Actually the Mercurius Politicus had a different take on the dreadful Anabaptist/Quaker plot for a new St. Barthelemy; says it was all overblown slander, and in Thomas Rugg's retelling,
"Now the common report cried out a great plot was intended there, said that theire was found armes enought for five thousand men; others said that all the Anabaptists were ready to rise and cut all the throats of them that weare not of theire judgment. But this is a true list of armes found in theire houses: Liut.-Col. Kiffin: two drumes, one pattisan [a kind of halberd], five old pikes, six swords; in Mallery House: three pistolls, two swords and his sons Hewlings fowling peece; Gosfrights house: three drumes, on[e] leadinge staff, one sword, and three birdinge pieces belonging' to a Dutch marchant and another frind of his; Captain Hewling: seven pikes, twelve musketts, seventeene swords".
For our purposes however, whether the plot was real, and even whether the fanaticks may have been expected to deem Sam's household "not of theire judgment" - needs not matter; the Fright was on, and Sam must have heard of it if the "common report" was so widespread. Indeed, another Rugg report dated "around march 10" says "att this time in the west country the gentry are very much afrighted, for the people called Quakers and Independents and Anabaptits and threatend to plunder, as report said, gentilmens houses and take away armes from the gentry because they stood for a free Parliment; in so much that gentilmen are forced to keep a garde in theire houses (...)"
So, is Sam concerned about the wife's security if left on her own in chaotic London? He may as well, given that on March 12 (March 1st old style) Venetian ambassador Giavarina, in a particularly fascinating weekly cable (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) had this to report:
"The assembly [Parliament] has decided to establish a fresh militia because it is much afraid that the Anabaptists, Quakers and other very numerous and powerful sectaries, from dislike of the present parliament, entirely composed of Presbyterians and fomented by Lambert, Desbero and many other leaders of their faith, may be contemplating an insurrection. Indeed hearing of some beginnings of commotion in the North General Monch sent off some troops of horse to put it down and suppress any attempts these sectaries might try to make, who are cruel and bloody.
"There are still great numbers of them in this city, and it seems that on Sunday or Tuesday last they had planned to rise, break into the houses and kill all whom they came across. But this was foreseen and prevented by placing strong guards everywhere and by searching the houses in which sectaries might be living. In several they found arms and other warlike instruments with a quantity of knives especially designed for such wicked deeds. Some persons have been arrested and sent to the Tower."
Later in his report Giavarina notes that it's not all about politics and religion only:
"In their perplexity it has been suggested in parliament, to legitimate the coming elections, to summon the peers of the realm and get them to issue the writs in the king's name, inviting his Majesty to return to England, but with conditions and restrictions. But *to this are opposed all those who enjoy goods of the crown and bishops* [emphasis added], which are secularised, and all who had a part in the king's death, the first from the certainty of restitution and the others from fear of punishment."
Was the "one [who] came with a ladder" to whitewash "Exit Tyrannus" just acting on his own private initiative? Perhaps in this case the Mercurius, who calls him "a kind of a painter", was not fully informed, for we find in the State Papers a letter from "Wm. Doneman alias Mr Mills" to Charles' secretary Nicholas, informing him that "Yesterday, the very characters 'Exit tyrannus' (...) were *by order* [emphasis added] publicly obliterated *at noon* [emphasis also added - not around 5 pm as Sam heard], and 'Vive le Roy' put up instead" - nice touch. "There were bonfires in and about the Change".
"By order" of whom, would be nice to know. We likely won't.
At this time, as Sam begins to enter his new naval administrative universe, it also seems fit to record for future reference a State Paper of March 6, which very usefully spells out the Navy's debts as of February 1. This comes to £1,284,452, including £694,112 already paid for victuals and salaries and an "estimate of the charge of setting forth and maintaining a fleet of 13,065 men, for 9 month's service, to end the last of October 1660" that comes to £470,340 - a grand £0.13 per man/day - plus £20,000 (only) for maintenance, the yards' expenses and salaries for the commissioners and other London HQ staff, and £100,000 for contingencies. Even if the money be paid (small detail) this seems tight to say the least. May we already bid you welcome to the Naval budget, Mr. Pepys - ha ha ha ha haaaar.
Navy commissioner Peter Pett, soon to become one of the Diary's major characters, makes an appearance in the State Papers today with a letter to Montague that we think a good illustration for the day's debate on naval appointments, and a showcase piece of the oiliest sort of 17th century favor-seeking:
After presenting Montague with a small gift - two ship models, the hobby which in 1667 is going to cost Pett so dearly - as "testimony of a grateful mind for those many great and undeserved favours plentifully vouchsafed to me and mine" (lowly worm that I am), Pett closes with "It is not good manners to give you the troble of importuning for employment for friends, especially considering how much you are tired of things of this nature, and far more weighty affairs being in hand". Oh yeah, Montague may have sighed at that point.
Pett continues after just a colon of a pause: ", else I should have craved leave to recommend Lieut. Rainborow, for his old employment in the Speaker, if not disposed of".
"Every body now drinks the King’s health without any fear, whereas before it was very private that a man dare do it."
As Thomas Rugg his Diurnall puts it in its summary of the Mercurius Politicus for late February/early March,
"Now the times begane somwhat to cleare up and the dark cloudes to fly away, and good frinds had a littl freedome in theire speech, and peopl was in great hopes of liberty of persons as well altogeather of consience, for divers was freed out of prison, som that had layne ma[n]y years in prison.
"Almost every day men writ theire minds and printed it, and severall pretended letters in print, som from his Majestie, som from Major-Generall Marsey, som from Printed by a Person of Honour, and all to break the ice. These printed papers made towne talke and som beleeved that they ware very true".
The Mercurius Politicus has a lot of color (mostly red) to add to today's executions, so get your popcorn, sit back and enjoy:
"Theire were this day, beeinge the eighteene day of Febuary, one serjent and eight souldiers of the army, who were lately sentenced att the ore[?] cort marshall of the army, fouer of them to die and five of them to be tied to a gibbett with haulters about theire necks for half a houer and be whiped by the executioner on the beare back with a whipcord lash.
"They ware brought to the place of execution, which were att Charing Cross and over against Sumersett House in the Strond, where were two gibbetts erected; but by the mercy of the commissioners for the goverment of the army the fouer condemned to die ware premitted to cast lots for theire lives, two to die and the other two to be spared."
[Here let us pause & ponder the Government its benevolence, in staying of Jack Ketch the fearsome hand. Perfect time for the orange girls to work the Charing Cross crowd.]
"And the lots fell upon the two more notorious to die and the two [less] culpaple to be speared [a miracle!], and accordingly the two on whom the lots fell ware executed on two gibett[s]; the other two in prison till further order. And the other fouer (4) souldiers and serjent were whiped in maner aforesaid: the serjent 40 stripes, and 1 souldier had 21 stripes and the other three souldiers 39 stripes, and made capeabl never to serve in the army, not to bee entertained by any; if so, to have the same punishment inflicted on them againe."
If memory serves there's also around 40 of the prentices who rioted along, still in various prisons.
[We now embark on another Embassy to New Spain, far beyond easy reach of the post. We think this fit to Advertise as upon a previous disappearance we were fear'd to be dedd.]
One would expect a torrent of ballads to have been inspired by the lurid scenes. Surprisingly, the English Broadside Ballad Archive has only half a dozen on offer, that are from 1660 and contain the word "rump". Two of them allude to the cooking thereof:
Thats a thing that would please the Butchers and Cooks, To see this stinking Rump quite off the hooks, And Jack-Daw go to pot with the Rooks.
... in "Bumm-Foder, or Waste-Paper Proper to wipe the Nation's RUMP with, or your Own" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…], which makes clear that "kiss my Parliment" (that so amused us at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) was only the most demure variation on the theme. This ain't by far the spiciest bit of the song, and Sam would probably have heard them but no way he'd tell us. Also:
A Tail which was eaten up almost of the Pox, That stunck more like Carion, than ever did Fox, Or that which was rosted of late at the Stocks.
... in "The Rump serv'd in with a Grand Sallet [salad, at http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…]. So it seems the rumps, not only being roasted, were somehow roasted at the stocks, where criminals normally be displayed. Ingenious!
Those two and a couple of slightly less scatological others, "Arsy Versy: Or, The Second Martyrdom of the RUMP" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…, with a stanza for Praise-God too] and "Chipps of the Old Block; or, Hercules Cleansing the Augaean Stable" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…] still make for excellent tavern-rousing and tankard-banging.
We're still in shock when remembrancing the Roasting. Can one over-emphasize the extra-ordinariness of the event? Venetian ambassador Giavarina, though hailing from the land of Carnival, does preface his weekly report of February 27 (new style, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…): "I have now to relate the sequel [to his previous dispatch], which is true though it seems impossible (...) No one who did not see it with his own eyes would credit the extravagant things that this fickle climate produces every day and it is hard to give full credence to the reports one receives especially as they refer to matters of extreme importance."
Interestingly the Gazette de France will, in a few days, publish an account of Monk's arrival and subsequent business, with no mention whatsoever of such unruliness in the streets. We infer that the French are so happy under the Sun King, that 'twould be un-Christian to spoil their moode with tales of heretick subversion.
The weekly dispatches of Venetian ambassador Giavarina reach us only now (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…), the mails being disturbed. In his dated February 20th (new style; today, old style) he agrees with our earlier comment, "Oooh, can't wait to see what happens tomorrow".
But his tone is darker: "It will be interesting to see what follows and it is much to be feared that in the end London will be put to the sack. The soldiers long for it and make this known everywhere, and certainly if it is granted them they will find incalculable wealth."
The soldiers in question being the mutinous ones that Monk is now trying to push to the countryside and replacing with his own. Note the codicil, "if it is granted" - sacking London perhaps being something that requires permission from, well, someone. It puts in context other reports of folks offering them money.
Oh, and old Barebone and his windows, since we're still on his case. Monk's letter devotes a full page (page 9) to his petition for an anti-royalist oath: "a bold Petition (...) lately presented to you", of "dangerous consequence", of which we "[can]not silence our deep resentment" as it's full of "Venome". He almost seems to have grabbed his quill in response to Praise-God Barebone, though one doesn't just improvise a 14-page letter with 15 co-signatories on impulse. Very much in the eye of the storm, Barebone put 'imself. Or was put ("better if it comes from a saintly poor man like you, brother Praise-God. You'll have our full support of course.")
Next, the Council pulls out a fresh piece of paper and writes to "the several garrisons in England". How to explain the situation, to troops already barely under control? Now, here's a gem for the Museum of Embarrassed Literature:
"We had tought fit to let you know that General Monk, by letter sent to the Parliament yesterday, desired among other things the filling up of their [Parliament's] number with due qualifications". Aye, that letter is spreading as fast as the presses and the post-horses can spread it, but thanks for telling us.
Alas, "many persons (...) who are ready to embrace and improve whatever may advantage the common enemies' interest, took an occasion from thence, groundlessly and falsely, to interpret that he had declared, and is resolved for a full and free Parliament, in that sense wherein those would understand it who long to see the good ends defeated which the Parliament has hitherto labored for, and are now faithfully pursuing, and the honest interest and dear concernments thereof ruined".
Say what? I know it's the 17th century and convoluted sentences are the norm, but we're only poor soldiers and had to re-read this three times to unwind all the hand-wringing. (Actually there ain't a one of us that can read, so it's our colonel who did). "Full and free parliament" doesn't appear in that letter but Monk's said he wants elections, right? "The People will have assurance that they shall have a Succession of Parliaments of their own Election", that be "the sense" at page 13 in https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…. So ye're toast, Council of State.
Oh, the flustered red faces, oh the furious huffing and the askew wigs in the State Papers today. The Council of State, having grasped its collective quill, writes to Monk of "the tumultuous assemblies and outrageous disorders of last night, continued till this morning", that were "notorious in themselves [I say!] and so resented by us", what with "the affronts put upon Mr Speaker", &c. [They roasted WHAT? The ruffians!] And so we're writing to you, General, to "offer it to you as our desire [pleease] that a good guard may be appointed to attend Parliament", and that you please come 'round to-morrow, so that "we may have more easy recourse to you for advice upon extraordinary occasions", and you know how VERY highly we value your advice, now it's not easy when you're off in Moorgate, isn't it. &c &c, so together we'll make it alright again, "the honour of Parliament vindicated, and the friends of true freedom encouraged". And that's you and us, right, the Friends of True Freedom! "All this we know will be very acceptable to you, as well as to us, and therefore we can with more assurance rely upon your compliance with us therein" - 'coz we're still BFF, right, General? Right? (Full version at https://books.google.fr/books?id=…)
Where's Monk? He seems to be sleeping in a different bed every night. Thomas Rugg's summary of the Mercurius Politicus reports, right after its account of the Roasting (last night) that "his Excellency left his quarters att the Glass House and tooke up his quarters next doore to Drapers Hall, att Aldermans Wales".
The Glass House (map at https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…) is in Blackfriars. Drapers Hall is apparently at its post-1667 (and 2023) location (its history at https://thedrapers.co.uk/heritage), around 500 meters and many streets from the Glass House. There's a good Peruvian restaurant nearby but that may not have been the General's motivation. It could have been security; that he took the wife out of Westminster shows he knows the wind has turned and that Sam didn't know Monk's whereabouts suggests the relocation wasn't advertised. Monk may also have been cultivating the guilds, whose halls are numerous in that area, are all good pitstops on the way to power and must now be fighting to host his Excellency. Interestingly it's also close to the Wall, and perhaps to one of those portcullis he recently demolished; is the General making a point?
Not everybody had such a good evening. Praise-God Barebone, the phanatick who had petitioned Parliament to suggest that everyone take an anti-monarchy oath, "had but little thanks of the boyes, for they broke all his glass windows that belonged to the front of his house", Mercurius Politicus informs us. Praise-God, who looks like such a happy little leprechaun in engravings, was everything the rump-roasters disliked - being on the militia committee can't have made him very popular, for instance - and should have invested in shutters. 'Twas not the first time his premises got trashed and he must have contemplated the bonfires with more than a little nervousness.
So "the City look mighty blank, and cannot tell what in the world to do". Seems an opportune day for taking care of that canker, while all in Westminster are in suspended animation (and by the way Sam, we know you're a hypochondriac but we googled "mouth ulcers" and found alcohol only makes them worse, OK?)
A quick look at the State Papers convinces us that things are really starting to fall apart. Viz, three successive orders to colonels in Stafford, and York, and Norfolk, re "several meetings tending to the disturbance of the peace", all the way to humble towns like Lynn. Aye, red lights are blinking all over the map of England in the Council of State's Situation Room.
And Monk, what of him? Mercurius Politicus says he spent the night at Whitehall, but, having digested yesterday's events and the public reaction thereto, this morning "first giveinge notis to his head officers" - the French Gazette says he reviewed the troops - then "hee thought fitt to returne againe into the Citty with his whole army, for that action don in the Citty was only in obedence to the Parliment, but that hee was ashamed that they should act so hight". In other words, he's having his own conversations "in the Citty", and he's openly breaking off to his own agenda. Oooh, can't wait to see what happens tomorrow.
The mails being what they are, we only now receive ze French Gazette, No. 25 (at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…), which adds this bit of detail to our other accounts of the day's Adventure (by your leave, we took the liberty to translate):
"On the 9th of this month [new style, January 30 old style] the souldiers encamped in the neighborhood of Whitehall (...) having believed that they would not be paid for the month as the Parliament had ordered, seized Somerset House and refused to leave it". Note to self: to start a riot, plant rumors of the pay not coming. "Following which, they left on the next day [January 31] in good order". So it wasn't mainly about politics (at least as the Gazette's informant saw it) but now there may be ideas in these little souldiers' heads, and the embers in Somerset House have been smoldering for days.
"At the same time [maybe ze Gazette is a bit confused on dates here] the Apprentices of this town, having assembled to the number of 6 to 700 on the Old Exchange Square [a stone's throw from the Strand where Sam be looking on] with halberds, swords and other sorts of weapons, beat the drum and cried 'Liberties' [aye, plural] and moved to Cheapside [quite a long march eastward but indeed where be the Guildhall] (...) but being advised that part of the Cavalry of Parliament was to fall upon them, they withdrew to the Exchange [another long march in the other direction, with the chaos that could be expected as the twain met] where they were routed, except for 40 who were imprisoned in Lambeth".
Students with halberds crying "liberties" is how many a revolution started, isn't it (here in Versailles we'd have no idea about this, pray advise us English friends who are used to this stuff). This time it was just too little tinder to start the blaze.
A pity that Sam did not rush to see the tumult, for it was apparently very colourfull. But he is a Westminsterlander, and the great feudal city-state of London is far, behind its portcullis and quaint priviledges... ah, Rumpish friends, if you knew how the strongheaded and often contrarian city of Paris doth, and will, also give like headaches to the present and future kings of France.
Anyway, not to worry for Thomas Rugg of Mercurius Politicus was there, and tells all:
"Then the Parliment ordered that Generall Monk should march his army into the Citty and take downe all the gates of the Citty, and portcullises, posts and chaines, which hee, acordinge to order of Parliment, did, and lodged himselfe that night att the Three Tunnes Tavern by Guild Hall Gate [which indeed seems to be in Moorgate, right in the belly of the beast] and quartred the souldiers in severall places in the Citty". Even possibly near Sam's digs in Axe Yard, a long way off, but Londoners can guess how finding parking spots for all of Monk's horses has been hell, especially as they arrived on a Friday.
Meanwhile, the Council of State's agenda (in ye State Papers) starts with "the Lord Mayor of London to send the town clerk with books and papers", and for good measure "the town and militia clerks to attend", maybe in case the books and papers ain't in order.
So far, so good, "but", the Mercurius continues, "this action made the poore cittizans look very bigg on him, and for the present, [thinking] that all theire expectations in him [ware] lost, many did that night curse and sweare att him like divells and wanted noethinge but opertunity to express theire malice. And hee that night did not in the least show himself what his intents was, but tould som of the magistarts that hee was only a servant and must obay the Parliment, and the like. Now Generall Monk, haveinge preformed the commands of the Parliments in destroyinge the gates and portcullises, posts and chaines, marched back to his quarters att Whit Hall and lodged that night (...)"
Oooh, the wily Monk. He wasn't greeted with the flowers and candy that he may have expected when he made his entry last week (in this disappointment he joins many an army of liberators). But it seems that where his heart lay, which is such a mysterie to the elite, was none for the cittizans, who had "their expectations". But wait, see him turn its own order against the Rump. Aye, being able to claim "I was only executing orders" has to be one of the souldier's few comforts.
We now turn to Thomas Rugge, who's at the old Rump - excuse me, at Parliament, and just witnesseth the grand entry of General Monk. Thomas, tell us what ye saw.
"Generall Monk, beeing' in his lodgings att Whit Hall, hee had notis that the House had a disier for to see him. Hee came into the Corte of Wards, who beeinge theire, the Serjeant-att-Armes went unto him with the mace and his Lordship atended the Serjant, who went befor him with the mace on his shoulder, beeing' acompaned with Mr. Scott and Mr. Robinson. Beeinge com into the Parlimenent House, hee was conducted unto the place on the left hand within the barre, wheare ware a chaire faced with velvett for the Generall to sitt one. His Lordshipp beeinge com and haveinge made obeysance, Mr. Speaker disired him to sitt downe, but out of his greate respects to the Parliment hee craved leave to bee excused and stood behind the chaire. Wheareupon Mr. Speaker made a speech to Generall Monck. It was very long (...)"
Yes, Thomas, the general may have regretted not sitting down, then; pray summarize, will ye.
"His oration was full of eloquolent words. [Hee said] that man is but an instrement in the hands of God to his owne work [but that man had tried to do things his way and now look at the result:] the face of this land was covred with a gloomy and black cloude and the whole nation left, in the judgment of man, to the utermost of mine. And a little cloude was discerned afarre in Lord Generall Monks hand, and that by the provedence [of] its conduct it did disperse the miseries of the nations and became a glorious mercy to them all. (...)"
So Monk is an instrument of God, he disperseth storm clouds from the brow of Nations by raising his Hand. Almost the Second Coming, isn't it. And what did the general say to that?
"(...) that hee did nothing' but his duty (...)" This bee Thomas Rugge, Mercurius Politicus News, Westminster.
Interesting. As it happens, among the heaps and heaps of books about General Monk that the book-sellers are now rushing out, we at Mercurius Politicus came across this one, just published to-day, "The Pedegree and Descent of his Excellency Generall Monck", which is "setinge forth how hee is decsended from Kinge Edward the Third". Food for thought! Comin' up next: Is the future of poultry in... Denmark?? We'll be right back, after this short break.
Anyway, the 40 or 50 gentlemen shouldn't rest too easily even if Monk do be on their side. We see today this letter to Charles' secretary Nicholas in their Belgian exile. Maybe his informant supplies what he thinks will please, but he says he "heard from England last Tuesday that the Earl of Glencairn was up in arms with 5,000 or 6,000 men in Scotland". Oh no! And Glencairn will go on being made Lord Chancellor of Scotland by Charles II, so there's something to the hearsay.
And also this: "[N]othing else [than a free Parliament] will satisfy the people, or hardly the very red coats [soldiers], who begin now openly to drink the King's health". Aye, the soldiers mutinying at St. James were heard shouting for the king. Now we wonder if Sam, given all the time he spends in the taverns, doth hear the same (he should tell us!) and what ear he then cocks to the subversive toasts.
Comments
Third Reading
About Tuesday 13 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Actually the Mercurius Politicus had a different take on the dreadful Anabaptist/Quaker plot for a new St. Barthelemy; says it was all overblown slander, and in Thomas Rugg's retelling,
"Now the common report cried out a great plot was intended there, said that theire was found armes enought for five thousand men; others said that all the Anabaptists were ready to rise and cut all the throats of them that weare not of theire judgment. But this is a true list of armes found in theire houses: Liut.-Col. Kiffin: two drumes, one pattisan [a kind of halberd], five old pikes, six swords; in Mallery House: three pistolls, two swords and his sons Hewlings fowling peece; Gosfrights house: three drumes, on[e] leadinge staff, one sword, and three birdinge pieces belonging' to a Dutch marchant and another frind of his; Captain Hewling: seven pikes, twelve musketts, seventeene swords".
For our purposes however, whether the plot was real, and even whether the fanaticks may have been expected to deem Sam's household "not of theire judgment" - needs not matter; the Fright was on, and Sam must have heard of it if the "common report" was so widespread. Indeed, another Rugg report dated "around march 10" says "att this time in the west country the gentry are very much afrighted, for the people called Quakers and Independents and Anabaptits and threatend to plunder, as report said, gentilmens houses and take away armes from the gentry because they stood for a free Parliment; in so much that gentilmen are forced to keep a garde in theire houses (...)"
About Tuesday 13 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
So, is Sam concerned about the wife's security if left on her own in chaotic London? He may as well, given that on March 12 (March 1st old style) Venetian ambassador Giavarina, in a particularly fascinating weekly cable (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) had this to report:
"The assembly [Parliament] has decided to establish a fresh militia because it is much afraid that the Anabaptists, Quakers and other very numerous and powerful sectaries, from dislike of the present parliament, entirely composed of Presbyterians and fomented by Lambert, Desbero and many other leaders of their faith, may be contemplating an insurrection. Indeed hearing of some beginnings of commotion in the North General Monch sent off some troops of horse to put it down and suppress any attempts these sectaries might try to make, who are cruel and bloody.
"There are still great numbers of them in this city, and it seems that on Sunday or Tuesday last they had planned to rise, break into the houses and kill all whom they came across. But this was foreseen and prevented by placing strong guards everywhere and by searching the houses in which sectaries might be living. In several they found arms and other warlike instruments with a quantity of knives especially designed for such wicked deeds. Some persons have been arrested and sent to the Tower."
Later in his report Giavarina notes that it's not all about politics and religion only:
"In their perplexity it has been suggested in parliament, to legitimate the coming elections, to summon the peers of the realm and get them to issue the writs in the king's name, inviting his Majesty to return to England, but with conditions and restrictions. But *to this are opposed all those who enjoy goods of the crown and bishops* [emphasis added], which are secularised, and all who had a part in the king's death, the first from the certainty of restitution and the others from fear of punishment."
About Friday 16 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Was the "one [who] came with a ladder" to whitewash "Exit Tyrannus" just acting on his own private initiative? Perhaps in this case the Mercurius, who calls him "a kind of a painter", was not fully informed, for we find in the State Papers a letter from "Wm. Doneman alias Mr Mills" to Charles' secretary Nicholas, informing him that "Yesterday, the very characters 'Exit tyrannus' (...) were *by order* [emphasis added] publicly obliterated *at noon* [emphasis also added - not around 5 pm as Sam heard], and 'Vive le Roy' put up instead" - nice touch. "There were bonfires in and about the Change".
"By order" of whom, would be nice to know. We likely won't.
About Thursday 8 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
At this time, as Sam begins to enter his new naval administrative universe, it also seems fit to record for future reference a State Paper of March 6, which very usefully spells out the Navy's debts as of February 1. This comes to £1,284,452, including £694,112 already paid for victuals and salaries and an "estimate of the charge of setting forth and maintaining a fleet of 13,065 men, for 9 month's service, to end the last of October 1660" that comes to £470,340 - a grand £0.13 per man/day - plus £20,000 (only) for maintenance, the yards' expenses and salaries for the commissioners and other London HQ staff, and £100,000 for contingencies. Even if the money be paid (small detail) this seems tight to say the least. May we already bid you welcome to the Naval budget, Mr. Pepys - ha ha ha ha haaaar.
About Thursday 8 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Navy commissioner Peter Pett, soon to become one of the Diary's major characters, makes an appearance in the State Papers today with a letter to Montague that we think a good illustration for the day's debate on naval appointments, and a showcase piece of the oiliest sort of 17th century favor-seeking:
After presenting Montague with a small gift - two ship models, the hobby which in 1667 is going to cost Pett so dearly - as "testimony of a grateful mind for those many great and undeserved favours plentifully vouchsafed to me and mine" (lowly worm that I am), Pett closes with "It is not good manners to give you the troble of importuning for employment for friends, especially considering how much you are tired of things of this nature, and far more weighty affairs being in hand". Oh yeah, Montague may have sighed at that point.
Pett continues after just a colon of a pause: ", else I should have craved leave to recommend Lieut. Rainborow, for his old employment in the Speaker, if not disposed of".
About Tuesday 6 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
"Every body now drinks the King’s health without any fear, whereas before it was very private that a man dare do it."
As Thomas Rugg his Diurnall puts it in its summary of the Mercurius Politicus for late February/early March,
"Now the times begane somwhat to cleare up and the dark cloudes to fly away, and good frinds had a littl freedome in theire speech, and peopl was in great hopes of liberty of persons as well altogeather of consience, for divers was freed out of prison, som that had layne ma[n]y years in prison.
"Almost every day men writ theire minds and printed it, and severall pretended letters in print, som from his Majestie, som from Major-Generall Marsey, som from Printed by a Person of Honour, and all to break the ice. These printed papers made towne talke and som beleeved that they ware very true".
About Saturday 18 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
The Mercurius Politicus has a lot of color (mostly red) to add to today's executions, so get your popcorn, sit back and enjoy:
"Theire were this day, beeinge the eighteene day of Febuary, one serjent and eight souldiers of the army, who were lately sentenced att the ore[?] cort marshall of the army, fouer of them to die and five of them to be tied to a gibbett with haulters about theire necks for half a houer and be whiped by the executioner on the beare back with a whipcord lash.
"They ware brought to the place of execution, which were att Charing Cross and over against Sumersett House in the Strond, where were two gibbetts erected; but by the mercy of the commissioners for the goverment of the army the fouer condemned to die ware premitted to cast lots for theire lives, two to die and the other two to be spared."
[Here let us pause & ponder the Government its benevolence, in staying of Jack Ketch the fearsome hand. Perfect time for the orange girls to work the Charing Cross crowd.]
"And the lots fell upon the two more notorious to die and the two [less] culpaple to be speared [a miracle!], and accordingly the two on whom the lots fell ware executed on two gibett[s]; the other two in prison till further order. And the other fouer (4) souldiers and serjent were whiped in maner aforesaid: the serjent 40 stripes, and 1 souldier had 21 stripes and the other three souldiers 39 stripes, and made capeabl never to serve in the army, not to bee entertained by any; if so, to have the same punishment inflicted on them againe."
If memory serves there's also around 40 of the prentices who rioted along, still in various prisons.
[We now embark on another Embassy to New Spain, far beyond easy reach of the post. We think this fit to Advertise as upon a previous disappearance we were fear'd to be dedd.]
About Saturday 11 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
One would expect a torrent of ballads to have been inspired by the lurid scenes. Surprisingly, the English Broadside Ballad Archive has only half a dozen on offer, that are from 1660 and contain the word "rump". Two of them allude to the cooking thereof:
Thats a thing that would please the Butchers and Cooks,
To see this stinking Rump quite off the hooks,
And Jack-Daw go to pot with the Rooks.
... in "Bumm-Foder, or Waste-Paper Proper to wipe the Nation's RUMP with, or your Own" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…], which makes clear that "kiss my Parliment" (that so amused us at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) was only the most demure variation on the theme. This ain't by far the spiciest bit of the song, and Sam would probably have heard them but no way he'd tell us. Also:
A Tail which was eaten up almost of the Pox,
That stunck more like Carion, than ever did Fox,
Or that which was rosted of late at the Stocks.
... in "The Rump serv'd in with a Grand Sallet [salad, at http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…]. So it seems the rumps, not only being roasted, were somehow roasted at the stocks, where criminals normally be displayed. Ingenious!
Those two and a couple of slightly less scatological others, "Arsy Versy: Or, The Second Martyrdom of the RUMP" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…, with a stanza for Praise-God too] and "Chipps of the Old Block; or, Hercules Cleansing the Augaean Stable" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…] still make for excellent tavern-rousing and tankard-banging.
About Saturday 11 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
We're still in shock when remembrancing the Roasting. Can one over-emphasize the extra-ordinariness of the event? Venetian ambassador Giavarina, though hailing from the land of Carnival, does preface his weekly report of February 27 (new style, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…): "I have now to relate the sequel [to his previous dispatch], which is true though it seems impossible (...) No one who did not see it with his own eyes would credit the extravagant things that this fickle climate produces every day and it is hard to give full credence to the reports one receives especially as they refer to matters of extreme importance."
Interestingly the Gazette de France will, in a few days, publish an account of Monk's arrival and subsequent business, with no mention whatsoever of such unruliness in the streets. We infer that the French are so happy under the Sun King, that 'twould be un-Christian to spoil their moode with tales of heretick subversion.
About Friday 10 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
The weekly dispatches of Venetian ambassador Giavarina reach us only now (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…), the mails being disturbed. In his dated February 20th (new style; today, old style) he agrees with our earlier comment, "Oooh, can't wait to see what happens tomorrow".
But his tone is darker: "It will be interesting to see what follows and it is much to be feared that in the end London will be put to the sack. The soldiers long for it and make this known everywhere, and certainly if it is granted them they will find incalculable wealth."
The soldiers in question being the mutinous ones that Monk is now trying to push to the countryside and replacing with his own. Note the codicil, "if it is granted" - sacking London perhaps being something that requires permission from, well, someone. It puts in context other reports of folks offering them money.
About Sunday 12 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Oh, and old Barebone and his windows, since we're still on his case. Monk's letter devotes a full page (page 9) to his petition for an anti-royalist oath: "a bold Petition (...) lately presented to you", of "dangerous consequence", of which we "[can]not silence our deep resentment" as it's full of "Venome". He almost seems to have grabbed his quill in response to Praise-God Barebone, though one doesn't just improvise a 14-page letter with 15 co-signatories on impulse. Very much in the eye of the storm, Barebone put 'imself. Or was put ("better if it comes from a saintly poor man like you, brother Praise-God. You'll have our full support of course.")
About Sunday 12 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Next, the Council pulls out a fresh piece of paper and writes to "the several garrisons in England". How to explain the situation, to troops already barely under control? Now, here's a gem for the Museum of Embarrassed Literature:
"We had tought fit to let you know that General Monk, by letter sent to the Parliament yesterday, desired among other things the filling up of their [Parliament's] number with due qualifications". Aye, that letter is spreading as fast as the presses and the post-horses can spread it, but thanks for telling us.
Alas, "many persons (...) who are ready to embrace and improve whatever may advantage the common enemies' interest, took an occasion from thence, groundlessly and falsely, to interpret that he had declared, and is resolved for a full and free Parliament, in that sense wherein those would understand it who long to see the good ends defeated which the Parliament has hitherto labored for, and are now faithfully pursuing, and the honest interest and dear concernments thereof ruined".
Say what? I know it's the 17th century and convoluted sentences are the norm, but we're only poor soldiers and had to re-read this three times to unwind all the hand-wringing. (Actually there ain't a one of us that can read, so it's our colonel who did). "Full and free parliament" doesn't appear in that letter but Monk's said he wants elections, right? "The People will have assurance that they shall have a Succession of Parliaments of their own Election", that be "the sense" at page 13 in https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…. So ye're toast, Council of State.
About Sunday 12 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Oh, the flustered red faces, oh the furious huffing and the askew wigs in the State Papers today. The Council of State, having grasped its collective quill, writes to Monk of "the tumultuous assemblies and outrageous disorders of last night, continued till this morning", that were "notorious in themselves [I say!] and so resented by us", what with "the affronts put upon Mr Speaker", &c. [They roasted WHAT? The ruffians!] And so we're writing to you, General, to "offer it to you as our desire [pleease] that a good guard may be appointed to attend Parliament", and that you please come 'round to-morrow, so that "we may have more easy recourse to you for advice upon extraordinary occasions", and you know how VERY highly we value your advice, now it's not easy when you're off in Moorgate, isn't it. &c &c, so together we'll make it alright again, "the honour of Parliament vindicated, and the friends of true freedom encouraged". And that's you and us, right, the Friends of True Freedom! "All this we know will be very acceptable to you, as well as to us, and therefore we can with more assurance rely upon your compliance with us therein" - 'coz we're still BFF, right, General? Right? (Full version at https://books.google.fr/books?id=…)
About Sunday 12 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Where's Monk? He seems to be sleeping in a different bed every night. Thomas Rugg's summary of the Mercurius Politicus reports, right after its account of the Roasting (last night) that "his Excellency left his quarters att the Glass House and tooke up his quarters next doore to Drapers Hall, att Aldermans Wales".
The Glass House (map at https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…) is in Blackfriars. Drapers Hall is apparently at its post-1667 (and 2023) location (its history at https://thedrapers.co.uk/heritage), around 500 meters and many streets from the Glass House. There's a good Peruvian restaurant nearby but that may not have been the General's motivation. It could have been security; that he took the wife out of Westminster shows he knows the wind has turned and that Sam didn't know Monk's whereabouts suggests the relocation wasn't advertised. Monk may also have been cultivating the guilds, whose halls are numerous in that area, are all good pitstops on the way to power and must now be fighting to host his Excellency. Interestingly it's also close to the Wall, and perhaps to one of those portcullis he recently demolished; is the General making a point?
About Saturday 11 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Not everybody had such a good evening. Praise-God Barebone, the phanatick who had petitioned Parliament to suggest that everyone take an anti-monarchy oath, "had but little thanks of the
boyes, for they broke all his glass windows that belonged to the front of his house", Mercurius Politicus informs us. Praise-God, who looks like such a happy little leprechaun in engravings, was everything the rump-roasters disliked - being on the militia committee can't have made him very popular, for instance - and should have invested in shutters. 'Twas not the first time his premises got trashed and he must have contemplated the bonfires with more than a little nervousness.
About Friday 10 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
So "the City look mighty blank, and cannot tell what in the world to do". Seems an opportune day for taking care of that canker, while all in Westminster are in suspended animation (and by the way Sam, we know you're a hypochondriac but we googled "mouth ulcers" and found alcohol only makes them worse, OK?)
A quick look at the State Papers convinces us that things are really starting to fall apart. Viz, three successive orders to colonels in Stafford, and York, and Norfolk, re "several meetings tending to the disturbance of the peace", all the way to humble towns like Lynn. Aye, red lights are blinking all over the map of England in the Council of State's Situation Room.
And Monk, what of him? Mercurius Politicus says he spent the night at Whitehall, but, having digested yesterday's events and the public reaction thereto, this morning "first giveinge notis to his
head officers" - the French Gazette says he reviewed the troops - then "hee thought fitt to returne againe into the Citty with his whole army, for that action don in the Citty was only in obedence to the Parliment, but that hee was ashamed that they should act so hight". In other words, he's having his own conversations "in the Citty", and he's openly breaking off to his own agenda. Oooh, can't wait to see what happens tomorrow.
About Thursday 2 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
The mails being what they are, we only now receive ze French Gazette, No. 25 (at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…), which adds this bit of detail to our other accounts of the day's Adventure (by your leave, we took the liberty to translate):
"On the 9th of this month [new style, January 30 old style] the souldiers encamped in the neighborhood of Whitehall (...) having believed that they would not be paid for the month as the Parliament had ordered, seized Somerset House and refused to leave it". Note to self: to start a riot, plant rumors of the pay not coming. "Following which, they left on the next day [January 31] in good order". So it wasn't mainly about politics (at least as the Gazette's informant saw it) but now there may be ideas in these little souldiers' heads, and the embers in Somerset House have been smoldering for days.
"At the same time [maybe ze Gazette is a bit confused on dates here] the Apprentices of this town, having assembled to the number of 6 to 700 on the Old Exchange Square [a stone's throw from the Strand where Sam be looking on] with halberds, swords and other sorts of weapons, beat the drum and cried 'Liberties' [aye, plural] and moved to Cheapside [quite a long march eastward but indeed where be the Guildhall] (...) but being advised that part of the Cavalry of Parliament was to fall upon them, they withdrew to the Exchange [another long march in the other direction, with the chaos that could be expected as the twain met] where they were routed, except for 40 who were imprisoned in Lambeth".
Students with halberds crying "liberties" is how many a revolution started, isn't it (here in Versailles we'd have no idea about this, pray advise us English friends who are used to this stuff). This time it was just too little tinder to start the blaze.
About Thursday 9 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
A pity that Sam did not rush to see the tumult, for it was apparently very colourfull. But he is a Westminsterlander, and the great feudal city-state of London is far, behind its portcullis and quaint priviledges... ah, Rumpish friends, if you knew how the strongheaded and often contrarian city of Paris doth, and will, also give like headaches to the present and future kings of France.
Anyway, not to worry for Thomas Rugg of Mercurius Politicus was there, and tells all:
"Then the Parliment ordered that Generall Monk should march his army into the Citty and take downe all the gates of the Citty, and portcullises, posts and chaines, which hee, acordinge to order of Parliment, did, and lodged himselfe that night att the Three Tunnes Tavern by Guild Hall Gate [which indeed seems to be in Moorgate, right in the belly of the beast] and quartred the souldiers in severall places in the Citty". Even possibly near Sam's digs in Axe Yard, a long way off, but Londoners can guess how finding parking spots for all of Monk's horses has been hell, especially as they arrived on a Friday.
Meanwhile, the Council of State's agenda (in ye State Papers) starts with "the Lord Mayor of London to send the town clerk with books and papers", and for good measure "the town and militia clerks to attend", maybe in case the books and papers ain't in order.
So far, so good, "but", the Mercurius continues, "this action made the poore cittizans look very bigg on him, and for the present, [thinking] that all theire expectations in him [ware] lost, many did that night curse and sweare att him like divells and wanted noethinge but opertunity to express theire malice. And hee that night did not in the least show himself what his intents was, but tould som of the magistarts that hee was only a servant and must obay the Parliment, and the like. Now Generall Monk, haveinge preformed the commands of the Parliments in destroyinge the gates and portcullises, posts and chaines, marched back to his quarters att Whit Hall and lodged that night (...)"
Oooh, the wily Monk. He wasn't greeted with the flowers and candy that he may have expected when he made his entry last week (in this disappointment he joins many an army of liberators). But it seems that where his heart lay, which is such a mysterie to the elite, was none for the cittizans, who had "their expectations". But wait, see him turn its own order against the Rump. Aye, being able to claim "I was only executing orders" has to be one of the souldier's few comforts.
About Monday 6 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
We now turn to Thomas Rugge, who's at the old Rump - excuse me, at Parliament, and just witnesseth the grand entry of General Monk. Thomas, tell us what ye saw.
"Generall Monk, beeing' in his lodgings att Whit Hall, hee had notis that the House had a disier for to see him. Hee came into the Corte of Wards, who beeinge theire, the Serjeant-att-Armes went unto him with the mace and his Lordship atended the Serjant, who went befor him with the mace on his shoulder, beeing' acompaned with Mr. Scott and Mr. Robinson. Beeinge com into the Parlimenent House, hee was conducted unto the place on the left hand within the barre, wheare ware a chaire faced with velvett for the Generall to sitt one. His Lordshipp beeinge com and haveinge made obeysance, Mr. Speaker disired him to sitt downe, but out of his greate respects to the Parliment hee craved leave to bee excused and stood behind the chaire. Wheareupon Mr. Speaker made a speech to Generall Monck. It was very long (...)"
Yes, Thomas, the general may have regretted not sitting down, then; pray summarize, will ye.
"His oration was full of eloquolent words. [Hee said] that man is but an instrement in the hands of God to his owne work [but that man had tried to do things his way and now look at the result:] the face of this land was covred with a gloomy and black cloude and the whole nation left, in the judgment of man, to the utermost of mine. And a little cloude was discerned afarre in Lord Generall Monks hand, and that by the provedence [of] its conduct it did disperse the miseries of the nations and became a glorious mercy to them all. (...)"
So Monk is an instrument of God, he disperseth storm clouds from the brow of Nations by raising his Hand. Almost the Second Coming, isn't it. And what did the general say to that?
"(...) that hee did nothing' but his duty (...)" This bee Thomas Rugge, Mercurius Politicus News, Westminster.
Interesting. As it happens, among the heaps and heaps of books about General Monk that the book-sellers are now rushing out, we at Mercurius Politicus came across this one, just published to-day, "The Pedegree and Descent of his Excellency Generall Monck", which is "setinge forth how hee is decsended from Kinge Edward the Third". Food for thought! Comin' up next: Is the future of poultry in... Denmark?? We'll be right back, after this short break.
[Jingle] Do catch Mercurius Politicus live, at https://www.cambridge.org/core/jo…
About Friday 3 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Anyway, the 40 or 50 gentlemen shouldn't rest too easily even if Monk do be on their side. We see today this letter to Charles' secretary Nicholas in their Belgian exile. Maybe his informant supplies what he thinks will please, but he says he "heard from England last Tuesday that the Earl of Glencairn was up in arms with 5,000 or 6,000 men in Scotland". Oh no! And Glencairn will go on being made Lord Chancellor of Scotland by Charles II, so there's something to the hearsay.
And also this: "[N]othing else [than a free Parliament] will satisfy the people, or hardly the very red coats [soldiers], who begin now openly to drink the King's health". Aye, the soldiers mutinying at St. James were heard shouting for the king. Now we wonder if Sam, given all the time he spends in the taverns, doth hear the same (he should tell us!) and what ear he then cocks to the subversive toasts.