Mocenigo, in the same dispatch, says his own mourning outfit cost him £85; but he's got to keep up with the Ligneses, and maybe it's even better satin than Sam's.
'Nother thing: That L&M reference to "Mundy" is evidently from volume 5 of The Travels of Peter Mundy, a phantastickall Relation by one of the great travellers of the Age, who's in England right now. Alas, only volumes 1 through 4 seem to be available online (at https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/In…, https://fr.scribd.com/document/81… and https://archive.org/search?query=… among other sources, if anyone is interested), and while they're fascinating they all pre-date our period quite a bit. We'll buy his/her morning draught to anyone who can find a link to volume 5.
De Ligne did not represent Spain? Yes, he does. Venetian ambassador Mocenigo, our agent on the diplomatic circuit, has unambiguously reported on this since July and on August 20 (new style) relayed that "the Prince de Ligne, who is preparing his equipage in France to come here as ambassador extraordinary of the Catholic [the king of Spain], is said to have received ample instructions from Madrid for treating for peace with England".
So Ligne brings quite a few important tidings from Madrid to Charles, on Dunkirk and Jamaica and peace in general, and in fact he already had an audience a few days ago. But OK, as Ambassador Extraordinary he won't stay. A more humdrum "ambassador in ordinary" will do that: Charles baron de Watteville (https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cha…), who hails from the still-Spanish, soon-to-be-conquered-by-Louis-XIV province of Franche Comté. For now, Mocenigo says (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) that Watteville follows incognito, which may be for the better as our astrologer says his career in London isn't going to be too brilliant.
Why would York avoid de Ligne? Oh, that unpleasantness in Calais last year, when the lieutenant governor sent soldiers to hunt him down in seedy taverns and backstreets? (Story at https://archive.org/stream/memoir…, pages 282-283). Or those 600,000 florins (counted at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) that Spain, through Flemish governor Caracena and York, promised Charles and apparently never paid? Or anything in York's Spanish military career? He doesn't seem to have come across Ligne too much, and while York starred in important battles on his side and territory the marquis may not have paid attention to such mercenary riffraff, or think much of York's toying with and dismissing Spain's offer of making him an admiral. But, at the levels where they both gravitate now, surely that's all in the past?
Further avoidance isn't possible anyway. The prince de Ligne is in London for a while, and York's karma seems to work against it: on this day Capt. John Coppin of the Centurion, updating Sam on my lord's progress, says he "thinks the wind has forced the ships with the Duke of York up into the King's Channel", while Capt. Country of the Greyhound reports that ships returning from Denmark "were separated in a storm" (State Papers). On October 1 (new style) ambassador Mocenigo will report that, sometime today or tomorrow (if we got our new style/old style conversion right) a "fierce gale" is/will likewise be driving poor York away from Holland and "to the extremities of this kingdom", and that by next Wednesday morning he will have given up on fetching sis, landed in England, found out about Gloucester, and will be hurrying back to London, the burial and the inevitable prince de Ligne.
Sarah, indeed American Google displays that famed American efficiency in not wasting time on the sidelines of Condé's genealogy, but they are in full display in his French wiki (https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lou…). So, ahem and br-br-hm, he has a sister, Anne Geneviève de Bourbon-Condé (https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ann…), whose two daughters died in infancy 10 and 15 years ago, and a brother, Armand de Bourbon-Conti (https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arm…), who will only have two sons, and both of them no more than a gleam in his eye as of 1660. We're at risk of overwikipediosis here, and there's beautiful genealogical trees you can play with at other places such as https://www.geneastar.org/celebri… and https://gw.geneanet.org/rgoumy?n=…, but they tell the same story.
Apart from Louis II, le Grand Condé, the most famous and closest to Louis XIV, discussed above, the House of Condé as of 1660 also includes a son, Henri-Jules de Bourbon-Condé, who's a prince too of course but our astrologer says he won't formally get the title before 1686, and for now he's 17 and still unmarried.
Perhaps Charles has been exploring the possibility of marrying Henry to a Condé niece if and when one would become available. Or he did his exploring when Anne Geneviève still had a daughter, sometime between 1647 and 1650, in which case he was a precocious and long-term thinker indeed, since Henry would have been 10 at most and the last available niece, Marie Gabrielle d'Orléans, died when she was 3. Given where Charles was in 1650, this would have been a somewhat bold offer to make the House of Condé, though perhaps not so crazy; Charles was holding to Scotland by his fingernails, and had a claim to the throne of France; the Condé were in open revolt against Louis XIV, and had a claim to the throne of France too. All of these royal guerilleros likely went to bed every night not being too sure where they would wake up; imagine the fascinating conversation they could have had.
To make it even spicier, Charles' brother James will soon (from 1651) be in mercenary service to Louis XIV against rebels led largely by Louis II; then he will change sides and actually serve Condé in the Spanish army in 1656-59, the last job he held before becoming duke of York. By 1660 Condé has been pardoned, both families are back on the right side of power, and all this rough-and-tumble common history could surely be leveraged into, well, something.
Or Charles thought there was a Condé niece to be had for his li'l bro in 1660, and imagine his dismay when he checked Wikipedia.
But niece or no niece, those are two families that do know a bit of each other, and if we were Louis XIV we'd make sure to read their mail.
Yes, mourning dress would seem to be a good idea for anyone involved with the Court, not to mention the king. We know not how much Henry the young (and apparently rather cute) duke of Gloucester was truly known and loved, but Charles isn't taking it well and Francisco Giavarina, the Venetian ambassador, reported on Thursday (24 September, new style) that "the king is distressed and weeps bitterly, for he loved his brother tenderly (...) At present he has withdrawn himself and no one soever is allowed to approach him" (https://www.british-history.ac.uk…).
This sudden reversal, of reports that had been unanimously optimistic on the duke being recovered and out of danger, can only have made it even more of a shock. On the same day, literally as Gloucester was succumbing, the king's secretary, Edward Nicholas, was writing near the end of a dispatch to Henry Bennett, secretary to Glou's brother the duke of York, that "the Duke of Gloucester is still ill, but out of danger" (as summarized, at least, in the State Papers). A historical study of London's continual smallpox epidemics (at https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/…) reminds us that "Variola major, which [will be] the only known smallpox type until the beginning of the 20th century, had a CFP [case fatality proportion] of 5% to 25%", so recovery in fact tends to be the norm.
We note in Wikipedia's ghastly page on smallpox, which quite frankly courage failed us to do more than skim, that in a somewhat rare form, malignant-type (a.k.a flat) smallpox, the skin lesions "matured slowly (...) and by the seventh or eighth day, they were flat and appeared to be buried in the skin". Perhaps that could look like recovery, especially to the quacks that seem to operate in Westminster (as of 1660, of course), and the other forms are rather more spectacular. However days 8 to 12 also tend to be when the patient dies (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sma…), and our first reports of the duke's illness filtered out 10 days ago (both in Sam's diary, at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…, and in other reports we had noted at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…).
We foresee that vaccination, for now only done in China, will be introduced in Europe in 30-odd years and will eradicate that abomination in just another 277 years.
Meanwhile, speaking of princess Mary, Capt. Teddiman reports that, the Resolution having finally reached Hellevoetsluis to fetch her, My Lord "went on shore (...) to see the town", where he presumably enjoyed the sunset and a few brewskis, then "returned aboard that night".
We confirm that "This day my Lord set sail from the Downs for Holland", or, as Capt. Teddiman says in the log my Lord appended to his journal (at https://archive.org/details/journ…, page 80): "At 8 this morning the wind being at S.S.W. my Lord came aboard the Resolution for the voyage for Hellevoetshuis and at 9 this morning weighed and sailed from the Downs with 9 sail of men of war in company with one ketch and hoy".
Which brings the question, does absolutely everybody refer to my Lord in his absence as "my Lord"? Teddiman's ship's log seems an official record but in there he could have been "the Admiral", too, but no. We phant'sy he enjoys "my Lord" too much even for that.
Meanwhile, where's Sandwich? What's he doing? Capt. Teddiman informs us that he inspected his ship, the freshly renamed Resolution and, with naval precision, adds that at 4 pm he "gave directions for fitting the stateroom", to make it Princess Royal-ready. Judging from its size and the amount of gilding visible at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eng…, it should do.
The dispatch that Venetian ambassador Mocenigo sends home today isn't particularly fascinating but notes that rough weather is keeping the Spanish ambassadors in Spain; we pray it doesn't extend to the North sea and imperils my lord.
He also reports that the court is a bit freaked out by Gloucester's pox, as well it may be, but it "does not seem to be of the worst kind". Tomorrow the king's secretary will tell the same in a dispatch to York's secretary Sir Henry Bennet (State Papers, 6 September). See, nothing to worry about.
Meanwhile, as we're tracking parallel intrigues, my lord is on his way to the sea. He hums an old seaman's song and has a spring in his step. At least we think he does; all we have is a laconic entry in his deputy Capt. Teddiman, inserted in Sandwich's journal for today: "The Earl of Sandwich came to Deal in the evening".
Deal the port in Kent, tho' perhaps my lord also dealt the cards at a game of lanturlu. His journal is found at https://archive.org/details/journ….
Surprised that Evelyn didn't see a French ambassador, Sarah? It's that the species is extinct in London right now. The last ambassador, the count of Bordeaux, was compromised with Oliver and further disgraced himself with anti-Charles remarks, so he was ignored and in July he left. Louis is taking it a bit personally and provides minimum service. We don't expect a replacement ambassador before, say, next year.
Other occasions than Cromwell's death, if slightly contrived, are fortunately available to give the people something else to celebrate today, but do we detect a wistful note at the end of this report from Mercurius Politicus, as Thomas Rugge summarized it in 1672, with 12 years' worth of hindsight?
"In this month the citty of Worester, it beeinge the 3 day September, kept a great day of rejoycinge for the deliverance of his Majesty, it beeinge that his Majestie lost the day of battel with Oliver Cromwell, for on that day of the month hee had a great victory in Ireland and another on that day at Dunbarre in Scotland, and that day of the month hee died. Vale [farewell], Oliver."
The prince de Ligne, ambassador extraordinary for Spain: Just the name and title evoke pump and luxury, of the sort that bring head-shaking in taverns and even at Court, and gets you into Sam's carnet mondain. Venetian ambassador Giavarina, whose job obviously includes watching that scene closely, has been tracking Ligne for months and reported home a couple of weeks ago that "warships have already been despatched to the coasts of Flanders to fetch him, at his request" - this alone would get him on Sam's radar. Warships plural, for "[h]e comes with a large suite of over 100 persons. He brings four coaches and six, a large number of pages and lackeys and will be accompanied by a number of distinguished persons of Flanders, who are bringing their coaches and six, and liveries at their own cost, to render the embassy as splendid as possible." Giavarina's letters are at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…, this one is dated September 3, new style, August 23 Pepys standard time. Ligne was expected "next week" at the time, so a bit of delay maybe.
A suite of over 100 persons! What do they even do? Most of them will probably have nothing more to do than look pretty. By definition, the court of Spain travels in style and must be awesome, but in this case there's stuff at stake. There's the port of Dunkirk, a strategic gateway to Holland that's currently in English hands and, 'tis said, available at the right price. There's Spain's interminable war with Portugal; the poor Portuguese ambassador has been angling for the king's eye ever since Charles returned - from Spanish lands, heh heh heh - and he can't afford quite so much soft power but, Giavarina also reported on September 10 (new style), "he makes very liberal offers, which extend to a marriage between the Infanta of Portugal and this king" - that will never work, the wags say, "with a most extensive dowry in Brazil, the East Indies and some port in Portugal itself". "Portugal" did meet Charles in July, but on 30 July (n.s.) Giavarina passed on gossip that "he paid 10,000l. sterling to the grandees of the Court to smoothe the way". Surely an exaggeration, but not a surprise either; the court's gotta catch up on 11 years of not getting bribed. We doubt, however, if the prince de Ligne will have to do anything quite so gross.
And finally, there's England's demobilization of much of its army and navy. As soon as he got this news, Giavarina reacted with "if the most serene republic wants troops this will be an excellent opportunity for getting as many as she requires". He puts the loot at 10,000 men, "all good veteran troops [who] would be glad to serve her in the war with the Ottoman". Well, maybe, but since legally they cannot serve forreigne princes, the king must approve. Spain surely has its eye on that as well, either to get them, or to steer them as far from Portugal - aye, to Venice, why not - as possible.
This week's Parliamentary Intelligencer also has a few ADVERTISEMENTS, including for this interesting book: "Jews in America, Or, Probabilities that those Indians are Judaical, made more probable by some Additionals to the former Conjectures. By Thomas Thorowgood, S. T. B Norfolciensis." Sold "H. Broom at the Gun in Ivy-lane", where we'll presently rush to find how these Additionals make jews of the Cherokee; we find at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jew… that the idea is currently in vogue.
And with this, that's it for the publick holdings of the Parliamentary Intelligencer at https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…. Many thanks to the University of Michigan (in Potawatomi territory). Anyone knows where to find issues after No. 36, please leave us a note at the Gun in Ivy-Lane.
While the kingdom heaves a huge sigh of relief at the Act of Oblivion finally being passed, king Charles also devotes half of his speech before Parliament to the "Act for a speedy Provision of Money to pay off and disband all the Forces of this Kingdom, both by sea and land", the "pole bill" also voted upon today and which, in all probability, is the reason why Sam had to work so hard of late at tallying the Navy's debt.
What the king has to say, as reprinted in the Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 36, August 26-September 3 but with newes through August 29 onely) is interesting: "I do thank you as much as if the Money were to come into My Own Coffers (...) I pray very earnestly, as fast as Money comes in, discharge that great burthen of the Navy, and disband the Army as fast as you can". He doesn't quite add 'and take their guns away', but probably he needs not. Then, "the weekly expence of the Navy, eats up all you have given me by the Bill of Tonnage and Poundage." Too bad, as Charles is about to expand it with one of Europe's largest programs of naval construction.
The rest has to be one of the most tear-jerking demonstrations of modesty on record, from someone who just arrived loaded with mountains of gold plate from Holland and on whom the whole country has showered more gifts: "I am not richer, that is, I have not so much money in my Purse, as when I came to you. The truth is, I have lived principally ever since upon what I brought with me (...) Nor have I been able to give my Brothers one shilling since I came into England, nor to keep any Table in my House, but what I eat my self. And that which troubles me most, is, to see many of you come to Me to Whitehall, and to think that you must go some where else to seek your Dinner." O the poor brothers, I can hear their tummies rumbling, O the humiliation of having to turn friends out to the tavern next door. Maybe Sam could help with some leftover cold chicken?
Next week it will be made clear that Peter Johnson is right, and Mr. Walker, no doubt drawing on his lawyer's thick books of precedents, trimmed a priviledge here and there in my lord Sandwich's commission. At this time my lord is in charge of counting His Majestie's silver spoons, and can't wait to get back in the sea spray. In fact his journal (at https://archive.org/details/journ…) has been blank since he disembarked in May, as if there really was nothing worth writing down in my lord's life right now. But a few months of derring-do await in the papers that Walker has revised.
The Duke of York is sharing some breakfast chocolate with his trusted lawyer, and remarks in a jolly mood, "do you know, Walker, I dream'd of you this night past. A voice was saying, 'the kingdome is broke! You must get Walker to cut the Navy's budget'".
"I'm so honored, your grace".
"How absurd, no? When we're broke, why, then we just stop paying. Why would we cut anything?"
Walker, who had one hand inside his portfolio and was about to pull his monthly invoice, opts to extract a lace kerchief instead, and replies with a forced smile. "Indeed, you grace. How droll".
Sam makes "doing something (...) as to the debts of the Navy" look almost easy, but we suspect this understates what must have been quite a paper chase. Surprise, a lot of records disappeared during the Interregnum. But the State Papers do provide a few fossils that seem to come from that exercise, some showing up a bit late, as if claimants were still rushing in with their old invoices long after the bell was rung, or had been advised at the last minute: On August 20, the Victualling Commissioners write to the Navy Commissioners to "request an imprest of 9,000L. or 10,000L" - the imprecision must have brought a few sighs - as "there are bills in the Excise Office value nearly 5,000L. imprested to Mr. Gawden" - a victualler Sam will get to know well, and who then may have had about a 50% market share. On this day the 22nd, a smaller victualler's claim shows up, for £3,399 3s. of butter, cheese and peas in "Mr. Chaplin's account". A lot of invoices are apparently stuck in the Excise Office, yet another place to search, and of course victualling is not the biggest bit of the Debt.
Why this sudden interest in evening out the books? We believe that next week, H.M. himself will come to Parliament with full pump and circumstance to promulgate the Act of Oblivion, which will surely get most of the attention, and just after that, before the klieg lights go out, an "Act for a speedy Provision of Money to pay off and disband all the Forces of this Kingdom, both by sea and land". This "Act for Poll-money" has been making its way through Parliament since at least July (e.g. at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…), but now the message will clearly go out to the multitude of unpaid men with guns: "Go back to the farm, but before that, we'll pay your wages". They'll cheer and throw their hats, then it could become a dangerous moment. So Sam may be under a bit more pressure than the Diary conveys.
Also, a prince, new to power, always enjoys having a dossier on what a shambles the previous Government has left him. The more methodical the dossier, the better it looks.
A letter today is being written to Sam by Capt. Robert Clay, on board his stinking, lice-infested ship the Sapphire. It probably runs to page after flowery page, but the busy editors of the State Papers summarized it thusly:
"Capt. Robert Clay to Samuel Pepys, Clerk of the Acts to the Navy. Congratulates him on his entrance into office. His ship wants cleaning".
First letter of congratulations on record so far, though. Maybe the only one; original slightly gnawed at by a rat. Or maybe the captain was a scrub fanatic, always petitioning for more soap and new brushes? His short career is about to end anyway (says https://threedecks.org/index.php?…). The Sapphire's general filthiness, however, will not keep it from an illustrious history culminating in its own Wikipedia page (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS…).
Pray consider, as you entrust your gold to factotums through London's twisting streets, in the Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 35, August 20-27, at https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…) the following ADVERTISEMENT:
****** WE are desired to give notice, that William Hall about seventeen years old, is run away from his Master Major Dennis, and hath taken with him the sum of twenty nine pounds. He is in Footmans habit of grey Serge, edged with red, brown hair curled, not very long, and of a pale complexion. If any can give notice of him, they may leave word with Mr. Samuel Mearn His Majesties Bookbinder, in little Britain, and they shall be thankfully rewarded. ******
Got all that? To the gallows, I say. Pale, brown hair not very long; may have cut his hair and changed his clothes. There he is!! And emerging from the Navy office, no less!
But tussling with the local taipans, prying out Bendysh and stuffing his pockets may not be all that's in Winchelsea's brief. On July 17, the Senate wrote to Giavarina that its ambassador to France, Giovanni Battista Nani, "writes about a report that England is negotiating an offensive and defensive alliance with the Turk." Unfortunately we don't have that cable from Nani, but an offensive alliance, now that would be something. Asked to confirm, Giavarina mulled it over for a month and responded finding "no indication of anything of the sort". But what European prince, except in Venice and perhaps for the pope, hasn't come up with the cunning idea of an alliance with the Turk?
The Venetian ambassador, Francesco Giavarina, has been watching my Lord Winchelsea for a couple of months. He describes an interesting character sailing into an uneasy situation.
On July 9 (new style, so June 29, Pepys Standard Time; all dates in new style), he wrote home: "The earl has been to see me. (...) [I]t is my duty to inform your Serenity that the earl is a young man full of idle talk, informed about many things, but not very steady, rather inclined to be light and volatile, like the climate of the country. For this reason no one thinks him suitable for the post of Constantinople, which requires mature and sober men, but his chief object being gain, he has not thought of anything beyond and his talk is all of occasions which may bring him profit".
By August 27 Giavarina will have softened his views, to "he seems very devoted to the public interests". Winchelsea, and others perhaps then also in the run for the post, have also been falling over themselves with outpourings of love for Venice, Giavarina writing on May 14 that "the earl of Winchelsea and house of Arundel (...) announce themselves as much Venetian as English".
Back in Constantinople, Giavarina says, "The [English] merchants [of the Turkey Company, the main English presence there] are amazed at a person of this rank wanting to go to Constantinople, a thing never seen before, and they are not altogether pleased, as they will have to incur greater expenses, for the earl no doubt desires the post merely for the gain, but such being his Majesty's wish they must needs conform to it." Letters still flew back and forth to London, and on August 6, he reported that on August 2 the Company had formally asked the king to keep the current ambassador in place but had been rebuffed (one wonders how things can have moved quite so fast, given the weeks the mail takes between England and Turkey); while the Venetian Senate, perhaps drawing on the various other sources surely at its disposal, still reflected that "the opposition of the Turkey Company may stop the earl of Winchelsea from going to the Porte." The current ambassador, Sir Thomas Bendysh, is no less venal - on June 8 Giavarina wrote that he "thirsts for an absolute dominion over the marts of the Levant (...) because this would mean the greatness of his house and fortune" - has been clinging to his post since 1647 and indeed he is going to cling yet a bit longer.
Comments
Third Reading
About Monday 17 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Mocenigo, in the same dispatch, says his own mourning outfit cost him £85; but he's got to keep up with the Ligneses, and maybe it's even better satin than Sam's.
'Nother thing: That L&M reference to "Mundy" is evidently from volume 5 of The Travels of Peter Mundy, a phantastickall Relation by one of the great travellers of the Age, who's in England right now. Alas, only volumes 1 through 4 seem to be available online (at https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/In…, https://fr.scribd.com/document/81… and https://archive.org/search?query=… among other sources, if anyone is interested), and while they're fascinating they all pre-date our period quite a bit. We'll buy his/her morning draught to anyone who can find a link to volume 5.
About Monday 17 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
De Ligne did not represent Spain? Yes, he does. Venetian ambassador Mocenigo, our agent on the diplomatic circuit, has unambiguously reported on this since July and on August 20 (new style) relayed that "the Prince de Ligne, who is preparing his equipage in France to come here as ambassador extraordinary of the Catholic [the king of Spain], is said to have received ample instructions from Madrid for treating for peace with England".
So Ligne brings quite a few important tidings from Madrid to Charles, on Dunkirk and Jamaica and peace in general, and in fact he already had an audience a few days ago. But OK, as Ambassador Extraordinary he won't stay. A more humdrum "ambassador in ordinary" will do that: Charles baron de Watteville (https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cha…), who hails from the still-Spanish, soon-to-be-conquered-by-Louis-XIV province of Franche Comté. For now, Mocenigo says (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) that Watteville follows incognito, which may be for the better as our astrologer says his career in London isn't going to be too brilliant.
Why would York avoid de Ligne? Oh, that unpleasantness in Calais last year, when the lieutenant governor sent soldiers to hunt him down in seedy taverns and backstreets? (Story at https://archive.org/stream/memoir…, pages 282-283). Or those 600,000 florins (counted at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) that Spain, through Flemish governor Caracena and York, promised Charles and apparently never paid? Or anything in York's Spanish military career? He doesn't seem to have come across Ligne too much, and while York starred in important battles on his side and territory the marquis may not have paid attention to such mercenary riffraff, or think much of York's toying with and dismissing Spain's offer of making him an admiral. But, at the levels where they both gravitate now, surely that's all in the past?
Further avoidance isn't possible anyway. The prince de Ligne is in London for a while, and York's karma seems to work against it: on this day Capt. John Coppin of the Centurion, updating Sam on my lord's progress, says he "thinks the wind has forced the ships with the Duke of York up into the King's Channel", while Capt. Country of the Greyhound reports that ships returning from Denmark "were separated in a storm" (State Papers). On October 1 (new style) ambassador Mocenigo will report that, sometime today or tomorrow (if we got our new style/old style conversion right) a "fierce gale" is/will likewise be driving poor York away from Holland and "to the extremities of this kingdom", and that by next Wednesday morning he will have given up on fetching sis, landed in England, found out about Gloucester, and will be hurrying back to London, the burial and the inevitable prince de Ligne.
About Saturday 15 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Sarah, indeed American Google displays that famed American efficiency in not wasting time on the sidelines of Condé's genealogy, but they are in full display in his French wiki (https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lou…). So, ahem and br-br-hm, he has a sister, Anne Geneviève de Bourbon-Condé (https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ann…), whose two daughters died in infancy 10 and 15 years ago, and a brother, Armand de Bourbon-Conti (https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arm…), who will only have two sons, and both of them no more than a gleam in his eye as of 1660. We're at risk of overwikipediosis here, and there's beautiful genealogical trees you can play with at other places such as https://www.geneastar.org/celebri… and https://gw.geneanet.org/rgoumy?n=…, but they tell the same story.
Apart from Louis II, le Grand Condé, the most famous and closest to Louis XIV, discussed above, the House of Condé as of 1660 also includes a son, Henri-Jules de Bourbon-Condé, who's a prince too of course but our astrologer says he won't formally get the title before 1686, and for now he's 17 and still unmarried.
Perhaps Charles has been exploring the possibility of marrying Henry to a Condé niece if and when one would become available. Or he did his exploring when Anne Geneviève still had a daughter, sometime between 1647 and 1650, in which case he was a precocious and long-term thinker indeed, since Henry would have been 10 at most and the last available niece, Marie Gabrielle d'Orléans, died when she was 3. Given where Charles was in 1650, this would have been a somewhat bold offer to make the House of Condé, though perhaps not so crazy; Charles was holding to Scotland by his fingernails, and had a claim to the throne of France; the Condé were in open revolt against Louis XIV, and had a claim to the throne of France too. All of these royal guerilleros likely went to bed every night not being too sure where they would wake up; imagine the fascinating conversation they could have had.
To make it even spicier, Charles' brother James will soon (from 1651) be in mercenary service to Louis XIV against rebels led largely by Louis II; then he will change sides and actually serve Condé in the Spanish army in 1656-59, the last job he held before becoming duke of York. By 1660 Condé has been pardoned, both families are back on the right side of power, and all this rough-and-tumble common history could surely be leveraged into, well, something.
Or Charles thought there was a Condé niece to be had for his li'l bro in 1660, and imagine his dismay when he checked Wikipedia.
But niece or no niece, those are two families that do know a bit of each other, and if we were Louis XIV we'd make sure to read their mail.
About Saturday 15 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Yes, mourning dress would seem to be a good idea for anyone involved with the Court, not to mention the king. We know not how much Henry the young (and apparently rather cute) duke of Gloucester was truly known and loved, but Charles isn't taking it well and Francisco Giavarina, the Venetian ambassador, reported on Thursday (24 September, new style) that "the king is distressed and weeps bitterly, for he loved his brother tenderly (...) At present he has withdrawn himself and no one soever is allowed to approach him" (https://www.british-history.ac.uk…).
This sudden reversal, of reports that had been unanimously optimistic on the duke being recovered and out of danger, can only have made it even more of a shock. On the same day, literally as Gloucester was succumbing, the king's secretary, Edward Nicholas, was writing near the end of a dispatch to Henry Bennett, secretary to Glou's brother the duke of York, that "the Duke of Gloucester is still ill, but out of danger" (as summarized, at least, in the State Papers). A historical study of London's continual smallpox epidemics (at https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/…) reminds us that "Variola major, which [will be] the only known smallpox type until the beginning of the 20th century, had a CFP [case fatality proportion] of 5% to 25%", so recovery in fact tends to be the norm.
We note in Wikipedia's ghastly page on smallpox, which quite frankly courage failed us to do more than skim, that in a somewhat rare form, malignant-type (a.k.a flat) smallpox, the skin lesions "matured slowly (...) and by the seventh or eighth day, they were flat and appeared to be buried in the skin". Perhaps that could look like recovery, especially to the quacks that seem to operate in Westminster (as of 1660, of course), and the other forms are rather more spectacular. However days 8 to 12 also tend to be when the patient dies (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sma…), and our first reports of the duke's illness filtered out 10 days ago (both in Sam's diary, at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…, and in other reports we had noted at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…).
We foresee that vaccination, for now only done in China, will be introduced in Europe in 30-odd years and will eradicate that abomination in just another 277 years.
About Wednesday 12 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
"At 4 this morning my Lord and the gentlemen with him went for Briel and thence for the Hague".
From Sandwich his journal, at https://archive.org/details/journ…, page 81.
About Tuesday 11 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Meanwhile, speaking of princess Mary, Capt. Teddiman reports that, the Resolution having finally reached Hellevoetsluis to fetch her, My Lord "went on shore (...) to see the town", where he presumably enjoyed the sunset and a few brewskis, then "returned aboard that night".
From Sandwich his journal, at https://archive.org/details/journ…, page 81.
About Friday 7 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
We confirm that "This day my Lord set sail from the Downs for Holland", or, as Capt. Teddiman says in the log my Lord appended to his journal (at https://archive.org/details/journ…, page 80): "At 8 this morning the wind being at S.S.W. my Lord came aboard the Resolution for the voyage for Hellevoetshuis and at 9 this morning weighed and sailed from the Downs with 9 sail of men of war in company with one ketch and hoy".
Which brings the question, does absolutely everybody refer to my Lord in his absence as "my Lord"? Teddiman's ship's log seems an official record but in there he could have been "the Admiral", too, but no. We phant'sy he enjoys "my Lord" too much even for that.
About Wednesday 5 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Meanwhile, where's Sandwich? What's he doing? Capt. Teddiman informs us that he inspected his ship, the freshly renamed Resolution and, with naval precision, adds that at 4 pm he "gave directions for fitting the stateroom", to make it Princess Royal-ready. Judging from its size and the amount of gilding visible at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eng…, it should do.
The dispatch that Venetian ambassador Mocenigo sends home today isn't particularly fascinating but notes that rough weather is keeping the Spanish ambassadors in Spain; we pray it doesn't extend to the North sea and imperils my lord.
He also reports that the court is a bit freaked out by Gloucester's pox, as well it may be, but it "does not seem to be of the worst kind". Tomorrow the king's secretary will tell the same in a dispatch to York's secretary Sir Henry Bennet (State Papers, 6 September). See, nothing to worry about.
About Tuesday 4 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Meanwhile, as we're tracking parallel intrigues, my lord is on his way to the sea. He hums an old seaman's song and has a spring in his step. At least we think he does; all we have is a laconic entry in his deputy Capt. Teddiman, inserted in Sandwich's journal for today: "The Earl of Sandwich came to Deal in the evening".
Deal the port in Kent, tho' perhaps my lord also dealt the cards at a game of lanturlu. His journal is found at https://archive.org/details/journ….
About Tuesday 4 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Surprised that Evelyn didn't see a French ambassador, Sarah? It's that the species is extinct in London right now. The last ambassador, the count of Bordeaux, was compromised with Oliver and further disgraced himself with anti-Charles remarks, so he was ignored and in July he left. Louis is taking it a bit personally and provides minimum service. We don't expect a replacement ambassador before, say, next year.
About Monday 3 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Other occasions than Cromwell's death, if slightly contrived, are fortunately available to give the people something else to celebrate today, but do we detect a wistful note at the end of this report from Mercurius Politicus, as Thomas Rugge summarized it in 1672, with 12 years' worth of hindsight?
"In this month the citty of Worester, it beeinge the 3 day September, kept a great day of rejoycinge for the deliverance of his Majesty, it beeinge that his Majestie lost the day of battel with Oliver Cromwell, for on that day of the month hee had a great victory in Ireland and another on that day at Dunbarre in Scotland, and that day of the month hee died. Vale [farewell], Oliver."
(https://doi.org/10.1017/S20421710…, p. 110; paywalled).
About Saturday 1 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The prince de Ligne, ambassador extraordinary for Spain: Just the name and title evoke pump and luxury, of the sort that bring head-shaking in taverns and even at Court, and gets you into Sam's carnet mondain. Venetian ambassador Giavarina, whose job obviously includes watching that scene closely, has been tracking Ligne for months and reported home a couple of weeks ago that "warships have already been despatched to the coasts of Flanders to fetch him, at his request" - this alone would get him on Sam's radar. Warships plural, for "[h]e comes with a large suite of over 100 persons. He brings four coaches and six, a large number of pages and lackeys and will be accompanied by a number of distinguished persons of Flanders, who are bringing their coaches and six, and liveries at their own cost, to render the embassy as splendid as possible." Giavarina's letters are at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…, this one is dated September 3, new style, August 23 Pepys standard time. Ligne was expected "next week" at the time, so a bit of delay maybe.
A suite of over 100 persons! What do they even do? Most of them will probably have nothing more to do than look pretty. By definition, the court of Spain travels in style and must be awesome, but in this case there's stuff at stake. There's the port of Dunkirk, a strategic gateway to Holland that's currently in English hands and, 'tis said, available at the right price. There's Spain's interminable war with Portugal; the poor Portuguese ambassador has been angling for the king's eye ever since Charles returned - from Spanish lands, heh heh heh - and he can't afford quite so much soft power but, Giavarina also reported on September 10 (new style), "he makes very liberal offers, which extend to a marriage between the Infanta of Portugal and this king" - that will never work, the wags say, "with a most extensive dowry in Brazil, the East Indies and some port in Portugal itself". "Portugal" did meet Charles in July, but on 30 July (n.s.) Giavarina passed on gossip that "he paid 10,000l. sterling to the grandees of the Court to smoothe the way". Surely an exaggeration, but not a surprise either; the court's gotta catch up on 11 years of not getting bribed. We doubt, however, if the prince de Ligne will have to do anything quite so gross.
And finally, there's England's demobilization of much of its army and navy. As soon as he got this news, Giavarina reacted with "if the most serene republic wants troops this will be an excellent opportunity for getting as many as she requires". He puts the loot at 10,000 men, "all good veteran troops [who] would be glad to serve her in the war with the Ottoman". Well, maybe, but since legally they cannot serve forreigne princes, the king must approve. Spain surely has its eye on that as well, either to get them, or to steer them as far from Portugal - aye, to Venice, why not - as possible.
About Wednesday 29 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
This week's Parliamentary Intelligencer also has a few ADVERTISEMENTS, including for this interesting book: "Jews in America, Or, Probabilities that those Indians are Judaical, made more probable by some Additionals to the former Conjectures. By Thomas Thorowgood, S. T. B Norfolciensis." Sold "H. Broom at the Gun in Ivy-lane", where we'll presently rush to find how these Additionals make jews of the Cherokee; we find at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jew… that the idea is currently in vogue.
And with this, that's it for the publick holdings of the Parliamentary Intelligencer at https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…. Many thanks to the University of Michigan (in Potawatomi territory). Anyone knows where to find issues after No. 36, please leave us a note at the Gun in Ivy-Lane.
About Wednesday 29 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
While the kingdom heaves a huge sigh of relief at the Act of Oblivion finally being passed, king Charles also devotes half of his speech before Parliament to the "Act for a speedy Provision of Money to pay off and disband all the Forces of this Kingdom, both by sea and land", the "pole bill" also voted upon today and which, in all probability, is the reason why Sam had to work so hard of late at tallying the Navy's debt.
What the king has to say, as reprinted in the Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 36, August 26-September 3 but with newes through August 29 onely) is interesting: "I do thank you as much as if the Money were to come into My Own Coffers (...) I pray very earnestly, as fast as Money comes in, discharge that great burthen of the Navy, and disband the Army as fast as you can". He doesn't quite add 'and take their guns away', but probably he needs not. Then, "the weekly expence of the Navy, eats up all you have given me by the Bill of Tonnage and Poundage." Too bad, as Charles is about to expand it with one of Europe's largest programs of naval construction.
The rest has to be one of the most tear-jerking demonstrations of modesty on record, from someone who just arrived loaded with mountains of gold plate from Holland and on whom the whole country has showered more gifts: "I am not richer, that is, I have not so much money in my Purse, as when I came to you. The truth is, I have lived principally ever since upon what I brought with me (...) Nor have I been able to give my Brothers one shilling since I came into England, nor to keep any Table in my House, but what I eat my self. And that which troubles me most, is, to see many of you come to Me to Whitehall, and to think that you must go some where else to seek your Dinner." O the poor brothers, I can hear their tummies rumbling, O the humiliation of having to turn friends out to the tavern next door. Maybe Sam could help with some leftover cold chicken?
About Saturday 25 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Next week it will be made clear that Peter Johnson is right, and Mr. Walker, no doubt drawing on his lawyer's thick books of precedents, trimmed a priviledge here and there in my lord Sandwich's commission. At this time my lord is in charge of counting His Majestie's silver spoons, and can't wait to get back in the sea spray. In fact his journal (at https://archive.org/details/journ…) has been blank since he disembarked in May, as if there really was nothing worth writing down in my lord's life right now. But a few months of derring-do await in the papers that Walker has revised.
The Duke of York is sharing some breakfast chocolate with his trusted lawyer, and remarks in a jolly mood, "do you know, Walker, I dream'd of you this night past. A voice was saying, 'the kingdome is broke! You must get Walker to cut the Navy's budget'".
"I'm so honored, your grace".
"How absurd, no? When we're broke, why, then we just stop paying. Why would we cut anything?"
Walker, who had one hand inside his portfolio and was about to pull his monthly invoice, opts to extract a lace kerchief instead, and replies with a forced smile. "Indeed, you grace. How droll".
About Wednesday 22 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Sam makes "doing something (...) as to the debts of the Navy" look almost easy, but we suspect this understates what must have been quite a paper chase. Surprise, a lot of records disappeared during the Interregnum. But the State Papers do provide a few fossils that seem to come from that exercise, some showing up a bit late, as if claimants were still rushing in with their old invoices long after the bell was rung, or had been advised at the last minute: On August 20, the Victualling Commissioners write to the Navy Commissioners to "request an imprest of 9,000L. or 10,000L" - the imprecision must have brought a few sighs - as "there are bills in the Excise Office value nearly 5,000L. imprested to Mr. Gawden" - a victualler Sam will get to know well, and who then may have had about a 50% market share. On this day the 22nd, a smaller victualler's claim shows up, for £3,399 3s. of butter, cheese and peas in "Mr. Chaplin's account". A lot of invoices are apparently stuck in the Excise Office, yet another place to search, and of course victualling is not the biggest bit of the Debt.
Why this sudden interest in evening out the books? We believe that next week, H.M. himself will come to Parliament with full pump and circumstance to promulgate the Act of Oblivion, which will surely get most of the attention, and just after that, before the klieg lights go out, an "Act for a speedy Provision of Money to pay off and disband all the Forces of this Kingdom, both by sea and land". This "Act for Poll-money" has been making its way through Parliament since at least July (e.g. at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…), but now the message will clearly go out to the multitude of unpaid men with guns: "Go back to the farm, but before that, we'll pay your wages". They'll cheer and throw their hats, then it could become a dangerous moment. So Sam may be under a bit more pressure than the Diary conveys.
Also, a prince, new to power, always enjoys having a dossier on what a shambles the previous Government has left him. The more methodical the dossier, the better it looks.
About Monday 20 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
A letter today is being written to Sam by Capt. Robert Clay, on board his stinking, lice-infested ship the Sapphire. It probably runs to page after flowery page, but the busy editors of the State Papers summarized it thusly:
"Capt. Robert Clay to Samuel Pepys, Clerk of the Acts to the Navy. Congratulates him on his entrance into office. His ship wants cleaning".
First letter of congratulations on record so far, though. Maybe the only one; original slightly gnawed at by a rat. Or maybe the captain was a scrub fanatic, always petitioning for more soap and new brushes? His short career is about to end anyway (says https://threedecks.org/index.php?…). The Sapphire's general filthiness, however, will not keep it from an illustrious history culminating in its own Wikipedia page (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS…).
About Monday 20 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Pray consider, as you entrust your gold to factotums through London's twisting streets, in the Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 35, August 20-27, at https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…) the following ADVERTISEMENT:
******
WE are desired to give notice, that William Hall about seventeen years old, is run away from his Master Major Dennis, and hath taken with him the sum of twenty nine pounds. He is in Footmans habit of grey Serge, edged with red, brown hair curled, not very long, and of a pale complexion. If any can give notice of him, they may leave word with Mr. Samuel Mearn His Majesties Bookbinder, in little Britain, and they shall be thankfully rewarded.
******
Got all that? To the gallows, I say. Pale, brown hair not very long; may have cut his hair and changed his clothes. There he is!! And emerging from the Navy office, no less!
About Thursday 9 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
But tussling with the local taipans, prying out Bendysh and stuffing his pockets may not be all that's in Winchelsea's brief. On July 17, the Senate wrote to Giavarina that its ambassador to France, Giovanni Battista Nani, "writes about a report that England is negotiating an offensive and defensive alliance with the Turk." Unfortunately we don't have that cable from Nani, but an offensive alliance, now that would be something. Asked to confirm, Giavarina mulled it over for a month and responded finding "no indication of anything of the sort". But what European prince, except in Venice and perhaps for the pope, hasn't come up with the cunning idea of an alliance with the Turk?
The Venetian diplomatic archive is at https://www.british-history.ac.uk….
About Thursday 9 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The Venetian ambassador, Francesco Giavarina, has been watching my Lord Winchelsea for a couple of months. He describes an interesting character sailing into an uneasy situation.
On July 9 (new style, so June 29, Pepys Standard Time; all dates in new style), he wrote home: "The earl has been to see me. (...) [I]t is my duty to inform your Serenity that the earl is a young man full of idle talk, informed about many things, but not very steady, rather inclined to be light and volatile, like the climate of the country. For this reason no one thinks him suitable for the post of Constantinople, which requires mature and sober men, but his chief object being gain, he has not thought of anything beyond and his talk is all of occasions which may bring him profit".
By August 27 Giavarina will have softened his views, to "he seems very devoted to the public interests". Winchelsea, and others perhaps then also in the run for the post, have also been falling over themselves with outpourings of love for Venice, Giavarina writing on May 14 that "the earl of Winchelsea and house of Arundel (...) announce themselves as much Venetian as English".
Back in Constantinople, Giavarina says, "The [English] merchants [of the Turkey Company, the main English presence there] are amazed at a person of this rank wanting to go to Constantinople, a thing never seen before, and they are not altogether pleased, as they will have to incur greater expenses, for the earl no doubt desires the post merely for the gain, but such being his Majesty's wish they must needs conform to it." Letters still flew back and forth to London, and on August 6, he reported that on August 2 the Company had formally asked the king to keep the current ambassador in place but had been rebuffed (one wonders how things can have moved quite so fast, given the weeks the mail takes between England and Turkey); while the Venetian Senate, perhaps drawing on the various other sources surely at its disposal, still reflected that "the opposition of the Turkey Company may stop the earl of Winchelsea from going to the Porte." The current ambassador, Sir Thomas Bendysh, is no less venal - on June 8 Giavarina wrote that he "thirsts for an absolute dominion over the marts of the Levant (...) because this would mean the greatness of his house and fortune" - has been clinging to his post since 1647 and indeed he is going to cling yet a bit longer.