 eastern pavilions were for the King; the north-west pavilion and the great hall were for the Queen, and the southwest pavilion housed the great stairs and the royal chapel.

John Evelyn, who came to see the building work in 1690, called it a 'patched building, but with the garden ... a very sweet villa'. He was impressed by the straight new highway through Hyde Park which had been specially laid out for the benefit of the King and his court. The road was wide enough for 3 coaches to drive abreast, and at regular intervals along it were set posts on which were glass cases for lamps, lit every evening when the court was at Kensington. Necessary, for the road out to Kensington was notorious for highwaymen and footpads. It was known as the "Route de Roi", later corrupted to Rotten Row.

Ships sailed regularly between Holland and England bringing with them household goods for the King and Queen. Kensington House began to be filled with all manner of rare and exotic furnishings, cabinets, screens, hangings and more blue and white china than anyone would want to see.

Along with the furnishings came the dogs. Mopshonden, to be exact. Mary brought with her a whole troop of the little dogs, nicknamed in England as Dutch Mastiffs, or as we know them today, Dutch Pugs (hardly my idea of a mastiff). Funny little wall-eyed creatures with curly tails who can snore like buzz-saws.

But crockery and canines weren't the only things to come over from Holland. Betty Villiers, the King's mistress, arrived as well. After William sailed with the invasion fleet in 1688 she had not remained behind. She journeyed back to England soon after William and settled in London at the home of her sister, Madame Puissars. When the King and Queen moved to Kensington, she followed and was quietly established in lodgings nearby. It soon became public knowledge that she was seeing the King at Hampton Court as well, meeting him at the house of Mynheer Zuylestein.

Mary undoubtedly knew of Betty's presence nearby, but William, as always, kept the affair as discreet as he could. The fascination that Betty held for the King was still intact over 10 years after the affair had started back in Holland, and it would take Mary's death, William's grief and guilt, and the interjection of the Archbishop of Canterbury to finally sever the ties.

Little did any of them realize in 1690 the clock was starting to wind down.

This one is for The Mookie. Which Mookie? Hell, there's only one.

This is the portrait I told you about. Done by Sir Godfrey Kneller. A copy is hanging in the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. God only knows why. But in my unvarnished opinion, this is the one portrait that I have seen that is a genuinely good likeness of King William III. And what do I base that on? The funeral effigy, which was made from a cast taken from the dead king's face, and is floating around here somewhere back in the archives.

Enjoy.

The Royal College of Physicians had many purposes, and one of these was the harrying of Quacks. An anonymous publication, The Anatomies of the True Physician and COunterfeit Mountebank, 1605, vividly portrays the Quacks.

Runagate Jews, the cut-throats and robbers of Christians, slow-bellied monks who had made their escape from their cloisters, Simoniacal and perjured shavelings, busy St. John-lack-Latins, thrasonical and unlettered chmists, shifting and outcast pettifoggers, ligh-headed and trivial druggers and apothecaries, sun-shunning night-birds and corner creepers, prattling barbers, filthy graziers, curious bath-keepers, common shifters and cogging cavaliers, bragging soldiers, lazy clowns, one-eyed and lamed fencers, toothless and tattling old wives, chattering charwomen and nursekeepers, 'scape-Tyburns, dog-leeches and suchlike baggage. In the next rank, to second this goodly troupe, fellow poisoners, enchanters, wizards, fortune tellers, magicians, witches and hags.

Notice that a great deal of those accused of being Quacks were unlicensed women praticioners.

Hannah Woolley at this tme had a remedy for the 'Gravel': 'well-powedered roe of a red herring beaten to powder and taken in a glass of Rhine wine'. Another woman, called herself Agnodice, had an office at the 'Hand and Urinal' producing a Handbill -- 'if Venus should misfortunately be wounded with Scorponious poison by tampering with fiery Mars ... it is then she bring comfort and by her antidotes expels the poison Jovelike'. [What Madame Agnodice was advertising was a cure for veneral disease, in case you didn't get the allusion ... which I'm sure you didn't.]

Agnodice also offered an Italian wash for skin blemishes, and a Spanish Roll for concealing pock marks ... both of which were telltale signs of syphillis.

Of course it could be a short step from being regarded as a Quack healer to being regarded as a witch, which is where this whole business is headed --- eventually.

Recommended Reading: "The 'Foul Disease' and Privacy: The Effects of Veneral Disease and Patient Demand on the Medical Marketplace in Early Modern London", Kevin P. Siena, Bull. Hist. Med., 2001, 75: 199-224.

Bedlam. A corruption of Bethlehem, applied to the Hospital of St. Mary of Bethlehem in Bishopsgate, London, founded in 1247. In 1402 it was known as a hospital for lunatics. In 1675 a new hospital, still for lunatics, was built in Moorfields. If bull-baiting was a popular sport, a cheaper one was to watch and tease these unhappy people after paying one penny for admission.

The Mohocks. The appellation was derived from Mohawks, the name of a Native American tribe in North America. In the early 18th century it is applied to aristocratic ruffians infesting London streets at night.

Young Davenant was telling us at Court how he was set upon by the Mohocks, and how they ran his [sedan] chair through with a sword. The Bishop of Salisbury's son is said to be of the gang. It is not safe being in the streets at night with them. Lord Winchelsea told me at Court today, that two of the Mohocks caught a maid of old Lady Winchelsea's at the door of their house in the Park, with a candle, and had just lighted out somebody. They cut all her face, and beat her without any provocation. (Jonathan Swift, Journal to Stella, 12 March 1711-12)

Rogues and vagabonds were found in every corner of England. Thievery was an art, and there were many artists in crime. And just as many prisons to hold them -- the Tower, five in Southwark, the Compter, the Clink, the Marshalsea, the White Lion, the King's Bench, Cripplegate, Ludgate, the Fleet, and Newgate. And when a malefactor was caught he quickly suffered punishment. London juries were known to 'hang half and save half'. This was not a century full of sentimentality and criminals generally accepted with courage death by hanging before a huge, excited crowd.

21 January 1664 -- Up, and after sending my wife to my Aunt Wight's to get a place to see Turner hanged, I to the 'Change; and seeing people flock in the City, I enquired and found that Turner was not yet hanged. And so I went among them to Leadenhall Street, at the end of Lyme Street, near where the robbery was done; and to St. Mary Axe, where he lived. And there I got for a shilling to stand upon the wheel of a cart, in great pain, above an hour before the execution was done; he delaying the time by long discources and prayers, one after another, in hopes of a reprieve; but none come, and at last was flung off the ladder in his cloak. A comely-looked man he was, and kept his countenance to the end: I was sorry to see him. It was believed there were at least 12 or 14,000 people in the street. (John Evelyn, Diary)

Welcome to the 17th century.

A seaman sailing in the Mediterranean under Sir John Harman during the years 1669-1671 had this to say about a sailor's diet --

Our beef and pork is very scant,
I'm sure of weight, one half it want;
Our bread is black, and maggots in it crawl,
That's all the fresh meat we are fed withal.
When we these things to Sir John Harman say,
Our purser mends the matter for a day,
Thinking to make us weary of complaining,
But he upon our bellies still is gaming;
A little rice we get instead of fish,
Which to you wel lis known, but a poor dish,
Except good spice to put in it you had,
For with a good sauce a deal board is not bad.
Our drink it is but vinegar and water,
Four-shilling beer in England's ten times better,
So that when sailors gets good wine,
They think themselves in Heaven for the time.

By contrast, Henry Teonge, a navy chaplain, wrote off Lisbon in 1675 --

Our noble Captain feasted the officers of his small squadron with 4 dishes of meat, viz., 4 excellent heans and a piece of pork boiled, in a dish; a gigget [leg] of excellent mutton and turnips; a piece of beef of 8 ribs, well seasoned and roasted; and a couple of very fat green geese, last of all a great Cheshire cheese. They drank canary, sherry, rhenish, claret, white wine, cider, ale, beer and punch.

That'll teach ya to take the King's shilling.

Het Loo. King William's favorite home. It was located in the province of Gelderland in the middle of the Veluwe Forest. He had bought the property in 1684 and had lavished a fortune on having the house built. The gardens were laid out by Le Notre, and the house itself was built according to the plans of the Dutch architect, Jacob Roman and the French Huguenot, Daniel Marot.

Throughout his life, William poured money into Het Loo. Into its furnishings, decorations and paintings. The English called Het Loo "England's Folly" claiming King William was squandering their tax money on his Dutch palace and raping the royal English art collections to adorn its walls. All untrue. The money he spent on Loo came from William's personal fortune, raised from his Dutch estates, but the truth of the situation didn't stop the English from claiming otherwise, their resentment fueled by the fact that the King of England stayed at his Dutch palace of Het Loo as long and as often as he could. And who could blame him, say I.

Het Loo's great gates, painted sky-blue and richly guilded, opened into a courtyard with a magnificent marble fountain adorned with dolphins. Nine broad brick steps led up to the dark green front door, which opened into a hall paved with black and white marble, and a large dining room gilded and decorated with military devices carved in marble.

The King's own apartments also reflected his life in the military. The ante-chamber was hung with tapestries showing 'the function of duties of cavalry, to wit, the encampment of horse, their foraging, their making of fascines, and the firing of two parties of horse in an engagement.' His bedchamber was hung with red silk, and one of its features was a curiousity -- a clock that never had to be wound.

William's personal library had simple polished oak bookcases filled with his books in French bindings. There were two great globes and the ceiling was one large looking glass.

On the other side of the building were the Queen's apartments, although Mary had never set foot in them since she sailed for England in 1688. Her bedroom was hung in light yellow silk, and the bedcover, in the same colour, had a border embroidered by the Princess herself.

Below the windows of her apartments was the Queen's garden. In one corner of that garden was a little grotto, full of shells and exotic marine objects. Matching the Queen's garden on the other side of the palace was the King's garden, while next to the stables a green for bowling was made.

The Lower Garden was separated by a wall and a canal from the Upper Garden, where the centerpiece was a fountain with 33 spouts, that threw water up to a height of 45 feet.

I was thinking about dipping into the Irish Forfeitures, which is part of the context of the previous letter, but I can't figure out a way to reduce the subject to 25 words or less -- at least at the moment. So, in default, I'll do the Earl of Galway, who was an unwilling participant in the Forfeiture crisis.

Henri de Massue, Marquis de Ruvigny and Earl of Galway. (1648-1720). As you can guess by the name, the Earl was by nationality a Frenchman and by conscience a Huguenot, which necessitated him beating feet out of France with bundles of other Huguenots when Louis 14 revoked the Edict of Nantes.

He enters the service of William III, and due to his military background and his good fortune to be born an aristocrat, he is given the rank of major-general. The bad news for Massue is that by serving His Britannic Majesty all of the Ruvigny estates in France are made forfeit.

Massue participates in the reduction of Ireland (1690-1691), and particularly distinguishes himself at the Battle of Aughrim. As reward for service he received the first of his British/Irish titles -- Viscount Galway and Baron Portarlington -- coupled with a large grant of Irish forfeited estates.

His military career continued at Neerwinden in 1693, where he was wounded. In 1694 he was involved in assisting the Duke of Savoy in Italy, until the Duke screwed the Allies by changing sides and aligning himself with Louis 14. (Probably due in part to the 1 million gold and silver coins in bribe money that Savoy was promised by King William never arriving. The HMS Sussex, which was carrying the loot, was lost in a gale off the coast of Spain and sunk to the bottom with her 500 hands and ALL of that coin.)

In 1697, Viscount Galway was made by letters patent the Earl of Galway, and King William appointed him as Lord Justice of Ireland where he had practical control of all Irish affairs. He held that post until 1701 when he went into a temporary retirement, catalyzed in part by the debacle of the Irish Forfeitures. (The content of the letter in the previous blog should be getting a wee bit clearer .... or not.)

Galway reappears in 1704 commanding Allied forces in Portugal during the War of the Spanish Succession until he got his ass roundly handed to him at the Battle of Almanza in 1707.

His last service to England was in 1715 when he was sent to Ireland as one of the Lords Justices to deal with the Jacobite insurrection.

Because of the Parliamentary recall of the Irish grants made to him by King William, Galway no longer had those estates from which to draw income and his French estates had been forfeited long before. But in recognition of his long service to the kingdom, Parliament voted him pensions amounting to £1500 per year.

Massue died unmarried in 1720. His English peerage died with him.

I've always liked this letter. Yes, the content is undoubtedly puzzling to the uninformed, but just listen to the style of the words. Hear Clio speak.

William III to the Earl of Galway. Hampton Court, May 2-13. 1700.

It is a good while since I writ to you last. The reason is, that, being always uncertain of the issue of the last session of Parliament, I was unwilling to answer any of your letters. You may judge what vexation all their extraordinary proceedings gave me, and, I assure you, your being deprived of what I gave you with so much pleasure was not the least of my griefs. I hope, however, that I shall be in a condition to acknowledge the good services you have done me, and, you may depend upon it, I shall earnestly seek occasions to do so. It ought to be some satisfaction to you, in the just resentment of what concerns you, that nobody could blame your conduct; on the contrary, all appeared satisfied with it, and the vote which passed in anger the last day, concerns you but indirectly. And I can assure you, that you were in no way the occasion of it. There have been so many intrigues, in this last session, that, without having been on the spot and well informed of every thing, it cannot be conceived. It will be impossible for me to continue the commission of the Lords Justices in Ireland, as it is at present; so I have resolved to send thither the Duke of Shrewsbury as viceroy, and that you command the army under him. Do not think this will be a degradation; nobody here will take it to be so, and I know that every one wishes it and believes it absolutely necessary for my service. I am fully persuaded, as I hope, that you will not refuse to accept of this command, nor relinquish my service. I assure you, I never had more occasion, than at present, of persons of your capacity and fidelity. I hope I shall find opportunities to give you marks of my esteem and friendship, and I would not engage you in this, were I not assured that no hurt can happen to you from it: but I know it will meet with a general approbation, and doubt not your friends will say the same, and I am glad to tell you, you have a great many and among all parties.

Source: Grimblot, Letters of William III and Louis XIV, vol 2.

Monsieur le Cardinal. No, Not Mazarin. Not Richelieu. This "Cardinal" can clear the room of men in under 10 seconds flat. Still confused? (Of course you are.) Read on.

How nice that History has brought us information about the menstrual cycles of two important women of the 17th century, and how it inconvienced their new husbands on their wedding nights. I'm sure everyone involved is pleased as punch that 300 years later it's being blogged on the Internet.

The 2 women were Catherine Braganza, the Portuguese Queen of Charles II of England, and Henriette Anne, wife of Philippe of Orleans (the brother of King Louis 14 of France), and sister to Charles II of England.

Let's start with Henriette. The very first night of their marriage, Philippe, eager to consummate the marriage, had been furious at the unwelcome appearance of "Monsieur le Cardinal" (a 17th century euphemism for a woman's menstrual cycle), who had "slammed the door" in his face.

This glimpse into the bedroom of Henriette and Philippe is courtesy of a letter written by Charles II to Henriette as a response to his sister's letter where she complains about Philippe as a husband.

Charles took the opportunity to mention his own problems with Monsieur le Cardinal, since he was married to Catherine of Braganza at nearly the same time as his sister married Philippe.

I was married the day before yesterday, but the fortune that follows our family is fallen upon me, car Monsieur le Cardinal m'a ferme la porte au nez, and though I am not so furious as Monsieur was [a reference to Philippe who was styled in the French court as "Monsieur" by virtue of being the eldest brother of the King], but am content to let those pass over before I go to bed to my wife, yet I hope I shall entertain her at least better the first night than he did you. (Charles to Henriette, Portsmouth, May 23, 1662, Hartmann, p.39)

Later on in this letter Charles explained that his bride's menstrual cycle had been disrupted by her long sea voyage from Portugal.

In History there is no such thing as "too much information." Happy New Year to you, too.