Dopey Prince Charles, Slutty Minette and Other Disastrous Stuarts: On Why They Can’t Replace The Tudors

Ever since “The Tudors” ended in 2010, producers have been trying to find a royal family that can fulfill an audience’s craving for dysfunctional bluebloods. An article by Elizabeth Fremantle, a renown historical fiction author, got me thinking if the Stuarts could be the new trend. I happen to love the Stuarts, but I must display skepticism at such elevation.  Judging by contemporary period dramas, they were not exactly the most exciting or most positive royals around. One tremendous example is what Starz “Outlander” (and Diana Gabaldon) have done with Bonnie Prince Charlie, the most famous and charming of the Stuart family.

While preparing for the third season of “Outlander,” I decided to watch earlier episodes.  I was struck by the tragic Jacobite devotion for The King over the Water. On the first season, Claire is mystified by this readiness to die for a king that she knows was undeserving. After we catch a glimpse of the real item, viewers share her impression. In books and series, Bonnie Prince Charlie is shown as a selfish dunce, but that is how historical fiction perceives the Stuart overall, some bunch of useless idiots. I cannot see them ever replacing the Tudors.

Stuartmania vs Tudormania?

To replace Tudormania with Stuartmania, writers and producers would have to wipe our minds clean of any preconceptions and misconceptions dealing with the regalest of Scottish clans. Michael Hirst, Philippa Gregory and Hilary Mantel were the architects of the second and more everlasting wave of Tudor fascination but they had to work their heads off rewriting historical facts and characters and making them palatable to the public.

History tells us Henry VII, founder of the Tudor dynasty, was a tyrant, and usurper, and a greedy man. In comes Pippa Gregory and turns him into a frightened young man who stands king only through the joint efforts of his formidable mother and his little York wife. In Starz’s crazy adaptation of “The White Princess” Queen Lizzie became a badass and a black hearted dominatrix, bent into making her monster children the future rulers of England.

The White Princess and her king

We all know Henry VIII was a fat satyr, a wife-murderer, and a despotic king, but modern historical fiction gives us a thin and brooding tragic hero. His daughter, Bess, who was a distrustful, neurotic bully has been transformed into a cross between a British Madonna (the Virgin Mary not the former Mrs. Guy Ritchie) and Spencer’s idealized Fairie Queen. Even her sadistic sister, in “The Tudors,” falls into the wronged little princess stereotype, the Sansa Stark of Henry’s Court.

No such treatment has befallen on the Stuarts.  There is always Mary, but let’s be honest, there was more Guise and Tudor in the genes of the Queen of Scots, than Stuart wishy-washiness. She was French born, and French bred, had no understanding of Scotland, and no cultural links to the British Isles.

Mary's happiest years were in France

Dull King James and the Two Charles

 And yet, once the Stuart princes projected a glamorous image on the silver screen. David Niven in kilt was a proud and gallant Bonnie Prince Charlie, and a fantastic dashing Sam Neill was his uncle Charles II in lovely “Restoration.” It’s the Third Millennium which has taken the Stuarts to task by conferring them infamous fame. The family is well represented in current television series, and some films as well, but none of these Stuarts kings (or their kin) can muster up the same allure mad Tudors exercise upon us.

Sam Neill as Charles II

 Poor King James who united England and Scotland, has only shown his face in two recent dramatizations. In “Gunpowder: Love and Treason” he was played by the ever-competent Robert Carlyle, but something went wrong. Carlyle, fresh from his starring role in “Hitler,” enacted James as if the actor was still in a brown shirt. The king came across as a paranoid tyrant, not a man who would rewrite the Bible.

Tormented King James and his Danish queen

Jonathan Pryce also played Mary Stuart’s only son in “The New World,” but he was overshadowed by a steamy triangle where Colin Farrell and Christian Bale fought for the hand of lovely maiden Pocahontas.  We as public have yet to know the factors that made King James interesting. None of those films showed his remarkable knowledge, his literary patronage, his witch-hunting, or his bisexuality.

So much for James, then comes his poor beheaded son. Rupert Everett was a decent Charles I, in the film “To Kill a King,” but he seemed a bit dazed perhaps because there were so many historical inexactitudes in that account. Also, because Tim Roth, impersonating a bloodthirsty Cromwell, was bent to chew the scene to the point that he climbed to the scaffold with the king. For a moment, I thought he would chop off Charles’ head. He could have, since in real life, the two official hangmen of the reign refused to commit regicide. To this day, nobody knows who decapitated Charles.

Rupert Everett and Tim Roth, on the scaffold, in "To Kill a King"

The martyred king was again decapitated in the rather dull ITV miniseries “The Devil’s Whore,” where he was played impeccably by Peter Capaldi in his pre-Dr. Who stage. And that is the extent that we get to know about poor beheaded Charles whose sole purpose in life seems to have begotten the flamboyant Charles II. But even the executed king’s son has merited a dull treatment.

Taking advantage of the public’s appetite for royal affairs, the BBC, in 2003, decided to gift us with “Charles II: The Pride and the Passion.” Despite its bombastic title, it was a tepid affair. Not even charming Rufus Sewell could lift that sinking weight. To add insult to injury, the series was cut, chopped, butchered, in the clumsiest manner, so American audiences got to watch a fragmented and confused tale.

Still, Charles II is too good material to waste. In 2004, Rupert Everett, who likes to play kings and charming princes, went on to portray old King Charlie in “Stage Beauty.” As his was a secondary character, we tend to remember that he slept with Nell Gwynn (Zoe Tapper) more than any other kingly things he performed. A much more prominent role was given to John Malkovich in “The Libertine.” Obviously, Malkovich was out staged by Johnny Depp who can out stage a giant kraken, but oddly the king seemed more destructive than his friend and protégé, the infamous Earl of Rochester (Depp). Charles came out as a self-serving, incompetent monarch. Rochester had to drag himself on crutches (and with a face corroded by syphilis) to save his king from Parliament. How torpid can a sovereign be to need that?

That is the image Charles II, and other Stuarts, on the rebound, project on films obviously made by anti-monarchists. Just think of Jeremy Northman in “New Worlds” (I loved his wig, though), Jack Huston in “The Great Fire,” or Daniel Lapaine in “Versailles.” I haven’t seen Charles Dance in the Dutch film “Michel de Ruyter,” but I can bet money that he is not a positive Charles. If the sexiest of the Stuarts gets bad press, what is left for the others?

The Stuart Queens

Charles had a brother, James, but not even his subjects loved him and had him replaced by Mary, his Protestant daughter, whom I have yet to see in any piece of fiction. Oh, wait, "Versailles" showed her on the first season’s finale. A little girl that is offered to William of Orange as a future bride.  Aside from the fact that Maryland was named after her, what do we know of this Queen Mary?  She was barren, had a crush on a girlfriend when she was young and her husband was supposed to be gay. Maybe something could be done with that. 

"Queen Mary and William of Orange

Her sister Anne, who was also a queen, made a career giving birth to dead babies, had chairs named after her, and was totally under the thumb of her favorite lady-in-waiting, Sarah Churchill. Soon we are to see Anne played by Olivia Coleman in “The Favorite,” but in this incoming film, all the action will be centered around Sarah (Rachel Weisz). That is the rub with Queen Anne, she matters only as patron-friend-bitch of the Duke of Marlborough’s wife.

The “Bonnie” Prince

We should go back to rejected king James II  to find a Stuart with an ounce of charisma. Not old James—he comes across as a true monster in literature. Victor Hugo makes him the mastermind behind the deformity of his protagonist, in The Man Who Laughs. By James’ royal whim poor Captain Blood is sold into slavery. We do not need to hear more of James, it’s his grandson who matters, the charmer in the family, the aptly named “Bonnie” Prince Charlie.

The real Charles James Stuart

Bonnie and charming he was in literature, especially in Sir Walter Scott’s novels, or played by Ivor Novello in the silent cinema or David Niven in the talkies. Thanks to those works, I had a romanticized vision of this unhappy prince and his lost Jacobite Cause. It was hard for me to reconcile him with what the historians told me, that he was a petulant stubborn man, who neglected his illegitimate children, raped his wife and led thousands of his subjects to death or misery. Nevertheless, that was the vision “Outlander” spouses. Diana Gabaldon really dropped the bomb on Charles Stuart, and the series echoed her scorn for the Young Pretender.

In the second season of “Outlander,” time traveler Claire and her husband Jaime Frazer decide that the only way to save Scotland from the tragedy of Culloden is to ensure that battle will never happen. They travel to France to thwart Charles Stuart’s plans to travel to Scotland. Through the ministrations of his cousin Jared, Jamie gets an audience with the Bonnie Prince, but since Charles is living incognito, they meet at the most unlikely of places, a brothel.

The setting foreshadows the Prince’s appetites, his lust, and frivolous and irresponsible nature. Charles is charming and not stupid, but he is also naïve and rather cutout from reality. He displays dismissive arrogance with Murtagh (who is escorting his godson) and is angry at Jamie when he is not told what he wants to hear.

In a way, Charles acts like Daenerys Targaryen in a powdered wig. After demanding that Jamie tells him the truth, he feels offended when young Frazer tells him that the clans are too busy fighting each other to rally behind a pretender to battle the English. However, in a twist that displays his volatile personality the prince praises Jamie’s honesty and patriotism and charges him with getting the necessary funds to finance his enterprise.

Now the Frasers must double their efforts to hinder the upcoming rebellion. It’s an impossible task, the Jacobean Cause does get French support thanks to Bonnie Prince Charlie’s personal magnetism, which appears to be his sole virtue. The Frasers and the public are dismayed since this future king seems to be more into conducting affairs of the boudoir than of states. He is soon involved in a liaison with his sassy married cousin Louise de la Tour D’Auvergne and gets her pregnant.

What horrifies Claire is Charles’ incompetence and his lack of care for both the people and the land he expects to rule. He’s never set foot in Scotland, he knows nothing of his people, and has no interest in learning. He is driven by a sense of mission inadmissible to modern logic. He believes to be divinely anointed, almost as if Melisandre had whispered such notion in his ear. We, historical fiction fans, are used to hear monarchs harping about their divine right to reign, but there is something tragicomic in Charles, an actual Beggar King, making that claim in the middle of a brothel.

This negative portrait of legendary Bonnie Prince Charlie was noted by a public that still saw him as the epitome of Charming (ergo ill-fated) Prince. In an interview in IGN, Sam Houghton, who plays Jamie Frazer, expressed his shock  at learning that a beloved Scottish folk-hero was, in fact,  not very heroic:

“He’s been romanticized in Scotland to an extraordinary degree. The Skye Boat Song is about him, our main theme is about him. There’s pictures of him in Scotland,” Heughan said of Bonnie Prince Charlie. “It’s been romanticized about the great rebellion and his escape, and actually when you look at history you see that he was useless. He was completely ineffectual and led these Highlanders to their doom.”

With this sad portrayal of the selfish pretender, the Stuart Cause was lost. There was no way the public could be galvanized by that royal last name once its most fascinating bearer was outed as a narcissistic idiot. Henry VIII was egotistical and vain, but he won battles, got his women, and ruled his country. Poor Charlie couldn’t rule himself.

Minette, the Silly Slut

Moreover, the same year that “Outlander” pulled down Bonnie Prince Charles from the altar of historical heroes, another show went after another Stuart icon. For centuries, historians and writers have portrayed Henrietta Marie, the sister of Charles II, as a victim; a wronged wife, forced to marry a homosexual, and probably murdered by her husband’s jealous lover. In real life, she who was nicknamed “Minette,” was a hysterical anorexic, an adulteress, and a bad mother to boot.

“Versailles” characterizes Minette as a silly slut, indulging in an affair with her brother-in -law, the Sun King, a relationship that in those days was deemed as incestuous. Played by Swiss actress, Naomi Schmidt, Minette lies, schemes, betrays and breaks the heart of her poor husband.

 She also lets her royal lover use her body as well as her mind. He sends her in a secret mission to England to ensure her brother’s support in France’s war against William of Orange. Although in real life, Minette did possess diplomatic skills, in the series she’s seen just like a talking doll delivering her lover’s words to her brother, the King of England. Daniel Lapaine as Charles II didn’t seem very bright either, so we can say “Versailles” did its best to show us the Stuarts as a family of dull morons.

Lesser Stuarts may prove to be more fetching

If the Stuart Kings prove to be less than appealing, we would have to look among their siblings to find stories deserving to be told, for example tragic Arabella Stuart, the Queen of Scots’ niece,  who is the protagonist of The Girl in the Glass Tower, Elizabeth Fremantle’s latest novel.

There is also James Stuart, Duke of Monmouth, Charles II’s illegitimate son who attempted to grab the throne from his uncle and namesake, and ended up losing his head. If you add that Monmouth could have been the real Man in the Iron Mask, you have plenty to work with.

The Duke of Monmouth

The current British monarch, Queen Elizabeth II can trace back her Stuart ancestry to Princess Elizabeth, daughter of the first King James. The Winter Queen, as she was known, could have been queen of England had the Gunpowder Conspiracy succeeded. She made a love match (a rarity in royal families of the time) to Prince Frederick of the Palatinate, became the mother of thirteen children, and was the grandmother of George, first Hanover king of England. Dear Lieselotte of “Versailles” fame was her granddaughter, too. Elizabeth did eventually rule Bohemia, part of modern Czechoslovakia. Alas, her reign was short and sad.

The Winter Queen

I’m fond of Elizabeth of Bohemia, but my favorite Stuart is her son, Prince Rupert of the Rhine, famed military man, inventor, artist, and rumor has it, wizard. He even had a magic dog that died fighting alongside his master. So, it is possible to sell the Stuarts to the public, but only looking beyond their dysfunctional kings. Do you have a favorite among that outlandish royal family?

The feminization of period drama: Are we to blame gender for inaccurate historical fiction?

Last year, James Delingbone caused an uproar around social media when he blamed the “feminization of culture” for the recurrent erroneousness in historical fiction. Although part of an ongoing debate, Delingbone’s insistence to bring gender into the equation, enraged and shocked many. Not that there were no bases for his reproach, but he failed to realize that since its origins, historical fiction, particularly historical romances, has targeted women.  Feminine tastes and demands have shaped the genre, and one of its tropes is the bending of historical events to spice up the plot. Lately we’ve seen a reaction to that state of things, the rise of more “masculine” period pieces. Nevertheless, historical incoherence also comes to play a part in these new shows. So, who is to blame?

Let us go back to the article that started this controversy. In April 2016, James Delingbone published on The Spectator a piece called “ITV's Victoria is silly, facile and irresponsible – I blame the feminization of culture.”  Under this overlong title, laid a negative review of Masterpiece’s “Victoria,” another one of those biopics about Her Royal Highness, Queen Vicky. Delingbone had a point since the series presented a lot of fluff and very little accuracy.

We are too cute to be historical!

The first season had irked me tremendously, so I embraced Delingbone’s accusations that the liberty taking with historical facts in “Victoria” felt like “one giant upraised middle finger to those of us who value history.”  I also applauded his demanding of a responsible attitude from the part of historical drama producers and a commitment to their public: “you owe it to your audience to cleave as close as you reasonably can to the known biographical facts.”

Sadly, Delingbone went on to spew offensive (and untrue) statements such as “I suspect it’s probably true that boys, being of a more transporters disposition, more jealous of their facts and their period detail, are more likely to be resistant to Victoria’s ersatz charms than girls.”

Oh, Dash, apparently only dogs and girls like me!

Delingbone forgot that macho costumed potboilers such as “Spartacus”, “Black Sails,” and “Vikings”, also twist historical facts. Slave-turned-gladiator Crixus didn’t have sex with his Domina Lucretia: Alfred the Great was Ragnar’s contemporary (and already king when the Vikings reached England); and Blackbeard died in battle, he was never keelhauled by governor Woodes Rogers.

Ragnar and Little Alfred. In real life, they were about the same age.

From its beginnings, historical fiction has forayed into the land of speculation to make it less “dull”, and to fill in gaps. Many of those gap-fillers wore pants. Mary Stuart meeting Cousin Bess was Schiller’s invention, Shakespeare forged Richard the III’s bad reputation, and Spartacus was crucified only by Stanley Kubrick.

Although we tend to associate early historical fiction with seminal writers such as Alexandre Dumas and Sir Walter Scott, Gothic literature was the first field where depictions of the past became a norm. Women Gothic authors such as Anne Radcliffe, Maria Edgeworth, Clara Barton and Miss Sophia Lee were instrumental in blending romance, horror and days of yore. Particularly, Miss Lee, who in the years prior to the French Revolution, wrote what may be the first historical romance, The Recess. She even subtitled it A Tale of Other Times.

Drifting from the Middle Ages, Gothic’s favorite scenario, Sophia Lee moved to the Elizabethan Era to deal with historical figures such as Mary Stuart, Queen Elizabeth and her courtiers. In real life, The Queen of Scots bore a set of stillborn babies, product of her marriage to Lord Bothwell. In The Recess, the author provides Mary with a fourth husband, The Duke of Norfolk, who fathers her twin daughters. Ellinor and Matilda grow up to plague poor Aunt Elizabeth’s life. Not only do they threaten her throne, they try to steal her boyfriends! Ellinor falls for domed Earl of Essex, Matilda goes on to marry Robert Dudley.  (what happened to Amy Robsart and Lettice Knollys?)

The Recess gave birth to tropes associated with historical romance to this day: the amalgam of romance and history; the alteration of real events to suit storytelling; beautiful unconventional protagonists, and the highlighting of characterization over action. This latest form of literature caused controversy. Philosopher Willian Goodwin (Mary Shelley’s father) bemoaned in his On History and Romance, that the new genre “debauched and corrupted” history.  He also noticed that women and boys were historical romances main readers.

Since then, historical fiction has been associated with a feminine audience. Nineteenth century literature mirrored such interest.  In Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen presented us with a protagonist obsessed with Gothic fiction.  Young ladies of leisure like Stendhal’s Mathilde de La Mole were hooked on Walter Scott’s historical yarns. Louisa May Alcott’s Old-Fashioned Girl professed to despise Ouida’s popular French novels preferring instead the work of German author Luise Mulhbach, because her novels “are historical.”

In my own youth, I learned history thanks to period drama and historical fiction written by Anya Seton, Daphne Du Maurier, and the exalted Jean Plaidy, she of the many pseudonyms. In the late 70s, fresh from high school, I became acquainted with the infamous bodice-rippers, a cocktail of  romance and erotica,  dressed in period outfits. Critics can label such literature as pulpy or trash, the truth is that it confirms historical fiction as a feminine turf, therefore we cannot talk of a “feminization” campaign.

 Going back to “Victoria,” Delingbone’s main peeve was with the beautification of characters. He complained about Jenna Coleman looking gorgeous (“more than the dumpy Victoria ever did”) and Lord Melbourne played by “smoldering” Rufus Sewell. He particularly objected to the fictitious romance between Melbourne (a portly and gray gentleman in real life) and his sovereign.

 I wasn’t bothered by that romance.  Gorgeous protagonists and romantic interests are elements of the genre, and real dumpy Victoria could have had a crush on Lord M.  Young girls tend to fall in love with father-figures who offer them kindness and consideration. Since Vicky was called “Mrs. Melbourne” behind her back, rumors about a dalliance must have been in the air in her early days on the throne.

Real life Melbourne and his dumpy queen.

Slender. and...

Smoldering. The traps of historical romance.

What I did mind, and I totally agree with Delingbone’s complains on the subject, was that unsightly rat episode. Buckingham Palace was not Hamelin, it was never overrun by rodents, and Queen Vicky did not go into hysterics on seeing mice sprouting, like a chorus girl, from her birthday cake. Most importantly, there was never a hint in her behavior that may have led to believe that she could have inherited King George’s madness. That need to show women of the past, whether they are Queen Victoria or Jackie Kennedy, suffering from “the vapors” or throwing hysterical tantrums is the product of misogynist minds.

Queen Vicky didn't give us cake!

Despite Delingbone’s assertions, women do cringe at historical inaccuracies. I have often been accused of being a pedantic nitpicker for grumbling about certain phoniness that tinges period pieces. Modern sensibilities have become so distant from that of our forebears that any attempt to recreate bygone eras must be stuffed with absurdities to make historical characters more relevant to us, Third Millennium audience.

The current fashion is to adjust events in historical fiction to fit into the canons of political correction. Whether we like it or not, the great upholders of political correctness tend to be feminists. It is them that demand that historical context doesn’t challenge their ideology. But not only feminists fall prey to the habit of reflecting contemporary views on ancient settings. Were Roman matrons as foul-mouthed as their counterparts in “Spartacus?”  I doubt it, and yet the gladiator series is an example of the “masculinization” of period drama.

 In “Black Sails,” another macho tale, I was shocked to see Mrs. Guthrie offering Max a white powerful husband who could become the new governor of Nassau. Aside from the fact that as a former slave/bisexual prostitute, Max was not precisely a candidate to be the toast of Colonial Philadelphia’s high society, the color of her skin barred her from becoming the wife of any 18^th century gentleman.  Such marriage would have  been as anachronic as Marie Antoinette and her ladies doing drugs in the Sofia Coppola movie.

At least in Coppola’s film the fashion of Enlightened Versailles was well-researched. The same cannot be said of “Reign,” the series describing Mary Stuart's youth. In that show, The Queen of Scots wears anything but what an early Sixteenth century noblewoman would. Those see-through blouses, those sleeveless dresses, those leather riding pants… What are they thinking?

Mary, Mary quite contrary. This is not what queens wore in the 1500s

 In 2008, historian David Starkey ranted in The Telegraph against the Victorian carriages used in “The Tudors.” I second his ranting. As women who claim and reclaim historical romance as our territory, we must also demand as much historical veracity and context as possible in it, especially when it comes to everyday life items such as costumes and furniture.

There are those who will oppose this crusade, claiming period drama is not a history class. This recalls Adelaide Kane’s flippant answer when confronted with the historical mishmash that is “Reign”: “How many teenage girls do you know that are obsessed with history? I know I wasn’t at that age.” Thus, our sweet Mary, Queen of Scots, confirms to Delingbone, Starkey and those of that ilk, that they are right. Girls are to blame for historical inaccuracy because they don’t care, because they are not “obsessed” with history.

Disregard for historical details breeds fashion disasters.

The danger is that teenage girls (who obviously are the target for Kane’s show) learn what-passes-for-history from “Reign.” Hence, they will go on thinking that Mary Stuart was raped by courtiers, killed Catherine De Medici’s bastard daughter and had more lovers than the poor woman could fit in her bed. We say that customers are not supposed to teach history, but in the end, sex romps like “Versailles,” “Reign, “and the Iberian “Aguila Roja,” do much worse. They combine false depictions with soft porn and end up in the weirdest and most useless history lesson any audience could stomach.  

There should be limits to creative license, balance between fantasy and the spirit of authenticity, and as James Delingbone demanded, responsibility to the public. Just as the worst fanfiction is the one that strays away from the original, a freely inspired adaptation of historical events won’t guarantee a quality product. From the moment  a piece claims to be historical or based on actual incidents, there should be a commitment to deliver a story that is at least 80% truth. After all, sometimes reality can be much more fun than reprehensible and inaccurate clichés. Don’t you agree?  

A Game of Three Queens: Reign ‘s last season finally remembers history

For its final season, “Reign” has chosen to regale us with three different geographical settings, each under the rule of a powerful woman. Mary Stuart is now attempting to rule Scotland. Catherine of Medici won’t surrender the power to her son, the new king of France: and in England, Elizabeth I worries about her cousin coming to steal her throne. But before the closure, this fanciful series is facing its greatest challenge, one it has avoided so far. The scriptwriters are hitting history books and trying to come up with the real Mary, Queen of Scots, and the true events that shaped her last years and legend.

Season Four is closing these disparate (ergo, lots of fun) series with a topsy-turvy set of events. Mary crying over Catherine’s shoulder and asking for advice on matters of the heart? King Charles of France becoming a Protestant? Queen Bess doing drugs with pirate John Hawkins? David Rizzio bearer of prophecy? This stretches the limits of the farfetchedness that “Reign” had us used to. And yet, all this craziness does have some basis on historical events.

Such novelty may come as a shock to the show’s faithful fans, the ones that thought that Mary would end up marrying Bash and living in the forest with the druids.  They shouldn’t worry much.  The French arc still embraces the series’ noblest tradition of dealing strictly with historical inaccuracies…And Boy! Are they coming out with outlandish stuff this last Season!

First stop: Dull England

This is, so far, the series’ weakest storyline.  By herself, Elizabeth Tudor is a dull character. The Elizabethan period and those who experienced it are fun, but their monarch? Noo.  Too virginal.  Aware of that fact, historical fiction indulges in speculation. Following that trend, authors have field days guessing how many lovers the Virgin Queen really had, and if she gave birth to one (or more) royal bastards.” Reign” is no exception to that trend.

Last season saw Elizabeth carrying Robert Dudley’s child, pregnancy that came to a halt when the queen miscarried due to a poison Lord Cecil slipped into her cup. Sad, but not incompatible with history. The fact that Elizabeth’s most trusted courtier acted out of love and jealousy added a piquant touch to the whole intrigue. Could it be that in real life prim Lord Cecil experienced romantic longings for his sovereign?  Time to write some fanfiction on the subject.

Elizabeth’s faux-accouchement coincided with Amy Robsart Dudley’s historical fall from her mansion’s stairs. Dudley became a widower, but he and his royal mistress were under a dark cloud. Bessie tried to save her lover by marrying him off to her rival. That is factual truth, Dudley did (half-heartedly) court the recently widowed Mary. However, the series has him returning to the English Court married to Lettice Knollys! In fact, Dudley did impregnate and marry his Queenie’s cousin, but that happened eighteen years into the future.

Dead Amy Robsart 

Distraught Elizabeth drives Dudley, pregnant Letty, and besotted William Cecil into exile. She is left without a boyfriend and without a counselor. Who does she have on hand?  Ambassador Gideon, a man dull in looks as well as in character. Queen Bess spends this season doing useless things: concocting plots to keep cousin Mary single, trying to entertain dying Agatha Gideon’s last hours, attempting to convince contemptuous noblemen that she can be as jolly as Dad Harry when it comes to hunting. Did anybody in England missed Fat Henry that would be won over by Elizabeth’s resemblance to her tyrant’s father?

Finally, the writers take pity on the wretched queen and get her a proper companion: privateer John Hawkins. He has just run afoul the Spanish authorities for stealing some gold. Philip II wants Elizabeth to surrender the cad, but Hawkins convinces the queen that he is much more useful in England. After doing absinthe together, eating tomatoes and playing with the turkeys (she calls them “large chickens!”) Hawkins has brought from America, Elizabeth gives her new chum leave to plunder the New World.

I thought Bess and Hawkins would do the nasty on the dining room table, but instead, she’s bedding Gideon. Really, Bess!  Gideon? Anyway, Hawkins is an authentic item. He was Sir Francis Drake’s cousin. He did work for the Spaniards until he thought it was time to change bosses.  By 1564, he had just returned from Santo Domingo after selling slaves there. Yes, that is his dark side. Perhaps we should let “Reign” convince us that Hawkins only trafficked with live poultry.

 In La Belle France

Let us begin with Claude, the most superfluous and insufferable character in the three kingdoms. I have given up convincing anybody that the real Claude de Valois was plain, lame and a hunchback to boot. Moreover, at this stage she was already a wife and mother. Some fans have tried to identify Claude with her youngest sister Marguerite who does not appear in this series.

The real Claude de Valois

Still, La Reine Margot, beautiful, passionate and sexually liberated as she was, had much more common sense than Claude. We begin this season with the princess mourning Leith’s untimely passing. Claude is shown crying, scowling, praying, but being Claude, soon ends up in a married man’s bed. Caught by her intransigent sister, Claude gets an ultimatum. Either she marries or is charted off to the nearest convent.

Claude in mourning

Lord Narcisse (slurp), recently returned from England, conjures up a son named Luc who marries slutty Claude. Being that “Reign” is strictly speaking a soap-opera, Leith materializes from the grave. He wasn’t dead after all. Narcisse quickly throws him in a cell and keeps him there until the marriage has been consummated. On finding the truth, Leith and Claude are devastated. The ever-pragmatic Luc offers a solution. All he wants is an heir. Provided that occasionally, Claude lets him try to impregnate her, he has no qualms about her cavorting with Leith. Claude embraces the idea of a threesome. Leith is not enthusiastic at all, and departs for unknown lands. Claude is back to her pouting. Too bad “Girls” is over. Vapid and self-centered Claude could fit so well into that crowd (she even resembles Jessa.)

Claude's second wedding

In another corner of the French Court, The Valois are holding a family reunion.  Queen Leeza has come from Spain for an extended and unwelcome visit.  Apparently, she is now her husband King Phillip’s ambassadress. and in Paris to survey how well her family fights Lutheran heresy. If she finds their efforts are too lukewarm, she is to report immediately to His Most Catholic Majesty who will proceed with the fusion of both companies. The French and the Spanish brands. 

Of course, Leeza (who is much older, bigger and plainer than the real Elizabeth De Valois) is carrying in her chest a huge load of childish grudges against Mommy Dearest. She wants nothing better than to provoke an incident between France and Spain. In this she is helped by brother Charles who, since he became king, has been putting on his most revolting Joffrey Baratheon act.

Frist Charlie led us to believe that he was into killing bedmates just to satisfy some necrophile wish. Thank heavens he was not using Bianca for target practice, just frightening her into watching skeletons and his face stained with blood. Blood? Yes, for a moment I also thought Chuck to be one of “The Originals.” And then, half-eaten corpses of children began to show up in the countryside in the spots where Charles liked to wander at night.  Was the King an early Bete de Gevaudan? The peasantry thought so.

Finally, Catherine manages to put a leash on her unruly pup. Charles addresses a crowd with tales of big bad wolves captured and killed to prevent them from feasting on the flesh of their children. The peasants are no fools, they still believe their king is a cannibal and to prove it a bucket of pig’s blood is hurled, a la Carrie, to Charlie’s head. 

The poor boy goes bonkers and hides in the forest. Mom Cat comes after him and gets the story of how Charlie, still traumatized after seeing friend Thierry burnt alive, can only exorcize that image by eating live squirrels and smearing his face with their blood. Ok, if it’s for therapeutic reasons… The problem is that Charles has no desire to reign or live in the palace. Leeza is ecstatic. A kingless France needs the ruling hand of hubby Phil.

Tireless Catherine and loyal Narcisse travel the countryside and track down the king leading the rustic life with some peasant family near Meaux. After sampling pigeon soup, and thanking the family for their hospitality, the royal entourage convinces Nicole, Charlie’s new peasant girlfriend, to come and look at the Court. and yeah, bring the King along too, Girl!  It is only when they are all well set in The Louvre, that Charlie drops the bomb. Nicole’s family was Huguenot, they converted him, therefore he is now a Protestant king!

 Poor Leeza, she is so put off, she has no strength to protest. She packs herself back to Spain, and promises to keep her mouth shut provided Protestant Charlie is sent to the nearest Bedlam while little Henri is crowned king instead of his mad brother. Catherine leaves such matters in the competent hands of her prime minister and Nicole (who has a crush on Narcisse) and departs for a Scottish vacation to give advice to the forlorn Queen of Scots.

Nicole and Reign's Charles

Before getting to Scotia where all sorts of exciting things are happening, let us rewind a little and see where did this French salmagundi sprouted from.  in real life, Charles was a bit touched in the head, and he had a rocky relationship in his mother. He did have a son with a woman, Marie Touchet, who was not an aristocrat. His mother and he did embark on a trip all over France around that time, but he was never a Protestant.

The real Charles IX and Marie Touchet

Elizabeth de Valois, Catherine’s favorite daughter, did arrive in France for an official visit in 1564. She had just had a miscarriage and was longing to see her mother. With his wife, Philip did send an envoy, the Duke of Alba. His purpose was to warn Madame Serpent (Philip’s loving nickname for his mother-in-law) that Spain didn’t like how the French were handling the Huguenot problem.

 Meeting the royal party in Bayonne, Catherine went on to throw a humongous court festival to entertain the Spaniards. It was designed to show  Alba that France was still magnificent and prestigious and would not stand bullying from any other country. That is the truth behind all these Gallic shenanigans we had been watching this Season.

Meanwhile, back at the Highlands

 Mary finally returned to her Queendom where she was received by a druid faction. Apparently, the druids were only Scottish subjects to welcome her presence. On Caledonian land. Mary has had to contend with rebellious clans, Protestants everywhere, John Knox’s intrigues and a cute, but not so trustworthy James, Earl of Moray, who happens to be her half-brother. 

Mary and the very cute Lord Moray. Too bad they are not Tsrgaryans.

Taking a page from Catherine’s book, Mary is learning to use Machiavellian solutions. To test his loyalty, The Queen has Moray behead a clan leader who had impudently kidnapped her. Then sends her brother to seduce (and gather intelligence through her) Emily, Knox’s young wife. At the time, Knox was married to a young woman named Margaret, not Emily, and Moray was already married to Agnes Keith. But “Reign” has chosen to add more spice and drama to the real events. Scorned Emily has taken a terrible revenge. One that had Mary exiling her beloved brother. In real life, Moray abandoned the Scottish Court in protest of his sister’s marriage to Darnley.

Now that we mention him, Lord Darnley is proving to be an onerous chapter in Mary’s disastrous love life. Just like the real Queen of Scots, Adelaide Kane’s character is boy-crazy and has trouble keeping her knickers on. The Fourth Season opens with Mary engaged to Lord Gideon (yes, that man is everywhere,) planning to abdicate and live happily ever after in some English castle. Reason sets in, Mary will always be a peril to Elizabeth, her life will be endangered, and the Scottish people need her. Although this last point is debatable, Mary boots Gideon out of her heart and sets her cap for getting back at Bess. The best way is to be crowned queen of both England and Scotland, and her ticket to the throne is called Henry Darnley.

 Let me stop a second to explain why Darnley makes Mary’s claims more legitimate. They are first cousins; Margaret Tudor was granny to both. Lady Lennox, Mary’s obnoxious new mother-in-law, is Henry VIII’s niece. They all descend from The White Princess. They are totally Tudors.

Darnley has royal blood, plus he is gorgeous. So, Mary wastes no time and screw him in a hallway. A bit too soon, because Darnley reveals himself to be a drunkard and an undependable lout. Mary keeps on getting warning chits of paper laden with anti-Darnley propaganda.  The warnings are signed by “The Loyal Watchman.” This mysterious protector turns out to be THE Earl of Bothwell.

 The moment The Queen runs into James Hepburn at a tavern (how appropriate) we know that this is the only man capable to fill in Francis ‘boots. Next to him, Darnley is a worm. And yet, Mary’s fangirls (those who know their history) are screaming: “Run, Mary, run! Don’t fall for his pony tail, for his sassy Orlando Bloom grin! Bothwell is TROUBLEEE!!!” But this time, love and history will rule here.

Mary-Bothwell run high in my list of historical shippings. We know so little of how that romance evolved that I’m buying every silliness the scriptwriters come up with. The tavern, the boat ride, the forest trek, Bothwell declaring his love in a dark corridor on the eve of Mary’s wedding: Bothwell telling her that he vowed to her mother to keep Mary safe. I was touched by that reference to Marie de Guise. Mary’s mother was one of those historical figures that underwent character assassination in “Reign.” It is befitting that someone remembers how much she loved her daughter.

However, David Rizzio (who is gay just as in real life) pops up in the middle of a forest, like some Tolkien character, and delivers Mary a druid prophecy.  She can either have love or an heir that joins England and Scotland forever. What Mary doesn’t realize is that she has no choice. Her tumble with Darnley had consequences. She is carrying the heir, so she must give up love.

 But my Lord Bothwell is not one to deter easily. On her wedding night, while the drunk groom snorts, the Queen, from her window, sees Bothwell lurking under her balcony. SOOOOO ROMANTIC! 

And yet, where this is going to lead? Mary to the scaffold, Bothwell to die in chains, and mad, in a Danish prison. But, but…this is “Reign.” If they have spent four years playing with history, why change now? Could we see Mary and Bothwell living happily ever after?  In “Reign” everything is possible.