And, ah yes, that other thing about the Duke and his, er, woman Ann Hyde. Piero Mocenigo the Venetian ambassador stays very close to the story, and reported on December 12 (24, new style) that "the King (...) seems to have taken the lady's side, telling his brother that having lacked caution at first he could not draw back in conscience at this stage" or embroil her dad Chancellor Hyde, "so it looks as if everything will go smoothly". Nothing new there, and it only confirms what Sam heard from my Lady Jemima, down corridors of power that have been positively thrumming with the barely-contained scandal.
Charles meanwhile has tried to defuse opposition by elevating Hyde to the Lords, on whose honour no Commons-man may dare trespass and, Mocenigo adds, "it is said that at [Charles'] coronation", planned for February, "the chancellor will be raised to the rank of duke, and so the marriage will be rendered more compatible" [https://www.british-history.ac.uk…]. Actually our palantir suggests Hyde will only be created Viscount Cornbury and Earl of Clarendon, already something, but a dukedom would be a bit much.
The specific project of "burning Westminster" which L&M references, is echoed in Mocenigo's mention that the reinforced palace guards are "as likely to be the first to suffer, as it seems these villains meant to set fire to them and destroy them". "Burning Westminster" still seems easier said than done - where do you start? How do you trap the king in a building of that size, where somebody is probably always rushing with a water bucket to take out a bad candle? Just an idea: on December 13, Nicholas also got a report on the seizure of a barrel of gunpowder, "brought (...) to Sarum [Salisbury?] and claimed by Himphrey Ditton, a Commonwealth man", one of several with "plots in hand", who "hope to (...) see the Cavaliers beg their bread before Christmas".
And so, here we are: Westminster in full panic mode. "Great guards att the Tower, in the Citty, and other places", the Mercurius reports, "and for almost a fortnight togeather all the talke was a plot or what persons was taken prisoners". From the King himself, no less than "A proclamation, commanding all cashiered officers and soldiers, and other persons that cannot give a good account for their being here, to depart out of the cities of London and Westminster" (full text at https://ota.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/rep…). Good luck with enforcing that one, but it should get the attention of the most inattentive, and it's a chance for the Watch to test the new night-sticks on a few "other persons".
Expect reports of guards, arrests, searches and more rogues and under-plots for weeks and weeks. Those evil Fifth Monarchists could be anywhere! Viz., Gen. Albermarle (whose regiment it is, that moved into Westminster) writes to Nicholas today that Col. John Clerk "is upon the guard at Whitehall, but it is not fit that he should be there this night". Amazingly, another "John Clerk" - gotta be the same man - petitions the King on the same day to be released from the Gatehouse. And what of the "obnoxious person (...) concealed in Wm. Du Gard's house, Newington Butts", whom "gentleman pensioner" Edward Short went to arrest and, Short wrote two days ago, who disappeared with Mr. Obnoxious despite posting a bond for £5,000? (Hmm. Du Gard, a papist froggie for sure). Anywhere, I tell you! Bar the doors!
Holy masked potatoes, not another plot against H.M.! Not a week goes by without a report in our State Papers on how some shmuck was overheard in a tavern promising to sheath-his-sword-&c. We even stumbled over one last week (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) while discussing the weather in Holland.
And then we surmise that Shmuck gets a free ticket to sunny Barbados like the others. But aye, this one looks a bit serious, and in fact has been ticking awhile, somehow without registering on Sam's radar. At the end of his summary of Mercurius Politicus for November, Thomas Rugg had a longish report that "in this month on[e] Major White was commited prisoner to the Tower of London, as report said for endevouring' a plotts and make a disturbance against kingly power". There followed "great serches", "the Kings guards doubled and cannon mounted in Whit Hall, a regiment of trained bands and a company a night apointed to watch", an entire foot regiment "quartred in the subuarbs of Westminester", all of this lost to Sam in the London noise as far as the Diary shows. The King's secretary, Edward Nicholas, wrote today that he "had early notice of this plot, but suffered it on purpose to ripen till it burst out a few days ago". Venetian ambassador Mocenigo, on the ball as always, reported on December 12 (December 24, new style; handy converter at http://aulis.org/Calendar/Old_%26…) that "some of the accomplices were arrested and imprisoned yesterday (...) Meanwhile strong guards have been set at all the corners of London and the palace" [https://www.british-history.ac.uk…]. Aye, shocking we know, but Sam is five days behind on the newes. Well, his entries were kinda short lately, so he must've been busy, and only now thought "I gotta mention the plot".
And yes, "Many persons committed, as Major Generall Overton, Colonel Zankey, one Babinton and Bagster and other collonells". The State Papers for December 15 include a flurry of reports on the great serches, notably the examination of "John Hall, of Beech Lane, St. Giles's", whom Maj. Thomas White told "he would have the blood of General Monk, and would have killed him and burnt the city before, had his colonel permitted". Discipline, discipline, but still "he will make the city a second Jerusalem, by setting it on fire, and pull the King from his throne". A bit worryingly, Hall "showed [White] a Parliament roll, with the names of all those engaged in the design". Add to the plotters' list, in particular, "Miller, Baxter's Lieut.-Col.", and Hall himself, if he wasn't there to entrap White. Now that's a lot of colonels.
It seemes this was no ordinary gust of wind, for we now see in Rugge his summation of Mercurius Politicus, that "In this month [December, tho' the day unknowne] their were very great winds, that many yeares there [were] not the like; many ships cast away, many houses blowne downe and churches tome with winds. The States of Holand lost a very great many of the shipes their; the Spaniard lost eight of his galleouns, or his best ships. The Earle of Argile and Laird Swenton was then att sea bound for Scotland, [but were] by ill weather forced into Yearmouth."
We see in our crystal ball that on December 20, a Mr. Russell will write from Amsterdam that, among recent events he recaps, "a terrible storm has cast away 50 ships, and blown down 500 houses". And this, whoa, "the very night the burgo-masters refused so just a demand" as a request for assistance in the arrest of "Harry Cromwell", "Huson the cobbler" and other rogues, apparently long pursued as one of the fanaticks' innumerable plots and cabals. Nice to see how Zephyr favors the House of Stuart; they should enjoy, for it won't always be.
So much for the reverend's "mild weather": It's not one ship that this "extraordinary gust of wind" claimed, but three, for as the State Papers will reveal tomorrow the Maria lost its mainmast, while the Blackamore also "ran aground between the piers". This in Yarmouth, over 100 km north from Woolwich, but somehow the storm avoided Essex. A month ago (November 15) a dispatch had informed us that a storm had "much injured the quay" in Harwich.
The good duke did indeed need to know a.s.a.p. about the Assurance, because in addition to being Lord High Admiral, on December 18 he will also be made Governor of the Royal Adventurers into Africa, with a monopoly on English, hm, "trade" in that direction. No doubt we'll revisit that glorious appointment in good time, but the company has been around for a couple of months, and no doubt Guinea is already very dear to HRH, as soon will be vast numbers of the Guineans themselves.
If God is a Quaker, perhaps He had a hand in that gust of wind. If so it didn't work. The Assurance was salvaged and repaired. Two ships of that name appear in an interminable list of slaving ships at https://www.reuters.com/graphics/…; but from its record at https://threedecks.org/index.php?… and its absence from a company history at https://www.jstor.org/stable/2713…, it seems the one in the news today mostly stuck to European waters and wasn't one of them.
On translating Latin: We are informed that Mr. Google in his great booke-shop keeps a lad, full of Artifice and Intelligence, who translates Latin on request, along with a few other languages of greater daily usefulness such as Chichewa or Sepedi. He renders "Falsum etiam est verum quod consuit superior" as "It is also true that what was said above is false" (and in the Chichewa language of Malawi as "Ndizowonanso kuti zomwe zanenedwa pamwambapa ndi zabodza"). Leave him your learned maxims from Cicero at https://translate.google.com, and weep if ye will for all these hours offered to declensions and the ablative case.
On Parliament's resolution of today: At least Sam expresses an opinion, however timid. Our other sources - admittedly scarce, as we're rarely in the barbershops of 1660 London - are either matter-of-fact to the point of indifference (Thomas Rugg his summary of Mercurius Politicus, written in hindsight 'tho while Oliver's head was still overseeing London, Venetian ambassador Mocenigo his dispatch of next week) or entirely silent on the matter (John Evelyn his diary, which will picks up after a few days' hiatus, ironically to marvel at "incomparable" heads he saw at court, made by Holbein in this case). The only ballad mentioning Oliver in late 1660 or 1661 in the collection at https://ebba.english.ucsb.edu will appear, however, on the occasion of his transfer to Tyburn and it does come with a couple of interesting woodcuts; it ends with "there is an end to a stincking crew" and "vivat Rex", so no deviation from the official Line there.
'Tis Parliament's decision, however, with no sign of the king having asked for anything like it. It remains subject to the Lords' approval, and the proceedings at https://www.british-history.ac.uk… suggest that it wasn't an instant rush to the vote: The matter of the attainder of Cromwell (his exemption from pardon) was taken up three times, interspersed with humdrum private business ("humble Petition of Edmond Challenor Esquire" and "Earl of Dorset's Estate"), of the sort which the king had precisely asked Parliament not to waste its time on in the days left before recess, before the Glorious Resolution on "Regicides Carcases to be taken up" finally comes up too. We phant'sy there were quite a few conferences whispered in the hallways on Whether To Do It Or Not while the problems of Esq. Challenor got the floor. We wish something like Grey's Debates or C-SPAN had been there already.
And wine? An amendment added to the Excise Bill on July 25 sought to exempt it from duty. Which seems odd, given how 'tis mostly imported, but ambassadors such as our friend Giavarina, who all have vast hoards in their cellars, will appreciate the gesture.
And sack? Tax-free, apparently. Meanwhile, drinking the king's health has just taken a new meaning, as might the Puritans' dry regime. Imbibe if you love your sovereign! Now, there's a ready excuse for that coach accident.
A little exploration of the House of Commons' Journal (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) has found it quite preoccupied with the business of the Excise, as with diverse other revenue flows which H.M. now has the time (for which God be praised) to rearrange in his direction. To wit, the recent business with gravel &c. and claims thereto over which the Ballast Office has prevailed, but also an extraordinary entry on July 17 on the House's detailed examination of duties charged for various imports and commodities, resolving for instance "That there be no Alteration in the Rate for Figs", or "Abatement of the Rate upon Muscavado Sugar", while the rate on "Fustick Wood" is reduced and we are reassured that "The Particulars (...) concerning Saltpetre, Sizers, Orgazine Silk, Raw China Silk, and Raw Long Silk, were, on the Question, agreed unto".
The day's news, which cannot fail to contribute to the tavern talk around Sam, is that the House has "Resolved, That the other Moiety of the Revenue of the Excise of Beer, Ale, Cyder, Perry, strong Waters, Chocolate, Coffee, Sherbett, and Metheglin, be settled on the King for and during his natural Life".
Chocolate (a.k.a. "Chocoletta") and Coffee are, we understand, herbal drinkes and novelties from New Spain and Turkestan. Metheglin and perry will be of course be familiar to all. A moiety, https://languages.oup.com/google-… more or less helpfully reminds us, is "a part or portion, especially a lesser share". So this Moiety, not "all the Excise" contrary to what Sam heard from the table-pounding drunks around him this morning, goes toward the "Twelve hundred thousand Pounds per Annum Revenue, resolved to be settled on his Majesty", starting next Christmas (next what??), which the House on November 21 had unanimously voted to bestow on the king, at the time expecting just the excise on "Beer, Ale, Cyder, Perry, and strong Waters" to be sufficient.
But 'tis not, and so we're having to tap chocoletta, humble metheglin and the new coffee craze too. There are other claims on the Moiety, such as the budget for the garrison at Dunkirk, £3,450 to be similarly taken from the excise on beer and ale as per a report read on August 25 and a vote just yesterday, November 26. In fact a State Council order referenced on August 8 had mentioned that the lonely soldiers in Dunkirk would also be paid off "Perry, Cyder, and Metheglin", which will, then, go to a different pocket. Their budget was also cut, from the £4,800 that had been appropriated on June 30. On August 8 the House had also resolved that up to £825 of anything left from these accounts would go to "Edward Backwell, Alderman of the City of London", who may now have to find something else to support his lifestyle (he invented the banknote, so we're not concerned). Even General Monck was granted a piece of the Excise receipts, on June 27.
So why did cozen Thomas "the turner" give Sam a cup? Perhaps just a shared interest in woodworking, since Tom gave Sam a set of tools a month ago (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…), but there may also be something to celebrate. We find in today's State Papers a brief note, recording a "Grant to Thos. Pepys of an Almsroom in Winchester Cathedral". Assuming this isn't a homonym, then we know (from https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…) a Thomas Pepys who "at his death [in 1676] was living as an almsman in Sion College": Uncle Thomas, the turner's papa. Alas, Sion College (in London) has nothing to do with Winchester Cathedral (in Hampshire, visit at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Win…), but that won't stop us from connecting the dots.
An almsroom is a crashpad for the indigent, which is what uncle T is right now, granted as a "gift of the crown", and so not easy to get (says https://www.taylorfrancis.com/cha…). Perhaps Sam lent a hand with the application, and gets a mug in return.
And maybe there's more than meets the eye, because on the same day another almsroom is also granted at Winchester to a certain "John Williamson". Not the most uncommon name in England, but if it's the future P.A. and intelligencer to the king, maybe there's different qualities of almsrooms and having one in a cathedral isn't the bleak dead-end it seems at first.
On His Majesty's leniency: We cannot know what prompted that discussion. Of course 'tis always a good topic to consider among courtiers in the privacy of your coach, and last month's gruesome executions and reeking baskets are still fresh enough - not that direct witnesses are likely to ever forget them - to provide fuel for thought.
In this case we wonder if some little Controversy may not have aris'n on the case of "one Tench", whom Thomas Rugge will record in his summary of the Mercurius Politicus (doi:10.1017/S2042171000000406, page 128) as "the carpenter that made the scaffold and knocked the staples on the scaffold [of] the King' Charles the First". Now Tench "in this month (...) was beheaded". A footnote drawing on the original Mercurius says Tench had been "apprehended and sent close prisoner" to the Gatehouse on November 25, so still in the future, but execution within a week of arrest seems a bit quick in something as momentous as a trial for regicide.
So we wonder if Tench, whose case is notorious enough for Rugge to give it its own subheading in his book, hasn't been macerating for a while already, and become a minor cause célèbre, in this case a test of whether H.M.'s avengers ain't starting to reach a bit too deep with the ax. In a few centuries historian David Farr will say so, noting disapprovingly in a biography of regicide Gen. Thomas Harrison that "Indeed, the 'merry monarch', Charles II, even had one Tench, the carpenter of the gallows for Charles I, executed" (https://books.google.fr/books?id=…, page 257). Farr isn't around to disapprove in 1660, but among some folks who are, the martyrdom of a carpenter could even be grist for a few seditious pamphlets, hmm?
On the Ballast Office: The Trinity men having "obtained something" is certainly occasion enough for their buying the next round, for they have been for months in a Furious Battle for the realm's gravel, which it would seem is now being decided; see our little note at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/… on its opening stages.
The poll tax problem is prominent enough for Venetian ambassador Giavarina to make it item No. 1 in his weekly dispatch (dated November 26 new style, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…). Venice cares about this stuff, because it has been granted royal leave to recruit England's demobbed soldiers into its own wars. Giavarina his letter:
"[Parliament's] special aim is the complete disbanding of the army and the disarming of the fleet (...) Finding that their orders were left unfulfilled chiefly from lack of money they immediately applied themselves to find fresh cash for the purpose, which absorbs immense and incredible sums. They are therefore discussing a tax, which will soon be ripe, of 70,000l. sterling a month for six weeks, and as much of the poll tax is still unpaid, they are preparing stringent orders, threatening with severe penalties those who show an unwillingness to submit."
So, problem: The People, perhaps made dizzy by the influx of oxygen (sorry, "vital spirit") that came with the end of one Dictatorship, aren't paying this Tax. Solution: Create that new one, with even more stringent deadlines. Hmm, yes, that should do it. Adjourn, then. Everybody to the Devil Tavern!
Slingsby's petition of May 1660... ah yes, there it is in the State Papers (still in their place at https://play.google.com/store/boo…). Dated "May?" and summarized thusly:
"To refer to some of the Council the disputes between him and Sir George Carteret, relative to the Treasurership of the Navy; is almost the eldest sea-captain surviving; served the late king, who owed him 5,800£. for arms delivered, and gave him the Treasurership of the Navy; set out ships from Bristol at his own charge, frequently visited His Majesty by stealth in his restraint, and was employed by him in his most private negotiations, for which he was cast into the loathsome dungeon", &c., &c., &c. Filed away by the Papers' editors as No. 153, and followed by a No. 154, "to the same effect" - always prudent to send a duplicate.
So the good comptroller petitioned for reversion of his old job, but he forgot to just ask explicitly for the king to repay him back the money. Like hundreds of others he just mentions his deeds for the record then humbly asks for some little job in consideration of his service - and no cigar there since giving the plum to Carteret is of course exactly what the king did, having only limited patience for reversions and said Carteret being a political bird that flies way, way higher. Instead, in August he was granted that naval comptrollership, clearly not as good as it came with just "fee, 50£. a year, and travelling expenses; and 8d. a day for two clerks".
The treasurership, by comparison, will get you £2,000 p.a. (as per https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…). Worth a petition or two, but c'mon, Slingsby old chap, you'll be certifying their accounts, don't tell me it's not full of opportunities, wink-wink. Just think about those open-ended "travelling expenses".
As for the petition's timing, clearly the competition required to move fast, but in this, the first week back on the throne for a king without a working administration and still living off the pocket money given by the Dutch, the State Papers already list over 250 petitions. "And", cry in despair the clerks dealing with the paper flood, "they've all been cast in loathsome dungeons by Cromwell!" Oh, and this one is the navy's "almost eldest captain", too; why should we shower thousands on someone who could die before he gets them anyway?
Maybe we weren't disappointed of money because there ain't any, but for other reasons. Tomorrow, if we may be allowed to borrow the time machine, William Prynne, the flamboyant MP for Bath and Somerset, will write to the Navy commissioners that "as Sir George Carteret has not arrived, and their presence is required at the House, [he] advises them to postpone till Thursday the disbanding and paying off the Henrietta" (State Papers).
Parliament is about to reconvene, and the MPs and VIPs can't leave London right now. So what? Do a MP for towns that are nowhere near Deptford, the Treasurer of the Navy and, for that matter, Sam himself, have to be personally on dockside to pay off a bunch of sailors from a single frigate? Maybe; officials wanting to be in the picture is a phenomenon which we understand will recur in future times. Prynne is on the parliamentary commission in charge of disbanding the army, but maybe he also plans to report the scene in one of his high-profile pamphlets?
As for the poll tax, there seems to be enough of it to cashier army regiments with all diligence. Maybe they're prioritized, given the more persuasive protest options which a soldier in central London may enjoy relative to a sailor in Deptford.
So, team Henrietta, just a few days more with that pent-up anger. How many of you anyway? Let's quibble: Our Encyclopedia (at https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…) does say 300 from a primary source, but that's in 1665. Right now, according to https://threedecks.org/index.php?… the number is 210. On 3 January next, another letter to the Commissioners, asking for crew sizes for the winter fleet, will note that "the Henrietta has more than her number, which is 180". Somehow there's space for another 120 hammocks in there. It's still only one-third to one-fifth the size of an army regiment (1,000 men, in principle, says https://www.quora.com/How-many-me…), and correspondingly 3-5 times less urgent a problem.
"Great talk" indeed - for sure everybody's talkin' about that wedding. Venetian ambassador Giavarina's take on it last week (on 29 October new style) was "(...) the king is the more grieved because it is said that the chancellor means to uphold the rights of his daughter and bring the affair to parliament when it reassembles. In that case he risks ruining himself". Not having to deal with much sectarianism back home, he then sniggers that "the affair has caused a great scandal among the sectaries here, especially the Presbyterians, who all pretend to be saints and impeccable".
Today (5 November new style) he adds, not being quite as much on top of things as usual, "When parliament meets the most interesting question will be the affair of the duke of York and the chancellor's daughter. It becomes increasingly clear that though the father is trying to hush the matter up, parliament means to deal with it, especially as the duke persists in denying the marriage". And the chatter ripples all the way to Paris, where his colleague Alvise Grimani reports on the same day, "The queen of England received the news of the duke of York's marriage before she left, she was extremely upset about it and it will hasten her journey". (All of this at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…).
Shall we talk about the weather, a topic unrelated to upholstery or treason but which does recur and has such relevance to Sam's job as to perhaps deserve an Encyclopedia entry: Capt. Bowen of the Success writes today to My Lord, on how "the extreme bad weather has driven [me] about", to Milford Haven where he shelters with "four other frigates, and hardly any supply. The weather has caused more shipwreck in these seas than has been known for many ages" (State Papers, October 10). The latter matching the scatter of other reports we had already noted this summer, on how rain and storms seem a bit worse than average. Milford Haven is windy enough that it will, in the far future, be graced by vast projects for wind farms.
We have now seen a dispatch from our well-informed friend, Venetian ambassador Giavarina (his letters at www.british-history.ac.uk/cal-sta…), dated October 22 (new style), which we thinks explains the kayak mystery.
"When I was at Court the other evening in the chamber of the princess, the king called me to him and spoke of the great pleasure he takes in the river here and discoursed about a delightful canal which he is now having dug in St. James's park near the palace, and his desire to have boats of every sort there", Giavarina writes. "He had written to Holland and other places for foreign ones and was very curious to see the gondolas of Venice as well which, by general consent, he understood were so noble and dainty. He asked me to write to request the republic to send him two by some English ship, saying it would be a most distinguished favour. I promised to report his wish to the Senate and felt sure your Excellencies would oblige him."
All we can say is, 'tis good to be the king, and this one isn't losing time as he moves from exile, to parades, to lopping off a few heads, to frolicking in vanity projects. "He sent a gentleman of the chamber to me again to-day to beg me not to forget to write, showing his eagerness to have them, and I must needs obey his Majesty's order." Moreover, "As the gondolas could not be used here without the boatmen of Venice [don't ask why], the king asked me to request the Senate to send three or four, promising to pay and treat them well."
Here begins, perhaps, some gondoliers' great life-changing adventure. Time will tell if the canoe museum will indeed materialise, and how the Venetian Senate reacts to this kingly request for gifts.
Roll in drunken at midnight no more the little Pepyses, for the king, early riser that he is, issued yesterday a "Proclamation for suppressing disorderly frequenting of taverns and tippling houses, or remaining there after nine at night" (State Papers, 29 September).
Or at least that's how the Papers' editors summarized it. How we would like to see the full text; alas, Parliament being out of session doesn't help. And is this a hundred thousand guffaws we hear, over the din of tankards banged on tables?
The 9pm curfew is on the books since 1383, says "Big city, bright lights? Night spaces in Paris and London, 1660-1820" by Jonathan Conlin (available at https://eprints.soton.ac.uk/350730); but in contrast with "despotic, militarized, closed Paris", in London "in 1660 the shops [a]re open until 2200".
"And even if we wur despotic and militarized, I'm a jusdiz of the peasss, r'member? So gimme another", Sam tells the frowning innkeeper.
And is John Evelyn experimenting with the New Style calendar? We did ponder it, but his other entries are consistently old-style. For instance he dates the Spanish ambassador's entry to the 17th, and soon will report on the trials and dispatch of regicides, giving dates that are a bit fuzzy but clearly not New Style. Time warps do happen on especially windy days in Deptford, and maybe Sam's not the only one who cannot write his diary in real time.
Comments
Third Reading
About Sunday 16 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
And, ah yes, that other thing about the Duke and his, er, woman Ann Hyde. Piero Mocenigo the Venetian ambassador stays very close to the story, and reported on December 12 (24, new style) that "the King (...) seems to have taken the lady's side, telling his brother that having lacked caution at first he could not draw back in conscience at this stage" or embroil her dad Chancellor Hyde, "so it looks as if everything will go smoothly". Nothing new there, and it only confirms what Sam heard from my Lady Jemima, down corridors of power that have been positively thrumming with the barely-contained scandal.
Charles meanwhile has tried to defuse opposition by elevating Hyde to the Lords, on whose honour no Commons-man may dare trespass and, Mocenigo adds, "it is said that at [Charles'] coronation", planned for February, "the chancellor will be raised to the rank of duke, and so the marriage will be rendered more compatible" [https://www.british-history.ac.uk…]. Actually our palantir suggests Hyde will only be created Viscount Cornbury and Earl of Clarendon, already something, but a dukedom would be a bit much.
About Sunday 16 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The specific project of "burning Westminster" which L&M references, is echoed in Mocenigo's mention that the reinforced palace guards are "as likely to be the first to suffer, as it seems these villains meant to set fire to them and destroy them". "Burning Westminster" still seems easier said than done - where do you start? How do you trap the king in a building of that size, where somebody is probably always rushing with a water bucket to take out a bad candle? Just an idea: on December 13, Nicholas also got a report on the seizure of a barrel of gunpowder, "brought (...) to Sarum [Salisbury?] and claimed by Himphrey Ditton, a Commonwealth man", one of several with "plots in hand", who "hope to (...) see the Cavaliers beg their bread before Christmas".
And so, here we are: Westminster in full panic mode. "Great guards att the Tower, in the Citty, and other places", the Mercurius reports, "and for almost a fortnight togeather all the talke was a plot or what persons was taken prisoners". From the King himself, no less than "A proclamation, commanding all cashiered officers and soldiers, and other persons that cannot give a good account for their being here, to depart out of the cities of London and Westminster" (full text at https://ota.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/rep…). Good luck with enforcing that one, but it should get the attention of the most inattentive, and it's a chance for the Watch to test the new night-sticks on a few "other persons".
Expect reports of guards, arrests, searches and more rogues and under-plots for weeks and weeks. Those evil Fifth Monarchists could be anywhere! Viz., Gen. Albermarle (whose regiment it is, that moved into Westminster) writes to Nicholas today that Col. John Clerk "is upon the guard at Whitehall, but it is not fit that he should be there this night". Amazingly, another "John Clerk" - gotta be the same man - petitions the King on the same day to be released from the Gatehouse. And what of the "obnoxious person (...) concealed in Wm. Du Gard's house, Newington Butts", whom "gentleman pensioner" Edward Short went to arrest and, Short wrote two days ago, who disappeared with Mr. Obnoxious despite posting a bond for £5,000? (Hmm. Du Gard, a papist froggie for sure). Anywhere, I tell you! Bar the doors!
About Sunday 16 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Holy masked potatoes, not another plot against H.M.! Not a week goes by without a report in our State Papers on how some shmuck was overheard in a tavern promising to sheath-his-sword-&c. We even stumbled over one last week (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) while discussing the weather in Holland.
And then we surmise that Shmuck gets a free ticket to sunny Barbados like the others. But aye, this one looks a bit serious, and in fact has been ticking awhile, somehow without registering on Sam's radar. At the end of his summary of Mercurius Politicus for November, Thomas Rugg had a longish report that "in this month on[e] Major White was commited prisoner to the Tower of London, as report said for endevouring' a plotts and make a disturbance against kingly power". There followed "great serches", "the Kings guards doubled and cannon mounted in Whit Hall, a regiment of trained bands and a company a night apointed to watch", an entire foot regiment "quartred in the subuarbs of Westminester", all of this lost to Sam in the London noise as far as the Diary shows. The King's secretary, Edward Nicholas, wrote today that he "had early notice of this plot, but suffered it on purpose to ripen till it burst out a few days ago". Venetian ambassador Mocenigo, on the ball as always, reported on December 12 (December 24, new style; handy converter at http://aulis.org/Calendar/Old_%26…) that "some of the accomplices were arrested and imprisoned yesterday (...) Meanwhile strong guards have been set at all the corners of London and the palace" [https://www.british-history.ac.uk…]. Aye, shocking we know, but Sam is five days behind on the newes. Well, his entries were kinda short lately, so he must've been busy, and only now thought "I gotta mention the plot".
And yes, "Many persons committed, as Major Generall Overton, Colonel Zankey, one Babinton and Bagster and other collonells". The State Papers for December 15 include a flurry of reports on the great serches, notably the examination of "John Hall, of Beech Lane, St. Giles's", whom Maj. Thomas White told "he would have the blood of General Monk, and would have killed him and burnt the city before, had his colonel permitted". Discipline, discipline, but still "he will make the city a second Jerusalem, by setting it on fire, and pull the King from his throne". A bit worryingly, Hall "showed [White] a Parliament roll, with the names of all those engaged in the design". Add to the plotters' list, in particular, "Miller, Baxter's Lieut.-Col.", and Hall himself, if he wasn't there to entrap White. Now that's a lot of colonels.
About Sunday 9 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
It seemes this was no ordinary gust of wind, for we now see in Rugge his summation of Mercurius Politicus, that "In this month [December, tho' the day unknowne] their were very great winds, that many yeares there [were] not the like; many ships cast away, many houses blowne downe and churches tome with winds. The States of Holand lost a very great many of the shipes their; the Spaniard lost eight of his galleouns, or his best ships. The Earle of Argile and Laird Swenton was then att sea bound for Scotland, [but were] by ill weather forced into Yearmouth."
We see in our crystal ball that on December 20, a Mr. Russell will write from Amsterdam that, among recent events he recaps, "a terrible storm has cast away 50 ships, and blown down 500 houses". And this, whoa, "the very night the burgo-masters refused so just a demand" as a request for assistance in the arrest of "Harry Cromwell", "Huson the cobbler" and other rogues, apparently long pursued as one of the fanaticks' innumerable plots and cabals. Nice to see how Zephyr favors the House of Stuart; they should enjoy, for it won't always be.
About Sunday 9 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
So much for the reverend's "mild weather": It's not one ship that this "extraordinary gust of wind" claimed, but three, for as the State Papers will reveal tomorrow the Maria lost its mainmast, while the Blackamore also "ran aground between the piers". This in Yarmouth, over 100 km north from Woolwich, but somehow the storm avoided Essex. A month ago (November 15) a dispatch had informed us that a storm had "much injured the quay" in Harwich.
The good duke did indeed need to know a.s.a.p. about the Assurance, because in addition to being Lord High Admiral, on December 18 he will also be made Governor of the Royal Adventurers into Africa, with a monopoly on English, hm, "trade" in that direction. No doubt we'll revisit that glorious appointment in good time, but the company has been around for a couple of months, and no doubt Guinea is already very dear to HRH, as soon will be vast numbers of the Guineans themselves.
If God is a Quaker, perhaps He had a hand in that gust of wind. If so it didn't work. The Assurance was salvaged and repaired. Two ships of that name appear in an interminable list of slaving ships at https://www.reuters.com/graphics/…; but from its record at https://threedecks.org/index.php?… and its absence from a company history at https://www.jstor.org/stable/2713…, it seems the one in the news today mostly stuck to European waters and wasn't one of them.
About Tuesday 4 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Oh, and the woodcut of Oliver's ride to Tyburn is, to give its more precise address, at https://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/bal…. It's worth a look.
About Tuesday 4 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
On translating Latin: We are informed that Mr. Google in his great booke-shop keeps a lad, full of Artifice and Intelligence, who translates Latin on request, along with a few other languages of greater daily usefulness such as Chichewa or Sepedi. He renders "Falsum etiam est verum quod consuit superior" as "It is also true that what was said above is false" (and in the Chichewa language of Malawi as "Ndizowonanso kuti zomwe zanenedwa pamwambapa ndi zabodza"). Leave him your learned maxims from Cicero at https://translate.google.com, and weep if ye will for all these hours offered to declensions and the ablative case.
About Tuesday 4 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
On Parliament's resolution of today: At least Sam expresses an opinion, however timid. Our other sources - admittedly scarce, as we're rarely in the barbershops of 1660 London - are either matter-of-fact to the point of indifference (Thomas Rugg his summary of Mercurius Politicus, written in hindsight 'tho while Oliver's head was still overseeing London, Venetian ambassador Mocenigo his dispatch of next week) or entirely silent on the matter (John Evelyn his diary, which will picks up after a few days' hiatus, ironically to marvel at "incomparable" heads he saw at court, made by Holbein in this case). The only ballad mentioning Oliver in late 1660 or 1661 in the collection at https://ebba.english.ucsb.edu will appear, however, on the occasion of his transfer to Tyburn and it does come with a couple of interesting woodcuts; it ends with "there is an end to a stincking crew" and "vivat Rex", so no deviation from the official Line there.
'Tis Parliament's decision, however, with no sign of the king having asked for anything like it. It remains subject to the Lords' approval, and the proceedings at https://www.british-history.ac.uk… suggest that it wasn't an instant rush to the vote: The matter of the attainder of Cromwell (his exemption from pardon) was taken up three times, interspersed with humdrum private business ("humble Petition of Edmond Challenor Esquire" and "Earl of Dorset's Estate"), of the sort which the king had precisely asked Parliament not to waste its time on in the days left before recess, before the Glorious Resolution on "Regicides Carcases to be taken up" finally comes up too. We phant'sy there were quite a few conferences whispered in the hallways on Whether To Do It Or Not while the problems of Esq. Challenor got the floor. We wish something like Grey's Debates or C-SPAN had been there already.
About Tuesday 27 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
And wine? An amendment added to the Excise Bill on July 25 sought to exempt it from duty. Which seems odd, given how 'tis mostly imported, but ambassadors such as our friend Giavarina, who all have vast hoards in their cellars, will appreciate the gesture.
And sack? Tax-free, apparently. Meanwhile, drinking the king's health has just taken a new meaning, as might the Puritans' dry regime. Imbibe if you love your sovereign! Now, there's a ready excuse for that coach accident.
About Tuesday 27 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
A little exploration of the House of Commons' Journal (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) has found it quite preoccupied with the business of the Excise, as with diverse other revenue flows which H.M. now has the time (for which God be praised) to rearrange in his direction. To wit, the recent business with gravel &c. and claims thereto over which the Ballast Office has prevailed, but also an extraordinary entry on July 17 on the House's detailed examination of duties charged for various imports and commodities, resolving for instance "That there be no Alteration in the Rate for Figs", or "Abatement of the Rate upon Muscavado Sugar", while the rate on "Fustick Wood" is reduced and we are reassured that "The Particulars (...) concerning Saltpetre, Sizers, Orgazine Silk, Raw China Silk, and Raw Long Silk, were, on the Question, agreed unto".
The day's news, which cannot fail to contribute to the tavern talk around Sam, is that the House has "Resolved, That the other Moiety of the Revenue of the Excise of Beer, Ale, Cyder, Perry, strong Waters, Chocolate, Coffee, Sherbett, and Metheglin, be settled on the King for and during his natural Life".
Chocolate (a.k.a. "Chocoletta") and Coffee are, we understand, herbal drinkes and novelties from New Spain and Turkestan. Metheglin and perry will be of course be familiar to all. A moiety, https://languages.oup.com/google-… more or less helpfully reminds us, is "a part or portion, especially a lesser share". So this Moiety, not "all the Excise" contrary to what Sam heard from the table-pounding drunks around him this morning, goes toward the "Twelve hundred thousand Pounds per Annum Revenue, resolved to be settled on his Majesty", starting next Christmas (next what??), which the House on November 21 had unanimously voted to bestow on the king, at the time expecting just the excise on "Beer, Ale, Cyder, Perry, and strong Waters" to be sufficient.
But 'tis not, and so we're having to tap chocoletta, humble metheglin and the new coffee craze too. There are other claims on the Moiety, such as the budget for the garrison at Dunkirk, £3,450 to be similarly taken from the excise on beer and ale as per a report read on August 25 and a vote just yesterday, November 26. In fact a State Council order referenced on August 8 had mentioned that the lonely soldiers in Dunkirk would also be paid off "Perry, Cyder, and Metheglin", which will, then, go to a different pocket. Their budget was also cut, from the £4,800 that had been appropriated on June 30. On August 8 the House had also resolved that up to £825 of anything left from these accounts would go to "Edward Backwell, Alderman of the City of London", who may now have to find something else to support his lifestyle (he invented the banknote, so we're not concerned). Even General Monck was granted a piece of the Excise receipts, on June 27.
About Wednesday 21 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
So why did cozen Thomas "the turner" give Sam a cup? Perhaps just a shared interest in woodworking, since Tom gave Sam a set of tools a month ago (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…), but there may also be something to celebrate. We find in today's State Papers a brief note, recording a "Grant to Thos. Pepys of an Almsroom in Winchester Cathedral". Assuming this isn't a homonym, then we know (from https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…) a Thomas Pepys who "at his death [in 1676] was living as an almsman in Sion College": Uncle Thomas, the turner's papa. Alas, Sion College (in London) has nothing to do with Winchester Cathedral (in Hampshire, visit at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Win…), but that won't stop us from connecting the dots.
An almsroom is a crashpad for the indigent, which is what uncle T is right now, granted as a "gift of the crown", and so not easy to get (says https://www.taylorfrancis.com/cha…). Perhaps Sam lent a hand with the application, and gets a mug in return.
And maybe there's more than meets the eye, because on the same day another almsroom is also granted at Winchester to a certain "John Williamson". Not the most uncommon name in England, but if it's the future P.A. and intelligencer to the king, maybe there's different qualities of almsrooms and having one in a cathedral isn't the bleak dead-end it seems at first.
About Monday 19 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
On His Majesty's leniency: We cannot know what prompted that discussion. Of course 'tis always a good topic to consider among courtiers in the privacy of your coach, and last month's gruesome executions and reeking baskets are still fresh enough - not that direct witnesses are likely to ever forget them - to provide fuel for thought.
In this case we wonder if some little Controversy may not have aris'n on the case of "one Tench", whom Thomas Rugge will record in his summary of the Mercurius Politicus (doi:10.1017/S2042171000000406, page 128) as "the carpenter that made the scaffold and knocked the staples on the scaffold [of] the King' Charles the First". Now Tench "in this month (...) was beheaded". A footnote drawing on the original Mercurius says Tench had been "apprehended and sent close prisoner" to the Gatehouse on November 25, so still in the future, but execution within a week of arrest seems a bit quick in something as momentous as a trial for regicide.
So we wonder if Tench, whose case is notorious enough for Rugge to give it its own subheading in his book, hasn't been macerating for a while already, and become a minor cause célèbre, in this case a test of whether H.M.'s avengers ain't starting to reach a bit too deep with the ax. In a few centuries historian David Farr will say so, noting disapprovingly in a biography of regicide Gen. Thomas Harrison that "Indeed, the 'merry monarch', Charles II, even had one Tench, the carpenter of the gallows for Charles I, executed" (https://books.google.fr/books?id=…, page 257). Farr isn't around to disapprove in 1660, but among some folks who are, the martyrdom of a carpenter could even be grist for a few seditious pamphlets, hmm?
On the Ballast Office: The Trinity men having "obtained something" is certainly occasion enough for their buying the next round, for they have been for months in a Furious Battle for the realm's gravel, which it would seem is now being decided; see our little note at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/… on its opening stages.
About Saturday 17 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The poll tax problem is prominent enough for Venetian ambassador Giavarina to make it item No. 1 in his weekly dispatch (dated November 26 new style, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…). Venice cares about this stuff, because it has been granted royal leave to recruit England's demobbed soldiers into its own wars. Giavarina his letter:
"[Parliament's] special aim is the complete disbanding of the army and the disarming of the fleet (...) Finding that their orders were left unfulfilled chiefly from lack of money they immediately applied themselves to find fresh cash for the purpose, which absorbs immense and incredible sums. They are therefore discussing a tax, which will soon be ripe, of 70,000l. sterling a month for six weeks, and as much of the poll tax is still unpaid, they are preparing stringent orders, threatening with severe penalties those who show an unwillingness to submit."
So, problem: The People, perhaps made dizzy by the influx of oxygen (sorry, "vital spirit") that came with the end of one Dictatorship, aren't paying this Tax. Solution: Create that new one, with even more stringent deadlines. Hmm, yes, that should do it. Adjourn, then. Everybody to the Devil Tavern!
About Saturday 10 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Slingsby's petition of May 1660... ah yes, there it is in the State Papers (still in their place at https://play.google.com/store/boo…). Dated "May?" and summarized thusly:
"To refer to some of the Council the disputes between him and Sir George Carteret, relative to the Treasurership of the Navy; is almost the eldest sea-captain surviving; served the late king, who owed him 5,800£. for arms delivered, and gave him the Treasurership of the Navy; set out ships from Bristol at his own charge, frequently visited His Majesty by stealth in his restraint, and was employed by him in his most private negotiations, for which he was cast into the loathsome dungeon", &c., &c., &c. Filed away by the Papers' editors as No. 153, and followed by a No. 154, "to the same effect" - always prudent to send a duplicate.
So the good comptroller petitioned for reversion of his old job, but he forgot to just ask explicitly for the king to repay him back the money. Like hundreds of others he just mentions his deeds for the record then humbly asks for some little job in consideration of his service - and no cigar there since giving the plum to Carteret is of course exactly what the king did, having only limited patience for reversions and said Carteret being a political bird that flies way, way higher. Instead, in August he was granted that naval comptrollership, clearly not as good as it came with just "fee, 50£. a year, and travelling expenses; and 8d. a day for two clerks".
The treasurership, by comparison, will get you £2,000 p.a. (as per https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…). Worth a petition or two, but c'mon, Slingsby old chap, you'll be certifying their accounts, don't tell me it's not full of opportunities, wink-wink. Just think about those open-ended "travelling expenses".
As for the petition's timing, clearly the competition required to move fast, but in this, the first week back on the throne for a king without a working administration and still living off the pocket money given by the Dutch, the State Papers already list over 250 petitions. "And", cry in despair the clerks dealing with the paper flood, "they've all been cast in loathsome dungeons by Cromwell!" Oh, and this one is the navy's "almost eldest captain", too; why should we shower thousands on someone who could die before he gets them anyway?
About Monday 5 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Maybe we weren't disappointed of money because there ain't any, but for other reasons. Tomorrow, if we may be allowed to borrow the time machine, William Prynne, the flamboyant MP for Bath and Somerset, will write to the Navy commissioners that "as Sir George Carteret has not arrived, and their presence is required at the House, [he] advises them to postpone till Thursday the disbanding and paying off the Henrietta" (State Papers).
Parliament is about to reconvene, and the MPs and VIPs can't leave London right now. So what? Do a MP for towns that are nowhere near Deptford, the Treasurer of the Navy and, for that matter, Sam himself, have to be personally on dockside to pay off a bunch of sailors from a single frigate? Maybe; officials wanting to be in the picture is a phenomenon which we understand will recur in future times. Prynne is on the parliamentary commission in charge of disbanding the army, but maybe he also plans to report the scene in one of his high-profile pamphlets?
As for the poll tax, there seems to be enough of it to cashier army regiments with all diligence. Maybe they're prioritized, given the more persuasive protest options which a soldier in central London may enjoy relative to a sailor in Deptford.
So, team Henrietta, just a few days more with that pent-up anger. How many of you anyway? Let's quibble: Our Encyclopedia (at https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…) does say 300 from a primary source, but that's in 1665. Right now, according to https://threedecks.org/index.php?… the number is 210. On 3 January next, another letter to the Commissioners, asking for crew sizes for the winter fleet, will note that "the Henrietta has more than her number, which is 180". Somehow there's space for another 120 hammocks in there. It's still only one-third to one-fifth the size of an army regiment (1,000 men, in principle, says https://www.quora.com/How-many-me…), and correspondingly 3-5 times less urgent a problem.
About Friday 26 October 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
"Great talk" indeed - for sure everybody's talkin' about that wedding. Venetian ambassador Giavarina's take on it last week (on 29 October new style) was "(...) the king is the more grieved because it is said that the chancellor means to uphold the rights of his daughter and bring the affair to parliament when it reassembles. In that case he risks ruining himself". Not having to deal with much sectarianism back home, he then sniggers that "the affair has caused a great scandal among the sectaries here, especially the Presbyterians, who all pretend to be saints and impeccable".
Today (5 November new style) he adds, not being quite as much on top of things as usual, "When parliament meets the most interesting question will be the affair of the duke of York and the chancellor's daughter. It becomes increasingly clear that though the father is trying to hush the matter up, parliament means to deal with it, especially as the duke persists in denying the marriage". And the chatter ripples all the way to Paris, where his colleague Alvise Grimani reports on the same day, "The queen of England received the news of the duke of York's marriage before she left, she was extremely upset about it and it will hasten her journey". (All of this at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…).
About Wednesday 10 October 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Shall we talk about the weather, a topic unrelated to upholstery or treason but which does recur and has such relevance to Sam's job as to perhaps deserve an Encyclopedia entry: Capt. Bowen of the Success writes today to My Lord, on how "the extreme bad weather has driven [me] about", to Milford Haven where he shelters with "four other frigates, and hardly any supply. The weather has caused more shipwreck in these seas than has been known for many ages" (State Papers, October 10). The latter matching the scatter of other reports we had already noted this summer, on how rain and storms seem a bit worse than average. Milford Haven is windy enough that it will, in the far future, be graced by vast projects for wind farms.
About Sunday 24 June 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
We have now seen a dispatch from our well-informed friend, Venetian ambassador Giavarina (his letters at www.british-history.ac.uk/cal-sta…), dated October 22 (new style), which we thinks explains the kayak mystery.
"When I was at Court the other evening in the chamber of the princess, the king called me to him and spoke of the great pleasure he takes in the river here and discoursed about a delightful canal which he is now having dug in St. James's park near the palace, and his desire to have boats of every sort there", Giavarina writes. "He had written to Holland and other places for foreign ones and was very curious to see the gondolas of Venice as well which, by general consent, he understood were so noble and dainty. He asked me to write to request the republic to send him two by some English ship, saying it would be a most distinguished favour. I promised to report his wish to the Senate and felt sure your Excellencies would oblige him."
All we can say is, 'tis good to be the king, and this one isn't losing time as he moves from exile, to parades, to lopping off a few heads, to frolicking in vanity projects. "He sent a gentleman of the chamber to me again to-day to beg me not to forget to write, showing his eagerness to have them, and I must needs obey his Majesty's order." Moreover, "As the gondolas could not be used here without the boatmen of Venice [don't ask why], the king asked me to request the Senate to send three or four, promising to pay and treat them well."
Here begins, perhaps, some gondoliers' great life-changing adventure. Time will tell if the canoe museum will indeed materialise, and how the Venetian Senate reacts to this kingly request for gifts.
About Sunday 30 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Roll in drunken at midnight no more the little Pepyses, for the king, early riser that he is, issued yesterday a "Proclamation for suppressing disorderly frequenting of taverns and tippling houses, or remaining there after nine at night" (State Papers, 29 September).
Or at least that's how the Papers' editors summarized it. How we would like to see the full text; alas, Parliament being out of session doesn't help. And is this a hundred thousand guffaws we hear, over the din of tankards banged on tables?
The 9pm curfew is on the books since 1383, says "Big city, bright lights? Night spaces in Paris and London, 1660-1820" by Jonathan Conlin (available at https://eprints.soton.ac.uk/350730); but in contrast with "despotic, militarized, closed Paris", in London "in 1660 the shops [a]re open until 2200".
"And even if we wur despotic and militarized, I'm a jusdiz of the peasss, r'member? So gimme another", Sam tells the frowning innkeeper.
About Sunday 23 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
And is John Evelyn experimenting with the New Style calendar? We did ponder it, but his other entries are consistently old-style. For instance he dates the Spanish ambassador's entry to the 17th, and soon will report on the trials and dispatch of regicides, giving dates that are a bit fuzzy but clearly not New Style. Time warps do happen on especially windy days in Deptford, and maybe Sam's not the only one who cannot write his diary in real time.