Stephane Chenard

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Stephane Chenard has posted 514 annotations/comments since 1 January 2021.

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Third Reading

About Sunday 6 October 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

And it's been nearly a week since the entourages of the ambassadors of France and Spain had their bloody encounter in London, to Sam's great boyish entertainment. In Fontainebleau today, Louis XIV had his full briefing, conceivably including the report by John Evelyn which Charles had, just four days ago, instructed him to rush to St. Albans, the English ambassador in Paris.

King Louis seems to have gone fairly ballistic about it, and "had word sent on the instant" [envoya, sur le champ, dire] to the Spanish ambassador in Paris, count Fuensaldaña, "to be gone from this kingdom" [qu'il sortit de ce royaume]; to the marquess de la Fuente, who was on his way to replace him, that he stay out; and to the governor of the Spanish Netherlands, Caracena, that his visa (his "Passeport") was revoked - an annoyance, as he has orders to repair a.s.a.p. to Spain on a new assignment against Portugal, and will now have to go by boat (tho', French roads being what they are, that may be quicker). This will be publicized, as part of a dispatch dated October 20 (new style) in the French Gazette to appear next week (on the 22nd, new style), so we're meant to know.

Not so incendiary as long as it only impacts their lordships the ambassadors, but, more ominously, Louis also recalls his delegation at the conference which, post-Treaty of the Pyrénées, was in charge of drawing the border between France and Spain.

Prelude to war? We'll see. Louis takes the pain of sending an envoy to London, the "sieur du Cateux" (huh?) to personally inform Charles II. So, Sam and most Englishmen may prefer Spain to France, but apparently that's not how the chips are falling.

About Tuesday 8 October 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

Oftentimes our Society has marvelled at the quantities of oysters, entire pecks and barrels, that Sam quaffs when on a frolique, as a later Age will salted peanuts, or even as his sole meal. We have posted, at https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…, an Encyclopedia entry on whether this ravenous appetite risks exhausting the resource, according to the most recent research in oyster history. We surmise it wouldn't improve Sam's mood, which seems a bit melancholy today.

About Oysters

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

The field of oyster history has just been enriched by a vast and rigorous study led by the University of Exeter, on the European oysterbeds of yore. Using over 1,600 sources going back to the 16th century, it maps huge coastal fields spreading from Scandinavia to the Mediterranean, covering over 1.7 million hectares.

Given an estimated 75% of oysterbeds went undocumented, it suggests that 6.5 million hectares of European seabed were covered with mounds of billions upon billions of oysters - we calculate on the order of 4,000 trillion of them, assuming 10×5×1-centimeter oysters packed in the 5-meter-high reefs that seem to have been commonplace. Some of the richest fields were in the Thames estuary, just where Sam would want them. If his "barrels" were "the size of a large tin can" as Phil informs us above, they may have contained perhaps 100 de-shelled oysters; Sam could have had a barrel for dinner and supper everyday for 55 billion years, or 3.6 times the age of the universe.

The authors note, as if that was truly necessary, that these marvels' "vulnerability to human-induced pressures means many have deteriorated in quality, declined in extent or vertical relief, or been rendered functionally extinct by fishing, coastal development, eutrophication and pollution, disease and the effects of climate change". Sam's appetite, fostered in part by the dirt-low prices which such abundance would command, was thus not entirely to blame.

The full paper, "Records reveal the vast historical extent of European oyster reef ecosystems" by Ruth H. Thurstan et al., was accepted by Nature Sustainability and is available at https://www.nature.com/articles/s…. A usefull summation is at https://www.sciencedaily.com/rele….

About Wednesday 2 October 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

John Evelyn's report on the clash of ambassadorial convoys of two days ago would be an interesting document to read. Evelyn wrote it with his usual care, interviewing a number of the English officials who had been there. A toned-down version was to be printed, but we find in today's State Papers (at https://www.google.co.id/books/ed…) what seems a usefull summary sent to Joseph Williamson.

The summary differs on a few important points from the other sources we had tried to parse on that day (at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) viz. the Venetian ambassador and (writing long after the facts) master of ceremonies John Finett. To wit:

(a) The fight broke not on the coaches' return trip, but as soon as the Swedish ambassador had boarded his, on the way to the royal audience - implying a riot wending its way toward Westminster, not safely out on the Tower grounds. That is discrepant with John Finett's version, but Sam's account did make clear that the action went on for hours and was all over the place.

(b) The French opened fire on the Spanish escort after the latter "drew their weapons, shouted", and dislodged them from the coveted first place after the Swedish coach where they had wedged themselves - making it look like the French were the offended party, and suggesting it could have been up to the Spaniards to avoid the fight. This could matter if the French did stage the incident as a pretext for war, for instance around Dunkirk where, as it happens, Spain has recently removed some of its troops to send them to the war with Portugal.

(c) Evelyn mentions "the tumultous numbers of French issuing from several houses". So the "rabble" which French ambassador d'Estrades had paid to come, were not walking alongside his convoy to guard it from Spanish mischief, but waiting in ambush, ah ha.

(d) "As to the brickbats thrown", Evelyn says, they weren't hurled at the French by the Spanish guard as a desperate substitute for firearms, as the Venetian account had it, but "in self defence by some of the rabble, incensed by the wounds they received from the shots of the French". We read this as meaning the English rabble, of hundreds of onlookers (who had flocked in anticipation of just such a fight to look at), after French stray bullets hit the crowd.

Sam seems certain to want his copy of Evelyn's report, off the grapevine or when it's published. For now, it's interesting that Charles asks Evelyn to send it to the French side, but not to the Spaniards - perhaps their feelings don't matter as much, or they don't need the same royal chastisement, or they get it via another channel. At the same cabinet meeting which Evelyn attended the king also decrees that henceforth ambassadors will use only English coaches, not their own. Perhaps they won't jockey so much in the royal loaners; perhaps it's also to keep these refined diplomats from stashing guns in said coaches.

About Monday 30 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

As for why the French and Spanish embassies went to all this trouble, and whether geopolitics were involved along with testosterone, nobody seems to know, and feverish consultations have started to find out if their respective kings had sent orders. Louis suspects that Philip IV did just that; everyone suspects that Louis, being anointed by God, assumes he always comes on top. As the Gazette says in closing, "a bit of time will enlighten us on what will happen in this business".

OK, and this pun on "il bat l'Estrade", that Bill had found and puzzled over a decade ago. "Battre l'estrade" ("beating the stage") is what a hawker will do at the fair, vulgarly and noisily crying up his merchandise; or perhaps a comedian, working up the audience before a show. So it's a bit insulting, but nothing to roll on the carpet with laughter. Thinking of it, it also rhymes with "balustrade", a balcony. There, we got the joke going for another 350 years.

About Monday 30 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

This was not just the scum getting out of hand, however: Charles and everyone else could see it coming, and Giavarina says (detail No. 3) that he "heard his Majesty say" that both ambassadors "went some days before to the Tower on the pretext of a walk, to view the place where the skirmish would take place". Finett says the whole fight happened on the coaches' return trip, after the (bemused) Swede had been safely delivered to Westminster; until then, everyone had somehow contained his patriotic rage.

Detail No. 4: Giavarina says that at some point Charles had made both parties, West Side Story-style, "not to allow any of their household to carry firearms". The French, likely with the excuse that 'tis was not the "household" but the rabble doing it, "attacked the Spaniards, using muskets, pistols and carbines", while the law-abiding Spaniards were "armed with swords and sticks, without any firearms (...) Finding by chance some bricks where they took up their position they seized them pelting the French" - we trust that Sam had the sense to also look up. Giavarina gives the score as "six or seven (...) killed and many wounded, including the brother-in-law and son of the French ambassador, the first with a sword in the leg and the other with a stone in the stomach".

Amusing detail No. 5: Spanish envoy Bateville almost lost control of his rabble, which "followed the coach to the very embassy, where, to get rid of [them he] had to employ money"; Giavarina thinks Batteville blew over £1,000 in hiring and dispersing.

It that's any consolation to Bateville, our sources seem to agree on Spain being popular with Londoners even beyond what money can buy: He was "escorted by a crowd, which came out of all the shops, applauding the event with words and cries, showing great affection for Spain, even ringing the bells in some places". We do notice, in the State Papers, a pamphlet printed this very day which relates a "bloody conflict between the Spaniards and the French (...) in which the former were deservedly triumphant". Even Sam says "we do naturally all love the Spanish". Of course you can also pay for a pamphlet and some bell-ringing, but, hey Londoners, did you hear about Jamaica and do you know that your king has just married into the house of Portugal, presently fighting for its survival a bloody war with Spain? Ah, you do know, do you..? Hmm. Do you recall that, just a few months ago, a mini-panic had gripped you after the same Bateville, who does come across as a bit hot-headed, had threatened war on England if Charles married the Portuguese infanta? (Memories refreshed at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/… and https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…)

About Monday 30 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

On October 14 (new style - so, in a week) Venetian ambassador Francesco Giavarina will run two inkpots dry and use five quills to their stumps to supply, on the Franco-Spanish fracas, the detail and color for which we love him. His account (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) differs a little from those reported by our other Annotators, as well as from that of master of ceremonies Sir John Finett, which Pedro had unearted in 2004 (and which remains accessible at http://www.thebookofdays.com/mont…)

First Giavarina notes that "foreseeing disorder", as the two ambassadors' rivalry was known, Charles II had sent them word "that he hoped they would not send their coaches", which given "the residue of evil humours in the city", could bring incidents. The French "replied that he could by no means obey his Majesty as he had precise orders from his king to send his coach, threatening his head if he did the contrary", no less. The Spaniard "expressed his readiness to do as his Majesty desired, but this was impossible if the other refused to keep his coach at home". Charles then said he would be neutral, as already reported.

New detail No. 1: 'tis not their official escorts that do most of the fighting. Finett says the French ambassador came with "one hundred footmen", actually a modest retinue as these things go, but Giavarina adds that he had also "got together all the French in London, no small number, and forming as it were an army of several hundreds (...) The Spaniard collected the Flemings and Walloons". And who knows what quarrels, perhaps going back to battles in Flanders, the two expat communities may have kept. Giavarina notes that "this [fight] happened also because a few days before the insolent footmen of [French envoy d']Estrades had had a scuffle with some watermen with some fatalities", whose (presumably English) friends claimed vendetta. Even he also sighs that another reason was that "a la mode de Paris, they will not let any one alone" - whatever it means; haughty musqueteers maybe?

A report, dated October 13 (new style) will also appear in the French Gazette on October 22. Evidently it's a bit more one-sided, 'tho the week's delay between the brawl and its sending suggest a bit of careful mulling-over. It says the Spanish embassy had "bought the assistance" of "a great number of Folks from the scum of the People, like Brewers, Butchers, Shoemakers & Boatmen (...) in the number of two thousand" (Finett only mentions an official retinue of 150; and a few butchers and shoemakers must have cancelled their subscriptions to the Gazette).

About Wednesday 25 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

But so, all this horrible uncertainty has been blown away by just showing Catherine as the QoE. One week later the Gazette has got hold of yet another English dispatch, which reports news from Lisbon that the public showing has worked out, and "the Infant of Portugal having been shown to the People, as the Spouse of His Britannic Majesty, they felt so great a joy, that they expressed it for three days, by singular rejoicings". More proof that the Wedding hasn't been "broken": "the Queen Regent her Mother, even now gives her [Catherine] her right hand to hold, in all Ceremonies, where she [Catherine] is ordinarily dressed in the English style". The hand, the dress - what more do you need?

An appearance by the Earl of Sandwich in his admiral's cuirass, maybe? His diary records that he has in fact been in Portugal since September 9 (old style), and had already met Catherine at least twice while the envoys were still speculating on a broken alliance. But he seems to have kept a sufficiently low profile to not be mentioned in either the press (such as it is) or in diplomatic cables. We wonder why, given the politics and My Lord not being especially shy.

We'll let our Society's imagination run wild on those "singular rejoicings", but also wonder if Catherine was shown to the revelling crowd from a balcony - a tiny silhouette seen from the back of the Praça do Comércio, perhaps recognizable only by her distinctive hat and hand-wave - or just showed up in some salon in her "English style", and how widely Portuguese opinion really knew or cared about any of this. Filling the foreign gazettes with the news was certainly part of the job, however, and so that's done. The ordinary Joãos and Lourenços who do the independence war, also have good reason to care, as noted. That "the People (...) murmur[ed]" that all the hope-giving was just to trick them into taking that hill, suggest that of late, as the battles got bloodier, there had been less than perfect trust and confidence between them and Alfonso. Amazing what one photo of a smiling princess on the magazine covers can do, no?

About Wednesday 25 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

What Sam "hears" and duly relays on how Catherine de Braganza is really truly the Queen now, is an echo from a slightly panicky show of Queenness that the Portuguese have organized in recent weeks. On October 8 (new style, Sept 28 Pepys time), the Gazette de France reported, in a dispatch from London and so reflecting some of what Sam would have heard, that "whereas the rumor has circulated that this Wedding was delayed, or broken, mainly in Lisbon, His Majesty [Alfonso IV] of Portugal was forced to have this Princess [Catherine] shown in public, in her quality as Spouse of the King of Great Britain, to appease the People, who were beginning to murmur, that they had been informed of this Alliance only to give them the hope of gaining a great support, against their Enemies".

The latter being, of course, the Spaniards, whom the Portuguese are currently pitted against in an increasingly ferocious war of independence, and the "support" presumably expected to be shiploads of English soldiers. Some of the anxiety comes from Sandwich, expected to arrive in grand style to whisk Catherine off to Westminster Abbey, still not showing up as he's delayed by the business in Algiers, and by being in Spain - a detail which must have resonated quite a bit around the Lisbon taverns - for his "health". As early as September 9 (new style), Francesco Giavarina, the Venetian ambassador in London, had noted how "the Court [in London] wonders at the delay and is anxiously waiting for certainty (...) about the marriage". British officialdom seems to have a reputation for slowness and procrastination, but the stasis, as it followed the wedding's tonitruant initial announcement is of course not lost on the Spaniards, who could be expected to throw more gold and a bit of disinformation at the problem. On September 21 his colleague in Madrid, Giovanni Cornaro, noted that "some glimmerings of hope survive about the execution of the agreements between Portugal and England", i.e. that they could still fall through. Two days later, Giavarina reports "nothing from Portugal in spite of favourable winds, causing suspicion and much talk". One week later, "the absence of news from Portugal continues amid the usual astonishment and suspicion".

About Tuesday 24 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

... And in the State Papers today, we can't resist quoting this summary of a letter from Jonas Shish to the Navy Commissioners, for being (involuntarily) worthy of the Surrealists, or of the BBC's wartime messages: "The Mermaid is worm-eaten".

About Tuesday 24 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

Letters such as Sam has found in his in-tray (we phant'sy he has one; his "letterbox" is 200 years in the future) are rebounding all over Europe, from Genoa to Marseilles to Cordoba to points north, bringing more or less vague news that may not be first-hand, compleat or sincere, and of course are several weeks late. At least, his mail doesn't seem to include the sad tidings of a "great defeat" which had separately reached the Venetian embassy in London two weeks ago (and which we noted at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…)

On September 30 (new style), ambassador Giavarina saw some corroboration in that reinforcements seemed to be "haste[ned]" from Portsmouth, suggesting "that the English have received some hurt", and reported being told by "the duke of York himself (...) that the vessels now at Algiers should return to England, from which one may conclude that they are not in a very good state".

But perhaps he was over-interpreting and the bad news were all untrue. On October 15 (new style), the French Gazette will publish a week-old dispatch from London, reporting letters sent "from our fleet" (the English fleet, in the gazette's style) in early September, which relate a string of "Turkish" ships sunk or captured: one forced ashore on July 20, two captured on the 21st, two sunk and two ran aground sometime before the 23rd, one sunk in Algiers harbor on the 24th, and another captured on the 27th. It's a bit ambiguous if the dates are converted to new style from the gazette's English sources, but it all happened while Sandwich was in Spain, having apparently left Adm. John Lawson in command. Indeed his diary mentions none of this, and reports engagements only on July 31 and September 10, making Sandwich look more like a diplomat than a war commander, notwithstanding the martial cuirass in his portraits.

Maybe there is more to come in the mail. For now, it seems doubtful if the loss or impairment of six to nine ships will make any difference to the Barbary pyrates, to say nothing of their Turkish masters. In such cases it can be a good idea to just declare victory (maybe with a big "Mission Accomplished" banner on the quarterdeck) and to go home before anyone gets hurt. Alvise Grimani, the Venetian ambassador to France, also reports today (October 4, new style) that the Dutch are happy to capture ships but not with shore bombardments such as Sandwich has overseen, "out of respect for the Grand Turk, because of the trade and the fear of upsetting it" - the military Art of Not Getting Too Far, which future Ages will perhaps see at play in, perhaps, the Caspian. And there's also a beautiful Portuguese princess to deliver; it would be sad if an actual "great defeat" was to interfere.

About Wednesday 18 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

On this day, John Evelyn also tells his diary, apart from the presentation of his great Fumifugium as already noted, of this being "An exceedingly sickly, wet autumn".

At this point Evelyn is not a particularly prolix diarist, or much given to weather reports; he lives close enough to experience the same weather systems as Sam, and in a generally wet and turbulent climate (which we explored at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) so if he finds the conditions worth mentioning, and in these terms, then exeeding the wetness must be. And it takes a certain taste for adventure (or boredom) to take to the roads in these conditions. And the "very last dirty of all" of the mire must be deep indeed.

About Thursday 12 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

Ah, the "gundaloes", the two gondolas (and four gondoliers) which the Republic of Venice has gifted to Charles in the hope of getting his help against the Turks. Shipping them had been a massive undertaking, in which Sam even had a hand last year (see the "kayak affair" at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/… and https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) But their official delivery today was the Venetian embassy's finest hour. We were wondering if Sam would miss the show. Well, he did, and to make it worse it seems after-dinner stuff so he was probably in the Gridiron at the time (nervously looking around). But, being on the river every day, and being who he is, of course he'd still get to see them.

Venetian ambassador Giavarina will have a detailed account in his weekly dispatch dated tomorrow, which Sarah (who beat us to it, from her westerly time zone) has just reposted at https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl… ("original" at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) To sum up, the king is besides Himself with excitement, and the court is appropriately fawning. Giavarina, who personally had to spend a fortune to repair shipping damage on the gondolas, puts the account at the end of his dispatch, as always very professionally composed and calibrated, after the "serious" diplomatic material.

Everybody take note: Charles "enjoys nothing so much as going on the water". Indeed, the "pleasure boat" Sam also sees is another gift from nervous neighbors. John Evelyn, who gets to sail in it with H.M., will say to his own diary on October 1 that it's from the Dutch East India Company, which is presently contemplating its expulsion from India by England and, at the time it must have dispatched the yacht, was expecting this to turn into full-blown war. Will it work, and India remain a Dutch colony? No spoilers!

Comic twist: the Gondoliers innocently mention that gondolas built for serene canals aren't really optimized for sailing the Thames (indeed not), but there's another Venetian model that would fit, the fisolere. Lol, immediately the king wants one, you can see him biting his lip and finally blurting it out. Giavarina must have repressed a big sigh before agreeing to, of course your majesty, having one custom-built a.s.a.p. Everybody else ("many other lords of the Court") suddenly also wants a fisolere (we phant'sy at least one of them calls it a "fistula").

To his credit, the Duke of York says he will pay for his. Now Venetian eyebrows are twitching; you mean there's a market? Hmmmm.

About Tuesday 10 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

Oh, and, Sir Edward... This message, so obligingly delivered by French hands as their settee just happened to drop by, on its way from Algiers (perhaps) back to France by way of Lisbon -- the direct route to Marseille is sooo boring -- it is... completely genuine, without any doubt, yes? Nay, my Lord, never would I think you naive. But, from the comfort of your Portuguese palace, you are in a position to order reinforcements, should not everything be hanky-dory out there, yes? And in that case, just conceivably, it may not be in the interest of every Mediterranean power that you should know, hmm?

About Tuesday 10 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

You talkin' to mee? We like this Vision of Sir Edward, earl of Sandwich, sailing the wine-dark seas on his magic sofa, by Tritons propelled and reclining on silk cushions, with figs and grapes at hand. He's in the land of flying carpets after all. Why, we might commission an engraving and have it sold in the taverns.

But we find at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Set… that a settee is also "a sharp-prowed, single-decked merchant sailing vessel found in the Mediterranean"; also known (to the OED, copied at https://english.stackexchange.com…) as a settea, sattie, satty, satia, sett(y)e, sattee, cettee, saetia, saettia (Italian), setye, scétie, scitie, and seemingly derived from the xebec (Catalan) or the شباك (šabbāk, Arabic) of the Barbary pirates, among a thousand variants in the polyglot Mediterranean (listed at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xeb…) And lol, there's also a type of sofa known to the furniture trade as a vessel (https://www.gammarr.com/en/sofas/…)

To be clear, 'tis also not Sandwich who's in the settee, but, conveyed from Algiers, this happy message of carnage. Nice of the French to play the couriers, all in the common cause. It's still dated news, but any tidbit helps, given a bit of confusion in the Venetian diplomatic traffic that is our other main current source (at at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) Thus on the 17th (new style), the resident in Florence related a skirmish in which five Barbary galleys had been sunk or captured, the Christian slaves releas'd while "all the Turks were put in irons, to be sold later at the first opportunity" (a naval manoeuver known as a switcharoo).

But we'll also shortly see a letter from Venetian ambassador Giavarina (dated Sept 23, new style), relaying the rather diff'rent newes "that the English at Algiers have suffered a great defeat with the loss of several ships", a canard perhaps, but with the detail that "two ships certainly, very roughly handled, have been forced to take refuge at Malaga". Wise of My Lord to have left Algiers right after a victory and presently to keep away from the mess, and in the (politically) much safer business of hand-kissing and international queen-hauling.

About Sunday 8 September 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

"I pray God give me grace to begin now to look after my business, but it always was, and I fear will ever be, my foible..."

**Samuel Pepys!**

Sam gives a start; almost makes a blotch in the diary; looks around - no one. "Qui va là?"

"Ye needs to ask? 'Tis Me, the Lord your onely God!"

"Ah! Oh! Mon Dieu!"

(chuckle) **Will you quit nagging Me with the puritan guilt? You're rich, you silly goose. You're meant to carouse. Count your money and go to the theatre.**

"Ah, er, Thy will shalt be done... but they're closed, today."

**OK, tomorrow. And get a key for the front door. And put a lock on that window.**

Quiet. After a while, great comfort. Is that a faint whiff of sulphur? Gotta have that drain cleaned.

About Wednesday 28 August 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

The letter which the French Gazette - to whom a month-old dispatch is practically live news - is preparing to reproduce, was, it says, written in Toulon on August 22 (new style), so would indeed pertain to the July/early August events that Sandwich's log, his letter and Dimond's letter (whoever he is) refer to. What events will pass in the future are indeed mysteries we refuse to intrude upon, but those were firmly in the past. I mean, our past, the past of the past, okay?

And so De Ruyter is in the Straits too: Extraordinary. You rightly point out, Sarah, that there also happens to be a lot of gold afloat in the same sector: The first Spanish treasure fleet to arrive from the gold and silver mines of America in several years is indeed on its way, and it's humongous. In letters on July 20 Giovanni Cornaro, the Venetian ambassador in Madrid, said "it is worth 20 millions" (no need even to specify of what) and comprises no less than "forty or fifty [vessels] with cargo", with an escort of 15 warships. Just 15 for around 45, every pyrate, corsair and beribboned admiral between Tortuga and Tangiers must have run the odds of nailing the Heist of the Century. And indeed, Cornaro wrote, "divers nations are interested, the Dutch in particular" (July 20), but the Spaniards have also been "much afraid of the English ships" (he wrote on June 15). On July 16 his colleagues in London, Correr and Morosini, picked on "the suspicions entertained by the merchants", who noted that the galleons "are much more heavily freighted with gold than usual, though their armed escort is less". The Venetians, merchants to whom the bullion market matters not a little, are tracking this quite keenly. On August 28, Cornaro reports that "French ships and a certain number of Dutch ones" are also joining the common fight against those barbarous Algerine pyrates. So everybody is there.

England and the United Provinces are, in principle, making peace and discussing treaties with Spain, but there's enough loot, and still enough casus belli here and there (in the East Indies for the Dutch, in the West Indies and potentially in Portugal for England, in Europe for both of them) for a bit of double-crossing. On July 22 however Correr and Morosini, freshly arrived in England, met in Dover "the vice admiral" (can't be Sandwich, who's long gone), who "assured us that those [vessels] which had already sailed had no intention of meeting the Spanish fleet". And on August 28 Cornaro even reported that "[De] Ruiter, has offered his squadron to the duke of Medina Celi [Medinacelli, a top Spanish grandee] to protect the fleet". Cornaro, perhaps passing on Spanish musings, adds that "the English being diverted against the corsairs" is still a reassurance.

And "the duke [in question] writes expressing his mortification at seeing things reduced to this pass". Because, you see, the fleet was expected in early August, and it's still nowhere in sight, and Spanish palms are getting quite sweaty.

About Wednesday 28 August 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

Sandwich isn't telling us quite everything, in that terse nautical log of his. For instance, of late he has "taken Algiers", says a letter dated of this day (in the State Papers) from Capt. Dimond of the "Martin", presently in Lisbon. Did we know that? Surely Sam would have had another drink if the letter he received a few days ago mentioned it. But all of Europe is talkin' about it, the French Gazette being just now typesetting an Extraordinary, to appear on September 23 (new style), that reproduces a letter from Toulon which says it happened after failed negotiations on July 10 prompted a 10-hour gun battle with the Algerine fleet - of which Dimond, calling them "Turks" to keep things simple, says "the Earl of Sandwich is said to have burned 14 of their ships". Collateral damage on shore from the 10-hour bombardment is not mentioned.

Sandwich's journal mentions nothing special for July 10 and only a few inconclusive broadsides "for 2 or 3 hours" on July 31, which he called off to save ammo though "our shot killed them many men". The Gazette will also note that, after the battle, the wind came up and the English fleet almost ran aground, finding itself "in peril of perishing"; imagine if a few hundred "Turks" had used the moment to swarm aboard. Sandwich's journal says nothing of this, noting only humdrum until August 8 when "the whole fleet sailed out of Algier bay".

Dimond's letter also suggests a measure of chaos in the expeditionary fleet, noting a dispute with a rival captain "guided by one or two reformado captains who were cashiered for their disaffection, and the old servants of the King are in no regard". So the fleet is full of Cromwellian holdovers (reformados were deprived of their commands but allowed to keep their rank), who sneer at the new Royalist appointees and use the cruise to go off on their own business: Those one or two "are gone to assist the King of Portugal's fleet home from Brazil, and have their gold chains and large sums of money", while those who stuck to their orders just look on. The admiral being sick and on shore in Alicante for a few weeks can't have helped that situation.

About Saturday 24 August 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

Susan, what a gem you've found there.The full article (published in Shakespeare Studies , vol. 41 (2013), p77-93) is at https://hcommons.org/deposits/ite…, and surely a gathering of the 600 people who have downloaded it would make for an entertaining colloquium. Holly Dugan has also worked on the history of smell, and authored "Coriolanus and the “Rank-Scented Meinie”: Smelling Rank in Early Modern London", published in 2010 as part of "Masculinity and the Metropolis of Vice, 1550–1650" - pre-Diary, alas, but far from irrelevant to our debates (full text at https://www.academia.edu/2398486/…)

A side trip in the stranger alleyways of Mr Google's book-shop plunges us into a rich vein: a study of "the bizarre phenomenon known as the ‘Monkey Drama’ in the British theatre" of the early 19C (by Bernard Ince in New Theater Quarterly, doi:10.1017/S0266464X18000428, full text at https://www.researchgate.net/publ…) and a French version, "'Des singes, c’était le narcisse’: class, imitation and performing monkeys in late-eighteenth century Paris" (by Ignacio Ramos-Gay in Studies in Theatre and Performance, doi:10.1080/14682761.2018.1451946, ditto at https://www.academia.edu/11196495…) None of this exactly contemporary with Sam's theater experience, but then the theater, with Charles' courtiers in the balconies, is perhaps rowdy enough for the monkeys to go unnoticed.

About 16, 17, 18, 19 July 1661

Stephane Chenard  •  Link

But for now the Venetians, diplomats that they are, blame it all on a few rogues. It's also a long way from Cyprus to Algiers, and may not have been all champagne parties among those 12 ships. However, so many powers have found the "Barbarians" useful - one source quoted at https://theonomyresources.blogspo… notes how France let them drive English captives taken in the Channel, where they did venture in the 1640s, across the length of its territory for transshipment in Marseilles. It won't be the last time, we predict, that Europeans will cut deals with evil "Barbarians", then revoke them at a whim. But, if we were the pyrates of Algiers, we'd wish my lord a full recovery, and see what his king's got to offer this time...