Monmouth's death: rereading the non-fictional account, something that stood out for me was (in addition to the gruesomeness which underlines that if you have to be executed, you better pray that your executioner is at least competent at it, and that Henry VIII actually did do Anne Boleyn a favour with that swordsman from France, macabre as it sounds) was what does NOT happen in comparison to most executions. Convention in such cases demanded that the about to be executed person proclaimed their loyalty to the monarch and asked the attending crowd to pray for the monarch, displaying their loyalty to said monarch. If you check out the pre-execution speeches of Thomas More, Anne Boleyn and Thomas Cromwell, this happens in every case. ( Charles I. when executed of course did not acknowledge the right of parliament to do so, same with Mary Queen of Scots.) This doesn't mean these people really were rooting for the King who had them executed as they died, but were aware that they still had living family who might suffer if they did not follow convention.
Meanwhile, Monmouth (who was the last Duke to be executed in England)
Stepping up onto the scaffold, Monmoth addressed the crowds. (...) 'I come to die', adding with emphasis, 'I die as a Protestant of the Church of England.' The clerics tried to talk him into condemning all acts of resistance to royal authority, but Monmouth would not be drawn; instead he was intent on protecting the hnor of the woman he loved, and so he spoke the words he had rehearsed: 'I have had a scandal raised about me about a woman, a lady of virtue and honor. I will name her the Lady Henrietta Wentworth. I declare that she is a very virtuous and Godly woman. I have committed no sin with her; and that which had passed betwixt us was very honest and innocent in the sight of God.' When asked to denounce his invasion as a rebellion, Monmouth said nothing but handed over a piece of paper on which he had written the only recantation he was prepared to make. It staded his regreat at having been declared king, and confirmed that he knew his parents had never been married. He went no further. He made no statement of loyalty or penitence to James II, whom he called 'the King who is now', and asked only that he would not punish his children on his account. The bishops tried again, but still Monmouth would not be drawn. HE was sorry, he said, for evryone he had wronged. (...) Pressed hard to call his upsiing a 'rebellion', Monmouth continued to resist. The most he would concede was his regret. 'I never was a man that delighted in Blood, I was very far from it.' he said. 'I am sorry for invading the Kingdom, and for the Blood that has been shed, and for the Souls which may have been lost by my means, I am sorry it ever happened.' Around the scaffold stood an armed guard and beyond them the sheriffs and the crowd. When asked whether he would not say something to them to acknowledge his crimes, he stood quite still and was silent. (...) The bishops tried one last time to extract words of obedience to James II. But when they said 'Lord Save the King', Monmouth did not repeat them. (...) Finally one of them asked him whether he would at least say something to the guards of the importance of remaining loyal to the king. Monmouth replied only: "I will make no speeches, I come here to die.' With the midday sun shining down, his servant came forward to help him undress. He removed his wig, refused the cap and blindfold he was offered, and from his pocket he took a small silver object which he gave to his man along with six guineas. (The money is traditionally for the executioner.) (...) With the crowd motionless in awful anticipation, Ketch, legs apart, steadied himself. Reaching back, he heaved the great axe through the air, but when it fell heavily it came down sort, chopping deep into Monmouth's neck, causing his body to convulse and his head to turn, but withuot killing him. Now partially facing his victim, Ketch began to shake, and when he swung the axe again, he again failed to make a clear strike and took another bite from Monmouth's neck. The crowd goraned at each horrific hack. When his third swing also missed, Ketch's shoulders sagged, and he htrew down his weapon in despiar, crying: "God dame me I can doe noe more, my heart faillles me.' The spectators roared in disbelief, as the butchered body of Monmouth lay, still alive, before them. Only the universal shouts and screams from the crowd and the furious order from the sheriffs caused him to pick up the axe and to swing it twice more. Even then he had finalyl to take a knife to sever the remaining sinews of Monmouth's neck. When he held up the disembodied head, 'there was no shouting but many cried'. The emotion of the onlookers was overwhelming: 'If there had not been a guard before the souldiers to conduct the executioner away, the people would have torn him to pieces, so great was their indignation at the barbarous usage of the late Duke of Monmouth.'
(I checked out the footnote sourcing this description, and Keay based it on a contemporary pamphlet ("An account of what passed at the Execution of the late Duke of Monmouth") as well as Luttrell, State Affairs, and State Trial transcriptions.)
Re: <s>Jacobites</s> Stuarts and treason: Monmouth's death
Meanwhile, Monmouth (who was the last Duke to be executed in England)
Stepping up onto the scaffold, Monmoth addressed the crowds. (...) 'I come to die', adding with emphasis, 'I die as a Protestant of the Church of England.' The clerics tried to talk him into condemning all acts of resistance to royal authority, but Monmouth would not be drawn; instead he was intent on protecting the hnor of the woman he loved, and so he spoke the words he had rehearsed: 'I have had a scandal raised about me about a woman, a lady of virtue and honor. I will name her the Lady Henrietta Wentworth. I declare that she is a very virtuous and Godly woman. I have committed no sin with her; and that which had passed betwixt us was very honest and innocent in the sight of God.'
When asked to denounce his invasion as a rebellion, Monmouth said nothing but handed over a piece of paper on which he had written the only recantation he was prepared to make. It staded his regreat at having been declared king, and confirmed that he knew his parents had never been married. He went no further. He made no statement of loyalty or penitence to James II, whom he called 'the King who is now', and asked only that he would not punish his children on his account.
The bishops tried again, but still Monmouth would not be drawn. HE was sorry, he said, for evryone he had wronged. (...) Pressed hard to call his upsiing a 'rebellion', Monmouth continued to resist. The most he would concede was his regret. 'I never was a man that delighted in Blood, I was very far from it.' he said. 'I am sorry for invading the Kingdom, and for the Blood that has been shed, and for the Souls which may have been lost by my means, I am sorry it ever happened.'
Around the scaffold stood an armed guard and beyond them the sheriffs and the crowd. When asked whether he would not say something to them to acknowledge his crimes, he stood quite still and was silent. (...) The bishops tried one last time to extract words of obedience to James II. But when they said 'Lord Save the King', Monmouth did not repeat them. (...) Finally one of them asked him whether he would at least say something to the guards of the importance of remaining loyal to the king. Monmouth replied only: "I will make no speeches, I come here to die.' With the midday sun shining down, his servant came forward to help him undress. He removed his wig, refused the cap and blindfold he was offered, and from his pocket he took a small silver object which he gave to his man along with six guineas. (The money is traditionally for the executioner.) (...)
With the crowd motionless in awful anticipation, Ketch, legs apart, steadied himself. Reaching back, he heaved the great axe through the air, but when it fell heavily it came down sort, chopping deep into Monmouth's neck, causing his body to convulse and his head to turn, but withuot killing him. Now partially facing his victim, Ketch began to shake, and when he swung the axe again, he again failed to make a clear strike and took another bite from Monmouth's neck. The crowd goraned at each horrific hack. When his third swing also missed, Ketch's shoulders sagged, and he htrew down his weapon in despiar, crying: "God dame me I can doe noe more, my heart faillles me.' The spectators roared in disbelief, as the butchered body of Monmouth lay, still alive, before them. Only the universal shouts and screams from the crowd and the furious order from the sheriffs caused him to pick up the axe and to swing it twice more. Even then he had finalyl to take a knife to sever the remaining sinews of Monmouth's neck. When he held up the disembodied head, 'there was no shouting but many cried'. The emotion of the onlookers was overwhelming: 'If there had not been a guard before the souldiers to conduct the executioner away, the people would have torn him to pieces, so great was their indignation at the barbarous usage of the late Duke of Monmouth.'
(I checked out the footnote sourcing this description, and Keay based it on a contemporary pamphlet ("An account of what passed at the Execution of the late Duke of Monmouth") as well as Luttrell, State Affairs, and State Trial transcriptions.)