The news of the two warrants that would prohibit access to the Theatre Royal's dressing rooms, or free entry after the first act, have got to be the worst since the Fire.
But, good luck to the bouncer who tries to enforce them. It's the entire ruling class of England from the King on down that seems to have taken quarters in the theaters these days. Even if the plays are not quite the political instruments that Louis has deliberately made them be in Versailles, it's clear the theaters are where the court is to be found for much of the day and are places of power that rank somewhere between the House and the painted gallery. Sam was seen recently, ducking in just to see who's there.
And does anyone think the beautiful gentlemen only or mainly come for the play? Can the actresses even make a living on just the box office? Literary historian Tita Chico, who wrote histories of dressing rooms that quote Sam extensively ("Designing Women: The Dressing Room in Eighteenth-century English Literature", 2005, visible at books.google.fr/books?id=cqJImjFzzKkC, and "The Dressing Room Unlock'd", in "Monstrous Dreams of Reason", 2002, books.google.fr/books?id=yaSQFx10hJIC), notes that, at the Rose theater, the elite pays extra to enter the theater through the dressing house.
Also that the Lord Chamberlain, whose warrant this is, had already issued one in 1663, with at least one more to come in 1675. Who knows if he was never to be seen wandering backstage himself, and thinking as he had to wait in line between two other earls at some actress' door that some way should be found to keep out the riffraff.
Why, Sir Joseph Williamson works so hard, he can't have a case of wine now and then? And in this case, it looks to be legit, because Mr. Google our learned bookseller has records of John Paige being a wine merchant, of long standing and (we're sure) impeccable licenses. As for the "packet" to Paris, didn't Allin recently remark that even his official reports went through a trusted merchant? Even if we'd still really like to know what's in the packet.
But stranger still is this other letter, written today to Sir Joseph:
***************************************** Dr. Rob. Sharrock to Williamson. If advised, I will try one chemical experiment to mercurify a trunk, in spite of the proverb ex quolibet ligno, &c., but I mean only to put a little mercury into that caput mortuum, our present head, so as to make him not so intolerably heavy in the doing of his duty and the desire of the society. The paper enclosed contains the first lines of the proposal, but it will cease if you disapprove. I beg your advice and assistance, reminding you of our former joint relation to the furnace; you may guess what clients I and my friends will be in any weightier matter, if opportunity call for it. [S.P. Dom., Car. II. 240, No. 18.] *****************************************
What an Age indeed. Williamson's "relation to the furnace" - his involvement with alchemy - isn't a total surprize in a future president of the Royal Society, but it seems to have been buried deep, and the biographies at hand limit his philosophicall interests to history and other humanities. Maybe his retorts blew up, or the pursuit is deemed too unseemly (of course there's Newton, but he's special), and anyway he certainly found easier ways to make gold.
Dr. Sharrock is known as a botanist, but the experiment he so gingerly submits for approval and joint venture involves, not just a "trunk", but a capuut mortum - a dead head, bad enough, but the mercurifycation is supposed to make that dead head, or its dead owner, "do his duty and the desire of society"? That seems even darker than the Society's present Shelleyesque expts. with doggs. It ties bizarrely with the proverb, "ex quolibet ligno non fit Mercurius", not from any block of wood can you make a statue of Mercury. And is there a subtle hint of menace - to one of the most powerful men in the kingdom - in this reminder of Williamson's old furnace, and of "my friends"..? It's all a bit much to unpack, in a letter from a gentle botanist to a bureaucrat who likes legal history.
If Williamson approves, Sam may soon have to deal with zombie seamen half made of wood, and leaking mercury.
Duh. How could we miss it. Lister wants Sam et get Navy to tell Keeper they need the wood at Bawtry to build ships, so that Keeper tells Sewers to unstop the river. Crystal clear.
But, Sam, the hot weather slowed your wits as well. If the whole world is soon going to have Helmskirke's fast ships, then England has no choice but to buy them too. Still not interested? OK, OK.
"a ship that sails two feet for one of any other ship, (...) which, for my part, I think a piece of folly for them to meddle with, because the secret cannot be long kept"
Aww, Sam, you have no sense of fun. An arms race! The longest bow, the largest dreadnought, the heaviest missile! No? OK then, stay out of it.
Instead you'll get the letter thus summarized:
****************************** May 13, London. Thos. Lister to Sam. Pepys. Several complaints depending before the Lord Keeper, of the want of water at Bawtry, are to be heard next Saturday. Shall attend and move something in reference to the navigation of the river. Desires a few lines from the Commissioners to his Lordship of the occasion there is for timber, and the prejudice they suffer by not having quick conveyance when desired; doubts not but his Lordship will give such directions to the Commissioners of Sewers and participants of the level as will procure a speedy remedy in it. [S.P. Dom., Car. II. 240, No. 6; https://www.british-history.ac.uk…] ******************************
Mr. Lister complains about river navigation ("the want of water" - the river is too low). You've been quite involved in cleaning out the Medway of sunk ships but how does Bawtry, a town far inland on the little river Idle, concern you? Do you get mail on everything that floats? There is indeed, to deal at least indirectly with the regulation of rivers, a Commission of Sewers, which manages not underground effluents (not for another 130 years) but drainage and flood defence - an all-essential organization in such a semi-submersible country as England (just you wait), but it's not your Commission, and you last met them four years ago, while looking for a place to store masts [https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…]. Or is it the timber angle?
And who is "Thos. Lister"? There is a disgraced, regicide former MP of that name on the books, barred from public office and presumably anything like meeting the Lord Keeper, and who will die or has already died sometime in this very year, 1668. Surely you wouldn't know such a man.
And McGregor, whose execution we read of! An infamous name, and how seeing it made the very hair on our periwig stand up! We were just reading, in the Newgate Calendar (www.exclassics.com/newgate/ngcont…) how the rebel Clan Gregor had committed such terrible felonies earlier in the century for their very name to "be abolished", under an Act of 1633 that also ruled "that no minister should baptize a child (...) under the name of McGregor under pain of deprivation".
But you know what? "This Act was rescinded at the restoration". See what happens under a womanizing, semi-Catholick king? See? See?
A mummy! Just what Sam needs to decorate his closet. Imagine how the surprize will delight Bess when she returns.
If it's a piece of bone, we doubt somewhat that Sam took it as medicine (or for the mummies' other use, to make the pigment painters call Egyptian brown), because for that you need part of the mummy's tummy, where the asphalt was put. If he did he will be disappointed because ground bone would only give you a sneeze, and anyway as medicine it's expensive and Sam isn't sick. So he must have taken it as a curio. Sam the bibliophile hadn't been known to collect such knick-knacks before, but, what with reading Athanasius Kirchner, all this disposable income and his access to the sea trade, he is well placed and should absolutely be encouraged to start a cabinet of curiosities now, unicorn horns and all. As a showpiece it will go beautifully with the Stone.
Those 2,350 Spanish men may have been on a cruise to nowhere now that the Peace is signed, but the ink is still fresh, and it will take weeks for the news to reach everywhere. They may have left Vigo a week ago on orders two weeks old, just in case things fell through, and unless Sig. Marconi travels back in time there is no way to recall a ship at sea. In fact all sorts of French misbehaviour is still reported, due to outdated orders or indiscipline, so they could have their uses (as... peacekeepers? Soldiers to enforce peace, what a droll concept has just entered our minde). They may be part of Don Juan de Austria's entourage, as apparently he still hasn't shown up. They also have every right to be sent, if not to Flanders, at least to Brugge, or other parts of the Netherlands which, aside from the bits and pieces now ceded to the French, are still Spanish for several decades.
Leave aside that "peace between the neighbors" has been expected to be precisely what Louis needed to turn around and attack England - it seems that fear has gone. No, everybody agrees that the place to do war now, is the Med. Today the Venetian ambassador to Madrid, Sig. Belegno, cables home on a nice end-of-tour chat he's had with My Lord on his plans: "The Ambassador Sandovich (...) told me that on his return to London he meant to offer to take a fleet for the relief of Candia" - the eternally suffering Venetian port in Crete, besieged by the Turk and totally the place for a good Christian prince to be seen [https://www.british-history.ac.uk…]. Louis has said the same thing: as soon as Spain stops wasting his time with its foolish pretentions, he'll turn to the business he really cares about and go free Candia.
Eventually Sandovich, who may have just been telling the Venetian what he wanted to hear, will do no such thing (and the English trade interests in Constantinople thank him for that, plus we don't want him to go get the plague from the Turks). Louis will make a small effort that will fail badly.
Ah yes, the treaty of Aix-la-Chappelle, the peace between France and Spain, our great passion of two weeks ago, whatever happened to all that? Not a word in all the letters and reports we have access to via the State Papers, but for a vague mention in a dispatch about a ship arrived from Calais that "the discourse there is of peace" [John Pocock to Williamson, [S. P. Dom., Car. II. 239, No. 185, https://www.british-history.ac.uk…].
Gazette No. 256, containing datelines up to May 5 and so presumably the latest to circulate in the taverns and the chanceries, reported that M. Colbert and the Spanish plenipotentiary, the Baron de Bergeick, had signed the treaty on May 1 (yes, not on May 2, and now we wonder why the history books will all date the treaty from May 2 but that's a problem for the later ages). Sam didn't mention it. Maybe his mind was elsewhere (it's been in strange places of late), or he cares not for these foreigne affairs, or, the King's confident statement aside, nobody in the corridors of power was yet too sure of what was really going on.
The Baron de Bergeick is an important man, but he's no Colbert, and it's not him but the Marquis de Castel Rodrigo, governor of the Netherlands, who had been expected to sign for Spain. Also, the Gazette's informant is "confidently assured" that Bergeick signed, but it seems to be second-hand, so, hmm... So where is Castel Rodrigo? Slowly making his way from Antwerp, it seems, maybe planning with Spanish flair to be fashionably late - how long can it take him to go 140 km? A note from Paris, sent to the Gazette (and not to be printed until Gazette No. 258, but already intercepted by our spy at the Savoy) will still say on May 5 that "we are impatiently expecting the issue of the Treaty at Aix-la-Chappelle".
The colonies? If so those fishermen be venturesome and so a real loss to the Navy, and out there for sure they will tangle with the French. Just last month, we saw a mass of memoranda [Col. Papers, Vol. XXII., Nos. 65-71, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…] on the sorry state of Newfoundland, how it's been ruined and occupied by the French since 1662, and turned into a cesspit of impiety and drunkenness -- we are at a loss on how a lusty young sailor may prefer possibly that to Naval service. Interestingly, in terms of overfishing, among the horrors which the memos described was "great abuses committed by unseasonable fishing". But the lure must have been strong, because those are all North Sea ports the captain named, and not usual Atlantic fishing ports, so the lads will be going the long way; as far as possible from the press maybe, and maybe the North Sea is too hot indeed.
Sarah, regarding "the fishermen (...) being all gone", and the European fishing grounds being hotly contested.
We suspect that the real bother in the fishermen being gone is that they couldn't be pressed to share the glory of Captain Fortiscue's good ship. Able seamen are a scarce commodity. But what indeed of the fish? Could any cod wars between England and its neighbors have added to the Navy's problems?
'Tis the nature of the times in the 21st century to always have in mind the competition for resources and, immediately post-Brexit, the fishing grounds are certainly contested between France and England. In 1668 however, there must have been a lot more fish in the sea, chased by fewer fishermen - one article (1), while focused on the long-distance fleet, notes the civil war and other inconveniences had cut the fleet by one-third, to 100 large vessels in 1660 - and for a limited market. England in 1668 has around 5 million inhabitants, who probably don't eat much fish unless they live on the coast as salt was still a bit expensive.
There's also not a lot of statistics, but still occasional evidence of pressure on some fish stocks. The Norwegians cod fisheries, in particular, seem to have been struggling in the 1660s, (2) due to environmental fluctuations ('tis still the little ice age, and who knows how the North Sea responded). But it may have been a local problem only. In fact one remarkably detailed reconstruction of dutch herring catches, available at (3), concludes that, while there will be declines later on, in the 1660s the catches were nearing record highs. And so there was plenty of fish in the sea, and maybe more competition for the fishermen themselves than among fishermen for the fish.
The same study notes that fishing seasons were short, and prices the best at the start of the season, so if they behaved like the Dutch the fishermen of Yarmouth wouldn't have wanted to wait. Not that Sam really cares either way; he's more into venison (cited around 70 times) and lobster (around 30 times) than the sea fishes (around 10 times).
(1) "The English Migratory Fishery and Trade in the 17th Century", https://www.heritage.nf.ca/articl… (2) Terje G. Birkedal, "When the fish went away", The Norwegian-American, 30 June 2020 [https://www.norwegianamerican.com…]. (3) B. Poulsen, "Reconstructing stock fluctuations of North Sea herring, 1604-1850", in "Dutch Herring: An Environmental History, c. 1600-1860", Amsterdam University Press (2008), pp. 130-159 (very, very obligingly posted by the author at https://www.researchgate.net/prof…).
Oh woe, woe and boo-hoo-hoo, and God help us! If only Sam could soothe his poor aching eyes with this letter which the Venetian ambassador to Spain, Catterin Belegno, is writing to the Doge and Senate today to report the much happier state of mind of My Lord, far removed from all the pettiness and squalor that Sam deplores in chilly London:
****************************** All the way through the kingdom to the frontier of Castile the Ambassador Sandovich has received unspeakable honours, acclamations of the people, universal blessings and applause. From England he has the ratification of the treaty and is making ready for his departure. He is puffed up with vanity at having brought three important negotiations to a successful conclusion, to wit: the ratification of the peace and of commerce; the affair of Portugal and this last, the most important of all, the peace between the crowns, of the conclusion of which he is confident. (https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) ******************************
And we suspect that in 1668 a Venetian ambassador to Madrid would have seen enough vanity to know it when it was of "puffed up" quality. Remember when being sent on this embassy was considered exile, infamous sanction, a second Fall from Heaven and into some lice-ridden third world court? Sandwich has had his recall for some time now, but "making ready" will take him another three months. Protocol aside, he must have known well enough what awaits him at home to be in no particular hurry to go.
Sandwich seems to have reaped the glory of various sherpas' backstage work on the treaty of Lisbon ("the affair of Portugal") after it had been substantially completed, but that's what ambassadors do. However his role in "the peace between the crowns", described as still imminent and so clearly that between Spain and France, has been a lot more discreet, with that work generally credited to Paris/Brussels-based diplomats such as Temple, so the allusion is interesting. Even if he played no major role there is certainly even more to be gained by being in that picture. Not everyone in Parliament might even know where Portugal is, but peacemaking with France... pretty unimpeachable.
Elizabeth Calvert the woman pyrate printer: She was, but she might not have started the business, which she continued after the death of husband Giles Calvert in 1664. She must have been a tough nut though, as their print shop at the Sign of the Black Spread Eagle in St Paul's Churchyard had been notorious for turning out a multitude of radical, republican and dissenter stuff, and currently there had been a warrant against Liz since at least January. According to an interesting article at [https://journals.sas.ac.uk/fhs/ar…] she intersected Pepysland in printing one of the Quaker tracts that will later send Admiral Sir Will's son William Penn to the Tower.
Finally, slightly off-topic but still revealing, the Carte Calendar (MS Carte 81, f. 286) records a minute by Lord Wharton, on no less than an "Address from both Houses of Parliament to the King", which alas is undated and not found by a quick search of Grey's Debates. On what? On "praying for the encouragement, by the example of His Majesty & of the Royal Family, of the habitual use, in apparel, of English manufactures". See, it's not all about impeaching our friends.
That old classic, the head of State proudly wearing the local woolens. Except Charlie (and likely Sam, and likely both Houses of Parliament) would rather clad Himself in Italian silks, 'coz the local woolens, they scratch.
And what to make of this, in a letter Middleton is sending today to the Commissioners:
************************* "Particulars of ships under repair, &c. (...) The masters of Watermen's Hall are good Christians, but very knaves; they should be ordered to send down 10 or 12 old women to be nurses to the children they send for the King to breed for them; unless his Royal Highness sends all the masters down themselves, the King will not have justice (...)" [S.P. Dom., Car. II. 239, No.38] *************************
Unless we're missing some obscure joke in Middleton's thoroughly businesslike letter, we take this to perhaps reveal that, between the coils of rope and the barrels of biscuits, the Watermen also stock a bunch of children, perhaps orphans destined for a glorious life of ropemaking, raised ("bred") by the Crown ("the King"), but young enough to need nurses. And there could be a hundred of them, wailing and stealing the biscuits, if they need that many old women.
Sam's job just gets even more complicated. "My lord, you want me to find a dozen what??"
We think it prudent, given how some of this Society would have to travel all the way from the Antipodes, to give notice of this Advertisement seen in the late Gazette (No. 254, with items dated through April 29):
**************** We are ordered to give notice, that by reason of the approaching heat of Summer, His Majesty intends to continue touching for the Evil till Friday after the First of May inclusively, and no longer. **************** That's only a week hence; does the Gazette think we all live in London? And yes, lest we forget, Charlie has a Magick Finger; one source (www.britannica.com/science/kings-…) implies he uses it an average of a dozen times a day. So bring your scrofulas!
"Warrant for committing — Pool to the Gatehouse, for keeping a private press"
Pfew. What a relief. Though it seems (from her later petition to the King, at S.P. Dom., Car. II. 239, No. 93 in early May) that Elizabeth Poole was only the landlady, and if so L'Estrange's goons grabbed the first person they saw, and the actual printer is still running. But they stomped on all the pamphlets!
And hey, what's this, also dated April 28 and likely related:
**************** Account by Sam Mearne of expenses incurred in seizing a private printing-press under a warrant from Lord Arlington, amounting to 24l. 0s. 6d. [S.P. Dom., Car. II. 239, No.28] ****************
Twenty-four quids for making an arrest? Excuse me? It might be more than the press is worth! Spent on what? Liveries? ("She threw ink at us!") Coaches? ("'twas in a nice part of Southwark, so we needed high-class wheels, see, to blend in") Food? ("We had to loosen up that informant. If Chatelin's is where he wanted to meet, then we had to go to Chatelin's. Yea, six times. Yea, all of us. The fellow knew his French vintages though"). Informants? ("Well he said he got the pamphlet from his cousin, who wouldn't talk for free so we had to pay, and he said he got it from his uncle... We had to pay off the whole village"). Letters? ("We had to request that docket all the way from Bombay"). Doctors? ("Paper cuts, my lord, the stigma of our trade"). Muscle? ("The door was soooo thick"). Disguises? ("So no one would figure us out, the whole squad dressed up as Turks").
But never mind. The King will like the arrest so much that Samuel Mearne, a bookbinder whose beautiful work still evokes over 11,000 Google hits, will be gifted the press that he helped seize (on May 27, S.P. Dom., Entry Book 31, f. 8.) His Wikipedia notice mentions that his police work was popular with the other publishers, because apart from turning out seditious material the illegal presses also infringed their copyrights on the approved stuff.
"Certain news come, I hear, this day, that the Spanish Plenipotentiary in Flanders will not agree to the peace"
Huh? Where does that come from? It goes against what the informed publick knows from recent Gazettes, at any rate, which is that Spain through its plenipotentiary and viceroy in the Netherlands, the Marquis of Castelo Rodrigo, has accepted the terms and has just received from the Queen regent the papers authorizing him to sign. Everyone seems to expect peace, and some of the largest troop movements, by the French toward Flanders and by the Dutch toward their own border, are being stayed or cancelled. Most of the grandees are already at Aix, Colbert, the prince archbishops, the bishop of Münster, the papal nucios, all throwing parties and making their Great Entries.
Castel Rodrigo is in Antwerp today. Don Juan of Austria has been on his way from Spain with considerable hoohah and his fleet is expected at any moment; his part in all this is a bit obscure, but apparently it's more about ferrying nobles than soldiers, so it's good too. So, Sam, your source knows something we don't?
This day, judging from the datelines in the articles, is about when Gazette No. 253 should be hitting the streets. It contains the usual news of peace in Aix-la-Chapelle, carnage in the Med and ships leaving Hull, but also, at the end, an advertisement which must have held Sam's attention if he saw it, for Samuel Morland's "very useful Instrument (...) for addition and Substraction of any Number of Pounds, Shillings, Pence and Farthings". Interested buyers to inquire of Mr. Thomas Placknett at this Fathers House in the New Palace Westminster.
History doesn't say if the geeks of 1668 queued around the block. If they did Sam must have passed them on his rounds. In any case he has seen the device six weeks ago at the Society, and sniffed it was pretty but not very useful (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…). 'Course he can do sums in his head, splendid bureaucratic animal that he is. He's also known Morland for years and they both work for HMG, so maybe he already has one on his desk.
But, if not, now they're for sale. He can have his very own. Not so useful but clever and pretty... At a time like this when he could use some shopping therapy... and it sells for just £3 10s (says https://history-computer.com/samu…), about the right amount for Sam's gifts to himself... and it's mechanicall... Hmmm.
Comments
Second Reading
About Saturday 16 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
The news of the two warrants that would prohibit access to the Theatre Royal's dressing rooms, or free entry after the first act, have got to be the worst since the Fire.
But, good luck to the bouncer who tries to enforce them. It's the entire ruling class of England from the King on down that seems to have taken quarters in the theaters these days. Even if the plays are not quite the political instruments that Louis has deliberately made them be in Versailles, it's clear the theaters are where the court is to be found for much of the day and are places of power that rank somewhere between the House and the painted gallery. Sam was seen recently, ducking in just to see who's there.
And does anyone think the beautiful gentlemen only or mainly come for the play? Can the actresses even make a living on just the box office? Literary historian Tita Chico, who wrote histories of dressing rooms that quote Sam extensively ("Designing Women: The Dressing Room in Eighteenth-century English Literature", 2005, visible at books.google.fr/books?id=cqJImjFzzKkC, and "The Dressing Room Unlock'd", in "Monstrous Dreams of Reason", 2002, books.google.fr/books?id=yaSQFx10hJIC), notes that, at the Rose theater, the elite pays extra to enter the theater through the dressing house.
Also that the Lord Chamberlain, whose warrant this is, had already issued one in 1663, with at least one more to come in 1675. Who knows if he was never to be seen wandering backstage himself, and thinking as he had to wait in line between two other earls at some actress' door that some way should be found to keep out the riffraff.
About Tuesday 12 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
Why, thankee, your humble servant, Madam. We hope to be, of this Society's rock collection, the mummy bone, if not the carbuncle.
About Thursday 14 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
Why, Sir Joseph Williamson works so hard, he can't have a case of wine now and then? And in this case, it looks to be legit, because Mr. Google our learned bookseller has records of John Paige being a wine merchant, of long standing and (we're sure) impeccable licenses. As for the "packet" to Paris, didn't Allin recently remark that even his official reports went through a trusted merchant? Even if we'd still really like to know what's in the packet.
But stranger still is this other letter, written today to Sir Joseph:
*****************************************
Dr. Rob. Sharrock to Williamson. If advised, I will try one chemical experiment to mercurify a trunk, in spite of the proverb ex quolibet ligno, &c., but I mean only to put a little mercury into that caput mortuum, our present head, so as to make him not so intolerably heavy in the doing of his duty and the desire of the society. The paper enclosed contains the first lines of the proposal, but it will cease if you disapprove. I beg your advice and assistance, reminding you of our former joint relation to the furnace; you may guess what clients I and my friends will be in any weightier matter, if opportunity call for it. [S.P. Dom., Car. II. 240, No. 18.]
*****************************************
What an Age indeed. Williamson's "relation to the furnace" - his involvement with alchemy - isn't a total surprize in a future president of the Royal Society, but it seems to have been buried deep, and the biographies at hand limit his philosophicall interests to history and other humanities. Maybe his retorts blew up, or the pursuit is deemed too unseemly (of course there's Newton, but he's special), and anyway he certainly found easier ways to make gold.
Dr. Sharrock is known as a botanist, but the experiment he so gingerly submits for approval and joint venture involves, not just a "trunk", but a capuut mortum - a dead head, bad enough, but the mercurifycation is supposed to make that dead head, or its dead owner, "do his duty and the desire of society"? That seems even darker than the Society's present Shelleyesque expts. with doggs. It ties bizarrely with the proverb, "ex quolibet ligno non fit Mercurius", not from any block of wood can you make a statue of Mercury. And is there a subtle hint of menace - to one of the most powerful men in the kingdom - in this reminder of Williamson's old furnace, and of "my friends"..? It's all a bit much to unpack, in a letter from a gentle botanist to a bureaucrat who likes legal history.
If Williamson approves, Sam may soon have to deal with zombie seamen half made of wood, and leaking mercury.
About Wednesday 13 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
Duh. How could we miss it. Lister wants Sam et get Navy to tell Keeper they need the wood at Bawtry to build ships, so that Keeper tells Sewers to unstop the river. Crystal clear.
But, Sam, the hot weather slowed your wits as well. If the whole world is soon going to have Helmskirke's fast ships, then England has no choice but to buy them too. Still not interested? OK, OK.
About Wednesday 13 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
"a ship that sails two feet for one of any other ship, (...) which, for my part, I think a piece of folly for them to meddle with, because the secret cannot be long kept"
Aww, Sam, you have no sense of fun. An arms race! The longest bow, the largest dreadnought, the heaviest missile! No? OK then, stay out of it.
Instead you'll get the letter thus summarized:
******************************
May 13, London. Thos. Lister to Sam. Pepys. Several complaints depending before the Lord Keeper, of the want of water at Bawtry, are to be heard next Saturday. Shall attend and move something in reference to the navigation of the river. Desires a few lines from the Commissioners to his Lordship of the occasion there is for timber, and the prejudice they suffer by not having quick conveyance when desired; doubts not but his Lordship will give such directions to the Commissioners of Sewers and participants of the level as will procure a speedy remedy in it. [S.P. Dom., Car. II. 240, No. 6; https://www.british-history.ac.uk…]
******************************
Mr. Lister complains about river navigation ("the want of water" - the river is too low). You've been quite involved in cleaning out the Medway of sunk ships but how does Bawtry, a town far inland on the little river Idle, concern you? Do you get mail on everything that floats? There is indeed, to deal at least indirectly with the regulation of rivers, a Commission of Sewers, which manages not underground effluents (not for another 130 years) but drainage and flood defence - an all-essential organization in such a semi-submersible country as England (just you wait), but it's not your Commission, and you last met them four years ago, while looking for a place to store masts [https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…]. Or is it the timber angle?
And who is "Thos. Lister"? There is a disgraced, regicide former MP of that name on the books, barred from public office and presumably anything like meeting the Lord Keeper, and who will die or has already died sometime in this very year, 1668. Surely you wouldn't know such a man.
About Tuesday 12 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
And McGregor, whose execution we read of! An infamous name, and how seeing it made the very hair on our periwig stand up! We were just reading, in the Newgate Calendar (www.exclassics.com/newgate/ngcont…) how the rebel Clan Gregor had committed such terrible felonies earlier in the century for their very name to "be abolished", under an Act of 1633 that also ruled "that no minister should baptize a child (...) under the name of McGregor under pain of deprivation".
But you know what? "This Act was rescinded at the restoration". See what happens under a womanizing, semi-Catholick king? See? See?
About Tuesday 12 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
A mummy! Just what Sam needs to decorate his closet. Imagine how the surprize will delight Bess when she returns.
If it's a piece of bone, we doubt somewhat that Sam took it as medicine (or for the mummies' other use, to make the pigment painters call Egyptian brown), because for that you need part of the mummy's tummy, where the asphalt was put. If he did he will be disappointed because ground bone would only give you a sneeze, and anyway as medicine it's expensive and Sam isn't sick. So he must have taken it as a curio. Sam the bibliophile hadn't been known to collect such knick-knacks before, but, what with reading Athanasius Kirchner, all this disposable income and his access to the sea trade, he is well placed and should absolutely be encouraged to start a cabinet of curiosities now, unicorn horns and all. As a showpiece it will go beautifully with the Stone.
About Tuesday 12 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
Those 2,350 Spanish men may have been on a cruise to nowhere now that the Peace is signed, but the ink is still fresh, and it will take weeks for the news to reach everywhere. They may have left Vigo a week ago on orders two weeks old, just in case things fell through, and unless Sig. Marconi travels back in time there is no way to recall a ship at sea. In fact all sorts of French misbehaviour is still reported, due to outdated orders or indiscipline, so they could have their uses (as... peacekeepers? Soldiers to enforce peace, what a droll concept has just entered our minde). They may be part of Don Juan de Austria's entourage, as apparently he still hasn't shown up. They also have every right to be sent, if not to Flanders, at least to Brugge, or other parts of the Netherlands which, aside from the bits and pieces now ceded to the French, are still Spanish for several decades.
About Saturday 9 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
Leave aside that "peace between the neighbors" has been expected to be precisely what Louis needed to turn around and attack England - it seems that fear has gone. No, everybody agrees that the place to do war now, is the Med. Today the Venetian ambassador to Madrid, Sig. Belegno, cables home on a nice end-of-tour chat he's had with My Lord on his plans: "The Ambassador Sandovich (...) told me that on his return to London he meant to offer to take a fleet for the relief of Candia" - the eternally suffering Venetian port in Crete, besieged by the Turk and totally the place for a good Christian prince to be seen [https://www.british-history.ac.uk…]. Louis has said the same thing: as soon as Spain stops wasting his time with its foolish pretentions, he'll turn to the business he really cares about and go free Candia.
Eventually Sandovich, who may have just been telling the Venetian what he wanted to hear, will do no such thing (and the English trade interests in Constantinople thank him for that, plus we don't want him to go get the plague from the Turks). Louis will make a small effort that will fail badly.
About Saturday 9 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
"because there was peace between his neighbours"
Ah yes, the treaty of Aix-la-Chappelle, the peace between France and Spain, our great passion of two weeks ago, whatever happened to all that? Not a word in all the letters and reports we have access to via the State Papers, but for a vague mention in a dispatch about a ship arrived from Calais that "the discourse there is of peace" [John Pocock to Williamson, [S. P. Dom., Car. II. 239, No. 185, https://www.british-history.ac.uk…].
Gazette No. 256, containing datelines up to May 5 and so presumably the latest to circulate in the taverns and the chanceries, reported that M. Colbert and the Spanish plenipotentiary, the Baron de Bergeick, had signed the treaty on May 1 (yes, not on May 2, and now we wonder why the history books will all date the treaty from May 2 but that's a problem for the later ages). Sam didn't mention it. Maybe his mind was elsewhere (it's been in strange places of late), or he cares not for these foreigne affairs, or, the King's confident statement aside, nobody in the corridors of power was yet too sure of what was really going on.
The Baron de Bergeick is an important man, but he's no Colbert, and it's not him but the Marquis de Castel Rodrigo, governor of the Netherlands, who had been expected to sign for Spain. Also, the Gazette's informant is "confidently assured" that Bergeick signed, but it seems to be second-hand, so, hmm... So where is Castel Rodrigo? Slowly making his way from Antwerp, it seems, maybe planning with Spanish flair to be fashionably late - how long can it take him to go 140 km? A note from Paris, sent to the Gazette (and not to be printed until Gazette No. 258, but already intercepted by our spy at the Savoy) will still say on May 5 that "we are impatiently expecting the issue of the Treaty at Aix-la-Chappelle".
About Tuesday 5 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
The colonies? If so those fishermen be venturesome and so a real loss to the Navy, and out there for sure they will tangle with the French. Just last month, we saw a mass of memoranda [Col. Papers, Vol. XXII., Nos. 65-71, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…] on the sorry state of Newfoundland, how it's been ruined and occupied by the French since 1662, and turned into a cesspit of impiety and drunkenness -- we are at a loss on how a lusty young sailor may prefer possibly that to Naval service. Interestingly, in terms of overfishing, among the horrors which the memos described was "great abuses committed by unseasonable fishing". But the lure must have been strong, because those are all North Sea ports the captain named, and not usual Atlantic fishing ports, so the lads will be going the long way; as far as possible from the press maybe, and maybe the North Sea is too hot indeed.
About Tuesday 5 May 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
Sarah, regarding "the fishermen (...) being all gone", and the European fishing grounds being hotly contested.
We suspect that the real bother in the fishermen being gone is that they couldn't be pressed to share the glory of Captain Fortiscue's good ship. Able seamen are a scarce commodity. But what indeed of the fish? Could any cod wars between England and its neighbors have added to the Navy's problems?
'Tis the nature of the times in the 21st century to always have in mind the competition for resources and, immediately post-Brexit, the fishing grounds are certainly contested between France and England. In 1668 however, there must have been a lot more fish in the sea, chased by fewer fishermen - one article (1), while focused on the long-distance fleet, notes the civil war and other inconveniences had cut the fleet by one-third, to 100 large vessels in 1660 - and for a limited market. England in 1668 has around 5 million inhabitants, who probably don't eat much fish unless they live on the coast as salt was still a bit expensive.
There's also not a lot of statistics, but still occasional evidence of pressure on some fish stocks. The Norwegians cod fisheries, in particular, seem to have been struggling in the 1660s, (2) due to environmental fluctuations ('tis still the little ice age, and who knows how the North Sea responded). But it may have been a local problem only. In fact one remarkably detailed reconstruction of dutch herring catches, available at (3), concludes that, while there will be declines later on, in the 1660s the catches were nearing record highs. And so there was plenty of fish in the sea, and maybe more competition for the fishermen themselves than among fishermen for the fish.
The same study notes that fishing seasons were short, and prices the best at the start of the season, so if they behaved like the Dutch the fishermen of Yarmouth wouldn't have wanted to wait. Not that Sam really cares either way; he's more into venison (cited around 70 times) and lobster (around 30 times) than the sea fishes (around 10 times).
(1) "The English Migratory Fishery and Trade in the 17th Century", https://www.heritage.nf.ca/articl…
(2) Terje G. Birkedal, "When the fish went away", The Norwegian-American, 30 June 2020 [https://www.norwegianamerican.com…].
(3) B. Poulsen, "Reconstructing stock fluctuations of North Sea herring, 1604-1850", in "Dutch Herring: An Environmental History, c. 1600-1860", Amsterdam University Press (2008), pp. 130-159 (very, very obligingly posted by the author at https://www.researchgate.net/prof…).
About Thursday 30 April 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
Oh woe, woe and boo-hoo-hoo, and God help us! If only Sam could soothe his poor aching eyes with this letter which the Venetian ambassador to Spain, Catterin Belegno, is writing to the Doge and Senate today to report the much happier state of mind of My Lord, far removed from all the pettiness and squalor that Sam deplores in chilly London:
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All the way through the kingdom to the frontier of Castile the Ambassador Sandovich has received unspeakable honours, acclamations of the people, universal blessings and applause. From England he has the ratification of the treaty and is making ready for his departure. He is puffed up with vanity at having brought three important negotiations to a successful conclusion, to wit: the ratification of the peace and of commerce; the affair of Portugal and this last, the most important of all, the peace between the crowns, of the conclusion of which he is confident. (https://www.british-history.ac.uk…)
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And we suspect that in 1668 a Venetian ambassador to Madrid would have seen enough vanity to know it when it was of "puffed up" quality. Remember when being sent on this embassy was considered exile, infamous sanction, a second Fall from Heaven and into some lice-ridden third world court? Sandwich has had his recall for some time now, but "making ready" will take him another three months. Protocol aside, he must have known well enough what awaits him at home to be in no particular hurry to go.
Sandwich seems to have reaped the glory of various sherpas' backstage work on the treaty of Lisbon ("the affair of Portugal") after it had been substantially completed, but that's what ambassadors do. However his role in "the peace between the crowns", described as still imminent and so clearly that between Spain and France, has been a lot more discreet, with that work generally credited to Paris/Brussels-based diplomats such as Temple, so the allusion is interesting. Even if he played no major role there is certainly even more to be gained by being in that picture. Not everyone in Parliament might even know where Portugal is, but peacemaking with France... pretty unimpeachable.
About Wednesday 29 April 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
Elizabeth Calvert the woman pyrate printer: She was, but she might not have started the business, which she continued after the death of husband Giles Calvert in 1664. She must have been a tough nut though, as their print shop at the Sign of the Black Spread Eagle in St Paul's Churchyard had been notorious for turning out a multitude of radical, republican and dissenter stuff, and currently there had been a warrant against Liz since at least January. According to an interesting article at [https://journals.sas.ac.uk/fhs/ar…] she intersected Pepysland in printing one of the Quaker tracts that will later send Admiral Sir Will's son William Penn to the Tower.
About Wednesday 29 April 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
Finally, slightly off-topic but still revealing, the Carte Calendar (MS Carte 81, f. 286) records a minute by Lord Wharton, on no less than an "Address from both Houses of Parliament to the King", which alas is undated and not found by a quick search of Grey's Debates. On what? On "praying for the encouragement, by the example of His Majesty & of the Royal Family, of the habitual use, in apparel, of English manufactures". See, it's not all about impeaching our friends.
That old classic, the head of State proudly wearing the local woolens. Except Charlie (and likely Sam, and likely both Houses of Parliament) would rather clad Himself in Italian silks, 'coz the local woolens, they scratch.
About Wednesday 29 April 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
And what to make of this, in a letter Middleton is sending today to the Commissioners:
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"Particulars of ships under repair, &c. (...) The masters of Watermen's Hall are good Christians, but very knaves; they should be ordered to send down 10 or 12 old women to be nurses to the children they send for the King to breed for them; unless his Royal Highness sends all the masters down themselves, the King will not have justice (...)" [S.P. Dom., Car. II. 239, No.38]
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Unless we're missing some obscure joke in Middleton's thoroughly businesslike letter, we take this to perhaps reveal that, between the coils of rope and the barrels of biscuits, the Watermen also stock a bunch of children, perhaps orphans destined for a glorious life of ropemaking, raised ("bred") by the Crown ("the King"), but young enough to need nurses. And there could be a hundred of them, wailing and stealing the biscuits, if they need that many old women.
Sam's job just gets even more complicated. "My lord, you want me to find a dozen what??"
About Wednesday 29 April 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
We think it prudent, given how some of this Society would have to travel all the way from the Antipodes, to give notice of this Advertisement seen in the late Gazette (No. 254, with items dated through April 29):
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We are ordered to give notice, that by reason of the approaching heat of Summer, His Majesty intends to continue touching for the Evil till Friday after the First of May inclusively, and no longer.
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That's only a week hence; does the Gazette think we all live in London? And yes, lest we forget, Charlie has a Magick Finger; one source (www.britannica.com/science/kings-…) implies he uses it an average of a dozen times a day. So bring your scrofulas!
About Tuesday 28 April 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
"Warrant for committing — Pool to the Gatehouse, for keeping a private press"
Pfew. What a relief. Though it seems (from her later petition to the King, at S.P. Dom., Car. II. 239, No. 93 in early May) that Elizabeth Poole was only the landlady, and if so L'Estrange's goons grabbed the first person they saw, and the actual printer is still running. But they stomped on all the pamphlets!
And hey, what's this, also dated April 28 and likely related:
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Account by Sam Mearne of expenses incurred in seizing a private printing-press under a warrant from Lord Arlington, amounting to 24l. 0s. 6d. [S.P. Dom., Car. II. 239, No.28]
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Twenty-four quids for making an arrest? Excuse me? It might be more than the press is worth! Spent on what? Liveries? ("She threw ink at us!") Coaches? ("'twas in a nice part of Southwark, so we needed high-class wheels, see, to blend in") Food? ("We had to loosen up that informant. If Chatelin's is where he wanted to meet, then we had to go to Chatelin's. Yea, six times. Yea, all of us. The fellow knew his French vintages though"). Informants? ("Well he said he got the pamphlet from his cousin, who wouldn't talk for free so we had to pay, and he said he got it from his uncle... We had to pay off the whole village"). Letters? ("We had to request that docket all the way from Bombay"). Doctors? ("Paper cuts, my lord, the stigma of our trade"). Muscle? ("The door was soooo thick"). Disguises? ("So no one would figure us out, the whole squad dressed up as Turks").
But never mind. The King will like the arrest so much that Samuel Mearne, a bookbinder whose beautiful work still evokes over 11,000 Google hits, will be gifted the press that he helped seize (on May 27, S.P. Dom., Entry Book 31, f. 8.) His Wikipedia notice mentions that his police work was popular with the other publishers, because apart from turning out seditious material the illegal presses also infringed their copyrights on the approved stuff.
About Monday 27 April 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
"Certain news come, I hear, this day, that the Spanish Plenipotentiary in Flanders will not agree to the peace"
Huh? Where does that come from? It goes against what the informed publick knows from recent Gazettes, at any rate, which is that Spain through its plenipotentiary and viceroy in the Netherlands, the Marquis of Castelo Rodrigo, has accepted the terms and has just received from the Queen regent the papers authorizing him to sign. Everyone seems to expect peace, and some of the largest troop movements, by the French toward Flanders and by the Dutch toward their own border, are being stayed or cancelled. Most of the grandees are already at Aix, Colbert, the prince archbishops, the bishop of Münster, the papal nucios, all throwing parties and making their Great Entries.
Castel Rodrigo is in Antwerp today. Don Juan of Austria has been on his way from Spain with considerable hoohah and his fleet is expected at any moment; his part in all this is a bit obscure, but apparently it's more about ferrying nobles than soldiers, so it's good too. So, Sam, your source knows something we don't?
About Monday 27 April 1668
Stephane Chenard • Link
This day, judging from the datelines in the articles, is about when Gazette No. 253 should be hitting the streets. It contains the usual news of peace in Aix-la-Chapelle, carnage in the Med and ships leaving Hull, but also, at the end, an advertisement which must have held Sam's attention if he saw it, for Samuel Morland's "very useful Instrument (...) for addition and Substraction of any Number of Pounds, Shillings, Pence and Farthings". Interested buyers to inquire of Mr. Thomas Placknett at this Fathers House in the New Palace Westminster.
History doesn't say if the geeks of 1668 queued around the block. If they did Sam must have passed them on his rounds. In any case he has seen the device six weeks ago at the Society, and sniffed it was pretty but not very useful (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…). 'Course he can do sums in his head, splendid bureaucratic animal that he is. He's also known Morland for years and they both work for HMG, so maybe he already has one on his desk.
But, if not, now they're for sale. He can have his very own. Not so useful but clever and pretty... At a time like this when he could use some shopping therapy... and it sells for just £3 10s (says https://history-computer.com/samu…), about the right amount for Sam's gifts to himself... and it's mechanicall... Hmmm.