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It's the first time in a few insanely convoluted, stressful weeks that I have some leisure to engage in reading again, and what is the first thing I stumble upon? One of the absolutely most insane couple of stanzas from a Jacobite poem including not one, but three alleged affairs between the Earl of Shrewsbury and Queen Mary II, the future Queen Anne and a bishop and King William III and Hans Willem Bentinck. ...And did I mention the mpreg.

In a Court full of vice may Shrewsbury lay Molly on, Whilst Nanny enjoys her episcopal stallion And Billy with Benting does play the Italian We beseech thee to hear us ’Mist such blessed pairs, succession prevails, and if Nan of Denmark or Dutch Molly fails May pregnant Mynheer spawn a true Prince of Wales We beseech thee to hear us.

From: A Litany for the Reducing of Ireland, in Cameron, Poems on Affairs of State, p. 219–22, p. 221.

It becomes ever more clear to me as to why Bentinck (a man who had had two wives, 10 children and was very vocal about what he thought of male same sex relations in his letters to William), at the height of those Jacobite publications, wanted some space from the court.

I first encountered this excerpt from a much longer poem in an article called From the Body of the King to the Body of the Nation: Sovereignty, Sodomy, and the English Revolution of 1688, published last year in the journal Modern Intellectiual History, and can be read here for free.

While certainly an interesting read, I am always a bit saddened that all discussions of the relationship between Hans Willem Bentinck and William III tend to inevitably circle back to, or at least imply, the old dispute as to whether there was or wasn't a romantic or sexual relationship between the two, when ample contemporary evidence, including personal letters, makes it clear there was with all the likelihood we can ascertain today, none. Instead, it would be interesting to for once see someone examine their close relationship, which doesn't want to fit into any one mould, apart from the allegations of a sexual affair, which only ever crops up in negative contemporarily, and in highly political contexts. There seems to have been a wealth of trust and nuance as to how they viewed each other that is visible in their letters, which sadly is hardly ever being addressed, even today.

Still, this was another one of these cases where the past surprises - indeed, I know I should know better. People have always been people, but I certainly was not expecting... this.

As another amusing side note, in another Jacobite poem, William III is described as having "the head of a goose", and... this time, I have to say I see what the Jacobites are seeing:

Same glaring stare, same Nose. Will both hiss at and bite you, probably (goose picture bravely taken by Wikipedia user Assianir, who hopefully still has all their fingers attached to their hands).

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I’m a recent follower of your blog, and what captivated me most was your refined way of expressing and illuminating various facts. There is a rare pleasure in reading your words; they draw one in effortlessly, each line carrying a quiet elegance. Beyond that, the subjects you explore are, for the most part, profoundly compelling. I dare say your blog may already be among my favourites

Thank you so much for your kind words, Eſteem'd Anon! A few years ago, during COVID, I started this blog as a way to connect to people with similar interests and in turn share mine. Not much has changed since then, save that I have a little less time now due to additional obligations in my off-line life.

It makes me incredibly happy to hear that you enjoy my writings; as I said before, it is just what I do for fun, and to hear someone else enjoys it as well is incredibly touching.

If you would like to talk about some topics you find interesting (that may or may not be on my blog), please feel free to send me a message, I am always happy to engage in an exchange of opinions and ideas! :-)

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You are faced with some random problem and the only person who can help you is the main character from the last piece of media you consumed (you can also do favorite character if there are multiple main characters). You can stay in this universe or be in the universe of the character, whichever you prefer, but the problem remains the same and the only person who can directly help you is the main character. That character can call on the help of those they know in their media, but when it comes down to it, they are the only person really helping you. How do you react to this situation?

Spin to find out your problem:

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HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY HANSITO YOU FEBRUARY PISCES DISASTER

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A while ago in the post about the stories about William iii you mention the Lord Buckhusrt-episode. I was wondering if you would elaborate on that because I cannot find anything on it and I feel like I may be missing out please 🥹

Of course! The anecdote is featured in greatest detail in Knole and the Sackvilles, by Victoria Sackville-West (1922). While family history (especially when written by family; the book was written by a later family member, as the name indicates, and the wording is directly taken from a written recollection of little "Lord Buck"'s son George, whom those who follow my other interest in the latter half of the 18th century will know as Secretary of State for the Colonies from 1775 to 1782) is always a subject where one likes to take a little more care in researching events, the anecdote is sometimes featured in biographies about William III, so prior historians appear to assign it some measure of credibility.

In addition to this, it is well-documented that, while rather difficult in the perception of most adults who did not belong to his immediate circle, William III enjoyed spending time with the children of friends and family.

We know from his correspondence that his best friend Hans Willem Bentincks's eldest son, named William for his royal godfather, was known to him as "Willemtie" ("Little William" in Dutch as opposed to the "Big William", i. e. William III), and that Bentinck's eldest daughter Mary was so close to the King that she could ask him the favour of being godfather to her eldest child. There was also William of Gloucester, the prospective heir and son to the future Queen Anne, whom William (and Mary, too) loved very much, which is particularly touching because Gloucester would, by modern standards, be categorised as special needs and was decidedly not what at the time would have been considered the ideal heir apparent. There are many recorded instances of William showing affection to his nephew, which show that there is some element of truth to the Lord Buckhurst episode as the Sackville family recalls it.

Now, to the story:

"Lord Buck" was Lionel Sackville, 7th Earl and 1st Duke of Dorset (1688-1765). When he was three years old, in 1691, his mother died, and so, his grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Northampton, took over raising her grandson. According to the Sackville family lore, the Dowager Countess was good friends with Queen Mary, who asked her to bring her little grandson along for tea at Kensington Palace.

Lionel, "Lord Buck", his big sister Mary, and, well, a buck. Godfrey Kneller, 1690s, held at Knole House - just about the time the anecdote involving William III is said to have taken place.

One day, while visting Kensington Palace with his grandmother, young Lionel was playing in the gallery with a small cart, while the grown-ups, his grandmother, the Queen, and a few others, were talking.

Queen Mary expressed annoyance at the fact that she had ordered tea to be readied, but William, her co-monarch and husband, had not arrived yet, letting them wait.

Lionel, hearing this, still pulling his toy cart, made his way to the other end of the gallery, to where the King's study was situated, and knocked at the door. Here's the conversation according to the Sackville family lore:

William (through the closed door): "Who is there?" Lionel: "Lord Buck." William: "And what does Lord Buck want with me?" Lionel: "You must come to tea directly, the Queen is waiting for you."

Presumably realising he had forgotten the time over his papers, William opened the door, picked Lionel up and put him on his cart, pulling the, as I would imagine, delighted little boy, all the way down the gallery to where the company had been waiting.

I'll let Lionel's son describe the rest:

But no sooner had he entered the apartment, than, exhausted with the effort, which had forced the blood upon his lungs, and being constitutionally asthmatic, he threw himself into a chair, and for some minutes was incapable of uttering a word, breathing with the utmost difficulty. The Countess of Northampton, shocked at the consequences of her grandson's indiscretion, would have punished him, but the King intervened on his behalf. Sackville-West, Knowle and the Sackvilles, p. 158.

There you have it. William allegedly gave himself an asthma attack pulling a child on a toy cart through a gallery.

As laid out in my little preface to the re-telling of this story, I think we can give some credence to this anecdote; I for one find it plausible that William and Mary, very much involuntarily childless due to medical complications on Mary's part following at least one, if not at least three, extremely traumatic pregnancies early on in their marriage, invited Lord Buck along for tea; both enjoyed the company of children, to the point that William's best friend even named Mary guardian of his young children, should, following the death of his wife, he come to harm in the invasion of England. There is also plenty to be found on the loving relationship the couple had with their nephew, despite their constantly being at odds with little Gloucester's parents.

I am also fully inclined to believe that pulling a wooden toy cart or wagon with a child on it could have triggered an asthma attack in William; his asthma was so severe, that no doctor had considered him likely to survive infancy, and he was even unable to live in London proper as the bad air in the city aggravated his asthma.

What I do not quite believe is that Lord Buck could have gone down the gallery without any of the adults present, or indeed household servants, noticing. My guess is that someone, knowing William liked the child, allowed this to happen, sensing the outcome would be of an amusing nature (save for the unforseen asthma attack of course).

What, for me, adds some credibility to the anecdote is that it does not portray Mary as the meek and mild wife, as was often done posthumously; here, she is recorded as openly expressing her displeasure in her husband's behaviour to her friends.

All in all, I think it is a touching anecdote, and one that is even quite plausible!

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(do this whenever you have time mandatory no pressure, obviously), I love your Comic sans Valentine's. Can I get one of Nell Gwyn? Giacomo Casanova / Donatien Alphonse Francois aka Marquis de Sade aka Citizen Sade / Kitty Fisher (not claiming any of them are 'good people' to us... but hyper fixations be hype fixating <3).

Hi there!

I am happy you enjoy my silly valentines! I had much fun making them and was frankly a bit surprised, looking at my notificstions, to see people still enjoyed them this year around.

That said, I lay no claim to the concept, which some years ago used to be a popular meme format. Anyone can make or create their own silly valentines with historical figures, and instead of asking me, you can let your creativity run wild and try making your own.

I would also like to add that I find it a little jarring (though that might just be me - I have presumably been internet-socialised at a somewhat earlier point in time) to ask someone to create something (unless of course they explicitly ask for requests or inspiration) out of the blue. To me, such always carries the undertone of people expecting "creators" of any hue to create for their pleasure and consumption, when this is more often than not not the case. I posted these for the joy of creating something funny for an audience of less than ten people, because it brought me joy to do it in a moment of spare time. You may have noticed that I did not come up with something new this year, and that is because I did not have the time to do so and will not do something half-baked just for the sake of posting; I may do something next year again if my schedule allows it and my creativity receives a sudden spark in that vein.

And lastly, I am not the Thought Police. I do not care nor judge which historical figure you are interested in. You are free to find any historical figure interesting or fascinating. I am not, nor would I ever want to be, a moral authority on other people's, in 99% of cases, perfectly harmless interests. All I would advise you, or anyone, really, to do is try and work on maintaining a conscious separation between going on about "Blorbo" (especially when a historical person has been portrayed in a popular piece of media), and accepting the actual historiography.

I think the historical figures you picked should be fun to make Comic Sans valentines about - should you do so, I would love to see them! :)

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I always think you give off 'royal queen who is secretly planning to rule on her own' vibes to be honest. You're very intelligent! ❤️❤️❤️

What an immensely kind thing to say, thank you so much! :D

I guess it's true in the sense that this is what I apparently come across as in person as well (for better and for worse), because, before I had an interest in the Stuarts, I was told that I look like this woman:

Visiting a historical palace with a three-quarter-length contemporary copy of Mary II's coronation portrait by Godfrey Kneller in their collection, I stepped through a doorway into a room the dear friend who accompanied me was already in. Upon turning to talk to me, my friend looked at a picture above my head, telling me: "she looks just like you!"

I think it's the mixture of my predilection for pearls, a by nature somewhat stern gaze, and very similar eyebrows.

The irony is, Mary never wanted to rule on her own; and I am wise enough to know that I am not cut out for being a Queen, either. A return of though, as I would hope, enlightened absolutism is likely not what the world needs presently. Besides, I think as a monarch one would have even less time to be on this hellsite (or do other fun stuff for that matter, such as meeting friends or just reading a good book), which would be a shame. :)

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Ok based on your last ask that I just saw:

Do you have any weird historical theories? Or just weird theories in general?

Thanks for the ask, Anon!

If by "weird historical theories"/"weird theories in general" you mean things such as aliens building the pyramids or the like, absolutely not. I stand very firmly on the ground of the field that I studied and believe in evidence-based arguments and standing up to misinformation.

If by "weird historical theories" you mean a theory that's a personal observation that one thinks could well have been the case, but that has not yet, or cannot be proven for lack of research (yet) or historical evidence, yes; I have some of those.

And if by "weird theories in general" you mean "ultimately harmless, possibly irrational, personal opinions", yes, I have those too. I for instance hold the strong belief that the Deutsche Bahn has one of those fun fair wheels of fortune to determine train delays. :)

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My weird theory is that you have been in – or been the subject of – a duel!

The latter may just be true. At least as far as I know. I have never been told directly, but judging by ther behaviours and vague allusions that were made, two gentlemen with access to swords once did duel each other with the objective of settling who would be allowed to ask me to dance first. While a touch amusing, especially retrospectively, I don't think any person was ever yet impressed by two guys with access to pointy sticks trying to stab each other.

One of the gents involved also got to be on the receiving end of a joke for an unrelated incident involving me and an almost complete set of plate armour, but that's another story. :-)

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Reblog this post to ask mutuals to tell you their weirdest theory about u

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God bless IKEA for making passable 18th century fabrics in the form of duvet covers

Like ??

It’s giving chintz it’s giving brocade it’s giving Spitalfields silk

Blesséd and thankful 🙏😌

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Can you tell me about the Hannis Chaos AU?? I'm really curious. :⁠-⁠)

Of course, esteem'd anon! :-)

It is a humorous little piece I wrote for the amusement of a friend. Set in the present-day, albeit with some historical alterations, it explores the havoc William of Orange could have wreaked from the comfort of his favourite swivel chair with access to "X" rather than needing to recruit large armies and doing such cumbersome things as sacrificing the lives of others for your own allegedly divine purpose. Luckily, the only one who is in danger of getting ripped to shreds (and that not by a canon ball, but entirely metaphorically in the retweets) is the Prince of Orange himself.

Opportunistic little (musk-)rat that he is, Willem, Prince of Orange, is a walking PR disaster on a good day, but almost triggers a major rift in Dutch diplomatic relations when he, on accident, posts a message that quickly gets misintrpreted as a laconic comment on the alleged death of his uncle, King Charles II. Who, while perhaps a little under the weather following a little accident involving a pair of plush-covered handcuffs, viagra and a bottle of champagne, may be a bit worse for wear, but (annoyingly) alive and well-ish.

His PR-guy designated Boy Best Friend Hans Willem Bentinck has to clear up the mess, but is faced with a herculean task there, not at least because his august bestie is not exactly cooperative (for a snippet, continue under the cut):

He found the head of state sitting behind his desk dressed in a red Adidas-tracksuit (a present of the surprisingly least politically and personally annoying uncle of Willem’s from Brandenburg), with his feet near-submerged in a pair of pink plush slippers somewhat too big for him and whose owner was likely able to guess who exactly had stolen her favourite loungewear accessories.

“Ah, Hanni,” Willem cawed in his familiar voice that always reminded Hans Willem of a crow with a sore throat. To his surprise, Willem seemed to be rather merry. He bobbed up and down in his chair, maltreating its springs, while slurping an iced chocolate drink through a plastic straw, the likes of which had been banished from the shops due to new environmental protection laws a long while ago.

“What’s the matter, old friend?”

“Your uncle is dead,” the words escaped Hans Willem before he could think of a softer way to phrase it, ���at least that’s what they’re thinking.”

Willem first raised his eyebrows, then knitted them tightly together, which was quite a feat considering just how much forehead the Merciful Lord in his infinite wisdom had gifted the Prince of Orange.

“Which uncle? The paedo? Epstein’s most loyal customer?”

Willem looked at him with an almost hopeful mien.

“Nope, not your father-in-law. The King.”

The facial expression of the head of state of the Netherlands darkened. “I would know that. The Palace would inform Us. Pish, fake news,” he shrugged and made a movement of the hand as if throwing something in the bin, and looked perfectly merry again, “it’s going to be interesting to see who’s responsible for that silly joke. The Russians? That Chinese chap? I’m betting a tenner on Putin. And, who are ‘they’?”

Hans Willem flinched at hearing his best friend talk in this manner. They had talked and practiced politically correct language so often, apparently without result. There was no time for this however: “The Leader of the Free World, the German Chancellor and the President of the People’s Republic of China have all condoled you on Twitter already – and all within this past half-hour. I bet you, there are going to be ambassadors arriving with letters and flowers any minute now –“

Willem appeared to perk up at the mention of his favourite social media site, looking much less confused all of a sudden:

“Ah. Say, Hanni, have you not read the DM I sent you last night?”

“What DM?”

Hans Willem, who felt that something very, very bad was afoot, pulled his mobile from his pocket and opened the app.  “Look, there is no –“ he stopped mid-sentence and inhaled sharply as he typed on his display, before presenting the screen (set on maximum brightness) to Willem.

“What on earth have you done, Willem!?”

For a brief moment, there was silence.

“I didn’t do anything,” William crossed his stick-thin arms and looked up at him with a facial expression betraying annoyance and in an equal measure, the realisation of having been caught.

“You sent a tweet! A Tweet with the content, and I quote: Looks like they’re gonna put Old Rowley down at last lol.” (he made a point of dissecting the abbreviation into its individual letters, before continuing) “You didn’t send that just to me, you sent it to the entire goddam world, you stupid goat! You silly goose, you moronic–“ Hans Willem took a deep breath. The words that had just escaped him would almost certainly count as lèse-majesté and were punishable under Dutch law with a fine, but William did not look as if he was considering filing a police report. “Whoops,” the Head of State shrugged and tried in vain to look uninterested and unaffected. Behind his hazel eyes however, Hans Willem could see the cogs in his funny little brain turn. Willem knew just as well as he that this mess would result in unpleasant consequences.

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I would like to know something from/about "It had begun to snow again" from the WIP folder ask game. :-)

Thank you so much for the ask!

There are two of you who asked about it, so you'll have another snippet to read alongside the one I'm going to share with you. :-)

That's the name of the Henry Clinton and Mary Baddeley project I hope to work on more extensively again in the near future.

For Reasons That Be, I have a much better understanding of a great many things now, especially when it comes to 18th century material culture, and am looking forward to including my new-found knowledge about such things as 18th century drinking glasses and porcelain ware into the story.

The not quite so little snippet I am going to share with you under the cut is heading in a different direction entirely: Mary Baddeley has an awkward problem she needs to address with Clinton: The problem? Her husband's, ahem, creative (read: exploitative) solution to wanting a promotion that is bound to make things between Mary Baddeley and Henry Clinton even more painfully awkward than they already are. The scene is based on sentiments expressed in Clinton's memoir:

“What is it he wants?” he asked, and, attempting a smile, added: “You need not worry. If it is money he desires, you shall give him none, and he must inevitably go away; I will not suffer his presence in my house for longer than is necessary on account of the demands of propriety that your wedded state dictates. Five minutes, ten perhaps, and there shall always be someone at the door; you shall be quite safe from him.”

“He wants something else entirely.” Mrs. Baddeley’s voice adopted a firmer tone now, that however receded to a whisper. “He wants me to— he wants me to seduce you, sir.”

He did not know whether to laugh, or cry, though his first instinct was to laugh: o Baddeley, the fool, the butter-blind noddy!  How gladly should he permit Mrs. Baddeley to seduce him at the first opportunity, without any resistance—! Why, he should be exceedingly pleased to hold Mrs. Baddeley in his arms without Baddeley’s insistence— yet thinking on it, the amusement quickly left him, for he could not help but think on the depravity and wickedness of the man, intent on making a common strumpet of his wife: it was unthinkable to him how one could love his wife so little as to press her into so debasing, so degrading a position as that of a common whore.

Mrs. Baddeley was no whore, she was a lady of an unsullied character and exemplary conduct: all Baddeley was not. To think, he thought that forcing his wife, against her will, into the bed of another man, to make her the victim of passions she was unwilling to receive, and put her into the unnecessary danger of being with another man’s child was inconceivable to him.

Of course, it smarted him somewhat, as it would have smarted any man, that she found the thought of lying with him so shocking and horrid, but her good character and exemplary conduct did her credit. He had no right to demand her affection, and was grateful for this rare, and close friendship she had offered him, so deep she would share even those most troubling things with him.

That was the difference: he loved Mary Baddeley for herself, for all she was; Baddeley in turn regarded her a ready tool at his disposal, to be employed to his benefit, for, no doubt, he thought that providing his general with an amusing plaything, he would be suitably rewarded with a promotion: little did the fool know that he, despite loving her ardently, hotly, would never touch Mary Baddeley without knowing that that was her express wish. He could not even offer her his hand, d—mn it, without feeling like a scrub and a lecher; there was little chance he could perform even if he were to find her lying supine on his bed fully unclothed wearing nought but stockings and lace-trimmed garters— too great was his love for her, his reverence for her dear person, that he would rather avert the sight and turn his eyes away, for he undoubtedly could never have the right to see a celestial being so.

“My dear Mrs. Baddeley,” he at last brought himself to speak, “you must not fret: your honour is in no danger from me.” Awkward it was to even have to phrase such a thing, to say to a lady that he would not bed her, which implied that he had thought about it— a most vexing and embarrassing situation indeed. “I know that,” she replied, and looked at him with an expression of deepest sincerity, “it is not you that I am affrighted of—” her hand trembled, and her entire body shivered as if she had been out in a December storm. “It is Baddeley. He has grown ever more insistent that I must give myself to you, and his impatience concerns me greatly—” There was no doubt to be had that Baddeley frightened his wife so for knowing that he was capable of far worse things than mere impatience, and his heart sank. He should have the man lashed to death, and would love to administer the lashes himself, hear Baddeley groan as his skin was torn, as bone slowly presented itself below raw, abused flesh; he would cherish every second of his suffering, and make him die in the knowledge that it was his wrongs done to Mrs. Baddeley that had brought about his horrid end: Baddeley should never rest in peace, should suffer, suffer, suffer!

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Can you post a snippet or tell me more about "It had begun to snow again"?

Of course, my friend!

This is the incipit of the first scene I ever wrote for this project, which just so happened to recycle a famous passage from James Joyce's The Dead.

In fact, this is my working document containing what I have written about Mary Baddeley and Henry Clinton thus far.

It started as a couple of scenes to share among a handful of interested people, much in the vein of fanfiction, but has since evolved into a project I would like to pursue more seriously.

I think I have talked a lot about them on this blog, but for those who might not know yet, here's a link to one of my most extensive posts about them. One just wouldn't expect the story of a young, pregnant (and to everyone involved's chagrin, married) woman and her employer, twice her age, widowed and the embodiment of the dictionary definitions of sad and middle-aged set in the 1770s during the Amercan War of Independence to be so very wholesome.

What makes their story so surprising and heartwarming is that not only does an account by Clinton himself survive, the two fell in love following a surprising amount of dramatic incidents and clichés outdoing most train station-bought bodice rippers: an elopement, a cheating husband, a young woman trying to get by in the big city on her own, an age gap employer-employee-relationship, illness, a pregnancy at an inopportune time, separation by war, two parties unwilling to confess their feelings to another for Moral High Ground Reasons on both sides, a shipwreck - and eventually, a lifelong partnership.

To my luck, Clinton wrote a document later in life in which he reflects on how he met Mary Baddeley, and, although I have so far only been able to source excerpts, it is striking in that it was clearly written by a man still very much in love with his partner of nigh 20 years. Clinton paints the picture of a self-sufficient, somewhat guarded, and extremely capable young woman, under whose care his finances flourished. Playing into a great many clichés, though he does describe her as so beautiful he experienced a coup de foudre upon seeing her for the first time, what really seems to have attracted him to her were her intellect and skills. Another striking feature of Clinton's memoir is its extensive emphasis on consent and respecting Mary Baddeley's experiences and wishes; while he would have loved to enter some kind of relationship with her soon after meeting, her professionalism in her interactions with him made it abundantly clear to him that she was not looking for a romantic relationship, causing him to keep his feelings to himself. According to Clinton, while at last (read: after they did not see each other in more than a year, Clinton had been on a war campaign and Mary Baddeley had been in a shipwreck and given birth to a son) in some sort of relationship, they apparently waited to have sex until Mary Baddeley told him she was comfortable with the idea - which was the case, according to Clinton, the day she caught her husband in the act of cheating on her and immediately moved herself and her baby son in with Clinton.

All things considered, at first, I could not believe how incredibly touching the love story of these two must have been - it is a shame there is, to my knowledge, no document of any sort left giving a glimpse of Mary Baddeley's perspective.

In my project, I aim to explore her point of view - have a snippet under the cut! :)

This scene is set right after Mary Baddeley decides on separating from her husband, and, more importantly, giving into her curiosity to fully commit to a relationship with Clinton. In the throes of emotional confessions of love, Mary still being shocked to have found her husband cheating that very same day, and Clinton, who, lonely ever since his wife's death, cannot believe his luck that his prayers for the woman he has loved since that time he first met her some two years ago seem to have been answered, end up in bed together for the first time; it is afterwards that some clarity sets in:

At long last, he, seeking to soothe her with words as well as through the comfort of his embrace, said lowly: “I have always loved you as you are, and always shall: and, if it is your wish, the wish of your heart, to remain by my side, not as my housekeeper, that is, it shall be my most cherished endeavour to heal those wounds inflicted upon your soul.”

“Such pretty, pretty words, Sir Henry—” she sighed sorrowfully, once more aware of the fact that she was abed with the General, and he was not her husband.

“Mary, no, please,” he entreated, and looked her in the eyes, one torturously tender hand caressing her cheek, “I shall tell you something, if you are willing to hear it,” he near asked, waiting for her nod to continue, “love is like a delicate flower, or a garden; it must be tended to by its gardeners to flourish. When the sapling is well-watered and protected from hail or storm, it grows: only ill-kept love withers, otherwise, it is ever growing, with every day that it is shewn care.”

O how she desired to believe him! How she wanted his sweet imaginations to be true—! “I wish I could believe you with my mind as wholly as I do with my heart,” she confessed, unable and unwilling to let go of him, her hands holding on to hs forrm with such strength as if expecting he must be wrenched away from her by an unknown force at any moment.

His very serious grey eyes rested upon hers as he replied: “The mind cannot be forced: but if such is your wish, I shall gladly do all that is in my might to convince it: you shall never have to fear me as a second Baddeley.”

“I don’t. I never could.”

“Yet your wounds must heal, before you can enjoy the full health and happiness of your mind and” (he proceeded to stroke her arm, where he had some weeks since discovered the marks of Baddeley’s fingers, when he had flown at her in a blind rage and dragged her about the room) “body again. I know the pain of such wounds, to the body, and to the mind and soul.”

“…And what is your remedy?”, she whispered, embracing him ever more closely, if such was even possible. “This,” said he, and softly rocked her in his arms, a most soothing, sweet thing: Mary allowed herself to close her eyes then, unable to resist the idea that Henry’s love for her was as true and pure as he claimed: it certainly felt so as she drifted into slumber in his embrace, so warm, so comforted, so safe cradled against his heart as she had never been before.

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For context:

I think calling him a "dumbass" and making light of his alcoholism trivialises the behaviour of Charles Edward Stuart towards his partner, and daughter. That aside, I think it is unfair to make light of alcoholism; it's an illness, and its effects on the lives of the affected and their near and dear ones by no means the material for jokes. My original comment on the post was not about Charles Edward Stuart's alcohol abuse anyway, but about his controlling nature regarding his partner and their child, and stone-cold family politics.

While I imagine that his position as someone who had been raised with the fantasy of a possible Stuart-restoration within his lifetime was not easy from the start, and his disillusion and sudden lack of purpose must have affected him once he had realised that his ambitions on the British throne had found their end in 1745, none of these things are excuses, even by the standards of the time, to have treated his partner and child as he did.

There were public rows between the couple, and Charles Edward Stuart abused his partner, Clementina Walkinshaw, both physically and by keeping her financially dependent on him, the latter of which he did to ensure she could never leave him.

Surprisingly, Walkinshaw, after years of enduring her partner's physical assaults, took their daughter Charlotte and fled - there can be no talk of 'went' or 'walked out on him', seeing as she had to navigate an, as one of her partner's biographer calls it, "primitive alarm system" (Maclean 1988, p. 271) of tripping wires with bells attached that Charles Edward Stuart had installed in their living space, so as to prevent Clementina Walkinshaw from leaving without him noticing.

At first, she received support from his father, James Francis Edward Stuart. When he died however, Clementina and Charlotte were left penniless once more, with Charles Edward Stuart still refusing to at least support his own daughter, to whom he allegedly never even referred by name, but by the phrase "ye cheild" (Maclean 1988, p. 271).

In 1767, Clementina was offered an annuity from her former partner's brother, Henry Benedict Stuart, which was half of what they had receiived from James Francis Edward Stuart, but at least, it was something - however, the annuity came with a catch, as Henry Bendict demanded Clementina sign a statement in return stating that Charlotte was illigitimate, and that Charles and she had never been married. Another biographer supposes that Clementina signed the document "doubtless under financial pressure" (Daiches 1975, p. 274).

Charles Edward legitimised his daughter later in life; I won't go into the details of their still troubled relationship when Charlotte was an adult, but I think the fact that he tried to use a tactic of withholding financial means from his partner to make her and Charlotte return to him and obviously in some way (re-)evaluating Charlotte's status depending on the time (she was legitimised after it became clear there would not be any children from his marriage to Luise von Stolberg-Gedern, if memory serves), and leaving his own child without any financial support do not exactly bespeak a caring person. He was a wifebeater, he abused his long-term partner and child financially, and was what modernity would call a "deadbeat".

To me, there is nothing romantic or "bonny" about this man. There is, as I said, an almost tragic element to his life, and the way how it, in his own eyes, shattered, when it became clear he would never reclaim his grandfather's lost crown; these things however do not justify being violent and essentially leaving your only child to starve as a means to punish your ex.

@acrossthewavesoftime 'isn't sure if he was married to the woman who had his only child' was this because he was too bonnie or what?? Just picturing his dumbass drunkenly falling over the place not even noticing her giving birth lmfao 😭😂😆🤣.

[acrossthewavesoftime]

Hi there!

I was looking at one of your past posts that called William III an orange fool, and I was wondering...do you have beef with William III? Just asking.

Hi there, I am so sorry to reply so late!!

The short story is that sometimes (as with William III, of the Orange-Nassau family, and the orange fool historic dessert), I cannot say no to a humorous (to me) pun.

The somewhat longer version is that although I think blaming centuries' worth of British colonialism on one person, his kingship, and his politics did have a significant and historically lasting impact, particularly on the island of Ireland, and not for the better.

On the other hand, looking at the personality (or even, private individual, to such an extent as a 17th century ruler can be called that) behind the politican, he sure must have been a surprisingly warm person - there is the time his secretary's teenage niece pulled faces at him in public to make him laugh (successfully) during Easter Sunday service, him trying to set his best friend (whom a great many people suspected him to have a sexual relationship with) with his cousin (let's say one could have more efficient wingmen than him), rather adorable accounts of him playing with his friends' children and compromising Mary II on one occasion when he returned from campaigning by, against his usual guarded nature and court protocol, passionately kissing her in front of the entire court; even Catholicism was not so terrible a sin where friends were concerned.

While I may not like this man in the way I like a great many other people, present or from history, I think he was a fascinating individual - that I will reserve myself the right to joke about at times. :)